Ecce and Old Earth

Chapter V

"A most discouraging denouement to your quest," said Pirie Tamm. "Still, there is a positive element to the situation.”

Wayness made no comment. Pirie Tamm elucidated. "On this basis. Monette, Violja Fanfarides, Simonetta Clattuc — whatever she calls herself — gained important information, but it has brought her no perceptible benefit, since the grant has not been reregistered. This must be regarded as a good omen.”

“Omen or not, there was only a single trail, and she wiped it out of existence.”

Pirie Tamm took a pear from the bowl at the center of the table and began to peel it. “So now," he mused, “you will go back to Cadwal?”

Wayness burnt her uncle Pirie with a brief smoldering glance. "Of course not you know me better than that!”

Pirie Tamm sighed. “So I do. You are a most determined young lady. But determination by itself is not enough."

"I am not totally without resources,” said Wayness. “I copied the pages pertaining to Parcels One and Two.”

"Indeed! Why so?"

“At the time I was not thinking clearly, and perhaps my subconscious was in charge. Now it occurs to me that someone who bought from Parcels One or Two might also have bought from Parcel Three.”

"A clever idea, though the odds are not good. It has been a long time and many of the individuals at the sale will be hard to find.”

“They would be my last resort. Five institutions were represented at the sale: a foundation, a university and three museums."

"We can make inquiries in the morning by telephone," said Pirie Tamm. “It is but, at best and at worst, a forlorn hope."

In the morning Wayness consulted the World Directory and discovered that, of the five institutions she had listed, all were still functional. She called each in turn, on the telephone, and in each case asked to be connected to the officer in charge of special collections.

At the Berwash Foundation for the Study of Alternate Vitalities, she was informed that the collections included several compendiums produced by Fellows of the Naturalist Society, all descriptive and anatomical studies of non-terrestrial life forms, and also three rare works by William Charles Schulz: THE LAST AND FIRST EOUATION AND EVERYTHING ELSE; DISCORD, GRINDING AND SLOPE: WHY MATHEMATICS AND THE COSMOS MAKE POOR FITS; and the PAN-MATHEMATIKON. The curator asked: “The Naturalist Society is perhaps preparing to make another donation?"

"Not at the present time," said Wayness.

The Cornelis Pameijer Museum of Natural History owned a set of six volumes describing a variety of alien homologues created by the dynamics of parallel evolution. The six volumes had been designed and published by the Naturalist Society. The Museum supported no other collection of Society documents or papers.

The Pythagorean Museum owned four monographs upon the abstruse subject of nonhuman music and sonic symbolism, by Peter Bullis, Eli Newberger, Stanford Vincent and Captain R. Pilsbury.

The Bodleian Library owned a single volume of sketches depicting the generation of the quasi-living crystals of the world Tranque, Bellatrix V.

The Funusti Memorial Museum at Kiev at the edge of The Great Altaic Steppe, lacked a formally designated information officer, but after consultation between museum functionaries, Wayness was transferred to a somber young curator with a long pallid face, coal-black hair which he wore brushed severely back from his high narrow forehead. While clearly of an earnest disposition, he seemed to find Wayness agreeable, in both semblance and conduct. He listened with careful attention to her questions and was able to provide information at once. Yes, the Museum’s extensive collections included several treatises produced by members of the Naturalist Society, analyzing various aspects of non-terrestrial communication. He mentioned in passing, almost as if an afterthought, a separate collection of antique papers, still be completely collated, but which definitely included records, registers and other documents from the files of the ancient Naturalist Society. The collection was generally not open to public inspection, but it was impossible to include an officer of the Naturalist Society in this category, and Wayness would be allowed to study the collection at her convenience.

This would be immediately, said Wayness, since she wished to compile a general bibliography of all such material for the use of the rejuvenated Society. The curator approved of the idea, and identified himself as Lefaun Zadoury. Upon her arrival he would give Wayness every possible assistance, so he assured her.

"Let me ask one last question," said Wayness. “Within the last twelve years has a woman by the name of Simonetta Clattuc, or possibly Viola Fanfarides, or Monette, looked over this material?"

Lefaun Zadoury, thinking the question a trifle odd, arched his black eyebrows, then turned aside to consult his records. "Definitely not."

“That is good news,” said Wayness, and the discussion ended on a cordial basis.

Almost effervescent with hope, Wayness took herself far to the north and east, over mountains, lakes and rivers and finally down upon the great Altaic Steppe and the ancient city Kiev.

The Funusti Museum occupied the grandiose precincts of the old Konevitsky Palace on Murom Hill, at the back of Kiev's Old Town. Wayness took lodging at the Mazeppa Hotel, and was shown into a suite of rooms paneled in pale brown chestnut, decorated with red and blue floral designs. Her windows overlooked Prince Bogdan Yurevlch Kolsky Square: a roughly pentagonal area paved with slabs of pink-gray granite. On three sides, two cathedrals and a monastery lovingly restored or perhaps constructed in the ancient style, held aloft dozens of onion-domes, gilded with gold foil, or painted red, blue, green, or in spiral stripes.

Wayness read from a pamphlet she found on a nearby table: “The structures to be perceived at various sides of Kolsky Square and exact replications of the original structures, and have been rebuilt with careful attention to the Old Slavic style, using traditional materials and methods.”

“To the right is Saint Sophia's Cathedral with nineteen domes. At the center is Saint Andrews Church of eleven domes, and to the left is Saint Michael's Monastery with only nine domes. The cathedral and the church are lavishly decorated with mosaics, statues and other bedizenment of gold and jewels. Old Kiev suffered many devastations, and Kolsky Square has witnessed many awful incidents. But today, visitors from across the Gaean Reach come only to marvel at the inspiring architecture and at the power of priests who were able to wring so much wealth from a land at that time so poor.”

The wan sunlight of mid-afternoon illuminated the old square; many folk were abroad, clasping their coats, mantles and cloaks tightly about themselves against the gusts of wind which blew down from the hills. Wayness started to telephone the Funusti Museum, then thought better of it; nothing could be gained by calling so late in the day. Lefaun Zadoury had already been extremely helpful and she did not want him to suggest that he meet her somewhere and show her the slights of the city.

Wayness went out alone on the square and looked into Saint Sophia's Cathedral, then dined at Restaurant Carpathia on lentil soup, wild boar with mushrooms and hazelnut torte.

Leaving the restaurant, Wayness discovered that twilight light had fallen over the city. Old Kolsky Square was windy, dark and deserted; she crossed to the Mazeppa Hotel in complete solitude. “It is as if I were sailing across the ocean in a small boat,” she told herself.

In the morning she telephoned Lefaun Zadoury at the Funusti Museum. As before, he seemed to be wearing a voluminous black gown, which Wayness thought rather odd and fusty. “Wayness Tamm here,” she told the long somber face. “If you remember, I called you from Fair Winds, near Shillaway."

“Of course I remember! You are here more quickly than I had expected. Are you coming to the museum?"

“If it is convenient.”

“One time is as good as another! I shall look forward to seeing you; in fact, I will try to meet you in the loggia."

Lefaun Zadoury enthusiasm, muted as it was, assured Wayness that her decision not to call Funusti Museum the previous afternoon had been correct.

A cab took Wayness north along Sorka Boulevard with the Dnieper River to the right and a row of massive apartment blocks of concrete and glass to the left, with tier upon tier of other apartment blocks ranged along the hills behind. The cab at last turned up a side road, wound up the hillside and halted in front of a massive structure, overlooking the river and the steppe beyond.

