Night Lamp

by Jack Vance

  Jaro rejoined Maihac and Skirl at the table. “Garlet has seen some pretty girls and now is excited, though he doesn’t quite know why. Skirl taught him a smattering of biology and now Garlet wants to visit the Foundance.”

  “The Foundance?” Maihac was perplexed. “Why the Foundance?”

  “Garlet has an active mind. During lunch he noticed the Seishanee girls who served us, and he was curious about their sexual habits. He wondered if Roum gentlemen copulated with them. I said I had heard no rumor or scandal; perhaps such things happened, but on the whole I thought not.”

  “Correct,” said Maihac. “The Seishanee sexual equipment is vestigial and doesn’t work.”

  “I told Garlet that the Seishanee were not sexually active, but he told me I was wrong. He said that the Seishanee copulated in the Foundance to produce new Seishanee: Skirl had assured him of this, and they were planning to visit the Foundance in order to inspect the activity.”

  “What?” cried Skirl. “This is totally imaginary!”

  Garlet appeared in the doorway. Skirl told him, “I have no intention of going with you to the Foundance, for any purpose whatever!”

  Garlet looked at her a moment, then shrugged. “In that case, I will go by myself.”

  Maihac said, “That is not a good idea. You will get into trouble, one way or another.” He rose to his feet. “If you want to visit the Foundance, I’ll come with you.”

  Garlet turned to Skirl. “I intended that you should come with me, as you agreed.”

  “I agreed to nothing of the sort,” said Skirl.

  “You spoke no words to this effect,” declared Garlet, “but I understood what was in your mind.”

  Jaro spoke politely, “You should not say such things! When you act this way you make everyone uncomfortable.”

  Garlet surveyed Jaro dispassionately. “I know what is in your mind as well. You betrayed me, and now you are anxious to thwart me, since I have grown in force, and you have become small. It is no wonder you are uncomfortable.”

  Skirl jumped up from the table. “It is foolish to quarrel over anything, much less something so trivial. I don’t mind visiting the Foundance, since Maihac will be with us.”

  Jaro said grimly, “I will go as well. Let us start now, and make an end to the whole affair.”

  Garlet swung away abruptly. The excursion was not proceeding as he had wished. This, all things considered, was not surprising. The ‘force’ had not completely returned and the Great Surround had not yet molded itself to his will, as eventually it must.

  The four left Carleone, crossed the bridge, turned into the Esplanade and walked beside the river to the lowering stone bulk of the Foundance. A ramp sloped at a slight angle down to the entrance: a wide open portal.

  Skirl stopped short. “This is as far as I am going. There is nothing in there to interest me—only a very bad smell, which I prefer to avoid. I will wait here.”

  Garlet made an instant protest. “You must come with me! You yourself said it was where the Seishanee reproduce! The techniques will be interesting, and you can explain them to me.”

  Maihac, grinning, told Garlet: “We’ll make a quick survey, then, if anything interesting is going on. Skirl might well change her mind.”

  “That is a good idea,” said Jaro. “I’ll wait up here with Skirl.”

  “This is not what I had planned!” stormed Garlet. “Must I always be thwarted by Jaro?” He turned to Skirl. “Leave Jaro here, and Maihac if he likes. Then you and I shall explore these rituals! We might learn some interesting details.”

  Skirl shook her head. “I am not interested in the breeding of Seishanee—nor of anything else.”

  Maihac laughed. “Come along, Garlet. If there are bad smells in there, we’ll ignore them, like true scientists.”

  Maihac and Garlet walked down the ramp and entered the building. Watching from the street, Jaro and Skirl saw them pause, then turn aside and disappear.

  Twenty minutes later the two emerged from the Foundance. Maihac showed no expression. Garlet’s mouth drooped and he seemed thoughtful. When he reached the Esplanade, he turned back toward the plaza without acknowledging the presence of either Jaro or Skirl. Jaro asked Maihac: “What did you learn?”

