Maske: Thaery

by Jack Vance

  Sune leaned toward Mieltrude. “Myrus is a cynical old harpy. Why won’t he simply admit that the Mneiodes want to demean the Ymphs?”

  Mieltrude shrugged. “Nothing anyone says can be taken at face value. Not excepting the remarks of Ramus Ymph.”

  “And your own?” murmured Sune.

  “Sometimes I don’t know myself.”

  Ramus Ymph had performed a gracious salute toward Myrus the Mneiodes. “I am sorry not to have persuaded the noble Myrus of my Regularity. The misunderstanding, I hope, does not originate in me.”

  Myrus the Mneiodes deigned no reply.

  Mieltrude muttered to Sune: “My father discounted Quorce and Mneiodes. Angeluke is the uncertain vote.”

  “And if Angeluke won’t urge?”

  “I don’t know my father’s intent. He is not predictable.”

  “Not even to his daughter?”

  “I never trouble to speculate; I obey without question.”

  Ramus Ymph again addressed the Servants. “I used the word ‘misunderstanding’ with design. After all, ‘change’ is not necessarily equivalent to unwholesome innovation. Subtleties are the curse of our old civilization. If change there must be, I would wish a renascence of simplicity, a re-dedication to Regularity.”

  Mieltrude shook her head in admiration and disparagement together. “Have I heard right? He who is most devious of all!”

  “Poor Ramus has gone too far; he is fantasizing. Look at that odious Ambish; how he gloats!”

  “Forget Ambish; he has already declared. Save your concern for Neuptras the Angeluke.”

  Neuptras the Angeluke, a man tall and fair, with eyes never fixing directly on their object, had listened to the proceedings with a moony smile of bewilderment. He spoke with careful attention to pitch and accent, as if intoning a strophe. “The third opinion is of course the most crucial. However, my quite definite ideas are not realized either by endorsement or rejection… Hm. It is necessary that I reflect and reflect again, deeply… I tend to feel that we, as Guardians Mandator of our delightful realm, must be all things at once.

  Each of us must, so to speak, play a dozen instruments together, in this magnificent concert which is our contemporary life… So that, while preparing for all eventualities with flexible vision, we also stand, like doughty warriors, ready to repugn the enemy… I admire and applaud the style of Ramus Ymph! The Ymph ilk has given of its best! But—” A pensive pause.

  Mieltrude gave a quiet scornful laugh; Sune slumped desolately back in her seat. “He means ‘no’,” said Mieltrude.

  “I will not attend his masque,” declared Sune.

  “—in so responsible a post, I wonder if a dynamic man is not at a definite disadvantage? Here is where intricacy and long slow deliberation, with ideas drifting, forming, dissolving, is most essential. Ramus Ymph is, naturally, anxious to serve Thaery. Perhaps he can serve us best where his magnificent abilities find their fullest scope: not here in this swirling pool of ambiguities and abstractions, but—let us say—as an important Equalizer16… I hasten to remark that I do not deplore intricacy or elaboration as evils in themselves; to the contrary. Are not these qualities our first line of defense against low-caste parvenus?

  With my effusive compliments and most glorious best wishes to Ramus Ymph, I will somewhat indecisively refrain from calling him to Service.”

  Ramus Ymph lowered his head and seemed to be studying the rug. He looked up, but before he could speak a gong sounded and the Nunciant called out: “It is the time of recess. The nominee chooses to retire to his chamber and the Four Servants must continue their reflections.”

  Ramus Ymph turned on his heel and strode to the waiting room followed by his two somber sponsors.

  Ambish the Quorce and Myrus the Mneiodes rose to their feet and spoke to each other quietly. Neuptras the Angeluke went to pay his respects to a group of magnates in a box to the left of the rostrum. Nai the Hever remained in his chair.

  Mieltrude mused in bitter amusement: “Our delicate Neuptras passes the bouquet to Father.”

  “He is loathsome! But now; what of your father?”

  “He will urge Ramus; how can he do otherwise? After all, he has created my predicament.”

  “Not truly a predicament!”

  “I am unconvinced.”

  Jubal again stated his opinions. “Ramus Ymph falls far short. He is first of all a flamboyant bluff, and secondly a scoundrel.”

