On fine days the ocean sparked and scintillated to the Dwan
light; the gart glowed like purple glass; and the sand beneath Jantiff’s feet
seemed as clean and fresh as at the beginning of time; and Jantiff, swinging
his buckets and breathing the cool salt air, felt that life was well worth
living, despite every conceivable tribulation.
Halfway along the Dessimo headland an arm of the Sych swung
out and approached the ocean. Here Jantiff discovered a dilapidated shack,
half-hidden in the shadows of the forest. The roof had dropped; one wall had collapsed;
the floor was buried under the detritus of years. Jantiff prodded here and
there with a stick, but found nothing of interest.
One day Jantiff walked to the end of the headland: a massive
tongue of black rock protecting a dozen swirling pools of chilly water in its
lee. Exploring these pools Jantiff found quantities of excellent percebs,
including many of the prized coronel variety, and thereafter Jantiff visited
the area daily. Passing the old hut, he occasionally troubled to fit a stone or
two back into the wall, or clear an armload of litter from the interior. One
sunny morning he circled the headland and returned to Balad along the shore of
Lulace Sound, and so obtained a view of Lulace, Grand Knight Shubart’s manor,
at the back of an immaculate formal garden. Jantiff paused to admire the
place, of which he had heard a dozen marvelous tales. Immediately he noticed
Booch sunning himself on a garden bench, and as he watched, a young maid in
black and red livery came out from the kitchen with a tray of refreshment&
Booch, seemed to make a facetious invitation, but the maid sidled nervously
away. Booch reached out, to haul her back and caught one of the red pompoms of
her livery. The girl protested, pleaded and at last began to cry. Booch’s gallantry
instantly vanished. He gave the girl a buffet across the buttocks, to send her
stumbling and weeping toward the manor. Jantiff took an impulsive step forward,
ready to call out a reprimand, but thought twice and held his tongue. Booch,
chancing to notice him, jumped to his feet in a fury; Jantiff was relieved that
sixty yards of water lay between them. He took up his percebs and hurried away.
Halfway through the evening Booch appeared at the Old Groar.
Jantiff went about his duties, trying to ignore Booch’s glowering glances. At
last Booch signaled and Jantiff approached. “Yes, sir?”
“You were spying on me today. I’ve half a mind to shove your
head in the cesspool.”
“I was not spying,” said Jantiff. “I happened to be walking
along the shore with percebs for today’s custom.”
“Don’t walk that way again. The Grand Knight likes his
privacy, and so do I.”
“Did you wish to order?” asked Jantiff with what dignity he
could muster.
“When I see fit!” growled Booch. “I have the feeling that I’ve
seen your unwholesome face before. I did not like it then, nor do I like it
now, so have a care.”
Jantiff went stiffly off about his duties.
In the corner of the room sat Eubanq, who presently signaled
to Jantiff. “What’s your difficulty with Booch?”
Jantiff described the episode. “And now he’s in a rage.”
“No doubt, and the, whole situation has curdled, since I
intended Booth to fly you to Uncibal in one of the Grand Knight’s flibbits.”
Booch loomed over the table. “This is the person you want
flown to Uncibal?” A grin spread over his face. “I’ll be happy to take him
aloft, at no payment whatever.”
Neither Jantiff nor Eubanq made response. Booch chuckled and
departed the tavern.
Jantiff said bleakly: “I certainly won’t fly to Uncibal with
Booch.”
Eubanq made one of his easy gestures. “Don’t take him seriously.
Booth is bluff and bluster, for the most part. I’ve consulted the schedule and
now I’ll need your passage voucher. Do you have it with you?”
“Yes, but I don’t care to let it out of my hands.”
Eubanq smilingly shook his head. “There’s no way to negotiate
a firm reservation without it.”
Jantiff reluctantly surrendered the certificate.
“Very good,” said Eubanq. “You will depart Uncibal in three
weeks aboard the
Jervasian.
How much money do—you have, now?”
“Twenty ozols.”
Eubanq clicked his tongue in vexation. “Not enough! In three
weeks you’ll have at most eighty ozols! Well, I’ll simply have to reschedule
you for the
Serenaic
, in about six weeks.”
“But that will be after the Arrabin Centenary Festival!”
“What of that?”
Jantiff was silent a moment. “I have business at Uncibal,
but before the Centenary. Can’t you trust me for twenty owls? As soon as I’m
home I’ll send back whatever money is lacking. I swear it!”
