by Jack Vance
"Well then, if I may do as I please, I will accept your hospitality."
Melancthe, mouth pursed thoughtfully, walked into the palace, with Carfilhiot at her back. She paused in the foyer: a round chamber decorated in blue, pink and gold, and with a pale blue rug on the marble floor. She called the chamberlain. "Show Sir Faude to a chamber and attend to his needs."
Carfilhiot bathed and rested for a period. Dusk settled across the ocean and daylight faded.
Carfilhiot dressed in garments of unrelieved black. In the foyer the chamberlain presented himself. "Lady Melancthe has not yet appeared. If you like, you may await her in the small saloon."
Carfilhiot seated himself and was served a goblet of crimson wine, tasting of honey, pine needles and pomegranate.
Half an hour passed. The silver-skinned serving girl brought a tray of sweetmeats, which Carfilhiot tasted without enthusiasm.
Ten minutes later he looked up from his wine to find Melancthe standing in front of him. She wore a sleeveless black gown, cut with total simplicity. A black opal cabochon hung on a narrow black ribbon around her neck; against the black, her pale skin and large eyes gave her a look of vulnerability to the impulses of both pleasure and pain: a semblance to excite any wishing to bring her either or both.
After a pause she sat beside Carfilhiot, and took a goblet of wine from the tray. Carfilhiot waited but she sat in silence. At last he asked: "Have you enjoyed a restful afternoon?"
"Certainly not restful. I worked on certain exercises."
"Indeed? To what end?"
"It is not easy to become a sorcerer."
"That is your will?"
"Certainly."
"It is not overly difficult, then?"
"I am only at the fringes of the subject. The real difficulties lie yet ahead."
"Already you are stronger than I." Carfilhiot spoke in a jesting voice. Melancthe smiled not at all.
After a heavy silence she rose to her feet. "It is time for dinner."
She took him into a large chamber, paneled in the blackest of ebony and floored with slabs of polished black gabbro. Over the ebony a set of glass prisms illuminated the service.
Dinner was served on two sets of trays: a simple meal of mussels simmered in white wine, bread, olives and nuts. Melancthe ate little, and apart from an occasional glance at Carfilhiot, gave him no attention, and made no effort at conversation. Carfilhiot, nettled, likewise held his tongue, so that the meal went in silence. Carfilhiot drank several goblets of wine, and finally set the goblet down with a petulant thump.
"You are beautiful beyond the dreams of dreaming! Yet your thoughts are those of a fish!"
"It is no great matter."
"Why should we know constraint? Are we not ultimately one?"
"No. Desmei yielded three: I, you and Denking."
"You have said it yourself!"
Melancthe shook her head. "Everyone shares the substance of earth. But the lion differs from the mouse and both from man."
Carfilhiot rejected the analogy with a gesture. "We are one, yet different! A fascinating condition! Yet, you are aloof!"
"True," said Melancthe. "I agree."
"For a moment consider the possibilities! The vertexes of passion! The sheer exuberances! Can you not feel the excitement?"
"Feel? Enough that I think." For an instant her composure appeared to falter. She rose, crossed the chamber and stood looking into the sea-coal fire.
In a leisurely fashion Carfilhiot came to stand beside her. "It is easy to feel." He took her hand and laid it on his chest. "Feel! I am strong. Feel how my heart moves and gives me life."
Melancthe pulled her hand away. "I do not care to feel at your behest. Passion is a hysteria. In truth I have no yearning for men." She moved a step away from him. "Leave me now, if you please. In the morning, you will not see me, nor will I advance your enterprises."
Carfilhiot put his hands under her elbows and stood facing her, with firelight shifting along their faces. Melancthe opened her mouth to speak, but uttered no words, and Carfilhiot, bending his face to hers, kissed her mouth. He drew her down upon a couch. "Evening stars still climb the sky. Night has just begun."
She seemed not to hear him, but sat looking into the fire. Carfilhiot loosed the clasps at her shoulder; she let the gown slide from her body with no restraint and the odor of violets hung in the air. She watched in passive silence as Carfilhiot stepped from his own garments.
At midnight Melancthe rose from the couch, to stand nude before the fire, now a bed of embers.
Carfilhiot watched her from the couch, eyelids half-lowered, mouth compressed. Melancthe's conduct had been perplexing. Her body had joined his with suitable urgency, but never during the coupling had she looked into his face; her head had been thrown back, or laid to the side, with eyes focused on nothing whatever. She had been physically exalted, this he could sense, but when he spoke to her, she made no response, as if he were no more than a phantasm.
