by Vance, Jack
“I have an even better idea,” said Wayness. “I seldom eat much for dinner; certainly not eels and birds and wild animals. So we shall each settle our own account.”
“On second thought, we will go to Lena’s Bistro where cabbage rolls are both cheap and tasty.”
Wayness told herself philosophically that, after all, she had nothing better to do. “Whatever you like. When and where do we receive the information?”
“Information?” Lefaun was momentarily puzzled. “Ah yes. At Lena’s; that will be the place.”
“Why Lena’s? Why not here and now?”
“These things must be arranged. It is a delicate business.”
Wayness made a dubious sound. “It seems most peculiar. In any case, I must be back early at my hotel.”
Lefaun spoke with heavy jocularity: “Do not kill the bull before the cow is fresh! Let us see what we shall see!”
Wayness compressed her lips. “Perhaps it will be better after all, if I simply come here tomorrow morning; then you may stay out as late as you please. Remember, I need verification, unless you bring me a print-out copied from official Museum records.”
Lefaun bowed with exaggerated deference. “I will call for you at your hotel early this evening. Shall we say eight o’clock?”
That is late.”
“Not at Kiev. The town is barely astir. Well then, shall we say seven?”
“Very well. I would like to be back at nine.”
Lefaun made an ambiguous sound, and looked around the room. “I must attend to my regular affairs. When you are done with these files, please notify someone in the outer chamber, and he or she will call the porter. Until seven, then.”
Lefaun Zadoury departed the room on long strides, black gown fluttering behind him. Wayness turned and looked at the three cases. Biography, genealogy, a projected new Society headquarters. They were elements of a single parcel; so Lefaun Zadoury had informed her and the code printed on each case was the same.
Wayness pondered a moment, then went to the door and looked into the outer chamber. It was now half-empty, and many of those who remained were preparing to leave.
Wayness closed the door. She returned to the table and copied the code which marked each of the three cases.
From far and wide across the city came the sound of a hundred great bells, tolling the hour of noon. Wayness leaned against the table and waited: five minutes, ten minutes. Once again she went to the door and looked out into the workroom, where everyone except a few preoccupied curators had gone off to lunch. Wayness went to a nearby alcove and seated herself in front of the information screen. She activated ‘Search’ and ‘Naturalist Society’. The screen yielded information regarding two parcels: semantic and linguistic references purchased from Gohoon Galleries and a second parcel comprising the three cases identified by the code she had only just copied. The indicated donor was: ‘Aeolus Benefices,’ situated in the city Croy. The donation had been made fifteen years before.
Wayness copied the address, and ended the ‘Search’ program. She sat a moment thinking. Was the operation she had just completed beyond the imagination of Lefaun Zadoury? She thought not.
Wayness turned away from the alcove. “I do not want to become a cynic,” she told herself, “but until I find a more useful philosophy I see that I must abide by the rules of the jungle.” Thinking of Lefaun Zadoury, she could not help but grin. “I have also saved twenty sols, which is a good morning’s work.”
Wayness approached one of the curators still at work and asked that the porter be notified as to the three cases in the side room. She was told somewhat ungraciously: “Notify him yourself; can’t you see that I am busy?”
“Notify him how?”
“Push the red button beside the door; the porter may feel inclined to respond. Or, on the other hand, he may not but that is his affair.”
“Thank you.” Wayness left, the workroom, pressing the red button beside the door as she passed. In the loggia, she discarded the black gown, which lifted her spirits even further.
With nothing better to do, Wayness set out on foot: down the hill to the boulevard beside the Dnieper. At a wayside cart painted cheerfully red, blue and green, she bought a hot meat pie and a paper cornucopia filled with fried potato strings. Sitting on a bench she ate her lunch and watched the Dnieper flow by. What to do about Lefaun Zadoury and his no doubt unwholesome plans for the evening? She could not make up her mind; in spite of everything, he was amusing company.
