Ecce and Old Earth

by Vance, Jack

  “It must be inspiring to work in such an atmosphere,” said Wayness politely.

  Lefaun Zadoury made a gesture which might have meant anything. “Well then, shall we look to our own business?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Come, if you please. We must fit you into a proper gown, like my own. This is the uniform of the museum. Don’t ask me to explain; all I know is that you will be conspicuous otherwise.”

  “Whatever you say.” Wayness followed Lefaun Zadoury into a side chamber. From a rack he selected a black gown which he held up against Wayness. “Too long.” He chose another gown. “This will serve well enough, though both material and cut leave much to be desired.”

  Wayness draped herself in the gown. “I feel different already.”

  “We will pretend that it is of the finest Kurian weave and the most stylish cut. Would you like a cup of tea and an almond cake? Or do you want to go directly to work?”

  “I am anxious to look at your collections,” said Wayness. “A cup of tea later, perhaps.”

  “So it shall be. The material is on the second floor.’’

  Lefaun Zadoury led the way up a sweeping marble staircase, along several tall corridors lined with shelves, at last into a room with a long heavy table at the center. Black-gowned curators and other museum personnel sat at the table, reading documents and making notes; others occupied small alcoves working at information screens; still others padded here and there carrying books, portfolios, a variety of other small articles. The room was silent; despite so much activity, nothing could be heard but the rustle of black cloth, the sound of paper sliding across paper, the pad of soft slippers upon the floor. Zadoury took Wayness into a room to the side and closed the door. “Now we can talk without disturbing the others.” He gave Wayness a sheet of paper. “I have listed the articles in our Naturalist collection. It comprises three categories. Perhaps if you explained your interest and what you were looking for, I could help you more efficiently.”

  “It is a complicated story” said Wayness. “Forty years ago a secretary of the Society disposed of some important papers, including receipts and proofs of payment, which have now come into question. If I could locate these papers, the Society would benefit greatly.”

  “I understand completely. If you can describe these papers, I will help you look.”

  Wayness smilingly shook her head. “I will know them when I see them. I’m afraid that I must do the work myself.”

  “Very well,” said Lefaun Zadoury. “The first category as you can see, consists of sixteen monographs, all devoted to semantic research.”

  Wayness recognized this to be the parcel which the museum had bought at the Gohoon auction.

  “The second category deals with the genealogy of the Counts de Flamanges.”

  “The third category ‘Miscellaneous Documents and papers,’ has never been collated and, so I suspect, will interest you more. Am I right?”

  “You are right.”

  “In that case, I will requisition the materials and bring them here. Compose yourself for a few minutes, if you please.”

  Lefaun Zadoury left the room, and in due course returned, pushing a cart. He unloaded three cases to the table. “Do not be alarmed,” he told Wayness, his manner almost jocular. “None of the cases are full to the brim. And now, since you reject my help, I will leave you to yourself.”

  “At the door Lefaun Zadoury touched a plaque and a small red light appeared. “I am required to activate the monitors. We have had some unfortunate experiences in the past.”

  Wayness shrugged. “Monitor all you like; my intentions are innocent.”

  “I’m sure of it,” said Lefaun Zadoury. “But not everyone demonstrates your many virtues.”

  Wayness darted him a speculative glance. “You are very gallant! But now I must go to work.”

  Lefaun Zadoury left the room, obviously pleased with himself. Wayness turned to the table. She thought: “I might not be so innocent and many-virtued if I caught sight of the Charter or the Grant. We shall see.”

  The first of the cases contained thirty-five neatly bound pamphlets, each a biographical study of one of the founders of the Naturalist Society.

  “Sad!” mused Wayness. “These tracts should be back in the care of the Naturalist Society. Not that anyone would ever read them.”

  Certain of the volumes, so Wayness noticed, showed signs of hard usage, and their pages in some cases were annotated.

  The names involved were meaningless; Wayness gave her attention to the second case. She found several treatises dealing with the genealogy and connections of the Counts de Flamanges across a span of two thousand years.

