by Jack Vance
“Not another word!” thundered Rhialto. “At once! To the village!”
The young man sulkily led Rhialto to a house where festivities congratulating Yaa-Yimpe on the occasion of his reward were already in progress. Joints of meat turned on the spit and casks of wine had been broached. On a platform to the side six musicians played tankles, jigs and tyreens for the pleasure of the guests.
As Rhialto approached, Yaa-Yimpe himself, wearing only a pair of short loose pantaloons, emerged from the house. The company called out plaudits and the musicians struck up a lively quickstep. Yaa-Yimpe darted forward to dance a high-kicking saltarello, entailing quick rushing lunges back and forth, with thrust-forward belly shaking in double-time.
In his fervor Yaa-Yimpe jumped on the table, to perform a stamping arm-swinging hornpipe. Around his neck the Perciplex swung by a thong tied around its middle.
Yaa-Yimpe suddenly took note of Rhialto and jumped to the ground.
Rhialto spoke politely: “I am happy to find that your sufferings have been eased.”
“True! Notice the lightning-ice! You may now give me the twenty gold zikkos.”
Rhialto held out his hand. “Immediately, but let me inspect the prism!”
Hache-Moncour jumped forward from the side. “One moment! It is more appropriate that I take custody of this object! Here, sir! Your twenty gold zikkos!” Hache-Moncour flung the coins into Yaa-Yimpe’s ready hand, snatched the Perciplex and strode to the side.
Rhialto made a convulsive motion forward but Hache-Moncour cried out: “Stand back, Rhialto! I must study the authenticity of this object!” He held the prism up to the light. “As I expected: a shameless hoax! Rhialto, we have been misled!” Hache-Moncour flung the prism to the ground, pointed his finger; the object broke into a hundred gouts of blue fire and was gone.
Rhialto stared numbly at the scorched ground. Hache-Moncour spoke in a kindly voice: “Seek elsewhere, Rhialto, if you are so minded; your work is truly useful! If you discover another arrant forgery, or even if you suspect as much, call on me again for advice. I bid you good-day.” Hache-Moncour was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving Yaa-Yimpe and his guests staring open-mouthed.
Rhialto slowly returned to the excavation. Osherl stood in front of his hut, looking pensively off into the sky. Shalukhe the Swimmer sat cross-legged on a rug before the pavilion, eating grapes. Um-Foad came at the run from the excavation. “Rhialto, what are all these rumors?”
“I have no time for rumors,” said Rhialto. “Still, you may now halt the digging.”
“So soon? What of the Cloud-king’s lantern?”
“I begin to think it a myth. I must return to study my references.”
“In that case, I demand the full balance of what you owe.”
“Certainly,” said Rhialto. “Where is your invoice?”
“I have prepared no formal document. The due amount, however, is fifty-two golden zikkos.”
“Highly exorbitant!” cried Rhialto. “Have you not miscalculated?”
“I include the use and enjoyment of my land, by day and by night; labor costs, in both digging and refilling the hole; re-landscaping and re-planting the site; my own fees, both as supervisor and consultant; certain honorariums due the civic functionaries; imposts and —”
Rhialto held up his hand. “You have already told me more than I care to hear. For my part, I want only the porridge bowl, for a souvenir.”
Um-Foad’s mustaches bristled anew. “Can you be serious? That is a valuable antique, worth at least ten zikkos!”
“Whatever you say.”
Um-Foad found the porridge bowl and tendered it to Rhialto. “Now then, my money, and let there be no mistakes in the tally.”
Rhialto passed over a satchel. Um-Foad counted the contents with satisfaction. He rose to his feet. “I take it that you are now vacating the premises?”
“Almost immediately.”
“My fees resume at Midnight.” Um-Foad gave a crisp signal of farewell, then, striding to the pit, called up the workers and the group returned to the village.
The geranium-red sun floated down the western sky. With the cessation of activity the site seemed unnaturally quiet. Rhialto stood in contemplation of the pit. Shalukhe the Swimmer lazed on the rug before the pavilion. Osherl stood in the entrance to his cottage, looking off across the landscape with a somewhat moony expression.
Rhialto heaved a deep sigh and turned to Osherl: “Well then, I am waiting to hear what you have to say.”
