Ecce and Old Earth

Chapter III

Wayness arrived at the Grand Fiamurjes Spaceport Earth aboard the starship Zaphorosia Naiad and went directly to Fair Winds, the residence of her uncle Tamm at Yssinges, near the village Tierens, fifty miles south of Shillaway.

Wayness approached the entrance to Fair Winds in a mood of uncertainty, not quite sure of what might be the current circumstances, nor even what kind of welcome she might expect. Her recollections, from a previous visit were vivid. Fair Winds was an ancient manor built of dark timbers, commodious, comfortably shabby, surrounded by a dozen massive deodars. Here lived Pirie Tamm, a widower with his daughters Challis and Moira: both older than Wayness and active in county society. Flair Winds had resounded with comings and goings, luncheons, garden fetes, dinner parties and an annual masquerade ball. Pirie Tamm at that time had been a large hearty man, erect and stalwart, brisk and positive, punctiliously correct in his manners. Milo and Wayness had found him a generous host, if somewhat formal.

Arriving this second time at Fair Winds, Wayness discovered many changes. Challis and Moira had married and moved away; Pirie Tamm now lived alone, save for a pair of servants, and the vast old house seemed unnaturally silent. Pirie Tamm, meanwhile, had become thin and white haired; his once ruddy cheeks were waxen and hollow; his bluff positive mannerisms were muted and he no longer walked with a brisk confident stride. He maintained a stiff reticence on the subject of his health, but Wayness eventually learned from the servants that Pirie Tamm had fallen from a ladder, broken his pelvis, and owing to complications had lost much of his strength and was incapable of prolonged exertion.

Pirie Tamm greeted Wayness with unexpected warmth. “What a pleasure to see you! And how long will you stay? You will be in no hurry to leave, or so I hope; Fair Winds is much too quiet nowadays!”

“I have no definite schedule," said Wayness.

“Good, good! Agnes will show you to your room where you can freshen up before dinner.”

Wayness remembered from her last visit that dinner at Fair Winds was always a formal occasion. She dressed accordingly in a pale brown pleated skirt, a dark gray orange shirt and a square-shouldered black jacket; garments which admirably suited her dark hair and pale olive complexion.

When she appeared in the dining room, Pirie Tamm looked her up and down with grudging approval. “I remember you as a pretty young lass; you certainly have not altered for the worse — though I doubt if anyone would describe you as ‘buxom’.”

“I lack a bit here and there,“ said Wayness demurely. “But I make do with what I have.”

"It might well be enough,” said Pirie Tamm. He seated Wayness at one end of the long walnut table and took himself to the other.

Dinner was served in ritual fashion by one of the maids: a rich rosy pink lobster bisque, a salad of cress and sweet parsley dressed with cubes of chicken marinated in garlic oil, cutlets of wild boar from the Great Transylvanian Preserve. Pirie Tamm inquired after Milo and Wayness told of the terrible manner of Milo's death. Pirie Tamm was shocked. “It is particularly disturbing that such deeds should be done on Cadwal, a conservancy and, theoretically, a place of tranquility.”

Wayness laughed sadly. "That does not sound like Cadwal."

“Perhaps I am an impractical idealist; perhaps I expect too much of my fellow men. Still cannot avoid a profound disappointment whenever I look back across the years of my life. Nowhere do I discover the fresh, or the clean, or the innocent. Society is in a condition of rot. I cannot even trust the shopkeepers to give me my correct change."

Wayness sipped wine from her goblet, not quite sure how to respond to Pirie Tamm's remarks. It seemed as if the years might have affected Pirie Tamm's mental processes as well as his physical condition.

Pirie Tamm, apparently expecting no comment, sat brooding off across the room. After a moment Wayness asked: “What of the Naturalist Society? Are you still Secretary?”

"I am indeed! It is a thankless task, in the most literal sense of the words, since no one either appreciates my efforts or tries to assist me.”

“I am sorry to hear that! What of Challis and Moira?"

Pirie Tamm made a curt gesture. “They are caught up in their own affairs, to the exclusion of all else. I suppose that it is the usual way of things — though I could wish for something different.”

Wayness asked cautiously: "Did they marry well?"

“Well enough, I suppose, depending upon one's point of view. Moira picked herself a pedant, impractical as they come. He teaches some footling course at the university: 'The Psychology of the Uzbek Tree Flog,' or perhaps it’s 'Creation Myths of the Ancient Eskimos’. Challis did no better she married an insurance agent. None of them have set foot off the planet Earth, and none care a counterfeit coprolite for the Society. They flitter and change the subject when I mention the organization and its great work. Varbert, that's Moira's husband, calls it a 'geriatric mumble-club'. "

“That is not only unkind but foolish, as well!" declared Wayness indignantly.

Pirie Tamm hardly seemed to hear. "I have discussed their parochialism at length, but they do not even trouble to disagree, which I find most exasperating. As a consequence I see little of them nowadays.”

“That is a pity,”' said Wayness. “Evidently none of their activities interest you.”

Pirie Tamm gave a grunt of disgust. “I have no taste for trivial banter nor excited discussion of some celebrity’s misconduct, nor would I wish to waste the time. I must research my monograph, which is a tedious business and I must also keep up with Society business.”

“Surely there are other members who might be willing to help you?"

Pirie Tamm laughed sourly. “There are barely half a dozen members left, and most are senile or bedridden.”

“No new members apply?”

Pirie Tamm laughed again, even more bitterly. “That is a joke. What can the Society offer to attract new members?”

“The ideas are as relevant now as they were a thousand years ago."

“Theories! Murky ideals! Glorious talk! All meaningless when strength are will are gone. I am the society's last secretary and soon — like me — it will be no more than a memory."

“I am sure that you are wrong,” said Wayness. “The Society needs new blood and new ideas.”

“I have heard such proposals before.” Pirie Tamm indicated a table across the room on which rested a pair of earthenware amphorae, formed of a ruddy orange body, banded with black slip. The ceramist had scratched though the slip to create representations of ancient Hellenic warriors engaged in combat. The urns were about two feet tall and in the opinion of Wayness, extremely beautiful.

“I had the pair for two thousand sols: a great bargain, assuming that they are genuine.”

“Hmm,” said Wayness. "For a fact, they don’t look very old.”

“True and that is a suspicious circumstance. I had them from Adrian Moncurio, a professional tomb robber.

