The Pnume

by Jack Vance

  Reith returned to where Zap 210 fumbled desperately with the halyard. She strained with all her might and succeeded in fouling the long yard under the forestay. Reith took a last look toward the screaming villagers, then jumped down into the boat and cast off.

  No time to sort out halyards or clear the yard; Reith took up the sweeps, fitted them between the thole pins and put way on the boat. Along the trembling pier surged the screaming Khors. Halting, they whirled their darts; up and out flew a volley of iron, to strike into the water an uncomfortable ten or twenty feet short of the boat. With renewed energy Reith worked the sweeps, then went to hoist the sail. The yard swung free, creaked aloft; the gray sail billowed; the boat heeled and churned through the water. The Khors stood silent on the pier, watching after their departing boats.

  Reith sailed directly out to sea. Zap 210 sat huddled in the center of the boat. Finally she made a dispirited protest. “Is it wise to go so far from the land?”

  “Very wise. Otherwise the Khors might follow along the shore and kill us when we put into land.”

  “I have never known such openness. It is exposed—frightfully so.”

  “On the other hand, our condition is better than it was yesterday at this time. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “See what’s in that caddy yonder. We may be in luck.”

  Zap 210 climbed forward to the locker in the bow, where among scraps of rope and gear, spare sails, a lantern, she found a jug of water and a sack of dry pilgrim-pod cakes.

  With the shore at last a blur, Reith swung the boat into the northwest, trimming the ungainly sail to the wind.

  All day the fair wind blew. Reith held a course ten miles offshore, well beyond the scope of Khor vision. Headlands appeared in the murk of distance, loomed off the beam, slowly dwindled and disappeared.

  As the afternoon waned the wind increased, sending whitecaps chasing over the dark sea. The rigging creaked, the sails bulged, the boat threw up a bow-wave, the wake gurgled, and Reith rejoiced at every mile so swiftly put astern.

  Carina 4269 sank behind the mainland hills; the wind died and the boat lost way. Darkness came; Zap 210 crouched fearfully on the center seat, oppressed by the expanse of the sky. Reith lost patience with her fears. He lowered the yard halfway down the mast, lashed the rudder, made himself as comfortable as possible and slept.

  A cool early morning breeze awoke him. Stumbling about in the pre-dawn gloom he managed to hoist the yard; then went aft to the tiller, where he steered half-dozing until the sun arose.

  About noon a finger of land thrust forth into the sea; Reith landed the boat on a dismal gray beach and went out foraging. He found a brackish stream, a thicket of dark red dragon berries, a supply of the ubiquitous pilgrim-pod. In the stream he noticed a number of crustacean-like creatures, but could not bring himself to catch them.

  During the middle afternoon they once again put out to sea, Reith using the sweeps to pull the boat away from the beach. They rounded the headland to find a changed landscape shoreward. The gray beaches and mud flats had become a narrow fringe of shingle; beyond were barren red cliffs, and Reith, wary of the lee shore, put well out to sea.

  An hour before sunset a long low vessel appeared over the northeast horizon, faring on a course parallel to their own. With the sun low in the northwest Reith hoped to evade the attention of those aboard the ship, which held a sinister resemblance to the pirate galleys of the Draschade. Hoping to draw away, he altered course to the south. The ship likewise altered course, coincidentally or not Reith could not be sure. He swung the boat directly toward the shore, now about ten miles distant; the ship again seemed to alter course. With a sinking heart Reith saw that they must surely be overtaken. Zap 210 watched with sagging shoulders; Reith wondered what he should do if the galley in fact overtook them. She had no knowledge of what to expect: now was hardly the time to explain to her. Reith decided that he would kill her in the event that capture became certain. Then he changed his mind: they would plunge over the side of the boat and drown together ... Equally impractical; while there was life there was hope.

  The sun settled upon the horizon; the wind, as on the previous evening, lessened. Sunset brought a dead calm with the boats rolling helplessly on the waves.

  Reith shipped the sweeps. As twilight settled over the ocean he pulled away from the becalmed pirate ship toward shore. He rowed on through the night. The pink moon rose and then the blue moon, to project tremulous trails across the water.