  Wayness gave her mouth a twitch of disappointment and turned to the third case, though she had lost hope of finding anything significant. The contents of the third case were miscellaneous papers, newspaper clippings and photographs, all relating to the proposed construction of a spacious and beautiful edifice, to house the general offices of the Naturalist Society. Within the structure ample space existed for a College of Naturalistic Science, Art and Philosophy; a museum and monstratory; and possibly even a variety of vivaria, where life forms of far worlds might be studied in a near-native environment. Advocates of the scheme spoke of the reputation which would accrue to the Society; opponents decried the vast expense and wondered as to the need for such an expansive facility. Many pledged large sums to the proposal; Count Blaise de Flamanges offered a tract of three hundred acres from his estates in the Moholc.

  Enthusiasm for the project climaxed a few years before Frons Nisfit’s arrival on the scene, but the fervor waned, when full financial support for the scheme was not forthcoming, and finally Count Blaise de Flamanges withdrew his offer of land and the concept was abandoned. Wayness stood back in disgust. She had come upon not so much as a mention of either Cadwal, the Cadwal Charter or the Grant. Once again the trail had met a dead end. Lefaun Zadoury reappeared. He looked from Wayness to the cases. “And how go your researches?”

  “Not well.”

  Lefaun Zadoury went to the table, glanced into the cases and opened a few of the books and pamphlets. “Interesting, or so I suppose. This sort of stuff is not my specialty. In any case, the time for refreshment has arrived. Are you ready for a cup of good yellow tea and perhaps a biscuit? Such small pleasures enhance our existence!”

  “I am ready for some enhanced existence. Can we leave these documents in the open? Or will I be scolded by the monitor?”

  Lefaun Zadoury glanced toward the red light, but it could no longer be seen. “The system has gone awry. You could have stolen the moon and no one would have noticed. Come along, all the same; the documents will be safe.”

  Lefaun Zadoury escorted Wayness to a small noisy lunch room where Museum personnel sat at spindly little tables drinking tea. Everyone wore black gowns and Wayness saw that she would have been conspicuous indeed in her ordinary clothes.

  The dismal garments affected neither the volume nor the pace of conversation; everyone talked at once, pausing only long enough to swallow gulps of tea from earthenware mugs.

  Lefaun Zadoury found a vacant table and they were served tea and cakes. Lefaun looked to right and left apologetically. “The splendor and the luxury as well as the best cakes, are reserved for the big-wigs, who use Prince Konevitsky’s grand dining room. I have seen them at it. Each uses three knives and four forks to eat his herring, and wipes the grease from his face with a napkin two feet square. The riffraff like ourselves must be content with less, though still we pay fifteen pence for our snack.”

  Wayness said gravely: “I am an off-worlder and perhaps naive, but it seems not all so bad. For a fact, in one of my cakes I found no less than four almonds!”

  Lefaun Zadoury gave a dour grunt. “The subject is complex and yields only to careful analysis.”

  Wayness had no comment to make and the two sat in silence. A young man of frail physique, so that he seemed almost lost inside his black gown, ca
me up to mutter into Lefaun Zadoury’s ear. Untidy wisps of blond hair fell over his forehead; his eyes were watery blue and his complexion was bad; Wayness wondered if he might not be in poor health. He spoke with nervous intensity, tapping the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other.

  Wayness’ thoughts wandered, into regions of gloom and discouragement. The morning’s work had produced no new information and the trail which had led by fits and starts from the Society to the Funusti Museum had come to a dead end. Where next? In theory she could try to trace each of the names on the Gohoon listings, on the chance that one had possibly bought from the third parcel, but the work was so immoderately large and the chances of success so small that she put the project out of her mind. She became aware that Lefaun Zadoury and his friend were discussing her, each in turn murmuring into the other’s ear. After delivering his opinion, each would turn a surreptitious glance toward her as if to verify his remark. Smiling to herself, Wayness pretended to ignore them. She reflected upon the scheme to erect a magnificent new headquarters for the Naturalist Society. A pity that the project had come to naught! Almost certainly Frons Nisfit would never have found such easy scope for plunder. She mused further and a new idea began to tick in her mind.

