Ports of Call

by Jack Vance

  Dauncy paused in the act of hanging up his cloak, and glanced down at Myron, fine military mustache bristling. “That is so.”

  “Dame Hester tells me that if I want a place aboard I must apply to you. I’m sure you know that I have specialized in Cosmological Studies at the Institute.”

  Dauncy smilingly shook his head. “It’s no good, my dear fellow. I’ve already filled all the billets with qualified personnel, and there is simply no place open. Sorry and all that, but that’s how it is.”

  Dame Hester had come to stand in the doorway. Dauncy looked over his shoulder. “So there you are, my dear. I have just explained to Myron that the Glodwyn is fully staffed, with experienced personnel.” He turned back to Myron. “We think of this trip as a working expedition and are not prepared to entertain passengers.”

  Dame Hester spoke kindly to Myron, “Perhaps another time, on a less serious voyage.”

  “Quite so,” said Myron. “The world goes on.”

  Dame Hester appraised Myron keenly. “You are nonchalant. I hope that you are still looking into that Ontwill matter.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ve already collected most of the significant information. As a matter of fact, I’ve been caught up in a fascinating side issue.”

  “Truly, Myron, I am not interested in side issues. Please, at this moment, let me have a summary of what you have learned.”

  “Not just yet. One or two of the facts are still uncertain.” Myron turned toward the door.

  Dame Hester called out sharply: “Where are you going?”

  Myron made a vague gesture. “Oh — just here and there. Nowhere in particular.”

  Myron departed Sarbiter house, leaving Dame Hester frowning after him. “Myron is acting strangely,” she told Dauncy. “Have you noticed?”

  Dauncy gave a brusque laugh. “I am barely aware of Myron. No doubt he is a nice lad, but I find him just a bit of a milksop.”

  “Hm. I’m not so sure. Myron mystifies me. He often seems insipid and rather moony, but he is demonstrably intelligent.”

  “Perhaps so.” Dauncy dismissed Myron from his attention. “The news is good. The crew has been engaged: a top-notch set of veterans. In two or three days they will be on hand and ready to go.”

  “I will want to meet them, as soon as possible. Can you bring them here, to Sarbiter House?”

  “Of course; I will make the arrangements and let you know.”

  “That will do very nicely.”

  Two days passed during which Myron avoided Sarbiter House, and Dame Hester began to fret. This sort of evasiveness was really too bad of Myron! He knew how urgently she required full information, if only to soothe her restlessness. It was wicked for him to keep her on tenterhooks while he went his way, flighty as a will-o’-the-wisp. Providence be thanked for Dauncy Covarth, who was a safe harbor in a storm. He was stalwart and bold, a true gentleman, oblivious to the difference in their ages. Dauncy used a keen sensitivity to plumb to the inner essence of a person: that spirit which yearned for true understanding as well as the transports of more immediate joys! Dauncy was a jewel, a treasure, a rock of faith! In Dauncy she could and would trust.

  7

  The two days passed. On the morning of the third day Myron telephoned Sarbiter House. Dame Hester could hardly speak for vexation. “Well, Myron?” she managed to say. “You have kept us agog with suspense! Important events are in progress, while you keep me in a vacuum of information! Where are you? I must speak with you at once, since tonight I will meet the full Glodwyn crew. If I cannot so much as hint of our destination I will feel a fool.”

  “Oh, don’t worry on that account! The destination exists; in fact, I’ve had the information well in hand for some time now.”

  Dame Hester’s voice cracked as she tried to speak evenly. “Then why have you not done your duty and brought this information to me?”

  “Today we will meet for lunch and everything will become clear.”

  “Stuff and nonsense!” barked Dame Hester. “At this moment, if you please, I want to hear what you have learned!”

  “Sorry; there is no time just now. Do you know Floiry Place, north of the Old Market?”

  Dame Hester pulled a haughty face. “It is not a part of town I like to visit.”

  “Today you must make an exception. I will meet you at noon precisely, under the Banjer Tower clock.”

  Dame Hester made an energetic protest. “This is a great nuisance! I cannot imagine your motives!”

  “I will explain in detail when I meet you.”

