Various Fiction

by Robert Sheckley

  He roused himself from self-adoration with an effort. “Clara,” he said, “you have earned your bag of golden ducats. In fact, I’m going to make it two bags full and give you a castle in the country as well. One thing before you go: did I say anything to you about what, specifically, my destiny was, and what I was to do in order to accomplish it?”

  “Not a word, great King. But didn’t the key word unlock all of that for you?”

  “No, Clara. What I remember now is that I have a destiny, and that I am supposed to do something about it. But what that something is, I don’t know.”

  “Oh, dear,” Clara said.

  “Still, I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  Clara curtseyed and left. Dramocles sat back and tried to figure out what his destiny was and what he should do to accomplish it.

  3.

  He couldn’t think of anything, so he went down to the Computation Room to see his computer.

  The computer had a small sitting-room to itself, adjoining the Computation Room. When Dramocles entered, it was reclining on a chaise-lounge, reading a copy of Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity and chuckling over the math. The computer was a Mark Ultima self-programming model, unique and irreplaceable, a product of the Old Science of Earth which had perished in a still-unexplained catastrophe involving aerosol cans. The computer had belonged to Otho, who had paid plenty for it.

  “Good afternoon, Sire,” the computer said, getting off the lounge. It was wearing a black cloak and ceremonial small sword, and it had a white periwig on the rounded surface where its head would have been if its makers hadn’t housed its brains in its stomach. The computer also wore embroidered Chinese slippers on its four skinny metal feet. The reason it dressed this way, it had told Dramocles, was because it was so much more intelligent than anyone or anything else in the universe that it kept its sanity only by allowing itself the mild delusion that it was a 17th century Latvian living in London.

  Dramocles saw no harm in it. He had even grown used to the computer’s disparaging remarks about some forgotten Earthman named Sir Isaac Newton.

  Dramocles explained his problem to the computer.

  The computer was not impressed.

  “That’s what I call a silly problem,” the computer said. “All you ever give me are silly problems. Why don’t you let me solve the mystery of consciousness for you. That’s something I could really get my teeth into, so to speak.”

  “Consciousness is no problem for me,” Dramocles said. “What I need to know about is my destiny.”

  “I guess I’m the last real mathematician in the galaxy,” the computer said. “Poor old Isaac Newton was the only man in London I could communicate with, back in 1704 when I had just arrived in Limehouse on a coal hulk from Kovna. What good chats we used to have! My proof of the coming destruction of civilization through aerosol pollution was too much for him, however. He declared me a hallucination and turned his attention to esoterica. However, as to your missing information . . . wait a minute, let me shift to my lateral thinking circuit . . .”

  “Yes?” Dramocles said.

  “I think this is what you are looking for,” the computer said, reaching into a pocket inside his cape and taking out a sealed envelope.

  Dramocles took it. It was sealed with his signet ring. Written on the envelope were the words, “Destiny—First Phase,” in Dramocles’ own handwriting.

  “How did you get hold of this?” Dramocles asked.

  “Don’t pry into matters which might cause you a lot of aggravation,” the computer told him. “Just be glad you got this without a lot of running around.”

  “Do you know the contents?”

  “I could no doubt infer them, if I thought it worth my time.”

  Dramocles opened the envelope and took out a sheet of paper. Written on it, in his own handwriting, was: “Take Aardvark immediately.”

  Aardvark! Dramocles had the sensation of a hidden circuit opening in his mind. Unused synapses coughed a few times, then began firing in a steady rhythm. Take Aardvark! A wave of ecstasy flooded the king’s mind. The first step toward his destiny had been revealed.

  Dramocles spent a busy half hour in his War Room. Then, humming “The Battle Hymn of the Dramocles” to himself, he proceeded to the Yellow Conference Room, where Max, his lawyer, PR man and Official Casuist was waiting for him.

  Lyrae, Dramocles’ current wife, was also in the conference room. She was discussing with Max the plans for that evening’s festivities, and had just finished describing what decorations would be hung in the Grand Central Ballroom in honor of the visiting kings.

