by Jack Vance
“I called out in a forthright voice: ‘Llorio the Murthe, I can see you easily; you need not soar so high.’
“She responded gently enough: ‘Ildefonse, my stature need not concern you; my words carry the same import, spoken high or low.’
“‘All very well, but why incur the risk of a vertigo? Your natural proportions are certainly more pleasing to the eye. I can see every pore in your skin. Still, no matter; it is all one with me. Why do you wander into my musing?’
“‘Ildefonse, of all men alive, you are the wisest. The time now is late, but not too late! The female race may still reshape the universe! First, I will lead a sortie to Sadal Suud; among the Seventeen Moons we will renew the human destiny. Your kindly strength, your virtue and grandeur are rich endowments for the role which now you must play.’
“The flavor of these words was not to my liking. I said: ‘Llorio, you are a woman of surpassing beauty, though you would seem to lack that provocative warmth which draws man to woman, and adds dimension to the character.’
“The Murthe responded curtly: ‘The quality you describe is a kind of lewd obsequiousness which, happily, has now become obsolete. As for the ‘surpassing beauty’, it is an apotheotic quality generated by the surging music of the female soul, which you, in your crassness, perceive only as a set of pleasing contours.’
“I replied with my usual gusto: ‘Crass or not, I am content with what I see, and as for sorties to far places, let us first march in triumph to the bed-chamber at Boumergarth which is close at hand and there test each other’s mettle. Come then, diminish your stature so that I may take your hand; you stand at an inconvenient altitude and the bed would collapse under your weight — in fact, under present conditions, our coupling would hardly be noticed by either of us.’
“Llorio said with scorn: ‘Ildefonse, you are a disgusting old satyr, and I see that I was mistaken in my appraisal of your worth. Nevertheless, you must serve our cause with full force.’
“In a stately manner she walked away, into the eccentric angles of the perspective, and with every step she seemed to dwindle, either in the distance or in stature. She walked pensively, in a manner which almost might be construed as invitational. I succumbed to impulse and set out after her — first at a dignified saunter, then faster and faster until I galloped on pounding legs and finally dropped in exhaustion to the ground. Llorio turned and spoke: ‘See how the grossness of your character has caused you a foolish indignity!’
“She flicked her hand to throw down a squalm which struck me on the forehead. ‘I now give you leave to return to your manse.’ And with that she was gone.
“I awoke on the couch in my work-room. Instantly I sought out my Calanctus and applied his recommended prophylactics in full measure.”
“Most odd!” said Rhialto. “I wonder how Calanctus dealt with her.”
“Just as we must do, by forming a strong and relentless cabal.”
“Just so, but where and how? Zanzel has been ensqualmed, and certainly he is not alone.”
“Bring out your farvoyer; let us learn the worst. Some may still be saved.”
Rhialto rolled out an ornate old tabouret, waxed so many times as to appear almost black. “Who will you see first?”
“Try the staunch if mysterious Gilgad. He is a man of discrimination and not easily fooled.”
“We may still be disappointed,” said Rhialto. “When last I looked, a nervous snake might have envied the deft motion of his tongue.” He touched one of the scallops which adorned the edge of the tabouret and spoke a cantrap, to evoke the miniature of Gilgad in a construct of his near surroundings.
Gilgad stood in the kitchen of his manse Thrume, berating the cook. Rather than his customary plum-red suit, the new Gilgad wore wide rose-red pantaloons tied at waist and ankle with coquettish black ribbons. Gilgad’s black blouse displayed in tasteful embroidery a dozen red and green birds. Gilgad also used a smart new hair-style, with opulent rolls of hair over each ear, a pair of fine ruby hair-pins to hold the coiffure in place, and a costly white plume surmounting all.
Rhialto told Ildefonse: “Gilgad has been quick to accept the dictates of high fashion.”
Ildefonse held up his hand. “Listen!”
