Planet of Adventure Omnibus (33 page)

Through the
scanscope, Reith studied the landscape and the mountainside sloping down to the
spacefield from the east. Interesting, mused Reith, interesting indeed.

The captain,
coming past, identified the port as Ao Hidis, one of the important Wankh
centers. “I had no intent of faring south so far, but since we’re here, I’ll
try to sell my leathers and the Grenie woods; then I’ll take on Wankh chemicals
for Cath. A word of warning for those of you who intend to roister ashore.
There are two towns here: Ao Hidis proper, which is Man-town, and an
unpronounceable sound which is Wankh-town. In Man-town are several kinds of
people, including Lokhars, but mainly Blacks and Purples. They do not mingle;
they recognize their own kind only. In the streets you may walk without fear,
you may buy at any shop or booth with an open front. Do not enter any closed
shop or tavern, either Black or Purple; you’ll likely not come out.

There are no
public brothels. If you buy from a Black booth, do not stop at a Purple booth
with your goods; you will be resented and perhaps insulted, or, in certain
cases, attacked. The opposite holds true. As for Wankh-town, there is nothing
to do except stare at the Wankh, to which you are welcome, for they do not seem
to object. All considered, a dull port, with little amusement ashore.”

The
Vargaz
eased alongside a wharf flying a small purple pennon. “I patronized Purple on
my last visit,” the captain told Reith who had come up to the quarterdeck. “They
gave good service at a fair price; I see no reason to change.”

The
Vargaz
was moored by Purple longshoremen: roundfaced, roundheaded men with a
plum-colored cast to their complexion. From the neighboring Black dock Blacks
looked on with aloof hostility. These were physiognomically similar to the
Purples, but with gray skins oddly mottled with black.

“No one knows
the cause,” the Captain said, in regard to the color disparity. “The same
mother may produce one Purple child and one Black. Some blame diet; others
drugs; others hold that disease attacks a color-gland in the mother’s egg. But
Black and Purple they are born; and each calls the other pariah. When Black and
Purple breed, the union is sterile, or so it is said. The notion horrifies each
race; they would as soon couple with nighthounds.”

“What of the
Dirdirman?” asked Reith. “Is he likely to be molested?”

“Bah. The
Wankh take no notice of such trivia. The Blue Chasch are known for sadistic
malice. Dirdir stringencies are unpredictable. But in my experience the Wankh
are the most indifferent and remote people of Tschai, and seldom trouble with
men. Perhaps they do their evil in secret like Pnume; no one knows. The
Wankhmen are a different sort, cold as ghouls, and it is not wise to cross
them. Well then, we are docked. Are you going ashore? Remember my warnings; Ao
Hidis is a harsh city. Ignore both Black and Purple; talk to no one; interfere
with nothing. Last visit I lost a seaman who bought a shawl at a Black shop,
then drank wine at a Purple booth. He staggered aboard the ship with foam
coming from his nose.”

Anacho chose
to remain aboard the
Vargaz
. Reith went ashore with Traz. Crossing the
dock they found themselves on a wide street paved with slabs of mica-schist. To
either side were houses built crudely of stone and timber, surrounded by
rubbish. A few motor vehicles of a type Reith had not previously seen moved
along the street; Reith assumed them to be of Wankh manufacture.

Around the
shore to the north rose the Wankh towers. In this direction also lay the
spaceport.

There seemed
to be no public conveyances; Reith and Traz set off on foot. The huts gave way
to somewhat more pretentious dwellings, and then they came to a square
surrounded on all sides by shops and booths. Half of the folk were Black, half
Purple; neither took notice of the other. Blacks patronized Blacks; Purple
shops and booths served Purples. Blacks and Purples jostled each other, without
acknowledgment or apology. Detestation hung in the air like a reek.

Reith and
Traz crossed the square, continued north along a road paved with concrete, and
presently came to a fence of tall glass rods surrounding the spacefield. Reith
halted, surveyed the lie of the land.

“I am not
naturally a thief,” he told Traz. “But notice the little spaceboat! I would
gladly confiscate that from its present owner.”