  “Myron, please don’t be tiresome! It is an unsavoury district, which I prefer to avoid! Why do you insist upon such foolishness?”

  “It’s quite simple. I have reserved a table at a nearby restaurant.”

  “Very well; as you like. Please be prompt.”

  Myron arrived at the rendezvous ten minutes early to find Dame Hester already on hand, pacing back and forth under the clock. For the occasion she had selected one of her more striking ensembles: a green cape, flaring wide at the hips; voluminous pantaloons striped green blue and black, tucked into ankle boots of magenta leather. A hat of silver mesh controlled her mop of roan-red hair and anchored a tall green plume which bobbed and waved as she marched back and forth. At Myron’s approach, she stopped short and greeted him with a raucous cry: “There you are, at last! Do you know how long I have waited?”

  “Not long. It is still five minutes short of the hour.”

  “No matter! It’s all an absurdity. This is a disreputable neighborhood. I see no restaurant of quality! I see a Theater of the Nude; I see a dog-barber; yonder is a shop selling exotic herbs and vegetarian pellets. And what is that place yonder?”

  “That is the Club Kit-Kat, a cellar cabaret. It is quite fashionable among the avant-garde. But come; they will not hold our table forever.”

  Myron escorted Dame Hester across Floiry Place and into a narrow lane which led down to the riverside docks. Dame Hester complained at once. “Where are you taking me? I do not care for ultra quaint! or even squalid establishments.”

  Myron pointed to an overhead sign, which read:

  ZAMSKI’S BOHEMIAN GRILL.

  “That is our destination. It is quite a decent place, though the clientele includes a variety of unconventional types, like yourself.”

  Dame Hester was pleased by Myron’s description of herself. “Well, yes,” she conceded. “I cannot deny my occasional recklessness. I am a woman who loves life! I suppose that a few old woohaws consider me unconventional. In a sense, it is a compliment! I fear that you, with your almost morbid rectitude, will never qualify.”

  Myron shrugged. “It is a matter of preference.”

  The two entered the restaurant and found themselves in a noisy dining room, high-ceilinged and decorated with theatrical posters. A waiter led them out upon an open terrace overlooking the river Chaim, and seated them at a table to the side, in the shade of a lucanthus tree. Myron glanced across the terrace and noted that a table beside the railing was occupied as usual by a couple taking an early lunch.

  In general, Dame Hester was favorably impressed by what she saw. The tables were spread with gay cloths checked either red, green or blue, and fresh flowers appeared on every table. Grudgingly she admitted that the restaurant seemed, at least superficially, attractive. “Still, why are we sitting over here, crammed into a corner under a plant? Are no other tables available? Remember: I am a creature of the sun! I crave light and air and open space! Surely you must know my foibles by this time!”

  “This table is the best I could get on short notice. The others are reserved for regulars. Are you hungry? Here is the menu. The devilled mandrake is a house specialty. The goulash is quite good, as is the stuffed cuttlefish.”

  Dame Hester tossed the menu aside. “I shall have a salad, poached eel and a bit of toast. You may order a flagon of good wine.”

  The waiter took their orders. Myron looked across the terrace, to the table by the railing, where th
e man and woman were finishing their lunch.

  “Now then,” said Dame Hester. “My patience has run its course! Tell me what you have learned of the Ontwill expedition.”

  “Very well. I visited the botanical library and looked through the records. I read the proposal for Professor Ontwill’s final expedition, which detailed his itinerary and his destination. I saw the report describing how he had met his death. He had been killed when a twenty-pound ironwood pod dropped from a height of a hundred feet to crush his skull.”

  Myron again glanced across the terrace. The man and the woman, now drinking tea, were still engrossed in conversation. The man’s back was turned and his face could not be seen. The woman was somewhat older than Myron. She wore a dark gray jacket buttoned close up to her neck with tight trousers of a soft rose-pink stuff which clung to her slender legs. Fine tawny-brown hair hung past delicate features; dark eyelashes hooded her eyes. She sat relaxed and languid in the sunlight, her mouth curving in a smile, as if every aspect of life were happy and amusing. The man reached forward, took her hands and made an earnest remark. The woman tilted back her head and laughed; apparently the world had become more amusing than ever.

