Night Lamp

by Jack Vance

  Dame Waldop’s voice took on a haughty edge. “As to that, I cannot say. He is not at Loorie, and I believe he has gone off-planet.”

  “And you have no clue as to his destination?”

  “None. I am not his confidante.”

  “Excuse me a moment; perhaps your clerk knows.”

  “I doubt that very much!” declared Dame Waldop. “Let us not waste his time.” Maihac turned to Aubert Yamb, who had been crouched over his desk pretending to hear nothing. Maihac glanced at the placard on his desk. “Your name, so I see, is Aubert Yamb.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “Do you know Asrubal of Urd House by sight?”

  “Yes, sir. A stately and severe gentleman. When he says ‘No’ he does not blow a horn or ring a bell to emphasize his point.”

  “Where is Asrubal now?”

  “He has gone off-world, to—”

  Dame Waldop called out: “Yamb, do not utter inanities, in order to attract attention.”

  “Very good, Dame Waldop.” Yamb bent his head over his ledger. He looked up again, and scratched the tip of his nose with his pen. “I will tell you, and you can properly tell the gentleman. Asrubal flew off to Ocknow on Flesselrig.”

  Dame Waldop clicked her tongue, and swung around in anger. “Yamb, you have far exceeded your function. I have long noticed this tendency in you and to this moment I have suffered under the threat of your indiscretions. You have interfered in matters unrelated to your task for the last time; in short, you are discharged, without references.”

  “This is sad news,” said Yamb. “I tried only to be obliging.”

  “All very well, but if you wish to get on in the world, you must learn when to be helpful and when to avoid what I will call bumptious self-importance.”

  “Yes, now I understand. May I have my job back?”

  “Absolutely not. Kindly work out the day as usual. Before you go, clean out the bins and lock up the telephones as always. Also, even if you must work late, make sure your books are current to the minute.”

  “Very good, madame. I will pay my wages from the petty cash.”

  “As you wish. Leave an itemized chit in the drawer.”

  Maihac had no farther business with Dame Waldop, and departed the agency. In the shade of a blue-green dendron he paused to reflect the way his life had gone since last he had walked the main street of Loorie, and how everything had changed. He thought of himself as he once had been, and considered the man he had become. The thoughts were neither cheerful nor elevating and he put them aside. It was important that he maintain his emotions at an even tone, in order to enhance his efficiency. Three years with the Loklor, if nothing else, had taught him discipline. Often he had told himself that, if by some chance he survived his wandering across the Tangtsang Steppe, he would never feel gloom or misery again.

  He looked to his left, where the street ended at the space terminal; then to his right, along an aisle of freakish dendrons, to where the road finally disappeared into a forest. Here, within the span of his gaze, was Loorie, home to two or three thousand secretive folk who muttered confidentially to each other when they met on the street, and walked with care so as not to produce the sound of footsteps. Crossing the street, Maihac entered the offices of the Natural Bank. He stood in a dim high-ceilinged lobby, with cashier’s counters along one wall. Another wall was sheathed with narrow boards of porous golden punkwood. An empty desk, placed beside the wall, commanded a door which bore the legend:

  RUBER THWAN

  Manager

  In the absence of a receptionist, Maihac opened the door and entered the office, which was another high-ceilinged chamber, with a handsome wainscoting of figured greenwood. Tall windows overlooked a garden; a heavy bottle-green carpet covered the floor. Behind an oversized desk sat Huber Thwan, who was short, stout, with a round pink face, a stub of a nose and a small pugnacious mustache. His rust-brown hair had been combed to form wings over his ears to right and left. His glossy dark brown suit seemed too splendid for the Loorie environment, as did his flowered cravat and his polished yellow shoes with two-inch heels and pointed toes. Maihac was greeted with a frown as if he had entered Thwan’s office far too casually, and he failed to fit the mold of the bank’s preferred customer; in fact, all taken with all, Maihac seemed a man with many undesirable characteristics. Thwan spoke severely: “In the future, you might prefer to be announced by my secretary. It is considered a more dignified procedure for us both.”

