“And how do you enter the picture?”
“My father is Conservator of Cadwal, and lives at Araminta Station. My uncle, Pirie, is Secretary of the Society here on Earth, but he is an invalid, and there is no one to do what needs to be done but me. Other folk are also looking for the Grant of Ownership; some of them are wicked, some are simply foolish, but they want to break the Conservancy, and so they are my enemies. I think that some of them tracked me to Trieste despite my best efforts. I fear for my life, I fear for Cadwal, which is vulnerable. If I don’t find the documents, the Conservancy cannot survive. I am getting closer and closer. My enemies know this and they will kill me with no compunction whatever, and I am not ready to die just yet."
“I should think not. Alvina drummed her fingers on the table. “You have not heard the news, then?"
Wayness looked up in apprehension. “What news?"
"Last night Xantief was murdered. This morning he was found in the canal.”
Time stood still. Everything became blurred except for Alvina's gray-green eyes. Wayness finally managed to Stammer. “This is terrible. I had no idea — it must be my fault! I led them to Xantief."
Alvina nodded. "It might have happened that way. Or maybe not; who knows? It makes no great difference, one way or the other.”
After a pause Wayness said: "You are right. It makes no difference." She wiped the tears from her face. The waiter brought bowls of red soup. Wayness looked numbly at the bowl.
“Eat," said Alvina. "We have to pay for it, regardless.”
Wayness pushed the bowl away. "What happened?"
“I don’t like to tell you. It was not nice. Someone wanted information from Xantief. He could give them none because he had none, except what he told you. No doubt he explained this immediately, but they persisted and killed him, and dropped him into the canal. Alvina busied herself with the soup, then said: “It is clear, however, that he did not mention me.”
“How so?”
“I came to my shop early today, and no one was waiting for me. Eat your soup. It is pointless to suffer on an empty stomach."
Wayness heaved a deep sigh. She pulled the bowl of soup toward herself and began to eat. Alvina looked on with a grim smile. "Whenever tragedy has dealt me its worst blows, then I go forth and rejoice. I drink fine wine, and dine on delicacies I can’t afford, and perhaps indulge myself in some sort of worthless new gewgaw."
Wayness laughed weakly. “Does the program work?”
“No. Still, eat the soup.”
After a few moments Wayness said: “I must learn to be absolutely callous. I cannot let myself be weak.”
"I don’t think you are weak. Still, are there no others to help you?"
“Yes, but they are far away. Glawen Clattuc will be here sometime soon — but I can’t wait.”
"You carry no weapons?"
“I don’t own any.”
"'Wait here.” Alvina left the restaurant, returning a few minutes later with a pair of small parcels. “These articles will give you comfort, at the very least." She explained their use.
"I thank you,” said Wayness. "May I pay for them?"
"No. But if you use either upon whoever murdered Xantief, please let me know."
"I promise that I will.” Wayness tucked the articles into pockets of the pea jacket.
“Now, to business." Alvina brought out a slip of paper. “I cannot direct you to Moncurio himself, since he is gone from Earth. Where, I have no idea, but he left me an address in case money came in from some old accounts which had never been settled.”
Wayness asked doubtfully: "Is this address still useful?"
“It was as of last year. I sent money to the address, and finality got back a receipt."
“From Moncurio?”
Alvina grimaced and shook her head. "I sent the money in care of Irena Portils, who is apparently Moncurio’s spouse — formally or informally, I have no idea. She is a difficult and suspicious woman. Do not expect her to oblige you, gladly or otherwise, with Moncurio's current address. She would not even give me a proper receipt for the money; she said that there must be no linkage between her name and his. I told her that this was preposterous, since Moncurio had already made the linkage, and that if she did not sign the receipt using Moncurio's name and her own as an endorsement, I would void the draught and send her no more money. Ha! Her avarice is even stronger than her nervousness, and she sent the proper receipt, with just enough icy sarcasm to irritate me.”
“Perhaps she is nicer when she is not worried, said Wayness without conviction.
“Anything is possible. Still I can't imagine how you will deal with her, much less extract information.”
“I must give the matter some thought. Perhaps I will try a subtle indirect approach.”
“I wish you luck. Here is the address." She gave over the paper. Wayness read:
Sra. Irena Portils
Casa Lucasta
CaIIe Maduro 31
Pombareales, Patagonia
Wayness returned to the Hotel Sirenuse the way she had come: down the wharf to the ladder, down to the shingle and beside the sea wall to the stone steps, then up and through the timber door into the nether regions of the hotel. Here she lost her way and for a time groped back and forth along damp dark passages smelling of must, old wine, onions and fish. Finally, behind a door she had forgotten, she found the service stairs, and so climbed thankfully to the second floor, where she hurried back to her room. She threw off her disguise, bathed and dressed in her ordinary clothes. Then she sat looking out across the sea, pondering the new realities of her life.
Outrage and anger served no purpose; they were only a frustration. Fear was equally profitless, though fear was hard to control.
Wayness became restless. There was too much to think about, and too many complexities. While she thought, she was static and vulnerable; she could protect herself only by activity.
Wayness went to the telephone and called Fair Winds. Agnes appeared, then went to summon Pirie Tamm from the garden. "Ah Wayness!" He spoke guardedly. "I was on my way out; I have an errand at the bank in Tierens. Do you wish to call back in half an hour or so?”
"If you can spare me a minute, I'll talk to you now." Wayness tried to sound easy and casual, but her voice seemed strained, even to her own ears.
“I cart spare a minute or two. What is your news?”
“It is both good and bad. I spoke with a certain Alcide Xantief yesterday. He knew nothing himself but in passing he mentioned a repository in Bangalore. I telephoned there this morning and they have the documents we are seeking, and they would seem to be quite accessible.”
“Amazing!” said Pirie Tamm, blinking in perplexity.”
"It is that and more, when I think of what I have gone through to get this information. I have written to you, to my father and to Glawen, so that the information will not be lost in case something happens to me.”
“Why should anything happen to you?”
"Last night I had a rather frightening experience. It might have been mistaken identity, or romance Adriatic style: I can't be sure. But in any case I escaped.”
Pirie Tamm gave an exclamation of outrage. “That is damnable! I like this expedition of yours less and less! It's not right that you should be tackling a man's job!"