by Jack Vance
With a wary side-glance at Nai the Hever and Mieltrude, Jubal opened the envelope, drew forth the paper and examined it. “There is a well-known swindler’s trick,” said Jubal, “called ‘foisting the pigeon’, in which envelopes are cleverly substituted.”
“That is one I do not know,” said Nai the Hever. “Are you completely satisfied?”
“Where are my two thousand toldecks?”
“Take them. They are not counterfeit. Be here tomorrow as early as possible. Go to the kitchen and Flanish will give you breakfast.”
Jubal ignored the remark. “What time do you wish to conduct the business?”
“At the second gong.”
“I will present myself here at the second gong. One final matter: I am now your special agent and an official representative of the state. My salary, at seventeen toldecks a week, reflects poorly upon all of us.
A substantial increase would seem appropriate.”
Nai the Hever sighed. “Perhaps you are right. I will speak to Eyvant Dasduke. Henceforth you will earn twenty toldecks. Flanish! Show Jubal Droad to the door.”
“Sir, in this direction, if you please.”
“I will leave as I entered, by the front door.”
The time was middle evening; Skay had not yet risen; the sky was dark. Fairy globes, pale white, blue and lavender, illuminated the garden. The driveway curved out to the entry arch, and the Hevers had not troubled to summon a hack for Jubal’s convenience.
No matter. Jubal drew the bundle of notes from his pocket: two thousand toldecks, the largest sum he had ever handled. And also in his pocket: the contract between himself and Nai the Hever, a document no less comforting than the notes. He set out along the path toward the main gate.
A hack turned into the driveway. Had the Hevers after all considered the comfort of their visitor?
The front door opened; someone came from the house—a person slender and graceful, wearing a dark green cloak. Jubal recognized Sune Mircea.
She went to the hack; Jubal crossed the driveway and approached her. “May I share your hack into town?”
Sune had not noticed him; she jerked about startled, then became tense and wary. “What are you doing here?”
“I have been discussing business with Nai the Hever. We are, in a sense, associates; were you not aware of this?”
The light of the fairy globes illuminated Sune’s face. Jubal studied the fragile bones of her jaw and forehead, the piquant slant of her cheek. What was going on in her mind? Certainly nothing straightforward or simple. In a thoughtful voice Sune said, “Yes, you may ride in the hack; where are you going?”
“Toward the center of town.”
“That is on my way.” She stepped into the hack; Jubal followed.
“Where do you live?” asked Jubal, for want of a better topic.
“Up on Trembletree Heights. It is the oldest district of Wysrod. The Mirceas are Setrevant caste, which we hold to be more ancient than Istvant and equally honorable, though nowadays Istvants perhaps make more of a flourish.”
Jubal sat stiff, erect and cautious. Sune seemed quite relaxed, and spoke on, seemingly without reserve or calculation.
“Aren’t you the person who created such a terrible cataclysm at the Parloury?”
“I am Jubal Droad. I am a Glint, as elevated as the best of Wysrod.”
Sune laughed, an easy unrestrained laugh. “I had forgotten the notorious Glint pride. Very well then: are you not Jubal Droad the Glint who precipitated Ramus Ymph from high to low?”
“I reported a fact to Nai the Hever. The fact did the damage. I have no pity for Ramus Ymph; he is a scoundrel.”
“Oh come!” Sune protested. “He is hardly that! Ambitious, zestful, gallant, invincible—all of these perhaps. Even unprincipled—but not a scoundrel.”
“Call him what you like; he and that ammoniated Mieltrude roundly deserve each other.”
“Oh, the match is broken now. The Nobilissimus no longer needed the association. Ramus Ymph was unconcerned; his feelings were not really engaged.”
“Understandably not.”
Sune laughed again. “You really misjudge Mieltrude. She is not as icily statuesque as she likes to pretend.
It is all a game with her. I think that she prefers the world of imagination to ordinary life. She is not really gregarious, you know.”
“And you, on the other hand?”
