Throy by Jack Vance Page B

narrow black button-boots.
    Glawen and Chilke followed the black-robed figure across the terminal and out upon the avenue. Kathcar hobbled away, glancing malevolently back over his shoulder. Glawen and Chilke strolled behind, heedless of Kathcar’s annoyance.
              After a painful hundred yards, Kathcar made a furious gesture and limped to a bench in the shadow of a news-agent’s kiosk. Here he halted and sank down upon the bench as if to rest. Glawen ignored his sidelong glare and approached, while Chilke went off toward a nearby cab rank.
    Kathcar hissed: “Do you lack all discretion? You are blasting my plans! Leave me at once!”
    “What are these plans?”
    “I am on my way to the bank, and time is of the essence! Also, I wish to avoid death!”
    Glawen looked up and down the avenue, but saw only a few Soumi gentlemen strolling about their business at that placid gait which impatient off-worlders often found maddening. “Is it possible that you exaggerate your danger?”
    “It is possible,” hissed Kathcar, “but why not put this question to Sir Denzel?”
    Glawen’s lips twitched, and he looked along the street a second time, more carefully than before. He turned back to Kathcar. “Chilke has gone to hire a cab; we will ride to the bank, taking all precautions. Once inside the bank, you will be safe.”
              Kathcar made a contemptuous sound.” How can you be so sure?”
    “When we reach the bank the game is finished, and the reason for killing you is gone.”
    “Bah!” sneered Kathcar. “What does that mean to Torq Tump, or Farganger? They are hobgoblins, and will kill me if only to set matters straight. But I am prepared; I carry a gun in my reticule and I will shoot them on sight.”
    Glawen managed a nervous laugh. “Just be sure of your target before you pull the trigger! If you make a mistake no one will listen to your apologies.”
    Kathcar snorted, but became less truculent. “I am not such a fool as to shoot at random.”
    “Yonder comes the cab. Once we are underway, you can remove your disguise; otherwise the bank officials will think you eccentric.”
    Kathcar gave a croak of raucous mirth. “So long as they smell money they will welcome me with delight! However, all else aside, these sacerdotal boots torment my feet; the disguise has served its purpose.”
    “That is my opinion, as well. Here is the cab. The plan is this: at the bank we shall pull up to the side entrance. Chilke and I will escort you into the bank; then, once we take care of our business, we can confer upon our primary goal: which is to locate Barduys.”
    Kathcar scowled. “All very well, but the plan must be modified. I will deal with the bank officials in private; it is the most expeditious way to handle this affair.”
              “Not so,” said Glawen, smiling. “You will be surprised how well we work together.”
    The cab arrived; for a moment Kathcar held back, then with a muffled curse he thrust himself into the passenger compartment. The cab set off along the orderly avenues of Soumjiana: through the semi-industrial suburb Urcedes, past the Gastronomical Institute and the adjacent lake, then along the wide Boulevard of Acclaimanders, with its rows of monumental black iron statues to either side, each representing a grandee of substance and reputation; past the Tydor Baunt University, and its complex of ancillary structures, all built of taffy-colored rock foam in a ponderous, almost over-elaborate mode derived from the ancient ‘Spano-Barsile’ sequence. Students from everywhere across Soum and from up and down the Wisp sauntered along the malls or sat on the benches.
    The cab entered the Pars Pancrator Plaza and halted beside the Bank of Soumjiana. Kathcar had doffed his disguise and now wore narrow black trousers, sandals, a casual white jacket and a loose-brimmed white hat of the sort worn by sportsmen, pulled low over his lank black locks.
    Glawen and Chilke