by Jack Vance
Reith looked smiling off across the quay. The girl to whom Zap 210 had drawn attention slowed her step, hitched at the orange sash around her waist, smiled at Reith, stared curiously at Zap 210, and sauntered on.
Zap 210 looked sidelong at Reith. She started to speak, then held her tongue. A moment later she blurted: “I don’t understand anything of the ghian. I don’t understand you. Just now you smiled at that odious girl. You never—” Here she stopped short, then continued in a low voice: “I suppose you blame ‘instinct’ for your conduct.”
Reith became impatient. “The time has come,” he said, “to explain the facts of life. Instincts are part of our biological baggage and cannot be avoided. Men and women are different.” He went on to explain the processes of reproduction. Zap 210 sat rigid, looking across the water. “So,” said Reith, “it’s not unnatural that people indulge in this kind of conduct.”
Zap 210 said nothing. Her hands, so Reith noticed, were clenched and her knuckles shone white.
She said in a low voice, “The Khors in the sacred grove—is that what they were doing?”
“So I suppose.”
“And you took me away so I wouldn’t see.”
“Well, yes. I thought you might be confused.”
Zap 210 was silent a moment. “We might have been killed.”
Reith shrugged. “I suppose there was a chance.”
“And those girls dancing without clothes—they wanted to do that?”
“If someone gave them money.”
“And everyone on the surface feels this way?”
“Most of them, I should say.”
“Do you?”
“Certainly. Sometimes, anyway. Not all the time.”
“Then why—” she stuttered. “Then why—” She could not finish. Reith reached out to pat her hand; she snatched it away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Sorry ... But don’t be angry.”
“You brought me to this horrible place; you deprived me of life; you pretended to be kind but all the time you’ve been planning—that!”
“No, no!” cried Reith. “Nothing of the sort! You’re quite wrong!”
Zap 210 looked at him with eyebrows coolly raised. “You find me repulsive then?”
Reith threw his hands up in the air. “Of course I don’t find you repulsive! In fact—”
“In fact, what?”
Cauch, arriving at the table, provided, for Reith, a welcome interruption. “You spent a comfortable night?”
“Yes,” said Reith.
Zap 210 rose to her feet and walked away. Cauch drew a long face. “How have I offended her?”
“She’s angry with me,” said Reith. “Why—I don’t know.”
“Isn’t this always the case? But soon, for reasons equally unknown, she will again become benign. Meanwhile, I am interested in hearing your ideas in regard to the eel-races.”
Reith looked dubiously after Zap 210, who had returned to the Inn of the Lucky Mariner. “Is it safe to leave her alone?”
“Have no fear,” said Cauch. “At the inn you and she are known to be under my sponsorship.”
“Well, then, to the eel-races.”
“You understand that they are not yet in operation? The races do not start till noon.”
“So much the better.”
Zap 210 had never been so angry. She half-walked half-ran to the inn, through the dim common room to the cubicle where she had spent the night. She entered, furiously shot the bolt and went to sit on the couch. For ten minutes she let her thoughts rage without control. Then she began to cry, silently, tears of frustration and disillusionment welling down her cheeks. She thought of the Shelters: the quiet corridors with the black-robed figures drifting past. In the Shelters no one would provoke her to anger or excitement or any of the other strange emotions which from time to time colored her brain. They would give her diko once more ... She frowned, trying to recall the flavor of the crisp little wafers. On sudden impulse she rose to her feet, examined herself in the mirror which hung on the side wall. The previous evening she had looked at herself with no great interest; the face which looked back seemed just a face: eyes, nose, mouth, chin. Now she studied herself earnestly. She touched the black hair curling down her forehead, combed it with her fingers, studied the effect. The face which looked back was that of a stranger. She thought of the lithe girl who had regarded Reith with such insolence. She had worn a garment of blue cloth which clung to the figure, different from the shapeless gray smock which Zap 210 now wore. She pulled it off, stood in her white undergown. She turned, studied herself from all angles. A stranger now for certain. What if Reith could see her now: what would he think? ... The idea of Reith made her furiously angry. He considered her a child, or something even more ignoble: she had no word for the concept. She felt herself with her hands and, staring in the mirror, marveled at the changes which had come over her ... Her original scheme of returning to the Shelters dwindled. The zuzhma kastchai would give her to the darkness. If by chance she were allowed to keep her life, they would feed her diko again. Her lips twitched. No more diko.
