The Dirdir

by Jack Vance

  “He will never let you complete the ship.”

  “That is why I am here.”

  “What can you do?” Deine Zarre spoke contemptuously.

  “I intend to take him captive, and keep him until the ship is finished. Then you may kill him.”

  “Very well,” said Deine Zarre in a dull voice. “Why not? I will make him suffer.”

  “As you please. You go ahead, I will come close behind, as before. When we find Woudiver, upbraid him, but offer no violence. We don’t want to drive him to desperate action.”

  Deine Zarre turned without a word. He worked open the door, to reveal a room furnished in scarlet and yellow. Deine Zarre entered, and after a quick look over his shoulder Reith followed. A dwarfish, dark-skinned servant in an enormous white turban stood startled.

  “Where is Aila Woudiver?” asked Deine Zarre in his most gentle voice.

  The servant became haughty. “He is importantly busy. He has great dealings. He cannot be disturbed.”

  Seizing the servant by the scruff of the neck Reith half raised him off the ground, dislodging the turban. The servant keened in pain and wounded dignity. “What are you doing? Take your hands away or I will summon my master!”

  “Precisely what we want you to do,” said Reith.

  The servant stood back, rubbing his neck and glaring at Reith. “Leave the house at once!”

  “Take us to Woudiver, if you want to avoid trouble!”

  The servant began to whine. “I may not do so. He’ll have me whipped!”

  “Look yonder in the courtyard,” said Deine Zarre. “You’ll see Artilo’s dead body. Do you wish to join him?”

  The servant began to shake and fell on his knees. Reith hoisted him erect. “Quick now! To Woudiver!”

  “You must tell him I was forced, on threat of my life!” cried the servant with chattering teeth. “Then you must swear—”

  The portiere at the far end of the room parted. The great face of Aila Woudiver peered through. “What is this disturbance?”

  Reith pushed the servant away. “Your man refused to summon you.”

  Woudiver examined him with the cleverest and most suspicious gaze imaginable. “For good reason, I am occupied with important affairs.”

  “None so important as mine,” said Reith.

  “A moment,” said Woudiver. He turned, spoke a word or two to his visitors, swaggered back into the scarlet and yellow salon. “You have the money?”

  “Yes, of course. Would I be here otherwise?”

  For another long moment Woudiver surveyed Reith. “Where is the money?”

  “In a safe place.”

  Woudiver chewed at his pendulous lower lip. “Do not use that tone with me. To be candid, I suspect you of contriving an infamy, that which today allowed the escape of numerous criminals from the Glass Box.”

  Reith chuckled. “Tell me, if you please, how I could be two places at once?”

  “If you were in a single place, that is enough to damn you. A man corresponding to your description lowered himself to the field only an hour before the event. He would not have done so had he not been sure of escape. It is noteworthy that the renegade Dirdirman seemed to be among those missing.”

  Deine Zarre spoke: “The battarache came from your store; you will be held responsible if I should utter a word.”

  Woudiver seemed to notice Deine Zarre for the first time. In simulated surprise he spoke. “What do you do here, old man? Better be off about your business.”

  “I came to kill you,” said Deine Zarre. “Reith asked that I wait.”

  “Come along, Woudiver,” said Reith. “The game is over.” He displayed his weapon. “Quickly, or I’ll burn some of your hide.”

  Woudiver looked from one to the other without apparent concern. “Do the mice bare their teeth?”

  Reith, from long experience, knew enough to expect wrangling, obstinacy, and generally perverse behavior. In a resigned voice he said, “Come along, Woudiver.”

  Woudiver smiled. “Two ridiculous little sub-men.” He raised his voice a trifle. “Artilo!”

  “Artilo is dead,” said Deine Zarre. He looked right and left in something like puzzlement. Woudiver watched him blandly. “You seek something?”

  Deine Zarre, ignoring Woudiver, muttered to Reith, “He is too easy, even for Woudiver. Take care.”

  Reith said in a sharp voice, “On the count of five, I’ll burn you.”

  “First, a question,” said Woudiver. “Where do we go?”

  Reith ignored him. “One… two…”

  Woudiver sighed hugely. “You fail to amuse me.”

