by Jack Vance
“Indeed.”
“Absolutely. How do we arrive at the Rolinda? Must we walk through the heat?”
“Of course not. The hotel will place a luxury vehicle, with a cooled interior and a selection of ales and beers, at your service.”
“As a compliment to their guests?”
The adviser raised his eyebrows. “My dear sir!”
“There is a charge, then.”
“A substantial charge, I assure you. There is an omnibus. It is used by the overly thrifty, the penurious, Sanart Scientists and vagrants. It is fast, convenient and cheap, but has no other advantages. If, like myself, you are cursed with a streak of wayward insouciance, you might try the omnibus, just for a lark. It may be boarded directly in front of the terminal.”
“It will serve us well enough. One more question: which are the principal tourist agencies?”
“I would unhesitatingly suggest, as the most prestigious, the Phlodoric Agency and Bucyrus Tours. You will find both offices along the Parade at the Hotel Rolinda, for your easy convenience.”
“And persons traveling off-world would normally use these agencies?”
“That is correct, sir.”
Glawen and Kirdy boarded the omnibus and were conveyed to the Hotel Rolinda: a complex intermesh of four low near-flat domes arranged to leave a space eighty yards in diameter at the center. In this space grew a garden which was shaded from the most ardent Blaiselight by a high shell of gray glass. To right and left rose a pair of slender gray glass towers, housing accommodations for the guests.
The omnibus approached the hotel, halted under a gray-glass portiere; Glawen and Kirdy alighted into cool wafts of chilled air. They passed through a curtain of scented mist into a dim space of such large dimension that it could not immediately be apprehended. A white ceiling, low at the side walls, curved gently to a height of thirty feet at the center. The business desk ranged along the wall to one side; to the other a dining area flanked the jungle garden.
Glawen and Kirdy crossed to the desk, where they were assigned rooms on the nineteenth level of the north tower. The rooms, so they discovered, were furnished comfortably in a style which was bland and neutral but in any case rendered unnoticeable by the view through the gray-glass walls.
Glawen stood looking out across the landscape, so different from any he had known before. Hundreds of low white domes were strewn irregularly and seemingly at random over the ground out to the edge of his vision, each surrounded by masses of dark foliage. To the south, then away to right and left, spread the placid Mirling, showing a silken blue surface to the Blaiselight. An intriguing and unusual panorama, thought Glawen, if perhaps somewhat overstark, overbright and too insistently blue and white.
Glawen turned away from the view. In a bathroom of monolithic gray-blue glass, illuminated by some mysterious means from within its own substance, Glawen bathed: first in a gush of scented foam, then a rinse of scented water. Returning to the bedroom he discovered that loose white garments in the mode of Poinciana had been laid out for his use. He dressed, then went out into the hall and knocked on Kirdy’s door.
There was no immediate response. Glawen was on the point of turning away when the door swung open. Kirdy looked out, sandy hair tousled, his large ruddy face set in surly lines. “Why all the disturbance?” He took note of Glawen’s garments and stared in suspicion. “Where are you going?”
“Down to the lobby. I want to ask some questions. Join me when you are ready, and we’ll have lunch.”
Kirdy made a peevish face. “You should have warned me that you were going out. I planned to eat in my room.”
“Eat wherever you like. Come down when you’re ready. If you don’t see me, sit down and wait; I won’t be leaving the hotel. I don’t think.”
“Oh, devil take all! Wait for me, then. I’ll be fifteen minutes or so. Where did you find the clothes?”
“They were laid out while I was bathing. But I’m not waiting. I have work to do. If you don’t see me, sit down and watch the ladies walk back and forth.”
Kirdy growled: “Always you make things difficult! Why can’t you be sensible for a change? You must learn to take me and my opinions into account.”
“That is absurd,” said Glawen. “It’s you who must be sensible. We’re here on serious business!”
