The Crime—and Punishment—of Music
"What kind of a man is Dystar?"
The old man thrust his face forward. "Why do you ask this,
you who are to become a Pure Boy?"
"I have often wondered about my father."
"Very well, I wiil tell you. He played with passion, and
there was never any doubt as to his feelings. One night he
became furiously drunk. He played the gastaing, and all
who heard were deeply moved.
"Afterwards, so it is told, he ran out into the street, raving
that his tore choked him, and some saw him wrenching at
it. Whether he broke it and took his own head, or whether
the Faceless Man came by and disapproved, it is not known;
but in the morning his body was found, and the wonderful
head, so full of tunes, was gone..."

Other books by Jack Vance
THE GREEN PEARL
LYONESSE

JACK VANCE
THE
FACELESS
MAN
(Originally published as THE ANOME)
ACE SCIENCE FICTION BOOKS
NEW YORK

The Faceless Man was originally
published as The Anome.
All characters in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
THE FACELESS MAN
An Ace Science Fiction Book / published by arrangement with
the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Ace edition / June 1978
Second printing / May 1987
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1971 by Jack Vance.
Cover art by Peter Dana.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,
by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group.
200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
ISBN: 0-441-22555-1
Ace Science Fiction Books are published by
The Berkley Publishing Group,
200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Chapter 1
At the age of nine Mur heard a man in his moth-
er's rest cottage call out a jocular curse in the
name of the Faceless Man. Later, after the man
had gone his way, Mur put a question to his
mother. "Is the Faceless Man real?"
"He is real, indeed," replied Eathre.
Mur considered the matter for a period, then
asked, "How does he eat or smell or talk?"
Eathre, in her calm voice, replied, "I suppose
one way or another he manages."
"It would be interesting to watch," said Mur.
"No doubt."
"Have you ever seen him?"
Eathre shook her head. "The Faceless Man
never troubles the Chilites, so you need not con-
cern yourself for the Faceless Man." She added
as a musing afterthought: "For better or worse,
such is the case."
Mur, a child thin and somber, knit the black
brows that had come as a legacy from his un-
known blood-father. "Why should such a case be
better? Or worse?"
"What a vexatious child you are!" declared
Eathre without heat. Her lips twitched: perhaps
a twinge of chsein.* But she said, "If a person
breaks Chilite law, the Ecclesiarchs punish him.
* Chsein: (i) Conditioned recoil from a forbidden
thought. (2) Blindness or obliviousness to the actuality
of unfamiliar, forbidden, or unorthodox circumstances.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
If he runs away, the Faceless Man takes his
head." Eathre's hand went to her tore, a manner-
ism common to all the folk of Shant. "If you obey
Chilite law, you need never fear the loss of your
head. This is the "better.' In such a case, how-
ever, you are a Chilite, and this is the 'worse.'"
Mur said no more. The remarks were unset-
tling. Were his soul-father to hear, Eathre would
incur at least a reprimand. She might be trans-
ferred to the tannery, and Mur's world would be
shattered. The time left him "on mother's milk"
(to use the Chilite idiom) was short enough in any
event: three or four years. ... A wayfarer entered
the cottage. Earthre put a garland of flowers
around her brow and poured a goblet of wine.
Mur went to sit in the shade of the great rho-
dodendrons across the Way. To some such en-
counter he owed his existence, so he was aware;
an Original Guilt that he must expiate when he
became a Chilite Pure Boy. The whole process
taxed his mind. Eathre had borne four children.
Delamber, a girl of sixteen, already maintained
a cottage at the west end of the Way. The sec-
ond child, Blink, three years older than Mur, had
already put on the white robe of a Pure Boy and
had assumed the name Chalres Gargamet, com-
bining the virtues of Chalres, the Chilite ascetic
who had lived and died in the branches of the
Holy Oak, four miles up Mirk Valley, and Bastin
Gargamet, the master tanner who (while fuming
ahulph* hides) had discovered the sacramental
* Ahulph: a half-intelligent biped autochthonous to Dur-
dane, ranging wild in the backlands and wildernesses, on
occasion tamed, bred and crossbred for a variety of uses,
from unskilled labor and portage to house pets. When

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
qualities of galga.* The fourth child, born two
years after Mur, had been adjudged defective and
drowned in the tannery sump, with prejudice to-
ward Eathre, sexual eccentricity being held the
cause of fetal defects.
Mur sat under the rhododendrons scratching
patterns in the white dust and appraising those
who passed: a mercantilist driving a pacer-trap
rented at the balloon-way station in Canton
Seamus, then three young vagabonds; agricultural
workers by the green-brown verticals of their
torc-badges.
Mur stirred himself. His plot of fiber-trees
wanted tending; if the bobbins were allowed to
run slack, the thread became lumpy and coarse.
. . . A steam-powered dray came past, loaded
with fine long black-wood timbers. Mur, forgetting
fiber-trees, gave chase and hung dangling from
the end timber all the way to Mirk Bridge where
he dropped onto the road and watched the dray
rumble along the far wild road to the east. For a
period he dropped pebbles into the Mirk; just
above the bridge turned a waterwheel to grind
galls, alum, dye-stone, all manner of herbs, roots,
and chemicals for the tannery.
Mur idled back along Rhododendron Way, and
found the traveler departed. Eathre set out bread
and soup for his lunch. As Mur ate, he asked the
question that all morning had been tugging at a
corner of his mind. "Chaires resembles his soul-
sick, the ahulph exudes a detestable odor that excites
even itself to complaint.
* Galga: Dried leaves of the easil bush, pulverized, bound
with easil gum and ahulph blood: an important adjunct
to the spasmic Chilite worship of Galexis.

°5Q
THE FACELESS MAN
father, but I do not; isn't this strange?"
Eathre paused for knowledge to well up into
her mind: a wonderful elemental process, like
the flowering of trees or juice oozing from bruised
fruit. "Neither you nor Chalres have blood-con-
nection with Grand Male Osso or any other Chil-
ite. They have no knowledge of real women.
Chalres's father I do not know. Your blood-fa-
ther was a wanderer, a music-maker, one of those
who travel alone. I was sorry when he went his
way."
"He never came back?"
"Never."
"Where did he go?"
Eathre shook her head. "Such as Dystar wan-
der all the cantons of Shant."
"And you could not go with him?"
"Not while Osso holds my indenture."
Mur ate his soup in thoughtful silence.
Into the cottage came Delamber, a cloak over
her striped gown of green and blue. Like Mur,
she was slender and serious; like her mother, she
was tall and as softly even as a flowing river. She
sank into a chair. "Already I am tired; I have had
three musicians from the camp. The last was
most difficult and full of talk as well. He decided
to tell me of certain barbarians, the Roguskhoi:
great drunkards and great lechers. Have you
heard of them?"
"Yes," said Eathre. "The man who just now de-
parted regards them with great respect. He de-
scribed their lust as beyond the usual, from which
no woman is safe, nor do they pay."
"Why doesn't the Faceless Man drive them
away?" demanded Mur.
"Wild folk wear no tores; the Faceless Man

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
can't deal with them. In any event they have been
beaten back and are no longer considered a
threat."
Eathre served tea; Mur took two nut-cakes and
went out into the garden behind the cottage
where he heard the voice of Chalres, his soul-
brother.
Mur looked around without enthusiasm. Down
the hillside sauntered Chalres, halting at the
edge of the garden where he dared not venture
for fear of defilement. Chalres, who bore no re-
semblance to Mur, was thin and tall, with small
sharp features in constant agitation. His eyes
blinked, bulged, screwed up, rolled right and
left; his nose twitched; he grinned, grimaced,
sneered, showed his teeth, licked his lips, guf-
fawed when a chuckle might have sufficed; he
scratched his nose, rubbed his ears, made wide,
ungainly gestures. Mur had long wondered why
he and Chalres differed in so many attributes. Did
they not share the same mother, the same soul-
father? To some extent Chalres resembled their
mutual soul-father Great Male Osso, who was
himself tall, sallow, and thin as a bell-ringer.
"Come along," said Chalres, "you are to pick
berries."
"I to pick berries? Who said I must?"
"I say so, and to ensure purity from woman-
taint, I have brought sacramental gloves for you.
Take care to breathe off to the side and all will
be well. What is that you are eating?"
"Nut-cakes."
"Hmmf ... I have had nothing this morning
but biscuit and water. . . . No. I dare not. Osso
would learn. He has a nose like an ahulph. Here,
take this." He tossed Mur a basket containing

°5Q
THE FACELESS MAN
white gloves: Chalres's own, Mur suspected,
which even as a Pure Boy he was required to
wear while handling food. Chalres, it seemed,
valued his ease more than he feared defiling the
food, which was for the Chilites' table, in any
event.
Mur, while not overly fond of Chalres, felt a
certain sympathy for his privations; in so short a
time they would be inflicted on Mur himself. He
took the basket without protest: if the fraud were
discovered it was Chalres who would pay. He
asked grudgingly, "Do you want a nut-cake? Or
not?"
Chalres searched the hillside, the white bulk
of Bashon Temple, the row of dark bays under
the walls where the Pure Boys made their dens.
"Come over to the apar tree."
Behind the apar tree Chalres ceremoniously
donned the white gloves. Taking the nut-cake, he
devoured it in a gulp. Then, licking the crumbs
from his cheeks, he performed a set of uneasy
grimaces, coughing, twitching his nose, peering
up the hillside. At last, reassured, he made a
grand gesture to wipe the whole affair from mem-
ory.
The two set off toward the berry patch at the
western end of Bhododendron Way, Chalres
pointedly maintaining a distance between himself
and his unpurified soul-brother.
"Tonight the Ecclesiarchs meet in Doctrinal
Conclave," Chalres told Mur with the air of one
imparting important news. "They make a dessert
of berries, and a great basket is required. Would
you believe it? I have been sent forth alone to
pluck this massive quantity. For all the delicacy
of their ideals and the rigor of their determina-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
tion, they consume every bite put before them."
"Hah," said Mur in saturnine deprecation.
"How long until your own assumption?"
"A year. Already I grow body hair."
"Do you realize that once they clap a tore
around your neck, you may never again roam or
wander?"
Chalres sniffed. 'That is like saying: Once a
tree is grown, it may not become a seed again."
"Then you don't care to wander?"
Chalres gave a grumbling elliptical answer.
"Wanderers wear tores as well. Show me a wan-
derer without a tore and I will show you an out-
lander."
Mur had no ready response. Presently he
asked: "The Roguskhoi: are they outlanders?"
"The what? I've never heard of them."
Mur, with little more knoweldge than Chalres,
judiciously said no more. Passing the tree-silk
plantation, where Mur tended a plot of two
hundred bobbins, they descended to the berry
patch. Chalres halted and glanced back up to-
ward the temple. "Look now; you go yonder,
around and below to the low patch; I'll harvest
above, where those of the temple can observe and
approve, should they feel the inclination. Mind
you, wear the gloves I This is the minimum pre-
caution I can countenance."
"What of Osso's minimum?"
"As to that we can only speculate. I need at
least two basketfuls, so work at speed. Don't for-
get the gloves! The Chilites detect woman-taint
farther than an ordinary man smells smoke."
Mur descended to the lower verge of the berry
patch where he made a further detour to inspect

°5Q
THE FACELESS MAN
the camp of the musicians. This was an unusual-
ly large troupe, comprising seven wagons, each
painted in patterns of meaningful colors: light
blue for gaiety, pink for innocence, dark yellow
for sunuschein * gray-brown to affirm technical
competence.
The troupe was busy with camp routine: tend-
ing the draft animals, cutting vegetables into
cauldrons, flapping out shawls and blankets. As a
group they were considerably more effusive and
volatile than the Chilites; their gestures were
abrupt and often flamboyant; when they laughed,
they threw back their heads; even the chronical-
ly surly evinced their ill nature in unmistakable
poses. An old man sat on the steps of a wagon
fitting new pegs to a small crooknecked khitan.
Nearby a boy about Mur's own age practiced the
gastaing, striking runs and arpeggios while the
old man called gruff advice.
Mur sighed and, turning away, climbed the
slope into the berry patch. Ahead of him a blotch
of pale brown shifted and flickered; there was a
sound of rustling leaves. Mur stopped short, then
slowly advanced. Peering through the foliage,
he discovered a girl a year or two older than him-
self picking berries with great deftness, filling the
basket slung over her arm.
Indignant at the girl's trespass, Mur strode for-
ward, tripped on a dead branch, and crashed
down into a hag-bush. The girl turned half a
startled glance over her shoulder, dropped her
basket, and ran pell-mell through the berry patch,
* Sunuschein: reckless, feckless gaiety, tinged with fatal-
ism and tragic despair.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
skirt hiked up to her thighs. Mur hoisted himself
foolishly to his feet. He looked after the girl. He
had not meant to frighten her, but since the deed
was done, so be it! Scratched legs or not, she had
no business among the Chilite berries. He picked
up the basket she had dropped and with careful
malice poured the berries into his own basket.
Here were berries for the Conclave!
Thrusting the gloves into his pocket, he picked
for a period, working up the slope. Presently
Chalres hailed him. "Boy! Where are the berries?
Have you toiled or loitered?"
"See for yourself," said Mur.
Chalres peered into the basket, pointedly ignor-
ing the fact that Mur wore no gloves. "Hmm.
You've done quite well. Surprising. Well, then,
pour them in here. I'll say that's all there were to
be had. . . . Excellent. Ah yes, the gloves. You
are exceedingly neat." Chalres crushed a berry
between the fingers of the glove. 'That looks
somewhat better. Now, then, no tales." He shoved
his thin face fiercely into Mur's. "Remember, when
you're a Pure Boy, I'll be a Chilite—and much
sterner than I am now, for I can see that this is
how the tide runs 1" He returned up the hill to the
temple.
With nothing better to do, Mur picked a few
more berries for his mother, eating as many as he
dropped into the basket. Presently, as he had half-
expected, the pale brown smock of the wanderer
girl appeared somewhat down the slope. He ap-
proached slowly, making sure that she heard
him, and this time she showed no disposition to
flee. Instead, she came running forward, face
glowing with rage. "You little weirdling, you

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
frightened me; you took my berries! Where are
they now? Give them here before I pull those
ridiculous ears of yours!"
Mur, somewhat taken aback, strove to main-
tain an imperturbable Chilite dignity. "You need
not call names."
"I need to do so very much! How else should
I address a thief?"
"You are the thief; these are Chilite berry
grounds I"
The girl threw up her hands and gave a petu-
lant exclamation. "Who the thief and who not the
thief? It's all one, so long as I have my berries."
She snatched away Mur's basket, looked askance
at the handful she found there. "Was that all I
had picked?"
"There were more," declared Mur with stately
candor. "I gave them to my soul-brother. Don't be
annoyed; they go to the Chilite Conclave. Isn't it a
great joke? A woman has defiled the food!"
The girl once again became angry. "I defiled no
food! What do you take me for?"
"Perhaps you don't understand that—"
"Indeed not, and I never will! Not the Chilites!
I know your dirty ways! You drug yourselves with
smoke and dream lewd dreams; there never was
so odd a sect!"
"The Chilites are not a sect," stated Mur, recit-
ing the doctrine he had heard from Chalres. "I
can tell you little because as of yet I am not even
a Ture Boy' and won't have full control of my
soul for another three or four years. The Chilites
are the single emancipated and high-cultured
folk of Durdane. All other folk live by emotion;
the Chilites maintain an abstract and intellectual
existence."

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
The girl gave an offensive laugh. "You infant!
What do you know of other folk? You haven't set
foot a hundred yards down the road in either
direction."
Mur could not refute the jibe. "Well, I have
learned from the men who come to my mother's
cottage. And never forget, my blood-father was a
musician!"
"Indeed? What was his name?"
"Dystar."
"Dystar . . . Come over to the wagons. Ill learn
the truth about your father, what manner of mu-
sician he was."
Mur's heart beat faster; he drew back. "I'm not
sure I want to know."
"Why not? What are you afraid of?"
"I'm afraid of nothing. I am a Chilite, and
consequently—"
"Yes, yes; come along, then."
On leaden legs Mur followed, trying to strike
upon some convincing reason why he should not
go into the musician's camp. The girl looked
back, showing a bold and saucy grin, and finally
Mur became annoyed. She took him for a liar and
a freak, did she? Nothing could dissuade him
now. . . . They entered the musicians' camp.
"Azouk, Azouk!" cried a woman. "Are there ber-
ries? Bring them here."
"No berries," stated Azouk in disgust. "This lit-
tle thief took them from me. I brought him here
for a hiding."
"Come now," said the woman. "Do you have
berries or no?"
The girl gave over the near-empty basket with a
flourish. "It is as I said. This freaklet took them

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
and claims beside his father was a musician—a
certain Dystar."
"Well, and why not? Are musicians unlike
other men? Beget and forget, that's how it goes."
And she added, "His mother must be a methodical
woman."
Mur essayed a timid question. "Did you know
my father Dystar?"
The woman jerked her finger. "Ply the old man
with the broken khitan. He knows every drunken
musician of Shant. Come, you Azouk! Must you
idle away your life, you hussy? Fetch twigs and
foster the fire!" The woman went off to stir a
cauldron; with a saucy toss of the head, the girl
disappeared behind a wagon. Mur stood alone.
No one needed him. All the folk of the troupe
worked with intense concentration, as if their
immediate task were the most important act they
would ever undertake. In all the camp the old
man seemed the most relaxed, and even he
worked with zestful flourishes of his elbows and
intermittent pauses to scowl down at his handi-
work. Step by step Mur approached. The old man
flicked him a cool glance and began to fit a string
to the crooknecked khitan.
Mur watched in respectful silence. As the old
man worked, he hissed a tune through his teeth.
He dropped his awl; Mur picked it up and handed
it to him, and received another side glance. Mur
moved a step closer.
"Well, then," demanded the old man in a chal-
lenging voice, "do you consider the job well
done?"
After a moment's hesitation Mur said, "I would
think so. However, at Bashon we see few mu-
sical instruments. The Chilites prefer what they

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
call a 'clear, cold silence.' My soul-father, Osso
Higajou, is disturbed by the tinkle of a bell-bug."
The old man paused in his work. "That seems
a peculiar circumstance. What of yourself? Are
you a Chilite?"
"No, not yet. I live with my mother Eathre,
half along the Way. I'm not sure I want to be a
Chilite."
"And why not? They live easy enough, in 'clear,
cool silence,' with all their women to toil for
them."
Mur nodded sagely. "Yes, I suppose that's true
. . . But first I'd have to be a Pure Boy, and I don't
really want to leave my mother. Also my blood-
father was a musician. His name was Dystar."
"Dystar." The old man tautened the new
string and gave it a touch. "Yes; I know of Dystar.
A druithine."
Mur moved closer. "What is a druithine?"
"He is one who does not go with a troupe. He
wanders by himself; he carries a khitan, such as
this, or perhaps a gastaing; thus he is able to im-
port his wisdom and the circumstances of his
life."
"He sings?"
"Ah no, no indeed! No singing. That is for min-
strels and balladeers. We do not reckon singing
to be music; it is another matter entirely. Ha ha,
what would Dystar have said to that!"
"What kind of a man is Dystar?"
The old man thrust his face forward; Mur
jumped a step back. The old man demanded:
"Why do you ask this, you who are to become a
Pure Boy?"
"I have often wondered about my father."
"Very well, I will tell you. He was a strong,

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
harsh-faced man. He played with passion, and
there was never any doubt as to his feelings. And
do you know how he died?"
"I did not know he was dead."
"This is how the story goes. One night he be-
came furiously drunk. He played* the gastaing,
and all who heard were deeply moved. After-
wards, so it is told, he ran out into the street, rav-
ing that his tore choked him, and some saw him
wrenching at it. Whether he broke it and took his
own head, or whether the Faceless Man came by
and disapproved, it is hot known; but in the
morning his body was found, and the wonderful
head, so full of tunes, was gone." The old man
gave a fretful tug at his own tore. Mur noted his
colors: horizontals of purple and rose, indicating
lack of cantonal affiliation; verticals of gray and
brown, musicians' colors; a personal code of blue,
dark green, dark yellow, scarlet, blue and purple.
Mur felt his own neck, as yet naked. How would
it feel to be clamped with a tore? Some said
that for months, or even years, a person felt sti-
fled, in constant dread; Mur had heard of cases
where the person clamped became frantic and
broke the tore apart, taking his own head. Mur
licked his lips. The tores were necessary, but
sometimes he wished he might remain a child and
live with his mother in a pleasant cottage far
from Bashon and never be troubled by tore or
Chilite or Faceless Man or anyone.
The old man stroked the khitan, producing a
wistful set of chords. Mur watched the agile fin-
* Played: a feeble rendering of the Shant verb zuweshekar:
to use a musical instrument with such passion that the
music takes on a life of its own.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
gers with fascination. The tempo increased, the
melody jumped this way and that. . . . The old
man stopped playing. "That was a jig of Barbado,
which is a seaport to the south of Canton Enter-
land. How did you like it?"
"Very much."
The old man grunted. 'Take this khitan for
your own. Tomorrow, steal me a pelt of good
leather, or pick me a bucket of berries, or send
me only your good wishes—I do not care."
"I'll do all three!" cried Mur. "And more, if you
ask! But how can I learn the sleight?"
"No great matter if you strive. To alter key,
bend the neck; you need learn but a single set of
chords; the complete schedule is carved on the
back. As how to use the chords, that is a different
matter and derives from skill and long experience
of music and life." He raised his finger porten-
tously high. "When you become a great druithine,
remember that your first khitan came from Feld
Maijesto."
Mur held the instrument awkwardly. "I know
no tunes; at Bashon there is no music."
"Contrive your own tunes!" snapped the old
man. "Further, don't let soul-father Osso hear
you; don't ask him to sing to your music or youH
learn the meaning of trouble!"
Mur departed the musicians' camp, his head
effervescent with joy and wonder and disbelief for
the marvelous thing that had happened to him.
Stepping into the Way, he came to his senses
and stopped short. To carry this khitan home in
full view was to start gossip along a route lead-
ing to his soul-father. Osso would instantly order
the instrument destroyed as an article at odds
with the spare Chilite doctrines.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
By a devious route behind the rhododendrons,
Mur returned to the cottage-of his mother. She
showed no surprise at the sight of the khitan,
nor did Mur expect any of her. He told her all
that had happened to him and reported the death
of Dystar. She looked off into the dusk, for the
suns had set, and the sky was purple. "Just such
a way Dystar was fated to die; and after all it
was not so bad." She touched her own tore and,
turning away, prepared Mur's supper, taking spe-
cial pains to please him.
Even so, Mur was distraught. "Must we always
wear tores? Couldn't folk agree to behave well
so that there was no need?"
Eathre shook her head sadly. "I have heard
that only lawbreakers resent the tore; as to this, I
can't say. On the day the tore clamped my neck,
I felt cramped and broken and awry. Perhaps
there are better ways; I don't know. Soon you will
be gone from me; I would not hinder you, what-
ever the way of your life, but to bless Saccard I
must damn Saccume.* I hardly know what to
tell you."
At Mur's expression of bewilderment Eathre
said, "Very well, listen then. I counsel you to re-
sourcefulness: defeat adversities rather than ac-
cept them! Strive for excellence! You must try to
do better than the best, even if it means a life-
time of dissatisfaction for your own inadequacy!"
Mur tested the ideas. "I must learn rites and
rotes better than anyone else? Better than
* Saccard and Saccume: protagonists of a thousand Shant
fables, always at odds, or working against each other, or
the victims of antithetical circumstances.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN

Chalres? Better than Neech when he becomes a
Pure Boy? So that I will become an Ecclesiarch?"
Eathre was a long time answering. "If you are
eager to become an Ecclesiarch, this is what you
must do."
Mur, who knew every subtle intonation of his
mother's voice, nodded slowly.
"But now you must go to bed," said Eathre.
"Mind when you play the „khitan! Muffle the
strings, take the fibers from the rattle-box. Other-
wise Osso will have me at the tannery before my
time."
In the darkness Mur stroked the strings, shiver-
ing at the soft sounds. He would never be a Pure
Boy; he and his mother would run away, they
would become musicians! But, ah no, Eathre could
not run away! She was indentured. How could he
go without her? Never! So then—what? He
clutched the khitan to his breast.
The morning brought news of a terrible circum-
stance. Face down in the tannery sludge, the
body of Chalres Gargamet was discovered. How he
had died was uncertain, though his arms and legs
were peculiarly twisted, like those of an antic
dancer.
Somewhat later, whispers seeped from cottage
to cottage. On the previous day Chalres had picked
berries for the Conclave. Among the berries, after
he had eaten, Great Male Osso had found a long
black woman-hair. And those who whispered to
each other felt quivering chills of that curious
emotion that is half horror and half appreciation
of some grotesque absurdity. As for Mur, he be-
came deathly pale and slumped into the darkest

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
corner of the cottage where he lay limp, with only
the twitch of his narrow shoulder blades to indi-
cate that he was alive.
At dusk Eathre covered Mur with a quilt and
allowed him to lie quiet, though all night both lay
awake. In the morning she brought him gruel. He
turned up his thin face, lips trembling, hair
matted. Eathre blinked back her tears and hugged
him. Mur began to keen: a low wailing sound deep
in his throat that slowly rose in pitch. Eathre
shook him gently. "Mur, Mur, Mur!"
La,ter in the day Mur touched the khitan: an
uninterested stroke of the fingers. He could not
slip into the tannery warehouse for a pelt; he
could not pick a basket of berries; he tried to
transmit a complement of kind thoughts, but they
seemed pallid and weak.
At sunset Eathre brought him stewed fruit
and tea; Mur at first shook his head, then listless-
ly ate. Eathre stood looking down at him—for so
long a period that Mur raised his eyes. She said,
"Before you assume to Soul, if you go from Ba-
shon, they can't denounce you to the Faceless
Man. If you like, I will find a kind man to take you
for apprentice."
"They would set ahulphs after us."
"The matter could be arranged."
Mur shook his head. "I don't care to leave you."
"When you become a Chilite, you leave me,
and worse."
"Even then I won't leave you! They can kill me,
but still I won't."
Eathre stroked his head. "Chilite or dead, we
would still be apart. Is this not true?"
"I will see you secretly. I can arrange that you
need not work so hard."

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
'The work is not all that dreadful," said Eathre
softly. "Everywhere women must work."
"The Faceless Man must be a monster!" cried
Mur in a husky voice.
"No!" exclaimed Eathre with as much agi-
tation as her temperament allowed. She reflected
for a moment, composing her limpid thoughts.
"How can I explain? You are so young! Human
beings change with the minute! The man who
praises Saccard may rage like a sick ahulph at
Saccume. Do you understand? Men are perverse
and cannot be predicted. To live without dissen-
sion they bind themselves by rules. Each of the
sixty-two cantons uses a different set of rules.
Which are the best, which the worst? No one
knows, and perhaps it doesn't matter if only men
abide by any one of these sets. If they don't—the
others call out his colors to the Faceless Man. Or
perhaps a monitor files a derogation. Or sometimes
the Faceless Man comes wandering, or he sends his
Benevolences, as quiet as the Faceless Man him-
self. Do you now understand? The Faceless Man
merely enforces the laws of the folk of Shant:
those they have made for themselves."
"I suppose this is so," said Mur. "Still, if I
were the Faceless Man, I would abolish fear and
hardship, and you would never work at the tan-
nery."
Eathre stroked his head. "Yes, dear Mur, I
know. You would force men to be kind and good
and cause a great disaster. Go to sleep now; the
world will be much the same tomorrow."

Chapter 2
On a cool morning in the fall of the year a Pure
Boy came down to the boundary and called for
Mur. "Your soul-father will see you at noon, at
the portal to the under-room. Cleanse yourself
well."
With leaden motions, Mur bathed, dressed in a
clean smock. Eathre watched from the far side
of the room, not wishing to contribute woman-
taint to Mur's nervousness.
At last she could not restrain herself and came
to brush down his stubborn black hair. "Remem-
ber, he only wants to gauge your growth and
speak to you of Chilite doctrine. There is nothing
whatever to fear."
"That may be so," said Mur. "Still, I am afraid."
"Nonsense," said Eathre decidedly. "You are
not afraid; you are the brave Mur. Listen care-
fully; obey exactly; answer cautious words to his
questions; do nothing eccentric."
At the cottage door she brought an ember from
the fire and blew smoke through Mur's clothes and
hair so at least not to prejudice Osso with wom-
an-taint.
Ten minutes before noon Mur set out for the
temple, taut with foreboding. The road seemed
a lonely place; white dust rose in his footsteps to
eddy in the lavender sunlight. Above bulked the
temple: a set of squat convex cylinders, gradual-
ly filling the sky. With the flow of cool air down

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
the hill came the reek of stale galga.
Mur circled the base of the temple to a stall-
like half-room open to the sky: a place known as
the under-room, now empty. Mur arranged him-
self primly by the wall and waited.
Time passed. The suns climbed the sky, the
blaze of white Sasetta passing across the plum-
red haunch of Ezeletta, blue Zael on the round-
about: three dwarf stars dancing through space
like fireflies.
Mur mused across the countryside. He could
see far, far, far, in all directions: west to Canton
Seamus; north to Shimrod Forest and beyond to
Canton Ferriy where the folk made ironweb on
their red hillsides.
A sound startled him. He jerked around to find
Osso frowning down from a high pulpit. Mur
had made a poor beginning; rather than waiting
in a crouch of timorous reverence, here he stood
gazing over the panorama.
For a minute or longer Osso looked down at
Mur, who stared back in fascination. Osso spoke
in a voice of sepulchral gravity: "Have the girls
made ignoble play with you?"
The language was ambiguous; Mur understood
the semantic content. He swallowed harder, re-
calling incidents that might be construed as ig-
noble play. He said, "No, never."
"Have you suggested or initiated vile concat-
enations with the female girls?"
"No," quavered Mur. "Never."
Osso gave a curt nod. "From your present age
forward you must take care. You will shortly be-
come a Pure Boy, thereafter a Chilite. Do not
complicate the already rigorous rituals."
Mur gave an acquiescent mumble.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"You can expedite your passage into the tem-
ple," spoke Osso. "Devour no greasy food, drink
no syrups nor baklavy. The bond between child
and mother is strong; now is the time to start the
solvent process. Gently disengage yourself! When
your mother offers sweetmeats or attempts fond
caresses, you must say, 'Madam, I am on the verge
of purification; please do not add to the rigors I
must endure.' Is this clear?"
"Yes, soul-father."
"You must start to forge the strongest of all
bonds, the holy link to the temple. Galexis, the
nervous essence, corresponds to female women
as the candy of unmel to tannery sludge; you
will learn more of this. Meanwhile, strengthen
yourself!"
"How am I to do this?" Mur ventured.
Osso turned down a frightening glance; Mur
shrank back. Osso spoke. "You know the nature
of animal appetites. Philosophically—this is a
doctrine you are not yet prepared to receive—
they are First Order gratifications. Your belly is
empty; you fill it with bread: the most crude
reply to a crude sensation. The Second Order re-
sponse is to consume a varied meal; at the Third
Order the viands are prepared in a subtle and ex-
pert fashion to an exacting set of standards. At
the Fourth Order the demands of the stomach
itself are ignored; the taste nerves are stimu-
lated by essences and extracts. At the Fifth Order
the sensations occur cerebrally, completely by-
passing the glottal and olfactory apparatus. At the
Sixth Order the Chilite is in a state of unconscious
exaltation, and sublime Galexis Achiliadnid deals
directly with the soul. Is all clear? I use the sim-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
plest and most obvious example as a basis for
discussion."
"I understand this all very well," said Mur.
"But I am puzzled. When Chilites put food into
their mouths, what is the correct doctrine on
this?"
"We sustain the energy of our bodies," intoned
Osso. "The style of victual, coarse or fine, is a
matter of indifference. Be firm with yourself. Di-
rect your mind from the assault of the brute ap-
petite; find some abstract occupation upon which
to focus your attention. I tied heraldic knots with
imaginary cords; another Ecclesiarch, a Six-
Spasm, memorized prime numbers. There are
many such occupations to which you can put your
mind."
"I know just the thing," said Mur with some-
thing like enthusiasm. "I will consider musical
sounds."
"Use whatever device you find helpful," said
Osso. "So, then, be guided. I can counsel, but
progress must be made by yourself. Have you giv-
en thought to your male name?"
"Not yet, soul-father."
"It is not too early to do so. A proper name can
be inspirational and exalting. In due course I
will offer a list of suggestions; but for today, that
is aU."
Mur returned down the hill. Eathre was busy
in the cottage; he wandered west along Rhodo-
dendron Way to the camp that the musicians
had long vacated. Feeling hungry, he went up in-
to the berry thicket, picked and ate berries with
no thought for Osso's adjurations to abstraction.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
Then he looked up the hill to the temple complex
and stared a full five minutes. Somewhere in his
mind cogitation occurred; he was aware of no
train of ideas, but presently he made a sound in
his throat, something between a laugh and a con-
temptuous snort.
When he returned to the cottage, Eathre was
drinking tea. Mur thought that she seemed tired
and wan. She asked, "How went the meeting with
soul-father Osso?"
Mur grimaced. "He told me to practice purity.
I am not to play with girls."
Eathre silently sipped her tea.
"He told me to curb my appetites. I am also to
take a name."
Eathre acquiesced. "You are old enough to
name yourself a name. What will it be?"
Mur gave a glum shrug. "Soul-father will send
me down a list."
"He did the same for Glynet's son Neech."
"Did Neech take a name?"
"He called himself Geacles Vonoble."
"Hmf. And who were they?"
Eathre said tonelessly: "Geacles was the archi-
tect of the temple; Vonoble composed the Achili-
adnid Dithyrambs."
"Hmf. So I must call fat Neech Geacles."
"That is now his name."
Four days later a Pure Boy pushed a long stick
across the boundary with a paper in its cleft end.
"A missive from Great Male Osso."
Mur took the paper into the cottage and with
occasional help from Eathre puzzled out the sense
of the characters. His face grew longer and long-
er as he read: "Bougozonie, the Seven-Spasm Ec-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
clesiarch. Narth Homank, who ate but one nut
and one berry each day. Higajou, who reorganized
Pure Boy training. Faman Cocile, who allowed
himself to be gelded by Shimrod Forest bandits
rather than alter his creed of nonviolence and
peace. Borgad Polveitch who denounced the Ambi-
sexual Heresy." At last Mur put aside the paper.
"What is your selection?" asked Eathre.
"I can't make up my mind."
Three months later Mur was summoned to a
second conference with his soul-father at the un-
der-room. Osso again advised Mur on particular-
ities of conduct. "It is not too early to begin car-
rying yourself in the style of a Pure Boy. Each
day put aside one adjunct of your old child's life.
Study the child's Principary, with which you will
be supplied. You have selected a name for your-
self?"
"Yes," said Mur.
"And what is your male name to be?"
"I now call myself Gastel Etzwane."
" 'Gastel Etzwane!' Where in the name of every-
thing extraordinary did you derive this nomen-
clature?"
Mur spoke placatingly. "Well—naturally I con-
sidered your suggestions, but I thought I would
like to be someone different. A man who passed
along Rhododendron Way gave me a book called
Heroes of Old Shant, and here I found my names."
"And who is 'Gastel?' And who is 'Etzwane?'"
Mur, or Gastel Etzwane, as was now his name,
looked uncertainly up at his soul-father, in whom
he had expected familiarity with these magic per-
sonalities. "Gastel built a great glider of withe
and web and launched himself from Mount Hag-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
head, intending to fly the breadth of Shant, but
when he came to Cape Merse, rather than alight-
ing, he sailed on over the Purple Ocean toward
Caraz* and was never seen again. . . . Etzwane
was the greatest musician ever to wander Shant."
Osso was silent for half a minute, seeking
words. At last he spoke, in ponderous opprobium:
"A crazy aeronaut and a tune-twanger: these
are then your exemplars. I have failed to incul-
cate in you the proper ideals; I have been remiss,
and it is clear that I must, in your case, exert my-
self more energetically. Your name is not to be
Gaswane Etzel, or whatever. It shall be Faman
Bougozonie, whose attributes are immeasurably
more relevant and inspiring. That is all for to-
day."
Mur—he refused to think of himself as Faman
Bougozonie—returned downslope, past the tan-
nery, where he loitered to watch the old women
at their tasks, then slowly proceeded home.
Eathre asked, "Well, then, and how did it go
today?"
Mur said, "I told him my name was Gastel
Etzwane; he said, no, it was Faman Bougozonie."
Eathre laughed, and Mur looked at her in mel-
ancholy accusation.
Eathre became sober. She said, "A name means
nothing; let him call you what he wants. You'll
quickly get used to it. And to the life of a Chilite."
Mur turned away. He brought out the khitan
and touched the strings. After a few moments he
attempted a melody, with accents from the rattle-
* Caraz: (i) A color, mottled, of black, maroon, plum,
with a dusting or sheen of silver-gray; symbolic of chaos
and pain, macabre events in general. (2) The largest of
Durdane's three continents.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
box. Eathre listened approvingly, but presently
Mur halted and inspected the instrument with
disfavor. "I know so little, so few tunes. I can't
strike the side-strings or use the brilliancy buttons
or the slurs."
"Skill doesn't come easily," said Eathre. "Pa-
tience, patience...."

