Night Lamp

by Jack Vance

  “The answer comes in two parts. The first is that I am too complacent and don’t notice any of the really important things, such as how wonderful it is to be a Clam Muffin and at the same time so marvelously pretty and so intelligent! But I do notice! I am startled by the person of Skirlet Hutsenreiter and her accomplishments! Her vanity is justified!”

  “What nonsense!” scoffed Skirlet. “I am not at all vain. What is the second part?”

  Jaro hesitated. “It’s so secret I can only whisper it into your ear.”

  “That is not reasonable! Why must it be?”

  “Those are the rules.”

  “Oh very well.” Skirlet tilted her head; Jaro bent toward her ear. Skirlet cried out: “Ooh! You bit my ear! That’s not what you were supposed to do.”

  “No,” said Jaro. “You are right. I made a mistake and it was wrong of me. Let’s try again.”

  Skirlet looked at him skeptically. “I’m not sure that I trust you.”

  “Of course you can! Your ear is safe. I won’t blow, pant, or nip.”

  Skirlet came to a decision. She shook her head. “It’s quite absurd! You should be brave enough to tell me to my face.”

  “Very well, if you think that’s the best way. Close your eyes.”

  “Whyever for?”

  “So that I won’t be embarrassed.”

  “I can’t imagine why you need such preparations.” Skirlet closed her eyes and Jaro kissed her. On the second time she kissed him back. “Now! You’ve got that out of your system! So tell me.”

  “I’d rather kiss you.”

  “No,” said Skirlet breathlessly. “Once is enough.”

  “It was twice.”

  “Still it makes me feel funny, and I don’t think I’m up to it. Not yet.”

  The call-button at Skirlet’s shoulder sounded a small tinkling chime. A voice uttered peremptory instructions. Skirlet responded, hesitated, looked toward Jaro, but quickly turned away. She studied the slope, picked out an expeditious route, gave Jaro a wave of farewell, then was gone.

  Jaro watched until she had disappeared over the ridge, then gathered his belongings and returned to Merriehew House.

  3

  Skirlet was absent from school the first three days of the week. When she returned, she seemed moody and conducted herself with none of the old gallant derring-do which had provided the thrust for so many unpredictable exploits. She ignored Jaro, and looked away when he approached. Jaro was not pleased with her manner and conducted himself with lofty indifference, while watching her from the corner of his eye. She seemed not to notice and went her way at her usual half trot, her nondescript catch-as-catch-can garments magically transformed into raiment of dramatic flair, because it was she, Skirlet Hutsenreiter, with her taut little body which animated them.

  Jaro was troubled on other accounts. His old easy relationship with the Faths had clouded over with a trace of reserve, induced principally by their refusal to inform him of his past. They were not about to encourage any reckless forays into space; when he had taken his degree they would tell him everything they knew. Jaro tried his best to put aside hurt feelings, but a residue remained.

  Hilyer and Althea were aware of the changes. Rather hollowly they told themselves that Jaro was growing up and no longer could be considered a little boy. “He is defining autonomy for himself,” was Hilyer’s rather ponderous comment. “Such are the facts of life.”

  Althea was less objective. “I don’t like such facts! They come too fast, just when I’m getting used to the old ones!”

  “Ah well,” said Hilyer. “There’s nothing we can do about it, except encourage him in the right direction.”

  “But he is so single-minded! He told me he wants to work at the space terminal this summer!”

  Hilyer shrugged. “He’s still very young. Give him time to grow up and learn the ways of the world; he’ll see reason after a bit.”

  The thought that he might be hurting the Faths caused Jaro frequent twinges of conscience. Hilyer, despite his occasional crustiness, was gentle, patient and generous; Althea overflowed with love. Still, Jaro’s intentions were fixed and the estrangement would persist until Jaro had accomplished what needed to be done. Jaro wondered how many years would pass, what adventures would befall him, how many dangers he must overcome, before he achieved his goal. The idea was daunting. Somewhere along the way, he was likely to meet the man in the black hat, with the glitter of four-pointed stars in his eyes. What of Skirlet? The darling, reckless, proud, fascinating, tart and pungent, sweet and sulky Skirlet! Marvel of marvels! He had kissed her and she had kissed him! Would they ever come together again? And then there was Tawn Maihac, who might return as abruptly as he had gone. Jaro hoped so. He needed a friend.

