Dare - rtf Page 7

  "Good morning," he said amiably in English.

  His eyes were clear, his face was unpuffed, he showed no signs of the night-long revel. "Scarcer than a horstel's headache," ran the proverb.

  Walt said, "O Listener to the Soil, how go things?"

  The two talked gravely and wisely as two old far­mers who respected each other. They discussed the texture of the earth, its moisture content, and the day they would start plowing. They talked of manures, of rotations, predatory animals, and dry and wet spells. The Listener said he'd "heard" there were many earthworms under the crust, and he told of a new, larger, and more efficient type of worm that had been bred in some far off Croatanian cadmus.

  He agreed with Walt that they should have a good crop of "corn." The man, however, was pessimistic about the raids of lark, barefox, tailbear, and sexton. The Listener laughed; they would pay their tithe to Mother Nature's retainers and let it go at that. Unless the tax was too high, in which case the Hunters would reduce the local population of vermin.

  He concluded by saying that his sons, the Testers of the Thunder, were up in the mountains trying to locate the pulse of the weather-to-be. When they returned, he would discuss their findings with Walt.

  After they left him, the elder Cage said, "If they were all like him, we wouldn't have any trouble."

  Jack grunted. He was thinking about their designs on him.

  The farm was broad and sprawling. There were many things Master Cage thought it necessary to check up on. So that it was not until two hours later that the ivory-white cones of the Wiyr dwellings shone in their eyes. Even after nineteen years, Jack was fascinated. His father had forbidden him, as a child, to go near them. To Jack, that was equal to an order to loiter around them. The result had been that he knew as much about them as anyone could who'd never gone down into one. He was very curious about what went on beneath the ground. Once, he had almost asked one of his horstel playmates if he could visit. A fear of the consequences had stopped him. Not only would the human penalties be heavy, but the stories he'd heard about what happened to those who took sanctuary had sucked away his courage. Now he no longer believed those old wives' tales. Nevertheless, he could not overcome the prohibition of human authorities.

  Cadmus Meadow (every farm had a Cadmus Meadow) was a broad field carpeted with green and red ruggrass, a plant hardy enough to grow despite steady trampling from bare feet. Scattered unevenly, a dozen thirty-foot-high fang-shaped structures of some bony material projected from the meadow.

  Cadmuses, they were called, after Cadmus, the mythical founder of Thebes, the hero who had sown the dragon's teeth and reaped a harvest of warriors. The first Earthmen had named them correctly, for when the Terrestrials had grown populous enough to feel strong, they had attacked the nearest native com­munity. And out of the cadmuses had swarmed an overwhelming number of warriors, who repelled the invaders, overcame them, and disarmed them.

  Right then and there the aborigines, if they had done to the Terrans what the Terrans had planned on doing to them, could have settled the man-cadman problem once and for all. For the strangers from a distant star had plotted to massacre the natives and take over their underground homes and enslave the survivors.

  Fortunately for the Terrans, they were given another chance. A contract was made. A hundred years of peace passed.

  Then the sons of Dare, trying to live up to their name, had broken their word and declared war on the natives within their territory. Only to find that the Wiyr knew no national boundaries and that every adult on Avalon was ready to march upon the strangers and crush their inferior numbers in a day.

  Caught between external pressure from the cadmen and the seething internal turmoil among them­selves, the nation of Farfrom exploded.

  A revolution overthrew the reigning dynasty of the Dares. Farfrom became a commonwealth governed by a citizens' committee. A new contract was made. The policy of cadmus-sanctuary for criminals and political refugees was established. Capital punish­ment was abolished. Witches were no longer to be burned.

  The minority of Catholics and Socinians, unhappy with certain other developments, took advantage of the turbulence to march off to distant parts of the continent of Avalon.

  Isolated from other men behind a high range of mountains, the Socinians abandoned religion, clothes, houses, and even language. They went com­pletely native.

  Thirty years after the martyred Dyonis Harvie IV had founded the state that bore his name, Dyonisa was split by civil war. A political-religious-social schism resulted in two contending parties: the Church-in-Abeyance and the Church-in-Expediency.

