desk clerk knows where you are. If I am not back tomorrow evening, communicate with the IPCC. Did you hear me?"

Kirdy smiled: a curious smile, thought Glawen, full of poise and wisdom.

"I heard your words. I understand them at all levels of my mind."

"Then I will say no more. I am going out now to a bookshop and buy some books, so that I may learn something about the Zubenites. Either come with me, or wait here or go up to your room and sleep."

"I'll come with you," said Kirdy.

CHAPTER 8

Glawen arrived early at the Allen Dance and Arts Travel Salon, to find the eastbound omnibus already on hand and apparently packed to capacity, with rows of pallid big-eyed faces peering from the windows. Glawen surveyed the scene with displeasure. This bus and its contents in no respect resembled the bus of the travel poster. Glawen congratulated himself on his foresight in securing a reserved seat, inasmuch as the bus seemed not only loaded but overloaded.

There was no help for it, he thought, and boarded the bus by the entry at the front end. For a moment he stood looking down the ranks of passengers, all dressed alike in gowns of first and all burdened with parcels.

The driver was not accustomed to such indecision; he held out his hand and spoke crisply: "Give me your ticket, if you please. That is the rule, if you want to ride. If you do not, please descend from the bus."

"I definitely want to ride," said Glawen.

"In fact, my seat is first-class reserved. Here is my ticket; please show me to my place."

-The driver gave the ticket a cursory glance.

"Yes, all is correct. This is a valid ticket."

"And which is the first-class section?"

"The entire accommodation is first class. You have reserved for yourself the privilege of sitting where you like."

"That is not my understanding! The ticket designates a seat for my use; someone else is sitting there now."

The driver gave Glawen a questioning look.

"The 'privilege' is for everyone, not just for you alone! There are no elitists on the steppes!"

"All very well," said Glawen.

"Still, I hold a ticket, which presumably guarantees me a seat. Where shall I sit?"

The driver glanced over his shoulder.

"Offhand, I can't say.

Why not try the rear bench."

Glawen went to the back of the bus, and thrust himself into a crevice

between a pair of stout Zubenites. For convenience they had piled their parcels on the seat and resisted Glawen's intrusion, sprawling:

their legs apart and slumping their soft torsos as flaccidly as possible J but Glawen only thrust and squirmed the more vigorously, elicitinel mournful mutters from the Zubenites.

At last, with poor grace, the^I transferred a few of their parcels to the rack provided for the purpose ri Seeing how the land lay, Glawen abandoned tact and thrust himseKfi all the way back into the seat. The Zubenites groaned as if in pain3J One cried out: "Mercy, dearest brother! Take pity on our poor natural! bones!" | Glawen spoke in a severe voice: "Why is that bundle on the seafi beside you? Put it up on the rack and we'll all have more room." | "It would be wasted effort, since I travel only to Flicken.

Still, jl you insist, it seems that I must oblige you." ;| "You should have put it there in the first place." I "Ah, dear brother! That is not the proper way." | Glawen saw no need to argue the point. He took stock of his felloe passengers, who seemed equally divided between men and wonMa| though often the distinction was hard to make.

All wore the same garment: a hooded smock, baggy breeches tucked into long black- stockings, long pointed black shoes.

The hoods were thrown back revealing stubbles of coarse black hair. Faces were large, round sin white, with large moist eyes and long noses flattened at the tips. Glawel found no mystery in the lack of crossbreeding between Zubenite am the other races of Tassadero. | The driver found no reason to wait for more passengers. He started up the omnibus and drove out of Fexelburg, along a road which le<% eastward across the steppe. ^ The scenery quickly became uninteresting. With nothing better ?.1 do, Glawen began to watch his fellow passengers, with some casual notion of analyzing their thought processes from a study of their unconscious mannerisms. He met no success; the Zubenites sat staring torpidly into space, not even troubling to look out the windows. Perhaps, thought Glawen, they were all pondering the subtle disciplines of Monomantic Syntoraxis.

Probably not. Unless he was greatly mistaken, these folk were neither High nor Low Adepts, but small fanners, lacking all interest in philosophy.

On the previous evening, Glawen had glanced through the Synwac- tic Primer and now he thought to put his theory to the test. He spoke to the Zubenite on his right: "Sir, I notice what might seem to be an ambiguity in the arrangement of the Natural Doctrines. Tesseractic Conjunctions properly should precede Doctrine of Thresis and Anathresis. Have you formed an opinion on this topic?"

"Dearest brother, I cannot speak to you today, since I do not know what you are talking about."

"That answers my question," said Glawen. He gave his attention to the landscape: a plain which seemed to extend forever, given accent and perspective by solitary frocks, standing at distant intervals. Far to the north a line of low hills melted into the haze. Somewhere out there was Zonk's Tomb, if the legends were to be believed. Glawen wondered if Inspectors Barch and Tanaquil on their holidays participated in the great treasure hunt. Most likely not, he decided.

In due course the bus arrived at Flicken: a village already deep in Lutwiler Country, consisting of a few drab cottages, a mechanic's shop and Keelums' General Store, which advertised:

Supplies for the Treasure-hunter Food and Lodging Available

The bus halted in front of the store long enough to discharge passengers, including the portly Zubenite sitting next to Glawen. As he lifted his parcel from the rack he turned Glawen a reproachful look, as if to say: "Now, at last, do you understand the nuisance you have made of yourself?"

Glawen returned a cool and measured nod of farewell, but received no acknowledgment of the courtesy.

The bus proceeded east and, as Zonk's Star reached the meridian, entered a region cultivated to garden crops and cereals. Ahead rose the great black crag of Pogan's Point and a few minutes later the bus entered the town which spread away from the base of the crag. Peering from the window, Glawen glimpsed the seminary, a massive stone structure built halfway up the crag.

The bus entered the town's central square and halted beside a ramshackle depot. Glawen alighted from the bus and again looked up at the Point, which he conjectured to be the neck of an ancient volcano and certainly the most notable object he had seen all day. A narrow road sidled up the crag, angling back and forth, finally arriving at the seminary.

Glawen's first impressions were reinforced. The seminary, a huge block of stone three stories high, loomed over the town like a fortress. It was surely not a place where frivolity and joyous revels interfered with the study of Monomantic Syntoraxis.

Glawen went into the depot: a single large room with a counter at the far end. At one time or another the walls had been painted

between a pair of stout Zubenites. For convenience they had piled their parcels on the seat and resisted Glawen's intrusion, sprawling their legs apart and slumping their soft torsos as flaccidly as possible, but Glawen only thrust and squirmed the more vigorously, eliciting mournful mutters from the Zubenites. At last, with poor grace, they transferred a few of their parcels to the rack provided for the purpose. Seeing how the land lay, Glawen abandoned tact and thrust himself all the way back into the seat. The Zubenites groaned as if in pain. One cried out: "Mercy, dearest brother! Take pity on our poor natural bones!"

Glawen spoke in a severe voice: "Why is that bundle on the seat beside you? Put it up on the rack and we'll all have more room."

"It would be wasted effort, since I travel only to Flicken.

Still, if you insist, it seems that I must oblige you."

"You should have put it there in the first place."

"Ah, dear brother! That is not the proper way."

Glawen saw no need to argue the point. He took stock of his fellow passengers, who seemed equally divided between men and women, though often the distinction was hard to make.

All wore the same garment: a hooded smock, baggy breeches tucked into long black stockings, long pointed black shoes.