The place was lively, I’ll say that. People rushing this way and that, stalls open to the outside displaying lots of fruits, vegetables, clothes, and handicrafts, and doing a fair business from the look of it.
“Come with me now,” the boy instructed, and we followed. I could see that Zala had completely recovered from her flight for she was showing some anticipation at touring the market.
We entered the solid-facade building and found ourselves in a wide entry hall with a large wooden staircase situated directly in the middle. Corridors led off in all directions with what were obviously offices along them. The boy stopped and turned to us. “You wait here. I’ll see if the Master is in.” And with that he bounded up the stairs and was off.
Zala turned to me. “Who do you think he means?”
“Probably the local wizard,” I replied. “Remember to be respectful to him. I want to get off on a good note.”
“Don’t worry.”
We waited for the boy to return. A few people walked here and there on unknown business, but none gave us more than a passing glance. Civil servants looked the same anywhere. The one oddity was that the place was cool—at least a lot cooler than it was outside. There was certainly some land of air circulation system at work, although what type I could not guess. Not regular air-conditioning, that was for sure—the temperature was down, but not the humidity.
Before long the boy was back. “The Master will see you,” he told us, and we followed him upstairs. It was a bit warmer there, as would be expected, and as we walked to the rear of the large building I was conscious of the temperature rising.
We were ushered into an office with nothing on the door. There was an antechamber, like a waiting room, with nobody behind the desk; we went straight back to a second door which the boy opened.
We felt a surprising blast of cool, dry air as we entered. The office was large and very comfortably appointed, with a huge carved wooden desk in the center. Behind that desk sat a rather large man with an enormous white beard, as if in compensation for his mostly bald head. He was smoking a pipe.
He smiled as we entered and nodded. “Please, take seats in front of the desk here,” he said pleasantly, gesturing. The chairs, large and high-backed, were modern and quite comfortable, although as the man surely knew, it’s impossible for a person sitting opposite anyone behind a desk to feel on an equal footing.
The bearded man looked at the boy. “That’ll be all, Gori. Shut the door on your way out.” The boy nodded and did as instructed. “A good lad, that,” the man commented. “Might make a good apt someday, if he gets over his hangup.”
I couldn’t imagine what the fellow was talking about, so I said, “Hangup?”
“Yes. He wants to be a fish. Oh, well—I’m Tally Kokul, chief magician and high muckety-muck of this little speck of humanity.”
“Park Lacoch,” I responded, “and this is Zala Embuay.” He looked at Zala, and I saw a little puzzlement come over his face, but he recovered quickly. Whatever Korman had seen, though, Kokul had just seen as well.
“I knew you were coming, Lacoch, but nobody said anything about the lady here. I—” He was about to continue when there was a knock at the door. The boy Gori entered and placed a brief-pouch on his desk, then turned and left again. “I was wondering about this,” he muttered, as he opened it, removed two file folders, discarded one and opened and looked through the other. I could guess pretty well that those folders contained everything known on both of us, along with orders and recommendations from above. “Humph. I’m not sure I like your status, Madame Embuay,” he said almost to himself. He looked up at her. “Bourget is a pretty conservative village. Other than myself, you’re the only two people here not native to Charon.” Zala looked blank, so I hazarded a guess. “Religious?” He nodded. “Fifty, sixty years ago the Diamond had a near invasion of missionaries from all sorts of sects. The Confederacy more or less encouraged it—got the fanatics out of their hair and voluntarily exiled here for life. Bourget wasn’t much of anything then—it still isn’t all that much, although we now rate as a sort of local capital. This one group, the Unitites, were real fanatics and were pretty much run out of all the established towns. But their leader, a fellow named Suritani, was a real lady’s man who was also pretty well practiced in the Arts. He was able to get a pretty good following, mostly female, and came here and established Bourget as a religious colony of sorts. Most everybody here’s a cousin of everybody else.”
“Sounds pretty liberal to me,” I noted. Zala said nothing.
“Oh, it was—for the big man. But not for everybody else. The usual story. Understand, I’m the only one around who can get away with talk like this. You better respect the local beliefs so you don’t step on any.”
I nodded, and he went on.
“Well, anyway, you’ll find most everybody stops twice a day—at eight and six—and prays together for a couple of minutes. Men and women have clearly defined, but different jobs, very strict, and men can have up to three wives. We still have more women than men by a long shot.”
“Can a woman have three husbands?” Zala asked, seriously interested.
“No. I told you it was an old-style, almost throwback religion—one big god, who supposedly lives at the center of the universe, and assorted godlets who are the messengers between people and this one god. All very complex, and very strict.”
“Sounds like this isn’t a very good place for loyalty to the central government,” I noted. “Not with a woman as Lord of Cerberus.”
“You’re very perceptive, Lacoch. I can see why they sent you. You’re right—they simply don’t accept the prevailing politics, which is always a headache to me. One of several this sect gives me, frankly. Most of them just prefer to believe Aeolia Matuze has a man who does all the thinking for her, making her a bridge, like the godlets. So far that’s been okay, although there’ve been rumblings that our leader is going to declare her divinity and impose her own religion on the planet. If it comes to that, they may have to get a new population for Bourget, even the Company chiefs. I’m hoping that, at least, I can get a soft-pedaled exemption here.”
