Lyonesse II - The Green Pear and Madouc

by Jack Vance

  “Interesting!” said Tamurello. “And how did you come by this information?”

  “I worked with vast toil and cunning. I took Glyneth to the world Tanjecterly, and there I would easily have had the knowledge had not Shimrod sent down a great monster to harass me. But I am nothing if not indomitable; I gained my information, I killed the beast, and I came up from Tanjecterly with my information.”

  “And the Princess Glyneth?”

  “She remains in Tanjecterly, where she cannot tell tales.”

  “A wise precaution there! You are right! Knowledge of this sort is best kept secret, and reserved to the fewest possible number of minds. Indeed, Visbhume, one mind is enough, for knowledge of this sort.”

  Visbhume drew back a step. “Two minds are quite as secure.”

  “I fear not. Visbhume-”

  “Hold!” cried Visbhume. “Have you forgotten my loyalty? My relentless efficiency? My aptitude for performing impossible services?”

  Tamurello considered. “These arguments carry genuine weight! You are both loquacious and cogent, and so you have earned your life. Henceforth, however …” Tamurello made a gesture and uttered a phrase. Visbhume’s garments slumped to the ground. From the dark tumble crawled a black and green snake. It hissed once at Tamurello and darted away into the forest.

  Tamurello stood quiet in the road, listening to the sounds from within the inn: the mutter of voices, the clink of glass and earthenware, Hockshank’s occasional call to his serving boy.

  Tamurello’s thoughts went for a moment to Melancthe. Her flowers, for a fact, were intriguing; he would explore them further in the morning. As for the attractions of Melancthe’s person, his moods were ambiguous and to a certain degree defensive. He had been the lover of her brother; now she showed him a cool half-smiling detachment, in which Tamurello often thought to sense the flavor of contempt.

  Tamurello listened a final moment to the sounds from the inn, glanced toward the forest, where he knew a black and green snake watched him with passionate eyes. Tamurello chuckled for the sheer logic of the situation, then held his arms wide, fluttered his fingers and was wafted high through the moonlight to his floating manse.

  Five minutes later Shimrod appeared in the road. Like Tamurello he paused a moment to listen, then, hearing nothing but sounds from within, he entered the inn.

  II

  SHIMROD WENT TO THE COUNTER, and Hockshank leaned forward to attend his wants. “Again, Sir Shimrod, I am filled to capacity; still I notice that the beautiful Dame Melancthe again visits the fair and already has bought a fine bouquet which is the envy of everyone. Perhaps she might again share her accommodations with a dear and trusted friend.”

  “Or even with a total stranger, should the mood be on her. Well, we shall see. Tonight I came prepared and in fact I have no need for her hospitality. Still, who knows how the evening will go? In the name of gallantry, I will at least pay my respects and possibly take a cup of wine with her.”

  “Have you dined?” asked Hockshank. “Tonight the civet of hare is tasty, and my woodcocks are beyond reproach. Hear how they sizzle on the spit!”

  “You have tempted me,” said Shimrod. “I will test one of the woodcocks, along with half a crusty loaf.”

  Shimrod joined Melancthe at her table. She said: “Only minutes ago Tamurello sat in that very chair and admired these same flowers. Is this the reason for your presence?”

  “The flowers, no. Tamurello, perhaps. Murgen sent me to investigate a tremble of Twitten’s Post.”

  “Twitten’s Post is all the rage,” said Melancthe. “Tamurello came at the same tremble.”

  Shimrod looked around the room. “His guise must be unusual; I see no one here who might be Tamurello, unless it is yonder youth with the copper ringlets and the green jade eardrops.”

  “Tonight Tamurello is an austere grandee, but he is not here. He noticed his crony, Visbhume, and took him outside, and neither has returned.”

  Shimrod strove to keep his voice casual. “How long ago was this?”

  “Minutes only.” Melancthe held up one of her flowers. “Is this not glorious? It quivers with the very essence of its being; it tells a provocation for something I cannot even surmise! See how the colours glow against each other! The odor is intoxicating!”

  “Yes, perhaps so.” Shimrod jumped to his feet. “I will be back in a few moments.”

