The Dirdir Page 9

  No less an index to the thought-processes of a people was their religion. The Dirdir, so Reith knew from conversations with Anacho, were irreligious. The Dirdirmen, to the contrary, had evolved an elaborate theology, based on a creation myth which derived Man and Dirdir from a single primordial egg. The submen of Sivishe patronized a dozen different temples. The observances, as far as Reith could see, followed the more or less universal pattern-abasement, followed by a request for favors, as often as not foreknowledge regarding the outcome of the daily races. Certain cults had refined and complicated their doctrines; their doxology was a metaphysical jargon subtle and ambiguous enough to please even the folk of Sivishe. Other creeds serving different needs had simplified procedures so that the worshipers merely made a sacred sign, threw sequins into the priest’s bowl, received a benediction and were off about their affairs.

  The arrival of Woudiver’s black car interrupted Reith’s musing. Artilo, leaning forth with a leer, made a peremptory gesture, then sat crouched over the wheel staring off down the avenue.

  The three entered the car, which lurched off across Sivishe. Artilo drove in a southeast direction, generally toward the spaceyards. At the edge of Sivishe, where a last few shacks dwindled out across the salt flats, a cluster of ramshackle warehouses surrounded piles of sand, gravel, bricks, sintered marl. The car rolled across the central compound and halted by a small office built of broken brick and black slag.

  Woudiver stood in the doorway. Today he wore a vast brown jacket, blue pantaloons, and a blue hat. His expression was bland and unrevealing; his eyelids hung halfway across his eyes. He raised his arm in a gesture of measured welcome, then backed into the dimness of the hut. The three alighted and went within. Artilo, coming behind, drew himself a mug of tea from a great black urn, then, hissing irritably, went to sit in a corner.

  Woudiver indicated a bench; the three seated themselves. Woudiver paced back and forth. He raised his face to the ceiling and spoke. “I have made a few casual inquiries. I fear that I find your project impractical. There is no difficulty as to work-space, the south warehouse yonder would suit admirably and you could have it at a reasonable rent. One of my trusted associates, the assistant superintendent of supply at the spaceyards, states that the necessary components are available… at a price. No doubt we could salvage a hull from the junkyard; you would hardly require luxury, and a crew of competent technicians would respond to a sufficiently attractive wage.”

  Reith began to suspect that Woudiver was leading up to something. “So, then, why is the project impractical?”

  Woudiver smiled with innocent simplicity. “For me, the profit is inadequate to the risks involved.”

  Reith nodded somberly and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry then to have occupied so much of your time. Thank you very much for the information.”

  “Not at all,” said Woudiver graciously. “I wish you the best of luck in your endeavor. Perhaps when you return with your treasure, you will want to build a fine palace; then I hope you will remember me.”

  “Quite possibly,” said Reith. “So now…”

  Woudiver seemed in no hurry to have them go. He settled into a chair with an unctuous grunt. “Another dear friend deals in gems. He will efficiently convert your treasure into sequins, if the treasure is gems, as I presume? No? Rare metal, then? No? Aha! Precious essences?”

  “It might be any or none,” said Reith. “I think it best, at this stage, to remain indefinite.”

  Woudiver twisted his face into a mask of whimsical vexation. “It is precisely this indefiniteness which gives me pause! If I knew better what I might expect—”

  “Whoever helps me,” said Reith, “or whoever accompanies me, can expect wealth.”

  Woudiver pursed his lips. “So now I must join this piratical expedition in order to share the booty?”

  “I’ll pay a reasonable percentage before we leave. If you come with us” Reith rolled his eyes toward the ceiling at the thought “or when we return, you’ll get more.”

  “How much more, precisely?”

  “I don’t like to say. You’d suspect me of irresponsibility. But you wouldn’t be disappointed.”

  From the corner Artilo gave a skeptical croak, which Woudiver ignored. He spoke in a voice of great dignity. “As a practical man I can’t operate on speculation. I would require a retaining fee of ten thousand sequins.” He blew out his cheeks and glanced toward Reith. “Upon receipt of this sum, I would immediately exert my influence to set your scheme into motion.”

