Wyst: Alastor 1716

by Jack Vance

  Kedidah came into the refectory, still aglow with excitement Jantiff averted his eyes.

  Kedidah bolted her food and departed the refectory. When Jantiff returned to the apartment she was in bed and asleep, without having troubled to draw the curtain. How innocent and pure she looked, thought Jantiff. Turning sadly away, he undressed and went to, bed. Tomorrow: the dangerous Khaldraves, in combat against the Ephthalotes and their glorious sheirl!

  Late the next afternoon Jantiff returned to Old Pink. The day had been warm; the air even now seemed heavy. Black thunderheads rolled across the city; the sky to westward glistened like fish skim Jantiff grimaced: was his imagination far, far, too vivid, or did a sickly odor indeed hang in the air? He suppressed the thought with a shudder: what revolting tricks one’s mind played on oneself! Sternly ordering his thoughts he went up to the apartment. He halted outside the door, to stand rigidly in an odd posture: head down, right hand half-raised, to the lock. He stirred, opened the door, entered the empty apartment. The lights were low; the room was dim and still. Jantiff closed the door, crossed to his chair and seated himself.

  An, hour passed. Out in the corridor sounded a soft footstep. The door slid aside; Kedidah entered the room. Jantiff silently watched her. She went to her chair and sat down: stiffly, laboriously, like an old woman. Jantiff dispassionately studied her face. The jawbones glimmered pale through her skin; her mouth drooped at the corners.

  Kedidah appraised Jantiff with no more expression than his own. She said in a soft voice: “We lost.”

  “I know,” said Jantiff. “I was at the game.”

  Kedidah’s expression changed, if only by a twitch of her mouth. She asked in the same soft voice: “Did you see what they did to me?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  Kedidah, watching him with a queer twisted smile, made no comment.

  Jantiff said tonelessly: “If you had to bear it, I could be brave enough to watch.”

  Kedidah turned away and looked at the wall. Minutes passed. A gong sounded along the corridor. “Ten minutes to wump,” said Jantiff. “Take a shower and change your clothes; you’ll feel better.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Jantiff could think of nothing to say. When the second gong sounded, he rose to his feet. “Are you coming?”

  “N o.”

  Jantiff went off to the refectory. Skorlet, arriving a moment later, brought her tray to the, place opposite him. She pretended to look up and down the room. “Where’s Kedidah? Isn’t she here?”

  “No.”

  “The Ephthalotes lost today.” Skorlet surveyed Jantiff with a tart smile. “They took a terrible trouncing.”

  “I saw the game.”

  Skorlet gave a curt nod. “I’ll never understand how anyone can put herself into such a position. It’s unnatural display! Presently the team loses, and then it’s the most grotesque display of all. No one can tell me that it’s not purposeful! Criminal sexivation, really; I wonder that it’s not banned.”

  The stadiums are always full.”

  Skorlet gave a sour snort. “Be that as it may! The Ephthalotes and Khaldraves and all the other foreign teams mock us in our own stadium. Why won’t they bring in their own sheirls? Never! They prefer to suborn anti-egalism. At the core, that’s what activation is; don’t you agree?”

  “I’ve never thought much about it,” said Jantiff listlessly.

  Skorlet was not satisfied with the response. “Because in your heart of hearts you’re not truly egal!”

  Jantiff had nothing to say. Skorlet became heavily jovial. “Still, cheer up! Think of tomorrow: the bonterfest! All day you can be as anti-egal as you like, and no one will deny you your fun.”

  Jantiff sought phrases to suggest that Skorlet’s zest for the occasion was far greater than his own. He chose simple candor. “I’m not altogether sure that I’ll be going.”

  Skorlet jerked up her black eyebrows and stared hard across the table. “What! After you’ve paid all those tokens? Of course you’re going.”

  “Really, I’m not in the mood.”

  “But you promised!” Skorlet blurted. “Tanzel expects you to take photographs! So do I! So does Esteban! We’re counting on you!”

  Jantiff began a grumbling counter-argument, but Skorlet refused to listen. “You’ll come then, in absolute certainty?”

