Maske: Thaery (15 page)

In a precise voice Jubal asked: “How much are you prepared to pay?”

She reckoned a moment. “For three thousand toldecks you can hire two stewards.”

“True. But is this justice?”

Mieltrude made an impatient gesture. “Let us talk of reality.”

“I was hoping you would get around to doing so. Look around this cabin. This table, these chairs, the berth yonder, the rug on the deck: this is reality. Even your father would concede this. This warrant derives from your insolent disregard of my life and comfort. The warrant is reality. If you continue your insolence you will feel the rat-whisk. That too is reality.”

Mieltrude listened without expression. She said in an almost idle voice: “I am not afraid of your rat-whisk. It means nothing to me. I will do as I see fit. I will not become your servant.”

“In that case,” said Jubal graciously, “you will remain in my custody until you decide to begin your penal servitude. Please notify me when the moment arrives; we will reckon two years from that instant.”

Mieltrude sat brooding. She was younger than he had supposed, thought Jubal, and certainly younger than Sune Mircea, whose charms, in retrospect, seemed somewhat obvious. To rollick Sune around a bed no doubt would be a rewarding experience for nerve, gland and body. To stand by the taffrail of the
Clanche
with Mieltrude, shoulders touching, watching the night sky and the monstrous rising of Skay, would be an exhilaration of the soul, to linger a lifetime. Talk of rat-whisks was simply preposterous.

Mieltrude finally spoke. “I assume that you are putting to sea?”

“Very likely.”

“So now you run away,” sneered Mieltrude, “Glint that you are, who breathed such fine fire against Ramus Ymph!”

Jubal managed a bitter laugh. “Yes, I run away, or rather sail away. Wysrod is too hot for me, thanks to you and your father.”

“These are matters beyond your comprehension.”

“I doubt that. Still, I have not forgotten Ramus Ymph; far from it.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“I don’t know yet. I won’t know until my mate comes aboard.”

“And who is your mate?”

“The owner of the
Clanche
. He should be aboard by dawn. And now, observe this locker. It is commodious, dark and not too uncomfortable. It is ventilated and it has a stout lock on the door. Inside, please. I must go ashore, to return the hack, and to arrange that a message be delivered to your father. He will be relieved to learn that you are in good hands. In with you! I will be no more than an hour; don’t be frightened.”

An hour later Jubal returned. He opened the door to the locker; Mieltrude, huddled in a corner, looked at him with the dilated gaze of a wild creature.

“Come,” said Jubal gruffly. He took her hand and lifted her erect. “Tonight you can sleep on the couch yonder.”

Mieltrude wordlessly went to the berth. She sat down and watched as Jubal drew a chair in front of the door and after dimming the lamp settled himself.

Mieltrude turned and half sitting, half kneeling, looked miserably through the porthole out across the Skay-lit bay. The Cham interposed its dark long hulk between bay and sky. Mieltrude thought she could see the lights of Hever House, and tears welled into her eyes. She half turned her head toward Jubal, then resolutely controlled her emotion. She was Mieltrude Hever of Hever House and she would never plead with a Glint. Especially not with Jubal Droad.

Skay crossed the sky, settled past the stern casements and down behind the Cham. The wind shifted; the
Clanche
swung about its mooring and the casements faced eastward.

The night passed. A silver-purple luster formed on the eastern sky and became a dull magenta glow. Mora rose into the sky. Something thudded against the hull and from the deck came the scrape of footsteps.

Mieltrude sat up on the berth, aroused by sudden hope. Could this be succor? Jubal no longer occupied the chair. She ran to the door; it refused to open. She peered through a porthole across the midship deck.

A tall harsh-faced man clambered aboard and went to sit beside Jubal on the hatch. He wore loose gray breeches and a faded blue singlet. Mieltrude knew him for a National.

Shrack spoke to Jubal. “I sat with Torquasso at the Chambros Inn and tried to match him cup for cup. I failed. He is a vast man. He has been cautioned to hold his tongue, but he despises Ramus Ymph and regaled me with all he knows. His charter extends for two months; this you know. He has provisioned the
Farwerl
; it is ready to sail. At midnight he was delivered a message. Torquasso is a perverse man. All evening he deplored his fate: hanging on the anchor at the whim of Ramus Ymph. The message distressed him no less. He is notified to be ready for immediate departure and suddenly Torquasso discovers that he has not yet drunk dry the taverns of Wysrod. When I left, he was hard at work.”

“Did the message mention a destination?”

“No.” Noticing a flicker of motion at the porthole, Shrack remarked, “I see that you have shipped a passenger.”

Already Jubal had begun to wonder at his Skay-madness of the night before. He felt defensive and a trifle foolish. “I served my warrant and took the person into custody.”

“It is your affair,” said Shrack.

