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  Lurulu

  Jack Vance

  Copyright 2004, 2012 by Jack Vance

  Cover art by Koen Vyverman

  Published by

  Spatterlight Press

  ISBN 978-1-61947-063-7

  2012-09-01

  Visit jackvance.com for more

  Spatterlight Press releases

  This title was created from the digital archive of the Vance Integral Edition, a series of 44 books produced under the aegis of the author by a worldwide group of his readers. The VIE project gratefully acknowledges the editorial guidance of Norma Vance, as well as the cooperation of the Department of Special Collections at Boston University, whose John Holbrook Vance collection has been an important source of textual evidence. Special thanks to R.C. Lacovara, Patrick Dusoulier, Koen Vyverman, Paul Rhoads, Chuck King, Gregory Hansen, Suan Yong, and Josh Geller for their invaluable assistance preparing final versions of the source files.

  Format: John A. Schwab, Tech Proof: Patrick Dusoulier, Text Integrity: Rob Friefeld, Alun Hughes, Paul Rhoads, Steve Sherman, John Vance, Implement: Hans van der Veeke, Compose: Paul Rhoads, Update Verify: Rob Friefeld, Proofread: Erik Arendse, Patrick Dusoulier, Andrew Edlin, Rob Friefeld, Joe Keyser, Frans Langelaan, Till Noever, David Reitsema, Joel Riedesel, Jeffrey Ruszczyk, Mike Schilling

  Ebook Creation: Arjen Broeze, Christopher Wood, Artwork (maps based on original drawings by Jack and Norma Vance): Paul Rhoads, Christopher Wood, Proofing: Arjen Broeze, Evert Jan de Groot, Gregory Hansen, Menno van der Leden, Koen Vyverman, Management: John Vance, Koen Vyverman, Web: Menno van der Leden

  THE COMPLETE WORKS

  of

  Jack Vance

  Lurulu

  THE VANCE DIGITAL EDITION

  Oakland

  2012

  Contents

  Introduction,

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter X

  Introduction,

  or more accurately, a precis of the first book: Ports of Call.

  Myron’s great-aunt, Dame Hester Lajoie, had won a judgment of slander against Gower Hatchkey. In satisfaction of the judgment she had accepted the space-yacht Glodwyn. Initially Dame Hester thought of the Glodwyn only as proof that whoever chose to call her ‘a bald old harridan in a red fright-wig’ must pay well for the privilege.

  “Truly, I have no inclination to go hurtling through space in an oversize coffin,” she told Myron. “That is sheer lunacy and a mortification of both body and spirit. I shall probably put the vessel up for sale.”

  Myron groaned and clutched at his sleek blond hair, but was too shocked to protest.

  Dame Hester watched him closely, parrot-eyes snapping. “I see that you are perplexed; you think me timid and orthodox! That is incorrect! I pay no heed to convention, and why is this? Because my youthful spirit defies the years! So you dismiss me as an eccentric madcap! What then? It is the price I pay for retaining the verve of youth, and it is the secret of my vivid beauty!”

  “Ah yes, of course,” said Myron. He added thoughtfully: “Still, it is sad waste of a beautiful ship.”

  The remark irritated Dame Hester. “Myron, be practical! Why should I gad about empty space, or trudge through dirty back alleys in search of strange smells? Preposterous!”

  Myron numbly went off to read Transcendent Lives: The Locators and their Model 11-B Scudders.

  During a rare moment of repose, Dame Hester chanced upon an article written by a certain ‘Serena’, telling of her experiences on the world Kodaira, where she had undertaken a rejuvenation program which she had found amazingly effective.

  Dame Hester was inspired by the article. After making inquiries, she altered her views regarding space travel, and resolved to visit Kodaira aboard the Glodwyn.

  With Dame Hester, to think was to act. She summoned Myron and ordered him to learn the exact location of Kodaira. She appointed her dear and intimate friend Dauncy Covarth Captain of the Glodwyn, but he disgraced himself; and Myron, by default, was tendered the position.

