Jantiff jumped to his feet to stand quivering in consternation.
He went on delicate steps to the arch giving on the lobby. At the registration
desk two men in low-crowned black hats loomed over the clerk. Jantiff’s heart
rose into his throat: Mutuals! Responding with nervous volubility, the clerk
waved a long pale finger toward the ascensor and Jantiff’s room.
The two men turned from the desk and strode to the
as-censor. As soon as they were gone, Jantiff stepped out into the lobby, sidled
unobtrusively around the far wall to the door and departed into the night.
Disjerferact, the carnival strip along the mud flats, had
never failed to fascinate Jantiff with its contrasts and paradoxes. Disjerferact!
Gaudy and gay, strident and makeshift, trading brummagem for equally valueless
tokens, achieving no more than the dream of a dream! By the light of Divan, and
from a distant perspective, the dark red paper pavilions, the tall blue tents,
the numberless festoons, banners, and whirligigs conjured, a brave and splendid
fantasy. By night uncounted flambeaux flared to the sea breeze; the consequent
gleams and shadows, darting and jerking, suggested a barbaric frenzy—in
the end as factitious as all else of Disjerferact. Still, the confusion and helter-skelter
provided Jantiff an effective refuge: who at Disjerferact cared a whit for anything
other than his own yearnings?
For three days Jantiff skulked through nooks and back passages,
venturing never a step without seeking the low black hats of Mutuals or the
dread shape of Esteban. During daylight hours he occupied a cranny between the
booth of a pickle merchant and a public latrine. By night he ventured forth,
disguised by a mustache fashioned from his own hair and a head rag in the
fashion of the Carabbas Islanders. His tokens—those remaining to him after
paying bonterfest fees—he grudgingly exchanged for poggets and cornucopias of
fried kelp. He slept by day in fits and starts, disturbed by the calls
of hawkers, the puffworm vendor’s bugle, the screeching of child acrobats, and
from a booth across the way, the thud of clog-dancing and simulated enthusiasm
from shills.
Early Aensday morning, while Jantiff lay half-torpid, the public
megaphones spoke loud across the mud flats.
“Attention, all! Today greet the Whispers as they embark on their
mission to Numenes! As adumbrated in recent statements, they intend a daring
and innovative program, and they have proclaimed a slogan for the next century:
Viable egalism must
fulfill
both needs and aspirations, and
provide scope for human genius!
They go to Lusz Tower to urge the Connatic’s
sympathetic support for the new scheme, and they will draw strength from your
advocacy. Therefore, come today to the Public Zone. The Whispers fly from
Waunisse aboard the
Sea Disk;
their time of arrival is high noon and
they will speak from the Pedestal.”
Jantiff listened apathetically while the megaphones broadcast
a second and yet a third repetition of the message. For an instant, while the
echoes died, Disjerferact hung suspended in an unnatural silence; then the
customary tumult returned.
Jantiff rose to a kneeling position, peered right and left
from his cranny, then, finding nothing to foster his anxieties, he stepped out
into the flow of pleasure-seeker& At a nearby refreshment booth he
exchanged a token for a spill of fried kelp. Leaning against a wall he consumed
the crisp, if insipid, strands, then for want of a better destination he
wandered eastward toward the Public Zone, or the Field of Voices, as it was
sometimes called. The cursar returned with the Whispers aboard the
Sea Disk;
he would not be likely to return to the Centrality before the Whispers
departed for Numenes: so there was time enough for Jantiff to hear the remarks
of the Whispers, perhaps at close range.
Jantiff sauntered eastward, across Disjerferact and the mud
flats beyond, over the Whery Slough Bridge and out upon the Public Zone: an
expanse a mile long and almost as wide. At regular intervals poles rose high to
support quatrefoil megaphones, each pole likewise displaying a numerical code
to assist in the arrangement of rendezvous. Almost against the eastern boundary
a pylon, held aloft a circular platform under a glass parasol: this was the
so-called “Pedestal.” Beyond spread the scarred grounds of the space-port.
By the time Jantiff crossed over the Whery Slough Bridge,
folk by the thousands were migrating across the field, to pack into a vital
sediment around the Pedestal. Jantiff was annoyed to find that he could
approach, no closer than a hundred’ yards to the Pedestal, which would hardly
allow him an intimate inspection of the Whispers.
