Araminta Station (46 page)

“And now . . .” Glawen put his arms around her and kissed her, until finally she drew away. “I’d better be getting home. Mother and Father will be wondering what has become of me.”

“I’ll think over what you’ve said. There’s something at the back of my mind that I want to tell you, but it won’t come to the surface.”

“It will come when you least expect it.” She kissed his cheek. “Now, take me back to Riverview House, before any alarms are sounded.”

Chapter VI

Chapter VI, Part 1

Wayness had departed Araminta Station aboard the Perseian Lines’ packet
Faerlith Winterflower
, which would carry her down Mircea’s Wisp to Andromeda 6011 IV: a junction world where she would transfer to a Glistmar Explorer Route space cruiser for the remainder of her voyage to Earth.

Wayness’ departure left a dreary void in Glawen’s life. Overnight, existence became drab and dull. Why had he allowed her to go so fearfully far away, beyond the reach of human perception? He asked himself the question often, and the answer came always in company with a rueful smile: he had been given no voice in the matter. Wayness had made her own decision, on the basis of her own best judgment. This was a process which, in all justice, could not be faulted: so Glawen assured himself, though without full or fervent conviction.

In some respects, Wayness must be compared to a natural force: sometimes warm and beneficent (and in the last few weeks, breathtakingly affectionate), sometimes mysterious and baffling, but never susceptible to human control.

Glawen pondered this unique individual named Wayness Tamm. If through some extraordinary circumstance he became endowed with divine powers and assigned the pleasurable task of designing a new Wayness, he might well diminish the proportion of sheer single-minded obstinacy and intractable, volatile self-willed independence by a soupçon or two - not enough to disturb the flavor of the mix, but to make her just a bit more . . . Here Glawen hesitated, groping for the proper word. Malleable? Predictable? Subservient? Certainly none of these. It might be that whatever divine being had created the original Wayness had done his job with such consummate skill that no improvement was possible.

To occupy his energies, Glawen undertook several new courses of study, which upon completion would allow him to sit for the IPCC first Grade examination. A passing score, together with demonstrable competence at weaponry, practical technics, emergency control and hand-to-hand combat, would qualify him as IPCC Agent Ordinary, and would allow him IPCC status and authority across the entire Gaean Reach. Several others at Bureau B had achieved such status. Scharde had proceeded past the first grade to IPCC Agent Second Level, which enabled Bureau B to function as an IPCC affiliate.

Kirdy Wook announced that he also would undertake the IPCC regimen, but seemed in no hurry to attend the classes. He had apparently recovered from his ordeal at Yipton, except for a tendency toward vagueness and a set of abrupt or impatient mannerisms, which everyone expected would diminish with his full recovery. Kirdy still refused, or perhaps was unable, to discuss his experiences. Almost as soon as he left the hospital he resigned from the Bold Lions, and thereafter had nothing to do with any of the group.

For a period Glawen tried to engage Kirdy in conversation, hoping to ease him into a more positive frame of mind. The effort, so Glawen found, was like trying to pick up quicksilver. For the most part Kirdy listened in moody silence, smiling a strange glassy-eyed half-smile, in which Glawen thought to sense traces of both hostility and contempt. Kirdy volunteered no remarks of his own, so that, had Glawen not spoken again, the two would have sat in dead silence. To questions, Kirdy either responded not at all or at verbose length but without any reference to the question.

Kirdy had never been noted for his humor; now he seemed to find levity incomprehensible. Whenever Glawen spoke lightly or attempted a witticism, Kirdy turned him a glance so cold and brooding that the words caught in Glawen’s throat.

One day Glawen noticed Kirdy turn aside in order to avoid him, and thenceforth he desisted from his efforts.

Glawen discussed Kirdy and his conduct with Scharde. “Something almost funny is going on. Kirdy knows that if I pass the IPCC examination, I’ll jump a whole rank over him at the Bureau. Kirdy’s only recourse is also to take the examination. This means not only hard study but also the terrible risk of failure – which in Kirdy’s case is real, since he’s weak in mathematics and also all the practical demonstrations.”

“He’d certainly fail the psychometrics.”

“That is Kirdy’s dilemma. I can’t guess how he’ll deal with it – except to pray that I fail so shamefully that I quit Bureau B and go into oenology along with Arles.”

“Poor Kirdy. He’s been through a lot.”

“I agree: poor Kirdy. Which doesn’t make him any easier to work with.”

From Watertown on Andromeda 6011 IV came a letter from Wayness, written while she awaited connections with one of the Glistmar space cruisers. She wrote: “Already I’m homesick, and I miss you extremely. It’s amazing how a person can learn to love and trust and depend upon another person so completely and hardly be aware of what’s going on until the other person isn’t there anymore. Now I know.” And she finished: “I will write again from Tierens, with the latest news on the situation. I hope that by some miracle it will be good news, but I am not too hopeful. In an odd kind of way I’m looking forward to getting my teeth into the problem, if only to take my mind off my troubles.”

The summer passed; Glawen’s twentieth birthday came and went: the last before his twenty-first: Suicide Day, as it was sometimes known. Glawen wavered between hope and despair. His Status Index was still 22, which could have been worse but also could have been better.

On the following Smollen Arles brought Drusilla co-Laverty as his guest to the Clattuc House Supper, to Spanchetta’s evident surprise and disapproval.

Arles pretended not to notice. Drusilla was in an ebullient mood, and ignored Spanchetta completely, which caused Spanchetta to glower even more notably.

During the meal Arles sat with magisterial dignity, speaking little except to Drusilla, and then only in a confidential undertone. He had dressed with care, in a black coat, russet trousers, a white shirt with a blue sash at his waist. Drusilla’s costume was less conservative, and even extreme. Her gown was a confection of striped black, pink and orange satin, cut low in front. A black turban with a tall black plume confined her pink-blond ringlets; black elf-points rose two inches above her ears. For sheer bravura the ensemble surpassed even Spanchetta’s purple and red costume, and Spanchetta’s expression, when she troubled to look toward Drusilla, conveyed total disgust.

Drusilla refused to be inhibited. She laughed loudly, gaily and often, sometimes for no apparent reason. She contributed her opinions to conversations everywhere around the table, chatting and chaffing, beguiling her new acquaintances with nods and smiles, pouts and winks.

Scharde, after watching covertly for a time, spoke to Glawen: “I admit to confusion. Isn’t she one of Namour’s special chums?”

“I think that’s over and done with. Or perhaps it’s a seasonal affair, since Drusilla still travels with the Mummers.”

“She’d seem a bit past her prime. Floreste likes to keep young blood in the troupe.”

“She’s Floreste’s assistant; she doesn’t perform anymore.”

“Arles looks like a cat who has just caught a very large mouse. I’m confused even further. I thought that Arles no longer cared for girls.”

“So did I. It looks as if there might have been a mistake. Drusilla is female, beyond all doubt.”

“So she is.” Scharde turned away. “Well, it’s none of my concern, I’m glad to say.”

“Look at Arles. I think he’s about to make a speech.”

Arles had risen to his feet and for a moment stood smiling around the table, waiting for conversations to subside. At last he tapped his wineglass with a knife. “Please, everyone! I ask your attention! I wish to make an announcement; be kind enough to listen. Sitting beside me you will notice - how could you have failed to notice? - a ravishing and gorgeous creature whom many of you will recognize as the honorable and distinguished Drusilla co-Laverty. She is as talented as she is charming, and for some years has helped Floreste work his miracles with the Mummers. But all things change! In response to my supplications, Drusilla has agreed to become a Clattuc. Do I make myself clear?”

Arles looked around the table as the assembly politely clapped hands.

“I will confide even more secrets to this company. Today we signed the contract and the union has been recorded by the registrar. The deed is done!”

Arles bowed as the company called out congratulations. Drusilla raised her arm on high, with her head tilted pertly to the side, and waved her fingers.

Scharde muttered aside to Glawen: “Look at Spanchetta. She can’t decide whether or not to have a heart attack.”

Arles spoke on. “Needless to say, I am as amazed as you all must be by my good luck. We are leaving at once on a romantic tour which will take us far and wide, to places of myth and mystery! But return we shall, I promise you! In all the Gaean Reach no place compares with Araminta Station!”

Arles seated himself and for several minutes was busy responding to toasts and questions.

“So they’re off to places of myth and mystery,” mused Scharde. “I wonder where Arles found the money. Certainly not from Spanchetta.”

“Maybe Drusilla has come into wealth.”

“Not on what Floreste pays her. Mummers’ money goes into the Orpheum fund. Drusilla is lucky to get her keep and expenses, and whatever extra she can connive.”

“Perhaps she operates some sort of business on the side.”

“Let us hope that it is a business in which Arles can be of practical assistance.”

On the following day Arles and Drusilla departed aboard the Perseian Lines’ luxury cruise ship
Mircean Lyre
. Later in the day Scharde told Glawen: “The puzzle is clarified. I had a few words with Floreste and the problem of Arles’ wealth has disappeared. He possesses no wealth whatever and Drusilla very little more. So how are they able to take passage to ‘places of myth and mystery’? Simple. Drusilla is making a routine trip, arranging bookings for the Mummers: something she does every year. Floreste has arranged cheap fares for Mummer personnel; both Arles and Drusilla qualify. Their expenses therefore are minimal and as for the places of myth and mystery, they are bound for such places as Soum and Natrice and Liliander’s Home and Tassadero: worlds on Floreste’s usual circuit. All are rather dull for the most part.”

“I wonder where they plan to live on their return,” mused Glawen. “Do you think Spanchetta will welcome them?”

“Not effusively.”

Glawen went to look out the window. “I’d like to go traveling myself. To Earth, by preference.”

“Wait till after your next birthday.”

Glawen gave his head a dour nod. “As a collateral I’m free to go anywhere I like, especially if I don’t come back.”

“Don’t be so gloomy. You’re not an outcast yet. I’m sure I can induce old Dorny to drink himself to death. Descant is another. He won’t retire and he won’t make a serious attempt to die.”

“I can’t worry about such things,” growled Glawen. “If I’m kicked out of Clattuc House, so be it. Since I can’t travel to worlds of myth and mystery like Arles, or even to Earth, I think I’ll take the sloop out for a sail. Maybe to Thurben Island. Would you like to come along? We can camp on the beach for a day or two.”

“No thank you. Thurben Island is not for me. If you go, take plenty of water; you’ll find not a drop on Thurben. And don’t swim in the lagoon.”

“I think I’ll go,” said Glawen. “If nothing else, it’s a change.”

Chapter VI, Part 2

Glawen loaded supplies aboard the sloop, filled the water tanks, recharged the power unit, then, without ceremony, cast off the mooring lines and departed the Clattuc dock.

Under power he steered down the Wan River to the rivermouth, then up and over the incoming swells where they crossed the bar, and out upon the face of the ocean. A quarter mile offshore he raised the sails and on the port tack sailed due east: a course which eventually would bring him to the steaming west coast of Ecce.

Glawen put the automatic pilot to work, and sat back to enjoy the gurgle of the wake, the wide blue sky, the surge of the boat over the long low swells.

The Araminta shore became a purple-gray mark across the horizon and soon disappeared. The wind shifted; Glawen altered course to north of east – as close to the wind as was convenient.

The day passed, with nothing to be seen but lazy blue ocean, sky and an occasional wandering seabird.

Late in the afternoon the wind slackened, and died to a flat calm by sunset. Glawen dropped the sails, and the boat moved only to the rise and fall of the swells. Glawen went below, prepared a bowl of stew which he brought up to the cockpit and consumed, along with a crust of break and a flask of Clattuc claret, while sunset colors faded from the sky.

The afterglow departed and stars appeared. Glawen sat back and studied the constellations. The flow of Mircea’s Wisp, along with Lorca and Sing, was below the horizon. At the zenith glittered that collocation known as Perseus Holding High the Head of Medusa, with the two blazing red stars Cairre and Aquin representing Medusa’s eyes. In the southern sky he found the circlet of five white stars known as the Nautilus. At the center of the circlet shown a yellow star of the tenth magnitude, much too dim to be seen. This star was Old Sol. Out there, coasting across the void in a great Glistmar space cruiser, was Wayness. How large would she seem at such a distance? The size of an atom? Smaller? The problem became interesting. Glawen went below and calculated.

Wayness, standing a hundred light-years away, would appear as large as a neutron at a distance of twelve hundred and fifty yards.