by Jack Vance
Soldinck pointed toward Gark and Gookin. “Not while those two subhuman imps stand by! I believe that in some way they cast a spell to befuddle not only poor Weamish but all the rest of us. Then they made free with the scales.”
Cugel stated: “Soldinck’s point seems valid. Gark, Gookin: begone! Go out and chase frogs from the garden!”
Twango protested: “That is foolishly and unnecessarily harsh! Still, if you must have it so, Gark and Gookin will oblige us by departing.”
With red-eyed glares toward Cugel, Gark and Gookin darted from the room.
Twango now counted out the ‘special’ scales, while Soldinck checked them against an invoice and Cugel packed them one by one into the case under the vigilant scrutiny of Rincz and Jornulk. Then, in the same manner, the ‘ordinaries’ were packed. Cugel, watched closely by all, fitted covers to the cases, secured them well, and placed them on the carrier.
“Now,” said Cugel, “since from this point to the wagon I will be prime custodian of the scales, I must insist that, while all witness, I seal the cases with wax, into which I inscribe my special mark. By this means I and every one else must be assured that the cases we pack and load here arrive securely at the wagon.”
“A wise precaution,” said Twango. “We will all witness the process.”
Cugel sealed the boxes, made his mark into the hardening wax, then strapped the cases to the carrier. He explained: “We must take care lest a vibration or an unforeseen jar dislodge one of the cases, to the possible damage of the contents.”
“Right, Cugel! Are we now prepared?”
“Quite so. Rincz and Jornulk, you will go first, taking care that the way is without hindrance. Soldinck, you will precede the carrier by five paces. I will push the carrier and Twango will follow five paces to the rear. In absolute security we shall thereby bring the scales to the wagon.”
“Very good,” said Soldinck. “So it shall be. Rincz, Jornulk! You will go first, using all alertness!”
The procession departed the work-room and passed through a dark corridor fifteen yards long, pausing only long enough for Cugel to call ahead to Soldinck: “Is all clear?”
“All is clear,” came back Soldinck’s reassurance. “You may come forward!”
Without further delay Cugel rolled the carrier out to the wagon. “Notice all! The cases are delivered to the wagon in the number of four, each sealed with my seal. Soldinck, I hereby transfer custody of these valuables to you. I will now apply more wax, upon which you will stamp your own mark … Very good; my part of the business is done.”
Twango congratulated Cugel. “And done well, Cugel! All was proper and efficient. The carrier looked neat and orderly with its fine coat of varnish and the neat apron installed by Weamish. Now then, Soldinck, if you will render me the receipt and my payment in full, the transaction will be complete.”
Soldinck, still in a somewhat surly mood, gave over the receipt and counted out terces to the stipulated amount; then, with Rincz and Jornulk, he drove his wagon back to Saskervoy.
Cugel meanwhile wheeled the carrier to the shop. He inverted the top surface on its secret pivot, to bring the four cases into view. He removed the lids, lifted out the packets, put the broken cases into the fire, and poured the scales into a sack.
A flicker of motion caught his attention. Cugel peered sideways and glimpsed a smart red cap disappearing from view at the window.
Cugel stood motionless for ten seconds, then he moved with haste. He ran outside, but saw neither Gark nor Gookin, nor yet Yelleg nor Malser who presumably were diving in the pond.
Returning into the shop, Cugel took the sack of scales and ran fleet-footed to that hovel inhabited by Bilberd the half-witted gardener. Under a pile of rubbish in the corner of the room he hid the sack, then ran back to the shop. Into another sack he poured an assortment of nails, studs, nuts, bolts and assorted trifles of hardware, and replaced this sack on the shelf. Then, after stirring the fire around the burning cases, he busied himself varnishing the upper surface of the carrier.
Three minutes later Twango arrived with Gark and Gookin at his heels, the latter carrying long-handled man-hooks.
Cugel held up his hand. “Careful, Twango! The varnish is wet!”
Twango called out in a nasal voice: “Cugel, let us have no evasion! Where are the scales?”
“‘Scales’? Why do you want them now?”
“Cugel, the scales, if you please!”
