The Dogtown Tourist Agency (6 page)

Gidion Dirby laughed again: a hoarse, hacking sound. “There can’t be two of me. Sometimes I doubt if there’s even one.”

Hetzel hazarded a shot in the dark. “Istagam has dealt unfairly with you.”

Gidion Dirby cut short his mirth. “Istagam? Why Istagam?” He seemed concerned and puzzled.

“You don’t know?”

“Of course I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

Hetzel reached a decision. He rose to his feet. “Come along with me. At the Beyranion Captain Baw can make no demands upon either of us.”

Dirby made no move. He blinked across the plaza, then looked back at Hetzel. “Why?”

“I want to hear your story as a coherent unit, especially in regard to your dealings with Istagam.”

Dirby grunted and rose to his feet. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

They moved off toward the Beyranion.

Upon entering the suite, Hetzel indicated the bathroom. “Clean yourself. Drop your clothes down the chute.”

Gidion Dirby grumbled something without conviction and went into the bathroom. Hetzel telephoned for a barber and fresh garments.

In due course Gidion Dirby stood in the center of the room clean, shorn, shaved, and dressed in clean clothes. Only his surly expression remained. Hetzel surveyed him with qualified approval. “You’re a different person. Without risk you could return to the Triskelion and assassinate Vvs. Felius.”

Gidion Dirby ignored the rather mordant pleasantry. He inspected himself in a mirror. “I haven’t looked at myself like this for…I don’t know how long. Months, I suppose.”

Waiters appeared with a catering cart and laid out a meal. Gidion Dirby ate with an appetite he made no effort to conceal and drank more than half a bottle of green wine.

Hetzel presently asked, “What, in general, are your plans?”

“What good are plans? I have none. The police are looking for me.”

“Not too diligently, perhaps.”

Gidion Dirby looked up, suddenly alert. “Why do you say that?”

“Isn’t it strange that an assassin could kill two Triarchs while Captain Baw looked on, then run away unscathed? I may, of course, be overestimating Captain Baw’s competence.”

“I’m not an assassin,” said Gidion Dirby in a flat voice. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I am interested in Istagam. I want to hear what you can tell me. It’s that simple.”

“Not all that simple. You are a police official?”

“No.”

Dirby’s voice became sarcastic. “A philanthropist. An amateur of oddities?”

“I am an effectuator,” said Hetzel.

“It makes no difference, in any case. I have no secrets.” He took a gulp of wine. “Very well, I’ll tell you what happened to me. You can believe me or not; it’s all the same. My home is Thrope on the planet Cicely. My father owns an estate of one of the northern islands—Huldice, if you happen
to know Cicely. It’s a quiet place where nothing ever happens except the turn of the crops and the hussade championships, and even our hussade is stately and we denude no sheirls, more’s the pity…To be brief, I grew up to wanderlust, and when I left Dagglesby University I took a job with the Blue Arrow Line as supercargo. At Wolden Port, on Arbello, we picked up cargo for Maz—perhaps some of this very wine we drink now.”

“Not this wine. This is Medlin-Esterhazy, from Saint Wilmin.”

Dirby made an impatient gesture. “We discharged our cargo at the spaceport yonder and took aboard a new cargo of crated merchandise. The consignee was Istagam at Twisselbane on Tamar.”

“Twisselbane? And there you met Casimir Wuldfache? Or Carmine Daruble?”

“I met neither. We discharged cargo, and then I went across town to the Pleasure Gardens, where I met a beautiful girl with dark hair and a wonderful soft voice. Her name was Eljiano. She had just arrived in town from one of the backlands, or so she told me. I fell in love with her, and one thing led to another, and two days later I woke up with no money and no Eljiano. When I managed to get myself to the spaceport, my ship was gone and far away.

“A man came up to me and asked if I wanted to earn some easy money. I asked, ‘How much and how easy?’ This was my second mistake. My first was at the Pleasure Gardens. The man said his name was Banghart and his game was smuggling. Well, I needed money, and I agreed to the proposition. We loaded an old barrel of a hulk with unmarked crates, and they might have been the same crates we had brought away from Maz, except that they were far heavier. But I knew that Istagam was somehow connected with the affair. Banghart told me nothing.

“We took off on the hulk and presently stood off a planet surrounded by an orange nimbus. Banghart identified the planet as Dys, wherever that is. We discharged our cargo by moonlight, on an island in a swamp.”

