The Dogtown Tourist Agency Page 5

  “A man came up to me and asked if I wanted to earn some easy money. I asked, ‘How much and how easy?’ This was my second mistake. My first was at the Pleasure Gardens. The man said his name was Banghart and his game was smuggling. Well, I needed money, and I agreed to the proposition. We loaded an old barrel of a hulk with unmarked crates, and they might have been the same crates we had brought away from Maz, except that they were far heavier. But I knew that Istagam was somehow connected with the affair. Banghart told me nothing.

  “We took off on the hulk and presently stood off a planet surrounded by an orange nimbus. Banghart identified the planet as Dys, wherever that is. We discharged our cargo by moonlight, on an island in a swamp.”

  “Dys has no orange nimbus,” said Hetzel.

  Gidion Dirby paid him no heed. “Banghart approached the planet with great caution, and I believe he was waiting for a signal, because all of a sudden we dropped like a stone down to the night side. We landed on an island in a swamp and all night long discharged cargo by hand, under a beautiful big full moon, green as a gooseberry.”

  “Dys has no moon,” said Hetzel.

  Dirby nodded. “We were here on Maz. When the hold was empty, Banghart told me that I had to stay and guard the cargo, that I was to be sent out another job. I complained, but in a reasonable voice, because I had nothing to back up my arguments. I said, ‘Yes, Mr. Banghart, certainly, Mr. Banghart, I’ll really guard this shipment.’ The ship left. I was sure I was going to be killed, so I climbed a tree and hid in the branches.

  “I began to think. I watched the moon; it was big and round and green and I knew then that I was back on Maz. The crates must certainly contain weapons for the Gomaz. I could see that my chances were poor. If the Gomaz caught me, they’d kill me; if the Triarchy patrol caught me, they’d seal me into the top floor of the Exhibitory.

  “The moonlight was too green and dim to see by. I sat in the tree until daylight; then I climbed to the ground. The day was overcast and almost as dim as the night, but I noticed a path leading off across the swamp, with timbers laid across the worst spots.

  “Even now I hesitated. Banghart had told me to guard the cargo, and I was deathly afraid of him. I still am. Worse now. But I finally decided to try the path. I walked about two hours. I had a few minor adventures, but no real emergencies, and I finally came to dry land. A stone fence ran along the shore. By this time nothing seemed strange. The path led to a gate, and here a man waited, and this is where the story starts to become insane. I’m not insane, mind you; it’s just what happened to me. This man was tall and as handsome as Avatar Gisrod. He wore a white robe, a white turban, a veil of white gauze embroidered with black pearls. He seemed to be expecting me. I said, ‘Good morning, sir, can you direct me to civilization?’

  “He said, ‘Of course. Step over here.’ He took me to a tent. ‘Just wait inside.’

  “I said I’d just as soon wait outside in the open; he just pointed into the tent. I went in, and that’s all I remember; Handsome must have had put-out gas waiting for me.” Gidion Dirby heaved a sad sigh.

  “I came back to life in a large bare room. There were no doors or windows. The floor measured twelve paces in one direction, fourteen and a half in the other. The ceiling was high; I could barely see it. I must have been unconscious for two or three days; my beard had grown; I was weak and thirsty. There was a chair, a table, a couch, all built of rough timber, but I wasn’t overly critical.” Dirby paused. “What do you think of the story so far?”

  “I haven’t thought. I’m just listening. Offhand, there doesn’t seem any relationship between its various phases.”

  Dirby could not restrain a grim smile. “Quite right. Where does it start? When I left Dagglesby University? When I first came to Maz? At the Pleasure Gardens? When I took up with Banghart? Or has this always been my destiny? This is a most important question.”

  Hetzel said, “Perhaps I lack perceptiveness…”

  Dirby showed no impatience. “The point is this…But, no. I’ll just go on with the story. It’s quite absurd, don’t you think?”

  Hetzel refilled the goblets. “There may be a pattern not yet evident to either of us.”

