by Vance, Jack
The three reached the safe grounds surrounding the hotel complex. Far to the west, pale blue Shan sank below the edge of the old sea bottom.
Ten seconds passed. From the Stones came a wild cry of vindictive glee.
“They have found Benjamie, or Ben Barr – whatever his name,” said Moncurio. “If he was not yet dead, he is dead now.” Moncurio turned away and went to the door of Suite A. He halted and turned. “Once again, I thank you both for your help. Perhaps we will meet tomorrow and take a cup of tea on the verandah. So now: goodnight!”
“Just a moment,” said Wayness. “We also must ask you a few questions.”
Moncurio said stiffly: “I am extremely tired; could not your questions wait?”
“And suppose you died during the night?”
Moncurio gave bleak laugh. “Your questions would be the least of my worries.”
“We won’t take too much of your time,” said Wayness. “You can rest while we talk to you.”
“I suppose I can spare you five minutes or so,” grumbled Moncurio. He opened the door; the three entered his sitting room. From the bedchamber came a woman’s voice.
“Adrian? Is that you?”
“Yes, my dear! Two friends are here on a matter of business; you need not come out.’’
The voice, now somewhat querulous,” said: “I could serve tea, I suppose.”
“Thank you, dear, but they will only be here a minute.”
“As you like.”
Moncurio turned back to Glawen and Wayness. “You undoubtedly are aware that I am Adrian Moncurio, archaeologist and social historian. I fear that I did not catch your names.”
“I am Glawen Clattuc.”
“I am Wayness Tamm. I think you know my uncle, Pirie Tamm. He lives at Fair Winds, near Shillawy.’’
Moncurio was for a moment taken aback: here was a new dimension to the case. He gave Wayness a quick sidelong glance, as if to divine her motives. “Yes, of course! I know Pirie Tamm well. But what are your questions?”
Glawen asked: “Did you speak with Melvish yesterday?”
Moncurio frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“He might have mentioned Benjamie, or Ben Barr, as you knew him.”
Moncurio grimaced. “Keebles called and left a message, but I was busy out in the field. When I returned his call, I had no answer.” Moncurio dropped into a chair. “Perhaps you will tell me what this is all about.”
“Certainly. Some time ago Keebles sold you a collection of Naturalist Society documents. He said that you still might have them in your possession.”
Moncurio raised his fine gray eyebrows. “Keebles is wrong. I traded the parcel to Xantief in Trieste.”
“You looked through the parcel before you traded it?”
“Naturally I am a careful man!”
“And you kept nothing?”
“Not so much as a torn photograph.”
“What of Keebles? Did he keep anything?”
Moncurio shook his head. “This stuff was not in Keebles’ line. He took it in trade from a certain Floyd Swaner, now dead. In exchange, Keebles gave Swaner a set of tanglets.” He took a green Jade medallion from a shelf, and fondled it lovingly. “This is a tanglet, which the ancient Shadowmen used to certify the glory of their champions. Nowadays tanglets are much in vogue among the collectors.” He replaced the tanglet on the shelf. “Unfortunately, they are ever harder to find.”
Glawen asked: “And the Naturalist documents – you know nothing about them – for instance, where they are now”?”
“Nothing, beyond what I have told you.”
After a moment Wayness heaved a sigh. “I came down the ladder, rung by rung: Gohoon Galleries to Funusti Museum to Mirky Porod to Trieste, to Casa Lucasta, and finally to Moonway.”
“I came up the ladder, from Idola on the Big Prairie to Division City to Tanjaree to Moonway?”
“Moonway is the middle rung, where we should find what we are looking for, but Moonway is as empty as the rest.”
Moncurio asked: “What are you seeking? Could it be the Cadwal Charter and Grant?”
Wayness nodded sadly. They have become very important, even critical, if Cadwal is to remain a conservancy.”
Glawen asked: “Did you know they were missing?”
“When I first saw the Naturalist documents, I noticed that the Charter and the Grant were missing. Keebles never saw them, of this I am certain. All of which means that he did not receive them from Floyd Swaner.”
