"Is it all clear?"
"Naturally," said Kirdy.
"After all, I am not a sergeant at Bureau B for nothing."
"Good." Glawen went to the portal and pressed a button. A voice said: "Sirs, please state your names and your business."
"We are Glawen Clattuc and Kirdy Wook, of Bureau B, atAraminta Station on Cadwal. We wish to consult Sir Mathor Borph on a matter of importance."
"Are you expected?"
"No."
"A moment, if you please. Your names will be announced."
Three minutes passed. Kirdy began to fidget.
"Clearly " The portal slid aside. A tall man of impressive muscular development dark-skinned, with white hair and pale gray eyes, stood in the opening. He inspected the two visitors with dispassionate care.
"You are natives of Cadwal?"
"That is correct, sir."
"What is your purpose here?"
"Are you Sir Mathor?"
"I am Sir Lonas Medlyn."
"Our business is primarily with Sir Mathor."
"Are you business agents, or solicitors, or religious evangelists?"
"We are none of those."
"Come, if you please."
Sir Lonas moved off along a path paved with tablets of white shell-stone. Glawen and Kirdy followed: under flowering trees, across a pond by a low bridge and up to a cluster of wide low domes. A door slid aside; Sir Lonas ushered the two into a circular foyer, and signified that they were to wait. He disappeared through a portal. Glawen and Kirdy looked in awe about the foyer. A dozen nymphs carved in marble stood on pedestals around the periphery of the room; the alabaster floor was innocent of ornamentation. From the ceiling by a thread of silver wire hung a sphere of crystal two feet in diameter, of hypnotic clarity.
Sir Lonas returned.
"You may come." He led the two into a space wide past any quick or intuitive sensation of its scope. At the far end of the room glass panels looked out across a terrace to a swimming pool, shaded under a high flat shell of gray glass. Shining through this glass, the light of Blaise was refracted around the sea-blue central disk into concentric rings of color: carmine, bitter green, purple, dark blue, light acid blue, burnt orange, pink. A dozen folk of various ages splashed in the pool; as many more sat grouped in the shade of parasols.
Sir Lonas went out to speak to Sir Mathor: a man of early maturity, tall, with short gray-blond hair, regular features and good physique, who at once jumped to his feet and came into the great parlor. He halted a dozen feet from Glawen and Kirdy, to give each a measured inspection. Glawen thought to perceive a person confident, easy of disposition, somewhat self-indulgent but without obvious or ostentatious quirks of character. Sir Mathor, indeed, while handsome, alert and equipped with perfect social poise, seemed on the whole quite ordinary.
Sir Mathor, in his turn, took no pains to hide his surprise at the quality and style of his visitors. He asked: "You are from Araminta Station on Cadwal? A remote place, well past the back of beyond. What brings you here?"
"I mentioned to Sir Lonas that we are representatives of our Bureau B," said Glawen.
"I am Captain Glawen Clattuc; this is my associate, Sergeant Kirdy Wook. Here are our credentials."
Sir Mathor waved them aside. His manner was still puzzled, if somewhat amused.
"You are clearly a young man of candor;
I have no doubt you are telling the exact truth. I merely wonder what you want of me."
"Unless someone assumed your identity, you and Sir Lonas recently visited Araminta Station. We wish to inquire into the circumstances of this visit. May we sit, or do you prefer that we stand?"
"Sorry, indeed! A shocking lapse of courtesy! Sit, by all means!" Sir Mathor pointed to a sofa; Glawen and Kirdy seated themselves, but Sir Mathor paced slowly back and forth in front of them: three
steps in each direction. Finally he came to a halt.
"My recent visit to Araminta Station, you say. Are you sure of your facts?"
"You may be confident as to our professionalism, sir. We are, as a matter of fact, IPCC affiliates. You used a fictitious name at Araminta Hotel, but this is neither unusual nor actionable, and certainly is not the reason for our visit."
"Most extraordinary," said Sir Mathor.
"I am totally perplexed."
"That is quite all right, sir," said Glawen.
"It is only necessary that we understand the situation. I hope that you are willing to discuss the matter with us in full detail."
Sir Mathor threw himself into a low deeply cushioned chair.
He leaned back, thrust out his legs. He looked to the side, where Sir Lonas stood quietly, hands clasped behind his back.
"Lonas, would you be kind enough to bring us refreshment: perhaps some of that excellent Yellow Frost?
I'll have the same."
Sir Lonas nodded and moved away. Sir Mathor turned his attention back to Glawen and Kirdy.
"Now, then: suppose you tell me exactly what sort of information you are after."
"About two months ago you went to Yipton and thence on an excursion to Thurben Island. There you engaged in activities which are illegal: both on Cadwal and across the Gaean Reach."
Sir Mathor threw back his head and laughed: a musical metallic sound conveying no trace of humor.
"And you have come to take me into custody?"
Glawen shook his head.
"We are not quite that naive. Sir Mathor. Still, there is nothing to laugh about. These crimes have ugly names."
"Yes, yes. Ugly words often describe healthy processes." Sir Mathor watched as Sir Lonas served around goblets of frozen punch. He spoke as if casually: "Tell me this: have you discussed this affair with other parties to the excursion?"
