Jack Vance - Gaean Reach 01 (12 page)

In a soft voice the woman asked their needs and Gerd Jemasze rather brusquely spoke for three beds, supper and breakfast, and Elvo wondered at his indelicacy. The woman stepped back, as graceful and easy as a retreating wave and signaled to them; the three men followed her into a cavernous common room, dim and moving with mysterious shadows. Slabs of dark gray stone paved the floor; posts of smoke-stained timber supported the ceiling rafters, from which depended hundreds of barely visible fiaps. A long clerestory of a hundred purple and brown panes admitted a warm umbrous light which enhanced the quality of posts, beams and panels, enriched the dark red cloth which covered the tables, and as if by purposeful chiaroscuro dramatized the features of the other persons in the room. These were five men who sat gambling at a table, pounding with heavy fists and cursing for emphasis, while a pot-boy in a white apron served mugs of beer.

The young woman led the way across the common room, through a short passage and out upon a balcony which seemed to overlook nothing but sky. Elvo looked over the rail. The inn had been built on the very brink of the escarpment; the balcony hung out over emptiness. Between wall and posts were strung a number of hammocks, any of which, so the woman indicated, were at the disposal of the travelers. A walkway supported by long spider-leg stilts extended over the chasm; at the far end was the privy, consisting of a bar hanging over the windy emptiness and a pipe trickling cold water. Far below could be seen the twinkle of running water, which Elvo hoped was not the source of the Chip-chap.

The three men brought mugs of beer out upon the balcony: a soft pale brew fragrant of Palga sunshine and wortleberries. They sat drinking while Methuen the sun went down in a cataclysm of scarlet, rose, pink and red, like a king advancing to his doom.

Silence on the balcony. The tall woman came forth with new mugs of beer, then stood a moment staring at the sunset as if never in her life had she witnessed a sight so remarkable; after a moment she stirred and returned into the common room.

Elvo Glissam, half-intoxicated from the beer and the sunset, lost his misgivings; here, beyond question, was the richest moment of his life—and yet in such bizarre surroundings, with such inexplicable companions! Questions thronged his mind. He spoke to Kurgech: “The fiaps: do they actually control the Wind-runners?”

“They know no other control.”

“What would happen if a person disobeyed a fiap?”

Kurgech made a small motion, implying that the question hardly need be asked. “The offenders suffer, and often die.”

“How did you know that the priest’s fiaps held magic?”

Kurgech merely shrugged.

Jemasze said, “If you live where magic is unknown, you’ll never recognize it.”

Elvo looked out over the sky. “I’ve had no experience with magic…until now.”

Dusk began to blur the panorama; the woman made a stately appearance to announce that supper had been laid out. The three men followed her into the common room and dined on saltbread, broad beans and sausage, a pickle of unknown ingredients, a salad of sweet grasses. The gamblers ignored all but their game, which was played with four-inch rods of polished wood, tipped at each end with daubs of bright color, usually, but not always, different end from end. Each player in turn took a rod from a receptacle, concealing the tips from the sight of the opposing players until, usually after deliberation, he displayed one or the other end in his rack. After each draw a discard might or might not be made into the center of the table, usually with a curse or an exclamation. The game occasioned considerable tension, with glances of surprise and frowns of calculation being exchanged among the players.

Jemasze and Kurgech presently went out to their hammocks. Elvo sat watching the game, which he found to be more complicated than first appearances suggested. The hundred and five rods were divided into twenty-one sorts, ringing the combinations of red, black, orange, white, blue, green. To start a game the rods were placed in the receptacle, which was then agitated until a rod fell horizontally down a slot which concealed both ends. The player took the rod, examined it surreptitiously then thrust one end up through a hole in the rack on the table before him. Each player drew in turn, holding or discarding until each player had five rods protruding from his rack, these displaying a variation of colors, with another variation of colors concealed and known only to the player holding the rack. The players bet after each round of draws, meeting or raising the bets or dropping from the game as they deemed their chances warranted. Each player then drew another rod and either discarded it or thrust it up into his rack, usually discarding one of the rods he previously held; and so on until all the rods had been drawn, selected or discarded. The players now considered the discards, the colors displayed above the boxes, and with this information each attempted to calculate the colors hidden by the racks of his opponents: all of which served as a basis for a final round of bets. The players then displayed the concealed ends of their rods. The high-ranking set of rods took the accumulation of bets. Elvo, somewhat intimidated by the visceral grunts of emotion, let diffidence be the better part of curiosity and kept a respectful distance from the game; he was therefore unable to learn the hierarchy of combinations.

