Jack Vance - Gaean Reach 01 by Gray Prince

them.”
     
    On the morning after the funeral a sparkling blue Hermes sky-boat, with silver flare-bars and a jaunty four-foot probe, swooped out of the sky and, ignoring the landing area to the side, came down on the promenade directly before Morningswake Manor.
    Schaine, looking forth from the library, noticed the sky-boat on the neatly dressed gravel and reflected that Kelse would be irritated, especially since the occupant was Jorjol, who should have known better.
    Jorjol jumped to the ground and stood a moment surveying Morningswake with the air of a person contemplating purchase. He wore a pale leather split-skirt, hide sandals, a rock-crystal sphere on his right big toe, the ‘revelry-bonnet’ of a Garganche bravo: an intricate contrivance of silver rods on which Jorjol’s white-bleached hair was tied and twined and tasseled. Fresh azure oil had been applied to his face; his skin shone as blue as the enamel of his Hermes.
    Schaine shook her head in amused vexation for Jorjol’s bravado. She went out on the front piazza to meet him. He came forward, took her hands, bent forward and kissed her forehead. “I learned of your father’s death, and felt that I must come to express my sentiments.”
    “Thank you, Jorjol. But yesterday was the funeral.”
    “Pshaw. I would have found you occupied with dozens of the dullest people imaginable. I wished to express myself to you.”
    Schaine laughed tolerantly. “Very well, express yourself.”
    Jorjol cocked his head and inspected Schaine sharply. “In reference to your father, condolence is of course in order. He was a strong man, and a man to be respected—even though, as you know, I stand opposite to his views.”
    Schaine nodded. “Do you know, he died before I had a chance to speak to him. I came home hoping to find him a softer easier man.”
    “Softer? Easier? More reasonable? More just? Hah!” Jorjol threw his fine head back as if in defiance. “I think not. I doubt if Kelse intends to alter by so much as a whit. Where is Kelse?”
    “He’s in the office, going over accounts.”
    Jorjol looked up and down the quaint old façade of Morningswake. “The house is as pleasant and inviting as ever. I wonder if you know how lucky you are.”
    “Oh yes indeed.”
    “And I am committed to bringing this era to an end.”
    “Come now, Jorjol, you can’t deceive me. You’re just Muffin in fancy clothes.”
    Jorjol chuckled. “I must admit that I came half to express sympathy and half—rather more than half—to see you. To touch you.” He took a step forward. Schaine retreated.
    “You mustn’t be impulsive, Jorjol.”
    “Aha! but I’m not impulsive! I’m determined and wise, and you know how I feel about you.”
    “I know how you felt about me,” said Schaine, “but that was five years ago. Let me go tell Kelse you’re here. He’ll want to see you.”
    Jorjol reached out, took her hand. “No. Let Kelse drudge among the accounts. I came to see you. Let’s walk by the river where we can be alone.”
    Schaine glanced down at the long blue hand, with the long fingers and black fingernails. “It’s almost lunch-time, Jorjol. Perhaps after lunch. You’ll stay, won’t you?”
    “I will be happy to lunch with you.”
    “I’ll go find Kelse. And here’s Elvo Glissam, whom you met at Aunt Val’s. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
    Schaine went to the office. Kelse looked up from the calculator. “Jorjol is here.”
    Kelse nodded shortly. “What does he want?”
    “He made a nice speech in regard to Father. I’ve invited him to lunch.”
    Into their field of vision came Jorjol and Elvo Glissam on the lawn under the clump of parasol trees. Kelse grunted, rose to his feet.
    “I’ll come out and talk to him. We’ll take lunch on the east terrace.”
    “Wait, Kelse. Let’s be nice to Jorjol. He deserves to be treated like any other guest. It’s a warm day and the Hall would be perfectly suitable.”
    Kelse said patiently: “In two hundred