The Garments of Caean

5

Realto Mast’s emotions were a blend of foreboding and resignation as he approached the home of Olveolo Jadper, a splendid villa set in ample grounds and partially hidden by a miniature wood. Among those who had dealings with Jadper, such feelings were apt to be the rule – not because Jadper was Harlos’s wealthiest and most successful fence, but because along with it he belonged to a class of personality unfortunately fashionable in certain parts of Ziode. Jadper was a practical joker, infamous for regarding his clients as fair game.

Mast deplored the cult of the japer. He valued his dignity, and resented all arbitrary assaults on it, especially when in the form of crude and unsubtle buffoonery beloved of Olveolo – ‘Jadper the Japer’, to give him his cognomen. But, business was business.

Silver-plated gates swung lazily open in answer to Mast’s arrival before them. Ahead, overhung by willow trees, a narrow crazy-paving path meandered into a profusion of blooms and bushes. In the distance, raising aloft their translucent green crowns, the villa’s yellow travertine towers peeped through a tracery of silver birch branches.

Mast wore jodhpurs and a lounge jacket, the muted colours of which were made to glow quietly by juxtaposition with his lime green waistcoat. Notwithstanding his stern prohibitions to Castor and Grawn he still wore his Caeanic titfer, and in his hand he carried a small box which he waved in the air in the hope of sniffing out any suspicious electronic activity. Finally, taking his courage in both hands, he stepped through the gates and set forth along the crazy paving.

The path plunged immediately into a miniature jungle which practically cut off the daylight, twisting and turning in a confusing pattern. Mast was surprised, on emerging into the sunlight some minutes later, to find that the villa now lay behind him, but he continued nevertheless to follow the meaningless loops and curves. At the end of thirty minutes he was back at the main gates, having made a complete circuit of Jadper’s home.

With chagrin he abandoned this fool’s route and struck out directly for the villa across a bush-screened gravel bed. He was rewarded by the discovery of a proper path giving clear access to the villa’s front entrance. Having progressed about half-way up this path, however, he was halted by the sudden eruption from the paving of a large box, or platform, which completely blocked his way. Before he could react in any way to this event the box sprang open with a rushing noise. Amid streamers of coloured paper there burst forth the corpulent figure of Olveolo Jadper, grinning and screeching, a large green bird rushing up from below him to flap around his head and go winging off. ‘Hello!’ screeched Jadper, ‘Hello!’ On his head was a white conical hat decorated with purple blobs which matched the red blobs of his ballooning white gown. His face was painted in the manner of a clown. Continuing to grin inanely, he bobbed up and down as if on a spring, only the top half of him visible over the rim of the box.

Mast suddenly realized that the figure was lifeless, and not Jadper at all. It was a jack-in-the-box. With a grunt of disgust he attempted to squeeze between the box and the close-packed cane shrubbery, but as he did so the dummy twisted round and seized him in two powerful rubbery arms, planting a slobbery kiss square on his lips. He fought violently to free himself from the embrace, the soft warm pseudo-flesh, the twinkling eyes. Jadper the jack-in-the-box giggled, caressing him intimately, then let him go.

At last, complaining bitterly to himself of Jadper’s conduct, Mast reached the entrance to the villa, large double doors flanked by abbreviated barbican towers of the same yellow travertine, a sedimentary limestone quarried from deep hot springs which was used throughout the building. The doors opened at his approach, disclosing a cool and inviting circular vestibule. Restful light filtered through a green cupola supported by slim columns. The floor was a mosaic of tiles in various pastel colours.

Mast halted and peered hesitantly within.

‘Olveolo Jadper?’

There was no reply. Cautiously he stepped through the doorway, noting the comic reliefs on the panels of tinted wainwood, and sauntered a few paces, and those warily, into the empty vestibule.

And then the floor seemed to open up all around him. All was confusion. He was being grabbed, tossed, interfered with. A flurry of movement and colour obscured everything. When the air cleared Mast found that he was stuffed feet first into a sort of cylindrical holder reaching to his waist. He was bouncing steadily up and down, supported above the floor by a giant spring. A clown’s hat had been stuck on his head and, he suspected, a bulbous comic nose on his face. He wore a gaudy ruff. The entire arrangement was set in a large box, crudely painted in garish colours, with the lid gaping open to permit his regular oscillations. Facing him there bounced Olveolo Jadper, similarly situated, and looking very much like the articulated dummy Mast had encountered a minute or two earlier. As Mast rose Jadper descended, and vice versa. The inane motion, about which he could do nothing, infuriated Mast. He wondered how in Ziode it was possible to maintain any vestige of dignity in circumstances like these.

