Cugel

by Jack Vance

  Lankwiler and Cugel descended to the pens where a dozen worms idled at the surface of the water, or moved slowly to the thrust of their caudal flukes. Some were pink or even scarlet-rose; others were pale ivory or a sour and sulfurous yellow. The head parts were complicated: a short thick proboscis, an optical bump with a single small eye and immediately behind, a pair of knobs on short stalks. These knobs, painted in different colors, denoted ownership, and functioned as directional apparatus.

  “Smartly now, Cugel!” called Lankwiler. “Use all your theorems! Old Drofo likes to see our coat-tails fluttering in the wind! Get into your straddles and mount one of your worms!”

  “In all candour,” said Cugel nervously, “I have forgotten many of my skills.”

  “Little skill is needed,” said Lankwiler. “Watch me! I jump on the beast, I throw the hood over its eye. I seize its knobs and the worm carries me where I wish to go. Watch! You will see!”

  Lankwiler jumped out on one of the worms, ran along its length, jumped to another, and then another and at last straddled a worm with yellow knobs. He threw a hood over its eye and seized the knobs. The worm swung its flukes and carried him out the water-gate, which Drofo had opened, and across the water to the Galante.

  Cugel gingerly sought to achieve the same result, but his worm, when finally he straddled it and grasped its knobs, promptly dived deep. Cugel, in despair, pulled back on the knobs and the worm rushed to the surface, flung itself fifteen feet into the air and sent Cugel flying across the pen.

  Cugel struggled ashore. By the gate stood Drofo, his brooding gaze directed toward Cugel.

  The worms floated as placidly as before. Cugel heaved a deep sigh, once again jumped down upon the worm, and again straddled it. He hooded the eye and with cautious fingers tweaked the blue knobs. The creature paid no heed. Cugel delicately twisted the organ, which startled the worm so that it moved forward. Cugel continued to experiment, and by spasms and jerks the worm approached the end of the pen, where Drofo waited. Through chance, or perversity, the worm swam for the gate; Drofo pulled it ajar, and the worm slid past, with Cugel, head on high, feigning a confident and easy control.

  “Now then!” said Cugel. “To the Galante!”

  The worm, despite Cugel’s wishes, veered toward the open sea. Standing by the gate, Drofo gave a sad nod, as if in verification of some inner conviction. He brought from his waistcoat a silver whistle and blew three shrill tones. The worm swung in a circle and drove up beside the water-gate. Drofo jumped down upon the ridged pink back, and kicked negligently at the knobs. “Observe! The knobs are played thus and so. Right, left. Shallow, deep. Halt, start. Is this clear?”

  “Once more, if you will,” said Cugel. “I am anxious to learn your technique.”

  Drofo repeated the procedure, then, urging the worm toward the Galante, stood in melancholy reflection while the worm drove through the water and ranged itself beside the ship, and at last Cugel apprehended the purpose of the walkways which had so perplexed him: they allowed swift and ready access to the worms.

  “Observe,” said Drofo. “I will demonstrate how the beast is clamped. So, and so, and so. Unction is applied here and here, to prevent the formation of galls. Are you clear on this?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Then bring the second worm.”

  Profiting by the instruction, Cugel guided the second worm to its place and clamped it properly. Then, as Drofo had instructed, Cugel applied unction. A few minutes later, to his gratification, he heard Drofo chiding Lankwiler for neglecting the unction. Lankwiler’s explanation, that he disliked the odor of the substance, found no favor with Drofo.

  A few minutes later, Drofo stood both Lankwiler and Cugel at attention while he again made the two under-wormingers aware of his expectations.

  “On the last voyage Wagmund and Lankwiler were the wormingers. I was not aboard; Gieselman was Chief Worminger. I see that he was far too slack. While Wagmund dealt most professionally with his worms, Lankwiler, through ignorance and sloth, allowed his worms to deteriorate. Examine these beasts. They are yellow as quince. Their gills are black with gangue. You may be sure that in the future Lankwiler will deal more faithfully with his worms. As for Cugel, his training has definitely been sub-standard. Aboard the Galante his deficiency will almost magically be corrected, as will Lankwiler’s turpitude.

