“What about water?”
“There’s plenty of sub-surface water. I just delivered three high-pressure pumps. There is also a vast reservoir of water in the pold itself. Some of the scientists talk about rain and rivers and the seas coming back, but that is far in the future – I hope. Planetary engineers make me nervous.”
The day went by. Pharisse moved westward, its own motion augmented by the eastward movement of the carrier. At ten o'clock Pharisse sank behind the horizon. The long dusk faded through golden apricot and plum, and finally all color disappeared, leaving the night to the moons. At first there were three. Wrinch named them off: “Lilimel, Garuun, Seis. I know them all. The Shadowmen are the real experts. They stand and point, and suddenly something happens – another moon appears, or one moon passes under another and they all groan or hiss or fall down on their knees. One day I made a delivery and something happened among the moons and they started to attack a fat old tourist who had done nothing except come out of the hotel and stand on the porch. He ran inside and hid in the lounge. The Shadowmen told the manager that he would be cut into eight pieces if he ever showed himself again, so he left at once. It appears that while on a guided walk among the Standing Stones the old tourist went behind one of the stones to urinate. No one had known until the moons identified the culprit.”
The night advanced. Three more moons entered the sky: Zosmei, Maltasar, Yanaz, according to Wrinch. Glawen gave them scant attention. “Relax,” said Wrinch. “'We are making good time. I can't get any more out of this old cow. Anyway, we're almost there.”
Glawen looked down toward the land below. “Is that the Plain of Standing Stones?”
“Not yet.” Wrinch pointed to the east. “Here comes Sigil. The Shadowmen believe that if Sigil eclipses Ninka, on that instant the universe will come to an end. That isn’t a bad bet, since Sigil orbits well out past Ninka.”
Time passed. Glawen sat forward on the edge of the seat. Wrinch finally said: “We are now over the Plain of Standing Stones. See those lights off to the left? That’s the camp of the Western Tribe. In a minute you should see the lights of Moonway. There are three hotels. The Moonway is the best. Do you have reservations?”
“No.”
“The Moonway naturally tends to fill up first. Still it’s worth a try. Now you can see the lights."
"What about you? Will you be stopping over?”
“My schedule won’t allow it. I'll cut up to Yellow Blossom, then continue around."
“Maybe I'll see you back in Tanjaree.”
“I hope so. You know where to find me.”
The carrier slanted down toward Moonway. Wrinch pointed out Moonway Hotel. “It's the big place at the center. The colored lights are on entertainers’ wagons; there are always three or four troupes parked at Moonway. They cavort and do mad tricks and amuse the hotel guests, so they are tolerated.”
The carrier landed. As soon as Wrinch opened the cupola door, Glawen took his travel bag and jumped to the ground. “Thank you, and goodbye.”
“Goodbye and good luck.”
III.
Glawen half-walked half-ran toward the Moonway Hotel: a massive structure of concrete and glass, more or less regular after the architectural canons of Nion which rejected flat surfaces and hard edges, and accepted verticality only because, in its absence, the building would fall down. To right and left extended two-story residential wings, with a garden terrace surmounting the main structure, where patrons of the hotel dined under festoons of dim green and blue fairy-lights. Not far from the hotel entrance three of the nomad wagons had been stationed, each as gaudy and garish as any Glawen had seen in Tanjaree. To the side vagabonds sat at their ease, drinking pold beer from tall misshapen crocks, while iron pots hanging on tripods bubbled over fires. At the sight of Glawen, a number of urchins ran out to join him. Mistaking Glawen’s accelerated pace as a desire for exercise, they called out: “We'll race you, sir, for some money! See? All of us carry money! We will run you a fine race!”
“No thanks,” said Glawen. “No race today. “
“We’ll run backwards! How can you lose? Are you a fast runner, sir?”
“I'm very slow. You must race with your fathers, or grandmothers."
“Ha, ha! No chance; if we won, they would beat us!"
"Too bad," panted Glawen.
“We will race with each other. Give us money for a prize! We will carry your burden!” The largest tried to snatch away Glawen’s travel bag. Glawen held the bag high. “I need no help. Go play elsewhere.”
The urchins ignored his instructions. They surrounded him, running backwards just in front, plucking at his sleeves, hooting and jeering. “Coward! Do you fear to race?”
