Night Lamp (49 page)

Panting, Jaro looked down in horror and pity at the black corpse of his brother. It was over; there was nothing he could do. He turned, departed the Foundance, and ran at best speed to Carleone, while behind him tendrils of smoke rose into the sky.

Not until middle afternoon did the full impact of what had happened at the Foundance strike into the consciousness of the Roum. Even then, the implications of the event only gradually became clear. Gamboye Plaza thronged with the stunned folk of the city, who now realized that during the day, without warning or premonition, their lives had been irrevocably ravaged. Everywhere the same questions were heard: what had happened? How great was the damage? Was it definite that there would be no more Seishanee?

The reality was hard to grasp. Changes would be gradual, as the labor force dwindled by attrition and the quality of life became ever more austere. There would be no more splendid pageants, no more grand banquets, no more gorgeous costumes except what could be salvaged and repaired. In about twenty years, or at most thirty years, the last of the Seishanee would be gone and the glorious traditions of old Romarth would become a memory.

The options for the future were dismal. The Roum must either toil for sheer survival here on Fader, or they must emigrate to new homes somewhere among the worlds of the Gaean Reach. In fifty years all the palaces of Romarth would be abandoned, with only houseghouls to stare by moonlight across the decaying gardens. The prospect was dreary indeed, and the folk in Gamboye Plaza became ever more oppressed as they considered the future.

Gradually it became known that off-worlders had caused the disaster. A great fury infected the Roum. Had Jaro or Skirl or Maihac been on hand, they would have fared badly. But the
Pharsang
was already far off in space, fleeing back toward Yellow Rose Star.

Early in the afternoon, Maihac met with the Select Committee in the grand hall at Carleone. Jaro had returned to tell his terrible tale only half an hour before, and it became Maihac’s painful duty to inform the Committee of the disaster. He did so in six crisp sentences.

The ten dignitaries showed shocked white faces to Maihac, but for a time were unable to make coherent utterances. There were inarticulate stammers and guttural rasps of dismay; then, as if reacting to a common impulse, all sagged back into their seats. The Foundance had been destroyed; there would be no more Seishanee, and the folk of Romarth must face a difficult and dreary future.

Maihac watched while the ten Roum assimilated the news. He wondered whether they still would want to hear his statement. His ideas were more cogent now than ever; he must speak, regardless of their probable disinclinations. A new thought occurred to him, and he wondered whether he dared express it to the company. The idea might well be resented, but even if they became furious, he carried the Ezelite handgun and was leaving Romarth within the hour; probably the worst they could do would be to revile him and call him a bumptious fool and a mischievous swine of an off-worlder. He had survived invective many times before.

Maihac held up his hand to fix the committee’s attention upon himself. “Gentlemen, I sympathize with your distress, but since my time is limited and what I can tell you is important, I will ignore tact. Please do not expect to be soothed.

“Originally we were to discuss the gradual decay of Romarth and its discouraging prospects. As I understand it, you wanted constructive suggestions as to how you might best deal with these problems. After what has happened, these problems become even more urgent, since you can no longer hope for gradual solutions. Changes must be made at once. There will be dislocation and discomfort whether you like it or not.

“I am prompted to point out, and I do so very timorously, that what happened at the Foundance may not be an unmitigated calamity. Now you cannot indulge in long and stately deliberations; you have no choice but to act.”

One of the grandees found his voice. “Action is easy to recommend, but more difficult to plan and organize.”

“I agree,” said Maihac. “Here are several constructive ideas.

“First, the entire Roum population might emigrate to other worlds of the Gaean Reach. This is an obvious concept, and probably the least appealing, since it is unpredictable and several generations might pass before a satisfactory standard of living could be achieved.

“Second, and equally obvious, is the notion that the Roum themselves undertake the work now done by the Seishanee. I realize that you are congenitally averse to physical labor, but it is not so irksome as you may believe, especially when you use modern agricultural methods and machinery, along with material synthesizers.

“Third, there is the possibility of expanding your export trade. Asrubal has demonstrated that there are profits to be earned, but you will need to develop business techniques. Your best hope might be to send a cadre of young men and women to Gaean business schools.

