The Eyes of the Overworld

by Jack Vance

  Garstang approached Lodermulch to voice measured approval for his act. He added a caution: “In this case an impulsive, indeed almost insubordinate, act redounded to the general benefit. If a similar circumstance arises in the future it would be well to take counsel with others of proved sagacity: myself, Casmyre, Voynod or Subucule.”

  Lodermulch grunted indifferently. “As you wish, so long as the delay involves me in no personal inconvenience.” And Garstang was forced to be content with this.

  The other pilgrims eyed Lodermulch with dissatisfaction, and drew themselves somewhat apart, so that Lodermulch sat by himself at the forward part of the raft.

  Afternoon came, then sunset, evening and night; when morning arrived it was seen that Lodermulch had disappeared.

  There was general puzzlement. Garstang made inquiries, but none could throw light upon the mystery, and there was no general consensus as to what in fact had occasioned the disappearance.

  Strangely enough, the departure of the unpopular Lodermulch failed to restore the original cheer and fellowship to the group. Thereafter each of the pilgrims sat dourly silent, casting glances to left and right; there were no further games, nor philosophical discussions, and Garstang’s announcement that Erze Damath lay a single day’s journey ahead aroused no great enthusiasm.

  3

  Erze Damath

  On the last night aboard the raft a semblance of the old camaraderie returned. Vitz the locutor performed a number of vocal exercises and Cugel demonstrated a high-kneed capering dance typical of the lobster fishermen of Kauchique, where he had passed his youth. Voynod in his turn performed a few simple metamorphoses, and then displayed a small silver ring. He signaled Haxt. “Touch this with your tongue, press it to your forehead, then look through.”

  “I see a procession!” exclaimed Haxt. “Men and women by the hundreds, and thousands, marching past. My mother and my father walk before, then my grandparents — but who are the others?”

  “Your ancestors,” declared Voynod, “each in his characteristic costume, back to the primordial homuncule from which all of us are derived.” He retrieved the ring, and reaching into his pouch brought forth a dull blue and green gem. “Watch now, as I fling this jewel into the Scamander!” And he tossed the gem off to the side. It flickered through the air and splashed into the dark water. “Now, I merely fold forth my palm, and the gem returns!” And indeed, as the company watched there was a wet sparkle across the firelight and upon Voynod’s palm rested the gem. “With this gem a man need never fear penury. True, it is of no great value, but he can sell it repeatedly … What else shall I show you? This small amulet perhaps. Frankly an erotic appurtenance, it arouses intense emotion in that person toward whom the potency is directed. One must be cautious in its use; and indeed, I have here an indispensable ancillary: a periapt in the shape of a ram’s head, fashioned to the order of Emperor Dalmasmius the Tender, that he might not injure the sensibilities of any of his ten thousand concubines … What else can I display? Here: my wand, which instantly affixes any object to any other. I keep it carefully sheathed so that I do not inadvertently weld trouser to buttock or pouch to fingertip. The object has many uses. What else? Let us see … Ah, here! A horn of singular quality. When thrust into the mouth of a corpse, it stimulates the utterance of twenty final words. Inserted into the cadaver’s ear it allows the transmission of information into the lifeless brain … What have we here? Yes, indeed: a small device which has brought such pleasure!” And Voynod displayed a doll which performed a heroic declamation, sang a somewhat raffish song and engaged in repartee with Cugel, who squatted close in front, watching all with great attentiveness.

  At last Voynod tired of his display, and the pilgrims one by one reposed themselves to sleep.

  Cugel lay awake, hands behind his head, staring up at the stars, thinking of Voynod’s unexpectedly large collection of thaumaturgical instruments and devices.

  When satisfied that all were asleep, he arose to his feet and inspected the sleeping form of Voynod. The pouch was securely locked and tucked under Voynod’s arm, much as Cugel had expected. Going to the little pantry where stores were kept he secured a quantity of lard, which he mixed with flour to produce a white salve. From a fragment of heavy paper he folded a small box, which he filled with the salve. He then returned to his couch.

  On the following morning he contrived that Voynod, as if by accident, should see him anointing his sword blade with the salve.

  Voynod became instantly horrified. “It cannot be! I am astounded! Alas, poor Lodermulch!”

