Ask Yourself At Each Day's Conclusion Whether You Have Subtracted From Your Present Problems Or Only Added To Them, And Then Adjust Your Conduct Appropriately

  Behind every Ritualist stands a dozen manual laborers, went a saying coined on that occasion and never used again. The crews cut a path to the chamber more direct than the trail of spotty clues Mr. Taomenk had first followed there, making a ramp between there and the surface outfitted with wooden slats for improved, slipless transit. That benefited the supplies and the people who carried them and not the Ritualists; they were stuck down there, if not by explicit command then because of the anxiety they inevitably occasioned whenever they appeared on the surface. “Is something wrong, or? You cannot have finished. Tell me privately if you think we should flee and I will not forget your kindness.” That sort of talk beset them till at last they gave up the sun for the project's duration.

  That was the sort of resolve Atkosol appreciated. He had the final stretch of the new passage widened into an antechamber subsequently furnished with beds, chairs, tables, and other facilities for the use of the Ritualists and further ensured catering, laundry, and delivery of such publications as circulated in the region including Over the Plain and the Over the Plain weekend edition. Though better-appointed underground cells existed, theirs was impressively comfortable when accounting for the time element.

  Mr. Odibink personally delivered copies of his improved sketches in order that he might explain in person some of his relevant beliefs about Ertithan artistic convention. “This border of repeating triangles, you see it up above, indicates there is something dangerous here. It is employed primarily in scenes of the gods' wrath at impiety.” That was one example, and the response was a request from Mr. Ostisk that none follow.

  The revocations went slowly. Ertithans believed in tall buildings, deep tunnels, and arrangements of rituals far more complex than, say, pairs which operated in the manner of a seesaw. After all, they had known Zatdil might attack from any angle and any speed, not limited to those humans might exploit. To account for all contingencies, the rituals clustered in threes, fives, and eights, and many incorporated subtle techniques able to reshape a design into an oval or teardrop without changing its effect. Each distortion demanded its own variant of the revocation ritual, none of which the ancients had been so kind as to record unless on sheets no longer legible. The three (later four and then five) Ritualists looked forward to a joint publication of their discoveries on the subject which would receive an immediate and decisive lack of interest but also be a verifiable academic credential.

  Other visitors came, most to peruse the murals; even those prevented a feeling of total isolation by greeting the Ritualists as they passed. A few came expressly to see them. They wished to reassure the sequestered that they were not forgotten and their efforts were appreciated.

  “We all appreciate your efforts,” Takki told them. “I wanted to reassure you about that. I also don't want you to suspect you've been forgotten just because you aren't patronizing the cafeterias with the rest of us. They speculate about you all the time. Oh, and you don't have to to worry about Cowsick Point. Everybody knows to stay away by now, and the people who didn't have all been rescued so far as we know. I brought down this article about you all. It's very flattering.”

  “Are there then articles which are not so flattering? Is the speculation on why Ritualists take such a long time to do anything, and is there a suggestion our salaries and fees are not unrelated to the speed of our work?”

  “Ressi, I don't see any reason to tell you about those.”

  “Ah.”

  Whether in praise or condemnation, opinions related to the operation concentrated on its effects. The Scientifically Minded Gentleman's Primer alone interested itself in the process, and to have Nalfenk Migolkir regularly descend, observe, and inquire with a curiosity the specialists were willing to accept as unfeigned heartened them more than they would have expected. He played along in good humor when the five declared him a friend to all Ritualists except for that one he hated.

  Silapobant Rikelta cheered them as well on the two occasions he provided a meal outside the standard to his brother and stayed to reminisce. If the two siblings featured in few anecdotes together, Fennizen was Fennizen, and moreover a hometown was a hometown, a subject on which the Ritualists and deliverymen were pleased to speak. Medant Denmarof could have contributed explanatory material to some of the Fennizen stories had he made his visit at a slightly different hour, but as it was he only reported his imminent departure.

  “I leave today. Ah, that is not to say that I'm worried, though are you sure you cannot go faster? It is only that my leave is exhausted, and I am not yet ready to abandon Captain Anpazor. I wanted to thank you and Edol again, and only one of you is here.”

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  The oddest of all the visitors was the famous Shtaugirs, who brought the grateful specialists high-quality confections though nothing premium by his standards. He looked around while they ate, and while they may have heard him mutter words along the lines of, “So that's what they did,” they presumed him to be referring to them, to Ertithan artists, or to his business rivals. Doubtless a man in his position never ceased thinking entirely of the commercial, even when he escaped it by retreating underground.