  “Well, I don’t like—” Skorlet leaned balefully forward; Jantiff stopped short. He remembered his conversation with the cursar. “Well, if it makes all that much difference I’ll come.”

  Skorlet relaxed back into her chair. “We leave directly after wump, so don’t go mooning off in all directions. Remember: bring your camera!”

  Jantiff could think of no dignified retort. He swallowed the last of his deedle, rose and marched from the refectory, with the weight of Skorlet’s gaze against his back.

  He returned to his apartment and quietly entered. The sitting room was empty. He looked into the bedroom. The curtain was drawn around Kedidah’s couch.

  Jantiff stood uncertainly a moment, then returned to the sitting room. He lowered himself into his chair and sat staring at the wall.

  In the morning Jantiff awoke early. Behind the curtain Kedidah lay inert. Jantiff dressed quietly and went to the refectory. Skorlet arrived a moment later, to stand by the doorway in an almost swashbuckling posture: legs apart, head thrown back, eyes glittering. She searched up and down the tables, spied Jantiff and came marching across the room. In annoyance Jantiff raised his eyes to the ceiling. Why must Skorlet be so bumptious? Skorlet either ignored or failed to notice his attitude; and swung herself into the chair beside him. Jantiff glanced sourly at her from the corner of his eye. This morning Skorlet was not at her best. She had obviously dressed in haste,_ perhaps not troubling to wash. When she leaned over to pluck Jantiff’s sleeve, a rank sebaceous waft followed her gesture, and Jantiff drew fastidiously away. Skorlet again failed to notice, either through callousness or inattention. “It’s the great day! Don’t eat your gruff; save it for swill; you’ll be so much the hungrier at the feast!”

  Jantiff looked dubiously at his tray. Skorlet, as if at a sudden recollection, reached over and scooped up Jantiff’s gruff. “You’ve got no hand for swill; I’ll take care of it.”

  Jantiff tried to recover his gruff, but Skorlet dropped it into her pouch. “Fm hungry now!” cried Jantiff.

  “There’s boater ahead! Take my advice: don’t wad your gut solid with gruff!”

  Jantiff moved his deedle and wobbly out of Skorlet’s reach. “All very well,” he growled, “but maybe I won’t like the bonter.”

  “No fear on that score! The gypsies are marvelous cooks; nowhere in the Cluster will you eat better. First, tidbits: pastels of spiced meat, chobchows, fish sausages, pepper pancakes, borlocks. Next course: a pie of diced morels, garlic and titticombs. Next course: wild forest greens with musker sauce and toasted crumbs. Next course: meat grilled over coals: with onions and turnips. Next course: cakes in flower syrup. And all washed down in Houlsbeima wine! Now then, what of that?”

  “A most impressive menu; in fact I’m amazed—where do they get their materials?”

  Skorlet made an airy gesture. “Here, there; who cares so long as it sits well on the tongue?”

  “No doubt they rob the farm cattle for the meat.”

  Skorlet scowled sidewise. “Really, Jantiff, what is to be gained by all this careful analysis? If the meat is savory, don’t concern yourself as to its source.”

  “Just as you say,” Jantiff rose to his feet. Skorlet eyed him in speculation. “Where are you going?”

  “To my apartment. I want a word with Kedidah.”

  “Hurry, because we leave at once. I’ll meet you downstairs. And don’t forget your camera.”

  With defiant deliberation Jantiff strolled around to his apartment. The curtains were still drawn around Kedidah’s bed. She’ll miss her breakfast, thought Jantiff, unless she moves very briskly indeed. “Time to get, up!” he called
out. “Kedidah, are you awake?”

  No answer. Jantiff went to the bed and pulled back the curtains. Kedidah was not there.

  Jantiff stared down at the empty bed. Had she passed him in the corridor? Might she be bathing? Why leave the curtain drawn? A horrid suspicion sprang full-blown into his mind. He turned to the cupboard. Her newest costume and sandals were gone. Jantiff opened the drawer where she kept her tokens. Empty.

  He ran from the apartment, rode down to the lobby, raced out, ignoring Skorlet’s hoarse call. Boarding the man-way, he thrust himself through the crowds, ignoring angry curses, searching right and left for the glint of golden brown hair.

