Wulfsyarn: A Mosaic (25 page)

After long debate among the Magistri and Magistrae of the Gentle Order it was finally decided that Wilberfoss should be dispatched back to the Pacifico Monastery on Juniper. I think this was a compromise solution. No one could think what to do with him. No one wanted him. In many quarters he was seen as a great criminal. To others he was a victim. As you will see, Magister Tancredi took his return to Pacifico as an insult. He believed that Wilberfoss should have been sent to a prison world. But he was overruled.

Lily and I were instructed to attempt to restore Wilberfoss if we could and to find out the truth of what had happened aboard the
Nightingale
and how it came to be that the finest spaceship ever created had foundered.

We now begin that final truth. I will try to recreate the opening circumstances for I know them well and there are some sad ironies to be observed.

We begin with a story. Please remember both Sandy and Medoc.

Two Talline sailors were aboard the small coble boat which pitched and jarred in the gathering southerly. All day they had stood the buffet, while a small rain pelted them and the heavy ropes which held their nets strained and sweated and the sea banged under their small craft. Now the wind was freshening as the day darkened to its end.

The two men, Aptagar and Petrin by name, father and son, huge in their black and green oilskins, scrambled about on the narrow wet decks preparing to bring the nets in.

Though there were no radio broadcasts to warn them, both men could read the sea and both could feel the weather changing about them. A storm was coming. With legs and arms braced on the heaving decks, they worked side by side with the calm efficiency of long practice. They did not speak. Aptagar worked the hand winch, rocking back and forth as he used his weight to help turn the large wheel which dragged the net up and over the stem of the ship. Petrin guided and opened the net, separating the corks from the mesh and shaking free the fish which slithered, flapping, down into the dark hold.

Gradually the weather closed in and the sky darkened.

At the horizon the sea and the sky merged into one plane of gray. The islands became shapes of darker gray above the hissing sea. Lights could just be seen twinkling above the shore line. The homesteads and small communities which clung to the islands were getting ready for the night. Aptagar glanced up and squinted at one of the distant lights. He was thinking of his new wife, Medoc, and imagined her glancing out of the windows as she stirred the evening meal at the fire. He knew that she would have placed a special prayer lamp in the high window of their house to offer cheer and hope. He also thought of his two daughters who would at that moment be carrying wood into the house and stacking it by the fire. Without losing pace or rhythm in his work he smiled and dreamed.

At long last the end of the float-line came aboard and a few moments later the tail of the net with its bunch of weights. They tied the weights to the low guard-rail which ran down the sides of the small boat and lashed the net to the deck. When it was secure the two men scampered and stumbled over the coils of mesh and manhandled the heavy hatch-cover into place. By now the wind was beginning to lift the tops of the waves and the sea had roughened. Great slabs of water clashed together and threatened to swamp the small boat when it strained and turned at its anchor. The sooner they were running before the wind and toward shelter the better.

With only the jib raised, Aptagar brought the coble boat around into the wind and the anchor rope slackened. The angle of the rope changed and Petrin spun the winch and the pawl clattered as the slack was taken in. There was a moment when the sea lifted the coble boat and the rope squealed and sweated and the sailor at the winch turned his back and ducked down behind the winch in case the rope broke and came scything across the deck ... but then the anchor dragged free from the sea bed and the small ship bounded.

They began to work the wind, tacking for home. For the first time since they had begun to bring the net in, the two men relaxed. They sheltered in the tiller hole, snug and protected from the slap of the wind and the flung spray, and Aptagar felt under his oilskins for his short pipe and tobacco. Together they looked out from their small ship and tried to work out how many tacks for home.

And as they looked it seemed that the air grew lighter. At the same time, the wind held its breath.

The caps of the waves which slid by began to turn a bright lime green and the spume became gradually yellow. It was as though the sun had parted the clouds above them and was now streaming down. Or, stranger still, as though a brilliant light was shining up from deep under the sea. Everything became unreal.

The short mast of the coble boat began to gleam and ripples of light ran up and down it like snakes. The two men looked at one another and their faces shone and the hair in their beards began to straighten and stand out stiff. One began to shout as a hot rash of pins and needles ran from his scalp to his face and along his arm.

He was pointing. He was pointing at the sky.

Above the small boat the sky was churning to a slow whirlpool with a cold silver light forming at its vortex. The clouds flickered: they were like liquid marble streaming in the sky.

Then there came a roaring like the clashing of boulders and a shape began to emerge from the glowing clouds.

It came down like the hoof of a horse breaking the silver surface of a stream.

To the startled eyes of the men in the boat, it seemed as though the shape of a giant creature lowered and hung above the lemon and silver sea. At first it looked like a giant beetle with its legs spread. Then they saw the six open cups which protected the anti-gravity units and the dud and pitted dome which held the transformation generators and they knew it for what it was.

Lightning flickered about the base of the old starship and glanced down. It danced across the surface of the sea. Briefly the small coble boat and the giant ship were joined in a dazzling arc. Then it was ended leaving only an acrid smell in the air.

The starship hung still while the clouds closed above it.

Gradually the lights and sharp colors faded from the sea and the thunder roded away and the bitter wind came whispering back.

The coble boat pitched and made headway. Both sailors applied themselves. Above them the giant ship turned slowly, orientating itself with the planet’s magnetic field, and then it began to slide through the sky.

“There’s a rare treat for the kids,” said Petrin. “Starship by any reckoning. Just come in from the- dark eh?” He waited while a wave struck the side of the coble boat and spilled away. “Been a while since one of them’s been through down here. Wonder why they didn’t use the shuttle. Must be something secret.”