Wayness finished her lunch and sauntered back along the prospect to the old Prince Kolsky Square and the Mazeppa Hotel. She made inquiries at the travel desk and learned that there would be no good connections for Croy until morning. “In that case,” thought Wayness, “I will dine at Lena’s Bistro after all, if only to embarrass Lefaun Zadoury.”
Wayness went up to her room with the intention of telephoning her uncle Pirie Tamm, but she hesitated. There were arguments which could be made in both directions. Pirie Tamm was a great one for issuing warnings and citing dangers.
Wayness caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and decided that her hair had become over-long. She thought of Giljin Leepe and her eccentric thatch, but no, in fact, definitely not; a style so extreme would only make her feel self-conscious.
Wayness went down to the hair-dresser’s shop on the ground floor, where her dark curling locks were trimmed so to hang just to the turn of her jaw.
Wayness returned to her room full of decision and immediately put through a call to Fair Winds.”
Pirie Tamm’s first questions were indeed somewhat plaintive, and Wayness assured him as best she could. “I am in a nice respectable hotel; the weather is fine and I am in good health.”
“You look somehow drawn and peaked.”
“That is because I have just had a haircut.”
“Ah! That explains it! I thought that you might have eaten something which upset your stomach.”
“Not yet! But tonight I am having cabbage rolls at Lena’s Bistro. It is said to be picturesque.”
“Often that is merely a synonym for ‘dirty’.”
“You must not worry so! Everything’s going well. I have not been seduced or robbed or murdered or dragged screaming down into a cellar.”
“So far so good, as you say, but any of these outrages might happen at a moment’s notice!”
“Somehow I suspect that seduction might take a bit longer. I am quite shy and I need a few minutes or even an hour before I warm up to people.’’
“You must not joke about such things. They need only happen once, and then it is too late to take care.”
“You are right, Uncle Pirie, of course. I should not be so flippant. Let me tell you know what I have learned. It is really quite important. Part of the Society Collection at Funusti Museum came by way of Gohoon Galleries .But another portion was donated fifteen years ago: by Aeolus Benefices, of Croy.”
“Aha, ahem. That is interesting indeed.” Pirie Tamm’s tone of voice had changed in a subtle manner. “Incidentally, one of your friends from Cadwal arrived yesterday, and is staying with me.”
Wayness’ heart bounded. “Who? Glawen?”
“No,” said another voice and a second face moved into the screen. ‘It’s Julian.”
“Oh my,” said Wayness in a husky half-whisper and then aloud: “What are you doing here?”
“Just what you are doing - looking for the Charter and the Grant. Pirie and I think that it would be prudent if we joined forces.”
Pirie Tamm said in a brassy voice: “Julian is quite right; we are all in this together the job is too big to be handled by a slip of a girl, which I have been saying since you began.”
“I have done quite well so far. Uncle Pirie, send Julian out of the room; I want to talk with you privately.”
“My word!” drawled Julian. “Tact is not one of your strong points, is it?”
“I don’t know what else to say, in order to get you out of earshot.”
“Very well. If that is your wish, I will go.”
Pirie Tamm presently spoke. “Well then, Wayness, I certainly am surprised by your attitude!”
“I’m not only surprised at you, Uncle Pirie; I am horrified that you let me pour confidential information into Julian’s ear. He is a vehement LPFer; he intends to destroy the Conservancy and let the Yips run loose over all Cadwal! If Julian gets to the Charter and the Grant before I do, you can kiss the Conservancy goodbye!”
Pirie Tamm’s voice was subdued. “He indicated you and he had a, well, romantic attachment, and that he had come to help you.”
“He was lying.”
“What will you do now?”
“Tomorrow I will leave here for Croy. I can’t make any other plans until I see how the land lays.”
“Wayness, I am sorry.”
“No matter now. Just don’t tell anyone else anything, except Glawen Clattuc, in case he should arrive.”
“So it shall be.” Pirie Tamm hesitated, then said: “Call me again, as soon as you can. I will be more careful; I assure you of this.”
