Free Lurulu by Jack Vance Page B

both exceedingly beautiful. Even more notable was their resemblance to each other, so that I felt that they must be twins. They wore their honey-yellow curls in the same style; their features were identical and they wore identical white blouses decorated with the same blue and red embroidery. The planting concealed their nether garments but I was sure that they were the same. There was, however, a notable difference between the two. One was happy; her face glowed with excitement, humor, ardent vitality. The other sat steeped in despair and defeat, with mouth drooping and eyes downcast. I sat staring in wonder: what had caused such a disparity of emotion?”
    Schwatzendale leaned forward. “I have the answer! They noticed you staring at them; one was amused, the other was angry and about to shake her fist!”
    “Nonsense!” scoffed Wingo. “The facts are quite different. Neither so much as glanced in my direction.”
    Maloof asked: “Are we to hear the denouement or must we ponder the enigma during the night?”
    “I will explain as best I can. Belatedly I thought to capture the two faces for ‘Pageant’. I reached for my gear, which I had tucked under the table. The other table was just across the planter and I knew that I must be unobtrusive. I pretended ennui, and finally was ready to record the remarkable scene. When I turned to look, the table was vacant; while I had been occupied, the girls had departed. I jumped to my feet and searched along the passages, up and down the aisles among the surge of tourists, and at last I saw them! They were walking away from me, so I saw only their backs. One was of ordinary height and walked with an easy athletic grace. The other was half her height and scuttled along on grotesquely deformed legs. I remembered my camera, but when finally I made ready, they were gone, and I saw no more of them.”
    “Hmm,” said Maloof. “There is a lesson to be learned here, but I find it hard to quantify. By the way, where was Schwatzendale during this episode?”
    Wingo gave his head a dubious shake. “For a time, at least, he sat at a table on the level above me, in company with a woman of a most unusual type. She was tall, thin and sinuous, with long white arms and long pale fingers. Her hair, also white, surrounded her head like a nimbus of dandelion fluff. Her face was long and gaunt, with eyebrows and mouth marked with black, like the face of a pierrette. She wore a number of white ribbons dangling from epaulets; when she moved the ribbons shifted, allowing glimpses of the anatomy below. She carried a fan of lavish white plumes; when she spoke she flourished the fan to hide their faces, evidently to ensure privacy. I asked Schwatzendale what went on behind the fan, but he refused to describe the conversation.”
    “Surely no surprise,” said Myron. “Schwatzendale is a man of honor; he does not care to betray the secrets of a lady.”
    Schwatzendale gave his head a puzzled shake. “There were no secrets. The lady revealed herself to be an addict of long walks in the countryside; she wanted to know if I cared to join her on a ramble across the Maudlen Moors. I explained that I lacked a proper costume for the sport and therefore must decline, and that was the way of it.”
    “All is explained,” said Wingo. “Still, why did the conversation take place behind her fan?”
    “For no particular reason,” said Schwatzendale. “It was as good a place as any.”
    Wingo accepted the explanation and the conversation came to a close.
    2
    The following morning Maloof and Myron breakfasted in the galley, then rode the omnibus along Pomare Boulevard to the IPCC office. They found Serle at his desk, occupied with the paperwork which, because of Civil Agent sensitivity, comprised most of his official duties. Serle greeted the two spacemen politely and indicated chairs. Leaning back, he surveyed them with dispassionate curiosity. “You seem to have avoided serious damage. How did you