The Magnificent Showboats

by Jack Vance

  “Throdorus Gassoon, my associate, will not submit gracefully to this toll,” said Zamp. “He might refuse to traverse the Mandaman Gate, or even so much as approach.”

  “That of course is his option.”

  The evening’s presentation went flawlessly and Gassoon received numerous compliments upon the deftness and vivacity of his troupe. Zamp stood close at hand. Someone remarked: “An absolute disgrace that Baron Banoury —”

  Zamp quickly interrupted with: “Yes, we hope to make this voyage again with a new repertory.” Again, when with a rueful shudder someone said: “The castles of old Earth, such as Glamis, were no doubt grim, but when compared to the castle of Baron —” Zamp said quickly, “On our return down the Vissel we will stop again at Port Venable for a longer stay.”

  “Yes, to be sure,” said Gassoon, somewhat bemused. “But who is this Baron?”

  Zamp touched Gassoon’s elbow. “Excuse me, Master Gassoon, but while you accept the congratulations of these good folk, Damsel Blanche-Aster and I are going ashore to take a glass or two at the tavern.”

  “Not so fast!” roared Gassoon. “There are certain matters I wish to discuss with her, and your presence would not be convenient for either of us. You may go off to drink with Viliweg, or another of your cronies.” And making his apologies to the townsfolk, Gassoon strode off to find Damsel Blanche-Aster.

  At dawn Miraldra’s Enchantment cast off from the Port Venable dock and set its sails to a gusty wind, the last gasp of the monsoon. Zamp took Ethan Quaner the ship’s engineer, Baltrop the carpenter and several other men into the hold under that area of the deck where the audience sat and ordered a modification of the jack-screws by which an unruly audience could be tilted over the side.

  Gassoon presently became aware of the pounding and thumping of the workmen and demanded an explanation. Zamp informed the gaunt shipmaster that certain braces and stanchions were being renewed. “Perhaps you should go down into the hold and stay there while the work is being completed. I would do so myself except that —” here Zamp glanced across the quarterdeck to where Damsel Blanche-Aster stood watching the shore slide past “— I have other affairs in mind.”

  Gassoon noted the direction of Zamp’s gaze. “The task is quite well within your capabilities,” he said frigidly.

  “As you wish.”

  The day advanced, and the countryside became rough and wild; ahead the Mandaman Palisades lay directly athwart the course of the river. At various times during the day bands of wild-looking men appeared on the bank to stare in wonder at the passing vessel, and when dusk arrived, rather than anchor and risk an attack, Gassoon chose to continue up the river, steering by starlight and the sheen of the water.

  The next morning the Mandaman Palisades jutted high into the northern sky, and at noon the great gorge by which the Vissel drained the Bottomless Lake had become manifest. A bare half-mile short of this gorge, seeming to grow from the very substance of a low crag, appeared a castle, consisting of a keep, six turrets of varying heights, and a wall with a small timber portal.

  As Miraldra’s Enchantment appeared, a black pinnace put out from a dock and hailed the showboat. “Ahoy aboardship! Back your sails, drop anchor and prepare to pay the toll required by Baron Banoury!”

  Gassoon threw his head back in outrage. “Toll? Stuff and nonsense! We are bound for Mornune!”

  “No matter. Lower a ladder.”

  Gassoon sullenly signaled the boatswain, who dropped an accommodation ladder over the side. A burly man in black and purple armor clambered aboard. Gassoon came forward. “What is this absurd talk of toll? We are here at the invitation of King Waldemar; we are definitely exempted from expense.”

  “Protests are useless. Waldemar himself would be obliged to pay. Baron Banoury controls the Gate. If you wish to pass you must pay him five hundred groats.”

  Gassoon seemed to strangle on his words. “We will pay nothing of the sort! This is extortion, sheer and simple! I prefer to turn about and proceed downstream the way we came!”

  Zamp stepped forward. “You are the Baron Banoury?”

  “I am the Knight Sir Arban, Master of the Guard, Warden of the Gate and Chief Toll-taker.”

  “As you see, this is a showboat,” said Zamp. “We are bound for the Festival at Mornune; and we are unable to pay so large a toll.”

  “Then you may not pass.”

