Night Lamp

by Jack Vance

  Jaro seated himself beside Maihac. Ardrian asked, “May I offer you refreshment?”

  “Not just yet,” said Maihac. “We have a great deal to tell you. So that we need not repeat ourselves, I suggest that you call the Justiciar and ask him to come here, privately and alone, as soon as possible.”

  Ardrian smiled grimly. “For a fact, I am taken aback. You appear out of the night in a state of tremulous excitement and insist that I share your emergency. The logic of this evades me.”

  Maihac said patiently, “The reason for haste is not only logical; it is practical. If the murderer learns that I am here he might try to escape.”

  “Remote and unlikely,” declared Ardrian. “First of all, who is this purported murderer?”

  “You know him well. His name is Asrubal of Urd.”

  Ardrian raised his eyebrows high. “I know Asrubal of Urd; he is a grandee of high place. Your charge is serious.”

  “Of course.”

  Ardrian reflected a moment, then said heavily, “It is not for me to judge.” He took a telephone disk from the sideboard. “I will do as you wish.” He spoke into the disk, listened, spoke again, then put the disk aside. “Justiciar Morlock will arrive shortly. He lives close at hand; we will not have long to wait.”

  For a time there was silence, broken by the hushed voices of the Seishanee. Ardrian studied his visitors without cordiality, then said, “You have brought me bad news, but I am not surprised. When you took Jamiel off-world, I knew that she would come to a tragic end.”

  Maihac responded flatly, “You were her father; you loved her as much as I did and you have a right to bitter feelings—but they should be focused not upon me but upon her murderer. He was not an off-worlder; he was a Roum of Romarth.”

  After a moment Ardrian asked, “Do you intend to describe the circumstances of her death?”

  “Certainly. She was killed while I was a captive of the Loklor. It has taken me thirteen years to discover where she had been killed and who had killed her. The only witness was Jaro. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—his memory is incomplete.” Maihac placed a parcel wrapped in brown paper on the table. “This is the parcel to which I referred. There is a letter inside, addressed to Jaro and written just before Jamiel died. When you read it, you will agree that justice must be done.”

  Ardrian’s face became fractionally less severe. He seemed to give a small internal shrug and, rising to his feet, he went to the sideboard, where, after deliberation, he brought out a number of bottles, flasks and earthenware pots. He called over his shoulder to the portly Seishanee in the green and gray livery. “Fancho! Bring us a few trifles of this and that, if you please.”

  With stately tread, Fancho left the room. “That is my new major-domo,” Ardrian told his guests. “You would not remember him. He is quite efficient, though a bit pompous. I often wonder what goes on in his mind.” He returned to his bottles and with intense concentration poured fluids into a green glass carafe.

  Pausing in his work, he inquired of Maihac, “Do you recall the art of mixing from your previous visit?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Maihac. “Still, I remember that you were considered a master of the craft.”

  Ardrian showed a faint smile and continued with his mixing. “It is a minor art, to be sure, but one with a surprising range. The potion must accord with the mood of the company, which is sometimes a delicate judgment. But one does what one can.” He finished his mixing and returned to his seat. Fancho, the grichkin major-domo wheeled up a service cart laden with oddments of pastry, skewers of toasted meat, pickled fish, crusts in pots of white sauce and pots of black sauce, honey-bulbs and the like. Fancho placed the cart where it was convenient to everyone, then went to the sideboard, poured liquid from the green glass carafe into goblets and served them with a flourish to Maihac, Jaro and Ardrian. “Well done, Fancho,” said Ardrian. “Every day you become more expert.”

  “It is always a pleasure when I can do my work well.” Fancho pridefully marched to the far end of the room.

  Jaro looked after him with interest. “Is that what happens to Seishanee when they grow old?”

  Ardrian seemed amused by the question. “Definitely not. Fancho is a grichkin—a special sort of Seishanee, and very useful too, I’m bound to say.”

  “I see.” Jaro tasted the potion. He found it tart, and tingling, with a dozen fascinating flavors lingering on the palate. Maihac tasted and said, “Apparently you have forgotten nothing.”

  “Thank you,” said Ardrian. “Perhaps I have lost a bit of directional energy, ‘verve’ if you like, but I may have gained in the shadings and afterthoughts.”

