Read Online Maske: Thaery by Jack Vance - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Vance
Tags: Science-Fiction
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shipping as a deck-hand, which pays nothing but hard work, save your seventeen toldecks until you own a boat of your own.”
“What would be the price for a decent vessel?”
“Five thousand toldecks, or more.”
“At seventeen toldecks a week? This is a long-range goal.”
“Somehow you must augment your income.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Not at all. The secret is to seize upon the opportunity and wring it dry.”
“No such opportunity has ever been offered to me.”
“That is the common complaint.” Shrack rose to his feet. “I must return to my vessel. Certain rogues noticing the dark portholes might think to recognize one of these precise opportunities of which we spoke.
Goodnight and good luck.”
“Goodnight to you.”
Shrack departed the tavern. Jubal sat brooding. The two fat businessmen were dining upon an enormous poached buttle-fish. The man with the knotted muscles and gaunt visage conversed with a burly man wearing a maroon quat. 21 Other folk had entered the tavern: a party of three young bravos in pretentious garments; a pair of old ladies who now sat blowing into pewter mugs of hot spiced beer.
Jubal saw nothing to interest him. He paid his score and left the tavern.
For a moment he stood on the verandah. Waves lapped quietly along the beach. Skay had set; deep darkness had come to the sky; a single filament of Zangwill Reef yet showed above the Cham.
Jubal went slowly along the verandah. Wan light shone briefly on his back as the tavern door opened and closed; behind him came firm measured steps. Against the street glow appeared a pair of silhouettes: one tall and gaunt, the other squat and burly… Jubal lengthened his step and reached his chamber; when he tried to open the door a plug in the keyhole blocked his key. He jerked it loose, inserted his key, but the two men stood at his shoulder.
The tall man spoke in a precise voice. “I address Jubal Droad the Glint?”
“I do not care to acknowledge my identity, whatever it may be, to strangers. I suggest that you transact your business at a more conventional time.”
The tall man’s voice did not seem to change; nevertheless Jubal detected a rasp of amusement. “Sir, we proceed along conventional lines. I am known as ‘Scales’. My colleague may be addressed as ‘Balance’.
We are officers of the Faithful Retribution Company. We carry a proper warrant, signed and officially stamped, for a ‘Well-Merited Extreme’, to be applied to your person, 22 at this moment.”
Jubal spoke in a voice he tried to hold firm. “Let me see the warrant.”
Balance produced a sheet of parchment; Jubal took it into his room. Scales attempted to follow; Jubal roughly shoved him back. Balance, however, inserted his foot in the door.
Jubal read the document. His offense was defined as ‘wanton, unreasonable, cruel, and unverifiable slander, rendered against the reputation of the Excellent Ramus Ymph.’ The complainant signed herself ‘Mieltrude Hever, affianced bride of the said Ramus Ymph.’
“And what is this ‘Extreme Penalty’?” asked Jubal through the door-opening.
“We must infuse you with hyperas,” explained Scales. “This is a hyperaesthesic agent and a glottal inhibitor. Then we bathe you for twenty minutes in lukewarm herndyche, a dermal irritant; then we make thirteen applications of the bone-breaker upon your limbs. Your penalty thereupon is fulfilled.”
“I contest and appeal the penalty,” declared Jubal. “The arbitrator will strike down this warrant; so take your foot from the door.”
“All formalities have already been accomplished in your name. Notice, at the bottom of the page, where the arbitrator has rendered his findings.”
Jubal saw a stamp and a red seal. The subscription read:
Appeal indignantly denied. Let justice be done.
A signature was appended:
Delglas Ymph,
High Arbitrator to Wysrod.
“The Arbitrator is an Ymph! He is related to Ramus Ymph!” croaked Jubal.
“That matter
“What would be the price for a decent vessel?”
“Five thousand toldecks, or more.”
“At seventeen toldecks a week? This is a long-range goal.”
“Somehow you must augment your income.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Not at all. The secret is to seize upon the opportunity and wring it dry.”
“No such opportunity has ever been offered to me.”
“That is the common complaint.” Shrack rose to his feet. “I must return to my vessel. Certain rogues noticing the dark portholes might think to recognize one of these precise opportunities of which we spoke.
Goodnight and good luck.”
“Goodnight to you.”
Shrack departed the tavern. Jubal sat brooding. The two fat businessmen were dining upon an enormous poached buttle-fish. The man with the knotted muscles and gaunt visage conversed with a burly man wearing a maroon quat. 21 Other folk had entered the tavern: a party of three young bravos in pretentious garments; a pair of old ladies who now sat blowing into pewter mugs of hot spiced beer.
Jubal saw nothing to interest him. He paid his score and left the tavern.
For a moment he stood on the verandah. Waves lapped quietly along the beach. Skay had set; deep darkness had come to the sky; a single filament of Zangwill Reef yet showed above the Cham.
Jubal went slowly along the verandah. Wan light shone briefly on his back as the tavern door opened and closed; behind him came firm measured steps. Against the street glow appeared a pair of silhouettes: one tall and gaunt, the other squat and burly… Jubal lengthened his step and reached his chamber; when he tried to open the door a plug in the keyhole blocked his key. He jerked it loose, inserted his key, but the two men stood at his shoulder.
The tall man spoke in a precise voice. “I address Jubal Droad the Glint?”
“I do not care to acknowledge my identity, whatever it may be, to strangers. I suggest that you transact your business at a more conventional time.”
The tall man’s voice did not seem to change; nevertheless Jubal detected a rasp of amusement. “Sir, we proceed along conventional lines. I am known as ‘Scales’. My colleague may be addressed as ‘Balance’.
We are officers of the Faithful Retribution Company. We carry a proper warrant, signed and officially stamped, for a ‘Well-Merited Extreme’, to be applied to your person, 22 at this moment.”
Jubal spoke in a voice he tried to hold firm. “Let me see the warrant.”
Balance produced a sheet of parchment; Jubal took it into his room. Scales attempted to follow; Jubal roughly shoved him back. Balance, however, inserted his foot in the door.
Jubal read the document. His offense was defined as ‘wanton, unreasonable, cruel, and unverifiable slander, rendered against the reputation of the Excellent Ramus Ymph.’ The complainant signed herself ‘Mieltrude Hever, affianced bride of the said Ramus Ymph.’
“And what is this ‘Extreme Penalty’?” asked Jubal through the door-opening.
“We must infuse you with hyperas,” explained Scales. “This is a hyperaesthesic agent and a glottal inhibitor. Then we bathe you for twenty minutes in lukewarm herndyche, a dermal irritant; then we make thirteen applications of the bone-breaker upon your limbs. Your penalty thereupon is fulfilled.”
“I contest and appeal the penalty,” declared Jubal. “The arbitrator will strike down this warrant; so take your foot from the door.”
“All formalities have already been accomplished in your name. Notice, at the bottom of the page, where the arbitrator has rendered his findings.”
Jubal saw a stamp and a red seal. The subscription read:
Appeal indignantly denied. Let justice be done.
A signature was appended:
Delglas Ymph,
High Arbitrator to Wysrod.
“The Arbitrator is an Ymph! He is related to Ramus Ymph!” croaked Jubal.
“That matter