The Blue World (4 page)

Meril turned on her
heel, departed the building.

Zander Rohan
finally turned to Sklar Hast. He had started to croak a formal
admission of defeat when Semm Voiderveg stepped quickly forward, took
Zander Rohan’s arm, pulled him aside.

He spoke in urgent
tones while Sklar Hast looked on with a sardonic grin. Iron Myrex
joined the conversation and pulled his chin doubtfully. Zander Rohan
stood less erect than usual, his fine bush of white hair limp and his
beard twisted askew. From time to time he shook his head in forlorn
but unemphatic objection to Semm Voiderveg’s urgings.

But Semm Voiderveg
had his way and turned toward Sklar Hast. “A serious defect in
the test has come to light. I fear it cannot be validated.” ‘

“Indeed?”
asked Sklar Hast. “And how is this?”

“It appears
that you work daily with these exercises, during your instruction of
the apprentices. In short, you have practiced these exercises
intensively, and the contest thereby is not a fair one.”

“You selected
the exercises yourself.”

“Possibly
true. It was nevertheless` your duty to inform us of your familiarity
with the matter.”

“In sheer
point of fact,” said Sklar Hast, “I am not familiar with
the exercises and had not winked them since I was an apprentice
myself.”

Semm Voiderveg
shook his head. “I find this impossible to believe. I, for one,
refuse to validate the results of this so-called contest, and I
believe that Arbiter Myrex feels much the same disgust and
indignation as I do myself.”

Zander Rohan had
the grace to croak a protest. “Let the results stand. I cannot
explain away the score.”

“By no means!”
exclaimed Semm Voiderveg. “A Master Hoodwink must be a man of
utter probity. Do we wish in this august position one who—“

Sklar Hast said in
a gentle voice, “Be careful of your words, Intercessor. The
penalties for slander are strict, as Arbiter Myrex can inform you.”

“Slander
exists if truth is absent or malice is the motivation. I am concerned
only for the well-being of Tranque Float, and the conservation of
traditional morality. Is it slander; then, if I denounce you as a
near-approach to a common cheat?”

Sklar Hast took a
slow step forward, but Rubal Gallager, took his arm. Sklar Hast
turned to Arbiter Myrex. “And what do you say to all this, you
who are Arbiter?”

Ixon Myrex’s
forehead was damp. “Perhaps we should have used other texts for
the test. Even though you had no hand in the selection?”

To the side stood
two or three members of the Belrod clan, deep-divers for stalk and
withe, of the Advertiserman caste, generally prone to a rude and
surly vulgarity.

Now Poe Belrod, the
Caste Elder, a squat, large-featured man, slapped his hand to his
thigh in indignation.

“Surely,
Arbiter Myrex, you cannot subscribe to, a position so obviously
arbitrary and contrived? Remember, you are elected to decide issues
on the basis of justice and not orthodoxy!”

Ixon Myrex Hew into
a rage. “Do you question my integrity? An abuse was brought to
my attention by the Intercessor; it seems a real if unfortunate
objection, and I declare the test invalid. Zander Rohan remains
Master Hoodwink.”

Sklar Hast started
to speak, but now there was a cry from outside the shed: “The
kragen has returned! The kragen swims in the lagoon!”

Sklar Hast pushed
outside, went at a run to the lagoon, followed by all those who had
witnessed the test.

Floating in the
center of the lagoon was the black hulk of the kragen, vanes
restlessly swirling the water. For a moment the forward looking eyes
surveyed the crowd on the main float; then it surged slowly forward,
mandibles clicking with a significant emphasis. Whether or not it
recognized Sklar Hast was uncertain; nevertheless it swam toward
where he stood, then suddenly gave a great thrust of the vanes,
plunged full speed ahead to throw a wave up over the edge of the pad.
As it struck the edge, it flung out a vane, and the flat end splashed
past Sklar Hast’s chest. He staggered back in surprise and shock, to
trip on a shrub and fall.

From nearby came
Semm Voiderveg’s chuckle. “Is this the kragen you spoke so
confidently of killing?”

