by Jack Vance
“And what of Hache-Moncour?”
“His dust, while ‘Extraordinary’, may or may not be instructive. We lack a critical item of information, to this effect: is Hache-Moncour an amateur of caverns and underground chambers?”
Ildefonse tugged at his beard. “Not to my knowledge, but this means little. I did not realize until last week, for instance, that Zahoulik-Khuntze is an Elder at the Hub and Controller of his own distinct infinity.”
“Odd but interesting! Back to Hache-Moncour, his boots were rife with a singular dust, discovered only in a few underground places of the world.”
“Ha hm. The fact might mean much or nothing.”
“Nevertheless, my suspicions incline toward Hache-Moncour.”
Ildefonse gave a non-committal grunt. “For proof we must await Sarsem, and hear his story.”
“That goes without saying. Osherl will report at the earliest possible instant?”
“So I would expect.” Ildefonse glanced thoughtfully toward the work-room. “Excuse me a moment.”
Ildefonse left the terrace and almost immediately sounds of contention came from the direction of the work-room. Ildefonse presently returned to the terrace, followed by Osherl and a second sandestin using the guise of a gaunt blue bird-like creature, some six feet in height.
Ildefonse spoke in scathing tones: “Behold these two creatures! They can roam the chronoplex as easily as you or I can walk around the table; yet neither has the wit to announce his presence upon arrival. I found Osherl asleep in his fulgurite and Sarsem perched in the rafters.”
“You demean our intellects,” snapped Osherl. “Persons of your ilk are unpredictable; they must be dealt with on the basis of exactitude. I have learned never to act without explicit instructions. If I were to do otherwise, your complaints would rasp even more stridently upon my attention. You sent me on a mission from the work-room; with mission accomplished I returned to the work-room. If you wished me to disturb you at your vulgar ingestions you should have made this clear.”
Ildefonse puffed out his cheeks. “I detect more than a trace of insolence in these rejoinders!”
“No matter,” said Rhialto. “He has brought Sarsem, and this was the requirement. In the main, Osherl, you have done well!”
“And my indenture point?”
“Much depends upon Sarsem’s testimony. Sarsem, will you sit?”
“In this guise, I find it more convenient to stand.”
“Then why not alter to human form and join us in comfort at the table?”
“That is a good idea.” Sarsem became a naked young epicene in an integument of lavender scales with puffs of purple hair like pom-pons growing down his back. He seated himself at the table but declined refreshment. “This human semblance, though typical, is after all, only a guise. If I were to put such things inside myself, I might well become uneasy.”
“As you like. Now to business. Where is the Blue Perciplex which you were required to guard?”
Sarsem asked cautiously: “You refer to the blue prism reposing on the pedestal? You will find such an object as safe as ever in its accustomed place.”
“And why have you deserted your post?”
“Simplicity itself! One of your ilk delivered a new and official Perciplex to replace the obsolete version, which had lost its effect.”
Rhialto gave a hollow laugh. “And how do you know this for a fact?”
“Through the assertion of your representative.” Sarsem sprawled back in the chair. “As I now reflect on the matter, what with the sun’s death only a jerk and a tinkle away, a new Perciplex seems a pointless refinement.”
“So then: what next?”
“I pointed out the burden of guarding two sacred objects, rather than one. The new, so I was told, would occupy the place of the old, and your representative would take the old to a place of reverent safety. Meanwhile, my services were no longer required.”
Rhialto leaned forward. “No doubt indenture points were discussed?”
“I recall some such discussion.”
“To what number and to what degree?”
“An appreciable proportion: in fact, all.”
“How is this possible when your chug4 resides in my work-room?”
Sarsem scowled. “That is as may be.”
Upon sudden thought Ildefonse lurched to his feet and departed the terrace. A moment later he returned, and threw himself down in his chair. With a bleak expression he said to Rhialto: “Sarsem’s chug is gone. Have you ever heard the like?”
Rhialto reflected. “When might this event have taken place?”
