by Jack Vance
“I remember very well,” said Arles with feeling. “He laughed at my headpiece, which was not proper Bold Lion equipment. He told me I looked like a toad in a fright wig. I explained that it was the best I could do at the moment, but he wouldn’t listen; he was too busy cajoling Drusilla.”
Namour chuckled. “True. It all comes back to me. I remember well; it went just as Arles describes it.”
“The time of this episode is shortly after the Phantasmagoria. Arles, like Namour, is removed from the list of suspects. “So: what do we have? Bold Lions are here and there. Kirdy bravely marches his solitary patrol along the fence. Namour, after leaving the arbor, dances the pavane with Spanchetta. Arles sits sulking in the Old Arbor. And there the situation has rested for years, while sweet innocent Sessily drifts away into memory.
“But in two minds, at least, the recollection stays fresh. The murderer thinks of her often - and so do I. For two months I sat in Zab Zonk’s tomb, and I thought of many things. One special idea seemed interesting and surprising. We had searched the camera record carefully. When we found Arles we looked no further. At the time it seemed enough.
“That was the first crack in the case, because - to make a long story short - I looked further ahead in time. I discovered another skulking shape, and this one is the guilty skulking shape, beyond all doubt. He comes hurrying from behind the Orpheum a few minutes before midnight, and goes off half running down Wansey Way. He must be back on patrol before the next shift arrives.
“Floreste also jogged my memory, while he reminisced about the Mummers. He mentioned that Kirdy yearned greatly for Sessily, but in vain. Sessily would have nothing to do with either him or Arles. What of the patrol? Another idea clicked into place. Kirdy once told me that he never obeyed orders which he thought foolish or useless. Kirdy had a grandiose vision of himself: he was unique, and set apart from ordinary rules and regulations. The order to patrol outside the Yip compound in Kirdy’s mind was pointless and foolish. As soon as Arles left, Kirdy decided to go too. He followed Arles to the Mummers’ wardrobe, dressed in the other primordial costume, and now he was free! He could do as he liked, unhampered by inhibition. And most of all he wanted to impinge himself upon Sessily - to acquaint her with his mighty lust and to punish her severely for what she had done!
“This seemed a good idea and he acted upon it. It was the most glorious moment of his life.”
Glawen paused. Everyone looked askance at Kirdy, who sat like a stone.
Namour said abruptly: “All very well, and it’s none of my affair, but where is your evidence?”
“He appears in the camera record,” said Glawen. “He is in a hurry to get back to the patrol and he is careless. So there we see him lumbering down Wansey Way in his primordial costume, and there is no mistaking him.”
“It is all a lie,” said Kirdy. “Every word is false.”
“You admit nothing, then?” asked Bodwyn Wook.
“I cannot admit to a lie.”
“And you performed the full stint of your patrol?”
“Certainly. Glawen has always been jealous of me, because I am who I am - a Wook of pedigree - while he is a born mongrel.”
Bodwyn Wook spoke without intonation: “Larke Diffin, step forward if you please.”
Namour spoke in a long suffering voice: “If you are finished with me, I will now excuse myself.”
Bodwyn Wook looked at Glawen: “Have you any further questions to put to Namour?”
“At this particular moment, no.”
“You may go.”
Without a word Namour departed the chamber. Ysel Laverty waited a brief period, then followed. Meanwhile Larke Diffin had come from the corner of the room where he had been sitting: a blond young man of good address, tall and a few comfortable pounds overweight, with bristling mustaches and an air of confident affability.
Bodwyn Wook spoke to the chamber at large: “Everyone here, surely, is acquainted with Larke Diffin, who is a lieutenant of the militia. Larke came on duty at the Yip compound immediately after the shift which should have been kept by Kirdy and Arles. Lieutenant, repeat what you have already told me.”
Larke Diffin pulled at his mustache and cast a troubled gaze toward Kirdy. “I will report facts because they are as they are, and my telling will not alter them. On the occasion in question, the last night of Parilia, I came on duty ten minutes early, to make sure that I would not be late. I found neither Kirdy nor Arles at the patrol station; however, to my surprise, I found that all the patrols had been signed and countersigned, which of course is strictly against regulations. The signatures certify that the patrols have been performed and clearly the last patrol had not yet been completed.
