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Article Excerpt
Fred Chappell's story "Hooyoo Love" appeared in our Oct/Nov 2003 issue. He returns now with a fantasy concerning dealers in the shadow trade. This story is part of a series, but the first story--slated for publication in Weird Tales--might not have appeared yet. Fortunately, you need not have read the first story in order to appreciate this one.
Astolfo, sometimes grudgingly admired as preeminent master of the shadow trade, is avidly sought out by collectors. His attraction is his genius, for he is not physically prepossessing. He will say to me, "Falco, must you loom your bulk over me so lubbardly?" Yet I am but half a head taller than the plumpish, sparse-haired, nimble man and my weight, at about fifteen stone, cannot be much greater than his. It is my office to take all such comments, including the many others more acerbic, in good part, for after all, it was my own conceit to apprentice to him. Four long seasons I had been trying to learn the skill, craft, and finally the art of shadows and if I were to advance in my ambition, Astolfo must be the one to teach me. I felt now almost as muddled as at first, when I broke into his mansion to prostrate myself before his tolerance and be taken into his service.
He once spoke a little in general about the vice of collecting. He seemed to be talking at idle random, but I found out early that he never spoke desultorily. "For it is a vice, you know," he said and looked at me with that gray-eyed gaze that so rarely gave away the cast of his humor. "I have known many a man to waste his substance upon trifles. He may bestow a fortune upon a trove of essence-bottle stoppers, upon elegant sword-hilt pommels, upon coins of fabled nations in fabled ages past. Then these connoisseurs expire in mortal fashion and their impoverished descendants scatter those spurious treasures to the round of the compass for a fraction of the true worth. This collecting, Falco, is a costly vanity."
"I take it that you make an exception for the collectors of shadows."
"Shadow collectors may be the worst of the lot," he replied. "For not only do the objects themselves extort fat prices, but a discriminating taste for them is difficult and expensive to acquire. And then there are the further costs of proper care and storage and restoration when that is necessary and possible."
"Yet you derive some large part of your income from collectors."
"Ah." He sighed and blinked. "I lead a superfluous existence. And I cannot fathom why you feel attracted to such an inutile way of life."
I might have talked at length of the fascination that the business of shadows held for me, why it stood in my mind as the subtlest, cleverest, most demanding method of maintaining oneself. But I also knew better than to give my sharp-tongued mentor reason to ply me with sarcasm. I only inquired what he thought he might occupy himself with otherwise.
"Why, I should retire entirely from commerce," said he, "and devote myself to the close study of the ancient mages. I would strive to achieve equanimity of mind and equability of temper. I would exercise to be always cheerful in this world of futile strife."
"Most who know you would say that you have already arrived at the goals you aim at. You are hardly a melancholy man."
"A long face discourages custom," he declared. "If my clients see me downcast, they may suspect I fret over an unsound business and carry their trade elsewhere."
"So then, your talk is not pure philosophical disquisition. We have a venture in hand, do we?"
"We do." He had not objected to the plural pronoun.
"And it has to do with the pursuit of shadow collecting?"
"As soon as you have made your appearance presentable to polished company, we shall go to the house of Ser Plermio Rutilius," Astolfo said. "I shall tell you about him as we travel."
"Will Mutano accompany us?" I asked. If Astolfo felt the need of his mute, large manservant so fierce in combat, we might be entering a situation of some danger.
"No," he replied. "If our host saw the three of us together he might doubt of my capacities. You shall answer well enough as a diverting companion and no more than that. He will see that you are harmless; Mutano does not readily present that aspect."
I bowed acquiescence, hoping he would note that my ironic grimace expressed disagreement.
Our travel was accomplished in handsome style, for Ser Rutilius had sent a well appointed coach-and-two to Astolfo's mansion to fetch us the two leagues to his chateau. As we rolled smoothly through the green springtime countryside, Astolfo informed me that our host was the scion of an ancient race of warriors who hired out to duchies, principalities, and kingdoms to protect them from marauders, enemies and friends alike. Since our province of Tlemia had blundered into peaceful times, there had been naught to occupy the hereditary skills and services of Rutilius. And so, as a young man, he had entertained himself with dissipation, gathering from cellars their sumptuous wines, from tailors their most costly and elaborate cloaks and doublets, and from noble families their comeliest, most complaisant females.
"In short," said Astolfo, "he led such a life as you have dreamed of leading, Falco--idle pleasures following upon one another like raindrops in a sweet shower. And do you not dream of it still?"
I did not respond.