  Cugel signaled him to silence. “What are you saying?” he muttered. “I merely protect my sword against rust.”

  Voynod shook his head with inexorable determination. “All is clear! For the sake of gain you have murdered Lodermulch! I have no choice but to lodge an information with the thief-takers at Erze Damath!”

  Cugel made an imploring gesture. “Do not be hasty! You have mistaken all; I am innocent!”

  Voynod, a tall saturnine man with a purple flush under his eyes, a long chin and a tall pinched forehead, held up his hand. “I have never been one to tolerate homicide. The principle of equivalence must in this case apply, and a rigorous requital is necessary. At minimum, the evil-doer may never profit by his act!”

  “You refer to the salve?” inquired Cugel delicately.

  “Precisely,” said Voynod. “Justice demands no less.”

  “You are a stern man,” exclaimed Cugel in distress. “I have no choice but submit to your judgment.”

  Voynod extended his hand. “The salve then, and since you are obviously overcome by remorse, I will say no more of the matter.”

  Cugel pursed his lips reflectively. “So be it. I have already anointed my sword. Therefore I will sacrifice the remainder of the salve in exchange for your erotic appurtenance and its ancillary, together with several lesser talismans.”

  “Do I hear correctly?” stormed Voynod. “Your arrogance transcends all! Such effectuants are beyond value!”

  Cugel shrugged. “This salve is by no means an ordinary article of commerce.”

  After dispute Cugel relinquished the salve in return for a tube which projected blue concentrate to a distance of fifty paces, together with a scroll listing eighteen phases of the Laganetic Cycle; and with these items he was forced to be content.

  Not long afterward the outlying ruins of Erze Damath appeared upon the western banks: ancient villas now toppled and forlorn among overgrown gardens.

  The pilgrims plied poles to urge the raft toward the shore. In the distance appeared the tip of the Black Obelisk, at which all emitted a glad cry. The raft moved slantwise across the Scamander and was presently docked at one of the crumbling old jetties.

  The pilgrims scrambled ashore, to gather around Garstang, who addressed the group: “It is with vast satisfaction that I find myself discharged of responsibility. Behold! The holy city where Gilfig issued the Gneustic Dogma! where he scourged Kazue and denounced Enxis the Witch! Not impossibly the sacred feet have trod this very soil!” Garstang made a dramatic gesture toward the ground, and the pilgrims, looking downward, shuffled their feet uneasily. “Be that as it may, we are here and each of us must feel relief. The way was tedious and not without peril. Fifty-nine set forth from Pholgus Valley. Bamish and Randol were taken by grues at Sagma Field; by the bridge across the Asc Cugel joined us; upon the Scamander we lost Lodermulch. Now we muster fifty-seven, comrades all, tried and true, and it is a sad thing to dissolve our association, which we all will remember forever!

  “Two days hence the Lustral Rites begin. We are in good time. Those who have not disbursed all their funds gaming —” here Garstang turned a sharp glance toward Cugel “— may seek comfortable inns at which to house themselves. The impoverished must fare as best they can. Now our journey is at its end; we herewith disband and go our own ways, though all will necessarily meet two days hence at the Black Obelisk. Farewell until this time!”

  The pilgrims
now dispersed, some walking along the banks of the Scamander toward a nearby inn, others turning aside and proceeding into the city proper.

  Cugel approached Voynod. “I am strange to this region, as you are aware; perhaps you can recommend an inn of large comfort at small cost.”

  “Indeed,” said Voynod. “I am bound for just such an inn: the Old Dastric Empire Hostelry, which occupies the precincts of a former palace. Unless conditions have changed, sumptuous luxury and exquisite viands are offered at no great cost.”

  The prospect met with Cugel’s approval; the two set out through the avenues of old Erze Damath, past clusters of stucco huts, then a region where no buildings stood and the avenues created a vacant checkerboard, then into a district of great mansions still currently in use: these set back among intricate gardens. The folk of Erze Damath were handsome enough, if somewhat swarthier than the folk of Almery. The men wore only black: tight trousers and vests with black pom-pons; the women were splendid in gowns of yellow, red, orange and magenta, and their slippers gleamed with orange and black sequins. Blue and green were rare, being unlucky colors, and purple signified death. The women displayed tall plumes in their hair, while the men wore jaunty black disks, their scalps protruding through a central hole. A resinous balsam seemed very much the fashion, and everyone Cugel met exuded a waft of aloes or myrrh or carcynth. All in all the folk of Erze Damath seemed no less cultivated than those of Kauchique, and rather more vital than the listless citizens of Azenomei.

