The Moon Moth and Other Stories

by Jack Vance

  Everley Clark gave no sign that he had heard.

  Magnus Ridolph stroked one of the shields with reverent fingertips. “Remarkable technique, absolutely unique in my experience. I assume that this rusty orange is one of the ochers?”

  Everley Clark made an ambiguous sound.

  “A truly beautiful display,” said Magnus Ridolph. “I suppose there’s no doubt that—if worse comes to worst in our little business—you will be allowed to decorate your cell at the Regional Penitentiary as you desire.”

  Everley Clark said in a thick voice, “Do you think they’ll go that far?”

  Ridolph considered. “I sincerely hope not. I don’t see how we can prevent it unless—” he held up a finger “—unless—”

  “What?” croaked Clark.

  “It is farcically simple; I wonder at our own obtuseness.”

  “What? What? For Heaven’s sake, man—”

  “I conceive one certain means by which the warriors can be persuaded to fight at Shadow Valley Inn.”

  Everley Clark’s face fell. “Oh. Well, how, then?”

  “Shadow Valley Inn or Big Square Tumble, if you like, must challenge the Kokod warriors to a contest of arms.”

  Everley Clark’s expression became more bewildered than ever. “But that’s out of the question. Certainly Holpers and See would never…”

  Magnus Ridolph rose to his feet. “Come,” he said, with decision. “We will act on their behalf.”

  Clark and Magnus Ridolph walked down Shell Strand. On their right the placid blue-black ocean transformed itself into surf of mingled meringue and whipped-cream; on the left bulked the Hidden Hills. Behind towered the magnificent stele of the Shell Strand Tumble; ahead soared the almost equally impressive stele of the Sea Stone Tumble, toward which they bent their steps. Corps of young warriors drilled along the beach; veterans of a hundred battles who had grown stiff, hard and knobby came down from the forest bearing faggots of lance-stock. At the door to the tumble, infant warriors scampered in the dirt like rats.

  Clark said huskily, “I don’t like this, I don’t like it a bit…If it ever gets out—”

  “Is such a supposition logically tenable?” asked Magnus Ridolph. “You are the only living man who speaks the Kokod language.”

  “Suppose there is killing—slaughter?”

  “I hardly think it likely.”

  “It’s not impossible. And think of these little warriors—they’ll be bearing the brunt—”

  Magnus Ridolph said patiently, “We have discussed these points at length.”

  Clark muttered, “I’ll go through with it…But God forgive us both if—”

  “Come, come,” exclaimed Magnus Ridolph. “Let us approach the matter with confidence; apologizing in advance to your deity hardly maximizes our morale…Now, what is protocol at arranging a war?”

  Clark pointed out a dangling wooden plate painted with one of the traditional Kokod patterns. “That’s the Charter Board: all I need to do is—well, watch me.”

  He strode up to the board, took a lance from the hands of a blinking warrior, smartly struck the object. It resonated a dull musical note.

  Clark stepped back, and through his nose passed the bagpipe syllables of the Kokod language.

  From the door of the tumble stepped a dozen blank-faced warriors, listening attentively.

  Clark wound up his speech, turned, scuffed dirt toward the magnificent Sea Stone stele.

  The warriors watched impassively. From within the stele came a torrent of syllables. Clark replied at length, then turned on his heel and rejoined Magnus Ridolph. His forehead was damp. “Well, that’s that. It’s all set. Tomorrow morning at Big Square Tumble.”

  “Excellent,” said Magnus Ridolph briskly. “Now to Shell Strand Tumble, then Rock River, and next Rainbow Cleft.”

  Clark groaned. “You’ll have the entire planet at odds.”

  “Exactly,” said Magnus Ridolph. “After our visit to Rainbow Cleft, you can drop me off near Shadow Valley Inn, where I have some small business.”

  Clark darted him a suspicious side-glance. “What kind of business?”

  “We must be practical,” said Magnus Ridolph. “One of the necessary appurtenances to a party at war on Kokod is a rallying standard, a sacred sapling, a focus of effort for the opposing force. Since we can expect neither Holpers nor See to provide one, I must see to the matter myself.”