The young woman came forward once again to serve a mug of unrequested beer, which Elvo was pleased to accept. He tried to catch the woman’s eye so that he might have a friendly word with her when into the room came a man of most extraordinary appearance and mien. His face exhibited a range of mismatched over-large features: an odd wide jaw, sunken cheeks, heavy cheekbones, a splayed nose, a tall round forehead, a wide flexible slit of a mouth twisted in a mindless grin. His eyes, round and pale buff, blinked and winced as if the light were uncomfortable. Long heavy arms dangled from burly shoulders; his torso was knotted and knobbed with bone and muscle; his long legs terminated in massive feet. He looked, thought Elvo, both imbecilic and cunning; simple yet rich in fancy.

The gamblers saw him with little side-flicks of vision but paid him no heed; the pot-boy ignored him as if he had not existed. He approached the woman and spoke to her; then, with a soft sad grin on his face, struck her an open-handed blow on the side of the head, creating a sound which caused Elvo’s stomach to churn. The woman fell to the floor; the man kicked her in the neck.

An instantaneous image struck into Elvo’s mind which never would leave him: the pale young woman on the floor, blood oozing from her mouth, face placid, eyes staring; the man looking down in proud delight, heavy foot raised to kick again, like a man performing a grotesque jig; the players at the table showing glittering side-glances but indifferent and remote; himself, Elvo Glissam of Olanje, sitting astounded and horrified. To his amazement he saw himself reach out, catch the foot and pull, so that the man fell sprawling, only to leap up with incredible lightness, and still smiling his soft sad smile, aim a kick for Elvo’s head. Never in his life had Elvo fought with his hands; he hardly knew what to do except jerk back, so that the force of the kick thrust air against his face. In desperation he seized the foot and ran forward. The man, face suddenly contorted in dismay, hopped back with lurching foolish hops, out the door, out across the balcony, over the rail, out into the void.

With nothing better to do, Elvo tottered back to his seat. He sat panting and presently he drank from the mug of beer. The players occupied themselves with their game. The woman hobbled away. The room was quiet except for the sounds at the gaming table. Elvo rubbed his forehead and stared down into the beer. The episode evidently had been a hallucination…For several minutes Elvo sat immobile. An odd thought occurred to him: the man had worn no fiaps, no talismans of protection. Elvo thoughtfully finished the mug of beer, then rose to his feet and went out to his hammock.

I
n the morning no reference was made to the episode. The inn-keeper served a breakfast of bread, tea and cold meat, and took coins from Gerd Jemasze in settlement of the account. The three departed Sailmaker’s Inn, crossed the compound to the area behind the workshops. The sky-car rested as they had left it. Jemasze turned his attention to the sail-wagons. At a big eight-wheeled beer-cart, with three masts, a multiplicity of yards, shrouds, sprits and halyards, he merely glanced; the six-wheeled and four-wheeled house-wagons he gave more consideration. Their pneumatic wheels stood eight feet tall; the house hung on spring suspensions with less than two feet of ground clearance; most were rigged as schooners or two-masted brigantines; like the cargo-wagons, they seemed more adapted to passages down the monsoon winds than to speed or maneuverability.

Jemasze turned his attention to a land-yawl about thirty feet long, with four independently sprung wheels, a flat bed with a pair of cuddies fore and aft. The shop foreman had been unobtrusively watching; now he came forward to ascertain Jemasze’s requirements, and the two engaged in negotiations which occupied the better part of an hour. Jemasze finally obtained a rental rate for the land-yawl at a figure he considered tolerable, and the shop foreman went off to find sails for the craft. Jemasze and Kurgech returned to the inn to buy provisions, while Elvo transferred luggage and personal belongings from the sky-car to the land-yawl.

Moffamides the priest sauntered across the yard. “You have selected a good wagon for your journey,” he told Elvo. “Sound and stiff, fast and easy.”

Elvo Glissam politely acquiesced in the priest’s judgment. “What kind of sail-wagon did Uther Madduc use?”

Moffamides’ eyes went blank. “A wagon somewhat similar, so I would suppose.”

