Lurulu

by Jack Vance

  Maloof reflected before responding. He said, rather ponderously, “You seem a sensitive man with an agile mind. Let me float another ‘whimsical fancy’, to the effect that we are, for a fact, pursuing a topic regarding which we need information, but only if the topic were totally isolated from any form of publicity.”

  Farro leaned briskly forward. “Let us bring the matter into closer focus. I gather that you want me to supply information and thereafter keep the discussion hermetically secret. Is this correct?”

  “Precisely so. If the reason for our presence became known, our function would be compromised.”

  “Very well,” said Farro. “I agree to your conditions — unless your revelations are so dire and disastrous that I am forced to make them known.”

  Maloof smiled grimly. “We bring news of neither disasters nor cataclysms. Shall I proceed?”

  “Yes,” said Farro. “Proceed.”

  “A year ago at Traven, on the world Morlock, I encountered a young man who called himself ‘Loy Tremaine’. He occupied himself charming old women and defrauding them of their wealth. He had a magnetic presence and carried himself with incredible arrogance. On his neck he wore a tattoo which we have identified as the Krenke insignia. During this time at Traven, he stated that he desperately wished to return to Fluter, but must make an adjustment with the Civil Agents. In the end he committed a murder and induced a wealthy widow to leave Morlock so that the two could pursue wonderful adventures among the far worlds. He had Fluter in mind. Two days ago the Glicca landed at the Coro-Coro spaceport. We discovered that Tremaine was once more resident on Fluter. We could not find him in Coro-Coro and theorized that he might have taken refuge in Krenke, which is why we are here.”

  Farro shook his head. “Something is wrong. There have never been ‘Tremaines’ at Krenke. Perhaps you misread the tattoo.”

  “Definitely not. It was seen and certified by an expert, who had altered it to a Coro-Coro sunburst.”

  “In that case, there is no doubt about it. Your man is using a false name. What did he look like?”

  Maloof gave a short harsh laugh. “Once seen, he can never be mistaken. He is tall and strong. He moves with dramatic pride, like a cavalier of old, dancing the shebardigan. Dark curls fall over his forehead; his eyes burn with black intensity, somewhat too close beside a lordly nose. He likes to act the rakehelly damn-your-eyes bravo and uses flamboyant gestures.”

  “Hold!” cried Farro, his voice husky with excitement. “I know him; his name is Orlo Cavke! I can assure you that he is not at Krenke.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He would not dare show his face where it might be recognized. He committed abominable crimes, but escaped punishment. His deeds were sickening. He took three girls, one after the other, and led them by night up the Mellamy Steeps. It was a terrible time at Krenke, with every man looking askance at every other. The bodies were discovered by accident. Orlo Cavke had violated them in every conceivable manner, and perhaps in other ways not immediately conceivable. He had vented a mad rage upon these poor children, punishing them for the beauty which they had withheld from him for so long. He was captured at last and dragged back to the village in chains, but he escaped. It was learned that he had left Fluter. I am shocked to learn of his return!”

  Maloof muttered: “This casts a new light upon Loy Tremaine.” He grunted. “I suppose that now we must call him ‘Orlo Cavke’.”

  Farro regarded them thoughtfully. “What will you do now?”

  “We have no choice,” said Maloof. “We will look for him elsewhere. If he is on Fluter, we shall find him.”

  “Then what will you do?”

  “I don’t know. Much depends upon circumstances.”

  Farro said earnestly: “If you find him, I hope that you will return him to Krenke. He has dealt us a wound so foul, that only he can make it better.”

  Maloof shook his head sadly. “We can promise nothing. He has my mother in his custody and we must be guided by what we find. Another matter: can you provide us a picture of Orlo Cavke?”

  Farro hesitated, then reached into a drawer and brought out a pair of photographs which he pushed across the desk to Maloof.

  “Thank you.”

  Maloof studied the two poses a moment, then passed them to Myron. In the first photo Myron saw a tall dark-haired man of striking appearance, standing manacled before a stone wall; he glared at the camera, projecting a near-tangible fury. In the second Cavke had swung aside, showing a profile which might have been that of an ancient demonic hero. His posture conveyed only defiance and contempt. Myron returned the prints to Maloof.