Chapter 3
At the age of twelve, Mur, Faman Bougozonie,
Gastel Etzwane—the names mingled in his
mind—underwent Purification. In company with
three other boys, Geacles, Morlark, and Illan, he
was shorn skin-bald, then washed in the bitterly
cold water of the sacred stream that welled up
below the temple. After the first submersion the
boys lathered themselves with aromatic tincture
and once again submitted themselves to the bone-
wrenching chill. Clammy, naked, shivering, the
boys marched into a room heavy with the smoke
of burning agapanthus. From holes in the stone
floor steam arose; in a mixture of steam and
smoke the boys gasped, sweated, coughed, and
presently began to totter. One by one they stum-
bled to the floor; when the doors opened, they
barely were able to raise their heads.
The voice of the Chilite supervising the Puri-
fication rang through the air: 'To your feet, back
to the clean water! Are you of such soft fiber? Let
me see who wants to make a Chilite of himself!"
Mur struggled erect. One other boy, Geacles
Vonoble, did likewise and, swaying, clutched at
Mur. Both fell. Mur brought himself once more
erect and helped Geacles to his feet. Geacles
pushed Mur aside and loped splayfooted to the
pool. Mur stood gazing with numb horror at the
other two boys. Morlark lay with eyes bulging, a
trickle of blood leaking from his mouth. Illan

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
seemed unable to control his movements. Mur
leaned forward, but the bland voice of the mon-
strator halted him. 'To the pool as fast as possi-
ble! You are being watched and gauged."
Mur tottered to the pool and gave himself to
the chill. His skin felt dead; his arms and legs
were heavy and stiff as iron posts. He dragged
himself up on the stone an inch at a time and
somehow stumbled along a white-tiled passage
into a chamber lined with benches. Here sat Gea-
cles, swathed in a white robe, well satisfied with
himself.
The monstrator tossed a similar robe to Mur.
"Your skins are flushed of stain; for the first time
since the necessary depravity of birth you are
clean. Attention then to Argument One of the
Chilite Procourse! Man enters the world through
the genital portal: an original taint which by
cleansings and attitudes the Chilite casts aside,
like a serpent molting a skin, but which ordinary
men carry like a stinking incubus all the way to
their graves. Drink!" He handed each boy a beak-
er of thick liquid; they drank. "Your first
purge	"
Mur spent three days in a cell, with cold sacred
water for sustenance. At the end of this time he
was required to enter the sacred well, lather him-
self with tincture, and rinse. More dead than
alive, he crept out into the sunlight a Pure Boy.
The monstrator gave him succinct instructions.
"I need not detail the strictures; you are familiar
with them. If you taint yourself, you must under-
go a new Purification. I advise against it. Osso
Higajou is your soul-father and not the least rigor-
ous of the Chilites. He deplores the most trivial
contact with the Female Principle. I have known

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
him to berate a Pure Boy for enjoying the fra-
grance of a flower. The flower is a female pro-
creative organ of the plant'—so Great Male Osso
exclaimed—'and there you stand with your nose
pushed into it.' Trust Osso Higajou to guide you
in the Rotes. Think purity, live purity, and make
sure that Great Male Osso recognizes your purity!
So now—to your bay in the lower compound. You
will find there wafers and porridge. Eat in moder-
ation; tonight, meditate."
Mur went to the bay—an alcove in an open-
ended chamber under the temple walls—and
gulped down the food. The suns danced below
the horizon; the sky became purple, then star-
shot black. Mur lay down on his back, wondering
what to make of his new existence. He felt in-
tensely alert; by some unnamable faculty he
seemed to know the precise condition of every
person of Bashon.
Geacles Vonoble sat across the chamber in his
own bay and pretended not to notice Mur. The
two were alone. Morlark and Illan had not yet
completed their purification; the more advanced
Pure Boys were at the evening Beatitudes. Mur
considered going across to Geacles's bay for con-
versation but was deterred by Geacles's posture,
one of pious reverie. Geacles was at once brittle
and devious, affable and intent. He was not a
handsome lad, with puffy cheeks and a plump tor-
so on long thin legs. His yellow-brown eyes were
round as a bird's and avid for sight, as if Geacles
could never have all the seeing he wanted. Mur
decided definitely against seeking Geacles's com-
pany.
He left his bay and went out to sit at the base
of the temple wall. Halfway up the sky glistened a

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
great irregular clot of light, sparked with fifty
first-magnitude stars, the night sky's most notable
object. It cast a pallid light and created shadows
blacker than black: the Skiaffarilla, which figured
in the history of Durdane. Some said that Earth,
the legendary home of men, lay beyond the Skiaf-
farilla. From within the chamber came Geacles's
voice reciting aloud an Achiliadnid ode. Mur lis-
tened a moment. In spite of his fatigue, in spite
of the monstrator's warnings, in spite of Great
Male Osso, Mur would have slipped off down the
hill to visit his mother, had it not been for Gea-
cles. Geacles saw everything, knew everything.
Still, where was the harm in stretching his legs a
bit? Mur sauntered forth, around the hill. He
passed above the tannery, now dark and quiet
but reeking with a hundred odors in conflict.
From behind him came a small noise. Mur looked
back, then stepped into the shadow of the chemi-
cal shed. He waited. A furtive sound. Footsteps:
hastening, pausing, hastening again. A figure
came past, peering ahead with mischievous in-
tensity: Geacles.
Mur watched him sidle around the angle of
the tannery. Geacles worked on the principle
that what was bad for others was good for him-
self and hoped to gain advantage of some unspec-
ified sort by spying. So much was clear. Mur
stood quiet in the dark, not particularly surprised
nor even angry; it was what he expected of
Geacles . . . Not too far away was the medita-
tion chamber where young Chilites gathered be-
fore entering the temple for nocturnal commu-
nion with Galexis. Mur slipped through the
shadows to a soaking vat. Holding his breath
against the stench, he prodded and pulled with a

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
turning prong and succeeded in lifting a hide. At
a gingerly half trot he carried it up and around
to the meditation chamber. Through the window
came a mumble of voices: ". . . Galexis of a mil-
lion beatific forms, individual but universal, for
all but. each alone, submissive but magnificent in
your forward search; we avert our souls from
sordid stuffs, the greases and taints, the First
Order Palpabilities!"
Then voices a half octave lower in response:
Tonight, all will be well; tonight, all will be well."
Then the start of a new declamation: "Galexis
of the myriad colors, the infinite graces—"
Through the open window Mur tossed the hide.
A startled curse interrupted the declamation.
Mur trotted back to his bay. Minutes later three
of the young Chilites came to look into the cham-
ber. Mur, in the recommended invocative pos-
ture, feigned sleep. At Geacles's bay a Chilite
gave a low hoarse call, "One is gone; make search,
make search! The Pure Boy Geacles!"
They ran back through the pale starlight and
discovered Geacles lurking below the tannery. He
protested innocence with every degree of fervor;
he claimed the virtue of vigilance in following
Pure Boy Mur whose erratic behavior had en-
gaged his attention. In their outrage the Chilites
paid no heed; one Pure Boy convenient to hand
was better than another not demonstrably guilty.
Geacles was treated to a thrashing, then forced
to remove the hide and give the meditation cham-
ber a ritual cleansing: a process occupying three
nights and two days. Next, Geacles went before
the Development Committee where he was asked
a number of searching questions. He had now
toiled three nights and two days without sleep;

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
in a half hysteria he babbled the first words that
came into his head: a hysterical demonstration
that impressed the Committee favorably, rather
than otherwise. Geacles was basically good sub-
stance, they decided; his astonishing act must be
ascribed to an ecstatic predisposition. Geacles re-
ceived a cursory reprimand and was ordered to
restrain his volatility.
During the examination Geacles identified Mur
as the source of the mischief, to which informa-
tion the commission presented faces of indifferent
skepticism; nonetheless, they took note of the
name. Geacles sensed something of the commit-
tee's mood and was heartened, though his skin
crawled with detestation for Mur. Alternately
giggling in jubilation and groaning in fury, he re-
turned to the Pure Boy chambers where the scan-
dal had been discussed from every possible as-
pect. In silence the Pure Boys watched Geacles
as he crossed the chamber. He went to his bay
and lay himself upon the pallet, too tired to sleep,
his mind crawling with malice. Through slitted
eyes he watched Mur, wondering how he would
take revenge. Some way, somehow, by one
means or another . . . Geacles fermented with
emotion. His hate became so great that he began
to shudder. He gave a small animal moan and
quickly turned his back, lest others should notice
his precious hate and use it for derision. Then it
would be soiled and spoiled ... A peculiar con-
dition overcame Geacles, wherein his body slept
but his mind seemed to remain awake. Time fore-
shortened; about ten minutes passed, or so he es-
timated; he turned to look around the chamber,
and found that the suns had wheeled far across
the sky. The hour was well past noon; Geacles

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
had missed his lunch: cause for new anguish! He
noticed Mur sitting on a bench at the open end of
the chamber. He held a copy of the Analytical
Catechism, but his attention was fixed across the
landscape. He seemed distraught. Geacles raised
his head, wondering what went on in Mur's mind.
Why did his fingers twitch, why did he frown so
intently? Mur gave a peculiar jerk, as if at a mes-
sage from his subconscious. He rose to his feet
and, as oblivious as a somnambulist, departed the
chamber.
Geacles groaned in doubt and indecision. He
still ached with fatigue. But Mur's conduct was
not that of a Pure Boy. He heaved himself from
his couch and went to peer after Mur. Was he
off to tend his silk? Conceivably. But again—Mur's
gait was not that of a truly consecrated Pure Boy.
Geacles drew a deep breath. His curiosity had
only just brought him to grief, in circumstances
exactly similar. He dragged himself back to his
bay where he immersed himself in his own Ana-
lytical Catechism:
"Q: In how many guises may Galexis ap-
pear?
"A: Galexis is as protean as the face of the
ocean..."
A week passed. Geacles behaved with easy cor-
diality toward all; the Pure Boys treated him with
cautious reserve. Mur paid him no heed whatev-
er. But Geacles gave a great deal of quiet atten-
tion to Mur. And one day while Geacles sat in his
bay memorizing Exclamations, Mur went to sit
on the bench at the open end of the chamber.
Geacles instantly became interested and over the

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
top of his book watched Mur's every move. Mur
seemed to be talking to himself. Hmf, grunted
Geacles to himself, he merely recited a litany or
Exclamations. But why did his finger tap with so
regular a beat on his knee? Peculiar. Geacles
watched even more intently. Mur returned to his
bay; Geacles instantly frowned down into his Ex-
clamations. Shelving his Catechism, Mur went
back to the front of the chamber. Here he paused
a moment or two, looking out over the sweep of
the landscape. After a single backward glance in-
to the chamber, he set off along the hillside. Gea-
cles instantly left his bay and went to look after
Mur, who marched purposefully along the path
to the north. Toward his plot of fiber-trees,
thought Geacles with a sniff. Mur, or rather Fam-
an Bougozonie, had always been assiduous with
his trees. Still, why the backward glance into the
chamber? Geacles rubbed his pale cheeks. Inter-
esting, interesting. To learn he must look, with
his round yellow-brown eyes; to look he must
move himself within range of vision. After all,
there was no reason why he should not tend his
own silk; it had been sorely neglected over the
last few weeks. Geacles disliked the routine of
winding bobbins, weeding, propping branches,
drawing down new strands; but now duty offered
a pretext upon which he might follow Mur with-
out fear of challenge.
Geacles set off along one of the paths that
curved around the parched hillside. He tried to
contrive a sedate and purposeful gait and simul-
taneously maintain stealth: no mean feat; had
Mur been other than lost in his brooding, Geacles
would have been forced to relinquish one or the
other of his attitudes.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
But Mur went unheeding down into the silk-
tree brake, and Geacles, ducking and sidling, fol-
lowed.
From the age of eight Mur had tended eighteen
full-size trees, with over a hundred bobbins. He
knew the angle of each twig, the cast of each
leaf, the sap that each branch might be expected
to provide. Each bobbin had its idiosyncrasy; in
some, if the glass spring were wound too tightly,
the ratchet would jam; others refused to turn un-
less tilted; a few worked flawlessly, and these
Mur used under the highest beads.
Geacles watched from concealment while Mur
made the rounds of his bobbins, winding the
mechanisms, replacing full spools with empty
ones, pinching suckers from the trunks. A dozen
branches had gone dry; Mur cut into fresh shoots.
The beads of sap oozed forth; Mur drew down
filaments, which hardened at once into strands
of silk. Mur attached the ends to bobbins, assured
himself that the rotating spools drew down the
strands at a steady rate. Geacles watched in glum
disappointment; Mur's conduct was that of an in-
dustrious, innocent, and responsible Pure Boy.
Mur began to move at purposeful speed, as if
he were anxious to finish. Geacles ducked back
out of sight as Mur stepped forward to make a
careful scrutiny of the hillside. Geacles grinned;
Mur's conduct was no longer that of an innocent
Pure Boy.
Mur set off downhill, moving so quickly that
Geacles was hard put to follow. Mur reached the
path that skirted the boundary behind Rhododen-
dron Way and set off to the east. Geacles was now
at something of a disadvantage. If he followed
along the path, he must disclose himself. He

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
darted through the berry patch, blundering into
a nettle patch. Cursing and hissing, he took shel-
ter among the rhododendrons. Mur was well
along the patch, almost out of sight. Geacles fol-
lowed crouching, dodging, running. He gained a
spot where he could look along the path. Mur
was nowhere to be seen. Geacles deliberated a
moment, then pushed down into Rhododendron
Way, highly questionable territory for a Pure Boy,
not precisely tainted but still ground to be walked
on gingerly. No Mur. Puzzled now, Geacles re-
turned to the path. Where was Mur? Had he gone
into one of the cottages? Geacles licked his lips in
horror, trotted along the path toward the cottage
of Eathre. He paused to listen: Eathre was enter-
taining a musician. But where was Mur? Geacles
looked this way and that. Surely not in the cot-
tage with his mother and the musician. Geacles
walked past, angry and uncomfortable. In some
unfathomable manner Mur had evaded him. . . .
The music halted, then, after a few runs and
arpeggios, began again. It seemed to be coming
not from the cottage but the garden. Geacles
crept close, peered through the foliage. He
turned. Fleetly, soundlessly, bounding like a hare,
Geacles ran up the hill toward the temple. Eathre,
glancing from her window, saw him go.
Fifteen minutes passed. Down the hill on long
point-footed strides came Great Male Osso, fol-
lowed by two other Chilites, all three red-eyed
from their galga-induced spasms. At the back
came Geacles. The group marched down into
Rhododendron Way.
At Eathre's cottage the group halted. The mid-
day air was warm; the three suns rolled over-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
head, projecting triple images in the dust of the
road. No sound could be heard but the drone of
the spiral-bugs in the foliage and a far thumping
from the tannery.
Standing well back from the door, Osso sig-
naled to a nearby child. "Summon forth the wom-
an Eathre."
The child timidly went around to the back of
Eathre's cottage. A moment later the door opened;
Eathre looked forth. She stood quietly, passive
but alert.
Great Male Osso demanded, 'The Pure Boy
Faman Bougozonie—is he here?"
"He is not here."
"Where is he?"
"So I should guess, elsewhere."
"He was seen here not fifteen minutes ago."
Eathre had no comment to make. She waited
in the doorway.
Osso spoke in a ponderous voice. "Woman, you
would do well not to obstruct us."
Eathre smiled faintly. "Where do you see ob-
struction? Search as you will. The boy is not
within; nor has he been, today or any other day
since his rite."
Geacles darted behind the cottage where he
signaled. The Chilities, clutching their robes to
themselves, went to look. Geacles pointed in ex-
citement. "He sat on yonder bench. The woman
evades."
Osso spoke portentously: "Woman, is this
true?"
"Why should he not sit there? The bench does
him no taint."
"Are you a keen judge of this? Where is the
boy?"

"I don't know."
Osso turned to Geacles. 'Try the Pure Boy
quarters. Fetch him here."
With great zeal Geacles sprang away, arms
and legs pumping. He returned in five minutes,
grinning and panting like a dog. "He is coming,
he comes."
Mur stepped slowly forth into the road.
Osso stood back. Mur, wide-eyed and somewhat
pale, asked, "Why did you wish to see me, soul-
father?"
"I call to your attention," said Osso, "the sorry
fact that you came here mother-milking and play-
ing idle music."
"With utmost respect, soul-father, you have
been misled."
"There is the witness!"
Mur looked toward Geacles. "He has not told
the truth."
"Did you not sit on this bench, a woman's
thing? Did you not take a musical instrument
from this woman's hand? You are female-foul
and not on good footing."
'The bench, soul-father, is from outside the
under-temple. Notice, it stands away from the
cottage, across the garden boundary. The khitan
is my own property and was given me years ago
by a man. Before my rite I took it into the tem-
ple and passed it through agapanthus smoke;
you can still smell the reek. Since then, it has
been kept in the play-hut I built with my own
hands yonder; there it is now. I am guilty of no
defilement whatever."
Osso looked blinking up at the sky while he
gathered his thoughts. He was being made ridic-
ulous by two Pure Boys. Faman Bougozonie with

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
great cleverness had avoided any act of flagrant
defilement, but this very cleverness indicated
corruption. . . . Geacles Vonoble, while inaccurate
in his assertions, had correctly diagnosed impur-
ity. If anything was certain, it was that Faman
Bougozonie's sophistries should not put truth and
orthodoxy to rout. Osso said, "This seems a pecu-
liar retreat for a Pure Boy, the yard behind his
mother's cottage."
"It seemed as good as any other, soul-father,
and here at least I would disturb no one while I
meditated."
"Meditated?" croaked Osso. "Playing jigs and
kestrels while the other Pure Boys performed
devotions?"
"No, soul-father; the music helped fix my
thoughts, exactly as you recommended."
"What? You claim that I recommended such
an affair?"
"Yes, soul-father. You declared that you found
the construction of imaginary knots helpful to
your austerities and permitted that I employ mu-
sical tones to the same end."
Osso stood back. The other two Chilites and
Geacles looked at him expectantly. Osso said, "I
envisioned different tones, in a different environ-
ment. Your conduct stinks of secularity! And
woman, what of you? Are you slack-witted? Sure-
ly you must know such conduct to be incorrect?"
"I hoped, Great Male, that the music would as-
sist him in his future life."
Osso chuckled. "The mother of Pure Boy
Chalres, the mother of Pure Boy Faman. What a
pair! You shall spawn no more such prodigies.
To the tannery." Osso swung around, pointed a
finger at Mur. "As for you, we shall test the erudi-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN

tion you claim to have achieved."
"Soul-father, if you please, I only aspire to eru-
dition!" cried Mur, but Osso already had turned
away. Mur looked toward Eathre, who gave him
a smiling shrug and went into the cottage. Mur
whirled toward Geacles, but the Chilites stood in
his way. 'To the temple with you; did you not
hear your soul-father?"
Mur marched up the path to the temple. He
went to his bay. Geacles followed and went to
his own alcove where he sat looking across the
room at Mur.
An hour passed; a chime sounded. The Pure
Boys trooped into the refectory. Mur hesitated,
then turned a look back over the landscape,
across road and cottages and off into the purple
distances.
Geacles was watching. Mur heaved a sigh and
went down the passage toward the refectory.
At the entrance stood the Chilite monstrator.
He signaled Mur aside. 'This way."
He led Mur around the temple to a disused
under-chamber. He swung open an old timber door
and signaled Mur to enter. Holding high a glow-
bulb, the monstrator led the way along a pas-
sage rich with the reek of old galga fume into a
large circular chamber at the very heart of the
temple. The limestone walls were dank and gave
off the odor of mold; the floor was dark brick.
From the ceiling hung a single light globe. "What
is this place?" Mur quavered.
"It is a place of solitary study where you will
remain prior to your Repurification."
"'Repurification'!" cried Mur. "But I am not
defiled."
"Come, come," said the monstrator. "Why dis-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
semble? Do you believe you can outwit your soul-
father Osso, or myself for that matter? If you
did not physically defile yourself, you committed
a hundred acts of spiritual defilement." He waited,
but Mur was silent. "Notice," the monstrator went
on, "there are books on the table yonder: Doc-
trines and Exclamations, an Analytical Cate-
chism. These will give you comfort and wise
counsel."
Mur scowled around the chamber. "How long
must I stay here?"
"A proper time. In the cabinet is food and
drink; to the side is a sump. Now a final word:
submit and all will be well. Do you hear?"
"Monstrator, I hear."
"Life is a choice of paths. Make sure you
choose correctly because you may never return
to choose again. Call for Galexis!"
The monstrator departed into the corridor.
Mur looked after him, half of a mind to follow.
. . . But he had been brought here to meditate; if
he departed, he would incur something worse
than Repurification.
He listened. Nothing but the secret murmur of
underground places. He went to stand in the gap
and peered down the corridor. Surely someone
watched. Or an alarm or a trap had been set. If
he tried to follow the monstrator, he might en-
counter something unpleasant. "Submit," the
monstrator had told him. "Submit and all will be
well."
Submission might well be the wisest course.
Soberly Mur turned away from the opening.
He went to look at the table and, seating him-
self, examined the books. The Doctrines were
hand-printed in purple ink on alternate sheets of

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
red and green paper; they were inordinately dif-
ficult to read and contained many strange expres-
sions. Nonetheless, thought Mur, it would be wise
to study them carefully. The Exclamations, to
be uttered during nocturnal worship, were not
quite so important, adding only elegance, as they
did, to the spasms.
Mur recalled that he had eaten no lunch and,
jumping up, went to the cabinet. He found a doz-
en packets of dried berries: enough to nourish
him for as many days, or even longer, were he
frugal, as common sense dictated. Three dark
green glass jugs held ample water. There was no
cot or couch; he must sleep on the bench. He
returned to the table, took up the Analytical Cate-
chism, and began to read:
Q: How long have Chilites known Galexis?
A: Four thousand years ago the Great Sys-
tem was initiated by Hakcil, who was
prompted to the use of galga by an over-
bearing and malodorous spouse.
Q: How many guises does Galexis assume?
A: Galexis is as protean as the face of the
ocean and is at once singular to each
and universal to all.
Q: Where was Galexis before the Chilites
discovered the sacred herb?
A: Galexis, sempiternal and immanent, has
given umbral revelation to men of all
eras, but only the Chilites, by perform-
ing the Absolute Dichotomy, have made
Galexis real.
Q: What is the Absolute Dichotomy?
A: It is that act of perception that, on des-
ignating Corporeal Female as dross and

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
taint, celebrates the Beatitude of Gal-
exis.
Q: What is the purpose of the Holy Recep-
tacle?
A: In the dueness of time, a Perfection will
be yielded: the fruit of Galexis and the
males.
Q: What will be Perfection's Role and Des-
tiny?
A: He shall take news of Galexis across the
worlds. Where he walks the females
shall cry woe ...
Mur put down the catechism, which he found
unutterably boring. He noticed marks on the
table: dozens of marks. Names carved into the
wood, some worn by time, others comparatively
fresh. . . . What was this one? "Chalres Gar-
gamet." Something cold gripped the pit of Mur's
stomach. Here they had brought Chalres. How
had he died? Mur rose slowly to his feet. He
stared around him. Were there other entrances?
He made a circuit of the room, testing the damp
limestone that everywhere seemed solid. He
slowly returned to the table and stood under the
lamp. His skin crawled as he considered the
bleak shape of his future. The Repurification rite
might well be more rigorous than the original
rite. The open door held a horrible fascination. It
indicated the way to the outdoors where Mur
dearly longed to be; on the other hand, it
threatened a terrible penalty. He thought of
Chalres, dead, broken, face down in the tannery
sump.
Desolation seeped over Mur's spirit. The light
cast a weird glare, illuminating the pitiful

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
scratchings on the table. He must submit.
Time passed: an hour. Mur listlessly chanted
passages from the Catechism, words without
meaning. He studied the Doctrine: Hakcil's Orig-
inal Elucidations. The volume was old, dog-eared,
a fixture of the chamber. Mold had blurred the
writing; the pages adhered to each other. The
purple characters blurred into the red and green
pages. Mur put down the book and studied the
doorway: so appealing and so baleful. He spec-
ulated. Suppose he were to run down the pas-
sage, so swiftly that his feet skimmed the
ground. He might gain the open air by sheer
audacity. No. It would not be done so easily. By
some means he would be trapped. The timber
door might be locked. For his insubordination he
would meet Chalres's fate. This was the Chilite
way. If he made ignoble and utter submission,
abasing himself before soul-father Osso with fer-
vent declarations of purity and disavowals of all
and any mother-milking, past, present, and fu-
ture, he could preserve his status as a Pure Boy.
Mur licked his lips. It was better than the
sump. He bent over the Doctrine, committing
whole paragraphs to memory, working till his
head swam and his eyes smarted. On the fourth
page mold obscured the characters across fully
half a page; the fifth and sixth pages were like-
wise blotched. Mur peered at the pages in dis-
may. How could he learn the Elucidations when
they were illegible? Osso would never accept any
such glib excuse. "Why were you not prepared
with your own copy of Hakcil? When I was a
Pure Boy, it was my constant companion!" Or,
'These pages are elementary. You should have
known them long ago." On the other hand, re-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
fleeted Mur, the marred volume offered a valid
pretext for him to try the corridor. If someone
were on guard, he could display the illegible
pages and ask for an "Elucidations" in better con-
dition. Mur half-rose to his feet. The corridor
showed as a sinister dark rectangle.
Mur sat down once more. The time must be
well into the night; no Chilite would be stand-
ing on guard, certainly! Nor any Pure Boy. Might
there be an alarm of some sort? Mur thought the
prospect unlikely. The Chilites would not care to
be disturbed at their spasms.
The outer door had not been locked; perhaps
the corridor was open! Mur licked his lips. More
likely the passage held its own protection: a pit-
fall, a snare, a booby trap. A net or a cage might
drop to imprison him. The way might be altered
to lead into a cul-de-sac or a return loop with
sand or mud on the floor to trace his prowling. Or
the passage might lead to a brink and send him
tumbling to his death.
Mur glanced furtively sidelong at the dark por-
tal, which now seemed to have secret eyes of its
own. He sighed and returned to the mildewed
books. But he could not concentrate; absently,
with a stone chip, he scratched his name on the
table top with the others: in sad consternation
he saw that he had carved "Gastel Etzwane." An-
other evidence of contumacy, should anyone see.
He raised his hand to scratch it out but in sud-
den anger threw the stone chip into the corner.
He glared defiantly at the name. This was him-
self; he was Gastel Etzwane; they could kill him
a thousand times before he'd become anyone else!
His small flare-up of defiance waned. The facts
were as before. He must remain here in the study

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
chamber an unknown period, then face Repuri-
fication. Or, despite the cold crawling up and
down his back, he could test the passage.
Slowly he rose to his feet and crossed the
room, one furtive step at a time. He looked down
the passage as far as the overhead bulb cast a
glimmer—ten or fifteen feet. He looked back up
at the bulb; it hung ten feet over his head. He
stood the bench on the table and climbed up; the
bulb still hung three feet out of reach. Mur de-
scended to the floor, awkward and lumpish as an
old man; once more he went to look into the dark
passage.
Beyond all reasonable doubt it was locked off—
or it held a trap. Mur tried to remember the way
of the passage. As the monstrator walked ahead,
he had held his light bulb high, revealing a
vaulted ceiling of dank stone. Mur had seen
neither cages nor dangling nets, though these
might easily have been arranged after his pas-
sage. The trip in such a case must be a thread
across the corridor, or perhaps an electrical con-
tact, though the Chilites had small electrical ex-
pertise and in fact distrusted both electricity and
biomechanisms. The trap, if it existed, would be
simple and more than likely activated by a trip
close to the floor.
Mur's heart rose up in his mouth as he con-
templated the dark tunnel. It was the most im-
portant moment of his life. As Faman Bougo-
zonie he could remain at the table to study
Catechism and the incomplete Elucidations; he
could become a fervent Chilite. As Gastel Etz-
wane he could grope along the passageway and
hope to reach the open night.
Chalres's pitiful soiled body rose up in front of

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
his eyes. Mur made a thin high-pitched sound
of desperation. He had another vision: the face
of his soul-father Osso; the high receding fore-
head with hair clinging in sparse locks, the in-
tent, red-rimmed eyes carefully scrutinizing. Mur
gave another thin whimper; dropping to his
hands and knees, he crept into the dark.
The light went dim behind him. Mur began a
careful investigation of the darkness, feeling out
with great delicacy and caution for thread, string,
rod, or trip-board. The passage, so he recalled,
would turn first left, then right; he kept close to
the left wall.
Darkness was complete. Mur tested the air as
if searching for cobwebs. When nothing percepti-
ble was evident, he felt the floor with equal care,
probing every inch before he pulled himself for-
ward.
Foot by painful foot he advanced, darkness
pressing upon him like a palpable substance. He
was too tense to feel fear; past and future were
out of mind; there was only now, with grinding
danger close at hand. With fingers like moth
antennae he searched the darkness: on these
fingers his life depended. To his left he lost con-
tact with the wall; the first turn. He stopped short,
feeling the walls on both sides, testing the joints
of the stone blocks. He turned the corner, anxious
to advance but reluctant to leave safe tested ter-
ritory. He could still return to the study cham-
ber. Ahead lay the area where danger most likely
might be expected. With the most exquisite care
he searched the darkness, feeling the air, the
walls, the floor. Inch by inch, foot by foot he
moved forward. His fingers felt a strange texture
along the floor: a rasp, a grain, not so cold as

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
stone. Wood. Wood on the floor. Mur felt for the
joint between stone and wood. It ran across the
passage at right angles to the walls. With his
knees on the stone Mur reached ahead, feeling
first for thread, then testing the floor, now wood.
He discovered no thread; the wood seemed sound.
He discovered no brinks, no lack of solidity. Lay-
ing flat on his face, Mur reached forward as far
as his arms could stretch. He felt only wood. He
wriggled ahead a few inches and felt again.
Wood. He pounded down with his fist and thought
to hear a hollow boom rather than the dullness of
a plank on soil or mortar. Danger, danger. He
inched forward. The floor began to tilt, elevating
his feet. Hastily he retreated. The floor dropped
back into place. The wooden section was pivoted
near the center. Had he been walking, groping
along the walls, he could not have recovered.
Once past the balance point, with the back half
of the trap rising into the air, he would have
been gone, to fall toppling and sprawling through
the darkness to whatever lay below. Mur lay
quiet, his hps drawn back in a wolfish grin. He
measured from stone to pivot-place: the length
of his body, five feet. Ahead, after the pivot, was
presumably another five feet of unsupported sur-
face. Had he carried a light, he might have risked
a running leap. But not in the dark. Suppose he
miscalculated and jumped short. Mur's grin be-
came so tight the muscles of his cheeks ached.
He needed a plank, a ladder, something of the
sort. He thought of the bench, back in the study
chamber, which was six feet long. Rising to his
feet, feeling along the wall he returned much
faster than he had come. The chamber was quiet,
almost somnolent. Mur took up the bench and

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
carried it back into the dark passage, which now
he knew so well. He reached the turn and, once
again cautious, dropped to his hands and knees
and dragged the bench beside him, upside down.
He came to the wood section; bringing the bench
past him, he thrust it ahead until he estimated
that the near end rested over the pivot and the
far end, hopefully, on solid stone. With the ut-
most care and precision he rested his weight on
the bench, ready to scramble back at a quiver.
The bench held steady. Mur crossed and at the
far end felt stone under his fingers. He grinned,
this time in relief and pleasure.
He was not yet free of the passage. He pro-
ceeded as cautiously as before, and presently
came to the second turn. A few yards ahead
glimmered a wan bulb. It shone on a door: the
old timber door giving upon the unused under-
room. Heart in throat once more, Mur stepped
forward. The door was locked—not so much to
keep him in, he suspected, but to prevent some
unwary Chilite or Pure Boy from blundering upon
the trap.
Mur made a sad sound and went to look at the
door. It was built of solid planks, doweled and
glued, with hinges of sintered ironweb. The frame
was wood, somewhat soft and rotten, thought
Mur. He pushed against the door, bracing him-
self and thrusting with the trifling weight of his
immature body. The door stood firm. Mur hurled
himself at the door. He thought the latch creaked
slightly. He battered himself again and again at
the door, but other than causing a creaking of old
wood he achieved nothing. Mur's body became
bruised and sore, though the pain meant nothing
to him. He stood back panting. He remembered

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
the bench and ran back down the passage, around
the turn, and slowly forward until he felt the end
of the bench. He dragged it across the trap-sec-
tion and carried it back to the door. Aiming it, he
ran forward and thrust the end against the latch.
The frame splintered. The door burst back, and
Mur was out into the under-room, echoing and
empty.
He placed the bench along one of the walls
where it would never be noticed. Closing the door,
he pressed the splintered wood into place. It
might well escape notice, and the Chilites would
have cause for perplexity!
A moment later he stepped out into the night
and looked up at the blazing Skiaffarilla. "I am
Gastel Etzwane," he muttered in exultation. "As
Gastel Etzwane I escaped the Chilites; as Gastel
Etzwane I have much to do."
He was not yet free and away. His escape
would be discovered in due course: perhaps in
the morning, at the latest within two or three
days. Osso could not call upon the Faceless Man,
but he might well send up into the Wildlands for
ahulph trackers. No trail was too old or too faint
for the ahulphs; they would follow until their
quarry mounted a wheeled vehicle, a boat, or a
balloon. Gastel Etzwane must once again use his
ingenuity. Osso Would expect him to flee, to put
all possible distance between himself and Bashon.
Hence, if he remained close for a day, until the
ahulphs had cast about fruitlessly and had been
sent with a curse back to their master, he might
be able to go his way unhindered—wherever the
way might lie.
A hundred yards below and around the hill lay
the tannery, its sheds and outbuildings with doz-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
ens of secure nooks and crannies. Gastel Etzwane
stood to the side of the portal, hidden in the
shadow, listening to the night sounds. He felt as
strange and subtle as a ghost. Above in the tem-
ple the Chilites lay in the galga smoke worship-
ing Galexis; their gasps of adoration were stifled
in the heavy darkness.
Gastel Etzwane stood several moments in the
shadows. He felt no urgency, no need for haste.
His first concern was the ahulphs, which almost
certainly would be called on to track him by
signs invisible to human senses. He slipped back
into the temple and presently found an old cloak,
that had been cast aside in a corner. Taking it to
the portal, he tore it in half. Throwing down first
one half on the stony ground, then the other, and
jumping forward, he made his way away from
the temple and down the slope, leaving neither
track nor scent for the ahulphs. Gastel Etzwane
laughed in quiet exultation as he reached the
first of the tannery outbuildings.
He took refuge under one of these sheds. Pil-
lowing his head on the torn cloak, he fell asleep.
Sasetta, Ezeletta, and Zael came dancing up
over the horizon, to shoot shifting beams of
colored light from the east. From the temple
sounded a throbbing chime, summoning the Pure
Boys to the temple kitchens where they must boil
up gruel for the Chilites' breakfast. Into the east-
ern courtyard came the Chilites themselves, hag-
gard and red-eyed, their beards stinking of galga
smoke. They staggered to benches and sat look-
ing drearily off into the wan sunlight, still some-
what bemused. The tannery women already had
taken bread and tea; they trudged forth for roll

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
call, some surly, others voluble. The task-mis-
tresses called out names for special assignments;
the women specified went off in various directions.
A select few, all matriarchs of the Sisterhood,*
sauntered to the chemical shed to compound
herbs and powders, dyes and astringents. Anoth-
er group went to the vats to scrape, trim, soak,
steep, drain. Others worked new hides delivered
by the Wildland ahulphs: pelts of all the wilder-
ness animals, ahulph hides as well. After sorting,
they were laid out on circular wooden tables,
where they were given a rough cleaning, trimmed
and shaped, then slid down a chute into a vat of
lye. To the cleaning tables Eathre had been as-
signed; she had been issued a brush, a glass knife,
a small, sharp spoon-scraper. Jatalie, the work-
mistress, stood over her, giving instructions.
Eathre worked quietly, hardly taking her eyes
from the work. She seemed apathetic. Etzwane's
hiding place was no more than a hundred feet
distant; he wriggled and squirmed to where he
could peer through a niche in the foundation;
upon seeing his mother, he could barely restrain
himself from calling out. His gentle mother in
such vulgar conditions! He lay biting his lips and
blinking. He could not even offer consolation!
From the direction of the temple came a small
commotion. Pure Boys ran out in excitement to
peer across the valley; Chilites appeared on the
upper terrace, talking in some agitation, point-
ing here and there. Etzwane guessed that his ab-
sence had been discovered somewhat earlier than
he had expected. He watched in a discordant
* The Zoriani nac Thair nac Thairi. In loose translation:
Female Agents of Desperate Deeds.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
blend of dread and glee. Amusing to see the Otol-
ites in such perturbation; horrifying as well! If he
were tracked down and captured . . . His flesh
crawled at the thought.
Shortly before noon he observed the arrival of
the ahulphs: two bucks with red adept ribbons
tied up and down the coarse black fur of their
crooked legs. Great Male Osso, standing austerely
on a pedestal, explained his needs in dadu*; the
ahulphs listened, laughing like foxes. Osso
dropped a shirt that Etzwane presumed to be one
of his own. The ahulphs seized the shirt in their
manlike hands, pressed it to the odor-detectors in
their feet, tossed it into the air in a display of the
raffish heedlessness that the Chilites found com-
pletely detestable. They went to Osso and gave
him vehement, waggish reassurance; Osso at last
made an impatient gesture. The ahulphs, after
looking this way and that for something worth
stealing, went to the Pure Boys' under-room.
Here, detecting Etzwane's scent, they leapt into
the air and called back to Osso in vast excitement.
The Pure Boys watched in horrified excitement,
as did Etzwane himself, for fear that some trace
of his odor might waft itself to the ahulphs.
The two cast about the temple, and Etzwane
was relieved when they crossed his trail and dis-
covered nothing. Somewhat dampened, with ear-
flaps hanging dolefully low, they traced around
Eathre's old cottage, again without success. Rag-
ing at each other in ahulph fashion, snapping,
kicking out with the white talons concealed in
their soft black feet, swirling their fur in spiral
* Dadu: a language of finger signs and the syllables da,
de, di, do, du.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
bristles, they returned to where Osso stood wait-
ing and explained in dadu that the quarry had
gone off upon wheels. Osso turned on his heel and
stalked into the temple. The ahulphs ran south,
back up Mirk Valley into the Hwan Wildlands.
Peering through his cranny, Etzwane watched
the community take up its normal routine. The
Pure Boys, disappointed at being deprived of a
terrifying spectacle, resumed their duties. The
tannery women worked stolidly at the vats, tubs,
and tables. Chilites sat like thin white birds on
benches along the upper terrace of the temple.
Sunlight, tinted noontime lavender, struck down
at white dust and parched soil.
The tannery workers went to the refectory.
Etzwane directed urgencies toward his mother:
Come this way, come closerl But Eathre moved off
without turning her head. An hour later she re-
turned to her table. Etzwane crawled back under
the floor and worked up into the shed itself: a
storage place for kegs of chemical, tools, and the
like.
Etzwane found a lump of sal soda and, cau-
tiously approaching the doorway, tossed the lump
toward his mother. It dropped almost at her feet.
She seemed not to notice. Then, as if suddenly
interrupted from her thoughts, she glanced at the
ground.
Etzwane tossed another lump. Eathre raised her
head, looked blankly around the landscape, final-
ly toward the shed. From the shadow Etzwane
made a signal. Eathre frowned and looked away.
Etzwane stared in puzzlement. Had she seen
him? Why had she frowned?
Past the shed and into Etzwane's range of vi-
sion stalked Great Male Osso. He halted halfway

°5Q
THE FACELESS MAN
between the shed and the table where Eathre
worked. She seemed lost in another dimension of
consciousness.
Osso signaled the task-mistress and muttered a
few words. The woman went to Eathre, who with-
out comment or surprise left her work and walked
toward Osso. He made a peremptory signal to
halt her while she was still fifteen feet distant
and spoke in a low burning tone. Etzwane could
not distinguish his words nor Eathre's calm re-
sponses. Osso jerked back and turned on his heel.
He stalked back past the shed, so close that had
Etzwane reached forth, he might have touched
the cold face.
Eathre did not instantly return to her work. As
if pondering Osso's words, she wandered over to
the shed and stood by the door.
"Mur, are you there?"
"Yes, mother. I am here."
"You must leave Bashon. Go tonight, as soon
as the sun goes down."
"Can you come with me? Mother, please come."
"No. Osso holds my indenture. The Faceless
Man would take my head."
"I will find the Faceless Man," declared Etz-
wane fervently. "I will tell him of the bad
things here. He will take Osso's head."
Eathre smiled. "Don't be too sure. Osso obeys
canton law—only too well."
"If I go, Osso will abuse you I He'll make you
work at all the hardest jobs."
"It is all the same. The days come and go. I am
glad you are leaving; it is what I wanted for you,
but I must stay and help Delamber through her
birth-times."

