The Magnificent Showboats

by Jack Vance

  “Not so fast!” Gassoon squeezed shut his eyes and sat motionless a strained five seconds. In a bleak voice he said: “The matter is not all that significant. As you point out, casual performances must surely cover the expense.”

  Zamp resumed his seat. “Allow me to make a suggestion. The time of the Mornune Festival is not far in the future. Our preparations should begin instantly.”

  Gassoon leaned back and turned his eyes so far up to the ceiling that cusps of white showed below. Once again the entire venture quivered in the balance. He sighed. “I will meet you later in the day; we will discuss our plans in greater detail.”

  Zamp reported the events of the meeting to Damsel Blanche-Aster.

  “So then,” she said in a soft voice, half to herself, “the project is underway.”

  “I would think so. He may still change his mind.”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster shook her head slowly. “He will not change his mind.”

  “You don’t seem exultant.”

  She shook her head. “I do what I must do.”

  “As always, your moods elude me,” growled Zamp.

  Damsel Blanche-Aster only asked: “Where do you next meet Master Gassoon, and when?”

  “At the Mariner’s Rest, when the sun hangs above Farewell Mountain.”

  “I shall be there.”

  Chapter VIII

  Zamp, for want of better entertainment, marched back and forth along the sea-wall, tossing pebbles out into Surmise Bay. To the west, the shoreline curved seaward, to end at the dark crag known as Farewell Mountain. As Zamp walked he carefully gauged the descent of Phaedra, and in due course posted himself where he could watch along the quay.

  Precisely at the appointed hour he observed Gassoon approaching and stepped smartly forward; the two met in front of the Mariner’s Rest.

  “You are punctual,” said Gassoon. “It is a virtue I appreciate.”

  “I return the compliment,” said Zamp. “I believe that we have arrived exactly at the same instant.”

  “A happy omen.” Gassoon led the way into the tavern and spoke a word to the proprietor, who ushered them into a small private parlor, with a bow window overlooking the river. A lamp of three flames and eight lenses hung over a round table upon which Gassoon placed the leather case he had brought with him; Zamp meanwhile placed an order for sausages and beer with the innkeeper.

  Gassoon settled himself into one of the chairs. “I have carefully considered our conversation.” He paused a portentous moment. “Our goals are reconciled if, and only if, we totally agree upon the style and quality of our presentation.”

  “Certainly,” said Zamp. “All this goes without saying.”

  Gassoon peevishly moved his portfolio to make room for the innkeeper’s tray of beer and sausages. “My remark is really not so trite as it may seem. I wish to nip in the bud any thought of buffoonery, waggling of rumps, topical ballads sung in bogus dialects.”

  Zamp made an easy gesture. “Agreed, signed and certified.”

  Gassoon grunted and opened his portfolio. “This afternoon I looked through my collection and selected certain works which might be suitable for our purposes.”

  With his mouth full of sausage, Zamp reached for one of the volumes; Gassoon deftly moved it back out of Zamp’s reach. He spoke in his reediest, most didactic voice: “The program which we have in mind presents formidable difficulties. The language has changed; conventions and symbols also change. Men as knowledgeable as ourselves will puzzle over some of the obscure allusions: how then for the folk of our audiences, who, no matter how earnest and keen, will still be unprepared?”

  Zamp quaffed a hearty draught of beer, and setting down the mug, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “To these folk we usually present the vulgarisms which you deplore, and there is never any difficulty.”

  Gassoon ignored the remark. “We can either adapt and edit and to some extent alter the flavor of the original, or we can present the matter without compromise, and trust in the perceptivity of our audiences. What is your opinion?”

  Zamp wiped his hands with the napkin. “Our basic purpose is to win King Waldemar’s approval; hence we must at least be intelligible.”

  Gassoon made a prim correction. “Our basic purpose is recreation of the classics. If King Waldemar is sensitive and subtle we will win the prize.”

  “In that case,” said Zamp thoughtfully, “we should prepare several programs, to be ready for anything.”

  Gassoon’s response was once again negative. “It would be pleasant to hire a large number of skillful performers and prepare an extensive repertory. Needless to say, I cannot afford to do this. We must settle upon one or two works which are not too costly to stage. For instance, here is a work known as Macbeth, which has long been considered a classic.”