“Don’t fret, Uncle Pirie. Perhaps it is not so bad, after all.”
“That would be my dearest hope.”
* * *
Chapter V, Part 4
Time had passed. Wayness sat slumped in the chair, staring sightlessly across the room. The intensity of her first emotions had brought spasms of shivering and tingling to her arms and legs and viscera; an acrid sensation had risen in her throat.
The physical reactions had passed, leaving her limp and dispirited.
The damage had been done, and done decisively. There was no way she could pretend otherwise. Julian could easily precede her to Croy by a full day or more. Ample time to seek out information, and then take steps to deny the same information to Wayness.
The idea aroused her to further spasms of fury. She took herself in hand. Emotion wasted her energies and accomplished nothing. Wayness heaved a deep sigh and sat up in the chair.
Life went on. She considered the evening which lay ahead. The information Lefaun Zadoury planned to sell her was now moot, but the prospect of explaining as much no longer amused her. Likewise, dining on cabbage rolls at Lena’s Bistro in company with the morose and frugal curator had lost whatever appeal it might have had. Nevertheless, for want of anything better to do, she rose to her feet, bathed and changed into a knee-length gray frock with a narrow black collar and a long narrow panel of black frogging down the front.
The time was late afternoon. Wayness thought of the outdoor café in front of the hotel. She went to the window and surveyed the square. Slanting light from the westering sun illuminated the ancient granite flags. Wayness noticed that the cloaks and capes of persons crossing the square flapped to gusts of wind from the steppe. Donning her own soft gray cloak, Wayness went down to the outdoor café in front of the hotel, where she was served green Daghestani wine with bitters.
Despite her best efforts, Wayness could not avoid brooding about Julian Bohost and the deceit he had practiced upon Pirie Tamm. A question gnawed at her mind: how had Julian learned that the Charter and Grant were missing? There was no way of knowing. In any case, the secret was no longer a secret – nor, so she thought, had it been for twelve years.
Wayness sat in the wan sunlight, watching the folk of old Kiev as they went about their affairs. The sun declined and shadows fell across the square. Wayness shivered and retreated into the lobby. She made herself comfortable and presently began to doze. She awoke to find that six o’clock had come and gone. She sat up and looked about the lobby. Lefaun Zadoury was not yet in evidence. She picked up a journal and read of archaeological researches in Kharesm, keeping watch for the gaunt young curator from the corner of her eye.
A tall figure came to stand beside her chair without her noticing; she looked up, half-startled. It was Lefaun Zadoury, but in a new guise which made him almost unrecognizable. He wore long over-tight trousers striped in black and white, a pink shirt with a green and yellow cravat, along with a vest of heavy black twill and a long bottle-green coat open down the front. A low-crowned hat of pale brown canvas pulled down over his forehead.
With difficulty Wayness controlled her amusement. Lefaun Zadoury looked down at her half-suspiciously. “You are nicely turned out, I must say.”
“Thank you.” Wayness rose to her feet. “I did not recognize you at first; you are out of uniform.”
Lefaun’s long face twisted into a sardonic half-smile. “Did you expect to see me wearing a black gown?”
“Well no, but I did not expect such a dynamic display.”
“Piffle and nonsense! I dress in whatever I pick up first. I am oblivious to style.”
“Hm.” Wayness looked him up and down, from big feet his black shoes to the soft-brimmed canvas hat. “I’m not so sure of that. You made a choice when you first bought your clothes.”
“Never! Everything I wear is plucked from the catch-as-catch-can rack at the fair, and these things were the first I found that would fit. They look well enough to suit me and cover my shanks from the wind. Well then: shall we go?” Lefaun added in a grumbling voice: “You were anxious to be out and in again almost before sunset, so I came a bit early, to show you something more of the town.”
“Just as you say.”
Outside the hotel Lefaun halted. “First: the square. You have already taken note of the churches, which have been rebuilt a dozen times, probably more. Still, they are said to be quaint. Are you familiar with the history of the far past?”
“Not particularly.”
