Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc

by Jack Vance

  Once in the parlour at Trilda, Shimrod took Melancthe’s cloak and poured two goblets of pomegranate wine. “The flavor, like yourself, is at once sweet and tart, haunting, mysterious and by no means obvious… . Come! I will show you around Trilda.”

  Shimrod first took her into the dining saloon (“The oak is cut from a tree which grew on this very site.”), across the formal parlour (“Notice the tapestries in the cartouches; they were woven in ancient Parthia.”), then into the workroom. Shimrod immediately went to look at his map. The blue point of light glittered from the site of Faroli, far to the north in Dahaut: so much for one of his suspicions, that the woman at his side might even be a guise of the epicene Tamurello; this was clearly not the case.

  Melancthe looked here and there without great interest.

  Shimrod described two or three pieces of his paraphernalia, then took her before a tall mirror, which reflected her image in clear detail, and another of Shimrod’s misgivings was put to rest. Had she been a succuba or a harpy, the creature’s true image would have reflected from the mirror.

  Melancthe studied the glass with absorbed interest. Shimrod said: “The mirror is of magic. You see reflected the person you think yourself to be. Or you may say: ‘Mirror, show me as I appear to Shimrod!’ or, ‘Mirror, show me as I appear to Tamurello!’ and you will see these versions of yourself.”

  Melancthe moved away without undertaking the trials Shimrod had suggested. Shimrod surveyed the mirror from the side. “I could easily confront the mirror and say: ‘Mirror, show me as I appear to Melancthe!’ but, in all candor, I lack the courage.”

  “Let us leave this room,” said Melancthe. “It reeks of the brain.”

  The two returned to the small parlour, where Shimrod brought fire to the hearth, then turned to inspect Melancthe.

  She spoke in her soft voice: “You are pensive. Why is this?”

  Shimrod stood looking down into the flames. “I find myself with a dilemma. Do you care to hear it?”

  “I will listen, certainly.”

  “At Ys, only a few weeks ago, Shimrod visited Melancthe, to renew their acquaintance and perhaps to discover some mutuality of interest which might enhance their lives. In the end Melancthe scornfully barred the door to him.

  “Tonight Shimrod strolls beside Lally Water, watching the moon-set. Melancthe appears, and now, instead of Shimrod pursuing Melancthe, it is Melancthe who pursues Shimrod, that she may beguile and befuddle him in his manse Trilda, that he may desist from molesting her friend Tamurello.

  “With perhaps disingenuous frankness she reports Tamurello’s unflattering opinion of Shimrod, so that now Shimrod must throw self-esteem to the winds if he obeys his impulses and succumbs to Melancthe’s allurements. If he proves steadfast and expels Melancthe from Trilda with the rebuke she deserves, he shows himself to be pompous, inflexible and foolish.

  “His dilemma, then, is not whether, or how, or if, to retain pride, dignity and self-respect, but in which direction to cast them aside.”

  Melancthe asked: “How long do you intend to ponder? I have no self-esteem whatever, and I can make up my mind instantly, according to my inclinations.”

  “Perhaps that is the best wisdom, after all,” said Shimrod. “My character is intensely strong, and my will is like iron; still, I see no reason to demonstrate their strength needlessly.”

  Melancthe said: “The fire blazes hot, and the room is warm. Shimrod, help me from my cloak.”

  Shimrod stepped close, parted the clasp at her neck, and took her cloak; in some way her gown also fell to the floor, so that she stood nude in the firelight. Shimrod thought that never had he seen a sight so beautiful. He embraced her and her body first stiffened, then went flexible.

  The fire had burned low. Melancthe said in a husky voice: “Shimrod, I am frightened.”

  “How so?”

  “When I looked into the mirror, I saw nothing.”

  VI

  THE DAYS GLIDED BY, easy and quiet, without untoward incident to mark one day from the next. Shimrod occasionally thought that Melancthe attempted to tease and provoke him, but he maintained at all times a manner of imperturbable composure, and in the main all went smoothly. Melancthe seemed at least passively content, and was at all times accessible, or even more than accessible, to Shimrod’s erotic inclinations. With dour amusement Shimrod recalled events of the past: her distrait conduct as she walked through his dreams; her boredom during his visits to her villa; her barring of the door against him-and now! His most farfetched amorous fantasies had become real!