  “Much and little. The bad smell exists. We discovered no copulation, only six tanks of primordial muck. We stood upon a balcony which skirts the work area, in a precarious and improvised fashion, and surveyed the activity. Grichkin technicians tended the tanks, the contents of which appeared to work and ripen from one stage to another; in the process creating the malodorous environment. A jungle of plumbing and electrical equipment stretched everywhere, making it difficult to see the level below the tanks distinctly. There seemed to be rows of small vats, where—so I suspect—the new individuals develop. On this level the technicians were of a different sort. They might have been white houseghouls, though I could not be certain.” Maihac glanced back toward the Foundance. “The place is amazing.”

  Jaro called to Garlet. “And what did you think of the operation?”

  “It was not what I expected. I saw no copulation, and I cannot understand how or where it could be managed. I want to return and study the processes. Skirl will come with me.”

  “No,” said Skirl. “She will not come with you.”

  “Nor I,” said Maihac. “Once is enough.”

  Garlet said, “In that case, I will allow Jaro to come with me.”

  “Thank you, no,” said Jaro. “I would not like the smell.”

  “Just as you like. I will go alone.”

  “I must remind you again,” said Maihac, “We are not popular at Romarth, and someone might injure you. In about three days we will be leaving, and I want to keep a low profile until then. For the time being, it is necessary to curb your interest in copulation. Do you understand?”

  Garlet made no response and the group returned to Carleone.

  4

  The following morning Skirl’s conscience overcame her caution and she took Garlet out on the terrace for his usual lesson in matters of general interest. On this occasion Skirl had decided to discuss the history of early man on Old Earth. She was interested in the subject and spoke with animation. Garlet seemed to become infected with her enthusiasm and moved forward in his chair. As she discussed the megalith-builders of northwest Europe, she suddenly became aware that Garlet was fondling her breasts and preparing to slide his other hand into even more private areas. For an instant she sat rigid. Then she jumped to her feet, and looked down at Garlet. His face was rapt in a fatuous grin.

  Skirl spoke in her most chilly voice. “Garlet, your conduct is a breach of etiquette and cannot be tolerated.”

  Garlet’s grin faded. “You are logically incorrect.”

  “Nothing of the sort!” snapped Skirl. She rose to her feet. “Logic is not involved.”

  “Wrong! Jaro is allowed to touch you as he sees fit. I am his twin brother; you are illogical to make artificial distinctions between us. Jaro realizes his debt to me and will be the first to agree that I should share his perquisites.”

  Looking across the terrace, Skirl saw Maihac and Jaro approaching. “Here he is now,” she told Garlet. “Ask him yourself.”

  Garlet gave a moody shrug and looked away. Skirl spoke to Jaro. “Garlet feels that he should share in what I will call our connubial relationship; that it is only equitable, since you and he are brothers.”

  Jaro said, “Garlet, your logic is not sound. Please do not attempt any intimacies with Skirl, as it would seriously annoy both of us.”

  Garlet muttered, “I don’t see what difference it makes. You are simply thwarting me, as usual.”

  “Not so! In a year or two, you will have learned the customs of your new life, and you will see that I am right. In the meantime, do not inflict your erotic impulses upon Skirl. You must understand that your conduct is impolite.”

  “I understand you through and through! I will say no more.”

  Jaro nodded.
“The subject is closed. Maihac and I have a plan in mind. We are about to explore one or more of the abandoned palaces. Both you and Skirl may come with us, if you like.”

  “I shall come, with pleasure,” said Skirl. “What is your plan?”

  “You will see. Garlet, what of you?”

  “No. I prefer to sit at a café on the plaza.”

  “Just as you like. But don’t bother any women, or you will find yourself in trouble.”

  Maihac, Jaro and Skirl rode the flitter north into Old Romarth, where the tall trees of the forest encroached upon the gardens. Maihac landed the flitter in a courtyard beside a palace built of white syenite. The three alighted and all made sure that their guns were within easy reach, for fear of the white houseghouls. “You may not see them,” said Maihac, “but they’ll be near. By day we’re safe, unless one of us wanders off alone. Once out of sight, something happens, and you are never seen again.” Maihac spoke to Skirl. “Jaro and I intend a bit of discreet looting: specifically, books from the library. They don’t belong to anyone—so we tell ourselves—and no one seems concerned about them, one way or the other. I suspect that they might bring very high prices back in the Reach, especially if we keep the mystery of their source intact.”