“The Funusti Museum," said the cab driver. "Once the palace of Prince Konevitsky, where the lords dined on fine meats and honeycakes by day and danced the fandango by night. Now it is quiet as the grave, a place where everyone walks on tiptoe and wears black. And should one dare to belch one must crawl under a table to hide. Which, then, is better: the joys of splendor and grace, or the black shame of pedantry and mingering? The question supplies its own answer."

Wayness alighted from the cab. “I see that you are something of a philosopher."

“True! It is in my blood! But first and foremost, I am a Cossack!"

"And what is a Cossack?”

The driver stared incredulously. “Can I believe my ears? But know I see that you are an off-worlder. Well then, a Cossack is a natural aristocrat; he is fearless and steadfast and cannot be coerced. Even as a cab driver he conducts himself with Cossack dignity. At the end of a journey, he does not calculate his fare; he announces the first figure that comes into his head. If the passenger does not choose to pay, well then: what of that? The driver gives him a single glance of contempt and drives off in disdain."

“Interesting. And what fare are you calling out to me?"

"Three sols."

“That is far too much. Here is a sol. You may accept it or drive off in disdain."

"Since you are an off-worlder and do not understand these things, I will take the money. Shall I wait? There is nothing here of interest you will be in and out in a trice.”

"No such luck,” said Wayness. "I must pore over some tiresome old papers and I cannot guess how long I will be."

"As you wish."

Wayness crossed the front terrace and entered a marble floored loggia which seemed alive with echoes. Gilded pilasters stood along the wall; above hung an enormous chandelier of ten thousand crystals. Wayness looked here and there but saw no sign of Lefaun Zadoury the curator. Then, as if from nowhere, a tall gaunt figure appeared, marching across the loggia at a bent-kneed lope, his black gown fluttering behind. He halted and looked down at Wayness, lank black hair, black eyebrows and black eyes at stark contrast to his white skin. He spoke in a voice without accent: “The chances are good that you are Wayness Tamm."

“Quite good. And you are Lefaun Zadoury?”

The curator responded with a measured nod. He studied Wayness from head to toe, then back to head. He gave a gentle sigh and shook his head. “Amazing!"

"How so?"

“You are younger and less imposing than the person I might have expected.”

“Next time I will send my mother.”

Lefaun Zadoury’s long bony jaw dropped. "I spoke incautiously, in essence — ”

“It is no great matter.” Wayness looked around the octagonal loggia. “This is an impressive chamber. I had not imagined such grandeur!"

“Yes, it is well enough,” Lefaun Zadoury glanced about the room as if seeing it for the first time. “The chandelier is absurd, of course. A behemoth of large expense and little illumination. Someday it will fall in a great splintering jangle and kill someone."

'"That would be a pity."

“Yes, no doubt. In general, the Konevitskys lacked good taste. The marble tiles, for example, are banal. The pilasters are out of scale and of the wrong order.”

“Really! I had not noticed.”

“The museum itself transcends such deficiencies. We have the world's finest collection of Sassanian intaglios, a great deal of absolutely unique Minoan glass, and we own the complete sequence of the Leonie Bismaie miniatures. Our Department of Semantic Equivalences is also considered excellent.”

“It must be inspiring to work in such an atmosphere," said Wayness politely.

Lefaun Zadoury made a gesture which might have meant anything. “Well then, shall we look to our own business?"

“Yes, of course.”

“Come, if you please. We must fit you into a proper gown, like my own. This is the uniform of the museum. Don’t ask me to explain all I know is that you will be conspicuous otherwise.”

“Whatever you say.” Wayness followed Lefaun Zadoury into a slide chamber. From a rack he selected a black gown which he held up against Wayness. “Too long." He chose another gown. “This will serve well enough, though both material and cut leave much to be desired.”

Wayness draped herself in the gown. “I feel different already."

“We will pretend that it is of the finest Kurian weave and the most stylish cut. Would you like a cup of tea and an almond cake? Or do you want to go directly to work?"

"I am anxious to look at your collections," said Wayness. "A cup of tea later, perhaps."

“So it shall be. The material is on the second floor.''

Lefaun Zadoury led the way up a sweeping marble staircase, along several tall corridors lined with shelves, at last into a room with a long heavy table at the center. Black-gowned curators and other museum personnel sat at the table, reading documents and making notes; others occupied small alcoves working at information screens; still others padded here and there carrying books, portfolios, a variety of other small articles. The room was silent; despite so much activity, nothing could be heard but the rustle of black cloth, the sound of paper sliding across paper, the pad of soft slippers upon the floor. Zadoury took Wayness into a room to the side and closed the door. “Now we can talk without disturbing the others.” He gave Wayness a sheet of paper. “I have listed the articles in our Naturalist collection. It comprises three categories. Perhaps if you explained your interest and what you were looking for, I could help you more efficiently.”

"It is a complicated story" said Wayness. “Forty years ago a secretary of the Society disposed of some important papers, including receipts and proofs of payment, which have now come into question. If I could locate these papers, the Society would benefit greatly.”

“I understand completely. If you can describe these papers, I will help you look."

Wayness smilingly shook her head. “I will know them when I see them. I'm afraid that I must do the work myself.”

“Very well,” said Lefaun Zadoury. “The first category as you can see, consists of sixteen monographs, all devoted to semantic research.”

Wayness recognized this to be the parcel which the museum had bought at the Gohoon auction.

“The second category deals with the genealogy of the Counts de Flamanges.”

“The third category 'Miscellaneous Documents and papers,' has never been collated and, so I suspect, will interest you more. Am I right?"

“You are right."

“In that case, I will requisition the materials and bring them here. Compose yourself for a few minutes, if you please."

Lefaun Zadoury left the room, and in due course returned, pushing a cart. He unloaded three cases to the table. “Do not be alarmed," he told Wayness, his manner almost jocular. “None of the cases are full to the brim. And now, since you reject my help, I will leave you to yourself.”

“At the door Lefaun Zadoury touched a plaque and a small red light appeared. “I am required to activate the monitors. We have had some unfortunate experiences in the past."

Wayness shrugged. "Monitor all you like; my intentions are innocent.”

"I'm sure of it," said Lefaun Zadoury. "But not everyone demonstrates your many virtues.”

Wayness darted him a speculative glance. "You are very gallant! But now I must go to work."

Lefaun Zadoury left the room, obviously pleased with himself. Wayness turned to the table. She thought: “I might not be so innocent and many-virtued if I caught sight of the Charter or the Grant. We shall see.”

The first of the cases contained thirty-five neatly bound pamphlets, each a biographical study of one of the founders of the Naturalist Society.

“Sad!" mused Wayness. “These tracts should be back in the care of the Naturalist Society. Not that anyone would ever read them.”

Certain of the volumes, so Wayness noticed, showed signs of hard usage, and their pages in some cases were annotated.

The names involved were meaningless; Wayness gave her attention to the second case. She found several treatises dealing with the genealogy and connections of the Counts de Flamanges across a span of two thousand years.

Wayness gave her mouth a twitch of disappointment and turned to the third case, though she had lost hope of finding anything significant. The contents of the third case were miscellaneous papers, newspaper clippings and photographs, all relating to the proposed construction of a spacious and beautiful edifice, to house the general offices of the Naturalist Society. Within the structure ample space existed for a College of Naturalistic Science, Art and Philosophy; a museum and monstratory; and possibly even a variety of vivaria, where life forms of far worlds might be studied in a near-native environment. Advocates of the scheme spoke of the reputation which would accrue to the Society; opponents decried the vast expense and wondered as to the need for such an expansive facility. Many pledged large sums to the proposal; Count Blaise de Flamanges offered a tract of three hundred acres from his estates in the Moholc.

