by Jack Vance
"Not entirely."
Frolitz swallowed half a tankard of the strong green cider and winked at the stranger: a tall, thin man with a head of soft white hair, an expression of austere acquiescence toward the vicissitudes of life. His age was indeterminate; he might have been old or young. "The burglar suffered a harsh fate," Frolitz told Etzwane. "The lesson to be learned is this: Never commit an unlawful act. Especially, never steal; when you take a man's property, your life becomes forfeit, as has just been demonstrated."
Loy rubbed his chin with uneasy fingers. "In a sense, the penalty seems extreme. The burglar took goods but lost his life. These are the laws of Elphine which the Faceless Man correctly enforced—but should a bagful of goods and a man's life weigh so evenly on the balance?"
The white-haired stranger offered his opinion. "Why should it be otherwise? You ignore a crucial factor in the situation. Property and life are not incommensurable, when property is measured in terms of human toil. Essentially property is life; it is that proportion of life which an individual has expended to gain the property. When a thief steals property, he steals life. Each act of pillage therefore becomes a small murder."
Frolitz struck the bar with his fist. "A sound exposition, if ever I heard one! Loy, place before this instructive stranger a draft of his own choice, at my expense. Sir, how may I address you?"
The stranger told Loy: "A mug of that green cider, if you please." He turned somewhat upon his chair, toward Frolitz and Etzwane. "My name is Ifness; I am a traveling mercantilist."
Etzwane gave him a sour look; his rancor toward the man in the pacer trap had never waned. Ifness, then, was his name. A mercantilist? Etzwane had his doubts. Not so Frolitz. "Odd to hear such clever theories from a mercantilist!" he marveled.
"The talk of such folk is often humdrum," agreed Loy. Tor sheer entertainment, give me the company of a tavern-keeper."
Ifness pursed his lips judiciously. "All folk, mercantilists as well as tavern-keepers and musicians, try to relate their work to abstract universal. We mercantilists are highly sensitive to theft, which stabs at our very essence. To steal is to acquire goods by a simple, informal, and inexpensive process. To buy identical goods is tedious, irksome, and costly. Is it any wonder that larceny is popular? Nonetheless it voids the mercantilist's reasons for being alive; we regard thieves with the same abhorrence that musicians might feel for a fanatic gang which beat bells and gongs whenever musicians played."
Frolitz stifled an ejaculation.
Ifness tasted the mug of green cider that Loy had set before him. 'To repeat: when a thief steals property, he steals life. For a mercantilist I am tolerant of human weakness, and I would not react vigorously to the theft of a day. I would resent the theft of a week; I would kill the thief who stole a year of my life."
"Hear, hear!" cried Frolitz. ""Words to deter the criminal! Etzwane, have you listened?"
"You need not single me out so pointedly," said Etzwane. "I am no thief."
Frolitz, somewhat elevated by his drafts of cider, told Ifness, "Quite true, quite true! He is not a thief, he is a musician! Owing to the virtue of my instruction, he has become an adept! He finds time for nothing but study. He is master of six instruments; he knows the parts to two thousand compositions. When I forget a chord, he is always able to call out a signal. This morning, mark you, I paid over to him a bonus of three hundred florins, out of the troupe's instrument fund."
Ifness nodded approvingly. "He seems a paragon."
To a certain extent," said Frolitz. "On the other hand, he is secretive and stubborn. He nurtures and nurses every florin he has ever seen; he would breed them together if he could. All this makes him a dull dog at a debauch. As for the three hundred florins, I long ago had promised him five hundred and decided to stint him for his cheerlessness."
"But will not this method augment his gloom?"
"To the contrary; I keep him keen. As a musician he must learn to be grateful for every trifle. I have made him what he is, at least in his better parts. For his faults you must cite a certain Chilite, Osso, whom Etzwane claims as his 'soul-father.'"
"On my way east I will be passing through Canton Bastern," said Ifness politely. "If I encounter Osso, I will convey him your greetings."
"Don't bother," said Etzwane. "I am going to Bashon myself."
Frolitz jerked around to focus his eyes on Etzwane. "Did I hear correctly? You mentioned no such plans to me!"
