Bodwyn Wook turned away from the window and went to his chair. He indicated another chair for Glawen, then, leaning back, clasped his hands over his bald pate and inspected Glawen through half-closed yellow eyes. “Well, then, Sergeant Clattuc! What are you prepared to tell me?”
An odd question, thought Glawen, and one perhaps calling for a meticulously careful reply. He said: “I have prepared no statement whatever, sir.”
“Really? I thought that you had been consorting with the Bold Lions.”
“True. I have observed them carefully and listened to their conversations. There is always wild talk which no one takes seriously; in fact, I have learned nothing of any consequence.”
“No scurrilous gossip? No defamatory anecdotes? My tastes are catholic.”
“Nothing which would justify a report, sir.”
“I inquire not just from frivolity,” said Bodwyn Wook. “I am hoping always to intercept one unguarded sentence, or a phrase, or even a word which might unlock some startling mystery. I don’t know this word or sentence, but I will recognize it when I hear it, and it is this word or sentence for which you must be on the alert.”
“I will keep my ears open, sir.”
“Good. In connection with Arles: exactly what took place the other night?”
Glawen looked up in surprise. “Did not the Conservator discuss the matter with you?”
Bodwyn Wook darted a yellow stare across the desk, but Glawen had already perceived his transgression and had pulled his head down between his shoulders: enough, apparently, to amuse Bodwyn Wook, who gave a civil answer to the question. “He provided a perfunctory account of what took place. Since his daughter was involved, I did not press for details. What, then, are the full circumstances?”
“It started in a class at the lyceum,” said Glawen. “Arles heard Wayness say that sometimes she went out alone at night, to walk along the beach, or even swim. The idea interested Arles. That same night he donned a cloak and mask and skulked along Beach Road to Riverview House. He came upon Wayness swimming in the lagoon and attacked her. It seems to be something he likes to do. In any event, someone who wants to remain nameless followed him to Riverview House, and stopped him before he did anything worse than scare Wayness out of her wits.”
“And how did this nameless person accomplish such a feat?”
“He hit Arles over the head with a club.”
“Ha-hah! So Arles still wonders who interfered with his gallantry?”
“He probably suspects Milo, which suits me very well.”
Bodwyn Wook nodded. “Apparently, and this is the opinion of the Conservator, he did not go out intending to kill the girl. He disguised himself; he carried a bag to put over her head, and even a bag of knockout gas. These items saved his life, according to the Conservator.”
“Perhaps so. But once she recognized him, I suspect that, after apologizing with great courtesy, he would have killed her. If you recall, Sessily Veder is dead.”
“Not so fast! In this case Arles is demonstrably guilty. In the case of Sessily Veder, he is only a prime suspect.”
“More so than ever, it seems to me.”
“I would not argue with you there.”
Glawen asked: “And what now with Arles? Is there an official Bureau position?”
“The case is closed,” said Bodwyn Wook. “He has been definitively punished, according to the Conservator, and anything more would be in the nature of double jeopardy.”
“Can’t we even expel him from Clattuc House?”
“On what charge? And who will bring it? And, most cogently, who will deal with Spanchetta?”
“In the meantime, he swaggers around as if nothing had happened,” said Glawen in disgust. “I can’t bear to look at him.”
“You must control your emotions. It is good training for you. When will the Bold Lions make their excursion to Yipton?”
“During the half-term holidays. But I’m not going.”
Bodwyn Wook waved his finger. “There you are wrong! That is the main reason you have become a Bold Lion.” He reached into a drawer and withdrew a folded sheet of paper, which he opened out and placed on his desk. “This is a chart of Yipton, in as much detail as we are able to achieve. Here is the dock, and here is the Arkady Inn. These blue marks are canals. They open into the ocean, as you will notice, at the passes between the rim islands. The pink-shaded area is the Caglioro, or the Pot. All these passages and canals have names, but each Yip, for whatever reason, tells us something different.