Enthusiasm for the project climaxed a few years before Frons Nisfit’s arrival on the scene, but the fervor waned, when full financial support for the scheme was not forthcoming, and finally Count Blaise de Flamanges withdrew his offer of land and the concept was abandoned. Wayness stood back in disgust. She had come upon not so much as a mention of either Cadwal, the Cadwal Charter or the Grant. Once again the trail had met a dead end. Lefaun Zadoury reappeared. He looked from Wayness to the cases. “And how go your researches?”

“Not well."

Lefaun Zadoury went to the table, glanced into the cases and opened a few of the books and pamphlets. "Interesting, or so I suppose. This sort of stuff is not my specialty. In any case, the time for refreshment has arrived. Are you ready for a cup of good yellow tea and perhaps a biscuit? Such small pleasures enhance our existence!”

“I am ready for some enhanced existence. Can we leave these documents in the open? Or will I be scolded by the monitor?”

Lefaun Zadoury glanced toward the red light, but it could no longer be seen. “The system has gone awry. You could have stolen the moon and no one would have noticed. Come along, all the same; the documents will be safe.”

Lefaun Zadoury escorted Wayness to a small noisy lunch room where Museum personnel sat at spindly little tables drinking tea. Everyone wore black gowns and Wayness saw that she would have been conspicuous indeed in her ordinary clothes.

The dismal garments affected neither the volume nor the pace of conversation; everyone talked at once, pausing only long enough to swallow gulps of tea from earthenware mugs.

Lefaun Zadoury found a vacant table and they were served tea and cakes. Lefaun looked to right and left apologetically. “The splendor and the luxury as well as the best cakes, are reserved for the big-wigs, who use Prince Konevitsky's grand dining room. I have seen them at it. Each uses three knives and four forks to eat his herring, and wipes the grease from his face with a napkin two feet square. The riffraff like ourselves must be content with less, though still we pay fifteen pence for our snack.”

Wayness said gravely: “I am an off-worlder and perhaps naive, but it seems not all so bad. For a fact, in one of my cakes I found no less than four almonds!”

Lefaun Zadoury gave a dour grunt. “The subject is complex and yields only to careful analysis."

Wayness had no comment to make and the two sat in silence. A young man of frail physique, so that he seemed almost lost inside his black gown, came up to mutter into Lefaun Zadoury’s ear. Untidy wisps of blond hair fell over his forehead; his eyes were watery blue and his complexion was bad; Wayness wondered if he might not be in poor health. He spoke with nervous intensity, tapping the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other.

Wayness’ thoughts wandered, into regions of gloom and discouragement. The morning’s work had produced no new information and the trail which had led by fits and starts from the Society to the Funusti Museum had come to a dead end. Where next? In theory she could try to trace each of the names on the Gohoon listings, on the chance that one had possibly bought from the third parcel, but the work was so immoderately large and the chances of success so small that she put the project out of her mind. She became aware that Lefaun Zadoury and his friend were discussing her, each in turn murmuring into the other’s ear, After delivering his opinion, each would turn a surreptitious glance toward her as if to verify his remark. Smiling to herself, Wayness pretended to ignore them. She reflected upon the scheme to erect a magnificent new headquarters for the Naturalist Society. A pity that the project had come to naught! Almost certainly Frons Nisfit would never have found such easy scope for plunder. She mused further and a new idea began to tick in her mind.

Lefaun Zadoury’s friend went his way; Wayness watched him stride off across the lunchroom, arms and elbows jerking erratically to the side.

Lefaun Zadoury turned back to Wayness. “A good fellow, that! His name is Tadiew Skander. Have you ever heard of him?"

"Not that I know of."

Lefaun Zadoury gave his fingers a condescending fillip. “There are — “

Wayness interrupted him. “Excuse me a moment, please. I must check a reference."

"Of course!" Leaning back in his chair Lefaun Zadoury folded his hands on his chest, and watched Wayness with dispassionate curiosity.

''Wayness looked into a pocket of her shoulder-bag and extracted the pages she had copied at Gohoon Galleries, listing the items in parcels One and Two. She glanced under her eyelashes toward Lefaun Zadoury, his gaze was again impassive as ever. Wayness twisted her mouth into a crooked wince and shifted her position in the chair; the scrutiny was causing her skin to crawl. She frowned, twitched her nose and thereafter ignored Lefaun Zadoury as best she could.

Wayness carefully studied the lists, one after the other and was gratified to find that her memory had been accurate: none of the three cases she had studied in museum workroom were represented on the Gohoon list: no works of genealogy, nor biographical studies, nor yet documents pertaining to a new headquarters for the Naturist Society.

Odd, thought Wayness. Why was there no correspondence?

The implications of the discovery suddenly struck Wayness. She felt a tingle of excitement. Since the material had not come from Gohoon, it had come from somewhere else.

Where, then?

And of equal importance: when? Since if the Funusti’s acquisition had been made before Nisfit's tenure, then whole question became moot.

Wayness tucked the lists back into her shoulder-bag and considered Lefaun Zadoury, who met her gaze with same imperturbable expression as before.

"I must get back to my work," said Wayness.

“As you like." Lefaun Zadoury rose to his feet. “There were no extras. You need pay thirty pence only.”

Wayness darted him a quick glance but made no comment and placed three coins on the table. The two returned to the workroom. Lefaun Zadoury made a grand gesture toward the table. “Notice, if you please! It is as I said! Nothing has been disturbed!"

"I am relieved," said Wayness. '"If anything were amiss I might be held responsible and severely punished."

Lefaun Zadoury pursed his lips. "Such incidents are rare."

"I am lucky to have the benefit of such expert advice,” said Wayness. “Your knowledge would seem to be comprehensive.”

Lefaun Zadoury said judiciously, “At the very least I try to function with professional competence.”

“Would you know how and when the Museum acquired this material?”

Lefaun Zadoury blew out his cheeks. “No. But I can find out in short order, if you are interested."

"I am interested.”

“Just a moment, then.” Lefaun Zadoury stalked into the adjoining room and seated himself in one of the alcoves before an information screen. He worked the controls, studied the screen, gave his head a jerk, signalizing the flux of information from the screen into his brain. Wayness watched from the doorway.

Lefaun Zadoury rose to his feet and returned to the workroom. Carefully he closed the door, and stood as if mulling over a set of complicated ideas. Wayness waited patiently. At last she asked: “What did you learn?”

"Nothing.”

Wayness tried to keep her voice from becoming a squeak. “Nothing?”

“I learned that the information is not available, if that that suits you better. We are dealing with the gift of an anonymous donor.”

“Ridiculous!" Wayness muttered. “I can't understand such secrecy!”

“Neither the Funusti Museum nor the universe at large is an inherently logical place," said Lefaun Zadoury. “Are you finished with this material?"

"Not yet. I must think."

Lefaun Zadoury remained in the room, standing half expectantly, or so it seemed to Wayness. What could he be waiting for? She put a tentative question: “Is the information known to anyone at the museum?”

Lefaun Zadoury raised his eyes toward the ceiling. “I should think that one of the poobahs in the GEP — that's the Office of Gifts, Endowments and Procurements — keeps a compendium of such information. It would be highly inaccessible, of course.”

