MADOUC

by Jack Vance

  Shimrod sighed. "Just so. How goes your life?"

  "I prefer it to oblivion."

  "How do you occupy yourself each day?"

  "I watch the sea and the sky; sometimes I wade in the surf and build roads in the sand. At night I study the stars."

  "You have no friends?"

  "No."

  "And what of the future?"

  "The future stops at Now."

  "As to that, I am not so sure," said Shimrod. "It is at best a half-truth."

  "What of that? Half a truth is better than none: do you not agree?"

  "Not altogether," said Shimrod. "I am a practical man, I try to control the shape of the ‘nows' which lie in the offing, instead of submitting to them as they occur."

  Melancthe gave an uninterested shrug. "You are free to do as you like." Leaning back into the cushions, she looked out across the sea.

  Shimrod finally spoke. "Well then: are you ‘good' or ‘bad'?"

  "I don't know."

  Shimrod became vexed. "Talking with you is like visiting an empty house."

  Melancthe considered a moment before responding. "Perhaps," she said, "you are visiting the wrong house. Or perhaps you are the wrong visitor."

  "Ha hah!" said Shimrod. "You seem to be telling me that indeed, you are capable of thought."

  "I think constantly, day and night."

  "What thoughts do you think?"

  "You would not understand them."

  "Do your thoughts bring you pleasure? Or peace?"

  "As always, you ask questions I cannot answer."

  "They seem simple enough."

  "For you, no doubt. As for me, I was brought naked and empty into the world; it was only required that I imitate humanity, not that I should become human. I do not know what sort of creature I am. This is the subject of my reflections. They are complicated. Since I know no human emotions, I have contrived an entire new compendium, which only I can feel."

  "That is very interesting! When do you use these new emotions?"

  "I use them continually. Some are heavy, others are light, and are named for clouds. Some are constant; others are fugitive. Sometimes they come to thrill me and I would like to keep them forever-just as I longed to keep the wonderful flowers! But the moods slip away before I can name them, and cherish them in my heart. Sometimes, often, they never come back, no matter how I yearn."

  "How do you name these emotions? Tell me!"

  Melancthe shook her head. "The names would mean nothing. I have watched insects, wondering how they name their emotions and wondering if perhaps they were like mine."

  "I should think not," said Shimrod.

  Melancthe spoke on unheeding. "It may be that instead of emotion, I feel sensation only, which I think to be emotion. This is how an insect feels the moods of its life."

  "In your new set of emotions, do you have equivalents for ‘good' and ‘bad'?"

  "These are not emotions! You are trying to trick me into talking your language! Very well; I shall answer. I do not know what to think of myself. Since I am not human, I wonder what I am and how my life will go."

  Shimrod sat back and reflected. "At one time you served Tamurello: why did you do so?"

  "That was the behest built into my brain."

  "Now he is pent in a bottle, but still you are asked to serve him."

  Melancthe frowned at Shimrod, mouth pursed in disapproval. "Why do you say so?"

  "Murgen has informed me."

  "And what does he know?"

  "Enough to ask stern questions. How do these orders come to you?"

  "I have had no exact orders, only impulses and intimations."

  "Who prompts them?"

  "Sometimes I think that they are my own contriving. When these moods come on me, I am exalted and I am fully alive!"

  "Someone is rewarding you for your cooperation. You must be careful! Tamurello sits in a glass bottle, nose between his knees. Do you want the same for yourself?"

  "It will not happen so."

  "Is that how Desmei has instructed you?"

  "Please do not utter that name."

  "It must be spoken, since it is another word for ‘doom'. Your doom, if you allow her to use you as her instrument."

  Melancthe rose to her feet and went to the window.

  Shimrod spoke to her back: "Come with me once again to Trilda. I will purge you entirely of the green stench. We will thwart Desmei the witch. You will be wholly free and wholly alive."

  Melancthe turned to face Shimrod. "I know nothing of any green stench, and nothing of Desmei. Go now."

  Shimrod rose to his feet. "Today-think upon yourself and how you might want your life to go. I will return at sunset, and perhaps you will come away with me." Melancthe seemed not to hear. Shimrod left the room and departed the villa.

