The Magnificent Showboats

by Jack Vance

  “I fear, Master Zamp, that you are a victim to your own perfervid imagination.”

  “Absolutely not! We sail to Mornune; promise that you will return with me!”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster shook her head. “I have my own hopes and dreams.”

  Zamp shook his head in disbelief. “What must you do at Mornune, that you ignore the ardor of Apollon Zamp?”

  “It is quite simple. I left Mornune to avoid espousal to a man I detest; now he is dead and I may return home.”

  “Astonishing!” declared Zamp. “Gassoon thinks you go to seek a treasure in rare books; you told me that you must save your sick father from imprisonment; now you remember this unwelcome suitor.”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster looked away to the north, and smiled a strange smile. “I am absent-minded; I forget to whom I have made explanations.”

  Zamp hissed between his teeth. “You have tantalized me beyond endurance! Here and now we shall set matters to rights!” Zamp stepped forward and took Damsel Blanche-Aster in his arms, only to receive a terrible blow on the head that brought tears to his eyes. For a period the sky rocked. A nasal voice rang in his ears: “Traitor and dog’s vomit, I heard all I want to hear! Do you think you could deceive me with your skulking? Never! Prepare to die on this spot!”

  Zamp, his eyes yet unfocused, glimpsed Gassoon brandishing a heavy cutlass. Frantically Zamp rolled aside and Gassoon’s lunge went wide.

  Zamp tried to scramble to his feet, to slip and fall sprawling again, while dodging Gassoon’s second blow. Damsel Blanche-Aster ran forward and seized Gassoon’s arm. “Throdorus! Calm yourself! Put up your blade!”

  “I must destroy this vermin!” cried Gassoon. “He has performed a wicked act this morning!”

  “He is foolish rather than evil. And remember! Only Zamp can provide us safe conduct across the Bottomless Lake!”

  “This might be a sterile capability,” Gassoon grumbled. He gave his cutlass a final flourish and addressed Zamp. “Consider yourself a dead man restored to life! I hope that you will be induced to mend your ways.”

  Beside himself with fury, Zamp gained his feet and snatched forth his own blade. “Come now, you lank misfortune of a dog’s miscarriage! Let us see whose life hangs by which thread! How dare you come spying on your betters?” He stepped forward but Gassoon struck down with his cutlass and broke the shaft of Zamp’s rapier and Zamp stood holding only the pommel.

  Damsel Blanche-Aster took Gassoon’s arm. “Come, Throdorus, let us ignore Master Zamp; he has lost his temper and is no longer coherent.” She led Gassoon down the trail. Zamp sat down on a rock and massaged the side of his head. The episode seemed an incredible dream. How could any woman, alive and healthy, resist such importunities as those he had lavished upon Damsel Blanche-Aster? No matter! The voyage was not yet at its end. Zamp recalled that fractional instant when Damsel Blanche-Aster had seemed to melt. It was a positive sign, and Zamp would redouble his efforts. He would woo this exquisite creature with such gallantry as the world had never known! He would warm her icy heart with graceful occasions! He would quicken her pulse with music, fire her brain with poetry! She would learn to find him indispensable, and come to him brimming with love, beseeching his attention.

  Zamp rose to his feet and found his hat. He clapped it upon his head, and set off down the hill.

  Returning to Miraldra’s Enchantment, Zamp stalked up the gangplank with dignity. Gassoon greeted him coldly though without open rancor. The evening’s performance went smoothly and Gassoon even seemed to approve certain of Zamp’s embellishments which heretofore he had labeled ‘not authentic, opposite to the spirit of the original’.

  On the following morning Zamp noticed that, contrary to his instructions, certain essentials were not being brought aboard the ship. He went at once to Gassoon’s office, but found it empty; Gassoon was in the museum, displaying his collection of antique costumes to a group of local matrons. Gassoon pointedly ignored Zamp’s signals and Zamp was forced to wait while Gassoon lovingly brought forth the old garments: imperial gowns, embroidered aprons, the black cassock of a Royal Skannic Lancer, the silks of a Lalustrine nymph, the costume of an ancient spaceman, and Gassoon’s own favorite: a regal jacket brittle with age, embroidered lavishly in thread of green and tarnished gold. Gassoon discoursed upon each item in a reedy droning voice until Zamp finally grew impatient. Grinning to himself he went to Gassoon’s private office, entered and closed the door.

  Within half a minute he heard hurried footsteps and Gassoon appeared. “What are you doing in here? This is my private office where I do not welcome intruders.”

  “My apologies, Master Gassoon, but I wish to consult you on a matter of some urgency.”

  “Well then, what do you wish to discuss?”

  “It appears that I am not forceful enough with our shore agents. Yesterday I ordered aboard four bullocks to supplement our present eight beasts, together with ten tons of fodder. Nothing has yet been delivered and I would like you to take a hand in the matter.”

  “I canceled the order,” snapped Gassoon, “which explains the whole situation.”

  “I did not order these bullocks out of idle caprice or in a spirit of self-indulgence,” said Zamp. “The monsoon is starting to fail, and the journey is long; we should not put our faith in variable winds.”

  Gassoon made an incisive gesture with his big white hand. “The expense is beyond our prudent capacity; the issue is as simple as that. Even more to the point: I have developed very serious doubts about the whole wild scheme. Suppose we arrive at Mornune and fail in the competition? We have wasted a large sum of money for nothing.”

  “We will not fail.”

  Gassoon gave his head a mulish shake. “The project is too risky, especially in view of the failing winds.”

  “If we leave now there is no lack of time, even allowing for flawed winds.”

  Again Gassoon shook his head. “Frankly, I am discouraged. My hopes of producing classic drama have been eroded; at each performance you introduce some new innovation, and I am no longer surprised by anything, merely saddened. What is the point of proceeding?” Gassoon paced back and forth across the office, with hands clasped behind his back. “I fear that I have lost my illusions. In fact, you may now leave this vessel.”

  “Indeed. And what of Damsel Blanche-Aster?”

  “Her circumstances need not concern you in the slightest. She must be as bored as I am with hare-brained exploits and impossible voyages. We will remain here at Lanteen for a week or two, then return by easy steps to Coble. Now, be so good as to leave this ship, or I will have Turliman put you ashore.”

  “Just a moment.” Leaving the office, Zamp stepped across the passageway to Damsel Blanche-Aster’s cabin and knocked at the door. She looked forth.

  “Come at once to Master Gassoon’s office,” said Zamp. “He has an interesting announcement to make.”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster, once more cool and intense, accompanied Zamp to Gassoon’s office. Zamp made an airy salute in Gassoon’s direction. “Let us discuss your plans again, now that all those concerned are present.”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” stated Gassoon, in a voice like the middle tones of an oboe. “I have determined that the voyage to Mornune is not only impractical and imprudent but dangerous. You, Zamp, are demonstrably an undesirable associate; you will leave the ship immediately. Damsel Blanche-Aster, we have many times celebrated our spiritual compatibility; the time perhaps has come to formalize our bond, to make us truly one.”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster reflected a moment, then spoke in an uncharacteristically hesitant voice. “Your judgments may well be correct, Throdorus. The journey north is toilsome, especially for a vessel such as this.”

  Gassoon nodded grimly and darted a yellow glance toward Zamp.

  Damsel Blanche-Aster spoke on in a musing voice: “As you know, I have an affair at Mornune which must be settled before I can even contemplate your other suggestions. Still, I believe that our
various goals can be reconciled. You may return to me the two pounds of iron I advanced at Coble; Master Zamp will use this money to buy a felucca. He and I will sail north to Mornune as swiftly as may be. There I will accomplish my errand and Master Zamp may compete in the festival with my assistance — perhaps we will perform scenes from Macbeth or a program of comic pantomimes. Then, upon conclusion of the festival we will rejoin you here at Lanteen.”

  The cords stood out along Gassoon’s long neck; he opened his mouth to speak but produced only a set of rasping sounds.

  Zamp said thoughtfully: “Such a plan seems feasible to me. In fact, it is our only alternative, since Master Gassoon does not care to venture north in his own vessel.” He addressed himself to Damsel Blanche-Aster.

  “I will go now and search out a suitable boat. You perhaps could help Master Gassoon weigh out the two pounds of iron.”

  Gassoon strode forward. “A moment, Master Zamp; not so fast, if you please. The situation is absurd. Do you think that I carry two pounds of iron in my pocket?”

  “I don’t know where you carry your iron, Master Gassoon. I only know that there is no time for delay. The monsoons are dying and we must reach Mornune.”

  Gassoon gave an angry croak of defeat. “Order aboard your four bullocks and your fodder. We sail for the north at once.”

  An hour before departure an item of unsettling news reached the ship, at which not even Zamp could rejoice, and which Gassoon greeted with a moan of despair. Near Bluskin on the Suanol a band of Dymnatic Black-Arrows had waylaid Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit. They had captured Garth Ashgale with all his troupe and sunk the ship.

  Chapter XII

  Glassblower’s Point dwindled to a blue-gray triangle low on the horizon and slowly merged into the haze, like a fading memory. Ahead, the Vissel extended between low banks, sometimes barely a quarter-mile wide, sometimes so broad that the total universe seemed to consist of water and sky. Consulting the River Index, Zamp discovered mention of only three settlements of consequence along the way to the Bottomless Lake: Skivaree, at the confluence of the Vissel and the Pelorus; Garken, a slave-traders’ depot and caravan terminus; and Massacre Bend. Idanthus, Prairie View and Port Venable were places marked on the chart by hollow dots, to indicate a lack of definite information. Beyond Port Venable two hundred miles of wilderness were shown: swamp, steppe, an arm of the Tartark Forest; finally the Mandaman Palisades and the Bottomless Lake.

  The first day out of Lanteen the wind blew brisk, with tufts of cirrus scudding across the sky, and Miraldra’s Enchantment drove up-river dragging a white mustache across the dun water.

  On the following day the wind blew even more strongly. Long combings of stratus trailed across the sky, and at noon an ominous mass of nimbus came hulking up from the south. Gassoon nervously ordered in the foresail and mizzen, called for a reef in the mainsail, and the vessel lurched through a stormy afternoon, while Zamp put into rehearsal that version of Macbeth he would play at Mornune. Gassoon watched with a curled lip, then shaking his head in disgust, retired to his office. In addition to his witches’ dance and banquet entertainments, Zamp now inserted sword-dancers, a coronation pageant, and an entire new sequence, to motivate the deceptions practised upon Macbeth by the witches. At the opening of his new scene the three hags were discovered working over a great cauldron, chanting spells, capering and clenching their hands, manipulating balls of blue fire, at last to produce (in the person of Deneis, the youngest of the mime-girls) a naked lank-haired lamia, who is then sent forth to suck the blood of Lady Macbeth in payment for the presages rendered Macbeth. Lady Macbeth awakens to find the lamia kneeling over her; the lamia flees and is then hunted down and killed in the forest: a scene which Zamp considered most effective. In revenge the witches instruct Macduff that his army must carry branches from Birnam Wood during their assault upon Dunsinane Castle. After the death of Macbeth and his lady, Zamp introduced an episode of somber pomp: the coronation of Malcolm, the new king, at Scone. Here Malcolm vows the extirpation of witchcraft, and the final scene is played once more on the darkling heath. The three witches at their fire cluck and chortle at King Malcolm’s vain hopes, and address themselves to the invention of new intrigues and tragedies.

  Mile after mile of the changeless river fell astern. At times a fisherman’s hut stood on the bank, or a village of ten weatherbeaten cabins from which tousle-haired children tumbled forth to watch in wonder as the showboat surged past.

  On the fourth day out of Lanteen the river abruptly widened to become a placid flood, rippling and glinting in the sunlight, and presently the great Pelorus River could be discerned, making conflux from the northwest. The point of land between the two rivers displayed an irregular clutter of whitewashed houses: Skivaree.

  According to the River Index, the folk of Skivaree were the survivors of a people from a land known as Kyl Wyff, far away to the east in Lune XXV. Omens discovered by their mantics had compelled them to migrate. A hundred years later thirty-four survivors had arrived at the Vissel where new omens commanded them to settle. By virtue of specialized skills they gained immunity from nomad attack and presently prospered; and now the Skivaree tattoo-masters, using fish-spine needles and secret inks, served all the tribes of the Tinsitala Steppe. At the Skivaree College of Decorum the daughters of nomad knights learned deportment, rug-weaving, saddle-making, the Dance of Four Movements and the Dance of Eight Movements. The River Index described the folk of Skivaree as affable, placid, tolerant. Despite all evidence to the contrary, they regarded themselves as members of an extra-human race, distinct from and superior to all other peoples of Big Planet. The River Index concluded with a rather chilling warning:

  Guard your children with vigilance! Never allow them to wander the backstreets of Skivaree! Without compunction the folk will seize them, wring their necks, butcher, dress, cook and serve them at table in any of a dozen modes, without guilt or afterthought. A full description of these odd folk is beyond the scope of this volume.

  Gassoon decided to stop at Skivaree, both for the profit to be derived from a performance, and to purchase fresh greens and vegetables which had been in poor supply at Lanteen and to which he was partial. Zamp made no protest, and during the middle afternoon Miraldra’s Enchantment warped alongside the Skivaree docks. Zamp set forth placards and proclaimed the evening’s entertainment, while Gassoon went to inspect the market offerings.

  With an hour or two of leisure on his hands Zamp strolled off in the company of Viliweg to investigate the town. The site of Skivaree, exposed to the river winds, had been blown bare; the stark whitewashed stone houses all faced south but showed no orderly placement, having been sited by omen. In a carefully delineated quarter along the Vissel were grouped the tattooing studios, three inns, five beer gardens, and a ground where visitors so inclined might set up their tents. Zamp saw men of a dozen varieties in as many distinctive costumes: Dymnatics, Varls seven feet tall, Gonchos with heads concealed under contrivances of leather and wood, Khouls with skins black as midnight, Lalukes wearing simulated tails, all drawn to Skivaree for the tattooing. As a rule they carried themselves with wary punctilio, each sort armed with their distinctive and special weapons, exchanging few words with one another, eyeing hereditary enemies askance, yet deterred from violence by the edicts of the tattoo-masters who wished no interference with their revenues. The folk of Skivaree, well-fleshed, round and bland of face, with sparse ginger-colored hair, resembled none of their patrons, and if they wished to think of themselves as a non-human race, Zamp was not prepared to dispute their conviction, so long as they paid their admission fees in sound black iron.

  Returning to the boat Zamp found that black iron was the subject of discussion between Gassoon and an official of Skivaree, who declared that Gassoon’s admission charges were unreasonable and exorbitant.

  “Not so!” declared Gassoon. “Consider! I must invest in the boat and all my properties. Secondly, I must locate, hire, train, feed and pay an unreasonably large
complement of actors, musicians and sailors. Thirdly, I journey a vast distance up this interminable river, earning no revenue until I arrive at Skivaree. Can you wonder that I am indignant when you tell me that my fees are too high?”

  “There is something in what you say,” agreed the official. “Still, at Skivaree we are seldom offered entertainment and everyone will wish to enjoy your presentation. But does any person wish to squander for two hours of passive pleasure the iron which he must labor an entire day to obtain?”

  Gassoon gave his head an obstinate shake. “My fees are not too high. Your wage-scale may simply be too low.”

  “Ah well, we shall see,” said the official equably. “After all, what does it matter? Post your charges as high as you like; you will be assured a full audience in any case.”

  Shortly after sunset Gassoon opened the ticket window at the foot of the gangplank, while the orchestra on the quarter-deck played a series of rousing jigs and rounds. At once the folk of Skivaree appeared; and paying Gassoon’s stipulated admission fee, filed aboard until every seat was occupied.

  Zamp presented three introductory pieces: a pole-balancing act, Viliweg with his legerdemain, and a comic dance of clowns and simulated oels. Then the curtain rose on Macbeth.

  Zamp was pleased with the effect of his innovations. The audience sat in disciplined ranks, displaying fixed smiles of placid enjoyment. The final curtain elicited no overt approbation, and the audience filed quietly off the ship.

  The civic official at once approached Gassoon. “A fine performance, excellent indeed, stinting nothing in zeal or duration. The musicians played to exact tempo; the substance of the drama was significant and timely.”

  Gassoon was immensely gratified. “It is generous of you to say as much, after our little discussion in regard to admission fees.”