“It is even sadder that they covet someone else’s property, but that is the perversity of human, or near-human, nature.” Bodwyn Wook glanced at the clock. “I have had alarming reports – and this is confidential information - that the Yips have used stolen parts to complete at least one Model D flyer, which can only be intended as an aggressive weapon. We will capture or destroy this flyer if we find it.”
“That is interesting news!” said Namour. “You have given me much to think about.” He rose abruptly to his feet. “And now I must go; other business weighs on both of us.”
“You need not go yet. I have set aside this time for our conference, and you are entitled to every last second. To another matter.” Bodwyn Wook laid a large-scale chart on the table. “This is Yipton, as you can see. This is Arkady Inn; here the harbor and the flight strip.” Bodwyn Wook tapped the chart with a long white forefinger. “This would seem to be the location of the Caglioro, with the women’s dormitories out around here.” Bodwyn Wook darted a glance toward Namour. “Where is the palace of the Oomphaw? Point it out to me, if you will.”
Namour shook his head. “I know no more than you.”
“You have never treated with him in his private offices?”
“We conduct our business, such as it is, in a room off of the hotel lobby. I speak to him through a bamboo screen. Whether these are his private offices I can’t say. I suspect that he sits at a place from where he can overlook the lobby. Why are you interested?”
“I could list a dozen reasons,” said Bodwyn Wook airily. “To start with: sheer curiosity.” He looked again at the clock. “We can expect news at any time now.”
The minutes went by, while Bodwyn Wook discussed first one topic, then another, with Namour. At last a voice spoke from the mesh: “Scharde Clattuc here. We have picked up Kirdy. He is alive, but in very bad shape.”
Bodwyn Wook’s voice rang sharp as a bell. “How so?”
“He is in a state of shock. His eyes are open and he seems to be conscious but he does not recognize me, and will not respond to my voice. He has suffered a number of lacerations and small wounds. The Oomps who turned him over to us claim that yesterday afternoon he broke loose and tried to escape their custody. They say that he jumped into a canal and took refuge under the structures, a place infested with “yoots,” as they call them.
1
When they found Kirdy, he was lying in the slime and the yoots were chewing on him. That is their story.”
“Do you believe them?”
“More or less. They look at him with awe and can’t understand how he survived. What they did to him before he escaped is anybody’s guess.”
“How bad is Kirdy? Will he survive?”
“Not good. He is apathetic.”
“Very well. Proceed with the rest of the program.”
“It is already under way. So far there has been no reaction from below.”
“Keep me advised.”
Bodwyn Wook swiveled around in his chair and stared out the window. Namour sat silently, now showing no disposition to depart.
Ten minutes passed. Scharde’s voice again came from the mesh. “We are departing the Lutwen Islands.”
Bodwyn Wook called sharply: “What occurred?”
“With two craft in protective mode, the third and fourth descended and pulled away the roof with grappling hooks, and the floor below was exposed. There was no flyer visible, nor any sign of metalworking machinery. In short, there seemed nothing to destroy. But we immediately noticed that the floor was new bamboo, to hide the real floor below. We broke open this floor, and saw the flyer, along with machinery. We lowered a demolition device which destroyed the flyer and everything else in the room. We then departed, and are now on our way home.”
“Well done,” said Bodwyn Wook. “You have achieved everything practically possible at this time.”
Chapter V, Part 2
The operation against Titus Pompo’s machine shop was officially described as a routine mission to expedite Kirdy Wook’s return to Araminta Station, after a sudden illness. A rumor or two leaked from Bureau B, or perhaps from Namour, but the scope of the raid and its presumably devastating effect upon the Oomphaw’s capabilities were never generally made known.
Kirdy spent two weeks in the hospital while his wounds healed, each leaving an ugly little scar, then further time in the infirmary. He remained in a state of deep apathy, apparently aware of his surroundings, feeding himself and obeying instructions, but taking no heed of visitors and speaking no words. At times he gave evidence of internal distress, screwing up his big pink face until he achieved the likeness of a baby. Tears streamed from his eyes and he made high-pitched whimpering sounds, but uttered no words. Such fits gradually became less frequent; coincidentally, Kirdy took somewhat more interest in his environment, watching comings and goings, looking at pictures in magazines, but still he remained silent and ignored visitors.
