by Jack Vance
“You were spying on me today. I’ve half a mind to shove your head in the cesspool.”
“I was not spying,” said Jantiff. “I happened to be walking along the shore with percebs for today’s custom.”
“Don’t walk that way again. The Grand Knight likes his privacy, and so do I.”
“Did you wish to order?” asked Jantiff with what dignity he could muster.
“When I see fit!” growled Booch. “I have the feeling that I’ve seen your unwholesome face before. I did not like it then, nor do I like it now, so have a care.”
Jantiff went stiffly off about his duties.
In the corner of the room sat Eubanq, who presently signaled to Jantiff. “What’s your difficulty with Booch?”
Jantiff described the episode. “And now he’s in a rage.”
“No doubt, and the, whole situation has curdled, since I intended Booth to fly you to Uncibal in one of the Grand Knight’s flibbits.”
Booch loomed over the table. “This is the person you want flown to Uncibal?” A grin spread over his face. “I’ll be happy to take him aloft, at no payment whatever.”
Neither Jantiff nor Eubanq made response. Booch chuckled and departed the tavern.
Jantiff said bleakly: “I certainly won’t fly to Uncibal with Booch.”
Eubanq made one of his easy gestures. “Don’t take him seriously. Booth is bluff and bluster, for the most part. I’ve consulted the schedule and now I’ll need your passage voucher. Do you have it with you?”
“Yes, but I don’t care to let it out of my hands.”
Eubanq smilingly shook his head. “There’s no way to negotiate a firm reservation without it.”
Jantiff reluctantly surrendered the certificate.
“Very good,” said Eubanq. “You will depart Uncibal in three weeks aboard the Jervasian. How much money do—you have, now?”
“Twenty ozols.”
Eubanq clicked his tongue in vexation. “Not enough! In three weeks you’ll have at most eighty ozols! Well, I’ll simply have to reschedule you for the Serenaic, in about six weeks.”
“But that will be after the Arrabin Centenary Festival!”
“What of that?”
Jantiff was silent a moment. “I have business at Uncibal, but before the Centenary. Can’t you trust me for twenty owls? As soon as I’m home I’ll send back whatever money is lacking. I swear it!”
“Of course!” said Eubanq wearily. “I believe you, never doubt it! You are deadly in earnest—now. But on Zeck there might be needs more urgent than mine here at this dismal little outpost. That is the way things go. I fear that I must have the money in hand. Which shall it be? The Jervasian or the Serenaic?”
“It will have to be the Serenaic,” said Jantiff hollowly. “I simply won’t have the money sooner. Remember: under no circumstances will I fly with Booch.”
“Just as you say. I can hire Bulwan’s flibbit and fly you myself. We’ll plan on that basis.”
Jantiff went off about his work. Six weeks seemed a very long time. What of the Arrabin Centenary? He must telephone Alastor Centrality again, and yet again,, until finally he had unloaded all his burden of facts and suspicions upon the cursar… From the distance of Balad, his notions seemed strange and odd: incredible, really—even to Jantiff himself. Might he have suffered a set of vivid paranoid delusions? Jantiff’s faith in himself wavered, but only for a moment or two. He had not imagined Esteban’s murderous attempts, nor the overheard conversation, nor the camera matrix, nor the death of Clods Morre.
During the course of the evening Jantiff noticed a plump pink-faced young man in the kitchen, and just before closing time, Fariske called him aside. “Jantiff, conditions have more or less returned to normal, and I’m sorry to say that I must let you go.”
Jantiff stared aghast. At last he managed to stammer: “What have I done wrong?”
“Nothing whatever. Your work has been in the main satisfactory. My nephew Voris, nevertheless, wants his position back. He is an idler; he drinks as much as he serves; still, I must oblige him, or risk the rough edge of my sister’s tongue. That is the way we do things in Baled. You may use your chamber tonight, but I must ask you to vacate tomorrow.”
Jantiff turned away and finished the evening’s duties in a fog of depression. Two hours before he had been disturbed by a delay of six weeks; now how blessedly fortunate seemed that prospect!
The patrons departed. Jantiff set the room to rights and went off to bed, where he lay awake into the small hours.