From the display came Gilgad’s thin voice, now raised in anger: “— grime and grit in profusion; it may have served during my previous half-human condition, but now many things have altered and I see the world, including this sordid kitchen, in a new light. Henceforth, I demand full punctilio! All areas and surfaces must be scoured; extreme neatness will prevail! Further! My metamorphosis will seem peculiar to certain among you, and I suppose that you will crack your little jokes. But I have keen ears and have little jokes of my own! Need I mention Kuniy, who hops about his duties on little soft feet with a mouse-tail trailing behind him, squeaking at the sight of a cat?”
Rhialto touched a scallop to remove the image of Gilgad. “Sad. Gilgad was always something of a dandy and, if you recall, his temper was often uncertain, or even acrid. Ensqualmation evidently fails to ennoble its victim. Ah well, so it goes. Who next?”
“Let us investigate Eshmiel, whose loyalty surely remains staunch.”
Rhialto touched a scallop and on the tabouret appeared Eshmiel in the dressing room of his manse Sil Soum. Eshmiel’s previous guise had been notable for its stark and absolute chiaroscuro, with the right side of his body white and the left side black. His garments had followed a similar scheme, though their cut was often bizarre or even frivolous.*
In squalmation, Eshmiel had not discarded his taste for striking contrast, but now he seemed to be wavering between such themes as blue and purple, yellow and orange, pink and umber: these being the colors adorning the mannequins ranged around the room. As Rhialto and Ildefonse watched, Eshmiel marched back and forth, inspecting first one, then another, but finding nothing suitable to his needs, which caused him an obvious vexation.
Ildefonse sighed heavily. “Eshmiel is clearly gone. Let us grit our teeth and investigate the cases first of Hurtiancz and then Dulce-Lolo.”
Magician after magician appeared on the tabouret, and in the end no doubt remained but that ensqualmation had infected all.
Rhialto spoke gloomily: “Not one of the group showed so much as a twitch of distress! All wallowed in the squalming as if it were a boon! Would you and I react in the same way?”
Ildefonse winced and pulled at his blond beard. “It makes the blood to run cold.”
“So now we are alone,” said Rhialto. “The decisions are ours to make.”
“They are not simple,” said Ildefonse after reflection. “We have come under attack: do we retaliate? If so: how? Or even: why? The world is moribund.”
“But I am not! I am Rhialto, and such treatment offends me!”
Ildefonse nodded thoughtfully. “That is an important point. I, with equal vehemence, am Ildefonse!”
“More, you are Ildefonse the Preceptor! And now you must use your legitimate powers.”
Ildefonse inspected Rhialto through blue eyes blandly half-closed. “Agreed! I nominate you to enforce my edicts!”
Rhialto ignored the pleasantry. “I am thinking of IOUN stones.”
Ildefonse sat up in his chair. “What is your exact meaning?”
“You must decree confiscation from the ensqualmated witches of all IOUN stones, on grounds of policy. Then we will work a time-stasis and send sandestins out to gather the stones.”
“All very well, but our comrades often conceal their treasures with ingenious care.”
“I must confess to a whimsical little recreation — a kind of intellectual game, as it were. Over the years I have ascertained the hiding-place of every IOUN stone current among the association. You keep yours, for instance, in the water reservoir of the convenience at the back of your work-room.”
“That, Rhialto, is an ignoble body of knowledge. Still, at this point, we cannot gag at trifles. I hereby confiscate all IOUN stones in the custody of our bewitched fo
rmer comrades. Now, if you will impact the continuum with a spell, I will call in my sandestins Osherl, Ssisk and Walfing.”
“My creatures Topo and Bellume are also available for duty.”
The confiscation went with an almost excessive facility. Ildefonse declared: “We have struck an important blow. Our position is now clear; our challenge is bold and direct!”
Rhialto frowningly considered the stones. “We have struck a blow; we have issued a challenge: what now?”
Ildefonse blew out his cheeks. “The prudent course is to hide until the Murthe goes away.”
Rhialto gave a sour grunt. “Should she find us and pull us squeaking from our holes, all dignity is lost. Surely this is not the way of Calanctus.”
“Let us then discover the way of Calanctus,” said Ildefonse. “Bring out Poggiore’s Absolutes; he devotes an entire chapter to the Murthe. Fetch also The Decretals of Calanctus, and, if you have it, Calanctus: His Means and Modes.”
