Wyst: Alastor 1716

by Jack Vance

  Esteban spoke to Jantiff: “What of you? Are you for this bonterfest?”

  Jantiff hesitated. “I’ve just been foraging, and I’m not sure I enjoy it.”

  “My dear fellow, it’s not the same thing at all! Do you have ozols?”

  “Well, a few. Safely locked away, of course.”

  “Then you can afford the bonterfest. I’ll mark you down for a place.”

  “Oh—very well. Where and when does the event take place?”

  “When? As soon as I make proper arrangements. Everything must be right! Where? Out in the Weirdlands where we can enjoy the countryside. I have recently become acquainted with Contractor Shubart; hell allow us use of an air-car.”

  Jantiff gave a hollow laugh. “Who now is the exploiter, monopolist, elitist tycoon and all the rest? What of egalism now?”

  Esteban retorted in a debonair, if somewhat edgy, voice: “Egalism is all very well, and I subscribe to it! Still: why deny the obvious? Everyone wants to make the most of their life. If I were able, I’d be a contractor; perhaps I’ll become one yet.”

  “You’ve picked the wrong time,” said Kedidah. “Did you read the Concept? The Whispers insist that the contractors cost too much and that changes must be made. Perhaps there’ll be no more contractors.”

  “Ridiculous!” snorted Skorlet. “Who’ll do the work?”

  “I’ve no idea,” said Kedidah. “I’m neither a Whisper nor a contractor.”

  “I’ll ask my friend Shubart,” said Esteban. “He’ll know all about it.”

  “I don’t understand!” said Tanzel plaintively. “I thought contractors were all ignorant outsiders, vulgar and mean, who did our nasty work for us. Would you really want to be someone like that?”

  Esteban gave a gay laugh. “I’d be a very nice contractor, as polite and clever as I am now!”

  Kedidah jumped to her feet “Come, Jantiff! Lees be off, if we’re to get good seats. And bring along a few extra tokens; this week I’m totally bankrupt.”

  Late in the afternoon Jantiff returned home along Disselberg River. The shunk contests[19] had exceeded all his expectations; his mind seethed with sensations and images.

  The crowds had early obtruded themselves, choking all man-ways leading to the stadium. Jantiff had noted the vivacity of their faces, the wet shine of their eyes, the tremulous flexibility of their mouths as they talked and laughed: these were not the folk, serene and bland, who promenaded along Uncibal River! The stadium itself was a gigantic place, rearing high in a succession of levels: bank on bank, buttress over buttress, balcony after balcony, closing off the sky, with the spectators a crusted blur. From everywhere came a pervasive whisper, hoarse as the sea, waxing and waning to the movement of events.

  The preliminary ceremonies Jantiff found rather tedious: an hour of marching and countermarching by musicians in purple and brown uniforms to music of horns, grumbling bass resonators and three-foot cymbals. At last eight portals slid aside; eight men rode forth, erect and somber on the pedestals of power-chariots. They circled the field, gazing straight ahead, as if oblivious to all but their own fateful thoughts. Staring directly ahead, the riders departed the field.

  The stadium-sound rose and fell, reflecting the consonance of moods of half a million people in close proximity, and Jantiff wondered at the psychological laws governing such phenomena.

  Abruptly, responding to an influence beyond Jantiff’s perception, the sounds halted and the air became tense with silence.

  The portals to east and west slid apart; out lurched _a pair of shunk. They rumbled in rage, stamped the turf, reared thirty feet into the air as if to fling, away those calm and indomitable riders who stood on their shoulders. So began the contests,

  The hulks collided with awesome impacts; the poise of the riders transcended belief. Even though the fact occurred before Jantiff’s eyes. Time and time again they evaded the great pads, to remount with calm authority as the shunk lurched to its feet. He communicated his wonder to Kedidah: “What a miracle they stay alive!”

  “Sometimes two or even three are killed. Today—they’re lucky.” Jantiff turned her a curious side glance; was the wistful note, in her voice for the crushed riders or for those who managed to evade death?