“I am at home in all classes of society. It is tiresome always to be impinging caste.”
The hack, now trundling along one of the boulevards, slowed at an intersection. Noting a small café, Jubal said: “Perhaps you might wish to alight here and take a cordial or a goblet of wine?”
Sune observed him sidelong. Somewhat slowly she said: “I am fond of green wine; I would find a goblet of Baratra refreshing.”
Jubal halted the hack; they alighted and walked back to the café. Sune selected a table in the shade of a dendifer vine, and pulled the hood demurely up to shadow her face.
With reckless extravagance Jubal ordered a flask of the superb Baratra-Baratra, at the price of a day’s pay.
Sune sipped and looked musingly off down the avenue. At a loss for topics, Jubal said: “So the Lady Mieltrude is no longer to espouse Ramus Ymph. Is she melancholy?”
“One never knows about Mieltrude. She guards her private thoughts with great skill. Sometimes I would think her indifferent toward Ramus Ymph, then other times she exerted herself to be amiable. Perhaps she played at the whole relationship; who is to say? She never fully confided in me, that much is certain.”
Jubal refilled her goblet. “Something very strange and frightening happened to me.”
“I am surprised to hear a Glint admit to fear.”
Jubal heaved a sigh. “Do you remember the occurrence at the Parloury?”
“Of course. How could I forget?”
“The evening after, I was set upon by executives with a warrant for my punitive torment. The warrant was signed by Mieltrude and it was falsely arbitrated. Nai the Hever will not listen to my complaints, and I want to get to the bottom of the matter.”
“There is really no mystery whatever. Mieltrude is embarrassed by the circumstances. After his rejection, Ramus Ymph met Mieltrude and myself in the Parloury buffet. Mieltrude explained your role in the occasion and Ramus was furious. He claimed that you had maligned him with absurd lies, and said that you deserved at least ten, or better, twenty, strokes of the birch upon your bare backside. The idea amused Mieltrude and she declared that such treatment might deflate your ‘foolish Glint vanity’, as she put it.
Ramus Ymph said, ‘Excellent, we are of a mind. Step just up the stairs to the warrant office and we will elicit a warrant. You must sign it because I would forfeit dignity were I to do so.’ Mieltrude was in a flighty mood, and it pleased her to feign feckless irresponsibility. So she merely laughed and tossed her hair, and when Ramus Ymph produced the warrant she scribbled her name on it with utter insouciance.
That is the story. You must not blame Mieltrude; she was only playing a game.”
“Do you know to what effect? I was to be primed with hyperaesthesic, soaked in herndyche, suffer thirteen breaks in my arms and legs, then abandoned on the beach to live or die.”
“And what happened? You are not dead.”
“No. I was lucky enough to defeat the executives. No thanks to Ramus Ymph or Mieltrude Hever.”
Sune said thoughtfully: “Ramus Ymph is harsh with his enemies. Still, he is more than indulgent with his friends.”
“You sound as if you approve of him!”
Sune shrugged. “He is a dynamic and handsome man. But let us talk of other things. You are now employed by the Nobilissimus? In what capacity?”
“I am to undertake a dangerous mission. I would like to discuss it with you but I have been warned to discretion.”
“Exciting! So you have become one of D3’s secret agents!”
“D3? I work from D3 as an inspector.”
“I have not quite advanced to that level. I draw my salary in one very slight packet of single-toldeck notes.”
“The Nobilissimus is notoriously penurious—both with public funds and his own. Never reveal that I so informed you!”
“Never. You can trust me—with anything.”
Sune drank half the goblet and set it back on the table. “I must go. Please call me a hack.”
“I will see you home.”
Sune touched his hand with her fingers; nervous vibrations coursed up Jubal’s arm. “Remember that I am a Mircea. My father would become excited to see me with a person such as yourself.”
“And what of you? Are you embarrassed because I am a Glint?”
Sune thought a moment. “Let me be frank. Here I am not embarrassed. I enjoy your company. I consider you a remarkable man, and it is not your fault that you were born in Glentlin. But, elsewhere, with my family and friends, I am not strong enough to cope with the pressure.”
