Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc

by Jack Vance

  “Truly? I admit to affection for the Princess Glyneth. I would do my best to ward her from harm.”

  Melancthe leaned back in her chair and thoughtfully sipped wine from her goblet. Presently she spoke, in a soft even voice, though a subtle ear might have detected nuances of mockery and annoyance. “Amazing how chaste little virgins like Glyneth can excite such wild extravagances of gallantry, while other persons of equal worth, perhaps blemished by a goiter or a pock-mark or two, can lie suffering in the ditch, eliciting little if any notice.”

  Shimrod uttered a melancholy laugh. “The fact is real! The explanation derives from daydreams and ideal concepts far more powerful than justice, truth and mercy all combined. But not in the case of Glyneth. She spills over with kindness; and she would never ignore those lying in the ditch. She is always merry; she is clean and fresh as the sunlight; she brings pleasure to the world by her sheer existence.”

  Melancthe seemed taken aback by the fervor of Shimrod’s remarks. “In Shimrod she has a dedicated champion. I was unaware of your devotion.”

  “I know her well, and I love her as I would my own daughter.”

  Melancthe rose to her feet, mouth drooping. “I had forgotten; the subject bores me.”

  Shimrod also rose to his feet. “Melancthe, are you retiring for the night?”

  “Yes; the common room grows noisy. You may join me if you like.”

  “Lacking all better alternative, I accept.” Shimrod took Melancthe’s arm and the two retired to the apartment behind the Door of the Two Green Lizards.

  Shimrod put light to the candles in the candelabra on the table. Melancthe, standing in the center of the room, fixed the flower into her hair, watching Shimrod all the while. She let fall her brown robe and stood nude in the candlelight. “Shimrod: am I not beautiful?”

  “Beyond all doubt; beyond all question! But put aside the flower; it detracts from you.”

  Melancthe pouted. “But I like it! Shimrod, come kiss me.”

  “Put aside the flower! I find it repellent.”

  “As you like.” Melancthe tossed the flower to the table. “Now will you kiss me?”

  “I will do better than that,” said Shimrod, and so passed the first hours of the night.

  At midnight, as the two lay pressed close together, Shimrod said: “I have an uneasy feeling that you were about to tell me something more of the wizard Visbhume.”

  “Yes, that is so.”

  “Then why will you not tell me?”

  “Because I feared that you would become agitated and perform some instant and unnecessary act.”

  “What sort of act might that be?”

  “There is nothing you can do now; Visbhume has already gone to Watershade and departed, for one of his private bolt-holes: a place known as Tanjecterly.”

  A cold chill came over Shimrod. “And he took Glyneth with him?”

  “That is the rumor. But you can do nothing to prevent it.

  The deed is done.”

  “Why did Visbhume do this?”

  “He worked at Casmir’s behest. Also, if Tamurello is to be believed, such projects are dear to Visbhume’s heart.”

  “He must know that he has just put a short term to his life,” said Shimrod.

  Melancthe held him close. “I like you best when you are like this.”

  Shimrod thrust her away. “You should have told me at once, if you meant to tell me at all.”

  “Ah Shimrod! You must remember my mixed feelings for you. I am at ease and even happy with you, but soon I find that I want to hurt you and cause you every conceivable pain.”

  “You are lucky that I lack similar yearnings, even though you provoke them.” Shimrod dressed himself.

  “It is exactly as I feared,” said Melancthe. “The impractical Shimrod hurries off to Tanjecterly and there rescues his dainty Glyneth.”

  “Where is Tanjecterly? How does one get there?”

  “The route is detailed in the rarest of all books: one which Visbhume stole from Hippolito.”

  “And the name of the book?”

  “Twitten’s Almanac, or some such thing… . Shimrod! Are you truly going?”

  The only response was the sound of the door closing behind Shimrod. Melancthe shrugged and presently fell asleep.

  In the morning Melancthe went in great anticipation to the booth of Zuck the trader, where she was disappointed anew.

  “I have spoken to the falloy,” said Zuck. “There will be no more flowers at this fair; the plants yielded only the single blossom. There will be more in the fall, as the buds are already forming, and the falloy says that you must bring gold, as silver is not enough for wares so heady.”

