“Tell you whether or not Doveril has ever been mixed up in hypnojewel trafficking?”
“Yes. Oh, you must have access to the police records, as a member of the Crime Commission, and—”
“And those records are supposed to be confidential.”
“I know,” she said. “But I love Doveril so much—and you wouldn’t want me to run away with him if he were a criminal , would you?”
I wouldn’t want you to run away with him for any reason , Catton thought. It would be suicidally foolish for her to elope with a penniless alien musician. But he kept his thoughts to himself.
He said, “I see your position. You must be terribly worried about him.”
“I am.”
“I hope for your sake that he’s in the clear.”
“I hope so too,” she said. “You’ll help me, then?”
“I can’t promise anything. I’ll do my best, though. I’ll try to find out.”
“You’ll do it soon, won’t you?”
“As soon as I can find anything, I’ll let you know.” He smiled. “We’d better go back inside now,” he said. “We’ve been out here almost fifteen minutes. People are going to start whispering things about us.”
They returned to the ballroom. The dance was still in full swing. Catton grinned at the girl and she went dancing off in the arms of one of the young Space Navy officers. Catton wandered toward the sidelines and poured himself a glass of the highly spiked punch.
Ambassador Seeman was deep in conversation with two Terran businessmen and their wives. Catton wondered whether the Ambassador had even the faintest notion of the sort of thing his little girl had become involved in, at her tender age. Probably, Catton thought, Seeman had no suspicion whatever. He shrugged.
About midnight, the reception ended. The guests departed, and Catton, wearily, returned to his own room two floors above the Embassy ballroom. He flickered on the lightswitch. The visiphone blinker was on, telling him that there had been a call for him during the evening.
He activated the playback of the call-recorder, and the screen came to light.
The head and shoulders of a Morilaru woman appeared in the viewing area. Above her head, the time of her call was imprinted. She had called nearly two hours ago.
She said, “You don’t know me, but I have some information that can be very useful to you. If you think you’re interested, call me any time before midnight at K22-1055B.”
Frowning, Catton looked at his watch. It was after midnight, but not much after. He decided to try the number.
Blanking the screen and wiping away the recording of her call, he punched out the number on the keyboard. A moment passed, while the screen remained cloudy. Then the murk cleared. The head and shoulders of the Morilaru woman appeared. She seemed to be young, as far as Catton could tell, but there was a cold hardness about her eyes and lips.
“Yes?” she said.
“This is Lloyd Catton. You left a message for me to call you.”
“Oh. Yes. I’d like to meet you, Catton.”
“Why?”
“It isn’t something I could be happy talking about on a vision screen,” she said.
“If you don’t feel like telling me what you want to talk about,” Catton said, “I might as well switch the screen off. It’s too late at night for playing mysterious guessing-games.”
“All right. I’ll tell you this much: I have some information for you on a subject you’re very interested in. A subject connected with jewelry.”
Catton nodded slowly, concealing his confusion and surprise. Word certainly traveled quickly on this planet. He said, “Okay, I’m interested. I suppose you want to meet me?”
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“In the Old Quarter,” she said. “There’s a tavern where I could see you. It’s on the Street of the Two Moons, just over the bridge. Think you can find it?”
“I’ll manage. What’s the name of the place?”
“The Five Planets,” she said. “My name is Nuuri Gryain. Will you be there at noon sharp?”
“I’ll be there,” Catton said. The Morilaru woman grinned at him slyly and blanked the screen. Catton stared in puzzlement at the dying pattern of light for a moment, then shrugged and clicked the switch. The Five Planets, tomorrow at noon. It was a date.
Chapter Four
Dyelleran, capital city of Morilar, shared one characteristic with many other capital cities throughout the galaxy: the contrast between the district of official buildings and the slums was extreme. Dyelleran was divided by the River Mhorn, which pursued an east-to-west course through the city on its tortuous path to the sea. The river was bridged twenty times within the city proper, but there was no real bond between the two halves of Dyelleran. The contrast between the east bank, on which the government buildings and the best residential areas were situated, and the west bank, or Old Quarter, was extraordinary.
It was mid-morning when Catton crossed the bridge into the Old Quarter. The moment he stepped from his cab he knew this was a considerably different neighborhood from the serene and architecturally impressive governmental half of the city. The streets were crooked and paved with cobblestones; a nasty stink of rotting vegetables hung in the air, and sleeping Morilaru huddled in the doorways. The heat, which had been annoying on the other side of the river, was impossible here. Droning mosquito-like insects hovered in greedy clouds.
The Street of the Two Moons turned out to be one of the widest in the entire district: that is, vehicles could pass comfortably in both directions. The old houses that lined the street tilted crazily in all angles and directions. Some of them, Catton guessed, were more than a thousand years old, and still used as dwellings.
He had checked the city directory and discovered that the number of The Five Planets was 63, Street of the Two Moons, but the information did Catton little good; no house numbers were apparent on any of the buildings. But he had no difficulty finding the tavern. A huge grimy banner dangled out over the street, moving fitfully in the faint breeze, and emblazoned on the tattered cloth Catton saw five brightly-colored worlds arranged in a loose circle. He quickened his pace.
