Throy (11 page)

Kathcar spoke in a subdued voice: “That will not be necessary. Sir Denzel and I perhaps have been overly influenced by altruistic arguments. Now I see that our trust was abused.”

“What of the information you tried to sell us at Stroma?”

Kathcar made a gesture to indicate that the matter was of no significance. “The event is past; circumstances have changed.”

“Why not explain the matter in full, and let us adjudge the situation?”

Kathcar shook his head. “The matter must rest here, while I consider my position.”

“As you like.”

Chapter 3, Part II

Halfway along Mircea’s Wisp, the yellow star Mazda tended a family of four planets: three hulks of rock and ice tumbling along outer orbits and the single inner planet Soum, the financial and commercial node of Mircea’s Wisp.

Like its mother-sun Mazda, Soum had entered the senescent phase of its existence. Soum’s physiography lacked drama. Tectonic activity was not even a memory; the weather was placid and predictable. A world ocean surrounded four near-identical continents, each a gently rolling peneplain, spattered with innumerable lakes and ponds, beside which the Soumi maintained their rustic vacation chalets. The countryside, diligently tended by the Soumi gentlemen farmers, produced enormous quantities of delectable products, which were consumed with reverent gusto by the entire Soumi population.

Many adjectives had been used across the years to describe the Soumi: bland, industrious, boring, bumptious, shrewd, generous, thrifty, priggish, paternalistic, maternalistic, infantilistic, each term an inkling or a quarter-truth, usually contradicted by another in the sequence. A clear consensus, however, declared the Soumi to be quintessentially middle class; decorous, prone to small vanities and submissive to the conventions of society. Everyone endorsed the ‘Ameliorations,’ as specified in the ‘Gnosis.’

The
Mircea
Wanderling
approached Soum from space and settled upon the Soumjiana spaceport. Glawen and Chilke, standing on the lower observation deck, were afforded a view across the landscape. To west and north, spread the far-flung textures of the city: tawny yellow, mustard ocher or amber in the honey-pale light of Mazda, each segment guarding a dense black shadow at its back.

The ship landed; the passengers disembarked into the transit terminal. Glawen and Chilke looked everywhere for Kathcar, and at last noticed an inordinately tall Mascarene Evangel, hunched into a tortured posture, almost as if deformed, hobbling from the ship. A black bonnet and lank black hair concealed the face, save for beraddled cheeks, a rapacious nose flanked by bright black eyes. Voluminous black robes swathed the zealot’s body, revealing only two large white hands and a pair of narrow black button-boots.

Glawen and Chilke followed the black-robed figure across the terminal and out upon the avenue. Kathcar hobbled away, glancing malevolently back over his shoulder. Glawen and Chilke strolled behind, heedless of Kathcar’s annoyance.

          After a painful hundred yards, Kathcar made a furious gesture and limped to a bench in the shadow of a news-agent’s kiosk. Here he halted and sank down upon the bench as if to rest. Glawen ignored his sidelong glare and approached, while Chilke went off toward a nearby cab rank.

Kathcar hissed: “Do you lack all discretion? You are blasting my plans! Leave me at once!”

“What are these plans?”

“I am on my way to the bank, and time is of the essence! Also, I wish to avoid death!”

Glawen looked up and down the avenue, but saw only a few Soumi gentlemen strolling about their business at that placid gait which impatient off-worlders often found maddening. “Is it possible that you exaggerate your danger?”

“It is possible,” hissed Kathcar, “but why not put this question to Sir Denzel?”

Glawen’s lips twitched, and he looked along the street a second time, more carefully than before. He turned back to Kathcar. “Chilke has gone to hire a cab; we will ride to the bank, taking all precautions. Once inside the bank, you will be safe.”

          Kathcar made a contemptuous sound.” How can you be so sure?”

“When we reach the bank the game is finished, and the reason for killing you is gone.”

“Bah!” sneered Kathcar. “What does that mean to Torq Tump, or Farganger? They are hobgoblins, and will kill me if only to set matters straight. But I am prepared; I carry a gun in my reticule and I will shoot them on sight.”

Glawen managed a nervous laugh. “Just be sure of your target before you pull the trigger! If you make a mistake no one will listen to your apologies.”

