by Jack Vance
Chapter 15
I
ON A BRIGHT SUMMER’S MORNING Glyneth rose with the sun. She washed her face, and combed out her hair, which had grown to hang in loose dark golden curls somewhat past her ears. It was beautiful hair, so she had been told: full of glints and gleams, but perhaps a trifle longer than truly convenient, since now the wind could blow it into a tousle, so that it needed attention to keep it neat. To cut, or not to cut? Glyneth pondered carefully. Gallants of the court had assured her how nicely her hair set off the contours of her face. Still, the one person whose opinion truly mattered to her never seemed to notice whether her hair was long or short.
“Ah ha,” said Glyneth to herself. “We will soon put a stop to that kind of nonsense, since now I think I know what to do.”
On this bright morning she made a breakfast of porridge, with a boiled egg and a glass of fresh milk, and the whole day lay ahead of her. On the morrow, Dhrun would be arriving for the summer; today was her last day of solitude.
Glyneth considered riding her horse into the village, but only yesterday, when she rode to visit her friend Lady Alicia, at Black Oak Manor, a peculiar man in a pony cart had signaled her to a halt and had put the most surprising questions.
Glyneth had politely acknowledged her identity. Yes, she knew Prince Dhrun very well; no one knew him better. Was it true then that Dhrun had lived for a period in a fairy shee? At this point Glyneth had excused herself from further conversation. “I cannot assert this of my own personal knowledge, sir. Why not put your questions to King Aillas at the court if you are truly interested? There you would learn which facts are real and which are idle speculation.”
“That is good advice! Today is a fine day for riding. How far do you go?”
“I ride to visit my friends,” said Glyneth. “Good day to you, sir!”
On this morning Glyneth decided that she did care to risk another encounter with the odd gentleman-it was almost as if he had been waiting for her to ride past-and so she decided to wander in the woods.
She took up her berry basket, kissed Dame Flora, and promised to be home in time to eat the berries she planned to pick for her lunch. So saying, she set off into the Wild Woods.
Today the forest was at its best. The foliage glowed a thousand shades of green in the sunlight, and a breeze from the lake made a pleasant murmur as it passed.
Glyneth knew a place where wild strawberries grew in abundance, and never seemed to fail, but as she walked along the trail her attention was attracted by the most beautiful butterfly she had ever seen. It floated before her, on wings of orange, black and red fully six inches across, and of a most unusual shape. Glyneth increased her pace hoping that it would settle, that she might examine it at her leisure, but it flew even faster, and eventually, entering a glade, it flew into a woodcutter’s hut.
Most odd, thought Glyneth. What a foolish butterfly! She looked through the door, and seemed to notice an odd greenish-yellow glow, but paid it no heed. She stepped into the hut, and looked all around, but the butterfly was gone. On an old table across the room lay a scrap of parchment. Glyneth read:
You may be surprised but all is well, and all will be well. Your good friend Sir Visftfuune will help you and is obout to bring you a great happiness. Once again Feel no fear. Put all trust in noble Sir Visbhune, and do his bidding.
Most strange, thought Glyneth. Why should she be surprised? And put her trust in Visbhume and do his bidding? Not likely! Still, undeniably, something strange was in the air! First the butterfly, then the peculiar light which now pervaded the room. Magic hung in the air! Glyneth had known a surfeit of magic and wanted no more of it. She turned to the door; never mind the butterfly, and the berries; she wanted only to be safe home at Watershade as quickly as possible.
She stepped from the hut, but where was the forest? She looked out on a strange landscape; where could she be?
Two suns hung at the zenith of a heather-gray sky, lazily circling each other: one green, the other lemon-yellow. Short blue grass grew along a hillside sloping down to a slow gentle river, which flowed from right to left and out on a wide flat plain. Where the river met the horizon an object like a black moon hung in the sky, and the very look of the object caused Glyneth a spasm of unreasonable fear, even horror. Feeling ever more frightened, Glyneth turned away to look elsewhere.
Across the river, low hills and dales rolled in a majestic rhythmic succession, finally blending together. A range of mountains, black and yellow-brown, slanted down from the far left, to disappear over the horizon. Closer at hand, along the banks of the river, grew trees with nearly spherical crowns, dark red or blue or blue-green. At the riverside a short man hunched over to dig in the mud with a spade. He wore a dark brown smock, and a widebrimmed brown hat concealed his features. A hundred yards along the shore a boat swung at a rude dock.