  “That is good to know,” said Maihac. “I have just arrived from Romarth, and have not yet become civilized.”

  Thwan squinted sidelong at Alaihac, his mustache bristling. “From Romarth, you say? Most interesting! So what, may I ask, are your needs?”

  “They are simple enough. I want to examine the financial records of Urd House, and especially the accounts of Asrubal of Urd.”

  Thwan’s jaw dropped. He stuttered a moment before he found words. “What an absurd notion! This is obviously impossible! Privacy of our clients is a sacred trust.”

  “So I expect. But—I carry a document authorizing my investigation. You have no choice in the matter.”

  Thwan became indignant. “This is most irregular! I cannot imagine how any such authorization could be valid!”

  “See for yourself.” Maihac tossed the document to Thwan’s desk. Thwan jerked back, as if Maihac had tendered him a poisonous insect. He cautiously bent forward and looked over the document, grunting softly under his breath. He read and re-read the document, and finally leaned heavily back in his chair. “No more need be said. This document is definite. I will of course wish to make a copy for my files.”

  “As you like.”

  Thwan spoke now with false heartiness. “Well then—you wanted to look over the Urd account? That can be done as of this instant.” A panel in the wainscoting slid back, to reveal a large screen. Thwan spoke a few words and information appeared on the screen.

  Maihac studied the numbers for five minutes, putting occasional questions to Thwan, who responded with terse courtesy. Maihac presently said: “I see no record of a payment made to Jamiel Maihac, in the amount of three hundred thousand sols.”

  “No such payment was made. I clearly remember the circumstances. Several years ago a young woman presented this extraordinary draught. I informed her that I never carried so much cash on the premises; that it would have been both burdensome and unsafe. I told her that she had two options. I could submit the draught to the Natural Bank home office at Ocknow on Flesselrig, then wait for the next bonded shipment from Flesselrig, which might entail a delay of several months; or she herself could take the draught to Ocknow and apply to the Natural Bank, where Urd House also maintained an account—considerably larger, so I believe, than the balance entrusted to the local bank. I told her that she would find the latter course considerably more expeditious than waiting here for a shipment of cash. She accepted my advice, so I believe, and left the bank.”

  “Did she provide any hint as to her ultimate plans?”

  “Nothing. I assume that she took passage to Ocknow by the first outbound packet.”

  “And she left no message?”

  “None.”

  Maihac gave a disconsolate grimace. He looked once more at the screen. “Asrubal’s account here is quite modest—about eight thousand sols.”

  Huber Thwan agreed that the amount indexed to Asrubal’s credit was not exceptional.

  “He maintains a separate account at Ocknow?”

  Thwan blew out his mustache, to indicate his distaste for the question. He responded coldly: “I don’t know the exact figures, but his Ocknow account is said to be quite substantial.”

  “One last question. Have you seen or communicated with Asrubal recently?”

  “No, sir. I have not seen him for a considerable period—months, or even years. At the time he also was bound for Ocknow.”

  Maihac thanked Thwan and departed. Outside the bank, he paused to reflect upon what he
had learned. It was not very much and none of it was heartening. He went to sit on a bench and watched the secretive folk of Loorie moving furtively about their affairs. The sun Yellow Rose sank into the afternoon sky and threw long shadows along the street. He saw Dame Waldop emerge from the offices of the Lorquin Shipping Agency and stride away, breasting the air with her bosom. The black-clad folk of Loorie lowered their heads and drifted to the side as she approached, then watched her with hooded eyes as she passed.

  Maihac waited until she had disappeared from view, then crossed the street and looked through the window of the agency. He noticed Aubert Yamb sitting glumly at his desk. The door was locked; at Maihac’s knock, Yamb reluctantly came to the door. He threw back the bolt, eased open the door to produce a gap six inches wide, through which he peered owlishly at Maihac. “The agency is closed for the day. If you return tomorrow. Dame Waldop will assist you with full attention.”

  Maihac pushed through the door and closed it behind him. “It’s you I want to consult.”

