The Moon Moth and Other Stories Page 3

  Pilby lowered his head, chewed the corners of his mustache. Mrs. Chaim and Mrs. Borgage studied the landscape with fascinated absorption.

  “Personally,” said Ridolph, “I never gamble. I admire a dynamic attack on destiny, rather than the suppliance and passivity of the typical gambler; nevertheless I feel for you all in your losses, which I hope were not too considerable?”

  There was no reply. Magnus Ridolph might have been talking to empty air. After a moment Mrs. Chaim muttered inaudibly to the peacock-shaped Mrs. Borgage, and Mr. Pilby slouched even deeper in his seat. The remainder of the trip was passed in silence.

  After a modest dinner of cultivated Bylandia protein, a green salad, and cheese, Magnus Ridolph strolled into the lobby, inspected the morrow’s scratch sheet.

  The announcement read:

  TOMORROW’S FEATURED BATTLE:

  VINE HILL TUMBLE

  vs.

  ROARING CAPE TUMBLE

  near Pink Stone Table.

  Odds against Vine Hill Tumble:

  1:3

  Odds against Roaring Cape Tumble:

  4:1

  All bets must be placed with the attendant.

  In the last hundred engagements Vine Hill Tumble has won 77, Roaring Cape has won 23.

  Turning away, Magnus Ridolph bumped into Julius See, who was standing, rocking on his heels, his hands behind his back.

  “Well, Ridolph, think you’ll maybe take a flyer?”

  Magnus Ridolph nodded. “A wager on Roaring Cape Tumble might prove profitable.”

  “That’s right.”

  “On the other hand, Vine Hill is a strong favorite.”

  “That’s what the screamer says.”

  “What would be your own preference, Mr. See?” asked Magnus Ridolph ingenuously.

  “I don’t have any preference. I work 23 to 77.”

  “Ah, you’re not a gambling man, then?”

  “Not any way you look at it.”

  Ridolph rubbed his beard and looked reflectively toward the ceiling. “Normally I should say the same of myself. But the wars offer an amateur strategist an unprecedented opportunity to test his abilities, and I may abandon the principles of a lifetime to back my theories.”

  Julius See turned away. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  “Do you impose a limit on the bets?”

  See paused, looked over his shoulder. “We usually call a hundred thousand munits our maximum pay-off.”

  Magnus Ridolph nodded. “Thank you.” He crossed the lobby, entered the library. On one wall was a map of the planet, with red discs indicating the location of each tumble.

  Magnus Ridolph located Vine Hill and Roaring Cape Tumbles, and found Pink Stone Table, the latter near an arm of Drago Bay. Magnus Ridolph went to a rack, found a large scale physiographic map of the area under his consideration. He took it to a table and spent half an hour in deep concentration.

  He rose, replaced the map, sauntered through the lobby and out the side entrance. The pilot who had flown him the previous evening rose to his feet smartly. “Good evening, Mr. Ridolph. Intending another ride?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Magnus Ridolph admitted. “Are you free?”

  “In a moment, as soon as I turn in my day’s report.”

  Ridolph looked thoughtfully after the pilot’s hurrying figure. He quietly stepped around to the front entrance. From the vantage of the open door he watched the pilot approach Bruce Holpers and speak hastily.

  Holpers ran a lank white hand through his red hair, gave a series of nervous instructions. The pilot nodded sagely, turned away. Magnus Ridolph returned by the route he had come.

  He found the pilot waiting beside the ship. “I thought I had better notify Clark that I was coming,” said Ridolph breezily. “In case the car broke down, or there were any accident, he would understand the situation and know where to look for me.”

  The pilot’s hands hesitated on the controls. Magnus Ridolph said, “Is there game of any sort on Kokod?”

  “No sir, none whatever.”

  “A pity. I am carrying with me a small target pistol with which I had hoped to bag a trophy or two…Perhaps I’ll be able to acquire one or two of the native weapons.”

  “That’s quite unlikely, sir.”

  “In any case,” said Magnus Ridolph cheerily, “you might be mistaken, so I will hold my weapon ready.”

  The pilot looked straight ahead.

  Magnus Ridolph climbed into the back seat. “To the Control office, then.”

