The Green Pearl

by Jack Vance

  "You tolerated Faude Carfilhiot at Tintzin Fyral; you ignored the Ska on their slave-raids; you bought peace for yourselves with the pain of others! These carefree days are gone, and you must share the costs of justice! Gentlemen, this very instant, choose; I will argue not another word."

  "No need," said Hydelos softly. "We are persuaded."

  "Very well. Maloof will furnish details of what must be done." Aillas rose to his feet, bowed to the disconsolate factors and turned away. He stopped short at the sight of a tall figure approaching across the compound. With the conference at an end, and all issues resolved, Shimrod at last had elected to show himself at the camp.

  Chapter 6

  DURING A PERIOD IN THE PAST, not long after Shimrod had taken up residence at Trilda, in the Forest of Tantrevalles, his sleep had been disturbed by a series of dreams. They came night after night, in a sequence which obsessed Shimrod's attention, despite a cadence to the events which suggested that their resolution might be fateful, and perhaps even tragic.

  The dreams were extraordinary for several reasons. The locale, a white beach with the ocean to one side and a white villa to the other, never altered. There were neither illogical nor grotesque elements to the events; indeed, their most startling quality was the haunting beauty of a woman who, alone with Shimrod, inhabited the dreams.

  In the first of the sequence, Shimrod found himself standing by the balustrade in front of the villa. The sunlight was warm; the sound of low surf came with languid regularity. Shimrod waited in a mood of expectation. Presently, looking up the beach, he saw approaching a dark-haired woman of middle height, slender, almost slight. She walked barefoot and wore a white gown, knee-length and sleeveless. Without haste she approached, and passed in front of Shimrod. With a single side-glance, she continued on her way and Shimrod was left to look after her with pangs of wonder and yearning.

  The dream faded and went its way, to whatever place dreams go when their time has passed, and Shimrod awoke, to lie staring into the dark.

  On the next night the dream returned, and again on the next, and so it went. On each occasion the woman deigned a trifle more warmth, and at last she paused and listened as he spoke. He tried to learn her identity and why she came this way; and finally she specified a time and place outside the confines of the dream where they might meet. A pulse of exultation surged through Shimrod, even though he knew that the occasion must almost definitely be intended for his misfortune. He therefore took counsel with Murgen, at the castle Swer Smod, on the flanks of the Teach tac Teach.

  Murgen laid the plot bare. The woman was Melancthe, and she worked at the command of Tamurello. What was their purpose? No mystery here. Tamurello intended to confuse and weaken Murgen by destroying his scion Shimrod.

  A single question remained, the age-old cry of anguish: "How could one so beautiful be so base?"

  In this regard Murgen could offer no explanation.

  Shimrod kept the rendezvous, but the plot had been vitiated and Shimrod retained his life. Later, when he first visited Ys, he discovered the beach on which Melancthe had walked, and, half a mile to the north, the white villa where in his dreams he had awaited the coming of Melancthe.

  Shimrod could now remember the episode with dispassion and even a flicker of curiosity. There was another matter: an obligation which had never been fulfilled. How Melancthe might deal with this obligation was a question which, in due course, prompted Shimrod to slip quietly away from Ys and saunter up the beach.

  He arrived at the front of the villa and halted beside the balustrade; deja vu hung heavy in the air. Looking up the beach, as if in a reprise of his dreams, he observed the approach of Melancthe.

  As before, she wore a knee-length white gown and walked barefoot. If she felt surprise at the sight of Shimrod, she gave no such indication and her pace neither slowed nor quickened.

  Melancthe arrived at the gate. Her eyes flickered a single instant toward Shimrod; then, ignoring his presence, she climbed the steps to the terrace and disappeared into the shadows of the colonnade.

  Shimrod followed behind her and so entered the villa, which he had never before visited.

  Melancthe crossed the hall and went into a chamber with an arcade of windows overlooking the ocean. She seated herself on a couch beside a low table, and leaning back stared out toward the horizon.

  Shimrod quietly drew up a chair and sat at the end of the table, where he could watch her without turning his head.

