by Jack Vance
“Yes? To what?”
“To our so-called relationship.”
Wayness gave her shoulders a jerk, squinted, squirmed, tilted her head, twitched her nose, made a fluttering gesture with her fingers.
Glawen asked in wonder, “What’s that all mean?”
“It’s a complicated way of not saying no.” Wayness started down the path.
“Wait!” cried Glawen. “I’m still not clear on a number of things!”
“Clarity is not what I had in mind.” Wayness stepped close and kissed him. “Thanks for walking me home. You’re a nice kind young gentleman, even handsome in a grim sort of way, and I like you.”
Glawen tried to catch her but she ran off along the path. Just before passing from sight she turned, waved, then disappeared among the trees.
* * *
Chapter IV, Part 3
On Verd evening of each week the Bold Lions met in a corner of the Old Arbor, to conduct business, drink wine and discuss the trends and fashions. A peculiar mood characterized these occasions, based on the premise that each Bold Lion was inherently noble and superior in all his phases to the general ruck of man. Golden haze hung over the table;1 large schemes were proposed and analyzed; each of the eternal verities in turn came under examination and from time to time were amended.
Each Bold Lion sat at his dedicated place around the table. At the far end, with his back to the arcade, sat Arles, with Kirdy Wook to his right and Uther Offaw to his left. Jardine Laverty faced Arles from the far end of the table, while the others sat to either side in their wonted places. Glawen, arriving late, took his seat between Cloyd Diffin and Jardine Laverty. Several jugs of wine had already been consumed, and the conversation was going well. Jardine Laverty, suave, handsome and carefully dressed, was making a point: “- musty old laws quite irrelevant to our needs. Still they exist and every day we are thwarted and demeaned by some long-dead prejudice.”
Jardine in this case referred to the laws which banned the mining of precious gems: a sore point among the Bold Lions, since a month or two of prospecting the Magic Mountain mineral beds might well make millionaires of them all.
Kiper Offaw, who already had tippled at least adequately, called out in a rather wild voice: “Put it to the vote! All in favor? All opposed?”
Kiper was considered somewhat brash and no one paid him any heed. He contented himself singing the refrain of an old song:
“Oh sell no more drink to my father!
It makes him so strange and so wild!”
Shugart Veder, who represented the conservative point of view, stated: “Certainly these old rules should be brought in line with new concepts, but this would mean rewriting the Charter, which could only be effected at a Grand Conclave of the Naturalist Society.”
“Bah!” growled Arles. “Fat chance of that. Over the years they’ve ossified and become an odd type of subrace, like the Yips. They don’t want change! Give them a fish and a pound of seaweed, they’ll make soup and never ask for anything better.”
Kirdy frowned. “Let’s be reasonable. we’re petty functionaries in the service of the Naturalists, and like it or not we’ve got to mind our manners.”
Arles drank down the contents of his mug at a gulp. “I don’t like it.”
“Well, you must put up with it, or leave. Those are the cold facts.”
Arles gave a throaty chuckle. “You’re a Wook and that’s Wook thinking. I’m a Clattuc and I have other notions.”
Shugart Veder put a petulant inquiry: “Can someone tell me where the Charter actually resides? It’s not at Riverview House, nor at Stroma. If someone wanted to verify the text, where would he look?”
“Ha, ha!” cried Kiper. “It’s all a great joke! There isn’t now and never has been a Charter! We’ve been dancing jigs to the music of ghosts!”
Jardine raised his elegant eyebrows. “Kiper, if you please! Either talk sense or pay for the wine!”
“Or both,” said Uther.
“Exactly so,” said Kirdy. “But let’s clear up this foolish talk once and for all. The Charter is obviously in the Society Archives on Earth, and if any benighted soul is ignorant of the text, copies abound.”
“That’s not the point!” argued Jardine. “Was the Charter designed to enforce poverty upon the folk of Araminta Station? It’s hard to believe anyone would be quite so niggardly!”
“Wrong, as usual,” said Uther Offaw. “The Charter was drafted by Naturalists, with conservancy in mind.”
