Trullion: Alastor 2262

by Jack Vance

  “Unless you die, then what?”

  Glinnes had not reckoned upon such a possibility. “There is always Rabendary Island, which I can propose for security.”

  “Rabendary Island. You are the owner?”

  “I am the current squire,” said Glinnes with a sudden sense of defeat. “My brother Shira disappeared two months ago. He is almost certainly dead.”

  “Very likely true. Still, we cannot deal in ‘almosts’ and ‘very likelys.’ Shira Hulden cannot be presumed dead until four years have passed. Until then you lack legal control of Rabendary Island. Unless, of course, you can prove his death.”

  Glinnes shook his head in vexation. “By diving down to consult the merlings? The situation is absurd.”

  “I appreciate the difficulties, but we deal in many absurdities; this is no more than an ordinary example.”

  Glinnes threw up his hands in defeat. He left the bank and returned to his boat, pausing only to re-read the placard announcing the formation of the Fleharish Broad Hussade Club.

  As the boat drove toward Rabendary, Glinnes performed a number of calculations, all with the same purport: nine thousand ozols was a great deal of money. He reckoned the utmost income he might derive from Rabendary Island: perhaps two thousand ozols a year and insufficient by a factor of five. Glinnes turned his mind to hussade. A member of an important team might well gain ten thousand or even twenty thousand ozols a year if his team played often and consistently won. Lord Gensifer apparently planned the formation of such a team. Well and good, except that all the other teams of the region strained and strove to the same end, scheming, intriguing, making large promises, propounding visions of wealth and glory-all in order to attract talented players, who were not plentiful. The aggressive man might be slow and clumsy; the quick man might have poor judgment or a bad memory or insufficient strength to tub his opponent. Each position made its specific demands. The ideal forward was fast, agile, daring, sufficiently strong to cope with the opponents’ rovers and guards. A rover must also be quick and skillful; most urgently, he must be skillful with the buff that padded implement used to thrust or trip the opponent from the ways or courses into the tanks. The rovers were the first line of defense against the thrusts of the forwards, and the guards were the last. The guards were massive powerful men, decisive with their buffs. Since they were not often required to trapeze, or leap the tanks, agility was not an essential attribute in a guard. The ideal hussade player comprised all these qualities; he was powerful, intelligent, cunning, nimble, and merciless. Such men were rare. How, then, did Lord Gensifer propose to recruit a tournament-quality team? At Fleharish Broad, Glinnes decided to find out and swung south toward the Five Islands.

  Glinnes moored his boat beside Lord Gensifer’s sleek offshore cruiser and leapt to the dock. A path led through a park to the manor. As he mounted the steps, the door slid aside. A footman in lavender and gray livery appraised him without warmth. A perfunctory bow expressed his opinion of Glinnes’ status. “What is your wish, sir?”

  “Be so good as to tell Lord Gensifer that Glinnes Hulden wants a few words with him.”

  “Will you come inside, sir?” Glinnes stepped into a tall hexagonal foyer, which had a floor of gleaming gray and white stelt.19 Overhead hung a chandelier of a hundred light-points and a thousand diamond prisms. In each wall a wainscot of white artica wood framed high narrow mirrors which cast back and forth the glitter of the chandelier. The footman returned and conducted Glinnes to the library, where Thammas Lord Gensifer, wearing a maroon lounge suit, sat at his ease before a screen, watching a hussade game.20

  “Sit down, Glinnes, sit down,” said Lord Gensifer. “Will you take tea or perhaps a rum punch?”

  “I’ll have rum punch, please.”

  Lord Gensifer motioned to the screen. “Last year’s finals at Cluster Stadium. The black and reds are the Hextar Zulans from Sigre. The greens are the Falifonics from Green Star. Marvelous play. I’ve watched the game four times now and each time I’m more amazed.”

  “I saw the Falifonics two or three years ago,” said Glinnes. “I thought them agile and deft, and swift as lightning.”

  “They’re still the same. Not large, but they seem to be everywhere at once. They have no great defense, but they don’t need any with the attack they mount.”

