Marune: Alastor 933 (8 page)

Matho Lorcas was a person whose humor, intelligence, and easy flamboyance might well excite the antagonism of less favored individuals. Hard to suspect malice, or even guile, in Matho Lorcas. The fact remained that soon after making Lorcas’ acquaintance Efraim had been rendered mindless and shipped off across the Cluster.

Efraim approached the bar and took a seat; Lorcas approached Efraim asked: “You are Matho Lorcas?”

“Yes indeed!”

“Do you recognize me?”

Lorcas gave Efraim a frowning scrutiny. His face cleared. “You are the Rhune! I forget your name.”

“Efraim, of Scharrode.”

“I remember you well, and the two girls you escorted. How grave and proper their behavior! You have changed! In fact you seem a different person. How goes life in your mountain realm?”

“As usual, or so I suppose. I am most anxious to have a few words with you. When will you be free?”

“At any time. Right now, if you like; I am bored with the work. Ramono! Take charge of affairs!” He ducked under the bar and asked of Efraim: “Will you take a mug of beer? Or perhaps a glass of Del wine?”

“No thank you.” Efraim had decided upon a policy of caution and reserve. “It is early in the day for me.”

“Just as you like. Come, let us sit over here where we can watch the river flow by. So. Do you know, I have often wondered about you, and how you eventually - well, shall we say, accommodated yourself to your dilemma, pleasant though it might have been.”

“How do you mean?”

“The two beautiful girls you escorted - though I realize in the Mountain Realms things aren’t done quite so easily.”

Aware that he must seem dense and dull, Efraim asked: “What do you recall of the occasion?”

Lorcas held up his hands in protest. “So long ago? After so many other occasions? Let me think …” He grinned. “I deceive you. In truth, I’ve thought long and often of those two girls, so alike, so different, and oh, how wasted in those ineffable Mountain Realms! They walk and talk like enchanted blocks of ice - though I suspect that one or the other, or both, under the proper circumstances might easily melt; and I for one would rejoice to arrange such circumstances. You consider me sebal? I’m far worse; I’m positively chorastic!”
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He glanced sidelong toward Efraim. “You don’t seem appalled, or even shocked. For a fact you are a person different from the earnest young Kang of six months ago.”

“This may well be true,” said Efraim without impatience. “Returning to that occasion, what happened?”

Lorcas turned Efraim another quizzical side-glance. “You don’t remember?”

“Not well.”

“Odd. You seemed quite alert. You recall how we met?”

“Not too well.”

Lorcas gave a half-incredulous shrug. “I had just stepped out of the Caduceus Book Shop. You approached and asked directions to the Fairy Gardens, where at the time Galligade’s Puppets were entertaining. The mode as I recall was low aud, going into umber, which always seems to me to be a rather festive time. I noted that you and the Kang Destian - so I recall his name - escorted not one but two pretty girls, and I’d never had the opportunity to meet a Rhune before, so I volunteered to conduct you in person. At the Fairy Gardens we found that Galligade had just finished his show and the disappointment of the girls prompted me to a spasm of insane altruism. I insisted on acting as your host not my usual conduct, I assure you. I ordered a bottle of wine and etiquette screens for those who considered them necessary, and so there we were: the Lissolet Sthelany, observing me with aristocratic detachment, the other girl - I forget her name -“

“The Lissolet Maerio.”

“Correct. She was only a trifle more cordial, though, mind you, I’m making no complaints. Then there was the Kang Destian, who was sardonic and surly, and yourself, who behaved with elegant formality. You were the first Rhunes I’d met, and when I found you to be of royal blood, I thought my efforts and ozols well spent.

“So we sat and drank the wine and listened to the music. More accurately, I drank wine. You and the Lissolet Maerio, thoroughly daring, sipped behind your etiquette screens. The other two declared themselves uninterested. The girls watched the students and marveled at the crassness and sebalism. I fell in love with the Lissolet Sthelany, who of course was oblivious. I used all my charm; she studied me with fascinated revulsion and presently she and Destian returned to the hotel.

“You and the Lissolet Maerio remained until Destian came back with orders that Maerio return to the hotel. You and I were left alone. I was due at the Three Lanterns; you walked up Jibberee Hill with me. I went to work; and you returned to the hotel: that’s all there is to it.”

Efraim heaved a deep sigh. “You did not accompany me to the hotel?”