He agrees that they are well preserved.”

“Perhaps you should have them authenticated.”

Pirie Tamm looked dubiously toward the two urns. “Perhaps. It is an uncomfortable dilemma. Moncurio states that he took them from a secret site in Moldavia where by some miracle they had rested undisturbed for millennia. If so, the circumstances are irregular and I am harboring a pair of illegal and undocumented treasures. If they are fakes, I own a pair of legal, handsome and very expensive garden ornaments. Moncurio himself lacks all qualms and is probably off plying his trade at this very moment.”

“It would seem an adventurous occupation."

“Moncurio is the man for it. He is strong, keen and quick and totally lacks scruples, which makes him difficult to deal with."

"How is it, then, that he sold the amphorae so cheaply?”

Pirie Tamm again showed a dubious expression. “He was at one time a fellow of the Society, and spoke of rejoining."

“Did he actually do so?"

“No. I feel that he lacked true Naturalist dedication. We agreed that the Society needed revitalization, even though, as he pointed out: ‘There is precious little to revive.’ And he added: ‘The Cadwal Charter and the Grant-in-Perpetuity are demonstrably secure, of course?' "

"What did you say to that?"

“I told him that we need not consider Cadwal at the moment, that all our best efforts must be devoted to repairing the Society here on Earth.”

'' ’First,’ said Moncurio, ‘you must alter the public image you now project, of a few tremulous octogenarians in musty clothes, dozing away the afternoons.’ ”

“I tried to remonstrate, but he went on: 'You must place yourselves squarely at the node of the general culture; you must set up a program of entertaining events which would capture the afternoon of the average man. These events might be somewhat peripheral to society goals, but they would generate enthusiasm.’ He spoke of such activities as dances, feasts of exotic dishes, recreations of dramatic adventures, contests and promotions to exploit the touristic potential of Cadwal.”

"I stated, somewhat stiffly, I fear, that his proposals failed to enhance either the short-or the long-term goals of the Society.”

" ‘Nonsense!' Moncurio declared. 'Further, you might organize a grand beauty pageant, with pretty girls recruited from as many worlds as possible. They would be named “Miss Naturalist-Earth" and “Miss Naturalist-Alcyone," “Miss Naturalist-Lirwan" and so forth.' “

I rejected the proposal as tactfully as I could. “Such pageants are no longer considered chic.”

“Moncurio contradicted me again. ‘Not so! A well-turned ankle, a proper buttock, a graceful gesture, these will never be anything less than chic, so long as the Gaean Reach endures.' “

“I said wryly: 'For a man of your age and a tomb robber to boot, you are vehement in this regard.' ”

“Moncurio became indignant. 'Never forget: a beautiful girl is no less a part of Nature than a bottle-nosed blind worn from the caves of Procyon IX.' “

" ‘Your point is well-taken,’ I told him. 'Still, I suspect that the Society will plot out its future course in less tangential directions. Now then, if you wish to join, you may pay me fourteen sols and fill out the questionnaire.' “

" 'I have every intention of joining the Society,' said Moncurio. 'Indeed, this is why I am here. But I am a cautious man, and I wish to look over the accounts before I join. Will you be so good as to show me the ledgers, and also, most importantly, the Cadwal Charter and the Grant?' “

“ ‘That would be inconvenient,' I told him. 'These documents are customarily kept in a bank vault.' “

'' ‘I have heard rumors of depredation and embezzlement. I must insist upon seeing the Charter and the Grant before I join.' “

'' ‘Everything that needs doing is being done,' I told him. 'You must support the Society as a matter of principle, not because of an old paper or two.' “

"Moncurio said that he would take the matter under advisement, and so departed.”

Wayness said: "It sounds to me as if he suspected that the Charter and Grant were gone.”

“I assumed that he had come upon items of the sequestered goods and this is still the most likely explanation."

Pirie Tamm chuckled sadly. “A year ago when Moira and Challis were here with their husbands, I mentioned Moncurio and his notions for enlarging the Society. All four thought that Moncurio’s ideas were eminently sensible. Ah well, no matter.” Pirie Tamm fixed his gaze on Wayness, “What of you? Are you a member?”

Wayness shook her head. “At Stroma we call ourselves ‘Naturalists,' but it is just a name. I suppose we think of ourselves as honorary members.”

"Ha! No such category exists. You are a member when you apply and are accepted by the secretary and when you have paid your dues.”

“That is simple enough, ‘said Wayness. ”I now apply for membership. Am I accepted?"

“Certainly,” said Pirie Tamm. “You must pay the initiation fee and your dues in advance: a total of fourteen sols.”

“I will do so immediately after dinner, “said Wayness.

Pirie Tamm gave a gruff chuckle. “I am obliged to warn you that you that you are buying into an indigent organization. A secretary named Frons Nisfit sold everything he could lay his hands on, then took the money and disappeared. The Society now lacks both property and assets."

“You have never tried to find the Charter?"

“Not seriously. The job seemed hopeless after so many years the trail is cold."

“What of the Secretaries who came after Nisfit: they did nothing?"

Pirie Tamm gave a grunt of disgust. “Nils Myhack succeeded Nisfit, and held the office for forty years. I suspect that he never realized the documents were gone. Kelvin Kilduc was next in office, and I am almost certain that he was unaware of the loss. Kilduc never mentioned any doubt of the Charter's presence in the vault to me. On the other hand, I don’t believe he was a truly dedicated secretary."

“So— if either secretary Myhack or secretary Kilduc tried to recover the Charter, you know nothing about it?”

"Nothing whatever.”

“Somewhere it must still exist. I wonder where.''

“There is no way of knowing. If I were wealthy, I might hire a trustworthy investigator and put him on the case.”

"It is an interesting idea,“ said Wayness. “Perhaps I shall look into the matter myself.”

Pirie Tamm frowned down the table. “You, a slip of a girl?"

"Why not? If I found the Charter and the Grant, you would be delighted!”

“That goes without saying, but the concept is extraordinary. Almost grotesque.”

"I can't see why."

"You are not trained in investigative procedures!”

"It seems mainly a matter of persistence, as well as a modest degree of intelligence.”

“True enough! But such work is frequently coarse and not altogether genteel. Who knows where such a search might take you? This is a job for a tough, resourceful man, not a vulnerable innocent girl, no matter how persistent or intelligent. Danger still exists on old Earth — sometimes in subtle and unusual forms."

