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Authors: Jack Vance
Tags: Science-Fiction
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consider yourselves our captives."
Fabrache uttered a cry of indignation. This is not customary procedure! A man is entitled to drink beer at Shagfe in security! "
"Additionally," Baba declared, "I will tolerate no such conduct. What would happen to my custom? You must retract your threat."
The old Kash grinned and rattled his seed pods. "Very well; in view of the general protest we will put our best interests to the side. Still, we must have a word with Hozman Sore-throat. He has treated the Kash clan with severity; where does he sell so many of our folk?"
"Others have put similar questions, but received no answer," said Baba. "Hozman Sore-throat is not now in Shagfe, and I know nothing of his plans."
The old Blue-worm made a gesture of resignation. "In that case we will drink your cellar brew and make a meal of your cooked food, the odor of which I detect."
"All very well, and how will you pay?"
"We carry with us sacks of safad oil, to settle our score."
Baba said, "Bring in the oil, while I work the scum off a new cask of cellar brew."
The evening passed without bloodshed. Ifness and Etzwane sat to the side watching the burly figures lurch back and forth across the firelight. Etzwane tried to define the way in which these roaring celebrants differed from the general population of Shant: intensity, gusto, a focus of every faculty upon the immediate instant—such qualities characterized the folk of Caraz. Trivial acts induced exaggerated reactions. Laughter racked the ribs; rage came fierce and sudden; woe was so intense as to be intolerable. Upon every aspect of existence the clansmen fixed a keen and minute perception, allowing nothing to go unnoticed. Such raptures and transports of emotion left little time for meditation, Etzwane mused. How could a Blue-worm Hulka become a musician when he suffered a congenital lack of patience? Wild dancing around the camp-fire, melees, and murders—this was more the barbarian style . . . Etzwane and Ifness presently departed the company. They unrolled their blankets under the overhang of the courtyard and lay down to rest. For a period Etzwane lay listening to the muffled revels from the common room. He wanted to ask Ifness his theories regarding the battle between spaceships which had occurred behind Thrie Orgai, but had no stomach for a caustic or ambiguous reply. ... If the asutra and their hosts had manned the copper disks, what race had built black space-globes? For that matter, what race of men with magic weapons had destroyed the Roguskhoi? Why had men, Roguskhoi, copper and black spaceships all come to Caraz to do battle? . . . Etzwane put a cautious question to Ifness, "Do any of the Earth worlds build space-vessels in the shape of black globes?"
The question was succinct and precise; Ifness could find no fault with it. He answered in an even voice, "To my knowledge, no. " And he added, "I am as puzzled as yourself. It would appear that the asutra have enemies somewhere among the stars. Perhaps human enemies."
"This possibility alone justifies your defiance of Dasconetta," declared Etzwane.
"So it might seem."
The Kash Blue-worms chose to sleep in the open beside their pacers; Etzwane and Ifness passed a tranquil night.
In the cool mauve morning Baba brought them mugs of hot cellar brew with floating dollops of the sour local cheese. "If you fare toward Thrie Orgai, depart early. You will cross the Wild Waste by midafternoon, and can spend the night in a tree along the Vurush."
"Good advice," said Ifness. "Prepare us a breakfast of fried meat and bread, and send a boy to arouse Fabrache. Additionally, we will drink herbal tea with our meal, rather than this excellent but over nutritious brew."
"Fabrache is on hand," said the innkeeper. "He wants to leave while the Blue-worms are still torpid. Your breakfast is already prepared. It consists of porridge and locust paste, like everyone else's. As for the tea, I can boil up a broth of pepperweed, if this suits
Fabrache uttered a cry of indignation. This is not customary procedure! A man is entitled to drink beer at Shagfe in security! "
"Additionally," Baba declared, "I will tolerate no such conduct. What would happen to my custom? You must retract your threat."
The old Kash grinned and rattled his seed pods. "Very well; in view of the general protest we will put our best interests to the side. Still, we must have a word with Hozman Sore-throat. He has treated the Kash clan with severity; where does he sell so many of our folk?"
"Others have put similar questions, but received no answer," said Baba. "Hozman Sore-throat is not now in Shagfe, and I know nothing of his plans."
The old Blue-worm made a gesture of resignation. "In that case we will drink your cellar brew and make a meal of your cooked food, the odor of which I detect."
"All very well, and how will you pay?"
"We carry with us sacks of safad oil, to settle our score."
Baba said, "Bring in the oil, while I work the scum off a new cask of cellar brew."
The evening passed without bloodshed. Ifness and Etzwane sat to the side watching the burly figures lurch back and forth across the firelight. Etzwane tried to define the way in which these roaring celebrants differed from the general population of Shant: intensity, gusto, a focus of every faculty upon the immediate instant—such qualities characterized the folk of Caraz. Trivial acts induced exaggerated reactions. Laughter racked the ribs; rage came fierce and sudden; woe was so intense as to be intolerable. Upon every aspect of existence the clansmen fixed a keen and minute perception, allowing nothing to go unnoticed. Such raptures and transports of emotion left little time for meditation, Etzwane mused. How could a Blue-worm Hulka become a musician when he suffered a congenital lack of patience? Wild dancing around the camp-fire, melees, and murders—this was more the barbarian style . . . Etzwane and Ifness presently departed the company. They unrolled their blankets under the overhang of the courtyard and lay down to rest. For a period Etzwane lay listening to the muffled revels from the common room. He wanted to ask Ifness his theories regarding the battle between spaceships which had occurred behind Thrie Orgai, but had no stomach for a caustic or ambiguous reply. ... If the asutra and their hosts had manned the copper disks, what race had built black space-globes? For that matter, what race of men with magic weapons had destroyed the Roguskhoi? Why had men, Roguskhoi, copper and black spaceships all come to Caraz to do battle? . . . Etzwane put a cautious question to Ifness, "Do any of the Earth worlds build space-vessels in the shape of black globes?"
The question was succinct and precise; Ifness could find no fault with it. He answered in an even voice, "To my knowledge, no. " And he added, "I am as puzzled as yourself. It would appear that the asutra have enemies somewhere among the stars. Perhaps human enemies."
"This possibility alone justifies your defiance of Dasconetta," declared Etzwane.
"So it might seem."
The Kash Blue-worms chose to sleep in the open beside their pacers; Etzwane and Ifness passed a tranquil night.
In the cool mauve morning Baba brought them mugs of hot cellar brew with floating dollops of the sour local cheese. "If you fare toward Thrie Orgai, depart early. You will cross the Wild Waste by midafternoon, and can spend the night in a tree along the Vurush."
"Good advice," said Ifness. "Prepare us a breakfast of fried meat and bread, and send a boy to arouse Fabrache. Additionally, we will drink herbal tea with our meal, rather than this excellent but over nutritious brew."
"Fabrache is on hand," said the innkeeper. "He wants to leave while the Blue-worms are still torpid. Your breakfast is already prepared. It consists of porridge and locust paste, like everyone else's. As for the tea, I can boil up a broth of pepperweed, if this suits
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