Wyst: Alastor 1716

by Jack Vance

Jantiff groped his way to the hut, entered, carefully closed the door. He stood stock still. Someone had only recently departed; his odor, rank and heavy, hung on the air. Jantiff listened, but heard no sound. He was alone. Tottering to his bed, he lay himself down and instantly fell asleep.

  Jantiff awoke, jarred to consciousness by an awful imminence.

  He lay quiet. His blinded eyes registered a watery gray blur: daylight had arrived. A rank harsh odor reached his nostrils. He knew that he was not alone.

  Someone spoke. “So, Jantiff, here you are after all. I looked for you last night, but you were out.” Jantiff recognized the voice of Booch. He made no response.

  “I looked for your money,” said Booch. “According to Eubanq, you control quite a tidy sum.”

  “Eubanq took my money yesterday.”

  Booch made an unpleasant nasal sound. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t care about money now. Eubanq took it.”

  “That cursed Eubanq!” groaned Booch. “He’ll make an accounting to me!”

  “Where is Glisten?”

  “The kit? Ha, don’t worry about her, not a trifle. In five minutes you’ll be past caring for anything. I’ve had my orders. I’m to put a wire around your neck, without fail. Then I’ll settle with Eubanq. Then I’m off to Uncibal, where I can take any woman I see for a dish of tripes… Raise your head, Jantiff. This won’t take long.”

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “No use to whine. My orders are strict. Jantiff must definitely be dead. So then—now none of your kicking or flailing about! Hold now.”

  Jantiff scuttled sideways like a crab and through some mad accident, pushed Booch off balance and rolled out the door. From far up the beach came a jeering cry: “Mad Jantiff: there! You see him now!”

  Jantiff heard Booch’s heavy tread. Two steps, then an uncertain halt and a mutter of annoyance. “Now, in the name of Gasmus, who can that be? A stranger, an off-worlder. Does he plan to interfere? I’ll stop him short.”

  Steps approached. A boy’s voice cried out in glee: “That’s Mad Jantiff on the ground, and there’s Constable Booch, who’ll give it to him properly; you’ll see!”

  “Good morning to you both,” said a pleasant voice. “Jantiff, you seem to be in poor condition.”

  “Yes, I’ve been blinded, and my fingers are all broken.”

  The boy cried out in eager fury: “Never fear, there’s more to come! Sir, he gave us all the yellows, and he consorted with a witch! May I strike him with this stick?”

  “By no means!” said the newcomer. “You are far too ardent; calm yourself! Jantiff, I am here in response to your numerous messages. I am the Respectable Ryl Shermatz, a representative of the Connatic.”

  Jantiff sat dazed on, the ground. “You are the cursar?”

  “No. My authority considerably exceeds his.”

  “Then ask Booch what he did with Glisten. He may have killed her.”

  “Utter nonsense,” said Booch in jovial, if uneasy, tones. “Jantiff, you have peculiar notions about me.”

  “You brought your wurgle and hunted her down! Where is she now?”

  Ryl Shermatz said: “Constable Booch, I suggest that you respond to Jantiff’s question, in all candor.”

  “Lacking facts, how can I answer? And why all the anxiety?’ She was just a witch-kit.”

  “You speak in the past tense,” noted Ryl Shermatz. “Is this significant?”

  “Of course not! I chanced to stroll past with my wurgle, admittedly, and she ran off, but what’s that to me? Or to you, for that matter?”

  “I am the Connatic’s agent. I am required to adjust situations such as this.”

  “But there is no situation to adjust! Look yonder; even now she’s coming out of the Sych!”

  Jantiff struggled to his knees. “Where? Tell me where. But I can’t see.”

  The boy gave a screech of panic; there came an odd sequence of sounds: a. stamping of feet, a whisper as if of spurting gas, a thud, a gasp, a scuffling sound; then, for a moment, silence.

  The boy babbled: “He’s dead! He tried to kill you! How did you know?”

  Ryl Shermatz spoke without perturbation: “I am sensitive to danger, and well trained to deal with it.”

  “Who came from the forest?” cried Jantiff. “Was it Glisten?”

  “No one came from the forest; Booch attempted a ruse.”

  “Then where can she be?”

  “We shall do our best to find her. But now: tell me why you sent so many urgent messages.”

