by Jack Vance
Shimrod decided that, as usual, the simplest of available options was the best: he would wait and watch and discover what eventuated.
Fonsel the serving boy, passing close to Zagzig with a tray, by chance jostled Zagzig's tall-crowned black hat, knocking it to the table, to reveal not only Zagzig's mat of brown hair but also a pair of feathery antennae which Zagzig had forgotten to remove. Fonsel stared with mouth agape, while Zagzig angrily clapped the hat back upon his head. He uttered a terse command; Fonsel grimaced, bobbed his head and hurried away with only a confused glance back over his shoulder. Zagzig darted glances this way and that to see who might have noticed the incident. Shimrod quickly averted his eyes and pretended an interest in a rack of old blue plates hanging on the wall. Zagzig relaxed, and sat as before.
Ten minutes passed. The door was pushed ajar; in the door way stood a tall man in black garments. He was spare, broad-shouldered, taut and precise of movement, with a pallid complexion and black hair cut square across his forehead and tied in a rope at the back of his head. Shimrod studied the newcomer with interest; here, he thought, was a man of quick and ruthless intelligence. A scar across the gaunt cheek accentuated the menace of his already grim visage. From the evidence of his hair, his pallor and his manner of contemptuous self sufficiency, Shimrod assumed the newcomer to be a Ska9, from Skaghane, or the Ska foreshore.
The Ska looked around the room. He glanced first at Shimrod, then at Zagzig, then once again around the room, after which he chose a table and seated himself. Fonsel came at a run to inquire his needs, and brought him ale, sardines and bread, almost before the order had been placed.
The Ska ate and drank without haste; when he had finished, he sat back in his chair and once again appraised first Shimrod, then Zagzig. Now he placed on the table a ball of dark green serpentine, an inch in diameter, attached to a chain of fine iron links. Shimrod had seen such baubles before; they were caste-markers worn by Ska patricians.
At the sight of the talisman, Zagzig rose to his feet and crossed to the Ska's table.
Shimrod signalled Fonsel to his own table. Shimrod asked quietly: "Do not turn your head to look, but tell me the name of that tall Ska sitting yonder."
"I can make no sure assertion," said Fonsel. "I have never seen him before. However, across the room, I heard someone, in very confidential tones, use the name 'Torqual'. If this is the Torqual of evil reputation, he is bold indeed to show his face here where King Aillas would be grateful to find him and stretch his neck."
Shimrod gave the boy a copper penny. "Your remarks are interesting. Bring me now a goblet of good tawny wine."
By a sleight of magic Shimrod augmented the acuity of his hearing so that the whispers of two young lovers in a far corner were now clearly audible, as were the innkeeper's instructions to Fonsel in regard to the watering of Shimrod’s wine. However, the conversation between Zagzig and Torqual had been muted by a magic as sharp as his own, and he could hear nothing of its content.
Fonsel served him a goblet of wine with a fine flourish. "Here you are, sir! Our noblest vintage!"
"That is good to hear," said Shimrod. "I am the official inspector of hostelries, by the authority of King Aillas. Still-would you believe it? I am often served poor stuff! Three days ago in Mynault, an innkeeper and his pot-boy conspired to water my wine, which act King Aillas has declared an offense against humanity."
"Truly, sir?" quavered Fonsel. "What then?"
"The constables took both innkeeper and the pot-boy to the public square and tied them to a post, where they were roundly flogged. They will not soon repeat their offense."
Fonsel snatched up the goblet. "Suddenly I see that, by mistake, I have poured from the wrong flask! One moment, sir, while I put matters right."
Fonsel, in haste, served a fresh goblet of wine, and a moment later the innkeeper himself came to the table, wiping his hands anxiously on his apron. "I trust that all is in order, sir?"
"At the moment, yes."
"Good! Fonsel is sometimes a bit careless, and brings our good name into disrepute. Tonight I will beat him for his mistake."
Shimrod uttered a grim laugh. "Sir, leave poor Fonsel be. He thought better of his mischief, and deserves a chance at redemption."
