Ecce and Old Earth tcc-2

by Jack Vance

  By this time Wayness knew where to find the keys to the study. One hung from Lenk s key ring, a second from a similar key ring in the possession of the Countess. Wayness had taken pains to learn the daily disposition of the keys. By day the Countess often carried them with her, sometimes rather carelessly, so that on occasion they were left somewhere she had been sitting. Thereupon the keys were deemed lost, creating a great scurrying search, punctuated by the Countess' hoarse outcries, until the keys were found.

  At night the Countess kept her keys in the drawer of a cabinet beside her bed.

  Late one night, with the Countess snoring among her down pillows, Wayness crept quietly into the room and made for the cabinet, which was visible in the dim illumination of the night-light. She had started to pull open the drawer when the dog Toop awoke in annoyance and startlement, and began to yelp: a tumult in which the other dogs instantly joined. Wayness scuttled from the room, before the Countess could raise up to see what had caused the disturbance. Standing breathless in the adjoining chamber, Wayness heard the Countess rasp: "Quiet, you little vermin! Just because one of you farts, must you all celebrate? Not another sound!”

  Wayness, discouraged, went off to bed.

  Two days later the footman Fosco resigned his position. Lenk tried to assign the task of dog-grooming to Wayness, who declared that she could spare no time from her regular duties, then to the maid Fyllis, who objected even more definitely: “They can grow hair in a mat two inches thick for all of me! You must do the job yourself, Mr. Lenk!”

  Lenk was thus miserably employed for two days until he hired another footman: a handsome young man named Baro, who took to the job with a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm.

  For a time Lenk's conduct toward Wayness was irreproachably correct, if somewhat fulsome and urbane. But each day he became a trifle more friendly, until at last he thought to test the waters and patted Wayness on the bottom, playfully, as if in a spirit of camaraderie. Wayness recognized that Lenk's program must be nipped in the bud, and jerked aside. “Really, Mr. Lenk! You are being quite naughty!”

  “Of course,” said Lenk cheerfully. “But you have a most enticing little bottom, just round enough, and my hand became charged, as it were, with wanderlust."

  “Then your hand must be kept under stern control and not allowed to stray."

  Lenk sighed. "It was not only my hand that became charged," he murmured, preening his mustache. "In the final analysis, what is a bit of naughtiness between friends, after all? Is that not what friends are for?"

  “All this is far too deep for my understanding,“ said Wayness. “Perhaps we should ask Madame Lenk's advice." That is an insipid suggestion," sighed Lenk, turning away.

  On occasion, usually in the late afternoon, the Countess would fall into one of her special moods. Her face would lengthen and become immobile; she would refuse to speak to anyone. On the first such occasion Madame Lenk told Wayness: “The Countess is dissatisfied with the way the universe is run, and she is now considering how best to change things.”

  Often during such occasions, with little attention to the weather, the Countess would go out to her table on the lawn, seat herself, produce a packet of special cards and proceed to play what seemed an elaborate game of solitaire. Over and over the Countess played the game, clenching her fists, performing wild gestures, peering down in sudden suspicion, hissing and muttering, showing her teeth in what could be either rage or exultation, never desisting until either the cards submitted to her will, or the sun went down and the light failed.

  On the second such occasion, a cool wind was blowing and Wayness went out with a robe, but the Countess rejected it with a wave of the hand.

  At last, in the dying twilight, Countess Ottilie stared at the cards, whether in triumph or defeat Wayness could not be sure. The Countess heaved herself to her feet the keys fell jingling to the grass. The Countess was moving away and noticed nothing. Wayness picked the keys and tucked them into the pocket in her skirt. Then she gathered cards, robe and followed the Countess across the lawn.

  Countess Ottilie did not go directly to the castle, but off a slant toward the foot of North Tower, Wayness followed ten paces to the rear. The Countess paid her no heed.

