The Dogtown Tourist Agency (15 page)

Another Kzyk flyer darted into the sky, and another and another; seven flyers soared in the air current hurled aloft by the ramp.

One of these now laid back his wings and darted down upon a Ubaikh captain. From the Ubaikh ranks came a rising scream. The captain swung around, apprised himself of his peril. He seized a lance, butted it into the soil, and pointed it toward the Kzyk, who wheeled away and soared off into the upflow of air and presently regained his altitude.

The Ubaikh flyers launched themselves from their towers and entered the updraft; in the air over the parapets occurred a dozen small battles, each flyer hacking at the body or the head of his adversary, but never at the vulnerable wings. Occasionally a pair grappled, tearing and stabbing at
each other, to topple slowly head-over-heels toward the ground in a fluttering, flapping confusion of arms, legs and wings, disengaging at the last possible instant, and sometimes not at all.

Ubaikh flyers landed upon the parapets to do battle with the Kzyk defenders; others settled upon the buttresses joining the outer towers to the keep, where the Kzyk struggled to thrust them off.

For an hour the air battle raged; the Kzyk defenders repelling the Ubaikh attackers, and the sward became littered with corpses. The wind was rising; the flyers soared and wheeled, rising to great heights, then lunging upon their opponents.

Tattered clouds began to fleet across the sky; in the west a bank of black clouds flared with lightning. The flyers were hurled downwind, toppling head-over-heels, and no more flyers were launched. The Ubaikh pushed the gantries closer to the castle and tilted them to lean upon the buttresses, where they served as great ladders. The Ubaikh warriors clambered up, swarmed across the buttresses, leaped down upon the parapets. From the towers, the Kzyk counter-attacked, toppling the gantries to the ground. Battles raged along the parapets, then all the Ubaikh were torn apart, and their corpses thrown to the ground.

From a cloud overhead a spout of white light struck the Kzyk castle; another, then a third; three smoking holes gaped into the structure, and Kzyk came swarming forth like frantic insects.

Janika gasped. “What terrible lightning!”

Hetzel stared in wonder up at the cloud which had discharged such awesome bolts of energy. From the corner of his eye he glimpsed motion; he looked to where a black air-car floated over the crest of the hill. It spat a projectile into the cloud, then darted aside and away.

The cloud flickered to a blast of internal orange fire; down like a dead bird dropped a black hull, twisted and burned. The design was strange to Hetzel. He looked at Janika.

“The Liss patrol boat.”

Within the Liss craft, backup mechanisms took effect; the boat slid out of its fall and swerved off to the west. From its bow came another spout of white dazzle; the air-car was outlined in coruscations, and fell behind the hill. The Liss ship limped off to the west. It jerked ahead, stopped short, then turned up its stern and jerked down at great speed, to bury itself into the hillside.

The Ubaikh and Kzyk were now fighting a desperate war, from which all gallantry and punctilio had disappeared. Out from the castle swarmed hundreds of Kzyk, outnumbering the Ubaikh by two to one; the Ubaikh fell back.

“Here comes the transport from Axistil,” said Janika in a faint voice.

The carrier descended from the sky to the landing. A pair of Kzyk disembarked, to examine the combat and the ravaged castle with calm and critical gazes.

Hetzel, Janika, and the Ubaikh chieftain boarded the carrier. Hetzel went to speak to the pilot. The carrier rose from the depot, and at Hetzel’s direction slid low over the hill. The air-car lay smoldering on the turf. Hetzel and the pilot jumped to the ground and went to inspect the wreck. Inside the cage of twisted metal could be seen a body: contorted, burned, but still recognizable—a man Hetzel had never seen but knew very well. “So much for Casimir Wuldfache,” said Hetzel. “He died for Istagam.”

The carrier flew north along the shore of the Frigid Ocean, then swung southwest, flying through the night, while Hetzel and Janika dozed and the Ubaikh chieftain sat sternly erect. At dawn the
carrier arrived at the Axistil depot, at the far corner of the plaza. Four Gomaz passengers alighted, then the Ubaikh, finally Hetzel and Janika, limping with fatigue. “Civilization,” said Hetzel. “Axistil is the end of nowhere, but right now it looks like home. Are you coming to the Beyranion for breakfast? Your old friend Gidion Dirby will be on hand.”

Janika made a wry grimace. “I don’t want to see Gidion Dirby. Roseland Residential is just yonder. First I’m going to take a hot bath, then I’ll resign from the tourist agency, and then I’m going to bed for the rest of the day. I hope Zaressa hasn’t used all the hot water.”

