Wayness looked up in apprehension. “What news?"
"Last night Xantief was murdered. This morning he was found in the canal.”
Time stood still. Everything became blurred except for Alvina's gray-green eyes. Wayness finally managed to Stammer. “This is terrible. I had no idea – it must be my fault! I led them to Xantief."
Alvina nodded. "It might have happened that way. Or maybe not; who knows? It makes no great difference, one way or the other.”
After a pause Wayness said: "You are right. It makes no difference." She wiped the tears from her face. The waiter brought bowls of red soup. Wayness looked numbly at the bowl.
“Eat," said Alvina. "We have to pay for it, regardless.”
Wayness pushed the bowl away. "What happened?"
“I don’t like to tell you. It was not nice. Someone wanted information from Xantief. He could give them none because he had none, except what he told you. No doubt he explained this immediately, but they persisted and killed him, and dropped him into the canal. Alvina busied herself with the soup, then said: “It is clear, however, that he did not mention me.”
“How so?”
“I came to my shop early today, and no one was waiting for me. Eat your soup. It is pointless to suffer on an empty stomach."
Wayness heaved a deep sigh. She pulled the bowl of soup toward herself and began to eat. Alvina looked on with a grim smile. "Whenever tragedy has dealt me its worst blows, then I go forth and rejoice. I drink fine wine, and dine on delicacies I can’t afford, and perhaps indulge myself in some sort of worthless new gewgaw."
Wayness laughed weakly. “Does the program work?”
“No. Still, eat the soup.”
After a few moments Wayness said: “I must learn to be absolutely callous. I cannot let myself be weak.”
"I don’t think you are weak. Still, are there no others to help you?"
“Yes, but they are far away. Glawen Clattuc will be here sometime soon – but I can’t wait.”
"You carry no weapons?"
“I don’t own any.”
"'Wait here.” Alvina left the restaurant, returning a few minutes later with a pair of small parcels. “These articles will give you comfort, at the very least." She explained their use.
"I thank you,” said Wayness. "May I pay for them?"
"No. But if you use either upon whoever murdered Xantief, please let me know."
"I promise that I will.” Wayness tucked the articles into pockets of the pea jacket.
“Now, to business." Alvina brought out a slip of paper. “I cannot direct you to Moncurio himself, since he is gone from Earth. Where, I have no idea, but he left me an address in case money came in from some old accounts which had never been settled.”
Wayness asked doubtfully: "Is this address still useful?"
“It was as of last year. I sent money to the address, and finality got back a receipt."
“From Moncurio?”
Alvina grimaced and shook her head. "I sent the money in care of Irena Portils, who is apparently Moncurio’s spouse – formally or informally, I have no idea. She is a difficult and suspicious woman. Do not expect her to oblige you, gladly or otherwise, with Moncurio's current address. She would not even give me a proper receipt for the money; she said that there must be no linkage between her name and his. I told her that this was preposterous, since Moncurio had already made the linkage, and that if she did not sign the receipt using Moncurio's name and her own as an endorsement, I would void the draught and send her no more money. Ha! Her avarice is even stronger than her nervousness, and she sent the proper receipt, with just enough icy sarcasm to irritate me.”
“Perhaps she is nicer when she is not worried, said Wayness without conviction.
“Anything is possible. Still I can't imagine how you will deal with her, much less extract information.”
“I must give the matter some thought. Perhaps I will try a subtle indirect approach.”
“I wish you luck. Here is the address." She gave over the paper. Wayness read:
Sra. Irena Portils
Casa Lucasta
CaIIe Maduro 31
Pombareales, Patagonia
IV.
Wayness returned to the Hotel Sirenuse the way she had come: down the wharf to the ladder, down to the shingle and beside the sea wall to the stone steps, then up and through the timber door into the nether regions of the hotel. Here she lost her way and for a time groped back and forth along damp dark passages smelling of must, old wine, onions and fish. Finally, behind a door she had forgotten, she found the service stairs, and so climbed thankfully to the second floor, where she hurried back to her room. She threw off her disguise, bathed and dressed in her ordinary clothes. Then she sat looking out across the sea, pondering the new realities of her life.
