Being The First In A Series Discussing Obsolete Architectural Forms
“Ressi.” Some particularly quiet murmuring came from Takki. She understood Adabans preferred silence on the part of the audience during their public events, but she erred in believing that discussion to rate as such. “Does the voting seem more one-sided than it should be? I thought Mr. Gabdirn countered Mr. Odibink's claim about the technology required to exploit caves that already exist really well, but nobody looks convinced.”
Ignoring the description of the present circumstance as “voting,” Dirant answered, “It is mostly that Mr. Gabdirn is a Heweker.”
“Oh. If I got an education in the perception of Hewekers, would I understand the significance?”
Dirant not only matched Takki's low volume but went beyond that by pretending his left boot gave him cause for concern. Using that as an excuse to lag behind the crowd, he allowed it to pass on a good distance before he said, “Hewekers sound stupid.”
“Oh, that reminds me of the way those snobs in Sessu Rasse look down on the rest of us.”
“Even so, except that should you press us, most I think will admit the accusation is unjustified. Nevertheless.”
“Hmph. Does Mr. Odibink sound especially intelligent to you?”
“He is more of an artist than a speaker, and perhaps therefore his clarity of thought exceeds that of his speech.”
“Have you seen any of his mosaics? Oh, I'm mollified now so we should probably go back.”
“I have not yet.”
At every stop the debate faltered as both men, along with the tourists and reporters, stared at the search procedure, either statue-still or grabbing a neighbor's arm after the fashion of a more dynamically posed statue. The typical Ertith passage was not so much concealed as obstructed, but in either case the workers had at times to remove a part of a wall or displace a compacted pile of trash. That is, the present state was trash, regardless of how useful its various components might have been all those thousands of years back. Then, after each failure, the volume of the ensuing discourse rose. Far from subduing the anticipatory spirit of the onlookers, each setback in their estimation promised a future success.
While they were mistaken in a theoretical sense, practice obliged. At the far end of what was once a street where children played and adults yelled at them to stop playing and do their chores, all of that presumed, a building which once reached at least two stories (unless the fragment of an upper floor had some other purpose, a shelf for a bizarrely tall person for example) had in one corner a door set flat in the ground. Such a cacophony as was ever heard in the middle of a public debate in Pavvu Omme Os resulted so that Kodol “Pots” Hinpabafnoren had to yell when he desired to get a few words from the experts about their feelings at witnessing a momentous discovery which promised to upend the entire field of Ertith studies.
“There is no such promise. These gentlemen will say that exactly.” Nalfenk Migolkir of The Scientifically Minded Gentleman's Primer did not yell.
Even that assertion overstated the reaction. Gabdirn glanced at Kodol and turned back to his contemplation of the door without bothering to correct the boisterous reporter. “No adornment on it,” he said.
Odibink at least gave the matter enough attention to say, “Now, these things don't go in quite that way.” That gave Nalfenk the indisputable victory over Kodol, though the consequences consisted of nothing but Kodol's smile which said that there was no harm in trying and Nalfenk's which replied there was no purpose either. Every occupation has its schools of thought.
“I want to talk to Mr. Odibink.” The cavern reverted to its silence of millennia. Even disregarding the abilities of the Subjugator class to which Doltandon Yurvitas belonged, the person who ventured as far as the hills outside Ividottlof in order to look at potsherds typically belonged to the conscientious type regardless of how frivolous tourists seemed as a group.
A consultation followed during which it was concluded that the door once had a handle. Mr. Doltandon had been supplied a set of replica brass handles for just such a scenario in accordance with Mr. Atkosol's wish that so far as possible the site should closer resemble its initial state after the excavation than before it. In his study in Opstlik, surrounded by contemporary luxury and pondering the latest scholarship, he had developed a theory that to seek the deepest insight into a culture was best treated not as an intellectual subject alone but as a holistic conception which might be aided by recreating the relevant physical environment. Just as his biographer ought to spend an hour in that same study, it behooved the Ertith researcher to see around him what the Ertithans did.
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Yurvitas attached the handle Odibink declared the closest fit. Kneeling, he called out, “Mr. Reporter, be sure you're ready to capture for posterity the moment when we find a new passage we'll need three months to clear.” He yanked back among laughter that turned into gasps at the reveal of an unobstructed vertical shaft. All attention went to that and not to the slight smile of Yurvitas, a man unafraid to make a show of things and equipped with enough Panache to carry it off.
Any ladder placed there was long since removed or disintegrated. That was an anticipated circumstance. A replacement arrived before the ambient excitement diminished even so much as the width of mabonnpaper, and the workers set it in place and handed Doltandon a lantern after he descended a few steps and satisfied himself as to the ladder's stability. He thereupon announced he was perfectly situated for an interview. That got more laughs.
