Jack Vance - Gaean Reach 01 (11 page)

Once again he looked down at the terrain passing below. They would still take him back, if he so requested, perhaps pleading illness. Gerd Jemasze’s reaction would be only mild puzzlement; he wouldn’t care enough one way or the other to feel disgust…Elvo scowled. Enough of all this self-pity and hand-wringing. He’d do his best to be a competent companion; if he failed, he failed, and that was that; he refused to think any more about it.

Gerd Jemasze pointed down to where three enormous gray beasts wallowed in a mudhole. One stood erect and shambled ashore, to stare vacuously up at the sky-car.

“Armored sloths,” said Gerd Jemasze. “Close cousins to the morphotes. Evolution left them far behind.”

“But no relation to the erjins.”

“None whatever. Some people say the erjins developed from the mountain gergoid: half-rat half-scorpion; other people say no. Erjins don’t leave fossils.”

The sky-car slid north. Ahead loomed the Palga, with the Volwodes stabbing the sky to the west. Gerd Jemasze took the sky-car higher, to fly just below the vast cumulus pillars which basked in the sunlight. The ground below heaved and rolled as if under pressure, then suddenly thrust up three thousand feet, the face of the scarp eroded into thousands of spurs and ravines. Beyond, far off and away across sunny distances, extended the Palga.

Close by the brink of the escarpment clustered a dozen whitewashed buildings with black-brown roofs. “No. 2 Depot,” said Gerd Jemasze succinctly. “You’ll probably see some export erjins…It won’t help to express your outrage.”

Elvo managed a good-natured laugh. “I’m here as an observer only.” He now reflected that he had never heard Gerd Jemasze voice an opinion one way or another on the matter of erjin enslavement. “What of yourself? What do you feel about the business?”

Gerd Jemasze considered a moment or two. “Personally, I wouldn’t care to be a slave.” He stopped talking and after a moment Elvo saw that he intended to express no further opinion—perhaps because he had formed none. Then, frowning at his own insensitivity, Elvo corrected this thinking. Gerd Jemasze had a subtle way of implying his point of view, and it would appear that he had expressed something like: “Offhand, the situation seems dirty and disreputable, but since we know so little about the total picture, I am reserving final judgment. As for the anguish of the Olanje Labor Guilds and the hurt feelings of the Society for the Emancipation of the Erjins, I can hardly take them seriously.” Elvo grinned. Such, translated into the language of Villa Mirasol, were Gerd Jemasze’s opinions.

The sky-car settled into the central compound at No. 2 Depot. To the left rambled a long low irregular structure of cemented soil, whitewashed, with a roof of haphazard angles and slopes supported by heavy poles: evidently an inn. Ahead, along the western edge of the compound, stood three barn-like structures with tall doors open at front and rear to reveal a number of vehicles in the process of construction. A rack supported a dozen large light pneumatic wheels, as high as a man or higher; beyond and through the construction sheds could be glimpsed other vehicles incongruously equipped with masts, yards, booms, sprits and rigging. To the right, along the northern edge of the compound, was ranged another complex of open sheds; some containing empty cages, others fitted with screened enclosures from which a dozen erjins looked stolidly forth.

In the construction shops the workmen had halted their activity. A half-dozen came out into the compound and approached the sky-car: sturdy brown men of no great stature. Several wore what Elvo considered absolutely preposterous headgear: horizontal disks of wood four feet in diameter and an inch thick secured to an iron casque strapped under the chin and around the nape of the neck. How could anyone work in such ungainly contraptions?

Gerd Jemasze now performed a most curious act. As the workmen came closer, he picked up a small stick and scratched a circle in the dirt of the compound to enclose the sky-car. The workmen halted, then came forward more slowly, to stop at the circumference of the circle. They were the first Wind-runners Elvo had seen: representatives of a race totally different from the Uldras. Their pale brown skin seemed colored by an innate pigment, rather than by exposure to the sun, and evinced the peculiar property of showing neither shadows nor highlights. Some wore cloth caps, others disks of wood and iron casques; where hair could be seen, it showed as a tousle of pale brown curls and was worn without evident attention to style. Their features were small and blunt except for rather heavy jaws; their eyes showed a haunting pale buff color. Certain of the men wore small mustaches; several had plucked away their eyebrows to give themselves a bland and quizzical expression. All wore short trousers of pale blue, gray or pale green, with loose shirts of similar material; all wore in their hair or on their caps what appeared to be ornaments of glass blown into intricate shapes and tied with colored ribbons.