The tavern door was no fancy electronic affair; it was a simple slab of solid wood. Catton dragged it open and stepped inside.
The place was dark, according to the universal custom of taverns. Along the left wall was the bar, manned by a dour-looking bald old Morilaru; tables were scattered at irregular intervals throughout the dimly-lit, low-roofed room. Only four people, all Morilaru, were in the tavern as Catton entered. All four turned to stare at him.
The girl was sitting at the table closest to the door. A mug of wine was in her hand, and another was on the table, evidently having been poured for him. He walked over and looked down, trying to be certain she was the one he had spoken to the night before. It was often not easy to tell one Morilaru from another.
“Nuuri Gryain?” he asked.
She smiled at him, showing flashing white teeth. “Sit down, Catton. I’ve already ordered a drink for you. I hope you like our wine.”
He pulled out the seat, lowered himself into it, and cradled the wine mug in his big hands. The mug was of yellow clay, and refreshingly cool to the touch in the hothouse atmosphere. He looked closely at her.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Somebody with a grudge. That’s all.”
“What kind of grudge?”
“A grudge against a certain man,” she said. “That doesn’t concern you. Let’s say I’m interested in seeing justice get done. My own kind of justice.”
Calmly, Catton lifted the wine to his lips. The liquid was cool, faintly bitter. He allowed about half a spoonful to enter his mouth, and he held it there, without swallowing it, as he tasted it.
“Go on,” she said. “It’s safe to swallow. The wine isn’t drugged or poisoned, Catton.”
He swallowed the half spoonful. “Why should I trust you? The wine was on the table when I came in.
You might easily have doctored it.”
“Do you want me to drink the rest of your wine?” she asked. “Or wouldn’t you trust that either?”
“There are drugs that effect a Terran metabolism but not a Morilaru one,” he said, grinning. “But I’ll take my chances. The first mouthful didn’t kill me.” He took a deeper sip: the wine was good. He set the mug down half empty. “Suppose you start telling me why you wanted to see me.”
She locked her fingers together. Like most of her race, she was long and thin—spidery, that was the way most Morilaru looked to Catton. But there was a strange grace about her. Her red-hued eyes sparkled oddly, and her gaunt cheekbones had a way of highlighting the subtle colors of her skin. She wore the green crest of maidenhood in her lustrous black hair.
She said, “You’re here to investigate the traffic in hypnojewels, Earthman.” It was not a question but a flat declarative statement.
“How do you know that?” Catton asked.
Her spike-tipped shoulders lifted lightly in a shrug. “I’ve had access to the information. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”
“For the moment. All right: I’m investigating hypnojewel traffic. What do you want to tell me?”
“I can help you uncover a ring of hypnojewel smugglers, Catton. I’m volunteering my services as a go-between. Think you’re interested?”
He tapped the table. “You’ve got a price. What is it?”
“No price. I just want to see this bunch put in jail, that’s all.”
“Simple as that, eh?”
“Yes. As simple as that.”
“All right,” Catton said. “I’ll go along with you, maybe. How do you plan to work this uncovering?”
“I’ll take you to the place where you can make contact with these people,” she said. “We can fob you off as a would-be purchaser of a hypnojewel. I think we can do it convincingly. The transaction can take place, and then you can crack down, once you have the incriminating evidence. Does it sound okay?”
For a moment Catton made no answer. Then he said in a soft voice, “You’re selling out some friends of yours, aren’t you, Nuuri? Why?”
“What does that matter to you? You Earthmen are only interested in results. In smashing the illegal smuggling trade. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. I’m offering you a chance to uncover something big—and you’re asking questions.”
“I just want to know what you stand to gain personally out of this,” Catton said.
The girl took a deep draught of her wine. “I’ll spell it out for you simply. I was in love with one of the members of this group. He is not in love with me. He claims to be in love with another woman, and he also says now that he’s going to run away with her as soon as the proceeds from the next hypnojewel deal come in. I’m just angry enough at him to want to turn the whole bunch in to the law. Now do you get it, Earthman? Now do you see the picture?”
“Jealousy. Pure green jealousy.”
“Call it whatever you want. But Doveril thought he could grind me into the dirt, and I want him to find out he isn’t going to get away with it.”
Catton felt a pang of painful surprise. “ Doveril? ”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have let that slip. But that’s his name, as long as I’ve dropped it out. He’s the head of the group. He earns his keep as a music teacher, right now. Maybe you’ve seen him around the Embassy. He teaches music to the Ambassador’s brat.”
Catton nodded, shutting his eyes for an instant. He was not ordinarily susceptible to emotional distress, but he felt deeply saddened now. Poor Estil was going to be in for the nastiest jolt of her young life.
“Tell me,” Catton said. “This woman who’s taken your place in his affections—you know who she is?”
“No. And it’s a good thing, too. I’d scratch her eyes out!” There was snapping fire in Nuuri’s voice. Catton thought he understood the alien girl completely, at that moment: sensual, highly emotional, eager for revenge. He felt relieved that she did not know the actual identity of her hated rival.