  Melancthe spoke a soft sound under her breath. “Zuck, I will come in the autumn, and you must reserve the blooms for me alone! Is it agreed?”

  “So long as you pay in gold.”

  “There will be no difficulty here.”

  IV

  RETURNING TO TRILDA, Shimrod went at once to the workroom. In the Pantological Index he discovered a reference to Tanjecterly’

  The source of information in regard to Tanjecterfy is derived from, the exceedingly not and somewhat suspect ‘Twitten’s Almanac’. Tanjecterfy is described as one of a set, or cycle, of ten superimposed worlds, which, includes our own. Interconnections are difficult to find and evanescent in nature.

  According to Twitten, Tanjecterfy, similar in certain ordinary respects to our world, is notaofy different in others. The inhabitants are said to be various and include even tribes of human-seeming folk, and others in which the similarity is at Best cursory. The environment of Tanjecterfy is described as noxious, and indeed lethal to those persons who would travel here without making adaptations. Again, Tanjectafy may be no more than one of Twitten’s idle fables; his caprices and pranks are well documented elsewhere. On the other hand, the ‘Almanac’ is said to be a work of great complexity and inner coherence, which would seem to lend the volume credence.

  Shimrod tapped the silver bell. A voice said: “Shimrod, you work late.”

  “I was summoned to a rendezvous by Melancthe the Witch. I met her at the Laughing Sun and Crying Moon Inn, and I thought surely that she had called to give me news, and so it was, though she took her own time in the telling.

  “She mentioned a low sorcerer by the name of Visbhume, formerly apprenticed to Hippolito. Visbhume conferred with Tamurello, who sent him to King Casmir of Lyonesse. Thereafter, according to Melancthe, Visbhume went to Watershade and for reasons not entirely clear kidnapped Glyneth and took her to the place Tanjecterly.

  “The Index lists Tanjecterly as a possibly imaginary place, mentioned by Twitten in his ‘Almanac’.”

  “So then: what are your plans?”

  “I can only do as Melancthe, and perhaps Tamurello expect. I will go to Watershade; there I hope either to find this is all a mare’s-nest, or is a situation where I can interfere with Visbhume’s plans. Failing this, I must go wherever Visbhume has taken Glyneth, which may mean Tanjecterly itself.”

  The cool voice said: “This seems a complicated intrigue. Several motivations are suggested. Like you, I suspect that Tamurello has instructed Melancthe. She had very good success urging you to leap like a fool into interworld chaos before; she and Tamurello no doubt have theorized that, if the scheme worked so well before, why should it not work again? Clearly they want you to plunge with full bravado into Tanjecterly, whence you will never return: for them a fine feat! They destroy you and cripple me. Under no circumstances are you to venture into Tanjecterly. It is a palpable trap!

  “Second: if Visbhume is working at the behest of Casmir, then the object might also be to confuse, distract and harm King Aillas. I have recently sensed, and this confirms, that Tamurello at last has discovered the insolence to ignore my edicts and I must punish him.”

  “All very well,” said Shimrod. “But what of Glyneth?”

  “I know nothing about Tanjecterly; it seems that I must make inquiries.
In the morning I will tell you my findings; then you must counsel King Aillas. But neither he, nor you, nor the prince Dhrun, may venture the way into Tanjecterly.”

  “Then how shall Glyneth be rescued?”

  “We will send our agent. Now I must go to study.”

  V

  AT SUNSET AILLAS AND DHRUN, on horses sweaty and spent, crossed the moat by the old timber drawbridge and so arrived at Watershade.

  Shimrod came out to meet them. Aillas and Dhrun searched his face, hoping to read some trace of cheer. Shimrod gave his head a shake. “I know a few sparse facts, and their indications are worse than ever. I cannot even speculate on what is happening to Glyneth. Come; let us go inside, and I will tell you what I know. At this moment, hysterical haste will avail us nothing; tonight at least we will sit quietly and rest and form plans as best we can.”

  Aillas said: “You do not infect me with optimism.”

  “There is none to be had. Come; Weare has laid out our supper and I will tell you of Tanjecterly.”

