by Jack Vance
“Now then: will you come to Earth in a submissive manner, and there do my bidding?”
Glyneth fought to keep her voice under control. “I cannot leave Kul!” She turned her head so as not to look at Visbhume. “Take us both safely to Earth, and I will do your bidding.”
Visbhume judiciously held high his finger. “No! Kul must stay! He has treated me with contumacy; he must be punished. Come, Glyneth!”
“I will not leave without him.”
“So be it! Remain here and cherish this beast you love with so peculiar a passion! Give me now my wallet!”
“I will not give over the wallet.”
“Then I will blow a blast on my pipes.”
“And I will throw a Tormentor bulb at you. I should have done so before!”
Visbhume uttered a curse, but dared delay no longer. “I am away for Earth, where I will enjoy honours and wealth; goodbye!”
Visbhume leapt up to the platform, struck with his key, and disappeared from view.
Glyneth knelt beside Kul, who lay with eyes closed. Glyneth stroked his forehead. “Kul, can you hear me?”
“I can hear you.”
“I am here with you. Can you manage to climb upon the wole? We will take you to a quiet place in the forest and you shall rest until you are well.”
Kul opened his eyes. “The wole is an uncertain creature. It has done me a great harm.”
“Only at the bidding of Visbhume’s pipes. Otherwise it seems an orderly creature, and it runs well.”
“That is true. Well then, let me see if I can climb on its back.”
“I will help you.”
Attracted by the activity, folk from the town had started to gather and some of them began to jeer Glyneth’s attempts to help Kul. Glyneth paid the crowd no heed, and finally Kul half-climbed, half-fell aboard the wole. Now the crowd moved in close and surrounded the wole and started to pluck tassels from the rug. Glyneth brought a Tormentor bulb from the wallet and tossed it into the crowd, which immediately dispersed amid cries of pain, and the wole was free to go its way.
An hour later Glyneth took the wole veering across a meadow and behind a copse, where she dropped anchor and set up the house. Kul for a period lay in a daze, and Glyneth watched him anxiously. Was her imagination playing her tricks, or were odd changes occurring within Kul, causing his expression to move and change and at times even blur?
Kul opened his eyes to find Glyneth watching him. He spoke in a soft drained voice. “I have had strange dreams. When I try to remember, my head swims.” He made a fretful movement and started to raise himself, but Glyneth pushed him back. “Lie quietly, Kul Rest, and never mind the dreams!”
Kul closed his eyes and spoke in his vague soft voice: “Murgen spoke to me. He said that I must guard you and bring you back safe to the hut. It is proper that I love you, because that is my reason for being alive. But you must not waste your emotion on me. I am half-beast, and one of the voices I hear is the voice of the feroce. Another voice is reckless and cruel, and it urges me to unspeakable deeds. The third voice is the strongest and when it speaks the others are still.”
Glyneth said: “I too have thought long and deeply. All you say is true. I am awed by your strength and grateful for your protection, but I love another part of you: your kindness and bravery, and these were not taught you by Murgen. They come from somewhere else.”
“Murgen’s orders ring in my mind: I am to guard you and bring you safe to the hut, and since we have no better place to go, that shall be our destination.”
“Back the way we came?”
“Back the way we came.”
“Whenever you are strong enough to travel: then we will go.”
Chapter 17
I
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE FINAL GOBLIN FAIR of the Season, Melancthe arrived at that inn near Twitten’s Corners known as The Laughing Sun and The Crying Moon’. She engaged her customary apartments, then at once went off to the meadow, where she hoped to find Zuck and remind him of their contract in connection with the flowers.
Zuck had only just arrived and, with the aid of a nondescript boy, unloaded his goods and appurtenances from a pony cart. At the sight of Melancthe, he politely nodded and touched the brim of his cap with his first two fingers and proceeded with his work; apparently the provision of flowers for Melancthe had not yet occupied his attention.
Melancthe made a sibilant sound of annoyance and confronted Zuck where he worked at his shelves. “Have you forgotten our agreement?”
