“Impossible! You are the man for the job! You need only step back, secure the Perciplex, then return to the present. So then, Rhialto! Are you ready?”
“Not quite! How, in fact, do I return to the present?”
“A good question!” Ildefonse turned to Sarsem. “What, exactly, is the procedure?”
“That is out of my province,” said Sarsem. “I can project Rhialto any number of aeons into the past, but thereafter he must make his own arrangements.”
“Rhialto, do not be impatient!” said Ildefonse. “Sarsem, answer! How then does Rhialto make his return?”
“I suppose that he must rely upon Osherl.”
“Good enough!” said Ildefonse. “Osherl can be trusted in this regard, or I am much mistaken.”
So went the preparations. Rhialto made himself ready, not neglecting to change his yellow sash tied on the right for a black sash of good quality tied on the left. Osherl disposed himself within the walnut shell, and the two were reverted into the past.
10
Rhialto stood in warm sunlight of a complicated colour: a peach-pink orange suffused with rose and white-rose. He found himself in a valley surrounded by sharp peaks rising a mile into the air. That peak which he would later know as Fader’s Waft stood highest of all, with the summit hidden in a tuft of white cloud.
The prospect was at once grand and serene. The valley seemed empty of habitation, although Rhialto noted plantations of melon and blue vines heavy with purple grapes along the valley and up the mountain-side.
To Rhialto’s satisfaction, the landmarks cited by Sarsem, an outcrop of glistening black stone flanked by three cypress saplings, were plainly visible, although ‘sapling’ seemed an inexact description of the gnarled and massive trees in question. Still, Rhialto confidently set off toward the site of the cave.
By Sarsem’s best calculations, the time was immediately subsequent to his own visit. Ildefonse had tried to elicit the exact measure of this interval: “A second? A minute? An hour?”
Rhialto’s attention had been distracted by Osherl in the matter of indenture points, and he had heard only a phrase or two of Sarsem’s response: “— accuracy of high degree!” and “— occasionally a curious kinking and backlash in the inter-aeon sutures —”
Ildefonse had put another inquiry and again Osherl’s attempts to secure advantage had diverted Rhialto’s attention, and he had only heard Sarsem discussing what seemed to be mathematical theory with Ildefonse: “— often closer than the thousandth part of one percent, plus or minus, which must be reckoned excellent.”
Rhialto turned to join the conversation, but the avaricious Osherl placed a new demand, and Rhialto only heard Ildefonse’s reference to “— five aeons: an unwieldy period!” Sarsem’s response had only been that peculiarly supple shrug characteristic of his sort.
The entrance to the cave was now close at hand. Sarsem had been inexact in his instructions; rather than a barely perceptible crevice behind the first of the gabbro crags, Rhialto found a square opening five feet wide and taller than himself decorated with a careful pattern of pink shells, and a path of crushed white marl.
Rhialto uttered a hiss of vexation. Something was clearly amiss. He advanced up the path to the opening and looked into the cave. Here, at least, Sarsem had spoken accurately: to the right, immediately within the opening and something above the height of his head, a small pocket opened into the stone, and into this pocket Sarsem had placed the Perciplex.
The pocket was now empty, not altogether to Rhialto’s surprise. An indefinable odor suggesting organic processes hung in the air; the cave seemed to be inhabited.
Rhialto retreated from the cave entrance and went to sit on a ledge of rock. Across the valley an old man came down the mountainside: a person small and slight, with a great ruff of white hair and a narrow blue face which seemed mostly nose. He wore a garment of black and white stripes and sandals with toes of exaggerated length, with a black sash about his waist tied on the left, in a manner which Rhialto considered absurd and unbecoming, but which evidently found favor with the pace-setters of the day.
Jumping down from the fence, Rhialto approached the old man, and a touch of the finger was enough to activate the glossolary.
The old man noticed Rhialto’s approach, but paid no heed and continued on his way, skipping and trotting with light-footed agility. Rhialto called out: “Sir, stop to rest a moment! You move at speed! At your age a man should be kind to himself!”