“No. You went off by yourself, in a most unsettled mood. If I may make bold to ask - why are you so concerned about this evening?”

Efraim saw no reason to hold back the truth. “On that evening I lost my memory. I remember arriving at Carfaunge, on Bruse-Tansel, and I finally made my way to Numenes and the Connatic’s Hospital. The experts declared me a Rhune. I returned to Port Mar; I arrived yesterday. At the Royal Rhune Hotel I learned my name, and I find that I am now the Kaiark of Scharrode. Other than this I know nothing. I recognize no one and nothing; my past is a blank. How can. I conduct my own affairs responsibly, much less those of the Realm? I must set things right. Where do I start? How do I proceed? Why was my memory taken from me? Who took me to the spaceport and put me aboard the spaceship? How shall I explain myself to my people? If the past is empty, the future seems full, of concern and doubt and confusion. And I suspect that I will find little sympathy at home.”

Lorcas gave a soft ejaculation, and sat back, his eyes glistening, “Do you know, I envy you. How lucky you are, with the mystery of your own past to solve!”

“I lack all such enthusiasm,” said Efraim. “The past looms over me; I feel stifled. My enemies know me; I can only grope for them. I go out to Scharrode blind and helpless.”

“The situation is not without compensations,” murmured Lorcas. “Most people would gladly rule a Mountain Realm, or any realm whatever. Not a few would be pleased to inhabit the same castle with the Lissolet Sthelany.”

“These compensations are all very well, but they do not expose my enemy.”

“Assuming that the enemy exists.”

“He exists. He put me aboard the Berenicia and paid my fare to Bruse-Tansel.”

“Bruse-Tansel is not close. Your enemy would seem not to lack funds.”

Efraim grunted. “Who knows how much money of my own I carried? Perhaps I paid my own fare out to the limit of my pocketbook.”

“This would be a fine sardonic touch,” Lorcas agreed. “If true, your enemy has style.”

“Another possibility exists,” mused Efraim. “I may be looking at the matter backwards.”

“An interesting thought. In what exact regard?”

“Perhaps I committed some horrid deed which I could not bear to contemplate, thus inducing amnesia, and some person - my friend rather than my enemy - sent me away from Marune so that I might escape the penalty for my acts.”

Lorcas uttered an incredulous laugh. “Your conduct in my presence was quite genteel.”

“So how then, immediately after parting from you, did I lose my memory?”

Lorcas considered a moment. “This might not be so mysterious after all.”

“The savants on Numenes were baffled. But you have gained an insight, into my problems?”

Lorcas grinned. “I know someone who isn’t a savant.” He jumped. to his feet.

“Come along, let’s visit this man.”

Efraim dubiously arose. “Is it safe? You might be the guilty person. I don’t want to end up on Bruse-Tansel a second time.”

Lorcas chuckled. “You are a Rhune no longer. The Rhunes lack all humor; their lives are so strange that the absurd seems merely another phase of normality. I am not your secret enemy, I assure you. In the first place I lack the two or three hundred ozols to send you to Bruse-Tansel.”

Efraim followed Lorcas out upon the avenue. Lorcas said: “We are bound for a rather peculiar establishment. The proprietor is an eccentric. Unkind folk consider him disreputable. At the moment he is out of vogue, owing to the efforts of the Benkenists, who are currently all the rage around the college.

They affect a stoic imperturbability to everything except their inner norms, and Skogel’s numbered mixtures seriously interfere with normality. As for me, I reject all fads except those of my own devising. Can you imagine what now preoccupies me?”

“No.”

“The Mountain Realms. The genealogies; the waxing and waning of fortunes, the poetry and declamations, the ceremonial fumes, the gallantries and romantic postures, the eruditions, and scholarship. Do you realize that Rhune monographs circulate throughout the Cluster and the Gaean Reach as well? Do you realize that sport is unknown among the Realms? There are neither games nor frivolous recreations, not even among the children?”

“The thought never occurred to me. Where are we going?”

“Yonder, up the Street of the Clever Flea … Naturally you would not know how the street got its name.” As they walked, Lorcas recounted the ribald legend.