"If I had, you would not have paid me three hundred florins this morning. As a matter of fact I just made up my mind ten seconds ago."
"But what of the troupe? What of our engagements? Everything will be discommoded I"
"I won't be gone long. When I return, you can pay me more money since I seem to be indispensable."
Frolitz raised his bushy eyebrows. "No one is indispensable save myself! I'll play khitan and wood-horn together, if I feel so inclined, and produce better music than any four fat-necked apprentices!" Frolitz banged his mug on the bar by way of emphasis. "However, to keep my friend Loy satisfied, I must hire a substitute—an added expense and worry. How long will you be gone?"
"Three weeks, I suppose."
"Three weeks'?" roared Frolitz. "Are you planning a rest cure on the Ilwiy beach? Three days to Bashon, twenty minutes for your business, three days back to Brassei: that's enough!"
"Well enough, if I traveled by balloon," said Etzwane. "I must walk or ride a wagon."
"Is this more parsimony? Why not go by balloon? What is the difference in cost?"
"Something like thirty florins each way, or so I would guess."
"Well, then! Where is your pride? Does a Pink-Black-Azure-Deep Greener travel like a dog-barber?" He turned to Loy the publican. "Give this man sixty florins, in advance, on my account."
Somewhat dubiously Loy went to his till. Frolitz took the money and clapped it down on the bar in front of Etzwane. "There you are; be off with you. Above all, do not let yourself be deceived by other troupe-masters. They might offer more money than I pay, but be assured, there would be hidden disadvantages!"
Etzwane laughed. "Never fear, I'll be back perhaps in a week or ten days. I'll take the first balloon out; my business at Bashon will be short enough; then it's the first balloon back to Brassei."
Frolitz turned to consult Ifness but found an empty chair; Ifness had departed the tavern.
Chapter 7
A storm had struck in from the Green Ocean, bringing floods to Cantons Maiy and Erevan; a section of the Great Transverse Route had been washed out; balloons were delayed two days until crews were able to rig an emergency pass-over.
Etzwane was able to secure a place on the first balloon out of Brassei, the Asper. He climbed into the gondola and took a seat; behind him came other passengers. Last aboard was Ifness.
Etzwane sat indifferently, making no sign of recognition. Ifness saw Etzwane and after the briefest of hesitations nodded and sat down beside him. "It seems that we are to be traveling companions."
Etzwane made a cool response. I will find it a pleasure."
The door was closed; bars were lowered to provide the passengers a grip when the balloon swayed and heeled. The wind-tender entered his compartment, tested the winches, checked valves and ballast release. He signaled the ground crew; they rolled the Judas-dolly out along the slot; the Asper rose into the air. The running dolly was released; the Asper danced and flounced in the beam wind until the wind-tender trimmed guys, whereupon the Asper steadied and surged ahead, with taut guys and singing dolly.
Ifness spoke to Etzwane: "You seem totally relaxed. Have you ridden the balloon-way before?"
"Many years ago."
"A wonderful experience for a child."
"It was indeed."
"I am never altogether comfortable in the balloons," said Ifness. "They seem so frail and vulnerable. A few sticks, the thinnest of membranes, the most fugitive of gases. Still, the Palasedran gliders seem even more precarious: transport, no doubt, which accords with th
eir temperament. You are bound for Bashon, I understand."
"I intend to pay off my mother's indenture."
Ifness reflected a moment. "Perhaps you should have entrusted your business to a job-broker. The Chilites are a devious folk and may try to mulct you."
"No doubt they'll try. But it won't do any good. I carry an ordinance from the Faceless Man, which they must obey."
"I see. Well, I still would be on my guard. The Chilites, for all their unworldliness, are seldom bested."
After a moment Etzwane said, "You seem well acquainted with the Chilites."
Ifness permitted himself a faint smile. "They are a fascinating cult; the Chilite rationale and its physical projection make a most elegant pattern. You don't follow me? Consider: a group which nightly intoxicates itself into a frenzy of erotic hallucinations under the pretext of religious asceticism—isn't this sublime insouciance? A social machinery is necessary to maintain this state of affairs: it is as you know. How to ensure persistence in a group not itself regenerative? By recruiting the children of other men, by the constant infusion of new blood. How to secure so precious a commodity, which other men normally protect with their lives? By the ingenious institution of Rhododendron Way, which also turns a good profit. What marvelous effrontery I It can almost be admired!"
