Blue gave a shudder. “It is all in the past: the midnight camps, the music, the wild dances, the weird Haz honor!"
“Very picturesque," said Glawen. “But it must have discouraged tourism."
Pink and Blue both laughed. “Not at all, the tourist need not fight. The warrior would mock him, and pull his nose, and offer to fight blindfold, or with his hands tied. If the tourist still demurred, he would be called a dog, a thief and a tourist. The women would spit on his feet and cut the bottom out of his trousers, but he would be allowed to return to Tanjaree alive, with much material for reminiscence."
"Interesting," said Glawen. "But now, between the Superbo and the Haz Warrlor — ”
“There is little difference,” said Blue. “At the Haz Warrior, they play Haz music and pretend to despise the tourist, but they offer no violence."
Glawen said: "I think I prefer the Superbo. Be so kind as to — “
“Both the Superbo and the Haz Warrior are fully booked, “said Pink. 'We will place you at the Novial."
“Anywhere, since I am in a bit of a hurry.”
“An instant only!” said Blue. “We are famous for the quickness of our fast speed!"
“The Novial it is then, though their pold is far from classic.”
“It's good enough for me,” said Glawen. “I am not yet a connoisseur. You may book me into the Novial."
"Just so,” said Blue. "If you need good pold, go to one of the kiosks. The Gangril formulations are best."
Pink thrust out her tongue. On the tip rested a small black pastille. She said: “At this very moment I am sucking on a wafer of tikki-tikki, which is a Gangril formulation. The flavor is sharp but subtle, and the formulation soothes me."
Blue stated: “Tikki-tikki often eases the aggravations of my work."
Glawen said decisively: "I must leave, before I become an aggravation."
"You are no aggravation!" declared Pink. “We like talking to you, and we have nothing better to do."
Blue said: "Here is a map of Tanjaree. “She made marks. “This is where we live. If you are bored, you may come to call, and taste our truest pold."
Pink suggested: "Or we could walk beside the lake and count the moons, and recite the proper poems."
Blue said: "Or we could visit the serai and watch the mad harlequins as they dance and play their concertinas."
"I am bewildered by so many choices," said Glawen. "However I must first see to my business, which is most urgent."
"If you like, I will give you a wafer of nging," said Pink. '"The effect is to minimize the importance of serious business. It allows one to live without tension or care.”
Glawen smilingly shook his head. “Thank you again.” He looked at the map. “The Novial is where?"
Blue made a mark. “First, we must book you your lodging, or all might could to naught."
“I will do so at once;” said Pink. “I had forgotten the gentleman's requirements.”
Glawen waited while Pink spoke into the telephone, then nodded to Glawen. "Your lodging is secure, but you must report to the Novial at once or it might be let to someone else. As you see, things go briskly here at Tanjaree."
“You have made that clear,” said Glawen. “Please mark Crippet Alley on the map, and also the Argonaut Art Supply Company.”
Blue made careful indications, which Pink verified and approved. Glawen again expressed his thanks and departed.
A long rickety escalator lowered him to the lakeside avenue. He looked up toward the sun Pharisee. To judge by the altitude, the time was perhaps an hour into the afternoon. The reckoning, however, might be misleading, since Nions sidereal day was something over thirty-seven hours long.
Glawen set off along the avenue and a few minutes later arrived at the Novial Hotel. He entered the lobby: a nondescript chamber neither spacious nor elegant. He approached the reception counter where sat a dapper young clerk, engaged in an animated telephone conversation, He was two or three years older than Glawen, with plump shoulders, full jowls, sleek black hair, limpid brown eyes under fine expressive black eyebrows. He wore dark green pantaloons, a yellow blouse decorated with two panels of intricate designs in black and red. On his head he wore a jaunty black toque, evidently the last cry in fashion. After a single swift glance toward Glawen from the corner of his eye, he turned away from the counter and continued to talk into the telephone. On the screen Glawen glimpsed the face of another young dandy, wearing a similar toque, also rakishly aslant.
A moment passed. Glawen waited, his patience slowly eroding. The clerk spoke on, with an occasional chuckle. Glawen became restive. He began to tap his fingers on the counter. Time was passing; every minute might be important! The clerk creased his eyebrows in annoyance, then looked over his shoulder and brought the conversation to an end. He swung about and asked: “Well, sir? What are your needs?”
Glawen composed his voice. “Lodging, naturally."
“Unfortunately, sir, the hotel is complete. You must go elsewhere.”
“What! The tourist office only just made my reservation!"
“Really?" The clerk shook his head. “Why am I not told of these things? They must have called elsewhere. Have you tried the Bon Felice?"
“Of course not. I was booked into the Novial; I came to the Novial. Does that sound at all unreasonable to you?”
“I am not the unreasonable one," said the clerk. "That word best describes the person who, when notified that no accommodation exists, continues to wheedle and argue. It is this conduct I define as unreasonable."
"Just so," said Glawen. “When the Tourist Information Office telephones down a booking, what is the procedure?"
“It is simple enough. The official on duty, which is to say, myself, carefully inscribes the name upon this board, and there is no scope for mistake.”
Glawen pointed to the board. "What is the name in that blue square to the side?”
The clerk rose wearily to his feet. “This square? It reads: ‘Glawen Clattuc.' So then?”
“I am Glawen Clattuc."
For a few seconds the clerk stood silent. Then he said: “You are lucky. That is our Grand Suite. In the future you should take pains to explain your arrangements more carefully; we cannot function in the absence of facts."
“Yes, of course,” said Glawen. “You are a marvel of efficiency. Now show me to the 'Grand Suite’.”
The clerk flashed Glawen a glare of astounded outrage. “My rank is high! I am office manager and deputy executive vice-president! I do not lead lodgers here and there about the hotel!”
”Who does so, in that case?"
“At the moment, no one. The porter has not yet arrived, and I have no idea as to how the housekeepers have arranged their schedules. You may either wait here until the proper employee reports for duty, or you may walk down yonder corridor to the end, and pass through the last door on the left. The lock code is ta-ta ta.”
Glawen went to the specified door tapped ta-ta-ta upon the lock panel. The door slid ajar Glawen stepped through the opening. He found himself in a room of no great size, with a table to the right and a bed along the left wall. The bathroom occupied an alcove. Glawen stood looking about the room in wonder. Had there been some sort of mistake? Could this truly be the 'Grand Suite’?
For the moment it must serve; other concerns pressed upon him. Journey's end was at hand, and Destiny was waiting somewhere along Crippet Alley. He tossed his travel bag upon the bed and left the room.
In the lobby the clerk watched his approach sidelong; then, raising his fine black eyebrows, ostentatiously turned away, so that when Glawen came to make the customary complaints, he could look about with an air of indifference which, by infuriating off-world patrons, served to enhance his self-esteem.