“Aren’t we going any farther?” Lyra asked, shouting to make herself heard over the Cuparaggai’s thunder. “Aren’t we going inside the temple?”

Tyl gestured negatively and looked apologetic. “I am sorry, but it is not permitted. Thee are not initiates. Nor could thee stand it for very long. The monks who live and work at Moraung Motau are attuned to the old books and ancient ways. They are also quite deaf. It has always been so.”

He led them through the gate of a nearby farm. Etienne could not tell if the stop had been prearranged, but the farmer and his two mates were as cordial and relaxed as if they’d known their guests for years.

There they stayed and spent the remainder of the day talking, or rather, everyone listened politely and attempted to answer Lyra’s unending questions. She inquired about division of labor in the valley, family structure, monkish ritual, about trading procedure and education and what the Tsla expected of an afterlife until the poor farmer and his mates were exhausted. Eventually Tyl intervened.

“Much of what thee request of this family they cannot provide for reasons of ignorance, inhibition, custom, or uncertainty. Nor can I. There is one who might sate thy endless curiosity.”

“Then that’s who I want to meet.”

“Mii-an is Chief Consoler and First Scholar of Turput. His time he gives of but sparingly, for he is old and tired. But I believe he will consent to share himself with thee.”

“That would be wonderful.” Lyra put a hand on her husband’s arm. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful, Etienne?”

“Wonderful. You won’t mind if I don’t tag along?”

She looked shocked: “Etienne, this is a special opportunity. How can you…?” She caught herself, coughed. “You’d rather look at the rocks, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s right. I’d rather look at the rocks. You go ahead and sit at the feet of this Consoler.” He glanced past her, to Tyl. “Provided it’s no imposition.”

“Friend Etienne, the sharing of knowledge is never an imposition, just like the sharing of self. It gives pleasure.” On their way back down to Turput, Etienne let his lekka fall behind Tyl’s so that he could talk to his wife without shouting.

“Lyra, don’t you think you’re starting to view these people with something less than scientific detachment? Of all people, you ought to know better than to idealize a primitive race, no matter how superficially attractive their philosophy may seem.”

“It’s not superficial. You put too high a premium on technology, Etienne. There are other definitions of advancement, other kinds of higher knowledge.”

He found himself growing angry. “Come on now, Lyra. The Tsla are nice enough, and they seem content within themselves, but that’s hardly reason enough to go overboard about them. I never thought I’d see you romanticizing a bunch of elephant-nosed aborigines.”

“I would not use the word ‘aborigine’ to describe them,” she replied coldly. “They have advanced far beyond that stage. As for ‘romanticizing’ them, I don’t consider you qualified to use the word.”

Her whole attitude struck him as so absurd that the put-down missed its intended effect. “This is supposed to be a scientific expedition,” he told her, “and we’ve been more than a little occupied with business. I’m sorry if I haven’t found much time for romance, but I’m not used to strumming guitars beneath four moons, let alone one. Besides which it’s a two-way street. A little encouragement on a second party’s part might be in order.”

She bridled at that. “I’ve given you ample opportunity.”

“You don’t say? How exactly do you define ample opportunity, and how does that have anything to do with encouragement? They’re two different things, you know.”

“If you don’t know,” she snapped, “I certainly can’t tell you.” She spurred her lekka forward until she was cantering alongside their guide.

Etienne watched as the pair of them began an animated discussion of some obscure aspect of Tsla behavior. Infatuated, he told himself. A good scientist like Lyra, infatuated with a bunch of furry primitives. It was hard to believe.

Well, she’d get over it soon enough. Everything about Tsla culture was new to her, each bit of information a surprise and contrast to what they’d learned about the Mai. As soon as she worked it out of her system they’d head back down into the Barshajagad and life would return to normal. Let her rhapsodize about her work. He had plenty of his own to do for a change. If she tried to draw him into her discussions all he had to do was start talking enthusiastically about the amount of pyroxine in the local metamorphics and she’d leave him alone quickly enough.

