by Jack Vance
The night went on. The air became still and cold and Reith became aware of odors from the Dadiche gardens.
He dozed. When he awoke Az had appeared behind a line of sentinel adarak. Reith shifted his position, groaned, massaged his neck, recoiling at the odor of the still damp garments.
At the gate two of the security guards had disappeared. The third stood torpidly, half-asleep. In the booths the attendants sat looking morosely out over the empty spaces. Reith settled back into his niche.
The east became bright with dawn; the city came alive. New personnel arrived at the portal. Reith watched the incoming and outgoing groups exchange information.
An hour later drays began to arrive from Pera. The first, drawn by a pair of great draft beasts, brought casks of pickles and fermented meat, and stank with a fervor that put Reith to shame. On the driver’s bench sat two persons: Emmink, more sour, sulky and dire than ever, and Traz. “Forty-three,” shouted Emmink. “A hundred and one,” called Traz. The guards came out, counted barrels, inspected the wagon, then ordered Emmink to proceed.
As the wagon passed, Reith emerged from his niche, walked close beside. “Traz.’
Traz looked down and made a small exclamation of satisfaction. “I knew you’d still be alive.”
“Just barely. Do I look like a Chaschman?”
“Not too much. Keep the cloak over your chin and nose .... When we come back from market, up under the right foreleg of the right beast.”
Reith turned aside into a secluded little nook behind a shed and watched the wagon move off toward the market.
An hour later it returned, moving slowly. Emmink guided it along the right side of the road. It passed Reith; he emerged from his hiding place. The wagon stopped; Traz jumped down as if to lash the barrels more securely, but blocking off the view from the rear.
Reith ran forward, ducked under the draft beast. Between the first and second right-hand legs hung a great leathery flap of skin. Between the belly and the skin five thongs had been tied to make a tight cramped hammock, into which Reith inserted himself. The wagon started forward; Reith could see nothing but the gray belly, the dangling flap, the first two legs.
The wagon paused at the gate. He heard voices, saw the pointed red sandals of the security guards. After a suspenseful wait, the wagon started forward, rumbled out toward the surrounding hills. Reith could see the gravel of the road, an occasional bit of vegetation, the ponderous legs, the dangling flap which at every step clamped in upon him.
At last the dray halted. Traz peered under the beast. “Out, no one is watching.”
With almost insane relief Reith pulled himself from under the beast. He ripped off the false cranium, flung it in a ditch, threw off the cloak, the stinking jacket, the shirt, clambered up on the bed of the dray, where he slumped back against a barrel.
Traz resumed his seat beside Emmink, and the dray started forward. Traz looked back with concern. “Are you ill? Or wounded?”
“No. Tired. But alive-thanks to you. And Emmink, as well, or so it appears.”
Traz gave Emmink a frowning glance. “Emmink has been no great help. It was necessary to make threats, to inflict a bruise or two.
“I see,” said Reith. He turned a critical glance upon the draymaster’s hunched shoulders. “I’ve had one or two harsh thoughts in connection with Emmink myself.”
The shoulders quivered. Emmink swung around in his seat, thin face split in a yellow-toothed grin. “You’ll recall, sir, that I conveyed you and instructed you, even before I knew your lordship’s high rank.”
“‘High rank’?” asked Reith. “What ‘high rank’?’
“The council at Pera has appointed you chief executive,” said Traz. And he added, in a disparaging tone: “High rank of a sort, I suppose.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
REITH HAD No inclination to rule Pera. The occupation would exhaust his energy, destroy his patience, restrict his scope of action and bring him no personal advantage. Perforce, he would tend to govern in terms of Earth social philosophy. He considered the population of Pera: a motley group. Fugitives, criminals, bandits, freaks, hybrids, nondescripts, nonesuchs: what would these poor wretches know of equity, juridical procedure, human dignity, the ideal of progress?
A challenge, to say the least.