  Jaro sipped carefully, trying to discover the subtleties which evidently were accessible to the connoisseur. In the end, he gave up the attempt.

  Morlock of Sadaj House arrived: a slender man of late middle age, with classically keen features, a scholar’s forehead, narrow eyes and an uncompromising mouth. He wore a casual tunic, patterned in green and black diaper and black trousers. Ardrian introduced him to Maihac and Jaro, then poured out and served a goblet of his intricate mixture. Morlock sipped, gave a thoughtful grimace and said, “I make it to be your Toe-clencher Number Two.”

  “Just so,” said Ardrian. “But we must not waste time exchanging compliments. Maihac is in a fury of impatience lest his murderer give him the slip. Am I right, Maihac?”

  “Quite right,” said Maihac.

  Ardrian went on. “Maihac and Jaro have just now arrived and I believe that his spaceship hovers nearby. He tells me that my daughter Jamiel was murdered by Asrubal of Urd, and that he wants to see justice done.”

  “That is a fair statement,” said Maihac. “The facts are unpleasant. When Jamiel and I and our two sons attempted to board the flitter taking us to Flad sixteen years ago, Asrubal and his henchmen ambushed us. We eventually managed to fight free to the flitter. Unaware that Garlet had been snatched from the flitter at the last moment, we took off. As we rose into the air we saw Asrubal with Garlet. He tossed the baby high and let him fall to the rocks below. We could do nothing.

  “Asrubal then arranged that the Loklor should meet us at Flad, where they were to slaughter us. Jamiel and Jaro escaped to the spaceship; I was taken and dragged out on the steppe, and forced to dance with their girls. I managed somehow to survive, which seemed to amuse them. They held me captive for three years. During this time Asrubal tracked Jamiel to Point Extase on the world Camberwell. He wanted to recover the material in the parcel which I have just now delivered to Ardrian. Asrubal murdered Jamiel but failed to recover the parcel. Jaro escaped a second time.”

  Morlock said, “That is not a trivial accusation. How do you explain his crime? In short, what was his motive?”

  “Asrubal is a thief. He has been robbing the folk of Romarth for many years. The proof is in this parcel. Asrubal murdered Jamiel to obtain these documents. Read them, but first read the letter Jamiel wrote a few minutes before her death.”

  Maihac opened the parcel, withdrew the letter, which he put into Ardrian’s hands. “This is not pleasant reading.”

  Ardrian read stony-faced, then passed the letter on to Morlock, who also read. “You are right,” said Morlock. “It is not a pleasant letter.”

  Maihac emptied the parcel of its remaining contents. “At my instruction, Jamiel secured these documents from Aubert Yamb, at the time a clerk for the Lorquin Agency.

  “There are five ledgers here. They are, in effect, Yamb’s workbooks in which he recorded Lorquin Agency’s daily transactions. Notice that Yamb provides prices of all items bought or sold, both imports and exports. You will notice also that the mark-up on imports and commissions charged on exports, is never less than a hundred percent, and is in all cases imposed upon the folk of Romarth, and represents the profit which Asrubal has extracted from Lorquin Agency. In the course of time, it amounts to an extremely large sum. All the while the Roum are either too innocent, too trusting, too careless, or simply too stu
pid to protest. This is the reason Asrubal, twenty years ago, when I first arrived on Fader, opposed my application for a commercial charter. It is the reason he became my mortal enemy. It is the reason for Jamiel’s death.”

  Morlock studied the ledgers, then passed them on to Ardrian. The two Roum read in silence, while Maihac and Jaro looked on, refreshing themselves with Adrian’s Toe-clencher Number Two.

  At last Morlock returned the ledgers to Maihac, who slid them back into the buff envelope. Morlock looked at Ardrian. “What is your opinion?”

  “We have been victimized.”

  “I am of the same mind,” said Morlock. “Asrubal is a sly thief. He has swindled us, mercilessly. According to Maihac, he is also a murderer—though his guilt may be hard to prove.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Maihac. “When he destroyed my son Garlet, there were six witnesses. They were masked as Assassinators, but no doubt they can be identified.”

  “Even so, all may claim that they saw nothing.”

  “No matter,” said Maihac. “If Asrubal slides away from justice, I will see that he does not slide very far.”

  Morlock frowned. “That is extravagant language and it puts me in an uncomfortable position. At Romarth, justice flows from ancient tradition. The advice of an off-worlder carries little weight.”

