Night Lamp

by Jack Vance

  “I am here,” came Gaing’s voice, pitched in tones of outrage and menace. “For your information, I have never been more angry. Luckily for this scoundrel Faurez, I am a temperate man. He has saved his life by agreeing that the House of Urd takes full responsibility for these sorry events and shall pay all damages.”

  From one of the Plum-pink councillors came a cry of protest: “Hold hard! Hold hard! This man has received no official authorization to pay out so much as a pickled gallstone!”

  “No matter,” said the Chief Councillor. “Let us hear the evidence of this off-world gentleman.”

  Maihac spoke to Gaing: “Faurez is with you?”

  “Yes; just as before.”

  “Be careful with him. He won’t bounce.”

  “Not well. I have discovered this for myself.”

  “I am now in the council chambers. Councillors are ready to hear your report.”

  “Good.” Once again Gaing told his tale, then said, “The manager of the terminal has agreed to tell you what he knows, Faurez, speak! Explain to the councillors what has happened.”

  From the radio came an emotion-choked voice: “I am Faurez of Urd; there is no point in equivocation, since this spaceman was a witness to the events and I will state the facts bluntly. Asrubal of Urd, arriving from Loorie, saw the Distilcord. He commanded the Loklor to destroy it and he ordered me to cooperate. After the Distilcord had been broken, he told the Loklor to kill Gaing Neitzbeck, then set off for Romarth in his flitter. Neitzbeck killed twenty Loklor with his handgun before they gave up the effort and departed. Neitzbeck took me by force and insisted that I report the true circumstances to the council. I do so without reluctance, since Asrubal performed a wicked act, and must accept the consequences.”

  The council put questions to Faurez, then at last indicated that they had heard enough.

  Asrubal arrived somewhat later. He was instantly summoned to appear before the council. When at last he entered the chamber, he showed no guilt and in fact demonstrated indignation that he had been summoned at such an inconvenient hour. Instead of denying the accusation, he defended his actions with stony self-righteousness, claiming that Maihac and Gaing Neitzbeck had contravened traditional laws regulating commerce between Fader and the inner worlds.

  “Nonsense!” declared Tronsic of Stam House. “There are no laws of commerce, only customs and usages. You have committed an unjustified depredation and must be punished with full severity!”

  Asrubal roared in fury. “Do you dare speak of punishing a grandee of Urd? Rashudo is at stake!”

  “Cease your fulminations!” the Chief Councillor ordered. “If you are called to account, your deeds alone will be judged, not your bluster.”

  The charges against Asrubal were formalized, and the process of prosecution put into motion. As might be expected, the case moved languidly along the tortuous processes of the Colloquary.

  Meanwhile Jamiel’s time came upon her, and she gave birth to twin boys: Jaro and Garlet.

  Maihac wanted to bring Gaing to Romarth aboard the Urd flitter; the request was denied. Meanwhile the Loklor were gathering near Flad, intending to take revenge upon Gaing. A Lorquin freighter, the Liliom, was on the point of departing Flad; Gaing Neitzbeck had no choice but to return to Loorie.

  The litigation, if nothing else, had wilted Asrubal’s rashudo. This was a quality somewhat similar to “honor,” but comprising more elements. “Rashudo” included flair, grace, impassive bravery, rituals of courtesy, exact to the flick of the little finger, and much else. After two years, Maihac was summoned to the Colloquary, where the councillors had finally arrived at a consensus. In the matter of the Distilcord, Asrubal was found at fault. He was censured and required to make compensation to Maihac for the Distilcord and its lost cargo. Asrubal listened to the judgment unmoved, his rashudo enforcing a stony indifference upon him.

  Maihac addressed the panel. “Respected Councillors, what is the status of my original petition?”

  “It is moot,” said the Chief Councillor. “The Distilcord and its cargo are no longer extant.”

