to be functioning properly," I said, "at least as a communicator."
"Perhaps the demon is correct," said the integrator, "and essence trumps form. My functions were the essence for which you designed and built me."
I thought to detect an undercurrent of resentment, but I ignored it and homed in on the consequences of my assistant's change. "I have spent decades dealing comfortably with forms. Must I now throw all that effort aside and master essences?"
"Turgut Therobar continues to call," said my assistant. "He claims distress and pleads plaintively."
So the magnate was not calling to enlist me in some good cause. It sounded as if he required the services of a private discriminator. My insides remained troubled, but it occurred to me that a new case might be just the thing to take my mind off the unsettling change in my assistant.
"Put through the call," I said.
Therobar's voice sounded from the air, as had all previous communications through my assistant. The magnate dispensed with the punctilio of inquiries after health and comparisons of opinions on the weather that were proper between persons of respectable though different classes who have already been introduced. "I am accused of murder and aggravated debauchery," he said.
"Indeed," I said. "And are you guilty?"
"No, but the Bureau of Scrutiny has taken me into custody."
"I will intercede," I said. "Transmit the coordinates to my integrator." I signaled to the integrator to break the connection.
The creature blinked and said, "He is in the scroot holding facility at Thurloyn Vale."
"Hmm," I said, then, "contact Warhanny."
A moment later the hangdog face of Colonel-Investigator Brustram Warhanny appeared in the air above my table and his doleful voice said, "Hapthorn. What's afoot?"
"Much, indeed," I said. "You have snatched up Turgut Therobar."
His elongated face assumed an even more lugubrious mien. "There are serious charges. Blood and molestation of the innocent."
"These do not jibe with my sense of Turgut Therobar," I said. "His name is a byword for charity and well-doing."
"Not all bywords are accurate," Warhanny said. "I have even heard that some say that 'scroot' ought to be a byword for 'paucity of imagination coupled with clumping pudfootery.'"
"I can't imagine who would say such a thing," I said, while marveling at how my words, dropped into a private conversation the week before, had made their way to the Colonel-Investigator's sail-like ears.
"Indeed?" he said. "As for Therobar, there have been several disappearances in and around his estate this past month, and outrageous liberties have been taken with the daughter of a tenant. All lines of investigation lead unerringly to the master."
"I find that hard to believe."
"I counsel you to exert more effort," Warhanny said. "And where you find resistance, plod your way through it."
"Turgut Therobar has retained me to intercede on his behalf," I said.
"The Bureau welcomes the assistance of all public-minded citizens," Warhanny pronounced, yet somehow I felt that the formulaic words lacked sincerity.
"Will you release him into my custody?"
"Will you serve out his sentence in the Contemplarium if he defaults?" countered the scroot.
"He will not default," I said, but I gave the standard undertaking. "Transmit the file then deliver him to his estate. I will accept responsibility from there."
"As you wish."
Just before his visage disappeared from the air I thought to detect a smirk lurking somewhere behind Warhanny's pendulous lips. While I mentally replayed the image, confirming the scornful leer, I told my integrator to book passage on an airship to Thurloyn Vale and to engage an aircar to fly out to Therobar's estate, Wan Water. There was no response. I looked about and found that it had left the table and was now across the room, investigating the contents of a bookcase. "What are you doing?" I said.
Before answering it pulled free a leatherbound volume that had been laid sideways across
"Perhaps the demon is correct," said the integrator, "and essence trumps form. My functions were the essence for which you designed and built me."
I thought to detect an undercurrent of resentment, but I ignored it and homed in on the consequences of my assistant's change. "I have spent decades dealing comfortably with forms. Must I now throw all that effort aside and master essences?"
"Turgut Therobar continues to call," said my assistant. "He claims distress and pleads plaintively."
So the magnate was not calling to enlist me in some good cause. It sounded as if he required the services of a private discriminator. My insides remained troubled, but it occurred to me that a new case might be just the thing to take my mind off the unsettling change in my assistant.
"Put through the call," I said.
Therobar's voice sounded from the air, as had all previous communications through my assistant. The magnate dispensed with the punctilio of inquiries after health and comparisons of opinions on the weather that were proper between persons of respectable though different classes who have already been introduced. "I am accused of murder and aggravated debauchery," he said.
"Indeed," I said. "And are you guilty?"
"No, but the Bureau of Scrutiny has taken me into custody."
"I will intercede," I said. "Transmit the coordinates to my integrator." I signaled to the integrator to break the connection.
The creature blinked and said, "He is in the scroot holding facility at Thurloyn Vale."
"Hmm," I said, then, "contact Warhanny."
A moment later the hangdog face of Colonel-Investigator Brustram Warhanny appeared in the air above my table and his doleful voice said, "Hapthorn. What's afoot?"
"Much, indeed," I said. "You have snatched up Turgut Therobar."
His elongated face assumed an even more lugubrious mien. "There are serious charges. Blood and molestation of the innocent."
"These do not jibe with my sense of Turgut Therobar," I said. "His name is a byword for charity and well-doing."
"Not all bywords are accurate," Warhanny said. "I have even heard that some say that 'scroot' ought to be a byword for 'paucity of imagination coupled with clumping pudfootery.'"
"I can't imagine who would say such a thing," I said, while marveling at how my words, dropped into a private conversation the week before, had made their way to the Colonel-Investigator's sail-like ears.
"Indeed?" he said. "As for Therobar, there have been several disappearances in and around his estate this past month, and outrageous liberties have been taken with the daughter of a tenant. All lines of investigation lead unerringly to the master."
"I find that hard to believe."
"I counsel you to exert more effort," Warhanny said. "And where you find resistance, plod your way through it."
"Turgut Therobar has retained me to intercede on his behalf," I said.
"The Bureau welcomes the assistance of all public-minded citizens," Warhanny pronounced, yet somehow I felt that the formulaic words lacked sincerity.
"Will you release him into my custody?"
"Will you serve out his sentence in the Contemplarium if he defaults?" countered the scroot.
"He will not default," I said, but I gave the standard undertaking. "Transmit the file then deliver him to his estate. I will accept responsibility from there."
"As you wish."
Just before his visage disappeared from the air I thought to detect a smirk lurking somewhere behind Warhanny's pendulous lips. While I mentally replayed the image, confirming the scornful leer, I told my integrator to book passage on an airship to Thurloyn Vale and to engage an aircar to fly out to Therobar's estate, Wan Water. There was no response. I looked about and found that it had left the table and was now across the room, investigating the contents of a bookcase. "What are you doing?" I said.
Before answering it pulled free a leatherbound volume that had been laid sideways across
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