Jadper spoke to him in a voice of melodramatic hospitality, his eyes wide and staring. ‘Ah, my guest has arrived! Greetings! The comforts of my house are yours!’

‘For heaven’s sake, Jadper!’ cried Mast in strangled tones as he bounced up and down. ‘Get me out of this!’

‘Surely you don’t wish to break off our business so soon?’

‘Quit the joking!’

‘First let us conclude our transaction.’

‘Like this?’

‘Why not? Whee! Up and down! Up and down!’

Mast struggled in sudden fury, and discovered that the cylinder holding him possessed no more binding power than stiff paper. He ripped it apart and clambered over the side of the box. Jadper followed suit, giggling to himself and throwing away his clown’s hat, ruff and nose.

Once divested, Jadper was naked except for a phallocrypt held on by a silk string around his waist. He was a very fat man, with little twinkling eyes set in a bulging face. He approached Mast with a friendly smile, holding out his hand.

‘Please excuse my little jest. Quite inexcusable, I know!’

Mast shook hands with him. His own hand came away covered in slime. He wiped it on his coat, then with a savage gesture tore off the clownish gear that bedizened him.

‘As a joker you’re a failure, Jadper,’ he said peevishly. ‘The essence of a joke is that it should come as a surprise. With you one is constantly expecting some sort of foolishness.’

The reproof seemed to have some effect on Jadper. His face became more sober. ‘You’re quite right, my dear fellow. It is very childish of me. Let’s forget that nonsense, then, and get down to business. Please take a seat.’

He gestured. Mast glanced at the chair suspiciously, hesitating to accept it until Jadper had already seated himself opposite him. He sat down gingerly, expecting it to collapse. But it did no more than emit a rude farting noise, at which Jadper emitted a snort of repressed mirth.

‘You have a load of garments to dispose of, I believe,’ Jadper said.

‘That’s right. Caeanic garments.’

‘Like this one, eh?’ The Caeanic titfer appeared out of nowhere into Jadper’s hand. He inspected it cursorily, then threw it across to Mast, who put it back on his head in place of his clown’s hat.

‘A neat little job, eh?’ Jadper complimented. ‘But of course, this is a bad time to be dealing in Caeanic stuff. You’ve heard the government’s getting edgy, I suppose? I expect that’s why you want to get rid of it.’

‘No, I hadn’t heard that,’ Mast answered truthfully. ‘I can’t see that it makes any difference. The government’s always worried about something or other.’

‘Oh, I don’t know… I had some inside griff the other day. Caean has made a formal protest. Something about a cargo of raiment stolen from a crashed ship. Coincidence, eh?’ Jadper winked grotesquely. ‘The Caeanics get paranoid about their togs, you know! The police might start looking for it. Things could be difficult.’

‘Look,’ said Mast, ‘are you interested or not? I don’t have to find a buyer. I’m told my goods are worth ultimately about twenty million, but I’m prepared to scale down that figure substantially to make a quick sale.’

‘Hmm, I’d have to have someone look at them. Even if your valuation is right, what with all the risk and everything I doubt if I could even go as far as one million.’ Jadper looked fretful, full of doubt. Mast was relieved; the fence had started trading.

‘When do you want to inspect the goods?’ he asked. ‘Once they’ve been viewed even you will be ready to part with at least twelve million.’ Then he became aware that something was happening to the chair he was sitting on. He tried to rise, but could not: he was fixed to it somehow.

The chair tilted back, rose from the floor and turned a half circle until he was facing Jadper upside down. It was as if his backside and spine were firmly glued to the chair. Presumably he was in the grip of an inertial field.

‘I thought perhaps the day after tomorrow,’ Jadper said seriously, displaying no sign that he noticed anything amiss. ‘Where are you keeping them?’

‘Let me down!’ Mast cried in exasperation. ‘This is intolerable!’

The chair released him and he fell sprawling to the floor, giving his skull a painful crack on the tiles. Jadper chuckled.

Mast scrambled to his feet, retrieving his hat and jamming it back on his smarting head. He brushed himself down and turned to Jadper gravely.

‘I absolutely refuse to go through with this. How can I think straight when I’m being interfered with all the time?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jadper said with a dismal shrug. ‘It’s not my fault.’

Mast deliberated. ‘This house is as full of tricks as a rat-trap,’ he said. ‘If you want to carry on talking let’s do it outside.’