"I hope that you exaggerate, since I am something of a coward."

Pirie Tamm frowned down the table. “I believe that you are truly in earnest.”

“Yes, of course.”

"How do you propose to pursue this investigation?”

Wayness considered. “I suppose that I will make a list of likely places to look — museums, collections, dealers in ancient documents — and work down the list.”

Pirie Tamm gave his head a disparaging shake. “My dear young lady, there must be hundreds of such places, on Earth alone.”

Wayness nodded thoughtfully. “It does seem to be a large job. But who knows? I might find clues the way. Also, is there not a central directory where ancient archives are indexed and cross-referenced?”

"Of course! The university has access to such information banks. There is also the Library of Ancient Archives at Shillaway.“ Pirie Tamm rose to his feet. “Let us adjourn to the study for a cordial.”

Pirie Tamm took Wayness along the hall and into his study: a large room, with a fireplace at one end and a pair of long tables at the other. Books and pamphlets crammed the shelves; both tables were littered with papers; between them was a swivel chair. Pirie Tamm indicated the tables. “So goes my life these days. I dwell in a swivel chair. I sit in one direction to work on my monograph; I am jerked to attention by a sudden recollection, swing about in the chair to plunge into Society business, then back again to my monograph.“ Wayness made sounds of commiseration. “No matter,” said Pirie Tamm. "I am only happy that I have no more than two tables and two occupations; with three, or four, I would be whirling like a dervish. Come; let us sit by the fire." Wayness settled herself into a tall old chair of baroque design upholstered in moss-green plush. Pirie Tamm poured dark red cherry cordial into small goblets, one of which he handed to Wayness. “This is the finest Tincture of Morella, and is guaranteed to bring the bloom of health to your cheeks.”

“I will drink cautiously," said Wayness. "Blooming red cheeks would not become me, and even less a red nose.”

“Drink without fear! Red nose or not, your company is most welcome. I seldom entertain these times; in truth I have few acquaintances and fewer friends. Challis tells me that I am widely regarded as a martinet and an ogre, but I suspect that she is only echoing the complaints of her husband. Moira holds similar views, and tells me that I must learn to keep my opinions to myself.” Pirie Tamm gave his head a gloomy shake. “Perhaps they are right. Still, I cannot pretend to be happy with the way the world is going. Ease is now the watchword and no one troubles to do his job correctly. Things went differently when I was young. We were taught to take pride in our achievements, and only ‘Excellent’ was good enough.“ He glanced sidewise at Wayness. "You are laughing at me."

“Not really. On Cadwal, even during my own life, I have noticed changes. Everyone knows that something terrible is about to happen."

Pirie Tamm raised his eyebrows, “How could that be? I thought Cadwal was a place of bucolic languor, where nothing ever changed.”

"That notion is quite out of date.” said Wayness. “On Stroma half the folks abide by the Charter the other half consider it obsolete and want to change everything.”

Pirie Tamm said gloomily: “They realize of course, that they would destroy the Conservancy.”

“That is their dearest hope! They are restless and believe that the Conservancy has lasted long enough.”

"Absurd! Young folk often want change simply for the sake of change, that they may bring significance and identity to their own lives. It is an ultimate form of narcissism. In any case, on Cadwal the Charter is the law and cannot be violated."

Wayness gave her head a slow sad shake. “All very well, but where is the Charter? That is why I am here on Earth."

Pirie Tamm refilled the goblets. For a long moment he stared into the fire. "You should know this,“ he said at last. “There is at least, one other person who knows that the Charter and Grant are not in our possession.”

Wayness leaned back in her chair. “Who else knows?”

“I will tell you how it happened. It is a curious story and I can't pretend to understand it. As you know there have been only three secretaries since Nisfit: NiIs Myhack, Kelvin Kilduc and myself. Myhack became Secretary immediately after Nisfit’s departure. "

Wayness interrupted. "Let me ask you this. Why did the new secretary Nils Myhack, fail to notice immediately that the Charter was missing?”

"For two reasons. Myhack was an amiable chap, but a bit vague and careless in his thinking and inclined to take things at their face value, so to speak. The Charter and Grant were bound into a folder which was contained in a stout envelope, thoroughly sealed and tied with red and black ribbons. This envelope reposed at the Bank of Margravia among other documents, and those few financial instruments which Nisfit had been unable to convert into cash. Upon taking the first needful inventory, Myhack found the envelope safe, sealed and securely bound with black and red ribbons, and correctly labeled. He can be forgiven for assuming that the Charter was safe.”

“Nils Myhack, after many years as Secretary, finally became something of an invalid, with falling eyesight. His work was done by a succession of more or less capable assistants, the last being a formidable female, originally from off-world, who joined the Society, then made herself so helpful to Myhack that at last he employed her as Assistant Secretary. It seemed to be a labor of love for her, and she let it be known that she would gladly become official Secretary whenever Myhack decided to retire. Her name was Monette. She was a large bustling woman, grim, competent and something of a virago. I personally found her unsympathetic. She had a fishlike stare which tended to make a person uneasy. Myhack hoverer had no complaints, and was always singing her praises: 'Monette is truly invaluable' and ‘The office could not function without Monette' and one day: 'Monette has an eye like an eagle She has found an inconsistency in the ledgers and insists that we take inventory of the vault, to assure ourselves that all is in order. I am not up to such a deadly task, so I will send her tomorrow with the keys and a note, to the bank manager'.“

“Kelvin Kilduc and I both made vehement protests, and declared that such an act was grossly improper. Myhack pulled a long face but at last agreed that we should all go to the bank together. So went the program, and obviously to Monette's displeasure; she came in with a face like a storm cloud, and everyone was careful to treat her politely. The vault was opened, and Monette made a list of the contents: some financial records, a few paltry bonds and the envelope purportedly containing the Charter. Still well sealed and tied in festoons of black and red ribbon, so that everyone was satisfied. All except Monette. Before we could interfere, she had ripped off the ribbons, broken the seals, pulled out the folder. Kilduc cried out 'Here, here! What are you doing?' Monette answered in a barely patient voice: 'I want to make sure of what is in the folder; that is what I am doing.' She opened the folder, looked inside, then closed the folder and tucked it back in the envelope. Kilduc asked: 'Well Monette? Are you satisfied?' “ 'Yes,' said Monette. 'Completely.' “

"She tied the folder up in its ribbons and tossed it back into the box. Nothing more was said; apparently all was as it should be.”