“Dys has no orange nimbus,” said Hetzel.

Gidion Dirby paid him no heed. “Banghart approached the planet with great caution, and I believe he was waiting for a signal, because all of a sudden we dropped like a stone down to the night side. We landed on an island in a swamp and all night long discharged cargo by hand, under a beautiful big full moon, green as a gooseberry.”

“Dys has no moon,” said Hetzel.

Dirby nodded. “We were here on Maz. When the hold was empty, Banghart told me that I had to stay and guard the cargo, that I was to be sent out another job. I complained, but in a reasonable voice, because I had nothing to back up my arguments. I said, ‘Yes, Mr. Banghart, certainly, Mr. Banghart, I’ll really guard this shipment.’ The ship left. I was sure I was going to be killed, so I climbed a tree and hid in the branches.

“I began to think. I watched the moon; it was big and round and green and I knew then that I was back on Maz. The crates must certainly contain weapons for the Gomaz. I could see that my chances were poor. If the Gomaz caught me, they’d kill me; if the Triarchy patrol caught me, they’d seal me into the top floor of the Exhibitory.

“The moonlight was too green and dim to see by. I sat in the tree until daylight; then I climbed to the ground. The day was overcast and almost as dim as the night, but I noticed a path leading off across the swamp, with timbers laid across the worst spots.

“Even now I hesitated. Banghart had told me to guard the cargo, and I was deathly afraid of him. I still am. Worse now. But I finally decided to try the path. I walked about two hours. I had a few minor adventures, but no real emergencies, and I finally came to dry land. A stone fence ran along the shore. By this time nothing seemed strange. The path led to a gate, and here a man waited, and
this is where the story starts to become insane. I’m not insane, mind you; it’s just what happened to me. This man was tall and as handsome as Avatar Gisrod. He wore a white robe, a white turban, a veil of white gauze embroidered with black pearls. He seemed to be expecting me. I said, ‘Good morning, sir, can you direct me to civilization?’

“He said, ‘Of course. Step over here.’ He took me to a tent. ‘Just wait inside.’

“I said I’d just as soon wait outside in the open; he just pointed into the tent. I went in, and that’s all I remember; Handsome must have had put-out gas waiting for me.” Gidion Dirby heaved a sad sigh.

“I came back to life in a large bare room. There were no doors or windows. The floor measured twelve paces in one direction, fourteen and a half in the other. The ceiling was high; I could barely see it. I must have been unconscious for two or three days; my beard had grown; I was weak and thirsty. There was a chair, a table, a couch, all built of rough timber, but I wasn’t overly critical.” Dirby paused. “What do you think of the story so far?”

“I haven’t thought. I’m just listening. Offhand, there doesn’t seem any relationship between its various phases.”

Dirby could not restrain a grim smile. “Quite right. Where does it start? When I left Dagglesby University? When I first came to Maz? At the Pleasure Gardens? When I took up with Banghart? Or has this always been my destiny? This is a most important question.”

Hetzel said, “Perhaps I lack perceptiveness…”

Dirby showed no impatience. “The point is this…But, no. I’ll just go on with the story. It’s quite absurd, don’t you think?”

Hetzel refilled the goblets. “There may be a pattern not yet evident to either of us.”

Dirby shrugged, to indicate that he cared nothing one way or the other. “I looked around the room. Light came from two high fixtures. The walls were white plastic. The floor was covered with a gray composition. Across one end of the room was a platform, as high as my waist and four feet wide—a stage, with flush doors at both sides. On the table was a jug. It seemed to hold water, and I drank. The water had an odd flavor, and after a few minutes I was bent over with stomach cramps. I decided that I had been poisoned, and I was ready to die. But I vomited instead, time after time, until I was too weak to vomit anymore. Then I crawled to the couch and went to sleep.

“When I awoke, I felt better. The room looked exactly as before, except that someone had kindly cleaned up the vomit, and on the table beside the jug was a photograph of Handsome. Something nagged at my mind. Was I in the same room? The walls were pale yellow instead of white. I stood up, and I was still hungry and thirsty. On the stage I noticed a tray with bread, cheese, fruit, and a glass mug full of beer. I looked at it a minute. Maybe it was poisoned, like the water. I decided I didn’t care; I’d just as soon be poisoned as starve. I picked up the bread and cheese. It was rubber. The beer was some sort of gel. At the bottom of the mug I found a photograph of a man winking at me—Handsome.