  Why? The question constantly came to perplex him. Somewhere there was mystery. Shimrod could not understand how Tamurello profited from the arrangement; according to the blue glint, he never strayed from Faroli.

  Melancthe herself volunteered no information, and pride prevented Shimrod from putting aside his pose of urbane equanimity and placing sharp questions.

  Now and then, during the course of conversation, Shimrod made an idle inquiry or two, but Melancthe commonly returned only a blank stare, or sometimes an evasion or at worst accused him of overintellectualization. “When something needs to be done I do it! When my nose itches, I scratch it, without an agonizing analysis of the situation.”

  “Scratch at will, so long as it pleases you,” said Shimrod in a voice of austere courtesy.

  As time passed, the novelty of Melancthe’s presence diminished, but not so her amorousness, which, perhaps through boredom, actually increased until it quite exceeded Shimrod’s competence, causing him guilt and sheepishness. Remedies were available, had he chosen to use them: for instance, an elixir known as “The Bear’, in jocular reference to the constellation Ursa Major, always aloft by night and by day. Shimrod also knew of a magical spell which worked to the same effect, known popularly as “The Phoenix’.

  Shimrod refused to consider such adjuncts, for several reasons. First, Melancthe already took up more of his time than he cared to reckon, and absorbed a large fraction of his energies in the process, leaving him often in a state of lasstitude, so that his surveillance over Tamurello was at times desultory. Secondly-and here was a contingency which Shimrod could never have anticipated-the unadorned copulations, lacking humour, sympathy and grace, gradually came to lose much of their charm. Finally, a suspicion occasionally seeped into Shimrod’s mind that Melancthe found him wanting, in quality as well as quantity. Shimrod at all times pridefully dismissed the idea; what had sufficed for his other partners in dalliance must do equally well for Melancthe.

  A month passed and another. Each morning, after one or more erotic episodes, Shimrod and Melancthe took a leisurely breakfast of porridge with cream and fresh red currants, or perhaps griddlecakes, butter, cherry conserve or honey, with ham, watercress and boiled eggs, and usually either a half-dozen broiled quail or a brace of fresh trout, or poached salmon in dill sauce, along with new bread, fresh milk and berries. A pair of pale falloys12 prepared and served the meal, and cleared away the soiled plates, cups and trenchers.

  After breakfast Shimrod might take himself to his workroom, though more often he dozed for an hour or two on the couch, while Melancthe wandered about the meadow. Sometimes she sat in the garden plucking the strings of a lute, contriving sounds in which Shimrod discovered no pattern but which nonetheless seemed to please Melancthe.

  After two months Shimrod found her moods as enigmatic as on the day of her arrival. He fell into the habit of squinting at her sidelong, in wonder and speculation. The mannerism evidently vexed her, so that one morning she gave a sudden grimace and demanded: “You watch me as a bird watches an insect: why do you do so?”

  Shimrod finally gathered his wits and said: “For the most part I watch you out of sheer pleasure! You are certainly the most beautiful creature alive!”

  Melancthe muttered, as much to herself as to Shimrod: “Am I alive? I may not even be real.”

  Shimrod responded in that whimsical manner which also annoyed Melancthe, though not as much as an alt
ernative style of logical exposition: “You are alive; otherwise you would be dead and I would be a necrophile. This is not so; hence you are alive. If you were not real, your clothes-” Melancthe now wore pale buff peasant breeches and a peasant smock “-would find no support and would fall into a heap on the ground. Are you satisfied?”

  “Then why did not the mirror show my image?”

  “Have you looked into it recently?”

  “No. I dread what I might see. Or might not see.”

  “The mirror gives you back your self-assessment. You have no personal image because Tamurello has denied it to you, to keep you subservient. That, at least, is my guess. Since you refuse to confide in me, I cannot help you.”

