by Jack Vance
Reith looked down into the pale oval of the girl’s face: an arch impudent face, at this moment alive with innocent — or not so innocent? — coquetry. Reith restrained the first words that rose to his lips. The girl was unquestionably appealing. “How is it you are not in bed with your sister Edwe?”
“Oh, simple! She is not in bed either. She sits with your friend Traz on the quarterdeck, beguiling and provoking, teasing and tormenting. She is much more of a flirt than I.”
Poor Traz, thought Reith. He asked, “What of your father and mother? Are they not concerned?”
“What’s it to them? When they were young, they dallied as ardently as any; is that not their right?”
“I suppose so. Customs vary, as you know.”
“What of you? What are the customs of your people?”
“Ambiguous and rather complicated,” said Reith. “There’s a great deal of variation.”
“This is the case with Cloud Islanders,” said Heizari, leaning somewhat closer. “We are by no means automatically amorous. But on occasions a certain mood comes over a person, which I believe to be the consequence of natural law.”
“No argument there.” Reith obeyed his impulse and kissed the piquant face. “Still, I don’t care to antagonize your father, natural law or not. He is an expert swordsman.”
“Have no fears on that score. If you require reassurance, doubtless he is still awake.”
“I don’t know quite what I’d ask him,” said Reith. “Well then, all things considered …” The two strolled forward and climbed the carved steps to the forepeak, and stood looking south across the sea. Az hung low in the west laying a line of amethyst prisms along the water. An orange-haired girl, a purple moon, a fairy-tale cog on a remote ocean: would he trade it all to be back on Earth? The answer had to be yes. And yet, why deny the attractions of the moment? Reith kissed the girl somewhat more fervently than before and now from the shadow of the anchor windlass, a person hitherto invisible jumped erect and departed in desperate haste. In the slanting moonlight Reith recognized Ylin Ylan, the Flower of Cath … His ardor was quenched; he looked miserably aft. And yet, why feel guilt? She had long since made it clear that the one-time relationship was at an end. Reith turned back to the orange-haired Heizari.
Chapter IV
The morning dawned without wind. The sun rose into a bird’s-egg sky: beige and dove-gray around the horizon, pale gray-blue at the zenith.
The morning meal, as usual, was coarse bread, salt fish, preserved fruit, and acrid tea. The company sat in silence, each occupied with morning thoughts.
The Flower of Cath was late. She slipped quietly into the saloon and took her place with a polite smile to left and right, and ate in a kind of reverie. Dordolio watched her with perplexity.
The captain looked in from the deck. “A day of calm. Tonight clouds and thunder. Tomorrow? No way of knowing. Unusual weather!”
Reith irritably forced himself to his usual conduct. No cause for misgivings: he had not changed; Ylin Ylan had changed. Even at the most intense stage of their relationship she had at all times kept part of herself secret: a persona represented by another of her many names? Reith forced her from his mind.
Ylin Ylan wasted no time in the saloon, but went out on deck, where she was joined by Dordolio. They leaned on the rail, Ylin Ylan speaking with great urgency, Dordolio pulling his mustache and occasionally interposing a word or two.
A seaman on the quarterdeck gave a sudden call and pointed across the water. Jumping up on the hatch Reith saw a dark floating shape, with a head and narrow shoulders, disturbingly manlike; the creature surged, disappeared below the surface. Reith turned to Anacho. “What was that?”
“A Pnume.”
“So far from land?”
“Why not? They are the same sort as the Phung. Who holds a Phung to account for his deeds?”
“But what does it do out here, in mid-ocean?”
“Perhaps it floats by night on the surface, watching the moons swing by.”
The morning passed. Traz and the two girls played quoits. The merchant mused through a leather-bound book. Palo Barba and Dordolio fenced for a period. Dordolio as usual flamboyant, whistling his steel through the air, stamping his feet, flourishing his arms.
Palo Barba presently tired of the sport. Dordolio stood twitching his blade. Ylin Ylan came to sit on the hatch. Dordolio turned to Reith. “Come, nomad, take up a foil; show me the skills of your native steppe.”