  “All very well,” said Reith. “But, as a ridiculous supposition, let us assume that, rather than a man of honor, you were a scoundrel, a knave, a cheat. You might take my money, then find the project impossible for one reason or another, and I would have no recourse. Hence I can pay only for actual work accomplished.”

  A spasm of annoyance crossed Woudiver’s face, but his voice was blandness itself. “Then pay me rent for yonder warehouse. It is a superb location, unobtrusive, close to the spaceyards, with every convenience. Furthermore, I can obtain an old hull from the junkyards, purportedly for use as a storage bin. I will charge but a nominal rent, ten thousand sequins a year, payable in advance.”

  Reith nodded sagely. “An interesting proposition. But since we won’t need the premises for more than a few months, why should we inconvenience you? We can rent more cheaply elsewhere, in even better circumstances.”

  Woudiver’s eyes narrowed; the flaps of skin surrounding his mouth trembled. “Let us deal openly with each other. Our interests run together, as long as I gain sequins. I will not work on the cheap. Either pay earnest-money, or our business is at an end.”

  “Very well,” said Reith. “We will use your warehouse, and I will pay a thousand sequins for three months’ rent on the day a suitable hull arrives on the premises and a crew starts to work.”

  “Hmf. That could be tomorrow.”

  “Excellent!”

  “I will need funds to secure the hull. It has worth as scrap metal. Drayage will be a charge.”

  “Very well. Here is a thousand sequins.” Reith counted the sum upon the desk. Woudiver slapped down his great slab of a hand. “Insufficient! Inadequate! Paltry!”

  Reith spoke sharply. “Evidently you do not trust me. This does not predispose me to trust you. But you risk nothing but an hour or two of your time whereas I risk thousands of sequins.”

  Woudiver turned to Artilo. “What would you do?”

  “Walk away from the mess.”

  Woudiver turned back to Reith, spread wide his arms. “There you have it.”

  Reith briskly picked up the thousand sequins. “Good day, then. It is a pleasure to have known you.”

  Neither Woudiver nor Artilo stirred.

  The three returned to the hotel by public passenger wagon.

  A day later Artilo appeared at the Ancient Realm Inn. “Aila Woudiver wants to see you.”

  “What for?”

  “He’s got you a hull. It’s in the old warehouse. A gang is stripping and cleaning it. He wants money. What else?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE HULL was satisfactory, and of adequate dimensions. The metal was sound; the observation ports were clouded and stained but well seated and sealed.

  Woudiver stood to the side as Reith inspected the hull, an expression of lofty tolerance on his face. Every day, so it seemed, he wore a new and more extravagant garment, today a black and yellow suit, a black hat with a scarlet panache. The clasp securing his cape was a silver and black oval, bisected along the minor axis. From one end protruded the stylized head of a Dirdir, from the other the head of a man. Woudiver, noticing Reith’s gaze, gave a profound nod. “You would never suspect as much from my physique, but my father was Immaculate.”

  “Indeed! And your mother?”

  Woudiver’s mouth twitched. “A noblewoman of the north.”

  Artilo spoke from the entry port: “A tavern wench of Thang, marshwoman by blood.”

  Woudiver sig
hed. “In the presence of Artilo, romantic delusion is impossible. In any event, but for the accidental interposition of an incorrect womb, here would stand Aila Woudiver, Dirdirman Immaculate of the Violet Degree, rather than Aila Woudiver, dealer in sand and gravel, and gallant prosecutor of lost causes.”

  “Illogical,” murmured Anacho. “In fact, improbable. Not one Immaculate in a thousand retains Primitive Paraphernalia.”

  Woudiver’s face instantly became a peculiar magenta color. Whirling with astounding swiftness, he pointed a thick finger. “Who dares talk of logic and probability? The renegade Ankhe at afram Anacho! Who wore Blue and Pink without undergoing the Anguish? Who disappeared coincidentally with the Excellent Azarvim issit Dardo, who has never been seen again? A proud Dirdirman, this Ankhe at afram!”

  “I no longer consider myself a Dirdirman,” said Anacho in a level voice. “I definitely have no ambition for the Blue and Pink, nor even the trophies of my lineage.”

  “In this case kindly do not comment upon the plight of one who is unluckily barred from his rightful caste!”

