“It’s what he does,” Cassie remarked. “Whenever we go on a field mission, he reads up on everything he can find about the places where we’ll be travelling. Not only that, he remembers everything he reads.”
“It is useful to have such a person with you, yes?” Ortzi asked.
“Absolutely!” Cassie agreed. “Griffin’s the best.”
The scrivener blushed at her enthusiastic endorsement.
Apparently feeling left out, Erik decided to demonstrate what he knew about the region. “The Basques don’t automatically pass property from father to eldest son like overlord cultures do.”
“Also true,” their guide concurred. “When the etxekoandre and etxekojaun are old and wish to retire, they decide which of their children will inherit the farm. It will be passed down to the one most capable whether it be a daughter or a son. Sometimes it is the youngest daughter who will inherit the property. The basseri is never supposed to be divided or sold out of the family.”
“So, it’s more like being a trustee than an owner,” Cassie commented. “The one who inherits manages it for the family as a whole.”
Ortzi nodded.
Cassie studied another basseri passing by the window as they drove on. “Those buildings are huge. Basques must have really big families.”
Their guide chuckled. “The building is for the family, yes, but not only the family. Part of it is a barn for the pigs and sheep and goats and cows and horses. Another part is for storage. Some basseriak have cider presses as well.”
“Then it’s like a whole farm operation under one roof,” the pythia noted.
“And as more room is needed, additions are built on one side or the other.”
“Because these farms have been in operation for centuries, it stands to reason that the core building would keep expanding over time,” Griffin remarked.
“Sure beats the hell out of a pole shed and a chicken coop,” Erik said.
“I think they have character.” Cassie’s voice held a note of approval. She paused as another thought struck her. She turned eagerly toward Ortzi. “Is that where the Basque trove is hidden? In your basseri?”
Ortzi shook his head. “The trove is hidden deep in the mountains where nobody who should not know of its existence can find it. I am not taking you there because none of our artifacts can help you.”
“Oh,” Cassie said in a small, disappointed voice. She’d secretly been hoping for a grand tour.
As they rounded the next curve, a large stone farmhouse came into view. The second-floor windows were framed by wooden shutters and decorative cross-beams painted red. The first level contained a huge wooden door beneath an arch. Both were also painted red.
Ortzi pulled the car up near the building. As they got out, the front door opened, and an elderly woman emerged.
She was of medium height and squarely built with curly silver hair and sharp hazel eyes. Her weathered skin bore the appearance of someone who had spent much of her life out of doors. She was dressed in black pants covered by a bright blue smock that reached to her knees. When she saw the visitors, she gave a welcoming smile and gestured for them to come inside.
“I am Ochanda Exteberri. Welcome to the home of my family.” Her English, like her nephew’s, was very good. “Come in, come in,” the old woman urged. She beckoned them into what appeared to be a huge kitchen. The walls and floor were made of fieldstone. The high ceiling was supported by dark oak crossbeams. A large stone hearth dominated the side wall. At the moment, it glowed with the embers of a banked fire.
“Please sit down.” She pointed to a trestle table in the center of the room. Each visitor took a chair around it. After Griffin had introduced everyone, Ochanda murmured some words in Euskara to her nephew. He immediately went to one of the cupboards and fetched down half a dozen glasses. Then he left the room, only to return a moment later with a bottle.
“We are just beginning our apple harvest,” the matriarch explained. “You must try some of our cider. It is very well known. We sell it in the market in town.”
While Ortzi was busy filling glasses and passing them around, Ochanda piled plates with fruit, nuts, and cheese and laid them on the table.
“This cheese is called idiazabal. It is made from sheep’s milk,” she explained.
“I don’t recognize the fruit,” Cassie said uncertainly.
“In English, the name is quince.”
Ortzi handed the pythia a glass of cider. “This is last year’s vintage. We have none ready yet for this year.”
Cassie took a sip of the amber liquid. The first taste made her realize that this wasn’t like the cider back home. It was apple wine. She assuaged her guilt by remembering that she was of legal drinking age in Spain, if not in the US. “Very good,” she said.
They all readily agreed as they chatted and consumed the accompaniments. Griffin launched into an explanation of their quest to the etxekoandre and her nephew.
While he was speaking, Erik leaned over and murmured in the pythia’s ear, “I’m cutting you off after one glass, toots.”
She shot him an offended look. “So now you’re the apple police?”
“Just looking out for you. It’s my job, remember?”
“I’m legal in Spain.”
The security coordinator cocked an amused eyebrow at her unfortunate choice of words. “One glass,” he repeated. “That’s it.”
They turned their attention back to the others.
Griffin was just beginning to recite the clue which had brought them there. “Let Eurus fill the sails twelve days, then follow Eberos where it climbs to the sky. Set your course four bees from the dragon’s wing to the sea. When the bull turns the season, mark where the goat grazes the spinner’s peak. There lies the second of five you seek.”
“We’ve already figured out the first part about Eurus and Eberos,” Cassie said. “That’s what got us here.”
“Quite,” Griffin concurred. “However, we were hoping you might shed some light on the business about the dragon’s
