Ecce and Old Earth

CHAPTER VI

In her room at the Mazeppa Hotel Wayness studied a map. The town Draczeny in the Moholc was no vast distance from Kiev as the crow flew but connections were anything but direct. The castle Mirky Porod was evidently located in a region of great natural charm, to the side of the usual tourist routes and commercial depots, though it was not indicated on the map.

Wayness pondered her options. Julian had been discomfited, at least temporarily. The chances were slight that he would return to Fair Winds. In the morning, therefore, Wayness flew directly to Shillaway, to arrive at Fair Winds during the middle afternoon.

Pirie Tamm was clearly happy to see her. "It seems as if you have been gone for weeks."

"I feel much the same. But I can't relax just yet. Julian has a bad temper and he hates to be thwarted."

"What can he do? Very little, or so I suppose."

"If he learns that Aeolus Benefices' is another way of saying 'Funusti Museum' he can do a great deal. I spent thirty sols for information; Julian might spend forty, but to the same effect. So I dare not delay."

“What, then, are your plans?"

“At this particular moment I want to learn something of the Counts de Flamanges, so that when I present myself at Mirky Porod, I will not be arriving in a state of total ignorance.”

“Most wise,” said Pirie Tamm. “If you like, while you are changing for dinner, I will check the references and see what information is available."

“That would be very helpful.”

At dinner Pirie Tamm announced that he had assembled a considerable body of information; “Probably as much as you will need, However, I suggest that we postpone the report until after dinner, since I have a tendency toward discursiveness. Notice this tureen! We have been served a truly noble dish: stewed duck with dumplings and leeks."

“Just as you like, Uncle Pirie.”

"I will say this much: over the centuries the family has been neither staid nor stolid, but has produced its share of adventurers and eccentrics, as well as several renowned scholars. Naturally there are hints of a scandal or two. At the moment, this particular quantity seems to have gone into abeyance. It is an aged woman, the Countess Ottilie, with whom you must deal."

Wayness mulled over the information in silence. A thought occurred to her. “You mentioned that Julian used the telephone before he left?”

“Yes; so he did.”

“You have no idea whom he called?”

“None whatever.”

“Odd. Julian has never mentioned friends on Earth and it is just what he would most likely talk about."

“For a fact, he is quite a talker.” Pirie Tamm grinned sourly. “He is dissatisfied with Ararninta Station and its social and environmental works.”

“There is room for criticism; everyone agrees to that,” said Wayness. “If the staff had done a better job over the years, there would be no Yips at Yipton, and no problem now."

“Hmm. Julian spoke at length of the ‘democratic solution’."

“What he meant is entirely different from what you understood. The Conservationists want to resettle the Yips on another world, and maintain the Conservancy. The LPFers — they hate being called ‘Peefers’, though it is much easier, want to let the Yips loose on the mainland, where they would live, so it is claimed, in rustic simplicity, singing and dancing, and celebrating the passage of the seasons with quaint rites.”

“That is more or less what Julian implied.”

“Meanwhile the Peefers will annex vast estates of choice land for themselves, and become the new landed gentry. When they talk about this, they speak of 'public service' and 'duty' and 'administrative necessities.' But I've seen Julian's plans for the country house he hopes to build someday — using cheap Yip labor, of course."

"He used the word 'democracy' several times."

"He used the Peefer definition. Each Yip has one vote and each Conservationist has one vote. Ah well, enough of Julian. At least, I hope so.”

After dinner, the two went to the drawing room and settled themselves in front of the fire. "Now," said Pirie Tamm, “I will tell you something about the Counts de Flamanges. The family is very old — three or four thousand years, at least. Mirky Porod was built on the site of a medieval castle and for a time functioned as a hunting lodge. The place has a colorful history: the usual tumult of duels by moonlight, intrigues and betrayals, romantic escapades by the hundreds. Nor has there been any lack of the macabre. Prince Pust over a period of thirty years kidnapped maidens and did horrid deeds upon them; his victims numbered over two thousand and his imagination never flagged. Count Bodor one of the early Flamanges, conducted demoniac rituals, which ultimately became frenzies of the most fantastic sort. I derive this information from a book called UNUSUAL TALES FROM THE MOHOLC. The author tells us that the ghosts at Mirky Porod are therefore of dubious origin, and might derive either from the time of Prince Pust, or of Count Bodor, or possibly other circumstances now forgotten to history."

Wayness asked: "How long ago was this book written?"

"It seems to have been a relatively recent work. I could find it if you became interested in one or another of the cases."

“No. Don’t bother."

Pirie Tamm nodded placidly and went on with his remarks.

“In general, the Counts de Flamanges seem to have been of good character, save for the occasional bad hat like Count Bodor. A thousand years ago Count Sarbert was a founder of the Naturalist Society; the family has traditionally been associated with conservationist causes. Count Lesmund offered to donate a large tract of land to the Naturalist Society as a site for a new headquarters, but unfortunately: the plan came to naught. Count Raul was a member and strong supporter of the Society until his death some twenty years ago. Hus widow, the Countess Ottilie, now lives at Mirky Porod alone. She is childless, and the heir is Count Raul's nephew, Baron Trembath, whose estate is beside Lake Fon, and who operates an equestrian school.”

“Countess Ottilie, as I mentioned, lives in seclusion, seeing no one but doctors for herself and veterinaries for her dogs. She is said to be extremely avaricious, though she commands great wealth. There is a hint or two that she is, let us say, eccentric. When one of her dogs died, she beat the attending veterinary with her walking stick and drove him away. The veterinary seems to have been of philosophical disposition. When the journalists asked if he intended to sue, he merely shrugged and said that both beating and biting were accepted hazards of his profession, and there the matter rested.”

“Count Raul had been a generous contributor to Society a fact which the Countess bitterly resented.”

“Mirky Porod itself occupies a splendid site, at the head of a valley, with Lake Jerest only a few yards away. There are wild hills and dense forests at the back and forests to both right and left. It is not uncomfortably large; in fact, I made copies of photographs and the floor plan, if you are interested.”

“Very much so.”

Pirie Tamm gave her the material in an envelope. He spoke plaintively: “I wish I understood better what you have in mind. The Charter and Grant will never be found at Mirky Porod; that is certain."

“Why do you say that?"

“If these documents had come into the possession of Count Raul, he would certainly have turned them over to the Society.”

“So it would seem. Still, there are any number of possibilities why that should not be so. For instance, suppose he were ill when he received the documents and never found time to check them over? Or that these items were mislaid while he was sorting things out? Perhaps Countess Ottilie recognized their value and put them aside? Or, worse, them into the fire?”

“As you say, anything is possible. Still, Count Raul did not buy the material at Gohoons auction; there was a far larger volume of material, and if Countess Ottilie were giving away those relatively personal records, she surely must have included the other material. In other words, it was someone else who bought the Charter and Grant from Gohoon — which means that your searches are not leading you toward the Charter but away from it.”