Kirdy’s throat suddenly pulsed and seemed to swell. He spoke in a voice rumbling with the sound of doom. “I feel an absence of respect. You have no care for my feelings. Your eyes fleer half closed in scorn. You ignore my words as if I had not spoken, and give glib evasions. You make flippancies of me and my great studies. I am not a person to be taken lightly, as I have demonstrated on several occasions. You may learn as much in your turn.”
Glawen stared blankly, at a loss for words. He became angry. Crazy or not, Kirdy must be brought up short. An instant later he reconsidered. Anger would only amuse and reinforce Kirdy in his present phase. Glawen spoke coldly. “Your manner is unacceptable. It is clear that we cannot work together. Both of us will take pleasure in your return to Cadwal. I will continue the investigation alone.”
Kirdy’s mouth twisted into a crooked smile. “Aha, Captain Clattuc! That’s what you wanted from the start!”
“Think whatever you like. Bodwyn Wook asked me to bring you along; that is why you are here, in the hope of straightening you out.”
“And you blame me for my difficulties? That is generous of you.”
“Wrong. I am committed to Bodwyn Wook, and I will continue to put up with you, but only if here and now you decide to straighten out. That means you must act like a normal person. I refuse to cope with your surly fits any longer.”
Kirdy glared, opening and closing his hands. Glawen watched him closely, prepared for anything. “Make up your mind,” said Glawen.
Kirdy temporized. He spoke in grumbling tones: “What you ask is easier said than done.”
“I suspect it’s not so hard as you make out. Proper behavior should be second nature to a Wook. You know how to act; why don’t you simply do so?”
“As I told you, it’s easier said than done.”
“Hard or easy, I don’t care. Do it or go home.”
“I can do only the best I can.”
“That means you’ll do only as well as you want to, which isn’t good enough. Make up your mind. Sane behavior, or the first ship home.”
Kirdy shut the door with a thud. Glawen turned away and went down to the lobby. At the moment Kirdy was furious, but - so Glawen believed - in a sane and normal fashion. In a few minutes he would cool off and take stock of the situation. Glawen imagined him standing by the gray-glass wall, big face creased in thought. Perhaps the fragments of his old conscious mind might come together, taking strength from necessity, and renew a normal dominance over the subconscious mind. Perhaps the crafty subconscious would feign normalcy and try to deceive Glawen. Too bad, thought Glawen, that Bodwyn Wook himself wasn’t on hand to deal with the problem.
At the front desk Glawen inquired the whereabouts of the Phlodoric Agency and Bucyrus Tours. The clerk indicated a broad passage leading off around the central garden, with shops to the side. “You will find these places along the Parade. Both are of good repute and deal often with folk of the highest connection, including, needless to say, Patrunes. Sirrah Kyrbs manages the Phlodoric Agency; Sirrah Fedor is equally efficient at Bucyrus Tours.”
Glawen visited first the Phlodoric Agency. He identified himself to Sirrah Kyrbs, and was taken hurriedly into a back office lest some highly connected patron notice his presence.
Sirrah Kyrbs, a portly gentleman of early middle age, carefully attired, groomed, perfumed, shorn and shod, accorded Glawen a formal if somewhat stiff courtesy. “Sir, I am naturally curious as to the reason for your visit.”
“I will explain presently, but first let me ask you this: have you had dealings with Ogmo Enterprises?”
“Ogmo Enterprises? I think not. But let me consult my files.”
Sirrah
Kyrbs touched buttons on his office computer, discovering no pertinent information. “Sorry. I can’t help you there.”
“What of the Perfection of Joy excursion to Cadwal?”
Sirrah Kyrbs shook his head in bemusement. “The same applies.”
“Thank you, sir.” Glawen took his leave.
At Bucyrus Tours Sirrah Fedor provided no more information than had Sirrah Kyrbs. Glawen returned to the lobby, where he found Kirdy, neatly dressed and apparently in full command of his faculties, sitting quietly to the side of the room.
Glawen went to join him. Kirdy jumped to his feet. “Where have you been?” His voice, thought Glawen, was emotionally neutral, if a trifle tense. The question? It might be considered either fretful complaint or reasonable curiosity. Glawen decided to give Kirdy the benefit of the doubt.
