“Perhaps you would inform me as to the range of your products.”
“The models yonder represent the scope of our current production, though of course we will always work to special order. This is the top of our line, the Magellanic Wanderer. Notice the forward promenade and the after lounge, both paned with photochrometz. There is accommodation for sixteen, plus a crew of six.
The engines are four Furnos dynos, two separately operating Thrussex Intertwists, six Meung gravity-pods. The appointments are excellent, without compromise. Instrumentation includes a pair of separately functioning trans-galactic navigators with dial settings to any world of the Gaean Reach. The price is SVU 327,000.”
“Very nice,” said Jubal, “but rather beyond my means.”
The agent nodded without surprise. “At the other end of the line is this little Teleflo, with accommodation for six and a crew of two. Appointments and fittings are of high quality; technical specifications are quite adequate. The price is SVU 18,500. We are also agents, incidentally, for the Devaunt Cadet Planet-Jumper, at SVU 9,800.”
Jubal pretended to ponder, as if calculating his assets. “Of course I can’t hope to match my friend Husler Arphenteil’s resources… I believe he was interested in the Magellanic Wanderer?”
“Everyone is interested in the Magellanic Wanderer. Husler Arphenteil’s friend, however, has influenced him in favor of the Sagittarius—this model here. It is a very luxurious craft with accommodation for twelve and a crew of four.”
“Which friend was this?”
“I do not know his name. He is evidently an important merchant.” In a slightly warmer tone of voice, the agent inquired: “What are Husler Arphenteil’s plans? He was also considering a Bendle Spacemaster, but he will make a great mistake if he decides in that direction. The cost is a trifle less, but Bendles lack the workmanship of our models, and there is a long history of troubles with their Defiance pods, which are merely second-rate imitations of the Meungs.”
“I believe he is inclining toward the Sagittarius, although I haven’t seen him for a week or more. By any chance do you have his present address?”
“Isn’t he still at the Shirbze Palace? I know of no other address.”
“Strange. I looked in the other day and they gave me to understand that Husler Arphenteil had moved.
Probably a misunderstanding. Incidentally, please don’t mention that I have been here, as he might think me presuming beyond my station. Though for a fact, I would willingly own a Teleflo.”
“Yes, the possibilities for marvellous discoveries are the same, no matter what the price range. May I offer you one of our brochures?”
“Thank you.”
Jubal rode a conveyance to one of the garden cafés along the Boulevard of Mercantic Visions. He was well-pleased with himself. Through skillful investigation, of which even Nai the Hever must approve, he had assembled a substantial amount of information. Ramus Ymph had come to Eiselbar as a rug dealer, a ludicrous idea in itself and one which should amuse Nai the Hever. Ramus Ymph’s motives could at least be glimpsed: he coveted a space-yacht, for the purchase of which toldecks were valueless, even were the transaction not flagrantly in violation of Thariot law.
With a satisfying sense of achievement Jubal consumed an expensive lunch. The
chotz
of other guests and the café attendants knit a not unpleasant embroidery of sound. His visit to Eiselbar had been not only productive, but also enjoyable. Spending Nai the Hever’s money was a pleasure in itself. What of Sune Mircea’s premonitions of danger? Absurd. Kyash was a most orderly city. Ramus Ymph was not to be credited with either scruples or self-restraint, but still he could hardly come up to Jubal’s room at the Gandolfo with a cudger gun and do murder.
Or could he?
Of course not! Jubal drained his goblet with a decisive gesture.
He switched his music-box to
Verve and Vivacity
. Now was not the time to rest on his laurels. More information was necessary.
By the time Jubal had finished his lunch he had decided upon an apparently feasible tactic. He returned to the Gandolfo, changed to Eisel afternoon wear: a blue bell-shaped blouse, tight salmon-red pants with black flounces and a black cummerbund. He telephoned the valet for a wig, of a style at the discretion of the valet, and was fitted with a voluminous contrivance which, rising high from his scalp, shrouded his forehead, ears and neck under tufts of liver-colored ringlets.
Jubal inspected himself in the mirror and was satisfied with his appearance. Descending to the boulevard, he walked through the yellow dazzle of afternoon to a public telephone at a nearby café.
