The Magnificent Showboats (12 page)

“I have never heard of these places, or these peoples,” said Damsel Blanche-Aster demurely.

“I will point them out on my maps,” declared Gassoon with enthusiasm.

Berard the steward shuffled into the office with a tray; he dropped it upon the table, sniffed, and departed. Gassoon snapped his fingers in happy anticipation of the treat and poured tea into a pair of black stoneware mugs. He looked up under arched eyebrows. “By the way, whom do I have the pleasure of entertaining?”

“Damsel Blanche-Aster Wittendore is the useful part of my name.” She returned the pamphlet to the table. “I am very impressed by your ambition to inform and enlighten the folk of the Great Vissel Basin. It seems most courageous and idealistic.”

Gassoon blinked. Had he asserted so large a purpose? Even if not, it was pleasant to feel the approval of this handsome and intelligent young woman. “For a fact, the project has never been attempted; but then very few persons are qualified to direct such a program.”

“How, exactly, will you proceed? I presume that you plan to use your remarkable boat as a base of operations.”

Gassoon leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. “In all candor, I have arrived at no definite decisions.”

“Oh! I am sorry to hear this!”

Gassoon made a tent with his fingers and frowned thoughtfully. “The project is not all that simple. I am certain that folk everywhere would prefer entertainment which concedes the dignity of their intellect to the meretricious trash foisted on them by the usual showboat. They flock aboard these craft merely because nothing better is offered.”

“I am sure that this is true,” said Damsel Blanche-Aster. “What kind of program might you offer?”

Gassoon startled her by pounding his fist down on the table. He spoke in a ringing voice: “The classics, of course! The works of the Earthly masters!” Then, as if abashed by his own vehemence, he took up his tea and sipped.

Damsel Blanche-Aster presently said: “I am ashamed that I know so little of these things.”

Gassoon gave a laugh. “I dream too largely. My schemes are impractical.”

“You do yourself injustice,” said Damsel Blanche-Aster in a soft voice. “Folk everywhere recognize sincerity, no matter in what guise it appears. Personally, I am bored with callow ideas and callow people.”

“Your feelings do you credit,” said Gassoon. “Beyond question you are a person of discernment. Still, all balanced against all, the works to which I refer make demands of those who would appreciate them. The metaphors sometimes span two or three abstractions; the perorations are addressed to unknown agencies, the language is archaic and ambiguous … In spite of all, the works exhale a peculiar fervor.” Gassoon leaned back in his chair and tossed his white mane fretfully askew. “I ask myself questions which have no answers. Is ‘art’ absolute? Or is it a plane cutting across a civilization at a certain point in time? Perhaps at the basis I am asking: does aesthetic perception arrive through the mind or through the heart? As you must have decided, I am inclined to the romantic view — still, sophisticated art demands a sophisticated audience; so much must be assumed.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster sipped from the earthenware mug. “A remarkable thought has entered my mind … Perhaps I should not mention it; you would think me forward.”

“Suggest by all means!” declared Gassoon. “I find your interest most heart-warming.”

“What I will tell you so strangely meshes with your ambitions as to suggest the workings of Destiny. You know of King Waldemar’s festival at Mornune?”

“I have heard something of the event.”

“I arrived at Coble yesterday aboard a riverboat. Also aboard was Apollon Zamp, the former master of
Miraldra’s Enchantment
.”

“‘Former’ master?”

“Yes; he lost his ship at Port Whant. But first he had earned an invitation from King Waldemar to the Mornune festival. So then: why should you not sail to Mornune in his place and perform before King Waldemar? I would consider myself privileged if you would allow me to sail with you!”

Gassoon blinked and pulled dubiously at his chin. “The way is very long.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster laughed. “Such a consideration should never deter a man like yourself.”

“But is the project feasible?” asked Gassoon rather plaintively. “After all, Zamp has the summons, not I.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster said positively: “Zamp will cooperate, because of the grand prize.” She leaned forward and looked Gassoon full in the face. “Is it not a wonderful adventure?”