“Fourth is tourism. If some of the old palaces were converted into hotels, Romarth might become the focus of a profitable tourist industry. Under these conditions you would continue to live as picturesque aristocrats dedicated to the arts and rituals of Old Romarth. You would wear your splendid costumes and practice your exquisite etiquette. On the other hand, you would not be allowed to mistreat the tourists. Needless to say, such a scheme requires the investment of considerable capital.”

“Unfortunately,” said Ardrian, “capital of this magnitude is not at our disposal.”

“You have confiscated over a million sols from Asrubal. That is a start, though it is not nearly enough. More capital is accessible through banks or, better, from private investors, who may be able to bring expertise to the project. Now then—and here is the nub of the matter. I know of at least one man who commands great wealth and who might be attracted to a project of this sort. This person is hard-headed, practical, self-willed. However, he is neither a thief nor a scoundrel, and he is susceptible to reasonable argument. I am leaving Romarth immediately. I will transport a deputation aboard the
Pharsang
so that they may meet this gentleman. If he becomes interested in the project, as I think likely, he will enter into a covenant with the folk of Romarth, each party defining its rights and privileges. He will want to make changes. For instance, he will bring in professional exterminators to eradicate the houseghouls. As for the Loklor, you might decide that these nomad horrors contribute to the picturesque charm of Fader, and allow them the liberty of the Tangtsang, provided that they ask no tourists to dance with their girls.

“As to how you might replace your Seishanee and provide yourselves domestic service, I cannot even guess.

“That exhausts my list of constructive suggestions. If you intend to act upon Item Four, select a deputation at this moment. I repeat: they must be ready to leave at once, since I don’t want to be on hand when the mob comes to call.”

At Thanet, Maihac, by means of hints and mysterious allusions, induced Gilfong Rute to dine with him at the Blue Moon Inn. The two were served aperitifs, but Rute refused to look at the dinner menu until Maihac had explained the nature of his business. “My time is valuable; I am not here to exchange pleasantries, nor yet to revel in the Blue Moon cuisine. Get to the point, if you please.”

“Be calm,” said Maihac. “You will hear everything in due course. In the meantime, enjoy this tonic. It is known as the ‘Toe-Clencher Number Two,’ and I ordered it mixed to a special recipe.”

Rute tasted the tonic. “Yes, most refreshing. And now, as to the revelations you were hinting at, please offer me some light instead of smoke and subterfuge. Speak on!”

“Oh very well,” said Maihac, “if you insist. Personally, I was enjoying the suspense.” Maihac opened a small valise and brought out a large leather-bound book, which he placed on the table in front of Rute. “Look into this book, if you will.”

Rute glanced through the pages, at first casually, then with growing interest. “I can’t make head or tail of the text, but the pictures seize upon the imagination. The detail is meticulous. In fact, it is a beautiful book!” He looked again at the first few pages, then looked up with a frown of puzzlement. “I see no mention of the publisher, nor any commercial advice.”

“For a good reason,” said Maihac. “The book is indited in a special calligraphy and illustrated by the same person. Her name was Zahamilla of Torres House; the book is an autobiographical document and represents an overview of her life. There are no copies and no commercial production; in this sense it is unique.”

Rute studied the pages. “Hmm.” He glanced up sharply. “Is this place real? Or is it a fantasy created by the imagination?”

“It is real. I have been there myself.”

Rute nodded and, in an elaborately offhand voice, asked: “Where is this place?”

“That is part of the mystery,” said Maihac. “It is a lost world.”

Rute turned more pages. “Strange and amazing. Why do you show this book to me?”

“It is a long story. Let us order our dinner and I will tell you what I know.”

During the dinner and afterward Maihac spoke of his association with the world Perdu. “That is not the proper name,” he told Rute. “But for present purposes it will do very well.”

Rute listened with impassive interest, while Maihac spoke on.

“The city is very old. Many of the ancient palaces are abandoned, though structurally they are sound and could be converted into tourist hotels of the highest category with relatively little expense. There are other interesting aspects to this world, including—as you have seen—a unique civilization of an advanced and sophisticated culture. Tourists and tour groups from everywhere in the Reach would want to visit Perdu if they were able to do so.”

