The very nature of Hautley's profession was such that extreme privacy was eminently desirable. And he had many enemies. His versicle upon this topic was pointedly clear: Hardest of all: to find
One needle in a mountain of its kind.
PRoFESSIONALLY SPEAKING, of course, Quicksilver's source of
remuneration would drastically suffer if his dwelling were
completely impossible to locate. No clients beat Ia. pathway to
one's portal, if that portal's whereabouts are forever unknowable.
Hence, Hautley was "at home" to qualified visitors on alternate Zandays. Potential clients might phone him-on a very private line-,-whose continually fluctuating wave-lengths
were published every second Oomday in the personal columns of the New Andelsprutz (Alpha Centauri IV) Times
Clarion-and, if their business sounded sufficiently promising
and their credit rating met his rather elevated standards,
Quicksilver would switch on the radiobeacon which guided
his clientele blindly through the planetary jungle of spinning
rocks whose orbits he alone knew, and to which he always
referred as the "moat" of Quicksilver Castle.
This particular Zanday, his visitor was a bland, soft-spoken
little mouse of a man with vapid. characterless features, pale
eyes of contrasting colors, thin salmon hair, and drooping
eyelids tattooed with the green caste-mark that denoted a
IV-Class Scholar of the Validian Psychodiscipline.
In a muted, shallow voice (only slightly blurred on the
vowels, either from nervousness or tension) , this insipid
would-be client introduced himself as ''the Learned Pawel
Spiro, Resident Locutioner in Thothic Archeology at the
Boghazy-the-Great Memorial Museum in Tavory, on Alcazar III." Spiro spoke rapidly, softly, in an ingratiating and self-deprecating manner, not once lifting his eyes to Quicksilver after a first keen all-encompassing appraisal.
". . . The, ah, Museum is interested in retaining your, ah,
services, Ser Hautley," Spiro murmured in his fawning
slightly hesitant voice, "on, ah, a mission of extreme, ah, delicacy."
"Which is?" Quicksilver prompted, the resonant timbre of
his masculine baritone in striking contrast to the little man's
fuzzy articulation.
" . . . To, ah, appropriate a certain article of not inconsiderable, ah, historic and scientific interest, and, ah, of monetary value. . • • "
"This article is . . . ?" Hautley inquired, patiently.
The Learned Pawel Spiro twisted his soft, white, slightly
moist hands together, in a further symptom of tension or nervousness, or both. He cleared his throat with a phlegmy, glottal sound.
" . . . An archaic jeweled headpiece which is a relic of
the extinct, primordial Cavern Kings of the planet Thoth, ah,
that is, Thoin IV in the, ah, the Derghiz Cluster . • . We, er,
the Musellll4 that is, understand. Ser Hautley, that your, ah,
fee for professional services rendered is rather, er, rather
superlative • • • "
"I fear so;• Quicksilver drawled lazily. ''You will, however,
find my professional competency equally superlative."
A small pallid smile flitted over Spiro's loose lips, flitted,
and was gone in an eye-blink.
" •
•
•
So we have been given to understand, Ser Hautley.
You will, ah, appreciate that we are unaccustomed to such
dealings, and consulted the Central Orion Better Business Bureau and the Alphard Chamber of Commerce from which planet, I believe, your, ah, firm derives its charter • . .
"
"Of course."
"Our treasury is equal to meeting your fee • • • ah, however, for any expenses above and beyond, ah, reasonable limits, the Department whose spokesman I am, must request an itemized summary of expenditures • . • and we would like
delivery of the relic within, ah, ninety days of the date of the
contract . . . ?"
Hautley smiled slightly.
"The contract has not yet been thumbprinted,'' Hautley
gently reminded his nervous client. And he thought to himself : There is something about this little man that • • •
3
QUICKSILVER removed a slim green tube from the bloodwood
case on the desk before him, set it between his lips, and inhaled thoughtfully until the autoigniter tip flared. A pungently stimulating vapor permeated the tower chamber wherein they sat. He smoked his aromatique meditatively in silence for a few moments, watching the slight tense movements of Pawel Spiro's hands with lazy impassive face and
mirror-bright eyes whose detailed scrutiny was scalpel-sharp.
This Quicksilver, foremost Licensed Legal Criminal and
Confidential Agent in half a galaxy, was a lean, lithe, agile
young man of only seventy-six, patently of homonid stock,
although, perchance, admixed with a touch of anthrofelinesque blood inherited from a paternal great-grandmother.
From throat to wrist and heel he was clothed in sprayed
satin of seven subtly differing shades of black. His face was
dyed mahogany, the features hard, ascetic, with prominent
cheekbones, feline jaw, and a broad and high forehead which
plainly denoted an astonishing calibre of intellectual capacity.
His hair, falling in meticulous antique locks over his brow,
was colored pewter-grey due to a cosmetic endocrine adjustment currently in mode. A characteristically whimsical light
:Hashed in his oblique mirror eyes (from which affectation, as
well as his alert and mercurial temperament, he derived his
suragnomen) .
