terminal, Pardero entered and went to the reception desk. The clerk came forward - a small portly man with the cinnamon skin and golden eyes of an upper-caste Majar, one of those who lived in the timber and stucco houses on the slopes at the back of Old Town.
“How may I serve you, sir?”
Clearly Pardero aroused in his mind no quiver of recognition.
“Perhaps you can provide me some information,” said Pardero. “On or about 2 Ferario, I took passage aboard the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line. One of the other passengers asked me to perform a small errand, which I was unable to achieve. Now I must notify him but I have forgotten his name, and I would like to glance at the relevant passenger list.”
“No difficulties here, sir; the ledger is easily consulted.” A display screen lit up; the clerk turned a knob; figures and listings flicked past. “Here we are at 2 Ferario. Quite correct, sir. The Berenicia arrived, took aboard eight passengers, and departed.”
Pardero studied the passenger list. “Why are the names in different columns?”
“By order of the Demographical Institute, so that they may gauge traffic between the worlds. Here are transients upon Marune taking departure. These names - only two, as you see - represent folk of Marune bound for other worlds.”
“My man would be one of these. Which ones took passage to Bruse-Tansel?”
The clerk, somewhat puzzled, consulted the list “Neither. Baron Shimrod’s destination was Xampias. The Noble Serle Glaize boarded the ship on an ‘open’ ticket.”
“What sort of ticket is this?”
“It is often purchased by a tourist who lacks a fixed destination. The ticket provides a stipulated number of travel-units; when these are exhausted the tourist purchases further units to fit his particular needs.”
“This ‘open ticket’ used by Serle Glaize, how far might it have taken him? To Bruse-Tansel, for instance?”
“The Berenicia does not put into Bruse-Tansel, but let me see. One hundred and forty-eight ozols to Dadarnisse Junction; to Bruce-Tassel one hundred and two ozols … Yes, indeed. You will notice that the Noble Serle Glaize bought an open ticket to the value of two hundred and fifty ozols: to Bruce-Tassel exactly.”
“So: Serle Glaize. This is my man.” Pardero reflected upon the name. It lacked all resonance, all familiar flavor. He passed two ozols across the counter to the clerk, who took them with grave courtesy.
Pardero asked: “Who sold the ticket to Serle Glaise?”
“The initial is ‘Y’; that would be Yanek, on the next shift.”
“Perhaps you could telephone Yanek and ask if he recalls the circumstances. I will pay five ozols for significant information.”
The clerk eyed Pardero sidelong. “What sort of information do you consider significant?”
“Who bought the ticket? I doubt if Serle Glaize did so himself. He must have come with a companion whose identity I wish to learn.”
The clerk went to a telephone and spoke in a guarded manner, from tune to time glancing over his shoulder toward. Pardero. At last he returned, his manner somewhat subdued. “Yanek barely recalls the matter. He believes that the ticket was bought by a person in a black Rhune cape, who also wore a gray casque with a visor and malar flaps, so that his features made no impression upon Yanek. The time was busy; Yanek was preoccupied and noticed no more.”
“This is not the information I require,” Pardero grumbled. “Is there anyone who can tell me more?”
“I can think of no one, sir.”
“Very well.” Pardero counted down another two ozols. “This is for your kind cooperation.”
“Thank you, sir. Allow me to make a suggestion. The Rhunes who visit Port Mar without exception use the Royal Rhune Hotel. Information, however, may be hard to come by.”
“Thank you for the suggestion.”
“Are you not a Rhune yourself, sir?”
“After a fashion, yes.”
The clerk nodded and uttered a soft chuckle. “A Majar
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