The Blue World (10 page)

“Seemingly you
would equip the tower with frames, hoods, and lamps before
constructing practice machines.”

“Normally we
would do so. But we are testing a new type of linkage, and it would
not be well to allow the apprentices to scamp their practice.”

“In the
meantime we can send no messages. We are isolated.”

Sklar Hast pointed
to the Thrasneck tower. “We can read all that transpires
elsewhere. Nothing of consequence occurs here.”

“Nevertheless,
we should put our system into working order as rapidly as possible.”
And he gave the tower a black look. “Awkward, top-heavy, and
askew as it is.”

“If it
achieves its purpose,” said Sklar Hast, it will be the most
beautiful object the world has yet seen.”

Arbiter Myrex gave
him a sharp glance. “What is the meaning of that remark?”

Sklar Hast saw that
he had gone too far. Ixon was a slow and rigid man, but not stupid.
“Sheer exuberance, sheer hyperbole.”

Ixon Myrex grunted.
“The structure is a disgrace. Already we are the laughingstock
of the whole line. When the folk speak of Quatrefoil and Sankston for
extravagance and eccentricity, now they will add Tranque. I would not
be sorry to see it destroyed and another erected in its place.”

“This one will
serve,” said Sklar Hast carelessly.

Further days
passed. King Kragen dined at Green Lamp, at Fleurnoy, and at Adelvine
three days running, then swam far west to Granolt. For two days he
was seen no more, then appeared far out on the horizon to the south
Aumerge, coasting east. The following day he dined once more at
Adelvine, to the near depletion of the Adelvine lagoon, and the
following day at Sumber, the third float north from Tranque, with
only Thrasneck and Bickle between. On Tranque Float a mood of
uneasiness and foreboding manifested itself. People spoke in hushed
voices and looked constantly sidelong toward the sea. By some sort of
psychic osmosis all knew that a great project was afoot, even though
the nature of the project was unknown—to all but about thirty
or so of the most secretive men of the float.

Two days after King
Kragen dined at Sumber, he appeared in the ocean to the north of
Tranque and lay floating for half an hour, twitching his great vanes.
At this, certain of the more timorous departed Tranque conveying
themselves, their women and children to Thrasneck.

Semm Voiderveg
stormed up to Sklar Hast. “What is going on? What do you plan?”

“More to the
point,” said Sklar Hast, “what do you plan?”

“What do I
plan?” bellowed the portly Intercessor. “What else do I
plan but rectitude? It is you and your accomplices who threaten the
fabric of our existence!”

“Calm
yourself, Voiderveg,” said Wall Bunce with an insensitive grin.
“Yonder floats the kragen to which you pledged yourself. If you
appear at a disadvantage you forfeit his respect.”

Rudolf Snyder gage
a cry of warning. “He moves! He swims forward!”

Voiderveg made a
wild gesture. “I must go to welcome him. Sklar Hast, I warn you,
I implore you, do nothing contrary to the Covenant!”

Sklar Hast made no
reply. With a final desperate glare of admonition, the Intercessor
marched to the edge of the float and began his ritual gesticulations.

King Kragen moved
slowly forward, by small twitches and flicks of the vanes. The
eye-tubes studied the float carefully, as if something of the tension
and emotion of those on the float had reached him.

King Kragen
approached the mouth of the lagoon. Semm Voiderveg signaled his
assistants, who drew back the net to allow King Kragen access into
the lagoon.

The great black
bulk approached. Sklar Hast became conscious of the close attention
of Ixon Myrex and several others. It was clear that counsel had been
taken and plans made to forestall any action on his part. Sklar Hast
had expected something of the sort and was not perturbed. He went to
a bench and seated himself, as if contemptuously disassociating
himself from the entire affair. Looking around, he saw that others of
orthodox persuasion similarly stood near Roger Kelso and Rubal
Gallager, apparently ready to employ forcible restraint, if the
necessity arose. Elsewhere about the float, others of the conspiracy
were casually going to their places. To Sklar Hast it seemed that the
program was blatantly obvious, and he wondered that neither Semm
Voiderveg, Ixon Myrex, nor any of those who supported them had
perceived it.

_ There was one who
had: Gian Recargo, Elder of the Bezzlers. He came now to the bench
and seated himself beside Sklar Hast. “This is a precarious
hour.” He glanced up toward the hoodwink tower. “I hope,
for all our sakes that all goes well.”

Sklar Hast nodded
grimly. “So do I.”

Time moved with
nerve-racking slowness. The sun shone almost perpendicularly upon the
ultramarine water. The foliage—black, orange, green, purple,
tawny yellow—swayed in the faintest of warm breezes. Into

the lagoon swam
King Kragen. Semm Voiderveg ran to the edge of the float and
performed his gestures of reverence and invitation.

