by Jack Vance
Reith went to the back edge of the roof, looked across at the wall. The top surface was about six feet distant, flat, with foot-high prongs at fifty-foot intervals. Warning devices? Reith could imagine no other purpose. On the other side was a drop of thirty feet — twenty-five feet, if he hung by his hands before he let himself fall. Reith appraised the chances of landing without broken bones or sprained joints: about two in three, depending upon the ground beneath. With a rope, the descent would be effortless. In the basement of the mortuary he had seen no ropes, but there were quantities of old garments to be knotted together. First: what would happen if he reached the top of the wall?
To learn Reith doffed his cloak. Moving along the rooftop until he was opposite one of the prongs, he swung the cloak out and over the prong.
The result was instant and startling. From the prongs to either side lances of white fire darted forth, piercing the cloak, setting it aflame. Reith snatched it back, stamped out the blaze, looked hurriedly back and forth along the wall. Undoubtedly an alarm had been set off. Should he risk leaping the wall, fleeing across the waste? The chances, very bad in any case, were nonexistent if he were caught in the open. He ran to the tree, descended far more rapidly than he had mounted. Over the city sky-sleds were already appearing. Reith heard a far weird whistling which set his nerves on edge … He ran, cloak flapping, back under the trees. A gleam of water attracted his attention: a small pond, overgrown with pallid white water-plants. Throwing off his cloak and false cranium, Reith jumped into the water, submerged himself up to his nose, and waited.
Minutes passed. A squad of security guards on electric motorcycles dashed past. Two sky-sleds trailing scent-detectors drifted overhead, one to his right, the other to his left. They disappeared to the east; clearly the Blue Chasch thought he had crossed the wall, that he was at large outside the city. If this was the case, if they presently decided that he had escaped into the mountains, his chances would be thereby much improved … He became aware of something moving along the bottom of the pond. It felt muscular, purposeful. An eel? A water-snake? A tentacle? Reith jumped out of the pond. Ten feet away something broke the surface and made a sound, like a snort of disgust.
Reith seized up the cloak and the false cranium and trudged dripping back down away from the mortuary.
He came upon a small lane winding among the Chaschmen bungalows. By night they seemed close, secretive, locked-in. The windows were small and none lower than eight feet from the ground. Some exuded a wavering yellow light, as if from a lamp, which puzzled Reith. Surely a race as technically capable as the Blue Chasch could provide their underlings electric or nucleonic illumination … Another paradox of Tschai.
The wet clothes not only chafed but smelled abominably — a situation which might camouflage his own scent, thought Reith. He pulled the false cranium over his skull, threw the cloak around his shoulders. Walking slow and stiff-legged, he continued toward the gate.
The sky was dark; neither Az nor Braz was in the sky, and the byways of Dadiche knew only the most casual illumination. Two Chaschmen came into view. Reith pulled down his chin, hunched his shoulders, walked stolidly forward. The two passed with no more than a glance.
Somewhat encouraged, Reith reached the central boulevard with the gate two hundred yards ahead. High lamps cast a yellow glare into the portal. Three guards in purple and gray were still in evidence, but they seemed slack and uninterested, and Reith was reinforced in his belief that the Blue Chasch thought him gone from the city.
Unfortunately, thought Reith, the Blue Chasch were wrong.
He considered the feasibility of sauntering up to the portal, dashing through and away into the darkness. The sky-sleds would instantly be after him, as well as platoons of guards on electric motorcycles. What with his reeking clothes, he would have no place to hide — unless he discarded all his garments and ran naked through the night.