  “Hmf,” sniffed Skirl. “It all seems rather undignified.”

  “Think of us as collectors of ancient art,” said Maihac. “That is more dignified, and Jaro need not feel so much shame.”

  “What of yourself?”

  “I am a spaceman and a vagabond. I don’t know the meaning of ‘shame.’ ”

  The three entered the palace, to find themselves in a hall of majestic proportion, with furnishings still useful, except for the dust of ages. The three paused in the center of the hall to listen, but heard only the impalpable singing of silence itself.

  To the side of the great hall was the library: a chamber of moderate size with a heavy table of polished hardwood at the center. Shelves supporting hundreds of large leather-bound books lined the walls.

  Jaro selected a pair of books at random and brought them to the table. The black leather covers, supple and soft, were embossed with an intricate floriation and exhaled pleasant fragrances of wax and preservative.

  Jaro blew the dust from one of the books, then carefully lifted its cover. The pages, so he discovered, were alternately text and richly detailed illustrations draughted with a fine pen and colored inks. The subject matter consisted of landscapes, interiors, portraits, persons engaged in various activities: all wrought with what Jaro considered an absolutely felicitous technique. The text, indited in archaic characters, was beyond his comprehension.

  Maihac came to watch as Jaro turned the pages. “No one troubles to create these books anymore,” said Maihac. “The practice ended with the Bad Times, which closed off the High Era of Roum civilization.”

  Maihac studied an illustration which depicted an elaborate garden where a youth in a white smock and blue pantaloons smiled down into the face of a dark-haired girl eight or nine years old. Maihac scanned the accompanying text, then returned to the illustration. He pointed to the youth. “This is the creator of the book. His name was Taubry, of Methune House now extinct.” He looked back to the text. “The girl was his cousin Tissia. Taubry called her ‘Titi’; that was his pet name for her. He worked the whole of his life upon this book, and no doubt Titi created a book of her own.”

  “It would be interesting to compare the two books,” mused Jaro. He studied the face of Taubry with interest. “It seems a pleasant face. A bit delicate, perhaps.”

  “This is how he thought of himself. The image may be exact or it may be somewhat idealized; either way, it makes no difference. The book is Taubry’s statement, the repository of his secrets and private theories. He asserts that he was born, that he lived his life, that he knew noble emotions and moments of high delight. You are looking into Taubry’s soul—perhaps the first to do so since he closed the cover and clamped the seal for the last time.”

  Jaro turned pages, watching as Taubry the youth became Taubry the man.

  “The book is about twenty-five hundred years old,” Maihac told Jaro, “perhaps a bit older. Roum antiquarians can fix a date to within a year or so by looking at the clothes—especially the shoes, and of course the gowns of the women.”

  Jaro paused in his turning of the pages to study another drawing, even more complicated than the first. Taubry stood in a forest glade with one leg resting on a log. He played a stringed instrument: a rebec or a lute, while three girls, wearing short gowns of near-transparent white muslin, held hands and danced in a circle. Taubry was now a pale young man with thin features framed by locks of curling brown hair. The face he showed as he plucked his instrument was rapt in the pleasures of music. His face indicated a whimsical, somewhat astringent personality, introverted rather than forthright. To the adjoining page Taubry had included what seemed to be a protocol, or a statement of principle. Maihac squinted at the page and read:

  “ ‘Here am I, Taubry of Methune: the one, the singularity who is I. My qualities are excellent; they encompass virtue, imagery, humor and bliss. Needless to say, there has never been another like me, and never shall the cosmos know my like again, since I stand at the apex of sentient life. How then have I transcended all others, across all of time? Have I performed prodigies? Have I solved the classic mysteries? How then? By my secret; why should I not yield the truth? No reason that would not label me an ingrate. So—what of this noble secret? It is tantalizing in its simplicity: I refer to my joy in being.

