Lurulu

by Jack Vance

  “I can show only miscellaneous notes, a few receipts, perhaps a production ledger or two, also indexes and a few outlines for future Mouse-rider productions. They may cast a glimmer of light upon this miserable affair, or so I hope.”

  Siglaf snapped: “We want more than a glimmer of light; we want our money!”

  Maloof rose to his feet. “My advice is this: each party should assemble all available documents, memoranda, contracts, notes and anything else relevant, then prepare a careful schedule of claims, as detailed as possible. Then we can return to the negotiations whenever it becomes convenient.”

  Siglaf and Hunzel grimaced in dissatisfaction and stalked off to their quarters.

  Moncrief said glumly: “I am a trained impresario, gifted with both creativity and wit; I have organized Mouse-rider pageants and much else, but I am not a man for trifling detail.”

  “You must search your records with care,” said Maloof. “One number is worth a dozen suppositions!”

  Despite Maloof’s instructions, the deliberations he had envisaged were forestalled by an unexpected event. During the night, unknown entities came in from the steppe, furtive as ghosts. They halted behind the far warehouse and worked with silent efficiency. When they departed, the thirty-two carboys of kasic were in their possession.

  4

  Wingo, arising early, had gone for a morning stroll with his camera, hoping to surprise a mereng at one of its interesting activities. As he passed behind the far warehouse, he noticed evidence of the depredation as well as confused tracks in the grass, and a pair of ruts leading off into the northeast.

  Wingo reported his findings to Maloof, who sent Myron to notify Director Gontwitz. Myron found Gontwitz making a breakfast of porridge and tea. Neither tact nor delicacy was practical; Myron said: “Bad news, sir! The kasic has been stolen.”

  Gontwitz stared at him impassively, jaws moving as he ingested the last of his porridge. Then he turned to his radio. Myron, standing by, heard Dockerl’s cheerful call issuing from the mesh: “Dockerl here!”

  Gontwitz’s voice cracked with emotion. “You have not yet made the instant departure for Port Palactus as was instructed.”

  Dockerl made haste to explain. “Always we move at speed. We prepared to depart while dealing with a dozen emergencies! They are now defeated and our departure is imminent!”

  “Do not trouble yourself unduly,” Gontwitz told him drily. “The Lallankers have preceded you; the kasic is gone. Allow me, if you will, to criticize your torpid activity. I ask only that you compare it with the Ritter’s code of duty.”

  When Dockerl finally was able to interpose a remark, he cried out: “Instead of taxing me for something which was nothing, you should compliment my sagacity for avoiding a fruitless mad dash across the steppe. I avoided an exercise in futility and saved you a howling embarrassment! Have you no gratitude?”

  Myron returned to the Glicca, to find Captain Maloof conferring with Wingo and Schwatzendale. He joined the group and listened with interest to the discussion.

  “There should be no great risk and the advantages are obvious,” said Maloof. “Are there contrary opinions?”

  “None at all,” said Schwatzendale. “The scheme is sound.”

  “That is my personal feeling,” said Maloof. “Make your arrangements and be on your way.”

  Schwatzendale, Wingo and Myron lowered the ship’s flitter to the turf. They boarded the craft and took it aloft. Below the steppe expanded far and wide, uniform but for the tracks of the Lallanker wagons leading northeast and slow waves where the wind touched grass.

  Flying at an altitude of a thousand feet, the flitter followed the wagon trail and after half an hour the quarry came into view: a column of five wumps, each carrying on its broad back a trimble, with a front and back deck. The high-pitched roofs were artfully concave, with quaint upturned eaves. The decks of the trimbles were vacant, the Lallankers apparently resting within after the night’s work and subsequent carousing. A long rope trailed from the last wump in the column, pulling a wagon loaded with carboys.

  Aboard the flitter, Schwatzendale, Wingo and Myron took counsel, and agreed upon a strategy which seemed simple and direct. Schwatzendale brought the flitter down until it barely skimmed the grass and approached the column from the rear, until the flitter almost nosed the wagon.

