by Jack Vance
“This is judicious,” agreed the servitor. “Undoubtedly you will wish to discharge both Sarman the chamberlain and Bilbab the under-cook when their peccancies come to light. As for myself, when your lordship restores Cil to its ancient grandeur, perhaps there will be a modest sinecure for Yodo, the most loyal and cooperative of your servants.”
Cugel made a gracious gesture. “If such an event comes to pass—and it is my heart’s desire—you shall not be neglected. For the present I shall remain quietly in this apartment. You may bring hither a suitable repast, with a variety of choice wines.”
Yodo performed a sweeping bow. “As your lordship desires.” He departed. Cugel relaxed upon the most comfortable couch of the chamber and fell to studying the amulet which had so promptly aroused Yodo’s fidelity. The runes, as before, were inscrutable; the carbuncles produced only groans, which, while diverting, were of small practical utility. Cugel attempted every exhortation, compulsion, rigor, and enjoinment his smattering of wizardry provided, to no avail.
Yodo returned to the apartment, but without the repast Cugel had ordered.
“Your lordship,” stated Yodo, “I have the honor to convey to you an invitation from Derwe Coreme, erstwhile ruler of Cil, to attend her at the evening banquet.”
“How is this possible?” demanded Cugel. “She has had no information of my presence; as I recall, I gave you specific instructions in this regard.”
Yodo performed another sweeping bow. “Naturally I obeyed, your lordship. The wiles of Derwe Coreme exceed my understanding. By some device she learned of your presence and so has issued the invitation which you have just heard.”
“Very well,” said Cugel glumly. “Be so good as to lead the way. You mentioned my amulet to her?”
“Derwe Coreme knows all,” was Yodo’s ambiguous reply. “This way, your lordship, if you please.”
He led Cugel along the old corridors, finally through a tall narrow arch into a great hall. To either side stood a row of what appeared to be men-at-arms in brass armor with helmets of checkered bone and jet; there were forty in all, but only six suits of armor were occupied by living men, the others being supported on racks. Telamons of exaggerated elongation and grotesquely distorted visage supported the smoky beams; a rich rug of green concentric circles on a black ground covered the floor.
Derwe Coreme sat at the end of a circular table, this so massive as to give her the seeming of a girl, a sullen, brooding girl of the most delicate beauty. Cugel approached with a confident mien, halted and bowed curtly. Derwe Coreme inspected him with gloomy resignation, her eyes dwelling upon the amulet. She drew a deep breath. “Who do I have the privilege to address?”
“My name is of no consequence,” said Cugel. “You may address me as ‘Exalted.’ ”
Derwe Coreme shrugged indifferently. “As you will. I seem to recall your face. You resemble a vagabond whom lately I ordered whipped.”
“I am that vagabond,” said Cugel. “I cannot say that your conduct has failed to leave a residue of resentment and I am now here to demand an explanation.” And Cugel touched a carbuncle, evoking so desolate and heartfelt a groan that the crystalware rattled on the table.
Derwe Coreme blinked and her mouth sagged. She spoke ungraciously. “It appears that my actions were poorly conceived. I failed to perceive your exalted condition, and thought you only the ill-conditioned scapegrace your appearance suggests.”
Cugel stepped forward, put his hand under the small pointed chin, and turned up the exquisite face. ‘‘Yet you besought me to visit you at your palace. Do you recall this?”
Derwe Coreme gave a grudging nod.
‘‘Just so,” said Cugel. ‘‘I am here.”
Derwe Coreme smiled, and for a brief period became winsome. “So you are, and knave, vagabond, or whatever your nature, you wear the amulet by which the House of Slaye ruled across two hundred generations. You are of this house?”
“In due course you will know me well,” said Cugel. “I am a generous man, though given to caprice, and were it not for a certain Firx— Be that as it may, I hunger, and now I invite you to share the banquet which I have ordered the excellent Yodo to set before me. Kindly be good enough to move a place or two aside, and I will be seated.”
Derwe Coreme hesitated, whereupon Cugel’s hand went suggestively toward the amulet. She moved with alacrity and Cugel settled himself into the seat she had vacated. He rapped on the table: “Yodo? Where is Yodo?”
“I am here, Exalted!”
“Bring forth the banquet: the finest fare the palace offers!”
