Times Without Number by John Brunner Read Free Book Online Page B

world. Right now he was tempted to draw his sword on this

idiot and inscribe his hide with a message to be memorised concerning

the responsibilities of the Society. However, he controlled himself.

"It was not enough," he said shortly. "If that's all you can offer me,

though, I'll make a start with it. Where are these clerks you referred

to?"

"At once!" Don Pedro exclaimed. "I'll take you to see them myself!"

But the clerks were even less helpful than Higgins had been. Their

story, to the truth of which the local inquisitors testified, was

that their master had conducted both the purchase and the later sale

of the mask himself, as he often did when the other party involved was

of noble status. That, Don Miguel had to concede, was logical enough --

he could imagine any nobleman compelled to dispose of family heirlooms

and replenish a shrinking coffer wanting to treat in confidence with

a discreet merchant, and he already knew that Higgins's reputation for

discretion had brought him many such transactions.

The clerks maintained stoutly that they had been unaware of the mask's

existence until their master was arrested, and their story -- like

Higgins's own -- had so far defied the best efforts of the inquisitors

to undermine it.

Sighing, Don Miguel left the cell in which they were incarcerated and

headed back through the fine grounds of the Society's office. Having gone

some distance with Don Pedro silent at his side, he suddenly spoke up.

"This market, now, where the mask was sold to Don Arcimboldo -- it's

outside the city wall, is it not?"

"Indeed it is, sir," Don Pedro answered. "Save for freemen of Jorque,

who seldom engage in trade, no one may buy or sell goods within the

wall; there was a bylaw passed in the last years of last century. Thus

the custom arose of going beyond the walls to trade, and now indeed the

market district has grown almost into a new city of itself."

"Good. I want to inspect this market. Call me a coach and let's be gone."

"With pleasure, sir," declared Don Pedro fervently.

While they were waiting before the Society's office for the vehicle

to arrive, Don Miguel turned to the other subject he was currently

interested in.

"Tell me, Don Pedro, what do you know about Don Arcimboldo Ruiz? Is he

a prominent figure here in Jorque?"

"He's . . ." Don Pedro hesitated oddly. "He's of a prominent family in

the north."

Don Miguel nodded. "As to him personally, though?" he prompted.

"I can tell you rather little, I'm afraid. I do know he inherited large

estates over the Scottish border, but prefers to live in Jorque for the

sake of our social life. I also know he's highly regarded as a collector

of Saxon and Irish antiques -- men speak of him as having expert knowledge

on that subject. Beyond that . . ." He concluded with a shrug.

Of course, this was no news to Don Miguel; Don Arcimboldo had come

straight out and said he collected antiques, but New World artefacts were

not his speciality. His verdict on the personality of the Marquesa had

indicated a healthy cynicism, and implied that if he had had any cause

to suspect Higgins of selling him contraband he would have taken steps

to protect himself. He would hardly have given such a splendid gift to

the Marquesa, knowing its existence would be public knowledge within the

day, had he feared it was an unlicensed import. Either he would not have

bought it, or he would have kept it secretly for his own collection. Yes,

the argument was colourable.

And yet . . .

Don Miguel's train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of the coach

Don Pedro had called for. But the tiny crease of puzzlement which had

developed between his eyebrows remained there throughout the coach-ride.

They called the place a "market"; in fact, as Don Pedro had forewarned

him, it had grown until it was almost a city in its own right. Wide roads,

well paved, traversed it and separated the plots of ground leased to

various traders, on which