Emphyrio

by Jack Vance

  The lords frowned up toward the sky, looked north across the open savannah without enthusiasm.

  Ghyl said politely, “I discharged your luggage from the yacht. If you have garments more durable I suggest you change into them.”

  The lords and ladies paid him no heed. Ghyl divided the provisions into three lots; with vast distaste the lords slung their share of the parcels over their shoulders, and so they set out.

  As they trudged across the savannah, Ghyl thought: “Twice now I have saved these lords from death. Beyond all doubt, on the instant that I deliver them to civilization, they will denounce me for a pirate. I will be expelled, or whatever the local penalty. So then, what shall I do?”

  Had Ghyl been less concerned for the future he might have enjoyed the journey across the savannah. The lords were a constant source of wonder. By turns they patronized and insulted Ghyl, then refused to acknowledge his existence. He was continually surprised by their superficiality and petulance, by their almost total inability to come to rational terms with their environment. They were in awe of open spaces and ran to reach the shelter of a tree. Their heritage, so Ghyl decided, was responsible for their conduct. For centuries they had lived like pampered children, required to make no decisions, to meet no emergencies. They were concerned, therefore, with little beyond the immediate moment. Their emotions, though dramatic, were never profound. After the first few hours Ghyl accepted their foibles with equanimity. But how to deliver them safely to civilization and at the same time escape with a whole skin? The prospect of becoming a fugitive on a strange planet caused Ghyl foreboding.

  The lords immediately made it clear that they preferred night to day as a time for travel. With disarming candor they informed Ghyl that the spaces seemed not so vast, and the glare of brilliant Capella would thereby be avoided. But a number of sinister beasts roamed the savannah. Ghyl feared one in particular: a sinuous creature twenty feet long with a thin flat body and eight long legs. This he thought of as ‘the slinker’, from its mode of movement. In the dark it could slide up to them unobserved and seize them in its claws. There were other creatures almost as horrid; short bounding beasts like metal barrels studded with spikes; giant serpents gliding on a hundred minuscule legs; packs of hairless red wolves, which twice forced the group to climb into trees. So despite the inclination of the lords, Ghyl refused to travel after dark. Fanton threatened to go forward without him, but after hearing a set of ominous calls and hoots decided to remain near the protection of the weapon. Ghyl built a roaring fire under a big sponge tree and the group ate a portion of the food.

  Now Ghyl broached the subject which was at the top of his mind. “I am in a peculiar position,” he told Fanton and Ilseth. “As you know, I was a member of the group which thrust these inconveniences upon you.”

  “The fact is seldom out of my mind,” said Fanton curtly.

  “This then is my dilemma. I meant no harm for you or the ladies. I wanted only your yacht. Now I feel it my duty to help you to civilization.”

  Fanton, looking into the fire, responded only with a grim and ominous nod.

  “If I left you alone,” Ghyl went on, “I doubt if you would survive. But I also must think of my own interests. I want your word of honor that if I help you to security you will not denounce me to the authorities.”

  Lady Jacinth sputtered in outrage. “You dare make conditions? Look at us, our indignities, discomfort, and yet—”

  “Lady Jacinth, you misunderstand!” exclaimed Ghyl.

  Ilseth made an indifferent gesture. “Very well, I agree. After all, the man has done his best for us.”

  “What?” demanded Fanton in a passionate voice. “This is the spiteful lout who robbed me of my yacht! I promise only that he’ll be well punished!”

  “In that case,” said Ghyl, “we shall separate, and go different ways.”

  “So long as you leave the weapon with us.”

  “Hah! I’ll do nothing of the sort.”

  Ilseth said, “Come, Fanton, be reasonable. This is an unusual situation. We must be large-hearted!” He turned to Ghyl. “So far as I am concerned the piracy is forgotten.”

  “And you, Lord Fanton?”

  Fanton gave a sour grunt. “Oh, very well.”

  “And the ladies?”

  “They will remain discreet, or so I suppose.”

  A soft breeze came out of the dark, wafting a vile scent which caused Ghyl a prickling uneasiness. The lords and ladies seemed not to notice.

  Ghyl rose to his feet and peered out into the darkness. He turned back to find the lords and ladies already composing themselves for rest.

