The Eyes of the Overworld

by Jack Vance

“What?” cried Cugel in outrage. “Do I appear so gullible? The charge is excessive.”

  The glass-blower replaced his tools, swages and crucibles, showing no concern for Cugel’s indignation. “The universe evinces no true stability. All fluctuates, cycles, ebbs and flows; all is pervaded with mutability. My fees, which are immanent with the cosmos, obey the same laws and vary according to the anxiety of the customer.”

  Cugel drew back in displeasure, at which the glass-blower reached forth and possessed himself of both cusps. Cugel exclaimed: “What do you intend?”

  “I return the glass to the crucible; what else?”

  “And what of that cusp which is my property?”

  “I retain it as a memento of our conversation.”

  “Hold!” Cugel drew a deep breath. “I might pay your exorbitant fee if the new cusp were as clear and perfect as the old.”

  The glass-blower inspected first one, then the other. “To my eye they are identical.”

  “What of focus?” Cugel challenged. “Hold both to your vision, look through both, then say as much!”

  The glass-blower raised both cusps to his eyes. One allowed a view into the Overworld, the other transmitted a view of Reality. Stunned by the discord, the glass-blower swayed and would have fallen had not Cugel, in an effort to protect the cusps, supported him, and guided him to a bench.

  Taking the cusps, Cugel tossed three terces to the work-table. “All is mutability, and thus your hundred terces has fluctuated to three.”

  The glass-blower, too dazed to make sensible reply, mumbled and struggled to raise his hand, but Cugel strode from the studio and away.

  He returned to the inn. Here he donned his old garments, stained and torn by much harsh treatment, and set forth along the banks of the Xzan.

  As he walked he rehearsed the approaching confrontation, trying to anticipate every possible contingency. Ahead, the sunlight glinted through spiral green glass towers: the manse of Iucounu!

  Cugel halted to gaze up at the eccentric structure. How many times during his journey had he envisioned himself standing here, with Iucounu the Laughing Magician close at hand!

  He climbed the winding way of dark brown tile, and every step increased the tautness of his nerves. He approached the front door, and saw on the heavy panel an object which he had failed to notice: a visage carved in ancient wood, a gaunt face pinched of cheek and jaw, the eyes aghast, the lips drawn back, the mouth wide in a yell of despair or perhaps defiance.

  With his hand raised to rap at the door, Cugel felt a chill settle on his soul. He drew back from the haggard wooden countenance, turned to follow the gaze of the blind eyes — across the Xzan and away over the dim bare hills, rolling and heaving as far as vision could reach. He reviewed his plan of operations. Was there flaw? Danger to himself? None was apparent. If Iucounu discovered the substitution Cugel could always plead error and produce the genuine cusp. Great advantage was to be gained at small risk! Cugel turned back, rapped on the heavy panel.

  A minute passed. Slowly the portal swung open. A flow of cool air issued forth, carrying a bitter odor which Cugel could not identify. The sunlight slanting across his shoulder passed through the portal and fell upon the stone floor. Cugel peered uncertainly into the vestibule, reluctant to enter without an express invitation. “Iucounu!” he called. “Come forth, that I may enter your manse! I wish no further unjust accusations!”

  Within was a stir, a slow sound of feet. From a room to the side came Iucounu, and Cugel thought to detect a change in his countenance. The great soft yellow head seemed looser than before: the jowls sagged, the nose hung like a stalactite, the chin was little more than a pimple below the great twitching mouth.

  Iucounu wore a square brown hat with each of the corners tipped up, a blouse of brown and black diaper, loose pantaloons of a heavy dark brown stuff with black embroidery — a handsome set of garments which Iucounu wore without grace, as if they were strange to him, and uncomfortable; and indeed, he gave Cugel a greeting which Cugel found odd. “Well, fellow, what is your purpose? You will never learn to walk ceilings standing on your hands.” And Iucounu hid his mouth with his hands to conceal a snicker.

  Cugel raised his eyebrows in surprise and doubt. “This is not my purpose. I have come on an errand of vast import: namely, to report that the mission I undertook on your behalf is satisfactorily terminated.”

  “Excellent!” cried Iucounu. “You may now tender me the keys to the bread locker.”