  Arriving at Disjerferact he ran dodging and sidling to the Pavilions of Rest, paid his token and entered the area.

  On the Pier of Departure a red haired man read a valedictory ode to a small audience. Kedidah was nowhere to be seen; she would render no declamations in any event. The Perfumed Voyage? Jantiff peered into the floral atrium. Six folk silently waited for boats: he recognized none of them. Jantiff ran to Halcyon House and walked around the arcade, peering into the golden prisms. From time to time a reflection reached him: a flutter of garments, a groping hand, and suddenly the glimpse of a familiar and dear profile. Jantiff frantically rapped on the glass. “Kedidah!” The prisms moved; the face, just as it turned toward Jantiff, was lost in the golden shimmer.

  Jantiff stared and called to no avail. “She’s gone,” said an annoyed voice. “Come along now; we’re all waiting.”

  Looking over his shoulder Jantiff saw Skorlet. “I can’t be sure,” he muttered. “It looked like her, still…”

  “We can easily find out,” said Skorlet. “Come over to the booth.” She took Jantiff by the elbow and led him to the wicket. She called through the aperture: “Anyone from Old Pink been through this morning? That’s 17-882.”

  The clerk ran his finger down a list. “Here’s a tag from Apartment D6 on the 19th.”

  Skorlet said to Jantiff, “She’s been here, but she’s gone now.”

  “Poor Kedidah!”

  “Yes, it’s sad, but we haven’t time to mope. Do you have your camera?”

  “I left it at the apartment.”

  “Oh bother! Why can’t you be more thoughtful? Everyone’s hopping from one foot to the other on your account!”

  Jantiff silently followed Skorlet to where Esteban stood waiting. “Kedidah went through the prisms,” said Skorlet

  “A pity,” said Esteban. “I’m sorry to hear that; she was always so gay. But we’d better get in motion. The day’s not all that long. Where’s Tanzel?”

  “I left her at Old Pink. We’ve got to go for Jantiff’s camera in any case.”

  “Well then, let’s meet where Uncibal River crosses Tumb Flow, on the north deck.”

  “Very good. Give us twenty minutes and we’ll be there. Come along, Jantiff.”

  Jantiff and Skorlet returned to Old Pink. Jantiff felt curiously light-headed. “I’m almost happy!” he told himself, marveling. “How can it, be when darling Kedidah is gone?… It’s because she was never mine. I never could have her, and now I’m free. I’ll go on this bonterfest; I’ll identify the fourth man; then I’ll leave Arrabus, most definitely… Peculiar, Skorlet’s insistence on the camera! Quite odd, really. What can it mean?”

  In the lobby Skorlet said in a crisp voice, “I’ll find Tanzel; you run up for your camera, and we’ll meet here.”

  Jantiff spoke with dignity: “Please, Skorlet, try to be just a trifle less domineering.”

  “Yes, yes; just hurry; the others are waiting.”

  Jantiff rode the ascensor to the nineteenth floor, entered his apartment, opened the strongbox, brought out the camera. He weighed it on his hand, thought a moment; then, removing the matrix he replaced it with a spare, and locked the first crystal into the strongbox.

  Returning to the lobby he found Skorlet and Tanzel awaiting him. Skorlet’s eyes went instantly to the camera. She gave a brisk nod. “Good; we’re off at last.”

  “Hurry, hurry!” cried Tanzel, running ahead, then turning to run backwards, the better to signal Jantiff and Skorlet to haste. “The flibbit will go and we’ll be left behind!”

  Skorlet gave a grim laugh. “No chance of that. Esteban will wait for us, never fear. We’re all most important to the success of the bonterfest.”

  “Hurry anyway!”

  The lateral took them to Uncibal River, where they diverted and rode east. Tanzel spoke in awe. “Think of all these people, millions and millions, and we’re the only ones going out on a bonterfest! Isn’t that marvelous?”

  “It’s a bit anti-egal to think of it so,” Skorlet reproved her. “More properly, you should say: ‘Today is our turn for the bonterfest.’”

  Tanzel screwed up her face into a grimace of quaint frivolity. “Justu s you like, so long as we are going, and not someone else.”

