by Jack Vance
Lord Faide pulled at his chin. “And the jinxmen are helpless?”
“You saw for yourself. Isak Comandore intruded enough into their consciousness to anger them, no more.”
“So then—what must we do?”
Hein Huss held out his hands. “I do not know. I am Hein Huss, jinxman. I watch Sam Salazar with fascination. He learns nothing, but he is either too stupid or too intelligent to be discouraged. If this is the way to work miracles, he will work them.”
Lord Faide rose to his feet. “I am deathly tired. I cannot think, I must sleep. Tomorrow we will know more.”
Hein Huss left the trophy room, returned to the parapet. The ring of First Folk seemed closer to the walls, almost within dart-range. Behind them and across the moors stretched a long pale column of marching First Folk. A little back from the keep a pile of white material began to grow, larger and larger as the night proceeded.
Hours passed, the sky lightened; the sun rose in the east. The First Folk tramped the downs like ants, bringing long bars of hardened foam down from the north, dropping them into piles around the keep, returning into the north once more.
Lord Faide came up on the parapet, haggard and unshaven. “What is this? What do they do?”
Bernard the sergeant responded. “They puzzle us all, my lord.”
“Hein Huss! What of the other keeps?”
“They have armed and mounted; they approach cautiously.”
“Can you communicate our urgency?”
“I can, and I have done so. I have only accentuated their caution.”
“Bah!” cried Lord Faide in disgust. “Warriors they call themselves! Loyal and faithful allies!”
“They know of your bitter experience,” said Hein Huss. “They ask themselves, reasonably enough, what they can accomplish which you who are already here cannot do first.”
Lord Faide laughed sourly. “I have no answer for them. In the meantime we must protect ourselves against the wasps. Armor is useless; they drive us mad with mites…Bernard!”
“Yes, Lord Faide.”
“Have each of your men construct a frame two-feet square, fixed with a short handle. To these frames should be sewed a net of heavy mesh. When these frames are built we will sally forth, two soldiers to guard one half-armored knight on foot.”
“In the meantime,” said Hein Huss, “the First Folk proceed with their plans.”
Lord Faide turned to watch. The First Folk came close up under the walls carrying rods of hardened foam. “Bernard! Put your archers to work! Aim for the heads!”
Along the walls bowmen cocked their weapons. Darts spun down into the First Folk. A few were affected, turned and staggered away; others plucked away the bolts without concern. Another flight of bolts, a few more First Folk were disabled. The others planted the rods in the moss, exuded foam in great gushes, their back-flaps vigorously pumping air. Other First Folk brought more rods, pushed them into the foam. Entirely around the keep, close under the walls, extended the mound of foam. The ring of First Folk now came close and all gushed foam; it bulked up swiftly. More rods were brought, thrust into the foam, reinforcing and stiffening the mass.
“More darts!” barked Lord Faide. “Aim for the heads! Bernard—your men, have they prepared the wasp-nets?”
“Not yet, Lord Faide. The project requires some little time.”
Lord Faide became silent. The foam, now ten feet high, rapidly piled higher. Lord Faide turned to Hein Huss. “What do they hope to achieve?”
Hein Huss shook his head. “For the moment I am uncertain.”
The first layer of foam had hardened; on top of this the First Folk spewed another layer, reinforcing again with the rods, crisscrossing, horizontal and vertical. Fifteen minutes later, when the second layer was hard the First Folk emplaced and mounted rude ladders to raise a third layer. Surrounding the keep now was a ring of foam thirty feet high and forty feet thick at the base.
“Look,” said Hein Huss. He pointed up. The parasol roof overhanging the walls ended only thirty feet above the foam. “A few more layers and they will reach the roof.”
“So then?” asked Lord Faide. “The roof is as strong as the walls.”
“And we will be sealed within.”
Lord Faide studied the foam in the light of this new thought. Already the First Folk, climbing laboriously up ladders along the outside face of their wall of foam, were preparing to lay on a fourth layer. First—rods, stiff and dry, then great gushes of white. Only twenty feet remained between roof and foam.
