by Jack Vance
Jubal became oppressed by Bhutra’s glare, so different from the cool clear light of Mora. It surrounded him, dazzled his eyes, started perspiration from his forehead and neck. He crossed the boulevard, followed a walkway through a garden of black cactus, and gratefully stepped into the shade of Intersol’s green and white dome. He was instantly aware that he had entered an environment of affluence.
Sumptuous yellow plush furniture was arranged around a floor of transparent black glass which glittered with constellations to represent the night sky of Old Earth. A counter supported a dozen space-yacht models, and photoscape panels along the walls depicted famous Gaean cities. At a desk sat the Intersol agent studying a prospectus.
The agent rose to his feet—a middle-aged man wearing a decorous maroon wig, a mustard-ocher jacket belled over maroon trousers; his music was a subdued murmur, without egoistic insistence. “How may I serve you, Husler?”
“A friend recommended that I visit your premises, and I decided to do so.”
“I am delighted to hear as much.” The sentiments, so the agent’s manner suggested, were more formal than heart-felt. With the experience of many years he had gauged the weight of Jubal’s purse, and saw no reason for effusive cordiality. “In what precisely are you interested?”
“Perhaps you would inform me as to the range of your products.”
“The models yonder represent the scope of our current production, though of course we will always work to special order. This is the top of our line, the Magellanic Wanderer. Notice the forward promenade and the after lounge, both paned with photochrometz. There is accommodation for sixteen, plus a crew of six.
The engines are four Furnos dynos, two separately operating Thrussex Intertwists, six Meung gravity-pods. The appointments are excellent, without compromise. Instrumentation includes a pair of separately functioning trans-galactic navigators with dial settings to any world of the Gaean Reach. The price is SVU 327,000.”
“Very nice,” said Jubal, “but rather beyond my means.”
The agent nodded without surprise. “At the other end of the line is this little Teleflo, with accommodation for six and a crew of two. Appointments and fittings are of high quality; technical specifications are quite adequate. The price is SVU 18,500. We are also agents, incidentally, for the Devaunt Cadet Planet-Jumper, at SVU 9,800.”
Jubal pretended to ponder, as if calculating his assets. “Of course I can’t hope to match my friend Husler Arphenteil’s resources… I believe he was interested in the Magellanic Wanderer?”
“Everyone is interested in the Magellanic Wanderer. Husler Arphenteil’s friend, however, has influenced him in favor of the Sagittarius—this model here. It is a very luxurious craft with accommodation for twelve and a crew of four.”
“Which friend was this?”
“I do not know his name. He is evidently an important merchant.” In a slightly warmer tone of voice, the agent inquired: “What are Husler Arphenteil’s plans? He was also considering a Bendle Spacemaster, but he will make a great mistake if he decides in that direction. The cost is a trifle less, but Bendles lack the workmanship of our models, and there is a long history of troubles with their Defiance pods, which are merely second-rate imitations of the Meungs.”
“I believe he is inclining toward the Sagittarius, although I haven’t seen him for a week or more. By any chance do you have his present address?”
“Isn’t he still at the Shirbze Palace? I know of no other address.”
“Strange. I looked in the other day and they gave me to understand that Husler Arphenteil had moved.
Probably a misunderstanding. Incidentally, please don’t mention that I have been here, as he might think me presuming beyond my station. Though for a fact, I would willingly own a Teleflo.”
“Yes, the possibilities for marvellous discoveries are the same, no matter what the price range. May I offer you one of our brochures?”
“Thank you.”
Jubal rode a conveyance to one of the garden cafés along the Boulevard of Mercantic Visions. He was well-pleased with himself. Through skillful investigation, of which even Nai the Hever must approve, he had assembled a substantial amount of information. Ramus Ymph had come to Eiselbar as a rug dealer, a ludicrous idea in itself and one which should amuse Nai the Hever. Ramus Ymph’s motives could at least be glimpsed: he coveted a space-yacht, for the purchase of which toldecks were valueless, even were the transaction not flagrantly in violation of Thariot law.