“Yes indeed,” croaked Gassoon, “but I am not an adventurous man.”

“This I cannot believe! I sense in you a romantic zest which transcends age!”

Gassoon jerked at the lapels of his coat. “I am not after all so old.”

“Of course not. A man is only old when he abandons his dreams.”

“Never!” cried Gassoon. “Never!”

Damsel Blanche-Aster smiled gently. “I have some slight acquaintance with Apollon Zamp. I can bring him here and something remarkable must eventuate out of all this.” She rose to her feet.

Gassoon leapt erect. “Must you go so soon? I will order up fresh tea!”

“I must go to find Apollon Zamp! You have aroused hope and enthusiasm in me, Throdorus Gassoon!”

“Go,” said Gassoon in a full voice. “But return soon.”

“As soon as possible.”

Leaving the ship Damsel Blanche-Aster walked slowly along Bynum’s Dock, head bowed pensively: a person softer and more melancholy than either Apollon Zamp or Throdorus Gassoon might have reckoned. She halted to look back at the
Universal Pancomium
. After a moment she gave a little wince of an emotion she could not have defined to herself. Turning once more, she passed under an arch and into a crooked little way which slanted this way and that between tall structures of time-darkened wood. By a hump-backed bridge she crossed a canal of black-green water. Ahead a building of a dozen eccentric dormers straddled the way; to one side of the passage underneath was an herbalist’s shop, to the other a small book-bindery. Damsel Blanche-Aster passed through and out into the Burse, a square not as wide as the surrounding buildings were high. At the center, where four flower-vendors had set up their booths, Zamp was to have met her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Damsel Blanche-Aster showed neither surprise nor vexation. Surveying the square she noticed a sign suspended over the cobbles, displaying the emblem of a blue fish; Damsel Blanche-Aster turned her steps in this direction.

The dark interior of the Blue Narwhal, like other establishments fronting the Burse, conducted its business in rather cramped quarters. Zamp sat at a small table on a dais in the bay window; at her approach he sprang gallantly to his feet.

Damsel Blanche-Aster allowed herself to be seated, and composed her face into that indifferent mask which she deemed most useful for her dealings with Zamp.

“I have just come from the
Universal Pancomium
,” she told him. “There I met Throdorus Gassoon. I mentioned your circumstances, and he saw fit to make a constructive suggestion. He is willing to take his vessel to Mornune and participate in the festival. His boat will necessarily be known as
Miraldra’s Enchantment
, and you will be the ostensible master.”

Zamp scowled. “I have met Gassoon before. He is as dull as a stump, and opinionated to boot.”

“He has definite ideas, this is true. In fact he refuses to present the frivolities and pastiches such as those which won you your reputation.”

Zamp was more surprised than annoyed. “What then does he have in mind?”

“He wants to play the classic dramas of ancient Earth.”

Zamp made a weary gesture. “I am no pedant; what do I know of such things?”

“No more than I. But you have the talent to vitalize any material.”

“I have not yet vitalized you.”

“First you must vitalize yourself and Gassoon’s antique epics.”

“And then?”

Damsel Blanche-Aster shrugged. “Whoever pleases King Waldemar at the festival earns himself a fortune. You can build the grandest vessel ever to sail the river, or you can remain at Mornune and live the life of a grandee.”

Zamp sat inspecting her with unflattering objectivity. She bore the scrutiny a moment, then became uncomfortable. “I told Gassoon that you would shortly arrive to make your arrangements with him.”

Zamp paused a suspenseful moment, then rose to his feet. “I can lose nothing.”

They departed the Blue Narwhal Tavern, crossed the Burse, and walked by the crooked way to Bynum’s Dock. Here Damsel Blanche-Aster halted. “I will go no farther. It is not wise that Gassoon should see us together. Now please listen. Gassoon must not be antagonized. Dispute none of his theories; concede as much as you can. Above all, don’t quarrel about authority; Gassoon must believe that he is in charge of the expedition. Right now time is short and our objective is to get under way.”

