by Jack Vance
Sklar Hast watched from a little distance as the crowd; examined the dead beast. He had no further interest in the kragen. A planned experiment had been foiled almost as soon as the hate-driven mob had rushed forward. But there would be more kragen for his derricks; hopefully they could be noosed by the sea-derrick before they broke into the lagoon. In years to come, strong-boats or barges equipped with derricks might even go forth to hunt the kragen … He approached the kragen once again, peered into the empty turret, where now welled puddle of viscous dark blue blood. The sight something deep in his brain; a response, a recollection, a reference. In the Analects? It came to him: The blood of certain sea-creatures of Earth also ran blue: lobsters and king crab, whatever these might be.
Kelso shared a similar interest in the dark blue fluid. He brought buckets with which he hailed out the blood and conveyed it to a barrel. Sklar Hast watched interest. “What do you propose?”
“Nothing definite. I am collecting substances. The savages found metal somewhere. If I collect enough materials and try various methods of extraction on all, I will be able to achieve what the savages have already done.”
“The savages are proving a great inspiration,” said Sklar Hast. “I wonder what other wonders and accomplishments they could teach?”
“Here would be a good use to make of the intercessors,” observed Rollo Barnack. “So far they have showed little enthusiasm for the new life.”
“The death of the kragen has made them very glum,” said Wall Bunce jocularly. “Hey, intercessors! What do you think now?”
The intercessors, who had watched the killing of the kragen from a distance, turned away in contempt and disgust. Sklar Hast strolled over to where they stood talking in low voices. “Do you still think that we need fear harassment by the kragen?” he asked. Luke Robinet spoke in a voice quivering with detestation. “These are small fry and not King Kragen. Someday he will find you and punish you for breaking the Covenant. Then all your ropes and pulleys and derricks will be of no avail whatever!”
Sklar Hast nodded dolefully. “It would be a sad affair. King Kragen should have been killed when he first appeared, as we have killed the sea-beast today. Think how much easier life would have been for all of us! Instead he was fed and fawned upon, and now he looms over all our lives.”
Barquan Blasdel said in his even, easy voice: “You are an insensitive man, Sklar Hast. You see only what is before your nose; you are ignorant of the spiritual benefits to be derived from self-abasement.”
“Absolutely true,” said Sklar Hast. “I fear I have suffered serious disadvantages in this respect.”
The Wyebolt Intercessor, a thin, hot-eyed old man with an undisciplined mop of white hair, rasped: “Your sarcastic fleers and flaunts will avail little when King Kragen at last demands an accounting!”
Sklar Hast noted certain uneasy movements and grimaces among the intercessors. “How do you expect that will come to pass?”
The Wyebolt Intercessor ignored the wry looks of his fellows, or perhaps, sensing them, he modified his reply. “What will be, will be. It certainly must be assumed that King Kragen will not allow his intercessors to be so misused.”
“The beast neither knows nor cares,” scoffed Sklar Hast, hoping to infuriate the Wyebolt Intercessor to the point where he might make an indiscreet revelation. Barquan Blasdel performed a large, almost indulgent gesture. “This conversation is bootless. You have us at a disadvantage. Eventually these poor folk will tire of your crass materialism and reject all that you represent. Until then we must be patient.” With a quick but monitory glance around the circle of intercessors, he crossed to his hut and disappeared within.
Sklar Hast moved on, across the float to where Meril Rohan had established what she called a “school” for the instruction of children. This was an institution not absolutely unknown on the Home Floats—in fact, the Quatrefoil Academy for the training of scriveners was notable—but children usually were educated through guild agencies.
Meril had watched the landing of the kragen but had taken no part in the frenzied death-rite. Instead, turning her back, she had gone to her “school”, which, of course, had been vacated by reason of the excitement at the other side of the float.
Here Sklar Hast, coming through the still heavy tangle of vines, found her, sitting on a bench looking out across the blue water. He approached and sat beside her. “What are you thinking about?”
She was silent a moment. “I was thinking about the times to come, and wondering what is to befall us.”
