Tales of the Dying Earth

by Jack Vance

  “Pah!” scoffed Cugel. “Does Zaraides the Sage fear to identify himself with the cause of justice? Does he blink and draw aside from one so timid and vacillating as Lucounu?”

  “In a word — yes,” said Zaraides. “At any instant the sun may go dark; I do not care to pass these last hours exchanging jests with Lucounu, whose humor is much more elaborate than my own. So now, attend. In one minute I must concern myself with certain important duties. As a final signal of gratitude I will transfer you to whatever locale you choose. Where shall it be?”

  “If this is your best, take me then to Azenomei, at the juncture of the Xzan with the Scaum!”

  “As you wish. Be so good as to step upon this stage. Hold out your hands thus.... Draw your breath deep, and during the passage neither inhale nor exhale.... Are you ready?”

  Cugel assented. Zaraides drew back and called a spell. Cugel was jerked up and away. An instant later the ground touched his feet and he found himself walking the main concourse of Azenomei.

  He drew a deep breath. “After all the trials, all the vicissitudes, I am once again in Azenomei!” And, shaking his head in wonder, he looked about him. The ancient structures, the terraces overlooking the river, the market: all were as before. Not far distant was the booth of Fian-osther. Turning his back to avoid recognition, he sauntered away.

  “Now what?” he ruminated. “First, new garments, then the comforts of an inn, where I may weigh every aspect of my present condition. When one wishes to laugh with Lucounu, he should embark upon the project with all caution.”

  Two hours later, bathed, shorn, refreshed, and wearing new garments of black, green and red, Cugel sat in the common room of the River Inn with a plate of spiced sausages and a flask of green wine.

  “This matter of a just settlement poses problems of extreme delicacy,” he mused. “I must move with caret”

  He poured wine from the flagon, and ate several of the sausages. Then he opened his pouch and withdrew a small object wrapped carefully in soft cloth, the violet cusp which Lucounu wished as a match for the one already in his possession. He raised the cusp to his eye but stopped short: it would display the surroundings in an illusion so favorable that he might never wish to remove it. And now, as he contemplated the glossy surface, there entered his mind a program so ingenious, so theoretically effective and yet of such small hazard, that he instantly abandoned the search for a better.

  Essentially, the scheme was simple. He would present himself to Lucounu and tender the cusp, or more accurately, a cusp of similar appearance. Lucounu would compare it with that which he already owned, in order to test the efficacy of the coupled pair, and inevitably look through both. The discord between the real and the false would jar his brain and render him helpless, whereupon Cugel could take such measures as seemed profitable.

  Where was the flaw in the plan? Cugel could see none. If Lucounu discovered the substitution, Cugel need only utter an apology and produce the real cusp, and so lull Lucounu's suspicions. All in all, the probabilities of success seemed excellent.

  Cugel finished his sausages in leisure, ordered a second flagon of wine, and observed with pleasure the view across the Xzan. There was no need for haste; indeed, while dealing with Lucounu, impulsiveness was a serious mistake, as he had already learned.

  On the following day, still finding no fault in his plan, he visited a glass-blower whose workroom was established on the banks of the Scaum a mile to the east of Azenomei, in a copse of fluttering yellow bilibobs.

  The glass-blower examined the cusp. “An exact duplicate, of identical shape and color? No small task, with a violet so pure and rich. Such a color is most difficult to work into glass; there is no specific stain; all must be a matter of guess and hazard. Still — I will pepare a melt. We shall see, we shall see.”

  After several trials he produced a glass of the requisite hue, from which he fashioned a cusp superficially indistinguishable from the magic lens.

  “Excellent!” declared CugeL “And now, as to your fee?”

  “Such a cusp of violet glass I value at a hundred ter-ces,” replied the glass-blower in a casual manner.

  “What?” cried Cugel in outrage. “Do I appear so gullible? The charge is excessive.”

  The glass-blower replaced his tools, swages and crucibles, showing no concern for Cugel's indignation. “The universe evinces no true stability. All fluctuates, cycles, ebbs and flows; all is pervaded with mutability. My fees, which are immanent with the cosmos, obey the same laws and vary according to the anxiety of the customer.”

  Cugel drew back in displeasure, at which the glass-blower reached forth and possessed himself of both cusps. Cugel exclaimed: “What do you intend?”

