The Magnificent Showboats (6 page)

The music stopped short. A portentous silence gripped the stage. The music resumed, now heavy, dark and ominous. A huge being appeared: half-animal, half-ogre. With a whip of a dozen thongs it forced the running half-human creatures to acts of abasement. The space-men watched aghast, and presently killed the beast. The music erupted into horrid discords; the half-men leapt high in paroxysms of fury; they tore the space-men to bits; then, to eery slow music, performed a hectic pavane around the corpse of the beast-ogre, and the curtain fell.

From the outboard side of the ship came the sound of a thud, a series of hoarse yells and a splashing sound. Zamp went to investigate and Bonko explained the new disturbance. “Three men in a rowboat attempted to fasten an explosive object to our waterline. I dropped a large stone into their boat and they drifted away on the current.”

“Ashgale has not been idle,” said Zamp. “To no avail; our performance is close upon its end. But do not relax.”

Zamp took up a position where he could inspect the audience; among them was the emissary from Mornune: which? No indications existed; the incognito was effective.

The curtains parted on Zamp’s traditionally rousing grand finale. The orchestra played at crescendo, the players marched, pranced and cake-walked; jugglers twirled flaming hoops; magicians discharged rockets.

Zamp stepped on the stage and as the curtain fell, performed a modest bow. “We hope that you have enjoyed our efforts to entertain you. Next time we pass our acquaintance will certainly be renewed. All aboard
Miraldra’s Enchantment
wish you good evening.”

All night long Zamp was kept awake by the sounds of pumps and curses from
Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit.
In the morning the vessel still sagged by the stern.

Zamp enjoyed an early breakfast in his cabin, then dressed with his usual care in dark gray breeches, a green jacket frogged with loops of crimson cord, a crimson and green cap. Zamp then disposed himself to await the announcement of the Mornune envoy.

Half an hour passed. Zamp strolled forward to observe the raising of
Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit.
Water surged from hoses emerging through portholes. Ashgale was nowhere to be seen.

As Zamp sauntered back amidships, a young man in the ordinary costume of Lanteen mounted the gang-plank. Zamp paused, and the young man approached. “You are Apollon Zamp, ship-master?”

“I claim that distinction.”

“In such case, I carry a message which I must deliver into your hands.” The young man brought forth a black plush case which he delivered to Zamp, and immediately departed the ship.

Zamp pursed his lips reflectively. He put the black plush case down upon a bench and looked at it from a safe distance.

Bonko came past and gazed wonderingly at Zamp. “What troubles you?”

“The case yonder. It might contain almost anything.”

Bonko considered the case. “Well, we shall soon discover the truth. A moment while I fetch a pair of clamps.”

Bonko went forward and returned with clamps and lengths of cord. He clamped the bottom of the case to the table, attached a second clamp to the lid and tied one end of the cord to this second clamp. The other end of the cord he took to the shrouds and carried aloft to the crow’s-nest.

Zamp went to stand behind the deck-house.

“Ready?” called Bonko.

“Ready,” replied Zamp.

Bonko pulled the cord, but the clamp fell off the case and the strategy failed.

Behind Zamp stood Garth Ashgale who had boarded the vessel unnoticed and now stood watching with raised eyebrows. “What in the world are you doing?”

Zamp cleared his throat and gave the bill of his cap a tug. “We are attempting to open the black case yonder.”

Garth Ashgale frowned in puzzlement. “Surely there is an easier way?” He walked over to the case, picked it up and lifted the cover. “You exaggerated the difficulty of the act.”

Zamp made no response. He took the case and lifted forth a rectangle of thin bright metal, inscribed with a message in clear black characters.

B
E IT KNOWN TO ALL PERSONS THAT
M
ASTER
A
POLLON
Z
AMP, WITH HIS VESSEL
MIRALDRA’S ENCHANTMENT
AND THE MEMBERS OF HIS CREW, ORCHESTRA AND ENTERTAINMENT TROUPE ARE INVITED TO PARTICIPATE IN THE
G
RAND
F
ESTIVAL AT
M
ORNUNE COMMENCING ON THE THIRTEENTH DAY AFTER THE SUMMER SOLSTICE OF THIS YEAR.
S
UCH BEING THE CASE THEY ARE GRANTED AN ABSOLUTE SAFE-CONDUCT THROUGH THE
M
ANDAMAN
G
ATES, ACROSS THE
B
OTTOMLESS
L
AKE, AND AT THE TOWN
M
ORNUNE DURING THE PERIOD OF THE FESTIVAL, AND FOR SUCH TIME THEREAFTER AS MAY BE REQUIRED FOR EASY AND SAFE DEPARTURE:

O
RDAINED THROUGH AND BY THE POWER OF
W
ALDEMAR,
K
ING OF
S
OYVANESSE.

