by Jack Vance
Shrack, understanding that Jubal was too stubborn to cook for Mieltrude and that Mieltrude would starve before she troubled to feed herself, much less serve himself and Jubal, philosophically took himself to the galley and prepared a stew of meat and herbs. The three dined by lantern light on the midship deck, with a jug of soft green wine.
The wind died; the Clanche moved through the water on the impulse of its jectrolets. At the line of the horizon the glimmer of the Farwerl’s masthead-light appeared. Shrack disconnected the power and the Clanche ghosted by Skay-light. Jubal somewhat grudgingly cleared the galley; when he emerged Mieltrude sat on the taffrail bench with a goblet of wine while Shrack leaned against the binnacle. Jubal poured himself a mug of wine and sprawled out on the deck.
Shrack spoke of the sea-trader’s life. “It is at least expansive, and a man becomes accustomed to the horizons. Routine is less insistent than one might think; in fact, I would say variety is the more typical situation, sometimes to an unnerving degree. No two places could be more disparate than, say, Jorgoso on the Sea of Chills and Ling on Great Mork, or either from Wysrod. By the time the ship puts through the Throtto, one looks forward to a placid sojourn on Duskerl Bay. It is dampening to discover that horrid affairs occur at Wysrod no less than at Lakhargo under Cape Navlus. Not long ago I discovered two insensate thugs about to murder Jubal Droad upon the authority of an illicit warrant.”
Mieltrude made a fretful motion but said nothing. Shrack continued. “Two months at Wysrod is enough.
It is impossible for an outsider to know the pleasures of Wysrod. The Waels are outgoing by comparison.
I begin to think of the wide seas and the clouds and the eery midnights to the light of Skay and the Happy Isles lifting over the horizon. Even the Dohobay saloons have their appeal. Once more I push out through the tide-locks and set out to the west. The way around the world is long; I sail the Long Ocean. There are familiar places to visit, old friends to meet. On each occasion the friends are older and the places have changed. Or perhaps only I have changed. But when the wind is fresh and the kites are charged and the boat surges down the swells—then one forgets the Skay-lit midnights, and Jorgoso on the Sea of Chills.”
Mieltrude gave her shoulders a petulant jerk. “You make your own choices. I never would have ventured on the ocean of my own volition.”
“You should be grateful to Jubal Droad,” Shrack told her with a grin. “Through his judgment and enterprise you are enjoying a novel experience.”
“Through his intolerable presumption! He lacks all sense of proportion.”
Chapter 16
Days passed: sunrises, noons, sunsets, nights lit by the phases of Skay, or dark with Zangwill Reef a pale curtain across the sky. The Farwerl disappeared over the horizon and was seen no more. Shrack displayed no concern, and Jubal had no choice but to accept his opinion that Erdstone Pool was the port of destination. Mieltrude gracelessly accepted a pair of short breeches and a singlet from Shrack and walked barefoot. She had no words for Jubal but conversed with Shrack when the mood came upon her.
Each day at noon Shrack marked a point on the track between Wysrod and Erdstone Pool; daily the ratio between the distance ahead and the course astern lessened, and early one morning a dark shadow appeared across the north: the coast of Wellas.
As the day advanced the wooded hills rose sharp on the sky. The sea was empty of boats and the only sign of habitation was a feather of gray smoke trailing across the sky. Shrack indicated a pair of headlands and a line of rocky islets across the water between. “Erdstone Pool. The channel is called ‘the Ballows’. There is no mole, and ships can enter only at the turning of the tide. We’ll go in at the end of the neap.”
“I thought there was a town,” said Mieltrude.
“The village is around the shore, beside the boatyards. The smoke rises from the fire under the glue cauldron; it never goes out.”
“I don’t see the Farwerl.”
“She’ll be inside the pool, at moorings.”
“Suppose Ramus Ymph changed his mind and sailed elsewhere?”
“We’ll know in about an hour.”
