Wyst: Alastor 1716

by Jack Vance

  Chapter 14

  Jantiff finished the Cimmery decorations and even Madame Tchaga was pleased with the effect. At the Old Groar, Jantiff began to paint his panels. Not a few of Fariske’s patrons paid two ozols each to gain Jantiff’s version of immortality. Eubanq declined to lend his own visage to the decorations. “I’ll spend my two owls on ale and percebs. I have no desire to see myself as others see me.”

  Jantiff took him aside. “Another hypothetical question. Suppose one of my friends decided to visit Zeck: what might be the fare aboard the Serenaic?”

  “Sixty or seventy ozols, or in that general area. Who is this friend?”

  “Just one of the village girls; it’s no great matter. But I’m surprised that the interstellar voyage to Zeck comes so much cheaper than the hop, skip and jump to Uncibal.”

  “Odd indeed, on the face of it,” Eubanq agreed. “Still, what is money to you, prosperous perceb merchant that you are?”

  “Ha! When, or if, I pay you your two hundred and seventy ozols, I will consider, myself fortunate. By the way, I’m sure that passage aboard the Serenaic has now been confirmed?”

  “Not quite yet. I must jostle them along.”

  “I would hope so! Perhaps I should call them myself!”

  “Leave it to me. Do you seriously plan to take someone else to, Zeck?

  “It’s just a notion. But surely there would be no difficulty, if I were to pay over the ozols?”

  “None that I can envision.”

  “I must give the matter serious thought” Jantiff returned to his panels.

  As he worked he heard talk of the Fair, an occasion which this year would Nair only a week before the Arrabin Centenary. Jantiff’ suddenly saw how he might earn a goodly sum of money, perhaps enough to pay Eubanq his requirements.

  That night, as he sat by the fire with Glisten, he explained his scheme. “Hundreds of folk come to the fair, agreed? All will be, hungry; all want percebs, so why not, satisfy this need? It will mean a great deal of work for both of us, but think! Perhaps we can pay your passage to Zeck! What do you think of that?” Jantiff searched Glisten’s face as he was wont to do, and she responded with her glimmer of a smile.

  “You’re so pretty when you smile,” said Jantiff with feeling. “If only I weren’t afraid that I’d frighten you and drive you away…”

  Toiling long hours Jantiff gathered twenty buckets of percebs and penned them into a quiet pool near his hut. On the day before the fair he set up a booth not far from the Old Groar and provided himself with a kettle, salt and cooking oil. Early on the morning of the fair he delivered his usual quota of percebs to the Cimmery and the Old Groar, then, starting his fire and warming the oil, he began to sell percebs to the farm folk arriving from the outer districts.

  “Come buy, come buy!” called Jantiff. “Fresh percebs from the briny, deep, cooked to a crisp and appetizing succulence! Come buy! A dinket for a portion, percebs to your taster”‘

  Jantiff became very busy, so that he found time to cry his wares only at odd intervals. Halfway through the morning

  Eubanq stopped by the booth. “Well, Jantiff, I see that you intend to prosper one way or another.”

  “I hope so! If business continues I’ll be able to pay you off either today or tomorrow, as soon as I collect from Fariske. And then, mind you, I want the tickets, all confirmed, most definitely with a written guarantee of passage to Uncibal.”

  Eubanq put on his easy grin. “These are meticulous precautions. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Did you trust me to pay after I arrived home on Zeck? Am I less honorable than you?”

  Eubanq laughed. “A good point! Well, we’ll arrange the matter one way or another. In the meantime, give me a clinkers worth of those percebs. They look to be exquisite; where do you find such excellent quality?”

  “Aha! That’s my little secret!” To a farmer: “Yes, sir; three packets, three dinkets!” Back to Eubanq: “I’ll say this, that we came upon, that is to say, I came upon a ledge that has obviously lain fallow for years. And here you are; one dinket, if you please.”

  Eubanq, taking the packet, chanced to notice Jantiff’s hands. He became rigid, as if arrested by a startling thought. Slowly he raised his eyes to Jantiff’s face. “One dinket,” said Jantiff. “Hurry, please! Others are waiting.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Eubanq in an odd choked voice. “And cheap at the price!” He paid over his coin and turned away, carrying the packet gingerly between forefinger and thumb. Jantiff watched him go with a puzzled frown. What had come over Eubanq?