  Zamp thumbed through the work with dubiously pursed lips. Gassoon watched him expressionlessly. Finally, Zamp said: “In my experience audiences prefer any kind of spectacle to verbiage. If we can augment certain of these scenes and truncate others, and all in all introduce a bit more color, we might have a feasible product.”

  Gassoon said mildly, “This work, in its present form, has stood the test of time. Don’t forget, I plan to transcend the efforts of the ordinary showboats!”

  In spite of his firm resolve, Zamp found himself arguing with Gassoon. “This is Big Planet, where eccentricities abound! What succeeds at one town, fails at another twenty miles along the river. At Skivaree on the Pelorus, the folk have a hysterical tendency; if once they are amused, they cannot stop laughing, and the wise shipmaster presents a program of religious tracts. At Henbane Berm, masculine roles must be played by females, and females by men; do not ask me why; they insist that dramas be performed in this way. Down-river towns such as Badburg, Port Moses, Port Optimo, Spanglemar, Ratwick, are somewhat easier; still each has its peculiarities, which are ignored at risk.”

  Gassoon raised his finger into the air. “You ignore the single essential element: the fact that all these folk are men. Their perceptions and instincts are basically alike; all —” A knock sounded at the door. Gassoon jumped up, opened the door a crack, peered forth, then threw the door wide. “Enter, by all means!”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster came into the room. Gassoon brought forward a chair. “Please be seated. Will you take a glass of wine? Or one of these quite tolerable sausages? You will be interested in our conversation. We are debating aesthetic theory and find ourselves at loggerheads. I maintain that art is universal and eternal. Master Zamp — I hope that I fairly state his case — feels that local idiosyncrasies invalidate this precept.”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster said: “Perhaps both of you are right.”

  Gassoon knit his brows. “I concede that this is possible. So it becomes our mission to dissolve this stunted parochialism.”

  “I only want to win the Mornune competition,” said Zamp gloomily.

  “Understandable! Nevertheless we must focus on the main objective. It might be wiser to —”

  Zamp sighed. “Unless we agree as to the Mornune Festival, our association ends almost before it starts.”

  “I would regret this,” said Gassoon. “Still, you must do as you see fit. Damsel Blanche-Aster and I will pursue our own goals.”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster said: “In my opinion a victory at the Mornune Festival is extremely important, if only for the sake of prestige. In this instance I support Master Zamp.”

  Gassoon’s face fell. “Such a victory no doubt would enhance our reputations,” he said grudgingly. “Well then, I believe that we should settle upon the classic tragedy Macbeth as our basic vehicle.”

  Zamp opposed this concept. “What if King Waldemar detests tragedy? Suppose that he is highly partial to pastiches like those I presented on Miraldra’s Enchantment? We should prepare two, or better, three programs. Include Macbeth if you must, but also let us have something with music and gayety and merry spectacles.”

  “The matter of expense must curb any
elaborate ambitions,” declared Gassoon. “I am not the wealthiest man of Lune XXIII.” He shuffled through his books. “Here is a musical work: H.M.S. Pinafore, which seems gay enough, though it is not particularly broad.”

  “That need not trouble us, so long as the work has popular appeal.”

  Gassoon sniffed and put H.M.S. Pinafore aside. “Here is an odd work: The Critique of Pure Reason, which evidently carries serious import.”

  Zamp glanced through the book. “It could not be presented except as a costumed allegory or a dithyramb.”