Scanning the countryside, Glyneth could not help but marvel at the brightness and clarity of the colours. They were not the colours of Earth! Where had she wandered? … From behind her came the sound of a small polite cough. Glyneth whirled around. On a bench beside the hut sat the strange man who had spoken to her on the previous day. She stared at him in mingled wonder and consternation.
Visbhume rose to his feet and bowed. He wore neither cloak nor cape, only a voluminous shirt of black silk with loose overlong sleeves almost to his finger tips; the collar was tied with a flowing cravat of patterned black and red silk. His trousers were also voluminous black silk, hanging to the ground and barely showing long narrow black slippers.
“Have we not met before?” asked Visbhume in the most refined of accents.
“We spoke on the road yesterday,” said Glyneth. Then, her voice trembling in hope, she asked, “Can you please tell me the way back to the forest? I am wanted home for my lunch.”
“Aha ha hah!” said Visbhume. “It must be somewhere about.”
“So I should think but I see it nowhere… . Why are you here?”
“At the moment, I stand admiring the splendid scenery of Tanjecterly. You are Glyneth, I believe. If I may say so, your person in no small measure enhances the beauty of these already charming vistas.”
Glyneth frowned and pursed her lips but could think of nothing to say which did not seem ungracious.
Visbhume went on, as before using a voice of refinement and gentility. “You may know me as Sir Visbhume. I am a knight of excellent degree, versed in all the phases of chivalry, and in all the courtly arts now the rage of Aquitania. You will derive enormous benefit from my protection and instruction.”
“That is kind of you, sir,” said Glyneth. “I hope that you will indeed instruct me how to return to the forest. I must be home to Watershade within the hour; otherwise Dame Flora will worry greatly.”
“That is a vain hope,” said Visbhume grandly. “Dame Flora must find a means to assuage her concern. The gate functions in only one direction, and we must discover the corresponding crevice of return.”
Glyneth searched dubiously all around. “How is that crevice found? If you tell me, I will search it out.”
“There is no hurry,” said Visbhume with a trace of asperity in his voice. “I regard this as a delightful occasion, with none to trouble us or say us nay, as is so often the case! We shall relax at ease and each take pleasure in the other’s capabilities. I am accomplished in a dozen ways; you will clap your hands in happiness for your luck.”
Glyneth, darting one quick sideglance at Visbhume, remained thoughtfully silent… . Visbhume was possibly unworldly. Cautiously she suggested: “You do not seem alarmed by this strange place! Would you not prefer to be at home with your family?”
“Ah, but I have no family! I am a wandering minstrel; I know music of palpable energies, music to cause your blood to pump and your feet to tap!” Visbhume pulled a small fiddle from his wallet and using an inordinately long bow, played a fine jig and danced as well: kicking and jerking, raising high his elbows, producing all the while his strident, if sprightly, music.
&
nbsp; At last, with eyes glowing, he came to a halt. “Why are you not dancing?”
“In truth, Sir Visbhume, I worry about finding my way home. Please, can you help me?”
“We shall see, we shall see,” said Visbhume airily. “Come sit beside me and tell me an item or two of information.”
“Sir, let me conduct you to Watershade, where we may talk at leisure.”
Visbhume held up his hand. “No, no! I know all there is to be known of clever young ladies who say ‘yes’ when they mean ‘no’ and ‘no’ when they mean ‘Visbhume, please and by all means!’ I wish to talk here, where candor will make you my absolute favorite, and will not that be a pleasant treat? Come now, sit; I enjoy the sense of your delectable presence!”
“Sir Visbhume, I prefer to stand. Tell me what you wish to know.”
“I am curious as to Prince Dhrun and his early youth. It would seem that he is quite old in years for so young a father,”
“Sir, the folk concerned might not wish me to gossip at wholesale with strangers.”
“But I am not a stranger! I am Visbhume, and much attracted by your fresh young beauty! Here on Tanjecterly there are none to cavil and none to glare and none to cry out ‘impudicity!’ We can indulge ourselves in the most daring of intimacies… . But ah, I have perhaps hinted at too much! Think only of my search for truth! I need but a few facts to ease my curiosity. Tell me, my dear! Tell me, do!”
