Tales of the Dying Earth

by Jack Vance

  The fishermen proceeded to their village Grodz; Cugel returned to Smolod. Here he sought out that man to whom he had spoken upon his arrival at the village. “My lord,” said Cugel, “as you know, I am a traveler from a far land, attracted here by the magnificence of the city Smolod.”

  “Understandable,” grunted the other. “Our splendor cannot help but inspire emulation.”

  “What then is the source of the magic cusps?”

  The elder turned the violet hemispheres upon Cugel as if seeing him for the first time. He spoke in a surly f voice, “It is a matter we do not care to dwell upon, but there is no harm in it, now that the subject has been broached. At a remote time the demon Underherd sent up tentacles to look across Earth, each tipped with a cusp. Simbilis the Sixteenth pained the monster, which jerked back to his subworld and the cusps became dislodged. Four hundred and twelve of the cusps were gathered and brought to Smolod, then as splendid as now it appears to me. Yes, I realize that I see but a semblance, but so do you, and who is to say which is real?”

  “I do not look through magic cusps,” said Cugel.

  “True.” The elder shrugged. “It is a matter I prefer to overlook. I dimly recall that I inhabit a sty and devour the coarsest of food — but the subjective reality is that I inhabit a glorious palace and dine on splendid viands among the princes and princesses who are my peers. It is explained thus: the demon Underherd looked from the sub-world to this one; we look from this to the Over-world, which is the quintessence of human hope, visionary longing, and beatific dream. We who inhabit this world — how can we think of ourselves as other than splendid lords? This is how we are.”

  “It is inspiring!” exclaimed Cugel. “How may I obtain a pair of these magic cusps?”

  “There are two methods. Underherd lost four hundred and fourteen cusps; we control four hundred and twelve. Two were never found, and evidently lie on the floor of the ocean's deep. You are at liberty to secure these. The second means is to become a citizen of Grodz, and furnish the lords of Smolod with sustenance till one of us dies, as we do infrequently.”

  “I understand that a certain Lord Radkuth Vomin is ailing.”

  “Yes, that is he.” The elder indicated a potbellied old man with a slack, drooling mouth, sitting in filth before his hut. “You see him at his ease in the pleasaunce of his palace. Lord Radkuth strained himself with a surfeit of lust, for our princesses are the most ravishing creations of human inspiration, just as I am the noblest of princes. But Lord Radkuth indulged himself too copiously, and thereby suffered a mortification. It is a lesson for us alt.”

  “Perhaps I might make special arrangements to secure his cusps?” ventured Cugel.

  “I fear not. You must go to Grodz and toil as do the others. As did I, in a former existence which now seems dim and inchoate.... To think I suffered so long! But you are young; thirty or forty or fifty years is not too long a time to wait.”

  Cugel put his hand to his abdomen to quiet the fretful stirrings of Firx. “In the space of so much time, the sun may well have waned. Look!” He pointed as a black flicker crossed the face of the sun and seemed to leave a momentary crust. “Even now it ebbs!”

  “You are over-apprehensive,” stated the elder. “To us who are lords of Smolod, the sun puts forth a radiance of exquisite colors.”

  “This may well be true at the moment,” said Cugel, “but when the sun goes dark, what then? Will you take an equal delight in the gloom and the chill?”

  But the elder no longer attended him. Radkuth Vomin had fallen sideways into the mud, and appeared to be dead.

  Toying indecisively with his knife, Cugel went to look down at the corpse. A deft cut or two — no more than the work of a moment — and he would have achieved his goal. He swayed forward, but already the fugitive moment had passed. Other lords of the village had approached to jostle Cugel aside; Radkuth Vomin was lifted and carried with the most solemn nicety into the ill-smelling precincts of his hut.

  Cugel stared wistfully through the doorway, calculating the chances of this ruse and that.

  “Let lamps be brought!” intoned the elder. “Let a final effulgence surround Lord Radkuth on his gem-encrusted bier! Let the golden clarion sound from the towers; let the princesses don robes of samite; let their tresses obscure the faces of delight Lord Radkuth loved so welll And now we must keep vigil! Who will guard the bier?”

  Cugel stepped forward. “I would deem it honor indeed.”

