by Jack Vance
“Third, there is the possibility of expanding your export trade. Asrubal has demonstrated that there are profits to be earned, but you will need to develop business techniques. Your best hope might be to send a cadre of young men and women to Gaean business schools.
“Fourth is tourism. If some of the old palaces were converted into hotels, Romarth might become the focus of a profitable tourist industry. Under these conditions you would continue to live as picturesque aristocrats dedicated to the arts and rituals of Old Romarth. You would wear your splendid costumes and practice your exquisite etiquette. On the other hand, you would not be allowed to mistreat the tourists. Needless to say, such a scheme requires the investment of considerable capital.”
“Unfortunately,” said Ardrian, “capital of this magnitude is not at our disposal.”
“You have confiscated over a million sols from Asrubal. That is a start, though it is not nearly enough. More capital is accessible through banks or, better, from private investors, who may be able to bring expertise to the project. Now then—and here is the nub of the matter. I know of at least one man who commands great wealth and who might be attracted to a project of this sort. This person is hard-headed, practical, self-willed. However, he is neither a thief nor a scoundrel, and he is susceptible to reasonable argument. I am leaving Romarth immediately. I will transport a deputation aboard the Pharsang so that they may meet this gentleman. If he becomes interested in the project, as I think likely, he will enter into a covenant with the folk of Romarth, each party defining its rights and privileges. He will want to make changes. For instance, he will bring in professional exterminators to eradicate the houseghouls. As for the Loklor, you might decide that these nomad horrors contribute to the picturesque charm of Fader, and allow them the liberty of the Tangtsang, provided that they ask no tourists to dance with their girls.
“As to how you might replace your Seishanee and provide yourselves domestic service, I cannot even guess.
“That exhausts my list of constructive suggestions. If you intend to act upon Item Four, select a deputation at this moment. I repeat: they must be ready to leave at once, since I don’t want to be on hand when the mob comes to call.”
5
At Thanet, Maihac, by means of hints and mysterious allusions, induced Gilfong Rute to dine with him at the Blue Moon Inn. The two were served aperitifs, but Rute refused to look at the dinner menu until Maihac had explained the nature of his business. “My time is valuable; I am not here to exchange pleasantries, nor yet to revel in the Blue Moon cuisine. Get to the point, if you please.”
“Be calm,” said Maihac. “You will hear everything in due course. In the meantime, enjoy this tonic. It is known as the ‘Toe-Clencher Number Two,’ and I ordered it mixed to a special recipe.”
Rute tasted the tonic. “Yes, most refreshing. And now, as to the revelations you were hinting at, please offer me some light instead of smoke and subterfuge. Speak on!”
“Oh very well,” said Maihac, “if you insist. Personally, I was enjoying the suspense.” Maihac opened a small valise and brought out a large leather-bound book, which he placed on the table in front of Rute. “Look into this book, if you will.”
Rute glanced through the pages, at first casually, then with growing interest. “I can’t make head or tail of the text, but the pictures seize upon the imagination. The detail is meticulous. In fact, it is a beautiful book!” He looked again at the first few pages, then looked up with a frown of puzzlement. “I see no mention of the publisher, nor any commercial advice.”
“For a good reason,” said Maihac. “The book is indited in a special calligraphy and illustrated by the same person. Her name was Zahamilla of Torres House; the book is an autobiographical document and represents an overview of her life. There are no copies and no commercial production; in this sense it is unique.”
Rute studied the pages. “Hmm.” He glanced up sharply. “Is this place real? Or is it a fantasy created by the imagination?”
“It is real. I have been there myself.”
Rute nodded and, in an elaborately offhand voice, asked: “Where is this place?”
“That is part of the mystery,” said Maihac. “It is a lost world.”
Rute turned more pages. “Strange and amazing. Why do you show this book to me?”
“It is a long story. Let us order our dinner and I will tell you what I know.”
During the dinner and afterward Maihac spoke of his association with the world Perdu. “That is not the proper name,” he told Rute. “But for present purposes it will do very well.”
Rute listened with impassive interest, while Maihac spoke on.
“The city is very old. Many of the ancient palaces are abandoned, though structurally they are sound and could be converted into tourist hotels of the highest category with relatively little expense. There are other interesting aspects to this world, including—as you have seen—a unique civilization of an advanced and sophisticated culture. Tourists and tour groups from everywhere in the Reach would want to visit Perdu if they were able to do so.”
Rute surveyed Maihac under hooded eyelids. “Why do you tell me all this, in such detail?”
“To develop Perdu for tourists would require considerable capital. You could supply this capital, and I thought that you might be interested in such a scheme.”
Rute reflected a moment, then asked, “What is your personal interest in the project? In short, how do you gain?”
“So far as I can see, not at all. I have brought here a deputation from Perdu; you would deal with them exclusively.”
“Hmmf. You are taking no percentage, or fee?”
“Nothing. The deal is between you and the deputation. I have no plans to return to Perdu.”
“Hmmf. Most quixotic.” Rute once again looked through the pages of the book. “Do these pictures accurately represent the condition of the palaces?”