Zuck paused in his work and gave her a blank sideglance. His face cleared. “Ah, yes! Of course! You are the lady who so anxiously wanted flowers!”
“Quite so, Zuck; have you forgotten so soon?”
“Of course not! But many small details throng my mind and detract from my attention. Just a moment.”
Zuck gave the boy instructions, then took Melancthe to a nearby bench. “You must understand that in our business we often deal with persons who talk largely but put little gold upon the counter. As I recall, you wished another flower or two, to grace your lovely hair.”
“I want all the flowers, be they one, two, ten or a hundred.”
Zuck nodded slowly and looked off across the meadow. “At last we understand each other! Such flowers command large prices; I already have a list of customers as impatient as you, and I have yet to consult my supplier in regard to the produce of his secret garden.”
“Your other customers must look elsewhere, and you will be adequately paid, never fear!”
“In that case you must apply to my booth tomorrow at this time, when I hope to have definite news from the gardener.”
Melancthe could extract no further information from Zuck, and most especially he refused to identify the mysterious gardener who nurtured such remarkable blooms, and at last Melancthe returned to the inn, fretful and dissatisfied but unable to implement her wishes.
As soon as she was out of sight, Zuck thoughtfully returned to his work. After a bit he called to the boy, who on closer inspection seemed to be either full falloy, or falloy with traces of goblin and humankind. His stature was that of human youth, with a supple easy quality to his movements; otherwise he showed a silver skin, pale green-gold hair and enormous eyes with dark silver pupils in the shape of seven-pointed stars. He was a pretty lad, calm, slow and even somewhat naive. Zuck had found him a willing worker and paid him well, so that, in general, affairs went well between the two.
Zuck now called the boy’s name: “Yossip! Where are you?”
“Here, sir, resting under the cart.”
“Come here, if you please; I have an errand for you.”
Yossip came around to the front of the booth. “What is this errand?”
“No great matter. This summer you came to work one day with a fine black flower, which, as I recall, you left on the counter, and which I later gave away to one of my customers.”
“Ah yes,” said Yossip.
“A flower from my secret garden.”
Zuck ignored the remark. “I am of a mind to put out some trifling decoration, to distinguish our booth and mark it from the ruck. To this end, a few flowers might be just the thing. Where did you obtain the black blossom?”
“Out in the forest, along Giliom’s Lane, at a place I like to consider my secret bower. This summer I found only a single bloom, though I noticed several buds.”
“A few flowers may be enough. After all, we are not flower-merchants or herbalists! How far is the garden? Direct me and I will cut exactly to my needs.”
Yossip hesitated. “I remember neither landmarks nor exact distances. I myself will find the place with difficulty. Still, if you want the flowers, instruct me, and I will bring them here.”
“A good idea,” said Zuck. “Take the pony cart, so that you may make haste. Ride out Giliom’s Lane this very moment; cut neither buds nor seed-pods, only those flowers which have come into full bloom. In this manner we will not injure the growth.”
“Just
so,” said Yossip. “I will need a sharp knife to cut the stems and a bite of bread and cheese to stay me along the way, which, as I recall, is two or three or even four miles down the lane.”
“Go then, and do not loiter!”
As soon as Yossip had departed, Zuck closed the booth. He borrowed a mount from an acquaintance at a nearby booth and set off after Yossip. He rode with stealth and caution, pacing himself by the squeak and clatter of the pony cart. When the lane turned, Zuck hastened forward, to peer along its way ahead, and then ride swiftly to the next turning, so remaining close behind Yossip but always out of sight.
The sound of the cart suddenly ceased. Zuck dismounted, tied the horse and advanced on foot. The cart had halted in the middle of the lane and Yossip was nowhere to be seen.
“Well done!” said Zuck to himself. “Here is the site of the mysterious garden! It is all I need to know!” Now-to return to the booth in haste, and Yossip would never know that his secret had been broached.
Zuck’s curiosity prompted him to steal forward, for a better indication as to the location and size of the flower bed. Step by wary step he came down the road, running at last on tip-toe, darting glances to right and left.