  Twilight had fallen over the landscape, and a cool breeze was blowing through the ancient pines which grew on the hills. Countess Ottilie’s destination became clear: the little cemetery beside the North Tower. She entered through a gap in the yew hedge and wandered among the graves, stopping now and again to utter chirrups and little calls of encouragement. Wayness, waiting outside the hedge, heard her voice: “It has been long, ah how long! But do not despair, my good Snoyard; your loyalty and trust shall be rewarded! And you, Peppin, no less! How you used to romp! And dear little Corly, whose muzzle was so soft! I grieve for you every day! But we shall all meet again, on some happy day! Myrdal, do not whimper all graves are dark…”

  In the gloom behind the yew hedge Wayness bestirred herself; it was as if she were involved in a queer dream. She turned and ran through the dusk, one hand pressed against the keys to keep them secure. She halted by the terrace and stood waiting.

  A few minutes later she saw the pale form of the Countess approaching, moving slowly and leaning on her cane. Wayness waited silently. The Countess passed as if she were invisible and, crossing the terrace, entered the library, with Wayness coming after.

  The evening went by slowly. While the Countess dined, Wayness furtively examined the keys, and found to her satisfaction that each was tagged with a label. There it was: ‘Study': the key she had wanted so long and so badly! After a moment's thought she went to the scullery where a few tools and oddments were kept on a workbench and where she previously had noticed a box of old keys. Sorting through the box she found a key of the same general type as the key to the study, and tucked it into her pocket.

  A shadow in the doorway! Wayness turned about startled. It was Baro, the new footman: a stalwart young man, black-haired, with expressive hazel eyes and features of perfect regularity. He carried himself with assurance, and spoke with an easy flow of inconsequential language. Wayness, while conceding Baro to be an exceedingly handsome young man, thought him vain and glib, and kept her distance from him — a tendency which Baro instantly noted and interpreted as a challenge. Thenceforth, he began to make easy casual advances toward her, which Wayness as easily and casually avoided. It was now Baro who stood behind her. He spoke, “Mayra: princess of all that is delightful, why are you skulking in the scullery?”

  Wayness restrained the first tart response which came to her tongue, and said only: “I was looking for a bit of string.”

  “Here it is,” said Baro. “Right here on the shelf. “Reaching past her, he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned his body against hers, so that she felt his animal warmth. He wore, so she noticed, a pleasant fresh scent, mingled of fern, violet and odd off-world essences.

  “You smell nice, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” said Wayness. She ducked under his arm, sidled past his body and gained the freedom of the pantry and then the kitchen beyond. Behind came Baro, smiling a vague bland smile. Wayness went to sit in the servant's lounge, annoyed and disturbed. Contact with Baro's body had aroused a response in her, and had also sent tingles of fear and revulsion racing along the fibers of her subconscious. Baro entered the room. Wayness became wary, and picked up a journal. Baro came to sit beside her. Wayness paid him no heed.

  Baro spoke in a soft voice: "Do you like me?”

  Wayness turned him a dispassionate glance. She delayed several seconds before answering. “I haven’t given the matter any thought, Mr. Baro. I doubt if I will."

  “Poof,” said Baro, as if he had received a blow in the solar plexus. “My word, but you are a cool one!”

  Wayness, turning the pages of the journal, made no response.

  Baro uttered his easy laugh. “If you relaxed just a bit, you might find that I was not such a bad fellow after all."

  Wayness gave him ano
ther expressionless glance, laid the journal aside and, rising to her feet, went to sit with Madame Lenk, only to be summoned by a tone from her wristband. "Off you go," said Madame Lenk. “It is time for the ball game… Hoy! Listen to the rain! I must send Lenk to foster the fire.”

  The Countess had gone into the library, along with her dogs. Outside the windows rain thrashed down upon the terrace and across the lawn, where it could occasionally be glimpsed in the instantaneous blue illumination of lightning bolts.

  The ball game was played by the Countess, who hurled the ball; the eight dogs, who bounded after it, snapping and snarling at each other, and Wayness, who must pull the ball from the jaws of the animal which had gained possession and return the wet ball to the Countess.

  After ten minutes the Countess tired of the game but insisted that Wayness continue to play it in her stead.

