by Jack Vance
The music rambled through a clattering rattling coda and slammed to a halt. The Tough Luck Jug Band sat back, apparently pleased with themselves. The aristocrats muttered together in something like awe. The indigents sighed, and once again their gazes became unfocused.
Dame Isabel marched forward. “What is the meaning of this?” she cried in a ringing voice.
The Tough Luck Jug Band did not bother to reply. Hastily gathering their instruments they departed around the ship. Dame Isabel forced her unwilling features into an expression of affability, and turned to the audience. “You must come back to the opera! We are performing for your benefit, and we expect you to enjoy it. These buffoons will not be back, I assure you.” With Bernard Bickel’s help she herded as many of the group as possible back to the outdoor theater.
Resigning themselves the natives huddled on the benches, and so the final act passed. Directly upon the fall of the curtain stewards came fortified with trays of petits-fours and pitchers of lemonade. Dame Isabel motioned the aristocrats to help themselves: “They’re ever so good, I’m sure you’ll enjoy them!”
But the aristocrats politely departed.
Dame Isabel wheedled and coaxed, but not even the pariahs would approach the refreshments. At last she flung up her hands in defeat. “Very well, you must do as you like, although I simply can’t understand why you don’t appreciate what we’re doing for you.”
The oldest of the indigents absently fingered the little palps or flaps of his leather sphere. He looked among his fellows, as if engaging in unspoken communication, then turned his eyes upon Dame Isabel. She felt a curious electric thrill. “Watch,” he seemed to be telling her. “Watch and then go your way.” He squeezed the little leather ball. Bernard Bickel gasped; Dame Isabel swung about, and found the sky to be dancing with colored shapes. They mingled and separated, merged inward and outward and settled to the meadow which became a place of luminous magic, and the whole Phoebus company came front in awe to watch the magnificences now displayed to them. Cities like flower gardens appeared one after the other, as if in compendium: each different, each a development of the last, each with its own delights and prideful vistas, each receding and growing remote. A miscellany of new images appeared in the foreground: regattas of boats with enormous patterned sails, each of which might have been alive and sentient: a jeweled moth. Exalted figures marched in a stately pavane; there were tourneys of love and beauty, gusts and whispers of many musics. Now came a series of pageants, performances by troupes like the Ninth Company, and Dame Isabel thought to recognize the Ninth Company itself. Suddenly there was silence, so intense as to be an ecstatic sensation in itself. Down from the sky floated a battered space-ship: it landed and Adolph Gondar, or rather a caricature of Adolph Gondar alighted. The Ninth Company sauntered by in their sumptuous garments; Adolph Gondar seemed to pounce like a spider; with the aid of faceless helpers he roughly herded the Ninth Company aboard his ship, which at once departed, and once again there was silence. The episode fleeted past with exceeding swiftness; Adolph Gondar seemed more comic than evil: a travesty of wickedness, and the whole episode was no more than a wry footnote, a mordant little jest which the Phoebus company could enjoy or not as they felt inclined.
There followed other spectacles and vistas, and these seemed far away and long past, like memories half-forgotten. A parade of dead heroes came by, turning to search the faces of those who watched, as if asking for knowledge which had been denied them. All seemed to ask the same question, and then they were gone from view. Cities were built and listlessly abandoned: all goals had been achieved, all excellences attained. Nothing remained but idleness, casual amusement … Finally in gigantic enlargement appeared The Tough Luck Jug Band, with its music of boldness and assertion, enthusiasm conquering surfeit. For a brief space the world was renewed and wonderful things seemed possible. Then the meadow was as before, the sky was blank; the Phoebus company stood alone beside the ship.
Everyone returned within. Dame Isabel went to the saloon and ordered a pot of strong tea. Bernard Bickel and Sir Henry joined her, but no one was inclined to make conversation. Dame Isabel felt confused and resentful. In a sense she had been mocked and ridiculed, though in a dispassionate and even kindly fashion … Why had not the folk of Rlaru explained themselves before she had presented her program? Clearly they had no need of anything the Phoebus could offer — except the Tough Luck Jug Band. Obviously folk of rather vulgar inclinations, thought Dame Isabel sourly. Their old fineness of discrimination had apparently died … And yet — no, of course not. Impossible. Dame Isabel resolutely ordered her thinking. A person must establish a definite set of verities, she told herself, and definitely abide by them, no matter how questionable these same verities. She drank her tea, set the cup into the saucer with a resolute click. Bernard Bickel and Sir Henry drew themselves up in their chairs, as if heartened by the sound. “We have no further business here on Rlaru,” said Dame Isabel. “We will leave in the morning.” Summoning Andrei Szinc she gave orders for all stage properties to be stowed inside the ship.
“What of Adolph Gondar?” asked Bernard Bickel.
“It is clear that he committed a wrong against these people,” said Dame Isabel. “Clearly he had been warned never again to approach Rlaru; when he did so he was punished. His fate is out of our hands.”