  “Yes, Mr. Ridolph.”

  IV

  Everley Clark greeted his visitor cautiously; when Ridolph sat back in a basket chair, Clark’s eyes went everywhere in the room but to those of his guest.

  Magnus Ridolph lit an aromatique. “Those shields on the wall are native artifacts, I presume?”

  “Yes,” said Clark quickly. “Each tumble has its distinct colors and insignia.”

  “To Earthly eyes, the patterns seem fortuitous, but naturally and inevitably Kokod symbology is unique…A magnificent display. Does the collection have a price?”

  Clark looked doubtfully at the shields. “I’d hate to let them go—although I suppose I could get others. These shields are hard to come by; each requires many thousand hours of work. They make the lacquer by a rather painstaking method, grinding pigment into a vehicle prepared from the boiled-down dead.”

  Ridolph nodded. “So that’s how they dispose of the corpses.”

  “Yes; it’s quite a ritual.”

  “About those shields—would you take ten thousand munits?”

  Clark’s face mirrored indecision. Abruptly he lit a cigarette. “Yes, I’d have to take ten thousand munits; I couldn’t afford to refuse.”

  “It would be a shame to deprive you of a possession you obviously value so highly,” said Magnus Ridolph. He examined the backs of his hands critically. “If ten thousand munits means so much to you, why do you not gamble at the inn? Surely with your knowledge of Kokod ways, your special information…”

  Clark shook his head. “You can’t beat that kind of odds. It’s a sucker’s game, betting at the inn.”

  “Hmm.” Magnus Ridolph frowned. “It might be possible to influence the course of a battle. Tomorrow, for instance, the Vine Hill and Roaring Cape Tumbles engage each other, on Pink Stone Table, and the odds against Roaring Cape seem quite attractive.”

  Clark shook his head. “You’d lose your shirt betting on Roaring Cape. All their veterans went in the Pyrite campaign.”

  Magnus Ridolph said thoughtfully, “The Roaring Cape might win, if they received a small measure of assistance.”

  Clark’s pink face expanded in alarm like a trick mask. “I’m an officer of the Commonwealth! I couldn’t be party to a thing like that! It’s unthinkable!”

  Magnus Ridolph said judiciously, “Certainly the proposal is not one to enter upon hastily; it must be carefully considered. In a sense, the Commonwealth might be best served by the ousting of Shadow Valley Inn from the planet, or at least the present management. Financial depletion is as good a weapon as any. If, incidentally, we were to profit, not an eyebrow in the universe could be justifiably raised. Especially since the part that you might play in the achievement would be carefully veiled…”

  Clark shoved his hands deep in his pockets, stared a long moment at Magnus Ridolph. “I could not conceivably put myself in the position of siding with one tumble against another. If I did so, what little influence I have on Kokod would go up in smoke.”

  Magnus Ridolph shook his head indulgently. “I fear you imagine the two of us carrying lances, marching in step with the warriors, fighting in the first ranks. No, no, my friend, I assure you I intend nothing quite so broad.”

  “Well,” snapped Clark, “just what do you intend?”

  “It occurred to me that if we set out a few pellets of a sensitive explosive, such as fulminate of mercury, no one could hold us responsible if tomorrow the Vine Hill armies blundered upon
them, and were thereby thrown into confusion.”

  “How would we know where to set out these pellets? I should think—”

  Magnus Ridolph made an easy gesture. “I profess an amateur’s interest in military strategy; I will assume responsibility for that phase of the plan.”

  “But I have no fulminate of mercury,” cried Clark, “no explosive of any kind!”

  “But you do have a laboratory?”

  Clark assented reluctantly. “Rather a makeshift affair.”

  “Your reagents possibly include fuming nitric acid and iodine?”

  “Well—yes.”

  “Then to work. Nothing could suit our purpose better than nitrogen iodide.”

  The following afternoon Magnus Ridolph sat in the outdoor café overlooking the vista of Shadow Valley. His right hand clasped an egg-shell goblet of Methedeon wine, his left held a mild cigar. Turning his head, he observed the approach of Julius See and, a few steps behind, like a gaunt red-headed ghost, his partner Bruce Holpers.

