Galactic Effectuator, page 19
“She has a gift for expression,” said Hetzel. “So then, take me to the house of Farucas.”
“As you like.”
Alongside white beaches drove the boat, past slanting coconut palms, purple and mauve gangee, pink jor-giana, lianas trailing a hundred feet of white trumpet blossoms. The boat slid across turquoise tinted shallows and dark blue depths; looking over the side Hetzel saw all manner of sea life: white gloves with black ribbons; needles of blue fire darting and stopping; a snow-white fish ten feet long with a wedge-shaped knob of a head four feet across; a creature which the boatman named a sea scrag, somewhat like a fifteen-foot scorpion, with pincers at each end; uncountable small fish.
The boatman pointed. “Tinkum’s Bar; Farucas’ house.”
The house stood on a graded flat among fruit trees and a line of coco palms: a structure of crystallized sand, far more substantial than Hetzel had expected. From the verandah an Arsh woman watched the boat. Hetzel asked, “Is that Farucas?”
“There she stands.”
“Let’s go in.”
The boatman made fast to a concrete pier; Hetzel jumped ashore. He climbed a path to the house. The woman apparently had not stirred from where he had seen her first. “Hello,” called Hetzel. “Are you Farucas?”
“Yes, I am Faurcas.”
Hetzel joined her upon the verandah; the woman looked at him with apprehension. Like all Arsh she was squat, with heavy shoulders and short heavy legs. Her ears, already pendulous, were expanded even farther with plugs of carved Vermillion; her nose hung heavy and crooked, like a faulty cucumber. “Sir, what do you want here?”
“Where is Sabin Cru?”
“He is not here,” said Farucas with prim finality.
From inside the house came a scraping sound, as of a chair being pulled across the floor. Hetzel said: “He is not here, you say. Then who makes that noise?”
Before Farucas could respond Hetzel had stepped past her and into the house.
He found himself in a long room with white plastered walls, divided into two sections by a low counter, the far end of which supported trays of mush and cooked fruit. Behind the counter stood three splendid beings a foot taller than Hetzel. Each showed a pointed parchment-white visage surmounted first by a pair of twisted gilded horns, then a crest of scarlet, gray, and orange plumes. Under the head a collar of black hair hung over the heavy thorax, while the occipital crest continued down the back. A colorful and picturesque group, thought Hetzel; the creatures would seem to merit their popular appellation: Flamboyards. They treated Hetzel to stares of haughty inquiry, then continued with their feeding. A fourth Flamboyard entered the room on the human side of the counter, to stand stock still watching Hetzel: a creature not so tall as the others, heavier and apparently more solid, with a large near-globular head.
Farucas cried out, “As I told you: these are not Sabin Cru!”
“So I see. Who paid for this expensive house?” Farucas made a gesture. “Oh, I pay money.”
“And where did the money come from?”
“Yes; it is money.”
“Sabin Cru gives you money?”
“Yes, that is true,” said Farucas. “He is good to me.” “And where does Sabin Cru get money?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Doctor.”
“Where is Dr. Dacre?”
“I don’t know about Doctor.”
“I want to tell him about fax, but now I talk to you.” “I don’t know about tax.”
“No, because this is not your house! Dr. Dacre doesn’t want any old thing living here. You get out.” “No, no! Doctor wants me to feed the Flams!”
“Oh! You take care of the Flams?”
“Yes, that is true!”
“Then you must pay the tax.”
“No tax on those things,” declared Farucas without conviction.
“That’s where you’re wrong. A very big tax is due. I am empowered to take the money.”
Farucas looked uneasily over her shoulder. “I don’t have money.”
“Then I must collect from Doctor or from Sabin Cru. Tell me where, or I must file a derogatory report!” Farucas again looked over her shoulder, as if seeking help from the Flamboyards. The three tall individuals ate without interest; the fourth had departed the room.
Farucas said hopelessly, “I don’t know where is Doctor Dacre. Sabin is in Masmodo. He stays with old Leuvil.”
“Old Leuvil, eh? I talk to old Leuvil; he does not say Sabin is there.”
“Leuvil keep Sabin because of Doctor Dacre. They work together a long time; they are such friends.” “Yes, that is possible.” Hetzel moved to examine a photograph on the wall. “Who is this? Could it be Sabin Cru?”
