The Dogtown Tourist Agency by Jack Vance

the same with us. Only in this way can we accommodate each other.”
    “So, then, what is Dirby’s status as of this moment?”
    “We have issued a complaint of misdemeanor against Gidion Dirby, asserting that he fired weapons during official proceedings of the Triarchy and disrupted the session.”
    “This is not the statement you made to Aeolus Shult, at the Beyranion.”
    “At the Beyranion I have no official status. I can use unofficial language and perform unofficial acts, such as laying hold of Dirby and dragging him out on the plaza to where I could arrest him.”
    “On misdemeanor charges?”
    “Exactly.”
    “What is the penalty for such an offense?”
    “He must be adjudged.”
    “By whom?”
    “In connection with small crimes, I generally act as magistrate.”
    “And how do you adjudge Gidion Dirby?”
    “Guilty.”
    “And his penalty?”
    Captain Baw’s thinking had not proceeded so far. “I must consult the statutes.”
    “Why not do so now? I will pay the fine.”
    Captain Baw made a brusque gesture. “If you think to pay some trifling sum in Gidion Dirby’s name and win him away free and guiltless, you are mistaken.”
    “You have done this much yourself.”
    Captain Baw’s mouth became a loose O of indignant astonishment. “How so?”
    “You have tried and adjudged him of firing shots in the Triarchy chamber, and found him guilty. Regardless of his guilt or innocence, a man may not be twice held to account for the same charges.”
    Captain Baw’s face began to turn pink. He spoke in a heavy voice. “This interpretation will not carry weight, I assure you.”
    “I thought not,” said Hetzel.
    “There may be an additional charge, such as felonious attack upon the life of Sir Estevan Tristo.”
    “How can this be? Only four shots were fired, and four individuals were killed!” This remark was casual essay; Hetzel had no notion whatever as to how many shots had been fired.
    “The number of shots fired is not germane,” said Baw laboriously. “Gidion Dirby must surrender himself at once, or seriously compromise his position.”
    “I will tell him so,” said Hetzel, “and I thank you for your courtesy. But one more matter puzzles me. I identified the Gomaz as Kaikash—”
    “Kaikash? Nonsense. They were Ubaikh. Kaikash wear a peaked helmet and black leggings, and they smell different. I can’t read the smells so that I know what they mean, but I can tell a Kaikash from a Ubaikh.”
    “What did they want from the Triarchs?”
    “The matter lies beyond my province.”
    “But you know?”
    “Of course I know. It is my business to know everything.”
    “Sir Estevan declared that you would answer all questions freely.”
    “In my opinion, Sir Estevan is far too liberal. There is no reason why we should explain official business to every astounded tourist. I will say this much: the Ubaikh consider themselves an elite. They led all the septs in the great war, and now they hold themselves first among the Gomaz, and they are always the first to complain of any and every fancied encroachment.”
    “I would consider Istagam more than an encroachment,” said Hetzel. “No reasonable man could say otherwise.”
    Captain Baw looked off across the room. “In this regard, there can be no discussion.”
    “It is foolish to ignore a notorious reality,” said Hetzel.
    “Not all that notorious,” grumbled Captain Baw. “A trivial matter, really.”
    “Then why should the Ubaikh come here to complain?”
    “I don’t know, and I don’t care!” roared Captain Baw. “I can talk no more today!”
    “Thank you, Captain Baw.”

Chapter VIII
    Hetzel found Gidion Dirby sitting on a hummock of purple-black moss in that corner of the garden overlooking Dogtown. He seemed morose and preoccupied and when Hetzel approached, he turned a resentful glance over his shoulder. Gidion Dirby, thought Hetzel, was not a likable man. Still, he must be excused a certain degree of peevishness. After