by Jack Vance
“Wullin, naturally, as you well know.”
“No one higher up the ladder?”
“I wouldn’t dare call them at that time of night.”
“Wullin might, and Wullin will tell me before he dies.”
“Why bother to ask him? Everyone is in it together.”
“In a week they will all be gone. You are the first, if it is any consolation to you.” Plock fired his gun four times and four corpses lay in the road.
Plock went into the general store and summoned the white-faced Keelums. “I assume that you have a power wagon of sorts?”
“Yes, sir, that I do, and quite a good vehicle, which we use to bring in stuffs from Fexelburg.”
“Here is ten sols. Bring out your power wagon, load these four dead hulks aboard, take them out on the steppe and drop them off where they will give no offense. As you see, we are IPCC officers, and this is your command: say nothing of this matter to anyone.”
“No, sir! Not a word to anyone!”
“Then be quick, before the whole village is up and about.”
Plock returned to the road. Glawen, sorting through the weapons taken from the Fexelburg police, selected a small handgun for his own use, which he tucked into the pocket of his jacket.
“Our business here is done,” said Plock. “Are you of a mind now to visit Pogan’s Point?”
“I am ready,” said Glawen.
“The police flyer will be useful,” said Plock. He spoke to the two full agents. “Kylte, Narduke: the two of you follow us in the extra flyer to Pogan’s Point.”
* * *
Chapter VIII, Part 6
Zonk’s Star, rising in the east, brought the pallid light of morning to Lutwiler Country. The two flyers slid across the steppe, following the road which Glawen had traveled by bus the night before.
Glawen sat relaxed and half asleep, until he was aroused by Plock: “Pogan’s Point ahead.”
Glawen sat up straight and tried to become alert. Ahead the black crag of Pogan’s Point reared high into the air. Glawen pointed. “Look! Halfway up you can see windows glittering in the sunlight! That’s the seminary.”
The flyers circled the crag and landed in the central square of the village. The occupants alighted and wasting no time, started up the zigzag road which led to the seminary. Only Maase, youngest of the recruits, was left to guard the flyers and maintain contact with the office at Fexelburg.
Back, forth, back, forth, trudged the six men and finally arrived at the front of the seminary. Plock rapped at the door with the door-knocker: once, twice, a third time, eliciting no response. He tried the door, but found it locked. At last the door moved slowly ajar, with a dour creaking of the hinges. Mutis peered through the opening. He looked around the group, giving Glawen no sign of recognition. He growled: “What do you want with us? This is the Monomantic Seminary; we know nothing of Zab Zonk or his treasure. Be off with you!”
Plock pushed the door back against Mutis’ outraged protest. “What are you doing?” cried Mutis. “Stand back, or it will be the worse for you!”
The IPCC agents entered the vestibule. “Bring the Ordene Zaa here in double-quick time!”
“Who shall I say is calling?” demanded Mutis sullenly.
Glawen laughed. “Come, Mutis! You know very well who is calling and why. This is an IPCC squad, and you are in deep trouble.”
Mutis departed and presently returned with Zaa. She halted in the entrance to the stone passage and surveyed the group. Today she wore the garments in which Glawen had seen her first. She took note of his presence and stared at him a full three seconds.
Glawen said: “If you recall, I warned that you could not molest an IPCC officer and escape without punishment. The time has come and you will see that I am right.”
Zaa spoke sharply to Plock “What is your business here? State it quickly, then leave!”
“Glawen has hinted of our business,” said Plock. “We are in no hurry, since we intend to do a thorough job.”
“What are you talking about? Do you realize that this is the Monomantic seminary?”
“You reassure me!” said Plock. “This is the correct address and we are not making a dreadful mistake. As of now, you and all other residents of the seminary are under arrest, for offenses committed against Captain Glawen Clattuc. You may instruct them to assemble outside.”
