To one of our long-term guests, Mr. Adrian Moncurio the archaeologist. You may have heard of him, since he is quite well known.”
“You did not overhear the conversation?”
'No, sir. That is not proper conduct, under any circumstances. Another gentleman asked me the same questions only a trifle more than an hour ago, and I told him the same.”
Glawen’s heart sank. “Did this other gentleman give his name?”
“No, sir.”
“What did he look like?”
“He was nicely dressed, of good appearance, and exceedingly pleasant, so I thought.”
Glawen brought out another two sols. “You have been most helpful. Where can I find Mr. Moncurio?”
“He occupies Suite A, which opens onto the front veranda. Leave the lobby, turn to the right. Suite A is at the end. You may or may not find Mr. Moncurio on the premises, since he keeps odd hours, and sometimes goes out to explore among the Stones when the moons are favorable. He is highly skilled in such matters, and can judge the moons to a nicely. Otherwise, he would long ago have been killed.”
“Are the moons right hour?”
Mr. Stensel looked toward the panel. “As to that, I can't say, since I have never studied the subject.'
“Thank you.” Glawen left the lobby, turned to the right and ran to the end of the veranda, where he found Suite A. Glimmers of light seeped past the window-blinds. Glawen took heart; it appeared that someone was at home. He pressed the bell button.
A minute passed, while Glawen’s tension mounted. From within came the sound of slow movement. The door slid aside; in the opening stood a dark-hatred full-figured woman of no great stature. Despite the incursions of middle age, she still commanded elements of youthful charm. Her thick hair was cut short and square around her head in a style prompted either by high fashion or by stark practicality. She examined Glawen with bright black eyes. 'Yes, sir?”
“Is Mr. Moncurio in?” Glawen was annoyed to hear the anxious catch in his voice.
The woman shook her head and Glawen’s heart sank once again. “He's out in the field, doing his archaeology.” She stepped to the doorway, looked right and left down the verandah, then turned back to Glawen. “I can't understand his popularity. Suddenly, everyone must see Professor Moncurio, and no one will wait.'
“Where can I find him? It is very important!”
“He is out in the Stones somewhere. The moons for a change are good. I suspect he's off down Row Fourteen. Are you another archaeologist?'
“No. Is there anyone who could help me find him?”
The woman gave a sad laugh. “Not I, for sure, with my poor legs. But he won’t go far, since he must be back before Shan goes down, which is less than two hours.”
The woman pointed toward a pale blue moon. 'When Shan sets, the Shadowmen will come in a rush, looking for throats to cut.'
“Where is Row Fourteen?”
“Simple! Go down Column Five, which is the aisle yonder, count fourteen rows. Then turn to the left and go three or four columns, and Adrian should be nearby. If not, don’t go looking for him! The stones are confusing in the moonlight; you might easily lose your way. The pold is already black with spilled blood.”
“Thanks, I'll be careful.” Glawen started away. The woman called after him: “Watch for the others; remind them of the time!”
Glawen approached the Standing Stones. They loomed above him, twenty feet or so tall, massive in the moonlight. He entered Column Five; to either side the ranks receded and finally disappeared into the blur of mingled moonlight and darkness.
Glawen went at a half-run down Column Five, counting rows. At Row Eight he stopped to listen. The only sound was the flux of blood in his own ears. He continued: a shadow moving among the other shadows. At Row Twelve he stopped again, straining to hear sounds which might guide him.
Had his senses deceived him? Had he heard a voice? If so, it had been soft and diffident, as if wanting to make itself known, yet fearful of being overheard. Odd!
Glawen hurried aside into Row Twelve and ran on long stealthy steps past three ranks of stones, to Column Eight. He stopped again to listen. Silence! An ominous sign. If a friend had come out to join Moncurio, there would be conversation, or so it would seem. He set off down the column. Almost at once the call came again, as low- pitched and wary as before. The stones muffled sound; Glawen could not fix on the direction of the voice, or its distance; still it did not seem far.
Glawen went along the row to Column Nine, and turned to the right. Two more rows would bring him to Fourteen. He must not lose himself among the stones! Step by step he went forward. There were presences near, baleful and alert. Something came running through the dark to pounce on his back; he swung around. Nothing was there. His nerves had fooled him. He stood staring in all directions, listening for another call, or noise: anything he could fix upon.
It came: from near at hand a sudden laugh, an unpleasant roar, mocking and triumphant. Then came a babble of voices, a thud of sinister import; after a few breathless instants — a cry of awful fury.
Glawen put aside caution and ran toward the sounds. After a few feet, he halted to orient himself. He heard hurrying footsteps; looking along the column he saw a human shape. It approached at a peculiar lurching gait. Suddenly, with a sobbing gasp of frustration, it stopped short, bent low, made a hurled adjustment; then, free of its former restraint, ran forward and collided full into Glawen. Nine of the nineteen moons illuminated a stricken face. Glawen cried in amazement: “Wayness!”
She stared up, first in shock, then in incredulous joy. 'Glawen! I can't believe that it's you!' She turned, looked over her shoulder. “Baro is back there: he's a murderer! He dropped Moncurio into a tomb and left him for the Shadowmen. He caught me and said I was more interesting alive than dead and started to undress me. I hit him with a spade and he fell down. I tried to run away but I could not run fast with my trousers down around my ankles.” She darted another glance over her shoulder. “We had best go to the hotel for help! Baro is a devil!”
From between the stones a shape darker than the shadows moved forward into the light of the moons. Glawen recognized the man he had glimpsed in Crippet Alley and at the Cansaspara cafe.
Wayness gave a soft cry of distress. “It’s too late.”
The man came slowly forward. He halted ten feet away. Some trick of posture or perhaps his supercilious grin stirred recollections in Glawen’s mind and he knew the man’s identity. “It's Benjamie the spy! Benjamie the traitor!'
Benjamie laughed. “Of course! And you are the noble and pure Glawen Clattuc. I sent your father to Shattorak! I suppose you are annoyed with me.”
“Very much so.”
Benjamie came a step closer. Glawen wondered what he was carrying behind his back. “So here we are,' said Benjamie, “You and I, and now we shall see who is the better man: nice good Glawen or bad Benn Barr! And pretty Wayness will rejoice with whomever is alive at the end!'
Glawen somberly considered Benjamie, who stood an inch taller than himself and was heavier by twenty pounds.” Benjamie was quick and light footed; his confidence was superb.
Glawen told Wayness: 'Run back to the hotel. As soon as you're well away, I'll get clear of this fellow and join you.'
“But Glawen! What if — ” She could not bring herself to finish.
“If you hurry, there should be time to help Moncurio before Shan goes down. As for Benjamie, I will do what needs to be done.'
Benjamie gave a contemptuous laugh. “Stay here!” he told Wayness. “If you run I'll catch you.” He strode forward. Glawen saw that he was carrying a short-handled spade. “This won't take long.” He feinted, then swung the spade so that it should slash Glawen’s neck. Glawen jumped aside and pressed his back against a tall Standing Stone. Benjamie jabbed with the spade; Glawen again jerked aside; the spade rang against the stone. Glawen seized the handle; the two wrestled for possession: twisting one way, then the other, Glawen saw that Benjamie was preparing a surprise. He first wrenched and hauled with the shovel in order to set Glawen up in an exposed stance. Glawen obliged, prompting the surprise: a sudden kick to the groin. Glawen twisted his hips and slipped the kick. Grasping the foot he instantly thrust hard, to send Benjamie hopping backward. Glawen wrested away the
