15
The pavilion now stood in the blaze of geranium-red sunlight. The sky was clear of clouds and overcast; the air felt warm, dry and carried a smoky-tart odor exhaled by a low-growing black bush. To the west the gleam of the retreating Santune Sea was yet visible, with a village of white cottages among low trees a half-mile away. In other directions the steppe spread away over the horizon.
At a distance of a hundred feet stood a small white cottage, with a massive black shairo tree rising high to each side. On the porch sat Osherl, in the guise of a low-caste vagabond, or lack-wit, with blinking eyes, sandy hair and upper teeth hanging foolishly over a receding chin. Osherl wore a soiled gown of coarse white cloth and a low flap-brimmed hat.
Taking note of Rhialto, Osherl waved a limp-fingered hand. “Ah Rhialto! After so long a vigil, even your face is welcome!”
Rhialto responded in a manner somewhat more cool. He surveyed the cottage. “You seem to have made yourself thoroughly comfortable. I hope that, in your ease, you have not neglected the security of the Perciplex?”
Osherl responded evenly: “My ‘comfort’, as you put it, is primordial, and is basically designed to protect me from night-prowling beasts. I lack both silken couches and attentive subalterns.”
“And the Perciplex?”
Osherl jerked his thumb toward a rusty iron post fifty yards away. “Directly under that post, at some unknown depth, lies the Perciplex.”
Rhialto, surveying the area, noticed racks of empty flagons to the side of the cottage. “Mind you, I intend neither criticism nor scorn, but is it possible that you have taken to drink?”
“And if so, what then?” grumbled Osherl. “The vigil has been long. To vary the tedium, I compound tonics of various flavors which I sell to the villagers.”
“Why did you not start an exploratory tunnel towards the Perciplex?”
“Need I explain? I feared that if I did so and found nothing, I would be forced to endure your reproaches. I decided to take no initiatives.”
“What of, let us say, competing entities?”
“I have not been molested.”
Rhialto’s keen ear detected an almost imperceptible nicety of phrasing. He asked sharply: “Have either Sarsem or Hache-Moncour made their presence known?”
“To no significant degree, if any. They understand the importance of our work, and would not think to interfere.”
“Just so. Might they have sunk a shaft at a distance, let us say, of ten miles, and driven a tunnel so that they came upon the Perciplex in a manner beyond your knowledge?”
“Impossible. I am not easily fooled. I arranged devices to signal all illicit incursions, either temporal, torsional, squalmaceous, or dimensional. The Perciplex is as before.”
“Excellent. You may commence your excavation at once.”
Osherl only made himself more comfortable in his chair. “First things first! This acreage is owned by a certain Um-Foad, resident at the village Az-Khaf, which you see yonder. He must be consulted before a single shovelful of dirt is turned. I suggest that you visit him at his home and make the arrangements. But first! Dress in garments like my own, to avoid ridicule.”
Dressed in accordance with Osherl’s recommendations, Rhialto and Shalukhe sauntered off to Az-Khaf.
They discovered a neat village of stark white houses in gardens of enormous red sun-flowers.
Rhialto made inquiries and the two were directed to a house with windows of blue glass and a roof of blue tile. Standing in the street Rhialto called across the garden, until Um-Foad at last came out upon his porch: a man small and white-haired with a shrewd darting gaze and a fine mustache with sharply upturned points. He called out sharply: “Who calls the name ‘Um-Foad’ and for what purpose? He may or may not be at home.”
“I am Rhialto, a student of antiquities. This is my assistant Shalukhe the Swimmer. Will you come here, or shall we go there, so that we need not shout?”
“Shout as loud as you like. I am only here to listen.”
Rhialto spoke in a quiet voice: “I wish to speak of money.”
Um-Foad came bounding forward, mustache a-bristle. “Speak up, sir! Did you mention money?”
“Perhaps you mis-heard me. We want to dig a hole on your land.”
“For what purpose, and how much will you pay?”
“More to the point: what will you pay us?” demanded Rhialto. “We are enhancing the value of your land.”
Um-Foad laughed scornfully. “So that when I walk out by night, I fall in the hole and break my head? If you dig, you must pay! And you must pay once again for the refill! That is the first stipulation.”
“And the second?”
Um-Foad chuckled wisely and tapped the side of his nose. “Do you take me for a fool? I know full well that valuable objects are buried on my land. If treasure is found, all belongs to me. If you dig, you acquire rights only in the hole.”
“Unreasonable! Is there a third stipulation?”
“There is indeed! The excavation contract must be tendered to my brother Um-Zuic. I will personally act as project supervisor. Further, all payments must be made in gold zikkos of recent mintage.”
Rhialto tried to argue, but Um-Foad proved to be a negotiator of great skill and in every important essential had his way with Rhialto.
As Rhialto and Shalukhe returned to the pavilion, she said: “You are most generous in your dealings, or so it seems to me. Um-Foad is obsessively avaricious.”
Rhialto agreed. “In the presence of money, Um-Foad is like a hunger-maddened shark. Still, why not allow the fellow his hour of pleasure? It is as easy to promise two hundred gold zikkos as a hundred.”
“Rhialto, you are a kindly man!” said Shalukhe.