“Of course!” said Eubanq wearily. “I believe you, never
doubt it! You are deadly in earnest—now. But on Zeck there might be needs more
urgent than mine here at this dismal little outpost. That is the way things go.
I fear that I must have the money in hand. Which shall it be? The
Jervasian
or
the
Serenaic?”
“It will have to be the
Serenaic
,” said Jantiff
hollowly. “I simply won’t have the money sooner. Remember: under no
circumstances will I fly with Booch.”
“Just as you say. I can hire Bulwan’s flibbit and fly you
myself. We’ll plan on that basis.”
Jantiff went off about his work. Six weeks seemed a very
long time. What of the Arrabin Centenary? He must telephone Alastor Centrality
again, and yet again,, until finally he had unloaded all his burden of facts
and suspicions upon the cursar… From the distance of Balad, his notions
seemed strange and odd: incredible, really—even to Jantiff himself. Might he
have suffered a set of vivid paranoid delusions? Jantiff’s faith in himself
wavered, but only for a moment or two. He had not imagined Esteban’s murderous
attempts, nor the overheard conversation, nor the camera matrix, nor the death
of Clods Morre.
During the course of the evening Jantiff noticed a plump
pink-faced young man in the kitchen, and just before closing time, Fariske
called him aside. “Jantiff, conditions have more or less returned to normal,
and I’m sorry to say that I must let you go.”
Jantiff stared aghast. At last he managed to stammer: “What
have I done wrong?”
“Nothing whatever. Your work has been in the main satisfactory.
My nephew Voris, nevertheless, wants his position back. He is an idler; he
drinks as much as he serves; still, I must oblige him, or risk the rough edge
of my sister’s tongue. That is the way we do things in Baled. You may use your
chamber tonight, but I must ask you to vacate tomorrow.”
Jantiff turned away and finished the evening’s duties in a
fog of depression. Two hours before he had been disturbed by a delay of six
weeks; now how blessedly fortunate seemed that prospect!
The patrons departed. Jantiff set the room to rights and
went off to bed, where he lay awake into the small hours.
In the morning Palinka awoke him at the usual time. She had
never been wholly cordial, and today even less so. “I have been ordered to feed
you a final breakfast, so bestir yourself; I have much else to do.”
Defiance trembled upon Jantiff’s tongue, but second thoughts
prevailed. He muttered a surly acknowledgment, and presented himself to the
kitchen as usual.
Palinka put before him his usual gruel, tea, bread and conserve;
Jantiff ate listlessly and so aroused Palinka’s impatience. “Come, Jantiff, eat
briskly, if you please! I am waiting to clear the table.”
“And I am waiting for my wages!” declared Jantiff in sudden
fury. “Where is Fariske? As soon as he pays me, I will leave?”
Then you will be waiting the whole day long,” Palinka retorted.
“He has gone off to the country market.”
“And where is my money? Did he not instruct you to pay me?”
Palinka uttered a coarse laugh. “It is too early for jokes.
Fariske has made himself scarce hoping that you would forget your money.”
“Small chance of that! I intend to claim every dinket!”
“Come back in the morning. For now, be off with you!”
Jantiff left the Old Groar in a sullen mood. For a moment he stood in the street, hands tucked into the flaps of his jacket, shoulders
hunched against the wind. He looked east along the street, then west, where his
eyes focused upon the Cimmery. Jantiff grimaced; he had lost all zest for the
taverns of Balad. Nonetheless, he settled his jacket and sauntered down the
street to the Cimmery, where he found Madame Tchaga, a short stout woman with
an irascible manner, employed at a task Jantiff knew only too well: scrubbing
out the common-room. Jantiff addressed her as confidently as possible, but
Madame Tchaga, pausing not a stroke of the push broom, uttered a bark of sour
amusement “The owls I take in are not enough for me and mine; I’ve no need for
you. Seek elsewhere for work; try the Grand Knight. He might want someone to
pare his toenails?’
Jantiff returned to the street, where he considered Madame
Tchaga’s suggestion.
From one of the side, lanes came Eubanq on his way to his
office at the space-port. At the sight of Jantiff he nodded and would have
proceeded had not Jantiff eagerly stepped forward to accost him. Here, after,
all, was the obvious solution to his problems!
