Night Lamp

by Jack Vance

  “Asrubal will not be pleased. Make sure that neither he nor anyone else of Urd House can gain access to the account.”

  “I will place a stipulation to this effect.” Dykich picked up the document and read it once more, with great care. He shrugged. “So be it. But I must make a certified copy of the document, which you will sign, for my own protection.”

  The copy was executed to Dykich’s satisfaction. Maihac asked, “I take it that you have not seen Asrubal recently?”

  “Not recently. Certainly not for months, perhaps longer. Now that I think of it, a message was left here about a year ago; the exact date being—” Dykich rummaged in his drawer and brought out a buff envelope. He studied the imprinted date. “It was left a year ago. Asrubal has not been here since then.” Maihac reached out and took the envelope from Dykich’s reluctant fingers. Before Dykich could protest, Maihac had opened the envelope and extracted the message. He read aloud:

  “To Asrubal of Urd:

  With the house where the woman died as my focus, I searched the area in concentric circles and finally came upon facts which I believe to be significant to a ninety percent surety. The only alternate hypothesis (ten percent probability) is that the boy died by drowning in the river.

  Far more likely, he was taken up by a pair of anthropologists named Hilyer and Althea Fath, and conveyed to their home in the city Thanet, on the world Gallingale. Public records make this opinion highly probable.

  Terman of Urd.”

  Dykich stared at Maihac. “Are you well? You are pale as a ghost!”

  “Jamiel is dead,” muttered Maihac. “Asrubal has killed her.”

  12

  “There’s not much more to tell,” said Maihac. “The message which Terman had left with Brin Dykich shocks me to this day when I think of it. I had hoped that Jamiel might have escaped Asrubal—but he had caught up with her. I can’t bear to think what happened next. My life became focused upon two persons: Jaro and Asrubal. Even while I sat in Dykich’s office, I wondered why Asrubal should be so anxious to track down Jaro. After long brooding, the answer came to me. It could only be that Jamiel had put the bank draught and the incriminating ledgers into a safe place, and died before Asrubal could wring the truth from her. The boy had escaped and might possibly know the hiding place. The chance was remote but Asrubal could not neglect it; he could never feel secure until he had destroyed the ledgers and canceled the bank draught.

  “Terman might or might not have communicated with Asrubal. I traveled to Thanet at once, and was much relieved to find that you were alive, well and in good hands. The Faths were raising you to the best of their abilities. Gaing joined me; he went to work in the terminal machine shop; I was hired as a security officer; between us we screened all incoming passengers. We gave special attention to ships arriving from the direction of Flesselrig and Nilo-May.

  “Time passed; nothing happened; Asrubal never showed himself, nor did anyone else who might have been a Roum.

  “I became edgy. Were my theories out of phase with the facts? I could not see where I could have gone wrong—unless Terman, after leaving his message with Dykich, had never again made contact with Asrubal, so that the information regarding the Faths had never been passed on. Perhaps Terman had died, or been killed, or had decided to settle permanently somewhere among the worlds of the Reach, rather than return to Fader. I communicated with Brin Dykich at Ocknow; he reported that no one had approached him in regard to the bank draught, nor had any further payments been made into Asrubal’s account. I wondered what was going on. Finally I decided to try my luck with the Faths, and to become acquainted with my son. By this time I had learned of his truncated memory, which of course troubled me. Still, the memory might return and recall the circumstances surrounding the death of his mother, and what had happened to the ledgers and the bank draught.

  “I went to a dealer in curios and bought several exotic musical instruments, including a froghorn, which I tried to play. It was very difficult and sounded the same whether I was playing good or bad. I registered at the Institute and undertook one or two of Althea’s classes, where I casually mentioned my interest in exotic instruments. Althea instantly became interested in me, and nothing must do but what I come out to Merriehew to meet her family. We spoke of her adopted son and Althea could not restrain her pride for this boy who was turning out so nicely. I tried to find out where they had come upon this paragon, but Althea only stuttered and mumbled and changed the subject.

