Jack Vance

by The Miracle Workers

  “Perhaps,” agreed Hein Huss. “And you do likewise?”

  Sam Salazar hesitated. “There is an aura of romance, a kind of wild grandeur to the old days—but of course,” he added quickly, “mysticism is no substitute for orthodox logic.”

  “Naturally not,” agreed Hein Huss. “Now go; I must consider the events of tomorrow.”

  Sam Salazar departed, and Hein Huss, rumbling and groaning, hoisted himself to his feet. He went to the flap of his tent, surveyed the camp. All now was quiet. The fires were embers, the warriors lay in the pits they had cut into the moss. To the north and south spread the woodlands. Among the trees and out on the downs were faint flickering luminosities, where the First Folk gathered spore-pods from the moss.

  Hein Huss became aware of a nearby personality. He turned his head and saw approaching the shrouded form of Jinxman Enterlin, who concealed his face, who spoke only in whispers, who disguised his natural gait with a stiff stiltlike motion. By this means he hoped to reduce his vulnerability to hostile jinxmanship. The admission carelessly let fall of failing eyesight, of stiff joints, forgetfulness, melancholy, nausea might be of critical significance in controversy by hoodoo. Jinxmen therefore maintained the pose of absolute health and virility, even though they must grope blindly or limp doubled up from cramps.

  Hein Huss called out to Enterlin, lifted back the flap to the tent. Enterlin entered; Huss went to the cabinet, brought forth a flask, poured liquor into a pair of stone cups. “A cordial only, free of overt significance.”

  “Good,” whispered Enterlin, selecting the cup farthest from him. “After all, we jinxmen must relax into the guise of men from time to time.” Turning his back on Huss, he introduced the cup through the folds of his hood, drank. “Refreshing,” he whispered. “We need refreshment; tomorrow we must work.”

  Huss issued his reverberating chuckle. “Tomorrow Isak Comandore matches demons with Anderson Grimes. We others perform only subsidiary duties.”

  Enterlin seemed to make a quizzical inspection of Hein Huss through the black gauze before his eyes. “Comandore will relish this opportunity. His vehemence oppresses me, and his is a power which feeds on success. He is a man of fire, you are a man of ice.”

  “Ice quenches fire.”

  “Fire sometimes melts ice.”

  Hein Huss shrugged. “No matter. I grow weary. Time has passed all of us by. Only a moment ago a young apprentice showed me to myself.”

  “As a powerful jinxman, as Head Jinxman to the Faides, you have cause for pride.”

  Hein Huss drained the stone cup, set it aside. “No. I see myself at the top of my profession, with nowhere else to go. Only Sam Salazar the apprentice thinks to search for more universal lore; he comes to me for counsel, and I do not know what to tell him.”

  “Strange talk, strange talk!” whispered Enterlin. He moved to the flap of the tent. “I go now,” he whispered. “I go to walk on the downs. Perhaps I will see the future.”

  “There are many futures.”

  Enterlin rustled away and was lost in the dark. Hein Huss groaned and grumbled, then took himself to his couch, where he instantly fell asleep.

  II

  The night passed. The sun, flickering with films of pink and green, lifted over the horizon. The new planting of the First Folk was silhouetted, a sparse stubble of saplings, against the green and lavender sky. The troops broke camp with practiced efficiency. Lord Faide marched to his car, leaped within; the machine sagged under his weight. He pushed a button, the car drifted forward, heavy as a waterlogged timber.

  A mile from the new planting he halted, sent a messenger back to the wagons of the jinxmen. Hein Huss walked ponderously forward, followed by Isak Comandore, Adam McAdam, and Enterlin. Lord Faide spoke to Hein Huss. “Send someone to speak to the First Folk. Inform them we wish to pass, offering them no harm, but that we will react savagely to any hostility.”

  “I will go myself,” said Hein Huss. He turned to Comandore, “Lend me, if you will, your brash young apprentice. I can put him to good use.”

  “If he unmasks a nettle trap by blundering into it, his first useful deed will be done,” said Comandore. He signaled to Sam Salazar, who came reluctantly forward. “Walk in front of Head Jinxman Hein Huss that he may encounter no traps or scythes. Take a staff to probe the moss.”

  Without enthusiasm Sam Salazar borrowed a lance from one of the foot soldiers. He and Huss set forth, along the low rise that previously had separated North from South Wildwood. Occasionally outcroppings of stone penetrated the cover of moss; here and there grew bayberry trees, clumps of tarplant, ginger-tea, and rosewort.

  A half mile from the planting Huss halted. “Now take care, for here the traps will begin. Walk clear of hummocks, these often conceal swing-scythes; avoid moss which shows a pale blue; it is dying or sickly and may cover a deadfall or a nettle trap.”

  “Why cannot you locate the traps by clairvoyance?” asked Sam Salazar in a rather sullen voice. “It appears an excellent occasion for the use of these faculties.”

  “The question is natural,” said Hein Huss with composure. “However you must know that when a jinxman’s own profit or security is at stake his emotions play tricks on him. I would see traps everywhere and would never know whether clairvoyance or fear prompted me. In this case, that lance is a more reliable instrument than my mind.”

  Sam Salazar made a salute of understanding and set forth, with Hein Huss stumping behind him. At first he prodded with care, uncovering two traps, then advanced more jauntily; so swiftly indeed that Huss called out in exasperation, “Caution, unless you court death!”

  Sam Salazar obligingly slowed his pace. “There are traps all around us, but I detect the pattern, or so I believe.”

  “Ah, ha, you do? Reveal it to me, if you will. I am only Head Jinxman, and ignorant.”

  “Notice. If we walk where the spore-pods have recently been harvested, then we are secure.”

  Hein Huss grunted. “Forward then. Why do you dally? We must do battle at Ballant Keep today.”

  Two hundred yards farther, Sam Salazar stopped short. “Go on, boy, go on!” grumbled Hein Huss.

  “The savages threaten us. You can see them just inside the planting. They hold tubes which they point toward us.”

  Hein Huss peered, then raised his head and called out in the sibilant language of the First Folk.

  A moment or two passed, then one of the creatures came forth, a naked humanoid figure, ugly as a demonmask. Foam-sacs bulged under its arms, orange-lipped foam-vents pointed forward. Its back was wrinkled and loose, the skin serving as a bellows to blow air through the foam-sacs. The fingers of the enormous hands ended in chisel-shaped blades, the head was sheathed in chitin. Billion-faceted eyes swelled from either side of the head, glowing like black opals, merging without definite limit into the chitin. This was a representative of the original inhabitants of the planet, who until the coming of man had inhabited the downs, burrowing in the moss, protecting themselves behind masses of foam exuded from the underarm sacs.

  The creature wandered close, halted. “I speak for Lord Faide of Faide Keep,” said Huss. “Your planting bars his way. He wishes that you guide him through, so that his men do not damage the trees, or spring the traps you have set against your enemies.”

  “Men are our enemies,” responded the autochthon. “You may spring as many traps as you care to; that is their purpose.” It backed away.

  “One moment,” said Hein Huss sternly. “Lord Faide must pass. He goes to battle Lord Ballant. He does not wish to battle the First Folk. Therefore it is wise to guide him across the planting without hindrance.”

  The creature considered a second or two. “I will guide him.” He stalked across the moss toward the war party.

  Behind followed Hein Huss and Sam Salazar. The autochthon, legs articulated more flexibly than a man’s, seemed to weave and wander, occasionally pausing to study the ground ahead.

  “I am puzzled,” Sam Salazar told Hei
n Huss. “I cannot understand the creature’s actions.”

  “Small wonder,” grunted Hein Huss. “He is one of the First Folk, you are human. There is no basis for understanding.”

  “I disagree,” said Sam Salazar seriously.

  “Eh?” Hein Huss inspected the apprentice with vast disapproval. “You engage in contention with me, Head Jinxman Hein Huss?”

  “Only in a limited sense,” said Sam Salazar. “I see a basis for understanding with the First Folk in our common ambition to survive.”

  “A truism,” grumbled Hein Huss. “Granting this community of interests with the First Folk, what is your perplexity?”

  “The fact that it first refused, then agreed to conduct us across the planting.”

  Hein Huss nodded. “Evidently the information which intervened, that we go to fight at Ballant Keep, occasioned the change.”

  “This is clear,” said Sam Salazar. “But think—”

  “You exhort me to think?” roared Hein Huss.

  “—here is one of the First Folk, apparently without distinction, who makes an important decision instantly. Is he one of their leaders? Do they live in anarchy?”

  “It is easy to put questions,” Hein Huss said gruffly. “It is not as easy to answer them.”

  “In short—”

  “In short, I do not know. In any event, they are pleased to see us killing one another.”

  III

  The passage through the planting was made without incident. A mile to the east the autochthon stepped aside and without formality returned to the forest. The war party, which had been marching in single file, regrouped into its usual formation. Lord Faide called Hein Huss and made the unusual gesture of inviting him up into the seat beside him. The ancient car dipped and sagged; the power-mechanism whined and chattered. Lord Faide, in high good spirits, ignored the noise. “I feared that we might be forced into a time-consuming wrangle. What of Lord Ballant? Can you read his thoughts?”

  Hein Huss cast his mind forth. “Not clearly. He knows of our passage. He is disturbed.”

  Lord Faide laughed sardonically. “For excellent reason! Listen now, I will explain the plan of battle so that all may coordinate their efforts.”

  “Very well.”

  “We approach in a wide line. Ballant’s great weapon is of course Volcano. A decoy must wear my armor and ride in the lead. The yellow-haired apprentice is perhaps the most expendable member of the party. In this way we will learn the potentialities of Volcano. Like our own Hellmouth, it was built to repel vessels from space and cannot command the ground immediately under the keep. Therefore we will advance in dispersed formation, to regroup two hundred yards from the keep. At this point the jinxmen will impel Lord Ballant forth from the keep. You no doubt have made plans to this end.”

  Hein Huss gruffly admitted that such was the case. Like other jinxmen, he enjoyed the pose that his power sufficed for extemporaneous control of any situation.

  Lord Faide was in no mood for niceties and pressed for further information. Grudging each word, Hein Huss disclosed his arrangements. “I have prepared certain influences to discomfit the Ballant defenders and drive them forth. Jinxman Enterlin will sit at his cabinet, ready to retaliate if Lord Ballant orders a spell against you. Anderson Grimes undoubtedly will cast a demon—probably Everid—into the Ballant warriors; in return, Jinxman Comandore will possess an equal or a greater number of Faide warriors with the demon Keyril, who is even more ghastly and horrifying.”

  “Good. What more?”

  “There is need for no more, if your men fight well.”

  “Can you see the future? How does today end?”

  “There are many futures. Certain jinxmen—Enterlin for instance—profess to see the thread which leads through the maze; they are seldom correct.”

  “Call Enterlin here.”

  Hein Huss rumbled his disapproval. “Unwise, if you desire victory over Ballant Keep.”

  Lord Faide inspected the massive jinxman from under his black saturnine brows. “Why do you say this?”

  “If Enterlin foretells defeat, you will be dispirited and fight poorly. If he predicts victory, you become overconfident and likewise fight poorly.”

  Lord Faide made a petulant gesture. “The jinxmen are loud in their boasts until the test is made. Then they always find reasons to retract, to qualify.”

  “Ha, ha!” barked Hein Huss. “You expect miracles, not honest jinxmanship. I spit—” he spat. “I predict that the spittle will strike the moss. The probabilities are high. But an insect might fly in the way. One of the First Folk might raise through the moss. The chances are slight. In the next instant there is only one future. A minute hence there are four futures. Five minutes hence, twenty futures. A billion futures could not express all the possibilities of tomorrow. Of these billion, certain are more probable than others. It is true that these probable futures sometimes send a delicate influence into the jinxman’s brain. But unless he is completely impersonal and disinterested, his own desires overwhelm this influence. Enterlin is a strange man. He hides himself, he has no appetites. Occasionally his auguries are exact. Nevertheless, I advise against consulting him. You do better to rely on the practical and real vises of jinxmanship.”

  Lord Faide said nothing. The column had been marching along the bottom of a low swale; the car had been sliding easily downslope. Now they came to a rise, and the power-mechanism complained so vigorously that Lord Faide was compelled to stop the car. He considered. “Once over the crest we will be in view of Ballant Keep. Now we must disperse. Send the least valuable man in your troupe forward— the apprentice who tested out the moss. He must wear my helmet and corselet and ride in the car.”