  Ahead appeared the Old Dastric Empire Hostelry, not far from the Black Obelisk itself. To the dissatisfaction of both Cugel and Voynod, the premises were completely occupied, and the attendant refused them admittance. “The Lustral Rites have attracted all manner of devout folk,” he explained. “You will be fortunate to secure lodging of any kind.”

  So it proved: from inn to inn went Cugel and Voynod, to be turned away in every case. Finally, on the western outskirts of the city, at the very edge of the Silver Desert, they were received by a large tavern of somewhat disreputable appearance: the Inn of the Green Lamp.

  “Until ten minutes ago I could not have housed you,” stated the landlord, “but the thief-takers apprehended two persons who lodged here, naming them foot-pads and congenital rogues.”

  “I trust this is not the general tendency of your clientele?” inquired Voynod.

  “Who is to say?” replied the innkeeper. “It is my business to provide food and drink and lodging; no more. Ruffians and deviants must eat, drink and sleep, no less than savants and zealots. All have passed on occasion through my doors, and, after all, what do I know of you?”

  Dusk was falling and without further ado Cugel and Voynod housed themselves at the Sign of the Green Lamp. After refreshing themselves they repaired to the common room for their evening meal. This was a hall of considerable extent, with age-blackened beams, a floor of dark brown tile, various posts and columns of scarred wood, each supporting a lamp. The clientele was various, as the landlord had intimated, displaying a dozen costumes and complexions. Desert-men lean as snakes, wearing leather smocks, sat on one hand; on the other were four with white faces and silky red top-knots who uttered never a word. Along a counter to the back sat a group of bravos in brown trousers, black capes and leather berets, each with a spherical jewel dangling by a gold chain from his ear.

  Cugel and Voynod consumed a meal of fair quality, though somewhat rudely served, then sat drinking wine and considering how to pass the evening. Voynod decided to rehearse cries of passion and devotional frenzies to be exhibited at the Lustral Rites. Cugel thereupon besought him to lend his talisman of erotic stimulation. “The women of Erze Damath show to good advantage, and with the help of the talisman I will extend my knowledge of their capabilities.”

  “By no means,” said Voynod, hugging his pouch close to his side. “My reasons need no amplification.”

  Cugel put on a sullen scowl. Voynod was a man whose grandiose personal conceptions seemed particularly far-fetched and distasteful, by reason of his unhealthy, gaunt and saturnine appearance.

  Voynod drained his mug, with a meticulous frugality Cugel found additionally irritating, and rose to his feet. “I will now retire to my chamber.”

  As he turned away a bravo swaggering across the room jostled him. Voynod snapped an acrimonious instruction, which the bravo did not choose to ignore. “How dare you use such words to me! Draw and defend yourself, or I cut your nose from your face!” And the bravo snatched forth his blade.

  “As you will,” said Voynod. “One moment until I find my sword.” With a wink at Cugel he anointed his blade with the salve, then turned to the bravo. “Prepare for death, my good fellow!” He leapt grandly forward. The bravo, noting Voynod’s preparations, and understanding that he faced magic, stood numb with terror. With a flourish Voynod ran him through, and wiped his blade on the bravo’s hat.

  The dead man’s companions at the counter started to their feet, but halted as Voynod with great aplomb turned to face them. “Take care, you dunghill cocks! Notice the fate of your fellow! He died by the power of my magic blade, which is of inexorable metal and cuts rock and steel like butter. Behold!” And Voynod struck out at a pillar. The blade, striking an iron bracket, broke into a dozen pieces. Voynod stood non-plussed, but the bravo’s companions surged forward.

  “What then of your magic blade? Our blades are ordinary steel but bite deep!” And in a moment Voynod was cut to bits.

