Chapter 23 
Chapter 23
“LOOKS LIKE you’ve been having trouble, Commodore,” commented Billinghurst to Grimes as the pair of them stood by the Devil’s Stewpot watching what seemed to be the majority of Macedon’s passengers wallowing in the murky, bubbling, steaming water. “Sabotage?”
“Accident,” replied Grimes. “Sobraon was lifting off, and one of her stern vanes snagged one of Rim Malemute’s mooring wires.”
“Accident? You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“I’ve handled ships for long enough, Mr. Billinghurst, to know that accidents do happen.”
“All the same, Commodore, it’s suspicious,” stated Billinghurst.
“How so?” asked Grimes, just to be awkward.
“As I recollect it, the idea was that you were to run a survey of the planet, officially looking for sites for the naval base, and actually looking for places where dreamy weed might be brought in. I don’t suppose that you’ve even started to do that.”
“How right you are.”
“Meanwhile, you’re living in the lap of luxury, and the taxpayer is picking up the tab for your hotel bills.”
“The taxpayer forked out for your fare in Macedon, and will be picking up the tab for your hotel bills.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because, Commodore, in matters of this kind I’m a trained investigator. You’re not. You can’t do anything unless you’ve a ship under you. When Rim Malemute was accidently knocked out of the picture you were knocked out of it too. I did expect some cooperation from you in the way of transport, but now I’ll have to manage as best I can by myself. Don’t worry; I’ve done it before.”
“I’m not worrying,” said Grimes. He looked with some distaste at an enormously fat, naked man waddling down to the hot pool like a Terran hippopotamus. He asked, “Why don’t you try the Stewpot, Mr. Billinghurst? You could afford to lose some weight.”
“Because I’ve more important things to do, that’s why. I’m not here on holiday.”
“Neither am I, unfortunately.”
“So you say.”
“So I say. But tell me, just how do you intend to go about things? I realize that I’m just an amateur in these matters, so I’d like to know how a real professional operates.”
Billinghurst lapped up the flattery. He said, “In any sort of detective work the human element is, in the final analysis, far more important than all the fancy gadgetry in the laboratories. One informer—voluntary or involuntary—is worth ten scientists. I have chosen to accompany me young, keen officers who are not unattractive to the opposite sex. Sub-Inspector Pahvani you, of course, already know. That is Sub-Inspector Ling just coming out of this absurdly named hot pool.”
“Certainly a tasty dollop of trollop,” remarked Grimes as the golden-skinned, black-haired, naked girl passed them.
“She is a very fine and capable young woman,” said Billinghurst stiffly. “Anyhow, I have young Pahvani and three other men, Miss Ling and two other women. All of them are provided with ample spending money. All of them are to pass themselves off as members of well-to-do families on Thule—they’d have to be well-to-do to afford the fares that TG Clippers charge and a quite long holiday here—enjoying a vacation. Captain Clavering has quite a few unattached men and women among his staff here, and my officers have been instructed to . . . to make contacts.”
“All-over contacts,” said Grimes.
“Really, Commodore, you have a low mind.”
“Not as low as the mind of the bastard who first thought of using good, honest sex as an espionage tool. But go on.”
“Well I’m hoping that some of Clavering’s people become . . . er . . . infatuated with some of my people. And I hope that they—Clavering’s people—talk.”
“So you can build a case on bedtime stories.”
“You put things in the most crude way, Commodore Grimes.”
“I’m just a rough and tough spaceman, Mr. Billinghurst. It has been rumored that my rugged exterior hides a heart of gold—but there are times when even I am inclined to doubt that.”
“Who’s that young man whom Miss Ling is talking to?”
“That’s Clavering’s chef. Like all good chefs he is always tasting as he cooks. A daily session in the Devil’s Stewpot helps him to keep his weight down. He’s a Farawegian. He started his career in the kitchen of the Rimrock House at Port Farewell. Mphm. Your Miss Ling is coming back with him for another good sweat session. She must be conscientious. I hope she doesn’t lose any weight; she’s just right as she is.”
“And does this chef know anything?”
“He certainly knows cooking. Ah, there’s your Mr. Pahvani, getting on with the job. Does he use steel wool on his teeth, by the way? That smile, against his brown skin, is really dazzling. The recipient of the charm that he’s turning on is Clavering’s head receptionist. She’s from Thule, but she prefers it here. Oh, looks like my Commander Williams is making a conquest from among Macedon’s customers. I must say that I applaud his good taste.”
“That,” said Billinghurst, “is my Miss Dalgety that he’s talking to. I’ll have to warn her off him.”
“Mistakes will happen. After all, you can hardly expect Williams to wear uniform for his daily dip, can you? Any more than you can expect Miss Dalgety to appear in her sub-inspector’s finery.”