“I made up my mind to be stoic. Someone was watching me—a lunatic, or a sadist, or Handsome, or all three. I’d give him no satisfaction. I turned away and went to sit down in the chair. It gave me an electric shock. With great dignity I went to the cot. It was sopping wet. I sat on the table. A few minutes later I looked back at the stage, and the tray had been moved. Somehow it looked different. I sat for a moment or two, then leisurely got up to investigate. This time the food was real. I brought it back to the table and ate. Without thinking, I was sitting in the chair. As soon as I remembered, I began to expect another shock, but nothing happened. This, incidentally, was how I was fed during my entire stay. Sometimes the food was real, more often not. The intervals
were irregular. I never knew when I would be fed.” Dirby gave a sad laugh. “When the waiters brought in our meal, I half-expected it to be rubber, and I would not have been surprised.”

“It seems that you were the victim of a careful and systematic persecution.”

“Call it what you like. The food trick was trivial compared to what else went on; after a while, I hardly thought about it. I was never shocked again, incidentally. I always half-expected it. And after that first jug of water, the food never poisoned me again.

“When I finished that first meal, I looked at the back wall, which was blue. I was sure all the walls had been yellow. I began to wonder if I were insane after all. The walls kept changing colors—never when I looked at them: white, yellow, green, blue, occasionally brown or gray. I learned to dislike brown and gray, because they usually—not always—meant that something unpleasant was about to happen.”

“A very strange proceeding,” mused Hetzel. “Perhaps some sort of experiment?”

“That’s what I thought at first. I changed my mind…The first few days, nothing much happened, except the rubber food and the walls changing color. Once, when I lay on the cot it tossed me out; another time, the chair collapsed. Occasionally I’d hear small noises behind my back, noises very near—a footstep, a whisper, a giggle. Then there was Handsome. One day the walls turned gray. When I noticed the stage, I saw that a doorway had opened at the back to show a long hall. At the far end, a man appeared. He wore Old Shalkho costume—tight breeches of white velvet, a pink-and-blue jacket with gold tassels, a ruffled cravat. He was a tall, strong man, very stately in his manner, very handsome. He came to the edge of the stage and looked toward me—not at me, but toward me—with a peculiar expression I can’t describe: amused, bored, supercilious. He said, ‘You’re making yourself quite comfortable. Too comfortable. We’ll see to that.’

“I called out, ‘Why are you keeping me here? I’ve done nothing to you!’ He paid no attention. He said, ‘You must think more intently.’ I said, ‘I’ve been thinking about everything there is to think about.’

“Again he paid no attention. ‘Perhaps you’re lonely, perhaps you’d like some company. Well, why not?’ And out on the stage ran a dozen beasts, like weasels, with spiked tails and long fangs and prongs growing from their elbows. They ran at me squealing and hissing. I climbed up on the table and kicked them back when they jumped. Handsome watched from the doorway, with an absolutely quiet expression—not even smiling. Two or three times the weasels almost had me; then they gave up and began to roam the room. When one came close, I jumped on it and crushed it to the floor, and finally killed them all. Handsome had gone away long ago.

“I piled the dead things in a corner and went to look at the doorway where he had stood. The wall seemed solid, so here was another mystery, although now mysteries were simply ordinary events—a way of life, so to speak. Still, if Handsome wanted me to think, he had his way with me, because I did little else.

“I wondered why they worked such elaborate pranks. Revenge? Except for my sad little smuggling exploit, I had lived a blameless life. An experiment with my sanity? They could have proceeded much more harshly. Mistaken identity? Possibly. Or perhaps I was in the hands of some mad prankster who enjoyed practical jokes. Nothing seemed reasonable.”

“And did you see Handsome again?”

“I did indeed, and the back wall turned gray before every time, although sometimes it turned gray and Handsome never appeared. But other things happened, silly, strange things. One day I heard a fanfare, then music, and a troupe of trained birds ran out on the stage. They danced and ran in circles and jumped over each other and marched back and forth; then they all turned somersaults
off the stage. The music became a caterwauling, blatting and clanging and thumping; then it stopped. I heard a girl giggling, and then there was silence. The girl sounded like Eljiano, even though I knew this to be impossible. Then I thought: impossible? Nothing was impossible.