“It is a
Wankh boat,” Traz pointed out pessimistically. “You would not know how to
control it.”

Reith nodded.
“True. But if I had time-a week or so-I could learn. Spacecraft are necessarily
similar.”

“Think of the
practicalities!” Traz admonished him.

Reith
concealed a grin. Traz occasionally reverted to the stern personality of
Onmale, the near-vital emblem which Traz had worn at the time of their first
meeting. Traz shook his head dubiously. “Are valuable vehicles left unattended,
ready to fly off into the sky? Unlikely!”

“No one seems
to be aboard the small ship,” argued Reith. “Even the freighters seem to be
empty. Why should there be vigilance? Who would wish to steal them, except a
person like myself?”

“Well then,
what if you managed to enter the ship?” Traz demanded. “Before you could
understand how to operate the machinery, you would be found and killed.”

“No question
but that the project is risky,” agreed Reith.

They returned
to the port, and the
Vargaz
, when once more they were aboard, seemed a
haven of normalcy.

Cargo was
discharged and loaded all during the night. In the morning with all passengers
and crew members aboard, the
Vargaz
threw off moorings, hoisted sail and
glided back out into the Draschade Ocean.

The
Vargaz
sailed north under the bleak Kachan coast. On the first day a dozen Wankh keeps
appeared ahead, passed abeam and were left in the haze astern. On the second
day the
Vargaz
passed in front of three great fjords. From the last of
these a motor galley plunged forth, wake churning up astern. The captain
immediately sent two men to man the blast-cannon. The galley cut through the
swells to pass behind the cog; the captain instantly put about and brought the
cannon to bear once more. The galley swung away and off to sea, with the jeers
and hoots from the men aboard coming faintly across the water.

A week later
Dragan, first of the Isles of Cloud, appeared on the port beam. On the following
day the cog put into Wyness; here Palo Barba, his spouse, and his orange-haired
daughters disembarked. Traz looked wistfully after them. Edwe turned and waved;
then the family was lost to sight among the yellow silks and white linen cloaks
of the dockside crowd.

Two days the
cog lay at Wyness, unloading cargo, taking on stores and fitting new sails;
then the lines were thrown off and the cog put to sea.

With a brisk
wind from the west the
Vargaz
drove through the chop of the Parapan. A
day passed and a night and another day, and the atmosphere aboard the
Vargaz
became suspenseful, with all hands looking east, trying to locate the loom of
Charchan. Evening came; the sun sank into a sad welter of brown and gray and
murky orange. The evening meal was a platter of dried fruit and pickled fish,
which no one ate, preferring to stand by the rail. The night drew on; the wind
lessened; one by one the passengers retired to their cabins. Reith remained on
deck, musing upon the circumstances of his life. Time passed. From the
quarterdeck came a grumble of orders; the main yard creaked down the mast and
the
Vargaz
lost way. Reith went back to the rail. Through the dark
glimmered a shine of far lights: the coast of Cath.

DAWN REVEALED
A low-lying shore, black against the sepia sky. The mainsail was hoisted to the
morning breeze; the
Vargaz
moved into the harbor of Vervodei.

The sun rose
to reveal the face of the sleeping city. To the north tall flatfaced buildings
overlooked the harbor, to the south were wharves and warehouses.

The
Vargaz
dropped anchor; the sails rattled down the mast. A pinnace rowed out with lines
and the
Vargaz
was heaved sternfirst against a dock. Port officials came
aboard, consulted with the captain, exchanged salutes with Dordolio and
departed. The voyage was at an end.

Reith bade
the captain goodbye and with Traz and Anacho went ashore. As they stood on the
dock Dordolio approached. He spoke in an offhand voice. “I now take my leave of
you, since I depart immediately for Settra.”

Wary and
wondering as to Dordolio’s motives, Reith asked: “The Blue Jade Palace is at
Settra?”

“Yes, of
course.” Dordolio pulled at his mustache. “You need not concern yourself in
this regard; I will convey all necessary news to the Blue Jade Lord.”

