Trullion: Alastor 2262 by Jack Vance

Rabendary — unless Shira returns, which no one considers likely.”
    “Two months is indeed an ominous period,” said Akadie, somewhat sententiously. “What do you think became of him?” Akadie sipped his wine. “I know no more than you, in spite of my reputation.”
    “Quite bluntly, I find the situation incomprehensible,” said Glinnes. “Why did Glay sell Ambal? I can’t understand it; he’ll neither explain nor give back the money so that I can void the contract. I never expected to find so troublesome a situation. What is your opinion on all this?”
    Akadie placed his mug delicately upon the table. “Are you consulting me professionally? It might well be money wasted, since, offhand, I see no remedy for your difficulties.”
    Glinnes heaved a patient sigh; here again: the Akadie with whom he never quite knew how to deal. He said, “If you can make yourself useful, I’ll pay you.” And he had the satisfaction of seeing Akadie purse his lips.
    Akadie arranged his thoughts. “Hmmf. Naturally I can’t charge you for casual gossip. I must make myself useful, as you put it. Sometimes the distinction between social grace and professional help is narrow. I suggest that we put this occasion on one basis or another.”
    “You can call it a consultation,” said Glinnes, “since the matter has come to rest on these terms.”
    “Very well. What do you wish to consult about?”
    “The general situation. I want to get a grip on affairs, but I’m working in the dark. First of all: Ambal Isle, which Glay had no right to sell.”
    “No problem here. Return the payment and void the contract.”
    “Glay won’t give me the money, and I don’t have twelve thousand ozols of my own.”
    “A difficult situation,” agreed Akadie. “Shira, of course, refused to sell. The deal was made only after his disappearance.”
    “Hmmm What are you suggesting?”
    “Nothing whatever. I’m supplying facts from which you can draw whatever inferences you like.”
    “Who is Lute Casagave?”
    “I don’t know. Superficially he seems a gentleman of quiet tastes, who takes an amateur’s interest in local genealogy. He’s compiling a conspectus of the local nobility, or so he tells me. His motives might well be other than pure scholarship, it goes without saying. Might he be trying to establish a claim upon one or another of the local titles? If so, interesting events will be forthcoming, Hmm. What else do I know of the mysterious Lute Casagave? He claims to be a Bole from Ellet, which is Alastor 485, as you’re no doubt aware. I have my doubts.”
    “How so?”
    “I am an observant man, as you know. After my little lunch at his manor, I consulted my references. I found that, oddly enough, the great majority of Boles are left-handed. Casagave is right-handed. Most Boles are devoutly religious and their place of perdition is the Black Ocean at the South Pole of Ellent; submarine creatures house the souls of the damned. On Ellent, to eat wet food is to encompass within oneself a clutch of vile influences. No Bole eats fish. Yet Lute Casagave quite placidly enjoyed a stew of sea-spider, and afterward a fine grilled duck-fish, no less than I. Is Lute Casagave a Bole?” Akadie held out his hands. “I don’t know.”
    “But why should he pretend to a false identity? Unless — “
    “Exactly. Still, the explanation may be quite ordinary. Perhaps he is an emancipated Bole. Over-subtlety is an error as gross as innocence.”
    “No doubt. Well, this to the side. I still can’t give him his money because Glay won’t return it. Do you know where it is?“
    “I do.” Akadie darted a side-glance toward Glinnes. “I must remark that this is Class Two information and I must calculate your fee accordingly.”
    “Quite all right,” said Glinnes.’If that seems exorbitant you can always recalculate. Where is the money?”
    “Glay paid it to a man named Junius Farfan, who lives in Welgen.”
    Glinnes frowned off across Ambal