Baston nodded. “Sure is. Reckon you know her.”
“I do.” I paused, remembering. “I comforted her once. Someone—it doesn’t matter who—had spoken in a way that hurt her deeply. I tried…” I paused again. “Well, I’m glad she hasn’t forgotten me.”
My new patron, Ms. Harper Heath, returned. We followed her out of the library, and Baston opened the door of her sleek silver flitter and helped her in. To my surprise, she patted the seat beside her own, saying, “Sit with me, Smithe. I need to talk to you and ask some questions, and this will be a good time to do both.”
More than a little apprehensive, I walked around to the other side, opened the curved, tight-fitting door there, and somewhat clumsily climbed in. When the flitter was well above a sunlit sea of cloud, Ms. Heath asked, “What do you know of the occult, Smithe?”
I was tempted to say only that it didn’t exist, but it seemed clear that would be imprudent. In place of it I put, “No more than the average person, I’m sure. Possibly less.” Eager to enlist an ally, I turned in my seat to glance back at Baston. “What about you, Buck? Are you well acquainted with the occult?”
Silently, he shrugged and shook his head.
“Yet a librarian recommended both of you.” The flitter rose, shoving us back in our seats while our patron spoke.
Stubbornly, Baston shook his head again.
“Do you insist that you have had no experience with the supernatural, Mr. Smithe?”
I said, “I do,” making it as strong as I could. “Ricci and I met briefly in the ice caves of Lichholm. She’s not exactly a friend, though I wouldn’t call her an enemy. I take it you know about Lichholm? The island of Lichholm?”
“Only that a Dr. Fevre was doing research there. Is it nice?”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t, and I haven’t the slightest desire to go back there.”
Baston put in, “Ice caves don’t sound like someplace a man would hanker to bunk at.”
“Apparently Dr. Fevre took this Ricci girl off the island. If what you say is true, I applaud him for it.”
Picking up speed, our flitter laid back its wings.
19
AT HOME WITH THE HEATHS
“Our home is what’s called a progressive purlieu,” Ms. Heath explained. Her voice was warm with pride. “It grows as our income increases. Last year there was no billiard room, for example. We live in a living thing, but not as parasites. We feed, protect, and groom it.”
Like living inside a tree, I thought; but it seemed best to keep the thought to myself. That thought had waked a dozen memories.
“Your place will be in the library, Ern Smithe. Baston’s already familiar with every room of it and can explain their features.”
“It’s lovely,” I said, still looking at the house. “A beautiful home, and an imposing one.”
“Thank you!” Ms. Heath sounded as though she meant it. “Have you ever been to Venice?”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I can only hope to tour Italy someday.”
“Long, long ago they built palaces on water there. Most have washed away now, but a few of the best have been documented and preserved. We recommended the plan and general appearance of those palaces to our own program here.” For a second or two Ms. Heath paused, hesitating (I suppose) to explain something I might be familiar with already. “One can do that. Make constructive suggestions, whether the buildings you recommend are castles or cottages.”
Baston nudged me. “You git her to show you the big ballroom, Smithe. Forty acres I trow if it’s bigger’n my neck rag.”
The flitter dropped alarmingly, then scooted toward the gaping roof of a hangar. As it settled to the hangar’s smooth metal floor, I tried to digest the brief glimpse of the house our flight had given me, all the sharp roof peaks and wide domes, the glittering towers with airy turrets planted in rose-rich gardens.
Baston and I got out; the flitter lifted off at once, folded back dark wings, and was gone.
“This here house,” Baston explained when we had left the hangar, “keeps on buildin’ itself so long as folks live on the inside.”
I asked how fast it built.
“Depends on how much money they give it. It’s gotta eat. Gotta buy groceries. That’s lumber, nails, bricks, plumbing an’ all the rest, same as a contractor would. After that, it depends on the size. The bigger it is already, the faster it kin build more. It’s a real big ’un now, an’ can put on two little rooms per one day. Two littles or one big. What we’re seein’ now”—he waved at the house—“is a pretty fair size already.”
It certainly was. I nodded.
“A’ course funny wants kin slow the buildin’ down some. Damage, the same. It fixes itself then ’stead of buildin’ new.”
I ventured that it sounded like magic.
“I s’pose, only it ain’t real magic, you know. By an’ by you an’ me had best have us a little talk ’bout the real thing.”
“Also ghosts, apparently,” I said.
“We kin talk ’bout them soon as you’ve seen a couple.” Baston paused. “Seein’ helps make everthin’ clear. That’s ghosts an’ money both.”
At the front of the house, Baston spoke to the wide door, which swung back silently at once. “Didn’t welcome us,” he remarked to me.
I nodded. “Yes, I noticed.”
“If we’d of had a fully human with us, somebody like Miz Heath, we’d of had that. It knows.” Under his breath Baston added, “A fully human—or big money.”
I cleared my throat. “Perhaps we should go into the room in which ghosts are most likely.”
“While the sun’s up, there’s none likely.” Baston’s hoarse voice had fallen to a murmur. “Soon as sun’s gone, everwhere’s pretty likely.”
I began exploring; Baston followed me, three or four steps behind. In a few minutes I found a capacious, square room whose only window was a wide skylight. Little tables flanked divans and comfortable-looking chairs. A large screen occupied one corner, a cold fireplace another.
I sat down to think.
Baston chose an outlandish loveseat built (or so it appeared) of horsehide, horns, and antlers. “You figure to wait fer the ghosts here?”
“Yes, and to get something to eat, if I may.” I told the screen to show me the sun and the horizon below it. As I had expected, sunset was very near.
“You reckon you could order me something while you’re settin’ there, Ern?”
“Probably.” I nodded. “What would you like?”
“Whatever they got. I’ve et here afore, an’ it’s all been good.”
The screen supplied a list of suggestions. I chose two more or less at random.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
I shook my head just as Baston said, “Nope!”
That one syllable seemed to hang in the air until Baston muttered, “You ask me that?”
I shook my head again. “I did not. And you didn’t ask me, either. The obvious answer is that the screen did, but the question seemed to come from behind me.”