by Jack Vance
Reith gave him an end of the rope. “Hold to that. And if we are separated we meet on the west edge of that yellow clump.”
They waited for darkness. Out on the field the young Dirdir took up their positions, with here and there more experienced hunters. Reith looked to the east. By some trick of light and atmosphere the fields seemed to be open and to extend to far horizons; only by dint of concentration could Reith make out the east wall.
Darkness came. The lights dulled to red, flickered out. Far to the north glowed a single purple light, to indicate direction. It cast no illumination. Darkness was complete. The hunt had begun. From the north came Dirdir hunting calls: chilling hoots and ululations.
Reith and Anacho moved west. From time to time they halted to listen through the dark. To their right came a sinister jingling. They stood stock-still. The jingling and a pad-pad-pad faded off to the rear.
They arrived at their landmark hummock, and continued toward the clump of cactus. Something was near. They halted to listen. It seemed to their straining ears, or nerves, that something else paused as well.
From high, high above came a many-voiced cry, ranging up and down the sonic range, then another and another. “The huntcalls of all the septs,” Anacho whispered. “A traditional ritual. Now from the field, all the sept-members present must give voice.” The calls from above halted; from all parts of the hunting field, eerie out of the dark, came the responses. Anacho nudged Reith. “While the responses sound, we are free to move. Come.”
They set out with long strides, their feet sensitive as eyes. The hunt-slogans dwindled away into the distance; again there was silence. Reith struck a loose rock with his feet, to cause a distressing rattle. They froze, teeth gritted.
There was no reaction. On they walked, on and on, feeling out with their feet for the cactus clump, but encountering only air and harsh soil. Reith began to fear that they had passed it by, that the lights would go on to expose them to all the hunters, all the spectators.
Seven minutes of darkness had elapsed, or so he estimated. In another minute, at the latest, they should find the outskirts of the clump ... A sound! Running feet, apparently human, passed not thirty feet distant. A moment later a jogging thud, shrill whispers, a jingle of hunting gear. The sounds passed, dwindled. Silence returned.
Seconds later they came to the cactus. “Around to the southern side,” Reith whispered. “Then on hands and knees into the center.”
The two pushed through the coarse stalks, meeting sharp side-prongs.
“Light! Here it comes!”
The dark began to dissipate in the style of a Sibol sunrise: up through gray, pallid white, into the full glare of day.
Reith and Anacho looked about them. The cactus provided fair concealment; they seemed in no imminent peril, though not a hundred yards distant three Dirdir scions bounded across the field, heads high, searching in all directions for fleeing game. Reith consulted his watch. Fifteen minutes remained-if Traz had suffered no mishap, if he had been able to reach the opposite wall of the Glass Box.
The forest of white bristle lay a quarter of a mile ahead, across somewhat open ground. It might, thought Reith, be the longest quarter-mile he had ever traversed.
The two wormed through the cactus to the northern verge. “The hunters keep to middle ground for an hour or so,” said Anacho. “They restrain quick penetration to the north, then they work to the south.”
Reith handed Anacho a power-gun, tucked his own into his waistband. He raised to his knees. A mile distant he glimpsed movement, Dirdir or game he could not be sure. Anacho suddenly pulled him down into concealment. From behind the cactus bush trotted a group of Immaculates, hands sheathed in artificial talons, simulated effulgences trailing over their shining white pates. Reith’s stomach twisted; he stifled the impulse to confront the creatures, to shoot them.
The Dirdirmen loped past, and it seemed that they missed seeing the fugitives only through the sheerest chance. They angled away to the east, and, sighting game, bounded off at full speed.
Reith checked his watch; time was growing short. Rising to his knees, he looked in all directions. “Let’s go.”
They jumped erect, ran off for the white forest.
They paused halfway, crouched behind a little thicket. By South Hill a hot hunt was in progress; two bands of hunters converged on game which had taken cover on South Hill itself. Reith checked his watch. Nine minutes. The white forest was only a minute or two away. The lone spire which he had established as a landmark could now be seen, a few hundred yards west of the forest. They set forth again. Four hunters stepped from the forest, where they had stationed themselves to spy out the game. Reith’s heart sank into his boots. “Keep going,” he said to Anacho. “We’ll fight them.”