With a satisfying sense of achievement Jubal consumed an expensive lunch. The chotz of other guests and the café attendants knit a not unpleasant embroidery of sound. His visit to Eiselbar had been not only productive, but also enjoyable. Spending Nai the Hever’s money was a pleasure in itself. What of Sune Mircea’s premonitions of danger? Absurd. Kyash was a most orderly city. Ramus Ymph was not to be credited with either scruples or self-restraint, but still he could hardly come up to Jubal’s room at the Gandolfo with a cudger gun and do murder.
Or could he?
Of course not! Jubal drained his goblet with a decisive gesture.
He switched his music-box to Verve and Vivacity. Now was not the time to rest on his laurels. More information was necessary.
By the time Jubal had finished his lunch he had decided upon an apparently feasible tactic. He returned to the Gandolfo, changed to Eisel afternoon wear: a blue bell-shaped blouse, tight salmon-red pants with black flounces and a black cummerbund. He telephoned the valet for a wig, of a style at the discretion of the valet, and was fitted with a voluminous contrivance which, rising high from his scalp, shrouded his forehead, ears and neck under tufts of liver-colored ringlets.
Jubal inspected himself in the mirror and was satisfied with his appearance. Descending to the boulevard, he walked through the yellow dazzle of afternoon to a public telephone at a nearby café.
Before calling, he noted the somewhat strident quality of Verve and Vivacity and changed to Sincere Integrity. Then he pressed the ‘Call’ button. “The Hotel Shirbze Palace.”
The screen displayed the smiling face and tumultuous blonde curls of the receptionist. “Hotel Shirbze Palace! At your service, Husler.”
“I am Husler Dart, of the Distant Worlds Rug Import Company. Is Husler Arphenteil on the premises?”
“One moment, Husler.” She spoke to the side: “Is Husler Arphenteil here?”
She listened to the reply, then returned to Jubal. “Sorry; we no longer enjoy Husler Arphenteil’s patronage.”
The tension which had stiffened Jubal’s nerves relaxed abruptly. He said in a hollow voice: “When did he leave?”
“Six days ago.”
“How may I reach him now?”
“Husler Arphenteil left no instructions, I am sorry to say.”
Jubal expressed his thanks and terminated contact. He stepped out upon the boulevard and stood glumly looking this way and that, sweat from under the wig trickling down his neck and the music-box suffusing the surroundings with a brave march-time tempo. Jubal, becoming aware of the now irrelevant chotz, in irritation switched to Far Clouds in Stately Formation.
A conveyance, sensing his presence, halted; Jubal climbed in and gave a terse direction. “The Gandolfo Hotel.”
The conveyance moved eastward along the boulevard, with Jubal sitting stiffly on the edge of the seat.
The five splendid shdavis of the Hotel Gandolfo loomed overhead. Jubal made a growling sound in his throat. He would not give up so easily! “Alter course. Take me to the Hotel Shirbze Palace.”
The conveyance swung in a semi-circle, returned westward along the boulevard and halted beside a triple-groined dome from which rose three shdavis, the highest chalk-blue, the second dust-beige, the lowest a pale rosy-pink. Two enormous black umbrella trees leaned across the entrance; letters forming the words HOTEL SHIRBZE PALACE floated above, swinging and bobbing on the breeze.
Jubal, alighting from the conveyance, switched back to Sincere Integrity and went purposefu
lly into the hotel.
He approached the reception desk, behind which stood a pair of clerks. Both emanated placid afternoon music. “I am Husler Skanet of the Trans-galactic Space-yacht Company. I have important papers which must be delivered to Husler Arphenteil. Shall I leave them in your care?”
The first clerk smiled and shook his head. “You may leave your papers, Husler, but Husler Arphenteil is no longer with us, and we cannot guarantee to deliver them.”
“What a nuisance!” exclaimed Jubal in disgust. “He was most insistent! Of course he never left us a new address. He is a vain man who ignores the convenience of others.”