  Two days before the end of the school term Skirlet once more absented herself from school, nor did she appear at the matriculation ceremonies. She had been designated the class spokesman, both by reason of her status and her near-perfect scholarship ratings. Her absence caused distress and confusion, and the authorities decided that a substitute must be selected. Jaro Fath was considered one of the possibilities, since his ratings were also of a high order and his so-called ‘citizenship record’ was unblemished. However, he was a nimp and could not be considered a suitable exemplar for a class of strivers, and in the end a youth named Dylan Underwood, who had already been accepted into the Bad Gang, was selected. Jaro could not have cared less. During the evening he was approached by Dame Wirtz, who first shook his hand, then hugged him. “I’ll miss you, Jaro, very much! You’re a pleasure to have in the class—even though you are a wrongheaded young renegade, and I can only hope that you don’t come to a bad end.”

  “I hope so, too. By the way, what happened to Skirlet? Why isn’t she here?”

  Dame Wirtz gave a rueful laugh. “Her father is Dean Hutsenreiter; he’s a Clam Muffin, but still he is as wild as the wind. He never approved of Skirlet’s association with Langolen School, since it brought her into contact with the most vulgar and importunate striving. He definitely did not want her representing the class; such an office diminished her dignity, and there you have it.”

  “Hmf. What of next term? Is she going on to Lyceum?”

  Dame Wirtz gave her head a dubious shake. “Who knows what will happen to her? There was talk of a private school, Aeolian Academy at Glist, on Axelbarren: a very fine school, but very expensive.”

  Jaro stoically attended graduation ceremonies, and stood by in embarrassment as both Dame Wirtz and Althea wept tears of sentiment. Never again, Jaro told himself, if I can possibly avoid it.

  The summer recess began. Before a week had passed, Jaro received a rather mysterious call from Skirlet. He spoke cautiously, wondering what would be required of him. “Jaro here.”

  Skirlet’s voice came back crisp and edgy, as if she were nervous. “What are you doing?”

  “At the moment nothing much. What about you?”

  “The same.”

  “Where were you during graduation?”

  Skirlet’s tone became even more crisp. “I stayed home, naturally. For once I agreed with my father. He told me that as a Clam Muffin, my excellence was taken for granted; that if I accepted honors at commencement, I would seem ostentatious and not at all dignified. He was, of course, right.”

  “Wrong. Dignity is when you do not care, or even notice, one way or the other.”

  “No matter!” snapped Skirlet. “It is quite irrelevant. I want you to come here at once, while my father is gone.”

  “Where is here?”

  “At Sassoon Ayry, of course! Come to the garden entrance, beside the south lawn. Be discreet.”

  Jaro obeyed instructions, and with some trepidation made his way through the gardens which surrounded Sassoon Ayry to the door Skirlet had designated. She was waiting, and took him to a room which she identified as her father’s private study. Cases lined the walls, displaying curios, objects of virtu, including a fine collection of ritual dolls. A des
k beside the window supported a Utter of pamphlets, documents, brochures, proposals, smartly bound in blue paper.

  “This is where my father achieves his financial successes,” said Skirlet sardonically. “His ledger is yonder.” She picked it up and showed Jaro the last page. He saw a massive block of numbers printed in red. Skirlet tossed the ledger back on the desk. “Very sad. It is the reason for this meeting of the Mediators.”

  “ ‘Mediators’? Mediating what?”

  “Injustice, avarice, inequity. For the moment, these details need not concern you.”

  Jaro moved toward the door. “In that case I’ll leave, and you can sort out the details by yourself. If the truth be known, I’m not all that comfortable here.”

  Skirlet ignored his qualms. “Please listen carefully. The Mediators are an exclusive club, whose members enjoy a very high prestige. By comparison, the Sempiternals seem inept and insipid, though we acknowledge their existence. Our goals are inspiring. We explore regions of grandeur and beauty, which others have ignored, and we right wrongs whenever they lie within our scope.”