Yodo bowed, scuttled away, and presently a line of footmen appeared bearing trays and flagons, and a banquet more than meeting Cugel’s specifications was arranged on the table.
Cugel brought forth the periapt provided by Iucounu the Laughing Magician, which not only converted organic waste to nourishment, but also chimed warning in the presence of noxious substances. The first few courses were salubrious and Cugel ate with gusto. The old wines of Cil were as beneficial, and Cugel drank freely from goblets of black glass, carved cinnabar, and ivory inlaid with turquoise and mother-of-pearl.
Derwe Coreme toyed with her food and sipped her wine, watching Cugel thoughtfully all the while. Further delicacies were brought, and now Derwe Coreme leaned forward. “You truly plan to rule Cil?”
“Such is my heart’s desire!” declared Cugel with fervor.
Derwe Coreme moved close to him. “Do you then take me as your consort? Say yes; you will be more than content.”
“We will see, we will see,” said Cugel expansively. “Tonight is tonight, tomorrow is tomorrow. Many changes will be made, this is certain.”
Derwe Coreme smiled faintly, and nodded to Yodo. “Bring the most ancient of our vintages—we will drink the health of the new Lord of Cil.”
Yodo bowed, and brought a dull flagon webbed and dusty, which he decanted with utmost solicitude, and poured into crystal goblets. Cugel raised his goblet, and the charm purred warning. Cugel abruptly set down the goblet, and watched as Derwe Coreme raised hers to her lips. He reached forth, took the goblet, and again the charm purred. Poison in both? Strange. Perhaps she had not intended to drink. Perhaps she had already ingested an antidote.
Cugel signaled Yodo. “Another goblet, if you please . . . and the decanter.” Cugel poured a third measure and again the charm signified direness. Cugel said, “Though my acquaintance with the excellent Yodo is of short duration, I hereby elevate him to the post of Major-Domo of the Palace!”
“Exalted,” stammered Yodo, “this is a signal honor indeed.”
“Drink then of the ancient vintage, to solemnize this new dignity!”
Yodo bowed low. “With the most heartfelt gratitude, Exalted.” He raised the goblet and drank. Derwe Coreme watched indifferently. Yodo put down the goblet, frowned, gave a convulsive jerk, turned a startled glance at Cugel, fell to the rug, cried out, twitched, and lay still.
Cugel frowningly inspected Derwe Coreme. She appeared as startled as had Yodo. Now she turned to look at him. “Why did you poison Yodo?”
“It was your doing,” said Cugel. “Did you not order poison in the wine?”
“No.”
“You must say ‘No, Exalted.’ ”
“No, Exalted.”
“If you did not—who?”
“I am perplexed. The poison perhaps was meant for me.” “Or both of us.” Cugel signaled one of the footmen. “Remove the corpse of Yodo.”
The footman signaled a pair of hooded under-servants, who carried off the unfortunate major-domo.
Cugel took the crystal goblets and stared down into the amber liquid, but did not communicate his thoughts. Derwe Coreme leaned back in her chair and contemplated him at length. “I am puzzled,” she said presently. “You are a man past the teaching of my experience. I cannot decide upon the color of your soul.”
Cugel was charmed by the quaint turn of phrase. “You see souls in color, then?”
“Ind
eed. It was the birth-gift of a lady sorceress, who also provided me my walking boat. She is dead and I am alone, with no friend nor any who thinks of me with love. And so I have ruled Cil with little joy. And now you are here, with a soul which flickers through many colors, like that of no human man to come before me.”
Cugel forebore to mention Firx, whose own spiritual exhalation, mingling with that of Cugel’s, undoubtedly caused the variegation Derwe Coreme had noted. “There is a reason for this effect,” said Cugel, “which in due course will be voided, or so I hope. Until then, you may regard my soul as one shining with the purest ray imaginable.”
“I will try to keep this in mind, Exalted.”
Cugel frowned. In Derwe Coreme’s remarks and the poise of her head he noted barely concealed insolence, which he found exasperating. Still, there was ample time to correct the matter after learning the use of the amulet, a business of prime urgency. Cugel leaned back into the cushions, and spoke as one who muses idly: “Everywhere at this time of Earth’s dying exceptional circumstances are to be noted. Recently, at the manse of Iucounu the Laughing Magician, I saw a great libram which indexed all the writings of magic, and all styles of thaumaturgical rune. Perhaps you have similar volumes in your library?’’