‘You want to go for a stroll? But of course!’ Jadper jumped up with alacrity. ‘It’s a beautiful day! Let’s go out on the lawn.’

Nervously Mast followed him through a door in the rear of the vestibule. They emerged on the other side of the house before an expansive, well-tended lawn of Harlos moss, a silky lavender-coloured growth which was generally preferred to earthgrass. Once in the open he felt safer.

Then, without warning, his hat deluged him with green ink. With a cry of frustration he snatched the titfer from his head, ripped it apart to see the cunning ink reservoir Jadper had planted there, and flung it away from him. He fumbled for a kerchief to wipe the dye from his face.

The prankster turned and grinned at Mast as they stepped across the moss. ‘Lots of nice clothes, eh? Lovely!’ He waved his left hand in a complicated motion and suddenly his flabby body was bedecked in dazzling finery. Glittering gold knee breeches, a tunic of silver and green stripes with puffed sleeves, and a gorgeous multihued sash. It was hardly Caeanic in quality, however – more like showy trash – and even as Jadper walked it was peeling from him, disintegrating and scattering until only ragged scraps remained.

How had Jadper performed the trick? Mast had seen nothing about his naked person from which to produce the coverings, flimsy though they were.

Jadper’s tone dropped and became soberly confidential. ‘I’ve been wondering if this lawn might be better with a pavilion on it,’ he said. ‘Something like this, perhaps.’

Again he waved his hand, making magic passes in the air. It was hard to see exactly what took place. The air shimmered and there were countless little rainbows, as if the sunlight was striking sprays of water. In seconds a small pavilion took shape, seeming to coalesce out of nothing. It had a façade of what looked like carved, painted wood, complete with arched windows and a brief veranda.

‘Come inside,’ Jadper invited.

‘How do you do it?’ Mast asked as they mounted the steps and passed to the shaded interior. He received no answer. The pavilion was unfurnished, and had a hurriedly erected, half-finished look. But it was solid. The floor sounded hollow beneath his tread. He tapped a wall with his knuckle. It was like matt plastic or fibrewood.

‘A pleasant place to sit and drink with friends, perhaps,’ Jadper suggested. ‘What do you think? A better view of the garden might be in order.’ He pointed with his finger and invisibly cut out large windows in the rear of the building, making available a view of the rest of the lawn and the flowers and trees beyond.

Jadper turned to him, his face bland. ‘Well. How about the day after tomorrow, then? Where do you have your goods?’

‘Tell your evaluator to meet me in the middle of town,’ Mast said stubbornly. ‘I’ll take him to them.’

‘Aha! Caution, caution!’ Jadper tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘All right, then. Afterwards you can come back here and we’ll talk money.’

‘I’d rather it was somewhere outside, preferably in public,’ Mast said.

‘Oh, come, come! Don’t insult my hospitality!’

They sauntered back to the villa. From his manner one would think Jadper had ceased playing his jokes now. Mast pressed him once again to reveal how he was able to invoke clothing and buildings out of thin air.

‘It’s perfectly simple, really,’ Jadper said. ‘I’ll show you.’

As they went into the vestibule Mast glanced back and saw that the pavilion had already begun to collapse and dissolve, the panels of the walls curling up like paper in a fire. Jadper disappeared through a side door and returned a few moments later carrying a cylinder with a handgrip and an array of nozzles.

‘See.’ He pointed the nozzles and pressed a grip. A set of furniture shimmered into being across the floor: a dining table, chairs, and a sideboard.

‘There’s an aerosol for everything these days,’ Jadper chuckled. He opened the side of the cylinder and explained to Mast how the gadget worked. It was a programmed extrusion process controlled by insertable templates. Liquid plastic from a reservoir sprayed out in an atomized mist, hardening on contact with the air to form whatever structures the templates dictated.

The reservoir held an amazingly small volume of liquid. ‘It mixes with the air to make practically any bulk you like,’ Jadper told him. ‘And those solid objects are ninety nine point nine per cent air.’

‘Hence their lack of permanence,’ Mast commented.

‘Oh, they could be as durable as you like. But that would be in awful nuisance, don’t you think? I use a mixture with an ingredient that makes them instantly degradable.’

‘Ingenious,’ admitted Mast, ‘but I didn’t see you use an aerosol in the garden.’

For an answer Jadper laid the gadget down on an occasional table and, using his right hand, disconnected his left hand at the wrist. ‘I lost my real hand some years ago. Just making a virtue of necessity. Very handy, as you might say, for an amateur conjuror, eh?’

