The Blue World

by Jack Vance

  She turned impulsively to him, took his arm. “There are other floats, to east and west. Why don’t we go, leave King Kragen behind?”

  Sklar Hast gloomily shook his head. “King Kragen wouldn’t let us go.”

  “We could wait until he was at the far west, at Almack or Sciona, and sail east. He’d never know.”

  “We could do that—and leave King Kragen supreme. Do you think this would be the way of the Firsts?”

  Meril reflected. “I don’t know … After all, they fled the tyrants; they did not return to attack them.” `

  “They had no choice! The Ship of Space sank in the ocean.”

  Meril shook her head. “They had no intention of attacking anyone. They considered themselves lucky to escape … Frankly, there is much in the Memoria that puzzles me, allusions I don’t comprehend, especially in regard to the tyrants.”

  Sklar Hast picked up Meril’s concordance to the Memoria, opened the pages. Spelling out the letters with difficulty, for his eyes and mind were attuned to hoodwink configurations, he found the entry entitled “Kragen.”

  Meril, noticing what he read, said, “The references aren’t very explicit.” She ran her finger swiftly along the references, opened books.

  “This is Eleanor Morse: ‘All is peace, all is ideal, save only for one rather horrible aquatic beast: fish? Insect? Echinoderm? The classifications are meaningless, of course; we’ve decided to call them kragen,’ And Paul van Blee writes: ‘About our only spectator sport is watching the kragen and betting which one of us gets eaten first. We’ve seen some monstrous specimens, up to twenty feet in length. Certainly no encouragement for aquatic sports!’ James Brunet, the scientist; says: ‘The other day Joe Kamy stuck a tender young kragen, scarcely four feet long, with a sharp stick. Blood—or whatever you wish to call it—ran blue, like some of the terrestrial lobsters and crabs. I wonder if that indicates a similar internal chemistry. Hemoglobin contains iron, chlorophyll, magnesium; hemocyanin, as in blue lobster blood, copper. It’s a powerful beast, this kragen, and I’d swear intelligent.’ That’s about all anyone says about the kragen.”

  Sklar Hast nodded. “Something that puzzles me and that I can’t get away from: if the intercessors are able to communicate with the kragen, even to the extent of summoning it—how do they do it? Through the Master Hoodwink? Does he flash some particular signal? I’ve never heard of any such system.”

  “Nor I,” said Meril, rather stiffly.

  “You can’t know,” said Sklar Hast, “because you’re not a hoodwink.”

  “I know my father never called King Kragen to Tranque Float.”

  “Voiderveg admitted that he did so. But how?” He rose to his feet and stood looking off across the float. “Well—I must work with the others.” He hesitated a moment, but Meril Rohan offered him no encouragement. “Is there anything you need?” he asked presently. “Remember, I am Guild-Master now and you are under my protection, so you must call me if there is any lack.”

  Meril Rohan gave a terse nod.

  “Will you be my spouse, untested?” asked Sklar Hast, rather lamely.

  “No.” Her mood had changed once more, and she had become remote. Sklar Hast wondered why. “I need nothing,” she said. “Thank you.”

  Sklar Hast turned away and went to join those who disassembled the old hoodwink tower. He had acted too precipitously, too awkwardly, he told himself. With Zander Rohan only days dead, Meril undoubtedly still grieved and could hardly be interested in offers of espousal.

  He put her from his mind, and joined the hoodwinks and larceners who were salvaging such of the old structure as was useful. Broken withe, fragments of torn pad-skin trash, were taken to a fire-raft floating on the lagoon and burned, and in short order the look of devastation disappeared.

  Hooligans meanwhile had raised the net and were repairing the damage. Sklar Hast paused to watch them, then spoke to Roger Kelso, the scrivener, who for reasons of his own had come to Tranque Float. “Imagine a net of heavy hawser hanging over the lagoon. King Kragen swims into the lagoon, anxious to glut himself. The net drops; King Kragen is entangled … ” He paused.

  “And then?” inquired Roger Kelso with a saturnine grin.

  “Then we bind him securely, tow him out to sea and bid him farewell.”

