The Last Castle (5 page)

Hagedorn nodded his heavy head. “The time indeed grows late. Your Phanes appear today?”

“Only two,” replied 0. Z. Garr. “The Lazule and the Eleventh Mystery. I can find nothing suitable for the Gossamer Delights nor my little Blue Fay, and the Gloriana still requires tutelage. Today B. Z. Maxelwane’s Variflors should repay the most attention.”

“Yes,” said Hagedorn, “I have heard other remarks to this effect. Very well then, until tommorow. Eh, Claghorn, you have something to say?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Claghorn mildly. “We have all too little time at our disposal. Best that we make the most of it. I seriously doubt the efficacy of Peasant troops; they are like rabbits against wolves. What we need, rather than rabbits, are panthers.”

“Ah, yes,” said Hagedorn vaguely. “Yes indeed.”

“Where, then, are panthers to be found?” Claghorn looked inquiringly around the table. “Can no one suggest a source? A pity. Well then, if panthers fail to appear, I suppose rabbits must do. Let us go about the business of converting rabbits into panthers, and instantly. I suggest that we postpone all fetes and spectacles until the shape of our future is more certain.”

Hagedorn raised his eyebrows, opened his mouth to speak, closed it again. He looked intently at Claghorn to ascertain whether or not he joked. Then he looked dubiously around the table.

Beaudry gave a rather brassy laugh. “It seems that erudite Claghorn cries panic.”

0. Z. Garr stated: “Surely, in all dignity, we cannot allow the impertinence of our servants to cause us such eye-rolling alarm. I am embarrassed even to bring the matter forward.”

“I am not embarrassed,” said Claghorn, with the full-faced complacence which so exasperated 0. Z. Garr. “I see no reason why you should be. Our lives are threatened, in which case a trifle of embarrassment, or anything else, becomes of secondary importance.”

0, Z. Garr rose to his feet, performed a brusque salute in Claghorn’s direction, of such a nature as to constitute a calculated affront. Claghorn, rising, performed a similar salute, this so grave and overly complicated as to invest Garr’s insult with burlesque overtones. Xanten, who detested 0. Z. Garr, laughed aloud.

0. Z. Garr hesitated, then, sensing that under the circumstances taking the matter further would be regarded as poor form, strode from the chamber.

The Viewing of Antique Tabards, an annual pageant of Phanes wearing sumptuous garments took place in the Great Rotunda to the north of the central plaza.

Possibly half of the gentlemen, but less than a quarter of the ladies, kept Phanes. These were creatures native to the caverns of Albireo Seven’s moon: a docile race, both playful and affectionate, which after several thousand years of selective breeding had become sylphs of piquant beauty. Clad in a delicate gauze which issued from pores behind their ears, along their upper arms, down their backs, they were the most inoffensive of creatures, anxious always to please, innocently vain. Most gentlemen regarded them with affection, but rumors sometimes told of ladies drenching an especially hated Phane in tincture of ammonia, which matted her pelt and destroyed her gauze forever.

A gentleman besotted by a Phane was considered a figure of fun. The Phane, though so carefully bred as to seem a delicate girl, if used sexually became crumpled and haggard, with gauzes drooping and discolored, and everyone would know that such and such a gentleman had misused his Phane. In this regard, at least, the women of the castles might exert their superiority. They did so by conducting themselves with such extravagant provocation that the Phanes in contrast seemed the most ingenious and fragile of nature sprites. Their life-span was perhaps thirty years, during the last ten of which, after they had lost their beauty, they encased themselves in mantles of gray gauze and performed menial tasks in boudoirs, kitchens, pantries, nurseries and dressing rooms.

The Viewing of Antique Tabards was an occasion more for the viewing of Phanes than the tabards, though these, woven of Phane-gauze, were of intricate beauty in themselves.

The Phane owners sat in a lower, tier, tense with hope and pride, exulting when one made an especially splendid display, plunged. into black depths when the ritual postures were performed with other than grace and elegance. During each display highly formal music was plucked from a lute by a gentleman from a clan different to that of the Phane owner. The owner never played the lute to the performance of his own Phane. The display was never overtly a competition and no formal acclamation was allowed, but all watching made up their minds as to which was the most entrancing and graceful of the Phanes, and the repute of the owner was thereby exalted.

