Planet of Adventure Omnibus (37 page)

“It is safe
to assume as much.”

“Then it
would be safe to assume that the Refluxive’s hall is monitored ... Perhaps I
was too free with advice.”

“If the dead
man were the monitor, your words are now lost. But allow me to take custody of
the notes. I will have them translated; there is a colony of Lokhars nearby and
some of them have a smattering of Wankh.”

“We will go
together,” said Reith. “Will tomorrow suit you?”

“Well enough,”
said Helsse glumly. He looked off across the Oval. “Finally then: what must I
tell Lord Cizante as to the boon?”

“I don’t
know,” said Reith. “I’ll have an answer tomorrow.”

“The
situation may be clarified even sooner,” said Helsse. “Here is Dordolio.”

Reith swung
around, to find Dordolio striding toward him, followed by two suave cavaliers.
Dordolio was clearly in a fury. He halted a yard in front of Reith and,
thrusting forth his head, blurted: “With your vicious tricks, you have ruined
me! Have you no shame?” He took off his hat, hurled it into Reith’s face. Reith
stepped aside, the hat went wheeling off into the Oval.

Dordolio
shook his finger in Reith’s face; Reith backed away a step. “Your death is
assured,” bellowed Dordolio. “But not by the honor of my sword! Low-caste assassins
will drown you in cattle excrement! Twenty pariahs will drub your corpse! A cur
will drag your head along the street by the tongue!”

Reith managed
a painful grin. “Cizante will arrange the same for you, at my request. It’s as
good a boon as any.”

“Cizante,
bah! A wicked parvenu, a moping invert. Blue Jade shall be nothing; the fall of
that palace will culminate the ‘round’!”

Helsse came
slightly forward. “Before you enlarge upon your remarkable assertions, be
advised that I represent the House of Blue Jade, and that I will be impelled to
report to his Excellency Lord Cizante the substance of your comments.”

“Do not bore
me with triviality!” stormed Dordolio. He furiously motioned to Reith. “Fetch
my hat, or tomorrow expect the first of the Twelve Touches!”

“A small
concession,” said Reith, “if it ensures your departure.” He picked up Dordolio’s
hat, shook it once or twice, handed it to him. “Your hat, which you threw
across the square.” He stepped around Dordolio, entered the foyer of the inn.
Dordolio gave a somewhat subdued caw of laughter, slapped his hat against his
thigh, and, signaling his comrades, walked away.

In the foyer
of the inn Reith asked Helsse, “What are the ‘Twelve Touches’?”

“At
intervals-perhaps a day, perhaps two days-an assassin will tap the victim with
a twig. The twelfth touch is fatal; the man dies. By accumulated poison, by a
single final dose, or by morbid suggestion, only the Assassins’ Guild knows.
And now I must return to Blue Jade. Lord Cizante will be interested in my
report.”

“What do you
intend to tell him?”

Helsse only
laughed. “You, the most secretive of men, asking me that! Still, Cizante will
hear that you have agreed to accept a boon, that you probably will soon be
departing Cath-”

“I said
nothing of this!”

“It will still
be an element of my report.”

REITH AWOKE
TO Wan sunlight shining through the heavy amber panes of the windows. He lay on
the unfamiliar couch, collecting the threads of his existence. It was difficult
not to feel a profound gloom. Cath, where he had hoped to find flexibility,
enlightenment, and perhaps cooperation, was hardly less harsh an environment
than the Aman Steppe. It was obvious folly to dream of building a spaceboat in
Settra.

Reith sat up
on the couch. He had known horror, grief, disillusionment, but there had been
corresponding moments of triumph and hope, even a few spasmodic instants of
joy. If he were to die tomorrow-or in twelve days after twelve “touches”-he had
already lived a miraculous life. Very well then, he would put his destiny to
the test. Helsse had predicted his departure from Cath; Helsse had read the
future, or Reith’s own personality, more accurately than Reith himself.