  The Glodwyn departed the Salou Sain spaceport, and Myron set a course for Naharius, the real name of Kodaira. For a time the voyage proceeded smoothly. Dame Hester luxuriated in the tranquility, the absence of stress, the total lack of demands upon her time. She slept late, dawdled over her meals and read several books. The voyage, she told Myron, was a rejuvenation in itself.

  As time passed, Dame Hester’s enthusiasm began to wane. She became ever more restless, and finally she summoned Myron.

  “Yes, Aunt Hester?”

  “How far have we come to date?”

  “About halfway, I should guess.”

  “So little? I feel as if we have been traveling forever!”

  “Naharius is a long way out for a fact,” Myron admitted. “Still, there is much to enjoy along the way: untroubled rest, calm and deep meditation, the sheer joy of easing effortlessly past the stars.”

  “Bah!” snapped Dame Hester.

  Myron pointed to the observation port. “Observe the stars drifting past. It is the most romantic spectacle of all!”

  “My wish would be to stop by a pleasant way-station where we could breathe new air and enjoy the glamour of strange landscapes and quaint villages, where the folk still abide by their ancient customs.”

  “All very well,” said Myron. “No doubt these picturesque places exist, but if we deviate from our planned course we may not so easily return anywhere near our destination, which is Naharius.”

  Dame Hester seemed not to hear. “I have read of native markets where unique goods can be had: fetishes and masks, emblems of fertility, exotic fabrics. There are true bargains to be found if one is prepared to haggle a bit.”

  “Yes, yes, of course! Nevertheless, such worlds are not to be found everywhere.”

  Dame Hester lurched up from her position on the sofa. “Please! Myron! I have stated my needs! Be good enough to implement them.”

  Myron spoke with harried patience. “My dear Aunt Hester, if I could produce a world of such gorgeous romance for your pleasure, I would do so on the instant. I would be performing a miracle!”

  Dame Hester spoke icily: “In that case, perform the miracle. Are you finally aware of my mood?”

  “Yes,” said Myron. “It is clear.”

  “Good!” Dame Hester resumed her supine posture on the sofa.

  Myron bowed, and went off to consult his references.

  Presently he returned to the saloon. “I have studied Handbook to the Planets at length,” he told Dame Hester. “The most accessible world is Dimmick, in orbit around the white dwarf Maudwell’s Star. It would seem queer enough and odd enough even to gratify the most avid taste.

  “The references are somewhat ambiguous, but none seriously emphasize the world’s allure. Let me read from the Handbook: ‘Dimmick is not a world of halcyon charm, although the topography often displays a rugged grandeur. The surface is for the most part covered under harsh stony mountains and glaciers. A number of small circular plains depressed below the surface are in fact meteor craters. In these parts, the air temperature is modified by ground heat to the threshold of livability. The town Flajaret and the spaceport are located in one of the craters.’

  “‘Dimmick and its people, to say the least, are unusual, though sensitive visitors may not be captivated. The efflux of hot springs creates tunnels through the glaciers, providing shelter for a debased caste of dog-breeders known as ‘spockows’. The upper castes keep dogs in their homes, and dress them in fancy suits. There is an undercurrent of hostility between the castes, since one eats the creatures, whil
e the other pampers the animals in their homes and feeds them tidbits from their tables.’

  “‘The principal sport is dog-fighting, which is important since it sets the tone for the society. Gambling is obsessive. Even small children crawl to the arena, to bet coins upon their favorite beast. Another vehicle for gambling is the penal system. Near Flajaret is a large lake crusted over with mats of dried algae. On this precarious surface the penal exercises are conducted, to the great interest of the public at large.’

  “‘Dimmick is not known for its gracious cuisine, since few if any natural foods are consumed. Ordinary victual consists of synthetic gruel, enlivened by artificial flavoring, then fried, baked, boiled or shirred, to much the same effect.’”

  Myron paused. “Shall I go on? The Handbook provides several recipes for boiled dog which may interest you.”

  “Thank you, no.”

  Myron looked sidewise at Dame Hester, trying to gauge her mood. Often she could be perverse, simply to inject drama into a situation. He risked an opinion: “I suggest that we bypass Dimmick. We are approaching Port Tanjee on Taubry, which will surely be far more entertaining.”

