Throy Page 5

  Bodwyn Wook demanded: “What in the world are you trying to tell us? Do you have Julian Bohost in there with his feet to the fire?”

  “No such luck.” Glawen led the group into the octagonal foyer. “This way and remember: the word is ‘nonchalance’!”

  The group entered the parlor. Wayness sat on one of the heavy maroon chairs. Kathcar stood with his back to the fire. Bodwyn Wook jerked to a halt. He cried out sharply: “For what sorry purpose-”

  Glawen spoke in a loud voice: “I think you all know this gentleman, Rufo Kathcar. He has kindly agreed to supply us information, and I assured him that we would listen with polite attention.”

  Bodwyn Wook sputtered: “The last time we listened to that lying-”

  Glawen spoke even louder. “Kathcar hopes that we will find his information of high value. I told him that the officials at Araminta Station, and especially Bodwyn Wook, were notably generous -” “Ha!” cried Bodwyn Wook. “That is a canard!” “- and would pay him adequately for his information.”

  Egon Tamm said: “If Kathcar provides us valuable information, he shall not suffer for it.”

  In the end Kathcar was induced to repeat his remarks in regard to Dame Clytie. Bodwyn Wook listened in stony silence.

  Kathcar at last gave a flourish of his big white hand. “So far, you have heard what I shall call ‘background information.’ It reflects my intimate knowledge of what has been going on, and what I have been forced to endure. I confess to a great bitterness. My ideals have been betrayed; my leadership ignored.”

  “Tragic! Quite sad!” declared Bodwyn Wook.

  “I am now a philosophical orphan,” declared Kathcar. “Or - perhaps better to say - an intellectual soldier of fortune. I am rootless; I have no home; I -”

  Egon Tamm held up his hand: “Our need is for facts. For instance, when Dame Clytie was last at Riverview House, she came with a certain Lewyn Barduys and his associate, who called herself ‘Flitz.’ Do you know anything of these folk?”

  “Yes,” said Kathcar. “And no.”

  Bodwyn Wook roared: “And what, pray, do you mean by that?”

  Kathcar inspected Bodwyn Wook with austere dignity. “I know a number of interesting bits and pieces, which conceal as much as they reveal. For instance, Lewyn Barduys is an important magnate both in the transportation and construction industries. This information by itself lacks significance, until fitted into a context with other facts, whereupon patterns emerge. In this way I am able to justify the fee which I am compelled to charge.”

  Bodwyn Wook turned a peevish side-glance toward Scharde. “You seem to be amused. I cannot imagine why.”

  “Kathcar is like a fisherman chumming the water,” said Scharde.

  Kathcar nodded graciously. “The analogy is apt.”

  “Yes, yes,” Growled Bodwyn Wook. “We are the poor credulous fish.”

  Egon Tamm said hastily: “Let us hear some of these bits and pieces, so that we may appraise their value before committing ourselves to a specific fee.”

  Kathcar smilingly shook his head. “That approach lacks spontaneity! The value of my information is high, and far exceeds the fee I have in mind.”

  Bodwyn Wook glue a hoot of raucous laughter. Egon Tamm said ruefully: “We cannot risk so reckless a commitment! You might ask for ten thousand sols, or even more!”

  Kathcar raised his black eyebrows in reproach. “I speak in all sincerity! My hope is to establish trust between us, and a true camaraderie, where each gives his all and accepts to the measure of his needs. Under these conditions a few thousand sols become a trivial, or even contemptible, side issue.”

  There was silence. After a moment Egon Tamm suggested: “Perhaps you will release a few more facts while we weigh your proposition.”

  “Gladly,” declared Kathcar, “if only to establish my bona fides. I find Barduys and Flitz an interesting pair. Their relationship is curiously formal, though they travel in contiguity. The ultimate nature of this relationship? Who can guess? Flitz demonstrates an unusual facade; she is taciturn, cool, barely polite, and is not an instantly likeable person despite her superb physical attributes. At one of Dame Clytie’s dinner parties, Julian turned the conversation to the fine arts, and insisted that, except for Stroma, Cadwal was a cultural desert.

  “Barduys asked: ‘What of Araminta Station?’

