The Blue World Page 4

  Zander Rohan had the grace to croak a protest. “Let the results stand. I cannot explain away the score.”

  “By no means!” exclaimed Semm Voiderveg. “A Master Hoodwink must be a man of utter probity. Do we wish in this august position one who—“

  Sklar Hast said in a gentle voice, “Be careful of your words, Intercessor. The penalties for slander are strict, as Arbiter Myrex can inform you.”

  “Slander exists if truth is absent or malice is the motivation. I am concerned only for the well-being of Tranque Float, and the conservation of traditional morality. Is it slander; then, if I denounce you as a near-approach to a common cheat?”

  Sklar Hast took a slow step forward, but Rubal Gallager, took his arm. Sklar Hast turned to Arbiter Myrex. “And what do you say to all this, you who are Arbiter?”

  Ixon Myrex’s forehead was damp. “Perhaps we should have used other texts for the test. Even though you had no hand in the selection?”

  To the side stood two or three members of the Belrod clan, deep-divers for stalk and withe, of the Advertiserman caste, generally prone to a rude and surly vulgarity.

  Now Poe Belrod, the Caste Elder, a squat, large-featured man, slapped his hand to his thigh in indignation.

  “Surely, Arbiter Myrex, you cannot subscribe to, a position so obviously arbitrary and contrived? Remember, you are elected to decide issues on the basis of justice and not orthodoxy!”

  Ixon Myrex Hew into a rage. “Do you question my integrity? An abuse was brought to my attention by the Intercessor; it seems a real if unfortunate objection, and I declare the test invalid. Zander Rohan remains Master Hoodwink.”

  Sklar Hast started to speak, but now there was a cry from outside the shed: “The kragen has returned! The kragen swims in the lagoon!”

  Chapter 3

  Sklar Hast pushed outside, went at a run to the lagoon, followed by all those who had witnessed the test.

  Floating in the center of the lagoon was the black hulk of the kragen, vanes restlessly swirling the water. For a moment the forward looking eyes surveyed the crowd on the main float; then it surged slowly forward, mandibles clicking with a significant emphasis. Whether or not it recognized Sklar Hast was uncertain; nevertheless it swam toward where he stood, then suddenly gave a great thrust of the vanes, plunged full speed ahead to throw a wave up over the edge of the pad. As it struck the edge, it flung out a vane, and the flat end splashed past Sklar Hast’s chest. He staggered back in surprise and shock, to trip on a shrub and fall.

  From nearby came Semm Voiderveg’s chuckle. “Is this the kragen you spoke so confidently of killing?”

  Sklar Hast regained his feet and stood looking silently at the kragen. Starlight glinted from the oily black back as if it were covered with satin. It swung to the side and began plucking with great energy at a set of convenient sponge arbors, which, as luck would have it, were the property of the Belrods, and Poe Belrod called out a series of bitter curses.

  Sklar Hast looked about him. At least a hundred folk of Tranque Float stood nearby. Sklar Hast pointed. “The vile beast of the sea plunders us. I say we should kill it, and all other kragen who seek to devour our sponges!”

  Semm Voiderveg emitted a high-pitched croak. “Are you insane? Someone, pour water on this maniac hoodwink,who has too long focused his eyes on flashing lights!”

  In the lagoon the kragen tore voraciously at the choicest Belrod sponges, and the Belrods emitted a series of anguished hoots.

  “I say, kill the beast!” cried Sklar Hast. “The king despoils us; must we likewise feed all the kragen of the ocean?”

  “Kill the beast!” echoed the younger Belrods.

  Semm Voiderveg gesticulated in vast excitement, but Poe Belrod shoved him roughly aside. “Quiet, let us listen to the hoodwink. How could we the kragen? Is it possible?”

  “No!” cried Semm Voiderveg. “Of course it is not possible! Nor is it wise or proper! What of our covenant with King Kragen?”

  “King Kragen be damned!” cried Poe Belrod roughly. “Let us hear the hoodwink. Come then: do you have any method in mind by which the kragen can be destroyed?”

  Sklar Hast looked dubiously through the dark toward the great black hulk. “I think yes. A method that requires the strength of many men.”

  Poe Belrod waved his hand toward those who had come to watch the kragen. “Here they stand.”

