Tales of the Dying Earth

by Jack Vance

  "Finally the Murthe won free and rallied her witches. But Cal-anctus the Calm, under whom I served, rose to the challenge. He broke the witches and chased them north to the back of the Great Erm, where to this day a few still crouch in crevices dreading every sound lest it be the foot-fall of Calanctus.

  "As for the Murthe, Calanctus dealt nobly with her and allowed her exile to a far star, then went into seclusion, after first charging me to keep the Murthe under surveillance.

  "His orders came too late; she arrived neither at Naos nor at Sadal Suud. I never abandoned the search and recently discovered a trail of time-light1 leading to the 21st Aeon; in fact, the terminus is now.

  "I am therefore convinced that the Murthe is extant today, and so must be considered a danger of immediacy; indeed, she has already ensqualmed among this present group.

  "As for myself, Lehuster the Benefer, I am here for a single purpose: to marshal the magicians into a faithful cabal that they may control the resurgent female force and so maintain placidity. The urgency is great!"

  Lehuster went to the side and stood with arms folded: a posture which caused the red feathers growing along his shoulders to project like epaulettes.

  Ildefonse cleared his throat. "Lehuster has rendered us a circumstantial account. Zanzel, are you satisfied that Lehuster has fairly won his life and liberty, provided that he agrees to mend his ways?"

  "Bah!" muttered Zanzel. "He has produced only hearsay and old scandal. I am not so easily hoodwinked."

  Ildefonse frowned and pulled at his yellow beard. He turned to Lehuster. "You have heard Zanzel's comment. Can you sustain your remarks?"

  "Ensqualmation will prove me out, as you will see, but by then it will be too late."

  Vermoulian the Dream-walker chose to address the group. Rising to his feet, he spoke with transparent sincerity. "As I go about my work, I walk through dreams of many sorts. Recently—indeed, only two nights since—I came upon a dream of the type we call the 'in-tractive' or 'inoptative' in which the walker exerts little control, and even may encounter danger. Oddly enough, the Murthe was a participant in this dream, and so it may well be relevant to the present discussion."

  Hurtiancz jumped to his feet and made a gesture of annoyance. "We came here at great inconvenience, to sentence and execute this archveult Lehuster; we do not care to ramble through one of your interminable dreams."

  "Hurtiancz, be silent!" snapped Vermoulian with peevish vigor. "I now have the floor, and I shall regale everyone with my account, including as many particulars as I deem necessary."

  "I call upon the Preceptor for a ruling!" cried Hurtiancz.

  Ildefonse said: "Vermoulian, if your dream is truly germane to the issues, continue, but please speak to the point."

  "That goes without saying!" said Vermoulian with dignity. "For the sake of brevity, I will merely state that in attempting to walk that dream identified as AXR-11 GG7, Volume Seven of the Index, I entered a hitherto unclassified dream of the inoptative series. I found myself in a landscape of great charm, where I encountered a group of men, all cultured, artistic and exquisitely refined of manner. Some wore soft silky beards of a chestnut color, while others dressed their hair in tasteful curls, and all were most cordial.

  "I will allude only to the salient points of what they told me. All possessions are in common, and greed is unknown. In order that time should be adequate for the enrichment of the personality, toil is kept to a minimum, and shared equally among all. 'Peace' is the watchword; blows are never struck, nor are voices raised in strident anger, nor to call out chiding criticism. Weapons? The concept is a cause for shuddering and shock.

  "One of the men became my special friend, and told me much. 'We dine upon nutritious nuts and seeds and ripe juicy fruit; we drink only the purest and most natural water from the springs. At night we sit around the campfire and sing merry little ballads. On special occasions we make a punch called opo, from pure fruits, natural honey, and sweet sessamy, and everyone is allowed a good sip.'

  " 'Still, we too know moments of melancholy. Look! Yonder sits noble young Pulmer, who leaps and dances with wonderful grace. Yesterday he tried to leap the brook but fell short into the water; we all rushed to console him, and soon he was happy once more.'

