Trullion: Alastor 2262 (6 page)

Glinnes found the house empty upon his return both Glay and Marucha had departed. Glinnes was plunged into a state of gloom. He went out on the verandah and looked toward the Drosset tents, half of a mind to call them over for a farewell feast-or more particularly Duissane, beyond dispute a fascinating creature, bad temper and all. Glinnes pictured her as she might look in a kindly mood … Duissane would enliven any occasion … An absurd idea. Vang Drosset would cut his heart out at the mere suspicion.

Glinnes went back into the house and poured himself a draught of wine. He opened the larder and considered the sparse contents. How different from the open-hearted bounty he remembered from the happy old times! He heard the gurgle and hiss of a prow cutting water. Going out onto the verandah, Glinnes watched the approaching boat. It contained not Marucha, whom he expected, but a thin long-armed man with narrow shoulders and sharp elbows, in a suit of dark brown and blue velvet cut after that fashion favored by the aristocrats. Wispy brown hair hung almost to his shoulders; his face was mild and gentle, with a hint of impish mischief in the cast of his eyes and the quirk of his mouth. Glinnes recognized Janno Akadie the mentor, whom he remembered as voluble, facetious, at times mordant or even malicious, and never at a loss for an epigram, an allusion, a profundity, which impressed many but irked Jut Hulden.

Glinnes walked down to the dock and, catching the mooring line, made the boat fast to the bollard. Jumping nimbly ashore, Akadie gave Glinnes an effusive greeting. “I heard you were home and couldn’t rest till I saw you. A pleasure having you back among us!”

Glinnes gave polite acknowledgment to the compliments, and Akadie nodded more cordially than ever. “I fear we’ve had changes since your departure-perhaps not all of them to your liking.”

“I really haven’t had time to make up my mind,” said Glinnes cautiously, but Akadie paid no attention and looked up at the dim house. “Your dear mother is away from home?”

“I don’t know where she is, but come drink a pot or two of wine.” Akadie made an acquiescent gesture. The two walked up the dock toward the house. Akadie glanced toward Rabendary Forest, where the Drosset’s fire showed as a flickering orange spark.

“The Trevanyi are still on hand, I notice.”

“They leave tomorrow.”

Akadie nodded sagely. “The girl is charming but fey — that is to say, burdened with a weight of destiny. I wonder for whom she carries her message.”

Glinnes lofted his eyebrows; he had not thought of Duissane in so dire a connection, and Akadie’s remark struck reverberations within him. “As you say, she seems an extraordinary person.” Akadie settled into one of the old string chairs on the verandah. Glinnes brought out wine, cheese and nuts, and they sat back to watch the wan colors of the Trullion sunset.

“I take it you are home on leave?”

“No. I’ve left the Whelm. I now seem to be Squire of Rabendary — unless Shira returns, which no one considers likely.”

“Two months is indeed an ominous period,” said Akadie, somewhat sententiously. “What do you think became of him?” Akadie sipped his wine. “I know no more than you, in spite of my reputation.”

“Quite bluntly, I find the situation incomprehensible,” said Glinnes. “Why did Glay sell Ambal? I can’t understand it; he’ll neither explain nor give back the money so that I can void the contract. I never expected to find so troublesome a situation. What is your opinion on all this?”

Akadie placed his mug delicately upon the table. “Are you consulting me professionally? It might well be money wasted, since, offhand, I see no remedy for your difficulties.”

Glinnes heaved a patient sigh; here again: the Akadie with whom he never quite knew how to deal. He said, “If you can make yourself useful, I’ll pay you.” And he had the satisfaction of seeing Akadie purse his lips.

Akadie arranged his thoughts. “Hmmf. Naturally I can’t charge you for casual gossip. I must make myself useful, as you put it. Sometimes the distinction between social grace and professional help is narrow. I suggest that we put this occasion on one basis or another.”

“You can call it a consultation,” said Glinnes, “since the matter has come to rest on these terms.”

“Very well. What do you wish to consult about?”

“The general situation. I want to get a grip on affairs, but I’m working in the dark. First of all: Ambal Isle, which Glay had no right to sell.”

“No problem here. Return the payment and void the contract.”

“Glay won’t give me the money, and I don’t have twelve thousand ozols of my own.”

“A difficult situation,” agreed Akadie. “Shira, of course, refused to sell. The deal was made only after his disappearance.”