The innkeeper bowed. "Sir, I will ponder your advice with care." He hurried back to the counter, and Shimrod resumed his observation of Zagzig the shybalt and Torqual the Ska.
The conversation came to an end. Zagzig tossed a purse upon the table. Torqual loosened the drawstring and peered at the contents. He raised his eyes and treated Zagzig to a stony stare of displeasure. Zagzig returned an indifferent glance, then rose to his feet and prepared to depart the inn.
Shimrod, anticipating Zagzig's move, had preceded him, and waited in the front yard. The full moon had risen to illuminate the square; the granite flags showed almost as white as bone. Shimrod sidled into the deep shade of the hemlock which grew beside the inn.
Zagzig's silhouette appeared in the doorway; Shimrod readied the loop of suheil wire which he had received from Murgen.
Zagzig moved past; Shimrod stepped from the shade and attempted to drop the loop over Zagzig 's head. The tall black hat interfered. Zagzig jerked aside; the suheil wire scraped his face and caused him to whine in shock. He spun around to face Shimrod. "Villain!" hissed Zagzig. "Do you think so to halter me? Your time has come." He opened wide his mouth, in order to expel a gust of poison. Shimrod thrust the sword Tace into the aperture; Zagzig uttered a groan and collapsed upon the moonlit pavement, to become a pile of green sparks and flashes, which Shimrod fastidiously avoided. Presently nothing remained but a gray fluff so light that it drifted away on a cool air from the sea.
Shimrod returned into the common room. A young man dressed in the mode currently popular in Aquitaine had perched himself on a high stool with his lute. Striking chords and melodic passages, he sang ballads celebrating the deeds of lovelorn knights and yearning maidens, all in the mournful cadences imposed upon him by the tuning of his lute. Of Torqual there was no sign; he had departed the common room.
Shimrod summoned Fonsel, who sprang to his service on the instant. "Your wishes, sir?"
"The person named Torqual: is he lodged here at the Sunset Inn?"
"No, Your Honour! He left only a moment ago by the side door. May I bring your lordship more wine?"
Shimrod made a stately affirmative sign. "Needless to say, I thirst for no water."
"That, sir, goes without saying!"
Shimrod sat for an hour drinking wine and listening to the sad ballads of Aquitaine. At last he became restless and went out into the night, where the moon now floated halfway up the sky. The square was empty; the stone flags glimmered white as before. Shimrod strolled to the harbour and along the esplanade to where it joined the shore road. Here he halted and looked up the beach. After a few minutes he turned away. At this time of night Melancthe would not be likely to receive him graciously.
Shimrod returned to the inn. The Aquitanian jongleur had departed, along with most of the patrons. Torqual was nowhere to be seen. Shimrod went up to his chamber, and composed himself to rest.
IV
In the morning Shimrod took his breakfast at the front of the inn, where he could look out across the square. He consumed a pear, a bowl of porridge with cream, several rashers of fried bacon, a slice of dark bread with cheese and pickled plums. The warmth of the sunlight was pleasantly in contrast to cool airs from the sea; Shimrod breakfasted without haste, watchful yet relaxed. Today was marketday; a confusion of movement, sound and color enlivened the square. Everywhere merchants had set up tables and booths, from which they cried out the quality of their wares. Fishmongers held aloft their best fish and beat on iron triangles so that all might turn to look. Among the booths swirled the customers, for the most part housewives and servant girls, chaffering, haggling, weighing, judging, criticizing, occasionally clinking down their coins.
Other folk, as well, moved across the square: a quarte
t of melancholy priests from the Temple of Atlante; mariners and traders from far lands; an occasional Yssei factor on his way to inspect a cargo; a baron and his lady down from their dour mountain keep; herdsmen and crofters from the moors and glens of the Teach tac Teach.
Shimrod finished his breakfast but remained at the table eating grapes, wondering how best to proceed with his investigation. Even as Shimrod pondered, he noticed a dark-haired young woman marching across the square, her orange-brown skirt and a rose-pink blouse glowing in the sunlight. Shimrod recognized her for Melancthe's housemaid. She carried a pair of empty baskets and was evidently on her way to market.
