by Jack Vance
The room was silent. Julian’s mouth had sagged open to show a pink gap. Wayness’ grin had faded to a shadow. Egon Tamm pensively stirred a bit of hard-cake into his brandy. Warden Ballinder stared at Glawen under lowering eyebrows. Sunje said in a husky whisper: “If you are going to make a run for it, the coast is clear.”
Glawen spoke: “Have I gone too far? It seemed to me that this question needed clarification. If I have been rude, I apologize.”
Warden Ballinder said dryly: “Your remarks have been sufficiently polite. Still, you have said to Dame Clytie’s face something which no one has cared previously to point out, even from an appreciable distance. You have gained my respect.”
Julian said carefully: “As you yourself surmised, there are complications and subtleties here which you, as an outsider, could not be expected to perceive. The paradox you cite is only apparent; Dame Clytie was duly elected Warden and is as secure in office as any other, despite her progressive philosophy.”
Dame Clytie drew a deep breath and addressed Glawen: “You question my right to office. But I claim my franchise, not from the Charter, but from the votes of my constituency. What do you say to that?”
Egon Tamm said: “Allow me to answer that question. Cadwal is a Conservancy, administered by the Conservator through Araminta Station. It is not in any sense a democracy. Governing power is drawn from the original grant to the Naturalist Society. That power flows to the Conservator through legitimate Wardens and may only be used in the interests of the Conservancy. This is my reading of the situation. In short, the Charter may not be invalidated by the votes of a few disgruntled residents.”
“Do you call a hundred thousand Yips a few?” snapped Dame Clytie.
“I call the Yips a very grave problem which we surely cannot solve at this moment.”
Glawen rose to his feet. “I think that I must take my departure. It has been a pleasure to make the acquaintance of you all.” And to Egon Tamm: “Please convey my thanks to Dame Cora.” And to Wayness: “Don’t get up; I’ll find my own way out.”
Wayness nevertheless accompanied him to the door. Glawen said: “Thank you for the invitation. I enjoyed meeting your friends, and I’m sorry if I caused a disturbance.”
Glawen bowed, turned, started up the path. He felt the pressure of Wayness’ eyes on his back, but she did not call after him and he did not look back.
* * *
Chapter IV, Part 5
Syrene had dropped behind the hills; night had come to Araminta Station; stars blazed across the sky. Sitting by the open window Glawen could see, almost overhead, that strangely regular constellation known as the Pentagram, and off to the south the twisting progress of the Great Eel.
The day’s events had receded in perspective; Glawen felt drained and quietly depressed. All was finished; nothing could make any difference now. Conceivably events had turned out for the best - still how vastly preferable if he had never gone to Riverview House that day! Or perhaps ever.
Brooding was futile. The episodes of today, or something equivalent, had been inevitable from the beginning. Wayness had known as much. More or less tactfully she had tried to tell him, but, stubborn and proud as any other Clattuc, he had refused to listen.
In regard to the events of the day, a mystery lingered. Why had Wayness brought him out to Riverview, where, one way or another, he was sure to make a spectacle of himself! He might never know the answer, and, in the course of time, he might not even care.
A chime summoned him to the telephone. The last person he had expected to see looked at him from the screen. “Glawen? What are you doing?”
“Nothing much. What about you?”
“I decided that I’d had enough society and I’m now supposed to be in bed with a headache.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I don’t really have a headache; I just wanted to be alone.”
“In that case, you need not heed my condolences.”
“I’ll pack them away in fine linen and use them another time. Why did you run from me as if I had a loathsome disease?”
The question took Glawen by surprise. He stammered: “It seemed like a good time to be leaving.”
Wayness shook her head. “Not quite. You left because you were furious with me. Why? I’ve been staring into the dark it seems forever, and I’m tired of being mystified.”
Glawen groped for an answer which would leave him a few shreds of dignity. He muttered: “I was more furious with myself than anyone else.”
