Planet of Adventure Omnibus

by Jack Vance

  “Nowhere,” stammered Zap 210. “I was looking for someone.”

  “You have found me, which is not the worst of luck. Come along; I have not yet had my morning wine. Then we will discuss our affairs.”

  Zap 210 stood paralyzed by indecision. She tentatively tried to shrink away from the man’s grasp, which only tightened. Zap 210 winced. “Come,” said the man. She stumbled with him to a nearby booth.

  The man signaled; a jug of white wine and a platter of fried fishcakes was set before them. “Eat,” the man told her. “Drink. I stint no one, either in bounty or hard knocks.” He poured her a liberal goblet of wine. “Now, before we proceed, what are your fees? Certain of your number, knowing me for Otwile, have attempted nothing less than larceny-to their dissatisfaction, I may say. So then: your price?”

  “Price for what?” whispered Zap 210.

  Otwile’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “You are an odd one. What is your race? You are too pale for a Thang, too slender for a Gray.”

  Zap 210 lowered her eyes. She tasted the wine, then searched desperately over her shoulder for Reith.

  “Ah, but you are shy!” declared Otwile. “And delicate of manner as well!”

  He began to eat. Zap 210 tried to slip away. “Sit!” snapped Otwile. She hastily returned to her seat. “Drink!” She sipped at the wine, which was stronger than any she had yet tasted.

  “That is better,” said Otwile. “Now we understand each other.”

  “No,” said Zap 210 in her soft voice. “We don’t! I don’t want to be here! What do you want of me?”

  Otwile again stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t know?”

  “Of course not. Unless--you don’t mean that?”

  Otwile grinned, “I mean precisely that, and more.”

  “But-I don’t know anything about such things! I don’t want to learn.”

  Otwile put down his fishcakes. He said incredulously, “A virgin, wearing a sash. Is that how you represent yourself?”

  “I don’t know what such a thing is ... I must go, to find Adam Reith.”

  “You have found me, which is somewhat better. Drink wine, to relax yourself. Today is to be that particular day you will remember to the end of your time.” Otwile poured full the goblets. “Indeed, I will join you, to relax myself. Truth to tell, I myself have become somewhat excited!”

  Reith and Cauch walked through the bazaar, where the fish and produce vendors called attention to their merchandise by means of peculiar ululations.

  “Are they singing?” asked Reith.

  “No,” said Cauch, the cries were no more than devices to attract attention. “The Thang have no great feeling for music. The selling-screams of the fish-wives are inventive and emotional, true; listen and you will hear how they try to outdo each other!”

  Reith conceded that certain of the advertisements were remarkably intricate. “In due course the social anthropologists will record and codify these calls. But for the moment I am more interested in the eel-races.”

  “To be sure,” said Cauch. ‘Though, as you will notice, they are not yet in operation.”

  They crossed the compound and stood appraising the vacant tables, the reservoir and the chute. Looking across the wall, Reith noticed the fronds of a gnarled old psilla. “I want to look on the other side of the wall,” he said.

  “Just so,” said Cauch, “and I have the fullest sympathy with your curiosity. But are we not at the moment directing our energies to the eel-races?”

  “We are,” said Reith. “I see a portal through the wall, opposite that vendor of amulets. Do you care to accompany me?”

  “Certainly,” said Cauch. “I am always alert to learn.”

  They walked along beside the old wall, which in the remote past had been faced with brown and white tiles, most of which had fallen away, revealing patches of dark brown brick. Passing through the portal, they entered Urmank Old Town: a district of huts built of broken tile, brick, fragments of stone, and odd lengths of timber. Some were abandoned ruins, others were in the process of construction: a continuing cycle of decay and regeneration, in which every shard, every stick, every fragment of stone had been used a hundred times over twice as many generations. Low-caste Thangs and a squat, big-headed variety of Gray peered forth from the doorways as Reith and Cauch went past; stench thickened the air.

