Vance, Jack - Tschai 2 - Servants of the Wankh

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SERVANTS OF THE WANKH

CHAPTER ONE

Two THOUSAND MILES east of Pera, over the heart of the Dead Steppe, the

sky-raft faltered, flew smoothly for a moment, then jerked and bucked in a most

ominous fashion. Adam Reith looked aft in dismay, then ran to the control

belvedere. Lifting the voluted bronze housing, he peered here and there among

the scrolls, floral hatchings, grinning imp faces which almost mischievously

camouflaged the engine.* He was joined by the Dirdirman Ankhe at afram Anacho.

Reith asked, "Do you know what's wrong?"

Anacho pinched up his pale nostrils, muttered something about an "antiquated

Chasch farrago" and "insane expedition to begin with." Reith, accustomed to the

Dirdirman's foibles, realized that he was too vain to admit ignorance, too

disdainful to avow knowledge so crass.

The raft shuddered again. Simultaneously from a four-pronged case of black

wood to the side of the engine compartment came small rasping noises. Anacho

gave it a lordly rap with his knuckles. The groaning and shuddering ceased.

"Corrosion," said Anacho. "Electromorphic action across a hundred years or

longer. I believe this to be a copy of the unsuccessful Heizakim Bursa, which

the Dirdir abandoned two hundred years ago."

"Can we make repairs?"

"How should I know such things? I would hardly dare touch it.

They stood listening. The engine sighed on without further pause. At last

Reith lowered the housing. The two returned forward.

Traz lay curled on a settee after standing a night watch. On the green

crush-cushioned seat under the ornate bow lantern sat the Flower of Cath, one

leg tucked beneath the other, head on her forearms, staring eastward toward

Cath. So had she huddled for hours, hair blowing in the wind, speaking no word

to anyone. Reith found her conduct perplexing. At Pera she had yearned for Cath;

she could talk of nothing else but the ease and grace of Blue Jade Palace, of

her father's gratitude if Reith would only bring her home. She had described

wonderful balls, extravaganzas, water-parties, masques according to the turn of

the "round." ("Round? What did she mean by 'round'?" asked Reith. Ylin-Ylan, the

Flower of Cath, laughed excitedly. "It's just the way things are, and how they

become! Everybody must know and the clever ones anticipate; that's why they're

clever! It's all such fun!") Now that the journey to Cath was actually underway

the Flower's mood had altered. She had become pensive, remote, and evaded all

questions as to the source of her abstraction. Reith shrugged and turned away.

Their intimacy was at an end: all for the best, or so he told himself. Still,

the question nagged at him: why? His purpose in flying to Cath was twofold:

first, to fulfill his promise to the girl; secondly, to find, or so he hoped, a

technical basis to permit the construction of a spaceboat, no matter how small

or crude. If he could rely upon the cooperation of the Blue Jade Lord, so much

the better. Indeed, such sponsorship was a necessity.

The route to Cath lay across the Dead Steppe, south under the Ojzanalai

Mountains, northeast along the Lok Lu Steppe, across the Zhaarken or the Wild

Waste, over Achenkin Strait to the city Nerv, then south down the coast of

Charchan to Cath. For the raft to fail at any stage of the journey short of Nerv

meant disaster. As if to emphasize the point, the raft gave a single small jerk,

then once more flew smoothly.

The day passed. Below rolled the Dead Steppe, dun and gray in the wan light

of Carina 4269. At sunset they crossed the great Yatl River and all night flew

under the pink moon Az and the blue moon Braz. In the morning low hills showed

to the north, which ultimately would swell and thrust high to become the

Ojzanalais.

At midmorning they landed at a small lake to refill water tanks. Traz was

uneasy. "Green Chasch are near." He pointed to a forest a mile south. "They hide

there, watching us."

Before the tanks were full, a band of forty Green Chasch on leap-horses

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lunged from the forest. Ylin-Ylan was perversely slow in boarding the raft.

Reith hustled her aboard; Anacho thrust over the lift-arm-perhaps too hurriedly.

The engine sputtered; the raft pitched and lurched.

Reith ran aft, flung up the housing, pounded the black case. The sputtering

stopped; the raft lifted only yards ahead of the bounding warriors and their

ten-foot swords. The leap-horses slid to a halt, the warriors aimed catapults

and the air streamed with long iron bolts. But the raft was five hundred feet

high; one or two of the bolts bumped into the hull at the height of their

trajectory and fell away.

The raft, shuddering spasmodically, moved off to the east. The Green Chasch

set off in pursuit; the raft, sputtering, pitching, yawing, and occasionally

dropping its bow in a sickening fashion gradually left them behind.

