Vance, Jack - The Gray Prince

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THEGRAYPRINCE

JACK VANCE

THE GRAY PRINCE

Jack Vance was born in 1916 and studied mining engineering, physics and journalism at the University of

California. During World War II he served in the merchant navy and was torpedoed twice. He started

contributing stories to the pulp magazines in the mid-1940s; his first book,The Dying Earth, was

published in 1950. Among his best-known books areTo Live Forever,The Dragon Masters—for which he

won his first Hugo—The Blue World,Emphyrio,The Anome, and theLyonessesequence.

THE JACK VANCE COLLECTION

The Dragon Masters

Maske: Thaery

The Gray Prince

ABOUT THE MAKING OF THIS BOOK

ibooks, inc. wishes to express its gratitude to the VIE Project, for the assistance they provided in the

making of this book.

The VIE Project is a virtual gathering of enthusiasts from all over the world, working together via

Internet, and dedicated to the creation of a complete and correct Vance edition in 44 volumes; a

permanent, physical archive of Vance's work, doubled by digital texts. Texts are restored to their pristine

condition, reviewed and corrected under the aegis of the author, his wife Norma and his son John. The

text that they supplied for the present edition is therefore the definitive, authorized version.

For more information about this unique, original group of people, the Reader can visit the VIE website

at:www.vanceintegral.com .

THE GRAY PRINCE

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THEGRAYPRINCE

JACK VANCE

ibooks

new york

www.ibooksinc.com

A Publication of ibooks, inc.

renewed 1990 by Jack Vance

An ibooks, inc. Book

or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Distributed by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ibooks, inc.

24 West 25th Street

New York, NY 10010

The ibooks World Wide Web Site Address is:

http://www.ibooks.net

ISBN 1-58824-709-0

Prologue

The space age is thirty thousand years old. Men have moved from star to star in search of wealth and

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glory; the Gaean Reach encompasses a perceptible fraction of the galaxy. Trade routes thread space like

capillaries in living tissue; thousands of worlds have been colonized, each different from every other,

each working its specific change upon those men who live there. Never has the human race been less

homogenous.

The outward surge has been anything but regular or even. Men have come and gone in waves and

fluctuations, responding to wars, to religious impetus, to compulsions totally mysterious.

The world Koryphon is typical only in the diversity of its inhabitants. On the continent Uaia, the Uldras

inhabit that wide band along the southern littoral known as the Alouan, while to the north the Wind-

runners sail their two- and three-masted wagons across the Palga plateau. Both are restless nomadic

peoples; in almost every other respect they differ. South across the Persimmon Sea the equatorial

continent Szintarre is inhabited by a cosmopolitan population of Outkers,*distinguished from both Uldras

and Wind-runners by several orders of sociological magnitude.

Considered indigenous to Koryphon are a pair of quasi-intelligent races: the erjins and the morphotes.

The Wind-runners domesticate and offer for sale erjins of a particularly massive and docile variety, or

perhaps they breed and train ordinary erjins to such characteristics. The Wind-runners are secretive in this

regard, inasmuch as the trade provides them wheels, bearings and rigging for their wind-wagons. Certain

Uldras of the Alouan capture, mount and ride wild erjins, controlling their ferocity with electric curbs.

Both domesticated and wild erjins have telepathic capacity by which they communicate with each other

and with a few Wind-runner adepts. Unrelated to the erjins are the morphotes, a malicious, perverse and

unpredictable race, esteemed only for their weird beauty. At Olanje on Szintarre the Outkers have gone so

far as to form morphote-viewing clubs, a recreation all the more titillating for the macabre habits of the

morphotes.

Two hundred years ago a group of off-planet freebooters dropped down upon Uaia, surprised and

captured a conclave of Uldra chieftains and compelled cession of title to certain tribal lands: the notorious

Submission Treaties. In such a fashion each member of the company acquired a vast tract ranging from

twenty thousand to sixty thousand square miles. In due course these tracts became the great ‘domains’ of

the Alouan, upon which the ‘land-barons’ and their descendants lived large and expansive lives in

mansions built on a scale to match the holdings.

The tribes signatory to the Submission Treaties found their lives affected to no great extent: if anything,

improved. The new dams, ponds and canals provided dependable sources of water; intertribal warfare

was proscribed and the domain clinics provided at least a modicum of medical care. A few Uldras

attended domain schools and trained to become clerks, storekeepers and domestic servants; others took

jobs as ranch-hands.