Before calling, he noted the somewhat strident quality of
Verve and Vivacity
and changed to
Sincere Integrity
. Then he pressed the ‘Call’ button. “The Hotel Shirbze Palace.”
The screen displayed the smiling face and tumultuous blonde curls of the receptionist. “Hotel Shirbze Palace! At your service, Husler.”
“I am Husler Dart, of the Distant Worlds Rug Import Company. Is Husler Arphenteil on the premises?”
“One moment, Husler.” She spoke to the side: “Is Husler Arphenteil here?”
She listened to the reply, then returned to Jubal. “Sorry; we no longer enjoy Husler Arphenteil’s patronage.”
The tension which had stiffened Jubal’s nerves relaxed abruptly. He said in a hollow voice: “When did he leave?”
“Six days ago.”
“How may I reach him now?”
“Husler Arphenteil left no instructions, I am sorry to say.”
Jubal expressed his thanks and terminated contact. He stepped out upon the boulevard and stood glumly looking this way and that, sweat from under the wig trickling down his neck and the music-box suffusing the surroundings with a brave march-time tempo. Jubal, becoming aware of the now irrelevant
chotz
, in irritation switched to
Far Clouds in Stately Formation
.
A conveyance, sensing his presence, halted; Jubal climbed in and gave a terse direction. “The Gandolfo Hotel.”
The conveyance moved eastward along the boulevard, with Jubal sitting stiffly on the edge of the seat.
The five splendid shdavis of the Hotel Gandolfo loomed overhead. Jubal made a growling sound in his throat. He would not give up so easily! “Alter course. Take me to the Hotel Shirbze Palace.”
The conveyance swung in a semi-circle, returned westward along the boulevard and halted beside a triple-groined dome from which rose three shdavis, the highest chalk-blue, the second dust-beige, the lowest a pale rosy-pink. Two enormous black umbrella trees leaned across the entrance; letters forming the words HOTEL SHIRBZE PALACE floated above, swinging and bobbing on the breeze.
Jubal, alighting from the conveyance, switched back to
Sincere Integrity
and went purposefully into the hotel.
He approached the reception desk, behind which stood a pair of clerks. Both emanated placid afternoon music. “I am Husler Skanet of the Trans-galactic Space-yacht Company. I have important papers which must be delivered to Husler Arphenteil. Shall I leave them in your care?”
The first clerk smiled and shook his head. “You may leave your papers, Husler, but Husler Arphenteil is no longer with us, and we cannot guarantee to deliver them.”
“What a nuisance!” exclaimed Jubal in disgust. “He was most insistent! Of course he never left us a new address. He is a vain man who ignores the convenience of others.”
The clerk said cautiously, “Quite right, Husler. He simply departed our premises.”
“The fault is not mine, for which I am grateful,” said Jubal. “Mark me well, someone will suffer over this!
But it will not be me, for he will claim that he left the address with you, and he has wealthy
29
friends.”
Jubal placed an envelope upon the counter. “Here; give me my receipt and the responsibility is yours.”
The clerk threw up his hands and backed away from the counter. “We cannot accept important documents on this understanding.”
Jubal with a grim smile pushed the envelope further across the counter. “Husler Arphenteil ordered these papers delivered to him at this hotel. I am pleased to have done my duty. Husler Arphenteil is an impatient man, who lashes out blindly when he is perturbed. You must deliver the papers.”
“Impossible! He left no forwarding address! I call upon you to witness my statement!”
“Well then, where can he be found? Did he not come here with friends who might assist you?”
The clerk looked dubiously at his assistant. “Who was that large man in the pale wig who seemed Husler Arphenteil’s intimate? You must tell!
30
” The second clerk nodded. “I claim beneficence!
31
The friend is an important man of great wealth, whom I am proud to recognize. He is Husler Wolmer, who controls the People’s Joy Tourist Agency. Husler Arphenteil, so I believe, has gone on a tour.”
The first clerk by some subtle means adjusted his music to a serene and confident andante. “You may take advice of Husler Wolmer as to the disposition of your documents. Our responsibility is finally and absolutely ended.”
“I will do as you suggest,” said Jubal. He departed the hotel.
Once more he stood out in the open, and filaments of fire seemed to stream down from Bhutra to lick along the boulevards of Kyash. A conveyance sidled up beside Jubal; he stepped within. “The People’s Joy Tourist Agency.”