  “‘Bread locker’?” Cugel stared in surprise. Was Iucounu mad? “I am Cugel, whom you sent north on a mission. I have returned with the magic cusp affording a view into the Overworld!”

  “Of course, of course!” cried Iucounu. “‘Brzm-szzst.’ I fear I am vague, among so many contrasting situations; nothing is quite as before. But now I welcome you. Cugel, of course! All is clear. You have gone forth, you have returned! How is friend Firx? Well, I trust? I have longed for his companionship. An excellent fellow, Firx!”

  Cugel acquiesced with no great fervor. “Yes, Firx has been a friend indeed, an unflagging source of encouragement.”

  “Excellent! Step within! I must provide refreshment! What is your preference: ‘sz-mzsm’ or ‘szk-zsm’?”

  Cugel eyed Iucounu askance. His demeanor was more than peculiar. “I am familiar with neither of the items you mention, and hence will decline both with gratitude. But observe! The magic violet cusp!” And Cugel displayed the glass fabrication which he had procured only a few hours previously.

  “Excellent!” declared Iucounu. “You have done well, and your transgressions — now I recall all, having sorted among the various circumstances — are hereby declared nullified. But give me the cusp! I must put it to trial!”

  “Of course,” said Cugel. “I respectfully suggest, that in order to comprehend the full splendor of the Overworld, you bring forth your own cusp and look through both simultaneously. This is the only appropriate method.”

  “True, how true! My cusp; now where did that stubborn rascal conceal it?”

  “‘Stubborn rascal’?” inquired Cugel. “Has someone been misarranging your valuables?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Iucounu gave a wild titter, and kicked up both feet far to the side, falling heavily to the floor, from where he addressed the astounded Cugel. “It is all one, and no longer of consequence, since all must now transpire in the ‘mnz’ pattern. Yes. I will shortly consult with Firx.”

  “On a previous occasion,” said Cugel patiently, “you procured your cusp from a cabinet in that chamber yonder.”

  “Silence!” commanded Iucounu in sudden annoyance. He hauled himself to his feet. “‘Szsz’! I am well aware as to where the cusp is stored. All is completely coordinated! Follow me. We shall learn the essence of the Overworld at once!” He emitted a bray of immoderate laughter, at which Cugel stared in new astonishment.

  Iucounu shuffled into the side-chamber, returned with the case containing his magic cusp. He made an imperious gesture to Cugel. “Stand exactly at this spot. Do not move, as you value Firx!”

  Cugel bowed obediently. Iucounu took forth his cusp. “Now — the new object!”

  Cugel tendered the glass cusp. “To your eyes, both together, that you may enjoy the full glory of the Overworld!”

  “Yes! This is as it shall be!” Iucounu lifted the two cusps and applied them to his eyes. Cugel, expecting him to fall paralyzed by the discord, reached for the cord he had brought to tie the insensible savant; but Iucounu showed no signs of helplessness. He peered this way and that, chortling in a peculiar fashion. “Splendid! Superb! A vista of pure pleasure!” He removed the cusps, placed them carefully in the case. Cugel watched glumly.

  “I am much pleased,” said Iucounu making a sinuous gesture of hands and arms, which further bewildered Cugel. “Yes,” Iucounu continued, “you have done well, and the insensate wickedness of your offense is hereby remitted. Now all that remains is the delivery of my indispensable Firx, and to this end
I must place you in a vat. You will be submerged in an appropriate liquid for approximately twenty-six hours, which may well suffice to tempt Firx forth.”

  Cugel grimaced. How was one to reason with a magician not only droll and irascible, but also bereft? “Such an immersion might well affect me adversely,” he pointed out cautiously. “Far wiser to allow Firx a period of further perambulation.”

  Iucounu seemed favorably impressed by the suggestion, and expressed his delight by means of an extremely intricate jig, which he performed with agility remarkable in a man of Iucounu’s short limbs and somewhat corpulent body. He concluded the demonstration with a great leap into the air, alighting on his neck and shoulders, arms and legs waving like those of an overturned beetle. Cugel watched in fascination, wondering if Iucounu were alive or dead. But Iucounu, blinking somewhat, nimbly gained an upright posture. “I must perfect the exact pressures and thrusts,” he ruminated. “Otherwise there is impingement. The eluctance here is of a different order than of ‘ssz-pntz’.” He emitted another great chortle, throwing back his head, and looking into the open mouth Cugel saw, rather than a tongue, a white claw. Instantly he apprehended the reason for Iucounu’s bizarre conduct. In some fashion a creature like Firx had inserted itself into Iucounu’s body, and had taken possession of his brain.

