The Blue World (11 page)

Barquan Blasdel the
Apprise Intercessor, his spouse and six daughters occupied a pad on
the ocean to the north of the main Apprise float, somewhat isolated
and apart. It was perhaps the choicest and most pleasant pad of the
Apprise complex, situated where Blasdel could read the hoodwink
towers of Apprise, of Quatrefoil and The Bandings to the east, of
Granolt to the west. The pad was delightfully overgrown with a
hundred different plants and vines, some yielding resinous pods,
others capsules of fragrant sap, others crisp tendrils and shoots.
Certain shrubs produced stains and pigment; a purple-leaved epiphyte
yielded a rich-flavored pith. Other growths were entirely ornamental—a situation not too usual along the floats, where space was
at a premium and every growing object weighed for its utility. Along
the entire line of floats few pads could compare to that of Barquan
Blasdel for beauty, variety of plantings, isolation, and calm.

In late afternoon
of the second day after the convocation, Barquan Blasdel returned to
his pad. He dropped the painter of his coracle over a stake of carved
bone, gazed appreciatively into the west. The sun had just departed
the sky, which now glowed with effulgent greens, blues, and, at the
zenith, a purple of exquisite purity. The ocean, rippling to the
first whispers of the evening breeze, reflected the sky. Blasdel felt
surrounded, immersed in color …

He turned away,
marched to his house, whistling between his teeth. In the lagoon were
several hundred coracles, perhaps as many as six hundred, loaded with
goods: the property of the most perverse and troublesome elements of
the floats. On the morrow they would depart, and no more would be
heard from them. Ever again. And Blasdel’s whistling became slow and
thoughtful.

Although life
seemingly flowed smoothly, he had sensed recently the awakening of an
uneasiness, a dissatisfaction, which had made itself felt in a
hundred different ways. Barquan Blasdel had not been quite so
surprised by the attempt upon King Kragen’s life as he professed to
be, though for a fact the attempt had approached success more nearly
than he would have expected. A clever, unscrupulous fellow, that
Sklar Hast. An obstreperous, recalcitrant, skeptical man of great
energy, whom Barquan Blasdel was more than happy to have out of the
way.

All was working out
for the best. Indeed, indeed, indeed! The affair could not have
resolved itself more smoothly if he had personally arranged the
entire sequence of events! At one stroke all the grumblers,
ne’er-do-wells, the covertly insolent, the obstinate hardheads—at one stroke all would disappear, never again to trouble easy and
orthodox way of life!

Almost jauntily
Barquan Blasdel ambled up the path to his residence: a group of five
semidetached huts, screened by the garden from the main float, and so
providing a maximum of privacy for Blasdel, his spouse, and six
daughters. Blasdel halted. On a bench beside the door sat a man.
Twilight murk concealed his face. Blasdel frowned, peered. Intruders
upon his private pad were not welcome.

Blasdel marched
forward. The man rose from bench and bowed; it was Phyral Berwick,
the Apprise Arbiter. “Good evening,” said Berwick. “I
trust I did not startle you.”

“By no means,”
said Blasdel shortly. With rank equal to his own, Berwick could not
be ignored, although after his extraordinary and equivocal conduct at
the two convocations, Blasdel could not bring himself to display more
than a minimum of formal courtesy. He said, “Unfortunately I was
not expecting callers and can offer you no refreshment.”

“A
circumstance of no moment,” declared Berwick. “I desire
neither food nor drink.” He waved his hand around the pad. “You
live on a pad of surpassing beauty, Barquan Blasdel. Many envy you.”

Blasdel shrugged.
“My conduct is orthodox; I am armored against adverse opinion.
But what urgency brings you here? I fear that I must be less than
ceremonious; I am shortly clue at the hoodwink tower to participate
in a coded all-float conference.”

Berwick made a
gesture of polite acquiescence. “My business is of small moment.
But I would not keep you standing out here in the dusk. Shall we
enter?”

Blasdel grunted,
opened the door, allowed Berwick to pass into the hut. From a
cupboard he brought luminant fiber, which he set aglow and arranged
in a holder. Turning a quick side glance toward Berwick, he said, “In
all candor, I am somewhat surprised to see you. Apparently you were
among the most vehement of those dissidents who planned to depart.”