  See’s face was compressed into layers: a smear of black hair, creased forehead, barred eyebrows, eyes like a single dark slit, pale upper lip, mouth, wide sallow chin. Magnus Ridolph nodded affably. “Good evening gentlemen.”

  See came to a halt, as two steps later, did Bruce Holpers.

  “Perhaps you can tell me the outcome of today’s battle?” asked Magnus Ridolph. “I indulged myself in a small wager, breaking the habit of many years, but so far I have not learned whether the gods of chance have favored me.”

  “Well, well,” said See throatily. “‘The gods of chance’ you call yourself.”

  Magnus Ridolph turned him a glance of limpid inquiry. “Mr. See, you appear disturbed; I hope nothing is wrong?”

  “Nothing special, Ridolph. We had a middling bad day—but they average out with the good ones.”

  “Unfortunate…I take it, then, that the favorite won? If so, my little wager has been wiped out.”

  “Your little 25,000 munit wager, eh? And half a dozen other 25,000 munit wagers placed at your suggestion?”

  Magnus Ridolph stroked his beard soberly. “I believe I did mention that I thought the odds against Roaring Cape interesting, but now you tell me that Vine Hill has swept the field.”

  Bruce Holpers uttered a dry cackle. See said harshly, “Come off it, Ridolph. I suppose you’re completely unaware that a series of mysterious explosions—” “Land mines,” interrupted Holpers, “that’s what they were.” “—threw Vine Hill enough off stride so that Roaring Cape mopped up Pink Stone Table with them.”

  Magnus Ridolph sat up.

  “Is that right, indeed? Then I have won after all!”

  Julius See became suddenly silky, and Bruce Holpers, teetering on heel and toe, glanced skyward. “Unfortunately, Mr. Ridolph, so many persons had placed large bets on Roaring Cape that on meeting the odds, we find ourselves short on cash. We’ll have to ask you to take your winnings out in board and room.”

  “But gentlemen!” protested Magnus Ridolph. “A hundred thousand munits! I’ll be here until doomsday!”

  See shook his head. “Not at our special Ridolph rates. The next packet is due in five days. Your bill comes to 20,000 munits a day. Exactly 100,000 munits.”

  “I’m afraid I find your humor a trifle heavy,” said Magnus Ridolph frostily.

  “It wasn’t intended to make you laugh,” said See. “Only us. I’m getting quite a kick out of it. How about you, Bruce?”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” laughed Holpers.

  Magnus Ridolph rose to his feet. “There remains to me the classical recourse. I shall leave your exorbitant premises.”

  See permitted a grin to widen his lips. “Where are you going to leave to?”

  “He’s going to Roaring Cape Tumble,” snickered Holpers. “They owe him a lot.”

  “In connection with the hundred thousand munits owed me, I’ll take a note, an IOU. Oddly enough, a hundred thousand munits is almost exactly what I lost in the Outer Empire Realty and Investment failure.”

  See grinned sourly. “Forget it, Ridolph, give it up—an angle that didn’t pay off.”

  Magnus Ridolph bowed, marched away. See and Holpers stood looking after him. Holpers made an adenoidal sound. “Think he’ll move out?”

  See grunted. “There’s no reason why he should. He’s not getting the hundred thousand anyway; he’d be smarter sitting tight.”

  “I hope he does go; he makes me nervous. Another deal like today would wipe us out. Six hundred thousand munits—a lot of scratch to go in ten minutes.”

  “We’ll get it back…Maybe we can rig a battle or two ourselves.”

  Holpers’ long face dropped, and his teeth showed. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. First thing you know Commonwealth Control would be—”

  “Pah!” spat See. “What’s Control going to do about it? Clark has all the fire and guts of a Leghorn pullet.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Just leave it to me.”

  They returned to the lobby. The desk clerk made an urgent motion. “Mr. Ridolph has just checked out! I don’t understand where—”

  See cut him off with a brusque motion. “He can camp under a stele for all I care.”

  Magnus Ridolph sat back in the most comfortable of Everley Clark’s armchairs and lit a cigarette. Clark watched him with an expression at once wary and obstinate. “We have gained a tactical victory,” said Magnus Ridolph, “and suffered a strategic defeat.”