The conveyance turned down a side-street and crossed a viaduct over a gully, barren except for wild slimebanes and thickets of black cactus.
The street entered a plaza, where a fountain threw jets of nonvolatile liquids, stained different colors, high into the air. A hundred domes of as many enterprises surrounded the plaza, each with a sign floating above. The conveyance stopped by a dome where floating letters read: PEOPLE’S JOY, with below the script:
Pleasure designed to suit the tastes of all
.
Jubal entered the cool interior. At four counters clerks conferred with customers; others waited on benches. A receptionist spoke to Jubal: “Your name, Husler? I will notify you when your turn has arrived.”
“I am Husler Delk. Tell me, which of these gentlemen is Husler Wolmer?”
“None of them. Husler Wolmer is proprietor of the firm.”
“Is he here at this moment?”
“No, Husler, he does not normally frequent the premises. You must make an appointment to see him.”
“Thank you.”
While Jubal waited he watched the photoscape panels which advertised tours of the worlds Dwet and Zalmyre, next out in orbit from Eiselbar. On Dwet safaris of forty persons rode air-conditioned glass vehicles across jungle, swamp and savannah, inspecting strange and awful beasts at close quarters during the day and resting by night at first-class jungle lodges with filtered air, tasteful music, excellent cuisine and gaming casinos. On Zalmyre a three-week tour included a visit to the Black Opal Mountains, a submarine tour of Lake Meya, and a voyage in modern forty-passenger vessels down the mighty Orgobats River, with stops each night at luxurious native-style hostels, where Eisel managers and staff guaranteed full cosmopolitan comfort. Fares were calculated on the basis of the forty-module; larger groups might expect a discount.
Eventually the receptionist approached Jubal. “If you please, Husler Delk, our ‘pleasure expert’ is anxious to gratify your wishes.”
She led Jubal to a counter, behind which sat a blank-faced young man whose bleached white hair enclosed his face in a dandelion-fluff nimbus. He twitched his lips in a welcoming smile, touched a button which by raising his chair, elevated him into a politely erect position. “Good afternoon, Husler Delk.
Please be seated.” His own chair lowered; he subsided to a sitting position, for the hundredth time that day spared the fatigue of jumping to his feet to greet his clients. “And how may People’s Joy serve you?
We are known as ‘the pleasure experts’; we are anxious to fulfill the promise of our soubriquet.”
“I am not sure whether you can help me,” said Jubal. “I came to see Husler Wolmer, but apparently this is impossible.”
“Yes, Husler Wolmer is a very busy man. Perhaps I can at least assist in meeting your needs?”
“I might wish to bring members of my association to Eiselbar, but first I must investigate your facilities.”
“How many in your group, Husler?”
“Approximately seventy-five or eighty.”
“Two modules. A convenient number. All of our attractions are designed in terms of modules; we find it far more efficient: all except the Temenk River Resorts and the Happy Valley Lodges which by their very nature must segregate the clientele on a different basis.”
“These are the ‘therapeutic resorts’?”
“Yes, they are luxurious hostelries where clients are encouraged to explore, define and perhaps resolve their erotic problems. Each of the lodges specializes in one or another facet of this large matter. This pamphlet will provide you explicit details; study it at your leisure.”
“Thank you. Incidentally, before we proceed, at the Hotel Shirbze Palace I became acquainted with Husler Arphenteil, an intimate of Husler Wolmer. Where might I have the pleasure of seeing him again?”
“Husler Arphenteil?”
“Yes; this wealthy gentleman.” Jubal displayed the photograph.
“I believe that this is the client Husler Wolmer is now personally entertaining. They are currently on Zalmyre.”
“Where are they staying?”
“I could not say, Husler. I know nothing of their business. When would your group arrive?”
“In about six months.”
“Excellent. We of course are agents for all the space-ship lines and we will arrange the tour from spaceport to space-port. Now, as to details—”
“I wish to talk over special arrangements with Husler Wolmer. Maybe I will see him on Zalmyre.”
“You wish to visit Zalmyre, Husler?”
“Yes, I think I should do so—in the interests of my group.”
“I will fit you into Module A-116, which departs tomorrow.”