The school term came to an end. After prodigies of toil and special tutoring; Arles passed his examinations and was duly accorded a certificate of completion. Glawen, along with Wayness, Milo and a few others, was graduated with honors.
Each year the savants currently resident at Vagabond House were feted at a banquet to which were also invited the graduating class at the lyceum, the Conservator and his family, the Bureau Supervisors and Assistant Supervisors, the six Housemasters and the lyceum faculty and five Special Dignitaries, selected by the Lyceum Faculty Council.
This was the most exclusive and stately occasion of the year, at which the gentlemen of the Houses wore dress uniforms and the ladies appeared in the most splendid confections their dressmakers could contrive. Those who were not invited consoled each other with assurances that the affair was both tedious and dull as ditch water, and that personally they would never waste the time attending, even had they been invited. Nonetheless there was always avid competition for one of the five “special” invitations.
At the conclusion of the banquet, before the speeches began, Glawen sought out Wayness and took her up to the balcony, where they sat close together, looking down on the notables below.
Wayness wore a long skirt, tight at the waist, flaring at the hem, striped black, green and wine red, a black jacket of some heavy lusterless stuff and a black ribbon in her hair. Glawen’s continued half-covert inspection made her edgy and at last she exclaimed: “Glawen, you must stop that! I sit here cringing with nervousness, as if I’m buttoned up crooked, or a big bug is sitting in my hair.”
“I’ve never seen you so elegant before.”
“Oh. Is that all? Do you approve?”
“Certainly. Although you seem strange and unfamiliar.”
Wayness made a flippant response: “I’ve never been anything but strange! As for familiarity, I don’t dare with Mother so close.”
Glawen smiled sadly, and Wayness looked at him sidelong. “Why are you so glum?”
“You know why.”
“I don’t want to think about it tonight.”
“I can’t help it. I wonder if you’ll ever return.”
“Of course I’ll return! And if not -”
“If not?”
“Then you can come to look for me.”
“Easy enough to say. Across all the thousands of worlds, and all the billions and trillions of people.”
“That’s encouragement, in a way. If you don’t find me, you’ll surely come upon someone else exactly like me, or - is it thinkable? - nicer than me.”
“There’s no one in the whole Gaean Reach exactly like you, with exactly that pretty mouth, exactly that tilt of the chin, or that little curl of hair, or the way you smell.”
“I hope it’s a pleasant smell.”
“Of course. I always think of wind blowing across the moors.”
“That’s just the soap I use. Glawen, please don’t be sentimental because I’m going away. I’ll get maudlin too and start to cry.”
“Just as you say. Kiss me.”
“With everyone looking up here? No, thank you.”
“No one is looking now.”
“Glawen, stop. That’s enough. I’m much too susceptible to this sort of thing . . . Look! Just as I told you! Mother is scolding me.”
“I don’t think she saw us; she’s not looking now.”
“Perhaps not.” Wayness pointed. “There’s Arles, sitting rather modestly in the corner.”
“Yes, I find it amazing. Spanchetta is furious because she could not promote a ‘special.’ My father is here, which makes it worse.”
“Who is that girl with Arles? I don’t think I’ve seen her before . . . They appear to be on very good terms.”
Glawen looked at Arles’ companion: a rather showy young woman with flowing orange-pink hair, a fair skin and voluptuous contours. “That’s Drusilla co-Laverty, one of Floreste’s Mummers. She is also quite friendly with Namour, if rumor can be trusted. Still, it’s none of my affair.”
“Nor mine. Although it’s rather odd.”
“How so?”
“No great matter. Did I mention that Julian Bohost is back from Stroma? He still wants to marry me, and also plans to study the Mad Mountain massacres, not necessarily in that order.”
“Too bad he couldn’t be here tonight and give a speech -”
“As a matter of fact, he had just that in mind, but Father told him that tickets were unavailable. How is Kirdy Wook?”
“I don’t know. The doctor seems to think that if he wanted to be well he could be well right now. Kirdy won’t talk, although he will read and watch television, and bangs the dinner utensils when he doesn’t like his food. The doctor says that the brain - Kirdy’s brain, anybody’s brain - is run by a kind of committee. Kirdy’s mental committee doesn’t quite trust his conscious mind with full powers yet, and is holding back a bit. It’s just a question of time, according to the doctor.”