  Shimrod left the inn and went out into the road. He looked right and left; no one was in sight. He cocked his head to listen, but only sounds from within the inn came to his ear. He walked quietly to Twitten’s Corners; he looked north, east, south and west; the four roads stretched away from the crossing, empty and pale in the moonlight, with trees standing somber to the side.

  Shimrod returned toward the inn. To the side of the road, half in the ditch, he noticed a tumble of clothes. Shimrod approached slowly. He knelt and so discovered a tall gray book with a golden rod engaged in the web.

  Shimrod took the book to the light streaming from the windows of the inn and read the title. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small silver bell, which he tapped with his fingernail.

  A voice spoke. “I am here.”

  “I am standing beside the inn at Twitten’s Corners. Just before I arrived Visbhume came into the inn. If the post trembled, he was the cause. Tamurello met him and took him outside. I fear that Visbhume is gone: either dead or dissipated. He left behind his garments and his ‘Twitten’s Almanac’, which now I hold in my possession.”

  “And Tamurello?”

  Shimrod, raising his eyes, saw Tamurello’s manse silhouetted across the moon. “He has brought a floating castle; I see it now in the sky.”

  “I will come, but early in the morning. Meanwhile, take full precautions! Do nothing at Melancthe’s behest, no matter how innocent! Tamurello’s mood is reckless; he suffered at Khambaste and now he learns that he has gained nothing. He is ready to perform any act, be it desperate or irrevocable, or merely tragic. Be wary.”

  Shimrod returned inside the inn. Melancthe, for whatever reason, had departed.

  Shimrod consumed his supper and for a period sat watching the folk of the forest at their revels. At last he went outside, and going to a nearby clearing put down a miniature cottage much like the one Visbhume had carried in his wallet.

  “House, grow large!” said Shimrod.

  He went to stand on the porch.

  “House, stand tall!”

  The house grew cabriolet legs at the corners, each terminating in claws grasping a ball, so that the house stood at a secure height of sixty feet above the clearing.

  The night passed and dawn came to the Forest of Tantrevalles. As the sun raised above the trees, Shimrod came out on his porch. “Down, house!” called Shimrod, and then: “House, grow small!”

  Tamurello’s manse still floated in the sky. Shimrod went into the inn and made his breakfast.

  Melancthe came quietly into the room, demure as a young shepherdess of Arcady in her knee-length white frock and sandals. She paid Shimrod no heed, and went to sit in an inconspicuous corner, which suited Shimrod very well.

  Melancthe wasted little time at her breakfast. Departing the inn, she went to the meadow where the fair was already in full progress.

  Shimrod followed casually behind her. As she entered the meadow he joined her side. “What do you look for today?”

  “I have a whole bouquet of flowers on order,” Melancthe told him. “These blooms are now my fascination; I dote upon them!”

  Shimrod laughed. “Is it not strange that they work so strong an influence upon you? Do you not fear falling under an enchantment?”

  Melancthe gave him a startled sideglance. “What enchantment could it be, save the force of sheer beauty? They are my dearest loves! Their colours sing to me; their perfumes bring me dreams!”

  “Pleasant dreams, I hope? Some of the odors are remarkably rank.”

  Melancthe showed him one of her rare smiles. “The dreams are
various. Some are most surprising. Some, I suspect, might exceed the limits of your imagination.”

  “No doubt whatever! I am denied such ecstasies by my mean and paltry soul.” Shimrod looked around the meadow. “Where is this merchant of dreams?”

  Melancthe pointed. “Just there! I see Yossip, but where are my lovely flowers? No doubt he has put them aside for me.”

  Melancthe ran to the booth. “Yossip, good morning to you, and where is my bouquet?”

  Yossip shook his head mournfully. “Lady, in this case the truth is more simple, more elemental and more convincing than any lie. I will tell you the full and exact truth. This morning when I went to cut flowers, I came upon a grievous sight! Each plant had fallen and died, as if ravaged by the blight! There are no more plants! There are no more flowers!”

  Melancthe stood rigid. “How is it possible?” she whispered. “Must it always be thus? That when I have found something sweet and dear it is taken from me? Yossip, how can you be so cruel? All night long I have pined for these flowers!”