  “Come,” said Sklar Hast. He walked back toward the center of the float. Thirty or forty men followed him, mostly Swindlers, Advertisermen, Blackguards, Extorters and Larceners. The remainder hung dubiously back.

  Sklar Hast led the way to a pile of poles stacked for the construction of a new storehouse. Each pole, fabricated from withes laid lengthwise and bound in glue, was twenty feet long by eight inches in diameter and combined great strength with lightness. Sklar Hast selected a pole even flicker—the ridge beam. “Pull this pole forth, lay it on trestle!”

  While this was being accomplished, he looked about and signaled Rudolf Snyder, a Ninth, though a man no older than himself of the long-lived Incendiary Caste, which now monopolized the preparation of fiber, the laying of rope and plaits. “I need two hundred feet of hawser, stout enough to lift the kragen. If there is none of this, then we must double or redouble smaller rope to the same effect.”

  Rudolf Snyder took four men to help him and brought rope from the warehouse.

  Sklar Hast worked with great energy, rigging the pole in accordance with his plans. “Now lift! Carry all to the edge of the pad!”

  Excited by his urgency, the men shouldered the pole, carried it close to the lagoon, and at Sklar Hast’s direction set it down with one end resting on the hard fiber of a rib. The other end, to which two lengths of hawser were tied, rested on a trestle and almost overhung the water. “Now,” said Sklar Hast, “now we kill the kragen.” He made a noose at the end of a hawser, advanced toward the kragen, which watched him through the rear-pointing eyes of its turret. Sklar Hast moved slowly, so as not to alarm the creature, which continued to pluck sponges with a contemptuous disregard.

  Sklar Hast approached the edge of the pad. “Come, beast!” he called. “Ocean brute! Come closer. Come.” He bent, splashed water at the kragen. Provoked, it surged toward him. Sklar Hast waited, and just before it swung its vane, he tossed the noose over its turret. He signaled his men. “Now!” They heaved on the line, dragged the thrashing kragen through the water. Sklar Hast guided the line to the end of the pole. The kragen surged suddenly forward; in the confusion and the dark the men heaving on the rope fell backward. Sklar Hast seized the slack and, dodging a murderous slash of the kragen’s fore-vane, flung a hitch around the end of the pole, he danced back. “Now!” he called. “Pull, pull! Both lines! The beast is as good as dead!”

  On each of the pair of hawsers tied to the head of the pole twenty men heaved. The pole raised on its base; the line tautened around the kragen’s turret; the men dug in their heels; the base of the pole bit into the hard rib. The pole raised farther, braced by the angle of the ropes. With majestic deliberation the thrashing kragen was lifted from the water and swung up into the air. From the others who watched passively came a murmurous moan of fascination. Semm Voiderveg, who had been standing somewhat apart, made a gesture of horror and walked swiftly away.”

  Ixon Myrex, the Arbiter, for reasons best known to himself, was nowhere to be seen, nor was Zander Rohan. The kragen made gulping noises, reached its vanes this way and that, to no avail. Sklar Hast surveyed the creature, somewhat at a loss as to how next to proceed. His helpers were looking at the kragen in awe, uncomfortable at their own daring. Already they stole furtive glances out over the ocean, which, perfectly calm, glistened with the reflections of the blazing constellations.

  Sklar Hast thought to divert their attention. “The nets!” he called out to those who watched. “Where are the hooligans? Repair the nets before we lose all our fish! Are you helpless?”

  Certain net-makers, a trade dominated by the Hooligan
s, detached themselves from the group and went out to repair the broken net.

  Sklar Hast returned to a consideration of the dangling kragen. At his orders the hawsers supporting the tilted pole were made fast to ribs on the surface of the pad; the men now gathered gingerly about the dangling kragen and speculated as to the best means to kill the creature. Perhaps it was already dead. To test this theory, a lad of the Belrods prodded the kragen with a length of stalk and suffered a broken collarbone from a quick blow of the fore-vane.

  Sklar Hast stood somewhat apart, studying the creature. Its hide was tough; its cartilaginous tissue even tougher. He sent one man for a float-hook, another for a sharp femur-stake, and from the two fashioned a spear.

