by Jack Vance
Kolodin made an expansive gesture. "No difficulties there. Your rehabilitation includes an extra thousand ozols for just this purpose. Any more worries?"
Pardero grinned. "Lots of them."
"You'll have an interesting time of it," said Kolodin.
The Dylas Extranuator drove out past the Pentagram, circled the diadem in the horn of the Unicorn, and coasted into Tsambara, Alastor 1317. Here Pardero made connection with a ship of the Black and Red Line which, after touching into a number of remote little places, veered off along the Fontinella Wisp and presently approached an isolated system of four dwarfs respectively orange, blue, green, and red.
Marune, Alastor 933, expanded below, to show a surface somewhat dark and heavy textured below its fleets and shoals of clouds. The ship descended and settled upon the Port Mar Spaceport. Pardero and a dozen other passengers alighted, surrendered their last ticket coupon, passed through the lobby and out upon the soil of Marune.
The time was isp. Osmo glared blue halfway up the southern sky; Maddar rode at the zenith; Cirse peered over the northeast horizon. The light was a trifle cold, but rich with those overtones provided by Maddar and Cirse, so that objects cast a three-phase shadow.
Pardero halted before the terminal, looked around the landscape, across the sky, inhaled a deep breath, exhaled. The air tasted fresh, cool, and tart, unlike both the dank air of Bruse-Tansel and the warm sweet air of Numenes. The suns sliding in different directions across the sky, the subtle lights, the taste of the air, soothed an ache in his mind he had not heretofore noticed. A mile to the west the structures of Port Mar stood clear and crisp; beyond the land fell away. The view seemed not at all strange. Whence came the familiarity? From research in Chamber 933? Or from his own experience? To the east the land swelled and rose in receding masses of ever higher mountains, reaching up to awesome heights. The peaks gleamed white with snow and gray with granite scree; below, bands of dark forest muted the slopes. Mass collided with light to create shape and shadow; the clarity of the air as it swept through the spaces was almost palpable.
The waiting bus sounded an impatient chime; Pardero slowly climbed aboard, and the bus moved off along the Avenue of Strangers toward Port Mar.
The attendant made an announcement: "First stop, the Traveler's Inn. Second, the Outworld Inn. Then the Royal Rhune Hotel. Then over the bridge into New Town for the Cassander Inn and the University Inn."
Pardero chose the Outworld Inn which seemed sufficiently large and impersonal.
Imminence hung in the air, so heavy that his enemy must also be oppressed.
Pardero cautiously surveyed the lobby of the Outworld Inn, but saw only off-world folk who paid him no heed. The hotel personnel ignored him. So far, so good.
He took a lunch of soup, cold meat, and bread in the dining room, as much to compose himself as to appease his appetite. He lingered at the table reviewing his plans. To broadcast the fewest ripples of disturbance, he must move softly, delicately, working from the periphery inward.
He left the hotel and sauntered back up the Avenue of Strangers toward the green-glass dome of the spaceport terminal. As he walked, Osmo dipped low and sank behind the western edge of Port Mar. Isp became rowan, with Cirse and Maddar yet in the sky, to produce a warm soft light that hung in the air like haze.
Arriving at the terminal, Pardero entered and went to the reception desk. The clerk came forward - a small portly man with the cinnamon skin and golden eyes of an upper-caste Majar, one of those who lived in the timber and stucco houses on the slopes at the back of Old Town.
"How may I serve you, sir?"
Clearly Pardero aroused in his mind no quiver of recognition.
"Perhaps you can provide me some information," said Pardero. "On or about 2
Ferario, I took passage aboard the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line. One of the other passengers asked me to perform a small errand, which I was unable to achieve. Now I must notify him but I have forgotten his name, and I would like to glance at the relevant passenger list."
"No difficulties here, sir; the ledger is easily consulted." A display screen lit up; the clerk turned a knob; figures and listings flicked past. "Here we are at 2 Ferario. Quite correct, sir. The Berenicia arrived, took aboard eight passengers, and departed."
Pardero studied the passenger list. "Why are the names in different columns?"
"By order of the Demographical Institute, so that they may gauge traffic between the worlds. Here are transients upon Marune taking departure. These names - only two, as you see - represent folk of Marune bound for other worlds."