Outrage and anger served no purpose; they were only a frustration. Fear was equally profitless, though fear was hard to control.
Wayness became restless. There was too much to think about, and too many complexities. While she thought, she was static and vulnerable; she could protect herself only by activity.
Wayness went to the telephone and called Fair Winds. Agnes appeared, then went to summon Pirie Tamm from the garden. "Ah Wayness!" He spoke guardedly. "I was on my way out; I have an errand at the bank in Tierens. Do you wish to call back in half an hour or so?”
"If you can spare me a minute, I'll talk to you now." Wayness tried to sound easy and casual, but her voice seemed strained, even to her own ears.
“I cart spare a minute or two. What is your news?”
“It is both good and bad. I spoke with a certain Alcide Xantief yesterday. He knew nothing himself but in passing he mentioned a repository in Bangalore. I telephoned there this morning and they have the documents we are seeking, and they would seem to be quite accessible.”
“Amazing!” said Pirie Tamm, blinking in perplexity.”
"It is that and more, when I think of what I have gone through to get this information. I have written to you, to my father and to Glawen, so that the information will not be lost in case something happens to me.”
“Why should anything happen to you?”
"Last night I had a rather frightening experience. It might have been mistaken identity, or romance Adriatic style: I can't be sure. But in any case I escaped.”
Pirie Tamm gave an exclamation of outrage. “That is damnable! I like this expedition of yours less and less! It's not right that you should be tackling a man's job!"
“Right or wrong, the job must be done," said Wayness.
“And there is no one to do it but me.”
"Yes, Yes,” grumbled Pirie Tamm. “We've been over these arguments before.”
“Be sure that I am taking all precautions, Uncle Pirie, and now I will let you go on your errand. If you are indeed stopping by the bank, please ask after a remittance I am expecting from home.”
“I’ll do that, certainly. But what now for you?”
“I'm off for Bangalore, by the best connection, or even the worst, so long as I get there fast.”
"And when will I hear from you next?"
"Soon; from Bangalore, most likely."
“Goodbye then, and take care of yourself.''
“Goodbye, Uncle Pirie."
Half an hour later Wayness called the bank in Tierens from the public telephone in the hotel lobby. Pirie Tamm's face again appeared on the screen. “Now then! Perhaps we can talk more freely."
“I hope so, since I distrust even the telephone in my room.” I am certain that I have been followed to Trieste." Wayness decided not to mention the murder of Xantief.
"I gather then, that Bangalore will not be your next destination?”
"You gather correctly, Uncle Pirie. If I can send someone off on a wild goose chase, so much the better.”
“So what have you achieved in Trieste?”
"I have descended another step on the ladder, and you will be surprised to learn whom I found there."
"Oh? Who might this be?"
“It is your tomb-robbing friend Adrian Moncurio.”
“Ha!” said Pirie Tamm after a moment’s reflection. “I am surprised, to be sure, though maybe not as much as I might be!”
"Do you have any inkling as to his present address?"
"None whatever.”
“What of mutual friends?"
"We have none. Since I have not heard from him, I suspect that he is either off-world or dead."
"In that case I must continue my inquiries. They may possibly take me off-world."
“Off-world where?"
"I don’t know yet.”
“"Then where are you going from Trieste?"
"I am afraid to tell you, for fear the information will somehow leak out. Even now I am using the hotel's public telephone, on the chance that the telephone in my room has been tapped.”
"You are quite right! Trust nothing and no one!"
Wayness sighed, thinking of Xantief, his clarity and honor. "Another matter, Uncle Pirie. I did not send you down to the bank for nothing. I am carrying about three hundred sols, but if I must go off-world, it won’t be enough. Can you spare me a thousand or so?”
“Of course! Two thousand, if you like!”
“It is twice as good as a thousand. I will accept with thanks, and return whatever is left as soon as possible.”
"You need not concern yourself with money; if for nothing else, this is money spent for the Conservancy!"
“That is my opinion too. Ask the officer which bank at Trieste is their correspondent, and send me two thousand sols which I will pick up at once."
