by Jack Vance
“He does indeed, and one of them is a traitor among your close advisors. Casmir almost named me his name, then thought better of it. But this man sits in a high place.”
Aillas pondered. “I wonder how close and how high.”
“Very high and very close.”
Aillas shook his head pensively. “I find it hard to believe.”
“You confer often with your ministers?”
“Every week, at least.”
“These ministers are the same, from week to week?”
“There is no great change.”
“What are their names?”
“They are six, all lords of the realm: Maloof. Pirmence. Foirry. Sion-Tansifer. Langlark. Witherwood. None could gain by Casmir’s victory.”
“Which have cause for resentment?”
Aillas shrugged. “Perhaps I am reckoned too young or too reckless or too headstrong. The South Ulfland expedition is not everywhere popular.”
“Which of the six is the most zealous?”
“Probably Maloof, who is Chancellor of the Exchequer. All are apt to their work. Langlark at times seems listless, but I have reason to exempt him from suspicion.”
“What reason is this?”
“I have tried to put the event out of my mind-now, it seems, wrongly. In Blaloc, as you know, shipyards build fishing boats and coastal traders. Recently a certain Duke Geronius of Armorica contracted for the construction of four heavy war-galleasses, of a class which could easily give us trouble on a calm day. Upon inquiry I discovered that Duke Geronius of Armorica is non-existent. He is Casmir, trying to create a navy on the sly. As soon as the ships are launched and Casmir has paid over his gold, I will send a force and burn them to the waterline, and there will be a great gnashing of teeth in Haidion Palace.”
“So then?”
“During a conference, with four ministers present, I mentioned rumors of ship-building at Port Posedel in Blaloc. I mentioned that I had asked a merchant dealing in glass bottles, now on his way to Port Posedel, to look into the matter.
“The merchant never returned. I made inquiries at his factory and discovered that he had been murdered in Blaloc.”
Yane nodded in slow rumination. “And the ministers who listened to your remarks?”
“Maloof, Sion-Tansifer, Pirmence and Foirry. Langlark and Witherwood were not present.”
“The incident would seem significant.”
“Exactly so. But enough for now. I am off to Watershade with Tristano and Shimrod, where, if you will believe it, there is a vexing problem to be solved. With Shimrod’s help, the problem may dissolve and we will have a few days of simple peace. Would you care to join the company?”
Yane excused himself. “I must go to my place Skave, and make sure of kegs for the new wine. What troubles the placid ways of Watershade?”
“The druids. They have settled the island Inisfadhe, where they put a fine fright into Glyneth, and I must set things to rights.”
“Send Shimrod out to throw a gloom on them, or, better, transform them all into crayfish.”
Aillas looked over his shoulder as if to make sure that Shimrod was not within earshot. “Shimrod already wonders at my sudden invitation. When dealing with druids, magic is a comforting convenience. I will let Glyneth tell her story; she can twist Shimrod around her finger, and any other man she chooses to wheedle.”
“Including a certain Aillas, so I have noticed.”
“Yes. A certain Aillas very much so.”
Chapter 3
I
WATERSHADE HAD BEEN BUILT during a long-past time of troubles, to guard the traffic on Janglin Water and to overawe the warrior knights of the Ceald, and never had it so much as come under assault.
The castle stood at the very edge of the lake, with part of the barrel-shaped keep rising from the water itself. Low conical roofs capped both the keep and the four squat towers adjoining. Trees overshadowed both towers and keep, and softened the castle’s mass, while the quaint conical roofs seemed almost comically inadequate to the task of sheltering the heavy structures below.
Aillas’ father Ospero had built a terrace around the base of the keep, where it shouldered into the lake. On many a summer evening, while sunset faded into dusk, Aillas and Ospero, perhaps with guests, took supper on the terrace, and often, if the company was good, sat long over nuts and wine and watched the stars come out.
On the shore grew several large fig trees, which during the heat of summer exhaled a pervasive sweetness attracting countless droning insects; the boy Aillas was not infrequently stung as he clambered among the smooth gray boughs after fruit.
