“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."
IV.
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.”