“Then why does the grume flow, from south to north? Why is the sky clear now, when it ought to be cloudy with evaporation?”
“How should I know?”
“You ought to, Drove—because at some time in the past you should have been inquisitive enough to find out. Now…” He pulled a piece of paper and a charcoal stick from his pocket. “Our world rotates on its axis at right angles to the direction of its orbit around the sun Phu. Look.”
He then drew a circle in the bottom half of the paper, representing Phu, and a series of smaller circles in an elliptical path around it, representing our world during the seasons. “Of course,” he said, “the scale isn’t right, and our orbit extends much further away in winter than I’ve shown here. Still, it suits the purposes.”
Strongarm’s boat was receding into the distance now and I was becoming interested in the astronomy lesson against my better judgement. Maybe Mestler was a good teacher or—more likely—he was explaining something I’d always wanted to know, but had been too lazy to find out.
He lettered the positions of the world from A to H. “Position A is midwinter,” he explained. “That’s when the world is furthest away from the sun and the days and nights are of equal length. Now, I said that the axis is at right angles to the orbit.” He drew diameters, north to south, on the circles. “But there’s another important point. With respect to the sun, our world revolves slowly, counter to the direction of its orbit. This means that at the start of the summer—Position C—the sun will shine on our south pole, whereas about eighty days later it will be shining on the north pole. You see?”
I regarded the paper with the charcoal marks, and tried to visualize it. It would have been easier if I’d had a couple of slingballs handy; but I wasn’t going to give up now. “I see,” I said.
“So this is what happens. At the start of the summer the sun shines continuously on the south pole causing massive evaporation and a tidal flow through the narrow isthmus of the Central Ocean north to south, to replace the waters of the Southern Ocean which continue to evaporate. Then by midsummer—Position E—the days in Pallahaxi are as long as the nights again, the heat is off the south pole to a certain extent, and a position of total equilibrium is reached. The enormous cloud formations of the south pole are retained within those polar regions by the normal circling action of the winds.
Then gradually the world swings and presents the north to the sun.”
Now I was getting the picture. “So the Northern Ocean evaporates instead,” I said. “But when the water flows through the Central Ocean and past Pallahaxi to replace it, it’s not normal water. It’s already been subjected to evaporation. So it’s thick. That’s the grume.”
Mestler grinned enthusiastically. “It’s a fascinating subject. Even now, there are many things we don’t understand.” He indicated his drawing again. “Anyway, the grume is at its height in position G. After that, the world is moving away from the sun, cooling rapidly, and the clouds spreading inwards. By position H the drench begins and continues until the dry winter comes. Then it all starts over again.”
I looked at the sea. Despite the low tide, there was still a great depth of water where the Pallahaxi Trench ran out into the middle of the Central Ocean. “I just can’t imagine evaporation making a difference to this quantity of water,” I said. “There’s so much.”
Mestler nodded. “Yes, but this is the Central Ocean. It’s deep and narrow, and it’s said that it was caused by a giant earthquake in the days when our continent circled the globe. The split appeared, separating Erto from Asta and joining the Northern and Southern oceans—the coastline of Asta is very similar to the coast around here, did you know? You could almost fit them together. But the polar oceans have always been there, and they’re shallow like huge pans. The constant sunshine almost dries them out. All that’s left is the grume.”
A dense flight of grummets was approaching from the south on heavy wings. Near the cliff they swooped low, skimming the surface and feeding voraciously. I thought for a while. Then I said, “But it hasn’t made any difference, has it? You can’t prove what you’ve told me, and I’m no better off through knowing. We haven’t proved it’s wrong to be ignorant. The grume still goes on.”
He grinned his jolly grin. “Such is life. So you feel I’d be wasting my time in trying to get help from Strongarm?” He stood with an air of finality.
I gathered up the piece of paper and slipped it into my pocket, hoping he hadn’t noticed. “You could try,” I said. “But you wouldn’t get anywhere.”
I called for Browneyes at the Golden Grummet—by now I was in the habit of walking boldly into the bar—and found a handful of customers discussing the meeting. Browneyes was busy for the moment, so I hung around, listening. Her father was doing the talking.
“Why they call it a meeting I can’t think,” he was saying hotly. “It’ll be just like last time. Horlox-freezing-Mestler will get on his hind legs and talk crap and we’ll have to take it, and right at the end he’ll spring some new regulation on us and then run out, protected by his bodyguards. There’ll be no discussion, no chance for any of us to ask questions. I’ve half a mind not to go. We ought to boycott the freezing thing.”
“Which reminds me,” murmured an elderly man, “1 haven’t seen much of the military police today.”
Girth instantly recovered his temper and boomed with laughter. “And you’re not likely to. They’re lying low, scared to show their faces. A few of the boys roughed them up last night, and they haven’t been seen since.”
Grope the trucker looked alarmed. “Maybe that’s what the meeting’s about. What about our own police, though? didn’t they stop it?”
“They weren’t around at the time. I tell you, it’s unwise for a Parl to show his face in town these days.” Girth glanced at me. “I don’t include you in that, Drove. You’re like one of us.” His wife Annlee smiled at me in reassurance.