“And nothing but conservancy,” added Kirdy Wook.
Arles grumbled: “They’re all peaceably dead, and we’re still suffering for their mistakes.”
Kirdy gave a caw of scornful laughter. “Mistakes? Nonsense! They wanted workers at Araminta Station, not millionaires.”
“Strange folk indeed,” sighed Jardine. “Then and now.”
“High-stepping old pettifoggers in tight black pants!” declared Kiper. “Who cares what they wanted? I know what I want, and that’s what counts!”
Cloyd called out, “For once Kiper is on the mark! Bravo, Kiper!”
Shugart put on a lewd smirk. “He’ll have to wait for Pussycat Palace; then he can have as much as he likes.”
“All he can pay for, at any rate,” said Uther. “Credit forms are not accepted.”
Cloyd Diffin made a sly suggestion: “Since Arles is coming we should try for the wholesale rate.”
Arles lowered his heavy eyebrows and scowled down the table. “I’ve heard about enough of this talk! It’s far off the mark, and everyone knows it!”
Shugart Veder said brightly: “Come, now, fellow Growlers! Let’s concentrate on our goals! Yesterday I saw an advertisement for the new Black Andromeda that actually made me salivate with longing!”
“Bah! Too small!” said Kiper. “I’ll take a Pentar Conquestor, maybe with recessed pods, for that sleek look!”
Jardine gave a contemptuous snort. “Have you no taste? What of the Dancred Mark Twenty? There’s true style for you! A bit pricy, of course, but what’s money?”
“Nothing very important,” said Cloyd. “Just the elixir of life.”
“A delightful word,” sighed Uther. “It tinkles with sweet overtones: poetry and luscious fruits and the pit-a-pat of beautiful girls!”
“Pit-a-pat?” asked Kiper. “What is ‘pit-a-pat’? I’m old enough now to know.”
“Take it and pay for it and don’t ask questions,” said Uther. “That’s my best advice.”
Shugart said: “Money has always been our great problem, even though the basic philosophy is simple.”
“I wish I found it so,” said Kiper wistfully.
“Nothing to it,” said Shugart. “First, locate someone with money. Second, learn what he wants more than the money. Third, make this available to him. It works every time.”
Kiper asked: “In that case, how is it that you are not rich?”
“You’ve heard enough for now,” said Shugart with dignity. “I suggest that you lean back in your chair, drink wine and dream of pit-a-pat while your betters discuss serious matters.”
Jardine said: “There’s Namour! He knows all about such things . . . Hoy, Namour! Over here! Join the Bold Lions for a change!”
Namour turned his head and appraised the table. Tonight, fixed into his silver hair on the right side of his head, he wore a small but elegant confection of black iron, polished jet cabochons, with a single carbuncle glowing with the sultry fury of a red star: presumably the present of an admirer. With a languid step he approached the table. “Hard at your lucubrations, so I see.”
Cloyd blinked. “Quite right, or so I suppose. We’re also doing some deep thinking. Draw up a chair! Jardine, pour Namour a mug of that good Sancery! Namour, drink up!”
“Thank you.” Namour seated himself. A black twill jacket with a high-collared black shirt set off his aquiline features to perfection. He tasted the wine, and his eyebrows vaulted high. He looked askance into the mug. “Sancery, did you say
? Good Sancery? What are they serving you? Waiter, if you please! What is this dark-colored liquid? I’ve been told it’s Sancery, but that is hard to believe.”
“It’s from the keg we call Bold Lion Reserve, sir.”
“I see. Bring me something from a keg less confused as to its antecedents: some of that Laverty Delasso will do nicely.”
Uther Offaw looked ruefully into his own mug. “Well, at least it’s cheap.”
“Never mind the wine,” said Shugart. “Our problem is that we want to buy a space yacht.”
“That’s a fairly common ambition,” said Namour. “I’m in the market myself.”
“Really? What do you have in mind?”
“Oh - I don’t know. Maybe a Merlin or an Interstar Majestic.”
Kiper asked innocently: “How do you plan to pay for it?”