Sklar Hast regained
his feet and stood looking silently at the kragen. Starlight glinted
from the oily black back as if it were covered with satin. It swung
to the side and began plucking with great energy at a set of
convenient sponge arbors, which, as luck would have it, were the
property of the Belrods, and Poe Belrod called out a series of bitter
curses.

Sklar Hast looked
about him. At least a hundred folk of Tranque Float stood nearby.
Sklar Hast pointed. “The vile beast of the sea plunders us. I
say we should kill it, and all other kragen who seek to devour our
sponges!”

Semm Voiderveg
emitted a high-pitched croak. “Are you insane? Someone, pour
water on this maniac hoodwink,who has too long focused his eyes on
flashing lights!”

In the lagoon the
kragen tore voraciously at the choicest Belrod sponges, and the
Belrods emitted a series of anguished hoots.

“I say, kill
the beast!” cried Sklar Hast. “The king despoils us; must
we likewise feed all the kragen of the ocean?”

“Kill the
beast!” echoed the younger Belrods.

Semm Voiderveg
gesticulated in vast excitement, but Poe Belrod shoved him roughly
aside. “Quiet, let us listen to the hoodwink. How could we the
kragen? Is it possible?”

“No!”
cried Semm Voiderveg. “Of course it is not possible! Nor is it
wise or proper! What of our covenant with King Kragen?”

“King Kragen
be damned!” cried Poe Belrod roughly. “Let us hear the
hoodwink. Come then: do you have any method in mind by which the
kragen can be destroyed?”

Sklar Hast looked
dubiously through the dark toward the great black hulk. “I think
yes. A method that requires the strength of many men.”

Poe Belrod waved
his hand toward those who had come to watch the kragen. “Here
they stand.”

“Come,”
said Sklar Hast. He walked back toward the center of the float.
Thirty or forty men followed him, mostly Swindlers, Advertisermen,
Blackguards, Extorters and Larceners. The remainder hung dubiously
back.

Sklar Hast led the
way to a pile of poles stacked for the construction of a new
storehouse. Each pole, fabricated from withes laid lengthwise and
bound in glue, was twenty feet long by eight inches in diameter and
combined great strength with lightness. Sklar Hast selected a pole
even flicker—the ridge beam. “Pull this pole forth, lay
it on trestle!”

While this was
being accomplished, he looked about and signaled Rudolf Snyder, a
Ninth, though a man no older than himself of the long-lived
Incendiary Caste, which now monopolized the preparation of fiber, the
laying of rope and plaits. “I need two hundred feet of hawser,
stout enough to lift the kragen. If there is none of this, then we
must double or redouble smaller rope to the same effect.”

Rudolf Snyder took
four men to help him and brought rope from the warehouse.

Sklar Hast worked
with great energy, rigging the pole in accordance with his plans.
“Now lift! Carry all to the edge of the pad!”

Excited by his
urgency, the men shouldered the pole, carried it close to the lagoon,
and at Sklar Hast’s direction set it down with one end resting on the
hard fiber of a rib. The other end, to which two lengths of hawser
were tied, rested on a trestle and almost overhung the water. “Now,”
said Sklar Hast, “now we kill the kragen.” He made a noose
at the end of a hawser, advanced toward the kragen, which watched him
through the rear-pointing eyes of its turret. Sklar Hast moved
slowly, so as not to alarm the creature, which continued to pluck
sponges with a contemptuous disregard.

Sklar Hast
approached the edge of the pad. “Come, beast!” he called.
“Ocean brute! Come closer. Come.” He bent, splashed water
at the kragen. Provoked, it surged toward him. Sklar Hast waited, and
just before it swung its vane, he tossed the noose over its turret.
He signaled his men. “Now!” They heaved on the line,
dragged the thrashing kragen through the water. Sklar Hast guided the
line to the end of the pole. The kragen surged suddenly forward; in
the confusion and the dark the men heaving on the rope fell backward.
Sklar Hast seized the slack and, dodging a murderous slash of the
kragen’s fore-vane, flung a hitch around the end of the pole, he
danced back. “Now!” he called. “Pull, pull! Both
lines! The beast is as good as dead!”

