Trullion: Alastor 2262 (7 page)

BOOK: Trullion: Alastor 2262
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In the morning Glay bundled up his belongings and Glinnes took him to Saurkash. Not a word was spoken during the trip. When he had stepped from the boat to Saurkash dock, Glay said, “I won’t be far away, not for a while at any rate. Maybe I’ll camp on the Commons. Akadie will know where to find me in case I’m needed. Try to be kind to Marucha. She’s had an unhappy life, and now if she wants to play at girlhood, where’s the harm in it?”

“Bring back that twelve thousand ozols and I might pay you some heed,” said Glinnes. “Right now, all I expect of you is nonsense.”

“The more fool you,” said Glay, and went off up the dock. Glinnes watched him go. Then, instead of returning to Rabendary, he continued west toward Welgen. Less than an hour’s skim across the placid waterways brought him into Blacklyn Broad, with the great Karbashe River entering from the north, and the sea a mile or so to the south. Glinnes tied the boat to the public dock, almost in the shadow of the hussade stadium, a structure of gray-green mena poles joined with black iron straps and brackets. He noticed a great cream-colored placard printed in red and blue:

THE FLEHARISH BROAD HUSSADE CLUB
is now forming a team
to compete at tournament level.
Applicants of requisite skills
will please apply to
Jeral Estang, Secretary,
or to the honorable sponsor, Thammas, Lord Gensifer.

Glinnes read the placard a second time, wondering where Lord Gensifer would assemble sufficient talent for a team of tournament quality. Ten years before, a dozen teams had played around the Fens: the Welgen Storm-devils, the Invincibles of the Altramar Hussade Club, the Voulash Gialospans* of Great Vole Island, the Gaspar Magnetics, the Saurkash Serpents-this last the somewhat disorganized and casual group for whom he and Jut and Shira had played-the Gorgets of the Loressamy Hussade Club, and various others of various quality and ever-shifting personnel. Competition had run keen; skilled players were sought after, cozened, subjected to a hundred inducements. Glinnes had no reason to doubt that a similar situation prevailed now.

Glinnes turned away from the stadium with a new thought itching at the back of his mind. A poor hussade team lost money, and unless subsidized, fell apart. A mediocre team might either win or lose, depending on whether it scheduled games below or above itself. But a successful aggressive team often earned substantial booty in the course of a year, which when divided might well yield twelve thousand ozols per man.

Glinnes walked thoughtfully to the central square. The structures seemed a trifle more weathered, the calepsis vines shading the arbor in front of the Aude de Lys Tavern were somewhat fuller and richer, and-now that Glinnes took the pains to notice a surprising number of Fanscher uniforms and Fanscher-influenced garments were in evidence. Glinnes sneered in disgust for the faddishness of it all. At the center of the square, as before, stood the prutanshyr: a platform forty feet on a side, with a gantry above, and to the side a subsidiary platform or stand for the musicians who provided counterpoint to the rites of penitence.

gialospans: literally, girl-denuders, in reference to the anticipated plight of the enemy sheirl.

Ten years had brought one or two new structures, most notable a new inn, The Noble Saint Gambrinus, raised on mena timbers above the ground-level beer-garden, where four Trevanyi musicians were playing for such folk who had elected to take early refreshment.

Chapter 7

Glinnes watched Junius Farfan cross the square, moving around and out of sight behind the prutanshyr. He had achieved about as much as he had expected nothing. Nevertheless, his resentment now included the suave Junius Farfan as well as Glay. However, it now became time to forget the lost money and try to find new. He looked into his wallet, though he already knew its contents: three thousand-ozol certificates, four hundred-ozol certificates, another hundred ozols in smaller paper. He therefore needed nine thousand ozols. His retirement pension amounted to a hundred ozols a month, more than ample for a man in his circumstances. He left The Noble Saint Gambrinus and crossed the square to the Welgen Bank, where he introduced himself to the chief officer.

To be brief,” said Glinnes, “my problem is this: I need nine thousand ozols to repossess Ambal Isle, which my brother incorrectly sold to a certain Lute Casagave.”

“Yes, Lute Casagave; I recall the transaction.”

“I wish to make a loan of nine thousand ozols, which I can repay at a rate of a hundred ozols per month. This is the fixed and definite sum I receive from the Whelm. Your money is perfectly safe and you are assured of repayment.”

“Unless you die, then what?” Glinnes had not reckoned upon such a possibility.

