by Jack Vance
“I am a wayfarer, I wish shelter for the night, and with haste for a creature of dread approaches.”
The eye reappeared, looked carefully across the terrace, returned to focus on Cugel. “What are your qualities; where are your certifications?”
“I have none,” said Cugel. He glanced over his shoulder. “I much prefer to discuss the matter within, since the creature step by step mounts to the terrace.”
The peephole slammed shut. Cugel stared at the blank door. He banged on the knocker, peering back into the gloom. With a scrape and a creak the portal opened. A small stocky man wearing purple livery motioned to him. “Inside, with haste.”
Cugel slipped smartly through the door, which the footman at once heaved shut and bolted with three iron pegs. Even as he did so there came a creak and a pressure upon the door.
The footman struck the door smartly with his fist. “I have thwarted the creature again,” he said with satisfaction. “Had I been less swift, it would have been upon you, to my distress as well as yours. This is now my chief amusement, depriving the creature of its pleasures.”
“Indeed,” said Cugel, breathing heavily. “What manner of being is it?”
The footman signified his ignorance. “Nothing definite is known. It has only appeared of late, to lurk by night among the statues. Its behaviour is both vampirish and unnaturally lustful, and several of my associates have had cause to complain; in fact, all are dead by its odious acts. So now, to divert myself, I taunt the creature and cause it dissatisfaction.” The footman stood back, to survey Cugel with attention. “What of yourself? Your manner, the tilt of your head, the swing of your eyes from side to side denotes recklessness and unpredictability. I trust you will hold this quality in abeyance, if indeed it exists.”
“At this moment,” said Cugel, “my wants are simple: an alcove, a couch, a morsel of food for my supper. If I am provided these, you will find me benevolence personified; indeed I will assist you in your pleasures; together we will contrive stratagems to bait the ghoul.”
The footman bowed. “Your needs can be fulfilled. Since you are a traveler from afar, our ruler will wish to speak to you, and indeed may extend a bounty far more splendid than your minimal requirements.”
Cugel hurriedly disavowed any such ambition. “I am of low quality; my garments are soiled, my person reeks; my conversation consists of insipid platitudes. Best not to disturb the ruler of Cil.”
“We will repair what deficiencies we may,” said the footman. “Follow, if you will.”
He took Cugel along corridors lit by cressets, finally turning into a set of apartments. “Here you may wash; I will brush your garments and find fresh linen.”
Cugel reluctantly divested himself of his clothes. He bathed, trimmed the soft black mat of his hair, shaved his beard, rubbed his body with pungent oil. The footman brought fresh garments, and Cugel, much refreshed, dressed himself. Donning his jacket he chanced to touch the amulet at his wrist, pressing one of the carbuncles. From deep under the floor came a groan of the most profound anguish.
The footman sprang about in terror, and his eye fell upon the amulet. He stared in gape-mouthed astonishment, then became obsequious. “My dear sir, had I realized your identity, I would have conducted you to apartments of state, and brought forth the finest robes.”
“I make no complaints,” said Cugel, “though for a fact the linens were a trifle stale.” In jocular emphasis he tapped a carbuncle at his wrist, and the responsive groan caused the servitor’s knees to knock together.
“I beseech your understanding,” he quavered.
“Say no more,” said Cugel. “Indeed it was my hope to visit the palace incognito, so to speak, that I might see how affairs were conducted.”
“This is judicious,” agreed the servitor. “Undoubtedly you will wish to discharge both Sarman the chamberlain and Bilbab the under-cook when their peccancies come to light. As for myself, when your lordship restores Cil to its ancient grandeur, perhaps there will be a modest sinecure for Yodo, the most loyal and cooperative of your servants.”
Cugel made a gracious gesture. “If such an event comes to pass — and it is my heart’s-desire — you shall not be neglected. For the present I shall remain quietly in this apartment. You may bring hither a suitable repast, with a variety of choice wines.”
Yodo performed a sweeping bow. “As your lordship desires.” He departed. Cugel relaxed upon the most comfortable couch of the chamber and fell to studying the amulet which had so promptly aroused Yodo’s fidelity. The runes, as before, were inscrutable; the carbuncles produced only groans, which, while diverting, were of small practical utility. Cugel attempted every exhortation, compulsion, rigor and enjoinment his smattering of wizardry provided, to no avail.
