We hope to bring back the short stories, news and comment from the writing team David Coles and Jack Everett, aka Everett Coles, from Adele Abbot and from our friends... we write fantasy and science fiction, historical and thriller fiction and may poke our noses into places where they're not wanted!
Studies in Shadow...from the team at Archimedes Presse breaking news: book of the month for July at the Book Awards ~ 'The Diamond Seekers'
Sunday, July 21, 2013
The Ingenuity of Vanity Doon
On May 26 2013, Jack Vance - master of fantasy and science fiction - died. We publish here, one of our most Vancean short stories as a tribute to a writer who has inspired and delighted all three of us for most of our adult lives.
The sun touched the jagged edge of the caldera; dusk
rushed across the island. The moons, Faz and Chaz, were poised above the
ocean’s rim and minutes later, they sank beneath the far horizon with an all
but audible plop.
Three men climbed from the inky waters up to the
foredeck of the Kathleen Meramor. Jos, one of these, nodded to Vanity Doon
as they went below.
Vanity Doon rose from
the chair on the after deck and made his way – quite slowly – toward the bows
and along the port side of the inboard section of the bowsprit. In case he was
under observation, Doon made a theatrical inspection of the rigging and solar
charge connections with a very casual and patently uninterested glance at the Lady
Built entirely of native timbers and almost as elegant
as his own vessel, it was owned and captained by one, Gin Fairing, a man with
an excess of golden curls, with piratical blue eyes and many of those
attributes that attracted admiring glances from young women.
women too, thought Doon as he examined the
water under the Lady Eleanor’s stern.
shadow beneath the surface might just be discerned if one knew where to look.
Satisfied, he made his way back towards the gang plank which gave access to the
quay. Doon acknowledged the salute from the seaman who guarded against
unwelcome ingress and then seated himself on the rail – not an easy business
for Captain Doon, the owner of the three master he had christened the Kathleen
Meramor, a woman after Doon’s own spirit. Doon
was not a big man, though to Doon, height was
not an important matter; his other attributes: wit, intelligence, foresight, style
and elegance – the list was almost endless – were all more desirable qualities.
lay quietly alongside the quay, there was a sound of revelry from the doors of
the quay-side tavern, the Scuppers,
due mostly to Doon’s generosity in buying a
keg of the tavern’s best ale for the crews of both ships.
As the dusk
became more intense, Gin Fairing, recognisable by his flamboyant hat, left the
tavern and made carefully for the quay side.
Fairing?’ Doon enquired.
Fairing to you sir, oh, Van, it’s you. Indeed. Were you wanting something?’
have a bottle or two of that wine I was carrying, you said you liked it and I
thought we might make shift to finish at least one between us.’
came towards the Kathleen Meramor, sighted on the gang plank and came up
it’s incline at a run. ‘Permission to come aboard, Captain Doon.’
given, Captain Fairing.’
Vanity Doon bowed and indicated the after deck. ‘Fluck.’ He
The cabin boy stuck his head out of a hatch way.
bottle of wine I was hoarding against meeting an old friend, Fluck. Bring it up
will you? And a chair for my friend here.’
very fine of you Vanity Doon. Especially considering that I stole the contract
right from under your moustaches.’
fingered the aforementioned items, giving them both a twirl. ‘Contracts – must
I care, Fairing? Something will come in tomorrow or the next day. I don’t worry;
it makes you grow old before your time.’
was opened; the wine was poured, drinks taken, appreciative noises made. The
process was repeated a number of times.
“What’s that?’ Fairing asked, cocking his ear as the
squeak of a cart’s axle came to them.
up. ‘Cargo, Gin. Your cargo’s arrived.’
‘Ah. So it
has,’ Gin agreed. He finished the last of his glass and went carefully down the
gangplank to roust his men from the tavern.
As he departed so Jos le Guin, Doon’s
right hand man, came up to him. ‘All’s well, Captain. Our surprise is set.’
Vanity Doon grinned
into the gathering darkness and watched Fairing’s men, all in a very cheery
state, begin to take the cargo on board - some seven or eight hundred furry
looking cocoons as big as a man’s boot – and stow it below decks.
Fairing had secured the contract for transport by
undercutting Doon by a substantial amount. Despite
his gestures of generosity, Doon was not in a forgiving
mood. Doon was seldom in a forgiving mood.