  “No, no!” he said urgently. “For safety we should climb the tree, as high as possible.”

  The lords gazed stonily at him, making no movement.

  “As you wish,” said Ghyl. “Your lives are your own.” He stoked the fire with the limbs of a dead tree, evoking a peevish complaint from Fanton. “Must you make such a furious blaze? Fire is detestable.”

  “There are beasts out yonder,” said Ghyl. “The fire will at least allow us to see them. And I urge that everyone climb the tree.”

  “Ridiculous, perched in the branches,” declared Lady Radance. “How could we rest? Is there no consideration for our fatigue?”

  “You are very vulnerable on the ground,” said Ghyl politely. “In the tree you will not rest as well but you will be more secure.” He scrambled up into the branches and wedged himself into a high crotch.

  On the ground the lords and ladies muttered uneasily. At last Shanne jumped to her feet and climbed the tree. Fanton assisted Lady Radance; together they scrambled to a branch near Ghyl. Lady Jacinth, complaining bitterly, refused to climb higher than a heavy limb ten feet from the ground. Ilseth shook his head in exasperation and perched himself on another branch somewhat higher.

  The fire burnt low. From the darkness came a set of thudding sounds, a far wail. Everyone sat quietly.

  Time passed. Ghyl dozed fretfully. Halfway through the night he became aware of a vile stench. The fire was almost dead.

  There came a sound of heavy slow footsteps. A huge dark creature came padding across the turf. It paused beneath the tree with one foot in the embers. Then it reached up, plucked Lady Jacinth from the low branch and carried her off screaming horribly. Ghyl could not see to aim the weapon. All climbed higher and slept no more.

  The night was long indeed. Fanton and Ilseth crouched in silence near the top of the tree. Lady Radance made an intermittent fluting sound, like the warbling of a petulant bird; from Shanne came an occasional forlorn wail. The air became cold and clammy with settling dew; Lady Radance and Shanne became still and stiff.

  Finally a ribbon of green light formed across the eastern sky, expanding upward to become the rim of a pink suffusion: then a spark of intense white light, then a dazzling cusp, then a disk, as Capella cleared the horizon.

  Down from the tree came the haggard group. Ghyl made a fire, which he alone seemed to find cheerful.

  After a glum breakfast, the five once more set off toward the north. To Ghyl’s perplexity Lord Ilseth displayed neither grief nor shock at the loss of Lady Jacinth, nor did any of the others seem overly concerned. “What strange folk!” marveled Ghyl. “Do they have feelings or do they just play at life?” And he listened as the lords and ladies, recovering something of their aplomb, began to converse among themselves, ignoring Ghyl as if he did not exist. Fanton and Ilseth once more gestured toward the hills and began to veer west, until Ghyl called them back to the original course.

  About midmorning black clouds boiled up from the south. There were whistling gusts of wind; then a hail storm surpassing any of Ghyl’s experience pelted the travelers with pebbles of ice. Ghyl stood with his arms over his head; the lords and ladies ran back and forth beating at the hailstones as if they were insects, while Ghyl watched in amazement.

  The storm passed as suddenly as it had come; in an hour the sky was clear again; Capella blazed down upon the g
listening savannah. But the lords and ladies had become dismal, forlorn, black-hearted. Their wonderful broad-brimmed hats drooped, their slippers were torn, their filigreed garments were stained. Only Shanne, perhaps because of her youth, failed to become venomously cantankerous, and she began to trail back with Ghyl. For the first time since the pirates had taken the ship they spoke together. To Ghyl’s utter amazement, he found that she had not recognized him as the young man of the County Ball; indeed she seemed to have forgotten the episode. When Ghyl recalled it to her memory she looked at him in perplexity. “But—what a coincidence! You at the Ball—and you here now!”

  “A strange coincidence,” agreed Ghyl sadly.

  “Why are you so evil? A pirate, a kidnaper! You seemed so trusting and innocent, if I remember rightly.”

  “Yes, you remember rightly. I could explain the change, but you would not understand.”

  “It makes no difference, one way or another. My father will denounce you as soon as we reach civilization. Do you realize that?”