Lord Faide turned to the sergeant. “Prepare the men to sally forth.”
“What of the wasp-nets, sir?”
“Are they almost finished?”
“Another ten minutes, sir.”
“Another ten minutes will see us smothering. We must force a passage through the foam.”
Ten minutes passed, and fifteen. The First Folk created ramps behind their wall: first, dozens of the rods, then foam, and on top, to distribute the weight, reed mats.
Bernard the sergeant reported to Lord Faide. “We are ready.”
“Good.” Lord Faide descended into the courtyard. He faced the men, gave them their orders. “Move quickly, but stay together; we must not lose ourselves in the foam. As we proceed, slash ahead and to the sides. The First Folk see through the foam; they have the advantage of us. When we break through, we use the wasp-nets. Two foot soldiers must guard each knight. Remember, quickly through the foam, that we do not smother. Open the gates.”
The gates slid back, the troops marched forth. They faced an unbroken blank wall of foam. No enemy could be seen.
Lord Faide waved his sword. “Into the foam.” He strode forward, pushed into the white mass, now crisp and brittle and harder than he had bargained for. It resisted him; he cut and hacked. His troops joined him, carving a way into the foam. First Folk appeared above them, crawling carefully on the mats. Their back flaps puffed, pumped; foam issued from their vents, falling in a cascade over the troops.
Hein Huss sighed. He spoke to Apprentice Sam Salazar. “Now they must retreat, otherwise they smother. If they fail to win through, we all smother.”
Even as he spoke the foam, piling up swiftly, in places reached the roof. Below, bellowing and cursing, Lord Faide backed out from under, wiped his face clear. Once again, in desperation, he charged forward, trying at a new spot.
The foam was friable and cut easily, but the chunks detached still blocked the opening. And again down tumbled a cascade of foam, covering the soldiers.
Lord Faide retreated, waved his men back into the keep. At the same moment First Folk crawling on mats on the same level as the parapet over the gate laid rods up from the foam to rest against the projecting edge of the roof. They gushed foam; the view of the sky was slowly blocked from the view of Hein Huss and Sam Salazar.
“In an hour, perhaps two, we will die,” said Hein Huss. “They have now sealed us in. There are many men here in the keep, and all will now breathe deeply.”
Sam Salazar said nervously, “There is a possibility we might be able to survive—or at least not smother.”
“Ah?” inquired Hein Huss with heavy sarcasm. “You plan to work a miracle?”
“If a miracle, the most trivial sort. I observed that water has no effect on the foam, nor a number of other liquids: milk, spirits, wine, or caustic. Vinegar, however, instantly dissolves the foam.”
“Aha,” said Hein Huss. “We must inform Lord Faide.”
“Better that you do so,” said Sam Salazar. “He will pay me no heed.”
Chapter XIII
Half an hour passed. Light filtered into Faide Keep only as a dim gray gloom. Air tasted flat, damp and heavy. Out from the gates sallied the troops. Each carried a crock, a jug, a skin, or a pan containing strong vinegar.
“Quickly now,” called Lord Faide, “but careful! Spare the vinegar, don’t throw it wildly. In close formation now—forward.”
The soldiers approached the wall, threw ladl
es of vinegar ahead. The foam crackled, melted.
“Waste no vinegar,” shouted Lord Faide. “Forward, quickly now; bring forward the vinegar!”
Minutes later they burst out upon the downs. The First Folk stared at them, blinking.
“Charge,” croaked Lord Faide, his throat thick with fumes. “Mind now, wasp-nets! Two soldiers to each knight! Charge, double-quick. Kill the white beasts.”
The men dashed ahead. Wasp-tubes were leveled. “Halt!” yelled Lord Faide. “Wasps!”
The wasps came, wings rasping. Nets rose up; wasps struck with a thud. Down went the nets; hard feet crushed the insects. The beetles and the lizard-centipedes appeared, not so many as of the last evening, for a great number had been killed. They darted forward, and a score of men died, but the insects were soon hacked into chunks of reeking brown flesh. Wasps flew, and some struck home; the agonies of the dying men were unnerving. Presently the wasps likewise decreased in number, and soon there were no more.
