by Jack Vance
“I’ll live here for a time. Perhaps I’ll rent the house and travel.”
Silking nodded. “Lumilar Vistas might be interested in making you a very fair offer.”
“Don’t bother. My price is quite high. You might even call it ‘unfair.’ ”
“How high? How unfair?”
“I don’t know, and as I hinted, I’m not ready even to think about it. I’ll tell you this much. I’ve had other offers, from persons desperate to buy. The property is evidently valuable.”
“I am authorized to make you the very handsome offer of thirty thousand sols.”
Jaro said soberly, “I’ll discuss your offer with the legatees under my will. They are naturally interested in any transactions involving Merriehew.”
Silking raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised that you have a will! Who, may I ask, are your legatees?”
Jaro laughed. “Their identity is of no relevance at the moment—only the fact of their existence. Goodnight, Mr. Silking.”
Abel Silking went to the door, where he paused. “Please do not enter into any other negotiations before notifying us, since we regard ourselves as the party of primary interest.”
Jaro said politely, “If and when I decide to sell, I will certainly sell to my best advantage.”
Abel Silking showed Jaro a faint smile. “You must take into account the importance of Lumilar Vistas, and the almost frightening amount of persuasion we can bring to bear. Goodnight, Mr. Fath.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Silking.”
The door closed. Jaro heard the measured tread diminish along the porch. Through the window he saw Silking step into a luxurious black vehicle. It slid down the drive, turned into the road and was gone.
Jaro went out upon the porch. The area was dark and quiet, save for the rustle of the wind in the trees. He stood motionless, the skin of his back tingling, listening for the murmur of ghosts among the wind noises.
The night was cold. Jaro shivered and went inside the house.
The fire in the fireplace had burned low. Jaro stirred it up and added a pair of logs. He went to the kitchen, prepared and consumed his delayed supper of soup, bread, cheese and salad, then returned to sit before the fire. He thought of Lyssel, who would be seething with hatred and grief. What an odd mercurial creature was Lyssel! She had come to Merriehew prepared for any eventuality, except defeat. The program must have been plotted with the connivance of both her mother and Forby Mildoon. Their scheme could not fail. It was simple, forthright, cogent. Lyssel would tease and befuddle the hapless young nimp until he steamed with lust and eagerly signed the option: process complete.
Lyssel, despite all the legends she had generated over the years, was sexually cool: perhaps even frigid. She would approach the project with many reservations. As Jaro sat staring into the fire he seemed to hear the conversation of the three plotters as they devised their strategy:
LYSSEL (peevishly): It’s all so intimate and sweaty. I’m not sure I’m up to it, if he insists.
MILDOON: Get the option, by hook or by crook!
DAME IDA: Do what is necessary. A bit of fornication in a good cause is quite acceptable.
LYSSEL (pouting): I would feel so foolish! What if he still resists me?
DAME IDA (scornfully): It’s been done many times before. I assure you of this.
MILDOON (emphatically): Think Pharsang! One way or another, get the job done!
DAME IDA: You have the equipment; use it to advantage. It doesn’t improve with age.
In that style, thought Jaro, the three plotters must have programmed the events of the evening. Lyssel would no doubt explain her failure upon the sudden appearance of Abel Silking.
The program had been long in the planning. Jaro thought back to the Bumbleboster’s Panics, when Lyssel had come upon him in the uniform of the Arcadian Mountebanks. Even then, she had identified him as an avenue of infiltration into the Fath household, where he might persuade Hilyer and Althea to sell Merriehew to Forby Mildoon. The ploy had failed, and the Angels of Penitence had broken Jaro’s bones. But Lyssel had persevered, striving ever more valiantly, and on this evening allowing Jaro to unbutton five buttons and kiss her breasts.
Lyssel would not be back. The game was over. Never again would she tempt Jaro with her nuzzlings and squirmings. Everything considered, it had been an interesting episode, and Jaro had learned a good deal, though not enough. Into his mind drifted the face of Skirl Hutsenreiter. His pulses quickened. What if Skirl had come to Merriehew, offering herself if Jaro would only sign a simple little paper? What then? Would he have signed? Jaro grimaced, fascinated by the idea.