  “‘A curious survival of the archaic ages,’ said Julian. ‘Art? The word is unknown.’

  “Julian turned away to answer a question. When he looked back Flitz had gone off to the far end of the room, where she sat staring into the fire.

  “Julian was puzzled. He asked Barduys if he had said something to offend Flitz. Barduys said: ‘I think not. Flitz simply cannot tolerate boredom.’

  “Dame Clytie was astounded. ‘We were discussing Art! Does this topic exceed her scope of interest?’

  “Barduys replied that Flitz’ ideas were unorthodox. For instance, she admired the wilderness lodges of Deucas, which were created by the folk of Araminta Station. ‘These isolated inns are true art-forms,’ said Barduys, and went on to describe how the visitor is provided a unique sensation of place.

  “Julian’s jaw dropped. He could only scoff. ‘Wilderness lodge? We are talking about Art.’

  “‘So we are,’ said Barduys, and changed the subject.” Kathcar looked around the room. “It was a most interesting event. I pass this intelligence on to you freely, in the interests of cooperation and trust.”

  Bodwyn Wook only grunted. “What else can you tell us about these two?”

  “Very little. Barduys is a practical man, as impenetrable as steel. Flitz tends to enter a state of moody introspection, and becomes remote, or even surly. One day I spent an hour exerting my most dependable gallantries, but she paid no heed, and in the end I felt as if I had suffered a rebuff.”

  “A dismal episode,” said Egon Tamm. “Did you learn their business at Stroma?”

  Kathcar weighed his reply, and answered carefully. “That is an expensive question, and I will reserve my response.” He stared into the fire. “I recall that Julian jocularly suggested that Barduys hire Yips for construction labor. Barduys replied that he had already made the experiment, and his tone suggested that he had not been happy with the results. Julian asked if he had dealt with Namour, and Barduys replied: Just once - and once was enough.’”

  Scharde asked: “Where is Namour now?”

  “I can’t say. I do not enjoy Namour’s confidence.” Kathcar’s voice was becoming sharp, and he was making restless movements. “I strongly suggest that you -”

  Bodwyn Wook interrupted. “Is that all you can tell us?”

  “Of course not! Do you take me for a fool?”

  “That is not germane. Pray continue, then.”

  Kathcar shook his head. “We have come to the transition. What remains must be considered valuable merchandise. I have already mentioned my terms; now I must have assurances that you agree to them.”

  Bodwyn Wook growled: “I do not recall hearing your exact demands, nor have you indicated what information you are still withholding.”

  “As for my fee, I want twenty thousand sols, passage to an off-world destination of my choice, and protection until I depart. As for the information, it is not overvalued.”

  Bodwyn Wook cleared his throat. “Let us stipulate that Kathcar’s fee shall be exactly metered to the value of his information, as calculated by an impartial committee when all the facts are known. So then: speak freely, Kathcar! You are now assured of justice.”

  “That is absurd!” cried Kathcar. “It is now that I need funds and security!”

  “So it may be, but your demands are lavish.”

  “Have you no regard for your own reputation?” stormed Kathcar. “Already your name is synonymous with cheese-paring parsimony! Now is your chance at redemption! I urge that you seize upon it, for my benefit and your own!”

  “Ah! But the fee is much too high!”

  “Twenty thousand sol
s is cheap for what I can tell you.”

  “Twenty thousand sols is unthinkable!”

  “Not by me! I think it very easily!”

  “Arbitration still is the best plan,” said Bodwyn Wook.

  “And who will be the arbiter?”

  Bodwyn Wook spoke in measured tones: “He must be a person of high moral quality and keen intelligence.”

  “I agree!” declared Kathcar with sudden unexpected verve. “I nominate Wayness Tamm!”

  “Hmmf,” said Bodwyn Wook. “I had myself in mind.”

  Egon Tamm said wearily: “We will take counsel on your proposal and give you our answer later in the evening.”

  “As you like,” said Kathcar. “You may also wish to ruminate upon some other matters, such as Smonny and her wanderings. Sometimes she is to be found at Yipton; at other times she will conduct her business elsewhere - from Soum, or Rosalia, or Traven, or as far afield as Old Earth. How does she arrive and how does she depart undetected?”

  “I don’t know,” said Egon Tamm. “Scharde, do you know?”