Zaa made no move to obey. She said stonily: “Your jurisdiction does not prevail. We are the law of Lutwiler Country. You must leave here or stand in defiance of the law.”
Plock lost patience. “Quickly now! If you do not obey at once my men will tie you securely and carry you outside.” Zaa shrugged and, turning her head, spoke to Mutis. “Call general assembly outside.” Zaa started to leave the room. Glawen asked: “Where are you going?”
“It is no concern of yours.”
“Answer the question, if you please,” said Plock.
“I have some private affairs to which I wish to attend.”
Plock spoke to one of his subordinates: “Go with her and make sure that she destroys no records.”
“I will wait,” said Zaa.
The Monomantics filed downstairs and out the door, to stand blinking in the morning Zonklight.
Plock asked Zaa : “Is this all?”
Zaa looked at Mutis: “Is everyone down?”
“Everyone.”
Plock spoke to the group. “Crimes have been committed on these premises. Their full description is not yet clear, but they are certainly serious. Each one of you shares the guilt. It is irrelevant that you took no active part in the crimes, or that it was none of your concern, or that you were preoccupied with your studies. All are accomplices, in greater or lesser degree, and all must pay the penalty.”
Glawen had been looking from face to face with growing perplexity. He said: “It seems to me that one person, at least, is not here. Where is Lilo?”
No one replied. Glawen addressed his question to Zaa directly: “Where is Lilo?”
Zaa showed a small cold smile. “She is not here.”
“I can see that. Where is she?”
“We do not discuss our internal arrangements with strangers.”
“I don’t want discussion: just an answer to my question. Where is Lilo?”
Zaa gave an indifferent shrug and looked off across the steppe.
Glawen turned to Mutis. “Where is Lilo?”
“I am not authorized to give out information.”
One of the Monomantics, a young man standing a little apart, turned sharply away, as if in disgust. Glawen asked him: “Tell me: where is Lilo?”
Zaa swung sharply about. “Danton, you will give no information.”
Danton replied in flat intonations: “With all respect, these are police officers of high rank. I must answer their questions.”
“Quite right,” said Glawen. “Answer my question, if you will.”
Danton darted a side glance toward Zaa, then spoke: “About midnight they noticed that you were gone. In our rooms we all heard the cries of rage, and wondered what had occurred.”
“This was about midnight, you say?”
“Something after midnight. I do not know the exact hour.”
Somewhat past midnight, sitting in the dark at Flicken, Glawen had felt his mind picked up and tumbled in a wash of rage and hatred: perhaps a telepathic projection from the seminary, though coincidence could not be ruled out, “Then what happened?”
Zaa spoke again: “Danton, you need say no more.”
Danton, however, spoke on in a dreary monotone. “There was a great uproar. Lilo was blamed. They chided her for bringing you extra sheets, and would not listen to her denials. Mutis and Funo put her in the owl’s cage. Last night the winds blew harsh and bitter. This morning she was dead. Mutis and Funo took the body around the hill to the garbage pit and threw it away.”
Glawen winced. He dared not look at Mutis lest the roil in his stomach cause an undignified reaction. When he felt that
he could control his voice, he swung about and spoke to Zaa: “Lilo had nothing to do with the sheets. I took them two months ago, the first time I occupied the room. I would have been gone at that time if you had not put me into the tomb. Lilo knew nothing of my plans.”
Zaa made no comment.
Glawen spoke on. “You murdered the girl for no reason whatever.”
Zaa was unmoved. “Mistakes are made everywhere. Each instant, across the Gaean Reach, a thousand such events are taking place. They are implicit to the conduct of coherent civilization.”
“So it may be,” said Plock. “This is the function of the IPCC: to minimize these so-called mistakes. In the present case, judgment is clear and simple, despite the complexity of your motives. You imprisoned Glawen Clattuc; when he escaped, you murdered an innocent girl. If rumor can be believed, as often it can, you have murdered an unknown number of tourists. Am I correct in this assumption?”