What of the space-boat, what of his hopes of returning to Earth? His adventures in Dadiche had verified only the location of the space-boat. The Blue Chasch would doubtless be amused and interested should he demand the return of his property.
&nbs; Inducements? Reith could hardly promise Earth military assistance against the Dirdir or the Wankh-whichever were the current adversaries of the Blue Chasch. Compulsion? He had no leverage, no force to apply.
Another matter: the Blue Chasch were now aware of his existence. Undoubtedly they wondered as to his identity, his homeland. Tschai was vast, with remote regions where men might have produced almost anything. The Blue Chasch must even now be anxiously consulting their maps.
As Reith reflected, the dray ground up the hill, passed through Belbal Gap, rumbled down toward the steppe. Sunlight warmed Reith’s skin; the steppe wind blew away the stench. He became drowsy and presently fell asleep.
He awoke to find the dray trundling over the ancient pavements of Pera. They entered the central plaza at the base of the citadel. As they passed the gibbets Reith saw swinging eight new bodies: Gnashters, the rakish swagger of their garments now a bedraggled and pathetic joke. Traz explained the circumstances, in the most casual of voices. “They decided to come down from the citadel, and so they did, waving their hands and laughing, as if the whole affair were a farce. How indignant they became when the militia seized them and hoisted them aloft! They were dead before they had ceased complaining!”
“So now the palace is empty,” said Reith, looking up at the mass of slabs and stones.
“So far as I know. I suppose you will choose to live there?”
Traz’s voice held a faint note of disapprobation. Reith grinned. The influence of Onmale persisted and occasionally manifested itself.
“No,” said Reith. “Naga Goho lived there. If we moved in, people would think we were a new set of Gohos.”
“It is a fine palace,” said Traz, dubious now. “It contains many interesting objects ...” He turned a quizzical glance toward Reith. “Apparently you have decided to rule Pera.”
“Yes,” said Reith. “Apparently I have.”
At the Dead Steppe Inn Reith rubbed himself in oil, soft sand, sifted ashes. He rinsed himself in clean water and repeated the process, thinking that soap would be one of the first innovations he would bring to the people of Pera, and Tschai at large. Was it possible that a substance so relatively simple as soap was unknown on Tschai? He would ask Derl, Ylin-Ylan, whatever her name, if soap was known in Cath.
Scrubbed, shaved, in fresh linen and new sandals of soft leather, Reith ate a meal of porridge and stew in the common room. A change in the atmosphere was apparent. The personnel of the inn treated him with exaggerated respect; others in the room spoke in quiet voices, watching him from the side of their faces.
Reith noticed a group of men standing in the compound, muttering together and peering into the inn from time to time. When he had finished his meal they entered and came to stand in a line in front of him.
Reith looked them over, recognizing some who had been present at Naga Goho’s execution. One was thin and yellow, with burning black eyes: a marsh-man, Reith guessed. Another appeared to be a mixture of Chaschman and Gray. Another was typical Gray, of medium height, bald with putty-colored skin, a fleshy lump of a nose, glossy protuberant eyes. The fourth was an old man from one of the nomad tribes, handsome in a haggard, wind-driven fashion; the fifth was short and barrel-shaped, with arms dangling almost to his knees, of derivation impossible to calculate. The old man of the steppes had been designated spokesman. He spoke in a husky voice. “We are the Committee of Five, formed according to your recommendation. We have held a
long discussion. Inasmuch as you have been of assistance in destroying Naga Goho and the Gnashters, we wish to appoint you headman of Pera.”
“Subject to our restraint and advice,” appended the Chaschman-Gray.
Reith had still not come to a definite, irrevocable decision. Leaning back in his chair he surveyed the committee, and thought that seldom, if ever, had he seen a more heterogeneous group.
“It’s not quite so easy,” he said at last. “You might not be willing to cooperate with me. I wouldn’t take on the job unless I was guaranteed that cooperation.”
“Cooperation toward what?” the Gray asked.
“Toward changes. Extreme, far-reaching changes.”
