Araminta Station

by Jack Vance

“As I recall, Arles came to Yipton wearing a fine cloak of stout material.”

  “True. Rather too fine for the occasion, if you ask me.”

  “The theft of this cloak from Arles’ room will cause consternation but no surprise, and Arles will learn to dress more modestly in the future.”

  Kirdy gave a dry chuckle. “Arles might even volunteer his cloak, were he asked.”

  “Possibly, but when one asks permission, one often gets no for an answer. As it is, Arles has not specifically forbidden us the cloak, which is good enough for me.”

  “Surely his door is locked.”

  Glawen examined Kirdy’s door. “Notice: the jambs are split bamboo and not at all rigid. Are you carrying your big clasp knife?”

  Kirdy wordlessly brought forth the knife. Glawen took it to the door into Arles’ room. While Kirdy kept watch, Glawen inserted the heavy knife blade between door and frame. He applied gentle pressure; the frame sprang aside, allowing the door to slide past the latch. Glawen entered the room, took up the cloak, retreated, closed the door carefully, and the two returned to Kirdy’s room.

  Glawen cut away the cincture of silver lace which Kirdy rolled into a tight wad and discarded. Glawen cut the cloak into long strips, which Kirdy tied together, to produce a rope twenty feet long. Glawen tied one end to the window frame and lowered the other end to the roof below. “Now, before my courage gives out –”

  “Courage?” Kirdy grunted. “I call it suicidal Clattuc recklessness.”

  “One last precaution. I might get lost out there. Take the night-light and hold it in the. window. If you hear me whistle, move the light in a circle.”

  “Right. Needless to say, be careful.”

  “Needless to say. Well, here I go.”

  Glawen hesitated only long enough to look right and left along the roof, then lowered himself down the makeshift rope. Gingerly he rested his feet on the plaited thatch, putting down his weight only when he felt solidity beneath them.

  Now he must locate a rafter under the palm-frond panels, and never allow his full weight to rest anywhere else. The simplest and most direct route would take him up to the ridge, then east along the ridge to the area of Bodwyn Wook’s interest.

  He found a convenient rafter. Moving with the utmost delicacy, to avoid making crackling or squeaking sounds, which might attract attention below, he moved up the slope. From time to time he looked over his shoulder, thus preserving his orientation with the night-light. He arrived at a hip, which provided less precarious support, and climbed rapidly on his hands and knees.

  He reached the ridge and, sitting astride, looked back to loom of the hotel across a gulf of black shadow. So far, so good. For a moment he sat resting, surrounded by a landscape of irrational shapes colored pale pink and black.

  Urgency pressed on him. He set off along the ridge, scuttling like a great rat. His fear was suspended; he felt almost exhilaration.

  At last he halted, and surveying the geometry of the roof, decided that he had come far enough. Beneath him now should the target area. What would happen to him if he were caught? His mind recoiled from the idea.

  He located a rafter and slid down the slope a few feet, then set to work cutting a hole in the thatch with his knife.

  The knife slid into emptiness. Glawen enlarged the hole and put down his eye. On the floor below, the light of a dozen lamps illuminated a flyer of medium size. A workbench ran down one side of the room, furnished with various items of material-shaping equipment. A dozen men worked somewhat languidly at one job or another; it seemed to Glawen that not all of them were Yips, but he could not be sure.

  In order to see from a different angle, he shifted his position and felt the thatch crackle under his weight; in an instant he would be falling. Desperately he thrust down his knee and tried to draw himself back to the rafter. His knee burst through the thatch; he caught a momentary glimpse of men looking up in wonder; then he had drawn away to safety.

  Seething with fury and fear, Glawen clambered to the ridge and crawled back the way he had come. There was no time to waste; Oomps would be on the roof within minutes, and the thought of what they would do if they caught him made his skin crawl.

  He came abreast of the hotel, and there in the window was the night-light. He slid recklessly down the hip, transferred to the rafter, and backed down to the hotel wall.

  Where was the rope? Glawen looked through the shadows this way and that. The rope could not be seen, nor, looking up, could he see the night-light.