"This headpiece"-he spoke abruptly, shattering the silence
-"is popularly called The Crown of Stars is it not? And I
believe it is venerated and guarded by a fanatic cult who
have sworn death to the interloper and crown-lifter--death
according to indescribably bizarre and barbaric tormentsam I not correct, Learned Spiro?"
Flustered, Pawel Spiro stammered inarticulately for a moment, then cleared his throat with another of those annoying, phlegmy little coughs Quicksilver found so distasteful.
"Er . . . ah . . • hem! I believe that is, ah, correct, Ser
Hautley . . ." be admitted.
"Yes-?"
"It, er, the cult object is worshiped by the Neothothic
Priesthood . . . fourteenth-generation descendants of the original settlers. They have, ah, evolved a form of ancestor worship in regard to the so-called Cavern Kings, a mysterious race which flourished, decayed and became extinct on Thoin
IV some centuries before the first Survey Service ships arrived from Galactic Center, during, I believe, the semi-legendary reign of the Galactic Imperator Drongerghastus the Inimitable, the 'Opener of the Starways' . . ."
"What exactly were these Cavern Kings?" Hautley inquired.
"A race of, ah, highly intelligent beings evolved from the
lizard, as we are from the simians. To be precise: from the
order Sauria, family Lacertidae, genus Lacerta; a species
somewhat similar to C. niloticus, and resembling to some degree the common 'monitor• or the familiar 'gecko'
ah,
•
.
•
extraordinary creatures of unusual cultural development, although of pre-Space and probably of pre-Electric technology.
Their curious architectural monuments, a. matter of tapering
:towers awry-tilted and of only quasi-Euclidean geometry, and
peculiar in that the cities are
subterranean • • . "
"Underground towers? An unique concept," Hautley said
gravely. Caught up in that technical enthusiasm to which the
Validian Scholar is ever susceptible, Pawel Spiro nodded several times, flushing pinkly with intellectual excitement.
"Decidedly unique, Ser Hautley! Ah . . . unfortunately,
naught remains of their cultural artifacts save for these curiously subterranean urban structures (which clearly argue the racial heritage of the lizard! ) , and which remain to this
day among the most notable archeological enigmas of the entire Cluster . • . and, of course, the . • . Crown of Stars."
Quicksilver extinguished his aromatique in the nearby vacuum trap, and regarded the client with a slight quizzical smile.
"Any relic so rare must be worth . • . a fortune?" he quer-
ied gently.
The Learned Pawel Spiro looked decidedly unhappy.
"Ah . . . yes, I believe so . . .
"
The quizzical smile deepened, gaining an overtone of
ironic mockery.
"It is-is it not, in point of fact-----completely priceless-in
fact, beyond price?"
Spiro's unhappy expression intensified into one of positive
gloom.
"Well . . . yes!"
"In such a case, then," Quicksilver said smoothly, "my
usual fees wo).lld be . • • doubled.''
4
PAWBL SPIRO blinked, winced, coughed soWy, fluttered his
plump white hands, straightened the notched lapels of his
conservative maroon oversuit, and said faintly :
"But, Ser Hautley, you will understand, ah, the cult object
is prized more for its scientific value than the, er, merely
monetary worth of . • . "
Hautley elevated an amused eyebrow mockingly.
"It is studded with rare jewels, is it not, Learned? Hence, I
believe, the name--Crown of Stars?"
"Er . . . well, yes . . .
"
, . 1
"It is, is it not, a superb work of the goldsmith�s artopen-scrolled goldwork, rather akin to the High Phriote style, and set with one hundred fifty-seven precious and semi-precious jewels, among which are the only known specimens of no less than thirteen otherwise completely mythical varieties
of gemstones?" Hautley pressed.
Pawel Spiro wilted like day-old spaghetti.
" . . . Yes."
''Then the double fee is invoked, as is customary when I
deal in such rarities."
Spiro looked at him with a trace of keen suspicion in his
watery, lackluster eyes.
"You seem . . . familiar . . . with the Crown, Ser Hautley."
The most celebrated Confidential Agent among the Near
Stars laughed sardonically.
"But of course, Learned, in my craft as a licensed and
legal thief, assassin, spy, murderer, pirate, I have a certain
professional interest in outstanding items of rare jewelry!"
"Of course," Spiro said sadly.
"Then you agree to the fee?"
"Ah, yes, I believe I can justify it to my senior colleagues."
Quicksilver regarded him with a meditative eye. The fee,
ordinarily large, thm doubled became quite exorbitant. There
was something that did not quite ring true about this Pawel
Spiro. What mmeum could afford to pay a doubled Quicksilverian fee?
He permitted another aromatique to ignite itself, and lazily
lay back in his luxurious pneumo-lounger whose extensible
components automatically compensated to his relaxed position. Through the vast crystalline panes, the dull light of sinking Astarte cast a sullen shaft of rubied luminance across the bloodwood desk. In the hard, straight chair directly opposite
the desk, the little man fidgeted uncomfortably.
And coughed discreetly.
"You will, ah, accept our commission then, Ser Hautley?"