Glyneth tried to seem casual. “Better that we return to Watershade, you and I! There you may put questions to Dhrun himself, and he will surely give you a gracious response. You will gain my good opinion, and I will know no guilt.”
Visbhume chuckled. “Guilt, my dear? Never! Come closer to me; I would caress your glossy hair, with perhaps a kiss for your reward.”
Glyneth drew back a step. Visbhume’s evident intent was bad news indeed, since, if he misused her, he would not dare liberate her for fear that she would carry tales. In such a case her only protection lay in denying him the information he sought.
Visbhume watched her sidelong, smiling like a fox, as if he were able to read the flow of her thoughts. He said: “Glyneth, I am a person who dances to a merry tune! Still, sometimes I must, by necessity and rightness, tread to a more portentous strain. I dislike excesses where events go wildly awry and affectionate trust is forever shattered. Do you apprehend my meaning?”
“You want me to obey you, and you promise me harm if I will not.”
Visbhume chuckled. “That is blunt and direct; the music to these words is not pretty. Still-”
“Sir Visbhume, I care not a twig for your music. I must also tell you that unless you in all courtesy allow me to leave this place, you will answer to King Aillas, and this is as sure as the sun rises and sets.”
“King Aillas? Oh la! The suns of Tanjecterly neither rise nor set; they curvet in graceful rounds about the sky. Now then! The fabric of our love is not yet rent! Tell me what I wish to know-after all, it is no great thing-or I must compel you to a sweet obedience. I will show you, so that you will know my power. Watch!”
Visbhume went to a nearby hedge and plucked a flower of twenty pink and white petals. “See this bloom? Is it not dainty and innocent? See how I do.” Visbhume pushed his long thin white fingers from the black sleeves and, petal by petal, pulled the flower apart, with each petal smiling up at Glyneth, who watched with dread growing large in her mind.
Visbhume tossed away the dead flower. “By this means I have taken a richness into my soul. But it is only a taste, when I would dine full. Watch!”
Visbhume rummaged through his wallet and found a little silver whistle. Going once more to the hedge, he blew on the pipe. Glyneth stared to where a sheath sewed to the side of the wallet showed the haft of a little stiletto. She moved a step toward the wallet, but Visbhume had turned so that her movements were under his gaze.
A bird with a blue-crested head flew to the hedge to hear Visbhume’s piping. With nimble white fingers Visbhume played flourishes, trills and wild little arpeggios, and the bird cocked its head askance to hear such mad and wonderful notes.
Glyneth, through fairy magic, had been gifted with the language of all things, and she cried out to the bird: “Fly! He means you harm!”
The bird chirped uneasily, but Visbhume had seized it, and carried it back to the bench. “Now, my dear, watch! And remember, everything I do has its reason.”
While Glyneth watched aghast, Visbhume performed atrocious deeds upon the bird, and finally let the tattered thing drop to the ground. He wiped his fingers fastidiously upon a tuft of grass, and smiled at Glyneth. “Such are the ways in which my blood is stirred, and a sweet savor is added to our knowledge of one another. So come closer, sweet Glyneth, I am ready to caress your warm person.”
Glyneth took a deep breath and twisted her face into the caricature of a smile. Slowly she came toward Visbhume, who crowed in delight. “Ah, sweet, sweet, sweet! You come like a dear maiden should!” He reached out his arms; Glyneth shoved him smartly on the narrow chest and sent him stumbling backward, mouth pursed in a purple O of astonishment. Glyneth seized the wallet, and drew the stiletto. As Visbhume staggered back toward her she struck out. Her arm was deflected; the stiletto plunged through Visbhume’s left cheek, across his mouth and out his right cheek. The stiletto, of magic properties, could not be withdrawn save by the hand which had thrust it. Visbhume gave a crazy chortling cry of pain and whirled in a circle; Glyneth seized his wallet and ran at full speed down the slope to the river. A hundred yards downstream she spied the dock. Visbhume came bounding after her, the stiletto yet protruding from his cheek.