  “I will tell you,” mumbled Jantiff. “I want only to talk; I must do hours and hours of talking—”

  “Steady, Jantiff. Come, sit here on the bench. Boy, run to town; bring back new bread and a pot of good soup. Here: an ozol for your pains… Now, Jantiff, talk, if you are able.”

  Chapter 15

  Dwan, halfway up the sky, shone from behind films of shifting mist. Jantiff sat on the bench, leaning back against his ramshackle stone and seaweed hut. Ryl Shermatz, a person of medium stature, with well-formed features and short brown hair, stood beside him, one leg propped upon the bench. He had dragged the dead hulk around to the side; only Booch’s black boots, extending past the edge of the hut, bore witness to his presence.

  Jantiff spoke at length, in a voice which presently dwindled to a husky croak.

  Ryl Shermatz said little, inserting only an occasional question. From time to time he nodded as if Jantiff’s remarks reinforced opinions of his own.

  Jantiff’s account came to an end: “My only uncertainty is Glisten. Last night I dreamt of her, and in my dream she spoke; it was strange to hear her, and even in my sleep I felt as if I would weep.”

  Ryl Shermatz gazed south over the gray ocean. “Well, Jantiff,” he said at last, “it is clear that you have endured hard times. Let me summarize your statement. You believe that Esteban, looking over your drawings of the four Whispers, noticed the resemblance between three of the Whispers and himself, Skorlet and Sarp. You theorize that Esteban, with his devious and supple mind, inevitably recognized the potentiality of the situation, and began, idly at first, to consider methods for making the possible real. A fourth member of the cabal was needed: who better than a man of wealth, power and motivation; in short, a contractor? Esteban searched the reference book, and there, made for the part, he discovered Contractor Shubart.

  “Esteban, Skorlet and Sarp were motivated by their lust for food and luxury. Shubart had long enjoyed the good things of life, but now was threatened by the Whispers who intended to free Arrabus from the contractors and already had informed the Connatic of their plans. Shubart needed funds to implement his grand plans for the Weirdlands; he readily joined Esteban, Skorlet and Sarp.

  “They contrived a bold and very simple scheme. Here you assert that Skorlet, Esteban, Sarp and Shubart journeyed to Waunisse and there boarded the airship on which the Whispers would return to Uncibal. During the flight the Whispers were killed with all their entourage and dropped into the sea. When the Sea Disk landed, Esteban, Skorlet, Sarp and Shubart had become the Whispers. They showed themselves briefly on the Pedestal. No one inspected them closely; no one could have suspected their deed: except you, who were disturbed and perplexed.

  “The new Whispers traveled to Numenes, where they consulted the Connatic at Lusz. He found them an unsympathetic group: insincere, evasive and tawdry. Their statements rang false, and failed to accord with their purported mission, as proposed by the original Whispers. The Connatic decided to look more closely into the matter, especially since he had received urgent messages concerning a certain Jantiff Ravensroke.

  “I was assigned to the task and arrived at Uncibal two days ago. Immediately I tried to find Cursar Bonamico. I learned that he had flown to Waunisse, on business connected with the Whispers, that he had boarded the same aircraft on which the Whispers returned to Uncibal.

  “He never alighted from this aircraft, and the inference is clear. He was murdered and thrust into
the Salaman Sea. I naturally took note of the messages you had dispatched from Balad. Last night a final message arrived. The voice was that of a woman—a girl, according to the clerk Aleida Gluster. The woman, or girl, spoke in great agitation: “Come quickly, come quickly to Balad; they’re doing terrible things to Jantiff!’ And that was all.”

  “A girl spoke?” muttered Jantiff. “Who could that have been? Glisten can’t speak, except in dreams… Might the clerk have been asleep and dreaming?”

  “An interesting conjecture,” said Ryl Shermatz. “Aleida Gluster said nothing in this regard, one way or the other… Here we are at Balad. We shall go to the Old Groar Tavern and refresh ourselves. Then we shall try to subdue these obstreperous folk.”

  “Eubanq is more than obstreperous,” Jantiff muttered. “He stole my money and told Booch about Glisten.”

  “I have not forgotten Eubanq,” said Ryl Shermatz.