“The next day Monette was gone, without a word of explanation and was seen no more. Kelvin Kilduc became Secretary, and so matters stood until his death, and I was forced to take up the job. You and I went to the Bank of Margravia and opened the vault. I investigated the folder and to my utter shock found not the Charter, but a commercial copy, and no sign of the Grant.”

"I thought back across the years to Monette. I am now convinced that her purpose was to make sure of the Charter. If she had found the original and the Grant secure in the vault, she would have succeeded Myhack as Secretary and then appropriated the Charter and Grant to her own uses. She must have been shocked to discover nothing but the copy; I marvel at her ability to hold a straight face.”

“That is the story. Monette knew long ago that the Charter was missing. What she did next I cannot guess."

Wayness sat silently, looking into the fire.

After a moment Pirie Tamm went on. "That means that Nisfit sold the Charter, along with the other documents of antiquarian value. The present owner has not thought to register the Grant in his own name, as he would be entitled to do, with all legality. And yet another disturbing factor looms over the near horizon."

"Which is?”

'"The Grant must be validated and re-endorsed at least once each century; otherwise the original claim lapses and the Grant is nullified."

Wayness stared aghast. "I knew nothing of this! How much time remains to us?”

“Ten years or so. There is no immediate emergency, but the Grant must be found."

“I shall do my best," said Wayness.

In the morning Wayness arose early. She dressed in a short blue skirt, dark blue knee length stockings, and a pullover blouse of a soft grey-tawny stuff. At once warm, light and complementary to her pale olive complexion.

Wayness left her room and descended the stairs. At this hour Fair Winds seemed unnaturally quiet. During the night, odors had seeped from the fabric of the house: a recollection of countless floral bouquets, curios carved from camphorwood and sanuchi furniture polish and wax, ancient rugs, along with a hint of lavender sachet.

Wayness went the morning room and seated herself at the breakfast tables. Tall windows overlooked a landscape of green meadows, trees and hedge, with the tile roofs and chimneys of Tierens in the distance. This morning the weather seemed somewhat unsettled. Small clouds raced eastward across the sky on an upper wind causing the sunlight to brighten, go dim, and brighten again all in the space of seconds. The light of Sol, thought Wayness — especially here in the Middle-lands — shone pale and hazy, notably different from the golden glare of Syrene. The light of Sol appeared to enhance and enrich blues and greens and perhaps too the muted colors of cloud shadows, while Syrene evoked the inner fire of reds, yellows and oranges. The maid, Agnes, looked in from the kitchen and presently Served Wayness sliced fruit, a boiled egg, buttered scones with strawberry preserves and rich brown coffee.

A short while later pier Tamm appeared wearing an old tweed jacket, a striped black and gray shirt, loose breeches of brown twill: attire more casual than he might have favored in times gone by. Despite all, he still managed to project an air of brusque decorum. For a moment he stood in the doorway, surveying Wayness with the crisp detachment of a military officer inspecting his troops.

Wayness said mildly, “Good morning, Uncle Pirie. I hope I haven’t disturbed you by jumping out of bed so early.”

“Of course not,” declared Pirie Tamm. “Early rising is a virtue to which I have subscribed every day of my life.” He came forward, seated himself and unfolded his napkin. “Mathematics tells the tale. One hour of oversleeping each day destroys a year of life each twenty-four years. Across the span of a hundred years, an extra hour of sloth will excise four years of existence. Think of it! When already I fear that my life will be far too short to fulfill even my minimal ambitions. Who was it who said: 'Sleep when you are dead'?”

"Baron Bodissey, most likely. He seems to have said most everything."

"Clever girl!” Pirie Tamm gave his napkin a flap and tucked the corner into his shirt. "You seem bright and alert this morning — even cheerful.”

Wayness shrugged. "At least bright and alert."

"But not cheerful?"

“I can’t say that Monette and her activities came as a happy surprise."

"Ah well, the episode occurred many years ago and who knows what happened to the woman? I suspect that she has long since forgotten the affair."

"I hope so.”

"Remember, the grant has never been reregistered." Pirie Tamm looked down the length of the table. "I see that you have not let your concern spoil your appetite. I detect eggshells, what once might have been a plate of scones, and what else?”

"Sliced oranges."

"Excellent. A proper breakfast, which will nicely fortify you until luncheon. Agnes? Where the devils are you?'

"Here, sir ready with your tea."

“Tell Cook I’ll have a parsley omelet, with a bit of mushroom ketchup. Scones, as well. Mind you, not a hint of leather to the eggs!”

“I'll tell Cook, sir." Agnes hurried from the room. Pirie Tamm looked into the teapot and gave a disdainful sniff. "I suppose it's no weaker than usual." He poured tea into a cup, sipped, blinked, then returned his attention to Wayness, who placed fourteen sols upon the table and pushed them toward Pirie Tamm. “Last night I forgot. Am I now a member of the Naturalist Society?"

"As soon as I verify your identity and note your name into the rolls. The verification will go smoothly, since I will cite myself as your guarantor."

Wayness smiled. “I have heard that on Old Earth good connections count for everything."

"Regrettably, in the main, this is true. I, however, am almost without such advantages, and must go hat in hand like anyone else when I want something done. My sons-in-law hold me in contempt on this account. Well, no matter. I suppose you have been considering the project we discussed last night?"

"Yes. It was at the top of my mind.”

“And now — very sensibly, I must say — you have had second thoughts and are giving up the idea?"

Wayness looked at him in astonishment. “Why should you think that?"

'"The circumstances are obvious!" snapped Pirie Tamm. “The task far exceeds the capacities of a young girl, no matter how pretty and persuasive."

"Look at it this way, “said Wayness. “There is one lost Charter and one of me. We start on equal terms."

"Bah! I am in no mood for sophistries. In fact, I find myself greatly frustrated by the physical infirmities which inhibit my own efforts along these lines. Ah well! Here is my omelet. Let us see how Cook has managed the job. All seems to be in order. Amazing how often a confection of such simplicity defies the best efforts of a well-paid specialist. Now then, what were we talking about? Ah yes, your proposal. My dear Wayness, the task is monumental! It is simply beyond your scope!"

