by Jack Vance
Glawen said: “I hope that we have broken none of your laws? We were absolutely assured that our garments were proper for lunching at the Lambervoilles.”
“Sufficiently so,” said Barch. “In actuality, we are approaching you from motives of sheer curiosity. What might the police of Cadwal want on Tassadero? We can find no easy explanation; perhaps you will take us into your confidence.”
“That has been our intention,” said Glawen. “But, as you must know, we have only just arrived, and there seemed no need for haste.”
“Of course not,” said Barch. “Tanaquil and I simply happened to be at loose ends and thought to take advantage of the occasion. I take it you are here on official business?”
Glawen nodded. “It might be simple, or it might be difficult, depending upon circumstances. I hope that we can in count upon your cooperation, if necessary?”
“I would certainly expect so, to whatever degree we find possible. What, precisely, is the nature of your business?”
“We are investigating a series of criminal entertainments which were offered to off-world groups on one of our ocean islands.
These groups were recruited at various worlds along the Wisp, including Tassadero, which is why we are here.”
“Most unusual! Tanaquil, will you ever cease to be amazed by the weird convolutions of criminal behaviors?”
“Never, and I assure you of this!”
Barch turned back to Glawen. “And who were the participants in this ugly business from Tassadero?”
“This is where I must ask your special discretion. Our main purpose is to identify the organizer of the scheme, and so we must deal carefully with the participants, at least until we find out what they know.”
“So much is clear. I think that we can guarantee full and total discretion. What do you say, Tanaquil?”
“I am of the same opinion.”
“In that case I will speak freely,” said Glawen. “We learned that six Zubenites from Lutwiler country went to Thurben Island and there were involved in absolutely remarkable activities.”
Barch gave an incredulous laugh. “Zubenites? That is astonishing indeed! Are you sure of your facts?”
“Quite sure.”
“Extraordinary! Zubenites are not prone to erotic excess, and that is an understatement! Tanaquil, have you ever heard the like?”
“I am in a state of shock! What will they do next?”
Barch said by way of explanation: “We are fairly well acquainted with the Zubenites, who come in from Lutwiler Country to do their marketing. They are considered stolid folk, the next thing to torpid; hence our perplexity.”
“Nevertheless, Zubenites were involved. They might have been subjected to a form of coercion, and for this reason, I hope that they will agree to tell us what we want to know.”
“Which is?”
“Who sold them the tickets? How were the tickets delivered? Who took their money? Some member or members of Ogmo Enterprises were Cadwal residents; who might these persons be? In short, we want to find out what went on.”
“It seems straightforward enough. Am I correct in this, Tanaquil?”
“I think so. Still: a cautionary point! I doubt if the Zubenites will choose to be informative, if for no other reason than sheer inertia.”
“That would be my own guess,” said Barch. “What, then, are your options? They are sadly limited. You cannot threaten criminal proceedings; no such law exists in Lutwiler Country.”
“What of your own authority? Here is where your cooperation might be indispensable.”
Barch and Tanaquil both laughed. “In Lutwiler Country? Or in Varmoose Country? In any of the Far Countries?” Barch jerked his thumb toward a nearby table. “See that old lady in the fancy green hat?”
“I see her very well.”
“She has exactly the same authority in Lutwiler Country as I. In short, none. We keep the peace in Fexel Country, but no farther; in the absence of both means and inclination, we refuse to spread ourselves thin.”
Tanaquil held up his finger. “We make one exception! Tourists base themselves at Fexelburg for their explorations and treasure-hunting; we regard them as our responsibility. If nomads molest a tourist caravan, we punish the nomads severely. But that is hardly police work, and it happens rarely nowadays.”
“Quite so,” said Barch. “The tourist trade is important to us, and the nomads ingest this knowledge with their mother’s milk.”
“What of the Zubenites? Surely they live by some sort of law.”
Barch smilingly shook his head. “They live in the shadow of Pogan’s Point, and the Monomantic seminary exerts all necessary authority. Away from Pogan’s Point and across the steppes the only justice is what happens when you get caught. Those are the rules of life on Tassadero.”