  Farro asked: “When will you be leaving Krenke?”

  “In the morning. There is nothing more to keep us here.”

  They rose to their feet, gave Farro their thanks and departed into the night, with Farro staring disconsolately after them.

  Arriving at the Three Feathers Inn, the two entered the common room. A pair of beer-drinkers sat in colloquy with Jodel. Along the line of empty tables, Dinka stood looking out the window, engrossed in private reverie. The door into the kitchen was closed, concealing the irascible Wilkin, if indeed she were still striding about among her pots and pans, gesticulating with her spoon. The two gave Dinka a polite goodnight as they passed, then climbed the stairs to their room, made preparations for the night, and were soon asleep in their beds.

  4

  In the morning a dismal overcast had drifted down from the hills to the north and from the window the village seemed more dank, cheerless and worn by the passage of time than ever. The two men dressed in silence, depressed by what they had learned, and descended the stairs to the common room. Dinka met them and took them to what she called “the breakfast saloon” — a long dim chamber smelling of mold and wet stone. A small window in the back wall admitted a watery gray light, barely sufficient to illuminate their breakfast.

  “Wilkin is in a good mood,” Dinka told them. “She has allowed you her best porridge, and also dishes of fruit.”

  The two were served crusty bread and marmalade, thick porridge flavored with fragments of salt fish, dishes of boiled figs in a syrup of spiced honey. They gnawed at the bread and drank as much herbal tea as they could tolerate, then returned to the common room.

  At the bar three men of middle years sat hunched over tankards of beer. Jodel called out a jovial greeting, and said: “The time is early; are you leaving so soon?”

  Maloof paused. “Our visit to Krenke has been pleasant, but it is time we were returning to Coro-Coro.”

  “Just so,” said Jodel. “You must do as you think best … But perhaps you will delay your departure a few moments. These gentlemen wish to make your acquaintance.”

  “Indeed!” said Maloof. He muttered to Myron: “It seems that Farro found the news too dire and terrible to be kept secret.”

  “I am not surprised,” said Myron. “In truth he had no choice.”

  Jodel, looking from one to the other, said anxiously: “There is no need for diffidence! These are gentlemen of reputation; I vouch for them myself.”

  The Krenks stepped down from their stools and turned to face the off-worlders. They were much alike: dour, hard-featured men with sturdy torsos, heavy shoulders, dark hair pulled back and tied with leather thongs. They wore long black coats flaring at the hip, black pantaloons tied at the knee, black stockings and long pointed shoes.

  Jodel spoke with careful deference. “Allow me to make introductions.” He tapped each Krenk on the shoulder in turn. “This is Derl Mone. This is Avern Glister. This is Madrig Cargus.” With a sheepish grin he looked sidewise at Maloof. “I fear that I have forgotten your names.”

  “No matter. I am Adair Maloof; this is Myron Tany. We both serve aboard the ship Glicca, now at the Coro-Coro spaceport. What do you wish of us?”

  Derl Mone spoke, his voice rasping with the effort to maintain civility. “You have taken an unusual interest in a certain Orlo Cavke. As you may have discovered, he
is a criminal who escaped our justice. We are anxious to repair our mistake.”

  “I understand your concern,” said Maloof. “Last night we learned more about Orlo Cavke — Loy Tremaine, as we knew him — than we had ever suspected.”

  As before, Mone controlled his voice with an effort. “Why do you believe that Cavke has returned to Fluter?”

  “I first encountered Loy Tremaine at Traven on Morlock,” answered Maloof. “I noticed a tattoo on his neck which later proved to be the Krenke emblem. He spoke of Fluter with emotion and declared it to be the most beautiful world of the Reach; he spoke of returning as soon as some problems with the Civil Agents could be adjusted, which I assumed meant a donation to their Beneficial Fund: in short, a bribe.”

  “That is possible, so I believe,” said Cargus.

