Trullion: Alastor 2262 (2 page)

Glay at first lacked sturdy good health; for his first six years he was fretful, captious and melancholy. Then he mended, and quickly overtaking Glinnes was thenceforth the taller of the two. His hair was black, his features taut and keen, his eyes intent. Glinnes accepted events and ideas without skepticism; Glay stood aloof and saturnine. Glinnes was instinctively skilllful at hussade; Glay refused to set foot on the field. Though Jut was a fair man, he found it hard to conceal his preference for Glinnes. Marucha, herself tall, dark-haired, and inclined to romantic meditation, fancied Glay, in whom she thought to detect poetic sensibilities. She tried to interest Glay in music, and explained how through music he could express his emotions and make them intelligible to others. Glay was cold to the idea and produced only a few lackadaisical discords on her guitar.

Glay was a mystery even to himself. Introspection availed nothing; he found himself as confusing as did the rest of his family. As a youth his austere appearance and rather haughty self-sufficiency earned him the soubriquet “Lord Glay”; perhaps coincidentally, Glay was the only member of the household who wanted to move into the manor house on Ambal Isle. Even Marucha had put the idea away as a foolish if amusing daydream.

Glay’s single confidant was Akadie the mentor, who lived in a remarkable house on Sarpassante Island, a few miles north of Rabendary. Akadie, a thin long-armed man with an ill-assorted set of features-a big nose, sparse curls of snuff-brown hair, glassy blue eyes, a mouth continually trembling at the verge of a smile-was, like Glay, something of a misfit. Unlike Glay, he had turned idiosyncrasy to advantage, and drew custom even from the aristocracy.

Akadie’s profession included the offices of epigrammatist, poet, calligrapher, sage, arbiter of elegance, professional guest (hiring Akadie to grace a party was an act of conspicuous consumption), marriage broker, legal consultant, repository of local tradition, and source of scandalous gossip. Akadie’s droll face, gentle voice, and subtle language rendered his gossip all the more mordant. Jut distrusted Akadie and had nothing to do with him, to the regret of Marucha, who had never relinquished her social ambitions, and who felt in her heart of hearts that she had married below herself. Hussade sheirls often married lords!

Akadie had traveled to other worlds. At night, during star-watchings, he would mark the stars he had visited; then he would describe their splendor and the astounding habits of their peoples. Jut Hulden cared nothing for travel; his interest in the other worlds lay in the quality of their hussade teams and the location of the Cluster Champions.

When Glinnes was sixteen he saw a starmenter ship. It dropped from the sky above Ambal Broad and slid at reckless speed down toward Welgen. The radio provided a minute-by-minute report of the raid. The starmenters landed in the central square, and seething forth plundered the banks, the jewel factors, and the cauch warehouse, cauch being by far the most valuable commodity produced on Trullion. They also seized a number of important personages to be held for ransom. The raid was swift and well-executed; in ten minutes the starmenters had loaded their ship with loot and prisoners. Unluckily for them, a Whelm cruiser chanced to be putting into Port Maheul when the alarm was broadcast and merely altered course to arrive at Welgen instead. Glinnes ran out on the verandah to see the Whelm ship arrive-a beautiful stately craft enameled in beige, scarlet and black. The ship dropped like an eagle toward Welgen and passed beyond Glinnes’ range of vision. The voice from the radio cried out in excitement: -They rise into the air, but here comes the Whelm ship! By the Nine Glories, the Whelm ship is here. The starmenters can’t go into swhisk; they’d burn up from the friction! They must fight!” The announcer could no longer control his voice for excitement: “The Whelm ship strikes; the starmenter is disabled!

star-watching: at night the stars of Alastor Cluster blaze in profusion. The atmosphere refracts their light; the sky quivers with beams, glitters, and errant flashes. The Trills go out into their gardens with jugs of wine; they name the stars and discuss localities. For the Trills, for almost anyone of Alastor, the night sky was no abstract empyrean but rather, a view across prodigious distances to known places-a vast luminous map. There was always talk of pirates-the so-called “starmenters” — and their grisly deeds. When Numenes Star shone in the sky, the conversation turned to the Connatic and glorious Lusz, and someone would always say, “Best to steady our tongues! Perhaps he sits here now, drinking our wine and marking the dissidents! “ — creating a nervous titter, for the Connatic’s habit of wandering quietly about the worlds was well known. Then someone always uttered the brave remark: “Here we are — ten (or twelve or sixteen or twenty, as the case might be) among five trillion! The Connatic among us? Ill take that chance!” At such a star-watch, Sharue Hulden had wandered off into the darkness. Before her absence was noticed the merlings had seized her and had taken her away underwater.

swhisk: star-drive.

