Jantiff departed Old Pink and-walked slowly to the man-way.
The day was cool, clear and crisp. Dwan hung in the sky, coruscating like a
molten pearl, but for once Jantiff paid no heed to chromatic effects. He rode
the lateral to Uncibal River, and diverted east toward the space-port. Odd,
most decidedly odd, this affair. What could it all mean? Certainly nothing constructive.
A mile east of the space-port a lateral led north past the
Alastor Centrality and on to the Field of Voices. Almost without conscious
intent Jantiff diverted upon the lateral and rode to the Centrality: a
structure of black stone, set to the back of a compound paved with slabs of
lavender porphyry and planted with twin rows of lime trees.
Jantiff crossed the compound, passed through an air curtain
into a foyer. Behind a counter sat a slender dark-haired young man, apparently
no Arrabin by evidence both of his hair style and an indefinable off world
manner. He addressed Jantiff politely: “What are your needs, sir?”
“I wish a few moments with the cursor,” said Jantiff. “May I
inquire his name?”
“He is Bonamico, and I believe that he is presently disengaged.
May I ask your name?”
“I am Jantiff Ravensroke, from Frayness on Zeck.”
“This way, if you please.”
The clerk touched a button and spoke: “The Respectable
Jantiff Ravensroke of Zeck, is here, sir.”
A voice responded: “Very good, Clode; I’ll see him at once.”
Clode made a sign to Jantiff and conducted him across the
foyer. A door slid aside; they entered a study paneled in white wood with a
green rug upon the floor. A massive table at the center of the room supported a
variety of objects: books, charts, photographs, cubes of polished wood, a small
hologram stage, a six-inch sphere of rock crystal which seemed to function as a
clock. Against the table leaned the cursar: a short sturdy man with. pleasant
blunt features and blond hair cropped close.
Clods performed a formal introduction: “Cursar Bonamico,
this is the Respectable Jantiff Ravensroke.”
“Thank you, Clode,” said the cursar. He spoke to Jantiff: “Will
you be pleased to take a cup of tea?”
“By all means,” said Jantiff. “That is very kind of you.”
“Clode, would you see to it? Be seated, sir, and tell me how
I can be of service.”
Jantiff lowered himself into a cushioned chair. The
cursar remained by the table. “You are a recent arrival?”
“Quite true,” said Jantiff. “But how did you know?”
“Your shoes tell the tale,” said the cursar with a faint smile.
“They are of better quality than one sees about the ways of Arrabus.”
“Yes, of course.” Jantiff gripped the arms of his chair and leaned
forward. “What I have to tell you is so odd that I don’t quite know where to
begin. Perhaps I should mention that at Frayness on Zeck I trained in
dimensional drafting and pictorial composition, so that I have some small skill
at depiction. Since arriving here I’ve made dozens of sketches: folk along the
man-ways and at my block, which is Old Pink, 17-882.”
The cursar nodded. “Proceed, please.”
“My roommate is a certain Skorlet. Today, one of her
friends, Esteban, arrived at the apartment with a man named Sarp and a fourth
man whom I don’t know. They were not aware that I was in the bedroom and held a
colloquy which I could not help but overhear.” To the best of his ability
Jantiff reproduced the conversation. “Eventually Skorlet found me in the
bedroom and became very disturbed. Sarp and the fourth man left instantly. The
episode impressed me very unfavorably. In fact, I regard it as rather sinister.”
He paused to sip the tea which Clode had brought in during, his account.
The cursar considered a moment “You have no inkling as to
the identity of the fourth man?”
“None whatever. I glimpsed his back through the door as be
left the apartment; he seemed large, with heavy shoulders and black hair. This
is my impression, at least”
The Lamar gave his head a dubious shake. “I don’t quite know
what to tell you. The tone of the conversation certainly suggests something
more than idle mischief.”
“That was my definite impression.”
“Still, no overt acts have been committed. I can’t exert the
Connatic’s authority on the basis of a conversation which, after all, might be
only wild talk. The Arrabins, as you may have noticed, are prone to extravagance.”
Jantiff frowned in dissatisfaction. “Can’t you make inquiries,
or perform an investigation?”
“How? The Centrality here is a very minor affair, to an extraordinary
degree. We’re like an enclave on foreign soil. I have a staff of two: Clode and
Aleida. They’re underworked, but neither qualifies as a secret operative;
no more, in fact, do I. There’s not even an Arrabin police agency to deal with.”