“I don’t believe so, “said Wayness. “If I intended to walk from here to Timbuctoo, I would start by taking one step, then another and another, and soon I would be crossing the Niger River by the Hamshatt Bridge.”

“Aha! You omit the area between the third step and the last — which is to say, the garden at Fair Winds and the Niger River, which lies across the Sahara Desert. Along the way you might be given wrong directions, or robbed, or fall into a ditch, or be attacked or married or divorced.”

"Uncle Pirie! You are far too imaginative!”

“Hmf. I wish I could imagine some nice safe program by which you might learn what you want to know.”

“I already have a plan," said Wayness. “I will look through Society archives; especially those dated during Nisfit’s tenure, and perhaps find some clue which will lead us further.”

“My dear young lady, that is a formidable task in itself. You'll become bored and sad; you'll long to be out in the sunlight, meeting other young folk and enjoying yourself! One day you'll throw up your hands, scream, and run from the house, and that will be the last of the great project."

Wayness tried to keep her voice even. “Uncle Pirie, you are not only imaginative; you are a pessimist.”

Pirie Tamm peered at her from the side of his face. “You are not discouraged?”

“I have heard only what I expected to hear, and I have already taken it into account. I must find the Charter and the Grant; I can think of nothing else. If I succeed, my life will have been useful. If I fail, At least I have tried my best."

Pirie Tamm sat for a moment, then a brief wintry smile crossed his face. “Succeed or fail, your life is precious; there is no question as to that."

“I want to succeed.”

“Just so. I will do what I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Pirie.”

Pirie Tamm led Wayness into a small high-ceilinged room to the side of his study. A pair of tall narrow windows admitted light filtered by the foliage of grape vines trailing from a balcony. Shelves and cases were crammed to bursting with a disorderly clutter of books, pamphlets, tracts and folders. Walls elsewhere displayed hundreds of photographs, drawings, charts and miscellaneous oddments. A desk with a four-foot information screen occupied an alcove. "This is my old den,” said Pirie Tamm. “I worked here while the family was at home, using my study for a social center, despite my protests and hints. This room was known as 'the Ogre's junkyard’.” Pirie Tamm gave a grim chuckle. "I once overheard Varbert, Moira's husband, use the term 'Old High-Arse's Hideaway’.''

"That was not at all respectful.”

"In this regard, we agree. In any event, when I closed the door, I was allowed a modicum of privacy.”

Wayness looked around the walls. “Things do seem, well, a trifle disorganized. Could the Charter be tucked into one of those trays or folders?"

"No chance of that,” said Pirie Tamm, "if only for the fact that the thought also occurred to me and I methodically examined every article of paper on the premises. I fear that your quest will not have so simple a resolution.''

Wayness went to examine the desk and the control system. Pirie Tamm said: "It is quite standard and should give you no difficulty. At one time I had a simulator focused on the desk yonder; which Moira happily used to model new fashions on herself!”

“Ingenious!” said Wayness.

“In a sense, yes. One night when Moira was about your age we hosted a formal dinner party. Moira wore an elegant gown and was conducting herself with all possible dignity, but after a bit we began to wonder where all the young men had taken themselves. We finally found them in here, with a four-foot replica of Moira in the nude frisking about on the table. Moira was intensely annoyed and to this day suspects that Challis imparted a sly hint to the young men.”

“Was Varbert among the group? If so, he must have liked what he saw.”

“He said nothing to me, one way or the other." Pirie Tamm shook his head sadly. “Time goes by quickly. Try the chair. Is it comfortable?”

“Just right. Where do I find the Society archives?”

“if you enter ‘ARC’, you will be provided a comprehensive index. It is quite simple.”

“All of the Society correspondence is on record?”

“Every last jot, jog, item and tittle — for two reasons: compulsive pettifoggery and because recently we have had nothing better to do. I guarantee that you will find precious little of interest, and now I will leave you to it.”

Pirie Tamm departed the room. Wayness gingerly set herself to exploring the records of the Naturalist Society.

By day's end she had learned the scope and organization of the records. A very large proportion of the material pertained to events of the distant past. These Wayness ignored, and started her investigation with the arrival of Frons Nisfit on the scene. She learned the date upon which Nisfit’s delinquencies became known. She reviewed the subsequent tenures of Nisfit Myhack, Kelvin Kilduc and Pirie Tamm. For a time she ranged through the files almost at random, skimming through financial statements, minutes of the annual conclaves, and membership rolls. Each year the dues-paying membership decreased in numbers and the message was plain to be read: the Naturalist Society was near upon extinction. She skimmed the files of correspondence: requests for information, memoranda of dues owing, dues collected; death notices and changes of adders; scholarly tracts and essays submitted for inclusion into the monthly journal. Late in the afternoon, with the sun low in the sky, Wayness leaned back from the desk, surfeited with the Naturalist Society. “And it is only a start,” she told herself.

“Evidently both fortitude and persistence will be very useful before this project is ended.”

Wayness run the dim study and went to her room. She bathed, dressed in a dark green gown appropriate to the formality of dinner at Fair winds. "I must find myself some new clothes,” she told herself. “Otherwise, Uncle Pirie will think I am coming down to diner in a uniform."

Wayness brushed her dark hair and tied it with a length of fine silver chain. She descended to the drawing room, where she was presently joined by Pirie Tamm. He greeted her with his usual punctilio. “And now: in accordance with the invariant ritual of Fair Winds: the Sundowner. Will you try my brave sherry?"

"Yes, if you please.”

From a cupboard Pirie Tamm brought a pair pewter goblets. “Notice the subtle hint of green in the patina, which to some degree indicates their age?"

"How old are they?"

"Three thousand years, at least."

"The shapes are extraordinary.”

“Not by accident! After initial forming, they were heated to soften the metal, then bent, crumpled, flared, compressed, distorted and finally given a comfortable lip. No two are alike."

“They are fascinating little objects," said Wayness. “The sherry is good too. A similar wine is produced at Araminta Station, but I suppose that this is better.”

“I should hope so,” said Pirie Tamm with a sour smile. “After all, we have been at it for a considerably longer time. Shall we step out upon the verandah? The evening is mild, and the sun is setting.”

