Cugel

by Jack Vance

  “It is one of our options.”

  “But how will Cugel return to the mainland?”

  “No doubt some means will suggest itself.”

  Pulk said: “Lausicaa, after all, is not the worst place in the world. The spraling is excellent.”

  “Ah yes, the spraling!” Soldinck spoke with warmth in his voice. “How does one sample this delicacy?”

  “Nothing could be easier,” said Pulk. “One merely walks along the streets of the female quarter until he sees a sign which meets his fancy. He thereupon reaches out, detaches the sign and carries it into the house.”

  “Does he knock?” Soldinck inquired cautiously.

  “Sometimes. Knocking is considered a mark of gentility.”

  “Another matter. How does one discover the attributes of his hostess before he, let us say, commits himself?”

  “Several tactics exist. The casual visitor, such as yourself, is well-advised to act upon local advice, since once the door opens and the visitor enters the house, he will find it difficult if not impossible to make a graceful exit. If you like, I will ask Fuscule to advise you.”

  “Discreetly, of course. Madame Soldinck would not care to learn of my interest in the local cuisine.”

  “You will find Fuscule accommodating in all respects.”

  “Another matter: Madame Soldinck wants to visit the Paphnissian Baths, of which she has heard many remarkable reports.”

  Pulk made a courteous gesture. “I myself would be happy to escort Madame Soldinck; unfortunately I will be more than busy during the next few days. I suggest that we assign Fuscule to this duty as well.”

  “Madame Soldinck will be happy with this plan. Well, Drofo, shall we hazard another goblet of this phenolic seepage? It is at least not deficient in authority.”

  “Sir, my tastes are austere.”

  “Captain, what of you?”

  Captain Baunt made a negative indication. “I must now return to the ship and discharge Cugel from his post, since this has been your disposition of the case.” He arose to his feet and departed the clubhouse, followed by Drofo.

  Soldinck drank from the pewter goblet and made a wry face. “Conceivably, this brew might be painted upon the ship’s bottom, to discourage the growth of marine pests. Still, we must make do.” He tilted the goblet on high, and set it down with a thud. “Pulk, perhaps now is as good a time as any to taste the local spraling. Is Fuscule at liberty?”

  “He might be resting, or perhaps burnishing his worm, but in any case he will be happy to assist you. Boy! Run to Fuscule’s house and ask him to meet Master Soldinck here at once. Explain that I, Pulk, sent the message and pronounced it urgent. And now, sir —” Pulk rose to his feet “— I will leave you in the care of Fuscule, who will be along shortly.”

  Cugel jumped up from the booth, hastened outdoors and waited in the shadow beside the club-house. Pulk and the serving-boy emerged and went off in different directions. Cugel ran after the boy and called him to a halt. “One moment! Soldinck has altered his plans. Here is a florin for your trouble.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The boy turned back toward the club-house. Cugel once again engaged his attention. “No doubt you are acquainted with the women of Pompodouros?”

  “Only by sight. They will serve me no spraling; in fact they are quite vulgar in their taunts.”

  “A pity! But no doubt your time will come. Tell me, of all the women, which might be considered the most formidable and awesome?”

  The boy reflected. “That is a very hard choice to make. Krislen? Ottleia? Terlulia? In all justice, I must select Terlulia. There is a joke to the effect that when she goes to catch spraling, the sea-birds fly to the other side of the island. She is tall and portly, with red spots on her arms and large teeth. Her manner is commanding and it is said that she insists on a good bargain for her spraling.”

  “And where does this person make her home?”

  The boy pointed. “See yonder the hut with the two windows? That is the place.”

  “And where will I find Fuscule?”

  “Farther along this very avenue, at the worm-pen.”

  “Good. Here is another florin for you. When you return to the club-house, tell Master Soldinck only that Fuscule will be along shortly.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  Cugel proceeded along the road at best speed, and in short order arrived at the house of Fuscule, hard beside a worm-pen built of stones piled out into the sea. At a work-bench, repairing a burnishing tool, stood Fuscule: a tall man, very thin, all elbows, knees and long spare shanks.

  Cugel put on a haughty manner and approached. “You, my good fellow, I assume to be Fuscule?”

