Lurulu (14 page)

Gontwitz showed little interest in Maloof’s quandary. “You are an off-worlder; our way of life will baffle you.”

“No doubt, but after making all allowances, the mystery remains. Perhaps you can throw some light on the matter.”

“I am not a pundit,” said Gontwitz brusquely. “Nor is there time for idle rumination.”

“I will be brief. You might even be interested, since the matter touches upon yourself.”

“Oh very well,” growled Gontwitz. “Let us hear this famous conundrum and be done with it.”

“Thank you. The situation is this. I have known you for only a short time, but already I can sense the broad outline of your character. In my opinion you are a strong, practical man, neither timid nor meek, and certainly not submissive.”

Gontwitz gave a snort of dour amusement. “I will not try to refute you, but — more to the point — where is the mystery?”

Maloof held up his hand. “Oddly enough, at this moment I have come upon a reasonable explanation and the mystery has dissolved.”

Gontwitz eyed Maloof with suspicion. “That is good news, or so it seems, and now we can get on with our affairs. What, then, was the nature of this so-called ‘mystery’?”

“It starts with the fact that I am a rational being! I could not understand why a man of your character should not defend his carboys to better effect. Then a new idea occurred to me: I realized that the Lallankers must be a reckless ferocious race whom Director Gontwitz, brave though he might be, is forced to allow to depredate and despoil as they choose, while he seeks safety in a secret place. Am I right?”

“You are wrong!” thundered Gontwitz, “In every degree, respect and particular! The Lallankers are vermin and I am a Ritter of Star Home! I am self-guided, self-determined, autonomous! On Star Home there are neither rules nor statutes. To even attempt to regulate the Lallankers would be to deny the Ritter franchise!”

Gontwitz made a sweeping gesture to indicate that the topic had been exhausted. “Now then, let us look to the cargo. As I recall, there were thirty-two carboys of kasic ready for discharge.”

“Correct! By the way, what is kasic? I ask from sheer curiosity.”

Gontwitz’s response was tart. “Ask any way you like; the facts are immutable.”

“Hm,” said Maloof. “On a strange world, where paradoxes are rife, this is good news.”

“Bah!” muttered Gontwitz. “If I explained every detail, you would know no more than you do now.” Turning on his heel, Gontwitz marched through the doorway out into the pale light of morning, with Maloof following. He stopped short, as if at a sudden recollection. “Now it occurs to me! The warehousemen are not on duty! They have gone off to games at the Ballingay Traces. But there should be no real inconvenience; I expect that your crew will discharge the cargo for us, as a courtesy.”

“Certainly,” said Maloof. “We have done such work before, and can do it again. Our fee will be the standard fifty sols.”

Gontwitz cried out in shock. “Do my ears hear correctly? Did you truly mention the sum ‘fifty sols’? Have you no morality whatever? How can a gentleman swindle with such easy aplomb?”

Maloof held up his hand. “I will answer your questions in the order they were asked. Yes; your ears are functioning properly. Yes; the price quoted was fifty sols. Yes; I use the morality of the working spaceman, which is compact, but versatile. As for the basis of our rates; all too often, at one or another spaceport, an official begs for a free service, as a courtesy, or as a personal favor. Then when we are gone, he puts the savings into his own pocket. Our schedule of fees is intended to curb this nuisance.”

“Sheer bullypup!” stormed Gontwitz. “Save your excuses for ears more innocent than mine!” Swinging about, he re-entered the office and went to his desk. Opening a drawer, he snatched out a handful of pink and blue currency, then returned through the doorway, oblivious to the notes which fluttered to the floor. He waved the notes in Maloof’s face. “As you can see, your fee is secure!”

Maloof said: “I am interested less in security than in the money itself.”

Gontwitz grimly paid over three hundred and seventy five sols. Maloof signed ‘Payment received in full’ across the bill of lading.

“Now then, your demands have been met. You may put your crew to work.”

“Just as you say.”

2

Maloof and Gontwitz stood to the side, watching as the work proceeded. In the cargo bay Wingo operated the overhead hoist, shifting the carboys and lowering them to the turf where Myron and Schwatzendale waited with power-dollies. Pursuant to Gontwitz’s instructions they trucked the carboys into the far warehouse, which Gontwitz considered more secure from depredation.