Sklar Hast laughed; “I can’t allow myself to wonder. The problems of Now are too great. If I wondered where all was to lead, I’d be halted.”
Meril making no reply, nodded slowly as if at some profound inner discovery.
“And where does all your wondering take you‘2” Sklar Hast asked.
“No single place. We are of the Eleventh generation; already there are Twelfths and Thirteenths; It seems that over all these years we have been living dreams. The Floats were so easy and fertile that he one has ever been forced to work or think or suffer. Or fight.”
Sklar Hast nodded gloomily. “Undoubtedly you are right—but now we have been forced, and we are fighting. Today we won our first victory.”
“But such a cheap victory. And what is the fight for? Merely that the kragen should not eat our sponges, that we should be allowed to continue this dreaming placid life; that it might go on forever!… I am not proud of myself. I was sickened by the death of the kragen. We fled the Home Floats. It was the right thing to do—but is this the end of our ambitions? A life of lagoons and sunlight, without even King Kragen to worry us? It frightens me somehow, and I wonder if this is all my life is to be: something without achievement or victory or meaning of any kind whatever.”
Sklar Hast frowned. “I have never thought exactly in these terms. Always the immediate problems seem urgent.
“I imagine that this would always be the case, no matter how trivial the problems. In her Memorium Eleanor Morse speaks of her ‘goals,’ and how they moved further and further into the distance, and so to achieve them she forced herself to become a Bezzler. This has no particular meaning for us, except that it illustrates how ambition forces folk to better themselves. So I have been trying to form some goals for myself, that I might just possibly hope to achieve.”
“What are they?”
“You won’t mock me? Or laugh?” Meril turned grave eyes upon him.
“No.” Sklar Hast took her hand, held it.
Meril looked around the array of crude benches, “I attended the Scriveners’ Academy on Quatrefoil. There are four large structures furnished for study, a refectory, and two dormitories. I want to bring such an academy into being here. Not just a place for scriveners, but an academy for the advancement of all knowledge. There are hints of what is to be learned in the Memoria … it is my goal to establish this academy, where the young people learn their guild skills, learn the Memoria, but, most important, learn the same dissatisfaction that I feel, so that they, too, shall have goals.”
Sklar Hast was silent. Then he said, “You shall certainly have all my help … And you shame me. I ask myself, what are my own goals? I am sorry to say that they were satisfied, at least in part, when the derrick lifted the kragen from the water; I had thought no farther ahead. True, I want this float to be prosperous and happy … ” He frowned. “I have a goal. Two goals. First: I want you for my spouse. I want no other. Second: I Want to destroy King Kragen.” He took her other hand. “What do you say to this?”
“Destroy King Kragen, by all means.”
“And what of the first goal?”
“I would think it is—attainable.”
A hand shook Sklar Hast. He awoke to see a dark form standing above him, black against the stars. “Who is it? What do you want?”
“I am Julio Rile; I guard the coracles. I want you to come with me.”
Sklar Hast lurched to his feet, pulled on a cloak, slipped his feet
into sandals. “What happens? Are they stealing our floats?”
“No. There is a strange noise coming from the water.”
Sklar Hast went with the youth to the edge of the float. Kneeling, putting his head close to the water, he heard a groaning, scraping, wheezing sound, unlike any that he had ever heard before. There was one that had been similar … Sklar Hast turned, went at a lope to the hut that housed the horn taken from Barquan Blasdel’s pad at Apprise Float. He brought it forth, carried it to the edge of the float, lowered it into the water. The sound was startlingly loud. Sklar Hast turned the horn, noted the direction from which the sound reached a maximum intensity. He grinned a sudden angry grin. “Go, wake Phyral Berwick and Rollo Barnack and Rubal Gallager. Make haste. Bring them here.”
Sklar Hast awoke Poe Belrod and Roger Kelso. The whole group listened at the horn and looked in the direction from which the sound seemed to emanate: the hut occupied by Barquan Blasdel.
Sklar Hast whispered: “Someone will be watching at the front; let us approach from the back.”