"Not so,” said Wayness. “Imagine the Charter as resting in the rung of a ladder. We can find it either by starting at the top and working down, or starting at the bottom and working up."

“That is a fine analogy," said Pirie Tamm. “It’s only fault is unintelligibility.”

"In that case, I will explain again, but without the analogy. Nisfit stole the goods; they passed through

Mischap and Doorn to Gohoon, then to someone we must call A, Simonetta Clattuc learned the identity of A, but either she could not find him or he passed the material on to B, who might have given it to C, who sold it to D, who passed it on to E. Somewhere along this progression she has been brought to a halt. Let us say that the Funusti Museum is F and Count Raul de Flamanges E, then now we are looking for D. In other words, we must work backward along the line until we reach whoever has the Charter. Simonetta is starting from A, and seems to have met difficulties along the way. Then there is Julian, who is starting from X, which is to say, Aeolus Benefices at Croy. Where he goes from there I can't even guess. In any case, we have no time to delay, and Countess Ottilie may not choose to be helpful.”

Pirie Tamm clenched his teeth. “If only I had my strength, how gladly I would take the load from your shoulders!””

“You are already helping enormously,” said Wayness. “I could not function without you.”

“It is nice of you to say so."

By a variety of modes Wayness traveled from Fair Winds into the deep Moholc: by omnibus to Shillaway, by subterranean slideway to Anthelm and by feedertube to Passau, thence by airbus to Draczeny and by rickety omnibus into the far Moholc, under the loom of the Carnat Mountains.

Late in the afternoon, with the wind blowing in gusts, Wayness arrived at the village Tzem, beside the River Sogor, with steep forested hills close to either side. Clouds raced across the sky; Wayness' skirt fluttered as she stepped down from the bus. She moved away a few steps, then glanced back, to verify that no one had followed her, nor was there any other vehicle approaching from the direction they had come.

The bus had halted in front of the village inn: The Iron Pig, if the sign swinging above the doorway to be credited. The main street followed the course of the river, which was spanned by a stone bridge of three arches directly in front of the inn. At the center of the bridge, three old men wearing baggy blue pantaloons and high-cocked hunter's hats stood fishing. To fortify themselves, they took occasional swallows from large green bottles which were kept in tackle boxes at their feet, meanwhile calling back and forth from one to the other, exchanging advice, cursing the perversity of all fish, the impudence of the wind, and whatever else came to mind.

Wayness secured lodging at The Iron Pig, then went out explore the village. Along the main street she discovered a bakery a green-grocer's market, a tool shop which also sold sausages, hair-dresser/insurance agent, a wine shop, a post office and a number of other enterprises of less note. Wayness stepped into a stationer’s shop, which was little more than a booth. The proprietress, a jovial woman of middle age, leaned on her counter, gossiping with a pair of cronies who sat on a bench opposite. Here was a sure font of information, thought Wayness. She bought a journal and stood pretending to read but with an ear tuned to the conversation, which presently she was allowed to join. She described herself as a student investigating antiquities of the region. The proprietress told her “You've come to the right place; there are three of us here, each more antique than the others."

Wayness accepted a cup of tea and was introduced to the company. The proprietress was Madame Katrin; her friends were Madame Esme and Madame Stasia.

After a few moments Wayness mentioned Mirky Porod, and, as she had anticipated, tapped an instant freshet of information.

Madame Katrin gave an exclamation of regret. “It is not now as it was in the old days! Then Mirky Porod commanded our attention, that I'll tell you, what with banquets and balls, and all manner of goings-on! Now it is as dull as ditchwater."

“That was when Count Raul was alive," Madame Esme told Wayness.

“True He was a man of importance, and there was never any lack of famous folk at Mirky Porod! And not always on their best behavior, that is, if all the stories one heard could be believed.”

“Ha ha!" declared Madame Stasia. “I believe them well enough, human nature being what it is!"

“And the famous folk, along with their rank and their wealth, always seem to have more of this “human nature' than anyone else," observed Madame Katrin.

"Just so,” said Madame Esme sagely. “And if it were not so rich and juicy, there would be no scandal"

Wayness asked: "What of the Countess Ottilie? How did she deal with the scandals?”

“My dear!” exclaimed Madame Stasia. “It was she who created them!”

“The Countess and her dogs!” sniffed Madame Katrin.

“Between them they drove poor Count Raul to his death!”

“How so?” asked Wayness.

“Of course nothing is certain, but it is said that the Count, in one last futile effort, forbade Countess Ottilie to bring her beasts into the dining room. Soon after, he committed suicide by jumping from a window in the North Tower. Countess Ottilie said that he had been driven by remorse for his cruelty to her and her little friends.”

The three ladles chuckled. Madame Katrin said: “And now all is quiet at Mirky Porod. Each Saturday afternoon the Countess entertains her friends. They play at piquet for small stakes, and if the Countess loses more than a few pence, she flies into a rage.”

Wayness asked: “If I were to call on the Countess, would she receive me?"

Madame Stasia Said: “As to that, much depends on her mood.”

“For example,” said Madame Esme, “do not go on a Sunday after she has lost a sol or two at her game.”

“Also, and most important!” said Madame Katrin. “Do not go out accompanied by a dog! Last year her grandnephew Baron Parter went to call on her, along with his mastiff. As soon as the dogs saw each other it was instant warfare, with yowling and snapping and yelping such as was never heard before! Some of the Countess’ dearest little friends were discomfited, and young Baron Parter was sent away faster than he had come, along with his mastiff.”

“Those are two good hints,” said Wayness. “What else?"

Madame Esme said: “There is no harm in telling the truth! The Countess is a dragon, and not sympathetic."

Madame Katrin flung her arms into the air. “And stingy? Ah, there has never been the like! She buys my journals, but only after they are a month old, when I sell them at half-price. For this reason, she is always a month behind in her life.”

“It is ridiculous” said Madame Stasia. “If the world came to an end, Countess Ottilie would not know until a month had passed."

“Time to close up shop,” said Madame Katrin. “Now I must see about a bite of supper for Leppold. He has been fishing all day and caught not so much as a sparrow. I’ll open a packet of mackerel, which will give him something to think about.”

Wayness left her new friends and returned to the inn. There was no telephone in her room and she was obliged to use a booth in the corner of the lounge. She called Fair Winds; Pirie Tamm's image appeared on the screen.

Wayness told of her discoveries to date. “Countess Ottilie seems even more of a termagant than I had expected, and I doubt if she will be helpful."

“Let me think this over,” said Pirie Tamm. “I will call you back shortly.”

“Very well. Still, I wish — " Wayness looked over her shoulder as someone came into the lounge. She checked her speech and at Fair Winds her face left the screen. Pirie Tamm raised his voice. “Wayness? Are you there?" Wayness' face returned to the screen. “I'm here. For a moment I was — “ She hesitated.

