Ports of Call by Jack Vance

Author:Jack Vance [Vance, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Space Opera
ISBN: 9780312864743
Google: _Zu4Su4cdMoC
Amazon: 0312864744
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 1998-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter VII

1

At dawn the Glicca departed from Sholo spaceport. It floated up the face of the scarp and landed beside the warehouse at Mel, to take on cargo; then it lifted again into the upper air. Myron, standing by the pilot-house window, looked down on Sholo Town, at the base of the scarp. He located the irregular roof of the Glad Song Tavern. Beneath that roof lay the body of the girl whose conduct even now seemed unreal. The episode, thought Myron, only went to reaffirm the principle that a pretty face often hides secret purposes.

Myron watched until Sholo Town dwindled and disappeared. The escarpment lay across the steppe like a welt, then became lost in orange-gray murk.

The Glicca slanted away into space. Terce became a coarse gray ball. The orange sun receded astern and presently disappeared into the galactic background.

The Glicca moved across space toward the world Fiametta, where it would put into two ports of call: first Girandole, then Sweetfleur.

The affairs of the ship resumed their routine. The pilgrims, ever more impatient, soothed themselves with endless games of double-moko, pounding the table with their fists and pulling at their beards when their scumbles went awry, and their gallant rambles-from-hell were ambushed and sent reeling. Schwatzendale watched from the side, and as before offered comments on the play, pointing out errors and praising sound strategies. Finally he allowed himself to be drawn into the game. By trifling increments he began to win — small sums, as if by blunder, or by happy surprise. Then he lost several goodly pots and appeared to become confused. He muttered and cursed his luck. The pilgrims, who were laughing and joking with each other, commiserated with Schwatzendale and once or twice took the trouble to explain the niceties of the game. They analyzed Schwatzendale’s errors and pointed out where his tactics could be improved. Still, the general consensus was that Schwatzendale should master the finer points of the game before trying to match himself against the experts. But Schwatzendale was stubborn and insisted that all was well and that he would learn by doing. In this next phase, so he declared with dogged determination, he would play with proper caution so as to avoid the flagrant mistakes of past games.

“Just as you like!” said the pilgrims. “Don’t say we haven’t warned you! So long as you put your money on the table we will gladly sweep it away!”

Emboldened and jovial, the pilgrims were encouraged to try for large winnings. But now Schwatzendale’s luck had returned, as if by magic. He struck lightning-like blows; his scumbles wrought devastation and presently he had won all the pilgrims’ cash. The game came to a halt, to the pilgrims’ glum dissatisfaction. For want of better occupation, they began to play a game which involved a flourish of the hand, then a display of one or more fingers, with the winner smiting the back of the loser’s head with the flat of his hand. Even this game, for

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