Cugel

by Jack Vance

  “Just so,” said Twango. “When can you assume your duties?”

  Cugel considered for only a moment. “At once, for purposes of salary computation. However, I will want a few days to study your operation. I assume that you can provide me adequate board and lodging over this period?”

  “Such facilities are provided at a nominal cost.” Twango rose to his feet. “But I keep you talking when you are surely tired and hungry. Weamish, as his last official duty, will take you to the refectory, where you may dine to your selection. Then you may rest in whatever style of accommodation you find congenial. Cugel, I welcome you into our employ! In the morning we can settle the details of your compensation.”

  “Come!” cried Weamish. “To the refectory.” He ran limping to the doorway, where he paused and beckoned. “Come along, Cugel! At Flutic one seldom loiters!”

  Cugel looked at Twango. “Why is Weamish so animated, and why must one never loiter?”

  Twango shook his head in fond bemusement. “Weamish is a nonpareil! Do not try to match his performance; I could never hope to find another like him!”

  Weamish called again: “Come, Cugel! Must we stand here while the sun goes out?”

  “I am coming, but I refuse to run blindly through this long dark corridor!”

  “This way, then: after me!”

  Cugel followed Weamish to the refectory: a hall with tables to one side and a buffet loaded with viands to the other. Two men sat dining. The first, a person large and thick-necked with a florid complexion, a tumble of blond curls and a surly expression, ate broad beans and bread. The second, who was as lean as a lizard, with a dark leathery skin, a narrow bony face and coarse black hair, consumed a meal no less austere, of steamed kale, with a wedge of raw onion for savor.

  Cugel’s attention, however, focused on the buffet. He turned to Weamish in wonder. “Does Twango always provide such a bounty of delicacies?”

  Weamish responded in a disinterested fashion. “Yes, this is usually the case.”

  “The two men yonder: who are they?”

  “To the left sits Yelleg; the other is Malser. They comprise the work-force which you will supervise.”

  “Only two? I expected a larger crew.”

  “You will find that these two suffice.”

  “For workmen, their appetites are remarkably moderate.”

  Weamish glanced indifferently across the room. “So it would seem. What of yourself: how will you dine?”

  Cugel went to inspect the buffet at closer range. “I will start with a dish of these smoked oil-fish, and a salad of pepper-leaf. Then this roast fowl seems eminently edible, and I will try a cut off the rare end of the joint … The garnishes are nicely turned out. Finally, a few of these pastries and a flask of the Violet Mendolence: this should suffice. No question but what Twango does well by his employees!”

  Cugel arranged a tray with viands of quality, while Weamish took only a small dish of boiled burdock leaves. Cugel asked in wonder: “Is that paltry meal adequate to your appetite?”

  Weamish frowned down at his dish. “It is admittedly a trifle spare. I find that an over-rich diet reduces my zeal.”

  Cugel laughed confidently. “I intend to innovate a program of rational operations, and this frantic harum-scarum zeal of yours, with all shirt-tails flying, will become unnecessary.”

  Weamish pursed his lips. “You will find that, at times, you are working as hard as your underlings. That is the nature of the supervisorial position.”

  “Never!” declared Cugel expansively. “I insist upon a rigid separation of functions. A toiler does not supervise and the supervisor does not toil. But as for your meal tonight, you are retired from work; you may eat and drink as you see fit!”

  “My account is closed,” said Weamish. “I do not care to reopen the books.”

  “A small matter, surely,” said Cugel. “Still, if you are concerned, eat and drink as you will, to my account!”

  “That is most generous!” Jumping to his feet, Weamish limped at speed to the buffet. He returned with a selection of choice meats, preserved fruits, pastries, a large cheese and a flask of wine, which he attacked with astonishing gusto.

  A sound from above attracted Cugel’s attention. He looked up to discover Gark and Gookin crouched on a shelf. Gark held a tablet upon which Gookin made entries, using an absurdly long stylus.

  Gark inspected Cugel’s plate. “Item: oil-fish, smoked and served with garlic and one leek, at four terces. Item: one fowl, good quality, large size, served with one cup of sauce and seven garnishes, at eleven terces. Item: three pastries of mince with herbs, at three terces each, to a total of nine terces. A salad of assorted stuffs: six terces. Item: three fardels, at two terces, to a total of six terces. Item: one large order of quince conserve, valued at three terces. Wine, nine terces. A service of napery and utensils: one terce.”