  The bravos now turned upon Cugel. “What of you? Do you wish to share the fate of your comrade?”

  “By no means!” stated Cugel. “This man was but my servant, carrying my pouch. I am a magician; observe this tube! I will project blue concentrate at the first man to threaten me!”

  The bravos shrugged, turned away. Cugel secured Voynod’s pouch, then gestured to the landlord. “Be so good as to remove these corpses; then bring a further mug of spiced wine.”

  “What of your comrade’s account?” demanded the landlord testily.

  “I will settle it in full, have no fear.”

  The corpses were carried to the rear compound; Cugel consumed a last mug of wine, then retired to his chamber, where he spread the contents of Voynod’s pouch upon the table. The money went into his purse; the talismans, amulets and instruments he packed into his own pouch; the salve he tossed aside. Content with the day’s work, he reclined upon the couch, and was soon asleep.

  On the following day Cugel roamed the city, climbing the tallest of the eight hills. The vista which spread before him was both bleak and magnificent. To right and left rolled the great Scamander. The avenues of the city marked off square blocks of ruins, empty wastes, the stucco huts of the poor and the palaces of the rich. Erze Damath was the largest city of Cugel’s experience, far vaster than any of Almery or Ascolais, though now the greater part lay tumbled in mouldering ruin.

  Returning to the central section, Cugel sought out the booth of a professional geographer, and after paying a fee inquired the most secure and expeditious route to Almery.

  The sage gave no hasty nor ill-considered answer, but brought forth several charts and directories. After profound deliberation he turned to Cugel. “This is my counsel. Follow the Scamander north to the Asc, proceed along the Asc until you encounter a bridge of six piers. Here turn your face to the north, proceed across the Mountains of Magnatz, whereupon you will find before you that forest known as the Great Erm. Fare westward through this forest and approach the shore of the Northern Sea. Here you must build a coracle and entrust yourself to the force of wind and current. If by chance you should reach the Land of the Falling Wall, then it is a comparatively easy journey south to Almery.”

  Cugel made an impatient gesture. “In essence this is the way I came. Is there no other route?”

  “Indeed there is. A rash man might choose to risk the Silver Desert, whereupon he would find the Songan Sea, across which lie the impassable wastes of a region contiguous to East Almery.”

  “Well then, this
seems feasible. How may I cross the Silver Desert? Are there caravans?”

  “To what purpose? There are none to buy the goods thus conveyed — only bandits who prefer to preempt the merchandise. A minimum force of forty men is necessary to intimidate the bandits.”

  Cugel departed the booth. At a nearby tavern he drank a flask of wine and considered how best to raise a force of forty men. The pilgrims, of course, numbered fifty-six — no, fifty-five, what with the death of Voynod; still, such a band would serve very well …

  Cugel drank more wine and considered further.

  At last he paid his score and turned his steps to the Black Obelisk. “Obelisk” perhaps was a misnomer: the object being a great fang of solid black stone rearing a hundred feet above the city. At the base five statues had been carved, each facing a different direction, each the Prime Adept of some particular creed. Gilfig faced to the south, his four hands presenting symbols, his feet resting upon the necks of ecstatic supplicants, with toes elongated and curled upward, to indicate elegance and delicacy.

  Cugel sought information of a nearby attendant. “Who, in regard to the Black Obelisk, is Chief Hierarch, and where may he be found?”

  “Precursor Hulm is that individual,” said the attendant and indicated a splendid structure nearby. “Within that gem-encrusted structure his sanctum may be found.”

  Cugel proceeded to the building indicated and after many vehement declarations was ushered into the presence of Precursor Hulm: a man of middle years, somewhat stocky and round of face. Cugel gestured to the under-hierophant who so reluctantly had brought him hither. “Go; my message is for the Precursor alone.”

  The Precursor gave a signal; the hierophant departed. Cugel hitched himself forward. “I may talk without fear of being overheard?”

  “Such is the case.”

  “First of all,” said Cugel, “know that I am a powerful wizard. Behold: a tube which projects blue concentrate! And here, a screed listing eighteen phases of the Laganetic Cycle! And this instrument: a horn which allows the dead to speak, and used in another fashion, allows information to be conveyed into the dead brain! I possess other marvels galore!”