Well, then, what of Adam Reith, who considered her so repulsive that—her mind refused to complete the train of thought. What was to become of her? She studied herself in the mirror and felt very sorry for the dark-haired girl with thin cheeks and sad eyes who looked back at her. If she ran away from Adam Reith how could she survive? ... She slipped into her gray smock, but decided against tying the orange cloth around her head. Instead she tied it around her waist as a sash, as she had noticed other girls of Urmank doing. She examined herself in the mirror again and rather liked the effect. What would Adam Reith think?
She opened the door, looked up and down the corridor and ventured forth. The common-room was empty but for a squat old woman who scrubbed the stone floor with a brush and looked up with a sneer. Zap 210 hastened her pace and went out into the street. Here she hesitated. She had never been alone before, and the sensation was frightening, if thrilling. Crossing to the quay, she watched porters unloading a cog. Neither her vocabulary nor her stock of ideas contained the equivalent of “quaint” or “picturesque”; nevertheless, she was charmed by the bluff-brown craft moving gently to the heave of the water. She drew a deep breath. Freak or not, repulsive or not, she had never felt so alive before. The ghaun was a wild cruel place—here the zuzhma kastchai had not dissembled—but after living in the golden-brown sunlight, how could anyone choose to return to the Shelters?
She walked along the quay to the cafe, where somewhat diffidently she looked for Reith. What she would say to him she had not yet formulated; perhaps she would sweep to her seat with only a haughty glance to let him know what she thought of his opinions ... Reith was nowhere to be seen. A sudden terrible fear came over her. Had he taken the opportunity to escape, to be rid of her? Impulses urged upon her; she wanted to cry out: “Adam Reith! Adam Reith!” She could not believe that the reassuring form, so taut and economical of motion, was nowhere to be seen ... She turned to leave and stepped full into the advancing body of a tall massive man, wearing pantaloons of dove brown leather, a loose white shirt and a vest of maroon brocade. A small brimless cap clung to the side of his bald head; he gave a soft grunt as she walked into him and held her away with two hands on her shoulders. “Where do you go in such haste?”
“Nowhere,” stammered Zap 210. “I was looking for someone.”
“You have found me, which is not the worst of luck. Come along; I have not yet had my morning wine. Then we will discuss our affairs.”
Zap 210 stood paralyzed by indecision. She tentatively tried to shrink away from the man’s grasp, which only tightened. Zap 210 winced. “Come,” said the man. She stumbled with him to a nearby booth.
The man signaled; a jug of white wine and a platter of fried fishcakes was set before them. “Eat,” the man told her. “Drink. I stint no one, either in bounty or hard knocks.” He poured her a liberal goblet of wine. “Now, before we proceed, what are you
r fees? Certain of your number, knowing me for Otwile, have attempted nothing less than larceny—to their dissatisfaction, I may say. So then: your price?”
“Price for what?” whispered Zap 210.
Otwile’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “You are an odd one. What is your race? You are too pale for a Thang, too slender for a Gray.”
Zap 210 lowered her eyes. She tasted the wine, then searched desperately over her shoulder for Reith.
“Ah, but you are shy!” declared Otwile. “And delicate of manner as well!”
He began to eat. Zap 210 tried to slip away. “Sit!” snapped Otwile. She hastily returned to her seat. “Drink!” She sipped at the wine, which was stronger than any she had yet tasted.
“That is better,” said Otwile. “Now we understand each other.”
“No,” said Zap 210 in her soft voice. “We don’t! I don’t want to be here! What do you want of me?”
Otwile again stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t know?”
“Of course not. Unless—you don’t mean that?”
Otwile grinned, “I mean precisely that, and more.”
“But—I don’t know anything about such things! I don’t want to learn.”
Otwile put down his fishcakes. He said incredulously, “A virgin, wearing a sash. Is that how you represent yourself?”
“I don’t know what such a thing is ... I must go, to find Adam Reith.”
