The Blue World Read Free

Ixon Myrex, the Float Arbiter. Nevertheless Sklar
Hast found a dozen reasons why Meril Rohan should not become spouse
to Semm Voiderveg, and he was not at all diffident in imparting them.
    “He’s an old
man! You’re hardly more than a girl! He’s probably an Eighth! Maybe a
Ninth.”
    “He’s not so
old. Ten years older than you, or so I should guess. Also he’s a
Tenth.”
    “Well, you’re
an Eleventh, and I’m an Eleventh!”
    Meril Rohan looked
at him, head at a sidelong tilt, and Sklar Hast suddenly became aware
of matters he had never noticed before: the clear luminosity of her
skin, the richness of her dark curls, the provocative quality that
once had seemed boyish abruptness but now was—something else.
    “Bah,”
muttered Sklar Hast. “You’re both insane, the pair of you. He
for wiving without a test, you for Ringing yourself into the
household of a kragen-feeder. You know his caste? He’s only a
Hooligan.”
    “What a
disrespectful attitude!” she exclaimed. “Semm Voiderveg is
Intercessor!”
    Sklar Hast peered
frowningly at her in an attempt to learn if she was serious. There
seemed to be a lightness to her voice, a suppressed levity which he
was unable to interpret. “What of it?” he asked. “When
you add everything together, the kragen is only a fish. A large fish,
true. Still, it seems foolish making so much ceremony over a fish.”
    “If he were an
ordinary fish, your words would have meaning,” said Meril Rohan.
“King Kragen is not a fish, and he is—extraordinary.”
    Sklar Hast made a
bitter sound. “And you’re the one who went to Quatrefoil to
become a scrivener! How do you think Voiderveg will take to your
unorthodox ideas?”
    “I don’t
know.” Meril Rohan gave her head a frivolous toss. “My
father wants me married. As spouse to the Intercessor I’ll have time
to work on my analysis.”
    “Disgusting,”
said Sklar Hast, and walked away. Meril Rohan gave her shoulders a
shrug and went her own way.
    Sklar Hast brooded
on the matter during the morning and later in the day approached
Zander Rohan: a man as tall as himself, with a great mop of white
hair, a neat white beard, a pair of piercing gray eyes, a pinkish
complexion, and a manner of constant irascible truculence. In no
respect did Meril Rohan resemble her father save in the color of her
eyes.
    Sklar Hast, who had
the least possible facility with tact or subtlety, said, “I’ve
been speaking to Meril. She tells me you want her to espouse
Voiderveg.”
    “Yes,”
said Zander Rohan. “What of it‘?”
    “It’s a poor
match. You know Voiderveg: he’s portly, pompous, complacent,
obstinate, stupid—“
    “Here, here!”
exclaimed Rohan. “He’s Intercessor to Tranque Float! He does my
daughter great honor by agreeing to test her!”
    “Hmm.”
Sklar Hast raised his eyebrows. “She told me he’d waived
testing.”
    “As to that, I
can’t say. If so, the honor is even greater.”
    Sklar Hast drew a
deep breath and made a hard decision. “I’ll marry her,” he
growled. “I’ll waive testing. It would be a much better match
for her.”
    Rohan drew back,
lips parted in an unpleasant grin.
    “Why should I
give her to an assistant hoodwink when she can have the Intercessor?
Especially a man who thinks he’s too good for her, to begin with!”
    Sklar Hast held
back his anger. “I am a Hoodwink, as is she. Do you want her
attached to a Hooligan?”
    “What
difference does it make? He is Intercessor!”
    “I’ll tell you
what difference it makes,” said Sklar Hast. “He can’t do
anything except caper for the benefit of a fish. I am Assistant
Master Hoodwink, not just an assistant hoodwink. You know my
quality.”
    Zander Rohan
compressed his lips, gave his head a pair of short sharp jerks. “I
know your quality—and it’s not all it should be. If you
expect to master your craft, you had best strike the keys with more
accuracy and use fewer paraphrases. When you meet a word you can’t
wink,