V.
All the way back to the Mazeppa Hotel Wayness was kept busy negating Lefaun’s proposals and refuting his arguments, which were both urgent and inventive:
“. . . only a few yards to my flat: the stroll of a quarter-hour through the most picturesque part of Kiev!"
And: "We should never reject what Life decides to offer us! Existence is like a plum pie; the more plums one can find the better!”
And: "I marvel, I stand in awe, I am baffled when I try to calculate the probabilities of our meeting – you, the denizen of a world at the back of nowhere; I, a gentleman of Old Earth!”
"It seems an act of Predestination that we ignore, to our sure regret! No matter how one implores the Fates, our neglected opportunities can never be repaired!"
To which Wayness made the following rejoinders: “Up hill and down dale, hopping culverts and drains, stumbling over cobbles, scuttling through the back alleys like rats: is that it? No, thank you; tonight your cricket must chirp alone."
And: “I don’t feel at all like a plum. Think of me, rather, as a green persimmon, or a dead starfish, or a dish of old tripe."
And: "I agree that the odds against our meeting were enormous. It seems that Destiny is trying to tell you something – namely, that your chances of success elsewhere, say with Natalinya Harmin, are far better than with me."
At last Lefaun gave up and let her enter the hotel with no more than a muttered: 'Goodnight’.”
“Goodnight, Lefaun.”
Wayness ran across the lobby and went directly up to her room. For a few moments she sat thinking, then telephoned Fair Winds.
Pirie Tamm's bleak face appeared on the screen. “Fair Winds."
"Wayness here. Are you alone?”
“Quite alone.”
“Are you sure? Where is Julian?"
“Presumably in Ybarra. He used the telephone this afternoon and immediately told me that though he was sorry to leave Fair Winds so abruptly, he must visit an old friend who was departing Ybarra spaceport in two days, and inside the half-hour he was gone. Not a chap I particularly liked. What is your news?"
“It is tolerably good news,” said Wayness. “In effect, we have sent Julian off on a wild goose chase. He has gone to Croy, of course.”
“A wild goose chase, you say!"
Wayness explained. "I'm calling now, because I did not want you to worry all night long.”
“Thank you, Wayness. I shall sleep better, be assured. And what are your plans?"
“I am not sure yet. I must do some thinking. Perhaps I will go directly to not far from here . . ."
CHAPTER VI
I.
In her room at the Mazeppa Hotel Wayness studied a map. The town Draczeny in the Moholc was no vast distance from Kiev as the crow flew but connections were anything but direct. The castle Mirky Porod was evidently located in a region of great natural charm, to the side of the usual tourist routes and commercial depots, though it was not indicated on the map.
Wayness pondered her options. Julian had been discomfited, at least temporarily. The chances were slight that he would return to Fair Winds. In the morning, therefore, Wayness flew directly to Shillaway, to arrive at Fair Winds during the middle afternoon.
Pirie Tamm was clearly happy to see her. "It seems as if you have been gone for weeks."
"I feel much the same. But I can't relax just yet. Julian has a bad temper and he hates to be thwarted."
"What can he do? Very little, or so I suppose."
"If he learns that Aeolus Benefices' is another way of saying 'Funusti Museum' he can do a great deal. I spent thirty sols for information; Julian might spend forty, but to the same effect. So I dare not delay."
“What, then, are your plans?"
“At this particular moment I want to learn something of the Counts de Flamanges, so that when I present myself at Mirky Porod, I will not be arriving in a state of total ignorance.”
“Most wise,” said Pirie Tamm. “If you like, while you are changing for dinner, I will check the references and see what information is available."
“That would be very helpful.”
At dinner Pirie Tamm announced that he had assembled a considerable body of information; “Probably as much as you will need, However, I suggest that we postpone the report until after dinner, since I have a tendency toward discursiveness. Notice this tureen! We have been served a truly noble dish: stewed duck with dumplings and leeks."
“Just as you like, Uncle Pirie.”
"I will say this much: over the centuries the family has been neither staid nor stolid, but has produced its share of adventurers and eccentrics, as well as several renowned scholars. Naturally there are hints of a scandal or two. At the moment, this particular quantity seems to have gone into abeyance. It is an aged woman, the Countess Ottilie, with whom you must deal."