Hurrah! it drops back into the square. No, no! Oh horror! What horror! It has fallen upon the market; a hundred persons are crushed! Attention! Bring in all ambulances, all medical men! Emergency at Welgen! I can hear the sad cries … The starmenter ship is broken; still it fights … a blue ray … Another … The Whelm ship answers. The starmenters are quiet. Their ship is broken.” The announcer fell quiet a moment, then once more was prompted to excitement. “Now what a sight! The folk are crying with rage; they swarm in at the starmenters; they drag them forth …” He began to babble, then stopped short and spoke in a more subdued voice. “The constables have intervened. They have pushed back the crowds and the starmenters are now in custody, and this to their own rue, as well they know, for they desperately struggle. How they writhe and kick! It’s the pruanshyr for them! They prefer the vengeance of the crowd! … What a dreadful deed they have done upon the hapless town Welgen…”

Jut and Shira worked in the far orchard grafting scions to the apple trees. Glinnes ran to tell them the news. “… and at last the starmenters were captured and taken away!”

“So much the worse for them,” Jut said gruffly, and continued with his work. For a Trill, he was a man unusually self-contained and taciturn, traits that had become intensified since the death of Sharue by the merlings.

Shira said, “They’ll be sweeping off the prutanshyr. Perhaps we’d better learn the news.”

Jut grunted. “One torturing is much like another. The fire burns, the wheels wrench, the rope strains. Some folk thrive on it. For my excitement I’ll watch hussade.”

Shira winked at Glinnes. “One game is much like another. The forwards spring, the water splashes, the sheirl loses her clothes, and one pretty girl’s belly is much like another’s.”

“Here speaks the voice of experience,” said Glinnes, and Shira, the most notorious philanderer of the district, guffawed. Shira did in fact attend the executions with his mother Marucha, though Jut kept Glinnes and Glay at home.

Shira and Marucha returned by the late ferry. Marucha was tired and went to bed; Shira, however, joined Jut, Glinnes and Glay on the verandah and rendered an account of what he had seen. ‘Thirty-three they caught, and had them all in cages out in the square. All the preparations were put up before their very eyes. A hard lot of men, I must say-I couldn’t place their race. Some might have been Echalites and some might have been Satagones, and one tall white-skinned fellow was said to be a Blaweg. Unfortunates all, in retrospect. They were naked and painted for shame: heads green, one leg blue, the other red. All gelded, of course. Oh, the prutanshyr’s a wicked place! And to hear the music! Sweet as flowers, strange and hoarse! It strikes through you as if your own nerves were being plucked for tones … Ah well, at any rate, a great pot of boiling oil was prepared, and a traveling-crane stood by. The music began — eight Trevanyl and all their horns and fiddles. How can such stern folk make such sweet music? It chills the bones and churns the bowels, and puts the taste of blood in your mouth! Chief Constable Filidice was there, but First Agent Gerence was the executioner. One by one the starmenters were grappled by hooks, then lifted and dipped into the oil, then hung up on a great high frame; and I don’t know which was more awful, the howls or the beautiful sad music. The people fell down on their knees; some fell into fits and cried out-for terror or joy I can’t tell you. I don’t know what to make of it … After about two hours all were dead.”

“Humf,” said Jut Hulden. “They won’t be back in a hurry. So much, at least, can be said. “

Glinnes had listened in horrified fascination. “It’s a fearful punishment, even for a starmenter.”

“Indeed, that’s what it is,” said Jut. “Can you guess the reason?” Glinnes swallowed hard and could not choose between several theories. Jut asked, “Would you now want to be a starmenter and risk such an end?

“Never,” Glinnes declared, from the depths of his soul.

Jut turned to the brooding Glay. “And you?”

“I never planned to rob and kill in the first place.”

Jut gave a hoarse chuckle. “One of the two, at least, has been dissuaded from crime.

“Glinnes said, “I wouldn’t like to hear music played to pain.”

“And why not?” Shira demanded. “At hussade, when the sheirl is smirched, the music is sweet and wild. Music gives savor to the event, like salt with food.”

Glay offered a comment: “Akadie claims that everybody needs catharsis, if it’s only a nightmare.”

