Bodwyn Wook peered down at the notes.
"So many? I thought that we had wiped the slate clean of mysteries."
"For one thing, I am puzzled by Floreste's easy connection with the Monomantics. I want to put some questions to him."
"Hmm. If you wish to question Floreste, why not? It will be good
practice for you, if nothing else. I spoke with him this morning, but learned nothing. He is master of a tantalizing opacity, which at last becomes unendurable. You will fare no better."
"Unless he takes me lightly and becomes careless."
"Possible. Be prepared to deal with a saintly martyr, whose only crime is artistic expression. I pointed out the virulence of his deeds, but he only laughed gently, as if he knew better than I. The folk of Araminta Station had never truly appreciated his great genius, so he assured me. He considers himself a 'citizen of the universe." Araminta Station is a turgid little backwater, with a stupid and incestuous social system, which rewards its fools and blunderers and forces its talented folk to fulfill themselves elsewhere. These are his words, not mine, and of course they contain a leavening of half-truths.
"In any event and for an instant we catch a glimpse of the naked and unadorned Floreste what has Araminta Station done for him? Where are his official honors and high rank, his wealth and private mansion! How is his great genius rewarded? In a patter of applause for his marvelous productions and the patronage of the Fine Arts Committee. I pointed out that he was basically no more than a skillful public entertainer, and it was not our way to sanctify or ennoble such folk. He said no more, but clearly he has no love for either the Conservancy or the Charter or Araminta Station."
"I wonder why he should want to build his new Orpheum here?"
"Where else? The situation is ideal. Why not put the question to Floreste? From sheer perversity he will evade a direct answer. He is impervious."
Glawen leaned back in his chair.
"As I sat here thinking dozing, as you put it I realized that Floreste must have accumulated a large sum of money. Do you know where this money is kept?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. It is on deposit at the Bank of Mircea in Soumjiana."
"I have decided to bring a civil suit against Floreste. My chances of a large settlement seem to be good especially if the case is tried in the High Court here at the Station, which would have the jurisdiction."
"Hah!" cried Bodwyn Wook.
"You have mastered that dastardly Clattuc art of attacking your enemy in his most sensitive parts! Even in the very shadow of doom, Floreste will suffer agonies if his money is threatened."
"This was my own thinking. How would I institute such a suit?"
"Wilfred Offaw will draw up the papers this very day, and Floreste's money will be impounded as if it were encased in durastrang and guarded by a hundred Gray Helmets."
"Floreste should be disconcerted, at the very least."
"Beyond a doubt. When do you wish to question him? Anytime is suitable; Floreste has no engagements elsewhere."
"This afternoon will do well enough."
"I will mention to Marcus that you are to be assisted in every way."
Immediately after lunch Glawen wrapped himself in a cloak and walked leaning against the blustering wind to the ponderous old jail across the river from the Orpheum. In the front office he was searched by Marcus Diffin, the jailer.
"I will not apologize, since I pass no one without a search, including Bodwyn Wook himself, and it was he who gave the orders. And what, may I ask, is this parcel?"
"It is what it seems to be. If I need it, I'll. give you a signal."
Glawen entered the chamber, and stood for a moment with his back to the door. Floreste sat in a wooden armchair at a rough plank table, his attention fixed upon a small white flower in a slender blue vase. The intensity of his gaze suggested mystical inversion, or perhaps he merely hoped that Glawen might notice his preoccupation and tiptoe abashed from the cell. Anything was possible, thought Glawen. After a moment he said gently: "Let me know as soon as I may conveniently break into your meditation."
Without so much as shifting his gaze, Floreste made a gesture of weary resignation.
"Speak! I have no choice but to listen. My only hope is hope itself. I look everywhere, but I find it only as a symbol expressed by this little flower, so brave and winsome!"
"It is indeed a nice flower," said Glawen. He pulled up a chair and seated himself across the table from Floreste.
"I
want to ask you a few questions, which I hope that you will answer."
"I am not in an expansive mood. I doubt if you will be gratified by my answers."
"From sheer curiosity: how long have you known Zaa? I refer, of course, to the Ordene at Pogan's Point."
"Names mean nothing to me," said Floreste.
"I have known thousands of folk, of every ilk and description. Some I might recall, for their style of being, or a certain flair which sets them apart from all other Gaeans. Others are like footprints in last year's sand: dismal creatures best forgotten."
"In which category do you place the Ordene Zaa?"
"These finicky little classifications are both pointless and tiresome."
"Perhaps you will tell me this: how and why did Zaa, a woman of intelligence, become involved in Monomantics?"
Floreste gave a cool chuckle.
"A fact is a fact, is it not?
