The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories (18 page)

The propeller droned louder, closer. The black underbody of the little boat plunged directly at him.

Magnus Ridolph threw the propulsion dial hard to its stop. Water blasted back from the jet, scattering the fish, and Magnus Ridolph dove off at an angle.

The boat turned with him, following swiftly. The propeller halted, the boat slowed. Under the surface came the tube, pointing at Magnus Ridolph. It twitched, ejected a little projectile which bubbled fast toward him.

Magnus Ridolph doubled fast to the side and the spew of his drive caught the missile, diverted it slightly. From behind came a tremendous explosion—jarring Magnus Ridolph like a hammer blow. And the boat was once more after him.

Magnus Ridolph blinked, shook his head. He twisted, dove up at a slant for the boat. Up under the light boat he came, the head-dome under one side of the hull. Full power on the thrust-unit—up and over went the boat. Sprawling into the water toppled an awkward dark shape and the rocket-tube plunged steeply into the darkness below. The boat filled with water, settled into the gloom.

Magnus Ridolph surfaced, placidly watched Naile, the laboratory technician, paddling for land. He was a clumsy swimmer and the shore was a mile distant. If he reached the shore, there would still be several miles of morass to traverse back to the cannery. After a moment Magnus Ridolph sunk below the surface, returned to the great white underwater rampart.

Joel Karamor strode back and forth, hands behind his back, forehead furrowed. Magnus Ridolph, at his ease in an old-fashioned leather armchair, sipped a glass of sherry. This was Joel Karamor’s business office, high in the French Pavilion Tower—one of the landmarks of Tran, the miracle-city on the shores of Lake Sahara.

“Yes,” muttered Karamor, “but where was Donnels all this time? Where is he now?”

Magnus Ridolph coughed slightly, touched his white beard, this once more crisp, well-cropped.

“Ah, Donnels,” he mused. “Did you value him as a partner?”

Karamor froze stock-still, stared at his visitor. “What do you mean? Where is Donnels?”

Magnus Ridolph touched the tips of his fingers together. “I’ll continue my report. I returned to the dock and as it was somewhat after sunset, very dull and gloomy, I fancy I was not observed. A large number of the intelligent fish, I may add, accompanied me for reasons of their own, into which I did not inquire.

“I assumed that Donnels would be standing on the wharf, probably armed and emotionally keyed to shoot without permitting me to present my authority from you. I believe I have mentioned that the wharf provided the only access from the cannery to the ocean—the shore being an impassable swamp.

“If Donnels were standing on the wharf, he would completely dominate the ground. My problem then was to find a means to reach solid ground without being perceived by Donnels.”

Karamor resumed his pacing. “Yes,” he muttered. “Go on.”

Magnus Ridolph sipped his sherry. “A suitable expedient had occurred to me. Understand now, Joel, I could not, at the risk of my life, climb boldly up on the wharf.”

“I understand perfectly. What did you do?”

“I swam through the trap into the concentration pond. But I still would be exposed if I tried to emerge from the water, so…”

“So?”

“So I swam to the gate into the cannery, waited till it opened and propelled myself into the chute toward the eviscerator.”

“Hah!” snorted Joel Karamor. “Just the grace of God I’m not opening a can of sardines and finding you. Canned Magnus Ridolph!”

“No,” said the white-bearded sage. “There was little danger of the eviscerator. The chute is set at a gentle slope…As you may imagine, the operator of the machine was startled when I appeared before him. Fortunately for me he was a Capellan, excellent at routine tasks, short on initiative, and he raised no special outcry when I rose from the chute.

“I removed the diving-suit, explained to the Capellan that I was testing the slope of the channel—which seemed to satisfy him—and then I strolled out on the wharf.

“As I expected, Donnels was standing there, watching across the water. He did not hear me—I walk rather quietly. It now occurred to me that inasmuch as Donnels was young and athletic, of choleric disposition and furthermore carried a hand-weapon, my bargaining position was rather poor. Accordingly I pushed him into the water.”

“You did! Then what?”

Magnus Ridolph put on a doleful countenance.

“Then what, confound it?” bawled Karamor.

“A tragic occurrence,” said Magnus Ridolph. He shook his head. “I might have foreseen it had I thought. You remember, I mentioned the fish following me back from the dike.”

