by Jack Vance
“Let me clarify the idea by an analogy. If the Eagle were conducting a test to determine the King of Beasts, he would rate all the candidates on their ability to fly; necessarily he would win. In this fashion the Mole would consider ability to dig important; by his system of testing he would inevitably emerge King of Beasts.”
Prime laughed sharply, ran a hand through his sparse red-brown locks. “I am neither Eagle nor Mole.”
The Chief Elder shook his head. “No. You are zealous, dutiful, imaginative, indefatigable—so you have demonstrated, as much by specifying tests for these characteristics as by scoring high in these same tests. But conversely, by the very absence of other tests you demonstrate deficiencies in your character.”
“And these are?”
“Sympathy. Compassion. Kindness.” The Chief Elder settled back in his chair. “Strange. Your predecessor two times removed was rich in these qualities. During his term, the great humanitarian systems based on the idea of human brotherhood sprang up across the universe. Another example of resonance—but I digress.”
Prime said with a sardonic twitch of his mouth, “May I ask this: have you selected the next Galactic Prime?”
The Chief Elder nodded. “A definite choice has been made.”
“What was his score in the test?”
“By your scoring system—seventeen eighty. He did poorly as Arthur Caversham; he tried to explain the advantages of nudity to the policeman. He lacked the ability to concoct an instant subterfuge; he has little of your quick craft. As Arthur Caversham he found himself naked. He is sincere and straightforward, hence tried to expound the positive motivations for his state, rather than discover the means to evade the penalties.”
“Tell me more about this man,” said Prime shortly.
“As Bearwald the Halforn, he led his band to the hive of the Brands on Mount Medallion, but instead of burning the hive, he called forth to the queen, begging her to end the useless slaughter. She reached out from the doorway, drew him within and killed him. He failed—but the computer still rated him highly on his forthright approach.
“At Therlatch, his conduct was as irreproachable as yours, and at the Imagicon his performance was adequate. Yours approached the brilliance of the Master Imagists, which is high achievement indeed..
“The Rac tortures are the most trying element of the test. You knew well you could resist limitless pain; therefore you ordained that all other candidates must likewise possess this attribute. The new Prime is sadly deficient here. He is sensitive, and the idea of one man intentionally inflicting pain upon another sickens him. I may add that none of the candidates achieved a perfect count in the last episode. Two others equaled your score-”
Prime evinced interest. “Which are they?”
The Chief Elder pointed them out—a tall hard-muscled man with rock-hewn face standing by the alabaster balustrade gazing moodily out across the sunny distance, and a man of middle age who sat with his legs folded under him, watching a point three feet before him with an expression of imperturbable placidity.
“One is utterly obstinate and hard,” said the Chief Elder. “He refused to say a single word. The other assumes an outer objectivity when unpleasantness overtakes him. Others among the candidates fared not so well; therapy will be necessary in almost all cases.”
Their eyes went to the witless creature with vacant eyes who padded up and down the aisle, humming and muttering quietly to himself.
“The tests were by no means valueless,” said the Chief Elder. “We learned a great deal. By your system of scoring, the competition rated you most high. By other standards which we Elders postulated, your place was lower.”
With a tight mouth, Prime inquired, “Who is this paragon of altruism, kindliness, sympathy, and generosity?”
The lunatic wandered close, fell on his hands and knees, crawled whimpering to the wall. He pressed his face to the cool stone, stared blankly up at Prime. His mouth hung loose, his chin was wet, his eyes rolled apparently free of each other.
The Chief Elder smiled in great compassion; he stroked the mad creature’s head. “This is he. Here is the man we select.”
The old Galactic Prime sat silent, mouth compressed, eyes burning like far volcanoes.
At his feet the new Prime, Lord of Two Billion Suns, found a dead leaf, put it into his mouth and began to chew.
Cil
This is an episode from The Eyes of the Over-world, or Cugel, to use the original title. The time and circumstances are those of “Guyal of Sfere,” which is to say, the far far future.