  Ahead, one of the trails ended at a mass of dead black: the shore. Reith stopped his rowing. Far to the west he saw a flickering light; to sea all was dark. He threw out the anchor and lowered the sail. The two made a meal on berries and pilgrim-pod, then lay down to sleep on the sails in the bottom of the boat.

  With morning came a breeze from the east. The boat lay at anchor a hundred yards offshore, in water barely three feet deep. The pirate galley, if such it was, could no longer be seen. Reith pulled up the anchor and hoisted the sail; the boat moved jauntily off through the water.

  Made cautious by the events of the previous afternoon, Reith sailed only a quarter of a mile offshore, until the wind died, halfway through the afternoon. In the north a bank of clouds gave portent of a storm; taking up the sweeps, Reith worked the boat into a lagoon at the mouth of a sluggish river. To the side of the lagoon floated a raft of dried reeds, upon which two boys sat fishing. After an initial stir they watched the approach of the boat in attitudes of indifference.

  Reith paused in his rowing to consider the situation. The unconcern of the boys seemed unnatural. On Tschai unusual events almost always presaged danger. Reith cautiously rowed the boat to within conversational distance. A hundred feet distant on the bank sat three men, also fishing. They seemed to be Grays: a people short and stocky, with strongly-featured faces, sparse brownish hair and grayish skin. At least, thought Reith, they were not Khors, and not automatically hostile.

  Reith let the boat drift forward. He called out: “Is there a town nearby?”

  One of the boys pointed across the reeds to a grove of purple ouinga trees. “Yonder.”

  “What town is it?”

  “Zsafathra.”

  “Is there an inn or a tavern where we can find accommodation?”

  “Speak to the men ashore.”

  Reith urged the boat toward the bank. One of the men called out in irritation: “Easy with the tumult! You’ll drive off every gobbulch in the lagoon.”

  “Sorry,” said Reith. “Can we find accommodation in your town?”

  The men regarded him with impersonal curiosity. “What do you here, along this coast?”

  “We are travelers, from the south of Kislovan, now returning home.”

  “You have traveled a remarkable distance in so small a craft,” remarked one of the men in a mildly skeptical voice.

  “One which strongly resembles the craft of the Khors,” noted another

  “For a fact,” Reith agreed, “it does look like a Khor boat. But all this aside, what of lodging?”

  “Anything is available to folk with sequins.”

  “We can pay reasonable charges.”

  The oldest of the men on the bank rose to his feet. “If nothing else,” he stated, “we are reasonable people.” He signaled Reith to approach. As the boat nosed into the reeds he jumped aboard. “So, then: you claim to be Khors?”

  “Quite the reverse. We claim not to be Khors.”

  “What of the boat, then?”

  Reith made an ambiguous gesture. “It is not as good as some, but better than others; it has brought us this far.”

  A wintry grin crossed the man’s face. “Proceed through the channel yonder. Bear to the right.”

  For half an hour Reith rowed this way and that through a maze of channels with the ouinga trees always behind islands of black reeds. Reich presently understood that the Zsafathran either was having a joke or sought to confuse him. He said, “I am tired; you row the rest of the way.�
�

  “No, no,” declared the old man. “We are now there, just left through yonder channel, and toward the ouingas.”

  “Odd,” said Reith. “We have gone back and forth past that channel a dozen times.”

  “One channel looks much like another. And here we are.”

  The boat floated into a placid pond, surrounded by reed-thatched cottages on stilts under the ouinga trees. At the far end of the pond stood a larger, more elaborate structure. The poles were purple ouinga wood; the thatch was woven in a complicated pattern of black, brown and gray.

  “Our community free-house,” explained the Zsafathran. “We are not so isolated as you might think. Thangs come by with their troupes and carts, or Bihasu peddlers, or wandering dignitaries like yourselves. All these we entertain at our free-house.”

  “Thangs? We must be close upon Cape Braise!”

  “Is three hundred miles close? The Thangs are as pervasive as sandflies; they appear everywhere, more often than not when they are not wanted. Not too far is the great Thang town of Urmank ... You and your woman both are of a race strange to me. If the concept were not inherently ludicrous—but no, to postulate nonsense is to lose my dignity; I will hazard nothing.”