"You were what?" Pirie Tamm demanded sharply.

"Nervous. Wayness looked over her shoulder once again. “I think that when I left Fair Winds I was followed — at least for a time."

"Explain, if you please."

“There isn’t much to explain, maybe nothing. When I left Fair Winds a vehicle followed my cab to Tierens, and I glimpsed a face with a black mustache. At Shillaway I doubled back and saw him distinctly: a stocky little man, rather meek-looking, with a black mustache. Afterwards, I did not see him again.”

"Ha!” said Pirie Tamm in a dispirited voice. “I can only advise vigilance.”

“That is the same advice I have been giving myself," said Wayness. “After Shillaway no one seemed to be following me but I was not at all happy. I remember reading of tags and spy-cells and other such intricate devices, and I began to wonder. At Draczeny I took time to examine my cloak, and for a fact I found something suspicious: a little black shell half the size of a ladybug. I took it into the station restaurant and when I hung up my cloak, I tucked the shell under the collar of a tourists long coat. I took the omnibus to Tzem and the tourist flew off to Zagreb or some such place."

“Well done! Though I cannot imagine who would be following you.”

“Julian, if he were dissatisfied with what he found at Croy.”

Pirie Tamm made a dubious sound. “Whatever the case, you seem to have slipped them off handily. I too have been busy, and I think you will approve of my arrangements. You may or may not be aware that Count Raul was a horticulturist of note; indeed, it was for this reason that he became such an ardent Society member. To make a long story short I have ranged far and wide among the few connections I have left, with good result. Tonight Baron Stam, who is Countess Ottilie’s cousin, will make an appointment for you. I will have full details later this evening, but, as it stands now, you will be identified as a student of botany, who wishes to look through Count Raul's papers on the subject. If you are able to ingratiate yourself with Countess Ottilie, no doubt you will have an opportunity to put other apparently casual questions to her."

“That sounds reasonable," said Wayness. "When do I present myself?"

“Tomorrow, since he will telephone Mirky Porod this evening."

“And my name is still Wayness Tamm?"

"'We saw no good reason for a false identity. However, do not stress your connection with the Naturalist Society.”

"I understand.”

Halfway through the morning Wayness climbed aboard the rickety old conveyance which connected Tzerm with a few even more remote villages to the east. After a ride of three miles up and down hills, through a dark deep forest, for a space beside the River Sogor, Wayness was discharged in front of a massive iron portal which guarded the avenue leading to Mirky Porod. The gates were open and the gatekeeper's lodge was deserted; Wayness set off up the avenue, which after two hundred yards swung around a copse of firs and hemlock to reveal the facade of Mirky Porod.

Wayness had often noticed in old buildings a quality which transcended character to become something close to sentience. She had wondered about this trait: was it real? Had the structure absorbed vitality over the years, perhaps from its occupants? Or was the condition imaginary: a projection of the human mind?

Mirky Porod, basking in the morning sunlight, seemed to demonstrate such a sentience: a reflective and tragic grandeur, enlivened by a certain frivolous insouciance, as if it felt neglected and tired but was too proud to complain.

The architecture — so it appeared to Wayness — neither obeyed nor defied convention, but, rather, seemed innocently oblivious to aesthetic norms. Exaggerations and excesses of mass were countered by playful elongations of form; subtle surprises were everywhere. The towers, north and south, were too squat and too heavy, with roofs too tall and too steep. The roof of the main structure showed three gables, each with its balcony. While the gardens were not impressive, a vast lawn extended from the terrace to a far line of sentinel cypress trees. It was as if someone of a romantic temperament had made a quick sketch on a scrap of paper and had ordained a structure with proportions exactly as sketched, or perhaps the inspiration had been a picture in a child’s book of fairy tales.

Wayness pulled at the bell chain. The door was presently opened by a plump young maid, not much older than herself. She wore a black uniform with a white lace cap to confine her blonde hair Wayness thought that she seemed a trifle surly and out of sorts, though she addressed Wayness politely enough. “Yes, miss?”

"My name is Wayness Tamm. I have an appointment with Countess Ottilie for eleven o'clock.”

The maid’s blue eyes widened in mild surprise. “Do you now we haven’t had too many visitors of late. The Countess thinks that everyone is out to steal her, or sell her fake jewels, or steal her things. In the main, of course, she is right. That is my view of it, at least.”

Wayness laughed. “I've nothing to sell and I'm too timid to steal."

The maid smiled wanly. "Very well, I'll take you to the old creature, for all the good it will do you. Just mind your manners and praise her dogs. What was your name again?”

"Wayness Tamm.”

“This way, then. She's taking her elevenses out on the lawn."

Wayness followed the maid across the terrace and down to the lawn. Fifty yards away, solitary as an island in a green ocean, the Countess sat at a white table, in the shade of a green and blue parasol. She was surrounded by a band of small fat dogs, all sprawled in attitudes of repose. Countess Ottilie herself was tall and gaunt, with a long sharp face, haggard cheeks, a long crooked nose with large nostrils, and a long jaw. Her white hair, parted in the middle, had been drawn to the nape of her neck and tied into a knot. She wore an ankle-length blue gown of filmy stuff and a pink jacket.

At the sight of Wayness and the maid the Countess cried out: “Sophie! Here at once!”

Sophie made no reply. The Countess silently watched I them approach.

Sophie spoke in a sullen voice: “This is Miss Wayness Tamm, Your Ladyship. She says that she has an appointment with you.”

Countess Ottilie ignored Wayness. “Where have you been? I called you, to no avail!”

'"I was answering the door."

"Indeed! You took your time about it! Where is Lenk, who should look after such things? “

“Madame Lenk’s back was taken bad this morning. Mr. Lenk is applying a salve."

"That is all pooh-bah! Madame Lenk always chooses to suffer at the most inconvenient times! Meanwhile I am not attended! I might as well be a bird on the fence, or the painting in a picture!”

"Sorry, Your Ladyship.”

"The tea was thin and barely warm! What of that?"

Sophle's round face became sullener than ever. "I did not brew the tea; I only brought it out!"

“Take the pot away, and bring out a fresh pot on the instant!"

“It won’t be on the instant," said Sophie grimly. "You'll have to wait, like anyone else, while it steeps."

Countess Ottilie face became mottled and she prodded the lawn with her cane. Sophie took the tray with the cup and teapot. In so doing, she trod on the tail of one of the dogs, which uttered a shrill cry. Sophie also cried out, jerked backwards and dropped the tray; pot and cup fell to the lawn, with a few drops splashing on Countess Ottilie’s hand, which caused her to bellow a hoarse curse. "You have scalded me!” She swung her cane but Sophie already had jumped back and trusted her pelvis to the side, so that the cane struck only empty air. “I thought you said the tea was cold!" Sophie called. Countess Ottilie had sprained her wrist, and was more vexed than ever. “Ah, you slut, to stamp poor Mikki, and then feign innocence! It is monstrous! Come here at once!"

