As the months and years passed, folk of the station became inured to his presence. Arles gradually regained something of his former standing, and in due course swaggered about affairs with near his old aplomb, although now his wit had a truculent overtone which seemed to imply: “So you take me for a deviate and a murderer? Very well, if that’s what you think, don’t be surprised by what you get, and be damned to all of you!”
With the coming of summer Arles went off-world with the Mummers, where he functioned as Floreste’s aide, and the atmosphere at Araminta Station seemed easier and lighter for his absence.
Glawen’s SI dramatically improved, by reason of a death and a retirement, which brought his number down to an encouraging 21, an almost sure guarantee of Agency status, and a great weight was lifted from his soul.
Another noteworthy event marked the end of summer: the return of Milo and Wayness Tamm from a long sojourn on Earth. They took up residence at Riverview House, and enrolled for the fall term at the lyceum.
Their presence gave rise to a flutter of discussion. According to the stereotypes of Araminta Station, Naturalists tended to be odd, crotchety and unconventional, with puritanical tendencies. Milo and Wayness, however, confounded the popular expectation. Both were conspicuously clean, intelligent and well-favored; both wore their simple Earth-style clothes with flair; both conducted themselves with a total lack of either self-consciousness or affectation: all of which aroused not a few pangs of envy and sniffs of deprecation among those who regarded themselves as the arbiters of taste.
Glawen found the two much as before. Milo, tall and austerely handsome, still seemed wry, clever and saturnine: an intellectual aristocrat. Despite his careful good manners, Milo made few friends. Uther Offaw, the most intelligent of the Bold Lions, discovered in Milo a kindred soul, but Uther Offaw himself was considered bizarre and rather untidy, if not actually unstable; why else would he remain among the vulgar Bold Lions?
Seixander Laverty, arbiter of another group known as the Intolerable Ineffables, felt Milo to be “an elitist: caustic and insufferably vain”: an opinion which Milo found gratifying. Ottillie Veder, of the Mystic Fragrances, wondered if Milo hoped “merely to show his face to bring girls cringing up to clasp his knees.”
Milo, in response to the report, said no, this was not what he hoped.
Another Fragrance, Quhannis Diffin, found Milo “- shall we say, a bit hoity-toity. Of course the same would apply to Wayness, though unquestionably she’s stunning to look at.”
In Glawen’s opinion, three years had worked few changes on Wayness. She had grown taller by an inch, but her figure remained as before: the next thing to boyish, and her glossy dark hair, dark luminous eyes and dark eyebrows still made a striking contrast with her beautiful pale olive skin. How, Glawen marveled, could he ever have thought her plain?
Wayness was discussed no less carefully than Milo. The statuesque Hillegance Wook, also a Mystic Fragrance, discerned in Wayness no figure whatever. “I’ve seen wet weasels with more shape,” said Hillegance. This opinion was definitely not endorsed by Seixander Laverty of the Ineffables (“She’s round where it counts, with nothing left over for slop and that’s how it should be”), nor by any of the Bold Lions, who studied her with fascinated interest. Wayness showed little tendency to flirt, which experts among the Bold Lions diagnosed as a case of sexual frigidity, but they could not agree as to the best method for curing the unfortunate girl of her affliction.
The term began. Milo and Wayness entered classes and adapted themselves to the new routines. Glawen undertook to be of assistance and explained the traditions and special customs of the school as best he could. Milo and Wayness accepted their generally cool reception by the other students with equanimity. Milo told Glawen: “You would find it even more difficult at Stroma, where the cliques are, in effect, little secret societies.”
“Still -”
Milo held up his hand. “Truly, it’s quite inconsequential. I definitely don’t care to join any groups, nor, I’m certain, does Wayness. Your concern is wasted.”
“Just as you say.”
Milo laughed and clapped Glawen about the shoulders. “Come, now, don’t be annoyed! I’m happy that you like me well enough to worry.”
Glawen managed a laugh of his own. “The situation would still annoy me, even if I didn’t like you.”
Toward Wayness Glawen felt something more complicated than simple liking, and he was not sure how to deal with the emotion. She entered his thoughts ever more regularly and almost against his will, since he wanted no more heartaches. It would be dreadful, he thought, to fall in love with Wayness and then discover that she reciprocated not at all. And then what would he do?