  The kragen hung limp, the vanes swaying, occasionally twitching. Sklar Hast moved forward cautiously, touched the point of the spear to the side of the turret, thrust with all his weight. The point entered the tough hide perhaps half an inch, then broke. The kragen jerked, snorted, a vane slashed out. Sklar Hast sensed the dark flicker of motion, dodged; and felt the air move beside his face. The spear shaft hurtled out over the pond; the vane struck the pole on which the kragen hung, bruising the fibers.

  “What a quarrelsome beast!” muttered Sklar Hast. “Bring more rope; we must prevent such demonstrations.”

  From the side came a harsh command: “You are madmen; why do you risk the displeasure of King Kragen? I decree that you desist from your rash acts!”

  This was the voice of Ixon Myrex, who now had appeared on the scene. Sklar Hast could not ignore Ixon Myrex as he had Semm Voiderveg. He considered the dangling kragen, looked about at the faces of his comrades. Some were hesitating; Ixon Myrex was not a man to be trifled with.

  Sklar Hast spoke in a voice which he felt to, be calm and reasonable. “The kragen is destroying our arbors. If the King is slothful about his duties, why should we permit—“

  Ixon Myrex’s voice shook with wrath. “That is no way to speak! You violate the Covenant!”

  Sklar Hast spoke even more politely than before. “King Kragen is nowhere to be seen. The intercessors who claim such large power run back and forth in futility. We must act for ourselves; is not this the free will and independence men claim as their basic right? So join us in killing this ravenous beast.”

  Ixon Myrex held up his hands, which trembled with indignation. “Return the kragen to the lagoon, that there—“

  “That thereby it may destroy more arbors?” demanded Sklar Hast. “This is not the result I hope for. Nor do you order the support you might. Who is more important—the men of the Floats or the kragen?”

  This argument struck a chord in his comrades, and they all shouted: “Yes, who is more important—men or kragen?”

  “Men rule the floats, King Kragen rules the ocean,” stated Ixon Myrex. “There is no question of comparing importances.”

  “The lagoon is also under the jurisdiction of man,” said Sklar Hast. “This particular kragen is now on the float. Where is the rope?”

  Arbiter Myrex called out in his sternest tones: “This is how I interpret the customs of Tranque Float: The kragen must be restored to the water, with all haste. No other course is consistent with custom.”

  There was a stirring among the men who had helped snare the sea-beast. Sklar Hast said nothing, but taking up the rope, formed a noose. He crawled forward, flipped up the noose to catch a dangling vane, then crawling back and rising to his feet, he circled the creature, binding the dangling vanes. The kragen’s motions became increasingly constricted and finally were reduced to spasmodic shudders. Sklar Hast approached the creature from the rear, careful to remain out of reach of mandibles and palps, and made the bonds secure. “Now the vile beast can only squirm. Lower it to the pad, and we will find a means to make its end.”

  The guy ropes were shifted; the pole tilted and swung; the kragen fell to the surface of the pad, where it lay, passive, palps and mandibles moving slightly in and out. It showed no agitation or discomfort; perhaps it felt none. The exact degree of the kragen’s sensitivity and ratiocinative powers had never been determined.

  In the east the sky was lightening where the cluster of flaring blue and white suns known as Phocan’s Cauldron began to rise. The ocean glimmered with a leaden sheen, and the folk who stood on the central pad began to glance furtively along the obscure horizon, muttering and complaining. Some few called out encouragement to Sklar Hast, recommending the most violent measures against the kragen. Between these and others furious arguments raged. Zander Rohan stood by Ixon Myrex, both obviously disapproving of Sklar Hast’s activity. Of the Caste Elders only Poe Belrod and Elmar Pronave, Jackleg and Master Witheweaver, defended Sklar Hast and his unconventional acts.

  Sklar Hast ignored all. He sat watching the black hulk with vast distaste, furious with himself as well for having become involved in so perilous a project. What, after all, had been gained? The kragen had broken his arbors; he had revenged himself and prevented more destruction; well enough, but he had also incurred the ill will of the most influential folk of the float. More seriously, he had involved those others who had trusted him and looked to him for leadership and toward whom he now felt responsibility.

  He rose to his feet. There was no help for it; the sooner the beast was disposed of, the more quickly life would return to normal. He approached the kragen, examined it gingerly. The mandibles quivered in their anxiety to sever Sklar Hast’s torso; Sklar stayed warily to the side. How to kill the beast?