  “Now heed! We depart Saskervoy for the wide sea in two hours time. You will now feed your beasts a half-measure of victual, and make ready your baits. Cugel, you will then groom your beasts and inspect for timp. Lankwiler, you will immediately begin to chip gangue. You will also inspect for timp, pust and fluke-mites. Your off-beast shows signs of impaction; you must give it a drench.

  “Wormingers, to your beasts!”

  With brush, scraper, gouge and reamer, with pots of salve, toner and unction, Cugel groomed his worms to Drofo’s instruction. From time to time a wave washed over the worms, and across the walkway. Drofo, leaning over the rail, advised Cugel from above: “Ignore the wet! It is an artificial and factitious sensation. You are constantly wet on the inside of your skin from all manner of fluids, many of a vulgar nature; why shrink from good salt brine on the outside? Ignore wetness of all sorts; it is a worminger’s natural state.”

  Halfway into the afternoon Master Soldinck and his party arrived at the dock. Captain Baunt mustered all hands on the midship deck to welcome the group aboard ship.

  First to step from the gangplank was Soldinck, with Madame Soldinck on his arm, followed by Soldinck’s daughters Meadhre, Salasser and Tabazinth.

  Captain Baunt, taut and immaculate in his dress uniform, delivered a short speech. “Soldinck, we of the Galante welcome you and your admirable family aboard! Since we will live in proximity for several weeks, or even months, allow me to perform introductions.

  “I am Captain Baunt; this is our supercargo, Bunderwal. Beside him stands Sparvin, our redoubtable boatswain, who commands Tillitz — see him yonder with the blond beard — and Parmele. Our cook is Angshott and the carpenter is Kinnolde.

  “Here stand the stewards. They are trusty Bork, who is learned in the identification of sea-birds and water-moths. He is assisted by Claudio and Vilip, and occasionally, when he can be found, and when the mood is on him, by Codnicks the deck-boy.

  “By the rail, aloof from the society of ordinary mortals, we find our wormingers! Conspicuous in any company is Chief Worminger Drofo, who deals with the profundities of nature as casually as Angshott the cook juggles his broad-beans and garlic. At his back, fierce and ready, stand Lankwiler and Cugel. Agreed, they seem sodden and dispirited, and smell somewhat of worm, but this is as it should be. To quote Drofo’s favorite dictum: ‘A dry sweet-smelling worminger is a lazy worminger’. So never be deceived; these are hardy men of the sea, and ready for anything!

  “And there you have it: a fine ship, a strong crew and now, by some miracle, a bevy of beautiful girls to enhance the seascape! The presages are good, though our voyage is long! Our course is south by east across the Ocean of Sighs. In due course we will raise the estuary of the Great Chaing River which opens into the Land of the Falling Wall, and there, at Port Perdusz, we will make our arrival. So now: the moment of departure is at hand! Master Soldinck, what is your word?”

  “I find all in order. Give the command at discretion.”

  “Very good, sir. Tillitz, Parmele! Cast off the lines, fore and aft! Drofo, ready with your worms! Sparvin, steer slantwise past the old sun’s azimuth, until we clear Bracknock Shoal! The sea is calm, the wind is slack. Tonight we shall dine by lantern-light on the quarter-deck, while our great worms, tended by Cugel and Lankwiler, drive us through the dark!”

  Three days passed, during which Cugel acquired a sound foundation in the worminger’s trade.

  Drofo, in his commentaries, provided a number of valuable theoretical insights. “For the worminger,” said Drofo, “day and night, water, air and foam are but slightly different aspects of a larger environment, whose param
eters are defined by the grandeur of the sea and the tempo of the worm.”

  “Allow me this question,” said Cugel. “When do I sleep?”

  “‘Sleep’? When you are dead, then you shall sleep long and sound. Until that mournful event, guard each iota of awareness; it is the only treasure worthy of the name. Who knows when fire will leave the sun? Even the worms, which are ordinarily fatalistic and inscrutable, give uneasy signs. This very morning at dawn I saw the sun falter at the horizon and sag backward as if in debility. Only after a great sick pulse could it swing itself into the sky. One morning we will look to the east and wait, but the sun will fail to appear. Then you may sleep.”

  Cugel learned the use of sixteen implements and discovered much in regard to the worms’ physiology. Timp, fluke-mites, gangue and pust became his hated enemies; impactions of the clote were a major annoyance, requiring the sub-surface use of reamer, drench-bar and hose, in a position which, when the impaction was eased, became subject to the full force of the effluxion.