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"But soul-father Osso may punish you, and all
on my account!"
"No, he will not dare; the women are able to
protect themselves, as I have only just put for-
ward to your soul-father.* I must return to my
work. After dark go forth. Since you wear no tore,
be careful of the work-jobbers, especially in Dur-
rume and Cansume and in Seamus as well, where
they will put you into a balloon-gang. When you
become of age, get a musician's tore; then you
may travel without hindrance. Do not go to the
old house, nor to Delamber's. Do not go for the
khitan. I have a few coins put aside, but I can't
get them for you now. I will not see you again."
"Yes you will, you will!" cried Etzwane. "I'll
petition the Faceless Man, and he'll let you go
with me."
Eathre smiled wistfully. "Not while Osso holds
my identure. Good-by, Mur." She went back to
the work table. Etzwane retreated into the shed.
He did not watch his mother.
The day waned; the women trooped off to their
* Eathre alluded to the Zoriani nac Thair nac Thairi,
which derived power from its ability to defile the temple
or any particular Chilite. There were six degrees of defile-
ment, the first being a touch of a female finger, the sixth a
drenching with a bucketful of unmentionable substances.
The Sister, or Sisters, who executed the defilements were
volunteers, usually old, sick, and quite willing to end their
lives dramatically by poison wads ingested immediately
after achieving their goals.
Defilement impelled the Chilites to a month-long ritual
of the most onerous Purification during which no galga
was burnt; if the ecstatic trance were attempted previous
to complete Purification, Galexis Achiliadnid appeared in
horrid guise. During the period of Purification the
Chilites became surly and restless. The Pure Boys were
often victimized in one fashion or another.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
dormitories. When darkness came, Etzwane
emerged from the shed and stole off downhill.
Despite Eathre's warning he went down to the
old cottage on Rhododendron Way, already oc-
cupied by another woman. He slipped to the rear,
found the khitan, and went off through the shad-
ows, down the road. He traveled west, toward
Garwiy, where the Faceless Man lived—or so
went the rumor.

Chapter 4
Shant, an irregular oblong thirteen hundred
miles long and six hundred miles wide, was sepa-
rated from the dark bulk of Caraz by a hundred
miles of water: the Straits of Pagane flowing be-
tween the Green Ocean and the Purple Ocean.
South across the Great Salt Bog, Palasedra hung
down between the Purple Ocean and the Blue
Ocean like a three-fingered hand or an udder with
three teats.
A thousand miles east of Shant appeared the
first islands of the Beljamar, a vast archipelago
dividing the Green Ocean from the Blue Ocean.
The population of Caraz was unknown; there
were relatively few Palasedrans; the Beljamar
supported a few scanty blotches of oceanic no-
mads; most of Durdane's population inhabited the
sixty-two cantons of Shant, in loose confederation
under the rule of the Faceless Man.
The cantons of Shant were alike only in their
mutual distrust. Each regarded as Universal Prin-
ciple its own customs, costumes, jargon, and
mannerisms and considered all else eccentricity.
The impersonal, unqualified rule of the Anome
—in popular usage, the Faceless Man—exactly
suited the xenophobic folk of the cantons. Govern-
mental apparatus was simple; the Anome made
few financial demands; the laws enforced, for the
most part, were those formulated by the cantons
themselves. The Anome's justice might be merci-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
less and abrupt, but it was evenhanded and ad-
hered to a simple principle, clear to all: He who
breaks the law dies. The Faceless Man's au-
thority derived from the tore, a band of flexite
coded in various shades of purple, dark scarlet or
maroon, blue, green, gray, and rarely, brown.*
The tore contained a strand of explosive;
dexax, which the Faceless Man, if necessary,
could detonate by means of a coded radiation. An
attempt to remove the tore worked to the same
effect. Usually, when a person lost his head, the
cause was well known: he had broken the laws
of his canton. On rare occasions, detonation might
take a person's head for reasons mysterious and
inscrutable, whereupon, folk would move with
great care and diffidence lest they, too, excite
the unpredictable wrath of the Faceless Man.
No area of Shant was too remote; from Ilwiy
to the Straits of Pagane detonations occurred and
felons lost their heads. It was known that the
Anome employed deputies, somewhat tardy
* By the usual Shant symbology blue, green, purple, and
gray carried optimistic attributes. Browns were un-
favorable, tragic, elegant, authoritative, according to con-
text. Yellow was the hue of death. Red, signifying in-
visibility, was used to paint objects meant to be ignored.
Thieves wore red caps. White indicated mystery, chastity,
poverty, anger, dependent on circumstances. Colors in
combination changed significance.
In connection with color symbolism, the ideograms of
Canton Surrume might be mentioned. Originally each
word was represented by color strokes in correct sym-
bolic combination; the scribe wrote with as many as
seven brushes in his fist. In due course a secondary sys-
tem came into effect, employing monochromatic dots at
various heights, indicative of color, that in turn evolved
into a jointed line tracing the position of the color indica-
tors, and at last the sign for each word became a cursive
ideogram from which all reference to color had been lost.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
known as Benevolences, who subserved the
Anome's will.
Garwiy, where the Faceless Man made his
headquarters, was the largest city of Shant, the
industrial node of all Durdane. Along the Jardeen
River and in the district known as Shranke on the
Jardeen Estuary were a hundred glassworks,
foundries and machine shops, biomechanical fab-
ricating plants, bioelectric works where the or-
ganic monomolecules of Canton Fenesq were
stranded into null-ohm conductors, bonded to
semi-living filters, valves, and switches, to pro-
duce fragile, temperamental, and highly expensive
electronic gear. Bio-engineers commanded high
prestige; at the opposite end of the social scale
were the musicians, who nevertheless excited
pangs of romantic envy in the settled folk of
Shant. Music, like language and color symbology,
transcended the canton boundaries, affecting the
entire population.*
In Canton Amaze a thousand, two thousand
musicians took part in the annual seiach: a vast
wash of sound swelling and subsiding like wind,
or surf, with occasional tides, vague and indis-
tinct, of clear little waif-bells. More general was
the music played by wandering troupes: jigs and
wind-ups; set-pieces and sonatas; shararas, sara-
bands, ballads, caprices, quick-steps. A druithine
might accompany such a troupe; more often he
wandered alone, playing as he fancied. Lesser
folk might sing words or chant poetry; the druit-
hine played only music, to express his total ex-
perience, all his joy and grief. Such a person had
been Etzwane's blood-father, the great Dystar.
* A notable exception: the Chilites of Canton Bastern.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
Etzwane had never credited the account of Dy-
star's death as related by Feld Maijesto; in his
childhood daydreams Etzwane had seen himself
wandering the roads of Shant, taking his khitan
to fests and gatherings until at last the two met;
from here the daydream went in various direc-
tions. Sometimes Dystar wept to hear music so
lovely; when Etzwane identified himself, Dystar's
wonder exceeded all bounds. Sometimes Dystar
and the indomitable youth found themselves op-
posed in a battle of music; in his mind Etzwane
heard the glorious tunes, the rhythms and
counter-rhythms, the clink of the jingle-bar, the
gratifying rasp of the scratch-box.
The daydreams at last had taken on a ghost
of substance. Khitan slung over his narrow back,
Etzwane trudged the roads of Shant, and all his
future lay before him.
Unless he were captured and taken back to
Bastern.
It was not beyond possibility that Osso would
suspect the true state of affairs and call in the
ahulphs once again. The thought put spring into
Etzwane's steps. He jogged along at his best
speed, slowing to a walk only when his lungs be-
gan to labor. Rhododendron Way lay far behind;
he journeyed under the stars, with the great
black hulk of the Hwan rising to his left.
The night wore on. Etzwane, no longer jogging,
walked as fast as his aching legs would carry him.
The road climbed a hill, rounded a spur. Behind
spread a starlit landscape, gray and black, with
a few far lights Etzwane could not identify.
He sat on a stone to rest and looked westward
into Canton Seamus, which he had never seen be-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
fore, though from men who passed along Rho-
dodendron Way he knew something of the folk
and their habits. They were stocky, ruddy-blond,
and quick tempered; they brewed beer and dis-
tilled poteen, which men, women, and children
alike consumed without apparent effect. The men
wore suits of good brown cloth, straw hats, gold
rings in their ears; the women, who were stout
and boisterous, dressed in long pleated gowns of
brown and black and wore combs of aventurine
quartz in their hair. They never espoused men
larger than themselves; in the event that fisticuffs
took place after an evening at the tavern, the hus-
bands held no physical advantage.
The North Spur of the balloon-way passed
through Seamus, connecting Oswiy on the north
coast with the Great Transverse Line; the road
Etzwane followed met the balloon-way at Car-
bade. As he looked off to the west, over the coun-
try he planned to travel, he fancied to see far
away a red glimmer moving slowly across the sky.
If his eyes were not at fault, the light marked the
course of the balloon-way—though the time was
late and the wind was still. He thought of his
mother's warning against the work-jobbers; alone,
without a tore, he had no identity, he had claims
to no one's protection, and whoever so chose
could do as they liked with him. The work-jobbers
would clamp a tore and an indenture upon him,
ship him off to a balloon-gang. In the morning he
would contrive a tore of withe or bark or leather,
which would help him evade attention.
The time was late, and the night was still. So
still that as he sat quietly he thought to hear com-
ing down from the Wildlands a far, faint howling.
Etzwane huddled down upon the stone, feeling

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
clammy and cool. The ahulphs were at one of
their macabre revelries, which came on them like
a madness; in some remote valley of the Hwan
they danced and howled around a fire.
The thought of ahulphs urged him to his feet.
When sure of a trail, they moved swiftly; he was
not yet beyond their reach.
He found that his legs had become stiff, and
his feet ached. He should never have seated him-
self to rest. As fast as he was able, he limped on
down the road into Seamus.
An hour before dawn he passed a village: a
dozen cottages around a small neat square paved
with slabs of slate. To the rear stood silos, a ware-
house, and the bulbous tanks of a small brewery.
A three-story building beside the road was evi-
dently an inn. Folk were already astir in the cook
shed to the rear; Etzwane saw the blink of a fire.
Beside the inn waited three large vans loaded
with fresh white butts and tubs of Shimrod Forest
larch destined for one or another of the distil-
leries. From the stable behind the inn a groom
was bringing draft animals: bullocks derived
from terrestrial beef stock, placid and depend-
able but slow.* Etzwane dodged past, hoping not
to be seen in the predawn murk.
The road ahead crossed a flat waste strewn
with rocks. No shelter was visible, nor any planta-
tion from which he might have gleaned a bite or
two of nourishment. His spirits dropped to their
lowest ebb; he felt as if he could walk no more;
* The fragmentation of Shant into cantons can be at-
tributed both to the quality of the original settlers and the
lack of metal for efficient engines.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
his throat was parched, and his stomach ached
with hunger. Only fear of the ahulph restrained
him from seeking a hidden spot among the rocks
in which to make himself a bed of dry leaves. Fi-
nally fatigue overcame the fear. He could walk
no longer. He stumbled to a spot behind a ledge
of rotten shale. Wrapping himself in his robe, he
lay down to rest. He lapsed into a numb daze,
something other than sleep.
A grating, grumbling sound aroused him: the
passage of the vans. The suns were an hour into
the sky; though he had not slept, or thought he
had not slept, daylight had come without his no-
tice.
The vans passed by and rumbled away into
the west. Etzwane jumped up to look after them,
thinking that here was an opportunity to confuse
the ahulphs. The teamsters rode on the forward
benches and could not see to the rear. Etzwane
ran to catch up. He swung himself aboard the
last van and sat with his feet hanging over the
bed. After a few moments he drew himself far-
ther back into a convenient crevice. He intended
to ride only a mile or two, then jump down, but
so convenient and comfortable was his seat, so
restful and secure seemed the dark nook, that he
became drowsy and fell asleep.
Etzwane awoke and blinked out from his
cranny at a pair of unrecognizable rectangles,
one impinged on the other. The first blazed lav-
dender-white; the second was a panel of striated
dark green. Etzwane's mind moved sluggishly.
What was this odd scene? He crawled slowly to
the back of the van, his mind still fuzzy. The
white was the wall of a whitewashed building in

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
the full glare of noon sunlight. The dark green
panel was the side of a van thrust across his field
of vision. Etzwane remembered where he was.
He had b^en asleep; the cessation of motion had
wakened him. How far had he come? Probably
to Carbade, in Seamus. Not the best place to be
if the oddments of information he had picked up
along Rhododendron Way were to be believed.
The folk of Seamus reputedly gave nothing and
took whatever might be had. Etzwane climbed
stiffly from the van. Best to be on his way before
he was discovered. No more fear of the ahulphs,
at any rate.
From not too far away came the sound of
voices. Etzwane slipped around the van, confront-
ing a black-bearded man with hollow white
cheeks and round blue eyes. He wore a teamster's
black canvas trousers, a dirty white vest with
wooden buttons; he stood with legs apart, hands
held up in surprise. He seemed pleased rather
than angry. "And what have we here in this
young bandit? So this is how they train them, to
raid the cargo hardly before the wheels come to
a stop. And not even a tore around his neck."
Etzwane spoke in a tremulous voice, that he
tried to hold grave and earnest. "I stole nothing,
sir; I rode only a short way in the van."
"That's theft of transportation," declared the
teamster. "You admit the fact yourself. Well,
then, come along."
Etzwane shrank back. "Come along where?"
"Where you'll learn a useful trade. I'm doing
you a favor."
"I have a trade!" cried Etzwane. "I'm a musi-
cian ! See! Here is my khitan 1"

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"You're nothing without your tore. Come
along."
Etzwane tried to dodge away; the teamster
caught him by the gown. Etzwane kicked and
struggled; the teamster cuffed him, then held him
off. "Do you want worse? Mind your manners!" He
pulled at the khitan; the instrument fell to the
ground where the neck snapped away from the
box.
Etzwane gave a stifled cry and stared down at
the tangle of wood and string. The teamster
seized his arm and marched him into the depot
to a table where four men sat at a gaming board.
Three were teamsters; the fourth was a Seam,
the conical straw hat pushed up from his round
red face.
"A vagabond in my van," said Etzwane's cap-
tor. "Looks to be bright and lively; no tore, notice;
what should I do to help him?"
The four gave Etzwane a silent inspection.
One of the teamsters grunted and turned back
to the dice. "Let the lad go his way. He doesn't
want your help."
"Ah, but you're wrong! Every citizen of the
realm must toil; ask the job-broker here. What
do you say, job-broker?"
The Seam leaned back in his chair, pushed his
hat back at a precarious angle. "He's under-
sized; he looks unruly. Still, I suppose I can get
him a post, perhaps up at Angwin. Twenty
florins?"
"For the sake of quick business—done."
The Seam rose ponderously to his feet. He
signaled to Etzwane. "Come along."
Etzwane was confined in a closet for the better

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
part of a day, then marched to a wagon and con-
veyed a mile south of Carbade to the balloon-way
depot. Half an hour later the southbound balloon
Misran appeared, wind on a broad reach, the dolly
singing up the slot. Observing the semaphore,
the wind-tender eased his forward cables, allow-
ing the Misran to fall broadside to the wind and
lose way. A quarter mile down the slot from the
depot the tackle-man hooked a drag to the dolly,
brought it to a halt, pinned the after trucks with
an anchor-bolt. The spreader-bar was detached;
the balloon-guys were slipped into snatch-blocks
on the front trucks; now the Judas dolly was
hauled south along the slot, pulling the balloon to
the ground.
Etzwane was taken to the gondola and put into
the charge of the wind-tender. The Judas-dolly
was rolled back along the track and engaged
with the spreader-bar, the balloon rising once
more to its running altitude. The anchor-pin was
removed from the after trucks. Front trucks,
thirty-foot spreader-bar, and after trucks con-
stituted the working-dolly; the Misran once more
rode free. The wind-tender winched in the for-
ward guys, warping the balloon across the wind;
off and away up the slot sang the dolly, gathering
speed, and Carbade was left behind.*
* The typical balloon, carrying four to eight passengers
and a wind-tender, was a semiflexible slab one unit of
dimension wide, eight units long, four units high. The
skeleton might be bamboo, tempered glass tubing, or rods
of cemented glass fiber. The membrane was the dorsal
skin of a gigantic coelenterate, nurtured and forced until
it completely filled a large shallow tank, whereupon the
skin was lifted and cured. Hydrogen provided buoyancy.
The slots in which the dollies ran were precast members
of concrete reinforced with glass fiber, attached to foun-

THE FACELESS MAN .	73
For Etzwane, the world of his daydreams was
gone and lost irrevocably, like last year's flowers.
He knew something of the balloon-way work-
gangs; their lots were drudgery and compulsion.
Technically free men, in practice they were
seldom able to pay off their indentures. The con-
dition of Etzwane was even worse; without a tore
he had no status; he could appeal to no one; the
work-master could set any value he chose on Etz-
wane's indenture. Once clamped with a tore, the
Faceless Man would enforce the terms of his con-
tract. Foreboding lay like a stone in his stomach;
he felt numb and confused.
Deep inside his mind a voice began to yell. He
would run away. He had escaped the Chilites; he
would evade the work-gang. What had his mother
told him? "Defeat adversities rather than accept
them." Never would he let himself be victimized;
after they clamped on his tore, he would win his
way to Garwiy and there make a case to the Face-
less Man: both for himself and his mother. He
dation-sleepers. The usual dolly consisted of two sets of
trucks separated by a truss thirty feet long, at the ends of
which the guys were attached. The wind-tender used
trimming winches to shorten or lengthen bow and stern
lines, thus controlling wind-aspect, and the canting
winch, to alter the shape of the bridles at bow and stern
and thus control the angle of heel.
Under optimum circumstances velocity reached sixty
or seventy miles an hour. The routes made purposeful
use of prevailing winds; where the route consistently en-
countered adverse winds or calm, motive power was ap-
plied to the dollies at ground level by an endless cable
driven by water wheels or a work-gang at a windlass; by
a gravity-cart loaded with stone; by teams of pacers. Bal-
loons passed each other at sidings or traded dollies.
Where the route crossed gorges, as at Angwin Junction,
or met otherwise unfavorable terrain, a cable of ironweb
strands formed a link in the slot.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
would ask a terrible punishment for the teamster
who broke his khitan; he had neglected to notice
the teamster's tore, but never would he forget the
pale, black-bearded face!
Stimulated by his hate and his resolve, he
began to take an interest in the balloon and the
landscape: low rolling hills rippling with ripe
barley, cylindrical stone farm places, round
grain towers, and, at intervals, the breweries,
with their curious bulging tanks.
During the middle afternoon the wind shifted
forward; the wind-tender winched in his forward
guy, to close-haul the balloon; driven closer to the
ground, he canted the bridles to provide lift, to
raise the Misran into a clear stream of air.
The rolling barley fields gave way to rocky hills
splotched with thickets of blue and dark orange
fester-shrub, from which the ancient ahulphs had
cut their weapons. To the south rose the Hwan,
the great central spine of Shant, across which
ran the Great Transverse Route. Late in the after-
noon the Misran rushed up the last steep ten
miles of slot and reached Angwin North Station
where a work-gang shifted the guys to a shackle
on a mile-long endless cable suspended across a
gorge. The work-gang turned a windlass, the
Misran was guided sedately up to Angwin Junc-
tion where the North Spur joined the Great Trans-
verse Route. The guys were shifted to another
endless loop, reaching across an even more
stupendous gorge to Angwin proper, and here the
Misran descended. The wind-tender took Etzwane
to the Angwin superintendent, who at first grum-
bled. "What kind of whiffets and sad bantlings are
they sending me now? Where can I use him? He

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
lacks weight to push a windlass; also, I don't like
the look in his eye."
The wind-tender shrugged and glanced down
at Etzwane. "He's a bit under the usual standard,
but that's no business of mine. If you don't want
him, IH take him back down to Pertzel."
"Hmmf. Not so fast. What's his price?"
"Pertzel wants two hundred."
"For a creature like that? I'll give a hundred."
"That's not my instructions."
"Instructions be damned. Pertzel's using us
both for fools. Leave the creature here. If Pertzel
won't take a hundred, pick him up on your next
trip. Meanwhile, I'll hold off his tore."
"A hundred is cheap. He'll grow; he's nimble;
he can switch as many shackles as can a man."
'This I realize. He'll go across to Junction, and
111 bring the top man over here for the windlass."
The wind-tender laughed. "So you're getting a
windlass-man for the price of a hundred-florin
boy?"
The superintendent grinned. "Don't tell Pertzel
that."
"Not I. It's between the two of you."
"Good. Ride him back to Junction; I'll flash
over a message." He frowned down at Etzwane.
"What's expected of you, boy, is brisk, accurate
work. Do your stint and the balloon-way is not so
bad. If you shirk or perform, you'll find me harsh
as hackle-bush...."
Etzwane rode back across the gorge to Angwin
Junction. The Misran was hauled down by a
hand-winch, a blond stocky youth not much older
than Etzwane turning the crank.
Etzwane was put down; the Misran rose once

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
more into the gathering dusk and was hauled
down over the gorge to North Station, on the
North Spur.
The blond youth took Etzwane into a low stone
shed where two young men sat at a table eating
a supper of broad-beans and tea. The blond youth
announced: "Here's the new hand. What's your
name, lad?"
"I am Gastel Etzwane."
"Gastel Etzwane it is. I am Finnerack; yonder
is Ishiel the Mountain Poet, and he with the long
face is Dickon. Will you eat? Our fare is not the
best: beans and bread and tea, but it's better
than going hungry."
Etzwane took a plate of beans, which were
barely warm. Finnerack jerked his thumb to the
east. "Old Dagbolt rations our fuel, not to men-
tion our water, provisions, and everything else
worth using."
Dickon spoke in a surly voice: "Now 111 have
to go grind windlass under Dagbolt's very nose.
No talk, no chaffer; quiet, orderly work, that's
Dagbolt for you. Here at least a man can spit in
any direction he chooses."
"It's the same for all of us," said Ishiel. "In a
year or two they'll bring me across, then it will
be Finnerack's turn. And in the course of five or
six years Gastel Etzwane will make the change,
and we'll be reunited."
"Not if I can avoid it," said Dickon. "Ill put in
for slot-cleaning duty and at least be on the move.
If Dagbolt turns me down, I'll become the premier
gambler of the Junction. Never fear, lads, IH be
out of my indenture before ten years have
passed."
"My good wishes," remarked Finnerack. "You've

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
won all my money; I hope you get the service of
it."
In the morning Finnerack instructed Etzwane
in his duties. He would stand shifts in turn with
Finnerack and Ishiel. When a balloon passed
along the Great Transverse Route, he must ease
the clamp and shackle around the idler sheave.
When a balloon came up the North Spur, or re-
turned, the man on duty, using a claw-lever
chained to the floor, hooked into the guys and
switched the balloon from one cable to the other.
As the youngest member of the crew, Etzwane
was also required to oil the sheaves, keep the hut
swept out, and boil the morning gruel. The work
was neither arduous nor complicated; the crew
had ample leisure, which they spent crocheting
fancy vests for sale in the town and gambling
with the proceeds to earn enough to pay off their
indenture. Finnerack told Etzwane, "Over at Ang-
win, Dagbolt forbids gambling. He says he wants
to stop the fights. Bah. From time to time some
lucky chap wins enough to buy himself free, and
that's the last thing Dagbolt wants."
Etzwane looked around the station. They stood
on a bleak windswept ledge fifty yards across, di-
rectly below the stupendous mass of Mount Mish
and between two gorges. Etzwane asked, "How
long have you been here?"
'Two years," said Finnerack. "Dickon has been
here eight."
Etzwane studied Mount Mish and was daunted:
impossible to scale the crag that beetled over the
station. The precipices that descended into the
gorges were no less baleful. Finnerack gave a sad,
knowing laugh. "You'd like to find a way down?"
"Yes, I would."

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
Finnerack showed neither surprise nor disap-
proval. "Now's the time, before they clamp on
your tore. Don't think I haven't considered it,
tore and all."
At the edge of the precipice they looked down
and off across a gulf of air. "I've stood here by
the hour," said Finnerack wistfully, "tracing how
I'd climb down to the valley. From here down to
that nose of red granite a person would need a
length of rope, or he might scramble down that
fissure, had he the nerve. Then he'd have to work
himself across the face of that scarp—it looks
worse than it is, I dare say. From there to that
tumble of scree should not be impossible, and
only hard work thereafter down to the valley floor.
But then what? It's a hundred miles to a village,
with no food nor water. And do you know what
you'd find along the way?"
"Wild ahulph."
"I wasn't thinking of ahulph, but you'd find
them, too, the wicked Phag brood." Finnerack
searched the valley floor. "I saw one just the
other day." He pointed. "Lookl By that needle of
black rock. I think there's a cave or a shelter
there. It's where I saw the other."
Etzwane looked and thought to see a stir of
movement. "What is it?"
"A Roguskhoi. Do you know what that is?"
"It's a kind of mountain savage that can't be
controlled except by its yearning for strong drink."
"Great womanizers, as well. I've never seen one
close at hand, and I hope I never do. What if
they took it into their heads to climb up here?
They'd chop us to bitsl"
"Much to Dagbolt's horror," suggested Etzwane.
"Too right! He'd have to buy in three new in-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
dentures. He'd rather we'd die of overwork or
old age."
Etzwane looked wistfully down the valley. "I
had planned to be a musician. . . . Does anyone
ever earn enough to buy off their indentures?"
"Dagbolt does his best to prevent it," said Fin-
nerack. "He operates a commissary where he sells
Seam beer, fruit, sweetmeats, and the like. When
the men gamble, it always seems to be one of the
career ratings who wins the money, and no one
knows how they achieve such luck. One way or
another, it's not all so bad. Perhaps 111 make a
career myself. There are always jobs opening
up below—on the windlass or as a slot-cleaner or
motive man. If you learn electrics, you might get
into communications. As for me, I'd like to be a
wind-tender. Think of it!" Finnerack flung back
his head, looked around the sky. "Up in the bal-
loon, running the winches, with the dolly skirring
along the slot below. There's sheer fun! And one
day it's Pagane and Amaze, the next Garwiy, then
off over the Great Transverse Route to Pelmonte
and Whearn and the Blue Ocean."
"I suppose it's not a bad life," said Etzwane
dubiously. "Still—" he could not bring himself to
finish.
Finnerack shrugged. "Until they tore you,
you're free to run off. Be sure I won't stop you, or
Ishiel. In fact well lower you down the cliff. But
it's terrible country, and you'd be going to your
death. Still—were I you, without my tore, per-
haps I'd try." He raised his head as a horn
sounded. "Come along; a balloon is crossing over
from Angwin."
They returned to the station. The shift was
technically Etzwane's; Finnerack was standing by

°5Q
THE FACELESS MAN
to break him in. The approaching balloon hung
aslant the sky, lurching and bobbing as the cable
drew it against the wind. The guys, fore and aft,
were shackled to an iron ring, which in turn was
chained to a grip on the drive-line. The ring bore
a black marker, indicating that it must be
switched down the North Spur. The grip entered
the sheave and passed halfway around the cir-
cumference. Finnerack pushed an electric signal
to the windlass chief at Angwin and threw a
brake that halted the drive-line. He hooked the
claw-lever into the ring, worked the arm to pull
down the ring and loosen the grip. Etzwane trans-
ferred the grip to the North Spur line; Finnerack
disengaged the lever-jack; the balloon now hung
on the North Spur drive-line. Finnerack pushed
the electric signal to the windlass at North Sta-
tion; the drive-line tautened, the balloon drifted
away on the south wind.
Half an hour later another balloon arrived
from the east, lurching and straining to the
breeze blowing down from Mount Mish. The
grip passed across the idler sheave without at-
tention from Finnerack or Etzwane; the balloon
continued across the gorge to Anwin, thence on
toward Garwiy.
Not long after, another balloon came in from
the west, destined as before to the North Spur.
Etzwane said to Finnerack, "This time let me do
the whole transfer. You stand to the side and
watch that I do everything correctly."
"Just as you like," said Finnerack. "I must say
you're very keen."
"Yes," said Etzwane. "I'm very keen indeed. I
plan to take your advice."
"Indeed? And make a balloon-way career?"

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"I plan to give the matter thought," said Etz-
wane. "As you have remarked, I am not yet
clamped and not yet committed."
'Tell that to Dagbolt," said Finnerack. "Here
comes the grip; be handy with the signal and the
brake."
The grip entered the sheave; as it reached the
circumference, Etzwane pressed the signal and
braked the wheel.
"Quite right," said Finnerack.
Etzwane brought up the claw-jack, hooked it
into the ring, drew down slack, and detached
the grip.
"Exactly right," said Finnerack. "You've learned
the knack, no question of it."
Etzwane caught the grip on the edge of the
sheave, released the lever-jack, shook away the
hook. He stepped up into the ring and kicked free
the grip. Finnerack stared in bewilderment. "What
are you doing?" he gasped. "You've set free the
balloon!"
"Exactly," called Etzwane. "Give my regards
to Dagbolt. Good-by, Finnerack."
The balloon swept him away on the wind from
Mount Mish, while Finnerack watched open-
mouthed from below. Etzwane perched with one
foot in the ring and, clutching the guy lines,
waved his hand; Finnerack, standing foreshort-
ened with head turned back, raised his arm in
dubious farewell. Etzwane felt a pang of regret;
he had never met anyone he liked so well as Fin-
nerack. Someday they might meet again ...
In the balloon the wind-tender realized that
something had gone amiss but knew no remedy
for the situation. "Attention all," he cried out to
the passengiers. "The guys have slipped; we are

°5Q
THE FACELESS MAN
floating free in a northwest direction, which will
take us safely across the Wildlands. There is no
danger! Everyone please remain calm. When we
approach a settled community, I will valve gas
and lower us to the ground. For the unavoidable
change of schedule I extend the official apologies
of the balloon-way."