The Clanche approached the Ballows. The incoming tide had flooded the harbor, but currents still swirled and snaked among the rocky islets. Shrack folded the kites and steered slowly through the sentinel rocks, into a circular bay of now placid water, ranging in color from dark blue to green. Erdstone Town flanked the beach; beyond were the boatyards and a dozen hulls in various stages of completion. A long floating pier thrust out into the pool; two ships swung to anchor; another lay alongside the pier. Shrack indicated the third ship. “The Farwerl.”
Jubal studied the boat through the macroscope. “I see no one aboard.”
“Torquasso will be at the Tanglefoot Inn, yonder along the beach. Ramus Ymph might be there as well, depending upon the urgency of his business.”
“What business could Ramus Ymph have here?” muttered Mieltrude. “I suspect that you’ve made a foolish mistake.”
“What business could Ramus Ymph have at Cape Junchion?” Jubal demanded. “Or at Kyash on Eiselbar?
In any event, please keep out of sight so that he won’t recognize you.”
Mieltrude gracelessly moved back, into the shadows under the quarterdeck.
The Clanche approached the pier, a construction of timbers and buoyant tanks lashed together with cables.
Shrack eased the Clanche alongside; Jubal jumped ashore and made fast the mooring lines. Waels working on the beach, mending nets and turning sea-weed on drying-racks, gave him only a few incurious glances.
They were lithe pale brown men with soft blunt features, of no great girth or stature, with a suggestion of the curious Djan metal-green luster playing along their skins. They wore their black hair in short loose shocks; panels of colored cloth were tied around their hips, leaving feet and torso bare.
Mieltrude became bored with the shadows under the quarterdeck. She started to climb the companionway, but Jubal halted her. “One moment.”
From the stern cabin he brought out a red and blue kerchief which he tied around Mieltrude’s hair and forehead. Grinning, he looked her over, from bare feet, torn breeches and singlet to red-and-blue head-covering. “I doubt if you will be readily recognized.”
Mieltrude asked coldly: “Am I such an amusing spectacle?”
“Enough so that Ramus Ymph won’t recognize you if he walked across the deck.”
Mieltrude made a scornful sound. “You had better be careful that he doesn’t recognize you.”
“I doubt if he’d know me if he saw me. Still, I won’t run risks.” He went back into the stern cabin.
Mieltrude turned to Shrack. “Are you involving yourself in this business?”
“Strictly speaking, it is none of my affair,” said Shrack. “Still, if one of us must lose his charter fee, I prefer that it be Torquasso.”
“So now you’re going ashore?”
“Seamen customarily visit Tanglefoot Tavern. We shall find Torquasso there, and perhaps Ramus Ymph.”
Jubal came out upon the deck wearing baggy gray breeches, a faded pink vest, a gray stocking-cap pulled low over his forehead, to seem an earnest young lout of uncertain parentage. Shrack inspected him without comment and jumped across to the dock; Jubal followed. Shrack looked around the Pool, then called down to Mieltrude: “Keep an eye on the lines when the tide shifts. If they go taut, give them scope.”
Mieltrude turned away in vexation. So now she must perform menial tasks about the vessel! What did they take her for? She watched sullenly as the two men sauntered up the dock. Then she climbed to the quarterdeck, where she commanded a wider view of the shore. Jubal and Shrack proceeded along the waterfront to a long low structure behind a leafy arbor. They paused a moment to confer, and looked back toward the Clanche. Mieltrude turned away and gazed off across the Pool; when she looked back, Jubal and Shrack were entering the Tanglefoot Tavern.
Mieltrude scowled and went to sit on
the taffrail bench. Circumstances pleased her even less than usual.
Her docility had been taken for granted. She was free to do as she liked. No one had troubled to warn her, or extract promises; she had agreed to nothing. She could walk ashore and demand sanctuary of the Wael factors. She could search out Ramus Ymph, or even throw off the moorings and sail back across the ocean to Thaery.
She considered the range of her options, but none appealed to her, and she only slouched angrily back against the taffrail in a posture which two weeks before she would never have permitted herself. Raffish clothes and raffish companions made for raffish conduct, grumbled Mieltrude to herself.
From the corner of her eye she watched Tanglefoot Tavern. Jubal Droad’s mission was none of her affair.
