“You have taken too much to drink; in consequence you are drunk.”
Puiras ventured a knowing smirk. “Your perspicacity is keen, your language is exact. I take no exception to either remark.”
Rhialto said, “I have no place for an irresponsible or bibulous servant. You are hereby discharged.”
“No, you don’t!” cried Puiras in a coarse voice, and emphasized the statement with a belch. “They told me I’d have a good post if I stole no more than old Funk and praised your noble airs. Well then! Tonight I stole only moderately, and from me the lack of insult is high praise. So there’s the good post and what’s a good post without a walk to the village?”
“Puiras, you are dangerously intoxicated,” said Rhialto. “What a disgusting sight you are indeed!”
“No compliments!” roared Puiras. “We can’t all be fine magicians with fancy clothes at the snap of a finger.”
In outrage Rhialto rose to his feet. “Enough! Be off to your quarters before I inflict a torment upon you!”
“That’s where I was going when you called me back,” replied Puiras sulkily.
Rhialto conceived a further rejoinder to be beneath his dignity. Puiras stumbled away, muttering under his breath.
6
At rest upon the ground, Vermoulian’s wonderful peregrine palace, together with its loggias, formal gardens and entrance pavilion, occupied an octagonal site some three acres in extent. The plan of the palace proper was that of a four-pointed star, with a crystal spire at each apex and a spire, somewhat taller, at the center, in which Vermoulian maintained his private chambers. A marble balustrade enclosed the forward pavilion. At the center a fountain raised a hundred jets of water; to either side grew lime trees with silver blossoms and silver fruit. The quadrangles to the right and left were laid out as formal gardens; the area at the rear was planted with herbs and salads for the palace kitchen.
Vermoulian’s guests occupied suites in the wings; under the central spire were the various salons, the morning and afternoon rooms, the library, the music chamber, the formal dining room and the lounge.
An hour after sunrise the magicians began to arrive, with Gilgad first on the scene and Ildefonse the last. Vermoulian, his nonchalance restored, greeted each magician with carefully measured affability. After inspecting their suites the magicians gathered in the grand salon. Vermoulian addressed the group. “It is my great pleasure to entertain so distinguished a company! Our goal: the rescue of the hero Morreion! All present are keen and dedicated — but do all understand that we must wander far regions?” Vermoulian turned his placid gaze from face to face. “Are all prepared for tedium, discomfort and danger? Such may well eventuate, and if any have doubts or if any pursue subsidiary goals, such as a search for IOUN stones, now is the time for these persons to return to their respective manses, castles, caves, and eyries. Are any so inclined? No? We depart.”
Vermoulian bowed to his now uneasy guests. He mounted to the control belvedere where he cast a spell of buoyancy upon the palace; it rose to drift on the morning breeze like a pinnacled cloud. Vermoulian consulted his Celestial Almanac and made note of certain symbols; these he inscribed upon the carnelian mandate-wheel, which he set into rotation; the signs were spun off into the interflux, to elucidate a route across the universe. Vermoulian fired a taper and held it to the speed-incense; the palace departed; ancient Earth and the waning sun were left behind.
Beside the marble balustrade stood Rhialto. Ildefonse came to join him; the two watched Earth dwindle to a rosy-pink crescent. Ildefonse spoke in a melancholy voice: “When one undertakes a journey of this sort, where the event is unknown, long thoughts come of their own accord. I trust that you left your affairs in order?”
“My household is not yet settled,” said Rhialto. “Puiras has proved unsatisfactory; when drunk he sings and performs grotesque capers; when sober he is as surly as a leech on a corpse. This morning I demoted him to Minuscule.”
Ildefonse nodded absently. “I am troubled by what I fear to be cross-purposes among our colleagues, worthy fellows though they may be.”
“You refer to the ‘shining fields’ of IOUN stones?” Rhialto put forward delicately.
“I do. As Vermoulian categorically declared, we fare forth to the rescue of Morreion. The IOUN stones can only prove a distraction. Even if a supply were discovered, I suspect that the interests of all might best be served by a highly selective distribution, the venal Gilgad’s complaints notwithstanding.”
“There is much to be said for this point of view,” Rhialto admitted. “It is just as well to have a prior understanding upon a matter so inherently controversial. Vermoulian of course must be allotted a share.”