“Are you a student of ancient religions?”
“No.”
‘“The churches will then be meaningless. As for me, I am bored with them, gaudy domes and all. We shall explore elsewhere.”
“Such as where? I do not want to be bored either.”
“Aha! Have no fear! You will be in my company!”
The two set off at a diagonal across the square, toward the hills of the Old Town. As they walked, Lefaun pointed out items of interest. “These granite flags were quarried in the Pontus and brought here by barge. It is said that each flag represents four dead men.” He glanced sidewise with eyebrows raised. “Why are you hopping and jumping like that?”
“I don’t quite know where to put my feet.”
Lefaun made an extravagant gesture. “Ignore all sentiment; walk where you will. They were low-class men, in any event. Do you think of dead cows when you eat meat?”
“I try not to do so.”
Lefaun nodded. “Yonder, on that contrivance of iron rods, is where Ivan Grodzny roasted the folk of Kiev for their misdeeds. That was long ago, of course, and the grill is a reconstruction. Directly to the side, in that little kiosk a vendor sells grilled sausages, which I think to be in rather bad taste.”
“Yes, quite.”
Lefaun came to a halt. He pointed to the crest of a hill behind the Old Town. “Do you see that pillar? It is one hundred feet high. For five years the ascetic Omshats occupied the top of the pillar, from which he declaimed his soliloquies. There are two accounts of his going. Some say he simply disappeared from sight, though many folk were gathered around the base of the pillar at the time. Others claim that he was struck by a monstrous bolt of lightning.”
“Perhaps both accounts are correct.”
“I suppose that’s possible. In any case, we are now at the center of the square. To the left is the Spice Merchants Quarter to the right is the Mercery. Both are places of considerable interest.”
“But we are going elsewhere?”
“Yes, even though we may encounter certain complexities which you, as an off-worlder might find incomprehensible.”
“So far I understand you very well, or so I suspect.”
Lefaun ignored the remark. “Let me try to instruct you. First, the premise: Kiev has a long tradition of intellectual and artistic achievement, as perhaps you are aware.”
Wayness made an ambiguous sound. “
Proceed.”
“That is all in the background. The city has taken a mighty leap to become one of the most advanced centers of creative thought anywhere around the Reach.”
“That is interesting to hear.”
“Kiev is like a great laboratory where reverence for past aesthetic doctrine crashes headlong into utter contempt for the same doctrine – sometimes in the same individual - and the collision produces a coruscation of wonders.”
“Where does all this happen?” Wayness asked. “At the Funusti Museum?”
“Not necessarily, though the Prodromes, a select little society, numbers among its members both Tadiew Skander, whom you met today, and myself. In general, the venue is old Kiev itself, to be seen and heard and felt at places like the Bobadil, and the Nym, and Lena’s and Dirty Edvard’s, where liver and onions are served from wheelbarrows. At Stone Flower the motif is cockroaches, and there are some truly fine specimens! At the Universo, everyone walks about in the nude and collects as many signatures as possible on his or her bare skin. Some lucky folk were signed last year by the great Zoncha Temblada, and have not bathed since.”
“Where are all the wonderful new art forms? So far I have heard mainly of cockroaches and signatures.”
“Just so. It was early realized that every possible permutation of pigment, light, texture, form, sound and whatever is left had been achieved, and that to strain for novelty was wasted effort. The single ever-fresh ever-renewing resource was human thought itself, and the gorgeous patterns of its interplay between or among individuals.”
Wayness frowned in puzzlement. “Are you referring to ‘talk’?”
“I suppose that ‘talk’ is an appropriate word.”
“At least it is inexpensive.”
“Exactly! Which makes it the most egalitarian of all creative disciplines!”
“I am happy that you explained this to me,” said Wayness. “We are on our way to Lena’s Bistro, then?”
“Yes. The cabbage rolls are the best, and it is there that we will receive the information you require, although I am not sure when it will arrive.” Lefaun glanced down at Wayness. “Why are you looking at me like that?’