by Jack Vance
Dusk had not yet given way to night; the Roum were preparing for their social engagements, and the avenues were empty.
In front of the Justiciary, Maihac spoke by radio to Jaro, in the flitter, two hundred feet above the surface. Maihac said, “Everything seems quiet. The Regulators are on duty. We’re going in.”
Maihac and Morlock entered the Justiciary. A few minutes later Jaro received another message from Maihac: “Everything is orderly. We are in the downstairs service lobby. The Regulators are bringing Asrubal up from the dungeon.”
Five minutes later Maihac spoke again. “Asrubal has come into the lobby. The Regulators have put him into a chair. He has not seen us yet. Now—the time has come.”
The voice went silent. In the lobby Morlock went to a cabinet, unlocked the door painted black and white, withdrew a flask containing amber syrup. One of the Regulators brought water in a goblet, which he set on the table beside Asrubal.
Morlock poured half a gill of the amber syrup into the goblet, and stirred it with a glass rod. Asrubal looked on, his bone-white face expressionless. Morlock pointed to the goblet. “Your time has come. Drink. You will be dead inside half a minute, and we will not need to strangle you with a wire noose.”
Asrubal looked at the goblet. His fingers twitched. Morlock stepped back, to protect himself in case Asrubal should think to throw the poison into his face.
Asrubal looked across the lobby at Maihac, then back to the goblet. He told Morlock, “You are early.”
“True. We want to forestall trouble.”
Asrubal showed a thin smile. “You have solved none of my problems.”
“That was not our intent.”
Asrubal nodded. With a slow steady motion he took up the goblet and without hesitation swallowed the contents. He put the goblet back on the table, and sat staring morosely at Morlock. Silence in the room was dense.
Asrubal spoke at last, in a voice of measured cadence: “You have your opinion of me, but never shall you say that I failed to confront destiny in other than proper decorum.”
“That is true,” said Morlock. “Your dignity is impeccable. It is a good basis on which to die.”
Asrubal’s lips twitched; his jaw sagged; his eyes moved strangely, so that they seemed to look in different directions. He slumped forward to lay face-down upon the table.
Morlock turned to Maihac. “He is dead.”
Maihac nodded. “So it appears.” He stepped around the table and using his light Ezelite-gun punched three holes into the back of Asrubal’s head. With each shot the body jerked.
Maihac stepped back from the table. He told Morlock, “It is not that I do not trust you, but a man may drink liquid and live; a man with three holes in his head is dead.”
“You are a practical philosopher,” said Morlock. He turned to the Regulators. “See that the hulk is taken to the Foundance and put into the corpse-bin.”
Twenty
1
Maihac and Morlock returned to Carleone. Morlock notified the dignitaries of the city of Asrubal’s death, and explained the rationale of the early execution. From Urd House came rumbles of discontent, but the bravos grudgingly abandoned their plans for either a foray upon the Justiciary or the extermination of the off-worlders. It seemed as if the early execution had achieved its purpose.
Maihac wanted to leave at once but Morlock prevailed upon him to delay a day or two. “I mention this on behalf of the Select Committee,” said Morlock.
“What is their interest in me?”
“Nothing to alarm you. In the simplest terms, they want information.”
“About what?”
“Let me describe the Select Committee,” said Morlock. “It is not precisely a secret organization, though it meets in private and operates without publicity. There are ten members, including six Councillors, four highly-regarded savants, and myself. The committee is aware that Romarth and its civilization is in a state of decline. Sometimes we use the word ‘decay.’ We also suspect that the patterns of Roum life might unkindly be described as ‘decadent’—though I, personally, find this usage debatable. There is one unassailable fact, however: the population of Romarth is declining, and if the trend persists, in two hundred years there may be no more than a dozen old men and women huddled in their grand halls, with only Seishanee to fend away the white houseghouls. The Select Committee is aware of this trend and by one means or another hopes to revitalize Romarth. No course of action has been ruled out. There has been talk of ending Roum isolation and undertaking new contacts with the Gaean Reach.”
“This all seems sensible enough,” said Maihac. “Why do they need me?”