“This goes without saying.”
At this moment Vermoulian descended to the pavilion where he was approached by Mune the Mage, Hurtiancz and the others. Mune raised a question regarding their destination. “The question of ultimates becomes important. How, Vermoulian, can you know that this precise direction will take us to Morreion?”
“A question well put,” said Vermoulian. “To respond, I must cite an intrinsic condition of the universe. We set forth in any direction which seems convenient; each leads to the same place: the end of the universe.”
“Interesting!” declared Zilifant. “In this case, we must inevitably find Morreion; an encouraging prospect!”
Gilgad was not completely satisfied. “What of the ‘shining fields’ in the reference? Where are these located?”
“A matter of secondary or even tertiary concern,” Ildefonse reminded him. “We must think only of the hero Morreion.”
“Your solicitude is late by several aeons,” said Gilgad waspishly. “Morreion may well have grown impatient.”
“Other circumstances intervened,” said Ildefonse with a frown of annoyance. “Morreion will certainly understand the situation.”
Zilifant remarked. “The conduct of Xexamedes becomes ever more puzzling! As a renegade archveult, he has no ostensible reason to oblige either Morreion, the archveults, or ourselves.”
“The mystery in due course will be resolved,” said Herark the Harbinger.
7
So went the voyage. The palace drifted through the stars, under and over clouds of flaming gas, across gulfs of deep black space. The magicians meditated in the pergolas, exchanged opinions in the salons over goblets of liquor, lounged upon the marble benches of the pavilion, leaned on the balustrade to look down at the galaxies passing below. Breakfasts were served in the individual suites, luncheons were usually set forth al fresco on the pavilion, the dinners were sumptuous and formal and extended far into the night. To enliven these evenings Vermoulian called forth the most charming, witty and beautiful women of all the past eras, in their quaint and splendid costumes. They found the peregrine palace no less remarkable than the fact of their own presence aboard. Some thought themselves dreaming; others conjectured their own deaths; a few of the more sophisticated made the correct presumption. To facilitate social intercourse Vermoulian gave them command of contemporary language, and the evenings frequently became merry affairs. Rhialto became enamored of a certain Mersei from the land of Mith, long since foundered under the waters of the Shan Ocean. Mersei’s charm resided in her slight body, her grave pale face behind which thoughts could be felt but not seen. Rhialto plied her with all gallantry, but she failed to respond, merely looking at him in disinterested silence, until Rhialto wondered if she were slack-witted, or possibly more subtle than himself. Either case made him uncomfortable, and he was not sorry when Vermoulian returned this particular group to oblivion.
Through clouds and constellations they moved, past bursting galaxies and meandering star-streams; through a region where the stars showed a peculiar soft violet and hung in clouds of pale green gas; across a desolation where nothing whatever was seen save a few far luminous clouds. Then presently they came to a new region, where blazing white giants seemed to control whirlpools of pink, blue and white gas, and the magicians lined the balustrade looking out at the spectacle.
At last the stars thinned; the great star-streams were lost in the distance. Space seemed darker and heavier, and finally there came a time when all the stars were behind and nothing lay ahead but darkness. Vermoulian made a grave announcement. “We are now close to the end of the universe! We must go with care. ‘Nothing’ lies ahead.”
“Where then is Morreion?” demanded Hurtiancz. “Surely he is not to be found wandering vacant space.”
“Space is not yet vacant,” stated Vermoulian. “Here there and roundabout are dead stars and wandering star-hulks; in a sense, we traverse the refuse-heap of the universe, where the dead stars come to await a final destiny; and notice, yonder, far ahead, a single star, the last in the universe. We must approach with caution; beyond lies ‘Nothing’.”
“‘Nothing’ is not yet visible,” remarked Ao of the Opals.
“Look more closely!” said Vermoulian. “Do you see that dark wall? That is ‘Nothing’.”
“Again,” said Perdustin, “the question arises: where is Morreion? Back at Ildefonse’s castle, when we formed conjectures, the end of the universe seemed a definite spot. Now that we are here, we find a considerable latitude of choice.”
Gilgad muttered, half to himself, “The expedition is a farce. I see no ‘fields’, shining or otherwise.”