“I’m not sure that the act was really sensible, but what’s done is done. And,” said Jubal shortly, “now I must take care of her.”

“Nai the Hever will be annoyed, but evidently you do not care.”

The observation in some small degree vitalized Jubal’s morale.

“I am annoyed with Nai the Hever.”

“Well, we shall see whose annoyance proves the more pungent. Incidentally, a dinghy is leaving the dock.

It might be bound for the
Farwerl
, and that hulk in the stern is surely Torquasso… No, Torquasso is aboard the
Farwerl
; his dinghy is at the stern.”

The two men climbed to the quarterdeck. Shrack took up a macroscope and studied the dinghy. He handed the instrument to Jubal.

“It is Ramus Ymph,” said Jubal.

“He is taking pains not to be recognized.”

“I know him by the way he sits… By the emanation which leaves his body.”

“So—what now?”

Jubal watched the dinghy sliding across the bay. “Theoretically I am still in the employ of D3. Nai the Hever would certainly instruct me to follow and investigate. We shall do so.”

Shrack put the macroscope back in the locker. “If you want to follow the
Farwerl
we should put out to sea now, then we won’t be quite so obvious.”

Jubal ran forward and cast off the mooring cable. The
Clanche
swung in a lazy half-circle and powered to the tidal lock. Twenty minutes later the vessel heaved to the surges of the Long Ocean. The kites went aloft, the wake bubbled astern, and Mieltrude’s hopes either of rescue or Jubal coming to his senses were finally dashed.

The dawn wind had died; the Long Ocean heaved to the slow swells which moved forever around the world. The surface showed glossy, viscous as waterglass. The black hills and pale violet sky reflected in wavering liquid distortions, and Mora was a dancing puddle of molten purple-white.

Shrack, barefoot at the control pedestal, had warped the kites to those few breaths of air which disturbed the calm. Already Shrack had put aside his shore garments and wore only a cocked black cap and baggy black breeches cut short above the knee. Jubal also had shed his blouse; beside Shrack’s oak-brown torso his skin appeared pale.

The
Clanche
drifted to the north, making barely perceptible headway. “When the
Farwerl
leaves the locks,”

said Shrack, “we’ll have the wind on her, what wind there is, and we can follow any course without obtruding upon Torquasso’s attention. Here he comes now.”

The tide-locks opened; the
Farwerl
moved out into the ocean. Up went the great kites, pink and pale blue; coincidentally the air began to stir and the
Farwerl
moved sedately forward.

Shrack watched through the macroscope. “He’s sailing a free reach. Maybe a point or two on the wind.”

“Where will that take him?”

Shrack indicated the chart. “See for yourself.”

Jubal studied the chart. “They’ll make the Dohobay coast east of Wellas, unless they’re bound for the Sea of Storms.”

“They’re not, or Torquasso would be on power, with kites folded, to make easting during this calm. I guess Wellas.”

“What would Ramus Ymph want in Wellas?”

“What would he want in Dohobay or in the Sea of Storms?”

“True.” Jubal swung down the companion-way to the main deck and slid back the door to the great cabin.

Mieltrude sat in the carved skaneel armchair. Jubal stared at her from the doorway, fighting qualms of guilt and shame. How pitiful this resplendent airy creature of silver and gold, miserably caught in a trap.

Jubal angrily marshaled before his conscience her bill of offenses and steeled himself to obduracy. He entered the cabin and seated himself on the settee. “Why does Ramus Ymph sail to Wellas?”

Mieltrude’s reply was indifferent and almost flippant. “The Nationals won’t allow him to fly.”

“What reasons could he have?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“You can’t even guess?”

Mieltrude ignored the question. “What are your intentions regarding me?”

“I’ve already explained.”

“I want to communicate with my father.”

Jubal shook his head. “Impractical, from my point of view.”

Mieltrude’s mouth drooped. “If I were to explain all the circumstances, would you take me back to Wysrod?”

Jubal leaned back on the settee. “You can justify your conduct?”

“If necessary.”

“I’ll listen, but I promise nothing in return.”

“Listen then. My father as you know commands the operations of D3. He carries a great responsibility and he must act accordingly. For several years he has known of strange and secret influences, which he is unable to comprehend.

“Meanwhile Ramus Ymph has been acting most peculiarly, and my father wondered if the mysteries were connected. In order to learn, he has been studying Ramus Ymph in a most careful manner. He dares ask no questions; he cannot threaten or molest; he can only apply cautious stimulation, such as barring Ramus Ymph from the Servantry.”

“And you participate in this stimulation.”

Mieltrude said evenly, “I fail to understand you.”

“You became betrothed to him. The match was either one of affection, convenience—or stimulation.”

“‘Stimulation’ is not an appropriate word.”

“But it applies, in the present sense?”

“Yes.”