The time was dark mauve twilight; Skay, at the full, dominated the east. Jubal Droad half walked, half ran down Sprade Way, in that rather dismal district of Wysrod known as the Basse. He moved with furtive stealth, keeping to the shadows where the narrow-fronted houses blocked out the light of Skay. He halted at a telephone kiosk, looked quickly up and down the street, then slipped inside. He spoke into the mesh: “The House of Hever, on the Cham.”
The pane displayed a two-headed flying snake: the emblem of the Hevers. Jubal felt a dour scrutiny, then heard the curt voice of Flanish: “What is your purpose in calling?”
“Connect me instantly to Nai the Hever!” He peered down the street toward a moving shadow.
“The Nobilissimus is engaged for the entire evening. I suggest that you present yourself at the Parloury offices in the morning.”
The moving shape slowly approached the kiosk: an anonymous human hulk. Jubal spoke in a tense voice: “Inform Nai the Hever that I am on the telephone; be quick!”
“Your business is urgent?”
“Of course it’s urgent! Why else am I calling?”
“I will mention your call to the Nobilissimus.”
“Hurry!”
The shape seemed to hesitate, then, passing through a bar of Skay-light, showed a sultry gleam of face and eyes, moved on along the street and away. Jubal bent his head to watch it recede.
A moment went by. Jubal drummed on the shelf with his fingers.
Nai the Hever’s image appeared on the pane. “Where are you?”
“At a kiosk in Sprade Way.”
“Come up to my house at once.”
“Has Ramus Ymph returned to Thaery?”
“Yes; he is at his manse on the Athander Fens.”
“I fear that I am being followed.”
“Quite possibly. Attack or evade the offending party, as you please, but come at once.”
“A hack is coming; I shall hire it.”
“Along Sprade Way? At this hour? Odd. Leave the kiosk, run to the corner and conceal yourself before it arrives. Then as quickly as possible, come to my house.”
“Do you have my three thousand toldecks on hand?”
“Two thousand was the stipulated sum.”
Jubal slipped out of the kiosk, crossed to the deepest shadows and ran light-footed up Sprade Way.
The hack, so he imagined, increased its speed. Jubal ducked around the corner, stepped into an areaway.
The hack, emerging from Sprade Way, turned in the opposite direction.
Jubal left his hiding place and proceeded along the street. Presently he encountered another hack; climbing into the gaunt compartment, he spoke the address of Hever House.
Along the tree-shrouded boulevards, up the hillside, around the Cham he rode; down Hever Lane, up to the front entrance.
Flanish slid aside the portal a minimal gap, crooked a finger. Jubal entered, and at Flanish’s gesture followed him along a corridor. They passed a drawing room, from which issued voices and laughter; glancing through the doorway Jubal saw a group of young men and women sipping from crystal goblets, discussing those topics which amused them most. Sune Mircea looked up and Jubal thought that perhaps she saw him, though her eyes were unfocused.
Nai the Hever waited for him in the library, a fold of newspaper on the table before him. “Your exploits have preceded you. ‘The anonymous hero who with unswerving courage’, and so forth.”
“My name is not mentioned? My identity is unknown?”
“What difference does it make?”
Jubal had resolved to maintain at all times a mien at least as cool and imperturbable as that of Nai the Hever. “I wonder exactly how and why the event occurred. In short: am I known by name or by description? Or was the affair a mistake? If not a mistake, then who betrayed me?”
“These are interesting questions,” said Nai the Hever. “Exactly what occurred?”
“As I approached Wysrod, I fell into a strange mood. My Uncle Vaidro has urged me never to ignore a hunch, and remembering my previous experience I put myself on the alert. Arriving at the depot, I became even more apprehensive: justly so, as it turned out. In the foyer I noticed a small man in a dark blue quat standing at the side. He showed no interest in me, but as I went out he followed. I halted just beyond the door, as if I were awaiting someone. He came after me, walked a few paces to the side, then turned and aimed his gun. I dropped to the ground and his shot struck a man unlucky enough to be walking past. Before he could shoot again I threw my knife and pierced his neck.”
“Thoughtless,” grumbled Nai the Hever. “You should have overpowered him.”
