Jack Vance - Gaean Reach 01 Page 7

  Schaine grimaced. “What a dismal thought.”

  Kelse and Gerd Jemasze returned to Morningswake towing the hulks of the Apex and the Sturdevant on float pods. A coffin of white glass contained the body of Uther Madduc, and Kelse carried a notebook which he had found in a locker.

  Two days later a funeral took place, and Uther Madduc was buried in the family graveyard, across the Chip-chap River in the park beside the Fairy Forest. Two hundred family friends, relatives and folk from neighboring domains came to pay their last respects to Uther Madduc.

  Elvo Glissam watched in fascination, marveling at the conduct of these folk so different from himself. The men, he thought, were a matter-of-fact lot, while the women lacked a certain quality he could not quite define. Frivolity? Mischief? Artfulness? Even Schaine seemed rather more direct than he might have preferred, leaving small scope for teasing or flirtation or any of the subtle games which made urban society so amusing. Worse? Better? Adaptation to the environment? Elvo Glissam only knew for certain that he found Schaine as beautiful as some magnificent natural process, like a sunrise, or a surge of breaking surf, or stars in the midnight sky.

  He met dozens of folk: cousins, aunts, uncles, with their sons and daughters, and fathers and mothers, and cousins, aunts and uncles, none of whom he remembered. He saw no evidence of grief, nor even fury against the assassin; the prevailing mood seemed, rather, a grim smoulder which in Elvo Glissam’s opinion boded ill for any accommodation with the Redemptionists.

  He listened to a conversation between Kelse Madduc and Lilo Stenbaren of Doradus Domain. Kelse was speaking: “—not a random act. There was planning involved, and precise calculation. First Uther Madduc and then ourselves.”

  “What of the ‘wonderful joke’ of the letter? Is there some connection?”

  “Impossible to say. We’ve taken the auto-pilot from the Sturdevant and we’ll trace my father’s route, and perhaps join him in his ‘wonderful joke’ yet.”

  Kelse brought Elvo Glissam forward and performed an introduction. “I’m sorry to say that Elvo Glissam, without shame, admits himself a Redemptionist.”

  Dm. Stenbaren laughed. “Forty years ago I remember a ‘Society for Uaian Justice’, ten years later a ‘League Against the Land-looters’, and sometime afterward a group which simply called itself ‘Apotheosis’. And now of course the Redemptionists.”

  “All of which reflect a deep and lasting concern,” remarked Elvo Glissam. “‘Decency’, ‘security against pillage’, ‘justice’, ‘restoration of sequestered property’ are timeless concepts.”

  “Concepts don’t bother us,” said Dm. Stenbaren. “So far as I am concerned, you may continue to harbor them.”

  On the morning after the funeral a sparkling blue Hermes sky-boat, with silver flare-bars and a jaunty four-foot probe, swooped out of the sky and, ignoring the landing area to the side, came down on the promenade directly before Morningswake Manor.

  Schaine, looking forth from the library, noticed the sky-boat on the neatly dressed gravel and reflected that Kelse would be irritated, especially since the occupant was Jorjol, who should have known better.

  Jorjol jumped to the ground and stood a moment surveying Morningswake with the air of a person contemplating purchase. He wore a pale leather split-skirt, hide sandals, a rock-crystal sphere on his right big toe, the ‘revelry-bonnet’ of a Garganche bravo: an intricate contrivance of silver rods on which Jorjol’s white-bleached hair was tied and twined and tasseled. Fresh azure oil had been applied to his face; his skin shone as blue as the enamel of his Hermes.

  Schaine shook her head in amused vexation for Jorjol’s bravado. She went out on the front piazza to meet him. He came forward, took her hands, bent forward and kissed her forehead. “I learned of your father’s death, and felt that I must come to express my sentiments.”

  “Thank you, Jorjol. But yesterday was the funeral.”

  “Pshaw. I would have found you occupied with dozens of the dullest people imaginable. I wished to express myself to you.”

  Schaine laughed tolerantly. “Very well, express yourself.”

  Jorjol cocked his head and inspected Schaine sharply. “In reference to your father, condolence is of course in order. He was a strong man, and a man to be respected—even though, as you know, I stand opposite to his views.”

  Schaine nodded. “Do you know, he died before I had a chance to speak to him. I came home hoping to find him a softer easier man.”

  “Softer? Easier? More reasonable? More just? Hah!” Jorjol threw his fine head back as if in defiance. “I think not. I doubt if Kelse intends to alter by so much as a whit. Where is Kelse?”

  “He’s in the office, going over accounts.”

  Jorjol looked up and down the quaint old façade of Morningswake. “The house is as pleasant and inviting as ever. I wonder if you know how lucky you are.”

  “Oh yes indeed.”

  “And I am committed to bringing this era to an end.”

  “Come now, Jorjol, you can’t deceive me. You’re just Muffin in fancy clothes.”

  Jorjol chuckled. “I must admit that I came half to express sympathy and half—rather more than half—to see you. To touch you.” He took a step forward. Schaine retreated.

  “You mustn’t be impulsive, Jorjol.”

  “Aha! but I’m not impulsive! I’m determined and wise, and you know how I feel about you.”

  “I know how youfeltabout me,” said Schaine, “but that was five years ago. Let me go tell Kelse you’re here. He’ll want to see you.”

  Jorjol reached out, took her hand. “No. Let Kelse drudge among the accounts. I came to see you. Let’s walk by the river where we can be alone.”

  Schaine glanced down at the long blue hand, with the long fingers and black fingernails. “It’s almost lunch-time, Jorjol. Perhaps after lunch. You’ll stay, won’t you?”

  “I will be happy to lunch with you.”

  “I’ll go find Kelse. And here’s Elvo Glissam, whom you met at Aunt Val’s. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Schaine went to the office. Kelse looked up from the calculator. “Jorjol is here.”

  Kelse nodded shortly. “What does he want?”

  “He made a nice speech in regard to Father. I’ve invited him to lunch.”

  Into their field of vision came Jorjol and Elvo Glissam on the lawn under the clump of parasol trees. Kelse grunted, rose to his feet.

  “I’ll come out and talk to him. We’ll take lunch on the east terrace.”

  “Wait, Kelse. Let’s be nice to Jorjol. He deserves to be treated like any other guest. It’s a warm day and the Hall would be perfectly suitable.”

  Kelse said patiently: “In two hundred years no Uldra has entered our Great Hall. I don’t care to break this tradition. Not even for Jorjol.”

  “But it’s a cruel tradition and not worth keeping. We’re not bigots, you and I—even if Father was. Let’s live our lives more reasonably.”

  “I am not a bigot; I am very reasonable indeed. In fact, I realize that Jorjol cunningly chose this time—today—to try to force a submission upon us. He won’t succeed.”

  “I can’t understand you!” cried Schaine in a passion. “We’ve known Jorjol since we were little. He saved your life at risk of his own and it’s absolutely absurd that he can’t have lunch with us as any ordinary person might.”

  With raised eyebrows Kelse looked Schaine up and down. “I’m surprised that you don’t understand the significance of all this. We hold Morningswake not through the forbearance of others, but because we are strong enough to protect what is ours.”

  Schaine said in disgust: “You’ve been talking to Gerd Jemasze. He’s worse even than Father.”

  “Schaine, my naïve little sister, you simply don’t understand what’s going on.”

  Schaine controlled her exasperation. “I know this: Jorjol the Gray Prince is welcome anywhere in Olanje; it seems strange that he can’t be treated equally well here, where he grew up.�
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  “Circumstances are different,” said Kelse patiently. “In Olanje there’s nothing to lose; the folk can afford the luxury of abstract principles. We’re Outkers in the middle of the Alouan; if we falter, we’re done.”

  “What’s that got to do with treating Jorjol in a civilized manner?”

  “Because he’s not here in a civilized manner! He’s here as a Blue of the Retent. If he came here in Outker clothes, using Outker manners and not reeking of azure oil—in other words, if he came here as an Outker, then I would treat him as an Outker. But he doesn’t do this. He comes flaunting his Uldra clothes, his blue skin, his Redemptionist bias—in short, he challenges me. I react. If he wants to enjoy Outker privileges, such as dining in our Great Hall, then he must make himself respectable by my standards. It’s as simple as that.”

  Schaine could think of nothing to say. She turned away. Kelse said to her back: “Go talk to Kurgech; ask his opinion. In fact, we’ll ask Kurgech to join us for lunch.”

