by Jack Vance
“After a fashion. At times they seem quite cunning, and I must say that they have a ghastly sense of humor.”
“Are they to be considered human?”
“To answer that question I would need to describe their origin. It’s a complicated story, but I’ll be brief”
“Speak on!” said Maihac. “I’ve nothing better to do.”
“Very well. We go back about five thousand years. The first settlers included a group of idealistic biologists, who tried to create strains of specialized workers. Their best success was the Seishanee. Their most awful failure turned out to be the Loklor. That is the story in its most abbreviated form. In short, the Loklor are not so much a human variation as a human deviation. They approximate humanity much as a nightmare approximates a birthday party.”
Shortly after noon the train approached a tall dark forest, which Bariano identified as the Blandy Deep, marking the limits of the Tangtsang Steppe. An hour later the train halted beside the Skein River, near a dock at which a massive barge lay at moorings. The barge was constructed of a dense glossy black wood, to standards of craftsmanship Maihac thought remarkably rich and exact. From a bluff bow the hull swelled to an almost voluptuous mid-section, then faired with the grace of a resolving chord to the hill transom, which was broken by six mullioned windows. The forepeak, deckhouse and sterncastle, in the same manner, were conceived and crafted to standards of baroque elegance; at bow and stern, stanchions supported heavy lanterns formed of black iron and colored glass.
Passengers boarded the vessel and were taken to cabins in the deckhouse. Lines were cast off; the barge drifted away downstream. After a quarter mile, the Skein veered to enter the Blandy Deep, and henceforth the barge moved through the somber shadows of the forest.
Days and nights passed. The river ran smooth and easy, curving this way and that, under the spread of high foliage.
Silence was absolute, save for the purl of water under the hull. At night a pair of large moons cast a serene light through the foliage in a manner which Maihac found almost dreamlike in its effect. He said as much to Bariano, who responded with a condescending shrug. “I am surprised to find you so enthusiastic. It is, after all, a mere trick of nature.”
Maihac looked at Bariano quizzically. “I am puzzled to find you so insensitive.”
Bariano was never pleased when Maihac’s opinions differed from his own. “To the contrary! It is you who lack aesthetic discrimination! But why should I be surprised? As an off-worlder you cannot be expected to share the Roum delicacy of perception.”
“I am confused, certainly,” said Maihac. “The leaps and bounds of your thinking have left me far behind, like a spotted hound chasing a coach through the dust.”
Bariano smiled a cool smile. “If I am to correct you, I must speak without euphemism, but do not take offense!”
“Speak freely,” said Maihac. “You might tell me something I don’t know.”
“Very well. It is simply that your aesthetic judgments are amorphous. It is naive to detect beauty where none has been specifically intended. The subject is large. Often you will notice an agreeable aspect of nature, effected by random or mathematical processes. It may be serene and congenial, but it is the work of chance and lacks the human afflatus. There is no pulse of positive creativity to infuse it with true beauty.”
Maihac was taken aback by the uncompromising sweep of Bariano’s analysis. He said cautiously, “You make very narrow distinctions.”
“Of course! That is the nature of clear thinking.”
Maihac pointed ahead to where the moonlight, filtering through the foliage, cast a filigree of silver light and black shade upon the dark water. “Don’t you find that a pretty effect? Deserving, at least, of notice?”
“The scene is not without charm, but your mental processes are untidy. Surely you will notice that the scene lacks conceptual integrity. It is chaos; it is abstraction; it is nothing!”
“Still, it evokes a mood. Isn’t this the function of beauty?”
Maihac pointed ahead to where the moonlight, filtering through the foliage, cast a filigree of silver light and black shade upon the dark water. “Don’t you find that a pretty effect? Deserving, at least, of notice?”
“The scene is not without charm, but your mental processes are untidy. Surely you will notice that the scene lacks conceptual integrity. It is chaos; it is abstraction; it is nothing!”
“Still, it evokes a mood. Isn’t this the function of beauty?”
