Jack Vance - The Languages of Pao

The two men were silent, watching the afterglow. Bustamonte spoke in a heavy voice, “Beran must die. The fact of patricide is clear.”

“You over-react to the situation,” observed Palafox mildly. “Your remedies are worse than the ailment.”

“I act as I think necessary,” snapped Bustamonte.

“I will relieve you of the child,” said Palafox. “He may return with me to Breakness.”

Bustamonte inspected Palafox with simulated surprise. “What will you do with young Beran? The idea is ridiculous. I am prepared to offer you a draft of females to augment your prestige, or for whatever peculiar purpose you require these female herds.”

“Our purposes are hardly peculiar.”

“Well,” Bustamonte shrugged, “we will discuss this later. But now I give orders in regard to Beran.”

Palafox looked away into the dusk, smiling. “You fear that Beran will become a weapon against you. You want no possible challenge.”

Bustamonte’s round face twisted into a cunning leer. “It would be banal to deny it.”

Palafox stared into the sky. “You need not fear him. He would remember nothing.”

“What is your interest in this child?” demanded Bustamonte.

“Consider it a whim.”

Bustamonte was curt. “I must disoblige you.”

“I make a better friend than enemy,” Palafox said softly.

Bustamonte stopped short in his tracks. He nodded, suddenly amiable. “Perhaps I will reconsider. After all, the child can hardly cause trouble … Come along, I will take you to Beran; we will observe his reaction to the idea.”

Bustamonte marched off, rocking on his short legs. Smiling faintly, Palafox followed.

At the portal, Bustamonte muttered briefly to the captain of the Mamarone. Palafox, coming after, paused beside the tall black neutraloid, let Bustamonte proceed out of earshot. He spoke, tilting his head to look up into the harsh face.

“Suppose I were to make you a true man once more—how would you pay me?”

The eyes glowed, muscles rippled under the black skin. The neutraloid replied in the strange soft voice of its kind: “How would I pay you? By smashing you, by crushing your skull. I am more than a man, more than four men—why should I want the return of weakness?”

“Ah,” marveled Palafox. “You are not prone to weakness?”

“Yes,” sighed the neutraloid, “indeed I have a flaw.” He showed his teeth in a ghastly grin. “I take an unnatural joy in killing; I prefer nothing to the strangling of small pale men.”

Palafox turned away, entered the pavilion.

The door closed behind him. He looked over his shoulder. The captain stood glaring through the transparent panel. Palafox looked to the other entrances; Mamarone stood at vigilance everywhere.

Bustamonte sat in one of Aiello’s black foam chairs. He had flung a black cloak over his shoulders, the Utter Black of a Panarch.

“I marvel at you men of Breakness,” said Bustamonte. “Your daring is remarkable! So casually do you put yourselves into desperate danger!”

Palafox shook his head gravely. “We are not so rash as we seem. No dominie walks abroad without means to protect himself.”

“Do you refer to your reputed wizardry?”

Palafox shook his head. “We are not magicians. But we have surprising weapons at our command.”

Bustamonte surveyed the brown and gray costume which afforded no scope for concealment. “Whatever your weapons, they are not now in evidence.”

“I hope not.”

Bustamonte drew the black cloak over his knees. “Let us put ambiguity aside.”

“Gladly.”

“I control Pao. Therefore I call myself Panarch. What do you say to that?”

“I say that you have performed an exercise in practical logic. If you now bring Beran to me, the two of us will depart and leave you to the responsibilities of your office.”

Bustamonte shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Impossible? Not at all.”

“Impossible for my purposes. Pao is ruled by continuity and tradition. Public emotion demands Beran’s accession. He must die, before news of Aiello’s death reaches the world.”

Palafox thoughtfully fingered the black mark of his mustache. “In that case it is already too late.”

Bustamonte froze. “What do you say?”

“Have you listened to the broadcast from Eiljanre? The announcer is speaking at this moment.”

“How do you know?” demanded Bustamonte.

Palafox indicated the sound-control in the arm of Bustamonte’s chair. “There is the means to prove me wrong.”

Bustamonte thrust down the knob. A voice issued from the wall, thick with synthetic emotion. “Pao, grieve! All Pao, mourn! The great Aiello, our noble Panarch is gone! Dole, dole, dole! Bewildered we search the sad sky, and our hope, our only sustention in this tragic hour is Beran, the brave new Panarch! Only let his reign prove as static and glorious as that of great Aiello!”

Bustamonte swung upon Palafox like a small black bull. “How did the news get abroad?”

Palafox replied with easy carelessness. “I myself released it.”

Bustamonte’s eyes glittered. “When did you do this? You have been under constant surveillance.”

“We Breakness dominie,” said Palafox, “are not without subterfuge.”

The voice from the wall droned on. “Acting under the orders of Panarch Beran, the Mamarone have efficiently subaqueated the responsible criminals. Ayudor Bustamonte is serving Beran with wholehearted loyalty, and will help maintain equilibrium.”

Bustamonte’s fury seethed to the surface. “Do you think you can thwart me by such a trick?” He signaled the Mamarone. “You wished to join Beran. So you shall—in life and, at tomorrow’s first light, in death.”

The guards were at Palafox’s back. “Search this man!” cried Bustamonte. “Inspect him with care!”

The guards subjected Palafox to a most minute scrutiny. Every stitch of his clothes was examined; he was patted and prodded with complete lack of regard for dignity.

Nothing was discovered; no tool, weapon or instrument of any kind. Bustamonte watched the search in unashamed fascination, and seemed disappointed at the negative result.

“How is this?” he asked scornfully. “You, a Wizard of Breakness Institute! Where are the devices, the infallible implements, the mysterious energetics?”

Palafox, who had submitted to the search without emotion, replied in a pleasant voice, “Alas, Bustamonte, I am not at liberty to answer your questions.”

Bustamonte laughed coarsely. He motioned to the guard. “Take him to confinement.”

The neutraloids seized Palafox’s arms.

“One final word,” said Palafox, “for you will not see me again on Pao.”

Bustamonte agreed. “Of this I am sure.”

“I came at Aiello’s wish to negotiate a contract.”

“A dastardly mission!” Bustamonte exclaimed.

“Rather an exchange of surpluses to satisfy each of our needs,” said Palafox. “My wisdom for your population. It is a sensible offer.”

“I have no time for abstruseness.” Bustamonte motioned to the guards. They urged Palafox toward the door.

“Allow me my say,” spoke Palafox gently. The guards paid him no heed. Palafox made a small twitch; the neutraloids cried out and sprang away from him.

“What’s this?” cried Bustamonte, jumping to his feet.

“He burns! He radiates fire!”

Palafox spoke in his quiet voice, “As I say, we will not meet again on Pao. But you will need me, and Aiello’s bargain will seem very reasonable. And then you must come to Breakness.” He bowed to Bustamonte, turned to the guards. “Come, now we will go.”

Beran sat with his chin on the window sill, looking out into the night. The surf phosphoresced on the beach, the stars hung in great frosty clots. Nothing else could be seen.