They moved quietly through the shadows, around the rear of Barquan Blasdel’s hut. Sklar Hast brought out a knife. He slit the pad-skin, pushed through into the interior.
A lamp on a shelf lit the room dimly. Kneeling around a hole in the floor were Barquan Blasdel and Luke Robinet. They manipulated a contrivance of wood, leather and cord, which extended through the hole into the blue water. To the side was a plug to fill the hole during the day.
Barquan Blasdel slowly rose to his feet, as did Luke Robinet. Into the room came Phyral Berwick, Roger Kelso, and the others.
No one spoke. There was clearly nothing to be said. Sklar Hast went to the hole, lifted out the sound-producing mechanism, replaced the plug.
There were hurried footsteps in the outer room. A voice spoke through the door. “Caution; halt the sounds. Folk are astir.”
Sklar Hast flung wide the door, seized the speaker, Vida Reach, formerly Sumber Intercessor, and drew him into the room. Quietly he went to the front door. No-one else could be seen. In all likelihood the entire group of intercessors were concerned with the plot, but only these three could be directly charged.
From the first Barquan Blasdel had made no pretense of satisfaction with his altered circumstances. His former rank counted nothing, and in fact aroused antagonism among his float-fellows. Blasdel grudgingly adapted himself to his new life, building sponge-arbors and scraping withe. His spouse, who on Apprise Float had commanded a corps of four maidens and three garden-men, at first rebelled when Blasdel required her to bake pangolay, as the bread-stuff baked from pollen was known, and core sponges “like any low-caste slut,” as she put it. Finally she surrendered to the protests of her empty stomach. Her daughters adapted themselves with better grace, and indeed the four youngest participated with great glee at the slaughter of the kragen. The remaining two stayed in the background, eyebrows raised at the vulgar fervor of their sisters.
These then were the circumstances of Barquan Blasdel’s existence at the time of his ill-founded concept of summoning King Kragen; Luke Robinet and Vidal Reach lived under similar conditions, with no restraints except in regard to the coracles. On the morning after their apprehension, the three conspirators were brought before a judicial assembly of guild-masters and caste-elders. Inasmuch as Phyral Berwick had participated in the actual apprehension of the persons accused, Gian Recargo served as Arbiter. The morning sun shone bright on the float. At the entrance to the lagoon lay the bulk of the kragen still in the process of being flensed by apprentice nigglers and advertisers. The assembly sat in near silence, conversing in whispers.
From the hut where they had spent the night came Barquan Blasdel, Luke Robinet, and Vidal Reach, blinking in the glare of the sun; in utter silence they were marched to a bench and ordered to sit.
Phyral Berwick arose and described the circumstances of the previous night. “It is evident that they intended to attract the attention of King Kragen, if by some chance he was cruising near.”
Gian Recargo leaned forward. “Have they admitted as much?”
The Arbiter looked at the accused. “What have you to say?”
“So far as I am concerned, nothing,” said Barquan Blasdel.
“You admit the charges?”
“I have no statement to make. Things are as they are.”
“Do you deny or repudiate any of Phyral Berwick’s testimony?”
“No.”
“You must be aware that this is an extremely serious charge.”
“From your point of view.”
“Did you have reason to believe that King Kragen is, or was, in the vicinity? Or did you produce this noise merely in the hope of attracting his attention if he should chance to be nearby?”
“I repeat, I have no statement to make.”
“You put forward no defense?”
“It would obviously be futile.”
“You do not deny the acts?”
“I have no statement to make. Things are as they are.”
Luke Robinet and Vidal Reach were similarly taciturn. The Arbiter took statements from Sklar Hast, Julio Rile, and Rollo Barnack. He said, “Clearly the accused are guilty of the most vindictive intentions. I am at a loss as to what penalty to impose. There is absolutely no precedent, to my knowledge.”
Phyral Berwick spoke. “Our problem is how to make ourselves secure. We can kill these men. We might maroon them on a lonely float, even the Savage Floats, or we can guard them more carefully. I even feel a certain sympathy for them. If I shared the fervor of their convictions, I might act similarly in a similar situation. I say, give them the sternest of warnings, but give them their lives.”