  “… three…”

  “Somehow I must protect myself…”

  “… four…”

  “… so much is clear.” Woudiver backed against the wall. The velvet canopy instantly slumped on Reith and Deine Zarre.

  Reith fired the gun but the folds struck down his arm, and the ray scarred only the black and white tiles of the floor.

  Woudiver’s chuckle sounded muffled but rich and unctuous. The floor vibrated to his ominous tread. A vast weight suffocated Reith; Woudiver had flung himself down upon his body. Reith lay halfdazed. Woudiver’s voice sounded close. “So the jackanapes thought to trouble Aila Woudiver? See how he is now!” The weight lifted. “And Deine Zarre, who courteously refrained from assassination. Well then, farewell, Deine Zarre. I am more decisive.”

  A sound, a sad sodden gurgle and then a scraping of fingernails upon the tiles.

  “Adam Reith,” said the voice. “You are a peculiar mad case. I am interested in your intentions. Drop the gun, put your arms to the front and do not move. Do you feel the weight on your neck? That is my foot. Quick then, arms forward, and no sudden motions. Hisziu, make ready.”

  The folds were pulled back, away from Reith’s extended arms. Nimble dark fingers bound his wrists with silk ribbon.

  The velvet was further drawn back. Reith, still somewhat dazed, looked up at the spraddle-legged bulk. Hisziu the servant skipped back and forth, around and under, like a puppy.

  Woudiver hoisted Reith erect. “Walk, if you will.” He sent Reith stumbling with a shove.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IN A DARK room, against a metal rack, stood Reith. His outstretched arms were taped to a transverse bar; his ankles were likewise secured. No light entered the room save the glimmer of a few stars through a narrow window. Hisziu the servant crouched four feet in front of him, with a light whip of braided silk, little more than a length of supple cord attached to a short handle. He seemed able to see in the dark and amused himself by snapping the tip of the whip, at unpredictable intervals, upon Reith’s wrists, knees and chin. He spoke only once. “Your two friends have been taken. They are no better than you: worse, indeed. Woudiver works with them.”

  Reith stood limp, his thoughts sluggish and dismal. Disaster was complete; he was conscious of nothing else. The malicious little snaps of Hisziu’s whip barely brushed the edge of his awareness. His existence was coming to an end, to be no more remarked than the fall of a raindrop into one of Tschai’s sullen oceans. Somewhere out of sight the blue moon rose, casting a sheen across the sky. The slow waxing and equally slow waning of moonlight told the passing of the night.

  Hisziu fell into a drowse and snored softly. Reith was indifferent. He raised his head, looked out of the window. The shimmer of moonlight was gone; a muddy color towards the east signaled the coming of Carina 4269. Hisziu awoke with a start, and flicked the whip petulantly at Reith’s cheeks, raising instant bloodblisters. He left the chamber and a moment later returned with a mug of hot tea, which he sipped by the window. Reith croaked: “I’ll pay you ten thousand sequins to cut me loose.”

  Hisziu paid him no heed.

  Reith said, “And another ten thousand if you help me free my friends.”

  The servant sipped the tea as if Reith had never spoken.

  The sky glowed dark gold; Carina 4269 had appeared. Steps sounded; Woudiver’s bulk f
illed the doorway. A moment he stood quietly, assessing the situation, then, seizing the whip, he gestured Hisziu from the room.

  Woudiver seemed exalted, as if drugged or drunk. He slapped the whip against his thigh. “I can’t find the money, Adam Reith. Where is it?”

  Reith attempted to speak in a casual voice. “What are your plans?”

  Woudiver raised his hairless eyebrows. “I have no plans. Events proceed; I exist as well as I may.”

  “Why do you keep me tied here?”

  Aila Woudiver slapped the whip against his leg. “I have naturally notified my kinsmen of your apprehension.”

  “The Dirdir?”

  “Of course.” Woudiver gave his thigh a rap with the whip.

  Reith spoke with great earnestness. “The Dirdir are no kinsmen of yours! Dirdir and men are not even remotely connected; they come from different stars.”

  Woudiver leaned indolently against the wall. “Where do you learn such idiocy?”

  Reith licked his lips, wondering where lay his best hope of succor. Woudiver was not a rational man; he was motivated by instinct and intuition. Reith tried to project utter certainty as he spoke. “Men originated on the planet Earth. The Dirdir know this as well as I. They prefer that Dirdirmen deceive themselves.”