The old man paused. “No danger there! If all were equally kind I should live the life of a magnate!”
“That is the usual concept. Still, we must do as best we can! What brings you out here among these lonely mountain crags?”
“Simply put, I would rather be here than out on the plain, where confusion reigns supreme. And yourself? From a distant land, so I perceive, from the rather awkward knot by which you tie your sash.”
“Fashions differ,” said Rhialto. “I am in fact a scholar, sent here to retrieve an important historical object.”
The old man looked suspiciously sidewise at Rhialto. “Are you in earnest? I know of nothing within a hundred miles which answers that description — save perhaps the skeleton of my double-headed goat.”
“I refer to a blue prism which was left in yonder cave for safe-keeping, but which is not there now.”
The old man made a negative sign. “My knowledge of prisms, historical or otherwise, is small. For a fact, I recall the cave before the twastics took up residence, when nothing could be seen but a crevice into the rocks.”
“How long ago might this be?”
The old man pulled at his nose. “Let me calculate … It was while Nedde still supplied my barley … Garler had not yet taken his third wife. Still, he had already built his new barn … I would estimate a period of thirty-one years.”
Rhialto gritted his teeth. “These twastics: what of them?”
“Most have returned to Canopus; the climate suits them better. Still, the two yonder are decent in their habits and settle their debts in good time, which is more than I can say of my own son-in-law, though to be sure I would not choose a twastic as spouse to my daughter … I hear them now; they are returning from a function at their social club.”
A tinkling sound reached Rhialto’s ears, as if from the vibration of many small bells. Up the valley road came a pair of twenty-legged creatures eight feet long and four feet high, with large round heads studded with stalks, knobs and tufts, fulfilling functions not immediately apparent. Their caudal segments rose and curled forward in an elegant spiral, and each boasted an iron gong dangling from the tip. Smaller bells and vibrilators hung in gala style from the elbows of each leg. The first wore a robe of dark green velvet; the second a similar robe of cherry-rose plush.
“Yonder go the twastics,” said the old man. “As for the contents of the cavern, they can answer your questions better than I.”
Rhialto watched the tinkling creatures askance. “All very well, but how should I address them?”
“They are easy in this regard; a simple ‘Sir’ or ‘Your Honor’ suffices.”
Returning across the valley, Rhialto was able to intercept the twastics before they entered the cavern. He called out: “Sirs! May I put a question? I am here on an important historical mission!”
The twastic wearing the dark green robe responded in a somewhat sibilant voice, using sounds created by a rapid clicking of the mandibles. “This is not our customary time for business. If you wish to order any of our service gungeons, be advised that the minimum shipment is one gross.”
“I am interested in another matter. You have inhabited this cavern for about thirty years, so I understand.”
“You have been gossiping with Tiffet, who is more garrulous than he should be. Still, your figures are correct.”
“When you first arrived, did you find a blue crystal placed in a niche above the entrance? I would appreciate candor in this regard.”
“There is no reason why you should not have it. I myself discovered the blue crystal, and cast it away immediately. On Canopus, blue is considered an unfavorable colour.”
Rhialto clapped a hand to his forehead. “And then: what next?”
“You must ask Tiffet. He found the trinket in the rubbish.” The twastics entered the cavern and disappeared into the darkness.
Rhialto hastened back across the valley and managed to overtake Tiffet.
“Wait, sir!” called Rhialto. “Another historical question or two!”
Tiffet halted. “What now?”
“As you know, I have come far in search of an important blue prism. The twastics threw it from the cave and it seems that you rescued it from the rubbish heap. Where is it now? Produce it and I will make you a rich man.”
Tiffet blinked and pulled at his nose. “A blue prism? True. I had quite forgotten it. Quite so! I took it from the rubbish heap and put it on my mantel-piece. Not a week later the taxers came from the King of all Kings, and they took the blue jewel in payment of my taxes and even rescinded the standard beating with staves, for which I was grateful.”