  The elder shook his head. “This is a privilege reserved for his peers. Lord Maulfag, Lord Glus: perhaps you will act in this capacity.” Two of the villagers approached the bench on which Lord Radkuth Vomin lay.

  “Next,” declared the elder, “the obsequies must be proclaimed, and the magic cusps transferred to Bubach Angh, that most deserving squire of Grodz. Who, again, will go to notify this squire?”

  “Again,” said Cugel, “I offer my services, if only to requite in some small manner the hospitality I have enjoyed at Smolod.”

  “Well spoken!” intoned'the elder. “So, then, at speed to Grodz; return with that squire who by his faith and dutiful toil deserves advancement.”

  Cugel bowed, and ran off across the barrens toward Grodz. As he approached the outermost fields he moved cautiously, skulking from tussock to copse, and presently found that which he sought: a peasant turning the dank soil with a mattock.

  Cugel crept quietly forward and struck down the loon with a gnarled root. He stripped off the best garments, the leather hat, the leggings and foot-gear; with his knife he hacked off the stiff straw-colored beard. Taking all and leaving the peasant lying dazed and naked in the mud, he fled on long strides back toward Smolod. In a secluded spot he dressed himself in the stolen garments. He examined the hacked-off beard with some perplexity, and finally, by tying up tufts of the coarse yellow hair and tying tuft to tuft, contrived to bind enough together to make a straggling false beard for himself. That hair which remained he tucked up under the brim of the flapping leather hat.

  Now the sun had set; plum-colored gloom obscured the land. Cugel returned to Smolod. Oil lamps flickered before the hut of Radkuth Vomin, where the obese and misshapen village women wailed and groaned.

  Cugel stepped cautiously forward, wondering what might be expected of him. As for his disguise it would either prove effective or it would not. To what extent the violet cusps befuddled perception was a matter of doubt; he could only hazard a trial.

  Cugel marched boldly up to the door of the hut Pitching his voice as low as possible, he called, “I am here, revered princes of Smolod: Squire Bubach Angh of Grodz, who for thirty-one years has heaped the choicest of delicacies into the Smolod larders. Now I appear, beseeching elevation to the estate of nobility.”

  “As is your right,” said the Chief Elder. “But you seem a man different from that Bubach Angh who so long has served the princes of Smolod.”

  “I have been transfigured — through grief at the passing of Prince Radkuth Vomin and through rapture at the prospect of elevation.”

  “This is clear and understandable. Come, then — prepare yourself for the rites.”

  “I am ready as of this instant,” said Cugel, “Indeed, if you will but tender me the magic cusps I will take them quietly aside and rejoice.”

  The Chief Elder shook his head indulgently. “This is not in accord with the rites. To begin with you must stand naked here on the pavilion of this mighty castle, and the fairest of the fair will anoint you in aromatics. Then comes the invocation to Eddith Bran Maur. And then—”

  “Revered,” stated Cugel, “allow me one boon. Before the ceremonies begin, fit me with the magic cusps so that I may understand the full portent of the ceremony.” The Chief Eider considered. “The request is unorthodox, but reasonable. Bring forth the cusps!”

  There was a wait, during which Cugel stood first on one foot then the other. The minutes dragged; the garments and the false beard itched intolerably. And now at the outskirts of the village he saw the ap
proach of several new figures, coming from the direction of Grodz. One was almost certainly Bubach Angh, while another seemed to have been shorn of his beard.

  The Chief Elder appeared, holding in each hand a violet cusp. “Step forward!”

  Cugel called loudly, “I am here, sir.”

  “I now apply the potion which sanctifies the junction of magic cusp to right eye.”

  At the back of the crowd Bubach Angh raised bis voice. “Holdl What transpires?”

  Cugel turned, pointed. “What jackal is this that interrupts solemnities? Remove him: hence!”

  “Indeed!” called the Chief Elder peremptorily. “You demean yourself and the dignity of the ceremony.” Bubach Angh crouched back, momentarily cowed. “In view of the interruption,” said Cugel, “I had as lief merely take custody of the magic cusps until these louts can properly be chastened.”

  “No,” said the Chief Elder. “Such a procedure is impossible.” He shook drops of rancid fat in Cugel's right eye. But now the peasant of the shorn beard set up an outcry: “My hat! My blouse! My beard! Is there no justice?”

