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  Chilke said: “They probably were referring to changes in your style of life.”

  “Is that any cause for surprise? How could it be otherwise? On Cadwal we lived like fish in a tank. Namour took us away, but he is a great liar, and things were never as he said they would be. Can you believe it? After taking us far from home, and even while sick and lonely, they wanted us to toil.”

  Nominy said, a trifle scornfully: “If you had done your proper work at Tenwy, you would have paid off your debt and by now you would have been living in one of the fine houses in the compound.”

  The Yip looked off across the meadow. “When the Yip works, the supervisor laughs to himself. After a time, the Yip thinks of better things and stops working, and the supervisor stops laughing. Here I work for myself. I carry a stone down from the hill and it is mine.”

  “That is definitely social evolution,” said Chilke. “When you talked to Lewyn Barduys - he is the captain - did he say where he was going?”

  “Barduys said nothing.”

  Chilke thought to sense a nuance in the phrasing of the Yip’s response. He asked: “What of the woman?”

  The Yip said tonelessly: “Barduys asked if we had seen Namour recently. I said no. The woman told Barduys: ‘He will be on Rosalia, and we will find him there.’”

  There was nothing more to be learned. As the three turned to leave, Glawen asked the Yip: “Did you know Catterline or Selious?”

  “There was an Oomp named Catterline. I never knew Selious, though I have heard the name. He was also an

  Oomp2.”

  “Do you know where they are now?”

  “No.”

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  * * *

  Chapter 5, Part I

  A current edition of HANDBOOK TO THE PLANETS informed Glawen as to the physical characteristics of Rosalia, its complicated geography, and much else. Eight large continents, along with a myriad of islands, were caught up in a mesh of seas, bays, channels and, straits, with here and there an area of open water large enough to qualify for the term ‘ocean.’ In effect, Rosalia, with a diameter of seventy-six hundred miles, aggregated a land-area double that of Earth.

  The flora and fauna were diverse, though not, in general, hostile to the Gaean presence. Notable exceptions existed, such as the tree-waifs who lived in high foliage; the water-waifs resident in rivers, swamps and wet barrens of the far north; and the wind-waifs of the deserts. All were notorious for their mysterious habits. Their activities seemed motivated by caprice mingled with a weird logic, so that their antics were a constant source of horrified fascination.

  Rosalia was sparsely inhabited. The population of port Mona, the largest town, varied between twenty and forty thousand, fluctuating with the coming and going of transient workers. At Port Mona was the space terminal, a number of more or less stylish hotels, agencies, shops and the administrative offices of a curious double government1.

  The original locator had been the legendary William Whipsnade, or, more often, ‘Wild Willie.’ He had blocked off Rosalia’s land surface into segments a hundred miles on a side, which he thereupon sold at a grand auction. Fifty years later, when the dust settled, the Factor’s Land Management association was founded, with a membership limited to one hundred and sixty ranchers. By the terms of the association’s First Covenant, the ranchers agreed never to subdivide their acreages - though they might sell parcels to a rancher with lands adjoining their own, so that while some ranches expanded, others dwindled. Boggins’ Willow Glen Ranch covered almost a million square miles, the Aigle-Mort and the Stronsi Ranches included almost the same; others like the Black Lily and the Iron Triangle Ranches measured only a hundred thousand square miles and Flalique barely sixty thousand.

  The ranches, in the absence of intensive cultivation, produced little wealth, which in any event was not perceived as their function. To augment income a few of the ranchers took to entertaining tourists at ranch headquarters, bedding them down in bunkhouses, feeding them out of cook-shacks and charging high prices for the privilege. The tourists, in return, were allowed to enjoy the scenery which included the Wild Honey Plains with its profusion of small flowering plants and moths camouflaged as flowers; the Dinton Forest where featherwoods, pipe trees and brouhas grew seven hundred feet tall, and the tree-waifs were often furiously obnoxious, especially when a tourist wandered alone into the forest; also the Mystic Isles of the Muran Bay and the multi-colored desert known as the Tif, where wind-waifs were wont to produce illusions and awful images formed of smoke in order to terrify the tourists and steal their garments.