When all was going well, Fairing returned to Doon’s after deck and they resumed their appraisal of the
purple wine from Andovan until shortly before the wine was finished, when a
great cry went up from the Lady Eleanor and Fairing got clumsily to his
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ asked Doon.
‘Hanged if I know,’ returned Gin Fairing but I’m about
to find out.’
Fairing’s own second officer met him at the gangway.
‘We’ve got a leak, Captain. We’re sinking by the bows,’ Doon
heard him say, ‘slowly, but we’re going down.’
Fairing groaned and stepped ashore. He groaned again
as Pollock, the export agent accosted him. Pollock was thin and reedy, he wore
a beard that was thin and wispy and tugged a thin and shabby coat across his thin
and bony chest. ‘This is disastrous,’ whined Pollock ringing his hands, ‘the
cargo…’ At that point they passed out of earshot but Doon
didn’t need to hear the conversation, he could make it up as they went along.
Lights were lit in the rigging and hissing gas jets
ignited along the quay. The bows of the Lady Eleanor were low in the
water, the stern correspondingly high. As Gin Fairing tore off his hat and
stamped on it, the cargo was rapidly removed from the danger of a soaking in
the holds. Doon watched as the cocoons were
piled up in conical heaps on the quay side and wondered how long it would take
for someone to notice the vessel’s bows rising from the water as the pile grew.
No one noticed.
Fairing went below with two of his officers and
re-appeared on the mid-deck a few minutes later with puzzled faces.
‘What’s the trouble?’ Doon
called in an anxious voice.
Fairing shrugged. ‘No sign of a breach that we can
‘What of the silk?’ Pollock queried in his reedy
voice. ‘The cocoons will spoil, without good quality silk, your ships cannot be
All seamen of the southern ocean knew where their
rigging came from and what the silk cocoons were for. Doon
smiled a smile of immensely reassuring duplicity and put his arm around the
‘Well we cannot trouble Captain Fairing at this time,’
Vanity Doon told him in tones of reason and sympathy. ‘From the goodness of my
heart, I will transport them for you. Hmm? Can I say fairer than that?’
Pollock looked relieved, his shoulders straightened a
little, he took in a good breath of night air. ‘You are a good man, Captain Doon.
Have I not always said so?’
‘You have and you know it to be true, so bring me the
contract and let’s be signing it.’ Vanity Doon
tried to wipe the smile from his face as Pollock went off to recover the
contract from Fairing. He remained poker faced as it was handed to him and he
bent to look at the terms in the light of a flaring gas jet. ‘Oh goodness,’ he said.
‘Oh goodness me, oh my. Oh no.’
He pointed to the end of the contract. ‘The price my
dear Pollock. My offer was two thousand royals and now I see the contract is
for twelve hundred. That is impossible, I’m afraid.’
‘But Captain Fairing was willing to take it for that
‘Do I have a wide floppy hat that has recently been
trampled on? No.’ Doon tapped Pollock on the
chest. ‘Do I wear galoshes on my feet instead of sea boots? No. Is there maybe
some other way that I resemble Gin Fairing? No. This is because I am not Gin
Fairing and I do not work for Gin Fairing’s…’
‘No matter.’ Gin Fairing had come across and must have
overheard the discussion though he gave no indication ‘There is no sign of a
leak anywhere. The Eleanor is as tight as a duck’s… she’s watertight and
is riding level again. We put the cargo back and we’ll be under weigh in an
hour or two.’
Doon nodded. ‘This may be your cheapest option, Master
Pollock.’ He raised his arm and pointed to the moon. ‘It will be low water soon
and then there’ll be nothing coming or going at all.’
There came a grinding noise from the water. Everyone
looked at the Lady Eleanor.
‘Too late I think.’ Vanity Doon
shook his head. ‘I had no idea your vessel drew so much water, Gin. She’s
aground even without the cargo.’
And so indeed it proved. The Eleanor’s stern
was perched on small pile of rocks which now stood clear of the falling tide.
Once more, the bows were dipping as the water level fell. Fairing looked at the
mound of stones that, to a suspicious mind, might have seemed artificially
Gin Fairing did have a suspicious mind; he held up a
gas lantern and looked carefully at the rocks. ‘Those are new since I last made
Doon shrugged. ‘Come, come Fairing, you are being
paranoid. Perhaps some road maker has tipped a load of rubbish into the
‘Those are carefully placed.’
