Wanton of Argus by John Brunner

Author:John Brunner [Brunner, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi Short Story
Publisher: Two Complete Science-Adventure Books
Published: 1953-07-23T00:00:00+00:00

THE Street of the Morning had seemingly been so named because it was never so alive as at night. There were harsh yellow lights at the eaves of its buildings, and it was thronged with people of all colors and shapes. The beggars clustered in droves around the cheap infra-red lamps at the intersections, claiming a few ring from the passers-by. Occasionally a spaceman or a soldier on a spree was foolish enough to toss one of them a full circle or even more, and they flocked after him who was so lavish like bees after honey.

There were the women of easy virtue, too; but most of them were in the cafes and drinking-shops, for the night was far spent already when Kelab the Conjurer again came down the Street. There were stars thick in the sky, and six of Argus’s nine moons hung over this hemisphere, but there were also yellow torches on the battlements of the fortress on the Hill of Kings, and he listened to the talking of the wind and not the noise of the crowds.

He descended the steps and pushed his way into the House of the Bubbling Spring. It was bright and hot and noisy; a good deal of extravagant love-making was going on; there was a three-piece orchestra playing curious outland instruments, one with strings to be bowed, one blown and one struck with little yellow mallets; there was the same party of spacemen playing shen fu, and their low-voiced bids and the click of chips went on unnoticed.

The lid was over the Mimosan chromograph behind the bar, and four attendants moved among the tables. Finzey sat in front of his rows of bottles, grinning like a fat god. At the sight of Kelab he let go a joyous shout and reached for a bottle of the conjurer’s choice.

Kelab nodded and leaned on the counter while it was being poured out, his head cocked to one side, the gold disk in his left ear gleaming in the garish light.

Finzey set the mug before him, said, "So you’re back, Kelab! What have you done today? Earned your thousand circles yet?”

The conjurer smiled faintly and nodded. "I think I have earned them again. Your burying money rises well?”

"Seven thousand and ninety circles and a few odd ring at sundown last,” said Finzey proudly. "There has not been such a bowlful before in Oppidum, even at the burying of a king.”

Kelab nodded. He said, "The poor will feast well if all the cities on Argus give so freely.”

Finzey’s expression suddenly became drawn and worried. He said, "Kelab, while we speak of burying money, there was one who needed burying above on the street— remember?”

Kelab said, "I recall her. Well?”

"At noon there was but three ring in that cup.”

The conjurer looked up. "I put a circle there myself, fat one.”

"As I surmised. Will you divine the thief? Here is her cup.” He pushed a little tin mug across the bar, and Kelab picked it up and handled it, his face going strained and his eyes unfocused in the effort to recall.

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