  "I asked: 'And the women: where do they keep themselves?'

  " 'Ah, the women, whom we revere for their kindness, strength, wisdom and patience, as well as for the delicacy of their judgments! Sometimes they even join us at the campfire and then we have some fine romps and games. The women always make sure that no one becomes outrageously foolish, and propriety is never exceeded.'

  " 'A gracious life! And how do you procreate?'

  " 'Oh ho ho! We have discovered that if we make ourselves very agreeable, the women sometimes allow us little indulgences. ... Ah! Now! Be at your best! Here is the Great Lady herself!'

  "Across the meadow came Llorio the Murthe: a woman pure and strong; and all the men jumped to their feet and waved their hands and smiled their greetings. She spoke to me: 'Vermoulian, have you come to help us? Splendid! Skills like yours will be needed in our effort! I welcome you into our group!'

  ' 'Entranced by her stately grace, I stepped forward to embrace her, in friendship and joy, but as I extended my arms she blew a bubble into my face. Before I could question her, I awoke, anxious and bewildered."

  Lehuster said: "I can resolve your bewilderment. You were en-squalmed."

  "During a dream?" demanded Vermoulian. "I cannot credit such nonsense."

  Ildefonse spoke in a troubled voice: "Lehuster, be good enough to instruct us as to the signs by which ensqualmation may be recognized?"

  "Gladly. In the final stages the evidence is obvious: the victim becomes a woman. An early mannerism is the habit of darting the tongue rapidly in and out of the mouth. Have you not noticed this signal among your comrades?"

  "Only in Zanzel himself, but he is one of our most reputable associates. The concept is unthinkable."

  "When one deals with the Murthe, the unthinkable becomes the ordinary, and Zanzel's repute carries no more weight than last year's mouse-dropping—if that much."

  Zanzel pounded the table. "I am infuriated by the allegation! May I not so much as moisten my lips without incurring a storm of recrimination?"

  Again Ildefonse spoke sternly to Lehuster: "It must be said that Zanzel's complaints carry weight. You must either utter an unequivocal accusation, presenting documents and proofs, or else hold your tongue."

  Lehuster performed a polite bow. "I will make a terse statement. In essence, the Murthe must be thwarted if we are not to witness the final triumph of the female race. We must form a strong and defiant cabal! The Murthe is not invincible; it is three aeons since she was defeated by Calanctus, and the past is barred to her."

  Ildefonse said ponderously: "If your analysis is correct, we must undertake to secure the future against this pangynic nightmare."

  "Most urgent is the present! Already the Murthe has been at work!"

  "Balderdash, flagrant and wild!" cried Zanzel. "Has Lehuster no conscience whatever?"

  "I admit to puzzlement," said Ildefonse. "Why should the Murthe select this time and place for her operations?"

  Lehuster said: "Here and now her opposition is negligible. I look around this room; I see fifteen seals dozing on a rock. Pedants like Tchamast; mystics like Ao; buffoons like Hurtiancz and Zanzel. Ver-moulian explores unregistered dreams with notepad, calipers and specimen-bottles. Teutch arranges the details of his private infinity. Rhialto exerts his marvels only in the pursuit of pubescent maidens. Still, by ensqualming this group, the Murthe creates a useful company of witches, and so she must be thwarted."

  Ildefonse asked: "Lehuster, is this your concept of a 'terse statement' in response to my question? First rumor, then speculation, then scandal and bias?"

  "For the sake of clarity perhaps I overshot the mark," said Lehuster. "Also—in all candour—I have forgotten your question."

  "You we
re asked to supply proof in the matter of a certain en-squalmation."

  Lehuster looked from face to face. Everywhere tongues darted in and out of mouths. "Alas," said Lehuster. "I fear that I must wait for another occasion to finish my statement."

  The room exploded into a confusion of bursting lights and howling sound. When quiet returned, Lehuster was gone.

