Throy (18 page)

“Now you are returning in triumph! It must be a thrill.”

Chilke nodded. “Even so, I can’t shake an obsessive dread that Madame Zigonie might be waiting down there to give me my old job back. That would be a thrill indeed.”

“We shall see,” said Glawen. He indicated the clutter of huts beside the alder thickets downstream from town. “That must be the Yip settlement.”

Chilke agreed. “It hasn’t changed much, so far as I can tell. If Barduys comes to Lipwillow hoping to find a flowering of Yip civilization, he will be disappointed.”

The flitter landed in a plot beside the post office. Glawen and Chilke alighted and approached the hotel through the noonday sunlight. On the wooden porch along the front sat three Yips drinking beer. After swift glances, the Yips ignored the newcomers - a Yip mannerism which sensitive folk sometimes considered a subtle form of insolence
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Others blamed the trait upon simple shyness. Chilke long ago had lost all patience with the Yips and their foibles. He surveyed them now in marvelling disapproval. “Look at those rascals, drinking beer like lords!”

“They seem very relaxed, as if they were tired,” said Glawen.

          “Are you serious?” demanded Chilke. “To be tired, first you must work. Out at Shadow Valley I implored them to face their responsibilities and pay off their indentures and make something of themselves. They just looked at me mystified, wondering what I meant!”

“Very sad,” said Glawen.

As the two stepped upon the porch, one of the Yips rose to his feet. “Gentlemen, would you care to buy a fine souvenir of Rosalia, absolutely authentic?”

Chilke asked: “What kind of souvenir, and how much?”

The Yip displayed a glass bottle containing three balls of matted fiber floating in an oily dark-yellow liquid.

“Stink-balls, three for five sols,” said the Yip. “Very cheap and very nice.”

“I don’t need any just now,” said Chilke.

“Your price is outrageous,” said Glawen. “Namour told me that you would sell more cheaply if I mentioned his name.”

          The Yip put on a smile of bafflement. “I know nothing of this arrangement.”

“Odd! Namour tells me he saw you quite recently.”

“It was not all so recent. We did not discuss stink-balls.”

“Oh? What did you discuss? Namour’s new project?”

“No. Will you buy the stink-balls?”

“Not until I consult with Namour. Is he here at Lipwillow, or up at Shadow Valley?”

“I will sell six stink-balls for nine sols.”

“I must take Namour’s advice on this. Do you know where I can find him?”

The Yips looked nonplussed, from one to another, then the vendor resumed his place on the porch. “No matter. We shall deal later. No one will offer you a better price for a like quality of merchandise.”

          Glawen and Chilke turned into the hotel and took lodging in clean rooms, austerely furnished, fragrant with the odor of dry featherwood.

The time was too late for a visit to Shadow Valley Ranch. At Chilke’s suggestion they left the hotel and walked out to Poolie’s Place at the end of the pier, where they sat at a table beside an open window with a view up and down the river. The walls were decorated with a few old posters, oddments and curios. Three local folk shared a table in the corner; another sat hunched over the bar, staring down into a mug of beer as if hypnotized. A pallid big-eyed boy brought Glawen and Chilke a platter of fried river-sprats and took their order for beer. Chilke surveyed the room with care. “Never did I think I would set foot in Poolie’s again. A philosopher, whose name eludes me, once declared: ‘Life is incredible unless you are alive.’ I think I am quoting correctly. In any case, I find the idea reassuring.”

“It may get even more so before we are done,” said Glawen. “Don’t ask what I mean, because I don’t know myself.”

Chilke looked off downstream toward the Yip huts among the alder thickets. “‘Social evolution’ still hasn’t reached the Lipwillow Yips - but then they are not married to those strong-willed ladies of Rhea who don’t like sleeping in the rain.”

Chapter 5, Part IV

In the morning, Glawen and Chilke flew north over a landscape of a thousand contrasts: hills and dales, forests and ponds; flower-fields of many colors, isolated crags thrusting high like black fangs.