  “I am no longer an employee,” said Yamb. “I can conduct no official business.”

  “Quite all right. I want only information, for which I am willing to pay.”

  “Oh?” Yamb was interested. “How much?”

  “Probably more than you expect.” Maihac placed twenty sols upon the counter. “Let us start at the beginning. About three years ago I made certain plans with my wife. I told her that as soon as we arrived at Loorie, I intended to approach you in connection with some confidential work you would find financially rewarding. In essence, I wanted copies of documents which might later be used in a criminal prosecution. It so happened that I was delayed, so that Jamiel arrived at Loorie ahead of me. I am sure that she would have carried out our plans and made contact with you as soon as possible. Am I right?”

  Yamb’s face became a mask of sly cunning. He studied Maihac under lowered lids. “What was this young lady’s name?”

  “Jamiel Maihac. I am Tawn Maihac. How much did she pay you?”

  “A thousand sols—and not a lead dinket too much, considering the risks.”

  “And you did the work exactly as she asked?”

  Yamb looked anxiously over his shoulder toward the door. “Yes; I made copies of my ledgers over a period of five years. They detailed all business transacted during the period in question. She was pleased with the result.”

  “Good. You may now make similar copies for me. The pay will be the same.”

  Yamb’s face fell. “Impossible. Even if I could, I would not dare, after the repercussions of the first case.”

  “How so?”

  “Asrubal arrived from Fader a few days later. He was in a vicious mood. As soon as he entered the office he demanded my ledgers, and I assure you that my soul went numb. However, I feigned insouciance and politely produced the ledgers. At once he looked them over, muttering under his breath to Dame Waldop, who stood by nonplussed. Suddenly Asrubal bent down and smelled the pages. He looked up at Dame Waldop with an expression which chills me as I think of it now. He declared in a low rasping voice: ‘These ledgers have been copied!’

  “Dame Waldop cried out: ‘Impossible! Who would do such a thing! Come; let us examine the machine. The meter will provide us the facts.’

  “The two went into the back room and studied the meter, but I had no fear in this regard, since I had disconnected it during my unauthorized use. They emerged from the room with Dame Waldop leading, shoulders thrown back in vindication. ‘As you see, the count is correct. Your nose, in this case at least, has misled you.’

  “Asrubal turned to study me, with a disturbing intensity. ‘Well, then, Yamb! Did you copy these ledgers?’

  “ ‘Of course! Every week I copy them upon the computational machine! It is my duty, so that the information is instantly available to Your Honor! It is a simple matter. For instance, I call out “Export,” then “Transactions,” then utter the particulars of the transaction. It is a fine and satisfactory system.’

  “ ‘I daresay. Did you copy the ledgers on the copying machine? Come; tell me at once! These documents are of cardinal importance!’

  “I felt his gaze boring into my brain, but I have perfected a manner of guileless innocence which persuades the keenest inquisitor that I am a mooncalf, with nothing more weighty on my mind than a taste for well-buttered parsnips. I believe that I made this impression upon Asrubal, and left him baffled though still as dangerous as a coiled fire-snake. He questioned me for a time, but I only simpered and licked my lips in an unctuous manner which everyone finds disgusting. Asrubal finally turned away, throwing his arms into the air. For a time he continued to bedevil Dame Waldop, who denied all his imputations. In the end he deleted the information from the memory banks of the business machine, then he snatched up my ledgers and left the office. He was in a fury and his face was like sculptured bone.”

  “Did Jamiel indicate what her plans might be?”

  “No. She went to the terminal and took outward passage. I was told that Asrubal made extensive inquiries, but I gather that he learned nothing definite.”

  Maihac produced a hundred sols. Yamb cocked his head to the side. “You bring forth that money with the careless ease of a wealthy grandee, to whom a thousand sols is little different from a hundred.”

  “Not exactly. Do you have something more to tell me?”

  “Only the story of my life and the color of Dame Waldop’s knickers, which I glimpsed one day when she slipped on a bit of fruit, which I had discarded, and fell flat on her fundament.”

  “You have nothing else?”

