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.