“Evidently during the temporal stasis: when else?” Ildefonse turned upon Sarsem. “We have been victimized together! The reduction of your indenture points was unauthorized! You are the victim of a cruel joke! The reduction is null and void, and we have lost the Perciplex! Sarsem, I cannot commend your performance.”
“Ha ha!” cried Sarsem, waving a pale lavender forefinger upon which glinted a silver fingernail. “There is more to come! I am not quite the fool you take me for!”
“How so, and in what regard?”
“I am that rare individual who can instantly scrutinize all sides of a situation! Without reference to my motives, I decided to retain the old Perciplex within the scope of my vigilance.”
“Ha, ha, hah! Bravo, Sarsem!”
“Thereupon, your representative —”
“Speak less loosely, Sarsem. The person was not my representative.”
“While this person was temporarily distracted, I laid the old prism safely aside. This person, whose good faith you decry, still cannot be deemed irresponsible.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because, like myself, he worried about the safety of the old Perciplex and would not rest until he learned where I had placed it.”
Rhialto groaned. “Within the confines of a cavern?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“We are not without resources. In effect you yielded up the Perciplex to the criminal!”
“Not at all. I placed the prism in a place well-known to me, accessible only by a small and narrow fissure. For double security I reverted the object to the Sixteenth Aeon.”
“And how do you know that the criminal himself has not reverted to this era and taken the Perciplex for his own?”
“Can he walk the length of a fissure into which you cannot even thrust your hand? Especially while I keep the opening under survey from then till now, as you might scan the surface of the table? Nothing has come or gone. Ergo, by the rotes of rationality, the Perciplex reposes in its subterranean place, as secure as ever.”
Rhialto rose to his feet. “Come: once more back to Fader’s Waft! You shall grope down the fissure into the Sixteenth Aeon and reclaim the Perciplex. Ildefonse, are you ready? Summon your small air-carriage.”
9
Rhialto, Ildefonse and Sarsem stood disconsolate on the summit of Fader’s Waft. Sarsem spoke in a troubled voice. “A most confusing dilemma! I searched the fissure without success; I guarantee that the Perciplex did not leave by this route. I admit to perplexity.”
Rhialto suggested: “There may be another route into the cavern; what of that?”
“The idea is plausible,” admitted Sarsem. “I will make a survey across the Aeons.”
Sarsem presently returned to make his report. “The cave opened to the valley for a brief period during the Sixteenth Aeon. The entrance is not evident now. This is good news, since if I am a trifle nonplussed, our antagonist must be crazy with bafflement.”
“Not necessarily true,” intoned Rhialto.
Sarsem peered here and there. “In the Sixteenth Aeon, so I recall, three black crags rose yonder, and a river swung into the valley from the east … Fader’s Waft at that time was a tall peak defying the storms … Now I am straight. We must drop down into yonder valley.”
Sarsem led the way down a barren slope into a gulch choked with tumbled stones.
“Much has changed,” said Sarsem. “A crag the shape of a skatler horn rose yonder and another there, and another there, where you now see rounded hummocks. Perhaps among these rocks … Here is the place, though the entrance is tumbled over with detritus. Stand aside; I will skew the latifers, so as to allow access.”
Sarsem caused a pulse to shiver along the hillside, whisking away the overburden and revealing an aperture leading into the mountain.
The three marched forward. Ildefonse sent a flux of light into the passage, and started forward, but Rhialto held him back. “One moment!” He indicated a double line of footprints in the fine sand which covered the floor of the cavern. “Sarsem, did you leave these marks?”
“Not I! When I left the cavern, the sand showed a smooth surface.”
“Then I deduce that someone has entered the cave after you departed. This person might well have been Hache-Moncour, to judge by the evidence of his boots.”
Sarsem drifted into the cavern, making no marks upon the sand. He returned almost at once. “The Perciplex is not where I placed it.”
Rhialto and Ildefonse stood stiff with disappointment. “This is dismal news,” said Ildefonse. “You have not dealt well with your assigned duty.”
“More to the point,” said Rhialto, “where now is the Perciplex? In the past, or in the present, or has it been destroyed?”