“It well may be,” said Derwe Coreme. “The Fourteenth Garth Haxt of Slaye was a diligent collator, and compiled a voluminous pandect on the subject.”
Cugel clapped his hands together. “I wish to see this important work at once!”
Derwe Coreme looked at him in wonder. “Are you then such a bibliophile? A pity, because the Eighth Rubel Zaff ordered this particular compendium submerged off Cape Horizon.”
Cugel made a sour face. “Are no other treatises at hand?” “Doubtless,” said Derwe Coreme. “The library occupies the whole of the north wing. But will not tomorrow suffice for your research?” And, stretching in languid warmth, she contrived to twist her body into first one luxurious position, then another.
Cugel drank deep from a black glass goblet. “Yes, there is no haste in this matter. And now-” he was interrupted by a woman of middle age in voluminous brown garments, evidently one of the under-servants, who at this moment rushed into the hall. She was shouting hysterically and several footmen sprang forward to support her. Between racking sobs she made clear the source of her anguish: an abominable act only just now committed by the ghoul upon her daughter.
Derwe Coreme gracefully indicated Cugel. “Here is the new Lord of Cil; he has vast powers of magic and will order the ghoul destroyed. Will you not, Exalted?”
Cugel thoughtfully rubbed his chin. A dilemma indeed. The woman and all the servitors fell down upon their knees. “Exalted!” cried the woman. “If you control this corrosive magic, employ it instantly to destroy the vile ghoul!”
Cugel winced, and turning his head met Derwe Coreme’s thoughtful gaze. He jumped to his feet. “What need I of magic when I can wield a sword? I will hack the creature organ from organ!” He signaled the six men-at-arms who stood by in their brass armor. “Come! Bring torches! We fare forth to dismember the ghoul!”
The men-at-arms obeyed without enthusiasm. Cugel herded them toward the great portal. “When I fling wide the doors, rush forth with the torches to create a blaze which will illuminate the evil being! Have swords drawn so that when I send him reeling you may strike the coup de grace!”
The men-at-arms, each with torch and drawn sword, stood before the portal. Cugel slid back the bolts and flung wide the portals. “Out! Shine upon the ghoul, the last light of his existence!”
The men-at-arms raced desperately forth, with Cugel swaggering after, flourishing his sword. The men-at-arms paused at the head of the steps, to look uncertainly out over the promenade, from which a quiet horrid sound could be heard.
Cugel looked over his shoulder to see Derwe Coreme watching attentively from the doorway. “Forward!” he shouted. “Surround this wretched creature, whose death is now upon him!”
The men-at-arms gingerly descended the steps, with Cugel marching to the rear. “Hack with a will!” he called. “There is ample glory for all! The man who fails to deal a stroke I blast by magic!”
The flickering lights shone on the pedestals, ranging in a long line to merge at last with the darkness. “Forward!” cried Cugel. “Where is this bestial being? Why does he not appear to receive his deserts?” And Cugel peered through the wavering shadows, hoping the ghoul by now would have taken alarm and fled.
At his side came a small sound. Turning, Cugel saw a tall pale shape standing quietly. The men-at-arms gasped, and fled incontinently up the broad stones. “Slay the beast by magic, Exalted!” called the sergeant. “The most expeditious method is often the best!”
The ghoul came forward; Cugel stumbled back. The ghoul took a quick step forward. Cugel sprang behind a pedestal.
The ghoul swung out its arm; Cugel hacked with his sword, sprang to the protection of another pedestal, then raced with great agility back across the terrace. The door was already closing; Cugel flung himself through the dwindling aperture. He heaved the door shut, and thrust home the bolts. The ghoul’s weight slammed against the timbers and the bolts creaked in protest.
Cugel turned to meet the bright-eyed appraisal of Derwe Coreme.
“What ensued?” she asked. “Why did you not slay the ghoul?”
“The warriors decamped with the torches,” said Cugel. “I could see neither where to hack nor where to hew.”
“Strange,” mused Derwe Coreme. “There seemed ample illumination for so negligible an exercise. Why did you not employ the power of the amulet to rend the ghoul limb from limb?”