Two hundred miles north of Lipwillow they approached the outlying shoulders of the great Kali-kalu mountain range, which rose in abrupt tiers and blocks to a crest twenty thousand feet high. A pair of outlying spurs reached east to shelter the headquarters of the Shadow Valley Ranch. To the north rose a forest of enormous bloodwood and blue mahogany trees; to the south stood individual smoke trees and featherwoods. The ranch-house proper, an informal mansion of stone and timber, obeyed no architectural strictures; over the years it had been rebuilt a dozen times to suit the taste of the current owner. A hundred yards to the north, screened by the foliage of tree-vines, were utility buildings: a bunkhouse, a cookshed, workshop, garage and several storage sheds. Chilke indicated a two-story bungalow painted white, off to the side. “I lived there during the term of my employment, for which - need I repeat? - I was never paid so much as a plugged bung-starter. “

“That is an outrage!” declared Glawen.

“Quite so. You are aware, of course, that Madame Zigonie was born a Clattuc of Araminta Station.”

Glawen nodded. “She has dishonored the house. But not enough that I feel compelled to settle the debt.”

Nowhere could be seen any indication of visitors to Shadow Valley Ranch - most especially, neither Lewyn Barduys’ Flecanpraun nor the grandiose Clayhacker space yacht owned by Titus Zigonie.

“So much for logic,” said Chilke.

The flitter descended upon the ranch complex. Near the bunkhouse a group of Yips sat on the ground, gambling and drinking foxtail beer from tin pots. A dozen naked children played in the dirt.

“It is like old times,” said Chilke. “This scene is engraved in my memory.”

The flitter landed and the two men jumped down to the ground. Glawen said: “I will go up to the house; you come behind me with your gun ready. If Namour is here, he may be asleep or in a good mood. Make sure he doesn’t sneak around from the back and take off in our flitter.”

Glawen went up the walk to the front door of the ranch house, with Chilke coming behind. At their approach the door opened. A stout man of middle years, with a ruff of white hair and a pink peevish face stood waiting for them. At their approach he called out “Sirs? What is your business? I don’t recognize you!”

          “We are police officials,” said Glawen. “You are the superintendent?”

“I am Festus Dibbins; I am indeed the superintendent.”

“Are you entertaining visitors? Friends? Guests? Off-worlders of any sort?”

Dibbins drew himself up. “That is an extraordinary question!”

“I have a good reason for asking.”

“The answer is ‘no.’ None whatever. What is your concern?”

          “May we come in? We will then explain our business.”

“Let me see your identification.”

Glawen and Chilke produced their warrant cards, which Dibbins examined, then returned. “This way, if you

please.”

Dibbins conducted the two into a large parlor, with windows overlooking the landscape to the east. Chilke asked: “I take it that Madame Zigonie is not in residence?”

“That is correct.”

“And you have no other guests, or visitors?”

          “As I have already mentioned: there are none.” He pointed to chairs. “Please be seated. Would you care for

refreshment?”

          “A pot of tea would be most welcome,” said Glawen.

Dibbins gave instructions to his wife, who had been peering through the doorway from the dining room. The three men seated themselves: Glawen and Chilke on a massive leather-upholstered couch, Dibbins on a chair.

“Now then,” said Dibbins, “perhaps you will explain your presence.”

“We will indeed. First of all, let me ask this: you are acquainted with Namour?”

Dibbins instantly became guarded. “I know Namour.”

“You have told us that he is not on the premises; am I correct?”

“You are correct. He is not here. Are you looking for him?”

“We would like to ask Namour some questions.”

          Dibbins laughed humorlessly. “I suspect that if anything mysterious is going on, Namour is the man to ask.”

“How well do you know him?”

“Not well. He is a friend of Madam Zigonie. She allows him to come here for his sojourns, and I have nothing to say in the matter.”

          “Your opinion of Namour is not favorable, then?”

“I work for Madame Zigonie. I am not entitled to opinions. Still, I must deal with Namour’s Yips and I cannot avoid dissatisfaction.”

          “What about Titus Zigonie and Madame: have they visited the ranch recently?”

Dibbins shook his head. “It has been almost a year, and then they were only in and out. But I shall have something to say to them when next they arrive.”

“Such as?”

          Dibbins waved his hand toward the yard. “I refer to the Yips. They won’t work unless you bring out beer to the job; then after an hour or two they become merry and start skylarking and there is still no work done, but the celebration continues until all the beer is gone. Then they lie down and sleep, and nothing will induce them to resume their duties.”

“You should give them back to Namour.”

“He won’t take them. Still, he can’t sell any more on Rosalia! Their habits are now well known.”

“Are you acquainted with Lewyn Barduys?”