Breakfasting
with Traz and Anacho he described his adventures of the previous evening. Anacho
found the circumstances perturbing. “This is an insane society, constrained by
punctilio as a rotten egg is held by its shell. Whatever your aims-and
sometimes I think that you are the most flamboyant lunatic of all--they will
not be achieved here.”

“I agree.”

“Well then,”
said Traz, “what next?”

“What I plan
is dangerous, perhaps rash folly. But I see no other alternative. I intend to
ask Cizante for money; this we shall share. Then I think it best that we
separate. You, Traz, might do worse than to return to Wyness, and there make a
life for yourself. Perhaps Anacho will do the same. Neither of you can profit
by coming with me; in fact, I guarantee the reverse.”

Anacho looked
off across the square. “Until now you have managed to survive, if precariously.
I find myself curious as to what you hope to achieve. With your permission, I
will join your expedition, which I suspect is by no means as desperate as you
make it out to be.”

“I intend to
confiscate a Wankh spaceship from the Ao Hidis spaceport, or elsewhere, if it
seems more convenient.”

Anacho threw
his hands in the air. “I feared no less.” He proceeded to state a hundred
objections which Reith did not trouble to contradict. “All very true; I will
end my days in a Wankh dungeon or a nighthound’s belly; still this is what I
intend to attempt. I strongly urge that you and Traz make your way to the Isles
of Cloud and live as best you may.”

“Bah,”
snorted Anacho. “Why won’t you attempt some reasonable exploit, like
exterminating the Pnume, or teaching the Chasch to sing?”

“I have other
ambitions.”

“Yes, yes,
your faraway planet, the home of man. I am tempted to help you, if only to
demonstrate your lunacy.”

“As for me,”
said Traz, “I would like to see this far world. I know it exists, because I saw
the spaceboat in which Adam Reith arrived.”

Anacho
inspected the youth with eyebrows raised. “You have not mentioned this
previously.”

“You never
asked.”

“How might
such an absurdity enter my mind?”

“A person who
calls facts absurdities will often be surprised,” said Traz.

“But at least
he has organized the cosmic relationship into categories, which sets him apart
from animals and sub-men.”

Reith
intervened. “Come now; let’s put our energies to work, since you both seem bent
on suicide. Today we seek information. And here is Helsse, bringing us
important news, or so it appears from his aspect.”

Helsse
approached and gave a polite greeting. “Last night, as you may imagine, I had
much to report to Lord Cizante. He urges that you make some reasonable request,
which he will be glad to fulfill. He recommends that we destroy the papers
taken from the spy and I am inclined to agree. If you acquiesce, Lord Cizante
may grant further concessions.”

“Of what
nature?”

“He does not
specify, but I suspect he has in mind a certain slackening of protocol in
regard to your presence in Blue Jade Palace.”

“I am more
interested in the documents than in Lord Cizante. If he wants to see me he can
come here to the inn.”

Helsse gave a
brittle chuckle. “Your response is no surprise. If you are ready I will conduct
you to South Ebron where we will find a Lokhar.”

“There are no
Yao scholars who read the Wankh language?”

“Such
facility would seem pointless expertise.”

“Until
someone wanted a document translated.”

Helsse gave
an indifferent twitch. “At this play of the ‘round,’ Utilitarianism is an alien
philosophy. Lord Cizante, for instance, would find your arguments not only
incomprehensible but disgusting.”

“We shall
never argue the matter,” said Reith equably.

Helsse had
come in an extremely elegant equipage: a blue carriage with six scarlet wheels
and a profusion of golden festoons. The interior was like a luxurious drawing
room, with gray-green wainscoting, a pale gray carpet, an arched ceiling
covered with green silk. The chairs were deeply upholstered; to the side, under
the windows of pale green glass, a buffet offered trays of sweetmeats. Helsse
ushered his guests into the car with the utmost politeness; today he wore a
suit of pale green and gray, as if to blend himself into the decor of the
carriage.

When all were
seated, he touched a button to close the door and retract the steps. Reith
observed, “Lord Cizante, while deriding utilitarianism as a doctrine,
apparently does not flout its applications.”