“Could they spirit him out of his cabin?” demanded Bernard Bickel incredulously. “Through the solid walls of the ship?”
“Why not?” Dame Isabel demanded sharply. “It is amply clear that they brought the Ninth Company back from Earth; why should they not extract Mr. Gondar from his cabin?”
“It is beyond my understanding,” said Bernard Bickel.
“And mine as well.”
Roger looked through the ship: saloon, bridge, every place he could think of, but Madoc Roswyn was nowhere to be found. He went down the ramp, looked back and forth, then circled the ship. Madoc Roswyn sat by herself watching the sunset. Roger, still not certain that he understood her moods, started to beat an inconspicuous retreat, but she called to him, and so he joined her. Without words they watched dusk settle over the countryside. Two gaunt silhouettes passed across the afterglow: from their garments and gait a pair of the vague-eyed men Adolph Gondar had described as “vagabonds”.
Madoc Roswyn spoke in a low voice, so that Roger had to bend to hear her. “They could destroy all their knowledge, forget all their power; they could move to a new planet; they could begin all over. I wonder why they don’t.”
Roger could provide no information, and they watched the two figures wander off into the dusk. A cool breeze began to blow in from the sea; they rose to their feet and started back around the ship. And now another dark shape appeared against the sky: a tall half-running, half-stumbling figure emitting hoarse panting cries. “It’s Gondar!” said Roger. “He’s alive!”
Adolph Gondar rushed past them, pressed his hands against the ship and gave a great sob of relief. Unsteadily he made his way to the entrance-port with Roger and Madoc Roswyn coming behind. At the port, with what seemed to be his final reserves of strength, he drew himself upright, threw back his shoulders and summoning all his dignity, staggered up the ramp.
In the saloon, after he had eaten ravenously, Adolph Gondar told his story. As Dame Isabel had speculated, he had been warned never again to visit Rlaru. He had hoped that by keeping to his cabin he would remain unnoticed, but such was not the case. He had been snatched out into the night, tossed back and forth through clouds, wind, sleet and rain, dropped into the ocean, lifted, flung twenty miles head over heels, and finally dropped into a thicket of coarse furze. For days he had wandered and finally from the ridge of a distant hill had spied the Phoebus.
Dame Isabel was not inclined to be sympathetic. “You are lucky to escape so easily!” she told him sternly. “Your conduct was no less than piratical; you kidnaped twenty persons without the slightest intent of returning them to their homes.”
“Not at all!” Ad
olph Gondar protested, “I planned to send them back after we had earned enough money. I told them so, which is the only reason they agreed to perform.”
“There naturally will be no question as to the disposition of the money,” said Dame Isabel. “Under no circumstances will you be allowed to profit by what, at the most lenient interpretation, was an unethical act. The money involved is barely enough to cover costs of the present tour, and I can think of no better use for it.”
Adolph Gondar threw up his hands in despair and tottered off to his cabin.
The following morning as the sun rose above the low hills, the Phoebus departed Rlaru. Logan de Appling fed the coordinates of Earth into the computer; Rlaru fell behind. The golden sun dimmed, became one among the stars and presently was lost.
Chapter XIV
The day after the return of the Phoebus to Earth, Dame Isabel held a press conference on the terrace of her beautiful home Ballew. “The tour, in general, was a resounding success,” she told the assembled journalists. “Beyond question it contributed to the culture and understanding of all those before whom we performed.”
Bernard Bickel, who was also present, concurred with the statement. “As might be expected there were various levels of comprehension, corresponding to what I call the ‘cultural perspective’ of the peoples who formed our various audiences. They learned much from us, and we from them. I am sure we have enhanced the musical reputation of Earth.”
“What of Rlaru?” called someone. “Does it exist? Or was Adolph Gondar a fraud?”
“There was never any uncertainty in this regard,” Dame Isabel replied coldly. “I informed you that the world existed; this assurance should have been enough.”
“Then you visited Rlaru?”
“Yes indeed; this was one of the goals of our tour. The world is not as stimulating as might have been expected. We gave several performances which were well received, though the inhabitants do not display a notoriously high level of taste.”
“Tell us more about Rlaru. Are there theaters? Music-halls?”
“Nothing like that. At the moment I do not care to discuss the matter further. My nephew Roger Wool is writing a book describing the voyage in detail, and if you need further information, you will find it here.”
Roger Wool was indeed very busy, with his new wife, Mrs. Madoc Wool, providing invaluable assistance. The world was in a very satisfactory state, reflected Roger. His aunt’s wealth had been restored to its previous state, and he stood to make a substantial sum from the publication of his book. It was always possible, of course, that Dame Isabel might embark on some new and even more expensive project, but this was one of the hazards of living. Occasionally watching his bride an even darker apprehension came to trouble him: what if she should meet a man of her own race? She had assured him that none remained on Earth, but what of Yan? And Roger’s thoughts would fly far, far across space to a stretch of stony barren beside a dark forest where stood a ruined piano … Small chance, Roger told himself, small chance.