  “Now here is another work …”

  The discussion continued for another two hours, and eventually agreement was reached, both Zamp and Gassoon making concessions. Zamp was forced to abandon his program of gay miscellaneities, and Gassoon undertook to provide costumes and settings for Macbeth on a scale considerably more lavish than he had intended. Zamp privately considered the work too heavy and was resolved to introduce diversions and spectacles; Gassoon had satisfied himself that Zamp’s tastes were vulgar and insensitive. Damsel Blanche-Aster showed small interest in the proceedings and studied the pictures in a tattered volume of Paradise Lost, which Zamp had wished to produce, but which Gassoon had rejected for reasons of excessive expenditure. Zamp was reluctantly granted control over production details, while Gassoon assumed responsibility for navigation. Gassoon was also conceded the office of adviser and monitor in regard to the production. “I will insist upon meticulous techniques,” Gassoon declared. “We can’t afford untidy execution. Every detail must be keen and bright as a diamond, every gesture must be rich with emotion; silence must carry a meaning heavier than words.” Warming to his theme, Gassoon jumped to his feet and paced back and forth across the parlor. Damsel Blanche-Aster watched him as a hypnotized rabbit might watch a serpent, turning her head back and forth.

  Zamp lost interest in Gassoon’s remarks and examined Macbeth in greater detail. He was forced to admit that the work projected a weird unreal emotion which he thought he might be able to capture and recreate, with a few modifications and augmentations of his own.

  Gassoon stopped in mid-stride, to frown down at Zamp. “I trust that these seven stipulations, or more accurately, strictures of interpretation, accord with your own point of view?”

  “Your ideas certainly have merit,” said Zamp absently. “I notice, incidentally, that the musical accompaniment is missing.”

  Gassoon peered down at the ancient volume. “It is so indeed! A pity.”

  “No great matter; the concert-master will provide a suitable score.”

  “Concert-master? Is such a functionary essential?”

  Zamp gave a quizzical shrug. “No one is absolutely essential. A concert-master will release me from the responsibility of rehearsing the musicians.”

  “The most competent of the musicians can take on this work,” Gassoon decided. “Or if necessary, I will do so myself — anything to avoid useless expense.”

  “That idea, at least, has merit, and to this end, rather than waste money at an inn, I will take up residence on the new Miraldra’s Enchantment, as it now must be known.”

  Gassoon reluctantly agreed to this proposal. Damsel Blanche-Aster said softly: “Perhaps there is an area of responsibility I might assume?”

  “A generous thought,” declared Gassoon. “Still —”

  “Damsel Blanche-Aster might supervise the steward’s department,” suggested Zamp. “The quality of the victualling, the comfort of the cabins, dormitories, saloons and other such amenities.”

  “This task had better be left to me,” Gassoon decided. “I am an old hand at arranging economies. But why should not the Damsel Blanche-Aster play a part in the drama? Why not Lady Macbeth herself?”

  “An excellent idea,” said Zamp.

  Damsel Blanche-Aster made no objection. “I will do my best.”

  “Tomorrow then,” said Zamp, “I will set about the task of assembling a troupe. I will naturally require an expense account.”

  Only after twenty minutes of heated discussion was the matter resolved, to the full satisfaction of neither Zamp, who enjoyed good living, nor Gassoon, who disliked paying for Zamp’s self-indulgences. As they left the Mariner’s Rest Gassoon was further annoyed when he was presented the bill for Zamp’s beer and sausages.

  Chapter IX

  At a dock near the Burse Zamp hired a green punt with a green-and-white-striped awning and was conveyed along the waterways of Coble; under four-storied structures of dark timber, beside moored houseboats, under overhanging plum willows and stern black lantans. At Tasselmyer’s Dock Zamp alighted and walked along the Street of Sounds, beside the small shops where musical instruments were fabricated for export across Surmise Bay to Leuland, and much of Lune XXIII.

  At the ramshackle Musician’s Club, Zamp noted several performers from his old troupe, who evidently had not secured employment with Garth Ashgale. Paying them no heed, he posted a placard on the announcement board:

  The new Miraldra’s Enchantment, managed by Apollon Zamp, winner at the Lanteen Competition, has openings for several excellent and versatile musicians, who play instruments of the following categories:

  BELP-HORN, SCREEDLE, CADENCIVER, VARIBOOM, ELF-PIPE, TYMPANY, GUITAR, DULCIOLE, HEPTAGONG, ZINFONELLA.

  Auditions will be granted aboard Miraldra’s Enchantment (formerly the Universal Pancomium) at Bynum’s Dock.

  The orchestra ultimately selected will participate in an important and innovative program, to be presented before King Waldemar at the Mornune Festival.