"There is one further item that somewhat intrigues me,"
Quicksilver drawled casually.
"What, ah item?"
"Why?"
Spiro blinked: "Why what
I do not understand
"
.
•
.
.
•
•
"Nor, to be honest, do II" Quicksilver fixed him with a
glitteril'l.g eye. "Why do you want the Crown of Stars at such
a cost? While due to the peculiar nature of my Charter, it is
perfectly legal for me to appropriate a valuable object from
its present owners-so long as I do so upon duly contracted
commission-it is illegal for you or the Museum to display or
even possess stolen property."
SPIRO RELAXED; Quicksilver noted that for this argument, at
least, the little scholar had come prepared.
"That we could hardly display a stolen artifact, ah, openly,
it is true enough
however, the Museum will see
•
,
to it
that, ah, unofficial word of our major new, er, aquisition circulates throughout the field of archeology. Boghazy-the-Great will therefore gain higher status among comparable institutions and a more notable prestige in the minds of archeological scholars and leading historians. Our celebrated Monograph Series-particularly those issues relating to the study of Thothic archeology and prehistory and the aesthetics of the
Laceridaen Cavern Kings-will attract a more respectful attention due to our newly found and unique authority in the field."
"Umm," said Hautley.
Pawel Spiro glibly continued: "And, moreover, upon the
completion of that fifteen-year period demanded by the Carina-Cygnus Quadrant Criminal Code, Section V, Paragraph 12, Sub-paragraph b, 'Statute of Limitations'-we may then
openly and without fear of legalistic reprisal display the cult
object in fullest legality."
Quicksilver reached a decision.
He stood up, terminating the interview.
"Where may I contact you, Learned Spiro?"
The little man gaped, then grinned. "Imperial House, Chitterling, on Vassily II. I have reserved a suite under the assumed identity of 'Dr. Smothly.' Does this, ah, mean. you accept our commission?"
"Before we can print a contract, I must investigate the
means by which the Crown is guarded and watched. You will
appreciate, I am sure, that I owe it to my reputation as a
craftsman not to bungle a job. I must therefore ascertain the
probable degree of success I may enjoy if I undertake your
interesting assignment."
"But, ah, we feel that time is of the-" Pawel began, tentatively.
"Quite," Hautley snapped. "You will hear from me within
twenty-seven hours, I promise you!"
G
WITHOUT FURTHER
discussion or ceremony, Quicksilver
curtly ushered his flustered client out and saw to it that the
radiobeacon guided his modest little runabout back through
the protective "moat" of spinning planetoids.
He then repaired with alacrity to the chamber wherein this
lengthy interview had taken place, and adroitly detached the
minicamera from its hiding place among the ornamental
moldings on a tall display case bearing his brilliant collection
of Diophrasian crystalloid formicles, arranged as to the thirty-one possible permutations of hexagonal matrices.
Retiring to an adjoining laboratory, he swiftly ran the reel
of photo-sensitive tape through a Mark XII developmat and
selected nine of the finer prin
ts from the series.
He returned to his chamber and dialed the offices of the
Boghazy-the-Great Memorial Museum at Tavory on Alcazar
III in the Biallo-Perseids.
Securing the appropriate extension, Quicksilver glibly
talked his way up the chain-of-seniority until he reached the
Chancellor of the Department of Derghiz Archeology
Pawel Spiro's ultimate superior-that is, if the pallid, mousy
little man Quicksilver had interviewed was, indeed, whom he
·
had claimed to bel
In a moment, the phone's screen was filled with the skeetpaneled interior of a stately office, showing a desk cluttered with papers and scholarly journals in neat reel boxes, and a
litter of photonic implements, stereo copies of artifacts, and
other materials. It shortly filled with the likeness of the Chancellor, a portly, pink-faced Cartouchan with truly enormous ultra-marine moustachios (obviously the result of decades of
loving cultivation) . Barely visible amidst this wealth of hir-
sute adornment, a snapping green eye curtly inspected him.
The Chancellor impatiently demanded his business.
No more glib tongue nor facile set of wits existed among
the Near Stars, than those of Hautley Quicksilver-
"Very Learned, I am bight Thomas Jefferson Pouchier,
Senior Staffwriter for Star magazine. In the very near future,
we contemplate devoting considerable space to a featured article on the very brilliant work your Department is performing in the inadequately recognized field of Carina-Cygnus prehistory and neoculture . .,
The fat pink face beamed. The curtness evaporated like
hydrogen ice in a nuclear oven, and was replaced by the very
essence of chuckling geniality.
"Well, well, welll Yes, and, ah, Ser Thomas, of what assistance may I be to your superb periodical, which my staff and myself peruse at frequent intervals, ha ha'l" the Chancellor
wheezed good-humoredly.
"Why, Very Learned, my call in fact concerns a member
of your staff, in point of fact. Yes . . . I am assigned to
compose a few brief paragraphs of the body text on one of
your underlings, ah • • •
" pausing to glance at a scrap of
paper, Hautley returned to the jovial visage: ". · . • one
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