Orbit 12 - [Anthology]

by Edited by Damon Knight

  Going down at leisure, I bought a pasty at the bakers shop, still hot from the oven, and munched it as I went along. I would be in time for Mass, for once . . . Resurget igitur caro . . . But before getting to the cathedral, I could not resist turning off, as customary, to walk under the ruined arcade and see the Night Guard dismiss in the square.

  I stood munching at one end of the arcade, sunning myself and watching the bright uniforms and smart movements of the Guard. Nearby, in ferny shade, two magicians crouched in an alcove, muttering over a great bronze globe. Their two corrupt boys played barefoot by them with caduceus and other implements. In the shadows behind, among their tarpaulins, a sacrificial goat stared fixedly up at a rent in the masonry, through which a tattered and blasted pine grew. One of the magicians had a malign and stupid face, which stretched sideways like a toads in a smile as he turned and beckoned to me.

  As I moved away, I was aware of someone following. I stepped back behind a crumbling column. Past hurried the very same young soldier I had seen from my window walking in the street below!

  So military were my thoughts that, on impulse, I drew my sword and confronted him.

  “Spare me!” he cried, throwing out his arms. “I intend you no harm. It was your acquaintance I wanted, not your life, by any means.”

  He was a handsome little figure, if a trifle gaunt, and no more than a couple of years my senior. I envied him his curly brown moustache, although there was something none too trustworthy in his look. Liking the situation and his anguish, which I noted for future rendering, I kept my sword point at his throat. This tableau was broken by one of the magicians. Under his black enveloping gown, he must have been a cripple, for he crawled across the paving stones, thrusting out one gnarled brown hand and saying to us, with a display of yellow fangs, Take heed, young masters, for you two are unknowingly involved in one bed, and trouble is about to befall one or other of you!”

  I put up my sword and ran, and the soldier ran too.

  “That wizard lies!” cried the soldier. “I have less than no inclination to climb into your bed!”

  “Nor I into yours! Sooner into a river bed!”

  We halted and glared at each other. Then he reluctantly smiled and held out his hand. “I never take the word of whores or soothsayers. I am Captain Pellegrino de Lasinio, black sheep of the Lasinio family of Dakka, and I admit I was following you.”

  “And I am the actor Prian, appearing on the boards as Bryan de Chirolo, star of the merchants’ company. Unlike you, I am a soldier only in dress.”

  “As a professional soldier can observe . . . But of course the deception would take anyone else.”

  “By the same token, I observe you are the black sheep of your family. Tell me why you follow me. I covet your hat—what of mine do you covet?”

  His manner became downcast, he stared gloomily down at his boots. “Your peace of mind I mainly covet. In what a carefree manner did you stroll along, eating your cake! As for me—well, I am desperately in love!”

  I burst out laughing. “Come, Lasinio! Did my manner so easily deceive you? Every day I am in love anew. Every hour some fresh beauty takes my heart by storm. Why, only last afternoon —no, only my ability as an actor conceals the perfect turmoil in which I live!”

  “My turmoil is very far from perfect. You see, the love of my life is already married—and to such a mean and lecherous old curmudgeon that her every hour is a misery. Come, let’s walk—it will help me conceal my agitation! Yes, she breaks her heart for my sake but dare not leave this antique satyr of hers.”

  “It’s a sad tale, my friend, but your course is clear—you must either love elsewhere or winkle her away from the antique satyr.”

  We had begun to walk in the general direction of Lemperer’s, but almost at once Lasinio stopped again and grasped me by the arm.

  “This is desperate, for tomorrow I must leave Malacia and go with my regiment to fight against the forces of Suliman the Magnificent, which even now besiege the gates of Tuscady. So by tonight I must have definite pledges from my love, and bear her hence. You can help—you must help!”

  “You need a wily attorney!”

  “I need you, Bryan de Chirolo, for you know the lady of my affections. She visited your apartments last afternoon; I followed her. She is the beautiful, the divine, the ever-adorable La Singla!”

  The hussy! A captain of mercenaries! It was now my turn to start walking. My present companion was the rogue Lemperer was making all the fuss about; he had delivered himself into my hands, just as had La Singla! What a sheepish black sheep! As I wondered how the situation could be turned to my advantage, the fellow began to resolve that question too.

  “I know that her senile old goat of a husband trusts you, Bryan. You will soon be again in her presence. Take her a message from me. You see, I fear him, in case he sets his followers on me. I’ll stay here. You go to her, tell her how desperate in love of her I am—will you do this!”

  “Say on.”

  “Tell her I have my pistol primed and stand with its muzzle ever and anon at my temple, so acute are my fits of despair. Will you do this?”

  “Say on.”

  “Tell her—out of the venerable old twit’s hearing, naturally— that I will have a Paris waiting at the Stary Most at midnight tonight, that I shall be in it, waiting to bear her away—”

  “To Tuscady?”

  “To Tuscady, for there goes our regiment.”

  “Am I to inform this divine, this adorable, this ever-lovely creature that her tryst is with you or with Suliman the Magnificent?”

