Tales of the Dying Earth

by Jack Vance

  "Yonder go the twastics," said the old man. "As for the contents of the cavern, they can answer your questions better than I."

  Rhialto watched the tinkling creatures askance. "All very well, but how should I address them?"

  "They are easy in this regard; a simple 'Sir' or 'Your Honor' suffices."

  Returning across the valley, Rhialto was able to intercept the twastics before they entered the cavern. He called out: "Sirs! May I put a question? I am here on an important historical mission!"

  The twastic wearing the dark green robe responded in a somewhat sibilant voice, using sounds created by a rapid clicking of the mandibles. "This is not our customary time for business. If you wish to order any of our service gungeons, be advised that the minimum shipment is one gross."

  ' I am interested in another matter. You have inhabited this cavern for about thirty years, so I understand."

  "You have been gossiping with Tiffet, who is more garrulous than he should be. Still, your figures are correct."

  "When you first arrived, did you find a blue crystal placed in a niche above the entrance? I would appreciate candour in this regard."

  "There is no reason why you should not have it. I myself discovered the blue crystal, and cast it away immediately. On Canopus, blue is considered an unfavorable colour."

  Rhialto clapped a hand to his forehead. "And then: what next?"

  "You must ask Tiffet. He found the trinket in the rubbish." The twastics entered the cavern and disappeared into the darkness.

  Rhialto hastened back across the valley and managed to overtake Tiffet.

  "Wait, sir!" called Rhialto. "Another historical question or two!"

  Tiffet halted. "What now?"

  "As you know, I have come far in search of an important blue prism. The twastics threw it from the cave and it seems that you rescued it from the rubbish heap. Where is it now? Produce it and I will make you a rich man."

  Tiffet blinked and pulled at his nose. "A blue prism? True. I had quite forgotten it. Quite so! I took it from the rubbish heap and put it on my mantle-piece. Not a week later the taxers came from the King of all Kings, and they took the blue jewel in payment of my taxes and even rescinded the standard beating with staves, for which I was grateful."

  "And the blue prism?"

  "It was taken to the Royal Treasury at Vasques Tohor, or so I suppose. And now, sir, I must be on my way. Tonight we eat squash soup with cheese and I must be nimble if I am to get my share."

  Rhialto once more went to sit on the stone fence and watched as Tiffet hobbled briskly around the mountain. Reaching into his pouch, Rhialto brought out the walnut shell from which stepped Osherl, now, by reason of some obscure whim, wearing a fox's mask.

  The pink mouth spoke: "Well then, Rhialto! You are ready to return with the Perciplex?"

  Rhialto thought to perceive a subtly mocking flavor to the question. He said coldly: "May I ask the source of your amusement?"

  "It is nothing, Rhialto; I am naturally light-hearted."

  'Try as I may, I find nothing amusing in this present situation, and in fact I wish to speak with Sarsem."

  "As you wish."

  Sarsem appeared across the road, still using the guise of an epicene youth clad in lavender scales. "Rhialto, you wish to confer with me?"

  "I am displeased with your work," said Rhialto. "You missed the target date by something over thirty years."

  "Only thirty years in five aeons? Such accuracy is far better than adequate."

  "Not for my purposes. The Perciplex is not in the cave. Certain merchandisers from Canopus threw it aside. You were required to guard the Perciplex and it is now lost."

  Sarsem thought a moment, then said: "I failed in my duty. No more need be said."

  "Except this: by reason of your failure, you now must help me find the Perciplex."

  Sarsem became argumentative. "Rhialto, you are illogical! I failed in my duty, true. Still, there is no linkage between this idea and the unrelated concept of my attempting to find the missing article. I hope you perceive your mistake, which is of a fundamental nature."

  "The linkage is indirect, but real. By failing in your duty, you have incurred a severe penalty. This penalty may be partially expiated by your help in recovering the prism."

  Sarsem reflected a moment then said: "I am unconvinced; somewhere I smell sophistry at work. For instance, who will apply the penalty? You are five aeons gone and no longer even real."

  "Ildefonse is my stout ally; he will protect my interests."

  Sarsem gave that curious croak which, among creatures of his ilk, indicated amusement. "Rhialto, your innocence is droll. Have you not recognized that Ildefonse is the leader of the cabal against you?"

  "Not so!" declared Rhialto. "You refer to an occasion when he jocularly availed himself of my IOUN stones."

  Sarsem looked at Osherl. "What is the truth of this?"

  Osherl considered. "As of now, Ildefonse breathes fire against Hache-Moncour."

  Sarsem scratched his violet nose with a silver fingernail. "Ah well, on the slight chance that Rhialto is correct, I would not have him accusing me of falsity. Rhialto, take this pleurmalion; it will show a blue spot in the sky directly above the Perciplex. Remember, in case of any inquiry—for instance, from Hache-Moncour-it came through Osherl, and not through me. Am I clear on this?"

  "Certainly. Hache-Moncour has filled your mind with foolishness. If you decide to share his destiny in the hope of gaining indenture points, you will have the Wiih to deal with."