“You have found me, which is somewhat better. Drink wine, to relax yourself. Today is to be that particular day you will remember to the end of your time.” Otwile poured full the goblets. “Indeed, I will join you, to relax myself. Truth to tell, I myself have become somewhat excited!”
Reith and Cauch walked through the bazaar, where the fish and produce vendors called attention to their merchandise by means of peculiar ululations.
“Are they singing?” asked Reith.
“No,” said Cauch, the cries were no more than devices to attract attention. “The Thang have no great feeling for music. The selling—screams of the fish-wives are inventive and emotional, true; listen and you will hear how they try to outdo each other!”
Reith conceded that certain of the advertisements were remarkably intricate. “In due course the social anthropologists will record and codify these calls. But for the moment I am more interested in the eel-races.”
“To be sure,” said Cauch. ‘Though, as you will notice, they are not yet in operation.”
They crossed the compound and stood appraising the vacant tables, the reservoir and the chute. Looking across the wall, Reith noticed the fronds of a gnarled old psilla. “I want to look on the other side of the wall,” he said.
“Just so,” said Cauch, “and I have the fullest sympathy with your curiosity. But are we not at the moment directing our energies to the eel-races?”
“We are,” said Reith. “I see a portal through the wall, opposite that vendor of amulets. Do you care to accompany me?”
“Certainly,” said Cauch. “I am always alert to learn.”
They walked along beside the old wall, which in the remote past had been faced with brown and white tiles, most of which had fallen away, revealing patches of dark brown brick. Passing through the portal, they entered Urmank Old Town: a district of huts built of broken tile, brick, fragments of stone, and odd lengths of timber. Some were abandoned ruins, others were in the process of construction: a continuing cycle of decay and regeneration, in which every shard, every stick, every fragment of stone had been used a hundred times over twice as many generations. Low-caste Thangs and a squat, big-headed variety of Gray peered forth from the doorways as Reith and Cauch went past; stench thickened the air.
Beyond the huts lay an area of rubble, puddles of slime, a few clumps of angry red bristle-bush. Reith located the psilla of which he had taken note: it stood close beside the wall, overhanging a shed built of well-laid bricks. The door was solid timber bound with iron, secured with a heavy iron lock. The shed backed firmly up against the wall.
Reith looked around the landscape, which was vacant except for a group of naked children paddling in a rivulet of yellow slime. He approached the shed. The lock, the hasp, the hinges were sound and solid. There was no window to the shed, nor any opening other than the door. Reith backed away. “We’ve seen all we need to see.”
“Indeed?” Cauch dubiously inspected the shed, the wall, the psilla tree. “I see nothing significant. Are you still referring to the eel-races?”
“Of course.” They went back through the dismal huddle of huts. Reith said: “Very likely we could make all our arrangements alone; still, the help of two trustworthy men might prove convenient.”
Cauch eyed him with awe and incredulity. “You seriously hope to take money from the eel-race?”
“If the eel-master pays all winning bets, I do.”
“No fear of that,” said Cauch. “He will pay, assuming that there are winnings. And on this supposition, how do you propose to share?”
“Half for me, half for you and your two men.”
Cauch pursed his lips. “I perceive something of an inequity. From a mutual project, one man should not derive three times the share of the others.”
“I believe that he should,” said Reith, “when otherwise the other three gain nothing whatever.”
“The point is well-taken,” Cauch admitted. “The affair shall go as you recommend.”
They returned to the cafe. Reith looked for Zap 210, who was nowhere to be seen. “I must find my companion,” he told Cauch. “No doubt she waits at the inn.”
Cauch made an affable gesture; Reith went to the inn, but found Zap 210 nowhere. Making inquiries of the clerk he learned that she had come and gone, leaving no intimation as to her destination.
Reith went to the doorway and looked up and down the quay. To the right porters in faded red kirtles and leather shoulderpads unloaded a cog; to the left was the bustle of the bazaar.
He never should have left her alone, he told himself, especially in her mood of the morning. He had taken her stability for granted, never troubling to divine the state of her mind. Reith cursed himself for callousness and egocentricity. The girl had been undergoing the most intense and dramatic emotional strains: all the fundamental processes of life at once. Reith strode back to the cafe. Cauch eyed him with calm benevolence. “You appear concerned.”
“The girl who accompanies me—I can’t find her.”
