“Viscount Charteris,” the man said, hurrying up. “Lord Hawkwood would be pleased for your company. An extremely pleasant week, I assure you. The affair is already gathering. No sharpers, no dubs, and it is winter now on his Kirkie estates in the south. The sport is excellent, as I make no doubt you will remember from last year.”
“No,” Villiers said. “I missed the occasion last year.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the cheetah said. He spent his time at Yuten’s sole spaceport when Lord Hawkwood directed to let the right arriving people know where the action was. Common practice. “In that case, it would be a shame, a shame, if you were not to be present this year.”
“Could you excuse me for a moment?” Villiers asked.
“You will consider?”
“Of course, sir.” Villiers turned away as another cheetah he did not recognize rushed up.
“Sir, Mr. Graftoon’s compliments, and could you favor—”
“A moment, if you will,” Villiers said.
He left the cheetahs strutting and preening at each other and favoring Torve with dubious looks. Torve stood flat-footedly and waited.
Villiers found the general mail center in the terminal and went inside. It was half-asleep, lulled perhaps by the rain.
A single clerk was working behind the counter. He looked up as Villiers entered.
Villiers said, “Good day, sir. Would mail sent to Yu-ten as a general address be delivered here?”
“Yes, sir. It would.”
“Would you check then and see if there is any mail for me? My name is Villiers.”
The clerk nodded and walked to his left out of Villiers’ sight. Villiers craned, but could not see him. It is hard to trust somebody to be doing something correctly when you can’t see him doing it
After a minute the clerk said, “You did say Villiers?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Don’t see anything for anybody of that name back here.” He followed his voice out to the counter. “Were you expecting something in particular, or are you just hoping?”
“Something in particular. It should be coming from Morian, sir. And it will have a mark like this on it.” Villiers sketched his personal mail symbol.
“Morian, you say. Well, hold on a second. A ship is just in from Star Well.”
“Star Well?” Villiers said, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes. It could have mail from Morian. Star Well is the hub of the Rift, you know.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Just hold on.”
The clerk turned and entered the maze of sorting bins, carts and boxes, ruck and clutter. There was a man at work back there, so colorless that he blended into the postal operation as one more piece of standard equipment. The clerk started him up and he performed some sort of intricate native function. When the clerk turned, he had a number of pieces of mail in his hands. He sorted through them as he returned to the counter.
He came to an envelope and leaned away from it to get a better look. “Hmm,” he said. “Villiers. Have you got identification?”
“I just described that envelope,” Villiers said.
“Yes,” said the clerk, “but somebody might have told you what it looks like. I’ve got to have identification.”
Villiers identified himself several times and received in turn the envelope.
“Fresh off the boat,” the clerk said.
“From Star Well.”
“Yes.”
“There must be a moral there somewhere. Thank you.”
It was the usual amount, little and late. Villiers looked at it, sighed, and then returned to Torve and the pair of cheetahs.
“My best to Mr. Graftoon,” he said, “but I’m afraid that my company is already spoken for.”
He smiled pleasantly and Graftoon’s hawk sighed and gestured and withdrew.
Villiers nodded to Lord Hawkwood’s man. “Lead on, if you will.”
Of the men trapped by Villiers and Adams within Star Well, all but one were taken into custody with ease. Some had already agreed to terms and the others knew well enough how nonsensical it would be to hold hostages or don a space suit and hide in a crevice on the surface. These would only delay the inevitable.
Star Well was closed for a short time by its owners, who declared their surprise and shock at the actions of the manager they had trusted. They stated, however, that they saw no point in not taking advantage of the improvements he had added, and when Star Well opened again, it had three operating ports and enjoyed an immediate happy rise in the use of its warehouse facilities.
The one missing man was Hisan Bashir Shirabi.
He was not killed. He was not captured. He did not escape. He was never seen again in Star Well. He simply disappeared.
Shhh.
Listen. Listen to the rock. Put your ear against it. Is that the echo of secret tunneling? That was years ago, years ago.
Might it be the careful sound of secret purple footsteps?
Art, murder. Admiral Beagle and the Fascination of
the Gawk figure in the second Anthony Villiers novel,
THE THURB REVOLUTION. Watch for it.
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CROSSROADS OF THE
FLAMMARION RIFT-
STAR WELL
Within Star Well can be found casinos and dining rooms, luxury suites and expensive shops, warehouses and (secret basements). Wu and I abricant’s Guidebook says Star Well is a dull place to visit. It wouldn't have said that il Wu and Fabricant had been shown the secret basements.
* * *
strange travelers come to Star Well. Anthony Vilhrrs: personable, curious, tern-pot,irily without funds to cover his bill and our hero. Torve the Trog: bulge-eyed alien, illegal wanderer, vegetarian by principle. Augustus Srb: fat and dubious priest of Mithra, and perhaps something more.
* * *
Secrets cannot be hidden forever, and the tight little world of Star Well was bursting at the seams with them. Calamity, uproar and the end of an era were inevitable____
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