  Shadow Valley Ranch, with an area of six hundred thousand miles, included within its boundaries the Morczy Mountains, Pavan Lake and a dozen subsidiary ponds, several fine forests and a parkland savannah, where herds of the long-legged yellow bong-bird grazed. Shadow Valley Ranch was owned by Titus Zigonie, a plump little man with a bush of white hair and a pink complexion. One day, at Lipwillow, a town on the Big Muddy River, he chanced to meet an off-worlder named Namour. The event changed Titus Zigonie’s life. Namour introduced him to a dynamic lady named Simonetta Clattuc who seemed kindly, soft-spoken and immensely competent - in short, someone whom he could rely upon to handle all the irksome details of life; before he quite realized what was happening, Titus Zigonie had married this fine woman who was always right.

  Namour also imported a group of indentured Yips: handsome young men and adorable maidens who would perform the work of the far-flung ranch. The experiment had not proved a success. The Yips never quite understood the process which had transferred them from Yipton, to the strange landscapes of Rosalia. On top of all else, they found that they were required to work amazingly long hours, not just one day, but day after day, without cessation, for no perceptible reason. The circumstances were puzzling, and the goal of paying off the transportation fee (plus a fee for Namour) lacked all appeal.

  One day Namour brought out an elderly man from the world Cadwal, whom he introduced as ‘Calyactus, Oomphaw of the Yips.’ Madame Zigonie instantly noticed the resemblance between her husband and Calyactus; nor had the resemblance escaped Namour. During a rather strenuous visit to the Garden of Dido, Calyactus - who had not wanted to go in the first place - suffered a tragic accident, and it seemed only sensible that Titus Zigonie should become the new Oomphaw. Who would know? Who would care? Who would protest? No one.

  So it was explained to Titus Zigonie. He protested that he had no experience in this line of work, but Smonny said that little work was involved, other than presenting a stern and dignified appearance in public, while in private he need only supervise a retinue of Yip maidens. Titus said, well, he’d give it a try.

  With Namour and Smonny, Titus Pompo, the new Oomphaw, journeyed to Yipton, and thereafter was seldom seen at Shadow Valley Ranch.

  * * *

  Chapter 5, Part II

  William (Wild Willie) Whipsnade, the locator who first laid claim to Rosalia, had been notably susceptible to the charms of comely women whom he met in places far and near across the Gaean Reach. To memorialize some of these pleasant episodes, he named his planet ‘Rosalia,’ its first city ‘Port Mona,’ and the eight continents Ottilie, Eclin, Koukou, Yellow Nelly, La Mar, Trinky, Hortense and Almyra.

  The Fortunatus approached Rosalia and landed at the Port Mona Terminal. Glawen and Chilke dealt with official formalities, then went out into the lobby: a high octagonal chamber, each wall panelled with boards cut from a different local tree: featherwood, coluca, damson, brouha, sporade, native hornbeam, bloodwood, and splendida. Far above, triangular panels of glass, alternately dull orange and ash-blue, joined at a central point, like the cap of an eight-sided crystal. The effect might have been impressive had it not been for a pervasive dinginess.

  The lobby was deserted. Glawen and Chilke went to the register which listed spaceship arrivals and departures over the prior six months and a putative schedule for the next six. They found no mention of the Elyssoi.


  “I see three possibilities,” said Chilke. “All pose difficulties. First, Barduys has not arrived yet. Second, he has arrived but landed somewhere other than Port Mona - perhaps at one of the ranches. Third, he changed his mind and is not coming at all.”

  “If he has not arrived, he will be hard to find,” Glawen agreed. The two departed the terminal and stood in the tawny light of the dark-yellow sun. The road was deserted. Beside a nearby dragon’s-eye tree stood a Yip, plucking and eating the fruits with no great enthusiasm. The cab-rank was deserted. A mile to the east were the outlying structures of Port Mona.

  Chilke called to the Yip: “Where are the cabs?”