  “They train for years and years,” Kedidah told him as they left the stadium. “They live in the stink and noise and feel of the beasts; then they come to Arrabus and hope to ride at ten contests; then they can return to Zonder with their fortunes.” Kedidah fell silent and seemed to become distrait. Where the lateral joined Disselberg River she said abruptly: “I’ll leave you here, Janty; there’s an appointment I simply must keep.”

  Jantiff’s jaw sagged. “I thought we could spend the evening together; maybe at your apartment—”

  Kedidah smilingly shook her head. “Impossible, Janty. Now excuse me, please; I’ve got to hurry.”

  “But I wanted to discuss moving in with you!”

  “No, no, no! Janty, behave yourself! I’ll see you in the wumper.”

  Jantiff returned to Old Pink with hurt feelings. He found Skorlet busy with her globes, daubing the last of his blue, black, dark green and umber pigments upon the paper contrivances.

  Jantiff stared in shock. “Whatever are you up to? Really, Skorlet, that isn’t a decent thing to do!”

  Skorlet flung him a glance, and in her white face he saw a desperation he had never previously noticed. She turned back to her work, then after a moment found words and spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s not fair that you should have everything and me nothing.”

  “But I don’t have everything!” Jantiff bleated. “I have nothing! You’ve taken them all! Brown, black, green, blue! I have a few reds, true, and orange and ocher and yellow—no, now you’ve deprived me of my yellow as well—”

  “Listen, Jantiff! I need tokens to take myself and Tanzel on the bonterfest. She’s never been anywhere and seen nothing, much less tasted boater. I don’t care if I use all your pigments! You are so rich, you can get more, and I must make these cult-globes, dog defile them!”

  “Why doesn’t Esteban pay for Tanzel? He never seems to lack tokens.”

  Skorlet gave a bitter snort. “Esteban is too self-important to spare tokens for anyone. In all candor, he should have lived out in the Bad Worlds where he could be a tycoon. Or an exploiter. For certain he’s no egalist. And you’d never imagine the wild schemes that throng his mind.”

  Surprised by Skorlet’s vehemence, Jantiff went to his chair. Skorlet continued to daub grimly at her contrivances and Jantiff growled: “What good are those things that you’re wasting my pigments on?”

  “I don’t know what good they are! I take them down to Disjerferact and people pay good tokens for them and that’s all I care. Now I need just a bit of that orange—Jantiff, it’s no use showing me that mulish expression!”

  “Here, take it! This is the last time! From now on I’m locking everything up in my case!”

  ‘lanai, you’re a very small person?’

  “And you’re very large—with other people’s belongings!”

  “Control your tongue, Jantiff! You have no right to hector me! Now turn on the screen. The Whispers are making an important speech and I want to hear it.”

  “Bah,” muttered Jantiff. “Just more of the same.” Nevertheless, upon meeting Skorlet’s lambent gaze, he rose to his feet and did her bidding.

  Jantiff wrote a letter home:

  Dearest family:

  First my inevitable requests. I don’t want to be a nuisance, but circumstances are against me. Please send me another selection of pigments, of double size. They cannot be obtained here, like everything else. Still, life progresses. The food of course is deadly dull; everyone is obsessed with “bonter.” Some friends are planning a “gypsy banquet,” whatever that is. I’ve been invited, and I’ll probably attend, if only to get away from gruff and deedle for a few hours.

  I fear that I’m developing a fragmented personality. I wonder sometimes if I
’m not living in a dreamland, where white is black and black is not white, which would be ,too simple, but something, totally absurd Me, say, ten dead dogfish or the smell of gilly-flowers. Mind you, Arrabus was at one time a very ordinary industrialized nation. Is this the inevitable sequence? The ideas succeed each other with a frightening logic. Life is short; why waste a second on thankless drudgery? Technology exists for this, purpose! Therefore, technology must be augmented and extended, to dispel as much drudgery as possible. Let the machines toil! Leisure, the rich flavor of sheer existence, is the goal! Very good, if only the machines could do everything. But they won’t repair themselves, and they won’t perform human services, so even Arrabins must drudge: a sour thirteen hours a week. Next, the machines are unkind enough to break down. Contractors must be hired, from compounds in Blale and Froke and other places at the back of the Weirdlands. Needless to say, the contractors refuse to work on the cheap. In fact, or so I am told, they absorb almost the whole of the gross Arrabin product. The Arrabins could relieve the situation by training persons so inclined to be technicians and mechanics, but egalists assert that specialization is the first step, toward elitism. No doubt they are right. It never occurs to anyone that the contractors are elitists of the very finest water, who grow rich exploiting the Arrabins—if exploiting is the proper word.

