by Jack Vance
“Now, then! This is not true in every case. A few women ovulate, and are still receptive. It is the men who are helpless. They are a poor lot, dull and lumpish.”
Glawen said nervously: “They might surprise you! Dress the ladies in pretty costumes; let them grow their hair and play in the sun so that they take on some color. Instead of philosophy, they should learn to dance and sing and set out fine banquets with good wine! The men would soon come around.”
Zaa made a sound of disgust. “We have heard that story before. A certain man claimed full knowledge in the field of human emotions.” He stated that our problems were mental, no more; that we should undergo a series of what he called sexual therapy sessions. We tested his theories at great inconvenience and even greater expense! We discovered only that this man’s avarice far exceeded his performance.”
Glawen pretended only idle interest. “It seems that you are referring to the Thurben Island affair.”
“Obviously. Isn’t one such event enough?”
“This avaricious savant accomplished nothing for you? What were his credentials?”
“The results were at best ambiguous. He urged us to continue the program, and our Ordene Sibil remained to observe and to learn, but her news is unclear.”
“And the savant: what is his name?”
“I hardly remember; I made none of the arrangements. Floreste: that is his name. He directs a troupe of clowns and charlatans; he is mad for money!”
Glawen heaved a sigh. Zaa, he reflected, was remarkably free and open with her information. He wondered what undertakings she would demand before allowing him to go his way – although Plock would surely be arriving at almost any moment.
Zaa said in an offhand voice: “It was Floreste, incidentally, who notified me of your coming. He does not want you returning to Cadwal. You would disrupt his plans, so he tells me.”
Glawen spoke in puzzlement: “How could he know anything of my movements?”
“No mystery there. Your associate remained at Fexelburg; am I right?”
“True: Kirdy Wook.”
“It seems that Kirdy Wook called Floreste as soon as you boarded the bus and asked if he might rejoin the troupe. Floreste agreed, and Kirdy is with him now. Whatever your arrangements, insofar as they concern Kirdy, they are not in force.”
Glawen sat as if stunned.
Zaa went on. “Now: in connection with our own arrangements, and here I refer to the so-called contract: when you first arrived, I was favorably impressed. You are healthy, intelligent and well-favored; you are evidently normal in your sexual functions. I decided that you should attempt to fertilize the ovulating women, and create a cadre of what I shall call Neo-Monomantics. I put Lilo in close association with you, half expecting that some kind of situation might develop. But acting from what seems to be sheer mischief you startled Lilo and put her into a dither. Of course all is not lost; she is at once fascinated and frightened by what she thinks is involved. I will make sure that her hair grows and that she brings color to her skin. Others will do likewise.”
Glawen cried out aghast: “All this will take months!”
“Of course. You must now think in these terms - or even longer. In the meantime, you may experiment with me. I am fertile; I am a true woman and I am not afraid. To the contrary.”
Glawen asked huskily: “These are to be the ‘services’ called for in your contract?”
“That is correct.”
Glawen found himself unable to think rationally. One thing was clear: in order to escape he must first win clear of Zonk’s Tomb. He looked sidelong at Zaa. “I don’t consider the environment particularly congenial.”
“It is as good as any other in the seminary.”
“The dais is not all that comfortable.”
“Put down the pad.”
“That is a sensible idea.”
Glawen spread the pad. He looked around to find that Zaa had stepped from her gown. Silhouetted against the lamplight her form was not unpleasing. Zaa came close and unclasped his gown. Glawen found himself stimulated despite the unusual circumstances. The two dropped down to the pad, where the lamplight revealed more detail than before. Glawen told himself desperately: “I will not notice the white skin nor the blue veins, nor the knobby knees, nor the sharp teeth; I will ignore the weird circumstances and the ghosts watching with wide blank eyes.”
“Ah, Glawen,” breathed Zaa. “I suspect that Duality has never truly left me behind. I am Ordene but I am a woman!” She threw back her head and the red wig rolled away to reveal her narrow white scalp and a tattoo on her forehead. Glawen gave a choked cry and disengaged himself. “It is beyond my capacity! Look at me! See for yourself!”
Wordlessly Zaa rearranged the wig and resumed her white gown. She stood looking at Glawen with a queer twisted grin. At last she said: “It seems that I too must grow my hair and exercise my body in the sun.”
“But what of me?”
Zaa shrugged. “Do as you like. Study Monomantics. Perform gymnastic exercises. Explore the deep pool. I have given my information unstintingly! Until I am satisfied with your services, and until my primitive female rage is soothed, you shall never leave Pogan’s Point.”
Zaa went to the door, tapped three times. It swung open; she passed through and the door closed.
* * *
Chapter VIII, Part 4
Glawen sat on the edge of the dais, legs sprawled out, gaze fixed on nothing in particular. This moment, he thought, must be considered the very nadir of his life - though the situation had the potentiality for becoming worse.
Time passed, of duration unknown: more than an hour, less than a day. Someone came out on the balcony and lowered a basket on a string, then departed, leaving the lamp in place.