Farucas nodded pridefully. “That is now Sabin. He is happy that he is alive and well.”
Hetzel returned to the boat. The Arsh boatman cast off and turned back toward Masmodo. After a few minutes he asked in a sly voice: “Did you find Sabin Cru?”
“No. He is in Masmodo, according to his mother.” “I could have told you that.”
“No doubt you could have,” said Hetzel. “Why did Impie tell me he was with his mother?”
“She told you to ask his mother.”
“Perhaps; I don’t remember all that accurately. What else do you know that you haven’t told me?”
“I know why Dr. Leuvil called in the Medical Inspector on Dr. Dacre.”
“And why was that?”
“Is the information worth ten SVU?”
“Probably not.”
“How much is it worth then?”
“Very hard to say.”
“Ah, well, you’ll hear it free of charge from someone else. Farucas keeps three Flamboyards; did you see them?”
“Yes,” said Hetzel. “I did.”
“A rumor started that Dr. Dacre had used antirejection serum to construct Flamboyard hybrids, and
Farucas was declared to be the mother. So went the story.”
“And quite a story it is, if true.”
“Memer Stipes, the Medical Inspector, made things hot for Dr. Dacre, so maybe something was going on.” “So why does Dr. Leuvil now keep Sabin Cru?”
The boatman shrugged. “Leuvil has also locked away Dr. Dacre’s machines. Sabin alone profits from the discord. If he were here I would drown him at once. The sea has claimed him, and will never let him go.”
“The question then remains: where is Dr. Dacre?” “He comes and goes. He might return tomorrow.” “Possibly so. What else do you know?”
“Nothing, Merner, that you would wish to pay for.” From the Masmodo dock Hetzel went directly to the post office where he communicated with the Azimuth Effectuation Group at Narghuys. After an exchange of polite pleasantries with the director, Hetzel requested the services of five top-quality operatives. These arrived at Masmodo on the following day and Hetzel explained his requirements: “Notice the house and dispensary on the hill yonder. In one or the other resides a most important witness in a case, who must not be allowed to slip through our fingers. Both house and dispensary must be watched constantly: two men by day, three men by night. Work out the schedule to suit yourselves. Plan for every contingency. If you need more help, call Azimuth: I prefer too many men to too few. Be discreet, but do not attempt to be invisible. The woman may come and go, but be sure it is the woman; do not be deceived by padding and a wig, or any other subterfuge. Is everything clear?”
Questions were asked; Hetzel clarified all areas of ambiguity, then departed Masmodo.
CHAPTER 12
Conwit Clent received a telegram at Dandyl Villa. It read:
The situation has reached a critical stage. Your presence is needed.
Please come on the instant to Narghuys, Gietersmond.
Meet me at the Cosmolux Hotel, Suite 100.
I will expect you by earliest scheduled transport.
Arriving at the Cosmolux Hotel, Clent was received by Hetzel in the foyer of Suite 100. “You are the last to arrive, but still in good time. Our business now proceeds.”
Clent stopped short. “What is going on? Please explain to me.”
“I would do so with pleasure, Xtl Clent, except that the others are becoming restless, and we still have much to do. Come this way; I will introduce you.”
Hetzel ushered Clent into the sitting room. Those already present fell silent and scrutinized Clent with an interest more direct and intent than might have suited ordinary circumstances.
“At last,” said Hetzel, “our group is complete, except for a person whom we will shortly join. Gentlemen, this
is Xtl Conwit Clent, of Thesse. Around the room are Lazar, Baron Keurboom from Disten; Dr. Aartemus of the Academy of Medical Sciences at Narghuys; Merner Ander Stipes, Medical Inspector for the Torpeltines; Dominie Dandrue Cheasling, Headmaster at the Trembling Waters Academy, also on Thesse; the Honorable Shaide Casbain of Meurice, Skalkemond. Among us we represent many eras in the life of Faurence Dacre. Not all, of course. A certain Dr. Leuvil must still be consulted, and then—”
Baron Keurboom made a convulsive clutching gesture. “Are these preliminaries necessary? Let us get to the point! Where is Faurence?”
“Quite right, Baron,” said Hetzel. “We should delay no longer. A vehicle awaits us; we will—”
“Must we travel further then?”
