The Dirdir Read online

  “True,” said Deine Zarre. Again he searched Reith with his remarkable eyes. “Where do you wish to go in your spaceship?”

  Woudiver spoke with overtones either of mockery or malice: “He goes to claim a fabulous treasure, which we all will share.”

  Deine Zarre smiled. “I want no treasure. Pay me a hundred sequins a week; it is all I require.”

  “So little?” demanded Woudiver. “You reduce my commission.”

  Deine Zarre gave him no heed. “You intend to start work at once?” he asked Reith.

  “The sooner the better.”

  “I will list immediate needs.” To Woudiver: “When can you arrange delivery?”

  “As soon as Adam Reith provides the wherewithal.”

  “Put through the order tonight,” said Reith. “I’ll bring money tomorrow.”

  “What of the honorarium for my friend?” demanded Woudiver testily. “Does he work for nothing? What of the fee for the warehouse guards? Do they look sideways for their health?”

  “How much?” asked Reith.

  Woudiver hesitated, then said in a dull voice, “Let us avoid a tiresome quarrel. I will present the minimum price first. Two thousand sequins.”

  “So much? Incredible. How many men must be bribed?”

  “Three. The assistant supervisor, two guards.”

  Deine Zarre said, “Give it to him. I dislike haggling. If you must economize, pay me less.”

  Reith started to complain, then shrugged, managed a painful grin. “Very well. Two thousand sequins.”

  “Remember,” said Woudiver, “you must bear the inventory cost of the merchandise; it is difficult to steal outright.”

  During the evening four power-wagons unloaded at the shed. Reith, Traz, Anacho and Artilo trundled the crates into the shed, as Deine Zarre checked them off his master list. Woudiver appeared on the scene at midnight. “All is well?”

  Deine Zarre said, “As far as I can tell, the basic needs are here.”

  “Good.” Woudiver turned to Reith, handed him a sheet of paper. “The invoice. Notice that it is itemized, and bluster will serve no purpose.”

  Reith read the total in a weak whisper “Eighty-two thousand sequins.”

  “Did you expect less?” Woudiver asked jauntily. “My fee is not included. Ninety thousand two hundred sequins in all.”

  Reith asked Deine Zarre, “Is there everything we need?”

  “By no means.”

  “How much time will be required?”

  “Two or three months. Longer if the components are seriously out of phase.”

  “What must I pay the technicians?”

  “Two hundred sequins a week. Unlike myself, they are motivated by the need for money.”

  On the screen of Reith’s imagination appeared a picture of the Carabas: the dun hills, the gray outcrops, the thickets of thorn, the horrid fires by night. He remembered the furtive passage across the Forelands, the Dirdir-trap in Boundary Forest, the race back to the Portal of Gleams. Ninety thousand sequins represented almost half of this… If the money dwindled too fast, if Woudiver became too brazenly corrupt, what then? Reith could not bear to think the thought. “Tomorrow I will bring the money.”

  Woudiver gave a fateful nod. “Good. Or tomorrow night the goods return to the warehouse.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  WITHIN THE SHED the old Ispra began to come alive. The propulsors were raised into their sockets, bolted and welded. Up through the stern access panel the generator and converter were hoisted, then slid forward and secured. The Ispra was no longer a hulk. Reith, Anacho and Traz wire-brushed, ground, polished, removed rotten padding, sour-smelling old settees. They cleaned the observation ports, reamed air conduits, installed new seals around the entry hatch.

  Deine Zarre did no work. He hobbled here and there, his gray eyes missing no details. Artilo occasionally looked into the shed, a sneering droop to his gray mouth. Woudiver was seldom to be seen. During his rare appearances he was cold and businesslike, all trace of his first jocundity gone.

  For an entire month Woudiver did not show himself. Artilo, in a confiding mood, spat down at the ground and said, “Big Yellow’s out at his country place.”

  “Oh? What’s he do out there?”

  Artilo twisted his head sidewise, showing Reith a lopsided grin. “Thinks he’s a Dirdirman, that’s what. That’s where his money goes, on his fences and scenery and hunts, wicked old beast.”

