by Jack Vance
“A final question,” said Cugel. “Have you arranged any traps or lures in which I might be destroyed or immobilized? One blink will express ‘no’; two, ‘yes.’ ”
Lucounu merely gazed contemptuously from the tube.
Cugel sighed. “I see that I must conduct myself warily.”
Taking his wine into the great hall, he began to familiarize himself with the collection of magical instruments, artifacts, talismans and eurios: now, for all practical purposes, his own property. Lucounu's gaze followed him everywhere with an anxious hope that was by no means reassuring.
Days went by and Lucounu's trap, if such existed, remained unsprung, and Cugel at last came to believe that none existed. During this time he applied himself to lucouuu's tomes and folios, but with disappointing results. Certain of the tomes were written in archaic tongues, indecipherable script or arcane terminology; others described phenomena beyond his comprehension; others exuded a waft of such urgent danger that Cugel instantly clamped shut the covers.
One or two of the work-books he found susceptible to his understanding. These he studied with great diligence, cramming syllable after wrenching syllable into his mind, where they rolled and pressed and distended his temples. Presently he was able to encompass a few of the most simple and primitive spells, certain of which be tested upon Lucounu: notably Lugwiler's Dismal Itch. But by and large Cugel was disappointed by what seemed a lack of innate competence. Accomplished magicians could encompass three or even four of the most powerful effectuants; for Cugel, attaining even a single spell was a task of extraordinary difficulty. One day, while applying a spatial transposition upon a satin cushion, he inverted certain of the pervulsions and was himself hurled backward into the vestibule. Annoyed by Lucounu's smirk, Cugel carried the tube to the front of the manse and affixed a pair of brackets upon which he hung lamps, which thereafter illuminated the area before the manse during the hours of night.
A month passed, and Cugel became somewhat more confident in his occupancy of the manse. Peasants of a nearby village brought him produce, and in return Cugel performed what small services he was able. On one occasion the father of Jince, the maiden who served as arranger of his bed-chamber, lost a valuable buckle in a deep cistern, and implored Cugel to bring it forth. Cugel readily agreed, and lowered the tube containing Lucounu into the cistern. Lucounu finally indicated the location of the buckle, which was then recovered with a grapple.
The episode set Cugel to devising other uses for Lucounu. At the Azenomei Fair a “Contest of Grotesques” had been arranged. Cugel entered Lucounu in the competition, and while he failed to win the prime award, his grimaces were unforgettable and attracted much comment.
At the fair Cugel encountered Fianosther, the dealer in talismans and magical adjuncts who had originally sent Cugel to Lucounu's manse. Fianosther looked in jocular surprise from Cugel to the tube containing Lucounu, which Cugel was transporting back to the manse in a cart “Cugel! Cugel the Clever!” exclaimed Fianosther. “Rumor then speaks accurately! You are now lord of Lucounu's manse, and of his great collection of instruments and curios!”
Cugel at first pretended not to recognize Fianosther, then spoke in the coolest of voices. “Quite true,” he said, “Lucounu has chosen to participate less actively in the affairs of the world, as you see. Nonetheless, the manse is a warren of traps and deadfalls; several famished beasts stalk the grounds by night, and I have established a spell of intense violence to guard each entrance.”
Fianosther seemed not to notice Cugel's distant manner. Rubbing his plump hands, he inquired, “Since you now control a vast collection of curios, will you sell certain of the less choice items?”
“I have neither need nor inch'nation to do so,” said Cugel. “lucounu's coffers contain gold to last till the sun goes dark.” And both men, after the habit of tune, looked up to gauge the color of the moribund star.
Fianosther made a gracious sign. “In this case, I wish you a good day, and you as well.” The last was addressed to Lucounu, who returned only a surly glare.
Returning to the manse, Cugel brought Lucounu into the vestibule; then, making his way to the roof, he leaned on a parapet and gazed over the expanse of hills which rolled away like swells on a sea. For the hundredth time he pondered Lucounu's peculiar failure of foresight; by no means must he, Cugel, fall into similar error. And he looked about with an eye to defense.
Above rose the spiral green glass towers; below slanted the steep ridges and gables which Lucounu had deemed esthetically correct. Only the face of the ancient keep offered an easy method of access to the manse. Along the slanting outer abutments Cugel arranged sheets of soap-stone in such a manner than anyone climbing to the parapets must step on these and slide to his doom. Had Lucounu taken a similar precaution — so Cugel reflected — instead of arranging the oversubtle crystal maze, he would not now be looking forth from the tall glass tube.
Other defenses must also be perfected: namely those resources to be derived from Lucounu's shelves.
Returning to the great hall, he consumed the repast set forth by Jince and Skivvee, his two comely stewardesses, then immediately applied himself to his studies. Tonight they concerned themselves with the Spell of Forlorn Encystment, a reprisal perhaps more favored in earlier eons than the present, and the Agency of Far Despatch, by which Lucounu had transported him to the northern wastes. Both spells were of no small power; both required a bold and absolutely precise control, which Cugel at first feared he would never be able to supply. Nevertheless he persisted, and at last felt able to encompass either the one or the other, at need.
Two days later it was as Cugel had expected: a rap at the front door which, when Cugel flung wide the portal, indicated the unwelcome presence of Fianosther.
“Good day,” said Cugel cheerlessly. “I am indisposed, and must request that you instantly depart.”
Fianosther made a bland gesture. “A report of your distressing illness reached me, and such was my concern that I hastened here with an opiate. Allow me to step within” — so saying he thrust his portly figure past Cugel — “and I will decant the specific dose.”
“I suffer from a spiritual malaise,” said Cugel meaningfully, “which manifests itself in outbursts of vicious rage. I implore you to depart, lest, in an uncontrollable spasm, I cut you in three pieces with my sword, or worse, invoke magic.”
Fianosther winced uneasily, but continued in a voice of unquenchable optimism. “I likewise carry a potion against this disorder.” He brought forth a black flask. “Take a single swallow and your anxieties will be no more.”
Cugel grasped the pommel of his sword. “It seems that I must speak without ambiguity. I-command you: depart, and never return! I understand your purpose and I warn you that you will find me a less indulgent enemy than was Lucounu! So now, be off! Or I inflict upon you the Spell of the Macroid Toe, whereupon the signalized member swells to the proportions of a house.”
“Thus and so,” cried Fianosther in a fury. “The mask is torn aside! Cugel the Clever stands revealed as an in-grate! Ask yourself: who urged you to pillage the manse of Lucounu? It was I, and by every standard of honest conduct I should be entitled to a share of Lucounu's wealth!”
Cugel snatched forth his blade. “I have heard enough; now I act.”
“Hold!” And Fianosther raised high the black flask. “I need only hurl this bottle to the floor to unloose a puru-lence, to which I am immune. Stand back, then!”
But Cugel, infuriated, lunged, to thrust his blade through the upraised arm. Fianosther called out in woe, and flung the black bottle into the air. Cugel leapt to catch it with great dexterity; but meanwhile, Fianosther, jumping forward, struck him a blow, so that Cugel staggered back and collided with the glass tube containing Lucounu. It toppled to the stone and shattered; Lucounu crept painfully away from the fragments.
“Ha ha!” laughed Fianosther. “Matters now move in a different direction!”
“By no means!” called Cugel, br
inging forth a tube of blue concentrate which he had found among Lucounu's instruments.
Lucounu strove with a sliver of glass to cut the seal on his lips. Cugel projected a waft of blue concentrate and Lucounu gave a great tight-lipped moan of distress. “Drop the glass!” ordered Cugel. “Turn about to the wall.” He threatened Fianosthcr. “You as well!”
With great care he bound the arms of his enemies, then stepping into the great hall possessed himself of the workbook which he had been studying.
“And now — both outside!” he ordered. “Move with alacrity! Events will now proceed to a definite condition!”
He forced the two to walk to a flat area behind the manse, and stood them somewhat apart. “Fianosther, your doom is well-merited. For your deceit, avarice and odious mannerisms I now visit upon you the Spell of Forlorn Encystment!”
Fianosther wailed piteously, and collapsed to his knees. Cugel took no heed. Consulting the work-book, he encompassed the spell; then, pointing and naming Fianosther, he spoke the dreadful syllables.
But Fianosther, rather than sinking into the earth, crouched as before. Cugel hastily consulted the workbook and saw that in error he had transposed a pair of pervulsions, thereby reversing the quality of the spell. Indeed, even as he understood the mistake, to all sides there were small sounds, and previous victims across the eons were now erupted from a depth of forty-five miles, and discharged upon the surface. Here they lay, blinking in glazed astonishment; though a few lay rigid, too sluggish to react. Their garments had fallen to dust, though the more recently encysted still wore a rag or two. Presently all but the most dazed and rigid made tentative motions, feeling the air, groping at the sky, marveling at the sun.
Cugel uttered a harsh laugh. “I seem to have performed incorrectly. But no matter. I shall not do so a second time. Lucounu, your penalty shall be commensurate with your offense, no more, no less! You flung me willy-nilly to the northern wastes, to a land where the sun slants low across the south. I shall do the same for you. You inflicted me with Firx; I will inflict you with Fianosther. Together you may plod the tundras, penetrate the Great Erm, win past the Mountains of Magnatz. Do not plead; put forward no excuses: in this case I am obdurate. Stand quietly unless you-wish a further infliction of blue ruin!”
So now Cugel applied himself to the Agency of Far Despatch, and established the activating sounds carefully within his mind. “Prepare yourselves,” he called, “and farewell!”
With that he sang forth the spell, hesitating at only one pervulsion where uncertainty overcame him. But all was well. From on high carne a thud and a guttural outcry, as a coursing demon was halted in mid-flight.
“Appear, appear!” called Cugel. “The destination is as before: to the shore of the northern sea, where the cargo must be delivered alive and secure! Appear! Seize the designated persons and carry them in accordance with the command!”
A great flapping buffeted the air; a black shape with a hideous visage peered down. It lowered a talon; Cugel was lifted and carried off to the north, betrayed a second time by a misplaced pervulsion.
For a day and a night the demon dew, grumbling and moaning. Somewhat after dawn Cugel was cast down on a beach and the demon thundered off through the sky.
There was silence. To right and left spread the gray beach. Behind rose the foreshore with a few clumps of salt-grass and spinifex. A few yards up the beach lay the splintered cage in which once before Cugel had been delivered to this same spot. With head bowed and arms clasped around his knees, Cugel sat looking out across the sea.
— The End —
Cugels Saga
* * *
FROM SHANGLESTONE STRAND TO SASKERVOY Flutic
The Inn Of Blue Lamps
FROM SASKERVOY TO THE TUSTVOLD MUD-FLATS Aboard the Galante
Lausicaa
The Ocean of Sighs
FROM TUSTVOLD TO PORT PERDUSZ The Columns
Faucelme
FROM PORT PERDUSZ TO KASPARA VITATUS On the Docks
The Caravan
FROM KASPARA VITATUS TO CUIRNIF The Seventeen Virgins
The Bagful of Dreams
FROM CUIRNIF TO PERGOLO The Four Wizards
Spatterlight
* * *
Cugels Saga
CHAPTER I FROM SHANGLESTONE STRAND TO SASKERVOY
1 FLUTIC
IUCOUNU (known across Almery as 'the Laughing Magician') had worked one of his most mordant jokes upon Cugel. For the second time Cugel had been snatched up, carried north across the Ocean of Sighs, dropped upon that melancholy beach known as Shanglestone Strand.
Rising to his feet, Cugel brushed sand from his cloak and adjusted his hat. He stood not twenty yards from that spot upon which he had been dropped before, also at the behest of Iucounu. He carried no sword and his pouch contained no terces.
