Night Lamp by Jack Vance

which flared out into a flat rectangular sound bell. The four valves were controlled by the fingers of the left hand, to produce the notes of an exact if irrational scale, each tone an unctuous disreputable gurgle. Above the mouthpiece, a second tube clipped to the nostrils became a screedle flute, fingered by the right hand to play intervals with no obvious relationship to the tones of the horn. The right foot pumped air into a bladder which was controlled by movements of the left knee to produce a heavy diapason of something over an octave. Clearly, to play the froghorn with mastery would require endless hours of practice: even years or decades.
    Maihac told the Faths: “I can play the froghorn, but am I playing it well? You will never know, since good sounds much like bad, so far as I can tell.”
    “I’m sure that you play splendidly,” said Althea. “But don’t keep us dangling! Play something frivolous and delightful!”
    “Very well,” said Maihac. “I will play ‘The Bad Ladies of Antarbus,’ which is the only tune I know.”
    Maihac took up the instrument, adjusted its straps and buckles, and blew a few introductory glissandos. The noseflute produced a shrill warble. Tones from the big-bellied horn seemed to gurgle up through syrup, to produce a sound so raucously indecent as to make both Hilyer and Althea wince. The air-bladder droned and moaned along a delicate if rather dreary set of intervals.
    Maihac explained the salient features of the instrument. “The great virtuosos of the froghorn presumably played with total control over the halftones, the hoots, gurgles, thumps and squealing. Well, here I go: ‘The Bad Ladies of Antarbus.’ ” Jaro, listening carefully, heard: “Teedle-deedle-eedle teedle a-boigle oigle a-boigle moan moan da-boigle-oigle moan teedle-eedle moan teedle-eedle-eedle a-boigle a-boigle-oigle moan moan teedle-eedle teedle da-boigle.”
    “That’s the best I can do,” said Maihac. “What did you think?”
    “Very pretty,” said Hilyer. “With a bit more practice, you’d have us all compulsively dancing.”
    “One must be careful with froghorns,” said Maihac. “They are said to be built by devils.” He pointed to symbols carved on the flare of the brass horn. “Notice these marks? They read: ‘Suanez has done this thing.’ ‘Suanez’ is a devil. According to the shopkeeper, each horn is impregnated with a secret song. If the human musician chances to play part of this song, he is trapped and must continue playing until he drops dead.”
    “The same song?” Jaro asked.
    “Yes; no variations allowed.”
    Hilyer put a sardonic question: “It was the shopkeeper who authenticated the provenance of the horn?”
    “He did indeed, and when I asked for documentation, he gave me a picture of the devil Suanez, then added a surcharge of twenty sols to the price of the horn. He knew I wanted the horn; I could either haggle another two hours or pay the twenty sols—which I did. These shopkeepers are all irredemptible rascals.”
    Hilyer chuckled. “We have learned this backward and forward, up and down, on our own account.”
    Althea said, “When I found my copper candelabra I had an experience much like your own. It happened during our first off-world field trip, which was truly a saga in itself!”
    “Now then,” said Hilyer smiling. “We must not wax overdramatic! Mr. Maihac after all is surely accustomed to exotic places.”
    “Tell me about it,” said Maihac. “I haven’t been everywhere: that’s for certain.”
    Hilyer and Althea together told the tale, with many interpositions and interpolations. Shortly after their marriage they had gone off on a field trip to the world Plaise, in a small local swarm not far from the edge of the galaxy. Like many other worlds, Plaise had been located and settled during that first great explosion of humanity across what would ultimately become the Gaean Reach. The Faths had gone to Plaise on what they now knew to be a