“You refer to
the door-closing mechanism? He is not aware that it exists. Someone is always
at hand to touch the button for him. Like others of his class he touches
objects only in play or pleasure. You find this odd? No matter. You must accept
the Yao gentry as you find them.”

“Evidently
you do not regard yourself as a member of the Yao gentry.”

Helsse
laughed. “More tactful might be the conjecture that I enjoy what I am doing.”
He spoke into a mesh. “To the South Ebron Mercade.”

The carriage
eased into motion. Helsse poured goblets of syrup and proffered sweetmeats. “You
are about to visit our commercial district; the source of our wealth, in fact,
though it is considered vulgar to discuss it.”

“Strange,”
mused Anacho. “Dirdir, at the highest level, are never so hoity-toity.”

“They are a
different race,” said Helsse. “Superior? I am not convinced. The Wankh would
never agree, should they trouble to examine the concept.”

Anacho gave a
contemptuous shrug but said no more.

The carriage
rolled through a market area: the Mercade, then into a district of small
dwellings, in a wonderful diversity of style. At a cluster of squat brick
towers the carriage halted. Helsse pointed to a nearby garden where sat a dozen
men of spectacular appearance. They wore white shirts and trousers, their hair,
long and abundant, was also white; in striking contrast to the lusterless black
of their skins. “Lokhars,” said Helsse. “Migrating mechanics from the highlands
north of Lake Falas in Central Kislovan. That is not their natural coloration;
they bleach their hair and dye their skin. Some say the Wankh enforced the
custom upon them thousands of years ago to differentiate them from Wankhmen,
who of course are white-skinned and black-haired. In any event, they come and
go, working where they gain the highest return, for they are a remarkably
avaricious folk. Some, after laboring in the Wankh shops, have migrated north
to Cath; a few of these know a chime or two of Wankh-talk and occasionally can
puzzle out the sense of Wankh documents. Notice the old man yonder playing with
the child; he is reckoned as adept in Wankh as any. He will demand a large sum
for his efforts, and in order to forestall even more exorbitant demands in the
future I must haggle with him. If you will be good enough to wait, I will go to
make the arrangements.”

“A moment,”
said Reith. “At a conscious level I am convinced of your integrity, but I can’t
control my instinctive suspicions. Let us make the arrangement together.”

“As you wish,”
said Helsse graciously. “I will send the chauffeur for the man.” He spoke into
the mesh.

Anacho
murmured, “If the arrangements were already made, the qualms of a trusting
person might easily be drugged.”

Helsse nodded
judiciously. “I believe I can assuage your anxieties.”

A moment
later the old man sauntered up to the carriage.

“Inside, if
you please,” said Helsse.

The old man
poked his white-maned face through the door. “My time is valuable; what do you
want of me?”

“A matter for
your profit.”

“Profit, eh?
I can at least listen.” He entered the carriage, and seated himself with a
comfortable grunt. The air took on the odor of a spicy, slightly rancid pomade.
Helsse stood in front of him. With a side glance toward Reith he said, “Our
arrangement is canceled. Do not heed my instructions.”

“ ‘Arrangement’?
‘Instructions’? What are you talking about? You must mistake me for another. I
am Zarfo Detwiler.”

Helsse made
an easy gesture. “It’s all one. We want you to translate a Wankh document for
us, the guide to a treasure hoard. Translate correctly, you shall share the
booty.”

“No, no, none
of that.” Zarfo Detwiler waved a black finger. “I’ll share the booty with
pleasure; additionally I want a hundred sequins, and no recriminations if I
fail to satisfy you.”

“No
recriminations, agreed. But a hundred sequins for possibly nothing? Ridiculous.
Here: five sequins and eat your fill of the expensive sweetmeats.”

“That last I’ll
do anyway; am I not your invited guest?” Zarfo Detwiler popped a handful of
dainties into his mouth. “You must think me a moon-calf to offer but five
sequins. Only three persons in Settra can so much as tell you which side of a
Wankh ideogram is up. I alone can read meaning, by virtue of thirty toilsome
years in the Ao Hidis machine shops.”