She hoped no one would be hurt. She liked Shrack well enough; after a casual fashion he respected her dignity. She had even come to regard Jubal with a grudging tolerance. She wanted neither killed or even injured; the idea gave her a queer pang. Nonetheless, the possibilities for violence were now very real.
Ramus Ymph she knew to be both ruthless and reckless: a man who never forgot an injury. He would expunge Jubal Droad with vindictive delight… Thinking of Ramus Ymph, she gave her shoulders a jerk of distaste. Her father’s schemes were sometimes over-intricate and often cynical. The betrothal had been more elaborate and cynical than most. Ramus Ymph, no less devious, had diligently tried to exploit the situation—all the while carrying on his affair with the unspeakable Sune. Pulled this way and that, forced to feign and dissemble, was it so strange that many of her friends thought her eccentric? What if they could see her now? The idea brought with it a flicker of sour amusement.
Time passed. The tide began to ebb; the pier settled with a groaning of wet wood. The mooring lines needed no attention, since the Clanche settled as well, but Mieltrude from sheer boredom slackened them anyway. There was really no reason why she could not have accompanied Jubal and Shrack to the Tanglefoot Tavern. Admittedly her makeshift disguise might not deceive Ramus Ymph. Though, of all the persons on Maske, that whom he would least likely expect at Tanglefoot Tavern would be herself.
Jubal and Shrack finally emerged from the tavern. They walked slowly to the head of the dock and paused to converse. Clearly they were not in accord. Jubal persisted in his views and Shrack reluctantly submitted. They separated, Jubal continuing along the beach, Shrack coming down the pier. Arriving at the Clanche, he inspected the lines and jumped down to the deck.
Mieltrude could not restrain her curiosity. She called down from the quarterdeck: “Did you find Ramus Ymph?”
“Not exactly.”
“Where did Jubal Droad go?”
“Off on a madman’s mission.”
“That is his special talent. What is it this time?”
“Let me find a bite of food to settle my stomach; the Tanglefoot toddy has a life of its own.”
Shrack brought bread and sausage from the galley. He sat down upon the hatch. “We went to the tavern and entered with caution, but we found only Torquasso. Ramus Ymph was not on the premises. We joined Torquasso and exchanged talk. Torquasso is wholly disgruntled; Ramus Ymph has been an exasperating passenger. He chartered the Farwerl at a minimal fee, then brought aboard stores of fine victual and drink for his exclusive use. During the morning his moods were surly but later, after a flask or two, he would become expansive, and urge Torquasso to zeal and loyalty, by which he might earn the command of a whole flotilla of boats, of a sort to amaze the Nation. Torquasso consistently declared himself content with the Farwerl, a preference which Ramus Ymph derided.
“When they arrived at Erdstone Pool, Ramus Ymph arranged that the Erdstone Factor meet him at Tanglefoot Tavern.
“Torquasso, arriving at the tavern, intent upon his own business, found them secluded in a booth. Ramus Ymph first proposed, then argued, then cajoled, then took a rather stern line. The factor finally made some sort of concession, which Ramus Ymph accepted without gratitude. He summoned Torquasso. ‘I cannot finalize my business here,’ said Ramus Ymph. ‘The factor lacks authority. I must travel to a place called Durruree. I will return in four days; be ready to sail on the tide.’ He immediately departed with the factor, and Torquasso sits now at Tanglefoot Tavern, drinking toddy and renewing his friendship with the house-girls.”
“What of Jubal Droad?”
“He has gone to make inquiries of the factor.”
“And what then?”
“We await Ramus Ymph’s return, so I expect.”
“Four days? With nothing to do except stare across Erdstone Pool? Already I am bored!”
“Erdstone is not totally dull,” said Shrack. “Up the lane yonder is the market, where you can deal for amethyst, sachet and magic shoes. If you wander out of town you will surely find someone dancing in his grove; by Skay-light the sight is entrancing. You can inspect the boatyards, where every plank is shaped by hand, to imaginary plans. They cut the wood into strips and then weld them to the hull with mais—‘the stuff of life’, which they keep in bottles of black glass. What is mais? No one knows but the Waels. If they curse a ship, the maisloosens in mid-ocean and the ship becomes a tangle of sticks.”