“So simple and quick a death is unsuitable,” stated Cugel with dignity. “I must cogitate at length, and decide how he may best expiate his crimes.”
“Indeed,” said Derwe Coreme. “Indeed.”
Cugel strode back into the great hall. “Back to the banquet! Let the wine flow! Everyone must drink to the accession of the new Lord of Cil!”
Derwe Coreme said in a silky voice, “If you please, Exalted, make some display of the power of the amulet, to gratify our curiosity!”
“Certainly!” And Cugel touched carbuncle after carbuncle, producing rumbles and groans of grievous woe, with occasionally a wail or scream.
“Can you do more?” inquired Derwe Coreme, smiling the soft smile of an impish child.
“Indeed, should I so choose. But enough! Drink one and all!”
Derwe Coreme signaled the sergeant of the guard. “Take sword and strike off the fool’s arm; bring me the amulet.”
“With pleasure, Great Lady.” The sergeant advanced with bared blade.
Cugel shouted, “Stay! One more step and magic will turn each of your bones at right angles!”
The sergeant looked to Derwe Coreme, who laughed. “As I bade you, or fear my revenge, which is as you know.” The sergeant winced, and marched forward again. But now an under-servitor rushed to Cugel, and under his hood Cugel saw the seamed face of old Slaye. “I will save you. Show me the amulet!”
Cugel allowed the eager fingers to grope among the carbuncles. Slaye pressed one of these, and called something in a voice so exultant and shrill that the syllables were lost. There was a great fluttering, and an enormous black shape stood at the back of the hall. “Who torments me?” it moaned. “Who will give me surcease?”
“I!” cried Slaye. “Advance through the hall; kill all but myself!”
“No!” cried Cugel. “It is I who possess the amulet! I whom you must obey! Kill all but me!”
Derwe Coreme clutched at Cugel’s arm, striving to see the amulet. “It avails nothing unless you call him by name! We are all lost!”
“What is his name?” cried Cugel. “Counsel me!”
“Hold back!” declared Slaye. “I have considered-”
Cugel dealt him a blow and sprang behind the table. The demon was approaching, pausing to pluck up the men-at-arms and dash them against the walls. Derwe Coreme ran to Cugel.
“Let me see the amulet; do you know nothing whatever? I will order him!”
“By no means!” said Cugel. “Am I Cugel the Clever for nothing? Show me which carbuncle, recite me the name.” Derwe Coreme bent her head, read the rune, thrust out to press a carbuncle, but Cugel knocked her arm aside. “What name? Or we all die!”
“Call on Vanille! Press here, call on Vanille!”
Cugel pressed the carbuncle. “Vanille! Halt this strife!” The black demon heeded not at all. There was a second great sound, and a second demon appeared. Derwe Coreme cried out in terror. “It was not Vanille; show me the amulet once more!”
But there was insufficient time; the black demon was upon them.
“Vanille!” bellowed Cugel. “Destroy this black monster!"
Vanille was low and broad, and of a swimming green color, with eyes like scarlet lights. It flung itself upon the first demon, and the terrible bellow of the encounter stunned the ears, and eyes could not follow the frenzy of the fight. The walls shuddered as the great forces struck and rebounded. The table splintered under great splayed feet; Derwe Coreme was flung into a corner. Cugel crawled after, to find her crumpled and staring, half-conscious but bereft of will. Cugel thrust the amulet before her eyes. “Read the runes! Call forth the names; each I will try in turn! Quick, to save our lives!"
But Derwe Coreme merely made a soft motion with her lips. Behind, the black demon, mounted astride Vanille, was methodically clawing up handfuls of his substance and casting it aside, while Vanille bellowed and screamed and turned his ferocious head this way and that, snapping and snarling, striking with great green arms. The black demon plunged its arms deep, seized some central node and Vanille became a sparkling green slime of a myriad parts, each gleam and sparkle flitting and quivering and dissolving into the stone.
Slaye stood grinning above Cugel. “Do you wish your life? Hand here the amulet and I spare you. Delay one instant and you are dead!”
Cugel divested himself of the amulet, but could not bring himself to relinquish it. He said with sudden cunning, “I can give the amulet to the demon.”