  The Expedients won. Once again, the dissatisfied took the best move to be made in a frontier country.

  Led by a Bishop Gus Croatan, they packed up and went to the large peninsula, which later became a new nation.

  Both Expedients and Abeyants crowned a new church leader, the caput, in each of their respective capitals, and claimed that he was the leader of the only true church.

  Horstels smiled and pointed at Farfrom, which also had a man who denied that anybody but himself was the vicar of God on the planet Dare.

  This history ran through Jack's mind as he ap­proached the meadow. It was interrupted as they stopped before the nearest shiny-white cadmus. O-reg, the Blind King, was standing before the en­trance and smoking a roll in a long bone holder.

  "Greetings, O Owner of the House. Good fortune, O Finder of the 'pearl."

  The Blind King was red-haired and tall and thin. He was not blind, and a king in that almost anarchic society was unknown. But he held a position that gave him a title whose meaning was long lost in an­tiquity.

  The older Cage asked if he could speak to R'li.

  "There she is," said O-reg, pointing past him to the creek. Jack turned, and his pulse thudded, for the siren stepping from her bath was a vision of beauty. She sang softly as she swayed closer, then stopped, and kissed her father. O-reg put his arm around her narrow waist, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as she talked with Walt.

  Now and then her eyes strayed to Jack, and she smiled. By the time his father, red-faced, had given up trying to get her to accept her share, or at least to say why she wouldn't, Jack had decided to have a little talk with her.

  When Walt began discussing the shearing with the Blind King, his son beckoned to her to come away with him. Out of earshot of his father, Jack said, "R'li, you knew that that wasn't any bear making that noise. Why did you grab me as if you were frightened? And hang on? You weren't afraid, and you knew it was a sicktree. Right?"

  "Right."

  "Then why did you do it?"

  "Don't you know, Jack?" she replied, and she walked off.

  The elder Cage delayed taking the 'pearl into town for one more day. The frequent trips he made to the stronghouse had now made him a laughing matter among the family and hired help. He acted as if the gray quivering jelly were part of his own flesh. Selling it would be like cutting off a piece of himself for money.

  Jack, Tony, and Magdalene, the least-restrained of his children, made so many jests that last day that he must have become aware they thought his actions peculiar.

  The morning of the fourth day after the 'pearl was brought home, the two oldest male Cages and Lunk and Bill Kamel drove away from the farm. They wore helmets of copperwood and leather strips, cuirasses of bone strips, and heavy gantlets. Walt drove; Jack and Bill carried repeater crossbows; Lunk sat on the box containing the 'pearl, a javelin in his hand.

  Despite their fears, they made the twelve miles to the county seat without unusual incident. No robbers rushed from the forest and demanded the treasure. The sky was bright and cloudless. Slashlarks flew by in large flocks. Their four-noted song filled the air. They fluttered on green-yellow batwings. Now and then, one unfolded the huge red claws that had given them their name. Once, a female swooped so close that Jack could see a tiny ball of fur clinging to the mother's belly. The fledgling turned its flat face and looked with bla
ck fleck-eyes at the men.

  Once a tailbear ambled onto the road. The unicorns, always nervous, almost stampeded. Walt and his son both pulled on the reins and managed to hold them back until the monster, ignoring them, disap­peared into the woods.

  They passed seven farms. The area north of the capital was not well populated, and it was doubtful if it would be in the future. So far, the cadmen had refused permission for more settlers, claiming that these would upset the ecological balance.

  The Mowrey farm was the last they went by before arriving at the bridge that spanned Squamous Creek. The Watcher leaned out of his tower window and waved. Lunk and Bill returned his salute. Jack noticed that his father scowled and kept the reins tight-gripped, so he decided it would make trouble if he waved back.

  After they crossed the bridge and began following the road along the place where Squamous Creek emptied into Bigfish River, they saw no more Wiyr. Unless business required their presence, the latter stayed away from large towns.