True to his word as always, Tyl succeeded in obtaining permission for Lyra to have an audience with the Chief Consoler. From then on Etienne saw very little of his wife save at mealtimes. He lost himself in his own field studies, making as complete a record of the canyon of the Aurang and its formations as possible, estimating the age of various strata and returning several times to marvel at the power and majesty of Cuparaggai Falls.

It was only several weeks later, during one of their increasingly infrequent meetings in their room, that he remarked again on the amount of time she was spending among their hosts, and it was not something she said that prompted his comments: it was her appearance.

“Where did you get that outfit?” He stared at her and tried to withhold his laughter.

Lyra executed a slow pirouette for him. The brilliantly striped free-flowing gown and cape swirled loosely around her.

“Tyl gave it to me. Mii-an ordered it. It seems that he thinks very highly of me. We’ve been exchanging information, you see. He teaches me, I teach him. Mii-an lives for the sharing of knowledge.”

“Glad the two of you are getting along so well. But really, Lyra—native dress?”

“What’s wrong with it? It keeps off the wind, it’s as warm during the night as my long sleeves and cooler during the day. Eminently practical. They had to modify the shoulder area for me. We don’t have that curvature of the upper spine, and my arms are longer, but it’s such a tentlike garment little work was necessary. Mii-an insisted.”

“Nice of the old boy. What enlightening discoveries have you made?”

“Everything I’ve learned to date only confirms what I originally suspected. The Tsla are the most sociologically advanced race of their class yet discovered. They have no standing army, no police force, and all citizens bear arms on the rare occasions when it’s necessary.”

“No crime at all, in a society this primitive?”

“There you go with your preconceived notions of what’s primitive, Etienne. There’s some crime, naturally. It’s handled by the Consolers and Advisors. They treat the culprit like a patient, not a criminal. Cure and not punishment. According to the First Scholar there is perfection in everyone.”

“You included, naturally.”

“Me included.” The sarcasm went right past her. “You included. The Mai and the Na included.” Then she said something which made him sit up and take notice. “Etienne, I believe the Tsla may be mildly telepathic.”

“Now that would be a discovery worth shouting about. There are no known telepathic races, only mutant individuals. What makes you think so?”

“Their remarkable perceptivity. They seem to have an instinctive grasp of what I’m going to say before I say it.” His initial excitement faded. “What makes you think it’s anything more than that?”

She suddenly looked uncomfortable. “For one thing, Tyl has commented on more than one occasion that he doesn’t believe you and I are getting along too well.”

The sharp laugh that filled the room was wholly spontaneous.

“And you’re basing your assumption on evidence like that? You don’t have to be a telepathic native to see that you and I aren’t exactly acting like the ideal couple. I’m sure you’ve shared that knowledge with this Mii-an also and he passed it on to Tyl.”

“You just don’t want to consider the possibility, do you?”

“Possibility? Show me some real evidence for telepathic ability and I’ll consider the possibility. I’m starting to worry about you, Lyra.”

“Save yourself the trouble. ” She turned to leave. “I should have known better than to confide in you.”

“Lyra …” She hesitated. “Lyra, we’ve only been here a few weeks. The Tsla aren’t natural wonders any more than they’re living examples of Rousseau’s natural man. They’re simply a nicer group of folks than the Mai. For all we know they may make mass sacrifices every six months.”

“I don’t understand your hostility. Why this sudden antipathy toward the Tsla? They’ve been perfect hosts.”

“There’s no antipathy and what I’m saying has nothing to do with the Tsla. All I’m saying is that no conscientious researcher should jump to conclusions, much less make value judgments about an entire race on the basis of a few weeks spent among one group of villagers.”

“I can agree with that, Etienne. A lot more study is needed to confirm my findings. There are several volumes to be composed. I haven’t even had time to examine how the Tsla’s position as middlemen between the Mai and the Na has affected their outlook on life and their social development.”

“I’m sure someone will resolve all the loose xenological ends neatly someday.” She said nothing and a sudden thought changed his tone. “Lyra, are you trying to tell me something?”

“Yes. I’m not ready to go Upriver again yet, Etienne. My work here is barely under way.”

“When will you be ready to go Upriver again, my love?”