Pirie Tamm opened the door the two went out on the verandah and stood by the balustrade. After a moment Pirie Tamm said: “You seem pensive. Are you discouraged by the scope of the job you have taken on?”

“Oh no. For the moment, at least, I had put both Nisfit and the Society out of my mind. I was admiring the sunset. I wonder if anyone has ever made a formal study of sunsets as they appear on different worlds. There must be many interesting varieties.”

“Without a doubt!” declared Pirie Tamm. “Off the top of my head I can cite half a dozen striking examples I particularly recall the sunsets of Delora’s World, at the back of Columba, where I went to research my treatise. Each evening we were treated to marvelous spectacles, green and blue, with darts of scarlet! They were unique; I would recognize a Delora sunset instantly among a hundred others. The sunsets of Pranilla, which are filtered through high-altitude sleet storms, are also memorable.”

“Cadwal sunsets are unpredictable,” said Wayness. "The colors seem to explode from behind the clouds and are often garish, through the effect is always cheerful. Earth sunsets are different. They are sometimes grand, or even inspiring, but then they wane quietly and sadly into the blue dusk and create a melancholy mood.”

Pirie Tamm gave the sky a frowning inspection. “The effect you mention is real. Still, the mood never lasts long and disappears completely by the time the stars come out. Especially,” he added, by way of afterthought, “when a jolly meal at a well-laid table is in the offing. The spirits soar under these conditions like a lark on the wing. Shall we go in?"

Pirie Tamm seated Wayness at the massive walnut table and took his own place opposite. "I must repeat that it is a pleasure having you here,” said Pirie Tamm. “That is a charming frock you are wearing, incidentally.”

“Thank you, Uncle Pirie. Unfortunately it is my only dinner gown, and I must find some new clothes, otherwise you will quickly become bored with me."

“Not on that account, certainly. Still, there are two or three good shops in the village, and I'll take you in whenever you like. By the way, Moira and Challis know that you are here. I expect them to drop by in a day or so, to look you over. If they decide that you are not too gauche, they might introduce you into local society.”

Wayness made a wry face. “When I was here before neither Moira nor Challis liked me very much. I overheard them talking about me. Moira said that I looked like a Gypsy boy dressed in girl’s clothes. Challis was amused but felt that the description was too lenient; that in her opinion I was just a moony little prude with a face like a scared kitten."

Pirie Tamm uttered an exclamation of mild astonishment. “My word, those girls have sharp tongues. How long ago was this?"

"Five years, more or less.”

“Hmf. I can relate similar incidents. One day I overheard Varbert describe me as ‘an unlikely hybrid of screech-owl, heron and wolverine’. On another occasion Ussery spoke of me as the ‘house-devil’ and wanted someone to give me a chain to rattle as I walked through the halls."

Wayness, with difficulty, restrained a grin. “That was a rude remark.”

“I thought so too. Three days later I called both families over on the pretext of asking for advice. I was changing my will, I told them, and could not decide whither too leave everything to the Naturalist Society, or to the Coalition for the Protection of the screech-owl and the Heron. There was silence in the room. Challis finally said, very tentatively, that surely other possibilities must exist. I said no doubt she was right and I'd give the matter some thought when I had the leisure to do so, and I rose to my feet. Moira asked me why I dangled a length of chain from my belt. I said that I liked to rattle it as I walked up and down the halls." Pirie Tamm chuckled. “Varbert and Ussery have since become noticeably more polite. They expressed enthusiasm upon hearing of your arrival, and spoke of introducing you to suitable young people — whatever that means.”

"It means they’ll look me over and decide I'm still a frump and pair me off with a dog-breeder's assistant, or a very tall divinity student, or perhaps a junior underwriter from Ussery’s office. I will be asked how I liked Old Earth, and where, exactly, is Cadwal — of which none will have ever heard.”

Pirie Tamm gave a bark of laughter. “Not unless you have met a Society member, which is unlikely, since there are only eight left.”

“Surely there are nine, Uncle Pirie! Don’t forget to count me!"

“I counted you, never fear! But as of today we must omit Sir Regis Everard from the count, since he has died.”

“That is depressing news," said Wayness.

“So it is.” Pirie Tamm looked over his shoulder. “Something dark stands back there in the shadows counting on its fingers.”

Wayness peered into the shadows. “You are giving me the shudders."

“Ha hum,” said Pirie Tamm. “Indeed. Ah, well; we must learn to deal impersonally with the topic. Never forget, the institution provides a livelihood for multitudes of the living. Reckon them up! Priests, mystics, grave diggers, composers of odes, paeans and eulogies; also doctors, hangmen, mortuary attendants, tomb builders and tomb robbers — which prompts me to ask if you have come across the name Adrian Moncurio? Not yet? The name will surface sooner or later, since he was a former member. As you may recall, it was Moncurio who presented me with the beautiful amphorae.”

“A tomb robber is a good friend to have,“ said Wayness.

Two weeks went by. One evening Pirie Tamm entertained his daughters Moira and Challis, with their husbands Varbert and Ussery at dinner. For the occasion Wayness wore one of, her new costumes: a high-collared dark mulberry pullover blouse with a skirt of soft mulberry, dark blue and dark red stripes which clung to her hips, then hung in soft lines almost to her ankles. When she descended the stairs, Pirie Tamm was moved to exclaim: “Upon my soul, Wayness! You've become a full out and out three-masted smasher!"

Wayness kissed his cheek. "You'll make me vain, Uncle Pirie."

Pirie Tamm gave a snort of amusement. “I'm sure that you have no illusions about yourself."

"I try to be practical,” said Wayness.

The guests arrived and were received at the door by Pirie Tamm. For a time there was a flurry of greetings and counter-greetings, then a new set of exclamations as Wayness was discovered. Moira and Challis gave her quick head-to-toe inspections, followed by a spate of enthusiastic comments: “My, how you have grown! Challis, would you have recognized the child?”

“It’s hard to think back to that funny little waif who found Earth such a strange and frightening place!"

Wayness smiled pensively. “Time works changes, for better or worse. You both seem far older than as I remember you."

“They are relentless socialites and have led fast hard lives,” said Pirie Tamm.

“Father! What a thing to say!” cried Moira.

“Pay no attention, Wayness dear!" said Challis. “We ate quite ordinary upper class folk.”

