Lurulu (6 page)

When they had seated themselves, he resumed his own place behind the desk. “Now then: introduce yourselves and tell me how I can be of service.”

“Very well. I am Adair Maloof, master of the ship
Glicca
, now at the local spaceport; this is Myron Tany, my First Assistant. To begin with, we need information. After that, much depends upon what you can tell us.”

“Please continue.”

“We are trying to locate a certain Loy Tremaine, who may now be on Fluter. Do you care to hear the background details? They are a trifle sordid.”

Serle smiled. “I am not easily disturbed! I have nothing better to do than make out the monthly reports, which I can easily assign to Jervis, my subaltern.”

Maloof collected his thoughts. “About a year ago I took the
Glicca
to Traven on the world Morlock, for two reasons. The
Glicca
needed modifications and an overhaul, and I wanted to visit my father and mother who resided at Traven. My father had accumulated substantial wealth and I expected to find them in comfortable retirement in their home on Sunset Hill. I discovered that time had not dealt kindly with them.

“Ill health had overtaken my father; he had lost most of his initiative and now demanded from life nothing more than quiet and the solace of his books. My mother, on the other hand, had thrown herself into a whirl of social activities. She had become giddy and a bit senile, and was desperately trying to recapture the fervor of youth. Despite my father’s complaints, she opened the house to eccentric semi-scandalous masques and wild midnight revels. My father was forced to take refuge in his country home on Lake Cristel, which allowed my mother more scope than ever. My father finally became disgusted with my mother’s extravagances and put the whole of his wealth into a trust fund, from which she would be paid a moderate annuity. When notified of the changes, my mother was outraged, but she was careful to keep quiet her altered circumstances since the news would surely excite the furtive amusement of her cronies. By one means or another she managed to keep alive the illusion of grandiose wealth.

“Shortly thereafter I appeared on the scene. I was disturbed by what I learned. My mother, more foolish than ever, had become fascinated by a swashbuckling young rogue named Loy Tremaine. Unquestionably, his appearance was striking. His hair was lustrous black; his features were aquiline; his eyes, rather closely set beside his nose, burned with a black intensity. His manners were flamboyant. The old ladies could not take their eyes from him. They were universally smitten with this picaresque rogue; they preened and simpered when he spoke to them, although he gave my mother, who was known to control a notable family fortune, the most earnest attention. They hung on his every word, each trying to outdo the others in girlish verve.

“On one occasion, as the evening progressed, Tremaine drank much wine and became vainglorious. He told of escapades and dangerous ventures Beyond — all no doubt fictitious, but which held the old ladies spellbound. He mentioned his home world, which he declared to be the most beautiful of the Reach! He spoke with a curious passion, more than a simple yearning for home. One day so he declared, he would return — as soon as a small misunderstanding with the civil authorities could be adjusted, and all other matters would be set right.

“My mother was much affected. She said that she also longed to wander among the exotic worlds, but her husband considered such off-world travel dangerous and a waste of money. She complained that it was his penury which prevented her from enjoying the full amplitude of the family fortune, which was her due. Tremaine listened sympathetically, but made no comment. Nevertheless, two days later my father drowned when his boat mysteriously capsized in Lake Cristel.

“My mother appeared at the funeral in company with Loy Tremaine. A few days later he apparently induced her to go off with him for romantic adventures among the fabulous far worlds of the Reach; at least this was the thrust of a hurried note to a friend. They departed incognito and left no traces, and it is pointless trying to track someone across the Reach; the routes run in too many directions.”

Maloof paused and after a moment continued, with delicate precision. “That, by and large, is the situation. The
Glicca
arrived here yesterday and it is only fitting that I make inquiries. If, for a fact, the two have taken up residence on Fluter, I hope to rescue my mother and ship her back to Morlock. If the IPCC can be of assistance, so much the better … Another matter, I noticed a curious tattoo on Tremaine’s neck, a slantwise cross inside two concentric circles.”

Serle nodded. “Ah, yes. And what of Tremaine?”

Again, with cautious detachment, Maloof said: “Tremaine is a man of mystery. There is much about him which we do not know, except that he has had trouble with the Civil Agents which he presumably has been able to resolve — perhaps by a donation to their Beneficial Fund, or something similar.”