Eubanq greeted him politely enough. “What brings you out in
this direction?”
“Fariske no longer needs me at the Old Groar,” said Jantiff.
“This may be a blessing in disguise, since you can surely put me to work at the
space-port, hopefully at a much better wage.”
Eubanq’s expression became distant “Unfortunately not.
In truth, there’s little enough work to keep my present crew
busy.”
Jantiff’s voice rose in frustration. “Then how can I earn a
hundred ozols?”
“I don’t know. One way or another, you must discover the
money. Your voucher has been sent to Uncibal and you are booked aboard the
Serenaic
.”
Jantiff stared in consternation. “Can’t the passage be postponed?”
“That’s no longer possible.”
“Can’t you suggest something? What of the Grand Knight?
Could you put a word in for me?”
Eubanq started to make small sidling moves, preparatory to
moving on past Jantiff. “The Grand Knight is not in residence. Booch now rules
the roost, when he’s not wenching or witch-chasing or drinking dry the Old
Groar vats, and he’s not lately to assist you. But no doubt your dilemma will
resolve itself: happily, I hope. Good day to you.” Eubanq went his way.
Jantiff slouched eastward along the street: past the Old
Groar to the edge of town and beyond. Arriving at the seashore, he sat upon a
fiat stone and looked out across the rolling gray water. Morning light from
Dwan, collecting in the wave hollows, washed back and forth like quicksilver.
Silver foam broke around the rocks. Jantiff stared morosely at the horizon and
pondered his options. He might, of course, try to return to Uncibal and his
refuge behind the Disjerferact privy—but how to cross the thousand miles of
wilderness? Suppose he were to steal one of the Grand Knight’s flibbits? And
suppose Booch caught him in the act? Jantiff’s shoulder blades twitched. His
best hope, as always, lay with the cursar. To this end he must make daily
telephone calls to Alastor Centrality. In the morning he would collect his
wages from Fariske: a not too satisfactory sum which nonetheless would feed him
for an appreciable period. Of more immediate concern was shelter. An idea
crossed his mind. He rose to his feet and walked along the shore to the ruined
fisherman’s shanty, if such it were. Without enthusiasm he examined the structure,
although lie knew it well already, then set to work clearing the interior of
trash, dead leaves, and dirt.
From the forest he brought saplings which he arranged over
the walls in a mat which was strong and resilient but hardly waterproof.
Jantiff considered the problem carefully. He had no money to spare for
conventional roofing; a solution, therefore, must be improvised. The obvious
first attempt must be thatch—and even thatch involved financial outlay.
Returning into Balad, Jantiff invested an ozol in cord,
knife, and a disk of hard bread, then trudged back to the shack. The time was
now afternoon; there was no time to rest. From the beach he brought armloads of
seaweed, and laid it out into bundles. Some of the stalks were old and rotten,
and smelled of fetid sea life; before Jantiff had fairly started he was cold
and wet and covered with slime Doggedly ignoring discomfort he tied up
the bundles and fixed them to his roof in staggered layers.
Sunset found the job still short of completion. Jantiff
built a fire, washed himself and his garments in the stream, and before the
light had died, gathered a quart of percebs for his supper. He hung up his
clothes to dry, then huddled naked in the firelight, trying to keep warm on all
sides at once. Meanwhile the percebs baked in their shells, and Jantiff
presently ate his supper of bread and percebs with a good appetite.
Night had come; darkness cloaked both land and sea. Jantiff
lay back and studied the sky. Since he had never learned the constellations as
seen from Wyst, he could name none of the stars, but surely some of these blazing
lights above him were famous places, home to noble men and beautiful women.
None could even remotely suspect that far below, on the beach of the Moaning
Ocean, sat that entity known as Jantiff Ravensroke!
Letting his mind wander free, Jantiff thought of all manner
of things, and presently decided that he had divined the soul of this odd
little planet Wyst. On Wyst nothing was as it seemed: everything was just a
trifle askew or out of focus, or bathed in a mysterious quivering light. This
quality, Jantiff reflected, was analogous to the personality of a man. Undoubtedly
men tended to share the personality of that world to which they were born…
Jantiff wondered about his own world, Zeck, which had always seemed so ordinary:
did visitors find it odd and unusual? By analogy, did Jantiff himself seem odd
and unusual? Quite conceivably this was the case, thought Jantiff.