  Beyond the huts lay an area of rubble, puddles of slime, a few clumps of angry red bristle-bush. Reith located the psilla of which he had taken note: it stood close beside the wall, overhanging a shed built of well-laid bricks. The door was solid timber bound with iron, secured with a heavy iron lock. The shed backed firmly up against the wall.

  Reith looked around the landscape, which was vacant except for a group of naked children paddling in a rivulet of yellow slime. He approached the shed. The lock, the hasp, the hinges were sound and solid. There was no window to the shed, nor any opening other than the door. Reith backed away. “We’ve seen all we need to see.”

  “Indeed?” Cauch dubiously inspected the shed, the wall, the psilla tree. “I see nothing significant. Are you still referring to the eel-races?”

  “Of course.” They went back through the dismal huddle of huts. Reith said: “Very likely we could make all our arrangements alone; still, the help of two trustworthy men might prove convenient.”

  Cauch eyed him with awe and incredulity. “You seriously hope to take money from the eel-race?”

  “If the eel-master pays all winning bets, I do.”

  “No fear of that,” said Cauch. “He will pay, assuming that there are winnings. And on this supposition, how do you propose to share?”

  “Half for me, half for you and your two men.”

  Cauch pursed his lips. “I perceive something of an inequity. From a mutual project, one man should not derive three times the share of the others.”

  “I believe that he should,” said Reith, “when otherwise the other three gain nothing whatever.”

  “The point is well-taken,” Cauch admitted. “The affair shall go as you recommend.”

  They returned to the cafe. Reith looked for Zap 210, who was nowhere to be seen. “I must find my companion,” he told Cauch. “No doubt she waits at the inn.”

  Cauch made an affable gesture; Reith went to the inn, but found Zap 210 nowhere. Making inquiries of the clerk he learned that she had come and gone, leaving no intimation as to her destination.

  Reith went to the doorway and looked up and down the quay. To the right porters in faded red kirtles and leather shoulderpads unloaded a cog; to the left was the bustle of the bazaar.

  He never should have left her alone, he told himself, especially in her mood of the morning. He had taken her stability for granted, never troubling to divine the state of her mind. Reith cursed himself for callousness and egocentricity. The girl had been undergoing the most intense and dramatic emotional strains: all the fundamental processes of life at once. Reith strode back to the cafe. Cauch eyed him with calm benevolence. “You appear concerned.”

  “The girl who accompanies me-I can’t find her.”

  “Pah,” said Cauch. “They are all alike. She has gone to the bazaar, to buy a trinket.”

  “No. She has no money. She is utterly inexperienced; she would go nowhere-except ...” Reith turned to look toward the hills, the way which lay between the ghoul-castles. Would she seriously consider going down into the Shelters? ... A new idea came to turn his bones to ice. The Gzhindra. Reith summoned the Thang servant-boy. “I breakfasted this morning with a young woman. Do you recall her?”

  “Yes, indeed; she wore an orange turban, like a Hedaijhan, at least on that occasion.”

  “You saw her another time?”

  “I did. She sat yonder, wearing the sash of solicitation and consorting with Otwile the champion. They drank wine for a period, then went off.”

  “She went of her own free will?” asked Reith in wonder.

  The servant gave a shrug of indifference, covertly insole
nt. “She wore the sash, she uttered no outcry, she leaned on his arm, perhaps to steady herself, for I believe her to have been somewhat drunk.”

  “Where did they go?”

  Again the shrug. “Otwile’s chambers are not too far distant; perhaps this was their resort.”

  “Show me the way.”

  “No no.” The servant shook his head. “I am at my duties. Also I would not care to vex Otwile.”

  Reith jumped at him; the servant stumbled back in a panic. “Quick!” hissed Reith.

  “This way then, but hurry; I am not supposed to leave the cafe.”