The men faced the First Folk, armed only with thorn-swords and their foam, which now came purple with rage.
Lord Faide waved his sword; the men advanced and began to kill the First Folk, by dozens, by hundreds.
Hein Huss came forth and approached Lord Faide. “Call a halt.”
“A halt? Why? Now we kill these bestial things.”
“Far better not. Neither need kill the other. Now is the time to show great wisdom.”
“They have besieged us, caught us in their traps, stung us with their wasps! And you say halt?”
“They nourish a grudge sixteen hundred years old. Best not to add another one.”
Lord Faide stared at Hein Huss. “What do you propose?”
“Peace between the two races, peace and cooperation.”
“Very well. No more traps, no more plantings, no more breeding of deadly insects.”
“Call back your men. I will try.”
Lord Faide cried out, “Men, fall back. Disengage.”
Reluctantly the troops drew back. Hein Huss approached the huddled mass of purple-foaming First Folk. He waited a moment. They watched him intently. He spoke in their language.
“You have attacked Faide Keep; you have been defeated. You planned well, but we have proved stronger. At this moment we can kill you. Then we can go on to fire the forest, starting a hundred blazes. Some of the fires you can control. Others not. We can destroy Wildwood. Some First Folk may survive, to hide in the thickets and breed new plans to kill men. This we do not want. Lord Faide has agreed to peace, if you likewise agree. This means no more death-traps. Men will freely approach and pass through the forests. In your turn you may freely come out on the moss. Neither race shall molest the other. Which do you choose? Extinction—or peace?”
The purple foam no longer dribbled from the vents of the First Folk. “We choose peace.”
“There must be no more wasps, beetles. The death-traps must be disarmed and never replaced.”
“We agree. In our turn we must be allowed freedom of the moss.”
“Agreed. Remove your dead and wounded, haul away the foam rods.”
Hein Huss returned to Lord Faide. “They have chosen peace.”
Lord Faide nodded. “Very well. It is for the best.” He called to his men. “Sheathe your weapons. We have won a great victory.” He ruefully surveyed Faide Keep, swathed in foam and invisible except for the parasol roof. “A hundred barrels of vinegar will not be enough.”
Hein Huss looked off into the sky. “Your allies approach quickly. Their jinxmen have told them of your victory.”
Lord Faide laughed his sour laugh. “To my allies will fall the task of removing the foam from Faide Keep.”
Chapter XIV
In the hall of Faide Keep, during the victory banquet, Lord Faide called jovially across to Hein Huss. “Now, Head Jinxman, we must deal with your apprentice, the idler and the waster Sam Salazar.”
“He is here, Lord Faide. Rise, Sam Salazar, take cognizance of the honor being done you.”
Sam Salazar rose to his feet, bowed.
Lord Faide proffered him a cup. “Drink, Sam Salazar, enjoy yourself. I freely admit that your idiotic tinkerings saved the lives of us all. Sam Salazar, we salute you, and thank you. Now, I trust that you will put frivolity aside, apply yourself to your work, and learn honest jinxmanship. When the time comes, I promise that you shall find a lifetime of employment at Faide Keep.”
“Thank you,” said Sam Salazar modestly. “However, I doubt if I will become a jinxman.”
“No? You have other plans?”
Sam Salazar stuttered, grew faintly pink in the face, then straightened himself, spoke as clearly and distinctly as he could. “I prefer to continue what you call my frivolity. I hope I can persuade others to join me.”
“Frivolity is always attractive,” said Lord Faide. “No doubt you can find other idlers and wasters, runaway farm boys, and the like.”
Sam Salazar said staunchly, “This frivolity might become serious. Undoubtedly the ancients were barbarians. They used symbols to control entities they were unable to understand. We are methodical and rational; why can’t we systematize and comprehend the ancient miracles?”
