to see Dr. Fletcher alive.'
'And how do you know,' Stoltz said with a certain irritation, 'that we were the last people to see Dr. Fletcher alive?'
'Well…,' began Wolfe. Then he saw a waiter passing, said 'Excuse me,' and hurried off in pursuit.
'I think what Mr. Wolfe meant,' said Benjamin uncomfortably, 'is that you were his last appointments. He met with you this week.'
Gudrun shook her head. 'Not with me,' she said.
'No, no,' Benjamin said hurriedly, 'but he wanted to. I mean, he'd scheduled you for Friday, yes?'
Again Gudrun shook her head. 'Not that I know of,' then said, 'I hope that doesn't mean you don't want to speak with me.'
'Oh,' was all Benjamin could think to say.
'With you, Dr. Soderbergh, most of all,' said Wolfe, returning, his glass full again. 'Gudrun,' he said thoughtfully. 'Wasn't that the name of some Norse Amazon in the tale of Sigurd? The one he spurned, and who then enacted terrible revenge upon him?'
Gudrun didn't flinch. 'Amazon,' she replied coolly, 'is really just a word for a strong woman. And strong women tend to make men… uncomfortable. So they make up terrible stories about them.'
Wolfe smiled but didn't respond. Benjamin couldn't see how any of this was serving as an interview and decided to take the lead.
'So, Dr. Stoltz, you did speak with Jeremy, yes?'
Stoltz looked at him as though he were a slow child. 'Yes,' he said, 'and a most interesting conversation it was.' Wolfe used that moment to steer Gudrun a few feet away and begin a conversation with her, Benjamin couldn't quite hear about what, but Stoltz was going on.
'But first tell me, Mr. Wainwright, what do you think so far of our little community?'
Benjamin wasn't sure whether Stoltz was referring to the Foundation or its people, so he decided to assume the former, as it was easier to categorize.
'It's beautiful. The buildings and grounds… and that extraordinary mural, in the manse?'
'Ah,' said Stoltz, nodding. 'The Bayne panorama. Odd you should bring that up. That was what brought Dr. Fletcher to me.'
'Really?' said Benjamin, trying to conceal his surprise. 'And what did you tell him?'
'Well, I began by telling him that it's from the late 1920s. It isn't quite a Gropper, he was too busy doing post offices and banks, that sort of public welfare thing. But I told him it's an excellent representation of Gropper's style: the heroic poses, the slick surfaces, complete lack of corners, even in the faces. And the enormous scale. It's no Man at the Crossroads, of course, but it's quite interesting.'
'I haven't had time to really study it yet.'
'Oh, you should,' enthused Stoltz. 'Some of the scenes date back to the 1600s, back to when this whole area was part of the Quincy Homestead, one of the first-'
' Edmund Quincy's homestead?' Benjamin interrupted.
Stoltz looked surprised. 'You know of him?'
Benjamin tried to recover some of his disinterested manner. 'Wasn't he a partner with a… Henry Coddington? I seem to remember that one of their investments had to do with a Puritan compound, something called the… the Bainbridge Plantation?'
Stoltz beamed. 'Then you know all about that sordid little chapter of our past?'
'Sordid?'
'Well,' began Stoltz, 'what with the Quincy Homestead, and then the Bainbridge Plantation practically on top of that ancient Indian burial ground, and then the Foundation's various predecessors-'
'Excuse me?' Benjamin couldn't contain himself. 'This… plantation, it was here? I mean, exactly… here?'
Stoltz smiled. 'We're practically eating over Bainbridge's grave.'
'Really?' Benjamin took a sip of his drink to give himself time to calm down.
'Indeed. Our august institution occupies the very same plot of land as the Coddington Estate. Which was, before that, the Bainbridge Plantation. You see, the plantation was wiped out, by Indians, back in the 1600s. Burned to the ground, not a stick left, everyone massacred.'
'Then how,' Benjamin said, keeping his tone calm, 'could they know that the plantation was here? There were no… I mean, I would imagine there were no surviving records or anything?'
'Well, yes, they never actually found Bainbridge's body, that's true. But when they discovered his diary here during the excavations in the twenties-'
'Diary?' This time Benjamin couldn't keep his voice from rising.
'Yes. The late twenties were when the Foundation first became The Foundation-as one of those populist institutions for good government, or something dreadfully idealistic like that-and they were digging to expand the manse, when they came across this small stone crypt. Inside that, they found a sealed lead box. And inside that, they found this diary.' He paused for a moment, took a long drink of his wine. 'Remarkable story, though it rather got lost amongst the more… commanding events of that year. It was, after all, 1929. In fact, about this very time of year. October.'
'Extraordinary coincidence,' said Wolfe.
Stoltz smiled broadly. 'Odd you should call it that,' he said. 'That's exactly how Dr. Fletcher reacted when I told him the same story.'
Benjamin could feel himself holding his breath. 'Did Dr. Fletcher know any of this before you spoke with him?'
'No, of course not,' said Stoltz. 'But after we spoke about the mural he was asking all sorts of questions about that episode-which I thought rather strange. For a mathematician.' He shrugged, took another sip of wine. 'Oh, and especially the scandal that transpired after they found the diary, when-'
'Ah,' Gudrun said, stepping back to them and interrupting Stoltz, 'Eric, please, don't bore poor Benjamin to death.' She turned to Benjamin. 'I'm sorry, you get any one of us started, we forget other people don't share our… obsessions.' Gudrun put her hand on Benjamin's forearm. 'I think they're about to start serving. Shall we find a table?'
Benjamin glanced around for Wolfe, didn't see him, and let himself be led to a nearby table with four empty seats.
While wineglasses were being filled and plates set down, Benjamin thought about what he'd learned from Stoltz. What struck him as strangest of all was that Jeremy, after residency at the Foundation for several months and probably passing through the manse's foyer on a daily basis, should suddenly take an interest in the mural. In all the time he'd known Jeremy at Harvard, never once had he expressed an interest in art. He'd always imagined that to Jeremy art, being unquantifiable, didn't really exist; not in the certain way of numbers and patterns.
Benjamin realized Gudrun was introducing the others at the table.
'And this is Dr. Morton Cavendish,' she was saying, pointing with her wineglass to an older gentleman with full white hair and beard. 'Our resident expert on international relations.'
Cavendish frowned. 'Don't let her mislead you, Mr. Wainwright. Gudrun isn't taking proper credit. Her white paper on the Middle East… well, it wouldn't be inaccurate to say it helped point this administration in the right direction.' He saluted her.
'Really, Dr. Cavendish.' Gudrun smiled, but Benjamin noticed she did not demur.
'Yes, a remarkably successful invasion, as invasions go,' said Wolfe, rejoining the group. He was greeted by stares and silence. He scanned their faces, smiled. 'I'm sorry, is that word out of season now?'
'You can't possibly suggest,' began Cavendish, 'that we should have done nothing and let our enemies-'
'Please, Morton,' Gudrun said, smiling sweetly at Wolfe, 'let Mr. Wolfe finish.'
Wolfe bowed slightly to Gudrun. 'What would you say regarding enemies, Ms. Soderbergh? Thanks to our doing something, do we now have fewer? And does this splendid little war make the next big one less likely?'
'I'm more interested in what happens before a conflict begins,' she said steadily. 'Napoleon said a battle is won or lost before it ever starts. That's when victories are made.'
'And those victories,' said Wolfe, looking very pointedly at Gudrun, 'they're made here?'
She didn't flinch. 'Those in power have always recognized the value of innovative thinkers to advise them.'
