Maske: Thaery (8 page)

“As you wish.”

“Please do not lean on that table,” said Nai the Hever. “It is extremely old and has never been dealt with roughly.”

“I only laid my hand on the piece!” retorted Jubal in indignation. “What do you take me for?”

Nai the Hever gave an uninterested shrug. He turned as Mieltrude entered the room. She wore an informal white gown; under a quat of limp pale blue leather her pale hair hung smooth to the turn of her jaw.

Ignoring Jubal, she looked with an almost demure expression to her father. “You asked me to join you?”

“Yes, my dear, a matter to be clarified. This is Jubal Droad, whom you brought to the Parloury.”

“I remember distinctly.”

“He claims to have suffered inconvenience; he begs to place one or two perplexities before you, that you may elucidate the facts to his understanding.”

“I will resolve his problems as best I may, but I hope he will be expeditious, as I am expecting a telephone call.”

“Thank you, my dear. Jubal Droad, you may explain your difficulties.”

Jubal had listened with amazement, looking from one to the other. He addressed Nai the Hever. “Do I hear aright? Are these the terms in which we discussed this matter?”

“Please explain the areas of your uncertainty.”

Jubal struggled with words, then brought out the bogus warrant: “Did you or did you not take out this warrant against my life?”

Mieltrude inspected the document with minimal interest. “I recall something of the sort.”

“The warrant is illegal. You have committed a crime.”

Mieltrude let the warrant slip from her fingers to the floor. “The events have run their course.” She turned to her father. “I do not think we need take them any further.”

Jubal persisted. “You admit that you elicited this warrant?”

“The topic has no present application; my best advice is that you dismiss the entire matter… Will you be at home this evening, Father? We must make a start at reworking our guest-list.”

Jubal turned to Nai the Hever. “Sir, will you be good enough to explain to your daughter that this is not one of her usual frivolities. Please point out that a warrant has been issued against her and that she is liable for punishment.”

Nai the Hever reflected a moment. “Allow me a conjecture. Perhaps a paper was placed before the Lady Mieltrude, with a suggestion that traditional stabilities should always be supported, and the Lady Mieltrude signed the paper with no more deliberation than she thought the subject merited.”

Jubal’s voice cracked in outrage. “And an innocent man barely escapes a scalded skin and broken bones?

And that innocent man is me, a Glint nobleman of the highest caste? This transcends girlish fun.”

“I will be in the music room with Sune,” Mieltrude told her father. “As soon as you are free, we shall discuss the placings.”

“In due course, my dear.”

Mieltrude sauntered from the room. Jubal thoughtfully retrieved the warrant from the floor.

“So there you have it,” said Nai the Hever. “Let us consider the matter closed. Come this way, into my library, which has been proofed against eavesdrop; we have other affairs to discuss.”

In the library Nai the Hever waved Jubal to a straight-backed chair and went to lean against a long table covered with documents and journals.

Jubal seated himself with deliberation. “I understand then that you are waiving arbitration of this warrant?

If so, there will be no difficulty in having it processed.”

“My dear fellow, you are a positive monomaniac! Can you not leave off a subject when clearly all are bored with it? I cannot spend the entire evening with you, and we must discuss your mission.”

“This remarkable mission,” sneered Jubal. “It is not flattering to be taken for a lackwit!”

Nai the Hever seated himself in an easy-chair. Leaning back he contemplated Jubal with clinical dispassion. “You have been offered a challenging assignment and a chance to earn a handsome wage. I am puzzled by your attitude. Surely you are not trying to jockey for more money?”

“I am trying to tell you that your plot is transparent.”

“Indeed. Which plot is this?”

“You intend to ship me off-planet forever to dissolve the embarrassment of your daughter’s crime. What good are six thousand toldecks if they are here and I am there?”

Nai the Hever smiled in wry amusement. “I see that you will make a competent inspector after all. You have a natural bent for subterfuge and deceit. Compared to you, I am an innocent. But in this case you are wrong. No such plot exists.”

“I would like you to prove this.”

Nai the Hever’s amusement swiftly became scorn. “As you yourself pointed out, it is not flattering to be taken for a lackwit. Would I waste such elaborate machinations upon so trivial a problem? You live in a world of distorted reality.”