“Who could be reckless enough to destroy the Blue?” muttered Ildefonse. “Not even an archveult. I believe that the Perciplex is somewhere extant.”
“I am inclined to agree,” said Rhialto. “Sarsem, in regard to these footprints: from their direction it seems that they were formed before the cavern’s mouth was covered — which is to say, the Sixteenth Aeon.”
“True. I can also say this: if they were made by someone hoping to find the Perciplex, he failed. The tracks enter the cave, pass the niche where I concealed the prism, continue into the central cavern, wander this way and that in a random pattern, then depart with long strides denoting angry failure. The Perciplex was taken from the cavern prior to the footprints.”
Rhialto turned to Ildefonse. “If you recall, Hache-Moncour came to Boumergarth with the subterranean dust still clinging to his boots. Unless he found the Perciplex immediately upon leaving the cave, he failed in his mission.”
“Convincing!” said Ildefonse. “Who then took the Perciplex?”
Rhialto said sternly: “Sarsem, your conduct has been less than wise. Need I remind you of this?”
“You need say nothing! In sheer disgust, discharge me from my indenture! The humiliation will be an overwhelming punishment.”
“We are not so cruel,” said Ildefonse. “We prefer that you make amends by retrieving the Perciplex for us.”
Sarsem’s lavender face fell. “I must fail you still a second time. I cannot return to the Sixteenth Aeon, because, in effect, I am already there.”
“What?” Ildefonse raised high his bristling yellow eyebrows. “I cannot understand.”
“No matter,” said Sarsem. “The restraints are definite.”
“Hmmf,” grunted Ildefonse. “We are faced with a problem.”
“I observe the single solution,” stated Rhialto. “The Preceptor must step back into the Sixteenth Aeon to recover the Perciplex. Ildefonse, prepare yourself! And then —”
“Hold!” cried Ildefonse. “Have you put aside that rationality which once marked your thinking? I cannot possibly leave while turmoil threatens the association! With your keen eyes and rare intelligence, you are the man to recover what is lost! Sarsem, do you not support this point of view?”
“At the moment my thoughts run shallow,” said Sarsem. “However, this much is clear: whoever most anxiously wants to restore the old Perciplex to its place will be he who retrieves it from the past.”
Rhialto sighed. “Poor Sarsem is by almost any standard feeble-minded; still in this case he has deftly stripped the issue to its naked essentials. If I must go, I must.”
The three returned to Boumergarth. Rhialto made careful preparations, packing in his wallet the glossolary, proliferant coins, a catalogue of simple spells, and Osherl enclosed in a walnut shell.
Ildefonse extended his unqualified assurances. “It is, after all, a simple and pleasant adventure,” he told Rhialto. “You will find yourself in the Land of Shir-Shan, which at this time is considered the center of the universe. The Grand Gazetteer lists only six magicians currently active, the nearest far to the north, in the present Land of Cutz. A flying creature known as the ‘dyvolt’ rules the skies; it resembles a pelgrane with a long nasal horn and uses the common language. You should recognize three rules of genteel conduct: the sash is tied to the left; only acrobats, actors and sausage-makers wear yellow; grapes are eaten with a knife and fork.”
Rhialto drew back in annoyance. “I do not plan so much as a single meal in Shir-Shan. Perhaps, after all, it would be better if you went.”
“Impossible! You are the man for the job! You need only step back, secure the Perciplex, then return to the present. So then, Rhialto! Are you ready?”
“Not quite! How, in fact, do I return to the present?”
“A good question!” Ildefonse turned to Sarsem. “What, exactly, is the procedure?”
“That is out of my province,” said Sarsem. “I can project Rhialto any number of aeons into the past, but thereafter he must make his own arrangements.”
“Rhialto, do not be impatient!” said Ildefonse. “Sarsem, answer! How then does Rhialto make his return?”
“I suppose that he must rely upon Osherl.”
“Good enough!” said Ildefonse. “Osherl can be trusted in this regard, or I am much mistaken.”
