“What’s this I hear about your discovery?” asked Sam, with genuine curiosity. “Some kind of strange monument?” Monuments, any monuments, interested Sam greatly.
“Some kind of strange something,” admitted Bombi, “which we have no idea what is, except that, probably, it has been there for a very long time. Animal, vegetable, mineral, real or mythical, we cannot say. Something which occurs naturally or something which was built. By the Departed or by some former race. Or, by visitors, there’s always that possibility.”
“Remarkable,” said Sam, his mind spinning with a thousand questions. “Remarkable that it was never seen on survey maps.”
Volsa shook her head at him. “The area is wooded. The mounds might have shown up if there had been no trees. They would have shown up on instruments if they were of very dense material, but they don’t seem to be any more dense than the surrounding soil and rock. We just don’t know. We didn’t bring the proper equipment to do excavation. As a matter of fact, we’re not trained xeno-archaeologists, and we’ll undoubtedly be criticized for even putting a probe into the soil. Of course, when the Ancient Monuments Panel learns of the discovery, who is to say what may take place? We’ll probably be innundated by experts.”
“Interesting,” Sam murmured, thinking that the things they had found might have appeared recently, as certain other geographical features had, but not wanting to say so. Evidently these visitors had not noticed the new features, and Sam was no more eager than anyone to have teams from Thyker or Phansure or Ahabar investigating. He brought the vehicle to a halt beside the Supply and Admin building. “Guest quarters upstairs.”
“Hot water,” moaned Bombi.
“Hot water,” Sam agreed. “By the way, I’ve had some of our better cooks select and prepare food for you, in accordance with the information received by CM from your Religious Center. If anything seems improper or even doubtful, please let me know. I think we depended pretty heavily on poultry, fruits, grains, and vegetables.”
They left him to go to the upper floor and make themselves at home. Shan fell onto a bed and was asleep within moments. Bombi got himself under the water shower and began singing Thykerian mind-clearing mantras, loudly and tunefully. Bombi had an excellent voice and had sung during the recurrent opera revivals in Serena. Shan, who had an even better voice, had never evinced any interest in music.
Volsa used the sonic cleanser, which she preferred to getting wet, and then sat by the window, nibbling at the nicely prepared oddments she had found waiting on a tray in the kitchen and thinking of Sam Girat. It was all very well to be restrictive in one’s sexual pleasures, but on extended trips into places where there were no Baidee, one might desire to have other companions than one’s own brothers. It didn’t seem to bother Bombi much. Bombi had a tendency to take it or leave it, in almost any environment, and Shan had a strong touch of the ascetic in his makeup. For herself, however, Volsa preferred reasonably frequent access to acceptable companions. She decided to call Spiggy Fettle and ask him if he would join them for a few days when they returned to the escarpment. No point in making talk here in the settlement.
Here in the settlement. She watched it from the window, in all its dusty frontier guise: low, flat-roofed, sponge-panel buildings with wide porches; mostly unsurfaced roads; greenhouses stretching their glittering length toward the west; fields, which could be seen over the rooftops, green and orange and yellow and purple and dun, in wide rows and narrow, and no rows at all, reaching away on all sides, almost to the western horizon, where the suns flattened.
There were long, evening shadows across the streets. People went by purposefully, without hurrying. Children raced down the street and into a narrow alleyway and out again, shrieking, as children have always done. There were many cats. Volsa had expected that. Most farm settlements used cats, sometimes thousands of them, to keep the vermin in check. The local breed was sizeable, with large round heads, big eyes set well apart, and short hair. Some were plain-colored and some striped, and all had long, sinuous tails. Every now and then one of them looked up at her, standing quite still, tail carried low, one foot raised, eyes bright with a perspicacious, interested stare, as though to say, “Aha. Someone new.”
Bombi came out of the shower much refreshed and very wet, his long hair hanging in dark strings almost to his knees. “No fas-dry in there,” he complained. “Only towels.”
“Sit here in the sun,” she suggested. “It will dry quicker.” She stood behind him and plied the towels, several of them, until the long strands were only moist. Then she combed and braided his hair for him, as he often braided hers, the long, complicated braids that would end up wound tight under his turban. Volsa had often wished the prophetess had said minds instead of heads. How wonderful if she had said, “Don’t let anyone fool with your minds.” This business of never cutting one’s hair was a bore.
Music came to them, at first faintly and then more loudly.
“Are you dry enough to get dressed?” she asked.
He nodded, sighing as he heaved himself out of the chair. “You want to go see who’s singing?”
“It sounds interesting.” She leaned out of the window, trying to ascertain where the sounds were coming from. “Besides, we want to look at the temple, don’t we?”
“I have seen enough ruined temples to last me forever,” Bombi said.
“Shouldn’t we wake Shan?”
“Leave him.” Ever since they had found the mounds, Shan had become a pain, twitchy and jumping at shadows. Bombi frowned. “He needs his sleep.”
They went out into the air, found the ruined temples, and gave them a cursory once over, enough to know they were exactly like every other ruined temple upon the heights.
“What’s the music?” Volsa asked a