  Sarsem gave a small squeak of consternation, then cried out with somewhat hollow bravado: "You have over-spoken yourself! Trouble me no further; I am bored with the Perciplex; the present version will serve until the sun goes out. As for you, Ildefonse will never notice when you fail to return. Already Hache-Moncour eclipses him in power."

  "And when in fact I return with the Perciplex, what then of Hache-Moncour?"

  Sarsem chuckled. "Rhialto, have I not made myself clear? Find the Perciplex as you like, glory in your achievement, then settle yourself to enjoy the radiance of the 16th Aeon, even though you will never revenge yourself against your enemies."

  "What of Osherl?" asked Rhialto idly. "Will he not take me back to Boumergarth?"

  "Ask him yourself."

  "Well, Osherl? Are you too defiant and treasonable?"

  "Rhialto, I believe that you will enjoy your life in this halcyon aeon. And so that you may start your new life free of fretful oddments and petty details, you may now finalize my indenture."

  Rhialto smiled that aloof, almost sinister, smile which so often had annoyed his adversaries. From his wallet darted a black- and red-striped object like a long thin snake. "Chug!" screamed Sarsem in horror. The chug wound itself around Osherl, darted its head into one of the fox-ears, emerged from the other and tied itself in a knot across Osherl's head. Osherl was then dragged to a nearby tree and suspended by the rope through the ears to dangle three feet off the ground.

  Rhialto turned to Sarsem: "Eventually I will deal with Osherl as he deserves. Meanwhile, he will assist me to his best abilities. Osherl, am I right in this? Or shall we take further steps?"

  Osherl's fox-mask licked its chops nervously. "Rhialto, this is a poor response to my light-hearted badinage, and unworthy threats now hang in the air."

  "I never make threats," said Rhialto. "In all candour, I am dumbfounded by Sarsem's recklessness. He totally misjudges the wrath of Ildefonse and myself. His treachery will cost him an awful price. That is not a threat; it is a statement of certainty."

  Sarsem, smiling a glazed and insincere smile, faded from sight.

  Osherl kicked and thrashed his legs to set himself swinging. He cried out: "Your allegations have been too much for poor Sarsem. It would have been far more graceful if—"

  "Silence!" Rhialto took up the pleurmalion. "I am interested only in the Perciplex!" He searched around the sky through the tube, but the surrounding mountain-sides blocked most of the view.


  Rhialto affected his boots with the Spell of Lightsome Striding, which allowed him to walk through the air, high or low, at his pleasure. Osherl looked on with growing disquiet. At last he called out: ' 'What of me? How long must I dangle here for birds to roost upon?"

  Rhialto feigned surprise. "I had already forgotten you. ... I will say this. It is not pleasant to be betrayed by one's associates."

  "Naturally not!" cried Osherl with enthusiasm. "How could you so mistake my little joke?"

  "Very well, Osherl, I accept your explanation. Perhaps you can be of some slight assistance, after all, such as facilitating our return to Boumergarth."

  "Naturally! It goes without saying!"

  "Then we will resume as before." The chug dropped Osherl to the ground and returned to Rhialto's wallet. Osherl grimaced, but without further words returned to the walnut shell.

  Rhialto jumped into the air; climbing to a height of twenty feet, he set off down the valley on long stately bounds, and Fader's Waft was left behind.

  11

  The valley opened upon a plain of far distances, distinguished principally by clouds of dust and smoke lowering over the northern horizon. Closer at hand, where the hills first began to swell up from the plain, Rhialto saw a number of small farmsteads each with its small white silo, round white barn, and orchard of globular blue trees. A mile or so to the west, a village of round pink houses enjoyed the shade of a hundred tall parasol palms. Details of the landscape beyond were blurs of delicate colour, until, at the horizon, curtains of dust and smoke rose ominously high.

  Rhialto alighted upon a ledge of rock and bringing out the pleurmalion scrutinized the sky. To his gratification, he discovered a dark blue spot on the sapphire vault of the northern sky, in the general direction of the smoke and dust.

  Rhialto replaced the tube in his pouch, and now, a hundred yards down the slope, he noticed three young girls picking berries from a

  thicket. They wore black vests over striped blouses, black pantaloons tied at the knee with black ribbons, black stockings and black shoes tied with white puffs at the ankles. Their faces were round; straight black hair was cut square across their foreheads. Rhialto thought them not ill-favored, somewhat in the manner of odd little dolls.

  Rhialto approached at a dignified pace, and halted at a distance of ten yards. Always disposed to create a favorable impression before members of the female sex, so long as they were of an age and degree of vitality to notice, Rhialto leaned an arm against a stump, disposed his cloak so that it hung in a casual yet dramatic style.

  The girls, preoccupied with their chatter, failed to notice his presence. Rhialto spoke in melodious tones: "Young creatures, allow me to intrude upon your attention, at least for a moment. I am surprised to find so much fresh young beauty wasted upon work so dull, and among brambles so sharp."

  The girls looked up slack-jawed, then uttered small squeaks of terror, and stood paralyzed, too frightened to run.