“This surely was Smonny Clattuc’s opinion,” said Glawen. “She burgled the Chilke barn any number of times and eviscerated the stuffed moose, but never came up with anything.”
“So what could have happened to the Charter and Grant?” asked Moncurio.
“That is the mystery we are trying to solve,” said Wayness.
“Grandpa Swaner left everything to his grandson Eustace,” said Glawen. “Smonny tried to get hold of Chilke’s property in every way she could think of, including marriage, which of course Chilke avoided. Life was too short, he said. Now it seems that no one – Chilke, Smonny, Wayness, you, I, no one – knows what has happened to the Charter and the Grant.”
“An interesting problem,” said Moncurio. “I can offer no clues.” He pulled at his mustache, then glanced over his shoulder toward the bedchamber. The door was slightly ajar. Moncurio quietly crossed the room, eased the door shut and returned to his previous place. “We must not disturb Carlotta with our talk. Ha hm. It seems that you have gone to great pains in your search.” He looked toward Wayness. “Did I hear you mention ‘Casa Lucasta’?”
“You did.”
Moncurio phrased a question with care. “Interesting! We are speaking of ‘Casa Lucasta’ in – I forget the name of the town.”
“Pombareales.”
“Yes, of course. And how go things in that odd little corner of Old Earth?”
Wayness considered. “The folk of Patagonia have long memories. They are still on the look-out for an archaeologist named ‘Professor Solomon’.”
“Bah!” Moncurio gave an uncomfortable laugh. “You are referring to a promotional scheme which went sour. The idea was to advertise a new tourist complex, but at the last minute the principals backed off, and I was left in an exposed position. It’s the old, old story from which I emerged a cynic, I can assure you!”
Wayness gave an incredulous laugh. “A tourist resort on the pampas, with wind blowing weeds back and forth?”
Moncurio nodded with dignity. “I advised against the scheme, but when everything collapsed I was left alone to face the hysteria. They accused me, if you can believe it, of larceny, swindling, fraud, chicanery and much else. I was lucky to escape.”
“That is how it seems to everyone,” said Wayness.
Moncurio ignored the remark. “You visited Casa Lucasta?”
“Often.”
“And how is Irena?”
“Irena is dead.”
Moncurio’s face sagged in dismay. “What happened to her?”
“She killed herself, after trying to kill the two children.”
Moncurio winced. “And the children: what of them?”
“They are safe. Madame Clara said that you and Irena kept them dosed with drugs.”
“That is a malicious distortion! I did the children a great service in taking them from the Gangrils. On Nion life means nothing.”
“Still, why drag them on Old Earth? That is no great favor!”
“It was for the benefit of us all! I can easily explain, though you may not easily understand. Listen then! I learned something of the Gangril drugs – not much; just a smattering. They are able to reinforce certain functions of the brain and suppress others. Clairvoyance is ability they can enhance.”
“Now then! I am an archaeologist of not inconsiderable reputation.” Moncurio put on an expression of stern and inflexible dedication. “My first responsibility is to science; I am unswerving in this regard! Still, from time to time I am able to
discover hidden treasures which allow me to finance my researches.”
“Uncle Pirie describes you as a ‘tomb robber,’” said Wayness.
“That is a bit uncharitable,” said Moncurio. “Still, I am a practical man, and I make no bones of it. The heroes of the ancient Shadowmen were burled with their tanglets. A set of such tanglets is worth a fortune. But only one tomb in sixty yields more than three or four and only one in a hundred is a hero’s tomb. To dig into a single tomb is both tiresome and dangerous; I have evaded death by inches many times. If a clairvoyant person could indicate which of the tombs contained a set of hero’s tanglets, in a year we could leave Moonway forever and live in prosperity the rest of our lives. And there you have the explanation for Irena, the drugs and the two children. Irena loved money above all else; I knew that she would be fanatically faithful.”
The door leading into the bedchamber burst open and Carlotta stormed out into the sitting room. “I have heard enough! Do you think me deaf, dumb and blind? I am neither a Gangril, nor a robber, nor am I ‘fanatically faithful’. I am disgusted with what I have heard! You would be treated to the rough edge of my tongue if we were alone!”
