The Eyes of the Overworld

by Jack Vance

“No, since it is mine!”

  “Here we disagree. Assume, if you will, that your conviction is incorrect. Your eyesight will attest that the amulet is in my hands, under my control, and, in short, my property. I would appreciate, therefore, any information upon its capabilities and mode of employment.”

  The old man threw his arms in the air, kicked his sieve with such wild emotion that he burst out the mesh, and the sieve went trundling down the beach to the water’s edge. A wave swept in and floated the sieve; the old man made an involuntary motion to retrieve it, then once more threw up his hands and tottered up the foreshore. Cugel gave his head a shake of grave disapproval, and turned to continue east along the beach.

  Now occurred an unpleasant altercation with Firx, who was convinced that the most expeditious return to Almery lay west through the port of Benbadge Stull. Cugel clasped his hands to his belly in distress. “There is but one feasible route! By means of the lands which lie to the south and east. What if the ocean offers a more direct route? There are no boats to hand; it is not possible to swim so great a distance!”

  Firx administered a few dubious pangs, but finally permitted Cugel to continue eastward along the shore. Behind, on the ridge of the foreshore, sat the old man, scoop dangling between his legs, staring out to sea.

  Cugel proceeded along the beach, well pleased with the events of the morning. He examined the amulet at length: it exuded a rich sense of magic, and in addition was an object of no small beauty. The runes, incised with great skill and delicacy, unfortunately were beyond his capacity to decipher. He gingerly slipped the bracelet on his wrist, and in so doing pressed one of the carbuncles. From somewhere came an abysmal groan, a sound of the deepest anguish. Cugel stopped short, looked up and down the beach. Gray sea, pallid beach, foreshore with clumps of spinifex. Benbadge Stull to west, Cil to east, gray sky above. He was alone. Whence had come the great groan? Cautiously Cugel touched the carbuncle again, and again evoked the stricken protest.

  In fascination Cugel pressed another of the carbuncles, this time bringing forth a wail of piteous despair in a different voice. Cugel was puzzled. Who along this sullen shore manifested so frivolous a disposition? Each carbuncle in turn he pressed and caused to be produced a whole concert of outcries, ranging the gamut of anguish and pain. Cugel examined the amulet critically. Beyond the evocation of groans and sobs it displayed no obvious power and Cugel presently tired of the occupation.

  The sun reached its zenith. Cugel appeased his hunger with seaweed, which he rendered nutritious by rubbing it with the charm provided for this purpose by Iucounu. As he ate he seemed to hear voices and careless prattling laughter, so indistinct that it might have been the sound of the surf. A tongue of rock protruded into the ocean nearby; listening carefully, Cugel discovered the voices to be coming from this direction. They were clear and child-like, and rang with innocent gayety. He went cautiously out upon the rock. At the far end, where the ocean surged and dark water heaved, four large shells had attached themselves. These now were open; heads looked forth, attached to naked shoulders and arms. The heads were round and fair, with soft cheeks, blue-gray eyes, tufts of pale hair. The creatures dipped their fingers in the water, and from the drops they pulled thread which they deftly wove into a fine soft fabric. Cugel’s shadow fell on the water; instantly the creatures clamped themselves into their shells.

  “How so?” exclaimed Cugel jocularly. “Do you always lock yourselves apart at the sight of a strange face? Are you so timorous then? Or merely surly?”

  The shells remained closed. Dark water swirled over the fluted surfaces.

  Cugel came a step closer, squatted on his haunches, cocked his head askew. “Or perhaps you are proud? So that you withdraw yourselves in disdain? Or is it that you lack grace?”

  Still no response. Cugel remained as before, and began to whistle, trilling a tune he had heard at the Azenomei Fair.

  Presently the shell at the far edge of the rock opened a crack, and eyes peered at him. Cugel whistled another bar or two, then spoke once more. “Open your shells! Here waits a stranger, anxious to learn the road to Cil, and other matters of import!”

  Another shell opened a crack; another set of eyes glistened from the dark within.

  “Perhaps you are ignorant,” scoffed Cugel. “Perhaps you know nothing save the color of fish and the wetness of water.”

  The shell of the farthest opened further, enough to show the indignant face within. “We are by no means ignorant!”