  Lefaun Zadoury’s friend went his way; Wayness watched him stride off across the lunchroom, arms and elbows jerking erratically to the side.

  Lefaun Zadoury turned back to Wayness. “A good fellow, that! His name is Tadiew Skander. Have you ever heard of him?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Lefaun Zadoury gave his fingers a condescending fillip. “There are –”

  Wayness interrupted him. “Excuse me a moment, please. I must check a reference.”

  “Of course!” Leaning back in his chair Lefaun Zadoury folded his hands on his chest, and watched Wayness with dispassionate curiosity.

  ‘‘Wayness looked into a pocket of her shoulder-bag and extracted the pages she had copied at Gohoon Galleries, listing the items in parcels One and Two. She glanced under her eyelashes toward Lefaun Zadoury; his gaze was again impassive as ever. Wayness twisted her mouth into a crooked wince and shifted her position in the chair; the scrutiny was causing her skin to crawl. She frowned, twitched her nose and thereafter ignored Lefaun Zadoury as best she could.

  Wayness carefully studied the lists, one after the other and was gratified to find that her memory had been accurate: none of the three cases she had studied in museum workroom were represented on the Gohoon list: no works of genealogy, nor biographical studies, nor yet documents pertaining to a new headquarters for the Naturist Society.

  Odd, thought Wayness. Why was there no correspondence?

  The implications of the discovery suddenly struck Wayness. She felt a tingle of excitement. Since the material had not come from Gohoon, it had come from somewhere else.

  Where, then?

  And of equal importance: when? Since if the Funusti’s acquisition had been made before Nisfit’s tenure, then whole question became moot.

  Wayness tucked the lists back into her shoulder-bag and considered Lefaun Zadoury, who met her gaze with the same imperturbable expression as before.

  “I must get back to my work,” said Wayness.

  “As you like.” Lefaun Zadoury rose to his feet. “There were no extras. You need pay thirty pence only.”

  Wayness darted him a quick glance but made no comment and placed three coins on the table. The two returned to the workroom. Lefaun Zadoury made a grand gesture toward the table. “Notice, if you please! It is as I said! Nothing has been disturbed!”

  “I am relieved,” said Wayness. ‘“If anything were amiss I might be held responsible and severely punished.”

  Lefaun Zadoury pursed his lips. “Such incidents are rare.”

  “I am lucky to have the benefit of such expert advice,” said Wayness. “Your knowledge would seem to be comprehensive.”

  Lefaun Zadoury said judiciously, “At the very least I try to function with professional competence.”

  “Would you know how and when the Museum acquired this material?”

  Lefaun Zadoury blew out his cheeks. “No. But I can find out in short order, if you are interested.”

  “I am interested.”

  “Just a moment, then.” Lefaun Zadoury stalked into the adjoining room and seated himself in one of the alcoves before an information screen. He worked the controls, studied the screen, gave his head a jerk, signalizing the flux of information from the screen into his brain. Wayness watched from the doorway.

  Lefaun Zadoury rose to his feet and returned to the workroom. Carefully he closed the door, and stood as if mulling over a set of complicated ideas. Wayness waited patiently. At last she asked: “What did you learn?”

  “Nothing.”

  Wayness tried to keep her voice from becoming a squeak. “Nothing?”

  “I learned that the information is not available, if that that suits you better. We are dealing with the gift of an anonymous donor.”

  “Ridiculous!” Wayness muttered. “I can’t understand such secrecy!”

  “Neither the Funusti Museum nor the universe at large is an inherently logical place,” said Lefaun Zadoury. “Are you finished with this material?”

  “Not yet. I must think.”

  Lefaun Zadoury remained in the room, standing half expectantly, or so it seemed to Wayness. What could he be waiting for? She put a tentative question: “Is the information known to anyone at the museum?”

  Lefaun Zadoury raised his eyes toward the ceiling. “I should think that one of the pombahs in the GEP – that’s the Office of Gifts, Endowments and Procurements – keeps a compendium of such information. It would be highly inaccessible, of course.”

  Wayness said thoughtfully: “I myself might offer a small endowment to the museum if I were supplied this trifling bit of information.”

  “Even impossible things are thinkable,” said Lefaun Zadoury. “But now we are dealing with persons in high places, and they hardly turn their heads to spit for less than a thousand sols.”

  “Ha! That is totally out of the question. I can endow a sum of ten sols, with another ten to you for your expert counsel: twenty sols in all.”

  Lefaun threw up his hands in shock. “How could I mention a sum so paltry to the exalted personage whom I would need to consult?”

  “It seems very simple to me. Point out that a few words and ten sols is better than dead silence and no sols.”

  “True,” said Lefaun. “Well then, so be it. In view of our friendly association I will risk making a fool of myself. Excuse me for a few minutes.” Lefaun Zadoury departed the room. Wayness went to the table and surveyed the three cases. Biographies of thirty-five early Naturalists, genealogical data, and documents relating to the construction of palatial new headquarters for the Society: nothing she cared to re-examine at the moment.

  Ten minutes passed. Lefaun Zadoury returned to the room. For a few seconds he stood appraising Wayness with a faint smile which she found unsettling. Finally she told herself: “In anyone else that would be considered a saturnine, or cynical, leer, but I believe that Lefaun Zadoury is merely trying to present an affable, debonair image. “Aloud, she said: “You seem pleased. What did you learn?”

  Lefaun came forward. “I was right, of course. The official sneered at me and asked if I had been born yesterday. I told him no, that I was trying to oblige a charming young lady, and with that he relented, though he insisted that the entire endowment, all twenty sols, be paid into his control. Naturally, I had no choice but to agree. Perhaps you will wish to make an adjustment.” He waited, but Wayness said nothing. Lefaun’s smile slowly drained away, leaving his face as morose as ever. “In any case, you must now pay the stipulated sum over to me.”

  Wayness stared in wonder. “Really, Mr. Zadoury! That is not the way things are done!”

  “How so?”

  “When you bring me the information, and I verify it, then I will make the endowment.”


  “Bah!” grumbled Lefaun. “What is the use of so much rigmarole?”

  “Simple enough. Once money is paid over, no one is ever in any hurry, and meanwhile I sit waiting in the Mazeppa Hotel for days on end.”

  “Hmf,” sniffed Lefaun. “Why is the name of this donor so important?”

  Wayness patiently explained. “In order to renew the Society, we need the help of old Naturalist families.”

  “Are these names not listed among Society records?”

  “The records were damaged some time ago by an irresponsible Secretary. Now we are trying to repair the damage.”

  “To destroy records is a crime against reason! Luckily, everything that has been written once has probably been written ten times.”

  “I hope so,” said Wayness. “It is why I am here.”

  Lefaun pondered for a moment, then spoke, somewhat abruptly: “The situation is more complicated than you might think. The information will not reach me until this evening.”

  “That is inconvenient.”

  “Not necessarily!” declared Lefaun in a sudden burst of enthusiasm. “I will take advantage of the occasion to show you the sights and sounds of Old Kiev! It will be an important evening, which you will never forget!”

  Wayness, feeling the need for support, leaned back against the table. “I would not think of putting you to so much trouble. You might bring the information to my hotel, or I will come to the museum early tomorrow.”

  Lefaun held up his hand. “Not another word! It will be my great pleasure!”

  Wayness sighed. “What do you have in mind?”

  “First, we shall dine at the Pripetskaya, which specializes in reed-birds on the spit. But first: a dish of jellied eels dressed with caviar. Nor will we neglect the Mingrelian venison, in currant sauce.”

  “All this sounds expensive,” said Wayness. “Who is paying?”

  Lefaun Zadoury blinked. “It occurred to me that since you are spending Society funds -”

  “But I am not spending Society funds.”

  “Well then, we can share expenses. This is my usual habit when I dine in company with my friends.”