  “Last night he and Ilseth agreed not to do so!” cried Ghyl.

  Shanne gave him a blank look, and for a space said no more.

  At noon they reached the line of trees, which indeed bordered a dank trickle of water. Late in the afternoon the trickle joined a shallow river, with a faint trail along the bank, and not long after the travelers came upon an abandoned village, consisting of a dozen huts of bleached gray timber leaning every which way. In the soundest of these Ghyl proposed to spend the night, and for once the lords agreed without controversy. The inner walls of the shack were sealed with a pasting of old newspapers, printed in characters illegible to Ghyl. He could not restrain a pang of illogical awe at the sight of so much duplication. Here and there were faded pictures: men and women in peculiar costumes, space-ships, structures of a sort unfamiliar to Ghyl, a map of Maastricht which Ghyl studied half an hour without enlightenment.

  Capella sank in a glorious coruscation of gold, yellow, scarlet, vermilion, totally unlike the sad mauves and ale-brown sunsets of Halma. Ghyl built a fire on the old stone hearth, which irritated the lords.

  “Need it be so warm, so bright, with all those little whips and welts of flame?” complained Lady Radance.

  “I suppose he wants to see to eat,” said Ilseth.

  “But why must the fool toast himself like a salamander?” demanded Fanton crossly.

  “If we had maintained a fire last night,” Ghyl returned, “and if the Lady Jacinth had used my advice to climb high in the tree, she might be alive now.”

  At this the lords and ladies fell silent, and their eyes flickered nervously up and down. Then they retreated into the darkest corners of the shack and pressed themselves to the walls: a form of conduct which Ghyl found startling.

  During the night something tried the rickety door of the cabin, which Ghyl had barred shut. Ghyl sat up, groped for his gun. From the embers in the fireplace came a faint glow. The door shook again; then outside Ghyl heard steps, and they seemed like the steps of a man. Ghyl followed the sound around the walls to a window. Silhouetted against the starlit sky he thought to see the shape of a human or near-human head. Ghyl threw a chunk of wood at the head. There was a thud, an exclamation. Then silence. Somewhat later Ghyl heard sounds at the front door: heavy breathing, scratching and scraping, a small squeak. Then once again silence.

  In the morning Ghyl went cautiously to the door, opened it with the utmost care. The ground outside seemed undisturbed. There was no booby-trap over the lintel, no trip-string, no barbs or hooks. What then had been the meaning of last night’s activity? Ghyl stood in the doorway, searching the ground for signs of a deadfall.

  Lord Ilseth came up behind him. “Stand aside, if you will.”

  “A moment. Best make sure it’s safe.”

  “‘Safe’? Why should it not be safe?” Ilseth pushed Ghyl aside and strode forth. The ground gave way under his foot. He snatched up his leg, and fixed to his ankle was a plump purple-cheeked creature like a fat fish or an enormous elongated toad. Ilseth ran wailing through the village, kicking and clawing at the thing on his ankle. Then he gave a sudden great caw of agony and bounded off across the landscape in great wild hops. He disappeared behind a row of feathery black bushes and was seen no more.

  Ghyl drew a deep breath. He prodded with a stick and discovered four additional traps. Fanton, watching over his shoulder, said nothing.

  Lady Radance and Shanne, moaning in perplexity and terror, at last were prevailed upon to come forth from the hut. The group cautiously departed the dreadful village and set forth along the bank of the little river. For hours they walked in the shade of tremendous trees with fleshy russet trunks and succulent green foliage. Hundreds of small openwork creatures, like monkey-skeletons, hung in the branches, rasping and chittering, occasionally dropping twigs; in and out of the sunlight shimmered air-snakes. Behind, from time to time, Ghyl thought to notice someone or something following. On other occasions a ripple, a turbulence in the water, seemed almost to keep pace with them. At noon these indications disappeared, and an hour later they came to cultivated country. Fields were planted to vines and bushes yielding green pods, bulbs of black pulp, gourds. Soon after they entered a small town: huts and cottages of unpainted timber in a long untidy straggle along the river, which at this point connected with a canal. The townspeople were small and brown-skinned, with round heads, black eyes, harsh heavy features. They wore coarse brown and gray cloaks with conical hoods, long-toed leathern slippers; each displayed cabalic signs tattooed on his cheeks. They were not an affable people, and eyed the travelers with surly incuriosity. Fanton spoke to them sharply, and was answered in a language which Ghyl was surprised to find that he could understand, though the accent was thick.