  I wrote “never occurs to anyone,” but perhaps this isn’t quite accurate. The other night I heard a public address by the Whispers. I made some sketches as they appeared on the screen; I enclose one of them. The Whispers are chosen by a random process. On each level of every block someone, selected by lot, becomes a monitor. The twenty-three monitors choose by lot, a Block Warden. From the Block Wardens of each district a Delegate is selected, by lot of course. Each of the four great metropolitan divisions: Uncibal, Propunce, Waunisse and Serce, is represented by its Panel of Delegates. By lot one of these Delegates becomes a Whisper. The Whispers are expected to wield their authority, such as it is, in a subdued, egalistic manner: hence the title “Whispers” which developed, so I am told, from a jocular conversation many years ago.

  In any event the Whispers appeared on the screen the other night. They spoke very guardedly, and made dutiful obeisance to the glories of egalism. Still, the effect was hardly optimistic. Even I apprehended the hints, and my ears are not as keen in this regard as those of the Arrabins. The woman Fausgard read out statistics making no comment, but everyone could hear that the equilibrium was failing, that capital deterioration exceeded repair and replacement, from which everyone could draw whatever conclusion they chose. The Whispers announced that they will shortly visit the Connatic at Lusz to discuss the situation. These ideas aren’t popular; the Arrabins reject them automatically, and I have heard grumbling that the expedition to Numenes is just a junket in search of high living. Remember, the Whispers live in the same apartments and eat the same gruff, deedle and wobbly as anyone else; however, they do no drudge. At the Centenary they will make a further announcement, undoubtedly to the effect that the contractors must be phased out. This idea in itself hurts no Arrabin feelings. The contractors live baronial lives on their country estates, and the Arrabins know them (enviously?) for elitists.

  Items of incidental intelligence: Blade, at the south edge of “Weirdland,” is warmed by an equatorial current and is not as cold as its latitude suggests. Remember, Wyst is a very small world! The folk who live in Froke, to the west of Blale, are called Frooks. Nomads wander Weirdland forests; some are called “gypsies” and others “witches,” for reasons past my comprehension. The gypsies range closer to Arrabus and provide feasts of bonter for a fee. The Arrabins lack all interest in music. None play musical instruments, presumably because of the drudgery involved. Indeed this is a strange place! Shocking, disturbing, uncomfortable, hungry, but fascinating! I never tire of watching the great crowds: everywhere people! There is sheer magnificence to these numbers; it is marvelous to stand above Uncibal River, gazing down at the faces. Invent a face: any face you like. Big nose, little ears, round eyes, long chin—sooner or later you’ll see it in Uncibal River! And do these numbers create a drabness? or uniformity? To the contrary! Every Arrabin desperately asserts his individuality, with personal tricks and fads. A futile kind of life, no doubt, but isn’t all life futile? The Arrabins enter life from nowhere and when they die no one remembers them. They produce nothing substantial; in fact—so it now occurs to me—the only commodity they produce is leisure!

  Enough for now. I’ll write soon again.

  As usual all my affection,

  Jantiff.

  Jantiff had locked away those pigments remaining to him. Skorlet perforce decided that her cult-globes were complete and began to tie them into clusters of six. Jantiff’s restless activities at last attracted her notice. She looked up from her work and uttered a peevish complaint. “Why in the name of all perversity must you flutter here and there like a bird with a broken wing? Settle yourself, I beg you!”

  Jantiff responded with quiet dignity. “I made certain sketches of the Whispers the other night. I wanted to send one or two to my family, but they have disappeared. I am beginning to suspect snergery.”

  Skorlet gave a bark of rude laughter. “If this is the case, you should be flattered!”

  “I am merely annoyed.”

  “You make such an absurd fuss over nothing! Draw up another sketch, or send off others. The affair is quite inconsequential and you cannot imagine how you distract me.”

