which Wayness could not avoid staring, even though she began to fear that the rancher might notice and come over to ask why she was looking at his mustache.
Wayness decided that it was time for her own lunch. She went into the restaurant and was seated where she could overlook the square, though at this time of day nothing of consequence was happening.
According to the menu, one of the daily specials was ptarmigan: an item which intrigued Wayness, since she had never seen it offered on a menu before. Well then, she thought: why not? She so placed her order, but in the end found the ptarmigan too gamy for her taste.
Wayness lingered at the table over dessert and coffee. The afternoon lay before her, but she decided not to attempt another period of serenity, and once again she took up the matter of Irena Portils.
The basic problem was straightforward: how to induce Irena to reveal the whereabouts of the man known as ‘Professor Solomon’?
Wayness brought out her notebook and examined the entries she had inscribed earlier in the day.
Problem: Find Moncurio.
— Solution 1; Make a full explanation to Irena and request cooperation.
— Solution 2; Similar to No.1, but offer of money — perhaps considerable money.
— Solution 3: Hypnotize or drug Irena Portils, and so extract the information from her.
— Solution 4; While house is unoccupied, search for clues.
— Solution 5; Question Irena's mother and/or children. (???)
— Solution 6: None of above.
Wayness was not encouraged by her review of the notes. Solution 1, the most reasonable, would almost surely embroil her in an emotional confrontation with Madame Portils and cause her to become more intractable than ever. The same could be said for Solution 2. Solutions 3, 4, and 5 were almost equally impractical. Solution 6 was clearly the most feasible of the group.
Wayness returned to the lobby. The time was a few minutes after two o'clock, with the balance of the afternoon still ahead. Wayness went to the desk, where the clerk directed her to the public library.
“It is a five minute walk,' said the clerk. He pointed his pencil. 'Go along Calle Luneta a single block, to Calle Basilio; on the corner you will find a large acacia tree. Turn to the left and walk a block, which will bring you to the library.”
“That seems simple enough.'
“Just so. Do not neglect the collection of primitive pottery on display in the reference department. Even here in Patagonia, where the gauchos once roamed, we honor the ideals of high culture.”
A door of bronze and glass slid aside; Wayness entered a foyer equipped with the usual amenities. Halls to left and right led to the various special departments. Wayness wandered here and there, at all times covertly watching for Irena Portils. She had formed no plan; still it seemed certain that these particular premises might be the best, perhaps the only, environment in which to make Irena‘s acquaintance. She paused to examine a rack of periodicals, pretended to consult the information banks, stopped to ponder the schedule of library hours, as posted on a sign. Nowhere did she so much as glimpse Irena, who perhaps had gone home for the day.
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
