The Blue World (9 page)

“This is
magnanimity indeed,” sneered Sklar Hast.

“What sort of
blubbering water-sheep do you take me for?”

Ixon Myrex nodded
curtly. “We feared that this might be your response. Now
violence is as abhorrent to us as it is to every man and woman of the
floats, and therefore we make no threats. Nevertheless we require
from you a solemn undertaking never again to engage in unorthodox
activities, or those which challenge the authority of King Kragen.”

“And if I
don’t?”

“Then we will
ask that you depart Tranque Float.”

“And where do
you suggest that I go?”

Semm Voiderveg
could contain his passion no longer. He pointed a white quivering
finger to the sea. “We suggest that you and others of your ilk
depart! There are other floats; they are mentioned in the Analects;
the Firsts saw them when the Ship of Space came down. Go forth then
to some other float and allow us who wish peace to live as we always
have.”

Sklar Hast’s lip
curled. “What of King Kragen? It seems that you contravene the
Covenant, suggesting that I trespass upon his ocean. What of that?”

“The trespass
then becomes an issue between you and King Kragen! The affair is none
of mine.”

“And if King
Kragen follows us to our new domicile, deserting the Home Floats?
What would the intercessors do then?”

Semm Voiderveg
blinked. The concept clearly took him by surprise. “If such an
exigency arises, be assured that we will know how to deal with it.”

Sklar Hast prepared
to return to his work. “I will not resign my rightful
guild-mastership; I promise no fidelity to you or King Kragen; I will
not set forth across the ocean.”

Semm Voiderveg
started to speak; but Ixon Myrex held up his hand. “What then do
you plan?” he asked cannily.

Sklar Hast stared
at him a long moment, with conflicting impulses struggling inside his
brain. All prudence and sagacity urged him to dissemble, to feign
orthodoxy or at least disinterest, while he arrived at some method to
kill King Kragen. But what if he failed in the attempt? Then once
again Tranque Float would be devastated and people who wanted nothing
to do with the project would be injured, even killed. It seemed only
just that he announce his intentions, in order to give those who
disapproved a chance to remove themselves. But by so warning Ixon
Myrex and Semm Voiderveg he guaranteed himself of their vigilance,
their antagonism, and possibly their interference. It was simple
common sense and good generalship to dissemble, to calm Ixon Myrex
and Semm Voiderveg and blunt their suspicions. What if a few innocent
persons did get killed? No battles were won without casualties. And
Sklar Hast tried to twist his tongue to speak evasion and
reassurance, but he could not do it; he was physically unable to put
on the necessary mask, and felt a great anger for his own weakness.

“If I were
you,” he said roughly, “I’d depart Tranque Float and stay
away. Because there might well be further unorthodoxy, as you call
it.”

“Exactly in
what degree?” asked Ixon Myrex crisply.

“I’ve made no
plans. I wouldn’t tell you in any event. But now, against my better
judgment, I’ve warned you.”

Semm Voiderveg once
more began to speak, but once more Ixon Myrex silenced him. “I
see that our attempt at a harmonious solution is in vain. You warned
me; I will warn you. Any attempt to offend King Kragen, any attempt
upon his dignity will be regarded as a capital crime. That is my
judgment as Arbiter of Tranque Float! You have challenged authority
and the majesty of tradition. Beware that your impudence does not
bring you to grief!”

One of the others
spoke: Gian Recargo, the Bezzler Elder, a man of great gentility,
rectitude, and presence. “Sklar Hast, are you aware of your
irresponsibility? You threaten the lives and properties of others who
wish no part of your mad antics; do you not feel shame?”

“I have
thought at length about the situation,” said Sklar Hast. “I
have concluded that a great evil exists, that inertia and fear press
so heavily upon otherwise worthy folk like yourself that you abide
this evil. Someone must be willing to take great risks, even with the
lives of other people. This is not irresponsibility; it is far more
responsibility than I relish. The judgment is not solely my own; I am
no monomaniac. Many other sane and responsible folk agree with me
that King Kragen must be defeated. Why do you not join us? Once the
sea-beast is destroyed, we are free. Is not this worth the risk? We
can use the ocean as we please! We need feed the gluttonous maw no
longer! The intercessors will be deprived of their sinecures and must
then work like the rest of us, which appalls them; hence their
antagonism. This is the way the future must go!”

Gian Recargo was
silent. Ixon Myrex tugged irritably on his beard. A heavy half moment
went by. Semm Voiderveg looked at them impatiently. “Why do you
not refute this incredible diatribe?”