Anacho looked dubiously at the power-gun. “If they take us with guns, they’ll toss us for days ... but I was to be tossed in any event.”
The Dirdir watched in fascination as Reith and Anacho approached. “We must take them into the forest,” muttered Anacho. “The judges will intervene if they see our guns.”
“Around to the left then, and behind that clump of yellow grass.”
The Dirdir did not advance to meet them, but moved to the side. With a final burst Reith and Anacho gained the edge of the forest. The Dirdir screamed their hunt slogans and sprang forward, while Reith and Anacho retreated.
“Now,” said Reith. They brought forth their guns. The Dirdir gave a croak of dismay. Four quick shots: four dead Dirdir. Instantly from high above came a great howl: a mind-jarring ululation. Anacho shouted out in sheer frustration, “The judges saw. They’ll watch us now, and direct the hunt. We are lost.”
“We have a chance,” Reith insisted. He wiped the sweat from his face, squinting against the glare. “In three minutes-if all goes well-the explosion. Let’s go on to the long spire.”
They ran through the forest, and as they emerged they saw hunt-teams loping in their direction. The howling overhead rose and fell, then stopped.
They reached the single spire, with the glass wall only a hundred yards distant. Above, obscured by glare and reflections, ran the observation decks; Reith was barely able to make out the gaping spectators.
He checked his watch.
Now.
An interval, to be expected: the Box was three miles across. Seconds passed, then came a great puff of shock and a thunderous reverberation. Lights flickered; far to the east they were extinguished. Reith peered but could not see the effect of the blast. From overhead, up and down the length of the field, came a frantic baying, expressing rage so savage and stupendous that Reith’s knees became weak.
Anacho was more matter-of-fact. “They direct all hunts east to the rupture, to prevent the escape of game.”
The hunts which had been converging upon Reith and Anacho turned and raced off to the east.
“Get ready,” said Reith. He looked at his watch. “To the ground.”
A second explosion: a tremendous shatter to gladden Reith’s heart, to lift him into a state of near religious exaltation. Shards and chunks of gray glass whistled overhead; the lights dimmed, went dark. Before them appeared a gap, like an opening into a new dimension, a hundred feet wide, almost as high as the first observation deck.
Reith and Anacho jumped to their feet. Without difficulty they reached the wall and sprang through-away from the arid Sibol, out into the dim Tschai afternoon.
Down the broad white avenue they ran, then at Anacho’s direction turned off to the north, toward the factories and the white Dirdirman spires, then to the waterfront, and across the causeway into Sivishe.
They halted to catch their breath. “Best that you go direct to the sky-car,” said Reith. “Take it and leave. You won’t be safe in Sivishe.”
“Woudiver issued the information against me; he’ll do the same for you,” said Anacho.
“I can’t leave Sivishe now, with the spaceship so near to completion. Woudiver and I must have an understanding.”
“Never,” said Anacho bleakly. “He is a great wad of malice.”
“He can’t betray the spaceship without endangering himself,” argued Reith. “He is our accomplice; we work in his shed.”
“He’d explain it away somehow.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. In any event, you must leave Sivishe. We’ll share the money-then you must go. The sky-car is no more use to me.”
Anacho’s white face became mulish. “Not so fast, I am not the goal of a tsaugsh, remember this. Who will take the initiative to seek me out?”
Reith looked back toward the Glass Cage. “You don’t think they’ll seek you in Sivishe?”
“They are unpredictable. But I’m as safe in Sivishe as anywhere else. I can’t go back to the Ancient Realm. They won’t seek me at the shed unless Woudiver betrays the project.”
“Woudiver must be controlled,” said Reith.
Anacho only grunted. They set off once more, through the mean alleys of Sivishe.