“Just so,” said Bariano with equanimity. “But let me cite you a parable, or, if you prefer, a paradox. Assume that you are lying in bed asleep. Your dreaming brings you into the company of an alluring woman who starts to make exciting suggestions. At this moment a large dirty pet animal clambers upon the bed, and sprawls its hairy bulk beside you with its tail draped over your forehead. You move restlessly in your sleep and in so doing press your face against one of its organs. In your dream it seems that the beautiful woman is kissing you with warm moist lips, causing a delightful sensation. You are thrilled and exalted! Then you wake up and discover the truth of the contact, and you are displeased. Now then: consider carefully! Should you enjoy the rapture of the dream? Or, after beating the animal, should you huddle cheerlessly in the dark brooding upon the event? Arguments can be developed in either direction. If you wish, I will apply some of these arguments to our previous discussion.”
“No, thank you,” said Maihac. “You have said enough. In the future, whenever I seem to be enjoying anything in my sleep, I will make sure of its reality.”
“A wise precaution,” murmured Bariano.
Maihac said no more, aware that he would only reinforce Bariano’s theories in regard to denizens of the Gaean Reach.
Toward the middle of the third day, docks and rustic cottages began to appear along the riverside, then an occasional mansion surrounded by old gardens. Some of the structures were almost palatial; some were old, some were very old and some were in a state of decay. From time to time Maihac glimpsed folk in the gardens. They moved with easy languor, as if enjoying the quiet of the forest.
Bariano commented, “This is not the season for rustification, although many houses are occupied all year round. When there are children in the family, this is often the case. See there: children are playing on the lawn.”
Maihac saw a pair of children running barefoot across the grass, dark hair flying. They wore knee-length smocks, one pale blue, the other gray-green. Maihac thought they seemed active and happy. Bariano said, “Out here they are safe, since houseghouls avoid the lonely forests.” A pair of gardeners worked with shears to clip a hedge. They were of no great stature, slight of physique, but deft and quick with the gardening implements. They were sallow tan; dust-colored hair hung in a fringe around regular, if rather bland, features. “Who might they be?” asked Maihac.
“They are Seishanee. They do the work which needs to be done, if the Roum are to maintain their way of life. They are indispensable to us. They cut the trees and saw the planks; they grow the grain and bake the bread; they repair the drains and mend the roofs. They are clean, docile and industrious. But they will not fight, and are useless against the Loklor or the night-folk, so the Roum cavaliers must unsheathe their swords and strike down the savages. Some say that it is too late. Every year the houseghouls occupy another of the old palaces.”
“Evidently you can’t find an effective way to deal with these things.”
“Correct,” said Bariano. “They infest the crypts beneath the palaces, and apparently they have dug a mesh of connecting tunnels. They are always at the back of our minds, and no one likes to walk alone by night.”
On the next morning the barge entered Romarth. The Skein curved past an ugly heavy-walled structure of brown brick, then slanted off to the northeast where the Blandy Deep trailed away to become, first, a savannah, then the Tangtsang Steppe.
The barge docked against the esplanade and the passengers alighted. Bariano pointed. �
�Yonder is the Colloquary, where the councils sit.” He hesitated, then said, “I will take you to where you should place your petition. You will get a hearing easily enough, but do not expect a quick disposition of your case, since you will be jostling many fixed opinions.”
8
Maihac paused in his account. “I don’t want to bore you with too much detail—”
Skirl quickly said, “You are not boring me; not in the least!”
“Still, if I told you everything—all I learned about Romarth and the Roum, their customs, rashudo, philosophy and social interactions, along with a description of the palaces, the habits of eating and sleeping, the courtship rituals, the cultivated truculence of the cavaliers, the brooding dread of the houseghouls—it would be a major undertaking, and this before I even started upon the most terrible adventure of all. Now then, Jaro: you may pour me a dollop of Hilyer’s good wine, while I sit back for a moment or two.”
Jaro poured out three goblets of the golden Estresas wine. Maihac leaned back in his chair and sorted out his thoughts. He said at last: “I’ll try to give you a glimpse, at least, of Romarth, perhaps the most beautiful city ever conceived by the Gaean race. When I saw it, many of its great houses had been abandoned and its wonderful gardens left to decay. Decadence hung in the air like the odor of rotting fruit. Nevertheless, the Roum persisted in their reveries and played out their intricate ceremonies. Several times a day they changed their costumes, according to their roles of the hour.