  The day passed, hour by hour. Shimrod sat at his table before the inn watching the sun cross the sky. When it hung its own diameter above the horizon he set off up the beach. Presently he arrived at the white villa. He went to the front door and raising the knocker, let it fall.

  The door opened a crack. Lillas the maid looked out at him.

  "Good evening," said Shimrod. "I want to speak with your mistress."

  Lillas looked at him large-eyed. "She is not here."

  "Where is she? Up the beach?"

  "She is gone."

  " ‘Gone'?" Shimrod spoke sharply. "Gone where?"

  "As to that, who can say?"

  "What has happened to her?"

  "An hour ago I answered to a knock at the door. It was Torqual the Ska. He walked past me, along the hall and into the parlour. The mistress was sitting on the divan; she jumped to her feet. The two looked at each other for a moment, and I watched from the doorway. He spoke a single word: ‘Come!' The mistress made no move, but stood as if irresolute. Torqual stepped forward, took her hand and led her away down the hall and out the front door. She made no protest; indeed, she walked like a person in a dream."

  Shimrod listened with a weight pressing at the pit of his stomach. Lillas spoke on in a rush: "There were two horses in the road. Torqual lifted my mistress into the saddle of one and mounted the other. They rode away to the north. And now I do not know what to do!"

  Shimrod found his voice. "Do as usual; you have not been instructed otherwise."

  "That is good advice!" said Lillas. "Perhaps she will be home in short order."

  "Perhaps."

  Shimrod returned south along the beach road to the Sunset Inn. In the morning he took himself once again to the white villa, but found only Lillas on the premises. "You have had no word from your mistress?"

  "No, sir. She is far away; I feel it in my bones."

  "So do I." Shimrod reached to the ground for a pebble. He rubbed it between his fingers and handed it to Lillas. "As soon as your mistress returns, take this pebble out of doors, throw it into the air and say: ‘Go to Shimrod!' Do you understand?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "What will you do?"

  "I will throw the pebble into the air and say: ‘Go to Shimrod!'

  "That is correct! And here is a silver florin to assist your memory."

  "Thank you, sir."

  V

  Shimrod conveyed himself up over the mountains to the stony flat in front of Swer Smod. Entering the forecourt, he discovered the two gryphs sitting down to their morning meal, which included two great joints of beef, four roast fowl, a pair of suckling pigs, two trenchers of pickled salmon, a round of white cheese, and several loaves of new bread. At the sight of Shimrod they jumped up from the table in a rage and ran forward as if to rend him limb from limb.

  Shimrod held up his hand. "Moderation, if you please! Has not Murgen instructed you to milder manners?"

  "He approved our vigilance," said Vuwas. "He advised a trifle more restraint toward persons of patently good character."

  "You do not fit that description," said Vus. "Hence we must do our duty."

  "Stop! I am Shimrod, and I am here
on legitimate business!"

  "That remains to be seen!" said the mottled green Vus. With one claw he scratched a line across the stone pavement. "First we must be convinced of your bona fides, which we will look into as soon as we dine."

  "We have been hoodwinked before," said Vuwas. "Never again! Step one inch past that line and we will devour you for an appetizer."

  Shimrod performed a small spell. "I would prefer to pass by your investigation at once, but no doubt you are anxious to join your guests."

  " ‘Guests'?" demanded Vuwas. "What guests are these?" Shimrod pointed; the gryphs turned to discover a troop of eight baboons wearing red trousers and round red hats making free with their repast. Some stood at one side of the table, others opposite, while three stood on the table itself.

  Vus and Vuwas roared in full outrage, and ran to chase off the baboons, but they were not so easily discouraged, and hopped with agility here and there, walking in the pickled salmon, and throwing food at the gryphs. Shimrod took advantage of the disturbance to cross the forecourt, and so arrived at the tall iron door. He was admitted and made his way to the great hall.

  As before, a fire blazed in the fireplace. The glass globe hanging from the ceiling glowed sullen green. Murgen was not in evidence. Shimrod seated himself beside the fire and waited. After a moment, he turned his head and glanced up at the suspended globe. Two black eyes glittered at him through the green murk. Shimrod turned his gaze back to the fire.