Etzwane was surprised to find Ifness so enthusiastic. He said coldly, "I was born on Rhododendron Way and became a Pure Boy; I find them disgusting."
Ifness seemed amused. He said, They are a remarkable adaptation, if perhaps too highly specialized. What would happen, for instance, if they no longer could obtain galga?'In a generation or less the structure of the society would alter in one of several conceivable directions."
Etzwane wondered that a mercantilist should be so apt at abstract analysis of human society. "What sort of goods do you sell?" he asked. "As a mercantilist I assume that you sell goods."
"Not quite the case," said Ifness. "I am employed by a mercantile association to travel here and there and discover possible new applications for their products."
"It seems an interesting job," said Etzwane.
"I find it so."
Etzwane glanced at the man's torc. "From the purple-green I assume your home to be Garwiy."
"That is the case." Ifness took a journal from his valise, The Kingdoms of Old Caraz, and began to read.
Etzwane looked out over the reaches of the landscape. An hour passed. The Asper halted at a siding to allow a pair of eastbound balloons to skim by, cables taut, dollies singing down the slots.
At noon the wind-tender sold tea, slabs of fruit jelly, buns, and meat sticks to those who required food. Ifness put away his journal and ate; Etzwane preferred to husband his funds, which were barely sufficient. Finishing his meal, Ifness fastidiously brushed his hands and returned to the journal.
An hour later the Asper arrived at Brassei Junction in Canton Fairlea and was switched onto the Great Transverse Route. The wind freshened but, coming from the port quarter, blew the balloon only at its own speed; so passed the afternoon. At sunset the wind died completely, and the Asper stood becalmed above an upland moor, in Canton Shade.
The suns danced down behind the horizon; the sky flared violet behind four streaks of apple-green cloud. Darkness came quickly. A breeze stirred the upper air, still coming from astern; the Asper eased forward along the slot, no faster than a man could walk.
The wind-tender served a meal of cheese, wine, and biscuits, then rigged hammocks. The passengers, with nothing better to do, slept.
Late the next afternoon the Asper arrived at Angwin, at the head of the great Gorge. Here the slot terminated, and the cable swung up in a pair of great pale swags to Angwin Junction where years before—it seemed dream-time—Etzwane had been brought up from Carbade to work as an apprentice. He wondered if Finnerack still worked there.
The Asper was scheduled to continue along the Great Transverse Route, to the south slopes of the Hwan; at Angwin it descended to discharge those passengers who were to continue along the North Spur. There were four of these: Etzwane, a pair of commercial buyers bound for Dublay at the tip of Canton Cape, and Ifness.
The North Spur connection, which should have been waiting, had been delayed by light winds; the four passengers must put up a night at Angwin Inn.
The As-per climbed back into the sky, with the guys now shifted to the cable. In the wheelhouse under the inn the crew put their shoulders to the windlass; the balloon was drawn across the Great Gorge and up to Junction. Etzwane could not bring himself to go down to watch the windlass, as did the two buyers.
Later Etzwane and the buyers sat in the lounge overlooking the Great Gorge; Ifness had gone for a stroll along the rim of the chasm.
The suns toppled low, one behind the other; magenta light struck Mount Mish and the far peaks beyond. The gorge became dim with murk. Etzwane and the buyers drank spiced cider; as the steward brought a tray of preserved fruit, one of the buyers asked, "Do you see many Roguskhoi down in the gorge?"
"Not often," the steward replied. The lads up at Junction used to see a few, but from what I hear, they've migrated east into the Wildlands."
They raided down in Shallou not so long ago," said the second buyer. "That's to the west."
"Yes, so it is. Well, it's all beyond me. What we'd do if a band attacked Angwin, I can't imagine."
The other buyer spoke. The gorge itself is some protection, so I should think."
