Throy Page 4

  Egon Tamm said politely: “Our talk so far has dealt only with trifles; in fact, I had just inquired after your nephew Julian.”

  Julian is hardly a trifle. In any case, the question more properly should have been put to me.”

  Egon Tamm laughed. “Surely I may speak to Warden Ballinder without your prior permission?”

  “Let us not bandy words, if you please. Why are you here?”

  “I have come to make an announcement.”

  “I suggest, then, that you discuss this announcement with me and the other wardens, so that it may be modified, if necessary, by our wise input.”

  “We have gone over this ground before,” said Egon Tamm. “You are not a Warden and you have no official standing of any kind.”

  “Not so!” thundered Dame Clytie. “I was elected by a substantial vote, and I represent a definite constituency.”

  “You were elected by folk who had no franchise. The most that you can say is that you were voted an official of the LPF social club. If you think otherwise, you are embracing an illusion.”

  Dame Clytie showed a small grin. “The LPF is not utterly toothless.”

  “I will not argue the case,” said Egon Tamm, “since it is now moot.”

  “That is utter bosh!” declared Dame Clytie. “I have it on good authority that both the original Grant and the Charter are lost, so that you have not so much as a wisp of legitimacy.”

  “You are misinformed,” said Egon Tamm.

  “Am I so?” Dame Clytie chuckled. “Inform me, then.”

  “Certainly. My daughter Wayness has just returned from Earth. She tells me that Julian had gained possession of the original Grant and the original Charter.”

  Dame Clytie stared incredulously. “Is this a fact?”

  “It is indeed!”

  “Then that is very good news!”

  “I thought that you would take it as such,” said Egon Tamm. “But there is more to the story. He was allowed these only after they had been superseded by a new Grant and a new Charter, which are currently in force. Julian’s documents are stamped ‘VOID’ in large purple letters, and have value only as curios.” He looked at the clock. “Excuse me; I must now explain these facts to the folk of Stroma.”

  Leaving Dame Clytie standing speechless, Egon Tamm crossed the hall and stepped up to the podium. The hall became silent.

  Egon Tamm said: “l will speak with as much brevity as possible -although this may well be the most important news you have ever heard. The gist is this: a new Charter now governs the Cadwal Conservancy. It is based upon the old Charter, but is much less ambiguous and more specific than the original. Copies of the new document have been placed on the table in the anteroom.

  “How and why did this come about? The story is complicated and I will not tell it now.

  “The new Charter specifies a number of changes. Araminta station is enlarged to approximately five hundred square miles. The permanent population will be increased somewhat, but still limited to members of the New Conservancy, which replaces the old Naturalist Society. The administrative apparatus will be enlarged and reorganized, but the six bureaus will serve essentially their old functions.

  “Present inhabitants of Stroma and Araminta station are eligible to join the New Conservancy provided that they undertake certain obligations. First, they must abide by the provisions of the new Charter. Second, they must move to Araminta Station. There will be initial confusion, but in the end every family will be assured a private dwelling upon an allotment of land. The Charter stipulates that there shall be no permanent human habitation on Cadwal other than Araminta station. Despite the initial dislocation, Stoma will be abandoned.”

  For a period Egon Tamm answered questions. From the pink-faced young man who had questioned him previously came a passionate outcry: “What of the Yips? I suppose that you will drive them into the sea, the better to end their miserable lives?”

  “The Yips lead miserable lives, agreed,” said Egon Tamm. “We shall help them but we will not sacrifice the Conservancy in the process.”

  “You would ship them away from their homes, higgledy-piggledy, like cattle?”

  “We will transfer them to new homes, with as much dignity as possible.”

  “Another question: Suppose some of us choose to bide at Stroma: will you then force us to leave?”

  “Probably not,” said Egon Tamm. “It is a question we have not yet faced up to. It would be better if Stroma were evacuated within a year, but I suspect that it may die by attrition, in a set of ever more dreary phases.”