  The footman served rum punch in frosted silver goblets. For a period Lord Gensifer and Glinnes sat watching the play: charges and shifts, feints and ploys, apparently reckless feats of agility, timing so exact as to seem bizarre coincidence. Patterns formed to calls from the captain, aggressions were launched and repulsed. Gradually the combinations began to favor the Falifonics. The Falifonic middle forwards swung to fork a Zulan rover and Zulan guards charged to protect; the Falifonic right wing slid through the gap thus opened, gained the platform, seized the gold ring at the sheirl’s waist, and play came to a halt for the paying of ransom. Lord Gensifer turned off the screen. “The Falifonics won handily, as no doubt you know. Booty shared out at four thousand ozols a man… But you didn’t come to talk hussade. Or did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I happened to be in Welgen today and noticed mention of the new Fleharish Broad Club.”

  Lord Gensifer made an expansive gesture. I’m the sponsor. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, and finally I took the plunge. Welgen Stadium is our home field, and now all I’ve got to do is assemble a team. What about you? Are you still playing?”

  “I played for my division,” said Glinnes. “We took the sector championships.”

  “That sounds interesting. Why don’t you try out with us?”

  “I might just do so, but first I’ve got a problem you might help me work out.”

  Lord Gensifer blinked cautiously. “Ill be glad to, if I can. What’s the problem?”

  “As you probably know, my brother Glay sold Ambal Isle out from under me. He won’t return the money; in fact, it’s gone.”

  Lord Gensifer raised his eyebrows. “Fanscherade?”

  “Exactly.”

  Lord Gensiter shook his head. “Silly young fool.”

  “My problem is this. I have three thousand ozols of my own. I need another nine thousand to pay off Lute Casagave and break the contract” Lord Gensifer pursed his lips and fluttered his fingers. “If Glay had no right to sell, then Casagave had no right to buy. The matter would seem to be between Glay and Casagave, with you his legal possession.”

  “Unfortunately I have no legal possession unless I can prove Shira dead, which I can’t. I need cold hard cash.”

  “It’s a dilemma,” Lord Gensifer agreed.

  “Here is my proposal: suppose I were to play with you—could you advance me nine thousand ozols against booty?”

  Lord Gensifer sat back in his chair. “That’s a very chancy investment.”

  “Not if you can put together a good team. Though frankly I don’t see where you’ll get the personnel.”

  “They’re on hand.” Lord Gensifer sat up in his seat, his pink face alive with boyish excitement “I’ve drawn up what I consider the strongest team that could be assembled from players of the region. Listen to this.” He read from a paper. “Wings: Tyran Lucho, Lightning Latken. Strikes: Yalden Wirp, Gold Ring Gonniksen. Rovers: Nilo Basgard, Wild Man Wilmer Guff. Guards: Splasher Maveldip, Bughead Holub, Carbo Gilweg, Holebert Hanigatz.” Lord Gensifer put down the paper and peered triumphantly at Glinnes. “What do you think of that team?”

  “I’ve been away too long,” said Glinnes. “I only know about half the names. I’ve played with Gonniksen and Carbo, Gilweg, and against Guff and maybe one or two others. They were good ten years ago and they’re probably better now. Are all these men on your team?”

  “Well—not officially. My strategy is this. I’ll talk to each man in turn. I’ll show him the team and ask how he’d like to be a part of it. How can I lose? Everyone wants to earn some big booty for a change. No one is going to turn me down. As a matter of fact, I’ve already made
contact with two or three of the fellows and they’ve all shown great interest.”

  “Where would I fit in? And what about the nine thousand ozols?”

  Lord Gensifer said cautiously, “As to your first question, you must remember that I haven’t seen you play recently. For all I know, you’ve gone slow and sour… Where are you going?”

  “Thank you for the rum punch,” said Glinnes.

  “Just a minute. No need to get temperamental. After all, I spoke only the plain truth. I haven’t seen you for ten years. Still, if you played with the sector champions, no doubt you’re in good shape. What is your position?”

  “Anything but sheirl. With the 93rd I played strike and rover.”

  Lord Gensifer poured Glinnes more punch. “No doubt something can be arranged. But you must understand my position. I’m going after the best. If you’re the best you’ll play for the Gorgons. If you’re not—well, we’ll need substitutes. That’s sheer common sense—nothing to get excited about.”

  “Well then, what about the nine thousand ozols?”