“You are an off-worlder and you know the ways of Romarth. Your qualifications are unique. The Committee wants to hear your opinions. They will expect you to speak with full candor, even though one or two of the most conservative grandees are already grumbling as to the risks of what they call ‘vulgarization.’ ”
“Sometimes it can’t be helped,” said Maihac. “Still, I’ll talk with them. When and where? It must be quick.”
“The time is two hours after noon tomorrow. The place is here at Carleone.”
“Very well,” said Maihac. “That is convenient enough. Directly after the meeting we will leave Romarth aboard the Pharsang.”
When Garlet learned of the projected departure, he wasted no time in expressing his disapproval. “I see no reason to leave this place,” he told Maihac and Jaro. “I have learned the route from Gamboye Plaza to Carleone, and also down the Esplanade as far as the Foundance, which is adequate for my present needs. My rooms at Carleone are tolerable, as is the food. Jaro will be on hand to help me make social connections.”
Maihac said gently, “Your ideas are impractical. In the first place, Jaro will be gone aboard the Pharsang. You would be alone, to fend for yourself. The Roum would not take care of you. They live by rituals which you do not understand. If you tried to stay here alone, you would be barely tolerated—perhaps not even that, if you interfered with the women.”
Garlet gave his head a stubborn shake. “Jaro knows these rituals well enough. He can teach me; it is the least he can do.”
“I shall be here only one more day,” said Jaro. “That is hardly time enough to teach you anything.”
“I did not specify one day,” Garlet told him. “We will proceed at a suitable pace, as our life develops.”
Maihac became impatient. “Listen, Garlet, and listen carefully! There is nothing for you to do here, nothing for you to learn. You would soon become unhappy.”
Garlet said mulishly, “That is not necessarily so. At the moment, I am quite content to sit at a café where I can watch the Roum pass by on their promenades. Already I have seen several young women of haunting beauty, and I wish to become intimate with them. This is where Jaro’s assistance will be valuable.”
“It is not so easy, even for Jaro,” said Maihac, grinning. “The young women may be polite, but none will become intimate with you. Like everyone else, the girls are constricted by convention, and the arts of Roum love-making are elaborate. In any case, Jaro will be aboard the Pharsang with the rest of us.”
Garlet turned to Jaro. “It is your duty to stay!”
Jaro shook his head. “I can’t leave this weird world fast enough.”
Garlet muttered, “Once again I am thwarted.” He jerked to his feet and turned to leave. Maihac called to him, “Where are you going?”
“To the plaza.”
Maihac reflected. “The Urd bravos still think we have shamed their house, and they might decide to make an example of you. I would prefer that you remain at Carleone, but in the plaza you are probably safe—especially if Jaro is with you.”
“Jaro may come,” said Garlet judiciously, “but he must be helpful and not interfere with what I have in mind.”
Maihac laughed sourly. “He might be forced to interfere, to save your skin, if I am guessing your intentions correctly.” He thought a moment, then brou
ght out his heavy RTV power-gun. He told Jaro, “Let’s trade for today. You give me your Ezelite, and carry the RTV.”
The exchange was made. “Now you are safe for sure,” said Maihac. “At one puff the RTV will take out the entire House of Urd. The threat will end before it starts.”
Garlet grumbled, “If I should speak politely to a beautiful young woman, I do not think that Jaro should be entitled to shoot her.”
“He will be careful,” Maihac assured him. “Still, to be on the safe side, do not speak to any women, beautiful or otherwise. They might misunderstand your interest.”
“They’ll understand, well enough,” said Jaro, “which is worse.”
Garlet said, “I would prefer to carry the gun myself. Jaro’s judgment is not to be trusted.”
Maihac shook his head. “You do not know how to use the gun. You might end up shooting your own foot, or Jaro, or some passing stranger.”
“Bah. I am not so foolish as you think.”
Jaro sighed. “One more day on Fader, then back to the tranquil routines of space—though, with Garlet aboard the routines might not be so tranquil as before.” He rose to his feet. “Come. If we are going to the plaza, let’s make a start.”