  * * *

  Chapter 1, Part IV

  In the parlor of the old house, Wayness and her six friends listened to Egon Tamm’s remarks. When he had finished, the screen went blank and there was a numb silence in the room.

  Ivar said at last: “I am confused and I don’t know where to start thinking.” He rose to his feet. “I had better be on my way.”

  Ivar departed. Others of the group followed close on his heels. Wayness was left alone. She stood a moment looking down into the fire, then left the house and ran to the Council Hall. She found Glawen listening to the expostulations of the aged Dame Cabb, who did not wish to leave the familiar old home with the dark blue front where she had lived all the years of her life. In his responses Glawen tried to combine sympathy and reassurance with an explanation why processes so definite were necessary. It was clear, however, that Dame Cabb cared little for the dynamics of history and wanted only to end her life in peace and tranquility. “But now it seems that willy-nilly I shall be bundled off, like a sack of old rags, and all my best things cast into the fjord!”

  “Surely it won’t be like that!” Glawen protested. “You will probably prefer your new home to the old.”

  Dame Cabb sighed. “So it may be. For a fact Stroma has grown dreary of late, and the wind seems to blow so very cold.” She turned away. Glawen watched her join a group of her friends. “Of course she resists moving! Why should she believe me?”

  “I believe you,” said Wayness. “If other ladies are skeptical, I don’t mind at all. Do you plan to stay here? If not, I’ll serve you sherry and nutcakes and show you where I spent my childhood.”

  “I thought you had gone off with your friends.”

  “They deserted and left me with only the fire for company. I think that they were upset by the news.”

  Glawen hesitated only a moment. “Dame Clytie is having a go at Bodwyn Wook, which looks interesting, but I’ve heard most of it before. I’ll tell my father where to find me.”

  Glawen and Wayness left the Council Hall. Syrene had dropped behind the southern cliff; twilight softened the texture of the great spaces. The view, thought Glawen, was hauntingly beautiful.

  They climbed a flight of narrow steps to the next level. “I have climbed up and down those steps a thousand times, or more,” said Wayness. “You can see our old house yonder: the dark green front with the white window trim. This is the most select area of Stroma; our family, you must know, was definitely upper class.”

  “Amazing!” declared Glawen.

  “How so?”

  “At Araminta Station such matters are taken seriously, and we Clattucs must constantly suppress the pretensions of the Offaws and the Wooks, but I had thought that at Stroma everyone was too cold and too hungry to worry about status.”

  “Ha ha! Do you not recall Baron Bodissey’s remarks? ‘To create a society based on caste distinction, a minimum of two individuals is both necessary and sufficient.’”

  The two walked around the precarious way. Glawen presently said: “Perhaps I should have mentioned this before, but I think that someone is following us. I can’t make out his caste through the dusk.”

  Wayness went to the rail and pretended to scan the vast panorama. From the corner of her eye she looked back along the way. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “He’s slipped into the shadows beside the dark brown house.”

  “It’s a man then?”<
br />
  “Yes. He seems to be tall and very thin. He wears a black cape and is as quick on his feet as an insect.”

  “I don’t know anyone like that.”

  The two arrived at the Tamm family house. Glawen appraised the dark green facade, picked out with white decorations and window trim. The architecture, while a trifle crabbed and pedantic, after so many centuries of fortitude, seemed only quaint and picturesque.

  Wayness pushed open the front door; the two entered, passed through the foyer into the parlor, where the sea-coal fire still glowed in the grate.

  Wayness said: “I expect that you will find the room a bit cramped; I do now, myself, but when I was little it seemed quite normal and very cozy - especially when storms blew down the fjord.” She turned toward the kitchen. “Shall I make a pot of tea? Or would you prefer sherry?”

  “Tea would be very nice.”

  Wayness went into the kitchen, to return with a black cast-iron kettle which she hung on the hob. “This is how we make tea.” She stirred up the fire, threw on new chunks of driftwood and sea-coal, causing flames of green, blue and lavender to lick up at the pot. “Here is the proper way to boil water,” said Wayness. “You will spoil it if you do otherwise.”