  Anacho turned away, fuming with anger, but obviously deeming it wise to hold his tongue. It appeared that Aila Woudiver had not been idle, and Reith wondered how far his researches had extended.

  Woudiver gradually regained his composure. His mouth twitched, his cheeks puffed in and out. He made a scornful noise. “To more profitable matters. What is your opinion of this hulk?”

  “Favorable,” said Reith. “We could expect no better from the scrap-heap.”

  “This is my opinion as well,” said Woudiver. “The next phase of course will be somewhat more difficult. My friend at the spaceyards is by no means anxious to run the Glass Box, no more I. But an adequacy of sequins works wonders. Which brings us to the subject of money. My out-of-pocket expenses are eight hundred and ninety sequins for the hull, which I consider good value. Drayage charge: three hundred sequins. Shop rental for one month: one thousand sequins. Total: twenty-one hundred and ninety sequins. My commission or personal profit I reckon at ten percent, or two hundred and nineteen sequins, to a total of twenty-four hundred and nine sequins.”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” cried Reith. “Not a thousand sequins a month, a thousand for three months; that was my offer.”

  “It is too little.”

  “I’ll pay five hundred, not a clear more. Now in the matter of your commission, let us be reasonable. You provide drayage at a profit; I pay a large rent on your warehouse; I see no reason to hand over an additional ten percent on these items.”

  “Why not?” inquired Woudiver in a reasonable voice. “It is a convenience to you that I can offer these services. I wear two hats, so to speak: that of the expediter and that of the supplier. Why, merely because the expediter finds a certain supplier convenient, inexpensive and efficient, should he be denied his fee? If the drayage were performed elsewhere, the charges would be no less, and I would receive my fee without complaint.”

  Reith could not deny the logic of the presentation, nor did he try. He said, “I don’t intend to pay more than five hundred sequins for a ramshackle old shed you’d be happy renting for two hundred.”

  Woudiver held up a yellow finger. “Consider the risk! We are about to suborn the thievery of valuable property! I am rewarded, please understand, partly for services rendered and partly to allay my fear of the Glass Box.”

  “This is a reasonable statement, from your point of view,” said Reith. “As far as I am concerned, I want to complete the spaceship before the money runs out. After the ship is complete, fueled and provisioned, you can take every sequin remaining, for all I care.”

  “Indeed!” Woudiver scratched his chin. “How many sequins do you have then, so that we can plan accordingly?”

  “Something over a hundred thousand.”

  “Mmf. I wonder if the job can be done at all-let alone allow for surplus.”

  “My point exactly. I want to keep non-construction expenses to the minimum.”

  Woudiver turned his face toward Artilo. “See how I am reduced. All prosper but Woudiver. As usual, he suffers for his generosity.”

  Artilo gave a noncommittal grunt.

  Reith counted out sequins. “Five hundred-exorbitant rent for this ramshackle shed. Drayage: three hundred. The hull: eight hundred and ninety. I’ll pay ten percent on the hull. Another eighty-nine. A total of seventeen hundred and seventy-nine.”

  Woudiver’s broad yellow face mirrored a succession of emotions. At last he said, “I must remind you that a policy of parsimony is often the most expensive in the end.”

  “If the work goes efficiently,” said Reith, “you won’t find me parsimonious. You’ll see more sequins than you ever dreamed existed. But I intend to pay only for results. It is to your interest to expedite the space-boat as best you can. If the money runs out we’re all the losers.”

  For once Woudiver had nothing to say. He stared dolefully at the glittering heap on the table, then, separating purples, scarlets, dark greens, he counted. “You drive a hard bargain.”

  “To our mutual benefit, ultimately.”

  Woudiver dropped the sequins into his pouch. “If I must I must.” He drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Well, as to the components, what do you require first?”

  “I know nothing about Dirdir machinery. We need the advice of an expert technician. Such a man should be here now.”

  Woudiver squinted sidelong. “Without knowledge, how do you expect to fly?”

  “I am acquainted with Wankh space-boats.”

  “Hmmf. Artilo, go fetch Deine Zarre from the Technical Club.”

  Woudiver stalked off to his office, leaving Reith, Anacho and Traz alone in the shed.

