again as to what medicine you have been giving the children?'
Irena attempted an airy tone. “Only their regular tonic, which, in my opinion, has kept them as well as they are today.'
'Why did you not tell me about this so-called 'tonic'?'
Irena shrugged. 'It is nothing of consequence. The doctor who prescribed it explained that it strengthened the nerves, and was also good for the digestion.'
'May I see this tonic?”
'It’s all gone,” said Irena. 'I used the last some time ago and discarded the bottle.”
“And you have no more?”
Irena hesitated a single instant. “No.'
Olivano nodded. 'These are my instructions. Do not administer any medicines or tonics whatever. Is this understood?'
“Of course; still, the children are sometimes difficult. When the wind blows at night, Lydia becomes unmanageable and wants to run out on the pampas. During these times a sedative becomes necessary.”
Olivano nodded. “I can understand that you may have a problem. I will prescribe safe sedative but you must not use it except during extreme circumstances''
“As you like.”
“I will reiterate to make sure there is no misunderstanding. I do not want you dosing the children except with my prior approval you would be doing them harm and I would surely know I would have no choice but to take them to an environment where they were protected.”
Irena stood, face sagging in dejection and defeat. She started to speak, then held her tongue.
Olivano rose to his feet. “I'll have a word or two with the children then I will be going: ' He nodded to Irena and departed. Irena turned toward Wayness. She spoke in a harsh low voice: I cannot fathom you! Why have you done these things to me?”
Wayness could think of nothing to say and Irena’s distress stirred her own latent guilt at being in the house under false pretenses. At last, lamely she said: “I have intended nothing to harm you.'
“My life is no longer my own!” Irena’s mouth began to work, her words came in wild harsh mutters. 'Only one year more. One accursed year! Then it might have been over! I would flee — I would flee now, only there is nothing for me: no solace, no refuge! I am miserable, even before I die, and then who knows? Who knows? It is for this reason that I am afraid.'
“Madame Irena, please calm yourself! I'm sure things are not as bad as you fear!”
“Ha! You know nothing except to smarm and snivel and now I do not know what to do.”
“Why are you worried? Is it about Professor Solomon?'
Irena's face instantly froze. 'I have said nothing, do you hear? Nothing!'
'Of course. Still, if you care to talk, I will listen.”
But Irena had turned on her heel and in three long steps had lunged from the room.”
Wayness gloomily went out into the yard, where she took herself in hand. She could not afford to be soft; if deceit and dissimilation were the worst compromises she must make, she could count herself lucky. And after all, Myron and Lydia were to be considered. Irena had mentioned a year what was to happen in a year? Wayness felt certain that it would not have been to the advantage of the two children.
Dr. Olivano had departed. Madame Clara presently called the children in for their lunch. Wayness sat on the edge of the sandbox and ate the sandwich she had brought from the hotel.
Toward the middle of the afternoon Wayness diffidently asked permission to take the children for a walk. Irena gave a graceless assent and Wayness took her two charges to a confectionery on the square, where Lydia and Myron gravely consumed hot cocoa and fruit tarts mounded high with whipped cream. Wayness wondered what would happen to them when she went away. Dr. Olivano would look to their physical well-being, and as for their emotions — Wayness heaved a sigh. She must harden her heart to such considerations. As for her own affairs, they were not going at all well. She was not a whit closer to Moncurio's whereabouts now than on the day of her arrival. There had been no opportunity to search the house — though what she might expect to find she had no idea. She was supported only by hope, because she could think of no alternatives to what she was doing. She studied Myron and Lydia, who, so she noticed, were studying her in turn. Wayness saw that they had enjoyed their treats to the last crumb. Next she took them to the town bookshop, where she bought a terrestrial atlas, a big pictures book of natural history, a dictionary, and an astronomical atlas.
The three returned to Casa Lucasta. Irena took note of the purchases but made no comment; Wayness would have been surprised had she done so.
The next morning, when Wayness arrived, she found Myron and Lydia already hard at work, building a kite to their own design, using splints of split cane and dark blue film, secured by strips of cohering tape. It was an intricate construction five feet long, comprising an extravagant array of wings, vanes, foils, spoilers, and flared conduits. Wayness found their kite fascinating to look at, but doubted whether it would fly.
The kite was not finished until middle afternoon, when the wind started to blow erratically, in gusts followed by period of dead calm. Myron and Lira nevertheless prepared to fly the kite. Wayness, after indecision, decided not to interfere, though she was sure that the kite would meet disaster.
The two, carrying the kite, crossed Calle Maduro and picked their way out upon the waste of stone and bush which spread away to the south. Wayness followed behind.
Lydia held the string while Myron carried the kite down wind, the film chattering and the various vanes and foils fluttering. Myron turned; the wind caught the kite and contrary to Wayness pessimistic expectations, swept it up — higher, higher, higher, as Lydia paid out the string. She turned a quick smile over her shoulder toward Wayness. Myron watched the ascent with neither surprise nor enthusiasm, but with a gravity which was almost stern. High soared the kite, ruling the wind, each of Myron’s peculiar vanes and surfaces performing faultlessly.
Wayness watched, marveling.
The wind waxed and waned, the kite acknowledging the changes with small adjustments, sometimes swooping or dipping somewhat, but otherwise paying no heed to the vagaries of nature. Myron’s kite ruled the skies!
A gust of wind, stronger than any before, struck down from the mountains. The kite string broke and fell slowly to the ground. The kite, liberated, swung majestically away downwind on a mission of its own, and its ultimate descent could not be discerned.
Myron and Lydia stood motionless, looking after the kite for some time, mouths drooping but showing no other emotion. Wayness thought that the kite had been successful. She thought that Lydia and Myron also were satisfied. Myron turned, gave Wayness one of his most unfathomable stares. Wayness said nothing. Lydia dutifully began to roll up the string. As soon as the job was done, all returned to the house, Myron and Lydia pensive rather than crestfallen.
For a time the three sat on the couch, looking through the new books. Wayness was startled to find that Myron was reading the dictionary, scanning page after page, though without any evidence of enjoinment or interest. “That is natural enough, ”Wayness told herself. “It is not an exciting book.”
Irena returned from work, even more tired and distraught than usual. She went directly to her room, without a word to anyone. Shortly afterward Wayness took her leave and returned to the hotel.
During the evening Olivano telephoned. He asked: “And how went your day?”
'Well enough. Lydia and Myron built a beautiful kite, and it flew beautifully too. But the string broke and for all I know the kite is still trying somewhere off across the pampas. When I left the house, Lydia was inspecting the picture of a stegosaurus and Myron was studying a chart of the Gaean Reach. He had already read the dictionary. Clara was surly and Irena ignored me.”
Just another day at Casa Lucasta,” said Olivano. 'As for me, I received the complete analysis of Irena’s blood today, and it is as I have long suspected: she has been taking some sort of drug which the analyst is unable to name, except to suggest that it is off-world in origin.'
“I've wondered about this too,” said Wayness. “In the morning, when she leaves for work, she is quite neat and in command of herself; in the afternoon she can hardly wait to get home and comes running in like a scarecrow.”
Olivano went on in his most toneless voice: “Everything taken with everything, it has become clear to me that Irena is not a suitable custodian for Lydia and Myron. I intend to take them to a better environment as soon