“I’m still baffled,” said Wayness. “Why should you be angry with either one of us?”
“Because I did what I did not want to do! I had planned to be suave and polished, to charm everyone with my tact, and to avoid all controversy. Instead I blurted out all my opinions, caused a grand uproar and confirmed your mother’s worst apprehensions.”
“Come, now,” said Wayness. “It wasn’t all that bad; in fact, not bad at all. You could have done far worse.”
“No doubt, if I’d really put my mind to it. I could have become drunk and punched Julian in the nose, and called Dame Etrune a silly old blatherskite, and on my way out stopped to urinate in one of the potted plants.”
“Everyone would have thought it simple Clattuc high spirits. The main question remains, and you’ve made no attempt to answer it: why were you, or are you, furious with me? Tell me, so I won’t do it again.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. As we both know, it doesn’t make a particle of difference anymore.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“You’ve made it clear to me how impossible it is to have any close relationship between us. I tried not to believe it but now I know that you are right.”
“And that’s how you want it?”
“What an odd thing to say! My inclinations have never been considered at any time. Why are they under investigation now?”
Wayness laughed. “Through an oversight I neglected to notify you that I’ve been reassessing the situation.”
A sardonic chuckle rose in Glawen’s throat, which he wisely held back. “When will we know the results?”
“A few of them are in now.”
“Would you like to meet me down on the beach and tell me about them?”
“I don’t dare.” Wayness looked over her shoulder. “About the time I was climbing out the window, Mother and Sunje and Dame Clytie would come peeping in to see if I was resting nicely.”
“My best ideas turn out to be impractical.”
“Now, then: tell me what I did to infuriate you.”
Glawen said: “I’m just a bit puzzled why you invited me to Riverview House in the first place.”
“Poof!” – a flippant feckless sound. “Could it be that I wanted to show you off to Sunje and Julian?”
“Really?”
“Really. Is that all?”
“Well - no. I can’t understand why you’re so mysterious about your trip to Earth.”
“It’s simple. I can’t trust you not to tell someone else.”
“Hmmf,” said Glawen. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”
“You asked, and I told you.”
“I didn’t expect to hear anything quite so honest.”
“It’s more a matter of realism. Think, now. Suppose you swore silence by everything you held sacred, which induced me to tell you what I know and what I want to do. After thinking it over, you might decide that your higher duty lay in breaking faith with me and notifying your father. For the same high motives, your father might then inform Bodwyn Wook, and then who knows how far the information might travel? If it reached the wrong ears, very serious consequences might be the result. I avoid this worry by telling no one. Now I hope you understand and are no longer angry with me, at least on that account.”
Glawen thought for a moment, then said: “If I understand you correctly, you are involved, or plan to involve yourself, in a matter of importance.”
“That’s true.”
“Are
you sure that you can take care of the business alone?”
“I’m not sure of anything except that I must do what needs to be done without attracting attention. It’s a real dilemma for me; I want and I may need help, but only on my own terms. Milo is the best compromise and he is coming with me, for which I’m grateful. Now, then: have I made everything clear?”
“I understand what you’ve told me, yes. But suppose you and Milo are killed: what happens to your information?”
“I’ve already made arrangements.”
“I think you should consult your father.”
Wayness shook her head. “He’d declare that I was too young and inexperienced for such a venture, and I wouldn’t be allowed to leave Riverview House.”
“Is it possible that he might be right?”
“I don’t think so. I believe that I am doing exactly the right thing . . . Anyway, that’s the situation and I hope that you feel better.”
“I don’t feel anything, which is better.”
“Goodnight, Glawen.”
The following morning Wayness called Glawen again. “Just to bring you up to date: Warden Ballinder and Dame Clytie quarreled this morning. As a result Dame Clytie; with Julian in tow, is returning early to Stroma.”
“Indeed! What of Julian’s investigation of Mad Mountain?”