“He runs like a fat old lady.” “He has long thin toes; that's why he wears funny shoes.” "Oh, he's a strange one!”
From one of the tables a large bewhiskered man jumped to his feet and came forward. “Leave off, you vermin! Can't you see the gentleman is not amused!” He addressed Glawen. “Sorry for the annoyance, sir! Children have no manners nowadays! Still, they are easily pleased; if you toss them a few coins they would never call you 'skink' or 'tight-gut' again!”
“I don't mind at all,” said Glawen. “Excuse me; I am in a hurry." He continued toward the hotel. The vagabond shrugged, kicked the children out of his way and returned to his beer.
Entering the Moonway, Glawen found himself in a spacious lobby with a high ceiling. A sleek young clerk, apparently an off-worlder, presided over the registration desk. He took note of Glawen’s scuffed travel bag with raised eyebrows and a fastidious droop to his mouth. His voice, however, was impeccably correct: “I am sorry, sir, but unless you have a reservation, I cannot offer you accommodation. We are booked solid. I suggest that you try either the Magic Jade, or the Maudley, though I believe that they are also full."
“I'll see about accommodation later,” said Glawen. “My first need is for information.” He placed a sol on the counter, the clerk pretended not to notice. “Perhaps you can help me.”
“I will do my best, sir.”
“Do you keep records of incoming telephone calls, specifically, a call from Tanjaree which would have arrived early this morning?”
“We keep no such records, sir; they would serve no purpose.”
Glawen grimaced. "Were you on duty at about twenty-eight o'clock this morning?“
“No, sir. I came on duty at ten o'clock this afternoon."
“Who was on duty then?”
“That would be Mr. Stensel, sir.”
“I would like a few words with him, and at once. The matter is rather urgent.”
The clerk went to his telephone, spoke a few soft words, listened and turned back to Glawen. “Mr. Stensel is just finishing his supper. If you will go to the couch yonder, to the side of the clock, Mr. Stensel will join you almost immediately.”
“Thank you." Glawen went to the designated couch and seated himself.
The lobby was a cheerful airy place, despite the ponderous construction of the walls. Rugs, striped black, white, red, blue and green, covered the floor; the ceiling, thirty feet above, had been decorated with motifs of the Shadowmen: patterns of barbaric extravagance and passion, somehow kept under restraint. A panel suspended over the registration desk displayed colored disks representing the moons currently in the sky. They appeared low to the left of the panel, rose to the height of their arc and curved down to disappear off to the right.
Three minutes passed. A plump little man, balding and brisk, dressed only slightly less formally than the clerk on duty, approached. “I am Mr. Stensel. I understand that you have a question or two?”
“So I do. Sit down, if you please.”
Mr. Stensel seated himself on the couch. “Now then: how may I help you, sir?”
“You were on duty this morning at twenty-eight o'clock?"
“That is correct, sir it is my regular shift."
“Do you remember a telephone call from Tanjaree at about this time?”
“Hm.” Mr. Stensel appeared to cogitate. “This is the kind of detail that quickly becomes lost."
Glawen gave him two sols, and Mr. Stensel smiled.
“Strange how money lubricates the memory. Yes; I remember the call; indeed, I recognized the caller, since he telephones often. It was Mr. Melvish Keebles."
"Right. To whom did he speak?”
To one of our long-term guests, Mr. Adrian Moncurio the archaeologist. You may have heard of him, since he is quite well known.”
“You did not overhear the conversation?”
"No, sir. That is not proper conduct, under any circumstances. Another gentleman asked me the same questions only a trifle more than an hour ago, and I told him the same.”
Glawen’s heart sank. “Did this other gentleman give his name?”
“No, sir.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was nicely dressed, of good appearance, and exceedingly pleasant, so I thought.”
Glawen brought out another two sols. “You have been most helpful. Where can I find Mr. Moncurio?”
“He occupies Suite A, which opens onto the front veranda. Leave the lobby, turn to the right. Suite A is at the end. You may or may not find Mr. Moncurio on the premises, since he keeps odd hours, and sometimes goes out to explore among the Stones when the moons are favorable. He is highly skilled in such matters, and can judge the moons to a nicely. Otherwise, he would long ago have been killed.”
“Are the moons right hour?”
Mr. Stensel looked toward the panel. “As to that, I can't say, since I have never studied the subject."