On each of the pair
of hawsers tied to the head of the pole twenty men heaved. The pole
raised on its base; the line tautened around the kragen’s turret; the
men dug in their heels; the base of the pole bit into the hard rib.
The pole raised farther, braced by the angle of the ropes. With
majestic deliberation the thrashing kragen was lifted from the water
and swung up into the air. From the others who watched passively came
a murmurous moan of fascination. Semm Voiderveg, who had been
standing somewhat apart, made a gesture of horror and walked swiftly
away.”

Ixon Myrex, the
Arbiter, for reasons best known to himself, was nowhere to be seen,
nor was Zander Rohan. The kragen made gulping noises, reached its
vanes this way and that, to no avail. Sklar Hast surveyed the
creature, somewhat at a loss as to how next to proceed. His helpers
were looking at the kragen in awe, uncomfortable at their own daring.
Already they stole furtive glances out over the ocean, which,
perfectly calm, glistened with the reflections of the blazing
constellations.

Sklar Hast thought
to divert their attention. “The nets!” he called out to
those who watched. “Where are the hooligans? Repair the nets
before we lose all our fish! Are you helpless?”

Certain net-makers,
a trade dominated by the Hooligans, detached themselves from the
group and went out to repair the broken net.

Sklar Hast returned
to a consideration of the dangling kragen. At his orders the hawsers
supporting the tilted pole were made fast to ribs on the surface of
the pad; the men now gathered gingerly about the dangling kragen and
speculated as to the best means to kill the creature. Perhaps it was
already dead. To test this theory, a lad of the Belrods prodded the
kragen with a length of stalk and suffered a broken collarbone from a
quick blow of the fore-vane.

Sklar Hast stood
somewhat apart, studying the creature. Its hide was tough; its
cartilaginous tissue even tougher. He sent one man for a float-hook,
another for a sharp femur-stake, and from the two fashioned a spear.

The kragen hung
limp, the vanes swaying, occasionally twitching. Sklar Hast moved
forward cautiously, touched the point of the spear to the side of the
turret, thrust with all his weight. The point entered the tough hide
perhaps half an inch, then broke. The kragen jerked, snorted, a vane
slashed out. Sklar Hast sensed the dark flicker of motion, dodged;
and felt the air move beside his face. The spear shaft hurtled out
over the pond; the vane struck the pole on which the kragen hung,
bruising the fibers.

“What a
quarrelsome beast!” muttered Sklar Hast. “Bring more rope;
we must prevent such demonstrations.”

From the side came
a harsh command: “You are madmen; why do you risk the
displeasure of King Kragen? I decree that you desist from your rash
acts!”

This was the voice
of Ixon Myrex, who now had appeared on the scene. Sklar Hast could
not ignore Ixon Myrex as he had Semm Voiderveg. He considered the
dangling kragen, looked about at the faces of his comrades. Some were
hesitating; Ixon Myrex was not a man to be trifled with.

Sklar Hast spoke in
a voice which he felt to, be calm and reasonable. “The kragen is
destroying our arbors. If the King is slothful about his duties, why
should we permit—“

Ixon Myrex’s voice
shook with wrath. “That is no way to speak! You violate the
Covenant!”

Sklar Hast spoke
even more politely than before. “King Kragen is nowhere to be
seen. The intercessors who claim such large power run back and forth
in futility. We must act for ourselves; is not this the free will and
independence men claim as their basic right? So join us in killing
this ravenous beast.”

Ixon Myrex held up
his hands, which trembled with indignation. “Return the kragen
to the lagoon, that there—“

“That thereby
it may destroy more arbors?” demanded Sklar Hast. “This is
not the result I hope for. Nor do you order the support you might.
Who is more important—the men of the Floats or the kragen?”

This argument
struck a chord in his comrades, and they all shouted: “Yes, who
is more important—men or kragen?”