  “Nor indolent, nor lacking in grace, nor disdainful,” shouted the second.

  “Nor timorous!” added a third.

  Cugel nodded sagely. “This well may be. But why do you withdraw so abruptly at my mere approach?”

  “Such is our nature,” said the first shell-creature. “Certain creatures of the sea would be happy to catch us unaware, and it is wise to retreat first and investigate second.”

  All four of the shells were now ajar, though none stood as fully wide as when Cugel had approached.

  “Well then,” he said, “what can you tell me of Cil? Are strangers greeted with cordiality, or driven off? Are inns to be found, or must the wayfarer sleep in a ditch?”

  “Such matters lie beyond our specific knowledge,” said the first shell-creature. It fully opened its shell, extruded pale arms and shoulders. “The folk of Cil, if rumor of the sea goes correctly, are withdrawn and suspicious, even to their ruler, who is a girl, no more, of the ancient House of Domber.”

  “There walks old Slaye now,” said another. “He returns early to his cabin.”

  Another tittered. “Slaye is old; never will he find his amulet, the House of Domber will rule Cil till the sun goes out.”

  “What is all this?” asked Cugel ingenuously. “Of what amulet do you speak?”

  “As far as memory can return,” one of the shell-creatures explained, “old Slaye has sifted sand, and his father before him, and yet other Slayes across the years. They seek a metal band, by which they hope to regain their ancient privileges.”

  “A fascinating legend!” said Cugel with enthusiasm. “What are the powers of the amulet, and how are they activated?”

  “Slaye possibly would provide this information,” said one dubiously.

  “No, for he is dour and crabbed,” declared another. “Consider his petulant manner when he sieves a scoop of sand to no avail!”

  “Is there no information elsewhere?” Cugel demanded anxiously. “No rumor of the sea? No ancient tablet or set of glyphs?”

  The shell-creatures laughed in merriment. “You ask so earnestly that you might be Slaye himself! Such lore is unknown to us.”

  Concealing his dissatisfaction Cugel asked further questions, but the creatures were artless and unable to maintain their attention upon any single matter. As Cugel listened they discussed the flow of the ocean, the flavor of pearl, the elusive disposition of a certain sea-creature they had noted the day previously. After a few minutes Cugel once more turned the conversation to Slaye and the amulet, but again the shell-creatures were vague, almost child-like in the inconsequence of their talk. They seemed to forget Cugel, and dipping their fingers in the water, drew pallid threads from the drops. Certain conches and whelks had aroused their disapproval through impudence, and they discussed a great urn lying on the off-shore sea-bottom.

  Cugel finally tired of the conversation and rose to his feet, at which the shell-creatures once more gave him their attention. “Must you fare forth so soon? Just when we were about to inquire the reason for your presence; passers-by are few along Great Sandy Beach, and you seem a man who has journeyed far.”

  “This is correct,” said Cugel, “and I must journey yet farther. Notice the sun: it starts down the western curve, and tonight I wish to house myself at Cil.”

  One of the shell-creatures lifted up its arms and displayed a fine garment it had woven from water-threads. “This garment we offer as a gift. You seem a sensitive man and so may require protection from wind and cold.”
It tossed the garment to Cugel. He examined it, marveling at the suppleness of the cloth and its lucent shimmer. “I thank you indeed,” said Cugel. “This is generosity beyond my expectation.” He wrapped himself in the garment, but at once it reverted to water and Cugel was drenched. The four in the shells shouted loud in mischievous glee, and as Cugel stepped wrathfully forward, snapped their shells shut.

  Cugel kicked the shell of the creature which had tossed him the garment, bruising his foot and exacerbating his rage. He seized a heavy rock, dashed it down upon the shell, crushing it. Snatching forth the squealing creature, Cugel hurled it far up the beach, where it lay staring at him, head and small arms joined to pale entrails. In a faint voice it asked, “Why did you treat me so? For a prank you have taken my life from me, and I have no other.”

  “And thereby you will be prevented from further pranks,” declared Cugel. “Notice, you have drenched me to the skin!”

  “It was merely an act of mischief; a small matter surely.” The shell-creature spoke in a fading voice. “We of the rocks know little magic, yet I am given the power to curse, and this I now pronounce: may you lose your heart’s-desire, whatever its nature; you shall be bereft before a single day is gone.”