  “I began to visit Merriehew regularly. In general, the evenings were successful, despite Hilyer’s suspicions, which were automatic, even though I deferred to him and listened politely to all his opinions. I even brought over my froghorn and played for them. I pleased everyone but Hilyer, who was probably jealous of me, and also because I was a spaceman, and hence a vagabond. On several occasions I turned the conversation to your origins, but Hilyer and Althea were always evasive. Why, I could not understand at the time. It’s no wonder that they considered me a bad influence—so much so that their invitations came to an end.

  “Time was passing. I felt that I must do something positive, and soon. I left Gaing in charge and took passage to Nilo-May aboard a freighter. This was a mistake; the passage was cheap but it was slow. I finally arrived at Loorie where I discovered that changes had been made. Dame Waldop no longer ruled Lorquin Shipping. The new manager was a thin young woman, with eyes like flint pebbles and hair cropped short. Aubert Yamb had married his cousin Twee Pidy and was now employed at Primrose Consolidators. He was not too pleased to see me and he had little news to report. About two years before, Dame Waldop had departed Loorie for parts unknown. Yamb had seen nothing of Asrubal for an even longer period, and had no information as to his whereabouts. At the space terminal I searched the records and verified that Terman of Urd had taken passage from Loorie to Ocknow. I did the same; and for the next two years traced Terman as he moved from world to world in his search for Jaro. It was slow tedious work and very chancy; in the end the trail petered out and I was left with nothing to show for three years of effort. I decided to return to Thanet and try again to learn from the Faths where they had found you, even though I suspected that they would tell me nothing.

  “Back on Gallingale, I found things worse than ever. The Faths were dead and Gaing had seen no sign of Terman or Asrubal or anyone else of interest. And that is about the whole of it.”

  Fourteen

  1

  After an hour of brooding. Skirl decided that the treatment accorded her by the bank had exceeded tolerable limits of disrespect. She telephoned the Clam Muffin Committee and described the offensive events. The bank, so she declared, in its contempt for herself and her status, was gnawing away the very foundations of civilized society.

  The chairman of the committee asked her to compose herself for a brief period, while he set matters straight. Ten minutes later he called back to announce that the bank recognized its mistake, and now extended its apologies. The bank would be pleased if Skirl, at her convenience, would see fit to return to Sassoon Ayry, where she could secure all her belongings, at her leisure. The bank’s personnel would be on hand to render all assistance.

  Skirl thanked the chairman and said that, as always, it was a wonderful thing to be a Clam Muffin, to which the chairman agreed.

  Jaro and Skirl at once drove to Sassoon Ayry, where they discovered a new spirit of cooperation. Skirl packed the most desirable elements of her wardrobe, then ranged the house gathering such objects as might be considered keepsakes, along with her father’s collection of ancient Kolosti miniatures, and a fossil trilobite from Old Earth. Skirl and Jaro returned to Merriehew. Jaro carried the cases into the house and up to the bedroom now being used by Skirl. Jaro went off about his own affairs, while Skirl gratefully unpacked her clothes and changed into a dark green frock. For a moment she stood before a mirror, studying her reflection. She took up a brush and ordered the loose curls. She looked at herself again. Something was different; somet
hing had changed. Was it better, or worse? She could not be sure.

  Thoughtfully, Skirl turned away from the mirror. She went downstairs to the sitting room. Jaro glanced at her, then looked again, more intently. “You look remarkably pretty! What have you done to yourself?”

  “I changed my clothes and brushed my hair. Also, I’m no longer angry with the bankers.”

  “Something has made a difference in you,” said Jaro. “What it is, I can’t understand. Maybe it’s because—” he hesitated. “But no matter.”

  Skirl looked at him suspiciously, then said, “I believe that you have problems which you are trying to solve.”

  “Correct. I want to find out where the Faths first came upon me.”

  “Ah yes. They never told you.”

  “Never, to the best of my recollection. Whenever I asked, they’d only laugh and say that it was a place far away and not important.”

