by Jack Vance
“Be quick now,” said Kathcar. “The glats sometimes come early. Do you carry a gun?”
“Of course."
“Hold it ready.“ At a crouching bent-kneed lope Kathcar ran to the gate. He reached through the port, worked the latch mechanism. The gate swung open, just far enough to allow a man to pass. Kathcar peered through the opening, then spoke in a husky whisper "No one seems to be out. Come, to the rock yonder." He sidled along beside the stockade, seeming to merge with the texture of the materials. Glawen followed, and joined Kathcar in the dense shadow behind a rock ledge. "That was the risky part. We could have been seen from the high hut had anyone looked.”
“Where are the dogholes?”
“Just yonder, up and around that shoulder of rock. Now we had best go on hands and knees.” He set off crawling through the shadows. Glawen followed. Kathcar suddenly dropped flat. Glawen inched up beside him.
“What is the trouble?”
“Listen!”
Glawen listened, but heard nothing. Kathcar whispered: “I heard voices."
Glawen listened, and thought to hear a mutter of conversation, which presently became still.
Kathcar moved off through the shadows, crouching low. He stopped, turned his face down, spoke softly: “Scharde Clattuc! Do you hear me? Scharde? Scharde Clattuc?”
A husky response arose from the doghole. Glawen crawled forward. He felt horizontal bars under his hands. "Father? It is Glawen."
"Glawen! I am alive, or so I believe."
"I have come for you." He looked to Kathcar. "How do we lift the bars?”
"At each corner is a rock. Move it aside.”
Glawen groped along the bars and found a pair of heavy rocks, which he pushed aside, while Kathcar did the same on the opposite side. The two lifted the barred frame aside; Glawen reached down into the pit. “Give me your hands."
A pair of hands reached up; Glawen grasped and pulled. Scharde Clattuc emerged from the doghole. He said: "I knew that you would come. I only hoped that I would be alive at the time."
Kathcar spoke fur a reedy whisper: "Come; we must put the bars back in place, along with the rocks, so that no one will notice.”
The doghole was covered once again and the rocks put back in place. The three crawled away: first Kathcar, then Scharde and Glawen. In the shadow of the ledge they paused to rest and to assess the compound. A glimmer of light fell on Scharde's face; Glawen stared unbelieving into the haggard countenance. Scharde's eyes seem to have sunk into his head; the skin of his face stretched taut over bone and cartilage. He felt Glawen’s eyes upon him and grinned a ghastly grin. “No doubt I look a poor case."
"A very poor case indeed. “Are you fit to walk?"
"I can walk. How did you know where to find me?"
“It is a long story. I only arrived home a week or so ago.” Floreste supplied the information. "
“Then I must thank Floreste."
“Too late! He is dead."
Kathcar said, “Now! To the gate, along beside the stockade, as before."
Like flitting shadows the three arrived at the gate without challenge, and sidled out upon the strip, where wind blowing through the trees created a mournful sound. Kathcar searched the terrain, then gave a signal. “Quick then! To the tree!” On long strides he ran to the tree and started up the ladder. Scharde came next, at a hobbling trot, followed by Glawen. Kathcar gained the porch and looked over as Scharde climbed a painful step at a time. Kathcar reached through the opening and pulled Scharde up on the porch. He called urgently down to Glawen: "Hurry; "a rackleg is running this way!”
Glawen scrambled through the opening; Kathcar slammed down the trapdoor. From below came a rasping thump, a hiss, a jar. Glawen looked to Kathcar, “Shall I kill it?"
“No! The carrion would bring all manner of things; let it go its way. Come into the hut."
Inside the hut the three composed themselves to wait. A glimmer from the stockade lamps entered the hut, to Illuminate Scharde's face; once again Glawen was appalled by his father's wasted countenance. “I returned to the Station only about a week ago — and I have much to tell you — but no one knew where you were. Floreste gave us the facts and I came as quickly as I could; I am sorry it could not have been sooner."
“But you came, as I knew you would!”
“What happened to you?"
“I was lured and trapped, neatly and cleverly. Someone at the Station betrayed me.”