  “Let us be realistic,” said Maihac. “When the off-worlder’s wife and son were killed and he was taken to dance with the Loklor girls, and when the off-worlder returns in a powerful warship and descends to Romarth to inform the Justiciar of many other crimes: all this being the case, I feel that the off-worlder’s opinions should be carefully heeded.”

  “True,” said Morlock. “Especially in view of the powerful warship.”

  “We are reasonable men,” said Maihac. “I need only say that if Roum justice is too feeble to cope with these crimes, I shall be disappointed.”

  “You are not alone,” Ardrian told him gruffly. “Do not cry out before you are hurt; it embarrasses us all.”

  “Sorry,” said Maihac.

  Morlock smiled faintly. “I think that we understand each other.” He picked up the telephone disk, called the Warden of Public Services and issued orders.

  3

  A platoon of regulators assembled at the north corner of the Gamboye Plaza. Here they were joined by the Justiciar Morlock and Ardrian of Ramy. The company marched north along one of the residential boulevards, and presently arrived at Asrubal’s palace Varcial. Maihac and Jaro drifted overhead in the flitter. They observed the regulators deploy around the structure, blocking all routes of escape. The Justiciar, Ardrian of Ramy, the Warden and four officers approached the main entrance and made their presence known. After a pause, Asrubal himself came to the door.

  Watching from the flitter, through the macroscope, Jaro looked into Asrubal’s face, for the first time since he had seen it staring through the window of the old yellow house at Point Extase. He remembered a face, hard and white as if it had been molded from bone. Looking down, Jaro saw the same face on the man in the doorway. He sat limp as a succession of horrid images swept through his mind. He drew a deep breath. The images receded; his mind was empty.

  Maihac looked at him. “What is wrong?”

  “Only memories. Now they are gone.”

  Justiciar Morlock addressed Asrubal. “I have just received information which implicates you in certain crimes. I am obliged to place you in the custody of the regulators. From this instant you are a prisoner under official arrest.”

  Asrubal uttered a majestic baritone roar. “What nonsense is this? I am a respected grandee of Urd House; I cannot imagine the reason for such persecution!”

  Morlock smiled. “Think hard! I am sure you will remember a detail or two of your misdeeds.”

  “My rashudo is superb! Do you intend to drag me off to Crillinx Jail?”

  “Not to Crillinx Jail,” said the Justiciar. “It has housed no one for three years and is uninhabitable. You are to be sequestered in your own apartments, which will be made secure and guarded. You may receive no visitors, including friends, family or kinfolk from the House of Urd, excepting only your advocate before the law, whom you may name tomorrow. Now we must submit you to a personal search, and we will inspect and secure your apartments as well.”

  Several times Asrubal had tried to complain, only to be silenced by the Warden. At last he was allowed to speak. He demanded angrily: “Of what am I accused?”

  Justiciar Morlock responded: “You are charged with murder, peculation and fraud.”

  Asrubal stamped his foot in fury. “No man may impugn my rashudo; only I can make such a judgment!”

  “Wrong!” declared Ardrian. “Rashudo is an interplay between yourself and your peers and collapses when contempt displaces approbation.”

  “Then answer me this: who is my accuser?”

  “There are several such persons, including Tawn Maihac, an off-world gentleman; his son Jaro, Ardrian of Ramy and myself, the Justiciar. That is more than sufficient. You are now in the custody of the Warden and the regulators. You will be tried before a special court as soon as possible.”

  Seventeen

  1

  Jaro and Maihac returned to Ardrian’s palace Carleone, where they were presently joined by the Justiciar Morlock, in company with three high-ranking councillors. Ardrian took his visitors to a conference room paneled in pale green wood and hung with portraits of past Ramy patroons. The company took seats around an oval table, where they were immediately served refreshments by Seishanee footmen under the stately supervision of Fancho the major-domo.

  Maihac and Jaro were seated at one end of the table and thereafter ignored by everyone, except Ardrian who tried to include them in the general conversation without success.

  After ten minutes of small talk, Morlock made a casual announcement: “The company may be interested to learn that tonight I have placed Asrubal of Urd under house arrest, pending formal trial.”

  The news provoked a set of startled exclamations. “What are you saying?” “Most extraordinary!” “Are you disporting yourself with a joke, or a farce?”