Without haste and no great interest, Glawen went to investigate. The basket held several pots, containing bean soup, stew, bread, tea and three figs. Evidently he was not to be starved.
Glawen discovered that he was very hungry. He had eaten nothing in the refectory except a bite or two of bread; how much time had passed since then? More than a day, less than a week.
Glawen finished all the food and replaced the pots in the basket. He now felt somewhat more energetic and looked around the tomb. The ceiling, fifty feet above, was a vault of unbroken stone. The spring seeped into the room through a fissure halfway up the wall.
Glawen went to look at the tunnel where the water left the chamber. The opening was roughly circular, about three feet in diameter. Glawen could see that the tunnel trended downward after leaving the tomb. From far away he heard a steady gurgle, of water falling into water. Glawen turned away with a shiver. One day he might want to seek out the pool, so dark and cold, but not yet.
Glawen went back to sit on the edge of the dais. What now? Something must happen, he told himself. A person simply did not live away the days and weeks and years of his life immured in a cave. Still, there was no immutable law of nature which stated the contrary.
Time passed. Nothing happened, except that after a long interval the basket was drawn up and another basket lowered. Glawen ate, then arranged himself on the pad, pulled the blanket over himself and slept.
A time certainly to be measured in days and weeks went by, with two food baskets apparently representing the interval of one day. Glawen noted the succession by scratching a mark for each two baskets on a flat stone. On the eleventh day Mutis appeared on the balcony, and lowered fresh garments and a fresh sheet. He spoke in a gruff voice: “I am instructed to ask if there is anything you want?”
“Yes. A razor and soap. Paper and a stylus.”
The items were lowered in the next basket. Thirty days passed by, and forty, then fifty. The fifty-second day, if Glawen’s reckoning was accurate, was his birthday. Was he now Glawen Clattuc, full-status Agent of Araminta Station? Or Glawen co-Clattuc, collateral and excess population, with no status whatever?
What could be happening at Araminta Station? By now someone must be making inq
uiries as to what had happened to him. What would Kirdy tell Bodwyn Wook? The truth? Not likely. Still, no matter what else, his father Scharde would never abandon the search. His route should be simple to follow, but what of that? Even if Scharde arrived at the seminary, and was invited by Zaa to make a search, and thus discovered Zonk’s Tomb, Glawen knew that before such a time, another body would have joined the white conclave at the bottom of the Pool.
Meanwhile, Glawen tried to maintain both his physical fitness and his morale. He spent much time each day at calisthenics, running endless laps around the room, jumping up and kicking at the wall in a contest with himself, walking on his hands, turning handsprings. The exercise became an obsession: an occupation which he used as a substitute for thinking; every day he crowded more and more effort into his waking hours.
Sixty days passed. Glawen found difficulty in remembering the outside world. Reality was the volume and extent of Zonk’s Tomb. Lucky Glawen Clattuc! Thousands of tourists came to Tassadero in search of this hole in the rock which he knew so well! And it came to him, in a sudden instant of clarity, that Zaa had been totally generous with her information not because she trusted him, but because when he had performed all the services of which he was capable, his silence would be ensured by the most definite and final of means. When Zaa so casually had identified the cave as Zonk’s Tomb, she had as much as assured him that she planned his death.
On the sixtieth day, the lower door opened. Funo stood in the doorway. “Come.”
Glawen gathered up his papers and followed. Funo took him as before up two flights of stairs and to the room he had occupied before. The door closed. Glawen climbed up on the chair: his bundle of clothes and the spare sheets were as before.
There were sounds at the door. Glawen jumped down, just as Mutis threw open the door. “Come! You must bathe yourself.”
Glawen submitted to a sanitary shower and a rinse of cold water. Mutis ignored Glawen’s new growth of hair. “Dress in proper garments, then go to your chamber.”
Without comment Glawen obeyed. Upon his return to the chamber the door was closed and presumably locked. On the table Glawen discovered his usual supper, which he ate without appetite. Presently Mutis came to take the empty pots.
The time was now evening. The misty lavender afterglow had left the sky; through the windows came starlight from the far flow of Mircea’s Wisp.
Half an hour passed. Glawen remained at the table, sorting through the papers he had brought with him. The door opened; Lilo came slowly into the room, looking neither right nor left. Glawen assessed her with interest. She wore white trousers, a tan-gray blouse and sandals. The entire effect of her being had altered; she was barely recognizable as the pale big-eyed creature Glawen had met before. Her hair had grown into a crop of loose chestnut curls, framing a face which now seemed thin and fragile rather than gaunt and which - perhaps through time spent in the open - had taken on a dusky tan color. She seemed pensive and composed; Glawen could divine nothing more of her mood.
Lilo came slowly forward. Glawen rose to his feet. She halted and asked: “Why do you stare at me?”
“From surprise. You seem a different person.”
Lilo nodded. “I feel a different person - someone with whom I am not yet familiar.”
“Are you pleased with the change?”
“I’m not sure. Do you think I should be?”
“Certainly. You seem normal - almost. In any city no one would look twice at you - except perhaps to admire you.”
Lilo shrugged. “It was a change which I was ordered to make. I was afraid I would seem grotesque or garish or vulgar.”
