The Dogtown Tourist Agency (8 page)

Dirby scowled. “So that Handsome wasn’t out there at all.”

“It seems that diligent efforts were made to arouse your antagonism against Sir Estevan.”

Dirby laughed. “Then they bring me here to the Triskelion, give me a dead zap, and show me Sir Estevan. Why all this?”

“Two Triarchs were killed—an Olefract and a Liss. It would be more difficult to arouse animosity against these two.”

Dirby shook his head. “I don’t understand it.”

“I don’t understand it either,” said Hetzel. “You call him Handsome. I call him Casimir Wuldfache.”

Sir Estevan returned to the screen. Hetzel restored the sound. “I have conferred with Captain Baw,” said Sir Estevan. “Understandably, he is anxious for information.”

“All of us share this anxiety, including Gidion Dirby. For instance, he would like to know why you turned a pot of ordure over his head.”

Sir Estevan Tristo raised his eyebrows. He reached out and made an adjustment on the clarity control. “I don’t believe I heard your remarks correctly.”

“No matter,” said Hetzel. “I want only your assurance that if I leave the hotel I won’t be subjected to inconvenience.”

“If you transgress our laws, or if you have done so, you will face the ordinary consequences. However, Captain Baw tells me that to the best of his knowledge you have committed no such acts.”

“I then have your explicit assurance that I will not be arrested?”

“Not unless you commit a crime.”

“Very well,” said Hetzel. “I’ll risk it.”

Hetzel set off across the plaza toward the murky outline of the Triskelion. He observed no persons in the blue-and-green uniform of the Gaean Security Patrol, and when he arrived at the Triskelion, the officer on duty paid him no extraordinary attention. Captain Baw was not in evidence.

Hetzel approached the Gaean section of the reception desk. The Liss and Olefract sides of the triangle, as usual, were vacant. Vv. Kylo, who was on duty alone, directed Hetzel to a door across the lobby. Hetzel entered an antechamber where Sir Estevan’s pretty blonde receptionist sat at a desk. The telephone image failed to do justice to the girl. Her coloring, thought Hetzel, was exquisite—pale-blond hair like winter sunlight, flower-petal skin, features delicate, almost over-refined, as if she derived from generations of aesthetes and aristocrats. For Hetzel’s taste she was perhaps too sensitive, too fastidious and meticulous, and perhaps humorless as well; nevertheless, she added a great deal of tone to Sir Estevan’s office.

“Vv. Hetzel? This way, please.”

Sir Estevan arose from his desk to meet Hetzel—a man tall and stern, but undeniably handsome. He was, thought Hetzel, older than Casimir Wuldfache. The resemblance, though strong, dissipated somewhat upon close inspection.

Sir Estevan indicated a chair, and seated himself. “You are an almost obsessively cautious man.”

“Captain Baw’s zeal compels such an obsession,” said Hetzel.

Sir Estevan allowed himself a faint smile. “I think you referred to Gidion Dirby as your client?”

“By no means. His situation interests me, and I am acting informally as his adviser. He is not my client. The distinction is important.”

“You were previously acquainted?”

“I met him for the first time today. His predicament attracted my attention, and the story he tells aroused my professional interest.”

“I see. May I inquire your profession?”

“I am an effectuator, of a specialized sort—in fact, something of a dilettante. I rescue distressed maidens, I undertake interesting missions, I search for lost fortunes.”

“In which of these categories does Gidion Dirby fit?”

“He is hardly a maiden in distress,” said Hetzel. “Nonetheless, I am attempting to protect him from his enemies.”

Sir Estevan laughed his chilly laugh. “And who protects the enemies against Gidion Dirby?”

“I wish to discuss this matter with you. First, do you believe Gidion Dirby to be the assassin?”

“I see no other possibility, nor does Captain Baw. Consult him; he was much closer to the action.”

“You did not observe Dirby shoot his gun?”

“No. Captain Baw obscured my view. I heard the sound of the pellets; I saw two Gomaz killed, and dropped behind my desk. Essentially, I saw nothing of what happened.”

“You never saw Vv. Dirby at all?”

“Not clearly.”

“Did you recognize him when you saw his face in the view plate?”

“No, he is a stranger to me.”

“Why should he—or anyone else, for that matter—attempt to assassinate the Triarchs?”

Sir Estevan leaned back in his chair. “I assume that the murderer was and is insane. There is no other explanation. The deed is absolutely pointless.”