Kathcar snorted, but became less truculent. “I am not such a fool as to shoot at random.”

“Yonder comes the cab. Once we are underway, you can remove your disguise; otherwise the bank officials will think you eccentric.”

Kathcar gave a croak of raucous mirth. “So long as they smell money they will welcome me with delight! However, all else aside, these sacerdotal boots torment my feet; the disguise has served its purpose.”

“That is my opinion, as well. Here is the cab. The plan is this: at the bank we shall pull up to the side entrance. Chilke and I will escort you into the bank; then, once we take care of our business, we can confer upon our primary goal: which is to locate Barduys.”

Kathcar scowled. “All very well, but the plan must be modified. I will deal with the bank officials in private; it is the most expeditious way to handle this affair.”

          “Not so,” said Glawen, smiling. “You will be surprised how well we work together.”

The cab arrived; for a moment Kathcar held back, then with a muffled curse he thrust himself into the passenger compartment. The cab set off along the orderly avenues of Soumjiana: through the semi-industrial suburb Urcedes, past the Gastronomical Institute and the adjacent lake, then along the wide Boulevard of Acclaimanders, with its rows of monumental black iron statues to either side, each representing a grandee of substance and reputation; past the Tydor Baunt University, and its complex of ancillary structures, all built of taffy-colored rock foam in a ponderous, almost over-elaborate mode derived from the ancient ‘Spano-Barsile’ sequence. Students from everywhere across Soum and from up and down the Wisp sauntered along the malls or sat on the benches.

The cab entered the Pars Pancrator Plaza and halted beside the Bank of Soumjiana. Kathcar had doffed his disguise and now wore narrow black trousers, sandals, a casual white jacket and a loose-brimmed white hat of the sort worn by sportsmen, pulled low over his lank black locks.

Glawen and Chilke alighted. They looked up and down the street, finding nothing to excite their apprehension. Kathcar jumped from the cab and in three quick strides had gained the relative security of the bank. Glawen and Chilke followed with less haste. Once again Kathcar declared that he must deal privately with the bank officials, since Sir Denzel’s affairs were all highly confidential. Glawen refused to hear his arguments. “Naturally you want to do well for yourself, but this, at the basis, is Conservancy business, and I cannot allow you to take charge of Sir Denzel’s accounts.”

“That is a tendentious assertion!” stormed Kathcar. “You impugn my integrity!”

“Chilke and I are Bureau B officials; we are skeptics by profession.”

“Even so, I must protect my interests, which are legitimate!”

          “We shall see,” said Glawen. “Who is the official in authority?”

“So far as I know, it is still Lothar Vambold.”

Glawen summoned an usher. “We must see Mr. Lothar Vambold at once. Our business is urgent and cannot wait.”

The usher glanced at Kathcar, raised his eyebrows and moved half a step backward, then acknowledged Glawen’s wishes with a stiff nod. “Sir, it is our policy to regard everyone’s business as urgent. Therefore -”

“Ours, however, cannot wait. Take us to Mr. Vambold.”

The usher drew back another half step. He spoke in a rich and deliberate accent: “The officer to whom you allude is a Senior Account Administrator; he never grants interviews without references and a preliminary discussion with junior officers, who are usually able to assist with your needs. I suggest you step over to the wicket yonder, and in due course someone will speak to you.”

“Mr. Vambold will speak to me. Announce Commander Glawen Clattuc and Commander Eustace Chilke, of the

Cadwal Constabulary. Make haste, or I will arrest you for impeding justice!”

The usher said haughtily: “This is Soum, nor Cadwal, wherever that is. Have you not wandered past the limits of your jurisdiction?”

“We hold equivalent rank in the IPCC.”

The usher bowed stiffly. “Just a moment, sir. I will convey your message, and perhaps Overman Vambold will agree to make an appointment.”

“An appointment for now,” said Glawen. “We are here on a matter of immediate concern.”

The usher performed the most perfunctory bow permitted him by bank protocol and departed. Kathcar immediately turned to frown down upon Glawen. “I must point out that your manner is incorrect, and close upon arrogance. The Soumi put a premium upon gentility, which they consider high among the virtues.”

“What?” cried Chilke. “Not twenty minutes ago you wanted to rush in here wearing black robes and a bonnet with earflaps. You said it made no difference what anyone thought!”