  Myron jumped into one of the ruts where the grass had been smashed flat and ran to the front of the wagon. With a sharp knife he cut the rope, which fell slack and trailed away through the grass after the receding wump. Myron returned around the wagon to the flitter before a mereng might emerge from the grass and seize his leg. The column of wumps continued into the northeast, the Lallankers oblivious to the loss of their booty.

  Schwatzendale made contact with the Glicca and reported events to Captain Maloof. “The Lallankers seem to be asleep, their wumps serenely plodding onward; they will be surprised when they rouse themselves!”

  Fifteen minutes later the Glicca drifted down from the sky, to settle close beside the wagon. The cargo doors were thrown open and the carboys were transferred into the hold. The Glicca rose into the air and returned toward Port Palactus, to land in the grass a mile south of the spaceport.

  “We are here for a purpose,” Maloof told his crew. “Gontwitz is a complicated man and he is also a Ritter. All in all, I would rather deal with him out here than in his own office.”

  Schwatzendale was skeptical. “Your theory is sound,” he admitted, “but will Gontwitz —”

  “That remains to be seen. In any case, you may now approach him at his office and invite his presence aboard the Glicca.”

  At the spaceport Gontwitz was recalcitrant, as had been expected, but Schwatzendale finally prevailed upon him to board the flitter and fly out to the Glicca. Maloof met him at the port and ushered him aboard.

  The two sat at the conference table in the corner of the saloon, where Wingo brought tea and cakes but which Gontwitz ignored. “Why have you brought me out here in the long grass?” he demanded. “I prefer to deal with you on my official premises.”

  “Just so,” said Maloof. “I thought that we might be more comfortable out here.”

  “Whatever the case, it is immaterial! Be good enough to reveal the purpose of this meeting.”

  “First, I wish to commiserate with you upon the loss of your carboys.”

  Gontwitz shrugged. “Do not trouble yourself. As a Ritter I take all with the same equanimity. The vector of my life is known as the Ritterway.”

  “Then you are indifferent to the theft?”

  Gontwitz scowled. “Your terms are curiously askew. Naturally I prefer that the kasic should be distributed properly by the designated authority — which is to say, myself. But as usual, the Lallankers have flouted propriety; they are rumbling their wumps across the steppe to Maiden Water, or some other notorious resort, and will convert the kasic into a grand poomsibah of sybaritical follies.”

  Maloof spoke. “Happily, I can now reveal that the Lallankers will enjoy excesses only of grief and anguish for this reason: my crew followed the trail of the Lallankers in the flitter and quietly approached from the rear. They cut the wagon loose, attracting no attention, and we transferred the carboys aboard the Glicca, where they are at the present.”

  For a time Gontwitz sat in silence, mulling over this unsettling new situation. He spoke, straining to keep his voice civil. “What do you propose to do with this kasic? I hope it will revert into its proper custody.”

  “That is a possibility,” said Maloof. “At the moment, we ourselves are the proper custodians, since we rescued the kasic from the irresponsible Lallankers. Still, under certain conditions, the kasic might well be transferred back to you.”

  Gontwitz asked in a frosty voice: “What are these conditions?”

  “I shall be blunt,” said Maloof. “You have told us that at Torqual Downs hundreds or even thousands of rugs are stored in the repository.”

  “I have said something to this
effect,” Gontwitz agreed tonelessly.

  “Eventually these rugs must moulder and rot away under such conditions. A great pity to waste these treasures and their vibrant beauty, when they might be put to constructive use.”

  “Tragically, this is true.”

  Maloof nodded. “Fifty or sixty of these rugs will never be missed.”

  Gontwitz said cautiously, “Theoretical possibilities exist, provided that certain standards of decorum are recognized.”

  “That goes without saying!” declared Maloof. “We move to Torqual Downs in any event, to load the rugs for Monomarche. I suggest that the loading proceed quietly; the process can be accomplished expeditiously, with no one the wiser, if we do the loading ourselves.”

  “And the kasic?”

  “The carboys will be relinquished into your care wherever you specify.”

  “That should be satisfactory,” said Gontwitz.

