Trullion: Alastor 2262

by Jack Vance

  The ferry moved on into the heart of the fens, along waterways dank with the scent of still water, decaying reed-stalks, and occasionally a hint of a rich fetor, suggesting the presence of merling. Ripil Broad appeared ahead, and a cluster of shacks that was Saurkash, the end of the line for Glinnes; here the ferry veered north for the villages along Great Vole Island. Glinnes unloaded his cases onto the dock, and for a moment stood looking around the village. The most prominent feature was the hussade field and its dilapidated old bleachers, once the home-field of the Saurkash Serpents. Almost adjacent was The Magic Tench, the most pleasant of Saurkash’s three taverns. He walked down the dock to the office where ten years before Milo Harrad had rented boats and operated a water-taxi.

  Harrad was nowhere to be seen. A young man whom Glinnes did not know sat dozing in the shade.

  “Good day, friend,” said Glinnes, and the young man, awaking, turned toward Glinnes a look of mild reproach. “Can you take me out to Rabendary Island?”

  “Whenever you like.” The young man looked Glinnes slowly up and down and lurched to his feet “You’d be Glinnes Hulden, unless I’m mistaken.”

  “Quite right. But I don’t remember you.”

  “You’d have no reason to do so. I’m old Harrad’s nephew from Voulash. They call me Young Harrad, and I expect that’s what I’ll be the rest of my life. I mind when you played for the Serpents.”

  “That’s some time ago. You’ve got an accurate memory.”

  “Not all that good. The Huldens have always been hussade types. Old Harrad talked much of Jut, the best rover Saurkash ever produced, or so said old Milo. Shira was a solid guard, right enough, but slow in the jumps. I doubt I ever saw him make a clean swing.”

  “That’s a fair judgment.” Glinnes looked along the waterway. “I expected him here to meet me, or my brother Glay. Evidently they had better things to do.”

  Young Harrad glanced at him sidewise, then shrugged and brought one of his neat green and white skiffs to the dock. Glinnes loaded his cases aboard and they set off eastward along Mellish Water.

  Young Harrad cleared his throat. “You expected Shira to meet you?”

  “I did indeed.”

  “You didn’t hear about Shira then?”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Glinnes looked around with a slack jaw. “Where?”

  “No one knows. To the merling’s dinner-table, likely enough. That’s where most folk disappear.”

  “Unless they go off to visit friends.”10

  “For two months? Shira was a great horn, so I’ve been told, but two months on cauch would be quite extraordinary.”

  Glinnes gave a despondent grunt and turned away, no longer in the mood for conversation. Jut gone, Shira gone—his homecoming could only be a melancholy occasion. The scenery, ever more familiar, ever more rich with memories, now only served to increase his gloom. Islands he knew well slid by on each side: Jurzy Island, where the Jurzy Lightning-bolts, his first team, had practiced; Calceon Island, where lovely Loel Issam had resisted his most urgent blandishments. Later she became sheirl from the Caspar Triptanes, and finally, after her shaming, had wed Lord Clois from Graven Table, north of the fens… Memories thronged his mind; he wondered why he had ever departed the fens. His ten years in the Whelm already seemed no more than a dream.

  The boat moved out upon Seaward Broad. To the south, at the end of a mile’s perspective, stood Near Island, and beyond, somewhat wider and higher, Middle Island, and yet beyond, still wider, still higher, Far Island: three silhouettes obscured by water-haze in three distinct degrees, Far Island showing only slightly more substance than the sky at the southern horizon.

  The boat slid into narrow Athenry Water, with hushberry trees leaning together to form an arch over the still, dark water. Here the scent of merling was noticeable. Harrad and Glinnes both watched for water swirls. For reasons known best to themselves, merlings gathered in Athenry Water—perhaps for the hushberries, which were poisonous to men, perhaps for the shade, perhaps for the savor of hushberry roots in the water. The surface lay placid and cool; if merlings were nearby, they kept to their burrows. The boat passed out upon Fleharish Broad. On Five Islands, to the south, Thammas Lord Gensifer maintained his ancient manse. Not far away a sailboat rode high across the Broad on hydrofoils; at the tiller sat Lord Gensifer himself: a hearty round-faced man ten years older than Glinnes, burly of shoulder and chest if rather thin in the legs. He tacked smartly and came foaming, up on a reach beside Harrad’s boat, then luffed his sail. The boat dropped from its foils and rode flat in the water. “If I’m not mistaken it’s young Glinnes Hulden, back from starfaring!” Lord Gensifer called out. “Welcome back to the fens!”