As the two walked along the avenue, Jaro watched Garlet covertly sidewise. He wondered what would happen if Garlet insisted upon remaining at Romarth? Jaro suspected that Maihac would bring him aboard the Pharsang, either willingly, unwillingly and sullen, or drugged and unconscious. In any case Garlet would undoubtedly depart Fader with the Pharsang, and the hoped for tranquility of the voyage would be in jeopardy. Jaro sighed once more. What must be, must be.
The two arrived at the plaza. Garlet pointed. “That is the best café; the girls who pass there are prettier than those to be seen elsewhere.”
“You are observant,” said Jaro. “That is a good thing to know.”
The two seated themselves and were served fruit punch. Jaro sat back to contemplate the Roum, perhaps for the last time. They were folk of intriguing characteristics, with virtues and vices, strengths and weaknesses, unique to themselves—not to mention an environment crammed with art treasures they took for granted, and white houseghouls which they endured as elements of their ordinary experience.
For an hour Garlet sat silent, occasionally exclaiming as to the merits of a passing woman, sometimes in marvelling enthusiasm so earnest as to attract the attention of the woman or her escort, which in turn caused Jaro to grope for the reassuring bulk of the RTV. But Garlet’s acts brought only supercilious stares from the Roum.
Jaro became bored. He suggested that they return to Carleone.
Garlet picked up a pastry knife, tapped it upon the table a few times, held it still, watching intently. He tapped the knife again, then looked up at Jaro. “Not yet.”
Jaro shrugged and composed himself to wait.
The sun settled toward the tall trees of the Blandy Deep. Once again Jaro suggested that the time had come to leave.
Garlet frowned, craned his neck to look here and there around the plaza. “There was a most appealing woman who passed yesterday. I observed her carefully and we exchanged glances. I was hoping that she would pass today, when I planned to propose a more intimate relationship.”
“Give up that idea,” said Jaro. “The plaza is almost empty; the Roum are all dressing for their dinner parties. The woman will not be back.”
“She might if she knew that I was waiting to speak to her.”
“Not a chance. Come; the sun is dropping into the forest.”
Garlet said coldly, “If you are anxious to leave, you may do so.”
“It is not so easy,” said Jaro. “If I left you here and by some chance you came to grief, I would be held accountable. The woman will not be back today.”
“Perhaps not.” Garlet searched the plaza. “We will try again tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow morning, if you insist—though nothing can come of it. We will be leaving Romarth tomorrow afternoon.”
“The others perhaps,” said Garlet in an uninterested voice. “You and I will remain.”
Jaro gave a curt laugh. “Wrong. We are taking you back into the Reach for your own good.” Jaro hitched himself forward in his chair. “Are you ready to go?”
“One moment. I will consult yaha once more.” Garlet held the pastry knife an inch above the table. It twisted to the right and tilted down to tap the table. “I am advised to wait another ten minutes.”
“Interesting,” said Jaro. “The knife is your ‘yaha’?”
Garlet gave a snort of confident superiority. “Not the knife, naturally. ‘Yaha’ is something I discovered years ago, while I huddled in the dark. It came upon me like the dawn of order upon a field of chaos. It was known as ‘yaha.’ Does the word carry meaning to your mind?”
“No.”
“Not surprising, since it was I who formed the word. The idea is strong. I would not be the man I am today were it not for Vaha.’ ”
Jaro looked from the knife to Garlet. “What do you do when no knife is available?”
Garlet gave another snort of disgust. “The knife is incidental. In simple words, it is the play of independent free will among choices. The ordinary mind does not control or even affect yaha, and this is the basis of the force. The conscious mind puts the question; yaha searches among the options and indicates a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’ To the left lies the energetic, restless, daring principle; it also signifies ‘negative.’ To the right is ‘affirmative,’ and also the serene and restful. Imagine a circle. Outside is the ‘left’; inside is the ‘right.’ ”
“I must give the idea further thought,” said Jaro.
