by Jack Vance
Madame Soldinck said with flinty control: “Your remarks, Fuscule, are extraordinary.”
“Save your breath, as you may need it when the drogger begins to flag.”
Once again Madame Soldinck sat silent.
The hillside indeed became more steep and the road traversed back and forth until, breasting a little ridge, it dipped into a glade shaded under yellow-green gingerberry trees, and a single tall lancelade, with a glossy dark red trunk and feathery black foliage, standing like a king.
Cugel halted the carriage beside a stream which trickled across the glade. “Here we are, Madame Soldinck. You may bathe in the water and I will take note of the results.”
Madame Soldinck surveyed the stream without enthusiasm. “Can this be the site of the baths? Where is the temple? And the fallen statue? Where is Cosmei’s bower?”
“The baths proper are farther up the mountain,” said Cugel in a languid voice. “This is the identical water, which in any event works to small effect, especially in exaggerated cases.”
Madame Soldinck grew red in the face. “You may drive me down the hill at once. Master Soldinck will make other arrangements for me.”
“As you like. However, I will take my gratuity now, if you please.”
“You may refer to Master Soldinck for your gratuity. I am sure that he will have something to say to you.”
Cugel turned the carriage about and started back down-hill, saying: “Never will I understand the ways of women.”
Madame Soldinck sat in frigid silence and in due course the carriage came down into Pompodouros. Cugel took Madame Soldinck to the Galante; without a backward glance she stalked up the gangplank.
Cugel returned the carriage to the rank, then entered the club-house and seated himself in an inconspicuous booth. He rearranged his veil, draping it from inside the brim of his hat, that he might no longer be mistaken for Fuscule.
An hour passed. Captain Baunt and Chief Worminger Drofo, having completed various errands, strolled across the plaza to stand in conversation in front of the club-house, where they were presently joined by Pulk.
“And where is Soldinck?” asked Pulk. “Surely by now he has consumed all the spraling good for him.”
“So I would think,” said Captain Baunt. “He could hardly have come to any mishap.”
“Not with Fuscule in charge,” said Pulk. “No doubt they are standing by the pen, discussing Fuscule’s worm.”
Captain Baunt pointed up the hill. “Here comes Soldinck now! He seems in a bad way, as if he can hardly put one foot in front of another!”
Hunched forward and walking with exaggerated care, Soldinck crossed the plaza by an indirect route and at last joined the group in front of the club-house. Captain Baunt stepped forward to meet him. “Are you well? Has something gone wrong?”
Soldinck spoke in a voice thin and husky: “I have had an awful experience.”
“What happened? At least you are alive!”
“Only barely. These last few hours will haunt me forever. I blame Fuscule, in all respects. I name him a demon of perversity! I bought his worm; at least that is ours. Drofo, go fetch it to the ship; we will leave this sink-hole at once.”
Pulk put a tentative question: “Will Fuscule still be our worminger?”
“Ha!” declared Soldinck savagely. “He will not tend worms on my ship! Cugel commands the position.”
Madame Soldinck, having observed Soldinck as he crossed the plaza, could restrain her rage no longer. She descended to the dock and approached the club-house. As soon as she came within ear-shot of Soldinck she cried out: “So there you are at last! Where were you while I was suffering insolence and ridicule at the hands of that vicious Fuscule? The instant he puts his foot aboard our ship I leave! Compared to Fuscule, Cugel is a blessed angel of light! Cugel must remain the worminger!”
“That, my dear, is exactly my own opinion.”
Pulk tried to insert a soothing word. “I cannot believe that Fuscule would act other than correctly! Surely there has been a mistake or a misunderstanding of some sort —”
“A misunderstanding, when he demanded forty-five terces and took eighteen only because I had no more; and wanted my precious opal in the bargain, then visited upon me ignominies I cannot bear to think upon? And he boasted, if you can believe it, of how he intended to worm aboard the Galante! That will never be, if I myself must stand guard at the gang-plank!”
Captain Baunt said: “The decision is definite in this regard. Fuscule must be a madman!”
