Wyst: Alastor 1716 Page 14
Esteban recovered his aplomb. “In that, case I’m quite content. Aren’t you drinking? This is Houlsbeima wine; they’ve done famously for us today.”
“I’ll have more presently.”
“Do so, by all means!” Esteban sauntered away. A few minutes later Jantiff saw him conferring first with Skorlet, then Sarp.
Discussing the and the matrix, thought Jantiff. Here was surely the reason for Skorlet’s urgency in connection with the camera . She and Esteban were interested in the matrix. But why? Enlightenment broke suddenly upon Jantiff: of course! Upon the matrix were imprinted images of the fourth man! .
Jantiff shook his head in sad self-recrimination: after recovering his camera from Esteban he had never thought to examine the matrix. What’ a foolish oversight! Of course, at the time there had been no particular reason to do so; he lacked all interest hi Esteban’s activities. Now the situation was different! Lucky the matrix was locked securely in his strong box! Which stimulated a new and chilling thought:
Sarp still knew the code, since Jantiff had never thought to change it. Immediately upon his return to Uncibal he must rectify this oversight!
The gypsies ordered the table, then, taking the meat from the fire, arranged it upon long wooden platters. One of the women poured sauce over the meat; another set out crusty loaves; a third brought forth a great wooden bowl of salad. All then returned to the forest shadows.
Esteban called: “Everyone to the table! Eat as you’ve never eaten before! For once, we’re all guttricks together!”
The bonterfesters surged forward, with Jantiff, as usual, bringing up the rear.
Half an hour later the group sprawled lethargic and sated around the meadow. Esteban roused himself to croak in a rich glottal voice: “Everyone remember: the sweet is still to come! White millicent cake in flower syrup! Don’t give up now!”
From the group came groans of protest. “Show us mercy, Esteban!”
“What? Are there no more courses?’
“Bring my ration of gruff!”
“With wobbly to fill in the chinks!”
The gypsies passed among the group serving out portions of pastry with mugs of verbena tea. They then set about packing together their equipment.
Tanzel whispered to Jantiff, “I’ve got to go off in the woods.”
“In that case, go, by all means.”
Tanzel grimaced. “That person Booch has been making himself gallant. I don’t want to go alone; he’s sure to follow.”
“Do you really think so?’
“Yes indeed! He watches my every move.”
Jantiff, glancing around the clearing, saw that Booch’s eyes were fixed upon Tanzel with more than casual interest “Oh, very well; I’ll come with you. Lead the way.”
Tanzel rose to her feet and moved off toward the forest. Gooch rather sluggishly bestirred himself, but Jantiff quickly went after Tanzel, and Booth glumly subsided into his position of rest.
Jantiff caught up with Tanzel in the shade of the sprawling elms. “Just this way a bit,” said Tanzel, and presently: “You wait here; I won’t be long.”
She disappeared into the foliage. Jantiff sat upon a fallen tree and looked off through the forest. The sounds from the clearing already had muted to inaudibility. Bars of Dwanlight slanted down through the foliage, to shatter upon the forest floor. How far seemed the vast cities of Arrabus! Jantiff mused upon the circumstances of his life at Uncibal, and the folk he had come to know: for the most part Old Pinkers. Poor proud Kedidah, going dazed and humiliated to her death! And Tanzel: whatever might she hope to achieve? He looked over his shoulder, expecting to see Tanzel returning from her errand. But the glade was vacant. Jantiff composed himself to wait.
Three minutes passed. Jantiff became restless and jumped to his feet. Surely she should have returned by now! He called: “Tanzel!”
No response.
Odd.
Jantiff went off into the shrubbery, looking left and right. “Tanzel! Where are you?”
He saw a fresh mark on the turf which might have been a footprint, and nearby, in damp lichen, what might that series of parallel scratches signify? Jantiff came to a halt, in utter perplexity. He looked quickly over his shoulder, then licked his lips and called once more, but his voice was little more than a cautious croak: “Tamer Either she was lost, or she had returned to the bonterfest by a different route.
Jantiff retraced his steps to the clearing. He looked here and there. The gypsies had departed with all their gear. Tan-n! was nowhere to be seen.