“That is just the start. Yaha works another way, with no reference to ‘left’ and ‘right.’ Yaha becomes a vehicle of suspenseful wonder! It is a source of excitement; yet all is accomplished with the simplest of means—in fact, nothing whatever. In the dark dungeon I could always undertake a glorious adventure using the infinite scope of yaha.” Garlet peered sidewise at Jaro. “Ha hah! You wear that blinking fat-cheeked face of stupidity which so ill becomes you!”
“Oh, sorry,” said Jaro.
“Do you discredit what I am telling you?”
“No, certainly not! The idea is difficult to grasp.”
“Listen then! Place four fingers flat on the table. They are like four little entities, each distinct from the other. They lie quiet; they are thinking. One of them will move. Which one? I don’t know, nor do I know when. I wait. Then, from nowhere, comes yaha. By mysterious impulse, one of the fingers moves! The suspense bursts in a tingle of surprise. Now then, another time: I hold a finger close to my face. Will I touch my nose? Or my chin? A mystery! The future is inscrutable! The denouement cannot be guessed! I sit for minutes on end waiting for yaha to act. Here is the soul of high drama! And then—the finger moves! Where? I cannot reveal the secret. I will say this, however: the finger might touch neither nose nor chin, but move in a startling direction, as if impelled by a mischievous imp—to ear or forehead! Here is yaha in a playful mood, and sometimes very endearing. But enough; now you know something of yaha—but not everything; I assure you of this.” Garlet sat half-smiling, lost in a reverie, thinking back across his years in the dark.
Jaro stirred himself. “Ten minutes has come and gone; it is time we were going.”
Garlet made no protest; the two returned across the plaza, over the bridge, along the avenue to Carleone.
2
During the afternoon, while Jaro and Garlet sat at the café, Maihac and Skirl had visited another ancient palace. Skirl, abandoning all compunctions, worked energetically with Maihac to ferry three cargoes of magnificent leather-bound chronicles up to the Pharsang. After the third transfer, instead of returning to Carleone, Skirl had elected to remain aboard the Pharsang.
Jaro reported to Maihac that Garlet had reiterated his intent to remain at Romarth, and described Garlet’s development of the ‘yaha’ principle.
Maihac was
both intrigued and impressed. “We may be expecting the impossible from Garlet. He trained his brain to function in the dark dungeon. Up here in the sunlight, and a space of far perspectives, he has become disoriented, and now is probably quite mad. Tomorrow he will try to give you the slip, and hide until we are gone. That is my guess. If he decides to visit the plaza tomorrow morning, you must not let him out of your sight.”
“He may simply refuse to return. I can’t carry him back.”
“Take a radio. If he gives you trouble, call for help and I’ll bring the flitter. Don’t forget your RTV.”
In the morning Maihac and Jaro took breakfast with Garlet. They found him taciturn and preoccupied with private thoughts. He seemed not to notice the absence of Skirl and ignored Jaro. After breakfast he went out to sit on the terrace. Jaro joined him and tried to initiate a conversation. Garlet responded with curt monosyllables, and presently Jaro fell silent.
Half an hour passed. Garlet rose abruptly to his feet. Jaro, lounging nearby, asked, “Where are you going?”
“Out to the café.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Garlet gave an indifferent shrug and set off along the avenue, with Jaro beside him. At Gamboye Plaza, Garlet halted and looked about the area. The hour was early and few folk were abroad. Garlet frowned in dissatisfaction and turned away. “The Esplanade is more interesting. The girls walk with an easier motion.”
“You may well be right,” said Jaro. “It’s a nice distinction which I admit that I have not made.”
Garlet deigned no reply. The two walked along the Esplanade almost to the Foundance before Garlet selected a café which exactly suited his purposes. The two seated themselves at a table overlooking the river. Jaro ordered tea and scones, which Garlet scorned with a sidelong glance and a sniff of contempt. He turned half-away, to stare out over the river. Jaro was content to sit in silence.
Time passed, while Garlet continued to brood across the water. Then, as if impacted by a sudden thought, he swung around to study the bulk of the Foundance. Purposefully he jumped to his feet. Jaro watched in fascination. An idea was developing in Garlet’s mind.