“It is important to understand the nature of the original settlers. They were an intellectual elite, which included a contingent of genetic biologists. Gaean law had debarred them from pursuing what they considered their ‘ultimate project’; on Fader no such restraints were applied.
“In the beginning the settlers made use of slave labor, but there were many disadvantages. The slaves became diseased or old; in any case they died, and they were expensive to replace. They were often obstreperous or sullen, or lazy; discipline was a nuisance, and ineffectual as well. In the end, the biologists selected several prime slaves, and used their genes to generate what they hoped to be a class of ideal workers. They produced strain after strain of experimental prototypes. Often their efforts bore unpredictable fruit: creatures with legs ten feet long, others so corpulent that they were comfortable only while floating in warm water. Another strain developed anti-social traits of intense virulence; they made glories of pain and intransigence. Screaming, clawing, tearing at everything, they broke through the walls and fled across the Tangtsang, where the strongest and most merciless survived to become the Loklor.
“Eventually the Seishanee were synthesized: a slender, graceful race of half-men with clay-colored skins and soft brown eyes. They were of limited intelligence, but docile, industrious and easy of temperament. A trivial displacement of a few atoms caused them to be epicene, only nominally male and female with rudimentary sexual apparatus. Hence, the Seishanee were generated from zygotes cultivated in the ugly brown brick structure known as the ‘Foundance.’ The third race of Romarth was something of a mystery. It was said, that the early geneticists had modified themselves, intending to produce a race of intellectual overmen, but the processes had gone wrong. Certain of the flawed ‘overmen’ had gnawed through their boxes and scuttled away to hide in the crypts of abandoned palaces. Seldom seen, the white ‘houseghouls,’ as they became known, made excursions abroad under cover of darkness. In time they even penetrated the crypts of inhabited mansions, venturing slyly forth to commit horrid atrocities. Those who had seen them, and survived, found their tongues thickening when they attempted a description. Occasionally, the Roum cavaliers launched attacks, intending to destroy the creatures once and for all, only to find themselves fighting shadows, and many blundered into traps. Eventually they lost heart, and soon the situation was as before, or worse, when the houseghouls took their revenge.
“The Roum were elegant folk, each believed himself the summation of all known excellences. Everyone spoke three languages: classic Roum, colloquial Roum of today, and Gaean. Every Roum was born into one of forty-two Houses, or septs, each with its unique style of conduct. Public policy was controlled by a council of grandees, sitting at the Colloquary.”
Once again Maihac paused. “This is rather boring stuff—but the background is necessary to understanding what occurred.”
Both Jaro and Skirl denied boredom. Maihac continued his tale. He took a few moments to describe the city itself; its avenues, its great houses, the general atmosphere of immense antiquity. He described the Roum, their elegant costumes and romantic, often passionate, personalities, especially among the swashbuckling young bravos.
Maihac immediately took himself to the Colloquary, where—following Bariano’s advice—he sought out the Councillor Tronsic of Stam House, to whom he presented his petition. Tronsic, a stalwart gray-haired man of late middle age, proved far more cordial than Maihac had dared hope. Tronsic went so far as to offer Maihac lodging in his house, which Maihac was pleased to accept.
At an appropriate moment Tronsic placed Maihac’s petition before the Council. They received the document for consideration which—so Tronsic assured Maihac—was cause for limited optimism.
While Maihac waited he kept in touch with Gaing at Flad, by way of his portable radio. Maihac explained to Gaing that patience was in order, and that he hoped Gaing was not becoming bored. Gaing merely growled and said that he was catching up on his reading.
Maihac found himself the object of much curiosity. Tronsic told him that everyone wondered about life elsewhere in the Gaean Reach, despite the belief that conditions were crude, unsanitary, and dangerous. Maihac replied that circumstances varied from place to place, and that if the Roum intended to travel, they must expect to take the bad with the good.