Yossip stepped from the shadows carrying a small bouquet of four flowers. He seemed not at all surprised to find Zuck on hand.
“I came in haste,” said Zuck. “I decided to use bunting and multicolored streamers for my decoration, rather than despoil the flower bed; therefore I thought to inform you at once of my new plans.”
“That was kind of you,” said Yossip. He seemed to have difficulty speaking; he warbled and lisped. “But what of these flowers I have already cut?”
“Bring them along; better yet, give them into my care. Are there others in bud?” “Very few.”
Zuck looked frowningly slantwise at Yossip. “Why are you speaking with so odd a voice?”
Yossip grinned, showing silver teeth. “As I worked, I disturbed the soil and discovered this wonderful gem.” He took a lambent green sphere from his mouth. “For convenience I carry it thus.”
“Amazing!” said Zuck. “Allow me to examine it.”
“No, Zuck! By stealth you learned the secret of my garden. By nature, I am easy, even ingenuous; but on this occasion I must pass a judgment, and your deceit must be punished by death.” So saying, Yossip stabbed Zuck first in the neck with the knife he had used to cut flowers, then in the heart. Then, to halt Zuck’s twitching, he thrust the knife hard into Zuck’s right ear, all the way to the hilt. “Now then, Zuck! We have properly put an end to your skulkishness. I will say no more of the matter.”
Yossip rolled the corpse into the ditch, and returned to the meadow, leading the horse Zuck had ridden behind the can. Yossip returned the horse to its owner, who asked in wonder: “And where is good Zuck, who rode off so briskly?”
“He has gone to examine a new line of merchandise,” said Yossip. “I must meanwhile take care of the booth.”
“That is a great responsibility for an inexperienced stripling like yourself! If you find any difficulties, or if you suspect that you are being cheated, call me and I will set matters right!”
“Thank you, sir! I am much relieved.” The time was still two hours short of sundown. Yossip opened the booth, arranged the flowers in vases and, after some hesitation, placed the green pearl on display, in a dish on one of the back shelves. “It is a wondrous gem,” he told himself. “Still, what use is it to me? I am not one for earrings nor other adornments. Well, we shall see. The gem must bring a good price or I will not sell.”
In the morning Melancthe appeared early and looked here and there. She noticed the flowers and gave a glad cry. “Where is the good Zuck?”
“He is searching out new merchandise,” said Yossip. “The booth is in my care.”
“At least he has found flowers for me! Bring them forward; they are mine alone and must never be sold elsewhere!”
“As you wish, lady.”
Melancthe took possession of the flowers. They were indeed of startling distinction, with colours that seemed to shudder with the force of their nature. Each was different; each projected a unique personality. The first: pungent orange, mingled with vermilion, plum-red and black. The second: seagreen with purple glowing under a luster of beetle-back blue. The third: black glossy-harsh with spikes of strident ocher-yellow, and a scarlet tuft at the center. The fourth: a dozen concentric rings of small petals, in turn white, red and blue.
Melancthe asked no price. She tossed down four golden crowns. “When will you have more of these blooms?”
Yossip at once saw how the wind blew. Zuck had been deceitful by an order of magnitude larger than Yossip had imagined. Still, whether for good or for bad, he could not be punished a second time. Yossip reflected. “Tomorrow, lady, I may have more flowers.”
“Remember, they must be reserved for me alone! I am fascinated by their bizarre complication!”
Yossip said smoothly: “To ensure yourself full ownership, I advise that you pay over at this moment a sufficiency of gold coins; otherwise someone may be quicker than you tomorrow morning.”
Melancthe contemptuously flung down five more crowns of yellow gold, and the transaction was thereby validated.
Dusk fell over the meadow. Lamps hung in the trees and a variety of folk who preferred night to day came to stroll among the booths and to chaffer for articles which aroused their interest.
At the inn Melancthe dined modestly upon a chicken wing and a turnip cooked with honey and butter. She sat with her flowers set out in four vases, that she might admire each in turn, or all together, as she chose.