“Who was it, or do you know?"
"I don’t know. I went out on patrol and over the Marmion Brakes I noticed a flyer, heading east. It was not one of ours and I was sure it had come from Yipton. I dropped low and followed at a distance, where I would not be noticed. The flyer flew east, around the Tex Wyndom Hills and out over Willaway Waste. It descended and landed in a small meadow. I came in low and circled, looking for a place to land where I would not be observed. My intent was to capture the flyer and the passengers, and to learn what was going on, if possible. I found a perfectly situated landing area about half a mile north, behind a low ridge of rock. So I landed, armed myself and set off to the south, toward the ridge. The route seemed easy: too easy. As I passed a jut of rock, three Yips dropped down on me. They took my gun, tied my arms, and brought me and my flyer to Shattorak. It was a neat and clever trick. Someone at the Station who had access to the patrol schedules is a spy, and perhaps a traitor.”
"His name is Benjamie,” said Glawen. “At least, that is my guess. What happened then?"
"Not a great deal. They put me into the doghole, and there I stayed. After two or three days someone came to look down at me. I could not see clearly: no more than a silhouette. The person spoke: it was a voice I instantly loathed, as if I had heard it before-a heavy chuckling voice. It said: ‘Scharde Clattuc: here you are and here you shall bide. Such is your punishment.’ ”
"I asked: ‘Punishment for what?’ ”
“The answer came: ‘Need you ask? Consider the wrongs you have done to innocent victims!’ ”
“I said nothing more, since I had nothing to say. Whoever it was went away, and that is my last contact with anyone."
Glawen asked: “Who do you think spoke to you?"
“I don’t know. I have not thought about it.”
Glawen said: “I will tell you what happened to me, if you like. It is a long story; perhaps you would rather rest."
“I have been doing nothing else. I am tired of rest."
"Are you hungry? I have dry rations on my pack."
“I am hungry for something other than porridge.''
Glawen brought out a packet of hard sausage, biscuits and hard cheese and passed them over to Scharde. “Now then, this is what happened after Kirdy Wook and I left the Station.”
Glawen spoke for an hour, ending his narrative with a description of Floreste's letter. "I would not be surprised if the person who spoke to you were not Smonny herself."
“It might be so. The voice was odd."
Rain had started to fall, drumming down upon the roof in what seemed a solid sheet of water. Kathcar looked out the doorway. "This storm goes on and on, worse than usual.”
"Scharde gave a grim laugh. “I am happy to be out of the doghole. Sometimes it would fill up to my hips with water."
Glawen turned to Kathcar. “How many dogholes are there?"
“Three. Only one was occupied, by Scharde Clattuc until this afternoon, when they brought in another prisoner."
"You took food to him; who was he,“ asked Glawen?
Kathcar made a fluttering gesture of the hand. “I pay no attention to such thing. To save my own neck I obeyed orders, no more."
“Still, you must have taken note of the prisoner."
"Yes, I saw him." Kathcar hesitated.”
"Go on. Did you recognize him, or hear his name?"
Kathcar responded grudgingly: "As a matter of fact, they spoke his name in the cookhouse, and they were all laughing together, as if at some great joke.”
“Well then, what was the name?"
“Chilke."
“Chilke! In the doghole?”
"Yes. That is correct.”
Glawen went to look out the door. The rain obscured his vision; he could see nothing but the stockade lamps.” He thought of Bodwyn Wook and his cautious plans; his calculated risks and compared them to the impulses of his emotions, but the entire process required less than a minute. He gave one of his guns to Scharde. “The crawler is down the hill, across the first gully. There is a flame-thrower tree just beyond. Directly below, where the river bends you will find the flyer. This is case I do not come back.”
Scharde, without comment, took the gun. Glawen signaled to Kathcar. “Come.”
Kathcar held back. He cried out: "We should not presume upon our luck! Do you not agree? Our lives deserve to be cherished; let us not ponder lost opportunities from the dogholes!”
“Come." Glawen started down the ladder.
“Wait!" cried Kathcar. “Look first for beasts!"