“In bad situations I suppose that the IPCC will impose order,” suggested Glawen. “After all, Gaean law operates everywhere, including Lutwiler country. We are IPCC affiliates ourselves, incidentally.”
Barch shrugged. “The IPCC at Fexelburg is unpredictable. Commander Plock is sometimes a bit hard to deal with. He is, let us say, set in his ways.”
Tanaquil spoke. “A certain person, whom I will not identify, has even used the word ‘arrogant’ in this connection.”
“I’m sorry to hear this,” said Glawen. “Since we are IPCC agents, we must pay the office a courtesy call, and we will certainly keep your remarks in mind.”
Barch said thoughtfully: “There is another matter, rather delicate, upon which I must take advice. Please excuse me a moment, while I telephone my superiors.”
Barch crossed the lobby to a telephone.
Kirdy asked Tanaquil: “What is suddenly so delicate?”
Tanaquil rubbed his chin. “The Zubenites can be surly when they are ruffled. The folk at the Monomantic seminary are downright strange. We take pains never to cause annoyance, since we don’t want them becoming obnoxious and taking revenge on the tourists.”
“How would they do that?” asked Glawen.
“There are ways: petty annoyances for the most part. For instance, dozens of tourist caravans search Lutwiler Country for Zonk’s Tomb, or pass through on the way to the Far Countries.
The Zubenites need only put a gate across the road and charge toll, or require that each tourist must climb up Pogan’s Point to the seminary to have entry documents signed, and return the next day for countersignature, at a fee of twenty sols. Or they might insist that the tourists learn Monomantic Syntoraxis, or any of a dozen other nuisances, and soon the tourist trade, at least through Pogan’s Point, would be a thing of the past.”
Inspector Barch returned. “My superiors agree that we should offer every assistance. They hope that you will keep us informed of your activities and also of your eventual findings. They advise that you use the utmost tact in your dealings with the Zubenites. The Monomantic seminary is the philosophic center of the Zubenites; you might say that it is the seat of government, such as it is. So far as we are concerned, we are out of the picture. We interfere with the Zubenites as little as possible, for very good reasons.”
“So, if they refuse to answer my questions, I cannot threaten them with reprisals from the Fexelburg police?”
“It would be foolish, inadvisable, useless and a waste of breath.”
“That seems definite enough.”
Barch and Tanaquil rose to their feet. Barch said: “It has been a pleasure talking with you. We wish you the best of luck in your inquiries.”
“Those are also my sentiments,” said Tanaquil.
The police inspectors departed. Glawen watched them cross the lobby. “They have made themselves clear,” he told Kirdy. “They really don’t want us meddling with the Zubenites, but they can’t stop us, so they’ll cooperate. That means they want to know what we are doing at all times.”
“I thought that they seemed decent enough,” said Kirdy.
“That is my impression too,” said Glawen. He rose to his feet.
Kirdy asked in sudden suspicion: “Where are you going?”
“Just over to the desk.”
“What for? Is something wrong? We’ve just arrived; are you complaining already?”
“I am not complaining. I want to locate the IPCC office.”
Kirdy groaned and uttered a vulgar oath, to which Glawen paid no heed. He went to the desk and a moment later returned. “It’s just five minutes’ walk around the plaza. I’m curious to look in on this ‘doctrinaire, arrogant’ group.”
“Can’t you ever relax?” demanded Kirdy. “Not even for an hour? It’s time for a proper nap; we’ve exerted ourselves enough for one day.”
“I’m not tired.”
Kirdy spoke with finality: “I must rest for a bit and I am going to my room.”
“Pleasant dreams,” said Glawen.
Kirdy stalked off across the lobby, but Glawen noticed that he went only a few steps, then flung himself angrily down into a chair.
When Glawen turned to leave, Kirdy jumped to his feet and followed. He caught up with Glawen just outside the main portal. “Aha!” said Glawen. “You weren’t able to sleep?”