“You can't imagine how you worry me,” growled Pirie Tamm.
Wayness cried: “Stop, Uncle Pirie! For the moment at least I am safe, since I have sent everyone off to
Bangalore! They will be very irritable when they find it is just a prank, but by that time I will be far away.”
“So when will I hear from you again?”
“At the moment I can't even guess.”
V.
Wayness settled her account at the front desk, then returned to her room. The events at Trieste had been helpful in more ways than one. Wayness' concepts of evil had altered from the abstract to the real. She now knew with gristly certainty the quality of her opponents. They were persistent, cruel, smilingly callous. They would kill her if they caught her, and this would be a tragic event indeed from her point of view. It would mean the cessation of that quick and lively intelligence known as Wayness, with its special little graces and quirks and affectionate good nature and wry sense of humor. Tragedy indeed!
Wayness debated changing into her disguise of the morning, and compromised, by shrouding herself in the pea jacket and pulling the cap down over her dark curls. She accoutered herself with the weapons Alvina had given her and felt greatly comforted.
Wayness was now ready to leave. She went to the door, opened it a slit and looked along the hall. It was not at all unlikely for someone to be waiting, to overwhelm her as she opened the door and bear her back into the room, where she could be dealt with at leisure. Wayness grimaced at the idea.
The hall was empty. Wayness departed the hotel by the stairs and the timber door which opened upon the shingle under the wharf.
VI.
For three days and three nights Wayness practiced every tactic of evasion, concealment and dissimulation that her imagination could contrive, including trap's against mobile spy cells and tattletags. She made quick sorties through crowds, doubling back on her tracks, over and over, watching to see whom she might be confusing. She boarded an omnibus and when it halted for an instant at a village traffic stop, she jumped out and was quickly out of town on a van transporting farm laborers. At Lisbon on the Atlantic coast she boarded the northbound slideway, only to debark at the first stop, then to return aboard, to sequester herself in the women’s restroom until the next stop, where again she debarked and slipped aboard a car traveling in the opposite direction, which she rode all the way to Tanjer. Here she changed her semblance, discarding her green travel cape and the blonde wig she had acquired, to join a group of young wanderers, all dressed alike in dungarees and gray pullovers. She spent a night in the Tanjer hostel. The next morning she booked passage on the trans-Atlantic skytrain and six hours later was discharged at the sprawling city Alonso Saavedra, on the Rio Tanagra. She was by this time certain that she had eluded pursuit; but she continued to set traps for spy cells, hide in secret places to watch for trackers and to change vehicles unpredictably. In due course she arrived by skycoach at the provincial capital Biriguassu, then flew south and west across the pampas to the mining town Nambucara. She spent the night at the Stella d'Oro Hotel, and dined on a steak of startling proportions, served with fried potatoes, avocado sauce, and a roast bird – possibly a small long-legged chicken to the side.
Pombareales lay still far to the south, with catch-as-catch-can travel connections. In the morning Wayness somewhat dubiously climbed aboard an airbus of venerable vintage, which rose with a lurch and groan, then flew heavily south, wallowing to gusts of wind. The other passengers seemed to take the vehicle’s alarming peculiarities for granted, and showed concern only when one of the lurches caused them to spill their beer. A gentleman sitting beside Wayness described himself as a steady patron who long ago had abandoned fear. He explained that since the vehicle had been flying back and forth from north to south and north again for many years, there was no reason to suppose that on this day of all days it would collapse in mid-air and fail to do its duty. “In sheer point of fact,” he told Wayness, “the vehicle becomes safer each day it flies, and I can prove this point by mathematics, which of course is infallible. You speak with a good accent; may I assume that you are skilled in the use of logic?”
Wayness modestly admitted that this was the case.
“Then you will follow my reasoning without difficulty. Assume that the vehicle is new. Let us say that it flies safely for two days, then crashes on the third day. Its safety record is not good: one crash in three trips. If, however, the vehicle flies ten thousand days, as has this one, its safety record is at least one in ten thousand and one, which is very good! Furthermore, each succeeding day that passes without incident, the risk becomes smaller so that by an equal increment the passenger's sense of security should increase."