Esteban saw Jantiff. His face sagged in blank dismay. Jantiff approached him: “Tanzel went off into the forest: I can’t find her anywhere.”
Skorlet came running forward, eyes distended, to show white rims around the glaring black. “What’s this, what’s this? Where’s Tanzel?”
“She went off into the woods,” stammered Jantiff, awed by Skorlet’s face. “I’ve looked for her and called but she’s gone!”
Skorlet emitted a horrid squeal. “The gypsies have taken her! Oh, they have taken her! This vile bonterfest, and now there’ll be another!”
Esteban, jerking her elbow, spoke through clenched teeth: “Control yourself!”
—We have eaten Tanzel!” bawled Skorlet. “Where is the difference? Today? Tomorrow?” She lifted her face to the sky and yelled forth a howl so wild that Jantiff’s knees went limp.
Esteban, his own face gray, shook Skorlet by the shoulders. “Come along! We can catch them at the river!” He turned and called to the others: “The gypsies have taken Tanzel! Everyone after them! To the river; we’ll stop their boat!”
The erstwhile bonterfesters lurched off after Esteban and Skorlet. Jantiff followed a few steps, but could not control the spasmodic pumping of his stomach. He veered off the path, and, only half conscious, fell to his knees, where he vomited, again and again.
Someone nearby was moaning a weird song of two alternating tones. Jantiff presently became aware that the sound proceeded from himself. He crawled a few yards across the dark mold and lay flat. The shuddering in his stomach became intermittent.
His mouth tasted sour and oily; and he remembered the sauce which had been poured over the meat. Again his organs twisted and squeezed, but he could bring up only a thin acrid gruel, which he spat to the ground. He rose, to his feet, looked blearily here and there, then returned to the path. From the distance came shouts and calls, to which Jantiff paid no heed.
Through a gap in the foliage he glimpsed the river. He picked his way to the water’s edge, rinsed his mouth, bathed his face, then slumped down upon a chunk of driftwood.
Along the trail returned the bonterfesters, mumbling disconsolately to each other. Jantiff hauled himself to his feet, but as he started back toward the trail he heard first Skorlet’s voice, then Esteban’s baritone mutter; they had turned off the trail and were coming toward him.
Jantiff halted, appalled at the prospect of meeting Skorlet and Esteban face to face in this isolated spot. He jerked himself behind a clump of polyptera and stood in concealment.
Esteban and Skorlet passed by and went to the water’s edge, where they peered up and down the river.
“Nowhere in sight,” croaked Esteban. “By now they’re halfway to Aotho.”
“I can’t understand,” cried Skorlet tremulously. “Why should they hoodwink you; why play you false?”
Esteban hesitated. “It can only be a misunderstanding, a terrible blunder. The two were sitting together. I spoke to the hetman and made my wishes known. He looked across and asked, as if in doubt: ‘That young one yonder? The stripling?’ Never thinking of Tanzel, I assured him: ‘Exactly so!’ The hetman took the younger of the two. Such are the bitter facts.
I will now purge them from my mind and you must do the same.”
For a space Skorlet said nothing. Then she spoke in a voice harsh with strain: “So what now—with him?”
“First the matrix. Then I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
“Events are under control. Three days remain.”
Skorlet looked out across the river. “Poor little creature. So dear and gay. I can’t bear to think of her. But the thoughts come.”
“No help for it now,” said Esteban, his own voice uncertain. “We can’t become confused. Too much hangs in the balance.”
“Yes. Too much. Sometimes I am staggered by the scope.”
“Now then! Don’t create bugbears! The affair is simplicity—itself.”
“The Connatic is a very real bugbear.”
“The Connatic sits in his tower Lusz, brooding and dreaming. If he comes to Arrabus, we’ll prove him as mortal as the next man.”
“Esteban, don’t speak the words aloud.”
‘The words must be spoken. The thoughts must be thought. The plans must be planned. The deeds must. be done.”
Skorlet stared out across the water. Esteban turned away. “Put her out of your mind. Come.”
“The cursed stranger lives, and poor little Twit is gone.”
“Come,” said Esteban shortly.
The two went up the path. Jantiff presently followed, walking like a somnambulist.