  “I return the glass to the crucible; what else?”

  “And what of that cusp which is my property?”

  “I retain it as a memento of our conversation,”

  “Hold!” Cugel drew a deep breath. “I might pay your exorbitant fee if the new cusp were as clear and perfect as the old.”

  The glass-blower inspected first one, then the other. “To my eye they are identical.”

  “What of focus?” Cugel challenged. “Hold both to your vision, look through both, then say as muchl”

  The glass-blower raised both cusps to his eyes. One allowed a view into the Overworld, the other transmitted a view of Reality. Stunned by the discord, the glass-blower swayed and would have fallen had not Cugel, in an effort to protect the cusps, supported him, and guided him to a bench.

  Taking the cusps, Cugel tossed three terces to the work-table. “All is mutability, and thus your hundred terces has fluctuated to three.”

  The glass-blower, too dazed to make sensible reply, mumbled and struggled to raise his hand, but Cugel strode from the studio and away.

  He returned to the inn. Here he donned his old garments, stained and torn by much harsh treatment, and set forth along the banks of the Xzan.

  As he walked he rehearsed the approaching confrontation, trying to anticipate every possible contingency. Ahead, the sunlight glinted through spiral green glass towers: the manse of Lucounu!

  Cugel baited to gaze up at the eccentric structure. How many times during his journey had he envisioned himself standing here, with Lucounu the Laughing Magician close at hand!

  He climbed the winding way of dark brown tile, and every step increased the tautness of his nerves. He approached the front door, and saw on the heavy panel an object which he had failed to notice previously: a visage carved in ancient wood, a gaunt face pinched of cheek and jaw, the eyes aghast, the lips drawn back, the mouth wide in a yell of despair or perhaps defiance.

  With his hand raised to rap at the door, Cugel felt a chill settle on his soul. He drew back from the haggard wooden countenance, turning to follow the gaze of the blind eyes — across the Xzan and away over the dim bare hills, rolling and heaving as far as vision could reach. He Reviewed his plan of operations. Was there a flaw? Danger to himself? None was apparent. If Lucounu discovered the substitution Cugel could always plead error and produce the genuine cusp. Great advantage was to be gained at small risk! Cugel turned back and rapped on the heavy panel.

  A minute passed. Slowly the portal swung open. A flow of cool air issued forth, carrying a bitter odor which Cugel could not identify. The sunlight slanting across his shoulder passed through the portal and fell upon the stone floor. Cugel peered uncertainly into the vestibule, reluctant to enter without an express invitation. “lucounu!” he called. “Come forth, that I may enter your manse! I wish no further unjust accusations!”

  Within was a stir, a slow sound of feet. From a room to the side came Lucounu, and Cugel thought to detect a change in his countenance. The great soft yellow head seemed looser than before: the jowls sagged, the nose hung like a stalactite, the chin was little more than a pimple below the great twitching mouth.

  Lucounu wore a square brown hat with each of the corners tipped up, a blouse of brown and black diaper, loose pantaloons
of a heavy dark brown stuff with black embroidery — a handsome set of garments which Lucounu wore without grace, as if they were strange to him, and uncomfortable; and indeed, he gave Cugel a greeting which Cugel found odd. “Well, fellow, what is your purpose? You will never learn to walk ceilings standing on your hands.” And Lucounu hid his mouth with his hands to conceal a snicker.

  Cugel raised his eyebrows in surprise and doubt, “This is not my purpose. I have come on an errand of vast import: namely to report that the mission I undertook on your behalf is satisfactorily terminated.”

  “Excellent!” cried Lucounu. “You may now tender me the keys to the bread locker.”

  “‘Bread locker’!” Cugel stared in surprise. Was Lucounu mad? “I am Cugel, whom you sent north on a mission. I have returned with the magic cusp affording a view into the Overworld!”

  “Of course, of course!” cried Lucounu. “‘Brzm-szzst,’ I fear I am vague, among so many contrasting situations; nothing is quite as before. But now I welcome you. Cugel, of course! All is clear. You have gone forth, you have returned! How is friend Firx? Well, I trust? I have longed for his companionship. An excellent fellow, Firx!”