  An unsoldierly pout, which the moustache was totally unable to conceal, stole over his features.

  “What I need is help, not mockery! Suppose you were to give your life in a foreign field on the morrow? Would you feel so jovial as now you do?”

  We had paused again, the better to maul each other conversationally, and I saw, glancing over my shoulder, that we were being watched from behind an ancient obelisk bearing only the letters S.E.X.T.U.S. Why should the lame magician follow us? I felt uneasy and knew it was time to make a deal with my soldier friend.

  “I sorrow for you, Captain Lasinio—though I trust that if you sincerely believed you were to fall under a swinging scimitar tomorrow, you would be on your knees in San Marco’s now, rather than ordering indiscreet Parises.”

  “Just recall that you are playing the soldier now, not the priest! Will you take my message persuasively to the irresistible possessor of my heart?”

  “I will, truthfully and exactly, omitting no detail of your masterly plan—on one condition. You must lend me your hat—no, I know you can hardly fight and bleed without it, but she shall return it to you at midnight tonight. By then, it should have worked my purpose with Lemperer or not, as the case may be. Lend it to me today!”

  “If your purpose distracts him from his darling wife, then yes, a thousand times.”

  “Once suffices, if it carries your tricorne with it!”

  So I put his hat upon my head, where it fitted well and certainly felt as nobly as on his. We shook hands and parted, and he stepped away immediately into the deep shadow of a side lane, and was lost

  For a moment I stood there; but the notion that a beady sorcerer’s eye was upon me made me move. There was much I wished to ponder upon concerning the most favourable disposition of my knowledge. Since the hour was still early, I decided I would muster my thoughts over a glass of hot chocolate.

  Choosing a table as well hidden from common view as possible, I sat myself at one of the cafes by the canal side. It was agreeable to be addressed as “Captain,” and to receive more spirited service than usual. I stroked my upper lip. For the part of Phalante, if Lemperer accepted my idea, I would grow as brave a moustache as any member of the Lasinio family ever sported. If I played the cards in my hand right, not only would Lemperer be forced to accept my idea, but his wife should be mine at midnight, and let who would oppose the affairs of the Turkish sultan!

>   As I threw down a denario on the table and left, two thugs ran out from a nearby doorway and pinned my arms before I could draw my sword. As may be imagined, I fought with audacity, yelling for help at the same time—yet was powerless to resist every kick behind and clout over the shoulders that the two vagabonds chose to give me.

  They made no attempt to snatch my purse. Instead they dragged me toward the canal. Inch by inch I battled against them —uselessly! My offers to pay them rather than ruin my uniform fell on their senseless ears with no effect. Splash! Oh, swans, oh, geese!—How sorry was I to disturb your territory in that rude way!

  Rising like a demonstration of the hydraulic art, I came to the surface in time to see my two assailants running off. Almost within my reach stood a monumental block of stone from which the lions head jutted above the water line; the lion carried an iron ring in its mouth. I grasped the ring and pulled myself up with the aid of patrons of the cafe who came to my assistance now that danger was past. A nearby bargeman fished out Lasinio’s hat and set it on my head, where it continued to pour water down my face for some while. I was surrounded by a crowd which showed its sympathy by laughing so much that I was obliged to break through their ranks and run.

  In the early moments of my ducking, I imagined that this was some scheme of Lasinio’s, obscurely furthering his purpose. Then the truth dawned on me: this was Lemperer’s work! Anxious to see that his wife remained faithful, by force if necessary, he had found out about Lasinio and set his traps for that soldier of fortune. And his thugs had mistaken me for Lasinio. Why not? Did I not look every inch the military man?

  Very well. The maestro should be confronted with the evidence of what his men had done to an innocent man! I squelched in the direction of his house, intent on humiliating him.

  How promptly, I thought to myself, the lame magician’s prophecy (which I now fully understood) had been carried out! There was something suspect in that promptness; perhaps the magician himself drew a modest retainer from Lemperer—such things were not unknown. Now I meant to pay him out.

  My way lay past the ruinous triumphal arch under which sat the plump astrologer on his little platform. As I came up to it, I halted in surprise. There before the astrologer, just as yesterday —for the hour was about the same—stood the golden La Singla, on whose account I had just been ducked. I stepped behind one of the fallen capitals and watched her, spotlighted in the same ray of sunshine as the day before.

  How pliant her movements, how expressive her gestures! Only a skilled actress could have been so affectingly natural. I saw the astrologer bend toward her as if fascinated. I saw them speak, although their low-spoken words did not reach me. But, so telling were her gestures, I understood everything going on between them.

  She told him that she had returned as promised yesterday to receive from him the horoscope he was going to cast for her. What delicate expression! The girl should have joined thepantomimi, who use no words! Yet she was not so much a mistress of gesture that I could grasp at first whose the horoscope was; only as he tugged a scrip of paper from his sleeve and handed it to her did I understand that this was not hers but the young soldier’s horoscope! She was receiving Lasinio’s fate!