“With his gun poised for a second shot? You are poorly advised in defensive tactics. In any event, since I wished no notoriety, I retrieved my knife, wiped it on the dead man’s shirt, for which he had no further use, and departed as quickly as possible.”
“There, at least, you demonstrated tact.” Nai the Hever touched the paper before him. “The victim was a magnate of high caste, the Noble Cansart of the Waygards. His assassination is a general source of mystification. No one can even speculate as to a motive. Several bystanders extol the courage of—let me see, what is the text?—‘a young man apparently not of exalted caste, and of unrecognizable ilk, though certain persons suspect him of being a Glint. This young man demonstrated remarkable resource and seriously disabled the madman, in fact expunging his life. Then, modestly refusing to accept the plaudits of the bystanders, the young man departed without delay. The bereaved Waygard ilk is anxious to express a commendation to the unknown stalwart.’” With a fastidious forefinger, Nai the Hever pushed the paper aside.
“The question remains,” said Jubal, “who instigated the attack? And more importantly, how did this person know that I was due to return?”
Nai the Hever compressed his lips. “You must school yourself against blatantly obvious observations, and also rhetorical questions which only serve to blunt the keen edge of attention.”
“Allow me to rephrase the question. Do you know who planned this attack upon me?”
“The natural assumption would be: Ramus Ymph.”
“And how did—or I should ask: do you know how Ramus Ymph learned that I was to return to Wysrod on this date?”
“Someone evidently told him.”
“Who?”
“I have no certain knowledge. Let us drop the matter. It is essentially a side-issue—”
“Not to me! I emphasize this!”
“Yes. Well, for a moment let us discuss Eiselbar and your findings there. I take it you have something to report?”
“I do indeed. In connection with the second half of my payment, there seems to be some disagreement as to whether the amount was two or three thousand toldecks—”
Nai the Hever interposed an apparently idle question. “How much palladium did you bring home?”
“A trivial side-issue, to use your words.”
Nai the Hever wearily brought forth an envelope, which he tossed to Jubal. “Two thousand toldecks.”
Jubal flicked through the notes. “No doubt you are recording my remarks?”
Nai the Hever inclined his head.
“Then I must speak deliberately.” He paused as Flanish brought a tray of tea and wafers, then quietly departed.
“I arrived at the city of Kyash. It is a remarkable place, quite unlike Wysrod, and the Eisels are no less extraordinary. They ignore both caste and ilk, and gauge a stranger’s quality only by the depth of his pocketbook. The system is straightforward, and the folk are congenial, if rather too gregarious. Their music still rings in my ears.”
Nai the Hever, gravely sipping tea, offered no comment.
“I took accommodation at the Hotel Gandolfo. Ramus Ymph was not known there. I made further inquiries, without result. Then on a merchandise counter, to my astonishment, I noticed a Djan rug. I discovered that Ramus Ymph, using the name ‘Husler Arphenteil’, had brought a considerable number of Djan rugs to Kyash, hoping to sell them to the tourists.
“He seems to have met with very little success—perhaps none whatever. The question arises, why should Ramus Ymph, of an important ilk, sell rugs at Kyash? Why should he require Gaean SVU instead of solid toldecks?” Jubal looked inquiringly at Nai the Hever. “Can you guess?”
“No.”
“Ramus Ymph has an absolutely grand ambition. He wishes to buy a space-yacht: specifically that type known as the Sagittarius.”
“How did you learn this?”
“The idle remark of a rug dealer induced me to visit a space-yacht agency, where I made indirect inquiries.”
Nai the Hever made the faint sibilant sound which indicated his approval. “So what then?”
“Eventually I located Ramus Ymph’s hotel, only to learn that he had departed. I traced him to the People’s Joy Tourist Agency, and once again missed him: he had gone on a tour of the outer planets. I decided to follow and joined a module of forty tourists en route to Zalmyre. This was the only feasible procedure; a single traveler can find no accommodation, as all facilities are calculated for groups of forty.
“The experience was memorable. My thirty-nine fellows were enthusiastic and gay. They were frequently intoxicated and made a great deal of noise. The music was incessant.”
“Ramus Ymph submitted himself to this treatment?” asked Nai the Hever in amazement.
“So I am given to understand, though he went in company with a certain Husler Wolmer, who owns the agency. I suspect that he hopes to sell his rugs to the People’s Joy Tourist Agency, or otherwise earn the funds he requires for his Sagittarius.”
