The Dogtown Tourist Agency Read online

  Dirby gave an indifferent shrug. “Whatever you say. I’m in no position to argue.”

  “By any chance are you acquainted with a certain Casimir Wuldfache? No? What about Carmine Daruble? I’d like you to examine a photograph…” Hetzel stopped short. His wallet, with eighty-five SLU and the photograph of Casimir Wuldfache, had been stolen from him. “Well, no matter.”

  A chime sounded. Hetzel went to the door and slid it open, to reveal two men—the first a ponderous and immaculate gentleman whom Hetzel recognized for the hotel manager, and Kerch, the hotel security officer.

  “I am Aeolus Shult, manager of the Beyranion,” said the large man in a dry, precise voice. “This is Nello Kerch, our security officer. May we come in?”

  Hetzel stood back; Shult and Kerch entered the room. Hetzel said, “Allow me to introduce my guest, Vv. Gidion Dirby.”

  Shult refused to acknowledge the introduction. Kerch gave Dirby an uninterested nod. “I am here in connection with Vv. Dirby,” said Shult. “Unfortunately, I must ask him to depart the premises at once.”

  “This is a curious demand,” said Hetzel.

  “Not at all. I have received notice to the effect that Vv. Dirby has committed a serious crime, namely, the assassination of two dignitaries. The Beyranion cannot function as a sanctuary for criminals.”

  “Vv. Dirby does not fit this description,” said Hetzel. “He tells me that he is innocent of wrongdoing. Furthermore, he is not a casual intruder upon the premises; he is here as my guest.”

  Shult’s face became obdurate. “Captain Baw of the Gaean Security Force has made a specific statement. He identifies Vv. Dirby as the assassin.”

  “This is more puzzling than ever. Captain Baw told me that he merely heard the shots. Who made the identification?”

  “Captain Baw vouchsafed no details.”

  “But details are the gist of the matter. Several other persons were present when the assassinations occurred, including three Gomaz, two of whom were killed.”

  “I cannot judge any of this,” said Shult. “Captain Baw is waiting in my office; he insists that I expel Vv. Dirby into his custody.”

  “You would thereby set a very dangerous precedent,” said Hetzel. “Do you want Captain Baw appearing every few days to demand one or another of your guests, who for some reason or another has annoyed the Triarchs? or the Liss authorities? or the Olefract? They have rights equal and equivalent to Captain Baw.”

  Kerch said, “Vv. Hetzel is quite right on this score.”

  Shult pursed his lips. “Naturally, I want nothing of the sort. Still, my responsibility extends only to patrons of the hotel.”

  “I have already pointed out that Vv. Dirby is my guest.”

  “He is not registered as such.”

  “That is irrelevant. I have rented a suite of rooms, not a single occupancy; I have the right to entertain as many guests as I wish. Now, there is another point which you have not considered. The Triskelion is a special entity, and not subject to Gaean law. The Beyranion Hotel is very definitely subject to Gaean law. Vv. Dirby has been proved guilty of nothing. If you irresponsibly turn him over to Captain Baw, and should he thereby suffer harm, you are liable for damages and a punitive fine, perhaps ten or twenty million SLU. You are treading upon exceedingly thin legal ice.”

  Shult now exhibited signs of nervousness. He glanced at Kerch, who merely shrugged and turned away. “This is all very well, but I still cannot allow myself to harbor an assassin.”

  “Who says he is an assassin?”

  “Well…Captain Baw.”

  “I suggest that you ask Captain Baw to assemble his witnesses and his evidence and bring everything here, and then we can decide upon Vv. Dirby’s guilt or innocence. Even then, you are not obliged to respond. We stand on Gaean territory; yonder is a joint jurisdiction of three races, two of whom are alien. Under no circumstances can you allow yourself to be intimidated by Captain Baw.”

  Aeolus Shult heaved a deep sigh. “There is something in what you say. We must always act with due regard for Gaean justice.” He gave Hetzel a doleful salute and departed, followed by Kerch.

  After several moments Dirby spoke. “So…I’m a prisoner at the Beyranion.”

  “Until you prove yourself innocent.”