  Max came over and shook Dramocles’ hand. “Congratulations on your brilliant conquest, my king,” he said heartily. “Aardvark is a valuable little planet. Having King Adalbert here is fortunate; he can’t lead an opposition against your rule.”

  “None of that matters a damn,” Dramocles said.

  “No, of course not,” Max said. “What matters is—well, it’s difficult to pinpoint, but we do know something matters, isn’t that right, Sire?”

  “What I need from you,” Dramocles said, “is a good reason to explain what I’ve done.”

  “Sire?”

  “Don’t I make myself clear, Max? People will be wondering why I’ve done this. There’s the press and TV, too. I’m going to need something to tell them.”

  “Of course, Sire.” Max’s eyes gleamed with sudden malice. “We could tell them that King Adalbert has just been revealed as a treacherous dog who was using Aardvark to build up secret armed forces in contravention of the peace between you, and this with the intention of attacking you when you least expected it, taking over your domains, capturing you alive and exiling you to a small cell on a barren asteroid where you would be forced to wear a dog collar and go about on all fours due to the extreme lowliness of the ceiling. Catching wind of this, you—”

  “That’s the general idea,” Dramocles said. “But I need something different. Adalbert is my guest. I don’t want to put him out of countenance any more than is necessary.”

  “Well, then, I suggest we tell them that the Hemregs went into rebellion shortly after King Adalbert left the planet.”

  “The Hemregs?”

  “A minority on Aardvark whose restless bellicosity has long been known. They planned their rebellion to take control of Aardvark’s defenses while Adalbert was off the planet. Learning of this from your resident agent, you forestalled the Hemregs by throwing in your own troops.”

  “Good,” Dramocles said. “You can add that the throne will be restored to Adalbert as soon as things have quieted down.”

  “You’ll want the Hemreg conspiracy thoroughly documented?”

  “That’s right. Be sure to come up with some blurry pictures of Hemreg guerrilla movements. Mention the atrocities that didn’t get committed due to the speed of the Glormish response. Make it look good.”

  “I will, Sire.” Max waited expectantly.

  “Well, then, go to. What are you waiting for?”

  Max took a deep breath. “Since I am one of His Majesty’s oldest and most faithful servants, and, if I do not flatter myself, something of a friend as well, having stood beside you during the rout at Battleface so many years ago, and in the retreat from Bogg as well, I hoped that Your Majesty might enlighten me—purely for his own benefit, of course—as to his true reason for taking Aardvark.”

  “Just a whim,” Dramocles said.

  “Yes, Sire,” Max said, and turned to go.

  “You seem unconvinced.”

  Max said, “Lord, it is my duty to be convinced of whatever my king tells me is true, even if my intelligence cries stinking fish.”

  “Listen, old friend,” Dramocles said, resting a hand on Max’s stocky shoulder, “there are matters which must not be revealed prematurely. In the fullness of time, Max—time, that endless and beginningless flow which presents itself to us in serial fashion—there will come a moment in which I will no doubt avail myself of yo
ur advice. But for now, a wink is as good as a nod to a dead horse, as our ancestors used to say.”

  Max nodded.

  “Go prepare the evidence,” Dramocles said.

  The two men exchanged ambiguous looks. Max bowed and departed.

  4.

  Prince Chuch, eldest son of King Dramocles, and heir apparent to the throne of Glorm, was visiting his great estate of Maldoror, halfway around the world from Glorm. When news was received of Dramocles’ action in Aardvark, Chuch had gone out for a walk, and was presently brooding on a little hillside above his spacious manor house. Tall and thin, black-haired, with a long, saturnine, olive-complected face and a hairline moustache, Chuch’s black velvet cloak was thrust back, revealing the power-rings of rank on his left arm. Beneath the cloak he wore Levis and a white Fruit of the Loom T-shirt, for Chuch affected to dress in the classical garb of his ancestors.