“I’m not sure I care for your motives in this business,” Catton said. “But the end result is what matters, and I’m anxious to see the hypnojewel trade rooted out. When will you take me to these people?”
“Whenever you want. Tomorrow’s a good day.”
“Good enough,” he said. “Tomorrow, then. Suppose I meet you here, at this time.”
“Right. How about another drink, Earthman?”
Catton shook his head. “One’s enough, thanks.” He rose and dropped a coin on the table. “This ought to take care of the drink I had. I’ll see you tomorrow, right here. Don’t change your mind overnight.”
“I won’t,” she said vehemently. “Don’t worry about that.” Catton stepped from the dimness of the tavern to the bright searing heat of the street in early afternoon. There was no cab in sight; he walked down to the foot of the Street of the Two Moons, breathing shallowly to keep from retching at the filth all about him.
He would have to tell Estil, of course. He wondered how she would take it. Badly, no doubt. She was in for an emotional wrench. But at least she had already had misgivings about Doveril, so it wouldn’t be a total shock to her to learn of his criminal activities. And, in any event, finding out now would save her from making a mistake of life-shattering consequences. In a few months she would probably forget all about the impecunious, fast-talking music teacher.
Catton walked eastward toward the newer section of the city. He crossed the bridge on foot, stopping once to peer down at the sluggish, dirty water, coated with bright oil slicks, and at the men working on the barges that passed beneath the bridge. They worked stripped to the waist, tall fleshless purple beings who looked almost but not quite human, and they didn’t seem to object to the killing heat. Probably, he thought, Morilaru who visit Earth are astonished at our ability to function in such a dread chill. It was all a matter of viewpoint.
There was a public communicator-booth at the eastern end of the bridge. It was time, Catton decided, to report to Pouin Beryaal.
He entered the booth and clicked the door shut behind him. Fishing an octagonal ten-unit coin from his change-purse, Catton placed it in the appropriate slot and punched the number of the Interworld Commission on Crime.
There was a moment’s pause; then, on the tiny screen of the communicator, the blurred image of a Morilaru female appeared.
“Office of the Interworld Commission on Crime. Your party, please?”
“This is Lloyd Catton. I’d like to talk to Pouin Beryaal, if he’s in.”
“Just one moment, please.”
Catton waited, reflecting on the universal similarity of receptionists and switchboard operators all over the galaxy. A few seconds later, the angular, austere face of the chairman of the Commission appeared.
“Catton?”
“Good afternoon, Pouin Beryaal. I’m calling from a public communicator just over the bridge from the Old Quarter.”
“Are you out slumming today?” Beryaal asked sardonically.
“I’ve been conducting a little investigation.”
“So soon? And without consulting us?”
“Someone phoned me last night and said she had some information that would interest me. We made a date today in a tavern over on the other side of the river. Seems she’s had a love-spat with her boyfriend, who’s a hypnojewel smuggler, and to get even with him she wants to expose the whole ring. I’m seeing her again tomorrow.”
Pouin Beryaal chuckled. “You Earthmen certainly waste little time in beginning an investigation.”
“I’m still not fully convinced she’s going to go through with it. She says she means it, but maybe she’ll kiss and make up with him tonight. I’ll keep you posted on further developments.”
“Very kind of you,” Beryaal said. “I’ll tell our colleagues of your progress. We hope to see you again in our office soon—there is a room provided for your use now. Is the
re anything further you wish to report?”
“Not just now,” Catton said. He broke contact and left the booth.
Catching a cab as it came thrumming across the bridge, he returned to the Embassy. There, he was surprised to find a cluster of the green vehicles of the local police parked outside the building. Morilaru police were everywhere, milling over the Embassy grounds like a swarm of buzzing insects.
Puzzled, Catton entered the Embassy gates. A policeman stopped him and said roughly: “Where are you going, Earth-man?”
“I’m residing at the Embassy. What’s going on here?”
“We will ask the questions. Proceed within.”
Catton obediently entered the building. Half a dozen members of the Embassy staff were clustered in an anxious little knot in the lobby. Catton approached them.
“Will someone please tell me what all the fuss is about?” he demanded.
It was the Ambassador’s cook who answered. “It’s Miss Estil—Ambassador Seeman’s daughter.”
Catton caught his breath sharply. Was he too late? Had the little fool decided to run off with her Morilaru lover anyway, without waiting for information about him?
“What about Miss Estil?” he asked.
“She’s vanished,” was the twittering reply. “Her bed wasn’t slept in all night. She left her note with her father, saying she was running away—running away with the man she loved.”
Chapter Five
The hubbub at the Embassy lasted well into the night. Catton stayed out of the foreground. He was interrogated briefly by Barnevelt, the head of the Embassy security staff, who looked flustered and chagrined, and then he was interviewed all over again by a Morilaru crime-prevention officer who seemed not too terribly interested in the disappearance at all.
Catton told the same story word-for-word to both of them. He had been on Morilar only a couple of days, had met the Ambassador’s daughter twice, had had a brief conversation with her at the ball the night before. She had talked obliquely of being in love, but Catton could provide no details. After all, he had hardly known the girl.