  Glinnes and Harrad both rose to their feet and performed the salute due a lord of Gensifer’s quality.

  “Thank you,” said Glinnes. “I’m glad to be back, no doubt about that.”

  “There’s no place like the fens! And what are your plans for the old place?”

  Glinnes was puzzled. “Plans? None in particular… Should I have plans?”

  “I would presume so. After all, you’re now Squire of Rabendary.”

  Glinnes squinted across the water, off toward Rabendary Island. “I suppose I am, for a fact, if Shira is truly dead. I’m older than Glay by an hour.”

  “And a good job too, if you want my opinion… Ha, hmm. You’ll see for yourself, no doubt.” Lord Gensifer drew in the sheet. “What about hussade? Are you for the new club? We’d certainly like a Hulden on the team.”

  “I don’t know anything about it, Lord Gensifer. I’m so bewildered by the turn of affairs I can’t give any sensible answer.”

  “In due course, in due course.” Lord Gensifer sheeted home the sail; the hull, surging forward, rose on its foils and skimmed across Fleharish Broad at great speed.

  “There’s sport for you,” said Young Harrad enviously. “He had that contraption brought out from Illucante by Inter-world. Think of the ozols it cost him!”

  “It looks dangerous,” said Glinnes. “If it goes over, he and the merlings are out there alone.”

  “Lord Gensifer is a daredevil sort of chap, said Harrad. “Still, they say the craft is safe enough. It can’t sink, first of all, even if it did go over. He could always ride the hull until someone picked him up.”

  They continued across Fleharish Broad and out into Ilfish Water, with the Prefecture Free Commons on their left—an island of five hundred acres reserved for the use of casual wanderers, Trevanyi, Wrye, lovers “visiting friends.” The boat entered Ambaal Broad, and there ahead—the dear outline of Rabendary Island: home. Glinnes blinked at the moisture that came to his eyes. A sad homecoming, in truth. Ambal Island looked its loveliest. Looking toward the old manor, Glinnes thought to perceive a wisp of smoke rising from the chimneys. A startling theory came to him, which would account for Lord Gensifer’s sniff. Had Glay taken up residence in the manor? Lord Gensifer would consider such an action ridiculous and discreditable—a vulgarian trying to ape his betters.

  The boat pulled up to Rabendary dock; Glinnes unloaded his luggage, paid off Young Harrad. He stared toward the house. Had it always lurched and sagged? Had the weeds always grown so rank?

  There was a condition of comfortable shabbiness which the Trills considered endearing, but the old house had gone far past this state. As he mounted the steps to the verandah, they groaned and sagged under his weight.

  Flecks of color caught his eye, across the field near Rabendary Forest. Glinnes squinted and focused his gaze. Three tents: red, black, dull orange. Trevanyi tents. Glinnes shook his head in angry disparagement. He had not returned too soon. He called out, “Hallo the house! Who’s here but me?”

  In the doorway appeared the tall figure of his mother. She looked at him incredulously, then ran forward a few steps. “Glinnes! How strange to see you!”

  Glinnes hugged and kissed her, ignoring the overtones
of the remark.

  “Yes I’m back, and it feels strange to me too. Where is Glay?”

  “He’s off with one of his comrades. But how well you look! You’ve grown into a very fine man!”

  “You haven’t changed by so much as a twitch; you’re still my beautiful mother.”

  “Oh, Glinnes, such flattery, I feel old as the hills and I look it too, I’m sure… I suppose you’ve heard the sad news?”

  “About Shira? Yes. It grieves me terribly. Doesn’t anyone know what happened?”

