The Last Castle

by Jack Holbrook Vance

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

  0. Z. Garr stared at him uncomprehendingly, then leapt forward, 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.

  0. 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.

  XI

  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 terraces slumped forward, leaving an irregular crevasse which interrupted the avenue and hurled down the statues of former notables eniplaced 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.

  0. 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.

  But during the afternoon a vast segment of the east cliff fell away. A moment later, as if after majestic deliberation, the tall east wall split off, 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, 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, motioned to the great central plaza. “I will call forth the folk from their Houses. Talk to everyone.”

  The Birds, complaining bitterly at the unprecedented toil, worked all night, transporting 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 will come with you.”

  The situation suddenly had 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, though still fighting.

  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 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 burnt; 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 flames. 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.

&
nbsp; 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.

  XII

  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 within the castle went to bring them forth. With them, upon their return, came a group of castle gentlemen: among them Beaudry, 0. Z. Garr, Isseth, and Aure. They greeted their onetime 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.”

  0. 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, is this your philosophy, that 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.”

  0. 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 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 revelling among my possessions, strutting about in my clothes, swilling my essences—it sickens me!”

  “Listen!” said Claghorn. From on high they heard the hoarse yells of men, the crackle of energy-cannon. “Some of them, at least, hold out on the ramparts!”

  Xanten went to a nearby group of Birds who were for once awed and subdued by events. “Lift me up above the castle, out of range of the pellets, but where I can see what the Meks do!”

  “Care, take care!” croaked one of the Birds. “Ill things occur at the castle.”

  “Never mind! Convey me up, above the ramparts!”

  The Birds lifted him, swung in a great circle around the crag and above the castle, sufficiently distant to be safe from the Mek pellet-guns.

  Beside those cannon which yet operated stood thirty men and women. Between the great Houses, the rotunda and the palace, everywhere the cannon could not be brought to bear, swarmed Meks. The plaza was littered with corpses: gentlemen, ladies and their children—all those who had elected to remain at Castle Hagedorn.

  At one of the cannon stood 0. Z. Garr. Spying Xanten he gave a shout of hysterical rage, swung up the cannon, fired a bolt. The Birds, screaming, tried to swerve aside, but the bolt smashed two. Birds, car, Xanten, fell in a great tangle. By some miracle, the four yet alive caught their balance and a hundred feet from the ground, with a frenzied groaning effort, they slowed their fall, steadied, hovered an instant, sank to the ground.

  Xanten staggered free of the tangle. Men came running. “Are you safe?” called Claghorn.

  “Safe, yes. Frightened as well!” Xanten took a deep breath, went to sit on an outcrop of rock.

  “What’s happening up there?” asked Claghorn.

  “All dead,” said Xanten, “all but a score. Garr has gone mad. He fired on me.”

  “Look! Meks -on the ramparts!” cried A. L. Morgan.

  “There!” cried someone else. “Men! They jump!… No, they are flung!”

  Some were men, some were Meks whom they had dragged with them; with awful slowness they toppled to their deaths. No more fell. Castle Hagedorn was in the hands of the Meks.

  Xanten considered the complex silhouette, at once so familiar and so strange. “They can’t hope to hold out. We need only destroy the sun-cells, and they can synthesize no syrup.”

  “Let us do it now,” said Claghorn, “before they think of this and man the cannon! Birds!”

  He went off to give the orders, and forty Birds, each clutching two rocks the size of a man’s head, flapped up, circled the castle and presently returned to report the sun-cells had been destroyed.

  Xanten said, “All that remains is to seal the tunnel entrances against a sudden eruption, which might catch us off guard—then patience.”

  “What of the Peasants in the stables—and the Phanes?” asked Hagedorn in a forlorn voice.

  Xanten gave his head a slow shake. “He who was not an Expiationist before must become one now.”

  Claghorn muttered, “They can survive two months at most—no more.”

  But two months passed, and three months, and four months. Then one morning the great portals opened, a haggard Mek stumbled forth.

  He signaled: “Men: we starve. We have maintained your treasures. Give us our lives or we destroy all before we die.”

  Claghorn responded: “These are our terms. We give you your lives. You must clean the castle, remove and bury the corpses. You must repair the spaceships and teach us all you know regarding them. We will then transport you to Etamin Nine.”

  “The terms you offer are accepted.”

  Five years later Xanten and Glys Meadowsweet, with their two children, had reason to travel north from their home near Sande River. They took occasion to visit Castle Hagedorn, where now lived only two or three dozen folk, among them Hagedorn.

  He had aged, so it seemed to Xanten. His hair was white; his face, once bluff and hearty, had become thin, almost waxen. Xanten could not determine his mood.

  They stood in the shade of a walnut tree, with castle and crag looming above them. “This is now a great museum,” said Hagedorn. “I am curator, and this will be the function of all the Hagedorns who come after me, for there is incalculable treasure to guard and maintain. Already the feeling of antiquity has come to the castle. The Houses are alive with ghosts. I see them often, especially on the nights of the fetes … Ah, those we
re the times, were they not, Xanten?”

  “Yes indeed,” said Xanten. He touched the heads of his two children. “Still, I have no wish to return to them. We are men now, on our own world, as we never were before.”

  Hagedorn gave a somewhat regretful assent. He looked up at the vast structure, as if now were the first occasion he had laid eyes on it. “The folk of the future—what will they think of Castle Hagedorn? Its treasures, its books, its tabards?”

  “They will come, they will marvel,” said Xanten. “Almost as I do today.”

  “There is much at which to marvel. Will you come within, Xanten? There are still flasks of noble essence laid by.”

  “Thank you no,” said Xanten. “There is too much to stir old memories. We will go our way, and I think that we will do so immediately.”

  Hagedorn nodded sadly. “I understand very well. I myself am often given to reverie these days. Well then, good-by, and journey home with pleasure.”

  “We will do so, Hagedorn. Thank you and good-by,” said Xanten, and turned away from Castle Hagedorn, toward the world of men.

  Table of Contents

  CONTENTS

  The Clans of Hagedorn

  THE LAST CASTLE

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  Gaughan Gallery