  Apparently, in his haste and confusion, he had not come far enough down the hip before transferring to the rafter. The rope must be hanging a few feet farther on, and he could only grope for it in the darkness.

  He went along beside the wall ten feet, twenty feet, thirty feet. No rope. He turned to retreat in the other direction, but thought to hear quiet urgent voices from across the roof; it was too late now to go back; he could only hope that Kirdy had also heard the voices and extinguished the night-light.

  Just ahead was the corner of the hotel. He went forward and looked down, and saw the small canal which ran behind the hotel. A few yards farther along, a boat lay moored to the hotel dock: apparently a garbage scow.

  ‘The garbage collector was not visible and was evidently occupied inside the hotel. He had covered the garbage piled in the bow with a mat. The canal at this point was about twelve feet wide.

  Glawen ran along the edge of the roof, until he stood opposite the garbage scow. He levered his legs under him, jumped. Forever he seemed to float through the air, while his trajectory took him across the canal and down upon the mat. He alighted crouching, with no great shock, the boat absorbing most of his momentum. He scrambled across the mat, jumped to the dock, and looked wildly back and forth.

  Thump, thump, thump: footsteps.

  Glawen pressed against the side of the hotel. Out upon the dock came the garbageman, laden with an enormous sack of garbage. As soon as he turned to relieve himself of the burden he would see Glawen.

  Glawen ran soundlessly forward. He seized the garbageman by sack and shoulder, propelled him smartly to the edge of the dock and over into the canal. Then he ran to the kitchen door, looked within. A small pantry was at hand; Glawen stepped forward and ducked into the shadows.

  Attracted by the splash and the exclamations, the cook on duty and a pair of scullions came out on the dock. Glawen stepped from the pantry, ran through the kitchen, along a short service hall, and out upon the terrace.

  He stood composing himself. The Bold Lions sat as before. Unobtrusively Glawen seated himself between Shugart and Dauncy, neither of whom took any notice, their attention given to Arles as he described the amazing events he had witnessed at his exhibition.

  Glawen nudged Shugart. “Excuse me a moment; I’m for the washroom. When the boy comes by, order me another rum punch.”

  “So it shall be.”

  Glawen departed the terrace, crossed the lobby, ran up the stairs and knocked at the door to Kirdy’s room. “It’s Glawen! Open up!”

  The door eased back a crack; Kirdy looked out. “So there you are! I was truly worried! When I saw Yips on the roof I had to douse the light and pull up the rope, so they wouldn’t trace it here.”

  “So that’s why I couldn’t find the rope,” said Glawen. “It probably worked out for the best.”

  “I was watching for you, but I didn’t see you,” Kirdy explained. “And I was sure that you’d find another way into the hotel.”

  “We’ll talk about it later; there’s no time now. where’s the rope?”

  “Here. I’ve made a bundle of it.”

  “Good. Go downstairs and sit with the Bold Lions. I’ll get rid of the cloak.”

  Kirby departed. Glawen tucked the bundle under his arm and followed. He crossed the lobby, went down to the dock. Standing in the shadows Glawen wedged a chunk of broken concrete into the bundle and tossed it into the harbor, where it sank immediately. He then returned to the terrace and rejoined the
Bold Lions, where Kirdy already sat.

  Five minutes passed. A pair of Oomps came into the lobby. They paused, looked all around, then came out on the terrace and approached the Bold Lions. One spoke in a soft voice: “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  “Good evening,” said Shugart. “I hope you are not bringing us news of another surcharge or service tax? I assure you that we’ve been milked quite dry.”

  “No doubt, no doubt. What have you been doing?”

  Shugart looked up in astonishment. “Observe these goblets, some empty, others full or half full of rum punch! I am no detective but I might well assume that the Bold Lions were carousing in typical style.”

  “What about Bold Lion tricks and pranks?”

  “My dear fellow, we have just engaged in tricks and pranks at Pussycat Palace, and, for the moment at least, have no more in mind.”

  “That is a clear statement. Who was your escort?”

  “A certain Fader.”

  “Good evening to you all.”