  Roger Kelso nodded. “Possible—under optimum conditions. I have two objections. First, his mandibles. He might well cut the net in trout of him, extend his palps, draw around more of the net, and cut himself free. Secondly, the intercessors. They would observe the suspended net, guess its purpose, and either warn King Kragen away or invite him to come and punish the criminals who sought to kill him.”

  Sklar Hast sadly agreed. “Whatever means we ultimately fix upon, the intercessors must never learn of it.”

  The Master Larcener Rollo Barnack, had heard the conversation. Now he said, “I have also given thought to the problem of King Kragen. A solution has occurred to me: a device of innocent appearance which, if all goes well—and mind you, there is no guarantee of this—but as I say, if all goes precisely, King Kragen might well be killed. Best of all, the vigilance of Semm Voiderveg need not be aroused.”

  “You interest me extremely,” said Sklar Hast. “Describe this ingenious device.”

  Rollo Barnack started to speak, but,noting the approach of Arbiter Ixon Myrex, Intercessor Semm Voiderveg, and several others of like conviction, held his tongue. Arbiter Myrex was spokesman for the group. His voice was clear, firm, and unemotional; clearly the confrontation had been discussed and rehearsed. “Sklar Hast, we speak to you now in a spirit not necessarily of amity, but at least one of compromise?

  Sklar Hast nodded warily. “Speak on.”

  “You will agree that chaos, disorder, destruction, and contention must be halted, absolutely and definitely; that Tranque Float must be restored to its former high status and reputation.” He looked at Sklar Hast expectantly.

  “Continue,” said Sklar Hast.

  “You make no response,” complained Ixon Myrex.

  “You asked no question,” said Sklar Hast. “You merely uttered an assertion.”

  Ixon Myrex made a petulant gesture. “Do you so agree?”

  “Certainly,” said Sklar Hast. “Do you expect me to argue otherwise?”

  Arbiter Myrex ignored the question. “We must necessarily cooperate. It is impossible that conditions can return to normal unless all of us exert ourselves to this end, and—er—make certain sacrifices.” He paused, but Sklar Hast made no remark. “Essentially, it seems absurd and paradoxical that you, with your fanatically unorthodox views, should continue in an office which carries great weight and prestige. The best interests of the float are served by your voluntary relinquishment of the office.”

  “Indeed. And what sacrifices do you propose to make?”

  “We are agreed that if you display a sense of responsibility, relinquish the guild-mastership, make a sober, sincere profession of orthodoxy, we will remit your delinquencies and hold them no longer, to your discredit.”

  “This is magnanimity indeed,” sneered Sklar Hast.

  “What sort of blubbering water-sheep do you take me for?”

  Ixon Myrex nodded curtly. “We feared that this might be your response. Now violence is as abhorrent to us as it is to every man and woman of the floats, and therefore we make no threats. Nevertheless we require from you a solemn undertaking never again to engage in unorthodox activities, or those which challenge the authority of King Kragen.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then we will ask that you depart Tranque Float.”

  “And where do you suggest that I go?”

  Semm Voiderveg could contain his passion no longer. He pointed a white quivering finger to the sea. “We suggest that you and others of your ilk depart! There are other floats; they are mentioned in the Analects; the Firsts saw them when the Ship of Space came down. Go forth then to some other float and allow us who wish peace to live as we always have.”


  Sklar Hast’s lip curled. “What of King Kragen? It seems that you contravene the Covenant, suggesting that I trespass upon his ocean. What of that?”

  “The trespass then becomes an issue between you and King Kragen! The affair is none of mine.”

  “And if King Kragen follows us to our new domicile, deserting the Home Floats? What would the intercessors do then?”

  Semm Voiderveg blinked. The concept clearly took him by surprise. “If such an exigency arises, be assured that we will know how to deal with it.”

  Sklar Hast prepared to return to his work. “I will not resign my rightful guild-mastership; I promise no fidelity to you or King Kragen; I will not set forth across the ocean.”

  Semm Voiderveg started to speak; but Ixon Myrex held up his hand. “What then do you plan?” he asked cannily.