“Pah,” said Cauch. “They are all alike. She has gone to the bazaar, to buy a trinket.”
“No. She has no money. She is utterly inexperienced; she would go nowhere—except ...” Reith turned to look toward the hills, the way which lay between the ghoul-castles. Would she seriously consider going down into the Shelters? ... A new idea came to turn his bones to ice. The Gzhindra. Reith summoned the Thang servant-boy. “I breakfasted this morning with a young woman. Do you recall her?”
“Yes, indeed; she wore an orange turban, like a Hedaijhan, at least on that occasion.”
“You saw her another time?”
“I did. She sat yonder, wearing the sash of solicitation and consorting with Otwile the champion. They drank wine for a period, then went off.”
“She went of her own free will?” asked Reith in wonder.
The servant gave a shrug of indifference, covertly insolent. “She wore the sash, she uttered no outcry, she leaned on his arm, perhaps to steady herself, for I believe her to have been somewhat drunk.”
“Where did they go?”
Again the shrug. “Otwile’s chambers are not too far distant; perhaps this was their resort.”
“Show me the way.”
“No no.” The servant shook his head. “I am at my duties. Also I would not care to vex Otwile.”
Reith jumped at him; the servant stumbled back in a panic. “Quick!” hissed Reith.
“This way then, but hurry; I am not supposed to leave the cafe.”
They ran through the dank back alleys of Urmank, in
and out of the brown light of Carina 4269, which occasionally slanted down past the crooked gables of the tall houses. The servant halted, pointed along a walkway leading into a garden of green and purple foliage. “At the back of the shrubbery are Otwile’s rooms.” He scuttled back the way he had come. Reith ran along the walkway, through the garden. At the back stood a cottage of carved timber and panels of translucent fiber. As Reith approached he heard a sudden wordless cry of outrage from within. “Unclean!” Then there was the sound of a blow, and a whimper. Reith’s knees shook, he tottered forward, thrust open the door. On the floor crouched Zap 210, glassy-eyed and nude; above her stood Otwile. Zap 210 stared at Reith; he saw a red welt on her cheek.
Otwile spoke in a voice of hushed outrage. “Who are you to intrude in my house?”
Reith ignored him. He picked up Zap 210’s undergown, a torn tangle of cloth. He turned to look at Otwile. Cauch spoke from the doorway. “Come, Adam Reith; fetch the girl. Do not trouble yourself.”
Reith paid no heed. He moved slowly toward Otwile, who waited, smiling coldly, hands on hips. Reith approached to within three feet. Otwile, six inches taller, smiled down at him.
Zap 210 said in a husky croak: “It wasn’t his fault. I wore an orange sash ... I didn’t know...”
Reith turned slowly away. He found Zap 210’s gray gown, pulled it over her slender body. He saw what had outraged Otwile; he could hardly control a great cry to express sorrow and pity and terrible grim amusement. He put his arm around Zap 210 and started to lead her from the room.
Otwile was dissatisfied. He had been awaiting a touch, a motion, even a word, to serve as a trigger for his muscles. Was he to be denied even the gratification of beating the man who had invaded his chambers? The bubble of his rage burst. He bounced forward and swung his leg in a kick.
Reith was pleased to find Otwile active. Twisting, he caught Otwile’s ankle, pulled, dragged the champion hopping out into the garden, and sent him careening into a thicket of scarlet bamboo. Otwile sprang forth like a leopard. He halted, stood with arms out, grimacing hideously, clenching and unclenching his hands. Reith punched him in the face. Otwile seemed not to notice. He reached for Reith, who backed away, hacking at the heavy wrists. Otwile came forward, crowding Reith against the side-wall. Reith feinted, punched with his left hand and rapped his knuckles into Otwile’s face. Otwile gave a small flat-footed jump forward, and another, then he gave a hideous rasping scream, and swung his great arm in an open-handed slap. Reith ducked below, hit Otwile full in the belly, and as Otwile jerked up his knee, seized the crooked leg, heaved up, and sent Otwile down flat on his back with a thud like a falling tree. For a moment Otwile lay dazed, then he slowly struggled to a sitting position. With a single backward glance Reith led Zap 210 from the garden. Cauch bowed politely toward Otwile and followed.