“I have nothing to say. Your opinions are fixed.”
“It is true,” said Plock. “I have formed my judgment.” He addressed the entire group. “This place is a pest house, and must be vacated now. Gather your personal belongings and return here at once. You will be taken to Fexelburg and a disposition made of your individual cases. These instructions, incidentally, do not apply to Funo, Mutis, nor the Ordene Zaa. You three may now come with me around the road to the garbage pit. You will need no personal belongings.”
Mutis looked uncertainly toward Zaa, his face sagging. Funo stood stolidly, thinking her private thoughts. Zaa said sharply: “That is absolutely absurd. I have never heard such nonsense!”
“Lilo perhaps thought the same, when you ordered her to her death,” said Plock. “These ideas always seem implausible when they apply to yourself. But it makes no great difference.”
“I wish to make a telephone call.”
“To the Fexelburg police? You may not do so. I prefer to take them by surprise.”
“Then I must write some letters.”
“To whom?”
“To the Ordene Klea at Strock and other Ordenes.”
Glawen kept his voice casual. “Such as who?”
Zaa said curtly: “I will not write, after all.”
“Would one of your Ordenes be Madame Zigonie, who lives at a country place on the world Rosalia?”
“We are wandering far afield. I will tell you no more. Do your filthy work and be done with it.”
Plock said: “That is a practical suggestion, and we shall not wait upon ceremony.” He fired his gun three times, with precision.
“The work is done,” said Plock, for a moment looking down at the three bodies.
How quick it went! thought Glawen. Funo no longer thought private thoughts; Mutis felt no more indecision and Zaa’s knowledge was irretrievably gone.
Plock turned to the awed Danton: “Take these bodies to the garbage pit. Use a barrow or a cart, or make up a trestle: as you choose. Pick out two or three sturdy fellows to help you. When you are finished, join the others down the hill.”
Danton started to obey Plock’s order, but Glawen halted him. “The stairs between the second and third floors: why are they dangerous?”
Danton glanced toward the corpses, as if to assure himself that none could hear him. “When a stranger was brought to the third floor, and held against his will - which happened more often than you might think - Mutis strung a trip wire across the steps near the top of the flight, and this wire was charged with electricity. If someone tried to use the steps, he would end up in a huddle of broken bones at the bottom. Mutis and Funo would then carry him, alive or dead, to the garbage pit and throw him away.”
“And no one protested?”
Danton smiled. “When one studies the Syntoraxis with great concentration, he seldom notices anything.”
Glawen turned away.
Plock said to Danton: “You may now dispose of the corpses.”
* * *
Chapter VIII, Part 7
The vacant seminary seemed to echo with a thousand whispers just below the threshold of perception. Glawen and Plock, with Kylte and Narduke, stood in the first-floor conference room. Plock spoke in an unwontedly thoughtful voice: “Since I am not a superstitious man, the twittering of so many ghosts disturbs me.”
“Neither Zab Zonk nor his ghost troubled me,” said Glawen. “For a fact, I might have welcomed the company.”
“In any case, we must risk the upper floors. There might be some Monomantics so engrossed in their studies that they failed to hear the commands.”
“You three go. I want no more of the upper floors. When you look into the kitchen, turn off the fires, otherwise the soup will burn even worse than usual.”
Plock and his two associates climbed the stairs. Glawen meanwhile explored the first floor. He found Zaa’s private apartments and her office: a large room with plastered bone-white walls, furnished with lamps of a peculiar contorted design, a heavy black and green rug and furniture upholstered in dark red plush. A peculiar room, thought Glawen, reflecting the tensions which obviously had pulled Zaa in a dozen different directions. Shelves held a variety of books, all of a secular nature. Glawen searched the desk but found no records, addresses, files of correspondence or any other material of interest to him. Yet it seemed that Zaa had been anxious to destroy certain items of information. What and where? Or had they misjudged her intentions? In a drawer of the desk Glawen found a strongbox, unlocked, containing a large sum of money. He took the box from the drawer and below found a photograph of a dozen women, standing in what appeared to be a garden. The environment would seem to be not that of Tassadero. One of the women was Zaa of ten or even fifteen years ago. Another of the group was Sibil. The others were not known to Glawen. They must include Klea, now at Strock, and possibly Madame Zigonie of Rosalia. The individuals were not identified either by code or legend or handwritten designation. Glawen tucked the photograph into his inner pocket; it was not information which would interest the IPCC to any large extent.