I sympathized with his problem, and it didn’t escape me that the chief sorcerer of Bourget was a ripe candidate for somebody like Koril.
“This religion is a hundred percent, then?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing’s ever a hundred percent. I’d say about half the people are really devout and really believe all of it, another thirty percent just do it because it’s the way they were raised, and another ten go through the motions just to avoid trouble.”
“That’s only ninety percent,” I noted.
He nodded. “The other ten are with the opposition.”
“The opposition?”
“Most religions have a devil, a demon, somebody who represents evil and on which everything bad can be blamed. This one’s no exception. It’s called the Destroyer. Some personalities are just naturally attracted to the side of evil in such a strict society. In addition, it’s a natural place for people in Bourget who chafe under the strict society—women, mostly, who have some or a lot of the Art, and know either by experience or direct knowledge that the rest of the worlds allow women not only equality, but occasionally superiority. It used to be pretty local, but lately similar cults have been cropping up all over Charon, and there’s some evidence that they’ve been co-opted by a political opposition to the rule of Matuze.”
“I’m familiar with the politics of the situation,” I told him. “Still, it seems funny that the logical order’s been reversed here. The establishment, which backs the existing order on Charon, is prejudiced against women in leadership positions yet has a woman at its head; the opposition, which wants women made equal like everywhere else, is falling in with a group designed to put a man back in power.”
Zala followed the conversation but said nothing. I had pretty well given her the entire outline of recent history on Charon, so she at least knew the players ev
en if she didn’t seem quite able to understand the game.
“Well, it’s not that simple,” Kokul came back. “On most of Charon it’s different, although some towns have pockets with even crazier beliefs and systems than Bourget. What we have is a three-sided system here, as in most places. Our cult with its value system; the opposition, which ties into the overall opposition; and governmental authority—which right now is you and me and just about nobody else.”
I understood what he meant, and although it wasn’t comforting to me, I could well understand why I’d been sent to Bourget. The stricter the local social system, the more likely that the opposition—and Koril’s strength and agents—would be powerful and well-organized as well, particularly with its south-coast location and general isolation.
Although Kokul seemed casual and not a little cynical about Matuze, I was under no illusions that he could be trusted. Like me, he was from some other world and culture—and had been sent here for a reason. No matter how casual he was about the central government, there had to be the suspicion that they would hardly send a traitor or an incompetent to such a sensitive spot as Bourget.
“Enough about that,” the wizard decided. “As for Bourget—well, if you can tolerate the social structure, which really isn’t all that bad once you get used to it, the citizens are a pretty good, hard-working lot. We’re self-sufficient in food and building materials, have a lively local handicrafts industry, and generate a fair amount of surplus income through exports. Not bad for a village of less than 5000. The climate has two seasons—hot and hotter—so outside of official circles you’ll find dress ranges from little to less. We have good ground water, which is safe for all purposes, and back in the hills some really nice waterfalls, which we’ve harnessed as best we can for everything from cooling systems to pumps and the like—all direct mechanical, though. About the most modern machine you’ll find here is a solar watch, although we do generate some minor steam power for the big jobs, mostly out in the Companies. It’s surprising what good engineering will do, even without modern power sources.”
I accepted his point, since it was self-evident—early man had built some stunning empires on the most basic of power sources. “So what’s my job here?” I asked him. “And how do we get set up and get started?”
“Well, it’s basically supervision, but as you’re responsible for overall efficiency, the accuracy of all data and will be held accountable for any problems or errors, it’s very much a hands-on job. Within a day’s journey of Bourget are nine Companies, employing upwards of a thousand people and producing very valuable commodities. In town, there are thirty guilds which produce everything from clothing to handicrafts. All of them need things and I don’t just mean raw materials. You are, basically, the head of the local bank. The government’s syndicates meet four times a year in Monday and decide on a fair price and profit margin for everything, and you get the official rates in a big book. The job of your office is to maintain a balance between what they get and what they provide according to the set table of values. All Company orders come to you, as do orders for their products. The trick is to make sure the Companies get only what they have paid for in products, but receive enough to get by on. If there is an imbalance in their favor, they are paid in money.”
I nodded, “founds pretty direct. But who pays my salary, my staff, and my operating expenses?”
“Well, that’s simple. The bank takes ten percent of all transactions at the time of the transaction. Half of that is your take, split along mutually agreeable lines. Naturally, in good times you make more than in bad, with each employee getting a share. The rest gets sent on to Charon’s government.”
I nodded. “So the more I encourage business and make it easier, by advice, suggestion, whatever, to increase production, the more we all make. A very interesting system.”
“That’s about it,” he agreed. “If somebody’s got a real problem you can send for an expert to help—paid out of your overhead, though.”
