evening of the fourth day, Sir Juffin Hully returned, laden with royal gifts, fresh news (to me all quite abstract), and problems from work that had accumulated in his absence. In short, neither that evening, nor the next, did we return to the subject of the Mysterious Murder in the Empty Room.
Eventually, life began to resume its normal pattern. Juffin started coming home earlier. We took up our leisurely dinner discussions again, and even our evening seminars. Two weeks had passed since the event of the murder in Sir Makluk’s house. That is to say, two weeks by my count—the locals don’t divide the year into weeks and months. They count days by dozens, and define their temporal coordinates very laconically—around such and such a day in about such and such a year. That’s all. So if we use the local method of calculating time, more than a dozen days had passed since our nocturnal visit to our neighbor’s house. This was too long to sustain the flame of my curiosity: it sparks like lightning, but it dies just as quickly if it finds no immediate sustenance.
Oh, if only the balsam-filled box that I rescued had begun to talk before I forgot about it and turned my attention to more garrulous objects! Then Sir Juffin gradually began to teach me more captivating things. Who knows how humdrum this silly matter could have ended up, had it not been for my own amnesia?
Somehow or other, the next sign of a fast-approaching tempest caught up with me early in the evening of what had otherwise been a delightful day. I was enjoying the masterpieces of the ancient poetry of Uguland, having dared for the first time to drag the weighty folio out of the dust of the library into the garden. I scrambled onto the branch of a spreading Vaxari tree, a wonderful variety of tree exceptionally well-suited for climbing by men of middle age who have fallen back into the habits of childhood.
From this vantage point, I noticed a man in gray hurrying over to our grounds from the direction of Sir Makluk’s house. I remembered immediately the circumstances of our prior visit, and decided to go inside the house just in case. Sir Juffin had still not returned, and I was determined to hear the news firsthand. I descended the tree too slowly for my own taste; but all the same I crossed the threshold before Sir Makluk’s servant reached the home stretch—the path of transparent colored pebbles that led up to the house.
In the hall I ran into Kimpa, who was already hurrying to admit the visitor. As soon as the door was opened, I declared:
“Sir Juffin Hully isn’t here at the moment, so I’m the one to talk to!”
Sir Makluk’s emissary was somewhat nonplussed, perhaps because at that time I still hadn’t gotten rid of the accent that so grated on the ears of the capital-dwellers. But my debonair appearance and deliberate manner, and maybe a sign from old man Kimpa that went unnoticed by me, had the desired effect.
“Sir Makluk requests that I inform Sir Venerable Head that old Govins has disappeared. In fact, no one has seen him since morning, something which hasn’t happened in more than 90 years! In addition, Sir Makluk commanded me to report that he is troubled by dark forebodings.”
I dismissed the emissary with a stern nod of my head. There were no two ways about it: I had to alert Juffin immediately. I had had no experience with this kind of situation until that moment, and while it isn’t so hard to use Silent Speech when your interlocutor is sitting right next to you, communicating with him when his whereabouts are unknown is an entirely different game. Sir Juffin had once tried to convince me that it didn’t make any difference. If it had worked once, the next time it would work just as easily. I was of another opinion, but perhaps I just lacked the experience or imagination.
Of course, I could have asked Kimpa’s help. There were no obstacles to this—it was not classified information, and my own ambition wouldn’t have
Eventually, life began to resume its normal pattern. Juffin started coming home earlier. We took up our leisurely dinner discussions again, and even our evening seminars. Two weeks had passed since the event of the murder in Sir Makluk’s house. That is to say, two weeks by my count—the locals don’t divide the year into weeks and months. They count days by dozens, and define their temporal coordinates very laconically—around such and such a day in about such and such a year. That’s all. So if we use the local method of calculating time, more than a dozen days had passed since our nocturnal visit to our neighbor’s house. This was too long to sustain the flame of my curiosity: it sparks like lightning, but it dies just as quickly if it finds no immediate sustenance.
Oh, if only the balsam-filled box that I rescued had begun to talk before I forgot about it and turned my attention to more garrulous objects! Then Sir Juffin gradually began to teach me more captivating things. Who knows how humdrum this silly matter could have ended up, had it not been for my own amnesia?
Somehow or other, the next sign of a fast-approaching tempest caught up with me early in the evening of what had otherwise been a delightful day. I was enjoying the masterpieces of the ancient poetry of Uguland, having dared for the first time to drag the weighty folio out of the dust of the library into the garden. I scrambled onto the branch of a spreading Vaxari tree, a wonderful variety of tree exceptionally well-suited for climbing by men of middle age who have fallen back into the habits of childhood.
From this vantage point, I noticed a man in gray hurrying over to our grounds from the direction of Sir Makluk’s house. I remembered immediately the circumstances of our prior visit, and decided to go inside the house just in case. Sir Juffin had still not returned, and I was determined to hear the news firsthand. I descended the tree too slowly for my own taste; but all the same I crossed the threshold before Sir Makluk’s servant reached the home stretch—the path of transparent colored pebbles that led up to the house.
In the hall I ran into Kimpa, who was already hurrying to admit the visitor. As soon as the door was opened, I declared:
“Sir Juffin Hully isn’t here at the moment, so I’m the one to talk to!”
Sir Makluk’s emissary was somewhat nonplussed, perhaps because at that time I still hadn’t gotten rid of the accent that so grated on the ears of the capital-dwellers. But my debonair appearance and deliberate manner, and maybe a sign from old man Kimpa that went unnoticed by me, had the desired effect.
“Sir Makluk requests that I inform Sir Venerable Head that old Govins has disappeared. In fact, no one has seen him since morning, something which hasn’t happened in more than 90 years! In addition, Sir Makluk commanded me to report that he is troubled by dark forebodings.”
I dismissed the emissary with a stern nod of my head. There were no two ways about it: I had to alert Juffin immediately. I had had no experience with this kind of situation until that moment, and while it isn’t so hard to use Silent Speech when your interlocutor is sitting right next to you, communicating with him when his whereabouts are unknown is an entirely different game. Sir Juffin had once tried to convince me that it didn’t make any difference. If it had worked once, the next time it would work just as easily. I was of another opinion, but perhaps I just lacked the experience or imagination.
Of course, I could have asked Kimpa’s help. There were no obstacles to this—it was not classified information, and my own ambition wouldn’t have
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