The Dogtown Tourist Agency (10 page)

Hetzel continued. His instincts were right more often than not, and if he were indeed being trailed, the fact should come as no surprise. Hetzel was nonetheless displeased. To be followed elsewhere in the Reach might indicate simple curiosity; in Far Dogtown, such attention might mean death.

The road passed under a wooden archway; Far Dogtown became Dogtown, where Gaean law prevailed. Hetzel proceeded to the central square, and paused again to look behind him. Nothing, except the street and a few individuals out upon their errands. Hetzel strolled around the square and proceeded past the office of tourist information, to a shop offering Gomaz boneware for sale. He sidled quickly into the dim interior. He could not be certain, but a dark form might have stepped into the acacia grove which occupied the center of the square.

The proprietor approached—a frail old man in a white smock with lens cups over his eyes. “What would you care to examine, sir?”

“These bowls here—what is their worth?”

“Aha! These are adult Zoum skulls, with palladium rims and a palladium foot. Excellent craftsmanship, as you can see. The material is dense as stone, and of course has been carefully cleaned and sterilized. Think what a conversation you’ll have when you serve your guests their broth! The price for a dozen is a hundred and fifty SLU.”

“A bit more than I care to pay,” said Hetzel. “Can’t I outrage my guests more cheaply?”

“Well, yes, of course. These ladles are fashioned from the skulls of Voulash bantlings. Their play wars are as deadly as the efforts of the adults, as perhaps you know.”

No one had emerged from the acacia grove. Hetzel disliked such uncertainty. The ambience of Far Dogtown no doubt had stimulated him to hypersensitivity.

“…back scratchers are the shins and toes of very young bantlings, a clever and unusual article.”

“Thank you. I will keep your recommendations in mind.” Hetzel gave the square a last inspection. He stepped forth and walked to the office of tourist information.

At the counter stood the same young woman to whom he had spoken previously. Today she wore breeches of beige velvet gathered at the ankles, a dark-brown jacket with gold brocade, a gold fillet to confine her dark hair. Hetzel thought that she recognized him, but her voice was institutionally polite. “Yes, sir; can I be of help?”

“Are you able to produce an astronomical almanac?”

“An astronomical almanac, sir?”

“Any information relating to the movement of the sun, the moon, and Maz in their orbits should be sufficient.”

“This little calendar shows the phases of the moon. Will that help you?”

“I’m afraid not.” Hetzel gave the sketch a cursory glance. “Just a minute; let me reconsider. The plane of the orbit of the moon appears to cut the plane of Maz’s orbit at right angles.”

“Yes; it’s quite unusual, so I’m told.”

In such a case, Hetzel reflected, the moon would be at full when it crossed the plane of Maz’s orbit directly behind Maz in relation to the sun. Hetzel checked the calendar and noted the date of this occurrence. On this date, Gidion Dirby had sat on a swamp island with the moon approximately halfway up the southern sky. Since the moon at this instant had been very close to the plane of Maz’s orbit, the latitude of the swamp island would be approximately 45° North, plus or minus the tilt of the ecliptic plane.

“Perhaps,” said Hetzel, “you have a reference book which might provide general information in regard to Maz?”

The girl produced a pamphlet. “If you explained what you wanted to know, I might provide the answer.”

“You might,” said Hetzel, “but more likely not. Let me see, now. The Maz year is 441 days, each of 21.74 standard hours. The plane of rotation is inclined twelve degrees to the plane of the ecliptic…” Hetzel returned to the calendar. “What is considered the middle of summer and the middle of winter?”

“We don’t have much of either. It’s mostly a wet season in summer and a dry season in winter. It’s now fall, and we’re well into the dry period, lucky for you. When it rains, it rains a torrent. The calendar uses the standard month names—only here the months are ten days longer than they were at home on Varsilla.”

“Varsilla! The world of nine blue oceans and ten thousand sea peaks and eleven million islands.”

“And twelve billion sand flies and sixteen billion glass nettles, and twenty billion tourist villas. So you know Varsilla?”

“Not well.”

“Have you visited Palestria on Jailand?”

“I never had occasion to leave Meyness.”

“That’s a pity; Jailand is so beautiful and placid. Too placid, I used to think. But I wish I were there now. I’m bored with Maz. Anyway, Iulian is summer there, and summer here. The months naturally don’t come at the same time.”