Chapter 8
The bonterfesters returned to Uncibal in a mood greatly in contrast to that in which they had set out. Aside from one or two muttered conversations, the group rode in silence. Skorlet and Esteban sat grimly erect, looking neither right nor left;
Jantiff watched them in covert fascination, his skin crawling at the thought of their conversation. They had meant him to be taken and dragged away by the mournful-eyed gypsies. At the contractor’s depot Esteban went off with Booch to the dispatcher’s office. Jantiff took advantage of the occasion to slip quietly away from the group He jumped aboard the man-way and rode north, walking and trotting .to increase his speed. Every few moments he looked back even though no one could possibly be so close on his heels. He gave a nervous laugh: in truth he was frightened, and no denying the fact. By sheer chance he had stumbled upon something awful, and now his very existence was threatened: Esteban had left him in no doubt of this.
The Great Southern Adit intercepted Uncibal River; Jantiff diverted eastward, and as before traveled at the best speed possible: pushing through the crowds, sidling and side-stepping, trotting when space opened before him . He diverted from Uncibal River along Lateral 26, and presently arrived at Old Pink.
Jantiff loped into the block, across the foyer, into the ascensor. Its familiar musty reek already seemed alien, and no longer part of his life. He alighted at the nineteenth level, raced around the corridor to his apartment.
He entered, and stood stock-still an instant, to pant and organize his thoughts. He glanced around the room. Kedidah’s belongings already appeared to show a thin film of dust. How remote she seemed! A week from now she would be gone from memory; that was the way of Uncibal. Jantiff quietly closed the door and made sure of the lock; then he went to his strongbox in the bedroom and opened the door. Into his pouch he packed ozols, family amulet, pigments, applicators and a pad of paper. Into one pocket he tucked his passage-voucher, personal certificate and tokens; the matrix he hefted in his hand, glancing toward the door. Urgency struggled with curiosity. Surely he had a few moments; the boater—festers rode Uncibal River far to the west. Time for a quick look. He slid the new matrix from the camera, inserted the old, turned the switch to “Project” and pointed the camera at the wall.
Images: the blocks of Uncibal, dwindling in perspective; the crowds of Uncibal River; the mudflats and Disjerferact. Old Pink: the facade, the foyer, the roof garden. More faces: the Whispers addressing an audience; Skorlet with Tanzel, with Esteban, Skorlet alone. Kedidah with Sarp, Kedidah in the refectory, Kedidah laughing, Kedidah pensive.
Then Esteban’s photographs during his custody of the camera: persons known and unknown to Jantiff; copies of pictures from a red reference volume; a sequence of shots of a heavy-shouldered dark-haired man wearing a black blouse and breeches, ankle boots and short-billed cap. This was the man of the secret meeting. Jantiff studied the face. The features were blunt and uncompromising; the eyes, narrow under black eyebrows, gleamed with shrewdness. Somewhere and recently, Jantiff had seen such a face; or one very similar., Frowning in concentration, Jantiff stared at the face. Could it be—
Jantiff jerked around as someone pushed at the door latch and then, failing to secure ingress, rapped sharply on the panel. Jantiff instantly turned off the projector. He removed the matrix, fingered it indecisively, then tucked it into his pocket.
Again a rap at the door, and a voice, muffled behind the panel: “Open up!” Esteban’s voice, harsh and hostile. Jantiff’s heart sank. How had Esteban arrived so soon?
“I know you’re there,” came the voice. “They told me below. Open up!”
Jantiff approached the door. “I’m tired,” he called out. “Go away. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I want to see you now. It’s important.”
“Not to me.”
“Oh, yes! Important indeed.” The words carried sinister import, thought Jantiff. In a hollow voice Jantiff called: “What’s so important?”
“Open up.”
“Not just now. I’m going to bed.”
A pause. Then, “As you like.”
Silence from the hall. Jantiff put his ear to the door. Ten seconds passed, twenty seconds, then Jantiff sensed the diminishing pad of steps. He threw a slantwise glance over his shoulder in farewell to the room, with its ghosts and dead voices. Picking up his pouch and camera he slid back the door and peered out into the corridor.
Empty.
Jantiff emerged, closed the door and set off toward the lift, uncomfortably aware that he must pass in front of Apartment D-18, where now lived Skorlet and Sarp.
