Planet of Adventure Omnibus (85 page)

“Yes,” called
Cauch. “Is there any limit on the betting?”

“The case now
being delivered contains ten thousand sequins. This is my limit; I pay no more.
Please place your bets.”

With a
practiced eye the eel-master appraised the table. He lifted the lid, set the
eels into the center of the reservoir. “No more betting, please.” On the lid
sounded tap-tap tap-tap.

“Two-two,”
whispered the apprentice. “That’s green.” He pushed aside a panel and reaching
into the reservoir, seized the green eel and set it into the mouth of the
chute. Then he drew back and closed the panel.

“Green wins!”
called the eel-master. “So then--I pay! Twenty sequins to this sturdy seafarer
... Make your bets, please.”

Tap tap-tap-tap
sounded on the lid. “Vermilion,” whispered the apprentice. He performed as
before.

“Vermilion
wins!” called the eel-master.

Reith kept
his eye to the crack. On each occasion Cauch and Widisch had risked a pair of
sequins. On the third betting round each placed thirty sequins on white.

“Bets are now
made,” came the eel-master’s voice. The lid came down. Tap tap came the sounds.

“Brown,”
whispered the apprentice.

“White,” said
Reith. “The white eel wins.”

The
apprentice groaned in muted distress. He put the white eel into the chute.

“Another
contest between these baffling little creatures,” came the complacent voice of
the eel-master. “On this occasion the winning color is-brown ... Brown? White.
Yes, white it is! Ha! In my old age I become color-blind. Tribulation for a
poor old man! ... A pair of handsome winners here! Three hundred sequins for
you, three hundred sequins for you ... Take your winnings, gentlemen. What? You
are betting the entire sum, both of you?”

“Yes, luck
appears to be with us today.”

“Both on dark
red?”

“Yes; notice
the flight of yonder blood-birds! This is a portent.”

The
eel-master smiled off into the sky. “Who can divine the ways of nature? I pray
that you are incorrect. Well, then, all bets are made? Then in with the eels,
down with the lid, and let the most determined eel issue forth the winner.” His
hand rested a moment on the lid; his fingernail struck the surface a single
time. “They twist, they search, the light beckons; we should soon have a winner
... Here comes-is it blue?” He gave an involuntary groan. “Dark red.” He peered
into the faces of the Zsafathrans. “Your presages, astonishingly, were correct.”

“Yes,” said
Cauch. “Did I not tell you as much? Pay over our winnings.”

Slowly the
eel-master counted out three thousand-worth of sequins to each. “Astonishing.”
He glanced thoughtfully toward the reservoir. “Do you observe any further
portents?”

“Nothing
significant. But I will bet nonetheless. A hundred sequins on black.”

“I bet the
same,” declared Widisch.

The
eel-master hesitated. He rubbed his chin, looked around the counter. “Extraordinary.”
He put the eels into the reservoir. “Are all bets laid?” His hand rested on the
lid; as if by nervous mannerism he brought his fingernails down in two sharp
raps.

“Very well; I
open the gate.” He pulled the lever and strode up to the end of the chute. “And
here comes-what color? Black!”

“Excellent!”
declared Cauch. “We reap a return after years of squandering money upon
perverse eels! Pay over our gains, if you please!”

“Certainly,”
croaked the eel-master. “But I can work no more. I suffer from an aching of the
joints; the eel-racing is at an end.”

Reith and the
apprentice immediately returned to the shed. The apprentice donned his pink
cape and hat and took to his heels.

Reith and Schazar
returned through the Old Town to the portal, where they encountered the
eel-master, who strode past in a great flapping of his white gown. The normally
benign face was mottled red; he carried a stout stave, which he swung in short
ominous jerks.

Cauch and
Widisch awaited them on the quay. Cauch handed Reith a pleasantly plump pouch. “Your
share of the winnings: four thousand sequins. The day has been edifying.”