No one dissented. Gian Recargo turned to the three criminals. “We give you your lives. All shall be as before. I suspect that this is more than you would do for us, but no matter. We are not you. But remember, for our own security, we can show no more mercy! Consider that you are now living a new life, and make the best possible use of it. Go. Return to your work. Try to make yourselves deserving of the trust we have placed in you.”
“We did not ask to be brought here,” said Barquan Blasdel in his easy voice.
“Your presence here is a direct consequence of your original treachery, when you attempted to arrange that King Kragen should intercept our flotilla. In retrospect, it seems that we are unreasonably merciful. Still, this is the nature of the life we hope to lead and you are the unworthy beneficiaries. Go, and remember that mercy will not be extended a third time.”
Luke Robinet and Vidal Reach were somewhat subdued, but Barquan Blasdel sauntered away undaunted.
Sklar Hast and Roger Kelso watched him depart. “There is a man who knows only hate,” said Sklar Hast. “Forbearance has not won his gratitude. He will bear the most vigilant watch!”
“We are not preparing ourselves fast enough,” said Kelso.
“For what?”
“For the inevitable confrontation. Sooner or later King Kragen will find us. The intercessors seem to feel he swims this far afield. If he comes, we have no means of escape, and certainly no means to repel him.”
Sklar Hast somberly agreed. “All too true. We do not feel enough urgency; this is indeed a false security. By some means we must formulate a system by which we can protect ourselves. Weapons! Think of a great harpoon, launched by a hundred men, tipped with hard metal … But we have no metal.”
“But we do,” said Kelso. He brought forth a gray pellet the size of a baby‘s tooth. “This is iron.”
Sklar Hast took it, turned it back and forth in his fingers. “Iron! From where did it come?”
“I produced it.”
“By the system the savages use?”
“As to that, I can’t say.”
“But how? What is its source? The air? The sea? The fruit of the float?”
“Come to Outcry Float tomorrow, somewhat before noon. I will explain all.”
“Including the provenance of the name ‘Out
cry’?”
“All will be explained.”
Chapter 12
In order to work undisturbed, with a minimum of interference from casual passers-by and elderly guild-masters with well-meant advice, Kelso had preempted for his investigations the float next to the west, and this, for reasons arising from his activities, became known as Outcry Float. For helpers and assistants and fellow researchers, Kelso had recruited several dozen of the most alert young men and women available, who worked with energy and enthusiasm surprising even to themselves.
Only three hundred yards separated the two floats, and Sklar Hast paddled the intervening distance, he already envisaged hoodwink towers transmitting messages between the two. A vagrant thought came to him: best set up practice machines, so that old hoodwinks should not lose their reflexes, that apprentices might be instructed, that the craft might be kept alive.
Arriving at Outcry Float, he tied the coracle to the rude dock which Kelso had caused to be built. A path led around a tall clump of banner-bush into a central area beside the central spike, which was now scrupulously cleared of vegetation, and as a result the pad surface had become a liverish purple-brown.
Kelso was hard at work on an intricate contrivance, the purpose of which Sklar Hast could not fathom. A rectangular frame of stalk rose ten feet in the air, supporting a six-foot hoop of woven withe in a plane parallel to the surface of the float. To the hoop was glued a large sheet of first-quality pad-skin, which had been scraped, rubbed, and oiled until it was almost perfectly transparent. Below, Kelso now arranged a box containing ashes. As Sklar Hast watched, he mixed in a quantity of water and some gum, enough to make a gray dough, which he worked with his fingers and knuckles, to leave a saucer-shaped depression.
The sun neared the zenith; Kelso signaled two of his helpers. One climbed the staging; the other passed up buckets of water. The first poured these upon the transparent membrane, which sagged under the weight.
Sklar Hast watched silently, giving no voice to his perplexity. The membrane, now brimming, seemed to bulged perilously. Kelso, at last satisfied with his arrangements, joined Sklar Hast. “You are puzzled by this device; nevertheless it is very simple. You own a telescope?”