The motion became intolerable. Reith jarred the black case again and again

without significant effect. "We've got to make repairs," he told Anacho.

"We can try. First we must land."

"On the steppe? With the Green Chasch behind us?"

"We can't stay aloft."

Traz pointed north, to a spine of hills terminating in a set of isolated

buttes. "Best that we land on one of those flat-topped peaks."

Anacho nudged the raft around to the north, provoking an even more alarming

wobble; the bow began to gyrate like an eccentric toy.

"Hang on!" Reith cried out.

"I doubt if we can reach that first hill," muttered Anacho.

"Try for the next one!" yelled Traz. Reith saw that the second of the buttes,

with sheer vertical walls, was clearly superior to the first-if the raft would

stay in the air that long.

Anacho cut speed to a mere drift. The raft wallowed across the intervening

space to the second butte, and grounded. The absence of motion was like silence

after noise.

The travelers descended from the raft, muscles stiff from tension. Reith

looked around the horizon in disgust: hard to imagine a more desolate spot than

this, four hundred feet above the center of the Dead Steppe. So much for his

hope of an easy passage to Cath.

Traz, going to the edge of the butte, peered over the cliff. "We may not even

be able to get down."

The survival kit which Reith had salvaged from the wrecked scout boat

included a pellet gun, an energy cell, an electronic telescope, a knife,

antiseptics, a mirror, a thousand feet of strong cord. "We can get down," said

Reith. "I'd prefer to fly." He turned to Anacho, who stood glumly considering

the sky-raft. "Do you think we can make repairs?"

Anacho rubbed his long white hands together in distaste. "You must realize

that I have no such training in these matters."

"Show me what's wrong," said Reith. "I can probably fix it."

Anacho's droll face grew even longer. Reith was the living refutation of his

most cherished axioms. According to orthodox Dirdir doctrine, Dirdir and

Dirdirmen had evolved together in a primeval egg on the Dirdir homeworld Sibol;

the only true men were Dirdirmen; all others were freaks. Anacho found it hard

to reconcile Reith's competence with his preconceptions, and his attitude was a

curious composite of envious disapproval, grudging admiration, unwilling

loyalty. Now, rather than allow Reith to excel him in yet another aspect, he

hurried to the stern of the skyraft and thrust his long pale clown's face under

the housing.

The surface of the butte was scoured clean of vegetation, with here and there

little channels half-full of coarse sand. Ylin-Ylan wandered moodily across the

butte. She wore the gray steppe dwellers' trousers and blouse, with a black

velvet vest; her black slippers were probably the first to walk the rough gray

rock, thought Reith ... Traz stood looking to the west. Reith joined him at the

edge of the butte. He studied the dismal steppe, but saw nothing.

"The Green Chasch," said Traz. "They know we're here."

Reith once more scanned the steppe, from the low black hills in the north to

the haze of the south. He could see no flicker of movement, no plume of dust. He

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brought out his scanscope, a binocular photo-multiplier, and probed the

gray-brown murk. Presently he saw bounding black specks, like fleas. "They're

out there, for a fact."

Traz nodded without great interest. Reith grinned, amused as always by the

boy's somber wisdom. He went to the sky-raft. "How go the repairs?"

Anacho's response was an irritated motion of arms and shoulders. "Look for

yourself."

Reith came forward, peered down at the black case, which Anacho had opened,

to reveal an intricacy of small components. "Corrosion and sheer age are at

fault," said Anacho. "I hope to introduce new metal here and here." He pointed.

"It is a notable problem without tools and proper facilities."

"We won't leave tonight then?"

"Perhaps by tomorrow noon."

Reith walked around the periphery of the butte, a distance of three or four

hundred yards, and was somewhat reassured. Everywhere the walls were vertical,

with fins of rock at the base creating crevices, and grottos. There seemed no

easy method to scale the walls, and he doubted if the Green Chasch would go to

vast trouble for the trivial pleasure of slaughtering a few men.

The old brown sun hung low in the west; the shadows of Reith and Traz and

Ylin-Ylan stretched long across the top of the butte. The girl turned away from

her contemplation of the east. She watched Traz and Reith for a moment, then

slowly, almost reluctantly, crossed the sandstone surface and joined them. "What

are you looking at?"

Reith pointed. The Green Chasch on their leap-horses were visible now to the

naked eye: dark motes hopping and bounding in bone-jarring leaps.

Ylin-Ylan drew her breath. "Are they coming for us?"

"I imagine so."

"Can we fight them off? What of our weapons?"

"We have sandblasts* on the raft. If they climbed the cliffs after dark they

might do some damage. During daylight we don't need to worry."

