Planet of Adventure Omnibus

by Jack Vance

  “I know too,” Cauch muttered to Reith. “She will not win. Purple eel will loiter along the way. I predict a win for White or Pale Blue.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “No one has bet on Pale Blue. Only three sequins are down on White.”

  “True, but how do the eels know?”

  “Herein, as the eel-master avers, lies the mystery.”

  Reith asked Zap 210: “Can you understand how the operator controls the eels to his profit?”

  “I don’t understand anything.”

  “We’ll have to give this matter some thought,” said Reith. “Let’s watch another race. In the interests of research I’ll put a sequin down upon Pale Blue.”

  “Are all bets made?” called out the eel-master. “Please be meticulous! Sequins overlapping two colors are reckoned to fall on the losing color. No more bets? Very well then, please keep hands behind the screen. No more bets, please! The race is about to begin!”

  Stepping to the reservoir, he pulled a lever which presumably lifted the gate in front of the spiral baffle. “The race is in progress! Eels vie for light; they cavort and wheel in their joy! Down the chute they come! Which is to win?”

  The gamblers craned their necks to watch; into the basin streaked the White eel. “Ah,” groaned the operator. “How can I profit with such uncooperative eels? Twenty sequins to this already wealthy Gray; you are a mariner, sir? And ten to this noble young slave-taker from Cape Braise. I pay, I pay; where is my profit?” He came past, flipping Reith’s sequin into his tray. “So then, everyone alert for the next race.”

  Reith turned to Cauch with a shake of his head. “Perplexing, perplexing indeed. We had better go on.”

  They wandered the bazaar until Carina 4269 went down the sky. They watched a wheel of fortune; they studied a game where the participants bought a bag of irregular colored tablets and sought to fit them together into a checkerboard; a half-dozen other games, more or less ordinary. Sunset arrived; the three went to a small restaurant near the Inn of the Lucky Mariner, where they dined upon fish in red sauce, pilgrim-pod bread, a salad of sea-greens and a great black flask of wine. “In only one phase of existence,” said Cauch, “can the Thang be trusted: their cuisine, to which they are loyal. The reason for this particularity escapes me.”

  “It goes to demonstrate,” said Reith, “that you can’t judge a man by the table he sets.”

  Cauch asked shrewdly, “How then can a man judge his fellows? For example, what is the basis of your calculation?”

  “Only one thing I know for certain,” said Reith. “First thoughts are always wrong.”

  Cauch, sitting back, inspected Reith under quizzical eyebrows. “True, quite possibly true. For instance, you probably are not the cool desperado you appear on first meeting.”

  “I have been judged even more harshly,” said Reith. “One of my friends declares that I seem like a man from another world.”

  “Odd that you should say that,” remarked Cauch. “A strange rumor has recently reached Zsafathra, to the effect that all men originated on a far planet, much as the Redeemers of Yao aver, and not from a union of the sacred xyxyl bird and the sea-demon Rhadamth. Furthermore, it was told that certain folk from this far planet now wander Old Tschai, performing the most remarkable deeds: defying the Dirdir, defeating the Chasch, persuading the Wankh. A new feeling is abroad across Tschai: the sense that change is on its way. What do you think of all this?”

  “I suppose the rumor is not inherently absurd,” said Reith.

  Zap 210 said in a subdued voice: “A planet of men: it would be more strange and wild than Tschai!”

  “That of course is problematical,” remarked Cauch in a voice of didactic analysis, “and no doubt irrelevant to our present case. The secrets of personality are mystifying. For instance, consider the three of us. One honest Zsafathran and two brooding vagabonds driven like leaves before the winds of fate. What prompts such desperate journeys? What is to be gained? I myself in all my lifetime have not gone so far as Cape Braise; yet I feel none the worse, a trifle dull perhaps. I look at you and ponder. The girl is frightened; the man is harsh; goals beyond her understanding propel him; he takes her where she fears to go. Still, would she go back if she could?” Cauch looked into Zap 210’s face; she turned away.

