Night Lamp (23 page)

“But time is short, and I must make haste if I am so much as to adumbrate the scope of my thinking. I deal with the mystery of life, personality and individual destiny: concepts which are embodied in the idea of ‘tamsour.’

“My thesis is that I have generated a cosmos by my own striving: a cosmos which draws its élan from my own life energy and uses my noble impulses to augment its own characteristics. This cosmos, so I might have hoped, considering my natural attributes, should have been amiable and supportive, but as you have heard the opposite was the case and I met malice at every turn. Is it not strange and wonderful, that this cosmos of my own creation should in its arrogance draw itself up before me, mocking and sarcastic, to become my implacable tormentor?” Laurz Mur leaned forward, face stern. “For a time I felt that we were evenly matched, but now the cosmos gains strength, and would reduce me to a paltry squeaking sub-thing, had I not found a means to blast the cosmos and its most precious darlings.” Laurz Mur glanced at a clock and took up his satinwood mallet. “Ladies and gentlemen, the hour verges upon the time of recess, and the most glorious, most dramatic tamsour ever conceived. I have outwitted the cosmos! I batter it, I destroy its precious things, I smash its ornaments; I knock it awry; I annihilate it! The time is—now!” He struck the gong with his mallet.

The central chandelier grew suddenly luminescent. For the fraction of a second, those who were looking up saw it separate into flying shards of colored glass with an eye-searing glare behind, which instantaneously expanded to fill the rotunda and explode the colored glass of the great hemisphere into splinters, and so ended the conclave at Dimplewater on the world Ushant, in a tamsour which would excite murmurs of awe for centuries to come.

The big old house echoed to the sounds of emptiness. Jaro realized, with sorrow and guilt, that he had taken Hilyer and Althea for granted, as if they would be with him forever. But now they were gone, exploded into luminous dust, along with all their kindness and humor, and he could not bring them back.

Jaro sorrowfully put sentimentality aside and set about the dreary process of reorganizing his life. He arranged for the removal of all the Faths’ personal possessions; otherwise, everywhere he looked he would be reminded of their cheerful presence. Out the door went shoes, clothes, lotions and cosmetics, oddments of this and that, as well as much of the heavy old furniture which the frugal Hilyer had refused to jettison. Althea’s candelabra? They represented so much of Althea, her joy and enthusiasm, that Jaro could not bring himself to include them in his house-cleaning. Some he stored in a pair of cabinets; others he arranged along a high shelf, where they imparted color and vitality to an otherwise drab room.

During the first two days after receiving the news from Ushant, Jaro made several attempts to reach Skirl, both by way of the Clam Muffin Committee and at Sassoon Ayry. On the third day a cool voice, responding to his call to Sassoon Ayry, notified him that the bank had seized all of Clois Hutsenreiter’s assets, closed the house to tenancy. The former occupants of the house were no longer in residence. Jaro asked, “Where, then, is Skirl Hutsenreiter?”

The cool voice replied: “The bank cannot supply this sort of information. Such questions should be placed with an appropriate agency.”

The next morning Jaro was visited by a gentleman of obvious comporture, wearing a Kahulibah emblem. He was suave of demeanor, sleek of torso, impeccably groomed and barbered, with sparse dark hair, plump cheeks, large dog-brown eyes. With each movement he exuded a waft of forest-fern essence.

The gentleman introduced himself. “I am Forby Mildoon, an acquaintance of your late father. What a dreadful tragedy! I happened to be passing along Katzvold Road, so I thought to drop in and express my condolences.”

“Thank you,” said Jaro. Forby Mildoon stepped forward and Jaro perforce had to move aside. Mr. Mildoon marched into the house. Jaro looked after him with raised eyebrows, then shrugged and followed Mr. Mildoon into the sitting room.

“Please be seated,” said Jaro formally. Mildoon made an all-inclusive assessment of the room; then, after considering his limited choice, settled gingerly upon the couch. “I see that you have been hard at work,” said Mildoon. “Very sensible; it’s the best way to ease your emotion. I trust that things are going passably well?”

“Well enough.”

Mildoon made a gesture of sympathy and once again looked around the room, showing no more approval than before. “I hope you are not alone. You should be with your friends, or at your club.”

Jaro said stonily, “I have work to do.”

Mildoon smiled and nodded his endorsement of Jaro’s activities. “It appears that before long you’ll be moving into more suitable accommodations?”

“I’ll stay here. Why should I move?”

“Hm ha. It’s rather a desolate old barn for you to be rattling around in; don’t you think?”

Jaro made no reply. Mildoon gave a small self-conscious cough and shuffled his feet. “Oh me, oh my! How the time dashes past, with worlds of work confronting me! I must be on my way.” He started to rise, then paused, as if at the advent of a sudden thought. “Perhaps I should not bring the matter up at this time, but I’ll do so anyway, out of respect for your late father. Over the last few months he’s shown some interest in selling the property. I had to tell him that the market was rather limp, but only yesterday I got wind of what might turn out to be an advantageous situation. Do you wish to hear the details?”

“I don’t think I’m interested. I plan to do some remodeling, then I might rent.”

Mildoon gave his head a dubious shake. “Remodeling is a risky business and you may well end up pouring money down a rathole. I’ve seen many such projects come to grief.”

Jaro, now half-amused, said, “It might be cheaper and end up safer to do nothing whatever.”

Mildoon blew out his plump cheeks. “If you can tolerate such a dreary life out here in the rain and wind! It’s a virtual wilderness!”

“I’m used to it; in fact, I like it.”

“Still, you’d be better off selling, in my opinion, and at once, while the market is still showing signs of life. In fact, I’ll go out on a limb and bend the Association’s scalebook of values to its limit and make you an offer myself.”

“That’s nice of you,” said Jaro. “What sort of offer did you have in mind?”

“Oh—probably as much as fifteen thousand, though you’d have to act quickly before the bottom falls out of the market.”

Odd how eager Forby Mildoon’s eyes had become, thought Jaro.

“For just the house? And I keep the acreage?”

Mildoon’s face expressed shock and injured dignity. “Of course not! I’m quoting for house and acreage together.”

Jaro laughed. “There’s five hundred acres of beautiful forest and meadow out there!”

Mildoon made an incredulous sound. “Five hundred acres of stone and muck is closer to the truth! It’s a breeding ground for stimps and leeches: sheer sodden wasteland.”

“The price is far too low,” said Jaro. “Not nearly enough for my purposes.”

Mildoon’s glossy bonhomie began to wear thin and his voice sharpened. “Just what, then, is your figure?”

“Oh—I don’t know. I haven’t given the matter any thought. I’d probably want something closer to thirty-five or forty thousand, or more.”

“What!” Mildoon was scandalized. “I can’t raise that kind of money! We must be realistic; these are the stern facts of life. If I gave you as much as twenty, or even nineteen thousand, my family would lock me away in a padded cell!”

“Your family is a ferocious tribe,” said Jaro. “As I recall, you are related to Dame Vinzie Bynnoc.”

“Well—yes. She is truly a grand old lady, and an inspiration to everyone! But back to Merriehew—”

“All taken with all, I am not yet ready to sell.”

Mildoon ruminated, rubbing his chin. “Let me see. I suppose I could noodle a bit here and doodle a bit there and take this rundown old place, and the acreage, off your hands for seventeen or eighteen thousand. Call it kindly benevolence, if you like.”

“Rundown or not, the house is where I can live, until I decide what to do with myself. In the meantime, the market may improve, or someone may make me a better offer.”

Mildoon became instantly alert. “Have you had other offers?”

“Not yet.”

Mildoon squinted thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “Needless to say, my time is worth money, and I can’t chase acorns up and down Katzvold Road. If you’ll close the deal now, I’ll go as high as twenty thousand. The price is good for about five minutes, then it drops again.”

Jaro looked him over curiously. “I gather that you are buying for your own interests?”

“Only as a wild speculation, which I don’t know how to justify.”

Jaro laughed. “Don’t worry an instant about your recklessness. I don’t plan to sell.”

Mildoon inquired plaintively, “Why are you asking so unreasonable a sum?”

“I want to finance some extensive space travel.”

Mildoon pulled at his chin. “I will pay five thousand sols for a three-year option. This may be your wisest move! If you like, I’ll write out the document here and now and place five thousand sols in your hand! Doesn’t that sound like an attractive deal?”

Jaro smilingly shook his head. “It’s worse than ever. Why do you want the property so badly? Because of Lumilar Vistas?”

Forby Mildoon blinked rapidly. “Where did you hear of Lumilar Vistas?”

“Simple enough. Clois Hutsenreiter sold Yellowbird Ranch to Fidol Combine, which sold out to Lumilar Vistas, to your great disadvantage, so I am told.”

“ ‘Told’? By whom?”

“By my father. He saw a notice to this effect in the newspaper.”

“Stuff and nonsense! Sheer bullypup!”

Jaro shrugged. “Maybe yes, maybe no. I don’t care one way or the other.”

Forby Mildoon jumped to his feet and with minimal civility departed Merriehew.

Halfway through the afternoon Jaro received a telephone call from Skirl Hutsenreiter. He asked, “Where are you? I’ve been trying to call you for days.”

“I’ve been staying at the Clam Muffin Club.” Her voice, thought Jaro, seemed flat and dispirited.

“You should have called before! I’ve been worried about you!”

Skirl’s voice remained cool and impersonal. “I’ve been busy with a hundred details. The house is sequestered, of course. The bankers locked me out, which is why I’m at the club.”

“For how long?”

“A week or so, I suppose. Everyone is being nice to me, since now I’m officially a homeless orphan. I don’t know how long the mood will last.”

“What about money?”

“I’ve been trying to find some—which reminds me of why I called you. My father’s lawyer is Flaude Reveless. He showed me a clause in the Yellowbird sales contract between my father and Fidol Combine. Father was conceded a small percentage of any further sale of the property, if it occurred during the next five years subsequent to the sale. Fidol sold to Lumilar Vistas and activated the clause, which Mr Reveless noticed; otherwise the clause would have been ignored and, indeed, Lumilar pretended that the clause was invalid because my father was dead. I said that I wasn’t dead and I wanted to collect the money before the bank found out about it, so Mr. Reveless and I went to the Lumilar offices to straighten things out. While Mr. Reveless explained matters to Gilfong Rute, I wandered around the Lumilar offices, and finally looked into the architect’s studio. On the walls hung drawings and sketches of Mr. Rute’s latest scheme: a very large and very luxurious development to be known as Levyan Zarda. There would be a magnificent club, with facilities of every kind, as well as about fifty private secluded manor houses. The rest of the property was designated ‘Outdoor Sport,’ ‘Swimming’ and ‘Wilderness.’ As I studied the charts I became aware of a most surprising situation: Levyan Zarda was situated on a block of properties which I recognized to be Yellowbird Ranch, Merriehew and the lands north of Merriehew to the river.”

“This is remarkable news,” said Jaro. “It explains a great deal.”

“Yes,” said Skirl. “I thought that you would be interested. In any event the architect discovered me in his office and became fearfully cross. He said that the drawings were confidential and that if Mr. Rute discovered me snooping about his private affairs, where he had already spent half a million sols, he would take definite steps to ensure my discretion. It sounded menacing. I told him not to worry, that I had seen nothing of interest, and I went into the outer offices to wait.

“After a few minutes Mr. Reveless appeared. He told me that Gilfong Rute had grumbled a bit, but in the end had issued a warrant for the amount due. The next step was to place the money without delay into another bank, secure from the loan officers at my father’s bank, which we did. As a consequence, I have salvaged about twelve hundred sols from the estate. There is another four hundred sols in a small trust fund my father forgot to loot, and Mr. Reveless says that this is also at my disposal. The bank is going to allow me my clothes and a few personal possessions. What next? I don’t know, except that I’ll be starting my career as an effectuator, whether I’m licensed or not. What about you?”

“I’ll be going back to work at the terminal; in fact, I’m seeing Gaing Neitzbeck tonight at the Blue Moon Inn.”

“I thought that the Faths left you well off.”

“So they did. I have a monthly income of five hundred sols from the investments, but I can’t touch the principal until I am forty years old. I still can’t finance space travel, even if I knew where to go. That could be your first job as an effectuator: discover where the Faths found me.”

“I’ll think about it. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“So you say. I’ve been looking high and low. When can I see you?”

“I don’t know. Don’t telephone me at the Clam Muffins; they won’t take your call.”

“Just as you like,” said Jaro coldly. “In any event, thanks for the information regarding Lumilar and Levyan Zarda.”

“Yes; I hope you will find it useful. Now I must go.” The line went dead. Jaro turned away, frowning and dissatisfied. The call had provided him much to think about; otherwise, it had not been gratifying. Skirl seemed more remote than ever. What was he to make of the entrancing, if perverse, little creature?

As dusk settled into evening, Jaro met Gaing at the Blue Moon Inn, a combination saloon and restaurant at the edge of the woods, halfway between Thanet and the space terminal. The Blue Moon was the closest approach to a true spaceman’s saloon as might be found in the rather prim purlieus of Thanet. The patrons for a fact included genuine spacemen from the terminal, attracted by the cosmopolitan cuisine and the easy atmosphere. Also on hand were stylish young couples of middle status, hoping to discover intrigue, hints of exotic vice, the heady flavor of illicit adventure.

Jaro and Gaing found a table in the shadows, where they were served tankards of beer and platters of pepper steak. Tonight Gaing was even more taciturn than usual, as if he were preoccupied with private concerns. Jaro was puzzled. Gaing’s temperament was seldom other than impassive.

While they devoured their dinner Jaro told Gaing of Forby Mildoon’s visit to Merriehew House. “When he made his first offer, he was casual and seemed to care little whether I accepted or not. Gradually he became nervous, and finally he cried out in sheer misery that he lacked the money to meet my price; then he wanted an option. I began to wonder about his urgency. Then I thought of Gilfong Rute, and wondered no longer. I even felt sorry for Lyssel Bynnoc who took me to meet her uncle Forby Mildoon at the Conservatory. Poor Lyssel! Forby Mildoon never arrived; it was the day Rute had dumped him from Lumilar Vistas and the Levyan Zarda project. This morning he thought to steal a march on Gilfong Rute—but failed.”

“Tragic,” said Gaing. “Very sad.”