The Best of Jack Vance (1976) SSC

by Jack Vance

  Xanten returned to Castle Hagedorn. Using the most careful methods, speaking only to trusted comrades, Xanten enlisted thirty or forty cadets and gentlemen to his persuasion, though inevitably he could not keep the doctrinal thesis of his program secret.

  The first reaction of the traditionalists was mockery and charges of poltroonery. At Xanten’s insistence, challenges were neither issued nor accepted by his hot-blooded associates.

  On the evening of September 9 Castle Janeil fell. The news was brought to Castle Hagedorn by excited Birds who told the grim tale again and again in voices ever more hysterical.

  Hagedorn, now gaunt and weary, automatically called a council meeting; it took note of the gloomy circumstances. “We, then, are the last castle! The Meks cannot conceivably do us harm; they can build dikes around our castle walls for twenty years and only work themselves to distraction. We are secure; but yet it is a strange and portentous thought to realize that at last, here at Castle Hagedorn, live the last gentlemen of the race!”

  Xanten spoke in a voice strained with earnest conviction: “Twenty years — fifty years — what difference to the Meks? Once they surround us, once they deploy, we are trapped. Do you comprehend that now is our last opportunity to escape the great cage that Castle Hagedorn is to become?”

  “‘Escape’, Xanten? What a word! For shame!” hooted O.Z. Garr. “Take your wretched band, escape! To steppe or swamp or tundra! Go as you like, with your poltroons, but be good enough to give over these incessant alarms!”

  “Garr, I have found conviction since I became a ‘poltroon’. Survival is good morality. I have this from the mouth of a noted savant.”

  “Bah! Such as whom?”

  “A.G. Philidor, if you must be informed of every detail.”

  O.Z. Garr clapped his hand to his forehead. “Do you refer to Philidor, the Expiationist? He is of the most extreme stripe, an Expiationist to out-expiate all the rest! Xanten, be sensible, if you please!”

  “There are years ahead for all of us,” said Xanten in a wooden voice, “if we free ourselves from the castle.”

  “But the castle is our life!” declared Hagedorn. “In essence, Xanten, what would we be without the castle? Wild animals? Nomads?”

  “We would be alive.”

  O.Z. Garr gave a snort of disgust and turned away to inspect a wall-hanging.

  Hagedorn shook his head in doubt and perplexity. Beaudry threw his hands up into the air. “Xanten, you have the effect of unnerving us all. You come in here and inflict this dreadful sense of urgency — but why? In Castle Hagedorn we are as safe as in our mothers’ arms. What do we gain by throwing aside all — honor, dignity, comfort, civilized niceties — for no other reason than to slink through the wilderness?”

  “Janeil was safe,” said Xanten. “Today where is Janeil? Death, mildewed cloth, sour wine. What we gain by slinking is the assurance of survival. And I plan much more than simple slinking.”

  “I can conceive of a hundred occasions when death is better than life!” snapped Isseth. “Must I die in dishonor and disgrace? Why may my last years not be passed in dignity?”

  Into the room came B.F. Robarth. “Councilmen, the Meks approach Castle Hagedorn.”

  Hagedorn cast a wild look around the chamber. “Is there a consensus? What must we do?”

  Xanten threw up his hands. “Everyone must do as he thinks best! I argue no more: I am done. Hagedorn, will you adjourn the council so that we may be about our affairs? I to my slinking?”

  “Council is adjourned,” said Hagedorn, and all went to stand on the ramparts.

  Up the avenue into the castle trooped Peasants from the surrounding countryside, packets slung over their shoulders. Across the valley, at the edge of Bartholomew Forest, was a clot of power-wagons and an amorphous brown-gold mass: Meks.

  Aure pointed west. “Look — there they come, up the Long Swale.” He turned, peered east. “And look, there at Bambridge: Meks!”

  By common consent, all swung about to scan North Ridge. O.Z. Garr pointed to a quiet line of brown-gold shapes. “There they wait, the vermin! They have penned us in! Well then, let them wait!” He swung away, rode the lift down to the plaza, and crossed swiftly to Zumbeld House, where he worked the rest of the afternoon with his Gloriana, of whom he expected great things.