  Reith managed a painful grin. “Without money we won’t go anywhere.”

  “Bah,” said Cauch bluffly, “if money is all you lack, I have the remedy. Once a week, each Ivensday, combat trials are arranged. In point of fact, Otwile the champion sits yonder.” He nodded toward a totally bald man almost seven feet tall, massive in the shoulders and thighs, narrow at the hips. He sat alone sipping wine, staring morosely out upon the quay. “Otwile is a great fighter,” said Cauch. “He once grappled a Green Chasch buck and held his own; at least he escaped with his life.”

  “What are the prizes?” Reith inquired.

  “The man who remains five minutes within the circle wins a hundred sequins; he is paid a further twenty sequins for each broken bone. Otwile sometimes provides a hundred-worth within the minute.”

  “And what if the challenger throws Otwile away?”

  Cauch pursed his lips. “No prize is posted; the feat is considered impossible. Why do you ask? Do you plan to make the trial?”

  “Not I,” said Reith. “I need three hundred sequins. Assume that I remained five minutes in the ring to gain a hundred sequins ... I would then need ten broken bones to earn a further two hundred.”

  Cauch seemed disappointed. “You have an alternative scheme?”

  “My mind reverts to the eel-race. How can the operator control eleven eels from a distance of ten feet while they swim down a covered chute? It seems extraordinary.”

  “It does indeed,” declared Cauch. “For years folk of Zsafathra have put down their sequins on the presumption that such control is impossible.”

  “Might the eels alter color to suit the circumstances? Impractical, unthinkable. Does the operator stimulate the eels telepathically? I consider this unlikely.”

  “I have no better theories,” said Cauch.

  Reith reviewed the eel-master’s procedure. “He raises the lid of the reservoir; the interior is open and visible; the water is no more than a foot deep. The eels are placed into the center well and the lid is closed down: this before betting is curtailed. Yet the eel-master appears to control the motion of the eels.”

  Cauch gave a sardonic chuckle. “Do you still think you can profit from the eel-races?”

  “I would like to examine the premises a second time.” Reith rose to his feet.

  “Now? The races are over for the day.”

  “Still, let us examine the ground; it is only five minutes’ walk.”

  “As you wish.”

  The area surrounding the eel-race layout was deserted and lit dimly by the glow of distant bazaar lamps. After the animation of the daytime hours, the table, reservoir and chute seemed peculiarly silent.

  Reith indicated the wall which limited the compound. “What lies to the other side?”

  “The Old Town and, beyond, the mausoleums, where the Thangs take their dead-not a place to visit by night.”

  Reith examined the chute and reservoir, the lid to which was locked down for the night. He turned to Cauch. “What time do the races begin?”

  “At noon, precisely.”

  “Tomorrow morning I’d like to look around some more.”

  “Indeed,” mused Cauch. He looked at Reith sidewise. “You have a theory?”

  “A suspicion. If-” He looked around as Zap 210 grasped his arm. She pointed. “Over there.”

  Across the compound walked two figures in black cloaks and wide black hats.

  “Gzhindra,” said Zap 210.

  Cauch said nervously, “Let us return to the inn. It is not wise to walk the dark places of Urmank.”

  At the inn Cauch retired to his chamber. Reith took Zap 210 to her cubicle. She was reluctant to enter. “What’s th
e matter?” asked Reith.

  “I am afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “The Gzhindra are following us.”

  “That’s not necessarily true. Those might have been any two Gzhindra.”

  “But perhaps they weren’t.”

  “In any event they can’t get at you in the room.”

  The girl was still dubious.

  “I’m right next door,” said Reith. “If anyone bothers you, scream.”

  “What if someone kills you first?”

  “I can’t think that far ahead,” said Reith. “If I’m dead in the morning, don’t pay the score.”

  She wanted further reassurance. Reith patted the soft black curls. “Good night.”