“A madman or worse! It is hard to describe the scope of his evil! And yet, all the while, I sensed familiarity, as if somewhere, in a previous existence, or a nightmare, I had known him!”
“The mind plays strange tricks,” observed Captain Baunt. “I am anxious to meet this remarkable individual.”
Pulk called out: “Here he comes now, with Drofo! At last we shall have an explanation, and perhaps a suitable apology.”
“I want neither!” cried Madame Soldinck. “I want only to see the last of this dismal island!” Turning on her heel, she swept off across the plaza and back aboard the Galante.
Marching with vigorous steps, Fuscule approached the group, with Drofo strolling a pace or two behind. Fuscule halted, and raising his veil, surveyed the group. “Where is Soldinck?”
Keeping a tight grip on his temper, Soldinck said coldly: “You know very well who I am! I know you as well, for a scoundrel and a blackguard. I will not comment upon the poor taste of your prank, nor your insufferable conduct toward Madame Soldinck. I prefer that we conclude our business on the basis of absolute formality. Drofo, why are you not taking our worm to the Galante?”
“I will respond to that question,” said Fuscule. “Drofo will be allowed the worm after you have paid me my five thousand terces, plus eleven terces for my double-cambered fluke-chister which you discarded with such cavalier ease, together with another twenty terces for your attack upon my person. Your account therefore stands at a total of five thousand and thirty-one terces. You may pay me on this instant.”
Cugel, mingling with a group of others, came from the club-house and stood watching the altercation from a little distance.
Soldinck advanced two pugnacious steps toward Fuscule. “Are you mad? I bought your worm for a fair sum and paid you cash on the spot. Let us have no more dancing and dodging! Deliver the worm to Drofo at once, or we will take immediate and drastic measures!”
“Needless to say, you have forfeited your post as worminger aboard the Galante,” Captain Baunt pointed out. “So deliver the worm and let us have an end to the business.”
“Pah!” cried Fuscule in a passion. “You shall not have my worm, not for five thousand terces nor yet ten! And as for the other items on the account —” stepping forward he struck Soldinck smartly on the side of the head “— that will pay for the chister and this —” he dealt Soldinck another blow “— must settle for the remainder.”
Soldinck rushed forward to settle his own accounts; Captain Baunt attempted to intervene but his intent was misunderstood by Pulk, who with one mighty heave threw him to the ground.
The confusion was eventually controlled by Drofo, who put himself between the opposing parties and held out his arms to induce restraint. “Peace, every one! There are peculiar aspects to this situation which must be analyzed. Fuscule, you claim that Soldinck offered you five thousand terces for your worm, then threw your chister into the water?”
“That indeed is my claim!” cried Fuscule furiously.
“Are those likely events? Soldinck is notorious for his parsimony! Never would he offer five thousand terces for a worm worth at best two thousand! How do you explain such a paradox?”
“I am a worminger, not a student of weird psychological mysteries,” grumbled Fuscule. “Still, now that I reflect on it, the man who called himself Soldinck stood a head taller than this little toad. He also wore an unusual hat of several folds, and walked with his legs bent at the knees.”
Soldinck spoke excitedly: “The description might well fit the villain who recommended me to the hut of Terlulia! He walked with a stealthy gait, and called himself Fuscule.”
“Aha!” said Pulk. “Affairs are starting to sort themselves out. Let us find a booth in the club-house and approach our inquiry properly, over a jug of good black beer!”
“The concept is sound but in this case unnecessary,” said Drofo. “I can already put a name to the individual at fault.”
Captain Baunt said: “I also have an intuition in this regard.”
Soldinck looked resentfully from face to face. “Am I then so dense? Who is this person?”
“Can there be any more doubt?” asked Drofo. “His name is Cugel.”
Soldinck blinked, then clapped his hands together. “That is a reasonable deduction!”
Pulk spoke in gentle admonition: “Now that the guilty person has been identified, it appears that you owe Fuscule an apology.”
The memory of Fuscule’s blows still rankled with Soldinck. “I will feel more generous when he returns the six hundred terces I paid him for his worm. And never forget: it was he who accused me of throwing away his chister. Apologies are due from the other direction.”
