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  Gradually order returned to his mind and the unreal awareness began to wane. His thoughts slowly arranged themselves. He considered the awful events at Bainsey Castle. They had occurred in a shattering rush; death had been close - perhaps too close. Barduys and Glawen lay pale and ominously quiet. Flitz had loosened their clothing and had made them as comfortable as possible. Chilke felt miserably sad. He turned back to the observation port. His mental images were vividly acute. He observed the ambush at Bainsey Castle as if he had been at the scene. Namour had come up behind the unsuspecting Barduys, who could hear nothing because of the wind. He had shot Barduys and pitched him into the pit. For some reason he shot Alhaurin as well, or perhaps Alhaurin was already dead. For a moment Namour stood considering his handiwork, his handsome face without expression. Then he had departed in the Flecanpraun, believing Barduys to be dead.

  If Barduys survived, a ghastly surprise awaited Namour.

  Chilke took stock of his own condition. It was not good. He ached in every part of his body; his head felt light and loose. Chilke drew a deep breath. He had never felt so oddly before. The effects of the poison? Vertigo? Something worse? He jerked forward and stared at the ground below. He blinked, squinted, moved his head back and forth as if to improve the focus of his eyes.

  Flitz became aware of his behavior. She asked: “Mr. Chilke, are you well?”

  “I can’t be sure,” said Chilke. He pointed. “Look down there, if you please.”

  Flitz examined the landscape. “Well?”

  “If you saw a lot of strange colors - lavender, pink, orange, green - then I am sane. If you did not see these colors, I am very sick.”

  Flitz looked a second time. “We are passing over a swamp. You are looking at large mats of algae, all of different colors.”

  Chilke heaved a sigh. “That is good news - possibly.”

  “Is something else wrong?”

  “I feel unreal, as if I were floating.” He reached for Flitz in order to steady himself, and managed to clasp her with his sound arm. “That is better He looked into her face. “Flitz, you are a fine woman! I am proud of you!”

  Flitz disengaged herself. “Come over here and sit down, I think the poison has affected you.”

  Chilke hobbled to the settee and lowered himself with a grimace.

  “I will bring you some medicine. It is a tranquilizer and you will not feel so wild.”

  “I am better already; I won’t need the medicine.”

  “Relax then and rest. We will soon be back at the ranch.”

  * * *

  Chapter 6, Part II

  Glawen and Barduys received emergency treatment from the Port Twang medical practitioner, who took instruction by communicator from senior medical personnel enroute from Port Mona.

  For three days Glawen and Barduys lay quiet, less than half-conscious, and for a time Barduys seemed to waver between life and death. The medical team, using self-regulated therapeutic devices, remained in constant attendance, monitoring and controlling vital processes. Chilke, meanwhile, had been splinted, bandaged, treated with bone-mending techniques, and confined to bed.

  Time passed. Glawen regained consciousness, but lay flaccid, gaining strength and awareness only slowly. Barduys awoke a day later. He opened his eyes, looked to right and to left, muttered something incomprehensible, then closed his eyes and seemed to doze. The attendants relaxed; the crises were past.

  Two days later Barduys was able to speak. Slowly at first, and with frequent pauses to search his recollection, he described what had happened to him. At Port Twang he had received a message purportedly from Bagnoli, stating that plans had been changed and that the two would meet at Bainsey Castle. Barduys, puzzled but unconcerned, had flown north to the slutes. He saw no sign of Bagnoli, nevertheless he landed the Flecanpraun, jumped to the ground, and walked toward the proposed construction site. He passed close by a jut of rock; at this point the world collapsed upon him, and his memory became a set of blurred impressions. There had been a flurry of merciless blows while the sky reeled, then he was thrown into the pit. Down the rocks he tumbled, landing upon a huddle of writhing water-waifs. They cushioned the final shock and perhaps saved his life. Dimly Barduys thought to hear a muffled shot and felt a great blow against his chest. The water-waifs fled shrieking from the pit. There was a time of heavy silence; then the water-waifs were back, bounding and twittering in fury. Barduys painfully found his gun and fired at the waifs until they retreated. As soon as he became dazed, they slyly returned and prodded at him with sharp sticks. His gun held them at bay and finally they left him alone to die.