  “Nothing is known,” said Marucha rather primly. “But sit down, Glinnes; take off those fine boots and rest your feet. Would you care for apple wine?”

  “I would indeed, and a bite of whatever is handy. I’m ravenous.”

  Marucha served wine, bread, a cold mince of meat, fruit, and sea-jelly. She sat watching him eat. “It’s so very nice to see you. What are your plans?”

  Glinnes thought her voice almost imperceptibly cool. Still, Marucha had never been demonstrative. He answered, “I don’t have any plans whatever, I’ve only just heard about Shira from Young Harrad. He never took a wife then?”

  Marucha’s mouth pursed into a disapproving line. “He could never quite make up his mind… He had friends here and there, naturally.”

  Again Glinnes sensed unspoken words, knowledge which his mother did not care to communicate. He began to feel a few small inklings of resentment, and carefully put them aside. It would not do to start out his new life on such a footing. Marucha asked in a bright, rather brittle voice, “But where is your uniform? I so wanted to see you as a captain in the Whelm.”

  “I resigned my commission. I decided to come home.”

  “Oh.” Marucha’s voice was flat. “Of course we’re glad to have you home, but are you sure it’s wise giving up your career?”

  “I’ve already given it up.” In spite of his resolve, Glinnes voice had taken on an edge. “I’m needed here more than in the Whelm. The old place is falling apart. Doesn’t Glay do anything whatever?”

  “He’s been most busy with—well, his activities. In his own way, he’s quite an important person now.”

  “That shouldn’t prevent him from fixing the steps. They’re literally rotting away… Or—I saw smoke from Ambal Isle. Is Glay living over there?”

  “No. We’ve sold Ambal Isle, to one of Glay’s friends.”

  Glinnes started, thunderstruck. “You’ve sold Ambal Isle? What possible reason…” He gathered his thoughts. “Shira sold Ambal Isle?”

  “No,” said Marucha to a cool voice. “Glay and I decided to let it go.”

  “But…” Glinnes halted and chose his words deliberately. “I certainly don’t want to part with Ambal Isle, nor any other part of our land.”

  “I’m afraid that the sale has been effected. We assumed that you were making a career in the Whelm and wouldn’t be home. Naturally we would have considered your feelings had we known.”

  Glinnes spoke politely. “I most definitely feel that we should void the contract.11 We certainly don’t want to give up Ambal.”

  “But my dear Glinnes, it’s already given up.”

  “Not after we return the money. Where is it?”

  “You’ll have to ask Glay.”

  Glinnes reflected upon the sardonic Glay of ten years before, who always had stayed aloof from the affairs of Rabendary. That Glay should make large decisions seemed altogether inappropriate and more, insulting to the memory of his father Jut, who loved each square inch of his land.

  Glinnes asked, “How much did you take for Ambal?”

  “Twelve thousand ozols.”

  Glinnes’ voice cracked with angry astonishment. “That’s giving it away! For a beauty spot like Ambal Isle, with a manor house in good condition? Someone’s insane!”

  Marucha’s black eyes sparkled. “Surely it’s not your place to protest. You weren’t there when we needed you, and it isn’t proper for you to cavil now.”

  “I’m doing more than cavil; I’m going to void the contract. If Shira is dead, I’m Squire of Rabendary, and no one else has authority to sell.”

  “But we don’t know that Shira is dead,” Marucha pointed out, sweetly reasonable. “He may only have gone off to visit friends.”

  Glinnes asked politely, “Do you know of any such ‘friends’?”

  Marucha gave her shoulder a disdainful jerk. “Not really. But you remember Shira. He has never changed.”

  “After two months he’d surely be home from his visit.”

  “Naturally we hope that he is alive. In fact we can’t presume him dead for four years, which is the law.”

  “But by then the contract will be firm! Why should we part with any of our wonderful land?”

  “We needed the money. Isn’t that reason enough?”

  “You needed money for what?”

  “You’ll have to ask that question of Glay.”

  “I’ll do so. Where is he?”