  Everley Clark knit his brows uneasily. “I don’t quite follow you. I should think—”

  “We have diminished the financial power of Shadow Valley Inn, and hence, done serious damage. But the blow was not decisive and the syndicate is still viable. I was unable to collect my hundred thousand munits, and also have been forced from the scene of maximum engagement. By this token we may fairly consider that our minimum objectives have not been gained.”

  “Well,” said Clark, “I know it hurts to have to admit defeat, but we’ve done our best and no one can do more. Considering my position, perhaps it’s just as well that—”

  “If conditions were to be allowed to rest on the present basis,” said Magnus Ridolph, “there might be reason for some slight relaxation. But I fear that See and Holpers have been too thoroughly agitated by their losses to let the matter drop.”

  Everley Clark eyed Magnus Ridolph in perturbation. “But what can they do? Surely I never—”

  Magnus Ridolph shook his head gravely. “I must admit that both See and Holpers accused me of setting off the explosions which routed the Vine Hill Tumble. Admission of guilt would have been ingenuous; naturally I maintained that I had done nothing of the sort. I claimed that I had no opportunity to do so, and further, that the Ecologic Examiner aboard the Hesperornis who checked my luggage would swear that I had no chemicals whatsoever among my effects. I believe that I made a convincing protestation.”

  Everley Clark clenched his fists in alarm, hissed through his teeth.

  Magnus Ridolph, looking thoughtfully across the room, went on. “I fear that they will ask themselves the obvious questions: ‘Who has Magnus Ridolph most intimately consorted with, since his arrival on Kokod?’ ‘Who, besides Ridolph, has expressed disapproval of Shadow Valley Inn?’”

  Everley Clark rose to his feet, paced back and forth. Ridolph continued in a dispassionate voice: “I fear that they will include these questions and whatever answers come to their minds in the complaint which they are preparing for the Chief Inspector at Methedeon.”

  Clark slumped into a chair, sat staring glassily at Magnus Ridolph. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” he asked hollowly.

  Magnus Ridolph rose to his feet in his turn, paced slowly, tugging at his beard. “Certainly, events have not taken the trend we would have chosen, but strategists, amateur or otherwise, must expect occasional setbacks.”

  “Setbacks!” bawled Clark. “I’ll be ruined! Disgraced! Drummed out of the Control!”

  “A good
strategist is necessarily flexible,” mused Magnus Ridolph. “Beyond question, we now must alter our thinking; our primary objective becomes saving you from disgrace, expulsion, and possible prosecution.”

  Clark ran his hands across his face. “But—what can we do?”

  “Very little, I fear,” Magnus Ridolph said frankly. He puffed a moment on his cigarette, shook his head doubtfully. “There is one line of attack which might prove fruitful…Yes, I think I see a ray of light.”

  “How? In what way? You’re not planning to confess?”

  “No,” said Magnus Ridolph. “We gain little, if anything, by that ruse. Our only hope is to discredit Shadow Valley Inn. If we can demonstrate that they do not have the best interests of the Kokod natives at heart, I think we can go a long way toward weakening their allegations.”

  “That might well be, but—”

  “If we could obtain iron-clad proof, for instance, that Holpers and See are callously using their position to wreak physical harm upon the natives, I think you might consider yourself vindicated.”

  “I suppose so…But doesn’t the idea seem—well, impractical? See and Holpers have always fallen over backwards to avoid anything of that sort.”

  “So I would imagine. Er, what is the native term for Shadow Valley Inn?”

  “Big Square Tumble, they call it.”

  “As the idea suggests itself to me, we must arrange that a war is conducted on the premises of Shadow Valley Inn, that Holpers and See are required to take forcible measures against the warriors!”

  V

  Everley Clark shook his head. “Devilish hard. You don’t quite get the psychology of these tribes. They’ll fight till they fall apart to capture the rallying standard of another tumble—that’s a sapling from the sacred stele of course—but they won’t be dictated to, or led or otherwise influenced.”

  “Well, well,” said Magnus Ridolph. “In that case, your position is hopeless.” He came to a halt before Clark’s collection of shields. “Let us talk of pleasanter matters.”