  Flitz told him how he had been rescued. With an effort he looked from face to face. “I will not thank you now.”

  “You need not thank us at all,” said Glawen. “We did what we thought to be our duty.”

  “So it may be,” said Barduys in a colorless voice. “Duty or not, I am grateful. As for my enemy I know his identity and I know why he tried to destroy me.” For a moment Barduys lay quiet. Then he said: “I think that he will regret his failure.”

  “You are speaking of Namour?”

  “Yes, Namour.”

  “Why should he do such a thing to you?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You must not tire yourself,” Flitz told him.

  “I will talk until I am tired and then I will stop.”

  Flitz gave Glawen and Chilke a disapproving look, then left the room.

  Barduys began to speak. “I must go back to the beginning, which would be fifteen years ago. L-B Construction had done some work for the Stronsi family, and they wanted to talk over some new construction. I arrived to find that they had all gone north to Bainsey Castle for a day or two. This was no great inconvenience and I settled myself to wait.

  “The whole clan had gone north: twenty-seven of them, many from off-world. The patriarch was Myrdal Stronsi; he and his wife Glaida lived at Stronsi, along with their sons Cesar and Camus, with their children and an aged aunt.

  “It was to have been a merry occasion; the Stronsis were happy people, who enjoyed festivities in the old-fashioned manner and they had gone to Bainsey Castle many times for just such a purpose. But on this occasion, a terrible storm came up and sent green waves to batter against the castle. They had nowhere to go, and watched in horror as the stone walls collapsed and the green water dashed into the opening, and then it was all over.

  “At Stronsi Ranch, when the communicator from Bainsey remained dead, we became worried and flew north to investigate. We found the ruins and the scattered corpses, some of which the water-waifs had dragged out on the slutes. We found no survivors, and, after calling for ambulances, everyone departed. But almost as soon as I was in the air, something began to tug at me. I became uneasy. I tried to reason with myself, but in the end I flew back alone. It was then late afternoon, and very quiet. I remember the scene well.” Barduys paused for a moment, then continued. “In the west the sun had found an open space among the clouds and illuminated the slutes with the light that toward evening seems the color of sherry A million puddles reflected a million spatters of light, and the water-waifs were hard to see for the glitter. I went close to the ruins and stood looking about. I thought I heard a cry, very weak and thin. If the wind had been blowing, I would not have heard it. At first I thought it was a water-waif, but I searched and finally, under a tumble of stones, I caught a glimpse of cloth. It was a little girl, who had been trapped beneath the stones. She had lain there for two nights with the water-waifs prowling about, thrusting sticks, trying to squeeze through the cracks.

  “To make long story short, I finally managed to drag her out, more dead than alive: a little girl about seven years old. I remember seeing her in the family portrait; she was Felitzia Stronsi, the only survivor of the entire clan.

  “There was no one to care for her. The trustees were far away, off-world and quite disorganized. I did not trust the Factor’s Association, which was - and still is - hostile to the
Stronsis. In the end I took her in charge, with the intention of finding a suitable foster home for her. But time went by and I made no moves in this direction, and presently realized that I liked having her around.

  “She was a strange little creature. At first she could not talk, and sat watching me with big eyes in a pinched little face. The shock finally wore away but she had lost most of her memory and knew only that her name was ‘Flitz.’”

  Barduys paused, summoned the maid Nesta, who brought him the group photograph of the Stronsis, which

  Glawen and Chilke had already seen. The earnest little blonde girl, sitting cross-legged in the foreground was identified as ‘Felitzia Stronsi.’

