symbol of Earth. 'Did you think of this all by yourself?'
'Of course. I intend to be an artist when I grow up and an artist must be able to compose a picture.'
'I'm sorry.' Dumarest forced himself to be casual. 'I meant did you see these designs anywhere? In an old book, perhaps? A painting?' Hope died as she shook her head. 'Are you sure?'
'We haven't any old books. Mummy says they smell. Grandfather has some but he keeps them locked away.' She held out her hand. 'May I have my pad now, please.'
'Of course.' Dumarest closed it and looked at the cover. 'No name?'
'Of course I have a name. Everyone has a name. I am Claire Jane Harbottle. My pad, please.' Taking it she said, 'You don't look well. You should walk around and get the air. My nanny says it is very healthy on the platform. Goodbye, now.'
She ran off with a rustle of fabric, a girl oddly demure in formal garments, yet full of life and vitality. She would make her mark if her talent was allowed to flower and, if nothing else, she had given him good advice.
Dumarest rose and wandered between the flower beds as he followed a sweeping path which would bring him back to the observation platform. The wind stung his eyes, gusting, the flags streaming to fall and hang in limp abandon, to flutter again in varied hues, to droop and hang again. An odd pattern for such a place and Dumarest wondered at the vagary. A thought swallowed by another of far greater importance.
Had the girl merely dreamed up the notion of a pitted sphere and a circle barred by a cross or had she actually seen them somewhere? A decoration of a nursery wall, a painting, an illustration in a book-something seen and forgotten to rise to the forefront of her mind when triggered by the need of artistic expression. If so her grandfather could be of help- but would Lychen hold two people who could solve his problem? Did both know how to find Earth?
A stone turned beneath his foot and he stumbled, catching his balance, annoyed at his lack of attention. He had wandered among a collection of statues, tall figures simply clad and wearing haughty and disdainful expressions. Some had been adorned with flowers, others with cruder additions many displaying a ribald sense of humor. They fell behind as Dumarest lengthened his stride and headed toward the platform. If the girl was still around he wanted to learn more from her. Or from the person she would be with.
He heard the scream as he reached the foot of the ramp, a high shriek followed by words.
'Claire! Come back, Claire! For God's sake, child, come back!'
Wind had caught a picture, wafting it to catch against an upper timber and with grim determination she was going after it. Dumarest saw the small shape climbing doggedly up the framework, to grab at the paper, to miss as it blew to a farther point. To grab again as the flags stirred and wind blasted in a sudden gust.
One which thrust at the exposed shape, catching the striped dress, billowing it, using it as a sail to push the small figure off its perch.
To send it toppling from the framework into the air, the sweep of the waterfall, the long drop to the rocks below.
Dumarest moved as the woman screamed again, this time in horror, not warning. He stooped, hand lifting weighted with his knife, eyes judging time and distance, the movement of the sash over the timbers. His arm swept in a wide circle, steel glittering as it left his hand, thudding broadwise through the sash and into the wood beneath. A spike which held her suspended, twisting in the wind which caught her hair, her dress, the sash around her waist. Before it could slip free Dumarest had the girl cradled in his arms.
Chapter Twelve
Edelman Pryor was seventy years old and looked it. He wore drab garments and walked with a shuffle but still had a sharp mind and intelligence. His home matched the man, old, decaying, full of dust and forgotten corners yet retaining a staid dignity-demonstrated by the decanter, the wine, the courtesy with which it was served.
'Your health!' He lifted his glass to Dumarest. 'And my thanks for what you did. If I had money you could take it all. The girl is precious to me.' He sipped and added, 'We are not related in blood, you understand, but she is kind enough to call me her grandfather. When young she used to stay here with her mother.'
'Her father?'
'At the time was busy on other worlds. Now he is home where he belongs. Why didn't you want him to know what happened?'
'Would it help if he did?'
'No. He would give you his thanks and anything you might ask but-'
'It would be a memory he can do without.' Dumarest tasted his wine not surprised to find it thin and acid. 'The governess will say nothing for her own protection and the girl is wise beyond her years. Even her mother needn't be told.'
'The dress?'
'Only the sash was damaged. An accident.' Dumarest shrugged. 'To the young such things happen all the time.'
But the incident had been of value, giving him an introduction to the old man, one arranged by the governess who had been too relieved to argue. Now, sitting in the dim chamber, sipping the weak and acid wine, Dumarest waited for the courtesies to end.
'You're a friend of young Angado,' said Pryor. 'I heard of his return. I hope for his sake he has learned caution during his travels. Are you close?'
'We traveled together.'
'And are staying with him?' Pryor sipped his wine as Dumarest nodded. 'Well, he could do worse. And your own reason for coming to Lychen?' He blinked when he heard it. 'An interest in antiquities? Books, maps, old logs? What appeal could such things have for a man like you?'
'The same as they have for yourself.' Dumarest set down his glass. 'I learned something today and saw items of interest. A drawing of a moon and a symbol I recognized. Things which could have been seen here in your house. Perhaps in the books you keep locked away.'
'From a curious little child who was into everything she saw.' Pryor chuckled and finished his wine. 'There's no mystery about it. I collected the books for a client and the things you mention could be found within them. One at least held symbols and pictures and charts of some kind. I must confess they held little appeal but they did represent a profit. As did the maps and logs and other items I bought for later resale. As a dealer, you understand, specializing in the abstruse and rare. In fact one of my acquisitions is to be seen in the museum; a plaque inscribed with what must be a hymn of praise to an ancient god. One called Apollo. You have heard the name?'
'No.'
'A pity.' Pryor was disappointed. 'I loaned it to the museum for the duration of my life but I expect it'll stay there for as long as they want it. Or until someone is willing to pay the demanded price. But if you are really interested in ancient things then I may have something which could interest you.' Rising, he went to a corner and rummaged in a cabinet, returning with an object in his hand. 'Here.'
It was squat, grotesque, a female figure with swollen belly and huge, sagging breasts. The face was blurred, the nose a rounded knob, the eyes deep-set pits of blankness. Three inches high the depiction was wholly engrossed with female sexual attributes.
'I've had it for most of my life,' said Pryor. 'It's very old and must have been an object of veneration at one time. Some say it is a fertility symbol but I'm certain it must be more than that. The representation is that of the mother-figure and so could have associations with the very source of human life. If so it is an ideal depicted in stone. Primitive, crude, but unmistakable.'
And to him of high value-why else should he have kept it so long? Dumarest studied the figurine, sensing the raw power of it. A woman. A mother. A female born to breed. Naked, unashamed of the attributes which made her what she was. The epitome of every male consumed with the desire to gain the only immortality he could ever know-the children which would carry his genes.
'Erce,' whispered Pryor. 'Once a man told me she was called Erce.'
Mother Earth, a name Dumarest had heard before. One appropriate to the figure; turned, it would be Earth Mother.
Earth Mother?