  Murgen entered the room and joined Shimrod at the table. "You seem a bit dispirited," said Murgen. "How went events at Ys?"

  "Well enough, in certain respects." Shimrod told of what had transpired at the Sunset Inn and at Melancthe's villa. "I learned little that we did not already suspect, except the fact of Torqual's involvement."

  "It is important and signifies a conspiracy! Remember, he first came to Melancthe to learn her commands."

  "But on the second occasion he ignored her commands and forced her to his will."

  "It is perhaps cynical to note that he did not need to force very hard."

  Shimrod stared into the fire. "What do you know of Torqual?"

  "Not a great deal. He was born a Ska nobleman who became a renegade, and is now an outlaw living by plunder, blood and terror. His ambitions may well extend farther."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Is that not implied by his conduct? King Casmir wants him to incite revolt among the Ulfish barons; Torqual takes Casmir's money and goes his own way, with no real advantage to Casmir. If Aillas loses control of the mountains, Torqual will hope to become the ruler, and who knows what then? North and South Ulfiand? Godelia? East Dahaut?"

  "Luckily, it is an unlikely prospect."

  Murgen stared into the fire. "Torqual is a man without mercy. It would be a pleasure to hang him in a bottle alongside Tamurello. Alas! I cannot violate my own law-unless he gives me cause. This cause may well be forthcoming."

  "How so?"

  "The propulsion to this affair, so I tell myself, can only be Desmei. Where has she taken herself? She is either using some unexpected semblance or hiding where she cannot be discovered. Her hopes flourish and fester! She has revenged herself sweetly upon Tamurello, but not upon the race of men; she is not yet sated."

  "Perhaps she lives passive inside Melancthe, waiting and watching."

  Murgen shook his head. "She would be constricted and far too vulnerable, since I would know at once. On the other hand, Melancthe, or a construct just like her, may be the vessel Desmei ultimately plans to fill."

  "Tragic that a thing so beautiful must be put too such humil-iating uses!" said Shimrod. He sat back in his chair. "Still, it is nothing to me."

  "Just so," said Murgen. "Now, for a space I must put this matter aside. Other affairs press at my attention. The star Achernar is rife with odd activity, especially in the far outer tracts. Meanwhile Joald stirs in the depths. I must discover if a linkage exists."

  "In that case, what of me?"

  Murgen rubbed his chin. "I will set out a monitor. If Torqual uses magic we will interfere. If he is only a bandit, no matter how cruel, King Aillas and his armies must take him in charge."

  "I would favor more direct action."

  "No doubt; still our goal is minimal involvement! The Edict is a fragile force, if we are discovered in violation its inhibition may dissolve into smoke."

  "One last word! Your devils are as horrid as ever! They might well frighten a timid person. You must definitely teach them a more polite etiquette."

  "I will see to it."

  CHAPTER SIX

  At the end of summer, with the smell of autumn in the air, the royal family departed Sarris for Castle Haidion. There was no unanimity of feeling regarding the event. King Casmir left the informal style of life at Sarris with reluctance. Queen Sollace, on the other hand, could hardly wait to put the rustic deficiencies of Sarris behind her. Cassander cared little one way or the other; boon companions, flirtatious maidens, merry entertainments were as accessible at Haidion as at Sarris; perhaps more so. Princess Madouc, like King Casmir, departed Sarris with reluctance. She hinted to Lady Desdea, not once but several times, that conditions at Sarris suited her well, and that she would prefer not to return to Haidion at all. Lady Desdea paid no heed and Madouc's desires came to naught. Willy-filly, sullen and bored, Madouc was instructed into the royal carriage for the long ride back to Lyonesse Town. In a brave if hollow voice, Madouc stated her intention to ride Tyfer instead. She pointed out that everyone's convenience would thereby be served. Those riding in the carriage would enjoy more space, while Tyfer would benefit from the exercise. Lady Desdea heard the proposal with eyebrows high in cold amazement. "That is impossible, of course! It would be considered conduct most boisterous; the act of a hoyden! The folk of the countryside would stare in wonder-those who did not laugh outright-to see you trotting so proudly through the dust!"