“It may be so,” said Jut. “I myself need no nightmares; I’ve got one before my eyes every moment.” Jut referred, as all knew, to the taking of Sharue. Since that time, his nocturnal hunts for merling had become almost an obsession.

“Well, if you two twits aren’t to be starmenters, what will you be?” asked Shira. “Assuming you don’t care to stay in the household.”

“I’m for hussade,” said Glinnes. “I don’t care to fish, nor to scrape cauch. “He recalled the brave beige, scarlet and black ship that had struck down the starmenters. “Or perhaps I’ll join the Whelm and lead a life of adventure.”

“I know nothing of the Whelm,” said Jut ponderously, “but if it’s hussade I can give you one or two useful hints. Run five miles every day to develop your stamina. Jump the practice pits until you can make sure landings blindfolded. Forbear with the girls, or there’ll be no virgins left in the prefecture to be your sheirl.”

“It’s a chance I am willing to take,” said Glinnes.

Jut squinted through his black eyebrows at Glay. “And what of you? Will you stay in the household?”

Glay gave a shrug. “If I could, I’d travel space and see the cluster.”

Jut raised his bushy eyebrows. “How will you travel, lacking money?”

“There are methods, according to Akadie. He visited twenty-two worlds, working from port to port.

“Hmmf. That may be. But never use Akadie for your model. He has derived nothing from his travels but useless erudition.”

Glay thought a moment. “If this is true,” he said, “as it must be, since you so assert, then Akadie learned his sympathy and breadth of intellect here on Trullion which is all the more to his credit.”

Jut, who never resented honest defeat, clapped Glay on the back. “In you he has a loyal friend.”

“I am grateful to Akadie,” said Glay. “He has explained many things to me.”

Shira, who teemed with lewd ideas, gave Glay a sly nudge. “Follow Glinnes on his rounds, and you’ll never need Akadie’s explanations.”

“I’m not talking about that sort of thing.”

“Then what sort of thing are you talking about?” “I don’t care to explain. You’d only jeer at me, which is tiresome.”

“No jeering!” declared Shira. “We’ll give you a fair hearing! Say on.”

“Very well. I don’t really care whether you jeer or not. I’ve long felt a lack, or an emptiness. I want a weight to thrust my shoulder against; I want a challenge I can defy and conquer.”

“Brave words,” said Shira dubiously. “But why should I so trouble myself?

Because I have but one life, one existence. I want to make my mark, somewhere, somehow. When I think of it I grow almost frantic! My foe is the universe; it defies me to perform remarkable deeds so that ever after folk will remember me! Why should not the name ‘Glay Hulden’ ring as far and clear as ‘Paro’ and ‘Slabar Velche’? I will make it so; it is the least I owe myself!”

Jut said in a gloomy voice, “You had best become either a great hussade player or a great starmenter.”

“I overspoke myself,” said Glay. “In truth I want neither fame nor notoriety; I do not care whether I astonish a single person. I want only the chance to do my best.” There was silence on the verandah. From the reeds camethe croak of nocturnal insects, and water lapped softly against the dock; a merling perhaps had risen to the surface, to listen for interesting sounds.

Paro: a hussade player, the darling of the cluster, celebrated for his aggressive and daring play. Slabar Velche: a notorious starmenter.

Jut said in a heavy voice, “The ambition does you no discredit. Still I wonder how it would be if everyone strove with such urgency. Where would peace abide?”

“It is a difficult problem,” said Glinnes. “Indeed, I had never considered it before. Glay, you amaze me You are unique!”

Glay gave a deprecatory grunt. “I’m not so sure of this. There must be many, many folk desperate to fulfill themselves.”

“Perhaps this is why people become starmenters,” suggested Glinnes. “They are bored at home, at hussade they’re inept, the girls turn away from them — so off they go in their black hulls, for sheer revenge!”

“The theory is as good as any,” agreed Jut Hidden. “But revenge cuts both ways, as thirty-three folk discovered today.”

“There is something here I can’t understand,” said Glinnes. “The Connatic knows of their crimes. Why does he not deploy the Whelm and root them out once and for all?”

Shira laughed indulgently. “Do you think the Whelm sits idle? The ships are constantly on the prowl. But for every living world you’ll find a hundred dead ones, not to mention moons, asteroids, hulks and starments. The hiding places are beyond enumeration. The Whelm can only do its best.”