"What a mess. I'll look it over after a bit."
"It's to be destroyed before we go ashore. Notice this gray outline?"
"What of it?"
"That's the area we're supposed to investigate."
"And what are these other markings?"
"This is the dock and this is the hotel."
Kirdy studied the map.
"The gray area seems to be down the dock from the hotel."
"Correct."
"And what exactly are we looking for?"
"I guess we'll know when we see it."
"Hmf. It's rather a disorganized way of handling an operation of this sort."
"As I understand it, we're supposed to do the best we can without taking chances."
"That's my own appraisal of the situation. I don't see any great tactical challenge. This road runs right past the structure, and we're sure to find clues everywhere."
"If you say so."
"Of course I say so. Let's go join the others."
"And the map?"
"I'll take care of it for now. Have you any other papers I should have?"
"No."
Early in the afternoon fishing boats appeared: light craft little more than rafts formed of bundled bamboo poles, lashed into the shape of a boat; and larger vessels with hulls of laminated bamboo strips. At the same time a smudge appeared on the northeast horizon, which in due course became, first, a floating crust, then a line of rickety structures among tufts of bamboo and coconut palms. At this time the first intimation of the Big Chife reached the Faraz, and passengers looked from one to the other with bemused expressions.
The Faraz approached the atoll: once the crater and surrounding rim of a volcano, now a circlet of a dozen sickle-shaped islands around a shallow lagoon.
The seaward aspect of Yipton focused into detail. The structures, of two, three, four and five spindly stories, standing on frail-seeming poles, leaned against each other for support, with porches and balconies cantilevered out in unlikely directions. Colors were muted: black, rust, the gray-green of old bamboo, a hundred tones of brown. On the breeze came a new waft of the Big Chife, causing another stir among the passengers.
The ferry slowed, settled lunging and surging into the water, veered
behind a breakwater of lashed bamboo poles, drifted across the harbor and up 10 the dock. The Big Chife, no longer thinned by the breeze, attained full force.
On a choice area at the back of the dock, the Arkady Inn rose five rambling irregular stories to overlook harbor, breakwater and the sea beyond. The ground floor opened upon a terrace with tables shaded under pink and pale green parasols. Patrons of the hotel sat at their lunch while watching the activities of the harbor, apparently oblivious to the Chife, as indeed they were, and the incoming tourists felt somewhat more hopeful. The folk on the terrace seemed jovial and quite relaxed. Unless appearances deceived, the admonitions of the blue pamphlet could not be enforced so severely as to cause terror and apprehension. Or perhaps, as a gaunt gentleman in a Byronish pillow hat nervously suggested, these happy patrons were those who had paid, and paid, and paid, and as a consequence felt no fear.
Boats plied the harbor, moving in and out of canals; putting out to sea, or returning; or simply floating while the crew cleaned fish, shelled molluscs or repaired their gear. Along the shore bamboo grew like jets of greenery, sixty feet tall, while coconut palms, rooted in minute plots of soil, leaned out over the canals. In boxes on the balconies grew potherbs and greens; jardinieres trailed blue fronds and rose-pink tock berries
The passengers from the Faraz filed across a gangplank of squeaking bamboo poles to the dock, through a gate and past a wicket manned by a pair of Oomps." One Oomp stood watching faces with grave attention; the other collected a landing fee of three sols from each arrival. With bland expressions they both ignored the grumbling and complaints.
The Bold Lions paid over their fees with disdainful flourishes, in a manner of noblesse oblige, which Glawen preferred not to emulate. Then all walked up the flight of broad stairs to the hotel.
At the registration desk Aries stepped forward: "We are the Bold Lions! There will be eight rooms reserved for us."
' Oomps (contraction of Oomphaw's Police Sergeantry):
members of an elite militia, responsible only to the Oomphaw. They were men of extraordinary physique, with heads shaved bald, ears cropped to points and lips tattooed black.
They wore crisp tan tunics, while knee-length kirtles, and ankle boots of a tough black metalloid substance exuded by a sea snail. A band of this same glossy black substance encircled their foreheads; to this band were attached spikes symbolic of rank. Most intriguing of all was the emblem, or ideogram, embroidered on the back of each tunic, in black and red; a symbol of unknown meaning.
"Just so, sir. A fine block of rooms on the fourth floor.
How long will you be staying?"
"So far, this is indefinite. We will see how it goes."
Glawen came forward: "I am with the group, though without reservation, and will need a room."
"Of course, sir. You may have a nice chamber in the same block as the others, if you like."
"That will serve very well."
Upon climbing to the fourth floor, Glawen found his room at the end of the corridor: a pleasant cubicle with a small canal directly below, and, beyond, a wilderness of roofs.
Mats covered the floor; the walls were formed of split bamboo, in several layers; from the ceiling hung a globular lume in a basket of black withe. Furnishings consisted of a bed cushion, now rolled against the wall, a table, a chair and a wardrobe. The bathroom and latrine were across the corridor, with an old woman in attendance to collect fees as specified on the schedule.