  Cugel rubbed his chin with interest. A situation of marvel! He applied himself to concentrated thought. Essential to know was whether the creature retained Iucounu’s mastery of magic. Cugel said, “Your wisdom astounds me! I am filled with admiration! Have you added to your collection of thaumaturgical curios?”

  “No; there is ample at hand,” declared the creature, speaking through Iucounu’s mouth. “But now I feel the need for relaxation. The evolution I performed a moment or so ago has made quietude necessary.”

  “A simple matter,” said Cugel. “The most effective means to this end is to clamp with extreme intensity upon the Lobe of Directive Volition.”

  “Indeed?” inquired the creature. “I will attempt as much; let me see: this is the Lobe of Antithesis and here, the Convolvement of Subliminal Configuration … ‘Szzm’. Much here puzzles me; it was never thus on Achernar.” The creature gave Cugel a sharp look to see if the slip had been noticed. But Cugel put on an attitude of lackadaisical boredom; and the creature continued to sort through the various elements of Iucounu’s brain. “Ah yes, here: the Lobe of Directive Volition. Now, a sudden vigorous pressure.”

  Iucounu’s face became taut, the muscles sagged, the corpulent body crumpled to the floor. Cugel leapt forward and in a trice bound Iucounu’s arms and legs and affixed an adhesive pad across the big mouth.

  Now Cugel performed a joyful caper of his own. All was well! Iucounu, his manse, his great collection of magical adjuncts were at his disposal! Cugel considered the helpless hulk and started to drag it outside where he might conveniently strike off the great yellow head, but the recollection of the numerous indignities, discomforts and humiliations he had suffered at Iucounu’s hands gave him pause. Should Iucounu attain oblivion so swiftly, with neither cognition or remorse? By no means!

  Cugel pulled the still body out into the hall, and sat on a nearby bench to consider.

  Presently the body stirred, opened its eyes, made an effort to arise, and finding this impossible, turned to examine Cugel first in surprise, then outrage. From the mouth came peremptory sounds which Cugel acknowledged with a noncommittal sign.

  Presently he arose to his feet, examined the bonds and the mouth-plaster, made all doubly secure, then set about a cautious inspection of the manse, alert for traps, lures or dead-falls which the whimsical Iucounu might have established in order to outwit or beguile intruders. He was especially vigilant during his inspection of Iucounu’s workroom, probing everywhere with a long rod, but if Iucounu had set forth snares or beguilements, none were evident.

  Looking along Iucounu’s shelves, Cugel found sulfur, aquastel, tincture of zyche and herbs from which he prepared a viscous yellow elixir. He dragged the flaccid body into the workroom, administered the potion, called orders and persuasions and finally, with Iucounu an even more intense yellow from ingested sulfur, with aquastel steaming from his ears, with Cugel panting and perspiring from his own exertions, the creature from Achernar clawed free of the heaving body. Cugel caught it in a great stone mortar, crushed it to a paste with an iron pestle, dissolved all with spirits of vitriol, added aromatic mernaunce and poured the resultant slime down a drain.

  Iucounu, presently returning to consciousness, fixed Cugel with a glare of disturbing intensity. Cugel administered an exhalation of raptogen and the Laughing Magician, rolling his eyes upward, returned to a state of apathy.

  Cugel sat back to rest. A problem existed: how best to restrain Iucounu while he made his representations. Finally, after looking through one or two manuals, he sealed Iucounu’s mouth with a daub of juncturing compound, secured his vitality with an uncomplicated spell, then pent him in a tall glass tube, which he suspended from a chain in the vestibule.

  This accomplished, and Iucounu once more conscious, Cugel stood back with an affable grin. “At last, Iucounu, matters begin to right themselves. Do you recall the indignities you visited upon me? How gross they were! I vowed that you would regret the circumstance! I now begin to validate the vow. Do I make myself clear?”

  The expression distorting Iucounu’s face was an adequate response.