Gerd Jemasze spoke: “Good luck; fair wind to all.”

The workers mumbled a responsive benediction. One asked: “Do you trade or do you buy?”

“My business has not yet been made clear to me. It will come in a dream.”

The workmen nodded in comprehension and muttered to each other. Elvo gaped in surprise; he had expected no such flights of fancy from the matter-of-fact Jemasze, who now indicated the circle. “Observe this fiap. It is enforced not by Ahariszeio, but by ourselves, our fists and the sting of our guns. Is this clearly understood?”

The workmen shrugged, shuffled their feet and craned their necks to examine the sky-car and its contents.

Jemasze asked: “Where is the priest?”

“Yonder, in his compartments, beyond the inn.”

Jemasze looked around at Kurgech, who leaned against the sky-car, a handgun significantly displayed. Jemasze turned back to the Wind-runners. “You can depart without regret; our property is neither loose nor free, but carefully guarded.”

The workers made polite signs and returned to the sheds. Elvo asked in bewilderment: “What is the meaning of all that?”

“The Wind-runners steal anything they can lay their hands on,” said Gerd Jemasze. “The protective signs, or talismans, are called fiaps; you’ll see them everywhere. The Wind-runners wear them in their hair.”

“Why do they wear those wooden disks?”

“They’ve violated some sort of religious ordinance. There’s no authority up here but the priesthood.”

Elvo grunted. “It gives me a headache just to think about it.”

“Sometimes the disks are four inches thick, or even six inches. The culprit in such a case usually dies in a week or two, unless someone takes care of him.”

“What does he do to earn a disk?”

Gerd Jemasze shrugged. “Spitting against the wind. Talking in his sleep. I’m not all that familiar with Wind-runner law. Come along; we’ll go find the priest and get ourselves some fiaps.”

The priest wore a white gown; his hair, dyed stark black, hung to his shoulders and terminated in small onyx balls. His round face was bare of hair and he had painted black circles around his eyes, giving himself an expression of owlish intensity. He showed no surprise at the sight of Gerd Jemasze and Elvo Glissam, though he had been asleep on his couch when they entered the compartment.

Gerd Jemasze now began a conversation which once again left Elvo Glissam wilted with astonishment: “Good winds to you, priest. We require a set of fiaps, covering all phases of life.”

“Indeed, indeed,” said the priest. “You intend to trade? You will not need so many fiaps.”

“We are not traders; we come to the Palga for pleasure and novelty.”

“Hi-ho! You must be easy men to please then. We offer neither carnivals nor melodious girls nor banquets of fat flesh. For a fact, we see very few if any of your ilk.”

“My friend Uther Madduc passed this way recently,” said Gerd Jemasze. “He tells me that you provided him fiaps and gave him counsel.”

“Not I, not I. Poliamides then held tenure. I am Moffamides.”

“In that case we will pay our respects to Poliamides.”

Moffamides’ eyes became round and brilliant; he pursed his mouth and gave his head a shake of disapprobation. “Poliamides has proved inconstant; he has abandoned the priesthood and gone out across the sarai
*
. Perhaps he was unduly responsive to your friend Uther Madduc.”

“In the name of Ahariszeio then, provide us fiaps; and make them strong.”

The priest went to look into a black leather case lined with pink felt, where rested a dozen rock-crystal spheres. He touched them, rearranged them, and jerked back with a small exclamation of surprise. “The portents are unfavorable! You must return to the Alouan.”

Gerd Jemasze said brusquely: “You have misused the spheres; the portents are favorable.”

Moffamides turned him a sharp sidelong look, the agate beads in his black hair clicking and softly clattering. “How can you say so? Are you priests?”

Jemasze gave his head a curt shake. “Uther Madduc is dead, as you know.”

Moffamides’ eyes bulged in apparently genuine surprise. “How should I know?”

“Through telepathy, which is one of your priestly skills, so I am told.”

“In certain circumstances only, and never as to events on the Alouan, where I know no more than you of the Palga.”

“Uther Madduc’s ghost has laid a charge on us. He and Poliamides became companions and each for assurance allowed the other a taste of his soul.”

Elvo Glissam listened in awe. And he had considered Gerd Jemasze dull and stolid!

Moffamides sat with owl eyes now half-closed and thoughtful. “I have heard nothing of this.”

“You have so been told, and if we must return to the Alouan without Uther Madduc’s soul, I will ask you to return with us and console his ghost.”