  3

  Black night had come to both High and Low Meadows. In the workroom at Falu Ildefonse accepted a half-gill of aquavit from Rhialto, and settled into a slung-leather chair.

  For a space the two magicians warily inspected each other; then Ildefonse heaved a deep sigh. "A sad case when old comrades must prove themselves before they sit at ease!"

  "First things first," said Rhialto. "I will fling a web around the room, that no one knows our doings. ... It is done. Now then! I have avoided the squalm; it only remains to prove that you are a whole man."

  "Not so fast!" said Ildefonse. "Both must undergo the test; otherwise credibility walks on one leg."

  Rhialto gave a sour shrug. "As you wish, though the test lacks dignity."

  "No matter; it must be done."

  The tests were accomplished; mutual reassurance was achieved. Ildefonse said: "Truth to tell, I felt little concern when I noticed Cal-anctus: His Dogma and Dicta out upon the table."

  Rhialto spoke in a confidential manner: "When I met Llorio in the forest, she tried most earnestly to beguile me with her beauty. Gallantry forbids my recitation of details. But I recognized her at once and even the vanity of a Rhialto could not credit her in the role of a heart-sick amourette, and only by thrusting me into the pond and distracting my attention was she able to apply her squalm. I returned to Falu and followed the full therapy as prescribed by Calanctus and the squalm was broken."

  Raising his goblet, Ildefonse swallowed the contents at a gulp. "She also appeared before me, though on an elevated level. I encountered her in a waking dream on a wide plain, marked out in a gridwork of distorted and abstract perspectives. She stood at an apparent distance of fifty yards, truly effulgent in her silver-pale beauty, arranged obviously for my benefit. She seemed tall in stature, and towered over me as if I were a child. A psychological ploy, of course, which caused me to smile.

  "I called out in a forthright voice: 'Llorio the Murthe, I can see you easily; you need not soar so high.'

  "She responded gently enough: Tldefonse, my stature need not concern you; my words carry the same import, spoken high or low.'

  " 'All very well, but why incur the risk of a vertigo? Your natural proportions are certainly more pleasing to the eye. I can see every pore in your skin. Still, no matter; it is all one with me. Why do you wander into my musing?'

  " Ildefonse, of all men alive, you are the wisest. The time now is late, but not too late! The female race may still reshape the universe! First, I will lead a sortie to Sadal Suud; among the Seventeen Moons we will renew the human destiny. Your kindly strength, your virtue and grandeur are rich endowments for the role which now you must play.'

  "The flavor of these words was not to my liking. I said: 'Llorio, you are a woman of surpassing beauty, though you would seem to lack that provocative warmth which draws man to woman, and adds dimension to the character.'

  "The Murthe responded curtly: The quality you describe is a kind of lewd obsequiousness which, happily, has now become obsolete. As for the 'surpassing beauty,' it is an apotheotic quality generated by the surging music of the female soul, which you, in your crassness, perceive only as a set of pleasing contours.'

  'I replied with my usual gusto: 'Crass or not, I am content with what I see, and as for sorties to far places, let us first march in triumph to the bed-chamber at Boumergarth which is close at hand and there test each other's mettle. Come then, diminish your stature so that I may take your hand; you stand at an inconvenient altitude and the bed would collapse under your weight—in fact, under present conditions, our coupling would hardly be noticed by either of us.'

  "Llorio said with scorn: Tldefonse, you are a disgusting old satyr, and I see that I was mistaken in my appraisal of your worth. Nevertheless, you must serve our cause with full force.'

  "In a stately manner she walked away, into the eccentric angles of the perspective, and with every step she seemed to dwindle, either in the distance or in stature. She walked pensively, in a manner which almost might be construed as invitational. I succumbed to impulse and set out after her—first at a dignified saunter, then faster and faster until I galloped on pounding legs and finally dropped in exhaustion to the ground. Llorio turned and spoke: 'See how the grossness of your character has caused you a foolish indignity!'