  Cugel seated himself with a goblet of Iucounu’s best yellow wine. “I intend to pursue the matter in this wise: I shall calculate the sum of those hardships I have endured, including such almost incommensurable qualities as chills, cold draughts, insults, pangs of apprehension, uncertainties, bleak despairs, horrors and disgusts, and other indescribable miseries, not the least of which were the ministrations of the unspeakable Firx. From this total I will subtract for my initial indiscretion, and possibly one or two further ameliorations, leaving an imposing balance of retribution. Luckily, you are Iucounu the Laughing Magician: you will certainly derive a wry impersonal amusement from the situation.” Cugel turned an inquiring glance up at Iucounu, but the returning gaze was anything but jocular.

  “A final question,” said Cugel. “Have you arranged any traps or lures in which I might be destroyed or immobilized? One blink will express ‘no’; two, ‘yes’.”

  Iucounu merely gazed contemptuously from the tube.

  Cugel sighed. “I see that I must conduct myself warily.”

  Taking his wine into the great hall, he began to familiarize himself with the collection of magical instruments, artifacts, talismans and curios: now, for all practical purposes, his own property. Iucounu’s gaze followed him everywhere with an anxious hope that was by no means reassuring.

  Days went by and Iucounu’s trap, if such existed, remained unsprung, and Cugel at last came to believe that none existed. During this time he applied himself to Iucounu’s tomes and folios, but with disappointing results. Certain of the tomes were written in archaic tongues, indecipherable script or arcane terminology; others described phenomena beyond his comprehension; others exuded a waft of such urgent danger that Cugel instantly clamped shut the covers.

  One or two of the workbooks he found susceptible to his understanding. These he studied with great diligence, cramming syllable after wrenching syllable into his mind, where they roiled and pressed and distended his temples. Presently he was able to encompass a few of the most simple and primitive spells, certain of which he tested upon Iucounu: notably Lugwiler’s Dismal Itch. But by and large Cugel was disappointed by what seemed a lack of innate competence. Accomplished magicians could encompass three or even four of the most powerful effectuants; for Cugel, attaining even a single spell was a task of extraordinary difficulty. One day, while applying a spatial transposition upon a satin cushion, he inverted certain of the pervulsions and was himself hurled backward into the vestibule. Annoyed by Iucounu’s smirk, Cugel carried the tube to the front of the manse, affixed a pair of brackets upon which he hu
ng lamps, which thereafter illuminated the area before the manse during the hours of night.

  A month passed, and Cugel became somewhat more confident in his occupancy of the manse. Peasants of a nearby village brought him produce, and in return Cugel performed what small services he was able. On one occasion the father of Jince, the maiden who served as arranger of his bed-chamber, lost a valuable buckle in a deep cistern, and implored Cugel to bring it forth. Cugel readily agreed, and lowered the tube containing Iucounu into the cistern. Iucounu finally indicated the location of the buckle, which was then recovered with a grapple.

  The episode set Cugel to devising other uses for Iucounu. At the Azenomei Fair a ‘Contest of Grotesques’ had been arranged. Cugel entered Iucounu in the competition, and while he failed to win the prime award, his grimaces were unforgettable and attracted much comment.

  At the fair Cugel encountered Fianosther, the dealer in talismans and magical adjuncts who had originally sent Cugel to Iucounu’s manse. Fianosther looked in jocular surprise from Cugel to the tube containing Iucounu, which Cugel was transporting back to the manse in a cart. “Cugel! Cugel the Clever!” exclaimed Fianosther. “Rumor then speaks accurately! You are now lord of Iucounu’s manse, and of his great collection of instruments and curios!”

  Cugel at first pretended not to recognize Fianosther, then spoke in the coolest of voices. “Quite true,” he said. “Iucounu has chosen to participate less actively in the affairs of the world, as you see. Nonetheless, the manse is a warren of traps and dead-falls; several famished beasts stalk the grounds by night, and I have established a spell of intense violence to guard each entrance.”

  Fianosther seemed not to notice Cugel’s distant manner. Rubbing his plump hands, he inquired: “Since you now control a vast collection of curios, will you sell certain of the less choice items?”

  “I have neither need nor inclination to do so,” said Cugel. “Iucounu’s coffers contain gold to last till the sun goes dark.” And both men, after the habit of the time, looked up to gauge the color of the moribund star.