  Chapter VI

  An hour before sunset, the Glicca departed Star Home with sixty-two rugs bundled into the aft cargo bay. A parcel of fourteen would be delivered to Monomarche at Cax; forty-eight rugs Director Gontwitz had transferred to Captain Maloof in exchange for thirty-two carboys of kasic. Two of these rugs had been pre-empted by Myron Tany for his private purposes; the remaining forty-six would be marketed to best advantage by Captain Maloof, wherever conditions made such a transfer practical.

  On the morning of the second day out, Captain Maloof and the Mouse-riders resumed the business which had been interrupted several days previously at Port Palactus.

  The group gathered at the same table as before. Captain Maloof was first to arrive, followed by Moncrief and the three girls, and finally by the sullen Klutes. Maloof seated himself at the head of the table, the Klutes at the opposite end, Moncrief to the right, the girls to the left.

  Maloof surveyed the group, but found no more bonhomie now than at the previous session. The Klutes muttered together, glaring at Moncrief from time to time; Moncrief sat with an expression of mild forbearance, hands clasped modestly on the table.

  Maloof spoke, trying to project positivity. “Today we take up where we left off, and I hope that we can reach an accommodation which everyone will find tolerable, at the very least. I will act as an impartial arbiter. I am not a legal expert, but during my stint with the IPCC I gained a working knowledge of Gaean law which I have not forgotten. At our last meeting, I asked that you look through your papers and bring to the table whatever pertinent material you came upon. I hope that this has been done.”

  Siglaf said gruffly: “We found no papers of the sort you have in mind, but no such documents are needed, since we will prove our claim by the use of ordinary mathematics.”

  Maloof turned to Moncrief. “And what of you, Sir Mouse-rider? Have you anything you care to show us?”

  Moncrief smiled almost apologetically. “I have looked through my files and found a number of invoices, receipts, statements and general memoranda, mostly items of little consequence. However, in the clutter I came upon a few documents which may be of interest.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a brown folder which he placed upon the table.

  Maloof turned back to the Klutes. “What exactly is the substance of your claim?”

  “It could not be more basic,” stated Hunzel. “Moncrief owes us money. He can doodle and dodge no longer; now he must pay.”

  Siglaf tilted her head and showed a grin which was almost a leer. “He will plead lack of funds with tears in his eyes! But pay no heed; he carries a bundle of wealth among his effects.”

  Moncrief laughed sadly. “If only it were true! Here would be lurulu of the most exalted degree. I would never go mouse-riding again.”

  “Bah,” muttered Hunzel. “Your mockery is in poor taste; no one is amused. Instead of wasting our time with your cries of poverty, why don’t you pay us our money?”

  “I was not aware that I owed you money.”

  The Klutes stared at him incredulously, then both uttered short sardonic laughs. “Another of your jokes,” said Hunzel. “No matter; we can prove our case. You have not a leg to stand on.”

  “Please,” said Maloof, “present the details of your case.”

  “Moncrief first saw us at Frippen, near the Bleary Hills on Numoy,” Hunzel began. “We had come down from the hills to make our report to the Enders Valley Foundling Farm, from which we had taken custody of the girls two years before. For some reason Moncrief became interested in us. He spoke to us, then he spoke even longer with the girls. He said that he was head of the famous Mouse-rider troupe and at the moment there were vacancies that he was trying to fill; he asked if we might be interested in joining the troupe. He told us of adventures and travel to wonderful new worlds, the hundred kinds of strange people we would meet, and all the time we would be earning money. He saw that we were interested and offered various employments, speaking of the requirements for each, of this and that, until we were quite confused. Then he explained all over again and wrote out the choices. Finally, we chose the plan that seemed most advantageous and became Mouse-riders.

  “For a time we toured the provinces of Numoy and eventually joined a spaceship bound for Lally Komar Town on the world Spangard. After that we moved from here to there, and as Moncrief had promised, everywhere was different — some good, some not so good. But whenever we wanted money, Moncrief went into a nervous spasm. He twittered and chuckled and danced from foot to foot; then he would say that he must consult his books. Sometimes his mouth pinched up and his eyes went dim while he reached into his pocket, brought forth a few sols and passed them into our hands, one by one. So it went until Siglaf finally calculated how much he owed us.