Wayness said thoughtfully: “I myself might offer a small endowment to the museum if I were supplied this trilling bit of information.”

“Even impossible things are thinkable,” said Lefaun Zadoury. “But now we are dealing with persons in high places, and they hardly turn their heads to spit for less than a thousand sols.”

“Ha! That is totally out of the question. I can endow a sum of ten sols, with another ten to you for your expert counsel: twenty sols in all.”

Lefaun threw up his hands in shock. “How could I mention a sum so paltry to the exalted personage whom I would need to consult?"

"It seems very simple to me. Point out that a few words and ten sols is better than dead silence and no sols."

“True," said Lefaun. “Well then, so be it. In view of our friendly association I will risk making a fool of myself. Excuse me for a few minutes." Lefaun Zadoury departed the room. Wayness went to the table and surveyed the three cases. Biographies of thirty-five early Naturalists, genealogical data, and documents relating to the construction of palatial new headquarters for the Society: nothing she cared to re-examine at the moment.

Ten minutes passed. Lefaun Zadoury returned to the room. For a few seconds he stood appraising Wayness with a faint smile which she found unsettling. Finally she told herself: “In anyone else that would be considered a saturnine, or cynical, leer, but I believe that Lefaun Zadoury is merely trying to present an affable, debonair image. “Aloud, she said: “You seem pleased. What did you learn?"

Lefaun came forward. “I was right, of course. The official sneered at me and asked if I had been born yesterday. I told him no, that I was trying to oblige a charming young lady, and with that he relented, though he insisted that the entire endowment, all twenty sols, be paid into his control. Naturally, I had no choice but to agree. Perhaps you will wish to make an adjustment.” He waited, but Wayness said nothing. Lefaun’s smile slowly drained away, leaving his face as morose as ever. "In any case, you must now pay the stipulated sum over to me.”

Wayness stared in wonder. “Really, Mr. Zadoury! That is not the way things are done!”

“How so?”

“When you bring me the information, and I verify it, then I will make the endowment.”

“Bah!” grumbled Lefaun. “What is the use of so much rigmarole?”

“Simple enough. Once money is paid over, no one is ever in any hurry, and meanwhile I sit waiting in the Mazeppa Hotel for days on end.”

“Hmf,“ sniffed Lefaun. “Why is the name of this donor so important?”

Wayness patiently explained. “In order to renew the Society, we need the help of old Naturalist families.”

“Are these names not listed among Society records?"

“The records were damaged some time ago by an irresponsible Secretary. Now we are trying to repair the damage.”

“To destroy records is a crime against reason! Luckily, everything that has been written once has probably been written ten times.”

“I hope so," said Wayness. “It is why I am here."

Lefaun pondered for a moment, then spoke, somewhat abruptly: “The situation is more complicated than you might think. The information will not reach me until this evening.”

"That is inconvenient.”

"Not necessarily!” declared Lefaun in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. “I will take advantage of the occasion to show you the sights and sounds of Old Kiev! It will be an important evening, which you will never forget!”

Wayness, feeling the need for support, leaned back against the table. “I would not think of putting you to so much trouble. You might bring the information to my hotel, or I will come to the museum early tomorrow.”

Lefaun held up his hand. “Not another word! It will be my great pleasure!"

Wayness sighed. “What do you have in mind?"

“First, we shall dine at the Pripetskaya, which specializes in reed-birds on the spit. But first: a dish of jellied eels dressed with caviar. Nor will we neglect the Mingrelian venison, in currant sauce."

“All this sounds expensive,” said Wayness. "Who is paying?”

Lefaun Zadoury blinked. "It occurred to me that since you are spending Society funds—"

“But I am not spending Society funds."

“Well then, we can share expenses. This is my usual habit when I dine in company with my friends.”

"I have an even better idea,” said Wayness. "I seldom eat much for dinner certainly not eels and birds and wild animals. So we shall each settle our own account."

"On second thought, we will go to Lena's Bistro where cabbage rolls are both cheap and tasty.'"

Wayness told herself philosophically that, after all, she had nothing better to do. "Whatever you like. When and where do we receive the information?"

”Information?” Lefaun was momentarily puzzled. “Ah yes. At Lena’s; that will be the place."

"Why Lena's? Why not here and now?"

“These things must be arranged. It is a delicate business."

Wayness made a dubious sound. "It seems most peculiar. In any case, I must be back early at my hotel."

Lefaun spoke with heavy jocularity: “Do not kill the bull before the cow is fresh! Let us see what we shall see!”

Wayness compressed her lips. "Perhaps it will be better after all, if I simply come here tomorrow morning; then you may stay out as late as you please. Remember, I need verification, unless you bring me a print-out copied from official Museum records."

Lefaun bowed with exaggerated deference” "I will call for you at your hotel early this evening. Shall we say eight o'clock?"

That is late."

"Not at Kiev. The town is barely astir. Well then, shall we say seven?"

"Very well. I would like to be back at nine.”

Lefaun made an ambiguous sound, and looked around the room. “I must attend to my regular affairs. When you are done with these files, please notify someone in the outer chamber, and he or she will call the porter. Until seven, then.”

Lefaun Zadoury departed the room on long strides, black gown fluttering behind him. Wayness turned and looked at the three cases. Biography, Genealogy, a projected new Society headquarters. They were elements of a single parcel; so Lefaun Zadoury had informed her and the code printed on each case was the same.

Wayness pondered a moment, then went to the door and looked into the outer chamber. It was now half-empty, and many of those who remained were preparing to leave.

Wayness closed the door. She returned to the table and copied the code which marked each of the three cases.

From far and wide across the city came the sound of a hundred great bells, tolling the hour of noon. Wayness leaned against the table and waited: five minutes, ten minutes. Once again she went to the door and looked out into the workroom, where everyone except a few preoccupied curators had gone off to lunch. Wayness went to a nearby alcove and seated herself in front of the information screen. She activated ‘Search' and 'Naturalist Society'. The screen yielded information regarding two parcels: semantic and linguistic references purchased from Gohoon Galleries and a second parcel comprising the three cases identified by the code she had only just copied. The indicated donor was: ‘Aeolus Benefices’, situated in the city Croy. The donation had been made fifteen years before.

Wayness copied the address, and ended the 'Search' program. She sat a moment thinking. Was the operation she had just completed beyond the imagination of Lefaun Zadoury? She thought not.

Wayness turned away from the alcove. “I do not want to become a cynic,” she told herself, “but until I find a more useful philosophy I see that I must abide by the rules of the jungle." Thinking of Lefaun Zadoury, she could not help but grin. "I have also saved twenty sols, which is a good morning’s work.”

Wayness approached one of the curators still at work and asked that the porter be notified as to the three cases in the side room. She was told somewhat ungraciously: “Notify him yourself; can't you see that I am busy?"

“Notify him how?”

“Push the red button beside the door the porter may feel inclined to respond. Or, on the other hand, he may not but that is his affair.”

“Thank you." Wayness left, the workroom, pressing the red button beside the door as she passed. In the loggia, she discarded the black gown, which lifted her spirits even further.

With nothing better to do, Wayness set out on foot: down the hill to the boulevard beside the Dnieper. At a wayside cart painted cheerfully red, blue and green, she bought a hot meat pie and a paper cornucopia filled with fried potato strings. Sitting on a bench she ate her lunch and watched the Dnieper flow by. What to do about Lefaun Zadoury and his no doubt unwholesome plans for the evening? She could not make up her mind; in spite of everything, he was amusing company.