  “First, he killed my father, so that my mother should control the family fortune. But my father, before his death, had placed his entire estate into a trust fund, with a moderate annuity to be paid to my mother; by this means he hoped to curb her extravagance. Naturally, she kept the new situation secret from Tremaine. He plied her with all his magnetism and induced the foolish old lady to go away with him to the far worlds of romance and wonder, and so they were gone. When Tremaine finally learned the truth of my mother’s annuity, he must have suffered a terrible shock. We arrived at Coro-Coro aboard the Glicca two days ago, conferred with the local IPCC agent and learned several facts. Tremaine had indeed returned to Fluter. The proof was definite. A master tattoo artist had altered Tremaine’s Krenke tattoo to a Coro-Coro sunburst; however he was not residing in Coro-Coro. I theorized that he might have taken refuge at Krenke, and that is why we are here. My theory I now understand to be preposterous.”

  Mone made an ambiguous sound, then asked: “So, what will you do now?”

  “At the moment we have not so much as a clue to where he is keeping himself and my mother. Still, I am sure that we will find him, probably by tracing my mother’s annuity. If she were not receiving this money, he would have abandoned her; the foolish old lady certainly cannot be an exciting companion.”

  Mone made a grim sound. “Orlo’s inclinations take him differently — toward innocent pretty little creatures, hardly more than children. First he took Lally Glister and led her to a forest den, where he did incredible things to her. When she died, he buried her under the mould. After a time, he stole my girl Murs, and followed the same procedure. By this time the village was wild with horror and no one raged more wildly than Orlo Cavke. After a time, he laid in wait for Salu Cargus, and what he did to her is beyond belief! But he had become careless. The farm-boy Tinnoc, who worked a plot close by Orlo’s planting, noticed Orlo’s absences when he should have been tending his crops. But there was no sign of tillage and the weeds were rampant. Tinnoc told us of his suspicions, and we put a tracer button in Orlo’s shoe, which allowed us to track him to his den. We unearthed the things from under the mould which once had been our daughters, and looked to Orlo for explanation. He merely smiled and shrugged. We dragged him back to the village and loaded him with chains. While we pondered the best way to deal with him, he squirmed free and fled into the forest. We fell to the ground and chewed stones. Five days of mourning were decreed: one day for the lost girls, three days for the loss of Orlo, and a final day to curse the great and only god for his apathy and whom we now reject as a turncoat. Now you will understand why we have questioned you in such detail.”

  Maloof assented. “You have our total sympathy.”

  Cargus broke his silence. “That is not enough! You claim that you will capture Orlo Cavke, and so it may be. When you have him in your custody, you must undertake to return him to Krenke, where we will provide him a suitable home-coming.”

  Maloof shook his head, smiling apologetically. “We cannot make such a commitment, which might be impossible for us to implement. I can only say that, if we capture him and if it is practical, we will turn him over to you. Any other promise I could make would be meaningless.”

  The three Krenks turned back to the bar. They drained the beer from their tankards, then turned toward the door and departed the inn.

  Maloof and Myron paused long enough to give Jodel a polite farewell, then also departed the inn. For a moment they stood before the Three Feathers. They looked a last time up the high street, then marched over the iron bridge, crossed the parking yard to their flitter.

  They rose through the low overcast and broke out into sunlight. With the autopilot set, they flew back over the landscapes of Fluter toward Coro-Coro.

  Chapter III

  1

  The flitter arrived at the Coro-Coro spaceport during the soft Fluter dusk. Aboard the Glicca, Wingo and Schwatzendale sat at the galley table making a meal of bread, sardines and onions. Maloof and Myron joined the repast, and told of their visit to Krenke. Wingo and Schwatzendale were suitably impressed.

  “Strange!” mused Wingo. “One would think that, after so many years, they might have evolved a cuisine more subtle than what you have described.”

  Schwatzendale pointed out that Wingo’s theories were ad hoc and relativistic, since Wingo had no information as to the gastronomical standards of two thousand years previously. “For all we know, they subsisted on grass.”

