by Jack Vance
“Not so fast,” said Reith. “As usual you miscalculate. There must be another, less ostentatious, means to reach Settra.”
“Naturally,” said Dordolio with a sneer. “But folk who dress like lords should act like lords.”
“We are modest lords,” said Reith. He spoke to the clothier. “How do you usually travel to Settra?”
“I am a man with no great regard for ‘place’*; I ride the public wheelway.”
* An untranslatable word: the quality a man acquires in greater or lesser extent by the grace of his evolutions upon aspects of the ‘round’. A fragile, almost frivolous, equilibrium between a man and his peers, instantly disturbed by a hint of shame, humiliation, embarrassment.
Reith turned back to Dordolio. “If you plan to travel by private air-car, this is where we part.”
“Gladly; if you will advance me five hundred sequins.”
Reith shook his head. “I think not.”
“Then I also must travel by wheelway.”
As they strode up the street Dordolio became somewhat more cordial. “You will find that the Yao set great store by consistency, and a harmony of attributes. You are dressed as persons of quality, no doubt you will conduct yourselves in consonance. Affairs will adjust themselves.”
At the wheelway depot Dordolio bespoke first-class accommodations from the clerk; a short while later a long car trundled up to the platform, riding a wedge-shaped concrete slot on two great wheels. The four entered a compartment, seated themselves on red plush chairs. With a lurch and a grind, the car left the station and trundled off into the Cath countryside.
Reith found the car intriguing and somewhat of a puzzle. The motors were small, powerful, of sophisticated design; why was the car itself so awkwardly built? The wheels, when the car reached top speed, perhaps seventy miles an hour, rode on cushions of trapped air, at times with silken smoothness, until the wheels came to breaks in the slot, whereupon the car jerked and vibrated abominably. The Yao, reflected Reith, seemed to be good theoreticians but poor engineers.
The car rumbled across an ancient cultivated countryside, more civilized than any Reith had yet seen on Tschai. A haze hung in the air, tinting the sunlight antique yellow; shadows were blacker than black. In and out of forests rolled the car, beside orchards of gnarled black-leaved trees, past parks and manors, ruined stone walls, villages in which only half the houses seemed tenanted. After climbing to an upland moor, the car struck east over marshes and bogs, outcrops of rotting limestone. No human being was in sight, though several times Reith thought to discern ruined castles in the distance.
“Ghost country,” said Dordolio. “This is Audan Moor; have you heard of it?”
“Never,” said Reith.
“A desolate region, as you can see. The haunt of outlaws, even an occasional Phung. After dark the night-hounds bell …”
Down from Audan Moor rolled the wheelway car, into a countryside of great charm. Everywhere were ponds and watercourses, overlooked by towering black, brown and rust-colored trees. On small islands stood tall houses with high-pitched gables and elaborate balconies. Dordolio pointed off to the east. “See yonder, the great manse in front of the forest? Gold and Carnelian: the palace of my connections. Behind — but you cannot see — is Halmeur, an outer district of Settra.”
The car swung through a forest and came out into a region of scattered farmsteads with the domes and spires of Settra on the sky ahead. A few minutes later the car entered a depot and rolled to a halt. The passengers alighted, and walked to a terrace. Here Dordolio said: “Now I must leave you. Across the Oval you will find the Travellers’ Inn, to which I recommend you and where I will send a messenger with the sum of my debt.” He paused and cleared his throat. “If a freak of destiny brings us together in another setting — for instance, you have evinced a somewhat unrealistic ambition to make yourself acquainted with the Blue Jade Lord — it might serve our mutual purposes were we not to recognize each other.”
“I can think of no reason for wanting to do so,” said Reith politely.
Dordolio glanced at him sharply, then made a formal salute. “I wish you good fortune.” He walked off across the square, his strides lengthening as he went.
Reith turned to Traz and Anacho. “You two go to the Travellers’ Inn, arrange for accommodations. I’m off to the Blue Jade Palace. With any luck I’ll arrive before Dordolio, who seems in a peculiar state of haste.”
He walked to a line of motorized tricycles, climbed aboard the first in line. “The Blue Jade Palace, with all speed,” he told the driver.