  A maid entered with a tall silver ewer, and poured for Melancthe a goblet of wine punch, fragrant with the juice of oranges and lemons. Melancthe, paying no heed to Shimrod, sipped from her goblet, and again looked out over the sea.

  Shimrod watched with head cocked at a quizzical angle. He considered lifting the ewer in both his hands and drinking from the side, but concluded that such an act, with its hint of vulgarity, might compromise his already fragile acceptance. Instead he worked a small spell. Into the room flew a blue and red bird, to circle Melancthe's head and settle on the rim of her goblet. It chirped a time or two, committed a nuisance into the goblet and flew away.

  With studied deliberation Melancthe leaned forward and placed the goblet on the table.

  Shimrod spoke another quiet spell. A small Moorish slave-boy wearing an enormous blue turban, a red and blue striped shin and pale blue puff-breeches, appeared in the doorway. He carried a tray with a pair of silver goblets. He proffered the tray to Melancthe, and stood waiting.

  With a still face Melancthe took one of the goblets and set it on the table. The boy approached Shimrod, who graciously accepted the other goblet and drank of its contents with satisfaction. The slave-boy departed the room.

  With lips thrust forward at the center and drooping dolefully at the corners, Melancthe continued to study the sea.

  Shimrod thought: ‘How she schemes! In her mind she formulates plan after plan, then discards each in turn as ineffective, or crass, or not in accord with her dignity. She can discover no words which will not leave her vulnerable to whatever reproaches or demands I choose to make. So long as she is silent, she commits herself to nothing and thinks to hold me at bay! But pressure builds inside her; at some point she must undertake an initiative.' Shimrod noticed a twitch at the corners of Melancthe's mouth. ‘She has come to a decision,' he told himself. ‘Her least graceful but most effective course is to rise to her feet and leave the room; naturally, I can not follow her into the lavatory and still retain my reputation for gallantry. Well, then, let us see! Her conduct will reveal much in regard to her mood.'

  Melancthe tilted her head back and seemed to go to sleep. Shimrod rose and went to look about the room. There was little furniture and an odd lack of personal belongings: neither articles of skill and craftsmanship nor curios, nor yet scrolls, books, librams or portfolios. On a side-table a green faience bowl held a dozen oranges; nearby a group of water-washed pebbles which had given Melancthe pleasure were spread at random. Three Mauretanian rugs lay on the floor, woven in bold patterns of blue, black and red on a buff background. A heavy candelabra of black iron hung from the ceiling. On the table in front of Melancthe a bronze bowl displayed a bouquet of orange marigolds, no doubt arranged by the maid. Essentially, thought Shimrod,'the room was neutral and reflected nothing of Melancthe.

  Melancthe spoke at last: "How long do you intend to stay here?"

  Shimrod returned to his chair. "I am free for the rest of the day, and the night as well, if it comes to that."

  "You have a most casual attitude toward time."

  " ‘Casual'? I think not. It is a subject of great interest. According to the Esqs of Galicia, time is a pyramid of thirteen sides. They believe that we stand at the apex and overlook days, months and years in all directions. This is the first premise of Thudhic Perdurics, as enunciated by Thudh, the Galician god of time, whose thirteen eyes ring his head so that he may perceive in all directions at once. The visual capability, of course, is symbolic."

  "Has this doctrine any
immediate effect?"

  "I would think so. Novel ideas exercise our minds and enliven our conversation. For instance, while we are still discussing Thudh, you might be interested to learn that each year the Esq magicians alter a hundred human fetuses, hoping that one may be born with thirteen eyes in a circlet around its forehead, and thus would they know Thudh's avatar! So far, nine eyes is their limit of capability, and these become priests of the cult."

  "I find no great interest in such things, nor in the conversation as a whole," said Melancthe. "You may leave as soon as you feel that courtesy makes this demand upon you."

  "At that time I will do so," said Shimrod. "As for now, if you permit, I will call your servant that she may bring us more wine, and perhaps prepare a pot of mussels cooked with oil and garlic. Served with new bread, this is a hearty dish, consumed by folk of good conscience."

