by Jack Vance
“I wonder that Nisfit was accepted as a member.“
“On this occasion the system failed us."
Wayness continued her research. She came upon a list of the items Nisfit had sold. The list had been compiled by the new secretary Nils Myhack, and included the comment: “The rascal has hoodwinked us in fine style! What in the name of everything naughty is 'Engenderment’s adapted into asset assignment Account BZ-2’? I could laugh if it were not a crying shame! Luckily, Charter and Grant are safe in the vault.”
Here, thought Wayness, was probably the source of the mysterious Monette's conviction — perhaps more accurately, hope — that the Charter still resided in the bank vault.
The properties sequestered by Nisfit were various: drawings and sketches created by Naturalists during off-world expeditions; curios, objects of virtue or aesthetic consequence fabricated by non-Gaen life forms, including tablets in the still undeciphered Myrrhic script, statues from a world at the back of Ursa Minor; vases, bowls and other receptacles found among the Ninarchs. There were collections of small life forms; a case of a hundred magic stone spheres and tablets wrought by the banjees of Cadwal; trinkets worn by the bog-runners of Gemini 333 IV. In another category were Society archives of interest to collectors of ancient documents, in folders, folios, and fused black litholite, incised in microscope symbols; ancient books and photographs, all manners of chronicles, notations, biographical records.
The purloined material, in its entirety, thought Wayness, would not be conveniently salable to a single individual or institution. With careful attention she studied Nisfit's letters. She found membership applications, memoranda of delinquent dues and expulsion notices; correspondence in connection with cases at law; scholarship funds; expeditions and research projects; the endowments and investments which provided the income for many Naturalists of Stroma.
The sheer mass of material was almost overwhelming. Initially Wayness sampled items from all the categories, then concentrated upon the items she found most provocative. Using a search procedure which sought references to the word 'Charter', she discovered nothing of interest.
As something of an afterthought, she subjected the entire set of files accumulated during Nisfit's tenure to the search, and at last, among much that was inconsequential, came upon a case which aroused her interest.
The occasion was the annual conclave during the last year of Nisfit’s office. The minutes of the conclave recorded a dialogue between Jaimes Jamers, Chairman of the Activities Committee and Frons Nisfit, Secretary.
Jamers: Mr. Secretary this is admittedly not my official province, so I address you in the hope that you will clarify some items which I find puzzling. What for instance is a 'Supersessive'?
Nisfit: Simple enough, sir. It is an article whose use or value to the Society has been superseded.
Jamers: Your verbiage here, I find to be absolute jargon. I wish you would express yourself more intelligibly.
Nisfit: Yes, sir.
Jamers: For example, what does this mean — 'Engenderments to Asset Group — potentials'?
Nisfit: Much of the terminology, sir, is derived from Accountancy nomenclature.
Jamers: But what does it mean?
Nisfit: In the broadest sense, funds delved from disposal of excessive or unnecessary materials are consigned to a fund of versatile activity. Endowments, scholarships, emergency procedures and the like. Also, payment of taxes and fees, like the annual Stipulative Charge for the Cadwal Charter, which must carefully be observed.
Jamers: I see. You have been scrupulous in this respect?
Nisfit: Of course, sir.
Jamers: And why is the Cadwal Charter not in its usual place?
Nisfit: I transferred it to the Bank of Margravia, along with other documents.
Jamers: Somehow this all seems a bit loose and untidy. I think that we should have an inventory taken of our properties, so that we know where we stand.
Nisfit: Very good, sir. I will arrange for such an inventory.
During the following week Nisfit vacated his office and was seen no more.
A thought came into Wayness' head which excited her curiosity. Frons Nisfit had become a member of the Society with little regard for the traditional Society stringencies. Who had proposed him for membership? Wayness investigated the files and discovered names which meant nothing to her. What of Monette, who had joined the Society thirty years later? Again Wayness scrutinized the records.
During the relevant period there was no Society member with the surname 'Monette’.