Wayness mulled over the information in silence. A thought occurred to her. “You mentioned that Julian used the telephone before he left?”
“Yes; so he did.”
“You have no idea whom he called?”
“None whatever.”
“Odd. Julian has never mentioned friends on Earth and it is just what he would most likely talk about."
“For a fact, he is quite a talker.” Pirie Tamm grinned sourly. “He is dissatisfied with Ararninta Station and its social and environmental works.”
“There is room for criticism; everyone agrees to that,” said Wayness. “If the staff had done a better job over the years, there would be no Yips at Yipton, and no problem now."
“Hmm. Julian spoke at length of the ‘democratic solution’."
“What he meant is entirely different from what you understood. The Conservationists want to resettle the Yips on another world, and maintain the Conservancy. The LPFers – they hate being called ‘Peefers’, though it is much easier, want to let the Yips loose on the mainland, where they would live, so it is claimed, in rustic simplicity, singing and dancing, and celebrating the passage of the seasons with quaint rites.”
“That is more or less what Julian implied.”
“Meanwhile the Peefers will annex vast estates of choice land for themselves, and become the new landed gentry. When they talk about this, they speak of 'public service' and 'duty' and 'administrative necessities.' But I've seen Julian's plans for the country house he hopes to build someday – using cheap Yip labor, of course."
"He used the word 'democracy' several times."
"He used the Peefer definition. Each Yip has one vote and each Conservationist has one vote. Ah well, enough of Julian. At least, I hope so.”
After dinner, the two went to the drawing room and settled themselves in front of the fire. "Now," said Pirie Tamm, “I will tell you something about the Counts de Flamanges. The family is very old – three or four thousand years, at least. Mirky Porod was built on the site of a medieval castle and for a time functioned as a hunting lodge. The place has a colorful history: the usual tumult of duels by moonlight, intrigues and betrayals, romantic escapades by the hundreds. Nor has there been any lack of the macabre. Prince Pust over a period of thirty years kidnapped maidens and did horrid deeds upon them; his victims numbered over two thousand and his imagination never flagged. Count Bodor one of the early Flamanges, conducted demoniac rituals, which ultimately became frenzies of the most fantastic sort. I derive this information from a book called UNUSUAL TALES FROM THE MOHOLC. The author tells us that the ghosts at Mirky Porod are therefore of dubious origin, and might derive either from the time of Prince Pust, or of Count Bodor, or possibly other circumstances now forgotten to history."
Wayness asked: "How long ago was this book written?"
"It seems to have been a relatively recent work. I could find it if you became interested in one or another of the cases."
“No. Don’t bother."
Pirie Tamm nodded placidly and went on with his remarks.
“In general, the Counts de Flamanges seem to have been of good character, save for the occasional bad hat like Count Bodor. A thousand years ago Count Sarbert was a founder of the Naturalist Society; the family has traditionally been associated with conservationist causes. Count Lesmund offered to donate a large tract of land to the Naturalist Society as a site for a new headquarters, but unfortunately: the plan came to naught. Count Raul was a member and strong supporter of the Society until his death some twenty years ago. Hus widow, the Countess Ottilie, now lives at Mirky Porod alone. She is childless, and the heir is Count Raul's nephew, Baron Trembath, whose estate is beside Lake Fon, and who operates an equestrian school.”
“Countess Ottilie, as I mentioned, lives in seclusion, seeing no one but doctors for herself and veterinaries for her dogs. She is said to be extremely avaricious, though she commands great wealth. There is a hint or two that she is, let us say, eccentric. When one of her dogs died, she beat the attending veterinary with her walking stick and drove him away. The veterinary seems to have been of philosophical disposition. When the journalists asked if he intended to sue, he merely shrugged and said that both beating and biting were accepted hazards of his profession, and there the matter rested.”
“Count Raul had been a generous contributor to Society a fact which the Countess bitterly resented.”