The sun passed behind the spires of Hei and dimness seeped into the already shadowed streets. Reith and Anacho rode by public powerwagon to the shed. Woudiver’s office was dark; within the shed dim lights glimmered. The mechanics had gone home; there seemed to be no one on the premises ... In the shadows a figure moved. “Traz!” cried Reith.
The lad came forward. “I knew that you would come here, if you won free.”
Neither the nomads nor the Dirdirmen were given to demonstration; Anacho and Traz merely took note of each other.
“Best that we leave this place,” said Traz. “And quickly.”
“I said to Anacho, I say to you: take the sky-car and go. There is no reason for you to risk another day in Sivishe.”
“And what about you?”
“I must take my chances here.”
“The chances are very small, what with Woudiver and his vindictiveness.”
“I will control Woudiver.”
“An impossibility!” Anacho cried out. “Who can control such perversity, so much monstrous passion? He is beyond reason.”
Reith nodded somberly. “There is only one certain way, and it may be difficult.”
“How do you intend this miracle?” Anacho demanded.
“I intend simply to take him at gunpoint, and bring him here. If he will not come, I will kill him. If he comes, he will be my captive, under constant guard. I can think of nothing better.”
Anacho grunted. “I would not object to guarding Big Yellow.”
“The time to act is now,” said Traz. “Before he knows of the escape.”
“For you two, no!” Reith declared. “If I get killed ... too bad but unavoidable. It is a risk I have to take. Not so for you. Take the skycar and money, leave now while you are able!”
“I remain,” said Traz.
“And I as well,” said Anacho.
Reith made a gesture of defeat. “Let’s go after Woudiver.”
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE THREE STOOD in the dark court outside Woudiver’s apartments, judging how best to open the postern. “We don’t dare force the lock,” muttered Anacho. “Woudiver undoubtedly guards himself with alarms and death-traps.”
“We’ll have to go over the top,” said Reith. “It shouldn’t be too hard to reach the roof.” He studied the wall, the cracked tile, a twisted old psilla. “Nothing to it.” He pointed. “Up there, across to there-then there and over.”
Anacho shook his head gloomily. “I’m surprised to find you still so innocent. Why do you think the route appears so simple! Because Woudiver is convinced no one can climb? You’d find strings, traps and jangle-buttons every place you put your hand.”
Reith chewed his lip in mortification. “Well, then, how do you propose we get in?”
“Not through here,” said Anacho. “We must defeat Woudiver’s craft with cleverness of our own.”
Traz made a sudden motion, and drew the other two back into the deep shadows of an area-way.
Along the alley came a shuffle of footsteps. A tall thin shape limped past them and went to stand by the postern. Traz whispered: “Deine Zarre! He’s in a bitter state.”
Deine Zarre stood motionless; he brought forth a tool and worked on the lock. The postern swung open; he walked through, his pace inexorable as doom. Reith sprang forward and held the gate ajar. Deine Zarre limped on unseeing. Traz and Anacho passed through the postern; Reith let the gate rest against the lock. They now stood in a paved loggia, with a dimly lit passage leading to the main bulk of the house. “For the moment,” said Reith, “you two wait here; let me confront Woudiver alone.”
“You’ll be in great danger,” said Anacho. “It’s obvious that you came for no good!”
“Not necessarily!” said Reith. “He will be suspicious, certainly. But he can’t know that I’ve seen you. If he sees the three of us he’ll be on his guard. Alone, I have a better chance of outwitting him.”
“Very well,” said Anacho. “We’ll wait here, for a certain period, at any rate. Then we’ll come in after you.”
“Give me fifteen minutes.” Reith set off down the passage, which opened into a courtyard. Across, in front of a brassbound door, stood Deine Zarre, plying his tool. Light suddenly flooded the courtyard. Deine Zarre had apparently tripped an alarm.
Into the courtyard stepped Artilo. “Zarre,” he said.
Deine Zarre turned about.
“What do you do here?” Artilo asked in a gentle voice.
“It is no concern of yours,” said Deine Zarre tonelessly. “Leave me be.”