“Now then” - Bodwyn Wook tapped another section of the chart - “here is Pussycat Palace. Notice this gray area beside the dock. It’s also just behind the hotel, which must be sheer chance. The Yips are evasive about this area, and we want to know what goes on here. As a Bold Lion you’re expected to be undisciplined and erratic, and you’ll have more latitude than the ordinary visitor: possibly just enough for you to learn something. It won’t be easy; in fact, it may well be dangerous, but it’s a job which needs to be done. What about it?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I expect no more. Naturally you will say nothing to anyone in regard to this mission, except your father, Scharde.”
“Very well, sir.”
Chapter IV, Part 2
The school term proceeded. Arles attended classes in surly silence and once again managed to jerk himself back from the brink of dismissal.
Wayness and Milo followed their own routines, indifferent to the presence of Arles. For a time Wayness was attended by whispers and covert glances, stimulated by Arles’ wild explanations of his black eye, but the scandal collapsed of its own improbability.
Toward Glawen Wayness continued to use elusive tactics, or so it seemed. Try as he might, he could arrive at no explanation for her distant behavior. One day, when Milo had not come to school, Glawen walked Wayness home. For a space she held him at arm’s length with flippant remarks and comments on schoolwork, but at last Glawen became impatient. Taking her hand, he swung her smartly around, so that she stood facing him. She cried out, half laughing: “Glawen! I had to jump and skip to keep from turning a somersault! Is that what you had in mind?”
“I want to know why you are acting so oddly.”
Wayness put on an airy attitude. “Please, Glawen, don’t be cross. It’s not easy being me nowadays.”
“One would never guess. You make it seem so effortless.”
Wayness smiled. “I don’t lack for help. Mother is training me for a life of dignity and decorum. You want me to be a full-fledged Clattuc, ready for anything, fearless of scandal or disgrace.”
“Yes; it gives one a fine feeling of freedom!”
“But there is someone else with even more influence over me. This person urges me in quite a different direction, with advice that I can’t ignore.”
“Oh? Who is this wise individual?”
“Me.”
Glawen presently asked: “And what advice do you hear from yourself?”
Wayness turned away; the two walked south along the beach road. “It concerns something which I’ve never mentioned before, and I’d prefer not to talk about it now.”
“Why not? Is it a secret, or a mystery?”
“It’s something I learned when Milo and I were last on Earth, and it’s become an obsession with me. I intend to go back to Earth as soon as I’ve finished school. With Milo, if he’ll come.”
The light from Syrene suddenly seemed less bright and cheerful. Glawen asked: “Do you intend to enlighten me ever?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, one way or the other.”
“And this is why you want to break off our relationship.”
Wayness burst out laughing. “That’s very poor logic! I said nothing of the sort! Anyway it’s not the reason. In fact, there isn’t any reason except that I know myself and I’m afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
Wayness gave an oblique answer. “At Stroma our love affairs are very demure. Just to sit in a corner with someone, drinking tea and eating cookies, is considered high adventure.”
Glawen made a glum sound. “We haven’t even reached that stage yet.”
“Don’t be in a hurry; it drags on forever and it’s tiresome, especially if Mother hangs around.”
“What’s the next stage?”
“That’s the one of which I’m afraid. I don’t want to start something which takes my mind off more important things.”
“I take it you mean your trip to Earth?”
Wayness nodded. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought the subject up, except that I’d have to tell you sooner or later and it’s only fair to tell you sooner, so that you can avoid me, if you’re of a mind to do so.”
“And this is why you’ve been hiding from me?”
Wayness again gave an oblique answer. “I’ve decided not to hide from you anymore.”
“That’s good news.”
They arrived at the path which led through the trees to Riverview House. Wayness hesitated, moved first in one direction then another, until Glawen caught her and kissed her: once, then twice. “The answer then is Yes?”
“Yes? To what?”
“To our so-called relationship.”
Wayness gave her shoulders a jerk, squinted, squirmed, tilted her head, twitched her nose, made a fluttering gesture with her fingers.
Glawen asked in wonder, “What’s that all mean?”
“It’s a complicated way of not saying no.” Wayness started down the path.
“Wait!” cried Glawen. “I’m still not clear on a number of things!”
“Clarity is not what I had in mind.” Wayness stepped close and kissed him. “Thanks for walking me home. You’re a nice kind young gentleman, even handsome in a grim sort of way, and I like you.”