  Dame Hester said, “Please continue, Myron. You need not draw out your story for dramatic effect.”

  “As you like. Professor Ontwill died on the world Naharius in Virgo GGP 922; Dame Betka seems to have undertaken her therapy at a local clinic.”

  “Hmmf. That is circumstantial enough. What keeps attracting your attention?” Dame Hester looked over her shoulder and followed Myron’s gaze. The man at the table across the terrace raised the woman’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers with tender emotion. The woman bent her head forward and spoke a few words. The man sighed and glanced at his watch; it was time to leave. He bent his head and gave her wrist a playful little nip. The woman laughed, jerked away her arm, fluttered her napkin in his face. He seized her hand, began to gnaw at the knuckles. She jumped to her feet, dropped the napkin and the game was over; regretfully he joined her and the two slowly threaded their way through the tables. Now it could be seen that the man, his mustache bristling, his face complacent, was Dauncy Covarth.

  Dame Hester made an inarticulate sound, half-gasp, half-croak. Her jaw sagged. She tried to call out, but she had lost her power of speech. The words, catching in her throat, seemed almost to strangle her.

  Dauncy Covarth and the woman departed the terrace.

  Dame Hester at last said, “That was Dauncy! Go after him; bring him back here!”

  Myron shook his head. “That would not be tactful. Dauncy and his friend are busy with their private affairs.”

  “Go after them!” croaked Dame Hester. “Find out the name of that woman!”

  “No need,” said Myron. “Her name is Vita Palas; at least, that is the name she uses when she performs at the cabaret. I refer to the Club Kit-Kat, of course, out on the Place Floiry. The cabaret, incidentally, is where Dauncy met the lady, while acting in the comic burlesque: ‘Captain Dog’s-body and the Pirate Queen’. This perhaps is where Dauncy learned to be a spaceship captain.”

  Dame Hester glared at Myron. “How long have you known of this travesty? Is this why you brought me here?”

  Myron thought a moment. “I have another explanation which I would rather have you believe.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Since Dauncy and his ladyfriend were coming here day after day, I assumed that it must be a restaurant of quality which you would enjoy.”

  “Yes, the visit here was most enjoyable,” said Dame Hester savagely. “Are you ready to go?”

  “Not yet. I have not finished my pickerel, and I have ordered rum pudding for us both.”

  “Never mind your pickerel! Tonight Dauncy will bring the ship’s crew to Sarbiter House. I want you on hand, in the event that he feigns innocence. Never before has my trust been so abused! He is a monster of perfidy!”

  8

  Myron and Dame Hester took an early dinner in an alcove beside a tall window overlooking the landscape to the west, where a bank of low clouds reflected a dozen somber colors from the setting sun, including the opalescent greens and blues which were peculiar to the world Vermazen and for which the meteorologists had no explanation.

  The meal was consumed in silence. Dame Hester trifled with a peach and a truffled sausage, and stared out the window to watch dusk drift across the land. Myron dined more substantially on mixed grill and a risotto of pine nuts and saffron.

  Dame Hester waved away dessert and sat with hands clenching her tea-cup, while Myron stolidly partook of apricot tart. Beyond the window, the sky grew dark and the constellation known locally as the Unicorn rose in the east.

  Dame Hester threw down her napkin. “Come. In ten minutes we will meet the Glodwyn’s crew, along with that Covarth person.”

  But she hesitated before rising.

  “I feel no shame. He is a personable fellow and quite persuasive. He will be rife with abject explanations, of course. But I see him now for what he is: a poseur with a blatant mustache. Still, what of me? If he is truly abject and truly penitent, how can I not forgive him? I am sorry to say that I am as naive as a schoolgirl who never learned to say ‘no’. Ah well, we shall see. I am intensely vulnerable to honest shame. I find it easy to blame, but even more easy to forgive. At heart, I am pure woman, generous and chronically susceptible to a kindly gesture. And yet, and yet: how could he waste a single instant on that vacuous trollop when he could share the rich intimacy of soul and spirit with me, Hester Lajoie? It is beyond comprehension!”

  Myron put on a dubious expression. He started to speak, but changed his mind.