  "I had no plans to ride in the dust! I would just as lief ride in the van, ahead of the dust."

  "And what a sight you would be, leading the cavalcade on your intrepid steed Tyfer! I am surprised that you do not choose to wear mail and carry a banner on high, like a prodrome of old!"

  "I had nothing like this in mind; I only-"

  Lady Desdea held up her hand. "Say no more! For once you must conduct yourself with dignity, and ride properly with Her Majesty. Your maidens will be allowed to sit beside you in the carriage, for your amusement."

  "That is why I want to ride Tyfer."

  "Impossible."

  So went the arrangements. Despite Madouc's dissatisfaction, the carriage departed Sarris with Madouc sitting across from Queen Sollace, with Devonet and Chlodys on the seat to her left.

  In due course the party arrived at Castle Haidion, and the ordinary routines of life were resumed. Madouc was housed as before in her old chambers, though suddenly they had become cramped and constricted, or so it seemed. "Odd!" thought Madouc. "In a single summer I have aged an entire era, and of course I have become far wiser. I wonder..." She put her hands to her chest, to feel two small pads of softness she had not previously noticed. She felt them again. They were definite.

  "Hm," said Madouc. "I hope I do not grow to look like Chlodys."

  The autumn passed, and then the winter. For Madouc the most noteworthy event was the retirement of Lady Desdea, on the plea of backache, nervous cramp and general malaise. Spiteful tongues whispered that Madouc's perverse antics and general intractability had at last conquered Lady Desdea and had made her ill. Indeed, during the late winter, Lady Desdea turned lemon-yellow, began to swell in the middle, and presently died of the dropsy.

  Her successor was a noblewoman younger and more flexible: Lady Lavelle, third daughter to the Duke of Wysceog. Lady Lavelle, having taken note of past attempts to educate the obstreperous princess, changed tactics and dealt casually with Madouc. She took for granted-at least ostensibly-that Madouc, keen to her own advantage, would wish to learn the tricks, ploys and stratagems that wou
ld allow her to negotiate court protocol with the least inconvenience. Of course, as a prerequisite, Madouc must learn the conventions which she would be learning to avoid. So, despite herself and half-aware of Lady Lavelle's tactics, Madouc assimilated a smattering of court procedure and certain pretty little skills of genteel coquetry.

  A series of storms brought howling winds and driving rains to Lyonesse Town, and Madouc was pent inside Haidion. After a month the storm abated, and the town was washed in a sudden flood of pale sunlight. After such long confinement Madouc felt impelled to go out and wander in the open air. With no better destination at hand, she decided to revisit the hidden garden where Suldrun had pined away her life.

  Assuring herself that she went unseen Madouc hastened up the cloistered walk. Through the tunnel in Zoltra Bright-Star's Wall, then the rotting old portal, Madouc stepped into the garden. At the top of the vale she stopped to look and listen. She saw no living creature and heard no sound save the far muffled rush of the surf. Odd! thought Madouc. In the wan winter sunlight the garden seemed less melancholy than as she remembered it.

  Madouc wandered down the trail to the beach. The surf, driven by the storms, reared high to crash heavily down upon the shingle. Madouc turned away to look up the vale. Suidrun's conduct seemed more incomprehensible than ever. According to Cassander she could not bring herself to face the dangers and hardships of life on the road. But what then? For a clever person, determined to survive, the dangers could be minimized and perhaps avoided. But Suldrun, timid and apathetic, had preferred to languish in the hidden garden and so at last she had died.

  "As for me," Madouc told herself, "I would have been over the fence in a trice! After that, I would pretend to be a boy and also a leper. I would feign sores on my face, to disgust anyone who came near me, and those who were not disgusted, I would stab with a knife! Had I been Suldrun, I would be alive today!"

  Madouc soberly started up the path. There were lessons to be learned from those tragic events of the past. First, Suldrun had hoped for King Casmir's mercy, which had not been forthcoming. The significance was clear. A princess of Lyonesse must marry as Casmir desired or else incur his merciless displeasure. Madouc grimaced. The correspondence between Suldrun's case and her own was much too close for comfort. Still, displeasure or not, King Casmir must be persuaded not to involve her in his schemes of empire.