“Men rule the
floats, King Kragen rules the ocean,” stated Ixon Myrex. “There
is no question of comparing importances.”

“The lagoon is
also under the jurisdiction of man,” said Sklar Hast. “This
particular kragen is now on the float. Where is the rope?”

Arbiter Myrex
called out in his sternest tones: “This is how I interpret the
customs of Tranque Float: The kragen must be restored to the water,
with all haste. No other course is consistent with custom.”

There was a
stirring among the men who had helped snare the sea-beast. Sklar Hast
said nothing, but taking up the rope, formed a noose. He crawled
forward, flipped up the noose to catch a dangling vane, then crawling
back and rising to his feet, he circled the creature, binding the
dangling vanes. The kragen’s motions became increasingly constricted
and finally were reduced to spasmodic shudders. Sklar Hast approached
the creature from the rear, careful to remain out of reach of
mandibles and palps, and made the bonds secure. “Now the vile
beast can only squirm. Lower it to the pad, and we will find a means
to make its end.”

The guy ropes were
shifted; the pole tilted and swung; the kragen fell to the surface of
the pad, where it lay, passive, palps and mandibles moving slightly
in and out. It showed no agitation or discomfort; perhaps it felt
none. The exact degree of the kragen’s sensitivity and ratiocinative
powers had never been determined.

In the east the sky
was lightening where the cluster of flaring blue and white suns known
as Phocan’s Cauldron began to rise. The ocean glimmered with a leaden
sheen, and the folk who stood on the central pad began to glance
furtively along the obscure horizon, muttering and complaining. Some
few called out encouragement to Sklar Hast, recommending the most
violent measures against the kragen. Between these and others furious
arguments raged. Zander Rohan stood by Ixon Myrex, both obviously
disapproving of Sklar Hast’s activity. Of the Caste Elders only Poe
Belrod and Elmar Pronave, Jackleg and Master Witheweaver, defended
Sklar Hast and his unconventional acts.

Sklar Hast ignored
all. He sat watching the black hulk with vast distaste, furious with
himself as well for having become involved in so perilous a project.
What, after all, had been gained? The kragen had broken his arbors;
he had revenged himself and prevented more destruction; well enough,
but he had also incurred the ill will of the most influential folk of
the float. More seriously, he had involved those others who had
trusted him and looked to him for leadership and toward whom he now
felt responsibility.

He rose to his
feet. There was no help for it; the sooner the beast was disposed of,
the more quickly life would return to normal. He approached the
kragen, examined it gingerly. The mandibles quivered in their anxiety
to sever Sklar Hast’s torso; Sklar stayed warily to the side. How to
kill the beast?

Elmar Pronave
approached, the better to examine the creature. He was a tall man
with a high-bridged broken nose and black hair worn in the two
ear-plumes of the old Procurer Caste, now no longer in existence save
for a few aggressively unique individuals scattered through the
floats, who used the caste-marks to emphasize their emotional
detachment.

Pronave circled the
hulk, kicked at the rear vane, bent to peer into one of the staring
eyes. “If we could cut it up, the parts might be of some use.”

“The hide is
too tough for our knives,” growled Sklar Hast. “There’s no
neck to be strangled.”

“There are
other ways to kill.”

Sklar Hast nodded.
“We could sink the beast into the depths of the ocean—but what to use for weight? Bones? Far too valuable. We could load
bags with ash, but there is not that much ash to hand. We could burn
every hut on the float, as well as the hoodwink tower, and still not
secure sufficient. To burn the kragen would require a like mountain
of fuel.”

A young Larcener
who had worked with great enthusiasm during the trapping of the
kragen spoke forth: “Poison exists! Find me poison, I will fix a
capsule to a stick and push it into the creature’s maw!”

Elmar Pronave gave
a sardonic bark of laughter. “Agreed; poisons exist, hundreds of
them, derived from various sea-plants and animals—but which
are sufficiently acrid to destroy this beast? And where is it to be
had? I doubt if there is that much poison nearer than Lamp Float.”