Chapter 5
The balloon floated down from the Hwan in the
halcyon quiet of the upper air. Etzwane rode sur-
rounded by lavender-white radiance; so unreal
and peaceful were the circumstances, he felt no
fear. Underneath passed the great forests of Can-
ton Trestevan: parasol darabas, dark maroon and
purple, soft-seeming as feather dusters, returning
ripples of wincing greenish bronze to the touch
of the wind. In the dank lower valleys stood red-
woods, hoary giants five hundred feet tall, half as
old as the coming of the human race. Lower still,
along the piedmont, were hangman trees, black
oaks and green elms, the unique syndic trees
whose seeds sprouted legs and poisonous pin-
cers. After walking to a satisfactory location, each
seed roved within a ten-foot circle, poisoning all
competing vegetation, then dug a hole and buried
itself.
The forests persisted into Canton Sable, then
gave way to a region of small farms and a thou-
sand small ponds where crayfish, eels, white-
worm, a dozen other varieties of water-food were
produced, packed, frozen, and shipped to the
metropolitan markets of Garwiy, Brassei, Mas-
chein. The villages were tiny toys exuding mi-
nuscule wisps of smoke; along the roads moved
infinitesimal wagons and traps drawn by insect-
size bullocks and pacers. Etzwane would have
enjoyed the landscape, had he been comfortable.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
He rode with first one foot in the ring, then the
other, then one foot on top of the other. He tried
to sit in the angle between the two guy lines, but
the cables cut into his hips. His perch became
more uncomfortable by the minute. His feet were
knobs of pain; his arms and shoulders ached from
the strain of clinging to the guys. Still, his exhila-
ration persisted; he had no fault to find with cir-
cumstances.
The wind had died to a murmur; the balloon
drifted with great deliberation into Canton Frill,
a green, dark blue, brown, white and purple
checkerboard of fields and orchards. A meander-
ing river, the Lurne, was a casual insult of nature
to the human geometry of hedges and roads; ten
miles to the west the river passed through a
market town, built in the typical Frillish style:
tobacco-brown panels of pressed gum-leaves be-
tween posts of polished iban, rising two or even
three stories. Above the town rose a forest of
poles, flying good-luck banners, prayer-flags, se-
cret omens, tender and sometimes illicit signals
between lovers. Looking over the countryside,
Etzwane thought Frill an agreeable place, and he
hoped that the balloon would land here, if for no
other reason than to ease his aching body.
The wind-tender, for his part, had hoped to
drift on into Canton Cathriy where the trade
winds blowing in from Shellflower Bay would
take him southwest to meet the Great Transverse
Route somewhere in Canton Mai, but he had
to reckon with his passengers. They had divided
into two factions. The first had become impatient
with hanging motionless in the still air and de-
manded that the balloon be put down; the second,
to the contrary, feared that the wind would rise

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
and sweep them to perdition out over the Green
Ocean; they insisted even more emphatically that
the balloon be lowered.
The wind-tender at last threw up his arms in
vexation and valved out a quantity of gas until
his altimeter indicated gradual descent. He
opened his floor panel to inspect the terrain be-
low and for the first time noticed Etzwane. He
peered down in shock and suspicion, but he could
be sure of nothing. And in any event he was pow-
erless to act unless he chose to slide down one of
the guy lines to confront the unauthorized pas-
senger, which he did not care to do.
The guys sank into the thick blue grass of a
meadow. Etzwane jumped gratefully out of the
ring; the balloon, relieved of his weight, swung
back aloft. Etzwane ran like a wild creature for
the hedge. Heedless of cuts and scratches, he
burst through the brambles and into a lane where
he ran pell-mell until he came to a copse of yap-
nut trees. He plunged into the shadows and stood
till he caught his breath.
He could see nothing but foliage. Selecting the
tallest tree in sight, he climbed until he could
see over the hedge and across the meadow.
The balloon was down, anchored to a stump.
The passengers had alighted and stood arguing
with the wind-tender, demanding immediate fare
rebates and expense money. This the wind-
tender refused to pay over, in the certain knowl-
edge that the main office clerks would not cas-
ually refund these sums unless he were able to
produce detailed vouchers, invoices, and receipts.
The passengers began to grow ugly; the wind-
tender at last resolved the matter by breaking
loose the anchor and scrambling into the gondo-

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
la. Relieved of the passengers, the balloon rose
swifdy and drifted away, leaving the passengers
in a disconsolate cluster.
For three weeks Etzwane roamed the country-
side, a gaunt harsh-featured lad in the rags of
his Pure Boy gown. In the heart of the yapnut
grove he built a little den of twigs and leaves in
which he maintained a tiny fire, blown up from
a coal stolen at a farm house hearth. He stole
other articles: an old jacket of green homespun,
a lump of black sausage, a roll of coars? cord and
a bundle of hay with which he planned to make
himself a bed. The hay was insufficient; he re-
turned for a second bundle and stole as well an
old earthenware bowl with which the farmer fed
his fowl. On this latter occasion, as he jumped
from the back window of the barn, he was sighted
by the boys of the farm, who gave chase and
harried him through the woods until at last he
went to cover in a dense thicket. He heard them
destroying his den and exclaiming in anger at
the stolen goods as they blundered past: "Yodel's
ahulphs will winkle him out. They can take him
back upland for their pains." Cold chills coursed
down Etzwane's back. When the boys left the
wood, he climbed the tall tree and watched them
return to their farm. "They won't bring in
ahulphs," he told himself in a hollow voice.
"They'll forget all about me tomorrow. After all,
it was just a bit of hay ... An old coat..."
On the following day Etzwane kept an anxious
watch on the farmhouse. When he saw the folk
going about their normal duties, he became
somewhat less fearful.
The next morning when he climbed the tree he

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
saw to his horror three ahulphs beside the barn.
They were a lumpy dwarfish variety, with the
look of hairy goblin-dogs: the Murtre Mountain
strain. In a panic Etzwane leapt from the tree
and set off through the woods toward the river
Lurne. If luck were with him, he would find a boat
or a raft; for he could not swim.
Leaving the forest, he crossed a field of pur-
ple moy; looking back, his worst fears were real-
ized: the ahulphs came behind.
So far they had not sighted him; they ran with
their eyes and foot-noses to the ground. With
pounding legs and bumping heart, Etzwane ran
from the field, up the highroad that paralleled the
riverbank.
Along the road came a high-wheeled carriage
drawn by a prime pacing bullock, the result of
nine thousand years breeding. Though capable of
a very smart pace, it moved in a leisurely fashion,
as if the driver were in no great hurry to reach
his destination. Etzwane pulled up the old jacket
to hide his bare neck and called to the man who
drove the carriage: "Please, sir, may I ride with
you for a little bit?"
The man, reining the pacer to a halt, gave
Etzwane a somber appraisal. Etzwane, returning
the inspection, saw a lean man of indeterminate
age with a pallid skin, a high forehead and
austere nose, a shock of soft white hair neatiy
cropped, wearing a suit of fine gray cloth. The
verticals of his tore were purple and gray; the
horizontals were white and black, neither of
which Etzwane could identify. He seemed very
old, knowing and urbane, yet, on the other hand,
not very old at all. He spoke in a voice of neutral
courtesy: "Jump aboard. How far do you go?"

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"I don't know," said Etzwane. "As far as pos-
sible. To be quite frank, the ahulphs are after
me."
'Indeed? What is your crime?"
"Nothing of any consequence. The farmer boys
consider me a vagabond and want to hunt me
down."
"I can't very well assist fugitives," said the
man, "but you may ride with me for a bit."
'Thank you."
The cart moved down the road, Etzwane keep-
ing a watch behind. The man put a toneless ques-
tion : "Where is your home?"
Etzwane could trust no one with this secret. "I
have no home."
"And where is your destination?"
"Garwiy. I want to put a petition to the Face-
less Man to help my mother."
"And how would he do this?"
Etzwane looked over his shoulder; the ahulphs
were not yet in sight. "She is under unjust inden-
ture and now must work in the tannery. The
Faceless Man could order her indenture lifted;
I'm sure she has paid it off and more, but they
keep no reckonings."
"The Faceless Man is not likely to intervene
in a matter of canton law."
"I've been told so. But perhaps hell listen."
The man gave a faint smile. "The Faceless
Man is gratified that canton law functions effec-
tively. Can you believe that he'll disrupt old cus-
toms and turn everything topsy-turvy, even at
Bashon?"
Etzwane looked at him in surprise. "How did
you know?"

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
'Tour gown. Your way of speech. Your mention
of a tannery."
Etzwane had nothing to say. He looked over his
shoulder, wishing the man would drive faster.
Even as he looked, the ahulphs bounded out
into the road. Crouching down, Etzwane watched
in sweating fascination. Through some peculiar
working of their brain, a loss of scent confused
them, and no amount of training or exhortation
could persuade them to seek their quarry visual-
ly. Etzwane looked around at the man, who
seemed more distant and austere than ever. The
man said, "I won't be able to protect you. You
must help yourself."
Etzwane turned back to watch the road. Over
the hedge bounded the farmer's boys. The ahulphs
made grinning disavowals, loping helpfully in one
direction, then another. The boys gave a caw of
rage at the helplessness of the ahulphs; then one
saw the carriage and pointed. All began to run in
hot pursuit.
Etzwane said anxiously, "Can't you drive some-
what faster? Otherwise they will kill me."
The man looked stonily ahead as if he had not
heard. Etzwane gave a despairing glance behind,
to find his pursuers gaining rapidly. His life was
coming to an end. The ahulphs, with license to
kill, would rend him apart at once, then careful-
ly tie the parts into parcels to take home, quarrel-
ing over this and that as they did so. Etzwane
jumped from the carriage, to tumble head over
heels into the road. Scraped and bruised but feel-
ing nothing, he sprang down the river bank,
bursting through the alders and into the swift
yellow Lurne. What now? He had never swam a

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
stroke in his life. ... He clutched to the twigs,
shuddering uncontrollably, torn between dread
of the water and a desire to immerse himself
away from view. The ahulphs came crashing
down the river bank, trying to push their hairy
faces through the thicket. Etzwane eased himself
downstream, clinging to the twigs, letting his legs
float. The green jacket weighed on him; he
slipped it off. Catching a bubble of air, it moved
downstream, attracting the attention of the farm
boys who could see only indistinctly through the
brush. They ran shouting along the bank; Etz-
wane waited. Fifty yards downstream they dis-
covered their mistake and stood arguing: Where
was their quarry? They .ordered one of the
ahulphs to swim across the stream and range
the opposite bank, to which the ahulph made
whining protests. The boys drew back up the
bank. Etzwane floated with the current, hoping
to pass them unseen and presently pull himself
to shore.
Silence on the bank: a sinister absence of
sound. Etzwane's legs began to feel numb; cau-
tiously he edged himself into the thicket. The
disturbance attracted attention; one of the boys
set up a halloo. Etzwane fell back into the water
and, missing his grip on the twigs, was carried
off into the stream. Straining to hold up his head,
beating down with his arms, thrashing with his
legs, Etzwane floundered out into midstream.
His breath came in harsh gasps; water entered
his mouth to choke him; he felt himself going
down. The opposite bank was not too far away.
He made a desperate final effort; one of his feet
touched bottom. He pushed, thrust himself,

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
hopping and lurching toward the bank. Kneeling
in the shallows, clinging to the alders, he hung
his head and gave himself up to hoarse racking
coughs. From the far bank the boys jeered at
him, and the ahulphs began to thrust down
through the alders. Etzwane wearily tried to push
through the brush, but the bank beyond loomed
high and steep above him. He waded with the
current. One of the ahulphs jumped into the
stream and paddled directly toward Etzwane;
the current carried him past. With all his force
Etzwane threw a chunk of water-sodden timber.
It struck the hairy dog-spider head; the creature
keened and moaned and retreated to the op-
posite bank. Etzwane half-waded, half-hopped
with the current, the boys and ahulphs keeping
pace along the other bank. Suddenly they all ran
forward pell-mell; looking down the stream, Etz-
wane saw a five-arched stone bridge and, beyond,
the town. His pursuers intended to cross the
bridge and come down the bank at him. Etzwane
gauged the stream; he could never swim back
across. He made a ferocious attack on the alders,
ignoring scratches, jabs, cuts; at length he pulled
himself to the bank, a vertical rise of six feet
overgrown with fern and thorn-grass. He scram-
bled halfway up, to fall moaning back into the
alders. Once again he tried, clinging with finger-
nails, elbows, chin, knees. By the most precarious
of margins he crawled up and over, to lie flat on
his face at the edge of the riverside lane. He
could not rest an instant. Glassy-eyed, he heaved
himself first to his hands and knees, then to his
feet.
Only fifty yards away the town began. Across

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
the lane, in a wooded park, he saw a half-dozen
carts painted in gay symbols of pale pink, white,
purple, pale green, blue.
Etzwane staggered forward, flapping his arms;
he ran up to a short sour-faced man of middle-
age who sat on a stool sipping hot broth from a
cup.
Etzwane composed himself as best he could,
but his voice was tremulous and hoarse. "I am
Gastel Etzwane; take me into your troupe. Look;
I wear no tore. I am a musician."
The short man drew back in surprise and ir-
ritation. "Get along with you; do you think we
clasp every passing rascal to our bosoms? We
are adepts; this is our standard of excellence; go
dance a jig in the market square."
Down the road came the ahulphs and behind
the farm boys.
Etzwane cried, "I am no rascal; my father was
Dystar the druithine; I play the khitan." He
searched wildly about; he saw a nearby instru-
ment and seized it. His fingers were weak and
water-soaked; he tried to play a run of chords
and produced only a jangle.
A black-furred hand seized his shoulder and
pulled; another took his arm and jerked another
direction; the ahulphs fell to disputing which
had touched him first.
The musician rose to his feet. He seized a
length of firewood and struck furiously at both
ahulphs. "Goblins, be off; do you dare touch a mu-
sician?"
The peasant youths came forward. "Musician?
He is a common thief, a vagabond. We intend to
kill him and protect our hard-earned goods."
The musician threw down a handful of coins.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"A musician takes what he, needs; he never steals.
Pick up your money and go."
The farm boys made surly sounds and glared
at Etzwane. Grudgingly they picked the coins out
of the dirt and departed, the ahulphs yelping and
dancing sideways. Their work was for -naught;
they would receive neither money nor meat.
The musician once more settled upon his
stool. "Dystar's son, you say. What a sorry let-
down. Well, it can't be helped. Throw away those
rags; have the women give you a jacket and a
meal. Then come let me see what is to be done."

Chapter 6
Clean, warm, full of bread and soup, Etzwane
came cautiously back to Frolitz, who sat at a
table under the trees, a flagon of liquor at his
elbow. Etzwane sat down on a bench and
watched. Frolitz fitted a new reed to the mouth-
piece of a wood-horn. Etzwane waited. Frolitz
apparently intended to ignore his presence.
Etzwane hitched himself forward. "Do you in-
tend to let me stay with the troupe, sir?"
Frolitz turned his head. "We are musicians,
boy. We demand a great deal from each other."
"I would do my best," said Etzwane.
"It might not be good enough. String up that
instrument yonder."
Etzwane took up the khitan and did as he was
bid. Frolitz grunted. "Now tell me how Dystar's
son runs the fields in rags?"
"I was born at Bashon in Canton Bastern," said
Etzwane. "A musician named Feld Maijesto gave
me a khitan, which I learned to play as best as
I could. I did not care to become a Chilite, and
I ran away."
'That is a lucid exposition," said Frolitz. "I am
acquainted with Feld, who takes a rather casual
attitude toward his craft. I make serious demands
upon my folk; we are not slackers here. What if
I send you away?"
"I will go to Garwiy and ask the Faceless Man

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
to give me a musician's tore and to help my
mother as well."
Frolitz looked up at the sky. "What illusions
the young harbor nowadays! So now the Faceless
Man indulges every ragamuffin who comes to
Garwiy with a grievance!"
"He must heed grievances; how else can he
rule? Surely he wants the folk of Shant to be
content!"
"Hard to say what the Faceless Man wants.
But it's not good policy talking. He might be lis-
tening from behind that wagon, and he's said to
be thin-skinned. Look yonder on the tree. Only
last night, while I slept fifty feet away, that
placard was posted! It gives an eerie feeling."
Etzwane examined the placard. It read:
The ANOME is Shant!
Shant is the ANOME!
Which is to say: The ANOME is everywhere!
Sly sarcasm is folly.
Disrespect is sedition.
With benevolent attention! With fervent zeal!
With puissant determination!
The ANOME works for Shant!
Etzwane nodded soberly. "This is exactly cor-
rect. Who posted the placard?"
"How should I know?" snapped Frolitz. "Per-
haps the Faceless Man himself. If I were he, I'd
enjoy going about making guilty folk jump. Still
it's not wise to attract his notice with petitions
and demands. If they are right and reasonable—
so much the worse."
"What do you mean?"

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"Use your head, lad! Suppose you and the
canton have come into conflict, and you want
matters altered. You go into Garwiy and present
a petition which is right and proper and just. The
Faceless Man has three choices. He can accom-
modate you and put the canton into an uproar,
with unknown consequences. He can deny your
just petition and expect sedition every time you
get drunk in a tavern and start to talk. Or he
can quietly take your head."
Etzwane pondered. "You mean that I shouldn't
take my grievance to the Faceless Man?"
"He's the last man to take a grievance to!"
"Then what should I do?"
"Just what you're doing. Become a musician
and make a living complaining of your woe. But
remember: Complain of your own woe! Don't
complain of the Faceless Man! . . . What's that
you're playing now?"
Etzwane, having strung the khitan, had
touched forth a few chords. He said, "Nothing in
particular. I don't know too many tunes. Only
what I learned from the musicians who came
along the road."
"Halt, halt, halt!" cried Frolitz, covering his
ears. "What are these strange noises, these orig-
inal discords?"
Etzwane licked his lips. "Sir, it is a melody of
my own contriving."
"But this is impertinence! You consider the
standard works beneath your dignity? What of
the repertory I have labored to acquire? You tell
me now that I have wasted my time, that hence-
forth I must attend only the outpourings of your
natural genius?"
Etzwane at last was able to insert a disclaimer.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"No, no, sir, by no means! I have never been
able to hear the famous works; I was forced to
play tunes I thought up myself."
"Well, so long as it doesn't become an obses-
sion—Not so much thumb there. What of the
rattle-box? Do you think it's there for show?"
"No sir. I hurt my elbow somewhat today."
"Well, then, why scratch aimlessly at the
khitan? Let's hear a tune on the wood-horn."
Etzwane looked dubiously at the instrument,
which was tied together with string. "I've never
had the sleight of it."
"What?" Frolitz gaped in disbelieving shock.
"Well, then, learn it! The tringolet, the clarion,
the tipple as well. We are musicians in this
troupe, not, like Feld and his scamping cronies,
a set of theorizing dilettantes. Here, take this
wood-horn; go play scales. After a bit I'll come
by and listen."
A year later Master Frolitz brought his troupe
to Garwiy, Etzwane now wearing a musician's
tore. This was a locality the wandering troupes
visited but seldom, for the urbane folk of Garwiy
enjoyed novelty, style, and topical substance in
preference to music. Etzwane, paying no heed to
Frolitz's advice, went to the Corporation Plaza
and stood in line at the booth where petitions to
the Faceless Man might be filed for five florins. A
placard reassured those who waited:
All petitions are seen by the ANOME!
The same scrupulous judgment is applied to
the problems of all, if their petition costs
five or five hundred florins. Be concise and

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
definite, state the exact deficiency or hard-
ship, specify the precise solution you pro-
pose. Merely because you are filing a peti-
tion does not indicate that your cause is
just; conceivably you are wrong and your
adversary right. Be instructed, rather than
disappointed, should the ANOME yield a
negative response.
The ANOME administers equity, not bounty!
Etzwane paid his five florins, received a form
from the desk. In the most careful language he
stated his case, citing the cynicism of the Chilites
in respect to the indentures of the women. "In
particular, the lady Eathre has more than paid
her obligation to the Ecclesiarch Osso Higajou,
but he has assigned her to work in the tannery.
I pray that you order this injustice terminated,
that the lady Eathre may be free to select the
future course of her life without reference to the
wishes of Ecclesiarch Osso."
Occasionally the five-florin petitions encount-
ered slow responses; Etzwane's, however, received
a verdict on the following day. All petitions and
their responses were deemed in the public in-
terest and posted openly on a board; with trem-
bling fingers Etzwane pulled down the response
coded with his tore colors.
The response read:
The ANOME notes with sympathy a son's
concern for the welfare of his mother. The
laws of Canton Bastern are definite. They
require that before an indenture can be
considered paid, the indentured person must

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
display a receipt and balance sheet for all
monies paid over by the person and all
charges incurred and debited against the
same person's account. Sometimes a person
consumes food, lodging, clothing, education,
entertainment, medicine, and the like, in
excess of his or her earnings, whereupon the
payment of an indenture may be delayed.
Such is possibly true in the present case.
The judgment is this: I command the Ec-
clesiarch Osso Higajou, upon presentation
of this document, to render free the person
of the lady Eathre, provided that she can
show a favorable balance of one thousand
five hundred florins, or if some person pays
in cash to Ecclesiarch Osso Higajou one
thousand five hundred florins, when it will
be assumed that a previous balance between
credit and debit exists.
In short, take this document and one
thousand five hundred florins to Ecclesi-
arch Osso; he must deliver to you your
mother, the lady Eathre.
With hope and encouragement,
THE ANOME
Etzwane became furiously angry. He instantly
purchased a second petition and wrote: "Where
can I get one thousand five hundred florins? I
earn a hundred florins a year. Eathre has paid
Osso twice over; will you lend me one thousand
five hundred florins?"
As before, the response was prompt. It read:
The ANOME regrets that he cannot lend
either private or public funds for the settle-

°5Q
THE FACELESS MAN
men!; of indentures. The previous judgment
remains the definitive verdict.
Etzwane wandered back to Fontenay's Inn
where Frolitz made his Garwiy headquarters and
wondered how or where he could lay his hands
on one thousand five hundred florins.
Five years later, at Maschein in Canton Ma-
seach, on the south slope of the Hwan, Etzwane
encountered his father Dystar. The troupe, com-
ing into town late, was at liberty for the evening.
Etzwane and Fordyce, a youth three or four years
older—Etzwane was now about eighteen—wan-
dered through town, from one tavern to the next,
gathering gossip and listening with critical ears
to what music was being played.
At the Double Fish Inn they heard Master
Rickard Oxtot's Gray-Blue-Green Interpolators.*
During an intermission Etzwane fell into a dis-
cussion with the khitan-player, who minimized
his own abilities. "To hear the khitan played in
proper fashion, step across the way to the Old
Caraz and hear the druithine."
Fordyce and Etzwane presently crossed to the
Old Caraz and took goblets of effervescent green
punch. The druithine sat in a corner gazing
* The language of Shant allows exquisite discrimination
between colors. Against red, scarlet, carmine, maroon,
pink, vermilion, cerise, Shant could set sixty descriptive
degrees, with as many for every other color. In Gray-Blue-
Green Interpolators, the qualities of "gray," "blue," and
"green" were precisely specified in order to express by
symbological means the exact emotional point of view
from which Master Oxtot's troupe performed their
variations.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
moodily at the audience: a tall man with black-
gray hair, a strong nervous body, the face of a
dreamer dissatisfied with his dreams. He touched
his khitan, tuned one of the strings, struck a few
chords, listened as if displeased. His dark gaze
wandered the room, rested on Etzwane, passed
on. Again he began to play: slowly, laboriously
working around the edges of a melody, reaching
here, searching there, testing this, trying that,
like an absent-minded man raking leaves in a
wind. Insensibly the music became easier, more
certain; the lank themes, the incommensurate
rhythms, fused into an organism with a soul:
every note played had been preordained and nec-
essary.
Etzwane listened in wonder. The music was
remarkable, played with majestic conviction and
a total absence of effort. Almost casually, the
druithine imparted heartbreaking news; he told
of golden oceans and unattainable islands; he
reported the sweet futility of life, then, with a
wry double beat and an elbow at the scratch-box,
supplied solutions to all the apparent mysteries.
His meal, hot pickled land crab with barley,
melon balls dusted with pollen, had been splen-
did but not copious; payment* had long been
* Druithines, unlike the troupes, never advertised their
comings and goings; after an unheralded, almost furtive
arrival at some locality, the druithine would visit one of
the taverns and order a repast, sumptuous or frugal, ac-
cording to his whim or personal flair. Then, he would
bring forth his khitan and play but would not eat until
someone in the audience had paid for his meal. The
"uneaten meal," indeed, was a common jocular reference.
Druithines in decline reputedly employed a person to
make ostentatious payment for the meal as soon as it was

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
made. He had taken a flask of Gurgel's Elixir;
another stood at his elbow, but he seemed unin-
terested in further drink. The music dwindled
and departed into silence, like a caravan passing
over the horizon.
Fordyce leaned over, put a question to one who
sat nearby: "What is the druithine's name?"
"That is Dystar."
Fordyce turned marveling to Etzwane. "It is
your father!"
Etzwane, with no words to say, gave a curt
nod.
Fordyce rose to his feet. "Let me tell him that
his natural son is here, who plays the khitan in
his own right."
"No," said Etzwane. "Please don't speak to
him."
Fordyce sat down slowly. "Why not, then?"
Etzwane heaved a deep sigh. "Perhaps he has
many natural sons. A good number may play the
khitan. He might not care to give polite attention
to each of these."
Fordyce shrugged and said no more.
Once more Dystar struck at his khitan, to play
music that told of a man striding through the
night, halting from time to time to muse upon
one or another of the stars.
For a reason Etzwane could not define, he be-
came uncomfortable. Between himself and this
man whom he did not know existed a tension. He
had no claim against him; he could reproach him
set forth. After the meal the druithine's further income
depended on gratuities, gifts from the tavern-keeper, en-
gagements at private parties or in the manor houses of
aristocrats. A druithine of talent might become wealthy,
as he had few expenses.

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
for no fault of omission or commission; his debt
to Eathre had been precisely that of all the other
men who had stepped into her cottage from
Rhododendron Way; like the others he had paid
in full and gone his way. Etzwane made no at-
tempt to fathom the workings of his mind. He
made an excuse to Fordyce and departed the Old
Caraz. In a deep depression he wandered back to
camp, Eathre's image before his mind. He cursed
himself for negligence, for lack of diligence. He
had saved little money—though for a fact he
earned little enough. This was as it should be;
Etzwane had no complaint. In addition to sus-
tenance Frolitz provided instruction and oppor-
tunity to play. Musicians other than druithines
seldom became wealthy, a situation that per-
suaded many troupers to try their luck as druith-
ines. A few succeeded; most, finding the cost of
their meals undischarged, attempted to enliven
their performances with bravura effects, eccen-
tric mannerisms, or when all else failed, singing
songs with khitan accompaniment to audiences
of peasants, children, and die musically illiterate.
Back at the camp Etzwane turned dark
thoughts back and forth in his mind. He had no
illusions; at his present competence, with his
present experience of life, he was incapable of
becoming a druithine. What of the future? His
life with Master Frolitz was satisfactory enough;
did he want more? He went to his locker and
brought forth his khitan; sitting on the steps of
the cart, he began to play the slow music, pen-
sive and melancholy, to which the folk of Can-
ton Ifwiy liked to step their pavannes. The music
sounded dry, contrived, lifeless. Remembering
the supple, urgent music that surged from Dy-

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
star's khitan as if it had its own life, Etzwane be-
came first giim, then sad, then bitterly angry—
at Dystar, at himself. He put up the khitan and
laid himself into his bunk where he tried to order
his whirling young mind.
Another five years passed. Master Frolitz and
the Pink-Black-Azure-Deep Greeners, as he now
called his troupe, came to Brassei in Canton
Elphine, not a great distance from Garwiy. Etz-
wane had grown into a slight, nervously muscu-
lar young man, with a face somber and austere.
His hair was black, his skin darkly sallow; his
mouth hung in a slightly crooked droop; he was
neither voluble, gay, nor gregarious; his voice
was soft and spare, and only when he had taken
wine did he seem to become easy or spontaneous.
Certain of the musicians thought him supercil-
ious, others thought him vain; only Master Frolitz
sought out his company, to the puzzlement of all,
for Frolitz was warm where Etzwane was cold,
forward where Etzwane stepped aside. When
taxed with his partiality, Frolitz only scoffed; for
a fact he found Etzwane a good listener, a wry
and taciturn foil to his own volubility.
After establishing camp on Brassei Common,
Frolitz, with Etzwane for company, made the
rounds of the city's taverns and music halls, to
learn the news and solicit work. During the late
evening they came to Zerkow's Inn, a cavernous
structure of old timber and whitewashed marl.
Posts supported a roof of a dozen crazy angles;
from the beams hung mementos of all the years
of the inn's existence: grotesque wooden faces
blackened by grime and smoke, dusty glass ani-
mals, the skull of an ahulph, three dried cauls,

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
an iron meteorite, a collection of heraldic balls,
much more. At the moment Zerkow's was almost
deserted, due to the weekly rigor ordained by
Paraplastus, the local Cosmic Lord of Creation.
Frolitz approached Loy the innkeeper and made
his proposals. While the two chaffered, Etzwane
stood to the side, absent-mindedly studying the
placards on the posts. Preoccupied with his own
concerns, he observed nothing of what he read.
This morning he had received a large sum of
money, an unexpected sum that had substantially
augmented his savings. Sufficiently? For the
twentieth time he cast up a reckoning; for the
twentieth time he arrived at the same figure, on
the borderline between adequacy and inadequacy.
Yet where would he get more? Certainly not from
Frolitz, not for a month or more. But time
passed; with his goal so near he itched with im-
patience. His eyes focused on the placards, for
the most part standard exhortations to probity:
The BLANK, being faceless, shows the
same semblance to all. Whom no man
knows, no man can suborn.
Obey all edicts with alacrity! The casual
bystander may be the UNKNOWN FORCE
himself!
Lucky folk of Shant! In sixty-two cantons
sing praise! How can evil flourish when
everv act is subject to the scrutiny of the
GLORIOUS ANOME?
The posters were printed in magenta, signify-
ing grandeur, on a field of grayed pink, the color
of omnipotence.
On the wall hung a bulletin, somewhat larger,

io6	THE FACELESS MAN
printed in the brown and black of emergency:
Warning! Take care! Several large bands
of Roguskhoi have, recently been observed
along the slopes of the Hwan! These noxious
creatures may not be approached, at sure
peril of your life!
Frolitz and Loy came to mutually satisfactory
terms: on the following night Frolitz would bring
in the Pink-Black-Azure-Deep Greeners for a two-
or three-week engagement. In recognition of the
understanding Loy served Etzwane a free tank-
ard of green cider. Etzwane asked, "When was
the black-brown put up?"
"About the Roguskhoi? Two or three days ago.
They made a raid down into Canton Shallou and
kidnaped a dozen women."
"The Faceless Man should act," said Etzwane.
"The least he can do is protect us; isn't that his
function? Why do we wear these tores other-
wise?"
Frolitz, conversing with a stranger in traveler's
clothes who had just entered the tavern, took
time to speak over his shoulder: "Pay no heed to
the lad; he has no knowledge of the world."
Loy, puffing out his fat cheeks, ignored Frolitz
instead. "It's no secret that something must be
done. I've heard ugly reports of the creatures. It
seems that they're swarming like ants up in the
Hwan. There aren't females, you know, just
males."
"How do they breed?" Etzwane wondered. "It
is a matter I can't understand."
"They use ordinary women, with great enthusi-
asm, or so I'm told, and the issue is always male."

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"Peculiar . . . Where would such creatures
come from?"
"Palasedra," declared Loy wisely. "You must
know the direction of Palasedran science: al-
ways breeding, always forcing, never satisfied
with creatures the way they are. I say, and others
agree, that an unruly strain slipped out of the
Palasedran forcing houses and crossed the Great
Salt Bog into Shant. To our great misfortune."
"Unless they come to spend their florins at
Zerkow's!" Frolitz called down the bar. "Since
they're great drinkers, that's the way to handle
them: keep them in drink and in debt."
Loy shook his head dubiously. "They'd drive
away my other trade. Who wants to bump
beakers with a murderous red-faced demon two
feet taller than himself? I say, order them back
to Palasedra without delay."
"That may be the best way," said Frolitz, "but
is it the practical way? Who will issue the order?"
"There's an answer to that," said Etzwane.
"The Faceless Man must exert himself. Is he not
omnipotent? Is he not ubiquitous?" He jerked his
thumb toward the pink and magenta placards.
"Such are his claims."
Frolitz spoke in a hoarse whisper to the strang-
er. "Etzwane wants the Faceless Man to go up
into the Hwan and tore all the Roguskhoi."
"As good a way as any," said Etzwane with a
sour grin.
Into the tavern burst a young man, a porter
employed at Zerkow's. "Have you heard? At Mak-
kaby's Warehouse, not half an hour ago, a bur-
glar got his head taken. The Faceless Man is
nearby!"
Everyone in the room looked around. "Are you

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
certain?" demanded Loy. "There might have been
a swash-trap set out."
"No, without question: the tore took his head.
The Faceless Man caught him in the act."
"Fancy that!" Loy marveled. "The warehouse
is only a step down the street!"
Frolitz turned to lean back against the bar.
"There you have it," he told Etzwane. "You com-
plain: Why does not the Faceless Man act?' Al-
most while you speak he acts. Is not that your
answer?"
"Not entirely."
Frolitz swallowed half a tankard of the strong
green cider and winked at the stranger: a tall,
thin man with a head of soft white hair, an ex-
pression of austere acquiescence toward the
vicissitudes of life. His age was indeterminate; he
might have been old or young. "The burglar suf-
fered a harsh fate," Frolitz told Etzwane. 'The
lesson to be learned is this: Never commit an un-
lawful act. Especially, never steal; when you
take a man's property, your life becomes forfeit,
as has just been demonstrated."
Loy rubbed his chin with uneasy fingers. "In a
sense, the penalty seems extreme. The burglar
took goods but lost his fife. These are the laws of
Elphine which the Faceless Man correctly en-
forced—but should a bagful of goods and a man's
life weigh so evenly on the balance?"
The white-haired stranger offered his opinion.
"Why should it be otherwise? You ignore a cru-
cial factor in the situation. Property and life are
not incommensurable, when property is mea-
sured in terms of human toil. Essentially property
is life; it is that proportion of life which an indi-
vidual has expended to gain the property. When

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
a thief steals property, he steals life. Each act of
pillage therefore becomes a small murder."
Frolitz struck the bar with his fist. "A sound
exposition, if ever I heard one! Loy, place before
this instructive stranger a draft of his own choice,
at my expense. Sir, how may I address you?"
The stranger told Loy: "A mug of that green
cider, if you please." He turned somewhat upon
his chair, toward Frolitz and Etzwane. "My name
is Ifness; I am a traveling mercantilist."
Etzwane gave him a sour look; his rancor
toward the man in the pacer trap had never
waned. Ifness, then, was his name. A mercan-
tilist? Etzwane had his doubts. Not so Frolitz.
"Odd to hear such clever theories from a mer-
cantilist!" he marveled.
"The talk of such folk is often humdrum,"
agreed Loy. "For sheer entertainment, give me
the company of a tavern-keeper."
Ifness pursed his hps judiciously. "All folk,
mercantilists as well as tavern-keepers and mu-
sicians, try to relate their work to abstract uni-
versals. We mercantilists are highly sensitive to
theft, which stabs at our very essence. To steal
is to acquire goods by a simple, informal, and
inexpensive process. To buy identical goods is
tedious, irksome, and costly. Is it any wonder that
larceny is popular? Nonetheless it voids the
mercantilist's reasons for being alive; we regard
thieves with the same abhorrence that musicians
might feel for a fanatic gang which beat bells
and gongs whenever musicians played."
Frolitz stifled an ejaculation.
Ifness tasted the mug of green cider that Loy
had set before him. "To repeat: when a thief
steals property, he steals life. For a mercantilist

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
I am tolerant of human weakness, and I would
not react vigorously to the theft of a day. I would
resent the theft of a week; I would kill the thief
who stole a year of my life."
"Hear, hear!" cried Frolitz. "Words to deter
the criminal! Etzwane, have you listened?"
"You need not single me out so pointedly," said
Etzwane. "I am no thief."
Frolitz, somewhat elevated by his drafts of
cider, told Ifness, "Quite true, quite true! He is
not a thief, he is a musician! Owing to the virtue
of my instruction, he has become an adept! He
finds time for nothing but study. He is master of
six instruments; he knows the parts to two thou-
sand compositions. When I forget a chord, he is
always able to call out a signal. This morning,
mark you, I paid over to him a bonus of three
hundred florins, out of the troupe's instrument
fund."
Ifness nodded approvingly. "He seems a para-
gon."
'To a certain extent," said Frolitz. "On the
other hand, he is secretive and stubborn. He nur-
tures and nurses every florin he has ever seen;
he would breed them together if he could. All
this makes him a dull dog at a debauch. As for
the three hundred florins, I long ago had prom-
ised him five hundred and decided to stmt him for
his cheerlessness."
"But will not this method augment his gloom?"
"To the contrary; I keep him keen. As a mu-
sician he must learn to be grateful for every
trifle. I have made him what he is, at least in his
better parts. For his faults you must cite a cer-
tain Chilite, Osso, whom Etzwane claims as his
'soul-father.'"

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
"On my way east I will be passing through
Canton Bastern," said Ifness politely. "If I en-
counter Osso, I will convey him your greetings."
"Don't bother," said Etzwane. "I am going to
Bashon myself."
Frolitz jerked around to focus his eyes on Etz-
wane. "Did I hear correctly? You mentioned no
such plans to me!"
"If I had, you would not have paid me three
hundred florins this morning. As a matter of fact
I just made up my mind ten seconds ago."
"But what of the troupe? What of our engage-
ments? Everything will be discommoded!"
"I won't be gone long. When I return, you can
pay me more money since I seem to be indispens-
able."
Frolitz raised his bushy eyebrows. "No one is
indispensable save myself! I'll play khitan and
wood-horn together, if I feel so inclined, and pro-
duce better music than any four fat-necked ap-
prentices!" Frolitz banged his mug on the bar by
way of emphasis, "However, to keep my friend
Loy satisfied, I must hire a substitute—an added
expense and worry. How long will you be gone?"
"Three weeks, I suppose."
"'Three weeks'?" roared Frolitz. "Are you
planning a rest cure on the Ilwiy beach? Three
days to Bashon, twenty minutes for your busi-
ness, three days back to Brassei: that's enough!"
"Well enough, if I traveled by balloon," said
Etzwane. "I must walk or ride a wagon."
"Is this more parsimony? Why not go by bal-
loon? What is the difference in cost?"
"Something like thirty florins each way, or so
I would guess."
"Well, then! Where is your pride? Does a Pink-

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
Black-Azure-Deep Greener travel like a dog-
barber?" He turned to Loy the publican. "Give
this man sixty florins, in advance, on my ac-
count."
Somewhat dubiously Loy went to his till. Fro-
litz took the money and clapped it down on the
bar in front of Etzwane. "There you are; be off
with you. Above all, do not let yourself be de-
ceived by other troupe-masters. They might of-
fer more money than I pay, but be assured, there
would be hidden disadvantages!"
Etzwane laughed. "Never fear, 111 be back per-
haps in a week or ten days. I'll take the first bal-
loon out; my business at Bashon will be short
enough; then it's the first balloon back to Brassei."
Frolitz turned to consult Ifness but found an
empty chair; Ifness had departed the tavern.