The mechanism spun off to the south, past buildings of glazed brick and dim glass panes, then into a district of small timber cottages, then past a great outdoor market, a scene as brisk and variegated as any Reith had observed in Cath. Turning aside, the motor-buggy nosed across an ancient stone bridge, through a portal in a stone wall into a large circular plaza. Around the periphery were booths, for the most part unoccupied and barren of goods; at the center a short ramp led up to a circular platform, at the back of which rose a bank of seats. A rectangular frame occupied the front of the platform, of dimensions which Reith found morbidly suggestive.
“What is this place?” he asked the driver, who gave him a glance of mild wonder.
“The Circle, site of Pathetic Communion, as you can see. You are a stranger in Settra?”
“Yes.”
The driver consulted a yellow cardboard schedule. “The next event is Ivensday, when a nineteen-score comes to clarify his horrible desperation. Nineteen! The most since the twenty-two of Agate Crystal’s Lord Wis.”
“You mean he killed nineteen?”
“Of course; what else? Four were children, but still a feat these days when folk are wary of awaile. All Settra will come to the expiation. If you’re still in town you could hardly do more for your own soul’s profit.”
“Probably so. How far to Blue Jade Palace?”
“Through Dalmere and we’re almost there.”
“I’m in a hurry,” said Reith. “As fast as possible.”
“Indeed sir, but if I wreck or injure, I’ll feel extraordinary shame, to my soul’s sickness, and I would not care to risk despondency.”
“Understandable.”
The motor-buggy spun along a wide boulevard, dodging and veering to avoid potholes. Enormous trees, black-trunked with brown and purple-green foliage, overhung the way; to either side, shrouded in dark gardens, were mansions of the most extraordinary architecture. The driver pointed. “Yonder on the hill: Blue Jade Palace. Which entrance do you favor, sir?” He inspected Reith quizzically.
“Drive to the front,” said Reith. “Where else?”
“As you say, your lordship. Although most of the fronters don’t arrive in three-wheel motor-buggies.”
Up the driveway rolled the vehicle, and under a porte cochère. The buggy halted. Paying the fare, Reith alighted upon a silken cloth laid under his feet by a pair of bowing footmen. Reith walked briskly through an open arch into a room paneled with mirrors. A myriad prisms of crystal hung tinkling on silver chains. A majordomo wearing russet velvet livery bowed deeply. “Your lordship is at home. Will you rest or take a cordial, though my Lord Cizante impatiently awaits the privilege of greeting you.”
“I will see him at once; I am Adam Reith.”
“Lord of which realm?”
“Tell Lord Cizante that I bring important information.”
The majordomo looked at Reith uncertainly, his face twisting through a dozen subtle emotions. Reith understood that already he had committed gaucheries. No matter, he thought, the Blue Jade Lord will have to make allowance.
The majordomo signaled, a trifle less obsequiously than before. “Be good enough to come this way.”
Reith was taken into a small court murmuring to a waterfall of luminous green liquid.
Two minutes passed. A young man in green knickers and an elegant waistcoat appeared. His face was wax pale, as if he never saw sunlight; his
eyes were somber and brooding; under a loose four-corner cap of soft green velvet his hair was jet black: a man richly handsome, by some extraordinary means contriving to seem both effete and competent. He examined Reith with critical interest, and spoke in a dry voice. “Sir, you claim to have information for the Blue Jade Lord?”
“Yes. Are you he?”
“I am his aide. You may impart your information to me with assurance.”
“I have news relating to the fate of his daughter,” said Reith. “I prefer to speak to the Blue Jade Lord directly.”
The aide made a curious mincing motion and disappeared. Presently he returned. “Your name, sir?”
“Adam Reith.”
“Follow me, if you will.”
He took Reith into a wainscoted room enameled a brownish ivory, lit by a dozen luminous prisms. At the far end stood a frail frowning man in an extravagant eight-piece suit of black and purple silk. His face was round, dark hair grew down his forehead in an elf-lock; his eyes were dark, far apart, and his tendency was to glance sidelong. The face, thought Reith, of a secretive suspicious man. He examined Reith with a compression of the lips.