  Melancthe turned away from the table. "I am not hungry."

  "Are you tired?" asked Shimrod solicitously. "I will come rest with you on your bed."

  Melancthe turned him a slow golden glance from the side of her eye. She said presently: "Whatever I do, I prefer to be alone."

  "Really? It was not so in the old days. You sought me out with regularity."

  "I have changed completely since that time. I am in no way the same person."

  "Why this metamorphosis?"

  Melancthe rose to her feet. "By living quietly alone, I had hoped to avoid intrusions into my privacy. To some extent I have succeeded."

  "And now you have no friends?"

  Melancthe shrugged and, turning away, went to the window. Shimrod came to stand close behind her. The odor of violets came to his nostrils. "Your response is ambiguous."

  "I have no friends."

  "What of Tamurello?"

  "He is not a friend."

  "I hope he is not your lover."

  "Such relationships are of no interest to me."

  "What sort of relationship is of interest?"

  Melancthe, glancing over her shoulder and finding Shimrod uncomfortably close, moved a step to the side. "I have given the matter no thought."

  "Do you wish to learn magic?"

  "I do not care to be a witch."

  Shimrod returned to his chair. "You are something of a puzzle." He clapped his hands, and the servant appeared. "Melancthe, will you ask for the wine to be served?"

  Melancthe sighed and gave a signal to the servant, and went back to the couch in a manner of strained resignation.

  The maid returned with wine and a pair of goblets, and served both Shimrod and Melancthe.

  Shimrod said: "Once I thought of you as a child in a woman's body."

  Melancthe smiled a cool smile. "And now?"

  "The child seems to have wandered away."

  Melancthe's smile became a trifle wistful.

  "The woman is as beautiful as the dawn," said Shimrod. "I wonder if she realizes this. She seems to be clean; she uses a certain degree of effort to tend her hair. She carries herself like a woman who is well aware of her charm."

  Melancthe spoke in a colorless voice: "You insist upon boring me."

  Shimrod paid her no heed. "It would seem that you are content with your life and yourself. Still, when I try to enter your mind I am lost as if in a jungle."

  Melancthe responded flatly: "That is because I am not truly a human being."

  "Who taught you this? Tamurello?"

  Melancthe gave an indifferent nod. "These are dull topics. When will you leave?"

  "Soon. But tell me this: why did Tamurello teach you such extraordinary folly?"

  "He taught me nothing. I know nothing. My mind is empty, like the dark places behind the stars."

  Shimrod asked: "Do you consider me human?"

  "So I would guess."

  "I am Murgen's scion."

  "This is something I do not understand."

  "At a time now far in the past, Murgen went abroad in this guise, that he might act and do and see as someone other than the fabulous Murgen. I know nothing of those times; Murgen controlled my deeds and the memories are his. Eventually, through usage, Shimrod took on substance and became real, and no longer was he connected with Murgen.

  "Now I am Shimrod. Should I not think myself a man? I look like a man. I hunger and thirst; I eat and drink and in due course void the dross. I am gladdened by joy and I weep tears for grief. When I see your beauty I feel a wistful longing which is both sweet and hurtful. In short, I am all too human, and if not, I notice nothing of the lack."

  Melancthe looked back to the sea. "My shape is human; my body like yours performs its functions; I see, I hear, I taste. But I am empty. I have no emotion. I do nothing but walk the beach."

  Shimrod moved to sit on the couch beside her. He put his arm around her shoulders. "Let me fill the emptiness."

  Melancthe showed him a sardonic side-glance. "I am well enough as I am."

  "You will be better when you are different. Far better."

  Melancthe pulled away and went to stand by the window.

  Shimrod, with nothing more to say, chose this moment to depart, and did so without words of farewell.

  On the following day Shimrod went back to the white villa, calculatedly at the same time. If Melancthe followed her routine of yesterday, he would learn something of her mood. He waited beside the terrace for an hour but Melancthe failed to appear. At last he went thoughtfully back to Ys.