Odd thought Wayness. She set herself to an even more diligent study, and so made a startling discovery.
Later in the day she reported her findings to Pirie Tamm.“ 'Monette,' as you mentioned, was an off-worlder; when she applied for membership she was required to provide a certified identification, which went into the files. The name was 'Simonetta Clattuc’.”
V.
Wayness told Pirie Tamm what she remembered from Glawen’s casual anecdotes regarding Simonetta Clattuc. "Apparently she was notorious for her hot temper, and any small slight incurred her furious revenge. When she was still a young woman, she was frustrated in a love affair and almost at the same time ejected from Clattuc House because of low status. She left Ararninta Station in a state of rage and was never heard from again."
“Until she became Nils Myhack’s assistant," said Pirie Tamm. "I wonder what she had in mind? She could not have known that the Charter and the Grant were missing."
'"That is why she wanted to investigate the bank vault."
"Of course, but she found nothing there or anywhere else, since there is no record of the Grant being reregistered."
"That, at least, is a comfort. On the other hand, she must have searched the files just as I am doing — and probably to the same effect.”
"Not necessarily! She would not trouble to search the files if she expected that the Charter and Grant were in the bank vault."
"I hope that you're right," said Wayness. "Otherwise I'm wasting my time searching where she has already searched.”
Pirie Tamm made no comment; clearly he felt that, in either case, Wayness was wasting her time.
Wayness nevertheless continued her work, but as before found nothing in the Society files which east even a feeble illumination upon Nisfit's dealings.
Days passed, and weeks. Wayness began to encounter moods of discouragement. Her most interesting discovery was a photograph of Nisfit which depicted a thin blond man of indeterminate age, with a high narrow forehead, a trifle of a mustache and a thin down-drooping mouth. It was a face to which she took an instant dislike, representing, as it did, the cause of her frustration.
Further weeks went by, and Wayness could not suppress the conviction that her energies might more profitably be applied elsewhere. Nevertheless, she persevered and every day examined new documents: letters, invoices, receipts; suggestions, complaints, inquiries, reports. All to no purpose; Nisfit had efficiently covered his tracks.
Late one afternoon, her eyelids drooping and her mood close to dejection, Wayness came upon a short passage which evidently had escaped Nisfit’s vigilance. The passage occurred toward the end of a routine letter from a certain Ector van Broude, resident of the city Sancelade, two hundred miles to the northwest. He wrote in regard to a special assessment, but added, as a post-script:
"My friend Ernst Faldeker, employed by the local firm Mischap and Doorn, has commented upon the substantial transactions which you, as Secretary of the Society, have initiated. I seriously question the wisdom of this policy; is it truly far-sighted, and in the best interests of the Society? Please explain to me the reasons for these unusual transactions." In high excitement Wayness ran to Pirie Tamm and told him of her discovery.
“That is interesting information,“ said Pirie Tamm. “Mischap and Doorn at Sancelade, eh? I think I have heard the name, but I cannot place it offhand. Let us consult a directory.”
In his study, he instituted a
search and presently was accorded information. '' ‘Mischap and Doorn: Brokerage, Consignment and Commission Sales.' The firm is still extant, and they are still situated in Sancelade. So there you have it."
CHAPTER IV
I.
“Perhaps we can resolve the problem within the next five minutes," said Pirie Tamm. He telephoned the offices of Mischap and Doorn, at Sancelade. The screen flared into luminosity, displaying the red and blue 'Mischap and Doorn' insignia across the top and, in the lower right quadrant, the head and shoulders of a thin-faced young woman with a long thin nose and short blonde hair cut squarely around her head in an uncompromising and rather eccentric style, or so thought Wayness. Her eyes glittered and danced with nervous vitality, but she spoke in the flattest of flat voices: "Please state your name, occupation, connection and present concerns."
Pirie Tamm identified himself, and cited his connection with the Naturalist Society.
"Very well, sir what is your business with us?"