“Lord Cizante,” said the aide, “I bring you the gentleman Adam Reith, heretofore unknown, who, chancing past, was pleased to learn that you were in the vicinity.”
There was an expectant silence. Reith understood that the circumstances demanded a ritual response. He said, “I am pleased, naturally, to find Lord Cizante in residence. I have only this hour arrived from Kotan.”
Cizante’s mouth tightened, and Reith knew that once again he had made a graceless remark.
Cizante spoke in a crisp voice. “Indeed. You have news regarding the Lady Shar Zarin?”
This was the Flower’s court name. Reith responded in a voice as cool as Cizante’s own. “Yes. I can give you a detailed account of her experiences, and her unfortunate death.”
The Blue Jade Lord looked toward the ceiling and spoke without lowering his eyes. “You evidently claim the boon?”
The majordomo entered the room, whispered to the aide who discreetly murmured to Lord Cizante.
“Curious!” declared Cizante. “One of the Gold and Carnelian scions, a certain Dordolio, likewise comes to claim the boon.”
“Send him away,” said Reith. “His knowledge of the matter is superficial, as you will learn.”
“My daughter is dead?”
“I am sorry to say that she drowned herself, after an attack of psychic malaise.”
The Lord’s eyebrows rose more sharply than before. “She gave way to awaile?”
“I would suppose so.”
“When and where did this take place?”
“Three weeks ago, aboard the cog Vargaz, halfway across the Draschade.”
Lord Cizante dropped into a chair. Reith waited for an invitation to do likewise, but thought better of seating himself. Lord Cizante spoke in a dry voice: “Evidently she had suffered deep humiliation.”
“I couldn’t say. I helped her escape from the Priestesses of the Female Mystery; thereafter she was secure and under my protection. She was anxious to return to Cath and urged me to accompany her, assuring me of your friendship and gratitude. But as soon as we started eastward she became gloomy, and, as I say, halfway across the Draschade she threw herself overboard.”
While Reith spoke Cizante’s face had shifted through phases and degrees of various emotions. “So now,” he said in a clipped voice, “with my daughter dead, after circumstances I do not care to imagine, you come hurrying here to claim the boon.”
Reith said coldly, “I knew then and know nothing now of this ‘boon’. I came to Cath for several reasons, the least important of which was to make myself known to you. I find you indisposed to what I consider civilized standards of courtesy and I will now leave.” Reith gave a curt nod and started for the door. He turned back. “If you wish to learn further details regarding your daughter, consult Dordolio, whom we found stranded at Coad.”
Reith left the room. The Lord’s sibilant murmur reached his ears: “You are an uncouth fellow.”
In the hall waited the majordomo, who greeted Reith with the faintest of smiles. He indicated a rather dim passageway painted red and blue. “This way, sir.”
Reith paid him no heed. Crossing into the grand foyer, he left the way he had come.
Chapter VII
Reith walked back toward the Oval, pondering the city Settra and the curious temperament of its people. He was forced to admit that the scheme to build a small space-boat, which in far-off Pera had appeared at least feasible, now seemed impractical. He had expected gratitude and friendship from the Blue Jade Lord, he had encountered hostility. As to the technical abilities of the Yao, he was inclined to pessimism, and he fell to appraising the vehicles which passed along the street. They appeared to function satisfactorily, though giving the impression that flair and elegance, rather than efficiency, had been first in the minds of the designers. Energy derived from the ubiquitous power cells produced by the Dirdir; the coupling was not altogether quiet: an indication, so Reith considered, of careless or incompetent engineering. No two were alike; each seemed an individual construction.