“Possibly,” agreed Serle, “though in general the Agents are diffident about even the whisper of a scandal.” He leaned forward in his chair. “I will naturally do what I can, given the strictures under which I work. The Civil Agents resent the IPCC presence and have petitioned that the local office be abandoned. Instead we built a new, larger office and put me in charge. My instructions are not to interfere with the activities of the Agents, unless they put too many tourists, or Flauts, for that matter, to punishments of the third order. At this moment, if I were to act as they think proper, I would refer you to the local office of the Civil Agents, but if they found both Tremaine and your mother on Fluter under illicit circumstances, both would share a similar and severe punishment. In any case, I can help you to a certain extent. The tattoo on Tremaine’s neck indicates his place of origin. It is not Coro-Coro; if it were so, this tattoo would be a sunburst. Still, it should be easy to identify. I will put Jervis on the job.” He pressed a button on his desk.

A door in the back wall opened and a young man in the blue and black IPCC uniform appeared. He was slender, dark-haired and carried himself with almost military punctilio. “Sir, you have need of me?”

“So I do. This is Captain Maloof and his shipmate Myron Tany. Gentlemen, this is my assistant Ian Jervis.”

Maloof and Myron acknowledged the introductions. Serle turned to Jervis. “Do you know where to find the artist Florio?”

“Yes. His shop is across the boulevard.”

Serle drew on a card, tucked it into an envelope and handed it to Jervis. “I have drawn the pattern of a tattoo on the card. Please ask Florio to identify the tattoo.” Jervis took the envelope and departed. A few minutes passed, then Jervis returned in company with a thin white-haired man. Jervis said apologetically: “I showed the card to Master Florio, and he insisted on speaking to you in person.”

“Just so,” said Florio. “I must confer with you privately; certain of my affairs may not be circulated in the public forum.”

“As you wish.” Serle led Florio into a side room and closed the door. Jervis bowed politely and returned to his own office. Maloof and Myron waited in silence, the implications of Florio’s conduct were too recondite to prompt speculation.

After a prolonged interval Florio and Serle returned to the chamber. Florio gave Maloof and Myron nods of impersonal courtesy and departed the office, while Serle resumed his seat. For a moment Serle sat considering the two off-worlders, his face a study. Finally he roused himself and straightened in his chair. “You will wonder at Florio’s insistence upon privacy. Needless to say, any information or hints of enlightenment you hear now must never be revealed, especially to the Civil Agents, toward whom Florio feels total contempt. To begin with, Florio identified Tremaine’s tattoo as the emblem of the village Krenke, which indicates that Krenke was his place of origin; in itself this is not significant. Far more important is that two months ago a man answering Tremaine’s description came to his studio, and for a large cash payment Florio altered his Krenke tattoo to a Coro-Coro sunburst, then applied a sunburst to the neck of an old woman who was Tremaine’s companion. Here is evidence that Tremaine and your mother have established themselves somewhere on Fluter; precisely where, it is impossible to surmise.”

Maloof reflected. “If Krenke were his native village, this is where he might feel most secure from the Civil Agents.”

Serle shrugged. “Possibly so. For a fact he would be conspicuous in Coro-Coro.”

Maloof considered further. “Where is Krenke? What kind of a village is it?”

Again Serle summoned Jervis, and instructed him to discover what there was to be learned about Krenke. After a period Jervis returned to report that Krenke was a village of moderate size, adequately prosperous, where the Three Feathers Inn provided decent lodging for tourists.

Serle provided Maloof a map indicating the location of Krenke. “It is remote, but not too remote. If you leave now, you should arrive this evening.”

2

Maloof and Myron returned to the
Glicca
, to find themselves alone aboard, with the rest of the ship’s company occupied elsewhere. To Myron’s comment that he would have been comforted by the support of Wingo and Schwatzendale, Maloof replied, “We can deal adequately with the situation, and we are far less conspicuous alone.” Myron accepted Maloof’s program without protest, but checked that his hand-weapons were in good working order. Maloof left a note on the galley table. “That should soothe their anxieties, if any exist.”