“Still, something must be done!”
“I agree, but first let’s assemble some facts. Try to
discover the identity of the fourth man. Can you do this?”
Jantiff said reluctantly, “I suppose this is possible.
Esteban has organized a bonterfest, and this man apparently intends to be on
hand.”
“Very good; learn his name, and watch what goes on. If their
activities exceed simple talk then I can act.”
Jantiff grumbled: “That’s like waiting for the rain before
you start to fix the roof.”
The cursar chuckled. “The rain at least shows ins where the
leaks are. Fit do this much. Tomorrow I leave for Waunisse to confer with the
Whispers. I’ll report what you have told me and they can take what steps they
think necessary. They’re a sensible group and won’t automatically dismiss the
matter. For your part, try to assemble more facts.”
Jantiff gave a glum assent. He finished his tea and departed
the Centrality.
The man-way took him toward the space-port. Jantiff looked
back at the Centrality with the uneasy sense of lost opportunity. But what more
could he say or do? And, under the circumstances, what more could the cursar
say or do?”
At the space-port exchange office he converted five ozols
into tokens, and returned toward Old Pink. His thoughts turned to Kedidah. She
would certainly be pleased at the change; Sarp, after all, could not be the
easiest person in the world to live with. Still, Jantiff reflected uneasily,
she had expressed herself quite definitely on the subject. Probably not in all
seriousness, Jantiff assured himself. In due course he arrived at Old Pink.
Skorlet was out. Jantiff packed his belongings. At last the
tide of events was flowing in his favor! Kedidah! Marvelous feckless delightful
Kedidah! How surprised she’d be!… Jantiff’s mental processes became
sluggish. A future without Kedidah seemed dark and lorn, but—and why deny it?—a
future with her seemed impossible! Nonetheless, they’d work it out together.
They’d naturally move out of Uncibal, but where? It was hard to imagine Kedidah
and her flamboyant habits in the context of, say, Frayness. A contrast indeed!
Kedidah would simply have to restrain herself… The absurdity caused Jantiff
to wince. He paced back and forth across the sitting room, three steps this
way, three steps that. He stopped short, looked at the door. The die was cast:
Sarp was coming; he was going. Oh, well, it might turn out for the best.
Kedidah thought well of him; he was certain of this. No doubt they’d work out a
happy accommodation of some kind… The door opened; Skorlet entered the room.
She stood just inside the doorway, glowering at him “All right; it’s done. Are
you packed?”
“Well, yes. Actually, Skorlet, I’ve been thinking that maybe
I might not move after all.”
“What!” cried Skorlet “You can’t be serious!”
“I’ve been thinking that maybe—”
“I don’t care what you’ve been thinking! I’ve made the arrangements
and, you’re going. I don’t want you here!”
“Please, Skorlet, be reasonable. Your ‘wants’ are not altogether
relevant to the matter.”
“Yes they are!” Jutting out her head, Skorlet took an abrupt
step ahead; Jantiff moved a corresponding pace backward. “You’re a trial,
Jantiff, I won’t conceal it! Always peering and lurking and listening.”
Jantiff tried to protest, but Skorlet paid no heed. “Quite
honestly, Jantiff, I’ve had it with you! I’m sick of your namby-pamby postures,
your ridiculous paintings, your eccentricities! You can’t even copulate
without counting, your fingers! By all means move in with that shrick
[26]
;
that’s two of you. If you’re a voyeur you’ll have plenty to see; she’s quite
tireless! Time and time again I’ve seen the Ephthalotes stagger away on limp
legs. Perhaps she’ll allow you a turn or two at the end—”
“Stop, stop!” cried Jantiff. “Ill move if only to get away
from your tirades!”
“Then give me the money! Nine hundred and twenty tokens!”
“Nine hundred and twenty!” exclaimed Jantiff. “I thought you
said five hundred!”
“I’ve had to take three places: for you me and Tanzel. At
three hundred tokens apiece, plus twenty tokens for minor expenses.”
“But you said you had a hundred tokens!”
“I’m not spending them! Come now, the money!” She lurched
forward; Jantiff stared fascinated into the round face, congested with emotion
like a bruise with blood. He shuddered: how could he ever have fondled this appalling
woman?
“The money!”
