Cavke’.”
Farro regarded them thoughtfully. “What will you do now?”
“We have no choice,” said Maloof. “We will look for him elsewhere. If he is on Fluter, we shall find him.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know. Much depends upon circumstances.”
Farro said earnestly: “If you find him, I hope that you will return him to Krenke. He has dealt us a wound so foul, that only he can make it better.”
Maloof shook his head sadly. “We can promise nothing. He has my mother in his custody and we must be guided by what we find. Another matter: can you provide us a picture of Orlo Cavke?”
Farro hesitated, then reached into a drawer and brought out a pair of photographs which he pushed across the desk to Maloof.
“Thank you.”
Maloof studied the two poses a moment, then passed them to Myron. In the first photo Myron saw a tall dark-haired man of striking appearance, standing manacled before a stone wall; he glared at the camera, projecting a near-tangible fury. In the second Cavke had swung aside, showing a profile which might have been that of an ancient demonic hero. His posture conveyed only defiance and contempt. Myron returned the prints to Maloof.
Farro asked: “When will you be leaving Krenke?”
“In the morning. There is nothing more to keep us here.”
They rose to their feet, gave Farro their thanks and departed into the night, with Farro staring disconsolately after them.
Arriving at the Three Feathers Inn, the two entered the common room. A pair of beer-drinkers sat in colloquy with Jodel. Along the line of empty tables, Dinka stood looking out the window, engrossed in private reverie. The door into the kitchen was closed, concealing the irascible Wilkin, if indeed she were still striding about among her pots and pans, gesticulating with her spoon. The two gave Dinka a polite goodnight as they passed, then climbed the stairs to their room, made preparations for the night, and were soon asleep in their beds.
4
In the morning a dismal overcast had drifted down from the hills to the north and from the window the village seemed more dank, cheerless and worn by the passage of time than ever. The two men dressed in silence, depressed by what they had learned, and descended the stairs to the common room. Dinka met them and took them to what she called “the breakfast saloon” — a long dim chamber smelling of mold and wet stone. A small window in the back wall admitted a watery gray light, barely sufficient to illuminate their breakfast.
“Wilkin is in a good mood,” Dinka told them. “She has allowed you her best porridge, and also dishes of fruit.”
The two were served crusty bread and marmalade, thick porridge flavored with fragments of salt fish, dishes of boiled figs in a syrup of spiced honey. They gnawed at the bread and drank as much herbal tea as they could tolerate, then returned to the common room.
At the bar three men of middle years sat hunched over tankards of beer. Jodel called out a jovial greeting, and said: “The time is early; are you leaving so soon?”
Maloof paused. “Our visit to Krenke has been pleasant, but it is time we were returning to Coro-Coro.”
“Just so,” said Jodel. “You must do as you think best … But perhaps you will delay your departure a few moments. These gentlemen wish to make your acquaintance.”
“Indeed!” said Maloof. He muttered to Myron: “It seems that Farro found the news too dire and terrible to be kept secret.”
“I am not surprised,” said Myron. “In truth he had no choice.”
Jodel, looking from one to the other, said anxiously: “There is no need for diffidence! These are gentlemen of reputation; I vouch for them myself.”
The Krenks stepped down from their stools and turned to face the off-worlders. They were much alike: dour, hard-featured men with sturdy torsos, heavy shoulders, dark hair pulled back and tied with leather thongs. They wore long black coats flaring at the hip, black
Farro regarded them thoughtfully. “What will you do now?”
“We have no choice,” said Maloof. “We will look for him elsewhere. If he is on Fluter, we shall find him.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know. Much depends upon circumstances.”
Farro said earnestly: “If you find him, I hope that you will return him to Krenke. He has dealt us a wound so foul, that only he can make it better.”
Maloof shook his head sadly. “We can promise nothing. He has my mother in his custody and we must be guided by what we find. Another matter: can you provide us a picture of Orlo Cavke?”
Farro hesitated, then reached into a drawer and brought out a pair of photographs which he pushed across the desk to Maloof.
“Thank you.”
Maloof studied the two poses a moment, then passed them to Myron. In the first photo Myron saw a tall dark-haired man of striking appearance, standing manacled before a stone wall; he glared at the camera, projecting a near-tangible fury. In the second Cavke had swung aside, showing a profile which might have been that of an ancient demonic hero. His posture conveyed only defiance and contempt. Myron returned the prints to Maloof.
Farro asked: “When will you be leaving Krenke?”
“In the morning. There is nothing more to keep us here.”
They rose to their feet, gave Farro their thanks and departed into the night, with Farro staring disconsolately after them.
Arriving at the Three Feathers Inn, the two entered the common room. A pair of beer-drinkers sat in colloquy with Jodel. Along the line of empty tables, Dinka stood looking out the window, engrossed in private reverie. The door into the kitchen was closed, concealing the irascible Wilkin, if indeed she were still striding about among her pots and pans, gesticulating with her spoon. The two gave Dinka a polite goodnight as they passed, then climbed the stairs to their room, made preparations for the night, and were soon asleep in their beds.
4
In the morning a dismal overcast had drifted down from the hills to the north and from the window the village seemed more dank, cheerless and worn by the passage of time than ever. The two men dressed in silence, depressed by what they had learned, and descended the stairs to the common room. Dinka met them and took them to what she called “the breakfast saloon” — a long dim chamber smelling of mold and wet stone. A small window in the back wall admitted a watery gray light, barely sufficient to illuminate their breakfast.
“Wilkin is in a good mood,” Dinka told them. “She has allowed you her best porridge, and also dishes of fruit.”
The two were served crusty bread and marmalade, thick porridge flavored with fragments of salt fish, dishes of boiled figs in a syrup of spiced honey. They gnawed at the bread and drank as much herbal tea as they could tolerate, then returned to the common room.
At the bar three men of middle years sat hunched over tankards of beer. Jodel called out a jovial greeting, and said: “The time is early; are you leaving so soon?”
Maloof paused. “Our visit to Krenke has been pleasant, but it is time we were returning to Coro-Coro.”
“Just so,” said Jodel. “You must do as you think best … But perhaps you will delay your departure a few moments. These gentlemen wish to make your acquaintance.”
“Indeed!” said Maloof. He muttered to Myron: “It seems that Farro found the news too dire and terrible to be kept secret.”
“I am not surprised,” said Myron. “In truth he had no choice.”
Jodel, looking from one to the other, said anxiously: “There is no need for diffidence! These are gentlemen of reputation; I vouch for them myself.”
The Krenks stepped down from their stools and turned to face the off-worlders. They were much alike: dour, hard-featured men with sturdy torsos, heavy shoulders, dark hair pulled back and tied with leather thongs. They wore long black coats flaring at the hip, black
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