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CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Pride of Tamland eased away from the mooring and moved sedately down the river. The banks on either side still presented a stark contrast; though the land on the Briom side was poorer now, the soil tending to clay and the wild growth along the bank looking rank and dismal, on the Tsenesh side the ground was even more barren-looking, the occasional bare rocks showing streaks of odd colours and scintillations in the watery midmorning sunshine.
And in the boatmaster’s office, Aldro Stychel turned on the two amateur investigators a smile as open and frank and uninformative as a child’s.
“I really don’t know what I can tell you, Lord Ildras,” he said, “that you don’t already know.”
“Why don’t you start by telling us a little about yourself,” Varnak suggested.
“Myself?” Stychel’s smile drooped a little. “Is that germane?”
“Why don’t you let us determine what’s germane and what isn’t?” Varnak countered pleasantly.
Stychel shrugged. “Very well,” he said. “My name is Aldro Stychel. I’m forty-three years old. I was born in Hyrcassos, in the capital city. I studied at the Royal College of Arts in Kyriopolis, in Briom, and then returned to my own country to take up a position as a teacher, where I have remained ever since. As you see,” he said, smiling again, “not much to tell. It’s a dull life, but I find it rewarding.”
“Is that all there is to it?” Mordecai said, on an impulse.
Stychel looked genuinely dismayed. “You’ve been talking to the boys, of course,” he said. “Gentlemen, I beg you to discount anything they may have told you. Wild stories—”
“They did not tell us anything,” Mordecai said. “Apart, that is, from a general air of ‘we could an if we would.’ They were very loyal and as discreet as such hardened topers can be. It was, however, enough.”
The teacher hesitated. Then he sagged.
“May I rely on your confidence, gentlemen?” he said, in a low voice.
“Absolutely,” Varnak said, looking curiously at Mordecai.
( Cut to spare your friends page... )
The Pride of Tamland eased away from the mooring and moved sedately down the river. The banks on either side still presented a stark contrast; though the land on the Briom side was poorer now, the soil tending to clay and the wild growth along the bank looking rank and dismal, on the Tsenesh side the ground was even more barren-looking, the occasional bare rocks showing streaks of odd colours and scintillations in the watery midmorning sunshine.
And in the boatmaster’s office, Aldro Stychel turned on the two amateur investigators a smile as open and frank and uninformative as a child’s.
“I really don’t know what I can tell you, Lord Ildras,” he said, “that you don’t already know.”
“Why don’t you start by telling us a little about yourself,” Varnak suggested.
“Myself?” Stychel’s smile drooped a little. “Is that germane?”
“Why don’t you let us determine what’s germane and what isn’t?” Varnak countered pleasantly.
Stychel shrugged. “Very well,” he said. “My name is Aldro Stychel. I’m forty-three years old. I was born in Hyrcassos, in the capital city. I studied at the Royal College of Arts in Kyriopolis, in Briom, and then returned to my own country to take up a position as a teacher, where I have remained ever since. As you see,” he said, smiling again, “not much to tell. It’s a dull life, but I find it rewarding.”
“Is that all there is to it?” Mordecai said, on an impulse.
Stychel looked genuinely dismayed. “You’ve been talking to the boys, of course,” he said. “Gentlemen, I beg you to discount anything they may have told you. Wild stories—”
“They did not tell us anything,” Mordecai said. “Apart, that is, from a general air of ‘we could an if we would.’ They were very loyal and as discreet as such hardened topers can be. It was, however, enough.”
The teacher hesitated. Then he sagged.
“May I rely on your confidence, gentlemen?” he said, in a low voice.
“Absolutely,” Varnak said, looking curiously at Mordecai.
( Cut to spare your friends page... )