“We have done
well,” said Reith. “Our association has been mutually helpful, which is a rare
thing for Tschai!”

“For our part
we return instantly to Zsafathra,” said Cauch. “What of you?”

“Urgent
business calls me onward. Like yourselves, my companion and I depart as soon as
possible.”

“In that
case, farewell.” The three Zsafathrans went their way. Reith turned into the
bazaar, where he made a variety of purchases. Back at the hotel he went to Zap
210’s cubicle and rapped on the door, his heart pounding with anticipation.

“Who is it?”
came a soft voice.

“It is I,
Adam Reith.”

“A moment.”
The door opened. Zap 210 stood facing him, face flushed and drowsy. She wore
the gray smock which she had only just pulled over her head.

Reith took
his bundles to the couch. “This-and this-and this-and this-for you.”

“For me? What
are they?”

“Look and
see.”

With a
diffident side-glance toward Reith, she opened the bundles, then for a period
stood looking down at the articles they contained.

Reith asked
uneasily, “Do you like them?”

She turned to
him a hurt gaze. “Is this how you want me to be--like the others?”

Reith stood
nonplussed. It was not the reaction he had expected. He said carefully, “We
will be traveling. It is best that we go as inconspicuously as possible.
Remember the Gzhindra? We must dress like the folk we travel among.”

“I see.”

“Which do you
like best?”

Zap 210
lifted the dark green gown, laid it down, took up the blood-orange smock and
dull white pantaloons, then the rather jaunty light brown suit with the black
vest and short black cape. “I don’t know whether I like any of them.”

“Try one on.”

“Now?”

“Certainly!”

Zap 210 held
up first one of the garments, then another. She looked at Reith; he grinned. “Very
well, I’ll go.”

In his own
cubicle he changed into the fresh garments he had bought for himself: gray
breeches, a dark-blue jacket. The gray furze smock he decided to discard. As he
threw it aside he felt the outline of the portfolio, which after a moment’s
hesitation he transferred to the inner lining of his new jacket. Such a set of
documents, if for no other reason, had value as a curio. He went to the common
room. Presently Zap 210 appeared. She wore the dark green gown. “Why do you
stare at me?” she asked.

Reith could
not tell her the truth, that he was recalling the first time he had seen her: a
neurasthenic waif shrouded in a black cloak, pallid and bone-thin. She retained
something of her dreaming wistful look, but her pallor had become a smooth
sunshadowed ivory; her black hair curled in ringlets over her forehead and
ears.

“I was
thinking,” said Reith, “that the gown suits you very well.”

She made a
faint grimace: a twitch of the lips approaching a smile.

They walked
out upon the quay, to the cog
Nhiahar
. They found the taciturn master in
the saloon, working over his accounts. “You desire passage to Kazain? There is
only the grand cabin to be had at seven hundred sequins, or I can give you two
berths in the dormitory, at two hundred.”

A DEAD CALM
held the Second Sea. The
Nhiahar
slid out of the inlet, propelled by its
field engine; by degrees Urmank faded into the murk of distance.

The
Nhiahar
moved in silence except for the gurgle of water under the bow. The only other
passengers were a pair of waxen-faced old women swathed in gray gauze who
appeared briefly on deck, then crept to their dark little cabin.

Reith was
well-satisfied with the grand cabin. It ranged the entire width of the ship,
with three great windows overlooking the sea astern. In alcoves to port and
starboard were well-cushioned beds as soft as any Reith had felt on Tschai, if
a trifle musty. In the center stood a massive table of carved black wood, with
a pair of equally massive chairs at either end. Zap 210 made a sulky appraisal
of the room. Today she wore the dull white trousers with the orange blouse; she
seemed keyed up and tense, and moved with nervous abruptness in jerks and halts
and fidgeting twitches of the fingers.

Reith watched
her covertly, trying to calculate the exact nature of her mood. She refused to
look toward him or meet his gaze. At last he asked: “Do you like the ship?”