  Sklar Hast stared at him a long moment, with conflicting impulses struggling inside his brain. All prudence and sagacity urged him to dissemble, to feign orthodoxy or at least disinterest, while he arrived at some method to kill King Kragen. But what if he failed in the attempt? Then once again Tranque Float would be devastated and people who wanted nothing to do with the project would be injured, even killed. It seemed only just that he announce his intentions, in order to give those who disapproved a chance to remove themselves. But by so warning Ixon Myrex and Semm Voiderveg he guaranteed himself of their vigilance, their antagonism, and possibly their interference. It was simple common sense and good generalship to dissemble, to calm Ixon Myrex and Semm Voiderveg and blunt their suspicions. What if a few innocent persons did get killed? No battles were won without casualties. And Sklar Hast tried to twist his tongue to speak evasion and reassurance, but he could not do it; he was physically unable to put on the necessary mask, and felt a great anger for his own weakness.

  “If I were you,” he said roughly, “I’d depart Tranque Float and stay away. Because there might well be further unorthodoxy, as you call it.”

  “Exactly in what degree?” asked Ixon Myrex crisply.

  “I’ve made no plans. I wouldn’t tell you in any event. But now, against my better judgment, I’ve warned you.”

  Semm Voiderveg once more began to speak, but once more Ixon Myrex silenced him. “I see that our attempt at a harmonious solution is in vain. You warned me; I will warn you. Any attempt to offend King Kragen, any attempt upon his dignity will be regarded as a capital crime. That is my judgment as Arbiter of Tranque Float! You have challenged authority and the majesty of tradition. Beware that your impudence does not bring you to grief!”

  One of the others spoke: Gian Recargo, the Bezzler Elder, a man of great gentility, rectitude, and presence. “Sklar Hast, are you aware of your irresponsibility? You threaten the lives and properties of others who wish no part of your mad antics; do you not feel shame?”

  “I have thought at length about the situation,” said Sklar Hast. “I have concluded that a great evil exists, that inertia and fear press so heavily upon otherwise worthy folk like yourself that you abide this evil. Someone must be willing to take great risks, even with the lives of other people. This is not irresponsibility; it is far more responsibility than I relish. The judgment is not solely my own; I am no monomaniac. Many other sane and responsible folk agree with me that King Kragen must be defeated. Why do you not join us? Once the sea-beast is destroyed, we are free. Is not this worth the risk? We can use the ocean as we please! We need feed the gluttonous maw no longer! The intercessors will be deprived of their sinecures and must then work like the rest of us, which appalls them; hence their antagonism. This is the way the future must go!”

  Gian Recargo was silent. Ixon Myrex tugged irritably on his beard. A heavy half moment went by. Semm Voiderveg looked at them impatiently. “Why do you not refute this incredible diatribe?”

  Gian Recargo turned away to look out over the lagoon; “I must think at length,” he muttered. “I do not care to hear such a challenge to my courage.”

  “Bah,” said Ixon Myrex uneasily. “Conditions were well enough in the past. Who wants to sail the ocean? And the sponges consumed by King Kragen are not a staggering tax upon us.”

  Semm Voiderveg smote the air with his fist. “This is superficial! The issue is Sklar Hast’s abominable arrogance, his disrespect and irreverence toward our great King Kragen!”

  Gian Recargo turned on his heel and walked slowly off across the float, Semm Voiderveg made another angry gesticulation. Ixon Myrex held his ground a moment longer, turned a searching gaze upon ruined tower, lagoon, Sklar Hast, the others who stood attentively about, then made a nondescript sound and marched away.

  The hoodwinks and larceners returned to work. Sklar Hast, with Roger Kelso, went off to confer with Rollo Barnack, to hear his plan for killing King Kragen. Both agreed that if conditions were right, if timing were precise, if the materials were sufficiently tough, King Kragen might well be killed.