The two unshipped the flitter and stowed a few items of equipment aboard. Once aloft they set off over the arcadian landscapes of Fluter toward the village Krenke. As the sun traversed the sky, the continents and seas passed below. With the sun close to the horizon Krenke appeared below, dozing in the golden light of late afternoon.

Maloof put the flitter into a slow circle over the village. A road from the east crossed a tranquil river by an iron bridge to become the high street of the village. After passing the Three Feathers Inn, the road proceeded a hundred yards to give upon a public square, then angled away and was lost under the foliage of tall trees.

Across the bridge from the inn was an area of open land, occupied by a variety of vehicles: farm equipment, drays, power-carts, a few skitters badly in need of maintenance and a pair of antique flitters, fragile as moth-wings. Maloof found an empty bay at the back of the area and landed the flitter just as the last sliver of sun dropped below the horizon, leaving behind a tumble of clouds glowing vermilion, amber and gold.

In the gathering dusk Maloof and Myron alighted and made their way to the bridge and across the river. Ahead loomed the Three Feathers Inn, a massive structure of timber and stone with a high-peaked roof. Over the entrance hung a sign after the traditional style, depicting three iron feathers splayed out into a fan constrained within a heavy iron frame. Maloof and Myron pushed open the heavy door and entered the inn.

The two found themselves in the common room: a large chamber, almost majestic in its scale. Timber posts supported gnarled cross-room baulks on which rested the ceiling joists and the age-darkened planks of the ceiling proper. A line of tables ranged the wall to the left; a long bar flanked the wall to the right.

The tables were occupied by diners: men, women and a few children, dressed in their best. The middle-aged serving woman loped with long strides back and forth between tables and kitchen. She wore a loose gown striped brown and green, so long that it almost swept the floor. Her hair was piled into a pyramid with a blue flower thrust demurely into the apex. The diners constantly importuned her as she strode back and forth: “Dinka! More sauce is needed!”; “Dinka! Bring more batrachies, with fresh vinegar!”; and “Dinka! The bread is musty! We need more savoury paste!” A doorway into the kitchen allowed occasional glimpses of a short squat woman with a perspiring red face, glaring out toward the tables in what seemed a state of chronic fury.

Along the bar sat a dozen men in working-class garments, or the somewhat more pretentious costumes of tradesmen, hunched over tall wooden tankards of beer, talking in gruff mutters. Behind the bar a moon-faced bartender danced nimbly back and forth, his great paunch pressed against the counter — refilling tankards, wiping up spills and chaffing the drinkers, who stared at him blankly.

Maloof and Myron seated themselves at the end of the bar and waited.

Jodel the bartender, noticing the newcomers, sidled down the length of the bar. He spoke: “Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?”

“We have just arrived from Coro-Coro,” said Maloof. “We want lodging for the night, supper and breakfast in the morning.”

“No problem whatever!” declared Jodel. “Here is the registry; you need only sign and formalities are over.”

“So it might be, providing that we can afford your rates.”

Jodel made an indulgent gesture. “Fear nothing; our rates are considered moderate.”

“And the specific numbers?”

Jodel shrugged. “If you like. Let us say four sols for the room and fifty dinkets for each meal, to a total of six sols.”

“The charges are tolerable,” said Maloof. “Provided there are no unexpected extras, let us say, for clean linen or hot water.”

“Our rates are all-inclusive,” said Jodel. “However, we prefer that the score be paid in advance, for practical reasons. Certain of our clientele will rise early, take a special deluxe breakfast, then decamp before settling the account.”

“That is not our habit,” said Maloof. “Still, one must be on guard against scoundrels. In Coro-Coro we encountered a certain ‘Loy Tremaine’ who thought to swindle us. By an odd coincidence he stated that he made his home in Krenke.”

Jodel gave his head a dubious shake. “Somewhere there is a mistake. Tremaines have never resided in Krenke. You misheard the name of his village!”

“Probably so,” said Maloof.

“More likely, he was an impostor,” mused Jodel. “Only last month a huckster of wild currants arrived in Krenke. While folk were inspecting his merchandise, he laid hold of a girl and took her behind his dray, where he lifted her skirt a full five inches. Her cries brought help on the run! The hawker was dragged away to the rollers where he danced among the coils for two days. He was also fined the contents of his dray. It was a woe-begone wretch who finally took his empty dray back to Lilancx!