Osherl’s eyes went unfocused. “Ah yes … I am happy to hear that Yaa-Yimpe has recovered his health.”
“Is that all? You are curiously placid. Have you no word in regard to the Perciplex?”
Osherl scratched his cheek. “Did you not come to agreement with Yaa-Yimpe?”
“Why should I bother, when he held a patently false version of the Perciplex?”
“Indeed? How could even Rhialto make so definite a finding, when he never so much as laid hands on the object?”
Rhialto shook his head sadly. “My dear fellow, you yourself certified the object as brummagem when you allowed it to be found in the same stratum as the porridge bowl.”
“Not at all! You yourself saw how the area of the porridge bowl was well below the central knob which yielded the Perciplex.”
“Exactly so: the same levels, when they should have been six feet or more apart.”
“Hmmf,” said Osherl. “Somewhere you have made errors. One cannot judge important matters on the basis of porridge bowls.”
“In sheer point of fact, you and Sarsem were careless, though I am sure you enjoyed your trick, chuckling and nudging each other in the ribs as you envisioned poor Rhialto’s distress.”
Osherl, stung, cried out: “Error once again! The arrangements were made in all dignity! Also, your theories lack proof. The bowl may imitate the early style, or it might have been preserved exactly one epoch and then thrown into the sea!”
“Osherl, you walk the very brink of absurdity. My so-called ‘theories’ stand on two legs: first, logical deduction; and second, simple observation. The object which you allowed Yaa-Yimpe to find admittedly resembled the Perciplex — in fact enough to deceive Hache-Moncour. But not me.”
Osherl blinked in puzzlement. “How are your eyes so keen and Hache-Moncour’s so dull?”
“I am not only wise and just; I am intelligent. Hache-Moncour boasts only a low animal cunning scarcely superior to your own.”
“You are still telling me nothing.”
“Have you no eyes? The false object dangled on a thong around Yaa-Yimpe’s neck — at the horizontal. The true Perciplex holds itself forever upright, so that its sacred text may never be misread. Hache-Moncour paid no heed, and I am grateful for his vulgar haste. So now, what have you to say?”
“I must give the matter thought.”
“Two questions remain. First: who has the Perciplex, you or Sarsem? Second: how will you and Sarsem be at once rewarded for your services and punished for your faithlessness?”
“The former far outweigh the latter, at least in my case,” said Osherl. “As for Sarsem, who was so adroitly gulled by Hache-Moncour, I will make no recommendations.”
“And the Perciplex?”
“Ah! That is a delicate subject, which I am not free to discuss before unauthorized ears.”
“What?” cried Rhialto in outrage. “You include me in this category, when Ildefonse specifically placed you under my orders?”
“Subject to the limits of common sense.”
“Very well! We will lay the facts before Ildefonse at Boumergarth, and I hope that I may restrain all prejudice in my report. Still, I must take note of your sullen obduracy, which can only add aeons to your indenture.”
Osherl blinked and winced. “Is it truly so important? Well then, I can offer a hint. Hache-Moncour and Sarsem devised the plan as a joke. I instantly pointed out the serious nature of this matter, and gave Yaa-Yimpe a false crystal.” Osherl uttere
d a nervous laugh. “Sarsem of course retained possession of the true Perciplex, and his guilt far outweighs mine.”
At the pavilion Shalukhe the Swimmer jumped to her feet. “I hear a great tumult from the village … It sounds like men shouting in rage, and it seems to be growing louder.”
Rhialto listened. “I expect that Hache-Moncour’s gold zikkos have become bull-frogs or acorns, or perhaps my payments to Um-Foad have altered prematurely … In any event, it is time we were moving on. Osherl, we will now return to Boumergarth, at a time one minute subsequent to our departure.”
16
In response to Ildefonse’s urgent summons, the magicians assembled in the Great Hall at Boumergarth. Only Rhialto appeared to be absent from the conclave, but no one mentioned his name.
Ildefonse sat silently in his massive chair behind the podium, head bowed so that his yellow beard rested on his folded arms. The other magicians conversed in subdued voices, glancing from time to time toward Ildefonse and discussing the purported purpose of the meeting.