Cugel shrugged. “As you like.” He brought down a tray. “I have had quite a decent morning. Six ‘ordinaries’ and a fine ‘special’! Notice this extraordinary specimen, if you will!”
“Yes, that is a ‘Malar Astrangal’, which fits over the elbow part of the third arm. It is an exceedingly fine specimen. Where are the others, which, so I understand, are numbered in the hundreds?”
Cugel looked at him in amazement. “Where have you heard such an extraordinary fantasy?”
“That is a matter of no consequence! Show me the scales or I must ask Gark and Gookin to find them!”
“Do so, by all means,” said Cugel with dignity. “But first let me protect my property.” He placed the six ‘ordinaries’ and the ‘Malar Astrangal’ in his pouch. At this moment, Gark, hopping up on the bench, gave a rasping croak of triumph and pulled down the sack Cugel had so recently placed there. “This is the sack! It is heavy with scales!”
Twango poured out the contents of the sack. “A few minutes ago,” said Cugel, “I looked through this sack for a clevis to fit upon the carrier. Gark perhaps mistook these objects for scales.” Cugel went to the door. “I will leave you to your search.”
The time was now approaching the hour when Yelleg and Malser ordinarily took their tea. Cugel looked into the shed, but the fire was dead and the divers were nowhere to be seen.
Good enough, thought Cugel. Now was the time to remove from his grave those scales originally filched by Weamish.
He went to the back of the garden, where, in the shade of the myrhadion tree he had buried Weamish and dug his own grave.
No unwelcome observers were in evidence. Cugel started to jump down into his grave, but stopped short, deterred by the sight of four broken and empty cases at the bottom of the hole.
Cugel returned to the manse and went to the refectory where he found Bilberd the gardener.
“I am looking for Yelleg and Malser,” said Cugel. “Have you seen them recently?”
Bilberd simpered and blinked. “Indeed I have, about two hours ago, when they departed for Saskervoy. They said that they were done diving for scales.”
“That is a surprise,” said Cugel through a constricted throat.
“True,” said Bilberd. “Still, one must make an occasional change, otherwise he risks stagnation. I have gardened at Flutic for twenty-three years and I am starting to lose interest in the job. It is time that I myself considered a new career, perhaps in fashion design, despite the financial risks.”
“An excellent idea!” said Cugel. “Were I a wealthy man, I would instantly advance to you the necessary capital!”
“I appreciate the offer!” said Bilberd warmly. “You are a generous man, Cugel!”
The gong sounded, signaling visitors. Cugel started to respond, then settled once more into his seat: let Gark or Gookin or Twango himself answer the door.
The gong sounded, again and again, and finally Cugel, from sheer vexation, went to answer the summons.
At the door stood Soldinck, with Rincz and Jornulk. Soldinck’s face was grim. “Where is Twango? I wish to see him at once.”
“It might be better if you returned tomorrow,” said Cugel. “Twango is taking his afternoon rest.”
“No matter! Rouse him out, in double-quick time! The matter is urgent!”
“I doubt if he will wish to see you today. He tells me that his fatigue is extreme.”
“What?” roared Soldinck. “He should be dancing for joy! After all, he took my good terces and gave me cases of dried mud in exchange!�
�
“Impossible,” said Cugel. “The precautions were exact.”
“Your theories are of no interest to me,” declared Soldinck. “Take me to Twango at once!”
“He is unavailable for any but important matters. I wish you a cordial good-day.” Cugel started to close the door, but Soldinck set up an outcry, and now Twango himself appeared on the scene. He asked: “What is the reason for this savage uproar? Cugel, you know how sensitive I am to noise!”
“Just so,” said Cugel, “but Master Soldinck seems intent upon a demonstration.”
Twango turned to Soldinck. “What is the difficulty? We have finished our business for the day.”
Cugel did not await Soldinck’s reply. As Bilberd had remarked, the time had come for a change. He had lost a goodly number of scales to the dishonesty of Yelleg and Malser, but as many more awaited him in Bilberd’s hut, with which he must be content.
Cugel hastened through the manse. He looked into the refectory, where Gark and Gookin worked at the preparation of the evening meal.
