The Many Worlds of Magnus Ridolph

by Jack Vance

  Pascoglu assumed his official manner. "I am inquiring into the death of Lester Bonfils. You two were fellow passengers with him aboard the Maulerer Princeps; perhaps you noticed something which might shed some light on his death."

  The priests pouted, blinked, shook their heads. "We are not interested in such men as Bonfils."

  "You yourselves had no dealings with him?"

  The priests stared at Pascoglu, eyes like four knobs of stone.

  Pascoglu prompted them. "I understand you wanted to sacrifice one of Bonfils' paleolithics. Is this true?"

  "You do not understand our religion," said Fodor Impliega in a flat plangent voice. "The great god Camb exists in each one of us, we are all parts of the whole, the whole of the parts."

  Fodor Banzoso amplified the statement. "You used the word 'sacrifice'. This is incorrect. You should say, 'go to join Camb'. It is like going to the fire for warmth, and the fire becomes warmer the more souls that come to join it."

  "I see, I see," said Pascoglu. "Bonfils refused to give you one of his paleolithics for a sacrifice - "

  "Not 'sacrifice'!"

  " - so you became angry, and last night you sacrificed Bonfils himself!"

  "May I interrupt?" asked Magnus Ridolph. "I think I may save time for everyone. As you know, Mr. Pascoglu, I spent a certain period this morning in research. I chanced on a description of the Camgian sacrificial rites. In order for the rite to be valid, the victim must kneel, bow his head forward. Two skewers are driven into his ears, and the victim is left in this position, kneeling, face down, in a state of ritual composure. Bonfils was sprawled without regard for any sort of decency. I suggest that Fodor Impliega and Fodor Banzoso are guiltless, at least of this particular crime."

  "True, true," said Fodor Impliega. "Never would we leave a corpse in such disorder."

  Pascoglu blew out his cheeks. "Temporarily, that's all."

  At this moment Thorn 199 returned, wearing skin-tight black pantaloons, white blouse, a black jacket, a black tricorn hat. He sidled into the library, past the departing priests.

  "You need ask but a single question," said Magnus Ridolph. "What clothes was he wearing at midnight last night?"

  "Well?" asked Pascoglu. "What clothes were you wearing?"

  "I wore blue and purple."

  "Did you kill Lester Bonfils?"

  "No."

  "Undoubtedly Mr. Thorn 199 is telling the truth," said Magnus Ridolph. "The Kolarians will perform violent deeds only when wearing gray pantaloons or the combination of green jacket and red hat. I think you may safely eliminate Mr. Thorn 199."

  "Very well," said Pascoglu. "I guess that's all, Mr. Thorn."

  Thorn 199 departed, and Pascoglu examined his list with a dispirited attitude. He spoke into the mesh. "Ask Mr. Hercules Starguard to step in."

  Hercules Starguard was a young man of great physical charm. His hair was a thick crop of flaxen curls; his eyes were blue as sapphires. He wore mustard-colored breeches, a flaring black jacket, swaggering black short-boots. Pascoglu rose from the chair into which he had sunk. "Mr. Starguard, we are trying to learn something about the tragic death of Mr. Bonfils."

  "Not guilty," said Hercules Starguard. "I didn't kill the swine."Pascoglu raised his eyebrows. "You had reason to dislike Mr. Bonfils?"

  -"Yes, I would say I disliked Mr. Bonfils."

  "And what was the cause of this dislike?"

  Hercules Starguard looked contemptuously down his nose at Pascoglu. "Really, Mr. Pascoglu, I can't see how my emotions affect your inquiry."

  "Only," said Pascoglu, "if you were the person who killed Mr. Bonfils."

  Starguard shrugged. "I'm not."

  "Can you demonstrate this to my satisfaction?"

  "Probably not."

  Magnus Ridolph leaned forward. "Perhaps I can help Mr. Starguard."

  Pascoglu glared at him. "Please, Mr. Ridolph, I don't think Mr. Starguard needs help."

  "I only wish to clarify the situation," said Magnus Ridolph.

  "So you clarify me out of all my suspects," snapped Pascoglu. "Very well, what is it this time?"

  "Mr. Starguard is an Earthman, and is subject to the influence of our basic Earth culture. Unlike many men and near-men of the outer worlds, he has been inculcated with the idea that human life is valuable, that he who kills will be punished."

  "That doesn't stop murderers," grunted Pascoglu.

  "But it restrains an Earthman from killing in the presence of witnesses."

  "Witnesses? The paleolithics? What good are they as witnesses?"

  "Possibly none whatever, in a legal sense. But they are important indicators, since the presence of human onlookers would deter an Earthman from murder. For this reason, I believe we may eliminate Mr. Starguard from serious consideration as a suspect."

