The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories

by Jack Vance

  After baffling Starport authorities two weeks, Arnold McGurk refused to divulge how he robbed the supposedly thief-proof bank, other than to hint at the aid of ‘ghosts’. Magnus Ridolph was similarly uncommunicative and the police admit ignorance of the criminal’s modus operandi…

  “Wouldn’t ever have knowed you was a detective,” said the pilot, eyeing Magnus Ridolph reverently. “You don’t look the type.”

  “Thank you,” said Magnus Ridolph. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  The pilot appraised him. “You look more like a professor or a dentist.”

  Magnus Ridolph winced.

  “Just what was them ‘ghosts’ the article speaks of, Mr. Ridolph?” the pilot inquired.

  “Nothing whatever,” Magnus Ridolph assured him. “An optical illusion.”

  “Oh,” said the pilot.

  “There’s something I’d like you to do for me,” said Magnus Ridolph.

  “Sure—glad to be of help.”

  Magnus Ridolph scribbled on a page in his notebook. “Take this to the ship right away before it leaves. Give it to the radio operator, ask him to send it ulrad special.”

  The pilot took the message. “That all?”

  “No,” said Magnus Ridolph. “There’s another ship leaving Starport for Moritaba in—let’s see—in four days. Six days passage makes ten days. I should have a parcel on that next ship.

  “I want you to meet that ship, take that parcel aboard your copter, deliver it to me here immediately. When I get that parcel I’ll pay you two hundred munits. Does that satisfy you?”

  “Yes,” said the pilot. “I’m off right now.”

  “Also,” said Magnus Ridolph, “there is need for secrecy. Can you keep a close tongue in your head?”

  “Haven’t heard me say much yet, have you?” The pilot stretched his arms. “I’ll see you in about ten days.”

  “Er—do you have any extra wire and a spare powerpack?” inquired Magnus Ridolph. “I think I’ll need some sort of protection.”

  Magnus Ridolph returned to his room with his suitcases and what electrical equipment the pilot was able to spare. A half hour later he stood back. Now, he thought, next move to the Men-men.

  A face appeared at the door—narrow, purple-brown, big-eyed, with a long thin nose, slit mouth, long sharp chin. “King he want you come eat.” The face peered cautiously around the room, brushed the wires Magnus Ridolph had strung up. Crackle—spat. The native yelped, bounded away.

  “Ho, ho!” said Magnus Ridolph. “What’s the trouble?”

  The native uttered a volley of angry syllables, gesticulating, showing his pointed white teeth. Magnus Ridolph at last understood him to say, “Why you burn me, eh?”

  “To teach you not to steal from me,” Magnus Ridolph explained.

  The native hissed scornfully. “I steal everything you got. I great thief. I steal from king. Sometime I steal everything he got. Then I be king. I best stealer in Challa, you bet. I steal king’s crown pretty soon.”

  Magnus Ridolph blinked his mild blue eyes. “And then?”

  “And then—”

  “Yes—and then?” came a third voice, harsh, angry. King Kanditter sprang close to the native, struck furiously with a length of cane. The native howled and leapt into the bushes. Magnus Ridolph hastily disconnected the powerpack lest the king receive a shock and inflict a like punishment on himself.

  Kanditter threw the cane stalk to the ground, gestured to Magnus Ridolph. “Come, we eat.”

  “I’ll be with you right away,” said Magnus Ridolph. He picked up his suitcases, disconnected the powerpack, slung it under his arm and presented himself to the king. “Your invitation comes as a pleasant surprise, your Majesty. I find that carrying my possessions everywhere gives me quite an appetite.”

  “You careful, eh?” said Kanditter with a wide thin-lipped grin.

  Magnus Ridolph nodded solemnly. “A careless man would find himself destitute in a matter of minutes.” He looked sidewise at the king. “How do you guard your own property? You must own a great deal—micromacs, powerpacks and the like.”

  “Woman, she watch now. Woman, she very careful. She lose—ugh!” He flailed his long dark arms significantly.

  “Women indeed are very useful,” agreed Magnus Ridolph.

  They marched in silence a few yards. “What you like telex for?” the king asked.

  “The telex crystal,” said Magnus Ridolph, “vibrates—shakes—very fast. Very, very, very, very fast. We use it to send voices to other stars. Voices go very far, very fast, when given shake with telex.”