Chapter 7
A storm had struck in from the Green Ocean,
bringing floods to Cantons Maiy and Erevan; a
section of the Great Transverse Route had been
washed out; balloons were delayed two days until
crews were able to rig an emergency pass-over.
Etzwane was able to secure a place on the first
balloon out of Brassei, the Asper. He climbed into
the gondola and took a seat; behind him came
other passengers. Last aboard was Ifness.
Etzwane sat indifferently, making no sign of
recognition. Ifness saw Etzwane and after the
briefest of hesitations nodded and sat down be-
side him. "It seems that we are to be traveling
companions."
Etzwane made a cool response. "I will find it a
pleasure."
The door was closed; bars were lowered to
provide the passengers a grip when the balloon
swayed and heeled. The wind-tender entered his
compartment, tested the winches, checked valves
and ballast release. He signaled the ground crew;
they rolled the Judas-dolly out along the slot; the
Asper rose into the air. The running dolly was re-
leased; the Asper danced and flounced in the
beam wind until the wind-tender trimmed guys,
whereupon the Asper steadied and surged ahead,
with taut guys and singing dolly.
Ifness spoke to Etzwane: "You seem totally re-
laxed. Have you ridden the balloon-way before?"

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
"Many years ago."
"A wonderful experience for a child."
"It was indeed."
"I am never altogether comfortable in the bal-
loons," said Ifness. 'They seem so frail and vul-
nerable. A few sticks, the thinnest of membranes,
the most fugitive of gases. Still, the Palasedran
gliders seem even more precarious: transport, no
doubt, which accords with their temperament.
You are bound for Bashon, I understand."
"I intend to pay off my mother's indenture."
Ifness reflected a moment. "Perhaps you should
have entrusted your business to a job-broker. The
Chilites are a devious folk and may try to mulct
you."
"No doubt they'll try. But it won't do any good.
I carry an ordinance from the Faceless Man,
which they must obey."
"I see. Well, I still would be on my guard. The
Chilites, for all their unworldliness, are seldom
bested."
After a moment Etzwane said, "You seem well
acquainted with the Chilites."
Ifness permitted himself a faint smile. "They
are a fascinating cult; the Chilite rationale and
its physical projection make a most elegant pat-
tern. You don't follow me? Consider: a group
which nightly intoxicates itself into a frenzy of
erotic hallucinations under the pretext of reli-
gious asceticism—isn't this sublime insouciance?
A social machinery is necessary to maintain this
state of affairs: it is as you know. How to ensure
persistence in a group not itself regenerative? By
recruiting the children of other men, by the con-
stant infusion of new blood. How to secure so

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
precious a commodity, which other men normal-
ly protect with their lives? By the ingenious in-
stitution of Rhododendron Way, which also turns
a good profit. What marvelous effrontery! It can
almost be admired!"
Etzwane was surprised to find Ifness so en-
thusiastic. He said coldly, "I was born on Rho-
dodendron Way and became a Pure Boy; I find
them disgusting."
Ifness seemed amused. He said, "They are a
remarkable adaptation, if perhaps too highly spe-
cialized. What would happen, for instance, if
they no longer could obtain galga?'In a genera-
tion or less the structure of the society would
alter in one of several conceivable directions."
Etzwane wondered that a mercantilist should
be so apt at abstract analysis of human society.
"What sort of goods do you sell?" he asked. "As a
mercantilist I assume that you sell goods."
"Not quite the case," said Ifness. "I am em-
ployed by a mercantile association to travel here
and there and discover possible new applications
for their products."
"It seems an interesting job," said Etzwane.
"I find it so."
Etzwane glanced at the man's tore. "From the
purple-green I assume your home to be Garwiy."
"That is the case." Ifness took a journal from
his valise, The Kingdoms of Old Caraz, and began
to read.
Etzwane looked out over the reaches of the
landscape. An hour passed. The Asper halted at
a siding to allow a pair of eastbound balloons
to skim by, cables taut, dollies singing down the
slots.

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
At noon the wind-tender sold tea, slabs of fruit
jelly, buns, and meat sticks to those who required
food, Ifness put away his journal and ate; Etz-
wane preferred to husband his funds, which
were barely sufficient. Finishing his meal, Ifness
fastidiously brushed his hands and returned to
the journal.
An hour later the Asper arrived at Brassei Junc-
tion in Canton Fairlea and was switched onto the
Great Transverse Route. The wind freshened but,
coming from the port quarter, blew the balloon
only at its own speed; so passed the afternoon. At
sunset the wind died completely, and the Asper
stood becalmed above an upland moor, in Canton
Shade.
The suns danced down behind the horizon; the
sky flared violet behind four streaks of apple-
green cloud. Darkness came quickly. A breeze
stirred the upper air, still coming from astern;
the Asper eased forward along the slot, no faster
than a man could walk.
The wind-tender served a meal of cheese,
wine, and biscuits, then rigged hammocks. The
passengers, with nothing better to do, slept.
Late the next afternoon the Asper arrived at
Angwin, at the head of the great Gorge. Here the
slot terminated, and the cable swung up in a pair
of great pale swags to Angwin Junction where
years before—it seemed dream-time—Etzwane
had been brought up from Carbade to work as an
apprentice. He wondered if Finnerack still
worked there.
The Asper was scheduled to continue along
the Great Transverse Route, to the south slopes
of the Hwan; at Angwin it descended to discharge

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
those passengers who were to continue along the
North Spur. There were four of these: Etzwane,
a pair of commercial buyers bound for Dublay at
the tip of Canton Cape, and Ifness.
The North Spur connection, which should
have been waiting, had been delayed by light
winds; the four passengers must put up a night
at Angwin Inn.
The Asper climbed back into the sky, with the
guys now shifted to the cable. In the wheelhouse
under the inn the crew put their shoulders to the
windlass; the balloon was drawn across the Great
Gorge and up to Junction. Etzwane could not
bring himself to go down to watch the windlass,
as did the two buyers.
Later Etzwane and the buyers sat in the
lounge overlooking the Great Gorge; Ifness had
gone for a stroll along the rim of the chasm.
The suns toppled low, one behind the other;
magenta light struck Mount Mish and the far
peaks beyond. The gorge became dim with murk.
Etzwane and the buyers drank spiced cider; as
the steward brought a tray of preserved fruit, one
of the buyers asked, "Do you see many Roguskhoi
down in the gorge?"
"Not often," the steward replied. "The lads up
at Junction used to see a few, but from what I
hear, they've migrated east into the Wildlands."
"They raided down in Shallou not so long
ago," said the second buyer. "That's to the west."
"Yes, so it is. Well, it's all beyond me. What
we'd do if a band attacked Angwin, I can't imag-
ine."
The other buyer spoke. "The gorge itself is
some protection, so I should think."

io2	THE FACELESS MAN
The steward looked gloomily down into the
blue murk. "Not enough to suit me if what I hear
of the devils is true. If we had women up here,
I wouldn't sleep nights. They hardly go out of
their way to kill a man except for entertainment,
but if they smell a woman, they climb through
fire and flood. In my opinion something ought
to be done."
Ifness, who had returned unobserved, spoke
from the shadows. "What, in your opinion, is the
'something" that ought to be done?"
'The Faceless Man should be notified and have
it driven home to him, that's what! I say, throw a
cordon around the whole Hwan if it takes every
man in Shant and then start closing in, driving
the devils together, killing as we go. When men
from the north, east, south, and west look at
each other over the top of Mount Skarack, then
well know we're rid of the vermin."
One of the buyers demurred. 'Too compli-
cated; it would never work. They'd hide in caves
or tunnels. Now, my idea is to put out poison—"
The other buyer offered a lewd specification for
efficacious bait.
"Well, why not," demanded his colleague, "if
it'll draw them? But poison's the answer, mark
my words."
The second buyer said, "Don't be too sure!
These are not animals, you know. They're freak
men from across the Salt Bog. The Palasedrans
have been quiet too long; it's unnatural, and now
they're sending in the Roguskhoi."
The steward said, "I don't care where they
come from; let's clear them out, back to Palase-
dra for preference. According to the afternoon

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
news, just in over the radio, a band came down
from Mount Haghead to raid a village in Morn-
ingshore. Killed, raped, kidnaped. The village is a
total ruin."
"So far to the east?" murmured Ifness.
"That's the report. First Shallou to the west,
then Morningshore to the east. The Hwan must
be crawling with them."
'That doesn't necessarily follow," said Etz-
wane.
"You may be sure," said the first buyer in a
pontifical voice, "that the Faceless Man is ready
to act. He has no choice."
The steward sneered. "He's far away in Gar-
wiy; what's our safety to him?"
The buyers pursed their lips. "Well," said one,
"I wouldn't go so far as that. The Faceless Man
represents us all! By and large he does a good
job."
"Still," said the other, "the time has come. He
should take action."
The steward inquired, "Do you gentlemen re-
quire more drink before supper? If so, call out
now before cook strikes the gong."
Etzwane asked, "Is Dagbolt still superinten-
dent?"
"No, old Dagbolt's been dead five years of
throat chancre," replied the steward. "I knew him
a mere three months, more than ample. Dickon
Defonso is superintendent, and affairs go toler-
ably well."
"Does a certain Finnerack work at Angwin?"
"Finnerack? Somewhere I've heard the name.
But he's not here."
"Might he be at Junction?"

io2
THE FACELESS MAN
"Nor at Junction. Finnerack . . . Some sort of
scandal. Was he the criminal who loosed a bal-
loon?"
"I couldn't say."
In the middle of the morning the balloon Jano
arrived at Angwin. The four passengers climbed
aboard; the Jano rose to the extent of its guys
and was pulled back across the gorge to Junc-
tion. Etzwane gazed down in fascination at the
little island in the sky. There the three great
sheaves, almost in contact; there the stone shel-
ter with the timber door and the outhouse canti-
levered over the gorge. At the sheave he saw the
motion of the man on duty; the balloon gave a
jerk as the claw-jack drew down the guys and
the grip was transferred to the North Spur ca-
ble, and another jerk as the jerk was released.
Etzwane smiled as he thought of another bal-
loon, so long ago....
The Jano was drawn down to the North Sta-
tion; the guys were transferred to a dolly; then
off down the slot into Canton Seamus ran the
Jano, tacking into a brisk breeze off the starboard
bow. With the balloon trimmed to best advantage,
the wind-tender came into the gondola. "All
here for Oswiy, I take it?"
"Not I," said Etzwane. "I'm for Bastern Station
at Carbade."
"Bastern Station? Ill put you down if the land-
ing crew is on hand. They took themselves into
Carbade during the raid."
"What raid is this?"
"You wouldn't have heard. The Roguskhoi, a
band of fifty or sixty, pushed out of the wildlands
and plundered down the Mirk."

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN

"How far down the Mirk?"
"That I don't know. If they turned toward
Seamus, you won't find a crew at Bastern Sta-
tion. Why not go on down to Ascalon? You'd find
it more secure."
"I must get off at Bastern Station if I slide down
the guys."
When the Jano reached Bastern Station, the
crew had returned to duty; the Jano was hauled
down with a nervous jerkiness. Etzwane jumped
to the ground; Ifness followed. "I take it that you
are traveling east?" asked Ifness.
"Yes, to Bashon."
"I propose, then, that we share a vehicle."
Etzwane calculated his probable expense. Fif-
teen hundred florins for the indenture, a hundred
for the return to Brassei with Eathre, another
fifty for unforeseen contingencies. Sixteen hun-
dred and fifty. He carried sixteen hundred and
sixty-five. "I can't afford anything expensive," he
said in a somewhat surly voice. Of all the folk of
Shant, he least of all wished to be under obliga-
tion to Ifness. Save perhaps his soul-father Osso.
At the hostelry Ifness ordered a fast trap
drawn by a pair of prime pacers. "I'll have to
take two hundred florins from you," the hostler
told Ifness. "That is the deposit. Hire will be
twenty florins a day."
Etzwane said flatly, "I can't afford it." Ifness
made an indifferent gesture. "It is how I choose
to travel. Pay what you can; I will be satisfied."
"It's not much," said Etzwane. "Fifteen florins,
in fact. Were it not for the Roguskhoi, I'd walk."
"Pay fifteen florins or nothing whatever," said
Ifness. "It's all the same to me."
Nettled by the condescension, the more irritat-

io2
THE FACELESS MAN
ing for its absent-minded quality, Etzwane
brought forth fifteen florins. "If this satisfies you,
take it. Otherwise I will walk."
"Well enough, well enough; let us be off; I am
anxious to inspect the Roguskhoi, circumstances
offer."
The pacers, tall, rangy beasts, deep and nar-
row-chested, long and fine in the legs, sprang off
down the road; the trap whirled after.
Etzwane glowered at Ifness from the corner of
his eye. A strange man, for a fact; Etzwane had
never seen another like him. Why should he want
to inspect the Roguskhoi? There seemed no sen-
sible reason for such an interest. If a Roguskhoi
were dead and lying beside the road, Etzwane
would pause to examine the corpse from natural
curiosity; but to go about the business so pur-
posefully—it seemed sheer lunacy!
Etzwane pondered the possibility that Ifness,
for a fact, might be insane. The preoccupied
placidity, the indifference to others, the bizarre
predilections, all were suggestive of dementia.
Still Ifness was nothing if not self-controiled; his
appearance—spare, austere, otherwise nonde-
script save for the cropped white hair, the old-
young face—seemed the very definition of sanity.
Etzwane lost interest in the subject; he had other,
more pressing concerns.
Ten miles they drove, up and down the rolling
hills of Seamus. Along the road from the east
came a man on a thrust-cycle wearing the red
cap of invisibility. He rode at the best speed he
could muster, lying flat on the pallet, buttocks
surging and jerking as he kicked at the ratchet.
Ifness pulled the trap to a halt and watched
the man's approach. A discourteous act, thought

°5Q	THE FACELESS MAN
Etzwane; the man wore red. The cyclist swerved
to pass by. Ifness called him to a halt, to the
man's displeasure.
"Why do you molest me? Have you no eyes in
your head?"
Ifness ignored his agitation. "What is the
news?"
"Dreadful news; don't stay me; I'm off to Can-
ton Sable or beyond." He made as if to hump the
cycle into motion once more; Ifness called out
politely: "A moment, if you please. No danger is
visible. From what are you fleeing?"
"From the Roguskhoi; what else? They burnt
Salubra Village; another band pillaged the Chil-
ites. For all I know they're close on my heels!
Delay me no longer; if you're wise, you'll turn
about and flee west at all speed!" The man thrust
his cycle into motion and was gone along the
road to Carbade.
Ifness turned to look at Etzwane. "Well, what
now?"
"I must go to Bashon."
Ifness nodded and without further remark
whipped up the pacers.
Etzwane leaned forward, heart in his mouth.
Visions crossed before his eyes. He thought of
florins wasted on drink, gifts to occasional sweet-
hearts, unnecessary garments, his costly silver-
mounted wood-horn. Frolitz thought him niggard-
ly; he considered himself a wastrel. Vain regrets.
The money was spent; the time was lost. The
pacers, prime beasts, ran without fatigue; miles
passed under the wheels. They entered Bastern;
ahead appeared the shadow of Rhododendron
Way. From behind the hill rose a column of

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
smoke. As they entered Rhododendron Way, If-
ness slowed the trap to a more cautious pace,
inspecting the shadows under the trees, the berry
coverts, the hillsides, with an alertness Etzwane
had not noticed in him before. All seemed nor-
mal, save for the utter silence. The lavender-
white sunlight lay in irregular sprinkles along
the white dust; in the garden of the first cottage
purple and magenta geraniums bloomed among
spikes of lime-green ki. The door of the cottage
hung askew. Across the .threshhold lay the body
of a man, face obliterated by a terrible blow. The
girl who had lived in the cottage was gone.
A gap through the trees revealed the temple.
Along the upper terraces a few Chilites moved
slowly, tentatively, as if trying to convince
themselves that they were alive. Ifness touched
up the pacers; the trap whirled up the hill toward
the temple. From the embers of the tannery and
women's dormitory rose the column of smoke
they had seen from far off. The temple and its
conjoined structures seemed to be whole. Etz-
wane, standing up in the trap, looked all around.
He saw no women, young or old.
Ifness halted the trap before the temple por-
tico. From the terrace above a group of Chilites,
haggard and uncertain, peered down.
Ifness called up: "What has happened?"
The Chilites stood like ghosts in their white
robes. "Hello up there!" called Ifness with acer-
bity in his voice. "Can you hear me?"
The Chilites moved slowly back out of sight,
as if toppling over backward, thought Etzwane.
Several minutes passed. The three suns per-
formed their majestic gyrations across the sky.

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
The stone walls baked in the glare. Ifness sat
without motion. Again, with sharper puzzlement,
Etzwane wondered why Ifness troubled himself
to such an extent.
The iron gates moved ajar and revealed a
group of Chilites. He who had opened the gate
was a round-faced young man, somewhat portly,
with overlarge features, scant sandy hair, and a
full sandy beard. Etzwane on the instant recog-
nized Geacles Vonoble. Behind stood half a dozen
other Chilites, and one among them was Osso
Higajou.
Ifness spoke sharply, "What has occurred here?"
Osso said in a voice that rasped as if bitter
phlegm choked his throat, "We are victims of
the Roguskhoi. We have been pillaged; they have
done us vast harm."
"How many were there in the band?"
"No less than fifty. They swarmed at us like
savage beasts! They beat on our doors; they
brandished weapons; they burnt our structures!"
"In the process of defending your women and
your property, you doubtless inflected many cas-
ualties?" inquired Ifness dryly.
The Chilites drew back in indignation; Geacles
gave a contemptuous laugh. Osso said in a wasp-
ish voice, "We are nonviolent folk; we advocate
peace."
"Did the abducted women defend themselves?"
inquired Ifness.
"Yes, many of them; it did no good, and they
violated their consciences in the process."
"They must suffer doubly in that case," Ifness
agreed. "Why did you not shelter them in the
temple?"

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
The Chilites surveyed him in calm silence,
making no response.
Ifness asked again: "In regard to the Rogusk-
hoi, what weapons did they carry?"
Geacles pulled at his beard, glanced off across
the hillside. He spoke in a subdued voice: "They
carried cudgels studded with spikes; these swung
from their wrists. They wore scimitars at their
belts, which they did not use."
"How long ago did they depart?"
"No more than an hour; they herded the wom-
en into a file; young and old, infants excepted;
these they threw into the tannery vats. We are
now bereft."
Etzwane could restrain himself no longer.
"Which way did they go?"
Geacles stared at Etzwane, then turned and
muttered to Osso, who came forward three quick
steps.
Ifness, coldly polite, put the question a second
time: "Which way did they go?"
"Up the Mirk Valley, the way they had come,"
said Geacles.
Osso pointed a finger at Etzwane. "You are
the Pure Boy Faman Bougozonie who committed
foul acts and fled."
"My name is Gastel Etzwane. I am the son of
Dystar the druithine. My mother is the lady Ea-
thre."
Osso spoke in a menacing voice: "Why did you
come here?"
"I came to dissolve my mother's indenture."
Osso smiled. "We do not engage in such casual
traffic."
"I carry an ordinance from the Faceless Man."

THE FACELESS MAN	127
Osso grunted. Geacles said smoothly, "Why
not? Pay us our money; the woman will be re-
leased to you."
Etzwane made no response. He turned to look,
up Mirk Valley where he had never ventured for
fear of ahulphs. The women would walk at less
than three miles an hour. The Roguskhoi had
departed an hour since. Etzwane thought fur-
iously. He looked toward the tannery: destroyed,
burnt to the ground. The far sheds where chem-
icals and dyes were stored still stood. He turned
to Ifness and spoke in a low voice: "Will you lend
me the trap and the pacers? If I lose them, I will
pay; I carry sixteen hundred florins."
"Why do you require the trap?"
"So that I may save my mother."
"How?"
"It depends upon Osso."
"I will lend you the trap. What are a pair of
pacers, after all?"
Etzwane spoke to Osso: "The Roguskhoi are
great wine-drinkers. Give me two large kegs of
wine. I will convey them up the valley and de-
liver them."
Osso blinked in bewilderment. "You intend to
assist their revelries?"
"I intend to poison them."
"What?" cried Geacles. "And so provoke an-
other attack?"
Etzwane looked to Osso. "What do you say?"
Osso calculated. "You plan to deliver the wine
in the trap?"
"I do."
"What will you pay for the wine? It is our
ceremonial liquor; we have none other,"

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
Etzwane hesitated. Time was too precious to
be used haggling; still, if he offered generously,
Osso would ask more. "I can only offer what it is
worth, thirty florins a cask."
Osso gave Etzwane a cold glance. Ifness
lounged indifferently against the trap. Osso said,
"That is not enough."
Ifness said, "It is ample. Bring forth the wine."
Osso examined Ifness. "Who are you?"
Ifness looked unsmilingly off over the valley.
Presently he said, "In due course the Faceless
Man will move against the Roguskhoi. I will in-
form him of your refusal to cooperate."
"I have refused nothing," rasped Osso. "Give
me your sixty florins, then go to the door of the
storeroom."
Etzwane paid over the coins. Two casks of wine
were rolled forth and loaded into the back of the
trap. Etzwane ran over to the chemical store-
house, looked along the lines of jugs and packets.
Which would serve his purpose best? He did not
know.
Ifness entered the shed. He glanced along the
shelf and selected a cannister, "This will serve
best. It has no remarkable flavor and is highly
toxic."
"Very well." They returned to the trap.
"I will be gone at least six hours," said Etz-
wane, "If possible, I will bring back the trap, but
as to this—"
"I paid a large deposit for the use of the trap,"
said Ifness. "It is a valuable piece of equipment."
With compressed lips Etzwane brought forth
his pouch. "Will two hundred florins suffice? Or
as many as you wish, to sixteen hundred."
Ifness climbed into the seat. "Put away your

THE FACELESS MAN	129
florins.'I will come along to protect my inter-
ests."
Wordlessly Etzwane sprang aboard; the trap
moved off- up Mirk Valley. From the terraces of
the temple the Chilites stood watching until the
trap passed from view-

Chapter 8
The road was little more than a pair of wheel
tracks beside the Mirk River. To either side were
flats overgrown with rich green bandocks, each
plant raising a single pale blue spine that flicked
at passing insects. Along the river grew willows,
alders, clumps of stately dark blue miter-plants.
Signs of the Roguskhoi were evident: odd articles
of female clothing; on three occasions the corpses
of old women, looking harried beyond their ca-
pacity; and in one dreary little heap, the corpses
of six infants, evidently pulled from their mothers
and dashed to the ground.
Ifness drove at the best pace the road allowed:
The trap bounced, bumped, swung from side to
side, but still moved three times the best pos-
sible speed of the Roguskhoi and the women.
Ifness asked after a few minutes, "Where does
the road lead?"
"Up to Gargamet Meadow—that's what the
Chilites call it. It's the plantation where they
grow their galga bush."
"And how far to Gargamet Meadow?"
"Five or six miles from here, at a guess. I
would expect the Roguskhoi to stop at Gargamet
Meadow for the night."
Ifness pulled in the pacers. "We don't want to
overtake them in this gully. Have you poisoned
the wine?"
"I'll do so now." Etzwane climbed into the rear

THE FACELESS MAN	131
of the trap and poured half of the cannister into
each keg.
The suns passed behind the western slope;
the valley began to grow dim. A sense of im-
minence pressed down on Etzwane; the Rogusk-
hoi could not be too far ahead. Ifness drove with
great caution; to blunder into a Roguskhoi rear
guard would not serve their purposes. Ahead the
road passed through a notch with tall coral-trees
silhouetted on the sky at either side. Ifness
stopped the cart; Etzwane ran ahead to recon-
noiter. The road, passing through the notch,
swung around a clump of purple-pear trees,
then eased out upon a flat. To the left loomed a
grove of dark bawberrys; to the right the galga
plantation spread: sixty acres of carefully-
tended vines. Beside the bawberry grove a pond
reflected back the lavender sky; here the Rogusk-
hoi marshaled their captives. They had just ar-
rived; the women were still moving as the Ro-
guskhoi directed with great roaring commands
and sweeps of their huge arms.
Etzwane signaled back to Ifness, who brought
the trap forward to the clump of purple-pears.
With pinched nostrils Ifness looked across the
flat. "We can't be too transparent in our scheme,"
he told Etzwane. "We must contrive natural
movements."
Etzwane's nerves began to draw and grate. He
spoke in a high-pitched, rasping voice: "Any min-
ute they'll start in on the women! They can hard-
ly contain themselves."
Indeed, the Roguskhoi now surrounded the
women, making tremulous motions, surging
toward the shrinking huddle, then drawing back.
Ifness inquired, "Can you ride a pacer?"

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
"I suppose so," said Etzwane. "I've never tried."
"We will drive across the meadow furtively,
as if hoping to evade attention. As soon as they
see us—then you must be quick, and I as well."
Etzwane, terrified but desperately resolved,
nodded to Ifness's instructions. "Anything, any-
thing. We must hurry!"
"Haste provokes disaster," chided Ifness. "We
have just arrived; we must take account of every
circumstance." He appraised and considered an-
other ten seconds, then drove out on the edge of
the meadow and turned toward the plantation,
away from the bawberry grove. They moved in
full view of the Roguskhoi, should one by chance
remove his glance from the ashen-faced women.
They drove a hundred yards, attracting no at-
tention; Ifness nodded in satisfaction. "It would
seem now as if we are hoping to escape their
notice."
"What if they don't see us?" asked Etzwane in
a thin voice he hardly recognized as his own.
Ifness made no response. They drove another
fifty yards. From the Roguskhoi came a yell,
hoarse yet wild, with a peculiar crazy timber that
started up the hairs behind Etzwane's neck.
"They have seen us," said Ifness in a colorless
voice. "Be quick now." He jumped down from the
cart with no undue haste and unsnapped the
traces from one of the pacers; Etzwane fumbled
with the straps of the other pacer. "Here," said
Ifness, "take this one. Climb upon its back and
take the reins."
The pacer jerked at the unaccustomed weight
and lowered its head.
"Ride for the road," said Ifness. "Not too fast."
Twenty of the Roguskhoi lumbered across the

THE FACELESS MAN	133
meadow, eyes distended, arms flailing and pump-
ing: A fearful sight. Ifness ignored them. He
snapped loose the traces on the second pacer, cut
short the reins, tied them deliberately, jumped
upon the pacer's back. Then, kicking it in the
ribs, he sent the beast loping after Etzwane.
The Roguskhoi, sighting the casks, forgot the
fugitives; with hardly a pause in their stride they
lifted the tongue of the trap; cavorting in par-
ticularly grotesque fashion, they drew it back
across the meadow.
In the shadow of the purple-pears Ifness and
Etzwane halted the pacers. "Now," said Ifness,
"we must wait."
Etzwane made no reply. The Roguskhoi, aban-
doning the women, swarmed around the trap.
The casks were broached; the Roguskhoi drank
with hoarse bellows of approval.
In a strained voice Etzwane asked, "How long
before the poison acts?"
"So much poison would kill a man within min-
utes. I hopefully assume that the Roguskhoi
metabolism is similar."
The two watched the encampment. The wine
had been totally consumed. With no evidence
either of sickness or intoxication the Roguskhoi
turned upon the women. Each rushed into the
whimpering group and without regard for age or
condition seized a female and began to tear away
clothing.
Ifness said: "The moment has come."
Several of the Roguskhoi had stopped short to
gaze uncomprehendingly at the ground. Slowly
they touched their abdomens, their throats, drew
their fingers across their naked red scalps. Others
displayed similar symptoms; the women, gasping

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
and sobbing, crawled away in random directions
like insects poured from a bottle. The Roguskhoi
commenced to writhe, to dance a strange, slow
ballet; they raised a crooked leg, clamped knee
against abdomen, hopped, then repeated the an-
tic on the opposite leg. Their faces sagged, their
mouths hung pendulous.
Suddenly, in terrible rage, one cried out a word
incomprehensible to Etzwane. The others shouted
the same word in grotesque despair. One of the.
Roguskhoi dropped to his knees and slowly
crumpled to the ground. He began to work his
arms and legs like a beetle turned on its back.
Certain of the women who had almost reached
the bawberry grove began to run. The movement
stimulated the warriors to frenzy. Staggering,
reeling, they lurched in pursuit, flailing with
their bludgeons. Screaming, sobbing, the women
ran this way and that; the Roguskhoi jumped
among them; the women were caught and beaten
to the ground.
The Roguskhoi began to topple, one after the
other. Ifness and Etzwane stepped out upon the
meadow; the last Roguskhoi erect noticed their
presence. He snatched out his scimitar and hurled
it. 'Take care I" cried Ifness, and sprang nimbly
back. The scimitar whirled murderously through
the air but curved to the side and slashed into
the dirt. With renewed dignity Ifness once more
stepped forward, while the last Roguskhoi fell
to the ground.
Ifness said, "The trap appears to be unharmed.
Let us reclaim it."
Etzwane looked at him, face blank with hor-
ror. He made a sound in his throat, moved for-
ward a step, then halted. The features of the worn-

THE FACELESS MAN	135
en had been blurred—by motion, by distance.
Almost all he had known. Some had been kind,
some had been beautiful; some had laughed,
some had been sorrowful. With his poison he had
contributed to the massacre, still—what else,
what else?
"Come along" said Ifness brusquely. "Lead
your pacer." He marched across the meadow,
never troubling to look back.
Etzwane followed sluggishly, forcing his feet
to move.
Arriving at the Roguskhoi camp, Ifness in-
spected the bodies with fastidious interest. The
Roguskhoi still made small movements: twitches,
jerks, clenched digging with the fingers. Etzwane
forced himself to look here and there. He noticed
the body of his sister Delamber: dead. Her face
had been smashed almost beyond recognition;
Etzwane recognized first the red-gold glints of
her hair. He wandered across the field. There was
Eathre. He fell down on his knees beside her and
took her hands. He thought she still lived, though
blood oozed from both her ears. He said, "It is Etz-
wane: your son Mur. I am here. I tried to save
you, but I failed."
Eathre's lips moved. "No," he thought to hear
her say, "you didn't fail. You saved me . . .
Thank you, Mur..."
Etzwane dragged branches and boughs from
the bawberry woods, stacked them high; he had
no spade to dig a grave. He placed the bodies of
Eathre and Delamber on the pyre and placed
more branches to lean around and over. He
needed much wood; he made many trips.
Ifness had been otherwise occupied. He har-

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
nessed the restive pacers to the trap and repaired
the reins. Then he turned his attention to the
Roguskhoi. He examined them closely, with
frowning concentration. To Etzwane they seemed
much alike: muscular, massive creatures, a
head taller than the average man, with a skin
hard and sleek as copper. Their features, which
might have been hewn with an axe, were con-
torted and twisted, like those of a demon-mask:
probably the effect of the poison. They grew no
hair on head or body; their costumes were almost
pitifully meager: black leather crotch-pieces, a
belt from which hung their bludgeons and scimi-
tars. Ifness took up one of the scimitars and ex-
amined the gleaming metal with interest. "No
product of Shant here," he mused. "Who forged
such metal?"
Etzwane had no answer; Ifness placed the
scimitar in the back of the trap. The cudgels
likewise interested him. The handles were sea-
soned hardwood, eighteen inches long; the heads
were iron balls studded with two-inch points:
terrible weapons.
Etzwane finally completed the pyre and set it
afire on four sides. Flame licked up into the air.
Ifness had taken upon himself a grisly investi-
gation. With his knife he had slit open the ab-
domen of one of the Roguskhoi. Blackish-red in-
testines rolled out; Ifness moved them aside
with a stick; with nostrils fastidiously pinched, he
continued his inspection of the creature's organs.
Dusk had come to the meadow. The pyre burnt
high. Etzwane did not care to tarry longer. He
called to Ifness: "Are you ready to leave?"
"Yes," said Ifness. "I have one small further
task."

THE FACELESS MAN	137
While Etzwane watched in utter astonishment,
Ifness selected the corpses of six women; deftly
cutting off the battered heads, he took the six
tores. Going to the pond, he washed tores, knife,
and hands and returned to where Etzwane stood
by the trap, wondering as to Ifness's sanity and
his own.
Ifness seemed brisk and cheerful. He stood
back to watch the flames from the pyre lick high
into the gathering darkness. "It is time to go,"
said Ifness.
Etzwane climbed into the seat of the trap. If-
ness turned the pacers across the meadow. Etz-
wane suddenly signaled him to a halt. Ifness
pulled up the pacers; Etzwane jumped to the
ground. He ran back to the pyre, extracted a
burning brand. This he carried to the galga
plantation and fired the foliage, which was dense,
dry, heavy with resin. Flames surged up through
clouds of black smoke. In grim delight Etzwane
stood back to watch; then he ran back to the trap.
Ifness had no comment to make; Etzwane was
unable to sense either approval or disapproval
but did not care particularly.
Leaving the meadow, they halted and looked
back at the two fires. The galga patch lit the sky;
the pyre glowed ruby red. Etzwane turned away,
blinking. The fires were the past; when the fires
died to ashes, the past would be gone.
Down the dark valley moved the trap, by the
light of the Skiaffarilla. The shuffle of hoofs, the
creak of harness, and the soft scrape of wheels
were the only sounds; they magnified the silence.
Once or twice Etzwane looked back to watch the
red glow slowly fading. At last he could see it no
more; the sky was dark. He turned in the seat

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
and gazed somberly ahead.
In a quiet and formal voice Ifness asked, "Now
that you have studied the Roguskhoi, what is
your opinion?"
Etzwane said, "They must be mad or demon-
possessed. In a sense they are pitiable. But they
must be destroyed."
Ifness said reflectively, "I find myself in agree-
ment with you. The cantons of Shant are highly
vulnerable. The Chilites must now change be-
yond recognition or disappear."
Etzwane tried to see Ifness's face in the star-
light. "You can't believe this is unfortunate?"
"I regret the passing of any unique organism;
there has never been such a human adaptation
before in all the history of the race; there may
never be again."
"What of the Roguskhoi: I suppose you'd be
sorry to see them destroyed I"
Ifness gave a small, quiet laugh. "Rather than
the Roguskhoi themselves, I fear what they may
represent. To such an extent that I have been
forced to compromise my principles."
"I don't understand you," said Etzwane shortly.
Ifness said in a grave voice, "As you know, I
travel here and there across Shant, according to
the urgencies of my profession. I see many cir-
cumstances, some happy, others grievous, but by
the very nature of my affairs I may never in-
volve myself."
Into Etzwane's mind came the memory of his
first encounter with Ifness. "Not even to help a
small boy escape the cannibal ahulphs?"
Ifness turned to peer through the darkness.
"You were that boy?"
"Yes."

THE FACELESS MAN	139
Ifness was silent for several minutes. Then he
said, "You have a dark and brooding streak in
your nature which persuades you against your
best interests. By resurrecting an episode ten
years old you risk offending me; what benefit do
you derive?"
Etzwane spoke in a detached voice. "I have
long resented that placid man who was willing
to let me die. To express myself is a relief and
a pleasure. I suppose that is the benefit which
you asked about. I don't care a fig whether or not
you are offended." Now that he had started talk-
ing, he found that he could not stop. "All that I
have hoped and worked for is gone. Who is to
blame? The Roguskhoi. Myself. The Faceless
Man. The Chilites. All of us are to blame. I should
have come sooner. I try to excuse myself: I had
insufficient funds, I could not have anticipated
the Roguskhoi raid. Still, I should have come
sooner. The Roguskhoi—they are mad things; I
am glad I poisoned them; I would gladly poison
the entire race. The Chilites, whom you mourn:
I don't care a fig for them, either. The Faceless
Man: There is another matter I We have trusted
him to protect us; we pay his imposts; we wear
his tore; we follow, as we must, his edicts. To
what end? Why has he not acted against the
Roguskhoi? It is disheartening, to say the least!"
"And to say the most?"
Etzwane only shook his head. "Why did you
cut open the Roguskhoi?"
"I was curious as to their physiology."
Etzwane gave a laugh that held a shrill note
of wildness. He cut the laugh short. For a period
there was silence. The trap moved down the star-
lit valley. Etzwane had no notion of how far they

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
had come, how far they must go. He asked an-
other question: "Why did you take the tores?"
Ifness sighed. "I had hoped you would not ask
that question. I cannot provide you a satisfactory
answer."
"You have many secrets," said Etzwane.
"All of us keep covert certain areas of our-
selves," said Ifness. "You yourself for instance:
you have evinced dissatisfaction with the Face-
less Man, but you do not reveal your further in-
tentions."
"They are not secret," said Etzwane. "I shall go
to Garwiy; I shall buy a Purple Petition; I shall
argue my views with as much clarity as possible.
Under the circumstances the Faceless Man must
take notice."
"One would think so," Ifness concurred. "But
let us assume the contrary. What, then?"
Etzwane squinted sidewise at the stiff yet ca-
sual silhouette against the blazing Skiaffarilla.
"Why should I trouble myself with remote even-
tualities?"
"I agree that overplanning sometimes limits
spontaneity," said Ifness. "Still, when there are
but two cases of equal probability, it is wise to
consider contingencies in both directions."
"I have ample time to form my plans," said
Etzwane shortly.

