Lurulu by Jack Vance

“Fear nothing; our rates are considered moderate.”
    “And the specific numbers?”
    Jodel shrugged. “If you like. Let us say four sols for the room and fifty dinkets for each meal, to a total of six sols.”
    “The charges are tolerable,” said Maloof. “Provided there are no unexpected extras, let us say, for clean linen or hot water.”
    “Our rates are all-inclusive,” said Jodel. “However, we prefer that the score be paid in advance, for practical reasons. Certain of our clientele will rise early, take a special deluxe breakfast, then decamp before settling the account.”
    “That is not our habit,” said Maloof. “Still, one must be on guard against scoundrels. In Coro-Coro we encountered a certain ‘Loy Tremaine’ who thought to swindle us. By an odd coincidence he stated that he made his home in Krenke.”
    Jodel gave his head a dubious shake. “Somewhere there is a mistake. Tremaines have never resided in Krenke. You misheard the name of his village!”
    “Probably so,” said Maloof.
    “More likely, he was an impostor,” mused Jodel. “Only last month a huckster of wild currants arrived in Krenke. While folk were inspecting his merchandise, he laid hold of a girl and took her behind his dray, where he lifted her skirt a full five inches. Her cries brought help on the run! The hawker was dragged away to the rollers where he danced among the coils for two days. He was also fined the contents of his dray. It was a woe-begone wretch who finally took his empty dray back to Lilancx!
    “But now you will wish to visit your accommodations. You may take your supper when you come down.” He placed his hands on the bar and, leaning forward, searched the chamber. Dissatisfied, he threw back his head and shouted: “Buntje! Buntje! Come at the double! Where are you Buntje?” He listened, then called again, in a louder voice: “Buntje! Do you not hear me? Come at once! Buntje! I am calling you!”
    Into the room burst a girl of about fourteen, running at speed, arms pumping, skirt flapping, so that a lascivious eye might have glimpsed at least an inch of ankle. Maloof and Myron modestly averted their eyes.
    Buntje wore a tight pink blouse over a near-flat chest and a voluminous black skirt which barely cleared the floor. Like Dinka, she had gathered her hair up into a tall pyramid, with a flower precariously thrust into the apex. Halting in front of Jodel, she panted: “Roar no further; I am here!”
    “You were slow! Can you move no faster? What kept you so long?”
    The girl cried out in a passion: “Must I explain every detail of my personal conduct? If I am forced to particularize, I will state that I was occupied in the retreat! When you called I could not jump up and run through the chamber without creating a scandal; is this what you wish?”
    “Bah!” muttered Jodel. “You should accomplish these acts in your spare time. While you were luxuriating, these gentlemen have been awaiting your help. Now then: escort them to their quarters at once. Make sure that all is in order.”
    Buntje surveyed Maloof and Myron with mouth primly down-turned. “I take them to be off-worlders, and the young one has a queer look.”
    “No matter,” said Jodel. “It is all one. Take them to Chamber Six and see to their needs.”
    Buntje grimaced and composed herself. She asked Maloof, “Where is your luggage?”
    “We have only these small travel bags and we will carry them ourselves.”
    Buntje’s face became a frozen mask. “As you like! However, please know that I am not the thief you take me for. Your precious belongings are safe from me.”
    Maloof stuttered an apology, which Buntje ignored. “Come; I will take you to your chamber.”
    “Hold hard!” cried Jodel, slapping the bar. “I want to see six sols shining in a row, before events move another inch!”
    Maloof paid over the required sum. Buntje led them to a narrow staircase. Maloof and Myron politely waited for Buntje to precede them, but