The moments passed, one by one, and still Ildefonse sat in silence. Other small conversations around the room gradually quieted, and all sat looking towards Ildefonse wondering at his reason for delay … At last Ildefonse, perhaps at the receipt of a signal, stirred himself and spoke, in a voice of gravity.
“Noble magicians: the occasion today is momentous! In full panoply of reason and wisdom we must consider issues of importance.
“Our business is unusual, even unprecedented. To forestall any intrusions, I have arranged a web of impermeability around Boumergarth. There is a consequential inconvenience, to the effect that, while no one can enter to disturb us, neither can anyone depart, neither forward nor backward, nor thither nor yon.”
Hurtiancz, with his usual asperity, called out: “Why these unique precautions? I am not one for stays and restrictions; I must inquire the reason why I should be thus pent!”
“I have already explained my motives,” said Ildefonse. “In short, I wish neither entries nor exits during our discussions.”
“Proceed,” said Hurtiancz in clipped tones. “I will restrain my impatience as best I can.”
“To establish a basis for my remarks, I advert to the authority of Phandaal, the Grand Master of our art. His admonitions are stern and direct, and form the theoretical background to the protocol by which we rule our conduct. Here, naturally, I refer to the Blue Principles.”
Hache-Moncour called out: “Truly, Ildefonse, your periods, while resonant, are somewhat protracted. I suggest that you get on with the business of the day. I believe you mentioned that new discoveries compel a redistribution of Rhialto’s properties. May I ask, then, what new articles have appeared, and what may be their quality?”
“You anticipate me!” rumbled Ildefonse. “Still, since the subject has been broached, I trust that everyone has brought with him the full tally of those effects awarded him and distributed after Rhialto’s trial? Has everyone done so? No? In all candour, I expected not much else … Well then — where was I? I believe that I had just paid my respects to Phandaal.”
“True,” said Hache-Moncour. “Now, describe the new findings, if you will. Where, for instance, were they secreted?”
Ildefonse held up his hand. “Patience, Hache-Moncour! Do you recall the chain of events which stemmed from the impulsive conduct of Hurtiancz at Falu? He tore Rhialto’s copy of the Blue Principles, thus prompting Rhialto to take legal action.”
“I recall the situation perfectly: a tempest in a tea-pot, or so it seems to me.”
A tall figure wearing black trousers, a loose black blouse and a loose black cap pulled low, moved forward from the shadows. “It does not seem so to me,” said the man in black and moved back into the shadows.
Ildefonse paid him no heed. “If only from a theoretical point of view, this case absorbs our interest. Rhialto was the plaintiff; the group now assembled are the defendants. As Rhialto stated his case, the issues were simple. The Blue, so he claimed, declared that any purposeful alteration or destruction of the Monstrament or obvious and ostensible copy thereof, constituted a crime, punishable at minimum by a fine equal to three times the value of any wrongful losses sustained; at maximum, total confiscation. Such was Rhialto’s contention, and he brought forward the torn copy both as evidence of the crime and as his documentation of the law itself.
“The defendants, led by Hache-Moncour, Hurtiancz, Gilgad and others, decried the charges as not only artificial but also a wrongful act in themselves. Rhialto’s action, so they claim, formed the substance of a counteraction. To support this position, Hache-Moncour and the others took us to Fader’s Waft, where we examined the Monstrament there projected, and where Hache-Moncour asserted, and now I paraphrase, that any attempt to present a damaged, mutilated or purposefully altered copy of the Monstrament is in itself a crime of major consequence.
“Hache-Moncour and his group argue, therefore, that in presenting the damaged copy of the Blue as evidence, Rhialto committed a crime which must be adjudicated even before his own charges can be considered. They argue that Rhialto is clearly guilty, and that not only are his charges moot, but that the only real issue becomes the degree of Rhialto’s punishment.”
Ildefonse here paused and looked from face to face. “Have I fairly stated the case?”
“Quite so,” said Gilgad. “I doubt if you will find dissent anywhere. Rhialto has long been a thorn in our side.”
Vermoulian spoke. “I do not favor Forlorn Encystment6 for Rhialto; I say, let him live out his days as a salamander, or a Gangue River lizard.”
