by Jack Vance
Bonko came to join Zamp at the bow. “What occurs?”
“The stern is starting to settle. Ashgale has still noticed nothing.”
Ashgale intoned: “Prince Orchelstyne does not yet know that he has been chosen the ritual husband of the Goddess Sofre …”
Zamp said: “Now he wonders … Now he suspects … Now he is certain.”
Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit sagged stern-first into the river, and the throng which had so recently boarded the vessel surged ashore in tumult, while Ashgale ran back and forth across the stage shouting orders to his crew.
Zamp turned to Bonko: “Put a careful guard over our hawsers. Send Sibald aloft to inspect the stays and shrouds, then station a man at the rudder-post to warn off swimmers. I want a patrol of all passageways and the outboard gunwales. Keep everyone on alert!”
Bonko rushed off to comply with the orders. Aboard Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit, Phinian Quaner the engineer had improvised a plug of wadded cloth to reduce the influx of water. The ship lay askew, its quarterdeck almost awash. Garth Ashgale ran in and out of his cabin, carrying forth scripts, records, clothes, mementoes, his strongbox. On shore the crowd watched for a few minutes, then, convinced that the vessel was not about to sink, began to file aboard Miraldra’s Enchantment.
Zamp waited until the seats were occupied, then stepped out on his stage. “With great regret I have observed the unfortunate circumstances aboard the ship of my colleague Master Garth Ashgale. The mishap, of course, was not unexpected; we had discussed the deficiencies of his boat at Coble. In any event, all of us trust that the vessel will soon be repaired and back in service.
“So now, our own contribution to the entertainment of this remarkable day: first, our diverting fantasy The Magic Box of Ki-chi-ri.”
Zamp stepped back; the curtains drew aside to reveal the workroom of Frulk the Magician. Coming on stage, Frulk went about his experiments to a crotchety music of squeaks and quavers. His goal was the transformation of flowers into beautiful maidens, but his most earnest efforts went for naught. First he produced swirling puffs of colored smoke, then a flight of white birds, then sprays of pyrotechnics. Frulk at last discerned his mistake and performed a comical dance of excitement. He arranged six cabinets in a row and within each placed a flower: an elanthis, a tea rose, a branch of barberry blossoms, a purple tangalang, a blue Xyth lily, a yellow daffodil.
With great care Frulk performed his magic; the musicians produced chords of expectancy. Frulk uttered the activating incantation and opened his cabinets; out stepped six beautiful maidens, and Frulk cavorted around the room in a high-stepping jig of pure joy, the maidens meanwhile performing their own ballet of wonder at the mobility of their bodies. Frulk, becoming amorous, sought to capture and clasp the maidens but in wonder and innocence and alarm they eluded him.
All the while Frulk’s shrewish wife Lufa had been peering down from a window high in the wall, displaying a variety of extravagant grimaces: shock, disgust, annoyance, vindictive resolve.
Frulk ran back and forth like a maniac; the girls dodged and danced away and at last all jumped back into their cabinets and slammed the doors. Frulk, snatching open the doors, discovered only the flowers he had placed there previously.
Frulk walked back and forth in cogitation, then made preparations to perform his magic again. Lufa entered the room and sent Frulk away on an errand. As soon as Frulk had departed, Lufa opened the cabinets, pulled forth the flowers, tore them apart, gnashed them with her teeth, ground them into the floor. Then from a basket she took noisome herbs: dog’s-breath, slankweed, erflatus, rhume, zogma, carrion weed; these she placed in the cabinets and after a caper of wicked glee left the room.
Frulk entered and, assured of Lufa’s absence, once again performed his sorcery. On tiptoe he approached the cabinets, poised himself to grasp the beauties as they emerged, reached forward and the doors to all the cabinets flew wide. Out leapt six grotesques. Frulk jumped back aghast, and as the orchestra played a maniac two-step, the grotesques pursued Frulk around the room. Down came the curtain.
Bonko came to report to Zamp. “I have arranged guards. The hawsers were soaked with acid and cut with blades, ready to part and drift us out on the river.”
Zamp snorted in annoyance. “That villain Ashgale has no conscience! The hawsers are mended?”
“As good as new.”
“Continue the alert.”
