Planet of Adventure Omnibus (59 page)

Reith said
grimly, “We’ll have to find out, one way or another. Notice where the street
passes closes to that broken building-”

“Suitable.”

The three
strolled past a crumbling buttress of concrete, then, once out of sight, jumped
to the side and waited. The two men came running past on long noiseless
strides. As they passed the buttress, Reith tackled one, Anacho and Traz seized
the other. With a sudden exclamation Anacho and Traz released their grip. For
an instant Reith sensed a curious rancid odor, like camphor and sour milk. Then
a bone-racking shudder of electricity sent him lurching back. He gave a croak
of dismay. The two men fled.

“I saw them,”
said Anacho in a subdued voice. “They were Pnumekin, or perhaps Gzhindra. Did
they wear boots? Pnumekin walk with bare feet.”

Reith went to
look after the pair, but in some miraculous fashion they had disappeared. “What
are Gzhindra?”

“Pnumekin
outcasts.”

The three
trudged back through the dank streets of Sivishe.

Anacho
presently said, “It might have been worse.”

“But why
should Pnumekin follow us?”

Traz
muttered, “They have been following us since we departed Settra. And maybe
before.”

“The Pnume
think strange thoughts,” said Anacho in a heavy voice. “Their actions seldom
admit of sensible explanation; they are the stuff of Tschai itself.”

THE THREE SAT
at a table outside the Ancient Realm Inn, sipping soft wine and watching the passing
folk of Sivishe. Music was the key to a people’s genius, thought Reith. This
morning, passing a tavern, he had listened to the music of Sivishe. The
orchestra consisted of four instruments. The first was a bronze box studded
with vellum-wrapped cones which when rubbed produced a sound like a cornet
played at the lowest possible range. The second, a vertical wooden tube a foot
in diameter, with twelve strings across twelve slots, emitted resonant twanging
arpeggios. The third, a battery of forty-two drums, contributed a complex
muffled rhythm. The fourth, a wooden slidehorn, bleated, honked and produced
wonderful squealing glissandos as well.

The music
performed by the ensemble seemed to Reith peculiarly simple and limited: a
repetition of simple melody, played with only the smallest variation. A few
folk danced: men and women, face to face, hands at sides, hopping carefully
from one leg to the other. Dull! thought Reith. Yet, at the end of the tune the
couples separated with expressions of triumph, and recommenced their exertions
as soon as the music started again. As minutes passed, Reith began to sense
complexities, almost imperceptible variations. Like the rancid black sauce
which drowned the food, the music required an intensive effort even to ingest;
appreciation and pleasure must remain forever beyond the reach of a stranger.
Perhaps, thought Reith, these almost-unheard quavers and hesitations were the
elements of virtuosity; perhaps the folk of Sivishe enjoyed hints and
suggestions, fugitive lusters, almost unnoticeable inflections: their reaction
to the Dirdir city so close at hand.

No less an
index to the thought-processes of a people was their religion. The Dirdir, so
Reith knew from conversations with Anacho, were irreligious. The Dirdirmen, to the
contrary, had evolved an elaborate theology, based on a creation myth which
derived Man and Dirdir from a single primordial egg. The submen of Sivishe
patronized a dozen different temples. The observances, as far as Reith could
see, followed the more or less universal pattern-abasement, followed by a
request for favors, as often as not foreknowledge regarding the outcome of the
daily races. Certain cults had refined and complicated their doctrines; their
doxology was a metaphysical jargon subtle and ambiguous enough to please even
the folk of Sivishe. Other creeds serving different needs had simplified
procedures so that the worshipers merely made a sacred sign, threw sequins into
the priest’s bowl, received a benediction and were off about their affairs.

The arrival
of Woudiver’s black car interrupted Reith’s musing. Artilo, leaning forth with
a leer, made a peremptory gesture, then sat crouched over the wheel staring off
down the avenue.

The three
entered the car, which lurched off across Sivishe. Artilo drove in a southeast
direction, generally toward the spaceyards. At the edge of Sivishe, where a
last few shacks dwindled out across the salt flats, a cluster of ramshackle
warehouses surrounded piles of sand, gravel, bricks, sintered marl. The car rolled
across the central compound and halted by a small office built of broken brick
and black slag.

