Fossil Hunter

*41*

Two down, four to go.

Perhaps I should have done Toroca when I last saw him. It will be a long time before he returns to the Capital, I’m sure. Still, the fact that he is away so much of the time makes his existence tolerable… to a degree. Absence makes the heart grow calmer.

That mass dagamant was a release for me, and for many others, I’m sure. Perhaps I’ll wait awhile until I do number three.

Or perhaps not.

After the collective dagamant, Cadool searched and searched for Afsan. At last he found him, disoriented, unsure of where he was, slumped in an alley beside a building, exhausted, bruised, bloodied, but not severely injured.

They retired to Rockscape for three days, recovering, and waiting for Gathgol, now the busiest of all workers in the province, to collect all the bodies that littered the streets.

But, at last, Afsan and Cadool came back into the city to deal with the task at hand.

“Let’s rest here,” said Cadool. They’d been walking all afternoon, going from one side of the Capital to the other, the streets still a mess, blood splatters on the paving stones and adobe walls, broken tree branches and discarded sashes skittering along the avenues, propelled by the wind.

Here, in a small plaza, a marble likeness of the astrologer Tak-Saleed had been erected. Unlike many of the monuments in the Capital, this one was still standing despite the riots. Cadool helped Afsan find a seat on a bench, sitting him in the shadow of the statue.

“There is no sign that bloodpriest Maliden is in Capital City,” said Cadool, easing himself onto another bench. “Dy-Dybo’s guards have searched everywhere.”

Afsan nodded. “I always thought that was a long shot. Maliden would do well to be on the run; he’d be a fool to have remained here.”

“Indeed.”

“And Rodlox is telling the truth when he says he didn’t do it.”

“I’ve not heard such invective in my whole life,” said Afsan. “He took great offense that we should even ask.”

“But he did not commit the murders.”

“No.”

“It’s difficult to really fathom a motive for Dy-Dybo’s other siblings,” said Cadool. “Even so, only Dedprod and Spenress were already in town at the time of the first murder, and neither of them did it.”

“That’s right, neither of them.”

“So that excuses all members of The Family.”

“Yes.”

“But not all members of your family.”

Afsan’s tail swished. “No.”

“Toroca was away on his Antarctic voyage during the first murder,” said Cadool.

Afsan nodded. “It pleases me that I didn’t have to speak to him about this.”

“And your daughter Dynax, although from Chu’toolar, where the mirror was made, told us the truth when asked if she was involved.”

“Yes.”

“Kelboon and hunt leader Galpook told us the truth, too; they’re innocent,” said Cadool, holding up a hand, ticking off fingers.

“A process of elimination,” said Afsan.

“Yes,” said Cadool. “Both what we’re doing, and, in a way, what he is doing.” There was no clicking of teeth accompanying the words.

“It was distasteful asking those questions of people I know,” said Afsan.

“They will forgive you.”

“I suppose.”

“There’s no doubt who the murderer is,” said Cadool.

Afsan spoke quickly. “There’s little doubt, yes. But until I confront him, I will assume his innocence.”

“As you wish.” Cadool paused. “Does it hurt?”

“What? Losing two children? Or being about to lose a third? In any event, yes, it hurts.”

“I’ll never know what it’s like to have a family,” said Cadool softly.

“Apparently,” said Afsan, “different individuals react in different ways to the concept.”

Cadool nodded. “Apparently.”

They were quiet for a time, Cadool knowing that Afsan was composing himself, preparing for what must come. At last Afsan said, “Let’s go.”

“To see him?”

“’Not yet. We must go to my office in the palace first. There are some things I need. And we should have an escort, I think.”

They got to their feet and walked toward the setting sun.

It turned out that the part of the ship they’d been exploring wasn’t the major part at all. Only a tiny fraction of the ship’s bulk had been exposed by blasting away a portion of the cliff face. Much, much more of it was still buried in the rock. To get to the other section, one had to pass through another one of those rooms with doors at either end.

Everyone stood well back as Toroca, having taken a deep breath, operated the second door. But this time the air that spilled out, having been locked in for who knows how long, didn’t choke them, although it did have a musty smell about it. Toroca walked in and found an aisle as tall as ten old Quintaglios and so long that it would take a daytenth to walk its length.

Lining the corridor were rectangular chambers. Some were tiny, others huge. They were packed tightly together like a quilt, with each opening a different size, but all interlocking so that no space was wasted. Each chamber was fronted with glass—or perhaps it was that strange transparent material used to cover the lighting tubes.

And within—

Within were animals.

All dead. Some had decayed completely to dust, others were just piles of bones, others still retained their skin intact.

Toroca recognized some of them. Sort of, that is. Turtles and lizards and snakes looked just like, or very similar to, the ones he knew. But others were, well, wrong. Here, in one of the biggest chambers, was a shovelmouth, lying on its side, its head crest unlike any Toroca had ever seen before, with a large blade-like front part and a short spike pointing to the rear.

And here, a hornface with down-turned horns, like melted wax, unlike any hornface Toroca had ever heard of.

And here, the bones of another hornface, but this one with the frill of bone over the neck simply outlined, with huge hollow spaces in the middle.

And here, an armorback. A—it came to him, staggering him back on his tail—an armorback like one of those whose fossils are found only in the oldest rocks.

But most of the specimens were birds.

Birds!

Known only from the fossil record, and even there, only exceedingly rarely. Indeed, Toroca had to stare at the gaudily colored specimens for what seemed an eternity before he realized what they were. Some of the fossils of them showed a frayed body covering, and these specimens were wrapped in things that looked a bit like fern leaves, densely packed with branches.

Some of the birds had long toothy beaks, like those of many wingfingers, and some had thick beaks with no teeth at all, and some had rounded bodies and wide, flat prows, like the prows of shovelmouths.

But they were all birds.

Completely unknown in the world today.

Birds.

At last, Wab-Babnol returned to join the Geological Survey team in Fra’toolar. She had come via boat—one not nearly as large or famous as the Dasheter, though. Toroca ordered the same boat loaded up with bird specimens to be taken back to Novato in the Capital.

As soon as he got close enough to Babnol to smell her pheromones, Toroca knew it was over. Her mating time had passed; barring unusual circumstances, she would be free of the urge until another full year had elapsed, another eighteen kilodays, another quarter of her lifetime.

“Welcome back,” said Toroca, both sad and glad at the same time.

Babnol bowed deeply. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better,” she said, and, a moment later, again: “Better.”

Toroca nodded. “It’s good to see you again.” He wanted to close the distance between them, to reach out, to—

And then Babnol did the incredible. She stepped toward him, closing the gap, and, with what was clearly a great deal of effort, reached up with her left hand and clasped his arm. “Thank you,” she said, still squeezing warmly, “thank you very much.”

Toroca’s heart soared. “It’s wonderful to have you back, my friend,” he said.

“And it’s wonderful to be back with you,” she said.

She held the position for five whole beats more, then stepped back three paces.

Toroca beamed.