“Carlotta, my dear! Let us be temperate!”
“I am being temperate. I will call you a scoundrel, a festering sore and a human jackal. That is temperance and it must suffice. I will send for my belongings tomorrow.”
Carlotta marched through the front door and out into the night. The door thudded shut.
Moncurio paced back and forth, head lowered, arms clasped behind his back. “I am dogged by adversity; it must be my destiny! After travail and endless patience, not to mention expense, my plans lie in shards!” He glanced sharply at Wayness. “Who informed you of my address? Was it Clara? I have never trusted that woman!”
“Myron told me.”
“Myron?” Moncurio’s jaw dropped. “How did he know?”
Wayness shrugged. “Clairvoyance, perhaps.”
Moncurio resumed his pacing. Glawen and Wayness rose to their feet, bade Moncurio goodbye, and followed Carlotta out into the night.
Standing by the railing at the edge of the verandah they looked toward the ghostly ranks of the Standing Stones.
“I am still frightened,” said Wayness. “I was sure that I would be killed.”
“It was a near thing. I should never have let you go off by yourself.” Glawen put his arms around her; they embraced.
Wayness spoke at last. “So – what now?”
“At the moment I can’t think of anything sensible. My head seems to be whirling. I would like to find us a civilized dinner with a bottle of wine. I have had nothing to eat for days on end except some bread and cheese and a bite of pold. At the moment I don’t even have a room.”
“No problem there,” said Wayness. “I have a very nice room.”
* * *
Chapter X
* * *
Chapter X, Part 1
From Tanjaree on Pharisse and through the Jingles to Mersey, thence to Star Home on Aspidiske VI; then back toward the center of the Reach: so went their voyage, without excitement or notable event. There was little to do but watch the stars slide by and to speculate in regard to the question: where was the Charter, and the Grant-in-Perpetuity?
Glawen and Wayness spent hours in conjecture and cogitation, but in the end they returned to what seemed a set of basic facts. Charter and Grant had definitely been taken and sold by Frons Nisfit, along with other Naturalist documents. That was proved by Smonny’s conduct at Gohoon Galleries. She had discovered a notation confirming the sale of Charter and Grant to Floyd Swaner, which had prompted her to excise the page and to concentrate her attention upon the Chilke ranch and Eustace Chilke himself.
Such was Basic Fact A. Basic Fact B was that Charter and Grant had not left Floyd Swaner’s possession. There was no reason to doubt both Keebles and Moncurio that Floyd Swaner had not included the items among the Naturalist Society materials he had traded to them for tanglets. Basic Fact C was that Floyd Swaner had bequeathed all his belongings to Eustace Chilke, his grandson. However, on several occasions Chilke had declared that he knew nothing of such documents; and that the most notable items of his inheritance consisted of several stuffed animals and a collection of purple vases.
‘‘The conclusion is plain,” said Wayness. “Charter and Grant, despite all of Smonny’s attempts to locate them, are still somewhere among Floyd Swaner’s effects – that is to say, the objects he bequeathed to Eustace Chilke.”
The two sat in the after saloon, watching the stars shift across the dark sky. Glawen said: “It seems then that we must trespass once more upon the patience of Ma Chilke. She must be very bored with this business by now.”
“She won’t be bored if we explain that the tanglets are valuable.”
“That may soothe her. The documents are probably in some perfectly obvious place, where no one has troubled to look.”
“It’s a good theory except that at the Chilke ranch there doesn’t seem to be any such obvious places, except those which are used all the time.”
“Perhaps they are among Chilke’s boyhood keepsakes – old letters, high school yearbooks and the like – we might find an inconspicuous envelope labeled ‘Memoranda’ or something of the sort. In fact –” Glawen stopped short.
‘‘‘In fact’? What does that mean?”
“It means that I thought of somewhere to look, I don’t mean the stuffed moose.”