Ylin-Ylan's lips quivered. She spoke in an almost inaudible voice. "If I

return to Cath, I will hide in the farthest grotto of the Blue Jade garden and

never again appear. If ever I return."

Reith put his arm around her waist; she was stiff and unyielding. "Of course

you'll return, and pick up your life where it left off."

"No. Someone else may be Flower of Cath; she is welcome ... So long as she

chooses other than Ylin-Ylan for her bouquet."

The girl's pessimism puzzled Reith. Her previous trials she had borne with

stoicism; now, with fair prospects of returning home, she had become morose.

Reith heaved a deep sigh and turned away.

The Green Chasch were no more than a mile distant. Reith and Traz drew back

to attract no notice in the event that the Chasch were unaware of their

presence. The hope was soon dispelled. The Green Chasch bounded up to the base

of the butte, then, dismounting from their horses, stood looking up the cliff

face. Reith, peering over the side, counted forty of the creatures. They were

seven and eight feet tall, massive and thick-limbed, with pangolin-scales of

metallic green. Under the jut of their crania their faces were small, and, to

Reith's eyes, like the magnified visage of a feral insect. They wore leather

aprons and shoulder harness; their weapons were swords which, like all the

swords of the Tschai, seemed long and unwieldy, and these, eight and ten feet

long, even more so. Some of them armed their catapults; Reith ducked back to

avoid the flight of bolts. He looked around the butte for boulders to drop over

the side, but found none.

Certain of the Chasch rode around the butte, examining the walls. Traz ran

around the periphery, keeping watch.

All returned to the main group, where they muttered and grumbled together.

Reith thought that they showed no great zest for the business of scaling the

wall. Setting up camp, they tethered their leap-horses, thrust chunks of a dark

sticky substance into the pale maws. They built three fires, over which they

boiled chunks of the same substance they had fed the leap-horses, and at last

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hulking down into toad-shaped mounds, joylessly devoured the contents of their

cauldrons. The sun dimmed behind the western haze and disappeared. Umber

twilight fell over the steppe. Anacho came away from the raft and peered down at

the Green Chasch. "Lesser Zants," he pronounced. "Notice the protuberances to

each side of the head? They are thus distinguished from the Great Zants and

other hordes. These are of no great consequence."

"They look consequential enough to me," said Reith.

Traz made a sudden motion, pointed. In one of the crevices, between two vanes

of rock, stood a tall dark shadow. "Phung!"

Reith looked through the scanscope and saw the shadow to be a Phung indeed.

From where it had come he could not guess.

It was over eight feet in height, in its soft black hat and black cloak, like

a giant grasshopper in magisterial vestments.

Reith studied the face, watching the slow working of chitinous plates around

the blunt lower section of the face. It watched the Green Chasch with brooding

detachment, though they crouched over their pots not ten yards away.

"A mad thing," whispered Traz, his eyes glittering. "Look, now it plays

tricks!"

The Phung reached down its long thin arms, raised a small boulder which it

heaved high into the air. The rock dropped among the Chasch, falling squarely

upon a hulking back.

The Green Chasch sprang up, to glare toward the top of the butte. The Phung

stood quietly, lost among the shadows. The Chasch which had been struck lay flat

on its face, making convulsive swimming motions with arms and legs.

The Phung craftily lifted another great rock, once more heaved it high, but

this time the Chasch saw the movement. Venting squeals of fury they seized their

swords and flung themselves forward. The Phung took a stately step aside, then

leaping in a great flutter of cloak snatched a sword, which it wielded as if it

were a toothpick, hacking, dancing, whirling, cutting wildly, apparently without

aim or direction. The Chasch scattered; some lay on the ground, and the Phung

jumped here and there, slashing and slicing, without discrimination, the Green

Chasch, the fire, the air, like a mechanical toy running out of control.

Crouching and shifting, the Green Chasch hulked forward. They chopped, cut;

the Phung threw away the sword as if it were hot, and was hacked into pieces.

The head spun off the torso, landed on the ground ten feet from one of the

fires, with the soft black hat still in place. Reith watched it through the

scanscope. The head seemed conscious, untroubled. The eyes watched the fire; the

mouth parts worked slowly.

"It will live for days, until it dries out," said Traz huskily. "Gradually it

will go stiff."

The Chasch paid the creature no further heed, but at once made ready their

leap-horses. They loaded their gear and five minutes later had trooped off into

the darkness. The head of the Phung mused upon the play of the flames.