  Chapter 7

  Gradually the evidence of disaster disappeared; gradually Tranque Float resumed its normal aspect. The broken huts and shattered timbers were burned on the fire-raft, and the ashes carefully stored for later use in the manufacture, of soap, whitewash, fire-brick, the mordanting of cloth, the weighting of sinkers, the clarification of varnish. The corpses, after two weeks’ submersion in special receptacles, during which time certain small finned worms stripped the flesh from the bones, were conveyed to a remote part of the float where the hardest bones were removed, and the remainder calcined for lime: a work which traditionally had been the exclusive domain of advertisermen.

  Withe had been cut, seasoned, formed into new huts, covered with pad-skin and varnished; new sponge arbors had been built, seeded with floss and lowered into the bright blue water.

  The hoodwink tower, the most massive and complicated object of the float, was the last structure to he rebuilt. The new tower was even taller than the old, more massive in design, with a site somewhat closer to the lagoon.

  The method of construction was also different from the old and elicited considerable comment among the folk of Tranque Float. Customarily each leg descended through a hole in the float to be anchored in the crotch of a sturdy underwater stem. In the new tower these supports terminated in a low platform twenty-five feet square, and from this platform rose the four legs: great poles a hundred feet long fabricated from lengths of withe laid in varnish and whipped. The legs, held rigid by spreaders, gradually converged, to terminate in a frame six feet square.

  The proportions of the tower, the mass of the poles, and the comparatively small area of the base platform, aroused as much curiosity and criticism as the unconventional method of construction. Ixon Myrex on one occasion taxed Rollo Barnack, the Master Larcener, with unorthodoxy.

  “Never have I seen a tower of this sort before!” he complained. “I see no need for such heavy construction. The posts are as staunch above as they are below: why is this?”

  “It lends an added solidity,” declared Rollo Barnack with a wise wink.

  “Solid perhaps, but so precariously narrow at the base that a good gust of wind will tip it over and hurl it into the lagoon!”

  “Do you really think so?” Rollo Barnack asked earnestly, standing back and inspecting the tower as if this were his first clear view of it.

  “I am no larcener,” Ixon Myrex went on, “and I know little enough of construction, but this is how it appears to. me. Especially when the tower house is built aloft and the lamps and hoods hung on the cross-arm! Think of the force, the leverage!”

  “You are quite right,” said Rollo Barnack, “To counteract this force we propose to run guy-lines.”

  The Arbiter shook his head in puzzlement. “Why did you not build in the old manner, with legs sufficiently outspread so that the guy-lines were not needed? This seems overcomplicated to me.”

  “We use much less float area,” Rollo Barnack pointed out. “This is a significant consideration.”

  Ixon Myrex shook his head without conviction, but made no furt
her protest.

  So the guy-lines were extended. Next the control house was added, then the great yardarm on which the hoods and lamps hung. This last was constructed with the most meticulous care, from sections of the densest stem obtainable. Ixon Myrex, once again inspecting the construction, was astounded by the mass of the yardarm. In explanation, Rollo Barnack referred to the consequent lack of vibration and the greater control thus afforded the hoodwinks. “Have no fear, Arbiter. Every detail in the construction of this tower has been carefully thought out.”

  “Like the guy-ropes, I suppose?” Ixon Myrex inquired sarcastically. “And the manner in which the legs are affixed to the base platform—bound, no less! By ropes! Is this a solid manner in which to build a hoodwink tower?”

  “We hope it will fulfill its purpose,” Rollo Barnack said. “If it does this, we shall ask no more of it.”

  And again Ixon Myrex departed, shaking his head.

  During this time King Kragen had not appeared in the vicinity of Tranque Float.

  From the Thrasneck hoodwink tower came occasional news of his whereabouts: he had been seen cruising to the south of Sankston heading west; he had put in at Populous Equity to feed; he had fed again at Parnassus, the float next west. Thereafter he submerged, and for two days nothing was heard of him.

  Tranque was almost back to normal. The sponges were growing large and beginning to burst from their husks; the huts had all been rebuilt; the new hoodwink tower, if somewhat ponderous and top-heavy, stood tall and impressive.

  The yardarm had been a long time in preparation. Each end was tapered to a point and boiled in varnish for three days, then baked over a slow fire, until the stem was hard and dense. Along the lengths were fixed reinforcing struts; and all scraped and buffed and oiled so it shone smooth and glossy.