  “Silence!” hissed the crowd. “This is a solemn occasion!”

  “But I am Bu—”

  Cugel called, “Insert the magic cusp, lord; let us ignore these louts.”

  “A lout, you call me?” roared Bubach Angh. “I recognize you now, you rogue. Hold up proceedings!”

  The Chief Elder said inexorably, “I now invest you with the right cusp. You must temporarily hold this eye closed to prevent a discord which would strain the brain, and cause stupor. Now the left eye.” He stepped forward with the ointment, but Bubach Angh and the beardless peasant no longer would be denied.

  “Hold up proceedingsl You ennoble an impostor! I am Bubach Angh, the worthy squirel He who stands before you is a vagabond!”

  The Chief Elder inspected Bubach Angh with puzzlement. “For a fact you resemble that peasant who for thirty-one years has carted supplies to Smolod. But if you are Bubach Angh, who is this?”

  The beardless peasant lumbered forward. “It is the soulless wretch who stole the clothes from my back and the beard from my face.”

  “He is a criminal, a bandit, a vagabond—”

  “Hold!” called the Chief Elder. “The words are ill-chosen. Remember that he has been exalted to the rank of prince of Smolod.”

  “Not altogether!” cried Bubach Angh. “He has one of my eyes. I demand the other!”

  “An awkward situation,” muttered the Chief Elder. He spoke to Cugel: “Though formerly a vagabond and cutthroat, you are now a prince, and a man of responsibility. What is your opinion?”

  “I suggest a hiding for these obstreperous louts. Then—”

  Bubach Angh and the beardless peasant, uttering shouts of rage, sprang forward. Cugel, leaping away, could not control his right eye. The lid flew open; into his brain crashed such a wonder of exaltation that his breath caught in his throat and his heart almost stopped from astonishment But concurrently his left eye showed the reality of Smolod. The dissonance was too wild to be tolerated; he stumbled and fell against a hut. Bubach Angh stood over him with mattock raised high, but now the Chief Elder stepped between.

  “Do you take leave of your senses? This man is a prince of Smolod!”

  “A man I will kill, for he has my eye! Do I toil thirty-one years for the benefit of a vagabond?”

  “Calm yourself, Bubach Angh, if that be your name, and remember the issue is not yet entirely clear. Possibly an error has been made — undoubtedly an honest error, for this man is now a prince of Smolod, which is to say, justice and sagacity personified.”

  “He was not that before he received the cusp,” argued Bubach Angh, “which is when the offense was committed.”

  “I cannot occupy myself with casuistic distinctions,” replied the elder. “In any event, your name heads the list and on the next fatality—”

  “Ten or twelve years hence?” cried Bubach Angh. “Must I toil yet longer, and receive my reward just as the sun goes dark? No, no, this cannot bel”

  The beardless peasant made a suggestion: “Take the other cusp. In this way you will at least have half of your rights, and so prevent the interloper from cheating you totally.”

  Bubach Angh agreed. “I will start with my one magic cusp; I will then kill that knave and take the other, and all will be well.”

  “Now then,” said the Chief Elder haughtily. “This is hardly the tone to take in reference to a prince of Smolod!”

  “Bah!” snorted Bubach Angh. “Remember the source of your viands! We of Grodz will not toil to no avail.”

  “Very well,” said the Chief Elder. “I deplore your uncouth bluster, but I cannot deny that you have a measure of reason on your side. Here is the left cusp of Radkuth Vomin. I will dispense with the invocation, annointment and the congratulatory paean. If you will be good enough to step forward and open your left eye — so.”

  As Cugel had done, Bubach Angh looked through both eyes together and staggered back in a daze. But clapping his hand to his left eye he recovered himself, and advanced upon Cugel. “You now must see the futility of your trick. Extend me that cusp and go your way, for you will never have the use of the two.”

  “It matters very little,” said Cugel. “Thanks to my friend Firx I am well content with the one.”

  Bubach Angh ground his teeth. “Do you think to trick me again? Your life has approached its end: not just I but all Grodz goes warrant for this!”

  “Not in the precincts of Smolod!” warned the Chief Elder. “There must be no quarrels among the princes: I decree amity! You who have shared the cusps of Radkuth Vomin must also share his palace, his robes, appurtenances, jewels and retinue, until that hopefully remote occasion when one or the other dies, whereupon the survivor shall take all. This is my judgment; there is no more to be said.”