“This is undoubtedly your objective,” grumbled Zamp. “It is not necessarily mine.”

“Oh? Where are we at odds?”

“I do not care to make a fool of myself at Mornune. If Gassoon insists on some impossible nonsense, why should I waste time and energy just to pull your chestnuts out of the fire? You have made it quite clear that you detest me.”

“No, no, no!” cried Damsel Blanche-Aster. “I detest no one, not even you! But I can make no personal commitments — not now.”

“Nor ever.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster’s eyes sparkled. “Why do you say that? Because your sulks and vanities and foppish habits leave me cold? Look at you with your blonde curls, your airs and graces, your ridiculous hats!” She stamped her foot. “Once and for all make up your mind! If you win at Mornune, you gain wealth, and this is your prize, not my admiration, which you may or may not gain!”

Zamp laughed in her face. “One thing is certain: your understanding of me is as small and dim as is mine of you. Very well, admire me or not; I don’t care. As you point out, the prize at Mornune is iron, and I am the man to gain it.” He turned away and surveyed the
Universal Pancomium
. “Throdorus Gassoon, here I come. Prepare yourself for the experience of your life.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster reached out and touched his arm. “Apollon Zamp.”

Zamp looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“Do your best.”

Zamp nodded curtly and sauntered off toward the
Universal Pancomium
. He climbed the gangway and halted at the wicket where Berard the factotum presently showed his face. “Admission is half a groat, sir.”

“Half a groat be damned. I am Apollon Zamp! Inform Throdorus Gassoon that I have come to call.”

“Step this way, sir; Master Gassoon is at his calisthenics and for still another five minutes cannot be disturbed.”

“I will wait.”

Zamp strolled about the exhibits and presently Gassoon appeared. “Ah, Zamp! A pleasure to see you! I notice that you are studying the maps!”

“Yes; the Bottomless Lake exerts its fascination.”

“For me as well. Shall we repair to my office?”

Zamp seated himself in the chair Damsel Blanche-Aster had occupied only two hours earlier. Gassoon poured out two tots of Brio. “Allow me to express my sympathy in regard to the loss of your boat.”

“Thank you. The disaster of course was my own fault; I trusted that scoundrel Garth Ashgale. Still, I know how to earn iron for another boat, which is what brings me here.” Zamp produced the silver plaque and placed it in front of Gassoon. “Whoever succeeds in amusing King Waldemar wins a fortune.”

“So what is your proposal?”

“That we temporarily change the name of your vessel to
Miraldra’s Enchantment
, that we hire a troupe, then sail up the Vissel to Mornune and compete for the grand prize.”

Gassoon nodded slowly. “About as I expected — and mind you, not an unreasonable proposition. But I am not a man for flamboyance or notoriety and I already have more iron than I care to spend. Zamp, I have larger ambitions! Today I fell into conversation with a most charming young lady, Damsel Blanche-Aster, and she left me in a peculiar mood. I see that my life has been somewhat stagnant, even self-centered. I have gloated privately over treasures of literature which should have been shared with others. Now I wish to produce and stage some famous masterpieces of ancient Earth. You ask, where are these fabulous classics to be found? I reply, they are here with my collection of rare books, not fifty feet from where we sit.”

“Most interesting,” said Zamp. “Where does this take us?”

“To my own proposal, which is this: I shall select, with your wise counsel, one or more of these masterworks, which we then will play at Mornune. If we win the prize, so be it! If we fail, at least we have the satisfaction of doing our utmost.”

Zamp said: “I am not familiar with the classics you mention. For all I know they might prove a remarkable success! In principle I agree to your terms. But I must put forward some counter-terms. Several come to mind. For instance, since I am dedicated to winning the Mornune competition and you are not, I must arrange the nice details of production, including personnel, costumes, music and staging.”