“Did you, then, encounter Ramus Ymph on Zalmyre?”
“By the very nature of the system, I could not do so. The modules move from place to place, one following the other. I could not escape my module in order to join Ramus Ymph’s, not even temporarily.
I was forced to pick up scraps of information as we moved. These items were meager and essentially meaningless. He was described as an alert and interested tourist, making no complaints, destroying no property, discarding a minimum of litter across the countryside. He was not considered congenial, and certain folk resented his habits of authority. The Eisels are not only gregarious; they are dedicated egalitarians, and what is good enough for one is good enough for all.”
Nai the Hever showed a small veiled smile. “So you never met Ramus Ymph?”
Jubal made a gesture, counseling Nai the Hever to patience. “The A-116 Module, or the ‘Jolly Wayfarers’, as we called ourselves, toured Zalmyre in a glass-domed capsule, stabilized for comfort, air-conditioned, equipped with a refreshment bar, television panes, and individual music suffusers. We drifted down the Orgobats River, each night stopping at a riverside lodge, where we were provided entertainment, gambling facilities, the services of a masseuse or masseur, and souvenir photographs. We visited the Iron-tree Grove, where each of us was allowed to inscribe a leaf. We inspected a Khret-Hurde settlement, which is a society of two disparate indigenous races, interacting to their mutual advantage.
They tolerate tourists, but refuse to perform eccentric dances, fertility rites, or shamanistic marvels, and the Jolly Wayfarers thought them somewhat dull. We arrived at Sunset Cape on an ocean whose name I forget, where the group enjoyed a carnival masque with staff escorts and a gala banquet.
“Eventually we returned to the space-port. Ramus Ymph’s module, ‘the Dauntless Bluebirds’, had already arrived and were awaiting the ship. I naturally searched for Ramus Ymph, but he was no longer a member of the group. Somewhere along the route he had detached himself from the tour. I put discreet questions to Husler Wolmer, but found him impenetrable.
“At Kyash I returned to the Gandolfo, to consider my next tactic. I had hardly arrived before two gentlemen came to see me. They identified themselves as officials of the Peace and Tranquility Bureau. I asked them if they were not, in fact, police agents, and they admitted that functionally the roles were similar. They began to question me. Why had I so consistently misrepresented myself? Why had I used so many different names? What was my interest in rugs, not to mention space-yachts and Husler Wolmer?
“I expressed indignation. Was this not Eiselbar, where a visitor could do as he liked, so long as he neither destroyed property nor shoplifted? True, to a degree, they told me, but in order to maintain such an atmosphere of careless irresponsibility, they kept everyone under a quiet but comprehensive surveillance.
“We fell into a philosophical discussion. The egalitarian society, so they explained, is characterized by placidity, order, and the willingness of each individual to restrict himself to his allotted set of perquisites.
Such conditions were not automatic, so I was assured, and even many of the tourists confused liberty with license. Since the PTB could not act without knowledge, comprehensive surveillance and detailed records were a necessity.
“In some puzzlement I asked, ‘What of the therapeutic sexual resorts, where people go to purge themselves of warps and inhibitions? Surely in this case…?’
“‘Every activity is monitored, photographed and recorded,’ I was told, ‘to the ultimate benefit of the innocent tourist. Troublesome persons, of course, can sharply be brought to heel by any of several means.’
“They returned to my particular case. Were they to understand that I refused to explain my conduct?
“I had already explained it, I told them: the idle caprice of a tourist.
“They replied that I was definitely not the sort of tourist they wanted; they advised me to leave the planet before I tripped while crossing a walkway and fell among the slimes. Such accidents often happened to disruptive persons, especially those who disturbed persons like Husler Wolmer.
“I saw the wisdom of their advice and caught the first ship for Frinsse, and so returned to Wysrod.”
Nai the Hever said in a measured voice: “I must say that you have returned with rather more information than I expected. Let us now discuss the matter in full detail.”
“Willingly,” said Jubal, “but first, if you please, to a subject of direct concern to me. Someone who has access to information regarding my movements is transmitting this information to Ramus Ymph.”
“So it would seem,” said Nai the Hever thoughtfully.