"My man would be one of these. Which ones took passage to Bruse-Tansel?"
The clerk, somewhat puzzled, consulted the list "Neither. Baron Shimrod's destination was Xampias. The Noble Serle Glaize boarded the ship on an 'open'
ticket."
"What sort of ticket is this?"
"It is often purchased by a tourist who lacks a fixed destination. The ticket provides a stipulated number of travel-units; when these are exhausted the tourist purchases further units to fit his particular needs."
"This 'open ticket' used by Serle Glaize, how far might it have taken him? To Bruse-Tansel, for instance?"
"The Berenicia does not put into Bruse-Tansel, but let me see. One hundred and forty-eight ozols to Dadarnisse Junction; to Bruce-Tassel one hundred and two ozols... Yes, indeed. You will notice that the Noble Serle Glaize bought an open ticket to the value of two hundred and fifty ozols: to Bruce-Tassel exactly."
"So: Serle Glaize. This is my man." Pardero reflected upon the name. It lacked all resonance, all familiar flavor. He passed two ozols across the counter to the clerk, who took them with grave courtesy.
Pardero asked: "Who sold the ticket to Serle Glaise?"
"The initial is 'Y'; that would be Yanek, on the next shift."
"Perhaps you could telephone Yanek and ask if he recalls the circumstances. I will pay five ozols for significant information."
The clerk eyed Pardero sidelong. "What sort of information do you consider significant?"
"Who bought the ticket? I doubt if Serle Glaize did so himself. He must have come with a companion whose identity I wish to learn."
The clerk went to a telephone and spoke in a guarded manner, from tune to time glancing over his shoulder toward. Pardero. At last he returned, his manner somewhat subdued. "Yanek barely recalls the matter. He believes that the ticket was bought by a person in a black Rhune cape, who also wore a gray casque with a visor and malar flaps, so that his features made no impression upon Yanek. The time was busy; Yanek was preoccupied and noticed no more."
"This is not the information I require," Pardero grumbled. "Is there anyone who can tell me more?"
"I can think of no one, sir."
"Very well." Pardero counted down another two ozols. "This is for your kind cooperation."
"Thank you, sir. Allow me to make a suggestion. The Rhunes who visit Port Mar without exception use the Royal Rhune Hotel. Information, however, may be hard to come by."
"Thank you for the suggestion."
"Are you not a Rhune yourself, sir?"
"After a fashion, yes."
The clerk nodded and uttered a soft chuckle. "A Majar will mistake a Rhune never indeed, oh never..."
In a pensive mood Pardero returned along the Avenue of Strangers. The learned computations of M.T. Rady, the sociopsychic deductions of Oswen Ollave had been validated. Still, by what obscure means had the Majar recognized him? His features were not at all peculiar; his pigmentation was hardly distinctive; his clothes and hairstyle were, by cosmopolitan standards, ordinary enough; in short, he differed little from any other guest at the Outworld Inn. No doubt he betrayed himself by unconscious gestures or attitudes; perhaps he was more of a Rhune than he felt himself to be.
The Avenue of Strangers ended at the river; as Pardero reached the bridge Madder slanted behind the western lowlands; Cirse moved slowly up the sky: green rowan.
Green ri
pples flickered across the water; the white walls of New Town shone pale apple-green. Along the riverfront festoons of lights appeared, indicating places of entertainment: beer gardens, dance pavilions, restaurants. Pardero scowled at the brashness of the scene, then gave a soft rueful snort. Had he surprised a set of Rhune attitudes surfacing through his amnesia?
Pardero turned into the narrow Street of Brass Bones, which curved gradually up-slope, between ancient structures of age-blackened wood. The shops facing out upon the street uniformly showed a pair of high windows, a brass-bound door, and only the most unobtrusive indication as to their wares, as if each strove to exceed his neighbor in reserve.
The Street of Brass Boxes ended in a dim shadowed square, surrounded by curio shops, bookstores, specialty houses of many varieties. Pardero saw his first Rhunes, moving from shop to shop, pondering the merchandise, indicating their needs to the Majar shopkeepers with indifferent flicks of the finger. None of them so much as glanced toward Pardero, which caused him irrationally mixed feelings.