A saturnine dark-haired gentleman in splendid garments, distinguished by a neat mustache, a small beard, and keen features, approached her table. He bowed, doffed his hat, and without further ceremony seated himself.
Melancthe, recognizing Tamurello, made no comment. He inspected the flowers with curiosity. “Most fascinating, and, I would think, unique! Where do such extraordinary blossoms grow?”
“As to that, I cannot be sure,” said Melancthe. “I buy them from a booth at the fair. Smell, them, one after the other. Each is different; each purports with its odor an entire cascade of meaning, and meanings of meanings; each is a whole pageant of subtle and nameless aromas.”
Tamurello smelled each bloom in turn, and then each once again. He looked at them with lips pursed. “The odors are exquisite. I am reminded of something to which I cannot now put a name… . The thought hangs in a far comer of my mind and refuses to stir. A maddening sensation!”
“You will recognize it presently,” said Melancthe. “Why are you here, where you come so rarely?”
“I am here by curiosity,” said Tamurello. “Only a few moments ago there was a tremble at Twitten’s Post. It might mean much, or it might mean little, but such a tremble is always worth the investigation… . Aha! Look then, who has just entered the inn! It is Visbhume, and I must confer with him at once.”
Visbhume stood by the counter, looking this way and that for Hockshank, who at this moment was busy elsewhere.
Tamurello went to stand beside him. “Visbhume, what do you do here?”
Visbhume peered at the black-bearded grandee who addressed him so familiarly. “Sir, you have the advantage of me.”
“I am Tamurello, in a guise I often use while going abroad.”
“Of course! Now I recognize you, by the clarity of your gaze! Tamurello, it is a pleasure to see you!”
“Thank you. What brings you here at this season?”
Visbhume puffed out his cheeks and gave his forefinger a wag. “Now then, who can explain the foibles of a vagabond? One day here, the next day there! Sometimes the way is rude, sometimes it is rough, and sometimes one must tramp onward through the rain and the dark compelled only by the gleam of one’s own far star! But for now, I wish only for Hockshank, that he may find me a comfortable chamber for the night.”
“Your wants will not be satisfied, or so I
fear. The inn is full.”
Visbhume’s face fell. “In that case I must find a tuft of hay in the barn.”
“Unnecessary! Step outside a moment.”
Somewhat reluctantly Visbhume followed Tamurello out the door and into the road. Tamurello looked up into the sky. He pointed aloft to where the moonlight shone on a floating manse of three towers, a terrace and a surrounding balustrade.
“That is where I shall take my rest this night,” said Tamurello. “But before I say more, I am curious as to why you are here when you were on last accounts hard at work in the service of King Casmir, upon my recommendation.”
“True, true! With your usual acuity you understand the exact state of affairs! I believe that I will now take a bite of supper. If you will excuse me-”
“In a moment,” said Tamurello. “Tell me, how went your business with Casmir?”
“Tolerably well.”
“He is pleased with your information?”
“In truth, I have not yet reported to him. The knowledge I have gained is so footling that I may not even trouble to do so.”
“What, in fact, did you learn?”
“Sir, I feel that I should best retain these few trivialities for Casmir’s ears.”
“Forsooth, Visbhume! Surely you have no secrets from me?”
“All of us have our little areas of privacy,” said Visbhume primly.
“In some areas and at some times and with certain persons,” stated Tamurello. “Not at Twitten’s Corners by moonlight, in converse with Tamurello.”
Visbhume made nervous flourishes of the hand. “Well then, if you insist, you shall know.” And Visbhume added heartily: “After all, who referred me to Casmir but my good friend Tamurello?”
“Exactly so.”
“I learned this much. Casmir is troubled by a prediction in regard to Suldrun’s first-born son.”
“I know of this prediction, by Persilian the Mirror. I know of Casmir’s concern.”
“The fact is simple yet most poignant! Suldrun’s first-born son was sired by Aillas, King of Troicinet. The son’s name is Dhrun, and in one year at the fairy shee he attained the age of nine Earthly years.”