  They ran through the dank back alleys of Urmank, in and out of the brown light of Carina 4269, which occasionally slanted down past the crooked gables of the tall houses. The servant halted, pointed along a walkway leading into a garden of green and purple foliage. “At the back of the shrubbery are Otwile’s rooms.” He scuttled back the way he had come. Reith ran along the walkway, through the garden. At the back stood a cottage of carved timber and panels of translucent fiber. As Reith approached he heard a sudden wordless cry of outrage from within. “Unclean!” Then there was the sound of a blow, and a whimper. Reith’s knees shook, he tottered forward, thrust open the door. On the floor crouched Zap 210, glassy-eyed and nude; above her stood Otwile. Zap 210 stared at Reith; he saw a red welt on her cheek.

  Otwile spoke in a voice of hushed outrage. “Who are you to intrude in my house?”

  Reith ignored him. He picked up Zap 210’s undergown, a torn tangle of cloth. He turned to look at Otwile. Cauch spoke from the doorway. “Come, Adam Reith; fetch the girl. Do not trouble yourself.”

  Reith paid no heed. He moved slowly toward Otwile, who waited, smiling coldly, hands on hips. Reith approached to within three feet. Otwile, six inches taller, smiled down at him.

  Zap 210 said in a husky croak: “It wasn’t his fault. I wore an orange sash ... I didn’t know...”

  Reith turned slowly away. He found Zap 210’s gray gown, pulled it over her slender body. He saw what had outraged Otwile; he could hardly control a great cry to express sorrow and pity and terrible grim amusement. He put his arm around Zap 210 and started to lead her from the room.

  Otwile was dissatisfied. He had been awaiting a touch, a motion, even a word, to serve as a trigger for his muscles. Was he to be denied even the gratification of beating the man who had invaded his chambers? The bubble of his rage burst. He bounced forward and swung his leg in a kick.

  Reith was pleased to find Otwile active. Twisting, he caught Otwile’s ankle, pulled, dragged the champion hopping out into the garden, and sent him careening into a thicket of scarlet bamboo. Otwile sprang forth like a leopard. He halted, stood with arms out, grimacing hideously, clenching and unclenching his hands. Reith punched him in the face. Otwile seemed not to notice. He reached for Reith, who backed away, hacking at the heavy wrists. Otwile came forward, crowding Reith against the side-wall. Reith feinted, punched with his left hand and rapped his knuckles into Otwile’s face. Otwile gave a small flat-footed jump forward, and another, then he gave a hideous rasping scream, and swung his great arm in an open-handed slap. Reith ducked below, hit Otwile full in the belly, and as Otwile jerked up his knee, seized the crooked leg, heaved up, and sent Otwile down flat on his back with a thud like a falling tree. For a moment Otwile lay dazed, then he slowly struggled to a sitting position. With a single backward glance Reith led Zap 210 from the garden. Cauch bowed politely toward Otwile and followed.

  Reith took Zap 210 to the inn. She sat on the couch in her cubicle, clutching the gray gown about herself, limp and miserable. Reith sat down beside her. “What happened?”

  Tears dripped down her cheeks; she held her hands to her face. Reith stroked her head. Presently she wiped her eyes. “I don’t know what I did wrong-unless it was the sash. He made me drink wine until I became dizzy. He took me through the streets ... I felt very strange. I could hardly walk. In the house I wouldn’t take off my clothes and he became angry. Then he saw me and he became even angrier. He said I was unclean ... I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m sick, I’m dying.”

  Reith said, “No, you’re not sick or dying. Your body has started to function normally. There’s nothing whatever wrong with you.”

  “I’m not unclean?”

  “Of course not.” Reith rose to his feet. “I’ll send in a maid to take care of you. Then just lie quietly and sleep until I return-I hope with enough money to put us aboard a ship.”

  Zap 210 nodded listlessly; Reith departed the cubicle.

  At the cafe Reith found Cauch and two young Zsafathrans who had come to Urmank aboard the second cart. “This is Schazar; this is Widisch,” said Cauch. “Both are reckoned competent; I have no doubt but that they will fulfill any reasonable requirements.”

  “In that case,” said Reith, “let’s be off about our business. We haven’t too much time to spare, or so I should judge.”

  The four sauntered off down the quay. Reith explained his theories: “-which now we must put to the test. Mind you, I may be wrong, in which case the project will fail.”