“You are still confused,” said Pulk. “The six hundred terces were paid to Cugel.”
“Possibly so. Still, I feel that careful inquiries are in order.”
Captain Baunt turned to look around the bystanders. “I thought that I saw him a few minutes ago … He seems to have slipped away.”
For a fact, as soon as he had seen which way the wind was blowing, Cugel had taken himself in haste to the Galante. Madame Soldinck was in the cabin, acquainting her daughters with the events of the day. No one was on hand to interfere as Cugel ran here and there about the ship. He dropped the gang-plank, threw off the mooring-lines, pulled hoods from the worms and placed triple bait in the hoppers, then ran up to the quarter-deck and threw the wheel hard over.
At the club-house Soldinck was saying: “I distrusted him from the start! Still, who could imagine such protean depravity?”
Bunderwal, the supercargo, concurred. “Cugel, while plausible, is nonetheless a bit of a scoundrel.”
“He must now be summoned to an accounting,” said Captain Baunt. “It is always an unpleasant task.”
“Not all that unpleasant,” muttered Fuscule.
“We must give him a fair hearing, and the sooner the better. I fancy the club-house will serve as well as any for our forum.”
“First we must find him,” said Soldinck. “I wonder where the rascal has taken cover? Drofo, you and Pulk look aboard the Galante. Fuscule, glance inside the club-house. Do or say nothing to alarm him; merely indicate that I want to put a few general questions … Yes, Drofo? Why are you not off about your errand?”
Drofo pointed toward the sea. He spoke in his usual pensive voice: “Sir, you may look for yourself.”
3
The Ocean of Sighs
The red morning sun reflected from the dark sea in exact replica.
The worms idled effortlessly at half-bait; the Galante drifted through the water as softly as a boat sliding through a dream.
Cugel slept somewhat later than usual, in that bed formerly enjoyed by Soldinck.
The crew of the Galante worked quietly and efficiently at their appointed tasks.
A tap at the door aroused Cugel from his rest. After stretching and yawning Cugel called out in a melodious voice: “Enter!”
The door opened; into the cabin came Tabazinth, the youngest and perhaps the most winsome of Madame Soldinck’s daughters, though Cugel, had he been pressed for judgment, would have stoutly defended the special merits of each.
Tabazinth, who was gifted with a buxom chest and robust little haunches while still retaining a slender and flexible waist, showed to the world a round face, a mop of dark curls and a pink mouth chronically pursed as if in restraint of a smile. She carried a tray which she set on the bedside table. With a demure glance over her shoulder she started to leave the chamber. Cugel called her back.
“Tabazinth, my dear! The morning is fine; I will take my breakfast on the quarter-deck. You may instruct Madame Soldinck to lash the wheel and take her relief.”
“As you like, sir.” Tabazinth picked up the tray and left the cabin.
Cugel arose from the bed, applied a scented lotion to his face, rinsed his mouth with one of Soldinck’s select balsams, then wrapped himself in an easy gown of pale blue silk. He listened … Down the companion-way ladder came the thud of Madame Soldinck’s steps. Through the forward port-hole Cugel watched as she marched forward to that cabin formerly occupied by Chief Worminger Drofo. As soon as she had disappeared from view, Cugel stepped out upon the midship deck. He inhaled and exhaled deep breaths of the cool morning air, then climbed to the quarter-deck.
Before sitting down to his breakfast Cugel went to the taff-rail, to survey the state of the sea and assess the progress of the ship. From horizon to horizon the water lay flat, with nothing to be seen but the image of the sun. The wake astern seemed adequately straight — a testimony as to the quality of Madame Soldinck’s steering — while the claw of the escalabra pointed due south.
Cugel gave a nod of approval; Madame Soldinck might well become a competent helmswoman. On the other hand, she showed small skill as a worminger, and her daughters here were marginal at best.