He crossed the square and turned up the Avenue of Black Jangkars to an arched portal in a stone wall. He passed beneath and approached the Royal Rhune Hotel.
He halted before the vestibule. Once inside the Royal Rhune there could be no turning back; he must accept the consequences of his return to Marune.
Through the tall doors stepped two men and a woman - the men wearing costumes of beige and black with dark red sashes, so similar as to suggest military uniforms; the woman, almost as tall as either of the men, wore a tight blue-gray body suit, with an indigo cape draping from black epaulettes: a mode considered suitable far visits to Port Mar, where the formal gauze gowns of the Realms were inappropriate. The three marched past Pardero, each allowing him a single glance. Pardero sensed no flicker of recognition. Small cause for surprise since the Rhunes numbered well over a hundred thousand.
Pardero pushed aside the tall gaunt doors which seemed a part of the Rhune architectural environment. The lobby was an enormous high-ceilinged room with sounds echoing across a bare russet and black tile floor. The chairs were upholstered in leather. The central table displayed a variety of technical magazines and at the far end of the room a rack held brochures advertising tools, chemicals, craft supplies, papers and inks, rare woods and stones. A tall narrow arch flanked by columns of fluted green stone communicated with the office. Pardero looked briefly around the lobby and passed through the arch.
A clerk of advanced age rose to his feet and approached the counter; despite age, a bald head, and unctuous wattles, his manner was alert and punctilious. In an instant he assessed Pardero, his garments and mannerisms, and performed a bow of precisely calibrated courtesy. "How may we oblige you, sir?" As he spoke a trace of uncertainty seemed to enter his manner.
"Several months ago," said Pardero, "about the first of Ferario to be more precise, I was a guest at this hotel, and I wish to refresh my recollections.
Will you be so good as to show me the records for this date?"
"As you require, Your Dignity."2 The clerk turned Pardero a second half-surreptitious side-glance, and his manner altered even further, becoming tinged with doubt, or uneasiness, or even anxiety. He bent with an almost audible creaking of vertebrae and elevated a leather-bound ledger to the counter. With a reverential flourish he parted the covers, and one by one turned the pages, each of which. displayed a schematic chart of the hotel's accommodations, with notations in inks of various colors. "Here, Dignity, is the date you mention. If you choose to advise me, I will assist you."
Pardero inspected the ledger, but could not decipher the archaic calligraphy.
In a voice meant to convey an exquisite and comprehensive discretion the clerk spoke on. "On this phase our facilities were not overextended. In our 'Sincere Courtesy' wing, we housed the trismets3 of various gentlefolk. You will notice the chambers so indicated. In our 'Approbation' accommodations we served the Eiodark Torde and the Wirwove Ippolita, with their respective trismets. The
'Altitude' suite was occupied by the Kaiark Rianlle of Eccord, the Kraike Dervas, the Lissolet Maerio. In the 'Hyperion' suite we entertained the late Kaiark Jochaim of Scharrode, may his ghost be quickly appeased, with the Kraike Singhalissa, the Kangs Efraim and Destian, and the Lissolet Sthelany." The clerk turned his trembling and dubious smile upon Pardero. "Do I not now have the honor of addressing His Force the new Kaiark of Scharrode?"
Pardero said somewhat ponderously: "You recognize me then?"
"Yes, Your Force, now that I have spoken with you. I admit to confusion; your presence has altered in a way which I hardly know how to explain. You seem, shall we say, more mature, more controlled, and of course your foreign garments enhance these differences. But I am certain that I am right." The clerk peered in sudden doubt. "Am I not, Your Force?"
Pardero smiled coolly. "How could you demonstrate the fact one way or the other without my assurance?"
The clerk muffled an exclamation. Muttering under his breath he brought to the counter a second leather-bound volume, twice the size of the ledger. He glanced peevishly toward Pardero, then turned thick pages of pale brown parchment.
Pardero asked: "What book is that?"
The clerk looked up from the pages, and now his gray old lips sagged incredulously. "I have here the Great Rhune Almanac. Are you not familiar with it?"
Pardero managed a curt nod. "Show me the folk who occupied the Hyperion suite."