The clerk said cautiously, “Quite right, Husler. He simply departed our premises.”
“The fault is not mine, for which I am grateful,” said Jubal. “Mark me well, someone will suffer over this!
But it will not be me, for he will claim that he left the address with you, and he has wealthy29 friends.”
Jubal placed an envelope upon the counter. “Here; give me my receipt and the responsibility is yours.”
The clerk threw up his hands and backed away from the counter. “We cannot accept important documents on this understanding.”
Jubal with a grim smile pushed the envelope further across the counter. “Husler Arphenteil ordered these papers delivered to him at this hotel. I am pleased to have done my duty. Husler Arphenteil is an impatient man, who lashes out blindly when he is perturbed. You must deliver the papers.”
“Impossible! He left no forwarding address! I call upon you to witness my statement!”
“Well then, where can he be found? Did he not come here with friends who might assist you?”
The clerk looked dubiously at his assistant. “Who was that large man in the pale wig who seemed Husler Arphenteil’s intimate? You must tell!30” The second clerk nodded. “I claim beneficence!31 The friend is an important man of great wealth, whom I am proud to recognize. He is Husler Wolmer, who controls the People’s Joy Tourist Agency. Husler Arphenteil, so I believe, has gone on a tour.”
The first clerk by some subtle means adjusted his music to a serene and confident andante. “You may take advice of Husler Wolmer as to the disposition of your documents. Our responsibility is finally and absolutely ended.”
“I will do as you suggest,” said Jubal. He departed the hotel.
Once more he stood out in the open, and filaments of fire seemed to stream down from Bhutra to lick along the boulevards of Kyash. A conveyance sidled up beside Jubal; he stepped within. “The People’s Joy Tourist Agency.”
The conveyance turned down a side-street and crossed a viaduct over a gully, barren except for wild slimebanes and thickets of black cactus.
The street entered a plaza, where a fountain threw jets of nonvolatile liquids, stained different colors, high into the air. A hundred domes of as many enterprises surrounded the plaza, each with a sign floating above. The conveyance stopped by a dome where floating letters read: PEOPLE’S JOY, with below the script: Pleasure designed to suit the tastes of all.
Jubal entered the cool interior. At four counters clerks conferred with customers; others waited on benches. A receptionist spoke to Jubal: “Your name, Husler? I will notify you when your turn has arrived.”
“I am Husler Delk. Tell me, which of these gentlemen is Husler Wolmer?”
“None of them. Husler Wolmer is proprietor of the firm.”
“Is he here at this moment?”
“No, Husler, he does not normally frequent the premises. You must make an appointment to see him.”
“Thank you.”
While Jubal waited he watched the photoscape panels which advertised tours of the worlds Dwet and Zalmyre, next out in orbit from Eiselbar. On Dwet safaris of forty persons rode air-conditioned glass vehicles across jungle, swamp and savannah, inspecting strange and awful beasts at close quarters during the day and resting by night at first-class jungle lodges with filtered air, tasteful music, excellent cuisine and gaming casinos. On Zalmyre a three-week tour included a visit to the Black Opal Mountains, a submarine tour of Lake Meya, and a voyage in modern forty-passenger vessels down the mighty Orgobats River, with stops each night at luxurious native-style hostels, where Eisel managers and staff guaranteed full cosmopolitan comfort. Fares were calculated on the basis of the forty-module; larger groups might expect a discount.
Eventually the receptionist approached Jubal. “If you please, Husler Delk, our ‘pleasure expert’ is anxious to gratify your wishes.”
She led Jubal to a counter, behind which sat a blank-faced young man whose bleached white hair enclosed his face in a dandelion-fluff nimbus. He twitched his lips in a welcoming smile, touched a button which by raising his chair, elevated him into a politely erect position. “Good afternoon, Husler Delk.
Please be seated.” His own chair lowered; he subsided to a sitting position, for the hundredth time that day spared the fatigue of jumping to his feet to greet his clients. “And how may People’s Joy serve you?