“But I’m a Parl. I hadn’t realized,” muttered Grope. “I work for them, now.”
“Then you’d better go armed. We…” Girth emerged from behind the counter with an air of finality as Browneyes entered the room. “We might as well close down for the rest of the morning. Horloxfreezing-Mestler’s stolen all our customers again…”
The scene in the temple was much the same as before, except that this time I did not hold Ribbon’s hand, although she sat next to me. We were in the front row, and I caught my father’s disapproving eye as he looked down from the eminence of the platform to see Browneyes sitting very close to me and holding both my hands. I could almost hear him thinking that this was neither the time nor place for that sort of thing.
Mestler did not keep us waiting. He stepped forward to the pulpit with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unusually serious. I don’t have any good news for you this morning,” he said.
If he thought Pallahaxi would appreciate his honesty he was sadly mistaken. “Then shut up and go home,” someone yelled. “We’ve enough problems without you, Mestler!” There was a general fidgeting and muttering and a few shouts.
“So I’ll tell you the worst, right away!” Mestler roared back, for once losing his temper. “There’s nothing you or I can do about it, so sit down and listen!” He stared around belligerently.
After a while there was comparative quiet, and he resumed. “As you all know, the steamship Ysabel was lost yesterday off Finger Point, fortunately with little loss of life. Now as I’ve said before, your Parliament has always had the best interests of the general public at heart and has appreciated the wonderful efforts of all you people in these difficult times. In return for such loyalty it is, of course, the duty of your Parliament to protect Pallahaxi against the Astan hordes. And such was our intention.” He regarded us sadly. “And such was our intention.”
Ribbon leaned close to me and whispered: “but unfortunately…” and I chuckled aloud, which earned me a sharp glance from father.
; “But unfortunately our hopes were dashed,” continued Mestler. “Sunk to the bottom of the Trench with the steamship Ysabel. Yes, my friends. On board Ysabel were the guns, the ammunition, the war supplies with which we had hoped to defend this town of ours.” He paused, looking at his audience tiredly, allowing the extent of the disaster to penetrate its thick Pallahaxian skull.
Strongarm asked, “Are you telling us that we’re not getting anything to protect ourselves with?”
“No. Fortunately replacements will be available, and will be sent by road. But that will be many days yet. Many days.”
“How many?” asked someone loudly.
“Oh…about thirty.” Mestler hurried on, drowning out a few scattered shouts of despondency. “Our industrial workers are labouring magnificently, but as I said before, most of their production must necessarily go to the front. And here again I’m afraid the news is bad. The enemy has broken through at many points and is presently at the very gates of Alika!”
Suddenly the war came home to me and I saw the house in which I’d been born occupied by hostile forces. “Does that mean that Parliament might be captured?” asked Girth hopefully. “I mean, I understand Alika is our capital. It says so in the teachings. So I suppose the Members of Parliament have been issued with guns and are right now heroically defending this land of ours?”
The outburst of hilarity which greeted this witticism left no doubt as to the audience’s sentiments and Horlox-Mestler flushed a deep red.
“Right, you freezers!” he yelled. “Have your fun. Enjoy it while you can. You won’t be laughing when the Astans come pouring across the Yellow Mountains!”
Strongarm walked across the platform, standing very close to Mestler so that the Parliamentarian edged away nervously.
“We won’t be running, either,” he said quietly.
CHAPTER 14
The days went by and the grume intensified until the old men were saying, as they sipped their beer in the Golden Grummet and nodded wisely, that it was the densest grume in memory. Phenomenal catches were off-loaded at the fishmarket and at the breakwater wharf, so nobody begrudged—except on principle—the large quantities of fish that were diverted to the new cannery. Most of these latter hauls were delivered to the new wharf beyond Finger Point, out of sight of the townsfolk, although some were taken by road from the harbour. The estuary had dried up long since.
The military police were hardly seen in Pallahaxi despite everyone’s fears. Occasionally they would show the flag literally and in force, marching down the main street in a body, dressed in scarlet uniform quite unlike the sombre blue of the cannery guards, carrying to the fore a tall staff from which fluttered the Silver Lox of Erto. Although our national emblem is said to represent strength, persistence and fortitude with further religious connotations, it is not popular with the people of Pallahaxi and its display on these unfortunate occasions was considered no less than an insult. Attempts were made to organize a counter-march, but these eventually fell through when it became apparent that Strongarm was against it.
“All this wearing finery and marching in step like they only have one mind between them,” he muttered. “That’s the way of Parls and such people. All that prancing about and ceremony you hear of in Alika. Do we want to be like them?”
When someone timidly suggested that at least Pallahaxi must have its own flag which would be hoisted in opposition whenever the Erto flag was displayed, he said, “We have no need of a flag or any other fake symbols. The name of our town is enough—that tells people who we are and what we are. We live here and work here and sometimes we like one another and help one another—but that’s enough. We’re still individuals and we’ll keep it that way.” He grinned suddenly. “It makes a difficult target for the Parls.”