“They do not do the city justice.” There was a pause while Rute studied pages of the book. Maihac went on: “I can think of three areas of possible difficulty. The inhabitants of the city are aristocrats and they will not allow what they call ‘vulgarization.’ They are proud of their traditions and you will need all your tact when you deal with them.”
“No problem. What else?”
“Second, many of the abandoned palaces are infested with what are known as ‘white houseghouls.’ They live in tunnels and crypts under the palaces and must be exterminated.”
Rute grinned. “So long as I am not asked to lead the charge in person.”
“Third, and not too serious—in fact, more of a picturesque adjunct than otherwise—savage nomads wander the steppes, and will need to be disciplined.”
Rute nodded. “Anything else?”
“A multitude of minor problems, no doubt. If you are interested, you will want to visit the city in person.”
“True.”
“Then you are interested?”
“Yes, I think so. Enough to want to take a look.”
“In that case, we will need to prepare an initial covenant, or contract, to prevent you from acting independently, once you learn the location of this world. Otherwise there would be nothing to prevent you from sending out an expedition to act strictly in your own best interests.”
Rute showed Maihac a sour smile. “You seem to lack confidence in my integrity.”
“You are wealthy,” said Maihac. “Your money did not come to you because of your bonhomie. Along the way you must have left a number of disgruntled adversaries.”
“That is an understatement,” said Gilfong Rute. “In this case, you need not worry. I will try to behave in a civilized manner.”
“That is reassuring,” said Maihac. “Again I emphasize that the folk of Perdu can, at times, be tiresome. They consider themselves the elite of the universe and tend to think of off-worlders as ignorant louts and buffoons.”
Rute waved his hand. “In my time I have dealt with both Quantorces and Clam Muffins.
Now I am ready for anything.”
Maihac agreed. “It is the same kettle of fish. You’ll have an interesting time. Tomorrow we will take legal advice and draw up the preliminary covenant. After that, you are on your own.”
6
Gilfong Rute, accompanied by the Roum deputation and a team of professional advisors, had departed Thanet, bound for Fader and the city Romarth. Maihac had counseled Morlock, Ardrian and the others to the best of his ability, explaining that in any final contract with Gilfong Rute, all parties would be well served by stipulating every phase of the development in minute detail, leaving as little as possible to interpretation.
Maihac advised that the final contract with Rute should be negotiated not at Romarth but at Thanet, where the Roum could employ competent legal representatives of their own.
Finally, Maihac recommended that the Roum protect the contents of their palaces with great vigilance. “The books, curios, art goods—they will disappear like snow in summer unless you take special care. Tourists can not be trusted; when they want a souvenir, honesty flies out the window!”
During the transactions Jaro and Skirl wandered about Thanet, where everything seemed at once familiar and strange. Merriehew had been razed to the ground; Sasoon Ayry housed a new family, high up the ledges of status, the gentleman a Lemurian and his spouse on the committee of the Sasselton Tigers.
While Jaro looked into the old offices of the Faths at the Institute, Skirl went off on an errand of her own. When she rejoined Jaro, she was bubbling with excitement. “I have studied the Clam Muffin by-laws and I have conferred with several of the committee members. They agree that I may nominate you into a special category of the Clam Muffins. This is a privilege accorded to members so that they need not feel embarrassed when they introduce their spouses in public. You would become an Associate Member, Provisional. The vote will be almost automatic—but first we must be formally married.”
“What!” cried Jaro. “Am I to become a married man and a Clam Muffin at one fell swoop?”
“It may not be as bad as you think,” said Skirl. “Also, it is what I want.”
“Oh well, why not?” said Jaro.
“We shall be married tomorrow, in the Clam Muffin sanctuary,” Skirl told him. “It will be a very important occasion.”
At the wedding Jaro wore a formal dark suit in which he felt self-conscious. Skirl was dressed in a white frock and a tiara of white flowers. In Jaro’s opinion she looked totally beautiful, and he thought that it was a great privilege to be married to her. He recalled Langolen School, where he had first noticed Skirlet Hutsenreiter. Smiling to himself he remembered the mannerisms which among her peers had caused such stifled outrage, jealousy and awe, but which now, in retrospect, seemed only quaint and charming. Imaginative, intelligent, daring little Skirlet Hutsenreiter! He had admired her from a distance, and now he was married to her! These were the marvels which sometimes accompanied the act of being alive. Jaro wondered if ‘yaha,’ in one phase or another, were involved. He would give the matter thought when he had more time.
Skirl had also been looking back over the years. “It seems so long ago,” she mused.
Jaro smiled in wistful recollection. “The world was very different then. I like it better now.”
Skirl squeezed his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. “Think of it! We’ve visited Old Romarth and we own the Pharsang! And so much is still ahead of us!”
The two celebrated their new status with Gaing and Maihac at the Blue Moon Inn. Before dinner, they sat in the lounge, drinking one of the soft yellow wines produced in the rolling hills to the east of Thanet.
Skirl made an announcement: “This is truly an important day for us, but for Jaro most of all, since he is now a Clam Muffin, and a person of great prestige! He deserves the honor, and I am proud of him!”