Wayness finished her lunch and sauntered back along the prospect to the old Prlnce Kolsky Square and the Mazeppa Hotel. She made inquiries at the travel desk and learned that there would be no good connections for Croy until morning. “In that case," thought Wayness, “I will dine at Lena's Bistro after all, if only to embarrass Lefaun Zadoury.”

Wayness went up to her room with the intention of telephoning her uncle Pirie Tamm, but she hesitated. There were arguments which could be made in both directions. Pirie Tamm was a great one for issuing warnings and citing dangers.

Wayness caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and decided that her hair had become over-long. She thought of Giljin Leepe and her eccentric thatch, but no, in fact, definitely not; a style so extreme would only make her feel self-conscious.

Wayness went down to the hair-dresser's shop on the ground floor, where her dark curling locks were trimmed so to hang just to the turn of her jaw.

Wayness returned to her room full of decision and immediately put through a call to Fair Winds.”

Pirie Tamm's first questions were indeed somewhat plaintive, and Wayness assured him as best she could. "I in a nice respectable hotel; the weather is fine and I am in good health.”

"You look somehow drawn and peaked.”

“That is because I have just had a haircut."

“Ah! That explains it I thought that you might have eaten something which upset your stomach."

“Not yet! But tonight I am having cabbage rolls at Lena's Bistro. It is said to be picturesque."

"Often that is merely a synonym for ‘dirty’.”

“You must not worry so! Everything’s going well. I have not been seduced or robbed or murdered or dragged screaming down into a cellar."

"So far so good, as you say, but any of these outrages might happen at a moment’s notice!"

“Somehow I suspect that seduction might take a bit longer. I am quite shy and I need a few minutes or even an hour before I warm up to people.''

“You must not joke about such things. They need only happen once, and then it is too late to take care."

“You are right, Uncle Pirie, of course. I should not be so flippant. Let me tell you know what I have learned. It is really quite important. Part of the Society Collection at Funusti Museum came by way of Gohoon Galleries.But another portion was donated fifteen years ago: by Aeolus Benefices, of Croy.”

“Aha, ahem. That is interesting indeed.“ Pirie Tamm's tone of voice had changed in a subtle manner. “Incidentally, one of your friends from Cadwal arrived yesterday, and is staying with me.”

Wayness' heart bounded. "Who? Glawen?"

“No,” said another voice and a second face moved into the screen. ‘It’s Julian."

"Oh my,” said Wayness in a husky half-whisper and then aloud: "What are you doing here?"

“Just what you are doing-looking for the Charter and the Grant. Pirie and I think that it would be prudent if we joined forces.”

Pirie Tamm said in a brassy voice: “Julian is quite right; we are all in this together the job is too big to be handled by a slip of a girl, which I have been saying since you began.”

“I have done quite well so far. Uncle Pirie, send Julian out of the room; I want to talk with you privately."

“My word!” drawled Julian. “Tact is not one of your strong points, is it?”

“I don’t know what else to say, in order to get you out of earshot.”

“Very well. If that is your wish, I will go.”

Pirie Tamm presently spoke. “Well then, Wayness, I certainly am surprised by your attitude!”

“I'm not only surprised at you, Uncle Pirie; I am horrified that you let me pour confidential information into Julian’s ear. He is a vehement LPFer; he intends to destroy the Conservancy and let the Yips run loose over all Cadwal! If Julian gets to the Charter and the Grant before I do, you can kiss the Conservancy goodbye!”

Pirie Tamm's voice was subdued. “He indicated you and he had a, well, romantic attachment, and that he had come to help you."

“He was lying.”

“What will you do now?"

“Tomorrow I will leave here for Croy. I can't make any other plans until I see how the land lays.”

“Wayness, I am sorry."

“No matter now. Just don’t tell anyone else anything, except Glawen Clattuc, in case he should arrive.”

“So it shall be.” Pirie Tamm hesitated, then said: “Call me again, as soon as you can. I will be more careful; I assure you of this."

“Don’t fret, Uncle Pirie. Perhaps it is not so bad, after all.”

“That would be my dearest hope."

Time had passed. Wayness sat slumped in the chair, staring sightlessly across the room. The intensity of her first emotions had brought spasms of shivering and tingling to her arms and legs and viscera; an acrid sensation had risen in her throat.

The physical reactions had passed, leaving her limp and dispirited.

The damage had been done, and done decisively. There was no way she could pretend otherwise. Julian could easily precede her to Croy by a full day or more. Ample time to seek out information, and then take steps to deny the same information to Wayness.

The idea aroused her to further spasms of fury. She took herself in hand. Emotion wasted her energies and accomplished nothing. Wayness heaved a deep sigh and sat up in the chair.

Life went on. She considered the evening which lay ahead. The information Lefaun Zadoury planned to sell her was now moot, but the prospect of explaining as much no longer amused her. Likewise, dining on cabbage rolls at Lena's Bistro in company with the morose and frugal curator had lost whatever appeal it might have had. Nevertheless, for want of anything better to do, she rose to her feet, bathed and changed into a knee-length gray frock with a narrow black collar and a long narrow panel of black frogging down the front.

The time was late afternoon. Wayness thought of the outdoor café in front of the hotel. She went to the window and surveyed the square. Slanting light from the westering sun illuminated the ancient granite flags. Wayness noticed that the cloaks and capes of persons crossing the square flapped to gusts of wind from the steppe. Donning her own soft gray cloak, Wayness went down to the outdoor café in front of the hotel, where she was served green Daghestani wine with bitters.

Despite her best efforts, Wayness could not avoid brooding about Julian Bohost and the deceit he had practiced upon Pirie Tamm. A question gnawed at her mind: how had Julian learned that the Charter and Grant were missing? There was no way of knowing. In any case, the secret was no longer a secret — nor, so she thought, had it been for twelve years.

Wayness sat in the wan sunlight, watching the folk of old Kiev as they went about their affairs. The sun declined and shadows fell across the square. Wayness shivered and retreated into the lobby. She made herself comfortable and presently began to doze. She awoke to find that six o'clock had come and gone. She sat up and looked about the lobby. Lefaun Zadoury was not yet in evidence. She picked up a journal and read of archaeological researches in Kharesm, keeping watch for the gaunt young curator from the corner of her eye.

A tall figure came to stand beside her chair without her noticing; she looked up, half-startled. It was Lefaun Zadoury, but in a new guise which made him almost unrecognizable. He wore long over-tight trousers striped in black and white, a pink shirt with a green and yellow cravat, along with a vest of heavy black twill and a long bottle-green coat open down the front. A low-crowned hat of pale brown canvas pulled down over his forehead.

With difficulty Wayness controlled her amusement. Lefaun Zadoury looked down at her half-suspiciously. “You are nicely turned out, I must say."

“Thank you.“ Wayness rose to her feet. “I did not recognize you at first; you are out of uniform.”

Lefaun’s long face twisted into a sardonic half-smile. “Did you expect to see me wearing a black gown?”

“Well no, but I did not expect such a dynamic display.” “Piffle and nonsense! I dress in whatever I pick up first. I am oblivious to style.”

“Hm.” Wayness looked him up and down, from big feet his black shoes to the soft-brimmed canvas hat. “I'm not so sure of that. You made a choice when you first bought your clothes.”

