The Glyph of Truth

In the Hall of Golems

They picked their way between the stone piles strangely denuded of vegetation, awed by the sheer size of the former buildings and the stone blocks they had been built of. Somehow, the brick and steel architecture of Summerwine seemed puny in comparison. After a quarter of an hour or so, they started hearing the sounds of human activity, the shouts of men, the clanging of metal, and the braying of animals, although it was difficult to say how far away. Soon after, they chanced upon a Benari man relieving himself behind a weathered statue.

As soon as he had finished his business, he offered to take them to the camp in broken Sivish.

"You visit Dame Rosemary, no?" he asked Dame Ludmilla. "You his daughter?"

Dame Rosemary was at a loss for words. "Yes?" she said. The Benari seemed satisfied and launched into a barely comprehensible accolade of Dame Rosemary, a most generous paragon of virtue, whose only fault appeared to be a slightly irascible nature. By the end of his monologue, they had reached the camp, which consisted of at least two dozen tents huddled together on a grand square surrounded by monumental buildings.

Most of the tents were made of undyed fabric or hide. The largest tent, however, was striped in red, gold and green, and colourful pennants hung from a line between two of the four tent poles.

"Dame Rosemary no here," their guide explained. "Dame Rosemary go dig."

They did not have to wait long for her return, however. At the head of a group of Benari men wielding shovels and brooms, a ruddy-cheeked, heavy-set woman of about sixty stormed into the camp, berating the men in fluent Benari in a loud and angry voice. She wore leather breeches, knee-high boots and a loose red shirt. Her abundant grey hair was barely contained by a Benari-style hat.

"Rosemary!" Dame Ludmilla called out.

"Ludmilla!" The two women rushed into each other's arms. "You made it! I have been fretting for weeks." She looked around. "Where is comrade Demijohn?"

"He was wounded and had to stay behind. These are our comrades Valdez, Corporal Bowfinger and Captain Harcourt Finch-Nightingale."

"Two colonials and a commissioned officer? An unlikely assortment, if I may say so."

"The circumstances were unusal. I will explain in detail later."

"Finch-Nightingale?" Dame Rosemary addressed Harcourt. "It would seem we are distantly related. I am Dame Rosemary Finch-Mallard of Rosehill House."

Harcourt bowed. "A pleasure to meet you, Dame Rosemary. If we are related, however, the branches of our family must have split long before the Abolition."

"Possibly so. Where are my manners? You must be thirsty and tired. Please be my guests in my humble abode." She gestured toward the flamboyant tent and bawled orders at her digging crew in Benari.

Her humble tent was quite spacious. Colourful carpets and cushions covered most of the floor. Several folding chairs and large trunks made of lacquered wood were haphazardly arranged around a folding table heaped with maps, sketches and other papers.

"Please excuse the disarray," Dame Rosemary said. "My maid died of the flux a few months ago. And I have sadly failed to train any of the Benari to the task. They are as stubborn as mammoths. I find it really difficult to believe they were once a great people. Yet the evidence," she indicated the table, "speaks for itself."

"In your letter you hinted that you have found something of great value," Dame Ludmilla began. At this moment, a young and exceptionally handsome Benari man ducked into the tent, carrying a richly enamelled teapot and several mismatched glasses on a silver tray.