nights; my insides seethe and boil and twist with rage.”
“An exasperation, to say the least. Are you planning counter-measures?”
Glinnes gave him an incredulous stare. “I plan nothing else! But nothing seems sensible. I could kill one or two Drosetts, end up on the prutanshyr, and still lack my money. I could drug their wine and search their camp while they slept, but I have no such drug, and, even if I had, how could I be sure that all had drunk the wine?”
“These feats are easier planned than accomplished,“ said Akadie. “But allow me a sugestion. Do you know the Glade of Xian?”
“I have never visited the place,” said Glinnes. “It is the Trevanyi burial ground, so I understand.”
“It is much more than that. The Bird of Death flies from Xian, and the dying man hears its song. Trevanyi ghosts walk in the shade of the great ombrils, which grow nowhere else in Merlank. Now — and here is the point — if you located the Drossett crypt and secured one of the death urns, Vang Drossett would sacrifice his daughter’s chastity to get it back.”
“I am uninterested — or, let us say, barely intetested — in his daughter’s chastity. I merely require my money. Your idea has merit.”
Akadie made a deprecatory gesture. “You are very kind. But the proposal is as inept and hallucinatory as are any of the others. The difficulties are insuperable. For instance, how could you learn the location of the crypt, except from Vang Drossett? If he loved you well enough to confide this basic secret of his existence, why would he deny you your ozols and the accomodation of his daughter as well? But assume beguiled Vang Drosset that he told his secret and you went to the Vale of Xian. How would you evade the Three Crones, not to mention the ghosts?”
“I don’t know,” said Glinnes.
The two men sat in silence, sipping tea. After a moment Akadie asked, “Have you made the acquaintance of Lute Casagave?
“Yes. He refuses to leave Ambal Isle.”
“Predictably. He would at least want his twelve thousand ozols back.”
“He claims to be Lord Ambal.”
Akadie sat up in his chair, eyes dancing with speculation. Here, for Akadie, was a truly fascinating concept. Somewhat regretfully, he shook his head and settled back into the chair. “Unlikely. Very unlikely. And irrelevant in any case. I fear that you must resign yourself to the loss of Ambal Isle.”
“I can’t resign myself to losing anything!” cried Glinnes in a passion. “A hussade game, Ambal Isle; it’s all the same. I’d never give up; I must have what is due me!” Akadie held up his hand. “Calm yourself. I will consider at leisure and who knows what will occur? The fee is fifteen ozols.”
“Fifteen ozols!” demanded Glinnes. “For what? All you did was tell me to be calm.”
Akadie made a suave gesture. “I gave you that negative advice which often is as valuable as a positive program. For instance, suppose you asked me: How can I leap from here to Welgen in a single bound? I could utter one word, impossible! to save you a great deal of useless exercise; and thus justify a fee of twenty or thirty ozols.” Glinnes smiled grimly. “In the matter at hand, you save me no useless exercise; you have told me nothing I don’t know already. You must consider this a social call.” Akadie shrugged. “It is of no consequence.”
The two men returned to the lower floor, where Marucha sat reading a journal published in Port Maheul: Interesting Activities of the Elite . “Good-by, mother,” said Glinnes. “Thank you for the tea.” Marucha looked up from the journal. “You’re more than welcome, of course.” She began to read once more. As Glinnes drove back across Clinkhammer Broad, he wondered why Marucha disliked him, though in his heart he knew the answer well enough. Marucha did not dislike Glinnes; she disliked Jut and his “gross behavior, his carousing, bellowed songs, rude amorousness, and general lack of elegance”.
“An exasperation, to say the least. Are you planning counter-measures?”
Glinnes gave him an incredulous stare. “I plan nothing else! But nothing seems sensible. I could kill one or two Drosetts, end up on the prutanshyr, and still lack my money. I could drug their wine and search their camp while they slept, but I have no such drug, and, even if I had, how could I be sure that all had drunk the wine?”
“These feats are easier planned than accomplished,“ said Akadie. “But allow me a sugestion. Do you know the Glade of Xian?”
“I have never visited the place,” said Glinnes. “It is the Trevanyi burial ground, so I understand.”
“It is much more than that. The Bird of Death flies from Xian, and the dying man hears its song. Trevanyi ghosts walk in the shade of the great ombrils, which grow nowhere else in Merlank. Now — and here is the point — if you located the Drossett crypt and secured one of the death urns, Vang Drossett would sacrifice his daughter’s chastity to get it back.”
“I am uninterested — or, let us say, barely intetested — in his daughter’s chastity. I merely require my money. Your idea has merit.”
Akadie made a deprecatory gesture. “You are very kind. But the proposal is as inept and hallucinatory as are any of the others. The difficulties are insuperable. For instance, how could you learn the location of the crypt, except from Vang Drossett? If he loved you well enough to confide this basic secret of his existence, why would he deny you your ozols and the accomodation of his daughter as well? But assume beguiled Vang Drosset that he told his secret and you went to the Vale of Xian. How would you evade the Three Crones, not to mention the ghosts?”
“I don’t know,” said Glinnes.
The two men sat in silence, sipping tea. After a moment Akadie asked, “Have you made the acquaintance of Lute Casagave?
“Yes. He refuses to leave Ambal Isle.”
“Predictably. He would at least want his twelve thousand ozols back.”
“He claims to be Lord Ambal.”
Akadie sat up in his chair, eyes dancing with speculation. Here, for Akadie, was a truly fascinating concept. Somewhat regretfully, he shook his head and settled back into the chair. “Unlikely. Very unlikely. And irrelevant in any case. I fear that you must resign yourself to the loss of Ambal Isle.”
“I can’t resign myself to losing anything!” cried Glinnes in a passion. “A hussade game, Ambal Isle; it’s all the same. I’d never give up; I must have what is due me!” Akadie held up his hand. “Calm yourself. I will consider at leisure and who knows what will occur? The fee is fifteen ozols.”
“Fifteen ozols!” demanded Glinnes. “For what? All you did was tell me to be calm.”
Akadie made a suave gesture. “I gave you that negative advice which often is as valuable as a positive program. For instance, suppose you asked me: How can I leap from here to Welgen in a single bound? I could utter one word, impossible! to save you a great deal of useless exercise; and thus justify a fee of twenty or thirty ozols.” Glinnes smiled grimly. “In the matter at hand, you save me no useless exercise; you have told me nothing I don’t know already. You must consider this a social call.” Akadie shrugged. “It is of no consequence.”
The two men returned to the lower floor, where Marucha sat reading a journal published in Port Maheul: Interesting Activities of the Elite . “Good-by, mother,” said Glinnes. “Thank you for the tea.” Marucha looked up from the journal. “You’re more than welcome, of course.” She began to read once more. As Glinnes drove back across Clinkhammer Broad, he wondered why Marucha disliked him, though in his heart he knew the answer well enough. Marucha did not dislike Glinnes; she disliked Jut and his “gross behavior, his carousing, bellowed songs, rude amorousness, and general lack of elegance”.
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