"Inexorable Force, I was about to do so." The clerk turned pages. On the left were genealogical charts, ladders, linkages, and trees, indited in rich inks of various colors; on the right photographs were arranged in patterns relative to the charts: thousands upon thousands of names, an equal number of likenesses.
The clerk turned pages with maddening deliberation. At last he halted, pondered a moment, then tapped the page with his finger. "The lineage of Scharrode."
Pardero could restrain himself no longer. He turned the volume about and studied the photographs.
Halfway down the page a pale-haired man of middle maturity looked forth. His face, angular and bleak, suggested an interesting complexity of character. The forehead might have been that of a scholars the wide mouth seemed composed against some unwelcome or unfashionable emotion, such as humor. The superscription read: Jochaim, House of Benbuphar, Seventy-ninth Kaiark.
A green linkage led to the still face of a woman, her expression unfathomable.
The caption read: Alferica, House of Jent. Below, a heavy maroon line led to the countenance of an unsmiling young man: a face which Pardero recognized as his own. The caption read: Efraim, House of Benbuphar, Kang of the Realm.
At least I now know my name, thought Pardero. I am Efraim, and I was Kang, and now I am Kaiark. I am a man of high rank! He looked up at the clerk, surprising a shrewd and intent scrutiny. "You are curious," said Efraim. "There is no mystery. I have been off-planet and have just returned. I know nothing of what has happened in my absence. The Kaiark Jochaim is dead?"
"Yes, Your Force. There has been uncertainty and confusion, so I understand. You have been the subject of concern, since now, of course, you are the Eightieth Kaiark, and the allowable lapse has almost transpired."
Efraim nodded slowly. "So now I am Kaiark of Scharrode." He returned to the almanac, conscious of the clerk's gaze.
The other faces on the page were three. From Jochaim a second green line descended to the face of a handsome dark-haired woman with a pale high forehead, blazing black eyes, a keen high-bridged nose. The caption identified her as Kraike Singhalissa. From Singhalissa vermilion lines led first to a dark-haired young man with the aquiline features of his mother: Kang Destian, and a girl, dark-haired and pale, with pensive features and a mouth drooping at the corners, a girl in fact of rather remarkable beauty. The caption identified her as the Lissolet Sthelany.
Efraim spoke in a voice he tried to keep matter-of-fact: "What do you recall of our visit here to Port Mar?"
The clerk reflected. "The two tri
smets, of Scharrode and Eccord, arrived in concert, and in general conducted themselves as a single party. The younger persons visited New Town, while their elders transacted business. Certain tensions became evident. There followed a discussion of the visit to New Town, of which several of the older persons disapproved. Most exercised were the Kraike Singhalissa, and the Kaiark Rianlle, who thought that the expedition lacked dignity. When you failed to appear by isp 25 of the Third Cycle, everyone felt concern; evidently you had failed to apprise anyone of your departure."
"Evidently," said Efraim. "Did mirk occur during our visit?"
"No; there was no mirk."
"You heard no remarks, you recall no circumstances which might explain my departure?"
The clerk looked puzzled. "A most curious question, Your Force! I remember nothing of consequence, though I was surprised to hear that you had acquainted yourself with that off-world vagabond." He sniffed. "No doubt he took advantage of your condescension; he is known as a persuasive rogue."
"Which off-world vagabond is this?"
"What? Do you not remember exploring New Town with the fellow Lorcas?"
"I had forgotten his name. Lorcas, you say?"
"Matho Lorcas. He consorts with New Town trash; he is fugleman for all these sebal cretins at the university."
"And when did Kaiark Jochaim die?"
"Soon after his return to Scharrode, in battle against Gosso, Kaiark of Gorgetto. You have returned opportunely. In another several days you would no longer be kaiark, and I have heard that Kaiark Rianlle has proposed a trisme to unite the realms of Eccord and Scharrode. Now that you are returned, conditions may be altered." The clerk turned pages in the almanac. "Kaiark Rianlle is an intense and determined man." The clerk tapped a photograph. Efraim saw a handsome distinguished face, framed by a casque of shining silver ringlets. The Kraike Dervas, looked forth blankly; her face seemed to lack distinctive character. The same was true of the Lissolet Maerio, who stared forth expressionlessly, but who nonetheless displayed a youthful if rather vacuous prettiness.