  Reith stood stock-still staring at Artilo. “You mean he hunts men?”

  “For sure. He and his cronies. Yellow has two thousand acres to his place, almost as big as the Glass Box. Walls aren’t so good, but he’s got them circled by electric wires and sting snaps. Don’t go to sleep on Yellow’s wine; you’ll wake up to find yourself in the hunt.”

  Reith forbore to inquire the disposition of the victims; it was information he did not want.

  Another of the ten-day Tschai weeks passed, and Woudiver appeared, in a surly mood. His upper lip was stiff as a shingle, totally concealing his mouth; his eyes darted truculently right and left. He strutted close to Reith; the great hulk of his torso blotted out half the landscape. He held out his hand. “Rent.” His voice was flat and cold.

  Reith brought forth five hundred sequins and placed them on a shelf. He did not care to touch the yellow hand.

  Woudiver, in a spasm of petulance, struck out with the back of his hand, knocking Reith head over heels. Reith picked himself up in astonishment. His skin began to prickle, signaling the onset of fury. From the corner of his eye he noticed Artilo lounging against the wall. Artilo would shoot him as calmly as he might crush an insect, this he knew. Nearby stood Traz, watching Artilo intently. Artilo was neutralized.

  Woudiver stood looking at him, eyes cold and expressionless. Reith heaved a deep sigh, choked back his wrath. To strike back at Woudiver would gain none of his respect, but only stimulate the whole of his rancor. Inevitably something dreadful would occur. Reith slowly turned away. “Bring me my rent!” barked Woudiver. “Do you take me for a mendicant? I have been sufficiently wounded by your arrogance. In the future extend me the respect due to my caste!”

  Again Reith hesitated. How much easier to attack the monstrous Woudiver and accept the consequences! Which would be wreckage of the program. Again Reith sighed. If it were necessary to eat crow, a mouthful was no worse than a taste.

  In cold and austere silence he handed the sequins to Woudiver, who only glared and made a waggling motion of the hips. “It is insufficient! Why should I subsidize your undertaking! Pay me my due! The rent is one thousand sequins a month!”

  “Here is another five hundred sequins,” said Reith. “Please do not demand more, because it will not be forthcoming.”

  Woudiver made a contemptuous sound, wheeled and stalked away. Artilo looked after him and spat in the dust. Then he gave Reith a speculative glance.

  Reith went inside the shed. Deine Zarre, who had observed the episode, made no comment. Reith tried to soothe his humiliation in work.

  Two days later Woudiver reappeared, wearing his gaudy black and yellow outfit. His truculence of the previous occasion had vanished; he was blandly polite. “Well, then, and what is the current state of your project?”

  Reith responded in a flat voice. “There have been no major problems. The heavy components are in place and connected. The instruments have been installed, but are not operative. Deine Zarre is preparing another list: the magnetic justification system, navigation sensors, the environment conditioners. Perhaps we should also purchase fuel cells at this time.”

  Woudiver pursed his lips. “Just so. Again the sad occasion arises, of parting with your hard-gained sequins. How, may I ask, did you garner so large a sum? It is a fortune in itself. With so much in hand I wonder that you risk all on a wild-goose chase.”

  Reith managed a wintry smile. “Evidently I do not regard the expedition as a wild-goose chase.”

  “Extraordinary. When will Deine Zarre have his
list in hand?”

  “Perhaps it is finished now.”

  Deine Zarre had not finished his list but did so while Woudiver waited.

  Scanning the list with head thrown back and eyes half-closed, Woudiver said, “I fear that the expense will be in excess of your reserves.”

  “I hope not,” said Reith. “How much do you reckon?”

  “I can’t say for certain; I do not know. But with rent, labor costs, your original investments, you cannot have too much money left.” He looked at Reith questioningly.

  The last thing Reith planned to do was confide in Woudiver. “It is essential then that we keep costs to a minimum.”

  “Three basic costs must be met without fail,” intoned Woudiver. “The rent, my fees, honorariums to my associates. What remains may be spent as you will. This is my point of view. And now be so good as to tender me two thousand sequins, for the honorariums. The materials, should you be unable to pay, can be returned without prejudice and at no cost other than drayage fees.”