  Gookin spoke. “Noted and calculated. Cugel, place your mark at this point.”

  “Not so fast!” spoke Weamish sharply. “My supper tonight is at Cugel’s expense. Include the charges to his account.”

  Gark demanded: “Cugel, is this correct?”

  “I did in fact issue the invitation,” said Cugel. “I dine here, however, in my capacity as supervisor. I hereby order that the charges for sustenance be waived. Weamish, as an honoured ex-employee, also eats without charge.”

  Gark and Gookin uttered shrill cackles of laughter, and even Weamish showed a painful smile. “At Flutic,” said Weamish, “nothing is left to chance. Twango carefully distinguishes sentiment from business. If Twango owned the air, we would pay over coins for every gasp.”

  Cugel spoke with dignity: “These practises must be revised and at once! Otherwise I will resign my position. I must also point out that the fowl was underdone and the garlic lacked savor.”

  Gark and Gookin paid him no heed. Gookin tallied the charges on Weamish’s meal. “Very well, Cugel; once more, we require your mark.”

  Cugel inspected the tablet. “These bird scratchings mean nothing to me!”

  “Is that truly the case?” asked Gookin mildly. He took the tablet. “Aha, I notice an oversight. Add three terces for Weamish’s digestive pastilles.”

  “Hold up!” roared Cugel. “What is the account at this instant?”

  “One hundred and sixteen terces. We are often rendered a gratuity for our services.”

  “This is not one of the occasions!” Cugel snatched the tablet and scribbled his mark. “Now be off with you! I cannot dine in dignity with a pair of weird little swamp-hoppers peering over my shoulder.”

  Gark and Gookin bounded away in a fury. Weamish said: “That last remark struck somewhat close to the knuckle. Remember, Gark and Gookin prepare the food and whoever irks them sometimes finds noxious substances in his victual.”

  Cugel spoke firmly. “They should rather beware of me! As supervisor, I am a person of importance. If Twango fails to enforce my directives, I will resign my post!”

  “That option is of course open to you — as soon as you pay off your account.”

  “I see no great problem there. If the supervisor earns three hundred terces a week, I can quickly discharge my account.”

  Weamish drank deeply from his goblet. The wine seemed to loosen his tongue. He leaned toward Cugel and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Three hundred terces a week, eh? For me that was a fluke! Yelleg and Malser are slime-divers, as we call them. They earn three to twenty terces for each scale found, depending on quality. The ‘Clover-leaf Femurials’ bring ten terces, as do the ‘Dorsal Double Luminants’. An ‘Interlocking Sequalion’ for either turret or pectorus brings twenty terces. The rare ‘Lateral Flashers’ are also worth twenty terces. Whoever finds the ‘Pectoral Skybreak Spatterlight’ will gain one hundred terces.”

  Cugel poured more wine into Weamish’s goblet. “I am listening with two ears.”

  Weamish drank the wine but otherwise seemed hardly to notice Cugel’s presence. “Yelleg and Malser work from be
fore dawn until dark. They earn ten to fifteen terces a day on the average, from which the costs of board, lodging and incidentals are deducted. As supervisor you will see to their safety and comfort, at a salary of ten terces per day. Additionally, you gain a bonus of one terce for each scale exhumed by Yelleg and Malser, regardless of type. While Yelleg and Malser warm themselves at the fire or take their tea, you yourself are entitled to dive for scales.”

  “‘Dive’?” asked Cugel in perplexity.

  “Precisely so, into the pit created by Sadlark’s impact with the mire. The work is tedious and one must dive deep. Recently —” here Weamish drank an entire goblet of wine at a gulp “— I scratched into a whole nest of good quality scales, with many ‘specials’ among them, and the next week, by great good fortune, I did the same. Thus I was able to amortize my account, and I have elected to retire on the instant.”

  Cugel’s meal had suddenly gone tasteless. “And your previous earnings?”

  “On good days I might earn as much as Yelleg and Malser.”