  Pascoglu's jaw dropped. "But - who is left?" He looked at the list. "The Hecatean." He spoke into the mesh. "Send in Mr. .. ." He frowned. "Send in the Hecatean."

  The Hecatean was the sole non-human of the group, although outwardly he showed great organic similarity to true man. He was tall and stick-legged, with dark brooding eyes in a hard chitin-sheathed white face. His hands were elastic fingerless flaps: here was his most obvious differentiation from humanity. He paused in the doorway, surveying the interior of the room.

  "Come in, Mr. - " Pascoglu paused in irritation. "I don't know your name; you have refused to confide it, and I cannot address you properly. Nevertheless, if you will be good enough to enter..."

  The Hecatean stepped forward. "You men are amusing beasts. Each of you has his private name. I know who I am - why must I label myself? It is a racial idiosyncrasy, the need to fix a sound to each reality."

  "We like to know what we're talking about," said Pascoglu. "That's how we fix objects in our minds, with names."

  "And thereby you miss the great intuitions," said the Hecatean. His voice was solemn and hollow. "But you have called here to question me about the man labeled Bonfils. He is dead."

  "Exactly," said Pascoglu. "Do you know who killed him?"

  "Certainly," said the Hecatean. "Does not everyone know?"

  "No," said Pascoglu. "Who is it?"

  The Hecatean looked around the room, and when he returned to Pascoglu, his eyes were blank as holes into a crypt.

  "Evidently I was mistaken. If I knew, the person involved wishes his deed to pass unnoticed, and why should I disoblige him? If I did know, I don't know."

  Pascoglu began to splutter, but Magnus Ridolph interceded in a grave voice. "A reasonable attitude."

  Pascoglu's cup of wrath boiled over. "I think his attitude is disgraceful! A murder has been committed, this creature claims he knows, and will not tell. ... I have a good mind to confine him to his quarters until the patrol ship passes."

  "If you do so," said the Hecatean, "I will discharge the contents of my spore sac into the air. You will presently find your Hub inhabited by a hundred thousand animalcules, and if you injure a single one of them, you will be guilty of the same crime that you are now investigating."

  Pascoglu went to the door, flung it aside. "Go! Leave! Take the next ship out of here! I'll never allow you back!"

  The Hecatean departed without comment. Magnus Ridolph rose to his feet and prepared to follow. Pascoglu held up his hand. "Just a minute, Mr. Ridolph. I need advice. I was hasty; I lost my head."

  Magnus Ridolph considered. "Exactly what do you require of me?"

  "Find the murderer! Get me out of this mess!"

  "These requirements might be contradictory."

  Pascoglu sank into a chair, passed a hand over his eyes. "Don't make me out puzzles, Mr. Ridolph."

  "Actually, Mr. Pascoglu, you have no need of my services. You have interviewed the suspects, you have at least a cursory acquaintance with the civilizations which have shaped them."

  "Yes, yes," muttered Pascoglu. He brought out the list, stared at it, then looked sidewise at Magnus Ridolph. "Which one? Diasporus? Did he do it?"

 
; Magnus Ridolph pursed his lips doubtfully. "He is a knight of the Dacca, an amateur gladiator evidently of some reputation. A murder of this sort would shatter his self-respect, his confidence. I put the probability at one percent."

  "Hmph. What about Fiamella of Thousand Candles? She admits she set out to kill him."

  Magnus Ridolph frowned. "I wonder. Death by means of amorous attrition is of course not impossible - but are not Fiamella's motives ambiguous? From what I gather, her reputation was injured by Bonfils' disinclination, and she thereupon set out to repair her reputation. If she could harass poor Bonfils to his doom by her charm and seductions, she would gain great face. She had everything to lose if he died in any other fashion. Probability: one percent."

  Pascoglu made a mark on the list. "What of Thorn 199?"

  Magnus Ridolph held out his hands. "He was not dressed in his killing clothes. It is as simple as that. Probability: one percent."

  "Well," cried Pascoglu, "what of the priests, Banzoso and Impliega? They needed a sacrifice to their god."

  Magnus Ridolph shook his head. "The job was a botch. A sacrifice so slipshod would earn them ten thousand years of perdition."

  Pascoglu made a half-hearted suggestion. "Suppose they didn't really believe that?"

  "Then why trouble at all?" asked Magnus Ridolph. "Probability: one percent."

  "Well, there's Starguard," mused Pascoglu, "But you insist he wouldn't commit murder in front of witnesses..."

  "It seems highly unlikely," said Magnus Ridolph. "Of course, we could speculate that Bonfils was a charlatan, that the paleolithics were impostors, that Starguard was somehow involved in the deception..."

  "Yes," said Pascoglu eagerly. "I was thinking something like that myself."

