by Jack Vance
"Oh yes you can, and you must, “said Tassy. "It is much healthier for you. That is the new wave of medical thinking!"
Pirie Tamm rolled his eyes to the celling and wondered if Agnes were enjoying herself at Tidnor Strands?
Late one afternoon, as Pirie Tamm sipped his sherry, Tassy notified him that he was wanted on the telephone. He scowled and muttered a curse. “This is not a civilized Hour to be making phone calls and disturbing people at their sherry! Who is it?"
"He gave no name and I forgot to ask. He's a rather handsome young man, though I should say a bit too severe and grim. However he seems basically decent and I decided to let him speak with you.”
Pirie them stared at her with sagging jaw. At last he said: “Your powers of divination are remarkable.”
Tassy nodded complacently. “It has always been one of my great gifts."
Pirie Tamm rose to his feet. “I had better speak to the fellow.”
The face looking from the screen was, as Tassy had declared, personable and somber. Various subtle signs suggested to Pirie Tamm that here was an off-worlder. “I am Pirie Tamm. I don t think I know you.”
“Wayness may have mentioned me. I am Glawen Clattuc.”
“Indeed, indeed!” exclaimed Pirie Tamm. “Where are you?"
"At the Shillaway spaceport. Is Wayness still with you at Fair Winds?"
“Not at the moment, I'm sorry to say. She set off for Bangalore, and I have not heard from her since. You are coming to Fair Winds, I hope?”
“Only if it is convenient for you to have me.” “Of course!” Pirie Tamm gave directions. "I'll expect you in about two hours.”
Glawen arrived at Fair Winds and was made welcome by Pirie Tamm. The two took dinner in the wood-paneled dining room. Pirie Tamm told Glawen what he knew of Wayness' adventures. "Her last call came from Trieste. She told me very little, because she feared that my telephone messages were being intercepted. I was skeptical but nevertheless I called in a team of experts. They found three spy cells and a telephone tap as well. We are convinced that the mechanisms were installed by Julian Bohost. You are acquainted with him?"
"All too well."
“As of now, the house is protected and we may talk freely — though, to be candid, I still feel a constraint.”
“You don t know what, if anything, Wayness has learned?”
“Unfortunately, no. Simonetta preceded us to Gohoon Galleries, and removed the records of sale. Wayness therefore was forced to work from a different perspective. She used the analogy of a ladder, with the Charter and the Grant on a middle rung. Simonetta, knowing who bought the material, was able to search up the ladder. At our end, we found items of Naturalist material, and traced it back down the ladder toward the original buyer.”
"It was wasted effort," said Glawen. “I know the first buyer. His name was Floyd Swaner, and he lived at Idola on the Big Prairie. Simonetta learned his identity, evidently as you have mentioned, at Gohoon Auctions and ever since she has concentrated on Floyd Swaner. She still seems to believe that Charter and Grant are somewhere on the Swaner premises, since she has burgled his property and tried to marry his grandson.”
Pirie Tamm gave a disconsolate grunt. "Where does Julian come into the picture? Is he in league with Simonetta?"
“I suspect that each is trying to use the other, and each keeps dismal plans for all eventualities at the back of this or her mind. I'm afraid that bitter times lie ahead."
“And what are your plans?"
“I'll be leaving directly for Idola, and if the Charter and Grant are not at hand, then I'll start climbing the ladder toward that middle rung."
II.
Glawen flew across the ocean to Old Tran, now known as Division city, at the heart of the continent. A local service flew him two hundred miles west to Largo, on the Sippewissa River. He arrived at twilight and took lodging at an old inn on the banks of the river. He telephoned Pirie Tamm, but learned nothing new; Wayness had not called.
In the morning Glawen rented a flitter and flew north across the Big Prairie, to arrive an hour later at ldola: a small town which, like many other small towns of Earth, had survived in its present identity for thousands of years[7]. Glawen landed the flitter and took directions to the Chilke homestead. He was told: "Fly north till you come to Fosco creek, about five miles. Pretty soon Fosco Creek makes a grand loop: swinging first to the east then up and around to the west. Look down; you'll see a barn with a green roof and a house beside some big oak trees. That’s the Chilke place.”
Glawen took the flitter back into the air and flew through the bright morning, over broad fields yellow with ripening grain, and so came to Fosco Creek. He followed the line of willows and alders, and presently came upon the loop. Below he saw the oft-burgled barn and the house where Eustace Chilke had spent his childhood.
Glawen landed the flitter in the yard, and was greeted by a pair of nondescript dogs and the tow-headed children, who were playing in the dirt with toy trucks and fragments of oddly-shaped green stones.
Glawen Jumped to the ground. The oldest child said respectfully: "Good morning, sir."
“Good morning, “said Glawen. “Is your name Chilke?"
“I am Clarence Earl Chilke."
“Fancy that” said Glawen. "I know your Uncle Eustace."
“Really? Where is he now?”
"Far away, across the stars, at a place called Araminta Station. Well, I had better make myself known to the house. Who is home?"
“Nobody but Grandma now. Our mother and father have gone to Largo."
Glawen went to the front door of the house, where a woman of late middle age awaited him. She was strong and stocky, with a round good-humored face in which Glawen could see unmistakable signs of Eustace Chilke himself.
"My name is Glawen Clattuc," he said. "I have a letter from Eustace which introduces me.”
Ma Chilke read the letter aloud:
“ 'Dear Ma:
This will introduce my good friend Glawen Clattuc, who is a fine fellow, unlike most of my friends. We are still looking for some of Grandpa's stuff, which has never been found. He'll ask you some questions, or so I expect, and maybe he'll want to look in the barn, let him do anything he likes. I don't know when I'll be home again, but I'll tell you for sure that I am often homesick, especially when I am threatened by Simonetta Clattuc. If you see her, punch her in the nose, and tell her it was from me. Then run because she is a powerful woman. I'll be home one of these days. Don't let the dogs sleep on my bed. My best love to you and everyone else except Andrew, for reasons he knows best.
Your dutiful son,
Eustace’ ''
Ma Chilke blinked and wiped her eye on her sleeve. "I don't know why I get sentimental. The rascal hasn’t showed his face around here for a long time. ‘Dutiful son’ — there's a good joke.”
"Eustace is a wayward type, no denying that," said Glawen. “Still, at Araminta Station he is considered an important man."
"In that case, he had better stay on and count his blessings, since he's been run out of most places in disgrace. Of course, I'm just talking foolish. Eustace is at heart a good boy, if a mite restless. I guess he has told you about his Grandpa Swaner."
"So he has.”
“That was my father, and he was a rare bird! But sit yourself down, to be sure! Let me pour you some coffee. Can you eat?"
"Not just now, thank you." Glawen seated himself at the kitchen table. Ma Chilke poured coffee and set out a platter of cookies, then pulled up a chair of her own. "Daddy was a wonder what with his purple owls and stuffed animals and all the funny old bangles. We've never quite known what to make of him, nor Eustace either, if the truth be told. It seems, somehow, that all his nonsense skipped a generation and landed in poor Eustace. I don’t know whether I'm sorry or not; there was always so much windy talk of far places and distant worlds and great treasures in wonderful gems. Eustace loved it and couldn't get enough of it. Grandpa was a little cruel sometimes. He promised Eus
tace a fine space yacht for his twelfth birthday, and poor Eustace was so excited he could talk of nothing else. I warned him not to brag about his space yacht around the school yard, since no one would believe him; and they'd tell him he had a screw loose as well. I don’t, think Eustace cared much one way or the other. His grandpa had given him a big atlas of the Gaean Reach and Eustace studied it for hours on end, deciding where to fly his new space yacht, and how he was going to land on lonely desolate worlds where no one had ever set foot before and put up a sign reading “Eustace Chilke, been here and gone.”
"Grandpa Swaner never bought Eustace the space yacht but he did take him on a voyage somewhere, and that was enough in itself to put the wander-fever into the poor boy, and we've seen precious little of him all these many years." Ma Chilke sighed and slapped her hand down on the table. “So now you've come to rummage through Grandpa Swaner’s things like all the rest. I should charge admission!"
Glawen asked: "Have many others come here to look?”
“Yes indeed, and I ask them all: “What is it that you are looking for? If I knew I might give you a hint.” Although what I was saying to myself was, “if I knew, I'd go get it for myself.”
“No one ever told you?”
"No one. And I suppose that you won’t tell me either."
"I'll tell you if you won’t tell anyone else."
"I agree to that."
“It's the Cadwal Charter, which was lost. Whoever finds it controls the world Cadwal. There are good people looking for the Charter and bad people. Eustace and I are with the good people. I'm making it very simple, of course.”
"So that’s why I’ve had so much trouble with the barn. It's been burgled at least three times. About ten years ago a big heavy-set woman showed up. She was dressed to kill and she wore a big important-looking hat, so I took her for a celebrity, or a grandee of some kind. She said her name was Madame Zigonie, and that she wanted to buy the stuffed moose. I said that it was not my moose, but that the owner would no doubt let it go for a thousand sols.”
“She gave a snort and said that she, too, had lots of things she'd let go for a thousand sols.”
"I asked her to make an offer, but she wanted to study the moose first. I told her it was an ordinary moose, with horns and a long ugly face and that I didn’t have time to take her out to the barn just then. She became huff and we had words, and she stalked away. A week later the barn was burgled and when we went to look the moose had been vandalized, with all its cotton guts strung out: I sewed the creature back up.”
“What did they take?”
"Nothing so far as I could see. They had turned over boxes of papers. Truth to tell, I found it hard to believe that a woman like Madame Zigonie would work so hard to burgle a barn. I put it down to sheer spite."
“I don’t think spite was involved," said Glawen. "She was looking for the Charter. Floyd Swaner bought it at auction and disposed of it no one knows where or how. Which brings me to the question: who did he deal with?”
Ma Chilke gave her head a jerk of disdain. "I marvel now when I think of them! Touts, agents, collectors, nature-fakers and a few ordinary mental cases. I could spot one a mile away. They all walk as if their feet hurt, and before they go near something they want, they give you a glance to see if you are watching. Toward the end Grandpa dealt mainly with a man called Melvish Keebles. His address? I have no idea. Another gentleman came asking just a few days ago and I told him the same thing.”
"Who was this other gentleman?”
Ma Chilke frowned toward the ceiling. “Bolst? Bolster? I took no great notice. He was a talker fast and free, with a voice like oil. Boster? Something like that.”
“Julian Bohost?”
“That is the name. Is he a friend of yours?”
"No. What did you tell him?'
"About Keebles? I told him what I know, which is nothing, except that Keebles seemed to be an agent for a dealer in Division City.”
“Did he look in the barn?”
“I made him pay two sols for the privilege, then went out with him, which put his nose out of joint. He poked around here and there, and looked into Grandpa Swaner's account books, from forty years ago, but he soon lost interest and only glanced at the moose. He asked if there were any other papers or documents, that he might pay a good price if he found something to interest him. For instance, were there any papers Grandpa Swaner had hidden away? And he said in a lordly way: 'Why not bring these papers out, my good woman, and perhaps there will be another two sols in it for you.' “
“I told him there were no such papers, that whenever Grandpa Swaner came into some books or documents, he traded them away at once to Melvish Keebles. He wanted Keebles' address, of course. I told him that I had not even thought of Keebles for years, and what kind of a woman did he take me for, that I should know the private address of all these shady characters? He looked foolish and said he had not meant it that way. I told him in the future I would appreciate it if he kept a civil tongue in his head, and this seemed to puzzle him even more, and he apologized. So I told him I knew nothing whatever of Melvish Keebles, save that he was something of a rascal. Mr. Bohost thanked me and went away, and I began thinking of the old days and I remembered 'Shoup’. "
"Who is 'Shoup'?”