  “We are from a remote place,” said Reith. “You have never heard of it.”

  The old man made a sign of indifference. “Whatever you like; provided that you observe the ceremonies, and pay your score.”

  “Two questions,” said Reith. “What are the ‘ceremonies,’ and how much must we expect to pay as a daily charge?”

  “The ceremonies are simple,” said the Zsafathran. “An exchange of pleasantries, so to speak. The charges will be perhaps four or five sequins a day. Go ashore at the dock, if you will; then we must take your boat away, to discourage speculation should a Thang or a Bihasu pass by.”

  Reith decided to make no objection. He worked the boat to the dock, a construction of withe and reeds lashed to piles of ouingawood. The Zsafathran jumped from the boat, and gallantly helped Zap 210 to the dock, inspecting her closely as he did so.

  Reith jumped ashore with a mooring line, which the Zsafathran took and passed on to a lad with a set of muttered instructions. He led Reith and Zap 210 through the white pavilion and into the great free-house. “So here you are, take your ease. The cubicle yonder is at your service. Food and wine will be served in due course.”

  “We want to bathe,” said Reith, “and we would appreciate a change of clothes if any such are available.”

  “The bathhouse is yonder. Fresh garments after the Zsafathran style can be furnished at a price.”

  “And the price?”

  “Ordinary suits of gray furze for withe-cutting or tillage are ten sequins each. Since your present garments are little better than rags, I recommend the expense.”

  “Under-linen is included in this price?”

  “Upon a surcharge of two sequins apiece under-linen is furnished, and should you wish new sandals, each must pay five sequins additionally.”

  “Very well,” said Reith. “Bring everything. We’ll go first class while the sequins last.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  WEARING THE SIMPLE gray smock and trousers of the Zsafathrans, Zap 210 looked somewhat less peculiar and conspicuous. Her black hair had begun to curl; exposure to wind and sun had darkened her skin; only her perfectly regular features and her brooding absorption with secret ideas now set her apart. Reith doubted, however, if a stranger would notice in her conduct anything more unusual than shyness.

  But Cauch, the old Zsafathran, noticed. Taking Reith aside, he muttered in a confidential voice, “Your woman: perhaps she is ill? If you require herbs, sweat-baths or homeopathy, these are available, at no great cost.”

  “Everything at Zsafathra is a bargain,” said Reith. “Before we leave we might owe more sequins than we carry. In this case, what would be your attitude?”

  “Sorrowful resignation, nothing more. We know ourselves for a destiny-blasted race, doomed to a succession of disappointments. But I trust this is not to be the case?”

  “Not unless we enjoy your hospitality longer than I presently plan.”

  “No doubt you will carefully gauge your resources. But again, what of the woman’s condition?” He subjected Zap 210 to a critical scrutiny. “I have had some experience in these matters; I deem her peaked and listless, and somewhat morose. Beyond this, I am puzzled.”

  “She is an unfathomable person,” Reith agreed.

  “The description, if I may say so, applies to you both,” said Cauch. He turned his owlish gaze upon Reith. “Well, the woman’s morbidity is your affair, of course ... A collation has been served on the pavilion, which you are invited to join.”

  “At a small charge, presumably?”

  “How can it be otherwise? In this exacting world only the air we breathe is free. Are you the sort to go hungry because you begrudge the outlay of a few bice? I think not. Come.” And Cauch, urging them out upon the pavilion, seated them in withe chairs before a wicker table, then went off to instruct the girls who served from the buffet.

  Cool tea, spice-cakes, stalks of a crisp red water-vegetable were set before them as a first course. The food was palatable, the chairs were comfortable; after the vicissitudes of the previous weeks the situation seemed unreal, and Reith was unable to subdue a nervous mannerism of looking warily this way and that. Gradually he relaxed. The pavilion seemed an idyll of peace. Gauzy fronds of the purple ouinga trailed low, exhaling an aromatic scent. Carina 4269 sprinkled dancing spots of dark gold light across the water. From somewhere beyond the free-house came the music of water-gongs. Zap 210 gazed across the pond in a reverie, nibbling at the food as if it lacked flavor. Becoming aware of Reith’s attention she straightened primly in the chair.