“Small chance of that.”
“Do you know why I am here?”
“I can guess.”
“I am embarrassed.”
Glawen gave a short laugh. “Embarrassment is a luxury now beyond my reach. I have forgotten that such an emotion exists.”
Lilo spoke in a troubled voice: “It is not necessary to think such thoughts. What must be done must be done. And so I am here.”
Glawen reached out and took her hands. “l suppose Mutis is watching through a spy hole.”
“No. The walls are solid rock. Spy holes are not possible.”
“I’m glad to hear that, at least. Well, then, let’s get on with it.”
Glawen led her to the cot. Lilo hung back. “I think I’m frightened.”
“There’s nothing to fear. Just relax.”
Lilo followed Glawen’s instructions, and the event went without unforeseen incident. Glawen asked: “So now what is your opinion of Duality?”
Lilo pressed as close to him as possible. “I don’t know how to explain. I am probably thinking wrong thoughts.”
“How so?”
“I don’t want to share you with the others.”
“Others? How many others?”
“About twelve. Zaa will come tomorrow, if all has gone well tonight.”
“You are expected to report to her?”
“Naturally. She is waiting in her office.”
“Will you tell her once again that I am an erotic maniac?”
Lilo was puzzled. “I never told her that in the first place.”
“You weren’t upset and outraged by my erotic hints and proposals?”
“Of course not! I never noticed any, in the first place.”
“Why should Zaa assure me that I had disgraced myself?”
Lilo considered. “Perhaps she misunderstood. Maybe she was, well” - Lilo breathed a word in Glawen’s ear – “jealous.”
“She seems to have overcome her emotion.”
“From necessity. I am first because she wants to make sure that you function properly.”
“Does she plan to lock me into the tomb again?”
“I don’t think so - so long as you perform well. If not, Mutis will strangle you with a rope.”
“In that case - shall we try again?”
“If you like.”
Lilo at last left the chamber. Glawen waited five minutes, then crossed the room and tried the door. It was locked.
The time had come. He dressed himself in his own clothes, and went to lie on the cot.
An hour passed. Glawen went to press his ear against the door. He heard nothing and instantly went to work, with a feverish intensity of purpose. The cot was a construction of wood, designed for easy erection and dismantling, with meshes of rope to support the mattress. Glawen removed the ropes. The strong wooden side timbers were now at his disposal.
Glawen loosely rearranged the cot, so that if anyone chanced to look into his room, nothing would seem disarranged. One at a time he took the spare sheets into the bathroom, ripped them into six-inch ribbons, tied them to make up a rope a hundred and twenty feet long, which he thought adequate to his needs.
Again he listened at the door. Silence.
With a timber from the cot and rope, also from the cot, he climbed on the table and opened wide the two casements. He examined the center post which barred his passage. There were several ways to remove it; the simplest method was to break the weld at the bottom
He tied the end of the timber to the bottom of the post, with many turns and loops of the rope, so that the timber functioned as a lever for the exertion of torque. Cautiously he swung the end of the timber out into the room, applying torque to the post. The rope, as he had expected, tightened and stretched; he readjusted the bindings, and once more applied leverage. With a wrench and a sharp snap the welds broke.
Glawen sighed in satisfaction. He bent the post back and forth until it broke; the entire window was open for his passage.
In a fury of haste, Glawen made his rope of torn sheets fast to the timber, which he now used as a toggle across the window opening. He threw the rope out the window, clambered through into the darkness and let himself slide down the rope.
His feet touched the rocky slope. “Goodbye, seminary,” said Glawen, almost choking on his exultation. “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!”
Glawen turned and picked his way down the hill, in glorious freedom. In due course he crossed the square into the village. The depot was closed and dark; an omnibus stood nearby, with the entry door ajar. Glawen looked within, to discover the driver asleep across the back seat. Glawen prodded him awake. “Do you want to earn fifty sols?”
“Naturally. That’s all I am paid each month.”
“Here you are,” said Glawen. “Drive me to Fexelburg.”
“Now? You can ride for the price of a ticket in the morning.”
“I have urgent business in town,” said Glawen. “In fact, I even have a ticket.”
“You’re a tourist, I take it.”
“Correct.”
“Did you go up to the seminary? You’ll find nothing there but surly treatment.”
“That’s how it seemed to me,” said Glawen.
“I see no reason not to oblige you. Urgent business, you say?”
“Yes. A telephone call I forgot to make.”
“A pity. But perhaps it will all come right. And meanwhile I profit by your mistake.”
“Unfortunately that is the way the world goes.”
* * *
Chapter VIII, Part 5
The omnibus moved through the night, under a sky spread with constellations strange to Glawen. Tonight the wind blew in gusts, sighing around the bus and bending the lonely frooks, where they could be seen in the starlight.
The driver was Bant, a large young Fexel of good disposition and a tendency toward garrulity. Glawen responded to his remarks in monosyllables, and Bant presently fell silent.
After two hours of travel, Glawen asked: “What of the early morning transport from Pogan’s Point? How will that be arranged?”