“Something like that,” said Kirdy grimly.
The two walked around the plaza. Kirdy compared the area unfavorably with the central square at Soumjiana. “Look! Right and left, in all directions! You will find not a single sausage grill!”
“Sausages are not in style this season.”
“That must be the answer. Ugh! What a dreary place! I have never liked Tassadero. Zonk’s Star is a sorry excuse for a sun!” Kirdy squinted contemptuously up toward Zonk’s Star. “It is infested with mildew. Such light cannot be healthy.”
“It’s just light. Not much of it, of course.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. I have had it on good authority that Zonklight includes a peculiar vibration found nowhere else. It rots the teeth and does odd things to the fingernails.”
“Where did you hear this?”
“Floreste learned this and much more from a scientist who had studied the subject in depth.”
“I saw no such information in the tourist brochure. They said: ‘Zonk’s Star floats through the sky like an enormous pearl, shimmering and wavering through a hundred subtle colors. The distances of Tassadero are particularly charming’ or words to that effect.”
“That’s pure bosh! They are howling liars, these tourist blokes.”
Glawen had no comment to make. The two arrived at the IPCC offices. Upon entering they found themselves in a large room furnished with four desks and a line of heavy settees, durable if lacking in style. At the moment the room was empty of staff except for a young woman working at a desk. She was tall, slender, with short ash-blond hair, and a look of easy competence. She wore the regulation uniform which made no concessions to gender save in cut: dark blue blouse with red piping, dark blue breeches and black ankleboots. Two white stars at each shoulder indicated her rank. She measured Glawen and Kirdy with two swift glances and spoke in a crisp neutral voice: impersonal but far from unpleasant.
“Sirs? Do you have business with us?”
“Nothing urgent,” said Glawen. “I am Captain Clattuc and this is Sergeant Wook; we are affiliates from Araminta Station on Cadwal; we thought it proper to let you know that we were in the neighborhood.”
“A very good idea! I’ll turn you over to Commander Plock, who will want to meet you. Will you come this way? There is no great formality around here.”
She took the two to a side office and spoke through the doorway: “Off-world visitors, Commander: Captain Clattuc and Sergeant Wook, from Cadwal.”
Commander Plock jumped to his feet: a tall man, broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, with short thick black hair, glowing hazel eyes and features of jutting bone and corded cartilage. Odd! thought Glawen; Plock looked anything but a slave to regulation. Plock pointed to chairs. “Be seated, if you will. You are Captain Clattuc and this is Sergeant Wook, correct?”
“Correct, sir.”
“This is your first time on Tassadero?”
“For me it is,” said Glawen. “Kirdy has been here before, with Floreste’s Mummers.”
“And what are your impressions, so far?”
“Fexelburg is a lively place, certainly. The folk dress with great care and the car drivers are all dedicated musicians. The police would seem to be extremely alert. Even suspicious. Almost as soon as we arrived at the hotel, Inspectors Barch and Tanaquil were on hand to pay their respects.”
“Almost insulting,” said Plock. “On your next visit use more expressive titles: ‘Plenipotentiary High Exterminator Clattuc,’ ‘Supreme Warlord of the Araminta Armies Wook’: something of the sort. Then they will send a more dignified delegation out to learn your business - which I assume is of a professional nature?”
“I’ll be glad to explain, if you have the time.”
“If Barch and Tanaquil took the time, I guess I can do the same. Proceed.”
Glawen explained the circumstances which had brought Kirdy and himself to Tassadero. Like Barch and Tanaquil, Plock was puzzled. “Why the Zubenites? I’d expect such antics of the Fexels. Announce a fashionable, very expensive, new way to fornicate and they would fight to thrust their money at you.”
“This is more or less what I heard from Barch and Tanaquil. They were cordial enough and spoke of full cooperation; but I don’t think it means much. They want us to stay away from Lutwiler Country - that is the impression I get - Lutwiler Country is dangerous, so they say, without law of any kind.”
“Gaean law operates everywhere,” said Plock. “Barch and Tanaquil know this as well as I do.”
