“Yes, it is. And Canopus will now leave,” I said. I put my hand at Nasar’s elbow, afraid at this last moment that he would simply shake me off in repulsion because this touch was not hers.
“Nasar,” she said softly, and the sound of it struck through me and I could feel him shiver.
“Come,” I said softly. He gave a sort of groan and left himself in my hands. Gently directing him, I went with him through the parting in the gaily coloured curtains beyond which we could see the verandah with its exquisite pillars, the glowing braziers.
Just behind us I could sense the three Puttiorans.
We went to the edge of the verandah. On a long low bench one of the revelers lay sprawled, his cheek in his vomit—the sight of it seemed to strengthen Nasar.
“Be careful,” he muttered, and we turned together to face the three evil ones, their hands outstretched for my headband, which was the easiest to take.
“It would kill you,” I said coldly, and with contempt.
And daring to do it, I turned my back on them and at Nasar’s urging ran down the steps into the snow, which was still smothering everything.
I could hear the feet of the Puttiorans scraping and slipping on the steps.
“I do not think you have understood,” said Nasar, into the whiteness. “This lady is from the High Command of Canopus. You know what the agreement is.”
I saw their stone faces looming vaguely in the white—and then vanish.
“Call a chair,” said Nasar to them. I saw the bearers shaking themselves free of the snow as they laboured running under the box-conveyance, but when we were in the box, Nasar and I, I had no time to think of them or of the Puttiorans, for now Nasar slumped back in the box, his eyes shut, breathing as if he were very ill, and shaking all over. Then his eyes were open and they stared, and from them poured liquid. Canopeans do not, normally, weep—that is behind them. The fact that Nasar wept now said everything.
I remained quiet. I was bracing for what I thought would happen—and it did. When we were deposited at the foot of the great cone that soared above us into the whirling storm, the winds whining around it, there were the three stone men waiting for us.
“Nasar,” I said, “one more effort; they are here.”
Again he seemed to shudder as he took command of himself. We descended from the box, and walked straight up to the three.
“You are fools,” said Nasar, using contempt like a weapon.
“You gave us these,” we heard, and saw the hands stroking the golden earrings on those narrow rims around their ears. “You gave us these…”
“Give them back,” I said. “Canopus commands… But they were running off into the white, for they weren’t going to give up this fancied authority of theirs—for now I understand that this indeed was how they saw it. All the bits of gold and metal and buttons and bracelets—they believed them to be intrinsic and unchanging substance of Canopus and authority for themselves.
I saw Nasar staring after them, with the sombre anger that I was ready to believe was not only the characteristic of his subjection to this place but his characteristic and even, possibly, a Canopean characteristic.
And again, my thought was answered: “Oh no,” he said, “that is not so. Believe me, fair Sirian. You must not think that, for your own sake…” and I saw him gazing at my earrings, my other appurtenances, and in such a way that for a moment I fancied myself back in the hands of the hungry ones in Elylé’s house.
I walked swiftly away from him started up the stairs. So we went up together, I first, he behind, up and around, and around, and around, until we reached the top.
I knew that I had by no means finished the battle: and that more was to come. I was prepared to face him then, as we entered that half-circle of a room, whose windows were showing a grey daylight where snow whirled. But Nasar staggered forward and had fallen across piles of cushions before I was fairly inside. I put some coverings over him and retired next door where I sat quietly in a window opening to watch the day come, a grey-gold light behind the white whirl.
And what I was thinking then was not of what I was going to have to fight out with him but of those privileged citizens of Koshi in their soft-lit and luxurious rooms.
It will not, I am sure, come as a surprise to any of my readers that I was thinking of the problem Sirius has perennially had with a privileged class, which seems to re-create itself constantly and everywhere. I am sure there are those have been wondering why I have not made the comparison more strongly before—particularly as I am known to have always been of the administrative party that has sought to check these privileged classes, when it has not been possible to prevent their emergence. I have more than once put forward the view that the possibility is we exaggerate the importance of this phenomenon. If a corrupt class can be expected to form, always and invariably, then this is as a result of, concomitant with, the strengthening and enlarging of a larger, and generally vigorous and active, class on which the effete ones float like scum on a wave. Has there ever been a society without its spoiled and rotten minority? Would it not be better to expect this, and to legislate limits to what cannot be prevented, rather than allowing fear of it to prevent reforming efforts to be made at all—for that was what tended to happen. There was for a time—students of this particular sociological problem will be familiar with it—a very vocal faction putting forward the point of view that there is no point whatever in making revolutions (this was particularly strong after the rebellions on our Colonised Planets during the phase of our Dark Age) because any revolution, no matter how pure and inspired, can be guaranteed to produce a privileged class within a generation. Worse; it was held that it was useless even to reform and reconstruct a society, for the same reason.
This point of view certainly had the effect of causing a slump in morale, and a general pessimism, and had to be proscribed for a time because of this. Yes, we (that is, the administrative class) were indeed aware of the humour of the situation: that we were imposing the strictest penalties on the proponents of the viewpoint that the rulers (for we are certainly that) must not be attacked and criticised because our continual tendency towards corruption must not only be expected but cannot be averted: we were vigorously encouraging opposition and criticism, even to the extent, at one point, of actually setting up a party ourselves—secretly, of course—so alarmed were we at the pervasive cynicism and disgust. I myself was too well known a figure to be one of these individuals, but three of my progeny (not by Ambien I) took part, and so I had the benefit of their reports. It is my view now, after what I am sure must be conceded as pretty long and thorough experience, that there is nothing to be done to prevent an effete class; it can be postponed for a time, at the best. But it certainly can be circumscribed, and a difficulty in the way of such circumscription is a too-violent, an emotional judgement of such—after all—weak and pointless people. There has never been a self-indulgent privileged class that has not destroyed itself, or allowed itself to be destroyed, almost as soon it has come into being and grown, and flourished… temporarily.
But as I watched the snow fall there, with these thoughts in my mind, I was again wondering about Canopus: how did that great Empire deal with these problems? If they had them at all?—for we had never heard of them! And if they did not arise with them, why not?
I did not sit alone there for long. I listened for sounds on the other side of the dividing wall, for I had a good idea that Nasar was in too poor an emotional state to rest, let alone sleep. I heard him moving about, clumsily and roughly. There was a silence for a while, but then I heard him enter from the stairs—he had been to the foodshop. He muttered, then he groaned. I believed I heard him weep.