Yodo returned to the apartment, but without the repast Cugel had ordered.
“Your lordship,” stated Yodo, “I have the honor to convey to you an invitation from Derwe Coreme, erstwhile ruler of Cil, to attend her at the evening banquet.”
“How is this possible?” demanded Cugel. “She has had no information of my presence; as I recall, I gave you specific instructions in this regard.”
Yodo performed another sweeping bow. “Naturally I obeyed, your lordship. The wiles of Derwe Coreme exceed my understanding. By some device she learned of your presence and so has issued the invitation which you have just heard.”
“Very well,” said Cugel glumly. “Be so good as to lead the way. You mentioned my amulet to her?”
“Derwe Coreme knows all,” was Yodo’s ambiguous reply. “This way, your lordship, if you please.”
He led Cugel along the old corridors, finally through a tall narrow arch into a great hall. To either side stood a row of what appeared to be men-at-arms in brass armour with helmets of checkered bone and jet; forty in all, but only six suits of armor were occupied by living men, the others being supported on racks. Telamons of exaggerated elongations and grotesquely distorted visage supported the smoky beams; a rich rug of green concentric circles on a black ground covered the floor. Derwe Coreme sat at the end of a circular table, this so massive as to give her the seeming of a girl, a sullen brooding girl of the most delicate beauty. Cugel approached with a confident mien, halted, bowed curtly. Derwe Coreme inspected him with gloomy resignation, her eyes dwelling upon the amulet. She drew a deep breath. “Whom do I have the privilege to address?”
“My name is of no consequence,” said Cugel. “You may address me as ‘Exalted’.”
Derwe Coreme shrugged indifferently. “As you will. I seem to recall your face. You resemble a vagabond whom lately I ordered whipped.”
“I am that vagabond,” said Cugel. “I cannot say that your conduct has failed to leave a residue of resentment and I am now here to demand an explanation.” And Cugel touched a carbuncle, evoking so desolate and heartfelt a groan that the crystalware rattled on the table.
Derwe Coreme blinked and her mouth sagged. She spoke ungraciously. “It appears that my actions were poorly conceived. I failed to perceive your exalted condition, and thought you only the ill-conditioned scape-grace your appearance suggests.”
Cugel stepped forward, put his hand under the small pointed chin, turned up the exquisite face. “Yet you besought me to visit you at your palace. Do you recall this?”
Derwe Coreme gave a grudging nod.
“Just so,” said Cugel. “I am here.”
Derwe Coreme smiled, and for a brief period became winsome. “So you are, and knave, vagabond, or whatever your nature, you wear the amulet by which the House of Slaye ruled across two hundred generations. You are of this house?”
“In due course you will know me well,” said Cugel. “I am a generous man, though given to caprice, and were it not for a certain Firx … Be that as it may, I hunger, and now I invite you to share the banquet which I have ordered the excellent Yodo to set before me. Kindly be good enough to move a place or two aside, and I will be seated.”
Derwe Coreme hesitated,
whereupon Cugel’s hand went suggestively toward the amulet. She moved with alacrity and Cugel settled himself into the seat she had vacated. He rapped on the table: “Yodo? Where is Yodo?”
“I am here, Exalted!”
“Bring forth the banquet: the finest fare the palace offers!”
Yodo bowed, scuttled away, and presently a line of footmen appeared bearing trays and flagons, and a banquet more than meeting Cugel’s specifications was arranged on the table.
Cugel brought forth the periapt provided by Iucounu the Laughing Magician, which not only converted organic waste to nourishment, but also chimed warning in the presence of noxious substances. The first few courses were salubrious and Cugel ate with gusto. The old wines of Cil were as beneficial, and Cugel drank freely, from goblets of black glass, carved cinnabar and ivory inlaid with turquoise and mother-of-pearl.
Derwe Coreme toyed with her food, sipped her wine, watching Cugel thoughtfully all the while. Further delicacies were brought and now Derwe Coreme leaned forward. “You truly plan to rule Cil?”
“Such is my heart’s-desire!” declared Cugel with fervor.