  Yossip gave a shrug. “Truly, lady, the fault is not mine, and therefore the coins you paid over to me should not be returned.”

  Shimrod said: “Yossip, allow me to cite the first principle of business ethics. If you give nothing of value, then you may not expect payment, regardless of all else. I speak only as a disinterested spectator.”

  Yossip cried out: “I cannot give up so much good gold! My plants have been destroyed; I deserve pity, not new strokes of misfortune! Let the lady select elsewhere from among my treasures! I hold nothing back! Here is an absolute prize: a black pebble dredged from the bottom of the River Styx! And observe this touching scene of a child caressing his mother, done in a mosaic of birds’ eyes in gum. I stock a good selection of amulets all of great power, and this magic bronze comb invigorates the hair, repels infestations and cures scabies. These are all valuable articles!”

  “I want none of them,” said Melancthe crossly. “Still- let me look at that green gem you have on display.”

  Yossip hissed between his teeth, and reluctantly brought down the shallow box in which reposed the green pearl. “I am not so sure that I wish to part with this exquisite object.”

  “Come then! You yourself declared that nothing was held back! These gentlemen will testify to your word!” She indicated Shimrod and two or three others who had paused to watch the altercation.

  “Again, as a disinterested spectator, I must corroborate Melancthe’s statement,” said Shimrod. He spoke in an abstracted voice, in search of a memory which for the moment evaded him. Somewhere he had encountered news of a green pearl, but the context evaded him. The green pearl, so he recalled, had been some sort of evil token.

  “I as well!” declared a florid young peasant with yellow hair caught under the dark green cap of a woodcutter. “I know nothing of the case but I will avouch the hearing of my two good ears.”

  “So then!” said Melancthe in triumph. “Bring the box closer so that I may see the pearl.”

  Yossip angrily brought down the box and held it so that Melancthe was afforded barely a glimpse at the pearl. In a surly voice Yossip told her: “This gem is worth ten times the gold you paid me; I cannot let it go on the cheap!”

  Melancthe leaned and craned her neck that she might see more readily into the box. “It is extraordinary!” she breathed, her flowers now forgotten. She reached to take up the gem, but Yossip jerked back the box.

  “Come now!” demanded Melancthe. “Is this proper conduct for a huckster? To proffer, to allow a glimpse, then to snatch away the merchandise as if the customer were a robber? Where is your master, Zuck? He will not be pleased with such conduct!”

  Yossip winced and grimaced in confusion. “Never mind about Zuck; he has given me full discretion.”

  “Then show me the pearl, or I will call for the steward and these two gentlemen shall be my witnesses!”

  “Bah!” grumbled Yossip. “Such intimidation is only a step removed from robbery itself. Can you blame me for not trusting you with the gem?”

  “Either the gem or my gold coins!”

  “The gem is worth far more! First let us agree to that!”

  “Perhaps a trifle more.”

  Reluctantly Yossip allowed Melancthe the box. She stared down entranced. “The colour envelops me with its fervor! How much more do you ask?”

  Yossip had still not recovered his equanimity. “Truth to tell, I have not yet determined its value. This jewel might readily grace the King of Araby’s crown!”

  Melancthe turned to Shimrod, with arch mischief in her face. “Shimrod, what is your opinion of the jewel?”

  “It is handsome, if somewhat baleful,” said Shimrod. “Somewhere I have heard rumors of a similar jewel, perhaps in a fabulous legend; I cannot remember the occasion. I recall nothing good to be said for the pearl. It was worn by a Bloodthirsty pirate.”

  “Shimrod! Dear cautious, good, mild-mannered Shimrod! Does the legend so perturb you, when you have hardly glanced at the pearl itself?” She extended him the box. “At least give me your estimate of its value.”

  “I am hardly an expert!”

  “In such matters everyone is an expert, since he knows what he would pay for it.”

  “I would give nothing.”

  “For once behave like an ordinary man! Take it up and feel its heft! Study the surface for flaws; gauge the subtlety of its seagreen fire.”