  Cugel acquiesced with no great fervor. “Yes, Firx has been a friend indeed, au unflagging source of encouragement”

  “Excellent! Step within! I must provide refreshment! What is your preference: ‘sz-mzsm’ or ‘szk-zsm’?”

  Cugel eyed Lucounu askance. His demeanor was more than peculiar, “I am familiar with neither of the items you mention, and hence will decline both with gratitude. But observe! The magic violet cusp!” And Cugel displayed the glass fabrication which he had procured only a few hours previously.

  “Excellent!” declared Lucounu. “You have done well, and your transgressions — now I recall all, having sorted among the various circumstances — are hereby declared nullified. But give me the cusp! I must put it to trial!”

  “Of course,” said Cugel. “I respectfully suggest, that in order to comprehend the full spendor of the Over-world, you bring forth your own cusp and look through both simultaneously. This is the only appropriate method.”

  “True, how true! My cusp; now where did that stubborn rascal conceal it?”

  “'Stubborn rascal?'” inquired Cugel. “Has someone been misarranging your valuables?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Lucounu gave a wild titter, and kicked up both feet far to the side, falling heavily to the floor, from where he addressed the astounded Cugel. “It is all one, and no longer of consequence, since al! must now transpire in the ‘muz’ pattern. Yes, I will shortly consult with Firx.”

  “On a previous occasion,” said Cugel patiently, “you procured your cusp from a cabinet in that chamber yonder.”

  “Silence!” commanded Lucounu in sudden annoyance. He hauled himself to his feet. “'SzszM I am well aware as to where the cusp is stored. All is completely coordinated! Follow me. We shall learn the essence of the Overworld at once!” He emitted a bray of immoderate laughter, at which Cugel stared in new astonishment.

  Lucounu shuffled into the side-chamber and returned with the case containing his magic cusp. He made an imperious gesture to Cugel. “Stand exactly at this spot. Do not move, as you value Firx!”

  Cugel bowed obediently. Lucounu took forth his cusp. “Now — the new object!”

  Cugel tendered the glass cusp. “To your eyes, both together, that you may enjoy the full glory of the Over-world!”

  “Yes! This is as it shall be!” Lucounu lifted the two cusps and applied them to his eyes. Cugel, expecting him to fall paralyzed by the discord, reached for the cord he had brought to tie the insensible savant; but Lucounu showed no signs of helplessness. He peered this way and that, chortling in a peculiar fashion. “Splendid! Superb! A vista of pure pleasure!” He removed the cusps and placed them carefully in the case. Cugel watched glumly.

  “I am much pleased,” said Lucounu, making a sinuous gesture of hands and arms, which further bewildered Cugel. “Yes,” Lucounu continued, “you have done well, and the insensate wickedness of your offense is hereby remitted. Now all that remains is the delivery of my indispensable Firx, and to this end I must place you in a vat. You will be submerged in an appropriate liquid for approximately twenty-six hours, which may well suffice to tempt Firx forth.”

  Cugel grimaced. How was one to reason with a magician not only droll and irascible, but also bereft? “Such an immersion might well affect me adversely,” he pointed out cautiously. “Far wiser to allow Firx a period of further perambulation.”

  Lucounu seemed favorably impressed by the suggestion, and expressed his delight by means of an extremely intricate jig, which he performed with agility remarkable in a man of Lucounu's short limbs and somewhat corpu-lent body. He concluded the demonstration with a great leap into the air, alighting on his neck and shoulders, arms and legs waving like those of an overturned beetle. Cugel watched in fascination, wondering whether Lucounu was alive or dead.

  But Lucounu, blinking somewhat, nimbly gained an upright posture. “I must perfect the exact pressures and thrusts,” he ruminated. “Otherwise there is impingement. The eluctauce here is of a different order than of ‘ssz-pntz.’” He emitted another great chortle, throwing back his head, and looking into the open mouth Cugel saw, rather than a tongue, a white claw. Instantly he apprehended the reason for Lucounu's bizarre conduct In some fashion a creature like Firx had inserted itself into Lucounu's body, and had taken possession of his brain.

  Cugel rubbed his chin with interest. A situation of marvel! He applied himself to concentrated thought. Essential to know was whether the creature retained Lucounu's mastery of magic. Cugel said, “Your wisdom astounds mel I am filled with admiration! Have you added to your collection of thaumaturgical curios?”