Cugel seated himself to his breakfast. One by one he raised the silver covers to peer into the platters. He discovered a compote of spiced fruit, poached sea-bird livers, porridge of drist and raisins, a pickle of lily-bulbs and small black fungus-balls with several different kinds of pastry: a breakfast more than adequate in which he recognized the work of Meadhre, oldest and most conscientious of the daughters. Madame Soldinck, on the single time she had been pressed into service, had prepared a meal so quietly unappetizing that Cugel had refrained from again assigning her to the galley.
Cugel ate at leisure. A most pleasant harmony existed between himself and the world: an interlude to be prolonged, cherished and savored to the utmost. To memorialize this special condition Cugel lifted his exquisitely delicate tea-cup and sipped the limpid nectar brewed from Soldinck’s choicest blend of herbs.
“Just so!” said Cugel. The past was gone; the future might end tomorrow, should the sun go dark. Now was now, to be dealt with on its own terms.
“Precisely so!” said Cugel.
And yet … Cugel glanced uneasily over his shoulder. It was right and proper to exploit the excellences of the moment, but still, when conditions reached an apex, there was nowhere to go but down.
Even now, without tangible reason, Cugel felt an eery strain in the atmosphere, as if, just past the edge of his awareness, something had gone askew.
Cugel jumped to his feet and looked over the port rail. The worms, on half-bait, worked without strain. Everything seemed in order. Likewise with the starboard worm. Cugel slowly went back to his breakfast.
Cugel applied the full force of his intellect to the problem: what had aroused his uneasiness? The ship was sound; food and drink were ample; Madame Soldinck and her daughters had apparently come to terms with their new careers; and Cugel congratulated himself upon his wise, kindly but firm administration.
For a period immediately after departure Madame Soldinck produced a furious torrent of abuse, which Cugel finally decided to abate, if only in the interests of ship-board morale. “Madame,” said Cugel, “your outcries disturb us all. They must cease.”
“I name you an oppressor! A monster of evil! A laharq, or a keak!”*
*
laharq: a creature of vicious habits, native to the tundras north of Saskervoy.
keak: a horrid hybrid of demon and deep-sea fanged eel.
Cugel replied: “Unless you desist I will order you confined in the hold.”
“Bah!” said Madame Soldinck. “Who will carry out your orders?”
“If necessary I will implement them mysel
f! Ship’s discipline must be maintained. I am now captain of this vessel, and these are my commands. First, you are to hold your tongue. Second, you will assemble aft on the midship deck to hear the address I am about to deliver.”
With poor grace Madame Soldinck and her daughters gathered at the spot which Cugel had designated.
Cugel climbed halfway up the companionway ladder. “Ladies! I will be grateful for your complete attention!” Cugel looked smilingly from face to face. “Now then! I am aware that today has not yielded optimum rewards to us all. Still, now is now, and we must come to terms with circumstance. In this regard I can offer a word or two of advice.
“Our first concern is for marine regulation, which stipulates quick and exact obedience to the captain’s orders. Shipboard work will be shared. I have already accepted the duties of command. From you, my crew, I will expect good will, cooperation and zest, whereupon you will find me lenient, understanding and even affectionate.”
Madame Soldinck called out sharply: “We want neither you nor your lenience! Take us back to Pompodouros!”
Meadhre, the oldest daughter, said in a melancholy voice: “Hush, Mama! Be realistic! Cugel does not dare return to Pompodouros, so let us find where in fact he plans to take us.”
“I will now provide that information,” said Cugel. “Our port of destination is Val Ombrio on the coast of Almery, a goodly sail to the south.”
Madame Soldinck cried out in shock: “You cannot be serious! In between lie waters of deadly peril! This is common knowledge!”
Cugel said coldly: “I suggest, Madame, that you place your faith in someone like myself, rather than the housewives of your social circle.”
Salasser advised her mother: “Cugel will do as he likes in any case; why oppose his wishes? It will only make him angry.”
“Sound thinking!” declared Cugel. “Now, as to the work of the ship: each of you must become a competent worminger, at my instruction. Since we have ample time we will drive the worms at half-bait only, which will be to their advantage. We also lack the services of Angshott the cook; still, we have ample stores and I see no reason to stint ourselves. I encourage all of you to give full scope to your culinary skills.
