“I don’t think anything. I neither say ‘possible’ nor ‘impossible’ to anything,” said Mother.
“But he passed through the Wall.”
“And never woke up.”
“Why is the story not known throughout . . . the Republic?”
“Because we didn’t want a thousand idiots making the attempt and meeting the same fate,” said Mother.
“What if there are water people in the next wallfold?” asked Rigg. “They’ve never crossed the Wall, either! Would they even understand what our boats were? What kind of creature Father Knosso was? They might think that because he’s shaped like them, he could breathe underwater as they did.”
“We don’t know how they’re shaped,” said Mother.
“We know they have hands.”
“We know that what Tokwire saw he called hands.”
“Mother, I can see that Father’s plan should not be tried again,” said Rigg. “I would love to see anything he wrote, or failing that to read everything he read from the library. So I can know what he knew, or at least guess what he guessed. But I swear to you most solemnly that I am not fool enough to attempt to cross the Wall myself, certainly not unconscious, and equally not in a boat. If I’m too stupid to learn from other people’s experiences, I’m no scholar.”
“You relieve me greatly. Though you must know how it strikes terror in my heart that within a day of your arrival, you’re already talking about duplicating your father’s fatal research.”
“I was already interested in the Wall before you told me the story of Father Knosso, Mother. Duplicating his research may save me time, but
I have ideas of my own.”
“I’ll ask Flacommo what is possible concerning the library. But you must promise me to let me serve you as I served your father. Come and tell me all you learn, all you wonder about, all that you guess.”
“Here?” asked Rigg. “This is your place of privacy, Mother. I’m uncomfortable even now, knowing that I should not be here.”
“Where else, if we’re not to bore the rest of Flacommo’s house with our tedious scholarly conversation?”
“The garden,” said Rigg. “Walking among the trees and bushes and flowers. Sitting on benches. Isn’t it a lovely thing, to be among the living plants?”
“You forget that it’s open to the elements, and winter is almost here.”
“I spent many a winter in the highest mountains of the Upsheer, sleeping outdoors night after night.”
“How will this keep me warm in the garden this winter?” asked Mother.
“We’ll talk together only on sunny days. Maybe my sister will join us, and we can share a bench with you between us—we’d keep you warm enough then, I think!”
“If your sister ever consents to come out of her seclusion.”
“A seclusion that excludes her only brother, lost so long and newly come home, is too much seclusion, I think.”
“It’s what she thinks that counts,” said Mother.
“Then she doesn’t listen to your advice?” asked Rigg.
“Listening isn’t obeying,” said Mother.
“Come with me and show me the house, Mother!” said Rigg. “I think this is an ancient place, with old ways of building.”
“So you study architecture as well?” asked Mother.
“I’m a scholar! In my heart, anyway. Old things intrigue me. Especially old buildings! You can imagine how I loved the Tower of O!”
“I can’t,” said Mother. “I’ve never seen it.”