Shimrod jumped to his feet and followed the young woman across the square. At a fruit-vendor's booth she began to select
oranges from the display. Shimrod watched a moment, then approached and touched her elbow. She looked around with a blank expression, failing to recognize Shimrod in his present guise.
"Come aside with me a moment," said Shimrod. "I want a few words with you."
The maid hesitated and drew away. Shimrod said: "My business is in connection with your mistress. No harm will come to you."
Puzzled and reluctant, the maid followed Shimrod a few steps out into the square. "What do you want of me?"
Shimrod spoke in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. "I do not remember your name-if, indeed, I ever knew it."
"I am Lillas. Why should you know me? I have no recollection of you."
"Some time ago I called upon your mistress. You opened the door for me. Surely you remember?"
Lillas searched Shimrod's face. "You seem somehow familiar, though, in truth, I cannot place you exactly. The occasion must have been long ago."
"So it was, but you are still in the service of Melancthe?"
"Yes. I have no fault to find with her-at least none that would prompt me to leave her."
"She is an easy mistress?"
Lillas smiled sadly. "She hardly notices whether I am here or there, whether I am in the house or gone. Still, she would not want me to stand here gossiping about her affairs."
Shimrod produced a silver form. "What you tell me will travel no farther, and cannot be considered gossip."
Lillas dubiously took the coin. "For a fact, I am concerned for the lady. I understand no single phase of her conduct. Often she sits for hours looking out to sea. I go about my work and she pays me no heed, as if I were invisible."
"Does she often receive visitors?"
"Seldom. Still, just this morning-" Lillas hesitated, and looked over her shoulder.
Shimrod prompted her. "Who was her visitor this morning?"
"He came early-a tall pale man with a scar on his face; I think he would be a Ska. He knocked at the door; I opened to him. He said: 'Tell your mistress that Torqual is here.'"
"I drew back and he came into the hall. I went to Lady Me lancthe and gave her the message."
"Was she surprised?"
"I think she was perplexed and not well-pleased, but perhaps not altogether astonished. She hesitated only a moment, then went out into the hall. I followed, but remained behind the curtain, where I could watch through the crack. The two stood looking at each other a moment, then Torqual said: 'I am told that I must obey your commands. What do you know of this arrangement?'"
"The Lady Melancthe said: 'I am not sure of anything.'"
"Torqual asked: 'Did you not expect me?'"
'An intimation came-but nothing is clear and I must ponder,' said my lady. 'Go now! If I find commands for you, I will let you know.'
"At this Torqual seemed amused. 'And how will you do this?'"
"By means of a signal. If I am prompted in this direction, a black urn will appear on the wall by the gate. Should you see the black urn, then you may come again."
"At this, the man Torqual smiled, and bowed, so that he seemed almost princely. Without another word he turned and left the villa. That is what happened this morning. I am happy to tell you, since Torqual frightens me. Clearly he can bring the
Lady Melancthe only distress."
"Your fears are well-founded," said Shimrod. "Still, she may choose not to deal with Torqual."
"So it may be."
"She is now at home?"
"Yes; as usual she sits looking out to sea."
"I will call on her. Perhaps I can set matters straight." Lillas spoke anxiously: "You will not reveal that we have discussed her affairs?"
"Certainly not."
Lillas went back to the fruit-seller's booth; Shimrod crossed the square to the harbour road. His suspicions had been validated Melancthe’s involvement in the affair might so far only be passive and might remain so, still Melancthe’s only sure trait was her unpredictability.
Shimrod looked to the north, toward the white villa. He could find no reason for delay, save his own reluctance to confront Melancthe. He set off to the north along the beach road, walking with long deliberate strides, and soon arrived at the white stone wall. No black urn, so he noted, was visible.
Shimrod crossed the garden, went to the door He raised the knocker and let it fall.
There was no response.
Shimrod knocked a second time, with the same result as before.
The villa, so it seemed, was empty of its occupants. Shimrod turned slowly away from the door, then went to stand by the side of the gate. He looked up the road to the north. In the near distance he discovered Melancthe, approaching without haste. He felt no surprise; so it had been in his dreams.