  “Now you’re really trying to offend Jorjol.”

  Kelse uttered a wild bitter laugh. “You want it both ways! We mustn’t invite one Uldra because that would offend another.”

  “You don’t reckon with Jorjol’s opinion of himself—his self-image.”

  “And he intends to make me accept this self-image. I won’t do it. I didn’t invite him here; since he comes of his own volition, then he must adapt himself to us, not we to him.”

  Schaine stalked from the room and returned to the front piazza. “Kelse is up to his ears in the accounts,” she told Jorjol. “He sends his apologies and he looks forward to seeing you at lunch…Let’s all walk out to the river.”

  Jorjol’s face twitched. “Certainly; just as you like. In fact, I’ll enjoy revisiting the scenes of my most happy childhood.”

  The three wandered up the river to Shadow Lake where Uther Madduc had built a boathouse to house three skimmer sailboats. Elvo Glissam was his usual self; Jorjol’s mood altered each minute. At times he prattled nonsense, as light-hearted and charming as Elvo Glissam, then he would sigh and become melancholy over some reminiscence of his childhood, only to turn on Elvo Glissam to argue some minor point with fierce intensity. Schaine watched him in fascination, wondering at the emotions which surged through the proud narrow skull. She would not have wished to walk out alone with Jorjol; he would certainly have become ardent.

  Jorjol resented Elvo Glissam’s presence and disguised the fact with obvious effort. Once or twice Schaine thought he was on the verge of asking Elvo Glissam to leave, at which times she quickly intervened.

  Jorjol at last resigned himself to the circumstance and began to exhibit a new set of moods: mocking, self-pitying, sentimental, as surroundings called to mind this or that incident of his childhood. Schaine began to feel a nervous embarrassment; Jorjol was so clearly striking poses. She wanted to tease him and perhaps deflate him a bit, but in doing so she might wound him and perhaps provoke a new and more passionate drama. So she held her tongue. Elvo Glissam, wearing a bland expression, kept the conversation almost foolishly impersonal and elicited glares of contempt from Jorjol.

  Meanwhile Schaine had been wondering how to announce that lunch was not to be served in the Great Hall. The problem solved itself; as they returned around the house, the buffet table on the eastern lawn was plain to see, and Kelse stood nearby, in conversation not only with Kurgech but with Julio Tanch the head stockman. Both Julio and Kurgech wore Outker garments: twill trousers, boots and a loose white shirt; neither had oiled his skin.

  Jorjol stopped short, staring at the three men. Slowly he moved forward. Kelse raised his hand in a polite salute. “Jorjol, you’ll remember Kurgech and Julio.”

  Jorjol gave a curt nod of recognition. “I remember both well. Much water has flowed down Chip-chap River since last we met.” He drew himself to his full height. “Changes have occurred. There are more to come.”

  Kelse’s eyes glittered. “We’re going to stop assassinations from the Retent. That’s one change. You might find the Retent gone and Treaty Lands all along the Alouan. That’s another.”

  Schaine cried out, “Please, let’s all eat our lunch.”

  Jorjol stood rigid. “I do not care to eat out in the open like a servant. I prefer to take my meal in the Great Hall.”

  “I’m afraid that this is impossible,” said Kelse politely. “None of us are dressed for the occasion.”

  Schaine laid her hand on Jorjol’s arm. “Muffin, please don’t be difficult. None of us are servants; we’re eating outside by preference.”

  “This is not the point! I am a man of character and reputation; I am as good as any Outker, and I wish to be treated with dignity!”

  Kelse replied in a neutral voice: “When you come here in Outker costume, when you show respect for our institutions and our sensibilities, the situation might change.”

  “Aha, well then—what of Kurgech and Julio? They meet these standards; take them into the Great Hall and feed them and I will eat alone out here.”

  “At an appropriate occasion, this might occur, but not today.”

  “In that case,” said Jorjol, “I find that I cannot take lunch with you, and I will now be away and about my business.”

  “As you wish.”

  Schaine walked with Jorjol to the Hermes. She spoke in a subdued voice: “I’m sorry things turned out so badly. But really, Jorjol, you need not have been so irascible.”

  “Bah! Kelse is an ingrate and a fool. Does he think his great army can frighten me? He will learn one day how things go!” He seized her shoulders. “You are my sweet Schaine. Come with me now! Jump into the sky-boat and we’ll leave them all behind.”

  “Muffin, don’t be silly. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”

  “One time you did!”

  “Long long ago.” She drew back as Jorjol attempted to kiss her. “Muffin, please stop.”

  Jorjol stood stiff with emotion, gripping her shoulders so tightly that she cringed in pain. A sound: Jorjol looked wildly toward the house, to see Kurgech sauntering forward, apparently lost in thought. Schaine jerked herself free.

  Jorjol jumped into the Hermes like a man bereft and shot off into the sky. Schaine and Kurgech watched the aircraft disappear into the west. Schaine turned and looked up into the seamed gray face. “What has come over Jorjol? He’s become so wild, so outrageous!” Even as she spoke she recollected that Jorjol had always been wild and outrageous.

  Kurgech said: “He smells of doom; he carries disaster on his back as an animal carries its cub.”

  “Changes are in the air,” said Schaine. “I feel them; they press on us all. Tell me: what do the Aos feel? Do they want us to leave Morningswake?”

  Kurgech looked south, across the landscape which for thousands of years had been Ao land. “Certain young men have listened to the wittols; they model themselves upon the Gray Prince and call themselves the Vanguard of the Uldra Nation. Others feel that the Alouan is too large to be affected by words. If the Outkers claim the land: well and good; let them do so. The accommodation costs us little and we gain advantages. Then the Vanguard cries out: ‘What of the future, when hundreds of new manses are built, and we are forced out into the desert? This is our land of which we were plundered and we must regain control now!’ And the other group says: ‘These hundreds of new manses are not in evidence; is there not enough trouble in the world without anticipating more?’ And so the argument goes.”

  “And what of today, when Jorjol wanted to take his lunch in the Great Hall?”

  “Jorjol attempted too much.”

  “What of yourself? Do you want to sit in the Great Hall?”

  “If I were invited I would feel honored to accept. The Great Hall is a sanctuary which no one should violate. Uther Madduc knew the location of our kachembas; many times he could have violated them, but never did so. Had he undergone certain rites, and worn ceremonial clothing, and come in the proper frame of mind, he could have visited any of our sa
cred places, except those concerned with himself, and then only for his own safety. Certainly he would have lent me Outker garments and taken me into his Great Hall had I asked him to do so.”

  Schaine pursed her lips dubiously. “Father was a strict man.”

  “Someday perhaps you will learn the truth.”

  Schaine was startled. “The truth about what?”

  “In due course you will know.”

  Lunch was served by Wonalduna and Saravan, two of the constantly shifting succession of Ao girls who chose to work a year or two at the great house. The cook at Morningswake was Hermina Lingolet, a second cousin to Kelse and Schaine, who, like Reyona Werlas-Madduc the housekeeper, considered herself a member of the family rather than a servant. For lunch she had prepared a pepperyhalash,or stew in the Ao style, with a garnish of wild parsley, a platter of steamed barley, a salad of fresh herbs from the kitchen garden. Jorjol’s going had left a constraint on the company. Only when Elvo Glissam mentioned erjins and their intelligence did the conversation move. Kurgech had anecdotes to tell: of four erjins, communicating telepathically, attempting to trick a party of Somajji outriders into an ambush; of battle between erjins and morphotes; of meeting an erjin face to face on a mountain trail.

  So went the lunch. Without perceptible signal Julio and Kurgech simultaneously rose to their feet, expressed polite gratitude and took their leave. Kelse, Elvo Glissam and Schaine remained in the pleasant coolness under the green-gums. Schaine said: “Well, lunch is over and once again Muffin has been barred from the Great Hall. I wonder what’s going on in his mind.”

  “Devil take Muffin—Jorjol—Gray Prince, whatever he calls himself,” declared Kelse irritably. “I wish he’d go back to Olanje and take up residence. He can go to as many Outker parties as he likes.”

  Elvo Glissam said cautiously: “He’s a spirited fellow, to say the least.”

  “He’s insane,” growled Kelse. “Megalomania, delusion, hysteria—he’s afflicted with everything.”

  Schaine looked off over the savanna. “What could he mean ‘the great army’ that you are raising?”