“I said something to this effect, but they paid no great attention.”
“For a fact there is no local law in Lutwiler Country. Justice lacks refinement, and operates at a basic level. In Lutwiler Country I use the title ‘executive adjudicant’ because I am forced to be policeman, judge, prosecutor, defender and public executioner all at once, without so much as changing hats.”
Kirdy asked: “What crimes take you out on the steppes?”
“Almost anything you can imagine. Every few years a nomad turns bandit and becomes rather nasty. He burns ranch houses, kills tourists, kicks dogs, throws babies into the purple ooze and generally makes a fuss. The IPCC is then called upon to abate the nuisance. That means lonesome days and bitter nights out on the steppe, looking for fire with my infrared sensor. When I find the bandit, I chat with him a few minutes, then I find him guilty and shoot him. That is the way things go in the Outer Countries, including Lutwiler.”
“Inspector Barch said the Fexelburg police will guard tourists, if necessary.”
“Just so. They wanted us to take on the job; we told them that if they fitted out caravans and sent tourists out into the Far Countries, then protection became their responsibility. If we had to deal with it, tourists would not be allowed out of Fexelburg unless they hired their own armed escort.”
“The IPCC is not popular with the Fexelburg police.”
Plock threw back his head and laughed. “We’ve had our difficulties. The upper echelons do well for themselves. A year or so back a certain Rees Angker formed a ‘citizens’ watch’ to look into police peculation. He disappeared one night and was never seen again. The citizens’ watch got the message and disbanded. We offered to investigate, but the Fexelburg police refused our help. When we persisted, they ordered us to close down our office, as it was not needed. We agreed and prepared to move out. There was an incidental technicality: our business, the protection of interstellar commerce, became impractical without a local IPCC presence. For this reason there would be no more ships arriving at Fexelburg spaceport and they might as well close it down, starting the day after our departure, and we were already packing to leave. Ah! What satisfying outcries! We were assured that it was all a mistake, that we were both needed and loved! They sold us this building at half its value where before we paid an exorbitant rent, and we were exemp
ted from all taxes. So it worked out well.”
“And that was the end to it?”
“Not quite. We demanded the resignation of the Chief High Commander of Police and the two High Commanders responsible for the disappearance of Rees Angker. Presto! It was done! They graciously renounced their titles, but operated as before. One day someone - don’t ask me his name - flew these three gentlemen out into Varmoose Country and put them down on Wasty Steppe, exactly halfway around the planet. Each was given a handkerchief, a small bottle of mouthwash and a change of underwear, and allowed to go his way. Doubtless they carved out interesting new careers for themselves. So then: are the Fexelburg police now foursquare and incorruptible? I think not. They still do as they like, but rather more discreetly, since they know that we are watching.”
“Well, it seems that we must take our chances with Lutwiler Country,” said Glawen. “What is the best way to go?”
“If you hire a car, the driver will scorch like a maniac and never stop playing tunes. The omnibus makes three trips a day in each direction. You can go out in the morning, make your inquiries - which I suspect will be futile - and return in the evening. The depot is just around the plaza, in front of the AD&A travel agency. It might be a good idea to get your tickets now, as the buses tend to fill up.”
Glawen and Kirdy rose to their feet. “One last word, and most important,” said Plock. “The IPCC, unlike the Fexelburg police, goes anywhere, especially to help one of its own. I advise you to work out a fail-safe system of some sort, where one of you is always within reach of a telephone. Then, if anything goes wrong, use this system to notify us, and we will do our best to put things right.”
“There are telephones in Lutwiler Country?”
“Hm,” said Plock. “Not many. At Flicken Junction, halfway along the route, and also at Pogan’s Point, but nothing in between.”
“We’ll work something out,” said Glawen. “Thank you for your advice.”
Glawen and Kirdy continued around the plaza searching in vain for the AD&A travel agency. Finally they put inquiries to a passerby, who gave them a quizzical look and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You’re standing directly in front of the place.”
