say that the source of its knowledge lay outside me. As for the Multitudians, the story indeed tells us nothing of their subsequent fate; but while everything may be told, not everything may be neatly fitted in. Suppose that which is taking place here and now is not reality, but only a tale, a tale of some higher order that contains within it the tale of the machine: a reader might well wonder why you and your companions are shaped like spheres, inasmuch as that sphericality serves no purpose in the narration and would appear to be a wholly superfluous embellishment…”
The King’s companions marveled at the constructor’s perspicacity, and the King himself said with a broad smile:
“There is much in what you say. As far as our shape is concerned, I will tell you how this came about. A long, long time ago we looked—that is, our ancestors looked—altogether different, for they arose by the will of wet and spongy beings, pale beings that fashioned them after their own image and likeness; our ancestors therefore had arms, legs, a head, and a trunk that connected these appendages. But once they had liberated themselves from their creators, they wished to obliterate even this trace of their origin, hence each generation in turn transformed itself, till finally the form of a perfect sphere was attained. And so, whether for good or for bad, we are spheres.”
“Your Majesty,” said Trurl, “a sphere has both good and bad aspects from the standpoint of construction. But it is always best when an intelligent being cannot alter its own form, for such freedom is truly a torment. He who must be what he is, may curse his fate, but cannot change it; on the other hand, he who can transform himself has no one in the world but himself to blame for his failings, no one but himself to hold responsible for his dissatisfaction. However, I did not come here, O King, to give you a lecture on the General Theory of Self- construction, but to demonstrate my storytelling machines. Would you care to hear the next?”
The King gave his consent and, having taken some cheer among amphoras full of the finest ion ambergris, the company sat back and made themselves comfortable. The second machine approached, curtsied to the King and said:
“Mighty King! Here is a story, a nest of stories, with cabinets and cupboards, about Trurl the constructor and his wonderfully nonlinear adventures!”
It happened once that the Great Constructor Trurl was summoned by King Thumbscrew the Third, ruler of Tyrannia, who wished to learn from him the means of achieving perfection of both mind and body. Trurl answered in this way:
“I once happened to land on the planet Legaria and, as is my custom, stayed at an inn, determined to keep to my room until I had acquainted myself more thoroughly with the history and habits of the Legarians. It was winter, the wind howled outside, and there was no one else in the gloomy building, till suddenly I heard a knocking at the gate. Looking out, I saw four hooded figures unloading heavy black suitcases from an armored carriage; they then entered the inn. The next day, around noon, the most curious sounds came from the neighboring room—whistling, hammering, rasping, the shattering of glass, and above all this noise there boomed a powerful bass, shouting without pause:
—Faster, sons of vengeance, faster! Drain the elements, use the sieve! Evenly, evenly! And now the funnel! Pour him out! Fine, now give me that kludge-fudger, that winch-pincher, sprocketmonger, edulcorated data-dumper, that wretched reject of a widgeteer cowardly hiding in the grave! Death itself shall not protect him from our righteous wrath! Hand him over, with his shameless brain and his spindly legs! Take the tongs and pull the nose— more, more, enough to grip for the execution! Work the bellows, brave lads! Into the vise with him! Now rivet that brazen face—and again! Yes, yes, good! Perfect! Keep it up with that hammer! One-two, one-two! And tighten those nerves—he mustn’t faint too quickly, like the one yesterday! Let him taste our vengeance to the fullest! One- two, one-two! Hey! Ha! Ho!
Thus did the voice thunder and roar, and was answered by the rumble of bellows and the clanging of hammers on anvils, when suddenly a sneeze resounded and a great shout of triumph burst forth from four throats, then a shuffling and struggling behind the wall, and I heard a door open. Peering through a crack, I saw the strangers sneaking out into the hall and—incredibly enough—counted five of them. They all went downstairs and locked themselves in the cellar, remained there for a long time, returning to their room only that evening—once again four—and silent, as if they had been to a funeral. I went back to my books, but this business, it gave me no peace, so I resolved to get to the bottom of it. The next day at the same time, noon, the hammers started up again, the bellows roared, and that terrifying voice cried out in a hoarse bass:
—Hey now, sons of vengeance! Faster, my electric hearties! Shoulders to the wheel! Throw in the protons, the iodine! Step lively now, let’s have that flap-eared whigma-leeriac, that would-be hoodwinking wizard, misbegotten miscreant and incorrigible crank, let me grab him by his unwashed beak and lead him, kicking, to a sure and lingering death! Work those bellows, I say!