‘Is that what you call yourself?’ Mast responded drily. ‘It’s all very interesting.’ He watched the dining table, the sideboard and the chairs suddenly lose strength and cave in on themselves, gradually dissolving to tatters and then to dust. It would make a good epitaph for the quality of Jadper’s mind, he thought.

‘There’s an eating house called Mona’s at the corner of Engraft Street,’ he said. I’ll be there at three after noon, the day after tomorrow. Can I look forward to seeing your man?’

Jadper fastened his left hand back on with a click. ‘I’ll let you know if he can’t make it.’

‘How many more gadgets have you got in that hand?’ Mast asked, idly curious. ‘No – don’t show me. It doesn’t matter. As our business seems to be concluded for the moment I’ll be on my way.’

Hesitantly he stepped towards the door. Jadper raised the prosthetic hand in farewell.

‘Good luck attend you!’ he grinned.

As Mast passed through the doorway a bag of flour emptied over him from above. Jets of coloured fluid attacked him from several directions and he heard Jadper giggling and snorting behind him.

The step on the threshold gave way beneath his feet. He hurtled down a chute, where he felt metal fingers picking and tugging at him in the confused darkness. Seconds later he popped up again and found himself standing on the pathway some yards from the villa. He was wearing enormous pink pantaloons with purple spots, and an oversize baby’s bib.

He tore the foolery from him, wiped his face free of flour and mush, and after a last acrimonious glance at the villa, dodged the flailing arms of the jack-in-the-box and fled towards the gate.

Peder braced his legs against the acceleration of the slim private elevator as it raced up the shaft to the summit of the 300-storey Ravier Building. The elevator was his very own now that he had rented the penthouse on the skyscraper’s roof. It was one of several private shafts which served various levels of the tower.

The elevator slowed, giving him a momentary feeling of free fall, then slid smoothly to a stop. He stepped into the spacious main room of his apartment.

The view through the great curved window was still novel enough to cause him to pause to take it in. Gridira lay spread out below, sparkling in the sun. The River Laker curved round the south side of the city in the distance, glinting here and there where it became visible between buildings.

Definitely an improvement on Tarn Street!

He crossed the lounge to his desk. The vid had received a number of messages in his absence, mostly relating to his new business ventures. He replied to a few of these, giving instructions to his broker, to the manager of the new store he was opening in Gridira’s main shopping avenue, and to his financier.

That done, he poured himself a glass of chilled mango liqueur and sauntered back and forth before the view window, his feet falling silently on the deep pile of the glowing carpet. It seemed to him as if he could fly through that window and wing over the cityscape, so perfect was his new-found sense of freedom and space.

A few months ago it would have seemed unbelievable that he could have made such swift progress. Yet facts were facts. Doors opened for him wherever he went. Possibilities became actualities. Bank managers offered credit. High-class social clubs did not refuse him membership out of hand.

He stopped to admire himself in the full-length mirror. ‘No hesitation,’ he murmured, repeating a private litany. ‘No self-doubt, no solecisms.’ It was true what he had read once in a book on practical psychology. If you maintained a positive attitude to the world it heaped benefits upon you.

The vid chimed. A red-lipped, violet-eyed face appeared on the plate, smiling at him. ‘Hi.’

He drank in the curly black hair and curvy soft neck. In his imagination her perfume was practically wafting to him out of the picture plate. ‘Hi.’

‘I had no luck after you left the club last night,’ she pouted. ‘You took it all with you.’

‘Well, it was my luck, wasn’t it?’ He recalled giving her his vid number when playing at the Coton, one of Gridira’s most distinguished gambling clubs.

He had been learning to gamble with skill lately. It reminded him anew of how much things had changed for him, that he could now look forward to possessing so poised a creature and regard it as normal. Only weeks before he would have considered her quite unattainable.

Half an hour later she arrived in the penthouse. Peder offered her mango liqueur, and some smooth small-talk. It was not long before he fell on that delicious neck, nuzzling towards the source of her heady perfume.

In the bedroom he hesitated when it came to undressing. This is always the moment of uncertainty. Without the suit his old feeling of lumpish inadequacy came back, at the very time when he most needed confidence in himself.

But he flung his clothes from him and dived on to the big bed. ‘No hesitation, no self-doubt, no solecisms,’ he breathed in a private prayer, before his limbs entwined with hers.

Later, when the light had faded somewhat, they awoke from a drowsy sleep and she began to tease him. His body responded, but by this time he felt somehow unequal to her kittenish repartee.

On the ottoman, his Frachonard suit glowed softly in the dusk, as if calling to him.