Sklar Hast frowned,
rubbed his chin. Gian Recargo glanced at him sidewise. “What of
Semm Voiderveg?” he asked in the driest of voices.

“I had not
considered him,” muttered Sklar Hast. “A flaw in my
thinking. I will do my best for him.” He rose to his feet,
joined Rollo Barnack who lounged beside one of the practice
mechanisms. At the other one stood Ben Kell, the Assistant Master
Hoodwink, both in a position where they could sight across their
peloruses. “The Intercessor stands in the way,” Sklar Hast
muttered. “Pay him no heed. I will try to save him.”

“It will be
dangerous for you as well.”

Sklar Hast nodded.
“Unfortunately this is so. All of us are running grave risks.
Heed neither Semm Voiderveg nor myself. Proceed as if neither of us
were imperiled. We will both escape.”

Rollo Barnack
nodded. “As you wish.” And he looked across the pelorus, to
see a twitching tip of King Kragen’s forward vane.

King Kragen floated
quietly ten or twenty seconds, studying Semm Voiderveg. Once again he
eased forward, thrust forth his palps, and gave himself a last thrust
which pushed him close to the arbor.

King Kragen began
to feed.

Rollo Barnack,
looking along the points of his pelorus, found the turret slightly to
the right of his, line of sight. He waited. King Kragen floated a
trifle to the left. Rollo Barnack gave a prearranged signal, raising
his hand, running his fingers through his hair. Ben Kell, at the
other pelorus, was already doing likewise.

At the back of the
tower Poe Belrod and Wall Bunce already had cut the bindings that
lashed the two rear legs to the stubs rising from the base platform.
Rudolf Snyder and Garth Gasselton loosed the rear guy-lines. At one
of the fore guy-lines—those leading toward the lagoon—five men pulled as casually and nonchalantly as possible.

The great tower,
tall, heavy, narrow-based, pivoted over on the two legs yet bound.
The great pointed yard-arm began to sweep out a great arc that would
terminate upon King Kragen’s turret.

Directly in the
path of the falling tower stood Semm Voiderveg, intent at his
rituals. Sklar Hast strode forward to thrust the Intercessor out of
the way. Others realized that the tower was falling. There came
sudden startled screams. Semm Voiderveg looked over his shoulder to
see the toppling structure and likewise sensed Sklar Hast lunging at
him. He gave a strangled croak, and, trying to run, stumbled with
flapping arms. Both men

rolled clear. The
astounded King Kragen gave a twitch of the vanes. Down like an
enormous pickax came the tower, and the pointed yardarm missed the
turret dead center, only by the amount of King Kragen’s twitch of
alarm. Down upon the black barrel came the point, glancing away and
burying itself in the black rectangular pad below.

From Rollo Barnack
and Roger Kelso came groans of disappointment; others screamed in
horror and fright. King Kragen himself emitted a fierce, whistling
hiss and thrashed out with all four vanes. The yardarm snapped from
the tower; King Kragen surged struggling back into the lagoon. With
two of the palps it seized the stump still protruding from its flesh,
snatched it forth and brandished it high in the air. Semm Voiderveg,
struggling to his feet, called out in a shrill, sobbing voice,
“Mercy, King Kragen, a terrible mistake! Mercy, have mercy!”

King Kragen surged
close and brought the length of timber vindictively down on Semm
Voiderveg, crushing him to the pad. Again he struck, then roaring and
hissing hurled the object at Sklar Hast. Then, backing up and
accelerating forward, he charged the float.

“Run,”
cried Rollo Barnack hoarsely. “Run for your lives!”

King Kragen was not
content with the devastation of Tranque. He likewise wrought havoc
upon Thrasneck and Bickle; then, fatigued or perhaps in pain, the
propelled himself to sea and disappeared.

A Grand Convocation
was called on Apprise Float. Barquan Blasdel, the Apprise
Intercessor, was the first to speak. His remarks were predictably
bitter, his manner grim. He eulogized Semm Voiderveg at length; he
lamented the dead of Tranque, Thrasneck, and Bickle; he described the
havoc and disaster; he speculated pessimistically regarding the
status of the broken Covenant. “His comprehensible fury is not
yet assuaged, but do the guilty suffer? No. This morning King Kragen
attacked and demolished the coracles of four Vidmar swindlers. Who
can blame him? To come in good faith, under the terms of the
Covenant, to receive his just due, encouraged and welcomed by the
Intercessor—and then to experience this murderous attack!
King Kragen has demonstrated restraint in not destroying every float
of the chain!

“Needless to
say, the wretched conspirators who hatched this plot must be
punished. The last convocation ended in riot and bloodshed. We must
be more controlled, more sagacious on this occasion, but we must
definitely act. The conspirators must die.”

Barquan Blasdel did
not call for a show of fists, since the accused had not yet spoken in
their behalf.

