Lurulu (9 page)

Wingo gave a rueful laugh. “It is ironic that when I encountered a truly startling circumstance, I failed to record the event, and I will regret the lapse forever.”

Wingo paused for reflection. Maloof became impatient. “Please be more explicit! We sit here on tenterhooks while you reminisce.”

“Sorry,” said Wingo. “I shall try to be more direct. When we arrived at the terrace, Schwatzendale went off on affairs of his own, while I found a table beside an ornamental planting and for a time was busy capturing mood-impressions. Then I put my equipment aside and sat at my ease drinking rum punch. Suddenly at a nearby table, half-hidden by the planting, I noticed what I had unaccountably missed before: a pair of young ladies, both exceedingly beautiful. Even more notable was their resemblance to each other, so that I felt that they must be twins. They wore their honey-yellow curls in the same style; their features were identical and they wore identical white blouses decorated with the same blue and red embroidery. The planting concealed their nether garments but I was sure that they were the same. There was, however, a notable difference between the two. One was happy; her face glowed with excitement, humor, ardent vitality. The other sat steeped in despair and defeat, with mouth drooping and eyes downcast. I sat staring in wonder: what had caused such a disparity of emotion?”

Schwatzendale leaned forward. “I have the answer! They noticed you staring at them; one was amused, the other was angry and about to shake her fist!”

“Nonsense!” scoffed Wingo. “The facts are quite different. Neither so much as glanced in my direction.”

Maloof asked: “Are we to hear the denouement or must we ponder the enigma during the night?”

“I will explain as best I can. Belatedly I thought to capture the two faces for ‘Pageant’. I reached for my gear, which I had tucked under the table. The other table was just across the planter and I knew that I must be unobtrusive. I pretended ennui, and finally was ready to record the remarkable scene. When I turned to look, the table was vacant; while I had been occupied, the girls had departed. I jumped to my feet and searched along the passages, up and down the aisles among the surge of tourists, and at last I saw them! They were walking away from me, so I saw only their backs. One was of ordinary height and walked with an easy athletic grace. The other was half her height and scuttled along on grotesquely deformed legs. I remembered my camera, but when finally I made ready, they were gone, and I saw no more of them.”

“Hmm,” said Maloof. “There is a lesson to be learned here, but I find it hard to quantify. By the way, where was Schwatzendale during this episode?”

Wingo gave his head a dubious shake. “For a time, at least, he sat at a table on the level above me, in company with a woman of a most unusual type. She was tall, thin and sinuous, with long white arms and long pale fingers. Her hair, also white, surrounded her head like a nimbus of dandelion fluff. Her face was long and gaunt, with eyebrows and mouth marked with black, like the face of a pierrette. She wore a number of white ribbons dangling from epaulets; when she moved the ribbons shifted, allowing glimpses of the anatomy below. She carried a fan of lavish white plumes; when she spoke she flourished the fan to hide their faces, evidently to ensure privacy. I asked Schwatzendale what went on behind the fan, but he refused to describe the conversation.”

“Surely no surprise,” said Myron. “Schwatzendale is a man of honor; he does not care to betray the secrets of a lady.”

Schwatzendale gave his head a puzzled shake. “There were no secrets. The lady revealed herself to be an addict of long walks in the countryside; she wanted to know if I cared to join her on a ramble across the Maudlen Moors. I explained that I lacked a proper costume for the sport and therefore must decline, and that was the way of it.”

“All is explained,” said Wingo. “Still, why did the conversation take place behind her fan?”

“For no particular reason,” said Schwatzendale. “It was as good a place as any.”

Wingo accepted the explanation and the conversation came to a close.

2

The following morning Maloof and Myron breakfasted in the galley, then rode the omnibus along Pomare Boulevard to the IPCC office. They found Serle at his desk, occupied with the paperwork which, because of Civil Agent sensitivity, comprised most of his official duties. Serle greeted the two spacemen politely and indicated chairs. Leaning back, he surveyed them with dispassionate curiosity. “You seem to have avoided serious damage. How did you fare?”

