“Not necessarily true,” intoned Rhialto.
Sarsem peered here and there. “In the Sixteenth Aeon, so I recall, three black crags rose yonder, and a river swung into the valley from the east … Fader’s Waft at that time was a tall peak defying the storms … Now I am straight. We must drop down into yonder valley.”
Sarsem led the way down a barren slope into a gulch choked with tumbled stones.
“Much has changed,” said Sarsem. “A crag the shape of a skatler horn rose yonder and another there, and another there, where you now see rounded hummocks. Perhaps among these rocks … Here is the place, though the entrance is tumbled over with detritus. Stand aside; I will skew the latifers, so as to allow access.”
Sarsem caused a pulse to shiver along the hillside, whisking away the overburden and revealing an aperture leading into the mountain.
The three marched forward. Ildefonse sent a flux of light into the passage, and started forward, but Rhialto held him back. “One moment!” He indicated a double line of footprints in the fine sand which covered the floor of the cavern. “Sarsem, did you leave these marks?”
“Not I! When I left the cavern, the sand showed a smooth surface.”
“Then I deduce that someone has entered the cave after you departed. This person might well have been Hache-Moncour, to judge by the evidence of his boots.”
Sarsem drifted into the cavern, making no marks upon the sand. He returned almost at once. “The Perciplex is not where I placed it.”
Rhialto and Ildefonse stood stiff with disappointment. “This is dismal news,” said Ildefonse. “You have not dealt well with your assigned duty.”
“More to the point,” said Rhialto, “where now is the Perciplex? In the past, or in the present, or has it been destroyed?”
“Who could be reckless enough to destroy the Blue?” muttered Ildefonse. “Not even an archveult. I believe that the Perciplex is somewhere extant.”
“I am inclined to agree,” said Rhialto. “Sarsem, in regard to these footprints: from their direction it seems that they were formed before the cavern’s mouth was covered — which is to say, the Sixteenth Aeon.”
“True. I can also say this: if they were made by someone hoping to find the Perciplex, he failed. The tracks enter the cave, pass the niche where I concealed the prism, continue into the central cavern, wander this way and that in a random pattern, then depart with long strides denoting angry failure. The Perciplex was taken from the cavern prior to the footprints.”
Rhialto turned to Ildefonse. “If you recall, Hache-Moncour came to Boumergarth with the subterranean dust still clinging to his boots. Unless he found the Perciplex immediately upon leaving the cave, he failed in his mission.”
“Convincing!” said Ildefonse. “Who then took the Perciplex?”
Rhialto said sternly: “Sarsem, your conduct has been less than wise. Need I remind you of this?”
“You need say nothing! In sheer disgust, discharge me from my indenture! The humiliation will be an overwhelming punishment.”
“We are not so cruel,” said Ildefonse. “We prefer that you make amends by retrieving the Perciplex for us.”
Sarsem’s lavender face fell. “I must fail you still a second time. I cannot return to the Sixteenth Aeon, because, in effect, I am already there.”
“What?” Ildefonse raised high his bristling yellow eyebrows. “I cannot understand.”
“No matter,” said Sarsem. “The restraints are definite.”
“Hmmf,” grunted Ildefonse. “We are faced with a problem.”
“I observe the single solution,” stated Rhialto. “The Preceptor must step back into the Sixteenth Aeon to recover the Perciplex. Ildefonse, prepare yourself! And then —”
“Hold!” cried Ildefonse. “Have you put aside that rationality which once marked your thinking? I cannot possibly leave while turmoil threatens the association! With your keen eyes and rare intelligence, you are the man to recover what is lost! Sarsem, do you not support this point of view?”
“At the moment my thoughts run shallow,” said Sarsem. “However, this much is clear: whoever most anxiously wants to restore the old Perciplex to its place will be he who retrieves it from the past.”
Rhialto sighed. “Poor Sarsem is by almost any standard feeble-minded; still in this case he has deftly stripped the issue to its naked essentials. If I must go, I must.”
The three returned to Boumergarth. Rhialto made careful preparations, packing in his wallet the glossolary, proliferant coins, a catalogue of simple spells, and Osherl enclosed in a walnut shell.
Ildefonse extended his unqualified assurances. “It is, after all, a simple and pleasant adventure,” he told Rhialto. “You will find yourself in the Land of Shir-Shan, which at this time is considered the center of the universe. The Grand Gazetteer lists only six magicians currently active, the nearest far to the north, in the present Land of Cutz. A flying creature known as the ‘dyvolt’ rules the skies; it resembles a pelgrane with a long nasal horn and uses the common language. You should recognize three rules of genteel conduct: the sash is tied to the left; only acrobats, actors and sausage-makers wear yellow; grapes are eaten with a knife and fork.”
Rhialto drew back in annoyance. “I do not plan so much as a single meal in Shir-Shan. Perhaps, after all, it would be better if you went.”
“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.
