The SF Hall of Fame Volume Two B (84 page)

Thissell continued to his houseboat, where he separately
interviewed each of his two new slaves and made notes upon his chart.

Dusk came soft over the Titanic Ocean. Toby and Rex sculled
the houseboat away from the dock, out across the silken waters. Thissell sat on
the deck listening to the sound of soft voices, the flutter and tinkle of
musical instruments. Lights from the floating houseboats glowed yellow and wan
watermelon-red. The shore was dark; the Night-men would presently come slinking
to paw through refuse and stare jealously across the water.

In nine days the
Buenaventura
came past Sirene on its
regular schedule; Thissell had his orders to return to Polypolis. In nine days,
could he locate Haxo Angmark?

Nine days weren't too many, Thissell decided, but they might
possibly be enough.

Two days passed, and three and four and five. Every day
Thissell went ashore and at least once a day visited Rolver, Welibus and
Kershaul.

Each reacted differently to his presence. Rolver was
sardonic and irritable; Welibus formal and at least superficially affable;
Kershaul mild and suave, but ostentatiously impersonal and detached in his
conversation.

Thissell remained equally bland to Rolvefs dour jibes,
Welibus' jocundity, Kershaul's withdrawal. And every day, returning to his
houseboat he made marks on his chart.

The sixth, the seventh, the eighth day came and passed.
Rolver, with rather brutal directness, inquired if Thissell wished to arrange
for passage on the
Buenaventura.
Thissell considered, and said,
"Yes, you had better reserve passage for one."

"Back to the world of faces," shuddered Rolver.
"Faces! Everywhere pallid, fish-eyed faces. Mouths like pulp, noses
knotted and punctured; flat, flabby faces. I don't think I could stand it after
living here. Luckily you haven't became a real Sirenese."

"But I won't be going back," said Thissell.

"I thought you wanted me to reserve passage."

"I do. For Haxo Angmark. He'll be returning to
Polypolis, in the brig."

"Well, well," said Rolver. "So you've picked
him out."

"Of course," said Thissell. "Haven't
you?"

Rolver shrugged. "He's either Welibus or Kershaul,
that's as close as I can make it. So long as he wears his mask and calls
himself either Welibus or Kershaul, it means nothing to me."

"It means a great deal to me," said Thissell.
"What time tomorrow does the lighter go up?"

"Eleven twenty-two sharp. If Haxo Angmark's leaving,
tell him to be on time."

"He'll be here," said Thissell.

He made his usual call upon Welibus and Kershaul, then
returning to his houseboat, put three final marks on his chart.

The evidence was here, plain and convincing. Not absolutely
incontrovertible evidence, but enough to warrant a definite move. He checked
over his gun. Tomorrow, the day of decision. He could afford no errors.

The day dawned bright white, the sky like the inside of an
oyster shell; Mireille rose through iridescent mists. Toby and Rex sculled the
houseboat to the dock. The remaining three out-world houseboats floated
somnolently on the slow swells.

One boat Thissell watched in particular, that whose owner
Haxo Angmark had killed and dropped into the harbor. This boat presently moved
toward the shore, and Haxo Angmark himself stood on the front deck, wearing a
mask Thissell had never seen before: a construction of scarlet feathers, black
glass and spiked green hair.

Thissell was forced to admire his poise. A clever scheme,
cleverly planned and executed—but marred by an insurmountable difficulty.

Angmark returned within. The houseboat reached the dock.
Slaves flung out mooring lines, lowered the gangplank. Thissell, his gun ready
in the pocket flap of his robes, walked down the dock, went aboard. He pushed
open the door to the saloon. The man at the table raised his red, black and
green mask in surprise.

Thissell said, "Angmark, please don't argue or make
any—"

Something hard and heavy tackled him from behind; he was
flung to the floor, his gun wrested expertly away.

Behind him the
hymerkin
clattered; a voice sang,
"Bind the fool's arms."

The man sitting at the table rose to his feet, removed the
red, black and green mask to reveal the black cloth of a slave. Thissell
twisted his head. Over him stood Haxo Angmark, wearing a mask Thissell
recognized as a Dragon-Tamer, fabricated from black metal, with a knifeblade
nose, socketed-eyelids, and three crests running back over the scalp.

The mask's expression was unreadable, but Angmark's voice
was triumphant. "I trapped you very easily."