For a period the men squatted by the edge of the precipice, looking across

the steppe. Traz and Anacho fell into an argument regarding the nature of the

Phung, Traz declaring them to be products of unnatural union between Pnumekin

and the corpses of Pnume. "The seed waxes in the decay like a barkworm, and

finally breaks out through the skin as a young Phung, not greatly different from

a bald night-hound."

"Sheer idiocy, lad!" said Anacho with easy condescension. "They surely breed

like Pnume: a startling process itself, if what I hear is correct."

Traz, no less proud than the Dirdirman, became taut. "How do you speak with

such assurance? Have you observed the process? Have you seen a Phung with

others, or guarding a cub?" He lowered his lip in a sneer. "No! They go singly,

too mad to breed!"

Anacho made a finger-fluttering gesture of fastidious didacticism. "Rarely

are Pnume seen in groups; rarely do we see a Pnume alone, for that matter. Yet

they flourish in their peculiar fashion. Brash generalizations are suspect. The

truth is that after many long years on Tschai we still know little of either

Phung or Pnume."

Traz gave an inarticulate growl, too wise not to concede the conviction of

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Anacho's logic, too proud to abandon abjectly his point of view. And Anacho, in

his turn, made no attempt to push a superficial advantage home. In time, thought

Reith, the two might even learn to respect each other.

In the morning Anacho again tinkered with the engine, while the others

shivered in the cold airs seeping down from the north. Traz gloomily predicted

rain, and presently a high overcast began to form, and fog eased over the tops

of the hills to the north.

Anacho finally threw down the tools in boredom and disgust. "I have done what

I can. The raft will fly, but not far."

"How far, in your opinion?" asked Reith, aware that Ylin-Ylan had turned to

listen. "To Cath?"

Anacho flapped up his hands, fluttering his fingers in an unknowable Dirdir

gesticulation. "To Cath, by your projected route: impossible. The engine is

falling to dust."

Ylin-Ylan looked away, studied her clenched hands.

"Flying south, we might reach Coad on the Dawn Zher," Anacho went on, "and

there take passage across the Draschade. Such a route is longer and slower-but

conceivably we will arrive in Cath."

"It seems that we have no choice," said Reith.

CHAPTER TWO

FOR A PERIOD they followed the southward course of the vast Nabiga River,

traveling only a few feet above the surface, where the repulsion plates suffered

the least strain. The Nabiga swept off to the west, demarcating the Dead Steppe

from the Aman Steppe, and the raft continued south across an inhospitable region

of dim forests, bogs, and morasses; and a day later returned to the steppe. On

one occasion they saw a caravan in the distance: a line of high-wheeled carts

and trundling house-wagons; another time they came upon a band of nomads wearing

red feather fetishes on their shoulders, who bounded frantically across the

steppe to intercept them, and were only gradually outdistanced.

Late in the afternoon they painfully climbed above a huddle of brown and

black hills. The raft jerked and yawed; the black case emitted ominous rasping

sounds. Reith flew low, sometimes brushing through the tops of black tree-ferns.

Sliding across the ridge the raft blundered at head-height through an encampment

of capering creatures in voluminous white robes, apparently men. They dodged and

fell to the ground, then screaming in outrage fired muskets after the raft, the

erratic course of which presented a shifting target.

All night they flew over dense forest, and morning revealed more of the same:

a black, green, and brown carpet cloaking the Aman Steppe to the limit of

vision, though Traz declared the steppe ended at the hills, that below them now

was the Great Daduz Forest. Anacho condescendingly took issue, and displaying a

chart tapped various topographic indications with his long white fingers to

prove his point.

Traz's square face became stubborn and sullen. "This is Great Daduz Forest;

twice when I carried Onmale among the Emblems,* I led the tribe here for herbs

and dyes."

Anacho put away the chart. "It is all one," he remarked. "Steppe or forest,

it must be traversed." At a sound from the engine he looked critically aft. "I

believe that we will reach the outskirts of Coad, not a mile farther, and when

we raise the housing we shall find only a heap of rust."

"But we will reach Coad?" Ylin-Ylan asked in a colorless voice.

"So I believe. Only two hundred miles remain."

Ylin-Ylan seemed momentarily cheerful. "How different than before," she said.

"When I came to Coad a captive of the priestesses!" The thought seemed to

depress her and once more she became pensive.

Night approached. Coad still lay a hundred miles distant. The forest had

thinned to a stand of immense black and gold trees, with intervening areas of

turf, on which grazed squat six-legged beasts, bristling with bony tusks and

horns. Landing for the night was hardly feasible and Reith did not care to

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arrive at Coad until morning, in which opinion Anacho concurred. They halted the

motion of the raft, tied to the top of a tree and hovered on the repulsors

through the night.

