“So it shall be.” Pirie Tamm hesitated, then said: “Call me again, as soon as you can. I will be more careful; I assure you of this."
“Don’t fret, Uncle Pirie. Perhaps it is not so bad, after all.”
“That would be my dearest hope."
Time had passed. Wayness sat slumped in the chair, staring sightlessly across the room. The intensity of her first emotions had brought spasms of shivering and tingling to her arms and legs and viscera; an acrid sensation had risen in her throat.
The physical reactions had passed, leaving her limp and dispirited.
The damage had been done, and done decisively. There was no way she could pretend otherwise. Julian could easily precede her to Croy by a full day or more. Ample time to seek out information, and then take steps to deny the same information to Wayness.
The idea aroused her to further spasms of fury. She took herself in hand. Emotion wasted her energies and accomplished nothing. Wayness heaved a deep sigh and sat up in the chair.
Life went on. She considered the evening which lay ahead. The information Lefaun Zadoury planned to sell her was now moot, but the prospect of explaining as much no longer amused her. Likewise, dining on cabbage rolls at Lena's Bistro in company with the morose and frugal curator had lost whatever appeal it might have had. Nevertheless, for want of anything better to do, she rose to her feet, bathed and changed into a knee-length gray frock with a narrow black collar and a long narrow panel of black frogging down the front.
The time was late afternoon. Wayness thought of the outdoor café in front of the hotel. She went to the window and surveyed the square. Slanting light from the westering sun illuminated the ancient granite flags. Wayness noticed that the cloaks and capes of persons crossing the square flapped to gusts of wind from the steppe. Donning her own soft gray cloak, Wayness went down to the outdoor café in front of the hotel, where she was served green Daghestani wine with bitters.
Despite her best efforts, Wayness could not avoid brooding about Julian Bohost and the deceit he had practiced upon Pirie Tamm. A question gnawed at her mind: how had Julian learned that the Charter and Grant were missing? There was no way of knowing. In any case, the secret was no longer a secret — nor, so she thought, had it been for twelve years.
Wayness sat in the wan sunlight, watching the folk of old Kiev as they went about their affairs. The sun declined and shadows fell across the square. Wayness shivered and retreated into the lobby. She made herself comfortable and presently began to doze. She awoke to find that six o'clock had come and gone. She sat up and looked about the lobby. Lefaun Zadoury was not yet in evidence. She picked up a journal and read of archaeological researches in Kharesm, keeping watch for the gaunt young curator from the corner of her eye.
A tall figure came to stand beside her chair without her noticing; she looked up, half-startled. It was Lefaun Zadoury, but in a new guise which made him almost unrecognizable. He wore long over-tight trousers striped in black and white, a pink shirt with a green and yellow cravat, along with a vest of heavy black twill and a long bottle-green coat open down the front. A low-crowned hat of pale brown canvas pulled down over his forehead.
With difficulty Wayness controlled her amusement. Lefaun Zadoury looked down at her half-suspiciously. “You are nicely turned out, I must say."
“Thank you.“ Wayness rose to her feet. “I did not recognize you at first; you are out of uniform.”
Lefaun’s long face twisted into a sardonic half-smile. “Did you expect to see me wearing a black gown?”
“Well no, but I did not expect such a dynamic display.” “Piffle and nonsense! I dress in whatever I pick up first. I am oblivious to style.”
“Hm.” Wayness looked him up and down, from big feet his black shoes to the soft-brimmed canvas hat. “I'm not so sure of that. You made a choice when you first bought your clothes.”
"Never! Everything I wear is plucked from the catch-as-catch-can rack at the fair, and these things were the first I found that would fit. They look well enough to suit me and cover my shanks from the wind. Well then: shall we go?” Lefaun added in a grumbling voice: “You were anxious to be out and in again almost before sunset, so I came a bit early, to show you something more of the town.”
“Just as you say.”
Outside the hotel Lefaun halted. "First: the square. You have already taken note of the churches, which have been rebuilt a dozen times, probably more. Still, they are said to be quaint. Are you familiar with the history of the far past?”
"Not particularly."
"Are you a student of ancient religions?”
"No.”
'"The churches will then be meaningless. As for me, I am bored with them, gaudy domes and all. We shall explore elsewhere.”
“Such as where? I do not want to be bored either.”
"Aha! Have no fear, you will be in my company!”
The two set off at a diagonal across the square, toward the hills of the Old Town. As they walked, Lefaun pointed out items of interest. “These granite flags were quarried in the Pontus and brought here by barge. It is said that each flag represents four dead men.” He glanced sidewise with eyebrows raised. “Why are you hopping and jumping like that?"
“I don’t quite know where to put my feet.”
Lefaun made an extravagant gesture. “Ignore all sentiment; walk where you will. They were low-class men, in any event. Do you think of dead cows when you eat meat?”
“I try not to do so.”
Lefaun nodded. “Yonder, on that contrivance of iron rods, is where Ivan Grodzny roasted the folk of Kiev for their misdeeds. That was long ago, of course, and the grill is a reconstruction. Directly to the side, in that little kiosk a vendor sells grilled sausages, which I think to be in rather bad taste.”
“Yes, quite."
Lefaun came to a halt. He pointed to the crest of a hill behind the Old Town. “Do you see that pillar? It is one hundred feet high. For five years the ascetic Omshats occupied the top of the pillar, from which he declaimed his soliloquies. There are two accounts of his going. Some say he simply disappeared from sight, though many folk were gathered around the base of the pillar at the time. Others claim that he was struck by a monstrous bolt of lightning."
“Perhaps both accounts are correct.”
“I suppose that’s possible. In any case, we are now at the center of the square. To the left is the Spice Merchants Quarter to the right is the Mercery. Both are places of considerable interest.”
“But we are going elsewhere?"
"Yes, even though we may encounter certain complexities which you, as an off-worlder might find incomprehensible."
“So far I understand you very well, or so I suspect."
Lefaun ignored the remark. “Let me try to instruct you. First, the premise: Kiev has a long tradition of intellectual and artistic achievement, as perhaps you are aware."
Wayness made an ambiguous sound. “Proceed."
“That is all in the background. The city has taken a mighty leap to become one of the most advanced centers of creative thought anywhere around the Reach.”
“That is interesting to hear.”
"Kiev is like a great laboratory where reverence for past aesthetic doctrine crashes headlong into utter contempt for the same doctrine — sometimes in the same individual, and the collision produces a coruscation of wonders.”
“Where does all this happen?" Wayness asked. “At the Funusti Museum?"
“Not necessarily, though the Prodromes, a select little society, numbers among its members both Tadiew Skander, whom you met today, and myself. In general, the venue is old Kiev itself, to be seen and heard and felt at places like the Bobadil, and the Nym, and Lena's and Dirty Edvard's, where liver and onions are served from wheelbarrows. At Stone Flower the motif is cockroaches, and there are some truly fine specimens! At the Universo, everyone walks about in the nude and collects as many signatures as possible on his or her bare skin. Some lucky folk were signed last year by the great Zoncha Temblada, and have not bathed since.”