The door to Apartment D-18 was closed. Jantiff lengthened his stride and ran past on springing tiptoe paces, like a dancer miming stealth.
The door to D-18 slid back. Esteban and Sarp emerged. Esteban, looking back into D-18, made a final remark to Skorlet.
Jantiff tried to glide soundlessly up the corridor, but Sarp, peering past Esteban’s elbow, noticed him. Sarp tugged at Esteban’s arm. Esteban swung, about. “Wait! Jantiff! Come back here!”
Jantiff paid no heed. He raced to the descensor, touched the button. The door opened; Jantiff stepped aboard. The door closed almost upon Esteban’s distorted face. In his hand shone the glint of metal.
With heart pounding Jantiff descended to the’ ground floor. He loped across the foyer, out the portal, and away to the man-way.
Sarp and Esteban emerged from Old Pink. They paused, looked right and left, saw Jantiff, and came in pursuit Jantiff bounded recklessly across to the crowded high-speed lane, where, he thrust forward past other passengers, heedless of their annoyance, pouch and camera still gripped in his hand. After came Esteban, with Sarp lagging behind. The blade in Esteban’s hand was plainly visible. Jantiff lurched ahead, eyes starting from his head in disbelief. Esteban meant to kill him! On the man-way, in full view of the passengers? Impossible! It wouldn’t be allowed! People would help him; they would restrain Esteban!… Or would they? As Jantiff lunged forward he looked despairingly right and left but met only expressions of glazed annoyance.
Esteban, shouldering ahead, even more roughly than Jantiff, gained ground. Jantiff could see his intent expression, the glitter of his eyes. Jantiff stumbled and lurched to the side; Esteban was upon him, knife raised high. Jantiff seized a tall sharp-featured woman and pushed her into Esteban. In a rage she snatched out at Jantiff and tore away his pouch; Jantiff relinquished pouch and camera and fled, heedful only of his own life. Behind came the remorseless Esteban.
At the diversion upon Uncibal River the way was open and Jantiff gained a few yards, only to lose it almost at once among the crowds. Sidling, elbowing, shoving, buffeting, Jantiff thrust his way through the protesting folk. Twice Esteban approached close enough
to brandish his blade; the folk nearby called out in fear and pushed pell-mell to escape. Jantiff on each occasion managed to evade the attack, once through a spasmodic spurt of agility, again by pushing a man into Esteban’s path, so that both fell and Jantiff was able to gain ten yards running room. Someone, either inadvertently or through malice, tripped Jantiff; he fell flat and once again Esteban was on him. As the riders of Uncibal River watched to observe the outcome, Jantiff kicked Esteban in the groin, rolled frantically aside. Clambering to his feet he swung a short square woman screaming into Esteban, who fell on top of the woman. The knife jarred free; Jantiff groped to pick it up, but the woman hit him in the face, and Esteban reached the, knife first. Croaking in despair Jantiff sprang away and Bed along the River.
Esteban was tiring. He called out: “Snerge! Snerge! Hold the snerge!” Folk turned to look back and observing Jantiff stood quickly aside. Esteban’s calls therefore worked to Jantiff’s benefit, and he lengthened his lead. Esteban presently stopped shouting.
Ahead Uncibal River intersected Lateral 16. Jantiff veered to the side as if intending to divert; instead, he crouched behind a knot of folk and let himself be carried along the River. Esteban, deceived, rushed out the diversion to the lateral and so lost his quarry.
At the next switch-over, Jantiff reversed direction and rode back to the east, keeping sharp lookout to all sides. He discovered no evidence of pursuit: only the faces of Uncibal, rank on rank, back along the River.
His pouch was gone with all his owls, and likewise his camera. Jantiff gave a great shuddering groan of fury; he cursed Esteban with all the invective at his command and swore restitution for himself. What an abominable day! From now and into the, future things would go differently!
Where Uncibal River made its great swerve toward the spaceport, Jantiff continued toward Alastor Centrality. With a sense of deliverance he passed under the black and gold portal, crossed the compound and entered the agency. The clerk, Clode, in the black and beige of the Connatic’s Service, rose to his feet. Jantiff cried out: “I am Jantiff Ravensroke of Zeck! I must see the cursar at once!”