After the evening meal the Flower of Cath went to her cabin behind the

saloon; Traz, after studying the sky and listening to the sounds of beasts

below, wrapped himself in his robe and stretched out on one of the settees.

Reith leaned against the rail watching the pink moon Az reach the zenith just

as the blue moon Braz rose behind the foliage of a far tall tree.

Anacho came to join him. "So then, what are your thoughts as to the morrow?"

"I know nothing of Coad. I suppose we inquire as to transportation across the

Draschade."

"You still intend to accompany the woman to Cath?"

"Certainly," said Reith, mildly surprised.

Anacho hissed through his teeth. "You need only put the Cath woman on a ship;

you need not go yourself."

"True. But I don't care to remain in Coad."

"Why not? It is a city which even Dirdirmen visit from time to time. If you

have money anything is for sale in Coad."

"A spaceship?"

"Hardly ... It seems that you persist in your obsession."

Reith laughed. "Call it whatever you like."

"I admit to perplexity," Anacho went on. "The likeliest explanation, and one

which I urge you to accept, is that you are amnesiac, and have subconsciously

fabricated a fable to account for your own existence. Which of course you

fervently believe to be true."

"Reasonable," Reith agreed.

"One or two odd circumstances remain," Anacho continued thoughtfully. "The

remarkable devices you carry: your electronic telescope, your energy-weapon,

other oddments. I cannot identify the workmanship, though it is equivalent to

that of good Dirdir equipment. I suppose it to be home-planet Wankh; am I

correct?"

"As an amnesiac, how would I know?"

Anacho gave a wry chuckle. "And you still intend to go to Cath?"

"Of course. What about you?"

Anacho shrugged. "One place is as good as another, from my point of view. But

I doubt if you realize what awaits you in Cath."

"I know nothing of Cath," said Reith, "other than what I have heard. The

people are apparently civilized."

Anacho gave a patronizing shrug. "They are Yao: a fervent race addicted to

ritual and extravaganza, prone to excesses of temperament. You may find the

intricacies of Cath society difficult to cope with."

Reith frowned. "I hope it won't be necessary. The girl has vouched for her

father's gratitude, which should simplify matters."

"Formally the gratitude will exist. I am sure of this."

"'Formally'? Not actually?"

"The fact that you and the girl have formed an erotic accommodation is of

course a complication."

Reith smiled sourly. "The 'erotic accommodation' has long since run its

course." He looked back toward the deck-house. "Frankly, I don't understand the

girl. She actually seems disturbed by the prospect of returning home."

Anacho peered through the dark. "Are you so naive? Clearly she dreads the

moment when she must sponsor the three of us before the society of Cath. She

would be overjoyed if you sent her home alone."

Reith gave a bitter laugh. "At Pera she sang a different tune. She begged

that we return to Cath."

"Then the possibility was remote. Now she must deal with reality."

"But this is absurdity! Traz is as he is. You are a Dirdirman, for which you

are not to blame-"

"No difficulties in either of these cases," stated the Dirdirman with an

elegant flourish of the fingers. "Our roles are immutable. Your case is

different; and it might be best for all if you sent the girl home on a cog."

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Reith stood looking out over the sea of moonlit treetops. The opinion,

assuming its validity, was far from lucid, and also presented a dilemma. To

avoid Cath was to relinquish his best possibility of building a spaceboat. The

only alternative then would be to steal a spaceship, from the Dirdir, or Wankh,

or, least appealing of all, from the Blue Chasch: all in all, a nerve-tingling

prospect. Reith asked, "Why should I be less acceptable than you or Traz?

Because of the 'erotic accommodation'?"

"Naturally not. The Yao concern themselves with systematics rather than

deeds. I am surprised to find you so undiscerning."

"Blame it on my amnesia," said Reith.

Anacho shrugged. "In the first place-possibly due to your 'amnesia' you have

no quality, no role, no place in the Cath 'round.' As a nondescript, you

constitute a distraction, a zizylbeast in a ballroom. Secondly, and more

poignant, is your point of view, which is not fashionable in contemporary Cath."

"By this you mean my 'obsession'?"

"Unfortunately," said Anacho, "it is similar to an hysteria which

distinguished a previous cycle of the 'round.' A hundred and fifty years* ago, a

coterie of Dirdirmen were expelled from the academies at Eliasir and Anismna for

the crime of promulgating fantasy. They brought their espousements to Cath, and

stimulated a tendentious vogue: the Society of Yearning Refluxives, or the

'cult.' The articles of faith defied established fact. It was asserted that all

men, Dirdirmen and sub-men alike, were immigrants from a far planet in the

constellation Clari: a paradise where the hopes of humanity have been realized.