  “This is valuable information,” said Glawen.

  Wayness prodded at the fire with a poker. “I promised myself that I would not become sentimental if I came here, but I can’t help remembering things. There is a beach down below which is littered with chunks of sea-coal and driftwood after a storm. The sea-coal is actually the roots of a water-plant, which form nodules. As soon as the storm lets up, we would go down to the beach for a daylong family picnic, load up a scow and float it back under the town to a lift.”

  At the door sounded the rap-rap of the bronze knocker.

  Wayness looked at Glawen in startlement. “Who could that be?” They went to the window and looking out saw a tall thin man, his face half concealed by the hood of his cloak.

  “I know him,” said Glawen. “It is Rufo Kathcar, I brought him back from Shattorak along with my father and Chilke.1 Shall I let him in?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  Glawen opened the door; Kathcar, with a furtive look over his shoulder, sidled into the house. “You may consider my conduct theatrical,” he said in a fretful voice, “but it would be as much as my life is worth if I were seen consorting with you.”

  “Hmm,” said Wayness. “Things have changed since I was little. Murder was strictly forbidden; in fact, if you so much as sniffed at someone, you were reprimanded.”

  Kathcar showed a wolfish grin. “Stroma is not as it used to be. Shortcuts are now taken. Some very passionate people walk these high windy ways. The water is far below, so that when a man is flung over the railing, he has time to think a few last thoughts before striking the surface.”

  Glawen asked: “And your present visit would be considered a mistake?”

  “Definitely so. But as you know, I am a man of steel. When I have a story to tell, and once I decide upon a denunciation, I never falter until all is made known.”

  “And so?”

  “We must come to an arrangement. I will tell you what I know; in return, you must provide me safe-conduct to such a place as I shall designate and pay me twenty thousand sols.”

  Glawen laughed. “You are talking to the wrong people. I will go fetch Bodwyn Wook.”

  Kathcar threw his arms high in distaste. “Bodwyn Wook? Never! He bites from both sides of his mouth at once, like a weasel.”

  “You can tell me anything you like,” said Glawen. “But I can make no commitments.”

  Wayness said: “While you argue, I will make tea. Rufo, will you join us?”

  “With pleasure.”

  There was a pause while Wayness served tea in tall fluted cups of amber glass. “Do not break the cup,” Wayness told Kathcar. “Otherwise you will be telling your story to my grandmother free of charge.”

  Kathcar grunted. “I cannot avoid a sense of deep disillusionment. I see now that the LPF never had anything to offer me, whether of a philosophical nature or otherwise. They have cynically betrayed my ideals! So: where am I to go? What am I to do? I have two options. I can flee to the far side of the Gaean Reach, or I can cast my lot with the Chartists, who are at least moderate and consistent in their theories.”

  Wayness asked innocently: “You have decided to sell your information and depart?”

  “Why not? My information is cheap at double the price!”

  “All this should best be explained to my superiors,” said Glawen. “Still, if you wish, we will listen and act as intermediaries.”

  Wayness added: “And also advise as to whether your information is worth twenty thousand sols or nothing whatever.”

  * * *

  Chapter 1, Part V

  Kathcar’s information derived partly from direct knowledge, partly from suspicion, partly from inference, partly from a mix of malice, and wounded self-esteem. Not all was novel or surprising, but the cumulative effect was most disturbing: especially the sensation that events had moved farther and faster and more ominously than expected.

  Kathcar spoke first of Dame Clytie’s cooperation with Smonny, who was, in effect, Titus Pompo, Oomphaw of the Yips.

  “I have previously mentioned the relationship which obtains between Dame Clytie and Simonetta,” said Kathcar. “Dame Clytie and the LPF are ashamed of this connection and try to keep it secret from the folk at Stroma, where it would be considered disreputable. Smonny was of course born Simonetta Clattuc. She married Titus Zigonie, who became Titus Pompo, Oomphaw of the Yips, though Smonny wields all control. Smonny cares not a fig for Conservancy. Dame Clytie still gives lip service to the idea, so long as all the unpleasant creatures have been led away to fenced Preserves, or kept on leashes, while the worst sort, the kind that jump at you from the dark, might well be sent away.