Jubal was unmoved. “This is precisely the indignant bluster you would use if in fact you were working a plot against me.”

Nai the Hever reached into a drawer and brought forth a sheaf of notes. “There is proof that you can understand. Two thousand toldecks.” He tossed them to Jubal. “Four thousand will be your total wages, not six thousand. Let us have no misunderstanding on this account, at least.”

Jubal sheafed through the notes. A sizeable sum. With another two thousand, almost enough to buy a boat like the
Clanche
. “Two thousand toldecks carry conviction,” Jubal agreed. “Fetch out paper and ink, if you please, and write as I dictate.”

Nai the Hever made no move. “And what will you dictate?”

“Write, and you will learn.”

“Dictate and I will record. Then I will learn. So what is this statement of yours?”

Jubal brought out his paper. “First the place and date… Then: ‘Know all men by this document that I, Nai the Hever, in my official capacity as Servant of the Thariot Servantry, hereby request and contract with the Honorable Jubal Droad that he undertake a task at his inconvenience and peril in furtherance of the public weal. It is stipulated that this task, by my explicit instructions, shall take Jubal Droad on a voyage away from the planet Maske, that this voyage shall not, by my executive decree, be considered a contravention of the laws of Thaery, and that Jubal Droad may publicly and freely resume his full former caste and privileges as a Thariot and a high-born Glint upon completion of the work. I guarantee to furnish safe and comfortable transport to Jubal Droad, from Wysrod to the stipulated destination and back. I agree to pay him the sum of six thousand toldecks—’”

“Four thousand toldecks.”

“‘—four thousand toldecks, said payment to be made immediately upon Jubal Droad’s return to Thaery, or as soon after as is convenient to him. I acknowledge Jubal Droad to be both my personal agent and the agent of the state, and I solemnly undertake to hold him guiltless and defend him with all the power of my office against any accusation which may be brought against him in connection with the above-named task, specifically contravention of the Alien Influence Act.’” Jubal leaned back. “Then you must sign, and affix your seal, your thumb and your secret Hever oath, and the document must be witnessed.”

Nai the Hever stopped the recorder. “You make unreal demands. Such a document, if publicized, might conceivably be used to my disadvantage by the Ymphs. You must rely upon our unwritten compact.”

“I must trust you, in short?”

“Exactly.”

Jubal tossed the two thousand toldecks to the table. He rose to his feet. “Good night Nai the Hever.”

“One moment.” Nai the Hever tugged at his pale pointed chin. Presently he said: “If I provided you such a document, where would you keep it?”

“In a safe place, naturally.”

“Where?”

“That is my private affair.”

Nai the Hever reflected further, the metal lights dancing in his eyes. “Very well,” he sighed. “I must do your bidding.” He turned to a communicator. “My dear Mieltrude.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Go to my private study. At the desk open the drawer marked ‘Official No. 4’. Bring me two sheets of parchment, a stylus, and that flask of ink marked ‘Official Documentary’. Bring these articles to the library.”

“Yes, Father.”

A moment later Mieltrude appeared with the articles Nai the Hever had requested. “Thank you, my dear,”

said Nai the Hever. “Please wait a moment. I want you to witness a document.”

Jubal made an instant protest. “She is not only frivolous but undependable. In deference to a father’s ears I will not characterize her more accurately. Also, she will never be discreet; our secrets will be the banter of all Wysrod by midnight tonight.”

“Calm yourself,” said Nai the Hever. “You judge her too harshly. A witness is a witness. Who else is in the house, daughter?”

“Sune Mircea has been with me, but she is on the point of leaving. Shall I fetch her?”

“Two giddy girls on a matter of such importance?” stormed Jubal. “My suspicions have returned!”

“In that case we will do without Sune,” said Nai the Hever. He took parchment, stylus and ink. “First, I write date, place, time. Now the text.”

Jubal cried in a voice of desperation. “Really, sir! Not in front of this girl! She is personally concerned. Is this a sensible procedure?”

“Her errors have taught her wisdom,” said Nai the Hever. “She has become quite judicious.” He turned on the recorder: “Know all men by this document,” droned Jubal’s voice, “that I, Nai the Hever, in my official capacity…”

Nai the Hever completed the affidavit, signed and sealed it. Mieltrude without comment affixed her signature.