  At last the Countess’ attention wandered and she began to doze. Wayness, standing behind her chair took occasion to detach the key to the study from the key ring, and replace it with the key she had taken from the box in the scullery, switching the label as well. She hid the key ring in the soil of a potted plant to the side of the room, and went to fetch Countess Ottilie’s nighttime potion from the kitchen: an unpleasant concoction of raw egg, buttermilk and cherry cordial, mixed with a packet of therapeutic powders.

  Countess Ottilie awoke from her nap in a querulous mood. She scowled at Wayness. Where have you been? You must not leave me so! I was about to ring for you!”

  "I was fetching the potion, Your Ladyship.”

  “Hmf. Bah! Give it to me then.” The Countess was only partially mollified. “It is a mystery to me how you flit here and there so carelessly, like a fluff on the wind!”

  The Countess swallowed her potion. “So now, once more it is bedtime. I have negotiated the trials of another day despite all! It is not so easy when one is old, especially when one is wise, as well!"

  “I'm sure not, Your Ladyship.”

  "Everywhere, grasping hands and pinching fingers! From all sides the gleam of predatory eyes like the eyes of wild beasts circling the fire of a lone adventurer! I wage a stark and pitiless battle; greed and avarice are my sworn enemies!"

  “Your Ladyship is armed with great strength of character.”

  “Yes, that is true.” Gripping the arms of her chair, the Countess struggled to gain her feet. Wayness ran forward to help, but the Countess angrily waved her away and sat back in the chair. “That is unnecessary! I am not an invalid, no matter what they say.”

  “I have never thought so, Your Ladyship.”

  “That is not to say that I shall not die some day and then: who knows?" The Countess glanced sharply at Wayness. “You have heard the ghosts in North Tower?”

  Wayness shook her head. “I am happier not knowing of such things, Your Ladyship.”

  “I see. Well, I will say no more. It is time for bed. Help me to my feet, and take care for my poor back! I suffer tremendously when I am jerked about!"

  During the intricate routine of preparing for bed the Countess discovered the loss of her keys. “Ah! Chife, pox and vomit! Why must these trials so afflict me? Marya, where are my keys?"

  “Where Your Ladyship usually keeps them, or so I suppose.”

  "No, I have lost them! They are out on the lawn, where any thief of the night can come upon them! Call Lenk, at once!"

  Lenk was summoned and informed as to the missing keys. "I suspect that I dropped them out on the lawn,” said the Countess. “You must find them at once!"

  “In the dark? With the rain driving down at a slant? Your Ladyship, that would be impractical.”

  The Countess began to fulminate and pounded her cane into the floor. "It is I who determines what is practical at Mirky Porod! Never be deceived! I have taught this truth to others!”

  Lenk turned his head sharply and held up his hand. Countess Ottilie cried out: “What do you hear?"

  “I don’t know Your Ladyship. It might have been the cry of a ghost."

  “A ghost! Marya, did you hear it?"

  "I heard something but I think it was one of the dogs."

  "Of course! There! This time I heard it too. It is Porter, suffering from his catarrh.”

  Lenk bowed. “As you say, Your Ladyship.”

  "And my keys?"

  “We shall find them in the morning, when we can see." Lenk bowed again and withdrew. The Countess grumbled at length, but at last went to bed. Tonight she was unusually testy and Wayness changed and rearranged her down pillows a dozen times before the Countess finally tired of the game and fell asleep.

  Wayness went to her room. She removed her white apron and her white cap, and changed into soft-soled slippers. Into her pocket she tucked pencil, paper and an electric torch.

  At midnight she left her room. The house was quiet. Wayness delayed a diffident moment or two, then summoning all her courage, descended the stairs, where she stopped to listen again.

  Silence.

  Wayness passed through the library to the doors leading into the study. She worked the key; the door slid ajar with a faint, creak. Wayness studied the lock, making sure that she could not accidently lock herself into the study. In this caser there could be no difficulty. Wayness entered the study, closed and locked the door. She brought out her torch and took stock of her surroundings. A large desk, equipped with a communications screen and a telephone, occupied the center of the room. Beyond the windows the rain still fell, though not so heavily as before, with frequent splashes of blue lightning fracturing the sky. To the side a stanchion supported a large terrestrial globe. Shelves along the walls displayed books, curios, oddments, weapons. Wayness examined the books. None seemed to be ledgers in which Count Raul might have kept his accounts. She turned her attention to the desk. The communicator, it had not been used for many years, and might well be inoperative.