Glawen turned his attention to Zaa’s private apartments and, holding his revulsion under tight rein, he continued his search for documents: letters, address books, journals, photographs. As before, he found nothing of consequence: no reference to Madame Zigonie of the world Rosalia, nor any other name he recognized.
Plock and the others came down from the upper floors. Glawen took them to Zonk’s Tomb, where the lamp still cast a yellow glow around the chamber.
Glawen opened the door but could not bring himself to enter the chamber more than a step or two. “There it is,” he said. “Just as I left it platform, stream, tunnel and all.”
Plock surveyed the extent of the tomb. “I see no treasure.”
“I found none, and with nothing better to do I looked quite carefully. I found no trapdoors, no loose stones, no sliding panels and no treasure.”
“It’s none of our affair, in any case,” said Plock. “I have now seen Zonk’s Tomb and I am ready to leave, at any time.”
“I’ve seen all I care to see,” said Narduke.
“I have lost nothing here,” said Kylte.
“I also have seen enough,” said Glawen. “I am willing to leave.”
Glawen took the group to Zaa’s office and poured the contents of the strongbox out on the desk. Plock counted the money. “I make it roughly nine thousand sols, give or take a dinket or two.”
He reflected a moment. “In my opinion,” he told Glawen, “the Monomantics owe you a large debt of damages, which is hard to evaluate. Let us place an arbitrary value of a thousand sols a month on your time, with another thousand sols for mental anguish. In one minute we arrive at a disposition which could require months of the court’s time, and who knows what might happen to these funds in the interim? It is better to collect now when the money is at hand. Here is the award: punitive damages in the amount of three thousand sols against the Monomantic seminary.”
Glawen tucked the money into his pocket. “It is a better end to the aff
air than I expected. I can put the money to good use.”
The four men left the seminary and descended the hill to the village.
* * *
Chapter IX
* * *
Chapter IX, Part 1
Toward the middle of a gloomy winter afternoon, the spaceship Solares Oro broke through the overcast above Araminta Station and settled to a landing close beside the space terminal.
Among the debarking passengers was Glawen Clattuc. Immediately after passing through the formalities of entry, he found a telephone and called Clattuc House. Today was that day of the week known as Smollen; the Clattucs would be preparing to assemble for the weekly House Supper. However, instead of his father, the synthetic voice of the Clattuc switchboard responded to Glawen. “Sir, to whom do you wish to speak?”
Odd, thought Glawen; he had directed the call to the chambers shared by himself and his father. “To Scharde Clattuc.”
“He is not now on the premises. Will there be a message?”
“No message.”
Glawen called Wook House. He was told by the majordomo that Bodwyn Wook had descended to the House Supper, and could be disturbed only in the event of the most urgent emergency.
“Please give him this message immediately. Tell him that Glawen Clattuc will come to Wook House very shortly, in fact as soon as I stop by Clattuc House and have a few words with my father.”
“I will give him your message, sir.”
Glawen went out to the cab rank in front of the terminal and approached the first in the line of waiting taxis. The driver showed no interest in his luggage, but watched with benign approval as Glawen loaded it into the bin at the back of the taxi. He was of a sort unfamiliar to Glawen: a swarthy young man with pretensions to fashion, sharp-featured, with clever eyes and an unruly bush of dark hair - evidently part of the new labor force which had been imported to replace the Yips.