Derwe Coreme moved close to him. “Do you then take me as your consort? Say yes; you will be more than content.”
“We will see, we will see,” said Cugel expansively. “Tonight is tonight, tomorrow is tomorrow. Many changes will be made, this is certain.”
Derwe Coreme smiled faintly, nodded to Yodo. “Bring the most ancient of our vintages, we will drink the health of the new Lord of Cil.”
Yodo bowed, and brought a dull flagon webbed and dusty, which he decanted with utmost solicitude, and poured into crystal goblets. Cugel raised his goblet, and the charm purred warning. Cugel abruptly set down the goblet, and watched as Derwe Coreme raised hers to her lips. He reached forth, took the goblet, and again the charm purred. Poison in both? Strange. Perhaps she had not intended to drink. Perhaps she had already ingested an antidote.
Cugel signaled Yodo. “Another goblet, if you please … The decanter.” Cugel poured a third measure and again the charm signified direness. Cugel said, “Though my acquaintance with the excellent Yodo is of short duration, I have been most favorably impressed by his worth, and I hereby elevate him to the post of Major-Domo of the Palace!”
“Exalted,” stammered Yodo, “this is a signal honor indeed.”
“Drink then of the ancient vintage, to solemnize this new dignity!”
Yodo bowed low. “With the most heartfelt gratitude, Exalted.” He raised the goblet, drank. Derwe Coreme watched indifferently. Yodo put down the goblet, frowned, gave a convulsive jerk, turned a startled glance at Cugel, fell to the rug, cried out, twitched and lay still.
Cugel frowningly inspected Derwe Coreme. She appeared as startled as had Yodo. Now she turned to look at him. “Why did you poison Yodo?”
“It was your doing,” said Cugel. “Did you not order poison in the wine?”
“No.”
“You must say ‘No, Exalted’.”
“No, Exalted.”
“If you did not — who?”
“I am perplexed. The poison perhaps was meant for me.”
“Or both of us.” Cugel signaled one of the footmen. “Remove the corpse of Yodo.”
The footman signaled a pair of hooded under-servants, who carried off the unfortunate major-domo.
Cugel took the crystal goblets, stared down into the amber liquid, but did not communicate his thoughts. Derwe Coreme leaned back in her chair, contemplated him at length. “I am puzzled,” she said presently. “You are a man past the teaching of my experience. I cannot decide upon the colour of your soul.”
Cugel was charmed by the quaint turn of phrase. “You see souls in color, then?”
“Indeed. It was the birth-gift of a lady sorceress, who also provided me my walking boat. She is dead and I am alone, with no friend nor any who thinks of me with love. And so I have ruled Cil with little joy. And now you are here, with a soul which flickers through many colours, like that of no human man to come before me.”
Cugel forbore to mention Firx, whose own spiritual exhalation, mingling with that of Cugel’s, undoubtedly caused the variegation Derwe Coreme had noted. “There is a reason for this effect,” said Cugel, “which in due course will be voided, or so I hope. Until then, you may regard my soul as one shining with the purest ray imaginable.”
“I will try to keep this in mind, Exalted.”
Cugel frowned. In Derwe Coreme’s remarks and the poise of her head he noted barely concealed insolence, which he found exasperating. Still, there was ample time to correct the matter after learning the use of the amulet, a business of prime urgency. Cugel leaned back into the cushions, and spoke as one who muses idly: “Everywhere at this time of Earth’s dying exceptional circumstances are to be noted. Recently, at the manse of Iucounu the Laughing Magician, I saw a great libram which indexed all the writings of magic, and all styles of thaumaturgical rune. Perhaps you have similar volumes in your library?”
“It well may be,” said Derwe Coreme. “The Fourteenth Garth Haxt of Slaye was a diligent collator, and compiled a voluminous pandect on the subject.”
Cugel clapped his hands together. “I wish to see this important work at once!”
Derwe Coreme looked at him in wonder. “Are you then such a bibliophile? A pity, because The Eighth Rubel Zaff ordered this particular compendium submerged off Cape Horizon.”
Cugel made a sour face. “Are no other treatises at hand?”