“Ah yes,” said Zamp. “I expected something of this sort.” He handed the plaque to Ashgale, who read the message with a placid gaze.

“My congratulations,” said Ashgale. He hefted the plaque and glanced absent-mindedly toward the river; Zamp hastily recovered the silver rectangle. He heaved a deep breath, and somewhat grudgingly said: “The morning is fine; would you care to take a cup of tea?”

“I accept with pleasure,” said Ashgale. The two strolled aft and climbed to the quarter-deck. Zamp arranged a pair of wicker chairs beside the massive chart-table; the two men relaxed and stretched out their legs, while Chaunt served tea and biscuits.

“I was unable to attend your performance last night,” said Ashgale. “We had an exasperating accident which caused considerable inconvenience. I understand that your show was up to usual standards: a clever concoction of froth, nudity and nonsense. Some day when I have exhausted the immediate urgencies of my intellect I might relax and play a season or two of farce and phantasmagoria, if for no other reason than variety.”

“Excellent!” declared Zamp. “The field is difficult, because it demands a peculiar quality of exactness and subtlety which cannot be taught and cannot be learned. Naturally, I will help you as well as I can, but I warn you, I am a martinet.”

“We shall see, we shall see,” said Ashgale negligently. “I have several months to form my plans, as I intend to return to Coble and give my ship a re-conditioning.” Ashgale sipped his tea. “What of yourself? The Mornune competition is still two months in the future.”

Zamp gave the silver plaque a disdainful tap. “This is an amusing trophy, but I doubt if I will give it much heed. A pity I cannot transfer it to someone who truly wants such a trinket.”

Ashgale made a dubious grimace. “Mornune is far upstream. I doubt if many sensible folk would want to pursue a will-o’-the-wisp quite so far.”

Zamp signaled to Chaunt. “Bring up the
River Index
.” To Ashgale he said: “I am curious; let us see exactly what the journey entails.”

Chaunt set the heavy brown volume on the table and Zamp flicked over the vellum pages. “‘Mornune: a rich town on Cynthiana Bay at the north end of Bottomless Lake, established by Merse Hawkmen from the Great Airy Plain north of Dragonsway, West-central Lune XXII. From Coble, Mornune may be best approached on the summer monsoon, which provides sufficient wind to counter the Vissel current. Departure conversely is most easily effected in the fall calms or during the winter monsoon. Eighteen to twenty-two days are required for the voyage in either direction. Along the Vissel will be found towns and villages of more or less importance, such as Prairie View, Idanthus, Port Venable, Garken, Port Wheary, Orangetown, Cockaigne City, Oxyrhincus. Some of these places are fortified against the Tinsitala tribes; others are open and the inhabitants when beleaguered take to their boats or hide in the marshes.

“‘Important tributaries to the Vissel are the Murne at Wigtown, the Wergence near Gotpang, the Suanol at Fudurth, the Lant at Lanteen, the Trobois at Port Wheary.

“‘Tribes of hostile nomads occasionally appear along the shore and precautions must be effected; it is never wise to moor to the riverbank overnight.

“‘Mornune itself is notable for the elegance of its structures and the wealth of its ruling caste, who trace their lineage to Rorus Cazcar of the Magic Tabard.’” Zamp looked down the columns. “There’s more here, but I imagine that you have studied your own
Index
at length.”

Ashgale nodded graciously. “I have investigated the feasibility of the voyage, but without any real interest.”

Zamp turned his gaze out across the Lant River and past, up the sparkling reaches of the Vissel where it came down from the north, far, far, to where it seemed that human vision must fail, and beyond, across the Big Planet perspectives, until the Vissel was no more than a wisp of silver thread.

“Aha,” said Ashgale, “I see that you have determined to make the voyage.”

“It is country I have never seen,” mused Zamp. “There is a fortune awaiting me up yonder, if I choose to reach for it.”

Ashgale looked out over the water with a rather bleak expression. “Well, I’ll be faring south to Coble. You’ll bide here at Lanteen?”

“And pay out a month of salaries? Not likely. The Lant River tempts me. Perhaps I’ll fare out to Port Whant, or even Bilch and Funk’s Grove.”

“Port Whant is a morose place,” mused Ashgale. “You will discover there an audience only for tragic drama; they care not a fig for nonsense.”