“Poor Kirdy.”
Glawen thought back over the fateful evening at Yipton. He said: “All taken with all, I agree. It’s poor Kirdy, for a fact.”
Wayness looked at him curiously. “You seem just a trifle sardonic.”
“Probably so. I’ve never told you all that went on that night.”
“Do you plan to do so? Pussycat Palace and all?”
“I can tell you all I know about Pussycat Palace in three sentences, if you’re interested.”
“I am, rather.”
“I did not want to go, but I obeyed Kirdy’s orders, so that I might seem a roaring full-fledged Bold Lion, afraid of nothing. I drank tea with the girl, and inquired as to the health of her family. She watched me with no more expression than you see on the face of a dead fish. That’s all that happened.”
Wayness hugged his arm. “Let’s not talk any more of such things. Here comes Milo. He seems suspiciously jaunty. I wonder what’s happened.”
Milo dropped into a seat. “I have news concerning our friend Julian Bohost,” he told Glawen. “I suppose you know he’s at Riverview House. He still wants to go to Mad Mountain Lodge, and single-handedly quell the banjee wars.”
“He may get a nasty bruise from a battle-ax.”
“He hopes to avoid violence. If they won’t join the LPF, or listen to reason, he’ll study them from a distance and write a report.”
“I suppose I can’t object, especially if he is paying his own way.”
Milo turned Glawen an incredulous stare. “You can’t be serious! Julian is a politician, and pays for nothing.”
“Julian doesn’t have any money to speak of,” said Wayness.
“As Dame Clytie’s representative, he feels that tourist transport is unsuitable, and he wants full official treatment, which means at least a Station flyer with a pilot. Father just heaved a deep sigh and agreed. You will be the pilot, if the idea appeals to you.”
“It does if you and Wayness are coming. Otherwise, no.”
“We’ll go along to assist in the studies. Then it’s settled.”
“I don’t think Julian will be all that pleased.”
“No matter,” said Wayness. “Julian must learn to take the bitter with the sweet. It should be a memorable event.”
Chapter V, Part 3
The party from Riverview House was late. Glawen and Chilke had checked out the flyer with particular care. “We can’t let anything happen to Julian,” Glawen told Chilke. “He is an important politician and might well be the first Oomphaw of Throy.”
“It’s a good line of work to be in,” said Chilke. “Especially if you’re helpless at everything else. What sort of chap is this Julian?”
“You can judge for yourself; he’s just now arriving.”
The carry-all halted beside the flyer. Julian jumped to the ground, crisp and natty in a broad-brimmed white hat and a suit of blue-and-white-striped duck. Milo and Wayness followed, and took their travel bags to the flyer’s luggage compartment.
Julian approached Chilke. “Are we ready to go? Where is our flyer?”
“It’s that black and yellow object just behind you,” said Chilke.
Julian inspected the flyer in disbelief. He turned back to Chilke: “What you have here is not at all suitable. Can’t you provide something a bit more commodious, with better amenities?”
Chilke rubbed his chin. “What leaps to mind is the tourist air-bus, if you’re willing to wait a few days. You’d have lots of room and nice people to talk to.”
“I am conducting an official survey,” said Julian coldly. “I need and I expect both convenience and flexibility.”
Chilke gave a good-humored chuckle. “Think just a bit. This flyer is here and ready to go, which is true convenience. It takes you wherever you point it, also up and down. That is flexibility. How much are you paying?”
“Nothing whatever, naturally.”
“There’s your flyer. You can’t do better anywhere for the price.”
Julian saw that no amount of hauteur could daunt the ingenuous Chilke, and moderated his tone. I suppose it will have to do.”
He took note of Glawen. “Ho, there! The earnest young Bureau B agent! Have you come to see us off?”
“Not exactly.”
“You’re here in your official capacity? To guard the flyer? To arrest skulking Yips?”
“Where?” asked Chilke. “The chap over by the hangar? That’s not a skulking Yip; that’s my help. I agree he ought to be arrested, but Glawen won’t have time today. He’s your pilot.”