Reith instantly became wary. “They are very few; additionally I am out of practice. Perhaps another day.”
“Come, come,” cried Dordolio, eyes glittering. “I have heard reports of your adroitness. You must not refuse to demonstrate your technique.”
“You must excuse me; I am disinclined.”
“Yes, Adam Reith!” called Ylin Ylan. “Fence! You will disappoint us all!”
Reith turned his head, examined the Flower for a long moment. Her face, pinched and wan and quivering with emotion, was not the face of the girl he had known in Pera. In some fashion, change had come; he looked into the face of a stranger.
Reith turned his attention back to Dordolio, who evidently had been incited by the Flower of Cath. Whatever they planned was not to his advantage.
Palo Barba intervened. “Come,” he told Dordolio. “Let the man rest. I will play another set of passes, and give you all the exercise you require.”
“But I wish to engage this fellow,” declared Dordolio. “His attitudes are exasperating; I feel that he needs to be chastened.”
“If you intend to pick a quarrel,” said Palo Barba coldly, “that of course is your affair.”
“No quarrel,” declared Dordolio in a brassy somewhat nasal voice. “A demonstration, let us say. The fellow seems to equate the caste of Cath with common ruck. A significant difference exists, as I wish to make clear.”
Reith wearily rose to his feet. “Very well. What do you have in mind for your demonstration?”
“Foils, swords, as you wish. Since you are ignorant of chivalrous address, there shall be none; a simple ‘go’ must suffice.”
“And ‘stop’?”
Dordolio grinned through his mustache. “As circumstances dictate.”
“Very well.” He turned to Palo Barba. “Allow me to look over your weapons, if you please.”
Palo Barba opened his box. Reith selected a pair of short light blades.
Dordolio stared, eyebrows arched high in distaste. “Child’s weapons, for the training of boys!”
Reith hefted one of the blades, twitched it through the air. “This suits me well enough. If you are dissatisfied, use whatever blade you like.”
Dordolio grudgingly took up the light blade. “It has no life; it is without movement or backsnap —”
Reith lifted his sword, tilted Dordolio’s hat down over his eyes. “But responsive and serviceable, as you see.”
Dordolio removed the hat without comment, shot the cuffs of his white silk blouse. “Are you ready?”
“Whenever you are.”
Dordolio raised his sword in a preposterous salute, bowed right and left to the spectators. Reith drew back. “I thought you planned to forego the ceremonies.”
Dordolio merely drew back the corners of his mouth, to show his teeth, and performed one of his foot-stamping assaults. Reith parried without difficulty, feinted Dordolio out of position and swung down at one of the clasps which supported Dordolio’s breeches.
Dordolio jumped back, then attacked once more, the snarl replaced by a sinister grin. He stormed Reith’s defense, picking here and there, testing, probing; Reith reacted sluggishly. Dordolio feinted, drew Reith’s blade aside, lunged. Reith had already jumped away; Dordolio’s blade met empty air. Reith hacked down hard at the clasp, breaking it loose.
Dordolio drew back with a frown. Reith stepped forward, struck down at the other clasp, and Dordolio’s breeches grew loose about the waist.
Dordolio retreated, red in the face. He cast
down the sword. “These ridiculous playthings! Take up a real sword!”
“Use any sword you prefer. I will remain with this one. But, first, I suggest that you take steps to support your trousers; you will embarrass both of us.”
Dordolio bowed, with icy good grace. He went somewhat apart, tied his breeches to his belt with thongs. “I am ready. Since you insist, and since my purposes are punitive, I will use the weapon with which I am familiar.”
“As you like.”
Dordolio took up his long supple blade, flourished it around his head so that it sang in the air, then, nodding to Reith, came to the attack. The flexible tip swung in from right and left; Reith slid it away, and casually, almost as if by accident, tapped Dordolio’s cheek with the flat of his blade.
Dordolio blinked, and launched a furious prancing attack. Reith gave ground; Dordolio followed, stamping, lunging, cutting, striking from all sides. Reith parried, and tapped Dordolio’s other cheek. He then drew back. “I find myself winded; perhaps you have had enough exercise for the day?”
