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Authors: Jack Holbrook Vance
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the Water Garden.”
“Maraval reeks of death. Gentlemen, Peasants, Phane—all dead. Alas! Even the Birds have departed!”
“Delora: a ros ros ros! A dismal scene! No sign of life to be found!”
“Alume is desolate. The great wooden door is smashed. The eternal Green Flame is extinguished.”
“There is nothing at Halcyon. The Peasants were driven into a pit.”
“Tuang: silence.”
“Morninglight: death.”
IX
Three days later, Xanten constrained six Birds to a lift chair. He directed them first on a wide sweep around the castle, then south to Far Valley.
The Birds aired their usual complaints, then bounded down the deck in great ungainly hops which threatened to throw Xanten immediately to the pavement. At last gaining the air, they flew up in a spiral. Castle Hagedorn became an intricate miniature far below, each House marked by its unique cluster of turrets and eyries, its own eccentric roof line, its long streaming pennon.
The Birds performed the prescribed circle, skimming the crags and pines of North Ridge. Then, setting wings aslant the upstream, they coasted away toward Far Valley.
Over the pleasant Hagedorn domain flew the Birds and Xanten: over orchards, fields, vineyards. Peasant villages. They crossed Lake Maude with its pavilions and docks, the meadows beyond where the Hagedorn cattle and sheep grazed, and presently came to Far Valley, at the limit of Hagedorn lands.
Xanten indicated where he wished to alight. The Birds, who would have preferred a site closer to the village where they could have watched all that transpired, grumbled and cried out in wrath and set Xanten down so roughly that had he not been alert the shock would have pitched him head over heels.
Xanten alighted without elegance but at least remained on his feet. “Await me here!” he ordered. “Do not stray; attempt no flamboyant tricks among the lift-straps. When I return I wish to see six quiet Birds, in neat formation, lift-straps untwisted and untangled. No bickering, mind you! No loud caterwauling, to attract unfavorable comment! Let all be as I have ordered!”
The Birds sulked, stamped their feet, ducked aside their necks, made insulting comments just under the level of Xanten’s hearing. Xanten turned with a final glare of admonition and walked down the lane which led to the village.
The vines were heavy with ripe blackberries and a number of the girls of the village filled baskets. Among them was the girl 0. Z. Garr had thought to pre-empt for his personal use. As Xanten passed, he halted and performed a courteous salute. “We have met before, if my recollection is correct.”
The girl smiled, a half-rueful, half-whimsical smile. “Your recollection serves you well. We met at Hagedorn, where I was taken a captive. And later, when you conveyed me here, after dark, though I could not see your face.” She extended her basket. “Are you hungry? Will you eat?”
Xanten took several berries. In the course of the conversation he learned that the girl’s name was Glys Meadowsweet, that her parents were not known to her, but were presumably gentlefolk of Castle Hagedorn who had exceeded their birth tally. Xanten examined her even more carefully than before but could see resemblance to none of the Hagedorn families. “You might derive from Castle Delora. If there is any family resemblance I can detect, it is to the Cosanzas of Delora—a family noted for the beauty of its ladies.”
“You are not married?” she asked artlessly.
“No.” said Xanten, and indeed he had dissolved his relationship with Araminta only the day before. “What of you?”
She shook her head. “I would never be gathering blackberries if I were. It is work reserved for maidens. Why do you come to Far Valley?”
“For two reasons. The first to see you.” Xanten heard himself say this with surprise. But it was true, he realized with another small shock of surprise. “I have never spoken with you properly and I have always wondered
“Maraval reeks of death. Gentlemen, Peasants, Phane—all dead. Alas! Even the Birds have departed!”
“Delora: a ros ros ros! A dismal scene! No sign of life to be found!”
“Alume is desolate. The great wooden door is smashed. The eternal Green Flame is extinguished.”
“There is nothing at Halcyon. The Peasants were driven into a pit.”
“Tuang: silence.”
“Morninglight: death.”
IX
Three days later, Xanten constrained six Birds to a lift chair. He directed them first on a wide sweep around the castle, then south to Far Valley.
The Birds aired their usual complaints, then bounded down the deck in great ungainly hops which threatened to throw Xanten immediately to the pavement. At last gaining the air, they flew up in a spiral. Castle Hagedorn became an intricate miniature far below, each House marked by its unique cluster of turrets and eyries, its own eccentric roof line, its long streaming pennon.
The Birds performed the prescribed circle, skimming the crags and pines of North Ridge. Then, setting wings aslant the upstream, they coasted away toward Far Valley.
Over the pleasant Hagedorn domain flew the Birds and Xanten: over orchards, fields, vineyards. Peasant villages. They crossed Lake Maude with its pavilions and docks, the meadows beyond where the Hagedorn cattle and sheep grazed, and presently came to Far Valley, at the limit of Hagedorn lands.
Xanten indicated where he wished to alight. The Birds, who would have preferred a site closer to the village where they could have watched all that transpired, grumbled and cried out in wrath and set Xanten down so roughly that had he not been alert the shock would have pitched him head over heels.
Xanten alighted without elegance but at least remained on his feet. “Await me here!” he ordered. “Do not stray; attempt no flamboyant tricks among the lift-straps. When I return I wish to see six quiet Birds, in neat formation, lift-straps untwisted and untangled. No bickering, mind you! No loud caterwauling, to attract unfavorable comment! Let all be as I have ordered!”
The Birds sulked, stamped their feet, ducked aside their necks, made insulting comments just under the level of Xanten’s hearing. Xanten turned with a final glare of admonition and walked down the lane which led to the village.
The vines were heavy with ripe blackberries and a number of the girls of the village filled baskets. Among them was the girl 0. Z. Garr had thought to pre-empt for his personal use. As Xanten passed, he halted and performed a courteous salute. “We have met before, if my recollection is correct.”
The girl smiled, a half-rueful, half-whimsical smile. “Your recollection serves you well. We met at Hagedorn, where I was taken a captive. And later, when you conveyed me here, after dark, though I could not see your face.” She extended her basket. “Are you hungry? Will you eat?”
Xanten took several berries. In the course of the conversation he learned that the girl’s name was Glys Meadowsweet, that her parents were not known to her, but were presumably gentlefolk of Castle Hagedorn who had exceeded their birth tally. Xanten examined her even more carefully than before but could see resemblance to none of the Hagedorn families. “You might derive from Castle Delora. If there is any family resemblance I can detect, it is to the Cosanzas of Delora—a family noted for the beauty of its ladies.”
“You are not married?” she asked artlessly.
“No.” said Xanten, and indeed he had dissolved his relationship with Araminta only the day before. “What of you?”
She shook her head. “I would never be gathering blackberries if I were. It is work reserved for maidens. Why do you come to Far Valley?”
“For two reasons. The first to see you.” Xanten heard himself say this with surprise. But it was true, he realized with another small shock of surprise. “I have never spoken with you properly and I have always wondered
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