  Gloomily Reith handed over two thousand sequins. He made a mental calculation: of something like two hundred and twenty thousand sequins brought from the Carabas, less than half remained.

  Somewhat later a smaller wagon arrived, with eight canisters of fuel. Traz and Anacho started to unload these, but Reith stopped them. “One moment.” He went into the shed where Deine Zarre checked items off his list. “Did you order fuel?”

  “Yes.”

  Deine Zarre seemed pensive, thought Reith, as if his mind wandered afield.

  “How long will a canister of fuel drive the ship?”

  “Two are needed, one for each cell. These will give about two months’ service.”

  “Eight canisters have been delivered.”

  “I ordered four, to ensure two spares.”

  Reith returned to the dray. “Take off four,” he told Traz and Anacho. The driver sat in the shadow of the cab. Reith leaned in to address him, and to his surprise saw Artilo, apparently in no anxiety to identify himself. Reith said, “You brought eight cans of fuel; we ordered four.”

  “Yellow said to bring eight.”

  “We only need four. Take four back.”

  “Can’t be done. Talk to Big Yellow.”

  “I need only four cans. That’s all I’m taking. Do what you like with the others.”

  Artilo, whistling between his teeth, jumped from the cab, unloaded the four extra canisters, carried them over to the shed. Then he climbed back into the dray and drove off.

  The three stood looking after him. Anacho said in a toneless voice, “Trouble is on its way.”

  “I expect so,” said Reith.

  “The fuel cells,” said Anacho, “are no doubt Woudiver’s own property. Perhaps he stole them, perhaps he bought them on the cheap. Here is an excellent chance to dispose of them at a profit.”

  Traz made a growling sound in his throat. “Woudiver should be made to carry away the cells on his back.”

  Reith gave an uneasy laugh. “If I only knew how to make him.

  “He fears for his life, like anyone else.”

  “True. But we can’t cut off our nose to spite our face.”

  In the morning Woudiver did not arrive to hear the statements which Reith had brooded upon a large part of the night. Reith drove himself to work, with the thought of Woudiver pressing on him like the weight of doom.

  On this morning Deine Zarre was not on hand either, and the technicians muttered among themselves more freely than they dared in Deine Zarre’s presence. Reith presently desisted from his work and made a survey of the project. There were, he thought, good grounds for optimism. The major components were installed; the delicate job of tuning proceeded at a satisfactory rate. At these jobs Reith, though acquainted with Earth space-drive systems, was helpless. He was not even certain that the drives functioned by the same principles.

  About noon a line of black clouds broke over the palisades like a scud of surf. Carina 4269 went wan, faded through tones of brown, and disappeared; moments later rain swept the eerie landscape, blotting Hei from sight, and now plodding through the rain came Deine Zarre, followed by a pair of thin children: a boy of twelve, a girl three or four years older. The three trudged into the shed, where they stood shivering. Deine Zarre seemed drained of energy; the children were numb.

  Reith broke up some crates, lit a fire in the middle of the shed. He found some coarse cloth and tore it into towels. “Dry yourselves. Take off your jackets and get warm.”

  Deine Zarre looked at him uncomprehendingly, then slowly obeyed. The children followed suit. They were evidently brother and sister, quite possibly Deine Zarre’s grandchildren. The boy’s eyes were blue; those of the girl were a beautiful slate gray.

  Reith brought forth hot tea and at last Deine Zarre spoke. “Thank you. We are almost dry.” And a moment later: “The children are in my care; they will be with me. If you find the prospect inconvenient, I must give up my employment.”

  “Of course not,” said Reith. “They are welcome here, as long as they understand the need for silence.”

  “They will say nothing.” Deine Zarre looked at the two. “Do you understand? Whatever you see must not be mentioned elsewhere.”

  The three were in no mood for conversation. Reith, sensing desolation and misery, lingered. The children watched him warily. “I can’t offer you dry clothes,” said Reith. “But are you hungry? We have food on hand.”