"There is too much rain,” said Glawen. “I can't see them. Nor can they see me.”
Cursing under his breath, Kathcar followed down the ladder. “This is senseless and reckless!”
Glawen paid no heed. He ran through the rain to the stockade. Kathcar followed, still crying out complaints which went unheard in the storm. He opened the stockade gate; the two passed through.
Kathcar spoke into Glawen’s ear: “In the rain they might think to activate their motion sensor, so we had best go the same way as before. Are you ready? Come along then! To the rock!"
The two ran crouching beside the stockade, with the rain hissing around their ears. Under the rock they halted. “Down low!” Kathcar ordered. “As before follow close, or you will lose me.”
On hands and knees the two scuttled through the muck, past the first doghole, up and around a ledge, down into a rocky hollow. Kathcar halted. “We are here.”
Glawen felt for the bars. He called down into the blackness: “Chilke Are you there? Can you hear me? Chilke?”
A voice came from below. “Who's calling for Chilke? It’s a waste of time; I can't help you.”
“Chilke its Glawen! Stand up; I'll pull you out.”
“I'm already standing, so that I don’t drown.”
Glawen and Kathcar moved aside the bars and pulled Chilke to the surface. “This is a glad surprise, “said Chilke.
Glawen and Kathcar replaced the bars; the three crawled across the compound to the stockade, ran crouching to the gate, passed through. For a moment the rain seemed to diminish its force; Kathcar peered up and down the strip. He gave a startled hiss. “There's a glat! Quick! To the tree!"
The three ran to the tree and scrambled up the ladder. Kathcar secured the trap door just as something heavy slammed against the tree.
Kathcar spoke to Glawen in dour tones: “I hope no more of your friends are captives?"
Glawen ignored the remark. He asked Chilke "What happened to you?"
“Nothing at all complicated,“ said Chilke. “Yesterday morning two men jumped me, threw a bag over my head, taped my arms, stowed me aboard our new J-2 flyer and flew away. Next thing I knew I was here. One of the men, incidentally, was Benjamie; I could smell the fancy pomade he wears in his hair. When I get back to the Station, he is out of a job, since he cannot be trusted."
“Then what happened?"
“I heard some new voices. Someone led me into a shack and pulled the bag from my head. Certain peculiar things happened next which I am still sorting out. Afterwards, I was conducted to the doghole and dropped in. This gentleman here brought me a bucket of porridge. He asked me my name, and mentioned that it looked like rain. After that I was left alone, until I heard your voice, which I was glad to hear."
"Odd," said Glawen.
“What will we do now?"
“As soon as we can see, we leave. We won’t be missed. Until they come to the cookhouse for breakfast and find no Kathcar.”
Chilke peered through the dark. "Your name is Kathcar?"
“That is correct." Kathcar spoke stiffly.
"You were right about the rain."
“It is a terrible storm,” said Kathcar. ”The worst I have seen."
“You have been here long?"
“Not too long.”
“How long?”
“About two months.”
“What was your crime?”
Kathcar responded tersely: "I am not sure in my own mind why I am here. Apparently I offended Titus Pompo, or something of the sort.”
Glawen told Chilke and Scharde: “Kathcar is a Naturalist from Stroma.”
“Interesting” said Scharde. "How is it that you are acquainted with Titus Pompo?”
“It is a complicated matter, not presently relevant."
Scharde said nothing. Glawen asked him: “Are you tired? Do you wish to sleep?”
“I am probably stronger than I look.” Scharde's voice drifted away. “I think I’ll try to sleep.”
"Give your gun to Chilke."
Scharde gave over the gun, crawled across the hut and stretched out on the floor. Almost at once he dozed.
The rain waxed and waned: slowing for a few minutes as if passing over, then suddenly striking down in new fury. Kathcar marveled anew: “This storm is incredible!
Chilke said: “Scharde has been here about two months. Who came first: you or Scharde?"
Kathcar appeared to dislike questions. As before, he answered curtly: “Scharde was here when I arrived.”
“And no one explained why you were here?"
“No.”