Dordolio stood glaring, nostrils distended, chest rising and falling. He turned away, gazed out to sea. He heaved a deep sigh, and turned back. “Yes,” he said in a dull voice. “We have exercised enough.” He looked down at his jeweled rapier, and for a moment appeared ready to cast it into the sea. Instead, he thrust it into his sheath, bowed to Reith. “Your swordplay is excellent. I am indebted for the demonstration.”
Palo Barba came forward. “Well spoken; a true cavalier of Cath! Enough of blades and metal; let us take a goblet of morning wine.”
Dordolio bowed. “Presently.” He went off to his cabin. The Flower of Cath sat as if carved from stone.
Heizari brought Reith a goblet of wine. “I have a wonderful idea.”
“Which is?”
“You must leave the ship at Wyness, come to Orchard Hill and assist at my father’s fencing academy. An easy life, without worries or fear.”
“The prospect is pleasant,” said Reith. “I wish I could … but I have other responsibilities.”
“Put them aside! Are responsibilities so important when one has a single life to live? But don’t answer.” She put her hand on Reith’s mouth. “I know what you will say. You are a strange man, Adam Reith, so grim and so easy all at once.”
“I don’t seem strange to myself. Tschai is strange; I’m quite ordinary.”
“Of course not!” laughed Heizari. “Tschai is —” She made a vague gesture. “Sometimes it is terrible … but strange? I know no other place.” She rose to her feet. “Well then, I will pour you more wine and perhaps I will drink as well. On so quiet a day what else is there to do?”
The captain passing near, halted. “Enjoy the calm while you can; winds are coming. Look to the north.”
On the horizon hung a bank of black clouds; the sea below glimmered like copper. Even as they watched a breath of air came across the sea, a curiously cool waft. The sails of the Vargaz flapped; the rigging creaked.
From the cabin came Dordolio. He had changed his garments; now he wore a suit of somber maroon, black velvet shoes, a billed hat of black velvet. He looked for Ylin Ylan; where was she? Far forward on the fore-peak, leaning on the rail, looking off to sea. Dordolio hesitated, then slowly turned away. Palo Barba handed him a goblet of wine; Dordolio silently took a seat under the great brass lantern.
The bank of clouds rolled south, giving off flashes of purple light, and presently the low grumble of thunder reached the Vargaz.
The lateen sails were furled; the cog moved sluggishly on a small square storm sail.
Sunset was an eery scene, the dark brown sun shining under black clouds. The Flower of Cath came from the sterncastle: stark naked she stood, looking up and down the decks, into the amazed faces of the passengers.
She held a dart pistol in one hand, a dagger in the other. Her face was set in a peculiar fixed smile; Reith who had known the face under a host of circumstances, would never have recognized it. Dordolio, giving an inarticulate bellow, ran forward.
The Flower of Cath aimed the pistol at him; Dordolio dodged; the dart sang past his head. She searched the deck; she spied Heizari, and stepped forward, pistol at the ready. Heizari cried out in fear, ran behind the mainmast. Lightning sprang from cloud to cloud; in the purple glare Dordolio sprang upon the Flower; she slashed him with the dagger; Dordolio staggered back with blood squirting from his neck. The Flower aimed the dart-gun, Dordolio rolled over behind the hatch. Heizari ran forward to the forecastle; the Flower pursued. A crewman emerged from the forecastle; to stand petrified. The Flower stabbed up into his astounded face; the man tumbled backward, down the companionway.
Heizari stood behind the foremast. Lightning spattered across the sky; thunder came almost at once.
The Flower stabbed deftly around the mast; the orange-haired girl clutched her side, tottered forth with a wondering face. The Flower aimed the dart gun but Palo Barba was there to knock it clattering to the deck. The Flower cut at him, cut at Reith who was trying to seize her, ran up the ladder to the forepeak, climbed out on the sprit.
The cog rose to the waves; the sprit reared and plunged. The sun sank into the ocean; the Flower turned to watch it, hanging to the forestay with one arm.
Reith called to her, “Come back, come back!”
She turned, looked at him, her face remote. “Derl!” called Reith. “Ylin Ylan!” The girl gave no signal she had heard. Reith called her other names: “Blue Jade Flower!” Then her court name: “Shar Zarin!”