  “I am quite serious,” said Morlock. “He is accused of several crimes, including fraud, theft, peculation and murder.”

  The councillors protested vehemently. “You are clearly the victim of a hoax!” stormed Ferodic of Urd, a tall thin-faced gentleman, with deep eye-sockets and a cadaverous pallor. “Asrubal is my kinsman!”

  Crevan of Namary House, protested: “Surely, Morlock! You are acting with intemperate haste!”

  Morlock said, “Gentlemen, if you are of a mind, I will explain the scope of the case.”

  “Please do so! We are on tenterhooks!”

  In an unhurried monotone Morlock described his reasons for taking Asrubal into custody. The councillors listened with skepticism.

  Esmor of Slayford complained: “At the very least, you have overreacted. Could not this little affair have been settled quietly?”

  Ardrian stiffened. “You are alluding to the murder of my daughter as a simple ‘little affair’?”

  “Oh no! Of course not!”

  Ferodic waved one of his bony hands. “But we must be logical. The charges have not been substantiated. The whole case may well be a phantasmagorium.”

  Morlock asked, “You believe, then, that these two off-world gentlemen are malicious lunatics?”

  Ferodic glanced toward Maihac and Jaro. “I cannot judge their veracity on such short acquaintance. However, it must be noted that they are off-worlders.”

  Crevan said peevishly, “As for the Lorquin affair, I cannot understand so grand a foofaraw over a few misplaced sols.”

  Maihac offered a polite correction: “Asrubal probably stole more than half a million sols—not a trivial sum.”

  “The accusations have been made and must be investigated,” said Morlock. “Tomorrow morning I will ask the councillors to place an indictment against Asrubal. Adjudicators will sit tomorrow afternoon.”
<
br />   “So soon?” cried Ferodic. “This would seem an excess of zeal!”

  Morlock said stonily: “I have no taste for this sort of thing. I want to see the end of it as soon as possible.”

  Ferodic rose to his feet. “I must think about this situation and I will now take my leave.”

  The other councillors joined him. Ardrian conducted them to the front entrance.

  Maihac and Jaro also prepared to depart. Morlock and Ardrian watched as Jaro brought down the flitter. Ardrian asked, “You will be back in the morning?”

  “Whenever you say.”

  “In the morning, then.”

  2

  On the following day Maihac and Jaro once again dropped down to Romarth, along with Skirl. Gaing remained aboard the Pharsang, connected by radio with Maihac. At mid-morning Ardrian took the three to the Colloquary, where the full company of councillors had assembled. In their costumes of ancient tradition, they made an impressive spectacle.

  So began a process which for the most part the off-worlders found puzzling. After Justiciar Morlock’s brief statement to the effect that Asrubal’s name had been mentioned in connection with certain serious crimes over a time-frame of several years, and it was probably best that the adjudicators should clarify the case, Ferodic of Urd asked, “And who placed this information?”

  “The gentlemen seated yonder.”

  “Are they not off-worlders, from the far off Gaean Reach?”

  “That is so.”

  “Hmf. Their evidence might well be corrupted by ignorance or superstition.”

  “Unlikely.”

  Ferodic continued to grumble, but Morlock seated himself and thereafter took only a passive interest in the proceedings. The councillors exchanged remarks, sometimes irrelevant, sometimes cryptic. From time to time a question might be addressed to Morlock, who responded succinctly. At one point a councillor leaned forward and requested of Skirl that she recount the events of her life. Skirl responded willingly enough. She described Sassoon Ayry at Thanet, and her mother’s palace Piri-piri on Marmone. She identified herself as a Clam Muffin, which along with the Quantorsi and the Tattermen, comprised that rarefied group known as the “Sempiternals,” where status ceased to be a meaningful word. She found it difficult to relate conditions at Romarth with those of Thanet, since the civilized system of status, ledges of attainment and club membership was unknown at Romarth. Skirl ventured a guess that the state of high rashudo might approximate membership in one of the Squared Circles, or perhaps the Sick Chickens. Living conditions at Thanet were infinitely varied. Most people were employed at the work which interested them the most. Citizens occasionally owned spaceyachts, which cruised the worlds of the Reach in comfort; indeed, she and her companions had traveled to Fader aboard such a spaceyacht, which now hovered three miles above Romarth.