“Hmmm What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing whatever. I’m supplying facts from which you can draw whatever inferences you like.”

“Who is Lute Casagave?”

“I don’t know. Superficially he seems a gentleman of quiet tastes, who takes an amateur’s interest in local genealogy. He’s compiling a conspectus of the local nobility, or so he tells me. His motives might well be other than pure scholarship, it goes without saying. Might he be trying to establish a claim upon one or another of the local titles? If so, interesting events will be forthcoming, Hmm. What else do I know of the mysterious Lute Casagave? He claims to be a Bole from Ellet, which is Alastor 485, as you’re no doubt aware. I have my doubts.”

“How so?”

“I am an observant man, as you know. After my little lunch at his manor, I consulted my references. I found that, oddly enough, the great majority of Boles are left-handed. Casagave is right-handed. Most Boles are devoutly religious and their place of perdition is the Black Ocean at the South Pole of Ellent; submarine creatures house the souls of the damned. On Ellent, to eat wet food is to encompass within oneself a clutch of vile influences. No Bole eats fish. Yet Lute Casagave quite placidly enjoyed a stew of sea-spider, and afterward a fine grilled duck-fish, no less than I. Is Lute Casagave a Bole?” Akadie held out his hands. “I don’t know.”

“But why should he pretend to a false identity? Unless — “

“Exactly. Still, the explanation may be quite ordinary. Perhaps he is an emancipated Bole. Over-subtlety is an error as gross as innocence.”

“No doubt. Well, this to the side. I still can’t give him his money because Glay won’t return it. Do you know where it is?“

“I do.” Akadie darted a side-glance toward Glinnes. “I must remark that this is Class Two information and I must calculate your fee accordingly.”

“Quite all right,” said Glinnes.’If that seems exorbitant you can always recalculate. Where is the money?”

“Glay paid it to a man named Junius Farfan, who lives in Welgen.”

Glinnes frowned off across Ambal Broad. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“Quite likely. He is secretary of the local Fanschers.**

“Oh? Why should Glay give him the money? Is Glay a Fanscher as well?”

“If not, he is on the brink. So far, he does not affect the mannerisms and idiosyncrasies.”

Glinnes had a sudden insight. “The odd gray clothes? The shorn hair?”

“These are overt symbols. The movement has naturally provoked an angry reaction, and not unreasonably. The precepts of Fanscherade directly contradict conventional attitudes and must be considered anti-social.”

“This means nothing to me,” Glinnes grumbled. “I’ve never heard of Fanscherade till today.”

Akadie spoke in his most didactic voice: The name derives from old Glottisch: Fan is a corybantic celebration of glory. The thesis appears to be no more than an insipid truism: life is a commodity so precious that it must be used to best advantage. Who could argue otherwise? The Fanschers engender hostility when they try to implement the idea. They feel that each person must establish exalted goals, and fulfill them if he can. If he fails, he fails honorably and has satisfaction in his striving; he has used his life well. If he wins-” Akadie made a wry gesture. “Who in this life ever wins? Death wins. Still — Fanscherade is at its basis a glorious ideal.”

Glinnes made a skeptical sound. Five trillion folk of Alastor, all striving and straining? There’d be peace for no one.”

Akadie gave a smiling nod. “Understand this: Fanscherade is not a policy for five trillion. Fanscherade is one single outcry of wild despair, the loneliness of a single man lost among an infinity of infinities. Through Fanscherade the one man defies and rejects anonymity; he insists upon his personal magnificence.” Akadie paused, then made a wry grimace. “One might remark, parenthetically, that the only truly fulfilled Fanscher is the Connatic.” He sipped his wine. The sun had set. Overhead hung a high layer of frosty green cirrus; to south and north were wisps and tufts of rose, violet and citron. For a period the two men sat in silence.

Akadie spoke in a soft voice. “So then — that is Fanscherade. Few Fanschers comprehend their new creed; after all, most are children distressed by the sloth, the erotic excesses, the irresponsibility, the slovenly appearance of their parents. They deplore the cauch, the wine, the gluttonous feasts, all of which are consumed in the name of immediacy and vivid experience. Perhaps their principal intent is to establish a new and distinctive image for themselves. They cultivate a neutral appearance, on the theory that a person should be known not by the symbols he elects to display but by his conduct.”