  Lord Gensifer sipped his punch. “I should think that if all goes well, and if you are playing for the club, you should take nine thousand ozols in booty in a very short time.”

  “In other words—you won’t advance me the money?”

  Lord Gensifer held up his hands. “Do you imagine that ozols grow on trees? I need money as badly as anyone. In fact—well, I won’t go into details.”

  “If you’re all that short of money, how can you finance a treasure-box?”

  Lord Gensifier airily flicked his fingers. “No difficulty there. Whatever funds are jointly available we’ll use—your three thousand ozols as well. It’s all for the common cause.”

  Glinnes could hardly believe his ears. “My three thousand ozols? You want me to advance the fund? While you take an owner’s share of booty?”

  Lord Gensifer, smiling, leaned back in his chair. “Why not? Each contributes his best and his most, and each of us profits. That’s the only way to operate. There’s no reason to be scandalized.”

  Glinnes replaced his goblet on the tray. “It’s just not done. The players contribute their skills, the club funds the treasure-box. I wouldn’t give you an ozol; I’d organize my own team first.”

  “Just a moment. Perhaps we can work out a procedure that will please us all. Frankly, I’m short of cash. You need twelve thousand ozols within the year; your three thousand is worthless without the other nine.”

  “Not exactly worthless. It represents ten years’ service in the Whelm.”

  Lord Gensifer waved aside the remark. “Suppose that you advance three thousand ozols to the fund. The first three thousand ozols we earn will go to you; you’ll have your money back, and then—”

  “The other players wouldn’t allow such an arrangement.”

  Lord Gensifer pulled at his lower lip. “Well, the money could come from the club’s share of the booty—in other words, out of my personal purse.”

  “Suppose there isn’t any purse; suppose we lose my three thousand ozols? Then what? Nothing!”

  “We don’t plan to lose! Think positive, Glinnes!”

  “I’m thinking positively about my money.”

  Lord Gensifer heaved a deep sigh. “As I say, my own financial status is at the moment up in the air… Suppose that we make this arrangement. You advance three thousand ozols to the club treasury. We will at first try for five-thousand-ozol teams, which we should handily demolish, and build up the treasury to ten thousand ozols. We then schedule ten-thousand-ozol teams. At this point booty will be distributed and you will be repaid from the club’s share—the work of a game or two. Thenceforth I will lend you half the club’s share until you have your nine thousand ozols, which you can thereupon repay from your ordinary share.”

  Glinnes tried to calculate in his head. “I don’t understand any of this. You’ve left me far behind.”

  “It’s simple. If we win five ten-thousand ozol games, you have your money.”

  “If we win. If we lose, I have nothing. Not even the three thousand that I have now.”

  Lord Gensifer flourished his list of names. “This team won’t lose games, I assure you of that!”

  “You don’t have that team! You don’t have a fund. You don’t even have a sheirl.”

  “No lack of applicants there, my boy. Not for the Fleharish Gorgons! I’ve already talked to a dozen beautiful creatures.”

  “All certified, no doubt.”

  “Well certify them, never fear! But what a ridiculous business! A naked virgin looks like any other naked girl. Who’s to know the difference?”

  “The team. Irrational, I agree, but hussade is an irrational game.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” declared Lord Gensifer rather boisterously. “Who cares a fig for rationality? Only Fanschers and Trevanyi!”

  Glinnes drained his goblet and rose to his feet. “I must be on my way home and see to my personal Trevanyi. Glay gave them the freedom of Rabendary and they plundered in all directions.”

  Lord Gensifer nodded sagely. “You can’t give a Trevanyi anything but what he’ll take double for contempt… Well, to revert to the three thousand ozols, what is your decision?”

  “I’ll want to consider the matter very carefully indeed. As for that list of players—how many have actually committed themselves?”

  “Well—several.”

  “I’ll talk to them all and learn if they’re really serious.”

  Lord Gensifer frowned. “Hmm. Let’s think this over a bit. In fact, will you stay for a bite of dinner? I’m quite alone tonight, and I detest dining in solitude.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Lord Gensifer, but I’m hardly dressed for dinner at a manor.” Lord Gensifer made a deprecatory motion. “Tonight we’ll dine informally-although I could lend you formal kit, if you insisted.”

  “Well, no. I am not that meticulous, if you’re not.”