Namour laughed and shook his head. “Now you are probing too deeply!”
Shugart turned to the other Bold Lions. “Perhaps we should take Namour into our syndicate! It might expedite things for all of us!”
Arles looked toward Namour. “What do you say to that?”
Namour pursed his lips thoughtfully. “My favorite philosopher declares: ‘Not only does he travel fastest who travels alone, he travels twice as fast as two people, three times as fast as three people and four times as fast as four.’”
“Ha-hah!” cried Uther Offaw. “And what is the name of this misanthropic philosopher?”
“He is Ronsel de Roust, of The Galcidine. Still, I’m willing to listen to anything, if it’s to my advantage, and if it’s definite! I can’t waste time on a lot of wild talk.”
“Naturally not,” said Shugart. “We’re all in earnest, and we don’t propose to be thwarted!”
“What exactly do you have in mind?”
“Well - we have several ideas, such as a big new tourist resort on Sunrise Strand. We’re short of capital, but if you guaranteed cheap labor to the project, we might get a bank loan for the balance. We envision everything first-class, with a gambling casino, a cosmopolitan restaurant, and naturally a corps of Yip girls to jolly up the patrons.”
Cloyd asked anxiously: “What do you think? Could it be arranged?”
“You’d never get past the Conservator.”
Jardine pounded the table. “We’re suffering financial problems and this is a great solution! He’s got to see it our way!”
Namour sipped his wine. “What if he won’t? Do you plan to bring pressure to bear? If so: how?”
“Well, persuasion of some sort. After all, what does it matter to the Naturalists?”
Cloyd demanded: “How could they stop us if we were resolute? I hardly think they’d use force.”
“Hmm.” Namour mused a moment. “They’re not particularly numerous, and half of them are social idealists called LPFers.”
Uther Offaw, somewhat the worse for wine, said: “Still, they claim to own the planet, and they’ve got the Charter to prove it.”
“That’s what we’re told, at any rate,” said Namour.
Once again Shugart pounded the table. “Devil take them, LPFers, black pants and all! The Bold Lions insist on justice!”
Kiper, flushed in the face, cried out: “Three great growls for Shugart and his manifesto of justice!”
Kirdy said: “Quiet, Kiper! You are far too obstreperous. Namour, you were about to speak?”
Kiper refused to restrain his advocacy. “I’m a Bold Lion, brave and free! I want money so bad I can taste it!”
“Please, Kiper! Namour is experienced in these matters! Let him speak!”
“With pleasure! Speak, Namour, to your heart’s content!”
“Only this,” said Namour. “Perhaps you are making the wrong sort of plans. Cadwal is due for change: everyone knows this. Those who will profit are those who ride the changes and control them, not the folk who lament for the old days.”
Kirdy’s big features twisted into ropes of perplexity. “I don’t quite follow you. Surely -”
Namour made an easy gesture. “I offer no program! I merely point out that it’s better to win through decisive action, even force, than lose everything through hand-wringing and confusion.”
Arles became excited. “How else has the Reach been expanded across the galaxy? By games of pattycake and cat’s cradle? Not on your life!”
Namour said: “One thing is sure. Changes are on their way. We can’t keep the Yips away from the Marmion Low Plain forever, and it may go farther than that when the time comes. And in the end, some will survive and others will not. I hope to survive.”
“The Bold Lions as well!” cried Cloyd.
“That seems a sensible choice,” said Namour mildly.
Jardine slapped the table. “Namour, you may well be the wisest man at Araminta Station, in spite of being a Clattuc.”
“Kind of you to say so.” Namour rose to his feet. “Well, I’ll amble on and leave you Lions to roar in peace. Goodnight, all.”
* * *
Chapter IV, Part 4
On the following morning, during breakfast, Scharde took note of Glawen’s preoccupation. He said: “You’re very quiet. How went the meeting?”
Glawen gathered in his thoughts from far places. “Much as usual, or so I suppose. I heard wild talk by the bucketful, if that’s any clue.”
Scharde chuckled. “A lively affair, in short.”
