Wyst: Alastor 1716 (28 page)

“Then, when you learned that Jantiff indeed had earned the
fare, you stole his money from him?”

“Do you assert this, sir, or is it the Connatic’s justice
that a man must incriminate himself from his own mouth?”

“That is a clever reply,” said Shermatz graciously. “But the
matter is not quite so intricate. Jantiff’s information makes it clear that you
are the robber beyond all reasonable doubt. My question gave you the
opportunity for denial. Secondly, it is clear that you informed Booch in regard
to the forest waif whom Jantiff had befriended, in full knowledge of what must
occur, your motive being to destroy Jantiff. The cursar will undertake an
investigation. If you deny the charges, you will undergo mind-search and the
truth will be made known. In the meantime, your possessions are totally
confiscated. You are now a pauper, lacking so much as a single dinket.”

Eubanq’s jaw dropped; his eyes became moist. In a voice musical
in its poignancy he cried: “This is most unreasonable! Will you sequester all
my poor savings?”

“I suspect that you will fare even worse. I believe that you
provoked Booch to assault and murder. If this is so demonstrated the cursar
will show you no leniency.”

“Take me to Lulace! The Grand Knight will prove my good
character!”

“The Grand Knight, is no longer at Lulace. He and his guests
departed last night. In any event, he is not a trustworthy guarantor; his
troubles may exceed your own.” Shermatz signaled Garfred and Osculot. “Take
Eubanq to a place of security. Make certain that he cannot escape. If he does
so, you will each be fined one thousand ozols.”

“Smartly then, Eubanq,” said Osculot. “We will take you to
my root cellar, and if you escape, I will pay both fines.”

“One moment!” Jantiff confronted Eubanq. “What happened to
Glisten? Tell me if you know!”

Eubanq’s expression was opaque. “Why ask me? Put your
questions to Booch.”

“Booch answers no questions; he is dead.”

Eubanq turned away without comment. The two constables
marched him up the street and out of sight.

Ryl Shermatz once more addressed the people of the town. “The
new cursar will arrive within three days. Remember: he represents the Connatic
and he must be obeyed! You may now go about your affairs. Jantiff, come along.
We have no further need to remain at Balad.”

“But what of Glisten? I can’t leave until I know what has happened!”

“Jantiff, let us face the sad facts. Either she is dead or
she has returned to the forest. In either case she is beyond our reach.”

“Then who was the woman who notified you of my trouble?’

“This is another affair which the cursar must look into. But
let us be off to Arrabus. There is nothing more to be accomplished here.”

In a black space-car the two men rode north from Balad: over
the gloomy Sych, across Lake Neman and the Weirdlands beyond.

Jantiff sat brooding and made no effort at conversation. Ryl
Shermatz finally said: “I suspect that you are still disturbed by recent
events—understandably so. Unfortunately, by the very nature of my position I
can achieve only an approximate justice. The witch-killing farmers, for instance:
are they not murderers? Why are they not punished? Truthfully, I am less interested
in punishment than setting things to rights. I make one or two dramatic
examples, hoping to frighten all the others into regeneracy. The method works
unevenly. Often the most iniquitous are the least inconvenienced. On the other
hand an absolutely exact justice may well destroy the community; this might
have been the case at Balad. By and large, I am satisfied.”

Jantiff said nothing.

Ryl Shermatz continued: “In any event we must now turn our
attention to Arrabus and the Whispers. Their conduct puzzles me. Do they intend
to live in isolation? If they attend the Centenary fête, or speak before a
television audience, their identity must instantly become evident to their old
intimates: all those residents of Old Pink, for example.”

“They probably rely upon the close similarity,” said
Jantiff. “When no one suspects, no one notices.”

Ryl Shermatz remained dubious. “I can’t believe that the similarities
are that close. Perhaps they plan cosmetic devices or facial surgery: in fact
this may already have occurred.”

“At Lulace they were the same as ever.”

“And this is the great puzzle! Clearly they are not fools.
They must recognize obvious dangers, and they must have prepared for them. I am
amazed and fascinated; there is grandeur to their scheme.”

Jantiff put a diffident question: “How will you deal with
them?”

“Two options, at least, are open. We can denounce them
publicly and create an enormous sensation, or we can secretly dispose of the
whole affair, and presently nominate a new set of Whispers. I am inclined to
the first concept. The Arrabins will enjoy the drama—and why should we not give
pleasure to these essentially decent, if indolent, folk?”

“And how will this drama be managed?”

“No difficulty whatever; in fact the event has already been
arranged, and by the Whispers themselves. At a Grand Rally they intend to
address a select group of notables, while all the rest of Arrabus watches by
television. This is an appropriate time to set matters right.”