Melancthe looked at him over her shoulder. "Dress yourself."
Sullenly Carfilhiot donned his garments, while she stood in contemplation of the dying fire. He considered a set of remarks, one after the other, but each seemed very heavy, or peevish, or callow, or foolish and he held his tongue.
When he had dressed he came to her and put his arms around her waist.She slipped from his grasp and spoke in a pensive voice, "don't touch me. No man has ever touched me, nor shall you."
Carfilhiot laughed. "Am I not a man? I have touched you, thoroughly and deep, to the core of your soul."
Still watching the fire Melancthe shook her head. "You occur only as an odd thing of the imagination. I have used you, now you must dissolve from my mind."
Carfilhiot peered at her in bafflement. Was she mad? "I am quite real, and I don't care to dissolve. Melancthe, listen!" Again he put his hands to her waist. "Let us truly be lovers! Are we not both remarkable?"
Again Melancthe moved away. "Again you have tried to touch me." She pointed to a door. "Go! Dissolve from my mind!"
Carfilhiot performed a sardonic bow and went to the door. Here he hesitated, looked back. Melancthe stood by the hearth, one hand to the high mantle, firelight and black shadow shifting along her body: Carfilhiot whispered to himself, inaudibly. "Say what you will of phantoms. I took you and I had you: so much is real."
And in his ear, or in his brain, as he opened the door, came soundless words: "I played with a phantom. You thought to control reality. Phantoms feel no pain. Reflect on this, when every day pain comes past."
Carfilhiot, startled, stepped through the door, and at once it closed behind him. He stood in a dark passage between two buildings, with a glimmer of light at either end. The night sky showed overhead. The air carried an odd reek, of moldering wood and wet stone; where was the clean salt air which blew past Melancthe's palace?
Carfilhiot groped through a clutter of rubbish to the end of the passage and emerged into a town square. He looked around in slack-jawed perplexity. This was not Ys, and Carfilhiot spoke a dour curse against Melancthe.
The square was boisterous with the sights and sounds of a festival. A thousand torches burnt on high; a thousand green and blue banners with a yellow bird appliqued on high. At the center two great birds constructed of bound straw bundles and ropes faced each other. On a platform men and women costumed as fanciful birds pranced, bobbed and kicked to the music of pipes and drums.
A man costumed as a white rooster, with red comb, yellow bill, white feathered wings and tail strutted past. Carfilhiot clutched his arm. "Sir, one moment! Enlighten me, where is this place?"
The man-chicken crowed in derision. "Have you no eyes? No ears? This is the Avian Arts Grand Gala!"
"Yes, but where?"
"Where else? This is the Kaspodel, at the center of the city!"
"But what city? What realm?"
"Are you lost of your senses? This is Gargano!"
"In Pomperol?"
"Precisely so. Where are your
tail feathers? King Deuel has ordained tail-feathers for the gala! Notice my display!" The man-chicken ran in a circle, strutting and bobbing, so as to flourish his handsome tail-plumes; then he continued on his way.
Carfilhiot leaned against the building, gritting his teeth in fury. He carried neither coins, nor jewels, nor gold; he knew no friends among the folk of Gargano; indeed Mad King Deuel considered Carfilhiot a dangerous bird-killer and an enemy.
To the side of the square Carfilhiot noted the boards of an inn: the Pear Tree. He presented himself to the innkeeper only to learn that the inn was occupied to capacity. Carfilhiot's most aristocratic manner earned him no more than a bench in the common-room near a group of celebrants who caroused, wrangled and sang such songs as Fesker Would a-Wooing Go, Tirra-Lirra-Lay, Milady Ostrich and Noble Sir Sparrow. An hour before dawn they tumbled forward across the table to lie snoring among gnawed pig's feet and puddles of spilled wine. Carfilhiot was allowed to sleep until two hours into the morning, when charwomen came with mops and buckets, and turned everyone outside.
Celebration of the festival already had reached a crescendo. Everywhere fluttered banners and streamers of blue, green and yellow. Pipers played jigs while folk costumed as birds capered and pranced. Everyone used a characteristic bird-call, so tha the air resounded to twitterings, chirps, whistles and croaks.
Children dressed as barn-swallows, gold-finches, or tom-tits; older folk favored the more sedate semblances, such as that of crow, raven or perhaps a jay. The corpulent often presented themselves as owls, but in general everyone costumed himself as fancy directed.