Nai the Hever folded the document, tucked it into an envelope, and handed it to Jubal.

With a wary side-glance at Nai the Hever and Mieltrude, Jubal opened the envelope, drew forth the paper and examined it. “There is a well-known swindler’s trick,” said Jubal, “called ‘foisting the pigeon’, in which envelopes are cleverly substituted.”

“That is one I do not know,” said Nai the Hever. “Are you completely satisfied?”

“Where are my two thousand toldecks?”

“Take them. They are not counterfeit. Be here tomorrow as early as possible. Go to the kitchen and Flanish will give you breakfast.”

Jubal ignored the remark. “What time do you wish to conduct the business?”

“At the second gong.”

“I will present myself here at the second gong. One final matter: I am now your special agent and an official representative of the state. My salary, at seventeen toldecks a week, reflects poorly upon all of us.

A substantial increase would seem appropriate.”

Nai the Hever sighed. “Perhaps you are right. I will speak to Eyvant Dasduke. Henceforth you will earn twenty toldecks. Flanish! Show Jubal Droad to the door.”

“Sir, in this direction, if you please.”

“I will leave as I entered, by the front door.”

The time was middle evening; Skay had not yet risen; the sky was dark. Fairy globes, pale white, blue and lavender, illuminated the garden. The driveway curved out to the entry arch, and the Hevers had not troubled to summon a hack for Jubal’s convenience.

No matter. Jubal drew the bundle of notes from his pocket: two thousand toldecks, the largest sum he had ever handled. And also in his pocket: the contract between himself and Nai the Hever, a document no less comforting than the notes. He set out along the path toward the main gate.

A hack turned into the driveway. Had the Hevers after all considered the comfort of their visitor?

The front door opened; someone came from the house—a person slender and graceful, wearing a dark green cloak. Jubal recognized Sune Mircea.

She went to the hack; Jubal crossed the driveway and approached her. “May I share your hack into town?”

Sune had not noticed him; she jerked about startled, then became tense and wary. “What are you doing here?”

“I have been discussing business with Nai the Hever. We are, in a sense, associates; were you not aware of this?”

The light of the fairy globes illuminated Sune’s face. Jubal studied the fragile bones of her jaw and forehead, the piquant slant of her cheek. What was going on in her mind? Certainly nothing straightforward or simple. In a thoughtful voice Sune said, “Yes, you may ride in the hack; where are you going?”

“Toward the center of town.”

“That is on my way.” She stepped into the hack; Jubal followed.

“Where do you live?” asked Jubal, for want of a better topic.

“Up on Trembletree Heights. It is the oldest district of Wysrod. The Mirceas are Setrevant caste, which we hold to be more ancient than Istvant and equally honorable, though nowadays Istvants perhaps make more of a flourish.”

Jubal sat stiff, erect and cautious. Sune seemed quite relaxed, and spoke on, seemingly without reserve or calculation.

“Aren’t you the person who created such a terrible cataclysm at the Parloury?”

“I am Jubal Droad. I am a Glint, as elevated as the best of Wysrod.”

Sune laughed, an easy unrestrained laugh. “I had forgotten the notorious Glint pride. Very well then: are you not Jubal Droad the Glint who precipitated Ramus Ymph from high to low?”

“I reported a fact to Nai the Hever. The fact did the damage. I have no pity for Ramus Ymph; he is a scoundrel.”

“Oh come!” Sune protested. “He is hardly that! Ambitious, zestful, gallant, invincible—all of these perhaps. Even unprincipled—but not a scoundrel.”

“Call him what you like; he and that ammoniated Mieltrude roundly deserve each other.”

“Oh, the match is broken now. The Nobilissimus no longer needed the association. Ramus Ymph was unconcerned; his feelings were not really engaged.”

“Understandably not.”

Sune laughed again. “You really misjudge Mieltrude. She is not as icily statuesque as she likes to pretend.

It is all a game with her. I think that she prefers the world of imagination to ordinary life. She is not really gregarious, you know.”

“And you, on the other hand?”

“I am at home in all classes of society. It is tiresome always to be impinging caste.”

The hack, now trundling along one of the boulevards, slowed at an intersection. Noting a small café, Jubal said: “Perhaps you might wish to alight here and take a cordial or a goblet of wine?”