“Utterly impossible,” declared the priest. “I dare not leave the Palga.”

“In that case we must have a few words with Poliamides.”

Moffamides nodded slowly, thoughtfully, his eyes unfocused.

“First,” said Gerd Jemasze, “you must provide us fiaps.”

Moffamides once more became alert. “Fiaps of what nature?”

“Contrive us a fiap so that we may fly our sky-car across the Palga.”

Moffamides drew down the corners of his mouth and held up his forefinger. “Belches of gas and whines of energy on the excellent winds of Ahariszeio? Unthinkable! Nor will I work you a fiap of fair venture because I am aware of bodes and umbras, and all may not go well. At best I can contrive a general talisman commending you to the mercy of Ahariszeio.”

“Very good; we will accept this fiap with gratitude. Additionally, the sky-car must be protected against every manner of damage, nuisance and misfortune, including pilferage, destruction, curiosity, tampering, vandalism, defilement, removal or concealment. I want fiaps for myself and my companions, guarding us against molestation, harm, magic, beguilement, exploitation, capture or immobility, and the various stages and conditions of death. We will also need a suitable set of fiaps for our vehicle, assuring us of good winds, smooth turf, stability and fair destiny.”

“You require a great deal.”

“For a priest as close to Ahariszeio as yourself, our requirements are small. We could ask more.”

“It is quite enough. You must pay a fee.”

“We will discuss the fee on our return, after the fiaps have been proved.”

Moffamides opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “How far do you fare?”

“As far as necessary. Where is Poliamides?”

“Not close at hand.”

“You must then direct us to him.”

Moffamides nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I will give you direction and I will provide fiaps. They must be strong; and their power must not fade. Tomorrow they will be charged with force.”

Gerd Jemasze gave a curt nod. “Give us now a temporary fiap to secure the sky-car, and others to guard ourselves and our belongings overnight.”

“Take your sky-car behind the wagon shops. I will bring the fiaps.”

Gerd Jemasze returned to the sky-car, floated it over the wagon shops to the indicated area: a storage lot for dozens of vehicles, of various styles and sizes, old and new, from a three-masted cargo schooner on eight ten-foot wheels, to a three-wheeled skimmer with a single unstayed mast. Attached to each was a confection of twisted glass bulbs and rods of various colors from which depended ribbons long enough to drop past the side of the wagon.

Moffamides awaited them with a basket. “These are fiaps of general potency.” He brought the objects forth. “This red and green fiap is standard and will guard your sky-car indefinitely. These blue and whites will secure your belongings so long as you remain at the inn. The black, green and white fiap will guard this Uldra against vengeance, malice and ghost-clutch. The two black, blue and yellow fiaps will suffice for you Outkers.”

Jemasze attached the red and green fiap to the sky-car, distributed the others among Elvo, Kurgech and himself. “Quite correct,” said Moffamides, and without further ceremony departed the yard.

Jemasze regarded the fiaps dubiously. “Hopefully they’re operative and not just junk.”

“They are good fiaps,” said Kurgech. “They carry magic.”

“I don’t notice anything,” said Elvo in a subdued voice. “I suppose my sensibilities are atrophied.”

Jemasze went to inspect a tall-masted sloop on four six-foot wheels with a wicker deck and a small cabin. “All my life I’ve wanted to sail one of these wagons…This is probably too light and too small. That ketch yonder would be more suitable.”

The three repaired to the inn and entered a foyer, separated by a chest-high bar of scrubbed pale wood from the kitchen, where a stocky brown man, naked to the waist and glistening with sweat, tended a row of iron pots which bubbled and seethed on a great iron range. The three waited; the cook darted them a severe glance and seizing a cutlass began to dice a parsnip.

Into the chamber came a young woman, tall and slender, with a face impassive as that of a somnambulist. Elvo, always on the alert for odd human variants, was instantly fascinated. With any degree of animation this young woman might have manifested a most unusual beauty, comprising the languor of a nenuphar and the elegance of some swift white winter beast. But her face was still and the beauty was absent. Or almost absent, thought Elvo; perhaps it was there, stranger than ever, by implication. Her ivory skin was paler than that of the ordinary Wind-runner and showed a most subtle luster or bloom of an indefinable color: blue? blue-green? green-violet? Her hair, dark brown, hung to her shoulders and was contained at the forehead by a black fillet with a purple, black and scarlet fiap at the back.