The Ringworld Throne (9 page)

Warvia said, “Very well, we understand.”

“Do you? We must not side with any hominid against any other. You all depend on us. Without the People of the Night, your corpses lie where they fall, diseases form and spread, your water becomes polluted,” the Ghoul woman sang in her high, pitched breathy voice.

She had made this speech before.
“We forbid cremation, but suppose we did not? What if every species had the fuel to burn their dead? Clouds still lid this sky forty-three falans after a sea was boiled. What if that were the smoke of the burned dead, a stench growing richer every falan? Do you know how many hominids of every species die in a falan? We do.

“We cannot choose sides.”

Chaychind hooki-Karashk had been flushing a darker red. “How can you speak of siding with vampires? With animals!”

“They don’t think,” said Harpster, “and you do. But can you always say that so surely? We know of hominids just at the edge of thinking, several just along this arc of the Arch. Some use fire if they find it, or form packs when prey is large and formidable. One strips branches into spears. One lives in water; they cannot use fire, but they flake rocks for knives. How do you judge? Where do you draw the line?”

“Vampires don’t use tools or fire!”

“Not fire, but tools. Under this endless rain vampires have learned to wear clothing stripped from their prey. When they are dry, they leave it like garbage.”

The Ghoul woman said, “You see why we should not rish with you, if we must refuse your other desires.” Grieving Tube did not see, chose not to see, the mixed emotions that statement generated.

Well, she must try something. Vala said, “Your help would be of immense value, if you had reason to give it. Already you have told us the reach of vampire depredations, and that they must return to their lair, that they have one single lair. What else could you tell us?”

Harpster shrugged, and Vala winced. His shoulders were terribly loose, like unconnected bones rolling freely under his skin.

She continued stubbornly, “I have heard a rumor, a story, a fable. The Machine People hear it where vampires are known. You must understand that to our client species far from Center City, there’s no real explanation of how all these vampires appeared so suddenly.”

“They have a high breeding rate,” Harpster noted.

Grieving Tube said, “Yes, and clusters of them split from the main body to find other refuges. Ten daywalks was
not
too large a guess.”

The others, even Chaychind, were letting Vala speak. Vala said, “But a less sensible explanation spreads, too. The victim of a vampire will rise from the dead to become a vampire himself.”

“That,” said Harpster, “is purest nonsense!”

And of course it was. “Of course it is, but it explains how the plague spreads so rapidly. See it from the viewpoint of a—“ Careful now. “—Hanging Person widow and mother.” Hanging People were everywhere. Vala set one hand on the beam overhead, lifted her feet to hang, and said, “What is to be done, lest my poor dead Vaynya become my enemy in the night? The lords of the night forbid us to burn the dead. But sometimes they permit it—“

“Never,” said Grieving Tube.

Vala said, “Starboard-spin from Center City by twelve daywalks, there are memories of a plague—“

“Long ago and far away,” Harpster snapped. “We designed the crematorium ourselves, taught them how to use it, then moved away. Years later we returned. The plague was beaten. The Digging People still cremated, but we persuaded them to leave their dead again. It was easily done. Firewood was scarce.

“You see the danger,” Vala said. “I don’t believe locals have started burning vampire victims yet—“

“No. We would see plumes of smoke.”

“—but if one client species begins, the rest might follow.”

Grieving Tube said sadly, “Then of course we’d have to do a deal of killing.”

Valavirgillin throttled a shudder. She bowed low and answered, “Why not begin now, with vampires?”

Grieving Tube mulled it. “Not so easy, that. They, too, command the night ...”

And Vala’s eyes closed for an instant.
Now it’s a problem, a challenge, and lesser species must see you solve it. Now I have you.

The Ghouls had cleared the grass away from a sizable section of tent floor. They were drawing in the dark, tweetling at each other in their own high-pitched language. They argued over some feature none other could see, and settled that, and Harpster stood up.

“When the shadow withdraws, you may examine these maps,” Harpster said. “For now let me only describe what you would see. Here, spin by port by two and a half daywalks, the ancient structure of an industrial center floats two tens of manheights above the ground.”

“I know of a floating city,” Vala said.

“Of course, near your Center City, a collection of free buildings linked. Floaters are rare enough these days. We think this one made machinery for the City Builders. Later it was abandoned.

“Vampires have lived beneath the Floater for many generations, for hundreds of falans. The perpetual shadow is perfect for vampires. Locals moved out of their reach long ago. Peaceful travelers and migrations were warned to avoid it. Warriors must look to themselves in that regard.

“This range of mountains to port and antispin of the Shadow Nest stands between there and here. It formed a barrier for the mirror-flowers. Hominids on the far side came to call it the Barrier of Flame, for the fire they could sometimes see playing along the crest.

“The flowers would ultimately have crossed the crest and burned out the Shadow Nest in their usual fashion. Vampires wouldn’t be safe from
horizontal
beams of light. But then the clouds came.”

Heads nodded in the dark. Harpster said, “The vampires’ range expanded by a daywalk. Grieving Tube is right, the damage is worse than that. Their population has grown, and hunger drives families of vampires into other domains.”

Valavirgillin asked, “Can you blow away the clouds?”

Both Ghouls hooted laughter. Grieving Tube said, “You want us to
move clouds
?”

“We beg.”

“Why do you think we could do such a thing as move clouds?”

Over the rising sounds of throttled laughter Valavirgillin said, “Louis Wu did that.”

Harpster said, “Omnivore Tinker. Not odd as hominids go, but from off the Arch, from the stars. He had tools to prove what he said he was, but we do not know that he made clouds.”

The Thurl spoke. “He did! He and the old Thurl boiled a sea to make these clouds above us—“

“Then go to him.”

“Louis Wu is gone. The old Thurl is gone.”

