ensconced among a thousand cafes, bistros, studios, small shops for the purchase of oddments, and the like. In the end, Sancelade became known as a place where one could live high or low, strait or wide, and in general do as he pleased, so long as he was discreet, or even if he were not discreet.
Wayness rode by surface transit to Shillaway, across a countryside of small farms and villages, where nothing had changed since the dawn of time. From Shillaway she rode the underground slideway which two hours later delivered her to the Central Station at Sancelade.
A cab took her to the hotel Pirie Tamm had recommended: the Marsac, situated at the edge of the prestigious Gouldenerie, hard by the Kyprian Quarter. The Marsac was a sprawling old structure of many wings, three restaurants and four gilded ballrooms on the banks of the River Thing. Wayness found herself enveloped in an atmosphere of casual elegance, muted and quite unself-conscious, of a sort to be discovered nowhere else in the Reach. She was conducted to a high-ceilinged chamber, with walls enameled a faded beige. A soft Marocain rug pattered in brown, black, dark red and indigo enlivened the gray terrazzo floor; bouquets of fresh flowers had been placed upon tables at each side of the bed.
Wayness changed into a neat dark brown suit, the better to represent her businesslike intentions, then returned to the lobby. The city directory instructed her that the offices of Mischap and Doorn were located in Flavian House on Alixtre Square, at the far side of the Gouldenerie.
The time was now an hour into the afternoon. Wayness lunched in the Waterview Grill and watched the River Taing flow by, meanwhile trying to fix upon her best course of action.
In the end she decided to pursue a plan both simple and direct; she would present herself at the offices of Mischap and Doorn, ask to see Mr. Buffums and in her very nicest manner ask for a few trifles of information. 'Mischap and Doorn was a long-established and reputable firm,” she told herself. 'They would have no reason to deny such a small request.'
After lunch she crossed the Gouldenerie to Alixtre Square; a formal garden surrounded by four-story structures, no two alike, but all built in exact accordance with Tybalt Pimm's aesthetic precepts.
Mischap and Doorn occupied the second floor of Flavlan House, on the north side of the square. Wayness climbed to the second floor and entered a court planted with ferns and palms. A directory listed Mischap and Doorn's various offices and departments: Executive Offices, Personnel, Accounting, Appraisals, Exchanges, Extraterrestrial Properties, and several others. Wayness went to the Executive offices. The door slid aside to her touch. She entered a large room, furnished as if to accommodate a working force of perhaps eight persons, but now occupied only by two women. The thin-faced young receptionist sat at a desk in the exact middle of the room. A plaque announced her name and rank: GILJIN LEEPE Assistant to the Executive Manager. At a table to the far right an elderly woman, squat, gray haired, large of feature, heavy of bone and ample of flesh, Sat with trays, books, tools and optical instruments engrossed in the study of a set of small objects.
Giljin Leepe was perhaps half a dozen years older than Wayness and an inch taller, engagingly angular, with a taut thin body and breasts which were little more than hints. Her sea-blue eyes, when wide, made her seem innocent and guileless; when she lowered her lids she became comically crafty and sly. Still, her face, under a thatch of short dusty-blonde hair, cut in a pudding-bowl crop, was far from unattractive. An odd creature, thought Wayness, and definitely one to be dealt with cautiously. Giljin Leepe surveyed Wayness with equal interest, raising her eyebrows as if to ask herself: 'What in the world do we have here?' Aloud she said: “Yes, Miss? These are the offices of Mischap and Doorn; are you sure that you have come to the right place?”
“I hope so. I want a bit of information, which perhaps you can supply.”
“Are you buying or selling?' Giljin Leepe handed Wayness a pamphlet. “These are the properties we are currently handling; maybe you'll find what you want here.”
“I am not a customer,' said Wayness apologetically. “I am trying to trace some properties which you handled forty or so years ago.”
'Hm. Didn’t someone call on this matter yesterday?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“I am sorry to say that nothing has changed, except that I am a day older. Nelda never changes, but then she dyes her hair.”
“Ha ha!' said Nelda. “If so, why should I choose the color of dirty soapsuds?'
Wayness could not help but be fascinated by Giljin Leepe's mouth, which was thin, wide, pink, and in constant movement: curling, hustling first up one corner and down the other, wincing and compressing, or drooping at both corners together.
'In any case,' said Giljin Leepe, “Bully Buffums remains as usual.”
Wayness looked toward the door in the back wall, which evidently led into Mr. Buffums' private office.
“Why is he so careful?'
'He has nothing better to do. Mischap and Doorn runs itself, and the directors have warned Bully Buffums not to interfere, so he busies himself with his art collection.”
Nelda interposed. 'Art, did you say? I know what I call it.”
“Bully occasionally sees an important customer; and sometimes shows his art collection if he thinks he can shock him — or her.'
“Would he oblige me, do you think, if I explained what I wanted and why?”
'Probably not. You can try”.
Nelda said: ''Warn the girl, at least.”
“There isn’t much to warn against. He can of course be a bit tiresome.”
Wayness looked dubiously toward Mr. Buffums' door. “What is ’tiresome’, and how much is a 'bit’?”
“I betray no confidences when I mention that Bully is not always happy in the company of pretty girls. They make him feel insecure. But he has his moods.'
Nelda said: “They come on him when he eats too much rare meat.”
“The theory is as good as any,“ said Giljin Leepe. “For a fact, Bully Buffums is unpredictable.'
Wayness again looked toward the door at the back of the room. 'You may announce me. I will be as nice as I can and maybe Mr. Buffums will like me.''
Giljin Leepe gave an uninterested nod. “Who shall I announce?'
“I am Wayness Tamm, Assistant Secretary of the Naturalist Society.”
The door at the back of the room had slid aside. A large man stood in the opening. He called out sharply: 'What is going on, Giljin? Have you nothing better to do than entertain your friends?”
Giljin Leepe spoke in her most neutral voice: “This is not a fiend; she represents an important client and wants a trifle of information on in regard to some dealings.”
''Who is the client, and what are the dealings?”
“I am Assistant Secretary of the Naturalist Society. I am inquiring about a transaction conducted quite some time ago, by a former Secretary.'
Mr. Buffums sauntered forward: a tall plump man well into his early maturity, with a round flushed face and over-long ash-blond hair parted in the middle and combed so as to hang past his ears in the so-called 'pack-saddle' style. “Most odd!” he said. “A woman came to the office — how long ago? Ten years? Twelve years? Wanting the same information.”
“Really!' said, Wayness. “Did she announce her name?”
“Probably, but I have forgotten.'
“Did you give her the information?'
Mr. Buffums raised dark eyebrows, in distinctive contrast with his ash-blond hair, and considered Wayness with round pale eyes. He said in a pedantic and somewhat nasal voice: “I consider all my dealings confidential. This is sound business policy. If you care to consult me further, you may step into my office.” Mr. Buffums turned away. Wayness looked sidewise at Giljin Leepe, and was not encouraged by her rueful shrug. Shoulders sagging, step after slow step, like a prisoner on his way to the gallows Wayness followed behind.
Mr. Buffums slid shut the door and, selecting a thin sliver of metal on a key-ring, locked the door.
'Old fashioned locks are best, don’t you think?” asked Mr. Buffums cheerfully.
“I suppose so,” said Wayness. “That is, when they are needed in the first place.'
“Ah! I see what you mean! Well, perhaps I am a bit over-precise. When I conduct a business conversation, I