In spite of such improvement, many Uldras resented the simple fact of inferior status. On a subconscious

and unacknowledged level but perhaps a source of equal exacerbation was the land-barons’ disinclination

for the Uldra females. A certain amount of rape or seduction, while resented, might have been accepted as

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a sordid but inevitable adjunct to the conquest. In point of fact, while the Uldra men, with their tall

nervous physiques, gray skins dyed ultramarine blue and aquiline features, were in general personable,

the same could not be said for the women. The girls, squat and fat, with their scalps shaved bald against

the onslaught of vermin, lacked charm. As they matured, they retained their heavy hips and short legs, but

elongated their torsos, arms and faces. The typically long Uldra nose became a drooping icicle; the gray

skins became muddy; the hair, verminous or not, was allowed to grow into a heavy orange nimbus.

Toward these Uldra girls and women the Outker land-barons*maintained a scrupulously correct

indifference, which eventually, by a paradoxical reverse effect, came to be regarded by the Uldras as a

humiliation and an insult.

South across the Persimmon Sea lay the long narrow island Szintarre and its pleasant capital Olanje, a

fashionable resort for out-worlders. These folk, sophisticated, urbane, articulate, had little in common

with the land-barons whom they regarded as pompous martinets, without style, grace or humor.

At Olanje in an eccentric old edifice known as Holrude House sat Koryphon’s single organ of

government: the Mull, a council of thirteen notables. The Mull’s charter asserted control across Szintarre

and Uaia alike, but in practice it avoided any interest in Uaian affairs. The land-barons considered the

Mull an organ for the production of inconsequential sophistry; the Treaty Uldras were apathetic; the

Retent Uldras rejected even the theory of centralized authority; the Wind-runners were ignorant of the

Mull’s very existence.

The cosmopolitan population of Olanje generated for itself an almost hyperactive intellectualism. Social

activity was incessant; committees and societies existed to accommodate almost any special interest: a

yacht club; several artists’ associations; the Morphote-Watchers; the Szintarre Hussade Association; the

Library of Gaean Musical Archives; an association to sponsor the annual fête: Parilia; a college of the

dramatic arts; Dionys: that organization dedicated to hyperaesthesia. Other groups were philanthropic or

altruistic, such as the Ecological Foundation, which enjoined the importation of alien flora and fauna, no

matter how economically useful or aesthetically gratifying. The Redemptionist Alliance crusaded against

the Submission Treaties; they advocated dissolution of the Uaian domains and return of the lands to the

Treaty tribes. The Society for the Emancipation of the Erjin, or SEE, asserted that erjins were intelligent

beings and might not legally be enslaved. The SEE was possibly the most controversial organization of

Olanje, inasmuch as an increasing number of erjins were being imported from the Palga for domestic

service, farm labor, garbage pick-up and the like. Other less disputatious groups sponsored education and

employment for Uldras immigrant to Szintarre from Uaia. These Uldras, derived in about equal

proportion from Retent and Treaty tribes, tended to excoriate the land-barons. Often their grievances were

real; often they complained from sheer petulance. The Redemptionists sometimes brought Uldra

immigrants before the Mull, the better to prod that often discursive, airy, didactic and capricious group

into action. With practiced skill the Mull fended off such importunities or appointed a study commission,

which invariably reported the Treaty lands to be havens of peace compared to the Retent, where the

independent tribes conducted feuds, raids, assassinations, retaliations, outrages, massacres, atrocities and

ambushes. The Redemptionists declared such considerations to be irrelevant. The Treaty tribes, so they

pointed out, had been deprived of their ancestral lands through violence and deceit. The perpetuation of

such a condition was intolerable, nor could the passage of two hundred years legitimize an originally

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wrongful situation. Most residents of Szintarre tended generally to endorse the Redemptionist doctrine.

Chapter 1

In the foyer at the Olanje space port Schaine Madduc and her brother Kelse examined each other with

affectionate curiosity. Schaine had expected changes in Kelse; changes there were indeed—five years’

worth and more. She had left him a bedridden cripple, pallid and desperate; he now seemed strong and

well, if a trifle gaunt. His artificial leg carried him with only the suggestion of a limp; he worked his left

arm as capably as he did his right, although he disdained simulated flesh and kept the metal hand encased

in a black glove. He had grown taller: this she had expected, but not the change in his face which had

lengthened and hardened and taken on an acerb refinement. His cheekbones had become prominent; his

jaw was a jut; his eyes were narrow, and he had acquired a habit of glancing sidewise in a wary or

suspicious or challenging squint: a signal, thought Schaine, of the true changes in Kelse: the alteration

from a trusting generous boy to this austere man who looked ten years older than his age.