“A few minutes later Kirdy appeared, out of breath and seriously out of uniform; in fact he wore what I now know to be a primordial costume. He was taken aback to find me early, and embarrassed by my evident disapproval. He said that he had just stepped over to the Mummers’ wardrobe for the costume, in order to save time. Arles, he said, had done the same.
“I found it impossible to be harsh during those last few hours of Parilia. I pointed out, as sternly as I could, that both he and Arles had falsified patrol certifications, which was most irregular. I remarked that I should properly report the occurrence, but since all was peaceful and no harm had been done, I would overlook the offense. That is where the matter stood, and I never thought of it again until Glawen questioned me. As I think back, Kirdy came in not from the direction of the warehouse, but from Wansey Way.”
Glawen looked at Kirdy. “Well, what of that, Kirdy? More lies?”
“I will say no more. I must go my way alone. It has always been me against the world.”
Bodwyn Wook said abruptly: “That is all for today. This is not a formal hearing and you have not been arraigned. Still, do not attempt to leave the station. I will consult my associates and we will decide upon our procedures. I suggest that you find counsel to help you represent yourself.”
* * *
Chapter IX, Part 8
Glawen lunched alone at the Old Arbor, then, with nothing better to do, sat quietly drinking what remained in the decanter of the wine, while Syrene moved across the sky.
The time became middle afternoon. Glawen could wait no longer. He took himself to the jail, where, without comment, Marcus Diffin admitted him to the cell.
Floreste sat at the table writing across sheets of orange paper, using black ink. He looked up and gave Glawen a curt nod. “I am just finishing.” He inserted the papers into a heavy envelope, upon which he wrote: “Not to be examined until sunset!”
He sealed the envelope and tossed it to Glawen. “I have done your bidding. You must heed the instruction.”
“I don’t understand it but I’ll do as you ask.” Glawen thoughtfully tucked the envelope into his pocket.
Floreste turned him a quick wolfish grin. “Tomorrow, or even sooner, my motives may become clear. Our transaction is now complete, and you must abandon your litigation.”
“It depends on what is in this envelope. If it is nothing but breast-beating and claptrap I will take every dinket you own. So think well, Floreste, and make your changes now, if any are needed.”
Floreste shook his head ruefully. “I would not dare thwart you! I know something of your mettle. You are merciless!”
“Not so. But I will do what I can to help my father.”
“I cannot fault you for your loyalty,”‘ said Floreste. “I wish I could feel the same emotion in those I am trusting to guard my interests.” He jumped to his feet and paced up and down the chamber. “In all candor, I am troubled. I wonder if my associates are as truly dedicated to my goals as they claim.” He halted beside the table. “I must be logical. Can I truly trust Namour? Will he subordinate his own interests to my goals through loyalty?”
‘“The answer would seem to be no,” said Glawen.
“I tend to agree,” said Floreste. “As for Smonny, she also claims to share my ideals, but there is small evidence in
this direction at Yipton. When she thinks ‘Araminta’ she thinks ‘vengeance,’ not glorious new honors. Again let us be brutally realistic: if she had access to my money, would she work toward the new Orpheum or would she invest in flyers and weapons? What is your opinion?”
With great effort Glawen managed to conceal his stupefaction. Could Floreste be saying what he seemed to be saying? Glawen managed to say: “My opinion is the same as yours.”
Floreste, pacing back and forth, paid Glawen no heed. “Perhaps I have been too trusting. My account at the Bank of Mircea includes not just my personal moneys, but also funds listed to Ogmo Enterprises. This is an account used by Smonny for her convenience, and includes some very large recent deposits. Your litigation of course froze these funds and denied them to Smonny, causing her great anxiety. Namour prevailed upon me to write out a will, bequeathing all properties to Smonny, who would then turn over my personal fortune to the Fine Arts Committee, and this is where my doubts arise. Would she in fact do so?”