  The top of a steep hill gave them their first glimpse of Slashlark. Its back was to a large hill. Its face was to the broad river. Unimposing, it consisted of a long main street and a dozen side streets. Commercial and government buildings, taverns, and the ballroom lined the highway. The residential houses were on the subsidiary lanes.

  Fort Slashlark squatted at the southern end of town. Its glittering red log walls housed a hundred soldiers.

  Many boats lined the wharves. Sailors worked on the decks, loading furs, leather, candled lark eggs, logs, the first of the wool crop, and box on box of winter totumballs. Those not working sat in the taverns and argued with off-duty soldiers and looked at the women.

  The military police made sure that all they did was look. Bored, the police were hoping for a chance to bang a club over a riverman's hard skull.

  The Cages drove through the crowded street. Walt jerked at the reins and shouted at a wagon full of beer barrels that was at right angles to the traffic. Its driver was sweating and swearing in his efforts to separate his team; the four unicorns were kicking, biting, horning, and squealing for some unknown cause. Abruptly, a hoof lashed out, and the driver fell on his back, stunned.

  When the unfortunate man (only one of many an­nual victims of the unpredictable beasts) had been dragged to the sidewalk and the team had been led off to one side, the Cages drove on. Then an urchin dashed in front of them, and again their two animals tried to run away down the crowded highway.

  Jack and Bill jumped down and seized the stallions by the harness and hung on until they decided to stop. After which, they led the snorting and trembling creatures to the hitching bar in front of the Queen's House, a government building.

  There the agent for a perfume company weighed the gluepearl, locked it up, and wrote out a receipt. He apologized because he was unable to pay out the four thousand pounds it was worth. The revenue collector would have to witness the transaction and take the "Queen's bite" on the sum. She had big teeth. She'd leave only two thousand on the plate.

  Though he would still be well off, Jack resented losing so much. And his father rolled his eyes upward and swore to high heaven that the taxes were ruining him, that he'd be better off if he sold his farm and moved into a big city and went on the dole.

  It was then that his son got an inkling of the true reason Walt had tried to get R'li to keep her share. Being a cadman, she would not have to pay a tax on her half; Jack's tax, calculated on a sliding scale, would have been cut by two-thirds.

  Later, Jack had no doubt, his father would have suggested to R'li that he might take the money she got from the sale. That way, he could have beaten the Queen out of about three-quarters of her due. It was a clever scheme, but the horstel stubbornness had thwarted Walt. No wonder he'd displayed even more than his normal amount of vehemence against them.

  On leaving the Queen's house, they met Manto Chuckswilly. The dark man greeted them cordially and asked if they'd care to have a drink on him at the Red Horn. He said that there were quite a few of the local citizens gathered at the tavern.

  "Oh, by the way, Jack, your Cousin, Ed Wang, will be there. He's especially eager to see you."

  Jack's heart flicked. Was this a meeting of the HK? Was he about to be invited -- or, rather, told -- to join?

  He looked at his father. Walt would not meet his eyes.

  Jack said, "I'll be there. In a little while. I have to see Miss Merrimoth first."

  "That's all right, son. But when you get there, turn over a half-hour glass. As soon as it's run out, get back here."

  Walt glanced at Chuckswilly, who nodded that that was agreeable to him.

  Thoughtful, Jack walked away. He'd asked Lunk how long the prospector had been in town. The ser­vant, who seemed to know everything about people's movements, had replied that Chuckswilly had come to Slashlark about two weeks ago. During that time, he'd introduced himself to everybody worth being introduced to. He had spent much time at social affairs and very little in preparing for an expedition into the Thrruk.

  As far as Jack knew, Chuckswilly had not met his father. During the time previous to his going after the dragon, he was sure his father had not gone into town. But he might have done so while his son was up in the foothills. Jack didn't know; he'd forgotten to ask Lunk about that. Whatever had happened, it seemed obvious that Walt and Manto Chuckswilly were acquainted.