“I looked into the two travel agencies. Neither admits dealings with Ogmo Enterprises, nor yet has booked any Perfection of Joy excursions. Both managers would seem to be honest.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Let’s have our lunch and we’ll talk things over.”
The restaurant bordered the jungle garden, which under the gray-glass dome, occupied an area well over two hundred feet in diameter. Vegetation of a thousand sorts grew high and low, displaying leaves of every quality. At the center a crag of rough black basalt reared fifty feet above the jungle floor. A stream of water gushed from a spring near the pinnacle and descended, leaping and bounding and creating a pleasant sound. Paths from the restaurant penetrated the edges of the jungle garden, leading to tables hidden in the foliage.
Glawen and Kirdy sat on the edge of the garden and were served a lunch of high quality. Kirdy, considering the prices, shook his head in melancholy recollection. “Floreste would feed the Mummers a week on what our lunch will cost us. In those days, we didn’t know the difference - or perhaps did not care. We were truly a harum-scarum group; there was always some kind of high jinks afoot. I don’t know if I could go back to that sort of life. It has its attractions, of course. The girls were all so pretty, and so close at hand, and yet so unavailable - Floreste saw to that. He was not at all permissive; if you loved, you loved in vain - at least until the end of the tour. Then, of course, you could do what you wanted if it wasn’t already too late. All in all, they were good days.”
“They are days long past,” said Glawen. “Let us discuss our situation. It is clear that –”
Kirdy interrupted. “I’ve given the matter careful thought. I understand your point of view. For the investigation to proceed, obviously we must work in harmony. It is not necessary that I like you or that you like me. But we must agree on a system which allows us to work together.”
“Quite so,” said Glawen. “We shall use the ordinary and traditional system. I am the person in charge; you are the assistant. There is no scope for fits of temperament. I don’t want any more emotional spasms or threats; they distract me from my work. So - there you have it. The old-fashioned system, or none at all, which means that I go my way and you go back to Cadwal.”
“I understand and agree.”
Glawen remembered his fears of the crafty subconscious and feigned normalcy. As if from casual curiosity he asked: “At this moment you seem quite the old Kirdy. Have you assembled the pieces of your old mind, so to speak? Or has your second mind adapted to real conditions?”
Kirdy showed a small tight smile. “Real conditions? That is an ambiguous term, which amuses at least one of my minds. In all candor, I have had what amounts to an enlightenment. All this time I have theorized that my conduct prior to the Yipton affair was governed by what I shall call Mind A and after Yipton by Mind B. I have just now learned that this was not quite correct. In truth, Mind B has been dominant for many years, with Mind A the intercessor in charge of what you just now called ‘real conditions.’ I think this is the general rule with everyone: you, me, Bodwyn Wook, Arles, Namour: everyone. Mind B is the citadel; Mind A is the herald that runs out the gate to deliver messages here and there, and occasionally brings back news of the outside world.”
“I know nothing of the subject,” said Glawen. “You may well be right. At the moment I want your full cooperation: no threats, no sulks, no peevish complaints. Are you able to control yourself to this extent?”
“Naturally,” said Kirdy coldly. “I can do anything I see fit to do.”
“And you will do it?”
Kirdy’s face tightened: a signal which Glawen found disturbing. “I’ll do my best,” said Kirdy shortly.
“Sorry,” said Glawen. “As I have mentioned before, that’s not good enough. I want ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ once and for all, without reservations or escape routes.”
“In that case, yes.” Kirdy’s voice again was dead and mechanical. Glawen heaved a deep sigh. He could do no more, except hope to finish the investigation at speed and as speedily return to Araminta Station.
The two finished their lunch in silence. Glawen rose from the table. “I must ask a few more questions at the travel agencies. You can come with me or wait in the lobby, as you like.”
“I’ll come with you.”
The two walked down the Parade to the Phlodoric Agency. Sirrah Kyrbs, sitting at his desk, looked up with a slack face. He rose and greeted them with a stiff bow. “May I be of service?”