  “What of it?” demanded Fuscule in a sour voice, barely looking up from his work. “Who are you?”

  “You may call me Master Soldinck, of the ship Galante. I understand that you consider yourself a worminger of sorts.”

  Fuscule looked briefly up from his work. “Understand as you like.”

  “Come, fellow! Do not take that tone with me! I am a man of importance! I have come to buy your worm if you are willing to sell cheap.”

  Fuscule put down his tools and gave Cugel a stony inspection from under his veil. “Certainly I will sell my worm. No doubt you are in dire need, or you would not come to Lausicaa to buy a worm. My price, under the circumstances and in view of your gracious personality, is five thousand terces. Take it or leave it.”

  Cugel gave a rasping cry of outrage. “Only a villain could make such avaricious demands! I have traveled far across this dying world; never have I encountered such cruel rapacity! Fuscule, you are a larcenous scoundrel, and physically repulsive as well!”

  Fuscule’s stony grin shifted the fabric of his veil. “This sort of abuse will never persuade me to lower my prices.”

  “It is tragic, but I have no choice but to submit,” lamented Cugel. “Fuscule, you drive a hard bargain!”

  Fuscule shrugged. “I am not interested in your opinions. Where is the money? Pay it over, every terce in cold hard coin! Then take the worm and our transaction is complete.”

  “Patience!” said Cugel sternly. “Do you think I carry such sums on my person? I must fetch the money from the ship. Will you wait here?”

  “Be quick! Though in all candour —” Fuscule gave voice to a harsh chuckle “— for five thousand terces I will wait an appreciable time.”

  Cugel picked up one of Fuscule’s tools and carelessly tossed it into the worm-pen. In slack-jawed amazement Fuscule ran to look down after the tool. Stepping forward, Cugel pushed him into the water, then stood watching as Fuscule floundered about the pen. “That is punishment for your insolence,” said Cugel. “Remember, I am Master Soldinck and an important person. I will be back in due course with the money.”

  With long strides Cugel returned to the club-house and went to the booth where Soldinck waited. “I am Fuscule,” said Cugel, disguising his voice. “I understand that you have worked up an appetite for some good spraling.”

  “True!” Soldinck peered up into Cugel’s veil and winked in sly camaraderie. “But we must be discreet! That is of the essence!”

  “Just so! I understand completely!”

  Cugel and Soldinck departed the club-house and stood in the plaza. Soldinck said: “I must admit that I am somewhat fastidious, perhaps to a fault. Pulk has eulogized you as a man of rare discrimination in these matters.”

  Cugel nodded sagely. “It can justly be said that I know my left foot from my right.”

  Soldinck spoke on in a pensive voice. “I like to dine in pleasant surroundings, to which the charm of the hostess makes an important contribution. She should be a person of excellent or even exquisite appearance, neither portly nor emaciated. She should be flat in the belly, round in the haunch and fine in the shank like a swift racing animal. She should be reasonably clean and not smell of fish, and if she had a poetic soul and a romantic disposition, it would not come amiss.”

  “This is a s
elect category,” said Cugel. “It would include Krislen, Ottleia and most certainly Terlulia.”

  “Why waste time, then? You may take me to the hut of Terlulia, but by carriage if you please. I am almost foundered under the cargo of beer I have taken aboard.”

  “It shall be as you say or my name is not Fuscule.” Cugel signaled for a carriage. After assisting Soldinck into the passenger space, Cugel went to confer with the driver. “Do you know the house of Terlulia?”

  The driver looked around in evident curiosity, but the veil concealed his expression. “Certainly, sir.”

  “You may take us to a place nearby.” Cugel climbed to a seat beside Soldinck. The driver kicked down a pedal connected to a lever, which in turn drove a flexible rod smartly against the drogger’s rump. The animal trotted across the plaza, the driver steering by a wheel which, when rotated, pulled at cords connected to the drogger’s long slender ears.

  As they rode, Soldinck spoke of the Galante and affairs of the voyage. “Wormingers are a temperamental lot. This has been made clear to me by Lankwiler who leapt on a worm and rode off to the north, and Cugel, whose conduct is barely less eccentric. Cugel of course will be put ashore here at Pompodouros, and you, so I hope, will assume his duties — especially, my dear fellow, if you will sell me your good worm at a price fair to us both.”

