Rhialto the Marvellous

by Jack Vance

  “One moment,” said Ildefonse. “I too saw the reverse projection. Am I also confused?”

  Hache-Moncour gave a light laugh. “Such little errors betoken neither degeneracy nor turpitude; perhaps for your lunch you enjoyed a surfeit of plum-pickle, or took a mug too many of your excellent sub-cellar ale! Ha ho! Dyspepsia is the plight of many strong men! Shall we proceed with our business?”

  “By no means!” declared Ildefonse in brusque tones. “We shall return to Boumergarth for a fuller investigation of what at every turn becomes a more mystifying situation.”

  Amid a subdued murmur of conversation, the magicians departed the fane. Rhialto, who had paused to inspect the Egg, held Ildefonse back until they were alone. “You may be interested to learn that this is not even the authentic Perciplex. It is a forgery.”

  “What!” cried Ildefonse. “Surely you are mistaken!”

  “Look for yourself. This prism is too small for the housing. The workmanship is crude. Most significant of all, the true Perciplex could never project in reverse. Watch now! I will shake the Egg and topple the prism. The true Perciplex will right itself.”

  Rhialto jarred the Egg with such effect that the Perciplex fell to its side, in which position it remained.

  Ildefonse faced the Egg. “Adjudicator! Speak! It is Ildefonse the Preceptor who commands!”

  No reply was audible.

  Once again Ildefonse called out: “Adjudicator! Sarsem! I charge you: speak!”

  Again, silence.

  Ildefonse turned away. “Back to Boumergarth. The mystery is compounded. It is no longer trivial.”

  “Never was it trivial,” said Rhialto.

  “No matter,” said Ildefonse curtly. “The affair, now that it concerns me, has taken on a new and large dimension. To Boumergarth!”

  6

  Assembling again in the Grand Hall, the magicians set up a colloquy of many voices. Ildefonse for a time listened to the somewhat formless interchanges without comment, darting his pale blue eyes from face to face and giving an occasional tug to his untidy beard.

  The discussions began to grow heated. Vehement in his wrath was Haze of Wheary Water: a hot-eyed little wefkin who affected a green pelt and a thatch of yellow willow-leaves in the place of hair. Moving with irregular starts and jerks, he asserted his opinions with ever-increasing agitation. “Willy-nilly, backwards, forwards, the Blue is the Blue! As Hache-Moncour averred, the text condemns Rhialto’s conduct out of hand, and that is all we care about. I will gladly stand on my head to read such news, or look through a mirror, or peek from behind my handkerchief!” And Haze spoke on, ever more fervently, until the company began to fear that he might injure himself in a paroxysm, or even blurt out some terrible all-inclusive curse to disable everyone. Ildefonse finally invoked the Spell of Soft Silence, so that while Haze ranted as before, his voice no longer could be heard, not even by himself, and presently he returned to his place.

  The corpulent and loose-featured Dulce-Lolo analyzed the peculiar reversal of the projection. “I suspect that Sarsem the Adjudicator became careless and allowed the Perciplex to project in reverse, then, observing our consternation, he brought a hiatus upon us and turned the Perciplex to its proper position.”

  Ildefonse stepped ponderously up on the dais. “I must make an important announcement. The prism you saw tonight is false: a fraud, a forgery. The question of reversal is irrelevant.”

  Darvilk the Miaanther, normally taciturn, emitted an angry cry. “Then why did you, in full and pompous authority, dragoon us and march us lock-step to Fader’s Waft, if only to inspect what you claim to be a falsity?”

  Shrue spoke out. “The Miaanther’s question strikes the nail! Ildefonse, your conduct merits a reproach.”

  Ildefonse held his arms high. “The group is not addressing itself to the issue! I repeat again: the Monstrament, the basis of our association, is missing from the Judicial Egg! We are left without law; we are naked as the Egg itself to that faceless shape which walks among us! We cannot dare the duration of a day without undertaking strategies of protection.”

  Hache-Moncour said with a gentle smile: “Ildefonse, dear friend! Must you cry cataclysm in such wild despair? Our association is based on the wisdom of its members!”

  Vermoulian the Dream-walker said: “I predict a simple explanation to the apparent mystery. Sarsem may have removed the Perciplex for cleaning and left a simulacrum temporarily in place.”