"So you did," said Thissell. The slave finished
knotting his wrists together. A clatter of Angmark's
hymerkin
sent him
away. "Get to your feet," said Angmark. "Sit in that
chair."

"What are we waiting for?" inquired Thissell.

"Two of our fellows still remain out on the water. We
won't need them for what I have in mind."

"Which is?"

"You'll learn in due course," said Angmark.
"We have an hour or so on our hands."

Thissell tested his bonds. They were undoubtedly secure.

Angmark seated himself. "How did you fix on me? I admit
to being curious . . . Come, come," he chided as Thissell sat silently.
"Can't you recognize that I have defeated you? Don't make affairs
unpleasant for yourself."

Thissell shrugged. "I operated on a basic principle. A
man can mask his face, but he can't mask his personality."

"Aha," said Angmark. "Interesting.
Proceed."

"I borrowed a slave from you and the other two
out-worlders, and I questioned them carefully. What masks had their masters
worn during the month before your arrival? I prepared a chart and plotted their
responses. Rolver wore the Tarn-Bird about eighty percent of the time, the
remaining twenty percent divided between the Sophist Abstraction and the Black
Intricate. Welibus had a taste for the heroes of Kan-Dachan Cycle. He wore the
Chalekun, the Prince Intrepid, the Seavain most of the time: six days out of
eight. The other two days he wore his South-Wind or his Gay Companion.

Kershaul, more conservative, preferred the Cave Owl, the
Star Wanderer, and two or three other masks he wore at odd intervals.

"As I say, I acquired this information from possibly
its most accurate source, the slaves. My next step was to keep watch upon the
three of you. Every day I noted what masks you wore and compared it with my
chart. Rolver wore his Tarn Bird six times, his Black Intricate twice. Kershaul
wore his Cave Owl five times, his Star Wanderer once, his Quincunx once and his
Ideal of Perfection once. Welibus wore the Emerald Mountain twice, the Triple
Phoenix three times, the Prince Intrepid once and the Shark-God twice."

Angmark nodded thoughtfully. "I see my error. I
selected from Welibus' masks, but to my own taste—and as you point out, I
revealed myself. But only to you." He rose and went to the window.
"Kershaul and Rolver are now coming ashore; they'll soon be past and about
their business—though I doubt if they'd interfere in any case; they've both
become good Sirenese."

Thissell waited in silence. Ten minutes passed. Then Angmark
reached to a shelf and picked up a knife. He looked at Thissell. "Stand
up."

Thissell slowly rose to his feet. Angmark approached from
the side, reached out, lifted the Moon Moth from Thissell's head. Thissell
gasped and made a vain attempt to seize it. Too late; his face was bare and
naked.

Angmark turned away, removed his own mask, donned the Moon
Moth. He struck a call on his
hymerkin.
Two slaves entered, stopped in
shock at the sight of Thissell.

Angmark played a brisk tattoo, sang, "Carry this man up
to the dock."

"Angmark," cried Thissell. "I'm maskless!"

The slaves seized him and in spite of Thissell's desperate
struggles, conveyed him out on the deck, along the float and up on the dock.

Angmark fixed a rope around Thissell's neck. He said,
"You are now Haxo Angmark, and I am Edwer Thissell. Welibus is dead, you
shall soon be dead. I can handle your job without difficulty. I'll play musical
instruments like a Night-man and sing like a crow. I'll wear the Moon Moth till
it rots and then I'll get another. The report will go to Polypolis, Haxo Angmark
is dead. Everything will be serene."

Thissell barely heard. "You can't do this," he
whispered. "My mask, my face ..." A large woman in a blue and pink
flower mask walked down the dock. She saw Thissell and emitted a piercing
shriek, flung herself prone on the dock.

"Come along," said Angmark brightly. He tugged at
the rope, and so pulled Thissell down the dock. A man in a Pirate Captain mask
coming up from his houseboat stood rigid in amazement.

Angmark played the
zachinko
and sang, "Behold
the notorious criminal Haxo Angmark. Through all the outer-worlds his name is
reviled; now he is captured and led in shame to his death. Behold Haxo
Angmark!"