  “Shall I serve more of this tea?” asked Reith.

  “If you like.”

  Reith poured from the bubble-glass jug. “You don’t seem particularly hungry,” he observed.

  “I suppose not. I wonder if they have any diko.”

  “I’m sure that they have no diko,” said Reith.

  Zap 210 gave her fingers a petulant twitch.

  Reith asked, “Do you like this place?”

  “It is better than the vastness of the sea.”

  For a period Reith sipped his tea in silence. The table was cleared; new dishes were set before them: croquettes in sweet jelly; toasted sticks of white pith; nubbins of gray sea-flesh. As before Zap 210 showed no great appetite. Reith said politely, “You’ve seen something of the surface now. Is it different from your expectations?”

  Zap 210 reflected. “I never thought to see so many mother-women,” she murmured, as if talking to herself.

  “‘Mother-women’ ? Do you mean women with children?”

  She flushed. “I mean the women with prominent breasts and hips. There are so many! Some of them seem very young: no more than girls.”

  “It’s quite normal,” said Reith. “As girls grow out of childhood, they develop breasts and hips.”

  “I am not a child,” Zap 210 declared in an unusually haughty voice. “And I ...” Her voice dwindled away.

  Reith poured another mug of tea and settled back into his chair. “It’s time,” he said, “that I explained certain matters to you. I suppose I should have done so before. All women are mother-women.”

  Zap 210 stared at him incredulously. “This isn’t the case at all!”

  “Yes, it is,” said Reith. “The Pnume fed you drugs to keep you immature: the diko, or so I imagine. You aren’t drugged now and you’re becoming normal—more or less. Haven’t you noticed changes in yourself?”

  Zap 210 sank back in her chair, dumbfounded by his knowledge of her embarrassing secret. “Such things are not to be talked about.”

  “So long as you know what’s happening.”

  Zap 210 sat looking out over the water. In a diffident voice she asked, “You have noticed changes in me?”

  “Well, yes. First of all
, you no longer look like the ghost of a sick boy.”

  Zap 210 whispered, “I don’t want to be a fat animal, wallowing in the dark. Must I be a mother?”

  “All mothers are women,” Reith explained, “but not all women are mothers. Not all mothers become fat animals.”

  “Strange, strange! Why are some women mothers and not others? Is it evil destiny?”

  “Men are involved in the process,” said Reith. “Look yonder, on the deck of that cottage: two children, a woman, a man. The woman is a mother. She is young and looks healthy. The man is the father. Without fathers, there are no children.”

  Before Reith could proceed with his explanation, old Cauch returned to the table and seated himself.

  “All is satisfactory?”

  “Very much so,” said Reith. “We will regret leaving your village.”

  Cauch nodded complacently. “In a few poor ways we are a fortunate folk, neither rigorous like the Khors, nor obsessively flexible like the Thangs to the west. What of yourselves? I admit to curiosity regarding your provenance and your destination, for I regard you as unusual folk.”

  Reith ruminated a moment or two, then said: “I don’t mind satisfying your curiosity if you are willing to pay my not, unreasonable fee. In fact I can offer you various grades of enlightenment. For a hundred sequins I guarantee amazement and awe.”

  Cauch drew back, hands raised in protest. “Tell me nothing upon which you place a value! But any oddments of small talk you can spare at no charge will find in me an attentive listener.”

  Reith laughed. “Triviality is a luxury I can’t afford. Tomorrow we depart Zsafathra. Our few sequins must take us to Sivishe—in what fashion I don’t know.”

  “As to this I can’t advise you,” said Cauch, “not even for a fee. My experience extends only so far as Urmank. Here you must go carefully. The Thangs will take all your sequins without a qualm. Useless to feel anger or injury! This is the Thang temperament. Rather than work they prefer to connive; Zsafathrans are very much on their guard when they visit Urmank, as you will see should you choose to go in our company to the Urmank bazaar.”