Free The Blue World by Jack Vance Page B

from a mug. He edged through the crowd and joined her. She
acknowledged his presence with the coolest of nods.
    “Come,”
said Sklar Hast, taking her arm. “Let us move to the side, where
the folk do not crush in on us. I have much to say to you.”
    “I don’t care
to talk with you. A display of childish petulance perhaps, but this
is the situation.”
    “And it is
precisely what I wish to discuss with you,” declared Sklar Hast.
    Meril Rohan smiled
faintly. “Better that you be contriving arguments to save your
neck. The convocation may well decide that your life has continued as
long as is desirable.”
    Sklar Hast winced.
“And how will you vote?”
    “I am bored
with the entire proceedings. I will probably return to Quatrefoil.”
    Perceiving the
situation to be awkward, Sklar Hast departed with as good grace as he
could muster.
    He went to join
Rubal Gallager, who sat under the Apprise Inn pergola. “The
float is in ruins, you have made enemies—still your life is
no longer in danger,“‘said Rubal Gallager.” At least this
is my opinion.”
    Sklar Hast gave a
sour grunt. “Sometimes I wonder if the effort is worthwhile.
Still, there is much to do. If nothing else, the hoodwink tower must
be rebuilt. And I have my office to consider.”
    Rubal Gallager gave
a ripe chuckle. “With Semm Voiderveg as Intercessor and Ixon
Myrex as Arbiter, your tenure will hardly be one of sheer harmony.”
’
    “The least of
my worries,” said Sklar Hast. “Assuming, of course, that I
leave the convocation alive.”
    “I think you
may count upon this,” said Rubal Gallager with a somewhat grim
overtone to his voice. “There are many who wish you dead,
doubtless—but there are many who do not.”
    Sklar Hast
considered a moment and gave his head a dubious shake. “I hardly
know what to say. For twelve generations the folk of the floats have
lived in harmony, and we think it savage if a man so much as
threatens another man with his fist … Would I want to be the node
of contention? Would I want the name Sklar Hast to be echoed down the
generations as the man who brought strife to the floats?”
    Rubal Gallager
regarded him in quizzical amusement. “I have never known you
previously to wax philosophical.”
    “It is not an
occupation I enjoy,” said Sklar Hast, “though it seems as
if more and more it is to be forced upon me.” He looked across
the float to the refreshment booth where Meril Rohan sat speaking
across a bench with one who was a stranger to Sklar Hast: a thin
young man with an intense, abrupt, angled face and a habit of nervous
gesticulation. He wore neither caste nor guild emblems, but from the
green piping at the throat of his smock Sklar Hast deduced him to be
from Sankston Float.
    His thoughts were
interrupted by the return of Phyral Berwick to the rostrum.
    “We will now
resume our considerations. I hope that all who speak eschew
excitement and emotion. This is a deliberative assembly of reasonable
and calm beings, not a mob of fanatics to be incited, and I wish all
to remember this. If angry men shout at each other, the purpose of
the convocation is defeated, and I will again call a recess. So now,
who wishes to speak?”
    From the audience a
man called: “Question!”
    Phyral Berwick
pointed his finger. “Step forward, state your name, caste,
craft, and propound your question.”
    It was the
thin-faced young man with the intense expression whom Sklar Hast had
observed speaking with Meril Rohan. He said, “My name is Roger
Kelso. My lineage is Larcener, although I have departed from caste
custom and my craft now is scrivener. My question has this
background: Sklar Hast is accused of responsibility for the Tranque
Float disaster, and it is the duty of the convocation to measure this
responsibility. To do this we first must measure the proximate cause
of tragedy. This is an essential element of traditional
jurisprudence, and if any think otherwise, I will quote the Memorium
of
    Lester