  Wingo ignored the remark. “Conceivably each village of Fluter has developed a unique cuisine.” He pondered a moment. “Hmm. A student of anthropology might find here scope for an interesting monograph.” He brought a pot of tea and a plate of fruit tarts to the table, then he and Schwatzendale recounted their own exploits of the day. They had passed the afternoon on the O-Shar-Shan terrace, where Wingo had captured a number of vivid mood-impressions for his monumental ‘Pageant of the Gaean Race’.

  “The terrace is a vast reservoir of material,” said Wingo. “I give special attention to the ladies! Each has gone to great lengths to make herself supreme. Gentlemen are also on hand, naturally, but in general, they lack a certain éclat. The terrace has become an avenue of almost transcendental mystique. Tourists are permeated by this extraordinary afflatus and come to think of themselves as a privileged elite, free to indulge in whatever extravagance occurs to them.”

  Wingo gave a rueful laugh. “It is ironic that when I encountered a truly startling circumstance, I failed to record the event, and I will regret the lapse forever.”

  Wingo paused for reflection. Maloof became impatient. “Please be more explicit! We sit here on tenterhooks while you reminisce.”

  “Sorry,” said Wingo. “I shall try to be more direct. When we arrived at the terrace, Schwatzendale went off on affairs of his own, while I found a table beside an ornamental planting and for a time was busy capturing mood-impressions. Then I put my equipment aside and sat at my ease drinking rum punch. Suddenly at a nearby table, half-hidden by the planting, I noticed what I had unaccountably missed before: a pair of young ladies, both exceedingly beautiful. Even more notable was their resemblance to each other, so that I felt that they must be twins. They wore their honey-yellow curls in the same style; their features were identical and they wore identical white blouses decorated with the same blue and red embroidery. The planting concealed their nether garments but I was sure that they were the same. There was, however, a notable difference between the two. One was happy; her face glowed with excitement, humor, ardent vitality. The other sat steeped in despair and defeat, with mouth drooping and eyes downcast. I sat staring in wonder: what had caused such a disparity of emotion?”

  Schwatzendale leaned forward. “I have the answer! They noticed you staring at them; one was amused, the other was angry and about to shake her fist!”

  “Nonsense!” scoffed Wingo. “The facts are quite different. Neither so much as glanced in my direction.”

  Maloof asked: “Are we to hear the denouement or must we ponder the enigma during the night?”

  “I will explain as best I can. Belatedly I thought to capture the two faces for ‘Pageant’. I reached for my gear, which I had tucked unde
r the table. The other table was just across the planter and I knew that I must be unobtrusive. I pretended ennui, and finally was ready to record the remarkable scene. When I turned to look, the table was vacant; while I had been occupied, the girls had departed. I jumped to my feet and searched along the passages, up and down the aisles among the surge of tourists, and at last I saw them! They were walking away from me, so I saw only their backs. One was of ordinary height and walked with an easy athletic grace. The other was half her height and scuttled along on grotesquely deformed legs. I remembered my camera, but when finally I made ready, they were gone, and I saw no more of them.”

  “Hmm,” said Maloof. “There is a lesson to be learned here, but I find it hard to quantify. By the way, where was Schwatzendale during this episode?”

  Wingo gave his head a dubious shake. “For a time, at least, he sat at a table on the level above me, in company with a woman of a most unusual type. She was tall, thin and sinuous, with long white arms and long pale fingers. Her hair, also white, surrounded her head like a nimbus of dandelion fluff. Her face was long and gaunt, with eyebrows and mouth marked with black, like the face of a pierrette. She wore a number of white ribbons dangling from epaulets; when she moved the ribbons shifted, allowing glimpses of the anatomy below. She carried a fan of lavish white plumes; when she spoke she flourished the fan to hide their faces, evidently to ensure privacy. I asked Schwatzendale what went on behind the fan, but he refused to describe the conversation.”

  “Surely no surprise,” said Myron. “Schwatzendale is a man of honor; he does not care to betray the secrets of a lady.”

  Schwatzendale gave his head a puzzled shake. “There were no secrets. The lady revealed herself to be an addict of long walks in the countryside; she wanted to know if I cared to join her on a ramble across the Maudlen Moors. I explained that I lacked a proper costume for the sport and therefore must decline, and that was the way of it.”