  “No, for a fact.”

  “Nor I,” said Bodwyn Wook. “I assume that Titus Zigonie’s Clayhacker space yacht drops down, scoops her up and disappears.”

  “Then why is this event never registered on your monitors?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Kathcar laughed. “It is indeed a mystery.”

  “Which you can clarify?” demanded Bodwyn Wook.

  Kathcar pursed his mouth. “I have made no such claims. Perhaps you should consult your friend Lewyn Barduys; he also might be able to speculate. I have said enough. Your so-called investigative agency, Bureau B, seems strangely inept; still, you should not expect me to shoulder the full load of its deficiencies.”

  Egon Tamm said coldly, “In any case, you are subject to Gaean law and you must report illegal activity or face charges of criminal conspiracy.”

  “Ha ha!” sneered Kathcar. “First you must prove that I know the answers to questions you don’t know how to ask.”

  Egon Tamm said: “If you are in earnest about leaving Stroma, be on hand tomorrow when we depart, and you may accompany us.”

  “Then you will not guarantee my fee?”

  “We will discuss the matter tonight,” said Egon Tamm.

  Kathcar reflected a moment. “That is not good enough. I want my answer, one way or the other, within the hour.”

  Kathcar went to the door, where he paused and looked back. “You are returning to the inn?”

  “That is correct,” said Bodwyn Wook. “I am hungry despite all, and I intend to dine like a gentleman.”

  Kathcar showed him a wolfish grin. “I recommend the baked rock-rack and greenfish, and the soup is always worthwhile. I will meet you at the inn within the hour.”

  Kathcar opened the door, peered right, then left along the way, which was now indistinct in the starlight. Reassured, he stepped out into the gloom and was gone.

  Bodwyn Wook rose to his feet. “The brain works best when it is not distracted by hunger. Let us return to the inn; there, with our noses over the soup, we can settle this matter, one way or another.”

  * * *

  Chapter 1, Part VII

  The group took seats at a table in the dining room of the inn. A few moments later the massive form of Warden Ballinder loomed in the doorway. His heavy round face, never gladsome, by reason of coarse black hair, black beard and unruly black eyebrows, now seemed actively morose. He crossed the room, seated himself at the table and addressed Egon Tamm: “If your announcement was intended to resolve all doubts, it has failed. There are more worries now than ever. Everyone wants to know how soon they must leave Stroma, whether a fine mansion awaits them or a tent out among the wild animals. Everyone wonders how they are expected to transport themselves and their possessions so far and so soon.”

  “Our plans are not yet exact,” said Egon Tamm. “All householders should place their names on a list; they will then be moved in order, first into temporary quarters, then into permanent dwellings, which they may choose for themselves. It will be a simple uncomplicated change, unless the LPFers drag their heels, which will make the transfer more troublesome.”

  Warden Ballinder scowled dubiously. “It might go fast - or it might go slow. I estimate a hundred to a hundred and fifty households, five or six hundred people on the first list. These represent the Chartists. There are about as many devout LPFers and a like number of fence-straddlers who will wait until they have no other choice, and we shall have to deal with them separately.”

  Kathcar entered the room. Looking neither right nor left he went on long loping strides to a table beside the wall. Here he sat, summoned a waiter and ordered a bowl of fish soup. When he was served, he took up a spoon, hunched over the bowl and ate with avidity.

  “Kathcar is now present,” said Scharde. “Perhaps it is time to begin our deliberations.”

  “Bah,” muttered Bodwyn Wook. “Does the lily need so much gilt?”

  Egon Tamm said: “When the question is reduced to its essentials, it becomes: can we afford to take such critical chances? The money seems of secondary concern.”

  Warden Ballinder asked: “Am I supposed to understand what is happening, or not?”

  Egon Tamm said: “You must keep this confidential. Kathcar wants to sell important information for twenty thousand sols. He is also a very frightened man.”

  “Hm.” Warden Ballinder reflected. “One thing to remember is that Kathcar is secretary, or aide, to Sir Denzel Attabus, from whom the Peefers have been extracting large sums of money, if my information can be believed.”

  Scharde said slowly: “The idea that Kathcar knows something we don’t know is beginning to seem ominous - especially when he values the information at twenty thousand sols.”