  “Too much noise,” was the king’s observation.

  “Where are your fields?” asked Magnus Ridolph ingenuously. “I’ve heard a great deal about them.”

  Kanditter merely turned him a side-glance, grinned his narrow grin.

  Days passed, during which Magnus Ridolph sat quietly in his lodgings, reviewing recent progress in mathematics, developing some work of his own in the new field of contiguous-opposing programs. He saw little of Mellish, who spent as much time as possible with the king—arguing, pleading, bluffly flattering, while Tomko was relegated to guarding the luggage.

  Magnus Ridolph’s barricade proved effective to the extent that his goods were safe so long as he sat within his room. When circumstances compelled him to walk abroad he packed everything into his suitcases, carried them with him. His behavior by no means set him apart or made him conspicuous. Everywhere could be seen natives carrying their possessions in bags made from the thoraxes of large tree-dwelling insects. Mellish had fitted Tomko with a sack strapped to his chest and locked, in which reposed the objects named in the wager with Magnus Ridolph or rather those which still remained to him.

  With disturbance Magnus Ridolph noted a growing ease and familiarity between Mellish and King Kanditter. They talked by the hour, Mellish plying the king with cigars, the king in his turn supplying wine. Observing this camaraderie Magnus Ridolph shook his head, muttered. If Kanditter signed away any rights now, before Magnus Ridolph was ready to apply persuasion—what a fiasco!

  His worst fears were realized when Kanditter strolled up to where he sat in the shade before his room.

  “Good day, your Majesty,” said Magnus Ridolph with urbane courtesy. Kanditter flipped a long black hand. “You come tonight. Big eat, big drink—everybody come.”

  “A banquet?” inquired Magnus Ridolph, debating within himself how best to avoid participation.

  “Tonight we make everybody know big new thing for Men-men. Mellish, he good man—fine man. He need telex, not hurt land. No noise, no bad man, lots of money.”

  Magnus Ridolph raised his eyebrows. “Have you decided then to award the franchise to Mellish?”

  “Mellish good man,” said the king, watching Magnus Ridolph interestedly.

  “What will you derive personally from the agreement?” inquired Magnus Ridolph.

  “How you say?”

  “What you get?”

  “Oh—Mellish he make me machine that go round-round in circle. Sit in, music-noise come. Good for king. Name merry-go-round. Mellish he build five-dime store here in Challa. Mellish good man. Good for Men-men, good for king.”

  “I see,” said Magnus Ridolph.

  “You come tonight,” said Kanditter and before Magnus Ridolph could state his excuses he passed on.

  The banquet commenced shortly after sundown on the pavilion before the palace. Torches, hanging high in the trees, provided a flaring red light, glanced on the purple-brown natives, glinted on King Kanditter’s crown and Magnus Ridolph’s suitcases, these latter gripped firmly between their owner’s knees.

  There was little ceremony connected with the eating. Women passed around the loose circle of men, carrying wooden trays full of fruit, young birds, the shrimp-like insects. Magnus Ridolph ate sparingly of the fruit, tasted the birds, dismissed the dish of insects. A tray came by with cups of native wine. Magnus Ridolph sipped, watching Mellish as he talked and made jocose ges
ticulations near the king. Now the king arose and passed out into the darkness and Mellish occupied himself with his wine.

  A great flare like a meteor—down from the darkness hurtled a great cloud of flame, past Magnus Ridolph’s head, smashing into the ground at his feet in a great crush of sparks.

  Magnus Ridolph relaxed—only a torch had fallen. But how close to his head! Negligence, reprehensible negligence! Or—and he looked around for his suitcases—was it negligence? The suitcases were gone. Perhaps the element of chance was lacking from the episode. Magnus Ridolph sat back. Gone not only were the articles of the wager but also all his fresh clothes, his papers, his careful work on the contiguous-opposed programs.

  King Kanditter presently stepped forward into the light, vented a short shrill scream. The banqueters immediately became quiet. Kanditter pointed to Mellish. “This man is friend. He give good things to Kanditter, to all Men-men. He give merry-go-round, he give five-dime store, he build big water that shoot into the air—right here in Challa. Mellish is good. Tomorrow Kanditter, king of Men-men, give telex to Mellish.”