  Barduys went on with his story. He became accustomed to the girl’s presence and in the end the trustees of the Stronsi estate appointed him her guardian. He educated her as if she were his son, in the lore of construction, technics and mathematics, music and aesthetic perception, and the crafts of civilization.

  Flitz grew through the ordinary phases of life in a more or less normal manner. When she was fourteen Barduys enrolled her at a private school on old Earth, where she spent two terms. She was still thin and pale, but already conspicuous by reason of her sea-blue eyes, shining hair and delicate features. The staff considered her cooperative, if rather enigmatic.

  At the end of the second term Flitz announced that she would not be returning in the fall. Indeed! demanded the head matron, and whyever not? It was simple enough said Flitz; she wanted to resume her old life, travelling the far places of the Reach with Lewyn Barduys and L-B Construction. Argument was futile; the words ‘decorum’ and ‘propriety’ meant nothing. Flitz was sent back to Barduys, who welcomed her without comment.

  Flitz eased through adolescence without trauma. Occasionally she took an interest in some stalwart young man, usually a member of the L-B construction personnel. Barduys never interfered; Flitz could do as she liked.

  Flitz never liked to do very much. To the general misfortune of her suitors, Flitz could not avoid measuring them against Barduys. Seldom was there any doubt as to who might be the better man. Strangers often assumed that Flitz was Barduys’ mistress. Flitz was aware of the speculation, but cared not a fig. In all her memory he had never been other than gentle and patient; in his company she felt secure.

  Flitz’ memories of her early life had been muddled by the events at Bainsey Castle. She remembered the patriarch Myrdal Stronsi and her brothers, but her father and mother had vanished into the dark. One day Barduys mentioned that as Felitzia Stronsi, she owned Stronsi Ranch and perhaps it was time to look it over and see what could be done with it.

  Flitz lacked enthusiasm for the idea, aware of misgivings which she ascribed to her early experiences. At Stronsi Ranch the ranch manager Alhaurin had taken up residence in the main structure and was not pleased to see them; at the very least they would be sure to dislocate his routines.

  Flitz found Stronsi Ranch less menacing than she had feared, and even contrived a flew tentative plans for making the massive old pile more cheerful. She found the bedroom once inhabited by the seven-year-old Felitzia, where nothing had been altered since the day of the great tragedy, depressing. Flitz could not bring herself to look through the personal belongings of the ill-fated little girl, and closed the door on the bedroom. One day she would bring in a house-cleaning crew and turn the old house inside out, but not just yet. There was too much to think about; too many plans to make.

  Barduys looked through Alhaurin’s accounts and was not pleased by what he found. Alhaurin had written invoices for materials which were now invisible. He had issued payment vouchers for work which had never been started, let alone completed.

  Alhaurin had a dozen glib explanations ready to hand, but Barduys cut him short. “You need say no more. It is clear that you have been milking the maintenance funds by all four udders. The only answer I need from you is how you plan to make restitution.”

  “Impossible!” cried Alhaurin, and started a contorted explanation.

  Barduys refused to listen and dealt judiciously with the misdeed and its perpetrator. Alhaurin henceforth would live at the manager’s bungalow, as in the old days. Further, he must ensure that the supplies he purportedly had ordered and paid for were delivered, and that the works for which he had contracted were put in hand and completed. How Alhaurin would pay for these items was Alhaurin’s own business; the money existed; it was noted on the books.

  Alhaurin grumbled and complained, but Barduys gave him the choice between restitution and penalties, possibly legal, possibly not, which in either case Alhaurin would be sure to deplore.

  Alhaurin threw his arms in the air and accepted his fate, and restitution was set in motion.

  About this time Namour brought the first contingent of Yips to Shadow Valley Ranch.

  Barduys had become acquainted with Namour, and decided to attempt the use of Yip labor. He contracted with Namour for two gangs of three hundred Yips apiece: one to be brought to Stronsi Ranch, the other to one of his construction sites.