  The Oomps departed. Uther looked after them. “Now, what in thunder were they after, with their talk of pranks? Kiper, did you do something insane? Remember, this is Yipton, and Titus Pompo takes a dim view of mischief.”

  “Don’t blame me; I’ve done nothing!”

  The Bold Lions sat for another hour, then went up to their rooms. Almost immediately there was a great howl from Arles’ cubicle.

  The Bold Lions and other tourists looked out into the hall. Arles burst from his room, his heavy round face congested with rage.

  “They’ve stolen my cloak!”

  “Arles, control yourself’!” said Jardine. “Talk sensibly! Who has stolen your cloak?”

  “Thieves! The Yipton burglars! My best cloak: it’s gone!”

  “Are you sure? Did you look everywhere?”

  “Of course! Even under the bed! It’s gone!”

  “It’s a serious matter for sure,” said one of the tourists. “In the morning you must make a stern complaint. As for now, let us all go to sleep.”

  “In the morning it will be too late!” declared Arles in a passion.

  “It’s quite late right now,” said the tourist. “You can roar all night long and still not recover your cloak.”

  “Good advice,” said Shugart. “We’ll see to it in the morning.”

  Kirdy said: “It won’t do any good. The cloak is gone; why make a fuss?”

  “Sensible talk,” said the tourist. “Goodnight, all. I hope there will be no more hysterical outcries.”

  “It’s a skulking ding-dong outrage!” declared Arles through clenched teeth. “I’m almost afraid to undress for fear someone will take my pants and shoes.”

  Uther said shortly: “Sleep with your clothes on, then. As for me, I’m tired and I’m for bed.”

  “Lucky you!” sniffed Arles. “No one has stolen your cloak.”

  “I shall sleep all the sounder on that account. Goodnight.”

  Kirdy gave a few last words of advice: “Don’t let a simple stolen cloak spoil the excursion for you. Goodnight.”

  Arles retreated into his room, and the others, did likewise.

  In the morning Glawen told Kirdy: “The Faraz leaves two hours before noon. we should be aboard as soon as possible; once on the ship, they can’t touch us. And it would be best if the Bold Lions departed all at the same time.”

  “Good idea,” said Kirdy. “I’ll pass the word.”

  Kirdy made the rounds of his fellows and found almost all of them disposed to depart Yipton. Only Kiper and Cloyd protested, but without vehemence, and in the end decided to go aboard the Faraz with the others

  The Bold Lions took their breakfast, settled their accounts at the hotel and descended to the dock.

  At the wicket stood four Oomps: stern muscular men with black lips and heads shaved bald. They seemed easy and casual, but Glawen saw that they carefully scanned each person as he or she paid the departure tax. Kirdy whispered to Glawen: “On the far left: he’s the one who saw me by the wall. They are looking for me; I know it.”

  “Ignore them. You did nothing they know about.”

  “So I hope.”

  Glawen paid the departure tax, passed through the wicket unchallenged and with a great surge of relief crossed the gangplank to the deck of the Faraz where the Oomps were not allowed to venture.

  As Kirdy started to pay his tax the Oomp to the left made a sign and the others stepped forward. “Your name, sir?”

  “I am Kirdy Wook. What of it?”

  “We must ask you to come with us.”

  “What for? I’m planning to take the ferry, and I don’t want to be delayed over some trifle.”

  “The matter may well be serious, sir. An offense has been committed and we must find out who is responsible.”

  Kirdy looked from one to the other. “This is a great mystery: certainly to me. What offense are you talking about?”

  “A certain Arles Clattuc has complained in regard to a stolen cloak. We have discovered in your room a wad of silver lace, which Arles Clattuc identifies as the cincture to the stolen cloak.

  Through careful inspection we have discovered black fibers which Arles Clattuc states to be identical to the fibers which made up the cloth of the cloak. Thus we must detain you until the circumstances are explained.”

  Glawen turned to Arles: “Tell them now, quickly, that you forgot, that you lost that cloak to Kirdy in a wager. Don’t let him be kept in detention!”

  Arles growled: “If he stole my best cloak and tore it to pieces, it serves him right!”

  Uther said: “It was a joke! We’ll straighten it out later! But for now, tell them it was a mistake!”