  Outside the Old Groar, Eubanq met Booch. They talked earnestly for a period. Jantiff watched them from the corner of his eye as he worked. Something, so his sensitive instincts assured him, was in the wind.

  One of Eubanq’s remarks startled Booch. He swung around and stared toward Jantiff. Eubanq quickly took his arm and the two men entered the Old Groar.

  Business became even brisker. An hour later his stock of percebs ran out. He hired a boy to stand by the booth; then, chinking up his earnings and taking his sacks, he set off toward his but for fresh stock.

  Halfway along the beach he noticed Eubanq approaching at a rapid stride, his loose fawn shoes scuffing up little eruptions of sand. A parcel dangled from his right hand.

  Eubanq swerved aside and vanished momentarily from sight behind a granat tree. When he reappeared he walked at his usual saunter and carried no parcel.

  The two drew abreast; Jantiff asked in an edgy voice: “What are you doing out here? Just an hour ago I saw you go into the Old Groar.”

  “Occasionally I take a stroll to ease my lungs of the town air. Why aren’t you tending business?’

  “I sold out of percebs.” Jantiff looked Eubanq up and down without cordiality. “Did you pass by my hut?”

  “I went nowhere near so far… Well, I’ll be getting along.” Eubanq strolled back toward Balad.

  Jantiff hastened along the beach, and presently broke into a trot. There ahead, his hut. Glisten was nowhere to be seen. Near the water’s edge a pair of buckets indicated where she had been working; one of the buckets was half full of cleaned percebs. But no Glisten.

  Jantiff looked up and down the beach, then went to his hut. Glisten was not within, which caused him no surprise. In the corner of the but stood the old pot where he kept his money. He crossed the room to unburden himself of the—morning’s take. The pot was quite empty.

  Jantiff stared at the cracked old vessel with shoulders sagging and mouth agape.

  Jantiff went outside to stand in the pale sunlight. Serene detachment blanketed his mood: a fact which puzzled and disturbed him. “Why am I not more shocked?” he asked himself. “Very odd! I would expect to be sick with anguish, yet I seem quite unmoved. Evidently I have transcended ordinary emotion. This, of course, is remarkable. A notable achievement, I should say. I have instantly seized upon the proper way to deal with catastrophe, which is to ignore it. And meanwhile, my customers wait for percebs. By all precepts, of decency I ought not deny them their treat because of a personal matter, which in any event I have dealt with most efficiently. Yes, must curious. The world seems far away.”

  Jantiff loaded himself with percebs from the pool and marched stiff-legged back up the beach and to his booth. Once more he began to serve his customers.

  “Percebs!” cried Jantiff to the passersby. “Choice morsels direct from the ocean! I guarantee quality! A dinket for a generous portion! Come buy these excellent percebs!”

  From the Old Groar came Eubanq. He turned a smiling glance toward Jantiff and started up the street. Words burst up Jantiff’s throat of their own volition; Jantiff was surprised to hear them. “Eubanq! I say, Eubanq! Step over here, if you please!”

  Eubanq paused and looked back with an expression of polite inquiry. “You called to me, Jantiff?”

  “Yes. Bring me my money at once. Otherwise I, will notify the Grand Knight, and lay all particulars before him.”

  Eubanq turn
ed his smiling glance around the circle of onlookers. He muttered a few quiet words to a strapping young farmer who a moment before, had purchased a packet of Jantiff’s percebs. The farmer gaped down at the half-empty packet, then shouldered through Jantiff’s waiting customers to the booth. “Show me your hands!”

  ‘What’s wrong with my hands?” demanded Jantiff.

  The farmer and the customers stared at Jantiff’s fingernails. Jantiff looked also and saw a glint of that golden sheen which he had often noted upon Glisten’s fingernails.

  “The yellows!” roared the farmer. “He’s given us all the yellows!”

  “No, no!” cried Jantiff. “My fingernails are stained because ‘ of working in the cold water with the percebs .. Or perhaps my gamboge pigment…”

  “Not true,” Eubanq explained. “You have eaten witches’ food, and now we have, eaten your food and all of us are infected, and all of us must undergo the treatment. I assure you that any money which might have changed hands is no compensation.”