  Rhialto frowned. "Why do you tremble? Do I seem such a monster of evil?"

  One of the girls managed to quaver: "Sir Ghoul, your ugliness is inspiring! Pray give us our lives so that we may appall others with the tale!"

  Rhialto spoke coldly. "I am neither ghoul nor demon, and your horror is not at all flattering."

  The girl was emboldened to ask: "In that case, what manner of strange thing might you be?"

  A second girl spoke in an awed voice: "He is a Pooner, or perhaps a Bohul, and we are as good as dead!"

  Rhialto controlled his irritation. "What foolish talk is this? I am only a traveler from a far land, neither Pooner nor Bohul, and I intend you no harm. Have you never seen a stranger before?"

  ' 'Certainly, but never one so dour, meanwhile wearing so comical a hat."

  Rhialto nodded crisply. "I do not care to modify my face, but I will gladly hear your advice as to a more fashionable hat."

  The first girl said: "This year everyone is wearing a clever felt 'soup-pot'—so are they called—and magenta is the only suitable colour. A single blue ear-flap suffices for modesty, and a caste-sign of glazed faience is considered somewhat dashing."

  Rhialto squeezed the walnut shell. "Osherl, procure me a hat of this description. You may also set out a table with a collation of foods tempting to the ordinary tastes of today."

  The hat appeared. Rhialto tossed his old hat behind a bush and donned the faddish new article, and the girls clapped their hands in approval.

  Meanwhile Osherl had arranged a table laden with dainties on a nearby area.

  Rhialto waved the girls forward. "Even the most brittle personalities relax at the sight of viands such as these, and pretty little courtesies and signs of favor, otherwise unthinkable, are sometimes rendered almost automatically—especially in the presence of these fine pastries, piled high with creams and sweet jellies. My dear young ladies, I invite you to partake."

  The most cautious of the girls said: "And then, what will you demand of us?"

  Another said chidingly: "Tish Tush! The gentleman has freely invited us to share his repast; we should respond with equal freedom!"

  The third gave a merry laugh. "Dine first and worry later! After all, he can enforce his wishes upon us as he chooses, without the formality of feeding us first, so that worry leads nowhere."

  "Perhaps you are right," said the first girl. "For a fact, in his new hat he is less ugly than before, and indeed I am most partial to this thrasher pate, come what may."

  Rhialto said with dignity: "You may enjoy your meal without qualms."

  The girls advanced upon the table and, discovering no peculiar conduct on the part of Rhialto, devoured the viands with zest.

  Rhialto pointed across the plain. "What are those curious clouds in the sky?"

  The girls turned to look as if they had not previously noticed. "That is the direction of Vasques Tohor. The dust doubtless results from the war now being fought."

  Rhialto frowned across the plain. "What war is this?"

  The girls laughed at Rhialto's ignorance. "It was launched by the Bohulic Dukes of East Attuck; they brought their battle-gangs down in great numbers and threw them without remorse against Vasques Tohor, but they can never prevail against the King of all Kings and his Thousand Knights."

  "Very likely not," said Rhialto. "Still, from curiosity I will wander northward and see for myself. I now bid you farewell."

  The girls slowly returned to the thicket, but their enthusiasm for berry-picking was gone, and they worked with laggard fingers, watching over their shoulders at the tall form of Rhialto as he sauntered off to the north.

  Rhialto proceeded half a mile, then climbed into the air and ran through the sky toward Vasques Tohor.

  By the time he arrived on the scene, the battle had been decided. The Bohul battle-gangs, with their memrils and rumbling war-wagons, had done the unthinkable; on the Finneian Plain east of Vasques Tohor the Twenty Potences of the Last Kingdom had been destroyed; Vasques Tohor could no longer be denied to the Bohul Dukes.

  The tragic peach-rose light of late afternoon illuminated a clutter of smoke, dust, toppled machines and broken corpses. Legions of long pedigree and many honours had been smashed; their standards and uniforms bedizened the field with colour. The Thousand Knights, riding half-living, half-metal flyers from Canopus, had thrown themselves against the Bohul war-wagons, but for the most part had been destroyed by fire-rays before they could do damage in return.

  The war-wagons now commanded the plain: grim, dismal vehicles rearing sixty feet into the air, armed with both Red Ruin and barb-drivers. On the first tier and wherever they could cling rode assault troops from East Attuck. These were not pretty troops; they were neither handsome, nor clean-limbed nor even dauntless. Rather they were surly veterans of many types and conditions, with only dirt, sweat and foul language in common. At first glance they seemed no more than a rabble, lacking both discipline and morale. Some were old, bearded and pallid; others were bald and fat, or bandy-legged, or thin
as weasels. All were unkempt, with faces more petulant than ferocious. Their uniforms were improvised; some wore skull-caps, others leather battle-caps with ear-flaps, others tufted barb-catchers adorned with scalps cut from the blond young heads of the Thousand Knights. Such were the troops which had defeated the Twenty Legions, skulking, hiding, striking, feigning death, striking again, screaming in pain but never fear; the Iron Dukes had long before sated them full with fright.