“What if the surviving Gomaz were the assassin?”

Sir Estevan shook his head. “It is not the nature of the Gomaz to assassinate. He kills for his own private reasons—‘lusts’ might be the applicable word; otherwise, he is neither violent nor murderous, unless he is molested.”

“You have apparently made a close study of the Gomaz.”

“Naturally; why else am I here?”

“The Liss and the Olefract share your interest?”

Sir Estevan shrugged. “We have little communication between us. Certainly no informal contacts. The Liss are suspicious and hostile; the Olefract are contemptuous and hostile. But still no reason to kill their Triarchs.”

“And how will they react?”

“Reasonably enough, or so I imagine. If Dirby is deranged, they’ll accept the killing as an aberrated act.”

“Assuming that Dirby is indeed the killer.”

“There’s no other possibility.”

“Captain Baw was in the chamber.”

“Ridiculous. Why should he perform such an act?”

“Why should Gidion Dirby?”

“Insanity.”

“Perhaps Baw is insane.”

“Rubbish.”

Hetzel indicated a door. “This leads into the Triarchic chamber?”

“It does.”

“Your receptionist at all times had the door under observation?”

“She certainly would have noticed someone standing here shooting at me.”

“Perhaps someone was hidden in the chamber?”

“Impossible. I was fifteen minutes early into the chamber. No one was hidden there.”

“Well, then…what about yourself?”

Sir Estevan showed his cold smile. “I’d prefer to fix the guilt on Gidion Dirby, or the Gomaz, or even Baw, for that matter.”

“And the Gomaz—why were they here?”

“They had no opportunity to explain themselves.”

“Won’t this assassination cause problems? Raids? Demonstrations?”

“Probably not. The Gomaz are linked telepathically to the unitary consciousness of their sept, and they are not disturbed by death. This is an element of their ferocity.” Sir Estevan tossed a pamphlet across his desk. “Read this, if you’re interested in the Gomaz.”

“Thank you.” The pamphlet was entitled
The Gomaz Warriors of SJZ-BEA-1545 (Maz), Prepared by the Hannenborg Institute for Xenological Research
. He inspected the diagram on the cover. “Two hundred and twenty-nine septs. The Gomaz who visited you this morning—what was their sept?”

“Ubaikh.” Sir Estevan gave his fingers an impatient twitch. “Surely you did not come here to discuss the Gomaz?”

Hetzel opened his mouth to mention Istagam, then had second thoughts. It might be wise to secure an air-car use permit for reasons other than investigating Istagam. “At the moment, I am preoccupied with Gidion Dirby and his extraordinary plight.”

“What is so extraordinary about it?”

“I would like you to hear Gidion Dirby’s story from his own mouth. Could you step over to the Beyranion for a few minutes?”

“I’d prefer that you give me the gist of it here.”

“Gidion Dirby declares that he was held captive and subjected to a number of fantastic tricks; you were the chief trickmaster, and terminated the proceedings by turning a chamber pot over his head.”

Sir Estevan grinned. “I deny this.”

“You have never seen Gidion Dirby previous to today?”

“Never, to my knowledge.”

“Are you familiar with a long corridor with blue-and-white-tile walls and an arched white ceiling?”

“Certainly. Such a corridor connects the loggia of my residence to the morning room. Why do you ask?”

“This hall figures in Gidion Dirby’s account, and it tends to authenticate his story.”

Sir Estevan considered. “If Dirby is innocent, then either I or Captain Baw must be guilty of murder. Or conceivably my secretary, Zaressa, if your imagination can cope with the image of her standing in that doorway and gunning down a Liss, an Olefract, and two Gomaz.”

“If Dirby is innocent, then you, Captain Baw, Zaressa, or the Gomaz must be guilty. I agree to this.”

“It would be most tiresome,” said Sir Estevan, “especially since the Gomaz must be removed from the list. Far better that an addle-brained zealot be declared the assassin, whether he is guilty, as I believe him to be, or not.”

“Dirby might concede this point of view,” said Hetzel, “if he were granted safe-conduct away from Maz and recompensed for his inconvenience. At the moment, he is annoyed and unhappy, and he is anxious to bring the facts to light.”

“This, of course, is his option. How does he propose to perform the illumination?”

“The Gomaz was present; why not question him?”

