The Intercessors followed suit. "Death to Sklar Hast!"
Hesitantly, indecisively, other fists raised, then others and others- Some changed their minds and drew down their fists; others submitted to arguments and either drew down their fists or thrust them high; some raised their fists only to have others pull them down. Altercations sprang up across the float; the hoarse sound of contention began to make itself heard. Barquan Blasdel leaned forward in sudden concern, calling for calm. Sklar Hast likewise started to speak, but he desisted-because suddenly words were of no avail. In a bewildering, almost magical, shift the placid convocation had become a melee. Men and women tore savagely at each other, screaming, cursing, raging, squealing. Emotion accumulated from childhood, stored and constrained, had suddenly exploded; and the identical fear and hate had prompted opposite reactions. Across the float the tide of battle surged, out into the water where staid Bezzlers and responsible Larceners sought to drown each other. Few weapons were available: clubs of stalk, a bone axe or two, a half-dozen stakes, as many knives. While the struggle was at its most intense King Kragen once more surfaceed, this time a quarter-mile to the north from whence he turned his vast incurious gaze upon the float.
The fighting slowed and dwindled, from sheer exhaustion.
The combatants drew apart into panting bleeding groups. In tile lagoon floated half a dozen corpses; on the float lay as many more. Now for the first time it could be seen that those who stood by Sklar Hast were considerably outnumbered, by almost two to one, and also that this group included for the most part the most vigorous and able of the craftsmen, though few of the Masters: about half of the Hoodwinks, two-thirds of the Scriveners, relatively few from the Jacklegs, Advertisermen. Niggiers and other low castes, fewer still of the Arbiters and no Intercessors whatever.
Barquan Blasdel, still on the rostrum, cried out, "This is a sorry day indeed; a sorry day! Sklar Hast, see the anguish you have brought to the floats! There can be no mercy for you now!"
Sklar Hast came forward, pale and flaming-eyed. Blood coursed down his face from me slash of knife. Ignoring Blasdel, he mounted the rostrum, and addressed the two groups:
"As Blasdel the Intercessor has said, there is no turning back now. So be it. Let those who want to serve King Kragen remain. Let those who want free lives go forth across the sea.
There are floats to north and south, to east and west, floats as kind and hospitable as these, where we will soon have homes as rich and modern-perhaps more so."
Barquan Blasdel stroked forward. "Go then! AU you faithless, you irreverent ones-get hence and good riddance! Go where you will, and never seek to return when the teeming kragen, unchided by the great King, devour your sponges, tear your nets, crush your coracles!"
"The many cannot be as rapacious as the one," said Sklar Hasl. "You who will go then, return to your floats, load tools and cordage, all your utile goods into your coracles. In two days we depart. Our destination and other details must remain secret. I need not explain why." He cast an ironic look toward Barquan Blasdel.
"You need not fear our interference," said Blasdel. "You may depart at will; indeed we will facilitate your going."
"On the morning of the third day hence, then, when the wind blows fair, we depart."
Chapter III
Barquan Blasdel the Apprise Intercessor, with his spouse and six daughters, occupied a pad to Ac north of the main float, somewhat isolated and apart. It was perhaps the choicest and most pleasant pad of the Apprise complex, situated where Blasdel could read the hoodwink towers of Apprise, of Quatrefoil and the Bandings to the east, of Granolt to the west.
The pad was delightfully overgrown with a hundred different plants and vines: some yielding resinous pods. others capsules of fragrant sap, others crisp tendrils and shoots. Certain shrubs produced stains and pigment; a purple-leaved epiphyte yielded a rich-flavored pith. Other growths were entirely ornamental-a situation not too usual along the floats, where space was at a premium and every growing object weighed for its utility. Along the entire line of floats few pads could compare to that of Barquan Blasdel for beauty, variety of plantings, isolation and calm.
In late afternoon of the second day after the turbulent convocation, Barquan Blasdel returned to his pad. He dropped the painter of his coracle over a stake of carved bone, gazed appreciatively into the west. The sun had only just departed the sky, which now glowed with effulgent greens, blues, and. at die zenith, a purple of exquisite purity. The ocean, shuddering to the first whispers of the evening breeze, reflected me sky, Blasdel felt surrounded, immersed in color. He aimed away, marched to his house, whistling a complacent time between his teeth. On the morrow the most troublesome elements of all the floats would depart on the morning breeze, and no more would be heard from them ever. And Blasdel's whistling became slow and thoughtful. Although life flowed smoothly and without contention, over the years a certain uneasiness and dissatisfaction had begun to make itself felt.
Dissident elements had begun to question the established order. The sudden outbreak of violence at the convocation perhaps had been inevitable: an explosion of suppressed or even unconscious tensions. But all was working out for the best. The affair could not have resolved itself more smoothly if he had personally arranged the entire sequence of events.
At one stroke all the skeptics, grumblers, ne'er-do-wells, the covertly insolent, the obstinate hardheads-at one stroke, all would disappear, never again to trouble the easy and orthodox way of life.
Almost jauntily Barquan Blasdel ambled up the path to his residence: a group of five semidetached huts. screened by the garden from the main float, and so providing a maximum of privacy for Blasdel, his spouse and his six daughters. Blasdel halted. On a bench beside the door sat a man. Twilight murk concealed his face. Blasdel frowned, peered. Intruders upon his private pad were not welcome. Blasdel marched forward.
The man rose from the bench and bowed: it was Phyral Berwick, the Apprise Arbiter. "Good evening," said Berwick. "I trust I did not startle you."
"By no means," said Blasdel shortly. With rank equal to his own Berwick could not be ignored, although after his unconventional actions at the convocation Blasdel could not bring himself to display more man a minimum of formal courtesy. He said, "Unfortunately I was not expecting callers and can offer you no refreshment."
"A circumstance of no moment," declared Berwick. "I desire neither food nor drink." He waved his hand around the pad. "You live on a pad of surpassing beauty, Barquan Blasdel. There are many who might envy you."
Blasdel shrugged. "Since my conduct is orthodox, I am armored against adverse opinion. But what urgency brings you here? I fear that 1 must be less than ceremonious; I am shortly due at the hoodwink tower to participate in a coded all-float conference."
Berwick made a gesture of polite acquiescence. "My business is of small moment. But I would not keep you standing out here in the dusk. Shall we enter?"
Blasdel grunted, opened the door. allowed Berwick to enter. From a cupboard he brought luminant fiber, which he set aglow and arranged in a holder. Turning a quick side glance toward Berwick he said. "In all candor I am somewhat surprised to see you. Apparently you were among the most vehement of those dissidents who planned to depart."