“There is always Rabendary Island, which I can propose for security.”

“Rabendary Island. You are the owner?” “I am the current squire,” said Glinnes with a sudden sense of defeat.

“My brother Shira disappeared two months ago. He is almost certainly dead.”

“Very likely true. Still, we cannot deal in ‘almosts and very likelys.’ Shira Hulden cannot be presumed dead until four years have passed. Until then you lack legal control of Rabendary Island. Unless, of course, you can prove his death.”

Glinnes shook his head in vexation. “By diving down to consult the merlings? The situation is absurd.”

“I appreciate the difficulties, but we deal in many absurdities; this is no more than an ordinary example.”

Glinnes threw up his hands in defeat. He left the bank and returned to his boat, pausing only to re-read the placard announcing the formation of the Fleharish Broad Hussade Club.

As the boat drove toward Rabendary, Glinnes performed a number of calculations, all with the same purport: nine thousand ozols was a great deal of money. He reckoned the utmost income he might derive from Rabendary Island: perhaps two thousand ozols a year and insufficient by a factor of five. Glinnes turned his mind to hussade. A member of an important team might well gain ten thousand or even twenty thousand ozols a year if his team played often and consistently won. Lord Gensifer apparently planned the formation of such a team. Well and good, except that all the other teams of the region strained and strove to the same end, scheming, intriguing, making large promises, propounding visions of wealth and glory-all in order to attract talented players, who were not plentiful. The aggressive man might be slow and clumsy; the quick man might have poor judgment or a bad memory or insufficient strength to tub his opponent.

Each position made its specific demands. The ideal forward was fast, agile, daring, sufficiently strong to cope with the opponents’ rovers and guards. A rover must also be quick and skillful; most urgently, he must be skillful with the buff that padded implement used to thrust or trip the opponent from the ways or courses into the tanks. The rovers were the first line of defense against the thrusts of the forwards, and the guards were the last. The guards were massive powerful men, decisive with their buffs. Since they were not often required to trapeze, or leap the tanks, agility was not an essential attribute in a guard. The ideal hussade player comprised all these qualities; he was powerful, intelligent, cunning, nimble, and merciless. Such men were rare. How, then, did Lord Gensifer propose to recruit a tournament-quality team? At Fleharish Broad, Glinnes decided to find out and swung south toward the Five Islands.

Glinnes moored his boat beside Lord Gensifer’s sleek offshore cruiser and leapt to the dock. A path led through a park to the manor. As he mounted the steps, the door slid aside. A footman in lavender and gray livery appraised him without warmth. A perfunctory bow expressed his opinion of Glinnes’ status. “What is your wish, sir?” “Be so good as to tell Lord Gensifer that Glinnes Hulden wants a few words with him.” “Will you come inside, sir?” Glinnes stepped into a tall hexagonal foyer, which had a floor of gleaming gray and white stelt.* Overhead hung a chandelier of a hundred light-points and a thousand diamond prisms. In each wall a wainscot of white artica wood framed high narrow mirrors which cast back and forth the glitter of the chandelier. The footman returned and conducted Glinnes to the library, where Thammas Lord Gensifer, wearing a maroon lounge suit, sat at his ease before a screen, watching a hussade game.**

stelt: a precious material quarried from volcanic necks upon certain types of dead stars; a composite of metal and natural glass, displaying infinite variations of pattern and color.

* The hussade field is a gridiron of “runs” (also called”ways”) and “laterals” above a tank of water four feet deep. The runs are nine feet apart, the laterals twelve feet. Trapezes permit the players to swing sideways from run to run, but not from lateral to lateral. The central moat is eight feet wide and can be passed at either end, at the center, or jumped if the player is sufficiently agile. The “home” tanks at either end of the field flank the platform on which stands the sheirl.

Players buff or body-block opposing players into the tanks, but may not use their hands to push, pull, hold, or tackle.

The captain of each team carries the “hange" a bulb on a three. foot pedestal. When the light glows the captain may not be attacked, nor may he attack. When he moves six feet from the hange, or when he lifts the hange to shift his position, the light goes dead; he may then attack and be attacked. An extremely strong captain may almost ignore his hange; a captain less able stations himself on a key junction, which he is then able to protect by virtue of his impregnability within the area of the live hange.