Woudiver
stood in the doorway. Today he wore a vast brown jacket, blue pantaloons, and a
blue hat. His expression was bland and unrevealing; his eyelids hung halfway
across his eyes. He raised his arm in a gesture of measured welcome, then
backed into the dimness of the hut. The three alighted and went within. Artilo,
coming behind, drew himself a mug of tea from a great black urn, then, hissing
irritably, went to sit in a corner.

Woudiver
indicated a bench; the three seated themselves. Woudiver paced back and forth.
He raised his face to the ceiling and spoke. “I have made a few casual
inquiries. I fear that I find your project impractical. There is no difficulty
as to work-space, the south warehouse yonder would suit admirably and you could
have it at a reasonable rent. One of my trusted associates, the assistant
superintendent of supply at the spaceyards, states that the necessary
components are available ... at a price. No doubt we could salvage a hull from
the junkyard; you would hardly require luxury, and a crew of competent
technicians would respond to a sufficiently attractive wage.”

Reith began
to suspect that Woudiver was leading up to something. “So, then, why is the
project impractical?”

Woudiver
smiled with innocent simplicity. “For me, the profit is inadequate to the risks
involved.”

Reith nodded
somberly and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry then to have occupied so much of your
time. Thank you very much for the information.”

“Not at all,”
said Woudiver graciously. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor.
Perhaps when you return with your treasure, you will want to build a fine
palace; then I hope you will remember me.”

“Quite
possibly,” said Reith. “So now...”

Woudiver
seemed in no hurry to have them go. He settled into a chair with an unctuous
grunt. “Another dear friend deals in gems. He will efficiently convert your
treasure into sequins, if the treasure is gems, as I presume? No? Rare metal,
then? No? Aha! Precious essences?”

“It might be
any or none,” said Reith. “I think it best, at this stage, to remain
indefinite.”

Woudiver
twisted his face into a mask of whimsical vexation. “It is precisely this
indefiniteness which gives me pause! If I knew better what I might expect-”

“Whoever
helps me,” said Reith, “or whoever accompanies me, can expect wealth.”

Woudiver
pursed his lips. “So now I must join this piratical expedition in order to
share the booty?”

“I’ll pay a
reasonable percentage before we leave. If you come with us” Reith rolled his
eyes toward the ceiling at the thought “or when we return, you’ll get more.”

“How much
more, precisely?”

“I don’t like
to say. You’d suspect me of irresponsibility. But you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

From the corner
Artilo gave a skeptical croak, which Woudiver ignored. He spoke in a voice of
great dignity. “As a practical man I can’t operate on speculation. I would
require a retaining fee of ten thousand sequins.” He blew out his cheeks and
glanced toward Reith. “Upon receipt of this sum, I would immediately exert my
influence to set your scheme into motion.”

“All very
well,” said Reith. “But, as a ridiculous supposition, let us assume that,
rather than a man of honor, you were a scoundrel, a knave, a cheat. You might
take my money, then find the project impossible for one reason or another, and
I would have no recourse. Hence I can pay only for actual work accomplished.”

A spasm of
annoyance crossed Woudiver’s face, but his voice was blandness itself. “Then
pay me rent for yonder warehouse. It is a superb location, unobtrusive, close
to the spaceyards, with every convenience. Furthermore, I can obtain an old
hull from the junkyards, purportedly for use as a storage bin. I will charge
but a nominal rent, ten thousand sequins a year, payable in advance.”

Reith nodded
sagely. “An interesting proposition. But since we won’t need the premises for
more than a few months, why should we inconvenience you? We can rent more
cheaply elsewhere, in even better circumstances.”

Woudiver’s
eyes narrowed; the flaps of skin surrounding his mouth trembled. “Let us deal
openly with each other. Our interests run together, as long as I gain sequins.
I will not work on the cheap. Either pay earnest-money, or our business is at
an end.”

“Very well,”
said Reith. “We will use your warehouse, and I will pay a thousand sequins for
three months’ rent on the day a suitable hull arrives on the premises and a
crew starts to work.”