  "The only drawback to the theory is that it cannot possibly be correct. Bonfils is an anthropologist of wide reputation. I observed the paleolithics, and I believe them to be authentic primitives. They are shy and confused. Civilized men attempting to mimic barbarity unconsciously exaggerate the brutishness of their subject. The barbarian, adapting to the ways of civilization, comports himself to the model set by his preceptor - in this case Bonfils. Observing them at dinner, I was amused by their careful aping of Bonfils' manners. Then, when we were inspecting the corpse, they were clearly bewildered, subdued, frightened. I could discern no trace of the crafty calculation by which a civilized man would hope to extricate himself from an uncomfortable situation. I think we may assume that Bonfils and his paleolithics were exactly as they represented themselves."

  Pascoglu jumped to his feet, paced back and forth. "Then the paleolithics could not have killed Bonfils."

  "Probability minuscule. And if we concede their genuineness, we must abandon the idea that Starguard was their accomplice, and we rule him out on the basis of the cultural qualm I mentioned before."

  "Well - the Hecatean, then. What of him?"

  "He is a more unlikely murderer than all the others," said Magnus Ridolph. "For three reasons: First, he is non-human, and has no experience with rage and revenge. On Hecate violence is unknown. Secondly, as a non-human, he would have no points of engagement with Bonfils. A leopard does not attack a tree; they are different orders of beings. So with the Hecatean. Thirdly, it would be, physically as well as psychologically, impossible for the Hecatean to kill Bonfils. His hands have no fingers; they are flaps of sinew. They could not manipulate a trigger inside a trigger-guard. I think you may dispense with the Hecatean."

  "But who is there left?" cried Pascoglu in desperation.

  "Well, there is you, there is me and there is - "

  The door slid back; the bonze in the red cloak looked into the room.

  V

  "Come in, come in," said Magnus Ridolph with cordiality. "Our business is just now complete. We have established that of all the persons here at the Hub, only you would have killed Lester Bonfils, and so now we have no further need for the library."

  "What?" cried Pascoglu, staring at the bonze, who made a deprecatory gesture.

  "I had hoped," said the bonze, "that my part in the affair would escape notice."

  "You are too modest," said Magnus Ridolph. "It is only fitting that a man should be known for his good works."

  The bonze bowed. "I want no encomiums. I merely do my duty. And if you are truly finished in here, I have a certain amount of study before me."

  "By all means. Come, Mr. Pascoglu; we are inconsiderate, keeping the worthy bonze from his meditations." And Magnus Ridolph drew the stupefied Pan Pascoglu into the corridor.

  "Is he - is he the murderer?" asked Pascoglu feebly.

  "He killed Lester Bonfils," said Magnus Ridolph. "That is clear enough."

  "But why?"

  "Out of the kindness of his heart. Bonfils spoke to me for a moment. He clearly was suffering considerable psychic damage."

  "But - he could be cured!" exclaimed Pascoglu indignantly. "It wasn't necessary to kill him to soothe his feelings."

  "Not according to our viewpoint," said Magnus Ridolph. "But you must recall that the bonze is a devout believer in - well, let us call it 'reincarnation'. He conceived himself performing a happy release for poor tormented Bonfils, who came to him for help. He killed him for his own good."

  They entered Pascoglu's office; Pascoglu went to stare out the window. "But what am I to do?" he muttered.

  "That," said Magnus Ridolph, "is where I cannot advise you."

  "It doesn't seem right to penalize the poor bonze... It's ridiculous. How could I possibly go about it?"

  "The dilemma is real," agreed Magnus Ridolph.

  There was a moment of silence, during which Pascoglu morosely tugged at his mustache. Then Magnus Ridolph said, "Essentially, you wish to protect your clientele from further application of misplaced philanthropy."

  "That's the main thing!" cried Pascoglu. "I could pass off Bonfils' death - explain that it was accidental. I could ship the paleolithics back to their planet..."

  "I would likewise separate the bonze from persons showing even the mildest melancholy. For if he is energetic and dedicated, he might well seek to extend the range of his beneficence."

  Pascoglu suddenly put his hand to his cheek. He turned wide eyes to Magnus Ridolph. "This morning I felt pretty low. I was talking to the bonze ... I told him all my troubles. I complained about expense - "

  The door slid quietly aside; the bonze peered in, a half-smile on his benign face. "Do I intrude?" he asked as he spied Magnus Ridolph. "I had hoped to find you alone, Mr. Pascoglu."

  "I was just going," said Magnus Ridolph politely. "If you'll excuse me..."

  "No, no!" cried Pascoglu. "Don't go, Mr. Ridolph!"

  "Another time will do as well," said the bonze politely. The door closed behind him.

  "Now I feel worse than ever," Pascoglu moaned.

  "Best to conceal it from the bonze," said Magnus Ridolph.

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