The keep encompassed a great round hall containing a dining table in the shape of a C thirty feet in diameter at which fifty persons could sit in comfort, or sixty with somewhat less elbow-room. Ospero’s library occupied the floor above, along with a gallery, several parlours and retiring rooms. The towers housed airy bedchambers and pleasant sitting-rooms for the lord of the castle, his family and guests.
When the court moved to Domreis the moat was neglected and at last became a quagmire choked with reeds, blackberry thicket and scrub willow. Fetid odors rose from the slime and at last Aillas ordained restoration. Work-gangs were employed three months; then finally the gates were opened and fresh water rushed once again into the channel, though the moat now served only domestic purposes. During storms boats were brought in from the lake and moored in the moat. Ducks and geese paddled among the reeds, and the calm waters were fished for carp, eels and pike.
For Aillas, Watershade was the scene of his most pleasant memories, and across the years changes were few. Weare and Flora now used the titles ‘Seneschal’ and ‘Chatelaine of the House’. Cern, once a stableboy and Aillas’ playmate, had become ‘Under-Master of the Royal Stable’. Tauncy, the one-time bailiff, had gone lame. As ‘Master Vintner to the Royal Estates’, he controlled the work of Aillas’ winery.
After long delay, and only at the behest of Weare, Aillas agreed to move into his father’s old chambers, while Dhrun took over those rooms once used by Aillas.
“So it must be,” Weare told Aillas. “There is no stopping the fall of the autumn leaves, nor the coming of new leaves in the spring. As I have often remarked to Dame Flora, you are perhaps over-inclined to sentimentality. Now, all has changed! How can you hope to rule a kingdom if you are too timid to venture from your childhood nursery?”
“Weare, dear fellow, you have put a hard question! If truth be known, I am not anxious to rule a kingdom, much less three. When I am here at Watershade, it all seems a joke!”
“Nevertheless, things are as they are, and I have heard good reports of you. Now it is only proper that you occupy the High Chambers.”
Aillas gave an uncomfortable grimace. “No doubt but what you are right, and you shall have your way. Still I feel my father’s presence everywhere! If you must have the truth, sometimes I think to see his ghost standing on the balcony, or looking into the embers when the fire burns low.”
Weare made a scornful sound. “What of that? I see good Sir Ospero often. On moonlight nights, should I step into the library, he will be sitting in his chair. He turns to look at me, and his face is placid. I suspect that he loved Watershade so dearly that even in death he can not bear to depart.”
“Very well,” said Aillas. “I hope that Sir Ospero. will forgive my intrusion. I will change none of his arrangements.”
Again Weare found cause for protest. “Now then, lad! That is not as he would want it, since he loved you as well! The chambers are now yours and you must arrange them to your own taste, not to those of a ghost.”
“So it shall be! Well then, what would you suggest?”
“First, a good scraping, scouring and re-waxing of the woodwork. Then a careful over-wash of the plaster. The green, so I have noticed, tends to go dingy with time; why not try a nice pale blue with yellow for the moldings?”
“Perfect! Exactly what is needed! Weare, you have a rare talent
for such matters!”
“Also, while we are on the subject, perhaps we should renovate the Lady Glyneth’s chambers. I will of course consult with her, but I suggest that we plaster over the stone and use washes of pink and white and yellow, for good cheer and happy awakenings!”
“Just so! Look to it, Weare, if you will!”
In the case of Glyneth, Aillas had fixed upon her a pretty little estate in a valley not far from Domreis, but she showed no great interest in the property and much preferred Watershade. Now fifteen years old, Glyneth, for the grace and charm of her own life, and the enlivenment of her friends, used a mingling of limpid simplicity and sunny optimism, together with a joyous awareness of the world’s absurdities. During the previous year she had grown taller by an inch, and though she liked to wear a boy’s trousers and blouse, only a person blind to beauty could mistake her for a boy.
Dame Flora, however, considered not only her garments but her conduct unconventional. “My dear, what will folk think? When does a princess sail out on the lake in a cockboat? When does one find her climbing trees and perching among the owls? Or wandering the Wild Woods alone like a hoyden?”