“They seem a captious race. I have heard of their superstitions.”
“The Waels are like no one else of Maske. Ask them about mais. You will hear frank and solemn remarks but learn nothing. They will pet you and comb your hair and oblige you as you like. If you hurt them they sing a strange music, and you are perplexed. But ask a Wael for truth and you are asking water to flow backward.”
Mieltrude looked off to the tree-covered hills behind Erdstone Town. “How can Ramus Ymph expect to transact business with folk so capricious?”
“I can’t say, knowing nothing of Ramus Ymph’s business. The Waels lack food; they plant their sacred jin trees in all the good soil, and Waels say that this is how it must be. Yet, hungry men have little energy for dancing, and if Ramus Ymph can provide food to their taste, no doubt they will listen.”
Mieltrude gave an irritated shrug. “I am not anxious to confront Ramus Ymph; what else but humiliation for us both? Jubal Droad does not consider my feelings; he is naïve and tiresome.”
Shrack went to look along the dock. Jubal was nowhere to be seen.
Mieltrude demanded: “So now what must we do?”
“Wait.”
The afternoon passed. Mora sank behind the hills into a sky the color of persimmons and plums. The tide drained Erdstone Pool, then came rushing back through the Ballows.
Shrack became uneasy. He told Mieltrude: “If Jubal Droad intends to absorb all the toddy at Tanglefoot and console all the wenches, why should he work alone? It is only fitting that I join him.”
Mieltrude cried out: “Again you leave me here, at the mercy of every skulker! I am bored sitting alone on this boat!”
Shrack considered her sidelong. “There are no skulkers at Erdstone Pool, except perhaps Torquasso. Still, come along if you’re of a mind; the vessel will tend itself. Hurry; the light is fading.”
“I am ready.”
As they jumped from the boat to the dock they were met by a Wael youth clad only in a two-tufted red head-cloth and a white kirtle about his hips. “I carry a message for Shrack of the vessel Clanche.”
Shrack took the message and held it up to the glow of the sky. He read, then passed the paper to Mieltrude, who glanced along the script with studied unconcern. The note read:
I have divined Ramus Ymph’s plans. He is more wicked than you can conceive. I am going to Durruree, to thwart him before he can gain the safety of Wellas.
Shrack spoke to the messenger: “When did you take the message?”
“During the day.”
“Why did you not bring it before?”
The messenger began to move away, respectful but distrait, his mind full of the twilight. “The needful was done.”
“Where is the man who gave you the message?”
“He has gone to the p
lace we call Durruree.”
“Where is this place?”
“Over the hills and through the Werwood.”
“Can you take me there?”
“It is too far to go.” The messenger, smiling over his shoulder, went off down the dock. Presently, as if impelled by uncontrollable exuberance, he broke into a long spring-legged run and disappeared into the dusk.
Shrack muttered: “We’ll still go to the Tanglefoot.”
Chapter 17
Jubal rode a scape of a style out of memory. The scape, guided by some unseen system, moved in profound silence barely ten feet above the forest floor. Foliage overhead alternately obscured and revealed the great half-face of Skay. Occasionally Jubal saw wavering lights to right or left; once a lonely dancer glided away through the forest.
Jubal settled back into the cushions. He dozed, waking to wonder at the tree-tops moving above him.
Skay slid across the sky. Jubal slept again. He awoke to find a gray rime in the east. A man in a three-tufted white head-cloth sat cross-legged at the end of the scape. Jubal lifted up on his elbow. The man spoke in a soft voice. “This is an important matter.”
“Yes,” said Jubal. “I agree to this.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of concerning yourself in affairs so important?”
Jubal blinked his eyes and wondered if he were dreaming. “I suppose so, to some extent.”
“There will be a judgment, you know.”
“A judgment of whom?”
“Of you.”
Jubal sat up and rubbed his forehead. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Don’t be too confident. At Durruree you must never bluster.”
“I’ll try not to,” said Jubal shortly. “When do we arrive at Durruree?”
“Later in the day. There is to be a conclave. We do not take this matter lightly.”
“Why should you? It’s very serious.”