  Woudiver nodded thoughtfully. “You intend to seek out this ‘Earth’ with your spaceship?”

  “I don’t need to seek it out. It lies two hundred light-years distant, in the constellation Clari.”

  Woudiver pranced forward. With his yellow face a foot from Reith’s he bellowed, “And what of the treasure you promised me? You misled, you deceived!”

  “No,” said Reith. “I did not. I am an Earthman. I was shipwrecked here on Tschai. Help me back to Earth; you will receive whatever treasure you care to name.”

  Woudiver backed slowly away. “You are one of the Yao redemptionist cult, whatever it calls itself.”

  “No. I am telling the truth. Your best interest lies in helping me.”

  Woudiver nodded sagely. “Perhaps this is the case. But first things first. You can easily demonstrate your good faith. Where is my money?”

  “Your money? It is not your money. It is my money.”

  “A sterile distinction. Where is, shall we say, our money?”

  “You’ll never see it unless you perform your obligations.”

  “This is utter obstinacy!” stormed Woudiver. “You are captured, you are done, and your henchmen as well. The Dirdirman must return to the Glass Cage. The steppe-boy will be sold into slavery-unless you care to buy his life with the money.”

  Reith sagged and became listless. Woudiver strutted back and forth across the room, darting glances at Reith. He came close and prodded Reith in the stomach with the whip. “Where is the money?”

  “I don’t trust you,” said Reith in a dreary voice. “You never keep your promises.” With a great effort, he lifted himself erect and tried to speak in a calm voice. “If you want the money, let me go free. The spaceship is almost finished. You may come along to Earth.”

  Woudiver’s face was inscrutable. “And then?”

  “A space-yacht, a palace-whatever you want. You shall have it.

  “And how shall I return to Sivishe?” demanded Woudiver scornfully. “What of my affairs? It is plain that you are mad; why do you waste my time? Where is the money? The Dirdirman and the steppe-lad have declared with conviction that they do not know.”

  “I don’t know either. I gave it to Deine Zarre and told him to hide it. You killed him.”

  Woudiver stifled a groan of dismay. “My money?”

  “Tell me,” said Reith, “do you intend that I finish the spaceship?”

  “It has never been my intention!”

  “You defrauded me?”

  “Why not? You tried the same. The man that beats Aila Woudiver is cunning indeed.”

  “No question as to that.”

  Hisziu entered the room and, standing on tiptoe, whispered into Woudiver’s ear. Woudiver stamped with rage. “So soon? They are early! I have not even started.” He turned to Reith, his face seething like water in a boiling pot. “Quick then, the money, or I sell the lad. Quick!”

  “Let us go! Help us finish the spaceship. Then you shall have your money!”

  “You unreasonable ingrate!” hissed Woudiver. Footsteps sounded. “I am thwarted!” he groaned. “What a sad life is mine. Vermin!” Woudiver spat into Reith’s face and beat him furiously with the whip.

  Into the room, proudly conducted by Hisziu, came a tall Dirdirman, the most splendid and strange Reith had yet seen: by all odds an Immaculate. Woudiver muttered to Hisziu from the side of his mouth; Reith’s bonds were cut. The Dirdirman attached a chain to Reith’s neck, clasped the other end to his belt. Without a word he walked away, shaking his fingers in fastidious disdain.

  Reith stumbled after.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  BEFORE WOUDIVER’S HOUSE stood a white-enameled car. The Immaculate snapped Reith’s chain to a ring at the rear. Reith watched in dreary wonder. The Immaculate stood almost seven feet tall, with artificial effulgences attached to wens at either side of his peaked scalp. His skin gleamed white as the enamel of the car; his head was totally hairless; his nose was a ridged beak. For all his strange appearance and undoubtedly altered sexuality, he was a man, ruminated Reith, derived from the same soil as himself. From the house, at a quick stumble, as if shoved, came Anacho and Traz. Chains encircled their necks; behind, jerking the loose ends, ran Hisziu. Two Dirdirman Elites followed. They shackled the chains to the back of the car. The Immaculate spoke a few sibilant words to Anacho and indicated a shelf running across the rear of the car. Without looking back, he stepped into the car, where the two Elites already sat. Anacho muttered, “Climb aboard, otherwise we’ll be dragged.”

