by Diane Duane
“Interesting,” Rhiow said. “Someone in that house was looking at them last night, or this morning – perhaps in some other room?”
“I think in another room,” Arhu said, glancing around him at the various pieces of paper. “But the originals don’t like where they are very much; it’s like they’re trying not to notice what they’re used for or who’s looking at them. The house makes them nervous. They really prefer thinking about the past than dealing at all with the present…”
Rhiow’s tail twitched as she thought about that. Inanimate objects couldn’t always be depended on to give one data in much depth, but when they were afraid, it was worth noticing. “Did they know where they came from?”
“Absolutely,” Arhu said. “A museum. I could see their pictures of it.”
“You didn’t use – “
“No I did not use the Eye!” Arhu hissed. And then he quieted down and looked a little concerned. “Not that I would have felt real happy about using it, or staying there very much longer, even if you hadn’t said anything. I was starting to wonder if something was watching me. After just a little while I wanted to get out.” He paused to scratch behind one ear, then looked over at the empty desk. “Where’s our ehhif gone?”
“He’s having a shower,” Hwaith said, wandering in from the kitchen. “So where was this museum?”
“Here,” Arhu said, and put a paw down on a piece of paper that was still blank. It quickly filled with a map of central Los Angeles, and a spot where, within a square of roads, various smaller streets curved toward a meeting-place at the square’s heart. The curves were in marked contrast to the severity of the angles and smaller squares made by the streets all around.
“That’s the Museum of History, Science and Art,” Hwaith said. “It’s down in Exposition Park, where the big rose garden is.”
“You know your way around there?” Rhiow said.
“Fairly well,” Hwaith said. “Errantry occasionally takes me down that way. Getting in won’t be a problem.”
“Let’s go, then,” Rhiow said. It was as if the Whisperer was leaning over her shoulder, looking intently at the map, and bristling with a barely-managed fear that something might not happen in time.
“I’ll do a transit circle out in the back,” Hwaith said. “Give me a moment.” He went out to take care of it.
Rhiow glanced back at Arhu, who was once more looking over the images on the paper. His ears were laid back. “What’s the matter?” she said.
His eyes met hers, and the look in them was genuinely distressed: a reaction he hadn’t been willing to display while Hwaith was there. “Rhi,” he said. “There really was something looking… watching. It felt like what was leaning against the timeslide when we gated in.”
Rhiow hissed softly. “Sa’Rraah….”
“No!” Arhu said. “Not Her. I know what She feels like by now!” His fur didn’t rouse, but Rhiow thought that was only because he was absolutely commanding it to lie still, as a tom not of his pride was in the area and he didn’t want his reaction to show. “She always wants to make you look stupid,” Arhu said. “I mean, She wants you dead too — but the Lone One mostly wants you to think that you were an idiot to even try to fight Her: that She was always going to win. It’s personal, with Her. This, though – “ He turned away from Rhiow as he got up and with a small wizardry swept the papers into a neat pile. “This just wants you dead.”
Rhiow wasn’t sure what to say.
“But we’re the answer, aren’t we?” Arhu said, vanishing the papers into an otherspace pocket. “Iau and the Powers wouldn’t have sent us back here if we weren’t supposed to fix this. If we didn’t have at least a chance.”
Rhiow waved her tail in quiet agreement. “That’s how Urruah and I are seeing it at the moment,” she said.
Arhu hissed as Rhiow had: a small personal sound of frustration and nervousness. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “But I hate this.” His eyes met hers again. “Is it wrong to hate this?”
Rhiow sighed. “Not at all, my kit,” she said. “As long as while we hate it, we just keep on doing what we have to.”
She headed for the doors, trying to look calm for him, and Arhu followed.
*
The museum was surprisingly beautiful for something buried so deep in the heart of a busy ehhif city, and both the building and its surroundings had a spaciousness and grace about them that Rhiow found it possibly to enjoy even in these unnerving circumstances. Down in this part of the city, well away from the hills, there was still some mist clinging in the wake of dawn — though it seemed unlikely to Rhiow that this would last long. From the mist rose a building that featured a big central dome between two smaller ones, and an arched and pillared porch that looked down into the aisles and graveled paths of the huge surrounding rose gardens. The mist softened the traffic noises drifting in from all sides as the surrounding city surged to life in the brightening morning.
They all sidled before they made their way through the mist and up the steps of the front entrance. “The place doesn’t open for a few hours yet,” Hwaith said. “It should be nice and quiet for us.”
They spoke the Mason’s Word and passed through the bronze-bound doors under the porch, into the huge airy space under the rotunda of the central dome. Had there been any sound, it would have echoed: but the silence here was total, the outside traffic sounds sealed completely away.
Rhiow and Urruah and Arhu paused there on the shining marble floor while Hwaith got his bearings. “Right,” he said. “The last time I was here, all the Mesoamerican stuff was one floor up. The stairs are over here –“
He led them over to the right, where a stairway came down between the lesser right-hand dome and the main one and switched back to follow the circle of the building up and around to the level over the front entrance. There they passed through an arch in the outer wall into a long hall that ran along the front of the building.