Jantiff numbly counted over nine hundred and twenty tokens;
Skorlet thrust a yellow card at him. “There’s your place; go or stay as you
him.”
The door slid aside; Sarp thrust his head into the room. “Is
this home? Good enough; one crib is much like another. Show me my bed.”
Jantiff quietly took his belongings and departed. Kedidah,
arriving home an hour later, found him in her sitting room, arranging his
painting equipment on one of the shelves. Kedidah, abstracted, failed to
notice what he was doing. “Hullo, Janty, nice to see you, but you’ll have to
scamper; I’ve no time at all today.”
“Kedidah! There’s lots of time! I’ve succeeded.”
“Magnificent. How?”
“I pawned old Sarp off on Skorlet! We’re living together at
last!”
Kedidah thrust her arms stiffly down, fingers outspread,
thumbs to her hips, as if galvanized by an electric shock. “Jantiff, this is
the most idiotic behavior; I don’t know what to say!”
“Say: ‘Jantiff, how wonderful!’”
“Not quite. How can it be wonderful when my teammates are
here and you stand in the corner glowering7”
Jantiff’s jaw dropped. “Did you, say ‘teammates’?”
“Yes, I did. I’m the new Ephthalote sheirl. It’s absolutely
marvelous and I love it! We’re going to play in the tournament and we’re going
to win: I feel it in my bones, and there’ll be nothing but gay times forever!”
Jantiff somberly seated himself. “Who was the last sheirl?”
“Don’t mention her, the catrape
[27]
!
She carried bad luck on her back; she infested everyone with despair! The Ephthalotes
say so themselves! Don’t sneer, Jantiff, you’ll see!”
“Kedidah, my dear, listen to me. Seriously now!” Jantiff
jumped to his feet, ran across the room and took her hand. “Please, don’t be
sheirl! What’s to be gained? Just think, if you and I share life together, bow
happy we’ll be! Give up the Ephthalotes! Say no to them! Then we’ll start making
plans for the future!”
Kedidah patted Jantiff’s cheek, then gave him a grim little
slap. “When do you drudge?”
“I’m done for the week.”
“A pity. Because I’m entertaining friends tonight and you’ll
be in the way.”
There was a brief silence. Jantiff rose to his feet. “You
need only specify when you need the apartment and I’ll leave you free to exert
yourself as thoroughly as you like.”
Kedidah said: “Sometimes I think that in my heart of hearts
I despise you, Jantiff. Also don’t ask me to change the door code to suit your
convenience, because I won’t.”
Not trusting himself to speak, Jantiff stormed from the
room, out of Old Pink and away into the late afternoon. Along Uncibal River he
rode, as far as Marchoury Lateral, bowing his head to gusty winds, striding
ahead through the crowds careless of whom he shouldered aside. The folk so
treated moaned in outrage and hissed epithets, which Jantiff ignored. He
collided with a fat woman wearing flamboyant orange and red; she tottered,
lurched and fell with a great thrashing of limbs and a fluttering of garish
garments. Raising her head she bawled a horrid curse at Jantiff’s back. Jantiff
hurried away, while the woman heaved herself to her feet. No one paused to help
her; all passed by with preoccupied expressions, nor did anyone so much as
glare at Jantiff, nor call out censure, of which in any event he had had a
surfeit. Through Jantiff’s mind passed the melancholy reflection: this is precisely
the pattern of life! One moment a person rides Uncibal River, comfortable with
his or her thoughts, serenely proud of his or her orange and red costume; the
next instant an insensate force sends one head over heels, rolling, and tumbling
under the feet of the passersby.
Jantiff thoughtfully strode along Uncibal River. With the
toppling of the fat woman his fury had waned, and he looked along the current
of oncoming faces in a spirit of moody detachment.
What strange people these were, and also, for a fact, all
other people of the Gaean universe! He studied the faces carefully, as if they
were clues to the most profound secrets of existence. Each face alike and each
face different, as one snowflake both simulates and differs from all others!
Jantiff began to fancy that he knew each intimately, as if he had seen each a
hundred times. That crooked old man yonder might well be Sarp! The tall thin
woman with her head thrown back could as easily be Gougade, who lived on the
Sixteenth level of Old Pink, And Jantiff amused himself with the fancy that
along Uncibal River might come a simulacrum of himself, exact in every detail.
What kind of person might be this pseudo-Jantiff, this local version of his own
dreary self?