“I consider it essential, Baron. At Masmodo we bridge the final gap in the life of Faurence Dacre. The man who typifies that period is something of a recluse, but no matter; the situation must somehow resolve itself. If everyone is ready? Good. Follow me, if you will . . .”
CHAPTER 13
The aircraft flew along the chain of the Torpeltines, slanted down upon Jamus Amaha, and landed at Masmodo, behind the post office. As the group alighted a stocky gray-haired man approached and took Hetzel aside. The two spoke together several minutes, then Hetzel turned to the others. “Everything appears to be in order. This is my associate, Bruno Imhalter, of the Azimuth Effectutation Group. A word or two about Dr. Leuvil. At one time he was Faurence Dacre’s partner, then his competitor, and finally his enemy. Yonder is his cottage, and across the way a dispensary, which contains a considerable amount of Dr. Dacre’s equipment. In the dispensary resides a man who is both familiar with Dr. Dacre and who must know his whereabouts: a certain Sabin Cru. I and Merner Imhalter have gone to great pains to ensure that he has not been removed from the vicinity.”
“All very well,” grumbled Clent, “but where is Dacre?”
“Faurence Dacre is unpredictable,” said Hetzel. “We may find that he has resorted to a bizarre disguise. As we all know, Faurence Dacre enjoys the sensation of extrahuman power, to which the anonymity of a disguise sometimes contributes. But now we call upon Dr.
Leuvil, although I cannot guarantee a cordial welcome.” Their approach to the cottage did not go unnoticed. As the group climbed the steps up to Dr. Leuvil’s verandah, the door swung open and Zerpette Leuvil looked forth, round face glowing with rage, her ridiculous blond ringlets bouncing and jerking. “Please! We do not want to see you. Go away, you have no business here! Or I will call the constable!”
“To no purpose, Miss Leuvil; he would only assure you that we are respectable persons, with legitimate purposes for our visit. If you will announce us, we will transact our business as quickly as possible.”
Zerpette drew a deep breath, charging her lungs for an extended defiance, but from within sounded a few words in a terse voice. Zerpette flounced back and flung open the door. “In then, all of you! Wipe your feet on the mat. You are not here by my wishes.”
The group filed portentously into the side sitting room. “Dr. Leuvil?” spoke Hetzel politely. “I believe that we have already met, if informally.”
The unwilling host, hunched behind a desk, responded only with a grunt; then, noting Imhalter, he declared angrily: “You have put a surveillance upon this house! What is your purpose?”
Hetzel responded: “The affair is simple. We have been told that Sabin Cru is under your care.”
“What of that?”
“Why have you taken charge of Sabin Cru?”
“It is none of your affair.”
“I am not so sure. Is Sabin Cru not Dr. Dacre’s concern?”
“Dr. Dacre has made commitments not yet fulfilled: to myself and to others of my family.”
“In that case,” asked Hetzel, “why should we not join forces?”
“I have learned to trust no living man. Everything I have worked for has been blasted, through trust. No more. I am not interested in your problems; you must do your own work; and now I ask you to go. Do not harass me, a tired sick man who can barely see.”
“You have all our sympathy,” said Hetzel. “Permit us a word with Sabin Cru and we will allow you to rest.” “I will permit nothing.”
“Then we must act without your permission.”
“That is at your discretion. I cannot force decency upon you.”
“Be so good as to summon him.”
“No. Leave the house. He is not here.”
Zerpette bustled forward. “How long must you stay?” “Not much longer. Merner Imhalter, look into the dispensary, if you please. Did you speak, Dr. Leuvil?” “Go. Leave the house.”
Hetzel followed Imhalter out upon the verandah, and gave orders which brought a grim smile to Imhalter’s face.
Hetzel returned into the sitting room. “Merner Imhalter and his men are bringing Sabin Cru here. If you prefer, Dr. Leuvil, we will ask our questions on the verandah.”
“I prefer to hear whatever you have to say.”
“As you wish.” Hetzel spoke to his group. “You may wonder why both Dr. Leuvil and I set such store by Sabin Cru. He is an ordinary Arsh, notable only for the terrible mauling he took from a sea scrag. But he represents for Dr. Dacre a masterpiece, so to speak; the restoration of life to a few shreds of moribund tissue. Even Dr. Leuvil will agree that the work was well done. Correct, Doctor?”