  Dame Hester spoke decisively: “We shall land at Flajaret, and briefly explore this benighted world. Then we shall also halt at Port Tanjee. In this way we will be able to compare the good with the bad.”

  Myron performed a crisp bow. “As you like.”

  At Flajaret Dame Hester met an off-worlder named Marko Fassig, an engaging young scapegrace with burly shoulders, a bushy mustache, and soft-brown eyes. His witticisms and general gallantry impressed Dame Hester to such an extent that she hired him as purser aboard the Glodwyn, despite Myron’s strong objections.

  When the Glodwyn landed at Port Tanjee, Myron discharged Fassig from his post, and ordered him off the ship within the hour. But half an hour later it was Myron himself who, in a morose mood, departed the ship carrying his suitcase, with Dame Hester’s final remarks still ringing in his ears.

  Myron wandered into town and took lodging for the night at the Rambler’s Rest rooming house. During the evening he visited the Owlswyck Inn, where he encountered the crew of the freighter Glicca, consisting of Captain Adair Maloof, Chief Steward Isel Wingo, Chief Engineer Fay Schwatzendale, and Hilmar Krim, the supercargo. Each man contrasted markedly with his fellows, but Krim most of all. He was tall, gaunt, with a high forehead, a curious little mat of black hair, a long chin and hooded black eyes. Krim was given to dogmatic opinions, which his fellows never troubled to contradict. Myron learned that Krim was a dedicated student of jurisprudence, and in fact was composing a three-volume analysis of Gaean law. On this particular evening, Krim was in good spirits and drank several tankards of Old Gaboon. When the dancing started, Krim jumped out upon the floor and began to dance an energetic loose-legged strut. A portly well-dressed gentleman with a fine ginger-colored mustache also came out upon the floor, to perform what was known as ‘The Chicken-thief’s Trot’ — a long loping prance, with body leaning far backwards and legs kicking out high to the front. The two came into contact; during the altercation which followed Krim committed several offenses against local law. When the constable on duty sought to restrain him, he aggravated his offenses by kicking the ginger-mustached man in the shins. This gentleman chanced to be the district magistrate.

  The Magistrate hobbled to a chair on the dais and seated himself, while the sergeant of the guard stepped forward and cited the entire list of Krim’s infractions. Krim foolishly tried to argue jurisprudence using the terms ‘fat lummox’ and ‘dunderhead’: a new transgression of the local anti-defamation code.

  Krim was brought forward and arraigned on the spot. The magistrate put on his judicial hat, and took Krim’s case under consideration. He now seemed cool and impartial, as befitted his position, and he pronounced Krim’s sentence in an even voice: “Sir, you have made several interesting legal points, but they fly a bit wide of the mark. My duty is both to better your legal understanding and to shield the innocent folk of this city against acts of mindless violence. Therefore, I sentence you to a year of educational exercises in the rock quarry.”

  Krim tried to utter further legalities, and to introduce apposite precedents into the case, but he was immediately marched from the inn and hustled off to the quarry.

  After a decorous interval Myron applied to Captain Maloof for the vacant position. Captain Maloof ruminated for a moment. He said: “The position is not simple and demands all the resources of a competent man.”

  “I believe that I am that man,” declared Myron boldly.

  “We shall see,” said Captain Maloof. “First, let me ask: are you familiar with the ten primary digits of the numerical scheme?”

  “Yes sir. So I am!”

  “And you understand their usual employment?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are able to read written documents and translate them into the spoken tongue?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If hired, would you object to balancing your accounts more or less accurately?”

  “No sir; not at all.”

  Captain Maloof gave a sigh of relief. “Your qualifications seem to be superb. You are hired.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Not at all,” said Captain Maloof. “While I do not want to bring poor Krim any unnecessary tribulation, it will be something of a relief to have him shifting large rocks, rather than integers in the ledgers. Your main challenge, or so I believe, will be adapting to Krim’s intuitive methods of accounting. You may appear aboard the Glicca tomorrow morning.”

  In the morning Myron departed the Rambler’s Rest and took his breakfast at an open-air café to the side of the plaza. Then he walked under the cloud-trees to the spaceport, passed through the terminal and found the Glicca a hundred yards out on the field.