Glyneth ran to the dock and jumped into the boat. The fisherman who dug in the mud along the shore cried out in anger: “Halt! Do not molest my boat! Away with you and your tricks!”
The language was strange, but her sleight of tongues allowed Glyneth complete understanding; nevertheless, she cast off the line and pushed out into the river just as Visbhume came running out on the dock. He stood waving his arms and trying to call, but the stiletto impeded his tongue, and his words were barely comprehensible: “… my wallet! … Glyneth! Come back; you do not know what you do! … the holes to our world, we will never return!”
Glyneth looked for oars, but found none. The boat was caught in the current and swept off downstream, with Visbhume bounding along the bank, uttering strangled orders and pleas, until he was halted by the influx of a second river, so that he was obliged to stop and watch Glyneth, in her boat, float beyond his reach of vision, along with his wallet.
Presently Visbhume came upon a ferry operated by a pair of lumpish men, who demanded coin before they would convey him across the river. Visbhume, lacking coin, was compelled to surrender the silver buckle from his shoe for the passage.
At the ferry terminus Visbhume discovered a blacksmith shop. Upon payment of the remaining buckle, the smith sawed the handle from the shaft; then, while Visbhume shrieked in pain, he seized the tip with a pincers and pulled the blade out through Visbhume’s right cheek.
From a pocket in his voluminous sleeve, Visbhume brought a round white box. He removed the top and shook out a tablet of waxy yellow balm. With sighs and exclamations of gratification he rubbed the balm on his wounds, easing his pain and healing the cuts. He returned balm into box and box into the pocket in his sleeve; the pieces of stiletto he dropped into a pocket in the side of his trousers, and once more set off in pursuit of Glyneth.
At length Visbhume reached the shore of the main river. The surface of the water lay blank; the boat had drifted far out of sight.
II
THE BOAT FLOATED ALONG THE RIVER, with the banks sliding by at either side. Glyneth sat rigidly fearful that somehow the boat might rock and pitch her into the dark deep water, and Glyneth thought that she would not like to explore the depths of this river. She looked sadly over her shoulder; with every instant she floated farther from the hut and passage back the way she had come. She told herself: “My friends wil
l help me!” No matter what the circumstances, she must cling to this conviction-because she knew it was true.
Another dismal idea: what if she became hungry and thirsty? Dare she eat and drink the substances of Tanjecterly? More than likely they would poison her. In her mind’s-eye she saw herself eating a morsel of fruit, and instantly choking, then turning black and swelling into a disgusting parody of herself.
“I must stop thinking such things!” she told herself resolutely. “Aillas will help me as soon as he finds that I am lost, and Shimrod as well, and of course my dear Dhrun… . The sooner the better, for this is a dreadful place!”
Spherical trees with foliage of red and blue and blue-black lined the banks. On several occasions Glyneth saw beasts at the river’s edge: a white bull with the head of an insect and spikes along his back; a spindly stilt-man fifteen feet tall with a narrow neck and a sharp face adapted to looking into foliage for nuts and fruit.
Glyneth explored the contents of the wallet. She found a book bound in leather entitled Twitten’s Almanac, evidently newly copied from an older work. She found a small bottle of wine and a little box containing a hunch of bread and a slab of cheese. Those were Visbhume’s rations, and Glyneth surmised that both bottle and case were magically refilled after use. She noticed other articles whose utility was not so clear, including a half-dozen small glass bulbs swarming inside with insects.
Glyneth, in the absence of Visbhume, began to feel less desperate. Sooner or later her friends would find her, and bring her home; of this she felt sure… . Why should Visbhume so insistently inquire upon the circumstances of Dhrun’s birth? He could only be acting in the interests of King Casmir, and hence disclosure of the knowledge most probably would not be to the advantage of Dhrun.
The boat drifted into marshy shallows. Glyneth reached into the water and secured a floating branch, which she used to pole herself to the shore. She climbed the bank and searched upriver, but discovered no sign of Visbhume. She turned to look downriver and discovered a line of stony crags descending from a high ridge, at last to thrust into the water. Glyneth eyed these crags with distrust, speculating that they might be the haunt of ferocious beasts. The boat and the squat person in the wide brown hat, digging in the mud, indicated the existence of a human population-but where? And what sort of human beings?