  He closed the door and waited until the bolt shot home. Then he went into his own cubicle and, despite Cauch’s reassurances, made a careful examination of floor, walls and ceiling. At last, feeling secure, he turned the light down to a glimmer and lay himself upon the couch.

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NIGHT PASSED without alarm or disturbance. In the morning Reith and Zap 210 breakfasted alone at the cafe on the quay. The sky was cloudless; the smoky sunlight left crisp black shadows behind the tall houses and glinted on the water of the harbor. Zap 210 seemed less pessimistic than usual, and watched the porters, the hawkers, the seamen and outlanders with interest. “What do you think of the ghian now?” asked Reith.

  Zap 210 at once became grave. “The folk act differently from what I expected. They don’t run back and forth; they don’t seem maddened by the sun-glare. Of course”-she hesitated-”one sees a great deal of boisterous conduct, but no one seems to mind. I marvel at the garments of the girls; they are so bold, as if they want to provoke attention. And again, no one objects.”

  “Quite the reverse,” said Reith.

  “I could never act like that,” Zap 210 said primly. “That girl coming toward us: see how she walks! Why does she act that way?”

  “That’s how she’s put together. Also, she wants men to notice her. These are the instincts that the diko suppressed in you.”

  Zap 210 protested with unusual fervor: “I eat no diko now; I feel no such instincts!”

  Reith looked smiling off across the quay. The girl to whom Zap 210 had drawn attention slowed her step, hitched at the orange sash around her waist, smiled at Reith, stared curiously at Zap 210, and sauntered on.

  Zap 210 looked sidelong at Reith. She started to speak, then held her tongue. A moment later she blurted: “I don’t understand anything of the ghian. I don’t understand you. Just now you smiled at that odious girl. You never-” Here she stopped short, then continued in a low voice: “I suppose you blame ‘instinct’ for your conduct.”

  Reith became impatient. “The time has come,” he said, “to explain the facts of life. Instincts are part of our biological baggage and cannot be avoided. Men and women are different.” He went on to explain the processes of reproduction. Zap 210 sat rigid, looking across the water. “So,” said Reith, “it’s not unnatural that people indulge in this kind of conduct.”

  Zap 210 said nothing. Her hands, so Reith noticed, were clenched and her knuckles shone white.

  She said in a low voice, “The Khors in the sacred grove-is that what they were doing?”

  “So I suppose.”

  “And you took me away so I wouldn’t see.”

  “Well, yes. I thought you might be confused.”

  Zap 210 was silent a moment. “We might have been killed.”

  Reith shrugged. “I suppose there was a chance.”

  “And those girls dancing without clothes--they wanted to do that?”

  “If someone gave them money.”

  “And everyone on the surface feels this way?”

  “Most of them, I should say.”

  “Do you?”

  “Certainly. Sometimes, anyway. Not all the time.”

  “Then why-” she stuttered. “Then why-” She could not finish. Reith reached out to pat her hand; she snatched it away. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Sorry ... But don’t be angry.”

  “You brought me to this horrible place; you deprived me of life; you pretended to be kind but all the time you’ve been planning-that!”

  “No, no!” cried Reith. “Nothing of the sort! You’re quite wrong!”

  Zap 210 looked at him with eyebrows coolly raised. “You find me repulsive then?”

  Reith threw his hands up in the air. “Of course I don’t find you repulsive! In fact-”

  “In fact, what?”

  Cauch, arriving at the table, provided, for Reith, a welcome interruption. “You spent a comfortable night?”

  “Yes,” said Reith.

  Zap 210 rose to her feet and walked away. Cauch drew a long face. “How have I offended her?”

  “She’s angry with me,” said Reith. “Why-I don’t know.”

  “Isn’t this always the case? But soon, for reasons equally unknown, she will again become benign. Meanwhile, I am interested in hearing your ideas in regard to the eel-races.”

  Reith looked dubiously after Zap 210, who had returned to the Inn of the Lucky Mariner. “Is it safe to leave her alone?”