  Drofo spent much of his time at the bow, brooding over the sea. Occasionally Soldinck, or Madame Soldinck, strolled forward to speak with him; at other times Meadhre, Salasser and Tabazinth, alone or in concert, joined Drofo at the bow and listened respectfully to his opinions. At Captain Baunt’s sly suggestion, they prevailed upon Drofo to play the flute. “False modesty is not befitting to a worminger,” said Drofo. He played and simultaneously danced three hornpipes and a saltarello.

  Drofo seemed inattentive to either worms or wormingers, but this negligence was illusory. One afternoon Lankwiler neglected fully to bait the baskets which hung eight inches in front of his worms; as a result they slackened their effort, while Cugel’s worms, properly baited, swam with zeal, so that the Galante began to swing westward in a great slow curve, despite the helmsman’s correction.

  Drofo, summoned from the bow, instantly diagnosed the difficulty and, further, discovered Lankwiler asleep in a warm nook beside the galley.

  Drofo nudged Lankwiler with his toe. “Be good enough to arouse yourself. You have not baited your worms; as a result the ship is off course.”

  Lankwiler stared up in confusion, his black curls matted and his eyes looking in different directions. “Ah yes,” mumbled Lankwiler. “The bait! It slipped my mind and I fear that I dozed off.”

  “I am surprised that you could sleep so soundly while your worms went slack!” said Drofo. “A skilled worminger is constantly keen. He learns to sense the least irregularity, and instantly divines its source.”

  “Yes, yes,” muttered Lankwiler. “I now understand my mistake. ‘Sense irregularity’, ‘divine source’. I will make a memorandum.”

  “Furthermore,” said Drofo, “I notice a virulent case of timp on your off-worm, which you must take pains to abate.”

  “Absolutely, sir! At once, if not sooner!” Lankwiler struggled to his feet, hid a cavernous yawn behind his hand while Drofo watched impassively, then lurched off to his worms.

  Later in the day Cugel chanced to overhear a conversation between Drofo and Captain Baunt. “Tomorrow afternoon,” said Drofo, “we shall have a taste of wind. It will be good for the worms. They are not yet at full vigor, and I see no reason to push them.”

  “True, true,” said the captain. “How do you fancy your wormingers?”

  “At this time neither enjoys a rating of ‘excellent’,” said Drofo. “Lankwiler is obtuse and somewhat sluggish. Cugel lacks experience and wastes energy preening in front of the girls. He works to an absolute minimum, and detests water with the fervor of a hydrophobic cat.”

  “His worms appear sound.”

  Drofo gave his head a disparaging shake. “Cugel does the right things for the wrong reasons. Through sloth he neither overfeeds nor overbaits; his worms suffer little bloat. He despises the work of dealing with timp and gangue so fiercely that he obliterates its first appearance.”

  “In that case, his work would seem satisfactory.”

  “Only to a layman! For a worminger, style and harmony of purpose are everything!”

  “You have your problems; I have mine.”

  “How so? I thought that all went smoothly.”

  “To a certain extent. As you may be aware, Madame Soldinck is a woman of strong and immutable purposes.”

  “I divined something along those lines.”

  “At lunch today I mentioned that our position was two or three days sail north-east of Lausicaa.”

  “That would be my own reckoning, by the lay of the sea,” said Drofo. “It is an interesting island. Pulk the worminger lives at Pompodouros.”

  “Are you acquainted with the Paphnissian Baths?”

  “Not of my own experience. I believe that women bathe in these springs hoping to regain youth and beauty.”

  “Just so. Madame Soldinck, we will agree, is an estimable woman.”

  “In every respect. She is stern in her principles, unyielding in her rectitude, and she will not submit to injustice.”

  “Yes. Bork calls her opinionated, obstinate and cantankerous, but this is not quite the same thing.”

  “Bork’s language at least has the merit of economy,” said Drofo.

  “In any event, Madame Soldinck is neither young nor beautiful. Indeed, she is plump and squat. Her face is prognathous and she wears a faint black mustache. She is definitely genteel and her character is strong, so that Soldinck is guided by her suggestions. So now, since Madame Soldinck wishes to bathe in the Paphnissian Springs, we must perforce put in to Lausicaa.”