“So I did. But I am a man of inherent high caste which the underling would have recognized instantly.”

“He seemed hardly to notice you.”

“Conditions were different.”

“We will consider your interests when we confer with Overman Vambold.”

“It is always the way,” grieved Kathcar. “Never have I found the frank and loyal trust which is my due.”

“A great pity,” said Glawen.

Kathcar drew a deep breath and squared his thin shoulders. “I am not one to complain; I face always forward. When we meet with Overman Vambold, I will lead the discussion, since I am adept with the requisite niceties.”

“As you like. But I suggest that you say nothing of Sir Denzel’s death. The news might limit our freedom of action.”

“This is my own opinion,” said Kathcar coldly. “It is best to keep all options open.”

“One more point: remember that you are speaking not for yourself but for the Conservancy.

“These are artificial distinctions,” growled Kathcar.

The usher returned. “Overman Vambold has a moment or two to spare. Come with me, please.”

The three visitors were conducted along a corridor to a door carved from a single slab of rosewood, which slid open to the usher’s touch.

“Sirs, Overman Vambold awaits you.”

Glawen, Chilke and Kathcar entered a high-ceilinged chamber of remarkable opulence. A soft black carpet cushioned the floor. At the far end of the room windows overlooked Pars Pancrator Plaza. To the left pilasters of fluted marble delineated bays inlaid with patterned malachite. To the right the bays were faced with white marble; in front of each a marble pedestal supported a black iron bust, honoring a notable who had contributed to the success of the bank.

          An odd and unusual room! thought Glawen. There was neither desk, nor work area, nor chairs of any sort, nor couch, sofa, or divan. The single article of furniture was a small kidney-shaped table, with spindly legs and a top surface inlaid with waxen white nephrite. Beside this table stood a man of middle age and middle stature, delicate of bone structure but modestly plump, with cool amber eyes, a long austere nose, a skin as pale and smooth as the nephrite of the tabletop. A crop of tight brown curls clasped his head in a style crisp and artificial. The curls seemed to glisten, as if held in place by varnish, suggesting the decadence of an era long past.

Overman Vambold’s manner was neutral. “Gentlemen, I am told that your business is urgent and requires my instant attention.”

          “True, to the iota!” declared Kathcar. He took a step forward. “I see that you do not remember me. I am Rufo Kathcar, aide to Sir Denzel of Stroma. He maintains an account here at the bank.”

Overman Vambold appraised Kathcar with the detachment of a scientist studying an unfamiliar insect. Then, though not a muscle of his face shifted, his manner underwent a significant change. “Ah yes! I now recall our meeting. Sir Denzel is a gentleman of distinction. I trust that his health is good?”

“As good as can be expected, when all is taken with all,” said Kathcar.

          “I am pleased to hear this. And these gentlemen?”

“They are my associates, Commander Clattuc and Commander Chilke, of the Cadwal Constabulary. With all respect, I must reiterate that our business demands instant action, before irreversible damage is done.”

“Just so. In which direction must we exert our speed?”

“It is in connection with Sir Denzel’s accounts.”

“Ah yes! I have had notice of your imminent arrival.”

With an effort Kathcar controlled his surprise. “Who gave you this information?”

          Overman Vambold evaded a direct response. “Let us move to where we may confer in comfort.” He went to the wall and tapped a silver escutcheon; the malachite panel slid aside. “This way, if you please.”

The group filed through the opening into a conventional office, furnished with the usual worktable, chairs, and implements. Glawen now understood the function of the elegant chamber they had just vacated: it was a waystation where importunate persons could be extended a few moments’ solicitude, then referred to a sub-official and eased back into the corridor. In the absence of appropriate furniture, the interlopers need not be asked to sit: a tactic which would expedite their departure.

Overman Vambold indicated chairs and settled himself at his desk. He spoke, choosing his words with precision. “Am I correct in assuming that you are here to refresh Sir Denzel’s account?”

Kathcar exclaimed in astonishment. “Eh then! Where did you hear this bit of news?”

Overman Vambold smiled politely. “We hear many rumors. This one is not unreasonable, in view of recent rather frantic activity.”

Kathcar’s apprehensions were now fully aroused. He cried out: “Exactly what has been going on? Inform me at once!”