In the Art and Music room Wayness came upon the collection of primitive pottery to which she had been recommended by the clerk at the hotel. The pieces were displayed upon the shelves of a glass-fronted cabinet. There were a dozen bowls, some high, some low and as many other utensils. Most had been broken and restored; a few showed rudimentary decoration: patterns of stippling or scratches. The ware had been formed either by pressing slabs of clay into baskets, then firing basket and all or by the hand-forming of slabs into the shape desired. A placard attributed the pieces to 'the Zuntil folk’: semi-barbarian hunters and gatherers resident in the area many thousands of years before the coming of the Europeans. The pieces had been discovered by local Archaeologists at sites along the Azumi River, a few miles north and west of Pombareales.
Wayness frowned at the collection, which had just inserted a rather good idea into her mind. She considered the idea from all angles, but could find no flaws. Of course she would be required to become a liar, a sneak and a hypocrite. But what of that? To make an omelet one must break eggs. She turned to the librarian who sat at a nearby desk: an angular young man with soft sandy hair a wide thinker's forehead, a high-bridged beak of a nose, a bony jaw and chin. He had been watching Wayness from the side of his face. Meeting her gaze, he blushed and looked hurriedly away, then could not resist another glance.
Wayness smiled at him, and approached his desk. She asked: “Did you arrange the showing of this collection?”
The librarian grinned. “So I did, in part, at any rate. I did none of the digging. That was the work of my uncle and his friend. They are the diggers, and very keen. I don’t fancy it all that much, myself."
“You miss most of the fun!"
“Perhaps,” said the librarian. He added, in a thoughtful voice: "Last week my uncle and his friend Dante went out on a dig. My uncle was stung by a scorpion. He jumped into the river. During the afternoon his friend Dante was chased by a bull. He jumped into the river too."
“Hm.” Wayness considered the collection of pots. “Did they go out again this week to dig?”
"No. They went to the cantina instead.”
Wayness had no comment to make.
Beside the collection several maps of the region were posted. One of these marked the location of the Zuntil sites; another, on a larger scale, displayed the reach of the various Inca Empires: the Early, the Middle and the Late. Wayness said: “Apparently the Incas never ranged quite so far south as Pombareales."
“They probably sent war parties out from time to time. But no one has ever found any authentic sites closer than Sandoval, which might well have been nothing more than a trading post.”
Wayness spoke offhandedly: "I think that is what the leader of our expedition wants to establish, one way or the other.”
The librarian gave a wry chuckle. “There have been more expeditions at Sandoval than ever there were Incas."
He appraised Wayness anew. “You are an archaeologist, then?"
Wayness laughed. “After this year in the field and three more years in the laboratory sorting out bones — ask me again." She looked around the room. “You are not too busy to talk?”
“Definitely not! Today is always a slack day. Sit down, if you like. My name is Evan Faures.”
Wayness demurely seated herself. “I am Wayness Tamm.”
The conversion proceeded. Wayness presently inquired about caves in the mountains and legends of Inca gold. “It would be fun to find a great box of treasure.”
Evan looked over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t dare mention Professor Solomon, if Irena Portils were within hearing distance. But I think she has gone home for the day.”
“Who is Professor Solomon and who is Irena Portils?”
"Aha!" said Evan. “There you touch upon one of our most notorious scandals.”
“Tell me about it. I like scandals.”
Evan once again looked over his shoulder. “Irena Portils is part of the staff. As I understand it, she was once a dancer or some such thing, and went off-world with a troupe of entertainers. She returned married to an archeologist named Professor Solomon, who declared himself to be famous everywhere. He made a good impression and became one of the town dignitaries.”
"One evening, at a dinner party with friends, Professor Solomon seemed to become convivial and perhaps a trifle indiscreet. In strict confidence he told his friends he had come upon an old map which located a secret cave in which the conquistadores had hidden a treasure of newly minted gold doubloons. ‘Probably just a mare’s nest,’ said Professor Solomon, ‘but interesting all the same.’”
“A day or two later Professor Solomon slipped away into the mountains. His friends, as soon as they learned of his absence, put discretion aside and told everyone of Professor Solomon’s gold.”
“A month passed, and Professor Solomon returned. When his friends pressed him for information, he reluctantly showed them four gold doubloons, and said that he needed a few special tools to dig away the debris which now covered the chest. Shortly thereafter he disappeared again.”
“The news of his discovery excited a great deal of interest and also avarice. When Professor Solomon returned with four hundred doubloons, he was besieged with offers from collectors. He allowed several of the doubloons to be assayed, which diminished their value, so no one was surprised when he refused to test any of the others. One day at noon precisely he sold the doubloons. Swarms of excited collectors came swearing and screaming and waving their money in the air. Professor Solomon sold the doubloons in parcels of ten, and all four hundred were gone before the hour was over. Then Professor Solomon thanked the collectors for their interest, and said he was off to explore another cave which might yield an even greater treasure of Inca emeralds. He departed, amid acclaim and congratulations. This time he took Irena Portils with him.”
"Peace returned to Pombareales, but not for long. A few days later it became known that the collectors had all paid very large sums for doubloons stamped from lead, then plated over with a thin wash of gold. Their value was negligible.”
"Collectors are not a fatalistic lot. Consternation gave way to outrage and fury even none intense than the previous enthusiasm."
"So what happened?”
"Nothing. If Professor Solomon had been dragged from his hiding place, pelted with stones, hanged, drawn, quartered, then burnt alive at the stake, and afterwards whipped to within an inch of his life, and finally crucified upside down and forced to pay back all his debts at compound interest, the emotions might have been soothed. But he was nowhere to be found, and to this day no one has suggested amnesty for Professor Solomon. As for Irena Portils, she returned after a few years with her two children.
She claimed that Professor Solomon had deserted her. Further, she declared that she knew nothing of the swindle, and she wanted only to be left alone. No one could prove her complicity, though they tried hard enough. After a while Irena came to work at the library. The years went by and that is how things stand today.”
“And where is Professor Solomon? Do you think she keeps in touch with him?”
Evan smiled a chilly half-smile. “I don’t know. I would never dare to ask. She keeps herself to herself.”
“Has she no friends?”
"None, so far as I know. At the library, she does her work, she manages to speak politely when necessary, but she seems only half-focused, as if her thoughts were far away. Sometimes her tensions are so strong that everyone near becomes edgy. It’s as if great storms were raging inside her, and she were holding herself together only with effort."
“How odd.”