  Melancthe looked away across the meadow, and caught unawares, perhaps said more than she wanted: “The advice of a man would only weaken me.”

  Shimrod frowned. “Why should that be?”

  “Because that is how things are.”

  Shimrod said nothing and presently Melancthe cried out: “You are looking at me again!”

  “Yes. In wonder. But now at last I am beginning to guess what you will not tell me, and I wonder not so much any more; in fact I think I know.”

  “Do you ever do aught but think? You keep the whole world under your forehead: a queer dead Shimrod-shaped illusion! But what do you truly know?”

  “For convenience, let us restrict our remarks to your presence at Trilda. Tamurello sent you here to distract me. This is so clear as to be rudimentary. Am I wrong?”

  “You would never believe otherwise, no matter what I told you.”

  “You are clever. Of course I am wrong. You evade my question in order to fool me. Why should I be surprised? You have fooled me before; now I know you well.”

  “You know me by not so much as an inkling! By not even the inkling of an inkling! You think, you ponder, even while we lie engaged I hear your thoughts clicking together!”

  Astonished by Melancthe’s vehemence, Shimrod could only say: “Nevertheless, I understand you at last!”

  “You are a prodigy of pure reason.”

  “Your ideas are absolutely wrong! It is proper that you should realize your error. I have not the heart to tell you the whole of it, especially now, while you are angry. You have won the erotic war; the Female Principle has defeated the Male! You are welcome to the victory; it is empty. I will say no more.”

  “No!” cried Melancthe. “You have gone too far; you must say more!”

  Shimrod shrugged. “You decided to sing no longer with the outcasts; you chose to join the human society, but here, willy-nilly, you were forced to obey the function Desmei imprinted upon you. I had come to your villa and there aroused your hostility. I suspect that it was a queer bittersweet emotion: you both liked and disliked me. In any event I became your first antagonist. Did you defeat me? Think as you like. And now I will say no more, except only this: you can tolerate Tamurello because he is not truly masculine; hence he is not an antagonist.” Shimrod rose to his feet. “Excuse me; I have neglected much of late, and I must see to my duties.”

  Shimrod went to his workroom. The tables had been ordered; again the room was a pleasant place in which to work, though Shimrod had done precious little of this during the last two months.

  Today his first business concerned the wizard Baibalides, who lived in a house of black rock on Lamneth Isle, a hundred yards off the coast of Wysrod.

  Shimrod opened a cabinet and extracted a case from which he took a mask representing Baibalides. Next he brought out a skull on a pedestal and arranged the mask in place over the skull. Instantly the mask seemed to come alive. The eyes blinked; the mouth opened to allow a tongue to moisten the lips. Shimrod called: “Baibalides, can you hear me? It is Shimrod who speaks.”

  The mouth of the mask responded using Baibalides’ voice. “Shimrod, I hear you. What is your business with me?”

  “I have here an article which I took from Tintzin Fyral. It is an ivory tube carved on one side with odd runes and on the other with characters spelling out your name. I wonder what might be the purpose of the tube, and whether you claim it as your property, or whether it might have been a gift, either to Tamurello or to Faude Carfilhiot.”

  Baibalides answered: “I know the tube well: it is Gantwin’s Millenial Spectator; it depicts events of the last thousand years anywhere within its purview. I lost it at wager to Tamurello, who evidently gave it to Carfilhiot. If you have no need for it, I will gladly resume ownership. It is invaluable when one wishes to locate buried treasure or to learn the deeds of dead heroes, or, on a more practical basis, to determine paternity. As I recall, the activating spell is of three resonances and a quaver.”

  “The article is once more yours,” said Shimrod. “If ever I require its use, perhaps you will allow me this favor.”

  “With pleasure!” said Baibalides heartily. “I celebrate the return of this article with special satisfaction since I believe that Tamurello cheated me during the course of the wager.”

  “Not impossible,” said Shimrod. “Tamurello is a man of peculiar predilections. From sheer perversity, he prefers evil to good. Someday he will press Murgen too far.”