He jumped to his feet, stirred up the fire. Of course not; the idea was absurd. Never in a million years would Skirl use herself in such a manner.
Or would she, if the need were strong enough?
Jaro sat looking into the fire.
An hour went by. He decided it was time for bed. A noise? He cocked his head to listen. Footsteps on the porch? Who could be calling this time of night? Surely not Lyssel, back to make amends! Jaro ran to the door, turned on the porch lamp and looked out the window. It was not Lyssel, meek and shivering, who stood waiting for admittance.
Jaro opened the door. Tawn Maihac stood leaning against the porch railing. For a few seconds the two looked at each other, then Maihac asked, “May I come in?”
Thirteen
1
Jaro could think of nothing to say. He stepped back and Maihac entered the house. Jaro closed the door. Maihac turned and once again the two appraised each other. “I expect that you are angry with me,” said Maihac. Jaro was not sure what he felt. He could not deny the thrust of Maihac’s statement. Why had Maihac never identified himself? Why had he departed Thanet without so much as a farewell? He said at last, “I admit that my feelings were hurt, but I suppose that’s of no great consequence. You knew what you were doing and you must have had good reason.”
Maihac smiled: a fleeting smile which for an instant illuminated his entire face, revealing a range of sentiments which came and went too quickly for Jaro’s total perception.
Maihac put his arm around Jaro’s shoulders and hugged him. At last he stood back, now grinning. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time, but I didn’t dare. You are right. There were good reasons for what I did. I think you’ll agree when you know the entire story. Nevertheless, I apologize.”
Jaro made himself laugh. “Say no more. What’s important is that you’re here now. Come; let’s go in where it’s warm.”
Jaro led the way into the sitting room. Maihac went to stand by the fire. Jaro asked, “Are you hungry? Is there anything you’d like?”
Maihac shook his head. “I have only just arrived on Gallingale. Gaing told me something of your situation, and I thought I should let you know I was back.”
“I agree, completely! Where are you staying?”
“I haven’t settled anywhere yet.”
“Then stay here! The house is empty; I’d be happy for your company.”
“I accept with pleasure.”
The two pulled up chairs to the fire. Jaro brought out a bottle of the choice Estresas Valley wine Hilyer had put aside for a special occasion. As Jaro filled the goblets he said, “I hope that you’ll explain the mysteries which have been gnawing at me.”
“Certainly, as soon as I relax a bit.”
“Could you answer me just one question? Do you know where the Faths first found me?”
“No. The Faths would never tell me, and I am as anxious to find out as you are—perhaps more, since it is where Jamiel, your mother, was killed.”
For an instant the familiar old image flickered in and out of Jaro’s mind: the gaunt man in the black hat and black frock coat silhouetted against the evening sky. He said, “The Faths were secretive to the edge of obsession. They thought that I would go kiting off into space if I knew where to go. They were right, of course. The records are gone—wiped clean. I’ve searched everywhere, without success. It was mainl
y Hilyer’s doing, I’m convinced. He was fanatic about such things.”
“We’ll look again,” said Maihac. “I’m also fanatic when necessary. Something is bound to show up.” He looked around the room. “I see you’ve moved out most of the furniture, although I recognize the candelabra.”
“I couldn’t let them go. There is too much of Althea in them.”
“Are you planning to renovate?”
“I’m not sure. When you’re in the mood, I’d be interested in your opinions.”
“Pour me some more of Hilyer’s good wine. As for my opinions, they may be worse than the problem. Still, I’ll listen and let you know what surfaces.”
“Do you mean now?”
“Why not? I’m comfortable.”
