Araminta Station (78 page)
With careful steps Kirdy descended the slope from the road and picked his way across the sand, never taking his gaze from Glawen. Today he wore black garments: black breeches, low black boots, a black long-sleeved shirt and a broad-brimmed black hat. His pink face was set; his china-blue eyes were as empty as the eyes of a great dead fish.
Glawen looked right and left, up and down the beach. No other person was in sight. He and Kirdy were alone.
Glawen calculated his choices. The prudent course was to walk away, or, if necessary: run. He had nothing to gain and everything to lose from a confrontation with Kirdy.
Glawen sidled off along the beach. Kirdy altered his own course, angling to cut off Glawen’s line of retreat, thus defining his intentions. They were sinister.
Kirdy moved closer on stealthy feet, as if by this tactic he hoped not to startle or alarm Glawen. But Glawen’s apprehensions were not so easily allayed and he continued to move away at a slant, down upon the wet sand where the footing was better, in the event that he chose to run - still a feasible if somewhat embarrassing option. Glawen moved more briskly, but Kirdy sprang to cut him off. Kirdy seemed to be grinning; the tips of his big white teeth were visible between his drawn-back lips.
Glawen halted. At his back a ponderous mass of water tumbled over with a thundering crash; foam surged up the shore. Glawen had often played among the breakers and felt no fear of the surf.
Kirdy, however, was a weak swimmer who hated and feared the sea; he must shortly tire of the game and depart, with whatever satisfaction he could find from having chased Glawen into the surf.
In fascination Glawen watched the twitching muscles in Kirdy’s cheeks. Surely Kirdy would turn and march away rather than approach the dreadful deep water any more closely.
Kirdy indeed paused and gazed out over the sea. His jaw sagged and the grin abruptly left his face. The foam advanced, wetting Glawen’s feet. Kirdy drew fastidiously back. The foam receded, leaving an expanse of clear wet sand which Kirdy found irresistible. He cast caution to the wind and charged in a lumbering rush, arms raised to grapple Glawen and bear him down to where he could be properly controlled and dealt with.
Glawen jumped back through the incoming surf and stopped to watch as the foam washed up over Kirdy’s heavy shins. Kirdy frowned in vast distaste, but nevertheless splashed forward in graceless splay-footed jumps, convinced that finally Glawen was trapped where he dared retreat no farther. Glawen must now start to reason with him, or even to plead for moderation. That would be rich entertainment for a fact!
But Glawen was not yet ready to beg for mercy, and stood just beyond Kirdy’s reach. Kirdy lunged, but again Glawen backed away, step by step, with the foam now swirling and bubbling around his legs. Kirdy splashed recklessly in pursuit. Glawen remained maddeningly a few yards beyond his reach. Would he never stop and take what was coming to him? Close at his back was the dim deep water where one sank forever and at last, still living, became putrid gray slime!
Glawen seemed oblivious to the danger. But now he could go no farther! Kirdy moved grimly forward to catch him.
The new surge raced shoreward past Kirdy, wetting him to the belly. He stopped short. Glawen, now less than three yards to seaward, scooped water into Kirdy’s face. Kirdy blinked and gave his head a furious shake.
The foam receded, sucking and pulling; Glawen and Kirdy were tugged a few steps down the beach. The water ebbed; Glawen stood close at hand, and Kirdy, maddened, made a spraddle-legged dive but came up short; Glawen had moved smartly away. Kirdy gained his footing but now he had lost his hat.
A great swell toppled and crashed; Kirdy was distracted and awed. The foam thrust at Glawen; he braced his feet and held his position; Kirdy was thrust a few yards up the beach. The surge returned and with it came Kirdy, half running, and at last he found himself at grips with Glawen. Uttering a glad snort he threw Glawen into the water and tried to kneel on his neck. Glawen swallowed a mouthful of brine and sand. Kirdy’s weight pressed on him, but without great effect. He brought up his legs, planted a foot in Kirdy’s stomach and heaved. Kirdy toppled over backward, and was carried away on the departing surge, out and under an enormous tumbling breaker. Glawen, rising to his feet, was propelled up the beach. Kirdy, caught in the undertow, had been carried out past the first line of breakers.
Glawen felt for his envelope. It was secure. He unbuttoned the flap, pulled it out and examined it. The heavy parchment had suffered not at all from its momentary contact with the salt water; its message, whether for good or ill, was secure.
Glawen began to shiver from chill and fatigue. He looked out over the water. Where was Kirdy? The incoming breakers hid the offshore water from view. Somewhere out there was Kirdy, floundering about and wondering why he was suddenly lost out on the ocean, when only an hour before he had been sitting in the Old Arbor.
Glawen trudged up the beach. He felt no emotion: certainly neither triumph nor gratification. He mused briefly upon his own conduct, then told himself: “What difference does it make, one way or the other? I am glad that he is gone.”
Glawen climbed to the road, and turned to look out over the ocean, and for an instant thought to see in the melancholy light of sunset a flailing black-clad arm and the flash of a pink face. When he looked again, he saw only heaving water.
Shivering from the chill of wet clothes, Glawen studied the western sky. Syrene could still be seen, with half of its substance showing vermilion-pink above the hills.
Where Wansey Way joined the beach highway, a bench had been arranged for the convenience of pedestrians. Arriving at this bench, Glawen again studied the western sky. Trees obscured the hills, but the light had started to fade and he decided that at last Syrene was gone. Sunset was now in progress.