“I wish I might meet such a princess,” said Glyneth. “She would make me a fine companion; our tastes would be exactly alike!”
“I doubt if two like her exist!” declared Dame Flora. “It is time that this present princess learns the uses of propriety, so that she will not disgrace herself at court.”
“Dame Flora, have pity! Would you cast me out, perhaps into the cold and rain, merely because I cannot sew a fine seam?”
“Never, my darling! But we must observe, we must learn, and we must practice the dictates of etiquette! You have reached the age and come into certain attributes of the body which make trousers altogether unsuitable, and we must plan for you a wardrobe of pretty frocks.”
“Still, we must be practical! How can I jump a fence in a pretty frock? Ask yourself that!”
“It is not necessary that you jump fences! I jump no fences. Lady Vaudris of Hanch Hall jumps no fences. Before long suitors of high degree will be trooping out here by the score to ask your hand in marriage. When they arrive and wish to pay their respects, and when they ask, I must say: ‘You will find her somewhere about the estate, either here or there.’ So off they go to look, and what will they think when they find you dangling in a tree, or catching frogs in the moat?”
“They will think that they do not want to marry me, which is exactly to my taste.”
At this, Dame Flora aimed a spank at Glyneth’s bottom, but Glyneth dodged nimbly aside. “That is the art of agility.”
“Shameless little hussy, you will come to a bad end!” Flora spoke without heat, and indeed she was grinning to herself. A moment later, for a special treat, she gave Glyneth a dish of lemon cakes.
Glyneth wore her curling golden hair loose, or tied with a black ribbon. While apparently artless, she sometimes indulged in games of mild flirtation, which she played as a kitten pretends the predacity of the jungle. Often she used Aillas as the subject of her experiments, until Aillas, gritting his teeth and turning his eyes to the sky, by main force of will drew back lest he take the game into an area where relationships might forever be altered.
Sometimes, lying abed of nights, he wondered what went on in Glyneth’s mind, and how serious she was in her play. Always at these times other images came to disturb him.
These were no longer dreary recollections of the secret garden at Haidion. Suldrun had long become a misty shape lost and gone across the gulfs of time. Another more vital figure marched through Aillas’ mind. Her name was Tatzel; she was Ska, and she lived at Castle Sank in North Ulfland. Tatzel’s style was unique. She was slim as a wand, with dark hair hanging loose past her ears; her complexion, like that of all the Ska, was pale olive; her eyes glowed with intelligence. Aillas had seen her most usually striding along the main gallery of the castle, looking neither right nor left. She took no notice of Aillas; as a slave, he was of less concern to her than a chair.
Aillas could not easily define his feelings toward Tatzel. There was resentment and challenge, generated by his abraded self-esteem, but other more subtle yearnings had brought him queer little pangs whenever she walked past unseeing; he wanted to step forward to where she must stop to notice him, to look into his eyes and take heed of his own prideful being. Never could he have dared to touch her; she would have instantly cried out for the guards and Aillas would have been dragged away in disgrace, perhaps even to the gelding-board and a future too awful to contemplate, with both his manhood and all hope of Tatzel’s good opinion forever lost and gone.
When finally Aillas had escaped Castle Sank in company with Cargus and Yane, he had turned at one point, and, looking back, had muttered: “Tatzel, take heed! Someday we shall meet again, and on different terms, so it may be!” And such was the phantom haunting Aillas’ mind.
II
AFTER PASSING THE NIGHT AT HAG HARBOUR, and at noon crossing over Green Man’s Gap, Aillas and Tristano late in the afternoon rode clattering across the drawbridge and into the stable-yard at Watershade. Dhrun and Glyneth ran out to greet them, followed by Weare, Flora and others of the household, while Shimrod4 waited in the shadow of the arched passage leading out upon the terrace.
The travelers retired to their chambers to refresh themselves, then came down to the terrace, where Weare served the best supper his larders could afford, and the company sat long while the afterglow faded and dusk became night.