“Dr. Dacre beyond doubt is supreme in his field.” Several minutes passed. Conwit Clent started to speak, then curbed himself; twice Lazar, Baron Keurboom made his now-familiar clutching clenching gesture.
A tap at the door; Imhalter and one of his operators entered, in company with a man in a soiled white hospital gown.
Hetzel signaled the newcomer to a seat. “We have put you to some inconvenience, which I fear must increase. He looked toward Zerpette. “You are a doctor’s daughter, and in any event must be aware of the human body.” Hetzel turned to his friends. “Without attempting to extract every dramatic nuance from this situation, I will merely present to you Sabin Cru, the one-time Arsh fisherman, and now as you see.”
AnderStipes, the District Medical Inspector, leaned forward in sudden interest. “He’s no Arsh. Unless he’s a half-breed—but he doesn’t even look like a half-breed.”
“He’s not exactly pure Arsh,” said Hetzel. “Imhalter, if you will, remove Sabin Cru’s gown.”
Sabin Cru resisted only brie'fly. The gown was removed; Sabin Cru sat naked except for underwear.
“I will ask you all to inspect Sabin Cru closely,” said Hetzel. “Certain of his adjuncts may well be familiar to you.”
“Unless I am much mistaken,” said Dr. Aartemus, “those are my two legs. And my feet.”
“So that is the way the wind blows,” cried Shaide Casbain in sudden excitement. “There is my left arm; notice the tattoo.”
“The right arm is mine,” declared Dominie Cheasl-ing. “I have long worn this plaz and steel contraption without complaint, but no longer.”
Stipes the Medical Inspector nodded grimly. “Dr. Dacre once told me to keep my nose out of his affairs or I might need a new nose. He meant every word.”
“Faurence told me I used my jaw too much,” Baron Keurboom remarked dolefully. “The result has been the same.”
Conwit Clent said, “I cannot instantly identify ipy own property, but I am hopeful. Miro Hetzel, your reputation has not been overstated. How did you learn all this?”
“It is a complex process of integrating facts, then adding a lucky guess or two,” said Hetzel, always reluctant to make his work seem too simple. But now, looking around the room, he saw that more was expected of him. “Of course there were interesting incidents along the way. A few days ago I visited Sabin Cru’s mother at Tinkum’s Bar. While there I noticed a photograph of Sabin Cru as he is now, and my suspicions were verified. Thenceforth my first anxiety was to guard him from accident, escape, murder, or any other violent incident. I now deliver this property into your hands.”
“All very well,” said Shaide Casbain, “but what do we do with it?”
Hetzel shrugged. “Across the way is a miniature hospital; we have eminent medical men in our group: Dr. Aartemus, Dr. Leuvil—”
“I am retired; I cannot see to work.”
“That leads us to a new speculation. Just when, Dr. Leuvil, did your eyes start going bad?”
“Not long ago. Three years. Then as if overnight.” “You know that in the dispensary is equipment to expedite ocular transplant?”
“Yes, of course. Your implications are ridiculous. Dr. Dacre would never dare.”
“What color were your eyes originally?”
“Blue. They have changed with my disability.” Hetzel nodded. “Let us review your association with Dr. Dacre. He came out as your associate. Ottile was then your nurse—”
“Yes; she would not leave him alone, the rumplinga. I threw him out and threw her out, and Impie became my nurse.”
“Exactly. Dr. Dacre went to Skalkemond. In due course he ran afoul of Memer Casbain and the stringent Skalkemond law as well, and hastily returned to Masmodo. Here he set up a rival practice, hired—or induced—Impie away from her father.
“During this period he salvaged Sabin Cru, but I doubt if his great idea had yet occurred to him, for he had now begun his Flamboyard experiments. Dr. Leuvil reported them to Merner Stipes, who came to Masmodo and rescinded Dr. Dacre’s license. Once again Dr. Dacre was forced to leave. Impie, no longer welcome at home, took a job in the tavern. Dr. Dacre went to Cassander, and became successful, but all the time he reflected upon his various enemies, from Dominie Cheasling, who had expelled him from Trembling Waters, to Ander Stipes, and finally poor Conwit Clent. Dr. Dacre traveled frequently, and each time he traveled Sabin Cru received new equipment. Eyes? Not Dr. Leuvil’s eyes, which were blue.