“At a guess,” said Glawen, “I would think not.”
“I incline in this same direction. My new Orpheum will be realized only in the context of present conditions. I wonder –”
Floreste stared thoughtfully down at the table. “Perhaps it is not too late to make a few small changes.”
“Why not? Call in Namour and retrieve your will.”
Floreste gave a bark of sour laughter. “Is it not clear? But no matter. I am only concerned with consequences and now I see a way to assure my goals. Just as a matter of curiosity, how did you learn so much about Smonny? It was supposedly a great secret. Zaa told you, of course, but I wonder why.”
In this case falsehood was easier and cleaner than the truth. “Zaa planned to kill me, after I had serviced enough of her females. She took a perverse pleasure in telling me anything I wanted to know.”
“Aha! ‘Perverse’ is the proper word for Zaa. I could tell a hundred strange tales in this connection. It was Zaa who conceived the Thurben Island events, that she might teach her torpid Zubenites to breed. At least that was the pretext. Sibil contrived the tactics, and since she had what is called a love-hate kink in her nature for pretty young girls, she did her part with zeal. Smonny provided the girls, indifferent to their fate. And I? I ignored the affair, and turned my back on details, so long as I was paid the money, and there was little enough remaining after Smonny took her share. Though now, is it not ironic? All the money is in my account, and Smonny has never even collected her expenses.”
“It is a good joke on Smonny,” said Glawen.
“So it is! Though she has absolutely no sense of the absurd.”
“How did she arrive at her present position? Zaa told me nothing of this.”
“Smonny married a rich rancher, a certain Titus Zigonie, on the world Rosalia. The two visited Yipton to contract for Yip labor. Old Calyactus was then the Oomphaw. By some means they inveigled Calyactus into visiting them on Rosalia. Poor old Calyactus was never heard from again.
“Smonny and Titus returned to Yipton. Titus began calling himself Titus Pompo. But he had no taste for authority and the real Oomphaw was Smonny - a position which brought her untold pleasure.
“Namour somehow became involved in the situation – perhaps as Smonny’s lover? Who knows? Namour is a man of iron discipline and no scruples whatever - a dangerous combination. That is all I know.”
For a period he paced up and down. Glawen said: “Our transaction is complete, and now -”
Floreste made an imperious gesture. “Not yet! Grant me still a few moments.”
“Certainly; just as you like.”
Floreste strode back and forth. “For years I have been a man of far vision; my gaze has ranged the horizons and meanwhile I ignored the ground at my feet. Now, in these final hours, I must make changes.” He went to the table, and seated himself; taking up pen and paper he indited a short document with great care. He raised his head and listened. “Who is out in the front office?”
“Marcus Diffin, or so I suppose.”
“Someone else is with him. Ask both persons to step in here.”
Glawen rapped on the door. Marcus Diffin looked through the peephole. “What do you want?”
“Who is out there?”
“It is Bodwyn Wook.”
“Floreste wants the two of you to step in for a moment.”
The door opened; Marcus Diffin and Bodwyn Wook entered the chamber.
Floreste rose to his feet. “I have come to an important decision. It may seem strange to everyone here, but I consider it right and proper, and at last I find myself at peace.” He indicated the document he had just composed. “This is my will. It is dated and the exact hour of the day is specified. I will read it:
“To whom it may concern:
“This is my last and final will, inscribed during the afternoon previous to my death. I am of sound mind and calm in disposition, as the witnesses will attest. This will supersedes all others, specifically and particularly that will wherein I bequeathed my belongings to Simonetta co-Clattuc Zigonie: which will is here and now declared canceled and invalid in each and all of its provisions. Now, of my free will and upon careful judgment, I bequeath everything of which I die possessed, including all monies, bank accounts, items on deposit in the vaults at the Bank of Mircea in Soumjiana, all precious articles, gems and works of art, all lands, properties, estates, personal effects and all other possessions, to Captain Glawen Clattuc, in the hope and expectation that he will put these funds and derived income to the uses which he knows to be dear to my heart: namely, the construction of a so-called New Orpheum at Araminta Station. I sign this will in the presence of the undersigned witnesses.”