Zamp gave an austere nod. “So I am informed by the Index. I will no doubt present some suitable piece: perhaps my own
Evulsifer
or
The Legend of Lost Girl Mountain
.”

Ashgale rubbed his chin. “Are you in the market for a criminal? I will sell one cheap: a surly fellow who barely troubles to learn his lines; in fact he was for last night’s performance, but now I have no need for him.”

“What are his particulars?”

“I bought him here at Lanteen: an adjudged rapacious murderer, and a villainous creature in truth. Pay me a hundred groats, if you like.”

“A hundred groats? My dear Ashgale, I have no need for such an expensive adjunct; I can behead a dummy without charge.”

“As you will. Reflect however on the man’s expressive face, his hoarse voice, his baleful presence. A hundred groats is a cheap price to pay for such verisimilitude.”

Zamp smilingly shook his head. “Master Ashgale, you have suffered reverses and I am inclined to sympathize with you; however, I cannot empty my strongbox so capriciously. I’ll take him off your hands, but I wouldn’t lay forth a single groat.”

“Come now, Apollon Zamp!” said Ashgale. “Such rhetoric we both know to be absurd. Either make me a fair offer, or let us consider the subject closed.”

Zamp shrugged. “I have never been one to haggle. I can offer ten groats, which should compensate you for your outlay.”

“I maintain a rigid barrier between personal and business relationships,” said Ashgale. “No matter what my regard for you, I cannot make so unfavorable a transaction …”

Eventually the sum of twenty-two and two-thirds groats was agreed upon. Ashgale took his money and departed, and Zamp sent Bonko and four deck-hands over to
Fironzelle’s Golden Conceit
with a cage, and presently the criminal was brought aboard
Miraldra’s Enchantment
.

Zamp looked into the cage and found the prisoner no more appealing now than before. “I deplore the crimes which have necessitated your punishment; nevertheless you will find me an indulgent host, especially if you undertake to deliver Evulsifer’s final peroration at an appropriate moment.”

“Save your breath,” grumbled the prisoner. “You clearly intend to take my life; do your worst and be damned to you.”

“This is fallacy,” declared Zamp. “The death sentence was pronounced not by the management of this vessel, but by the town Lanteen. We can only transform the occasion from a sordid little affair in a cellar to exalted drama in which you perform an indispensable role. In your place I would cooperate with great zest.”

“I will gladly change with you,” said the prisoner. “Otherwise it is all one.”

“Another matter,” said Zamp. “The role personifies Evulsifer as a fair man of distinguished appearance — in fact I usually play the part myself, up to the moment of execution. You do not match this description, and I would wish to shave your beard, cut your hair, supply you with a wig and dress you in fine garments. Otherwise you must be executed in a black robe with a heavy cowl.”

“I am not vain,” said the man. “If you must execute a popinjay, put your own head on the block and all requirements will be met.”

Zamp said in disgust: “You are intractable. Solicit no favors from me.”

The prisoner rattled the bars of his cage. “Look forward to your own death with foreboding! In the afterlife I plan to deal harshly with all my enemies!”

“I suspect that our future planes of existence will be quite distinct,” said Zamp loftily, and walked away from the cage. He spent a moment reflecting upon the prisoner’s threat. Could such things be? If so, what weird events must transpire in the afterlife! … Hmm. Here was material for a new drama.

At the bow he found Bonko. “Make ready for departure,” said Zamp. “We sail up the Lant as soon as possible.”

“I’ll need an hour to comb the taverns,” said Bonko.

“Departure time, then, will be noon.”

Zamp returned to the quarter-deck, and consulted the
River Index
notes on Port Whant:

Originally settled by a tribe of white Nens, Port Whant is to this day notorious for the truculence of its citizens. The Whants nevertheless are not parsimonious and can be expected to provide enthusiastic audiences for high-quality productions. This very spontaneity of reaction however is a mixed blessing if the performance is shabby, mean, or inconsiderable, when the Whants may well make a vehement expression, or go so far as to demand refund, to which the wise ship-master will give instant accommodation.

The Whants are ruled by a warlord, who leads them on their raids, and whom they hold in deepest reverence. The current warlord is Lop Loiqua, a man of considerable force.

Under no circumstance make facetious reference to the town, or to the warlord. The Whants in any case are a rather grim folk who dislike farce or travesty; tragic dramas such as
Xerxonistes
or
The Monster of Munt
are generally well received.

The Whants are most sensitive to color stimulation. Females should wear no yellow, as this is for the Whants a sexual excitant, and is considered a signal of invitation. Similarly men should wear no red, which might be interpreted as a challenge. Black is a color of debasement, worn by pariahs —