Pirie Tamm frowned, displeased with the receptionist's manner. Still, he responded politely. "A certain Ernst Faldeker was a member of your firm some forty years ago. I expect that he has retired?"
“As to that, I can't say. He certainly is not with us now."
“Perhaps you will inform me as to his present address."
"Just a moment, sir." The young woman's face disappeared.
Pirie Tamm growled aside to Wayness: "Amazing, is it not? These functionaries think of themselves as angels reclining on clouds, while far below the human ruck supplicates from the mire.”
"She seems very self-possessed,” said Wayness. “I suppose that if she were over-sentimental, she might find it a handicap in her work.”
“Possible, possible.”
The young woman's face returned. “I find that I am not authorized to issue this sort of information.”
“Well then, who is?”
“Berle Buffums is our present office manager. Would you care to speak with him? He has nothing better to do at the moment.”
An odd remark, thought Wayness. "Please connect me," said Pirie Tamm.
The screen blanked. A moment passed. The agile and vivacious face returned. “Mr. Buffums is in conference at the moment and cannot be disturbed.” Pirie Tamm gave a grunt of annoyance. “Perhaps you can tell me this much. Your firm handled some business for the Naturalist Society — let me think — it must have been over forty years ago. I am anxious to learn the disposition of the goods involved.”
The receptionist laughed. “If I let slip a hint of such information, Bully Buffums would have my gizzard. He is, shall we say, obsessive in regard to confidentiality. I could easily be bribed, were it not that Bully Buffums locks away the Confidential files."
"A pity. Why is he so careful?"
“I don't know. He explains his fiats to no one, least of all me."
“Thank you for your courtesy." Pirie Tamm broke the connection. Slowly he turned to Wayness. “It seems a curious firm, even for Old Earth. It is perhaps because they are based at Sancelade, an extraordinary city in itself."
“At least we have a clue, or a lead-in, or whatever it should be called.”
“True. It is a start.”
“I will go at once to Sancelade. Perhaps, one way or another, I can persuade Berle Buffums to release his information.”
Pirie Tamm heaved a sad sigh. “With all my heart I curse this damnable ailment, which distresses me more than you can know! My manhood is lost; I feel like a frail old goblin creeping and limping about the house, while you, a slip of a girl go forth on the work I should be doing!”
"Please, Uncle Pirie! Don’t say such things. You do what you can and I do what I can, and that is the way it shall be."
Pirie Tamm patted Wayness’ head: one of his few expressions of affection. “I will say no more. Our goal is larger than either of us. Still, I don’t want you to be threatened, or hurt, or even so much as frightened.”
"I am quite cautious, Uncle Pirie. Most of the time, anyway. Now I must go to Sancelade and learn what I can from Mischap and Doorn.”
"So it would seem," said Pirie Tamm, through without conviction. "I need not point out that you will face a number of challenges, among them Berle Buffums.”
Wayness gave a nervous laugh. "I hope to escape with my life, at least, and — who knows? — maybe the Charter.”
Pirie Tamm made a gruff sound. “I must reiterate that Sancelade is a peculiar place, with a remarkable history.” Pirie Tamm went on to provide Wayness with a few salient facts. The old city, he told her, had been completely destroyed during the so-called ‘Alienate Convulsion’ [6]. For two hundred years it remained a desolate waste, until the autocrat Tybalt Pimm ordained a new city for the site. He specified every aspect of the new Sancelade in exact detail, using a variant of the same complicated architecture for each of the six districts.
At the time Tybalt Pimm's great scheme evoked mockery and jeers, but in due course the derision became muted, and in the end Sancelade was considered the masterwork of a genius gifted in equal parts with imagination, energy and unlimited funds.