  “No,” said Cauch. “You have employed an extraordinary mental process to adduce what I now see to be limpid truth.”

  “The process is called logic,” said Reith. “It is not always dependable. But we shall see.”

  They passed the eel-race table, where a few folk had already settled at the benches, ready for the day’s gambling. Reith hurried his steps: under the portal, through the dismal byways of Urmank Old Town, toward the shed under the psilla tree. They halted fifty yards away and took cover in a ruined hut at the edge of the wastelands.

  Ten minutes passed. Reith began to fidget. “I can’t believe that we’ve come too late.”

  The young man Schazar pointed across the wastes, to the far end of the wall. “Two men.”

  The men strolled closer. One affected the flowing white robes and square white hat of an Erze Island Sage: “The eel-master,” muttered Cauch. The other, a young man, wore a pink skullcap and a light pink cape. The two walked casually and confidently along the trail and parted company near the shed. The eel-master continued toward the portal. Widisch said: “Easier merely to waylay the old charlatan and divest him of his pouch; the effect, after all, is the same.”

  “Unfortunately,” said Cauch, “he carries no sequins on his person, and makes the fact well known. His funds are brought to the eel-races daily by four armed slaves under the supervision of his chief wife.”

  The young man in pink strolled to the shed. He fitted a key in the lock, turned it three times, opened the ponderous door and entered the shed. He turned with surprise to find that Reith and Schazar had also pushed into the shed beside him. He attempted to bluster. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I will speak one time only,” said Reith. “We want your unstinting cooperation; otherwise we will hang you by the toes to yonder psilla. Is that clear?”

  “I understand perfectly,” said the young man with a quaver.

  “Describe the routine.”

  The young man hesitated. Reith nodded to Schazar, who brought forth a coil of hard cord. The young man said quickly, “The routine is quite simple. I undress and step into the tank.” He indicated a cylindrical pool four feet in diameter at the back of the shed. “A tube communicates with the reservoir; the level in the tank and that in the reservoir are the same. I swim through the tube to the reservoir and come up into a space in the peripheral frame. As soon as the lid is lowered, I open a partition. I reach into the reservoir and move the specified eel to the edge of the chute.”

  “And how is the color specified?”

  “By the eel-master’s finger-taps on the top of the lid.”

  Reith turned to Cauch. “Schazar and I are now in control. I suggest that you now take your places at the table.” He spoke to the young man in pink: “Is there sufficient space for two under the reservoir?”

  “Yes,” said the young man grudgingly. “Just barely. Bu
t tell me: if I cooperate with you, how will I protect myself from the eel-master?”

  “Be frank with him,” said Reith. “State that you value your life more than his sequins.”

  “He will say that as far as he is concerned, affairs are reversed.”

  “Too bad,” said Reith. “The hazard of your trade. How soon should we be in position?”

  “Within a minute or so.”

  Reith removed his outer garments. “If by some ineptness we are detected ... surely the consequences are as plain to you as to me.”

  The apprentice merely grunted. He doffed his pink robe. “Follow me.” He stepped into the tank. “The way is dark but straight.”

  Reith joined him in the tank. The young man drew a deep breath and submerged; Reith did the same. At the bottom, finding a horizontal tube about three feet in diameter, he pulled himself through, staying close behind the apprentice.

  They surfaced in a space about four feet long, a foot and a half high, a foot wide. Light entered through artfully arranged crevices, which also allowed a view over the gaming tables; Reith thus could see that both Cauch and Widisch had found places along the counter.

  From near at hand came the eel-master’s voice. “Welcome all to another day of exciting races. Who will win? Who will lose? No one knows. It may be me, it may be you. But we all will enjoy the fun of the races. For those who are new to our little game, you will notice that the board before you is marked with eleven colors. You may bet any amount on any of the colors. If your color wins, you are paid ten times the amount of your bet. Note these eels and their colors: white, gray, tawny, light blue, brown, dark red, vermilion, blue, green, violet, black. Are there any questions?”