  Sune gave vent to a peal of laughter. “How perceptive! But these are the qualities which endear him to us!”

  Mieltrude smiled grimly. “I’d forgotten you. One moment, I’ll summon Nai the Hever and you may deliver your message.”

  Jubal scowled. “Don’t trouble now. The message can wait until after—” But Mieltrude had called to her father, who rose to his feet and approached the box, a slender man of imperturbable dignity, with silver hair and bright silver-gray eyes. He touched fingertips with Mieltrude and Sune and glanced speculatively toward Jubal. “Are you enjoying the spectacle of Ymph discomfiture?”

  “Not at all,” cried Sune. “Poor Ramus! You will stop it, won’t you?”

  Nai the Hever’s mouth trembled in a thin smile. “I am under pressure. Neuptras should have urged; instead he chose to appease the Mneiodes; he wants a favor from Myrus. Well, it all makes no great difference.”

  “To anyone but Ramus,” said Mieltrude. “And perhaps myself—if you insist upon your scheme.”

  “We shall see,” said Nai the Hever lightly. “Events move at great speeds; some are quite beyond comprehension. As for Ramus, if we make him a Servant, we keep him out of mischief, so to speak. Who is this person?”

  “He is a courier; he came to the house with a most urgent message. I decided to bring him here.”

  Nai the Hever inspected Jubal with mild astonishment. “I am expecting no courier. Where is the message?”

  Jubal reluctantly came forward. “Perhaps after the ceremony—”

  “The message, if you please.”

  Jubal produced a beige envelope.

  Eyebrows raised fastidiously, Nai the Hever broke the seal, unfolded the paper, and read aloud:

  To Whom It May Concern:

  The bearer, my nephew Jubal Droad, seeks employment…

  Nai the Hever read no further. Raising his eyes he fixed Jubal with a baleful stare. “Why do you bring this here?”

  “My uncle said to deliver it into your hands.”

  Sune put her hand to her mouth to smother a laugh. She failed; merriment spurted past her carnelian knuckle-bands. Mieltrude raked Jubal with a sparkling gaze, then turned a glance toward Sune, who stifled her mirth. Mieltrude spoke to her father. “He is a Glint.”

  Nai the Hever spoke in a carefully light voice: “Glint or not, you should know that one does not bring such messages to one’s home as if it were a social occasion.” He returned the letter to Jubal. “Deliver this to the Bureau of Public Employments at the Parloury offices and they will advise you as to what opportunities exist.”

  Jubal managed a jerky bow. “My instructions were to place this letter into your hands, which I have accomplished. It was evidently a mistake; I will destroy the letter. There is, however, another matter possibly more urgent than my personal concerns, and I feel I should advise you. The endorsement of Ramus Ymph is out of the question.”

  “Indeed?” Nai the Hever spoke in his flattest voice.

  Mieltrude said with great boredom, “Send him away, Father; I want to discuss the fête.”

  “Just two words,” said Jubal, “for your ears alone. Step over here, if you will.”

  Nai the Hever weighed the situation, then followed Jubal to the side of the box. The girls watched, Mieltrude in disgust, Sune in slack-jawed wonder. Jubal spoke a few quiet words; Nai’s shoulders stiffened and his face became suddenly still.

  “Oh what can the man be saying?” cried Sune softly. “Is he a strochane17? Look how his eyes glow!”

  “He is undoubtedly a peculia
r person.”

  A gong-sound reverberated down from the cupola. Nai the Hever uttered a final few words and somewhat reluctantly turned away from Jubal Droad. Ignoring Mieltrude’s signal, he went back to his place on the rostrum.

  Mieltrude and Sune sat staring fixedly ahead, ignoring Jubal as if he were a noxious odor.

  The Nunciant uttered a set of ritual exclamations, and again Ramus Ymph stepped forward. The Nunciant addressed him: “Three Servants, by their benevolent restraint, have spared you the arduous exertions of the Servantry. Nai the Hever remains to be consulted. From his special knowledge of your strengths he will form his decision. You may now address to him whatever remarks you deem proper.”

  Ramus Ymph, after a perfunctory salute to the audience, turned toward Nai the Hever, his manner still airily confident. “I need not enlarge upon the attributes of the perfect Servant. Certain of our Servants exemplify one virtue or another: Ambish is cautious as a rock; Myrus is noted for frugal economy; Neuptras for his sensitivity and discrimination; but only in Nai the Hever do all these elements attain a full development. If I am urged, I hope to emulate this noble gentleman’s method, in order to provide continuity for what I consider inspired Servantry. Either I am of the proper mettle or I am not; Nai the Hever, who has honored me with his acquaintance, knows. His integrity warrants a correct decision. I expect and deserve no more than this.” Ramus Ymph, so saying, threw back his head and stood waiting.

  In a thin clear voice Nai the Hever said: “I can only hope, at best, to approach Ramus Ymph’s exalted version of myself. He himself is of course a gentleman of remarkable attributes: and we cannot afford to waste his talents. I have deliberated long and painfully, and I now feel that we should urge Ramus Ymph into a new and special category, that of extraordinary counsel, where he can operate with flexible scope.

  If I urged Ramus Ymph into the Servantry I would limit his efficacy, and I will not do so. He can function far more usefully as our advisor, our eyes and ears. Speaking for the Servantry, I offer him our great gratitude for deigning to appear before us.”

  Ramus Ymph’s jaw slackened. He stood a long instant after Nai had finished speaking, then he made a formal gesture, turned on his heel and departed the rostrum with a sweep and swing of his black cutaway cape. The Nunciant came forth to utter a valediction; from the balcony the Unctator called down a blessing.

  Mieltrude and Sune sat stunned and limp. Sune turned a lambent glance toward Jubal. “What could he have said?”

  Mieltrude suggested tersely: “Why don’t you ask him?”

  Sune hesitated, then turned to Jubal: “Well then, what did you tell Nai the Hever?”

  “I explained my opinion of Ramus Ymph; he saw fit to take my advice.” Jubal bowed politely. “My excuses; I will now depart.”

  The girls glumly watched him leave the booth. Nai the Hever presently joined them. Looking around the box, he asked, “Where is the Glint?”

  “He departed. Has he not done enough harm? If nothing else, he has spoiled our fête.”

  “He left no word, no message? Why did you not keep him here? But no matter. I will find him tomorrow.

  A warning now, to both of you!” He fixed each in turn with a glittering silver-gray glance. “Discuss these matters with no one, specifically those of your friends who are directly concerned in the day’s events.”

  Sune’s mouth drooped; she seemed subdued and crestfallen. Mieltrude gave a glacial shrug and looked away. “I am bewildered by what I have seen and heard. I seldom discuss what I do not understand.”

  “In that case,” said Nai the Hever, “I will not trouble to elucidate.”

  Chapter 4

  Jubal Droad fled the Parloury as if it were a pest-house. He crossed the square, jaw set, eyes glaring, and plunged into a district of twisting lanes, shadowed under overhanging roofs and balconies. Half-Skay, at the zenith, loomed through the crevice of sky. Jubal walked with long lunging strides, blind, deaf, heedless of direction. Other folk moved aside and looked back over their shoulders as he passed. A jog in the street took him abruptly into a small tree-bordered square. He stopped short, then went to a bench and seated himself… Nai the Hever was a man devious, obscure, repellent as a Marcative imp. If Jubal’s disclosures had caused him discomfiture, so much the better! Unfortunately, there might have been no great discomfiture. Nai the Hever’s manner had been ambiguous. The two girls? Jubal produced a sharp whistling suspiration through his teeth. Pale gold silk and brown curls! Both beautiful beyond reason!

  Mieltrude distant and chilly, Sune: soft, slight, subtle, warm. Odd that both, with apparently equal fervor, favored the advancement of Ramus Ymph. He could hardly be lover to both of them, or so it would seem.

  Perhaps they practiced one of those faddish erotic novelties which, so rumor had it, were endemic to Wysrod. Jubal considered Ramus Ymph. The score was not yet settled. Far from it! Jubal’s grin became wolfish. A decent mid-caste matron on the bench opposite rose quickly to her feet and walked away.

  Jubal scowled after her. Were Glints considered inhuman here in Wysrod?… Wysrod, bah! Jubal growled in disgust.

  Wysrod: where he had come with such naïve hopes to shape his future! He brought out Vaidro’s letter.