Jantiff mulled over the situation. “They will speak as before
from the Pedestal, remote and obscure so that no one can recognize them, and no
cameras will be allowed close views.”

“I expect that you are right,” said Ryl Shermatz. “At the
denouement they will be seen clearly enough.”

The space-car crossed over the scarp, and Uncibal lay
sprawled before them, with the Salarnan Sea beyond, flat and listless, the
color of moonstone. Ryl Shermatz veered toward the space-port and landed close
beside the depot

“Tonight we will rest at the Travelers Inn,” said Shermatz. “As
an elitist monument, it has suffered decay; still we can do no better, and you
will no doubt prefer it to your lair behind the privy.”

“I intend to revisit this lair, for old time’s sake,” said Jantiff.
“My hut on the beach was actually not much better… Still, it felt like
home. As I think back, I was happy there. I had food; I had Glisten to look at;
I had goals, impractical though they might have been, and for a time I thought
I was realizing them. Yes! I was truly alive!”

“And now?”

“I am old and dull and tired.”

Shermatz laughed. “I have felt the same way many times. Life goes on, despite all.”

“I find life to be a very peculiar affair.”

At the Travelers Inn Shermatz bespoke a suite of six rooms,
specifying a high standard of cuisine and service.

Jantiff grumbled that his expectations were not likely to be
realized in view of the Arrabin attitude.

“We shall see,” said Ryl Shermatz. “As a rule I make few
demands, but here, at the Travelers Inn, for non-egalistic prices I insist upon
non-egalistic value. Unlike the ordinary traveler, I can instantly avenge
sloth, slights and poor service. It is a perquisite of my job. I think that you
will notice a distinct improvement over your previous visit. Now I have a few
trifles of business, and I will leave you to your own devices.”

Jantiff went to his rooms, where, as Shermatz had predicted,
he discovered remarkably better conditions. He reveled in a hot bath, donned
fresh garments and dined upon the most elaborate repast available. Then,
bone-weary but not yet ready for sleep, he wandered out into the city and rode
the man-ways as he had done so often in the past. Perhaps by unconscious
design he passed Old Pink. After a moment’s indecision he stepped off the way,
crossed the yard and entered the foyer. The air hung heavy with familiar old
odors, compounded of gruff, deedle, wobbly and swill; the sourness of old
concrete; the condensed exhalations of all those who across the years had called
Old Pink home.

Recollections swept over Jantiff: events, adventures, emotions,
faces. He went to the administration desk, where a man, strange to him, sat sorting
slips of paper.

Jantiff asked: “Does Skorlet still occupy Apartment D18, on
the Nineteenth level?”

The clerk spun an index, glanced at a name. “No longer. She’s
transferred out to Propunce.”

Jantiff turned to the bulletin board. A large placard composed
in an eye-catching yellow, white, blue and black read:

In regard to the
GRAND RALLY:

Hail, all, to our second century! May it exceed the grandeur of
the first!

The Centenary celebrates our confident advocacy of egalism. From
the ends of the Cluster pour congratulations, sometimes couched in candid
admiration, sometimes through the tight teeth of bombahs biting back dismay.

On Onasday next: the Grand Rally! at the Field of Voices the Panel
of Delegates and many other notables will gather to partake of a ceremonial
banquet and to hear the Whispers propose startling new concepts for the future.

The Connatic of Alastor Cluster will definitely be on hand, to
share the Pedestal with the Whispers, in comradeship and egality. He is at
this moment consulting with the Whispers and hearing their wise counsel. At the
Grand Rally he will reveal his program for an augmented interchange of goods
and services. He believes that Arrabins should export ideas, artistic creations
and imaginative concepts in exchange for goods, foodstuffs and automatic
processing devices. At the. Grand Rally, Onasday, on the Field of Voices, he
and the Whispers will make concrete the details of this proposal.

Only persons with entry permits will be admitted to the Field. All
others will participate at this epochal occasion by television in the social
halls on their apartment levels.

Jantiff reread the placard a second and a third time. Odd
and wonderful! He stood pondering the garish type. At the back of his mind
milled fragments of information, small disparate ideas, echoes of
half-remembered conversations: all jumbled like the elements of a puzzle shaken
in a box.

Jantiff turned away from the placard and departed Old Pink.
He rode out Lateral 112 to Uncibal River and diverted into the human flood. For
once, with nervous guesses and suspicious conjectures whirling through his
head, Jantiff ignored the panorama of faces; as blank and withdrawn as any of
the others, he returned to the Travelers Inn.