  Dirby shrugged, to indicate that he cared nothing one way or the other. “I looked around the room. Light came from two high fixtures. The walls were white plastic. The floor was covered with a gray composition. Across one end of the room was a platform, as high as my waist and four feet wide—a stage, with flush doors at both sides. On the table was a jug. It seemed to hold water, and I drank. The water had an odd flavor, and after a few minutes I was bent over with stomach cramps. I decided that I had been poisoned, and I was ready to die. But I vomited instead, time after time, until I was too weak to vomit anymore. Then I crawled to the couch and went to sleep.

  “When I awoke, I felt better. The room looked exactly as before, except that someone had kindly cleaned up the vomit, and on the table beside the jug was a photograph of Handsome. Something nagged at my mind. Was I in the same room? The walls were pale yellow instead of white. I stood up, and I was still hungry and thirsty. On the stage I noticed a tray with bread, cheese, fruit, and a glass mug full of beer. I looked at it a minute. Maybe it was poisoned, like the water. I decided I didn’t care; I’d just as soon be poisoned as starve. I picked up the bread and cheese. It was rubber. The beer was some sort of gel. At the bottom of the mug I found a photograph of a man winking at me—Handsome.

  “I made up my mind to be stoic. Someone was watching me—a lunatic, or a sadist, or Handsome, or all three. I’d give him no satisfaction. I turned away and went to sit down in the chair. It gave me an electric shock. With great dignity I went to the cot. It was sopping wet. I sat on the table. A few minutes later I looked back at the stage, and the tray had been moved. Somehow it looked different. I sat for a moment or two, then leisurely got up to investigate. This time the food was real. I brought it back to the table and ate. Without thinking, I was sitting in the chair. As soon as I remembered, I began to expect another shock, but nothing happened. This, incidentally, was how I was fed during my entire stay. Sometimes the food was real, more often not. The intervals were irregular. I never knew when I would be fed.” Dirby gave a sad laugh. “When the waiters brought in our meal, I half-expected it to be rubber, and I would not have been surprised.”

  “It seems that you were the victim of a careful and systematic persecution.”

  “Call it what you like. The food trick was trivial compared to what else went on; after a while, I hardly thought about it. I was never shocked again, incidentally. I always half-expected it. And after that first jug of water, the food never poisoned me again.

  “When I finished that first meal, I looked at the back wall, which was blue. I was sure all the walls had been yellow. I began to wonder if I were insane after all. The walls kept changing colors—never when I looked at them: white, yellow, green, blue, occasionally brown or gray. I learned to dislike brown and gray, because they usually—not always—meant that something unpleasant was about to happen.”

  “A very strange proceeding,” mused Hetzel. “Perhaps some sort of experiment?”

  “That’s what I thought at first. I changed my mind…The first few days, nothing much happened, except the rubber food and the walls changing color. Once, when I lay on the cot it tossed me out; another time, the chair collapsed. Occasionally I’d hear small noises behind my back, noises very near—a footstep, a whisper, a giggle. Then there was Handsome. One day the walls turned gray. When I noticed the stage, I saw that a doorway had opened at the back to show a long hall. At the far end, a man appeared. He wore Old Shalkho costume—tight breeches of white velvet, a pink-and-blue jacket with gold tassels, a ruffled cravat. He was a tall, strong man, very stately in his manner, very handsome. He came to the edge of the stage and looked toward me—not at me, but toward me—with a peculiar expression I can’t describe: amused, bored, supercilious. He said, ‘You’re making yourself quite comfortable.
Too comfortable. We’ll see to that.’

  “I called out, ‘Why are you keeping me here? I’ve done nothing to you!’ He paid no attention. He said, ‘You must think more intently.’ I said, ‘I’ve been thinking about everything there is to think about.’

  “Again he paid no attention. ‘Perhaps you’re lonely, perhaps you’d like some company. Well, why not?’ And out on the stage ran a dozen beasts, like weasels, with spiked tails and long fangs and prongs growing from their elbows. They ran at me squealing and hissing. I climbed up on the table and kicked them back when they jumped. Handsome watched from the doorway, with an absolutely quiet expression—not even smiling. Two or three times the weasels almost had me; then they gave up and began to roam the room. When one came close, I jumped on it and crushed it to the floor, and finally killed them all. Handsome had gone away long ago.