  “Another curse?” Cugel shook his head in displeasure. “Two curses already I have voided this day; am I now inflicted with another?”

  “This curse you shall not void,” whispered the shell-creature. “I make it the final act of my life.”

  “Malice is a quality to be deplored,” said Cugel fretfully. “I doubt the efficacy of your curse; nevertheless, you would be well-advised to clear the air of its odium and so regain my good opinion.”

  But the shell-creature said no more. Presently it collapsed into a cloudy slime which was absorbed into the sand.

  Cugel set off down the beach, considering how best to avert the consequences of the shell-creature’s curse. “One must use his wits in dealing with maledictions,” Cugel said for the second time. “Am I known as Cugel the Clever for nothing?” No stratagem came to mind, and he proceeded along the beach pondering the matter in all its aspects.

  The headland to the east grew distinct. Cugel saw it to be cloaked in tall dark trees, through which appeared glimpses of white buildings. Slaye showed himself once more, running back and forth across the beach like one departed of his senses. He approached Cugel and fell on his knees. “The amulet, I beg of you! It belongs to the House of Slaye; it conferred upon us the rule of Cil! Give it to me and I will fulfill your heart’s-desire!”

  Cugel stopped short. Here was a pretty paradox! If he surrendered the amulet, Slaye evidently would betray him, or at the very least fail to make good his promise — assuming the potency of the curse. On the other hand, if Cugel retained the amulet, he would lose his heart’s-desire to no less a degree — assuming the potency of the curse — but the amulet would yet be his.

  Slaye misinterpreted the hesitation as a sign of pliancy. “I will make you grandee of the realm!” he cried in a fervent voice. “You shall have a barge of carved ivory, two hundred maidens shall serve your wants; your enemies shall be clamped into a rotating cauldron — only give me the amulet!”

  “The amulet confers so much power?” inquired Cugel. “It is possible to achieve all this?”

  “Indeed, indeed!” cried Slaye, “when one can read the runes!”

  “Well then,” said Cugel, “what is their import?”

  Slaye gazed at him in woeful injury. “That I can not say; I must have the amulet!”

  Cugel flourished his hand in a contemptuous gesture. “You refuse to gratify my curiosity; in my turn I denounce your arrogant ambitions!”

  Slaye turned to look toward the headland, where white walls gleamed among the trees. “I understand all. You intend to rule Cil in your own right!”

  There were less desirable prospects, thought Cugel, and Firx, appreciating something of this, performed a small monitory constriction. Regretfully Cugel put aside the scheme; nevertheless, it suggested a means to nullify the shell-creature’s curse. “If I am to be deprived of my heart’s-desire,” Cugel told himself, “I would be wise to fix upon a new goal, a fervent new enthusiasm, for at least the space of a day. I shall therefore aspire to the rule of Cil, which now becomes my heart’s-desire.” So as not to arouse the vigilance of Firx, he said aloud, “I intend to use this amulet to achieve highly important ends. Among them may well be the lordship of Cil, to which I believe I am entitled by virtue of my amulet.”

  Slaye gave a wild sardonic laugh. “First you must convince Derwe Coreme of your authority. She is of the House of Domber, gloomy and fitful; she looks little more than a girl, but she manifests the brooding carelessness of a forest grue. Beware of Derwe Coreme; she will order you and my amulet plunged into the ocean’s deep!”

  “If you fear to this extent,” said Cugel with asperity, “instruct me in the use of the amulet, and I will prevent that calamity.”

  But Slaye mulishly shook his head. “The deficiencies of Derwe Coreme are known; why exchange them for the outlandish excesses of a vagabond?”

  For his outspokenness Slaye received a buffet which sent him staggering. Cugel then proceeded along the shore. The sun wallowed low upon the sea; he hastened his steps, anxious to find shelter before dark.