"Never! Everything I wear is plucked from the catch-as-catch-can rack at the fair, and these things were the first I found that would fit. They look well enough to suit me and cover my shanks from the wind. Well then: shall we go?” Lefaun added in a grumbling voice: “You were anxious to be out and in again almost before sunset, so I came a bit early, to show you something more of the town.”

“Just as you say.”

Outside the hotel Lefaun halted. "First: the square. You have already taken note of the churches, which have been rebuilt a dozen times, probably more. Still, they are said to be quaint. Are you familiar with the history of the far past?”

"Not particularly."

"Are you a student of ancient religions?”

"No.”

'"The churches will then be meaningless. As for me, I am bored with them, gaudy domes and all. We shall explore elsewhere.”

“Such as where? I do not want to be bored either.”

"Aha! Have no fear, you will be in my company!”

The two set off at a diagonal across the square, toward the hills of the Old Town. As they walked, Lefaun pointed out items of interest. “These granite flags were quarried in the Pontus and brought here by barge. It is said that each flag represents four dead men.” He glanced sidewise with eyebrows raised. “Why are you hopping and jumping like that?"

“I don’t quite know where to put my feet.”

Lefaun made an extravagant gesture. “Ignore all sentiment; walk where you will. They were low-class men, in any event. Do you think of dead cows when you eat meat?”

“I try not to do so.”

Lefaun nodded. “Yonder, on that contrivance of iron rods, is where Ivan Grodzny roasted the folk of Kiev for their misdeeds. That was long ago, of course, and the grill is a reconstruction. Directly to the side, in that little kiosk a vendor sells grilled sausages, which I think to be in rather bad taste.”

“Yes, quite."

Lefaun came to a halt. He pointed to the crest of a hill behind the Old Town. “Do you see that pillar? It is one hundred feet high. For five years the ascetic Omshats occupied the top of the pillar, from which he declaimed his soliloquies. There are two accounts of his going. Some say he simply disappeared from sight, though many folk were gathered around the base of the pillar at the time. Others claim that he was struck by a monstrous bolt of lightning."

“Perhaps both accounts are correct.”

“I suppose that’s possible. In any case, we are now at the center of the square. To the left is the Spice Merchants Quarter to the right is the Mercery. Both are places of considerable interest.”

“But we are going elsewhere?"

"Yes, even though we may encounter certain complexities which you, as an off-worlder might find incomprehensible."

“So far I understand you very well, or so I suspect."

Lefaun ignored the remark. “Let me try to instruct you. First, the premise: Kiev has a long tradition of intellectual and artistic achievement, as perhaps you are aware."

Wayness made an ambiguous sound. “Proceed."

“That is all in the background. The city has taken a mighty leap to become one of the most advanced centers of creative thought anywhere around the Reach.”

“That is interesting to hear.”

"Kiev is like a great laboratory where reverence for past aesthetic doctrine crashes headlong into utter contempt for the same doctrine — sometimes in the same individual, and the collision produces a coruscation of wonders.”

“Where does all this happen?" Wayness asked. “At the Funusti Museum?"

“Not necessarily, though the Prodromes, a select little society, numbers among its members both Tadiew Skander, whom you met today, and myself. In general, the venue is old Kiev itself, to be seen and heard and felt at places like the Bobadil, and the Nym, and Lena's and Dirty Edvard's, where liver and onions are served from wheelbarrows. At Stone Flower the motif is cockroaches, and there are some truly fine specimens! At the Universo, everyone walks about in the nude and collects as many signatures as possible on his or her bare skin. Some lucky folk were signed last year by the great Zoncha Temblada, and have not bathed since.”

"Where are all the wonderful new art forms? So far I have heard mainly of cockroaches and signatures.”

“Just so. It was early realized that every possible permutation of pigment, light, texture, form, sound and whatever is left had been achieved, and that to strain for novelty was wasted effort. The single ever-fresh ever-renewing resource was human thought itself, and the gorgeous patterns of its interplay between or among individuals.”

Wayness frowned in puzzlement. “Are you referring to ‘talk'?”

“I suppose that 'talk' is an appropriate word.”

“At least it is inexpensive.”

"Exactly! Which makes it the most egalitarian of all creative disciplines!”

“I am happy that you explained this to me,“ said Wayness. “We are on our way to Lena's Bistro, then?"

“Yes. The cabbage rolls are the best, and it is there that we will receive the information you require, although I am not sure when it will arrive." Lefaun glanced down at Wayness. “Why are you looking at me like that?’

"How am I looking?"

“When I was little, my grandmother found that I had dressed our fat pug dog in her best lace cap. I cannot quite describe the expression: a kind of helpless fatalistic wonder as to what other mischief I might have in mind. So, why do you look at me like that?”

"Perhaps I will explain by and by.”

“Bah!" Lefaun reached up with both hands to pull his hat down as far as possible across his face. “I cannot understand your conundrums. Do you have the money?"

“All that I shall need.”

"Very well. It is not too far now, just under the Varanji Arch and a few paces up the hill.”

The two continued across the square, Lefaun marching on long bent-kneed strides, Wayness half-running to keep up: to the side of the Spice Merchants Quarter under a squat stone arch and off up the hill by a set of crooked streets, overhung by the second stories of structures to either side, almost to blot out the sky. The way twisted and narrowed, to become a flight of steps, which gave upon a small plaza. Lefaun pointed. “Yonder is Lena's bistro. Just around the corner is Mopo's, with the Nym just up Pyadogorsk Alley. Here is what has been voted ‘the creative node of the Gaean Reach' by the membership of the Prodromes. What do you think of that?”

“It is certainly an odd little square.”

Lefaun studied her somberly. “Sometimes I feel that you are laughing at me.”

'"Tonight I might laugh at anything,” said Wayness. “If you think of it as hysteria, you might not be wrong. Do you wonder why? It is because this afternoon I have had an appalling experience. “

Lefaun considered her with sardonically raised eyebrows. "You spent half a sol by mistake.”

“Worse. If I think about it, I start to quiver.”

“Too bad,” said Lefaun. "But let us go before the crowd arrives. You can tell me all about it over a flask of beer."

Lefaun pushed open a tall narrow door bound in arabesques of black iron; the two entered a room of moderate size, furnished with heavy wooden tables, wooden benches and chairs. Tongues of yellow flame from wall sconces, six to each side of the room, provided a soft yellow light, and Wayness reflected that if the building had not caught on fire before, it was not likely to do so tonight. “

Lefaun gave Wayness instructions: “Buy tickets from the cashier yonder, then go to the wall and look at the pictures. When you see something you fancy, drop tickets into the proper slot and out will come a tray, metered to the tickets you have paid over. It is simple, and you may dine with great flexibility, grandly, upon pig’s feet with sour cabbage and herrings or modestly, on bread and cheese.”

“I shall certainly try the cabbage rolls,” said Wayness.

“In that case, follow me, and I will show you how it is done."

The two brought their trays to a table, each with cabbage rolls, fried groats and beer. Lefaun said in a grumbling voice: “The time is early no one of consequence is here and so we must eat alone, as if by stealth.”

“I don t feel stealthy,“ said Wayness. “Are you frightened by solitude?"

"Of course not! I frequently eat alone! Also, I am one of a group known as the Running Wolves. Every year we go out to run across the steppe, ranging far into the wilds and the folk are surprised to see us coursing past. At sunset we sup on bread and bacon which is toasted robber-style from a tripod; then we lie down to sleep. I always look up at the stars and wonder how it is going up yonder in the far places.”

“Why not go to see for yourself?" suggested Wayness. "Instead of coming every night to Lena’s.”