  “Have no fear,” said Cauch. “At the inn you and she are known to be under my sponsorship.”

  “Well, then, to the eel-races.”

  “You understand that they are not yet in operation? The races do not start till noon.”

  “So much the better.”

  Zap 210 had never been so angry. She half-walked half-ran to the inn, through the dim common room to the cubicle where she had spent the night. She entered, furiously shot the bolt and went to sit on the couch. For ten minutes she let her thoughts rage without control. Then she began to cry, silently, tears of frustration and disillusionment welling down her cheeks. She thought of the Shelters: the quiet corridors with the black-robed figures drifting past. In the Shelters no one would provoke her to anger or excitement or any of the other strange emotions which from time to time colored her brain. They would give her diko once more ... She frowned, trying to recall the flavor of the crisp little wafers. On sudden impulse she rose to her feet, examined herself in the mirror which hung on the side wall. The previous evening she had looked at herself with no great interest; the face which looked back seemed just a face: eyes, nose, mouth, chin. Now she studied herself earnestly. She touched the black hair curling down her forehead, combed it with her fingers, studied the effect. The face which looked back was that of a stranger. She thought of the lithe girl who had regarded Reith with such insolence. She had worn a garment of blue cloth which clung to the figure, different from the shapeless gray smock which Zap 210 now wore. She pulled it off, stood in her white undergown. She turned, studied herself from all angles. A stranger now for certain. What if Reith could see her now: what would he think? ... The idea of Reith made her furiously angry. He considered her a child, or something even more ignoble: she had no word for the concept. She felt herself with her hands and, staring in the mirror, marveled at the changes which had come over her ... Her original scheme of returning to the Shelters dwindled. The zuzhma kastchai would give her to the darkness. If by chance she were allowed to keep her life, they would feed her diko again. Her lips twitched. No more diko.

  Well, then, what of Adam Reith, who considered her so repulsive that-her mind refused to complete the train of thought. What was to become of her? She studied herself in the mirror and felt very sorry for the dark-haired girl with thin cheeks and sad eyes who looked back at her. If she ran away from Adam Reith how could she survive? ... She slipped into her gray smock, but decided against tying the orange cloth around her head. Instead she tied it around her waist as a sash, as she had noticed other girls of Urmank doing. She examined herself in the mirror again and rather liked the effect. What would Adam Reith think?

  She opened the door, looked up and down the corridor and ventured forth. The common-room was empty but for a squat old
woman who scrubbed the stone floor with a brush and looked up with a sneer. Zap 210 hastened her pace and went out into the street. Here she hesitated. She had never been alone before, and the sensation was frightening, if thrilling. Crossing to the quay, she watched porters unloading a cog. Neither her vocabulary nor her stock of ideas contained the equivalent of “quaint” or “picturesque”; nevertheless, she was charmed by the bluff-brown craft moving gently to the heave of the water. She drew a deep breath. Freak or not, repulsive or not, she had never felt so alive before. The ghaun was a wild cruel place-here the zuzhma kastchai had not dissembled-but after living in the golden-brown sunlight, how could anyone choose to return to the Shelters?

  She walked along the quay to the cafe, where somewhat diffidently she looked for Reith. What she would say to him she had not yet formulated; perhaps she would sweep to her seat with only a haughty glance to let him know what she thought of his opinions ... Reith was nowhere to be seen. A sudden terrible fear came over her. Had he taken the opportunity to escape, to be rid of her? Impulses urged upon her; she wanted to cry out: “Adam Reith! Adam Reith!” She could not believe that the reassuring form, so taut and economical of motion, was nowhere to be seen ... She turned to leave and stepped full into the advancing body of a tall massive man, wearing pantaloons of dove brown leather, a loose white shirt and a vest of maroon brocade. A small brimless cap clung to the side of his bald head; he gave a soft grunt as she walked into him and held her away with two hands on her shoulders. “Where do you go in such haste?”