  “There are no ships, coming or going; why should there be cabs?”

  “Just so. Do you want to carry our luggage into town?”

  “Naturally not. Do you take me for a fool?”

  “For payment, of course.”

  The Yip looked over the two cases, which were of no great size. “How much payment?”

  “Half a sol should be adequate.”

  The Yip turned back to the dragon’s-eye tree. Over his shoulder he said indifferently: “A sol.”

  “A sol, for both cases, from here to the hotel, now and in our company, not lagging behind or sitting down to rest along the way.”

  “I should charge you extra, for impudence,” said the Yip.

  He thought for a moment, but found nothing inherently unreasonable in Chilke’s proposal. “Give me the money first.”

  “Ha ha! Now who takes whom for a fool? You shall be paid at the hotel.”

  “It seems that I must trust your good faith,” grumbled the Yip. “It is always thus, and perhaps here is the reason why we are a down-trodden race.”

  “You are a down-trodden race because you are lazy,” said Chilke.

  “If I am lazy and you are not, how is it that I am carrying your baggage while you walk light-foot?”

  For a moment or two Chilke deigned no explanation of the seeming paradox; then he said: “If you knew anything about the laws of economics, you would not ask such a banal question.”

  “That is as may be.”

  The three set off toward Port Mona, across a landscape grand in its desolation, if melancholy, by reason of high skies, far horizons and the beer-colored sunlight. A mile to the north a dozen gigantic thrum-trees stood in a line, lonely and isolated; the intervening waste was grown over with tufts of sedge and a low plant with pulpy pink heart-shaped leaves exuding a tart dry scent. To the south, a cluster of three conical peaks thrust high into the sky.

  Glawen asked the Yip: “Where do you live?”

  “Our camp is back yonder.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I can’t tell you, exactly. Years, perhaps.”

  “You have built good houses for yourselves?”

  “Adequately good. If the wind blows away the roof, there is always new grass to be had for the plucking.”

  The three arrived at Port Mona, passing first through a district of upper-status bungalows, built of local timber to a quaint and angular architecture, then past a miscellaneity of structures: weathered cottages, warehouses and workshops, all somewhat dingy and unprepossessing. The road curved to the south, crossed a dry watercourse and after another fifty yards entered the central square.

  The town was so quiet as to seem torpid. No vehicles moved along the streets. The folk who chanced to be

  abroad walked with no sense of purpose, as if their thoughts were far away.

  North of the square the two tourist hotels, the Multiflor and the Darsovie Inn, created an enclave of elegance strikingly at odds with the otherwise sober environs of Port Mona. Both stood five stories high and were surmounted by domes of brass mesh and glass; both were surrounded by lush gardens of ylang-ylang trees, dark cypress, jasmine, almirantes, stellar flamboyants. The gardens were illuminated by soft green, blue and white lights and emitted entrancing floral odors.

  Elsewhere around the square were shops, agencies, markets, the concrete structure housing the Factor’s Association. At the southern side of the square was a third hotel: Whipsnade House, a rambling irregular structure built of dark timber with a rickety two-story gallery along the front. Glawen also noted an unobtrusive structure of rock-melt and glass which displayed the blue and white symbol of the IPCC. He would be expected to pay the local staff a courtesy call as soon as possible; such was IPCC protocol, which ordinarily Glawen would have found unobjectionable. But now the presence of himself and Chilke would arouse curiosity, which might prove inconvenient. On the other hand, if he neglected convention, he could expect no instant cooperation in the event of emergency. He decided to call at the IPCC offices the first thing in the morning.

  The sun had settled behind a scud of high clouds. The sky showed the clear pure lavender for which Rosalia was famous. Chilke indicated the two hotels at the north side of the square. “They are quite nice, so I have been told, but the prices are imaginative. At Whipsnade House, the floors creak and snoring in bed is prohibited, but here is where ranchers put up when they come to town.”

  Glawen and Chilke took lodging at the Whipsnade House, then went out to drink beer on the gallery.

