Free Marune: Alastor 933 by Jack Vance

from the mother.

Chapter 5
    Efraim emerged from the hotel into that phase sometimes known as half-aud. Furad and Osmo ruled the sky, to produce a warm yellow light, which connoisseurs of such matters considered fresh, effervescent, and gay, but lacking the richness and suavity of full aud. He stood for a moment breathing the cool air. His melancholy had diminished; better to be Kaiark Efraim of Scharrode than Efraim the butcher, or Efraim the cook, or Efraim the garbage collector.
    He set off along the Avenue of Strangers. Arriving at the bridge, instead of veering left into the Street of Brass Boxes he crossed into New Town, and discovered an environment totally different from that of Old Town.
    The geography of New Town, so Efraim would discover, was simple. Four thoroughfares paralleled the river: the Estrada, which terminated at the university; the Avenue of the Agency; then the Avenue of Haune and the Avenue of Douaune, after Osmo’s two small dead planets.
    Efraim walked westward along the Estrada, examining the cafes and beer gardens with wistful interest. To his present perspective they seemed almost flagrantly innocent. He stepped into one of the beer gardens and glanced toward the young man and girl who sat huddled so closely together. Could he ever feel so easily licentious in full view of everyone? Perhaps even now he had not escaped the strictures of his past, which after all was less than six months gone.
    He approached a portly man in a white apron who seemed to be the manager. “Sir, are you acquainted with a certain Matho Lorcas?”
    “Matho Lorcas? I do not know the gentleman.”
    Efraim continued west along the Estrada and presently at a booth devoted to the sale of off-world periodicals the name ‘Matho Lorcas’ sparked recognition. The girl attendant pointed along the avenue: “Ask there, in the Satyr’s Cave. You might find him at work. If not, they know his dwelling.”
    Matho Lorcas was indeed at work, serving mugs of beer along the bar. He was a tall young man with a keen vivacious face. His dark hair was cut short in a casual and unassuming style. When he spoke his thin crooked mouth worked dozens of changes across his face. Efraim watched him a moment before approaching.
    Matho Lorcas was a person whose humor, intelligence, and easy flamboyance might well excite the antagonism of less favored individuals. Hard to suspect malice, or even guile, in Matho Lorcas. The fact remained that soon after making Lorcas’ acquaintance Efraim had been rendered mindless and shipped off across the Cluster.
    Efraim approached the bar and took a seat; Lorcas approached Efraim asked: “You are Matho Lorcas?”
    “Yes indeed!”
    “Do you recognize me?”
    Lorcas gave Efraim a frowning scrutiny. His face cleared. “You are the Rhune! I forget your name.”
    “Efraim, of Scharrode.”
    “I remember you well, and the two girls you escorted. How grave and proper their behavior! You have changed! In fact you seem a different person. How goes life in your mountain realm?”
    “As usual, or so I suppose. I am most anxious to have a few words with you. When will you be free?”
    “At any time. Right now, if you like; I am bored with the work. Ramono! Take charge of affairs!” He ducked under the bar and asked of Efraim: “Will you take a mug of beer? Or perhaps a glass of Del wine?”
    “No thank you.” Efraim had decided upon a policy of caution and reserve. “It is early in the day for me.”
    “Just as you like. Come, let us sit over here where we can watch the river flow by. So. Do you know, I have often wondered about you, and how you eventually - well, shall we say, accommodated yourself to your dilemma, pleasant though it might have been.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “The two beautiful girls you escorted - though I realize in the Mountain Realms things aren’t done quite so easily.”
    Aware that he must seem dense and dull, Efraim asked: “What do you recall of the occasion?”
    Lorcas held