We are known as ‘the pleasure experts’; we are anxious to fulfill the promise of our soubriquet.”
“I am not sure whether you can help me,” said Jubal. “I came to see Husler Wolmer, but apparently this is impossible.”
“Yes, Husler Wolmer is a very busy man. Perhaps I can at least assist in meeting your needs?”
“I might wish to bring members of my association to Eiselbar, but first I must investigate your facilities.”
“How many in your group, Husler?”
“Approximately seventy-five or eighty.”
“Two modules. A convenient number. All of our attractions are designed in terms of modules; we find it far more efficient: all except the Temenk River Resorts and the Happy Valley Lodges which by their very nature must segregate the clientele on a different basis.”
“These are the ‘therapeutic resorts’?”
“Yes, they are luxurious hostelries where clients are encouraged to explore, define and perhaps resolve their erotic problems. Each of the lodges specializes in one or another facet of this large matter. This pamphlet will provide you explicit details; study it at your leisure.”
“Thank you. Incidentally, before we proceed, at the Hotel Shirbze Palace I became acquainted with Husler Arphenteil, an intimate of Husler Wolmer. Where might I have the pleasure of seeing him again?”
“Husler Arphenteil?”
“Yes; this wealthy gentleman.” Jubal displayed the photograph.
“I believe that this is the client Husler Wolmer is now personally entertaining. They are currently on Zalmyre.”
“Where are they staying?”
“I could not say, Husler. I know nothing of their business. When would your group arrive?”
“In about six months.”
“Excellent. We of course are agents for all the space-ship lines and we will arrange the tour from spaceport to space-port. Now, as to details—”
“I wish to talk over special arrangements with Husler Wolmer. Maybe I will see him on Zalmyre.”
“You wish to visit Zalmyre, Husler?”
“Yes, I think I should do so—in the interests of my group.”
“I will fit you into Module A-116, which departs tomorrow.”
Chapter 12
The time was dark mauve twilight; Skay, at the full, dominated the east. Jubal Droad half walked, half ran down Sprade Way, in that rather dismal district of Wysrod known as the Basse. He moved with furtive stealth, keeping to the shadows where the narrow-fronted houses blocked out the light of Skay. He halted at a telephone kiosk, looked quickly up and down the street, then slipped inside. He spoke into the mesh: “The House of Hever, on the Cham.”
The pane displayed a two-headed flying snake: the emblem of the Hevers. Jubal felt a dour scrutiny, then heard the curt voice of Flanish: “What is your purpose in calling?”
“Connect me instantly to Nai the Hever!” He peered down the street toward a moving shadow.
“The Nobilissimus is en
gaged for the entire evening. I suggest that you present yourself at the Parloury offices in the morning.”
The moving shape slowly approached the kiosk: an anonymous human hulk. Jubal spoke in a tense voice: “Inform Nai the Hever that I am on the telephone; be quick!”
“Your business is urgent?”
“Of course it’s urgent! Why else am I calling?”
“I will mention your call to the Nobilissimus.”
“Hurry!”
The shape seemed to hesitate, then, passing through a bar of Skay-light, showed a sultry gleam of face and eyes, moved on along the street and away. Jubal bent his head to watch it recede.
A moment went by. Jubal drummed on the shelf with his fingers.
Nai the Hever’s image appeared on the pane. “Where are you?”
“At a kiosk in Sprade Way.”
“Come up to my house at once.”
“Has Ramus Ymph returned to Thaery?”
“Yes; he is at his manse on the Athander Fens.”
“I fear that I am being followed.”
“Quite possibly. Attack or evade the offending party, as you please, but come at once.”
“A hack is coming; I shall hire it.”
“Along Sprade Way? At this hour? Odd. Leave the kiosk, run to the corner and conceal yourself before it arrives. Then as quickly as possible, come to my house.”
“Do you have my three thousand toldecks on hand?”
“Two thousand was the stipulated sum.”
Jubal slipped out of the kiosk, crossed to the deepest shadows and ran light-footed up Sprade Way.