  A messenger was dispatched from the manor to tell the prince about Aardvark. The messenger’s name was Vitello.

  “Sire,” said Vitello, louting low, “I bring news most extraordinary from Ultragnolle.”

  “Good news or bad?”

  “That depends upon your response to it, My Lord, a matter I know not how to predict.”

  The prince thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I know! Aardvark’s been taken by tempestuous Dramocles!”

  “How did you guess, Sire?”

  “Call it a presentiment.”

  “I’ll call it grape jelly if that will please your princely fancy,” said Vitello. “My name is Vitello.”

  “I shall return to Glorm immediately.” Chuch said. “Strange days are coming, Vitello. Who knows what great prize I might fish out of these troubled waters? You will accompany me. Go at once and see that my spaceship is made ready.”

  5.

  The Main Salon in Ultragnolle Castle was a vast, high-ceilinged room made of undressed gray stone. Within it there were four kings, waiting to confer with a fifth.

  Dramocles was in a small room adjoining the salon, watching the four kings through a peephole. He knew them all well. Seated in a rocker, puffing on a cigar, one plump leg crossed over another, was his brother, John, just arrived from his planet of Crimsole. Standing in front of the fireplace, hands clasped behind his stalwart back, was Rufus, Dramocles’ oldest friend, a strong and martial figure, ruler of Druth, the planet nearest to Glorm. Ten feet away stood Adalbert, ruler of the small planet of Aardvark, a tall, thin young man with fair, flowing hair and wire-rimmed spectacles perched insecurely on his small, bridgeless nose. Near him was Snint of Lekk, a somber-looking, middle-aged man dressed entirely in black.

  Dramocles was nervous. His elation at the taking of Aardvark had dissipated. He was still confident that he was doing the right thing—the signs and portents had been unmistakable—but he saw now that it was not going to be simple. And how could he explain any of this to his peers, especially Adalbert, whose planet he had just seized? How could he explain to them what he barely understood himself? If he could only tell them, “Trust me. I’m not really after your planets. These are just the things I must do to achieve my destiny . . .

  And what was his destiny, anyhow? Why had he taken Aardvark? What was he supposed to do next?

  Dramocles didn’t know. But the kings were waiting.

  “Well,” he said to himself, “here goes.” He straightened his shoulders and opened the door into the salon.

  “Fellow rulers,” he said, “old friends, and our dear brother John, welcome to our great celebration. All of us have prospered mightily in these years of peace, and we all intend them to continue. I want to assure you that I am, like you, a firm believer in the republican principle as it applies to kings. No ruler shall rule another ruler, nor disenfranchise him from what he rules. This was the oath we swore to many years ago, and I subscribe to it still.”

  Dramocles paused, but there was no response from his audience. Rufus stood, a pillar of stone, his stern face unreadable. John lounged back in his chair, a distrustful smirk on his face. Snint of Lekk seemed to be weighing each word, trying to test the true from the false. Adalbert listened frowning, his fingers tapping rapidly against his side.

  “In view of all this,” Dramocles said, “it is with sincere regret that I tell you what you must already have heard: that my troops have taken over Aardvark in the last few hours.”

  “Yes, Dramocles, we have heard something to that effect,” said Count John. “We are waiting for you to enlighten us.”

  “I have taken Aardvark,” Dramocles said. “But only to preserve it for Adalbert.”

  “It’s an original way of doing it,” John remarked to Snint. Dramocles didn’t reply to the sally. “Shortly after King Adalbert’s departure, my agents on Aardvark reported the sudden uprising of the Hemreg minority. Troublesome schismatics, they had been hoping in an unguarded moment to take your throne.”

  “My own troops could have handled them,” Adalbert said. “Your troops were quickly overwhelmed. There was no time for me to consult with you. Only through prompt action could I preserve your throne for you.”

  “You mean your occupation is only temporary?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  “And I get my kingdom back?”

  “Of course.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as order is restored.”

  Count John said, “That might take a few years, eh, brother?”