  Only dedicated and expert artists will be considered.

  Remuneration will be in appropriate measure.

  Even before Zamp had finished posting his notice, every musician present had come to lean over his shoulder and read the announcement, with the exception only of some of Zamp’s former employees, who showed disinterest or diffidence.

  Zamp responded to the questions with brief remarks: “Employment is of long or indefinite duration.” “I can use no bagpipes nor water-organs.” “Living conditions are to be more than adequate.” “Yes, we definitely play at Mornune and I hope to win the grand prize.” “The treasure will be shared in some degree.” “Security? Safety? The ship will be equipped with effective and modern protective devices. I foresee no problems.” “Auditions will start today at the third gong of the afternoon.”

  Zamp returned to his punt and was taken to the Entertainers, Mimes and Magicians’ Social Club where he posted a second notice and responded to a similar set of questions. As he departed the premises, he met Viliweg the prestidigitator face to face.

  Viliweg, wearing a suit of black gabardine, a cape of mouse-colored taupe, a rakish long-billed cap and various items of jewellery, seemed nothing less than prosperous. At the sight of Zamp, he nodded curtly and would have proceeded past, but Zamp held up his hand. “A moment, Viliweg! I would like a few words with you.”

  “I am somewhat pressed for time,” said Viliweg. “Unfortunately I cannot indulge myself in the pleasure of conversation.”

  “The matter is of considerable importance,” said Zamp. “Would you care to step to the side of the verandah?”

  Viliweg stamped his foot in annoyance. “I recall no matters of outstanding urgency.”

  Zamp said gently: “I will refresh your memory.” He took Viliweg’s elbow and led him to a secluded area behind a screen of decorative ferns. “Apparently,” said Zamp, “you failed to secure a post with Garth Ashgale?”

  “Bah,” grumbled Viliweg. “Ashgale, like many other ship-masters, is highly verbal but significantly less adept when it comes to action.”

  “Still,” Zamp remarked, “you appear quite prosperous. This is surely a new suit, and new boots as well.”

  Viliweg blew out his cheeks. “I have ample resources.”

  “The valuable ornament you are wearing on your cap,” said Zamp, “may I examine it?”

  “I do not care to disarrange my dress,” said Viliweg. “Now, if
you will excuse me —”

  “Not so fast,” said Zamp with a meaningful leer. “I am also interested in that clasp of topaz and silver which pins your cloak. Their familiarity haunts me, and not to make too large a matter of it, be so good as to return my property before I slash away your ears with two strokes of my sabre.”

  Viliweg made the usual expostulations, but in the end Zamp recovered a number of his jewels, together with a pouch containing a hundred and twelve iron groats.

  “Now to the other phase of my business with you,” said Zamp. “I am re-forming the troupe, and I direct your attention to the placard I have just now posted. I possibly may be able to write into Macbeth the part of an expert prestidigitator; if you are interested, please report to Bynum’s Dock tomorrow morning.”

  “I have just lost the savings of a lifetime,” said Viliweg in a morose voice. “Now I must return to work. Ah well, at the very least I find a loyal employer who rises to the occasion when hardship threatens.” He tried to embrace Zamp, but Zamp stepped alertly back and, after verifying his pouch for the jewels, departed the premises.

  In yet another quarter of Coble Zamp posted a placard announcing possible employment for a number of personable girls of good voice and nimble body, then in good spirits he returned to Bynum’s Dock. Perhaps the loss of his wonderful ship was not unalloyed tragedy after all. New challenges confronted him; if surmounted they would yield rewards greater than any he had ever previously considered. Life was too short for either pessimism or complacence!

  At Bynum’s Dock he paused in surprise. Where were the carpenters, painters, riggers and victuallers, who at this moment should have been plying their various trades? He marched aboard the ship, ignoring Berard’s demand for an admission fee, and discovered Gassoon at his display of ancient garments with a party of sightseers. “— nothing more fascinating than style,” Gassoon intoned. “Of all the symbols by which men and women reveal themselves, none are more subtle, yet explicit, than the garments which they choose to represent their guises. Garments have a vitality — yes, Zamp?” This in response to Zamp’s signal.