  Dirby lapsed into mulish silence. Fifteen minutes passed. The telephone chimed. Hetzel touched the audio button. The screen lit up to display the tea-rose delicacy of Sir Estevan’s blonde receptionist. “Hetzel speaking.”

  “This is the office of the Gaean Triarch. Sir Estevan Tristo regrets that he was unable to meet with you earlier today; however, he is free now and requests that you call at his office.”

  “Now?”

  “If it is convenient.”

  Hetzel reflected a moment. “Please connect me with Sir Estevan.”

  “Just a minute, sir. Will you be good enough to press your video button?”

  “When Sir Estevan comes on.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  The screen brightened, to show a keen-featured face. Dirby came forward and stared intently at the image. He nodded to Hetzel. “That’s Handsome.”

  Hetzel touched the video button. Sir Estevan said, “You are Vv. Miro Hetzel, who called at the Triskelion earlier today?”

  “Quite correct, sir.”

  “I would be pleased to see you now, if you are at liberty.”

  “That is kind of you. However, another matter must be taken into consideration.”

  “You refer to Gidion Dirby?”

  Hetzel nodded. “I would like to call on you, but I do not care to be seized as soon as I leave the Beyranion and held on some trumped-up charge. If this is to be the case, I would prefer that you came here to see me.”

  Sir Estevan smiled a wintry smile. “Let me check with the commandant.”

  The screen went blank. Hetzel switched off the audio and looked at Dirby. “So that’s Handsome.”

  Dirby nodded. “His hair is different. He wears it more formally.”

  “What of his voice?”

  Dirby hesitated. “It’s somewhat different. Considerably different, in fact.”

  “Has it occurred to you that on the two occasions you saw Handsome at close hand he wore first a veil and then a morion which concealed a good part of his face? On the other occasions, he stood in a doorway in a section of wall where no doorway existed.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That your experience of Handsome for the most part was a projected image, and that the voice might or might not have been his own.”

  Dirby scowled. “So that Handsome wasn’t out there at all.”

  “It seems that diligent efforts were made to arouse your antagonism against Sir Estevan.”

  Dirby laughed. “Then they bring me here to the Triskelion, give me a dead zap, and show me Sir Estevan. Why all this?”

  “Two Triarchs were killed—an Olefract and a Liss. It would be more difficult to arouse animosity against these two.”

  Dirby shook his head. “I don’t understand it.”

  “I don’t understand it either,” said Hetzel. “You call him Handsome. I call him Casimir Wuldfache.”

  Sir Estevan returned to the screen. Hetzel restored the sound. “I have conferred with Captain Baw,” said Sir Estevan. “Understandably, he is anxious for information.”

  “All of us share this anxiety, including Gidion Dirby. For instance, he would like to know why you turned a pot of ordure over his head.”

  Sir Estevan Tristo raised his eyebrows. He reached out and made an adjustment on the clarity control. “I don’t believe I heard your remarks correctly.”

  “No matter,” said Hetzel. “I want only your assurance that if I leave the hotel I won’t be subjected to inconvenience.”

  “If you transgress our laws, or if you have done so, you will face the ordinary consequences. However, Captain Baw tells me that to the best of his knowledge you have committed no such acts.”

  “I the
n have your explicit assurance that I will not be arrested?”

  “Not unless you commit a crime.”

  “Very well,” said Hetzel. “I’ll risk it.”

  Chapter VII

  Hetzel set off across the plaza toward the murky outline of the Triskelion. He observed no persons in the blue-and-green uniform of the Gaean Security Patrol, and when he arrived at the Triskelion, the officer on duty paid him no extraordinary attention. Captain Baw was not in evidence.

  Hetzel approached the Gaean section of the reception desk. The Liss and Olefract sides of the triangle, as usual, were vacant. Vv. Kylo, who was on duty alone, directed Hetzel to a door across the lobby. Hetzel entered an antechamber where Sir Estevan’s pretty blonde receptionist sat at a desk. The telephone image failed to do justice to the girl. Her coloring, thought Hetzel, was exquisite—pale-blond hair like winter sunlight, flower-petal skin, features delicate, almost over-refined, as if she derived from generations of aesthetes and aristocrats. For Hetzel’s taste she was perhaps too sensitive, too fastidious and meticulous, and perhaps humorless as well; nevertheless, she added a great deal of tone to Sir Estevan’s office.