  “The event will serve my own interests very well,” said Drofo. “At Pompodouros I will hire the worminger Pulk and discharge either Cugel or Lankwiler, who can then find his own way back to the mainland.”

  “Not a bad idea, if Pulk still resides at Pompodouros.”

  “He does indeed and will gladly return to the sea.”

  “In that case, half your problems are solved. Which will you put ashore: Cugel or Lankwiler?”

  “I have not yet decided. It will depend on the worms.”

  The two men moved away and Cugel was left to ponder the conversation. It seemed that, at least until the Galante departed Lausicaa, he must work with vigor, and diminish his attentions to Soldinck’s daughters.

  Cugel at once found his scrapers and removed all traces of gangue from his worms, then combed gills till they shone silver-pink.

  Lankwiler meanwhile had inspected the advanced infestation of timp on his off-worm. During the night he painted the knobs of this worm blue and then, while Cugel drowsed, he drove his off-worm around the vessel and exchanged it for Cugel’s excellent off-worm, which he clamped into place on his own side. He painted the knobs yellow and congratulated himself that he had avoided a tedious task.

  In the morning Cugel was startled to discover the deterioration of his off-worm.

  Drofo came past and called down to Cugel: “That infestation of timp is an abomination. Also, unless I am much mistaken, that swelling indicates a severe impaction which must be relieved at once.”

  Cugel, recalling the overheard conversation, went to work with a will. While towed underwater he plied reamer, drench-hoses and gant-hook, and after three hours exertion, dislodged the impaction. At once the worm lost something of its bilious color and strained for its bait with renewed zest.

  When Cugel finally returned to the deck he heard Drofo call down to Lankwiler: “Your off-worm has improved noticeably! Keep up the good work!”

  Cugel went to look down at Lankwiler’s off-worm … Strange that overnight Lankwiler’s impacted yellow beast with its crawling infestation of timp should become so notably sound, while, during the same interval, Cugel’s healthy pink worm had suffered so profound a disaster!

  Cugel pondered the circumstances with care. He climbed down on the sponson and scraped at the off-worm’s knobs, to discover under the blue paint, the gleam of yellow.

  Cugel ruminated further, then transferred his worms, placing the healthy worm in the ‘off’ positi
on.

  While Cugel and Lankwiler took their evening meal, Cugel spoke of his trials. “Amazing how quickly they take up a case of timp, or an impaction! All day I worked on the beast, and tonight I moved it inboard where I can tend it more conveniently.”

  “A sound idea,” said Lankwiler. “At last I have cured one of my beasts, and the other shows signs of improvement. Have you heard? We are putting into Lausicaa, so that Madame Soldinck can dive into the Paphnissian waters and emerge a virgin.”

  “I will tell you something in absolute confidence,” said Cugel. “The deck boy tells me that Drofo plans to hire a veteran worminger by the name of Pulk at Pompodouros.”

  Lankwiler chewed his lips. “Why should he do that? He already has two expert wormingers.”

  “I can hardly believe that he plans to discharge you or yet me,” said Cugel. “Still, that would seem the only possibility.”

  Lankwiler frowned and finished his meal in silence.

  Cugel waited until Lankwiler went off for his evening nap, then stole down to the starboard sponson and cut deeply into the knobs of Lankwiler’s sick beast; then, returning to his own sponson, he made a great show of attacking the timp.

  From the corner of his eye he saw Drofo come to the rail, pause a moment, then continue on his way.

  At midnight the baits were removed so that the worms might rest. The Galante floated quietly on the calm sea. The helmsman lashed the wheel; the deck boy drowsed under the great forward lantern where he was supposed to keep sharp lookout. Overhead glimmered those stars yet surviving including Achernar, Algol, Canopus and Cansaspara.

  From his cranny crept Lankwiler. He slipped across the deck like a great black rat, and swung down to the starboard sponson. He unclamped the sick worm and urged it from its traces.

  The worm floated free. Lankwiler sat in the straddles and pulled at the knobs but the nerves had been severed and the signal caused only pain. The worm beat its flukes and surged away to the northwest, with Lankwiler sitting a-straddle and frantically tugging at the knobs.