Wayness’ impersonal amiability gave no clue as to her feelings. Glawen even suspected sometimes that she went out of her way to avoid him, which caused him new pangs of doubt and puzzlement. In sheer frustration Glawen threw himself down in a chair, gazed out the window and tried to come to some sort of decision. If he attempted a closer relationship with the girl, and she politely but definitely discouraged him, as seemed probable, then he would be miserable. On the other hand, if he failed to make the effort and simply went brooding about his affairs, then he lost even more definitely by default and would also be miserable – in fact, more miserable than ever because now he would feel shame for his cowardice . . . Glawen took a deep breath. What was he, then? A Clattuc or a milksop? Girding himself with all his courage, Glawen called Wayness on the telephone: “It’s Glawen here.”
“Indeed! And to what do I owe this honor?”
“This is a personal call. I’d like to do something special with you tomorrow, but I have to ask you first.”
“It’s certainly polite of you to give me a choice, and I’m favorably impressed. In fact, I’m even a bit excited. What do you have in mind? I hope it’s something I like - although I’d probably agree anyway.”
“Tomorrow should be a fine day for sailing. I thought we could take the sloop down to Ocean Island for a picnic.”
“That sounds quite nice.”
“Then you’ll go?”
“Yes.”
Chapter III, Part 3
The day could not have been finer had Glawen made all the arrangements himself. Syrene shone bright in the blue morning sky; a cool breeze from the northeast left an invigorating tingle on the skin as it passed by, and also blew from exactly the right quarter.
Glawen and Wayness, arriving early at the Clattuc boathouse, boarded the sloop, hoisted sail and cast off lines. The boat drifted out upon the river, caught the breeze, danced and plunged, then swung about and moved downstream: across the lagoon, through the river mouth and out upon the ocean. Glawen set the wind vane to hold a course south by east; the sloop sailed away from the shore and into a region of endless slow swells of transparent blue water, just barely ruffled with cat’s-paws.
They made themselves comfortable on the cockpit cushions. “I like this kind of sailing,” said Wayness. “The world is serene, and it induces me to be serene. There is nothing to be heard but the soft sound of my voice. Guilt and remorse are wisps of the imagination. Responsibilities are of even less account. Schoolwork: less than bubbles in the wake!”
“If only it were so,” said Glawen. “I’m sorry you reminded me.”
“Reminded you of what? Surely it can’t be that bad!”
“You’re just lucky that you’re a girl and it can’t happen to you.”
“Glawen, please don’t be cryptic. I don’t like mysteries. What has disturbed you so? Is it me? Do I talk too much? I like it out here on the ocean!”
“I probably shouldn’t discuss the matter,” said Glawen. “But - why not? Last night Bodwyn Wook ordered me to do something awful.”
Wayness uttered a nervous laugh. “I hope it doesn’t have anything to do with me. Like marooning or throwing overboard.”
“Worse,” said Glawen gloomily.
“Worse? Is there anything worse?”
“Judge for yourself. I am commanded to join the Bold Lions.”
“Bad, I agree. But not worse . . . What did you say?”
“First I’ll tell you what I should have said: ‘If you are so keen on the Bold Lions, join them yourself!’ But I was tongue-tied for shock. Finally I asked: ‘Why me? Kirdy is already in the group!’ He said: ‘I am quite aware of the fact. Kirdy, however, is a bit moony, and not always predictable. We need you!’ I asked again: ‘But why? Why me?’ All he would say was: ‘You’ll find out in due course.’ I said: ‘Evidently I am to be a spy.’ He said: ‘Naturally! What else?’ I mentioned that at last I could cherish Arles’ enmity, since he would never allow me in the group. He just laughed and said never fear; I would be a Bold Lion before the week was out. And that is why I am surly and glum.”
“Poor Glawen! But we need not worry today. How far is Ocean Island?”
“Not far. We’ll sight it almost anytime . . . In fact, see that gray smudge on the horizon? That’s Ocean Island.”
The sloop sailed on: up the blue slopes, down the wide wet swales. Ocean Island, the tip of a sea mountain, took on definite form: a low cone with a shattered irregular tip a mile in circumference, with coconut palms fringing the shore and a forest of native trees ranging up the slopes of the central crag.