The curtain drew back on one of Zamp’s famous tableaux. Twenty members of the troupe wearing black garments and black masks stood before a black backdrop holding colored targets on rods, to create geometrical intricacies. From the orchestra came a click-clacking of drums and a muffled tinkling of the vitrophon; with each accent of the rhythm, the targets shifted into a new pattern, an effect which after a few moments became hypnotic.
Bonko came running to find Zamp. “A fire in the fore-peak! A phosphorus clock was buried under rags and hay!”
Zamp ran forward, to find billows of smoke pouring from the boatswain’s locker. Deck-hands formed a chain, passed buckets of water into the locker, and the fire was extinguished. Bonko told Zamp: “The timing was precise; someone intended to panic the audience!”
“Ashgale has the soul of a mad dog; nothing deters him! Maintain a most careful watch!”
The curtain descended on the tableau and jugglers came forth to provide a brief interlude, throwing disks out over the audience, which swooped in a circle and returned to the jugglers’ hands.
Bonko again reported to Zamp. “Two men in voluminous robes sit yonder in the audience; I believe they carry concealed objects.”
“Conduct them to the quarter-deck, search them and deal with them accordingly.”
Bonko returned several minutes later. “Villains as I suspected! They carried cages of pests, vermin and fire-hornets, which they were about to release into the audience. We thrashed them and threw them into the river.”
“Excellent,” said Zamp. “Remain vigilant.”
The curtain drew back to reveal the surface of an exotic planet. Two men descended in a simulated space-boat; they marveled at the peculiar conditions and experienced a set of ludicrous mishaps. In the trees sat huge insects playing a weird music on bizarre instruments. The music stopped short as a group of near-nude, near-human creatures appeared, running on all fours. The creatures gamboled and frisked, and inspected the space-men with affectionate curiosity. The insect musicians again played music; the running creatures performed an eccentric and rather lewd dance in which the space-men joined. The dance became a bacchanalian frenzy.
The music stopped short. A portentous silence gripped the stage. The music resumed, now heavy, dark and ominous. A huge being appeared: half-animal, half-ogre. With a whip of a dozen thongs it forced the running half-human creatures to acts of abasement. The space-men watched aghast, and presently killed the beast. The music erupted into horrid discords; the half-men leapt high in paroxysms of fury; they tore the space-men to bits; then, to eery slow music, performed a hectic pavane around the corpse of the beast-ogre, and the curtain fell.
From the outboard side of the ship came the sound of a thud, a series of hoarse yells and a splashing sound. Zamp went to investigate and Bonko explained the new disturbance. “Three men in a rowboat attempted to fasten an explosive object to our waterline. I dropped a large stone into their boat and they drifted away on the current.”
“Ashgale has not been idle,” said Zamp. “To no avail; our performance is close upon its end. But do not relax.”
Zamp took up a position where he could inspect the audience; among them was the emissary from Mornune: which? No indications existed; the incognito was effective.
The curtains parted on Zamp’s traditionally rousing grand finale. The orchestra played at crescendo, the players marched, pranced and cake-walked; jugglers twirled flaming hoops; magicians discharged rockets.
Zamp stepped on the stage and as the curtain fell, performed a modest bow. “We hope that you have enjoyed o
ur efforts to entertain you. Next time we pass our acquaintance will certainly be renewed. All aboard Miraldra’s Enchantment wish you good evening.”
Chapter IV
All night long Zamp was kept awake by the sounds of pumps and curses from Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit. In the morning the vessel still sagged by the stern.
Zamp enjoyed an early breakfast in his cabin, then dressed with his usual care in dark gray breeches, a green jacket frogged with loops of crimson cord, a crimson and green cap. Zamp then disposed himself to await the announcement of the Mornune envoy.
Half an hour passed. Zamp strolled forward to observe the raising of Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit. Water surged from hoses emerging through portholes. Ashgale was nowhere to be seen.
As Zamp sauntered back amidships, a young man in the ordinary costume of Lanteen mounted the gang-plank. Zamp paused, and the young man approached. “You are Apollon Zamp, ship-master?”
“I claim that distinction.”
“In such case, I carry a message which I must deliver into your hands.” The young man brought forth a black plush case which he delivered to Zamp, and immediately departed the ship.
Zamp pursed his lips reflectively. He put the black plush case down upon a bench and looked at it from a safe distance.