  “I really don’t know. He’ll probably be home before too long.”

  “Another matter: are those Trevanyi tents down by the forest?”

  Marucha nodded. By now, neither was making any pretense of amiability. “Please don’t criticize either me or Glay. Shira allowed them upon the property, and they have done no harm.”

  “Possibly not, but the year is young. You know our last experience with Trevanyi. They stole the kitchen cutlery.”

  “The Drossets are not that sort,” said Marucha. “For Trevanyi, they seem quite responsible. No doubt they’re as honest as they find necessary.”

  Glinnes threw up his hands. “It’s pointless to wrangle. But one last word about Ambal. Certainly Shira would never have wanted the Isle sold. If he’s alive, you acted without his authorization. If he’s dead, you acted without mine, and I insist that the contract be voided.”

  Marucha gave a cold shrug of her slender white shoulders. “This is a matter you must take up with Glay. I am really quite bored with the subject.”

  “Who bought Ambal Isle?”

  “A person named Lute Casagave, very quiet and distinguished. I believe that he’s an off-worlder; he’s much too genteel to be a Trill.”

  Glinnes finished his meal, then went to his baggage. “I’ve brought a few oddments back with me.” He gave his mother a parcel, which she took without comment. “Open it,” said Glinnes. “It’s for you.”

  She pulled the tab and drew forth a length of purple fabric embroidered with fantastic birds in thread of green, silver and gold. “How utterly wonderful!” She gasped. “Why, Glinnes—what a delightful gift!”

  “That’s not all,” said Glinnes. He brought forth other parcels, which Marucha opened in a rapture. Unlike the ordinary Trill, she delighted in precious possessions.

  “These are star-crystals,” said Glinnes. “They haven’t any other name, but they’re found just like this, facets and all, in the dust of dead stars. Nothing can scratch them, not even diamond, and they have very peculiar optical properties.”

  “My, how heavy they are!”

  “This is an antique vase, no one knows how old. The writing on the bottom is said to be Erdish.”

  “It’s charming!”

  “Now this isn’t very distinguished, just something that caught my fancy—a nut-cracker in the shape of an Urtland crotchet. I picked it up in a junkshop, if the truth be known.”

  “But how cunning. It’s for cracking nuts, you say?”

  “Yes. You put the nuts between these mandibles and press down the tail… These were for Glay and Shira—knives forged from proteum. The cutting edges are single chains of interlocked molecules—absolutely indestructible. You can strike them into steel and they never dull.”

  “Glay will be delighted,” said Marucha in a voice somewhat stiffer than before. “And Shira will also be pleased.”

  Glinnes gave a skeptical snort, which Marucha took pains to ignore. “Thank you very much for the gifts. I think they’re all wonderful.” She looked out the do
or down across the verandah to the dock. “Here is Glay now.”

  Glinnes went out to stand on the verandah. Glay, coming up the path from the dock, halted, though he showed no surprise. Then he came forward slowly. Glinnes descended the steps and the brothers clapped each other’s shoulders.

  Glay was wearing, Glinnes noted, not the usual Trill paray, but gray trousers and dark jacket.

  “Welcome home,” said Glay. “I met Young Harrad; he told me you were here.”

  “I’m glad to be home,” said Glinnes. “With just you and Marucha, it must have been gloomy. But now that I’m here I hope we can make the house the place it used to be.”

  Glay gave a noncommittal nod. “Yes. Life has been somewhat quiet And things change, certainly, I hope for the better.”

  Glinnes was not sure he knew what Glay was talking about. “There’s a great deal to discuss. But first, I’m glad to see you. You’re looking remarkably wise and mature, and—what would be the word?—self-possessed.”

  Glay laughed. “When I look back, I see that I always pondered too much and tried to resolve too many paradoxes. I’ve given all that up. I’ve cut the Gordian knot, so to speak.”

  “How so?”

  Glay made a deprecatory gesture. “It’s too complicated to go into right now… You look well too. The Whelm has been good for you. When must you go back?”

  “Into the Whelm? Never. I’m through, since I now seem to be Squire of Rabendary.”