'"So you can beat me? Never!"

The Countess struggled to her feet and swung the cane again, but Sophie, dancing back a safe distance, stuck her tongue out at Countess Ottilie. “That is what I think of you, stupid old crow that you are!"

Countess Ottilie panted, “As of this instant you are discharged! Leave at once!”

Sophie marched off two paces, then, bending, flung up her skirts to show Countess Ottilie the expanse of her buttocks, then strolled triumphantly away.

Wayness stood to the side, shocked, worried and amused. She came cautiously forward, picked up tray, pot and cup and set them on the table. The Countess glared at her. "Go! I have no need for you either.”

“If you wish, but I had an appointment to see you at this time."

"Hmf." Countess Ottilie settled back into her chair. "Naturally you want something of me, like all the rest!"

Wayness saw that she had not made an auspicious beginning. “It is a pity that you have been disturbed. Should I come back when you have had time to rest?”

"Rest? It is not I who needs rest; it is poor little Mikki with his sore tall. Mikki? Where are you?"

Wayness peered underneath the chair. “He seems to be doing quite nicely.”

“Then that is one worry I am spared.” She examined Wayness coldly, with eyes behind folds and layers of loose skin, like the eyes of a turtle. “Now that you are here, what do you want? I think Baron Stam said something about botany?"

"Yes, that is correct. Count Raul, of course, was well known in the field and some of his findings have never been fully documented. With your permission, I would like to look over his papers. I will cause you as little inconvenience as possible.”

Countess Ottilie set her lips in a hard line. “Botany was another of Count Raul's expensive triflings. He knew a thousand ways to spend money. They called him a philanthropist, but he was something else: he was a fool!"

"Surely not!" said Wayness, once again shocked.

Countess Ottilie tapped the lawn with her cane. “That is my opinion. You are convinced otherwise?”

“Of course not! But — "

“We were never left in peace because of whiners and solicitors. Each day would see more of them, with their big teeth and unctuous grins. Worst of all was the Nature Society.”

“The Naturalist Society?”

“Those are the ones! I detest the sound of the name: They were beggars, thieves, carnivores! They never desisted, never relented; always a plea here and a wheedle there! Would you believe it? One time they wanted to build a grand palace for their comfort upon our ancient lands!”

"Extraordinary!" said Wayness, feeling a hypocrite and a traitor. “Incredible!"

"I set them right, I can tell you! They got nothing!"

Greatly daring, Wayness said thoughtfully: "'Count Raul did some very interesting work on Naturalist Society data. Do you know of any papers pertaining to the Naturalist Society?”

"Nothing! Have I not described these people? I emptied the file into a box and sent it away where I will never be reminded of money spent so foolishly."

Wayness smiled in polite agreement. The interview was going poorly. “As for me, I will cost you nothing, and in the end the Count's reputation may well be enhanced.”

Countess Ottilie made a scornful sound. “Reputation? A joke! I care nothing for my own, even less for that of Count Raul.”

Wayness forged grimly ahead. "Still, Count Raul's name is honored at the university. No doubt he owes much of his stature to your encouragement."

“No doubt."

“Perhaps then I might dedicate my thesis to “Count Raul and Countess Ottilie de Flamanges!"

“As you like. If that is all you came for, you may go."

Wayness ignored the remark. “Count Raul kept records of his collections and acquisitions, as well as his researches?”

"Of course. If nothing else, he was meticulous.”

“I would like to look through his records, so that I might clear up certain puzzles."

"Impossible. We keep such things locked up nowadays.”

Refusal was no more than Wayness had been expecting. “It would of course be in the interests of science, and of course I would be helped in my career. I assure you that I would be no trouble to you."

Countess Ottilie prodded the lawn with her cane. "Not another word! Yonder is the gate; go the way you have come, and at once!"

Wayness hesitated, reluctant to accept so devastating a defeat. "May I come again, when you are feeling better?"

Countess Ottilie stood erect, showing herself to be a woman taller than Wayness had assumed. "Did you not hear me? I want none of you about, prying and picking, always reaching with your fingers, nibbling at my things."

Wayness turned away and marched in a rage of her own to the gate.

The time was noon. Wayness stood in the road outside the gates to Mirky Porod, waiting for the omnibus which, according to the schedule, passed each hour. She looked up the road; no bus was in sight and no sound could be heard save the singing of insects Wayness went to sit on a stone bench. Her circumstances were more or less as she had expected them to be; nevertheless, she felt deflated and depressed. What worry”? Wayness forced herself to ponder. Several schemes suggested themselves, all either impractical, illegal, immoral or dangerous. Wayness liked none of them, especially all variations on the theme of kidnapping one or more of the dogs.

Down the avenue from Mirky Porod came Sophie the erstwhile maid, carrying a pair of bulging suitcases. She looked at Wayness. "Here we are again. How did your interview go?"

“Not well."

"I could have told you that from the start." Sophie put down her suitcases and joined Wayness on the bench. As for me, I am finished, definitely and forever. I have suffered enough from that old reptile and her curs.”

Wayness gave rueful assent. “She has an uncertain temper.”

“Oh, her temper is certain enough,“ said Sophie. “It is always bad, and niggardly to boot she pays as little as she can and she wants attention at all hours. No wonder she has trouble keeping staff."

“How many folk work for her?”

“Let me see. Mr. Lenk and Madame Lenk, a cook and a scullion, four maids, a footman who serves as chauffeur, two gardeners and a boy. I will say this; Mr. Lenk makes sure there's a good table, and no one is truly over-worked. Lenk is sometimes a bit amorous, but he can be controlled by means of a hint to Madame Lenk, who then makes Lenk so miserable that one almost takes pity on the poor man. He is surprisingly quick and one must be agile enough to keep from being backed into a corner, in which case there is often no help for it."

"It would seem that Lenk keeps everyone happy at Mirky Porod.”

“He tries his best, for a fact. In the main he is easy enough, and holds no grudges."

“Are there truly ghosts at the castle?"

“That is a serious question. Everyone who has heard them claims that he has heard them, you get my meaning.

As for me, you would not find me anywhere near North Tower when the moon is at the full."

“What does Countess Ottilie say about the ghosts?”

“She says it was ghosts who pushed Count Raul from the window, and I suppose that she would know best."

“So it would seem.”

The omnibus arrived and the two rode to Tzem. Wayness went directly to the telephone in The Iron Pig and called Mirky Porod. The face of a middle-aged man, sleek and suave, with plump jowls, lank black hair, drooping eyelids and a neat little mustache appeared on the screen. Wayness asked: “Am I addressing Mr. Lenk?" From his end of the connection, Lenk observed Wayness' image with approval and touched back his mustache. '"True enough! I am Gustav Lenk. How may I oblige you, and be assured that I will make every effort to do so!"