Hetzel studied the calendar. The summer solstice occurred about the first day of Iulian. It appeared, then, that the moon had reached full almost exactly at the autumnal equinox. Hence there would be neither subtraction nor addition of degrees, and the swamp island, if Dirby’s estimate were accurate, must be found somewhere near latitude 45° North.

The girl was watching Hetzel curiously. “Have you reached an important decision?” Her mouth showed an impish twitch.

“So!” said Hetzel. “You consider me solemn and foolish!”

“Of course not! I never think thus of tourists!”

Hetzel merely raised his eyebrows. “Can you show me a large scale map of Maz, preferably a Mercator projection?”

“Of course.” She touched a dial and pressed a button; on the hard white surface of the wall appeared a map as tall as Hetzel and twelve feet wide. “Is that satisfactory?”

“Excellent. Where is Dogtown?”

The girl put her finger on the map. “Here.” She looked over her shoulder. “Excuse me a moment.” She went back to the desk to deal with a pair of tourists in white suits and wide-brimmed white hats with souvenir emblems pinned to the ribbons.

“Where can we see the Gomaz warriors in a real battle?” asked the man. “I’m hoping to get some shots for a travelogue.”

The girl smiled politely. “Battles aren’t all that easy. The Gomaz refuse to keep us informed. Very churlish of them, of course.”

“Oh, dear,” said the woman. “We promised everyone we’d bring back films. I understand we’re not allowed in the tribal castles?”

“I’m afraid that is so. But we’ve remodeled a number of ancient castles into very comfortable inns, which I’m told are very typical. I’ve never visited one myself.”

“Can’t you arrange to find a battle for us? I very much wanted to film an authentic Gomaz war.”

The girl smilingly shook her head. “You’d probably be killed if you ventured that close.”

“Where would you say we have the best chance of seeing a good battle?”

“I don’t know what a good one would be like,” said the girl, “or a bad one either, for that matter. It’s probably just a matter of luck—‘misfortune’ might be a better word, because these affairs are very dangerous.”

Hetzel found latitude 45° North. He traced it over oceans, mountains, uplands, and moors. A thousand miles north of Axistil, a river flowing down from the northern moors wandered out upon a flatland and dissipated into a thousand trickles and rills. This was the Great Kykh-Kych Swamp. Hetzel inspected it carefully. Nearby, he noticed a black dot.

The tourists departed. A door from the adjoining office opened, and a burly man looked forth—Byrrhis. Today he wore a modish suit of dark-green twill, with a black-and-scarlet cravat. “Janika, I’m leaving for the day. Transfer any calls to my villa.”

“Yes, Vv. Byrrhis.”

“Mind you, lock up well. Don’t forget the back windows.”

“Yes, Vv. Byrrhis, I’ll be careful.”

Byrrhis gave Hetzel a friendly nod, which might or might not have connoted recognition. He retreated into his office, evidently planning to leave by a different exit.

Hetzel asked, “What did he call you?”

“Janika.”

“Is that your name?”

“It’s short for my girl-name, which most people consider rather queer—Lljiano. Two L’s sounded on your side teeth. It’s an old Hiulak name.”

“I didn’t know the Hiulaks settled on Varsilla.”

“They didn’t. My father’s name is Reyes; he’s part Maljin and part White Drasthanyi. He met my mother on Fanuche and brought her back to Varsilla. And she’s a quarter Semiric, which makes me something of a mongrel.”

“A very healthy-looking mongrel.”

“Where are you from?”

“I was born on Old Earth. My name is Miro Hetzel. I am told that I come of decadent stock because all the enterprising persons long ago immigrated to the stars.”

“You don’t seem decadent; you seem quite ordinary.”

“I’m sure you intend a compliment.”

“Of a sort.” Janika laughed. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I think so. What are these red stars?”

“They’re the sites of the touristic inns—all picturesque and comfortable, so I’m told. I’ve never visited any of them.”

“And what is this black circle?”

“You’ll see several of them on the map. They’re ruins which are especially quaint, where Vv. Byrrhis wants to establish new inns.”

“The others do well?”

“Moderately well. Lots of tourists insist upon a Gomaz war, which we can’t produce. Of course, we’ve never tried, but I doubt if the Gomaz would take kindly to the idea.”

“The Gomaz are a humorless lot. I understand that I can rent an air-car through this office.”

“It’s the only agency in Dogtown. You must have a clearance from Sir Estevan Tristo, and you must be accompanied by an official guide, to prevent you from smuggling weapons or selling the air-car.”