“The subject never arose. It’s either been postponed or forgotten.”
* * *
Chapter IV, Part 6
In response to a question from Bodwyn Wook, Glawen stated: “I’m not at all comfortable with the Bold Lion assignment. I feel a spy and a sneak.”
“Why should you not?” snapped Bodwyn Wook. “That is your function. A Bureau B agent never fools himself with words. Forget the terminology; just do the work.”
“Meanwhile I must consort with the Bold Lions. They grow more tiresome by the hour.”
“Including Kirdy?”
“Kirdy is inconsistent. He can even be amusing, in a sarcastic way. But give him an extra mug of Bold Lion Reserve and he is as callow as Cloyd or Kiper. Sometimes worse!”
“Odd! Few Wooks are callow. Let me advise you: never underestimate Kirdy, or take him casually! At times he shows a Machiavellian clarity of vision. For example, like yourself, he felt awkward bringing me weekly reports of seditions and criminal conspiracies. He therefore recommended that I assign this work to you. Chicanery may be expected anywhere and at any time.”
Glawen smiled ruefully. “I will certainly keep what you say in mind.”
Bodwyn Wook leaned back in his chair. “Kirdy does not understand this, but the Bold Lions are in the nature of a camouflage. There is a certain person in whom I am interested. He seems to have a fairly close association with Titus Pompo, though he does not advertise the fact. I refer to Namour.”
Glawen made no comment. Bodwyn Wook continued: “Namour is deft and gracious: so much so that we suspect him without knowing exactly why. Give careful attention to Namour and every word he says, without being obvious. When do the Bold Lions meet next?”
“Milden afternoon they’re driving up to Sarmenter Cove for a clam roast. Namour will not be on hand. I also hope to avoid the event.”
“How so? It might be a jolly affair!”
Glawen shook his head. “Everyone will be drunk but me. There will be a lot of secret Bold Lion ritual: pounces, growls and roars, with penalties for making mistakes. New songs composed by Kiper and Arles will be introduced, which everyone must memorize and sing with gusto. Kiper and Jardine will vomit. Arles will be Arles. Kirdy will pontificate; Uther will vex him by laughing and sneering. There is little to attract me.”
“No girls?”
“What girls would go anywhere with the Bold Lions?”
“Still, you must be on hand. Be watchful and formulate theories.”
“As you say, sir.
“One final word. Today I spoke with the Conservator. He mentioned that you had been a recent visitor to Riverview House.”
“Yes. I’m afraid I talked too much.”
“Not according to Egon Tamm. He tells me that when you were asked for your opinions, you stated them clearly and vigorously but with perfect gentility. Your remarks, so he tells me, were exactly appropriate, and what he wanted to say himself. In short, you have gained his good opinion.” He waved his hand. “That it all for now.”
Glawen rose to his feet, bowed stiffly and departed the office.
On Milden afternoon, three wagons driven by Kirdy, Uther and Glawen conveyed all the Bold Lions save Jardine Laverty north along the beach road to Sarmenter Cove. Jardine would arrive shortly with a cask of wine, which he hoped to obtain by illicit means from the Laverty warehouse.
Jardine, however, was late. The others gathered fuel for a fire, then went off to dig in the sand for the clamlike molluscs indigenous to Sarmenter Beach.
The clams were dug; the fire was ready, and at last Jardine arrived, in a most disconsolate state of mind.
The story he had to tell was not a cheerful one. Instead of a cask of the fine Yermolino he had hoped to purvey, he had brought only a few jugs of ordinary white Tissop. “I walked into a trap,” said Jardine bitterly. “Old Volmer was lying in wait and caught me dead to rights. I’m sure that he was tipped off; there’s no other explanation! Anyway, I’ve had no end of trouble; I’m in hot water with the Housemaster, and no telling what they’ll do to me. When I finally got away, I picked up some Tissop at the Arbor, but it’s on our account and we’ll have to pay.”