Enthusiasm for the 'cult' galvanized Cath; a radio transmitter was constructed

and signals were projected toward Clari. Somewhere, the activity was resented;

someone launched torpedoes which devastated Settra and Ballisidre. The Dirdir

are commonly held responsible, but this is absurd; why should they trouble

themselves? I assure you that they are much too distant, too uninterested.

"Regardless of agency, the deed was done. Settra and Ballisidre were laid

low, the 'cult' was discredited; the Dirdirmen were expelled; the 'round' swung

back to orthodoxy. Now even to mention the 'cult' is considered vulgarity, and

so we arrive at your case. Clearly you have encountered and assimilated 'cult'

dogma; it now manifests itself in your attitudes, your acts, your goals. You

seem unable to distinguish fact from fancy. To speak bluntly, you are so

disoriented in this regard as to suggest psychic disorder."

Reith closed his mouth on a wild laugh; it would only reinforce Anacho's

doubts as to his sanity. A dozen remarks rose to his tongue; he restrained them

all. At last he said, "All else aside, I appreciate your candor."

"Not at all," said the Dirdirman serenely. "I imagine that I have clarified

the nature of the girl's apprehension."

The Dirdirman blinked up at the pink moon Az. "So long as she was outside the

'round' at Pera and elsewhere, she made sympathetic allowances. But now return

to Cath is imminent..." He said no more, and presently went to his couch in the

saloon.

Reith went to the forward pulpit under the great bow lantern. A cool draft of

air fanned his face; the raft drifted idly about the treetop. From the ground

came a furtive crackle of footsteps. Reith listened; they halted, then resumed

and diminished off under the trees. Reith looked up into the sky where pink Az,

blue Braz careened. He looked back at the deck-house where slept his comrades: a

boy of the Emblem nomads, a clown-faced man evolved toward a race of gaunt

aliens; a beautiful girl of the Yao, who thought him mad. Below sounded a new

pad of footsteps. Perhaps he was mad indeed ...

By morning Reith had recovered his equanimity, and was even able to find

grotesque humor in the situation. No good reason to change his plans suggested

itself, and the sky-raft limped south as before. The forest dwindled to scrub,

and gave way to isolated plantings and cattle-runs, field huts, lookout towers

against the approach of nomads, an occasional rutted road. The raft displayed an

ever more aggravated instability, with an annoying tendency for the stern to

sag. At mid-morning a range of low hills loomed ahead, and the raft refused to

climb the few hundred feet necessary to clear the ridge. By the sheerest luck a

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cleft appeared through which the raft wobbled with ten feet to spare.

Ahead lay the Dwan Zher and Coad: a compact town with a look of settled

antiquity. The houses were built of weathered timber, with enormous high-peaked

roofs and a multitude of skew gables, eccentric ridges, dormers, tall chimneys.

A dozen ships rode to moorings; as many more were docked across from a row of

factors' offices. At the north of town was the caravan terminus, beside a large

compound surrounded by hostelries, taverns, warehouses. The compound seemed a

convenient spot to set down the raft; Reith doubted if it could have held itself

in the air another ten miles.

The raft dropped stern first; the repulsors gave a labored whine and went

silent with a meaningful finality. "That's that," said Reith. "I'm glad we've

arrived."

The group took up their meager luggage, alighted and left the raft where it

had landed.

At the edge of the compound Anacho made inquiries of a dung merchant and

received directions to the Grand Continental, the best of the town's hostelries.

Coad was a busy town. Along the crooked streets, in and out of the

ale-colored sunlight, moved men and women of many casts and colors: Yellow

Islanders and Black Islanders, Horasin bark-merchants muffled in gray robes;

Caucasoids such as Traz from the Aman Steppe; Dirdirmen and Dirdirmen hybrids;

dwarfish Sieps from the eastern slopes of the Ozanalai who played music in the

streets; a few flat-faced white men from the far south of Kislovan. The natives,

or Tans, were an affable fox faced people, with wide polished cheekbones,

pointed chins, russet or dark brown hair cut in a ledge across the ears and

foreheads. Their usual garments were knee-length breeches, embroidered vest, a

round black pie-plate hat. Palanquins were numerous, carried by short gnarled

men with oddly long noses and stringy black hair: apparently a race to

themselves; Reith saw them in no other occupation. Later he learned them to be

natives of Grenie at the head of the Dwan Zher.

On a balcony Reith thought he glimpsed a Dirdir, but he could not be certain.

Once Traz grabbed his elbow and pointed to a pair of thin men in loose black

trousers, black capes with tall collars all but enveloping their faces, soft

cylindrical black hats with wide brims: caricatures of mystery and intrigue.