  Kanditter sat down, and the normal chitter and clatter was resumed. Mellish sidled on his short legs around behind the stiffly formal Magnus Ridolph.

  “You see, my friend,” said Mellish hoarsely, “that’s how I do things. I get what I go after.”

  “Remarkable, remarkable.”

  “By the way—” and Mellish pretended to be searching around Magnus Ridolph’s feet. “Where are your suitcases? Don’t tell me they’re gone! Stolen? What a pity! But then—a mere fifty thousand munits—what’s that, eh, Ridolph?”

  Magnus Ridolph turned Mellish a deceptively mild glance. “You have a negligent attitude toward money.”

  Mellish swung his long arms vigorously, looked across the pavilion at Kanditter. “Money means very little to me, Ridolph. With the telex concession—or without it for that matter—I can arrange that things happen the way I want them to happen.”

  “Let us hope,” said Magnus Ridolph, “that events continue to respond so facilely to your wishes. Excuse me, I think I hear the copter.”

  He hurried to the clearing. The pilot was climbing out of the cabin. He waved to Magnus Ridolph. “Got your package.”

  “Excellent.” He reached in his pocket. “Ho! The blackguards have even picked my pocket!” He turned a rueful look to the pilot. “I’ll pay you your fee in the morning—with a bonus. Now—would you assist me with this parcel to my room?”

  “Sure thing.” The pilot lifted one end of the long package, Magnus Ridolph the other, and they set off along the avenue.

  Halfway they met King Kanditter, who eyed the bundle with a great deal of interest. “What that?”

  “Ah,” said Magnus Ridolph, “it’s a wonderful new machine—very fine.”

  “Ch-ch-ch,” said the king, gazing after them.

  At his room Magnus Ridolph paused, mused a moment. “Now lastly,” he said, “may I borrow your flash-lamp till tomorrow?”

  The pilot handed him the article. “Just don’t let those little devils snitch it.”

  Magnus Ridolph made a noncommittal remark, bade the pilot goodnight. Alone, he snapped loose the tapes, tore aside the fabric, pulled a can from out the case, then a large alumin box with a transparent window. Magnus Ridolph peered within, chuckled. The box seemed full of moving flitting shapes—gauzy things only half visible. In a corner of the box lay a rough black pitted sphere, three inches in diameter.

  Magnus Ridolph opened the can which had come with the parcel, poured a few drops of its contents over the flash-lamp, set the lamp on his bed. Then, carrying the box outside, he sat and waited. Five—ten minutes passed.

  He looked inside, nodded in satisfaction. The flash-lamp had disappeared. He returned within, rubbed his beard. Best to make sure, he thought. Looking outside, he saw the pilot lounging in front of Mellish’s room, talking to Tomko. Magnus Ridolph called him over.

  “Would you be kind enough to watch my box till I get back? I’ll be gone only a moment.”

  “Take your time,” said the pilot. “No hurry.”

  “I won’t be long,” said Magnus Ridolph. He poured some of the oil from the can upon his handkerchief, while the pilot watched curiously, then set off back down the street to the king’s quarters. He found Kanditter in the pavilion, quaffing the last of the wine. Magnus Ridolph made him a courteous greeting.

  “How is your machine?” inquired Kanditter.

  “In good condition,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Already it has produced a cloth which makes all metal shine like the sun. As a sign of my friendship, I want you to have it.”

  Kanditter took the handkerchief gingerly. “Make shine, you say.”

  “Like gold,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Like telex crystal.”

  “Ah.” Kanditter turned away.

  “Good night,” said Magnus Ridolph, and returned to his quarters. The pilot departed and Magnus Ridolph, with a brisk rub of his hands, opened the alumin box, reached within, took the pitted black ball out, laid it on his bed. Flipping, running, flowing out of the box came two—four—six—a dozen filmy creatures, walking, gliding, flitting on gossamer legs, merging into shadows, sometimes glimpsed, for the most part barely sensed.

  “Be off with you,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Be off and about, my nimble little friends. You have much work to do.”

  Twenty minutes later a ghostly flickering shape scuttled in through the door, up upon the bed, laid a powerpack tenderly beside the rough black sphere.