  The farmer began to shout curses. He (kicked over Jantiff’s booth and tried to seize Jantiff, who backed away and then, turning, walked quickly off down the street. The farmer and others came in pursuit; Jantiff broke into a run and so proceeded from town, along the familiar beach road. The road forked; to avoid being trapped on the headland, Jantiff swung to the left, toward Lulace Sound and Lulace, the Grand Knight’s manor. Behind came his pursuers, bawling threats and curses.

  Jantiff pushed through the ornate front gate at Lulace, and ran at a failing lope through the garden. He staggered across the verandah, leaned against the front door. Along the road came his enemies.

  Jantiff tugged at the massive latch. The door swung aside; Jantiff staggered into the, mansion.

  He stood in a tall reception room, paneled in pale wood and furnished a trifle too elaborately for Jantiff s taste, had he been in a mood to exercise his faculties.

  To the left a pair of wide steps gave upon a salon carpeted in green and illuminated by high windows facing to the north. Jantiff went to the steps and looked into the salon. A dark-haired man with heavy shoulders conversed with two other men and a woman. Jantiff timidly stepped forward. The woman turned; Jantiff looked into her face. “Skorlet!” he cried, in a voice of wonder.

  Skorlet, sleek and well-fed, froze into an almost comical rigidity, mouth half open, one, hand aloft in a gesture. The others turned; Jantiff looked from Sarp to Esteban to Contractor Shubert, as he was known in Uncibal.

  Skorlet spoke in a strangled voice, “It’s Jantiff Ravensroke!”

  Contractor Shubart marched forward and Jantiff retreated into the foyer.

  The Contractor spoke in a heavy voice: “What do you want? Why weren’t you announced? Can’t you see—I’m entertaining guests?”

  Jantiff responded in a stammer: “Sir, I intend nothing wrong. My life is threatened by the folk in the road. They say that my percebs gave them a disease, but it’s not true; at least not purposeful. Eubanq, the shipping agent, stole my money and incited them to attack me. I didn’t mean to intrude upon your guests.” Jantiff’s voice faltered as he considered the identity of these guests. “I will return when you are less busy.”

  “Wait a minute. Hooch! Where is Booch?”

  A footman stepped forward and murmured a few quiet words.

  Contractor Shubart growled: “Be damned to his wurgles and witch-kits! Why isn’t he on hand when I need him? Take this fellow to the gardener’s shed and keep him safe until Booch returns.”

  “Yes, sir. Come along, please.” But Jantiff lurched backward to the door, groped for the latch, threw open the door and ran out into the garden.

  The footman came running after, calling: “Here, fellow! Stop! By the Grand Knight’s orders, halt!”

  Jantiff ran around the manor and with a cunning born of desperation, waited at the corner. When the footman lunged past, Jantiff held out his foot. The footman sprawled; Jantiff struck him with a stake and the footman lay limp. Jantiff continued around to the back of Lulace, through the kitchen garden and out into the park. Behind a tree he caught his breath. No time now for crafty or complicated planning. “I shall go directly to Eubanq’s house,” Jantiff told himself. “I will kill and rob Eubanq, or perhaps force him to provide me an air-car. I will then fly him high over the Sych and throw him out; then I will continue on to Uncibal and demand protection from the cursar. If, of course, the cursar has returned. If not, I will hide once more in the Disjerferact.”

  Jantiff set off at once toward Balad. Unfortunately his exaltation caused him to ignore elementary caution; he was seen and identified as he came along the river road. Sullen folk surrounded him. The women began to call out invectives; the crowd pressed closer and Jantiff was backed up against a wall. He cried out in anguish: “I have done nothing! Leave me be!”

  A dockworker named Sabrose, whom Jantiff had often served at the Old Groar, bellowed him down: “You have given us all the yellows, and we must now undergo the treatment, unless we want to be deaf and dumb witches. Do you call that nothing?”

  “I don’t know anything about it! Let me pass!”

  Sabrose gave a ferocious laugh. “Since all Balad must be treated, you shall be the first!”

  Jantiff was dragged up to the main street and across to the apothecary’s shop. “Bring out the treatment!” bawled Sabrose. “Here’s the first patient; we’ll cure him on the cheap, without the headbangers.”