Tristano told of the green pearl and its sinister infection. “I am baffled by the power of the object! It seemed a true pearl, except for its colour, which was the green of sea-water! Shimrod, what do you make of it?”
“I am ashamed to admit that, for me, in the realm of magic there is far more unknown than known. The green pearl is beyond my conjecture.”
“It might have been the brain-stone of a demon,” mused Glyneth. “Or perhaps a goblin’s egg.”
“Or a basilisk’s eye,” suggested Dhrun.
Glyneth said thoughtfully: “There is a valuable lesson here, say, for a youth in his formative years, like Dhrun. Never steal or rob objects of value, especially if they are green!”
“Good advice!” declared Tristano. “In cases of this sort, honesty is the best policy.”
“You have frightened and daunted me,” said Dhrun. “I will stop stealing at once.”
“Unless, of course, it is something nice for me,” said Glyneth. Tonight, perhaps to please Dame Flora, she wore a white frock and a silver fillet enameled with white daisies to contain her hair; she made a charming picture, to which Tristano was by no means oblivious.
Tristano said modestly: “My conduct at least was exemplary. I took the pearl only as a public service and I gave it up willingly to one less fortunate in his birth than myself.”
Dhrun said: “Here, evidently, you refer to the dog, since we have no knowledge of the robber’s lineage.”
Glyneth spoke severely: “Your treatment of the dog was truly rather heartless! You should have brought the pearl to Shimrod.”
“So that he might feed it to me in a sausage?” demanded Shimrod. “I prefer it otherwise.”
“Poor Shimrod!” murmured Aillas. “Foaming at the mouth, running down the road at full speed, halting only to bite passersby!”
Glyneth said with dignity: “Shimrod could properly dispose of the thing, whatever its nature. The dog lacks this competence.”
“I now understand my mistake,” said Tristano. “When this dog came to snap at my horse’s heels, I admit that I lacked kindly feeling for the beast. I therefore acted on an impulse which almost instantly I regretted, and more when I saw the disreputable quality of the beast.”
“I do not quite understand,” said Glyneth. “You almost instantly regretted your cruelty?”
“Well, not altogether. Remember that I indemnified the dog with a sausage for his risk.”
“Why, then?”
Tristan
o gave a fastidious flutter of the fingers. “Since you press me, I will explain, and as delicately as possible. On the previous midnight the pearl was returned to me in an uncanny fashion. As I considered the dead dog, I thought at first to depart at full speed and to leave the dog behind. Then I began to ponder on the night ahead: specifically, on the hour of midnight while I lay asleep. At this time the pearl would have progressed well on its way along the dog’s digestive tract-”
Glyneth clapped her hands over her ears. “That is enough. Already you have told me more than I want to hear.”
“The subject would seem to lack any further interest,” said Aillas.
“Just so,” said Tristano. “I only wanted to excite Glyneth’s compassion for the travail to which I was subjected.”
“You have done so,” said Glyneth.
There was a moment of quiet, and Glyneth looked up the table to Aillas. “Tonight you are quiet! What troubles you? Affairs of state?”
Aillas looked off across the dark water. “Miraldra seems a thousand miles away. I wish that I need never go back.”
“Perhaps you take too much responsibility upon yourself.”
“With my counselors and ministers all older men, watching to catch me out in mistakes, I have no choice except to go carefully. There is a chaos in South Ulfland which I must organize, and perhaps come to grips with the Ska, unless they mend their ways. And all the while, even as we sit here, Casmir hatches new plots.”
“Then why not work plots upon Casmir, until he desists?”
“If only it were so easy! Clever plots are Casmir’s specialty; I can never beat him at intrigue. His spies are everywhere; they would know my clever plots before I know them myself!”
Dhrun made a sound of outrage. “Can we not identify the spies and drown them all in the Lir?”
“Nothing is ever simple. Naturally, I want to identify them, but thereafter I prefer to make their life easy and befuddle them with false information. If I drowned them all, Casmir would merely send over a group of strangers. So I make do with the lot I have and try not to cause them anxiety.”