“And you contrived an illegal warrant against me to make the ‘stimulation’ more convincing?”

“I contrived nothing. I did not sign the warrant.”

“Your signature is there.”

“Do you believe I would deliberately sign such a document against a stranger, no matter how crass? The warrant carried my signature only because someone had signed my name.”

“I have heard otherwise.”

“From whom?”

“Someone who was on the scene.”

“That would be Sune Mircea,” said Mieltrude without emphasis. “She is Ramus Ymph’s mistress, and utterly unprincipled. She signed my name to the warrant herself; she has a talent for such tricks.”

“I thought her to be your dear friend.”

“I find it hard to tolerate her. My father insists that we seem intimate so that he may transfer apparently secret information to Ramus Ymph. I am supposed to prattle secrets indiscreetly, and Sune takes them to Ramus Ymph.”

“Such as the fact of my return from Eiselbar so that I might be murdered?”

“That information came through Ymphs in the Space Force. But you had not yet been connected either with D3 or with the affair at the Parloury. Since my father could tolerate no conflict with the Ymphs, you must be rusticated to Glentlin, and by unhappy chance you ran afoul of Ramus Ymph in connection with Cape Junchion.”

“And what does he want with Cape Junchion?”

“That is one of the mysteries.”

“Come with me.” He took her up to the quarterdeck. Five miles to the northwest sailed the
Farwerl
, pink and blue kites leaning over the horizon. Shrack stood at the pedestal holding his own green and blue kites low and slack, but gradually easing the helm in order to follow the
Farwerl
.

Jubal spoke to Shrack. “They hold the same course?”

“They’re directly for Erdstone Pool: two weeks voyage.” He jerked his thumb toward Mieltrude, at the taffrail, looking wistfully back along the wake toward Thaery. “What of her?”

“She claims to be innocent. She says the warrant was forged with her name.”

“Anyone would say the same.”

“I believe her.”

Shrack laughed. “Why didn’t she tell you so before?”

“Simple arrogance, I suppose.”

“So we turn back?”

“Never. She is secondary to Ramus Ymph.” He went aft to the taffrail. The wind ruffled Mieltrude’s pale hair, revealing dark gold glints and shades. “Come look at the chart,” said Jubal.

She glanced at the display board. “Well?”

“There is Glentlin, terminating in Cape Junchion. Here is Wellas. What do you notice?”

Mieltrude shrugged. “They are almost opposite each other. Each extends into the Narrows, Cape Junchion from the south, Wellas from the north. There is nothing else to notice.”

“Except this. Ramus Ymph tried to sequester Cape Junchion. He is now in the boat yonder, bound for Wellas.”

Mieltrude examined the far kites of the
Farwerl
. “You should return to Wysrod and notify my father.”

“I don’t trust your father.”

Mieltrude curled her lip. “Why didn’t you follow his instructions? From the first time you swaggered into our house you have behaved as if you and not he were the Servant. He has been most patient with you!

Do you wonder that you are out of sympathy? Now you kidnap me, and even after I have explained the situation you refuse to release me.”

“I served my warrant in good faith. Perhaps, for a fact, you are guiltless; if so you should have appealed the warrant.”

“It was beyond conception that you would dare serve it.”

“Then you have brought the inconvenience upon yourself.”

Mieltrude made no reply.

Jubal pointed to the northeast. “There sails Ramus Ymph, on another of his mysterious missions. If your father knew, he would increase my salary and order me to give chase, without regard for your convenience.”

“Possibly, possibly not.”

“For a fact, our goals are different. He wants me to observe Ramus Ymph and learn his secrets. I want to tow him back to Wysrod at the end of a rope.”

Finding words inadequate, Mieltrude went to lean on the taffrail, to look broodingly back down the wake.

Mora rose high; the wind freshened. Swells approaching from the east lifted the
Clanche
, passed below and onward on their course around the world. The
Farwerl
had all but disappeared over the horizon. Skay rose in the east like a pale white mountain and swelled prodigiously up into the sky. Shrack overhauled the anchor winch. Mieltrude had gone to the cabin. Jubal sat on the quarterdeck, leaning back against the taffrail. Mieltrude emerged from the cabin and climbed to the quarterdeck. She gave Jubal only a cursory glance, then stood gazing at a great bank of cumulus clouds which, rearing high, eclipsed the lower limb of Skay. She still wore her party frock and pale blue slippers: an incongruous costume which somehow she managed to invest with dignity.

Jubal thought of Sune: treacherous, deceitful Sune, beguiling him in order to aid her lover. How foolish she must have thought him! Thoughtfully he studied Mieltrude’s graceful proportions. Could such a semblance also conceal duplicity?

Quite definitely yes. Already she had played falsely with Ramus Ymph, if her own statements were to be believed.

Mieltrude seemed to feel the pressure of Jubal’s attention. She turned to face him. “I am curious as to my present status.”