Gian Recargo turned
away to look out over the lagoon; “I must think at length,”
he muttered. “I do not care to hear such a challenge to my
courage.”

“Bah,”
said Ixon Myrex uneasily. “Conditions were well enough in the
past. Who wants to sail the ocean? And the sponges consumed by King
Kragen are not a staggering tax upon us.”

Semm Voiderveg
smote the air with his fist. “This is superficial! The issue is
Sklar Hast’s abominable arrogance, his disrespect and irreverence
toward our great King Kragen!”

Gian Recargo turned
on his heel and walked slowly off across the float, Semm Voiderveg
made another angry gesticulation. Ixon Myrex held his ground a moment
longer, turned a searching gaze upon ruined tower, lagoon, Sklar
Hast, the others who stood attentively about, then made a nondescript
sound and marched away.

The hoodwinks and
larceners returned to work. Sklar Hast, with Roger Kelso, went off to
confer with Rollo Barnack, to hear his plan for killing King Kragen.
Both agreed that if conditions were right, if timing were precise, if
the materials were sufficiently tough, King Kragen might well be
killed.

Gradually the
evidence of disaster disappeared; gradually Tranque Float resumed its
normal aspect. The broken huts and shattered timbers were burned on
the fire-raft, and the ashes carefully stored for later use in the
manufacture, of soap, whitewash, fire-brick, the mordanting of cloth,
the weighting of sinkers, the clarification of varnish. The corpses,
after two weeks’ submersion in special receptacles, during which time
certain small finned worms stripped the flesh from the bones, were
conveyed to a remote part of the float where the hardest bones were
removed, and the remainder calcined for lime: a work which
traditionally had been the exclusive domain of advertisermen.

Withe had been cut,
seasoned, formed into new huts, covered with pad-skin and varnished;
new sponge arbors had been built, seeded with floss and lowered into
the bright blue water.

The hoodwink tower,
the most massive and complicated object of the float, was the last
structure to he rebuilt. The new tower was even taller than the old,
more massive in design, with a site somewhat closer to the lagoon.

The method of
construction was also different from the old and elicited
considerable comment among the folk of Tranque Float. Customarily
each leg descended through a hole in the float to be anchored in the
crotch of a sturdy underwater stem. In the new tower these supports
terminated in a low platform twenty-five feet square, and from this
platform rose the four legs: great poles a hundred feet long
fabricated from lengths of withe laid in varnish and whipped. The
legs, held rigid by spreaders, gradually converged, to terminate in a
frame six feet square.

The proportions of
the tower, the mass of the poles, and the comparatively small area of
the base platform, aroused as much curiosity and criticism as the
unconventional method of construction. Ixon Myrex on one occasion
taxed Rollo Barnack, the Master Larcener, with unorthodoxy.

“Never have I
seen a tower of this sort before!” he complained. “I see no
need for such heavy construction. The posts are as staunch above as
they are below: why is this?”

“It lends an
added solidity,” declared Rollo Barnack with a wise wink.

“Solid
perhaps, but so precariously narrow at the base that a good gust of
wind will tip it over and hurl it into the lagoon!”

“Do you really
think so?” Rollo Barnack asked earnestly, standing back and
inspecting the tower as if this were his first clear view of it.

“I am no
larcener,” Ixon Myrex went on, “and I know little enough of
construction, but this is how it appears to. me. Especially when the
tower house is built aloft and the lamps and hoods hung on the
cross-arm! Think of the force, the leverage!”

“You are quite
right,” said Rollo Barnack, “To counteract this force we
propose to run guy-lines.”

The Arbiter shook
his head in puzzlement. “Why did you not build in the old
manner, with legs sufficiently outspread so that the guy-lines were
not needed? This seems overcomplicated to me.”

“We use much
less float area,” Rollo Barnack pointed out. “This is a
significant consideration.”

Ixon Myrex shook
his head without conviction, but made no further protest.

So the guy-lines
were extended. Next the control house was added, then the great
yardarm on which the hoods and lamps hung. This last was constructed
with the most meticulous care, from sections of the densest stem
obtainable. Ixon Myrex, once again inspecting the construction, was
astounded by the mass of the yardarm. In explanation, Rollo Barnack
referred to the consequent lack of vibration and the greater control
thus afforded the hoodwinks. “Have no fear, Arbiter. Every
detail in the construction of this tower has been carefully thought
out.”

“Like the
guy-ropes, I suppose?” Ixon Myrex inquired sarcastically. “And
the manner in which the legs are affixed to the base platform—bound, no less! By ropes! Is this a solid manner in which to build a
hoodwink tower?”