“You seem to have made some enquiries, Commodore,” admitted Billinghurst reluctantly. “Perhaps you will oblige me with thumbnail sketches of all Clavering’s staff here.”
“All? Devils as well as humans? I’m afraid you’re out of luck as far as the devils are concerned. At first I thought I was getting them sorted out by the colour of their scales—and then I found out that this varies from day to day. If you look really hard you can tell which are males and which are females, though.”
“Humans, of course, Commodore.”
“Well,” began Grimes, “there’s Clavering himself. Spaceman. Hangs on to his Federation citizenship. Still makes an occasional voyage in command of Sally Ann, also brings in and takes out ships whose Masters want a pilot.”
“I suppose he was piloting Sobraon when she fouled your Malemute.”
“As a matter of fact, he was. Wife, Sally Clavering. Tall blonde, very attractive. Ex-purser, and looks after the books of the hotel, the chemical works on the Bitter Sea and the bottling plant. Then there’s Larwood, another Federation citizen, chief officer of Sally Ann and assistant port captain, assistant hotel manager and assistant everything else. Very quiet. Doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, has no time for women. I think there was a marriage once, but it broke up. Ah, here’s Mrs. Clavering. Sally, this is Mr. Billinghurst, an old acquaintance from Port Forlorn. Mr. Billinghurst, this is Mrs. Clavering.”
Billinghurst bowed with ponderous dignity. He said, “I am very pleased to meet you.” Then, “This is quite a place you have here. I’d heard so much about it that I just had to come and see it for myself.”
“I hope you enjoy your stay, Mr. Billinghurst. We do our best to make our guests feel at home.”
Home was never like this, thought Grimes. A slight earth tremor added point to his unspoken comment.
Billinghurst was unshaken. It would have taken a major earthquake to unsettle him. He asked, “Do you have these tremors often, Mrs. Clavering?”
“Quite frequently. You soon get used to them.”
“I hope you’re right. I hope that I shall. Some people never get used to motion of any kind, and have to take all sorts of drugs to help them to maintain their physical and psychological equilibrium.”
She laughed. “We dispense one very good drug for that purpose ourselves, Mr. Billinghurst. You can get it in the bar. It’s called alcohol.”
“I think I could stand a drink,” admitted Billinghurst. “Will you join me, Mrs. Clavering? And you, Commodore?”
“Later, perhaps,” she said. She dropped the robe that was all she had been wearing. “I always have my daily hot soak at this time.”
Grimes got out of his own dressing gown. “And so do I.”
He followed the tall, slim woman into the almost-scalding water. They found a place that was out of earshot from the other bathers. She turned to face him, slowly lowered herself until only her head was above the surface. Grimes did likewise, conscious of the stifling heat, of the perspiration pouring down his face.
She said, “I don’t like your fat friend, John.”
“Neither do I, frankly.”
“I never have liked customs officers.”
“Customs officers?”
“Don’t forget that I was once a spacewoman, a purser. I know the breed. But what were all those not so subtle hints about drugs? Did he expect me to offer him a pipeful of dreamy weed?”
“Perhaps he did,” said Grimes. “Perhaps he did.”
“Surely you don’t think . . .?”
“I wish I didn’t.”
“But . . .”
“But the bloody stuff is coming into the Rim Worlds from somewhere, Sally. I know of one young man, an officer in our ships, who got himself emptied out because of it. I know of two other young people who were killed because the container of the weed, dropped from Ditmar, was destroyed, by remote control and by explosion, to stop it from falling into customs’ hands. I’m not saying that Ian knew anything about that; I’m sure that he didn’t. But—on this world of all worlds!—he should bear in mind the old proverb: He who sups with the devil needs a long spoon.”
“You’re . . . accusing Ian?”
“The evidence—and what you yourself have told me—point to his being somehow implicated. If he gets out from under now I shall be able, I think and hope, to shield him from the consequences. If he doesn’t . . .”
She looked at him long and earnestly. Then, “Whose side are you on, John?”
“I’m not sure. There are times when I think that stupid laws breed criminals, there are times when I’m not certain that the laws are so stupid. When it comes to things like dreamy weed there’s too much hysteria on both sides. It’s far easier to handle drugs like alcohol, because nobody has made a religion of them.”
“Have you talked to Ian yet, as I asked you to?”
“I’ve tried once or twice, but he’s very hard to pin down.”
“Don’t I know it! But I think he realizes that the game’s up and that he’s let whoever has been bringing the stuff in that the trade is finished.”
“He hasn’t been able to get out to his bottling plant where he has his private transceiver. His air boat is still under repair, and it would take too long by road.”
She said, “Surely the port captain is allowed to play around with the Carlotti equipment in the control tower in his own spaceport.”
“Oh, well,” said Grimes, “I’ll shed no tears if it turns out that I’ve come here for nothing.”