Moncrief strolled across the turf to join Maloof and Gontwitz. Moncrief’s romantic temperament disposed him to more or less innocent flights of fancy, which served to amuse him and relieve the tedium. On this occasion he introduced himself to Gontwitz with flair: “I am Master Marcel Moncrief, roving polymath on the staff of the
Galactic Sentinel
, on open assignment.”

Gontwitz inspected him without cordiality; Maloof listened with raised eyebrows.

Moncrief enlarged upon his fabrication. “I have no explicit program for this planet, aside from my usual survey of a world and its culture. However, my references mention certain remote villages where ancient customs are preserved. If time permits, I would like to visit one or two of these villages to study their folk art, and perhaps record a few staves of their ceremonial chants.”

Gontwitz gave a contemptuous snort. “You have been reading too many books! The Ritters are nomads; villages are non-existent, and our most poignant music are the cries of woe, heard when schmeer pots run dry.”

“What is ‘schmeer’?”

Gontwitz replied gracelessly: “Schmeer is the adhesive which binds our rugs. It is indispensable.”

“Interesting! The carboys then contain schmeer?”

“Naturally not! The carboys contain a catalyst called kasic which is used to make schmeer.”

Moncrief gave his head a smiling shake. “You are an artist with words, so much is clear. However, you paint with too broad a brush. The pictorial scheme is striking, but the details are lost in a blur.”

Gontwitz screwed up his eyebrows. “I confess to bafflement! Please clarify your remarks.”

Moncrief considered. “Essentially, I am asking: what is ‘kasic’?”

Gontwitz glowered, then decided to humor this unlikely savant. “As I stated, kasic is a component of schmeer. When poured from the carboy, kasic is a dark brown liquid, semi-viscous, with a bad smell. For each forty gallons of schmeer, two gills of kasic are required.”

“And who does the formulation? A special caste of adepts, I assume?”

“Not so! The Ritters are a single race; there are no castes except, perhaps, for the Lallankers.”

“Then, who makes the schmeer?”

“Everyone. My daughter Treblinka is an expert.”

“And what is her method?”

“The recipe is standard. Into a forty-gallon vat she pours twenty gallons of green grass gum, adds ten gallons of barnacle slurry, ten pounds of mereng bladder-wax for unctuousness, three gallons of boiled red kelp, a jug of emalque extract, a gallon of fire oil for bite, and two gills of kasic. The vat is brought to a boil, simmered for two hours, strained and allowed to rest. After a week the schmeer is ready.”

“Most interesting!” Moncrief looked toward the
Glicca
, where the work of unloading was still underway. Moncrief told Gontwitz: “With so much kasic, you will be inundated in schmeer! How can it all be put to use?”

“Curb your wonder!” Gontwitz told him. “Thirty-two carboys of kasic is barely adequate. The rugmaker’s worst fear is that his pot will go dry.”

Moncrief asked plaintively: “But where is the need for so many rugs? It seems that the rugmakers are driven by obsession! Surely these rampant energies could be put to better use!”

“Indeed? What do you have in mind?”

Moncrief considered, tapping his chin with his forefinger. “First, a civilized town or two, with tourist hotels, cafés, and arcades where the best rugs could be put on display. This would seem a progressive program.”

Gontwitz studied Moncrief for a long moment. “Doubtless you are a deep-dyed scholar and a past master of poodle-de-doodle; also, you have read several books. Still, your knowledge of Star Home is a muddle and your theories are bunk.”

Moncrief blinked but maintained his sang-froid. “I will give your comments careful study! They may well illuminate the unusual quirks of local custom.”

“While you study, remember this,” said Gontwitz. “We Ritters are nomads, wandering the steppe as the mood takes us: by the white light of day, through the pale moonlight of night. The vistas are never the same; the grass undulates in long swells where it is moved by the wind. Sometimes rain sweeps down upon the trimbles* but the wumps amble on, taking no notice. At the rear of the trimbles are racks where the rugs are worked. It is a placid life, so long as kasic is available on a timely basis. If Lallankers intercept the shipment, then rug-makers with short pots of schmeer become anxious.”

Moncrief put a delicate question: “What, then, is a ‘Lallanker’?”