“Tonight, then, at the Beyranion.”

“Thank you for the wonderful time. And I’ll see you tonight.”

Hetzel watched her until she turned down the Avenue of Lost Souls. The Ubaikh stamped and hissed, a formidable spectacle in his five-pronged cast-iron helmet, black vest studded with iron bosses, and dangling black iron sword. Hetzel spoke into the translator. “Today should see the finish of this unpleasant affair, which will gratify all of us except the assassins.”

The Ubaikh replied; the printout read: “Aliens are overtimorous. They fear death. They lack patriotism.” The word ‘patriotism’ was printed in red and underlined, to indicate approximation. “Why waste so much anguish over a few killings, especially since those expunged were not your own kind?”

“The situation is more complex than you imagine,” said Hetzel. “In any event, your part in this matter will soon be accomplished, and you will be at liberty to return to your castle.”

“The sooner the better. Let us proceed.”

“We must wait an hour or two.”

“Another example of Gaean frivolity! All night we hurtle through the air at great speed in order to arrive at Axistil; now you delay. The Gomaz are direct and precise.”

“Delay is sometimes unavoidable. I will take you to the famous Beyranion Hotel, a lavish castle of the Gaeans, where I intend to honor you with a gift or two.” He set off across the plaza. The Ubaikh uttered a peevish hiss and strode after him, irons clanking, and so purposefully that Hetzel cringed back in alarm; then, recovering his poise, he turned and led the way to the Beyranion, where, to his relief, no one was yet astir.

Making sounds of reluctance and distaste, the Ubaikh entered Hetzel’s rooms. Gidion Dirby was nowhere to be seen; Hetzel was hardly surprised. Dirby, in his present frame of mind, must be considered unpredictable.

Hetzel motioned to the couch. “Rest upon this piece of furniture. I have decided to offer you several gifts, to compensate for your inconvenience.” He went to his luggage and brought forth a hand lamp and an assault knife with a proteum edge. Hetzel explained the operation of the lamp and gave a warning in regard to the knife: “Take great care! The edge is invisible; it will cut anything it touches. You can slice your iron sword as if it were a withe!”

The Ubaikh uttered sibilant sounds. The printout read: “This is an act of appeasement, which has been noted with approval.”

Gomaz for “thanks”, thought Hetzel. He said, “I now plan to bathe and change my garments. As soon as possible thereafter, we will transact our business.”

“I am impatient to depart without delay.”

“There will be as little delay as possible. Rest yourself. Please do not test the knife upon the furnishings of this room. Do you want to look at a picture book?”

“Negative.”

Hetzel, clean and in fresh garments, returned to the sitting room. The Ubaikh apparently had not shifted position. Hetzel asked, “Do you require food or refreshment?”

“Negative.”

Hetzel dropped into a chair. The hot water had worked to soporific effect; his eyelids drooped. He looked at his watch: At least an hour until he could expect to find Sir Estevan at the Triskelion. He spoke into the translator. “Why did the Ubaikh attack the Kzyk in a ‘war of hate’?”

“The Kzyk have allied themselves with the Gaeans. They have agreed to an ignoble collaboration, in return for supplies of ‘man-stuff’—” printed in red, to indicate paraphrase of an untranslatable word “—and the Gaeans teach them to construct energy weapons. In five years the Kzyk will roam Maz in overpowering hordes; their bantlings will carry guns and fly like gargoyles and destroy our bantlings; the Kzyk will dominate the world, unless the Ubaikh destroy them now, alone, or in coalition with other loyal septs.”

“And what is ‘man-stuff’?”

“I have spoken enough to the Gaean enemy. I will say no more.”

Hetzel sat back in the chair. Where was Gidion Dirby? If the Liss or the Olefract were aware of his identity—and according to Sir Estevan, they knew everything which transpired both at the Triskelion and at the Beyranion Hotel—then Gidion Dirby might well encounter unpleasantness in Dogtown. Or even at the Beyranion itself, which was by no means invulnerable to intrusion, as Hetzel himself could testify. Dirby might have been sleep-gassed and taken away, never to be seen again.

The telephone chimed. Hetzel jerked up from the chair. He touched buttons; Janika looked forth from the screen. Her face was haggard with fatigue and horror. She spoke in a husky voice. “Vv. Byrrhis is dead! There have been thieves!”

“Where are you calling from?”

“I’m at the agency.”

