“One moment! I want another instalment paid on your debt.”

“Um-Foad, do you always work to such narrow margins? Here is another five gold zikkos. Be content for a period.”

In the morning Rhialto was early at the sifting box, and scrutinized each load of dirt brought from the hole with special care. Um-Foad, taking note of Rhialto’s attentiveness, became even more officious, often pushing Rhialto aside so that he might be first to inspect the siftings. The workmen, observing Um-Foad’s distraction, relaxed their efforts to such an extent that dirt arrived to the screen at ever longer intervals. Um-Foad at last took note of the situation and, running to the edge of the hole, set matters right. The workers, however, had lost the edge of their zeal. Yaa-Yimpe, complaining both of ague and lumbar spasms, refused to work under what he felt to be Rhialto’s niggardly dispositions. Climbing from the hole, he returned to the village.

Somewhat later, a young man came running out from the village and accosted Rhialto. “Yaa-Yimpe is somewhat deaf; he did not understand that you had offered gold coins in exchange for blue lightning-ice. He now wishes to inform you that he found a fragment of the stuff today. You may entrust the reward to me, his grandson; Yaa-Yimpe is too tired to come out himself, and also he is planning a feast.” The grandson, brisk and eager, with bright round eyes and a toothy grin, extended his hand.

Rhialto spoke crisply. “I must inspect this lightning-ice, to test its quality. Come, take me to Yaa-Yimpe.”

The young man scowled. “He does not wish to be irked with details; give me the gold coins now, as well as my gratuity.”

“Not another word!” thundered Rhialto. “At once! To the village!”

The young man sulkily led Rhialto to a house where festivities congratulating Yaa-Yimpe on the occasion of his reward were already in progress. Joints of meat turned on the spit and casks of wine had been broached. On a platform to the side six musicians played tankles, jigs and tyreens for the pleasure of the guests.

As Rhialto approached, Yaa-Yimpe himself, wearing only a pair of short loose pantaloons, emerged from the house. The company called out plaudits and the musicians struck up a lively quickstep. Yaa-Yimpe darted forward to dance a high-kicking saltarello, entailing quick rushing lunges back and forth, with thrust-forward belly shaking in double-time.

In his fervor Yaa-Yimpe jumped on the table, to perform a stamping arm-swinging hornpipe. Around his neck the Perciplex swung by a thong tied around its middle.

Yaa-Yimpe suddenly took note of Rhialto and jumped to the ground.

Rhialto spoke politely: “I am happy to find that your sufferings have been eased.”

“True! Notice the lightning-ice! You may now give me the twenty gold zikkos.”

Rhialto held out his hand. “Immediately, but let me inspect the prism!”

Hache-Moncour jumped forward from the side. “One moment! It is more appropriate that I take custody of this object! Here, sir! Your twenty gold zikkos!” Hache-Moncour flung the coins into Yaa-Yimpe’s ready hand, snatched the Perciplex and strode to the side.

Rhialto made a convulsive motion forward but Hache-Moncour cried out: “Stand back, Rhialto! I must study the authenticity of this object!” He held the prism up to the light. “As I expected: a shameless hoax! Rhialto, we have been misled!” Hache-Moncour flung the prism to the ground, pointed his finger; the object broke into a hundred gouts of blue fire and was gone.

Rhialto stared numbly at the scorched ground. Hache-Moncour spoke in a kindly voice: “Seek elsewhere, Rhialto, if you are so minded; your work is truly useful! If you discover another arrant forgery, or even if you suspect as much, call on me again for advice. I bid you good-day.” Hache-Moncour was gone as quickly as he had come, leaving Yaa-Yimpe and his guests staring open-mouthed.

Rhialto slowly returned to the excavation. Osherl stood in front of his hut, looking pensively off into the sky. Shalukhe the Swimmer sat cross-legged on a rug before the pavilion, eating grapes. Um-Foad came at the run from the excavation. “Rhialto, what are all these rumors?”

“I have no time for rumors,” said Rhialto. “Still, you may now halt the digging.”

“So soon? What of the Cloud-king’s lantern?”

“I begin to think it a myth. I must return to study my references.”

“In that case, I demand the full balance of what you owe.”

“Certainly,” said Rhialto. “Where is your invoice?”

“I have prepared no formal document. The due amount, however, is fifty-two golden zikkos.”

“Highly exorbitant!” cried Rhialto. “Have you not miscalculated?”

“I include the use and enjoyment of my land, by day and by night; labor costs, in both digging and refilling the hole; re-landscaping and re-planting the site; my own fees, both as supervisor and consultant; certain honorariums due the civic functionaries; imposts and —”

Rhialto held up his hand. “You have already told me more than I care to hear. For my part, I want only the porridge bowl, for a souvenir.”

Um-Foad’s mustaches bristled anew. “Can you be serious? That is a valuable antique, worth at least ten zikkos!”

“Whatever you say.”

Um-Foad found the porridge bowl and tendered it to Rhialto. “Now then, my money, and let there be no mistakes in the tally.”

Rhialto passed over a satchel. Um-Foad counted the contents with satisfaction. He rose to his feet. “I take it that you are now vacating the premises?”

“Almost immediately.”

“My fees resume at Midnight.” Um-Foad gave a crisp signal of farewell, then, striding to the pit, called up the workers and the group returned to the village.

The geranium-red sun floated down the western sky. With the cessation of activity the site seemed unnaturally quiet. Rhialto stood in contemplation of the pit. Shalukhe the Swimmer lazed on the rug before the pavilion. Osherl stood in the entrance to his cottage, looking off across the landscape with a somewhat moony expression.

Rhialto heaved a deep sigh and turned to Osherl: “Well then, I am waiting to hear what you have to say.”

Osherl’s eyes went unfocused. “Ah yes … I am happy to hear that Yaa-Yimpe has recovered his health.”

“Is that all? You are curiously placid. Have you no word in regard to the Perciplex?”

Osherl scratched his cheek. “Did you not come to agreement with Yaa-Yimpe?”

“Why should I bother, when he held a patently false version of the Perciplex?”

“Indeed? How could even Rhialto make so definite a finding, when he never so much as laid hands on the object?”

Rhialto shook his head sadly. “My dear fellow, you yourself certified the object as brummagem when you allowed it to be found in the same stratum as the porridge bowl.”

“Not at all! You yourself saw how the area of the porridge bowl was well below the central knob which yielded the Perciplex.”

“Exactly so: the same levels, when they should have been six feet or more apart.”

“Hmmf,” said Osherl. “Somewhere you have made errors. One cannot judge important matters on the basis of porridge bowls.”

“In sheer point of fact, you and Sarsem were careless, though I am sure you enjoyed your trick, chuckling and nudging each other in the ribs as you envisioned poor Rhialto’s distress.”

Osherl, stung, cried out: “Error once again! The arrangements were made in all dignity! Also, your theories lack proof. The bowl may imitate the early style, or it might have been preserved exactly one epoch and then thrown into the sea!”

“Osherl, you walk the very brink of absurdity. My so-called ‘theories’ stand on two legs: first, logical deduction; and second, simple observation. The object which you allowed Yaa-Yimpe to find admittedly resembled the Perciplex — in fact enough to deceive Hache-Moncour. But not me.”

Osherl blinked in puzzlement. “How are your eyes so keen and Hache-Moncour’s so dull?”

“I am not only wise and just; I am intelligent. Hache-Moncour boasts only a low animal cunning scarcely superior to your own.”