  2

  The following day the Meks formalized the investment. Around Castle Hagedorn a great circle of Mek activity made itself apparent: sheds, warehouses, barracks. Within this periphery, just beyond the range of the energy cannon, power-wagons thrust up mounds of dirt.

  During the night these mounds lengthened toward the castle, similarly the night after. At last the purpose of the mounds became clear: they were a protective cover above passages or tunnels leading toward the crag on which Castle Hagedorn rested.

  The following day several of the mounds reached the base of the crag. Presently a succession of power-wagons loaded with rubble began to flow from the far end. They issued, dumped their loads, and once again entered the tunnels.

  Eight of these above-ground tunnels had been established. From each trundled endless loads of dirt and rock, gnawed from the crag on which Castle Hagedorn sat. To the gentlefolk who crowded the parapets the meaning of the work at last became clear.

  “They make no attempt to bury us,” said Hagedorn. “They merely mine out the crag from below us!”

  On the sixth day of the siege, a great segment of the hillside shuddered, slumped, and a tall pinnacle of rock reaching almost up to the base of the walls collapsed.

  “If this continues,” muttered Beaudry, “our time will be less than that of Janeil.”

  “Come then,” called O.Z. Garr, suddenly active. “Let us try our energy cannon. We’ll blast open their wretched tunnels, and then what will the rascals do?” He went to the nearest emplacement and shouted down for Peasants to remove the tarpaulin.

  Xanten, who happened to be standing nearby, said, “Allow me to assist you.” He jerked away the tarpaulin. “Shoot now, if you will.”

  O.Z. Garr stared at him uncomprehendingly, then leaped forward and swiveled the great projector about so that it aimed at a mound. He pulled the switch; the air crackled in front of the ringed snout, rippled, flickered with purple sparks. The target area steamed, became black, then dark red, then slumped into an incandescent crater. But the underlying earth, twenty feet in thickness, afforded too much insulation; the molten puddle became white-hot but failed to spread or deepen. The energy cannon gave a sudden chatter, as electricity short-circuited through corroded insulation. The cannon went dead. O.Z. Garr inspected the mechanism in anger and disappointment; then, with a gesture of repugnance, he turned away. The cannons were clearly of limited effectiveness.

  Two hours later, on the east side of the crag, another great sheet of rock collapsed, and just before sunset a similar mass sheared from the western face, where the wall of the castle rose almost in an uninterrupted line from the cliff below.

  At midnight Xanten and those of his persuasion, with their children and consorts, departed Castle Hagedorn. Six teams of Birds shuttled from the flight deck to a meadow near Far Valley, and long before dawn had transported the entire group. There were none to bid them farewell.

  3

  A week later another section of the east cliff fell away, taking a length of rock-melt buttress with it. At the tunnel mouths the piles of excavated rubble had become alarmingly large.

  The terraced south face of the crag was the least disturbed, the most spectacular damage having occurred to east and west. Suddenly, a month after the initial assault, a great section of the terrace slumped forward, leaving an irregular crevasse which interrupted the avenue and hurled down the statues of former notables emplaced at intervals along the avenue’s balustrade.

  Hagedorn called a council meeting. “Circumstances,” he said in a wan attempt at facetiousness, “have not bettered themselves. Our most pessimistic expectations have been exceeded: a dismal situation. I confess that
I do not relish the prospect of toppling to my death among all my smashed belongings.”

  Aure made a desperate gesture. “A similar thought haunts me! Death — what of that? All must die! But when I think of my precious belongings I become sick. My books trampled! my fragile vases smashed! my tabards ripped! my rugs buried! my Phanes strangled! my heirloom chandeliers flung aside! These are my nightmares.”

  “Your possessions are no less precious than any others,” said Beaudry shortly. “Still, they have no life of their own; when we are gone, who cares what happens to them?”