  “Are you all against me?” cried Arles. “So now I’m forced to be kind Arles, good magnanimous Arles, when it doesn’t suit me at all!”

  “He’s a Bold Lion! Does that mean nothing?”

  Grudgingly Arles called up to the Oomps: “I remember now; I gave that cloak to Kirdy. He did not steal it after all. I retract the charges.”

  “Very well, sir. If you’ll just step back through the wicket - totally free this time, sir; no taxes - we’ll go over to the office and formally rescind the complaint. Are you coming, sir?”

  Arles asked dubiously: “How long will it take?”

  “Not long, sir, if all goes well.”

  “Why can’t you just take my word from here? That’s convenient.”

  “It’s not the way we do things, sir. You’ll have to come to the office.”

  Arles backed away toward the saloon. “I’m not going ashore. I told you that it was a mistake, and that’s enough!” He turned and went into the saloon.

  The Oomps turned back to Kirdy. “If you’ll be good enough come along, sir, there are still certain points we want to clear up.

  Kirdy looked longingly across to the Faraz, then, with an Oomp at each elbow, he walked away with shoulders sagging.

  * * *

  Chapter V

  * * *

  Chapter V, Part 1

  Glawen ran up to the bridge of the Faraz and made radio contact with Bureau B at Araminta Station. “Glawen Clattuc here. Put me through to the Supervisor, on urgent business.”

  A few seconds later a rasping voice sounded through the mesh: “Bodwyn Wook here.”

  Glawen spoke with care; almost certainly the call was being monitored. “There is a ridiculous situation in progress here, and it might even become serious. Kirdy has been taken into custody. The Oomps claim that he stole Arles’ cloak.”

  “That doesn’t sound too important. What actually happened?”

  “It’s possible that one of the Bold Lions played a trick on Arles, and that Kirdy was blamed. I can’t understand the motives of the Yips - unless they believe Kirdy to be guilty of some graver offense. Naturally, he is no more guilty than I am, and the situation is an outrage.”

  “Indeed, indeed!” said Bodwyn Wook in his reediest voice. “I’ll get in touch with Titus Pompo at once. Keep handy t
o this connection, in case I want to get back to you.”

  “What of the ferry?”

  “It must leave on schedule; no help for it, since passengers have connections to make. I’ll straighten things out with Titus Pompo.”

  Half an hour later, with no further word from Bodwyn Wook, the ferry departed Yipton.

  Arriving at Araminta Station late in the afternoon, Glawen went directly to Bureau B and was sent into the Supervisor’s office.

  Bodwyn Wook pointed to a chair. Glawen looked hopefully toward Bodwyn Wook. “Have you had news of Kirdy?”

  “No. I can’t get through to Titus Pompo. No one else will talk. What happened out there?”

  Glawen reported the circumstances as succinctly as possible.

  Bodwyn Wook heard of the flyer with little surprise. “I expected something of the sort. Could you determine the type?”

  “It seemed to be a Pegasus Model D, like our own, with a few modifications.”

  Bodwyn Wook grunted. “It seemed like our own because it was our own, built with stolen parts. Go on.”

  “That’s when my knee went through the mat. I managed to get back into the hotel, by a different route; apparently Yips had appeared on the roof and Kirdy had pulled up the rope.”

  “An anxious moment or two, eh?”

  “Yes. But I had some luck and managed to slip back into the hotel. I went up to the room. Kirdy had already made a packet of the rope. I took it down and threw it into the harbor, and it seemed as if we had come through in good shape, although Arles put up a great howl over his stolen cloak.

  “In the morning the Bold Lions discovered that they’d had enough of Yipton, and were ready to go home. Kirdy and I were also willing to leave. But when we went down to the ferry, four Oomps were waiting. I went past with the others, but they stopped Kirdy at the gangplank and took him away.”

  Bodwyn Wook leaned forward in perplexity. “Why Kirdy? How were they able to center in upon him?”

  Glawen scowled, then, in a carefully emotionless voice, said: “Kirdy sent me off to Pussycat Palace so that he could reconnoiter. I did not want to go, but he insisted. When I got back -”