  “This must indeed be the explanation,” said Hache-Moncour. “Meanwhile, the simulacrum can be used at need.”

  “Precisely so!” cried Hurtiancz. “And never forget that, in making use of this version, simulacrum though it may be, we shackle the animal ferocity of Rhialto, and quell his insensate demands.”

  Ildefonse struck his gavel upon the podium. “Hurtiancz, your remarks are out of order. If you recall, Rhialto staunchly defended his conduct, and where this was impossible, he simply denied it.”

  Hurtiancz muttered: “I only give tongue to the consensus.”

  “Your remarks are not appropriate at this time. Rhialto, you have spoken no word: what is your opinion?”

  “I am not yet ready to speak.”

  “Shrue, what of you?”

  “Only this: lacking the true Monstrament, all issues of legality must be held in abeyance. Practically, the ‘status quo’ must be considered as definite and final.”

  “Nahourezzin: what are your thoughts?”

  Nahourezzin, known in Old Romarth as ‘the Striped Sadwan’, already was pondering the possible courses of the future. “If the Perciplex is indeed gone, then, using the simulacrum as a basis, we must create a new Monstrament, to be known as the Orange Principles.”

  “Or the Lime-green,” suggested Dulce-Lolo. “Or even the Rose-purple, to suggest both splendour and pomp.”

  “The suggestion lacks merit,” said Ildefonse. “Why create a new document of some unfamiliar colour, when the Blue Principle has served us staunchly and well? Rhialto’s document, though slightly torn, will suffice for the nonce.”

  Hurtiancz again bounded out to claim the floor. “If we accept Rhialto’s document, then his charges prevail! With a new Perciplex based upon the simulacrum, all previous claims, including Rhialto’s demand for triple damages, are repudiated, and Rhialto willy-nilly must pay the penalty for his mischiefs.”

  “An important point!” cried Tchamast. “Hurtiancz has slashed a clear avenue through this jungle of verbiage; he has clamped his admirable teeth deep into the very gist of the matter.” Here Tchamast made reference to the exquisitely shaped rubies which replaced Hurtiancz’s original complement of teeth; and Hurtiancz bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment.

  Vermoulian the Dream-walker, a person tall and thin as a wand, with a high crest of glossy black hair like the dorsal fin of a sail-fish, was not known for his loquacity. His prominent eyes tended to gaze unfocused past the bony jut of his nose, and were often obscured by a nictitating membrane which conceivably served a useful purpose during his dream-walking. In the punitive phase of the proceedings against Rhialto, he had acquired a very fine glossolary, which, translating as it did the most corrupt gibberish into clear common speech, served him well in the course of his vocation. In any event, and for whatever reason, Vermoulian now thrust himself erect and spoke in a voice dry and precise: “I put the thesis of Hurtiancz into the form of a motion!”

  “That is not regular procedure,” declared Ildefonse. “Our task at hand is to learn the whereabouts of the Blue Perciplex! We must not be diverted!”

  Hache-Moncour stepped forward. “I endorse the views of Ildefonse! I now undertake to make a full, thorough and exhaustive investigation into this deplorable matter, and let the chips fall where they may! In the meantime, our normal business may well proceed, and I suggest to the Preceptor that, in view of my undertaking, Vermoulian’s motion now be ruled in order.”

  Rhialto glanced toward Ildefonse. He raised his hand to his mouth as if to stifle a yawn
, making a secret sign in the process. Ildefonse gave a wince of distaste, but nevertheless invoked the Spell of Temporal Stasis.

  7

  Rhialto and Ildefonse inspected the chamber where their associates sat or stood poised in frozen postures.

  “This is a nuisance,” grumbled Ildefonse. “Everyone in the group carries a monitor, that he may not be swindled by his friends. Now each of these monitors must be searched out and justified if the deception is to succeed.”

  “No great matter. I have evolved a new technique which easily befuddles the monitors. I need only a pair of quampics and a red-eyed bifaulgulate sandestin.”

  Ildefonse brought forth an object of eccentric shape derived from a fulgurite. From the opening peered a small face with eyes as red as currants. “This is Osherl,” said Ildefonse. “He is not altogether bifaulgulate, but he is clever and swift, if sometimes a trifle moody. His indenture runs to five points.”

