The Narrow Land

Mario became aware of the silence. He finished his highball. "Anyone go another round?" Breaugh made a gesture of assent. "I've got enough," said Ja

Zaer tilted the glass down his throat, set it down with a thud. "At the age of four I promised my father never to turn down a drink."

Ditmar hesitated, then said, "Might as well spend my money on liquor as anything else."

"That's all money is good for," said Breaugh. 'To buy a little fun into your life."

"A lot of money buys a lot of fun," said Ditmar morosely. 'Try and get the money."

Zaer gestured, a wide, fanciful sweep of the arm. "Be an artist, an inventor, create something, build something. There's no future working for wages."

"Look at this new crop of schoolboy wonders," said Breaugh sourly. "Where in the name of get-out do they come from? Spontaneous generation by the action of sunlight on slime? ... All of a sudden, nothing but unsung geniuses, everywhere you look. De Satz, Coley-atomicians. Ho

"Don't forget Pete Zaer," said Zaer. "He's another one, but he hasn't meteored yet. Give him another year."

"Well," muttered Ditmar, "maybe it's a good thing. Somebody's got to do our thinking for us. We're fed, we're clothed, we're educated, we work at soft jobs, and good liquor's cheap. That's all life means for ninety-nine out of a hundred."

"If they'd only take the hangover out of the liquor," sighed Zaer.

"Liquor's a release from living," said Ja

"Yes," said Breaugh. "You can always show contempt for life by dying."

Zaer laughed. "Whiskey or cyanide. Make mine whisky."

Fresh highballs appeared. They shook dice for the tag. Mario lost, signed the check.

After a moment Breaugh said, "It's true though. Drunke

Ditmar said, "You overlooked a third possibility."

"What's that?"

"The Chateau d'lf."

All sat quiet; then all five shifted in their chairs, settling back or straightening themselves.

"Just what is the Chateau d'lf?" asked Mario.

"Where is it?" asked Zaer. "The advertisement said Try the Chateau d'lf,' but it said nothing about how or where."

Ja

Mario shook his head doubtfully. "The advertisement gave a different impression."

"It's not a night club," said Ditmar. All eyes swung to him. "No, I don't know what it is. I know where it is, but only because there's been rumors a couple months now."

"What kind of rumors?"

"Oh-nothing definite. Just hints. To the effect that if you want adventure, if you've got money to pay for it, if you're willing to take a chance, if you have no responsibilities you can't abandon-"

"If-if-if," said Breaugh with a grin. "The Chateau d'lf."

Ditmar nodded. "That's it exactly."

"Is it dangerous?" asked Zaer. "If all they do is string a tight-wire across a snake-pit, turn a tiger loose at you, and you can either walk tight-rope or fight tiger, I'd rather sit here and drink high-balls and figure how to beat Ja

Ditmar shrugged. "I don't know."

Breaugh frowned. "It could be a dope-den, a new kind of bordello."

"There no such thing," said Zaer. "It's a haunted house with real ghosts."

"If we're going to include fantasy," said Ditmar, "a time machine."

"If," said Breaugh.

There was a short ruminative silence.

"It's rather peculiar," said Mario, "Ditmar says there've been rumors a couple months now. And last week an advertisement."

"What's peculiar about it?" asked Ja

Breaugh said quickly, "That's the key word-'enterprise.' The Chateau d'lf is not a natural phenomenon; it's a man-created object, idea, process-whatever it is. The motive behind it is a human motive-probably money."

"What else?" asked Zaer whimsically. Breaugh raised his black eyebrows high.

"Oh, you never know. Now, it can't be a criminal enterprise, otherwise the ACP would be swarming all over it"

Ditmar leaned back, swung Breaugh a half-mocking look. "The Agency of Crime Prevention can't move unless there's an offense, unless someone signs a complaint. If there's no overt offense, no complaint the law can't move."

Breaugh made an impatient gesture. "Very true. But that's a side issue to the idea I was trying to develop." Ditmar gri

"What are the motives which prompt men to new enterprises? First, money, which in a sense comprises, includes, all of the other motives too. But for the sake of clarity, call this first, the desire for money, an end in itself. Second, there's the will for power. Subdivide that last into, say, the crusading instinct and call it a desire for unlimited sexual opportunity. Power over women. Then third, curiosity, the desire to know. Fourth, the enterprise for its own sake, as a diversion. Like a millionaire's race horses. Fifth, philanthropy. Any more?"

"Covers it," said Zaer.

"Possibly the urge for security, such as the Egyptian pyramids," suggested Ja

"I think that's the fundamental motive behind the first category, the lust for money."

"Artistic spirit, creativeness."

"Oh, far-fetched, I should say."

"Exhibitionism," Ditmar put forward.

"Equally far-fetched."

"I disagree. A theatrical performance is based solely and exclusively, from the standpoint of the actors, upon their mania for exhibitionism."

Breaugh shrugged. "You're probably right"

"Religious movements, missions."

"Lump that under the will to administer power."

"It sticks out at the edges."

"Not far. ... That all? Good. What does it give us? Anything suggestive?"

"The Chateau d'lf!" mused Ja

"It's not philanthropy-at least superficially," said Mario. "But probably we could fabricate situations that would cover any of your cases."

Ditmar made an impatient gesture. 'Talk's useless. What good is it? Not any of us know for sure. Suppose it's a plot to blow up the city?"

Breaugh said coolly, "I appoint you a committee of one, Ditmar, to investigate and report."

Ditmar laughed sourly. "I'd be glad to. But I've got a better idea. Let's roll the dice. Low man applies to the Chateau d'lf - financed by the remaining four."

Breaugh nodded. "Suits me. I'll roll with you."

Ditmar looked around the table.

"What's it cost?" asked Zaer.

Ditmar shook his head. "I've no idea. Probably comes high."

Zaer frowned, moved uneasily in his seat "Set a limit of two thousand dollars per capita."

"Good, so far as I'm concerned. Ja

The tall man with the short yellow hair hesitated. "Yes, I'll roll. I've nothing to lose."

"Mario?"

"Suits me."

Ditmar took up the dice box, cupped it with his hand, rattled the dice. "The rules are for poker dice. One throw, ace high. In other words, a pair of aces beats a pair of sixes. Straight comes between three of a kind and a full house. That suit everybody?... Who wants to roll first?"

"Go ahead, shoot," said Mario mildly. Ditmar shook, shook, shook, turned the dice out. Five bodies leaned forward, five pair of eyes followed the whirling cubes. They clattered down the table, clanged against a highball glass, came to rest

"Looks like three fives," said Ditmar. "Well, that's medium good."

Mario, sitting on his left, picked up the box, tossed the dice in, shook, threw. He granted. A two, a three, a four, a five, a four. "Pair of fours. Ouch."