“Still, there
is much that you do not know,” said Reith. “In fact, nearly everything.”

“Your
information will be of no great consolation,” said Dordolio stiffly.

“Perhaps not.
But surely he will be interested.”

Dordolio
shook his head in sad exasperation. “Quixotic! You know nothing of the
ceremonies! Do you expect simply to walk up to the Lord and blurt out your
tale? Crassness. And your clothes: unsuitable! Not to mention the marmoreal
Dirdirman and the nomad lad.”

“We must
trust to the courtesy and tolerance of the Blue Jade Lord,” said Reith.

“Bah,”
muttered Dordolio. “You have no shame.” But still he delayed, frowning off up
the street. He said, “You definitely plan to visit Settra then?”

“Yes, of
course.”

“Accept my
advice. Tonight stop at one of the local inns-the Dulvan yonder is
adequate-then tomorrow or the next day visit a reputable haberdasher and put
yourself into his hands. Then, suitably clothed, come to Settra. The Travelers’
Inn on the Oval will furnish you suitable accommodation. Under these circumstances,
perhaps you will do me a service. I seem to have misplaced my funds, and I
would be obliged to you for the loan of a hundred sequins to take me to Settra.”

“Certainly,”
said Reith. “But let us all go to Settra together.”

Dordolio made
a petulant gesture. “I am in haste. Your preparations will consume time.”

“Not at all,”
said Reith. “We are ready at this moment. Lead the way.”

Dordolio
scanned Reith from head to toe, in vast distaste. “The least I can do, for our
mutual comfort, is to see you into respectable clothes. Come along then.” He
set off along the esplanade toward the center of town. Reith, Traz and Anacho
followed, Traz seething with indignation. “Why do we suffer his arrogance?”

“The Yao are
mercurial folk,” said Anacho. “Pointless to become disturbed.”

Away from the
docks the city took on its own character. Wide, somewhat stark, streets ran
between flat-faced buildings of glazed brick under steep roofs of brown tile.
Everywhere a state of genteel dilapidation was evident. The activity of Coad
was absent; the few folk abroad carried themselves with self-effacing reserve.
Some wore complicated suits, white linen shirts, cravats tied in complex knots
and bows. Others, apparently of lesser status, wore loose breeches of green or
tan, jackets and blouses of various subdued colors.

Dordolio led
the way to a large open-fronted shop, in which several dozen men and women sat
sewing garments. Signaling to the three following him, Dordolio entered the
shop. Reith, Anacho, and Traz entered and waited while Dordolio spoke
energetically to the bald old proprietor.

Dordolio came
to confer with Reith. “I have described your needs; the clothier will fit you
from his stock, at no large expense.”

Three pale
young men appeared, wheeling racks of finished garments. The proprietor made
swift selection, laid them before Reith, Traz, and Anacho. “These I believe
will suit the gentlemen. If they would care to change immediately, the dressing
rooms are at hand “

Reith
inspected the garments critically. The cloth seemed a trifle coarse; the colors
were somewhat raw. Reith glanced at Anacho, whose reflective smile reinforced
his own assumptions. Reith said to Dordolio: “Your own clothes are the worse
for wear. Why not try on this suit?”

Dordolio
stood back with eyebrows raised high. “I am satisfied with what I wear.”

Reith put
down the garments. “These are not suitable,” he told the clothier. “Show me
your catalog, or whatever you work from.”

“As you wish,
sir.”

Reith, with
Anacho watching gravely, looked through a hundred or so color sketches. He
pointed to a conservatively cut suit of dark blue. “What of this?”

Dordolio made
an impatient sound. “The garments a wealthy vegetable grower might wear to an
intimate funeral.”

Reith
indicated another costume. “What of this?”

“Even less
appropriate: the lounge clothes of an elderly philosopher at his country
estate.”

“Hm. Well
then,” Reith told the clothier, “show me the clothes a somewhat younger
philosopher of impeccable good taste would wear on a casual visit to the city.”