Almost certainly, reflected Reith, the Yao technology was inadequate to his purposes. Without access to standard components, maxima-minima sets, integrated circuit blocks, structural forms, computers, Fourier analyzers, macro-gauss generators, a thousand other instruments, tools, gauges, standards, not to mention clever and dedicated technical personnel, the construction of even the crudest space-boat became a stupendous task — impossible in a single lifetime … He came to a small circular park, shadowed under tall psillas with shaggy black bark and leaves of russet paper. At the center rose a massive monument. A dozen male figures, each carrying an instrument or tool, danced in a dreadful ritual grace around a female form, who stood with arms raised high, upturned face twisted in some overpowering emotion. Reith could not identify her expression. Exultation? Agony? Grief? Beatification? Whatever the case, the monument was disturbing, and rasped at a dark corner of his mind like a mouse in the woodwork. The monument seemed very old — thousands of years? Reith could not be sure. A small girl and a somewhat younger boy came past. They paused first to study Reith, then gave fascinated attention to the gliding figures and their macabre instruments. Reith, in a somber mood, continued on his way and presently came to the Travellers’ Inn. Neither Traz nor the Dirdirman were on the premises. They had, however, hired accommodations: a suite of four rooms overlooking the Oval.
Reith bathed, changed his linen. When he went down to the foyer, twilight had come to the Oval, which was now lit by a ring of great luminous globes in a variety of pastel colors. Traz and Anacho appeared on the other side of the Oval. Reith watched them with a wry grin. They were basically alien, like cat and dog; yet, when circumstances threw them together, they conducted themselves with cautious good-fellowship.
Anacho and Traz, so it developed, had chanced upon an area known as ‘the Mall’, where cavaliers settled affairs of honor. In the course of the afternoon the two had watched three bouts: near-bloodless affairs, Traz reported with a sniff of scorn. “The ceremonies exhaust their energy,” said Anacho. “After the addresses and the punctilio there is little time for fighting.”
“The Yao, if anything, are more peculiar than the Dirdirmen,” said Reith.
“Ha ha! I dispute that! You know a single Dirdirman. I can show you a thousand and confuse you totally. But come; the refectory is around the corner. If nothing else, the Yao cuisine is satisfactory.”
The three dined in a wide room hung with tapestries. As usual Reith could not identify what he ate, and did not care to learn. There was yellow broth, faintly sweet, with floating flakes of pickled bark; slices of pale meat layered with flower petals; a celery-like vegetable crusted with crumbs of a fiery-hot spice; cakes flavored with musk and resin; black berries with a flavor of the swamp; clear white wine which tingled the mouth.
In an adjace
nt tavern the three took after-dinner liquors. The clientele included many non-Yao folk, who seemed to use the place as a rendezvous. One of these, a tall old man in a leather bonnet, somewhat the worse for drink, peered into Reith’s face. “But I’m wrong, for a fact. I thought you a Vect of Holangar; then I asked myself, where are his tongs? And I said, no, it is just another of the anomes who creep into Travellers’ Inn for a sight of their own kind.”
“I’d like a sight of my own kind,” said Reith. “Nothing would please me more.”
“Yes, isn’t this the case? What sort are you, then? I can’t put a name to your face.”
“A wanderer from far lands.”
“No farther than mine, which is the far coast of Vord, where Cape Dread holds back the Schanizade. I have seen sights, I tell you that! Raids on Arkady! Battles with sea-folk! I remember an occasion when we drove into the mountains and destroyed the bandits … I was a young man then and a great soldier; now I toil for the ease of the Yao, and earn my own ease thereby, and it is not so hard a life.”
“I should suppose not. You are a technician?”
“Nothing so grand. I inspect wheels at the car yard.”
“Many foreign technicians are at work in Settra?”
“True. Cath is comfortable enough, if you can overlook the vagaries of the Yao.”
“What about Wankhmen? Are there any such in Settra?”
“At work? Never. When I sojourned at Ao Zalil, to the east of Lake Falas, I saw how it went. The Wankhmen will not even work for the Wankh; they have sufficient exertion pronouncing the Wankh chimes. Though usually they play the chords on remarkable little instruments.”
“Who works in the Wankh shops? Blacks and Purples?”
“Bah! One might be forced to handle an article the other had touched. Back-country Lokhars for the most part work in the shops. For ten or twenty years, or longer, they toil, then they return to their villages rich men. Wankhmen at work in the shops? What a joke! They are as proud as Dirdirman Immaculates! I see a Dirdirman beside you tonight.”