Reith gave a soft grunt of disapproval … His attention was attracted by a tavern in the basement of a tall building. From the low windows came flickering red and yellow light, hoarse conversation, an occasional gust of bellowing laughter. Three Chaschmen came lurching forth; Reith turned his back and looked through the window down into a murky taproom, lit by firelight and the ubiquitous yellow lamps. A dozen Chaschmen, faces pinched and twisted under the grotesque false crania, sat hunched over stone pots of liquor, exchanging lewd banter with a small group of Chaschwomen. These wore gowns of black and green; bits of tinsel and ribbon bedizened their false scalps; their pug-noses were painted bright red. A dismal scene, thought Reith; still it pointed up the essential humanity of the Chaschmen. Here were the universal ingredients of celebration: invigorating drink, gay women, camaraderie. The Chaschman version seemed somewhat leaden and dour … Another pair of Chaschmen passed close to Reith without remark. So far the disguise had been effective, though whether it would pass a more detailed examination Reith was uncertain. He walked slowly toward the gate, until he was barely fifty yards distant. He dared approach no further. He slid into a niche between two buildings and settled himself to watch the gate.
The night went on. The air became still and cold and Reith became aware of odors from the Dadiche gardens.
He dozed. When he awoke Az had appeared behind a line of sentinel adarak. Reith shifted his position, groaned, massaged his neck, recoiling at the odor of the still damp garments.
At the gate two of the security guards had disappeared. The third stood torpidly, half-asleep. In the booths the attendants sat looking morosely out over the empty spaces. Reith settled back into his niche.
The east became bright with dawn; the city came alive. New personnel arrived at the portal. Reith watched the incoming and outgoing groups exchange information.
An hour later drays began to arrive from Pera. The first, drawn by a pair of great draught beasts, brought casks of pickles and fermented meat, and stank with a fervor that put Reith to shame. On the driver’s bench sat two persons: Emmink, more sour, sulky and dire than ever, and Traz. “Forty-three,” shouted Emmink. “A hundred and one,” called Traz. The guards came out, counted barrels, inspected the wagon, then ordered Emmink to proceed.
As the wagon passed, Reith emerged from his niche, walked close beside. “Traz.”
Traz looked down and made a small exclamation of satisfaction. “I knew you’d still be alive.”
“Just barely. Do I look like a Chaschman?”
“Not too much. Keep the cloak over your chin and nose … When we come back from market, up under the right foreleg of the right beast.”
Reith turned aside into a secluded little nook behind a shed and watched the wagon move off toward the market.
An hour later it returned, moving slowly. Emmink guided it along the right side of the road. It passed Reith; he emerged from his hiding place. The wagon stopped; Traz jumped down as if to lash the barrels more securely, but blocking off the view from the rear.
Reith ran forward, ducked under the draught beast. Between the first and second right-hand legs hung a great leathery flap of skin. Between the belly and the skin five thongs had been tied to make a tight cramped hammock, into which Reith inserted himself. The wagon started forward; Reith could see nothing but the gray belly, the dangling flap, the first two legs.
The wagon paused at the gate. He heard voices, saw the pointed red sandals of the security guards. After a suspenseful wait, the wagon started forward, rumbled out toward the surrounding hills. Reith could see the gravel of the road, an occasional bit of vegetation, the ponderous legs, the dangling flap which at every step clamped in upon him.
At last the dray halted. Traz peered under the beast. “Out — no one is watching.”
With almost insane relief Reith pulled himself from under the beast. He ripped off the false cranium, flung it in a ditch, threw off the cloak, the stinking jacket, the shirt, clambered up on the bed of the dray, where he slumped back against a barrel.
Traz resumed his seat beside Emmink, and the dray sta
rted forward. Traz looked back with concern. “Are you ill? Or wounded?”
“No. Tired. But alive — thanks to you. And Emmink, as well, or so it appears.”
Traz gave Emmink a frowning glance. “Emmink has been no great help. It was necessary to make threats, to inflict a bruise or two.”
“I see,” said Reith. He turned a critical glance upon the draymaster’s hunched shoulders. “I’ve had one or two harsh thoughts in connection with Emmink myself.”
The shoulders quivered. Emmink swung around in his seat, thin face split in a yellow-toothed grin. “You’ll recall, sir, that I conveyed you and instructed you, even before I knew your lordship’s high rank.”
“‘High rank’?” asked Reith. “What ‘high rank’?”
“The council at Pera has appointed you chief executive,” said Traz. And he added, in a disparaging tone: “High rank of a sort, I suppose.”