The solitude was absolute. No sound could be heard but the sigh of the wind along the dunes. Far to the east a dim headland thrust into the water, as did another, equally remote, to the west. To the south spread the sea, empty except for the reflection of the old red sun.
Cugel's frozen faculties began to thaw, and a whole set of emotions, one after the other, made themselves felt, with fury taking precedence over all.
Iucounu would now be enjoying his joke to the fullest. Cugel raised his fist high and shook it toward the south, "Iucounu, at last you have exceeded yourself! This time you will pay the price! I, Cugel, appoint myself your nemesis!"
For a period Cugel strode back and forth, shouting and cursing: a person long of arm and leg, with lank black hair, gaunt cheeks, and a crooked mouth of great flexibility. The time was middle afternoon, and the sun, already half-way into the west, tottered down the sky like a sick animal. Cugel, who was nothing if not practical, decided to postpone the remainder of his tirade; more urgent was lodging for the night. Cugel called down a final curse of pulsing carbuncles upon Iucounu, then, picking his way across the shingle, he climbed to the crest of a dune and looked in all directions.
To the north a succession of marshes and huddles of black larch straggled away into the murk.
To the east Cugel gave only a cursory glance. Here were the villages Smolod and Grodz, and memories were long in the Land of Cutz.
To the south, languid and listless, the ocean extended to the horizon and beyond.
To the west, the shore stretched far to meet a line of low hills which, thrusting into the sea, became a headland. ... A red glitter flashed across the distance, and Cugel's attention was instantly attracted.
Such a red sparkle could only signify sunlight reflecting from glass!
Cugel marked the position of the glitter, which faded from view as the sunlight shifted. He slid down the face of the dune and set off at best speed along the beach.
The sun dropped behind the headland; gray-lavender gloom fell across the beach. An arm of that vast forest known as The Great Erm edged down from the north, suggesting a number of eery possibilities, and Cugel accelerated his pace to a striding bent-kneed lope.
The hills loomed black against the sky, but no sign of habitation appeared. Cugel's spirits sagged low. He proceeded more slowly, searching the landscape with care, and at last, to his great satisfaction, he came upon a large and elaborate manse of archaic design, shrouded behind the trees of an untidy garden. The lower windows glowed with amber light: a cheerful sight for the benighted wanderer.
Cugel turned briskly aside and approached the manse, putting by his usual precautions of surveillance and perhaps peering through the windows, especially in view of two white shapes at the edge of the forest which quietly moved back into the shadows as he turned to stare.
Cugel marched to the door and tugged smartly at the bell-chain. From within came the sound of a far gong.
A moment passed. Cugel looked nervously over his shoulder, and again pulled at the chain. Finally he heard slow steps approaching from within.
The door opened and a pinch-faced old man, thin, pale, and stoop-shouldered, look
ed through the crack.
Cugel used the suave tones of gentility, "Good evening! What is this handsome old place, may I ask?"
The old man responded without cordiality: "Sir, this is Flutic, where Master Twango keeps residence. What is your business?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary," said Cugel airily. "I am a traveler, and I seem to have lost my way. I will therefore trespass upon Master Twango's hospitality for the night, if I may."
"Quite impossible. From which direction do you come?"
"From the east."
"Then continue along the road, through the forest and over the hill, to Saskervoy. You will find lodging to meet your needs at the Inn of Blue Lamps."
"It is too far, and in any event robbers have stolen my money."
"You will find small comfort here; Master Twango gives short shrift to indigents." The old man started to close the door, but Cugel put his foot into the aperture.
"Wait! I noticed two white Chapes at the edge of the forest, and I dare go no farther tonight!"
"In this regard, I can advise you," said the old man. "The creatures are probably rostgoblers, or 'hyperborean sloths', if you prefer the term. Return to the beach and wade ten feet into the water; you will be safe from their lust. Then tomorrow you may proceed to Saskervoy."
The door closed. Cugel looked anxiously over his shoulder. At the entrance to the garden, where heavy yews flanked the walk, he glimpsed a pair of still white forms. Cugel turned back to the door and jerked hard at the bell-chain.