  “No; there is ample at hand,” declared the creature, speaking through Lucounu's mouth. “But now I feel the need for relaxation. The evolution I performed a moment or so ago has made quietude necessary.”

  “A simple matter,” said Cugel. “The most effective means to this end is to clamp with extreme intensity upon the Lobe of Directive Volition.”

  “Indeed?” inquired the creature. “I will attempt as much; let me see: this is the Lobe of Antithesis and here, the Convolvement of Subliminal Configuration.... ‘Szzm.’ Much here puzzles me; it was never thus on Achernar.” The creature gave Cugel a sharp look to see if the slip had been noticed. But Cugel put on an attitude of lackadaisical boredom; and the creature continued to sort through the various elements of Lucounu's brain, “Ah yes, here: the Lobe of Directive Volition. Now, a sudden vigorous pressure.”

  lucounu's face became taut, the muscles sagged, and the corpulent body crumpled to the floor. Cugel leapt forward and in a trice bound Lucounu's arms and legs and affixed an adhesive pad across the big mouth.

  Now Cugel performed a joyful caper of his own. All was well! Lucounu, his manse and his great collection of magical adjuncts were at his disposal! Cugel considered the helpless hulk and started to drag it outside where he might conveniently strike off the great yellow head, but the recollection of the numerous indignities, discomforts and humiliations he had suffered at Lucounu's hands gave him pause. Should Lucounu attain oblivion so swiftly, with neither cognition nor remorse? By no means!

  Cugel pulled the still body out into the hall, and sat on a nearby bench to consider.

  Presently the body stirred, opened its eyes, made an effort to arise, and, finding this impossible, turned to examine Cugel first in surprise, then outrage. From the mouth came peremptory sounds which Cugel acknowledged with a noncommittal sign.

  Presently he arose to his feet, examined the bonds and the mouth-plaster, made all doubly secure, then set about a cautious inspection of the manse, alert for traps, lures or deadfalls which the whimsical Lucounu might have established in order to outwit or beguile intruders. He was especially vigilant during his inspection of Lucounu's workroom, probing everywhere with a long rod, but if Lucounu had set fo
rth snares or beguilements, none were evident.

  Looking along Lucounu's shelves, Cugel found sulfur, aquastel, tincture of zyche and herbs from which he prepared a viscous yellow elixir. He draggged the flaccid body into the workroom, administered the potion, called orders and persuasions and finally, with Lucounu an even more intense yellow from ingested sulfur, with aquastel steaming from his ears, with Cugel panting and perspiring from his own exertions, the creature from Achernar clawed free of the heaving body. Cugel caught it in a great stone mortar, crushed it to a paste with an iron pestle, dissolved all with spirits of vitriol, added aromatic mer-naunce and poured the resultant slime down a drain.

  lucounu, presently returning to consciousness, fixed Cugel with a glare of disturbing intensity. Cugel administered an exhalation of raptogen and the Laughing Magician, rolling his eyes upward, returned to a state of apathy.

  Cugel sat back to rest A.problem existed: how best to restrain Lucounu while he made his representations. Finally, after looking through one or two manuals, be sealed Lucounu's mouth with a daub of juncturing compound, secured his vitality with an uncomplicated spell, then pent him in a tall glass tube, which he suspended from a chain in the vestibule.

  This accomplished, and Lucounu once more conscious, Cugel stood back with an affable grin. “At last, Lucounu, matters begin to right themselves. Do you recall the indignities you visited upon me? How gross they werel I vowed that you would regret the circumstance! I now begin to validate the vow. Do I make myself clear?”

  The expression distorting Lucounu's face was an adequate response.

  Cugel seated himself with a goblet of Lucounu's best yellow wine. “I intend to pursue the matter in this wise: I shall calculate the sum of those hardships I have endured, including such almost incommensurable qualities as chills, cold draughts, insults, pangs of apprehension, uncertainties, bleak despairs, horrors and disgusts, and other indescribable miseries, not the least of which were the ministrations of the unspeakable Firx. From this total I will subtract for my initial indiscretion, and possibly one or two further ameliorations, leaving an imposing balance of retribution. Luckily, you are Lucounu the Laughing Magician: you will certainly derive a wry impersonal amusement from the situation.” Cugel turned an inquiring glance up at Lucounu, but the returning gaze was anything but jocular.