  “All very well,” said Jaro, “but doesn’t this take up a great deal of time?”

  “Just so,” said Skirlet. “For this reason the Mediators occasionally recruit new members.”

  “How many members are now active?”

  Skirlet frowned, as if calculating. “Up to this moment, the Mediators have been fanatically exclusive. In fact, the only member is myself All other applicants have been rejected.”

  “Hmf The standards must be strict.”

  Skirlet shrugged. “To some extent. Persons of free spirit are not excluded on that basis alone. Applicants must be clean, polite and intelligent. Also, they should not be sluggish, vulgar or talkative.”

  Skirlet went on to say that, while musing over admission requirements, the name ‘Jaro’ had surfaced into her mind and he was welcome to apply for membership, if he so desired. “Prestige, of course, is automatic,” she told him, “since I am involved and we are fearfully exclusive.”

  Jaro agreed that there was nothing to lose. He applied for membership on the spot and was accepted.

  To celebrate the occasion, Skirlet went to a cupboard and returned with a bottle of Dean Hutsenreiter’s most expensive liquor. She poured out two tots. “This liquor, so I am told, is over two hundred years old, and in mythical times was used to appease the Gods of Thunder.”

  Skirlet cautiously tasted the dark red liquor. She winced. “It is strong but palatable. Well then, to our agenda. The Mediators on hand make up a quorum, so that we can get about our principal business.”

  “And what is this business?”

  “The most immediate problem concerns half the membership, which is to say, me. My father is soon to be off on a grand junket, first to Canopus Planet, and then to Old Earth. He will be gone at least a year and he always travels first class. In order to conserve funds, he wants to close up Sassoon Ayry, and bundle me off to my mother on Marmone. I prefer to stay at home, even if it means that I must attend Lyceum. He says this is impossible. I said in that case he could send me to Aeolian Academy at Glist. This is a very enlightened school. The students are lodged in private suites, where they are served their meals to order. They study topics of their own choosing, at their own pace and are encouraged to cultivate social relationships as they see fit. The academy overlooks the Greater Kanjieir Sea, and the city Glist is nearby. I explained to my father that I would be happy to attend Aeolian Academy, but he said that it was far too expensive, and that it was time my mother took responsibility for my education, I said that at Piri-piri I would be taught more than I wanted to learn, and that I would be happy either at Sassoon Ayry or at the Aeolian Academy. He became quite short, and told me that I could apply to the Clam Muffin Committee and they would put me into what is called ‘supervised habitancy,’ which would be depressing. Money, of course, is the main problem and this is the deficiency which the Mediators must repair.”

  Skirlet rose to her feet. “Another half-gill or so of this liquor might stimulate our thinking.”

  Jaro watched in fascination as Skirlet replenished his goblet. “You have thought how best to acquire these funds?”

  “Blackmail may be best,” said Skirlet. “It is quick and easy and special skills are unnecessary.”

  There was the sound of footsteps. The door opened; Dean Hutsenreiter burst into the room: a thin man, wearing a natty suit of pearl-gray silverstrack. He was pale, with skin stretched taut over the angular bones of his face; soft brown hair flowed back from a receding forehead and down to the nape of his neck. He seemed in a state of nervous emotion; his eyes darted about the room and finally came to rest on the bottle which Skirlet still held poised over Jaro’s goblet. Hutsenreiter cried out in a fury: “What is going on here? Some sort of drinkfest, with my priceless Bagongo?” He snatched the bottle from Skirlet’s grip. “Explain yourself, if you please!”

  Jaro gallantly stepped forward and spoke with formal politeness. “Sir, we were engaged in a calm and interesting conversation; your agitation is out of order!”

  Dean Hutsenreiter’s jaw dropped. Then he threw his hands wildly into the air. “If I must accept insolence in my own house, I might as well go out and lie in the street, where the cost is less.” He turned to Skirlet. “Who is this fellow?”

  Jaro again responded. “Sir, I am Jaro Fath. My parents are members of the Institute faculty, in the College of Aesthetic Philosophy.”

  “Faths? I know them. They are nimps! Is this your license for entering my house, sorting through my papers, drinking my choice liquor, and preparing to seduce my daughter?”