  “What could be their motive?”

  “Simple enough. They wanted me to take a degree at the Institute, and join the faculty. Above all, I must not become a spaceman and go careening off in search of my past.”

  “That seems a bit high-handed.”

  Jaro nodded. “Still, they wanted the best for me.”

  “I suppose you have searched their records?”

  Jaro described the scope of his efforts. “I found nothing.”

  Skirl nodded sagely. “You need the services of a trained effectuator.”

  “Probably so. Have you any suggestions?”

  “I might take on the case if the fee were adequate.”

  “The fee, sorry to say, is not adequate. In fact, it is nonexistent.”

  “No matter,” said Skirl. “It’s about what I expected. I’ll take on the case in the name of good public relations. So relax! Your troubles are over.”

  “I hope so—but I doubt it. Hilyer did his work well. I have searched everywhere.”

  “You probably looked in all the wrong places, while the facts were climbing your leg.”

  “We shall see,” said Jaro. “Where do you want to start?”

  “First, I’ll ask some questions.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Where did you search?”

  “I studied their records. The journal for the year in question is missing. I looked through notes, invoices, receipts, authorizations, souvenirs, restaurant menus—still nothing. I cleaned out the attic. I discovered that no one has thrown away anything for a hundred years. I found horticultural records, Althea’s schoolwork, broken chairs—but no accounts of off-world travel. I went through Hilyer’s workshop inch by inch; I examined every book in the library. I searched all the likely places, then all the unlikely places. Still nothing. Not a breath, not a whisper. I checked through the journals all over again, looking for obscure references. Again—nothing.”

  “You may have overlooked a hint or a secret allusion.”

  “It’s possible—but I think not.”

  “I’ll start with the journals.”

  Jaro shrugged. “As you like. I’m afraid you’ll find it pointless.”

  “There must be something left.”

  “Hilyer was a methodical genius. So far as I can tell, he overlooked nothing.”

  “I’ll see what I can make of it.”

  Jaro left Skirl to her work. He found Maihac on the porch and began to speak of the various efforts to acquire Merriehew: Forby Mildoon, Lyssel and her unconventional methods, Abel Silking, and his threats.

  “When I look back, I get angry,” said Jaro. “They planned to befuddle the poor foolish nimp, so that he would sell his property for a song. Then, after they had turned him out upon Katzvold Road, they would whipsaw Gilfong Rute and squeeze him out of his Glitterway spaceyacht. Abel Silking’s offer was better, but it included threats. I am not pleased with any of these people.”

  “I don’t think Silking will try to carry out his threats, especially after we introduce him to Gaing Neitzbeck.”

  Feeling somewhat more cheerful, Jaro went to check on Skirl’s progress. He found her disconsolately sorting through a file of miscellaneous papers which he had already examined several times. “What have you learned?”

  “Nothing. Hilyer seems to have been cold-blooded and very determined to get the better of you.”

  “I don’t want to remember Hilyer like that.”

  “Perhaps I’m not very charitable.” She pointed to the shelf. “There is the journal for the year before you were found, and the journal for the year after. They are numbered ‘25’ and ’27.’ Number ’26,’ the journal for the year in question is missing.”

  “It is probably part of the parcel Imbald is holding for me, should I come to my senses and register at the Institute.”

  Skirl turned away from the cabinet. “You’re right. Hilyer was thorough. I’ve seen enough of his empty notebooks.”

  “There may be something at the Institute which Maihac missed. But enough for now. It’s time to set out our first banquet. Gaing Neitzbeck will be on hand. Are you a good cook?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll cook, and you set the table, banquet-style. Althea’s best tablecloths are in yonder cupboard; the crockery is in the kitchen cabinet.”

  “Very well,” said Skirl. “What are you planning to cook?”

  “Stew.”

  “That sounds nice. Perhaps someday you’ll teach me how to cook.”