  “What town is this?”

  “Attegase.”

  “How far is the nearest large city?”

  “That would be Daillie—a matter of two hundred miles.”

  “How does one reach Daillie in the swiftest manner?”

  “There is no swift manner. We have no reason for haste. Five days from now comes the water bus. You can ride to Reso and take the air-float to Daillie.”

  “Well then, I must communicate with the authorities. Where is the Spay system?”

  “Spay? What is that?”

  “The communication device. The telephone, the long-distance radio.”

  “We don’t have any. This is Attegase, not Hyagansis. If you want all those trinkets and gimcracks, you better go there.”

  “Well then, where is this ‘Hyagansis’?” demanded Fanton, at which the man and all the bystanders set up an uproar of laughter. “Isn’t any Hyagansis! That’s why!”

  Fanton sucked in his cheeks, turned away. Ghyl asked, “Where can we stay for five days?”

  “Bit of a tavern over by the canal, used by the tipplers and canal-tenders. Maybe old Voma will take care of you. Maybe not, if she’s been eating reebers. She gets too bloated to do much more than take care of herself.”

  The travelers limped to the tavern beside the canal: a strange place built of stained wood, with an enormous high-peaked roof, grotesquely high, from which crooked dormers thrust out in all manner of unexpected angles. One corner was cut away to provide a porch and diagonally in the corner of this porch, under a tremendous beam, was the entrance.

  The tavern was more picturesque from without than within. The innkeeper, a slatternly woman in a black apron, agreed to house the group. She held out her hand, rubbing thumb to forefinger. “Let’s see your money. I can’t spare good food for those who will not pay, and I’ve never seen a more clownish set of loons, excuse my saying so. What happened to you? You jump from an air-dock?”

  “Something of the sort,” said Ghyl. With a side-look toward Fanton, he brought forth the money he had taken from Fanton’s luggage. “How much do you require?”

  Voma inspected the coins. “What are these?”

  “Interplanetary valuta,” barked Fanton. “Have
you never had off-world visitors?”

  “I’m lucky to get some from off the canal and then they want me to write ’em a tab. But don’t take me for a dolt, sir, because I’m inclined to outrages of the spirit, and I’ve been known to pull noses.”

  “Show us our rooms then. You will be paid, never fear.”

  The rooms were reasonably clean, but the food—boiled black tubers with a rancid odor—was beyond the noble-folks’ eating. Ghyl asked, “These are ‘reebers’, no doubt?”

  “Reebers they are and right. Tingled with pap and bug-spice. I can’t touch them myself, or I pay for it.”

  “Bring us fresh fruit,” suggested Fanton. “Or some plain broth.”

  “Sorry, sir. I can get you a pot of swabow wine, now.”

  “Very good, bring the wine, and perhaps a crust of bread.”

  So passed the day. During the course of the evening Ghyl, sitting in the pot-room, mentioned that they had walked down from the south, after leaving a wrecked air-boat. Conversation halted. “Down from the south? Across the Rakanga?”

  “I guess that’s what it’s called. Something attacked us in the deserted village. Who or what would that be?”

  “The Bouns, most likely. Some say they are men. It’s why the village is deserted. Bouns got them all. Crafty cruel things.”

  The following day Ghyl came upon Shanne, strolling alone beside the canal. She made no protest to his joining her, and presently they sat on the bank, shaded from Capella by a tinkling silver and black disk-tree.

  For a space they watched the canal boats ease past, powered by billowing square sails, in some cases by electric-field engines. Ghyl reached to put his arms around her, but she primly evaded him.

  “Come now,” said Ghyl. “When we sat by another river you were not so hoity-toity.”

  “That was the County Ball: a different case. And you were not then a vagabond and a pirate.”

  “I thought that the piracy had been put by the boards.”

  “No indeed. My father plans to denounce you the instant we reach Daillie.”