Sir Estevan leaned back in his chair and pondered. “Gomaz make poor witnesses. They are unresponsive—contemptuously unresponsive, I should say—to our laws and customs. They will say what they wish to say, and no more. It is impossible to coerce a Gomaz, and it is also impossible to appeal, shall we say, to his better nature.”

“Incidentally, what was their business with the Triarchy?”

“Before a statement could be made, the assassinations occurred.”

Hetzel thought to detect evasiveness. “Did they not state their business for your agenda?”

“No.” Sir Estevan’s reply was curt.

“And you yourself do not know what their business might have been?”

“I would not care to speculate.”

“From Dirby’s point of view, the surviving Gomaz is a prime witness. It would seem that if a Gomaz testified at all, he would speak the truth.”

“The truth as he saw it. By no means the truth as we see it.”

“Still, in all fairness, we should hear what he has to tell us.”

Sir Estevan hesitated a moment, then took up a schedule, which he studied a moment. He punched a button on his telephone. The screen became bright; a face looked forth; a voice spoke. “Maz Transport. Yes, Sir Estevan.”

“Has the Route Five carrier left on schedule?”

“Yes, sir, half an hour ago.”

“How many passengers were aboard?”

“One moment sir…Seven passengers: two Kaikash, two Ironbellies, a Ubaikh, an Aqzh, and a Yellow Hellion.”

“Look out into the corral. Do you see any Ubaikh?”

“It’s empty, sir. Everyone left on the transport.”

“Thank you.” Sir Estevan switched off the screen. “The Gomaz has returned to his castle, and must be considered inaccessible.”

“Not necessarily. I can be on hand when the carrier puts him down, and interview him there.”

“Hmmf.” Sir Estevan studied Hetzel a long ten seconds. “How will you communicate with him?”

“You must have a suitable translator.”

“Naturally. A valuable piece of equipment.”

“I’ll post bond on it, if you wish.”

“That’s not necessary. Zaressa will get it for you. You can rent an air-car from the tourist agency in Dogtown.” He scribbled a note, handed it to Hetzel. “That’s your permit. They’ll send one of their personnel with you; that’s our invariable rule, to keep inexperienced people out of trouble. Maz is a dangerous planet, and naturally you go out at your own risk. The agency man will know how to find the Ubaikh depot. Don’t go near the castle; they’ll kill you. At the depot you’re safe enough.” He looked at the schedule. “You’ve got ample time. The carrier won’t arrive at Ubaikh until tomorrow afternoon. I’ll want to look over the tape of the interview; is that understood?”

“Certainly. Now, one other matter…”

Sir Estevan glanced at his watch. “I’m a bit pressed for time.”

“I came here to Maz to inquire about Istagam, as the concern is known. My principals are concerned by Istagam’s low prices; they fear that the Liss and the Olefract are using Maz as a port of entry from which to flood the Gaean markets.”

Sir Estevan’s lip curled. “You can assure them otherwise. Neither Liss nor Olefract want contact with the Gaeans, or with each other.”

“Then who or what is Istagam?”

Sir Estevan spoke almost primly. “I have heard the word mentioned, and I believe that there is no illegality involved. You may so inform your principals, and they will have to trim their sails to the wind.”

“Can you identify the directors of Istagam, or tell me anything about their mode of operation?”

“I’m sorry, sir; this is a matter which I can’t discuss.”

“On what grounds?”

“Caprice,” said Sir Estevan. “That’s as good a reason as any. I’m sorry that I now must terminate our discussion.”

Hetzel rose to his feet. “Thank you for your courtesy. It has been a pleasure talking with you.”

“Bring me back the translator tape; I’ll want to check it over.”

“I’ll be sure to do so.”

Captain Baw stood three inches taller than Hetzel; his shoulders, chest, and abdomen bulged with muscle; his round, flat face was cold and wary. He rose briskly to his feet when Hetzel entered his office, and stood sternly erect during the period of the interview.

“You are Captain Baw, I believe.”

“I am he.”

“Sir Estevan suggested that I consult you, in order to clarify exactly what happened this morning.”

“Very good, then, consult away.”

“You were present when the killings occurred?”

“I was indeed.”

“What was the precise sequence of events?”

“I brought in a man named Gidion Dirby, who claimed urgent business with Sir Estevan. As I stepped forward to attract Sir Estevan’s attention, he produced a gun and opened fire.”

“You saw him shoot the gun?”

“He stood behind me, from where the shots originated.”