  The two men entered the Old Groar. At the tables sat a considerable number of customers: double the usual for this hour of the day. Fariske came hurriedly forward, his round white forehead glistening with droplets of sweat. “This way, gentlemen,” he cried in brave joviality. “Be seated! Will you drink ale? I recommend my Old Dankwort!”

  Clearly the boy who had guided Ryl Shermatz to Jantiff’s hut had returned to Balad bearing large tales. “You may bring us ale and something to eat,” said Shermatz. “But first: is the person known as Eubanq present in the room?”

  Fariske darted a series of nervous glances along the tables. “He is not here. You will probably find him at the depot, where he serves as general agent.”

  “Be good enough to select three reliable men from among your customers and bring them here.”

  “‘Reliable’? Well, let me consider. That is a hard question. I’ll summon the best of the lot. Garfred! Sabrose! Osculot! Step over here, at once!”

  The three men approached with varying degrees of truculence.

  Ryl Shermatz appraised them with an impassive gaze. “I am Ryl Shermatz, the Connatic’s agent. I appoint you my deputies for the period of one day. You are now, like myself, invested with the inviolable authority of the Connatic, under my orders. Is this clear?”

  The three men shuffled their feet and signified their understanding: Garfred with a surly grunt; Sabrose making an amiable gesture; Osculot showing a grimace of misgiving.

  Ryl Shermatz spoke on. “Proceed at once to the depot. Place Eubanq under the Connatic’s arrest. Bring him here at once. Under no circumstances allow him freedom from your custody: not so much as a minute. Be on the guard for any weapons he may carry. Go in haste!”

  The three men departed the tavern. Ryl Shermatz turned to Fariske, who stood anxiously to the side. ‘‘Send other men to summon all the folk of Balad to an immediate assembly in front of the Old Groar. Then you may serve us our refreshment.”

  Jantiff sat in the dark, listening to the mutter of voices, the clink of mugs, the scrape of feet. Warmth and relaxation eased his limbs; lassitude came upon him. Ryl Shermatz spoke quietly to someone who made no response:, perhaps by means of a transceiver, thought Jantiff. A moment later Shermatz sent Voris to fetch the apothecary, who arrived within the minute.

  Shermatz took the apothecary aside; the two conferred and the apothecary departed. Shermatz spoke to Jantiff: “I have specified a treatment to restore a certain fraction of your vision. Later, of course, we will arrange a thorough therapy.”

  “I will be grateful for any improvement.”

  The apothecary returned. Jantiff beard muted voices as his case was discussed; then the apothecary addressed him directly. “Now, Jantiff, here is the situation. The surfaces of your eyes have been frosted by the caustic, and are no longer transparent to light. I am about to attempt a rather novel treatment: I coat the surface of your eyes with an emulsion, which quickly dries to a transparent film. Perhaps you will feel discomfort, perhaps you will notice nothing whatever. With the irregularities smoothed out, light should once again reach your retina. I will mention that the film is microscopically porous to allow passage of oxygen. Please lean back, open your right eye wide and do not move… Very good. Now the left. Do not blink, if you please.”

  Jantiff felt a cool sensation across the front of his eyes, then an odd, not unpleasant constriction across the eyeballs. Simultaneously the blur before his vision began to dissipate as if a wind blew through the optic fog. Objects loomed, assumed density; for a time they wavered in a watery medium and presently stilled. Jantiff once more could see, with almost the old clarity.

  He looked around the room. He saw the grave faces of Ryl Shermatz and the apothecary. Fariske stood by the counter, abdomen bulging out ahead. Palinka peered from the kitchen, annoyed by the disruption to her daily routine. Hunched over the tables, for the most part glowering and surly, sat the regular Old Groar customers. Jantiff looked this way and that, entranced by the wonder of this miraculous faculty which he thought that he had previously exploited to the fullest. He studied the umber-black shadows at the back of the room, the sheen of pewter mugs, the sallow milkwood tables, the shafts of pale lavender light streaming down through the high windows. Jantiff thought: In later years, when I look across my life, I will mark well this moment in the Old Groar Tavern at Balad on the planet Wyst…A shuffle of activity distracted Jantiff from his musing. Ryl Shermatz sauntered to the door. Jantiff, hauling himself erect, threw back his shoulders and in unconscious imitation of Shermatz’ confident stride, went to the door.