  Dhrun asked: “Where is Tanjecterly?”

  “You shall hear.”

  Aillas and Dhrun ate cold beef and bread while Shimrod spoke. “I will start at the starting,” said Shimrod. “Some hundreds of years ago Twitten the Wizard either himself compiled, or obtained from another source, a volume which became known as Twitten’s Almanac. This same Twitten, for purposes unknown, placed the iron post at a crossroads in the Forest of Tantrevalles, despite legends which state otherwise.

  “The almanac, so I learn, describes a cycle of worlds one of which is Tanjecterly.

  “Hippolito the Magician owned the almanac, and apparently instructed his apprentice Visbhume in its use; when Hippolito disappeared, presumably to his death, Visbhume made off with the almanac.”

  Aillas said: “I know something of this Visbhume. By all reports he is a strange and unpleasant person, and works in the service of Casmir. He came before to Troicinet, and put assiduous inquiries regarding Dhrun to Dame Ehirme and her family, who seem to have given him hints as to the circumstances of Dhrun’s birth, of which Casmir still knows nothing.”

  “Here may be the basis of Visbhume’s acts,” said Shimrod. “He has taken Glyneth that he may learn all there is to be known in this regard.”

  Dhrun groaned. “Let him give us back Glyneth! I will tell him all he wants to know and more!”

  Aillas spoke between clenched teeth: “Show me the gate into Tanjecterly; if he has laid a rude finger on her, I will break all his bones!”

  “Just so,” said Shimrod with a sad smile. “Murgen feels that Tamurello is responsible, and Tamurello hopes that all who love Glyneth most will recklessly hurl themselves into Tanjecterly, and there be lost forever. Murgen has forbidden any such acts.”

  “Then what can we do?” demanded Dhrun.

  “Nothing, until we receive word from Murgen.”

  VI

  IN THE MORNING DHRUN LED THE WAY tO the woodcutter’s hut deep in the Wild Woods to which his dogs had followed Glyneth’s trail. As before, the hut stood alone in a little glade, and appeared to be deserted.

  Aillas approached and started to step through the doorway. He was stayed by a sharp cry: “Hold, Aillas! Stand back! As you value your life, do not enter the hut!”

  Murgen came forward. Today he seemed a tall erect woodsman with close-cropped white hair. He spoke to Dhrun: “When you traced Glyneth to this place, did you enter the hut?”

  “No, sir. The dogs stopped at the doorway, and acted in a peculiar manner. I looked through the doorway and saw that the hut was empty; the place gave me an eerie feeling and I came away.”

  “That was well-considered. See this golden shine around the doorway? It is barely visible in the light. It marks the way into Tanjecterly, and the way is still open. If you wish to bring great rejoicing to the heart of King Casmir, step through the doorway.”

  Aillas asked: “May I call out through the doorway?”

  “Call away! Your voice can do no harm.”

  Aillas stepped close to the doorway and called through the opening: “Glyneth! It is Aillas! Can you hear me?”

  Silence was profound; Aillas reluctantly turned away and watched as Murgen scratched an outline in the turf before the hut, in the shape of a square twenty feet on the side. With the most meticulous care he scratched a number of other marks inside the perimeter and then stood back. From his wallet he brought a small box carved from a single block of red cinnabar and tossed the contents toward the delineated square.

  Dense white vapor filled the interior of the square, to dissipate with a sudden soft explosion, leaving behind a structure of gray stone. The single means of ingress was a tall black iron door, adorned with a panel displaying the Tree of Life.

  Murgen went to the door, swung it wide, beckoned to the company. “Come!”

  Aillas, passing through the portal, felt a puzzling sense of familiarity, as if he had come this way before. Shimrod knew their location precisely: the entry to the great hall at Swer Smod.

  “Come,” said Murgen. “There is reason for haste. The ten places slide and move past each other. Visbhume’s passage seems firm but who knows when it will break. Since we cannot pass through, we need an agent of suitable sort. I have done the needful study; now the synthesis. Come; to my workroom.”

  Murgen took the company to a chamber furnished with shelves, cabinets, and tables burdened with unfamiliar machinery. Windows to the east overlooked the foothills of the Teach tac Teach and, beyond, the dark expanse of Forest Tantrevalles.