She only gave him a regretful smile.
Reith sought to coax her. He used her child name: “Zozi … Zozi … Come back here.”
The girl’s face changed. She pulled herself closer to the stay, hugging it.
“Zozi! Won’t you talk to me? Come here, there’s a good girl.”
But her mind was far away, off where the sun was setting.
Reith called her secret name: “L’lae! Come, come here! Ktan calls you, L’lae!”
Again she shook her head, never taking her eyes from the sea.
Reith called the final name though it felt strange to his lips: her love name. He called, but thunder drowned the sound of his voice, and the girl did not hear. The sun was a small segment, swimming with antique colors. The Flower stepped from the sprit, and dropped into a hissing surge of spume. For an instant Reith thought he saw the spiral of her dark hair, and then she was gone.
Later, in the evening, with the Vargaz pitching up the great slopes and wallowing in a rush down into the troughs, Reith put a question to Ankhe at afram Anacho, the Dirdirman. “Had she simply lost her reason? Or was that awaile?”
“It was awaile. The refuge from shame.”
“But —” Reith started to speak, but could only make an inarticulate gesture.
“You gave attendance to the Cloud Isle girl. Her champion made a fool of himself. Humiliation lay across the future. She would have killed us all had she been able.”
“I find it incomprehensible,” muttered Reith.
“Naturally. You are not Yao. For the Blue Jade Princess, the pressure was too great. She is lucky. In Settra she would have been punished at a dramatic public torturing.”
Reith groped his way out on deck. The brass lantern creaked as it swung. Reith looked out over the blowing sea. Somewhere far away and deep, a white body floated in the dark.
Chapter V
Freakish winds blew throughout the night: gusts, breaths, blasts, whispers. Dawn brought an abrupt calm, and the sun found the Vargaz wallowing in a confused sea.
At noon a terrible squall sent the ship scudding south like a toy, the bluff bow battering the sea to froth. The passengers kept to the saloon, or to the trunk deck. Heizari, bandaged and pale, kept to the cabin she shared with Edwe. Reith sat with her for an hour. She could speak of nothing but her terrible experience. “But why should she do so dreadful a deed?”
“Apparently the Yao are prone to such acts.”
“I have heard
as much; but even insanity has a reason.”
“The Dirdirman says she was overwhelmed by shame.”
“What folly! A person as beautiful as she? What could she have done to affect her so?”
“I wouldn’t care to speculate,” muttered Reith.
The squalls continued, to drive the Vargaz far south of its course. The seas became gigantic hills lofting the Vargaz high, heaving the round hull bubbling and singing down the long slopes. Finally one morning the sun shone down from a dove-brown sky clean of clouds. The seas persisted a day longer, then gradually lessened, and the cog set all sail before a fair breeze from the west.
Three days later a dim black island loomed in the south, which the captain declared to be the haunt of corsairs; he kept a sharp lookout from the masthead until the island had merged into the murk of evening.
The days passed without distinguishing characteristic: curiously antiseptic days overshadowed by the uncertainty of the future. Reith became edgy and nervous. How long ago had been the events at Pera: a time so innocent and uncomplicated! At that time, Cath had seemed a haven of civilized security, with Reith certain that the Blue Jade Lord through gratitude would facilitate his plans. What a callow hope!
The cog approached the coast of Kachan, where the captain hoped to ride north-flowing currents up into the Parapan.
One morning, coming on deck, Reith found a remarkable island standing off the starboard beam: a place of no great extent, less than a quarter-mile in diameter, surrounded at the water’s edge by a wall of black glass a hundred feet high. Beyond rose a dozen massive buildings of various heights and graceless proportion.
Anacho the Dirdirman came to stand beside him, narrow shoulders hunched, long face dour. “There you see the stronghold of an evil race: the Wankh.”
“‘Evil’? Because they are at war with the Dirdir?”
“Because they will not end the war. What benefit to either Dirdir or Wankh is such a confrontation? The Dirdir offer disengagement; the Wankh refuse. A harsh inscrutable people!”