Glawen anchored in a sheltered cove, a hundred feet off a beach of white sand. He jumped overboard into four feet of water. “Come,” he told Wayness. “I’ll carry you ashore.”
Wayness hesitated, then put her arms around his neck. He caught her under the knees, carried her to the beach, then returned to the boat for the lunch basket.
In the shade of a massive clarensia tree Glawen built a fire over which they grilled skewers of meat, which were then dipped into pepper sauce, caught in a slice of bread and devoured, along with a bottle of mild white Clattuc wine.
The two leaned back against the tree and looked along the curving beach, where coconut fronds moved in the breeze, and water eased up and down the sand. Glawen sighed. “Here there are no Bold Lions. There they are waiting for me. It seems foolish to go back. So why go back? when we could live in utter tranquillity here, at peace with the elements. There is much to be said for the idea.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Wayness demurely. “There isn’t any more lunch. What would we eat?”
“The bounty of nature. Fish, edible roots, seaweed, coconuts, rats and land crab. It is the ultimate dream of a million romantic poets.”
“True, except for the cuisine which might become tiresome, night after night either rat or fish for supper. By the same reasoning, you might well become bored with me after ten or twenty years - especially if we ran out of soap.”
“Soap is no problem. We can make it out of coconut oil and ashes,” said Glawen.
“In that case there is only a single obstacle: my mother. She is quite conventional. A romantic sojourn on Ocean Island - or any other island, for that matter - would interfere with her plans for my marriage.”
“Your marriage!” Glawen looked at her in astonishment. “You’re too young to be married!”
“Don’t get excited, Glawen. Nothing is definite. My mother simply is thinking ahead. This person thinks he might like to marry me, at least so he’s told my mother. He has a private fortune and is already influential at Stroma. My mother thinks it would be an excellent match, even though he is totally LPF in all his views.”
“Hmmf. And what do you think of all this?”
“I haven’t given it much thought.”
Glawen spoke casually. “And this LPFer - what’s his name?”
“Julian Bohost. He was on Earth while we were there, and I saw quite a bit of him. He’s rather strong-minded and earnest, and Mother is probably quite right: Julian would surely prefer that his bride had not lived ten or twenty years during her youth on Ocean Island with another gentleman.”
“Do you like him?”
Again Wayness laughed. “Aren’t I allowed any secrets whatever?”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask such things.” Glawen rose to his feet and looked up at the sun. “Anyway it’s time the romantic idyll was ending for today. The breeze has backed around into the east which is good news, but it has a tendency to slack off in the late afternoon, and it’s probably a good time to be leaving.”
Glawen carried the lunch basket to the boat. He turned to find Wayness at the water’s edge preparing to wade to the boat. He called: “I’ll carry you, if you will wait.”
Wayness made an airy gesture. “I don’t mind getting my legs wet.” Nevertheless she waited until Glawen returned and made no protest when he lifted her.
Halfway to the boat Glawen halted. Their faces were close together. Wayness asked in a husky whisper: “Am I too heavy? Are you going to drop me into the water?”
Glawen sighed. “No . . . I see no real reason to do so.”
He carried her to the boat and climbed aboard himself. While Glawen stowed the lunch basket and made ready for departure, Wayness sat on the coach roof combing her hair through her fingers and watching him with an enigmatic expression. She jumped up to help him hoist the sails and raise the anchor; the sloop departed Ocean Island and drove off across the blue afternoon sea on an easy starboard tack.
Neither Glawen nor Wayness had much to say on the voyage home; each seemed absorbed in thought, though they sat close together on the port cockpit seat.
With the breeze starting to fail and the sun declining into the west, Glawen drove into the mouth of the River Wan and upstream to Clattuc boathouse. Securing the sloop, Glawen conducted Wayness to Riverview House on the Clattuc power wagon. She hesitated a moment, as if thinking; then, turning to Glawen, said: “In regard to Julian Bohost, Father is dubious. He considers Julian something of a demagogue.”
“I’m more interested in your opinions,” said Glawen.
Wayness tilted her head and pursed her lips as if holding back a smile. “He’s noble; he’s high-minded; he’s strong! What more could a girl want? Something more like Glawen Clattuc? Who knows?” Bending, she kissed Glawen’s cheek. “Thank you for a lovely day.”
“Wait!” cried Glawen. “Come back!”