The color, noise and festivity failed to elevate Carfilhiot's mood; in fact—so he told himself—never had he witnessed so much pointless nonsense. He had rested poorly and eaten nothing, which served to exacerbate his mood.
A bun-seller dressed as a quail passed by; Carfilhiot bought a mince-tart, using a silver button from his coat for payment. He ate standing before the inn, with aloof and disdainful glances for the revelry.
A band of youths chanced to notice Carfilhiot's sneers and stopped short. "Here now! This is the Grand Gala! You must show a happy smile, so as not to be at discord!"
Another cried out: "What? No gay plumage? No tail-feathers? They are required of every celebrant!"
"Come now!" declared another. "We must set things right!" Going behind Carfilhiot he tried to tuck a long white goose quill into Carfilhiot's waist-band. Carfilhiot would have none of it, and thrust the youth away.
The others in the band became more determined than ever and a scuffle ensued, in which shouts, curses and blows were exchanged.
From the street came a stern call. "Here, here! Why this disgraceful uproar?" Mad King Deuel himself, passing by in a be-feathered carriage, had halted to issue a reprimand.
One of the youths cried out: "The fault lies with this dismal vagabond! He won't wear his tail-feathers. We tried to help him and cited your Majesty's ordinance; he said to shove all our feathers up your Majesty's arse!"
King Deuel shifted his attention to Carfilhiot. "He did so, did he? That is not polite. We know a trick worth two of that. Guards! Attendants!"
Carfilhiot was seized and bent over a bench. The seat of his trousers was cut away, and into his buttocks were thrust a hundred quills of all sizes, lengths and colors, including a pair of expensive ostrich plumes. The ends of the quills were cut into barbs to prevent their detachment, and they were arranged to support each other so that the plumage, upon completion, thrust up from Carh'lhiot's fundament at a jaunty angle.
"Excellent!" declared King Deuel, clapping his hands in satisfaction. "That is a splendid display, in which you can take pride. Go, now. Enjoy the festival to your heart's content! Now you are properly bedizened!"
The carriage rolled away; the youths appraised Carfilhiot with critical eyes, but agreed that his plumage captured the mood of the festival, and they too went their way.
Carfilhiot walked stiff-legged to a crossroads at the edge of town. A sign-post pointed north to Avallon.
Carfilhiot waited, meanwhile plucking the feathers one by one from his buttocks.
A cart came from town, driven by an old peasant woman. Carfilhiot held up his hand to halt the cart. "Where do you drive yourself, grandmother?"
"To the village Filster, in the Deepdene, if that means aught to you."
Carfilhiot showed the ring on his finger. "Look well at this ruby!"
The old woman peered. "I see it well. It glows like red fire! I often marvel that such stones grow in the deep dark of the earth!"
"Another marvel: this ruby, so small, will buy twenty horses and carts like that one which you ride."
The old woman blinked. "Well, I must believe your word. Would you halt me in my home-going to tell me lies?"
"Now listen carefully, as I am about to state a proposition of several parts."
"Speak on; say what you will! I can think three thoughts at once."
"I am bound for Avallon. My legs are sore; I can neither walk nor sit astride a horse. I wish to ride in your cart, that I may come to Avallon in comfort. Therefore, if you will drive me to Avallon, ring and ruby are yours."
The woman held up her forefinger. "Better! We drive to Filster, thence my son Raffin puts straw in the cart and then drives you to Avallon. So all behind-hand whispers and rumors at my expense are halted before they start."
"This will be satisfactory."
Carfilhiot alighted from the cart at the sign of the Fishing Cat and gave over the ruby ring to Raffin who immediately departed. Carfilhiot entered the inn. Behind a counter stood a monstrous man half a foot taller than Carfilhiot, with a great red face and a belly which rested on the counter. He looked down at Carfilhiot with eyes like stone pebbles. "What do you wish?"
"I want to find Rughalt of the sore knees. He said that you would know where to find him."
The fat man, taking exception to Carfilhiot's manner, looked away. He worked his fingers up and down the counter. At last he uttered a few terse words. "He will arrive presently."
"How soon is ‘presently'?"
"Half an hour."
"I will wait. Bring me one of those roasting chickens, a loaf of new bread and a flask of good wine."
"Show me your coin."
"When Rughalt comes."
"When Rughalt comes, I will serve the fowl."
Carfilhiot swung away with a muttered curse; the fat man looked after him without change of expression.