Inside it was an unbroken stretch of glass cases on the dome side, and more cases between the windows that looked down on the main entrance. To Rhiow, the sense of profound age that suddenly descended on her as she glanced around was astonishing. It’s strange, she thought, that I don’t get this feeling when we have reason to go to the museums in the City in our hometime. But possibly I’m just getting jaded about those, having seen them so often.
Or maybe it was just the difference in the kinds of things that were here, the more intimate scale of the displays — not the massive statuary of ehhif tombs and effigies, and their bulky-graceful take on the way People saw the Powers that Be, but instead a lavish collection of the things ancient ehhif in a very different part of the world had used in their day to day lives in this part of the world. There were incense burners and effigies of ehhif and beasts, and all kinds of pots and ceramic baskets and three-or four-footed drinking and eating vessels, some of them in animal shapes or looking like human heads. There was delicate jewelry of silver and turquoise and carved translucent shell, and massive pieces – necklets and gold-bound collars in carved jade and polished stone. There were rows and rows of small round-featured ehhif figures made of clay or other baked ceramics, some simply dressed and some ornately; some still painted after centuries, some worn down by time to the red-brown of the original clay. And off to one side stood a great wall of glass, behind which, on many shelves, stood row after row of tablets that had once been square or rectangular or round, but were now well worn by time into less regular shapes.
“This is it!” Arhu said, sounding excited. “I can feel it. This is where the original rubbings came from – “ He started down the long wall of glass, pausing to look carefully at each group of tablets.
Urruah strolled along in tandem with him, looking over the artifacts on the other side. “I never get tired of how old all these things feel,” Hwaith said to Rhiow as the two of them brought up the rear, watching watched Arhu work his way down the line of cases. “It’s not as if ehhif have been here that much lon
ger than People have – they haven’t, of course.” He looked around him, waving his tail gently. “Maybe it’s just that slight sense of alienness… that there’s this other species sharing the planet with us, and their lives are so complex in so many ways that we’ll never really have time to understand. You might go out on the High Road and meet other species that are physically so different, so strange. But ehhif just seem stranger far because they’re right here alongside us, and we just don’t know them…”
Then he trailed off. “I’m sorry,” Hwaith said. “That must sound awfully facile. Or shallow. You’re in close company with ehhif, you said. The situation probably looks a lot different to you…”
“Oh, no,” Rhiow said. She might feel distracted right now by her concern and unease, but Hwaith’s thought was one that had occurred to her more than once. “In fact, if you ever get really close to one,” she said, “it feels more true, not less. At least that’s been my experience.”
“I wonder what it would be like, sometimes,” Hwaith said. “To be someone’s ‘pet’, to let them build that relationship around you. It must be strange to try to balance something as vital as a Person’s independence against the emotional needs of someone from another species…”
Rhiow laughed just a little sadly, thinking of Hhuha. — For the first time in, dear Iau, it’s days now. I’ve been far too busy this last little while… “It’s nowhere near so clinical,” she said. “What does seem strange at first is to find yourself becoming friends with someone you can’t even talk to. Though if things go well, after a while it starts to seem like the most natural thing in the world…”
“Rhiow!” Arhu said. “Look down here!”
“What?” She trotted down to him, and Hwaith followed. “Is it one of the carvings with the gaps?”
“No,” Arhu said. Just briefly, his voice sounded as if he’d found something funny. Rhiow came up behind him, and alongside Urruah she peered into the case. On its bottommost shelf was a tall fired-clay tablet with some of its paint intact though it was more than five hundred years old. It featured an image in the Mayan style of something that could have been mistaken for a crocodile standing on its hind legs. But the “crocodile’s” muzzle was unusually heavy and blunt and short, and its hind legs were much heavier than any croc’s, and its front legs far too short and delicate. In addition, no crocodile ever had teeth like the ones drawn in this creature’s jaws: and crocs didn’t normally come patched in yellow and red. They didn’t normally have wings, either, or wear collars ornamented with little cats’ heads.
“That must have given the archaeologists and translators a fun time,” Urruah said, as amused as Arhu. “Let’s see who they think he is —” He peered at the label mounted on the floor of the enclosure. “’Atypical Feathered Serpent motif, Teotihaucan region circa 1500, with ocelocoatl features. Possibly represents the K’iche Maya deity Q’uq’umatz, Creator, Patron of Civilization and Devourer of Darkness.’”
“More like Auto’matz the Devourer of Pastrami,” Arhu muttered, smiling.
“A colleague of ours back uptime,” Rhiow said to Hwaith, who was possibly understandably looking a little bewildered. “A surprisingly senior colleague for someone so new at the job, too. He’s Arhu’s big brother.”
Hwaith gave Rhiow a look that suggested he thought he was having his tail pulled. Rhiow had to chuckle. “It’s a long story…”
“Looks like the locals knew Ith way back when,” Urruah said to Arhu. “Or rather, they know what he’s become since you and Ith started rewriting thte Great Serpent’s story…”
Arhu moved on to the next case. “Here,” he said. “Here’s one that we have a copy of.” He paused in front of a fired clay tablet that had been broken into a number of pieces and carefully mended. Some of the gaps in the rubbing were not merely places where the characters were missing, but where they’d been actively obliterated by some ehhif with a sharp object. In other spots two or three of them were missing because the tablet itself had been broken there, and the material between either pulverized or otherwise lost.