  “The count is far too high,” said Osherl. “Somewhere a mistake has been made.”

  “I believe the count to be valid and just,” said Ildefonse. “Still, in due course I will check my records.”

  Rhialto spoke to Osherl: “You are anxious to reduce your indenture?”

  “Naturally.”

  “A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice.”

  “Whatever you like; it is all one with me.”

  Rhialto went on: “Today Ildefonse and I are in a lenient mood. For a few trifling tasks we will mark you down a full point —”

  “What?” roared Ildefonse. “Rhialto, you distribute points among my sandestins with a lavish hand!”

  “In a good cause,” said Rhialto. “Remember, I intend to impose triple damages, with total confiscation in at least one case. I will here and now stipulate that your seizure of my IOUN stones was in the nature of a safeguard, and not subject to the punitive provisions which otherwise might be applied.”

  Ildefonse spoke more equably: “That is taken for granted. Deal with Osherl as you will.”

  Osherl said persuasively: “A single point is of no great account —”

  Rhialto turned to Ildefonse. “Osherl seems tired and languid. Let us use a more zestful sandestin.”

  “Perhaps I spoke in haste,” said Osherl. “What are your requirements?”

  “First, visit each of the persons caught in the stasis, and use these quampics to adjust each monitor so that it will fail to register this particular stasis.”

  “That is no great work.” A gray shadow flitted about the room. “It is done, and I have won an entire point.”

  “Not so,” said Rhialto. “The point is yours after all the tasks have been accomplished.”

  Osherl gave a sour grunt. “I suspected something of the sort.”

  “Nevertheless, you have made a good start,” said Ildefonse. “Do you see how nicely things go when one is amiable?”

  “They only go nicely when you are generous with your points,” said Osherl. “What now?”

  “Now you will go to each magician in turn,” said Rhialto. “With great care remove the dust, chaff and small bits of detritus from the boots of each person present including Ildefonse and myself. Place the yield from each pair of boots in a separate bottle, identified properly with the name of the magician.”

  “I know none of your names,” grumbled Osherl. “You all look alike to me.”

  “Place the yield in a series of labeled bottles. I will name off the names. First is Herark the Harbinger … Ao of the Opals … Perdustin … Dulce-Lolo … Shrue …” Rhialto named off each of the magicians, and instantly a glass bottle containing dust and trash in greater or lesser quantity appeared on the table.

  “Again, no great matter,” said Osherl. “What now?”

  “The next task may or may not take you afield,” said Rhialto. “In any case, do not dally nor loiter along the way, as important consequences rest upon our findings.”

  “To a dung-beetle, a pile of brontotaubus droppings is a matter of prime significance,” said Osherl.

  Rhialto knit his brows. “Ildefonse and I are both perplexed by the allusion. Do you care to explain?”

  “The concept is abstract,” said Osherl. “What is the task?”

  “The Adjudicator at Fader’s Waft, whom we know as Sarsem, is absent from his post. Bring him here for consultation.”

  “For a single point? The balance becomes uneven.”

  “How so? I ask you to locate only one sandestin.”

  “The process is tedious. I must go first to La, there pull on what might be called the tails of ten thousand sandestins, then listen for the characteristic exclamations of Sarsem.”

  “No matter,” said Ildefonse. “An entire point is an item to be cherished; you will have earned it well and honestly.”

  Rhialto added: “I will say this: if our business goes well, you will not have cause to complain. Mind, I promise nothing!”

  “Very well. But you must dissolve the Stasis; I ride the flux of time as a sailor sails on the wind.”

  “A final word! Time is of the essence! For you, a second differs little from a century; we are more sensitive in this regard. Be quick!”

  Rhialto cried: “Wait! We must hide the bottles of dust. Hurtiancz has the eyes of a hawk, and he might wonder to find a bottle of dust labeled with his name. Under the shelf with the lot! … Good. Ildefonse, remember! We must terminate this colloquy with dispatch!”

  “Just so! Are you ready?”

  “Not quite! There is one last bit of business!” Rhialto repossessed the glossolary which Vermoulian had obtained at Falu; then Rhialto and Ildefonse, working together and chuckling like schoolboys, fashioned a simulation of the glossolary, changing the vocabulary so that it yielded not clear and precise language but absurdities, insults and sheer nonsense. This new and faulty glossolary was then restored into Vermoulian’s keeping. “Now I am ready!” said Rhialto.

