Lurulu by Jack Vance

would swing the houseboat up on the beach, then when Cavke waded ashore we could apprehend him. In any case, we will bring my mother back to Coro-Coro and return her to Morlock.” Maloof rose to his feet. “We will keep in touch with you.”
    Serle also rose. “If you leave now, you will arrive at the Suametta by late afternoon. I suggest that you put down somewhere for the night and reconnoiter in the morning.”
    “No doubt that is what we shall do.”
    5
    Returning to the Glicca , Maloof and Myron found no one aboard. They left a note on the galley table, then took the flitter aloft to cross once more the pleasant landscapes of Fluter, holding to a north-westerly course. Halfway through the morning they passed over a long line of cliffs and set out over the blue ocean beyond, reaching the white beach which fringed the second continent as the sun approached the noon meridian. They flew on, over forests, rolling hills, mountains, cultivated lands, tracts of wilderness.
    Late in the day the flitter reached the River Suametta; turning upstream, Maloof and Myron found the houseboat Maijaro lying quietly at anchor.
    In the failing light of afternoon the village Pengelly could be seen on the opposite shore, half-hidden under tall trees. The Iron Crow Inn was immediately noticeable: a massive two-story structure built of antique timber and stone under a crotchety slate roof, with ghost-chasers protecting the ridges. The single street of the village led away under the trees, past weathered stone houses. Tendrils of somnolent smoke rose from chimneys; Pengelly had succumbed to the torpor of age.
    Maloof and Myron surveyed the village from above, then dropped to a landing upon a strip of wasteland beside the inn. Alighting, they stood watching and listening, but heard neither voices nor running footsteps; their arrival apparently had gone unnoticed.
    They set off along a path which led to the front of the building. Over the entrance, an iron-framed sign of traditional style hung by chains from an overhead gallows: a black iron crow, four feet tall, in an attitude of intrepid defiance. Under the sign a pair of heavy doors opened into the inn.
    Maloof and Myron pushed through the doors and entered a large high-ceilinged common room. Windows in the left wall overlooked the Suametta, admitting a tide of dim light. A glossy wooden bar occupied the front half of the right-hand wall, with a dining area to the rear. Alone in the room, at a table to the back, sat two children busily writing in exercise books. The boy was about eleven, the girl somewhat younger.
    Upon entering the chamber, Maloof and Myron came forward, then stopped short, staring in fascination at the length of wall behind the bar, where an artist of long ago had painted a remarkable mural. With absolute preciosity the artist had simulated a long mirror reflecting the images of the patrons, who sat studying their images in the mirror. A representative group of villagers were present on that long-past occasion: young, old, men and women, wearing clothes of archaic style; a few laughing, others grave, each concerned with the exigencies of their now forgotten lives. The bar was untenanted, except perhaps for the ghosts of those who sat reflected in the mirror.
    The children had become aware of the newcomers. Both were clean, alert, self-assured. The boy jumped to his feet, ran to a door in the back wall, called through a message, then trotted back to his place at the table. In the doorway a grizzled old man showed himself. He was small, bony, dour, wearing a white apron. Muttering an objurgation, he sidled down behind the bar to where Maloof and Myron waited. Halting, he subjected them to a brief inspection, then spoke. “Gentlemen, what are your needs?”
    “They are quite ordinary,” said Maloof. “We want lodging for the night, supper and breakfast in the morning.”
    The bartender reflected at length, nodding in slow cogitation, until Maloof became impatient.