Chapter XI
Reith had no inclination to rule Pera. The occupation would exhaust his energy, destroy his patience, restrict his scope of action and bring him no personal advantage. Perforce, he would tend to govern in terms of Earth social philosophy. He considered the population of Pera: a motley group. Fugitives, criminals, bandits, freaks, hybrids, nondescripts, nonesuches: what would these poor wretches know of equity, juridical procedure, human dignity, the ideal of progress?
A challenge, to say the least.
What of the space-boat, what of his hopes of returning to Earth? His adventures in Dadiche had verified only the location of the space-boat. The Blue Chasch would doubtless be amused and interested should he demand the return of his property. Inducements? Reith could hardly promise Earth military assistance against the Dirdir or the Wankh — whichever were the current adversaries of the Blue Chasch. Compulsion? He had no leverage, no force to apply.
Another matter: the Blue Chasch were now aware of his existence. Undoubtedly they wondered as to his identity, his homeland. Tschai was vast, with remote regions where men might have produced almost anything. The Blue Chasch must even now be anxiously consulting their maps.
As Reith reflected, the dray ground up the hill, passed through Belbal Gap, rumbled down toward the steppe. Sunlight warmed Reith’s skin; the steppe wind blew away the stench. He became drowsy and presently fell asleep.
He awoke to find the dray trundling over the ancient pavements of Pera. They entered the central plaza at the base of the citadel. As they passed the gibbets Reith saw swinging eight new bodies: Gnashters, the rakish swagger of their garments now a bedraggled and pathetic joke. Traz explained the circumstances, in the most casual of voices. “They decided to come down from the citadel, and so they did, waving their hands and laughing, as if the whole affair were a farce. How indignant they became when the militia seized them and hoisted them aloft! They were dead before they had ceased complaining!”
“So now the palace is empty,” said Reith, looking up at the mass of slabs and stones.
“So far as I know. I suppose you will choose to live there?”
Traz’s voice held a faint note of disapprobation. Reith grinned. The influence of Onmale persisted and occasionally manifested itself.
“No,” said Reith. “Naga Goho lived there. If we moved in, people would think we were a new set of Gohos.”
“It is a fine palace,” said Traz, dubious now. “It contains many interesting objects …” He turned a quizzical glance toward Reith. “Apparently you have decided to rule Pera.”
“Yes,” said Reith. “Apparently I have.”
At the Dead Steppe Inn Reith rubbed himself in oil, soft sand, sifted ashes. He rinsed himself in clean water and repeated the process, thinking that soap would be one of the first innovations he would bring to the people of Pera, and Tschai at large. Was it possible that a substance so relatively simple as soap was unknown on Tschai? He would ask Derl, Ylin-Ylan, whatever her name, if soap were known in Cath.
Scrubbed, shaved, in fresh linen and new sandals of soft leather, Reith ate a meal of porridge and stew in the common-room. A change in the atmosphere was apparent. The personnel of the inn treated him with exaggerated respect; others in the room spoke in quiet voices, watching him from the side of their faces.
Reith noticed a group of men standing in the compound, muttering together and peering into the inn from time to time. When he had finished his meal they entered and came to stand in a line in front of him.
Reith looked them over, recognizing some who had been present at Naga Goho’s execution. One was thin and yellow, with burning black eyes: a marshman, Reith guessed. Another appeared to be a mixture of Chaschman and Gray. Another was typical Gray, of medium height, bald, with putty-colored skin, a fleshy lump of a nose, glossy protuberant eyes. The fourth was an old man from one of the nomad tribes, handsome in a haggard wind-driven fashion; the fifth was short and barrel-shaped with arms dangling almost to his knees, of derivation impossible to calculate. The old man of the steppes had been designated spokesman. He spoke in a husky voice. “We are the Committee of Five, formed according to your recommendation. We have held a long discussion. Inasmuch as you have been of assistance in destroying Naga Goho and the Gnashters, we wish to appoint you headman of Pera.”
“Subject to our restraint and advice,” appended the Chaschman-Gray.
Reith had still not come to a definite, irrevocable decision. Leaning back in his chair he surveyed the committee, and thought that seldom, if ever, had he seen a more heterogeneous group.