“A bit too lively, I should say. No one seems to notice where sanity stops and hysteria begins. At times I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.”
Scharde leaned back in his chair. “Kirdy reports to Bodwyn Wook from a somewhat different perspective.”
“No doubt. Kirdy may be the worst of the lot. He enjoys every minute of it.”
“Kirdy is experiencing a late and rather ponderous adolescence,” said Scharde. “What strikes you as lunacy, he considers just high spirits and playacting.”
Glawen gave a disparaging grunt. “That theory is all very well for Kirdy, and maybe Arles, who are Mummers, but how do you explain Namour, who wisely considers even Kiper’s crazy notions? Is Namour just being polite? Is he, too, playacting? Or does he have something else in mind? I find him hard to understand.”
“There you’re not alone. Namour plays whatever role he thinks immediately useful, and sometimes just for practice. I could talk all day about Namour and still not finish.”
Glawen went to look out the window. He grumbled: “I can’t say that I like this undercover work. It’s absolutely embarrassing to sit as a full high-tailed Bold Lion, roaring and growling at the signal.”
“The job won’t last forever. I might mention that you have already gained Bodwyn Wook’s approval, and if you do well as a Bold Lion, you’ll be established in your career - no matter what your Status Index.”
“Another depressing thought,” said Glawen. “It’s only two years to cutoff.”
“You worry too much! Somehow we’ll work it out, even if I must take an early retirement. If worse comes to worst you can marry into the House.”
“I don’t know about that. Namour never seemed to like that solution.”
“Namour could have married back a dozen times. Although Spanchetta wouldn’t let him marry her sister Smonny, or so the rumor goes.”
“What a thought! If ever I marry, which is doubtful, I have someone else in mind.”
“In any case, it’s too early to think about such dismal matters.”
“I’m certainly in no hurry.”
Scharde presently departed the chambers on business of his own. Glawen stood by the window looking out over the countryside.
The morning was fine. Syrene shone bright in a cloudless sky. The Clattuc gardens were at their best, and Glawen’s gloom began to dissipate.
A pleasant thought entered his mind. He went to the telephone and called Riverview House.
To his relief, Wayness answered the chime. At the sight of Glawen’s face, she allowed her own image to appear on the screen.
Her voice w
as cordial, if a trifle prim. “Good morning, Glawen.”
“That is an understatement. The day is superb!”
Wayness clapped her hands. “How nice that you have notified me so early in the day!”
Glawen said modestly: “I would have called even earlier, but I wanted to make certain of the facts.”
“Thank you, Glawen! I approve of such caution. If you called at dawn with your glad news, and we dragged ourselves from bed to find a torrent of rain, everyone would be somewhat nonplussed.”
“Exactly so.” Glawen took note of Wayness’ dark green blouse with white cuffs and a white lace collar. “Why are you dressed in such finery? Are you going somewhere?”
Wayness smilingly shook her head. “It’s our Naturalist vanity. We can’t allow anyone to think that he can catch us in dishabille simply by calling at dawn.”
“Come, now! It’s later than that. You’re off on some sort of outing.”
“As a matter of fact, guests are visiting from Stroma and today I’m on my best behavior. I must also dress the part, so that I am not considered a bedraggled little tomboy.”
“If you continued to wear nice clothes and guaranteed to behave yourself would you be allowed to come sailing for an hour or two?”
“Today? When the guests include that important young philosopher Julian Bohost?”
“The answer seems to be no.”
“Emphatically! If you and I went frolicking off in a boat leaving Julian standing on the shore, we could expect a cool reception on our return, and only haughty glances from Julian.”
“And still he is considered a philosopher?”
“As a matter of fact, we are demeaning poor Julian. He is actually rather a pleasant fellow, although prone to impromptu political speeches.”
“Hm. Someday I would like to meet this splendid young prodigy!”
“That is easy enough. Julian is quite approachable, even amiable, if you don’t annoy him.” Wayness seemed to reflect. “There is nothing to stop you from calling today, if you were of a mind to do so.”
