Tanith Lee by Torhec the Sculptor

Author:Torhec the Sculptor [Sculptor, Torhec the]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-12-12T02:16:53+00:00

As it had been arranged between himself and Torhec, the maneuver was carried out like a kidnapping, or rather, the resolution of one, when the ransom is paid and the victim restored. Aamon had only obeyed the sculptor in this. Torhec had told him, as they sat again in the coffee-room of the exclusive club, exactly how everything must be done. He—Torhec—might have been planning it for days. Had he? Subsequently Aamon asked himself if that could be so. For Torhec might well have coined such a contingency modus operandi. Others after all had tried to buy the longevity of his work from him. If none offered such a succulent remuneration as Aamon, they had still proved that not even a Torhec might be completely free of pestering. (Every man too has his price. Or so they say. Inevitably the type of price may vary, not only in amount but in scope.)

Torhec outlined the procedure in a few cool sentences.

“One of my people will contact you inside the hour—or your agents, if you prefer. You or they will then meet him in person today—the place to be mutually arranged. Somewhere discreet.”

“Why … yes,” Aamon had murmured, docile, almost stunned.

“He will receive your check for the exact sum you’ve stipulated. Two million reulars.”

“A—check—but the usual method of electronic transfer will see the money safely into your account, at any bank or freehouse of your choice, in moments—”

“No. I must insist on a check. Made out by your own hand, and likewise signed. An antiquated format I know, seldom used for over thirty years. But a man of your standing, Van Glanz, should have no difficulty in getting use of it.”

“Yes, certainly then. A check. Why not—”

“Once the check is in my possession, the artwork will be brought to you, by a couple of my work gang. Where do you want to take the delivery? At your agent’s premises or directly at your house?”

“My—” Aamon broke off. His breath had caught in his throat. He cleared it and said, “My house at the Heights.”

“The piece will be invisibly stowed inside an ordinary box, a small wine crate. It won’t look like anything at all. And it will also, in accordance with your promise, be X-ray filtered and sealed fast. You’ve sworn never to look at the piece, and you will be well advised not to try. As you said, you’ll know it is there, an example of work by the sculptor Torhec, for the duration of your life. I advise you again now,” Torhec added quietly, “never to break your word. Never to attempt to look. For your own sake.”

His voice was devoid of any menace. It was flat and remote.

Aamon lowered his head. His wrists were trembling. “Thank you,” he said.

Then Torhec laughed at him. That was all: a brutal trio of barks.

Torhec rose once more, and walked out of the room, and Aamon touched the hidden button in his sleeve in the summoning signal for Brack. By the time, nine seconds after, that the tall bodyguard entered, Aamon Van Glanz seemed quite composed.

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