“It’s not quite so easy,” he said at last. “You might not be willing to cooperate with me. I wouldn’t take on the job unless I was guaranteed that cooperation.”
“Cooperation toward what?” the Gray asked.
“Toward changes. Extreme, far-reaching changes.”
The committeemen examined him cautiously. “We are conservative folk,” the Chaschman-Gray muttered. “Life is hard; we cannot afford risky experiments.”
The old nomad gave a harsh crackling laugh. “‘Experiments’! We should welcome them! Any change can only be for the better! Let us hear what the man proposes!”
“Very well,” acceded the Chaschman-Gray. “It does no harm to listen; we are not committed.”
Reith said, “I am of this man’s opinion.” He indicated the old nomad. “Pera is a tumble of ruins. The people here are little better than fugitives. They have no pride or self-respect; they live in holes, they are dirty and ignorant, they wear rags. What’s worse, they don’t seem to care.”
The committee blinked in surprise. The old nomad gave a hoarse jeering laugh; the Chaschman-Gray scowled. The others looked doubtful. Retiring a few paces, they muttered among themselves, then turned back to Reith. “Can you explain in detail what you propose to do?”
Reith shook his head. “I haven’t given the matter any thought. To be blunt, I am a civilized man; I was educated and trained in civilized circumstances. I know what men can achieve. It is a great deal — more perhaps than you can imagine. The folk of Pera are men; I would insist that they live like men.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the marshman, “but how? In what particular?”
“Well, in the first place, I would want a militia, disciplined and well-trained, to maintain order, to protect the city and caravans from the Green Chasch. I would organize schools and a hospital; later a foundry, warehouses, a market. Meanwhile I would encourage people to build houses, in clean surroundings.”
The committeemen fidgeted uneasily, looking askance at one another and at Reith. The old nomad grunted. “We are men, of course; who has denied it? And since we are men, we must live carefully. We do not desire to be Dirdir. Suffice that we survive.”
The Gray said, “The Blue Chasch would never allow such pretensions. They tolerate us at Pera only because we are inconspicuous.”
“But also because we supply certain of their wants,” stated the short man. “They buy our produce cheap.”
“It is never wise to irritate those in power,” argued the Gray.
/> Reith held up his hand. “You’ve heard my program. If you won’t cooperate wholeheartedly — select another chief.”
The old nomad turned a searching glance at Reith, then drew the others apart. There was heated argument. Finally they returned. “We agree to your terms. You will be our chief.”
Reith, who had been hoping that the committee would decide otherwise, heaved a small sigh. “Very well, so be it. I warn you, I’ll demand a great deal from you. You’ll work harder than ever before in your lives — for your own ultimate good. Or at least I hope so.”
He spoke to the committee for an hour, explaining what he hoped to achieve, and succeeded in arousing interest, even guarded enthusiasm.
Late in the afternoon, Reith, with Anacho and three of the committee members, went to explore the erstwhile palace of Naga Goho.
Up the winding path they walked, with the grim pile of masonry looming overhead. They passed through the dank courtyard, into the main hall. Naga Goho’s cherished possessions: the heavy benches and table, the rugs, wall-hangings, tripod lamps, the platters and urns were already filmed over with dust.
Adjoining the hall were sleeping chambers, smelling of soiled clothing and aromatic unguents. The corpse of Naga Goho’s concubine lay as Reith had first discovered it. The group hastily drew back.
On the other side of the hall were storerooms stacked with great quantities of loot: bales of cloth, crates of leather, parcels of rare wood, tools, weapons, implements, ingots of raw metal, flasks of essence, books written in brown and gray dots upon black paper, which Anacho identified as Wankh production manuals. An alcove held a chest half-full of sequins. Two smaller coffers contained jewels, ornaments, trinkets, trifles: a magpie’s hoard. The committeemen selected steel swords with filigree pommels and guards for themselves; Traz and Anacho did likewise. Traz, after a diffident glance at Reith, arrayed himself in a fine golden ocher cloak, boots of soft black leather, a beautifully wrought casque of thin steel, drooping and splaying to protect the nape of the neck.