  “Good,” said Magnus Ridolph. “Now off again—be off!”

  Ellis B. Mellish was wakened the next day by an unusual hubbub from the pavilion. He raised his head from the pillow, peered out through puffed red eyes. “Shut off that racket,” he grunted.

  Tomko, who slept spread-eagled across Mellish’s luggage, sat up with a jerk, rose to his feet, stumbled to the door, squinted up the street. “There’s a big crowd up by the pavilion. They’re yelling something or other—can’t make it out.”

  A slender purple-brown face looked in the door. “King say come now.” He waited expectantly.

  Mellish made a rasping noise in his throat, turned over in his bed. “Oh—all right. I’ll come.” The native left. “Officious barbarians,” muttered Mellish.

  He rose, dressed, rinsed his face in cold water. “Confounded glad to be leaving,” he told Tomko. “Just as soon live back in the Middle Ages.” Tomko expressed his sympathy, handed Mellish a fresh towel.

  At last Mellish stepped out in the street, ambled up toward the palace. The crowd in the pavilion had not dwindled. Rather it seemed thicker—rows of Men-men, squatting, rocking, chattering. Mellish paused, looked across the narrow purple-brown backs. His mouth dropped as if a weight had jerked his chin down.

  “Good morning, Mellish,” said Magnus Ridolph.

  “What are you doing there?” barked Mellish. “Where’s the king?”

  Magnus Ridolph puffed at his cigarette, flicked the ashes, crossed his legs. “I’m the king now—the King of Thieves.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “In no respect,” was the reply. “I wear the coronet—ergo, I am king.” He nudged with his foot a native squatting beside him. “Tell him, Kanditter.”

  The ex-monarch turned his head. “Magnus now king. He steal crown—he king. That is law of the Men-men. Magnus he great thief.”

  “Ridiculous!” stormed Mellish, taking three steps forward. “Kanditter, what about our deal?”

  “You’ll have to dicker with me,” came Magnus Ridolph’s pleasant voice. “Kanditter has been removed from the situation.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” declared Mellish, black eyes glittering. “I made a bargain with Kanditter—”

  “It’s no good,” said Magnus Ridolph. “The new king has annulled it. Also—before we get too far astray—in the matter of that fifty-thousand munit bet I find that I have all my own gear except my watch and, I believe, a large proportion of yours also. S
tolen honestly, you understand—not confiscated by royal decree.”

  Mellish chewed his lip. He looked up suddenly. “Do you know where the telex lode is?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Well,” said Mellish bluffly, coming forward, “I’m a reasonable man.”

  Magnus Ridolph bent his head, became interested in the heat-gun he had extricated from his pocket. “Another one of Kanditter’s treasures—you were saying?”

  “I’m a reasonable man,” stuttered Mellish, halting.

  “Then you will agree that five hundred thousand munits is a fair value to set on the telex concession. And I’d like a small royalty also—one percent of the gross yield is not exorbitant. Do you agree?”

  Mellish swayed. He rubbed his hand across his face.

  “In addition,” said Magnus Ridolph, “you owe me a hundred thousand for looting my property on Ophir and fifty thousand on our wager.”

  “I won’t let you get away with this!” cried Mellish.

  “You have two minutes to make up your mind,” said Magnus Ridolph. “After that time I will send an ulrad message filing the concession in my own name and ordering equipment.”

  Mellish sagged. “King of Thieves—king of bloodsuckers—extortioners—that’s a better name for you! Very well, I’ll meet your terms.”

  “Write me a check,” suggested Magnus Ridolph. “Also a contract stipulating the terms of the agreement. As soon as the check is deposited and a satisfactory entry made in my credit book the required information will be divulged.”

  Mellish began to protest against the unexpected harshness of Magnus Ridolph’s tactics—but meeting the mild blue eyes he halted in mid-sentence. He looked over his shoulder. “Tomko! Where are you, Tomko!”

  “Right here, sir.”

  “My checkbook.”

  Tomko hesitated.

  “Well?”

  “It has been stolen, sir.”

  Magnus Ridolph held up a hand. “Hush, Mr. Mellish, if you please. Don’t rail at your subaltern. If I’m not mistaken I believe I have that particular checkbook among my effects.”