Although I liked Strongarm, there were times when I tended to agree with Horlox-Mestler’s view that he was overly insular and that his view was rapidly obscuring the real issues. I had not even bothered to mention Mestler’s proposal for raising the Ysabel, because I knew what its reception would be.
However, in the course of time two events occurred which brought home to Pallahaxi the fact that it was part of a nation at war, and that occupation by the Astan forces was a poor alternative to the present comparatively benign government of the Parls.
“Alika has fallen,” said my father at breakfast one morning as he read a single, ominous news-sheet which had been brought direct from the message post.
My mother burst into noisy sobs, rose from the table and hurried from the room.
For a moment I sat there wondering if she had gone to stick an Astan flag in Alika, or whether the war map would now be quietly disposed of, in favour of increased praying. Then my previous vision of Astans sleeping in my room returned, and I knew the news was not funny. Much as I loved Pallahaxi, Alika was where I was born and lived most of my life. It would never be the same. Even if we counterattacked and threw the Astans out, they would leave their mark about the place. There had already been furious fighting and it was possible that our home was destroyed.
I wondered how my mother was reconciling this news with her announcement to me, not so many days ago, that the sun god Phu was on our side. I toyed with the idea of suggesting to her that Phu’s favours were conditional on the flow of the tide, remembering Mestler’s astronomy lesson some days ago, but an unexpected onset of pity prevailed.
Instead I rounded on father. “What’s Parliament doing about this?” I asked. “Where is the Regent?” I had visions of his august presence in a loxcart, trundling through the desert towards Bexton Post followed by the Members of Parliament in their robes, in lesser carts.
“Parliament has withdrawn,” he said. “You may as well know this; everyone will know it soon. Pallahaxi has been chosen for the temporary seat of government. We are indeed honoured, Drove. A certain Member of Parliament will be lodged in our own home, and other arrangements will be made with various suitable households in the town. A suite has been prepared for the Regent at the new cannery.”
There seemed to be a funny side to that somewhere, but I was more concerned at the prospect of a stranger in the house. We had no room; this was only a summer cottage. I didn’t want another person around, to whom I had to be polite. “Rax,” I muttered. “He can have my room. I’ll stay at the Grummet.”
To my amazement there was no fit of temper. Instead father regarded me thoughtfully. “Possibly that might be the best arrangement,” he said at last. Of course, the last thing he wanted was a disruptive influence in the house while a Member was here. “I will arrange for the requisitioning of a suite there. You must be suitably housed.”
“I’ll see to that, if you don’t mind, father,” I said hastily.
“If you like.” His expression had become abstracted and he was already working out ways he could impress the Member, now that I would be out of the way.
Pallahaxi had been chosen as the new seat of government because it was the furthest point from Asta by land and therefore the last place which the enemy hordes would reach. I wondered what our own hordes were doing these days; we seemed to have had precious little good news recently. I have always found that verbal information can create a distorted mental image, and I was suffering from one of those images as I walked down to the town that morning. I was visualizing the Astan hordes sweeping us into the sea, thus reversing the defeat which they had suffered at the same spot around the Year of Renaissance 1000. They would be yelling on the beach, waving springrifles while we waded out into deeper water and the bolts raised little splashes as they fell around us.
Yet when the second crisis occurred, on that same day, it came from the direction which Parliament had not, apparently, considered…
I went straight to the Golden Grummet and told Browneyes the news that I was to stay at the inn—if her parents agreed, of course. We stood in the geometrical room at the rear of the bar and she threw her arms around my neck and gave me a long, long kis
s of delight and possessiveness. Round about that time Annlee and Girth entered, having heard her squeals of joy. Browneyes lost no time in breaking the news.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Girth doubtfully, looking at me.
“Are you sure your father said that, Drove?” asked Annlee. Apart from seeing him on the platform at the temple, her most vivid recollection of my father chapter around the unsavoury tussle in the bar some time ago. On that occasion he had made it abundantly clear what he thought of Girth, Annlee, Browneyes, the customers and even the very structure of the building.
“Look, there’s a Member coming to stay and father needs my room,” I said. “I’d just stay here like an ordinary guest, really.”
Girth smiled broadly. “In that case you’re very welcome, and you’ll be no ordinary guest. See that he gets the very best room, Browneyes.”
She led me up the stairs which, although well carpeted, creaked excitingly, along a twisted passage of variable pitch to a thick door with a bright brass knob. This she threw open then stepped aside, watching me expectantly as I entered.
The first thing I saw was a bed, which would have slept a team of lox. Broad and decorated with brasswork it seemed to occupy most of the room with its opulence. To the right stood a heavy, dark chest of drawers and against the other wall was a panelled dresser. I walked to the window and looked out; I could see right across the fishmarket to the boats in the inner harbour. The opposite hill rose in trees and grey-roofed houses to the skyline slashed by the diagonal of the road to Finger Point. I saw a man leading a lox and cart up the long slope; a lorin sat astride the lox.
I turned back to Browneyes. “It’s a wonderful room,” I said. “I’ll make sure your parents get well paid.”
“I don’t think they’re so worried about that,” she said. “They’re glad you’re staying here.”
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