For more than two hundred cycles of years, the amount of the staple crop that the populace was capable of using had been exactly equal to the amount grown. In lean years, the slight excesses which had been put in the warehouses during the fat years were used. And no year was either excessively fat or excessively lean.
In years gone by, an excess of peych had meant an increase in the number of hugl, which meant a decrease in the following year's peych crop.
But where were the hugl now? Where were the millions of little animals that would gladly eat the vast excesses of peych that flooded Nidor?
They were dead—killed by Edris powder that was dumped regularly into the ponds and shallow lakes to prevent their breeding. Only a few could be found in out-of-the-way ponds.
Del peFenn had turned his back and was staring out a porthole. Norvis stared at that back without actually seeing it.
First Grandfather Kiv, he thought, and now me. Is there a curse on our family, that we only help to destroy our culture when we try hardest to aid it?
"One thing I'll say," said Del peFenn without turning ,"is that we did at least part of what we set out to do. The people have at least shown those fool Elders that the Council isn't always right. If the Council had paid attention when they were petitioned, the farmers wouldn't have burned the Gelusar hormone factory."
And mercilessly hanged poor little Dran peNiblo Sesom, Norvis thought. For the first time in nearly six years, he no longer hated nor envied the man who had been given credit for Norvis peRahn Brajjyd's discovery. And that was only right; why should Norvis peKrin Dmorno carry on the hates and frustrations of a dead man?
Del said: "You know, maybe that false prophet they stoned to death was right, after all."
"How so?" Norvis asked, somewhat startled that Del should bring up the subject that had been on his own mind. It took him half a second to realize that the conversation had been heading inevitably in that direction, anyway.
"Well, maybe he saw something we didn't," said the sea captain, turning again from the porthole. "Maybe he saw that too much food is just as bad as too little; maybe he saw what overproduction of peych would do."
I wish he had, thought Norvis. Then, aloud, "If you ask me, Del, overproduction is worse. When men are hungry, they work together to produce more. When they have more than enough they squabble among themselves."
"Yes,'' said Del bitterly, "and they ruin and destroy Our factory and our ship. Our holdings have been completely wiped out!"
Norvis stood up. "Darkness take it, Del!" he said angrily. "Don't you see that you've nothing to complain about? Nothing! What have we lost? A factory that was useless to us, anyway. Did you think we could go on making money by manufacturing growth hormone? We haven't made a bit of the stuff for thirty days. What good was the factory?"
"What good are men's lives, eh? What good was the Balthar?'' Del's voice was harsh. "I suppose their loss was negligible, too?"
"By comparison, yes! "Norvis snapped. "We lost four good men, and I'm sorry; I'll see that the Service is said for them. But they weren't the only ones to die! There have been murders and mobbings all over Nidor! As many as a dozen coffins at one time have been in a Temple while the priest said a common Passing Service for them all! Four men? They are nothing by comparison!
"And the Balthar! It went to the torch, sure— because there was a load of spices aboard, and you wouldn't sell. What if you'd had a load of the hormone aboard? Do you think you'd have gotten away so easily? A lot more than four men would have lost their lives, believe me!"
"How could I sell?" Del exploded. "They offered nothing but peych in exchange!"
"Then you should have given it for peych! You'd have kept your ship, and saved four lives as well!"
Del's eyes glittered dangerously. "Now you—"
He was interrupted by a knock on the cabin door.
"Who is it?" Del roared.
There was a momentary silence, then a small, high-pitched voice said: "It's me, sir; Kris peKym."
Norvis gave Del a silencing glance. Then, "Come in, Kris."
The door came open, and a small boy entered. He was carrying a tray which was laden with two plates of food and two large mugs of peych-beer. He looked up, wide-eyed, as though terrified by the glowering face of Captain Del.
"Don't just stand there, Kris," Norvis said in a kindly tone. "Captain Del isn't going to beat you—are you, Del?"
"No, of course not," the old sea-captain said gruffly.
"Go put the tray on the table, Kris,'' Norvis ordered. "Then go back to the galley. Captain Del and I are busy."
The boy walked over to the table and gingerly lowered the tray to its surface.
"How old are you, boy?" Del asked suddenly.
The lad jumped. "E-Eight, Ancient One."
"Aren't you a bit young to go to sea?"
Little Kris didn't answer; he turned and looked at Norvis.
"As long as he does his job well, he's old enough," Norvis said. "Now you get back to the galley; that's part of doing the job right—start the next job as soon as you've finished one. Run!"
The boy nodded and did as he was ordered. His little legs pistoned under him as he ran out the door, stopped, closed it, and ran on down the companionway.
"Why'd you take on so young a kid?" Del asked curiously. "Won't his parents raise Darkness?"
"Del, there's a perfect example of what I've been talking about,'' Norvis said. He sat down and pulled his share of the food toward him. "His parents were farmers. They're dead, both of them. Marauders from the city came out and took everything of value from their farm and killed them both. That left the kid with nothing but an empty farm and a barnful of peych.
"With nothing but a pair of shoes on his feet and a pair of shorts on his body, he headed for Tammulcor to make a living for himself—at eight. He didn't have a weight in his pocket, nor a vest to cover his chest.''
"And you took him on?"
"I took him on. Where else could he go?" Norvis said nothing about feeling that he had a certain responsibility for the lad because it had been his fault, indirectly, that little Kris's parents had died; Norvis didn't want to bring up that subject!
Del nodded. "You're right, I suppose. The life's not bad for a hardy lad, and he looks as though he could take it." He rubbed a palm over the graying down on his forearm. "Just lit out for himself, eh? That takes nerve."
"Exactly. Look at what we have. The Krand, here, is still in perfect shape; we've got the new Vyothin ready to come off the ways; we've got plenty of money in the bank—good, hard cobalt; we've got merchandise stored away—bronze wood, spices, metals, laces, ornamental building stone, deest leather—all of them still worth money. We 're not ruined. We've taken a devil of a beating, yes; but we're not ruined. We're not as well off as we thought we'd be, but we've got more than we had a year ago, in spite of our losses."
Del lifted his mug of brew and sipped thoughtfully. "That sounds good, Norvis, but it seems to me that the merchants will be as bad off as the farmers in another half-year."
Norvis nodded. "They will be—if you and I don't do something."
Del looked up from his mug. "Do something? What?"
"Look at it this way, Del; things are in a pretty mess right now; they 're going to get worse. Not because they have to get worse, but because the Law and the Way aren't equipped to cope with something like this. Our Ancestors knew plenty about not having enough food, but they never put down a word in the Scriptures about having too much. Even the Great Lawyer, Bel-rogas Yorgen, didn't envision anything like this, which proves to me that the Earthmen aren't from the Great Light."