  “I piled the dead things in a corner and went to look at the doorway where he had stood. The wall seemed solid, so here was another mystery, although now mysteries were simply ordinary events—a way of life, so to speak. Still, if Handsome wanted me to think, he had his way with me, because I did little else.

  “I wondered why they worked such elaborate pranks. Revenge? Except for my sad little smuggling exploit, I had lived a blameless life. An experiment with my sanity? They could have proceeded much more harshly. Mistaken identity? Possibly. Or perhaps I was in the hands of some mad prankster who enjoyed practical jokes. Nothing seemed reasonable.”

  “And did you see Handsome again?”

  “I did indeed, and the back wall turned gray before every time, although sometimes it turned gray and Handsome never appeared. But other things happened, silly, strange things. One day I heard a fanfare, then music, and a troupe of trained birds ran out on the stage. They danced and ran in circles and jumped over each other and marched back and forth; then they all turned somersaults off the stage. The music became a caterwauling, blatting and clanging and thumping; then it stopped. I heard a girl giggling, and then there was silence. The girl sounded like Eljiano, even though I knew this to be impossible. Then I thought: impossible? Nothing was impossible.

  “About an hour later, the lights went out, and the room was pitch dark. A minute or two passed; then a tremendous green flash filled the room, and a clap of noise. I was startled and almost fell out of the cot. I lay in the dark expecting another flash, but after five minutes the usual lights turned on.

  “A jailer began to appear in the room—a creature half-man and half-woman. His right side was masculine; his left side was female. He—I’ll call it a ‘he’—never spoke, and I never spoke. He’d walk around the room, look here and there, wink and grimace, perform some silly caper, and go. He came about five times; then I never saw him again. But one time I awoke and found three naked girls, crawling around the room on their hands and knees. When they saw I was awake, they ran out of the room. One of them was Eljiano—I think. I’m not sure. About this time my meals began to appear in articles of the most extraordinary shape and size: a tiny bowl with an enormous lopsided spoon; a ten-gallon kettle twisted into a half-spiral, with a bit of cheese at the bottom; tangles of tubes and bulbs in which I was served my drink; a tray half an inch across and three feet long holding three peas. I found these amusing rather than otherwise, though I never had enough to eat.

  “The lights went out a second time, and I lay on the couch waiting for another flash of green light, but this time the ceiling billowed with luminous gas. It dissipated, and there was a view out over my old home at Thrope. It changed to other landscapes of the neighborhood, and then others I couldn’t recognize. All these pictures were distorted; they all shuddered and quivered and crawled. My own face appeared, then the top of my head. Two hands cut away my scalp with a saw, and there was my brain. A tiny naked girl appeared—I think it was Eljiano. She climbed over the rim of the skull and ran back and forth across the brain. Eljiano ran away, the picture changed and became a calm stern face—Handsome. Mind you, this was not a dream. My dreams during this time were havens of normality…The lights went on. I sat up on the couch and yawned and stretched, as if I were accustomed to such visions. I’d now decided that Handsome was deliberately trying to drive me insane. I still think so.”

  Hetzel made a gesture which might have signified almost anything; Dirby turned on him a resentful scowl. “Other incidents occurred. The sounds behind me—whispers and giggles. About every third day the lights would gradually go dim, and I’d start to wonder why I couldn’t see; was I going blind? Then they’d play music—a simple tune which would meander through all kinds of meaningless phrases and never resolve, or go through a hundred repetitions. And of course, Handsome. He came twice more to the doorway which opened on the stage, and once I turned around, and there he stood in the room with me. He wore a different costume—a suit of silver scales, a silver morion with cusps across his cheeks, a nasal protecting his nose, and three silver spikes at his forehead. He spoke to me. ‘Hello, Gidion Dirby.’

  “I said, ‘So you know my name.’

  “‘Of course I know your name!’

  “‘I thought you might be making a mistake.’

  “‘I never make mistakes.’

  “‘Then why are you keeping me here?’

  “‘Because I choose to do so.’ He went to the table. ‘This must be your breakfast. Are you hungry?’ He took the lid off the pot, and there were the contents of my commode—or somebody else’s commode. When I looked down, he turned the pot over my head, then left by the door at the side of the stage.