Varbert and Ussery came forward and were introduced: Varbert, tall and lean as a pickerel with a beak of a nose, ash-blond hair, a receding chin; Ussery somewhat shorter, plump of cheek, soft of midriff, with a mellow voice and a sententious style of speaking. Varbert used the critical manner of a discriminating aesthete who could be satisfied with nothing less than perfection; Ussery somewhat more tolerant in his judgments, was both easy and jovial in his remarks. "So this is the notable Wayness: equal parts tomboy and bookworm! I say, Varbert! She is not at all what I expected!"

“I try to avoid preconceptions,” said Varbert indifferently.

"Aha!” said Pirie Tamm. “That is the mark of a disciplined mind!"

"Quite so. I am thereby ready for anything, at all times and on all occasions, and who knows what might blow in from the outer worlds?"

Wayness said: "Tonight, since it is a special occasion, I am wearing shoes."

“What an odd girl!" murmured Varbert to Moira, just at the edge of audibility.

"Come,” said Pirie Tamm briskly. "Let us all have a glass of sherry before dinner.”

The party trooped into the drawing room, where Agnes served sherry and where Wayness again became the focus of attention.

"Why are you visiting Earth this time?" asked Moira. “Is there any special reason?"

"I'm doing some research on the early Naturalist Society. I may also take a few trips here and there."

"Alone?" demanded Challis, eyebrows raised. "It's not wise for an inexperienced young girl to travel alone on Earth."

Ussery said in reasonable tones: “She probably won’t be alone for very long."

Challis chilled her over-jovial husband with a glance. “Molra is quite right. This is a wonderful old world, but for a fact we breed some strange creatures in the dark places.”

“I see them often,” said Pirie Tamm. “They hide in the Faculty Club at the University.”

Varbert felt impelled to remonstrate. “Come now, Pirie! I'm at the Faculty Club every day! We have a distinguished membership!”

Pirie Tamm shrugged. “I may be a trifle extreme in my views. My friend Adrian Moncurio is far more uncompromising. He asserts that all the honest folk are gone from Earth, leaving a residue of deviates, freaks, nincompoops, hyper-intellectuals and sweet-singers. "

“That's utter nonsense," snapped Moira. “None of us fit these categories!”

Ussery spoke mischievously: “Speaking of music, are you performing at the lawn party?”

Moira spoke with dignity: "I have been asked to participate in the program, yes. I shall do either ‘Requiem for a Dead Mermaid’ or 'Bird Songs of Yesteryear’.”

“I especially like your 'Bird Songs',“ said Challis. “The piece is ever so plaintive.”

"It seems that we are in for a treat," said Ussery. “I believe I will have another taste of that excellent sherry. Challis, have you invited Wayness to the party?"

“Naturally, she is welcome to come. But there won’t be any young people on hand, and I doubt if she'll find much excitement, or anyone to interest her."

"No matter,” said Wayness. “If I wanted excitement, or interesting company, I could have stayed home on Cadwal.”

“Really!” said Moira. “I thought Cadwal was a nature preserve, where the only activity was nursing sick animals."

"You should visit Cadwal and see for yourself" said Wayness. “I think that you would be surprised."

"No doubt, but I am not up to such adventures. I have little tolerance for discomfort and bad cooking and nasty insects."

"I share your sentiments,” said Varbert. “One could make a nice philosophical case that the outer worlds were never intended for our habitancy, and that the Gaen Reach is an unnatural construct.”

Ussery gave a jocular laugh. “If nothing else, we Earthlings avoid a number of very picturesque diseases, such as Daniel's Number Three Dengue and the Big-eye, Shake-leg and Chang-chang.”

“Not to mention pirates and slavers and all the wild things that happen Beyond."

Agnes appeared in the doorway. “Dinner is served.”

The evening ended on a note of careful politeness. Ussery gallantly reiterated his invitation to the lawn party, but before Wayness could respond, Challis snapped: "Ussy, have mercy! You must allow the poor girl to make up her own mind. If she wants to come, I'm sure she will let us know."

'"That seems a sensible arrangement," said Wayness. “Goodnight to all!"

The guests departed; Pirie Tamm and Wayness were left alone in the drawing room. “They are not bad people,” said Pirie Tamm gruffly, “and not even typical Earth folk — but don’t ask me to define this typical creature since he is far too variable, and sometimes surprising. Also, he can be gloomy and dangerous, as Moira hinted. Earth is an old planet, with pockets of rot here and there."

Days passed, and weeks. Wayness read documents of every description, including the Society’s by-laws, along with those amendments which had been added across the centuries. The by-laws were almost naive in their simplicity and seemed to be based on a hypothesis of universal altruism.

Wayness discussed the by-laws with Pirie Tamm. "They are wonderfully quaint, and almost seem to urge the secretary to become a swindler. I marvel that anything was left for Nisfit.”

“The Secretary is, first of all, a member of the Society," said Pirie Tamm in lofty tones. “Almost by definition he is a gentleman and a person of probity. We Naturalists, now and always, have considered ourselves an elite element of the general population. We were never mistaken in this belief — until Nisfit."

“Something else puzzles me. Why has interest in the Society declined so dramatically over the years?"

“That has been a great deal of soul-searching done on this point,” said Pirie Tamm. “Many reasons have been advanced: complacency, a failure of new ideas with an attendant waning of enthusiasm. The public began to think of us as a group of fusty old bug-collectors, and we did nothing adventurous or startling to dispel the idea, nor did we make membership any easier or any more appealing. A candidate needed the endorsements of four active members, or falling this — as might be the case of a candidate from off-world — he must submit a thesis, a biographical précis, and a police report attesting to his identity, correct name and lack of criminal record. A discouraging route.”

“I wonder that Nisfit was accepted as a member.“

“On this occasion the system failed us."

Wayness continued her research. She came upon a list of the items Nisfit had sold. The list had been compiled by the new secretary Nils Myhack, and included the comment: “The rascal has hoodwinked us in fine style! What in the name of everything naughty is 'Engenderment’s adapted into asset assignment Account BZ-2’? I could laugh if it were not a crying shame! Luckily, Charter and Grant are safe in the vault.”

Here, thought Wayness, was probably the source of the mysterious Monette's conviction — perhaps more accurately, hope — that the Charter still resided in the bank vault.