“I do not come here every night,” said Lefaun with dignity. “I often go to the Spasm, or to Mopo’s or the Convolvulus. In any case, why go elsewhere, since here is the focus of human intelligence?”

"So it may be," said Wayness. She ate the cabbage rolls, which she found tolerable, and drank a pint of beer.

Patrons of the cafe began to arrive in force. Some were Lefaun s acquaintances and joined him at the table. Wayness was introduced to more folk than she could Remember: Fedor, who hypnotized birds; the sisters Euphrosyne and Eodoxia; Big Wuf and Little Wuf; Hortense who cast bells; Dagleg who spoke only what he called ‘Immanences’ and Marya, a sexual therapist who, according to Lefaun, had many interesting stories to tell. “If you need advice along these lines, I will call her over and you can ask whatever you like."

"Not just now, “said Wayness. “What I don’t know are things I don’t want to know.”

“Hmf. I see.”

The bistro became full; all the tables were occupied. Wayness presently told Lefaun: “I have been listening carefully, but so far I have heard no conversion except that of people commenting upon their food."

“The hour is early,” said Lefaun. “In due course there will be talk enough.” He nudged Wayness with his elbow. “For instance, take note of Alexei who stands yonder.” Wayness, turning her head, saw a portly young man with a round face, yellow hair cut short to a bristle and a short pointed beard.

“Alexei is unique,” said Lefaun. “He lives poetry, and thinks poetry, and dreams poetry, and presently he will recite poetry. But you will not understand him, since poetry, or so he claims, is such an intimate revelation that he uses terms intelligible only to himself."

“I discovered that,” said Wayness. “I heard him speak a moment ago and could understand not a word.”

"Of course not. Alexei has created a language of a hundred and twelve thousand words controlled by an elaborate syntax. This tongue, so he claims, is sensitive and flexible, superbly adapted to the expression of metaphors and allusions. It is a pity that no one can enjoy it along with Alexei, but he refuses to translate a single word."

Wayness said: "It may be all for the best, especially if his poetry is bad.”

"Possibly so. He has been accused of both narcissism and ostentation, but he is never offended. It is the typical artist, so he declares, who is mad for acclaim and whose self-esteem depends upon adulation. Alexei sees himself as a lonely man, indifferent to both praise and censure."

Wayness craned her neck. "He is now playing the concertina and dancing a jig, all at the same time. What do you make of that?"

“It is just Alexei in one of his moods; it means nothing." He called across the room. "Hoy there, Lefaun! Where Have you been?”

"I am fresh down from Suzdal, and glad to be back."

“Naturally! At Suzdal the intellectual climate is as stiff as the weather.”

“True. Their best and almost only resort is a place called Janinka's Bistro, where I had a strange experience.”

“Tell us about it, but first, would you like a glass of beer?"

“Certainly.”

“Perhaps Wayness will buy a flask for us both.”

"No, I think not.”

Lefaun gave a dismal groan. “I will go presently to make my own purchases — unless someone makes an offer. What of you, Lixman?”

“If you recall, it was you who made the proffer to me.”

“Yes, I remember now. What was it you were telling us about Suzdal?”

“While I sat at Janinka’s I met a woman who told me that I was accompanied everywhere by the spirit of my grandmother, who was anxious to help me. At the time I was playing at dice, and I said: “Very well, Grandmother, how shall I bet?” ‘She says to bet on the double three!’ came the answer. So I bet on the double three and won the stake, I looked around for another hint, but the lady was gone, and now I am unsure and nervous. I dare do nothing of which my grandmother might disapprove.”

“That is a curious state of affairs," said Lefaun. “Wayness, what is your advice?"

"I should think that if your grandmother were tactful, she would allow you a few moments of privacy from time to time, especially if you brought the matter up in a respectful fashion.”

"I can suggest nothing better," said Lefaun.

“I will give the matter thought,” said Lixman and went off across the room.

Lefaun rose to his feet. “It seems that I must buy beer, after all. Wayness, your flask is empty; what of you?"

Wayness shook her head. “The evening is getting on and I must leave Kiev early tomorrow I can find my own way back to the hotel.”

Lefaun’s mouth drooped open and his black eyebrows jerked high. “What of the information you wanted? And what of the twenty sols?”

Wayness forced herself to meet the darkling gaze. “I have been trying to tell you without using the words ‘swindler’ or ‘scoundrel’. At noon I would have had no qualms, but now I am dreary and apathetic; today I blurted out everything I knew to my uncle. A man named Julian Bohost was listening and the consequences may be tragic!”

“Now I understand Julian is the swindler and the scoundrel."

"Agreed! But in this case I was referring to you.”

Again Lefaun was taken aback. “How so?”

"Because you tried to sell me information you could have had in two minutest"

"Hah! The indications were obvious enough. But facts are facts and guesses are guesses. For which will you pay out your money?"

“Neither! I found the information by myself.”

Lefaun seemed more puzzled than perturbed. “I am surprised that it took you so long to form an opinion.”

"I worked fast enough when I was able to use one of the information screens be the workroom. You could have done the same, except that you preferred to make a great mystery in order to swindle me to the tune of twenty sols."

Lefaun, closing his eyes, reached up with both hands to pull the hat so far down over his head that it rested on his eyebrows and the tips of his ears. “Ay, ay, ay!” said Lefaun softly. “I am in disgrace, then.”

“Very much so."

“Alas! I have prepared a little supper at my flat; I have simmered rose petals in essence of duck; I have wiped the dust from my best bottle of wine. All for your delectation. And now, you will not come?"

"Even for ten bottles of your best wine I would not have come. I lack confidence in 'Running Wolves' and curators as well.”

"A pity! But here is Tadiew Skander, my partner in vice. Tadiew, over here! Did you get the information?” “I did — but it cost more than we had estimated, since I had to deal with Old High-trousers himself.”

Wayness laughed. "Well done, Tadiew! The timing was perfect; the delivery soft as silk, and the poor brainless fool of a girl will pay whatever you ask!”

Lefaun said to Wayness: “Write the information you have discovered on a piece of paper. We shall have a test, to determine whether or not Tadiew is tricking us. It is now twenty-two sols, Tadiew “

“Twenty-two sols!” cried Tadiew. "The final figure was twenty-four!”

“Now then, Tadiew you have noted your expensive information in writing?”

“So I have.”

“Please place it face down on the table. Now then, have you communicated this information to anyone?”

“Of course not. This is the first I have seen you since noon!”

“Correct.”

Wayness watched with curled lip. “I wonder what you are trying to prove.”

“Tadiew and I are admitted scoundrels; we admit to bribery and corruption of dignified officials. I want him to break down and admit that he is more vile and more scurrilous than I am.”

“I see. But the comparison is of no interest to me. ”Now, if you will excuse me.“

“One moment. I also want to place a fragment of information upon the table; an intuition I gained from looking into the cases. There it is done! Three pieces of paper lie before us. Now then, we need an expert arbitrator who is unaware of our discussion, and I see just the person yonder. Her name is Natalinya Harmin, and she is a senior curator at the museum.” He indicated a tall woman of imposing physique, keen of eye and massive of jaw, her blonde hair braided and tied in a rope around her head: not a person to trifle with, thought Wayness. Lefaun called out: “Madame Harmin! Be good enough to step over here for a moment."

Natalinya Harmin turned her head; observing Lefaun’s signal, she crossed the room to stand looking down at him. “I am here, Lefaun. Why, may I ask, are you glowering at me in that fashion?”