‘I’m surprised you can see that far,’ Doon said in a dismissive tone. ‘After the amount of
strong wine you drank tonight, I’m surprised you can see as far as your feet.’
‘Ah.’ Fairing stood up straight. ‘My galoshes.’
‘Two thousand royals,’ Doon
insisted. ‘You had my price yesterday. Scratch out Fairing’s price when you
scratch out his name and we will put in the two thousand when I sign. Hurry
now, there is still time to move the Kathleen Meramor before low water.
‘And that,’ he told the bosun when the sun came up,
‘is how to steal your cargo back.’
Doon ordered the sails set, tall gleaming expanses of
silver that gradually turned black as the solar charging came on line. He set a
leisurely course that took them along well-known routes. Fine breezes took them
from one island to the next and, on one leg of the course, where Gin Fairing
would have shown flamboyant insouciance in skirting a great whirlpool, Vanity
Doon did not. The Kathleen Meramor detoured a hundred and forty sea miles
and remained safe and sound.
Far to the north, a layer of roiling clouds turned the
horizon blue-black; they stalked the Kathleen’s crossing on crook-legged
lightning bolts. Doon ordered more canvas out
and the vessel’s wake lengthened, outdistancing the storm by many miles.
well and smoothly. The final evening arrived and Vanity Doon took his repast
upon the after deck as usual, tomorrow morning they would dock and Doon would profit from Gin Fairing’s bamboozlement. The
soup was kelp and writher eel, the fish was black flounder, the main course was
hind wing of cairie…
that?’ Doon asked and stood to see the black
shadow that flitted from mast to mast and finally off into the dark airs.
a murk-wing.’ Young Fluck told him.
‘Here?’ Doon asked, a puzzled note in his voice. ‘Surely not.
They cannot fly so far as we have come from Silk Reef.’
Fluck said no more and pudding was served: jellied aberinds from Tuly.
As the sun
heaved itself gently above the eastern horizon, the dawn light revealed the
cluster of islands called the Mantorese, five stretches of coral of
considerable size enclosing a stretch of calm waters where docks held a number
of vessels in various stages of construction. Mantor Salis was a long narrow
island which bulged above the water line to rise little more than seven yards
at its highest. It was half a mile wide and two long, the only stretch of land
long enough to take the extensive ropewalks and cord manufactories that the
island was famous for.
Vanity Doon’s destination. The Kathleen Meramor took in its sails and
was warped alongside the key where Pollack’s client waited eagerly for the
cocoons. As soon as the cargo was unloaded, the cocoons would be steeped in hot
salt water and then unravelled – the raw material for all of the cordage and
rigging that went into the sailing craft built at the Mantorese.
Meramor was made fast, her deck hatches undogged and opened and…
Gods give me comfort,’ gasped Doon collapsing onto a coil of rope as a cloud of
long black and grey creatures erupted from the hold and swirled about the
quayside for several minutes.
brought them too late,’ Jebbins the rope maker shook his head and stuck his
hands in his long pockets. ‘The silk is all chewed up by the hatchlings, it’s
spoiled and now we shall run out of cordage before we finish our contracts.’
all of the stuff is useless,’ Doon lamented,
pulling at his cuffs and waistcoat.
murk-wings have eaten their way through the silk, all that’s left will be
tufts, none of it can be made into rope. Tip it onto the quay here and we will
dispose of it.’
were only a dozen or so murk-wings flew away.’ Doon
looked at Jebbins through half-closed eyes. ‘Most of the cargo will be
score will be damaged,’ contradicted Jebbins, ‘it will not be worthwhile trying
to sort the good from the bad.’
see.’ Vanity Doon gave the necessary orders.
cargo was unloaded and dumped immediately into vats of hot water. Even so, more
of the large insectile creatures struggled free of the cocoons as they were
The whole ones were counted. Jebbins took paper and
pen and calculated. ‘You are fortunate,’ he told Doon.
‘I made the best decision. Thanks to my swift action almost a quarter of the
consignment is saved. I will pay you a quarter of the price agreed. Almost a
quarter,’ He amended. ‘Shall we drink to that?’
But Vanity Doon was not in the mood.
After the port dues were paid and salted meats and
vegetables were taken on board, he sailed away with a money chest as empty as
the Kathleen Meramor’s holds.