“Aye, well they might have warned us,” said Aptagar. He gripped the tiller under one arm and held up the arm that had tingled and was now starting to throb. “Stung me with its anti-grav. What about you?”

“Just a nip on my hand. You stopped most of it.” Petrin grinned revealing a gap-toothed smile. “Must’ve been in a hurry, eh? .. . Coming through this far south. Starships usually come in east of Kithaeron or south of Fum, specially if they’re making for Pacifico.”

“Bugger the hurry,” said the other. “They still could have warned us.” He spat with the wind and the wind carried his spittle onto the surface of the sea and away.

Far from them now and gathering speed the giant starship disappeared into the murk under the dark gray clouds.

Medoc looked out from her window and watched the spaceship depart. She had seen it hover over the small boat where her new husband was toiling. The sight of the ship had stirred up memories in her which made her smile briefly. Being ignorant of developments concerning the
Nightingale,
she wondered how Jon Wilberfoss was faring. She hoped he was doing well and that he had a sense of achievement. Certainly her life was now full and satisfying albeit routine and she had no real regrets. Her course had been inevitable, but yet, from time to time, she found herself wondering and worrying about Jon Wilberfoss.

Initially Medoc had gone off with the dashing merchant. He had given her a good time and that was just what she needed to break the links with Jon Wilberfoss. She had enjoyed the parties and the fine clothes and the challenge of new environments. But finally the high life with her merchant had come to seem like a game. She was a careful and serious-minded woman and she found herself thinking more and more of the lonely and serious Aptagar who truly needed her. One day she packed her bags and went to join him. They married a week later.

And now here she was, mistress of a garden by the sea, with step-daughters who were already confiding in her and with a fine solid house that looked out over the bay where Aptagar made his living. She could see him now, just as he’d promised, out at sea with his son, battling the gathering storm, and she knew he was thinking about her. She was content.

Any further speculation was cut short when one of her new daughters came running in with a splinter in her thumb from the firewood. Medoc put the past away and concentrated on the future.

It so happened that the starship was chasing the sun. It overtook the evening and a few hours later the sky above it had the pale blue of a fine afternoon.

The shadow of the ship cruised over the shallow sea and jumped up and over the countless islands until it came close to the bay at the end of which lay the Pacifico Monastery.

Here the ship paused. The ship and the monastery held a conversation.

Senior Confrere Leo was speaking to the commander of the ship. About his waist was a gray belt which indicated that his vocation was that of communications technician.

“There will be a delay. Unavoidable, I’m afraid. The decision to bring Senior Confrere Wilberfoss back here to Pacifico was made without consulting us, and frankly, things are not ready for him.”

The commander of the starship whose name was Roscoe accepted this philosophically. “Wed I’ve brought him so far,” she said, “and we haven’t fallen to bits or had an epidemic break out or all gone mad so I suppose a few more hours won’t make too much difference.”

Commander Roscoe nodded. “Wilberfoss’s just gone up to the observation deck. I let him wander about more or less at will. He can’t do any harm and we can keep an eye on him. You can see him for yourself.”

The commander of the starship looked away and signaled. In response the view of the inside of the starship changed to reveal Jon Wilberfoss sitting in a black wooden chapel chair with high ornate arms. He was isolated against the color and bustle and vast panoramic view of the starship’s observation deck. Figures moved back and forth beyond him but no one approached him. His body was slumped to the left and rested on his elbow. His face was set in an idiot smile. But that was not the most remarkable thing. He wore the black and green tunic of the mendicant, the lowest rank within the entire Gentle Order, and this costume revealed his thin arms and scrawny legs and the hairless top of his chest. Wherever skin was exposed it was seen to be patterned with a fine mesh of silver lines. These were high gravity “bums” and showed that he had spent too long on a world where his body had been crushed and pulled and where it had finally begun to tear. The silver lines were scar tissue: the residue of sores that had attempted to heal in high gravity. If touched, they felt smoother than normal skin and slightly depressed.

Wilberfoss was in no pain. He sat perfectly still except for the light breathing which raised his chest and the occasions when he needed to blink.

“There,” said Roscoe. “Does he look like a mass murderer?”

“How conscious is he?” asked Senior Confrere Leo, unconsciously starting to whisper.

“Hardly conscious. Sweet Gilead! If he was conscious we would have trouble. I took him out of sedation once and he tried to kid himself. We keep him drugged now. He can walk, eat and the rest of it, but he has no idea what he is, or who he is, or where he is. It has been like having a walking corpse on board. Or poor Kartaphdos, the Wandering Jew. There are those aboard, you know, who thought he would bring us bad luck. There are those who won’t sit near him. They’d like to put salt around him. I have even heard some of our sensitives who have said that they can smell his guilt.”

“How do you cope with that?”

“I cope. I am not sentimental. I tell them to be quiet and keep their thoughts to themselves. He may be a great criminal. He may be a saint in the making. I don’t know. Ad I see is a sad man where once there was greatness.” This last word was spoken almost shyly. “The fad of a great one is always a cause for pity.”

Both Senior Confrere Leo and the commander of the starship lapsed into silence. Wilberfoss, for his part, continued to smile and continued to contemplate some inner landscape where a bright sun shone on a snarling blue sea and a warm breeze moved the fleecy clouds and the Hon lay down with the lamb. A phony landscape induced by drugs, but all that he seemed able to cope with for the time being.

Once he breathed deeply and moved his head and his eyes chanced to gaze straight into the lens which conveyed the images down to Senior Confrere Leo. That man felt the impact of the mindless gaze. Numb though it might be at the moment, the face that looked vacantly down on Leo had stared into Hell and Hell had left its traces. The eyes were frightening and Senior Confrere Leo drew back, astonished.