Arriving at the terminal, Pardero entered and went to the reception desk. The clerk came forward - a small portly man with the cinnamon skin and golden eyes of an upper-caste Majar, one of those who lived in the timber and stucco houses on the slopes at the back of Old Town.
"How may I serve you, sir?"
Clearly Pardero aroused in his mind no quiver of recognition.
"Perhaps you can provide me some information," said Pardero. "On or about 2
Ferario, I took passage aboard the Berenicia of the Black and Red Line. One of the other passengers asked me to perform a small errand, which I was unable to achieve. Now I must notify him but I have forgotten his name, and I would like to glance at the relevant passenger list."
"No difficulties here, sir; the ledger is easily consulted." A display screen lit up; the clerk turned a knob; figures and listings flicked past. "Here we are at 2 Ferario. Quite correct, sir. The Berenicia arrived, took aboard eight passengers, and departed."
Pardero studied the passenger list. "Why are the names in different columns?"
"By order of the Demographical Institute, so that they may gauge traffic between the worlds. Here are transients upon Marune taking departure. These names - only two, as you see - represent folk of Marune bound for other worlds."
"My man would be one of these. Which ones took passage to Bruse-Tansel?"
The clerk, somewhat puzzled, consulted the list "Neither. Baron Shimrod's destination was Xampias. The Noble Serle Glaize boarded the ship on an 'open'
ticket."
"What sort of ticket is this?"
"It is often purchased by a tourist who lacks a fixed destination. The ticket provides a stipulated number of travel-units; when these are exhausted the tourist purchases further units to fit his particular needs."
"This 'open ticket' used by Serle Glaize, how far might it have taken him? To Bruse-Tansel, for instance?"
"The Berenicia does not put into Bruse-Tansel, but let me see. One hundred and forty-eight ozols to Dadarnisse Junction; to Bruce-Tassel one hundred and two ozols... Yes, indeed. You will notice that the Noble Serle Glaize bought an open ticket to the value of two hundred and fifty ozols: to Bruce-Tassel exactly."
"So: Serle Glaize. This is my man." Pardero reflected upon the name. It lacked all resonance, all familiar flavor. He passed two ozols across the counter to the clerk, who took them with grave courtesy.
Pardero asked: "Who sold the ticket to Serle Glaise?"
"The initial is 'Y'; that would be Yanek, on the next shift."
"Perhaps you could telephone Yanek and ask if he recalls the circumstances. I will pay five ozols for significant information."
The clerk eyed Pardero sidelong. "What sort of information do you consider significant?"
"Who bought the ticket? I doubt if Serle Glaize did so himself. He must have come with a companion whose identity I wish to learn."
The clerk went to a telephone and spoke in a guarded manner, from tune to time glancing over his shoulder toward. Pardero. At last he returned, his manner somewhat subdued. "Yanek barely recalls the matter. He believes that the ticket was bought by a person in a black Rhune cape, who also wore a gray casque with a visor and malar flaps, so that his features made no impression upon Yanek. The time was busy; Yanek was preoccupied and noticed no more."
"This is not the information I require," Pardero grumbled. "Is there anyone who can tell me more?"
"I can think of no one, sir."
"Very well." Pardero counted down another two ozols. "This is for your kind cooperation."
"Thank you, sir. Allow me to make a suggestion. The Rhunes who visit Port Mar without exception use the Royal Rhune Hotel. Information, however, may be hard to come by."
"Thank you for the suggestion."
"Are you not a Rhune yourself, sir?"
"After a fashion, yes."
The clerk nodded and uttered a soft chuckle. "A Majar will mistake a Rhune never indeed, oh never..."
In a pensive mood Pardero returned along the Avenue of Strangers. The learned computations of M.T. Rady, the sociopsychic deductions of Oswen Ollave had been validated. Still, by what obscure means had the Majar recognized him? His features were not at all peculiar; his pigmentation was hardly distinctive; his clothes and hairstyle were, by cosmopolitan standards, ordinary enough; in short, he differed little from any other guest at the Outworld Inn. No doubt he betrayed himself by unconscious gestures or attitudes; perhaps he was more of a Rhune than he felt himself to be.
The Avenue of Strangers ended at the river; as Pardero reached the bridge Madder slanted behind the western lowlands; Cirse moved slowly up the sky: green rowan.
Green ripples flickered across the water; the white walls of New Town shone pale apple-green. Along the riverfront festoons of lights appeared, indicating places of entertainment: beer gardens, dance pavilions, restaurants. Pardero scowled at the brashness of the scene, then gave a soft rueful snort. Had he surprised a set of Rhune attitudes surfacing through his amnesia?
Pardero turned into the narrow Street of Brass Bones, which curved gradually up-slope, between ancient structures of age-blackened wood. The shops facing out upon the street uniformly showed a pair of high windows, a brass-bound door, and only the most unobtrusive indication as to their wares, as if each strove to exceed his neighbor in reserve.
The Street of Brass Boxes ended in a dim shadowed square, surrounded by curio shops, bookstores, specialty houses of many varieties. Pardero saw his first Rhunes, moving from shop to shop, pondering the merchandise, indicating their needs to the Majar shopkeepers with indifferent flicks of the finger. None of them so much as glanced toward Pardero, which caused him irrationally mixed feelings.
He crossed the square and turned up the Avenue of Black Jangkars to an arched portal in a stone wall. He passed beneath and approached the Royal Rhune Hotel.
He halted before the vestibule. Once inside the Royal Rhune there could be no turning back; he must accept the consequences of his return to Marune.
Through the tall doors stepped two men and a woman - the men wearing costumes of beige and black with dark red sashes, so similar as to suggest military uniforms; the woman, almost as tall as either of the men, wore a tight blue-gray body suit, with an indigo cape draping from black epaulettes: a mode considered suitable far visits to Port Mar, where the formal gauze gowns of the Realms were inappropriate. The three marched past Pardero, each allowing him a single glance. Pardero sensed no flicker of recognition. Small cause for surprise since the Rhunes numbered well over a hundred thousand.
Pardero pushed aside the tall gaunt doors which seemed a part of the Rhune architectural environment. The lobby was an enormous high-ceilinged room with sounds echoing across a bare russet and black tile floor. The chairs were upholstered in leather. The central table displayed a variety of technical magazines and at the far end of the room a rack held brochures advertising tools, chemicals, craft supplies, papers and inks, rare woods and stones. A tall narrow arch flanked by columns of fluted green stone communicated with the office. Pardero looked briefly around the lobby and passed through the arch.
A clerk of advanced age rose to his feet and approached the counter; despite age, a bald head, and unctuous wattles, his manner was alert and punctilious. In an instant he assessed Pardero, his garments and mannerisms, and performed a bow of precisely calibrated courtesy. "How may we oblige you, sir?" As he spoke a trace of uncertainty seemed to enter his manner.
"Several months ago," said Pardero, "about the first of Ferario to be more precise, I was a guest at this hotel, and I wish to refresh my recollections.