  Dame Hester, despite her distrait condition, was as keenly observant as ever. “You were about to speak, Myron? I am curious to learn your views.”

  Myron raised his eyebrows and looked toward the ceiling. “I was about to say that your instincts will guide you through this jungle of emotion.”

  “Bah!” muttered Dame Hester. “I can never take comfort in your ambiguities.” She rose to her feet. “You may wait in the drawing room, if you please. I will join you shortly, after I refresh myself.” She paused. “Dauncy and the crew will arrive in a few moments. Ask Henry to serve them what they wish to drink. I must have a moment or two of tranquility.”

  Myron went pensively to the drawing room. He poured himself a tot of the best Frugola Brandy, then went to stand by the fire.

  Five minutes passed. Henry appeared in the doorway. He spoke formally, with only a nasal overtone to hide his distaste for the proceedings. “Master Covarth has arrived with a party of friends. He says they are expected.”

  “It can’t be helped. Show them in, then serve them what they want to drink — from the ordinary bottles, of course.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Dauncy entered the drawing room, followed by six persons, all dressed in the casual garments used by spacemen from one end of the Gaean Reach to the other. Dauncy, however, wore the uniform affected by the officers of luxury passenger packets: a trim dark blue jacket, with brass buttons, gray trousers and a loose white cap. He looked around the room. “Where is Dame Hester?”

  “She will be with us presently. Henry will serve you whatever you would like to drink.”

  Henry fulfilled the orders. Dauncy said to Myron, “Here is the crew: a top-notch group. Yonder stands the Chief Mate, beside him the Chief Engineer, then the chef and the Chief Steward, along with a pair of technicians and pair of under-stewards. More than adequate for the Glodwyn, or so I believe.”

  Myron politely acknowledged the introductions. He spoke to the crew: “Dame Hester will want to examine your references. You carry them with you, I hope?”

  Dauncy spoke with asperity: “You need not concern yourself. I have taken care of every detail.”

  Myron chuckled and Dauncy glanced at him narrowly, but before he could speak, Myron turned away to pour himself more brandy.

  Minutes passed. Dame Heste
r at last appeared. She had changed into a short-sleeved dark red jacket over a swirling gown, striped yellow, red and black, with a dark red bandeau controlling her hair.

  Dauncy stepped forward and gallantly doffed his cap. “Ah, my dear lady, you appear at last; you are absolutely stunning in that marvellous dress!”

  Dame Hester stood rigid as a post, looking from face to face. She darted a glance toward Myron, who merely made a wry grimace.

  Dauncy spoke on. “Here is our crew: all professionals of the highest competence. Let me introduce Chief Mate Atwyn and Chief Engineer Furth. Alois deGrassi our chef and beside him is our Chief Steward Vita Palas. Next —”

  Dame Hester spoke in a low voice thick with emotion. “Dauncy, I cannot find words to express my feelings. You are a horrid insect which hides by day under a damp rock. You have attempted to smuggle your trollop aboard my ship, under my very nose. The act is so sublimely insulting as to cause me first to laugh, then to retch! You are so vile that you pollute the air with the stink of your miserable soul!”

  Dauncy pretended bewilderment. “I fail to understand this —”

  “Silence!” Dame Hester turned to appraise Vita Palas, who had dressed with scrupulous care in a demure gray skirt, a tan jacket, low workshoes and a small white cap under which she had tucked her fine light brown hair. “I consider you a contemptible sneak, with the morals of an alley cat. You may or may not be a prostitute; I can only suspect.”

  “Now then!” cried Vita Palas. “Don’t you go slanging me, you raddled old hussy! I know your kind, all skin and spleen, and wrinkles to wrap over all! Your own morals are sewage, you with your dancing-boys and gigolos! Don’t you try slanging me any more, or I’ll snatch off your wig and really explain what I think of you! It will not be nice! It will turn your long nose blue!”

  Dame Hester turned to Henry. “Expel Dauncy and this slut from the house. If they offer resistance, Myron will deal with them quite brutally, so I suspect. Am I right, Myron?”

  “I suspect that they will go peacefully,” said Myron. “While you are at it, discharge the two stewards as well; they are comic dancers at the Kit-Kat Club.”