4
Dawn was still to come. The sky over Wilda Water showed a flush of plum, aquamarine and dark rose. Rhialto slammed shut the iron covers of the Decretals. “I find no help. Calanctus describes the persistent female genius, but he is not explicit in his remedies.”
Ildefonse, looking through The Doctrines of Calanctus, said: “I find here an interesting passage. Calanctus likens a woman to the Ciaeic Ocean which absorbs the long and full thrust of the Antipodal Current as it sweeps around Cape Spang, but only while the weather holds fair. If the wind shifts but a trifle, this apparently placid ocean hurls an abrupt flood ten or even twenty feet high back around the cape, engulfing all before it. When stasis is restored and the pressure relieved, the Ciaeic is as before, placidly accepting the current. Do you concur with this interpretation of the female geist?”
“Not on all counts,” said Rhialto. “At times Calanctus verges upon the hyperbolic. This might be regarded as a typical case, especially since he provides no program for holding off or even diverting the Ciaeic flood.”
“He seems to suggest that one does not strive, ordinarily, to control this surge but, rather, rides over it in a staunch ship of high freeboard.”
Rhialto shrugged. “Perhaps so. As always, I am impatient with obscure symbolism. The analogy assists us not at all.”
Ildefonse ruminated. “It suggests that rather than meeting the Murthe power against power, we must slide across and over the gush of her hoarded energy, until at last she has spent herself and we, like stout ships, float secure and dry.”
“Again, a pretty image, but limited. The Murthe displays a protean power.”
Ildefonse stroked his beard and looked pensively off into space. “Indeed, one inevitably starts to wonder whether this fervor, cleverness and durability might also govern her — or, so to speak, might tend to influence her conduct in, let us say, the realm of —”
“I understand the gist of your speculation,” said Rhialto. “It is most likely nuncupatory.”
Ildefonse gave his head a wistful shake. “Sometimes one’s thoughts go where they will.”
A golden insect darted out of the shadows, circled the lamp and flew back into the darkness. Rhialto instantly became alert. “Someone has entered Falu, and now waits in the parlour.” He went to the door and called out sharply: “Who is there? Speak, or dance the tarantella on feet of fire.”
“Hold hard your spell!” spoke a voice. “It is I, Lehuster!”
“In that case, come forward.”
Into the work-room came Lehuster, soiled and limping, his shoulder feathers bedraggled, in a state of obvious fatigue. He carried a sack which he gratefully dropped upon the leather-slung couch under the window.
Ildefonse surveyed him with frowning disfavor. “Well then, Lehuster, you are here at last! A dozen times during the night we might have used your counsel, but you were nowhere to be found. What, then, is your report?”
Rhialto handed Lehuster a tot of aquavit. “This will alleviate your fatigue; drink and then speak freely.”
Lehuster consumed the liquid at a gulp. “Aha! A tipple of rare quality! … Well then, I have little enough to tell you, though I have spent a most toilsome night, performing necessary tasks. All are ensqualmed, save only yourselves. The Murthe, however, believes that she controls the entire association.”
“What?” cried Rhialto. “Does she take us so lightly?”
“No great matter.” Lehuster held out the empty goblet. “If you please! A bird flies erratically on one wing … Further, the Murthe appropriated all IOUN stones to her personal use —”
“Not so!” said Ildefonse with a chuckle. “We cleverly took them first.”
“You seized a clutch of glass baubles. The Murthe took the true stones, including those owned by you and Rhialto, and left brummagem in their place.”
Rhialto ran to the basket where the presumptive IOUN stones reposed. He groaned. “The mischievous vixen has robbed us in cold blood!”
Lehuster gestured to the sack he had tossed upon the couch. “On this occasion, we have bested her. Yonder are the stones! I seized them while she bathed. I suggest that you send a sandestin to replace them with the false stones. If you hurry, there is still time; the Murthe dallies at her toilette. Meanwhile hide the true stones in some extra-dimensional cubby-hole, so that they may not be taken from you again.”
Rhialto summoned his sandestin Bellume and issued an appropriate instruction.