“A group of strident and callow malcontents!” growled Glinnes. “Where do they find the insolence to challenge so many persons older and wiser than themselves?”

“Alas!” sighed Akadie. “You’ll find no novelty there.”

Glinnes poured more wine into the mugs. “It all seems foolish, unnecessary, and futile. What do people want from life? We Trills have all the good things: food, music, merriment. Is this mischievous? What else is there to live for? The Fanschers are gargoyles screaming at the sun.”

“On the face of it, the business is absurd,” said Akadie. “Still — ” He shrugged. “There is a certain grandeur in their point of view. Malcontents but why? To wrench sense from archaic nonsense; to strike the sigil of human will upon elemental chaos; to affirm the shining brilliance of one soul alone but alive among five trillion placcid gray corpuscles. Yes, it is wild and brave.”

“You sound like a Fanscher yourself,” snorted Glinnes.

Akadie shook his head. “There are worse attitudes, but no, not I. Fanscherade is a young man’s game. I’m far too old.”

“What do they think of hussade?”

“They consider it spurious activity, to distract folk from the true color and texture of life.” Glinnes shook his head in wonder. “And to think the Trevanyi girl called me a Fanscher!”

“What a singular notion!” said Akadie.

Glinnes turned Akadie a sharp glance but saw only an expression of limpid innocence. “How did Fanscherade start? I remember no such trend.”

“The raw material has been long ready at hand, or so I would imagine. A certain spark of ideology was required, no more.”

“And who then is the ideologue of Fanscherade?”

“Junius Farfan. He lives in Welgen.”

“And Junius Farfan has my money!”

Akadie rose to his feet. “I hear a boat. It’s Marucha at last.” He went to the dock, followed by Glinnes. Along Ilfish Water came the boat behind its mustache of white water, across the edge of Ambal Broad and up to the dock. Glinnes took the line from Glay and made it fast to a bollard. Marucha stepped jauntily up to the dock. Glinnes looked in amazement at her clothes: a sheath of severe white linen, black ankle boots, and a black cloche cap, which, in suppressing her hair, accentuated her resemblance to Glay.

Akadie came forward. “I’m sorry I missed you. Still, Glinnes and I have had a pleasant conversation. We’ve been discussing Fanscherade.”

“How very nice!” said Marucha. “Have you brought him around?”

“I hardly think so,” said Akadie with a grin.

“The seed must lie before it germinates.”

Glay, standing to the side, looked more sardonic than ever. Akadie continued. “I have certain articles for you. These” — he handed Marucha a small flask — “are sensitizers; they place your mind in its most receptive state, and conduce to learning. Be sure to take no more than a single capsule or you will become hyperesthesic.” He handed Marucha a parcel of books. “Here we have a manual of mathematical logic, a discussion of minichronics, and a treatise on basic cosmology. All are important to your program.”

“Very good,” said Marucha somewhat stiffly. “I wonder what I would like to give you?”*

“Something on the order of fifteen ozols would be more than ample,” said Akadie. “But no hurry, of course. And now I too must be on my way. The dusk is far along.” Still, Akadie lingered while Marucha counted out fifteen ozols and placed them in his limp-fingered hand. “Goodnight, my friend.” She and Glay went to the house.

Glinnes asked, “And what will I have the pleasure of forcing upon you for the consultation?”

“Ah indeed, let me consider. Twenty ozol would be more than generous, if my remarks have been of help.” Glinnes paid over the money, reflecting that Akadie set a rather high price on his expertise. Akadie departed up Farwan Water toward Saur River, thence by Tethryn Broad and Vernice Water to his eccentric old manse on Sarpassante Island.

Inside the house on Rabendary Island lights glowed. Glinnes slowly walked up to the verandah, where Glay stood watching him. “I’ve learned what you did with the money,” said Glinnes. “You’ve given away Ambal Isle for sheer absurdity.”

*T
he question “How much do I owe you?” is considered crass on Trullion, where easy generosity is the way of life.

“We’ve discussed the situation as much as necessary. I’ll be leaving your house in the morning. Marucha wants me to stay, but I think I’ll be more comfortable elsewhere.”

“Do your dirty little mess and run, eh?” The brothers glared at each other, then Glinnes swung off and into the house. Marucha sat reading the manuals Akadie had brought. Glinnes opened his mouth, then shut it again and went out to sit brooding on the verandah. Inside the house Glay and Marucha spoke in low tones.