They turned into the esplanade. A child screamed in fright;
a man called hoarsely. Thissell stumbled; tears tumbled from his eyes; he could
see only disorganized shapes and colors. Angmark's voice belled out richly:
"Everyone behold, the criminal of the out-worlds, Haxo Angmark! Approach
and observe his execution!"

Thissell feebly cried out, "I'm not Angmark; I'm Edwer
Thissell; he's Angmark." But no one listened to him; there were only cries
of dismay, shock, disgust at the sight of his face. He called to Angmark,
"Give me my mask, a slavecloth. . ."

Angmark sang jubilantly, "In shame he lived, in
maskless shame he dies."

A Forest Goblin stood before Angmark. "Moon Moth, we
meet once more."

Angmark sang, "Stand aside, friend Goblin; I must
execute this criminal. In shame he lived, in shame he dies!"

A crowd had formed around the group; masks stared in morbid
titillation at Thissell.

The Forest Goblin jerked the rope from Angmark's hand, threw
it to the ground. The crowd roared. Voices cried, "No duel, no duel!
Execute the monster!"

A cloth was thrown over Thissell's head. Thissell awaited
the thrust of a blade. But instead his bonds were cut. Hastily he adjusted the
cloth, hiding his face, peering between the folds.

Four men clutched Haxo Angmark. The Forest Goblin confronted
him, playing the
skaranyi.
"A week ago you reached to divest me of
my mask; you have now achieved your perverse aim!"

"But he is a criminal," cried Angmark. "He is
notorious, infamous!"

"What are his misdeeds?" sang the Forest Goblin.

"He has murdered, betrayed; he has wrecked ships; he
has tortured, blackmailed, robbed, sold children into slavery; he has—"

The Forest Goblin stopped him. "Your religious
differences are of no importance. We can vouch however for your present
crimes!"

The hostler stepped forward. He sang fiercely, "This
insolent Moon Moth nine days ago sought to pre-empt my choicest mount!"

Another man pushed close. He wore a Universal Expert, and
sang, "I am a Master Mask-maker; I recognize this Moon Moth out-worlder!
Only recently he entered my shop and derided my skill. He deserves death!"

"Death to the out-world monster!" cried the crowd.
A wave of men surged forward. Steel blades rose and fell, the deed was done.

Thissell watched, unable to move. The Forest Goblin
approached, and playing the
stimic
sang sternly, "For you we have
pity, but also contempt. A true man would never suffer such indignities!"

Thissell took a deep breath. He reached to his belt and
found his
zachinko.
He sang, "My friend, you malign me! Can you not
appreciate true courage? Would you prefer to die in combat or walk maskless
along the esplanade?"

The Forest Goblin sang, "There is only one answer.
First I would die in combat; I could not bear such shame."

Thissell sang, "I had such a choice. I could fight with
my hands tied, and so die—or I could suffer shame, and through this shame
conquer my enemy. You admit that you lack sufficient
strakh
to achieve
this deed. I have proved myself a hero of bravery! I ask, who here has courage
to do what I have done?"

"Courage?" demanded the Forest Goblin. "I
fear nothing, up to and beyond death at the hands of the Night-men!"

"Then answer."

The Forest Goblin stood back. He played his
double-kamanthil.
"Bravery indeed, if such were your motives."

The hostler struck a series of subdued
gomapard
chords
and sang, "Not a man among us would dare what this maskless man has done."

The crowd muttered approval.

The mask-maker approached Thissell, obsequiously stroking
his
double-kamanthil.
"Pray Lord Hero, step into my nearby shop,
exchange this vile rag for a mask befitting your quality."

Another mask-maker sang, "Before you choose, Lord Hero,
examine my magnificent creations!"

A man in a Bright Sky Bird mask approached Thissell
reverently. "I have only just completed a sumptuous houseboat; seventeen
years of toil have gone into its fabrication. Grant me the good fortune of
accepting and using this splendid craft; aboard waiting to serve you are alert
slaves and pleasant maidens; there is ample wine in storage and soft silken
carpets on the decks."

"Thank you," said Thissell, striking the
zachinko
with vigor and confidence. "I accept with pleasure. But first a
mask."

The mask-maker struck an interrogative trill on the
gomapard.
"Would the Lord Hero consider a Sea-Dragon Conqueror beneath his
dignity?"

"By no means," said Thissell. "I consider it
suitable and satisfactory. We shall go now to examine it."