  “Perhaps you will allow us to present our entertainment for the amusement of yourself, Baron Banoury, and the ladies and gentlemen of his court, in lieu of toll?”

  “Aha! We cannot let you pass so cheaply!”

  “How much toll will you then remit?”

  Sir Arban considered. “Subject to the approval of Banoury: fifty groats. You also must serve refreshments.”

  Gassoon emitted a groan of rage. “You demand too much.”

  “In any event,” said Zamp reasonably, “we will present our magnificent drama before these people and perhaps blunt the edge of their avarice.”

  Sir Arban chuckled. “If your performance is as fanciful as your hopes, we shall spend a delightful afternoon. Take your boat, then, to the dock.”

  “With pleasure,” said Zamp. “The entertainment will begin in precisely one hour.”

  Miraldra’s Enchantment, holding only enough way to negate the effect of the current, eased over to the dock. Overhead loomed the castle wall, with six turrets on the sky behind. A pair of bartizans flanked the gate, from which a number of curious folk watched the approach of the showboat. As soon as hawsers had been looped over bollards and the gangplank swung out, Zamp set forth his placards, then returned aboard to assure himself as to the condition of his preparations.

  Gassoon came to Zamp in quivering perturbation. “Why have not the benches been arranged? Haskel tells me that you gave absolute orders to the contrary!”

  “Correct. I know how to deal with this extortionate baron, and hopefully I will curb his insolence. After all, are we not Throdorus Gassoon and Apollon Zamp, famous ship-masters and kings of the river?”

  Gassoon’s prominent teeth showed in a sneering grimace. “If we are thrust into a dungeon we can so solace ourselves. No, Zamp, as usual you are capering off in pursuit of a chimera. Our best hope to avoid an extortionate toll lies in politeness, cooperation and affability. If these are insufficient then there is no choice for it; we must return downstream to Coble. Haskel! Set out the benches! Drape them with decorative buntings!”

  “Perhaps you are right,” said Zamp, “but I wish to show you an important note in the River Index.” He conducted Gassoon aft to the door of the office, politely stood back to allow Gassoon’s entry, then closed the door upon the ship-master’s incredulous bellow. Zamp wedged the door shut with a pair of poles against a nearby bulkhead, these poles having been measured, cut and arranged for just such a purpose that very morning.

  Ignoring Gassoon’s strident calls, Zamp returned to the main deck, and reversed the order to Haskel. Five minutes later the gate through the lowering wall swung ajar; down the road moved a splendid procession, led by a pair of heralds in lavender hose and gray doublets. They stepped to a ceremonial long-gaited slow march and carried aloft a pair of black and purple gonfalons. Behind sauntered the gentle-folk of Baron Banoury’s court, the noblemen armored in cuirasses and morions of purple, green, dark red, or black membrane, lacquered and polished and decked with silver rosettes and spangles. The ladies wore embroidered gowns, soft leather shoes, hats to the most ornate and elaborate concepts imaginable. Several of the older knights, dour and sardonic, wore suits of rich black velvet with tall black narrow-brimmed hats. Many of these folk affected pomanders attached to their wrists by cords of braided silk, which they often raised delicately to their noses, as if the air off the river carried an odor too fresh and harsh to be borne.

  Behind the aristocrats marched a company of vastly different sort, composed of burly men in purple and black uniforms, armed with halberds and swords. Their faces, round, heavy and blun
t as porridge-pots, were so alike, with compressed features, small eyes squinting, mouths down-slanting, as to suggest a single inbred clan. They marched with unsmiling precision, with a kind of mindless zest in their manner of stamping their feet upon the ground.

  The heralds paused at the gangplank; the noble-folk inspected the placards with indolent interest, and Zamp thought to identify Baron Banoury: a portly middle-aged man of no great stature, with curly ginger-colored hair and mustaches. His lady, even more corpulent and somewhat taller, wore her hair in an astonishing confection of puffs and spires, billows and curls.

  The soldier captain blew his whistle; a squad ran up the gangplank, to examine decks, stage and passages for evidence of treacherous ambuscade; discovering none, they stationed themselves in commanding positions. Baron Banoury and his entourage now boarded the vessel.

  Zamp stepped forward: “The personnel of Miraldra’s Enchantment welcomes Baron Banoury and his distinguished circle aboard this vessel. Our aim is to create a cordial relationship, to such an extent that Baron Banoury will waive his usual toll. To this end, we intend to present a merry program of entertainments and musical fancies.”

  “I am Baron Banoury,” declared the portly man. “I appreciate your sentiments, but I must insist upon my customary levy, lest a detrimental precedent be set.”

  Zamp made a gracious motion. “Sir, I sympathize with your dilemma; still, to pay the toll would result in our impoverishment; in fact, I doubt if we could muster any such sum.”

  Baron Banoury gestured toward the Mandaman Palisades. “Raise your eyes to the heights. What do you see along the skyline?”

  Zamp inspected the row of contrivances. “They resemble gantries on frames; there is even a macabre suggestion of the gibbet.”

  Baron Banoury nodded. “I point out these devices merely to indicate how seriously I regard financial delinquency. Whoever comes this far must pay.”

  Zamp bowed his head. “You will of course allow us a generous remittance for our performance?”

  “We shall see, we shall see.” Baron Banoury indicated the deck. “Why have not seats been arranged for our comfort?”

  “Our introductory number is a pavane. Lords and ladies frequently enjoy pacing the figures.” Zamp turned to the stage. “Let the music begin! Baron Banoury wishes to dance!”

  The curtain slid aside to reveal the orchestra, which commenced upon a measured and dignified tune.

  Baron Banoury showed no inclination to dance, but with his company moved forward to inspect the orchestra. Zamp raised his hand. The music stopped short. In the hold the boatswain and Baltrop the carpenter swung mallets to dislodge a pair of posts. The deck split in the middle and fell apart, precipitating Baron Banoury and his party into the opening. Bullocks turned the capstans; ropes tautened; blocks squeaked; up from the hold was hoisted a cargo net laden with the persons of Baron Banoury, his companions and their ladies. The company of guards watched in stupefaction, then gave hoarse calls of outrage. They charged the quarterdeck, to be met by a jet of water which washed them over the side.

  “Slip the hawsers!” ordered Zamp. “Make all sail! Full power to the stern-wheel! We are about to negotiate the famous Mandaman Gate!”

  Miraldra’s Enchantment slid upstream. Zamp gave his attention to the occupants of the net, now dangling twenty feet above the deck from the end of the cargo-boom. He peered among the compressed miscellany of arms, legs, buttocks, contorted faces, trying to locate Baron Banoury, and finally found him at the very bottom of the net with his corpulent spouse sitting on his neck, herself in little better condition, with a leg apparently belonging to Sir Arban ungallantly thrust across her shoulder and an unidentifiable elbow in her coiffure. The net quivered and bulged to the movement of the occupants, as those below tried to dislodge those on top. Baron Banoury, under the rump of his spouse, lacked almost all scope for movement. By bending and peering upward Zamp was able to look into Banoury’s face. The position was uncomfortable and Zamp gave orders for the net to be raised and the boom swung to a more convenient angle.

  To make himself heard above the objurgations, Zamp was forced to raise his voice. “I regret the necessity of so much discomfort,” he assured Baron Banoury, “but, as you yourself must know, such steps often cannot be avoided.”

  Baron Banoury, his face congested, made an incoherent reply.

  Zamp, remembering Gassoon, sent a steward to open the office. Gassoon stalked out upon the deck, to gaze wildly around. The cargo net swung; Gassoon ducked and jumped aside in consternation.

  Zamp, leaning on the quarterdeck rail, said: “You are looking at Baron Banoury and his group, who will accompany us through the Mandaman Gate, and who in fact will be with us during our visit to Mornune.”

  Despite the successful effect of Zamp’s plans, Gassoon could not restrain his reproaches, to which Zamp gave mild and reasonable replies.

  The ship approached the awesome bulk of the Palisades. Crags rose sheer from the river, which across a million years had cut an astonishing chasm through the mountains.

  The current slid swiftly and the boat lost headway. Gassoon ordered Garth Ashgale and his gang to the capstans to assist the bullocks, and the vessel crept foot by foot, yard by yard, up the chasm. The water ran dark, silent and heavy, striated like pulled taffy.

  A mile passed. The chasm became even more constricted, and crags seemed to overhang the water. Raising his eyes, Zamp felt his head swim with vertigo. He transferred his attention to the cargo net where the inhabitants of Banoury Castle at last, after many curses and protests, had reordered their positions to allow Baron Banoury somewhat more comfort. Banoury called down to Zamp: “Lower the net; let us at least stand on the deck!”

  “In due course you will be assisting with the work at the capstans. Control your impatience until then.”

  “You will never profit by such treachery!”

  Zamp took no notice of the threat.

  The walls closed in to allow a channel barely twice the width of the ship; however, instead of rushing at greater velocity, the water seemed instead to lie almost stagnant, and Zamp wondered how deep this channel must be to allow such a condition.

  Miraldra’s Enchantment moved easily now, swirling aside the cold dark water. Ahead the cliffs fell aside, allowing a view over calm vistas and dreaming pearl-colored sky. A few moments later the ship left the waters of the Vissel River and floated out upon Bottomless Lake.

  Chapter XIV

  The charts which Zamp had been able to assemble at Coble offered only contradictions. One indicated Bottomless Lake to be a circular body surrounded by towering mountains; another depicted a shape like a man’s outspread hand, with five crooked fjords extending from a central section. The specified dimensions were as disparate, ranging from a diameter of a hundred miles to a surface little larger than a mill-pond. One theorist identified Bottomless Lake as a natural vent into the viscera of an animate planet; another hypothesized a cavity created by the explosion of an ancient volcano, and cited the tortured relief of the surrounding mountains as evidence, although this view was challenged by another authority on theosophical grounds.

  Zamp now lowered the cargo net and allowed Baron Banoury and his company to extricate themselves one by one, to be disarmed, relieved of pouches, jewels, metal ornaments, pomanders, flasks of scent and the like. Gassoon stood disdainfully aside during this process though he stepped forward to appraise the heap of valuables.

  Zamp inquired of Baron Banoury, “What is the geography of this lake? Where lies Mornune, for instance?”

  Banoury sullenly pretended ignorance of such matters. “The town is somewhere yonder: the seat of a mean and capricious tyrant. If he takes note of me, he will feed me to his sacred oels. You might as well drown me here and now, or even better allow me the use of a small boat so that I may return to my castle.”

  “This is an impractical suggestion. I distinctly remember your unyielding manner and your reference to gibbets.”

  “
You thereby condemn us all to an unpleasant end.”

  “Who lives forever? You should have considered these possibilities before you attempted to plunder us. You and your company may go to the starboard capstan and relieve the team of bullocks which now labors there.”

  “Must we toil like animals?” shouted Baron Banoury, at last overwrought. “Have you no gallantry? These ladies know nothing of such exercise!”

  “It is simple enough,” said Zamp. “One thrusts at the bar with all his weight until the bar moves, then he or she steps forward and repeats the act. In almost no time you will learn the skills.”

  Disconsolate and complaining, the erstwhile noblefolk were taken to the capstan and disposed to their duties.

  Damsel Blanche-Aster, as usual, had kept remote and apart from the activity of the day. She was not now on deck and Zamp went to seek her in her cabin. By some circumstance the door stood slightly ajar; peering through the aperture Zamp observed Damsel Blanche-Aster in the act of trying on the garment which Zamp had seen once before, at the Green Star Inn: an intricately embroidered jacket, at one time an article of great elegance but now somewhat shabby and threadbare. Damsel Blanche-Aster seemed dissatisfied with her appearance, for she removed the garment, and pulled a dark blue jacket over her head.

  Zamp knocked at the door; Damsel Blanche-Aster gave a startled gasp and then looked forth into the corridor. “What do you wish?”

  “Advice, instruction and information. We are lost upon the face of the Bottomless Lake.”

  Damsel Blanche-Aster wordlessly came out into the corridor and Zamp took her up to the quarterdeck. “The most eminent geographers of Lune XXIII contradict each other in regard to this remarkable body of water,” said Zamp. “We cannot decide which direction to steer.”

  “Steer yonder.” Damsel Blanche-Aster pointed to the northeast. “The lake is about forty miles long; you can just barely see the Myrmont. Below, along the Cynthiana, is Mornune.”