  He came at last to the end of the beach. The headland loomed above, with the tall dark trees standing still higher. A balustrade surrounding the gardens showed intermittently through the foliage; somewhat below, a colonnaded rotunda overlooked the ocean to the south. Grandeur indeed! thought Cugel, and he examined the amulet with a new attentiveness. His temporary heart’s-desire, sovereignty over Cil, had become no longer factitious. And Cugel wondered if he should not fix upon a new heart’s-desire — an aspiration to master the lore of animal husbandry, for instance, or a compelling urge to excel at acrobatic feats … Reluctantly Cugel dismissed the scheme. In any event, the cogency of the shell-creature’s curse was not yet certain.

  A path left the beach, to wind up among bushes and odorous shrubs: dymphian, heliotrope, black quince, olus, beds of long-stemmed stardrops, shade ververica, flowering amanita. The beach became a ribbon fading into the maroon blur of sunset, and the headland at Benbadge Stull could no longer be seen. The path became level, traversed a dense grove of bay trees, and issued upon a weed-grown oval, at one time a parade ground or exercise field.

  Along the left boundary was a tall stone wall, broken by a great ceremonial portico which held aloft a heraldic device of great age. The gates stood wide upon a marble-flagged promenade a mile in length leading to the palace: this a richly detailed structure of many tiers, with a green bronze roof. A terrace extended along the front of the palace; promenade and terrace were joined by a flight of broad steps. The sun had now disappeared; gloom descended from the sky. With no better shelter in prospect, Cugel set off toward the palace.

  The promenade at one time had been a work of monumental elegance, but now all was in a state of dilapidation which the twilight invested with a melancholy beauty. To right and left were elaborate gardens now untended and overgrown. Marble urns festooned with garlands of carnelian and jade flanked the promenade; down the center extended a line of pedestals somewhat taller than the height of a man. Each of these supported a bust, identified by an inscription in runes which Cugel recognized as similar to those carved on the amulet. The pedestals were five paces apart, and proceeded the entire mile to the terrace. The carving of the first was softened by wind and rain until the faces were barely discernible; as Cugel proceeded the features became more keen. Pedestal after pedestal, bust after bust; each face stared briefly at Cugel as he marched toward the palace. The last of the series, obscure in the fading light, depicted a young woman. Cugel stopped short: this was the girl of the walking boat, whom he had encountered in the land to the north: Derwe Coreme, of the House of Domber, ruler of Cil!

  Beset by misgivings, Cugel paused to consider the massive portal. He had not departed from Derwe Coreme
in amity; indeed she might be expected to harbor resentment. On the other hand, at their first encounter, she had invited him to her palace, using language of unmistakable warmth; possibly her resentment had disappeared, leaving only the warmth. And Cugel, recalling her remarkable beauty, found the prospect of a second meeting stimulating.

  But what if she were still resentful? She must be impressed by the amulet, provided she did not insist that Cugel demonstrate its use. If only he knew how to read the runes, all would be simplicity itself. But since the knowledge was not to be derived from Slaye, he must seek it elsewhere, which in practicality meant within the palace.

  He stood before a reach of shallow steps leading up to the terrace. The marble treads were cracked; the balustrade along the terrace was stained by moss and lichen: a condition which the murk of twilight invested with a mournful grandeur. The palace behind seemed in somewhat better repair. An extremely tall arcade rose from the terrace, with slender fluted columns and an elaborately carved entablature, the pattern of which Cugel could not discern through the gloom. At the back of the arcade were tall arched windows, showing dim lights, and the great portal.

  Cugel mounted the steps, beset by renewed doubts. What if Derwe Coreme laughed at his pretensions, defied him to do his worst? What then? Groans and outcries might not be enough. He crossed the terrace on lagging steps, optimism waning as he went, and halted under the arcade; perhaps, after all, it might be wise to seek shelter elsewhere. But looking back over his shoulder he thought to see a tall still shape standing among the pedestals. Cugel thought no more of seeking shelter elsewhere, and walked quickly to the tall door: if he presented himself in humble guise he might escape the notice of Derwe Coreme. There was a stealthy sound on the steps. With great urgency Cugel plied the knocker. The sound reverberated inside the palace.

  A minute passed, and Cugel thought to hear further sounds behind him. He rapped again, and again the sound echoed within. A peephole opened, an eye inspected Cugel with care. The eye moved up; a mouth appeared. “Who are you?” spoke the mouth. “What do you wish?” The mouth slid away, to reveal an ear.