"I can't say for sure, but I expect that he was another of Grandpa's cronies, or perhaps some kind of a dealer over in Division City, because when Grandpa and Keebles talked together it was always 'Shoup-this' and 'Shoup-that’. "Ma Chilke sniffed and blinked. 'I don’t like to think back; it always makes me blue. When Grandpa was alive, there was always something going on. That purple vase is one of his things, and those green ornaments as well; in fact they came to him from Keebles, and Grandpa prized them highly, so that when the children got into the boxes and started playing games with them, I took them up and fixed them along the mantle, as you see. There are more in the barn, and more vases and such things, and of course the moose."
Glawen returned to Division City, and lodged himself at one of the airport hotels. During the evening he studied the city directory. Almost at once he found the notice:
SHOUP AND COMPAY
Art supplies of All Kinds
Import and Export
We also deal in curios and exotic artifacts.
Off-world services a specialty
5000 Whipsnade Park, Bolton
In the morning Glawen rode by public transit to Bolton, a semi-industrial suburb at the northern verge of the city, where he found 5000 Whipsnade Park without difficulty. The premises, a square squat structure of concrete foam five stories high, was occupied exclusively by Shoup and Company.
Glawen entered the structure and found himself in a large showroom encompassing the entire first floor. Shelves, tables, bins and racks displayed art supplies of every description, to be sold both at retell and wholesale, for delivery anywhere in the Gaean Reach. To the left was a cashier's office and a shipping counter.
Glawen approached a sales clerk, who wore what seemed to be the Shoup uniform. A patch under the breast pocket of his gray tunic read:
D. Mulsh
At your service
D. Mulsh, a stocky young man with a cherubic pink face, fair hair and an air of complacent good humor, was busy at a display of articles whose function Glawen could not guess. The objects resembled small handguns and were of decidedly menacing appearance, with a hand grip, a trigger, a metal snout and a reaction chamber. Glawen asked: "What sort of weapons are those? I thought Shoup sold art supplies.”
Mulsh smiled politely. “It is a fair question: why do we sell guns along with our art supplies? Some folk think they are used to kill amateur artists. Others suspect that artists use them to extort money from the public when all else fails.”
"'Which is the correct theory?”
“Neither. The guns allow anyone to execute beautiful panes of colored glass. The process is simple. Notice! I insert this green cartridge into the reaction chamber, and arrange a targe
t of clear glass. When I pull the trigger I project a molten squirt which fuses permanently to the clear pane. The user can select cartridges of as many colors as he likes, to produce panes of the most intricate design glowing in absolutely rapturous colors. May I fit you out with a kit?”
“The idea is appealing,” said Glawen. “But at the moment I am looking for something else."
“If it can be had, we have it. That is the motto of Shoup and Company. Just a moment while I ship off this kit." Mulsh took a box to the counter. He told the clerk: “Label this off to Iovanes Faray at Anacutra, and ship." He turned to Glawen: “Now then, sir! What can I sell you? A gross or two of the glass-melt kits? A dozen artist’s models? A ten-ton block of Canova marble? Thirty-five ounces of moth dust? A bust of Leon Beiderbecke? All are on special for the day."
“At this particular moment I want something far less complicated.”
"Such as what?"
“A trifle of information. One of your customers is Melvish Keebles. I must ship him a parcel and I have lost his address. I'd like you to look it up for me, and here is a sol for your trouble."
Mulsh looked askance at Glawen and waved away the proffered money.
"Most odd! Just yesterday another man approached me with the same request. All I could tell him was that I knew nothing of this 'Keebles,' and that he must apply upstairs at Accounts' or 'Billing'. With the best will in the world, that is all I can tell you.”
Glawen frowned. “This man who came in yesterday: what was he like?"
“Oh, nothing extraordinary. He was a bit taller than you, about your age, I would say. Nice-looking chap, and well-spoken. Fancied himself a bit, if you ask me."