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Updated: September 14, 2025
Sometimes Tortha Karf or Verkan Vall would punch one of these, and read, on an adjoining screen, the explanatory matter referred to. Finally Tortha Karf leaned back and lit a fresh cigarette. "Yes, indeed, Vall; very definitely we will have to take action in the matter of the runaway nighthound of the late Gavran Sarn," he said.
The airboat was skimming rapidly above the treetops, toward the northern part of the city. "What's known about that package bomb?" Verkan Vall asked. "Who sent it?" Dirzed shrugged. "The Statisticalists, of course. The wrapper was stolen from the Reincarnation Research Institute; so was the case. The Constabulary are working on it." Dirzed shrugged again.
And Klarnood was looking at Verkan Vall with a considerable accretion of respect. Verkan Vall pulled on his boots and resumed his clothing. There followed some argument about the pistols; it was finally decided that each combatant should use his own shoulder-holster weapon.
Verkan Vall rubbed his hand over his face wearily, started to light another cigarette, and threw it across the room in disgust. What he needed was a drink a long drink of cool, tart white wine, laced with brandy and then he needed to sleep. "We're absolutely nowhere!" Ranthar Jard said. "Of course they're operating on time lines we've never penetrated.
He replaced the two expended rounds in his magazine with fresh ones and slid the pistol back into its holster. The two Assassins whose principals had been so expeditiously massacred were beginning to count up their losses and pay off the winners. Klarnood, the President-General of the Society of Assassins, came over, hooking fingers and clapping shoulders with Verkan Vall.
It was going to get worse, too, when strangers began arriving, apparently from nowhere, at the plantation. Verkan Vall waited until the small, dark-eyed woman across the circular table had helped herself from one of the bowls on the revolving disk in the middle, then rotated it to bring the platter of cold boar-ham around to himself.
Verkan Vall mentioned an approximate paratime location. "Aaagh! That Khiftan civilization by courtesy so called!" Tortha Karf pulled a wry face. "I suppose the intra-family enmities of the Hvadka Dynasty have reached critical mass again. They'll fool around till they blast themselves back to the stone age." "Intellectually, they're about there, now.
Verkan Vall came around the desk, deposited his rifle and bag on the floor, and sat down in one of the spare chairs. "I'll have to go back again." "So?" His chief lit a cigarette and waited. "I traced Gavran Sarn." Verkan Vall got out his pipe and began to fill it. "But that's only the beginning. I have to trace something else.
When Verkan Vall shook his head, Klarnood continued: "Marnark was the son and right-hand associate of old Mirzark of Bashad, the Statisticalist Party leader. Sirzob of Abo was their propaganda director. And Yirzol of Narva was their leading socio-economic theorist, and their candidate for Executive Chairman.
Verkan Vall looked blank for an instant, then grinned. It had been so long since he had even bothered to think about that antiquated title of nobility "Vall's probably forgotten that he has a title," a girl across the table, wearing an almost transparent gown and nothing else, laughed.
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