Jack Vance - Tschai 02 by Servants of the Wankh

Author:Servants of the Wankh
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-11-27T01:33:01+00:00

Reith displayed the pouch, which contained a handful of sequins. He brought forth the clip of paper, and the two examined it in the light streaming out of the inn, to find rows of a peculiar writing: a series of rectangles, variously shaded and marked.

Helsse looked at Reith. “Do you recognize this script?”

“No.”

Helsse gave a short sharp bark of laughter. “It is Wankh.”

“Hm. What would be the significance of this?”

“Simply more mystery. Settra is a hive of intrigue. Spies are everywhere.”

“And spy devices? Microphones? Eye-cells?”

“It is safe to assume as much.”

“Then it would be safe to assume that the Refluxive’s hall is monitored …

Perhaps I was too free with advice.”

“If the dead man were the monitor, your words are now lost. But allow me to take custody of the notes. I will have them translated; there is a colony of Lokhars nearby and some of them have a smattering of Wankh.”

“We will go together,” said Reith. “Will tomorrow suit you?”

“Well enough,” said Helsse glumly. He looked off across the Oval. “Finally then: what must I tell Lord Cizante as to the boon?”

“I don’t know,” said Reith. “I’ll have an answer tomorrow.”

“The situation may be clarified even sooner,” said Helsse. “Here is Dordolio.”

Reith swung around, to find Dordolio striding toward him, followed by two suave cavaliers. Dordolio was clearly in a fury. He halted a yard in front of Reith and, thrusting forth his head, blurted: “With your vicious tricks, you have ruined me! Have you no shame?” He took off his hat, hurled it into Reith’s face. Reith stepped aside, the hat went wheeling off into the Oval.

Dordolio shook his finger in Reith’s face; Reith backed away a step. “Your death is assured,” bellowed Dordolio. “But not by the honor of my sword!

Low-caste assassins will drown you in cattle excrement! Twenty pariahs will drub your corpse! A cur will drag your head along the street by the tongue!”

Reith managed a painful grin. “Cizante will arrange the same for you, at my request. It’s as good a boon as any.”

“Cizante, bah! A wicked parvenu, a moping invert. Blue Jade shall be nothing; the fall of that palace will culminate the ‘round’!”

Helsse came slightly forward. “Before you enlarge upon your remarkable assertions, be advised that I represent the House of Blue Jade, and that I will be impelled to report to his Excellency Lord Cizante the substance of your comments.”

“Do not bore me with triviality!” stormed Dordolio. He furiously motioned to Reith. “Fetch my hat, or tomorrow expect the first of the Twelve Touches!”

“A small concession,” said Reith, “if it ensures your departure.” He picked up Dordoho’s hat, shook it once or twice, handed it to him. “Your hat, which you threw across the square.” He stepped around Dordolio, entered the foyer of the inn. Dordoho gave a somewhat subdued caw of laughter, slapped his hat against his thigh, and, signaling his comrades, walked away.

In the foyer of the inn Reith asked Helsse, “What are the ‘Twelve Touches’?”

“At intervals-perhaps a day, perhaps two days-an assassin will tap the victim with a twig.

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