“I hope so, sir. This is my colleague, Sergeant Kirdy Wook. I have a few more questions, if I may again impose upon your patience.”
“I will surely respond as the law directs, within such limits as may be dictated by discretion.”
“You need have no fears. Your information will be kept in strict confidence.”
“Ask on.”
“Is the name ‘Sir Mathor Borph’ known to you?”
“Naturally. Sir Mathor is one of our valued patrons.”
“What of Sir Lonas Medlyn?”
“I know the name. His family is perhaps less estimable than that of Sir Mathor.”
“I understand that both Sir Mathor and Sir Lonas recently traveled off-world. No doubt you made the necessary arrangements?”
“Sir, I may not, in all responsibility, discuss the affairs of other clients.”
“I fear that to some extent you must put aside your scruples,” said Glawen. “This is an official police inquiry. It is your duty, and it also serves the best interests of your firm, to assist us. Additionally, your remarks will be regarded as confidential.”
“Hm. How do I advance the interests of my firm by engaging in unwise volubility?”
“I need not describe the coercive powers of the IPCC. But, obviously, Phlodorus could not survive if transport companies refused to honor tickets issued by the agency.”
“Hm. Allow me to see your credentials.”
“Certainly.” Glawen produced his documents, and Kirdy did likewise. “You will notice that we are full IPCC affiliates.”
Sirrah Kyrbs shrugged and returned the documents. “The IPCC is not held in high esteem on Natrice: no doubt a survival from the attitudes of the first settlers. Indeed, we lack a permanent IPCC office here on Natrice. Well, no matter. It is neither here nor there. I will try to answer any reasonable question.”
“Thank you. I take it you did sell tickets to Sir Mathor and Sir Lonas?”
“It is hardly a secret. Several months ago Sir Mathor and Sir Lonas took passage for Cadwal, aboard the Perseian Lines’ Alphecca Sword-Stone.”
Glawen nodded. “So far, so good. Now, what of six Sanart Scientists? Their names would be -”
Sirrah Kyrbs made a small gesture. “I know the group, and I am surprised that they chose to travel on what would seem a frivolous occasion. These persons, as you may know, often adhere to fixed opinions.”
“And they also purchased their tickets through you?”
“Not in person. I sold a block of six tickets, in their names, to a young lady who described herself as their representative.”
“This young lady: how did she identify herself?”
“Was she a guest here at the hotel?”
“I think not. She wanted the tickets at once, so that she need not make another trip to pick them up.”
“You have no clue, then, as to her identity?”
“None. She paid the account in cash and I dismissed the matter from my mind, except for a moment of amusement when I thought of the Scientists and the Patrunes traveling together to the same destination, and I wondered if they would speak.”
“A curious situation,” said Glawen.
“We see many such in our business, and it is not our place to speculate upon who goes where with whom, if you catch my meaning.”
“Oh, definitely.”
“I can tell you no more. If you require further information, I suggest that you consult the principles.”
“That is an excellent idea,” said Glawen. “I should have thought of it myself. Where will I find Sir Mathor and Sir Lonas?”
Sirrah Kyrbs gave a small grimace. “I had the Scientists in mind. The Patrunes can vouchsafe no information whatever; they bought only their own tickets.”
“All is grist for the mill,” said Glawen. “We will put a few casual questions to Sir Mathor, and perhaps he will be able to clear up the entire affair.”
Sirrah Kyrbs cleared his throat, looked all around the room, clasped his hands behind his back and leaned toward Glawen. “I confess to curiosity. What is the nature of this so-called affair?”
“It is, in essence, a complicated blackmailing scheme. The Patrunes might have been victimized had we not taken decisive steps.”
“I see. Although the Patrunes, of all folk, would be difficult to blackmail. They are a law to themselves - which is one reason the IPCC is not represented on Natrice. The Patrunes mete out their own justice, regardless of all else. Since the Sanart Scientists do the same, you can understand that friction and hostility often occur.”
“Where would we find Sir Mathor and Sir Lonas?”
