Araminta Station (69 page)

Glawen sighed in satisfaction. He bent the post back and forth until it broke; the entire window was open for his passage.

In a fury of haste, Glawen made his rope of torn sheets fast to the timber, which he now used as a toggle across the window opening. He threw the rope out the window, clambered through into the darkness and let himself slide down the rope.

His feet touched the rocky slope. “Goodbye, seminary,” said Glawen, almost choking on his exultation. “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!”

Glawen turned and picked his way down the hill, in glorious freedom. In due course he crossed the square into the village. The depot was closed and dark; an omnibus stood nearby, with the entry door ajar. Glawen looked within, to discover the driver asleep across the back seat. Glawen prodded him awake. “Do you want to earn fifty sols?”

“Naturally. That’s all I am paid each month.”

“Here you are,” said Glawen. “Drive me to Fexelburg.”

“Now? You can ride for the price of a ticket in the morning.”

“I have urgent business in town,” said Glawen. “In fact, I even have a ticket.”

“You’re a tourist, I take it.”

“Correct.”

“Did you go up to the seminary? You’ll find nothing there but surly treatment.”

“That’s how it seemed to me,” said Glawen.

“I see no reason not to oblige you. Urgent business, you say?”

“Yes. A telephone call I forgot to make.”

“A pity. But perhaps it will all come right. And meanwhile I profit by your mistake.”

“Unfortunately that is the way the world goes.”

Chapter VIII, Part 5

The omnibus moved through the night, under a sky spread with constellations strange to Glawen. Tonight the wind blew in gusts, sighing around the bus and bending the lonely frooks, where they could be seen in the starlight.

The driver was Bant, a large young Fexel of good disposition and a tendency toward garrulity. Glawen responded to his remarks in monosyllables, and Bant presently fell silent.

After two hours of travel, Glawen asked: “What of the early morning transport from Pogan’s Point? How will that be arranged?”

“I have been wondering along the same lines,” said Bant. “I foresee no real problem. In the simplest case, there will be no transport whatever, and the problem becomes moot. But I have arrived at a plan which should please everyone. In an hour or two we will arrive at Flicken, where I will telephone Esmer, the relief driver. I will offer him five sols to bring out the old green Deluxus Special to service the morning trade. Esmer will be happy to earn an increment; the customers will be content; I cannot see where a single tear of anguish need be shed - certainly not by me.”

“That is an ingenious solution. How long before we arrive at Flicken? I also want to make a telephone call.”

“I estimate another hour or an hour and a half. I am driving slowly because of the wind. The gusts make steering unpredictable at high speeds. What is your opinion on this?”

“I believe that safety is important. It is better to arrive alive than dead.”

“This is exactly my point,” said Bant. “I have explained this to Esmer; what is the value of thirty minutes, more or less, to a corpse? He is already late and no longer in a hurry. The time is more useful on this side of the veil, such is my belief.”

“And mine as well,” said Glawen. “In regard to the telephone at Flicken, the time is late; will it be available for our use?”

“Without a doubt. Keelums will be in bed upstairs but the sound of a sol or two will bring him down quickly.”

The conversation languished once again. Glawen could not wrench his thoughts away from the seminary. He wondered when his departure would be noticed. Certainly at dawn, and quite possibly earlier. Perhaps someone had already looked into his vacated chamber. Glawen grinned at the thought of the consternation which his absence would evoke, with the location of Zonk’s Tomb no longer a secret. He had been pondering the situation since leaving Pogan’s Point, and now he could not get to the telephone fast enough.

Far ahead appeared a cluster of dim lights. Bant pointed. “Flicken.”

“Why the lights? Is someone up and around?”

“I believe that it is a matter of civic pride.”

“What time might we expect to arrive in Fexelburg?”

“If we take a bowl or two of soup to ward off the chill and perhaps a slice of meat pie - let us say, a total stop of half an hour, which will include our telephone calls - we should arrive about dawn. At this time of year the nights are short.”