“We hope it
will fulfill its purpose,” Rollo Barnack said. “If it does
this, we shall ask no more of it.”

And again Ixon
Myrex departed, shaking his head.

During this time
King Kragen had not appeared in the vicinity of Tranque Float.

From the Thrasneck
hoodwink tower came occasional news of his whereabouts: he had been
seen cruising to the south of Sankston heading west; he had put in at
Populous Equity to feed; he had fed again at Parnassus, the float
next west. Thereafter he submerged, and for two days nothing was
heard of him.

Tranque was almost
back to normal. The sponges were growing large and beginning to burst
from their husks; the huts had all been rebuilt; the new hoodwink
tower, if somewhat ponderous and top-heavy, stood tall and
impressive.

The yardarm had
been a long time in preparation. Each end was tapered to a point and
boiled in varnish for three days, then baked over a slow fire, until
the stem was hard and dense. Along the lengths were fixed reinforcing
struts; and all scraped and buffed and oiled so it shone smooth and
glossy.

Finally the yardarm
was hoisted to the top of the tower and secured in place, and again
no precaution seemed too great; first it was seated in a socket, then
glued, lashed, and pegged.

Once more Ixon
Myrex was baffled. “The tower stands askew!”

“How so?”
asked Rollo Barnack mildly.

“Notice how it
fronts—not directly upon the Thrasneck Tower as it should,
but considerably to the side. The folk on Thrasneck will read all our
winks with a squint, sidelong.”

Rollo Barnack
nodded judiciously. “We are not unaware of this condition. It
was planned in this manner, for the following reasons. First, it is
rumored that the Thrasneck folk are planning a new tower, to be
constructed somewhere along the line in which we now face. Second,
the configuration of the underwater stems has made it difficult to
fix the posts at any other angle than as you see, and we believe that
in time there be a gradual turning and twisting, which will bring the
tower more directly to bear upon the current Thrasneck tower.”

Intercessor Semm
Voiderveg, who had regained something of his former poise, joined
Ixon Myrex’s criticisms.

“This seems
the least graceful and efficient tower I have ever seen! Notice that
long, heavy, pointed yard-arm, and that narrow, elongated cabin
below; Has anyone ever seen the like before?”

Rollo Barnack
repeated his former remark. “It looks more than efficient to me.
If it fulfills its purpose, we will be more than happy.”

Ixon Myrex shook
his head sadly. “The folk of other floats believe us eccentric
and perverse as it is; with new tower staring blankly to sea, they
will consider us lunatics.”

“Correctly,
perhaps,” said Sklar Hast with a grin. “Why don’t you and
Voiderveg depart?”

“Let us not
talk about matters of the past!” muttered Ixon Myrex. “It
all seems a bad dream, as if it never happened.”

“Unfortunately
it did,” said Sklar Hast, “and King Kragen still swims the
sea. If only he would die of natural causes, or choke on a surfeit of
sponges, or drown!”

Semm Voiderveg
studied him levelly. “You are a man without reverence, without
fidelity.”

Ixon Myrex and Semm
Voiderveg presently departed.

Sklar Hast watched
them go. “What a situation!” he complained to Roger Kelso.
“We cannot act like honorable men; we cannot declare ourselves—instead we must skulk about in this half-brazen, half-furtive
pretense.”

“It is
pointless to worry about the matter,” said Kelso. “The
choice long since was made; we are now ready to act.”

“And if we
fail?”

Roger Kelso
shrugged. “I put our chances of success as one in three. All
must go with such exactness, such precision of timing as to make
optimism out of the question.”

Sklar Hast said,
“We must warn the folk of the float. This is the very least we
can do.”

Rollo Barnack and
Roger Kelso argued but without success. Sklar Hast finally had his
way, and in the early part of the evening he called a meeting of all
the folk of the float.

He spoke briefly
and to the point. “Tranque Float is once more whole. Life seems
to be placid and even. It is only fair to announce that this is
illusory. Many of us are not reconciled to the overlordship of King
Kragen, and we propose to end it. We may be unsuccessful; there may
be a new and even more disastrous set of circumstances in the future.
So all are warned, and are welcome to leave Tranque for other more
orthodox floats.”

Ixon Myrex jumped
to his feet. “Sklar Hast—you may not involve the rest of
us in your scheme! It is not right! This is my judgment as Arbiter.”

Sklar Hast made no
response.

Semm Voiderveg
spoke. “Naturally I endorse the arbiter’s views! And may I ask
how you propose to implement your preposterous schemes?”