  “The moment of the interloper's death is hopefully near at hand,” rumbled Bubach Angh. “The instant he sets foot from Smolod will be his last! The citizens of Grodz will maintain a vigil of a hundred years, if necessary!”

  Firx squirmed at this news and Cugel winced at the discomfort. In a conciliatory voice he addressed Bubach Angh. “A compromise might be arranged: to you shall go the entirety of Radkuth Vomin's estate: his palace, appurtenences, retinue. To me shall devolve only the magic cusps.”

  But Bubach Angh would have none of it. “If you value your life, deliver that cusp to me this moment.”

  “This cannot be done,” said Cugel.

  Bubach Angfa turned away and spoke to the beardless peasant, who nodded and departed. Bubach Angh glowered at Cugel, then went to Radkuth Vomin's hut and sat on the heap of rubble before the door. Here he experimented with his new cusp, cautiously closing his right eye, opening the left to stare in wonder at the Over-world. Cugel thought to take advantage of his absorption and sauntered off toward the edge of town. Bubach Angh appeared not to notice. Ha! thought Cugel. It was to be so easy, then! Two more strides and he would be lost into the darkness!

  Jauntily he stretched his long legs to take those two strides. A slight sound — a grunt, a scrape, a rustle of clothes — caused him to jerk aside; down swung a mattock blade, cutting the air where his head had been. In the faint glow cast by the Smolod lamps Cugel glimpsed the beardless peasant's vindictive countenance. Behind him Bubach Angh came loping, heavy head thrust forward like a bull. Cugel dodged, and ran with agility back into the heart of Smofod.

  Slowly and in vast disappointment Bubach Angh returned, to seat himself once more. “You will never escape,” he told Cugel. “Give over the cusp and preserve your life!”

  “By no means,” replied Cugel with spirit. “Rather fear for your own sodden vitality, which goes in even greater peril!”

  From the hut of the Chief Elder came an admonitory call. “Cease the bickering! I am indulging the exotic whims of a beautiful princess and must not be distracted.” Cugel, recalling the oleaginous wads of flesh, the leering slab-sided visages, the ma
tted verminous hair, the wattles and wens and evil odors which characterized the women of Smolod, marveled anew at the power of the cusps. Bubach Angh was once more testing the vision of his left eye. Cugel composed himself on a bench and attempted the use of his right eye, first holding his hand before his left....

  Cugel wqr,e a shirt of supple silver scales, tight scarlet trousers, a dark blue cloak. He sat on a marble bench before a row of spiral marble columns overgrown with dark foliage and white flowers. To either side the palaces of Smolod towered into the night, one behind the other, with soft lights accenting the arches and windows. The sky was a soft dark blue, hung with great glowing stars: among the palaces were gardens of cypress, myrtle, jasmine, sphade, thyssam; the air was pervaded with the perfume of flowers and flowing water. From somewhere came a wisp of music: a murmur of soft chords, a sigh of melody. Cugel took a deep breath and rose to his feet. He stepped forward, moving across the terrace. Palaces and gardens shifted perspective; on a dim lawn three girls in gowns of white gauze watched him over then-shoulders.

  Cugel took an involuntary step forward, then, recalling the malice of Bubach Angh, paused to check on his whereabouts. Across the plaza rose a palace of seven stories, each level with its terrace garden, with vines and flowers trailing down the walls. Through the windows Cugel glimpsed rich furnishings, lustrous chandeliers, the soft movement of liveried chamberlains. On the pavilion before the palace stood a hawk-featured man with a cropped golden beard in robes of ocher and black, with gold epaulettes and black buskins. He stood one foot on a stone griffin, arms on bent knee, gazing toward Cugel with an expression of brooding dislike. Cugel marveled: could this be the pig-faced Bubach Angh? Could the magnificent seven-tiered palace be the hovel of Radkuth Vomin?

  Cugel moved slowly off across the plaza, and now came upon a pavilion lit by candelabra. Tables supported meats, jellies and pastries of every description; and Cugel's belly, nourished only by driftwood and smoked fish, urged him forward. He passed from table to table, sampling morsels from every dish, and found all to be of the highest quality.