“Well enough, all taken with all. We watched the young folk of the town engaged in what seemed to be an energetic courtship rite in the public square. We dined at the Three Feathers Inn and also took breakfast in a special breakfast saloon. A serving girl named Buntje accused Myron of peering at her ankles, and reported his conduct to the cook. More importantly, we learned that ‘Loy Tremaine’ is in fact ‘Orlo Cavke’, who killed three children. He was captured but broke free and fled to Coro-Coro, then escaped off-world. The Krenks were surprised to learn that he had returned to Fluter. They want him badly.”

“Amazing!” said Serle. “I marvel at Cavke’s audacity!”

“So long as he could avoid the Civil Servants he was in no great danger — not until we came looking for him.”

“So it would seem,” Serle agreed. “But the presence of Lady Maloof reduces his options. It would not be practical for him to take a house in Coro-Coro; too much paperwork is involved and Lady Maloof would surely want to make sorties to the O-Shar-Shan and other places of high fashion, and after a month the Agents would wonder about her entry papers, whereupon both she and Cavke would be in serious trouble. He could set up a romantic camp in the wilderness, but Lady Maloof might not enjoy the cold water, bad food, insects, or crouching over a hole in the ground when the need became urgent.”

“This option may be dismissed,” said Maloof.

“Another possibility exists, which is more probable. I refer to the use of a houseboat. They come in all sizes, configurations and degrees of luxury. The vessels can be taken to where scenery is most appealing and anchored without restriction, and supplies can be obtained at waterside villages. From Cavke’s point of view, a houseboat would seem the optimum solution to his problems.”

“Perhaps so, but what then?” demanded Myron. “Fluter is a world with a hundred rivers, and probably hundreds of houseboats. Once Orlo Cavke is anchored on some lonely river he is lost.”

“Not necessarily,” said Serle. “There is a method to check out every houseboat on Fluter without leaving Coro-Coro.”

“That sounds useful,” Myron admitted. “How is it done?”

“In a most logical fashion,” said Serle. “Suppose that you owned a fleet of rental houseboats, what would be your greatest fear?”

Myron reflected, then said: “I would be afraid that a drunken tourist would run my best boat up on a reef, then go off and leave my boat to rot. By the time I learned what had happened, the tourist would be back on his home-world.”

Serle nodded. “To guard against this event, the renter installs a tracer button aboard each of his houseboats. On a map in his office, the position of each of his houseboats is plotted. You need only learn which vessel Orlo Cavke has rented, copy the coordinates, proceed to this position, board the houseboat, apprehend Cavke and the job is done.”

“Simple enough,” said Maloof, “especially if Cavke makes no objection.”

“That is the only dubious link in the chain,” Serle agreed. “Sorry to say, I am restricted by IPCC protocol with the Agency; otherwise Jervis and I, wearing field uniforms, could board the houseboat and put Cavke under arrest, which would finalize the matter very neatly — except for a furious wrangle with the Agency, which looks bad on my record.”

“No matter,” said Maloof. “One way or another, we will get the job done, even if we have to set fire to the houseboat and make the capture as Cavke jumps overboard.”

3

The Tourist Guide to Fluter listed two concerns from which houseboats might be rented or leased. The Tarquin Transit Company maintained premises on Pomare Boulevard, next to the Pingis Tavern. Maloof and Myron visited Tarquin Transit and sought out the yardmaster, a debonair young man with a fine set of silky yellow side-whiskers. When Maloof put his initial questions, the yardmaster looked at him a trifle askance. “Are the Civil Agents concerned in this matter?”

“Absolutely not! It is the IPCC which has become interested in Loy Tremaine and the rather haughty old lady with whom he is travelling. There is no wish to involve the Civil Agents.”

“Ah well!” said the yardmaster. “That puts a new face on the matter. For your information, then, Tarquin Transit has never, within the span of my employment, rented to a couple such as that which you have described. For the most part we serve groups of three or four tourists, often with children.” He consulted his listings but was only confirmed in his statements.

Maloof and Myron went on to the Zangwill Agency, situated on a side street at the back of the O-Shar-Shan hotel. The proprietor, Urban Zangwill, unlike the Tarquin yardmaster, showed no inclination whatever to cooperate and responded to Maloof’s initial inquiry with disdain. “I have an enviable reputation for discretion! Am I likely to risk this priceless asset at the behest of a pair of off-worlders?”