Gontwitz spat on the ground. “The topic is tiresome. Still, it cannot be ignored. Sometimes a youth with doting parents becomes adolescent convinced of his own sublime importance. He daydreams, shirks his work and joins the girls at play, wearing a blue sash, and makes no effort to learn the creed of the Ritters. No one interferes; they are Ritters and each must pursue his own destiny. He has no friends, but consorts with others of his own sort. They think of themselves as gallant bravos, entitled to the sweetest fruits on the tree of life. Their favorite ploy is to preempt a shipment of kasic and make off with it across the steppe, where it is now their own property through the exigencies of the Ritter creed. They make for an important camp, such as Blackwater Marsh, and deal with the kasic. If there are six Lallankers, each takes for himself a carboy of kasic; he has no need for any more. The balance is then given over to a haphazard distribution, which is better than no distribution at all.

“The Lallanker now looks to his own affairs. He decorates his trimble with red satin cushions and sluices down his wump with floral water. He stocks his pantry with delicacies, including flasks of brambleberry wine and rare confections from the synthesizer. He ties a blue sash around his waist and sets off to find his favorite among the pretty girls, and invites her up to his trimble. He seats her upon a cushion, then pours soft green wine into dainty cups of carved bamboo; presently he serves a banquet of unusual viands. The afternoon passes. At sunset he displays a jug of kasic and asks if he might offer such a gift to signalize his fervent regard. She responds with joy and gratitude. Meanwhile the wump ambles across the steppe through the gathering dusk, and so it goes.

“Elsewhere the rugmakers scrape the bottoms of their schmeer-pots. Across the steppe, at every sweetwater pond, along every strand, on every hillock where the wumps encircle a camp, the rug-makers sing the same song, and it is a sad song indeed.”

Moncrief asked, “Could not the system be altered so as to provide schmeer for these unfortunates whose pots have gone dry?”

Gontwitz was unmoved. “Thirty-two carboys of kasic yield a precise volume of schmeer. This is the basis for an orderly distribution of kasic.”

“Aha!” cried Moncrief, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You have cited a problem to which I have the answer!”

Gontwitz had lost interest in the topic and turned to address Maloof, but Moncrief was not to be denied. “My concept is simple but elegant! I commend it to your attention.”

Gontwitz heaved a patient sigh. “Very well! Explain this noble concept, if you will.”

“With pleasure! You merely ship twice as many rugs to Cax; they will send back twice as much kasic. This cargo must be discharged at a site secure from the Lallankers. That is the crux of the scheme. The kasic now is distributed with open-handed grandeur and the song of the rugmakers will be heard no more.” Moncrief stepped back in smiling anticipation of Gontwitz’s plaudits.

“Startling!” Gontwitz admitted. “Particularly in view of its implicit purport.”

“Oh?” Moncrief asked, nonplussed, his smile fading. “How can this be?”

Gontwitz said: “Your scheme imputes to the Ritters a bewildered foolishness from which they are rescued by the advice of a kindly off-world savant.”

“Ahem,” said Moncrief. “I fear that your meaning eludes me.”

Gontwitz paid no heed. “The advice is spurious for several reasons. First, a flood of mediocre rugs would choke the repository. Second, to double the amount of schmeer doubles the quantity of the other materials, which are tedious to collect. Third, even at this time, there are many who wish to limit the import of kasic to ten carboys. Fourth — but perhaps you have heard enough. In essence, your scheme cannot be recommended.”

Moncrief performed a stiff bow. “No further expatiation is necessary. And now, please excuse me; I have urgent business elsewhere.” He swung about and marched off toward the
Glicca
, where the discharge of cargo had now been effected. Gontwitz turned to Maloof. “What, may I ask, is your next destination?”

“We carry goods for Cax, which will be our next port of call.”

“In that case, I can offer you a parcel of freight for Monomarche at Cax, if you are interested.”

“I am interested, certainly.”

“The parcel consists of fourteen rugs, rolled into bundles about six feet long. They are now in the repository at Torqual Downs. I can order them out by wagon, which means a delay of two weeks, but there is a better way. Dockerl will arrive within three or four days, along with my assistant Zitzelman. As soon as Dockerl picks up the carboys of kasic, I suggest that we shift the
Glicca
to Torqual Downs, where the rugs can be loaded efficiently. The freight charges will be prepaid at the standard rate of one hundred and seventy-five sols. Do you have further questions?”