“The best! She is at it now, pacing up and down the parlor, exposing criminals, issuing manifestoes, and generally expounding her new pantology. Julian calls out, ‘Hear, hear!’, from time to time and tries one debonair attitude after another, so that Flitz will notice him. Lewyn Barduys listens with half an ear. I cannot guess what he is thinking; his mind is opaque. Warden Fergus and Dame Larica are both staid and proper, and sit in dignified silence. I am not anxious to draw Dame Clytie’s fire, so I too am discreet.”
"Warden Ballinder is not on hand, then?”
“Unfortunately not. Dame Clytie ranges the field unchallenged."
“Hmf,” said Glawen. “Maybe my appearance will distract her."
Egon Tamm smiled. “Floreste’s letter will distract her. You brought the letter, I hope?”
“It is in my pocket.”
"Come along then. It is almost time for lunch.”
The two passed through an arched passage into a large airy parlor with tall windows to south and west overlooking a wide expanse of lagoon. The walls were enameled white, as was the celling save for the ceiling beams which retained their natural age-darkened color. Three rugs patterned in green, black, white and russet lay on the floor; couches and chairs were upholstered in dull green twill. On the back wall shelves and cabinets displayed a marvelous variety of curios, oddments and artifacts representing the collections of a hundred previous Conservators. At the western end of the room a table — against which Julian Bohost leaned in a carefully debonair posture — supported books, periodicals and a bouquet of pink flowers in a bowl glazed pale blue-green celadon.
Six persons occupied the room. Dame Clytie paced the floor, hands clasped behind her back, and Julian leaned against the table. By the window sat a young woman with smooth silver hair and flawless features, absorbed in her own thoughts and paying Julian not the slightest attention. She wore skintight silver trousers, a short loose black shirt and black sandals on bare feet. Beside her stood a man of middle stature or a trifle less, short-necked and compact of physique, with narrow pale gray eyes and a short blunt nose on a small bald bony head. Warden Furgus and Dame Larica Fergus sat stiffly on a couch, watching Dame Clytie with the expressions of birds watching a snake. Both were middle-aged, and wore the somber garments of Stroma.
Dame Clytie marched back and forth, head lowered. “ — inevitable and necessary! Not everyone will be pleased, but what of that? We have already discounted their emotions. The progressive tide — ” She halted in mid-stride to stare at Glawen. “Halloo! What have we here?”
Julian Bohost, leaning against the table, a goblet of wine to his lips, lofted his eyebrows high. “By the nine gods and the seventeen devils It is Glawen, the brave Clattuc who guards us from the Yips!”
Glawen paid no heed. Egon Tamm introduced first the middle-aged couple. “The Warden Wilder Furgus and Dame Larica Furgus.” Glawen bowed politely. Egon Tamm proceeded. “Yonder is Flitz, glistening in the sunlight.” Flitz glanced aside from the corner of her eye, then returned to a contemplation of her black sandals.
Egon Tamm continued. "Beside Flitz stands her close friend and business associate Lewyn Barduys. They are currently the guests of Dame Clytie at Stroma.”
Barduys gave Glawen a courteous salute. Glawen saw that Barduys was not, after all, bald; that a short fine stubble of flaxen hair covered his scalp. His movements were deft and decisive; he seemed antiseptically clean.
After her first startled comment, Dame Clytie had gone to look stonily from the window. Egon Tamm asked gently: "Dame Clytie, I wonder if you remember Captain Clattuc? You met once before, I believe."
“Of course I remember him. He is a member of the local constabulary, or whatever it is called.”
Glawen smiled politely. “Usually it is known as Bureau B. Actually, we are an IPCC affiliate.”
“Indeed Julian, is this your understanding”
“I have heard something to this effect.”
“Odd. It was my understanding that the IPCC imposed stringent standards upon its personnel."
“Your information is correct," said Glawen. “You will be relieved to learn that Bureau B operatives, if anything, are over-qualified.”
Julian laughed. “My dear Aunt Clytie, I do believe that you blundered into a trap.”
Dame Clytie grunted. “I am singularly indifferent. She turned away.”
Julian called out "What brings you here, Glawen? The main attraction is missing — somewhere on Earth, so we are told. Do you know where?"
“I came to visit the Conservator and Dame Cora,” said Glawen. "Finding you and Dame Clytie here is a pleasant surprise.”
“Nicely spoken! But you evaded my question.”
“In regard to Wayness? So far as I know, she is visiting her uncle Pirie Tamm at Yssinges."
“I see.” Julian sipped from his goblet. “Cora Tamm tells me that you too have been junketing off-world on a holiday.”
"I traveled off-world: yes, on official business."
Julian laughed. “Certainly that is how it will be on the expense vouchers."
“I hope so. I would be outraged if I were asked to pay for what went on.”
“Then the trip was not a success?”
“I accomplished my mission and escaped with my life. I discovered that the impresario Floreste had been involved in horrid crimes. Floreste is now dead. My mission was a success.”
Dame Clytie demanded: “You killed Floreste, your most noteworthy artist?"
“I did not kill him personally. A lethal vapor was admitted into his cell. As a matter of fact, Floreste made me the trustee of his estate."
“I find that most remarkable."
Glawen nodded. “He explains himself in a letter — which also discusses Titus Pompo in some detail. The two were acquainted.”
“Really! I would like to see this letter."
“I have it with me, as a matter of fact. After lunch I will read it."
Dame Clytie held out her hand. “I will glance at it now, you please."
Glawen smiled and shook his head. “Certain parts are confidential.”
Dame Clytie turned away and once again started to pace. “The letter can tell us nothing we do not already know. Titus Pompo is a patient man, but his patience has limits. A great tragedy is in the offing, unless we take action!”
“Quite right," said Glawen.
Dame Clytie darted him a suspicious glance. “For this I will propose a trial or pilot resettlement program at the next full plenum.”
"It would be premature,” said Glawen. “Several practical matters stand in the way."
“And these are?”
“First of all, we can't resettle the Yips until we find a world able to accept and absorb them. Transport is also a problem.” Dame Clytie stared incredulously. “You cannot be serious."
“Of course I am serious. For the Yips it will be a dislocation, but there is no alternative.”
”The alternative is settlement along the Marmion Foreshore, to be followed by a system of universal Democracy."
She turned to Egon Tamm. "Do you not agree?”
Warden Fergus spoke indignantly: “You are aware that the Conservator must uphold the Charter!"
"We must deal with the facts of life,” snapped Dame Clytie. “The LPF insists upon democratic reform; no one of good will can oppose us!"
Dame Larica Fergus responded sharply: “I oppose you, right enough, and I especially deplore Peefer hypocrisy!"
Dame Clytie blinked in angry perplexity. "How then am I a hypocrite? Are not my feelings plain enough?"
"Of course, and why not? The Peefers are already planning the great estates they will claim for themselves once the Charter is broken.”
“That remark is irresponsible and tendentious!” cried Dame Clytie. “Further, it is calumny!"
"Still, it is true! I have heard such talk myself! Julian Bohost, your nephew, has mentioned several areas he considers pleasant.”