Brian Aldiss - Helliconia Summer

“If you mention Billish to anyone, I shall slip a little note to the Sibornalese representative here, and you will be in trouble. In this religious land, intercourse between Borlienese ladies and foreign ambassadors is strictly illegal. It always leads to blackmail—or murder. If word gets out about you and Pasharatid, you’ll never be seen again. Do we understand each other?”

“Oh, yes, you hrattock! Yes.”

“Good. That’s sensible. My advice is to keep your mouth and your legs closed. I’m going to take you to a friend of mine whom I have to see. He’s a scholar. He needs a housemaid. He will pay you regularly and well. I’m not a natural bully, Abathy, although I enjoy getting my way. So I am doing you a favour—for your mother’s sake as well as yours. You’d soon go to the bad on your own in Ottassol.”

He paused to see what she said, but she merely watched him with untrusting eyes.

“Remain with my scholarly friend in his comfortable home, and you will have no need to turn into a whore. You can probably find a good husband—you’re pretty and not a fool. It’s a disinterested offer.”

“And your friend’ll keep an eye on me for you, I suppose.”

He looked at her and pushed his lips forward in a pout. “He’s recently married and won’t molest you. Come. We’ll go and see him. Wipe your nose.”

Ice Captain Muntras called a one-wheeled sedan. He and AbathVasidol climbed in and off went the sedan, pulled by two veterans of the Western Wars, who had between them two-and-a-half arms, three legs, and about the same number of eyes.

In this style, they creaked through the underground lanes of Ottassol and eventually entered Ward Court, where daylight shone down brightly from the square of sky overhead. At the bottom of a flight of steps was a solid door with a sign above. They climbed out of the cramped conveyance, the veterans accepted a coin, and Muntras rang the doorbell.

It was hardly to be expected of a man in his profession that Bardol CaraBansity, deuteroscopist, should show surprise, whoever called on him; but he did raise an eyebrow at the girl while shaking the hand of his old acquaintance.

Over wine, which his loving wife served, CaraBansity professed himself delighted to instal AbathVasidol in his household.

“I don’t suppose you will wish to carry hoxney carcasses about, but there are less alarming jobs to be done. Good. Welcome.”

His wife appeared less delighted by the new arrangement, but said nothing.

“Then, sir, I shall be off, with grateful compliments to you both,” said Muntras, rising from his chair.

CaraBansity rose too, and this time there was no mistaking his surprise. Of recent years, the Ice Captain had developed leisurely habits. When delivering his fresh ice—of which the CaraBansity household and its corpses consumed a fair share—the trader generally settled in for a long pleasant talk. This haste must have some meaning, thought CaraBansity.

“In gratitude for the introduction to this young lady, I will at least ride with you back to your ship,” he said. “No, no, I insist.”

And he did insist, to such effect that the discomfited Muntras found himself in no time with his knees pressed against the deuteroscopist’s knees and their noses almost touching, and nowhere to cast his regard except into the eyes in front of his, as they jolted in a sedan towards the TRANSIT GOODS ONLY warehouse.

“Your friend SartoriIrvrash,” the Ice Captain said.

“Well, I trust?”

“No. The king’s dismissed him and he’s disappeared.”

“Sartori disappeared. Where?”

“If people knew where, it would not count as a disappearance,” said Muntras humourously, dislodging one knee.

“What happened, for beholder’s sake?”

“You’ve heard about the queen of queens, of course.”

“She came through here on her way to Gravabagalinien. According to the newsletter, five thousand hats were mislaid, having been thrown carelessly into the air as she arrived at the royal dock.”

“JandolAnganol and your friend fell out over the Massacre of the Myrdolators.”

“And then he disappeared?”

Muntras nodded his head so gently that their noses scarcely touched.

“Into the palace dungeons, where others have gone?”

“Very likely. Or was clever enough to flee the city.”

“I must discover what has happened to his manuscripts.”

Silence between them.

When the sedan chair reached the warehouse, Muntras said, resting his hand on the other’s sleeve. “You are too kind, but there is no need for you to get out.”

Looking as confused as possible, CaraBansity climbed out nevertheless. “Come, I know your ruse. A good one. My wife can become better acquainted with your pretty AbathVasidol while you and I have a quiet farewell drink aboard your boat, eh? Don’t think I didn’t grasp your scheme.”

“No, but—” While Muntras was anxiously paying off the sedan men, the deuteroscopist was marching in his ponderous way towards the dock where the Lordryardry Lady was tied.

“I expect you have a bottle of the Exaggerator aboard?” inquired CaraBansity cheerfully, as Muntras caught up with him. “And how did you acquire this young lady you have so kindly deposited with me?”

“She’s a friend of an old friend. Ottassol’s a dangerous place for innocent young girls like Abathy.”

There lay the Lordryardry Lady, with two phagor guards nearby, wearing armbands bearing the name of the company.

“I’m sorry, but I cannot let you aboard, my friend,” said Muntras, stepping into CaraBansity’s path, so that once more their eyes almost touched.

“Why, what’s the matter? I thought this was your last trip?”

“Oh, I shall be back… I live only just across the sea…”

“But you are always terrified of pirates.”

Muntras took a deep breath. “I will tell you the truth, and keep it under your palm. I have a case of plague on board. I should have declared it to the port authorities but I didn’t, being anxious to get home. I cannot let you on board. Definitely. It would endanger your life.”

“Mm.” CaraBansity wrapped a meaty fist round his chin, looking at Muntras from under his brow. “In my trade, I’m familiar with disease and probably immune to it. For the sake of the Great Exaggerator, I’ll take the risk.”

“No, sorry. You’re too good a friend to lose. I will see you again soon when I’m in less of a hurry, and we’ll drink ourselves under the table…” Talking in a distracted manner, he shook CaraBansity’s hand and almost ran from him. Pounding up the ship’s gangplank, he called out to his son and anyone else aboard that they were going to sail immediately.

CaraBansity stood on the quay, watching until the Ice Captain disappeared below decks. He then turned slowly on his heel and began walking away.

At a certain point into the lanes, he stopped short, snapped his fingers, and began to laugh. He thought that he had solved the minor mystery. To celebrate a further success to deuteroscopy, he turned into the next court and walked into a tavern where he was not known.

“A half-Exaggerator,” he ordered. A treat for himself, a reward. People gave themselves away with talk without knowing it, for the underlying reason that they hated the feeling of guilt and therefore betrayed themselves. With that understanding, he recalled what Muntras had said in the sedan.

“Into the palace dungeons…”

“Very likely.”

‘Very likely’ means neither yes nor no. Of course. The Ice Captain had rescued SartoriIrvrash from the king and was smuggling him to safety into Dimariam. The matter was too dangerous for Muntras to tell even SartoriIrvrash’s friend in Ottassol…