  “That is my own opinion. Only last week I attended a conclave on Mount Khambaste in Ethiopia, where Tamurello was already in residence. During the important business he offended a Circassian witch who began to corrode Tamurello with Blue Ruin, and Tamurello was forced to make concessions, though later he cursed the witch with footlong toenails, so that now and forever she must wear special boots.”

  Shimrod’s attention had been caught. “Last week, you say? And where did Tamurello go after leaving the conclave?”

  “Perhaps he returned to Faroli; I am not sure.”

  “It is no great matter. I will see that you receive your tube in short order.”

  “Shimrod, I thank you!”

  The mask lost its vitality. Shimrod replaced both mask and skull in the cabinet. He went to his map and inspected the blue point of light which so definitely had placed Tamurello in residence at Faroli over the previous two months.

  Peering close, Shimrod discovered the source of the error. A small section of adhesive membrane had been applied to the map, immobilizing the blue glint in place.

  Shimrod, turning slowly away from the map, examined each of the other instruments which, so he believed, kept a vigilant watch upon all phases of Tamurello’s activities. Each, by one means or another, had been rendered useless, in such a way that a casual inspection might not reveal the failure.

  Shimrod aroused Facque, the sandestin which, disguised as a gargoyle carved into the facing above the fireplace, guarded the workroom against intruders. “Facque, are you asleep?”

  “Naturally not.”

  “Why have you not kept diligent watch?”

  “If you please, I cannot properly answer negative questions. There are numberless acts which I have not performed; we could confer here forever while I detailed the deeds I have not done.”

  Patiently Shimrod asked: “Did you, then, keep vigilant watch over the workroom?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Why did you not warn me of intruders?”

  Facque made another peevish protest: “Must you again and again ask questions presuming non-existent facts?”

  “Did you notice intruders, or better: who has during the past two months entered the workroom?”

  “You, Murgen, and the female who has been sent here to bemuse and befuddle you.”

  “Has the woman come in alone, while I was not present?”

  “On several occasions.”

  “Did she tamper with my map and my instruments?”

  “She stilled the light in place, and interfered with other devices.”

  “Did she do anything else?”

  “She made marks with a stylus in your Book of Logotypes.”

  Shimrod gave a startled exclamation. “Small wonder that my magic has lately been so flat! What more?”

&n
bsp; “Nothing of consequence.”

  Shimrod removed the immobilizing film from the map; instantly the blue glint, as if to relieve pent pressures, darted in all directions back and forth, hither and yon, finally to settle once again upon the site of Faroli.

  Shimrod addressed himself to his instruments, and after some difficulty restored their functions.

  Once again he called out to Facque: “Awake!”

  “I am awake. I never sleep.”

  “Has Tamurello, or anyone else, installed instruments of surveillance, or any other function, here at Trilda?”

  “Yes. The woman may fairly be included into that category. Secondly, Tamurello has commissioned me to report upon your activities, and lacking instructions to the contrary, I have obliged him. Thirdly, Tamurello has attempted to use mayflies for purposes of espionage, but without any great success.”

  “Facque, I hereby instruct you, definitely and without qualification, to desist from reporting information of any sort to anyone save Murgen or myself: especially and specifically to Tamurello, or to any of his agents or instruments, or to the air at large, on the theory that it might by some means be collected and directed to the attention of Tamurello.”

  Facque said: “I am pleased that you have clarified this point. In short, Tamurello is not to receive information of any kind.”

  “Exactly so, and this includes both positive and negative information, or the use of coded silences, or the manipulation of any device, or signal, or musical selection from which Tamurello could elicit information. You must neither initiate, nor make response, in any wise whatever, and I include all types and permutations of communication I have overlooked.

  “At last I understand your requirements,” said Facque. “All is now in order.”

  “Not quite,” said Shimrod. “I must decide how to deal with Melancthe.”

  “Spend no great effort in this regard,” advised Facque. “It would be time wasted.”

  “How so?”

  “You will find that the woman has left the premises.” Shimrod rushed from the workroom, and looked everywhere, but Melancthe was nowhere to be seen, and Shimrod somberly returned to his workroom.