9 Tales of Henghis Hapthorn by Matthew Hughes

Author:Matthew Hughes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fantasy, Literature & Fiction, Space Opera, Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy
ISBN: 0988107856
Publisher: Matthew Hughes
Published: 2013-01-29T13:00:00+00:00

* * *

We took luncheon in the great refectory. The Hutch’s integrator was a superior model and provided a fine repast. Torsten, his father and I sat at one end of the long, grand table, while Jabbi Gloond occupied the farthest extreme, trenchering his way through mounds of roast vegetables and succulent meats. A strong odor of spice and pungent herbs emanated from the loaded salvers that appeared before him and he wielded his cutlery with a clattering brio that prevented his hearing our muted conversation.

“I think we must count Jabbi Gloond a lapsed Palmadyan,” I said. “The cult requires its adherents to eat only what they have grown and prepared themselves, a stricture only slightly modified by the fact that all effort in Orkham County is communal.”

“Not only communal but compulsory,” said Torsten. “I think you have used too mild a term for the manner in which our guest has departed from the cult’s teachings. He has not so much lapsed from Palmadyanism as leapt from it as far as humanly possible.”

Torsten and I had agreed on this conversational gambit as a means to make a sideways approach to the question on the son’s mind. We would lure the father into an exchange that we intended to shape toward a discussion of how he and Gloond came to be sharing a house.

“Indeed,” I said, following Torsten’s observation with a question to the older man. “You have seen Orkham County at first hand. Is Jabbi Gloond as atypical as he seems?”

But Gresh Olabian gave only a wooden shrug in reply and with pale, seemingly bloodless hands continued to pick without interest at a plate of herbs and softroot.

Undeterred, I bored in. “Although you used off-world labor to mine for blue-fires and shatterlights, you must have engaged local transportation and handlers to get them to the spaceport on Shoal Island. Only horse-drawn wagons can cross Orkham County and the drivers are all local folk. Was Gloond one of them?”

He made no reply, but this time Olabian looked at me. Although the waxy skin of his face did not register any emotion I thought I saw alarm in his otherwise expressionless eyes. My interest in Gloond appeared to disturb him.

It clearly emboldened Torsten. “If he is causing you difficulties, we’ll soon tumble him out into the road,” he said.

The elder Olabian said nothing and kept his eyes on his plate.

“Please, father,” said Torsten, “Henghis is very good at unraveling mysteries. I have urged him to become a professional discriminator. Whatever the problem, I’m sure he can help. We’ll get to the bottom of Jabbi Gloond.”

Again, though no expression animated the father’s face I sensed a growing unease. But when I began to frame a new question, Gresh Olabian rose from the table without a word and departed the room.

Torsten watched his father go, his face a turmoil of frustration mingled with heartfelt concern.

At the other end of the table Jabbi Gloond paid no heed but continued to feed his apparently unrelenting appetite.

“Hmm,” I said.

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