With an uncharacteristic flourish, Artilo brought forth a power-gun. “I have been so ordered. Prepare to die.”
Reith stepped quickly forward, but the motion of Deine Zarre’s eyes gave warning to Artilo; he started to look about. With two long strides, Reith was on him. He struck a terrible blow at the base of Artilo’s skull, and Artilo collapsed dead. Reith took up the power-gun, rolled Artilo to the side. Deine Zarre was already turning away, as if the circumstances held no interest.
Reith said, “Wait!”
Deine Zarre turned around once more. Reith came forward. Deine Zarre’s gray eyes were astonishingly clear. Reith asked, “Why are you here?”
“To kill Woudiver. He has savaged my children.” Deine Zarre’s voice was calm and expository. “They are dead, both dead, and gone from this sad world Tschai.”
Reith’s voice sounded muffled and distant to his own ears.
“Woudiver must be destroyed ... but not until the ship is complete.”
“He will never let you complete the ship.”
“That is why I am here.”
“What can you do?” Deine Zarre spoke contemptuously.
“I intend to take him captive, and keep him until the ship is finished. Then you may kill him.”
“Very well,” said Deine Zarre in a dull voice. “Why not? I will make him suffer.”
“As you please. You go ahead, I will come close behind, as before. When we find Woudiver, upbraid him, but offer no violence. We don’t want to drive him to desperate action.”
Deine Zarre turned without a word. He worked open the door, to reveal a room furnished in scarlet and yellow. Deine Zarre entered, and after a quick look over his shoulder Reith followed. A dwarfish, dark-skinned servant in an enormous white turban stood startled.
“Where is Aila Woudiver?” asked Deine Zarre in his most gentle voice.
The servant became haughty. “He is importantly busy. He has great dealings. He cannot be disturbed.”
Seizing the servant by the scruff of the neck Reith half raised him off the ground, dislodging the turban. The servant keened in pain and wounded dignity. “What are you doing? Take your hands away or I will summon my master!”
“Precisely what we want you to do,” said Reith.
The servant stood back, rubbing his neck and glaring at Reith. “Leave the house at once!”
“Take us to Woudiver, if you want to avoid trouble!”
The servant began to whine. “I may not do so. He’ll have me whipped!”
“Look yonder in the courtyard,” said Deine Zarre. “You’ll see Artilo’s dead body. Do you wish to join him?”
The servant began to shake and fell on his knees. Reith hoisted him erect. “Quick now! To Woudiver!”
“You must tell him I was forced, on threat of my life!” cried the servant with chattering teeth. “Then you must swear-”
The portiere at the far end of the room parted. The great face of Aila Woudiver peered through. “What is this disturbance?”
Reith pushed the servant away. “Your man refused to summon you.”
Woudiver examined him with the cleverest and most suspicious gaze imaginable. “For good reason, I am occupied with important affairs.”
“None so important as mine,” said Reith.
“A moment,” said Woudiver. He turned, spoke a word or two to his visitors, swaggered back into the scarlet and yellow salon. “You have the money?”
“Yes, of course. Would I be here otherwise?”
For another long moment Woudiver surveyed Reith. “Where is the money?”
“In a safe place.”
Woudiver chewed at his pendulous lower lip. “Do not use that tone with me. To be candid, I suspect you of contriving an infamy, that which today allowed the escape of numerous criminals from the Glass Box.”
Reith chuckled. “Tell me, if you please, how I could be two places at once?”
“If you were in a single place, that is enough to damn you. A man corresponding to your description lowered himself to the field only an hour before the event. He would not have done so had he not been sure of escape. It is noteworthy that the renegade Dirdirman seemed to be among those missing.”
Deine Zarre spoke: “The battarache came from your store; you will be held responsible if I should utter a word.”
Woudiver seemed to notice Deine Zarre for the first time. In simulated surprise he spoke. “What do you do here, old man? Better be off about your business.”
“I came to kill you,” said Deine Zarre. “Reith asked that I wait.”