“It is simple enough, Mr. Lenk. I have been talking with Sophie, who has just resigned her position at Mirky Porod."

“That is unfortunately the case.”

“I wish to apply for the position, if it is still open.”

“It is still open, right enough. I have barely had time to learn of the vacancy myself." Lenk cleared his throat and examined Wayness' image with even greater Interest. “You have had experience at this kind of work?”

“Not a great deal, but I am sure that with your help I will have no problems.”

Lenk said cautiously: “In ordinary circumstances this would be correct. However, if Sophie had anything to say about Countess Ottilie — “

“She spoke at length, and with emotion."

“Then you must know that the difficulties are not the work itself, but Countess Ottilie and her pets.”

"I understand this clearly, Mr. Lenk.”

"I must point out, also, that the pay is not large. You would start at twenty sols a week. However, your uniform is furnished, and there are no deductions. If I may say so, the staff is congenial, and all of us realize that dealing with the Countess is difficult. Nevertheless, it must be accomplished, and in fact this is the basis for all our employments."

“That is well understood, Mr. Lenk.”

“You have no aversion to dogs?"

Wayness shrugged. “I can put up with them."

Lenk nodded. “In that case, you may come out at once and we will fit you into the routine with as little delay as possible. Now then: your name?”

“I am — Wayness reflected a moment” — Marya Smitt.”

“Previous employer?”

“I have no references at hand, Mr. Lenk.”

“In your case, I think we can make an exception. I will see you presently.”

Wayness went to her room. She combed her hair straight back over her scalp, drew it tight and tied it with a black ribbon at the nape of her neck. She inspected herself in the mirror. The change, so she thought, made her seem older and wiser, and definitely more competent.

Wayness departed the inn, rode the omnibus to Mirky Porod and, now full of apprehensions and uncertainty carried her suitcase up the avenue to the side entrance.

Lenk was rather taller and more ponderous than Wayness had expected, and carried himself with the dignity befitting his position. Still, he greeted Wayness with affability and took her into the servant’s lounge, where she met Madame Lenk a stout woman with graying black hair cut unflatteringly short, strong arms and a brisk decisive manner.

Together, Lenk and Madame Lenk instructed Wayness in regard to her duties. In general, she must attend to Countess Ottilie and her wants, and pay no heed to her cantankerousness, and always be ready to dodge blows of the cane. “It is a nervous reaction, “said Lenk. "She only means to convey a mood of dissatisfaction."

“Still, I cannot approve the tactic,” said Madame Lenk.

"One time I was bending to pick up a journal she had dropped and without so much as a by-your-leave here came the swish of the cane, catching me broad abeam. I was naturally disturbed and inquired why Her Ladyship had struck the blow. “It was a matter of convenience,” she said. I started to say more but she waved her cane and told me to make a selection on the list of misdeeds for which I had gone unpunished and place a check-mark against the item.”

“In short,” said Lenk, "be on your guard at all times."

“While we are on the subject," said Madame Lenk, "I will remark that Mr. Lenk himself is often a bit too friendly with the girls, and sometimes he goes so far as to forget his manners."

Lenk made a gallant gesture. “My dear, you exaggerate, and you will alarm poor Marya so that she will flee at the sight of me."

"That is not her only recourse, “said Madame Lenk. She addressed herself to Wayness. "If Lenk should ever forget himself and start to take liberties, you need only murmur the words ‘Hell on Earth’. “

“ 'Hell on Earth'? It is a cryptic message."

“Exactly! But if Lenk does not desist from his efforts, I will explain it to him in detail."

Lenk showed an uneasy smell. “Madame Lenk of course is joking. At Mirky Porod we work in harmony and live at peace with each other."

“Except during our encounters with the Countess, course. You must never cross her or contradict her no matter what her nonsense, and never despise her dogs, and always clean their horrid little messes cheerfully, as if it were all great fun.”

“I will do my best,” said Wayness.

Madame Lenk fitted Wayness out in a black uniform with a white apron and a white gauze cap, with wings protruding an inch or so over the ears. Examining in the mirror, Wayness was confident that Countess would not recognize her for Wayness Tamm the importunate student.

Madame Lenk conducted Wayness about the castle, avoiding only the North Tower. “There is nothing there save disembodied sprits, or so it is claimed. I myself have seen none of these, though truly I have heard odd noises which were probably squirrels or bats. In any event, you need not worry about the North Tower. Now then, here is the library. The double doors lead into Count Raul's old study, which is used but seldom, and the doors are kept locked. Here is the Countess; I will introduce you.”

Countess Ottilie gave Wayness the briefest of inspections, then went to sit in an upholstered chair. “Marya, is it? Very good, Marya! You will find me an indulgent mistress, far too indulgent, perhaps. I make few demands. Since I am old, I require a good deal of running and fetching, and you must learn where I keep my things. Every day the routine is much the same, except Saturday when I play at cards, and on the first of each month when I ride to Draczeny to visit the shops. You will quickly learn this routine, since it is not difficult.”

“Now you must meet my little friends, who are most important to me. There: Chusk, Porter, Mikki, Toop.” As she spoke she pointed a crooked forefinger. “There: Sammy, now scratching herself, and Dimpkin, and oh! you naughty Fotsel! You know you should not raise your leg in the house! Now Marya must sop up behind you. Finally, under the chair is Raffis." The Countess sat back. “Marya, tell me their names, so that I will know you were attending.”

“Hm.” Wayness pointed. “That is Mikki, and that is Fotsel who made the mess; I remember you well enough. Raffis is under the chair. That spotted one is Chusk, I believe, and that one, who was scratching, is Sammy. The others I don’t remember.”

“You have done quite well,” said Countess Ottilie, “even though you have neglected Porter, Toop and Dimpkin: all dogs of reputation and character.”

“No doubt,” said Wayness. “Madame Lenk, if you will show me the mop and bucket, I will clean up the wet at this moment.”

“We find that a sponge is most effective for minor nuisances," said Madame Lenk. "You will find equipment in the closet.”

So began Wayness’ stint as domestic servant. Every day was different, even though each followed a standard routine. At eight o'clock every morning Wayness entered Countess Ottilie’s bedroom to kindle the fire, even though the castle was adequately heated by ergothermic mechanisms. The Countess slept in an enormous old bed among a dozen large fluff pillows of down cased in pink, pale blue and yellow silk. The dogs slept on cushions in boxes ranged along the side wall and woe betide the interloper who chose to test out another dog s cushion.

Wayness was next required to draw back the curtains which the Countess insisted should be tightly drawn against any sliver of exterior light; especially she detested moonlight playing through the windows. Wayness next assisted the Countess to prop herself up among her cushions, amid curses, abjurations and cries of accusation: “Marya, can you not be careful! You are hurting me with your hauling and yanking! I am not made of iron, or of leather! Now then, you know I am not comfortable in this position! Push that yellow pillow farther down behind my back. Ah! Relief at last! Bring me my tea. Are the dogs all well?”