Carfilhiot seated himself on a bench before the inn. Rughalt at last showed himself, moving his legs slowly and carefully, one at a time, hissing under his breath the while with a frowning eye, Carfilhiot watched Rughalt's approach. Rughalt wore the fusty gray garments of a pedagogue.
Carfilhiot rose to his feet; Rughalt stopped short in surprise. "Sir Faude!" he exclaimed. "What do you do here, in such a condition?"
"Through treachery and witchcraft; how else? Take me to a decent inn; this place is fit only for Celts and lepers."
Rughalt rubbed his chin. "The Black Bull is yonder on the Square. The charges are said to be excessive; you will pay in silver for a night's lodging."
"I carry no funds whatever, neither silver nor gold. You must provide funds until I make arrangements."
Rughalt winced. "The Fishing Cat, after all, is not so bad. Gurdy the landlord is daunting only at first acquaintance."
"Bah. He and his hovel both stink of rancid cabbage and worse. Take me to the Black Bull."
"Just so. Ah, my aching legs! Duty calls you onward."
At the Black Bull Carfilhiot found lodging to meet his requirements, though Rughalt screwed his eyes together when the charges were quoted. A haberdasher displayed garments which Carfilhiot found consonant with his dignity; however, to Rughalt's dismay Carfilhiot refused to haggle the price and Rughalt paid the wily tailor with slow and crooked fingers.
Carfilhiot and Rughalt seated themselves at a table in front of the Black Bull and watched the folk of Avallon. Rughalt order
ed two modest half-measures from the steward. "Wait!" Carfilhiot commanded. "I am hungry. Bring me a dish of good cold beef, with some leeks and a crust of fresh bread, and I will drink a pint of your best ale."
While Carfilhiot satisfied his hunger, Rughalt watched sidelong with disapproval so evident that Carfilhiot finally asked: "Why do you not eat? You have become gaunt as an old leathern strap."
Rughalt replied between tight lips, "Truth to tell, I must be careful with my funds. I live at the edge of poverty."
"What? I thought you to be an expert cut-purse, who depredated all the fairs and festivals of Dahaut."
"That is no longer possible. My knees prevent that swift and easy departure which is so much a part of the business. I no longer ply the fairs."
"Still, you are evidently not destitute."
"My life is not easy. Luckily, I see all in the dark and I now work nights at the Fishing Cat, robbing guests while they sleep. Even so, my clicking knees are a handicap, and since Gurdy, the landlord, insists on a share of my earnings, I avoid unnecessary expense. In this connection, will you be long in Avallon?"
"Not long. I want to find a certain Triptomologius. Is his name known to you?"
"He is a necromancer. He deals in elixirs and potions. What is your business with him?"
"First, he will supply me with gold, as much as I need."
"In that case, ask enough for the both of us!"
"We shall see." Carfilhiot stood erect. "Let us seek out Triptomologius."
With a cracking and clicking of the knees, Rughalt arose. The two walked through the back streets of Avallon to a dark little shop perched on a hill overlooking the Murmeil estuary. A slatternly crone with chin and nose almost making contact gave information that Triptomologius had gone out that very morning to set up a booth on the common, that he might sell his wares at the fair.
The two descended the hill by twisting flights of narrow stone steps, with the crooked old gables of Avallon overhanging: the swaggering young gallant in fine new clothes and the gaunt man walking with the stiff careful bent-kneed tread of a spider. They went out upon the common, since dawn a place of seething activity and many-colored confusion. Early arrivals already hawked their goods. Newcomers established themselves to best advantage amid complaints, chaffing, quarrels, invective and an occasional scuffle. Hawkers set up their tents, driving stakes into the ground with great wooden mauls, and hung bunting of a hundred sun-faded hues. Food stalls set their braziers aglow; sausages sizzled in hot grease; grilled fish, dipped in garlic and oil, was served on slabs of bread. Oranges from the valleys of Dascinet competed in color and fragrance with purple Lyonesse grapes, Wysrod apples, Daut pomegranates, plums and quince. At the back of the common, trestles demarcated a long narrow paddock, where the mendicant lepers, cripples, the deranged, deformed and blind were required to station themselves. Each took up a post from which he delivered his laments; some sang, some coughed, others uttered ululations of pain. The deranged foamed at the mouth and hurled abuse at the passersby, in whatever style he found most effective. The noise from this quarter could be heard over the whole of the common, creating counterpoint to the music of pipers, fiddlers and bell-ringers.