“Thank you.” Glawen left the lobby, turned to the right and ran to the end of the veranda, where he found Suite A. Glimmers of light seeped past the window-blinds. Glawen took heart; it appeared that someone was at home. He pressed the bell button.
A minute passed, while Glawen’s tension mounted. From within came the sound of slow movement. The door slid aside; in the opening stood a dark-hatred full-figured woman of no great stature. Despite the incursions of middle age, she still commanded elements of youthful charm. Her thick hair was cut short and square around her head in a style prompted either by high fashion or by stark practicality. She examined Glawen with bright black eyes. "Yes, sir?”
“Is Mr. Moncurio in?” Glawen was annoyed to hear the anxious catch in his voice.
The woman shook her head and Glawen’s heart sank once again. “He's out in the field, doing his archaeology.” She stepped to the doorway, looked right and left down the verandah, then turned back to Glawen. “I can't understand his popularity. Suddenly, everyone must see Professor Moncurio, and no one will wait."
“Where can I find him? It is very important!”
“He is out in the Stones somewhere. The moons for a change are good. I suspect he's off down Row Fourteen. Are you another archaeologist?"
“No. Is there anyone who could help me find him?”
The woman gave a sad laugh. “Not I, for sure, with my poor legs. But he won’t go far, since he must be back before Shan goes down, which is less than two hours.”
The woman pointed toward a pale blue moon. "When Shan sets, the Shadowmen will come in a rush, looking for throats to cut."
“Where is Row Fourteen?”
“Simple! Go down Column Five, which is the aisle yonder, count fourteen rows. Then turn to the left and go three or four columns, and Adrian should be nearby. If not, don’t go looking for him! The stones are confusing in the moonlight; you might easily lose your way. The pold is already black with spilled blood.”
“Thanks, I'll be careful.” Glawen started away. The woman called after him: “Watch for the others; remind them of the time!”
Glawen approached the Standing Stones. They loomed above him, twenty feet or so tall, massive in the moonlight. He entered Column Five; to either side the ranks receded and finally disappeared into the blur of mingled moonlight and darkness.
Glawen went at a half-run down Column Five, counting rows. At Row Eight he stopped to listen. The only sound was the flux of blood in his own ears. He continued: a shadow moving among the other shadows. At Row Twelve he stopped again, straining to hear sounds which might guide him.
Had his senses deceived him? Had he heard a voice? If so, it had been soft and diffident, as if wanting to make itself known, yet fearful of being overheard. Odd!
Glawen hurried aside into Row Twelve and ran on long stealthy steps past three ranks of stones, to Column Eight. He stopped again to listen. Silence! An ominous sign. If a friend had come out to join Moncurio, there would be conversation, or so it would seem. He set off down the column. Almost at once the call came again, as low-pitched and wary as before. The stones muffled sound; Glawen could not fix on the direction of the voice, or its distance; still it did not seem far.
Glawen went along the row to Column Nine, and turned to the right. Two more rows would bring him to Fourteen. He must not lose himself among the stones! Step by step he went forward. There were presences near, baleful and alert. Something came running through the dark to pounce on his back; he swung around. Nothing was there. His nerves had fooled him. He stood staring in all directions, listening for another call, or noise: anything he could fix upon.
It came: from near at hand a sudden laugh, an unpleasant roar, mocking and triumphant. Then came a babble of voices, a thud of sinister import; after a few breathless instants – a cry of awful fury.
Glawen put aside caution and ran toward the sounds. After a few feet, he halted to orient himself. He heard hurrying footsteps; looking along the column he saw a human shape. It approached at a peculiar lurching gait. Suddenly, with a sobbing gasp of frustration, it stopped short, bent low, made a hurled adjustment; then, free of its former restraint, ran forward and collided full into Glawen. Nine of the nineteen moons illuminated a stricken face. Glawen cried in amazement: “Wayness!”
She stared up, first in shock, then in incredulous joy. "Glawen! I can't believe that it's you!" She turned, looked over her shoulder. “Baro is back there: he's a murderer! He dropped Moncurio into a tomb and left him for the Shadowmen. He caught me and said I was more interesting alive than dead and started to undress me. I hit him with a spade and he fell down. I tried to run away but I could not run fast with my trousers down around my ankles.” She darted another glance over her shoulder. “We had best go to the hotel for help! Baro is a devil!”