  “True. I ask therefore for a commercial charter, allowing me to carry cargo from off-world directly to Romarth, and also to act as agent for your exports.” The exports, almost exclusively so Maihac had learned, were slabs of precious minerals, quarried and polished by the Seishanee: milk opal, silky green jade, a dense and heavy jet polished smooth as glass but completely absorptive of light, so that to look upon it was like gazing into a deep dark hole. There was also a pale green porphyry spangled with crystals of alexandrite; mottled blue and green malachite; water-clear volcanic glass streaming with red films of colloidal gold, often mingled with ribbons of cobalt blue. Such materials commanded high prices in the urban areas of the Reach, and Maihac suspected that the yield of these sales was not being properly paid over to the Roum. In short, the Roum were almost certainly the victims of a massive swindle. Maihac went on to say: “I guarantee you a far greater return than you are now afforded by the Lorquin Agency, which in my opinion is not dealing fairly with you.”

  Asrubal instantly jumped to his feet. “These remarks are irresponsible! This man is an odious agitator and a liar! The Lorquin Agency is well-tried and notably dependable. The off-world rascal must be called to account!”

  The councillors sat in silence. The issue was uncomfortable. A certain Melgrave of Slayard House said ingenuously: “All of us occasionally make mistakes. Might not this be the right of it? The Lorquin Agency has simply made a mistake.”

  Ormond of Ramy said, “The Lorquin Agency may be careless, or it might be that someone is manipulating accounts and deceiving the naive director—or there may be another even less savory explanation.”

  “ ‘Explanation’?” demanded the Chief Councillor. “You have left me behind. Explanation of what?”

  Maihac said, “The prices you pay for ordinary goods are double or triple the price for the same goods at Loorie. Transportation costs cannot in any way be responsible. I don’t know how Lorquin markets your exports, but—if the pattern holds true—you are credited with only half of what is your proper due. In short, you are suffering either gross inefficiency or peculation on a grand scale. Only Asrubal of Urd is competent to provide you the facts.”

  A Plum-pink Councillor cried out in fury: “You are imputing peculation to a grandee of Romarth, namely, Asrubal of Urd House!”

  Maihac asked, “And what if Asrubal were guilty of this peculation? What would be the result?”

  “Impossible! His rashudo would forbid it, just as ours will never entertain so ignoble an idea!”

  “Still, be kind enough to think the unthinkable. Suppose Asrubal were for a fact guilty of such a crime: how would he be punished?”

  The Chief Councillor said, “If peccancy were proved, the person at fault would be expelled from Romarth.”

  The Plum-pink Councillor called out: “Are you truly accusing Asrubal of such a misdeed? Without proof, you are edging close to criminal slander!”

  “I am suggesting a possibility. Asrubal need only produce his private ledgers to prove me wrong.”

  Asrubal uttered a sound of contempt. “I show my ledgers to no man; my rashudo is bond for my deeds.”

  Maihac told the council, “In that case, give me the commercial charter and I will supply proof that you are being cheated by Asrubal and his Lorquin Agency. In response, then you shall see who is the liar.”

  Asrubal rose to his full height and directed a clangorous diatribe against Maihac, whom he described as “a cunning off-world trickster, whom we would be wise to extirpate.”

  Asrubal was adjudged intemperate and aroused censure from the Chief Councillor, who also chided Maihac for overbroad accusations.

  Maihac repeated: “Only give me the commercial charter, and I will prove that you are being cheated!”

  “As to that, we shall see. First, let us adjudge our principal corpus.”

  “I wish to hear no more!” declared Asrubal. He
turned and stalked from the chamber, ignoring both the traditional expressions of respect to the court, and all interest in the amount of the award. His contumacy surprised no one, nor did any of his peers become exercised. After eight thousand years of quarrels and accommodations, methods for dealing with almost any situation had been devised. Nonetheless, events continued to move slowly at Romarth. Another six months passed before Maihac was tendered a draught upon the Urd House account, at the Natural Bank of Loorie, to the sum of three hundred thousand sols. This was a payment of major proportions, especially to an off-worlder, and Maihac’s popularity, never large, dwindled even further, especially among the Plum-pink faction.

  A sense of crisis hung in the air. Maihac had been warned that he went in imminent danger of assassination, nor would his family be spared. By reason of marriage, Jamiel had renounced her ties to the House of Ramy, and no longer would House protection automatically shelter her, while the children were considered nameless out-worlders.