  “Vv. Hetzel? This way, please.”

  Sir Estevan arose from his desk to meet Hetzel—a man tall and stern, but undeniably handsome. He was, thought Hetzel, older than Casimir Wuldfache. The resemblance, though strong, dissipated somewhat upon close inspection.

  Sir Estevan indicated a chair, and seated himself. “You are an almost obsessively cautious man.”

  “Captain Baw’s zeal compels such an obsession,” said Hetzel.

  Sir Estevan allowed himself a faint smile. “I think you referred to Gidion Dirby as your client?”

  “By no means. His situation interests me, and I am acting informally as his adviser. He is not my client. The distinction is important.”

  “You were previously acquainted?”

  “I met him for the first time today. His predicament attracted my attention, and the story he tells aroused my professional interest.”

  “I see. May I inquire your profession?”

  “I am an effectuator, of a specialized sort—in fact, something of a dilettante. I rescue distressed maidens, I undertake interesting missions, I search for lost fortunes.”

  “In which of these categories does Gidion Dirby fit?”

  “He is hardly a maiden in distress,” said Hetzel. “Nonetheless, I am attempting to protect him from his enemies.”

  Sir Estevan laughed his chilly laugh. “And who protects the enemies against Gidion Dirby?”

  “I wish to discuss this matter with you. First, do you believe Gidion Dirby to be the assassin?”

  “I see no other possibility, nor does Captain Baw. Consult him; he was much closer to the action.”

  “You did not observe Dirby shoot his gun?”

  “No. Captain Baw obscured my view. I heard the sound of the pellets; I saw two Gomaz killed, and dropped behind my desk. Essentially, I saw nothing of what happened.”

  “You never saw Vv. Dirby at all?”

  “Not clearly.”

  “Did you recognize him when you saw his face in the view plate?”

  “No, he is a stranger to me.”

  “Why should he—or anyone else, for that matter—attempt to assassinate the Triarchs?”

  Sir Estevan leaned back in his chair. “I assume that the murderer was and is insane. There is no other explanation. The deed is absolutely pointless.”

  “What if the surviving Gomaz were the assassin?”

  Sir Estevan shook his head. “It is not the nature of the Gomaz to assassinate. He kills for his own private reasons—‘lusts’ might be the applicable word; otherwise, he is neither violent nor murderous, unless he is molested.”

  “You have apparently made a close study of the Gomaz.”

  “Naturally; why else am I here?”

  “The Liss and the Olefract share your interest?”

  Sir Estevan shrugged. “We have little communication between us. Certainly no informal contacts. The Liss are suspicious and hostile; the Olefract are contemptuous and hostile. But still no reason to kill their Triarchs.”

  “And how will they react?”

  “Reasonably enough, or so I imagine. If Dirby is deranged, they’ll accept the killing as an aberrated act.”

  “Assuming that Dirby is indeed the killer.”

  “There’s no other possibility.”

  “Captain Baw was in the chamber.”

  “Ridiculous. Why should he perform such an act?”

  “Why should Gidion Dirby?”

  “Insanity.”

  “Perhaps Baw is insane.”

  “Rubbish.”

  Hetzel indicated a door. “This leads into the Triarchic chamber?”

  “It does.”

  “Your receptionist at all times had the door under observation?”

  “She certainly would have noticed someone standing here shooting at me.”

  “Perhaps someone was hidden in the chamber?”

  “Impossible. I was fifteen minutes early into the chamber. No one was hidden there.”

  “Well, then…what about yourself?”

  Sir Estevan showed his cold smile. “I’d prefer to fix the guilt on Gidion Dirby, or the Gomaz, or even Baw, for that matter.”

  “And the Gomaz—why were they here?”

  “They had no opportunity to explain themselves.”

  “Won’t this assassination cause problems? Raids? Demonstrations?”

  “Probably not. The Gomaz are linked telepathically to the unitary consciousness of their sept, and they are not disturbed by death. This is an element of their ferocity.” Sir Estevan tossed a pamphlet across his desk. “Read this, if you’re interested in the Gomaz.”