  Cugel turned his eyes to the ceiling. “With an income of twelve terces a day and expenses ten times as much, how does one profit by working?”

  “Your question is to the point. First of all, one learns to dine without reference to subtle distinctions. Also, when one sleeps the sleep of exhaustion, he ignores the decor of his chamber.”

  “As supervisor, I will make changes!” But Cugel spoke with little conviction.

  Weamish, now somewhat befuddled, held up a long white finger. “Still, do not overlook the opportunities! They exist, I assure you, and in unexpected places!” Leaning forward, Weamish showed Cugel a leer of cryptic significance.

  “Speak on!” said Cugel. “I am attentive!”

  After belching, swallowing another draught of wine, and looking over his shoulder, Weamish said: “I can only emphasize that, to overcome the wiles of such as Twango, the most superb skills are necessary.”

  “Your remarks are interesting,” said Cugel. “May I refill your goblet?”

  “With pleasure.” Weamish drank with satisfaction, then leaned once more toward Cugel. “Would you care to hear a great joke?”

  “I would indeed.”

  Weamish spoke in a confidential whisper: “Twango considers me already in my dotage!” Leaning back in his chair, Weamish showed Cugel a gap-toothed grin.

  Cugel waited, but Weamish’s joke had been told. Cugel laughed politely. “What an absurdity!”

  “Is it not? When by a most ingenious method I have settled my accounts? Tomorrow I will leave Flutic and spend several years traveling among the fashionable resorts. Then let Twango wonder as to who is in his dotage, he or I.”

  “I have no doubt as to his verdict. In fact, all is clear except the details of your ‘ingenious method’.”

  Weamish gave a wincing grimace and licked his lips, as vanity and bravado struggled against the last reeling elements of his caution. He opened his mouth to speak … A gong sounded, as someone at the door pulled hard on the bell-rope.

  Weamish started to rise, then, with a careless laugh, subsided into his chair. “Cugel, it now becomes your duty to attend to late visitors, and to early visitors as well.”

  “I am ‘supervisor of operations’, not general lackey,” said Cugel.

  “A noble hope,” said Weamish wistfully. “First you must cope with Gark and Gookin, who enforce all regulations to the letter.”

  “They will learn to walk softly in my presence!”

  The shadow of a lumpy head and a dapper long-billed cap fell over the table. A voice spoke. “Who will learn to walk softly?”

  Cugel looked up to find Gookin peering over the edge of the shelf.

  Again the gong sounded. Gookin called out: “Cugel, to your feet! Answer the door! Weamish will instruct you in the routine.”

  “As supervisor,” said Cugel, “I hereby assign you to this task. Be quick!”

  In response Gookin flourished a small three-stranded knout, each thong terminating in a yellow sting.

  Cugel thrust up on the shelf with such force that Gookin sprawled head over heels through the air to fall into a platter of assorted cheeses which had been set out upon the buffet. Cugel picked up the knout and held it at the ready. “Now then: will you go about your duties? Or must I beat you well, then throw both you and your cap into this pot of tripes?”

  Into the refectory came Twango on the run, with Gark sitting bulge-eyed on his shoulder. “What is all this commotion? Gookin, why do you lie among the cheeses?”

  Cugel said: “Since I am supervisor, you should properly address me. The facts of the case are these: I ordered Gookin to answer the door. He attempted a flagrant insolence, and I was about to chastise him.”

  Twango’s face became pink with annoyance. “Cugel, this is not our usual routine! Heretofore the supervisor has habitually answered the door.”

  “We now make an instant change! The supervisor is relieved of menial duties. He will earn triple the previous salary, with lodging and sustenance included at no charge.”

  Once more the gong sounded. Twango muttered a curse. “Weamish! Answer the door! Weamish? Where are you?”

  Weamish had departed the refectory.

  Cugel gave a stern order: “Gark! Respond to the gong!”

  Gark gave back a surly hiss. Cugel pointed to the door. “Gark, you are hereby discharged, on grounds of insubordination! The same applies to Gookin. Both of you will immediately leave the premises and return to your native swamp.”

  Gark, now joined by Gookin, responded only with hisses of defiance.

  Cugel turned to Twango. “I fear that unless my authority is affirmed I must resign.”

