The Devil's Eye

someone in ill health were to go out there, we'd intervene. But for most people who come here, Ms. Kolpath, it's just part of the show. It's what they expect. Look, I'm sorry you took any of it seriously. But nobody really believes there's an android up there being held in its grave by a rock. We pretend it's so, for our tourists.' He took a deep breath. 'Let me ask you a question: What would you have thought if you'd gone up there and nothing had happened?' I was starting to feel like an idiot. He smiled and told me I should come back and see him if I had any other problems. Then he was escorting me toward the door. 'I hope you'll try to see our side of things, Ms. Kolpath. And while you're here at the Point, just relax and enjoy the ride.' He offered me a gift certificate for the souvenir shops. And as I was going out, he smiled. 'We've been in operation for sixty years. Never lost a tourist.'

When I got back to the hotel, Alex looked up from a cup of the local brew and, with one of those complacent expressions, asked where I'd been. 'Just out walking.' He examined his cup and studied the notebook that lay on his lap. 'Did they agree to dismantle the gear at the grave site?' While I was considering my answer, he said I was just in time to go with him to meet with the organizer of a local reading club. His name was Dolf, and he was waiting for us at the Boldinai Point Library. It was next door to the city hall. We went in and found him talking with one of the librarians. We did a round of introductions, then he led us to a room that served as a small auditorium.

He was a former police officer, and he admitted to having served during Bandahriate days. 'But we weren't doing any of the stuff here that was going on in other places,' he said. 'We wouldn't have allowed it.' He was one of the tallest people I've ever seen, his height accentuated by a pronounced lankiness. He'd been blond at one time, but his hair was going gray. He wore a thick, unkempt mustache, and his eyes possessed the shrewdness of a professional cardplayer. He was well along in years and told us that horror fiction was one of those forbidden delights that made his life a pure pleasure. 'Did you know in advance Vicki Greene was coming?' Alex asked. He was obviously not sure why we were asking the questions. I thought he'd mistaken us for a couple of fans. 'No. Not really. We only found out a couple of days before she got here. We were notified, I think, by one of the book dealers in Korimba. He called the Graveyard-' 'The graveyard?' I asked. 'Graveyard Books. Our own shop.' 'Oh.' 'My understanding,' he continued, 'is that Korimba heard it from somebody at Spirit.' 'The distributor,' said Alex. 'Yes.' 'How did you actually connect with her? With Ms. Greene?' 'We had no code and couldn't find a listing for her. But we knew when she was coming so we staked out the hotels. And Amelia, Louie Black's wife, spotted her walking into the lobby of the Hamel.' He sat back and looked immensely pleased with himself. 'She let us take her to lunch. Right over there.' He pointed across the street to a modest caf . The Tomb. 'They put a couple of tables together.' He corrected himself. 'I don't mean she let us buy.' 'Of course.' 'We wanted to. But she insisted on paying her own.' 'How'd she seem?' 'She's a funny lady. Doesn't take herself seriously. And, man, she sure likes her dessert.' He apparently hadn't heard the news yet. 'Dolf, do you know how long she stayed at the Point?' 'Three or four days. Why do you ask?' Alex hesitated, then told him what had happened. He listened, shook his head, seemed genuinely saddened. 'Did she tell you where she intended to go when she left here?' He shook his head. 'No. I can check with the others. See if she might have mentioned it to any of them.' 'Okay. Yes, I'd appreciate it if you did that. Did you see her at all after the lunch?' 'No.' He didn't need to think about it. 'No. Next we heard, she was gone.' 'Did she tell you why she'd come here?' 'Sure.' The smile came back. 'She said she wanted to meet Barryman.'

Dolf called back that night. He'd talked with the others. 'When she left here,' he said, 'she told a couple of our people she was going to Bessarlik.' 'Bessarlik? What's that?' He laughed. We didn't know? 'It's the Haunted Forest.'

TEN

My advice to you, Grimly, is to do the sensible thing: Hide.

- Etude in Black

Living in a different world always takes some adjustment. Your weight is usually different. Not by a lot, but it's amazing what the sudden acquisition or loss of a few pounds can do. Time is inevitably a problem. It's never been possible, despite some effort, to standardize the measurements. Hours on Salud Afar are longer than at home, and minutes are shorter. I won't try to explain that. Suffice it to say that a day in Boldinai Point, defined as a complete turn on the planetary axis, is almost two standard hours longer than the one we were accustomed to. The result was that our sleeping patterns quickly went berserk. The biggest adjustment, though, was the food. Most of it was unfamiliar and tended to be flat. We stuck as closely as we could to items that were at least reasonable facsimiles of what we got on Rimway. Nobody cares about the details of any of this, but the reader should be aware that when I refer, say, to bacon or eggs, I'm not really talking about the home-grown stuff so much as an approximation. And the coffee, by the way, never really got close. We were finishing a pseudobreakfast next morning when Alex got a call. 'Mr. Benedict?' 'Yes.'

'Mr. Benedict, I'm calling for Dr. Wexler.'

'Who?'

'Dr. Mikel Wexler. He's with the history department at Marikoba University. He'd like very much to have a few moments of your time. Will you be available later this morning?'

'What does Dr. Wexler want to talk about?'

'I believe it has to do with Vicki Greene.'

'I'm available now.'

'He's in conference at the moment, sir. Would ten o'clock be satisfactory?'

We did a quick search on Wexler. He was one of the heroes of the Resistance, the underground movement that had fought Cleev's government for years. He'd been captured, tortured, and eventually broken out by his comrades in a celebrated escape. When the Coalition came to power, he took up a teaching career, and was now chairman of the history department at Marikoba. He was the author of Rebel on the Shore , an account of those turbulent years. And served as an occasional advisor to Administrator Kilgore. Alex took an hour to read sections of the book. 'I'll say one thing for him,' he said. 'He gives most of the credit to other people.' We took the call in one of the hotel's conference rooms. Alex introduced me as his associate, and Wexler commented gallantly that he wished he had so lovely a partner. Usually that kind of comment puts me on guard, but he seemed sincere. He was a congenial guy, almost leisurely, but there was something in his eyes that suggested you wouldn't want him angry. And his manner implied that he understood his likeness would one day join the statues of the heroes in Marinopolis. He spoke with the assurance of someone accustomed to making decisions. And I could see that he worked out. He had thick gray hair and the kind of chiseled features that suggest an inner strength. He was, I thought, the kind of guy I'd want at my back if I got in trouble. 'If you don't mind my saying so,' he continued, 'I think this young lady has played a major part in your success.'

I probably blushed. 'You're absolutely correct,' said Alex. 'Don't know what I'd do without her.' There was another minute or so of social fencing. Then Wexler came to the point: 'I just found out the other day about Vicki Greene. It's a pity. What on earth would possess her to do such a thing?'

Alex gave the standard reply: 'It was what we hoped to find out.' 'Yes. I wish you luck.' His brow furrowed. 'Did you expect to find the answer on Salud Afar?' 'Don't know.'

'If you don't mind my asking-'

'Go right ahead, Dr. Wexler.'

'Mikel, if you please. You might consider me something of a fan. I'm curious how this became of interest to you.'

Alex told him about the message.

They're all dead. 'Who's all dead?'

'We have no idea.'

'What a strange, cryptic business. So how do you plan to proceed, if you don't mind my asking?'