Dibbins frowned toward the ceiling. “The name is familiar.”

          “He is an important construction magnate. He travels with a young woman whom he describes as his business associate. She is a beautiful creature, highly intelligent, with bright hair and a magnetic figure. Her name is Flitz.”

Dibbins’ face brightened. “Ah, yes! Now I remember them!”

          “What was the occasion?”

“It was several years ago, not long after I first arrived. Madame Zigonie entertained them here at the ranch. They called me in to hear what I had to say about the Yips. I suspect this was at Barduys’ suggestion. Namour apparently wanted to supply Barduys two or three gangs of Yips. Barduys mentioned that he had tried Yips before, with no success, but Namour assured him that such problems were in the past, that now they made more careful selection from the available stock, or something of the sort; I remember only that Namour was making assurances to Barduys, and that I was expected to corroborate his assertions. Since I had my job to consider, I made the satisfactory responses, but I doubt if Barduys were deceived. Then I was dismissed and that is all I know.”

Chilke asked: “When did you last see Namour?”

For the first time Dibbins hesitated. “It has been quite some time.”

“Please be more precise.”

Dibbins became surly. “I don’t like talking about another man’s business. Also, Madame Zigonie might prefer that I keep a discreet tongue in my head. Perhaps I should not say this, but she seems to have made a favorite of Namour, if you grasp my meaning.”

Glawen spoke stiffly: “Our authority transcends that of Madame Zigonie. We wish to question Namour in connection with several crimes. Whoever obstructs us becomes an accomplice to these crimes.”

“If I must tell you, then I will do so,” growled Dibbins. “Namour arrived here something about a month ago. I had the impression that he was waiting for something, because every day at the same time he made a telephone call, I think to Port Mona. Three or four days ago a call came through with the information he had been waiting for, and he left an hour later.”

“Where did the call originate?”

“The caller asked for Namour Clattuc. That is all I know.”

“After he took the call, was he pleased? Annoyed? Dissatisfied?”

“If anything, he seemed nervous, or under strain.”

          “Can you think of anything else to tell us?”

“No - because I know nothing.”

Glawen and Chilke rose to their feet. “May I use your telephone?”

          Dibbins indicated the instrument, on a table to the side of the room. Glawen called the IPCC office in Port Mona; he asked that Namour be apprehended and held in custody if he showed himself. Wincutz gave assurances that appropriate procedures would be initiated at once.

Glawen broke the connection and turned to Dibbins. “You have been cooperative. We appreciate your help.”

Dibbins merely grunted and conducted his visitors to the door. Here Glawen issued a last admonition: “Inform no one that we have been here. Am I clear on this?”

“Perfectly clear,” growled Dibbins.

Chapter 5, Part V

Glawen and Chilke returned to Lipwillow on the Big Muddy River. In Poolie’s, at the end of the pier, they

watched the sun settle into the water, drank beer and discussed what they had learned, which was not inconsiderable. Barduys had not shown himself at Shadow Valley Ranch. This fact indicated much or nothing. Perhaps he had delayed along the route. Shadow Valley Ranch might or might not have been his destination. He might already have landed at one of the other ranches. Perhaps he was indeed interested in the ‘social evolution’ of the Yips. Why? It was a futile exercise even to frame the question. They already had seen a number of Yips: those of the camp near Port Mona, the Lipwillow Yips and those still resident at Shadow Valley Ranch. There had been no indications of ‘social evolution.’ There were at least two other such camps: the Honeyflower Yips who had drifted south to Tooneytown, and the Stronsi Yips, now resident on the Mystic Isles of Muran Bay.

In the morning Glawen called the IPCC office in Port Mona, and was informed that Namour could not be found and apparently had not showed himself in the vicinity, but that vigilance would be maintained.

Chapter 5, Part VI

The flitter departed Lipwillow and set off on a course which took it east by north: back across La Mar, over the Corybantic Ocean to the continent Ottilie. Dawn found the flitter drifting over a vast patchwork quilt of flowers. At noon a line of seven snow-capped volcanic cones thrust above the northern horizon, by which Glawen and Chilke knew that they had entered the territory of the Honeyflower Ranch. Half an hour later they brought the flitter down at the ranch headquarters. The ranch house occupied the crest of a low hill, overlooking a meadow; a mile to the north loomed a typical Rosalia forest: dark, eerie, ominous.