Free The Last Castle by Jack Holbrook Vance Page B

this dreadful sense of urgency, but why? In Castle Hagedorn we are as safe as in our mother’s arms. What do we gain by throwing aside all—honor, dignity, comfort, civilized niceties—for no other reason than to slink through the wilderness?”
    “Janeil was safe,” said Xanten. “Today where is Janeil? Death, mildewed cloth, sour wine. What we gain by ‘slinking’ is the assurance of survival. And I plan much more than simple ‘slinking’.”
    “I can conceive of a hundred occasions when death is better than life!” snapped Isseth. “Must I die in dishonor and disgrace? Why may my last years not be passed in dignity?”
    Into the room came B. F. Robarth. “Councilmen, the Meks approach Castle Hagedorn.”
    Hagedorn cast a wild look around the chamber. “Is there a consensus? What must we do?”
    Xanten threw up his hands. “Everyone must do as he thinks best! I argue no more; I am done. Hagedorn, will you adjourn the council so that we may be about our affairs? I to my ‘slinking’?”
    “Council is adjourned,” said Hagedorn, and all went up to stand on the ramparts.
    Up the avenue into the castle trooped Peasants from the surrounding countryside, packets slung over their shoulders. Across the valley, at the edge of Bartholomew Forest, was a clot of power-wagons and an amorphous browngold mass: Meks.
    Aure pointed west. “Look—there they come, up the Long Swale.” He turned, peered east. “And look, there at Barn-bridge: Meks!”
    By common consent, all swung about to scan North Ridge. 0. Z. Garr pointed to a quiet line of browngold shapes. “There they wait, the vermin! They have penned us in! Well then, let them wait!” He swung away, rode the lift down to the plaza, crossed swiftly to Zumbeld House, where he worked the rest of the afternoon with his Gloriana, of whom he expected great things.

    The following day the Meks formalized the investment. Around Castle Hagedorn a great circle of Mek activity made itself apparent: sheds, warehouses, barracks. Within this periphery, just beyond the range of the energy cannon, power-wagons thrust up mounds of dirt.
    During the night these mounds lengthened toward the castle; similarly the night after. At last the purpose of the mounds became clear: they were a protective cover above passages or tunnels leading toward the crag on which Castle Hagedorn rested.
    The following day several of the mounds reached the base of the crag. Presently from the far end began to flow a succession of power-wagons loaded with rubble. They issued, dumped their loads and once again entered the tunnels.
    Eight of these above-ground tunnels had been established. From each trundled endless loads of dirt and rock, gnawed from the crag on which Castle Hagedorn sat. To the gentlefolk who crowded the parapets the meaning of the work at last became clear.
    “They make no attempt to bury us,” said Hagedorn. “They merely mine out the crag from below us!”
    On the sixth day of the siege, a great segment of the hillside shuddered, slumped, and a tall pinnacle of rock reaching almost up to the base of the walls collapsed.
    “If this continues,” muttered Beaudry, “our time will be less than that of Janeil.”
    “Come then,” called 0. Z. Garr in sudden energy. “Let us try our energy cannon. We’ll blast open their wretched tunnels, and what will the rascals do then?” He went to the nearest emplacement, shouted down for Peasants to remove the tarpaulin.
    Xanten, who happened to stand nearby, said, “Allow me to assist you.” He jerked away the tarpaulin. “Shoot now, if you will.”
    0. Z. Garr stared at him uncomprehendingly, then leapt forward, swiveled the great projector about so that it aimed at a mound. He pulled the switch; the air crackled in front of the ringed snout, rippled, flickered with purple sparks. The target area steamed, became black, then dark red, then slumped into an incandescent crater. But the underlying earth, twenty feet in thickness, afforded