Jubal gave the question consideration, though the same question had preoccupied him during the morning.

“The question becomes: do I believe your explanation?”

“I am not accustomed to having my word doubted.”

“Before you’re home at Wysrod you’ll be accustomed to all manner of things.”

Mieltrude’s voice became even more frigid. “Then I must still consider myself a prisoner?”

“No,” said Jubal. “Not really.”

“Then you are rescinding the warrant.”

“Not altogether. In fact, no.”

“You should not detain me if your complaint is invalid.”

“Your father has even less right to victimize me. It is, in a sense, a balance of inequity.”

“And I am the scapegoat!”

“‘Fulcrum’ is a better word.”

“So in plain words, I am still a captive.”

“I took you into custody; I brought you aboard this ship; it is my responsibility to see you safely home.”

“Then turn this boat around and take me home now.”

“And lose Ramus Ymph? Your father would be viciously annoyed.”

Mieltrude turned angrily away.

The afternoon passed; Mora sank into the west. An hour before sunset a shoal of fortress-fish approached from the west. Shrack brought the ship’s gun to bear.

One of the creatures drifted to within a hundred feet of the
Clanche
, its dorsal turrets, each equipped with an eye and harpoon, rearing six feet above the boat’s gunwales.

The creature swung past, each eye in turn inspecting the boat and its occupants, then veered to join its fellows.

Mieltrude watched from the quarterdeck. For the first time Jubal saw animation in her face: interest, awe, a grimace of relief when the creature cruised away. She asked Shrack: “Do they ever attack?”

“Often enough. Seventy feet is the range of its harpoons. Any closer and I would have sunk it.”

Mieltrude looked around the sea with something like solemnity. “Do you often encounter danger?”

“If I remain alert I am seldom in danger. Except perhaps along the Dohobay coast where danger sometimes comes looking.”

“Why visit the Dohobay coast then?”

Shrack shrugged. “It lies on the world-route. The trade is profitable, if one avoids reefs, rocks, ship breakers, pirates.”

Again Mieltrude studied the sea. “Don’t you become bored with the solitude?”

Shrack shook his head. “Malaise
34
is more troublesome. The ocean is changeless. Sometimes a boat is found sailing by itself, with no one aboard. Malaise is always suspected.”

“And do you ever feel malaise?”

“I’ll feel none on this voyage.”

Mieltrude glanced toward Jubal, but made no comment. Presently she said: “The
Farwerl
has disappeared.

How can you follow it?”

“The
Farwerl
is steering toward Erdstone Pool. That is also our course.”

“Will we see Waels at Erdstone Pool?”

“Not many. They keep to themselves.”

“I am told that their irredemptibility has led them in strange directions, that they keep to themselves, worship trees, and that their Great God is a single tree, ancient as time.”

“There may be truth in what you say. Every Wael tends a grove of jin trees and devotes his life to them.

Just as in Thaery, there is overpopulation. Not too many Waels, but too many jin trees. They grow everywhere and there is room for little else, which makes life difficult for the Waels.”

“Do you believe that they are a mixed race, of Gaean and Djan?”

“I don’t know. They might even be a race mixed of men and trees. I heard of a National who raped a Wael girl. Soon after he became covered with a green moss which sprouted black flowers, and then he died.”

“And did the flowers bear fruit, or seeds?”

“No one knows; he was sunk in mid-ocean.”

“What is at Erdstone Pool?”

“A town of sorts, with warehouses for trade goods and boatyards along the beach. And of course Tanglefoot Tavern.”

“Is this where
Farwerl
is bound?”

“So it seems.”

“What could Ramus Ymph want on Wellas?”

“Maybe he wants to buy a boat.”

“Unlikely.”

“There’s nothing else there, and they won’t allow him away from the village.”

“It is all very strange… Sometimes I feel as if I were dreaming.”

The afternoon passed; sunset approached. Mora set in a glory of royal reds, cerise, dark blue, and finally a flush the color of the shachane flower, from which the Djan derived their purple dye.

Shrack, understanding that Jubal was too stubborn to cook for Mieltrude and that Mieltrude would starve before she troubled to feed herself, much less serve himself and Jubal, philosophically took himself to the galley and prepared a stew of meat and herbs. The three dined by lantern light on the midship deck, with a jug of soft green wine.

The wind died; the
Clanche
moved through the water on the impulse of its jectrolets. At the line of the horizon the glimmer of the
Farwerl
’s masthead-light appeared. Shrack disconnected the power and the
Clanche
ghosted by Skay-light. Jubal somewhat grudgingly cleared the galley; when he emerged Mieltrude sat on the taffrail bench with a goblet of wine while Shrack leaned against the binnacle. Jubal poured himself a mug of wine and sprawled out on the deck.