Cugel, having annoyed Iucounu the Laughing Magician, has been sent into the dismal regions of the north on a mission. To ensure Cugel's expeditious return, Iucounu has introduced an ill-natured creature known as Firx into Cugel's body.
Sunset across the northern wastelands was a mournful process, languid as the bleeding of a dead animal; twilight came to find Cugel toiling across a salt marsh. The dark red light of afternoon had deceived him; starting across a low-lying barrens, he first found dankness underfoot, then a soggy softness, and now on all sides were mud, bog-grass, a few larches and willows, puddles and sloughs reflecting the leaden purple of the sky.
To the east were low hills; toward these Cugel proceeded, jumping from tussock to tussock, running delicately over the crusted slime. At times he missed his footing, to sprawl into mud or rotting reeds, whereupon his threats and imprecations in regard to Iucounu the Laughing Magician reached a maximum of rancor.
Dusk held until, tottering with fatigue, he reached the slope of the eastern hills, where his condition was worsened rather than improved. Certain half-human bandits had noted his approach, and now they set upon him. A vile reek reached Cugel even before the sound of their footsteps; fatigue forgotten, he sprang away, and was pursued up the slope.
A shattered tower rose against the sky. Cugel clambered over moldering stones, drew his sword, and stepped into the gape that once had served as doorway. Within was silence, the odor of dust and damp stone; Cugel dropped to his knee and against the skyline saw the three grotesque shapes come to a halt at the edge of the ruins.
Odd, thought Cugel, though gratifying—if coincidentally somewhat ominous. The creatures apparently feared the tower.
The last vestige of twilight departed; by various portents Cugel came to understand that the tower was haunted. Near the middle of night a ghost appeared, wearing pale robes and a silver fillet supporting twenty moonstones on long silver stalks. It swirled close to Cugel, staring down with vacant eye-sockets into which a man might lose his thoughts. Cugel pressed back against the wall so that his bones creaked, unable to move a muscle.
The ghost spoke: “Demolish this fort. While stone joins stone I must stay, even while Earth grows cold and swings through darkness.”
“Willingly,” croaked Cugel, “if it were not for those outside who seek my life.”
“To the back of the hall is a passage. Use stealth and strength, then do my behest.”
“The fort is as good as razed,” declared Cugel fervently. “But what circumstances bound you to so unremitting a post?”
“They are forgotten; I remain. Perform my charge, or I curse you with an everlasting tedium like my own!”
Cugel awoke in the dark, aching with cold and cramp. The ghost had vanished; how long had he slept? He looked through the door to find the eastern sky colored by the approach of dawn.
After an interminable wait the sun appeared, sending a flaming ray through the door and to the back of the hall. Here Cugel found a stone stairway descending to a dusty passage, which after five minutes of slow groping returned him to the surface. From concealment he surveyed the ground and saw the three bandits, at separate points, each hidden behind a tumbled pillar.
Cugel unsheathed his sword and with great caution stole forth. He reached the first prone figure, and thrust steel into the corded neck. The creature flung out its arms, groped at the ground, and died.
Cugel wrenched free his bla
de and wiped it on the leather of the corpse. With the deftest and most facile stealth he came up behind the second bandit, which in its dying made a sound of distress. The third bandit came to investigate.
Springing from concealment, Cugel ran it through.' The bandit screamed, drew its own dagger and lunged, but Cugel leapt back and hurled a heavy stone which felled it to the ground. Here it lay, grimacing in hate.
Cugel came cautiously forward. “Since you face death, tell me what you know of hidden treasure.”
“I know of none,” said the bandit. “Were there such you would be the last to learn, for you have killed me.”
“This is no fault of mine,” said Cugel. “You pursued me, not I you. Why did you do so?”
“To eat, to survive, though life and death are equally barren and I despise both equally.”
Cugel reflected. “In this case you need not resent my part in the transition which you now face. The question regarding hidden valuables again becomes relevant. Perhaps you have a final word on this matter?”