“Then I may see you again?”
“Yes. But we must be discreet.”
Jubal leaned forward, took her two hands in his. “Could I dare to hope that you think kindly of me?”
Sune gently disengaged his grasp. “Here is a hack; call it to the curb.”
Jubal signaled the hack and with thumping heart helped her into the compartment. She gave him her hand.
“Goodnight, Jubal Droad.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Telephone at my home. Announce yourself as Aladar Szantho. And tell no one that we are friends or everything will be spoiled.”
“I will do as you say.”
The hack rolled off up the boulevard. The rear lamp dwindled and vanished. Jubal turned away and set off along the boulevard toward his own lodgings.
He tossed the packet upon the bed. Two thousand toldecks. He could now afford a respectable suite, at a decent address. He could dress in garments after the Wysrod style. He could buy Baratra-Baratra and Dravny bonbons; he could escort Sune Mircea where and how she chose, and perhaps she would overlook the fact that she was Setrevant and he was Glint.
Chapter 9
In the morning, precisely upon the appointed hour, Jubal arrived at Hever House. The door slid aside; Flanish stood in the opening. “The orders are definite,” said Flanish. “You are requested to use the informal side entrance, which you will find around to the right.”
Jubal responded with a curt nod. He wrote upon a slip of paper and handed it to Flanish. “When the Nobilissimus wishes to see me he may call at this address.” He turned and strode back toward the street.
A minute later a footman came running after him. “The Nobilissimus wishes to see you at this time.”
Jubal returned to the house and marched through the front door, where Flanish stood with eyes averted.
Nai the Hever waited in the foyer. “Confound it, Jubal Droad, these games must cease! I have neither time nor patience to truckle to your whims. Once and for all, you must accept the realities of life here in Wysrod, and act as etiquette requires you to act.”
“Quite the contrary; it is you who must deal with me, a noble Glint, on the basis which my caste makes necessary. Otherwise there will be no dealings.”
“Very well,” said Nai the Hever coldly. “It shall be as you wish. The matter is really trivial. Come.” He took Jubal into the library and gestured him to a seat. “Listen carefully. I will repeat, if necessary, but you must learn to assimilate information instantly.
“You are going to a Gaean world named Eiselbar, across the Hole, in the constellation Quincunx. Our information regarding Eiselbar is scanty. We know little of other worlds; we are ignorant even of Skay.
Zangwill Reef is an utter mystery. In due course I propose to amend this lack; this is one of our future programs. For now a unit of the Space Navy will convey you to Frinsse Junction on Bossom’s World, and the weekly packet will take you to Kyash on Eiselbar. You will carry ingots of palladium, which are convertible into Gaean currency. Your papers identify you as Neval Tibit, a tourist from the planet Phrist.
Eiselbar is accustomed to travelers, and no one will question your identity. Still, you will be briefed regarding Phrist to the best of our information.
“At Kyash you will start your investigations. The Eisels are an idiosyncratic people, with customs quite different from our own. You must adapt to these customs. There can be none of your usual blether about noble lineage; you must, for a change, adapt yourself to local habits. Can you do this?”
“If necessary.”
“It is necessary. You must be more than subtle. If Ramus Ymph becomes alarmed, we lose our advantage.
Under no circumstances make yourself conspicuous. Abandon a line of inquiry rather than expose yourself. Is this clear?”
“Quite.”
“I believe that I spoke to you of certain inexplicable facts, which we find not only mysterious but alarming. We are of course involved in counter-Binadary operations; in fact, last month we lost three of our best inspectors.” Nai the Hever showed Jubal a wry smile. “On this account you have been selected for the mission to Eiselbar. I will say no more on the subject, except to indicate that Ramus Ymph may or may not be involved in these odd occurrences, so whatever you may learn will be useful.