  Elmar Pronave approached, the better to examine the creature. He was a tall man with a high-bridged broken nose and black hair worn in the two ear-plumes of the old Procurer Caste, now no longer in existence save for a few aggressively unique individuals scattered through the floats, who used the caste-marks to emphasize their emotional detachment.

  Pronave circled the hulk, kicked at the rear vane, bent to peer into one of the staring eyes. “If we could cut it up, the parts might be of some use.”

  “The hide is too tough for our knives,” growled Sklar Hast. “There’s no neck to be strangled.”

  “There are other ways to kill.”

  Sklar Hast nodded. “We could sink the beast into the depths of the ocean—but what to use for weight? Bones? Far too valuable. We could load bags with ash, but there is not that much ash to hand. We could burn every hut on the float, as well as the hoodwink tower, and still not secure sufficient. To burn the kragen would require a like mountain of fuel.”

  A young Larcener who had worked with great enthusiasm during the trapping of the kragen spoke forth: “Poison exists! Find me poison, I will fix a capsule to a stick and push it into the creature’s maw!”

  Elmar Pronave gave a sardonic bark of laughter. “Agreed; poisons exist, hundreds of them, derived from various sea-plants and animals—but which are sufficiently acrid to destroy this beast? And where is it to be had? I doubt if there is that much poison nearer than Lamp Float.”

  Phocan’s Cauldron, rising into the sky, revealed the kragen in fuller detail. Sklar Hast examined the four blind-seeming eyes in the turret, the intricate construction of the mandibles and tentacles at the maw. He touched the turret; peered at the dome-shaped cap of chitin that covered it. The turret itself seemed laminated, as if constructed of sacked rings of cartilage, the eyes protruding fore and aft in inflexible tubes of rugose harsh substance.

  Others in the group began to crowd close; Sklar Hast jumped forward, thrust at a young Felon float-builder, but too late: The kragen flung out a palp, seized the youth around the neck. Sklar Hast cursed, heaved, tore; the clenched palp was unyielding. Another curled out for his leg; Sklar Hast kicked, danced back, still heaving upon the felon’s writhing form. The kragen drew the felon slowly forward, hoping, so Sklar Hast realized, to pull him within easier reach. He loosened his grip, but the kragen allowed its palp to sway back to encourage Sklar Hast, who once more tore at the constricting member.

  Again the kragen craftily drew its captive and Sklar Hast forward; the sec
ond palp snapped out once more and this time coiled around Sklar Hast’s leg. Sklar Hast dropped to the ground, twisted himself around and broke the hold, though losing skin. The kragen petulantly jerked the felon to within reach of its mandible, snipped off the young man’s head, tossed body and head aside.

  A horrified gasp came from the watching crowd. Ixon Myrex bellowed, “Sklar Hast, a man’s life is gone, due to your savage obstinacy! You have much to answer for! Woe to you!”

  Sklar Hast ignored the imprecation. He ran to the warehouse, found chisels and a mallet with a head of dense sea-plant stem brought up from a depth of two hundred feet[2].

  The chisels had blades of pelvic bone ground sharp against a board gritted with the silica husks of foraminifera. Sklar Hast returned to the kragen, put the chisel against the pale lamellum between the chitin dome and the foliations of the turret. He tapped; the chisel penetrated; this, the substance of a new layer being added to the turret, was relatively soft, the consistency of cooked gristle. Sklar Hast struck again; the chisel cut deep. The kragen squirmed. Sklar Hast worked the chisel back out, made a new incision beside the first, then another and another, working around the periphery of the chitin dome, which was approximately two feet in diameter. The kragen squirmed and shuddered, whether in pain or apprehension it alone knew. As Sklar Hast worked around to the front, the palps groped back for him, but he shielded himself behind the turret and finally gouged out the lamellum completely around the circumference of the turret.

  His followers watched in awe and silence; from the others who watched came somber mutters, and occasional whimpers of superstitious dread from the children.

  The channel was cut; Sklar Hast handed chisel and mallet back to Elmar Pronave. He mounted the body of the kragen, bent his knees, hooked fingers under the edge of the chitin dome, heaved. The dome ripped up and off, almost unbalancing Sklar Hast. The dome rolled down to the pad, the turret stood like an open-topped cylinder; within were coils and loops of something like dirty gray string. There were knots here, nodes there, on each side a pair of kinks, to the front a great tangle of kinks and loops.