Free Wyst: Alastor 1716 by Jack Vance

places in Pamatra Valley.”
    “Pah. What does she know of secret places, or anything else
for that matter? Esteban is planning a real bonterfest before long; save your
appetite for that.”
    “Well, I’ve already agreed to go with Kedidah’s group.”
    Skorlet shrugged and sniffed. “Do as you like. Here, take
these matches and be prepared, and don’t eat toad-wort, otherwise you’ll never
return to Uncibal. As for Kedidah, she’s never been right about anything, and I’m
told she doesn’t clean herself, when you copulate you never know what you’re
wading around in.”
    Jantiff mumbled something incoherent and busied himself with
his painting. Skorlet came to look over his shoulder., “Who are those people?”
    ‘They’re the Whispers, receiving a committee of contractors
in Serce.”
    Skorlet gave him a searching scrutiny. “You’re never been to
Serce.”
    “I used a photograph from the Concept. Didn’t you see
it?”
    “No one sees anything in the Concept except hussade announcements.”
She studied another picture: a view along Uncibal River. She gave her head a
shake of distaste. “All those faces, each so exact! It quite makes me uneasy!”
    “Look carefully,” Jantiff suggested. “Are there any you recognize?”
    After a moment’s silence Skorlet said: “To be sure! There’s
Esteban! And can this be me? Very clever; you have a remarkable knack!” She
took up another sheet. “And what is this? the wumper? All these faces again;
they seem so blank.” She turned Jantiff another searching look. “What effect
is this?”
    Jantiff said hurriedly: “Arrabins seem, somehow, composed,
let us say.”
    “Composed? What a thought! We’re fervent, idealistic,
reckless—when we have the opportunity—mutable, passionate. All these, yes.
Composed? No.”
    “No doubt you’re right,” said Jantiff. “Somehow I haven’t
captured this quality.”
    Skorlet turned away, then spoke over her shoulder. “I wonder
if you could spare some of that blue pigment? I’d like to paint symbols on my
cult globes.”
    Jantiff looked first up at the constructions of paper
and wire, each a foot in diameter, then to the wide coarse brush which Skorlet
habitually employed, and finally with eyebrows ruefully raised, to the rather
small capsule of blue pigment. “Really, Skorlet, I don’t see how this is
possible. Can’t you use house paint or ink, or something similar?”
    Skorlet went pink in the face. “And how or where can I get
house paint? Or ink? I know nothing of these things; they aren’t available to
just anyone, and I’ve never been on a drudge where I could snerge any.”
    “I think I saw ink for sale on Counter 5 at the Area Store,”
Jantiff said cautiously. “Perhaps—”
    Skorlet made a vehement gesture, expressing rejection and
disgust. “At a hundred tokens the dram? You foreigners are all alike, so
pampered by your wealth, yet heartless and selfish beneath it all!”
    “Oh, very well,” said Jantiff despondently. “Take the pigment
if you really need it. I’ll use another color.”
    But Skorlet, flouncing away, went to the mirror and began to
change the decoration of her ears. Jantiff heaved a sigh and continued with his
painting.
    The foragers gathered in the lobby of Old Pink; eight men
and five women. Jantiff’s knapsack instantly aroused jocular attention. “Ha,
where does Jantiff think we’re off to, the Par Edge?”
    “Jantiff, dear fellow, we’re only going on a bit of a
forage, not a migration!”
    “Jantiff is an optimist! He takes trays and bags and
baskets to bring home his banter!”
    “Bah, I’ll bring mine home, too, but on the inside!”
    A young man named Garrace, portly and blond, asked:
    “Jantiff, tell us really and in truth: what are you carrying?”
Jantiff, grinning apologetically, said: “Actually, nothing of any consequence:
a change of clothes, a few cakes of gruff, my sketch pad, and, if you must know
the truth, some toilet paper.”
    “Good old