Glawen seated himself on the bench. With his teeth chattering, he brought out the envelope, and with some difficulty broke into the stiff parchment. He withdrew the enclosed orange papers and began to read. Rapidly he skimmed through the three pages, then returned to the first paragraph, which was short and succinct, but which told him what he wanted to know.”
For the information of Glawen Clattuc:
Scharde Clattuc, so I am told and so I believe, is now held captive in a most unusual and difficult place. Why has he been treated so cruelly? I can only guess.
The wind blew on Glawen’s wet clothes, and set his teeth to chattering anew. He folded the pages, tucked them into the envelope, which he returned to his pocket. He looked once more out over the ocean, already indistinct in the afterglow. He saw nothing. He turned and at best speed trotted up Wansey Way.
Footnotes
Chapter I Footnotes
1
The first three cardinal numbers in the language of Ancient Etruria.
2
The biological techniques for introducing new species into alien surroundings without danger to the host environment had long been perfected.
3
Couplings between Yips and ordinary Gaeans yielded no progeny; Yips apparently were a subspecies of man in the process of differentiation: at least such was the speculation.
Yips, both men and women, were physically attractive; indeed, the beauty of Yip girls was proverbial.
4
A large number of Earth-native plants and trees had been introduced to enhance the already rich flora of Cadwal. In every instance the biologists had adapted the plant to the environment, imposing ingenious genetic safeguards to prevent ecological disaster.
5
Since islands were almost absent from the oceans of Cadwal, the principal discouragement to cruising lay in the lack of pleasant destinations. Dedicated yachtsmen might sail south to Stroma on Throy, or circumnavigate Deucas or even Cadwal itself: in the latter case making no landfall other than the dangerous coast of Ecce.
6
Genealogical details and SIs need not be remembered. They will be cited as sparingly as possible.
7
Had each house rated the other five in order of perceived prestige, and had the six estimates been combined, the consensus would have placed the Wooks and the Offaws at the top of the list, with the Veders and the Clattucs just below, then the Diffins and the Lavertys, though even in the most unkind estimation, the difference between top and bottom was not great.
8
The Conservator ignored the almost universal passion for gem collecting, so long as no significant mining operations were attempted.
9
Mad Dog: colloquial term for the Bureau A computer.
10
Deucas was divided into sixty districts, or “lands.” Marmion Land was that strip of pleasant savanna along the northeast coast directly opposite Lutwen Atoll. Already Yips were crossing over to set up camps and remain until apprehended and ejected by Bureau B patrols.
11
Originally “Ain-Milden” (literally “this day of silver”), equivalent to contemporary “Saturday.” The word
Ain
gradually dropped from usage and only the metal name remained. The days of the week, beginning with Monday: Ort, Ing, Glimmet, Verd, Milden and Smollen. Translated: iron, zinc, lead, copper, silver and gold.
12
Flights of inspection across the Conservancy, to monitor the movement of animal herds; to search for evidence of plague or blight; to take note of natural cataclysms such as floods, fires, storms and volcanic eruptions, and, most urgently, to discover and check any Yip encroachment into the mainland. Qualified cadets were therefore not discouraged from flying short patrols.
13
The life cycle of the butterfly is of considerable interest. After abandoning its wings, it makes for the sea, but not without adventure along the way. First the grubs must pass hummocks of cemented soil four feet high from which issue parties of warrior insects, who seek to capture or kill the grubs and carry them back into the hummocks. The grubs are neither helpless nor overmatched; with jets of ink they first blind their adversaries, then nip off their heads, and proceed. Across Maroli Meadow ferocious battles rage, while the ex-butterfly hordes march past unheeding.
Arriving upon the beach the grubs, having toiled so far, and now but ten yards from their goal, find a new hazard: darting, swooping birds. The survivors of this depredation face one last danger: the yoot, a bulky animal, hybrid of mandoril and rat (mandoril hybrids are widespread across all of Cadwal), lethargic of habit, wandering the beach, sucking up grubs through a long proboscis. A repellent creature, semiaquatic, with hide mottled pink and black, the yoot exudes a noxious odor, as do many other creatures of Cadwal.
The grubs which have escaped warrior insects, birds and animals still number in the millions. These plunge into the surf, to begin a new phase in their remarkable life cycles.
Among the rocks and reefs close to shore the ex-butterflies consume plankton, lose their legs, form a flexible carapace, a fishlike tail, and, indeed, presently become fish six inches long. Reacting to some mysterious signal, they swim to the east and away from Deucas, to begin a migration which will take them halfway around the world. Finally they arrive at a place south of Ecce, where an enormous bank of seaweed is trapped in a curl of the ocean current. Here the ex-butterflies, now foot-long fish, breed and lay eggs in the seaweed. With their destiny fulfilled, they die and float to the surface. The eggs hatch into kril, feed on the carcasses of their parents. Growing and undergoing ten molts to the condition of nymphs, the creatures crawl out on the seaweed and dry their wings. In due course they flutter into the air, and without ceremony depart for the west coast of Deucas.
Chapter II Footnotes
1
Almost any Yip girl would willingly perform sexual services if the remuneration were adequate. (Knowledgeable consensus held the money to be wasted, by reason of apathy.) In Yipton, a place called Pussycat Palace had been set aside for the amusement of tourists; here the girls (and boys) were trained to simulate at least the rudiments of enthusiasm, in order to encourage return trade.
2
IPCC: the Interworld Police Coordination Company, ages before a private concern, now a semiofficial police organization operating across the length and breadth of the Gaean Reach.