  The time had come to leave Romarth. A Lorquin ship would be arriving at Flad, which would transport them back to Loorie, if they arrived at Flad within two days. A flitter would be needed; Tronsic of Stam House preempted the flitter reserved for the Councillors’ use, and arranged a secret rendezvous with Maihac, since the Plum-pink faction would interfere if they learned of the plans.

  Maihac and Jamiel gathered a few belongings, sedated the two children, and by secret ways went to the garden of the ruined Salsobar Palace, beside the river, just within the first shade of the forest.

  The flitter awaited them, with a guard of three Blue cavaliers, who nervously urged them to haste. “The sun is over the horizon; there is no time to waste!”

  Maihac and Jamiel loaded their possessions into the cargo bay and arranged the sleeping children on the backseat.

  Across the garden something stirred in the shadows. Maihac stared, paralyzed by dread. He broke free and called to Jamiel: “Something is wrong; get aboard!”

  Two shrouded figures emerged from the shadows. They wore long dark red gowns; their features were unnatural wads of bone and gristle. Houseghouls! thought Maihac. Jamiel cried out: “They are Madwomen in fear-masks! We have been betrayed!”

  Maihac started to board the flitter. From a new direction came a clatter and a thud; half-a-dozen cavaliers disguised as ancient warriors converged upon the flitter. The warriors, wearing the grotesque masks of the traditional Assassinator, ran clumsily, pounding with knees high, bounding over marble benches, swords at the ready. At the back stood a gaunt man with a bony white face: Asrubal of Urd. He called out, “Do not kill! Take, but do not kill! He goes into the pits!”

  The three Blue cavaliers made ready to defend the flitter.

  Someone was trying to clamber into the backseat: one of the Madwomen. Jamiel struck at her with a stave, but was herself seized and flung to the ground. There was a tangle of writhing bodies. Cursing and kicking Jamiel tried to climb back aboard the flitter, but one of the women seized her and once again shoved her down. Jamiel pulled herself erect, swung the stave in a circle and drove the women back. Suddenly Jamiel was alone, and the two women were scuttling away with backs hunched over. Jamiel scrambled aboard, and Maihac took the flitter aloft. They won free with inches to spare. From Asrubal came a roar of fury.

  “They must not escape!”

  Up rose the flitter: a hundred feet, two hundred feet. Below the Plum-pink warriors stood loosely, shoulders sagging in postures of defeat. The Blue cavaliers, meanwhile, retreated across the garden, their work done.

  At three hundred feet Maihac hovered, with some idea of doing his enemies harm. Asrubal stood to the side, near the flow of the river, his pallid face stark against his black garments. Maihac stared down in wonder. Asrubal was playing a peculiar game: tossing a sprawling object high into the air, then catching it. He flung the thing higher than ever; it seemed to be a dummy, or a large doll. Asrubal made no effort to catch it, and it fell from a height to thud upon the stone flags. Asrubal picked up the bundle again, and threw it over the balustrade, into the river, where it sank out of sight.

  From Jamiel came a low cry of unbearable horror; she clawed at Maihac’s arm; he turned to look. Two forms lay on the back seat. One was a child; the other was a dummy.

  Jamiel became hysterical and tried to jump from the flitter. Maihac restrained her. “Go back!” she screamed. “Oh, go back, go back! Help our baby!”

  Maihac said drearily, “There is no help for him now. He’s dead. If we go back they’ll kill all of us.”

  “But we must do something!”

  “I don’t know what can be done.”

  “Garlet is gone!” cried Jamiel in a voice of heartbreak. “The Madwomen took him! I saw what they were doing but could not understand; who could be so evil? Garlet is gone!”

  Maihac, stunned and incredulous, looked down at Asrubal, who stood apart, grim and majestic, legs apart, arms folded across his chest. Maihac studied him for ten seconds, then turned away. He took the flitter high and flew north across the Blandy Deep toward Flad.

  Jamiel presently asked, “What will you do?”

  “I don’t know.” Then, after a moment, “First of all, I must put you and Jaro on the ship to Loorie.”

  “And then?”

  Maihac sighed. “I shall probably come with you. I can’t bring the poor child back to life. Someday I will kill Asrubal—perhaps when I return to Romarth in my own ship.”