In the morning Palinka awoke him at the usual time. She had never been wholly cordial, and today even less so. “I have been ordered to feed you a final breakfast, so bestir yourself; I have much else to do.”
Defiance trembled upon Jantiff’s tongue, but second thoughts prevailed. He muttered a surly acknowledgment, and presented himself to the kitchen as usual.
Palinka put before him his usual gruel, tea, bread and conserve; Jantiff ate listlessly and so aroused Palinka’s impatience. “Come, Jantiff, eat briskly, if you please! I am waiting to clear the table.”
“And I am waiting for my wages!” declared Jantiff in sudden fury. “Where is Fariske? As soon as he pays me, I will leave?”
Then you will be waiting the whole day long,” Palinka retorted. “He has gone off to the country market.”
“And where is my money? Did he not instruct you to pay me?”
Palinka uttered a coarse laugh. “It is too early for jokes. Fariske has made himself scarce hoping that you would forget your money.”
“Small chance of that! I intend to claim every dinket!”
“Come back in the morning. For now, be off with you!”
Jantiff left the Old Groar in a sullen mood. For a moment he stood in the street, hands tucked into the flaps of his jacket, shoulders hunched against the wind. He looked east along the street, then west, where his eyes focused upon the Cimmery. Jantiff grimaced; he had lost all zest for the taverns of Balad. Nonetheless, he settled his jacket and sauntered down the street to the Cimmery, where he found Madame Tchaga, a short stout woman with an irascible manner, employed at a task Jantiff knew only too well: scrubbing out the common-room. Jantiff addressed her as confidently as possible, but Madame Tchaga, pausing not a stroke of the push broom, uttered a bark of sour amusement “The owls I take in are not enough for me and mine; I’ve no need for you. Seek elsewhere for work; try the Grand Knight. He might want someone to pare his toenails?’
Jantiff returned to the street, where he considered Madame Tchaga’s suggestion.
From one of the side, lanes came Eubanq on his way to his office at the space-port. At the sight of Jantiff he nodded and would have proceeded had not Jantiff eagerly stepped forward to accost him. Here, after, all, was the obvious solution to his problems!
Eubanq greeted him politely enough. “What brings you out in this direction?”
“Fariske no longer needs me at the Old Groar,” said Jantiff. “This may be a blessing in disguise, since you can surely put me to work at the space-port, hopefully at a much better wage.”
Eubanq’s expression became distant “Unfortunately not.
In truth, there’s little enough work to keep my present crew busy.”
Jantiff’s voice rose in frustration. “Then how can I earn a hundred ozols?”
“I don’t know. One way or another, you must discover the money. Your voucher has been sent to Uncibal and you are booked aboard the Serenaic.”
Jantiff stared in consternation. “Can’t the passage be postponed?”
“That’s no longer possible.”
“Can’t you suggest something? What of the Grand Knight? Could you put a word in for me?”
Eubanq started to make small sidling moves, preparatory to moving on past Jantiff. “The Grand Knight is not in residence. Booch now rules the roost, when he’s not wenching or witch-chasing or drinking dry the Old Groar vats, and he’s not lately to assist you. But no doubt your dilemma will resolve its
elf: happily, I hope. Good day to you.” Eubanq went his way.
Jantiff slouched eastward along the street: past the Old Groar to the edge of town and beyond. Arriving at the seashore, he sat upon a fiat stone and looked out across the rolling gray water. Morning light from Dwan, collecting in the wave hollows, washed back and forth like quicksilver. Silver foam broke around the rocks. Jantiff stared morosely at the horizon and pondered his options. He might, of course, try to return to Uncibal and his refuge behind the Disjerferact privy—but how to cross the thousand miles of wilderness? Suppose he were to steal one of the Grand Knight’s flibbits? And suppose Booch caught him in the act? Jantiff’s shoulder blades twitched. His best hope, as always, lay with the cursar. To this end he must make daily telephone calls to Alastor Centrality. In the morning he would collect his wages from Fariske: a not too satisfactory sum which nonetheless would feed him for an appreciable period. Of more immediate concern was shelter. An idea crossed his mind. He rose to his feet and walked along the shore to the ruined fisherman’s shanty, if such it were. Without enthusiasm he examined the structure, although lie knew it well already, then set to work clearing the interior of trash, dead leaves, and dirt.