“What are you doing there?”

“I came down to quit my job; I want to leave Axistil. I don’t care about the money, and Vv. Byrrhis is lying dead on the floor.” Her voice rose a quavering octave.

Hetzel thought a moment. “How was he killed?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know thieves were responsible?”

“The safe is open; his wallet is on the floor.”

“And there’s no money left?”

“Nothing, so far as I can see. What should I do?”

“I suppose you’d better call the Dogtown marshal. There’s not much else you can do.”

“I don’t want to be involved; I don’t want to answer questions; I just want to run away and leave.”

“The old man in the curio shop undoubtedly saw you arrive, and if you don’t make a report, they’ll think you’re involved. Call the marshal and tell the truth. You have nothing to hide.”

“That’s true. Very well. I wish you were here representing me instead of Gidion Dirby.”

“I’ll finish with Dirby today, and Istagam as well, or so I hope. Then I can devote my full attention to you.”

“Unless I’m in the Dogtown jail.”

“I’ll telephone you as soon as I finish at the Triskelion. If I can’t get you at home or the agency, I’ll try the jail. You’d better call the marshal right now.”

Janika gave a wan assent, and the screen went blank. Hetzel turned around, to see Gidion Dirby coming in through the door. He stopped short, looking in bemusement from Hetzel to the Ubaikh.

“Who’s this?” asked Dirby. “A new client?”

Hetzel made no reply. Dirby came farther into the room. Hetzel thought that he seemed flushed and excited, tumescent with some unidentifiable emotion. Pride? Triumph? Hetzel asked sourly, “How much did you take from him?”

Dirby jerked back a bit, as if he had encountered an invisible wall. He attempted carelessness. “From whom?”

“Byrrhis.”

Dirby’s mouth sagged a trifle, then curved into a tight smile. “You mean Banghart.”

“Whatever his name is.”

“Worried about your fee?”

“Not at all.”

“Perhaps you should be worried. You haven’t done much.”

“First of all,” said Hetzel, “I listened to you. Second, I prevented Aeolus Shult from turning you over to Captain Baw. Third, I’ve found a witness to the assassinations.” He nodded toward the Ubaikh. “If you’re innocent, he’ll testify as much. So, once again: how much did you take from Byrrhis, or Banghart?”

“It’s not really your affair,” said Dirby. “Whatever I took, he owes me.”

“Two thousand SLU is the receptionist’s salary. A thousand is my fee. The rest of the money, I’m not concerned about.”

Dirby’s face became sullen. “The rest doesn’t amount to very much. What do I get out of all this? Don’t forget, I have a claim too!”

“Need I remind you,” said Hetzel, “that this ‘claim’ is what you hoped to earn from your smuggling activities? And that you’ve just murdered a man to gain control of the money?”

“I murdered no one,” snapped Dirby. “I was walking down the street; I looked into the tourist agency, and there was Banghart, big as life. I went in, and one word led to another. He went for his gun and I twisted his neck. I won and took the money he was carrying.”

Hetzel waited.

Reluctantly Dirby said, “It was a bit more than five thousand.”

Hetzel waited.

Dirby growled under his breath and brought forth his wallet. He counted out notes, tossed them on the table. “There’s three thousand. Pay off the receptionist; the rest is your fee.”

“Thank you,” said Hetzel. “By now Sir Estevan will be at the Triskelion, and we will undertake to clarify the circumstances of the assassinations.”

Hetzel went to the telephone, punched buttons. The screen became decorated with the flower-petal face of Zaressa Lurling. Hetzel heard Gidion Dirby mutter in amazement.

“Connect me, please, with Sir Estevan.”

Zaressa’s face became professionally blank. “Sir Estevan is occupied; he won’t be able to see you today.”

“Tell him Vv. Hetzel wants to speak to him; tell him that I have urgent information in regard to the recent assassinations.”

“I’m sorry, Vv. Hetzel. Sir Estevan definitely does not wish to be disturbed.”

“Regardless, you must intrude upon his relaxation. He gave me instructions to communicate with him as soon as possible. Tell him that the Ubaikh who witnessed the assassinations is on hand and has agreed to provide information.”

Zaressa’s mouth quavered in uncertainty. “I’m not supposed to bother Sir Estevan; why not discuss the matter later in the day with Captain Baw?”

“Young woman,” said Hetzel, “I am calling at Sir Estevan’s own express request! Connect me at once!”

“I can’t interrupt him now. He’s busy with Captain Baw.”