The committeemen examined him cautiously. “We are conservative folk,” the Chaschman—Gray muttered. “Life is hard; we cannot afford risky experiments.”
The old nomad gave a harsh crackling laugh. “‘Experiments’! We should welcome them! Any change can only be for the better! Let us hear what the man proposes!”
“Very well!” acceded the Chaschman—Gray. “It does no harm to listen; we are not committed.”
Reith said, “I am of this man’s opinion.” He indicated the old nomad. “Pera is a tumble of ruins. The people here are little better than fugitives. They have no pride or self-respect; they live in holes, they are dirty and ignorant, they wear rags. What’s worse, they don’t seem to care.”
The committee blinked in surprise. The old nomad gave a hoarse jeering laugh; the Chaschman—-Gray scowled. The others looked doubtful. Retiring a few paces, they muttered among themselves, then turned back to Reith. “Can you explain in detail what you propose to do?”
Reith shook his head. “I haven’t given the matter any thought. To be blunt, I am a civilized man; I was educated and trained in civilized circumstances. I know what men can achieve. It is a great deal-more perhaps than you can imagine. The folk of Pera are men; I would insist that they live like men.”
“Yes, yes,” cried the marsh-man, “but how? In what particular?”
“Well, in the first place, I would want a militia, disciplined, and well trained, to maintain order, to protect the city and caravans from the Green Chasch. I would organize schools and a hospital; later a foundry, warehouses, a market. Meanwhile I would encourage people to build houses, in clean surroundings.”
The committeemen fidgeted uneasily, looking askance at one another and at Reith. The old nomad grunted. “We are men, of course; who has denied it? And since we are men, we must live carefully. We do not desire to be Dirdir. Suffice that we survive.”
The Gray said, “The Blue Chasch would never allow such pretensions. They tolerate us at Pera only because we are inconspicuous.”
“But also because we supply certain of their wants,” stated the short man. “They buy our produce cheap.”
“It is never wise to irritate those in power,” argued the Gray. Reith held up his hand. “You’ve heard my program. If you won’t cooperate wholeheartedly-select another chief.”
The old nomad turned a searching glance at Reith, then drew the others apart. There was heated argument. Finally they returned. “We agree to your terms. You will be our chief.”
Reith, who had been hoping that the committee would decide otherwise, heaved a small sigh. “Very well, so be it. I warn you, I’ll demand a great deal from you. You’ll work harder than ever before in your lives-for your own ultimate good. Or at least I hope so.”
He spoke to the committee for an hour, explaining what he hoped to achieve, and succeeded in arousing interest, even guarded enthusiasm.
Late in the afternoon, Reith, with Anacho and three of the committee members, went to explore the erstwhile palace of Naga Goho.
Up the winding path they walked, with the grim pile of masonry looming overhead. They passed through the dank courtyard, into the main hall. Naga Goho’s cherished possessions: the heavy benches and table, the rugs, wall-hangings, tripod lamps, the platters and urns were already filmed over with dust.
Adjoining the hall were sleeping chambers, smelling of soiled clothing and aromatic unguents. The corpse of Naga Goho’s concubine lay as Reith had first discovered it. The group hastily drew back.
On the other side of the hall were storerooms stacked with great quantities of loot: bales of cloth, crates of leather, parcels of rare wood, tools, weapons, implements, ingots of raw metal, flasks of essence, books written in brown and gray dots upon black paper, which Anacho identified as Wankh production manuals. An alcove held a chest half-full of sequins. Two smaller coffers contained jewels, ornaments, trinkets, trifles: a magpie’s hoard. The committeemen selected steel swords with filigree pommels and guards for themselves; Traz and Anacho did likewise. Traz, after a diffident glance at Reith, arrayed himself in a fine golden ocher cloak, boots of soft black leather, a beautifully wrought casque of thin steel, drooping and splaying to protect the nape of the neck.