Floreste took up the pen and appended his name to the document, then handed the pen to Marcus Diffin. “Sign.”
Marcus Diffin signed.
Floreste gave the pen to Bodwyn Wook. “Sign.”
Bodwyn Wook signed as instructed.
Floreste folded the will and handed it to Bodwyn Wook. “I entrust this into your keeping. Execute it quickly and make sure of the property! There will be great complaint since in my account are funds which Smonny reckons to be her own. Namour is on his way to Soumjiana to execute my previous will and withdraw those funds.”
“So this is the reason for Namour’s anxiety at the meeting. Is there a ship leaving today?”
“There is indeed,” said Floreste. “The Karessimuss. Namour will be aboard.”
Bodwyn Wook ran from the room, to avail himself of the telephone in Marcus Diffin’s office.
“That is all,” Floreste told Glawen. “You may go, and I will sit here reflecting upon the strange lands I shall be wandering through tomorrow.”
“Would you like a bottle of wine to enliven your thoughts?”
Floreste asked suspiciously: “What kind of wine? The last you brought was proper gut-wrench.”
“Marcus will bring in some good Green Zoquel.”
“That will do.”
“I will make sure your money is used as you would wish.”
“I have no worries on that score. I am at peace.”
Glawen departed the chamber. He told Marcus: “I promised Floreste a bottle of Green Zoquel. Will you see to it?”
“I will do so at once.”
Bodwyn Wook came slowly away from the telephone. “The Karessimuss departed over an hour ago. Namour was aboard. Somehow he gave my men the slip. Ysel Laverty is out looking for them now.”
“When Namour arrives at Soumjiana - what of Floreste’s money?”
“It is safe. First of all, it is still bound tight by your litigation, which has not yet been lifted. Secondly, such affairs go with deliberation. The will must be validated, and the records searched; and Floreste must be proved dead. The process might take anywhere from a month to three months. In the meantime the latest will can be probated here, and much more quickly. Floreste’s property is safe.”
“Now we also know why Floreste insiste
d on writing his information.”
“How so?”
“Are you ready for a shock?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Why do you think Titus Pompo is so careful to remain unseen and unknown?”
“I have often wondered.”
Glawen provided the explanation.
At last Bodwyn Wook found his tongue. “This may be the principal reason for Namour’s hurry to leave. He is now demonstrated to be at least a passive coconspirator in Ogmo Enterprises and the Thurben Island affair, and he would not escape stringent punishment: at least twenty years at Cape Journal. Perhaps worse. We will not see him at Araminta Station again. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a few melancholy details to arrange.”
“At least Floreste will be drinking good wine when the gas enters his cell.”
“There are worse ways of dying. Do you have your information?”
“I am not allowed to look at it until sunset.”
“It makes no difference now. Namour has flown the coop.”
“Still, I’ll honor Floreste’s last wishes. I’d feel strange otherwise.”
“Glawen, you are either overly sentimental or extremely superstitious, or both . . . Upon reflection, perhaps here is the essential definition of ‘honor.’”
“As to that, I can’t say.” Glawen turned away and departed the jail.
* * *
Chapter IX, Part 9
Glawen walked slowly down Wansey Way. Sunlight slanted through the trees along the riverbank, striking long pink blurs upon the road. Glawen looked over his shoulder. Syrene still hung its own diameter above the western hills; sunset was an hour away.
Glawen stopped to look into the Old Arbor. Late afternoon activity filled the air with the sound of lighthearted voices and muted laughter, somewhat at discord with Glawen’s mood. In a far corner sat Kirdy, morose and alone, staring into nothingness.
Glawen had no present inclination for the Old Arbor. He continued down Wansey Way past the avenue leading up to Wook House, then a second similar avenue to Veder House, and a third to Clattuc House. Glawen paused and surveyed the familiar façade. Tomorrow he would look in to make sure that the work was going properly, without improvisations, shortcuts and that general scamping of the job which Spanchetta would be sure to attempt.