Kelse had been reflecting along similar lines. “You’re different,” he said. “Somehow I was expecting the

merry, frivolous, silly old Schaine.”

“Both of us are different.”

Kelse glanced contemptuously down at his arm and leg. “Quite a bit different. You never saw these

before.”

“Are they easy to use?”

Kelse shrugged. “The left hand is stronger than the right. I can crack nuts in my fingers and do all sorts of

interesting jobs. Otherwise I’m much the same.”

Schaine could not restrain the question: “Have I changed so very much?”

Kelse looked at her dubiously. “Well, you’re five years older. You’re not quite so skinny. Your clothes

are very nice; you look quite smart. You always were pretty, even as a ragtag tomboy.”

“‘Ragtag tomboy’ indeed!” Schaine’s voice was soft with melancholy. As they walked across the depot

memories and images flooded her mind. The girl they spoke about was distant by not five but by five

hundred years; she had inhabited a different world, where evil and woe were unknown. The verities were

simple and obvious to all. Morningswake Manor was no more and no less than the center of the universe;

each of those who lived there had a predestined role to fulfill. Uther Madduc was the font of authority.

His decisions, sometimes benign, sometimes mysterious, sometimes awful, were as definite as the motion

of the sun. Concentric to Uther Madduc had been herself and Kelse; in an orbit less stable, sometimes

near, sometimes far, was Muffin. In general the roles were uncomplicated, except again in the case of

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Muffin whose status was often ambiguous. Schaine had been the ‘ragtag tomboy’, nonetheless charming

and pretty—so much went without saying—just as Kelse had always been proud and handsome and

Muffin always dashing and brave and gay. Such attributes were implicit in the very fabric of existence,

just as the sun Methuen was unalterably pink and the sky immutably ultramarine. Looking back across

the years she saw herself against a backdrop of Morningswake: a girl of medium height, neither tall nor

short, engagingly lanky but durable, as if she were good at swimming and running and climbing, which of

course she had been and still was. Her skin shone tawny-gold from the sunlight; her dark hair was a loose

curly tangle. She was the girl with the sweet wide mouth and the alert marveling expression, as if each

successive instant brought some new wonder. She had loved with innocence and hated without

calculation; she had been mercurial, gentle with small creatures, quick with gleeful gibes… Now she was

five years older and five years wiser, or so she hoped.

Kelse and Schaine walked out into the soft Szintarre morning. The air smelled as Schaine remembered:

fragrant with the essence of leaves and flowers. Down from the dark green juba trees hung strands of

scarlet blossoms; sunlight seeped through the foliage to spatter patterns of pink and black on Kharanotis

Avenue.

“We’re staying at the Seascape,” Kelse told her. “There’s a party at Aunt Val’s this afternoon, ostensibly

to welcome you home. We could have stayed at Mirasol, of course, but…” His voice trailed off. Schaine

recalled that Kelse had never been overfond of their Aunt Val. He asked: “Shall I call a cab?”

“Let’s walk. Everything looks so beautiful. I’ve been cooped up aboard theNiamaticfor a week.” She

drew a deep breath. “It’s wonderful to be back. I feel like I’m home already.”

Kelse gave a sour grunt. “Why did you wait so long?”

“Oh—various reasons.” Schaine made a flippant gesture. “Obstinacy. Willfulness. Father.”

“You’re still obstinate and willful—so I presume. Father is still Father. If you think he’s changed, you’re

in for a shock.”

“I’m under no illusions. Someone has to give in, and I can do it as easily as anyone. Tell me about Father.

What has he been doing?”

Kelse considered before answering: a trait Schaine could not recall from five years ago. Kelse’s youth

had passed all too swiftly, she thought. “Father is by and large the same. Since you’ve been gone there’s

been a lot of new pressure, and—well, you’ve heard of the Redemptionist Alliance.”

“I suppose so. I don’t remember much about it.”

“It’s a society based here in Olanje. They want us to tear up the Submission Treaties and leave Uaia.

Nothing new, of course; but now it’s a fashionable cause, and in the ‘Gray Prince’, as he calls himself,

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they have a fashionable figurehead.”

“‘Gray Prince’? Who is he?”

Kelse’s mouth twitched in a crooked grin. “Well—he’s a young Uldra, a Garganche, with some

education; he’s voluble, quaint and vivacious—in fact, he’s the darling of all Olanje. No doubt he’ll be at

Aunt Val’s party this evening.”