* * *
Chapter X, Part 2
Glawen and Wayness emerged from the Tammeola spaceport into the light of early morning. Immediately boarding the slideway, they rode north to Division city and thence by local air service to Largo on the Sippewissa River. As before, Glawen rented a flitter: they flew north and west into the heart of the Big Prairie, over Idola and beyond to where Fosco Creek, lined by cottonwoods and weeping willows, made its great loop and there, below, was the Chilke farmstead.
On this occasion Ma Chilke was alone, without even the children on hand. Glawen and Wayness alighted from the flitter and approached the house. Ma Chilke came to the door and stood waiting with hands on hips. She greeted Glawen with formal cordiality, and gave Wayness a sharp inspection, which Wayness bore with as much aplomb as possible. Ma Chilke turned back to Glawen and spoke, rather tartly: “Instead of keeping to business and going out after Mel Keebles, it looks like you went out and got this young lady instead.”
Glawen grinned. “I could explain my reasons, if you were interested.”
“Don’t bother,” retorted Ma Chilke. “I can guess your reasons, and depending upon what you were looking for, they make sense. Are you planning to introduce us?”
“Mrs. Chilke, this is Miss Wayness Tamm.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Ma Chilke backed into the house. “Come in. So long as I hold the door open, the flies will take advantage.”
Ma Chilke took her guests through the kitchen and into the parlor. Glawen sat on the couch, with Wayness beside him. Ma Chilke surveyed them without affability. “So what is it this time? Did you find Mel Keebles?”
“Yes. It took some doing. He was out on a far world a long ways from home.”
Ma Chilke shook her head in disapproval. “I just can’t understand it; surely there is nothing out there as good as what we have at home. Most often things are worse! I have heard of places where a black slime covers you every time you lay down to sleep. Is that nice?”
“No,” said Wayness. “Definitely not!”
Ma Chilke went on. “I don’t want to look out my window and find a snake sixty feet long looking back at me. I take no pleasure in that sort of thing.”
“There is no explaining why people go out among the stars,” said Glawen. “It might be curiosity or the love of adventure or the prospect of great wealth; and sometimes people simply want to live by their own rules. Sometimes they are misanthropes, or sometimes they have made Old Earth too hot for themselves.”
“Like Adrian
Moncurio,” suggested Wayness.
Ma Chilke frowned. “Adrian who?”
“Moncurio. You’ve probably heard the name before, since he was a friend of both Grandpa Swaner and Melvish Keebles.”
“I remember the name,” said Ma Chilke. “I haven’t heard it for years. He had something to do with the purple vases and the green jade buckles.”
“That is one reason we are here,” said Glawen. “These purple vases are burial urns and they are valuable to collectors.”
Wayness said: “The same applies to the jade buckles. They are called tanglets. Before we go, I will put you in touch with someone who will help you sell them at a good price.”
‘“That’s kind of you,” said Ma Chilke. “The things really belong to Eustace, but I don’t suppose he’d mind if I sold a few of them. I can use the money, certainly.”
“To start with, you should put them in a safe place, and don’t let the children play with them.”
“Good advice!” Ma Chilke had become noticeably more amiable. “Perhaps you would like a cup of tea? Or a glass of cold lemonade?”
“Lemonade would be wonderful,” said Wayness. “Can I help?”
“No thanks, I’ll only be a minute or two.”
Glawen asked: “May we look at the ATLAS OF FAR WORLDS your father gave to Eustace?”
Ma Chilke pointed. “There it is yonder: the big red book at the bottom of the stack.” She took herself into the kitchen.
Glawen withdrew the book and brought it back to the couch. “First to Cadwal.” He looked at the index, then turned pages. The planet maps were for the most part Mercator projections, covering the whole of a double page. On the back of the maps was printed pertinent information: a historical synopsis, physical data, statistical tables; odd, unique or noteworthy facts. To many of these informational pages someone, perhaps the young Eustace, perhaps his grandfather, had clipped or otherwise attached additional material.
Glawen opened the book to the ‘Cadwal’ map. On the back of the left-hand page a large buff envelope had been taped. Glawen looked up. Ma Chilke was still in the kitchen. He detached the envelope, opened the flap, looked within. He gave Wayness an inscrutable glance, tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket.