Brunner, John - Traveler in Black

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John Brunner - The Traveler in Black
one
IMPRINT OF CHAOS
Ante mare et terras et quod tegit omnia caelum unus erat toto naturae vultus in orbe, quen dixere Chaos:
rudis indigestaque moles.
-Ovid: Metamorphoses, I5
I
He had many names, but one nature, and this unique nature made him subject to certain laws not binding
upon ordinary persons. In a compensatory fashion, he was also free from certain other laws more
commonly in force.
Still, there was nothing to choose as regards rigidity between his particular set of laws and those others.
And one rule by which he had very strictly to abide was that at set seasons he should overlook that
portion of the All which had been allotted to him as his individual responsibility.
Accordingly, on the day after the conjunction of four significant planets in that vicinity, he set forth on a
journey which was to be at once the same as and yet different from those many which had preceded it.
It had been ordained that at this time, unless there were some pressing reason to the contrary, he should
tramp along commonplace roads, and with goodwill enough-it was not a constituent of his nature that he
should rail against necessity-he so arranged his route that it wound and turned and curved through all
those zones where he might be made answerable for events, and ended within a short distance of where
it had begun. It ended, to be precise, at the city called Ryovora: that place of all places in his domains
where people had their heads screwed on the right way.
He did this for an excellent reason. It was an assurance to him that when he subsequently reviewed the
situation the memory of one spot where he might justly feel pleased with his work would be uppermost in
recollection.
Therefore, on a sunny morning when there were birds singing and few clouds in a sky filled with the scent
of flowers, he began to trudge along a dusty road towards his first destination.
That was a great black city upreared around a high tower, which was called by its inhabitants Acromel,
the place where honey itself was bitter. It was sometimes a cause of mild astonishment-even to him of the
many names and the single nature-that this most difficult of cities should be located within a few hours'
walking of Ryovora. Nonetheless, it was so.
And to be able to state without fear of contradiction that anything whatsoever was so was a gauge and
earnest of his achievement.
Before him, the road began to zig-zag on the slope of a hill dotted with grey-leaved bushes, A local wind
raised dust-devils among the bushes and erased the footprints of those who passed by. It was under this
hill that the traveler had incarcerated Laprivan of the Yellow Eyes, to whom memories of yesterday were
hateful; some small power remained to this elemental, and he perforce employed it to wipe yesterday's
traces away.
He took his staff in his hand-it was made of light, curdled with a number of interesting forces-and rapped
once on an outcrop of bare rock at the side of the pathway.
"Laprivan!" he cried. "Laprivan of the Yellow Eyes!"
At his call the dust-devils ceased their whirling. Resentfully, they sank back to the earth, so that the dust
of which they were composed again covered the bared roots of the grey-leaved bushes. Most folk in the
district assumed that the leaves were grey from the dust of passage, or from their nature; it was not so.
Laprivan heaved in his underground prison, and the road shook. Cracks wide enough to have swallowed
a farm-cart appeared in its surface. From them, a great voice boomed.
"What do you want with me, today of all days? Have you not had enough even now of tormenting me?"
"I do not torment -you," was the calm reply. "It is your memory that torments you."
"Leave me be, then," said the great voice sullenly. "Let me go on wiping away that memory."
"As you wish, so be it," the traveler answered, and gestured with his staff. The cracks in the road closed
click; the dust-devils re-formed; and when he looked back from the crest of the hill his footsteps had
already been expunged.
The road wound on, empty, towards Acromel. For some distance before it actually reached the city it
ran contiguous with the river called Metamorphia, a fact known to rather few people, because although it
seemed that this was the same river which poured in under the high black battlements of the city, it was
not the same-for good and sufficient cause. It was the nature of the river Metamorphia to change the
nature of things, and consequently it changed its own nature after flowing a prescribed number of leagues.
The traveler paused by a stone wall overlooking the dark stream, and meditatively regarded objects
floating past. Some had been fishes, perhaps; others were detritus of the banks-leaves, branches, stones.
Those which had been stones continued to float, of course; those which had been of a flotatory nature
sank.
He broke a piece of stone from the crumbling parapet of the wall, and cast it down. The alteration it
underwent was not altogether pleasant to witness.
He raised his eyes after a while, and descried a girl on the opposite bank, who had come forward out of
a clump of trees while he was lost in contemplation. She was extremely beautiful. Moreover she had been
at no pains to hide the fact, for she was dressed exclusively in her long, lovely hair.
"You also are aware of the nature of this river," she said after regarding him for a little.
"I have been advised that the nature of the river is to change the nature of things," the traveler conceded.
"And consequently it changes its own nature also."
"Come down with me, then, and bathe in it!"
"Why should you wish your nature changed?" was the reply. "Are you not beautiful?"
"Beautiful I am!" cried the girl passionately. "But I am without sense!"
"Then you are Lorega of Acromel, and your fame has spread far."
"I am Lorega of Acromel, as you say." She fixed him with her honey-colored eyes, and shrugged the
garb of her hair more closely around her. "And how do men call you?"
"I have many names, but one nature. You may call me Mazda, or anything you please."
"Do you not even know your own name, then? Do you not have a name that you prefer?"
"The name matters little if the nature does not change."
She laughed scornfully. "You speak in resounding but in empty phrases, Mazda or whoever you may be!
If your nature is unchangeable, give demonstration! Let me see you descend into the water of this river!"
"I did not say that," murmured the traveler peaceably. "I did not say my nature was unchangeable."
"Then you are a coward. Nonetheless, come down with me and bathe in this river."
"I shall not. And it would be well for you to think on this, Lorega of Acromel: that if you are without
sense, your intention to bathe in Metamorphia is also without sense."
"That is too deep for me," said Lorega unhappily, and a tear stole down her satiny cheek. "I cannot
reason as wise persons do. Therefore let my nature be changed!"
"As you wish, so be it," said the traveler in a heavy tone, and motioned with his staff. A great lump of the
bank detached itself and fell with a huge splashing into the water. A wave of this water soaked Lorega
from head to foot, and she underwent, as did the earth of the bank the moment it broke the surface,
changes.
Thoughtfully, and a mite sadly, the traveler turned to continue his journey towards Acromel. Behind him,
the welkin rang with the miserable cries of what had formerly been Lorega. But he was bound by certain
laws. He did not look back.
Before the vast black gate of the city, which was a hundred feet high and a hundred feet wide, two men
in shabby clothes were fighting with quarter-staffs. The traveler leaned on his own staff and watched them
batter at one another for fully an hour before they both found themselves too weak to continue, and had
to stand panting and glaring at each other to recover their breath.
"What is the quarrel between you?" said the traveler then.
"Little man in black, it concerns not you," grunted the nearer of the two. "Go your way and leave us be."
"Wait!" said the other. "Ask first whether he likewise is bent on the same errand!"
"A good point!" conceded the first, and raised his great cudgel menacingly. "Speak, you!"
"First I must know what your errand was, before I can say if mine is the same or not," the traveler
pointed out.
"A good point!" admitted the second, who had now also approached to threaten him. "Know that I am
Ripil of the village called Masergon-"
"And I," interrupted the first, "am Tolex of the village called Wyve. Last week I set forth from my father's
house, he having six other sons older than I-"
"As did I!" Ripil broke in. "Exactly as did I! You've registered my name, I trust, stranger? You will have
good cause to remember it one day!"
"All men will!" snapped Tolex contemptuously. "They will remember your name to laugh at it, and when
boys scribble it daringly on the wall with charcoal old women will spit on the ground as they hobble
past!"
Ripil scowled at him. "Booby! Possessed of unbelievable effrontery! Go your way before it is too late,
and the people of this city hang you in chains before the altar!"
"Your errand, though!" cried the traveler, just in time to forestall a renewal of the fighting.
Tolex gave him a huge but humorless grin. "Why, it's all so simple! This idiot called Ripil came hither
thinking to make his fortune, dethrone Duke Vaul, and claim the hand of Lorega of Acromel! As though a
dunderheaded village lout could do more than dream of such glories!"
"And your own ambition?"
"Why, I have come to make my fortune and be chosen as heir to Duke Vaul, when naturally I shall be
assigned Lorega's hand!"
The traveler, not unexpectedly, burst out laughing. In a moment Tolex began to laugh also, thinking that it
was Ripil's foolishness alone which had caused the joke, and Ripil, his face black like a storm-cloud,
caught up his quarterstaff and began to belabor him anew.
The traveler left them to it, and went forward into the city.
II
In this city called Acromel there was a temple, crowning the black tower about which the buildings
clustered like a single onyx on a pillar of agate. In this temple, before the red idol of the god
Lacrovas-Pellidin-Agshad-Agshad, Duke Vaul yawned behind his hand.
"Take her," he said to the chief priest, nodding his large black-bearded head to his left. The priest bowed
to the hard slippery floor and signaled his minions. In a moment the consort who had shared Vaul's life
for fifteen years, and until that moment had also shared his throne, was hanging from the gallows in front
of the altar, her heart's blood trickling onto Agshad's hands outstretched like a cup to receive it.
And still that was not enough.
Duke Vaul knitted his brows until his forehead was creased like a field trenched to grow vegetables, and
drummed with his thick fingers on the arm of his ebony chair. He looked at the idol.
From the vantage-point where he sat, he saw Agshad in the attitude of accepting sacrifice: mouth open,
eyes closed, hands outstretched and cupped with blood filling them. On the left Pellidin, who shared
Agshad's body but not his head or his limbs, was portrayed in the act of executing justice: to wit, wringing
the life from three persons of indeterminate sex-indeterminate, because Pellidin's cruel grasp had
compressed their bodies into a gelatinous mess and left only their arms and legs sticking out like the limbs
of a beetle. On the right, Lacrovas was portrayed in the mode of obliterating enemies, with a sword in
one hand and a morning-star in the other. And finally, facing away from the spot where by preference
Duke Vaul had his throne located, there was the second Agshad in the attitude of devotion, with hands
clasped together and eyes cast heavenward in a beseeching look. That was the aspect of the Quadruple
God with which Duke Vaul had the least concern.
Below the dais on which he presided, priests and acolytes by the hundred-predominantly sacrificers, men
expert in every art of human butchery-wove their lines of movement into traditional magical patterns.
Their chanting ascended eerily towards the domed roof of the temple, along with the stink of candles
made from the fat of those who had hung earlier in the chains before the altar. There was no point in
letting their mortal remains go to waste, was there?
But on the other hand there was no point-so far-in any of this ritual. At least, the desired effect had not
been accomplished. If even his own consort had not sufficed to provoke the sought-after reaction, what
would? Duke Vaul cast around in his mind.
On impulse, he signaled the deputy chief priest, and pointed a hairy-backed finger at the chief priest
himself. "Take him," he directed.
And that was no good, either.
Accordingly, he sent out the temple guard into the city at half an hour past noon of that day, and the
guardsmen set about gathering idle citizens into the yard before the temple. If it wasn't a matter of quality,
reasoned Duke Vaul, it might perhaps be a matter of quantity. The second priest-now of course the chief
priest by right of succession-had been consulted, and had given it as his considered opinion that a
hundred all at once must have the desired effect. Duke Vaul, to be on the safe side, had ordained that a
thousand should be brought to the temple, and had set carpenters and metalsmiths to work on the
chain-jangling gallows to accommodate them.
The temple guardsmen carried out their assignment with a will, all the better because they feared the lot
might fall on them when Duke Vaul had used up his supply of ordinary townsfolk. They brought in
everyone they could catch, and among the crowd was a small man in black clothing, who seemed to be
consumed with uncontrollable laughter.
His merriment, in fact, was so extreme that it became infectious, and the Duke noticed the fact and
bellowed across the temple floor in a howl of fury.
"Who is that idiot who laughs in this sacred spot?" his bull voice demanded. "Does the fellow not realize
that these are serious matters and may be disturbed by the least error in our actions? Priests! Drag him
forth and make him stand before me!"
In a little while, because the throng was so great, the black-clad traveler was escorted to the foot of the
duke's dais.. He bowed compliantly enough when the rough hand of a guardsman struck him behind the
head, but the cheerful twinkle did no depart from his eyes, and this peculiarity struck Duke Vaul at once.
He began to muse about the consequences of sacrificing one who did not take the Quadruple God
seriously, and eventually spoke through the tangle of his beard.
"How do men call you, foolish one?" he boomed.
"I have many names, but one nature."
"And why are you laughing at these holy matters?"
"But I am not!"
"Then are you laughing at me?" thundered the duke, heaving himself forward on his throne so that the
boards of the dais creaked and squealed. His eyes flashed terribly.
"No, I laugh at the foolishness of mankind," said the black-clad traveler.
"So! In what impressively mirthful manner is this foolishness manifest, pray?"
"Why, thus," the traveler said, and told the story of Tolex and Ripil, fighting before the gate of the city.
But Duke Vaul did not find the anecdote in the least degree amusing. He commanded that the temple
guard should at once go in search of these two, and fumed while they were hunted down. When they
arrived, however, it was as corpses they were laid on the temple floor.
"Mighty Duke!" cried the guardsmen respectfully, bowing their heads as one, and then let their captain
continue.
"Sire, we found these two clasped dying in each other's arms. Each bore one bloody cudgel; each has a
broken skull."
"Throw them into the river," said Duke Vaul curtly, and resumed converse with the black-clad traveler.
"You arrogate to yourself the right to laugh at men's foolishness," he said, and gave a wicked grin. "Then
tell me this: are you yourself entirely wise?"
"Alas, yes," said the traveler. "I have but one nature." "Then you can succeed where all my so-called wise
men have failed. See you this idol?"
"I could hardly avoid seeing it. It is a considerable work of-ah--art."
"It is claimed that a way exists to invest it with life, and when this way is found it will then set forth to lay
waste the enemies of this city and execute justice upon them. By every means we have sought to bestow
life upon it; we have given it blood, which is life, as you doubtless know, from every class and condition
of person. Even my consort, who but a few hours ago sat beside me on this throne"-the duke wiped
away an imaginary tear-"now hangs with her throat gashed on that chain-jangling gibbet before the altar.
Still, though, the idol declines to come to life. We need its aid, for our enemies are abroad in every corner
of the world; from Ryovora to the ends of the earth they plot our downfall and destruction."
"Some of what you say is true," nodded the traveler.
"Some? Only some? What then is false? Tell me! And it had better be correct, or else you shall go to join
that stupid chief priest who finally tired my patience! You can see what became of him!"
The traveler glanced up and spread his hands. Indeed, it was perfectly clear-what with the second mouth,
the red-oozing one, the priest had lately acquired in his throat.
"Well, first of all," he said, "there does exist a way to bring the idol to life. And second, yes, it will then
destroy the enemies of this city. But third, they do not hide in far corners of the land. They are here in
Acromel."
"Say you so?" Duke Vaul frowned. "You may be right, for, knowing what a powerful weapon we wield
against them-or shall wield, when we unknot this riddle-they may well be trying to interfere with, our
experiments. Good! Go on!"
"How so, short of demonstrating what I mean?"
"You?" The duke jerked forward on his throne, clutching the ebony arms so tightly his knuckles glistened
white. "You can bring the idol to life?"
The traveler gave a weary nod. All the laughter had gone out of him.
"Then do it!" roared Duke Vaul. "But remember! If you fail, a worse fate awaits you than my chief priest
suffered!"
"As you wish, so be it," sighed the traveler. With his staff he made a single pass in the air before the altar,
and the idol moved.
Agshad in the attitude of devotion did not open his clasped hands. But Lacrovas swung his sword, and
Duke Vaul's bearded head sprang from his shoulders.
Pellidin let fall the three crushed persons from his hand and seized the headless body. That he squeezed
instead, and the cupped hands of Agshad in the posture of accepting sacrifice filled with the blood of the
duke, expressed like juice from a ripe fruit.
After that the idol stepped down from the altar and began to stamp on the priests.
Thoughtfully, having made his escape unnoticed in the confusion, the traveler took to the road again.
Perhaps there would be nothing worse to behold during this journey than what he had observed in
Acromel. Perhaps there would be something a million times as bad. It was to establish such information
that he undertook his journeyings.
In Kanish-Kulya they were fighting a war, and each side was breathing threatenings and slaughter against
the other.
"Oh that fire would descend from heaven and eat up our enemies!" cried the Kanishmen.
"Oh that the earth would open and swallow up our enemies!" cried the Kulyamen.
"As you wish," said the traveler, "so be it."
He tapped the ground with his staff, and Fegrim who was pent in a volcano answered that tapping and
heaved mightily. Afterwards, when the country was beginning to sprout again-for lava makes fertile soil-
men dug up bones and skulls as they prepared the ground for planting.
On the shores of Lake Taxhling, men sat around their canoes swapping lies while they waited for a
particular favorable star to ascend above the horizon. One lied better than all the rest.
But he lied not as his companion lied-to pass the time, to amuse each other harmlessly. He lied to feed a
consuming vanity hungrier than all the bellies of all the people in the villages along the shore of the lake,
who waited day in, day out, with inexhaustible patience for their menfolk to return with their catch.
Said the braggart, "If only I could meet with such another fish as I caught single-handed in Lake Moroho
when I was a stripling of fifteen! Then you would understand the fisherman's art! Alas, though"-with a
sigh-"there are only piddling fish in Lake Taxhling!"
"As you wish, so be it," said the traveler, who had accepted the offer of food by their fire. And the next
dawn the boaster came home screaming with excitement about the huge fish he had caught, as great as
the one he had taken in Lake Moroho. His companions crowded around to see it-and the mountains rang
with their laughter, because it was smaller than some others they themselves had taken during the night.
"I do not wish him to love me for my beauty or my fortune," declared the haughty child of a merchant in
the city called Barbizond, where there was always a rainbow in the sky owing to the presence of the
bright being Sardhin chained inside a thundercloud with fetters of lightning. The girl was beautiful, and
rich, and inordinately proud.
"No!" she continually insisted, discarding suitor after suitor. "I wish to be loved for myself, for what I am!"
"As you wish, so be it," said the traveler, who had come in the guise of a pilgrim to one of the jousts
organized that this lady might view her potential husbands. Twenty-one men had died in the lists that
afternoon, and she had thrown her glove in the champion's face and gone to supper.
The next time there were jousts announced, no challenger came, and the girl pulled a face and demanded
that more heralds go forth. Her father summoned a hundred heralds. The news went abroad. And
personable young men said in every city, "Fight for a stuck-up shrew like her? Ho-ho! I've better ways to
pass my time, and so've my friends!"
At length the truth dawned upon her, and she became miserable. She had never been happy. She had
only thought she was happy. Little by little, her pride evaporated. And one day, a young man came by
chance to her father's house and found she was a quiet, submissive, pleasant girl, and married her.
Thus the journey approached its end. The traveler felt a natural relief that nothing excessively untoward
had occurred as he hastened his footsteps towards the goal and climax of his excursion-towards
Ryovora, where men were sensible and clear-sighted, and made no trouble that he had to rectify. After
this final visit, he could be assured that his duty was fulfilled.
Not that all was well by any means. There were enchanters still, and ogres, and certain elementals
roamed abroad, and of human problems there might be no end. Still, the worst of his afflictions were
growing fewer. One by one, the imprints of the original chaos were fading away, like the footmarks of
travelers on the road above the hill where Laprivan of the Yellow Eyes was prisoned.
Then, as the gold and silver towers of Ryovora came to view, he saw that an aura surrounded them as of
a brewing storm, and his hope and trust in the people of that city melted away.
III
At the city called Barbizond, where he had been but recently, there was likewise an aura around the
tallest towers. There, however, it was a fair thing and pleasant to look upon, imbued with the essence of
bright-if cruel, nonetheless lovely-Sardhin chained in his cloud. Ryovora had been immune since time
immemorial from such disadvantageous infestations as elementals, principalities and powers; the local folk
prided themselves on being creatures of hard plain sense, sober in the making of decisions, practical and
rational and causing a minimum of trouble to the world.
That something had happened to alter this state of affairs... ! There was a conundrum to make the very
universe shiver in chill anticipation!
The traveler turned aside from the track, making no attempt to conceal his frowns, and instead of
pursuing a straight course into the city, he diverged across a verdant meadow in the midst of which
hovered a mist like the mists of early morning, but more dense. When the grey wisps had closed around
him entirely, to the point where they would have incapacitated the vision of any ordinary trespasser, he
dissolved one of the forces which curdled the light he employed as a staff, and a clear bright beam
penetrated the opacity. It had barely sheared the mist when a quiet voice spoke to him.
"Since you know where you are, I know who you are. Come into the castle, and be welcome,"
The mist lifted, and the traveler went forward into the courtyard of a castle that reared seemingly to
heaven, with great towers which almost pierced the sky. Two dragons chained beside the portcullis
bowed their heads fawningly to the visitor; four man-like persons whose bodies were of burnished steel
came to escort him-one before, one behind, one at each side- through the gateway and across the yard;
twenty trumpeters sounded a blast from a gallery as he ascended the steps towards the chief tower and
keep, and they also were of polished steel.
There was a scent of magic in this air. Echoes of half-forgotten cantrips resounded, incredibly faint, from
the masonry of the walls. Here and there blue light dripped from a projecting cornice; shadows moved
with no one to cast them.
Then a door of oak studded with brass swung open on silent hinges, giving access to a room across
which slanted a thick bar of sunlight from a window standing wide. The sunlight illumined the shriveled
mummy of a mandrake. In jars covered with black cloth, ranged on on oak shelf, were twenty homunculi.
A brazier burned, giving off a thick, very pleasant smell like warm honey.
From behind a table on which heavy books were piled that served also as a perch for a drowsy owl, a
person in dark red robes rose to greet the traveler, and spoke, inclining his head.
"It is traditional that no one shall pierce the mist with which I protect my privacy save an invited guest or
one who has a single nature. And, the universe being as it is, only one-ah-individual has a single nature. I
am the enchanter Manuus. Be welcome, sir."
The black-clad traveler bent his head in reply. A chair was placed for him, not by visible hands; he sat in
it, disposing his cloak comfortably over the arm. Manuus took from a cupboard a large flask and two
mugs of pottery ornamented with complex symbols in blue enamel. From the flask-which bore symbols in
green enamel-he spilled a couple of drops of sparkling liquid, muttering words which made the walls hum
faintly. The drops vanished before they reached the floor, and the enchanter gave a nod of satisfaction
and filled the mugs.
"What is your business here, sir?" he inquired, resuming his own seat after handing the first mug to his
caller.
"There is an aura about Ryovora," said the traveler. "Before I enter the city I wish to ascertain what its
cause may be."
Manuus nodded thoughtfully, stroking the wispy grey beard that clung at his chin like a wisp of the mist
that guarded his home from casual prying.
"You will forgive me mentioning the fact," he said in an apologetic tone, "but it is asserted somewhere in
one of these books--in a volume, moreover, in which I have come to place some degree of
confidence-that if your nature is single, then it must logically follow that you answer questions as well as
asking them."
"That is so. And I see plainly that you put trust in the tome of which you speak. The faceless drinker to
whom you poured libation a moment ago is not elsewhere referred to."
Silence ensued between them for a space, while each contemplated the other. There was, though, a
certain distinction, inasmuch as the enchanter studied the outward guise of the traveler, whereas the
traveler examined the totality of his host.
"Ask away, then," invited the traveler at length. "And I may say that the more involved your question, the
simpler and more difficult to understand will be my answer."
"And vice versa?" suggested Manuus, his old eyes twinkling.
"Exactly."
"Very well, then. Who are you? Note, please, that I do not ask how you are called. You have an infinity
of names."
The traveler smiled. "You are a talented man," he conceded. "That is a good question, frankly phrased.
So I will answer frankly. I am he to whom was entrusted the task of bringing order forth from chaos.
Hence the reason why I have but one nature."
"If your nature were such that you demanded honor in full measure with your worth, all the days of my life
would not suffice to do you homage," said Manuus seriously. "Ask now what you would know."
"What's the trouble in Ryovora?"
Maliciously, Manuus made his eyes sparkle. He said, "I am not bound by your laws, sir. Therefore I will
answer in the human style-simply, to simple questions. There is dissatisfaction with the order of things as
they are."
"Fair," the traveler conceded. "Ask away."
Manuus hesitated. "Who," he resumed at length, "imposed-?"
And his tongue locked in his mouth, while the traveler looked on him with an expression blending
cynicism and sympathy. When at last the enchanter was able to speak again, he muttered, "Your pardon.
It was of the nature of a test. I had seen it stated that..."
"That there are certain questions which one literally and physically is forbidden to ask?" The traveler
chuckled. "Why, then, your test has confirmed the fact. I, even I, could not answer the question I suspect
摘要：

JohnBrunner-TheTravelerinBlackoneIMPRINTOFCHAOSAntemareetterrasetquodtegitomniacaelumunuserattotonaturaevultusinorbe,quendixereChaos:rudisindigestaquemoles.-Ovid:Metamorphoses,I5IHehadmanynames,butonenature,andthisuniquenaturemadehimsubjecttocertainlawsnotbindinguponordinarypersons.Inacompensatoryfa...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：108 页 大小：269.71KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-24

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