As Serle had predicted, Zangwill became cooperative as soon as the IPCC was mentioned. Grudgingly he looked into his ledger and presently announced that the
Maijaro
, a luxury vessel of excellent characteristics, had been let on a long-term basis to a distinguished gentleman named Loy Tremaine and his ailing mother, who displayed a testy temperament. Zangwill brought out plans which depicted a fine vessel forty-eight feet long with a fifteen foot beam. The plans showed a forward pilot station, a large main saloon, a galley with a pantry, two staterooms each with a bath, a forward deck six feet wide and a similar afterdeck.

“And where is the
Maijaro
anchored?” Maloof asked.

Zangwill took them into his inner office. A table supported a large-scale map of Fluter embossed on a surface of matte black glass, with pale tinted continents in relief and the waterways flat, spangled here and there by white sparks. In a voice without accent, as if detaching himself from all association with Maloof and Myron, Zangwill said: “The sparks represent Agency houseboats. There are fifty-one vessels, of four classes.”

“And which is the
Maijaro
?”

Still impassive, Zangwill looked into a ledger, then touched buttons on a panel beside the map. One of the white sparks became a bright green glitter. “That is the
Maijaro
. It is anchored on the Suametta river, to the west of the second continent.” Maloof studied the map with care and noted the geographical coordinates which defined the exact position of the
Maijaro
.

Zangwill spoke, still in the same uninterested voice: “This is an especially fine anchorage: the scenery is beautiful; there is adequate privacy and supplies are available at a village a few miles upstream.”

“The information is important,” said Maloof. “You should know that Tremaine is a criminal. I tell you this so that you will feel no compulsion to warn him of our interest, by any means whatever. If you do so, you become an accessory to his crimes, which are serious, and you will incur the same penalties that will be visited upon Tremaine. The IPCC penitential colonies are cold, wet, miserable and long-term. The food is bad. Your fellow prisoners are vicious. Are these facts well understood?”

Zangwill grimaced. “You have made them clear. You should realize that the Agency operates in total accord with the law.”

“Good,” said Maloof. “We are reassured.”

4

Maloof and Myron returned to the IPCC office. Serle looked up from his work in surprise. “You are back earlier than I had expected. Is this a positive sign?”

Maloof assented. “Our affairs seem to be moving forward.” He described the events of the morning. “Zangwill was cooperative, but he would seem a man of flexible principles. For this reason I warned him that he would incur severe punishment if he should communicate with Orlo Cavke — Loy Tremaine, as he knows him.”

“Good,” said Serle. He pondered. “But not good enough.” He spoke into his telephone.

The screen brightened to reveal a somber, black-browed face. “Urban Zangwill here.”

“I am Commander Skahy Serle, at the IPCC office.”

Zangwill studied Serle’s image. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before. How may I be of service?”

Serle smiled. “I am about to inform you of something which you may find unusual, but I am sure that in your lifetime you have adapted to many odd circumstances.”

Zangwill responded cautiously: “I suppose that this is true.”

“Then you will have no difficulty with the following fact. This morning, as you sat relaxing in your office, you drifted off into what is called a fugue, or a kind of day-dream. At this time you may have a vague recollection that two IPCC operatives spoke to you in relation to a certain houseboat; am I right?”

Zangwill’s eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “I do not quite understand the thrust of your remarks.”

“It is no mystery. During your day-dream, you fabricated a hallucinatory event. I now assure you that no such operatives appeared at your yard, and that for the sake of your mental health you should totally dismiss such peculiar dream-figments from your mind. Even as we speak, I am sure that these notions have disappeared — especially if someone should ask a foolish question. Am I clear on this?”

Zangwill’s heavy mouth twitched. “In short, if someone asks about your operatives, I am to forget that they ever existed.”

“More than that! How can you forget a fact which has never existed?”

Zangwill licked his lips. “I see that it would not be possible.”

“Correct!” Serle examined Zangwill’s face with attention. “In general, how is your memory?”

Zangwill took time to consider. “I believe that it is good.”

“Excellent! Therefore, if you do not recall a visit by anyone this morning, such event failed to exist.”