  Nai the Hever had not even read it. Jubal threw the letter to the ground. Then hastily, so that he should not be apprehended for littering, he retrieved it and thrust it in his pocket. So much for his fine dreams. What now? The Bureau of Public Employment? Back to Glentlin and Ballas Cove? Jubal stirred restlessly on the bench. Life suddenly seemed stale and flat. He looked around the square, feeling strange as a wild beast among these sedate shops, each jealously guarding a small monopoly. He morosely studied the narrow store-fronts. A three-story structure offered jellies, candied fruit, dried pickle, conserves of a hundred flavors. Another sold Djan lace; the next sound-enhancers; the next drafting implements; the next cutlery; the next mythical bestiaries, globes of Old Earth, manuals of dream interpretation. Small enterprises, few less than three or four hundred years old, some so old as to be public institutions.

  Wysrod! a small town in the center of the Great Hole—but for the Thariots the focus of sentient life… Jubal rose slowly to his feet. Orienting himself by the angle between Mora and Skay, he set off toward Duskerl Bay.

  Wysrod, a secret and complicated city, frustrated Jubal still another time. He walked back and forth, along angled ways and dog-leg lanes, in and out of sequestered squares, down a grand avenue flanked by tall townhouses which abruptly ended at the Palace of Memorials. At last Jubal signaled a hack and required that he be conveyed to the Marine Parade. “It lies a hundred paces yonder,” said the driver, after looking Jubal up and down. “Why not walk?”

  “I trust nothing of this weird maze. Take me to the Marine Parade and a decent inn, where one can get a breath of air from off the sea.”

  “For someone like yourself the Sea-Wrack should serve.”

  “Very well,” said Jubal sadly. “Take me to the Sea-Wrack.”

  The hack drove along the Marine Parade to a comfortably shabby building, shaded under three daldank trees, with a long verandah overlooking the water and a tavern to provide ale, wine, clam toddy, and fried fish to those desirous: the Sea-Wrack Inn.

  Jubal was assigned a chamber halfway along the verandah. In the tavern he consumed a plate of fishcakes and a jug of beer, then morosely went out upon the verandah.

  Near his room waited a tall young man who twirled a bit of chain culbrass around his finger. He was spare, languid and superbly elegant; his demeanor suggested recondite knowledge and world-weariness.

  Jubal halted to assess the situation. An assassin? Unlikely. There had been no time for the necessary formalities.

  The man watched Jubal indifferently. Jubal went to his door, and the man spoke: “You are Jubal Droad?”

  “What of it?”

  “His Excellency Nai the Hever wishes you to appear at his Parloury offices tomorrow morning at the fourth hour.”


  A bubble of cold fury exploded in Jubal’s mind. “What does he want?”

  “As to that I can’t inform you.”

  “If he wishes conversation, he may meet me here. I have nothing to say to him.”

  The young man inspected Jubal with dispassionate interest. But he only said: “You have heard the message.” Then he turned to depart.

  “You do not appear to understand me,” said Jubal. “The situation is at equilibrium. I am not obliged to him, nor he to me. If he wants something he comes here. If I want something I go there. Please clarify this procedure to Nai the Hever.”

  The man merely smiled a dry smile. “The time is the fourth hour; the place is the Parloury.” He departed.

  Chapter 5

  Describe the circumstances in exact detail,” said Nai the Hever. Leaning back, he fixed his transparent gaze upon Jubal Droad, who returned the inspection with as much dignity as he could command.

  Expostulation, irony, any sort of vehemence: all were equally pointless. Jubal responded to the instruction in a passionless voice. “There is little to add to what I have already told you.”

  “Nevertheless, I wish to hear the detailed account.”

  Jubal reflected a moment. “I lay in the Ivo infirmary for three weeks. During this time I studied maps of the region. Why had the man, whom I now know to be Ramus Ymph, traveled this remote region in such a peculiar style? I examined the maps. The trail after leaving Ivo proceeds toward Glentlin through a wilderness. Six miles from Ivo is the Skyshaw Inn. I telephoned from the infirmary: they had not seen Ramus Ymph, his ercycle or his perrupters. Ramus Ymph, therefore, had entered the trail between Mount Cardoon and the Skyshaw. On the Isedel side the ground drops away in steep gullies. There are no roads.