Jaro refilled the goblets and told Maihac of Forby Mildoon’s attempts to buy Merriehew, of Skirl’s discovery that Levyan Zarda, as planned, included Merriehew’s five hundred acres. He told of Lyssel and her desperate methods. “She was quite relentless, up to a point.” Jaro thought back over the episode. “Poor Lyssel! She attempted an imaginary seduction, in which she needn’t get her feet wet. It was all very strange. If I had signed, Forby Mildoon would have used the option to secure the Pharsang from Gilfong Rute. When Abel Silking called, Lyssel left in a panic.” Jaro told of Silking’s visit and his representations in favor of Lumilar Vistas. “In the end, he made some threats, which were none too subtle. It was an interesting evening.”
Maihac rose to his feet.
“If you were to invite me and perhaps Gaing Neitzbeck to assist in your dealings with Lumilar Vistas, I think you could dismiss Mr. Silking’s threats without any further concern.”
“You are invited.”
“Very well,” said Maihac. “We’ll take the matter under study. Now, where do I sleep?”
2
In the morning, over breakfast, Maihac told of the circumstances which had brought him to Gallingale.
“My original home was a big two-story house at the fashionable end of a village called Cray, in the backlands of the world Paghorn, in the Aries sector. My father and mother were genteel folk; in fact, they were, respectively, schoolmaster and school nurse at the local elementary school. They were natives of Phasis, also in Aries, where they came from upper-class families. I never understood what brought them to Cray, at the edge of Long Bog, which means next to nowhere. I was the youngest of five children. The first four were girls. Our house was the finest in town, except for Vaswald the saloon-keeper’s mansion. My mother was determined to raise us as ladies and gentlemen, using a book called Godfroy’s Guide to Delicate Manners for reference. At every meal we were faced with a full range of utensils. The local folk used only scoops and what they called ‘nuppers’ for cracking the shells of boiled bogworms. As I think back, they were really a loutish folk.” Maihac laughed. “The villagers had invented a fine game. During the day girls and young women were safe enough, but at night the village bucks put on masks and skulked about the town looking for females who themselves had donned masks and come out in search of adventure. There was never any violence, I must say, and if a girl or a woman had a real need to be out, and wore no mask and carried a lamp and protested convincingly, she usually fared nothing worse than a pat on the rump and was sent on her way. No one suffered all that much. My sisters, needless to say, were not allowed to run the streets. When I was sixteen I was sent to Phasis to visit some relatives. I was offered a job as steward aboard a tramp freighter, which I accepted, and never returned to Paghorn. I don’t know what has become of my family, for which I am ashamed. So began my career.
“Some years later I was mate on another rackety old freighter, the Distilcord, under captain Paddo Rark. On the world Delia’s Vale we discharged cargo, but the shipping agent had nothing on hand for onward transport. Captain Paddo sent me and Gaing Neitzbeck, the engineer, out around the back-country to roust up some cargo. When we returned, we found Captain Paddo and the steward murdered and a gang of robbers looting the ship. Gaing and I killed the robbers, buried Captain Paddo and the steward; then we loaded the cargo we had scratched up and departed Delia’s Vale. Gaing and I were the only crew. Paddo Rark had been alone in the world; and now Gaing and I were also de facto owners of the Distilcord.
“At the first opportunity we supplied ourselves with appropriate papers, registered the Distilcord in our own names and started carrying cargoes of opportunity.
“We did well enough and enjoyed ourselves immensely; it was a good life for two energetic young vagabonds. Then one day we put down on the world Nilo-May, single planet to the sun Yellow Rose, and landed at the chief spaceport Loorie. And this is where our troubles began.”
The telephone chimed.
Jaro went to respond and after a moment returned. He spoke with embarrassment: “I must meet someone in Thanet at once. I’ll be back inside the hour. Can the story wait this long?”
“No problem. I’ll unpack my gear.”
3
Jaro drove the old runabout into town—along Flammarion Prospect, past the Institute, into Vilia Road, up Lesmond Way to Sassoon Ayry. In the street stood Skirl, beside two small pieces of luggage. She wore a dark blue jacket and a short dark blue skirt; she stood erect, face taut and serious. Jaro pulled up beside her. They looked at each other, neither showing any expression. Jaro jumped to the ground, loaded Skirl’s luggage into the runabout. “Is this all? You won’t have much of a wardrobe.”