Bonko came past and gazed wonderingly at Zamp. “What troubles you?”
“The case yonder. It might contain almost anything.”
Bonko considered the case. “Well, we shall soon discover the truth. A moment while I fetch a pair of clamps.”
Bonko went forward and returned with clamps and lengths of cord. He clamped the bottom of the case to the table, attached a second clamp to the lid and tied one end of the cord to this second clamp. The other end of the cord he took to the shrouds and carried aloft to the crow’s-nest.
Zamp went to stand behind the deck-house.
“Ready?” called Bonko.
“Ready,” replied Zamp.
Bonko pulled the cord, but the clamp fell off the case and the strategy failed.
Behind Zamp stood Garth Ashgale who had boarded the vessel unnoticed and now stood watching with raised eyebrows. “What in the world are you doing?”
Zamp cleared his throat and gave the bill of his cap a tug. “We are attempting to open the black case yonder.”
Garth Ashgale frowned in puzzlement. “Surely there is an easier way?” He walked over to the case, picked it up and lifted the cover. “You exaggerated the difficulty of the act.”
Zamp made no response. He took the case and lifted forth a rectangle of thin bright metal, inscribed with a message in clear black characters.
BE IT KNOWN TO ALL PERSONS THAT MASTER APOLLON ZAMP, WITH HIS VESSEL MIRALDRA’S ENCHANTMENT AND THE MEMBERS OF HIS CREW, ORCHESTRA AND ENTERTAINMENT TROUPE ARE INVITED TO PARTICIPATE IN THE GRAND FESTIVAL AT MORNUNE COMMENCING ON THE THIRTEENTH DAY AFTER THE SUMMER SOLSTICE OF THIS YEAR. SUCH BEING THE CASE THEY ARE GRANTED AN ABSOLUTE SAFE-CONDUCT THROUGH THE MANDAMAN GATES, ACROSS THE BOTTOMLESS LAKE, AND AT THE TOWN MORNUNE DURING THE PERIOD OF THE FESTIVAL, AND FOR SUCH TIME THEREAFTER AS MAY BE REQUIRED FOR EASY AND SAFE DEPARTURE:
ORDAINED THROUGH AND BY THE POWER OF WALDEMAR, KING OF SOYVANESSE.
“Ah yes,” said Zamp. “I expected something of this sort.” He handed the plaque to Ashgale, who read the message with a placid gaze.
“My congratulations,” said Ashgale. He hefted the plaque and glanced absent-mindedly toward the river; Zamp hastily recovered the silver rectangle. He heaved a deep breath, and somewhat grudgingly said: “The morning is fine; would you care to take a cup of tea?”
“I accept with pleasure,” said Ashgale. The two strolled aft and climbed to the quarter-deck. Zamp arranged a pair of wicker chairs beside the massive chart-table; the two men relaxed and stretched out their legs, while Chaunt served tea and biscuits.
“I was unable to attend your performance last night,” said Ashgale. “We had an exasperating accident which caused considerable inconvenience. I understand that your show was up to usual standards: a clever concoction of froth, nudity and nonsense. Some day when I have exhausted the immediate urgencies of my intellect I might relax and play a season or two of farce and phantasmagoria, if for no other reason than variety.”
“Excellent!” declared Zamp. “The field is difficult, because it demands a peculiar quality of exactness and subtlety which cannot be taught and cannot be learned. Naturally, I will help you as well as I can, but I warn you, I am a martinet.”
“We shall see, we shall see,” said Ashgale negligently. “I have several months to form my plans, as I intend to return to Coble and give my ship a re-conditioning.” Ashgale sipped his tea. “What of yourself? The Mornune competition is still two months in the future.”
Zamp gave the silver plaque a disdainful tap. “This is an amusing trophy, but I doubt if I will give it much heed. A pity I cannot transfer it to someone who truly wants such a trinket.”
Ashgale made a dubious grimace. “Mornune is far upstream. I doubt if many sensible folk would want to pursue a will-o’-the-wisp quite so far.”
Zamp signaled to Chaunt. “Bring up the River Index.” To Ashgale he said: “I am curious; let us see exactly what the journey entails.”