"Pnumekin!" hissed Traz in a something between shock and outrage. "Look at them!

They walk among other men without a look aside, and their minds full of strange

thinking!"

They arrived at the hostelry, a rambling edifice of three stories, with a

cafe on the front veranda, a restaurant in a great tall covered arbor to the

rear and balconies overlooking the street. A clerk at a wicket took their money,

distributed fanciful keys of black iron as large as their hands and instructed

them to their rooms.

"We have traveled a great dusty distance," said Anacho. "We require baths,

with good quality unguents, fresh linen, and then we will dine."

"It shall be as you order."

An hour later, clean and refreshed, the four met in the downstairs lobby.

Here they were accosted by a black-haired blackeyed man with a pinched

melancholy face. He spoke in a gentle voice. "You are newly arrived at Coad?"

Anacho, instantly suspicious, drew himself back. "Not altogether. We are

well-known and have no needs."

"I represent the Slave-taker's Guild, and this is my fair appraisal of your

group. The girl is valuable, the boy less so. Dirdirmen are generally considered

worthless except in clerical or administrative servitude, for which we have no

demand. You would be rated a winkle-gatherer or a nut-huller, of no great value.

This man, whatever he is, appears capable of toil, and would sell for the

standard rate. Considering all, your insurance will be ten sequins a week."

"Insurance against what?" demanded Reith.

"Against being taken and sold," murmured the agent. "There is a heavy demand

for competent workers. But for ten sequins a week," he declared triumphantly,

"you may walk the streets of Coad night and day, secure as though the demon

Harasthy rode your shoulders! Should you be sequestered by an unauthorized

dealer the Guild will instantly order your free release."

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Reith stood back, half-amused, half-disgusted. Anacho spoke in his most nasal

voice: "Show me your credentials."

" 'Credentials'?" asked the man, his chin sagging.

"Show us a document, a blazon, a patent. What? You have none? Do you take us

for fools? Be off with you!"

The man walked somberly away. Reith asked, "Was he in truth a fraud?"

"One never knows, but the line must be drawn somewhere. Let us eat; I have a

good appetite after weeks of steamed pulses and pilgrim plant."

They took seats in the dining room: actually a vast airy arbor with a glass

ceiling admitting a pale ivory light. Black vines climbed the walls; in the

corners were purple and pale-blue ferns. The day was mild; the end of the room

opened to a view of the Dwan Zher and a wind curled bank of cumulus at the

horizon.

The room was half-full; perhaps two dozen people dined from platters and

bowls of black wood and red earthenware, talking in low voices, watching the

folk at other tables with covert curiosity. Traz looked uneasily here and there,

eyebrows raised in disapproval of so much luxury: undoubtedly his first

encounter with what must seem a set of faddish and overcomplicated niceties,

reflected Reith.

He noticed Ylin-Ylan staring across the room, as if astonished by what she

saw. Almost immediately she averted her eyes, as if uncomfortable or

embarrassed. Reith followed her gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He

thought better of inquiring the cause of her perturbation, not wishing to risk a

cool stare. And Reith grinned uncomfortably. What a situation: almost as if she

were cultivating an active dislike for him! Perfectly comprehensible, of course,

if Anacho's explanations were correct. His puzzlement regarding the girl's

agitation was now resolved by the sardonic Dirdirman.

"Observe the fellow at the far table," murmured Anacho. "He in the green and

purple coat."

Turning his head, Reith saw a handsome young bravo with carefully arranged

hair and a rich mustache of a startling gold. He wore elegant garments, somewhat

rumpled and well-used: a jacket of soft leather strips, dyed alternately green

and purple, breeches of pleated yellow cloth, buckled at knee and ankle with

brooches in the shape of fantastic insects. A square cap of soft fur, fringed

with two-inch pendants of gold beads, slanted across his head; an extravagant

garde-nez of gold filigree clung to the ridge of his nose. Anacho muttered,

"Watch him now. He will notice us, he will see the girl."

"But who is he?"

Anacho gave his fingertips an irritated twitch. "His name? I do not know. His

status: high, in his own opinion at least. He is a Yao cavalier."

Reith turned his attention to Ylin-Ylan, who watched the young man from the

corner of her eye. Miraculous how her mood had altered! She had become alive and

aware, though obviously twitching with nervousness and uncertainty. She flicked

a glance toward Reith, and flushed to find his eyes on her. Bending her head she

busied herself with the appetizers: dishes of gray grapes, biscuits, smoked

sea-insects, pickled fern-pod. Reith watched the cavalier, who was

unenthusiastically dining upon a black seed-bun and a dish of pickles, his gaze

off across the sea. He gave a sad shrug, as if discouraged by his thoughts, and

shifted his position. He saw the Flower of Cath, who feigned the most artless

absorption in her food. The cavalier leaned forward in astonishment. He jumped

to his feet with such exuberance as nearly to overturn the table. In three long

strides he was across the room and down on one knee with a sweeping salute which

brushed his cap across Traz's face. "Blue Jade Princess! Your servant Dordoho.