  Marune winced. “A year ago I put down eighteen dozen flasks of prime essence; twelve dozen Green Rain; three each of Balthazar and Faidor. Think of these, if you would contemplate tragedy!”

  “Had we only known!” groaned Aure. “I would have — I would have …” His voice trailed away.

  O.Z. Garr stamped his foot in impatience. “Let us avoid lamentation at all costs! We had a choice, remember? Xanten beseeched us to flee; now he and his like go skulking and foraging through the north mountains with the Expiationists. We chose to remain, for better or worse, and unluckily the worse is occurring. We must accept the fact like gentlemen.”

  To this the council gave melancholy assent. Hagedorn brought forth a flask of priceless Rhadamanth and poured with a prodigality which previously would have been unthinkable. “Since we have no future — to our glorious past!”

  That night disturbances were noted here and there around the ring of Mek investment: flames at four separate points, a faint sound of hoarse shouting. On the following day it seemed that the tempo of activity had lessened a trifle.

  During the afternoon, however, a vast segment of the east cliff fell away. A moment later, as if after majestic deliberation, the tall east wall split off and toppled, leaving the backs of six great houses exposed to the open sky.

  An hour after sunset a team of Birds settled to the flight-deck. Xanten jumped from the seat. He ran down the circular staircase to the ramparts and came down to the plaza by Hagedorn’s palace.

  Hagedorn, summoned by a kinsman, came forth to stare at Xanten in surprise. “What do you do here? We expected you to be safely north with the Expiationists!”

  “The Expiationists are not safely north,” said Xanten. “They have joined the rest of us. We are fighting.”

  Hagedorn’s jaw dropped. “Fighting? The gentlemen are fighting Meks?”

  “As vigorously as possible.”

  Hagedorn shook his head in wonder. “The Expiationists too? I understood that they had planned to flee north.”

  “Some have done so, including A.G. Philidor. There are factions among the Expiationists just as here. Most are not ten miles distant. The same with the Nomads. Some have taken their power-wagons and fled. The rest kill Meks with fanatic fervor. Last night you saw our work. We fired four storage warehouses, destroyed syrup tanks, killed a hundred or more Meks, as well as a dozen power-wagons. We suffered losses, which hurt us because there are few of us and many Meks. This is why I am here. We need more men. Come fight beside us!”

  Hagedorn turned, motioning to the great central plaza. “I will call forth the folk from their Houses. Talk to everyone.”

  4

  The Birds, complaining bitterly at the unprecedented toil, worked all night, transporting the gentlemen who, sobered by the imminent destruction of Castle Hagedorn, were now willing to abandon all scruples and fight for their lives. The staunch traditionalists still refused to compromise their honor, but Xanten gave them cheerful assurance: “Remain here, then, prowling the castle like so many furtive rats. Take what comfort you can in the fact that you are being protected; the future holds little else for you.”

  And many who heard him stalked away in disgust.

  Xanten turned to Hagedorn. “What of you? Do you come or do you stay?”

  Hagedorn heaved a deep sigh, almost a groan. “Castle Hagedorn is at an end. No matter what the eventuality. I come with you.”

  5

  The situation had suddenly altered. The Meks, established in a loose ring around Castle Hagedorn, had calculated upon no resistance from the countryside and little from the castle. They had established their barracks and syrup depots with thought only for convenience and none for defense; raiding parties, consequently, were able to approach, inflict damages and withdraw before sustaining serious losses of their own. Those Meks posted along North Ridge were harassed almost continuously, and finally were driven down with many losses. The circle around Castle Hagedorn became a cusp; then two days later, after the destruction of five more syrup depots, the Meks drew back even farther. Throwing up earthworks before the two tunnels leading under the south face of the crag, they established a more or less tenable defensive position, but now instead of beleaguering, they became the beleaguered, even though power-wagons of broken rock still issued from the crag.

  Within the area thus defended the Meks concentrated their remaining syrup stocks, tools, weapons, ammunition. The area outside the earthworks was floodlit after dark and guarded by Meks armed with pellet guns, making any frontal assault impractical.