They passed an expanse of blue-green sward, extending from the avenue up the slope to a tall mansion

with five gables, towers to right and left, a façade of mustard-yellow tiles relieved by slabs of glossy

black skeel: a structure conceived in eclectic caprice, yet impressive by virtue of sheer size and a certain

careless magnificence. This was Holrude House, seat of the Mull. Kelse gave his head a gloomy shake.

“The Redemptionists are up there now, trying to indoctrinate the Mull…I speak figuratively of course. I

don’t know that they’re in Holrude at this specific instant. Father is pessimistic; he thinks the Mull will

eventually issue an edict against us. I got a letter from him this morning.” He reached into his pocket.

“No, I left it at the hotel. He’s planning to meet us at Galigong.”

Schaine asked in perplexity: “Why Galigong? He could as easily meet us here.”

“He won’t come to Olanje. I don’t think he wants to see Aunt Valtrina; she might make him come to a

party. That’s what she did last year.”

“It wouldn’t hurt him. Aunt Val’s parties were always fun. At least I liked them.”

“Gerd Jemasze is coming with us; in fact we flew here in his Apex, and he’ll take us across to Galigong.”

Schaine made a sour face; she had never liked Gerd Jemasze, whom she considered surly.

A pair of columns marked the entrance to the Seascape. Schaine and Kelse rode a slideway down the

vestibule. Kelse arranged for the transfer of Schaine’s luggage from the space port, then they sauntered

out upon the terrace close beside the Persimmon Sea and refreshed themselves with goblets of pale green

cloudberry juice, glinting with ice crystals. Schaine said: “Tell me what’s been happening at

Morningswake.”

“Ordinary routine for the most part. We stocked Fairy Lake with a new mix of fish. I went prospecting

south of the Burrens and found an ancient kachemba.*”

“Did you go in?”

Kelse shook his head. “Those places give me cold chills. I told Kurgech about it; he said it was probably

Jirwantian.”

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“Jirwantian?”

“They occupied South Morningswake for five hundred years, before the Hunge annihilated them. Then

the Aos drove out the Hunge.”

“How are all the Aos? Is Zamina still matriarch?”

“Yes, she’s still alive. Last week they shifted camp into Dead Rat Gulch. Kurgech dropped by the manor

and I told him you were coming home. He said you’d get in less trouble on Tanquil.”

“Wretched old creature! What did he mean by that?”

“I don’t believe he meant anything. He was merely ‘tasting the future’.”

Schaine sipped the fruit juice and looked out over the sea. “Kurgech is a mountebank. He can’t foresee or

draw fates or cold-eye or transmit thoughts any better than I can.”

“Not true. Kurgech has some amazing skills…Ao or not, he’s Father’s closest friend.”

Schaine snorted. “Father is too much of a tyrant to be good friends with anyone—most especially an Ao.”

Kelse gave his head a sad shake. “You just don’t understand him. You never have.”

“I understand him as well as you do.”

“That may well be true. He’s a hard man to know. Kurgech provides him exactly the right kind of

companionship.”

Schaine snorted again. “He’s undemanding, loyal and knows his place—like a dog.”

“Absolutely wrong. Kurgech is an Uldra, Father is an Outker. Neither wants it any different.”

With an extravagant flourish Schaine drained the goblet. “I certainly don’t intend to debate anything

whatever with either you or Father.” She rose to her feet. “Let’s walk over to the river. Is the morphote

fence still up?”

“So far as I know. I haven’t been here since you left for Tanquil.”

“A melancholy occasion which I’d just as soon forget. Let’s go find a twelve-spine devil-chaser with

triple fans and a purple lattice.”*

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A hundred yards along the beach a path led inland to the swamp at the mouth of the Viridian River and

ended beside a tall fence of steel mesh. A sign read:

CAUTION

MORPHOTES ARE DANGEROUS AND CUNNING! CONSIDER NONE OF THEIR PROFFERS;

ACCEPT NONE OF THEIR GIFTS! MORPHOTES COME TO THIS FENCE WITH A SINGLE

PURPOSE IN MIND: TO MUTILATE, INSULT, OR FRIGHTEN THOSE GAEANS WHO COME TO

VIEW THEM.

TAKE WARNING!

MORPHOTES HAVE INJURED MANY PERSONS; THEY MAY KILL

YOU.

NEVERTHELESS, WANTON MOLESTATION OF THE MORPHOTES IS ABSOLUTELY

FORBIDDEN.