  Ridolph strolled up Shadow Valley, approached the hangar where the inn’s aircraft were housed. From the shadow of one of the fantastic Kokod trees, he counted six vehicles: three carry-alls, two air-cars like the one which had conveyed him originally to the Control station, and a sleek red sportster evidently the personal property of either See or Holpers.

  Neither the hangar-men nor the pilots were in evidence; it might well be their dinner hour. Magnus Ridolph sauntered carelessly forward, whistling an air currently being heard along far-off boulevards.

  He cut his whistle off sharply, moved at an accelerated rate. Fastidiously protecting his hands with a bit of rag, he snapped the repair panels from each of the observation cars, made a swift abstraction from each, did likewise for the air-cars. At the sleek sportster he paused, inspected the lines critically.

  “An attractive vehicle,” he said to himself, “one which might creditably serve the purposes for which I intend it.”

  He slid back the door, looked inside. The starter key was absent.

  Steps sounded behind him. “Hey,” said a rough voice, “what are you doing with Mr. See’s car?”

  Magnus Ridolph withdrew without haste.

  “Offhand,” he said, “what would you estimate the value of this vehicle?”

  The hangarman paused, glowering and suspicious. “Too much not to be taken care of.”

  Magnus Ridolph nodded. “Thirty thousand munits, possibly.”

  “Thirty thousand on Earth. This is Kokod.”

  “I’m thinking of offering See a hundred thousand munits.”

  The hangarman blinked. “He’d be crazy not to take it.”

  “I suppose so,” sighed Magnus Ridolph. “But first, I wanted to satisfy myself as to the craft’s mechanical condition. I fear it has been neglected.”

  The hangarman snorted in indignation. “Not on your life.”

  Magnus Ridolph frowned. “That tube is certainly spitting. I can tell by the patina along the enamel.”

  “No such thing!” roared the hangarman. “That tube flows like a dream.”

  Ridolph shook his head. “I can’t offer See good money for a defective vehicle…He’ll be angry to lose the sale.”

  The hangarman’s tone changed. “I tell you, that tube’s good as gold…Wait, I’ll show you.”

  He pulled a key-ring from his pocket, plugged it into the starter socket. The car quivered free of the ground, eager for flight. “See? Just what I told you.”

  Magnus Ridolph said doubtfully. “It seems to be working fairly well now…You get on the telephone and tell Mr. See that I am taking his car for a trial spin, a final check…”

  The mechanic looked dumbly at Magnus Ridolph, slowly turned to the speaker on the wall.

  Magnus Ridolph jumped into the seat. The mechanic’s voice was loud. “The gentleman that’s buying your boat is giving it the once-over; don’t let him feed you no line about a bum tube; the ship is running like oil down a four mile bore, don’t take nothing else…What?…Sure he’s here; he said so himself…A little schoolteacher guy with a white beard like a nanny-goat…” The sound from the telephone caused him to jump back sharply. Anxiously, he turned to look where he had left Magnus Ridolph and Julius See’s sleek red air-car.

  Both had disappeared.

  Mrs. Chaim roused her peacock-shaped friend Mrs. Borgage rather earlier than usual. “Hurry, Altamira; we’ve been so late these last few mornings, we’ve missed the best seats in the observation car.”

  Mrs. Borgage obliged by hastening her toilet; in short order the two ladies appeared in the lo
bby. By a peculiar coincidence both wore costumes of dark green, a color which each thought suited the other not at all. They paused by the announcement of the day’s war in order to check the odds, then turned into the dining room.

  They ate a hurried breakfast, set out for the loading platform. Mrs. Borgage, pausing to catch her breath and enjoy the freshness of the morning, glanced toward the roof of the inn. Mrs. Chaim rather impatiently looked over her shoulder. “Whatever are you staring at, Altamira?”

  Mrs. Borgage pointed. “It’s that unpleasant little man Ridolph…I can’t fathom what he’s up to…He seems to be fixing some sort of branch to the roof.”

  Mrs. Chaim sniffed. “I thought the management had turned him out.”

  “Isn’t that Mr. See’s air-car on the roof behind him?”

  “I really couldn’t say,” replied Mrs. Chaim. “I know very little of such things.” She turned away toward the loading platform, and Mrs. Borgage followed.

  Once more they met interruption; this time in the form of the pilot. His clothes were disarranged; his face had suffered scratching and contusion. Running wild-eyed, he careened into the two green-clad ladies, disengaged himself and continued without apology.