  For a day the raiders kept to the shelter of the surrounding orchards, appraising the new situation. Then a new tactic was attempted. Six light carriages were improvised and loaded with bladders of a light inflammable oil, with a fire grenade attached. To each of these carriages ten Birds were harnessed, and at midnight sent aloft, with a man for each carriage. Flying high, the Birds then glided down through the darkness over the Mek position, where the fire bombs were dropped. The area instantly seethed with flame. The syrup depot burned; the power-wagons, awakened by the flames, rolled frantically back and forth, crushing Meks and stores, colliding with each other, adding vastly to the terror of the fire. The Meks who survived took shelter in the tunnels. Certain of the floodlights were extinguished and taking advantage of the confusion, the men attacked the earthworks. After a short, bitter battle, the men killed all the sentinels and took up positions commanding the mouths of the tunnels, which now contained all that remained of the Mek army. It seemed as if the Mek uprising had been put down.

  VIII

  1

  The flames died. The human warriors — three hundred men from the castle, two hundred Expiationists and about three hundred Nomads — gathered about the tunnel mouth and, during the balance of the night, considered methods to deal with the immured Meks. At sunrise those men of Castle Hagedorn whose children and consorts were yet inside went to bring them forth. With them, upon their return, came a group of castle gentlemen: among them Beaudry, O.Z. Garr, Isseth, and Aure. They greeted their one-time peers, Hagedorn, Xanten, Claghorn and others, crisply, but with a certain austere detachment which recognized that loss of prestige incurred by those who fought Meks as if they were equals.

  “Now what is to happen?” Beaudry inquired of Hagedorn. “The Meks are trapped but you can’t bring them forth. Not impossibly they have syrup stored within for the power-wagons; they may well survive for months.”

  O.Z. Garr, assessing the situation from the standpoint of a military theoretician, came forward with a plan of action. “Fetch down the cannon — or have your underlings do so — and mount them on power-wagons. When the vermin are sufficiently weak, roll the cannon in and wipe out all but a labor force for the castle: we formerly worked four hundred, and this should suffice.”

  “Ha!” exclaimed Xanten. “It gives me great pleasure to inform you that this will never be. If any Meks survive they will repair the spaceships and instruct us in the maintenance and we will then transport them and Peasants back to their native worlds.”

  “How then do you expect us to maintain our lives?” demanded Garr coldly.

  “You have the syrup generator. Fit yourself with sacs and drink syrup.”

  Garr tilted back his head, stared coldly down his nose. “This is your voice, yours alone, and your insolent opinion. Others are to be heard from. Hagedorn — you were once a gentleman. Is this also your philosophy, t
hat civilization should wither?”

  “It need not wither,” said Hagedorn, “provided that all of us — you as well as we — toil for it. There can be no more slaves. I have become convinced of this.”

  O.Z. Garr turned on his heel, swept back up the avenue into the castle, followed by the most traditional-minded of his comrades. A few moved aside and talked among themselves in low tones, with one or two black looks for Xanten and Hagedorn.

  From the ramparts of the castle came a sudden outcry: “The Meks! They are taking the castle! They swarm up the lower passages! Attack, save us!”

  The men below stared up in consternation. Even as they looked, the castle portals swung shut.

  “How is this possible?” demanded Hagedorn. “I swear all entered the tunnels!”

  “It is only too clear,” said Xanten bitterly. “While they undermined, they drove a tunnel up to the lower levels!”

  Hagedorn started forward as if he would charge up the crag alone, then halted. “We must drive them out. Unthinkable that they pillage our castle!”

  “Unfortunately,” said Claghorn, “the walls bar us as effectually as they did the Meks.”

  “We can send up a force by Bird-car! Once we consolidate, we can hunt them down, exterminate them.”

  Claghorn shook his head. “They can wait on the ramparts and flight-deck and shoot down the Birds as they approach. Even if we secured a foothold there would be great bloodshed: one of us killed for every one of them. And they still outnumber us three or four to one.”

  Hagedorn groaned. “The thought of them reveling among my possessions, strutting about in my clothes, swilling my essences — it sickens me!”