  “No difficulty whatever,” said Cugel. “What price did you have in mind?”

  Under his veil Soldinck frowned thoughtfully. “At Saskervoy such a worm as yours might well sell for as high as seven hundred or even eight hundred terces. Applying the proper discounts, we arrive at a rough but generous sum of six hundred terces.”

  “The figure seems somewhat low,” said Cugel dubiously. “I had hoped for at least a hundred terces more.”

  Soldinck reached into his pouch and counted forth six golden centums. “I fear that this is all I am now able to pay.”

  Cugel accepted the money. “The worm is yours.”

  “That is the way I like to do business,” said Soldinck. “Briskly and with minimal haggling. Fuscule, you are a clever fellow and a hard bargainer! You will go far in this world.”

  “I am happy to hear your good opinion,” said Cugel. “Now see yonder: that is the house of Terlulia. Driver, stop the carriage!”

  The driver, pulling back a long lever, constricted brackets against the legs of the drogger, and so brought the beast to a stand-still.

  Soldinck alighted and considered the structure which Cugel had pointed out. “That is the house of Terlulia?”

  “Exactly so. You will notice her sign.”

  Soldinck dubiously surveyed the placard which Terlulia had affixed to her door. “With the red paint and flashing orange lights, it is hardly demure.”

  “That is the basic nature of camouflage,” said Cugel. “Go to the door, detach the sign and carry it into the hut.”

  Soldinck drew a deep breath. “So be it! Mind you now, not so much as a hint to Madame Soldinck! In fact, now would be an excellent time to show her the Paphnissian Baths if Bunderwal has brought her back to the ship.”

  Cugel bowed politely. “I shall see to it at once. Driver, take me to the ship Galante.”

  The carriage returned toward the harbor. Looking over his shoulder, Cugel saw Soldinck approach Terlulia’s hut. The door opened to his coming; Soldinck seemed to freeze in his tracks and then to sag somewhat on limp legs. By a means invisible to Cugel, he was snatched forward and into the house.

  As the carriage approached the harbor, Cugel spoke to the driver: “Tell me something of the Paphnissian Baths. Do they confer any palpable benefits?”

  “I have heard conflicting reports,” said the driver. “We are told that Paphnis, then Goddess of Beauty and Gynodyne of the Century, paused on the summit of Mount Dein to rest. Nearby she found a spring where she laved her feet, thus charging the water with virtue. Sometime later the Pandalect Cosmei founded a nympharium on the site and built a splendid balneario of green glass and nacre, and so the legends were proliferated.”

  “And now?”

  “The spring flows as before. On certain nights the ghost of Cosmei wanders among the ruins. At other times one may hear the faint sound of singing, no more than a whisper, apparently echoes of songs sung by the nymphs.”

  “If there were indeed efficacy to the waters,” mused Cugel, “one would think that Krislen and Ottleia and even the redoubtable Terlulia would make use of the magic. Why do they not do so?”

  “They claim that they want the men of Pompodouros to love them for their spiritual qualities. It may be sheer obstinacy, or perhaps they have all tested the springs, without effect. It is one of the great female mysteries.”

  “What of the spraling?”

  “Everyone must eat.”

  The carriage entered the plaza and Cugel called the driver to a halt. “Which of these avenues leads up to the Paphnissian Baths?”

  The driver pointed. “Just along there and then five miles up the mountainside.”

  “And what is your fee for the trip?”

  “Ordinarily I charge three terces, but for persons of importance the fee is occasionally somewhat higher.”

  “Well then, Soldinck has required me to escort Madame Soldinck to the Baths and she prefers that we go alone, to minimize her embarrassment. I will therefore hire the use of your carriage for ten terces, plus an additional five terces to buy your beer during my absence. Soldinck will disburse this sum upon his return from the hut of Terlulia.”

  “If he has the strength to lift his hand,” grumbled the driver. “All fees should be paid in advance.”

  “Here is your beer money, at least,” said Cugel. “The rest must be collected from Soldinck.”