Reith located several dozen energy pistols with spent powercells. These, according to Anacho, could be recharged from the power-cells which drove the drays: a fact evidently unknown to Naga Goho.
The sun was low in the west when they departed the gloomy palace. Crossing the courtyard Reith noticed a squat door set back in a niche. He heaved it open, to reveal a flight of steep stone stairs. Up wafted a dismal draft, reeking of mold, organic decay, filth-and something else: a musky dank stench which stiffened the hairs at the back of Reith’s neck.
“Dungeons,” said Anacho laconically. “Listen.”
A feeble croaking murmur came up from below. Inside the door Reith found a lamp, but was unable to evoke light. Anacho tapped the top of the bulb, to produce a white radiance. “A Dirdir device.”
The group descended the steps, ready for anything, and stepped forth into a high-vaulted chamber. Traz, seizing at Reith’s arm, pointed; Reith saw a black shape gliding quietly off into the far shadows. “Pnume,” muttered Anacho, hunching his shoulders. “They infest the ruined places of Tschai, like worms in old wood.”
A high lamp cast a feeble light, revealing cages around the periphery of the room. In certain of these were bones, in others heaps of putrefying flesh, in others living creatures, from whom issued the sounds which the group had heard. “Water, water,” moaned the shambling figures. “Give us water!”
Reith held the lamp close. “Chaschmen.”
From a tank to the side of the room he filled pannikins of water and brought them to the cages.
The Chaschmen drank avidly and clamored for more, which Reith brought to them.
Heavy cages at the far end of the room held a pair of massive motionless figures with towering conical scalps.
“Green Chasch,” whispered Traz. “What did Naga Goho do with these?”
Anacho said, “Notice: they peer in a single direction only, the direction of their horde. They are telepathic.”
Reith dipped up two more pans of water, thrust them into the cages of the Green Chasch. The creatures reached ponderously, sucked the pans dry.
Reith returned to the Chaschmen. “How long have you been here?”
“A long, long time,” croaked one of the captives. “I cannot say how long.”
“Why were you caged?”
“Cruelty! Because we were Chaschmen!”
Reith returned to the committeemen. “Did you know they were here?”
“No! Naga Goho did as he pleased.”
Reith moved the linch-pins, opened the doors. “Come forth; you are free. The men who captured you are dead.”
The Chaschmen timorously crept forth. They went to the tank and drank more water. Reith turned back to examine the Green Chasch. “Very strange, strange indeed.”
“Perhaps Goho used them as indicators,” Anacho suggested. “He would know at all times the direction of their horde.”
“No one can talk to them?”
“They do not talk; they transfer thoughts.”
Reith turned to the committeemen. “Send up a dozen men, to carry the cag
es down to the plaza.”
“Bah,” muttered Bruntego the Gray. “Best kill the ugly beasts! Kill the Chaschmen as well!”
Reith turned him a quick glare. “We are not Gnashters! We kill from necessity only! As for the Chaschmen, let them go back to their servitude, or stay here as free men, whatever they wish.”
Bruntego gave a sour grunt. “If we do not kill them, they will kill us.”
Reith, making no answer, turned the lamp toward the remote parts of the dungeon, to find only dank stone walls. He could not learn how the Pnume had departed the chamber, nor could the Chaschmen give any coherent information. “They would come, silent as devils, to look at us, with never a word, nor would they bring us water!”
“Odd creatures,” ruminated Reith.
“They are the weirds of Tschai!” cried the Chaschmen, trembling to the emotion of their new freedom. “They should be purged from the planet!”
“As well as the Dirdir, the Wankh and the Chasch,” said Reith, grinning.
“No, not the Chasch. We are Chasch, did you not know?”
“You are men.”
“No, we are Chasch in the larval stage; this is prime verity!”
“Bah!” said Reith, suddenly angry. “Take off those ridiculous false heads.” He stepped forward, jerked away the conical headpieces. “You are men, you are nothing else! Why do you allow the Chasch to victimize you?”