Chapter 9
In the dead middle of the night they came down
out of Mirk Valley. A few dim lights flickered
from the terraces of the temple; a breeze brought
the sweet-acrid whiff of galga mingled with vile
odors of charred wood and hides.
"The Chilites will worship Galexis until their
drug runs out," remarked Ifness. "Then they
must cry after a new goddess."
They passed into Rhododendron Way, an ave-
nue breathless and dark, haunted by remembered
sounds. The foliage was black overhead, the road
a white glimmer below. The cottages stood with
doors ajar, offering shelter and rest; neither of
the two suggested a halt. They continued on
through the night.
Dawn came as a glorious cascade of orange
and violet across the east; as Sasetta curveted
into the sky, the trap entered Carbade. The
pacers walked slowly, heads drooping, consider-
ably more weary than the men.
Ifness drove directly to the hostler's and re-
linquished the conveyance; the tores and the
weapons he wrapped into a parcel and tucked
into his jacket.
Etzwane would return westward; at Brassei If-
ness had stated his destination to be in the east.
Etzwane said somewhat ponderously, "We go our
different ways. I can't ignore the fact that you
have helped me a great deal. I give you thanks,

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
and I must say that I leave you in a better spirit
than I did on a previous occasion. So then, Ifness,
I bid you farewell."
Ifness bowed courteously. "Farewell to you."
Etzwane turned and strode across the square
to the balloon-way depot. Ifness followed in a
more leisurely fashion.
At the ticket-seller's window Etzwane said in
a crisp voice, "I want passage by the first balloon
to Garwiy." As he paid the fee, he became con-
scious of Ifness standing behind him and gave a
curt nod that Ifness returned. Ifness went to the
wicket and arranged balloon passage for himself.
The balloon south to Junction would not ar-
rive at Carbade for another hour; Etzwane paced
back and forth, then crossed the square to a food-
vender's stall where he found Ifness. Etzwane
took his meal to a table nearby, as did Ifness,
after murmuring a conventional excuse to Etz-
wane.
The two ate in silence. Etzwane, finishing, re-
turned to the depot, followed somewhat later by
Ifness.
The slot began to sing: a thin, high-pitched
whirring that told of the approaching dolly. Five
minutes later the balloon came trembling and
swaying down to the loading platform. Etzwane
rose to his feet, leavipg Ifness looking pensively
from the depot window; he entered the gondola
and settled himself upon the bench. Ifness came
in behind him and took a seat directly opposite.
Etzwane could ignore his presence no longer. "I
thought you were continuing east."
"An urgent matter takes me elsewhere," said
Ifness.
"To Garwiy?"

"To Garwiy."
The balloon rose into the air; riding the fresh
morning wind, it slid up the slot toward Junction.
During Etzwane's time Frolitz had taken his
troupe to Garwiy but seldom, and only for short
periods; the folk of Garwiy preferred entertain-
ments more dramatic, more frivolous, more ur-
bane. Etzwane nonetheless found Garwiy a fas-
cinating place, if only for the marvel and grace
of its vistas.
In all the human universe there was no city
like Garwiy, which was built of glass—blocks,
slabs, prisms, cylinders of glass": purple, green
lavender, blue, rose, dark scarlet.
Among the original exiles from Earth had been
twenty thousand Chama Reya, a cult of aestheti-
cians. On Durdane they vowed to build the most
magnificent city the race had yet known, and so
dedicated themselves. The first Garwiy persisted
seven thousand years, dominated in turn by the
Chama Reya, the Architectural Corporation, the
Director Dynasties, the transitional Superdirec-
tors, and finally the Purple Kings. Each century
brought new marvels to Garwiy, and it seemed
that the goal of each Purple King was to daunt
the memory of the past and stupefy the future.
King Cluay Pandamon erected an arcade of nine
hundred crystal columns sixty feet tall, support-
ing a prismatic glass roof. King Pharay Pandamon
ordained a market pavilion of startling ingenuity.
In a circular lake curved glass hulls were joined
to form twelve floating concentric rings, each
twenty feet wide, separated by bearings so that
each ring floated free of those to either side. On
these floating ways merchants and craftsmen

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
established a bazaar, each booth isolated from its
neighbor by a panel of colored glass. In a sub-
surface way around the lake, a hundred bullocks
pulled the outside ring into slow rotation, which,
through the agency of the water surrounding
the hulls, gradually impelled the inner rings to
rotations. Every six hours the bullocks reversed
the rotational direction of the outer ring, and
presently the rings all rotated at various speeds
in different directions, presenting a succession of
shifting colors and shadows: this the market
bazaar built by King Pharay Pandamon.
During the reign of King Jorje Shkurkane,
Garwiy reached its peak. The slopes of the Ush-
kadel glittered with palaces; at the Jardeen docks
glass ships unloaded the wares of the world:
fibers, silks, and membranes from North Shant,
the meat-products of Palasedra, salts and oxides
from the mines of Caraz for the production of
glass. All sixty-two cantons contributed to the
glory of Garwiy; the Pandamon Bailiff was a fa-
miliar sight in the far corners of Shant. During
King Kharene's unlucky reign, the south revolted;
the Palasedran Eagle-Dukes crossed the Great
Salt Bog to spark the Fourth Palasedran War,
which terminated the Pandamon Dynasty.
During the Sixth Palasedran War Palasedran
bombardiers established themselves on the Ush-
kadel Ridges, from where they were able to lob
air-mines into the old city. Fountain after foun-
tain of antique glass spurted high into the sun-
light. At last the Warlord Viana Paizifume
launched his furious uphill assault, which sub-
sequently became the substance of legend. With
his cataphracts destroyed, his Elite Pikes dazed
and leaderless, his Glass Darts cramped against

THE FACELESS MAN	145
the base of the cliff, Paizifume destroyed the
Palasedran host with a horde of crazed ahulphs,
daubed with tar, set afire and directed up the Ush-
kadel. Victory was a poor exchange for Garwiy
shattered; the deed brought the Palasedrans a
permanent legacy of distrust and bitterness.
Viana Paizifume, from Canton Glirris on the
east coast, refused to allow another Pandamon
upon the Purple Throne and called a conclave of
the cantons to form a new government. After
three weeks of bickering and caprice, Paizifume's
patience was exhausted. Mounting to the podi-
um, he indicated a platform on which a screen
had been arranged.
"Beyond that screen," decreed Paizifume, "sits
your new ruler. I will not tell you his name; you
will know him only by his edicts, which I shall
enforce. Do you understand the virtue of this ar-
rangement? When you do not know your ruler,
you will be unable to plot, wheedle, or suborn.
Justice at last is possible."
Did the first Faceless Man actually stand be-
hind the screen? Or had Viana Paizifume in-
vented an invisible alter ego? No one knew then
or ever. However, when at last Paizifume was
assassinated, the plotters were immediately ap-
prehended, sealed into glass balls and suspended
on a cable running between a pair of spires. For
a thousand years the balls hung like baubles un-
til one by one they were struck by lightning and
destroyed.
For a period the Faceless Man enforced his
commands by means of a coercive corps, which
gradually assumed improper prerogatives and
stimulated a revolt. The Conservative Counsel
quelled the revolt, disbanded the Coercive Corps,

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
and restored order. The Faceless Man appeared
before the counsel in armor of black glass, with
a black glass helmet to conceal his identity. He
demanded and was conceded greater power and
greater responsibility. For twenty years the total
energies of Shant were expended in the perfec-
tion of the tore system. The Magenta Edict de-
creed tores for all and stimulated further strife:
the Hundred Years War, which ended only when
the last citizen had been clamped into his tore.
Garwiy never regained its Pandamon magnif-
icence but still was reckoned the first wonder of
Durdane. There were towers of blue glass, spires
of purple glass, green glass domes, prisms and
pillars, walls of clear glass glinting and glittering
in the sunlight. At night colored lamps illumi-
nated the city: green lamps behind blue and pur-
ple glass, pink lamps behind blue glass.
The palaces up the Ushkadel still housed the
patricians of Garwiy, but these were a far cry
from the flamboyant grandees of the Pandamon
Era. They drew their income from country es-
tates, from shipping, from the laboratories and
workshops where tores, radios, glow-bulbs, a few
other electronic devices, were assembled, using
components produced elsewhere in Shant:
monomolecule conductor strands, semiorganic
electron-control devices, magnetic cores of
sintered ironweb, a few trifles of copper, gold,
silver, lead, for connections and switches. No
technician comprehended the circuits he used;
whatever the original degree of theoretical knowl-
edge, it now had become lore: a mastery of
techniques rather than of principles. The work-
shops and factories were located in the industrial

THE FACELESS MAN	147
suburb Shranke on the Jardeen River; the work-
ers lived nearby in pleasant cottages among gar-
dens and orchards.
This, then, was Garwiy: a metropolis of con-
siderable area but no great population, a place
of entrancing beauty enhanced by antiquity and
the weight of history.
The people of Garwiy were unique—hyper-
civilized, sensitive to all varieties of aesthetic
distinction but not themselves particularly crea-
tive. The Aesthetic Society, with a membership
of patricians from the Ushkadel, administered
civic functions, which the ordinary folk of Gar-
wiy found right and proper. The patricians had
the money; it was right that they should accept
the responsibilities. The typical citizen felt no re-
sentment toward the patricians; he was equal be-
fore the law. If by dint of cleverness or energy he
acquired a fortune and bought a palace, he was
taken into the Aesthetic Society as a matter of
course. After two or three generations as par-
venus, his descendants might regard themselves
as Aesthetes in their own right. This typical citi-
zen was a complicated person: suave and civil,
vivacious, fickle, frivolous, and somewhat brittle.
He was voluptuous but critical; complacent but
demanding; fashion-conscious but amused by
eccentricity. He was gregarious but introverted;
Knowledgeable regarding every, green facet and
purple glint of his wonderful city, current with
the latest entertainments, uninterested in the
rest of Shant. He was not deeply moved by music
and had no great patience with the traditions of
the druithines or the musical troupes; he pre-
ferred facetious ballads, songs with topical ref-

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
erences, entertainers with eccentric antics: in
short, all the manifestations detested by the mu-
ician.
He regarded his tore as a necessary evil and
occasionally made a satirical reference to the
Faceless Man, for whom he felt a half-contemp-
tuous awe. Somewhere along the Ushkadel the
Faceless Man reputedly lived in a palace; the
question of his identity was a constant titillation
for the man of Garwiy. He seldom if ever exer-
cised his right of petition; this facility was re-
served for the outlander, whom Garwiy folk liked
to consider a yokel. He had heard mention of the
Roguskhoi and perhaps wondered at their pecu-
liar habits, but his interest went little further.
To the Garwiy man the wildlands of the Hwan
were almost as remote as the center of Caraz.
The suns toppled south toward the winter sol-
stice; Durdane at the same time entered that
sector of its orbit where the suns occulted: a
situation intensifying seasonal contrasts. Cold air
from Nimmir brought autumnal winds to the
north of Shant.
The balloon Shostrel, leaving Angwin, spun
down the Great Transverse at extraordinary
speeds, out of the Wildlands into Shade, then
Fairlea, and past Brassei Junction where Etz-
wane turned an expressionless^ glance west, to
where Frolitz presumably anticipated his early
arrival; through Cantons Conduce, Maiy, Wild
Rose, each jealous of its unique identity, and at
last into Canton Garwiy. Down the Vale of Silence
they veered at fifty miles an hour, along the line
of clear glass tablets, each encasing the monu-
mental effigy of a dynastic king. The poses were

THE FACELESS MAN	149
identical; the kings stood with right feet slightly
forward, forefingers pointing at the ground, the
faces wearing somber, almost puzzled expres-
sions, eyes staring ahead, as if in contemplation
of an astounding future.
The wind-tender began to slacken his warps;
the Shostrel sailed at an easier pace through the
Jardeen Gap and into Garwiy Station. Brakes
slowed the running dolly; a Judas was snatched
to the guys so expertly that the balloon came to
ground in a continuous even motion.
Etzwane alighted, followed by Ifness. With a
polite nod Ifness walked off across the station
plaza, to turn into Kavalesko Passway, which led
under a tower of dark blue glass ribbed with water-
blue pilasters, and into Kavalesko Avenue.* Etz-
wane shrugged and went his way.
Frolitz customarily made resort at Fontenay's
Inn, north of the plaza, beside the Jardeen,
where the management provided meals and lodg-
ing in return for a few evenings of music. To
Fontenay's Inn Etzwane now betook himself. He
called for stylus and paper and immediately set
to work drafting the petition that he planned to
submit on the following day.
Two hours later Etzwane finished the docu-
ment. He gave it a final reading and could find
no fault; it seemed clear and uncompromising,
with no sacrifice of calm reason. It read:
To the attention of the ANOME:
During my recent visit to the lowlands
of the Hwan, in Canton Bastern, I observed
* The twelve avenues radiating from the Aesthetic Cor-
poration Plaza were named for Chama Reya avatars.

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
the effects of a Roguskhoi raid upon the Chil-
ite community Bashon. Considerable prop-
erty damage occurred: a tannery and cer-
tain out-buildings were demolished. A large
number of women were abducted and sub-
sequently killed under distressing circum-
stances.
It has become well known that the Wild-
lands of the Hwan are a haven for those
noxious savages, who therefore are free to
maraud and plunder at will. Each year they
wax both in numbers and audacity. It is my
opinion that all Roguskhoi now resident in
Shant should be destroyed by a stern and
unremitting effort. I suggest that a suitable
militia be recruited, trained, and armed.
Coincidentally, a study should be made of
the Roguskhoi, their habits, their preferred
resorts. When all is prepared, the militia,
using disciplined tactics, should penetrate
the Hwan, attack and expunge the Rogusk-
hoi.
In broad outline, this is my petition. I
realize that I propose a major governmental
operation, but in my opinion such action
is necessary.
The time was late afternoon: too late to present
the petition. Etzwane crossed the Jardeen and
strolled through Pandamon Park where the north
wind sent autumn leaves scurrying past his feet.
He came to the Aeolian Hall, a musical instru-
ment of pearl-gray glass three hundred feet long.
Wind collected by scoops was directed into a
plenum. The operator worked rods and keys to
let pent air move one, two, a dozen, or a hundred

THE FACELESS MAN	151
from among the ten thousand sets of glass chimes.
A person who wandered the hall experienced
audible dimension, with sound coming from vari-
ous directions: tinkling chords, whispers of
vaguely heard melody, thin, glassy shiverings,
the crystal-pure tones of the center gongs; hur-
ried gusts racing the ceiling like ripples across a
pond; fateful chimes, pervasive and melancholy
as a buoy bell heard through the fog. On occasion
the entire ceiling would seem to burst into sound.
With the north wind at its full weight, Etz-
wane heard the hall at its best; at twilight he
crossed the river and dined in one of Garwiy's
splendid restaurants under a hundred pink and
lavender lamps—an experience he had hereto-
fore denied himself. The money he had hoarded
over the years: what was its purpose? It repre-
sented grief and futility; he would spend it as fast
as possible, frivol it away. His sober second self
quickly interposed a veto. He would do no such
thing. Money so hardly come by should not be
lightly dissipated. But tonight, at least, he would
enjoy his meal, and he forced himself to do so.
The courses were set before him by a pretty
waitress. Etzwane considered her with somber in-
terest; she seemed amiable, with a mouth -that
seemed always twitching on the verge of a smile.
He ate: the viands were prepared and presented
to perfection. The meal came to an end. Etzwane
wanted to talk to the waitress but felt too shy. In
any event she was of Garwiy, and he was an out-
lander; she would consider him quaint. He won-
dered as to the whereabouts of Frolitz, even of the
uncommunicative Ifness. In a fretful mood he re-
turned to the inn. He looked into the tavern, which

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
was composed and quiet; no musicians were on
hand. Etzwane took himself to bed.
In the morning he visited a haberdasher who
fitted him out with new clothes: a white tunic
with a high flaring collar, dark green breeches
buckled at the ankles, black ahulph-leather boots
with silver-wood clasps. He had never before
owned an outfit so dashing. He was not altogether
convinced that the figure in the carbon-fume mir-
ror was himself. A barber trimmed his hair and
shaved him with a glass razor. On a sudden im-
pulse, as if to defy the jeers from his under-brain,
he bought a rakish little cap with a medallion of
colored glass. The image of himself in the mirror
aroused a complicated emotion: disgust and
wonder for his own folly, with a trace of ebul-
lience, as if whatever flamboyant traits he had
inherited from Dystar were pushing to make
themselves felt. Etzwane shrugged and grimaced;
he had spent the money; now he must wear the
cap. He stepped out into the blazing lavender
noon light; the glass of Garwiy flashed and glit-
ered.
Etzwane walked slowly to the Corporation
Plaza. To buy a five-hundred-florin petition, to as-
sert his views, must bring him to the attention of
the Faceless Man. Well, what, then? His con-
cerns were valid; his petition was legal. They ex-
pressed honest anxiety; by his own assertion the
Faceless Man was servant to the people of Shant!
Etzwane crossed the Corporation Plaza to the
long, low structure of magenta glass where once
before he had come. The front wall supported a
panel of dull purple satin to which were pinned
petitions and the Faceless Man's response. Twenty
or thirty folk, in a variety of cantonal costumes,

THE FACELESS MAN	153
stood waiting at the five-florin window. They had
come from every corner of Shant with their
grievances; as they stood in line, they watched
the passing folk of Garwiy with truculent expres-
sions. Nearby were more dignified precincts for
those earnest enough to buy a hundred-florin pe-
tition. At the far end of the building a door dis-
tinguished by a purple star opened into the
chamber where the very wealthy or the very ve-
hement bought petitions at a cost of five hundred
florins.
Through this latter door marched Etzwane
without slackening his stride.
The chamber was empty. He was the single
petitioner. Behind the counter a man jumped to
his feet. "Your wishes, sir?"
Etzwane brought forth his money. "A petition."
"Very well, sir. A matter of grave importance,
no doubt."
"This is my opinion."
The clerk brought forth a magenta document,
a pen, a dish of black ink; as Etzwane wrote, the
clerk counted the money and prepared a receipt.
Etzwane indited his petition, folded it, tucked
it into the envelope provided by the clerk, who,
examining Etzwane's tore, noted the color code.
"Your name, sir, if it please you?"
"Gastel Etzwane."
"Your native canton?"
"Bastern."
"Very good, sir- that is sufficient."
"When will I have my response?"
The clerk held wide his hands. "How can I
answer? The Anome comes and goes; I know no
more of his movements than you. In two or three
days you might expect to find your response. It

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
must be posted publicly like all the rest; no one
may claim that the Anome performs private
favors."
Etzwane went off somewhat less briskly than
he had come. The deed was accomplished. He
had done all he could; now he must wait upon
the decision of the Faceless Man. He climbed a
flight of green glass steps to a refreshment gar-
den; the flowers, plants, fronds, and trees were
all simulated of blue, green, white and scarlet
glass. At a table overlooking the plaza he ate a
dish of fruit and hard cheese. He ordered wine
and was brought a goblet, slender and high as his
lips, of pale cool Pelmonte. He felt dull, deflated.
He even felt somewhat absurd. Had he been too
bombastic? The Faceless Man surely understood
every aspect of the problem; the petition would
seem brash and callow. Etzwane glumly sipped
his wine. Five hundred florins gone. For what?
Expiation of guilt? So that was it. This flinging
down of five hundred florins on a useless petition
was the way he punished himself. Five hundred
hard-earned florins 1
Etzwane compressed his lips. He rubbed his
forehead with his fingertips. What was done was
done. At all events the Faceless Man's reply would
provide information regarding counter-Rogusk-
hoi measures now in progress.
Etzwane finished his wine and returned to
Fontenay's Inn. He found the proprietor in the
pot-room with a trio of cronies. He had been
testing his own merchandise and had reached a
difficult and captious state.
Etzwane asked politely, "Who plays the music
here of evenings?"
The proprietor turned his head to survey Etz-

THE FACELESS MAN	155
wane from head to toe; Etzwane regretted the
expensive new clothes. In his old garments he
looked the part of a traveling musician.
The proprietor responded curdy: "At the mo-
ment, no one."
"In that case I wish to apply for the chair."
"Aha. What are your abilities?"
"I am a musician. I often play the khitan."
"A budding young druithine, it seems."
"I do not present myself in such terms," re-
plied Etzwane.
"A singer, then, with three chords and as many
bogus dialects?"
"I am a musician, not a singer."
One of the cronies, seeing how the wind blew,
held up his goblet and looked through the glass
at the contents. "New wine is thin; old wine is
rich."
"My own opinion exacdy," said the proprietor.
"A new musician knows too little, has felt too
little; remember the great Aladar Szantho? He
secluded himself fourteen years. Now, with no
reflection upon either your aptitudes or potentiali-
ties, how could you interest a mature and knowl-
edgeable company?"
"You will never know until you hear me."
"You refuse to be daunted? Very well, you shall
play. I pay nothing unless you attract custom
into the tavern, which I doubt."
"I expect no pay," said Etzwane, "other than
my board and lodging."
"I can't even agree to that until I hear you.
Garwiy is not a city which takes to outland music.
If you could hypnotize toads or recite lewd verse
or sing topical ballads or roll your eyes in op-
posite circles, that is another matter."

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
"I can only play music," said Etzwane. "My
fee, if any, I will leave to your generosity. Is
there a khitan on the premises?"
"You will find one or two such in the cupboard
yonder."
Three days passed. Etzwane played in the pot-
room, well enough to amuse the customers and
satisfy the proprietor. He attempted no bravura
and used the rattle-box with a delicate elbow.
On the third night, with the time growing late,
the mood came upon him, and he struck the idle
chords of the druithine commencing a reverie. He
played a reflective melody and a minor retro-
spect. Music is the result of experience, he
thought; he had had sufficient experience to be
a musician. Admittedly some of his emotions
were raw, and some of his chords were played
with his knee too hard against the brilliancy le-
ver. The awareness of this came to Etzwane; he
changed, almost in midphrase, to soft, quiet pas-
sages. He noticed that the company had become
attentive. Before he had been playing in an ab-
straction; now he felt self-conscious. Modulating
into a set of conventional chords, he finished. He
was afraid to raise his eyes and look out over the
company. Might they have felt what he felt? Or
were they smiling at his excesses? He put down
the instrument and stepped from the chair.
To confront Frolitz. Who faced him with a
queer half smile. "The sublime young druithine 1
Who performs hi6 fantastic surprises at Fon-
tenay's while his master, poor doddering old
Frolitz, prays for his return at Brassei."
"I can explain everything," said Etzwane.
"Your mother is well, I hope?"

THE FACELESS MAN
"She is dead."
157
" 'Dead' is a sour word," said Frolitz. He
scratched his nose, drank from his mug, looked
over his shoulder. 'The troupe is here. Shall we
play music?"
On the following morning Etzwane (again
wearing his new garments) went to the Corpora-
tion Plaza and across to the Office of Petitions.
To the left, gray cards gave answers to the five-
florin petitions: adjudications of petty disputes,
actions for damage, complaints against local re-
strictions. In the center, sheets of pale-green
parchment, pinned to the board with emerald-
glass cabochons, decided hundred-florin actions.
At the far right documents of vellum with sur-
rounding bands of black and purple announced
responses to the five-hundred-florin petitions. Only
three of these were posted on the board.
Etzwane could hardly restrain his strides as
he crossed the plaza; the last few steps he almost
ran.
He scanned the purple-and-black-bordered
documents. The first read:
Lord Fiatz Ergold, having called for the
ANOME'S intercession against the unusual-
ly harsh judgment rendered in Canton
Amaze against his son, the Honorable Arlet,
now may hear: The ANOME has requested
a transcript of the proceedings and will
study the case. The cited penalty appears
disproportionate to the offense. Lord Fiatz
Ergold however must know that an act
merely vulgar or inopportune in one canton

158	THE FACELESS MAN
is a capital offense in the next. The ANOME,
despite sympathy for Lord Fiatz Ergold, may
not in justice contravene local laws. How-
ever if circumstances warrant, the ANOME
will pray for leniency.
The second read:
The gentlewoman Casuelda Adrio is ad-
vised that, notwithstanding her anger and
concern, the punishment she urges for the
man Andrei Simic will not beneficially re-
pair circumstances as they now exist.
The third read:
For the attention of the gentleman Gas-
tel Etzwane and the other worthy folk who
have expressed concern for the Roguskhoi
bandits in the Wildlands of the Hwan, the
ANOME counsels a calm mien. These dis-
gusting creatures will never dare to venture
down from the wilderness; their depreda-
tions are not likely to molest folk who make
it their business to avoid reckless exposure
of themselves and their properties.
Etzwane leaned forward, gaping in disbelief.
His hand went to his tore, the unconscious ges-
ture of Shant folk when they reflected in regard
to the Faceless Man. He looked again. The state-
ment read exactly as it had originally. With a
trembling hand Etzwane reached to claw the
document from the display board. He restrained
himself. Let it stay. In fact...

THE FACELESS MAN	159
He brought a stylus from his pocket; he wrote
on the parchment:
The Roguskhoi are murderous beasts! The
Faceless Man says ignore them while they
kill and plunder.
The Roguskhoi infest our lands. The Face-
less Man says keep out of their way.
Viana Paizifume would have spoken dif-
ferently.
Etzwane drew back from the board, suddenly
abashed. His act was close to sedition, for which
the Faceless Man had little patience. Anger
flooded Etzwane again. Sedition, intemperance,
insubordination. How could affairs be otherwise?
Any man must be prompted to outrage by policy
so bland and unresponsive! He looked around the
plaza in trepidation and defiance. None of the
folk nearby paid him any close attention. He
noticed a man strolling slowly across the square,
head bowed as if in cogitation. It was surely If-
ness. He seemed not to have observed Etzwane,
though he must have passed only thirty feet from
the Petitioners' Board. On a sudden impulse Etz-
wane ran after him.
Ifness looked around without surprise. He
seemed, thought Etzwane, even more placid than
usual. Etzwane said, somewhat grimly, "I saw
you pass, and I thought to pay my respects."
"Thank you," said Ifness. "How go your af-
fairs?"
"Well enough. I am back with Master Frolitz;
we play at Fontenay's Inn. You should come
by and hear our music."

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
"A pleasant thought. Unluckily I fear I will be
occupied. You seem to have altered your style."
His glance indicated Etzwane's garments.
Etzwane scowled. 'The clothes are nothing. A
waste of money."
"And your petition to the Faceless Man: Have
you had a response?"
Etzwane stared at him stonily, wondering if
Ifness enjoyed subterfuge for its own sake; sure-
ly Ifness had noticed him at the board! He said
carefully, "I bought the petition at a cost of five
hundred florins. The answer has been posted. It
is yonder."
He led Ifness to the board. Ifness read with
his head thrust slightly forward. "Hmm," said
Ifness. Then in a sharp voice, "Who wrote the
remarks at the bottom of the sheet?"
"I did."
"What!" Ifness's voice was vibrant. Etzwane
had never before seen him exercised. "Do you
realize that in the building opposite a telescope is
fixed on this board! You scribble your callow and
irrelevant complaints, then stalk grandly over to
implicate me. Do you realize that you are about
to lose your head? Now we are both in danger."
Etzwane started to make a hot retort, but If-
ness's gesture cut him short. "Act naturally; do
not pose or posture. Cross to the Pomegranate
Portal; continue slowly along. I must alter cer-
tain arrangements."
His head whirling, Etzwane crossed the plaza,
moving with as natural a stride as he could mus-
ter. He looked toward the Aesthetic Corporation
offices, from which, so Ifness averred, the board
was telescopically monitored. The objective lens
might well be that particularly lucid glass boss

THE FACELESS MAN	161
directly opposite the board. The Faceless Man
hardly sat with his own eyes glued to the lens;
a functionary no doubt kept vigil. The telescope
would readily pick up the colors in Etzwane's
tore; when he turned away, the man's curiosity
would hold on him, and he would have observed
the colloquy with Ifness.
If all were as Ifness declared. At least, thought
Etzwane, he had startled Ifness from his super-
cilious calm.
He passed through the Pomegranate Portal, so
called for festoons of dark scarlet fruit, into Ser-
ven Airo Way beyond.
Ifness caught up with him. It is possible that
your act went unnoticed," said Ifness. "But I can-
not risk even one chance in ten."
Etzwane, still surly, said, "I understand none
of your actions."
"Still, you would prefer not to lose your head?"
asked Ifness in his most silky voice.
Etzwane gave a noncommittal grunt.
"Here is the situation," said Ifness. "The Face-
less Man will shortly learn of your acts. He may
well take your head; he has already taken the
heads of three persons who have pushed too hard
in this connection. I propose to prevent this. Next
I intend to learn the identity of the Faceless Man.
Then I will urge him to alter his policy."
Etzwane looked at Ifness in awe. "Can you do
this?"
"I intend to try. You may be able to assist me."
"Why have you formed such plans? They are
surprising!"
"Why did you file a five-hundred-florin peti-
tion?"
"You know my motives," said Etzwane stiffly.

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
"Exactly," said Ifness. "It gives me reason to
trust in your participation. Walk faster. We are
not being followed. Turn to the right at the Old
Rotunda."
Passing from the city of glass, they walked a
quarter mile north along the Avenue of the Thasa-
rene Directors, into a lane shaded by tall blue-
green hedges, through a gap to a small cottage of
pale blue tile. Ifness unlocked the door, ushered
Etzwane within. "Take off your jacket quickly."
Etzwane sulkily obeyed the instructions. If-
ness indicated a couch. "Lie down, on your face."
Again Etzwane obeyed. Ifness wheeled over a
table on which rested an assortment of tools. Etz-
wane rose from the couch to examine them; If-
ness curtly told him to lie back. "Now, on your
life, do not move."
Ifness switched on a bright light and clamped
Etzwane's tore in a small vise. He slipped a metal
strip between the tore and Etzwane's neck, then
clipped a u-shaped device to the strip. He touched
a button; the device set up a soft hum; Etzwane
felt a tingle of vibration. "Electron flow is im-
peded," said Ifness. "It is safe to open your tore."
With a spinning razor-sharp wheel he sliced the
flexite of the tore along its seam. Putting the tool
aside, he split the tore open, then, with a long-
nose pliers, he drew forth a length of black soft
stuff. "The dexax is removed." With a hooked rod
he worked at the internal lock. The tore fell
away from Etzwane's neck.
"You are no longer subject to the control of the
Faceless Man," said Ifness.
Etzwane rubbed his neck, which felt thin-
skinned an^l naked. Rising from the couch, he

THE FACELESS MAN	163
looked slowly from the tore to Ifness. "How did
you learn to do this?"
"You will remember the tores I salvaged on
Gargamet Meadow. I studied these with great
care." He indicated the interior of Etzwane's tore.
"These are the coded receptors; this is a trigger
mechanism. If a signal comes through from the
Faceless Man, this fiber jerks to detonate the ex-
plosive. Off comes your head. This is the echo re-
lay, which allows the Faceless Man to discover
your whereabouts; it is now inoperative. These
nodules I believe to be energy accumulators."
He stood frowning down at the device so long
that Etzwane became restless and donned his
tunic.
Ifness finally said, "If I were the Faceless Man,
I might well suspect a cabal, of which Gastel Etz-
wane was not the most important member. I
would not instantly take Etzwane's head, but I
would use the echo circuit to locate him and in-
vestigate his activities."
"That seems reasonable enough," said Etzwane
grudgingly.
"On this basis," said Ifness, "I will attach a sig-
nal to your tore; if and when the Faceless Man
tries to locate you, we will be warned." He busied
himself. "When he receives no return signal, he
must assume that you have left the district, and
we will have verified his interest in Gastel Etz-
wane. Above all, I do not wish to alarm him or
put him on his guard."
Etzwane asked the question that long had been
at the front of his mind. "What, in fact, are your
wishes?"
"I hardly know," Ifness murmured. "My per-

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
plexity is greater than your own."
Sudden illumination came to Etzwane. "You
are a Palasedran I You come to observe the work
of the Roguskhoi!"
"Not true." Ifness, seating himelf on a couch,
regarded Etzwane with a passionless gaze. "Like
yourself, I wonder at the Roguskhoi and the
Faceless Man's unconcern. Like yourself, I have
been prompted to action. It is no less illicit for me
than for you."
"What kind of action do you plan?" Etzwane
asked cautiously.
"My first goal must be to identify the Faceless
Man," said Ifness. "After that I will be guided by
events."
"You claim not to be Palasedran," said Etz-
wane. "Nevertheless, this remains a possibility."
"My conduct in Mirk Valley was that of a Pala-
sedran?"
Etzwane reflected upon Ifness's action. In no
respect had Palasedran interests been advanced,
or so it would seem. And the tools on the table:
marvelous things! Of shining metal, of substances
to which he could put no name—but not Pala-
sedran. "If you are not Palasedran, what are you?
Certainly no man of Shant."
Ifness leaned back on the couch, an expres-
sion of intense boredom on his face. "With churl-
ish persistence you press for information I clear-
ly do not wish to extend. Since your cooperation
now becomes useful, I am forced to make cer-
tain disclosures. You have discerned that I am
not a man of Shant. I am, in fact, an Earthman,
a Fellow of the Historical Institute. Are you any
the wiser?"

THE FACELESS MAN	165
Etzwane surveyed him with a fierce gaze. "Earth
is a real place?"
"Very real indeed."
"Why are you here on Shant?"
Ifness spoke in a patient voice. "The folk who
came to Durdane nine thousand years ago were
secretive and eccentric; they marooned them-
selves and sank their spaceships in the Purple
Ocean. On Earth Durdane is long forgotten—ex-
cept by the Historical Institute. I am the latest in
a succession of Fellows resident upon Durdane—
and possibly the first to ignore the First Law of
the Institute: Fellows may never interfere in the
affairs of the worlds they study. We are organized
as a fact-gathering association, and we so restrict
ourselves. My conduct in regard to the Faceless
Man is absolutely illicit; in the purview of the In-
stitute I am a criminal."
"Why, then, did you concern yourself?" Etz-
wane demanded. "Because of the Roguskhoi
raids?"
"My motives need not concern you. Your in-
terests, so far as they go, are concurrent with
mine; I do not care to be more explicit."
Etzwane ran his hand through his hair and
sank back down upon the couch opposite to that
on which Ifness sat. "These are great surprises."
He warily studied Ifness. "Are there other Earth-
men on Durdane?"
Ifness replied in the negative. "The Historical
Institute spreads its personnel thin."
"How do you move between here and Earth?"
"Again, this is information I prefer to keep to
myself."
Before Etzwane could make an irritated reply,

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
his tore produced a sharp buzzing sound. Ifness
jumped to his feet; in one long stride he was at
the tore. The buzzing stopped, leaving a silence
that had a weighty and sinister quality of its own.
Somewhere, thought Etzwane, the Faceless Man
had turned away from his instruments frowning.
"Excellent!" Ifness declared. "The Faceless
Man is interested in you. We will persuade him
to reveal himself."
"All very well," said Etzwane, "but how?"
"A tactical exercise, which we will discuss
presently. At the moment I wish to resume the
business which your presence in the Plaza inter-
ruped. I was about to dine."
The two returned to the Corporation Plaza; here
they kept to the peripheral arcade, beyond the pur-
view of the observer in the Corporation Center.
Etzwane looked toward the Office of Petitions;
the purple-and-black-bordered document was no
longer to be seen. He informed Ifness of the fact.
"Another evidence of the Anome's sensitivity,"
said Ifness in an abstracted voice. "Our work will
be the easier on this account."
"How so?" demanded Etzwane, ever more ir-
ritated by Ifness's condescension.
Ifness looked sidewise with raised eyebrows
and spoke in a patient voice: "We must induce
the Faceless Man to reveal himself. A quail can-
not be seen until it moves; so with the Faceless
Man. We must generate a situation which he will
wish to inspect in his own person, rather than
relying upon his Benevolences. The fact of his
sensitivity makes such a reaction more likely."
Etzwane gave a sardonic grunt. "Just so. What
situation do we generate?"