  “I cleaned myself up as well as I could, and went to sit on the couch. Presently I became drowsy and fell asleep, and when I woke up, I was in a new and different place—a bench outside a building of iron and glass, which I saw to be the Maz space depot. I sat for a few minutes gathering my wits. Could it be that I was free? No one paid any attention to me. I checked my pockets and my pouch: there was nothing but a few coins and a zap gun; no papers.

  “A guard came up to me and asked what I was up to; I told him I was waiting for a ship. He asked for identification; I said I’d lost my papers. In that case I’d have to get new papers from the Gaean Triarch. Luckily for me, so he said, the session was just starting, and he set me off along the avenue to the Triskelion. I went into the lobby. A big red-faced official asked what I wanted. I said I must see the Gaean Triarch on urgent business. He took me into a chamber with three desks. There were three Gomaz ahead of me. The security officer led me to one of the desks and said, ‘This man claims urgent business with you.’ To me he said, ‘This is Sir Estevan Tristo; state your business.’ But I couldn’t state anything, because this was Handsome. He looked at me, and I looked at him. Then I just turned and walked away, too confused to even talk. Behind me I heard zaps going off. I looked around. Handsome had dropped behind his desk, and there was a great deal of shouting. I saw that two of the Gomaz were on the floor. The official made a dive for me, but I knocked him down and ran out the side door. I had nowhere to go, so I ran across the plaza and sat down on the bench, and there you found me. I see now that I was wrong running away; I should have stayed and told the truth. Mind search would have proved me out…Of course, they might have shot me first and asked questions later. Maybe I acted correctly.”

  “Not really,” said Hetzel. “You should have continued down to Dogtown. Far Dogtown, that is. Sitting in the plaza, you’re fair game for Captain Baw. Even a confused pseudo-lunatic should know better than to pose invitingly before the Exhibitory. Why did you stop there?”

  Dirby’s face became dark and sullen. “I don’t know. I saw a bench, and I sat down. Must I explain everything?”

  Hetzel ignored the question. “You suffered a perplexing experience. At least, from your point of view. Sir Estevan is definitely Handsome?”

  “I’d know his face among ten thousand.”

  “And he recognized you?”

  “He said nothing. His face showed nothing. But he must have recognized me.”


  Chapter VI

  Hetzel went to the window and stood looking out over the plaza. Dirby slumped back in his chair and stared morosely down into the goblet.

  Hetzel turned back to Dirby. “You are still carrying the zap gun?”

  Dirby brought it forth; Hetzel examined the charge meter, slid out the power cell, examined the meter once more. “It shows a charge, but the cell is dead. The meter has been jammed.” He tossed the gun aside. “I assume that you were meant to be captured. Some element of the plan went wrong. You escaped. Or were allowed to escape.”

  Dirby frowned. “So…what do I do now?”

  “Send a message to your father. Ask him to send out legal aid and a Gaean marshal as quickly as possible. Then, don’t stir from the premises of the Beyranion, or you’ll be subject to the jurisdiction of the Triskelion. If you were put on trial now, your chances would be poor.”

  “Mind search would prove that I’m telling the truth,” Dirby muttered.

  “Mind search would prove that you subscribe to a maniac’s dream in which Sir Estevan Tristo is your persecutor. You would be declared criminally insane and guilty of murder.”

  Dirby growled. “Either way, I lose.”

  “You don’t have a chance unless you can corroborate your story.”

  “Very well. You’re an effectuator. Effect an investigation.”

  Hetzel reflected a moment. “I have other commitments. There might be a conflict of interest. Still, on the other hand, I might be able to sell the same work twice, which is all to the good. I presume you intend to pay me?”

  Dirby looked up with a rather unpleasant sneer. “With what? I don’t have a zink*. If you’re worried, I’ll make out a draft upon my father’s bank, which he will certainly honor.”

  “We’ll discuss this in due course. But first an understanding. I commit myself only to investigation. I undertake neither to assert your innocence nor to defend your guilt. You must secure legal representation elsewhere. Is this agreeable?”