  “Thank you.” The pamphlet was entitled The Gomaz Warriors of SJZ-BEA-1545 (Maz), Prepared by the Hannenborg Institute for Xenological Research. He inspected the diagram on the cover. “Two hundred and twenty-nine septs. The Gomaz who visited you this morning—what was their sept?”

  “Ubaikh.” Sir Estevan gave his fingers an impatient twitch. “Surely you did not come here to discuss the Gomaz?”

  Hetzel opened his mouth to mention Istagam, then had second thoughts. It might be wise to secure an air-car use permit for reasons other than investigating Istagam. “At the moment, I am preoccupied with Gidion Dirby and his extraordinary plight.”

  “What is so extraordinary about it?”

  “I would like you to hear Gidion Dirby’s story from his own mouth. Could you step over to the Beyranion for a few minutes?”

  “I’d prefer that you give me the gist of it here.”

  “Gidion Dirby declares that he was held captive and subjected to a number of fantastic tricks; you were the chief trickmaster, and terminated the proceedings by turning a chamber pot over his head.”

  Sir Estevan grinned. “I deny this.”

  “You have never seen Gidion Dirby previous to today?”

  “Never, to my knowledge.”

  “Are you familiar with a long corridor with blue-and-white-tile walls and an arched white ceiling?”

  “Certainly. Such a corridor connects the loggia of my residence to the morning room. Why do you ask?”

  “This hall figures in Gidion Dirby’s account, and it tends to authenticate his story.”

  Sir Estevan considered. “If Dirby is innocent, then either I or Captain Baw must be guilty of murder. Or conceivably my secretary, Zaressa, if your imagination can cope with the image of her standing in that doorway and gunning down a Liss, an Olefract, and two Gomaz.”

  “If Dirby is innocent, then you, Captain Baw, Zaressa, or the Gomaz must be guilty. I agree to this.”

  “It would be most tiresome,” said Sir Estevan, “especially since the Gomaz must be removed from the list. Far better that an addle-brained zealot be declared the assassin, whether he is guilty, as I believe him to be, or not.”

  “Dirby might concede this point of vie
w,” said Hetzel, “if he were granted safe-conduct away from Maz and recompensed for his inconvenience. At the moment, he is annoyed and unhappy, and he is anxious to bring the facts to light.”

  “This, of course, is his option. How does he propose to perform the illumination?”

  “The Gomaz was present; why not question him?”

  Sir Estevan leaned back in his chair and pondered. “Gomaz make poor witnesses. They are unresponsive—contemptuously unresponsive, I should say—to our laws and customs. They will say what they wish to say, and no more. It is impossible to coerce a Gomaz, and it is also impossible to appeal, shall we say, to his better nature.”

  “Incidentally, what was their business with the Triarchy?”

  “Before a statement could be made, the assassinations occurred.”

  Hetzel thought to detect evasiveness. “Did they not state their business for your agenda?”

  “No.” Sir Estevan’s reply was curt.

  “And you yourself do not know what their business might have been?”

  “I would not care to speculate.”

  “From Dirby’s point of view, the surviving Gomaz is a prime witness. It would seem that if a Gomaz testified at all, he would speak the truth.”

  “The truth as he saw it. By no means the truth as we see it.”

  “Still, in all fairness, we should hear what he has to tell us.”

  Sir Estevan hesitated a moment, then took up a schedule, which he studied a moment. He punched a button on his telephone. The screen became bright; a face looked forth; a voice spoke. “Maz Transport. Yes, Sir Estevan.”

  “Has the Route Five carrier left on schedule?”

  “Yes, sir, half an hour ago.”

  “How many passengers were aboard?”

  “One moment sir…Seven passengers: two Kaikash, two Ironbellies, a Ubaikh, an Aqzh, and a Yellow Hellion.”

  “Look out into the corral. Do you see any Ubaikh?”

  “It’s empty, sir. Everyone left on the transport.”

  “Thank you.” Sir Estevan switched off the screen. “The Gomaz has returned to his castle, and must be considered inaccessible.”

  “Not necessarily. I can be on hand when the carrier puts him down, and interview him there.”