“Well, why can’t we?” asked Lord Faide. “Does anyone have an answer?”
No one responded, although Isak Comandore hissed between his teeth and shook his head.
“I personally may never be able to work miracles; I suspect it is more complicated than it seems,” said Sam Salazar. “However, I hope that you will arrange for a workshop where I and others who might share my views can make a beginning. In this matter I have the encouragement and the support of Head Jinxman Hein Huss.”
Lord Faide lifted his goblet. “Very well, Apprentice Sam Salazar. Tonight I can refuse you nothing. You shall have exactly what you wish, and good luck to you. Perhaps you will produce a miracle during my lifetime.”
Isak Comandore said huskily to Hein Huss, “This is a sad event! It signalizes intellectual anarchy, the degradation of jinxmanship, the prostitution of logic. Novelty has a way of attracting youth; already I see apprentices and spellbinders whispering in excitement. The jinxmen of the future will be sorry affairs. How will they go about demon-possession? With a cog, a gear and a push-button. How will they cast a hoodoo? They will find it easier to strike their victim with an axe.”
“Times change,” said Hein Huss. “There is now the one rule of Faide on Pangborn, and the keeps no longer need to employ us. Perhaps I will join Sam Salazar in his workshop.”
“You depict a depressing future,” said Isak Comandore with a sniff of disgust.
“There are many futures, some of which are undoubtedly depressing.”
Lord Faide raised his glass. “To the best of your many futures, Hein Huss. Who knows? Sam Salazar may conjure a spaceship to lead us back to home-planet.”
“Who knows?” said Hein Huss. He raised his goblet. “To the best of the futures!”
Afterword to “The Miracle Workers”
Strange things happen. Almost everyone has had some sort of brush with the paranormal, even the most resistant and skeptical of persons. The range of events is wide and only roughly amenable to classification. In olden times angels and demons were held responsible; to date no one has produced a more reasonable explanation. Phenomena such as telepathy and poltergeists may well be manifestations of different and distinct principles; there may be two, three, four, or more such realms of knowledge, each at least as rich and intricate as physics or astronomy. There is little systematic study. Conventional scientists shy away from the field because they are, in fact, conventional; because they fear to compromise their careers; because the subject is difficult to get a grip on; because scientists are as susceptible to awe and eeriness as anyone else. So: the mysteries persist; the lore accumulates, and we know for sure no more than our remote ancestors, if as much…“The Miracle Workers” [has a] definite psionic orientation, and [makes] at least a superficial inquiry into certain aspects
and implications of telekinesis and demon-possession. I can’t pretend to offer enlightenment; there isn’t any to be had. The [story], in any event, [was] not conceived as [an] argumentative [vehicle], but simply [reflects] my own fascination with the vast and wonderful reaches of the unknown.
—Jack Vance 1970
Guyal of Sfere
Guyal of Sfere had been born one apart from his fellows and early proved a source of vexation for his sire. Normal in outward configuration, there existed within his mind a void which ached for nourishment. It was as if a spell had been cast upon his birth, a harassment visited on the child in a spirit of sardonic mockery, so that every occurrence, no matter how trifling, became a source of wonder and amazement. Even as young as four seasons he was expounding such inquiries as:
“Why do squares have more sides than triangles?”
“How will we see when the sun goes dark?”
“Do flowers grow under the ocean?”
“Do stars hiss and sizzle when rain comes by night?”
To which his impatient sire gave such answers as:
“So it was ordained by the Pragmatica; squares and triangles must obey the rote.”
“We will be forced to grope and feel our way.”
“I have never verified this matter; only the Curator would know.”
“By no means, since the stars are high above the rain, higher even than the highest clouds, and swim in rarified air where rain will never breed.”
As Guyal grew to youth, this void in his mind, instead of becoming limp and waxy, seemed to throb with a more violent ache. And so he asked:
“Why do people die when they are killed?”
“Where does beauty vanish when it goes?”
“How long have men lived on Earth?”
“What is beyond the sky?”
To which his sire, biting acerbity back from his lips, would respond:
