by Jack Vance
“Then, when you learned that Jantiff indeed had earned the fare, you stole his money from him?”
“Do you assert this, sir, or is it the Connatic’s justice that a man must incriminate himself from his own mouth?”
“That is a clever reply,” said Shermatz graciously. “But the matter is not quite so intricate. Jantiff’s information makes it clear that you are the robber beyond all reasonable doubt. My question gave you the opportunity for denial. Secondly, it is clear that you informed Booch in regard to the forest waif whom Jantiff had befriended, in full knowledge of what must occur, your motive being to destroy Jantiff. The cursar will undertake an investigation. If you deny the charges, you will undergo mind-search and the truth will be made known. In the meantime, your possessions are totally confiscated. You are now a pauper, lacking so much as a single dinket.”
Eubanq’s jaw dropped; his eyes became moist. In a voice musical in its poignancy he cried: “This is most unreasonable! Will you sequester all my poor savings?”
“I suspect that you will fare even worse. I believe that you provoked Booch to assault and murder. If this is so demonstrated the cursar will show you no leniency.”
“Take me to Lulace! The Grand Knight will prove my good character!”
“The Grand Knight, is no longer at Lulace. He and his guests departed last night. In any event, he is not a trustworthy guarantor; his troubles may exceed your own.” Shermatz signaled Garfred and Osculot. “Take Eubanq to a place of security. Make certain that he cannot escape. If he does so, you will each be fined one thousand ozols.”
“Smartly then, Eubanq,” said Osculot. “We will take you to my root cellar, and if you escape, I will pay both fines.”
“One moment!” Jantiff confronted Eubanq. “What happened to Glisten? Tell me if you know!”
Eubanq’s expression was opaque. “Why ask me? Put your questions to Booch.”
“Booch answers no questions; he is dead.”
Eubanq turned away without comment. The two constables marched him up the street and out of sight.
Ryl Shermatz once more addressed the people of the town. “The new cursar will arrive within three days. Remember: he represents the Connatic and he must be obeyed! You may now go about your affairs. Jantiff, come along. We have no further need to remain at Balad.”
“But what of Glisten? I can’t leave until I know what has happened!”
“Jantiff, let us face the sad facts. Either she is dead or she has returned to the forest. In either case she is beyond our reach.”
“Then who was the woman who notified you of my trouble?’
“This is another affair which the cursar must look into. But let us be off to Arrabus. There is nothing more to be accomplished here.”
Chapter 16
In a black space-car the two men rode north from Balad: over the gloomy Sych, across Lake Neman and the Weirdlands beyond.
Jantiff sat brooding and made no effort at conversation. Ryl Shermatz finally said: “I suspect that you are still disturbed by recent events—understandably so. Unfortunately, by the very nature of my position I can achieve only an approximate justice. The witch-killing farmers, for instance: are they not murderers? Why are they not punished? Truthfully, I am less interested in punishment than setting things to rights. I make one or two dramatic examples, hoping to frighten all the others into regeneracy. The method works unevenly. Often the most iniquitous are the least inconvenienced. On the other hand an absolutely exact justice may well destroy the community; this might have been the case at Balad. By and large, I am satisfied.”
Jantiff said nothing.
Ryl Shermatz continued: “In any event we must now turn our attention to Arrabus and the Whispers. Their conduct puzzles me. Do they intend to live in isolation? If they attend the Centenary fête, or speak before a television audience, their identity must instantly become evident to their old intimates: all those residents of Old Pink, for example.”
“They probably rely upon the close similarity,” said Jantiff. “When no one suspects, no one notices.”
Ryl Shermatz remained dubious. “I can’t believe that the similarities are that close. Perhaps they plan cosmetic devices or facial surgery: in fact this may already have occurred.”
“At Lulace they were the same as ever.”
“And this is the great puzzle! Clearly they are not fools. They must recognize obvious dangers, and they must have prepared for them. I am amazed and fascinated; there is grandeur to their scheme.”
Jantiff put a diffident question: “How will you deal with them?”
“Two options, at least, are open. We can denounce them publicly and create an enormous sensation, or we can secretly dispose of the whole affair, and presently nominate a new set of Whispers. I am inclined to the first concept. The Arrabins will enjoy the drama—and why should we not give pleasure to these essentially decent, if indolent, folk?”
“And how will this drama be managed?”
“No difficulty whatever; in fact the event has already been arranged, and by the Whispers themselves. At a Grand Rally they intend to address a select group of notables, while all the rest of Arrabus watches by television. This is an appropriate time to set matters right.”
Jantiff mulled over the situation. “They will speak as before from the Pedestal, remote and obscure so that no one can recognize them, and no cameras will be allowed close views.”
“I expect that you are right,” said Ryl Shermatz. “At the denouement they will be seen clearly enough.”
The space-car crossed over the scarp, and Uncibal lay sprawled before them, with the Salarnan Sea beyond, flat and listless, the color of moonstone. Ryl Shermatz veered toward the space-port and landed close beside the depot
“Tonight we will rest at the Travelers Inn,” said Shermatz. “As an elitist monument, it has suffered decay; still we can do no better, and you will no doubt prefer it to your lair behind the privy.”
“I intend to revisit this lair, for old time’s sake,” said Jantiff. “My hut on the beach was actually not much better… Still, it felt like home. As I think back, I was happy there. I had food; I had Glisten to look at; I had goals, impractical though they might have been, and for a time I thought I was realizing them. Yes! I was truly alive!”
“And now?”
“I am old and dull and tired.”
Shermatz laughed. “I have felt the same way many times. Life goes on, despite all.”
“I find life to be a very peculiar affair.”
At the Travelers Inn Shermatz bespoke a suite of six rooms, specifying a high standard of cuisine and service.
Jantiff grumbled that his expectations were not likely to be realized in view of the Arrabin attitude.
“We shall see,” said Ryl Shermatz. “As a rule I make few demands, but here, at the Travelers Inn, for non-egalistic prices I insist upon non-egalistic value. Unlike the ordinary traveler, I can instantly avenge sloth, slights and poor service. It is a perquisite of my job. I think that you will notice a distinct improvement over your previous visit. Now I have a few trifles of business, and I will leave you to your own devices.”
Jantiff went to his rooms, where, as Shermatz had predicted, he discovered remarkably better conditions. He reveled in a hot bath, donned fresh garments and dined upon the most elaborate repast available. Then, bone-weary but not yet ready for sleep, he wandered out into the city and rode the man-ways as he had done so often in the past. Perhaps by unconscious design he passed Old Pink. After a moment’s indecision he stepped off the way, crossed the yard and entered the foyer. The air hung heavy with familiar old odors, compounded of gruff, deedle, wobbly and swill; the sourness of old concrete; the condensed exhalations of all those who across the years had called Old Pink home.
Recollections swept over Jantiff: events, adventures, emotions, faces. He went to the administration desk, where a man, strange to him, sat sorting slips of paper.
Jantiff asked: “Does Skorlet still occu
py Apartment D18, on the Nineteenth level?”
The clerk spun an index, glanced at a name. “No longer. She’s transferred out to Propunce.”
Jantiff turned to the bulletin board. A large placard composed in an eye-catching yellow, white, blue and black read:
In regard to the
GRAND RALLY:
Hail, all, to our second century! May it exceed the grandeur of the first!
The Centenary celebrates our confident advocacy of egalism. From the ends of the Cluster pour congratulations, sometimes couched in candid admiration, sometimes through the tight teeth of bombahs biting back dismay.
On Onasday next: the Grand Rally! at the Field of Voices the Panel of Delegates and many other notables will gather to partake of a ceremonial banquet and to hear the Whispers propose startling new concepts for the future.
The Connatic of Alastor Cluster will definitely be on hand, to share the Pedestal with the Whispers, in comradeship and egality. He is at this moment consulting with the Whispers and hearing their wise counsel. At the Grand Rally he will reveal his program for an augmented interchange of goods and services. He believes that Arrabins should export ideas, artistic creations and imaginative concepts in exchange for goods, foodstuffs and automatic processing devices. At the. Grand Rally, Onasday, on the Field of Voices, he and the Whispers will make concrete the details of this proposal.
Only persons with entry permits will be admitted to the Field. All others will participate at this epochal occasion by television in the social halls on their apartment levels.
Jantiff reread the placard a second and a third time. Odd and wonderful! He stood pondering the garish type. At the back of his mind milled fragments of information, small disparate ideas, echoes of half-remembered conversations: all jumbled like the elements of a puzzle shaken in a box.
Jantiff turned away from the placard and departed Old Pink. He rode out Lateral 112 to Uncibal River and diverted into the human flood. For once, with nervous guesses and suspicious conjectures whirling through his head, Jantiff ignored the panorama of faces; as blank and withdrawn as any of the others, he returned to the Travelers Inn.
Back in his rooms, he discovered that a supper had been laid out on the parlor buffet. Jantiff poured out a goblet of wine and took it to a settee. The window overlooked a corner of the space-field and, beyond, the dancing lights of Disjerferact. Jantiff watched with a smile half bitter, half wistful. Would he ever be able to escape his recollections? Vividly now they passed before his inner mind: the House of Prisms; Kedidah’s haunted countenance. The flavor of toasted kelp and poggets. The squeaking fifes, the tinkle of pilgrim bells, the calls and importunities, the whirling lights and park fountains… Ryl Shermatz emerged from his chambers.
“Aha, Jantiff, you have returned in good time. Have you noticed this array of bonter?”
“Yes. I am amazed. I had no idea that so many good things were available.”
“Tonight we are bombahs for sure! I see wines from four different worlds, a noble assortment of meats, pastas, rissoles, salads, cheeses, and all manner of miscellaneous confections. A far more elaborate meal than is my usual habit, I assure you! But tonight let us revel in the ignobility of it all!”
Jantiff served himself such items as met his fancy, and joined Ryl Shermatz at the table. “An hour ago I visited Old Pink, the block where I once lived. In the lobby I saw an amazing placard. It advertised that the Connatic will definitely appear at the Grand Rally, to endorse the Whispers and all their programs.”
“I saw a similar placard,” said Ryl Shermatz. “I can assert even more definitely that the Connatic plans nothing of the sort.”
“In that case I am relieved, but how can the Whispers make such promises? When the Connatic fails to appear, they will be left with lame excuses by the mouthful, and no one will be deceived.”
“I have become fascinated by the Grand Rally,” said Ryl Shermatz. “Half a dozen courtesy tickets were left at Alastor Centrality. I availed myself of two; we shall not fail to witness this remarkable occasion.”
“I am absolutely bewildered,” said Jantiff. “The Whispers must know that the Connatic will not appear; it follows, therefore, that they have contrived a plan to cope with this contingency.”
“Admirably put, Jantiff! That is the situation in a nutshell, and I admit to curiosity. Might they go so far as to put forward a purported Connatic, to speak as they might wish the real Connatic to speak?”
“It is well within their audacity. But how could they hope to gain? When the news arrived at Lusz, the Connatic could not fail to be annoyed.”
“Exactly so! The Connatic is always amused by verve and sometimes by brashness; still he would be forced to take harsh and definite action. Well, on Onasday the event will be revealed, and we will watch carefully before we put our own program into effect.”
Jantiff made a cautious observation: “You persist in using the words ‘we’ and ‘our,’ but I must admit that I am confused as to the details of our program.”
Ryl Shermatz chuckled. “Our plan is simple. The Whispers appear on the Pedestal. They make their address to the notables, and by television to all the other Arrabins. A purported Connatic may appear on the Pedestal; if not, the Whispers may repair the lack by methods yet unknown, and we will watch with interest. Then, at an appropriate moment, four Whelm corvettes of the Amaraz class drop from the sky. They maneuver close to the Pedestal and officers jump across. They place the Whispers under arrest. The cursar now appears. He explains to all Arrabus the crimes perpetrated by the Whispers. He reveals that Arrabus is bankrupt, and he makes a rather harsh announcement to the effect that the Arrabins must awake from their century-long trance and return to work. He announces that he is assuming authority as interim governor, until a proper set of local officials once more assume responsibility.