“What a sordid situation!” said Shugart. “Did Volmer hint as to the source of his information?”
“Not Volmer! He’s a tight old goat.”
“It sounds suspiciously as if there’s an informer somewhere,” said Arles. His gaze rested a thoughtful moment on Glawen.
Uther Offaw said: “We’ll work something out tomorrow, but for now we’ve got clams on the fire and wine in the jug! Let’s rejoice as best we may.”
“Easy for you to say,” grumbled Jardine. “I don’t know what the charges will be against me. They’re not taking the matter lightly. I’m lucky not to be in the Carcery.”
Cloyd Diffin said: “It’s a wicked situation, and no two ways about it.”
Jardine gave a dour nod. “I’d like to lay hands on the sneak who shopped me. I’d make him sing some high notes, I assure you!”
Arles said in a pompous voice: “I don’t like to make accusations, but logic is logic and facts are facts. Need I point out that Glawen is a real bark-scratcher in Bureau B?”
“Nonsense,” said Kirdy. “I’m in Bureau B too. I keep business out of my social life, and no doubt Glawen does the same.”
“That’s just a pious hope,” said Arles. “If you recall, I advised against his membership in the first place, and now our troubles have started.”
Jardine said in a troubled voice: “Glawen wouldn’t nail me over a cask of wine! At least, I don’t think he would!”
“Ask him,” said Arles.
Jardine turned to Glawen. “Well: would you? More to the point: did you?”
Glawen said: “It’s beneath my dignity to answer you. Think what you like.”
“Come, now!” cried Arles. “That’s not good enough! We want an answer, and we want it straight and for the record! Because I know very well you tell old Bodwyn Wook everything that goes on.”
Glawen gave a stony shrug and turned away. Arles took his shoulder and whirled him around. “Answer, if you don’t mind! We want to know whether you are a spy or not!”
“I am an officer in Bureau B,” said Glawen. “What, if anything, I report to my superiors is official business, which I am not free to discuss.”
Arles gave Glawen’s shoulder a shake. “That is not what I asked you!”
Glawen pushed away Arles’ hand. “You are becoming very tiresome, Arles.”
Kirdy came forward. “Come, now! Let’s not quarrel and spoil the whole day!”
“Bah!” cried Jardine. “The day is already spoil
ed!”
“And I say Glawen is responsible,” cried Arles in a passion. “Answer me, Glawen! Do you inform on us or don’t you? Give us a straight answer! Or consider yourself expelled from the Bold Lions!”
“Expelled? Bah! I resign from your drunken group!”
“That’s good to hear, but it’s still not an answer.” Arles reached again to seize Glawen’s shoulder; Glawen thrust the arm away. Arles struck out with his other fist, buffeting Glawen glancingly on the neck. Glawen drove one fist into Arles’ belly and struck up at Arles’ heavy chin, hurting his own knuckles. Arles snorted in fury and lurched forward, windmilling blows. Glawen backed away. Kiper, squatting on the sand, cleverly thrust out his foot; Glawen tripped and fell. Arles rushed forward and kicked Glawen in the ribs, and tried to do so again, but Kirdy intervened and pushed him aside.
“Come, now!” said Kirdy sternly. “Let’s have fair play! Kiper, that was a rotten act.”
“Not if he’s a spy!”
“Quite right!” panted Arles. “This smirking little sneak deserves nothing better! Allow me just one more good kick, where it will do the most good!”
“Absolutely not,” said Kirdy. “Now, stand back, or you’ll be dealing with me as well. As far as the wine is concerned, Glawen obviously had nothing to do with it. No one knew what was up but Jardine and myself.”
“He probably heard you talking.”
Glawen picked himself up, conscious of a sharp pain in his side. He contemplated Arles, standing ten feet away and watching him with a grin. Glawen turned and limped away: up the beach to the Clattuc power wagon. He climbed into the seat and drove back to Araminta Station.