Glawen tried to catch her but she ran off along the path. Just before passing from sight she turned, waved, then disappeared among the trees.
Chapter IV, Part 3
On Verd evening of each week the Bold Lions met in a corner of the Old Arbor, to conduct business, drink wine and discuss the trends and fashions. A peculiar mood characterized these occasions, based on the premise that each Bold Lion was inherently noble and superior in all his phases to the general ruck of man. Golden haze hung over the table;
1
large schemes were proposed and analyzed; each of the eternal verities in turn came under examination and from time to time were amended.
Each Bold Lion sat at his dedicated place around the table. At the far end, with his back to the arcade, sat Arles, with Kirdy Wook to his right and Uther Offaw to his left. Jardine Laverty faced Arles from the far end of the table, while the others sat to either side in their wonted places. Glawen, arriving late, took his seat between Cloyd Diffin and Jardine Laverty. Several jugs of wine had already been consumed, and the conversation was going well. Jardine Laverty, suave, handsome and carefully dressed, was making a point: “- musty old laws quite irrelevant to our needs. Still they exist and every day we are thwarted and demeaned by some long-dead prejudice.”
Jardine in this case referred to the laws which banned the mining of precious gems: a sore point among the Bold Lions, since a month or two of prospecting the Magic Mountain mineral beds might well make millionaires of them all.
Kiper Offaw, who already had tippled at least adequately, called out in a rather wild voice: “Put it to the vote! All in favor? All opposed?”
Kiper was considered somewhat brash and no one paid him any heed. He contented himself singing the refrain of an old song:
“Oh sell no more drink to my father!
It makes him so strange and so wild!”
Shugart Veder, who represented the conservative point of view, stated: “Certainly these old rules should be brought in line with new concepts, but this would mean rewriting the Charter, which could only be effected at a Grand Conclave of the Naturalist Society.”
“Bah!” growled Arles. “Fat chance of that. Over the years they’ve ossified and become an odd type of subrace, like the Yips. They don’t want change! Give them a fish and a pound of seaweed, they’ll make soup and never ask for anything better.”
Kirdy frowned. “Let’s be reasonable. we’re petty functionaries in the service of the Naturalists, and like it or not we’ve got to mind our manners.”
Arles drank down the contents of his mug at a gulp. “I don’t like it.”
“Well, you must put up with it, or leave. Those are the cold facts.”
Arles gave a throaty chuckle. “You’re a Wook and that’s Wook thinking. I’m a Clattuc and I have other notions.”
Shugart Veder put a petulant inquiry: “Can someone tell me where the Charter actually resides? It’s not at Riverview House, nor at Stroma. If someone wanted to verify the text, where would he look?”
“Ha, ha!” cried Kiper. “It’s all a great joke! There isn’t now and never has been a Charter! We’ve been dancing jigs to the music of ghosts!”
Jardine raised his elegant eyebrows. “Kiper, if you please! Either talk sense or pay for the wine!”
“Or both,” said Uther.
“Exactly so,” said Kirdy. “But let’s clear up this foolish talk once and for all. The Charter is obviously in the Society Archives on Earth, and if any benighted soul is ignorant of the text, copies abound.”
“That’s not the point!” argued Jardine. “Was the Charter designed to enforce poverty upon the folk of Araminta Station? It’s hard to believe anyone would be quite so niggardly!”
“Wrong, as usual,” said Uther Offaw. “The Charter was drafted by Naturalists, with conservancy in mind.”
“And nothing but conservancy,” added Kirdy Wook.
Arles grumbled: “They’re all peaceably dead, and we’re still suffering for their mistakes.”
Kirdy gave a caw of scornful laughter. “Mistakes? Nonsense! They wanted workers at Araminta Station, not millionaires.”
“Strange folk indeed,” sighed Jardine. “Then and now.”
“High-stepping old pettifoggers in tight black pants!” declared Kiper. “Who cares what they wanted? I know what I want, and that’s what counts!”
Cloyd called out, “For once Kiper is on the mark! Bravo, Kiper!”
Shugart put on a lewd smirk. “He’ll have to wait for Pussycat Palace; then he can have as much as he likes.”
“All he can pay for, at any rate,” said Uther. “Credit forms are not accepted.”