“ ‘Good’?” demanded a fashionable young cavalier named Serjei of Ramy House. “What can be found among these crude worlds to compare with Romarth?”
“Nothing. Romarth is unique. By all means, stay home if that is your preference.”
Another of those who stood by said, “All very well; still, the fascination of exotic places is undeniable. Unfortunately, travel in tolerable style is overly expensive: rapaciously so, considering the sorry state of our incomes. After all, we do not care to go lumping along the road like ragamuffins.”
Serjei said, “True! We don’t dare risk running through our capital in some far place, so that we are forced to toil for sheer survival!”
His companion said, “Rashudo would be ridiculously compromised. We could never strike poses again!”
Maihac admitted that these fears were justified. “If someone wishes sumptuous lodgings and exquisite food, he must be able to pay, since no one offers such facilities free of charge.”
Certain of the Roum were more venturesome than others. Among them was Jamiel, of Ramy House, a slender erect young woman of exceptional charm and intelligence. The many textures of her personality fascinated Maihac: most especially her unconventional thinking, her lighthearted sense of humor, which was unusual among the Roum, and her impatience with the strictures of rashudo. Maihac could not prevent himself from falling in love with Jamiel. He thought he detected a responsive emotion, and presently, taking his courage in hand, he proposed marriage. She agreed, with gratifying enthusiasm. The two were immediately joined by the traditional rites of Ramy House.
In response to Maihac’s questions, Jamiel explained the complexities of the Roum financial system. Each House used an account at the Natural Bank of Loorie. The profits earned by Lorquin Shipping Agency were divided among the forty-two Houses, and deposited to the appropriate account.
Maihac thought the system rather slapdash and extremely susceptible to flexibility, if not corruption. He asked, “Who calculates this division of profits?”
“Asrubal of Urd,” said Jamiel. “He is Director of the Lorquin Agency. He issues a yearly report, which is inspected by three officials, and then the funds are distributed.”
Jamiel shrugged. “Who would complain? Rashudo insists upon disregard for such details; they are too paltry to engage the attention of a Roum gentleman.”
“I can tell you this much,” said Maihac. “The prices you pay Lorquin Agency for imported goods are two or three times the prices at Loorie, or anywhere else around the Reach.”
Jamiel said that she long had held such suspicions, as had many of her acquaintances. She added, as a casual trifle of incidental information, that she had become pregnant.
Time passed. Maihac began to fear that his petition had been permanently pigeon-holed. Jamiel assured him otherwise. “When one deals with the Colloquary he must expect delay—especially should the factions become involved, as in the present case. The House of Urd is a member of the Plum-pink faction, and wants to discourage any infringement of the Lorquin Agency monopoly. The Blues would prefer changes in the system, perhaps a complete reorganization.”
Maihac knew little of the factions, other than that their differences derived from ancient ideologies, of a subtlety beyond his grasp. Insofar as Maihac was concerned, it was clear that factional infighting must be resolved before he could expect a judgment on his petition.
Maihac continued to communicate regularly with Gaing, who grumbled ever more vehemently of the delay. Then, one day from Gaing came news of disaster. Loklor had burst into the supposedly safe landing area and had attacked the Distilcord. The cargo had been looted and the ship itself destroyed by three great explosions.
Maihac received the news while waiting in an anteroom at the Colloquary. Gaing revealed that he had seen Asrubal of Urd House at Flad immediately prior to the attack, and that Asrubal had been conferring with the Loklor. Asrubal had departed for Romarth aboard the agency flitter immediately before the attack and certainly was responsible. Gaing had taken into custody the manager of the Flad terminal, one Faurez of Urd House. Gaing had brought pressure to bear upon Faurez, who had finally told Gaing what he wanted to know. In the first place, it was intended that Gaing should have been killed, in order to avoid such a situation as now existed. Maihac listened, then broke into the chamber where the Panel of Councillors was in session. After some difficulty, he gained the attention of the councillors and described the destruction at Flad. He arranged his radio upon the long semicircular table and spoke into the mesh. “Are you still there?”