Araminta Station (25 page)

“Scholarly but absurd,” said Uther Offaw.

Kiper Laverty said: “Girls are curious creatures, but their motives yield to close observation. I learn all I need to know by watching how a girl twitches her fingers, especially her little fingers.”

“Total nonsense!” said Kirdy Wook. “Why would a girl attempt such subtle refinements? She’s got better things to wave than her little finger.”

Shugart Veder said, somewhat ponderously: “In my opinion, there are no valid shortcuts; one must study the whole picture.”

“Possibly yes, possibly no,” said Arles. “Still, I can pick out a sizzler at a distance of fifty yards, simply by watching the way she walks.”

Uther Offaw shook his head. “In this case I must side with Shugart.  Personally, I keep a schematic image in my notebook, and I synthesize information from several key parameters. I have never known the system to be at fault.”

Arles put on a patronizing grin. “Specifically, then: how do you and your index rate, let’s say, Ottillie, zero being a dead fish and ten a real go-for-broke steamer?”

“As I recall, my figures indicate that Ottillie can be had, by the right man in the right place at the right time.”

“Very informative,” said Arles. “What is the line on Wayness?”

Uther frowned. “In this case, I am not satisfied with my figures.  She puts out too many contradictory signals. At first I thought she was prim; now I find her strangely attractive.”

“It’s not strange at all,” said Kiper. “In those tight pants she’s practically edible.”

“Quiet, Kiper,” said Shugart. “You curdle the moral atmosphere.”

Kirdy Wook addressed Kiper: “I thought that you were a proponent of the ‘twitching finger’ theory.”

“I looked at her fingers first,” said Kiper. “Then I changed.”

“I wish you chaps would talk of something else,” grumbled Kirdy Wook. “I came down here to study.”

“So did I,” said Arles. He looked down at his books with disfavor. “This stuff’s dry as dog bone. Uther, you’re a mathematical genius; work out these problems for me! They’re due tomorrow, and I’ve only just started.”

Uther smilingly shook his head. “I refuse to start down a long futile road. Face the facts, Arles. To pass the course, you must be able to solve such problems.”

Arles spoke in a voice of reproach: “Is this the brave Grand Pouncer, Sage of the Pride, who dispenses such bleak mercy to a pack member with a sore paw?”

“I am the Grand Pouncer and a roaring true Bold Lion! If I solved your problems tonight, tomorrow you would stare even more blankly at the next set. In the end I would drudge through all your work until the examination; which you would fail; with gratitude for no one, least of all me.”

Shugart Veder said: “I thought you were working with a tutor.”

Arles grunted. “He was inept in every respect! First, he tried to put me through a lot of meaningless drills: elementary stuff! What I needed was a clear and easy way to solve the problems, and all he would say was: ‘In due course!’ and ‘First things first!’ Finally I told him either to teach me properly, or to stand aside for someone who could.”

“Those were strong words! What did he say?”

“Nothing much. He knew I’d caught him out fair and square, so he just gave a hollow laugh and walked away. Curious chap.”

“So who worked your last problem-set, when the tutor refused to do so?”

Kirdy Wook murmured: “Could it have been Spanchetta, noblest of lion mothers?”

Arles scowled blackly and slammed the book shut. “She might have given me a hint or two. What of it?”

“Face facts, Arles! Spanchetta can’t take the examination for you.”

“Bah!” muttered Arles. “You sound like my tutor.” He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “I’m not worried. I know how to deal with these so-called facts, if the need arises!”

All around the table faces looked blankly at Arles. Uther Offaw said coldly: “I don’t understand what you are saying. Do you care to explain?”

“Certainly I’ll explain, if you’re too dense to catch on for yourself! Changes are coming around here! Some will be pushed forward; others will get left behind. I wanted the Bold Lions to be in the lead. Now I don’t know. The group is getting worse instead of better. Now do you understand?”

“I do not, but I must say that I don’t like the tone of your words.”

Arles grinned. “Don’t be such a tame little lap-pussy! Maybe we’ll have to vote in a new Grand Pouncer after all! Someone who’ll get things properly done.” Arles gathered his books together. “I’m leaving; there are things I’d rather be doing elsewhere.”

Arles departed the Old Arbor, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Shugart finally said: “Not a nice scene, at all. I can’t imagine what he’s talking about.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t like it,” said Uther in a troubled voice. “It’s downright sinister.”

Cloyd Veder said: “When he gets into this kind of mood he’s unpredictable . . . I wonder what he had in mind when he said he wanted the Bold Lions in the lead.”

Kirdy Wook drained his goblet and collected his books. “Arles is just full of big talk.”

“And what does he mean ‘the group is getting worse’? That’s not a proper thing to say.”

Kirdy rose. to his feet. “He can’t get used to seeing Glawen in the group. . . where is Glawen? He was here the last time I looked.”

Kiper said: “He left a minute ago - slipped away like a shadow, just after Arles went. He’s another odd one.”

Kirdy said: “That applies more or less to all of us . . . I’ll be getting along too.”

“And I”, said Uther. “The meeting, such as it was, is adjourned.”

Chapter III, Part 8

Glawen unobtrusively departed the Old Arbor and went out into Wansey Way, where he paused to look and listen . . . He heard only a muffled murmur of voices from the Old Arbor. The Quadrangle lay quiet and empty in the starlight. Wansey Way went off toward the beach between patches of dappled starlight and heavy shade. But nowhere could be seen the dark moving shape which might indicate the present location of Arles: a fact which suddenly had become a matter of grave importance.

Where, then, was Arles? At the meeting he had seemed edgy and preoccupied, as if something were gnawing at his mind.

Glawen thought that he might be able to guess what was troubling Arles.

Where was he now?

The first and obvious place to look was Clattuc House. Glawen turned and ran up the avenue. He pushed open the main portal and looked into the foyer. The footman on duty gave him a polite salute. “Good evening, sir.”

“Has Arles come in just recently?”

“Yes, sir: about five minutes ago.”

The response took Glawen by surprise. “And he hasn’t come down again?”

“No, sir. Dame Spanchetta met him here on her way out and gave firm instructions in regard to schoolwork. Master Arles went up to his chambers but without enthusiasm.”

“Hmmf,” muttered Glawen. “Most peculiar. . .” Upstairs, his own rooms were dark and silent; Scharde was gone. Feeling puzzled and dissatisfied, Glawen flung himself into a chair and sat staring into space.

A new concept entered his mind. He went to his bedroom, opened the window and clambered out upon the roof. Nearby a great oak tree grew close to the roof, affording a secret route to the ground when, in years previous, the mood had so inclined him. Now he went quietly around the roof until he could see the windows giving upon Arles’ bedroom. The window was open, but the room behind was dark.

Glawen returned across the dank old tiles to his bedroom. Verification was necessary. He called Arles on the telephone. There was no answer.

Cursing under his breath, Glawen now struggled to resolve a new predicament. If he telephoned Riverview House, while precautions might be taken, he inevitably would be made to seem the source of an overexcitable clamor and probably false alarm, to his helpless embarrassment.

Furious with himself for worrying over such paltry considerations, Glawen turned away from the telephone. Now: every minute was important; Arles had a goodly head start. Glawen left his rooms, descended the stairs and departed Clattuc House at best speed. He ran down the avenue to Wansey Way, out to the Beach Road, then south toward Riverview House: at all times peering ahead lest he overtake Arles – assuming that Arles were, for a fact, hunching along the road ahead.

Glawen stopped to listen. The ocean was still. A pink flush at the horizon signaled the imminent appearance of Lorca and Sing. He heard the soft sound of the surf and occasionally the hushed call of a night bird in the palms and tanjee trees beside the road.

Glawen proceeded, but more slowly and cautiously. If Arles were also traversing the road on his secret business, he could not be far ahead, and it would not be comfortable to come hard up on Arles out here in the dark. Glawen gave a grimace; he should have brought a weapon.

Glawen trotted soundlessly ahead . . . Aha! He stopped short. At the edge of his vision: a lurching shadow which could only be Arles, and Glawen felt a grim satisfaction that his intuition had been confirmed.

Reality also brought a thrill of fear. Glawen had no illusions regarding his ability to cope with Arles, and again he wished he had brought a weapon.

With even greater caution, Glawen started forward once again, keeping to the shadows whenever possible, proceeding just fast enough to keep pace with the dark shape ahead. There was something odd about its contours; was it definitely Arles? Glawen could not be sure, but dared draw no closer, though the figure, moving at a lumbering half trot, seemed oblivious to the possibility of anyone coming behind.

The road approached the grove of trees surrounding Riverview House, with starlight glinting on the river lagoon beyond . . . Another hundred yards and the dark figure stopped short and seemed to appraise the landscape. Glawen dropped into a patch of deep shadow. Riverview House, on a knob of land extending into the lagoon, could now be placed by a glimmer of lights from its windows.

Glawen, skulking through the shade, moved closer to the dark figure. Suddenly, as if perturbed by a psychic impulse, it turned and looked back the way it had come. The movement caused its outlines to billow; with a flush of something like horror, Glawen saw that it wore a long loose cloak and some sort of loose mask to conceal its features. Glawen was now close enough to identify the shape: it was a secret and horrid version of Arles, hitherto unknown - at least to Glawen. Again he regretted the lack of a weapon. Groping along the ground, Glawen found the dead frond of a parasol tree. Carefully he stripped away the fiber spokes, to produce a flexible pole with a bulb of heavy dank sponge at one end. He backed into the shadows, and with great caution broke off the tip, to produce a serviceable cudgel three feet long.

Glawen crept forward again. Out over the sea Lorca and Sing had appeared, to cast a pallid pink light over the scene. But now, where was Arles? He was nowhere to be seen.

Glawen jumped to his feet and stared south down the beach. Arles could not have gone far. The beach stretched away blank and empty. Where, then, was Arles?

Glawen moved slowly forward. Arles might have ventured down the path toward Riverview House. Or he might have gone down to the shore of the lagoon, where he could watch and wait unseen in the deep shade under the weeping willows.

Glawen listened. From the direction of the lagoon came the plash of nocturnal water animals: otterlings - or water cats - timorous creatures who would dive deep and hide at any alarm.

If Arles had come this way, he had used great stealth indeed. The sounds halted - which might mean much or nothing.

Glawen ran crouching up the path to the shore of the lagoon. To his left he saw a boathouse, a dock and ripples glinting pink and white where someone was swimming and disturbing the surface of the water. All was now explained: here was the source of the splashing sounds, and unquestionably Arles was near at hand.

Step by slow step Glawen moved around the shore, wincing at every shift of position for fear of snapping a twig or otherwise alerting Arles to his presence.

His caution was perhaps exaggerated. Absorbed in the view, Arles lacked interest in extraneous details, and in any event what could concern him? He felt majestic in his power. All contingencies had been dealt with; there was nothing to fear. If anyone should ask, the footman would attest that he had never left Clattuc House, and who would or could contradict him? Disguised in a mask and cloak, Arles had marched through the night like a god incognito: a creature of force and mystery, the stuff of legends. He also carried clever devices to be used as needed, even though tonight he had come out with no fixed plan – “on the prowl,” so he told himself. And tonight he had prowled to good effect. He leaned forward, avid and keen, absorbed in what could be seen of the nude body where it glimmered pale in the dark water.

The swimmer was Wayness. She floated now with only her face and the top of her head exposed, arms outstretched, holding position by deft twitches of her hands. Moving her legs, she brought them to the surface and lay floating lazily on her back, gazing up at the stars. Arles began to breathe hard through clenched teeth.

Wayness kicked her feet, churning the water and propelling herself toward the dock, where she had left a robe, sandals and a towel. Along the shore moved Arles, watching her every movement. She was about to come from the water and most convenient to hand. Ha! Could there be any choice? A man exposed to this kind of stimulation could not be expected to restrain himself!

Wayness climbed a ladder to the dock and for a moment stood looking over the water and letting herself drip, while the light of Lorca and Sing invested her skin with a wonderful ruddy glow.

Wayness picked up the towel, rubbed her hair, dried her face, arms and torso, gave her back, haunches and legs a few desultory wipes, then threw the robe over her shoulders, thrust her feet in the sandals and stepped down from the dock.

A shape came up behind her and attempted to drop a loose bag  over her head. Wayness gave a startled cry, threw up her arms and pulled away the bag, which fell to the ground. Jerking around, Wayness saw a looming dark shape, anonymous behind dark cloak and black mask. Her knees loosened and gave way; she sagged back against the dock.