“All fit and blooming, Your Ladyship, Dimpkin is doing its business as usual in the corner. I think Chusk has taken a dislike to Porter.”

“It will soon pass by. Bring me my tea; don’t stand there like a ninny."

“Yes, Your Ladyship."

After placing the tea tray on the bed and commenting upon the state of the weather, Wayness next rang for Fosco the footman, who led the dogs away for their feeding and a chance to relieve their bladders and bowels in the side yard. In due course, Wayness assisted the Countess with her own routines of the morning, again to the accompaniment of complaints, threats and recriminations, to which Wayness paid little heed, though keeping a wary eye upon the cane. When the Countess had been dressed and seated at her table, Wayness rang down for her breakfast, which was delivered by way of a dumb-waiter.

While the Countess consumed her breakfast, she dictated notes in regard to activities of the day.

At ten o'clock Countess Ottilie used her lift to descend to the ground floor, and took herself usually into the library, where she read mail, glanced at a journal or two and then consulted with Fosco in regard to the dogs, whom Fosco had now fed and groomed. Fosco was required to provide an opinion as to the health, vigor and psychological state of each beast, and often the discussions proceeded at length.

Fosco never became impatient, nor was there any reason. For him to do so, since this was the only task required of him, other than occasionally serving as chauffeur for the Countess when she went off upon one of her infrequent short journeys.

During this interval Wayness was free until summoned by the Countess. She usually passed the time in the servant's lounge, gossiping and taking refreshment with the other maids and Madame Lenk, and sometimes Lenk himself.

A summons from the Countess usually came a few minutes before eleven. If the weather were raw or gusty or wet, the Countess remained in the library by the fire. If the day were fine, she went out through the library doors, across the terrace and down upon the lawn.

Depending upon her mood — and Wayness had learned that the Countess was a moody person indeed — she might walk out to the table, fifty yards from the terrace, and settle herself: an island of pink flounces and lace and lavender shawls isolated on the face of a smooth green grassy ocean. At other times she might climb aboard an electric cart and fare forth on a voyage of exploration to a far corner of the lawn, with her dogs streaming behind in a line. The most agile first, the oldest and fattest puffing and thumping along at the rear. Wayness was then required to load table, chair and parasol upon another cart, follow, set up the furniture, and serve tea.

On these occasions the Countess more often than not desired solitude, and Wayness would be sent back to the library, to await a tone from her wristband which would alert her to the Countess' needs.

One day, after Wayness had been so dismissed, she made a detour around to the side of the North Tower, where she had never previously ventured. Behind a hedge of black-green yew she came upon a little cemetery with twenty, or perhaps as many as thirty, small graves. On some of the tombstones inscriptions had been carved deep into the marble; on others bronze plaques served the same purpose, while still other stones supported marble statues in the likeness of small dogs. To the side grew lilies and clumps of heliotrope. Wayness' curiosity was instantly sated; she backed away and went at a fast walk to the library, to await Countess Ottilie summons. As always, whenever she had the opportunity, she tested the doors which led into the study; as always they were locked and, as always, Wayness felt a pang of urgency. Time was passing; events were in motion which she could not control.

By this time Wayness knew where to find the keys to the study. One hung from Lenk s key ring, a second from a similar key ring in the possession of the Countess. Wayness had taken pains to learn the daily disposition of the keys. By day the Countess often carried them with her, sometimes rather carelessly, so that on occasion they were left somewhere she had been sitting. Thereupon the keys were deemed lost, creating a great scurrying search, punctuated by the Countess' hoarse outcries, until the keys were found.

At night the Countess kept her keys in the drawer of a cabinet beside her bed.

Late one night, with the Countess snoring among her down pillows, Wayness crept quietly into the room and made for the cabinet, which was visible in the dim illumination of the night-light. She had started to pull open the drawer when the dog Toop awoke in annoyance and startlement, and began to yelp: a tumult in which the other dogs instantly joined. Wayness scuttled from the room, before the Countess could raise up to see what had caused the disturbance. Standing breathless in the adjoining chamber, Wayness heard the Countess rasp: "Quiet, you little vermin! Just because one of you farts, must you all celebrate? Not another sound!”

Wayness, discouraged, went off to bed.

Two days later the footman Fosco resigned his position. Lenk tried to assign the task of dog-grooming to Wayness, who declared that she could spare no time from her regular duties, then to the maid Fyllis, who objected even more definitely: “They can grow hair in a mat two inches thick for all of me! You must do the job yourself, Mr. Lenk!”

Lenk was thus miserably employed for two days until he hired another footman: a handsome young man named Baro, who took to the job with a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm.

For a time Lenk's conduct toward Wayness was irreproachably correct, if somewhat fulsome and urbane. But each day he became a trifle more friendly, until at last he thought to test the waters and patted Wayness on the bottom, playfully, as if in a spirit of camaraderie. Wayness recognized that Lenk's program must be nipped in the bud, and jerked aside. “Really, Mr. Lenk! You are being quite naughty!”

“Of course,” said Lenk cheerfully. “But you have a most enticing little bottom, just round enough, and my hand became charged, as it were, with wanderlust."

“Then your hand must be kept under stern control and not allowed to stray."

Lenk sighed. "It was not only my hand that became charged," he murmured, preening his mustache. "In the final analysis, what is a bit of naughtiness between friends, after all? Is that not what friends are for?"

“All this is far too deep for my understanding,“ said Wayness. “Perhaps we should ask Madame Lenk's advice." That is an insipid suggestion," sighed Lenk, turning away.

On occasion, usually in the late afternoon, the Countess would fall into one of her special moods. Her face would lengthen and become immobile; she would refuse to speak to anyone. On the first such occasion Madame Lenk told Wayness: “The Countess is dissatisfied with the way the universe is run, and she is now considering how best to change things.”

Often during such occasions, with little attention to the weather, the Countess would go out to her table on the lawn, seat herself, produce a packet of special cards and proceed to play what seemed an elaborate game of solitaire. Over and over the Countess played the game, clenching her fists, performing wild gestures, peering down in sudden suspicion, hissing and muttering, showing her teeth in what could be either rage or exultation, never desisting until either the cards submitted to her will, or the sun went down and the light failed.

On the second such occasion, a cool wind was blowing and Wayness went out with a robe, but the Countess rejected it with a wave of the hand.

At last, in the dying twilight, Countess Ottilie stared at the cards, whether in triumph or defeat Wayness could not be sure. The Countess heaved herself to her feet the keys fell jingling to the grass. The Countess was moving away and noticed nothing. Wayness picked the keys and tucked them into the pocket in her skirt. Then she gathered cards, robe and followed the Countess across the lawn.