  “Certainly. Stew is easy. You put things into a pot, add water and boil. When everything is done, add salt, pepper and serve. It’s an infallible recipe.”

  Skirl went to the cupboard. She selected a cheerful blue—and red-checked cloth, spread it over the table. She set out dishes to match and brought down one of Althea’s candelabra, of a color and design she thought appropriate to the setting.

  When Gaing arrived, the company took seats around the table. Dinner was served by candlelight: a salad of garden greens, stew, bread and olives, along with two bottles of Hilyer’s Emilione Red dinner wine. Skirl dined with good appetite, but she had little to say and seemed preoccupied by private thoughts. They were evidently entertaining since Skirl had trouble repressing the grin which from time to time threatened to break through her mask of solemnity. Jaro watched her narrowly, wondering what might be the secret joke.

  Maihac refilled goblets around the table and leaned back in his chair. “One field of inquiry remains: the faculty at the Institute.”

  Jaro said gloomily, “I’ve already asked. No one remembers what the Faths were doing twelve years ago.”

  “In that case we seem to have reached a dead end.”

  Skirl said carelessly, “It might be useful to consult the effectuator, whom you hired to solve the problem—at quite a low fee, I might add.”

  Jaro looked at her in sudden suspicion. “You have the answer? Is that why you’ve been grinning?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Tell us! Don’t keep us in suspense!”

  Skirl sipped from her goblet of wine before responding. Then: “The place is called ‘Sronk,’ on the world Camberwell.”

  “Really! And how did you find that out?”

  “First deduction, then induction.”

  “Come now! Surely there is more to it than that?”

  “Well, yes. When I took the candelabra down from the shelf, I noticed on the bottom a label, with a number and a name—in this case ‘21’ and ‘Dank Wallow, Mauberley.’ After thinking a bit, I went to the cabinet and took out the journal numbered ‘21.’ I found a reference to the world Mauberly and the village ‘Dank Wallow’ almost at once. I went back to the shelf and looked at the bottom of each candelabra until I found a label with the number ‘26.’ The place cited was ‘Sronk’ and the world ‘Camberwell.’ So there you have it.”

  2

  The communicator, when connected with the Institute library, produced information regarding the world Camberwell, including physical characteristics, several maps, a description of the indigenous flora
and fauna, information regarding the peoples of Camberwell, the towns and their populations as well as a brief historical survey. The principal spaceport was beside the town Tanzig, ten miles south of the River Blass. Sronk was indicated about forty miles east of Tanzig, across the Wyching Hills.

  “The next problem is how to get there,” said Jaro. “That means money.”

  “Money and time, if you use commercial transport,” said Maihac. “Camberwell is to the side of the main routes, which means the chance of bad connections at the junction ports.”

  “What is needed is a spaceship,” said Jaro. “I can sell to Silking for at least thirty thousand sols, and probably somewhat more, depending upon Rute’s anxiety. How much is a Locator 11-B?”

  “Anything from five thousand sols for a ship with a hole in the hull and a fused energy box, up to twenty-five or thirty thousand sols for a ship in reasonable condition. But a Locator would be cramped, and perhaps we can do better,” Maihac advised.

  The telephone chimed. Jaro called: “Speak!” On the screen appeared the face of a silver-haired man of mature years, notably debonair, with regular features and a manner benign and bland. Jaro said: “Good evening, Mr. Silking.”

  Abel Silking smiled in modest self-deprecation. “Perhaps it is a bit late, but I wonder if you have reflected upon the offer I made you yesterday?”

  “Yes,” said Jaro.“So I have.”

  “And you have decided to accept, or so I hope?”

  “Not quite. I have taken advice from Mr. Tawn Maihac, and he is now acting for me. You may speak’ to him, if you like.”

  Silking’s mouth lost something of its genial curve, but his tone was as suave as ever. “Of course. The terms are the same for him as they are for you.”

  Maihac looked into the screen. “I am Tawn Maihac. Jaro has asked me to represent him in this matter. Your principal is Gilfong Rute?”