She gave a
sullen shrug. “I have never seen anything like it before.” She went to the
door, where she turned him a sour twitch of a smile-a derisive grimace-and went
out on deck.

Reith looked
up at the overhead, shrugged, and after a final glance around the room, followed
her.

She had
climbed the companionway to the quarterdeck, where she stood leaning on the
taffrail, looking back the way they had come. Reith seated himself on a bench
nearby and pretended to bask in the wan brown sunlight while he puzzled over
her behavior. She was female and inherently irrational-but her conduct seemed
to exceed this elemental fact. Certain of her attitudes had been formed in the
Shelters, but these seemed to be waning; upon reaching the surface she had
abandoned the old life and discarded its points of view, as an insect molts a
skin. In the process, Reith ruminated, she had discarded her old personality,
but had not yet discovered a new one ... The thought gave Reith a qualm. Part
of the girl’s charm or fascination, or whatever it was, lay in her innocence,
her transparency ... transparency?

Reith made a
skeptical sound. Not altogether. He went to join her. “What are you pondering
so deeply?”

She gave him
a cool side-glance. “I was thinking of myself and the wide
ghaun
. I
remember my time in the dark. I know now that below the world I was not yet
born. All those years, while I moved quietly below, the folk of the surface
lived in color and change and air.”

“So this is
why you’ve been acting so strangely!”

“No!” she
cried in sudden passion. “It is not! The reason is you and your secrecy! You
tell me nothing. I don’t know where we are going, or what you are going to do
with me.”

Reith frowned
down at the black boil of the wake. “I’m not sure of these things myself.”

“But you must
know something!”

“Yes ... When
I get to Sivishe I want to return to my home, which is far and remote.”

“And what of
me?”

And what of
Zap 210?
wondered Reith. A question he had avoided asking himself. “I’m
not sure you’d want to come with me,” he replied, somewhat lamely.

Tears glinted
in her eyes. “Where else can I go? Should I become a drudge? Or a Gzhindra? Or
wear an orange sash at Urmank? Or should I die?” She swung away and marched
forward to the bow, past a group of the spade-faced seamen, who watched her
from the side of their pale eyes.

Reith
returned to the bench ... The afternoon passed. Black clouds to the north
generated a cool wind. The sails were shaken out, and the cog drove forward.
Zap 210 presently came aft with a strange expression on her face. She gave
Reith a look of sad accusation and went down to the cabin.

Reith
followed and found her lying on one of the couches. “Don’t you feel well?”

“No.”

“Come
outside. You’ll be worse in here.”

She staggered
out upon the deck.

“Keep your
eyes on the horizon,” said Reith. “When the ship moves, keep your head level.
Do that for a while and you’ll feel better.”

Zap 210 stood
by the rail. The clouds loomed overhead and the wind died; the
Nhiahar
lay wallowing with slatting sails ... From the sky came a purple dazzle,
slanting and slashing at the sea-once, twice, three times, all in the flicker
of an eye-blink. Zap 210 gave a small scream and jerked back in terror. Reith
caught her and held her as the thunder rumbled down. She moved uneasily; Reith
kissed her forehead, her face, her mouth.

The sun
settled into a tattered panoply of gold and black and brown; with the dusk came
rain. Reith and Zap 210 retreated to their cabin, where the steward served
supper: mincemeat, seafruit, biscuits. They ate, looking out through the great
windows at the sea and rain and lightning, and afterwards, with lightning
sparking the dark, they became lovers.

At midnight
the clouds departed; stars burnt down from the sky. “Look up there!” said
Reith. “Among the stars are other worlds of men. One of them is called Earth.”
He paused. Zap 210 lay listening, but Reith for some obscure reason could say
no more, and presently she fell asleep.

The
Nhiahar
,
driven by fair winds, plunged down the Second Sea, crashing through great white
billows of foam. Cape Braise reared up ahead; the ship put into the ancient
stone city of Stheine to take on water, then fared forth into the Schanizade.