The steward looked gloomily down into the blue murk. "Not enough to suit me if what I hear of the devils is true. If we had women up here, I wouldn't sleep nights. They hardly go out of their way to kill a man except for entertainment, but if they smell a woman, they climb through fire and flood. In my opinion something ought to be done."
Ifness, who had returned unobserved, spoke from the shadows. "What, in your opinion, is the 'something' that ought to be done?"
'The Faceless Man should be notified and have it driven home to him, that's what I'll say, throw a cordon around the whole Hwan if it takes every man in Shant and then start closing in, driving the devils together, killing as we go. When men from the north, east, south, and west look at each other over the top of Mount Skarack, then well know we're rid of the vermin."
One of the buyers demurred. Too complicated; it would never work. They'd hide in caves or tunnels. Now, my idea is to put out poison—"
The other buyer offered a lewd specification for efficacious bait.
"Well, why not," demanded his colleague, "if it'll draw them? But poison's the answer, mark my words."
The second buyer said, "Don't be too sure I These are not animals, you know. They're freak men from across the Salt Bog. The Palasedrans have been quiet too long; it's unnatural, and now they're sending in the Roguskhoi."
The steward said, "I don't care where they come from; let's clear them out, back to Palasedra for preference. According to the afternoon news, just in over the radio, a band came down from Mount Haghead to raid a village in Morningshore. Killed, raped, kidnapped. The village is a total ruin."
"So far to the east?" murmured Ifness.
That's the report. First Shallou to the west, then Morningshore to the east. The Hwan must be crawling with them."
That doesn't necessarily follow," said Etzwane.
"You may be sure," said the first buyer in a pontifical voice, "that the Faceless Man is ready to act. He has no choice."
The steward sneered. "He's far away in Garwiy; what's our safety to him?"
The buyers pursed their lips. "Well," said one, "I wouldn't go so far as that. The Faceless Man represents us all! By and large he does a good job."
"Still" said the other, "the time has come. He should take action."
The steward inquired, "Do you gentlemen require more drink before supper? If so, call out now before cook strikes the gong."
Etzwane asked, "Is Dagbolt still superintendent?" .
"No, old Dagbolt's been dead five years of throat chancre," replied the steward. "I
knew him a mere three months, more than ample. Dickon Defonso is superintendent, and affairs go tolerably well."
"Does a certain Finnerack work at Angwin?"
"Finnerack? Somewhere I've heard the name. But he's not here."
"Might he be at Junction?"
"Nor at Junction. Finnerack . . . Some sort of scandal. Was he the criminal who loosed a balloon?"
"I couldn't say."
In the middle of the morning the balloon Jano arrived at Angwin. The four passengers climbed aboard; the Jano rose to the extent of its guys and was pulled back across the gorge to Junction. Etzwane gazed down in fascination at the little island in the sky. There the three great sheaves, almost in contact; there the stone shelter with the timber door and the outhouse cantilevered over the gorge. At the sheave he saw the motion of the man on duty; the balloon gave a jerk as the claw-jack drew down the guys and the grip was transferred to the North Spur cable, and another jerk as the jerk was released. Etzwane smiled as he thought of another balloon, so long ago....
The Jano was drawn down to the North Station; the guys were transferred to a dolly; then off down the slot into Canton Seamus ran the Jano, tacking into a brisk breeze off the starboard bow. With the balloon trimmed to best advantage, the wind-tender came into the gondola. "All here for Oswiy, I take it?"
"Not I," said Etzwane. "I'm for Bastern Station at Carbade."
"Bastern Station? I'll put you down if the landing crew is on hand. They took themselves into Carbade during the raid."
"What raid is this?"
"You wouldn't have heard. The Roguskhoi, a band of fifty or sixty, pushed out of the wildlands and plundered down the Mirk."
"How far down the Mirk?"
That I don't know. If they turned toward Seamus, you won't find a crew at Bastem Station. Why not go on down to Ascalon? You'd find it more secure."
I must get off at Bastern Station if I slide down the guys."
When the Jano reached Bastern Station, the crew had returned to duty; the Jano was hauled down with a nervous jerkiness. Etzwane jumped to the ground; Ifness followed. "I take it that you are traveling east?" asked Ifness.