  Ildefonse lifted the spell and the conference proceeded as if it had never been interrupted.

  Hache-Moncour’s words hung in the air: “— of my undertaking, Vermoulian’s motion may now be ruled in order.”

  Rhialto jumped up. “I move that the meeting be adjourned until such time as Hache-Moncour completes his investigation. Then we will have full information on which to base our findings.”

  Vermoulian gave a croak of protest; Ildefonse quickly declared: “Vermoulian seconds the motion; are all in favor? No one seems opposed; the motion is carried and the meeting is adjourned until Hache-Moncour reports his findings. The lights are about to go out and I am off to take my rest. To all: good night.”

  Casting dark looks toward Rhialto, the magicians departed Boumergarth and went their various ways.

  8

  Rhialto and Ildefonse repaired to the small study. Ildefonse set out double spy-guards and for a period the two sat drinking wine with their feet raised to the flicker of the fire.

  “A dreary business,” said Ildefonse at last. “It leaves an evil savor worthy of an archveult! Let us hope we can find guidance in the dust of your bottles or from the testimony of Sarsem. If not, we have no basis for action.”

  Rhialto gripped the arms of his chair. “Shall we study the bottles? Or would you prefer to take your rest?”

  Ildefonse heaved himself to his feet. “I know no fatigue! To the work-room! We shall study each grain of dust under the pantavist: up, down, back, forth — until finally it cries out its tale! Then we drive home the nail with Sarsem’s testimony!”

  The two went to the work-room. “Now!” declared Ildefonse. “Let us look to your famous bottles!” He examined the contents of several. “From such nondescript sifts I expect nothing of value.”

  “That remains to be seen,” said Rhialto. “We shall need your best macrotic enlarging pantavist, and then your latest edition of Characteristic Stuffs: Dusts and Microvies of the Latter Aeons.”

  “I have anticipated you,” said Ildefonse. “All is here to hand. I will also order up a classifica
tor, to make our work less tedious.”

  “Excellent.”

  The inquiry proceeded with easy efficiency. One at a time the bottles were emptied and their contents examined, identified, graded, and classified.

  By middle morning the work was through, and the two tired magicians went out upon the terrace to take rest and nourishment.

  In the opinion of Ildefonse, the work had yielded little of significance, and his mood was glum. He said at last: “In the main, we are faced with ambiguities. We neither prove nor disprove; the ‘Extraordinarys’ are too many: specifically, the dusts of Vermoulian, Hurtiancz, Hache-Moncour, Dulce-Lolo and Byzant. Additionally, the ‘Extraordinarys’ may simply be special cases of the ‘Ordinarys’, while the ‘Ordinarys’ may be associated with cryptic deeds beyond our detection.”

  Rhialto nodded. “Your indications are accurate! Still I do not share your pessimism. Each ‘Extraordinary’ tells its own tale, except in one case.”

  “Aha! You are referring to Vermoulian, since the dust from his boots is unique in shape, color and complexity, and different from everything classified in the catalogue.”

  Rhialto, smiling, shook his head. “I am not referring to Vermoulian. In his case we would seem to be investigating dream-dust, scuffed up from one or another of his dream-landscapes. The catalogues are understandably noncommittal. As for Hurtiancz, he uses medicinal powder to relieve a fungoid infection of the toes, and we can confidently place him on the ‘Ordinary’ list. Byzant’s dust is in the main a powder of phosphatic calcars, evidently deriving from his field of interest, which again the catalogue prefers to ignore. In regard to Dulce-Lolo’s amazing many-colored particles, I recall that his part in a recent ‘Charade of Folly’ required that he paint each of his feet to represent a grotesque face.”

  Ildefonse stared at Rhialto in wonder. “What purpose could possibly be served by this conduct?”

  “I gather that Dulce-Lolo’s role in the Pageant was thereby enhanced. Reclining on his back, he kicked his feet on high, meanwhile reciting a dialogue in two voices, falsetto and bass. Particles of the pigment evidently were trapped in his boots, and I must consider him, at least from our immediate perspective, as an ‘Ordinary’.”