Rute surveyed Maihac under hooded eyelids. “Why do you tell me all this, in such detail?”

“To develop Perdu for tourists would require considerable capital. You could supply this capital, and I thought that you might be interested in such a scheme.”

Rute reflected a moment, then asked, “What is your personal interest in the project? In short, how do you gain?”

“So far as I can see, not at all. I have brought here a deputation from Perdu; you would deal with them exclusively.”

“Hmmf. You are taking no percentage, or fee?”

“Nothing. The deal is between you and the deputation. I have no plans to return to Perdu.”

“Hmmf. Most quixotic.” Rute once again looked through the pages of the book. “Do these pictures accurately represent the condition of the palaces?”

“They do not do the city justice.” There was a pause while Rute studied pages of the book. Maihac went on: “I can think of three areas of possible difficulty. The inhabitants of the city are aristocrats and they will not allow what they call ‘vulgarization.’ They are proud of their traditions and you will need all your tact when you deal with them.”

“No problem. What else?”

“Second, many of the abandoned palaces are infested with what are known as ‘white houseghouls.’ They live in tunnels and crypts under the palaces and must be exterminated.”

Rute grinned. “So long as I am not asked to lead the charge in person.”

“Third, and not too serious—in fact, more of a picturesque adjunct than otherwise—savage nomads wander the steppes, and will need to be disciplined.”

Rute nodded. “Anything else?”

“A multitude of minor problems, no doubt. If you are interested, you will want to visit the city in person.”

“True.”

“Then you are interested?”

“Yes, I think so. Enough to want to take a look.”

“In that case, we will need to prepare an initial covenant, or contract, to prevent you from acting independently, once you learn the location of this world. Otherwise there would be nothing to prevent you from sending out an expedition to act strictly in your own best interests.”

Rute showed Maihac a sour smile. “You seem to lack confidence in my integrity.”

“You are wealthy,” said Maihac. “Your money did not come to you because of your bonhomie. Along the way you must have left a number of disgruntled adversaries.”

“That is an understatement,” said Gilfong Rute. “In this case, you need not worry. I will try to behave in a civilized manner.”

“That is reassuring,” said Maihac. “Again I emphasize that the folk of Perdu can, at times, be tiresome. They consider themselves the elite of the universe and tend to think of off-worlders as ignorant louts and buffoons.”

Rute waved his hand. “In my time I have dealt with both Quantorces and Clam Muffins. Now I am ready for anything.”

Maihac agreed. “It is the same kettle of fish. You’ll have an interesting time. Tomorrow we will take legal advice and draw up the preliminary covenant. After that, you are on your own.”

Gilfong Rute, accompanied by the Roum deputation and a team of professional advisors, had departed Thanet, bound for Fader and the city Romarth. Maihac had counseled Morlock, Ardrian and the others to the best of his ability, explaining that in any final contract with Gilfong Rute, all parties would be well served by stipulating every phase of the development in minute detail, leaving as little as possible to interpretation.

Maihac advised that the final contract with Rute should be negotiated not at Romarth but at Thanet, where the Roum could employ competent legal representatives of their own.

Finally, Maihac recommended that the Roum protect the contents of their palaces with great vigilance. “The books, curios, art goods—they will disappear like snow in summer unless you take special care. Tourists can not be trusted; when they want a souvenir, honesty flies out the window!”

During the transactions Jaro and Skirl wandered about Thanet, where everything seemed at once familiar and strange. Merriehew had been razed to the ground; Sasoon Ayry housed a new family, high up the ledges of status, the gentleman a Lemurian and his spouse on the committee of the Sasselton Tigers.

While Jaro looked into the old offices of the Faths at the Institute, Skirl went off on an errand of her own. When she rejoined Jaro, she was bubbling with excitement. “I have studied the Clam Muffin by-laws and I have conferred with several of the committee members. They agree that I may nominate you into a special category of the Clam Muffins. This is a privilege accorded to members so that they need not feel embarrassed when they introduce their spouses in public. You would become an Associate Member, Provisional. The vote will be almost automatic—but first we must be formally married.”