  Skorlet ignored the remark. Jantiff watched Tanzel’s impish quirks with detached amusement. In some manner she reminded him of Kedidah, even though her hair was short, dark and curling. Kedidah also had been silly and gay and artless… Jantiff blinked back tears and looked up into the sky, where shoal after shoal of herringbone cirrus floated in the blissful Dwanlight, Somewhere up there in the radiance Kedidah’s spirit drifted: such at least, was the doctrine of the True Quincunx Sect accredited by his father and mother. Wonderful, if only he could believe as much! Jantiff scrutinized the clouds for even the most subtle sign, but saw only that ravishing interplay of nacreous color which was the special glory of Wyst. Skorlet’s voice sounded in his ear: “What are you staring at?”

  “The clouds,” said Jantiff.

  Skorlet inspected the sky, but apparently saw nothing out of the ordinary, and made no comment.

  Tanzel called back over her shoulder: “There’s Tumb Flow Lateral; I see Esteban on the north deck and all the other people!”

  Jantiff, suddenly mindful of his mission, became alert. He inspected Esteban’s companions with the keenest interest. They numbered eight: four men and four women; Jantiff recognized only Sarp. None displayed the broad-shouldered bulk of the man Jantiff had glimpsed in the apartment.

  Esteban wasted no time on introductions; the group continued westward along Uncibal River. Jantiff, having discovered no massive black-haired man among the party once again became s apathetic and rode somewhat behind the others. For a moment or two he considered leaving the group, inconspicuously of course, and returning to Old Pink. But what then?

  Only the empty apartment awaited him. The idea lacked appeal. Skorlet and Esteban, so Jantiff noticed, had taken themselves somewhat apart from the others, and rode with their heads together in earnest conversation. From time to time they glanced back toward Jantiff, who became convinced that the two were talking about him. He felt a tremor of uneasiness: perhaps he was not, after all, among friends.

  Jantiff stirred himself from his listlessness and examined the others of the party. None had given him any particular attention, save for Sarp who periodically turned him glances of crooked amusement, no doubt inspired by the news of Kedidah’s journey into the prisms.

  Jantiff sighed and fatalistically decided to continue with the party; after all, the day had only begun and there still might be much to be learned.

  At the Great Southern Adit the group diverted to the deft, and rode away through District 92: finally through the fringes of the city and out upon a soggy wasteland, grown over with salt grass , tattersack and burdock. The land was utterly deserted save for a pair of small boys flying a kite who only served to emphasize the desolation of the area.

  The adit climbed a long gradual slope; behind, Uncibal could be seen as a pattern of rectangular protuberances, the colors dulled by distance. The way swung into Outpost Valley and Uncibal was blotted from view. In the distance, under the first ledges of the scarp Janty saw a cluster of long low buildings. Almost simultaneously he became aware of a grumbling, mumbling roar, which as the group approached became
broken into a hundred components: pounding, grating, whistling screams, the trundling of iron wheels, low-pitched thuds and impacts, grinding vibrations, flutings and warbles. A tall prong-bar fence angled across the flat, then turned sharply to parallel the man-way. The message of the prongs was emphasized by bolts of blue-white energy snapping at random between the strands. Behind the fence gangs of men and women crouched over a pair of long slide belts burdened with rock. Jantiff took a step forward and put a question to Sarp: “What goes on yonder?”

  Sarp inspected the activity with placid and almost benevolent contempt. “Alas, Jantiff, there you see our nursery for bad children: in short, the Uncibal Penal Camp, which both of us, so far, have fortuitously evaded. Still, never become complacent; never let the Mutuals prove you at your sexivation.”

  Jantiff stared in astonishment. “These folk are all sexivators?”

  “By no means; they run the criminal gamut. You’ll find shirkers there and shiftills, not to mention flamboyants, performers and violeers.”

  Jantiff watched the prisoners a moment and could not restrain a sneer. “The murderers go free but the flamboyant’s and sexivators are punished.”

  “Of course!” declared Sarp with relish. “We’ve got lots of folk to be murdered, but only, one egalism to be suborned. So never, waste your pity: they all befouled our, great society and now they sort ore for the Metallurgical Syndicate.”