  The treatment device was wheeled from the shop. The apothecary, a mild old man who had frequented neither of the taverns nor Jantiff’s booth, dropped two pills in a mug of water and held it to Jantiff’s face. “Here; this will dull the pain.”

  Sabrose brushed away the mug. “Take away your headban gers! Let him know what he’s done to us!”

  Jantiff’s hands were fixed into metal gloves, with loose joints over the fingernails. Sabrose wielded a mallet to crush Jantiff’s fingertips. Jantiff croaked and groaned.

  “Now then!” said Sabrose. “When the nails drop off, apply black niter of argent; maybe you’ll be cured.”

  “He’s getting off too easy!” screamed a woman. “Here: my frack sludge! Turn his face about; he’ll never see his mischief.”

  Sabrose said: “Enough is enough; he’s beyond knowing anything.”

  “Not yet! Let him pay to the full. There! Now! Right in the face!”

  A thick acrid fluid was flung into Jantiff’s face, scalding his skin and searing his vision. He gave a strangled cry and tore at his eyes with mutilated fingers.

  The apothecary threw water into Jantiff’s face and wiped his eyes with a rag. Then he turned in fury on the crowd. “You’ve punished him beyond all justice! He’s only a poor sad lout.”

  “Not so!” cried a voice which Jantiff recognized as that of Eubanq. “He housed himself with a witch-woman; I saw her at his hut, and he poisoned us knowingly with witch food!”

  Jantiff mumbled: “Eubanq is a thief; Eubanq is a liar.” But none heard him. Jantiff opened his eyes a crack, but a granular fog obscured his vision. He moaned in shock and grief. “You’ve blinded me! I will never see the colors!”

  One of the women cried out: “Where now the horrid witch? Do her like, the others!”

  “No fear,” said Eubanq. “Booth has taken her in hand.”

  Jantiff gave a call of mindless woe. He struggled to his feet, flailed his arms to right and left, an act which the crowd considered ludicrous. They began to bait Jantiff, shoving him, prodding his ribs, hissing into his face. Jantiff at last threw up his hands and staggered off down the street.

  “Catch him!” screamed the most vindictive. “Bring him back and deal with him properly!”

  “Let him go,” growled an old fisherman. “I’ve seen enough.”

  “What? After he has given us all the yellows?”

  “And all must take the treatment?”

  “He fed us witch food; never forget it!”

  “Today let him go; tomorrow we will put him on a
raft.”

  “Quite right! Jantiff! Can you hear? Tomorrow you float south across the ocean!”

  Jantiff lurched heedlessly down the street. For a space children followed him, jeering and throwing stones; then they were called back and Jantiff went his way alone.

  Out to the beach he stumbled, and along the familiar track. With his eyes wide and staring he could see only a vague luminosity; he walked a good distance but could not find, his hut. Finally he dropped down upon the sand and turned his face to the sea. He sat a long time, confused and listless, his hands throbbing with a pain to which he gave no heed. The fog across his vision grew thick as Dwan set and night came to Dessimo Beach and the Moaning Ocean. Still Jantiff sat, while water sucked across the offshore ledges.

  A breeze drifted in from the ocean: at first a chilly breath which tingled Jantiff’s skin, then gusts which penetrated his threadbare garments.

  Jantiff saw himself as if in a clairvoyant vision: a gaunt creature crouched on the sand, all connections to the world of reality broken. He began to grow warm and comfortable; he realized that he was about to die. Images formed in his mind: Uncibal and Old Pink; the human tides along Uncibal River; the four Whispers on the Pedestal. He saw Skorlet and Tanzel, Kedidah and the Ephthalotes; Esteban and Booch and Contractor Shubert. Glisten appeared, facing him from a distance of no more than an arm’s length, and gazed steadfastly into his eyes. Miracle of miracles. He heard her speak, in a soft quick voice: “Jantiff, don’t sit in the dark! Jantiff, please lift yourself! Don’t die!”

  Jantiff shuddered and blinked, and tears ran from his eyes. He thought of his cheerful home, at Frayness; he saw the faces of his father and mother and sisters. “I don’t want to die,” said Jantiff. “I want to go home.”

  With a prodigious effort he hauled himself to his feet and stumbled off along the beach. By chance he encountered an object he recognized: the branches of a misshapen old codmollow tree. His hut stood only fifty yards beyond; the ground was now familiar.