Chaunt set the heavy brown volume on the table and Zamp flicked over the vellum pages. “‘Mornune: a rich town on Cynthiana Bay at the north end of Bottomless Lake, established by Merse Hawkmen from the Great Airy Plain north of Dragonsway, West-central Lune XXII. From Coble, Mornune may be best approached on the summer monsoon, which provides sufficient wind to counter the Vissel current. Departure conversely is most easily effected in the fall calms or during the winter monsoon. Eighteen to twenty-two days are required for the voyage in either direction. Along the Vissel will be found towns and villages of more or less importance, such as Prairie View, Idanthus, Port Venable, Garken, Port Wheary, Orangetown, Cockaigne City, Oxyrhincus. Some of these places are fortified against the Tinsitala tribes; others are open and the inhabitants when beleaguered take to their boats or hide in the marshes.
“‘Important tributaries to the Vissel are the Murne at Wigtown, the Wergence near Gotpang, the Suanol at Fudurth, the Lant at Lanteen, the Trobois at Port Wheary.
“‘Tribes of hostile nomads occasionally appear along the shore and precautions must be effected; it is never wise to moor to the riverbank overnight.
“‘Mornune itself is notable for the elegance of its structures and the wealth of its ruling caste, who trace their lineage to Rorus Cazcar of the Magic Tabard.’” Zamp looked down the columns. “There’s more here, but I imagine that you have studied your own Index at length.”
Ashgale nodded graciously. “I have investigated the feasibility of the voyage, but without any real interest.”
Zamp turned his gaze out across the Lant River and past, up the sparkling reaches of the Vissel where it came down from the north, far, far, to where it seemed that human vision must fail, and beyond, across the Big Planet perspectives, until the Vissel was no more than a wisp of silver thread.
“Aha,” said Ashgale, “I see that you have determined to make the voyage.”
“It is country I have never seen,” mused Zamp. “There is a fortune awaiting me up yonder, if I choose to reach for it.”
Ashgale looked out over the water with a rather bleak expression. “Well, I’ll be faring south to Coble. You’ll bide here at Lanteen?”
“And pay out a month of salaries? Not likely. The Lant River tempts me. Perhaps I’ll fare out to Port Whant, or even Bilch and Funk’s Grove.”
“Port Whant is a morose place,” mused Ashgale. “You will discover there an audience only for tragic drama; they care not a fig for nonsense.”
Zamp gave an austere nod. “So I am informed by the Index. I will no doubt present some suitable piece: perhaps my own Evulsifer or The Legend of Lost Girl Mountain.”
Ashgale rubbed his chin. “Are you in the market for a criminal? I will sell one cheap: a sur
ly fellow who barely troubles to learn his lines; in fact he was for last night’s performance, but now I have no need for him.”
“What are his particulars?”
“I bought him here at Lanteen: an adjudged rapacious murderer, and a villainous creature in truth. Pay me a hundred groats, if you like.”
“A hundred groats? My dear Ashgale, I have no need for such an expensive adjunct; I can behead a dummy without charge.”
“As you will. Reflect however on the man’s expressive face, his hoarse voice, his baleful presence. A hundred groats is a cheap price to pay for such verisimilitude.”
Zamp smilingly shook his head. “Master Ashgale, you have suffered reverses and I am inclined to sympathize with you; however, I cannot empty my strongbox so capriciously. I’ll take him off your hands, but I wouldn’t lay forth a single groat.”
“Come now, Apollon Zamp!” said Ashgale. “Such rhetoric we both know to be absurd. Either make me a fair offer, or let us consider the subject closed.”
Zamp shrugged. “I have never been one to haggle. I can offer ten groats, which should compensate you for your outlay.”
“I maintain a rigid barrier between personal and business relationships,” said Ashgale. “No matter what my regard for you, I cannot make so unfavorable a transaction …”
Eventually the sum of twenty-two and two-thirds groats was agreed upon. Ashgale took his money and departed, and Zamp sent Bonko and four deck-hands over to Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit with a cage, and presently the criminal was brought aboard Miraldra’s Enchantment.
Zamp looked into the cage and found the prisoner no more appealing now than before. “I deplore the crimes which have necessitated your punishment; nevertheless you will find me an indulgent host, especially if you undertake to deliver Evulsifer’s final peroration at an appropriate moment.”
“Save your breath,” grumbled the prisoner. “You clearly intend to take my life; do your worst and be damned to you.”
