Plock said: "That is a practical suggestion, and we shall not wait upon ceremony." He fired his gun three times, with precision.

"The work is done," said Plock, for a moment looking down at the three bodies.

How quick it went! thought Glawen. Funo no longer thought private thoughts; Mutis felt no more indecision and Zaa's knowledge was irretrievably gone.

Plock turned to the awed Danton: "Take these bodies to the garbage pit. Use a barrow, or a can, or make up a trestle:

as you choose. Pick out two or three sturdy fellows to help you. When you are finished, join the others down the hill."

Danton started to obey Flock's order, but Glawen halted him.

"The stairs between the second and third floors: why are they dangerous?"

Danton glanced toward the corpses, as if to assure himself that none could hear him.

"When a stranger was brought to the third floor, and held against his will--which happened more often than you might think--Muds strung a trip wire across the steps near the top of the flight, and this wire was charged with electricity. If someone tried to use the steps, he would end up in a huddle of broken bones at the bottom. Mutis and Funo would then carry him, alive or dead, to the garbage pit and throw him away."

"And no one protested?"

Danton smiled.

"When one studies the Syntoraxis with great concentration, he seldom notices anything."

Glawen turned away.

Plock said to Danton: "You may now dispose of the corpses."

The vacant seminary seemed to echo with a thousand whispers just below the threshold of perception. Glawen and Plock, with Kylte and Narduke, stood in the first-floor conference room. Plock spoke in an unwontedly thoughtful voice: "Since I am not a superstitious man, the twittering of so many ghosts disturbs me."

"Neither Zab Zonk nor his ghost troubled me," said Glawen.

"For a fact, I might have welcomed the company."

"In any case, we must risk the upper floors. There might be some

Monomantics so engrossed in their studies that they failed to hear the commands."

"You three go. I want no more of the upper floors. When you look into the kitchen, turn off the fires, otherwise the soup will burn even worse than usual."

Flock and his two associates climbed the stairs. Glawen meanwhile explored the first floor. He found Zaa's private apartments and her office: a large room with plastered bone-white walls, furnished with lamps of a peculiar contorted design, a heavy black and green rug and furniture upholstered in dark red plush. A peculiar room, thought Glawen, reflecting the tensions which obviously had pulled Zaa in a dozen different directions. Shelves held a variety of books, all of a secular nature. Glawen searched the desk but found no records, addresses, files of correspondence or any other material of interest to him. Yet it seemed that Zaa had been anxious to destroy certain items of information. What and where? Or had they misjudged her intentions? In a drawer of the desk Glawen found a strongbox, un locked, containing a large sum of money. He took the box from the drawer and below found a photograph of a dozen women, standing in what appeared to be a garden. The environment would seem to be not that of Tassadero. One of the women was Zaa of ten or even fifteen years ago. Another of the group was Sibil. The others were not known to Glawen.

They must include Klea, now at Strock, and possibly Madame Zigonie of Rosalia. The individuals were not identified, either by code or legend or handwritten designation. Glawen tucked the photograph into his inner pocket; it was not information which would interest the IPCC to any large extent.

Glawen turned his attention to Zaa's private apartments and, holding his revulsion under tight rein, he continued his search for documents:

letters, address books, journals, photographs. As before, he found nothing of consequence: no reference to Madame Zigonie of the world Rosalia, nor any other name he recognized.

Plock and the others came down from the upper floors. Glawen took them to Zonk's Tomb, where the lamp still cast a yellow glow around the chamber.

Glawen opened the door but could not bring himself to enter the chamber more than a step or two.

"There it is," he said.

"Just as I left it: platform, stream, tunnel and all."

Plock surveyed the extent of the tomb.

"I see no treasure."

"I found none, and with nothing better to do I looked quite carefully. I found no trapdoors, no loose stones, no sliding panels and no treasure."

"It's none of our affair, in any case," said Plock.

"I have now seen Zonk's Tomb and I am ready to leave, at any time."

"I've seen all I care to see," said Narduke.

"I have lost nothing here," said Kylte.

"I also have seen enough," said Glawen.

"I am willing to leave."

Glawen took the group to Zaa's office and poured the contents of the strongbox out on the desk. Plock counted the money.

"I make it roughly nine thousand sols, give or take a dink et or two." He reflected a moment.

"In my opinion," he told Glawen, "the Monomantics owe you a large debt of damages, which is hard to evaluate. Let us place an arbitrary value of a thousand sols a month on your time, with another thousand sols for mental anguish. In one minute we arrive at a disposition which could require months of the court's time, and who knows what might happen to these funds in the interim? It is better to collect now when the money is at hand. Here is the award: punitive damages in the amount of three thousand sols against the Monomantic seminary."

Glawen tucked the money into his pocket.

"It is a better end to the affair than I expected. I can put the money to good use."

The four men left the seminary and descended the hill to the village.

CHAPTER 9

Toward the middle of a gloomy winter afternoon, the spaceship Solares Oro broke through the overcast above Araminta Station and settled to a landing close beside the space terminal.

Among the debarking passengers was Glawen Clattuc.

Immediately after passing through the formalities of entry, he found a telephone and called Clattuc House. Today was that day of the week known as Smollen; the Clattucs would be preparing to assemble for the weekly House Supper. However, instead of his father, the synthetic voice of the Clattuc switchboard responded to Glawen.

"Sir, to whom do you wish to speak?"

Odd, thought Glawen; he had directed the call to the chambers shared by himself and his father.

"To Scharde Clattuc."