“I may well
have given that impression,” Berwick agreed. “But you must
realize that declarations uttered in the heat of emotion are
occasionally amended in the light of sober reason.”

Blasdel nodded
curtly. “True enough. I suspect that many other of the ingrates
will think twice before joining this harebrained expedition.”
Though he hoped not.

“This is
partly the reason for my presence here,” said Berwick. He looked
around the room. “An interesting chamber. You own dozens of
valuable artifacts. Where are the others of your family?”

“In the
domestic area. This is my sanctum, my workroom, my place of
meditation.”

“Indeed.”
Berwick inspected the walls. “Indeed, indeed! I believe I notice
certain relics of the forefathers!”

“True,”
said Blasdel. “This small flat object is of the substance called
‘metal’ and is extremely hard. The best knife will not
scratch it. The purpose of this particular object I cannot
conjecture. It is an heirloom. These books are exact copies of the
Memoria. Alas! I find much in them beyond my comprehension. There is
nothing more of any great interest. On the shelf—my
ceremonial headdresses; you have seen them before. Here is my
telescope. It is old; the case is warped, the gum of the lenses has
bulged and cracked. It was poor gum, to begin with, but I have little
need for a better instrument. My possessions are few. Unlike many
Intercessors and certain arbiters”—here he cast a
meaningful eye at Phyral Berwick—“I do not choose to
surround myself with sybaritic cushions and baskets of sweetmeats.”

Berwick laughed
ruefully. “You have touched upon my weaknesses. Perhaps the fear
of deprivation has occasioned second thoughts in me.”

“Ha, ha!”
Blasdel became jovial. “I begin to understand. The scalawags who
set off to wild new floats can expect nothing but hardship: wild
fish, horny sponges, new varnish with little more body than water; in
short they will be returning to the life of savages. They must expect
to suffer the depredations of lesser kragen, who will swiftly gather.
Perhaps in time … ” His voice dwindled; his face took on a
thoughtful look.

“You were
about to say?” prompted Phyral Berwick.

Blasdel gave a
noncommittal laugh. “An amusing, far-fetched conceit crossed my
mind. Perhaps in time one of these lesser kragen will vanquish the
others

and drive them
away. When this occurs, those who flee King Kragen will have a king
of their own, who may eventually … ” Again his voice paused.

“Who may
eventually rival King Kragen in force? The concept is not
unreasonable—although King Kragen is already enormous from
long feasting and shows no signs of halting his growth.”

An almost
imperceptible tremor moved the floor of hut. Blasdel went to look out
the door. “I thought I felt the arrival of a coracle.”

“Conceivably a
gust of wind,” said Berwick. “Well, to my errand. As you
have guessed, I did not come to examine your relicts or comment upon
the comfort of your cottage. My business is this. More than two
thousand folk are leaving the Home Floats, and I feel that no one,
not even the most violently fanatic intercessor, would wish this
group to meet King Kragen upon the ocean. King Kragen, as you are
aware, becomes petulant, even wrathful, when he finds men trespassing
upon his realm. Now he is more irascible than ever. Perhaps he fears
the possibility of the second King Kragen, concerning which we
speculated. Hence I came to inquire the whereabouts of King Kragen.
In the evening the wind blows west, and the optimum location for King
Kragen would be at Tranque or Thrasneck.”

Blasdel nodded
sagely. “This, of course, is a question of fortuity and luck,
and certainly the emigrants are putting their luck to the test.
Should King Kragen chance to be waiting in the west tomorrow evening,
and should he spy the flotilla, his wrath might well be excited, to
the detriment of the expedition.”

“And where,”
inquired Berwick, “was King Kragen at last notification?”

Barquan Blasdel
knit his heavy black eyebrows. “I believe that I saw some winks
to the effect that he had been observed cruising easterly below
Adelvine toward Sumber. I might have well misread the flicker—I only noted the configuration from the corner of my eye—but
such was my understanding.”

“Excellent,”
declared Berwick. “This is good news. The emigrants should then
be able to make their departure safely and without interference.”

“So we hope,”
said Blasdel. “King Kragen, of course, is subject to
unpredictable whims and quirks.”

