Jack Vance: The Houses of Iszm

Skirting the tangle of the fallen house, they approached the lagoon. Ahead a great trunk grew from a carpet of soft moss.

“The house of Zhde Patasz Sainh,” said the Szecr. “You are his guest. He holds to his word.”

The door slid aside and Farr stepped into the trunk on flexible legs. The door slid quietly shut. Farr stood alone in a tall circular foyer. He clutched at the wall to steady himself, faintly annoyed with the looseness of his perceptions. He made an effort; his faculties drifted closer together, coalesced one by one.

A young Iszic woman came forward. She wore black and white bands and a black turban. The skin between the bands flushed faintly rose-violet. A black line around her head accented the horizontal division of her eyes. Farr became suddenly aware of his disheveled, dirty, unshaven condition.

“Farr Sainh,” said the woman, “indulge me with your company.”

She led him to an elevator duct. The disk lifted them a hundred feet and Farr’s head swam with the movement. He felt the cool hand of the woman.

“Through here, Farr Sainh.”

Farr stepped forward, halted, and leaned against the wall until his vision cleared.

The woman waited patiently.

The blur lifted. He stood in the core of a branch, the woman supporting him with an arm around his waist. He looked into the pale, segmented eyes. She regarded him with indifference.

“Your people drugged me,” muttered Farr.

“This way, Farr Sainh.”

She started down the corridor with the sinuous gait that seemed to float her upper body. Farr followed slowly. His legs were stronger; he felt a little better.

The woman stopped by the terminal sphincter, turned, and made a wide ceremonial sweep of her two arms. “Here is your chamber. You will want for nothing. To Zhde Patasz, all of dendronology is an open book. His groves fulfill every want. Enter and rejoice in the exquisite house of Zhde Patasz.”

Farr entered the chamber, one of four connecting compartments in the most elaborate pod he had yet seen. This was an eating chamber. From the floor a great rib grew up and splayed to either side to form a table, which supported a dozen trays of food.

The next chamber, swatched in fibrous blue hangings, appeared to be a rest chamber, and beyond was a chamber ankle deep in pale green nectar. Behind Farr suddenly appeared a small obsequiously sighing Iszic, in the pink and white bands of a house servitor. Deftly he removed Farr’s soiled garments. Farr stepped into the bath and the servant tapped at the wall. From small orifices issued a spray of fresh-smelling liquid which tingled coolly upon Farr’s skin. The servant scooped up a ladle of the pale green nectar, poured it over Farr’s head, and he was instantly covered with a prickling effervescent foam, which presently dissolved, leaving Farr’s skin fresh and soft.

The servant approached with a husk full of a pale paste. This he carefully rubbed upon Farr’s face with a wisp of bast, and Farr’s beard melted away.

Directly overhead a bubble of liquid had been forming in a sac of frail membrane. It grew larger, swaying and trembling. Now the servant reached up with a sharp thorn. The sac burst and a soft aromatic liquid smelling of cloves drenched Farr, then quickly evaporated. Farr stepped into the fourth chamber where the servant draped fresh garments upon him, and then fixed a black rosette to the side of his leg. Farr knew something of Iszic folkways and was vaguely surprised. As the personal insignia of Zhde Patasz, the rosette conveyed a host of significances. Farr had been acknowledged the honored house-guest of Zhde Patasz, who thereupon undertook his protection against any and all of Farr’s enemies. Farr was given liberty of the house, with a dozen prerogatives otherwise reserved to the house owner. Farr could manipulate any of the house’s nerves, reflexes, triggers and conduits. He could make himself free of Zhde Patasz’s rarest treasures, and in general was made an alter ego of Zhde Patasz himself. The honor was unusual, and for an Earthman perhaps unique. Farr wondered what he had done to deserve such a distinction. Perhaps it came by way of apology for the rude treatment Farr had experienced during the Thord raid. Yes, Yarr thought, this must be the explanation. He hoped that Zhde Patasz would overlook his ignorance of the highly complex rituals of Iszic courtesy.

The woman who had conducted Farr to the chamber reappeared. She performed an elaborate genuflection. Farr was insufficiently familiar with the subtleties of Iszic mannerisms to decide whether or not there might be irony in the gesture, and he reserved judgment. His sudden change in status seemed highly remarkable. A hoax? Unlikely. The Iszic sense of humor was non-existent.

“Aile Farr Sainh,” declared the woman, “now that you have refreshed yourself, do you wish to associate with your host, Zhde Patasz?”

Farr smiled faintly. “At any time.”

“Then allow me to lead the way. I will take you to the private pods of Zhde Patasz Sainh, where he waits with great restlessness.”

Farr followed her along the conduit, up an incline where the branch drooped, by elevator up the central trunk, and off along another passage. At a sphincter she paused, bowed, and swept wide her arms. “Zhde Patasz Sainh awaits you.”

The sphincter expanded and Farr stepped dubiously into the chamber. Zhde Patasz was not immediately to be seen. Farr moved forward slowly, looking from right to left. The pod was thirty feet long, opening on a balcony with a waist-high balustrade. The walls and domed ceiling were tufted with trefoils of a silky green fiber; the floor was heavy with plum-colored moss; quaint lamps grew out of the wall. There were four magenta pod-chairs against one wall. In the middle of the floor stood a tall cylindrical vase containing water, plants and black dancing eels. There were pictures on the walls by ancient Earth masters, colorful curios from a strange world.

Zhde Patasz came in from the balcony. “Farr Sainh, I hope you feel well?”

“Well enough,” said Farr cautiously.

“Will you sit?”

“As you command.” Farr lowered himself upon one of the frail magenta bladders. The smooth skin stretched and fitted itself to his body.

His host languidly seated himself nearby. There was a moment of silence while each surveyed the other. Zhde Patasz wore the blue stripes of his caste and, today, the pale narrow cheeks were decorated with glossy red disks. These were not haphazard decorations, Farr realized. Every outward attribute of the Iszic was meaningful to some degree. Zhde Patasz today was without the usual loose beret. The knob and ridges along the top of his scalp formed almost a crest, an indication of aristocratic lineage across thousands of years.

“You are enjoying your visit to Iszm?” inquired Zhde Patasz at last.

Farr considered a moment, then spoke formally. “I see much to interest me. I have also suffered molestation, which I hope will cause me no permanent harm.” He gingerly felt his scalp. “Only the fact of your hospitality compensates for the ill treatment I have received.”

“This is sorry news,” said Zhde Patasz. “Who has wronged you? Provide me their names and I will have them drowned.”

Farr admitted that he could not precisely identify the Szecr who had thrust him into the dungeon. “In any event they were excited by the raid, and I bear them no malice on this account. But afterward I seem to have been drugged, which I consider very poor treatment.”

“Your remarks are well taken,” Zhde Patasz replied in the most bland of voices. “The Szecr would normally administer a hypnotic gas to the Thord. It seems that through a stupid error you had been conveyed to the same cell, and so shared this indignity. Undoubtedly the parties responsible are at this moment beside themselves with remorse.”