Several men came forth from the shop with sails which they proceeded to bind to the masts. Moffamides watched with an air of benign approval. Elvo wondered whether he should refer to the events of the night before, which now seemed totally unreal. Some kind of conversation seemed in order. He counterfeited a tone of ease and lightness. “My home is in Szintarre; at Olanje, actually. I’ve become interested in the erjins. How in the world do you tame such creatures?”

Moffamides slowly turned his head and inspected Elvo through heavy-lidded eyes. “The process is complicated… We start with erjin cubs and train them to our commands.”

“I assumed as much, but how can a ferocious beast become a semi-intelligent domestic servant?”

“Ha ha! The ferocious beasts are semi-intelligent at the start! We convince them that they live better as Uldra mounts than as starvelings running naked across the desert, and better still as Outker house servants.”

“Then you communicate with them?”

Moffamides raised his eyes to the sky. “To some extent.”

“Telepathically?”

Moffamides frowned. “We are not truly adept.”

“Hmm. In Olanje an important society intends to stop the enslavement of erjins. What do you think of this?”

“Foolishness. The erjins are otherwise wasted and we are supplied good wheels and bearings and metal parts for our sail-wagons. The commerce is profitable.”

“Don’t you consider the commerce immoral?”

Moffamides looked at Elvo in what seemed mild perplexity. “It is work approved by Ahariszeio.”

“I would like to visit the laboratories, or camps, whatever they are called. Could such a visit be arranged?”

Moffamides gave a curt laugh. “Impossible. Here are your friends.”

Jemasze and Kurgech returned to the land-yawl. Moffamides gave them a sedate greeting. “Your craft is eager and yearns for the sarai. A fair wind offers; it is time you were away.”

“All very well,” said Jemasze, “but how do we find Poliamides?”

“You would do best to forget Poliamides. He is far away. Like all Outkers you brood too much upon the evanescent.”

“I concede the fault; where is Poliamides?”

Moffamides made an easy gesture. “I cannot say; I do not know.”

Kurgech leaned forward to stare into the priest’s pale buff eyes. Moffamides’ face went lax. Kurgech said softly: “You are lying.”

Moffamides became angry. “Practice none of your Blue magic here on the Palga! We are not without defenses!” He recovered his poise almost instantly. “I only try to protect you. The omens are bad. Uther Madduc came to grief, and now you go forth to repeat his mistake. Is it any wonder that I perceive false winds?”

“Uther Madduc was killed by a Blue,” said Gerd Jemasze. “So far as I know, there was no connection between his death and his trip across the Palga.”

Moffamides smiled. “Perhaps you are wrong.”

“Perhaps. Do you intend to help us or hinder us?”

“I help you best by urging your return to the Alouan.”

“What danger would we encounter? The Palga is famous for its tranquility.”

“Never thwart the Srenki,” said Moffamides. “They work their tragic deeds and so protect us all.”

Enlightenment came to Elvo; the terrible man of the night before had been one of them. Was Moffamides now conveying an oblique warning or reproach?

“They bear their unhappy lot with pain,” intoned Moffamides. “If one is mishandled, the others exact an exaggerated retribution.”

“This is nothing to us,” said Jemasze. “Inform us as to Poliamides and we will be on our way.”

Elvo Glissam frowned off into the sky. Moffamides said: “Fare northeast on a broad reach. Turn into the third track which you will discover on the third day. Follow the track four days to the Aluban, which is a great forest, and at the white pillar ask for Poliamides.”

“Very good. You have prepared our fiaps?”

Moffamides stood silent a moment; then he turned and walked away. Five minutes later he returned with a wicker box. “Here are potent fiaps. The green-yellow guards your land-yawl. The orange-black-whites provide for your personal protection. I wish you the joy of whatever fair winds Ahariszeio sees fit to send you.”

Moffamides stalked from the yard.

Elvo, Kurgech and Gerd Jemasze climbed aboard the land-yawl; Jemasze activated the auxiliary motor and the yawl rolled out upon the sarai. From the south blew the monsoon breeze. Elvo took the wheel while Kurgech and Jemasze hoisted jib, mainsail and mizzen; off across the resilient soum
*
rolled the land-yawl. Elvo leaned back in the seat, looked up at the sky, surveyed the landscape, where the only contrast came from moving cloud-shadows, and glanced astern at the diminishing No. 2 Depot. Freedom! Out upon the windy sarai with only space around him! Oh for the life of a Wind-runner!