Ildefonse turned to Lehuster: “By what means did Calanctus confound this dire and frightening female?”
“Mystery still shrouds the occasion,” said Lehuster. “Calanctus apparently used an intense personal force and so kept Llorio at bay.”
“Hmmf. We must learn more of Calanctus. The chronicles make no mention of his death; he may still be extant, perhaps in the Land of Cutz!”
“Such questions also trouble the Murthe,” said Lehuster. “We may well be able to confuse her and induce her retreat.”
“How so?”
“There is no time to lose. You and Rhialto must create an ideal semblance in the shape of Calanctus, and here, at least, I can be of assistance. The creation need not be permanent, but it must be sufficiently vital so that Llorio is persuaded that once again she pits herself against Calanctus.”
Ildefonse pulled doubtfully at his beard. “That is a major undertaking.”
“With scant time for its execution! Remember, by winning the IOUN stones you have defied the Murthe with a challenge which she cannot ignore!”
Rhialto jumped to his feet. “Quickly then! Let us do as Lehuster suggests! Time is short.”
“Hmmf,” growled Ildefonse. “I do not fear this misguided harridan. Is there no easier way?”
“Yes! Flight to a far dimension!”
“You know me better than that!” declared Ildefonse. “To work! We will send this witch squealing and leaping with skirts held high as she bounds over the brambles!”
“That shall be our slogan,” declared Lehuster. “To work!”
The semblance of Calanctus took form on the work table: first an armature of silver and tantalum wires built upon an articulated spinal truss, then a shadowy sheathing of tentative concepts, then the skull and sensorium, into which were inserted all the works of Calanctus, and a hundred other tracts, including catalogues, compendia, pantologies and universal syntheses, until Lehuster counselled a stop. “Already he knows twenty times as much as the first Calanctus! I wonder if he can organize such a mass?”
The muscles were stretched and drawn taut; the skin was applied, along with a thick pelt of dark short hair over the scalp and down the forehead. Lehuster worked long and hard at the features, adjusting the jut of the jaw, the thrust of the short straight nose, the breadth of the forehead, the exact shape and curve of eyebrows and hair-line.
The ears were affixed and the auditory channels adjusted. Lehuster spoke in an even voice: “You are Calanctus, first hero of the 18th Aeon.”
The eyes opened and gazed thoughtfully at Lehus
ter.
“I am your friend,” said Lehuster. “Calanctus, arise! Go sit in yonder chair.”
The Calanctus-form rose from the table with only a trifling effort, swung his strong legs to the floor and went to sit in the chair.
Lehuster turned to Rhialto and Ildefonse. “It would be better if now you stepped into the parlor for a few minutes. I must instill memories and associations into this mind; he must be vivid with life.”
“A full lifetime of memories in so short a time?” demanded Ildefonse. “Impossible!”
“Not so, in a time-compression! I will also teach him music and poetry; he must be passionate as well as vivid. My instrument is this bit of dry flower-petal; its perfume works magic.”
Somewhat reluctantly Ildefonse and Rhialto went to the parlor, where they watched morning come full to Low Meadow.
Lehuster called them to the work-room. “There sits Calanctus. His mind is rich with knowledge; he is perhaps even broader in his concepts than his namesake. Calanctus, this is Rhialto and this is Ildefonse; they are your friends.”
Calanctus looked from one to the other with mild blue eyes. “I am glad to hear that! From what I have learned, the world is sorely in need of amity.”
Lehuster said aside: “He is Calanctus, but with a difference, or even a certain lack. I have given him a quart of my blood, but perhaps it is not enough … Still, we shall see.”
Ildefonse asked: “What of power? Can he enforce his commands?”
Lehuster looked toward the neo-Calanctus. “I have loaded his sensorium with IOUN stones. Since he has never known harm he is easy and gentle despite his innate force.”
“What does he know of the Murthe?”
“All there is to be known. He shows no emotion.”
Rhialto and Ildefonse regarded their creation with skepticism. “So far Calanctus seems still an abstraction, without over-much volition,” said Rhialto. “Can we not give him a more visceral identification with the real Calanctus?”