Countess Ottilie did not go directly to the castle, but off a slant toward the foot of North Tower, Wayness followed ten paces to the rear. The Countess paid her no heed.

Twilight had fallen over the landscape, and a cool breeze was blowing through the ancient pines which grew on the hills. Countess Ottilie’s destination became clear: the little cemetery beside the North Tower. She entered through a gap in the yew hedge and wandered among the graves, stopping now and again to utter chirrups and little calls of encouragement. Wayness, waiting outside the hedge, heard her voice: “It has been long, ah how long! But do not despair, my good Snoyard; your loyalty and trust shall be rewarded! And you, Peppin, no less! How you used to romp! And dear little Corly, whose muzzle was so soft! I grieve for you every day! But we shall all meet again, on some happy day! Myrdal, do not whimper all graves are dark…”

In the gloom behind the yew hedge Wayness bestirred herself; it was as if she were involved in a queer dream. She turned and ran through the dusk, one hand pressed against the keys to keep them secure. She halted by the terrace and stood waiting.

A few minutes later she saw the pale form of the Countess approaching, moving slowly and leaning on her cane. Wayness waited silently. The Countess passed as if she were invisible and, crossing the terrace, entered the library, with Wayness coming after.

The evening went by slowly. While the Countess dined, Wayness furtively examined the keys, and found to her satisfaction that each was tagged with a label. There it was: ‘Study': the key she had wanted so long and so badly! After a moment's thought she went to the scullery where a few tools and oddments were kept on a workbench and where she previously had noticed a box of old keys. Sorting through the box she found a key of the same general type as the key to the study, and tucked it into her pocket.

A shadow in the doorway! Wayness turned about startled. It was Baro, the new footman: a stalwart young man, black-haired, with expressive hazel eyes and features of perfect regularity. He carried himself with assurance, and spoke with an easy flow of inconsequential language. Wayness, while conceding Baro to be an exceedingly handsome young man, thought him vain and glib, and kept her distance from him — a tendency which Baro instantly noted and interpreted as a challenge. Thenceforth, he began to make easy casual advances toward her, which Wayness as easily and casually avoided. It was now Baro who stood behind her. He spoke, “Mayra: princess of all that is delightful, why are you skulking in the scullery?”

Wayness restrained the first tart response which came to her tongue, and said only: “I was looking for a bit of string.”

“Here it is,” said Baro. “Right here on the shelf. “Reaching past her, he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned his body against hers, so that she felt his animal warmth. He wore, so she noticed, a pleasant fresh scent, mingled of fern, violet and odd off-world essences.

“You smell nice, but I’m in a bit of a hurry,” said Wayness. She ducked under his arm, sidled past his body and gained the freedom of the pantry and then the kitchen beyond. Behind came Baro, smiling a vague bland smile. Wayness went to sit in the servant's lounge, annoyed and disturbed. Contact with Baro's body had aroused a response in her, and had also sent tingles of fear and revulsion racing along the fibers of her subconscious. Baro entered the room. Wayness became wary, and picked up a journal. Baro came to sit beside her. Wayness paid him no heed.

Baro spoke in a soft voice: "Do you like me?”

Wayness turned him a dispassionate glance. She delayed several seconds before answering. “I haven’t given the matter any thought, Mr. Baro. I doubt if I will."

“Poof,” said Baro, as if he had received a blow in the solar plexus. “My word, but you are a cool one!”

Wayness, turning the pages of the journal, made no response.

Baro uttered his easy laugh. “If you relaxed just a bit, you might find that I was not such a bad fellow after all."

Wayness gave him another expressionless glance, laid the journal aside and, rising to her feet, went to sit with Madame Lenk, only to be summoned by a tone from her wristband. "Off you go," said Madame Lenk. “It is time for the ball game… Hoy! Listen to the rain! I must send Lenk to foster the fire.”

The Countess had gone into the library, along with her dogs. Outside the windows rain thrashed down upon the terrace and across the lawn, where it could occasionally be glimpsed in the instantaneous blue illumination of lightning bolts.

The ball game was played by the Countess, who hurled the ball; the eight dogs, who bounded after it, snapping and snarling at each other, and Wayness, who must pull the ball from the jaws of the animal which had gained possession and return the wet ball to the Countess.

After ten minutes the Countess tired of the game but insisted that Wayness continue to play it in her stead.

At last the Countess’ attention wandered and she began to doze. Wayness, standing behind her chair took occasion to detach the key to the study from the key ring, and replace it with the key she had taken from the box in the scullery, switching the label as well. She hid the key ring in the soil of a potted plant to the side of the room, and went to fetch Countess Ottilie’s nighttime potion from the kitchen: an unpleasant concoction of raw egg, buttermilk and cherry cordial, mixed with a packet of therapeutic powders.

Countess Ottilie awoke from her nap in a querulous mood. She scowled at Wayness. Where have you been? You must not leave me so! I was about to ring for you!”

"I was fetching the potion, Your Ladyship.”

“Hmf. Bah! Give it to me then.” The Countess was only partially mollified. “It is a mystery to me how you flit here and there so carelessly, like a fluff on the wind!”

The Countess swallowed her potion. “So now, once more it is bedtime. I have negotiated the trials of another day despite all! It is not so easy when one is old, especially when one is wise, as well!"

“I'm sure not, Your Ladyship.”

"Everywhere, grasping hands and pinching fingers! From all sides the gleam of predatory eyes like the eyes of wild beasts circling the fire of a lone adventurer! I wage a stark and pitiless battle; greed and avarice are my sworn enemies!"

“Your Ladyship is armed with great strength of character.”

“Yes, that is true.” Gripping the arms of her chair, the Countess struggled to gain her feet. Wayness ran forward to help, but the Countess angrily waved her away and sat back in the chair. “That is unnecessary! I am not an invalid, no matter what they say.”

“I have never thought so, Your Ladyship.”

“That is not to say that I shall not die some day and then: who knows?" The Countess glanced sharply at Wayness. “You have heard the ghosts in North Tower?”

Wayness shook her head. “I am happier not knowing of such things, Your Ladyship.”

“I see. Well, I will say no more. It is time for bed. Help me to my feet, and take care for my poor back! I suffer tremendously when I am jerked about!"

During the intricate routine of preparing for bed the Countess discovered the loss of her keys. “Ah! Chife, pox and vomit! Why must these trials so afflict me? Marya, where are my keys?"

“Where Your Ladyship usually keeps them, or so I suppose.”

"No, I have lost them! They are out on the lawn, where any thief of the night can come upon them! Call Lenk, at once!"

Lenk was summoned and informed as to the missing keys. "I suspect that I dropped them out on the lawn,” said the Countess. “You must find them at once!"

“In the dark? With the rain driving down at a slant? Your Ladyship, that would be impractical.”