  Jamiel had nothing to say. Maihac took the draught for three hundred thousand sols from his pocket and tucked it into the pouch she wore at her waist. “You had better keep this with you for the moment. Remember, it is written to the interest of ‘Bearer.’ Anyone can apply for the cash. Remember also that it is valid forever and that while the money remains in the Urd account, it draws interest. When we take this money, we will be punishing Asrubal in a most hurtful way.”

  “That does not make me feel better.”

  “No. We shall do worse to Asrubal than take his money.”

  Jamiel said urgently, “I don’t want you going back to Romarth—not now! You would be killed within the week!”

  “I expect that you are right. But we are not helpless and we can still do Asrubal harm.”

  “In what way?”

  “When we arrive at Loorie, this is what we will do.”

  Jamiel listened attentively. “Yes. It is a good idea, and it must be done.” After a moment she turned, seized up the hateful dummy and threw it from the flitter. It whirled below them and disappeared into the forest.

  During the middle afternoon they approached the space terminal at Flad. Maihac dropped the flitter upon the landing field, now occupied by the Lorquin space-freighter Liliom.

  Maihac landed beside the freighter, set about unloading the luggage, while Jamiel, carrying Jaro, went aboard the ship in search of the purser.

  From behind Maihac came the sound of heavy footsteps. He swung about, to look into the skewed yellow faces of four Loklor tribesmen. He was seized; his arms tied behind his back, and dragged away by a rope around his neck. In the doorway opening into the workshop Maihac saw a heavy black-bearded man watching, and his attitude of satisfaction could not be disguised. When he noticed Maihac’s desperate gaze, he raised his hand in a casual salute and shouted, “Hoy, chum! Dance nicely with the girls! Maybe they’ll let you pop it to them before they boil your head!” The rope jerked at Maihac and he heard no more.

  9

  The Loklor jogged off across the steppe, with Maihac running and stumbling behind. A mile from the terminal the Loklor came to their camp. They tied the end of Maihac’s lead-rope to a wagon wheel. An hour passed, while the sun set among flaring orange and yellow clouds. Maihac cautiously tried to loosen the knot at his neck, without success. The Loklor were indolent and casual, but he was always under observation. Maihac studied his captors. They were all mature warriors of the “Third-fledge” category: massive, somewhat taller than Maihac, with prominent crests along their back-sl
anting scalps, hard nose-beaks and undershot chins. The males wore loose breeches; the women showed faces stained pasty-white and wore black skirts, dirty white vests and conical leather hats with ear-flaps slanting away from their heads.

  Dusk fell over the steppe. A fire was built in an open place. One of the bucks came to look down at Maihac. “Now you will dance. Everyone new to the camp dances with the girls. They are fine dancers and you must be quick on your feet. After you dance we shall be done with you, since that is the extent of the instruction.”

  Maihac said, “I countermand that instruction! The new instruction is to remove this rope and take me back to the terminal.”

  The Loklor said dubiously, “This may be so, but first you must dance with the girls. When things are started, they cannot be altered. That is the way of water, earth and sky.”

  Maihac was dragged toward the fire, where six girls stood in a group, making restless movements: hopping, flexing arms, jerking heads back and forth, meanwhile appraising Maihac and making hoarse cooing sounds of excitement.

  The rope was removed from Maihac’s neck; at the same time an old woman began to draw groaning noises from an extremely tall narrow viol. She played a slow dismal tune, to which she chanted: “Fum dum dum! Dance tonight around the brave fire! Dance this old dance, under the sky of night! Old sand! Old fire! Nothing must change; it is always the dance of the girls!”

  The viol scraped and groaned; the girls began to hop and kick ponderous legs, while circling the fire, and watching Alaihac sidelong. Maihac was thrust reeling and stumbling toward the dancing girls. The nearest eagerly seized him and took him pirouetting around the fire; Maihac was aware of the rank odor of her body, and tried to pull back, but she passed him on to another in the circle. This one gave him a shove toward the fire. “Jump through the flames! Show us a fine bound! A sharp nip of my teeth will make you frisky! I shall nibble at your head, unless you show me a fine bound!” She thrust her face forward with teeth gleaming. “Jump!”