The current Viewing was delayed almost half an hour by reason of the defection of the Meks, and certain hasty improvisations had been made necessary. But the gentlefolk of Castle Hagedorn were in no mood to be critical and took no heed of the occasional lapses as a dozen young Peasant bucks struggled to perform unfamiliar tasks. The Phanes were as entrancing as ever, bending, twisting, swaying to plangent chords of the lute, fluttering their fingers as if feeling for raindrops, crouching suddenly, gliding, then springing upright straight as wands, finally bowing and skipping from the platform.

Halfway through the program a Peasant sidled awkwardly into the Rotunda, and mumbled in an urgent manner to the cadet who came to inquire his business. The cadet at once made his way to Hagedorn’s polished jet booth. Hagedorn listened, nodded, spoke a few terse words and settled calmly back in his seat as if the message had been of no consequence, and the gentlefolk of the audience were reassured.

“The entertainment proceeded. 0. Z. Garr’s delectable pair made a fine show, but it was generally felt that Lirlin, a young Phane belonging to Isseth Floy Gazuneth, for the first time at a formal showing, made the most captivating display.

The Phanes appeared for a last time, moving all together through a half-improvised minuet. Then they performed a final half-gay, half-regretful salute and departed the rotunda. For a few moments more the gentlemen and ladies would remain in their booths, sipping essences, discussing the display, arranging affairs and assignations. Hagedorn sat frowning, twisting his hands.

Suddenly he rose to his feet. The rotunda .instantly became silent.

“I dislike intruding an unhappy note at so pleasant an occasion,” said Hagedorn. “But news has just been given to me, and it is fitting that all should know. Janeil Castle is under attack. The Meks are there in great force, with hundreds of power-wagons. They have circled the castle with a dike which prevents any effective use of the Janeil energy-cannon.

“There is no immediate danger to Janeil, and it is difficult to comprehend what the Meks hope to achieve, the Janeil walls being all of two hundred feet high.

“The news nevertheless is somber, and it means that eventually we must expect a similar investment—though it is even more difficult to comprehend how Meks could hope to inconvenience us. Our water derives from four wells sunk deep into the earth. We have great stocks of food. Our energy is derived from the sun. If necessary, we could condense water and synthesize food from the air—at least I have been so assured by our great biochemical theoretician X. B. Ladisname. Still—this is the news. Make of it what you will. Tomorrow the Council of Notables will meet.”

“Well, then,” said Hagedorn to the council, “for once let us dispense with formality. 0. Z. Garr: what of our cannon?”

0. Z. Garr, wearing the magnificent gray and green uniform of the Overwhele Dragoons, carefully placed his morion on the table, so that the panache stood erect. “Of twelve cannon, four appear to be functioning correctly. Four have been sabotaged by excision of the power-leads. Four have been sabotaged by some means undetectable to careful investigation. I have commandeered a half-dozen Peasants who demonstrate a modicum of mechanical ability, and have instructed them in detail. They are currently engaged in splicing the leads. This is the extent of my current information in regard to the cannon.”

“Moderately good news,” said Hagedorn. “What of the proposed corps of armed Peasants?”

“The project is under way. A. F. Mull and I. A. Berzelius are now inspecting Peasants with a view to recruitment and training. I can make no sanguine projection as to the military effectiveness of such a corps, even if trained and led by such as A. F. Mull, I. A. Berzelius and myself. The Peasants are a mild ineffectual race, admirably suited to the grubbing of weeds, but with no stomach whatever for fighting.”

Hagedorn glanced around the council. “Are there any other suggestions?”

Beaudry spoke in a harsh, angry voice, “Had the villains but left us our power-wagons, we might have mounted the cannon aboard! The Peasants are equal to this, at least. Then we could roll to Janeil and blast the dogs from the rear.”

“These Meks seem utter fiends!” declared Aure. “What conceivably do they have in mind? Why, after these centuries, must they suddenly go mad?”

“We all ask ourselves the same,” said Hagedorn. “Xanten, you returned from reconnaissance with a captive: have you attempted to question him?”