The sheirl stands on her platform at the end of the field between the home tanks. She wears a white gown with a gold ring at the front The enemy players seek to lay hold of this gold ring; a single pull denudes the sheirl. The dignity of the sheirl may be ransomed by her captain for five hundred ozols, a thousand, two thousand, or higher, in accordance with a prearranged schedule.

“Sit down, Glinnes, sit down,” said Lord Gensifer. “Will you take tea or perhaps a rum punch?” “I’ll have rum punch, please.” Lord Gensifer motioned to the screen. “Last year’s finals at Cluster Stadium. The black and reds are the Hextar Zulans from Sigre. The greens are the Falifonics from Green Star. Marvelous play. I’ve watched the game four times now and each time I’m more amazed.”

“I saw the Falifonics two or three years ago,” said Glinnes. “I thought them agile and deft, and swift as lightning.”

“They’re still the same. Not large, but they seem to be everywhere at once. They have no great defense, but they don’t need any with the attack they mount.”

The footman served rum punch in frosted silver goblets. For a period Lord Gensifer and Glinnes sat watching the play: charges and shifts, feints and ploys, apparently reckless feats of agility, timing so exact as to seem bizarre coincidence. Patterns formed to calls from the captain, aggressions were launched and repulsed. Gradually the combinations began to favor the Falifonics. The Falifonic middle forwards swung to fork a Zulan rover and Zulan guards charged to protect; the Falifonic right wing slid through the gap thus opened, gained the platform, seized the gold ring at the sheirl’s waist, and play came to a halt for the paying of ransom. Lord Gensifer turned off the screen. “The Falifonics won handily, as no doubt you know. Booty shared out at four thousand ozols a man , . . But you didn’t come to talk hussade. Or did you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I happened to be in Welgen today and noticed mention of the new Fleharish Broad Club.” Lord Gensifer made an expansive gesture. I’m the sponsor. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, and finally I took the plunge. Welgen Stadium is our home field, and now all I’ve got to do is assemble a team. What about you? Are you still playing?”

“I played for my division,” said Glinnes. “We took the sector championships.”

“That sounds interesting. Why dont you try out with us?”

“I might just do so, but first I’ve got a problem you might help me work out.”

Lord Gensifer blinked cautiously. “Ill be glad to, if I can. What’s the problem?”

“As you probably know, my brother Glay sold Ambal Isle out from under me. He won’t return the money; in fact, it’s gone.”

Lord Gensifer raised his eyebrows. “Fanscherade?”

“Exactly.”

Lord Gensiter shook his head. “Silly young fool.”

“My problem is this. I have three thousand ozols of my own. I need another nine thousand to pay off Lute Casagave and break the contract”

Lord Gensifer pursed his lips and fluttered his fingers. “If Glay had no right to sell, then Casagave had no right to buy. The matter would seem to be between Glay and Casagave, with you in legal possession.”

“Unfortunately I have no legal possession unless I can prove Shira dead, which I can’t. I need cold hard cash.”

“It’s a dilemma,” Lord Gensifer agreed.

“Here is my proposal: suppose I were to play with you — * could you advance me nine thousand ozols against booty?”

Lord Gensifer sat back in his chair. “That’s a very chancy investment.”

“Not if you can put together a good team. Though frankly I don’t see where you’ll get the personnel.”

“They’re on hand.” Lord Gensifer sat up in his seat, his pink face alive with boyish excitement “I’ve drawn up what I consider the strongest team that could be assembled from players of the region. Listen to this.” He read from a paper. “Wings: Tyran Lucho, Lightning Latken. Strikes: Yalden Wirp, Gold Ring Gonniksen. Rovers: Nilo Basgard, Wild Man Wilmer Guff. Guards: Splasher Maveldip, Bughead Holub, Carbo Gilweg, Holebert Hanigatz.” Lord Gensifer put down the paper and peered triumphantly at Glinnes. “What do you think of that team?”

“I’ve been away too long,” said Glumes. “I only know about half the names. I’ve played with Gonniksen and Carbo, Gilweg, and against Guff and maybe one or two others. They were good ten years ago and they’re probably better now. Are all these men on your team?”

“Well not officially. My strategy is this. I’ll talk to each man in turn. I’ll show him the team and ask how he’d like to be a part of it. How can I lose? Everyone wants to earn some big booty for a change. No one is going to turn me down. As a matter of fact, I’ve already made contact with two or three of the fellows and they’ve all shown great interest.”

BOOK: Trullion: Alastor 2262
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