  Mrs. Chaim bridled in outrage. “Well, I never!” She turned to look after the pilot. “Has the man gone mad?”

  Mrs. Borgage, peering ahead to learn the source of the pilot’s alarm, uttered a sharp cry.

  “What is it?” asked Mrs. Chaim irritatedly.

  Mrs. Borgage clasped her arm with bony fingers. “Look…”

  VI

  During the subsequent official investigation, Commonwealth Control Agent Everley Clark transcribed the following eye-witness account:

  “I am Joe 234, Leg-leader of the Fifteenth Brigade, the Fanatics, in the service of the indomitable Shell Strand Tumble.

  “We are accustomed to the ruses of Topaz Tumble and the desperate subtleties of Star Throne; hence the ambush prepared by the giant warriors of Big Square Tumble took us not at all by surprise.

  “Approaching by Primary Formation 17, we circled the flat space occupied by several flying contrivances, where we flushed out a patrol spy. We thrashed him with our lances, and he fled back toward his own forces.

  “Continuing, we encountered a first line of defense consisting of two rather ineffectual warriors accoutred in garments of green cloth. These we beat, also, according to Convention 22, in force during the day. Uttering terrible cries, the two warriors retreated, luring us toward prepared positions inside the tumble itself. High on the roof the standard of Big Square Tumble rose, plain to see. No deception there, at least! Our strategic problem assumed a clear form: how best to beat down resistance and win to the roof.

  “Frontal assault was decided upon; the signal to advance was given. We of the Fifteenth were first past the outer defense—a double panel of thick glass which we broke with rocks. Inside we met a spirited defense which momentarily threw us back.

  “At this juncture occurred a diversion in the form of troops from the Rock River Tumble, which, as we now know, the warriors of the Big Square Tumble had rashly challenged for the same day. The Rock River warriors entered by a row of flimsy doors facing the mountain, and at this time the Big Square defenders violated Convention 22, which requires that the enemy be subdued by blows of the lance. Flagrantly they hurled glass cups and goblets, and by immemorial usage we were allowed to retaliate in kind.

  “At the failure of this tactic, the defending warriors withdrew to an inner bastion, voicing their war-cries.

  “The siege began in earnest; and now the Big Square warriors began to pay the price of their arrogance. Not only had they pitted themselves against Shell Strand and Rock River, but they likewise had challenged the redoubtable Rainbow Cleft and Sea Stone, conquerors of Rose Slope and Dark Fissure. The Sea Stone warriors, led by their Throw-away Legion, poured through a secret rear-entrance, while the Rainbow Cleft Special Vanguard occupied the Big Square main council hall.

  “A terrible battle raged for several minutes in a room designed for the preparation of nourishments, and again the Big Square warriors broke code by throwing fluids, pastes, and powders—a remission which the alert Shell Strand warriors swiftly copied.

  “I led the Fanatic Fifteenth outside, hoping to gain exterior access to the roof, and thereby win the Big Square standard. The armies of Shell Strand, Sea Stone, Rock River and Rainbow Cleft now completely surrounded Big Square Tumble, a magnificent sight which shall live in my memory till at last I lay down my lance.

  “In spite of our efforts, the honor of gaining the enemy standard went to a daredevil squad from Sea Stone, which scaled a tree to the roof and so bore away the trophy. The defenders, ignorant of, or ignoring the fact that the standard had been taken, broke the code yet again, this time by using tremendous blasts of water. The next time Shell Strand wars with Big Square Tumble we shall insist on one of the Conventions allowing any and all weapons; otherwise we place ourselves at a disadvantage.

  “Victorious, our army, together with the troops of Sea Stone, Rock River and Rainbow Cleft, assembled in the proper formations and marched off to our home tumbles. Even as we departed, the great Black Comet Tumble dropped from the sky to vomit further warriors for Big Square. However, there was no pursuit, and unmolested we returned to the victory rituals.”

  Captain Bussey of the Phoenix Line packet Archaeornyx, which had arrived as the Kokod warriors marched away, surveyed the wreckage with utter astonishment. “What in God’s name happened to you?”

