Osherl responded evenly: "My 'comfort,' as you put it, is primordial, and is basically designed to protect me from night-prowling beasts. I lack both silken couches and attentive subalterns."

"And the Perciplex?"

Osherl jerked his thumb toward a rusty iron post fifty yards away. "Directly under that post, at some unknown depth, lies the Perciplex."

Rhialto, surveying the area, noticed racks of empty flagons to the side of the cottage. "Mind you, I intend neither criticism nor scorn, but is it possible that you have taken to drink?"

"And if so, what then?" grumbled Osherl. "The vigil has been long. To vary the tedium, I compound tonics of various flavors which I sell to the villagers."

"Why did you not start an exploratory tunnel toward the Perciplex?"

"Need I explain? I feared that if I did so and found nothing, I would be forced to endure your reproaches, I decided to take no initiatives."

"What of, let us say, competing entities?"

"I have not been molested."

Rhialto's keen ear detected an almost imperceptible nicety of phrasing. He asked sharply: "Have either Sarsem or Hache-Moncour made their presence known?"

"To no significant degree, if any. They understand the importance of our work, and would not think to interfere."

"Just so. Might they have sunk a shaft at a distance, let us say, of ten miles, and driven a tunnel so that they came upon the Perciplex in a manner beyond your knowledge?"

"Impossible. I am not easily fooled. I arranged devices to signal all illicit incursions, either temporal, torsional, squalmaceous, or dimensional. The Perciplex is as before."

"Excellent. You may commence your excavation at once."

Osherl only made himself more comfortable in his chair. "First things first! This acreage is owned by a certain Um-Foad, resident at the village Az-Khaf, which you see yonder. He must be consulted before a single shovelful of dirt is turned. I suggest that you visit him at his home and make the arrangements. But first! Dress in garments like my own, to avoid ridicule."

Dressed in accordance with Osherl's recommendations, Rhialto and Shalukhe sauntered off to Az-Khaf.

They discovered a neat village of stark white houses in gardens of enormous red sun-flowers.

Rhialto made inquiries and the two were directed to a house with windows of blue glass and a roof of blue tile. Standing in the street Rhialto called across the garden, until Um-Foad at last came out upon his porch: a man small and white-haired with a shrewd darting gaze and a fine mustache with sharply upturned points. He called out sharply: "Who calls the name 4Um-Foad' and for what purpose? He may or may not be at home."

"I am Rhialto, a student of antiquities. This is my assistant Shalukhe the Swimmer. Will you come here, or shall we go there, so that we need not shout?"

"Shout as loud as you like. I am only here to listen."

Rhialto spoke in a quiet voice: "I wish to speak of money."

Um-Foad came bounding forward, mustache a-bristle. "Speak up, sir! Did you mention money?"