Berwick made a
confidential sign. “Sometimes—so it is rumored—he responds to signals transmitted in some mysterious manner by the
intercessors. Tell me, Barquan Blasdel, is this the case? We are both
notables and together share responsibility for the welfare of Apprise
Float; is it true then that the intercessors communicate with King
Kragen, as has been alleged?”

“Now, then,
Arbiter Berwick,” said Blasdel, “‘this is hardly a
pertinent question. Should I answer yes, then I would be divulging a
craft secret. Should I answer no, then it would seem that we
intercessors boast of nonexistent capabilities. So you must satisfy
yourself with those hypotheses that seem the most profitable.”

“Fairly
answered,” said Phyral Berwick. “However—and in the
strictest confidence—I will report to you an amusing
circumstance. As you know, at, both convocations, I more or less
aligned myself with the party of Sklar Hast. I was subsequently
accepted into their most intimate counsels. I can inform you with
authority—but first, you will assure me of your silence? As
under no circumstances would I betray Sklar Hast, or compromise the
safety of the expedition.”

“Certainly,
indeed; my lips are sealed as with fourteen-year-old varnish.”

“You will
under no circumstances communicate, signal, hint, or imply any
element of what I am about to confide, to any person or anything, the
prohibition to include written messages, winks, or any other method
of communication?”

Barquan Blasdel
gave an uneasy, high-pitched laugh—almost a giggle. “Your
charge upon me is not only legalistic—it is portentous in the
extreme.”

“Do you agree
to the provisions?”

“Certainly! I
have already assured you of my reticence.”

“Well, then, I
take you at your word. This is Sklar Hast’s amusing tactic: he has
arranged that a group of influential intercessors shall accompany the
group. If all goes well, the intercessors live. If not, like all the
rest, they will be crushed in the mandibles of King Kragen.” And
Phyral Berwick, standing back, watched Barquan Blasdel with an
attentive gaze. “What do you make of that?”

Blasdel stood
rigid, fingering his fringe of black beard. He darted a quick glance
toward Berwick; “Which intercessors are to be kidnapped?”

“Aha!”
said Berwick. “That, like your response to the question I put to
you, is in the nature of a craft secret. I doubt if lesser men will
be troubled, but if I were intercessor for Aumerge or Sumber or
Quatrefoil or even Apprise, I believe that I might have cause for
caution.”

Blasdel stared at
Berwick with mingled suspicion and uneasiness. “Do you take this
means to warn me? If so, I would thank you to speak less ambiguously.
Personally I fear no such attack. Within a hundred feet are three
stalwarts, testing my daughters for marriage. A loud call would bring
instant help from the float, which is scarcely a stick’s throw beyond
the garden.”

Berwick nodded
sagely. “It seems then that you are quite secure.”

“Still, I must
now hurry to the main float,” said Blasdel. “I am expected
at the hoodwink tower for an all-float conference, and the evening
grows no younger.”

Berwick bowed and
stood aside. “You will naturally remember to reveal nothing of
what I told you, to put forth no oblique warning, to hint nothing—in fact, to make no reference to the matter in any way whatever.”

Blasdel made an
impatient gesture. “I will say nothing beyond my original
intention, to the effect that the villain Sklar Hast obviously knows
no moderation and that it behooves all notables and craft masters to
guard themselves against some form of final vengeance.”

Berwick frowned. “I
hardly think you need go quite so far. Perhaps you could phrase it
somewhat differently. In this wise: Sklar Hast and his sturdy band
take their leave in the morning; now is the last chance for persons
so inclined to cast in their lot with the group; however, you hope
that all intercessors will remain at their posts.”

“Pah!”
cried Barquan Blasdel indignantly. “That conveys no sense of
imminence! I will say Sklar Hast is desperate; should he decide to
take hostages, his diseased mind would select intercessors as the
most appropriate persons!”

Berwick made a firm
dissent. “This, I believe, transcends the line I have drawn. My
honor is at stake, and I can agree to no announcement which baldly
states the certainty as a probability. It you choose to make a
jocular reference or perhaps urge that not too many intercessors join
the expedition, then all is well. A subtle germ of suspicion has been
planted, you have done your duty, and my honor has not been
compromised.”