Pimm's theories and proscriptions were long enforced, Though at times they became a trifle blurred. The Kyprian Quarter, for instance, which Pimm had designated as the District for light industry, trade schools, inexpensive restaurants and social halls, instead became the resort of artists, musicians, vagabonds and mystics ensconced among a thousand cafes, bistros, studios, small shops for the purchase of oddments, and the like. In the end, Sancelade became known as a place where one could live high or low, strait or wide, and in general do as he pleased, so long as he was discreet, or even if he were not discreet.
II.
Wayness rode by surface transit to Shillaway, across a countryside of small farms and villages, where nothing had changed since the dawn of time. From Shillaway she rode the underground slideway which two hours later delivered her to the Central Station at Sancelade.
A cab took her to the hotel Pirie Tamm had recommended: the Marsac, situated at the edge of the prestigious Gouldenerie, hard by the Kyprian Quarter. The Marsac was a sprawling old structure of many wings, three restaurants and four gilded ballrooms on the banks of the River Thing. Wayness found herself enveloped in an atmosphere of casual elegance, muted and quite unself-conscious, of a sort to be discovered nowhere else in the Reach. She was conducted to a high-ceilinged chamber, with walls enameled a faded beige. A soft Marocain rug pattered in brown, black, dark red and indigo enlivened the gray terrazzo floor; bouquets of fresh flowers had been placed upon tables at each side of the bed.
Wayness changed into a neat dark brown suit, the better to represent her businesslike intentions, then returned to the lobby. The city directory instructed her that the offices of Mischap and Doorn were located in Flavian House on Alixtre Square, at the far side of the Gouldenerie.
The time was now an hour into the afternoon. Wayness lunched in the Waterview Grill and watched the River Taing flow by, meanwhile trying to fix upon her best course of action.
In the end she decided to pursue a plan both simple and direct; she would present herself at the offices of Mischap and Doorn, ask to see Mr. Buffums and in her very nicest manner ask for a few trifles of information. "Mischap and Doorn was a long-established and reputable firm,” she told herself. "They would have no reason to deny such a small request."
After lunch she crossed the Gouldenerie to Alixtre Square; a formal garden surrounded by four-story structures, no two alike, but all built in exact accordance with Tybalt Pimm's aesthetic precepts.
Mischap and Doorn occupied the second floor of Flavlan House, on the north side of the square. Wayness climbed to the second floor and entered a court planted with ferns and palms. A directory listed Mischap and Doorn's various offices and departments: Executive Offices, Personnel, Accounting, Appraisals, Exchanges, Extraterrestrial Properties, and several others. Wayness went to the Executive offices. The door slid aside to her touch. She entered a large
room, furnished as if to accommodate a working force of perhaps eight persons, but now occupied only by two women. The thin-faced young receptionist sat at a desk in the exact middle of the room. A plaque announced her name and rank: GILJIN LEEPE Assistant to the Executive Manager. At a table to the far right an elderly woman, squat, gray haired, large of feature, heavy of bone and ample of flesh, Sat with trays, books, tools and optical instruments engrossed in the study of a set of small objects.
Giljin Leepe was perhaps half a dozen years older than Wayness and an inch taller, engagingly angular, with a taut thin body and breasts which were little more than hints. Her sea-blue eyes, when wide, made her seem innocent and guileless; when she lowered her lids she became comically crafty and sly. Still, her face, under a thatch of short dusty-blonde hair, cut in a pudding-bowl crop, was far from unattractive. An odd creature, thought Wayness, and definitely one to be dealt with cautiously. Giljin Leepe surveyed Wayness with equal interest, raising her eyebrows as if to ask herself: "What in the world do we have here?" Aloud she said: “Yes, Miss? These are the offices of Mischap and Doorn; are you sure that you have come to the right place?”
“I hope so. I want a bit of information, which perhaps you can supply.”
“Are you buying or selling?" Giljin Leepe handed Wayness a pamphlet. “These are the properties we are currently handling; maybe you'll find what you want here.”
“I am not a customer," said Wayness apologetically. “I am trying to trace some properties which you handled forty or so years ago.”
"Hm. Didn’t someone call on this matter yesterday?”