At dawn Glawen’s escape would be known, if not much sooner, and as if in response to the thought, Glawen felt a sudden eerie waft of emotion, seeming to come from the direction of Pogan’s Point: a rage and hatred so intense as to seem a palpable projection. Rightly or wrongly, Glawen felt assured that at this moment his absence had been discovered The bus rolled into Flicken and halted in front of the general store. Bant alighted and went to the door, where he pulled on the bell cord. “Keelums!” he called. “Arouse yourself! Sleep some other time! Keelums! Are you awake?”

“Yes, I’m awake,” croaked Keelums from an upstairs window. “It’s Bant, is it? What do you want?”

“Some hot soup and the use of your telephone. This gentleman will offer you a sol for the privilege, and if he doesn’t I will. Of course, if you are proud, you need not accept.”

“Oh, I am proud enough! Especially after I take the money. Soup, is it?”

“And some meat pie, and a taste of the raisin pudding. Open up! The wind howls and bites at my poor shanks!”

“Be patient! Allow me to pull on my robe.”

The door opened. Glawen entered the store, followed by Bant.

“Where is the telephone?” asked Glawen.

“Over on the desk, but first, before we forget, the sol.”

Glawen paid over the money and went to the telephone. He called the IPCC office at Fexelburg, and was finally connected with the Adjudicant Partric Plock at his residence. To hear the cool calm voice brought Glawen such relief that he became almost limp. “Yes?” asked Plock. “Who is calling and what do you want?”

Glawen identified himself. “I think you will remember me. Two months ago I went out to Pogan’s Point to make inquiries at the seminary.”

“I remember you very well. I thought you had gone home to Cadwal long ago.”

“I was betrayed by my colleague, who chose to join Floreste’s Mummers in preference to notifying you that I had not returned. I have been held captive for two months in Zonk’s Tomb, which is a cave in the Point. I have just escaped, and I am calling from Flicken. That is the gist of things, but there is more.”

“Go on.”

“The Fexelburg police know all there is to know about Zonk’s Tomb. They suppress the knowledge and, in effect, allow the Monomantics at the seminary a free hand so long as they also keep the secret. I suspect that as soon as the Ordene Zaa discovers that I am gone, she will notify the Fexelburg authorities, who will then try to intercept me along the road.”

“I am sure that you are right,” said Plock. “As a matter of fact, we have been waiting for some such unambiguous pretext for cleaning out the Fexelburg police force. Let me think a moment. You are at the Flicken general store?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get there?”

“I hired the omnibus.”

“When do you expect that your escape will be known?”

“A few minutes ago I had a strange telepathic sensation; it was to the effect that my escape had been discovered. In any event, they’ll know by dawn, at the latest.”

“I will be flying out to Flicken at once, with a force of men. We will arrive in about half an hour. In case the Fexelburg police have preceded us, and are already on the way, send your driver on to Fexelburg, but you remain at Flicken. The police will be coming along the road and even if they are flying, they will be delayed if they notice the bus. Do you understand my thinking?”

“Perfectly.”

“We will be there as soon as possible.”

Bant now used the telephone to make his arrangements with Esmer. He then turned to Glawen. “It is time for us to be on our way, if we wish to arrive by dawn.”

“The plans have been altered,” said Glawen. “You are to continue into Fexelburg alone.”

Bant’s round face showed surprise. “You are staying here?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that unreasonable? You want me to continue into Fexelburg with the omnibus totally empty?”

“So long as the fifty sols are not unreasonable, nothing else matters.”

“A truer word was never spoken! In that case, goodbye. It has been a pleasure dealing with you.”

The omnibus departed. Glawen went back into the store, where he gratified Keelums with another sol. “I am to wait for some friends who will be here shortly. You may go back to bed. If we need anything, we will call you.”

“Just as you like.” Keelums went off upstairs to his bed. Glawen turned down the lights and, seating himself by the window, waited in the dark.

Through his mind flashed images from the past two months, in rapid sequence, while he sat looking off into the night. The ultimate joy of his life had come when his feet had touched the rocky hillside. What if Mutis and Funo had been waiting and smiling? His mind veered away from the idea. Would the recollections ever lose their vivid emotional bite? He thought not. Even now his skin crawled to think of the grotesque deeds done to him, Glawen Clattuc. Even so, why should he be surprised? The cosmos took no notice of human rationality, or human anything whatever. As he sat brooding, another curious mood came to trouble his mind: a waft of rending grief and woe, a sadness not to be contemplated, and perhaps beyond understanding.