From the forest he brought saplings which he arranged over the walls in a mat which was strong and resilient but hardly waterproof. Jantiff considered the problem carefully. He had no money to spare for conventional roofing; a solution, therefore, must be improvised. The obvious first attempt must be thatch—and even thatch involved financial outlay.
Returning into Balad, Jantiff invested an ozol in cord, knife, and a disk of hard bread, then trudged back to the shack. The time was now afternoon; there was no time to rest. From the beach he brought armloads of seaweed, and laid it out into bundles. Some of the stalks were old and rotten, and smelled of fetid sea life; before Jantiff had fairly started he was cold and wet and covered with slime Doggedly ignoring discomfort he tied up the bundles and fixed them to his roof in staggered layers.
Sunset found the job still short of completion. Jantiff built a fire, washed himself and his garments in the stream, and before the light had died, gathered a quart of percebs for his supper. He hung up his clothes to dry, then huddled naked in the firelight, trying to keep warm on all sides at once. Meanwhile the percebs baked in their shells, and Jantiff presently ate his supper of bread and percebs with a good appetite.
Night had come; darkness cloaked both land and sea. Jantiff lay back and studied the sky. Since he had never learned the constellations as seen from Wyst, he could name none of the stars, but surely some of these blazing lights above him were famous places, home to noble men and beautiful women. None could even remotely suspect that far below, on the beach of the Moaning Ocean, sat that entity known as Jantiff Ravensroke!
Letting his mind wander free, Jantiff thought of all manner of things, and presently decided that he had divined the soul of this odd little planet Wyst. On Wyst nothing was as it seemed: everything was just a trifle askew or out of focus, or bathed in a mysterious quivering light. This quality, Jantiff reflected, was analogous to the personality of a man. Undoubtedly men tended to share the personality of that world to which they were born… Jantiff wondered about his own world, Zeck, which had always seemed so ordinary: did visitors find it odd and unusual? By analogy, did Jantiff himself seem odd and unusual? Quite conceivably this was the case, thought Jantiff.
The fire burned down to embers. Jantiff rose stiffly to his feet. His bed was only a heap of leaves, but for tonight, at least, it would have to serve. Jantiff made a final survey of the beach, then took shelter in his hut. Burrowing into the leaves, he contrived to make himself tolerably comfortable and presently fell asleep.
At sunrise Jantiff crawled out into the open air. He washed his face in the stream, and ate a few mouthfuls of bread and cold percebs, by no means a heartening breakfast. If he were to stay here even so long as a week he would need pot, pan, cup, cutlery, salt, flour, a few gills of oil, perhaps an ounce or two of tea—at considerable damage to his meager store of ozols. But where was any rational alternative? Sleep had clarified his thinking: he would make a temporary sojourn in the but and telephone Alastor Centrality at regular intervals; sooner or later he must reach the cursar: perhaps today!
Jantiff rose to his feet, brushed the chaff and twigs from his clothes, and set out toward Balad. Arriving at the Old Groar, he went around to the back and knocked at the kitchen door.
Palinka looked forth. “Well, Jantiff, what do you want?”
“I came for my money; what else?”
Palinka threw back the door and motioned him within. “Go talk to Fariske; there he sits.”
Jantiff approached the table. Partake puffed out his cheeks and, raising his eyebrows, looked off to the aide as if Jantiff thereby might be persuaded to go away. Jantiff seated himself in his old place and Fariske was obliged to notice him. “Good morning, Jantiff.”
“Good morning,” said Jantiff. “I have come for my money.”
Fariske heaved a weary sigh. “Come back in a few days. I bought various necessities at the market and now I am short of cash.”
“I am even more short than you,” cried Jantiff. “I intend to sit in this kitchen and take my meals free of charge until you pay me my wages.”
“Now, then!” said Fariske. “There is no cause for acrimony. Palinka, pour Jantiff a cup of tea.”
“I have not yet taken breakfast; I would be glad to accept some porridge, were you to offer it.”
Fariske signaled Palinka. “Serve Jantiff a dish of the coarse porridge. He is a good fellow and deserves special treatment. What is the sum due you?”
“Twenty-four ozols.”