Phyral Berwick, the
Apprise Arbiter, hence convocation moderator, looked around the
float. “Who cares to speak?”

“I.” Gian
Recargo, Elder of the Tranque Bezzlers, came forward. “I was not
an active conspirator. Initially I was of the orthodox view; then I
changed my thinking. It is still changed. The so-called conspirators
indeed have brought damage and loss of life to the floats. They
grieve for this as much as anyone else. But the damage and the deaths
are inevitable, because I have come to agree with Sklar Hast. King
Kragen must be killed. So let us not revile these men who by dint of
great ingenuity and daring almost killed King Kragen. They did as
well as they were able to. Sklar Hast risked his own life to save the
life of Semm Voiderveg. King Kragen killed the Intercessor.”

Barquan Blasdel
leaped to his feet and ridiculed Gian Recargo’s defense of what he
called the “blasphemous irresponsibility of the conspirators.”
After spoke Archibel Verack, Quincunx Intercessor; then Parensic
Mole, the Wyebolt Arbiter; then in succession other arbiters,
intercessors, elders and guild-masters.

There was clearly
no consensus. It seemed as if approximately a third of those present
favored the most drastic penalties for the conspirators; another
third, while regretting the destruction and death toll, regretted
even more strongly the failure of the plot; while the final third
were persons confused, indecisive, and fearful, who swayed first in
one direction, then another.

Sklar Hast, advised
by Gian Recargo, did not speak, and only watched and listened stonily
as Barquan Blasdel and others heaped opprobrium upon him.

The afternoon drew
on, and tempers began to grow short. Barquan Blasdel finally decided
to bring matters to a head. In a voice deadly calm he again
enumerated the sins of Sklar Hast and his fellows, then pitching his
voice at a compelling level, called for a show of fists. “Peace
and the Covenant! All who favor this, raise their fists! We must
purge the evil that threatens us! And I say”—he leaned
forward, looked menacingly across the float—“that if the
convocation does not correctly vote death to the murderers, we
right-thinkers and true-believers must organize ourselves into a
disciplined group, to make sure that justice is done! The matter is
this serious, this basic, this important! Crime may not go
unpunished! We vacillated before—see where it took us! So I
say to you, vote death to the murderers; or see justice sternly
imposed by the mighty force of orthodox anger. So now: fists high
against Sklar Hast and the

conspirators!”

Fists thrust into
the air. An equal number stayed down, though many of these belonged
to the confused and undecided. Now began the ominous mutter of
argument that had preceded the bloodshed at the last convocation.

Sklar Hast jumped
to his feet, strode to the rostrum. “Clearly we are divided.
Some wish to serve King Kragen, others prefer not to do so. We are on
the verge of a terrible experience, which by all means must be
prevented. There is one simple way to do this. Other floats as
fertile as these exist. I propose to depart these beloved Home Floats
and make a new life elsewhere. I naturally will welcome all who wish
to join me, though I urge this course upon no one. We will gain
freedom. We will serve no King Kragen. Our life will be our own.
Undoubtedly there will be initial deprivations, but we shall overcome
them and build a life as pleasant as that of Home—perhaps
more pleasant because there will be no tyrannical King Kragen. Who
then wishes to sail away to a new home?”

A few hands raised,
then others, and others still, to represent perhaps a third of those
present. “This is more than I expected,” said Sklar Hast.
“Go then to your floats, load your coracles with tools, pots,
varnish, cordage—all your utile goods. Then return here, to
Apprise Lagoon. We will await a propitious time to depart, when the
sea-beast is known to be at Sciona, should we choose to sail east, or
at Tranque, should we sail west. Needless to say, the direction and
hour of departure must remain secret. There is no reason to explain
why.” He cast an ironic glance toward Barquan Blasdel, who sat
like a carved image. “It is a sad thing to leave an ancestral
home, but it is worse to remain and submit to tyranny. The Firsts
made this same decision, and it is clear that at least some of us
still retain the ideals of our forefathers.”

Barquan Blasdel
spoke without rising to his feet: a crass act. “Don’t talk of
ideals—merely go. Go gladly. Go with all goodwill; we will
not miss you. And never seek to return when the teeming rogues,
unchided by the great king, devour your poor sponges, tear your nets,
crush your coracles!”

Sklar Hast ignored
him. “All then who will depart these sad Home Floats, we meet
here in two days’ time. We will then secretly decide our hour of
departure.

Barquan Blasdel
laughed. “You need not fear our interference. Depart whenever
you desire; indeed we will facilitate your going.”

Sklar Hast
reflected a moment. “You will not inform King Kragen of our
going?”

“No. Of
course, he may learn of the fact through his own observation.”

“This will be
our plan then. On the evening of the third day, when the wind blows
fair to the west, we depart—provided, of course, that King
Kragen cruises to the east.”