Ildefonse cleared his throat. “Before passing sentence — or, for that matter, before arriving at a judgment — there are certain odd facts to be considered. First of all, let me ask this question: how many here have consulted their own copies of the Blue Principles in connection with this case? … What? No one?”
Dulce-Lolo gave a light laugh. “It is hardly necessary; am I not right? After all, we made that chilly and inconvenient visit to Fader’s Waft for that very purpose.”
“Just so,” said Ildefonse. “Peculiarly, my recollection of the passage accorded with Rhialto’s torn copy, rather than that at Fader’s Waft.”
“The mind plays peculiar tricks,” said Hache-Moncour. “Now then, Ildefonse, in order to accelerate a possibly tedious —”
“In a moment,” said Ildefonse. “First, let me add that I referred to my personal copy of the Blue, and discovered that the text duplicated that placed in evidence by Rhialto.”
The room became silent, with the stillness of bewilderment. Then Hurtiancz made a vehement gesture. “Bah! Why ensnare ourselves in subtleties? Rhialto irrefutably committed the crime, as defined by the Perciplex. What more is there to be said?”
“Only this! As our esteemed colleague Hache-Moncour has pointed out, the mind plays strange tricks. Is it possible that the other night we were all victims of mass hallucination? If you recall, we found the projection unaccountably turned upside-down, which had a very confusing effect, certainly upon me.”
Once more the figure in black stepped forward from the shadows. “Most especially when the Perciplex will not allow itself to be altered from the upright position, for fear of just such a consequence.”
The dark shape returned to the shadows, and as before both he and his words were ignored as if non-existent.
Hache-Moncour said weightily: “Could this entire group, all keen observers, have witnessed the same hallucination? I tend to scout such a possibility.”
“I also!” cried Hurtiancz. “I have never hallucinated!”
Ildefonse said: “Nevertheless, in my capacity as Preceptor, I hereby rule that we now transfer ourselves into my whirlaway, which is also enwebbed to protect us from nuisance, and visit Fader’s Waft, so that we may settle the matter once and for all.”
“As you like,” said Dulce-Lolo peevishly. “But why this elaborate system of webs and screens? If no one can molest us, neither can any of
us go off about his business should, for instance, a sudden emergency develop at his manse.”
“True,” said Ildefonse. “Precisely so. This way then, if you please.”
Only the man in black who sat in the shadows remained behind.
17
The whirlaway flew high through the red light of afternoon: south across Ascolais to a set of soft swelling hills and at last settled upon Fader’s Waft.
From the whirlaway to the six-sided fane extended an arch of web: “— lest archveults seize upon this opportunity to expunge all of us together!” So Ildefonse explained the precaution.
Into the enclosure filed the group, with Ildefonse bringing up the rear. As always, the Perciplex rested upon its cushion of black satin. In a chair to the side sat a man-shaped creature white of skin and white of eye, with a soft fluff of pink feathers for hair.
“Ah Sarsem,” said Ildefonse in a hearty voice. “How goes the vigil?”
“All is well,” said Sarsem in a glum voice.
“No difficulties? Neither incursions nor excursions since I saw you last? All is in order?”
“The vigil proceeds unmarred by incident.”
“Good!” declared Ildefonse. “Now let us examine the projection. Possibly it confused us before, and this time we will all look closely and make no mistakes. Sarsem, the projection!”
Upon the wall flashed the Blue Principles. Ildefonse chortled with delight. “Precisely so! As I declared, we were all confused together — even the redoubtable Hurtiancz, who now reads the Monstrament for a third and decisive time. Hurtiancz! Be kind enough to read the passage aloud!”
Tonelessly Hurtiancz read: “Any person who knowingly and purposefully alters, mutilates, destroys or secretes the Blue Principles or any copy thereof is guilty of a crime, and likewise in equal measure his conspirators, punishable by the measures described in Schedule D. If said acts are committed in the progress of an unlawful act, or for unlawful purposes, the penalties shall be those described in Schedule G.”
Ildefonse turned to Hache-Moncour, who stood with bulging eyes and sagging jaw. “So there you are, Hache-Moncour! I was right after all and now you must acknowledge as much.”