Shimrod waited, with the sunlight glaring down upon the sand of the road. Melancthe drew near: a slender dark-haired maiden wearing a white knee-length frock and sandals. With only a brief impassive stare for Shimrod, she turned through the gate; as she passed, Shimrod sensed the faint odor of violets which always accompanied her.
Melancthe went to the door. Shimrod followed soberly and entered the villa behind her. She went along the hall and into a long room with a wide arched window overlooking the sea. Moving to the window, Melancthe stood gazing pensively toward the horizon. Shimrod stood in the doorway, looking here and there, appraising the room. Little had changed since his last visit. The walls were washed white; on the tiled floor three rugs showed bold patterns of orange, red, black, white and green. A table, a few heavy chairs, a divan and a sideboard were the only furnishings. The walls were innocent of decoration; nowhere in the room were objects to indicate Melancthe's point of view or to suggest the bent of her personality. The rugs were vivid and vital, and would seem to be imports from the Atlas Mountains; almost certainly, so Shimrod surmised, they had been purchased and laid down by Lillas the maid, with Melancthe taking no particular notice.
Melancthe at last turned to Shimrod, and showed him a curious twisted smile. "Speak, Shimrod! Why are you here?"
"You recognize me, despite my disguise?"
Melancthe seemed taken aback. " 'Disguise'? I notice no disguise. You are Shimrod, as meek, quixotic and indecisive as ever."
"No doubt," said Shimrod. "So much for my disguise; I cannot conceal my identity. Have you decided upon an identity for Melancthe?"
Melancthe made an airy gesture. "Such talk is beside the mark. What is your business with me? I doubt that you have come to analyze my character."
Shimrod pointed to the divan. "Let us sit; it is dreary work talking on both feet."
Melancthe gave an indifferent shrug and dropped down upon the divan; Shimrod seated himself beside her. "You are as beautiful as ever."
"So I am told."
"At our last meeting you had developed a taste for poisonous blossoms. Is this inclination still with you?"
Melancthe shook her head. "There are no more such blossoms to be found. I think of them often; they were wonderfully appealing; do you not agree?"
"They were fascinating, if vile," said Shimrod.
"I did not find them so. The colors were of great variety, and the scents were unusual."
"Still-you must believe me!-they represented the aspects of evil
: the many flavors of purulence, so to speak."
Melancthe smiled and shook her head. "I cannot understand these tedious abstractions, and I doubt if the effort would yield any amusement, since I am easily bored."
"As a matter of interest, do you know the meaning of the word 'evil'?'"
"It seems to mean what you intend it to mean."
"The word is general. Do you know the difference between, let us say, kindness and cruelty?"
"I have never thought to notice. Why do you ask?"
"Because, for a fact, I have come to study your character."
"Again? For what reason?"
"I am curious to discover whether you are 'good' or 'bad'." Melancthe shrugged. "That is as if I were to ask whether you were a bird or a fish-and then expect an earnest answer."
Shimrod sighed. "Just so. How goes your life?"
"I prefer it to oblivion."
"How do you occupy yourself each day?"
"I watch the sea and the sky; sometimes I wade in the surf and build roads in the sand. At night I study the stars."
"You have no friends?"
"No."
"And what of the future?"
"The future stops at Now."
"As to that, I am not so sure," said Shimrod. "It is at best a half-truth."
"What of that? Half a truth is better than none: do you not agree?"
"Not altogether," said Shimrod. "I am a practical man, I try to control the shape of the 'nows' which lie in the offing, instead of submitting to them as they occur."
Melancthe gave an uninterested shrug. "You are free to do as you like." Leaning back into the cushions, she looked out across the sea.
Shimrod finally spoke. "Well then: are you 'good' or 'bad'?"
"I don't know."
Shimrod became vexed. "Talking with you is like visiting an empty house."
Melancthe considered a moment before responding. "Perhaps," she said, "you are visiting the wrong house. Or perhaps you are the wrong visitor."
"Ha hah!" said Shimrod. "You seem to be telling me that indeed, you are capable of thought."