  A crowd had gathered before the Old Groar: the entire population of Balad, except for Madame Tchaga who stood peering from the Cimmery. Along the street came Sabrose and Garfred, with Eubanq between them and Osculot bringing up the rear. Eubanq wore his fawn-colored suit, and today a hat with a jaunty pointed bill. His expression, however, was not at all jaunty. His cheeks sagged, his mouth hung in a lugubrious droop. Before Jantiff’s inner vision came a remembered illustration from a story-book, depicting a worried brown rat being brought before a tribunal of stately cats by a pair of bulldog sergeants.

  After a single glance, Shermatz turned away from Eubanq and spoke to the crowd. “I am Ryl Shermatz, the Connatic’s agent, and I am here at Balad in an official capacity.

  “The Connatic’s policy is to allow all possible independence of thought and action. He welcomes diversity and rules with restraint.

  “Nonetheless, he, cannot tolerate a disregard for basic law. Such occurs here at Balad. I refer to the persecution of certain forest wanderers, whom you miscall witches. It now must terminate by the Connatic’s edict. The ailment known as ‘the yellows’ results from a fungus-like growth; it can be cured by a pill taken with water. The so-called witches are deaf-mute not because of ‘the yellows’ but through a hysterical obsession. Organically they are quite normal, and sometimes, under stress of emergency, they can force themselves to speak. As for hearing, my advisers tell me that sound enters their brain at a subliminal level; they do not know they are hearing, but nevertheless are invested with information, much as telepathy affects the mind of an ordinary person.

  “Conditions at Balad are unsatisfactory. The Grand Knight seems to act as an informal magistrate and dispenses such justice as he sees fit through his constable. On other occasions, as when unforgivable violence was done to the person of Jantiff Ravensroke, the community is guided by irresponsible fury.

  “A cursar will presently arrive to arrange a more orderly system. He will right certain wrongs, and certain persons will regret his coming; especially those who have taken part in the recent witch chasing. They may expect severe penalties. At the moment I intend to deal only with the assault performed upon Jantiff. Constable Sabrose, bring forward the woman who blinded Jantiff.”

  “It was Nellick, yonder.”

  “Your Lordship, I acted not from malice; indeed, I thought I held simple and wholesome water in my bucket. I am a laughing woman; I acted in fun and only to ease the situation for the general benefit.”

  “Jantiff,
does this match your recollection?”

  “No. She said, ‘Here, turn his face about; he will never see the results of his mischief, even though I waste my frack.’”

  “Well then: which version is correct? Constable?”

  Sabrose grunted. “I don’t like to say. I was holding Jantiff when she flung the stuff. It burnt my arms as well.”

  Jantiff grimaced. “Don’t bother with any of them; there were twenty or thirty people, all doing me harm. Except Grandel the apothecary, who wiped my eyes.”

  “Very well. Grandel, I instruct you to make a careful list of those people who participated in the episode, and to fine them in proportion to their guilt. The sum collected must be paid over to Jantiff. I suggest a fine of five hundred ozols for the woman Nellick.”

  Grandel looked uncomfortably around the crowd. “I will do my best, though my popularity will not be enhanced.”

  Fariske called out: “Not so! I took no part in the assault, even though Jantiff sold percebs in competition with me. I believe that stern fines are necessary to redeem the honor of Balad! I will help Grandel discover each name and I will counsel him against leniency. If Grandel suffers unpopularity, I will join him!”

  “Then I will entrust the matter to the two of you. Now, another matter. Your name is Eubanq?”

  Eubanq nodded and smiled. “Sir, that is my name.”

  “It is your entire name?”

  Eubanq hesitated only the fraction of an instant. “Eubanq is the name by which I am known.”

  “Where is your place of birth?”

  “Sir, as to that I cannot be sure. I was orphaned as a child.”

  “That is, a tragic circumstance. Where were you reared?”

  “I have visited many worlds, sir. I call no place home.”

  “The Connatic’s cursar, when he arrives, will examine your background with great care. At this moment I will only concern myself with events of the recent past. First, I believe that you cashed in Jantiff’s passage voucher and pocketed the money.”

  Eubanq considered a moment, then, no doubt reflecting that the matter was susceptible to quick verification, one way or the other, he gave a slow polite nod. “I feel sure that Jantiff would never use the ticket, and I saw no need to waste the money.”