  Myron climbed aboard. Captain Maloof showed him his quarters and explained the scope of his duties.

  Later in the day eleven pilgrims presented themselves to Captain Maloof, requesting passage to Impy’s Landing on the world Kyril where they would undertake a five-year march around the planet. Captain Maloof explained that the Glicca could convey them to Coro-Coro on Fluter, but thereafter they must trans-ship to Kyril. After argument, the pilgrims reluctantly agreed to Captain Maloof’s stipulations.

  There was further contention in regard to the fares. Kalash, the Perrumpter of the group, insisted upon a religious discount. Captain Maloof responded with a sad shake of his head. “If your panel of deities wished you a quick and comfortable transfer to Kyril, it would have been arranged by divine fiat.”

  Kalash made a final attempt to explain the seeming paradox: “The gods move in mysterious ways.”

  Maloof nodded sagely. “Agreed! Still, either you or the gods must pay the proper fare.”

  The Perrumpter had nothing more to say.

  The pilgrims trooped aboard the ship, and were shown to their quarters by Wingo and Myron.

  At sunset they set off on a route which would take them from world to world, through regions obscure and remote, visited only by tramp freighters like the Glicca. As the days passed, Myron became acquainted with his shipmates, and the pilgrims settled into routines: drinking tea, criticizing the cuisine, performing rites, gambling.

  The Glicca cruised from port to port, controlled by bills of lading and cargo destinations. At Girandole on the world Fiametta, the Glicca landed beside the Fontenoy, a large space-yacht almost as grand as the Glodwyn. The master was Joss Garwig, Director of Acquisitions for the Pan-Arts Museum at Duvray on the world Alcydon. He was accompanied by his wife Vermyra, his son Mirl and his clever daughter Tibbet. During the night dark deeds occur, and despite horrid circumstances, Myron noticed that Tibbet was as pretty as she was clever. The next day, both the Glicca and the Fontenoy shifted a thousand miles to Sweetfleur. Here, a carnival of many dimensions, known as the ‘Lalapalooza’, was in progress. Myron and Tibbet eluded Vermyra and visited ‘The Tunnel of Love’. They were not
seen again until late in the evening, and were convinced that they were in love. It was a sad-sweet discovery, since the Gaean Reach was long and wide, and they could not guess when they would meet again. Tibbet instructed Myron to write her at her home near Duvray. She told him: “If you do not write I will know that you have forgotten me.”

  The crew of the Glicca discovered a pavilion of yellow silk, where Moncrief the Mouse-rider and his troupe were bamboozling the public with zeal and finesse. Schwatzendale looked on with keen interest. This was the selfsame Moncrief who had at one time taken almost fifty sols from him at a game of Cagliostro.

  At the end of the day’s business Moncrief took Captain Maloof aside and arranged transport for himself and his troupe to Cax, on Blenkinsop.

  On the following morning the newcomers boarded the Glicca: a party of six, including Flook, Pook and Snook, three enchanting young maidens of lively disposition; Siglaf and Hunzel, a pair of truculent warrior-women from the Bleary Hills of Numoy; and Moncrief himself: all in all, a picturesque company.

  The Glicca departed Fiametta and continued along its route, stopping by the four dreary spaceports of Mariah and departing in nervous haste. Ahead lay the long run to Fluter and fabled Coro-Coro, then on to Cax.

  Chapter I

  Excerpt from the article ‘Fluter: World Of Glamour’, from the periodical Touristic Topics.

  There is nothing to be gained by describing the climate of Fluter: it is perfect, and as such it is taken for granted, as are most of the other aspects of this magnificent world. The landscapes are as sunny and verdant as a view across lost Arcady.

  The people of Fluter share the attributes of their wonderful world. They seem to dance through life to the measures of music they alone can hear: women of many talents, noble philosophers, solitary vagabonds wandering the lonely places. In general the folk of Fluter are friendly and gay, and anxious to appear beautiful in the eyes of the off-worlders, whom they revere perhaps unreasonably. In the main they are addicted to the joys of feasting, music, star-naming, sailing the wild seas, and love-making in a style known as ‘ingesting the perfumed flowers’.