  Anacho surveyed the hull. “The old hulk has done well. This is the Ispra, a series now obsolete, in favor of the Concax Screamer. We must obtain Ispra components, to simplify the work.”

  “Are these available?”

  “Undoubtedly. I believe you got the better of the yellow beast. His father an Immaculate-what a joke! His mother a marsh-woman—that I can believe! He’s evidently gone to pains to learn our secrets.”

  “I hope he doesn’t learn too much.”

  “As long as we can pay, we’re safe. We have a sound hull at a fair price, and even the rental is not too exorbitant. But we must be careful: normal profits won’t suit him.”

  “No doubt he’ll swindle us,” said Reith. “If we end up with a functioning space-boat, I don’t really care.” He walked around the hull, occasionally reaching out to touch it, in a kind of wonder. Here, solid and definite, the basis of a vessel to take him home! Reith felt a surge of affection for the cold metal, in spite of its alien Dirdir look.

  Traz and Anacho went outside to sit in the wan afternoon sunlight, and Reith presently joined them. With images of Earth in his mind, the landscape became suddenly strange, as if he were viewing it for the first time. The crumbling gray city Sivishe, the spires of Hei, the Glass Box reflecting a dark bronze shine from Carina 4269, the loom of the palisades through the murk: this was Tschai. He looked at Traz and Anacho: these were men of Tschai.

  Reith sat down on the bench. He asked, “What’s inside the Glass Box?”

  Anacho seemed surprised at his ignorance. “It is a park, a simulation of old Sibol. Young Dirdir learn to hunt; others take exercise and relaxation. There are galleries for onlookers. Criminals are the prey. There are rocks, Sibol vegetation, cliffs, caves; sometimes a man avoids the hunt for days.”

  Reith looked across to the Glass Box. “The Dirdir hunt in there now?”

  “So I suppose.”

  “What of the Dirdirmen Immaculates?”

  “They are sometimes allowed to hunt.”

  “They devour their prey?”

  “Of course.”

  Along the rutted road came the black car. It splashed through a puddle of oily slime, halted before the office. Woudiver came to stand in the doorway, a grotesque lump in black and yellow finery. Artilo stepped d
own from the driver’s bench; from the cab came an old man. His face was haggard and his body seemed distorted or twisted; he moved slowly, as if every effort cost him pain. Woudiver strutted forward, spoke a word or two, then conducted the old man to the shed.

  Woudiver spoke: “This is Deine Zarre, who will supervise our project. Deine Zarre, I introduce to you this man of no distinguishable race. He calls himself Adam Reith. Behind you see a defalcate Dirdirman: a certain Anacho; and a youth who appears to derive from the Kotan steppes. These are the folk with whom you must deal. I am no more than an adjunct; make all your arrangements with Adam Reith.”

  Deine Zarre gave his attention to Reith. His eyes were clear gray, and in contrast to the black of the pupils seemed almost luminous. “What is the project?”

  Another man to know the secret, thought Reith. Already with Aila Woudiver and Artilo, the list was overlong. But no help for it. “In the shed is the hull of a space-boat. We want to put it into operative condition.”

  Deine Zarre’s expression changed little. He searched Reith’s face a moment, then turned and limped into the shed. Presently he reappeared. “The project is possible. Anything is possible. But feasible? I don’t know.” His gaze once more searched Reith’s face. “There are risks.”

  “Woudiver shows no great alarm. Of all of us he is the most sensitive to danger.”

  Deine Zarre gave Woudiver a dispassionate glance. “He is also the most supple and resourceful. For myself, I fear nothing. If the Dirdir come to take me, I shall kill as many as possible.”

  “Come, come,” chided Woudiver. “The Dirdir are as they are: folk of fantastic skills and courage. Are we not all Brothers of the Egg?„

  Deine Zarre gave a dismal grunt. “Who is to supply machinery, tools, components?”

  “The spaceyards,” said Woudiver dryly. “Who else?”

  “We will need technicians: at least six men, of absolute discretion.”

  “A chancy matter,” Woudiver admitted. “But the chance can be minimized by inducements. If Reith pays them well, the inducement of money. If Artilo counsels them, the inducement of reason. If I indicate the consequences of a loose tongue, the inducement of fear. Never forget, Sivishe is a city of secrets! As witness we who stand here.”