“Doubtless,” said Derwe Coreme. “The library occupies the whole of the north wing. But will not tomorrow suffice for your research?” And, stretching in languid warmth, she contrived to twist her body into first one luxurious position, then another.
Cugel drank deep from a black glass goblet. “Yes, there is no haste in this matter. And now —” He was interrupted by a woman of middle age in voluminous brown garments, evidently one of the under-servants, who at this moment rushed into the hall. She was shouting hysterically and several footmen sprang forward to support her. Between racking sobs she made clear the source of her anguish: an abominable act only just now committed by the ghoul upon her daughter.
Derwe Coreme gracefully indicated Cugel. “Here is the new Lord of Cil; he has vast powers of magic and will order the ghoul destroyed. Will you not, Exalted?”
Cugel thoughtfully rubbed his chin. A dilemma indeed. The woman and all the servitors fell down upon their knees. “Exalted, if you control this corrosive magic, employ it instantly to destroy the vile ghoul!”
Cugel winced, and turning his head met Derwe Coreme’s thoughtful gaze. He jumped to his feet. “What need I of magic when I can wield a sword? I will hack the creature organ from organ!” He signaled the six men-at-arms who stood by in their brass armour. “Come! Bring torches! We fare forth to dismember the ghoul!”
The men-at-arms obeyed without enthusiasm. Cugel herded them toward the great portal. “When I fling wide the doors, rush forth with the torches, to create a blaze which will illuminate the evil being! Have swords drawn so that when I send him reeling you may strike the coup de grace!”
The men-at-arms each with torch and drawn sword stood before the portal. Cugel slid back the bolts and flung wide the portal. “Out! Shine upon the ghoul the last light of his existence!”
The men-at-arms raced desperately forth, with Cugel swaggering after, flourishing his sword. The men-at-arms paused at the head of the steps, to look uncertainly out over the promenade, from which a quiet horrid sound could be heard.
Cugel looked over his shoulder to see Derwe Coreme watching attentively from the doorway. “Forward!” he shouted. “Surround this wretched creature, whose death is now upon him!”
The men-at-arms gingerly descended the steps, with Cugel marching to the rear. “Hack with a will!” he called. “There is ample glory for all! The man who fails to deal a stroke I blast by magic!”
The flickering lights shone on the pedestals, ranging in a long line to merge at
last with the darkness. “Forward!” cried Cugel. “Where is this bestial being? Why does he not appear to receive his deserts?” And Cugel peered through the wavering shadows, hoping the ghoul by now would have taken alarm and fled.
To the side came a small sound. Turning, Cugel saw a tall pale shape standing quietly. The men-at-arms gasped, fled incontinently up the broad stones. “Slay the beast by magic, Exalted!” called the sergeant. “The most expeditious method is often the best!”
The ghoul came forward; Cugel stumbled back. The ghoul took a quick step forward. Cugel sprang behind a pedestal. The ghoul swung out its arm; Cugel hacked with his sword, sprang to the protection of another pedestal, then raced with great agility back across the terrace. The door was already closing; Cugel flung himself through the dwindling aperture. He heaved the door shut, and thrust home the bolts. The ghoul’s weight slammed against the timbers and the bolts creaked in protest.
Cugel turned to meet the bright-eyed appraisal of Derwe Coreme. “What ensued?” she asked. “Why did you not slay the ghoul?”
“The warriors decamped with the torches,” said Cugel. “I could see neither where to hack nor where to hew.”
“Strange,” mused Derwe Coreme. “There seemed ample illumination for so negligible an exercise. Why did you not employ the power of the amulet to rend the ghoul limb from limb?”
“So simple and quick a death is unsuitable,” stated Cugel with dignity. “I must cogitate at length, and decide how he may best expiate his crimes.”
“Indeed,” said Derwe Coreme. “Indeed.”
Cugel strode back into the great hall. “Back to the banquet! Let the wine flow! Everyone must drink to the accession of the new Lord of Cil!”
Derwe Coreme said in a silky voice, “If you please, Exalted, make some display of the power of the amulet, to gratify our curiosity!”
“Certainly!” And Cugel touched carbuncle after carbuncle, producing rumbles and groans of grievous woe, with occasionally a wail or scream.