  Wayness seated herself and touched a switch. To her delight and heartfelt relief, the screen brightened to display Count Raul’s personal emblem: a black double-headed eagle standing upon a pale blue globe, limned with circles of latitude and longitude.

  Wayness set about her task of discovering where Count Raul kept the information she sought. The task might have been easier if the Count had been as methodical as he was meticulously all-inclusive.

  Half an hour passed. Wayness chased down a dozen blind alleys and dead ends, before chancing upon the file containing the information she sought.

  Count Raul had not bought any material from Gohoon Galleries. Furthermore, his collection of Naturalist Society documents had included only the items Wayness had discovered at the Funusti Museum. Here Wayness was disappointed. She had hoped, with a hope so secret that she had not even admitted it to herself, that she might find Charter and Grant in the study, perhaps in a cubbyhole of this very desk.

  Not so. Count Raul had derived his material from a dealer named Xantief in the old city Trieste.

  It was at this moment that Wayness heard the slightest of noises: a grating sound, of iron scraping on iron. She glanced up in time to see the handle of the door to the terrace move, after it had been tested by someone standing outside.

  Wayness pretended not to notice. She altered the name ‘Xantief' to 'Chuffe' and 'Trieste' to 'Croy,' and conducted a search to make sure that there was no other mention of the name. Meanwhile, she watched the window. A great spasm of blue lightning shattered the sky. Wayness saw the silhouette of a man standing by the window. His hands were raised; he seemed to be busy with a tool.

  Wayness rose to her feet without haste and went to the door which led into the library. From outside came an instant thud as if something had been dropped, and another extremely faint sound. Wayness knew that the man had hastened along the terrace, entered the library, and now had stationed himself beside the study door, to intercept her once she stepped out. Or perhaps he would push her back into the study and lock the door behind the two of them, and then who knows what might happen?

  Nothing ni
ce, thought Wayness, the skin prickling at the nape of her neck.

  She was trapped. She could open the doors out to the terrace but the man would almost certainly catch her as she emerged.

  At the study door came an ominous grinding sound, faint and muffled, as the man busted himself at the lock. Wayness looked wildly around the room. On the shelves were weapons: scimitars, kris, yataghans, poniards, kopfnockers, long-irons, spardoons, quangs and stilettos. Unfortunately, all were clamped tightly to the wall. Wayness' eye fell on the telephone.

  Wayness picked up the telephone. She ran to the desk and pressed ‘9’.

  After a moment Lenk's voice sounded in the speaker. It was a sleepy cross voice, but to Wayness it sounded sweet indeed. “Mr. Lenkl!” she called breathlessly. “It's Marya! I'm on the stairs! I hear noises in the library! Come at once before the Countess wakes up!"

  “Ah! Yes. Yes, yes! Keep her quiet, by all means! The library, you say?”

  “I think it’s a prowler; bring your gun!"

  Wayness went to the door and listened. Silence from the library, as the burglar, or whoever he might be, had become wary.

  Wayness heard sounds from the library: Lenk's voice. “What is going on here?”

  Wayness eased the door open. Lenk, carrying a gun, had gone to the outside door and stood looking out across the terrace. Wayness slipped out of the study and closed the door. When Lenk looked around she was standing by the door into the hall. “The danger is over,” said Lenk. “The intruder escaped, despite my best efforts. He left a drill. Most unusual.”

  Wayness said: “Perhaps we should not tell the Countess. She would only worry, to no avail, and make life miserable for us all.”

  “True,” said Lenk in a troubled voice. “It would do no good to tell her. She would never let up on the subject of her keys, and how I had brought on the burglary by neglecting her orders."

  “I will say nothing, then."

  “Good girl I wonder what the rascal wanted."

  “He won’t be back! Not after seeing you with your gun!”