So went the preparations. Rhialto made himself ready, not neglecting to change his yellow sash tied on the right for a black sash of good quality tied on the left. Osherl disposed himself within the walnut shell, and the two were reverted into the past.
10
Rhialto stood in warm sunlight of a complicated colour: a peach-pink orange suffused with rose and white-rose. He found himself in a valley surrounded by sharp peaks rising a mile into the air. That peak which he would later know as Fader’s Waft stood highest of all, with the summit hidden in a tuft of white cloud.
The prospect was at once grand and serene. The valley seemed empty of habitation, although Rhialto noted plantations of melon and blue vines heavy with purple grapes along the valley and up the mountain-side.
To Rhialto’s satisfaction, the landmarks cited by Sarsem, an outcrop of glistening black stone flanked by three cypress saplings, were plainly visible, although ‘sapling’ seemed an inexact description of the gnarled and massive trees in question. Still, Rhialto confidently set off toward the site of the cave.
By Sarsem’s best calculations, the time was immediately subsequent to his own visit. Ildefonse had tried to elicit the exact measure of this interval: “A second? A minute? An hour?”
Rhialto’s attention had been distracted by Osherl in the matter of indenture points, and he had heard only a phrase or two of Sarsem’s response: “— accuracy of high degree!” and “— occasionally a curious kinking and backlash in the inter-aeon sutures —”
Ildefonse had put another inquiry and again Osherl’s attempts to secure advantage had diverted Rhialto’s attention, and he had only heard Sarsem discussing what seemed to be mathematical theory with Ildefonse: “— often closer than the thousandth part of one percent, plus or minus, which must be reckoned excellent.”
Rhialto turned to join the conversation, but the avaricious Osherl placed a new demand, and Rhialto only heard Ildefonse’s reference to “— five aeons: an unwieldy period!” Sarsem’s response had only been that peculiarly supple shrug characteristic of his sort.
The entrance to the cave was now close at hand. Sarsem had been inexact in his instructions; rather than a barely perceptible crevice behind the first of the gabbro crags, Rhialto found a square opening five feet wide and taller than himself decorated with
a careful pattern of pink shells, and a path of crushed white marl.
Rhialto uttered a hiss of vexation. Something was clearly amiss. He advanced up the path to the opening and looked into the cave. Here, at least, Sarsem had spoken accurately: to the right, immediately within the opening and something above the height of his head, a small pocket opened into the stone, and into this pocket Sarsem had placed the Perciplex.
The pocket was now empty, not altogether to Rhialto’s surprise. An indefinable odor suggesting organic processes hung in the air; the cave seemed to be inhabited.
Rhialto retreated from the cave entrance and went to sit on a ledge of rock. Across the valley an old man came down the mountainside: a person small and slight, with a great ruff of white hair and a narrow blue face which seemed mostly nose. He wore a garment of black and white stripes and sandals with toes of exaggerated length, with a black sash about his waist tied on the left, in a manner which Rhialto considered absurd and unbecoming, but which evidently found favor with the pace-setters of the day.
Jumping down from the fence, Rhialto approached the old man, and a touch of the finger was enough to activate the glossolary.
The old man noticed Rhialto’s approach, but paid no heed and continued on his way, skipping and trotting with light-footed agility. Rhialto called out: “Sir, stop to rest a moment! You move at speed! At your age a man should be kind to himself!”
The old man paused. “No danger there! If all were equally kind I should live the life of a magnate!”
“That is the usual concept. Still, we must do as best we can! What brings you out here among these lonely mountain crags?”
“Simply put, I would rather be here than out on the plain, where confusion reigns supreme. And yourself? From a distant land, so I perceive, from the rather awkward knot by which you tie your sash.”
“Fashions differ,” said Rhialto. “I am in fact a scholar, sent here to retrieve an important historical object.”
The old man looked suspiciously sidewise at Rhialto. “Are you in earnest? I know of nothing within a hundred miles which answers that description — save perhaps the skeleton of my double-headed goat.”