  The Merrimoths lived in a large two-story house set on top of a hill at the outskirts of Slashlark. Next to Lord How's, it was the finest in the county. Someday, if Jack married Bess, he would own it, plus the Merrimoth farms, tannery, warehouse, and the gold in the bank. His wife would be the best-looker for miles around. He would be the envy of all the young men.

  Yet, an hour later, he left the house, dissatisfied and disgruntled.

  Nothing was different. Bess was as beautiful and sweet and amusing as ever. She had sat on his lap and kissed him until, after a decent interval, her aunt entered the parlor. Then, whispering, she had discussed plans for the marriage.

  He'd not felt the excitement he should. Nor had he the courage to say anything about his idea of going to Farfrom. Several times he'd opened his mouth, but each time he'd choked back the words as he realized that if he proposed putting off the marriage for four years, he would kill the happy light in her eyes.

  Not that he'd set any definite date for the wedding. But in Slashlark you just took it for granted that you married as soon as possible and began having children. Asking her now to sit at home alone while he spent forty-eight months in a city three thousand miles away, would be impossible. Nor would he want her to do that.

  Just before he left, it occurred to him that he could take her with him, that perhaps she might even like the idea of going to far-off places. He felt a momen­tary elation. It passed as he remembered the close bond between father and daughter. Mr. Merrimoth would probably raise so much cain that she would rather stay home than antagonize her father.

  In which case, Jack thought, that would mean that she loved her father more than him.

  Why not ask her and find out?

  He would. Not just now, though.

  Later, when he'd more time to think about it, and when her aunt could not listen in on them.

  Or was that sheer dodging the issue?

  Honest even though it hurt him, he had to admit that he lacked the guts to bring his plans into the open.

  So it was that he began walking faster toward the Red Horn. He needed a drink.

  Jim Tappan, owner of the tavern, nodded when Jack entered. "Back room," he said.

  Jack knocked on the door. Ed Wang opened it. In­stead of swinging it back to let Jack in at once, he held it half-open and stuck his head around the edge. Evidently he didn't want those behind him to see that he was saying something. Judging by the babble coming from the rear, however, he need not have feared he'd be overheard.

  He talked under his breath. "Listen, Jack. Don't give me away about Wuv, will you? They know he's dead. I told the
m. But my story isn't quite as you'll remember it."

  Coolly Jack said, "I'd be a fool to commit myself that way. I will see how things are going before I speak up. Now, out of the way, Cousin."

  Ed glared. Jack pushed in on the door. For a second, Ed looked as if he were going to put his shoulder to it and keep Jack from coming in. Then a thought, visible as the strange look that flickered over his broad face, made him change his mind. He stepped back. Jack, without having hesitated in his stride, brushed by him.

  Within, about thirty men were seated on hard and bare benches against the walls. Twenty were around a huge oval table in the center of the room. One was Walt, who lifted a hand to point out an empty chair next to his.

  Most of those in the room paused in their talking to watch him. Their eyes, behind lifted steins or burning pipes, were unreadable. Jack was chilled. He supposed they might have been discussing his fitness as a candidate.

  The list of men there read like a high-society register of Slashlark County: Merrimoth, Cage, Al Chuckswilly, John Mowrey, Sheriff Glane, Cowsky the lumberman, Dr. Jay Chatterjee, Ed's father Lex, Knockonwood the fur trader.

  Lord How was not present, nor was Jack surprised to find him missing. The old fellow was often spoken of as being too fond of the cadmen on his estate, and it was hinted that in his younger days he had had a depraved fancy for sirens.

  However, young George How was here. He raised a stone cup to Jack in silent salute and drank. The beer slopped out over his thick lips and ran down his two chins.

  Jack smiled back. Despite the fellow's self-indulgence, he was a good companion. He had but one bad fault. When in his cups, which was often, he would be the best of drinking comrades. At the beginning. And then, somewhere during the evening, he would suddenly jump on the tabletop, his eyes staring, his lips slobbering, and begin shouting his hatred of his father. When that was exhausted, or when his friends quit listening to him, he raged against them, accusing them of many actual and imagined faults. He then would leap at them, fists swinging.