That, perhaps, explained the elderly woman on the soarer. I wondered how somebody used to being the boss would like this culture, even for a short time. Still, I had a few more questions.
“Where will we live and how are we going to pick up the basics?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” he responded. “The share account for the T.A. kept operating in the two months since the old one died, so there’s a fair amount in there now. You can draw on it downstairs—they’ll be expecting you. Then just buy what you need. A house goes with the job, already furnished—Tudy, that’s the boy who met you, will show it to you. It’s on the bay, an easy walk from here.”
“Out of curiosity—who pays you?” I asked him.
He laughed. “Oh, nobody. The last thing I need is money.” He grew more serious. “Now, the staff will break you in during the next few days—take it easy until you get the hang of it. Your first month you can use learning the ropes, since any minor mistakes can be blamed on the past two month’s vacancy. We open at eight each morning, the markets and stores at nine, and we close except for a night accounting staff at four. The businesses stay open until nine or ten, the café s a bit later, but the nightlife’s pretty poor around here. For one thing, they drink only weak beer and light wines, and the entertainment’s mostly home-grown and not very good. We go for six days, then take three off, then go again.”
“I would guess a small town like this is full of gossip and rumor,” I noted. “I doubt if it’s going to take very long to get to know these people.”
“Oh, it’ll be easier than that. We’ll introduce the two of you at your wedding.”
“What!” That was Zala.
“I said it was a conservative place. You have no job, no means of support—and you’re quite attractive. I assume that you’d rather marry Park here, than be forced to marry some local with one or two others around.”
“I don’t want to marry anybody. I don’t believe in it.”
He sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter what you believe. You’re not back on the civilized worlds now. You’re not even in some freewheeling town like Montlay or Cadura. Remember, you don’t have to take the ceremony very seriously since it’s just for the locals’ consumption.”
“Then why not just say we’re already married?” she wanted to know.
“Because this is the easiest way to get in with the locals. They’ll get to know you, will like you respecting their local customs and beliefs, and they’ll be much more likely to accept you. Just let me arrange it all, and go along. Other than that, just keep your mouth shut when you see something you don’t agree with. Antagonize these people and you can find yourself in a world of trouble. I’m the strongest and most feared wizard in these parts, but I’m hardly the only one who can cast spells and work magic. There’s a lot of home-grown talent around, and a lot more than can be bought. Some of them are pretty good. Unless you can develop your own powers, it’s best to go along with them no matter how backward or ignorant they may seem. This is literally the key to your survival—you have to live with these people and depend on them for your necessities. It can be pretty lonely if you antagonize them from the beginning.”
She seemed slightly unnerved, but a little chastened. “I’ll try,” was all she could promise.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Settling In
Things actually went off rather nicely, if I do say so myself. As it turned out, the accumulated back pay was more than generous, and we were both able to buy suitable toiletries, wardrobes, and the like.
The wedding took place in the town square, officiated at by one of the local priests who did a lot of prerehearsed mumbo-jumbo, and by Kokul as State’s Witness and certifier. Zala made a beautiful bride, and there was a real festival afterwards with lots of singing, dancing, presents, and goodies of all sorts, plus some nice socializing. Kokul was particularly helpful in pointing out the important people in the crowd, and I was taking careful mental notes. Even Zala, who had been expressing extreme misgivings
right up to the ceremony, seemed to get into the swing of things, for later she noted that weddings were something she thought everybody should do every year or two.
As for me, I was most interested in settling down, learning the job, and doing it well. There was no percentage in acting any other way. Koril was unlikely to pop up right away, knowing certainly that Matuze would figure we were prime recruiting targets and keep a careful watch on us.
The staff was friendly and helpful, and the system, once fully laid out and demonstrated in practice, was primitive but quite effectively organized. Solar calculators and small solar computers helped, but the basic work was all done by hand and typewriter on endless sheets of accounting paper.
Zala, too, seemed to adjust, after a fashion. Local women taught her how to use the wood stove without burning herself or the house down, and the basics of domestic work.
Since nothing much could be stored in this heat and under these conditions, she went to the market daily and even learned the art of bargaining. What particularly fascinated her was the very concept of handicrafts—nothing in her world or background prepared her for clothing made from scratch, designed and sewn by individuals on individual machines, or pottery hand-made on potter’s wheels and hand-decorated with brush and glaze. Suddenly flung back thousands of years in cultural time, both of us were very surprised to learn that there were whole art forms devoted to such things. The products had a special sort of quality machine and mass production at its best just couldn’t quite match.
My job though took more time than I’d figured, since it included trips out to the Companies to see their accountants, to plan for the future, and to examine and get to know their operations and see if there were new and better ways to do things. Money was tight because the system really wasn’t designed for one person supporting two. Zala, to her credit, solved that problem by learning to use the hand loom and joining a Guild in town in which many women and some men weaved intricate patterns into blankets, bedspreads, you name it, and then sold them to the Guild for a set price per piece. The Guild, through my office, then sold them all over Charon.
Charon: A Dragon at the Gate Page 14
