“It’s on her front deck now.”
“I mean, where’s it been the last few years? It looks as if it’s been out in the weather.”
“In the garden, I guess. She said it was a lawn decoration.”
He sank into a chair. “Even if it is Late Korbanic, it’s only going to have minimum value. Unless it turns out to be Christopher Carver’s gravestone. Or something along those lines.”
Carver, of course, was the Korbanic hero who’d gone missing three centuries ago while walking in a park. “It looks like a grave marker,” I said.
“I was kidding.”
“I know. But it does look like a marker.”
“All right. Let’s get the stone.”
“Jacob,” I said, “get Tim on the circuit.”
The lifting would be done by a couple of guys from Rambler, Inc., which provided a variety of services for Rainbow. Its manager, Tim Wistert, was a quiet, reserved guy who looked more like a bureaucrat than a mover. “Two guys?” he said.
“It looks heavy.”
“Okay. But we won’t be able to get over there until late this afternoon.”
“What time?”
“About four?”
“Okay. I’ll meet them there.”
Peer Wilson might have been the tallest man in Andiquar. He’d been around a long time, probably more than a century. His hair was beginning to lose its color. But it was stiff like prickly grass, and stood straight up, making him seem even bigger. He had a neatly trimmed mustache, and he made no effort to hide the fact that he disapproved of the way Alex made his living. Wilson, like many in the academic community, considered him a glorified grave robber.
Alex had signaled me when Wilson’s image showed up, and the conversation had already begun when I walked into the boss’s office in back.
“—not Late Korbanic,” Wilson was saying. He was seated in his office, behind a nameplate, awards prominently posted along the wall behind him. Northern Linguistic Association Man of the Year. The Gilbert Prize for Contributions to Historical Research. The Brisbane Award for Lifetime Achievement.
“Peer,” said Alex, “you remember my associate, Chase Kolpath. Chase, Professor Wilson.”
“Yes. Of course.” He smiled politely. “I believe we’ve met somewhere, haven’t we?” Then he plowed on, not waiting for an answer, which would have been Yes, several times. “No, there is some slight resemblance to one of the Korbanic codas. But it’s purely superficial.”
“Professor, do you have any idea what language it might be?”
“May I ask where this object is at the moment?”
“At the home of a client.”
“I see. Doesn’t he know what it is?”
“The owner is a young woman. And no, she seems to have no idea.”
“Yes. Well, I wouldn’t get too excited about it, Alex. I assume you’d like me to research it for you?”
“If you would.”
“Ordinarily, I’d expect a consultant’s fee. But as it’s you—” His lips parted in a contemptuous smile.
“Nitwit,” Alex said, looking up. “Chase, I’ve been checking on the previous owners of Gold Range number twelve.”
“And—?”
“At one time it belonged to Somerset Tuttle.”
“Tuttle? The guy they called Sunset? Who was always out looking for aliens?”
“That’s the one.”
“He’s been dead a long time, hasn’t he?”
“Twenty-five years. Give or take.”
“You think the tablet was his?”
“Maybe.”
“If it was his,” I said, “the language probably doesn’t make any difference.”
“Why is that?”
“If he’d found it in an archeological site somewhere, and it had any value, he’d certainly have known about it. I doubt it would have ended its days as a lawn ornament.”
“That would certainly seem to be a logical conclusion. Still, it seems like an odd thing to keep around the house. Let’s look into it.”
“Okay, Alex, if you say so.”
He smiled at my skepticism. “Stranger things have happened, young lady.”
“How did he die, Alex?”
We were still in his office in the back of the country house. A light symphony was playing on the sound system, and he was splayed out on the lush sofa he’d inherited from his uncle. “Sunset Tuttle enjoyed sailing. He used to go out on the Melony. One day he sailed into a storm. The wind caught one of the booms, swung it around, and clipped him in the head with it. He was alone, but there were witnesses in another boat. They got to him as quickly as they could, but—” Alex shrugged. “He had a reputation for being preoccupied. Not paying attention to what he was doing. He was 139 years old at the time. I wonder if it’s possible—”
“If what’s possible, Alex?”
“That the tablet is from an alien site.”
I laughed. “Come on, Alex. There aren’t any aliens.”
“How about the Mutes?”
“The Mutes don’t count.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
I gave up. Alex likes to think he keeps an open mind, but I was thinking how sometimes it’s too open. “So what are you saying?” I asked.
“Well, I don’t know. It makes no sense. He spent his life looking for aliens. If he found them, Chase, either living or otherwise, any evidence at all that they existed, he’d have put it all over the media.”
Alex keeps a couple of tabitha plants near the window. He got up, inspected them, and got some water for them. “His colleagues laughed at him. Lectured him for wasting his life. If he’d found the slightest evidence, he would not have held it back, believe me.” He finished with the plants and sat down again. “Maybe it’s time we talked with the great man himself.”
“Jacob,” I said, “does Tuttle have an avatar?”
Jacob needed a moment. “No, Chase. He was apparently a very private person.”
“I guess that’s a result of all the ridicule,” I said.
“How about his wife? Did she have an avatar?”
“Which one?”
“How many were there?”
“Three. India, Cassa, and Mary.”
“Can we reach any of them?”
“They’ve all passed away. The last of them, India, died just last year.”
“So which ones had an avatar?”
“India does.”
“Okay. Which years were they together? He and India?”
“From 1380 until 1396.”
“Did they have any kids?”
“He had one child. Basil. And before you ask, he seems to be still alive.”
“Good. Can you connect me with him?”
“Unfortunately, Alex, I have no link. Or address. His last known residence was in Foxpoint.”
“On the other side of the continent?”
“No. Not that Foxpoint. This one’s out in the desert in the south-east. But he moved several years ago.”
“Okay. See if you can track him down.” He smiled at me. “Somebody has to know something,” he said. Then back to Jacob: “Get us through to India.”
Moments later India Beshoar blinked on. She had lush brown hair, a good smile, a great body, and deep green eyes. Of course, everybody looks good in avatar form. You ought to see mine. “Hello,” she said. “Can I be of assistance?”