  Jaro started to protest, but Dean Hutsenreiter became more agitated than ever. “Do you realize that you are lolling in my favorite chair! Up with you and out! Never return to this house! Out with you, this instant!”

  Skirlet said wearily: “You had better go, before he becomes angry.”

  Jaro went to the door. He turned, bowed to Dean Hutsenreiter and departed.

  A week passed, during which Jaro heard nothing of Skirlet. One afternoon Dame Wirtz dropped by Merriehew to recruit Althea’s help at a horticultural exhibition. Jaro chanced to pass through the room. He greeted Dame Wirtz and during their conversation, he asked in regard to Skirlet. Dame Wirtz was surprised. “Didn’t you hear? Dean Hutsenreiter found it necessary to close his house for the summer, so he sent Skirlet off to a private school: Aeolian Academy at Glist, on Axelbarren, I believe. It’s a fine school, and Skirlet should consider herself lucky. I wish the best for her, but the Reach is wide and we may never see her again.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Jaro. “Here she is a Clam Muffin; anywhere else just a Hutsenreiter.”

  4

  During the summer recess Jaro worked at the space terminal machine shop. Trio Hartung posted him as assistant to the squat and burly machinist, with a stubble of gray hair, weather-darkened skin and an evil leer, named Gaing Neitzbeck. Jaro recalled that Tawn Maihac had introduced them.

  Hartung took Jaro aside. “Don’t be deceived by Gaing’s appearance. He is not as kind and patient as he looks.”

  Jaro glanced dubiously toward Gaing, who, so he thought, looked anything but kind and patient. His face was a tragic mummer’s mask, with glinting eyes and a heavy low nose which had been broken either so badly, or so often, that it splayed first one direction, then the other. Gaing’s shoulders and chest were deep; his arms long; his legs heavy and strong. He stood at a crouch and moved by hops and lurches.

  Hartung said: “For a fact, Gaing is an ugly lump, but he knows all there is to know about spaceships and space. Just obey orders, speak only when necessary, and you’ll get along well enough.”

  Jaro approached Gaing. “Sir, I am ready to work whenever it is convenient.”

  “Very well,” said Gaing. “I’ll show you what needs to be done.”

  Jaro discovered that Gaing’s procedure was to assign work, then go away and leave Jaro to his own de
vices until the job was done, and then subject the work to careful scrutiny. The procedure left Jaro untroubled and even grimly amused, since he already had determined to do the work perfectly if not better. Jaro therefore incurred few reprimands, and these were perfunctory grumbles, as if Gaing were disappointed not to find real reason for complaint. Jaro gradually relaxed. He meticulously followed instructions and spoke only when Gaing spoke first, which obviously suited Gaing well. Jaro was assigned all the dirty jobs Gaing himself wished to avoid. Jaro set upon each new job with energy and zeal, trying to complete it both efficiently and well, if only as a challenge to Gaing to do his worst.

  Jaro found Gaing impossible to dislike. Gaing was neither small minded nor unfair, and when necessary he spared himself no more than he did Jaro. Further, Jaro began to discern complex traits in Gaing’s character which Gaing did his best to conceal.

  Jaro soon understood that if he attended to business and learned whatever Gaing could or would teach him, he would ultimately become a most excellent and versatile mechanic.

  Halfway through the summer Trio Hartung chanced to meet Jaro in the corridor. Halting, he asked how affairs were going.

  “Very well,” said Jaro.

  “And how are you getting along with Gaing?”

  Jaro grinned. “I do my best not to annoy him. I’m beginning to understand what a remarkable man he is.”

  Hartung nodded. “He is that, well enough. He has led an eventful life, traveled far and wide: Beyond, and who knows where else? I’m told that he worked for the IPCC, teaching combat skills to recruits, but I think that IPCC neatness and order wore him down.”

  “That’s amazing,” said Jaro. “I would not like to come upon him in the dark if he were annoyed with me.”

  “Small chance of that,” said Hartung. “Gaing likes you. He says you are a good worker, that you don’t shirk and are more stubborn than he is himself; also, that you don’t bother him with foolish talk. From Gaing, this is high approval, and he’d never tell you himself.”