Very good, thought Cugel, in fact, excellent! Now he need only avoid Bilberd, take the sack of scales and be away … He went out into the garden, but Bilberd was not at his work.
Cugel went to Bilberd’s hut and put his head through the door. “Bilberd?”
There was no response. A shaft of red light slanting through the door illuminated Bilberd’s pallet in full detail. By the diffused light, Cugel saw that the hut was empty.
Cugel glanced over his shoulder, entered the hut and went to the corner where he had hidden the sack.
The rubbish had been disarranged. The sack was gone.
From the manse came the sound of voices. Twango called: “Cugel! Where are you? Come at once!”
Quick and silent as a wraith, Cugel slipped from Bilberd’s hut and took cover in a nearby juniper copse. Sidling from shadow to shadow, he circled the manse and came out upon the road. He looked right and left, then, discovering no threat, set off on long loping strides to the west. Through the forest and over the hill marched Cugel, and presently arrived at Saskervoy.
Some days later, while strolling the esplanade, Cugel chanced to approach that ancient tavern known as ‘The Iron Cockatrice’. As he drew near, the door opened and two men lurched into the street: one massive, with yellow curls and a heavy jaw; the other lean, with gaunt cheeks, black hair and a hooked nose. Both wore costly garments, with double-tiered hats, red satin sashes and boots of fine leather.
Cugel, looking once, then a second time, recognized Yelleg and Malser. Each had enjoyed at least a bottle of wine and possibly two. Yelleg sang a ballad of the sea and Malser sang “Tirra la lirra, we are off to the land where the daisies grow!” in refrain. Preoccupied with the exact rhythm of their music, they brushed past Cugel, looking neither right nor left, and went off along the esplanade toward another tavern, ‘The Star of the North’.
Cugel started to follow, then jumped back at the rumble of approaching wheels. A fine carriage, drawn by a pair of high-stepping perchers, swerved in front of him and rolled off along the esplanade. The driver wore a black velvet suit with silver epaulettes, and a large hat with a curling black plume; beside him sat a buxom lady in an orange gown. Only with difficulty could Cugel identify the driver as Bilberd, former gardener at Flutic. Cugel muttered sourly under his breath: “Bilberd’s new career, which I generously offered to finance, has cost me rather more than I expected.”
Early the next morning Cugel left Saskervoy by the east road. He crossed over the hills and came down upon Shanglestone Strand.
Nearby, the eccentric towers of Flutic rose into the morning sunlight, sharp against the northern murk.
Cugel approached the manse by a devious route, keeping to the cover of shrubs and hedges, pausing often to listen. He heard nothing; a desolate mood hung in the air.
Cautiously Cugel circled the manse. The pond came into view. Out in the middle Twango sat in the iron scow, shoulders hunched and neck pulled down. As Cugel watched, Twango hauled in a rope; up from the depths came Gark with a small bucket of slime, which Twango emptied into the tub.
Twango returned the bucket to Gark who made a chattering sound and dived again into the depths. Twango pulled on a second rope to bring up Gookin with another bucket.
Cugel retreated to the dark blue mitre-bush. He dug down and, using a folded cloth to protect his hand, retrieved the ‘Pectoral Skybreak Spatterlight’.
Cugel went to take a final survey of the pond. The tub was full. Gark and Gookin, two small figures caked with slime, sat at either end of the scow, while Twango heaved at the overhead rope. Cugel watched a moment, then turned and went his way back to Saskervoy.
2
The Inn of Blue Lamps
When Master Soldinck returned to Flutic in search of his missing scales, Cugel decided not to take part in the inquiry. He immediately departed Flutic by an obscure route and set off to the west toward the town Saskervoy.
After a period Cugel paused to catch his breath. His mood was bitter. Through the duplicity of underlings he carried, not a valuable parcel of scales, but only a handful of ‘ordinaries’ and a single ‘special’ of distinction: the ‘Malar Astrangal’. The most precious scale of all, the ‘Pectoral Skybreak Spatterlight’, remained hidden in the back garden at Flutic, but Cugel hoped to retain this scale, if only because it was coveted by Iucounu the Laughing Magician.