Efraim listened with only half an ear. They turned the corner into a street of marginal enterprises: a booth selling fried clams, a gambling arcade, a cabaret decorated with red and green lights, a bordello, a novelty shop, a travel agency, a store which displayed in the show window a stylized Tree of Life, the golden fruit labeled in a flowing unreadable script. Here Lorcas paused. “Let me do the talking, unless Skogel asks you a direct question. He has a queer manner which antagonizes everyone, but which I happen to know is spurious. Or at least I strongly suspect as much. In any event, be surprised at nothing; also, if he quotes a price, agree, no matter what your reservations. Nothing puts him off like haggling. Come along then; let’s try our luck.” He entered the shop with Efraim following slowly behind.

From the dimness at the back of the shop Skogel appeared: a man of medium stature, thin as a post with long arms and a round waxen face, above which rose spikes of dust-brown hair. “Pleasant modes,” said Lorcas. “Have you collected yet from our friend Boodles?”

“Nothing. But I expected nothing and dealt with him accordingly.”

“How so?”

“You know his requirements. He received only tincture of cacodyl in water, which may or may not have served his purposes.”

“He made no complaints to me, though in truth he has seemed somewhat subdued of late.”

“If he chooses, he may come to me for consolation. And who is this gentleman? Something about him seems Rhune, something else says out-world.”

“You are right in both directions. He is a Rhune who has spent an appreciable time on Numenes, and Bruse-Tansel as well. You instantly wonder why. The answer is simple - he has lost his memory. I told him that if anyone could help him it would be you.”

“Bah. I don’t stock memories in boxes, neatly labeled like so many cathartics.

He’ll have to contrive his own memories. Isn’t this easy enough?”

Lorcas looked at Efraim with an expression of rueful amusement. “Contrary fellow that he is, he wants his own memories back.”

“He won’t find them here. Where did he lose them? That’s the place to look.”

“An enemy stole his memory and put him on a ship to Bruse-Tansel. My friend is anxious to punish this thief, hence his set chin and gleaming eyes.”

Skogel, throwing back his head, laughed and slapped the counter. “That’s more like it! Too many wrongdoers escape with whole skins and profit! Revenge!

There’s the word! I wish you luck! Good modes, sir.” And Skogel, turning his back, stalked stiff-legged back into the dimness of his shop. Efraim stared after him in wonder, but Lorcas signaled him to patience. Presently Skogel stalked forward. “And what do you require on this occasion?”

Lorcas said: “Do you recall your remarks of a week ago?”

“In regard to what?”

“Psychomorphosis.”

“A large word,” grumbled Skogel. “I spoke it at random.”

“Would any of this apply to my friend?”

“Certainly. Why not?”

“And the source of this psychomorphosis?”

Skogel put his hands on the counter and leaning forward scrutinized Efraim with owlish intensity. “You are a Rhune?”

“What is your name?”

“I seem to be Efraim, Kaiark of Scharrode.”

“Then you must be wealthy.”

“I don’t know whether I am or not.”

“And you want the return of your memory?”

“Naturally.”

“You have come to the wrong place. I deal in commodities of other sorts.” Skogel slapped the counter and made as if to turn away again.

Lorcas said smoothly: “My friend insists that you at least accept a fee, or honorarium, for your advice.”

“Fee? For words? For guesses and hypotheses? Do you take me for a man without shame?”

“Of course not!” declared Lorcas. “He only wants to learn where his memory went.”

“Then this is my guess, and he may have it free of cost. He has eaten Fwai-chi shag.” Skogel indicated the shelves, cases, and cabinets of his shop, which were stocked with bottles of every size and shape, crystallized. herbs, stoneware jugs, metal oddments, tins, phials, jars, and an unclassifiable miscellaneity of confusing scope. “I will reveal a truth,” declared Skogel portentously. “Much of my merchandise, on a functional level, is totally ineffective. Psychically, symbolically, subliminally, the story is different! Each item exerts its own sullen strength, and sometimes I feel myself in the presence of elementals. With an infusion of spider grass, mixed perhaps with pulverized devil’s eye, I achieve astounding results. The Benkenists, idiots and witlings as they are, aver that only the credulous are affected; they are wrong! Our organisms swim in a paracosmic fluid, which no one can comprehend; none of our senses find scope or purchase, so to speak. Only by operative procedures, which the Benkenists deride, can we manipulate this ineffable medium; and by so stating, am I therefore a charlatan?” Skogel slapped the counter with split-faced grin of triumph.

With delicate emphasis Lorcas inquired: “And what of the Fwai-chi?”