  Twilight came to Port Mona. The square was quiet, traversed only by a few shopkeepers trudging homeward.

  Glawen looked around the square. “I don’t see any cafés, or public saloons, or restaurants, or music halls.”

  “That is factor policy. They consider Port Mona a commercial depot, a port of entry for the tourists. Everything else is incidental.”

  “It’s a cheerless place.”

  Chilke agreed. “The young people leave as soon as they can. There is always a labor shortage.”

  “Namour had a good idea. The Yips’ aversion to toil cost him a lot of money.”

  “If Namour collected his fee up front, then it was the ranchers who lost their money not Namour - and of course that was the way it was.”

  Glawen ruminated upon the circumstances. “If Barduys still feels that he has been swindled, and if he is of a hard and vengeful temperament, then his interest in Namour and the Yips is explained. He wants revenge and he wants his money back.”

  “On the other hand, if he is of a philosophical nature, he has long ago laughed off the whole silly business,” said Chilke. “Now he is concerned with a new project. On Tyr Gog he notices changes in the Yip mentality, and he tells himself that if it can happen on Tyr Gog, why not elsewhere? So he comes to Rosalia to investigate other Yip colonies, and his actions are explained.”

  “Rosalia is a long way to come just to look at a few Yips.”

  “Then why did he trouble to visit the village on Rhea?”

  “There was something he wanted to find out. Five minutes was enough. He saw that when Yips took up with

  strong-willed women of the country, they started to work and build good houses. Barduys saw all he wanted to see and set off for Rosalia. He is probably here now.”

  “I can think of two ways to find him,” said Chilke. “We can search here and there at random, or we can solve the problem through the use of pure logic.”

  “I’d be willing to try the second method if I knew where to start.”

  “We go back to the village on Rhea. Flitz told Barduys not to worry about Namour, since they would find him on Rosalia. I take this to mean that they were already on their way to Rosalia, but for reasons not connected with Namour. I can’t believe that they would come this far just to look at some more Yips. So - what else is on Rosalia? The answer is: ‘Shadow Valley Ranch,’ also Smonny and Titus Zigonie, perhaps Namour as well. Logic has supplied a clue.”

  “It is almost too easy,” said Glawen. “What could Barduys possibly want at Shadow Valley Ranch?”

  “That is why we are here: to ask questions.”

  “Hmf,” said Glawen. “Asking Barduys questions is easy. Finding him is less easy. Forcing him to answer may not be easy at all.”

  Chilke said thoughtfully.
“While you are dealing with Barduys, I will undertake to question Flitz. It is a challenging task, but I think I am up to it.”

  Glawen asked: “Are you acquainted with the old fable called ‘Belling the Cat’?”

  Chilke nodded. “My mother was a great one for fables. Why do you ask?”

  “If someone wants to question Flitz, first he must arrange that she does not snub him.”

  In the morning Glawen and Chilke visited the IPCC agency. The senior officer, Adam Wincutz, received them with muted courtesy carefully devoid of curiosity. Wincutz was thin, all bone and sinew, with a long bony head, sandy hair and opaque blue eyes.

  Glawen explained their presence by referring to Namour. The Cadwal Constabulary, so he stated, was dissatisfied with certain phases of Namour’s conduct. It was considered likely that he had taken refuge on Rosalia. Glawen wondered if Wincutz had any knowledge of Namour or his activities.

  Wincutz seemed only politely interested in the case. “I have heard the name ‘Namour’ mentioned. He brought in several contingents of laborers from some benighted place at the back of nowhere.”

  “That place was the Cadwal Conservancy,” said Glawen stiffly.

  “Ah? In any case, the program came to naught. The Yips decamped from the ranches to which they had been assigned.”

  “Do you recall which ranches took contingents?”

  “There were only three or four. Honeyflower took a gang; Stronsi took a couple gangs. Baramond took a gang and Shadow Valley might have tried as many as three; in fact, there are a few Yips at Shadow Valley to this day. But in general the Yips drifted off like ghosts and the ranchers had no recourse.”

  “They failed to complain to the IPCC?”