Lurulu by Jack Vance Read Free Book Online Page B

the rest of the ship’s company occupied elsewhere. To Myron’s comment that he would have been comforted by the support of Wingo and Schwatzendale, Maloof replied, “We can deal adequately with the situation, and we are far less conspicuous alone.” Myron accepted Maloof’s program without protest, but checked that his hand-weapons were in good working order. Maloof left a note on the galley table. “That should soothe their anxieties, if any exist.”
    The two unshipped the flitter and stowed a few items of equipment aboard. Once aloft they set off over the arcadian landscapes of Fluter toward the village Krenke. As the sun traversed the sky, the continents and seas passed below. With the sun close to the horizon Krenke appeared below, dozing in the golden light of late afternoon.
    Maloof put the flitter into a slow circle over the village. A road from the east crossed a tranquil river by an iron bridge to become the high street of the village. After passing the Three Feathers Inn, the road proceeded a hundred yards to give upon a public square, then angled away and was lost under the foliage of tall trees.
    Across the bridge from the inn was an area of open land, occupied by a variety of vehicles: farm equipment, drays, power-carts, a few skitters badly in need of maintenance and a pair of antique flitters, fragile as moth-wings. Maloof found an empty bay at the back of the area and landed the flitter just as the last sliver of sun dropped below the horizon, leaving behind a tumble of clouds glowing vermilion, amber and gold.
    In the gathering dusk Maloof and Myron alighted and made their way to the bridge and across the river. Ahead loomed the Three Feathers Inn, a massive structure of timber and stone with a high-peaked roof. Over the entrance hung a sign after the traditional style, depicting three iron feathers splayed out into a fan constrained within a heavy iron frame. Maloof and Myron pushed open the heavy door and entered the inn.
    The two found themselves in the common room: a large chamber, almost majestic in its scale. Timber posts supported gnarled cross-room baulks on which rested the ceiling joists and the age-darkened planks of the ceiling proper. A line of tables ranged the wall to the left; a long bar flanked the wall to the right.
    The tables were occupied by diners: men, women and a few children, dressed in their best. The middle-aged serving woman loped with long strides back and forth between tables and kitchen. She wore a loose gown striped brown and green, so long that it almost swept the floor. Her hair was piled into a pyramid with a blue flower thrust demurely into the apex. The diners constantly importuned her as she strode back and forth: “Dinka! More sauce is needed!”; “Dinka! Bring more batrachies, with fresh vinegar!”; and “Dinka! The bread is musty! We need more savoury paste!” A doorway into the kitchen allowed occasional glimpses of a short squat woman with a perspiring red face, glaring out toward the tables in what seemed a state of chronic fury.
    Along the bar sat a dozen men in working-class garments, or the somewhat more pretentious costumes of tradesmen, hunched over tall wooden tankards of beer, talking in gruff mutters. Behind the bar a moon-faced bartender danced nimbly back and forth, his great paunch pressed against the counter — refilling tankards, wiping up spills and chaffing the drinkers, who stared at him blankly.
    Maloof and Myron seated themselves at the end of the bar and waited.
    Jodel the bartender, noticing the newcomers, sidled down the length of the bar. He spoke: “Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?”
    “We have just arrived from Coro-Coro,” said Maloof. “We want lodging for the night, supper and breakfast in the morning.”
    “No problem whatever!” declared Jodel. “Here is the registry; you need only sign and formalities are over.”
    “So it might be, providing that we can afford your rates.”
    Jodel made an indulgent gesture.