Pirie Tamm led Wayness into a small high-ceilinged room to the side of his study. A pair of tall narrow windows admitted light filtered by the foliage of grape vines trailing from a balcony. Shelves and cases were crammed to bursting with a disorderly clutter of books, pamphlets, tracts and folders. Walls elsewhere displayed hundreds of photographs, drawings, charts and miscellaneous oddments. A desk with a four-foot information screen occupied an alcove. 'This is my old den,” said Pirie Tamm. “I worked here while the family was at home, using my study for a social center, despite my protests and hints. This room was known as 'the Ogre's junkyard’.” Pirie Tamm gave a grim chuckle. 'I once overheard Varbert, Moira's husband, use the term 'Old High-Arse's Hideaway’.''
'That was not at all respectful.”
'In this regard, we agree. In any event, when I closed the door, I was allowed a modicum of privacy.”
Wayness looked around the walls. “Things do seem, well, a trifle disorganized. Could the Charter be tucked into one of those trays or folders?'
'No chance of that,” said Pirie Tamm, 'if only for the fact that the thought also occurred to me and I methodically examined every article of paper on the premises. I fear that your quest will not have so simple a resolution.''
Wayness went to examine the desk and the control system. Pirie Tamm said: 'It is quite standard and should give you no difficulty. At one time I had a simulator focused on the desk yonder; which Moira happily used to model new fashions on herself!”
“Ingenious!” said Wayness.
“In a sense, yes. One night when Moira was about your age we hosted a formal dinner party. Moira wore an elegant gown and was conducting herself with all possible dignity, but after a bit we began to wonder where all the young men had taken themselves. We finally found them in here, with a four-foot replica of Moira in the nude frisking about on the table. Moira was intensely annoyed and to this day suspects that Challis imparted a sly hint to the young men.”
“Was Varbert among the group? If so, he must have liked what he saw.”
“He said nothing to me, one way or the other.' Pirie Tamm shook his head sadly. “Time goes by quickly. Try the chair. Is it comfortable?”
“Just right. Where do I find the Society archives?”
“if you enter ‘ARC’, you will be provided a comprehensive index. It is quite simple.”
“All of the Society correspondence is on record?”
“Every last jot, jog, item and tittle — for two reasons: compulsive pettifoggery and because recently we have had nothing better to do. I guarantee that you will find precious little of interest, and now I will leave you to it.”
Pirie Tamm departed the room. Wayness gingerly set herself to exploring the records of the Naturalist Society.
By day's end she had learned the scope and organization of the records. A very large proportion of the material pertained to events of the distant past. These Wayness ignored, and started her investigation with the arrival of Frons Nisfit on the scene. She learned the date upon which Nisfit’s delinquencies became known. She reviewed the subsequent tenures of Nisfit Myhack, Kelvin Kilduc and Pirie Tamm. For a time she ranged through the files almost at random, skimming through financial statements, minutes of the annual conclaves, and membership rolls. Each year the dues-paying membership decreased in numbers and the message was plain to be read: the Naturalist Society was near upon extinction. She skimmed the files of correspondence: requests for information, memoranda of dues owing, dues collected; death notices and changes of adders; scholarly tracts and essays submitted for inclusion into the monthly journal. Late in the afternoon, with the sun low in the sky, Wayness leaned back from the desk, surfeited with the Naturalist Society. “And it is only a start,” she told herself.
“Evidently both fortitude and persistence will be very useful before this project is ended.”
Wayness run the dim study and went to her room. She bathed, dressed in a dark green gown appropriate to the formality of dinner at Fair winds. 'I must find myself some new clothes,” she told herself. “Otherwise, Uncle Pirie will think I am coming down to diner in a uniform.'
Wayness brushed her dark hair and tied it with a length of fine silver chain. She descended to the drawing room, where she was presently joined by Pirie Tamm. He greeted her with his usual punctilio. “And now: in accordance with the invariant ritual of Fair Winds: the Sundowner. Will you try my brave sherry?'
'Yes, if you please.”
From a cupboard Pirie Tamm brought a pair pewter goblets. “Notice the subtle hint of green in the patina, which to some degree indicates their age?'
'How old are they?'
'Three thousand years, at least.'
'The shapes are extraordinary.”
“Not by accident! After initial forming, they were heated to soften the metal, then bent, crumpled, flared, compressed, distorted and finally given a comfortable lip. No two are alike.'
“They are fascinating little objects,' said Wayness. “The sherry is good too. A similar wine is produced at Araminta Station, but I suppose that this is better.”
“I should hope so,” said Pirie Tamm with a sour smile. “After all, we have been at it for a considerably longer time. Shall we step out upon the verandah? The evening is mild, and the sun is setting.”
Pirie Tamm opened the door the two went out on the verandah and stood by the balustrade. After a moment Pirie Tamm said: “You seem pensive. Are you discouraged by the scope of the job you have taken on?”
“Oh no. For the moment, at least, I had put both Nisfit and the Society out of my mind. I was admiring the sunset. I wonder if anyone has ever made a formal study of sunsets as they appear on different worlds. There must be many interesting varieties.”
“Without a doubt!” declared Pirie Tamm. “Off the top of my head I can cite half a dozen striking examples I particularly recall the sunsets of Delora’s World, at the back of Columba, where I went to research my treatise. Each evening we were treated to marvelous spectacles, green and blue, with darts of scarlet! They were unique; I would recognize a Delora sunset instantly among a hundred others. The sunsets of Pranilla, which are filtered through high-altitude sleet storms, are also memorable.”
“Cadwal sunsets are unpredictable,” said Wayness. 'The colors seem to explode from behind the clouds and are often garish, through the effect is always cheerful. Earth sunsets are different. They are sometimes grand, or even inspiring, but then they wane quietly and sadly into the blue dusk and create a melancholy mood.”
Pirie Tamm gave the sky a frowning inspection. “The effect you mention is real. Still, the mood never lasts long and disappears completely by the time the stars come out. Especially,” he added, by way of afterthought, “when a jolly meal at a well-laid table is in the offing. The spirits soar under these conditions like a lark on the wing. Shall we go in?'
Pirie Tamm seated Wayness at the massive walnut table and took his own place opposite. 'I must repeat that it is a pleasure having you here,” said Pirie Tamm. “That is a charming frock you are wearing, incidentally.”
“Thank you, Uncle Pirie. Unfortunately it is my only dinner gown, and I must find some new clothes, otherwise you will quickly become bored with me.'
“Not on that account, certainly. Still, there are two or three good shops in the village, and I'll take you in whenever you like. By the way, Moira and Challis know that you are here. I expect them to drop by in a day or so, to look you over. If they decide that you are not too gauche, they might introduce you into local society.”
Wayness made a wry face. “When I was here before neither Moira nor Challis liked me very much. I overheard them talking about me. Moira said that I looked like a Gypsy boy dressed in girl’s clothes. Challis was amused but felt that the description was too lenient; that in her opinion I was just a moony little prude with a face like a scared kitten.'
Pirie Tamm uttered an exclamation of mild astonishment. “My word, those girls have sharp tongues. How long ago was this?'
'Five years, more or less.”
“Hmf. I can relate similar incidents. One day I overheard Varbert describe me as ‘an unlikely hybrid of screech-owl, heron and wolverine’. On another occasion Ussery spoke of me as the ‘house-devil’ and wanted