  Hein Huss alighted, returned to the wagons, and presently Sam Salazar came forward. Lord Faide eyed the round, florid face with distaste. “Come close,” he said crisply. Sam Salazar obeyed. “You will now ride in my place,” said Lord Faide. “Notice carefully. This rod impels a forward motion. This arm steers—to right, to left. To stop, return the rod to its first position.”

  Sam Salazar pointed to some of the other arms, toggles, switches, and buttons. “What of these?”

  “They are never used.”

  “And these dials, what is their meaning?”

  Lord Faide curled his lip, on the brink of one of his quick furies. “Since their use is unimportant to me, it is twenty times unimportant to you. Now. Put this cap on your head, and this helmet. See to it that you do not sweat.”

  Sam Salazar gingerly settled the magnificent black and green crest of Faide on his head, with a cloth cap underneath.

  “Now this corselet.”

  The corselet was constructed of green and black metal sequins, with a pair of scarlet dragon-heads at either side of the breast.

  “Now the cloak.” Lord Faide flung the black cloak over Sam Salazar’s shoulders. “Do not venture too close to Ballant Keep. Your purpose is to attract the fire of Volcano. Maintain a lateral motion around the keep, outside of dart range. If you are killed by a dart, the whole purpose of the deception is thwarted.”

  “You prefer me to be killed by Volcano?” inquired Sam Salazar.

  “No. I wish to preserve the car and the crest. These are relics of great value. Evade destruction by all means possible. The ruse probably will deceive no one; but if it does, and if it draws the fire of Volcano, I must sacrifice the Faide car. Now—sit in my place.”

  Sam Salazar climbed into the car, settled himself on the seat.

  “Sit straight,” roared Lord Faide. “Hold your head up!

  You are simulating Lord Faide! You must not appear to slink!” Sam Salazar heaved himself erect in the seat.

  “To simulate Lord Faide most effectively, I should walk among the warriors, with someone else riding in the car.”

  Lord Faide glared, then grinned sourly. “No matter. Do as I have commanded.”

  IV

  Sixteen hundred years before, with war raging through space, a group o
f space captains, their home bases destroyed, had taken refuge on Pangborn. To protect themselves against vengeful enemies, they built great forts armed with weapons from the dismantled spaceships.

  The wars receded, Pangborn was forgotten. The newcomers drove the First Folk into the forests, planted and harvested the river valleys. Ballant Keep, like Faide Keep, Castle Cloud, Boghoten, and the rest, overlooked one of these valleys. Four squat towers of a dense black substance supported an enormous parasol roof, and were joined by walls two-thirds as high as the towers. At the peak of the roof a cupola housed Volcano, the weapon corresponding to Faide’s Hellmouth.

  The Faide war party advancing over the rise found the great gates already secure, the parapets between the towers thronged with bowmen. According to Lord Faide’s strategy, the war party advanced on a broad front. At the center rode Sam Salazar, resplendent in Lord Faide’s armor. He made, however, small effort to simulate Lord Faide. Rather than sitting proudly erect, he crouched at the side of the seat, the crest canted at an angle. Lord Faide watched with disgust. Apprentice Salazar’s reluctance to be demolished was understandable; if his impersonation failed to convince Lord Ballant, at least the Faide ancestral car might be spared. For a certainty Volcano was being manned; the Ballant weapon-tender could be seen in the cupola, and the snout protruded at a menacing angle.

  Apparently the tactic of dispersal, offering no single tempting target, was effective. The Faide war party advanced quickly to a point two hundred yards from the keep, below Volcano’s effective field, without drawing fire; first the knights, then the foot soldiers, then the rumbling wagons of the magicians. The slow-moving Faide car was far outdistanced; any doubt as to the nature of the ruse must now be extinguished.

  Apprentice Salazar, disliking the isolation, and hoping to increase the speed of the car, twisted one of the other switches, then another. From under the floor came a thin screeching sound; the car quivered and began to rise. Sam Salazar peered over the side, threw out a leg to jump. Lord Faide ran forward, gesturing and shouting. Sam Salazar hastily drew back his leg, returned the switches to their previous condition. The car dropped like a rock. He snapped the switches up again, cushioning the fall.