“Hmf. That
could be tomorrow.”

“Excellent!”

“I will need
funds to secure the hull. It has worth as scrap metal. Drayage will be a
charge.”

“Very well.
Here is a thousand sequins.” Reith counted the sum upon the desk. Woudiver
slapped down his great slab of a hand. “Insufficient! Inadequate! Paltry!”

Reith spoke
sharply. “Evidently you do not trust me. This does not predispose me to trust
you. But you risk nothing but an hour or two of your time whereas I risk
thousands of sequins.”

Woudiver
turned to Artilo. “What would you do?”

“Walk away
from the mess.”

Woudiver
turned back to Reith, spread wide his arms. “There you have it.”

Reith briskly
picked up the thousand sequins. “Good day, then. It is a pleasure to have known
you.”

Neither
Woudiver nor Artilo stirred.

The three
returned to the hotel by public passenger wagon.

A day later
Artilo appeared at the Ancient Realm Inn. “Aila Woudiver wants to see you.”

“What for?”

“He’s got you
a hull. It’s in the old warehouse. A gang is stripping and cleaning it. He
wants money. What else?”

THE HULL was
satisfactory, and of adequate dimensions. The metal was sound; the observation
ports were clouded and stained but well seated and sealed.

Woudiver
stood to the side as Reith inspected the hull, an expression of lofty tolerance
on his face. Every day, so it seemed, he wore a new and more extravagant
garment, today a black and yellow suit, a black hat with a scarlet panache. The
clasp securing his cape was a silver and black oval, bisected along the minor
axis. From one end protruded the stylized head of a Dirdir, from the other the
head of a man. Woudiver, noticing Reith’s gaze, gave a profound nod. “You would
never suspect as much from my physique, but my father was Immaculate.”

“Indeed! And
your mother?”

Woudiver’s
mouth twitched. “A noblewoman of the north.”

Artilo spoke
from the entry port: “A tavern wench of Thang, marshwoman by blood.”

Woudiver
sighed. “In the presence of Artilo, romantic delusion is impossible. In any
event, but for the accidental interposition of an incorrect womb, here would
stand Aila Woudiver, Dirdirman Immaculate of the Violet Degree, rather than
Aila Woudiver, dealer in sand and gravel, and gallant prosecutor of lost
causes.”

“Illogical,”
murmured Anacho. “In fact, improbable. Not one Immaculate in a thousand retains
Primitive Paraphernalia.”

Woudiver’s
face instantly became a peculiar magenta color. Whirling with astounding
swiftness, he pointed a thick finger. “Who dares talk of logic and probability?
The renegade Ankhe at afram Anacho! Who wore Blue and Pink without undergoing
the Anguish? Who disappeared coincidentally with the Excellent Azarvim issit
Dardo, who has never been seen again? A proud Dirdirman, this Ankhe at afram!”

“I no longer
consider myself a Dirdirman,” said Anacho in a level voice. “I definitely have
no ambition for the Blue and Pink, nor even the trophies of my lineage.”

“In this case
kindly do not comment upon the plight of one who is unluckily barred from his
rightful caste!”

Anacho turned
away, fuming with anger, but obviously deeming it wise to hold his tongue. It
appeared that Aila Woudiver had not been idle, and Reith wondered how far his
researches had extended.

Woudiver
gradually regained his composure. His mouth twitched, his cheeks puffed in and
out. He made a scornful noise. “To more profitable matters. What is your
opinion of this hulk?”

“Favorable,”
said Reith. “We could expect no better from the scrap-heap.”

“This is my
opinion as well,” said Woudiver. “The next phase of course will be somewhat
more difficult. My friend at the spaceyards is by no means anxious to run the
Glass Box, no more I. But an adequacy of sequins works wonders. Which brings us
to the subject of money. My out-of-pocket expenses are eight hundred and ninety
sequins for the hull, which I consider good value. Drayage charge: three
hundred sequins. Shop rental for one month: one thousand sequins. Total:
twenty-one hundred and ninety sequins. My commission or personal profit I
reckon at ten percent, or two hundred and nineteen sequins, to a total of
twenty-four hundred and nine sequins.”