“We cannot move clouds. Our embarrassment is great.” Harpster laughed. “What can we do that you cannot do yourselves?”

The Thurl said, “We will use your maps, much thanks to you. I will lead an army of whatever species will fight. We will destroy this nest of vampires.”

“Thurl,
you
cannot go,” Grieving Tube said.

Harpster questioned. Grieving Tube began to explain, but the Thurl would not wait. “I am protector to my people! When we fight, I fight at the head—“

“In armor,” the Ghoul woman pointed out.

“Of course!”

“You must not wear armor. Your armor keeps your smell. You, all who fight, you must wear nothing. Bathe where you find water. Wash every surface of your cruisers and wagons. Can’t you see that the vampires must not smell you?”

Vala thought,
Oh.

“The bottleneck is the fuel,” Chitakumishad was saying. “The Reds make a beer, it can be turned into fuel—“

“Go to your war by way of the Red pastures. We can send them the design for your distilleries by a secret means, tomorrow. Let them make fuel there while you make fuel here from your own stills and rotting grass. You will confront the Shadow Nest no more than a falan from now.”

Chit nodded, his own mind busy with plans. “Fuel to take two cruisers there and back—“

“You must cross the Barrier of Flame. I think your cruisers can do that. There are passes.”

“Takes more fuel.”

“Fuel to explore, or for towels or flame throwers, would come out of what you have. What of it? Only in victory will you need fuel to return here, and then your third cruiser can meet you, or you may leave one behind.

“Travel in mated pairs,” Harpster said. “Grieving Tube and I will travel together. Thurl, we know your customs, but from time to time your tribe divides. Do it that way. Tegger, you and Warvia believe you can resist the vampires. It may be so, but what of these others? Let them mate when they must, and not rish with bloodsuckers. Anakrin, Chaychind, you have no mates. You should go home ...”

And the arguments began. No hominid here would uncritically accept a Ghoul’s plan for their war. But Vala remained silent and knew how much she had won.

They’re with us. They really are. And they’ll bathe ...

WEAVER TOWN, A.D. 2892

No telling how long the wizard had been there. The older children had gone into the Great Wood to compete at catching birds. The boy Parald threw with conspicuous grace; his net kept its shape longest, flew the farthest, though he’d caught only two. Strill was thinking how to speak to him, when she chanced to look up.

The wizard was out on the river, floating far above the silver water, on a thick coin-shaped support not much wider than a man is tall.

They shouted, beckoning him down. When he noticed them, he stopped his stately progress among the treetops, then descended gradually. He smiled and spoke in an unknown tongue. He was bald over most of his body, but that wasn’t rare among visitors.

They led him home, talking all the way. Some of the boys tested his knowledge with insults. Strill disapproved, and presently knew she was right.

The wizard never did learn their speech, barring a few basic words like “flup” and “rishathra,” but he wore a necklace that spoke like a teacher before they reached the village.

Anyone of a strange species might be a teacher. A wizard who flew, who was served by a magical translator, must have a good deal to teach.

Nine years now, since he’d left Kawaresksenjajok and Harkabeeparolyn; ten since Chmeee departed for the Map of Earth. Eleven years since they’d set sail aboard Hidden Patriarch. Twelve since their return to the Ringworld. Forty-one years since Louis Wu and his motley crew first touched down, cocooned in stasis, at 770 miles per second.

The first hominids they’d found had been small, furry religious fanatics.

These chattering youths were of that or a similar species. They were chin-high to Louis Wu and covered with fluffy blond fur, and wore kilts of muted browns. They threw their wonderfully patterned nets with wonderful skill, in this maze of bare trunks beneath branches spread like the caps of mushrooms.

They were friendly. Every species around the Great Ocean was friendly to strangers. Louis was used to it.

The oldest girl asked, “What shape is the world?”

Quiet fell and heads turned. Was it a test? “I should ask rather than tell, Strill. What shape is the world?”

“A circle, the shape of infinity, the Web Dweller says. I don’t understand, though. I see an arch, like—“ Strill pointed. There were small conical roofs below, sprouting among the trees: a sizable village strung along the river’s vastness. Upstream was an arch like the oft-rebuilt St. Louis Arch, broad at the base, narrowing as it rose. “—like the Upstream Gate.”

So that was all right. “The arch is the part of the ring you’re not standing on,” Louis said.
Web Dweller?

He was walking with one proprietary hand on the stacked cargo plates as they floated alongside him.

There were
millions
of these in the Repair Center beneath the Map of Mars. He’d welded some needed items to the topmost floating disk. These included handholds, a seat back, a bin for spare clothing and another for food, and a little attitude thruster, a spare part for the Hindmost’s probes. And ... well, he’d found that already in place after the battle eleven years ago. It was Teela Brown’s medkit.

Furry adults and small furry children saw the bird catchers returning early. Most stayed with their tasks, but a man and a woman waited at the arch to greet them.

Strill cried, “He’s a wizard! Kidada-sir, he says it’s a ring!”

The man glanced at the floating plates. He asked, “Do you
know
this?”

Louis said, “I’ve seen it. I’m Louis Wu of the Ball People.”

It shouldn’t have meant anything to them, but the Elders gaped and the children ooohed.

The woman said, “Louis Wu of the Ball People?” Age had put white in her golden fur, and more of that in the man’s. Their knee-length kilts were elaborate tapestries that would have been valuable in any culture. “I am Sawur and this is Kidada, both of the Council, both of the Weaver Folk. You are from nowhere on the Arch, yes? The Web Dweller has vouched for your power and wisdom.”

“Web Dweller?” How could anyone have known of him here?

Kidada said, “The Web Dweller is certainly of another world. It’s got two heads! And servants like itself in uncountable numbers.”