After a moment Pirie Tamm went on. 'That means that Nisfit sold the Charter, along with the other documents of antiquarian value. The present owner has not thought to register the Grant in his own name, as he would be entitled to do, with all legality. And yet another disturbing factor looms over the near horizon.'

'Which is?”

''The Grant must be validated and re-endorsed at least once each century; otherwise the original claim lapses and the Grant is nullified.'

Wayness stared aghast. 'I knew nothing of this! How much time remains to us?”

“Ten years or so. There is no immediate emergency, but the Grant must be found.'

“I shall do my best,' said Wayness.

II.

In the morning Wayness arose early. She dressed in a short blue skirt, dark blue knee length stockings, and a pullover blouse of a soft grey-tawny stuff. At once warm, light and complementary to her pale olive complexion.

Wayness left her room and descended the stairs. At this hour Fair Winds seemed unnaturally quiet. During the night, odors had seeped from the fabric of the house: a recollection of countless floral bouquets, curios carved from camphorwood and sanuchi furniture polish and wax, ancient rugs, along with a hint of lavender sachet.

Wayness went the morning room and seated herself at the breakfast tables. Tall windows overlooked a landscape of green meadows, trees and hedge, with the tile roofs and chimneys of Tierens in the distance. This morning the weather seemed somewhat unsettled. Small clouds raced eastward across the sky on an upper wind causing the sunlight to brighten, go dim, and brighten again all in the space of seconds. The light of Sol, thought Wayness — especially here in the Middle-lands — shone pale and hazy, notably different from the golden glare of Syrene. The light of Sol appeared to enhance and enrich blues and greens and perhaps too the muted colors of cloud shadows, while Syrene evoked the inner fire of reds, yellows and oranges. The maid, Agnes, looked in from the kitchen and presently Served Wayness sliced fruit, a boiled egg, buttered scones with strawberry preserves and rich brown coffee.

A short while later pier Tamm appeared wearing an old tweed jacket, a striped black and gray shirt, loose breeches of brown twill: attire more casual than he might have favored in times gone by. Despite all, he still managed to project an air of brusque decorum. For a moment he stood in the doorway, surveying Wayness with the crisp detachment of a military officer inspecting his troops.

Wayness said mildly, “Good morning, Uncle Pirie. I hope I haven’t disturbed you by jumping out of bed so early.”

“Of course not,” declared Pirie Tamm. “Early rising is a virtue to which I have subscribed every day of my life.” He came forward, seated himself and unfolded his napkin. “Mathematics tells the tale. One hour of oversleeping each day destroys a year of life each twenty-four years. Across the span of a hundred years, an extra hour of sloth will excise four years of existence. Think of it! When already I fear that my life will be far too short to fulfill even my minimal ambitions. Who was it who said: 'Sleep when you are dead'?”

'Baron Bodissey, most likely. He seems to have said most everything.'

'Clever girl!” Pirie Tamm gave his napkin a flap and tucked the corner into his shirt. 'You seem bright and alert this morning — even cheerful.”

Wayness shrugged. 'At least bright and alert.'

'But not cheerful?'

“I can’t say that Monette and her activities came as a happy surprise.'

'Ah well, the episode occurred many years ago and who knows what happened to the woman? I suspect that she has long since forgotten the affair.'

'I hope so.”

'Remember, the grant has never been reregistered.' Pirie Tamm looked down the length of the table. 'I see that you have not let your concern spoil your appetite. I detect eggshells, what once might have been a plate of scones, and what else?”

'Sliced oranges.'

'Excellent. A proper breakfast, which will nicely fortify you until luncheon. Agnes? Where the devils are you?'

'Here, sir ready with your tea.'

“Tell Cook I’ll have a parsley omelet, with a bit of mushroom ketchup. Scones, as well. Mind you, not a hint of leather to the eggs!”

“I'll tell Cook, sir.' Agnes hurried from the room. Pirie Tamm looked into the teapot and gave a disdainful sniff. 'I suppose it's no weaker than usual.' He poured tea into a cup, sipped, blinked, then returned his attention to Wayness, who placed fourteen sols upon the table and pushed them toward Pirie Tamm. “Last night I forgot. Am I now a member of the Naturalist Society?'

'As soon as I verify your identity and note your name into the rolls. The verification will go smoothly, since I will cite myself as your guarantor.'

Wayness smiled. “I have heard that on Old Earth good connections count for everything.'

'Regrettably, in the main, this is true. I, however, am almost without such advantages, and must go hat in hand like anyone else when I want something done. My sons-in-law hold me in contempt on this account. Well, no matter. I suppose you have been considering the project we discussed last night?'

'Yes. It was at the top of my mind.”

“And now — very sensibly, I must say — you have had second thoughts and are giving up the idea?'

Wayness looked at him in astonishment. “Why should you think that?'

''The circumstances are obvious!' snapped Pirie Tamm. “The task far exceeds the capacities of a young girl, no matter how pretty and persuasive.'

'Look at it this way, “said Wayness. “There is one lost Charter and one of me. We start on equal terms.'

'Bah! I am in no mood for sophistries. In fact, I find myself greatly frustrated by the physical infirmities which inhibit my own efforts along these lines. Ah well! Here is my omelet. Let us see how Cook has managed the job. All seems to be in order. Amazing how often a confection of such simplicity defies the best efforts of a well-paid specialist. Now then, what were we talking about? Ah yes, your proposal. My dear Wayness, the task is monumental! It is simply beyond your scope!'

“I don’t believe so, “said Wayness. “If I intended to walk from here to Timbuctoo, I would start by taking one step, then another and another, and soon I would be crossing the Niger River by the Hamshatt Bridge.”

“Aha! You omit the area between the third step and the last — which is to say, the garden at Fair Winds and the Niger River, which lies across the Sahara Desert. Along the way you might be given wrong directions, or robbed, or fall into a ditch, or be attacked or married or divorced.”

'Uncle Pirie! You are far too imaginative!”

“Hmf. I wish I could imagine some nice safe program by which you might learn what you want to know.”

“I already have a plan,' said Wayness. “I will look through Society archives; especially those dated during Nisfit’s tenure, and perhaps find some clue which will lead us further.”

“My dear young lady, that is a formidable task in itself. You'll become bored and sad; you'll long to be out in the sunlight, meeting other young folk and enjoying yourself! One day you'll throw up your hands, scream, and run from the house, and that will be the last of the great project.'

Wayness tried to keep her voice even. “Uncle Pirie, you are not only imaginative; you are a pessimist.”

Pirie Tamm peered at her from the side of his face. “You are not discouraged?”

“I have heard only what I expected to hear, and I have already taken it into account. I must find the Charter and the Grant; I can think of nothing else. If I succeed, my life will have been useful. If I fail, At least I have tried my best.'

Pirie Tamm sat for a moment, then a brief wintry smile crossed his face. “Succeed or fail, your life is precious; there is no question as to that.'

“I want to succeed.”

“Just so. I will do what I can to help you.”

“Thank you, Uncle Pirie.”

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