worries now than ever. Everyone wants to know how soon they must leave Stroma, whether a fine mansion awaits them or a tent out among the wild animals. Everyone wonders how they are expected to transport themselves and their possessions so far and so soon.”
“Our plans are not yet exact,” said Egon Tamm. “All householders should place their names on a list; they will then be moved in order, first into temporary quarters, then into permanent dwellings, which they may choose for themselves. It will be a simple uncomplicated change, unless the LPFers drag their heels, which will make the transfer more troublesome.”
Warden Ballinder scowled dubiously. “It might go fast - or it might go slow. I estimate a hundred to a hundred and fifty households, five or six hundred people on the first list. These represent the Chartists. There are about as many devout LPFers and a like number of fence-straddlers who will wait until they have no other choice, and we shall have to deal with them separately.”
Kathcar entered the room. Looking neither right nor left he went on long loping strides to a table beside the wall. Here he sat, summoned a waiter and ordered a bowl of fish soup. When he was served, he took up a spoon, hunched over the bowl and ate with avidity.
“Kathcar is now present,” said Scharde. “Perhaps it is time to begin our deliberations.”
“Bah,” muttered Bodwyn Wook. “Does the lily need so much gilt?”
Egon Tamm said: “When the question is reduced to its essentials, it becomes: can we afford to take such critical chances? The money seems of secondary concern.”
Warden Ballinder asked: “Am I supposed to understand what is happening, or not?”
Egon Tamm said: “You must keep this confidential. Kathcar wants to sell important information for twenty thousand sols. He is also a very frightened man.”
“Hm.” Warden Ballinder reflected. “One thing to remember is that Kathcar is secretary, or aide, to Sir Denzel Attabus, from whom the Peefers have been extracting large sums of money, if my information can be believed.”
Scharde said slowly: “The idea that Kathcar knows something we don’t know is beginning to seem ominous - especially when he values the information at twenty thousand sols.”
Bodwyn Wook scowled, but said nothing.
Across the room a young man stocky and plump, almost squat, with a fleshy round face, thick black hair, a stern black mustache and fine clear grey eyes, had joined Kathcar at his table. Kathcar, staring up from his soup, was clearly displeased by the intrusion. The young man, however, spoke with earnest emphasis, and presently Kathcar’s eyebrows rose. He put down his spoon and sat back, his black eyes glittering.
Scharde inquired of Warden Ballinder the identity of Kathcar’s companion. “That is Roby Mavil, one of the career Peefers,” said the warden. “He is an official and sits on what they call their directorate. Julian Bohost outranks him, but not by much.”
“He doesn’t seem a fanatic.”
Ballinder grunted. “Mavil is a conniver. He likes plotting and intrigue for their own sake. He’s not at all to be trusted. He’ll be over here next, to make himself charming.”
But warden Ballinder was wrong and Roby Mavil, jumping up from Kathcar’s table, left the room.
Glawen spoke to Bodwyn Wook. “What about Kathcar? Do you intend to meet his terms?”
Bodwyn Wook had been put out of sorts by Kathcar’s epithets and by the nagging sense of opportunities slipping irretrievably from his grasp. He growled: “If Kathcar freely and at no charge told me of Holy Jasmial’s Third Coming I’d still find the news too dear, even if it were true.”
Glawen said nothing. Bodwyn Wook studied his expression for a moment. “You would pay the money?”
“He is not stupid. He knows the value of what he can tell us.”
“You’d let him be the sole judge of this value?”
“We have no choice. I would guarantee his terms, I would listen to him
“Our plans are not yet exact,” said Egon Tamm. “All householders should place their names on a list; they will then be moved in order, first into temporary quarters, then into permanent dwellings, which they may choose for themselves. It will be a simple uncomplicated change, unless the LPFers drag their heels, which will make the transfer more troublesome.”
Warden Ballinder scowled dubiously. “It might go fast - or it might go slow. I estimate a hundred to a hundred and fifty households, five or six hundred people on the first list. These represent the Chartists. There are about as many devout LPFers and a like number of fence-straddlers who will wait until they have no other choice, and we shall have to deal with them separately.”
Kathcar entered the room. Looking neither right nor left he went on long loping strides to a table beside the wall. Here he sat, summoned a waiter and ordered a bowl of fish soup. When he was served, he took up a spoon, hunched over the bowl and ate with avidity.
“Kathcar is now present,” said Scharde. “Perhaps it is time to begin our deliberations.”
“Bah,” muttered Bodwyn Wook. “Does the lily need so much gilt?”
Egon Tamm said: “When the question is reduced to its essentials, it becomes: can we afford to take such critical chances? The money seems of secondary concern.”
Warden Ballinder asked: “Am I supposed to understand what is happening, or not?”
Egon Tamm said: “You must keep this confidential. Kathcar wants to sell important information for twenty thousand sols. He is also a very frightened man.”
“Hm.” Warden Ballinder reflected. “One thing to remember is that Kathcar is secretary, or aide, to Sir Denzel Attabus, from whom the Peefers have been extracting large sums of money, if my information can be believed.”
Scharde said slowly: “The idea that Kathcar knows something we don’t know is beginning to seem ominous - especially when he values the information at twenty thousand sols.”
Bodwyn Wook scowled, but said nothing.
Across the room a young man stocky and plump, almost squat, with a fleshy round face, thick black hair, a stern black mustache and fine clear grey eyes, had joined Kathcar at his table. Kathcar, staring up from his soup, was clearly displeased by the intrusion. The young man, however, spoke with earnest emphasis, and presently Kathcar’s eyebrows rose. He put down his spoon and sat back, his black eyes glittering.
Scharde inquired of Warden Ballinder the identity of Kathcar’s companion. “That is Roby Mavil, one of the career Peefers,” said the warden. “He is an official and sits on what they call their directorate. Julian Bohost outranks him, but not by much.”
“He doesn’t seem a fanatic.”
Ballinder grunted. “Mavil is a conniver. He likes plotting and intrigue for their own sake. He’s not at all to be trusted. He’ll be over here next, to make himself charming.”
But warden Ballinder was wrong and Roby Mavil, jumping up from Kathcar’s table, left the room.
Glawen spoke to Bodwyn Wook. “What about Kathcar? Do you intend to meet his terms?”
Bodwyn Wook had been put out of sorts by Kathcar’s epithets and by the nagging sense of opportunities slipping irretrievably from his grasp. He growled: “If Kathcar freely and at no charge told me of Holy Jasmial’s Third Coming I’d still find the news too dear, even if it were true.”
Glawen said nothing. Bodwyn Wook studied his expression for a moment. “You would pay the money?”
“He is not stupid. He knows the value of what he can tell us.”
“You’d let him be the sole judge of this value?”
“We have no choice. I would guarantee his terms, I would listen to him
Similar Books