“What of your family and friends at Stroma? Do they know of your whereabouts?"
Bitterness tinged Kathcar’s voice. “As to that, I cannot guess."
Glawen asked: ''Were you an LPFer at Stroma, or a Chartist?”
Kathcar surveyed Glawen sharply. “Why do you ask?”
“It might cast light on why you were imprisoned.”
“I doubt it."
Chilke said: "If you have run afoul of Titus Pompo, you must be a Chartist.”
Kathcar spoke frostily: “Like the other progressives of Stroma, I endorse the ideals of the LPF party.”
“Very strange!“ declared Chilke. “You were clapped into jail by your best friends and good clients: I refer, of course, to the Yips.”
“No doubt there was a mistake, or a misunderstanding,” said Kathcar. “I do not care to dwell on the matter, and I will let bygones be bygones.”
“You Peefers are a high-minded group, “said Chilke. “As for me, I crave revenge.”
Glawen asked Kathcar: “You are acquainted with Dame Clytie Vergence?”
"I am acquainted with this woman.”
"And Julian Bohost?”
"I know him. At one time he was considered an influential member of the movement."
"But no longer?”
Kathcar spoke in measured terms. "I differ with him on several important points."
“What of Lewyn Barduys? And Flitz?"
"I am not acquainted with either. And now, if you will excuse me, I too will try to rest." Kathcar crawled away.
A few moments later the rain stopped, leaving a silence broken only by the splash of drops falling from the trees. Imminence charged the air.
Purple-white dazzle fractured the sky. A second of tense silence and another — then an explosion of thunder, dying in a sullen rumble. Across the jungle came a response of grinding chatters, angry roars and bellows.
Silence again, and the pressure of imminence then a second burst of lightning, and for an instant every detail of the compound was illuminated in brilliant lavender light, followed as before by another clap of thunder. After a moment the rain started again, in a new torrent.
Glawen asked Chilke: “What happened in the shed that was so peculiar?”
“I live a very peculiar life,” said Chilke. “If you think of it like this, the business in the shed is just a typical incident, even though the a
verage man might be astounded.”
“What happened?”
“First, a Yip in a black uniform took the bag from my head. I saw a table with some documents arranged in a neat pile. The Yip told me to sit down, which I did.”
”It seems that I was under surveillance from a lens across the room. A voice came from the speaker ‘You are Eustace Chilke, native to Big Prairie on Earth?’ “
“I said, yes, that was the case, and to whom was I talking?”
“The voice said: ‘Your single concern at the moment must be the set of documents you see in front of you. Sign them where indicated.’ “
“The voice was harsh and distorted, and not at all friendly. I said: ’I suppose it is pointless to complain of the outrage represented by this kidnapping.‘ “
“The voice said: 'Eustace Chilke, you have been brought here for good and sufficient reason. Sign the documents and be quick about it!' “
“I said: ’It sounds like Madame Zigonie talking, but not in a kindly voice. Where is the money you owe me for six months work?’ “
“The voice said: 'Sign the papers at once, or it will be the worse for you.' “
“I looked the papers over. The first deeded all my property, without exception or reservation, to Simonetta Zigonie. The second was a letter to whom it might concern authorizing the delivery of my property to the bearer. The third, which I liked the least, was my will, bequeathing everything I owned to my friend Simonetta Zigonie. I tried to protest. ‘I'd like to think things over, if you don't mind. I suggest that we go back to Araminta Station and settle the matter like ladies and gentlemen.’ “
“ 'Sign the papers,' said the voice, 'if you value your life!' “
“ I saw that there was no reasoning with the woman. I said: ‘I'll sign if you like, but it’s all a great puzzle, since I own little more than the shirt on my back.’ “
“ 'What of the articles you inherited from your grandfather?’ “
“ They don’t amount to much. The stuffed moose is a bit shabby. There is a small rock collection, with bits of gravel from a hundred planets, a few oddments of bric-a-brac including some purple vases, and probably more junk of the same sort out in the barn. I seem to remember a rather nice stuffed owl with a mouse in its beak.”