  “Tonight we’ll dine as we are. Perhaps you’d like to watch more of the championship game.”

  “As a matter of fact, I would.”

  “Good. Rallo! Fresh punch! This has lost its zest.”

  The great oval dinner table was set for two. Lord Gensifer and Glinnes faced each other across the expanse of white linen; silver and crystal glittered under the blaze of a chandelier.

  “It may seem strange to you,” said Lord Gensifer, “that I can live in what might seem extravagant style and still be strapped for cash. But it’s simple enough. My income derives from invested capital, and I’ve had reverses. Starmenters looted a pair of warehouses and set my company back on its heels. Strictly temporary, of course, but for the moment my income just barely matches my outgo. Do you know of Bela Gazzardo?”

  “I’ve heard the name. A starmenter?”

  “The villain who cut my income in half. The Whelm can’t seem to come to grips with him.”

  “Sooner or later he’ll be taken. Only inconspicuous starmenters survive. When they attain reputation their number is up.”

  “Bela Gazzardo’s been starmenting for many years,” said Lord Gensifer. “The Whelm is always in a different sector.”

  “Sooner or later he’ll be taken.”

  Dinner proceeded, a repast of a dozen excellent courses, each accompanied by flasks of fine wine. Glinnes reflected that life in a manor was not without its pleasant aspects, and his fancy roamed the future, when he had earned twenty or thirty thousand ozols, or a hundred thousand, and Lute Casagave had been expelled from Ambal Isle and the manse was empty. Then, what an adventure to renew, redecorate, refurnish! Glinnes saw himself in stately garments entertaining a throng of notables at a table like Lord Gensifer’s… Glinnes laughed at the thought. Who would he invite to his dinner parties? Akadie? Young Harrad? Carbo Gilweg? The Drossets? Though for a fact Duissane would look extraordinarily lovely in such surroundings. Glinnes’ imagination included the rest of the family and the picture burst.

  Dusk had long since waned when
Glinnes finally climbed into his boat. The night was clear; overhead hung a myriad stars, magnified to the size of lamps. Elevated by the wine, by the large prospects that Lord Gensifer had suggested, by the halcyon beauty of starlight on calm black water, Glinnes sent his boat scudding across Fleharish Broad and up Selma Water. Under the glorious Trullion night his problems dissolved into wisps of unreasonable petulance. Glay and Fanscherade? A fad, an antic, a trifle. Marucha and her foolishness? Let her be, let her be; what better occupation lay; open to her? Lord Gensifer and his crafty proposals? They might just eventuate as Lord Gensifer hoped! But the absurdity of it all! Instead of borrowing nine thousand ozols, he had barely escaped with his own three thousand intact! Lord Gensifer’s schemes no doubt derived from a desperate need of money, thought Glinnes. No matter how affable and how ostensibly candid, Lord Gensifer was still a man to be dealt with most carefully.

  Up narrow Selma Water drifted the boat, past hushberry brakes and bowers of soft white lanting, then out upon Ambal Broad, where a small breeze shivered the star-reflections into a tinkling twinkling carpet. To the right stood Ambal Isle, surmounted by fanzaneel frond-clusters; they lay on the sky like splashes of black ink. And there ahead—Rabendary Island, dear Rabendary, and his home dock. The house showed no light. Was no one at home? Where was Marucha? Visiting friends, most likely.

  The boat coasted up to the dock. Glinnes climbed up on the groaning old boards, made fast the boat, walked up the path to the house.

  A creak of leather, a shuffle of steps. Shadows moved; dark shapes occulted the stars. Heavy objects struck down upon his head and neck and shoulders, thudding and jarring, grinding his teeth, grating his vertebrae, filling his nose with an ammoniacal reek. He fell to the ground. Heavy blows struck into his ribs, his head; the impacts rumbled and groaned like thunder and filled the total space of the world. He tried to roll away, to curl into a knot, but his senses wandered away.

  The kicking ceased; Glinnes floated on a cloud of enervation. From far far away he noticed hands exploring his person. A harsh whisper rang in his brain: “Get the knife, get the knife.” Further touches, then another flurry of kicks. From a great distance Glinnes thought to hear a trill of reckless laughter. Consciousness fragmented like droplets of mercury; Glinnes lay in a torpor.