The City And The Stars - Arthur C. Clarke [47]
There was only one thing of which he could be certain now. Boredom would not be a serious problem for a considerable time to come.
Alystra acted swiftly, and with intelligence. She did not bother to contact Eriston and Etania; Alvin’s parents were pleasant nonentities for whom she felt some affection but no respect. They would only waste time in futile arguments, and would then do exactly as Alystra was doing now.
Jeserac listened to her story without apparent emotion. If he was alarmed or surprised, he concealed it well—so well that Alystra was somewhat disappointed. It seemed to her that nothing so extraordinary and important as this had ever happened before, and Jeserac’s matter-of-fact behaviour made her feel deflated. When she had finished, he questioned her at some length, and hinted, without actually saying so, that she might have made a mistake. What reason was there for supposing that Alvin had really left the city? Perhaps it had all been a trick at her expense; the fact that Khedron was involved made this seem highly probable. Alvin might be laughing at her, concealed somewhere in Diaspar, at this very moment.
The only positive reaction she got out of Jeserac was a promise to make inquiries and to contact her again within a day. In the meantime she was not to worry, and it would also be best if she said nothing to anyone else about the whole affair. There was no need to spread alarm over an incident which would probably be cleared up in a few hours.
Alystra left Jeserac in a mood of mild frustration. She would have been more satisfied could she have seen his behaviour immediately after she had left.
Jeserac had friends on the Council; he had been a member himself in his long life, and might be again if he was unlucky. He called three of his most influential colleagues, and cautiously aroused their interest. As Alvin’s tutor, he was well aware of his own delicate position, and was anxious to safeguard himself. For the present, the fewer who knew what had happened, the better.
It was immediately agreed that the first thing to do was to contact Khedron and ask him for an explanation. There was only one defect in this excellent plan. Khedron had anticipated it, and was nowhere to be found.
If there was any ambiguity about Alvin’s position, his hosts were very careful not to remind him of it. He was free to go anywhere he wished in Airlee, the little village over which Seranis ruled—though that was too strong a word to describe her position. Sometimes it seemed to Alvin that she was a benevolent dictator, but at others it appeared that she had no powers at all. So far he had failed completely to understand the social system of Lys, either because it was too simple or else so complex that its ramifications eluded him. All he had discovered for certain was that Lys was divided into innumerable villages, of which Airlee was a quite typical example. Yet in a sense there were no typical examples, for Alvin had been assured that every village tried to be as unlike its neighbours as possible. It was all extremely confusing.
Though it was very small, and contained less than a thousand people, Airlee was full of surprises. There was hardly a single aspect of life which did not differ from its counterpart in Diaspar. The differences extended even to such fundamentals as speech. Only the children used their voices for normal communication; the adults scarcely ever spoke, and after a while Alvin decided that they did so only out of politeness to him. It was a curiously frustrating experience to feel oneself enmeshed in a great net of soundless and undetectable words, but after a while Alvin grew accustomed to it. It seemed surprising that vocal speech had survived at all since there was no longer any use for it, but Alvin later discovered that the people of Lys were very fond of singing, and indeed of all forms of music. Without this incentive, it was very likely that they would long ago have become completely mute.
They were