  "She flicked her hand to throw down a squalm which struck me on the forehead. T now give you leave to return to your manse.' And with that she was gone."

  "I awoke on the couch in my work-room. Instantly I sought out my Calanctus and applied his recommended prophylactics in full measure."

  "Most odd!" said Rhialto. "I wonder how Calanctus dealt with her."

  "Just as we must do, by forming a strong and relentless cabal."

  "Just so, but where and how? Zanzel has been ensqualmed, and certainly he is not alone."

  "Bring out your farvoyer; let us learn the worst. Some may still be saved."

  Rhialto rolled out an ornate old tabouret, waxed so many times as to appear almost black. "Who will you see first?"

  ' 'Try the staunch if mysterious Gilgad. He is a man of discrimination and not easily fooled."

  "We may still be disappointed," said Rhialto. "When last I looked, a nervous snake might have envied the deft motion of his tongue." He touched one of the scallops which adorned the edge of the tabouret and spoke a cantrap, to evoke the miniature of Gilgad in a construct of his near surroundings.

  Gilgad stood in the kitchen of his manse Thrume, berating the cook. Rather than his customary plum-red suit, the new Gilgad wore wide rose-red pantaloons tied at waist and ankle with coquettish black ribbons. Gilgad's black blouse displayed in tasteful embroidery a dozen red and green birds. Gilgad also used a smart new hair-style, with opulent rolls of hair over each ear, a pair of fine ruby hair-pins to hold the coiffure in place, and a costly white plume surmounting all.

  Rhialto told Ildefonse: "Gilgad has been quick to accept the dictates of high fashion."

  Ildefonse held up his hand. "Listen!"

  From the display came Gilgad's thin voice, now raised in anger: ''—grime and grit in profusion; it may have served during my previous half-human condition, but now many things have altered and I see the world, including this sordid kitchen, in a new light. Hence forth, I demand full punctilio! All areas and surfaces must be scoured; extreme neatness will prevail! Further! My metamorphosis will seem peculiar to certain among you, and I suppose that you will crack your little jokes. But I have keen ears and have little jokes of my own! Need I mention Kuniy, who hops about his duties on little soft feet with a mouse-tail trailing behind him, squeaking at the sight of a cat?"

  Rhialto touched a scallop to remove the image of Gilgad. "Sad. Gilgad was always something of a dandy and, if you recall, his temper was often uncertain, or even acrid. Ensqualmation evidently fails to ennoble its victim. Ah well, so it goes. Who next?"

  "Let us investigate Eshmiel, whose loyalty surely remains staunch."

  Rhialto touched a scallop and on the tabouret appeared Eshmiel in the dressing room of his manse Sil Soum. Eshmiel's previous guise had been notable for its stark and absolute chiaroscuro, with the right side of his body white and the left side black. His garments had followed a similar scheme, though their cut was often bizarre or even frivolous2.

  In squalmation, Eshmiel had not discarded his taste for striking contrast, but now he seemed to be wavering between such themes as blue and purple, yellow and orange, pink and umber: these being the colours adorning the mannequins ranged around the room. As Rhialto and Ildefonse watched, Eshmiel marched back and forth, inspecting first one, then another, but finding nothing suit
able to his needs, which caused him an obvious vexation.

  Ildefonse sighed heavily. "Eshmiel is clearly gone. Let us grit our teeth and investigate the cases first of Hurtiancz and then Dulce-Lolo."

  Magician after magician appeared on the tabouret, and in the end no doubt remained but that ensqualmation had infected all.

  Rhialto spoke gloomily: "Not one of the group showed so much as a twitch of distress! All wallowed in the squalming as if it were a boon! Would you and I react in the same way?"

  Ildefonse winced and pulled at his blond beard. "It makes the blood to run cold."

  "So now we are alone," said Rhialto. "The decisions are ours to make."