“I have a final word. I display my single treasure.” The creature groped in its pouch and withdrew a round white pebble. “This is the skull-stone of a grue, and at this moment it trembles with force. I use this force to curse you, to bring upon you the immediate onset of cankerous death.”
Cugel hastily killed the bandit, then heaved a dismal sigh. The night had brought only difficulty. “Iucounu, if I survive, there shall be a reckoning indeed!”
Cugel turned to examine the fort. Certain of the stones would fall at a touch; others would require much more effort. He might well not survive to perform the task. What were the terms of the bandit’s curse? . . . “immediate onset of cankerous death.” Sheer viciousness. The ghost-king’s curse was no less oppressive; how had it gone? . . . “everlasting tedium.”
Cugel rubbed his chin and nodded gravely. Raising his voice he called, “Lord ghost, I may not stay to do your bidding: I have killed the bandits and now I depart. Farewell and may the eons pass with dispatch.”
From the depths of the fort came a moan, and Cugel felt the pressure of the unknown. “I activate my curse!” came a whisper to Cugel’s brain.
Cugel strode quickly away to the southeast. “Excellent; all is well. The ‘everlasting tedium’ exactly contravenes the ‘immediate onset of death,’ and I am left only with the ‘canker’ which, in the person of Firx, already afflicts me. One must use his wits in dealing with maledictions.”
He proceeded over the barrens until the fort was beyond vision, and presently came once more to the sea. Mounting the foreshore, he looked up and down the beach, to see a dark headland to east and another to west. He descended to the beach and set off to the east. The sea, sluggish and gray, sent listless surf against the sand, which was smooth, unmarked by footprint.
Ahead Cugel spied a dark blot which a moment later proved to be an aged man on his knees, passing the sand of the beach through a sieve.
Cugel halted to watch. The old man gave him a dignified nod and proceeded with his work.
Cugel’s curiosity at last prompted him to speak. “What do you seek so assiduously?”
The old man put down his sieve and rubbed his arms. “Somewhere along the beach an amulet was lost by the father of my great-grandfather. During his entire life he sifted sand, hoping to find that which he had lost. His son, and after him my grandfather, then my father and now I, the last of my line, have done likewise. All the way from Cil we have sifted sand, but there is yet six leagues to Benbadge Stull.”
“These names are unknown to me,” said Cugel. “What place is Benbadge Stull?”
The old man indicated the headland to the west. “An ancient port, though now you will find only a crumbled breakwater, an old jetty, a hut or two. Yet barques from Benbadge Stull once plied the sea to Falgunto and Mell.”
“Again, regions beyond my knowledge,” said Cugel. “What lies beyond Benbadge Stull?”
“The land dwindles into the north. The sun hangs low over marsh and bog; there are none to be found there but a few forlorn outcasts.”
Cugel turned his attention to the east. “And what place is Cil?”
“This entire domain is Cil, which my ancestor forfeited to the House of Domber. All grandeur is gone; there remains the ancient palace and a village. Behind, the land becomes a dark and dangerous forest, so much has our realm dwindled.” The old man shook his head and returned to his sieving.
Cugel stood watching a moment, then, kicking idly in the sand, uncovered a glint of metal. Stooping, he picked up a bracelet of black metal shining with a purple luster. Around the circumference were thirty studs in the form of carbuncles, each circled by a set of engraved runes. “Ha!” exclaimed Cugel, displaying the bracelet. “Notice this fine object: a treasure indeed!”
The old man put down scoop and sieve, rose slowly to his knees, then to his feet. He lurched, blue eyes round and staring. He held forth his hand. “You have uncovered the amulet of my ancestors, the House of Slaye! Give it to me!”
Cugel stepped back. “Come, come, you make a flagrantly unreasonable request!”
“No no! The amulet is mine; you do wrong by withholding it. Do you wish to vitiate the work of my lifetime and of four lifetimes before mine?”
“Why do you not rejoice that the amulet has been found?” demanded Cugel peevishly. “You are now relieved from further search. Explain, if you will, the potency of this amulet. It exhales a heavy magic; how does it profit the owner?”
