Maske: Thaery Read Free Page B

and on this basis was able to advise a person of exalted ilk—needless to say, not Cadmus off-Droad. My client wishes to secure a parcel of scenic land. I suggested that neck, or peninsula, at the far north of your property: Cape Junchion. My principal has authorized me to explore the possibility of negotiations.”
    Trewe’s voice was puzzled. “You are asking me to sell Cape Junchion?”
    “That is the general effect of my proposals.”
    “To whom?”
    “My principal prefers to remain anonymous.”
    Trewe laughed rather impolitely. “I would not sell an old shoe to someone I did not know.”
    Zochrey Cargus took no offense at the remark. “This is a not unreasonable point of view, and I must beg your tolerant understanding. My principal—I can tell you this much—is born to one of the noble ilks.
    You will be honored to deal with him.”
    “Does he not have estates of his own?” demanded Jubal. “Why does he want Cape Junchion?”
    “Solitude appeals to him. Cape Junchion in my opinion fits his needs.”
    Trewe rose to his feet. “Had you telephoned, I could have saved you an inconvenient journey. I will not sell Cape Junchion or any other Droad land.”
    Cargus remained seated. “I carry a substantial sum in toldecks. And I can make you a generous part-payment.”
    “Cape Junchion is not for sale,” said Trewe gruffly. “Now or ever.”
    Cargus rather reluctantly rose to his feet. “I am sorry to hear you say this. I hope you will reconsider.”
    Trewe merely shook his head and Cargus departed.
    An hour later Cargus telephoned Droad House. “I have conferred with my principal,” he told Trewe. “He prefers outright sale, but will agree to a lease, upon terms to be discussed.”
    “The answer remains the same,” said Trewe. “I suggest that your client look elsewhere.”
    “He is absolutely determined upon Cape Junchion.” And Cargus added thoughtfully: “It might be a mistake not to cooperate with him. He is an influential man—a valuable friend, a dangerous enemy.”
    Trewe digested the remarks in silence, then said coldly: “I want him for neither. The subject is closed.”
    Cargus spoke on, as if he had not heard. “A lease perhaps is to your best advantage. You retain title while gaining income. And, importantly, you will please, rather than offend, my client.”
    Trewe could no longer restrain his anger. “Do you dare to threaten me? You wisely chose to use the telephone.”
    “A prediction is not a threat.”
    “Do you care to name your client? I would like to hear these threats from his own mouth.”
    There was no response; the connection was dead.
    Days passed, and a week. Trewe made a few acrid references to Zochrey Cargus and his client, and again discussed with Jubal a new tide-mole and locks across Ballas Cove. Jubal almost agreed to join him in the project, but was deterred by an emotion he could not quite define. He had undertaken Yallow; his wanderlust should be allayed; in fact, he wanted no more aimless wandering. At the top of his mind rankled the recollection of Mount Cardoon; a matter which cried out for resolution, and so it would be.
    Then what?
    Perhaps Vaidro, his somewhat mysterious uncle, might offer a hint. Vaidro had traveled the length and breadth of Maske, and now lived like a minor magnate in an ancient hunting lodge, once the property of the Cimbar of the now-extinct Cimbar ilk. If Vaidro could not provide constructive advice, no one could.
    Jubal borrowed Trewe’s old ercycle and rode thirty miles up the side of Eirse Mountain, through forests of stunted ebane and tall thin thyrse, across stony glades and dark dells, and finally arrived at Vaidro’s antique house: a rambling tall-roofed structure of dark wood. Vaidro, a somber man, compact and economical of movement, came out to meet Jubal and conducted him to a shaded terrace. They sat in wicker easy-chairs, and a Djan maid brought a silver tray with a carafe of wine and a dish of biscuits.
    Vaidro