“Now, this is what I know of Eiselbar. It is a world somewhat larger than Maske. Tourists come in great numbers; tourism, as an industry, is well developed. The Eisels are gregarious and also strongly egocentric. Candor is neither expected nor is its absence remarked. The society is egalitarian. The Eisels attach enormous importance to a balance of obligations. Everything has a specific price; nothing is free.
“A child born into an Eisel family incurs a birth-debt, which eventually must be paid to his parents.
Bastards consider themselves lucky; they owe no birth-debt. The runaway child who claims to be a bastard in order to avoid his birth-debt is commonplace. When mature the child must maintain his parents in case of need. However, if the parents are ailing, senile, or simply too much of a financial burden, the son or daughter may subject them to euthanasia. For this reason, financial security is a prime consideration among all classes of people.
“The economy is based upon tourism, and the export of chemicals. Mobile slimes inhabit the surface sands—in fact, roads and walkways of Eiselbar are elevated above the soil to avoid the slimes, many of which are both poisonous and feral. The slimes use an unorthodox metabolism and synthesize compounds considered impossible by orthodox chemists. Some of these substances act as catalysts of remarkable efficacy, and command very large prices.
“The language is standard Gaean. You will undertake a set of exercises designed to suppress your Thariot accent, though on Eiselbar an accent is given no particular attention. As a tourist you will be treated with great courtesy unless you steal. Theft is considered a heinous crime, property representing as it does a goodly proportion of a man’s life-effort: ergo, his vital force. Property is life; on Eiselbar do not steal, Jubal Droad.”
“Never in my life have I stolen so much as a splinter!”
“As soon as you fulfill the terms of your mission, return to Frinsse, where a certain signal will summon your homeward transportation.”
Jubal said: “I have grasped your requirements. In essence, I am to learn whatever I can of Ramus Ymph’s activities without calling attention to myself.”
“Exactly.” Nai the Hever placed a card upon the table. “Go to this address, where you will be fitted with a wardrobe. I should mention that Eiselbar is a noisy world. Sound is considered an indispensable adjunct to life, and everyone wears a sound-producing instrument, by which he controls his emotional environment. Some Eisels use psychokinetic impulses; others train certain of their muscles, so that the sound, or music,
if you will, responds almost unconsciously to their requirements. As a tourist you will project only a set of standard themes, which you will select by hand.
“Sexually, the Eisels are relaxed; escorts for tourists are freely available at convenient prices. The food is said to be excellent, and accommodations are comfortable.”
“Eiselbar would seem a sybarite’s dream,” said Jubal.
“It is also very expensive,” said Nai the Hever. “The Eisels expect good return on their investments, and no one works at the cheap. You will use the strictest economies and keep a ledger of your expenses. The Gaean SVU is approximately equal to the toldeck in purchasing value, so you may judge your expenses accordingly. Do you have any questions?”
“At the moment, no.”
“Then that is all for now. Other instructions will presently be forthcoming.”
Jubal and Sune Mircea took lunch in the shady back garden of a country inn, twenty miles east of Wysrod. Sune wore a pale green gown and a pale green ribbon to bind her dark hair, and Jubal was enchanted by the effect. “You might be Azolais of Cloudland, or a dryad of the Magic Forest!”
“Please don’t call me a dryad,” said Sune. “I always think of the Waels and their unwholesome habits.”
“When I become wealthy I’ll buy a beautiful felucca, and we’ll sail the Happy Isles and the Violet Sea.
We can put into Wellas and learn the truth of the Wael dryads.”
“No, I would never go to Wellas. I have heard remarkable tales of the tree-lore and tree-worship. They are said to be more irredemptible than ever.”
“But you will sail with me to the Happy Isles?”
Sune smiled. “If I said no, you would sulk. If I said yes, you would recklessly assume a hundred impossibilities. So what shall it be?”
“I will not tolerate the word ‘impossible’.”
Sune looked off across the garden. “Unfortunately the word exists. You must expect nothing of me. I am rash so much as to meet you here.”
“Then why do you do so?”
Sune made an arch grimace. “You should never ask such questions. But still accept the fact: it is all so futile!”