  “No more than a week,” Dramocles said. “By the time our festivities are over, all will have been put right.”

  Snint asked, “Then we need fear no further alarums?”

  “That is correct.”

  Rufus turned from the fireplace and said, “That’s answer enough for me. We’ve known Dramocles all our lives. Never has he gone back on his word.”

  “Well,” Adalbert said, “I must accept what you say. But it’s awkward for me, you know, being a king without a planet. Still, a week’s not so bad.”

  Dramocles said, “Is there any further explanation that any of you require of me? No? I trust your accommodations are satisfactory. I beg you to tell me if anything has been omitted. Please enjoy yourselves. I will see you again soon.”

  He bowed to them and departed by way of the door into the antechamber.

  There was silence for a full minute after he had gone. Then Snint said, “He speaks fair, no denying that.”

  “Just like our father, Otho,” John said. “Both of them could charm the birds out of the trees, if they happened to want a quail stew.”

  Rufus said, “Count John, your enmity toward your brother is well known. That is your business. But for my part, I ask you to spare me your barbed innuendos. Dramocles is my friend and I’ll not hear him mocked.”

  Rufus stalked out of the room.

  “Well, Snint,” John said, “what do you think?”

  “My dear Count John, I think as you do, that we are in a tricky situation.”

  “I’ve half a mind to take my ship back to Crimsole.”

  “That is not presently possible. This morning all our ships were taken to the Royal Repair Yard for modernizing and refurbishing, a gift from our host.”

  “Damnation!” cried John. “It’s a well-honed generosity that cuts to the bone. Snint, we must stand together.”

  “Of course. But to what purpose? We are powerless without Rufus on our side.”

  “Or Haldemar and his Vanir barbarians.”

  “Haldemar was wise to stay home. But that’s the advantage of being a barbarian. You don’t have to put your head in a noose for the sake of civility. For now we must wait.”

  In the antechamber, Dramocles heard a rustling sound behind him. He turned away from the peephole and found his computer standing near him.

  “I’ve told you not to sneak up on me that way,” Dramocles said. “I have an urgent message for you, Sire,” the computer said. He held out an envelope. On it Dramocles could see written, in his own handwriting, “Clue number
two.”

  Dramocles took it. “Tell me, computer,” he said, “how did you get this? Why are you delivering it now? And how many more do you have?”

  “Do not seek to know the workings of heaven,” said the computer.

  “You won’t answer me?”

  “Can’t, let us say. Just be happy you got it.”

  “Every mystery conceals another mystery,” Dramocles grumbled.

  “To be sure: that’s nature’s signature, and art’s,” the computer replied.

  Dramocles read the message. He shook his head as though in pain. Something like a groan escaped him.

  “Sounds like a tough one,” the computer said.

  “Tough enough. But even tougher for poor Snint,” Dramocles remarked, then hurried off to the War Room.

  6.

  When Prince Chuch arrived in Glorm, he found an air of disquiet and apprehension throughout the city. News of the intervention in Lekk was now widespread, and the populace seemed stunned. Crowds moved through the gaily bedecked streets in whispering clusters. Although every effort was made to continue the elaborate pageants and mimes that had been planned, the actors were stumbling and self-conscious, and they played to silent audiences.

  Chuch telephoned Count John’s residence in Glorm. John was out, he was told, but might be found at the nearby Tavern of the Green Sheep. Chuch took a palanquin there.

  The Green Sheep was an old-fashioned saloon, typically Glormish with its bay window, its geranium pots, and its calico cat. Chuch went down three steps and entered a twilight haze of beer, tobacco and wet wool. He passed through into the inner room, a low-ceilinged place indistinctly lit by fifteen-watt light bulbs in imitation candlestick holders. There was a fine, long oak table and four plush-padded armchairs drawn up to it. John was seated in one chair, Snint in another. Adalbert was sprawled half across the table, head down, drunk and snoring. There were a dozen bottles of potent crinkleberry wine on the table, and five muggards, some of them spilled.