  Twango threw up his arms in vexation. “Enough of this foolishness! While we stand here the gong rings incessantly!” He marched off down the corridor toward the door, with Gark and Gookin bounding behind him.

  Cugel followed at a more leisurely gait. Twango threw open the door, to admit a sturdy man of middle age wearing a hooded brown cloak. Behind him came two others in similar garments.

  Twango greeted the visitor with respectful familiarity. “Master Soldinck! The time is late! Why, at this hour, do you fare so far?”

  Soldinck spoke in a heavy voice: “I bring serious and urgent news, which could not wait an instant.”

  Twango stood back aghast. “Mercantides is dead?”

  “The tragedy is one of deception and theft!”

  “What has been stolen?” asked Twango impatiently. “Who has been deceived?”

  “I will recite the facts. Four days ago, at noon precisely, I arrived here with the strong-wagon. I came in company with Rincz and Jornulk, both, as you know, elders and persons of probity.”

  “Their reputations have never been assailed, to my knowledge. Why now do you bring them into question?”

  “Patience; you shall hear!”

  “Proceed! Cugel, you are a man of experience; stand by and exercise your judgment. This, incidentally, is Master Soldinck of the firm Soldinck and Mercantides, Shipping Agents.”

  Cugel stepped forward and Soldinck continued his declaration.

  “With Rincz and Jornulk, I entered your workroom. There, in our presence, you counted out and we packed six hundred and eighty scales into four crates.”

  “Correct. There were four hundred ‘ordinaries’, two hundred ‘specials’ and eighty ‘premium specials’ of unique character.”

  “Just so. Together, and in the presence of Weamish, we packed the crates, sealed them, affixed bands and plaques. I suggest that Weamish be summoned, that he may put his wisdom to the solution of our mystery.”

  “Gark! Gookin! Be so good as to summon Weamish. Still, Master Soldinck, you have not defined the mystery itself!”

  “I will now do so. With yourself, Weamish, Rincz, Jornulk and myself on hand, the scales were encased as always in your workroom. Weamish then, to our supervision, placed the cases upon the wheeled carrier, and we complimented him both for the nicet
y in which he had decorated the carrier and his care to ensure that the cases might not fall to the ground. Then, with Rincz and me in the lead, you and Jornulk behind, Weamish carefully rolled the cases down the corridor, pausing, so I recall, only long enough to adjust his shoe and comment to me upon the unseasonable chill.”

  “Precisely so. Continue.”

  “Weamish rolled the carrier to the wagon and the cases were transferred into the strong-box, which was immediately locked. I wrote a receipt to you, which Rincz and Jornulk countersigned, and on which Weamish placed his mark as witness. Finally I paid over to you your money, and you gave me the receipted invoice.

  “We drove the wagon directly to Saskervoy, where, with all formality, the cases were transferred into a vault, for dispatch to far Almery.”

  “And then?”

  “Today, Mercantides thought to verify the quality of the scales. I opened a case, so carefully certified, to find only lumps of mud and gravel. Thereupon all cases were investigated. Each case contained nothing but worthless soil, and there you have the mystery. We hope that either you or Weamish can help us resolve this shocking affair, or, failing that, refund our money.”

  “The last possibility is out of the question. I can add nothing to your statement. All went as you have described. Weamish may have noticed some peculiar incident, but surely he would have notified me.”

  “Still, his testimony may suggest an area of investigation, if only he would present himself.”

  Gark bounded into the room, eyes bulging in excitement. He called out in a rasping voice: “Weamish is on the roof. He is behaving in an unusual manner!”

  Twango flourished his arms in distress. “Senile, yes, but foolish so soon? He has only just retired!”

  “What?” cried Soldinck. “Weamish retired? A great surprise!”

  “For us all! He settled his accounts to the last terce, then declared his retirement.”

  “Most odd!” said Soldinck. “We must bring Weamish down from the roof, and at once!”

  With Gark bounding ahead, Twango ran out into the garden, with Soldinck, Rincz, Jornulk and Cugel coming after.

  The night was dark, illuminated only by a few sickly constellations. Light from within, striking up through the roof-panes, showed Weamish walking a precarious route along the ridge.