"But Rutilius is an intelligent young noble and in due season found these devices to pall. He educated himself in the sciences and the arts. He raised the farming practices of his estates to extraordinary levels; he has renewed and refined his martial skills; he has become a knowledgeable connoisseur of painting and tapestry, statuary and architecture. His senses and apprehensions having become so acute, it was perhaps inevitable that he should come to pursue shadow collecting, for no other cultivated attainment is so difficult to achieve. But, as it is the most expensive of such follies, so is it the most rewarding, for, as you have discovered, it is infinite in interest and delight."
I would assent to this latter assertion while envying the fact that one in Rutilius's station could become an adept of shadows without enduring the physical discomforts the discipline was inflicting upon me.
Astolfo seemed to have overheard my thought. "You must not think him some soft-handed, sweet-scented dilettante. He is an expert swordsman, an avid huntsman, a canny and alert man of business, and a fearless pugilist. Of his prowess with women I have heard nothing. Perhaps one of your town wenches has whispered to you whereof."
I shook my head.
"Well then, we understand that whatever commission he may propose to us must be a tangled one because the man himself is so very able and has such deep resources to command."
"Yes," I said, "and from these resources he can well afford whatever toplofty fee you may ask."
"It is for that reason we have come," Astolfo said, "for I am well past the age when mere difficulty itself is an attraction.... And so, here are we."
The carriage rolled to a stop, the driver opened the door and assisted us down the gilt steps he had deployed, and we stood in a pleasant greensward before the great oaken doors of the chateau.
WE WERE BROUGHT to the presence of Rutilius in a foyer almost immediately inside the doors. The foyer spread large, with a high, arched ceiling of cedarwood, and enclosed a circular area three steps below the main floor. This sunken space contained a small pool lined with blue tile in which red and silver carp wafted long, filmy tails. Flowers and trailing vines spilled from the mouths of sand-cast urns. From an adjoining room a lute not visible to us was being played with gentle and pensive hand.
I had thought that the mansion of Astolfo, where it stood with its gardens and lawn and stable near the center of the port city of Tardocco, must be close to the apex of luxury. Now I knew that however large the fortune Astolfo had amassed, it was to the fortune of Rutilius as a ploughman's handful of seed is to a granary.
But Rutilius showed himself, however, as no pompous or overbearing sort. A slender, sandy-haired man in his mid-thirties with a manner easy and open, he seemed sincerely pleased to acquaint himself with us, though I noticed that he did not offer his hand. Yet his ease in his station was so confident that this oversight bore no hint of arrogance. He did offer the customary welcoming glass of wine, as fine as any I have tasted since.
The preliminary conversation consisted of our host and Master Astolfo trading reminiscences and guarded confidences about mutual friends and acquaintances. Ser Rutilius was sounding out Astolfo for his society connections, inquiring about the health of Princess A and the new foal in the stable of Count Z. The shadow master bantered his way through this testing, showing familiarity with the persons and affairs of one and all, but without giving impression he gossiped.
Rutilius broke off these preliminaries sharply. "Have you some inkling why I desired to meet you?"
"I have supposed you wished to acquire my services."
"Do you know in what regard? You must answer this question truthfully."
"I have no slightest notion," Astolfo replied mildly.
An expression of relief passed over the face of the baron. "I am pleased to hear you say so. I have feared that my comportment of late has given me away. There are those who observe me closely for any sign of weakness."
"Ah then," said Astolfo, "now I shall suppose it is some affair of the affections. I must tell you straightway, Ser Rutilius, that I am no mender of broken hearts. Nor, come to that, am I a broker of mended hearts."
"In neither case could I use your skills," Rutilius said. "But come along with me to another room. Let me fill your glasses once more and you shall fetch them with you."
"Thank you. It is a inspiriting vintage," Astolfo said.
Having regenerated our drink, Rutilius led us from the foyer down a long, tapestry-hung gallery and brought us into a small salon. Intricate carpets smothered large areas of the parquetry floor, ensuring a sleepy degree of quiet. Large windows admitted southern light and gave an impression of openness to the room. But it was the wails that we had come to see. Paintings and drawings covered them in close profusion. Some paintings were life-size portraits; some drawings were not much larger than Astolfo's leopard's-head belt buckle.
I marveled at them. The portraiture of shadows is the most demanding and delicate of the pictorial arts and the most skillful of artists might labor an arduous season to produce even a mediocre rendering. Here every example was a masterpiece. One or two I recognized from engraved reproductions in books, but all the others were new to my eyes and this first impression of them all together made the...
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