THE FACELESS MAN	167
"It is a matter we must discuss. First, let us
dine."
They seated themselves in the loggia of the
Old Pagane Restaurant; their meal was set be-
fore them. Ifness stinted himself nothing. Etz-
wane, unsure whether or not he might be re-
quired to pay his own score, dined less lavishly.
In the end, however, Ifness laid down money for
both meals and leaned back to sip the dessert
wine. "Now, to our business. The Faceless Man
returned a polite response to your five hundred
florins and in fact evinced interest only when you
noted your dissatisfaction. This calibrates one of
our parameters."
Etzwane wondered where all this was leading.
Ifness mused: "We must act within bounds of
Garwiy law, to give the Aesthetic Corporation
no pretext for action. Perhaps we will offer an
informative lecture on the Roguskhoi and prom-
ise startling revelations. The faceless Man has
demonstrated his concern in regard to this sub-
ject; in all probability he will be interested
enough to attend."
Etzwane agreed that such a contingency was
possible. "But who will give such a lecture?"
'That is a matter to be carefully considered,"
said Ifness. "Let us return to the cottage. Again
I must modify your tore so that it becomes a tool
of aggression rather than a mere warning device."
In the cottage once more, Ifness worked two
hours on the modification of Etzwane's tore. At
last he completed his work. A pair of inconspic-
uous wires now led to a coil of fifty turns tied
down upon a square of stiff fiber board. "This is a
directional antenna," said Ifness. "You will wear

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
the coil under your shirt. Warning signals inside
the tore will notify you when an attempt is be-
ing made either to locate you or to take your
head. By turning, you will maximize the signals
and thus determine their direction. Allow me now
to place the tore around your neck."
Etzwane submitted without enthusiasm. "It
seems," he grumbled, "that I am to function as
bait."
Ifness allowed himself a frosty smile. "Some-
thing of the sort. Now listen carefully. The explo-
sive impulse you will feel as a vibration against
the back of your neck. The locator pulse will be
received as a vibration at the right side. In either
case, turn until you maximize the vibration. The
source will then be directly in front of you."
Etzwane nodded grimly. "And what of you?"
"I will carry a similar device. With luck we
should be able to strike a fix upon our subject."
"And what if we are unlucky?"
"This, to be frank, is my expectation. Such
facile success is too much to hope for. We may
startle our quail on this occasion, but other quail
may move as well and so confuse us. But I will
carry my camera; we will at least have an exact
record of the occasion."

Chapter 10
At those places throughout Garwiy designated for
the display of public announcements appeard
large placards printed in brown and black on
white paper with a yellow border: colors to sig-
nify dire and fateful import, with overtones of
the sensationally macabre.
The ROGUSKHOI EXPOSED!
Who are these horrid savages who ravage
and rape, who torment our land? Where do
they come from? What is their plan?
AN ANONYMOUS ADVENTURER JUST RE-
TURNED FROM THE HWAN WILL REVEAL
STARTLING FACTS AND EVEN MORE STAR-
TLING SUSPICIONS. WHO SHARES THE BLAME
FOR THIS INFESTATION? YOU WILL HEAR AN
AMAZING ACCUSATION 1
MIDAFTERNOON KYALISDAY
AT THE PUBLIC PAVILION
IN PANDAMON PARK
On a hundred bulletin boards the placards
were posted, and even the folk of Garwiy took no-
tice, reading the placards once, twice, a third
time. Ifness was pleased with the effect. "The
Faceless Man will not ignore this. Yet we give
neither him nor the Corporation cause to inter-
fere."

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
Etzwane said sourly, "I'd rather that you were
the 'anonymous adventurer.'"
Ifness laughed—in high good humor. "What?
The talented Gastel Etzwane uncomforable be-
fore an audience? What happens when you play
one of your instruments?"
'That is different."
"Possibly so. But as the 'anonymous adventur-
er' I could not use my camera. You have mem-
orized the material?"
"As much as needs be," growled Etzwane. "In
all candor, I dislike acting as your cat's-paw. I do
not care to be seized by the Discriminators* and
clapped off to Stonebreakers' Island while you
dine on pomfret and inger eggs at the Old
Pagane."
"Unlikely," said Ifness. "Not impossible but un-
likely."
Etzwane merely grunted. As an "anonymous
adventurer" he wore a bulky cape of black fur,
square and wide across the shoulders, with sand-
colored breeches and black boots: the garments
of a Canton Shkoriy mountaineer. The medallion
of his tore showed at his neck; the designation
"musician" was not at odds with the role of "ad-
venturer." Slender, taut, his face keen and quick-
featured, Gastel Etzwane cut a gallant figure in
the mountaineer's costume; insensibly it affected
his stride, his mannerisms, his mode of thought.
He had become in fact the "anonymous adven-
turer." Ifness, wearing dark gray trousers, a
loose white shirt, a soft gray jacket, was as usual.
If Ifness felt any emotion, he gave no indication;
* Avistioi: literally, "nice discriminators": the constabu-
lary of the Aesthetic Corporation.

THE FACELESS MAN	171
Etzwane found it difficult to control his nervous-
ness.
They arrived at Pandamon Park.
"A half hour to the midafternoon chime," said
Ifness. "A fair number of folk are about; all idle
wanderers, or so I suspect. No person of Garwiy
is early for an event. Those who come to hear the
scandal will arrive one minute before the chime."
"What if none arrive?" asked Etzwane in mel-
ancholy hopefulness.
"There will be some," said Ifness, "including
the Faceless Man, who cannot be happily antic-
ipating the occasion. He may even post a Dis-
criminator to discourage the speech. I suspect,
however, that he will listen, then act as circum-
stances dictate. We must stimulate him to push
his 'explode' button."
"And when I retain my head?"
"The tore circuits must occasionally fail; he
will conclude that such is the case and send forth
other impulses. Remember the signal I have
stipulated."
"Yes, yes," muttered Etzwane. "I hope he
doesn't become dissatisfied with his explosive and
shoot me with a gun."
"A risk we must take . . . The time is still twenty
minutes to the chime. Let us stand in the shad-
ows yonder and rehearse the matter of your ad-
dress."
The midafternoon chime sounded. From the
foliage came the "anonymous adventurer." Look-
ing neither right nor left, walking with some-
thing of a swagger, he approached the rostrum.
He went to the rear, climbed the white-glass
steps, and approached the lectern. He stopped

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
short to study the magenta-bordered notice on the
green-glass surface.
It was the Faceless Man's reaction, and it read:
Your advertisement has excited the in-
terest of the ANOME himself. He requests
discretion, that you may not jeopardize cer-
tain very sensitive investigations. The AN-
OME'S opinion is this: the Roguskhoi are a
nuisance, a tribe of disreputable folk already
on the decline. A person properly informed
will stress the minor and transitory aspects
of the matter, or he might even wish to dis-
cuss a subject of more general interest.
Etzwane put down the notice. He examined the
faces that had collected around the rostrum. A
hundred persons stood watching; as many more
sat on benches. To the left stood Ifness; he had
pulled a merchant's hood over his soft white hair
and by some peculiar alteration of pose now
seemed one with the others. Did the Faceless Man
stand among the people present? Etzwane looked
from face to face. There: that hollow-cheeked
man with the lank black hair and burning eyes.
Or that small man yonder with the high round
forehead, the delicate mouth. Or the handsome
Aesthete in the green cloak with the neat fringe
of black beard along his jaw. Or the stern man
in the plum-colored habit of the Eclectic God-
head. Others, still others.
Etzwane wasted a moment or two longer,
steeling himself to immobility. The audience had
now assembled. Etzwane leaned forward and be-
gan to speak, and because of the magenta-bor-
dered notice he altered his remarks.

THE FACELESS MAN	173
"In my advertisements I promised remarkable
information; this I will provide—immediately."
He held up the notice. "The illustrious Anome
himself has demonstrated an interest in my re-
marks. Listen to his advice!" Etzwane read the
notice in a studiously solemn voice; when he
looked up, he saw that he had indeed interested
his audience; they gazed at him in wonder. If-
ness, so Etzwane saw, studied the crowd with
care. He carried an inconspicuous camera and
took many pictures.
Etzwane frowned at the document. "I am
pleased that the Anome considers my ideas sig-
nificant, especially since his other informants
have misled him. 'A minor and transitory' nui-
sance? The Anome should take the head of the
man who so deceived him. The Roguskhoi
threaten everyone who now hears me. They are
not 'a tribe of disreputable folk'—as the Anome
innocently believes. They are ruthless, well-armed
warriors, and they are sexual maniacs as well.
Do you know their habit? They do not copulate
normally; instead they seed a woman with a doz-
en imps which are born while she sleeps, and
never again can she bear a human child—though
she can bear another dozen imps. Every woman
alive in Garwiy now may conceivably mother a
brood or two of Roguskhoi imps.
"The Hwan Wildlands swarm with Roguskhoi.
In the cantons bordering the Hwan it is an ac-
cepted fact that the Roguskhoi have been sent
from Palasedra.
"The situation is remarkable, is it not? Reputa-
ble folk have implored the Anome to destroy
these terrible creatures. He refuses; in fact, he
takes their heads. Why? Ask yourself. Why does

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
the Faceless Man, our protector, scoff at this
peril?"
Vibrations jarred at the back of Etzwane's
neck: the explosive circuit. The Faceless Man
was angry. Etzwane swung around to maximize
the vibrations. They ceased before he could make
a fix as to their direction. He clenched his left
hand: the signal to Ifness.
Ifness nodded and studied the crowd with even
more intense interest than before.
Etzwane spoke on: "Why does the Faceless
Man deprecate so imminent a threat? Why does
he write a document urging me to 'discretion?'
Friends, I ask a question; I do not answer it. Is
the Faceless Man—"
The vibrations struck again. Etzwane swung
around but again could not decide upon the
source of the pulses. He looked straight at the
cold-eyed man in green, who stared back at him,
gravely intent.
The directional antenna, at least with respect
to the killer pulses, was a failure. It was pointless
to provoke the Faceless Man to a state where he
might use a weapon less subtle. Etzwane modi-
fied the tone of his discourse. "The question I wish
to ask is this: has the Faceless Man become old?
Has he lost his zest? Should he perhaps pass on
his responsibilities to a man with more energy
and decision?"
Etzwane looked around the group to see who
responded to the question. Here he was disap-
pointed; the folk in the audience all looked
around as well, more interested in the others
than themselves. (They knew their own ideas;
how did the others feel? )
Etzwane spoke on in a voice of spurious docil-

THE FACELESS MAN	175
ity. He held up the magenta-bordered notice. "In
deference to the Anome, I will reveal no more
secrets. I may say that I am not alone in my con-
cern; I speak for a group of persons dedicated to
the safety of Shant. I go now to make my report.
In a week I will speak again, when I hope to re-
cruit others into this group."
Etzwane jumped down from the rostrum and
to avoid idle questions set off at a brisk pace in the
direction from which he had come. As he walked,
he touched the switch in his tore to activate the
echo circuit. From the shelter of the foliage he
looked back. The Aesthete in green strolled after
him without haste. Behind the Aesthete, no less
casual, came Ifness. Etzwane turned, hurried on.
A vibration struck against the right side of his
neck: someone had sent out a questing radiation.
Etzwane went directly to the blue tile cottage
north of Garwiy.
As he passed along Elemyra Way, east of the
Corporation Plaza, his tore vibrated a second
time, again as he entered the Avenue of the
Thasarene Directors, again as he turned down
the hedge-shaded lane. Once within the cottage
Etzwane slipped out of the clumsy black cloak,
unclasped the tore and set it on the table. Leav-
ing the cottage by the back door, he went to
where he could survey the road.
Half an hour passed. Along the lane came a
man in a hooded dark green cloak. His eyes were
very keen; he looked constantly right and left and
occasionally down at an object he held in his
hand. At the gap in the hedge he stopped short,
the instrument in his hand resonating to the
pulse echoed from Etzwane's tore inside the cot-
age.

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
Stealthy as a thief, the man looked up and
down the lane, peered along the path at the cot-
tage; slipping quickly through the gap, he took
shelter behind a lime tree. Here stood Etzwane,
who sprang forward. The man was enormously
strong; Etzwane clung with feet and one arm and
with the other slapped the man on the side of the
neck with the needle-sack Ifness had supplied.
Almost at once the man's activity lessened; a
moment later he fell to his hands and knees.
Ifness appeared; the two carried the limp body
into the cottage. Ifness, instantly setting to work,
removed the man's tore. Etzwane switched off the
echo circuit of his own tore.
Ifness gave an exclamation of dissatisfaction
and drew forth a tube of black explosive, which
he regarded with vast displeasure.
The man had regained consciousness to find
his arms and wrists bound. "You are not the Face-
less Man, after all," said Ifness.
"I never claimed to be," said the captive in a
cool voice.
"Who are you, then?"
"I am the Aesthete Garstang: a Director of the
Corporation."
"It seems that you serve the Faceless Man."
"As do all of us."
"You more than the rest, to judge by your con-
duct, and by this control box." From the table If-
ness picked up the instrument he had taken from
Garstang's cloak: a metal box, three inches wide,
an inch deep, four inches long. From the top of
the case protruded a set of studs, each a different
color. The ten squares of a read-out below dis-
played the colors of Etzwane's tore.
Below the read-out, on one hand, was a yellow

THE FACELESS MAN	177
switch, the yellow of death. On the other was a
red switch, the red of invisibility—in this case
the red of the invisible person being sought.
Ifness set the box on the table. "How do you
explain this?"
"It explains itself."
"The yellow button?" Ifness raised his eye-
brows.
"Destroy."
"The red button?"
"Find."
"And your exact status?"
"I am what you already know me to be: a Be-
nevolence of the Faceless Man."
"When are you expected to make your report?"
"In an hour or so." Garstang's answers came
easily, in a voice without intonation.
"You report in person?"
Garstang gave a chilly laugh. "Hardly. I re-
port into an electric voice-wire; I receive my in-
structions by postal delivery or through the same
voice-wire."
"How many Benevolences are employed?"
"Another besides myself, so I have been told."
"The two Benevolences and the Faceless Man
carry boxes such as this?"
"I don't know what the others carry."
Etzwane asked, "The Faceless Man and two
Benevolences—only three persons—police all
Shant?"
Garstang gave a disinterested shrug. 'The Face-
less Man could do the job alone, had he a mind."
For a moment there was silence. Ifness and
Etzwane studied their captive, who returned the
inspection with eyebrows raised in debonair un-
concern. Etzwane asked, "Why won't the Face-

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
less Man move against the Roguskhoi?"
"I have no more knowledge than you."
Etzwane said in a brittie voice, "For a man so
near to death, you are very easy."
Garstang seemed surprised. "I see no cause to
fear death."
"You tried to take my life. Why should I not
take yours?"
Garstang gave him a stare of disdainful puz-
zlement. "I did not try to take your life. I had no
such orders."
Ifness held up his hand urgently to still Etz-
wane's angry retort. "What in fact were your
orders?"
"I was to attend the meeting in Pandamon
Park; I was to note the speaker's code and follow
him to his place of residence; I was there to
gather information."
"But you were not instructed to take the
speaker's head?"
Garstang started to reply, then turned shrewd,
quick glances first toward Etzwane, then Ifness.
A change seemed to come over his face. "Why do
you ask?"
"Someone attempted to take my head," said
Etzwane. "If it wasn't you, it was the Faceless
Man."
Garstang shrugged, calculated. "That may well
be. But it has nothing to do with me."
"Perhaps not," said Ifness politely. "But now
there is no more time for conversation. We must
prepare to meet whomever comes to find you.
Please turn your back."
Garstang slowly rose to his feet. "What do you
plan to do?"
"I will anesthetize you. In a short time, if all

THE FACELESS MAN	179
goes well, you will be released."
In response Garstang flung himself sideways.
He raised his leg in a grotesque prancing gait.
"Look out I" screamed Etzwane. "He wears a leg-
gun!"
Fire! Glare! Explosion through the cuffs of
Garstang's elegant trousers: the tinkle of broken
glass; then the thud of Garstang's dead body
falling to the floor. Ifness, who had crouched,
snatched and fired his hand-gun, stood looking
down at the corpse. Etzwane had never seen
him so agitated. "I have soiled myself," hissed
Ifness. "I have killed what I swore to preserve."
Etzwane gave a snort of disgust. "Here you sob
over this dead murderer; but on other occasions,
when you might have saved someone, you looked
aside."
Ifness turned him a yellow-eyed glare, then,
after a moment, spoke in a calm and even voice.
"The deed is done. What impelled him to act so
desperately? He was helpless." For a moment
he stood musing. "Many mysteries remain," he
muttered. "Much is obscure." He made a peremp-
tory gesture. "Search the body, drag it to the back
shed. I must modify his tore."
An hour later Ifness stood back. "In addition
to the 'explode' and 'echo' circuits, I discover a
simple vibrator signal as well. I have installed an
alarm to inform us when someone seeks Gar-
stang. This time should not be far distant." He
went to the door. The suns had rolled behind the
Ushkadel; the soft dusk of Garwiy, suffused with
a million colored glooms, settled over the land.
"Before us now is a problem in tactics," said If-
ness. "First, what have we acheived? A great
deal, it seems to me. Garstang has convincingly

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
denied all attempts to take your head, hence we
may reasonably put the onus for these acts upon
the Faceless Man. We may affirm, therefore, that
he came to Pandamon Park and into the range of
my camera. If we chose, we might attempt to
identify and investigate each of the two hundred
persons present—a tedious prospect, however.
"Secondly: What can we next expect of the
Faceless Man? He awaits Garstang's report. In
view of his failure to take the 'anonymous ad-
venturer's' head, he will be curious, to say the
least. Lacking news, he will become first an-
noyed, then concerned. I would guess that Gar-
stang's report was due an hour ago; we can ex-
pect a signal to Garstang's tore in the near fu-
ture. Garstang, of course, will not respond. The
Faceless Man must then either send forth an-
other Benevolence or go himself to find Garstang,
using the locator-pulses.
"We have, in fact, a situation analogous to that
of this morning. Instead of the 'anonymous ad-
venturer' and his threatened sedition, we now
have Garstang's tore to stimulate our quail into
motion."
Etzwane gave a grudging acquiescence. "I sup-
pose that this is reasonable enough."
Garstang's tore emitted a thin, clear sound,
eerily disturbing the silence, followed by four
staccato chirping noises.
Ifness gave a fateful nod. "There: the signal
for Garstang to report at once. Time we were
moving. The cottage gives us no advantage." He
dropped Garstang's tore into a soft black case,
then after reflecting a moment added a handful
of his exquisite tools.
"If we don't hurry, we'll have the Discrimina-

THE FACELESS MAN	181
tors around our ears," grumbled Etzwane.
"Yes, we must hurry. Switch off the echo cir-
cuit in your tore if you have not already done so."
"I have done so, long since."
The two departed the cottage and walked
toward Garwiy's complicated skyline. Beyond,
along the Ushkadel, a thousand palaces glittered
and sparkled. Trudging through the dark with
Ifness, Etzwane felt like a ghost walking with an-
other ghost; they were two creatures on an eerie
errand, estranged from all other folk of Shant.
"Where are we going?"
Ifness said mildly, "To a public house, a tavern,
something of the sort. We will put Garstang's tore
in a secluded spot and watch to see who goes to
investigate."
Etzwane could find no fault with the idea. "Fon-
tenay's is yonder, along the river. Frolitz and the
troupe will be there."
"As good as any. You, at least, will be provided
the camouflage of your instrument."

Chapter 11
Music came through the open door of Fontenay's.
Etzwane recognized the fluid lower register of
Frolitz's wood-horn, the graceful touch of For-
dyce's khitan, Mielke's grave bass tones; he felt
a deprivation so great that tears came to his eyes.
His previous life, so miserly and pinched, with
every florin into his lock-box, now seemed sweet
indeed!
They entered and stood in the shadows. Ifness
surveyed the premises. "What is that door?"
"It leads to Fontenay's private quarters."
"What about the hall yonder?"
"It leads to the stairs and a back door."
"And what about that door behind Frolitz?"
"It leads into a storeroom where the musicians
leave their instruments."
"It should serve. Take Garstang's tore, go into
the storeroom for your instrument, and hang the
tore somewhere near the door. Then when you
come forth—" From within the black bag Gar-
stang's tore produced the whine of the locator
circuit. "Someone soon will be here. When you
come forth, take a place near the storeroom door.
I will sit in this corner. If you notice anything
significant, look toward me, then turn your left
ear toward what you notice. Do this several times,
in case I do not see you the first time, as I will be
busy otherwise. . . . Again, where is the rear en-
trance?"

THE FACELESS MAN	183
"Down the hall, past the stairs and to the right."
Ifness nodded. "You are now a musician, a part
of the troupe. Don't forget the tore."
Etzwane took the tore, tucked it into his inside
pocket. He sauntered up to Frolitz, who gave him
an indifferent nod. Etzwane recalled that he had
been parted from the troupe only a single day. It
seemed as if a month had passed. He went into
the storeroom, hung the tore on a peg near the
door, and covered it with someone's old jacket.
He found his khitan, his tringolet, and his beauti-
ful silver-mounted wood-horn and brought them
out to the musician's platform. Finding a chair,
he seated himself only a yard from the door. If-
ness still sat in the corner of the room; with his
mild expression he might have been a merchant's
clerk; no one would look at him twice. Etzwane,
playing with the troupe, was merged even more
completely into the environment. Etzwane smiled
sourly. The stalking of the Faceless Man was
not without its ludicrous aspects.
With Etzwane present, Fordyce put aside his
khitan and took up the bass clarion; Frolitz jerked
his head in satisfaction.
Etzwane played with only a quarter of his
mind. His faculties seemed magnified, hypersen-
sitized. Every sound in the room reached his
ears: every tone and quaver of music, the tinkle
of glasses, the thud of mugs, the laughter and
conversation. And from the storeroom an almost
petulant whine from Garstang's tore. Etzwane
glanced toward the far corner of the room; catch-
ing Ifness's eye, he reached up his hand as if to
tune the khitan and gave a jerk of his thumb
back toward the storeroom. Ifness nodded in
comprehension.

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
The music halted. Frolitz turned around. "We
will play that old piece of Anatoly's; you, Etz-
wane—" Frolitz explained a variation on the har-
mony. The barmen brought up mugs of beer;
the musicians refreshed themselves. Etzwane
thought: here was a life worth living—easy, re-
laxed, not a worry in the world. Except for the
Roguskhoi and the Faceless Man. He lifted his
mug and drank. Frolitz gave a sign; the music
started. Etzwane let his fingers move of them-
selves; his attention wandered around the room.
Fontenay tonight did good business; all the tables
were occupied. The mulberry glass bosses high in
the dark blue glass wall admitted a glow from the
lights outside; over the bar hung a pair of soft
white glow-bulbs. Etzwane looked everywhere,
studying everyone: the folk coming through the
door, Aljamo with fingers tapping the marimba-
boards, the pretty girl who had come to sit at a
nearby table, Frolitz now stroking a tipple, Ifness.
Who among these people would know him now
for the "anonymous adventurer" who had so dis-
turbed the Faceless Man?
Etzwane thought of his past life. He had known
much melancholy; his only pleasure had come
from music. His gaze wandered to the pretty girl
he had noticed before: an Aesthete, from the
Ushkadel, or so he assumed. She wore clothes of
elegant simplicity: a gown of dark scarlet-rose,
a fillet of silver with a pair of rock crystals dan-
gling past her ear, a curious jeweled belt, slippers
of rose satin and pink glass. She was dark-haired,
with a clever, grave face; never had Etzwane
seen anyone so captivating. She felt his gaze and
looked at him. Etzwane looked away, but now he
played to her with new concentration and inten-

THE FACELESS MAN	185
sity. Never had he played so richly, with such
lilting phrases, such poignant chords. Frolitz gave
him a half-sneering side-glance, as if wordlessly
asking, "What's got into you?" The girl leaned to
whisper to her escort, whom Etzwane had hardly
noticed: a man of early middle-age, apparently
also an Aesthete. Behind Etzwane the tore gave a
thin whine, reminding him of his responsibili-
ties.
The Aesthete girl and her escort moved to a
table directly in front of Etzwane, the escort
glum-faced and bored.
The music halted. The girl spoke to Etzwane.
"You play very well."
"Yes," said Etzwane with a modest smile. "I
suppose I do." He looked toward Ifness, to find
him frowning disapproval. Ifness had wished that
particular table close by the storeroom left va-
cant. Etzwane again made the quick signal with
his thumb toward the tore. Ifness nodded dis-
tantly.
Frolitz spoke over his shoulder: "The Merry-
down." He jerked his head to give a beat; the mu-
sic came forth, a rollicking quick-step, up and
down, with unexpected halts and double beats.
Etzwane's part was mainly a strong and urgent
chord progression; he was able to watch the girl.
She improved upon proximity. She gave off a
subtle fragrance; her skin had a clean glow; she
knew the uses of beauty as Etzwane knew the
meaning of music. He thought with a sudden in-
ner ferocity, "I want her; I must have her for my
own." He looked at her, and his intent showed
clear in his eyes. She raised her eyebrows and
turned to speak to her escort.
The music ended; the girl paid no more heed

21 o
THE FACELESS MAN
to Etzwane. She seemed uneasy. She settled her
fillet, adjusted her belt. Behind Etzwane came the
whine of the circuit. The girl jerked to stare.
"What is that?" she asked Etzwane.
Etzwane pretended to listen. "I hear nothing."
"Is someone in there making peculiar sounds?"
"Perhaps a musician rehearsing."
"You are joking." Her face was alive with—
humor? Alert mischief? Etzwane wondered.
"Someone is ill," she suggested. "You had bet-
ter investigate."
"If you'll come in with me."
"No, thank you." She turned to her escort,
who gave Etzwane a glance of haughty warning.
Etzwane looked toward Ifness and, meeting his
gaze, turned to look fixedly toward Frolitz, who
stood to his right. His left ear indicated the table
in front of him.
Ifness nodded without overmuch interest, or so
it seemed to Etzwane.
Into the tavern came four men wearing mauve
and gray uniforms: Discriminators. One spoke
loudly: "Your attention! A disturbance has been
reported in this building. In the name of the Cor-
poration, I order no one to move."
Etzwane glimpsed the twitch of Ifness's hand.
Two reports, two flashes: The glow-bulbs burst.
Darkness and confusion came suddenly to Fon-
tenay's tavern. Etzwane made a lunge. He felt
the girl, caught her up, carried her in front of
Frolitz into the hall. She tried to scream. Etzwane
clapped his hand over her mouth. "Not a sound
if you know what's good for you!" She kicked and
struck at him; her noises were drowned by hoarse
shouts in the tavern proper.

THE FACELESS MAN	187
Etzwane staggered to the back door; he groped
for the latch, opened the door, carried the writh-
ing girl out into the night. Here he paused, let
her feet swing to the ground. She tried to kick
him. Etzwane twisted her around, held her arms
in a lock. "No noise," he growled in her ear.
"What are you doing to me?" she cried.
"Keeping you safe from the raid. Such affairs
are great inconveniences."
"You are the musician I"
"Exactly."
"Let me go back. I don't fear the Discrimina-
tors."
"What idiocy!" Etzwane exclained. "Now that
we are free of that tiresome man you sat with,
we can go elsewhere."
"No, no, no!" Her voice was more confident,
even somewhat amused. "You are gallant and
bold—but I must go back into the tavern."
"You may not," said Etzwane. "Come with me,
and please make no trouble."
The girl once more became alarmed. "Where
are you taking me?"
"You'll see."
"No, no! I—" Someone came behind; Etzwane
turned, ready to drop the girl and defend him-
self. Ifness spoke, "Are you there?"
"Yes. With a captive."
Ifness approached. In the dim light of the back
alley he peered at the girl. "Who do you have?"
"I can't say for sure. She wears a peculiar belt.
I suggest you take it."
"No!" cried the girl in an astounded voice.
Ifness unclasped the belt. "We had best be
away, and swiftly." He told the girl: "Do not

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
make a scene of any sort; do not scream or try to
attract attention or we will use you roughly. Is
that understood?"
"Yes," she said huskily.
Each taking one of the girl's arms, they set off
through the back streets and in due course ar-
rived at the blue tile cottage. Ifness unlocked the
door; they entered.
Ifness pointed to a couch. "Please sit."
The girl wordlessly obeyed. Ifness examined
the belt. "Curious indeed."
"So I thought. I noticed her touch the red stud
whenever the alarm sounded."
"You are observant," said Ifness. "I thought
you were interested otherwise. Be careful of her;
remember Garstang's leg-gun."
Etzwane went to stand by the girl. "No Face-
less Man, then—but a Faceless Woman."
The girl made a scornful sound. "You are mad."
Ifness said gently, "Please turn and lay face
down on the couch. Excuse me while I search for
a weapon." He did so with thoroughness. The girl
cried out in indignation; Etzwane looked away.
"No weapons," said Ifness.
"You need only to have asked," said the girl. "I
would have told you."
"You are not otherwise candid."
"You have asked no questions."
"I shall, in a few minutes." He rolled over his
work table, adjusted the vise to grip the girl's
tore. "Do not move or I will be forced to anes-
thetize you." He worked with his tools, opened her
tore. Reaching with his long-nose pliers he re-
moved a tube of explosive. "No Faceless Man, nor
Faceless Woman, either," he told Etzwane. "You
seized the wrong individual."

THE FACELESS MAN	189
"This is what I tried to tell you," cried the girl
in a voice of desperate hope. "It's all a terrible
mistake. I am of the Xhiallinen; and I want noth-
ing to do with you or your intrigues."
Ifness, making no response, worked further on
the tore. "The echo circuit is dead. You cannot
now be located. We can relax and test your
vaunted candor. You are of the Xhiallinen fam-
ily?"
"I am Jurjin of Xhiallinen." The girl spoke sul-
lenly.
"And why do you wear this belt?"
"For the most simple reason imaginable:
vanity."
Ifness went to the cupboard and returned with
a small sac, which he pressed to the girl's neck:
sides, nape, and front. She looked at him in ap-
prehension. "It is wet. What did you do to me?"
"The liquid penetrates your skin and enters
your blood. In a moment it will reach your brain
and paralyze a certain small organ. Then we will
talk further."
Jurjin's face became rueful and anxious. Etz-
wane watched her in morbid fascination, wonder-
ing as to the details of her existence. She wore
her gown with flair and ease; she used the man-
ners of the Garwiy patricians; her coloring was
that of the Garwiy race. But her features showed
a trace of some foreign strain. Xhiallinen, one of
the Fourteen Families, was ancient, and if any-
thing inbred. Jurjin spoke. "I will tell you the
truth voluntarily, while I still can think. I wear
the belt because the Anome required service of
me, and I could not refuse."
"What was the service?"
'To act as Benevolence."

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
"Who are the other Benevolences?"
"There is only Garstang of Allingenen."
"Might there not be others?"
"I am certain that there are none."
"You, Garstang, and the Faceless Man con-
trolled the whole of Shant?"
'The cantons and the cities are ruled by their
particular leaders. It is only necessary to work
through these folk. One alone could do this."
Etzwane started to speak, then controlled his
voice. These slim hands must often have pressed
the yellow stud of her belt; she must often have
seen the heads of men disappear. He turned away
with a heavy feeling in his throat.
"Who," asked Ifness ingenuously, "is the Face-
less Man?"
"I don't know. He is as faceless to me as he is
to you."
Ifness asked, "The box Garstang carried, and
your belt: are they guarded against unautho-
rized use?"
"Yes. Gray must be pressed before the colors
are coded."
Ifness leaned forward, inspected her eyes, and
gave a slight nod. "Why did you summon the Dis-
criminators to Fontenay's?"
"I did not summon them."
"Who did?"
"The Faceless Man, I suppose."
"Who was your escort?"
"The Second of Curnainen, Matheleno."
"Is he the Faceless Man?"
Jurjin's face showed a flicker of astonishment.
"Matheleno? How could he be so?"
"Have you received orders from the Faceless

THE FACELESS MAN
191
Man in regard to Matheleno?"
"No."
"He is your lover?"
'The Faceless Man said I might take no lovers."
Jurjin's voice began to slur; her eyelids drooped.
"Was the Faceless Man at Fontenay's Tavern?"
"I am not sure. I think he was there and noticed
something which impelled him to call in the Dis-
criminators."
"What could that have been?"
"Spies,"
"Spies from where?"
"From Palesedra." Jurjins voice came slowly;
her eyes took on a curious blank stare.
Ifness spoke sharply: "Why should he fear
Palasedrans?"
Jurjin's voice was an unintelligible mutter; her
eyes closed.
She slept. Ifness stood looking down in annoy-
ance.
Etzwane looked from Ifness to the girl and
back to Ifness. "What troubles you?"
"Her lapse into coma came swiftly. Too swiftly."
Etzwane peered into the girl's calm face. "She
could not feign such a thing."
"No." Ifness bent over Jurjin's face. He scru-
tinized each of her features, opened her mouth,
peered within. "Hmm."
"What do you see?"
"Nothing conclusive, or even suggestive."
Etzwane turned away, his mind inhabited only
by doubts and uncertainties. He straightened the
girl's body on the couch and drew a shawl over
her. Ifness watched with brooding detachment.
"What do we do now?" Etzwane asked. He no
longer felt antagonism toward Ifness; such an

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
emotion seemed pointless.
Ifness stirred, as if rousing from a reverie.
"We return to a consideration of the Faceless
Man and his identity—though for a fact other
mysteries seem more cogent."
"Other mysteries?" Etzwane asked, uncom-
fortably aware that he must seem numb and
stupid.
'There are several. First I might cite the
Roguskhoi scimitars. Then Garstang for no clear
or good reason attempts a desperate attack. Jur-
jin of Xhiallinen lapses into a coma as if her
brain has been turned off. And the Faceless Man
resists, not passively but actively, all demonstra-
tions against the Roguskhoi. All seem guided by
a transcendent policy beyond our present imagi-
nation."
"It is very strange," muttered Etzwane.
"Were the Roguskhoi human, we might recon-
cile these grotesque acts with simple treachery;
but the concept of Garstang and Jurjin of Xhial-
linen plotting with the Roguskhoi is sheer in-
sanity."
"Not if the Roguskhoi are Palasedran freaks
sent here to destroy us."
"The theory is arguable," said Ifness, "until
someone troubles to examine the physiology of
the Roguskhoi and considers their reproductive
methods. Then doubt is renewed. However—to
the lesser mystery. Who is the Faceless Man?
We have thrown two stones; the quail has made
two startled motions. To recapitulate: We are
told with authority that the Anome employed
only two Benevolences. Jurjin was not at Pan-
damon Park, yet an attempt was made to take
your head. We must credit this attempt to the

THE FACELESS MAN	193
Faceless Man. Garstang was not at Fontenay's,
still someone summoned the Discriminators.
Again we must hold the Faceless Man responsible.
I took photographs at both locations; if we find a
person common to both—well, let's see what the
Laws of Probability have to tell us. I believe that
I can quote precise odds. There are roughly two
hundred thousand adults in this immediate area,
of which two hundred heard the 'anonymous ad-
venturer'—not a large turnout: one in each
thousand persons. A similar number might have
come to Fontenay's to enjoy the music of Frolitz's
troupe: only about a hundred, or one in each
two thousand did so. The chances of the same
person being present at both locations—unless he
had urgent business at both, as did you, I, and
the Faceless Man—are therefore one in two mil-
lion: sufficiently scant to discount. So then, let us
investigate."
Ifness brought from his pocket a tube of dull
black metal an inch in diameter, four inches
long. Along the flattened top a number of knobs
caught the light and glittered in Ifness's hand.
He made an adjustment, pointed the tube at the
wall beside Etzwane, and projected a cone of
light.
Etzwane had never seen a photograph so de-
tailed. He glimpsed several views of the Corpora-
tion Plaza; then Ifness made new adjustments,
sending a thousand images flickering aginst the
wall. The picture became still, to depict Pan-
damon Park and the folk who had come to hear
the "anonymous adventurer."
"Look carefully at these faces," said Ifness.
"Unfortunately I can't show these pictures and
those from Fontenay's in juxtaposition; we must

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
shift from one set to another."
Etzwane pointed: "There stands Garstang.
Here—here—here—here—" he pointed to other
faces. "I noticed these men; I wondered which
might be the Anoms."
"Study them. He will certainly know tricks of
altering his appearance." Ifness projected pic-
tures from various angles and vantages; together
they scrutinized every face visible.
"Now to Fontenay's taproom."
The taproom was half-empty; the musicians
sat on the dais. Matheleno and Jurjin had not yet
occupied the table near Etzwane.
Ifness chuckled. "You chose a perfect disguise.
You appear as yourself."
Etzwane, uncertain as to the quality of Ifness's
amusement, gave a noncommittal grunt.
"We go forward in time. The young woman
and Matheleno are at your table. Could Matheleno
be one of the men at Pandamon Park?"
"No," said Etzwane after reflection. "He some-
what resembles Garstang, however."
"The Aesthetes are a distinctive group—a race,
in fact, in the process of differentiating."
The picture changed once more. "It is now four
to five minutes before the Discriminators arrived.
I would suppose the Faceless Man to be in the
room. He would stand where he could watch his
Benevolence." Ifness expanded the cone of light,
magnifying the images, sending some to the ceil-
ing, some to the floor. Moving the projector, he
brought the faces one at a time to the wall beside
Etzwane.
Etzwane pointed. "The man in the far corner
leaning against the bar."
Ifness expanded the image. They looked at the

THE FACELESS MAN	195
face. It was a quiet face, broad of forehead, clever
of eye, small of chin and mouth. The man him-
self was short, trim, compact. His age could not
be guessed.
Ifness flicked back to Pandamon. Park. Etzwane
pointed out the small man with the pursed mouth
and the clever sidelong eyes. "There he is."
"Yes," said Ifness. "That is he, unless my logic
and the laws of mathematics are at fault, and one
is as incontrovertible as the other."
For a period they studied the face of the Face-
less Man.
"Now what?" Etzwane asked.
"For now—nothing. Go to bed, sleep. Tomor-
row we will try to put a name to the fellow."
"What of her?" Etzwane indicated the dazed
girl.
"She won't move for twelve to fourteen hours."