  “In the beginning both the LPF and Smonny were agreed that they wanted to transport all Yips from Lutwen Atoll to the Marmion Foreshore of Deucas, but their motives were different. Smonny wanted to revenge herself against Araminta Station which had treated her so unfairly and hurt her feelings. The LPF envisioned an Arcadian society of happy villagers, with folk-dancing every night on the commons, ruled by a committee of elders under the kindly tutelage of the LPF.

  “Now,” said Kathcar, “the LPF has shifted its position. It wishes to divide the lands of Deucas into a large number of counties, each centered upon a fine manor house, with a limited number of Yips to act as retainers. About a third of the Yips might be absorbed by this scheme. The remaining Yips would be indentured out to landholders on other worlds. The proceeds would be used to finance the new system. Smonny would become one of the new territorial grandees. For the post of supreme administrative imperator, Dame Clytie nobly volunteered her own talents, but Smonny showed little interest in the scheme, and became a bit haughty. Her own formula, so she declared, was the more rational, since it was looser and more flexible and could be expected to assume an optimum organizational configuration in a very short time. It was in this arena, Smonny suggested, that social experiments must be tested. In any case, the evolutionary process would present an absorbing and instructive exercise.

  “Dame Clytie reacted, so I am told, with heavy-handed humor. She stated that she did not wish to serve as a white rat in a cosmic social experiment, which must surely be tempestuous and not at all conducive to cultivation of the Arts, such as poetry declamation, expressionistic dancing and free-association music - some of the genres in which she herself had become interested. Smonny merely shrugged and said that such things had a way of taking care of themselves.

  “They now have the new Charter to cope with, but I suspect they will simply ignore it as a meaningless and unenforceable abstraction and proceed as before. Meanwhile,” continued Kathcar, “basic conditions have not changed. Neither party commands sufficient air-transport to convey Yips to the mainland quickly enough and in great enough numbe
rs to prevent Araminta Station patrols from halting the operation.

  “The same case prevails at Araminta Station. There are no transports to convey the Yips off-world, even if there were a destination which would accept them and provide tolerable living conditions.

  “The three parties to the contest are therefore at a temporary stalemate.”

  Kathcar paused and looked back and forth between Glawen and Wayness. “The intrigues of course do not stop at this point.”

  “So far your information has been interesting but not startling,” said Glawen.

  Kathcar was nettled. “I am providing intricate psychological insights which cannot help but be important.”

  “Possibly so, but Bodwyn Wook would consider me impertinent if I made any commitments to you.”

  “Very well,” growled Kathcar, “call in these boffins, if you must! But warn them that I insist upon courtesy and will not tolerate a single blink of disrespect.”

  “I will do my best,” said Glawen.

  Wayness said thoughtfully: “Still, you must realize that Bodwyn Wook’s mannerisms are occasionally exaggerated, and are not easily controlled.”

  * * *

  Chapter 1, Part VI

  Glawen came upon Scharde, Egon Tamm and Bodwyn Wook as they were leaving the Council Hall. After some small difficulty he turned them away from the spaceman’s Rest and led them to the Tamm’s old residence. Here, so he explained, he had come upon what might be a source of important information. He avoided mentioning the name ‘Kathcar,’ since Bodwyn Wook had taken a strong aversion to the erstwhile LPF official.

  At the front door, Glawen paused and issued a cautious warning. “We may be at the brink of a delicate situation. Everyone must use tact, and there should be no suggestion of doubt or suspicion.” Noticing Bodwyn Wook’s frown he went on hurriedly: “These hints are no doubt unnecessary, since all of you are notably self-controlled, especially Bodwyn Wook, whose aplomb is notorious.”