  Yamb heaved a sigh. “Nothing whatever.”

  Maihac handed over the hundred sols. “You will need this while you prepare for a new career.”

  “No fear in that direction,” said Yamb complacently. “I will assist my Aunt Estebel at Primrose Consolidators for a time, until Dame Waldop discovers that I have installed a number of mysterious shortcuts, so that I am indispensable. She will fume and curse, but in the end she will order me back to work. My response will be languid; this time she has gone too far and some of her allusions have been a bit close to the knuckle. I shall tell her so. Further, I will recommend a substantial raise in salary, a handsome new desk near the door, with a plaque identifying me as ‘Superintendent of Finance’ or some such tide.”

  “You live an adventurous life,” said Maihac. “Where is the IPCC office?”

  Yamb opened the door and ushered Maihac out into the late afternoon. He pointed up the street. “Go to the second cross-lane. There, with the pedicure salon to one side and a great black bangle-blossom tree to the other, you will find the IPCC.”

  At the IPCC office Maihac identified himself to the young agent and inquired for messages. As he expected, the officer produced an envelope inscribed with his name.

  The message read:

  Tawn Maihac: I have shipped out aboard the Lustspranger of the Demeter Line. A message addressed to the main office of the Demeter Line on Old Earth will reach me, and I will join you at the rendezvous you suggested.

  Gaing Neitzbeck

  11

  Maihac left Loorie aboard a packet of the Swannic Line, which took him to Galley’s Junction on Virgo AXX-1 Thirteen, where he transferred to a tourist cruise ship, which took him to Ocknow on the world Flesselrig, the commercial and financial node serving much of the back sector. Maihac went directly to the main offices of the Natural Bank, where he was referred to one of the under-supervisors. This was Brin Dykich, who contrasted notably with Huber Thwan of Loorie. He was slim, personable, cooperative and wore no mustache. He took Maihac into his office, ordered in tea and asked how he could be of service.

  “You will at first think my request irregular,” said Maihac. “Perhaps even startling, but when you hear the background, I think you will see that all is in order.”

  “Please continue,” said Dykich. “You have at least excited my interest.”

  “I am a former officer of the IPCC, ret
ired in good standing. I am trying to lay a criminal by the heels. He is a thief, a swindler and a murderer; he is a Roum from the world Fader; his name is Asrubal of Urd House and he maintains an account in at least two branches of the Natural Bank—here and at Loorie.”

  “And you want information in regard to the account?” Dykich’s tone was neutral. “Obviously, I cannot oblige you even though you have my sympathy. I have met Asrubal, and, quite candidly, I find him a nasty piece of work.”

  Maihac placed his documents on the desk. “This is my authority.”

  Dykich read the documents carefully, then looked up at Maihac. “This is a very powerful instrument. It gives you discretionary control over Urd House monies, even though they have been initialized into Asrubal’s sub-account.”

  “That is my understanding.”

  Dykich pursed his lips dubiously and re-read the document. “Well, the instructions are clear. I presume that you wish to inspect the account?”

  “Yes, if you please.”

  Dykich brought the relevant numbers to his screen. Maihac studied them for a moment. “Naturally, you are aware that there is a draught of three hundred thousand sols, issued against Asrubal’s account, which still seems to be outstanding.”

  “I have noticed the reference.”

  “The draught was not funded at Loorie, and apparently it was not funded here.”

  Dykich looked over the screen. “True. We discharged no such draught. It is still extant and as good as cash.”

  “With accrued interest and dividends over three years, how much is it worth now?”

  “Roughly four hundred thousand sols.”

  “I want to protect this money from any attempt by Asrubal to sequester it. How can this be done?”

  Dykich reflected. “It is not a simple process, but it can be done. On the strength of this authorization, I can transfer an appropriate sum into a modified escrow, payable only upon presentation of the draught, which is made out to ‘Bearer.’ ”

  “Then please do so.”

  “Very well. I will calculate the exact amount, which should be close to four hundred thousand sols, and which, as you will notice, almost wipes out Asrubal’s account.”