Chapter 12
The suns tumbled up into the mauve autumn sky
like rollicking kittens: Sasetta over Ezeletta be-
hind Zael. Ifness left the cottage slowly and
cautiously, like an old gray fox going forth to
hunt. Etzwane sat elbows on knees, pondering
Jurjin of Xhiallinen. She lay as Ifness had left
her, breathing shallowly: a creature, Etzwane
thought, of absolutely entrancing appearance,
beautiful enough to hypnotize a man. He studied
her face: the pure pale skin, the innocent profile,
the dusky eyelashes. How to reconcile this Jurjin
of Xhiallinen with her dark occupation? No ques-
tion but what the work must be done by someone.
If unlawful acts went unpunished, Shant would
lapse into anarchy, as in the old days when can-
ton feuded with canton. Etzwane's mind was a
confusion, swinging between noble rationaliza-
tion and disgust. She had been commanded by
the Anome; she had no choice but to obey. But
why had the Anome commanded her, Jurjin of
Xhiallinen, to serve as his Benevolence? Sure-
ly men like Garstang were more apt for such a
service. The Anome's mind was a labyrinth with
many strange chambers. Like the minds of all
men, including his own, Etzwane told himself
bitterly.
He reached forth, arranged a lock of her soft
dark hair. Her eyelids flickered and slowly
opened. She turned her head and looked at Etz-

wane. "You are the musician."
"Yes."
She lay quiet, thinking. She noticed the light
pouring through the window and made a sudden
movement. "It is daytime; I can't stay here."
"You must."
"But why?" She turned him a melting glance.
"I have done you no harm."
"You would, had you the chance."
Jurjin inspected Etzwane's dour face. "Are you
a criminal?"
"I am the 'anonymous adventurer' that Gar-
stang went forth to kill."
"You taught sedition!"
"I urged that the Faceless Man protect Shant
from the Roguskhoi. That is not sedition."
"The Roguskhoi are nothing to be feared. The
Anome has told us this."
Etzwane gave an angry ejaculation. "I saw the
results of the raid on Bashon. My mother was
killed."
Jurjin's face became blank and distant. She
murmured, 'The Roguskhoi are nothing to fear."
"How would you cope with them, then?"
Jurjin focused her eyes upon him. "I don't
know."
"And when they swarm down upon Garwiy,
what will you do then? Do you wish to be rav-
aged? Would you bear a dozen imps that creep
from your body while you sleep?"
Jurjin's face twitched. She started to wail,
stopped short and became placid. "It's a matter
for the Anome." She raised to her elbow and,
watching Etzwane, slowly slid her legs to the
floor. Etzwane watched impassively. He asked,
"Are you hungry, or thirsty?"

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
She made no direct reply. "How long will you
keep me here?"
"Until we find the Faceless Man."
"What do you want with him?"
"We will insist that he deal with the Rogus-
khoi."
"You intend him no harm?"
"Not I," said Etzwane, "though he has unjustly
tried to kill me."
"The acts of the Anome must always be just.
What if you can't find him?"
'Then you will remain here. Could it be other-
wise?"
"Not from your point of view. Why do you look
at me like that?"
"I wonder about you. How many men have you
killed?"
She screamed, "One less than I would wish te!"
and sprang for the door. Etzwane sat watching.
Ten feet from the couch she was jerked to a halt
by the cord Ifness had tied from her waist to the
couch. She cried out in pain, turned and tugged
frantically at the cord. Etzwane watched with
detachment, feeling no pity.
Jurjin found the knot too cunning for her fin-
gers. Slowly she returned to the couch. Etzwane
had no more to say to her.
So they sat for two hours. Ifness returned as
quietly as he had gone. He carried a folder that
he handed to Etzwane; it contained six large pho-
tographic prints, so detailed that Etzwane could
count the hairs of the man's sparse eyelashes. At
Pandamon Park he had worn a soft black rimless
cap pulled low over his forehead; this, with his
down-curving little mouth and small, almost im-

THE FACELESS MAN	199
mature, nose, gave his face a foreshortened bull-
dog look. At Fontenay's the dark hair of a wig
was drawn straight back from his forehead to
swirl down and around each ear: a style popular
among the upper middle classes of Garwiy, which
displayed to advantage the philosopher's fore-
head and diminished the pinched expression of
nose and mouth. Nowhere did the eyes look di-
rectly ahead; always they bore off somewhat to
right or left. In both sets of photographs he ap-
peared humorless, determined, introspective, and
pitiless.
Etzwane studied the pictures until the face was
stamped into his consciousness. He returned the
pictures to Ifness.
Jurjin, sitting on the couch, feigned boredom.
Ifness handed her the photographs. "Who is this
man?"
Jurjin's eyelids descended the merest twitch;
she said in a voice rather too casual, "I haven't a
notion."
"Have you ever seen him?"
Jurjin frowned and licked her lips. "I see many
people; I couldn't begin to remember them all."
Ifness asked, "If you knew this man's identity,
would you tell us?"
Jurjin laughed. "Of course not."
Ifness nodded and went to the wall cabinet.
Jurjin watched him, her mouth sagging in dis-
may. Ifness asked over his shoulder, "Are you
hungry or thirsty?"
"No."
"Do you care to visit the bathroom?"
"No."
"You had best consider carefully," said Ifness.

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
"It now becomes necessary that I apply the hyp-
notic tincture. You will not move for twelve hours,
which, added to the twelve hours you have al-
ready occupied the couch, might cause an embar-
rassment."
"Very well," said Jurjin in a cold voice. "Be so
good as to release me; I would like to wash my
face and hands."
"Of course." Ifness untied the cord; Jurjin
marched to the door Ifness indicated. Ifness spoke
to Etzwane, "Stand below the bathroom window."
A moment after Etzwane arrived at his post
the window eased cautiously ajar, and Jurjin
looked out. At the sight of Etzwane she scowled
and closed the window once more.
Jurjin returned slowly to the living room. "I do
not care to be drugged," she told Ifness in a flip-
pant voice. "Dreadful dreams afflict me."
"Indeed! What do you dream about?"
"I don't remember. Frightening things. I be-
come very sick."
Ifness was unmoved. "I will dose you more
heavily."
"No, no! You want to ask me about the pic-
tures! I'll help you any way I know!" Her brava-
do had disappeared; her face had melted; it was
tender, beseeching. Etzwane wondered how she
looked with her finger on the yellow button.
Ifness asked, "Are you concealing information
regarding the pictures?"
"Suppose I were? Would you expect disloyalty
of me?"
"No," said Ifness. "I use the drug and remove
your options. Please return to the couch."
"You will make me sick. I will fight you; I will
kick and scream and bite."

THE FACELESS MAN	201
"Not for long," said Ifness.
The sobbing girl lay on the couch. Etzwane,
panting, sat on her knees and pressed down on
her arms. Ifness applied the solution to her neck.
Almost at once her writhing halted.
Ifness asked, "What do you know of the man
in the photograph?"
Jurjin lay in a coma.
Etzwane said in a hushed voice, "You dosed
her too heavily."
"No," said Ifness. "An overdose has no such ef-
fect."
'Then what happened to her?"
"I am mystified. First Garstang chooses an ab-
surd method of suicide, now this."
"Do you think she knows the Faceless Man?"
"No. But she knows the man in the photo-
graphs. The Aesthetes, after all, are not strang-
ers to each other." Ifness studied the photographs.
"Of course, he might be the green-grocer. I ne-
glected to mention that a picture of the 'anony-
mous adventurer' is posted in the Corporation
Plaza, with information requested by the Dis-
criminators."
"Hmf. So now I am proscribed."
"Until we remonstrate with the Faceless Man."
"He will be on his guard, with both Benevo-
lences missing."
"So I would imagine. The identity of his adver-
saries must puzzle him greatly."
"Jurjin mentioned Palasedran spies."
"Similar theories may occur to the Faceless
Man." Ifness studied the photographs. "Notice
his tore. Observe the colors. What do they sig-
nify?"

21 o
THE FACELESS MAN
'The purple-green is Garwiy. Double dark green
is a person without trade or craft: a landholder,
an industrialist, a foreign trader, an Aesthete."
Ifness nodded placidly. "No new information.
The tore will certainly not respond to an echo
pulse. No doubt we could walk about the Ush-
kadel asking questions, but I fear that we would
soon be approached by the Discriminators."
Etzwane studied the photographs. "He travels
around Shant, at least to some extent. Balloon-
way clerks might recognize his picture."
"But would they give us information? Or would
they consult the Discriminators?"
"The publishers of Frivolity no doubt could put
a name to him, but I suppose the same objection
applies."
"Precisely. Questions arouse suspicion. Before
informing a pair of strangers, they would first
notify the principal."
Etzwane pointed to the collar of the Faceless
Man's jacket. "Notice this brooch: silver and
amethyst in a clever design. The artificers of such
objects occupy Neroi Square, to the west of Cor-
poration Plaza. The maker would be certain to
recognize his work. When we put forth the story
that we had found the jewel, he might supply the
name of the person to whom he had sold it."
"Excellent," said Ifness. "We will try this plan."
Neroi Square occupied the heart of the Old
City. The paving—three-foot tiles of murky lav-
ender glass—was worn and irregular; the foun-
tain at the center dated from the reign of the first
Caspar Pandamon. A two-story arcade of trans-
lucent black glass surrounded the square, each
column displaying the emblem of a mercantile

THE FACELESS MAN	203
family extinct two thousand years. The old of-
fices had been converted into workshops for Gar-
wiy's jewelers and metal-crafters. Each worked
jealously alone, with his sons and nephews for
apprentices, barely deigning to recognize the exis-
tence of his fellows. The work of each shop re-
flected the temperament of the shop-elder; some
were known for their opals, agates, moonstones;
others carved tourmaline or beryl; others created
miniatures with microscopic slivers of cinnabar,
lapis, turquoise, jade. Fashions and whimsicali-
ties were only grudgingly heeded; special orders
were accepted without enthusiasm. No piece car-
ried seal or sigil; each craftsman deemed his work
instantly recognizable.
The shop of Zafonce Agabil was currently in
the mode; his designs were thought quaint and
endearing. Into the shop of Zafonce Agabil went
Ifness and Etzwane. Upon the counter Ifness
tossed a section cut from his photograph of the
Faceless Man. "Someone lost such a brooch at
my house; did you make it? If so can you supply
me the name of its owner, that I may return it?"
The clerk, one of the four Agabil sons, ex-
amined the photograph with a contemptuous
twist of the mouth. "None of our work, certain-
ly."
"Whose might it be?"
"I could not say."
At the shop of Lucinetto, Ifness encountered a
similar response, but additionally: "It is some-
what old-fashioned work and might well be an
heirloom. The cabochon is cut with an overly
shallow dome, as one might use a garnet. Not
our work; never, never, could we so shame a
stone."

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
From shop to shop went Ifness and Etzwane.
At Meretrice's the latest of the lineage ex-
amined the photograph. "Yes, this is one of our
pieces, in the style of the Siume Dynasty. Notice
the vitality of the cabochon? It comes of a secret
contour, known only to us. It was lost? A pity. I
do not recall the purchaser; it was crafted five
years or more ago."
"I think I know the owner," said Ifness. "He
came as a friend of one of my guests, and I do
not recall his name." He displayed a photograph
of the Faceless Man.
Meretrice glanced at it. "Yes! That is Sajarano
of Sershan Palace: something of a recluse. I am
surprised he came to your banquet."

Chapter 13
The Sershan Palace, an intricate confection of
clear and colored glass, faced southeast across
Garwiy. Ifness and Etzwane examined the prem-
ises from a discreet distance. They saw no activ-
ity on the loggia nor in that area of the garden
accessible to view. The Office of Archives had
yielded information of no great interest. The Ser-
shan lineage went back to middling antiquity.
Prince Varo Sershan of Wild Rose had supported
Viana Paizifume; a certain Almank Sershan had
raided the south coast of Caraz, returning with a
vast fortune in silver corpse effigies. Sajarano
was last in the direct lineage. A spouse had died
twenty years before without issue; he had never
taken another. He still controlled the hereditary
Wild Rose estates and was a keen agriculturist.
Heir presumptive was a cousin, Cambarise of
Sershan.
"One possible tactic is to go to the door and ask
to speak to his Excellency Sajarano," said Ifness.
"Such an approach, with the virtue of utter sim-
plicity, has much to recommend it. A pity," he
said in musing afterthought, "that my mind al-
ways discovers hazards and contingencies. What
if he expects us? By no means impossible. Mere-
trice might have become suspicious. The clerk at
the Office of Archives seemed overly alert."
"I believe he would call Discriminators the in-
stant we appeared," said Etzwane. "Were I Sa-

21 o
THE FACELESS MAN
jarano I would be a worried man."
Ifness said, "In this same vein, were I Sajarano,
I would not keep to my palace. I would dress in-
conspicuously and wander the city. We are wast-
ing our time here. We should go where the Face-
less Man is likely to go."
During the late afternoon the cafes of Corpora-
tion Plaza became crowded with folk making
rendezvous; at the largest of these cafes Ifness
and Etzwane seated themselves and ordered wine
and biscuits.
The folk of Garwiy passed back and forth, all
in greater or lesser degree imbued with the pe-
culiar Garwiy verve and volatility.
They saw nothing of Sajarano.
The suns rolled behind the Ushkadel; shadows
filled the plaza. 'Time we were returning," said
Ifness. "Jurjin will be rousing herself; we should
be on hand."
Jurjin had already regained consciousness.
Frantically, by every resource known to her, she
had been trying to free herself from the cord that
connected her waist to the couch. Her gown was
disheveled where she had tried to slip the loop
over her hips. The wood of the couch was scarred
where she had sought to fray the cord. The
knots, sealed by a means known only to Ifness,
now engrossed her to such an extent that she
failed to notice the arrival of Ifness and Etzwane.
She looked up with the face of a trapped animal.
"How long will you keep me here? I am miser-
able; what right have you to do such a thing to
me?"
Ifness made a gesture of boredom. He loosened

THE FACELESS MAN	207
the cord from the couch, allowed her once more
the freedom of the house.
Etzwane prepared a meal of soup, bread, and
dried meat, which at first she haughtily declined,
then ate with good appetite.
She became more cheerful. "You two are the
strangest men on Durdane. Look at you! Glum as
crakes! Of course! You are ashamed of the acts
you have perpetrated upon me!"
Ifness ignored her; Etzwane merely gave a sour
chuckle.
"What are your plans?" she demanded. "Must
I stay here forever?"
"Possibly," said Ifness. "I suspect however that
circumstances may change in a day or two."
"And in the meantime? What of my friends?
They are worried sick, of this I am sure. And
must I wear this same gown day in and day out?
You treat me like a beast."
"Patience," murmured Ifness. "Presently I will
give you a drug and send you back to sleep."
"I do not want to sleep. I consider you the epit-
ome of boorishness. And you—" she turned her
attention upon Etzwane "—have you no gallant-
ry? You sit grinning like a dogfish. Why do you
not force the old man to release me?"
"So that you could report us to the Faceless
Man?"
"It would be my duty. Should I be punished
on this account?"
"You should not have become a Benevolence
were you not willing to assume the risks."
"But I had no choice! One day I was told my
destiny, and from that time my life was not my
own."
"You could have refused to serve. Do you en-

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
joy taking men's heads away from them?"
"Bah," she said, "you refuse to speak on a sen-
sible level. What is wrong with you?" This to If-
ness, who had jerked around in his chair, to sit
listening.
Etzwane listened as well, but the night was
quiet. "What do you hear?" he asked.
Ifness jumped to his feet. He went to the door-
way and looked out into the dark. Etzwane rose
as well. Still he could hear no sound. Ifness spoke
in an incomprehensible language, then listened
once more.
Jurjin took advantage of the distraction to coil
the cord in her hand. She lunged for Ifness,
hoping to push him aside and win her freedom.
Etzwane, waiting for just such a move, caught
her and carried her kicking and yelling to the
couch. Ifness brought over his drug; the girl be-
came quiet. Ifness tied the end of the rope to |he
couch, and this time taught Etzwane the secret
of the lock. "The knot itself is a meaningless
tangle of loops and turns." Ifness spoke in haste.
"Come here to the table. I must teach you what
I know of the tores. Quickly now, quickly 1"
"What is the trouble?"
Ifness looked toward the door. He spoke in a
dreary voice: "I have been recalled. I am in deep
disgrace. At the least I will be expelled from the
Institute."
"How do you know all this?" demanded Etz-
wane.
"A signal has reached me. My time on Durdane
is ended."
Etzwane stared with a slack jaw. "What of the
Faceless Man? What shall I do?"
"Your best. It is tragic that I must go. Attend

THE FACELESS MAN	209
me. I will leave you my tools, my weapons, my
drugs. You must listen carefully, as I can explain
only once. First: the tores. Watch how to open
one safely." He demonstrated on a tore he had
brought from Gargamet Meadow. "And here is
how to lock it. Watch; I will reactivate the girl's
tore. The dexax fits in here; this is the detonator.
The echo circuit is broken; notice this loose con-
nection . . . Demonstrate what I have told you
. . . Good . . . This is my only weapon; it shoots
a needle of energy. The camera I must keep."
Etzwane listened with foreboding. He had not
realized his dependence on the detestable Ifness.
"Why must you leave?"
"Because I mustl Be wary of the Faceless Man
and his Benevolence here. Their conduct is aber-
rant, in an almost imperceptible degree."
A soft sound reached Etzwane's ears. Ifness
heard it as well and turned his head; otherwise
he made no move.
A polite rap-tap-tap sounded at the door. Ifness
walked across the room, drew the latch. In the
darkness stood two shapes. The first came a little
forward; Etzwane saw a man of medium stature
with a pale complexion, the blackest of hair and
eyebrows. He seemed to smile, a placid, grim
smile; his eyes glittered in the light. The second
man was a vague shape in the gloom.
Ifness spoke in a language strange to Etzwane;
the black-haired man replied curtly. Ifness spoke
again; the stranger as before replied with a few
dry syllables.
Ifness turned back into the cottage. He took
his soft black case; without a glance, word, or
gesture toward Etzwane, he stepped out into the
night. The door closed.

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
A minute later Etzwane heard the soft sound.
It faded into a sigh and was gone.
Etzwane poured himself a glass of wine and sat
at the table. Jurjin of Xhiallinen lay in a coma on
the couch.
Etzwane rose to his feet and explored the cot-
tage. In the cabinet he found a wallet containing
several thousand florins. In a wardrobe were gar-
ments : at need, they would fit Etzwane.
He went back to sit at the table. He thought of
Frolitz, of the old days that in retrospect seemed
so carefree. No more, never again. By now the
"anonymous adventurer" must be identified with
Gastel Etzwane.
He decided he did not wish to remain in the
cottage. He slipped into Ifness's gray cape and a
gray hat. Into his pocket he tucked the energy
gun and Garstang's box. After a moment's delib-
eration he included the drug of stupefaction that
Ifness had demonstrated to him: suppose he
should meet Sajarano of Sershan on this autumn
evening?
Etzwane turned down the lights. The cottage
was dark except for the colored loom of Garwiy
through the window. Jurjin lay quiet; he could
not hear her breathing. Etzwane walked sofdy
from the cottage.
For hours he wandered the avenues of Garwiy,
pausing by cafes to examine the patrons, step-
ping into taverns to scan the faces in the room.
He dared not approach Fontenay's. At midnight
he ate a meat bun and a cake of cheese at a late-
hour booth.
Mist had come drifting in from the Green
Ocean. It flew in wafts and tendrils among the
spires, blurring the colored lights, bringing a

THE FACELESS MAN
211
damp scent to the air. Few folk were abroad.
Wrapping himself in the cloak, Etzwane returned
to the cottage.
At the gate he halted. The dark cottage seemed
to wait for him. Behind, in a shed, festered Gar-
stang's body.
Etzwane listened. Silence, darkness. He walked
through the garden and paused by the door. A
slight sound? He strained his ears. Another
sound: a dry scraping. Etzwane flung open the
door, sidled into the room, gun in hand. He
turned up the lights. No changes were evident.
The back door creaked. Etzwane ran from the
front door, circled the cottage. He saw nothing.
The door of the shed appeared to be ajar. Etz-
wane stopped short, hair bristling at the nape of
his neck. Slowly he approached; jumping for-
ward, he slammed the door and threw the latch.
Then he wheeled and sprang nervously aside in
case the open door were a ploy to distract him.
No sound. Etzwane could not bring himself to
investigate the shed. He went into the house. Jur-
jin lay in her coma. She had moved or been
moved; an arm hung down to the floor.
Etzwane bolted the doors and drew the blinds.
The cord binding Jurjin to the couch had been
disturbed. The wooden frame of the couch had
been abraded, rasped. Etzwane bent over Jurjin,
examined her with care. He raised her eyelid.
The eyeball was rolled back. Etzwane jerked
around, looked over his shoulder.
The room was empty, save for the ghosts of
dead conversations.
Etzwane brewed tea and went to sit in a chair.
Time passed. Constellations rose and fell; Etz-
wane dozed. He awoke cold and stiff to find the

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
light of dawn seeping through the shutters.
The cottage was quiet and dismal. Etzwane
prepared himself a meal and planned his day.
First he must examine the shed.
Jurjin awoke. She had nothing to say. He fed
her and allowed her a visit to the bathroom. She
returned in a dull and despondent mood, without
defiance or vivacity. She stood in the center of the
room flexing her arms, which apparently were
cramped. Presendy she asked, "Where is the old
man?"
"He is gone about his affairs."
"What may they be?"
"You'll learn in due course."
"What a strange pair you are!"
"I find you much stranger than myself," said
Etzwane. "By contrast I am starkly simple."
"But still you preach sedition."
"By no means. The Roguskhoi killed my
mother, and my sister as well. I say that they
must be destroyed, to save all of Shant. This is
not sedition. It is ordinary rationality."
"You should leave such decisions to the Anome."
"He refuses to act; hence I must force him."
"The old man's mother was likewise killed?"
"I don't believe so."
"Why is he so zealous to break the laws?"
"From sheer philanthropy."
"What? That man? He is cold as the Nimmir
wind."
"Yes, in certain ways he is strange. Now I must
drug you once more."
Jurjin made an airy gesture. "You need not
bother. I will agree not to leave the cottage."
Etzwane gave a cynical laugh. "Please be good

THE FACELESS MAN	213
enough to he upon the couch."
Jurjin approached him, smiling up into his
face. "Let us be friends instead. Kiss me."
"Hmraf. At this time in the morning?"
"Would you hke to?"
Etzwane dourly shook his head. "No."
"Am I so ill-favored? Old and wrinkled?"
"No. But if you could press the yellow button
and take my head, you would do so. The idea
does not compel my affection. Please make
haste."
Jurjin thoughtfully went to the couch. She lay
supine while Etzwane applied the drug, and soon
she slept. Etzwane locked the cord to a decorative
ceiling bracket.
He went out to inspect the shed. The door was
bolted as before. He walked around. Nothing
larger than a rat could have found its way in or
out.
Etzwane flung wide the door; daylight re-
vealed garden tools, household clutter, Gar-
stang's body where he had dragged it. The face
and chest were fearfully torn. Etzwane stood in
the doorway looking for the creature that had
done the damage. He did not dare enter for fear
the rat, if such it were, might dart forth and bite
him. He closed and bolted the door.
Wearing the gray cloak, Etzwane sauntered
glumly into Garwiy. He went directly to the Cor-
poration Plaza. The Faceless Man might be walk-
ing the halls of Sershan Palace. He might be rest-
ing in solitude at his Wild Rose estate. He might
have gone off to the far corners of Shant to pun-
ish malefactors. Etzwane thought otherwise. If
he were the Faceless Man, he would stay in Gar-

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
wiy, in contact with the Discriminators, and
sooner or later he must cross the Corporation
Plaza.
Etzwane stood a moment or two under the old
Clockmakers' Gate. A misty, chilly morning to-
day, the suns eclipsing each other as they sidled
across the sky. Etzwane went to a nearby cafe
and took an inconspicuous table. He ordered
broth and sat sipping.
The folk of Garwiy passed across the plaza.
Near the Office of Petitions three Discriminators
came together and stood talking. Etzwane
watched them with interest. What if they all
came at him together? He could never kill them
all with the metal box; there would be insufficient
time. The Faceless Man must carry another
weapon, thought Etzwane; a device that would
explode any tore at which it was pointed. Into the
cafe came a man in a suit of gray and purple.
His forehead was broad and pallid; the small
nose, the pursed down-curving mouth were un-
distinguished, but the eyes, which looked off to the
side, were luminous and thoughtful. He signaled
to the waiter for a mug of soup; a motion peremp-
tory but polite, in the fashion of the Aesthetes.
When the broth was served, he glanced side-
wise toward Etzwane, who took care to have his
own mug raised before his face; but for an un-
settling instant he met the gaze of the Faceless
Man.
The Faceless Man frowned slightly and looked
away, as if resenting a stranger's attention.
Etzwane's nervousness made careful thinking
difficult. He clenched the mug and, forcing his
thoughts into a channel, sorted out his options.

THE FACELESS MAN	215
He carried a gun. He could step forward, press
it into the Anome's back, and utter appropriate
orders. The plan had a single overwhelming dis-
advantage: conspicuity. If the act were noticed,
as it must be, the Discriminators would be sum-
moned.
He could wait until the Anome departed and
follow; but the Anome in his present condition of
uncertainty might well notice and lead him into
a trap. Etzwane told himself that he must not
relinquish the initiative.
The Anome, if he recognized the "anonymous
adventurer," might be persuaded to follow Etz-
wane; more likely he would summon the Dis-
criminators.
Etzwane heaved a fateful sigh. He reached into
the pocket of his cape and secured an item of the
equipment Ifness had left with him. He clinked a
florin down on the table to pay for the broth;
scraping his chair back, he rose to his feet; then,
with an exclamation, he stumbled forward to
place his hand upon the Faceless Man's neck.
"Sir, my apologies I" declared Etzwane. "What a
disgrace 1 This wet napkin has fallen upon your
neck I"
"No matter, no matter."
"Allow me to help you."
The Anome jerked away. "You are clumsy;
what do you mean daubing my neck in such a
fashion?"
"Again, my apologies I I will replace your coat
if it is stained."
"No, no, no. Just be off with you, I can take care
of myself."
"Very well, sir, as you wish. I must explain

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
that this cursed chair engaged my leg and threw
me forward. I'm sure the matter came as a great
shock!"
"Yes, quite so. But the episode is finished;
please say no more."
"Your indulgence one more moment; I must
adjust my shoe. May I sit here no more than an
instant?"
"As you will." The Anome turned away in his
chair. Etzwane, dealing with his shoe, watched
him carefully.
A moment passed. The Anome glanced about.
"You are still here?"
"Yes. What is your name?"
The Anome blinked. "I am Sajarano of Ser-
shan."
"Do you know me?"
"No."
"Look at me!"
Sajarano turned his head. His face was calm
and even.
"Rise to your feet," said Etzwane. "Come with
me.	'
Sajarano's face showed no emotion. Etzwane
led him from the cafe.
"Walk faster," said Etzwane. They passed
under the Pomegranate Portal into Serven Airo
Way. Etzwane now clasped Sajarano's arm. Sa-
jarano blinked. "I am tired."
"You will rest shortly. "Who is the 'anonymous
adventurer?'"
"He is a man from the east; he is at the center
of a seditious cabal."	,
"Who are the others of this cabal?"
"I don't know."

THE FACELESS MAN	217
"Why do you not order soldiers against the
Roguskhoi?"
Sajarano for ten seconds made no reply. Then
he mumbled: "I don't know." His voice had be-
gun to slur; he moved with an unsteady gait. Etz-
wane supported him and took him along the way
as fast as possible, until near the Gate of the
Seasons the Faceless Man could walk no more.
Etzwane conveyed him to a bench and waited
until an empty fiacre came by, which he halted.
"My friend has had a drop too much; we must
take him home before his wife finds out."
"It happens. to the best of us. Into the back
with him. Can you manage?"
"Very well. Drive out the Avenue of the Tha-
sarene Directors."

Chapter 14
Etzwane undressed the Faceless Man to his un-
dergarments and laid him on the couch across
from Jurjin. The Faceless Man was not physical-
ly impressive. From the garments Etzwane re-
moved an activating box like that carried by Gar-
stang, an energy gun of complex design, a small
case that Etzwane presumed to be a radio trans-
ceiver, a metal tube of unknown function; Etz-
wane thought it might be the all-tore destroyer he
had hypothesized.
He brought forth Ifness's tools and ranged
them carefully in a row. With intense concentra-
tion he removed Sajarano's tore as he had seen
Ifness do. To his intense puzzlement the tore
contained a full complement of dexax. The echo
circuits were apparently operative. Etzwane
stared in amazement. What could be the reason
for this? A terrible presentiment struck him; had
he captured the wrong man?
If not, why should the Faceless Man wear an
armed tore?
The solution rose into his mind—a reason so
simple and full of relief that he laughed outright.
Like everyone else Sajarano of Sershan had as-
sumed his tore at puberty. When, through cir-
cumstances shrouded and secret, he had become
the Anome, he knew no method to alter the situa-
tion, except to alter the color coding as protection
against his Benevolences.

THE FACELESS MAN	219
Etzwane slipped off his own tore. He restored
the explosive to its slot, reconnected the circuits.
He placed this around Sajarano's neck and
locked it in place.
An unpleasant task awaited him. He went out
to the shed and threw open the door. The rat, if
such it were, scuttled under a pile of sacks. It
had, so Etzwane noted, been feeding upon Gar-
stang's body. In revulsion Etzwane brought forth
Ifness's gun and sent a spear of pale fire at the
sacks. They disappeared in a gust of vile-smelling
smoke, and with them the creature who had tak-
en refuge below.
Etzwane picked up a spade and, digging a
shallow grave, buried Garstang.
When he returned into the house, all was as
before. He bathed, changed his clothes, then sat
and waited, his mood a strange mixture of exulta-
tion and loneliness.
Jurjin awoke first. She seemed tired; her face
sagged and her skin showed an unhealthy color.
Sitting up on the couch, she looked at Etzwane
with undisguised bitterness.
"How long will you keep me here?"
"Not long now."
She peered across the room "Who is that man?"
"Do you know him?"
Jurjin shrugged, a brave attempt at debonair
defiance.
"His name is Sajarano of Sershan," said Etz-
wane. "He is the Faceless Man."
"Why is he here?"
"You shall see	Are you hungry?"
"No."
Etzwane thought a moment or two. Then he
unlocked the cord that bound her. She stood up,

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
free of her bonds. Etzwane faced her.
"Do not leave this house. If you do, I will take
your head. The Anome is here and cannot help
you. You must now obey me as formerly you did
the Anome. You must not obey him. Do you un-
derstand?"
"I understand well enough. But I am confused.
Who are you?"
"I am Gastel Etzwane, a musician. So I was,
so I hope to be again."
Hours passed. Jurjin wandered about the
house, watching Etzwane with wonder, defiance,
and female spite.
Toward evening Sajarano recovered his senses.
He became alert very quickly and sat up on the
couch. For half a minute he appraised Etzwane
and Jurjin. He spoke in the coldest of voices.
"Suppose you explain why you have brought me
here."
"Because the Roguskhoi must be attacked; be-
cause you refused to act."
"This is solemn and deliberate policy," said Sa-
jarano. "I am a man of peace; I refuse to bring
the horrors of war to Shant."
"Worry no longer; the Roguskhoi have done
the job for you."
Etzwane pointed to Sajarano's old tore. "You
are wearing an active tore. It carries its full com-
plement of dexax. I carry the detonator. You now
must answer to me, and your Benevolence as
well."
Jurjin, standing across the room, went to sit
on the couch. "I obey the Anome."
Sajarano asked, "What of Garstang?"
"Garstang is dead."

THE FACELESS MAN
221
Sajarano's hand went up to his new tore, after
the manner of the folk of Shant. "What do you
propose to do?"
"The Roguskhoi must be destroyed."
Sajarano spoke in a quiet voice: "You do not
know what you are saying. In Shant we enjoy
peace and good fortune; we must maintain it.
Why risk chaos and militarism for the sake of a
few barbarians?"
"Peace and good fortune are not the natural
bounties of nature," said Etzwane. "If you be-
lieve this, I will send you to Caraz where you can
learn for yourself."
"You cannot wish to bring turmoil to Shant,"
cried Sajarano in a suddenly brassy voice.
"I wish to repel a clear and present danger.
Will you obey my orders? If you refuse, I will
kill you this moment."
Sajarano sank back in his chair. He seemed
apathetic and watched Etzwane sidelong, in
which pose his small nose and mouth seemed
curiously immature. "I will obey."
Jurjin was restless; her face twitched and
jerked in grimaces that under other circum-
stances might have been amusing. She rose to her
feet, went to the table.
Etzwane asked, "The Discriminators are now
searching for the 'anonymous adventurer?'"
"Yes."
'They have orders to kill him?"
"If necessary."
Etzwane gave him the transceiver. "How do
you use this?"
Jurjin came forward as if interested. From be-
hind her back flashed a glass knife. Etzwane,
watching from the corner of his eye, knocked her

21 o
THE FACELESS MAN
sprawling back on the couch. Sajarano struggled
up, kicked Etzwane, grappled him around the
neck. Etzwane lunged ahead. The line around
Sajarano's neck snapped taut, and snatched him
flailing back to the couch.
"Your promises seem to mean little," Etzwane
observed in a mild voice. "I was hoping that I
might trust you both."
"Why should we not fight for what we believe?"
demanded Jurjin.
"I promised to obey you," said Sajarano. "I said
nothing about not trying to kill you when oppor-
tunity offered."
Etzwane grinned, a dour, sardonic grin. "In
that case I order you not to try to kill or injure
me in any way. Will you obey?"
Sajarano sighed in vast unease. "Yes. What
else can I say?"
Etzwane looked at Jurjin. "What about you?"
"I promise nothing," she declared haughtily.
Etzwane seized her arm and pulled her toward
the door.
"Where are you going?" she cried. "What are
you doing?"
"I am taking you to the back yard to kill you,"
said Etzwane.
"No, no no!" she cried. "Please do not. I prom-
ise to obey you 1"
"And will you seek to harm me?"
"No!"
Etzwane released her; she ran back to the
couch.
Etzwane returned to Sajarano. "Explain the
function of this transceiver."
"I press the white button," said Sajarano in a
calm voice. "It transmits to the relays I designate

THE FACELESS MAN	223
on this dial. I speak; the orders are broadcast
from the relay station."
"Call the Discriminators, order them no longer
to molest the 'anonymous adventurer.' State that
Gastel Etzwane must be given respectful and in-
stant obedience, no less than you would expect
for yourself."
Sajarano did so in a flat voice. He looked up at
Etzwane. "What else do you require of me?"
Etzwane, standing across the room, looked
from one face to the other, from Jurjin of Xhial-
linen to the Faceless Man. Both, he knew, would
play him false as soon as opportunity offered.
Dead, they would be no threat to him. Jurjin's
eyes widened as if she read his thoughts. It might
be for the best. Still, if he killed the Faceless
Man, who would govern Shant? Who would or-
ganize the military apparatus necessary to his
goals? The Faceless Man must live; in which
case he could see no reason to kill Jurjin of
Xhiallinen.
The two watched him intently, trying to divine
the direction of his thoughts. Etzwane said in a
fateful voice: "You are free to go. Do not leave
the Ushkadel."
He untied the cord from Sajarano's waist. "A
warning: if I am killed, my associates will still
take both your heads."
With neither ceremony nor overmuch dignity
the two departed the cottage. At the gate Jurjin
looked over her shoulder; in the dark Etzwane
could see only the glimmer of her face. Uneasily
he sensed that Ifness would have handled the sit-
uation differently, that at some essential juncture
his affairs had gone wrong.
He loaded Ifness's black case with such wea-

21 o	THE FACELESS MAN
pons and instruments he did not dare leave be-
hind and departed the cottage.
At the Old Pagane he dined on the best the
house offered, amused by his twinges of instinc-
tive parsimony. Money had become the least of
his concerns.
He sauntered along the river bank to Fontenay's
where he found Frolitz and the troupe drinking
beer. Frolitz hailed Etzwane in angry reproof
mixed with relief. "What have you been up to?
We've been persecuted by the Discriminators!
They say you kidnaped an Aesthete girl."
"All nonsense," said Etzwane. "A ridiculous
mistake. I'd rather not talk about it."
"Clearly you don't care to enlighten us," said
Frolitz. "Well, no matter: to work. I have a sore
lip; tonight I'll use the khitan; Etzwane will play
wood-horn. We'll start with that Morningshore
trifle 'Birds in the Surf.'"