“Okay,” Arhu said, and reared up on his hind legs to pat the glass with one paw. It went misty and indistinct, responding to yet another variant of the Mason’s Word that he’d apparently had ready. Arhu reared back on his hindquarters a little, then jumped up straight through the glass and into the case. He put a paw on the tablet and started talking quietly to it in the Speech. “It must have been awful to be hurt like that, after somebody went to all that trouble to make you. And then getting all busted up! Remember how it was when you were brand new and all in one piece? I’ll help you remember – “
Every wizard has a working style, and once more Rhiow found herself appreciating Arhu’s. What he might lack in structural sophistication when constructing a spell, he more than made up for in youthful enthusiasm and a kind of raw empathy that came across as very touching. It was no wonder that the tablet responded almost immediately. The resin binder that the museum’s restorers had used to replace the worst gaps in the tablet started fading out of sight, replaced by a clay-colored light that started settling gently into the gaps like water with silt in it. The memory of clay fired a thousand years past began rebuilding itself in the actual material: the tablet’s edges sharpened, the shapes of the carvings crisped all across the surface. Finally the effect began trembling in the pits and depressions where characters had been obliterated –
There was resistance. Arhu had stopped speaking out loud, now, and was using the Speech silently, impressing his desire on the tablet. It took more time than the general restoration had, but at last those final characters started filling themselves in. Arhu was breathing hard by the time the work was finished and the tablet sat whole and new-looking in the case.
As she and the others moved in for a closer look, though, Rhiow noticed that the reconstituted symbols seemed to be jittering a little in their places, as if they were having trouble staying restored. “Arhu,” she said —
“Yeah, I see it,” Arhu said, his voice sounding a little strained. “Whoever dug them out really wanted them gone. But I’ve copied this image to the paperwork in case the restitution gives way.”
“Nice technique there,” Hwaith said to Arhu. “Do you know which of these is next? I’ll get it ready for you.”
“Sure,” Arhu said. “It’s that one.” He indicated the first tablet, a round one, on a shelf in the next case. “And that one underneath it, next shelf down.”
“Right.”
Arhu looked back to the tablet he’d just restored. “Rhi, I really think this this is going to need a little of the Eye– “
“Do as much as you can without it,” Rhiow said.
He flicked an ear in agreement, and narrowed his eyes to see the tablet better. For some moments, though, he didn’t say anything, and Rhiow started to worry. “They’re not in some kind of code, are they?” she said, concerned. Normally for codes to be made intelligible to a wizard, at least the cultural context for them had to still be available in some living mind, or recorded in the general knowledge base of some living culture. But if it isn’t –
“No, nothing like that,” Arhu said after a moment. “It’s complicated. But the Whisperer’s helping me. These people’s calendars were really accurate, but so weird in terms of how they divided the months and stuff! They had everything from those thirteen-day cycles Helen mentioned to ones that went on for two hundred sixty days… and then much longer ones based on Venus’s orbit and Iau knows what else.” His tail twitched idly as he worked out what he was looking at. “But there’s one really long sequence called the Long Count… and this stuff has to do with that. There were shorter cycles buried in it: hundreds of years instead of hundreds of days or months. And the dates make sense now that the missing stuff’s in place.”
Arhu paused, studying the tablet. “So what we’ve got here are three sets of dates. There are these three long recurring cycles – one that’s three hundred ninety-four years, that’s a b�
��ak’tun, and one that’s fifty-four, and one that’s eleven. And there are three short cycles of days or months, and three that are very short, just hours or minutes. At very long intervals, all nine cycles coincide. Looks like someone way back when made a list of when the cycles were scheduled to intersect next…”
Urruah looked over at Rhiow. “The Lady in Black did mention ‘three times three times three’…”
She waved her tail at him in agreement. Arhu meanwhile sat there squinting at the characters for a few seconds more, while his off ear flicked again a couple of times as if someone was whispering in it. “Getting it now,” he said. “The years don’t just have numbers, but animal names. All of these are Years of the Black Jaguar.”
The fur stood up all over Rhiow.
“You don’t seem to get a whole lot of those,” Arhu said, laying a paw on one or another symbol to get a clearer reading. “But when you do get a Great Coincidence, it comes in a double pair with another one that’s fairly close: then they don’t repeat again for a good while. The places on the tablet where somebody came in and chipped out the characters – that’s the last time the cycles coincided.” His far ear flickered again as the Whisperer said something in it. “The way ehhif reckon time, the first coincidence started on June twelfth, nine thirty-one A.D. and ran through till that June fourteenth. Then there was another one that ran from April fifth, nine ninety-four A.D. until April seventh–“
“And the time after that?” Urruah said, his voice completely steady and unconcerned.
Arhu peered at it. “From July twenty-first to July twenty-third, nineteen forty-six…”
Rhiow gulped. From last night until tomorrow night…