My goals are won."

The Flower bowed her head with an exact modicum of restraint and pleased

surprise. Reith admired her aplomb. "Pleasant," she murmured, "in a far land to

chance upon a cavalier of Cath."

"'Chance' is not the word! I am one of a dozen who went forth to seek you, to

win the boon proclaimed by your father and for the honor of both our palaces. By

the wattles of the Pnume's First Devil, it has been given to me to find you!"

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Anacho spoke in his blandest voice. "You have searched extensively, then?"

Dordoho stood erect, made a cursory inspection of Anacho, Reith, and Traz,

and performed three precise nods. The Flower made a gay little motion, as if the

three were casual companions at a picnic. "My loyal henchmen; all have been of

incalculable help to me. But for them I doubt if I would be alive."

"In that case," declared the cavalier, "they may ever rely upon the patronage

of Dordolio, Gold, and Carnelian. They shall use my fieldname Alutrin Stargold."

He performed a salute which included all three, then snapped his finger at the

serving woman. "A chair, if you please. I will dine at this table."

The serving woman somewhat unceremoniously pushed a chair into place;

Dordolio seated himself and gave his attention to the Flower. "But what of your

adventures? I assume them to be harrowing. Still you appear as fresh as

ever-decidedly unharrowed."

The Flower laughed. "In these steppe-dweller's garments? I have not yet been

able to change. I must buy dozens of sheer necessities before I dare let you

look at me."

Dordolio, glancing at her gray garments, made a negligent gesture. "I had

noticed nothing. You are as ever. But, if you wish, we will shop together; the

bazaars of Coad are fascinating."

"Of course! Tell me of yourself. My father issued a behest, you say?"

"He did indeed, and swore a boon. The most gallant responded. We followed

your trail to Spang where we learned who had taken you: Priestesses of the

Female Mystery. Many gave you up for lost, but not I. My perseverance has been

rewarded! In triumph we will return to Settra!"

Ylin-Ylan turned a somewhat cryptic smile toward Reith. "I am of course

anxious to return home. What luck to find you here in Coad!"

"Remarkable luck," said Reith dryly. "We arrived only an hour ago from Pera."

"Pera? I do not know the place."

"It lies at the far west of the Dead Steppe."

Dordolio gave an opaque stare, then once more he addressed himself to the

Flower. "What hardships you must have suffered! But now you walk under the aegis

of Dordolio! We return at once to Settra."

The meal proceeded, Dordolio and Ylin-Ylan conversing with great vivacity.

Traz, preoccupied with the unfamiliar table implements, turned them dour

glances, as if he suspected their ridicule. Anacho paid them no heed; Reith ate

in silence. Finally Dordolio sat back in his chair. "Now, as to the

practicalities: the packet Yazilissa is at mooring, and shortly departs for

Vervodei. A melancholy task to take leave of your comrades, good fellows all,

I'm sure, but we must arrange our passage home."

Reith spoke in an even voice. "All of us, so it happens, are bound for Cath."

Dordolio presented his blank questioning stare, as if Reith spoke an

incomprehensible language.

He rose, helped Ylin-Ylan to her feet; the two went to saunter on the terrace

beyond the arbour. The serving woman brought the score. "Five sequins, if you

please, for five meals."

"Five?"

"The Yao ate at your table."

Reith paid over five sequins from his wallet. Anacho watched in amusement.

"The Yao's presence is actually an advantage; you will avoid attention upon your

arrival at Settra."

"Perhaps," said Reith. "On the other hand, I had hoped for the gratitude of

the girl's father. I need all the friends I can find."

"Events sometimes display a vitality of their own," observed Anacho. "The

Dirdir teleologists have interesting remarks to make on the subject. I recall an

analysis of coincidences-this, incidentally, not by a Dirdir but by a Dirdirman

Immaculate..." As Anacho spoke on, Traz went out on the terrace to survey the

roofs of Coad; Dordolio and Ylin-Ylan walked slowly past, ignoring his presence.

Seething with indignation Traz returned to Reith and Anacho. "The Yao dandy

urges her to dismiss us. She refers to us as nomads-rude but honest and

dependable."

"No matter," said Reith. "Her destiny is not ours."

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