  With precise timing, La Singla produced from the pocket tied by ribbon to her skirt one single silver coin and pressed it into the astrologer’s palm. Her posture as she reached upward was beautiful to see. The man managed to bow without rising from his chair. Straightway, she opened his scrip and cast her fair eyes down at what was written there. The exquisite droop of her wrist! The delicate retreat of colour from her face! The pretty way her lips opened and her affrighted fingertips flew in dismay to her brow! Her melting look of sorrow! What art!

  From where I, a distant groundling, stood, the actress’ subtle cheironomy made the contents of the soldier’s horoscope as clear as if I scanned them myself.

  Lasinio’s hours in the shadow play of life were numbered! She and the astrologer gestured, looked almost fearfully toward the east. Ah, Suliman, thy cruel sword! Thy conquering power against the giaour! Alas, poor Lasinio! So young! So soon! And the stars so rudely conjoined against thee!

  With trembling limbs, with ashen countenance, La Singla tucked the paper into her breast and ran from the place, as in her last exit in the Albrizzi piece. And, at the last moment, her glances toward my place of concealment!

  As I suspected—instinctive little actress though she was, her best was called out only by an audience; she had been aware all along that I watched her! A moment before—no more than a moment—and I had thought that she would rush straight to Lasinio with her grim tidings and persuade him to let the mercenaries leave at midnight without him. Now, weighing the meaning of that last glance of hers, I knew she was more art than heart! —Real though her anguish was, her delight in pantomime was more real. The Paris might well trundle off at midnight, but La Singla would not be inside; she preferred to play out her roles, not to eyes glazing in death before the walls of Tuscady, but to eyes that could appreciate to the full her capabilities. Her nature was such that military necessity would always have to bow before artistic temperament. In other words—the pleasure I had had with her the previous afternoon was but a beginning. . . .

  Drenched though I was by my ducking, it was a Prian full of high hope who marched in to humiliate Lemperer and to berate him for his mistake. I noticed that La Singla slipped in at the side doorway. I made a grand entrance and confronted Lemperer before a dozen witnesses, dripping dramatically upon his carpetings.

  “My dearest Prian, what a misfortune!” Up went his withered hands, expressing sorrow and remorse, as he skipped before me. “You of all people to be beaten up in the street like a common adulterer! What a sight you must have made, to be sure, and how the heartless wretches who saw you launched among the fishes must have bellowed with uncouth laughter! What a reluctant Neptune! What a paltry Poseidon!”

  Arming myself against the titters of my friends, I said to him, “It’s no use apologising, Lemperer! You and I are parting company from this hour unless I have full recompense for such a villainous error by your henchmen!”

  He grasped my arm, though daintily, and dragged me toward his inner office. “Come into my sanctum, dear boy, my poor aquatic dragoon, and let us talk privately. Why, even your feather’s drooping! We can sort this out with no hard feeling, I’m certain!”

  Once we were in the room he closed the door behind us and locked it, continuing to talk with no change in tone, though a certain amount of venom mixed with the rheum in his eyes.

  “But I would hate you to think my henchmen made any sort of error, my fishy loverboy! They don’t make errors. Oh, no! They’d know you in any getup, however unbecoming. They followed my dear little wife yesterday at noon, and saw you coax her up to your desperate room, and counted the hours before she left again, and then watched her meeting with that goat-blooded mercenary, Lasinio, and reported all to me. . . .”

  With each conjunction, he was clouting me fiercely round the shoulders with his stick for emphasis.

  “And I took appropriate action to deal with you both, and I paid the astrologer to cast a false horoscope for Lasinio, and I paid the bodyguard to pitch you into the canal,and I’m delighted to see that all went so well!”

  “And you realise I am soaking your lovely Persian carpet! Is this what I get for trusting you? Why, I told Captain Lasinio to stay away from your wife, and now this is my reward!”

  He burst into laughter. “You are for all the world like Karagog! In every role you have little success! Your lover was not much of a performance, your soldier was—if I may say so—a washout! You’d better stick to acting!”

  I began to sneeze. “The chill of that canal has done for me. Like Lasinio, I’ll die young!”

  “No catching cold!” His expression changed. “We don’t want you laid up—you aren’t getting out of The Visionaries as easily as that!” He ran forward to try and help me take off some of my wet clothes, snatching dow
n a golden robe he had used for the part of Prospero not two weeks before. I sneezed the harder. Gradually his false concern turned real. Unlocking the door, he burst from the room crying for La Singla to come.

  “Bring a compress! Minister to this palsied player—and try to keep your hands off him! We must have him fit for the evening’s performance, if he’s fit for nothing else!”

  Two minutes more, and she was in my arms. But Phalante the

  Bankrupt was played before the Duke of Ragusa as an apothecary as usual, in ordinary apothecary’s clothes, without uniform.

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  CASTLE SCENE WITH PENITENTS

  The days in which I was recovering from a fever under my sister’s care seemed like a long afternoon in childhood, when eternity begins punctually after the midday meal, to linger on long beyond twilight in an odour of flowers and warm rooms. Their comfort and idleness were almost more enslaving than the fever.