  The three crawled up on the rear shelf, clutched the rings to which their neck chains were shackled. In such undignified fashion they departed Woudiver’s residence. Woudiver’s black saloon trundled fifty yards behind, with Woudiver’s huge bulk crouched over the steering apparatus.

  “He wants recognition,” said Anacho. “He has assisted at an important hunt; he wants a share of the status.”

  “I made the mistake,” said Reith in a thick voice, “of dealing with Woudiver as if he were a man. If I had treated him as an animal we might be better off.”

  “We could hardly be worse.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To the Glass Box; where else?”

  “We are to have no hearing, no opportunity to speak for ourselves?”

  “Naturally not,” said Anacho curtly. “You are sub-men. I am a renegade.”

  The white car veered into a plaza and halted. The Dirdirmen alighted and stood stiffly apart, watching the sky. A plump, middle-aged man in a rich dark brown suit came forward: a person of status and evident vanity, with his hair elaborately curled and jeweled. He addressed the Dirdirmen in an easy manner; they replied after a moment’s meaningful silence.

  “That is Erlius, Administrator of Sivishe,” grunted Anacho. “He wants to be in at the kill too. It seems that we are important game.”

  Attracted by the activity, the folk of Sivishe began to gather around the white car. They formed a wide respectful circle, eyeing the captives with macabre speculation, crouching back whenever the glance of a Dirdirman drifted in their direction.

  Woudiver remained in his car, at a distance of fifty yards or so, apparently arranging his thoughts. At last he alighted and seemed to concern himself with the matter indited on a fold of paper. Erlius, noticing, quickly turned his back.

  “Look at the two of them,” growled Anacho. “Each hates the other: Woudiver ridicules Erlius for lacking Dirdirman blood; Erlius would like to see Woudiver in the Glass Box.”

  “So would I,” said Reith. “Speaking of the Glass Box, why are we waiting?”

  “For the leaders of the tsau’gsh. You will see the Glass Box soon enough.”

  Reith f
retfully wrenched at the chain. The Dirdirmen turned him glances of admonition. “Ridiculous,” muttered Reith. “There must be something we can do. What of the Dirdir traditions? What if I cried h’sai h’sai, h’sai, or whatever the call for arbitration?”

  “The call is dr’ssa dr’ssa, dr’ssa!”

  “What would happen if I called for arbitration?”

  “You would be no better than before. The arbitrator would find you guilty and, as before: the Glass Box.”

  “And if I challenged the arbitration?”

  “You’d be forced to fight, and killed all the sooner.”

  “And no one can be taken unless he is accused?”

  “In theory,” said Anacho curtly, “that is the custom. Who do you plan to challenge? Woudiver? It will do no good. He has not accused you, but only cooperated with the hunt.”

  “We will see.”

  Traz pointed into the sky. “Here come the Dirdir.”

  Anacho studied the descending sky-car. “The Thisz crest. If the Thisz are involved, we can expect brisk treatment indeed. They may even issue a proscription, that none but Thisz can hunt us.”

  Traz strained against the chain shackle without avail. He gave a hiss of frustration and turned to watch the descending sky-car. The grayhooded crowd drew back from underneath; the sky-car landed not fifty feet from the white vehicle. Five Dirdir alighted: an Excellent and four of lower caste.

  The Immaculate Dirdirman stepped grandly forward, but the Dirdir ignored him with the same indifference he had shown Erhus.

  For a moment or two the Dirdir appraised Reith, Anacho and Traz. Then they made a signal to the Immaculate and uttered a few brief sounds.

  Erlius stepped forward to pay his respects, knees bent, head bobbing. Before he could speak Woudiver marched forward and thrust his vast yellow bulk in front of Erlius, who was forced to stumble aside.

  Woudiver spoke in a high-pitched voice: “Here, Thisz dignitaries, are the criminals sought by the hunt. I have participated to no small degree; let this be noted upon my scroll of honors!”

  The Dirdir gave him only cursory attention. Woudiver, apparently expecting no more, bowed his head, swung his arms in an elaborate flourish.