"Come here at once! Look at this!"
Glawen put the brochure in his pocket and joined Kirdy by the wall. With a trembling forefinger Kirdy tapped a poster.
"The Mummers are in town! We must go find them at once?
Look! Here are their
pictures! There is Aries, and there Glostor and Malory and Favlissa and Mullin and Dorre; I see them all! And Floreste himself! Ah, good old Floreste!"
"The last time you mentioned Floreste he was 'an avaricious old bastard'!"
"No matter! What a wonderful coincidence! Just when things seem utterly dismal, something like this turns up!"
Glawen examined the poster, which, along with photographs of Floreste and the Mummers, listed some of their programs and then- schedule for the coming weeks.
"You did not read the date correctly. They will not be here for another two days.
They are now playing a town called Diamonte."
"Then we shall go to Diamonte! It is the only thing to do!
Think how surprised they'll be to see us! Think of the festival we'll all enjoy!"
"Kirdy, step over here, if you will." Glawen led the suddenly scowling Kirdy to a quiet part of the room.
"Listen closely, and listen carefully," said Glawen, "so that I need not repeat myself. We are not visiting the Mummers at Diamonte or anywhere else. Tomorrow I am going to Pogan's Point to find out something about Sibil, who gave Pogan's Point as her address. It may be a bit chancy, if the others out there are anything at all like Sibil. For this reason I want you to remain at the hotel, either in your room or in the lobby. I expect no trouble, but if I am not back tomorrow evening then you must get in touch with Plock at the IPCC. Is this all perfectly clear?"
Kirdy looked off across the room toward the poster.
"It's clear enough, but--" "No buts about it. If all goes well, we will be leaving for.
home the day after tomorrow on the Camulke. When the Mummers return to Araminta Station you can see them as much as you like. But not now. This is most definite. Come along; I must buy my ticket and I want to ask some questions of the manager."
The ticket window was open. Glawen bought a round-trip ticket to Pogan's Point, then asked the young woman who now serviced the ticket window: "What is the manager's name?"
"Amo Rorp. He's in the side office."
Glawen went to the side office and finding the door open stepped inside. At a desk sat a thin suave gentleman of middle age with smooth gray hair immaculately coiffed, and a mustache even more neatly trimmed. Glawen introduced himself, displayed the Perfection of Joy brochure and asked how it had arrived at the Allen Dance and Arts Salon.
Amo Rorp looked wryly down at the brochure.
"Frankly, this is not the son of material we normally handle. But--well, I was persuaded. For a fact, it seems little more offensive than many of our Zonk posters."
"How many of these brochures were you allotted?"
"Three dozen. Most went to the idly curious, but they've generated some small custom, from a rather unlikely source."
"The Zubenites?"
"Quite so. How did you know? But I forget; these excursions take place on Cadwal."
"No longer," said Glawen.
"Who approached you originally?"
"In connection with the excursions?" A rather engaging young woman, off-world, not out of the top drawer, I should say."
"Did she leave a name?"
"Ogmo Enterprises, nothing more."
"Did anyone else appear, representing Ogmo Enterprises: a man, for instance?"
"Never."
"Please step over here a moment." Glawen took Arno Rorp to the poster advertising Floreste and his Mummers.
"Ah, yes," said Rorp.
"The Mummers. They put on a most entertaining show."
"Look at these photographs," said Glawen.
"Are any of the faces known to you?"
"Yes indeed," said Rorp.
"Most odd! This is the young woman who brought in the brochures." He squinted at the caption.