“We are
evolving a strain of poisonous sponges,” Roger Kelso told him.
“When King Kragen eats, he will become waterlogged and sink.”

Sklar Hast turned
away, walked to the edge of the float to look off across the water.
Behind him was further wrangling; then by twos and threes and fours,
the folk went off to their various huts.

Meril Rohan came to
join Sklar Hast and for a moment both looked off across the twilight.
Meril Rohan said, “This is a difficult time we live in, without
clear-cut rights and wrongs, and it is hard to know how to act.”

“An era has
come to an end,” said Sklar Hast. “A Golden Age, an Age of
Innocence—it is ended. Violence, hate, turbulence have come
to the floats. The world will never be the same again.”

“A new and
better world may come of it all.”

Sklar Hast shook
his head. “I doubt it. If King Kragen foundered and sank at this
moment, there would still be changes. It seems as if suddenly the
time were ripe for change. We must go forward—or go back.”

Meril Rohan was
silent. Then she pointed toward Thrasneck. “Watch the winks.”

“…King…Kragen…seen…to…the…north…of…Quincunx…proceeding…in…an…easterly…direction…”

“The time is
not yet,” said Sklar Hast. “We are not quite ready.”

The next day King
Kragen was seen to the north of Tranque Float, drifting idly without
apparent purpose. For an hour he floated placidly, eye-tubes fixed on
Tranque, then veered close as if. in curiosity, and gave Tranque a
brief inspection. Semm Voiderveg, arrayed in his ceremonial robes,
came forth to stand at the edge of the float, where he performed his
ritual postures and beckonings. King Kragen watched a moment or two,
then, reacting to some unknowable emotion, gave a quick jerk and with
a surge of his vanes swung about and swam to the west, mandibles
scissoring, palps pushing in and out.

Semm Voiderveg made
a final genuflection, and watched King Kragen’s departure.

Nearby stood Sklar
Hast, and as Semm Voiderveg turned to go back to his hut, his gaze
met that of Sklar Hast. For a brief moment the two men studied each
other, with a hostility in which there existed no understanding.

Sklar Hast felt an
emotion far different from the simple contempt he felt for Ixon
Myrex. It was as if Semm Voiderveg were himself part kragen, as if in
his veins flowed a thick indigo ooze instead of red human blood.

A week later King
Kragen feasted on Bickle sponges, and the next day did likewise at
Thrasneck. On the day following, a hundred yards from the entrance to
Tranque lagoon, he slowly surfaced and once more gave Tranque Float a
deliberate, almost suspicious scrutiny. As Semm Voiderveg ran forth
in his ceremonial robes, Sklar Hast mounted the ladder to the
hoodwink house, but King Kragen slowly submerged. The water swirled
over his domed black turret; the sea lay calm and blue as before.

Sklar Hast came
down from the tower to meet Semm Voiderveg returning to his hut.
“King Kragen is vigilant! He knows Tranque Float for the haunt
of evil that it is! Beware!” And Semm Voiderveg strode off in a
flutter of black.

Sklar Hast looked
after him, wondering if Semm Voiderveg were perhaps mad. Returning to
the open-sided shed, where with a number of apprentices and assistant
hoodwinks he was constructing a pair of what he referred to as
“practice mechanisms,” he discussed the possibility with
Ben Kell, the Assistant Master Hoodwink, who had no opinion.

“In
Voiderveg’s opinion you are mad,” said Kelso. “These are
difficult matters to define. In the context of a year ago, Voiderveg
is saner than sane. With conditions as they are now, the question of
who is most sane wavers on an edge.”

Sklar Hast grinned
sourly. He had lost weight; his cheeks had become a trifle concave,
and there was a sprinkle of gray in the hair at his temples. “Let’s
take these things outside and give Myrex something new to worry
over.”

The mechanisms were
carried out and set on the float halfway between the tower and the
lagoon, one to the right, one to the left. In the lagoon, broad on
the tower, hung a large arbor already ripe with sponges. Twenty feet
beyond, apparently by sheer chance, floated a chip of of wood. The
chip, the two practice mechanisms, and the tower formed a rough
square seventy feet on a side.

Stakes were driven
into the substance of the float; the mechanisms were anchored firmly.
Upon each was a sighting device, similar to a navigator’s pelorus,
which Sklar Hast adjusted to bear on the floating chip.

He had prophesied
correctly. Almost immediately the Arbiter appeared with his now
familiar doubts and criticisms. He began in a tone of weary patience,
“What are these objects?”

“These are
practice machines for the apprentices. We will leave them here until
suitable accommodation is arranged under the tower.”