As Dwan rose toward the zenith, crowds debouched from Uncibal
River in a solid mass, to disperse and sift across the Zone, until presently no
further increment was possible: the Zone was occupied to its capacity and,
past. Those arriving on Uncibal River could not alight, but must continue into
the round-about, and return the way they had come. On the Zone folk stood elbow
to elbow, chin to shoulder. A sour-sweet odor arose’ from the crowd to drift
away on airs from the sea. Jantiff recalled his first impressions of Arrabus,
upon debarking from the spaceship: at last he could identify that odor which
then had caused him puzzlement and perhaps a trace of revulsion.
Jantiff attempted to calculate the number of persons surrounding
him, but became confused: the number was surely somewhere among the millions
… He felt a pang of claustrophobic alarm: he was confined, he could not
move! Suppose something prompted these millions of entities into a stampede? A
horrifying thought! Jantiff pictured tides of people surging over one another,
rising and climbing, at last to topple and break in churning glimpses of arms,
faces, legs… The crowd produced a sudden mumble of sound, as out over the
water appeared the
Sea Disk,
inbound from Waunisse. The vessel veered
over the space-port, descended in a smart half-spiral and dropped to a landing
near the Public Zone. The port opened; an attendant stepped out, followed by
the four Whispers: three men and a woman wearing formal robes. Ignoring the
crowd they disappeared into a subsurface walkway. Two minutes passed. Out on
the Zone gazes lifted to the platform at the top of the Pedestal.
The Whispers appeared. For a moment they stood looking over
the crowd: four small figures indistinct in the shade of the parasol. Jantiff
tried to match them with the Whispers he had seen, on the screen. The woman was
Fausgard; the men were Orgold, Lemiste and Delfin. One of the men spoke—which could
not be discerned Gum below—and a thousand quatrefoil megaphones broadcast
his words.
“The Whispers are revivified by this contact with the folk
of Uncibal! We take nourishment from your benevolence; it flows in upon us like
a mighty tide! We shall bring it forth when we confront the Connatic, and the
sheer power of egalistic doctrine shall overcome every challenge!
“Great events are in the offing! At our noble
Centenary we celebrate a hundred years of achievement! A new century lies
before us, and succeeding, centuries in grand succession, each to ratify anew
our optimum style of life. Egalism shall sweep Alastor Cluster, and all the
Gaean Reach! So much is foreordained, if it be your will! Is it so?”
The Whisper paused; a somewhat perfunctory and even
uncertain mutter of approval arose from the crowd. Jantiff himself was puzzled.
The tone of the address was not at all consonant with the announcement he, had
heard that morning in Disjerferact
“So be it!” declared the Whisper, and a thousand quatrefoil
megaphones magnified his words. “There shall be no turning back, or faltering!
Egalism forever! Man’s great enemies are tedium and drudgery! We have broken
their ancient tyranny; let the contractors do the drudge for their lowly
pittances. Egalism shall ensure the final emancipation of Man!
“So now your Whispers go forth to Numenes, impelled by our
composite will. We shall take our message to the Connatic and make our three important
desires known.
“First: no more immigration! Let those who envy us impose
egalism on their own worlds!
“Second: Arrabins are a peaceful folk. We fear no attack; we
intend no aggression. Why then must we subsidize the Connatic’s power? We
require none of his advice, nor the force of his Whelm, nor the supervision of
his bureaucrats. We will therefore require that our annual tax be reduced, or
even abolished.
“Third: our exports are sold at the cheap, yet the items we
import come dear. Effectually, we subsidize those inefficient systems still in
force elsewhere. Believe this: your Whispers shall press for a new schedule of
exchange between the token and the ozol; in fact, they should go at par! Is not
an hour of our toil equal to that hour worked by some whey-faced diddler of,
let us say, Zeck?”
Jantiff jerked his head and frowned in displeasure. The remarks
seemed both absurd and inappropriate.
The megaphones rang on.
“Our Centenary is at hand. At Lusz we shall invite the
Connatic to visit Arrabus, to join our festival, and appraise for
himself our great achievements. If he declines, the loss is his own. In any
case, we shall make our report to you at a great rally of the Arrabin egalists.
We now depart for Numenes; wish us well!” The Whispers raised arms in salute;
the crowd responded with a polite roar. The Whispers stepped back and
disappeared from view. Several minutes later they emerged from the ingress
kiosk out, upon the space-port. A car awaited them; they entered and were
conveyed to the great hulk of the spaceship
Moan).
The crowd began to depart the field, but without haste.