  The boy shook his head with dignity; the girl smiled and became suddenly charming. “We have had no breakfast.”

  Traz, who had been standing to the side, ran to the larder and presently returned with seed-bread and soup. Reith watched gravely. It appeared that Traz’s emotions had been affected. The girl was appealing, if somewhat peaked and miserable.

  Deine Zarre finally stirred himself. He pulled his steaming garments taut and went to inspect the work done in his absence.

  Reith tried to make conversation with the children. “Are you becoming dry?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Define Zarre is your grandfather?”

  “Our uncle.”

  “I see. And now you are to live with him?”

  “Yes.”

  Reith could find nothing more to say. Traz was more direct. “What happened to your father and mother?”

  “They were killed, by Fairos; “ said the girl softly. The boy blinked.

  Anacho said, “You must be from the Eastern Skyrise.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get from there to here?”

  “We walked.”

  “It is a long way, and dangerous.”

  “We were lucky.” The two stared into the fire. The girl winced, recalling the circumstances of their flight.

  Reith went off to find Deine Zarre. “You have new responsibilities.”

  Deine Zarre darted Reith a sharp look. “That is correct.”

  “You work here for less than you deserve to be paid, and I want to increase your salary.”

  Deine Zarre gave a gruff nod. “I can put the money to use.”

  Reith returned to the floor of the shed, to find Woudiver standing in the doorway, a vast bulbous silhouette. His attitude was one of shocked disapproval. Today he wore another of his grand outfits: black plush breeches tight around his massive legs, a coat of purple and brown with a dull yellow sash. He marched forward to stare fixedly down at the boy and girl, one to the other. “Who built this fire? What do you do here?”

  The girl quavered: “We were wet; the gentleman warmed us before the fire.”

  “Aha. And who is this gentleman?”

  Reith came forward. “I am the gentleman. These are relations of Deine Zarre. I built the fire to dry them.”

  “What of my property? A single spark and all goes up in flames!”

  “In the rain I conceived the danger to be slight.”

  Woudiver made an easy gesture. “I accept your reassurances. How does all proceed?”

  “Wel
l enough,” said Reith.

  Woudiver reached into his sleeve and brought forth a paper. “I have here an account for the deliveries of last night. The total, you will notice, is extremely low, because I was given an inclusive lot price.”

  Reith unfolded the paper. Black sprawling characters spelled out: Merchandise, as supplied: Sequins 106,800.

  Woudiver was saying: “—appears we are proceeding in really wonderful luck. I hope it will last. Only yesterday the Dirdir trapped two thieves working out of the export warehouse and took them instantly to the Glass Box. So, you see, our present security is fragile.”

  “Woudiver,” said Reith, “this bill is too high. Far too high. Further, I don’t intend to pay for extra energy-cans.”

  “The price, as I noted,” said Woudiver, “is an inclusive one. The extra cans come at no extra cost. In a sense, they are free.”

  “This is not the case, and I refuse to pay five times what is reasonable. In fact, I don’t have enough money.”

  “Then you must get some more,” said Woudiver softly.

  Reith snorted. “You make the task sound so easy.”

  “It is for some,” said Woudiver airily. “A most remarkable rumor circulates the city. It appears that three men, entering the Carabas, slaughtered an astonishing number of Dirdir, subsequently robbing the bodies. The men are described as a youth, fair, like a Kotan steppe-dweller; a renegade Dirdirman; and a dark quiet man of no distinguishable race. The Dirdir are anxious to hunt down these three. Another rumor purports to concern the same three men. The dark man reportedly states his origin to be a far-off world from which he insists all men derive: in my opinion a blasphemy. What do you think of all this?”

  “Interesting,” said Reith, trying to conceal his despair.

  Woudiver permitted himself to smirk. “We are in a vulnerable position. There is danger to myself, grave danger. Should I expose myself for nothing? I assist you from motives of comradeship and altruism of course, but I must receive my recompense.”

  “I cannot pay so much,” said Reith. “You knew approximately the extent of my capital; now you attempt to extort more.”