“That’s all the guards let me take. They said that they had strict orders from the bank to let me take only the barest essentials.”
“Odd.”
Skirl gave a careless shrug. “I had to leave behind some things I rather liked, but it makes no great difference. The bankers were angry because I would not pay off my father’s debts, using the flimsy excuse that I had no money.”
Jaro shook his head in wonder. He opened the door. Skirl climbed aboard and they were off, down Lesmond Way.
Skirl said, “I decided to move from the club before my welcome expired. Since you are living alone in Merriehew, neglected and motherless, I decided to apply for the post of housekeeper.”
“You are hired,” said Jaro. “You can sleep either with me, or you can have the main bedroom with a private bath, whichever appeals to you.”
“That is a bad joke,” said Skirl severely. “I will want as much privacy as possible.”
“Just as you like. Your duties won’t amount to much. At the moment there is another guest. We’ll share whatever work needs to be done.”
“Who is the guest?”
“He is a spaceman named Tawn Maihac.” Jaro paused, then added, “He is my father.”
Skirl turned him a skeptical side-glance. “Is this another of your fantasies?”
“Of course not!”
“That is startling news.”
“Absolutely. When I found out, I was startled to the extreme.”
“How did you find out?”
“Gaing Neitzbeck told me.”
“Very interesting. What is he like?”
“It’s rather hard to describe him. He’s competent and versatile. Have you ever heard of a ‘froghorn’? No? It doesn’t matter. Maihac is quiet and not at all dramatic, but he is hard to ignore.”
“You seem to admire him.”
“I do, very much.”
“Does Mr. Maihac belong to any important clubs? Is he a grandee of some sort?”
“Not that I know of.”
“A pity.”
“I suppose so. It’s too bad he’s not wealthy.”
“But he’s not?”
“No. I’m probably better off than he is.”
“I suppose you are certain that the facts are correct?”
Jaro considered. “I don’t think I’m the target of a swindling scheme. At least, he hasn’t tried to borrow money yet.”
“Has he explained the six missing years of your life?”
“There are gaps in his knowledge. He doesn’t know where the Fa
ths found me. That’s something I’ll have to search out for myself.”
“Hmm. And when will you start searching?”
“I’ve already looked through all the records and journals I can find. I’ve come up blank. Still, sooner or later something is bound to show up.”
“Then what?”
“It’s a question of money. I have an income, but it’s not enough to take me off-world.”
Skirl said with determination: “As an effectuator, I plan to earn a great deal of money. I might need assistance. If you chose to work with me, you might find the decision profitable.”
“That’s a long-range project.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“We would be partners; is that your idea?”
Skirl uttered a cool laugh. “Definitely not. If you come under my command, you will be assigned cases too vulgar or too sordid to interest the Executive Director, which is to say, me.”
“That is straightforward, certainly. I’ll give the offer some thought.”
They arrived at Merriehew. Jaro unloaded Skirl’s luggage and Maihac came out to help. Jaro made introductions, then he carried Skirl’s luggage to the room designated for her use.
Jaro told Skirl: “Maihac is in the middle of a most interesting account, and I want to hear the rest of it. Perhaps you’d care to join us.”
“Of course,” said Skirl. “I’ll make some tea first, if I may?”
The three sat in the old parlor, teapot and nutcakes on a low table. Jaro told Skirl, “You have missed something of Maihac’s early life. He was born near a village called Cray, hard by the Long Bog, on a world at the back of Aries. At the age of sixteen he became a spaceman. A few years later he and Gaing Neitzbeck came into possession of a tramp freighter named the Distilcord. In due course they brought a cargo to the world Nilo-May, in orbit around the star Yellow Rose, at the edge of the Reach. This, according to Maihac, is where his troubles began. Am I right?”
“Quite right,” said Maihac. “Except that Yellow Rose marks not only the edge of the Reach, but also the fringes of the galaxy, with blank space close beyond.”