  “Excuse me,” said Jantiff. “As you suggest, I will send another sketch, and please convey my compliments to the snerge.”

  Skorlet only shrugged and finished her work. “Now, Jantiff, please help me carry the globes down to Esteban’s apartment; he knows the dealer who sells for the best price.”

  Jantiff started to protest but Skorlet cut him short: “Really, Jantiff, I’m dumbfounded! In your life you’ve enjoyed every known luxury, yet you won’t help poor Tanzel to a single taste of bonter!”

  “That’s not true,” cried Jantiff hotly. “I took her to Disjerferact the other day and bought her all the poggets[20] and water-puffs and eel-pies she could eat!”

  “Never-mind all that! Just bear a hand now; I’m not asking anything, unreasonable of you.”

  Jantiff sullenly allowed himself to be loaded down with cult-globes. Skorlet gathered up the rest and they proceeded around the corridors to Esteban’s apartment. In response to Skorlet’s kick at the, door, Esteban peered out into the corridor. He saw the globes without show of enthusiasm. “So many?”

  “Yes, so many! I’ve made them and you can trade them, and please bring back whatever old wire you can salvage.”

  “It’s really an enormous inconvenience—”

  Skorlet tried to make a furious gesture but, impeded by the globes, managed only to flap her elbows. “You and Jantiff are both insufferable! I intend to go to the feast and Tanzel is coming as well. Unless you care to pay for her bonter, then you must help me with these globes!”

  Esteban gave a groan of annoyance. “An abominable nuisance! Well, dog defile it, what must be, must be. Let’s count them out.”

  While they worked Jantiff seated himself upon the couch, which Esteban had upholstered with a fine thick cloth, patterned in a dramatic orange, brown and black geometry. The other furnishings showed similar evidence of taste and discrimination. Upon an end table Jantiff noticed a camera of familiar aspect. He picked it up, looked at it closely and put it in his pocket.

  Skorlet and Esteban finished the count. “Kibner is not the effusively generous person you take him for,” said Esteban. “He’ll want at least thirty percent of the gross.”

  Skorlet gave a poignant contralto cry of distress. “That’s utterly exorbitant! Think of the scrounging, the work, the, inconvenience I’ve suffered! Ten percent is surely enough!”

  Esteban laughed dubiously. “I’ll start with five and, settle as low as I can.”

  “Be steadfast! Also you must carefully impress values upon
Kibner! He seems to think we don’t know the worth of money.”

  “Creeping elitism there!” Esteban warned her facetiously. “Curb that tendency!”

  “Yes, of course,” said Skorlet sarcastically. “Come along, Jantiff. It’s almost time for evening wump.”

  Esteban’s gaze brushed the end table, stopped short, veered around the room, returned briefly to the end table, then came to rest upon Jantiff. “Just a moment. There’s snergery going on, and I don’t care to be a party to it.”

  “What are you talking about?” snapped Skorlet “You have nothing worth attention.”

  “What of my camera? Come now, Jantiff, disgorge. You were sitting on the couch, and I even saw you make the move.”

  “This is embarrassing,” said Jantiff.

  “No doubt. The camera is missing. Do you have it?”

  “As a matter of fact I have my own camera with me, the one I brought from Zeck. I haven’t so much as seen yours.” Esteban took a menacing step forward and extended his hand. “No snerging here, please. You took my camera; give it back.”

  “No, this is definitely my own camera.”

  “It’s mine! It was on the table and I saw you take it.”

  “Can you identify it?”

  “Naturally! Beyond all equivocation! I could even describe the pictures on the matrix.” He hesitated and added: “If I chose to do so.”

  “Mine has the name Jantiff Ravensroke engraved beside the serial number in twisted reed Old Mish characters. Does yours?”

  Esteban stared at Jantiff with hot round brown eyes. He spoke in a harsh voice: “I don’t know what’s engraved beside the serial number.”

  Jantiff wrote in elegant flourishes on a piece of paper. ‘“This is Old Mish. Do you care to inspect my camera?”

  Esteban made an incomprehensible sound and turned his back.

  Jantiff, and Skorlet left the apartment. As they walked the corridor Skorlet said: “That was both childish and unnecessary. What do you gain by antagonizing Esteban?”