“Mirky Porod itself occupies a splendid site, at the head of a valley, with Lake Jerest only a few yards away. There are wild hills and dense forests at the back and forests to both right and left. It is not uncomfortably large; in fact, I made copies of photographs and the floor plan, if you are interested.”
“Very much so.”
Pirie Tamm gave her the material in an envelope. He spoke plaintively: “I wish I understood better what you have in mind. The Charter and Grant will never be found at Mirky Porod; that is certain."
“Why do you say that?"
“If these documents had come into the possession of Count Raul, he would certainly have turned them over to the Society.”
“So it would seem. Still, there are any number of possibilities why that should not be so. For instance, suppose he were ill when he received the documents and never found time to check them over? Or that these items were mislaid while he was sorting things out? Perhaps Countess Ottilie recognized their value and put them aside? Or, worse, them into the fire?”
“As you say, anything is possible. Still, Count Raul did not buy the material at Gohoons auction; there was a far larger volume of material, and if Countess Ottilie were giving away those relatively personal records, she surely must have included the other material. In other words, it was someone else who bought the Charter and Grant from Gohoon – which means that your searches are not leading you toward the Charter but away from it.”
"Not so,” said Wayness. “Imagine the Charter as resting in the rung of a ladder. We can find it either by starting at the top and working down, or starting at the bottom and working up."
“That is a fine analogy," said Pirie Tamm. “It’s only fault is unintelligibility.”
"In that case, I will explain again, but without the analogy. Nisfit stole the goods; they passed through
Mischap and Doorn to Gohoon, then to someone we must call A, Simonetta Clattuc learned the identity of A, but either she could not find him or he passed the material on to B, who might have given it to C, who sold it to D, who passed it on to E. Somewhere along this progression she has been brought to a halt. Let us say that the Funusti Museum is F and Count Raul de Flamanges E, then now we are looking for D. In other words, we must work backward along the line until we reach whoever has the Charter. Simonetta is starting from A, and seems to have met difficulties along the way. Then there is Julian, who is starting from X, which is to say, Aeolus Benefices at Croy. Where he goes from there I can't even guess. In any case, we have no time to delay, and Countess Ottilie may not choose to be helpful.”
Pirie Tamm clenched his teeth. “If only I had my strength, how gladly I would take the load from your shoulders!””
“You are already helping enormously,” said Wayness. “I could not function without you.”
“It is nice of you to say so."
By a variety of modes Wayness traveled from Fair Winds into the deep Moholc: by omnibus to Shillaway, by subterranean slideway to Anthelm and by feedertube to Passau, thence by airbus to Draczeny and by rickety omnibus into the far Moholc, under the loom of the Carnat Mountains.
Late in the afternoon, with the wind blowing in gusts, Wayness arrived at the village Tzem, beside the River Sogor, with steep forested hills close to either side. Clouds raced across the sky; Wayness' skirt fluttered as she stepped down from the bus. She moved away a few steps, then glanced back, to verify that no one had followed her, nor was there any other vehicle approaching from the direction they had come.
The bus had halted in front of the village inn: The Iron Pig, if the sign swinging above the doorway to be credited. The main street followed the course of the river, which was spanned by a stone bridge of three arches directly in front of the inn. At the center of the bridge, three old men wearing baggy blue pantaloons and high-cocked hunter's hats stood fishing. To fortify themselves, they took occasional swallows from large green bottles which were kept in tackle boxes at their feet, meanwhile calling back and forth from one to the other, exchanging advice, cursing the perversity of all fish, the impudence of the wind, and whatever else came to mind.
Wayness secured lodging at The Iron Pig, then went out explore the village. Along the main street she discovered a bakery a green-grocer's market, a tool shop which also sold sausages, hair-dresser/insurance agent, a wine shop, a post office and a number of other enterprises of less note. Wayness stepped into a stationer’s shop, which was little more than a booth. The proprietress, a jovial woman of middle age, leaned on her counter, gossiping with a pair of cronies who sat on a bench opposite. Here was a sure font of information, thought Wayness. She bought a journal and stood pretending to read but with an ear tuned to the conversation, which presently she was allowed to join. She described herself as a student investigating antiquities of the region. The proprietress told her “You've come to the right place; there are three of us here, each more antique than the others."