“No,” said Xanten. “Truth to tell, I haven’t thought of him since.”

“Why not attempt to question him? Perhaps he can provide a clue or two.”

Xanten nodded assent. “I can try. Candidly I expect to learn nothing.”

“Claghorn, you are the Mek expert,” said Beaudry. “Would you have thought the creatures capable of so intricate a plot? What do they hope to gain? Our castles?”

“They are certainly capable of precise and meticulous planning,” said Claghorn. “Their ruthlessness surprises me—more, possibly, than it should. I have never known them to covet our material possessions, and they show no tendency toward what we consider the concomitants of civilization: fine discriminations of sensation and the like. I have often speculated—I won’t dignify the conceit with the status of a theory—that the structural logic of a brain is of rather more consequence than we reckon with. Our own brains are remarkable for their utter lack of rational structure. Considering the haphazard manner in which our thoughts are formed, registered, indexed and recalled, any single rational act becomes a miracle. Perhaps we are incapable of rationality. Perhaps all thought is a set of impulses generated by one emotion, monitored by another, ratified by a third. In contrast the Mek brain is a marvel of what seems careful engineering. It is roughly cubical and consists of microscopic cells inter-connected by organic fibrils, each a monofilament molecule of negligible electrical resistance. Within each cell is a film of silica, a fluid of variable conductivity and dielectric properties, a cusp of a complex mixture of metallic oxides. The brain is capable of storing great quantities of information in an orderly pattern. No fact is lost, unless it is purposely forgotten, a capacity which the Meks possess. The brain also functions as a radio transceiver, possibly as a radar transmitter and detector, though this again is speculation.

“Where the Mek brain falls short is in its lack of emotional color. One Mek is precisely like another, without any personality differentiation perceptible to us. This, clearly, is a function of their communicative system. It would be unthinkable for a unique personality to develop under these conditions. They served us efficiently and—so we thought—loyally, because they felt nothing about their condition, neither pride in achievement, nor resentment, nor shame. Nothing whatever. They neither loved us nor hated us. Nor do they now. It is hard for us to conceive this emotional vacuum, when each of us feels something about everything. We live in a welter of emotions. They are as devoid of emotion as an ice-cube. They were fed, housed, maintained in a manner they found satisfactory. Why did they revolt? I have speculated at length, but the single reason which I can formulate seems so grotesque and unreasonable that I refuse to take it seriously. If this after all is the correct explanation ... ” His voice drifted away.

“Well?” demanded 0. Z. Garr peremptorily. “What then?”

“Then—it is all the same. They are committed to the destruction of the human race. My speculation alters nothing.”

Hagedorn turned to Xanten. “All this should assist you in your inquiries.”

“I was about to suggest that Claghorn assist me, if he is so inclined,” said Xanten.

“As you like,” said Claghorn, “though in my opinion the information, no matter what, is irrelevant. Our single concern should be a means to repel them and to save our lives.”

“And—save the force of ‘panthers’ you mentioned at our previous session—you can conceive of no subtle weapon?” asked Hagedorn wistfully. “A device to set up electrical resonances in their brains, or something similar?”

“Not feasible,” said Claghorn. “Certain organs in the creatures’ brains function as overload switches. Though it is true that during this time they might not be able to communicate.” After a moment’s reflection he added thoughtfully: “Who knows? A. G. Bernal and Uegus are theoreticians with a profound knowledge of such projections. Perhaps they might construct such a device, or several, against a possible need.”

Hagedorn nodded dubiously, and looked toward Uegus. “Is this possible?”

Uegus frowned. ” ‘Construct’? I can certainly design such an instrument. But the components—where? Scattered through the storerooms helter-skelter, some functioning, others not. To achieve anything meaningful I must become no better than an apprentice, a Mek.” He became incensed, and his voice hardened. “I find it hard to believe that I should be forced to point out this fact! Do you hold me and my talents then of such small worth?”

Hagedorn hastened to reassure him. “Of course not! I for one would never think of impugning your dignity.”

“Never!” agreed Claghorn. “Nevertheless, during this present emergency, we will find indignities imposed upon us by events, unless now we impose them upon ourselves.”