Jantiff, now impatient, thrust, sidled and slid through the obstructive masses
to no great effect, and a full two hours elapsed before he managed to squeeze
aboard Uncibal River, sweating, tired and temper at the quick.
He rode directly to Alastor Centrality. Entering the structure
he found behind the counter, not Clode, but a woman tall and portly, with an
imposing bust and austere features. She wore a severe gown of gray twill
over a white blouse; her hair was drawn to the back of her head and held in a
handsome silver clip. As in the case of Clode, her place of origin was clearly
other than Arrabus. She spoke in a formal voice: “Sir, how may .I assist you?”
“I must see the cursar at once,” said Jantiff. Out of reflexive
habit he darted a nervous glance over his shoulder. “The matter is most urgent”
The woman inspected Jantiff for a long five seconds, and
Jantiff was made conscious of his disheveled appearance. She answered in a
voice somewhat crisper than before. “The cursar is not in his office. He has
not yet returned from Waunisse.”
Jantiff stood rigid with disappointment. “I expected him today,”
he said fretfully. “He was to have returned with the Whispers. Is Clode here?”
The woman turned another searching inspection upon Jantiff
who became uneasy. She said “Clode is not here. I am Aleida Gluster, clerk in
the Connatic’s service, and I can discharge any business which you might have
had with Clode.”
“I left a parcel with him, a photographic matrix, for delivery
to the cursar. I merely wanted to assure myself of its safety.”
“There is no such parcel in the office; Clode Morre, I regret
to say, is dead.”
Jantiff stared aghast, “Dead?” He collected his wits. “How
did this happen? And when?”
“Three days ago. He was attacked by a ruffian and stabbed
through the throat. It is tragic for us all.”
Jantiff asked in a hollow voice: “Has the murderer been apprehended?”
“No. He has been identified as a certain Jantiff Ravensroke,
of Zeck.”
Jantiff managed to blurt a question: “And the parcel I left
is gone?”
“There is definitely no such parcel in the office.”
“Has the cursar been notified?”
“Naturally! I telephoned him immediately at the Waunisse
Centrality.”
“Then call Waunisse now! If the cursar is there I must speak
to him. The matter is most important, I assure you.”
“And what name shall I announce if he is there?”
Jantiff made a feeble attempt to wave the question aside. “It
is really of no great consequence.”
“Your name is of considerable consequence,” said Aleida
crisply. “Is it by any chance ‘Jantiff Ravensroke’?”
Jantiff quailed before the searching inspection. He nodded
meekly. “I am Jantiff Ravensroke. But I am no murderer!”
Aleida gave him a level glance of unreadable significance
and turned to the telephone. She spoke: “This is Aleida, at Uncibal Centrality.
Is Cursar Bonamico anywhere at hand?”
A voice responded: “Cursar Bonamico has returned to Uncibal.
He departed this morning on the
Sea Disk
, in company with the Whispers.”
“Odd. He has not yet looked into his office.”
“Evidently there has been some delay.”
“Yes, quite likely. Thank you.” Aleida Gluster turned back to
Jantiff. “If you are not the assassin, why do the Mutuals insist otherwise?”
“The Mutuals are mistaken! I know the murderer; he has
influence with Contractor Shubart, who contracts the services of the Mutuals. I
am anxious to lay all facts before the cursar.”
“Doubtless.” Aleida looked past Jantiff through the glass
panels of the front wall. “Here are the Mutuals now. You can place your
information before them.”
Jantiff turned a glance of startled terror over his
shoulder, to see two men in low black hats marching in ponderous certitude
across the compound. “No! They will take me away and kill me! I have urgent
news for the cursar; they wish to stifle me!”
Aleida nodded grimly. “Step into the inner office: quickly
now!”
Jantiff sped through the door into the cursar’s chamber. The
door closed; Jantiff pressed his ear to the panel to hear a measured thud of
footsteps, then Aleida’s voice: “Sirs, how may I be of service?”
A resonant baritone voice spoke: “We wish to apprehend a
certain Jantiff Ravensroke. Is he on the premises?”
“You are the Mutuals,” said Aleida curtly. “You must determine
the facts for yourself.”
“The facts are these! For three days we have kept close
watch on this place, fearful that the assassin might attempt a second murder,
perhaps on your own person. Now five minutes ago Jantiff Ravensroke was seen
arriving at the Agency. Call him forth, if you please, and we will take him
into protective custody.”