Ildefonse heaved himself to his feet. “I know no fatigue! To the work-room! We shall study each grain of dust under the pantavist: up, down, back, forth — until finally it cries out its tale! Then we drive home the nail with Sarsem’s testimony!”
The two went to the work-room. “Now!” declared Ildefonse. “Let us look to your famous bottles!” He examined the contents of several. “From such nondescript sifts I expect nothing of value.”
“That remains to be seen,” said Rhialto. “We shall need your best macrotic enlarging pantavist, and then your latest edition of Characteristic Stuffs: Dusts and Microvies of the Latter Aeons.”
“I have anticipated you,” said Ildefonse. “All is here to hand. I will also order up a classificator, to make our work less tedious.”
“Excellent.”
The inquiry proceeded with easy efficiency. One at a time the bottles were emptied and their contents examined, identified, graded, and classified.
By middle morning the work was through, and the two tired magicians went out upon the terrace to take rest and nourishment.
In the opinion of Ildefonse, the work had yielded little of significance, and his mood was glum. He said at last: “In the main, we are faced with ambiguities. We neither prove nor disprove; the ‘Extraordinarys’ are too many: specifically, the dusts of Vermoulian, Hurtiancz, Hache-Moncour, Dulce-Lolo and Byzant. Additionally, the ‘Extraordinarys’ may simply be special cases of the ‘Ordinarys’, while the ‘Ordinarys’ may be associated with cryptic deeds beyond our detection.”
Rhialto nodded. “Your indications are accurate! Still I do not share your pessimism. Each ‘Extraordinary’ tells its own tale, except in one case.”
“Aha! You are referring to Vermoulian, since the dust from his boots is unique in shape, color and complexity, and different from everything classified in the catalogue.”
Rhialto, smiling, shook his head. “I am not referring to Vermoulian. In his case we would seem to be investigating dream-dust, scuffed up from one or another of his dream-landscapes. The catalogues are understandably noncommittal. As for Hurtiancz, he uses medicinal powder to relieve a fungoid infection of the toes, and we can confidently place him on the ‘Ordinary’ list. Byzant’s dust is in the main a powder of phosphatic calcars, evidently deriving from his field of interest, which again the catalogue prefers to ignore. In regard to Dulce-Lolo’s amazing many-colored particles, I recall that his part in a recent ‘Charade of Folly’ required that he paint each of his feet to represent a grotesque face.”
Ildefonse stared at Rhialto in wonder. “What purpose could possibly be served by this conduct?”
“I gather that Dulce-Lolo’s role in the Pageant was thereby enhanced. Reclining on his back, he kicked his feet on high, meanwhile reciting a dialogue in two voices, falsetto and bass. Particles of the pigment evidently were trapped in his boots, and I must consider him, at least from our immediate perspective, as an ‘Ordinary’.”
“And what of Hache-Moncour?”
“His dust, while ‘Extraordinary’, may or may not be instructive. We lack a critical item of information, to this effect: is Hache-Moncour an amateur of caverns and underground chambers?”
Ildefonse tugged at his beard. “Not to my knowledge, but this means little. I did not realize until last week, for instance, that Zahoulik-Khuntze is an Elder at the Hub and Controller of his own distinct infinity.”
“Odd but interesting! Back to Hache-Moncour, his boots were rife with a singular dust, discovered only in a few underground places of the world.”
“Ha hm. The fact might mean much or nothing.”
“Nevertheless, my suspicions incline toward Hache-Moncour.”
Ildefonse gave a non-committal grunt. “For proof we must await Sarsem, and hear his story.”
“That goes without saying. Osherl will report at the earliest possible instant?”
“So I would expect.” Ildefonse glanced thoughtfully toward the work-room. “Excuse me a moment.”
Ildefonse left the terrace and almost immediately sounds of contention came from the direction of the work-room. Ildefonse presently returned to the terrace, followed by Osherl and a second sandestin using the guise of a gaunt blue bird-like creature, some six feet in height.
Ildefonse spoke in scathing tones: “Behold these two creatures! They can roam the chronoplex as easily as you or I can walk around the table; yet neither has the wit to announce his presence upon arrival. I found Osherl asleep in his fulgurite and Sarsem perched in the rafters.”
“You demean our intellects,” snapped Osherl. “Persons of your ilk are unpredictable; they must be dealt with on the basis of exactitude. I have learned never to act without explicit instructions. If I were to do otherwise, your complaints would rasp even more stridently upon my attention. You sent me on a mission from the work-room; with mission accomplished I returned to the work-room. If you wished me to disturb you at your vulgar ingestions you should have made this clear.”
Ildefonse puffed out his cheeks. “I detect more than a trace of insolence in these rejoinders!”
“No matter,” said Rhialto. “He has brought Sarsem, and this was the requirement. In the main, Osherl, you have done well!”
“And my indenture point?”
“Much depends upon Sarsem’s testimony. Sarsem, will you sit?”
“In this guise, I find it more convenient to stand.”
“Then why not alter to human form and join us in comfort at the table?”
“That is a good idea.” Sarsem became a naked young epicene in an integument of lavender scales with puffs of purple hair like pom-pons growing down his back. He seated himself at the table but declined refreshment. “This human semblance, though typical, is after all, only a guise. If I were to put such things inside myself, I might well become uneasy.”
“As you like. Now to business. Where is the Blue Perciplex which you were required to guard?”
Sarsem asked cautiously: “You refer to the blue prism reposing on the pedestal? You will find such an object as safe as ever in its accustomed place.”
“And why have you deserted your post?”
“Simplicity itself! One of your ilk delivered a new and official Perciplex to replace the obsolete version, which had lost its effect.”
Rhialto gave a hollow laugh. “And how do you know this for a fact?”
“Through the assertion of your representative.” Sarsem sprawled back in the chair. “As I now reflect on the matter, what with the sun’s death only a jerk and a tinkle away, a new Perciplex seems a pointless refinement.”
“So then: what next?”
“I pointed out the burden of guarding two sacred objects, rather than one. The new, so I was told, would occupy the place of the old, and your representative would take the old to a place of reverent safety. Meanwhile, my services were no longer required.”
Rhialto leaned forward. “No doubt indenture points were discussed?”
“I recall some such discussion.”
“To what number and to what degree?”
“An appreciable proportion: in fact, all.”
“How is this possible when your chug4 resides in my work-room?”
Sarsem scowled. “That is as may be.”
Upon sudden thought Ildefonse lurched to his feet and departed the terrace. A moment later he returned, and threw himself down in his chair. With a bleak expression he said to Rhialto: “Sarsem’s chug is gone. Have you ever heard the like?”
Rhialto reflected. “When might this event have taken place?”
“Evidently during the temporal stasis: when else?” Ildefonse turned upon Sarsem. “We have been victimized together! The reduction of your indenture points was unauthorized! You are the victim of a cruel joke! The reduction is null and void, and we have lost the Perciplex! Sarsem, I cannot commend your performance.”
“Ha ha!” cried Sarsem, waving a pale lavender forefinger upon which glinted a silver fingernail. “There is more to come! I am not quite the fool you take me for!”