  “He had contracted to pay Siglaf and me six sols each per day and the girls four sols each per day, all money payable to us, since the girls are indentured and working under our supervision, at our discretion. They have never attempted to amortize the indentures, which are one hundred sols each, and our hopes have been dashed.”

  Siglaf hunched forward. “Moncrief is subtly sly. At Frippen he tried to confuse us, talking first out one side of his mouth, then another, but we were too wise for him and now he is distraught. He has tried every trick to defraud us, but we are decided. If he fails to pay us, we leave the Mouse-riders at Cax.”

  Maloof held up his hand. “You are going too far, too fast. How much, by your calculations, does Moncrief owe you?”

  “The figure is easily determined,” said Hunzel. “For simplicity, we reckon five days a week and fifty weeks a year. Siglaf and I earn six sols per day, or thirty sols per week, to the sum of fifteen hundred sols per year. After three years each of us has earned forty-five hundred sols, to a total of nine thousand sols. The girls earn one thousand sols per year and for the three of them for three years, a total of nine thousand sols, to a grand total of eighteen thousand sols.”

  “Hm,” said Maloof. “That is a substantial sum.”

  “So it is,” said Siglaf. “From time to time Moncrief doled out a few sols: five sols now, ten sols later, a few dinkets when he felt munificent. Over the years, during his fits of guilt, he has given as much as two hundred sols! We are, to the contrary, large-handed! As a token of our personal generosity, we will demand only fifteen thousand sols, but this he must pay or at Cax we leave the troupe, and Moncrief can dance the kazatzka and play the flute alone at the Trevanian.”

  Moncrief shook his head in wonder. “Never have I suspected the Klutes of such extravagant imaginations! Their statements are, of course, factitious.”

  Maloof sighed. “What, then, is your version of events?”

  “I will explain with pleasure! The Klutes’ account is accurate in the main. Our first encounter was at Frippen on Numoy. They made a dramatic impact upon me. I was in the process of reorganizing the Mouse-riders and I was on the lookout for fresh personnel. I could see that the Klutes, with their hulking bodies and ferocious faces, in striking contrast to the charm, innocence and mischievous precocity of the three
girls, could be valuable adjuncts to the Mouse-riders. I offered them employment with the troupe and all five accepted without hesitation. The Klutes wanted to know how much they would earn. I explained that they could join the troupe and receive a share of the profits after expenses, or they might choose a second option and work by the hour, during performances, rehearsals and whenever they might be busy with troupe business. In this case they must pay their own expenses.

  “For the previous three months the troupe had been touring the provinces of Fiametta, playing two performances a day. The Klutes could see that, under these conditions, their earnings would be consequential, and decided to work by the terms of the second option. To make sure that they understood their choice, I prepared a paper detailing the terms of Option One and Option Two as clearly as possible. I insisted that they indicate their choice of option, and sign their names, which was done.

  “They explained that the girls were under indenture and must obey orders and therefore need not sign, which I accepted.”

  “And you have retained this document?”

  “Just so! From bitter experience I have learned the value of meticulous records.” Moncrief opened his brown folder and removed a sheet of paper which he handed to Maloof. The Klutes watched with narrow-eyed suspicion.

  Maloof scanned the document. The second paragraph was endorsed by a pair of signatures, in handwriting so eccentric as to be almost illegible. He looked down the table to the Klutes. “I presume that you recall signing this paper?”

  The Klutes shrugged and looked at each other. Siglaf said: “That was three years ago. The paper is now faded and old, and the writing is obsolete. Let us put it aside, and deal with affairs as they are now.”

  Maloof shook his head. “This may be the custom in the Bleary Hills of Numoy but elsewhere in the Gaean Reach things go differently.”

  “No matter,” said Siglaf. “Our figures cannot be faulted.”

  “They are fine figures indeed!” said Maloof. “However, they lack all connection with the business at hand, and they must be discarded.”