  Bodwyn Wook scowled, but said nothing.

  Across the room a young man stocky and plump, almost squat, with a fleshy round face, thick black hair, a stern black mustache and fine clear grey eyes, had joined Kathcar at his table. Kathcar, staring up from his soup, was clearly displeased by the intrusion. The young man, however, spoke with earnest emphasis, and presently Kathcar’s eyebrows rose. He put down his spoon and sat back, his black eyes glittering.

  Scharde inquired of Warden Ballinder the identity of Kathcar’s companion. “That is Roby Mavil, one of the career Peefers,” said the warden. “He is an official and sits on what they call their directorate. Julian Bohost outranks him, but not by much.”

  “He doesn’t seem a fanatic.”

  Ballinder grunted. “Mavil is a conniver. He likes plotting and intrigue for their own sake. He’s not at all to be trusted. He’ll be over here next, to make himself charming.”

  But warden Ballinder was wrong and Roby Mavil, jumping up from Kathcar’s table, left the room.

  Glawen spoke to Bodwyn Wook. “What about Kathcar? Do you intend to meet his terms?”

  Bodwyn Wook had been put out of sorts by Kathcar’s epithets and by the nagging sense of opportunities slipping irretrievably from his grasp. He growled: “If Kathcar freely and at no charge told me of Holy Jasmial’s Third Coming I’d still find the news too dear, even if it were true.”

  Glawen said nothing. Bodwyn Wook studied his expression for a moment. “You would pay the money?”

  “He is not stupid. He knows the value of what he can tell us.”

  “You’d let him be the sole judge of this value?”

  “We have no choice. I would guarantee his terms, I would listen to him and hand over the money. Then, if the material was trivial or if I felt cheated, I would find some way to get the money back.”

  “Hmm.” Bodwyn Wook nodded. “That is a concept which does both you and Bureau B, and the Bureau B Superintendent credit. Egon Tamm, what is your opinion?”

  “I vote yes.”

  “Scharde?”

  “Yes.”

  Bodwyn Wook turned to Glawen. “You may apprise him of our decision.”

  Glawen ro
se to his feet, then halted in his tracks. “He is gone!”

  “That is unacceptable conduct!” stormed Bodwyn Wook. “He makes us a proposal, then attempts insolent tricks! I consider him a man without honor!” He made an angry gesture. “Find this man; explain that we cannot allow him to void his contract! Hurry; catch him up! He will not have gone far!”

  Glawen went out into the road and looked to right and left. The cliff loomed high to one side; to the other opened dark space, sighing to far currents of air.

  Glawen walked a hundred yards up the way but came upon no one. Above and below dim yellow lights spangled the sides of the cliff.

  The quest for Kathcar was clearly hopeless. Glawen turned and went back to the inn. In the taproom he noticed Warden Ballinder in earnest conference with a red-bearded young man - the same who had confronted them earlier along edge of the cliff. The young man was speaking with passionate vehemence; Warden Ballinder stood with head bent forward.

  Glawen turned away and went into the dining room, to resume his place at the table.

  Bodwyn Wook asked sharply: “What of Kathcar?”

  “I saw no sign of him, or anyone else.”

  Bodwyn Wook grunted. “He will be back in a few moments, cringing and grinning, his price considerably lower. You’ll see that I was right! I never submit to extortion!”

  Glawen had nothing to say. Wayness jumped to her feet. “I will telephone his home.”

  A moment later she returned. “No one answers. I left an urgent message.”

  Warden Ballinder returned from the taproom, accompanied by the young man with the red beard. Warden Ballinder said: “This is Yigal Fitch. He is a legal practitioner. An hour ago Sir Denzel summoned him, apparently to institute some sort of legal action. Fitch approached Sir Denzel’s house and arrived in time to see Sir Denzel falling from his deck and tumbling out into space. Fitch was horrified. He tried to look up, to see who had launched Sir Denzel. He saw no one, but he was afraid to investigate and ran back here. I telephoned Sir Denzel’s house. The maid knew nothing, except that Sir Denzel was no longer on the premises. Unless Sir Denzel ‘has learned to fly,’ as the saying goes, he is dead.”