The Days

Kingsley was swept up in the enthusiasm of the camp. His untrained eye didn't appreciate the mysteries of the ruins, but an electric excitement coursed through him. Scholars and workmen raced around with wheelbarrows full of dirt, trying to pry anything of value from the ruins. The site was still being classified, so every Society had access to it, and each was desperately looking for artifacts relevant to their purview, so they might win a stake in recovering whatever mysterious works could be found in the deeper catacombs. Everybody knew that whatever strange people had populated the continent in the days before it was civilized had known things. Although Master Veldt determinedly denied the value of anything found in the ruins, every Society filled its circulars with articles outlining the usefulness of some artifact uncovered from the most recent dig.

In spite of his excitement, Kingsley found he had fairly little to do. In Kinsbourne he served as the Master's messenger and postal clerk, handling deliveries Veldt felt was too sensitive to trust to the royal post, and handled household tasks like running baths, helping the master shave, and coordinating his daily living so that the Master could devote as much of his time to working as possible. He had hand-delivered (and often written) apologies when the master wouldn't attend garden parties with local gentry, and more than one old maid suspected the old scholar was merely shy when Kingsley had tried to gently dissuade their advances. Here, though, there were no baths, no deliveries, and no garden parties. The Master had become taken with the mountain air and insisted on growing a beard. After Kingsley had spent the better part of their first two days arguing with the cooks that the Master be allowed to eat in his cabin, then Veldt had insisted on eating at the long table with the workers.

He settled quietly on the roof of the cabin.