“I have the clearance, and also a good idea. Why don’t you come along as the official guide?”

“Me? I couldn’t stop you from smuggling weapons.”

“That’s a restriction I’ll agree to right now—no smuggling.”

“Well…it sounds pleasant. When did you have in mind?”

“Tomorrow.”

“I’m supposed to work tomorrow, but that’s no real problem. A substitute could take over. Where did you plan to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Off in this direction, I suppose; we could have lunch at this inn.”

“That’s Black Cliff Castle, which is supposed to be very dramatic. But it’s a long way off.” She glanced sidewise at Hetzel. “It’s actually more than a one-day trip.”

“All the better. Book a couple of rooms for us, then we won’t need to rush. Are you doubtful? Of your job? Or of me?”

“‘Doubt’ is not quite the word.” Janika laughed rather nervously.

“Caution? Apprehension?”

“No, none of these…Oh, well, why not? I haven’t been out of Dogtown in all the time I’ve been here. Vv. Byrrhis can fire me if he wants; I don’t really care.”

“How long have you worked here?”

“Only three months, and just about ready to think ‘why not?’ again and go back to Varsilla.”

“Is Vv. Byrrhis so harsh a taskmaster?”

“He has his crotchets.” Janika put on as prim and stern an expression as her features were capable of forming. “I must insist that I pay my own expenses.”

“Just as you like,” said Hetzel. “The only person to profit will be a certain Sir Ivon Hacaway, who can well bear the expense.”

Hetzel returned to the plaza by way of the Avenue of Lost Souls. The time was early evening; the sky swam with violet and pale-green murk. He crossed the dim plaza to the Beyranion Hotel, and found Dirby in the lobby, sitting quietly in a lounge chair with a journal. Dirby looked up with mingled suspicion and curiosity. “What have you learned in Dogtown?”

Hetzel evaded the question. “You’ve never been there?”

“When I was here on the
Tarinthia
I went down for an evening or two. I’ve seen better places.”

Hetzel nodded agreement. “Still, there’s a special atmosphere to Dogtown: vain regrets, lost causes—they hang in the air like smoke.”

“If I ever get away,” muttered Dirby, “I’m going back to Thrope. I’ll work my father’s loquat orchard and never again look at the sky.”

“Perhaps I’ll join you there,” said Hetzel. “Especially if you find yourself unable to pay my fee.”

“I’ll pay you off in loquats if necessary.” Dirby’s eyes gleamed with malicious humor, which Hetzel found at least preferable to sulkiness and self-pity.

“Tomorrow I fly out into the back country,” said Hetzel. “I’ll be gone a day or two; you’ll have to fend for yourself until I get back.”

“Be as mysterious as you like,” Dirby grumbled, once more his usual self. “I’m in no position to complain.”

Hetzel arrived at the transport depot early in the morning, to find that Janika had already arranged the rental of an air-car. “It’s an old Ray Standard, and it’s supposed to be dependable.”

“There’s nothing a bit faster? We have considerable ground to cover.”

“There’s a new Hemus Cloudhopper, but it’s more expensive.”

“Money means nothing,” said Hetzel. “Let’s take the Hemus.”

“They want to be paid in advance in case we kill ourselves: twenty SLU for two days, which includes insurance and energy.”

Hetzel paid the account. They climbed into the air-car. Hetzel checked out the controls and energy level, then took the vehicle aloft. “Did Vv. Byrrhis make any difficulty about letting you off?”

“Nothing to speak of. I told him that I wanted to take a friend out to Black Cliff Inn, and that was that.”

Axistil and its environs became a set of unlikely patterns on the heave and fall of the downs. Hetzel brought a map to the navigation screen and established a course due north. “I want to investigate the Great Kykh-Kych Swamp,” said Hetzel in response to Janika’s questioning glance. “I don’t know what I’ll find—in fact, I don’t know what I’m looking for. But if I don’t go, I’ll never know.”

“You are a mysterious man, and mysteries are exasperating,” said Janika. “I myself have no secrets whatever.”

Hetzel wondered how much credence could be placed in this remark. Today she wore a short-sleeved blouse of soft-gray cloth trimmed with black piping, black trousers, and jaunty ankle boots—a costume which made the most of her supple figure. She wore no ornaments except a black ribbon binding her hair. An exceedingly attractive young woman, thought Hetzel, fresh and clean-looking, with an air of simplicity which was both charming and suspect.