  During the late afternoon the fine weather failed before a fresh breeze from the west; a high mesh of cirrus flew at speed across the sky, and the sun sank into a purple bank of nimbus.

  In the morning brightness and gloom struggled to control the landscape. Shafts of sunlight burst down through rents in the clouds, only to be constricted and shut off. So it went until afternoon, when black walls of rain swept in from the sea.

  Late in the day Shimrod, on impulse, threw a cloak around his shoulders and, after making a purchase at the market, strode down the beach to the white villa. He climbed the steps, crossed the terrace and made his presence known by rapping upon the carved wooden door.

  He discovered no response and rapped again. At last the door opened a crack and the serving maid looked out. "Lady Melancthe is receiving no guests."

  Shimrod pushed through the door. "Excellent; we will not be disturbed by intruders. I will be staying for supper; here are some excellent cutlets. Broil them properly with herbs and serve a good red wine. Where is Melancthe?"

  "In the parlour with the fire."

  "I will find my way."

  The maid went dubiously to her kitchen. Shimrod, looking from room to room, presently discovered the parlour: a chamber with white walls and an oak-beamed ceiling. Melancthe stood warming herself by the fire. As Shimrod came into the room, she looked over her shoulder, then turned moodily back to look down into the flames.

  Shimrod approached. Without looking at him she said: "I knew that you would come tonight."

  Shimrod put his arm around her waist and drawing her close, kissed her. He found no response; he might as well have kissed the back of his hand. "Well then—are you pleased to see me?"

  "No."

  "But neither are you trembling with anger?" "No."

  "I kissed you once before; do you remember?" Melancthe turned to face him. Shimrod understood that he was about to hear a well-rehearsed statement. "I remember almost nothing of that occasion. Tamurello instructed me exactly. I was to promise you anything and, if need be, accede to any demand you might make of me. It proved not to be necessary."

  "And the promises: are they to be broken?"

  "They were'spoken through my mouth, but they were Tamurello's promises. You must look to him for their satisfaction." And Melancthe smiled down into the fire.

  Shimrod, still with his arm around her waist, pulled her close and put his face to her hair, but she detached herself and went to sit on the couch.

  Shimrod came to sit beside her. "I am not the world's wisest man, as well you know. Still, there is
much which I can teach you."

  "You pursue an illusion," said Melancthe, almost contemptuously. "How so?"

  "You are affected by the look of my body. If you looked at me and saw a wrinkled yellow skin and a crooked nose with warts, you would not be here tonight, and even if you were you would not kiss me."

  "There is no denying any of this," said Shimrod. "Still, I am hardly unique. Would you choose to live in such a body?"

  "I am accustomed to this one; and I know it is beautiful. Still, what lives inside the body is something which is probably not at all beautiful."

  The serving maid entered the room. "Shall I lay supper in here by the fire?"

  Melancthe looked around in puzzlement. "I ordered no supper."

  "This gentleman brought out some fine cutlets and commanded that they be properly cooked, and so they are: broiled over vine cuttings, with garlic and lemon and a whiff of thyme, and there is a new loaf, some nice fresh peas and the good red wine is ready to drink."

  "Serve us in here, then."

  During the meal Shimrod worked to achieve an atmosphere of warmth and ease, with little encouragement from Melancthe. Immediately after the supper, she announced that she was tired and intended to retire to her bed.

  "There is rain," Shimrod observed. "I will stay tonight."

  "The rain has stopped," said Melancthe. "Go now, Shimrod; I want no one in my bed save myself."

  Shimrod rose to his feet. "I can depart as graciously as the next man. Melancthe, I wish you good night."

  II

  A STEADY GRAY RAIN DISCOURAGED SHIMROD from new Ventures up the beach. Tactical considerations also gave him pause: an excess of zeal might do his cause more harm than good. For the moment enough had been done. He had brought the unique flavor of his personality to Melancthe's attention; he had shown himself to be gentle, steadfast, entertaining and considerate; he had demonstrated a reassuring degree of ordinary human lust: more might have been considered coarse; less would have demeaned Melancthe's charm and caused her to wonder about both herself and him.