The last meeting of Sheyel’s informal discussion group had occurred two days before graduation. It had been a farewell, and the students had brought the goodies for a change, and had given Sheyel a plaque, which had read FOR UNRELENTING ADEQUACY. The reference was to his assertion that the standards in their group were so high that adequacy constituted a singular achievement.
The house was stone and glass, in the Sylvan style, with a rooftop garden and a large bay window overlooking a country lane. A portico dominated the eastern side, and a pool occupied the rear. A postlight had been turned on to welcome her.
She recalled standing by the pool at that last meeting, sipping a lime drink—how odd that that detail would stay with her—in a group with Sheyel and another instructor and two or three students, and the subject had turned to the sorry state of human history: its long catalog of blood, desperation, corruption, missed opportunities, oppression, and often suicidal policies. And Sheyel had commented on what he perceived as a root cause:
There is, he’d said, an inverse correlation between the amount of power a person has and the level at which his or her mind functions. A person of ordinary intelligence who acquires power, of whatever kind, tends to develop an exaggerated view of his own capabilities. Sycophants gather. There is little or no criticism of decisions. As his ability to disrupt the lives of others advances, these tendencies become stronger. Eventually you end with Louis the Fourteenth, who thinks he’s done a good job for France, although the country he left behind was ruined.
The front door opened and Sheyel stepped outside. He looked up and waved at the descending cab. She waved back. The taxi eased down onto the pad and he came over to help her out.
“It’s good to see you, Kim,” he said. “I can’t tell you how indebted I am to you.”
“I’m glad I’ve been able to help.”
They stood in the bright afternoon sunlight, studying each other. He wore a dark blue loose-fitting shirt with long sleeves, and light gray slacks. She detected a pallor that hadn’t been apparent in the virtuals.
The cab lifted off. “What are your plans for the balance of the day?” he asked. “Can I entice you to stay for dinner?”
“That’s very kind of you, Sheyel,” she said. “I wish I could, but I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Pity,” he said, making way for her to go inside. Kim couldn’t remember the details of the furniture, but the book-lined walls were still there and the glass doors leading out onto the patio. And the framed copy of the Magister Folio, whose principles had formed the basis of the Articles.
“I was reminiscing about the times you had us over,” she said.
He seemed puzzled at the remark, and she wondered if he’d forgotten that he used to open his home to his students. “Yes,” he said finally. “I don’t do that anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” she said. “It was a good experience.”
“They have rules now that prevent off-campus gatherings.” He shrugged it away. “What can I get you to drink?”
She settled for a dark wine and they retreated to his study. “I’m sorry we don’t have more answers about Yoshi,” she said. “The police say they’re looking into it, but as I told you, I’m not confident.”
She wasn’t certain what he’d mixed for himself. It was lemon colored but it smelled of mint. “I understand, Kim. Did you learn anything about your sister?”
She hesitated, not sure what she’d learned. Something, certainly. “No,” she said. “Still no trace.”
“Are you feeling all right?” he asked. “I read the accounts. You almost lost your life.”
“It was a wild ride,” she admitted.
He sipped his drink. “We always wondered whether Yoshi had been injured in some way, wandered off, who knew?”
There were two framed pictures of her in the room: one as a child of about four standing outside in the patio, holding Sheyel’s hand; and a graduation photo, displaying all her elegance.
“For whatever consolation it may be,” Kim said, “it appears she died quickly.” The preliminary police report had not yet been officially released, and Kim really didn’t know whether Yoshi had suffered. Nevertheless it seemed like the right thing to say.
Sheyel gazed at her through watery eyes. “It’s a terrible thing to be cut down so young.”
Kim said nothing.
He gazed steadily at her. “I take it you didn’t just come to see how I was getting on. What have you to tell me?”
She looked steadily at him. “I have a question first.”
He leaned forward.
“When you originally came to me with this, you told me there was something loose in the Severin woods. That if I doubted you I should just go up and spend a few hours in the area.”
“Yes. I probably said something like that.”
“After dark, I think you said.”
“I don’t recall the conversation in detail.”
“‘I’ve felt it… Go look for yourself. But don’t go alone.’ That’s what you said.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve done that, Sheyel.”
A chill settled into the room. “And—?”
“You were right. There is something there. What do you know about it?”
“Only that the area is oppressive. I saw lights in the woods a couple of times. There was never anything I could lay hands on though.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “There were some accounts that that was the real reason people left.”
“How could anyone have stayed in the village?” asked Kim. “They were taking down the dam.”
“They decided not to repair the dam because people were clearing out. It wasn’t the other way around.” His eyes were hooded. “There’s a lot of history about it. Check any of the sources.” He went to his shelves and took down several volumes. He tapped his finger on one with a gray cover and artwork depicting a moonlit phantom. “I especially recommend this: Kathryn Kline’s The Specters of Severin.” The phantom looked nothing at all like the apparition Kim had seen.
He went through the others, commenting in a similar manner, laying them before her. “People tend to get overwrought. But the evidence is striking.”
She glanced through them while he refilled their glasses. “I was up there several times. This was years after I’d talked with Kane. The dam was long gone and the place was deserted. You’ve been there, you know what I’m talking about.
“It’s disquieting. Maybe because I knew it was connected with Yoshi’s disappearance. I thought I could feel things moving in the dark. The valley scared me. I don’t think I scare easily, but that place did the deed.” He seemed to withdraw into himself. “Why don’t you tell me what it was you saw?”
“Not really anything,” she said. “It’s just very quiet out there. You understand what I mean?”
He nodded. “Have you learned anything about the Hunter? Was there a contact?”
She showed him the pictures. “I think they encountered another ship, and I think this might be what it looked like.”
He leaned forward, opened a cabinet drawer, and took out a viewing lens. He held it over the images. “You really think so?” he said. The moroseness which had marked the conversation to this point was swept away by a wave of excitement.
“Yes. I think so. There’s no proof. Probably not even strong evidence. But yes, I think it happened.”
His eyes widened as he gazed at the mural. “Why,” he said, “that’s Emily.”
The Conciliar Medal of Valor glittered in the midday sun. Tora Kane held out her hand, took it from Kim, and studied it. She read her father’s name from the obverse. “Where did you get it?” she asked.