Glawen telephoned Riverview House, and brought the face of Egon Tamm to the screen. "Glawen Clattuc here. I have just now read the letters Wayness wrote me from Earth. Spanchetta had intercepted them and laid them aside. She had no intention of giving them to me.”
Egon Tamm shook his head in amazement. “What a strange woman! Why should she do something like that?”
“It indicates her contempt for anything connected with me or my father.”
“It still verges upon the irrational. Every day the world becomes more perplexing. Wayness confuses me; her conduct is beyond my understanding. But she refuses to confide in me, on the grounds that I could not conscientiously keep my mouth shut.” Egon Tamm turned a searching gaze upon Glawen. “What of you? Surely you must have some clue as to what is going on!”
Glawen sidestepped the question. “I have no idea where she is or what she is doing. She has had no letters from me — for a very good reason, of course — so she is not writing until she hears from me.”
“I have had no recent letters. She tells me nothing in any case. Still, I sense a force, or pressure, pushing her where she really does not want to go. She is much too young and inexperienced for any serious trouble. I am deeply concerned.”
Glawen said in a subdued voice: “I have much the same feeling.”
”Why is she so secretive?"
“Evidently she has learned something which would cause damage if it were generally known. Indeed, if I might make a suggestion?”
“Suggest all you like”
“It might be best if neither of us should so much as speculate regarding Wayness in public.”
“That is an interesting idea, which I do not totally understand. Still I will take it to heart — though I am baffled by what could have so aroused the girl and taken her so far away. Our problems are undeniably real, but they are here on Cadwal!”
Glawen said uncomfortably: “I am certain that she has good reasons for whatever she is doing.”
“No doubt her next letter may supply a few more details.”
“And include her current address, or so I hope. Speaking of letters, I imagine that Bodwyn Wook told you of Floreste's final testament. “
“He reported its gist and recommended that I study it in detail. In fact — first, let me explain conditions at Riverview House. Every year I must endure official scrutiny of my affairs by a pair of wardens. This year the two wardens are Wilder Fergus and Dame Clytie Vergence, whom I think you will remember and her nephew Julian Bohost is here also.”
“I remember them well.”
“They are unforgettable. I have other unusual guests. 'Unusual,' that is, in the context of Riverview House. They are Lewyn Barduys and his traveling companion, a creature of many distinctions who uses the name ‘Flitz’.”
“ 'Flitz'?”
“No more, no less. Barduys is a man of wealth, and can afford such frivolities. I know nothing about him, except that he seems to be a friend of Dame Clytie.”
“Dame Clytie is her usual self?”
“Even more so. She has elevated Titus Pompo to the stature of a folk hero-a noble and selfless revolutionary champion of the oppressed.”
“She is serious?”
“Quite serious.”
Glawen smiled thoughtfully. “Floreste discusses Titus Pompo in some detail.”
“I would like to hear this letter,” said Egon Tamm. “My guests might also be interested. Perhaps you would join us for lunch tomorrow and read the letter aloud.”
“I will be happy to do so.”
“Good! Until tomorrow, then, a bit before noon.”
In the morning Glawen telephoned the airport and was connected to Chilke. "Good morning, Glawen," said Chilke. "What is on your mind?"
“I would like a few words with you, at your convenience.”
“One time is as good as another."
"I'll be there at once.”
Arriving at the airport, Glawen went to the glass-walled office at the side of the hangar. Here he found Chilke: a man of invincible nonchalance, a veteran of a thousand escapades, some creditable. Chilke was sturdy and heavy-shouldered, of middle stature, with a blunt-featured face, an unruly mat of dust-colored curls and cheeks roped with cartilage.
Chilke stood by a side-table, pouring tea into a mug. He looked over his shoulder. “Sit down, Glawen. Will you have some tea?"
“If you please.”
Chilke poured out another mug. “This is the authentic stuff, from the far hills of Old Earth, not just some local seaweed." Chilke settled himself into his chair. “What brings you out so early?”
Glawen looked through the glass panes of the partition and across the hangar. “Can we talk without being overheard?”
“I think so. No one has his ear pressed to the door. That's a feature of glass walls. Any odd conduct makes you conspicuous."
“What about microphones?”
Chilke swung around and turned knobs to bring a wild wailing music from a speaker. “That should jam any microphone within hearing range, so long as you don’t try to sing. Now what is it that is so secret?"
“This is the copy of a letter Floreste wrote yesterday afternoon. He says that my father is still alive. He also mentions you." Glawen gave the letter to Chilke. “Read it for yourself."
Chilke took the letter, leaned back in his chair and read. Halfway through he looked up. "Isn't it amazing? Smonny still thinks I own a great hoard of Grandpa Swaner's valuables.”
“It’s only amazing if you don’t. And you don’t?”
“I hardly think so.”
“Have you ever made an inventory of the estate?"
Chilke shook his head. “Why bother? It’s just refuse cluttering up the barn. Smonny knows this very well; she's burgled the place four times.”
“You're sure it was Smonny”
"No one else has showed any interest in the stuff. I wish she would take herself in hand. It makes me nervous to be the object of her avarice, or affection, or wrath-whatever it is." Chilke returned to the letter. He finished, mused a moment, then tossed the letter back to Glawen. "Now you want to rush out and rescue your father.”
“Something like that.”
“And Bodwyn Wook is joining you on the mission?”
“I doubt it. He is a bit over-cautious.”
“I suspect for good reason.”
Glawen shrugged. “He is convinced that Shattorak is defended and that an attack from the air would cost us five or six flyers and half of the staff.”
"You call that over-caution? I call it common sense.”
“A raid would not need to come down from above. We could land a force somewhere on the slope of Shattorak and attack from the side. He still sees difficulties.”
"So do I.” said Chilke. “Where would the flyers land? In the jungle?"
“There must be open areas.”
“So it might be. First we would need to alter the landing gear of all our flyers, which would be duly noted by the spies". They would also give notice of our departure and Smonny would have five hundred Yips waiting for us."
“I thought you had chased out all your spies?”
Chilke held out his hands in a gesture of helpless and injured innocence. "What happens when I need to hire mechanics? I use what I find. I know I have spies, just like a dog knows it has fleas. I even know who they are. There's one of my prime candidates yonder, working on the carry-all door: a magnificent specimen by the name of Benjamie.”
Looking toward the carry-all, Glawen observed a tall young man of superb physique, flawless features, coal black hair and clear bronze skin. Glawen watched him a moment, then asked: “What makes you think he's a spy?”