  Like all the others, Barduys soon found that the Yips were useless and that he had wasted the indenture fee. He was neither surprised nor annoyed. The Yips were psychologically incapable of functioning as paid laborers; he put the whole affair to the back of his mind and, with Flitz, departed Rosalia to see to a number of other more pressing concerns. When they returned they found that Alhaurin had repaired the worst of his delinquencies, and now seemed to be functioning efficiently. The Yips, so he reported, had all migrated south to

  the Mystic Islands in Muran Bay, where they lived such sybaritic idylls that Alhaurin wished that he might join them.

  Barduys and Flitz found that he had not exaggerated. There were two hundred islands in Muran Bay. Most supported a highly picturesque vegetation, which was not infested with tree-waifs, so that one might explore the islands without fear of malign adventure. White beaches rimmed the calm lagoons, where danger lurked, and the rash swimmer would be pulled down and done to death by the water-waifs.

  Yips from Stronsi Ranch had crossed over to several of the near islands. They built huts of palm thatch and lived in blessed indolence, nourished by wild fruit, pods, tubers, molluscs, sphids, and coconuts, from the ubiquitous coconut palm. They sang and danced by firelight to the tinkle of small lutes fabricated from dry red naroko wood.

  Barduys and Flitz again left Rosalia, and for a period moved from place to place and world to world, dealing with the affairs of L-B Construction, and other enterprises now under Barduys’ control.

  During their wanderings they returned to Cadwal. A previous visit had acquainted them with the natural beauty of the landscape, the remarkable flora and fauna, and the unique quality of life at Araminta Station. On this occasion the two visited the wilderness lodges. These were relatively modest hostelries which merged unobtrusively into the most dramatic scenery of Cadwal, where the visitor could experience the sights, sounds and smells of the wilderness and its awesome inhabitants without risking death or – more importantly - disturbing natural processes.

  Barduys was impressed by the lodges. The principles which guided their construction coincided with ideas of his own. During his lifetime he had sojourned at hundreds of hostelries and inns, of every sort and quality. On occasion he had noticed the passionate dedication an innkeeper lavished upon his premises: efforts unrelated to profit. Barduys saw that in such cases the inns were regarded as beautiful entities in their own right: ‘art-objects,’ so to speak. After visiting the wilderness lodges, he began to codify the precepts of this particular aesthetic doctrine.

  First, there must be no self-consciousness. The mood of the inn must derive from simplicity and unity with the landscape. The excellent inn was a composite of many excellent factors, all important: site, outlook and their synergistic effect upon the architecture; the interior, which should be simple, free of ornament and overt luxury; the cuisine, neither spare nor elaborate and never stylish; the staff, polite but imperson
al; the guests themselves. Additionally, there were indefinables and intangibles, which could not be foreseen and often not controlled. When Barduys remembered Bainsey Castle, he decided that here would be the site for the first of his inns. Next he would build several rustic lodges on the beaches of the Mystic Isles, staffed, perhaps, by handsome Yip men and lovely Yip maidens. The lagoons, at least in part, might be made safe for swimming. Elsewhere the water-waifs added a titillating element of danger to the otherwise idyllic peace of the islands. In small submarines guests could cruise the inter-island channels, exploring coral caverns and jungles of multi-colored sea-plants.

  Such were Barduys’ schemes. They were not shared by Flitz. She took only a casual interest in the project and refused to join Barduys in his planning.

  In the lobby of the hotel at Araminta Station, Barduys was approached by Namour. For a time he chatted airily of this and that, while Barduys listened with grim amusement. Namour spoke of L-B Construction and its achievements. He expressed admiration at the scope of the great bridge on Rhea. “Installing foundations for the piers in those swift currents must have been a masterful feat in itself!” he declared.

  “I employ competent engineers,” Barduys told him. “They can build anything.”

  “I understand that you used a submarine during this operation.”

  “So we did.”

  “Out of curiosity, where do you use the submarine now?”

  “Nowhere. It is still on Rhea, so far as I know. Sooner or later we must dispose of it.”