gloomy silence. Then, after a cautious side glance, he said: “It is imperative that this misunderstanding be mended. I will arrange talks and no doubt we shall have an official apology; then, with good faith renewed, our team will continue its work, each to his scope and ability, as before.”
Sir Denzel gave another bark of laughter. “Allow me to quote you a passage from Navarth’s ‘Happenings’: ‘A virgin is raped four times in a thicket. The perpetrator is called to account and tries to make amends. He provides a costly salve to soothe the scratches on her buttocks, but his apologies fail to restore her maidenhead.’”
Roby Mavil heaved a deep sigh, and spoke in a voice of sweet reason. “Perhaps we should back away and use a wider perspective.”
“What?” Sir Denzel’s voice trembled. “I have reached the Ninth Sign of the Noble Way, and you suggest that I broaden my perspectives? Unbelievable!”
Roby Mavil went on doggedly. “As I see it, we are engaged in a struggle of the Ultimates: Good against Evil, a fact which generates its own imperatives. Our opponents are desperate; when they strike out we are duty-bound to ward off their blows. In short, we must swim in the river of reality, or sink and drown, along with all our dreams of glory.”
“Come now!” snapped Sir Denzel. “I have lived long in this world; I know that faith and truth are good: they enhance life. Deceit, coercion, blood and pain are bad, also the betrayal of trust.”
Roby Mavil said bravely: “It is not good to let a petty spasm of hurt feelings deter you from our great undertaking!”
Sir Denzel chuckled. “Yes, I am vain and peevish; I want everyone to approach me with reverence and kiss my foot. Is that your thinking? Quite so. Your goals are even more stark. You want me to pay over another large sum of money: a hundred thousand sols is what you expect.”
Roby Mavil managed a painful grin. “Dame Clytie said that you had agreed to one hundred and fifty thousand sols.”
“The figure was mentioned,” said Sir Denzel. “That phase has come and gone. We have entered the time when we recover funds wrongfully spent, down to the last dinket. I am determined on this; you shall not cheat me of my money and spend it upon horrid goods.”
Roby Mavil blinked and shifted his gaze. Tump and Farganger looked on imperturbably. Sir Denzel seemed to become aware of them. “I did not catch your names?”
“I am Torq Tump.”
“And you, sir?”
“I am Farganger.”
“‘Farganger’? Is that all?”
“It is enough.”
Sir Denzel inspected them thoughtfully, then spoke to Tump. “I wish to ask you some questions. I hope you will not take them amiss.”
“Ask away,” said Tump indifferently. “However, I expect that Mavil, yonder, would prefer to give you the answers.”
“So it may be. Still one way or another I intend to learn facts.”
Roby Mavil straightened in his seat, then scowled in new annoyance at the approach of Rufo Kathcar: a man tall, gaunt and pallid, with concave cheeks, burning black eyes under black eyebrows, with violet shadows surrounding. Black wisps of hair fell to the side of his white forehead; an untidy short beard fringed his bony jaw. His arms and legs were long and lank; with hands and feet so large as to seem ungainly. Kathcar greeted Roby Mavil with a cool nod, glanced sharply at Tump and Farganger, then spoke to Sir Denzel. “You seem a bit disconsolate, sir.” He drew up a chair and seated himself.
“‘Disconsolate’ is not the word,” said Sir Denzel. “You know the circumstances.”
Roby Mavil started to speak, but Sir Denzel silenced him with a gesture.
“It is the old story. I laugh and I cry to think of it, that such things could happen to me!”
Roby Mavil glanced nervously to right and left. “Please, Sir Denzel! Your dramatics are entertaining the entire terrace!”
“Then let them listen; perhaps they will profit from my experiences. These are the facts. I