"Has it ever been any different?" asked Bodwyn Wook.

"The terms are mutually contradictory."

"I know nothing of these persons; they show me no collateral, and I have no assurance of repayment."

"Sit down at the table and make out promissory notes. For you it should be all in a day's work, with even the possibility of profit to enliven your task."

"This is irregular, inconvenient and bad business practice," grumbled Alvary Irling.

"A thousand difficulties lie in ambush ahead."

"Not at all," said Bodwyn Wook.

"Prepare a draft upon your bank to the sum of six million and six thousand sols, and we will transmit it through the ordinary channels. As soon as the money is in our hands, the doors of the jail will open before you."

Scharde asked: "What is the name of your bank?"

"I am the Bank of Mircea."

"A solid institution!" said Bodwyn Wook.."Under happier circumstances it would be a pleasure doing business with you. Before you leave us, I may consult you in regard to my investments."

Glawen stood by the Hotel Araminta registration desk, considering the persons present in the lobby. A large contingent had just arrived aboard the Perseian Lines' packet Sublime Overdyne; was it possible that some of these apparently polite and well-behaved folk held

vouchers which would entitle them to a "Perfection of Joy" excursion on Thurben Island?

He studied first one group, then another. They need not be exclusively male; according to Saffin, Sibil had planned to entertain a party of four men and four women. Anyone traveling to Yipton might be considered a suspect.

These persons should not be hard to isolate. Visitors to Yipton already were examined to ensure that they carried no hard currency; the search might well be extended to include Perfection of Joy vouchers.

And then? Giawen turned away. These decisions happily were not his to make.

Giawen went to the manager's office and carefully studied the guest register, making such notes as he thought necessary.

The work required two hours. When he had finished he left the hotel and set out for the Old Arbor. Here he would meet his father, who had been making similar investigations at the spaceport terminal.

As Giawen passed the airstrip hangar he was hailed by Chilke.

"Where are you bound for?"

"The Old Arbor."

"I'll stroll along with you, if there's no objection."

"None whatever."

The two walked along the beach road, then turned up Wansey Way.

"I've been wanting to consult with you," said Chilke.

"There's something gnawing at my mind."

"If there's something wrong, I didn't do it."

"It's something wrong I once did. Your father let fall a few words about Thurben Island and he mentioned a big bad-tempered lady by the name of Sibil."

"I remember her very well."

"According to Scharde, who took the information from you, this Sibil wore a black tattoo on her forehead: a two-pronged fork with the points turned in toward each other."

"That's my impression. I had only one good look, but it sticks with me."

"All this is very odd," said Chilke.

"I can't begin to understand what is going on."

"How so?"

After a moment Chilke said: "I seem to recall telling you, a few years back, how I happened to arrive at Araminta Station."

"So you did, although I don't remember the details, I'm ashamed to say. Namour was involved, as I recall. You worked on a ranch where the lady in charge wanted to marry you."

"That's close enough. Do you recall how I described the lady?"

"Not really. I think you said she was tall and big and somewhat portly."

"That's true, so far as it goes. Also she had white skin, and a tattoo on her forehead: a two-pronged fork, with the points bent in toward each other."

"And you suspect that she might be Sibil?"

"Not having seen Sibil, I can't say. But I know something for sure:

it wasn't just coincidence that brought me here to Araminta Station. But if not coincidence, then what, and why? Namely, why me, Eustace Chiike? If I asked Namour, he'd laugh in my face."

"No doubt you're right. It staggers me to think of the things Namour knows and keeps to himself."

Chiike laughed.

"Namour is a marvel. But I'm interested in what this Sibil lady looked like, other than that she was big, mean and tattooed."

"You've covered the main points. She had a man's shoulders, big heavy hips and a big belly, all muscle, but no bust to speak of: just two shrunken bags which she tried to ignore.

She had a long jaw, sunken cheeks, a long low nose that might have been broken once upon a time in a fight. Her skin was white as chalk, and her mouth was just a gray mark. Her hair? It was sandy brown and stiff, like a scrub brush. All taken with all, I'd call her middling-ugly, and she smelled bad to boot."

"That doesn't sound much like Madame Zigonie, tattoo and big arse regardless. She had a round face with round cheeks and a fine bust, not to mention reddish-black curls."

"The hair could have been a wig."

"I don't think so. I'm satisfied Sibil was someone else. You should try to find out where ladies wear that kind of tattoo."