The properties sequestered by Nisfit were various: drawings and sketches created by Naturalists during off-world expeditions; curios, objects of virtue or aesthetic consequence fabricated by non-Gaen life forms, including tablets in the still undeciphered Myrrhic script, statues from a world at the back of Ursa Minor; vases, bowls and other receptacles found among the Ninarchs. There were collections of small life forms; a case of a hundred magic stone spheres and tablets wrought by the banjees of Cadwal; trinkets worn by the bog-runners of Gemini 333 IV. In another category were Society archives of interest to collectors of ancient documents, in folders, folios, and fused black litholite, incised in microscope symbols; ancient books and photographs, all manners of chronicles, notations, biographical records.

The purloined material, in its entirety, thought Wayness, would not be conveniently salable to a single individual or institution. With careful attention she studied Nisfit's letters. She found membership applications, memoranda of delinquent dues and expulsion notices; correspondence in connection with cases at law; scholarship funds; expeditions and research projects; the endowments and investments which provided the income for many Naturalists of Stroma.

The sheer mass of material was almost overwhelming. Initially Wayness sampled items from all the categories, then concentrated upon the items she found most provocative. Using a search procedure which sought references to the word 'Charter', she discovered nothing of interest.

As something of an afterthought, she subjected the entire set of files accumulated during Nisfit's tenure to the search, and at last, among much that was inconsequential, came upon a case which aroused her interest.

The occasion was the annual conclave during the last year of Nisfit’s office. The minutes of the conclave recorded a dialogue between Jaimes Jamers, Chairman of the Activities Committee and Frons Nisfit, Secretary.

Jamers: Mr. Secretary this is admittedly not my official province, so I address you in the hope that you will clarify some items which I find puzzling. What for instance is a 'Supersessive'?

Nisfit: Simple enough, sir. It is an article whose use or value to the Society has been superseded.

Jamers: Your verbiage here, I find to be absolute jargon. I wish you would express yourself more intelligibly.

Nisfit: Yes, sir.

Jamers: For example, what does this mean — 'Engenderments to Asset Group — potentials'?

Nisfit: Much of the terminology, sir, is derived from Accountancy nomenclature.

Jamers: But what does it mean?

Nisfit: In the broadest sense, funds delved from disposal of excessive or unnecessary materials are consigned to a fund of versatile activity. Endowments, scholarships, emergency procedures and the like. Also, payment of taxes and fees, like the annual Stipulative Charge for the Cadwal Charter, which must carefully be observed.

Jamers: I see. You have been scrupulous in this respect?

Nisfit: Of course, sir.

Jamers: And why is the Cadwal Charter not in its usual place?

Nisfit: I transferred it to the Bank of Margravia, along with other documents.

Jamers: Somehow this all seems a bit loose and untidy. I think that we should have an inventory taken of our properties, so that we know where we stand.

Nisfit: Very good, sir. I will arrange for such an inventory.

During the following week Nisfit vacated his office and was seen no more.

A thought came into Wayness' head which excited her curiosity. Frons Nisfit had become a member of the Society with little regard for the traditional Society stringencies. Who had proposed him for membership? Wayness investigated the files and discovered names which meant nothing to her. What of Monette, who had joined the Society thirty years later? Again Wayness scrutinized the records.

During the relevant period there was no Society member with the surname 'Monette’.

Odd thought Wayness. She set herself to an even more diligent study, and so made a startling discovery.

Later in the day she reported her findings to Pirie Tamm.“ 'Monette,' as you mentioned, was an off-worlder; when she applied for membership she was required to provide a certified identification, which went into the files. The name was 'Simonetta Clattuc’.”

Wayness told Pirie Tamm what she remembered from Glawen’s casual anecdotes regarding Simonetta Clattuc. "Apparently she was notorious for her hot temper, and any small slight incurred her furious revenge. When she was still a young woman, she was frustrated in a love affair and almost at the same time ejected from Clattuc House because of low status. She left Ararninta Station in a state of rage and was never heard from again."

“Until she became Nils Myhack’s assistant," said Pirie Tamm. "I wonder what she had in mind? She could not have known that the Charter and the Grant were missing."

'"That is why she wanted to investigate the bank vault."

"Of course, but she found nothing there or anywhere else, since there is no record of the Grant being reregistered."

"That, at least, is a comfort. On the other hand, she must have searched the files just as I am doing — and probably to the same effect.”

"Not necessarily! She would not trouble to search the files if she expected that the Charter and Grant were in the bank vault."

"I hope that you're right," said Wayness. "Otherwise I'm wasting my time searching where she has already searched.”

Pirie Tamm made no comment; clearly he felt that, in either case, Wayness was wasting her time.

Wayness nevertheless continued her work, but as before found nothing in the Society files which east even a feeble illumination upon Nisfit's dealings.

Days passed, and weeks. Wayness began to encounter moods of discouragement. Her most interesting discovery was a photograph of Nisfit which depicted a thin blond man of indeterminate age, with a high narrow forehead, a trifle of a mustache and a thin down-drooping mouth. It was a face to which she took an instant dislike, representing, as it did, the cause of her frustration.

Further weeks went by, and Wayness could not suppress the conviction that her energies might more profitably be applied elsewhere. Nevertheless, she persevered and every day examined new documents: letters, invoices, receipts; suggestions, complaints, inquiries, reports. All to no purpose; Nisfit had efficiently covered his tracks.

Late one afternoon, her eyelids drooping and her mood close to dejection, Wayness came upon a short passage which evidently had escaped Nisfit’s vigilance. The passage occurred toward the end of a routine letter from a certain Ector van Broude, resident of the city Sancelade, two hundred miles to the northwest. He wrote in regard to a special assessment, but added, as a post-script:

"My friend Ernst Faldeker, employed by the local firm Mischap and Doorn, has commented upon the substantial transactions which you, as Secretary of the Society, have initiated. I seriously question the wisdom of this policy; is it truly far-sighted, and in the best interests of the Society? Please explain to me the reasons for these unusual transactions." In high excitement Wayness ran to Pirie Tamm and told him of her discovery.

“That is interesting information,“ said Pirie Tamm. “Mischap and Doorn at Sancelade, eh? I think I have heard the name, but I cannot place it offhand. Let us consult a directory.”

In his study, he instituted a search and presently was accorded information. '' ‘Mischap and Doorn: Brokerage, Consignment and Commission Sales.' The firm is still extant, and they are still situated in Sancelade. So there you have it."