Jack Vance - Gaean Reach 01 by Gray Prince Page A

years no Uldra has entered our Great Hall. I don’t care to break this tradition. Not even for Jorjol.”
    “But it’s a cruel tradition and not worth keeping. We’re not bigots, you and I—even if Father was. Let’s live our lives more reasonably.”
    “I am not a bigot; I am very reasonable indeed. In fact, I realize that Jorjol cunningly chose this time—today—to try to force a submission upon us. He won’t succeed.”
    “I can’t understand you!” cried Schaine in a passion. “We’ve known Jorjol since we were little. He saved your life at risk of his own and it’s absolutely absurd that he can’t have lunch with us as any ordinary person might.”
    With raised eyebrows Kelse looked Schaine up and down. “I’m surprised that you don’t understand the significance of all this. We hold Morningswake not through the forbearance of others, but because we are strong enough to protect what is ours.”
    Schaine said in disgust: “You’ve been talking to Gerd Jemasze. He’s worse even than Father.”
    “Schaine, my naïve little sister, you simply don’t understand what’s going on.”
    Schaine controlled her exasperation. “I know this: Jorjol the Gray Prince is welcome anywhere in Olanje; it seems strange that he can’t be treated equally well here, where he grew up.”
    “Circumstances are different,” said Kelse patiently. “In Olanje there’s nothing to lose; the folk can afford the luxury of abstract principles. We’re Outkers in the middle of the Alouan; if we falter, we’re done.”
    “What’s that got to do with treating Jorjol in a civilized manner?”
    “Because he’s not here in a civilized manner! He’s here as a Blue of the Retent. If he came here in Outker clothes, using Outker manners and not reeking of azure oil—in other words, if he came here as an Outker, then I would treat him as an Outker. But he doesn’t do this. He comes flaunting his Uldra clothes, his blue skin, his Redemptionist bias—in short, he challenges me. I react. If he wants to enjoy Outker privileges, such as dining in our Great Hall, then he must make himself respectable by my standards. It’s as simple as that.”
    Schaine could think of nothing to say. She turned away. Kelse said to her back: “Go talk to Kurgech; ask his opinion. In fact, we’ll ask Kurgech to join us for lunch.”
    “Now you’re really trying to offend Jorjol.”
    Kelse uttered a wild bitter laugh. “You want it both ways! We mustn’t invite one Uldra because that would offend another.”
    “You don’t reckon with Jorjol’s opinion of himself—his self-image.”
    “And he intends to make me accept this self-image. I won’t do it. I didn’t invite him here; since he comes of his own volition, then he must adapt himself to us, not we to him.”
    Schaine stalked from the room and returned to the front piazza. “Kelse is up to his ears in the accounts,” she told Jorjol. “He sends his apologies and he looks forward to seeing you at lunch…Let’s all walk out to the river.”
    Jorjol’s face twitched. “Certainly; just as you like. In fact, I’ll enjoy revisiting the scenes of my most happy childhood.”
     
    The three wandered up the river to Shadow Lake where Uther Madduc had built a boathouse to house three skimmer sailboats. Elvo Glissam was his usual self; Jorjol’s mood altered each minute. At times he prattled nonsense, as light-hearted and charming as Elvo Glissam, then he would sigh and become melancholy over some reminiscence of his childhood, only to turn on Elvo Glissam to argue some minor point with fierce intensity. Schaine watched him in fascination, wondering at the emotions which surged through the proud narrow skull. She would not have wished to walk out alone with Jorjol; he would certainly have become ardent.
    Jorjol resented Elvo Glissam’s presence and disguised the fact with obvious effort. Once or twice Schaine thought he was on the verge of asking Elvo Glissam to leave, at which times she