Kelse said, “A month ago some tourists from Alcide came to view morphotes. While the mother and

father joked with a beautiful red-ringed bottle-face at the fence, another tied a butterfly on a string and

lured away the three-year-old child. When Mama and Daddy looked around, Baby was gone.”

“Disgusting beasts. There should be controls on morphote viewing.”

“I think the Mull is considering along those lines.”

Ten minutes passed and no morphotes came up from the swamp to make horrifying proposals. Schaine

and Kelse returned to the hotel, descended to the submarine restaurant and lunched on a ragout of

crayfish, pepper-pods and wild onion, a salad of chilled cress and flat-bread baked from the flour of wild

brown ferris. Luminous blue-green space surrounded them; at their very elbows swam, grew or drifted the

flora and fauna of the Persimmon Sea: white eels and electric blue scissor-fish darting through the

thickets of water-weed; schools of blood-red spark-fish, green serpents, yellow twitters, twinkling and

darting, the myriads occasionally sifting through each other in a pointillistic confusion, finally to emerge

as before. On three occasions purple and silver spangs, ten feet of prongs, barbs, hooks and fangs, came

to grind against the crystal in an attempt to seize one of the folk who lunched in the half-light; once the

dire bulk of a black matador slid past; once off in the distance appeared the jerking form of a swimming

morphote.

A man two or three years older than Kelse approached the table. “Hello, Schaine.”

“Hello, Gerd.” Schaine’s greeting was cool; all her life she had disliked Gerd Jemasze, for reasons she

could never quite define to herself. His conduct was reserved, his manner polite, his features

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undistinguished: blunt at the cheekbones, flat in the cheeks, with short thick black hair above a low broad

forehead. His clothes—a dark gray blouse and blue trousers—seemed, in the context of Olanje where

everyone wore gay colors and exaggerated fashions, almost ostentatiously severe. Schaine suddenly

understood why he repelled her: he totally lacked the idiosyncrasies and easy little vices which endowed

all her other acquaintances with charm. Gerd Jemasze’s physique was not noticeably large or heavy, but

when he moved, the clothes tightened to the twist of his muscles; in just such a fashion, thought Schaine,

did his quiet appearance mask an innate arrogance. She knew why her father and Kelse liked Gerd

Jemasze; he outdid them both in rigidity and resistance to change; his opinions, once formed, became

impervious as stone.

Gerd Jemasze took a seat at their table. Schaine asked politely, “And how goes life at Suaniset?”

“Very quietly.”

“Nothing ever happens out in the domains,” said Kelse.

Schaine looked from one to the other. “You two are teasing me.”

Gerd Jemasze displayed a twitch of a smile. “Not altogether. Whatever happens usually goes on out of

sight.”

“What’s happening out of sight, then?”

“Well—wittols*out of the Retent have been skulking through the domains talking coalition of all Uldras

under the Gray Prince, presumably to chase us into the sea. There’s been a lot of sky-shark*attacks on air

traffic—just last week Ariel Farlock of Carmione was shot down.”

“For a fact there’s a strange mood over Uaia,” said Kelse somberly. “Everybody feels it.”

“Even Father,” said Schaine, “rejoicing over his wonderful joke. Have you any idea what he finds so

funny?”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” said Gerd Jemasze.

“I had a letter from Father,” Kelse explained. “I told you that he’d gone up on the Palga. Well, the trip

seems to have exceeded his expectations.” Kelse brought forth the letter and read: “‘I’ve had some

remarkable adventures and I have a wonderful story to tell you, a most wonderful joke, a most prodigious

and extraordinary joke, which has put ten years on my life.’” Kelse skipped down across a line or two.

“Then he says: ‘I’ll meet you at Galigong. I don’t dare come to Olanje, which would mean suffering

through one of Valtrina’s awful parties, complete with all the pussy-footers, logic-choppers, aesthetes,

four-flushers, sybarites and sycophants in Szintarre. Make sure Gerd comes back to Morningswake with

us; he, no less than you, will appreciate this situation, and express to Schaine my great pleasure at having

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摘要：

THEGRAYPRINCEJACKVANCETHEGRAYPRINCEJackVancewasbornin1916andstudiedminingengineering,physicsandjournalismattheUniversityofCalifornia.DuringWorldWarIIheservedinthemerchantnavyandwastorpedoedtwice.Hestartedcontributingstoriestothepulpmagazinesinthemid-1940s;hisfirstbook,TheDyingEarth,waspublishedin...

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