  Murgen pointed to a bench. “Sit, if you will… . Notice this cabinet. It has cost me large toil and a dozen obligations in unseemly places. Still, what must be, is. The cabinet glows with a green-yellow light; it is in fact the stuff of Tanjecterly. The creature within is a young syaspic feroce from the Dyad Mountains of Tanjecterly. Now he is a mere schematic; when activated he will also manifest the stuff of Tanjecterly and will form the armature of our construction. It has other virtues as well: it is strong, alert, agile and cunning. It is immune to fear and is loyal to the death. Its flaws are the other side of the same coin: it is savage and becomes a monster of destructive fury when provoked, or sometimes even in the absence of provocation. It is also prone to unpredictable frivolities which propel its kind on expeditions of ten thousand miles that they may dine on a particular fruit. This is the basis of our agent.”

  Aillas eyed the creature dubiously. It stood a few inches over six feet tall and displayed a rudely man-like form, with a heavy head resting on massive shoulders, long arms with taloned hands and prongs growing from the knuckles. A black pelt covered its scalp, a strip down its back and about the pelvic region. Its features were heavy and crude, with a low forehead, a short nose and ropy mouth; tawny-gold eyes looked through slits between ridges of cartilage.

  Murgen spoke again: “This is not the beast itself, which would be of no use to us, but its constructive principles, which define its nature. Last night I sought across a hundred worlds and a million years of time. I still am not content but in so short a time I can discover none better.” He closed the cabinet on the syaspic feroce, and opened another to reveal the simulacrum of a strong young man wearing leather trousers buckled at the belt. “This creature appears to our eyes as a man because our brains make such an interpretation; it is unnecessary to think differently. He lives among the far moons of Achernar, and he is accustomed to the most extreme outrages of terror and the hourly proximity of death. He survives because he is ruthless and intelligent; his name is Kul the Killer. To our eyes and our brains he seems a handsome clean-limbed young man of fine physique, and we will make use of this matrix when we join him to the feroce, as we do now.”

  Murgen joined the cabinets, then, at a table, took what appeared to be a sheet of paper cut into patterns and laid it on , another similar set of patterns. He worked for a moment with patterns, cabinets and machinery. “Now!” said Murgen. “The synthesis is done. We shall call the product ‘Kul’. Le
t us observe him.”

  Murgen opened the cabinet door, to reveal a new being with attributes of both its constituent beings. The head rode on a short heavy neck; the face was less brutally modeled; the arms, hands, legs and feet were more distinctly human. Kul wore his short leather trousers, while the pelt of black hair now covered only the scalp, the neck and part of the back.

  Murgen said: “Kul is not yet alive, and needs still another component: direction, full intelligence, and sympathetic juncture with our own humanity. Any of you three can supply these qualities; each of you, in his own way, loves Glyneth. Shimrod, I deem you the least suitable. Dhrun, you would gladly give your life for Glyneth; but the quality I seek I find in Aillas.”

  “Whatever you need, I will give it.”

  Murgen looked at Aillas. “It will mean discomfort and weakness, for you must invest the strength of your spirit and a goodly quantity of your red human blood in this creature. Kul will have no knowledge of you, but his human virtues, if such words apply, will be yours.”

  Murgen nodded. “Shimrod, Dhrun: wait in the hall.”

  Dhrun and Shimrod departed the workroom. An hour passed. Murgen appeared. “I have sent Aillas to Watershade. He gave more of himself than I expected and he is weak. Let him rest; in a week or so he will be himself.”

  “And what of the creature Kul?”

  “I have instructed him, and already he has fared through the hole into Tanjecterly. Come; let us learn what news he sends back.”

  The three returned through the foyer to the glade in the Wild Woods. Murgen dissolved the gray stone structure; the three approached the woodcutter’s hut.

  A black glass bottle flew through the doorway and landed at their feet. Murgen extracted a message:

  I find neither Gfynah nor Visbhume close at hand. I have questioned one who watched all that happened. Glyneth took flightt from Visbhume who went in pursuit. The trail is plain. I will follow.