“The four corvettes then rise to an elevation of a thousand feet, each trailing a long line with a noose at the end. A noose is fitted about the neck of each Whisper; the corvettes rise once more until they and the suspended Whispers are out of sight in the upper atmosphere. The program is crisp, decisive and sufficiently spectacular to command attention.” Ryl Shermatz glanced sideways at Jantiff. “You take exception to the plan?”
“Not at all. I am uneasy, for a reason I find hard to define.”
Shermatz rose to his feet and went to look out across Disjerferact. The plan is too forthright, perhaps?”
“There is nothing wrong with the plan. I wonder only why the Whispers seem so confident. What do they know that we do not?”
“That is a provocative concept,” said Shermatz. He mused a moment. “Short of asking the Whispers, I can’t see how to arrive at an explanation.”
“I will try to put my ideas in an orderly sequence,” said Jantiff. “Perhaps something will occur to me.”
“You have infected me with your uneasiness,” Shermatz grumbled. “Well—there is tonight and tomorrow for conjecture. On the day after: the Grand Rally, and then we must act.”
Chapter 17
The night passed by, and Dwan rose pale as a frozen tear into the sky. The day ran its course. Jantiff remained at the suite in the Travelers Inn. For a time he paced the parlor back and forth, trying to define his qualms, but the thoughts fled past before he could analyze them. He seated himself with paper and stylus and found no better success; his mind persisted in wandering. He thought of the early days at Old Pink, his dismal romance with Kedidah, the bonterfest, his subsequent flight to Balad… The flow of his thoughts suddenly became viscous and slowed to a halt. For a moment Jantiff thought of nothing whatever; then, with great caution, as if opening a door from behind which something awful might leap, he reconsidered his flight across the Weirdlands, and his association with Swarkop.
Jantiff presently relaxed, indecisively, into the settee. Swarkop’s conversation had been suggestive but no more. He would mention the matter and Shermatz could make of it what he chose.
During the afternoon
, bored and uneasy, he walked across the mudflats to Disjerferact, and as he had promised himself, made a pilgrimage to his old lair behind the privy, and for old time’s sake bought a spill of fried kelp, which he ate dutifully but without enthusiasm. There had once been a time, he reflected sadly, when he could not get enough of this rather insipid delicacy.
At sundown Jantiff returned to the Travelers Inn. Ryl Shermatz had not returned. Jantiff ate, a pensive supper, then went to his rooms.
In the morning he awoke to find that Ryl Shermatz had come and gone, leaving a note on the parlor table.
For the notice of Jantiff Ravensroke:
A good morning to you, Jantiff! Today we resolve all mysteries and bring our drama to its climax and then its close. Details press upon me; I have gone off unavoidably early to brief the cursar, and so will be unable to take breakfast with you. Please allow me to issue instructions in regard to the Grand Rally. I have our two tickets and will meet you to the right of Hanwalter Gate, where the Fourteenth Lateral terminates, at half-morning, or as close thereafter as possible. This is not as early as I had hoped; still we shall no doubt find positions of advantage. Take breakfast with a good appetite! I will see you at half-morning.
Shermatz
Jantiff frowned and put the note aside. He went to the window where he could see people already arriving upon the Field of Voices, hastening to take up places as close as possible to the Pedestal. Turning away, he went to the buffet, served himself breakfast, which he ate without appetite.
The time was still early; nevertheless he threw a cape over his shoulders and departed the inn. He walked to Uncibal River, rode a half-mile, diverted upon the Fourteenth Lateral, which discharged him directly before Hanwalter Gate: a three-wicket passage through a tall fence of supple louvres. Half-morning was yet an hour off; Jantiff was not surprised to find Shermatz nowhere on the scene. He stationed himself at the stipulated place to the right of the gate, and stood watching the arrival of the “notables” who had been invited to the Field to hear the Whispers and the Connatic at first hand, and to partake of the festive banquet. An odd assortment of “notables,” thought Jantiff. They were persons of all ages and types. Presently he noticed a man whom he thought to recognize; their eyes met and the man halted to exchange greetings: “Aren’t you Jantiff Ravensroke from Old Pink? With Skorlet?”