Lefaun spoke in surprise: “I was wearing what I intended for an agreeable expression.”

“Very well have seen it and you may relax. What do you want?”

“This is Wayness Tamm, a handsome little creature down from space, who is anxious to explore the marvels of Old Kiev. I must mention that she is headstrong, extremely naive, and suspects everyone of turpitude."

"Ha! That is not naiveté, but sound common sense. Above all, young lady, do not go running out on the steppe with Lefaun Zadoury. At the very least, you will suffer sore feet."

“Thank you,” said Wayness. “That is good advice."

"Is that all?” asked Natalinya Harmin. “If so —“

"Not quite," said Lefaun. “Tadiew and I are at odds and we want you to arbitrate the point at issue. Am I right, Tadiew?"

“Exactly! Madame Harmin is famous for her forthright candor."

“Candor, is it? Asking me for candor is like opening Pandora’s Box. You may learn more than you want to know.”

"We must take the chance. Are you ready?"

"I am ready. Speak.”

"We want you to identify these words fully and exactly."

He took the paper from in front of Wayness and handed it to Natalinya Harmin. She read it aloud: ‘Aeolus Benefice, at Croy’. Hmf."

"Are you acquainted with this institution?"

"Naturally, though it is an aspect of Museum policy that we normally do not publicize.”

Lefaun told Wayness: "Madame Harmin is telling us that when an anonymous bequest arrives at the museum we state its provenance to be ‘Aeolus Benefice of Croy’ in order to forestall inconvenience to ourselves. Am I right, Madame Harmin?"

Natalinya Harmin gave a crisp nod. “In essence, this is correct."

"So that when one looks in the files and finds that a bequest is attributed to Aeolus Benefices,” he will understand that the entry is totally meaningless?"

“Exactly. It is our way of writing ‘Anonymous Bequest',” said Natalinya Harmin. "What else do you want to know, Lefaun? You are not getting a raise in pay this quarter if that is the question you are preparing to ask.”

Wayness had slumped back into her chair, almost weak with joy. Julian Bohost, whatever the reason for his presence at Fair Winds, had been baited along a false trail, and in a most convincing manner.

“One more question,” said Lefaun. “For the sake of argument, if someone wanted to find the source of an anonymous bequest, how would he go about it?”

"He would be turned away, politely but briskly and no one would listen to his complaints. That information is considered a sacred trust, and is inaccessible even to me. Is there anything else?"

“No, thank you,” said Lefaun. “You have provided us full and exact information.”

Natalinya Harmin returned to her own party. “Now then,” said Lefaun. “To the next step. I have noted several words upon my paper. There is no mystery about these words. They were formed in my mind by simple processes. This morning, when I first looked into the three cases, I noted that the genealogical studies in the second case traced the lineage of the Counts de Flamanges, with emphasis upon those associated with the Naturalist Society. Among the biographies in the first case the only volume showing signs of use was that concerning the Count de Flamanges. The third case included much material regarding the Count de Flamanges and his offer of three hundred acres to the Naturalist Society. In short, the cases apparently had been donated by someone connected with the de Flamanges.” Lefaun turned over his paper. “Therefore ‘Count de Flamanges, of Castle Mirky Porod near Draczeny, in the Moholc.’ There are the words you will read here.”

Lefaun tilted his beer mug finding it empty he set it down with a thud. “I seem to be empty. Tadiew, lend me five tickets."

"Never. You already owe me eleven.”

Wayness hastily pushed a number of tickets toward Lefaun. “Take these; I won’t need so many.”

"Thank you.” Lefaun rose to his feet. Tadiew called out: “In that case, bring me another quart!”

Lefaun went to the dispenser and returned with two large mugs brimming with foam. “I take no pride in my deduction; the facts seem to cry out for attention. Now then, Tadiew, what more can you tell us?"

“First, that I am out of pocket fourteen sols and that I have used every trick in my repertory to penetrate the inner files.”

Lefaun told Wayness: “It helps a great deal when one has a warm relationship with the secretary to one of our high bashaws."

"Do not deprecate my efforts!" snapped Tadiew. “I went on tenterhooks, I can assure you, and for a time hid behind a desk."

"In the main, it was well done, Tadiew! I personally lack your subtle skills. You may now produce the lightning bolts of surprising information that your work has achieved."

“Don’t crow!" With a fretful motion Tadiew turned over his paper, to reveal a name: “‘Countess Ottilie de Flamanges’. The bequest was made about twenty years ago, upon the death of the Count. She still lives in her castle, alone except for servants and dogs. She is said to be somewhat eccentric."

Wayness brought out money. “Here are thirty sols. I understand nothing of your financial arrangements, nor who paid what to whom. You must straighten such matters out between yourselves. And now — ” Wayness rose to her feet ” — I, must return to the hotel.”

“What?” cried Lefaun. “We have not yet visited Mopo's nor the Black Eagle!”

Wayness smiled. “Still, I must go.”

"Nor have you seen my dinosaur's tooth, nor tasted my spiced saffronella, nor even listened to the chirping of my pet cricket!"

“I regret these omissions but they are unavoidable."

Lefaun gave a dismal groan and rose to his feet. "Tadiew guard my chair; I will be back shortly."

All the way back to the Mazeppa Hotel Wayness was kept busy negating Lefaun’s proposals and refuting his arguments, which were both urgent and inventive:

“… only a few yards to my flat: the stroll of a quarter-hour through the most picturesque part of Kiev!"

And: "We should never reject what Life decides to offer us! Existence is like a plum pie; the more plums one can find the better!”

And: "I marvel, I stand in awe, I am baffled when I try to calculate the probabilities of our meeting — you, the denizen of a world at the back of nowhere; I, a gentleman of Old Earth!”

"It seems an act of Predestination that we ignore, to our sure regret! No matter how one implores the Fates, our neglected opportunities can never be repaired!"

To which Wayness made the following rejoinders: “Up hill and down dale, hopping culverts and drains, stumbling over cobbles, scuttling through the back alleys like rats: is that it? No, thank you; tonight your cricket must chirp alone."

And: “I don’t feel at all like a plum. Think of me, rather, as a green persimmon, or a dead starfish, or a dish of old tripe."

And: "I agree that the odds against our meeting were enormous. It seems that Destiny is trying to tell you something — namely, that your chances of success elsewhere, say with Natalinya Harmin, are far better than with me."

At last Lefaun gave up and let her enter the hotel with no more than a muttered: 'Goodnight’.”

“Goodnight, Lefaun.”

Wayness ran across the lobby and went directly up to her room. For a few moments she sat thinking, then telephoned Fair Winds.

Pirie Tamm's bleak face appeared on the screen. “Fair Winds."

"Wayness here. Are you alone?”

“Quite alone.”

“Are you sure? Where is Julian?"

“Presumably in Ybarra. He used the telephone this afternoon and immediately told me that though he was sorry to leave Fair Winds so abruptly, he must visit an old friend who was departing Ybarra spaceport in two days, and inside the half-hour he was gone. Not a chap I particularly liked. What is your news?"

“It is tolerably good news,” said Wayness. “In effect, we have sent Julian off on a wild goose chase. He has gone to Croy, of course.”

“A wild goose chase, you say!"

Wayness explained. "I'm calling now, because I did not want you to worry all night long.”

“Thank you, Wayness. I shall sleep better, be assured. And what are your plans?"

“I am not sure yet. I must do some thinking. Perhaps I will go directly to not far from here…"