“Of course I remember! You are here more quickly than I had expected. Are you coming to the museum?"
“If it is convenient.”
“One time is as good as another! I shall look forward to seeing you; in fact, I will try to meet you in the loggia."
Lefaun Zadoury enthusiasm, muted as it was, assured Wayness that her decision not to call Funusti Museum the previous afternoon had been correct.
A cab took Wayness north along Sorka Boulevard with the Dnieper River to the right and a row of massive apartment blocks of concrete and glass to the left, with tier upon tier of other apartment blocks ranged along the hills behind. The cab at last turned up a side road, wound up the hillside and halted in front of a massive structure, overlooking the river and the steppe beyond.
“The Funusti Museum," said the cab driver. "Once the palace of Prince Konevitsky, where the lords dined on fine meats and honeycakes by day and danced the fandango by night. Now it is quiet as the grave, a place where everyone walks on tiptoe and wears black. And should one dare to belch one must crawl under a table to hide. Which, then, is better: the joys of splendor and grace, or the black shame of pedantry and mingering? The question supplies its own answer."
Wayness alighted from the cab. “I see that you are something of a philosopher."
“True! It is in my blood! But first and foremost, I am a Cossack!"
"And what is a Cossack?”
The driver stared incredulously. “Can I believe my ears? But know I see that you are an off-worlder. Well then, a Cossack is a natural aristocrat; he is fearless and steadfast and cannot be coerced. Even as a cab driver he conducts himself with Cossack dignity. At the end of a journey, he does not calculate his fare; he announces the first figure that comes into his head. If the passenger does not choose to pay, well then: what of that? The driver gives him a single glance of contempt and drives off in disdain."
“Interesting. And what fare are you calling out to me?"
"Three sols."
“That is far too much. Here is a sol. You may accept it or drive off in disdain."
"Since you are an off-worlder and do not understand these things, I will take the money. Shall I wait? There is nothing here of interest you will be in and out in a trice.”
"No such luck,” said Wayness. "I must pore over some tiresome old papers and I cannot guess how long I will be."
"As you wish."
Wayness crossed the front terrace and entered a marble floored loggia which seemed alive with echoes. Gilded pilasters stood along the wall; above hung an enormous chandelier of ten thousand crystals. Wayness looked here and there but saw no sign of Lefaun Zadoury the curator. Then, as if from nowhere, a tall gaunt figure appeared, marching across the loggia at a bent-kneed lope, his black gown fluttering behind. He halted and looked down at Wayness, lank black hair, black eyebrows and black eyes at stark contrast to his white skin. He spoke in a voice without accent: “The chances are good that you are Wayness Tamm."
“Quite good. And you are Lefaun Zadoury?”
The curator responded with a measured nod. He studied Wayness from head to toe, then back to head. He gave a gentle sigh and shook his head. “Amazing!"
"How so?"
“You are younger and less imposing than the person I might have expected.”
“Next time I will send my mother.”
Lefaun Zadoury’s long bony jaw dropped. "I spoke incautiously, in essence — ”
“It is no great matter.” Wayness looked around the octagonal loggia. “This is an impressive chamber. I had not imagined such grandeur!"
“Yes, it is well enough,” Lefaun Zadoury glanced about the room as if seeing it for the first time. “The chandelier is absurd, of course. A behemoth of large expense and little illumination. Someday it will fall in a great splintering jangle and kill someone."
'"That would be a pity."
“Yes, no doubt. In general, the Konevitskys lacked good taste. The marble tiles, for example, are banal. The pilasters are out of scale and of the wrong order.”
“Really! I had not noticed.”
“The museum itself transcends such deficiencies. We have the world's finest collection of Sassanian intaglios, a great deal of absolutely unique Minoan glass, and we own the complete sequence of the Leonie Bismaie miniatures. Our Department of Semantic Equivalences is also considered excellent.”
“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 slide 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."