“Look now, Rhialto! We have here a true treasure, this earthenware mug, despite its broken handle! It represents the culmination of a free and unself-conscious art no longer practiced in the crass world of today.”

Rhialto agreed. “A fine piece! It will grace the mantle-piece of your home and bring you hours of pleasure.”

Um-Foad clicked his tongue in vexation. “Then this is not the object you are seeking?”

“Definitely not. Still, put it with the other articles you have salvaged and perhaps someday I will take the lot off your hands.”

“Please, then, define for me exactly what you are seeking!” demanded Um-Foad. “If we knew, we could use a keener eye at the sifting table.”

“And you could also put an exorbitant value upon this object if and when it comes to light.”

Um-Foad showed Rhialto an unpleasantly avaricious grin. “My recourse is clear. I shall set large values on everything discovered.”

Rhialto reflected a moment. “In that case, I too must alter my tactics.”

During the noon-time rest-period, Rhialto addressed the workers. “I am pleased to see that the hole is sinking apace. The object I seek must now be near at hand. I will now describe it, so that all may work alertly, inasmuch as the man who finds this object will earn a bonus of ten golden zikkos in addition to his pay.”

Um-Foad interjected a quick remark. “These gold zikkos, needless to say, are to be paid by Rhialto.”

“Just so,” said Rhialto. “Listen then! Are all attentive?” He glanced around the group and even deaf old Yaa-Yimpe seemed to sense the importance of the occasion. “We are seeking the Sacred Lantern which at one time graced the bow of the Cloud-king’s Pleasure-barge. During a terrible storm, it was dislodged by a dart of blue lightning-ice, and toppled into the sea. So then: to whomever finds the lantern, ten golden zikkos! To whomever finds a fragment, a shatter, or even so much as a small prism of the blue lightning-ice I will pay a bonus of one gold zikko, in true coin; such a fragment will indicate to me that the Sacred Lantern is close at hand. Such a fragment, or shard, or prism, is recognizable by its blue lightning-like color, and must instantly be brought to me for inspection. So now, to work, and with utmost vigilance for the blue lightning-ice, as this will lead us to our goal!”

Um-Foad gave the signal to return to work. “All hands to the shovels; let the work go at double-quick time! Heed well the words of Rhialto!”

A moment later Um-Foad took Rhialto aside. “Since the subject has come up, you may now pay me an instalment of ten gold zikkos against my costs to date, along with another five zikkos in settlement of licensing fees. Let us say twenty gold zikkos in all.”

“Five must suffice.”

Um-Foad at last accepted the coins. “I am puzzled by one of your phrases. You spoke to the workmen of ‘one gold zikko, in true coin’. What, precisely, do you imply by use of the word ‘true’?”

Rhialto made a negligent gesture. “Merely a mode of speaking — a touch of hyperbole, if you will — to express our reverence for such a gold coin.”

“An interesting usage,” said Um-Foad. “Nevertheless, quite clear and commendable … Now then! Who is this odd fellow, who comes sauntering across my property like Pululias, Friend of the Oak Trees?”

Rhialto looked around to where a tall handsome man with chestnut curls and graceful mannerisms stood casually inspecting the excavation. Rhialto said shortly: “I know the gentleman slightly; he has probably come to pay his respects. Hache-Moncour! Are you not far from your usual haunts?”

“Yes, in some degree.” Hache-Moncour turned away from the hole and approached. “The excellent Sarsem mentioned that you were indulging your fancies in these parts and since I had a trifle of other business along the way, I decided to pay my respects. You have dug a fine hole yonder, though I cannot divine its purpose here in this reprehensible landscape.”

Um-Foad retorted sharply: “Rhialto is a famous savant and student of antiquities; this landscape, of which you are making salutary use, is a parcel of my private acreage.”

“You must forgive me my trespass. I envy you a property so notable! Rhialto is indeed a scholar of wide fame … I will be moving along. It has been pleasant chatting with you both.”

Hache-Moncour strolled off behind Osherl’s cottage and disappeared from view.

“A most curious fellow!” declared Um-Foad. “Surely you do not number him among your intimates?”

“An acquaintance, only.”

From behind the shairo trees flanking Osherl’s cottage floated an almost invisible bubble. Rhialto watched with a frown as the bubble drifted over the hole and hung motionless.

“Still,” said Rhialto, “Hache-Moncour is a man of sensitive perceptions and many extraordinary talents.”

“He was notably fast on his feet when I hinted at a fee for his trespass. Yes, what have we here?” This to one of the diggers who had approached with an earthenware bowl. “Rhialto, here is the lantern! I claim your reward.”

Rhialto examined the object. “This is no lantern; it is a child’s porridge bowl, no doubt flung overboard during a tantrum. Notice the quaint scenes depicted in the base of the bowl. Here we have a flantic flying to its lair with a baby gripped in its claws. Here a pouncing langomir devours a somewhat older child, while here, aboard this ship, a small girl is being dragged overboard by a parrot-headed sea-monster. An interesting find, but neither lightning-ice nor lantern.”

Rhialto handed the bowl to Um-Foad, then, glancing casually about, took note that the bubble had drifted directly overhead.

An hour after sunset, with an afterglow the color of persimmon still rimming the sky, Rhialto took Osherl aside. “Who watches from the floating bubble? Is it Sarsem?”

“It is a madling, no more, with an eye illuminating a section of Hache-Moncour’s vision, so that he may watch all that transpires.”

“Catch it in a net and put it into a box, so that Hache-Moncour may enjoy a good night’s rest.”

“As you wish … It is done.”

“And who watches us now, and who listens to us?”

“No one. We are alone.”

“Osherl, I wonder why you persist in your deceptions?”

Osherl spoke in a startled tone: “What is it this time?”

“Today a bowl was brought from the hole. It had been thrown into the Santune Sea an epoch before the Perciplex was lost: so much I infer from the style of the ship and the nature of its rigging, and also from the animal species depicted in the decorations. Therefore, the stratum containing the Perciplex has already been mined. Still I lack the Perciplex! How do you explain this?”

“A curious situation, I readily admit,” said Osherl in hearty tones. “Let us examine the pit.”

“Bring light.”

Osherl and Rhialto went to the excavation and peered over the edge, with their lights illuminating the bottom. Osherl said: “See there?” With a beam of light he indicated an area to the side, near the circumference, which had been dug two feet deeper than the area at the center. “That is the spot where the bowl was found: in a deeper section of the hole. Are you now satisfied?”

“Not yet. If that level predated the Perciplex, and all other levels have yielded nothing, then the Perciplex must now reside in that small hummock of dirt at the very center of the hole.”

“So it would seem.”

“Well then, Osherl, why are you waiting? Descend into the hole, take up shovel and dig, while I hold the light.”

A figure came briskly out of the dusk. “Osherl? Rhialto? Why are you shining lights into my hole? Is this act not in default of our contract? Why, tonight of all nights, do you take these steps?”

“One night is much like another,” said Rhialto. “Do you begrudge us our evening stroll, that we may breathe the cool fresh air?”

“Certainly not! Still, why do you equip yourselves with strong and vibrant lights?”

“Obviously, to avoid stumbling into holes and excavations! Already, as you have noted, the lights have served us well. Careful there, Osherl! Shine your light behind you! That is a thorn-bush into which you were backing.”

“One cannot be too careful,” said Osherl. “Rhialto, have you taken enough of the evening air?”

“Quite enough. Good night, Um-Foad.”