  Julius See stood panting, his forehead clammy with sweat. “Get me guns,” he cried hoarsely. “Get me a blaster; I’ll wipe out every damn hive on the planet…”

  Holpers came loping up, arms flapping the air. “They’ve completely demolished us; you should see the lobby, the kitchen, the day rooms! A shambles—”

  Captain Bussey shook his head in bewilderment. “Why in the world should they attack you? They’re supposed to be a peaceable race…except toward each other, of course.”

  “Well, something got into them,” said See, still breathing hard. “They came at us like tigers—beating us with their damn little sticks…I finally washed them out with fire-hoses.”

  “What about your guests?” asked Captain Bussey in sudden curiosity.

  See shrugged. “I don’t know what happened to them. A bunch ran off up the valley, smack into another army. I understand they got beat up as good as those that stayed.”

  “We couldn’t even escape in our aircraft,” complained Holpers. “Not one of them would start…”

  A mild voice interrupted. “Mr. See, I have decided against purchasing your air-car, and have returned it to the hangar.”

  See slowly turned, the baleful aura of his thoughts almost tangible. “You, Ridolph…I’m beginning to see daylight…”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Come on, spill it!” See took a threatening step forward. Captain Bussey said, “Careful, See, watch your temper.” See ignored him. “What’s your part in all this, Ridolph?”

  Magnus Ridolph shook his head in bewilderment. “I’m completely at a loss. I rather imagine that the natives learned of your gambling on events they considered important, and decided to take punitive steps.”

  The ornamental charabanc from the ship rolled up; among the passengers was a woman of notable bust, correctly tinted, massaged, coiffed, scented and decorated. “Ah!” said Magnus Ridolph. “Mrs. Chickering! Charming!”

  “I could stay away no longer,” said Mrs. Chickering. “I had to know how—our business was proceeding.”

  Julius See leaned forward curiously. “What kind of business do you mean?”

  Mrs. Chickering turned him a swift contemptuous glance; then her attention was attracted by two women who came hobbling from the direction of the inn. She gasped, “Olga! Altamira! What on Earth—”

  “Don’t stand there gasping,” snapped Mrs. Chaim. “Get us clothes. Those frightful savages tore us to shreds.”<
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  Mrs. Chickering turned in confusion to Magnus Ridolph. “Just what has happened! Surely you can’t have—”

  Magnus Ridolph cleared his throat. “Mrs. Chickering, a word with you aside.” He drew her out of earshot of the others. “Mrs. Chaim and Mrs. Borgage—they are friends of yours?”

  Mrs. Chickering cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. “I can’t understand the situation at all,” she muttered feverishly. “Mrs. Chaim is the president of the Woman’s League and Mrs. Borgage is treasurer…I can’t understand them running around with their clothing in shreds…”

  Magnus Ridolph said candidly, “Well, Mrs. Chickering, in carrying out your instructions, I allowed scope to the natural combativeness of the natives, and perhaps they—”

  “Martha,” came Mrs. Chaim’s grating voice close at hand, “what is your connection with this man? I have reason to suspect that he is mixed up in this terrible attack…look at him!” Her voice rose furiously. “They haven’t laid a finger on him! And the rest of us—”

  Martha Chickering licked her lips. “Well, Olga dear, this is Magnus Ridolph. In accordance with last month’s resolution, we hired him to close down the gambling here at the inn.”

  Magnus Ridolph said in his suavest tones, “Following which, Mrs. Chaim and Mrs. Borgage naturally thought it best to come out and study the situation at first hand; am I right?”

  Mrs. Chaim and Mrs. Borgage glared. Mrs. Chaim said, “If you think, Martha Chickering, that the Woman’s League will in any way recognize this rogue—”

  “My dear Mrs. Chaim,” protested Magnus Ridolph.

  “But, Olga—I promised him a thousand munits a week!”

  Magnus Ridolph waved his hand airily. “My dear Mrs. Chickering, I prefer that any sums due me be distributed among worthy charities. I have profited during my short stay here—”

  “See!” came Captain Bussey’s voice. “For God’s sake, man, control yourself!”

  Magnus Ridolph, turning, found See struggling in the grasp of Captain Bussey. “Try and collect!” See cried out to Magnus Ridolph. He angrily thrust Captain Bussey’s arms aside, stood with hands clenching and unclenching. “Just try and collect!”