“The owner is myself,” groaned the old man. “I implore you, be generous!”
“You put me in an uncomfortable position,” said Cugel. “My property is too small to admit of largesse but I cannot consider this a failure of generosity. If you had found the amulet, would you have given it to me?”
“No, since it is mine!”
“Here we disagree. Assume, if you will, that your conviction is incorrect. Your eyesight will attest that the amulet is in my hands, under my control, and, in short, my property. I would appreciate, therefore, any information upon its capabilities and mode of employment.”
The old man threw his arms in the air, kicked his sieve with such wild emotion that he burst out the mesh and the sieve went trundling down the beach to the water’s edge. A wave swept in and floated the sieve; the old man made an involuntary motion to retrieve it, then once more threw up his hands and tottered up the foreshore. Cugel gave his head a shake of grave disapproval, and turned to continue east along the beach.
Now occurred an unpleasant altercation with Firx, who was convinced that the most expeditious return to Almery lay west through the port of Benbadge Stull. Cugel clasped his hands to his belly in distress. “There is but. one feasible route! By means of the lands which lie to the south and east. What if the ocean offers a more direct route? There are no boats to hand; it is not possible to swim so great a distance!”
Firx administered a few dubious pangs, but finally permitted Cugel to continue eastward along the shore. Behind, on the ridge of the foreshore, sat the old man, scoop dangling between his legs, staring out to sea.
Cugel proceeded along the beach, well pleased with the events of the morning. He examined the amulet at length: it exuded a rich sense of magic, and in addition was an object of no small beauty. The runes, incised with great skill and delicacy, unfortunately were beyond his capacity to decipher. He gingerly slipped the bracelet on his wrist, and in so doing pressed one of the carbuncles. From somewhere came an abysmal groan, a sound of the deepest anguish. Cugel stopped short and looked up and down the beach. Gray sea, pallid beach, foreshore with clumps of spinifex. Benbadge Stull to west, Cil to east, gray sky above. He was alone. Whence had come the great groan?
Cautiously Cugel touched the carbuncle again, and again evoked the stricken protest.
In fascination Cugel pressed another of the carbuncles, this time bringing forth a wail of piteous despair in a different voice. Cugel was puzzled. Who along this sullen shore manifested so frivolous a dis
position? Each carbuncle in turn he pressed and caused to be produced a whole concert of outcries, ranging the gamut of anguish and pain. Cugel examined the amulet critically. Beyond the evocation of groans and sobs it displayed no obvious power and Cugel presently tired of the occupation.
The sun reached its zenith. Cugel appeased his hunger with seaweed, which he rendered nutritious by rubbing it with the charm Iucounu had provided for this purpose. As he ate he seemed to hear voices and careless prattling laughter, so indistinct that it might have been the sound of the surf. A tongue of rock protruded into the ocean nearby; listening carefully, Cugel discovered the voices to be coming from this direction. They were clear and childlike, and rang with innocent gaiety.
He went cautiously out upon the rock. At the far end, where the ocean surged and dark water heaved, four large shells had attached themselves. These now were open; heads looked forth, attached to naked shoulders and arms. The heads were round and fair, with soft cheeks, blue-gray eyes, tufts of pale hair. The creatures dipped their fingers in the water, and from the drops they pulled thread which they deftly wove into a fine soft fabric. Cugel’s shadow fell on the water; instantly the creatures clamped themselves into their shells.
“How so?” exclaimed Cugel jocularly. “Do you always lock yourselves apart at the sight of a strange face? Are you so timorous then? Or merely surly?”
The shells remained closed. Dark water twirled over the fluted surfaces.
Cugel came a step closer, squatted on his haunches and cocked his head askew. “Or perhaps you are proud? So that you withdraw yourselves in disdain? Or is it that you lack grace?”
Still no response. Cugel remained as before and began to whistle, trilling a tune he had heard at the Azenomei Fair.
