The Dogtown Tourist Agency by Jack Vance Page A

similar treatment, Hetzel might also become misanthropic.
    Dirby asked, “Well…did you see Sir Estevan?”
    “Yes. He told me nothing we don’t already know. I also spoke to Captain Baw, who seems somewhat uncertain. He tells me that the deed for which you are held liable is a simple misdemeanor. The Triarchs have never established a mutually binding legal code; no one trusts anyone else, and each party enforces its own laws upon its own subjects. Gaean interest in the missiles which killed the Liss and the Olefract ends as soon as those missiles cross the lines of jurisdiction. Killing Gomaz is not yet illegal. Hence, even had you shot the gun, your offense is a simple disorderly conduct. This is the theory. In effect, Sir Estevan might informally extradite you to the Liss or the Olefract. Though this I somehow doubt. He is a complex man, a puzzling man. He seems very confident.”
    Dirby gave an inarticulate growl. “They purposely allowed me to escape, because they couldn’t risk a public trial, with mind-search evidence.”
    “I’m sure of nothing,” said Hetzel. “Sir Estevan tells me that there is a long blue-and-white-tiled hall in his residence. Someone photographed him walking along this hall and adapted the film to your situation…I neglected to ask who might have so filmed him.”
    “And when he turned the pot over my head—that was also a photograph?”
    “That might not have been Sir Estevan. In fact, almost certainly it was Casimir Wuldfache.”
    Dirby rose to his feet and stood rubbing his chin. “If my offense is just simple misdemeanor, why not go over to the Triskelion and pay a fee?”
    “It’s not quite that simple. Captain Baw comprises the whole legal system in himself. He might sentence you to thirty lashes, or eighteen years in the Exhibitory, or expulsion into Liss territory. You had better remain at the Beyranion until you have legal counsel and a Gaean marshal on the job.”
    “That will be a month, or maybe two months.”
    “Do as you like,” said Hetzel. “Shall I continue the investigation?”
    “I suppose you might as well.”
    “If you turn yourself in, I’m going to stop. I can’t collect money from a dead man.”
    Dirby only grunted.
    Hetzel drew a deep breath and went on. “We’ve only scratched the surface of this case. Right now, at least, several matters seem important. Where is Banghart? Where is Casimir Wuldfache? Where were you confined? Is your case linked with Istagam? If so, how?”
    “Don’t ask me,” said Dirby. “I’m just the turkey.”
    “Does Banghart have other names or a Gaean index by which he might be traced?”
    “Not to my knowledge.”
    “What does he look like?”
    Dirby scratched his chin. “He’s older than I; stocky, with a square face and black hair. He doesn’t seem particularly impressive until he gives you orders and looks at you. He’s cold inside. He likes to dress well; in fact, he’s something of a dandy. He spoke once or twice of a place called Fallorne.”
    “Fallorne is a world on the other side of the Reach. Anything else?”
    “He had a strange way of singing. I can’t quite describe it—as if singing two tunes at once, a kind of counterpoint. I can’t think of much else.”
    “Very good. Now, you were put down on a swampy island. Do you remember the weather?”
    “It was just an ordinary clear night.”
    “Could you see stars?”
    “Not distinctly. The air blurs them out, and the moon was stark full, which concealed even more stars.”
    “How high did the moon rise above the horizon? In other words, what was its maximum height in degrees?”
    Dirby shrugged peevishly. “I hardly noticed. I wasn’t concerned with astronomical observations. Let me think. I don’t believe it went higher than about forty-five degrees—halfway up the sky. Don’t ask me about the sun, because I didn’t notice; in fact, I hardly saw it.”
    “Very well, but you noticed where the sun rose?”
    Dirby allowed himself a