  “ ‘So all you who come after: if you be beautiful maidens, sigh for a heartsick moment; if you be gallant cavaliers, shrug a regretful shrug; alas! None of you may fall in with the rhythm of my gorgeous life, and this will be a pity, for all of us.’ ”

  Jaro slowly laid aside the book of Taubry. “This one shall go.”

  “By all means,” said Maihac.

  Skirl said scornfully, “I hope you two are happy, looting this old palace like a pair of ragpickers.”

  “Quite happy,” said Jaro. “In fact, elated.”

  Maihac attempted to reason with Skirl: “We can’t leave these beautiful objects here to rot and moulder away. That would be a tragedy!”

  Skirl refused to argue further. For want of anything better to do, she pulled a book from the shelf and started to turn the pages.

  Jaro took up the second book. It had been created by Susu-Ladou of Sanbary House. For much of her life she had enjoyed great physical beauty, which she celebrated with artless abandon, and why not? No one would ever learn of her escapades. Her drawings, so Jaro thought, were fascinating and a source of perplexity. The verve of the erotic elements was balanced by an artless innocence, which made their charm almost palpable. For several minutes he studied one of the drawings. The girl Susu-Ladou, shamelessly nude, sat on the ledge of an arched window close beside the river. She leaned back against a marble column, clasping one of her knees and looking out over the tranquil river. The trees were rendered in exquisite detail, as were their reflections upon the water. The girl seemed to be daydreaming; her face expressed an emotion Jaro could not find words to describe. As he studied the picture, he noticed a vague detail in the shadows of the room behind the girl. Looking closely, Jaro saw the shape of what appeared to be a houseghoul standing at the back of the room. The picture was intriguing in large part because of its ambiguity. Why the white houseghoul? Why the girl’s lack of concern? Was she aware of the creature? There was no answer to any of the questions. Jaro laid the book upon the “To go” stack.

  Skirl pushed the book she had been examining across the table. “Since you are so intent on stealing books, steal this one as well. I find it interesting.”

  The three sorted books for an hour, discarding very few. Maihac brought the flitter as close as possible to the library and the three loaded books into the cargo space. They climbed aboard, flew up to the Pharsang, where Gaing Neitzbeck helped them to transfer their cargo. With
that done, the flitter and its passengers dropped back down to Carleone.

  Garlet had already returned from Gamboye Plaza and had retired to his room.

  The three bathed, changed clothes and met Ardrian in the small drawing room. Morlock joined the group a few minutes later. “Rumors are flying around the city,” Morlock told the group. “I think there is fire behind the smoke. Asrubal is scheduled to be executed at noon four days hence. I have heard that a dozen Urd Assassinators will don masks either tomorrow or the next day. A diversion is organized to occur on the plaza. At this time the Assassinators plan to liberate Asrubal from the dungeon and take him to a temporary retreat, until the Councillors can return to the Colloquary. If the off-worlders interfere, they do so at their own risk; and may well be killed in any event, to establish a precedent.”

  “And so?” asked Maihac.

  “I am considering several measures.”

  Maihac rose to his feet. “The problem has an easy solution. Let us execute Asrubal now.”

  “ ‘Now’?” asked Morlock. “At this moment? It is barely dusk. I thought we would wait until midnight.”

  “Now is better. No one will expect us to act so briskly. We’ll do the job immediately and have done with it.”

  “Very well,” said Morlock, “though it is not the Roum way of doing things. We prefer to ponder and calculate every permutation.”

  “This time we shall act as Gaeans,” said Maihac. “I am ready.”

  Jaro rose to his feet. “I’m ready, as well.”

  Maihac said, “I want you and Skirl in the flitter, to provide us support, in case of a ‘permutation’ as it is known here at Romarth.”

  Jaro put forward no arguments. He went out into the garden, brought down the flitter. Maihac called to Gaing aboard the Pharsang, and notified him of the plans, and the two discussed possible emergencies and settled upon a means for dealing with any such event. Maihac armed himself and Morlock with heavy Model RTV guns from the flitter’s armory; then the two set off on foot toward the Justiciary. Jaro and Skirl followed overhead in the flitter.