  That is, Shtaugirs was the oddest of the recognized visitors. A full three days and a bit more after commencing the project, the Ritualists positioned themselves at their final stations and as one conducted five separate rituals. They did not match their paces perfectly, but within four seconds of one to the next they brought down their staves, and forever after four of them wondered if they had indeed seen that strange being appear which had spinning eyes and a color-changing vest. Perhaps it was an error in perception caused by the thrill of the moment, or rather by a profound eagerness to experience some thrill appropriate for the magnitude of the accomplishment, since the only occurrence upon completion was that the Restless Patience, which had been there with them all that time and millennia more, no longer was. It vanished without even an anguished wail, a finale unthinkable to the editors of horror anthologies. Then again, no matter how strange and ancient, the Restless Patience had been the most helpful guest the Ertithans could imagine.

  The five Ritualists looked at one another.

  “Did you see . . .?”

  “I did.”

  “I did as well, but regardless, I will beat you to the top!” Even before he finished speaking, Ostisk dashed out of the chamber and up the walkway, his four colleagues behind, nearly overcome with emotion which had yet to decide on its proper expression. Certainly raucous cries of triumph would have been indecorous if they emerged on a ruined world where nothing existed but mutating terrain and angry guests.

  They did not, and moreover, a detachment of volunteers which had set off toward the Point the moment the Ritualists were spotted without waiting for a word from them soon returned with a favorable report. “It is normal again, just like that,” attested one runner who had never been to Cowsick Point before the latest incident. More reliable people confirmed the claim however. The locals, when they checked themselves, did add one reservation, which was that it looked a tad less desolate than before. They even conjectured something might grow there, and such a drastic change did unsettle them for all that it was an improvement.

  The party in Fairy City, as befit the last to be held there, was the most extravagant. Everyone was invited again and more showed, both in number and capacity for ostentation. Taomenk and the Ritualists had worked so fast that tourists possessed of leisure but not impulsiveness had not heard they should stay away, with the result that socialites such as Baozir Nalna was supposed to cover but never before could attended as well as the type of Ertith enthusiast who pondered funding an excavation someday but had not gotten around to it. The jewelry they brought with them did not replace Ydridd's vanished castle and all her riches, but the gap narrowed. Just as they arrived, they learned the city district they had come to see was dissolving rapidly. The circumstance only added to their delight, for the party thereby became exclusive. They saw the sights and one another while ignoring the alleged guests of honor.

  “Ressi, you shouldn't be down. We know how important what you did was.”

  “I'm not down.”

  Takki shook her left wrist which hosted the single bracelet she had brought with her. “You aren't, but you should be. I hope you don't mind that I pretend to talk to you when I'm really trying to persuade myself. I succeeded, I think, but now I'm contemplating a different problem.”

  Dirant, who had followed her agitated look across the Turtle Palace, asked, “Does it involve Miss Ydridd and the other Mr. Gabdirn, or?”

  “Fairies are spreading out all over, Ressi. Isn't that going to cause problems? No, I'll be frank. Aren't they in particular going to cause problems?”

  “Yes. Your frankness is contagious. Even so, our ancestors dealt with them.”

  “You're right, Ressi. We're more advanced than they are, so we'll be fine.”

  That was not precisely his meaning, but neither did he precisely disagree, and so Dirant did not object. Instead he committed himself to enjoying the company of friends, acquaintances, and strangers aside from Shtaugirs, who terrified him, though to a manageable degree.

  As the walls of the Turtle Palace faded around them much the same way the ancients, long dead, disappear when the avid reader of history closes his book in response to a knock on the door, Lommad transported all her guests to the real world where the festivities continued, much as when a familiar friend knocks on the door. Wiuyo objected. “Liminality is evocative, but the symbolism here is too plain. Subtlety is a great neighbor even if it's a bad king, so we should do this over again, more elegantly.”

  “I'm sorry, but I can't,” Lommad said. “The fairy world is already gone. Will you take a roll instead?”

  “That's even blunter. I'll do what I can though.”

  What she did was heard in countless concert halls across the continent, much as the articles and later the books about the series of incidents which transpired at Iflarent's Hideout won a large readership, to say nothing of fiction inspired by those same incidents. The subsequent excavations made less of an impact on the various entertainment industries, but everyone agreed they were very interesting, probably.

  Theatrical versions generally condensed the participants in the actual events into a few characters, which might have been disappointing had it not encouraged most of them to imagine themselves as Atkosol Tellanstal, undoubtedly an improvement for most.

  “My actions however seem to have been split between Mr. Taomenk and Medant,” Dirant observed upon first attending a performance of one such. “I am unsure if I ought to complain. No, I am sure I should not.” Having concluded that, he left content.