Planet of Adventure Omnibus (22 page)

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.”

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!”