  Shimrod took the box and looked down sidelong. “It shows no obvious flaws. The colour has an envious malignant overtone.”

  Melancthe was still dissatisfied. “Why are you so diffident? Look at it from all sides! I want only your best and truest judgment.”

  Shimrod reluctantly reached to take the pearl, but his elbow was seized by the florid young peasant with yellow hair. “Shimrod, a word with you aside about this pearl.”

  Shimrod placed the box back on the counter; the two went a little apart and the young peasant spoke in an edged voice: “Did I not warn you against Melancthe’s behests? Do not touch the pearl! It is a node of pure depravity, nothing more.”

  “Of course! Now I remember! Tristano told us a tale of such a pearl! But Melancthe can know nothing of this!”

  “Perhaps a voice talks into her inner ear… . Tamurello is coming into the meadow; I do not want to be recognized. Tax him strongly for news of Visbhume! Under no circumstances touch the pearl!” The peasant mingled with the crowd.

  Subdued and crestfallen, Shimrod went back to Melancthe. He muttered into her ear: “The fellow has some knowledge of pearls and tells me that this object is not a true pearl, since true pearls are never green. I now remember the rumor. Do not touch this false pearl as you value your soul; it is worse than worthless; it is a whorl of depravity.”

  Melancthe cried out in a low voice: “I have never been so affected before! It seems to sing to me, in a haunting music!”

  “Still, if you have never believed me before, believe me now! Despite all your treacheries, I would not have you come to harm.”

  From his post behind the booth Yossip stated grandly: “I have calculated the worth of this glorious jewel: one hundred gold crowns exactly!”

  Shimrod spoke harshly: “The Lady Melancthe does not want the thing at any price. Return her coins at once.”

  Melancthe stood limp and silent with mouth drooping; when Yossip, glaring sidelong at Shimrod, paid out the five gold coins, she dropped them into her wallet without giving them a glance.

  Tamurello, in the same guise as of the night before, halted and gave Shimrod a polite salute. “I am surprised to find you so far from Trilda! Have you lost all interest in my affairs?”

  “Other matters occasionally intrude upon my attention,” said Shimrod. “At the moment I want a few words with Visbhume. You saw him last night; where is he now?”

  Tamurello smilingly shook his head. “He went his way, I went mine; I know nothing of his present locality.”

  “Why not alter the habits of a
lifetime and speak with candor?” asked Shimrod. “Truth, after all, need not be only the tactic of last resort.”

  “Ah, Shimrod! I am concerned by your negative opinion! In regard to Visbhume, I have nothing to hide. I spoke to him last night, then we parted company. I can offer no insights as to his plans.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Hm hah! I fear that we verge close upon the question of confidentiality! Still, I will tell what I know. He reported that he had only just arrived from Tanjecterly, which is one of Twitten’s ‘Dekadiade’, as perhaps you know.”

  “Something to this effect has reached me. Did he mention the Princess Glyneth? What were his reports of her?”

  “In this regard he was somewhat evasive, and I infer that she came to an unhappy end. Tanjecterly is a cruel domain.”

  “He was not specific in this regard?”

  “Not altogether. In fact, his intent was to tell me as little as possible.”

  “While in your presence did he discard all his clothing, for reasons totally beyond my conjecture?”

  “What a startling idea!” declared Tamurello, in mild reproach. “The images which you place before my mind’s eye are deplorable!”

  “Most odd! Last night I came upon his garments in a heap at the side of the road.”

  Tamurello gave his head a bland shake, “Often, in cases of this sort, the simple explanation is ignored or overlooked. Perhaps he merely exchanged his soiled and travel-worn garments for others more presentable.”

  “Would he discard his valuable copy of Twitten’s Almanac along with the soiled clothes?”

  Tamurello, caught offguard, arched his sardonic eyebrows high and stroked his neat black beard. “One can only suspect him of absentmindedness, or vagary. But of course I cannot presume knowledge of Visbhume’s quirks. Now, please excuse me.”

  Tamurello turned to Melancthe. “And what have you found of interest?”

  “Here is where I found my flowers, but now the plants are dead, and I will never know their charm again.”