  “It is irregular, but I suppose it will do. Observe then. This pedal accelerates the vehicle. This lever brings it to a halt. Turn this wheel to direct the vehicle in the way you wish to go. If the drogger squats to the ground this lever drives a spur into its groin and it will leap forward with renewed vigor.”

  “Clarity itself,” said Cugel. “I will return your carriage to the rank in front of the club-house.”

  Cugel drove the carriage to the wharf and halted beside the Galante. Madame Soldinck and her daughters sat in lounging-chairs on the quarter-deck looking across the plaza and commenting upon the curious sights of the town.

  “Madame Soldinck!” called Cugel. “It is I, Fuscule, who have come to escort you to the Baths of Paphnis. Are you ready? We must make haste, since the day is drawing on!”

  “I am quite ready. Is there room for all of us?”

  “I am afraid not. The beast could not pull us up the mountain. Your daughters must remain behind.”

  Madame Soldinck descended the gangplank and Cugel jumped to the ground. “‘Fuscule’?” mused Madame Soldinck. “I have heard your name but I cannot place you.”

  “I am the nephew of Pulk the worminger. I am selling a worm to Master Soldinck and I hope to become worminger aboard your ship.”

  “I see. Whatever the case, it is kind of you to take me on this excursion. Will I need special bathing clothes?”

  “None are necessary. There is adequate seclusion, and garments diminish the effect of the waters.”

  “Yes, that seems reasonable.”

  Cugel assisted Madame Soldinck into the carriage, then climbed into the driver’s seat. He thrust down the accelerator pedal and the carriage rolled off across the plaza.

  Cugel followed the road up the mountainside. Pompodouros fell below, then disappeared among the stony hills. Thick black sedge to either side gave off a sharp aromatic odor and it became clear to Cugel where the folk of the island derived the raw material for their beer.

  The road at last turned off into a dreary little meadow. Cugel halted the carriage to rest the drogger. Madame Soldinck called out in a reedy voice: “Are we almost to the fountain? Where is the temple which shelters the baths?”

  “There is still some distance to go,” said Cugel.

&nb
sp; “Truly? Fuscule, you should have provided a more comfortable carriage. This vehicle bounces and jounces as if I were riding a board being dragged over the rocks, nor is there protection from the dust.”

  Swinging around in his seat, Cugel spoke severely: “Madame Soldinck, please put aside your complaints, as they grate on the nerves. In fact, there is more to be said, and I will use the even-handed candour of a worminger. For all your estimable qualities, you have been spoiled and pampered by too much luxury, and, of course, over-eating. You are living a decadent dream! In reference to the carriage: enjoy the comfort while it is available to you, since, when the way becomes steep, you will be obliged to walk.”

  Madame Soldinck stared up speechless.

  “Furthermore, this is the place where I customarily collect my fee,” said Cugel. “How much money do you carry on your person?”

  Madame Soldinck at last found her tongue. She spoke icily: “Surely you can wait until we return to Pompodouros. Master Soldinck will deal justly with you at the proper time.”

  “I prefer hard terces now to justice then. Here I can maximize my fee. In Pompodouros I must compromise with Soldinck’s avarice.”

  “That is a callous point of view.”

  “It is the voice of classical logic, as we are taught at wormingers’ school. You may pay over at least forty-five terces.”

  “Absurd! I carry no such sum on my person!”

  “Then you may give me that fine opal you wear at your shoulder.”

  “Never! That is a valuable gem! Here is eighteen terces; it is all I have with me. Now take me at once to the baths and without further insolence.”

  “You are starting out on the wrong foot, Madame Soldinck! I plan to sign upon the Galante as worminger, no matter what the inconvenience to Cugel. He can be marooned here forever, for all I care. In any case you will be seeing much of me, and cordiality will be returned in kind, and you may also introduce me to your toothsome daughters.”

  Again Madame Soldinck found herself at a loss for words. Finally she said: “Take me to the baths.”

  “It is time to proceed,” said Cugel. “I suspect that the drogger, if consulted, would claim already to have expended eighteen terces worth of effort. On Lausicaa we are not grossly overweight like you outlanders.”