corson and ’deisha had been unable to rouse Nyctasia when they found her lying at the foot of the fountain, and this time they carried her home without delay.
She did not wake on the way, nor even when ’Deisha bathed her face with cold well-water, and Mesthelde scorched feathers and pungent herbs under her nose.
Corson counseled them to let her be. “She’ll come to herself when she’s ready, and not before. That one knows what she’s about, when it’s a matter of healing-she’s probably holding a pleasant little chat with the Indwelling Spirit right now, or something of that sort. Don’t worry.”
But ’Deisha fretted so much over Nyctasia that Mesthelde finally chased her from the sickroom. “Get out from underfoot, both of you,” she ordered. “Go back to the harvesting where you can be of some use.”
Raphe had stayed behind to rally his remaining workers, but when Corson and
’Deisha trudged back up the hill, he came to meet them and asked after Nyctasia, not meeting ’Deisha’s eyes.
“She’s not wakened yet,” said ’Deisha heavily.
“But that’s all to the good,” Corson assured them. “Those healing-spells of hers seem to work best that way. I once saw her with a wound that I thought would be the death of her, and she healed it overnight. It would take more than sunstroke to do away with that one. I don’t claim to understand the whole queer business, but she’ll be well in no time, you’ll see. Just don’t ask her to explain it, whatever you do!”
Raphe nodded. “They say that secrecy is the source of a magician’s power-that spells lose their might if they’re spoken of. I daresay Nyc had to swear oaths not to reveal the workings of her spells.”
“No such luck! She’s more than willing to explain all about it to anyone who’ll listen. And once that one starts in explaining, she won’t stop for wind or wild weather.”
Raphe smiled. “It must be an Edonaris failing. I’m like that myself, no?”
“We all are,” said ’Deisha. “Headstrong, the lot of us.”
Corson saw that they were speaking to each other more than to her, although neither had said a word directly to the other. She wisely decided to leave them alone to discuss their differences. “You’re right,” she said, taking up a new harvesting basket, “all the Edonaris I ever met were as stubborn as stone.” As she walked off, she heard them both starting to speak at once.
While she worked, Corson pondered the morning’s events. Why had Nyc gone into the temple? Had she merely been wandering, or was she still searching for something there? Corson looked over at the ruin and was surprised to see some of the children napping in the shade, with ’Deisha’s two dogs keeping watch over them. If no one could be spared from the harvesting to look after them, why not send them home in one of the carts? Or was this the Edonarises’ way of showing the other laborers how harmless the temple was after all?
Well, Corson still had a question or two about the temple herself. As soon as the harvesting was done she’d have another look at the place, she decided. There was yet one riddle not answered to her satisfaction.
Later in the afternoon, Raphe called her to join ’Deisha and Nicorin at one of the carts. When the wagoners had taken their baskets, Nicorin waved and trotted off down the path, whistling. Raphe picked out some of the freshly gathered grapes, offering them to ’Deisha and Corson to sample. They tasted perfect to Corson, but ’Deisha shook her head regretfully. “Too sweet. Sorry, love.” There remained no trace of tension between the twins.
Raphe shrugged. “It’s no great matter. The bulk of them have been pressed. I want another load of these for blending, and the rest can go for raisins-but there’s no hurry now, so I won’t need you two here any longer. I thought you might want to go see how Nyc’s getting on.”
’Deisha smiled at him. “I’ll go down with the wagon. What about you, Corson?
Have you had your fill of harvesting?”
“Nyc doesn’t need me fretting over her. But there’s time enough before dark for me to look through the temple again.”
“Why? What is there to look for?”
“The golden spider,” said Corson, and started off toward the ruins.
Raphe followed, curious. “Surely the fountain-”
“Maybe. But there was a bell for the bell-riddle, and bees for that riddle.
Peaches. Harps. A well. Why haven’t we found a spider somewhere? A picture or carving of some kind, I’d guess.”
“There might have been one that was destroyed,” Raphe pointed out.
“There might. But how would ’Lorin know about it then?”
“Hmmm. The riddle could refer to real spiders that nest in the courtyard garden, I suppose.”
“Golden ones?” said Corson. She scooped up ’Lorin, who was painstakingly planting an orchard of twigs in the shade of the temple wall. Settling him on her shoulders, she suggested, “Let’s go see the golden spider, sprat, shall we?”
’Lorin shrieked assent in Corson’s ear, delighted to be up so high, taller than anyone in his family. They reached the courtyard without falling through the floor, despite ’Lorin’s wriggling and tugging on Corson’s braid. She was not sorry to set him down again. “Can you show me the spider?” she asked, with more patience than she felt.
To Corson’s disappointment, ’Lorin pointed up at the fountain. “There!”
“This, do you mean?” said Raphe, touching one of the tall, overarching stalks.
“Is that its leg?” said Corson.
’Lorin looked disgusted at their stupidity. “Not tree,” he said scornfully.
“Spider, inna web! Right there!”
He pointed again, so confidently that Corson crouched down beside him, the better to follow his small, unwavering finger. After a moment she grinned and beckoned to Raphe. The brass spider in its web of delicate brazen threads was indeed in plain sight-from a child’s-eye point of view-on the underside of a broad bronze leaf. From this vantage point, other details of the sculpture became visible-a butterfly clinging with folded wings beneath a blossom of brass, a tiny lizard climbing up the back of a thick stem-all waiting to be discovered by the children for whom the courtyard was created, though no man or woman was likely to see them.
But Corson was indifferent to these secret charms of the fountain. What claimed her interest was one of the hanging, flower-shaped bells. From below, she could see into its heart, and with a shout of triumph she seized the clapper and wrenched it out, holding it up to show Raphe. There was no possibility of doubt.
What she had found was a large brass key.
Despite Corson’s assurances, the family had been nonplussed at Nyctasia’s quick recovery from sunstroke. Mesthelde had insisted that she rest in bed for another day, and Nyctasia had been quite willing to obey when she heard that the worst of the crush was over. But no amount of persuasion or dire warning could keep her from joining Corson on another climb up Honeycomb Hill on the following day.
There were regular meals once more, and during breakfast that morning everyone reasoned or remonstrated with her. “The clappers of all the other bells are shaped like stamens,” Raphe argued. “We searched the whole fountain. There’s nothing more to find.”
“Oh, but-”
“You’re mad, Nyc, to think of going out in the sun so soon, healer or no!”
’Deisha scolded, seconded by Mesthelde.
Nyctasia had to raise her voice to be heard. “But we’re not going up to the temple, and I shan’t be in the sun,” she protested. “Our destination is that small cave on the hillside, where no sun has shone for a thousand years. I ought to be safe from sunstroke there.”
“Nyc thinks the lock to this key may be there somewhere,” Corson explained. “If the ‘key to mystery’ was really meant for a key, maybe the other riddle will yield some ‘wealth beyond a lifetime’s spending,’ who knows?” It didn’t seem very likely, even to Corson, but the key must unlock something, after all.
“Why the cave, though? How does that riddle go?”
“‘Neither in the open air, neither in a dwelling,’” Nyctasia recited. “We all assumed that it meant the courtyard, but it could as well be a cave, and that’s the nearest one-probably the only one the children were allowed to explore freely.”
“Yes, but I know that cave-it’s empty,” Raphe objected. “It doesn’t reach in much farther than you saw, and there’s nothing there save rock and earth.”
Corson and Nyctasia exchanged a knowing look. “The earth doth secrets keep,”
Nyctasia reminded him.
“‘For the wellspring’s weal lies deep,’” Corson added. “I’ll wager you’ve never tried digging there, have you?”