Free Maske: Thaery by Jack Vance

lies beyond our instructions. Now, Sir Droad, allow us to enter your room.”
    “Never. Stand back or I’ll kill you.”
    Scales spoke in a hoarse rasping monotone: “Most unwise, even to talk so, Sir Droad. We are simple men, bent only on our duty.”
    As he spoke Jubal noticed a soft hiss; near the floor he observed a large nozzle from which exuded a wisp of condensation.
    Jubal turned and sprinted for the window across the room, only to find that a wooden panel had been fitted from the outside, blocking his escape.
    Scales laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, we are experienced; please come with us now.”
    Jubal drove his fist into Scales’ stomach; it was like striking a tree. Balance caught his arms and pinned them. Jubal was frog-walked out the door, across the verandah, and down upon the dark beach. He lurched and kicked; Scales adjusted a preventer over his head with prongs entering his mouth; Jubal could no longer struggle without breaking his teeth.
    The three moved fifty yards, to halt where a copse of water-holly screened the beach from the Marine Parade. Balance caused a blue-lamp to glow; Jubal saw a tank seven feet long, half full of an iridescent liquid. Thrust in the sand was the bone-breaker—an iron club four feet long.
    Scales told Jubal: “You may disrobe or not, as you wish; our warrant does not specify. We have learned that entering the bath fully dressed is distinctly more uncomfortable; one notes the chafe of fabric. But first we must administer the hyperas. Just relax, sir…” Jubal felt the pang of a bladder-sting and a wave of sensitivity expanding across his skin.
    Balance approached. “These shackles, sir, prevent you from flailing your arms and legs; we find them indispensable. But first, do you wish to disrobe?”
    Jubal wrenched himself from Scales’ grip; he thrust against Balance, and driving his feet into the sand, pushed. Balance, lurching backwards, tripped against the tank and fell back full length, with a sluggish sucking splash. His outcry, first hoarse in horror and anger, became swiftly shrill.
    Scales had seized Jubal. “That was a very unfair act. You have injured my colleague in pursuit of his lawful duties. I will not be surprised if he solicits a warrant against you.”
    For a moment the two stood immobile, Scales clamping Jubal’s arms, both watching Balance as he tried to scramble from the tank, only to trip and fall back, but finally to heave himself over the lip and writhe upon the sand.
    “The herndyche is a particularly pungent formulation,” observed Scales. “Poor Balance mixed it himself.
    He works no good for himself rolling about on the sand. Balance! Oh, I say, Balance! Remove your clothes, then make for the water! This is my best advice.”
    Balance, whether he heard or heeded, crawled for the water, howling high-pitched curses.
    “Poor Balance,” said Scales. “He has been seriously injured. It is the risks of the trade; nevertheless I deplore your action. Be so good as either to disrobe or enter the tank as you stand.”
    Jubal squirmed, heaved, kicked. His skin ached and crawled in response to the hyperas; the hair felt heavy on his head. He could not break Scales’ clutch; the hands gripped with numbing force. Jubal’s head began to spin; his mouth felt dry; he, a Glint and a gentleman, to be dipped into a tank like a baby? He heard a thud, a voice; the hand-grips loosened. Jubal fell to the sand and lay flat on his face. Thuds, gasps, a bleat of rage. Jubal leadenly raised himself to his hands and knees. With stately composure and smiling dignity Scales fought the man who had attacked him.
    Jubal tottered erect. He seized the bone-crusher, raised it high, swept it down at Scales’ head, but struck only the shoulder. Scales moaned. Jubal swung again, and Scales fell. Jubal struck again and again, with all his force.
    Hands drew him back. Shrack spoke. “Enough. You may have killed him already. The bar has broken his bones.”
    Jubal let the