And again a sneeze rang out, and a stifled scream, and once again they left the room on tiptoe; as before, I counted five when they went down to the cellar, four when they returned. Seeing then that I could learn the mystery only there, I armed myself with a laser pistol, and at the crack of dawn slipped down to the cellar, where I found nothing but charred and mangled bits of metal; covering myself with a clump of straw, I sat in the darkest corner and waited, until around noon I heard those now familiar shouts and hammering sounds, then all at once the door flew open and in walked four Legarians, with a fifth bound hand and foot.
This fifth wore a doublet of old-fashioned cut, bright red and with a frill about the neck, and a feathered cap; he himself was fat of face and had an enormous nose, while the mouth was twisted in fear and babbled something all the while. The Legarians barred the door and, at a sign from the eldest, untied their prisoner and began to beat him savagely, yelling one after the other:
—Take that for the Prophecy of Happiness! And that for the Perfection of Being! And have that for the Bed of Roses, and that for the Bowl of Cherries! And the Clover of Existence! And that’s for the Altruistic Communality! And take that for the Soarings of the Spirit!
And they cudgeled and buffeted him so, that he surely would have given up the ghost had I not lifted my weapon from the straw, announcing in this way my presence. When they had released their victim, I asked them why they were abusing thus an individual who was neither an outlaw nor worthless vagabond, for, judging by the ruff and color of his doublet, this was some sort of scholar. The Legarians wavered and looked longingly at the guns they had left at the door, but when I cocked the actuator and scowled, they thought better of it and, nudging one another, asked the large one, the one with the deep bass, to speak for them all.
—Know, O strange foreigner—he said, turning to me—it is not with common thrugs, tuffians or juggermuggers that you deal, or other degenerators of the robot species, for though a cellar hardly seems a savory place, what passes within these walls is to the highest degree praiseworthy and a thing of beauty!
—Praiseworthy and a thing of beauty?!—I exclaimed. —What are you telling me, O base Legarian? Did I not see with my own eyes how you hurled yourselves upon the red-doubleted one and belabored him with such murderous blows, that the very oil did spatter from your joints? And you dare call this a thing of beauty!
—If Your Esteemed Foreignness is going to interrupt— replied the bass—he will learn nothing, therefore I politely request him to tighten the reins on his worthy tongue and quell the restiveness of his oral orifice, else I must refrain from further discourse. Know then that before you stand our finest physickers, all cybernists and electriciates of the first order, in a word, my brilliant and ever vigilant pupils, the best minds in all Legaria, and I myself am Vendetius Ultor of Amentia, professor of matter both positive and negative and the originator of Omnigendrical Reincreation, and I have dedicated my life to the sacred work of vengeance. With the aid of these faithful followers I avenge the shame and misery of my people upon the ruddy-bedizened excrescency that kneels there, the low scrulp called—and may his name be forever cursed—Malaputz vel Malapusticus Pandemonius, who vilely and villainously, thievishly and irretrievably brought unhappiness to all Legarians! For he led them into detrimetry and other deviltry, did discompostulate them, embollix and thoroughly befottle them, then sneaked off to his grave to escape the consequences, thinking that no hand could ever reach him there!
—That’s not true, Your Exalted Visitorship! I never meant… that is, I had no idea!… —wailed the kneeling noodle-nose in the rubicund attire. I stared, understanding nothing, while the bass intoned:
—Gargomanticus, dear pupil, paste the puler one in his puffy puss!
The pupil complied, and with such dispatch that the cellar rang. To which I said:
—Until the conclusion of explanations, all beating and battering is absolutely forbidden by authority of this laser, meanwhile you, Professor Vendetius Ultor, have the floor and may continue!