Glawen stared out into the night. What was happening to him? He had never before experienced such influences; could they be real? Perhaps his time immured in Zonk’s Tomb had brought him a new and unwelcome sensitivity.

The mood waned, leaving a feeling of chill and desolation. Glawen jumped to his feet and walked back and forth, swinging his arms.

Twenty minutes passed, and half an hour. Glawen went out to stand in front of the store. Down from the sky came a large black flyer, emblazoned with the nine-pointed insignia of the IPCC. It landed on a plot of empty ground behind the store; Plock alighted, followed by five uniformed personnel: a pair of full agents and three recruits.

Glawen went to meet them, and all trooped into the store, to disturb Keelums anew. Glawen ordered soup for the new arrivals. Then, at Plock’s instructions, Glawen called the Fexelburg Central Police Station. “This is Captain Glawen Clattuc. Connect me at once with Superintendent Wullin, on an important matter.”

The response was sardonic. “At this time of night? Have you had some sort of insane dream? Superintendent Wullin would not desist in his snoring for the Avatar Gundelbah himself. Try tomorrow.”

“The matter is most urgent. Connect me with Inspector Barch. Tell him Captain Glawen Clattuc is calling.”

Inspector Barch came to the telephone. “Captain Clattuc? I’m surprised to hear from you! I thought that you had gone home long ago. Why do you call while I try to sleep?”

“Because I have information of great importance, and because I am in a state of fury and outrage, both justifiable.”

“Apparently you have had some interesting adventures.”

“Yes, quite.” Glawen gave an account of his adventures, stressing his outrage, and the need for official response without a moment’s delay. “I can hardly overstate the insolence of these freakish people, and their cynical mistreatment of a police officer.”

“You have used the correct word,” said Barch. “‘Freakish’ describes them in all adequacy. For this reason, they have been treated perhaps too casually in the past.”

Glawen spoke on. “I was held for two months in a cave which they assured me was Zonk’s Tomb. Naturally I discovered no treasure. But the mystery is at last put to rest!” Even as Glawen spoke, he reflected that Barch must have known of his imprisonment. The idea made cordiality difficult.

Barch, however, seemed to have no such trouble; if anything, he was amused. “You have had an unhappy experience. Still, realities are as they are, and as you know, Lutwiler Country is outside our bailiwick.”

“And you propose to take no action?”

“Not so fast! Here on Tassadero, nothing is simple. Things are done in a certain way, and two plus two often totals seven, or perhaps thirty-seven, depending on who is in charge of the reckoning.”

“I don’t understand this kind of talk,” said Glawen. “I want simplicity, and I want action. Perhaps I should notify the IPCC, since you are worried about your jurisdiction. The IPCC acts anywhere across the Gaean Reach.”

“Exactly so, and this is why their efforts are so inept,” said Barch. “The local IPCC are all cookie-pushers. If action is what you want, you have come to the right place. You are at Flicken?”

“Correct, at Keelums’ General Store.”

“Stand by the telephone while I call Superintendent Wullin. He’ll surely order a big raid on the Monomantic seminary. But don’t call the IPCC; they’ll only interfere.”

“Whatever you say.”

A few moments later Barch called back. “The Superintendent asks that you wait where you are at Flicken. He has decided to take definite action.”

“What kind of action?”

“It will be stern and definite, I can assure you of this! We’ll discuss the options later. Above all, do not talk to anyone about your experiences.”

“I don’t see why not. In fact, I’ll talk to whoever is interested, since I have undoubtedly located Zonk’s Tomb and there is not so much as a counterfeit dinket to be found. This news should be disseminated rapidly, as a service to tourists.”

“That’s an altruistic point of view,” said Barch. “Is there anyone to whom you have already told your story?”

“No, it’s still too early.”

“We’ll be out right away.”

“You’ll need a large flyer.”

“What for?”

“There are thirty Monomantics at the seminary. I am bringing charges against them all and I want every one of them in custody.”

“I don’t know if we can do that today,” said Barch.