Karamor stared. “You mean?”

“Donnels drowned,” said Magnus Ridolph. “The fish drowned him. Feeble individually, in the mass they drove him away from the wharf, pulled him under. A distressing sight. I was very upset.”

Karamor paced once, twice, across the room, flung himself into a chair opposite Magnus Ridolph.

“An accident, hey? Poor unfortunate Donnels, hey? Is that the story? The trouble is, Magnus, I know you too well. The whole thing sounds too precise. These—ah, intelligent sardines—” he made a sardonic mouth “—had no idea Donnels would be pushed into the water?”

“Well,” said Magnus Ridolph thoughtfully. “I
did
mention that he would probably be waiting on the wharf. And the Barnett charts, though very useful of course, are not infallible. I suppose it’s not impossible that the fish assumed—”

“Never mind, never mind,” said Karamor wearily.

“Look at it this way,” suggested Magnus Ridolph easily. “If Donnels had not attempted to blast and poison the fish they would not have drowned him. If Donnels had not sent Naile to blast me out of the water and had not been waiting on the dock for the honor of shooting me personally I would not have pushed him in.”

“Yes,” said Karamor, “and if you hadn’t stolen his suit he probably wouldn’t have been waiting for you.”

Magnus Ridolph pursed his lips. “If we pursue the matter of ultimate responsibility to the limit we might arrive at you, who, as Donnels’ partner, is legally responsible for his actions.”

Karamor sighed. “How did the whole thing start?”

“A natural evolution,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Donnels and Naile, in stocking Chandaria with sardines, naturally selected the best sardines possible. Then in the laboratory, while waiting for the fish to multiply, they encouraged mutations to improve the stock even further.

“One of these mutations proved highly intelligent, and I fancy this gave Donnels his big idea. Why not breed a strain of intelligent fish which could be trained to work for him, like sheep-dogs or better, like the Judas-goat which leads the sheep into the abattoir?

“They set to work breeding, cross-breeding, and indeed a very intelligent sardine resulted. Those which would cooperate with Donnels rendered very valuable service, enabling him to can fish without going to the trouble of catching them himself.

“A few of the fish, the most intelligent, preferred freedom and founded a colony near the dike. Donnels soon learned of this colony because all but the most servile of his Judas fish swam off and joined their brothers.

“Taming these fish, teaching them, was a laborious task and Donnels decided to exterminate the colony. He also feared that the intelligent fish might outnumber the normal ones and refuse to be led blindly into his concentration pond. He tried blasting and poison from the surface but was unsuccessful, as the fish could see him coming. So he ordered a diving-suit from Rhodope.

“Meanwhile the fish had launched a counter-offensive. They had no weapons—they could not attack Donnels directly. But they knew the purpose of the cannery, that it packed sardines for human consumption.

“They developed the skill to build the bubbles on the dike—a secretion, I believe—and prepare a series of offensive substances. Then a great number of ordinary sardines were captured, packed with these substances, sent into the cannery to be canned and exported.”

Joel Karamor rose abruptly to his feet, once more paced the glossy floor. “And what happened to Naile?”

“He showed up a day later. A mere tool.”

Karamor shook his head. “I suppose the plant is a total loss. Did you make arrangements to evacuate the help?”

Magnus Ridolph widened his eyes in surprise. “None whatever. Was I supposed to do so?”

“I gave you full powers,” snapped Karamor. “You should have seen to it.”

A buzzer sounded. Karamor pushed the button. A soft voice spoke. Karamor’s brindle-gray hair rose in a startled ruff.

“Cargo of canned sardines? Hold on.” He turned to Magnus Ridolph. “Who dispatched the sardines? What’s going on here—and there?”

Magnus Ridolph shrugged. “The cannery is functioning as before—under new management. Using my powers I made the necessary arrangements. Your share of the profits shall be as before.”

Karamor halted in mid-stride. “So? And who is my partner? Naile?”

“By no means,” said Magnus Ridolph. “He has nothing to offer.”

“Who then?” bellowed Karamor.

“Naturally, the colony of intelligent sardines I told you about.”

“
What!
”

“Yes,” said Magnus Ridolph. “You are now associated commercially with a shoal of sardines. The Sardine–Karamor Company.”

“My word,” husked Karamor. “
My word!
”

“The advantages to all concerned are obvious,” said Magnus Ridolph. “You are assured of efficient management with high-grade raw material guaranteed. The sardines receive whatever civilized amenities they desire.”

Karamor was silent for some minutes. He turned a narrow eye on the bland Magnus Ridolph.

“I detect the Ridolph touch in this scheme. The characteristic lack of principle, the calculated outing of orthodox practise…”

“Tut, tut,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Not at all, not at all.”

Karamor snorted. “Do you deny that the whole program was your idea?”

“Well,” said Magnus Ridolph carefully, “I admit that I pointed out to the fishes the advantages of the arrangement.”

Walking on Caffron Beach in the planet Azul’s watery blue-green twilight Magnus Ridolph was confronted by a scowling man of formidable appearance—very tall, very broad, with thundercloud eyebrows, a mouth and jaw like an ore-crusher.

“Are you Magnus Ridolph?” The tone was direct with overtones of bellicosity.

Magnus Ridolph wondered which of his creditors had been so importunate as to pursue him out here on the quiet blue sand beside Veridical Sea. Unfortunate—impossible to avoid him now.

Magnus Ridolph said frankly, “I am he.”

The carbuncle eyes of the scowling man bored into Magnus Ridolph’s pale blue ones. “I understand you’re a detective.”

Magnus Ridolph pursed his lips thoughtfully, touched his neat white beard. “Why, I suppose that term might be used. Generally I refer to myself as—”

The scowling man looked off across the ink-black water. “I don’t care what you call yourself. John Southern recommended you.”

“Ah, yes,” Magnus Ridolph nodded. “I remember him. The statues in the King of Maherleon’s harem.”

The big man’s scowl deepened. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Intelligence, facility, resourcefulness are not like neckties, to be displayed as ornaments,” Magnus Ridolph pointed out.

“Maybe you can angle and argue but can you produce when the going’s tough? That’s what I want to know.”

Confident that the man, no matter how unpleasant, was no bill collector Magnus Ridolph said affably, “That depends upon the circumstances.”

The big man’s expression became slightly contemptuous.

Magnus Ridolph said easily, “The circumstances include a feeling of sympathy with my client. So far you have aroused no such sensation.”

The big man grinned. “I arouse what sympathy I need by writing my name to a check. My name is Howard Thifer. I’m in the heavy metal business.”

Magnus Ridolph nodded. “I have heard your name mentioned.”

“Probably as a high-flying free-wheeling financial hell-raiser.”

“I believe the term ‘unscrupulous blackguard’ was used,” said Ridolph.

Thifer made an impatient gesture with a forearm the size of a rolled-up welcome mat. “Never mind about that. The squealing of scalded shoats! I’m up against something fantastic. Something I can’t fight. It’s costing me money and I’ve got to lick it.”

“Suppose you describe your problem.”

Thifer turned the full gaze of his red-brown eyes on Magnus Ridolph. “This is confidential, understand? If anything leaked out there’d be trouble for both of us. Get me?”

Magnus Ridolph shrugged, started to move away, across the pale blue beach. “I find that your proposition does not interest me.”

A hand like a bear paw descended on his shoulder. In outrage Magnus Ridolph swung around. “Hands off, sir!”

Thifer said with a heavy leer, “At the Green Lion Hostel two process servers are waiting for you. They’ve got a multiple notice of judgment.”

Magnus Ridolph chewed at his lip. “That confounded zoo,” he muttered. Aloud, “Mr. Thifer, what is the nature of your problem, and how much are you able to pay?”

“First of all,” said Thifer, “I’ll warn you that if you take on this job there’s a good chance you’ll be killed. In fact you’ll certainly be killed unless you do better than the last twenty men. You see, I’m being frank with you. Are you still interested?”

Magnus Ridolph remarked that if his death were a necessary adjunct to the solving of the mystery he feared that his fee would have to be disproportionately large.

Thifer said, “Well, here’s the set-up. I own a planet.”

“A planet
in toto?
”

“Yes,” said Thifer roughly. “I own Jexjeka. I’m—quite wealthy.”

Magnus Ridolph sighed. “I am not. My zoo is unsuccessful. It has cost me a great deal.”

“Hm. So that howling menagerie of monsters is your doing?”

“No longer. I’ve sold the whole affair for two hundred munits.”

Howard Thifer snorted, a sound that would have fractured the larynx of an ordinary man. “Here’s the situation—or better, come aboard my ship, where I can show you on the chart.”

“Jexjeka is rock, all rock,” said Thifer. “There are what I call oases—four springs of good water. Only water on the planet. Two in each hemisphere, as you see. My headquarters is here—” he pointed “—at A, closest to the mines.”

“Heavy metals?”

“I’m mining a crystal of pure tungsten the size of a house. I’ve got an open pit of selenium oxide and I’m working a three-foot vein of centaurium trioxide, with uranium. But that’s neither here nor there,” he said impatiently. “About two years ago I decided to make Jexjeka self-sustaining.”

Magnus Ridolph frowned. “A planet all rock?”

Thifer said, “It’s airless, lifeless—not even spores. But I’m using Thalurian labor—anaerobes from Thaluri Second. They eat like wolves and it costs me real money keeping them in supplies.

“I figured to plant some of the native vegetation at the oases, have them grow some of their own food. So I freighted in soil, planted an orchard of Thalurian trees, the fiber things with the glass leaves. Now, see here at oasis B, the closest to A—this is where I set out the first orchard, also a meadow for the Thalurian cows.” He sat back, glowered at the chart.

“And?” Magnus Ridolph prompted.

“It’s what I can’t understand. It puzzles me. Everything went beautifully. The trees give bigger crops than they do on Thaluri Second. The cows—I call ’em that, they’re big barrels with long legs for hanging on to the rocks—they multiplied like rabbits, really prospered.”

Magnus Ridolph scanned the chart, glanced up into Thifer’s big flat face. “Clearly I am dense. You have spoken at length and I still fail to understand your problem.” He smoothed the front of his neat white and blue tunic.

Thifer scowled. “Let’s understand each other, Ridolph. I’m not paying you for sarcasm. I don’t like to be the butt of your jokes, anybody’s jokes.”

Magnus Ridolph inspected him coolly. “Calm yourself, Mr. Thifer. Your display of temper embarrasses me.”

Thifer’s face swelled with dark blood. He clenched his hands, then in a low thick voice he said, “About a year ago I decided to expand my orchard to oasis C. On the night of June thirteen, Earth-time, every man at the oasis disappeared. They vanished off the face of the planet as if they’d never been there. There were two Earthmen, a Rhodopian clerk, four Thalurians.”

“Any ships missing?”

“No, nothing like that. We were mystified, naturally. An investigation told us nothing. But I still went ahead, expanded the farm to oasis D. Eighty-four days after the first disappearance the same thing happened.

“Every man vanished without trace from both C and D. No sign of violence, no struggle, no hint of any kind as to what happened. Naturally camp routine was disrupted. The Thalurians, as you may know, are a very superstitious bunch—easily frightened. The second disappearance set them off into a serious demonstration. I finally got them quiet and imported a crew of men I could trust from another working.

“I sent this crew out to C and D. Eighty-four days after the previous disappearance they disappeared, the whole bunch—lock, stock and barrel. Gone into thin air—except there’s no air on Jexjeka. And at each disappearance went all the Thalurians I was able to persuade out to C and D to tend the orchard and the cows—and likewise all the cows.”

Magnus Ridolph asked, “Have you appealed to the TCI?”

Thifer sounded his gargantuan snort. “That gang of scroungers? You know what they told me? They told me I had no business on Jexjeka in the first place. That, since it lay outside the legal bounds of the Commonwealth, they had no legal right to investigate. And mind you, every eighty-four days citizens of the Commonwealth were disappearing into nowhere. They wouldn’t even turn their heads to spit in my direction.”

Magnus Ridolph rubbed his beard. “You’re sure there is not some simple explanation? The men are not working with a gang of hijackers or black-birders?”

Thifer said, “Nonsense!” and glowered indignantly at Magnus Ridolph.

Magnus Ridolph said, “I agree that you have given me an interesting story. I suppose your idea is that I take up residence at either C or D, risking my own disappearance?”

“That’s right.”

Magnus Ridolph said slowly, “Actually I have outlived my usefulness. If I am to be killed on Jexjeka my only concern is for my creditors. I would not care to have the stigma of debt soil my memory.

“Hm—you say that there are two process-servers waiting at the hostel? Well, I will be modest. Give me a check for ten thousand munits and satisfy the process-servers and I will undertake your problem for you.”

Thifer growled, “Just what do you owe these process-servers?”

“I’m not sure,” said Magnus Ridolph, looking blandly at the chart. “The bill was merely provisions for the creatures in my zoo.”

“Provisions for how long?”

“Four months—no longer.”

Thifer considered. “That shouldn’t be too much. Very well, I’ll do it.”

“I’ll write out a quick agreement,” suggested Magnus Ridolph. He did so and Howard Thifer, after grumbling about the delay, put his signature to it.

Together they left the cruiser, returned to the Green Lion Hostel in the Vale of Tempe at the head of Caffron Beach.

Two young men, sitting in the lobby, jumped to their feet at the sight of Magnus Ridolph, advanced upon him like terriers.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said Magnus Ridolph, holding his hands up in mock dismay. “There is no need for your unpleasant documents. Are you empowered to accept a settlement?”

“We’ll settle for the exact sum of the judgment, not one cent less.”

“Mr. Thifer here will pay you. Please submit him your bill.”

Thifer pulled out a checkbook. “How much is it?” he rumbled.

“One hundred and twenty-two thousand, six hundred and twenty munits. Make it payable to Vanguard Organic Supply of Starport.”

Thifer turned to Magnus Ridolph with a terrible slow fury. “You lying swindling old goat!”

“‘Goat’,” said Magnus Ridolph, “is an epithet I dislike. Others have regretted its use. My beard is an affectation, I agree. Aside from this beard I have no hircine characteristics.”

Thifer’s eyes were level pools of hot fire. “You told me this bill was for animal food. You tricked me into—”

“No such thing!” protested Magnus Ridolph. “You need merely read the statement these gentlemen will hand you.”

Thifer reached across, snatched a sheet of paper from the process-server, who protested feebly. The sheet read:

“To Magnus Ridolph, statement of indebtedness, as per invoice below, covering deliveries during last quarter.

100 kg. candied ceegee eggs @ M80/kg. ___________________________________M 8,000

200 liters sap (from Yellow-Bounding Tree of Lennox IV) @ M45/liter______ 9,000

One ton live chancodilla grubs @ M4,235/ton______________________________ 4,235

Two tons slime from bed of Lanklark Sinkhole @ M380/ton__________________ 760

50 lbs. California raisins, first quality @ M1/lb._______________________ 50

100 cases ripe ticholama buds from Naos VI @ M42/case____________________ 4,200

20 frozen ice-mandrakes @ M600 __________________________________________12,000

400 cartons—”

Thifer flung back the statement. He said briefly to Magnus Ridolph, “I won’t pay it.”

Magnus Ridolph said, “I have no choice but to sue for breach of contract. And in addition you will be denied the pleasure of my disappearance from your oases C and D.”

“True,” said Thifer. “It’s worth many times the money to assist, even in a small way, at your disappearance. I warn you, Ridolph, I’m not a forgiving man.” He turned to the process-server. “How much was that again?”

“One hundred twenty-two thousand six hundred and twenty munits.”

“Here’s your check.” He jerked his head to Magnus Ridolph. “Have your luggage sent out to my cruiser. We’re leaving for Jexjeka at once.”

“As you wish,” said Magnus Ridolph.

During the eight-day voyage from Azul in Sagittarius to Jexjeka in Cancer 3/2, Magnus Ridolph spoke to Howard Thifer exactly twice. They lunched together the first day out and agreed to discuss the mystery in the observation dome over coffee.

The discussion began amiably—“a feast of reason, a flow of soul.” Before long Magnus Ridolph expressed surprise at the fact that while Thifer had prospected the planet for minerals and organic life he had ignored the possible presence of the inorganic, sometimes supersensory, creatures found on certain planets, even on Earth, where they were known as ghosts.

Here Thifer vented his most devastating snort to date. “John Southern told me you were a detective, not an incense-swinging hoochy-macooch witch-doctor.”

Magnus Ridolph nodded philosophically, remarking that his attitude was not unusual. He cited the animal world. Swine, bears, seals among others also took their sensory impressions to be an accurate picture of the world, said Magnus Ridolph.