Jaro said modestly: “I don’t want to exaggerate the honor. If you look at the fine print on the certificate, you will see where it reads: ‘Associate Member, Provisional.’ ”
“That is a minor detail,” said Skirl. “A Clam Muffin is a Clam Muffin, anywhere in the universe!”
“It is better than being a nimp,” said Jaro. “Hilyer and Althea would also be proud of me, or so I suppose.”
“I’m certain of it,” said Skirl. “I’m not so sure about my own father.”
“I’m somewhat proud of him myself,” said Maihac.
Gaing, not normally demonstrative, reached over and shook Jaro’s hand. “In my innocent way, even I am proud of him. In fact, I’m proud to be part of this rather distinguished group.”
Maihac called for another bottle of wine. “Before we become even more proud, we should decide what to do next. We control Night Lamp—379 a large sum of money, and we are carrying a cargo of valuable books, from which we should realize another large sum.”
Jaro asked, “Where do you propose we sell the books?”
“The most active markets are the auction houses of Old Earth. That is where we will find the best prices, especially if we can surround the books in an atmosphere of romance and mystery.”
“That seems reasonable,” said Jaro. “But first we should settle our current accounts. The money we took from the bank at Ocknow represents repayment for the Distilcord; that should be divided between you and Gaing. The money from the sale of the books we can divide four ways; then everyone should be relatively wealthy. In fact, I still have my income from the Faths.”
Gaing said, “At the moment I don’t want the responsibility of so much money. Better that we put it into a safe account where it will earn interest, and which is open to all of us. This system has a great advantage. If one of us is killed, the survivors will find no difficulty in the transfer of his share.”
“A grisly thought, but practical,” said Maihac. “I agree.”
“I’ll also agree,” said Jaro, “because I’m sure that there will always be enough money in the fund for all of us.”
“I’ll agree, on the same basis,” said Skirl. “Also, because I’d be foolish not to. Though I hope that no one dies.”
“Good,” said Maihac. “Tomorrow we’ll establish the fund at the bank. After that, so far as I know, there is nothing to keep us on Gallingale, so we’ll be off to pursue our careers as traders and vagabonds.”
“The Pharsang is ready,” said Gaing. “I’ve checked out the systems and re-stocked the lockers. As soon as everyone is aboard, we’ll be prepared to take off.”
Skirl started to speak, but changed her mind and sat back to drink wine and listen while her companions spoke of unknown and barely known regions of the Reach. Skirl’s mind wandered. Ahead of her lay an eventful life, crowded with adventure, color, the pageantry of strange customs. In the far saloons and markets she would find wines of novel flavor, strange spices, food she might not care to eat. She would hear music she had never expected nor even imagined: music sometimes haunting and soft; sometimes wild, fervent, compelling. There might be hardships or annoyances, such as the conduct of an obstreperous passenger; or the bite of an exotic insect; there might even be danger, if only the risks of a brawl in some remote saloon.
Jaro was watching her. “You are pensive. What are you thinking about.”
“Different things.”
“Such as?”
“All sorts of odd notions. I remember that at one time I thought I might become an effectuator, and earn a great deal of money solving crimes which had baffled everyone else.”
“You still can do so—if we come upon any crimes you care to solve.”
Skirl, smiling wanly, shook her head. “I might function as an effectuator on Gallingale, where I understand how people think, but on other worlds people behave in strange ways. After Garlet, I want no more abnormal psychology. Furthermore, I am now married and quite wealthy, so that I no longer need to earn my own living.”
“That is always a pleasant thought,” said Maihac.
Skirl went on. “Still, I don’t want to be a vagabond forever—at
least, not a total vagabond. Someday I want to buy a house in the country, perhaps on Gallingale, or perhaps on Old Earth, where we can raise our family, and where Gaing and Tawn can live when they are of a mind to do so. It will be a home base for all of us, so that whenever the mood comes over us, we can go off in the Pharsang, along with our children, and visit places we have never visited before. In this way, we’ll only be semi-vagabonds and a good example for our children. Think of it, Jaro!”
“It sounds very nice to me. And now, shall we order another bottle of wine, or perhaps it is time to think about dinner.”
Notes
[1] From “fringe,” such as the “fringes of society.” “Fringer”: a human sub-class impossible to define exactly. “Misanthropic vagabonds” has been proposed as an acceptable approximation.
[2] Early chronicles declared that the three statues represented the same individual, the fabled justiciary and law-giver David Alexander, depicted in three typical poses: summons to judgment, quelling of the rabble, and imposition of equity. In this latter pose he carried a short-handled axe with a broad lunate blade, possibly no more than an object of ceremonial import.
[3] See footnote on page 25.
[4] Literally, “defiance of the constellation-heroes,” and by transference, the IPCC.
[5] Schmeltzer: one who attempts to ingratiate himself, or mingle, with individuals of a social class superior to his own.
[6] On Gallingale, the attainment of status was an exciting and often desperate quest. Those who refused to participate in the striving were “nimps,” and in general commanded no respect, even though many had won reputations for themselves in their own fields.
A person’s status was determined by the prestige of his club and by his ‘comporture’: that dynamic surge which generated upward thrust, and was similar to the concept of “mana.”