Back in his rooms, he discovered that a supper had been laid
out on the parlor buffet. Jantiff poured out a goblet of wine and
took it to a settee. The window overlooked a corner of the space-field and,
beyond, the dancing lights of Disjerferact. Jantiff watched with a smile half
bitter, half wistful. Would he ever be able to escape his recollections?
Vividly now they passed before his inner mind: the House of Prisms; Kedidah’s
haunted countenance. The flavor of toasted kelp and poggets. The squeaking
fifes, the tinkle of pilgrim bells, the calls and importunities, the whirling
lights and park fountains… Ryl Shermatz emerged from his chambers.

“Aha, Jantiff, you have returned in good time. Have you
noticed this array of bonter?”

“Yes. I am amazed. I had no idea that so many good things
were available.”

“Tonight we are bombahs for sure! I see wines from four
different worlds, a noble assortment of meats, pastas, rissoles, salads, cheeses,
and all manner of miscellaneous confections. A far more elaborate meal than is
my usual habit, I assure you! But tonight let us revel in the ignobility of it
all!”

Jantiff served himself such items as met his fancy, and
joined Ryl Shermatz at the table. “An hour ago I visited Old Pink, the block
where I once lived. In the lobby I saw an amazing placard. It advertised that
the Connatic will definitely appear at the Grand Rally, to endorse the
Whispers and all their programs.”

“I saw a similar placard,” said Ryl Shermatz. “I can assert
even more definitely that the Connatic plans nothing of the sort.”

“In that case I am relieved, but how can the Whispers make
such promises? When the Connatic fails to appear, they will be left with lame
excuses by the mouthful, and no one will be deceived.”

“I have become fascinated by the Grand Rally,” said Ryl
Shermatz. “Half a dozen courtesy tickets were left at Alastor Centrality. I
availed myself of two; we shall not fail to witness this remarkable occasion.”

“I am absolutely bewildered,” said Jantiff. “The Whispers
must know that the Connatic will not appear; it follows, therefore, that they
have contrived a plan to cope with this contingency.”

“Admirably put, Jantiff! That is the situation in a
nutshell, and I admit to curiosity. Might they go so far as to put forward a
purported Connatic, to speak as they might wish the real Connatic to speak?”

“It is well within their audacity. But how could they hope to
gain? When the news arrived at Lusz, the Connatic could not fail to be annoyed.”

“Exactly so! The Connatic is always amused by verve and
sometimes by brashness; still he would be forced to take harsh and definite
action. Well, on Onasday the event will be revealed, and we will watch
carefully before we put our own program into effect.”

Jantiff made a cautious observation: “You persist in using
the words ‘we’ and ‘our,’ but I must admit that I am confused as to the
details of our program.”

Ryl Shermatz chuckled. “Our plan is simple. The Whispers appear
on the Pedestal. They make their address to the notables, and by television to
all the other Arrabins. A purported Connatic may appear on the Pedestal; if
not, the Whispers may repair the lack by methods yet unknown, and we will watch
with interest. Then, at an appropriate moment, four Whelm corvettes of the
Amaraz
class drop from the sky. They maneuver close to the Pedestal and officers
jump across. They place the Whispers under arrest. The cursar now appears. He
explains to all Arrabus the crimes perpetrated by the Whispers. He reveals that
Arrabus is bankrupt, and he makes a rather harsh announcement to the effect
that the Arrabins must awake from their century-long trance and return to
work. He announces that he is assuming authority as interim governor, until a
proper set of local officials once more assume responsibility.

“The four corvettes then rise to an elevation of a thousand
feet, each trailing a long line with a noose at the end. A noose is fitted
about the neck of each Whisper; the corvettes rise once more until they and the
suspended Whispers are out of sight in the upper atmosphere. The program is
crisp, decisive and sufficiently spectacular to command attention.” Ryl
Shermatz glanced sideways at Jantiff. “You take exception to the plan?”

“Not at all. I am uneasy, for a reason I find hard to define.”

Shermatz rose to his feet and went to look out across
Disjerferact. The plan is too forthright, perhaps?”

“There is nothing wrong with the plan. I wonder only why the
Whispers seem so confident. What do they know that we do not?”

“That is a provocative concept,” said Shermatz. He mused a
moment. “Short of asking the Whispers, I can’t see how to arrive at an
explanation.”

“I will try to put my ideas in an orderly sequence,” said
Jantiff. “Perhaps something will occur to me.”

“You have infected me with your uneasiness,” Shermatz
grumbled. “Well—there is tonight and tomorrow for conjecture. On the day
after: the Grand Rally, and then we must act.”