The tourists were free to imagine what he saw as he climbed and subsequently crept along the passage at the bottom, stooped but still suffering the scrapes inevitable when traversing a tunnel far less commodious than those produced by modern methods. Did the path branch? Some did at the larger sites. Had he found a chamber already, some underground storehouse or place of worship for the gods of earth and iron? Did the path end in gravel a few feet in? Likely it did, but that result would not disappoint. The Ertithans, much like every other civilization known, did not as a habit dig tunnels without a sure destination.
Fifteen minutes later, Doltandon Yurvitas shouted up. “Get Mr. Atkosol.”
There were side passages, all of them blocked. The main tunnel by some miracle ran straight and clear to a vertical shaft on the far side, and above that was a complex which the calculations of Taomenk Genarostaf confirmed to be the interior of the Hideout's grandest ziggurat unless the Ertithans had erected a larger one outside the city circle in contravention of their usual practice.
The ancient tunnel fell as far short in height, width, and safety as anyone could ask who wanted a tinge of adventure to a large-scale operation backed by an immensely wealthy man and conducted with faultless regularity. Mr. Atkosol, immediately after he reached the far side, decided that he trusted the visiting ladies and gentlemen to brave the path thick with ancient mystery themselves without bonking their heads or rushing forward to rearrange the ziggurat's contents by way of a prank. He also sent for the scribes and artists he employed to record said contents in exact detail.
There was a great deal to record. Anyone who took the time to read a single book by Mr. Gabdirn, a relevant article by Mr. Nalfenk, or any of the other myriad writings on the subject knew to expect mosaics, though whether the few fragments which remained in the bulk of cases qualified as a mosaic made for a question liable to start beginners on perplexing journeys through philosophy's unearthly kingdoms. The most exciting finds to historians, if not to art historians, had as accompaniment some writing as well.
From such snatches as those along with the occasional inscription on some pillar or doorframe came the label Ertith. Not only did “Ertith” appear with the highest frequency of any single word, but the Zeuhyas from the southern continent Dosoroz agreed it sounded most like the name of a country or people out of all the text interpreted to that point. Since nothing but the felicitous discovery of the similarities between Ertithan writing and the Archaic Auzisthuic of their ancestors had enabled any interpretation at all to be done, their authority in the matter was accepted.
The mosaics there looked at a glance to be more complete than the worst if far from the best. Less expectedly, portions of a wall painting remained. That was found in a chamber with but one exit, a rarity in Ertithan ruins; the typical room communicated with several neighbors through passages a foot or so in length, closer to vestibules than corridors. The paint reached the very corners, indicating the scene had once covered the entire wall. That meant but so much seeing as the chamber's ceiling extended barely more than one Adaban high. Still, it must have been impressive when intact. As to what it depicted, the experts saw no sense in waiting to argue about it.
“That figure there in what looks like armor of the most advanced kind.” Mr. Odibink was crouching in order that any surprise might not send his head into the ceiling. Being the tallest man in the room sometimes required one to take extraordinary precautions. “The easiest explanation is that it's ceremonial garb, and that may be true, but what if it's some kind of safety equipment? We know they had rituals.”
Overhearing that, not that the statement was intended to be secret, Takki asked Dirant, “Ressi, is there something like that you wear when you're doing your job? I'm sorry, that's too confined. What I really want to know is, what's Ritualist safety equipment like?”
“Gloves are advisable when handling certain components.”
“Oh.”
That left the ceremonial theory, which Mr. Gabdirn disputed on far different grounds. “Mr. Odibink, I do no insult to say you are too much a Picker. It's a proud class, but you have oversights. Ertith technology is one thing, but if they do an invitation?”
“An invitation you say, Mr. Gabdirn?” The unfamiliar terminology prevented an instinctive refutation.
“You are such a Picker you think of it as a summoning. What Symbol Knights do. That figure may be a guest.”
At last Odibink and the other listeners understood, and the idea tantalized. Definitive proof at last pointing to the ancient existence of Symbol Knights, that class which summoned (“Invites!” a Symbol Knight might shout) strange entities unlike monsters but nothing like man (“Guests,” that same Symbol Knight would surely insist). How many controversies would be settled by the revelation? None, but at the very least “Discovery of the Symbol Knight class” could be placed without hesitation before “Ertith existed” on the timeline, wherever it was that Ertith went on it. Everyone possessed of an orderly mind appreciates the establishment of a solid terminus ante quem.
The greater portion of the crowd was prepared to crown Gabdirn the king of the theorists despite his Hewekerisms, but engineer Taomenk Genarostaf had a grumble to make against the proposition. “List the evidence we have for the belief the Ertithans were primitive in their metal-working and realize how much there is. None, that's how much.”
“Wait, no, it isn't none,” Odibink protested. “The presence of forges capable of producing . . .”