“Very well,” said Uegus, a humourless smile trembling at his lips. “You shall come with me to the storeroom. I will point out the components to be brought forth and assembled, you shall perform the toil. What do you say to that?”

“I say yes, gladly, if it will be of real utility. However, I can hardly perform the labor for a dozen different theoreticians. Will any others serve beside myself?”

No one responded. Silence was absolute, as if every gentleman present held his breath.

Hagedorn started to speak, but Claghorn interrupted. “Pardon, Hagedorn, but here, finally, we are stuck upon a basic principle, and it must be settled now.”

Hagedorn looked desperately around the council. “Has anyone relevant comment?”

“Claghorn must do as his innate nature compels,” declared 0. Z. Garr in the silkiest of voices. “I cannot dictate to him. As for myself, I can never demean my status as a gentleman of Hagedorn. This creed is as natural to me as drawing breath; if ever it is compromised I become a travesty of a gentleman, a grotesque mask of myself. This is Castle Hagedorn, and we represent the culmination of human civilization. Any compromise therefore becomes degradation; any expedient diminution of our standards becomes dishonor. I have heard the word ‘emergency’ used. What a deplorable sentiment! To dignify the rat-like snappings and gnashings of such as the Meks with the word ‘emergency’ is to my mind unworthy of a gentleman of Hagedorn!”

A murmur of approval went around the council table.

Claghorn leaned far back in his seat, chin on his chest, as if in relaxation. His clear blue eyes went from face to face, then returned to 0. Z. Garr whom he studied with dispassionate interest. “Obviously you direct your words to me,” he said. “I appreciate their malice. But this is a small matter.” He looked away from 0. Z. Garr, to stare up at the massive diamond and emerald chandelier. “More important is the fact that the council as a whole, in spite of my earnest persuasion, seems to endorse your viewpoint. I can urge, expostulate, insinuate no longer, and I will now leave Castle Hagedorn. I find the atmosphere stifling. I trust that you survive the attack of the Meks, though I doubt that you will. They are a clever resourceful race, untroubled by qualms or preconceptions, and we have long underestimated their quality.”

Claghorn rose from his seat, inserted the ivory tablet into its socket “I bid you all farewell.” Hagedorn hastily jumped to his feet, held forth his arms imploringly. “Do not depart in anger, Claghorn! Reconsider! We need your wisdom, your expertise.”

“Assuredly you do,” said Claghorn. “But even more you need to act upon the advice I have already extended. Until then we have no common ground, and any further interchange is futile and tiresome.” He made a brief all-inclusive salute and departed the chamber.

Hagedorn slowly resumed his seat. The others made uneasy motions, coughed, looked up at the chandelier, studied their ivory tablets. 0. Z. Garr muttered something to B. F. Wyas who sat beside him, who nodded solemnly. Hagedorn spoke in a subdued voice: “We will miss the presence of Claghorn, his penetrating if unorthodox insights … We have accomplished little Uegus, perhaps you will give thought to the projector under discussion. Xanten, you were to question the captive Mek. 0. Z. Garr, you undoubtedly will see to the repair of the energy cannon ... Aside from these small matters, it appears that we have evolved no general plan of action, to help either ourselves or Janeil.”

Marune spoke. “What of the other castles? Are they still extant? We have had no news. I suggest that we send Birds to each castle, to learn their condition.”

Hagedorn nodded. “Yes, this is a wise motion. Perhaps you will see to this, Marune?”

“I will do so.”

“Good. We will now adjourn for a time.”

The Birds were dispatched by Marune of Aure and one by one returned. Their reports were similar:

“Sea Island is deserted. Marble columns are tumbled along the beach. Pearl Dome is collapsed. Corpses float in the Water Garden.”

“Maraval reeks of death. Gentlemen, Peasants, Phane—all dead. Alas! Even the Birds have departed!”

“Delora:
a ros ros ros!
A dismal scene! No sign of life to be found!”

“Alume is desolate. The great wooden door is smashed. The eternal Green Flame is extinguished.”

“There is nothing at Halcyon. The Peasants were driven into a pit.”

“Tuang: silence.”

“Morninglight: death.”