The Countess began to fulminate and pounded her cane into the floor. "It is I who determines what is practical at Mirky Porod! Never be deceived! I have taught this truth to others!”

Lenk turned his head sharply and held up his hand. Countess Ottilie cried out: “What do you hear?"

“I don’t know Your Ladyship. It might have been the cry of a ghost."

“A ghost! Marya, did you hear it?"

"I heard something but I think it was one of the dogs."

"Of course! There! This time I heard it too. It is Porter, suffering from his catarrh.”

Lenk bowed. “As you say, Your Ladyship.”

"And my keys?"

“We shall find them in the morning, when we can see." Lenk bowed again and withdrew. The Countess grumbled at length, but at last went to bed. Tonight she was unusually testy and Wayness changed and rearranged her down pillows a dozen times before the Countess finally tired of the game and fell asleep.

Wayness went to her room. She removed her white apron and her white cap, and changed into soft-soled slippers. Into her pocket she tucked pencil, paper and an electric torch.

At midnight she left her room. The house was quiet. Wayness delayed a diffident moment or two, then summoning all her courage, descended the stairs, where she stopped to listen again.

Silence.

Wayness passed through the library to the doors leading into the study. She worked the key; the door slid ajar with a faint, creak. Wayness studied the lock, making sure that she could not accidently lock herself into the study. In this caser there could be no difficulty. Wayness entered the study, closed and locked the door. She brought out her torch and took stock of her surroundings. A large desk, equipped with a communications screen and a telephone, occupied the center of the room. Beyond the windows the rain still fell, though not so heavily as before, with frequent splashes of blue lightning fracturing the sky. To the side a stanchion supported a large terrestrial globe. Shelves along the walls displayed books, curios, oddments, weapons. Wayness examined the books. None seemed to be ledgers in which Count Raul might have kept his accounts. She turned her attention to the desk. The communicator, it had not been used for many years, and might well be inoperative.

Wayness seated herself and touched a switch. To her delight and heartfelt relief, the screen brightened to display Count Raul’s personal emblem: a black double-headed eagle standing upon a pale blue globe, limned with circles of latitude and longitude.

Wayness set about her task of discovering where Count Raul kept the information she sought. The task might have been easier if the Count had been as methodical as he was meticulously all-inclusive.

Half an hour passed. Wayness chased down a dozen blind alleys and dead ends, before chancing upon the file containing the information she sought.

Count Raul had not bought any material from Gohoon Galleries. Furthermore, his collection of Naturalist Society documents had included only the items Wayness had discovered at the Funusti Museum. Here Wayness was disappointed. She had hoped, with a hope so secret that she had not even admitted it to herself, that she might find Charter and Grant in the study, perhaps in a cubbyhole of this very desk.

Not so. Count Raul had derived his material from a dealer named Xantief in the old city Trieste.

It was at this moment that Wayness heard the slightest of noises: a grating sound, of iron scraping on iron. She glanced up in time to see the handle of the door to the terrace move, after it had been tested by someone standing outside.

Wayness pretended not to notice. She altered the name ‘Xantief' to 'Chuffe' and 'Trieste' to 'Croy,' and conducted a search to make sure that there was no other mention of the name. Meanwhile, she watched the window. A great spasm of blue lightning shattered the sky. Wayness saw the silhouette of a man standing by the window. His hands were raised; he seemed to be busy with a tool.

Wayness rose to her feet without haste and went to the door which led into the library. From outside came an instant thud as if something had been dropped, and another extremely faint sound. Wayness knew that the man had hastened along the terrace, entered the library, and now had stationed himself beside the study door, to intercept her once she stepped out. Or perhaps he would push her back into the study and lock the door behind the two of them, and then who knows what might happen?

Nothing nice, thought Wayness, the skin prickling at the nape of her neck.

She was trapped. She could open the doors out to the terrace but the man would almost certainly catch her as she emerged.

At the study door came an ominous grinding sound, faint and muffled, as the man busted himself at the lock. Wayness looked wildly around the room. On the shelves were weapons: scimitars, kris, yataghans, poniards, kopfnockers, long-irons, spardoons, quangs and stilettos. Unfortunately, all were clamped tightly to the wall. Wayness' eye fell on the telephone.

Wayness picked up the telephone. She ran to the desk and pressed ‘9’.

After a moment Lenk's voice sounded in the speaker. It was a sleepy cross voice, but to Wayness it sounded sweet indeed. “Mr. Lenkl!” she called breathlessly. “It's Marya! I'm on the stairs! I hear noises in the library! Come at once before the Countess wakes up!"

“Ah! Yes. Yes, yes! Keep her quiet, by all means! The library, you say?”

“I think it’s a prowler; bring your gun!"

Wayness went to the door and listened. Silence from the library, as the burglar, or whoever he might be, had become wary.

Wayness heard sounds from the library: Lenk's voice. “What is going on here?”

Wayness eased the door open. Lenk, carrying a gun, had gone to the outside door and stood looking out across the terrace. Wayness slipped out of the study and closed the door. When Lenk looked around she was standing by the door into the hall. “The danger is over,” said Lenk. “The intruder escaped, despite my best efforts. He left a drill. Most unusual.”

Wayness said: “Perhaps we should not tell the Countess. She would only worry, to no avail, and make life miserable for us all.”

“True,” said Lenk in a troubled voice. “It would do no good to tell her. She would never let up on the subject of her keys, and how I had brought on the burglary by neglecting her orders."

“I will say nothing, then."

“Good girl I wonder what the rascal wanted."

“He won’t be back! Not after seeing you with your gun!”

But I hear Madame Lenk! You had best tell her what has happened while I am here to corroborate the tale.”

"No fear this time,” said Lenk with a sour grin. "She heard you calling on the telephone. I don’t see how you managed it without rousing the Countess.”

“I spoke softly, if you remember. And she was snoring to outdistance the thunder. There was no problem.”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps I should have called Baro. I'm sure he could give a good account of himself.”

“Perhaps so. Still, the fewer who know, the better.”

In the morning all proceeded according to routine. As soon as possible, Wayness rescued the key ring, restored the proper key to its place, then went out on the lawn. Ten minutes later she returned triumphantly with the keys.

Countess Ottilie was only moderately pleased. “It is what you should have done last night, to save nine hours of anxiety" I slept not a wink."

While Baro was occupied grooming the dogs Wayness departed Mirky Porod. She rode the omnibus into Tzem. From the telephone in The Iron Pig she called Mirky Porod. Lenk appeared on the screen and stared slack-jawed at Wayness' image. "Marya? What are you up to?”

"Mr. Lenk, it is a complicated matter and I am sorry to leave you so abruptly, but I received an urgent message which I can't ignore. I have called to say goodbye. Please make my explanations to the Countess.”

"But she will be shattered! She has come to depend on you, just like all the rest of us!”

"I am sorry, Mr. Lenk, but now I see the omnibus and I must go.”