Cugel again set off along the road: through a dank forest of thamber oak, yew, mernache and goblin-tree. Wan red sunlight sifted through the foliage; shadows, by some trick of perception, seemed to be stained dark blue.
Cugel maintained an uneasy watch to either side, as was only prudent during these latter times. He saw much that was strange and sometimes beautiful: white blossoms held high on tall tendrils above spangles of low flat leaves; fairy castles of fungus growing in shelves, terraces and turrets over rotting stumps; patterns of black and orange bracken. Once, indistinct at a distance of a hundred yards, Cugel thought to see a tall man-like shape in a lavender jerkin. Cugel carried no weapon, and he breathed easier when the road, mounting a hillside, broke out into the afternoon daylight.
At this moment Cugel heard the sound of Soldinck’s wagon returning from Flutic. He stepped off the road and waited in the shadow of a rock. The wagon passed by, and Soldinck’s grim expression was a convincing sign that his talks with Twango had not gone well.
The sound of the wagon receded and Cugel resumed his journey. The road crossed over a windy ridge, descended the slope by a series of traverses, then, rounding a bluff, allowed Cugel a view over Saskervoy.
Cugel had thought to find little more than a village. Saskervoy exceeded his expectations, both in size and in its air of ancient respectability. Tall narrow houses stood side by side along the streets, the stone of their structure weathered by ages of lichen, smoke and sea-fog. Windows glistened and brass-work twinkled in the red sunlight; such was the way at Saskervoy.
Cugel followed the road down into the town and proceeded toward the harbor. Strangers were evidently a novelty for the folk of Saskervoy. At Cugel’s approach, all stopped to stare, and not a few hurriedly crossed the street. They seemed, thought Cugel, a people of old-fashioned habit, and perhaps conservative in their views. The men wore black swallow-tail coats with voluminous trousers and black buckled shoes, while the women, in their shapeless gowns and round, punch-bowl hats pulled low, were like dumplings.
Cugel arrived at a plaza beside the harbor. Several ships of good proportion lay alongside the dock, any one of which might be sailing south, perhaps as far as Almery.
Cugel went to sit on a bench. He examined the contents of his pouch, discovering sixteen ‘ordinaries’, two ‘specials’ of minor value and the ‘Malar Astrangal’. Depending upon Soldinck’s standards of payment, the scales might or might not cover the costs of a sea voyage.
Almost directly across the plaza, Cugel noticed a sign affixed to the front of an imposing stone building:
—
SOLDINCK AND MERCANTIDES
Exporters and Importers of Quality Products
SHIPPING AGENTS
—
Cugel considered a range of strategies, each more subtle than the next. All grounded against a crude and basic reality: in order to take lodging at an inn, he must sell scales to pay his account.
Afternoon was waning. Cugel rose to his feet. He crossed the plaza and entered the offices of Soldinck and Mercantides.
The premises were heavy with dignity and tradition; along with the odors of varnish and old wood, the sweet-sour scent of decorum hung in the air. Crossing the hush of a high-ceilinged chamber, Cugel approached a polished brown marble counter. On the other side an old clerk sat frowning into a ledger, and failed to acknowledge Cugel’s presence.
Cugel gave a peremptory rap on the counter.
“One moment! Patience, if you please!” said the clerk, and went on with his work, despite Cugel’s second irritated rap.
Finally, making the best of circumstances, Cugel set himself to wait upon the clerk’s convenience.
The outer door opened; into the chamber came a man of Cugel’s own age, wearing a tall-crowned hat of brown felt and a rumpled suit of blue velvet. His face was round and placid; tufts of pale hair like wisps of hay protruded from under his hat. His belly pressed forward the front of his coat, and a pair of broad buttocks rode upon two long spindle-shanked legs.
The newcomer advanced to the counter; the clerk jumped to his feet with alacrity. “Sir, how may I be of assistance?”
Cugel stepped forward in annoyance and raised his finger. “One moment! My business remains to be dealt with!”
The others paid him no heed. The newcomer said: “My name is Bunderwal, and I wish to see Soldinck.”
“This way, sir! I am happy to say that Soldinck is at liberty.”
The two departed the room, while Cugel fumed with impatience.