Marune: Alastor 933 (6 page)

“The Rhunes lack humor. They are highly sensitive to insult; a Rhune will never submit to ridicule. Lifelong friends must reckon with each other’s sensibilities and then rely upon a complicated etiquette to lubricate social occasions. In short, it seems as if the Rhunes deny themselves all the usual human pleasures.

What do they substitute?

“In the first place, the Rhune is exquisitely sensitive to his landscapes of mountain, meadow, forest, and sky - all changing with the changing modes of day.

He reckons his land by its aesthetic appeal; he will connive a lifetime to gain a few choice acres. He enjoys pomp, protocol, heraldic minutiae; his niceties and graces are judged as carefully as the figures of a ballet. He prides himself on his collection of sherliken scales; or the emeralds which he has mined, cut, and polished with his own hands; or his Arah magic wheels, imported from halfway across the Gaean Reach. He will perfect himself in special mathematics, or an ancient language, or the lore of fanfares, or all three, or three other abstrusities. His calligraphy and draftsmanship are taken for granted; his life work is his Book of Deeds, which he executes and illustrates and decorates with fervor and exactitude. A few of these books have reached the market; in the Reach they command enormous prices as curios.

“The Rhune is not a likeable man. He is so sensitive as to be truculent; he is contemptuous of all other races than the Rhune. He is self-centered, arrogant, unsympathetic in his judgments.

“Naturally I allude to the typical Rhune, from whom an individual may deviate, and everything I have said applies no less to the women as the men.

“The Rhunes display correspondingly large virtues: dignity, courage, honor, intellects of incomprehensible complexity - though here again, individuals may differ from the norm.

“Anyone who owns land considers himself an aristocrat, and the hierarchy descends from kaiark, through kang, eiodark, baronet, baron, knight, and squire.

The Fwai-chi have retreated from the Realms, but still make their pilgrimages through the upper forests and along the high places. There is no interaction between the two races.

“Needless to say, among a people so passionate, proud, and reckless, and so anxious to expand their land holdings, conflict is not unknown. The force of the Connatic’s Second Edict and, more effectively, an embargo upon energy weapons, has eliminated formal war. But raids and forays are common, and enmities last forever. The rules of warfare are based upon two principles. First, no man may attack a person of higher rank than himself; second, since blood violence is a mirk-deed, killing is achieved at a distance with blast-bolts; aristocrats however use swords and so demonstrate fortitude. Ordinary warriors will not look at a man in the face and kill him; such an act haunts a man forever - unless the act is done by mirk, when it becomes no more than a nightmare. But only if unplanned. Premeditated murder by mirk is vile murder.”

Pardero said, “Now I know why my enemy sent me off to Bruse-Tansel instead of leaving me dead in a ditch.”

“There is a second argument against murder: it cannot be concealed. The Fwai-chi detect crimes, and no one escapes; it is said that they can taste a dead man’s blood and cite all the circumstances of his death.”

On this evening Pardero and Kolodin chose to spend the night in the tourist chambers on the lower decks of the tower. Kolodin made a videophone call and returned with a slip of paper, which he handed to Pardero. “The results of my inquiries. I asked myself, what ship leaving Port Mar would land you at Carfaunge Spaceport on tenth Mariel Gaean? Traffic Central’s computer provided a name and a date. On 2 Ferario Gaean the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line departed Port Mar. More than likely you were aboard.”

Pardero tucked the paper into his pocket. “Another matter which concerns me: how do I pay my passage to Marune? I have no money.”

Kolodin made an expansive gesture. “No difficulties there. Your rehabilitation includes an extra thousand ozols for just this purpose. Any more worries?”

Pardero grinned. “Lots of them.”

“You’ll have an interesting time of it,” said Kolodin.

The Dylas Extranuator drove out past the Pentagram, circled the diadem in the horn of the Unicorn, and coasted into Tsambara, Alastor 1317. Here Pardero made connection with a ship of the Black and Red Line which, after touching into a number of remote little places, veered off along the Fontinella Wisp and presently approached an isolated system of four dwarfs respectively orange, blue, green, and red.

Marune, Alastor 933, expanded below, to show a surface somewhat dark and heavy textured below its fleets and shoals of clouds. The ship descended and settled upon the Port Mar Spaceport. Pardero and a dozen other passengers alighted, surrendered their last ticket coupon, passed through the lobby and out upon the soil of Marune.

The time was isp. Osmo glared blue halfway up the southern sky; Maddar rode at the zenith; Cirse peered over the northeast horizon. The light was a trifle cold, but rich with those overtones provided by Maddar and Cirse, so that objects cast a three-phase shadow.

Pardero halted before the terminal, looked around the landscape, across the sky, inhaled a deep breath, exhaled. The air tasted fresh, cool, and tart, unlike both the dank air of Bruse-Tansel and the warm sweet air of Numenes. The suns sliding in different directions across the sky, the subtle lights, the taste of the air, soothed an ache in his mind he had not heretofore noticed. A mile to the west the structures of Port Mar stood clear and crisp; beyond the land fell away. The view seemed not at all strange. Whence came the familiarity? From research in Chamber 933? Or from his own experience? To the east the land swelled and rose in receding masses of ever higher mountains, reaching up to awesome heights. The peaks gleamed white with snow and gray with granite scree; below, bands of dark forest muted the slopes. Mass collided with light to create shape and shadow; the clarity of the air as it swept through the spaces was almost palpable.

The waiting bus sounded an impatient chime; Pardero slowly climbed aboard, and the bus moved off along the Avenue of Strangers toward Port Mar.

The attendant made an announcement: “First stop, the Traveler’s Inn. Second, the Outworld Inn. Then the Royal Rhune Hotel. Then over the bridge into New Town for the Cassander Inn and the University Inn.”

Pardero chose the Outworld Inn which seemed sufficiently large and impersonal.

Imminence hung in the air, so heavy that his enemy must also be oppressed.

Pardero cautiously surveyed the lobby of the Outworld Inn, but saw only off-world folk who paid him no heed. The hotel personnel ignored him. So far, so good.

He took a lunch of soup, cold meat, and bread in the dining room, as much to compose himself as to appease his appetite. He lingered at the table reviewing his plans. To broadcast the fewest ripples of disturbance, he must move softly, delicately, working from the periphery inward.

He left the hotel and sauntered back up the Avenue of Strangers toward the green-glass dome of the spaceport terminal. As he walked, Osmo dipped low and sank behind the western edge of Port Mar. Isp became rowan, with Cirse and Maddar yet in the sky, to produce a warm soft light that hung in the air like haze.

Arriving at the terminal, Pardero entered and went to the reception desk. The clerk came forward - a small portly man with the cinnamon skin and golden eyes of an upper-caste Majar, one of those who lived in the timber and stucco houses on the slopes at the back of Old Town.

“How may I serve you, sir?”

Clearly Pardero aroused in his mind no quiver of recognition.

“Perhaps you can provide me some information,” said Pardero. “On or about 2 Ferario, I took passage aboard the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line. One of the other passengers asked me to perform a small errand, which I was unable to achieve. Now I must notify him but I have forgotten his name, and I would like to glance at the relevant passenger list.”

“No difficulties here, sir; the ledger is easily consulted.” A display screen lit up; the clerk turned a knob; figures and listings flicked past. “Here we are at 2 Ferario. Quite correct, sir. The Berenicia arrived, took aboard eight passengers, and departed.”

Pardero studied the passenger list. “Why are the names in different columns?”

“By order of the Demographical Institute, so that they may gauge traffic between the worlds. Here are transients upon Marune taking departure. These names - only two, as you see - represent folk of Marune bound for other worlds.”

“My man would be one of these. Which ones took passage to Bruse-Tansel?”

The clerk, somewhat puzzled, consulted the list “Neither. Baron Shimrod’s destination was Xampias. The Noble Serle Glaize boarded the ship on an ‘open’ ticket.”

“What sort of ticket is this?”

“It is often purchased by a tourist who lacks a fixed destination. The ticket provides a stipulated number of travel-units; when these are exhausted the tourist purchases further units to fit his particular needs.”

“This ‘open ticket’ used by Serle Glaize, how far might it have taken him? To Bruse-Tansel, for instance?”

“The Berenicia does not put into Bruse-Tansel, but let me see. One hundred and forty-eight ozols to Dadarnisse Junction; to Bruce-Tassel one hundred and two ozols … Yes, indeed. You will notice that the Noble Serle Glaize bought an open ticket to the value of two hundred and fifty ozols: to Bruce-Tassel exactly.”

“So: Serle Glaize. This is my man.” Pardero reflected upon the name. It lacked all resonance, all familiar flavor. He passed two ozols across the counter to the clerk, who took them with grave courtesy.

Pardero asked: “Who sold the ticket to Serle Glaise?”

“The initial is ‘Y’; that would be Yanek, on the next shift.”

“Perhaps you could telephone Yanek and ask if he recalls the circumstances. I will pay five ozols for significant information.”

The clerk eyed Pardero sidelong. “What sort of information do you consider significant?”

“Who bought the ticket? I doubt if Serle Glaize did so himself. He must have come with a companion whose identity I wish to learn.”

The clerk went to a telephone and spoke in a guarded manner, from tune to time glancing over his shoulder toward. Pardero. At last he returned, his manner somewhat subdued. “Yanek barely recalls the matter. He believes that the ticket was bought by a person in a black Rhune cape, who also wore a gray casque with a visor and malar flaps, so that his features made no impression upon Yanek. The time was busy; Yanek was preoccupied and noticed no more.”

“This is not the information I require,” Pardero grumbled. “Is there anyone who can tell me more?”

“I can think of no one, sir.”

“Very well.” Pardero counted down another two ozols. “This is for your kind cooperation.”

“Thank you, sir. Allow me to make a suggestion. The Rhunes who visit Port Mar without exception use the Royal Rhune Hotel. Information, however, may be hard to come by.”

“Thank you for the suggestion.”

“Are you not a Rhune yourself, sir?”

“After a fashion, yes.”

The clerk nodded and uttered a soft chuckle. “A Majar will mistake a Rhune never indeed, oh never …”

In a pensive mood Pardero returned along the Avenue of Strangers. The learned computations of M.T. Rady, the sociopsychic deductions of Oswen Ollave had been validated. Still, by what obscure means had the Majar recognized him? His features were not at all peculiar; his pigmentation was hardly distinctive; his clothes and hairstyle were, by cosmopolitan standards, ordinary enough; in short, he differed little from any other guest at the Outworld Inn. No doubt he betrayed himself by unconscious gestures or attitudes; perhaps he was more of a Rhune than he felt himself to be.

The Avenue of Strangers ended at the river; as Pardero reached the bridge Madder slanted behind the western lowlands; Cirse moved slowly up the sky: green rowan.

Green ripples flickered across the water; the white walls of New Town shone pale apple-green. Along the riverfront festoons of lights appeared, indicating places of entertainment: beer gardens, dance pavilions, restaurants. Pardero scowled at the brashness of the scene, then gave a soft rueful snort. Had he surprised a set of Rhune attitudes surfacing through his amnesia?

Pardero turned into the narrow Street of Brass Bones, which curved gradually up-slope, between ancient structures of age-blackened wood. The shops facing out upon the street uniformly showed a pair of high windows, a brass-bound door, and only the most unobtrusive indication as to their wares, as if each strove to exceed his neighbor in reserve.

The Street of Brass Boxes ended in a dim shadowed square, surrounded by curio shops, bookstores, specialty houses of many varieties. Pardero saw his first Rhunes, moving from shop to shop, pondering the merchandise, indicating their needs to the Majar shopkeepers with indifferent flicks of the finger. None of them so much as glanced toward Pardero, which caused him irrationally mixed feelings.

He crossed the square and turned up the Avenue of Black Jangkars to an arched portal in a stone wall. He passed beneath and approached the Royal Rhune Hotel.

He halted before the vestibule. Once inside the Royal Rhune there could be no turning back; he must accept the consequences of his return to Marune.

Through the tall doors stepped two men and a woman - the men wearing costumes of beige and black with dark red sashes, so similar as to suggest military uniforms; the woman, almost as tall as either of the men, wore a tight blue-gray body suit, with an indigo cape draping from black epaulettes: a mode considered suitable far visits to Port Mar, where the formal gauze gowns of the Realms were inappropriate. The three marched past Pardero, each allowing him a single glance. Pardero sensed no flicker of recognition. Small cause for surprise since the Rhunes numbered well over a hundred thousand.

Pardero pushed aside the tall gaunt doors which seemed a part of the Rhune architectural environment. The lobby was an enormous high-ceilinged room with sounds echoing across a bare russet and black tile floor. The chairs were upholstered in leather. The central table displayed a variety of technical magazines and at the far end of the room a rack held brochures advertising tools, chemicals, craft supplies, papers and inks, rare woods and stones. A tall narrow arch flanked by columns of fluted green stone communicated with the office. Pardero looked briefly around the lobby and passed through the arch.