“So much?” exclaimed Fariske. “What of the beer you took and the other extras?
“I took no beer, and no extras, as you well know.”
Partake glumly brought out his wallet and paid over the money. “What must be must be.”
“Thank you,” said Jantiff. “Our relationship is now on an even balance. I assume that the situation is like that of yesterday? You still have no need for my services?”
“Unfortunately true. As a matter of fact, I have come to , regret your departure. Voris suffers a distension of the leg veins, and is unable to collect percebs. The task therefore devolves upon Palinka.”
“What!” cried Palinka, in a passion. “Can I believe my ears? Am I suddenly so underworked that I can now while away my hours among the frigid waves? Think again!”
“It is only for today,” said Fariske soothingly. “Tomorrow Voris will probably feel fit.”
Palinka remained obdurate. “Voris does not lack ingenuity; when his leg veins heal, he will contrive new excuses: the counter needs waxing; ale has soured his stomach; the waves thrash too heavily on the rocks! Then once more the cry will ring out: ‘Palinka, Palinka! Go out for percebs! Poor Voris is
Palinka struck a pan down upon the table in ringing emphasis. “For all Jantiff’s oddities, at least he fetched the percebs. Voris must learn from the example.”
Fariske attempted the cogency of pure logic. “What, after all, is the fetching of a few percebs? The day contains only so many minutes; it passes as well one way as another.”
“In that case, go fetch them yourself!” Palinka took herself off to indicate that the subject was closed.
Fariske pulled at his chin, then turned toward Jantiff. “Might you oblige me , for today only, by bringing in a few percebs?”
Jantiff sipped his tea. “Let us explore the matter in full detail.”
Fariske spoke pettishly: “My request is modest; is your response so hard to formulate?”
“Not at all,” said Jantiff, “but perhaps we can proceed further. As you know, I am now unemployed. Nevertheless I am anxious to earn a few ozols.”
Fariske grimaced and started to speak, but Jantiff held up his hand. “Let us consider a bucket of percebs. When shelled and fried a bucket yields twenty portions, which you sell for a dinket per portion.
Thus, a bucket of percebs yields two ozols. Two buckets: four ozols, and so forth. Suppose every day I were to deliver to you the percebs you require, shelled and cleaned, at a cost to you of one ozol per bucket? You would thereby gain your profit with no inconvenience for Palinka, or yourself, or even Voris.”
Fariske mulled over the proposal, pulling at his mustache. Palinka, who had been listening from across the kitchen, once again came forward. “Why are you debating? Voris will never fetch percebs! I also refuse to turn my legs blue in the swirling water!”
“Very well, Jantiff,” said Fariske. “We will test the system for a few days. Take another cup of tea, to signalize the new relationship.”
“With pleasure,” said Jantiff. “Also, let us agree that payments will be made promptly upon delivery of the percebs.”
“What do you take me for?” Fariske exclaimed indignantly. “A man is only as large as his reputation; would I risk so much for a few paltry mollusks?”
Jantiff made a noncommittal gesture. “If we settle accounts on a day-to-day basis, we thereby avoid confusion.”
“The issue is inconsequential,” said Fariske. “A further matter: since you evidently intend to pursue this business in earnest, I will command four buckets of percebs from you, rather than the usual two.”
“I intended to suggest something of the sort myself,” said Jantiff. “I am anxious to earn a good wage.”
“You will of course provide your own equipment?”
“For the next few days, at least, I will use the buckets, pries and forceps which you keep in the shed. If there is any deterioration, I will naturally make good the loss.”
Fariske was not inclined to let the matter rest on a basis so informal, but Palinka made an impatient exclamation. “The day is well advanced! Do you expect to serve percebs tonight? If so, let Jantiff go about his business.” Fariske threw his hands into the air and stalked from the kitchen. Jantiff went to the shed, gathered buckets and tools, and went off down the beach.
The day before he had marked a ledge of rock twenty yards offshore which he had never previously explored, because of the intervening water. Today he contrived a raft from dead branches and bits of driftwood, upon which he supported the buckets. Immersing himself to the armpits, with a shuddering of the knees and a chattering of the teeth, Jantiff pushed the raft out to the ledge and tied it to a knob of rock.
