The Uninteresting Adventures of Orazia Dusvente

## Part One

*Sventoji, March 11, 1908*

Orazia Dusvente arrived home only a few minutes before midnight.  The barcaccia-master brought his boat expertly up to the landing, and leaned on his pole in order to stabilize the long wooden craft while Orazia disembarked.  Her cordillera cat Areli, released from his leash, bounced up the steps with his tall tail happily floofed; he waited for his human with a feline yawn.

"Thank you, Steponas!" Orazia said cheerfully, blowing him a coquettish kiss.  "Tell your wife hello for me!"

"Good evening to you, Miss," the boatman said, backing his way out again into the Grand Canal.  He would send a bill later.

Orazia, for her part, followed Areli up the steps, one hand lifting the hem of her long sky-blue evening gown.  She was a short girl of nineteen, with dark hair just a shade shy of obsidian that cascaded over her bare shoulders.  A double strand of pearls raced around her neck, a simple but tasteful bit of decor.  In spite of her current cosmopolitan attire, she was a tough, no-nonsense girl who'd trained both for acrobatics and Liotainian wrestling, yet still made the time to read voraciously and widely from her father's extensive library.

The butler, a quietly efficient Astyrian who'd been exiled thirty years past for some imagined crime, greeted her at the door, and took her silk gloves.  "How was the opera, Miss Orazia?" he inquired.

"Excellent as always, Zhong!" Orazia said, cheerfully.  "Thank you so much for finding the ticket this afternoon.  I sat with the Duargillas, drank some lovely Dainava, and got to meet Elena's new *gentleman friend*.  He was so delectable; I'm so jealous I could *cry*."

Zhong smiled politely, always amused by his young charge's romantic complaints.  In truth, Orazia probably might have had a half-dozen steady gentlemen by this point, if Areli had approved of any of them.  Orazia had always lived by the rule that any gentleman snubbed by her cat was no gentleman for her. "I'm sure you'll find someone, Miss Orazia."

"Of course, of course..." Orazia said, removing her shoes and sighing.  "I suppose with this much wine in me, I ought to be off to bed."

"A letter came in for you after you left, Miss Orazia," Zhong said.

"Ah?  Can it wait until morning?" Orazia asked.

Zhong smiled.  "It might be worth your time, Miss Orazia.  I left it on your desk in the study."

"It must be from Father, then!" Orazia said, her tiredness fading as she raced up the stairs.  Areli bounded after her, apparently convinced this was a fantastic new game.

A small package waited on the desk, bound in paper and string; the stamp proclaimed it originated from Syrellia.  "What did you send me, Father?" Orazia asked the mystery box.  Areli hopped up on the table and trilled at the box.

Orazia tore the paper off.  There was a letter, which Orazia opened first.

"Dear Orry," she read - her father was the only one still allowed to call her *Orry*.  "Yes, miss you too, Father... your research is going well... ah!"  She paused with an excited breath, and Areli trilled at her.

"'*Now, Orry, I know your classes at university will end in a few weeks, and I thought you might enjoy coming out to Solymitana to join me for the summer.  Have Zhong book your tickets for mid-April, and let me know when you plan to arrive.  P.S. I sent you a present - a reproduction lunula which is, I fear, not quite Reman-era, but still quite nice... wear it when you come out, and enjoy it.*'  Oh, Father, of course!" she said, tearing the rest of the paper away and pulling out an amulet on a heavy cord.

It was a lovely necklace, Orazia decided at once, putting it around her neck, where it fit snugly.  Two swirling metals - probably electrum and brass - wove their way around a small, brilliantly-polished opal.

"It's perfect," Orazia said, glancing once again at the letter.  "Ah!  Areli, I have the best idea.  We'll be heading out to Solymitana in mid-April - we should take the train to Svyturys, and visit the carnival.  I've always wished to go... and then, onward to Solymitana!"

## Part Two

*Svyturys, April 25, 1908*

The great swirling mass of people in Svyturys' great central square showed no sign of lessening despite the heat of the late afternoon.  Indeed, with the ringing of the Thunder Bell only a half hour away (signalling the closing of the annual carnival) the crowds instead increased, with the costumed attendees streaming into the square from every direction.

Orazia, wishing for a clear view of events from the square, arrived rather earlier, and spent the time browsing through the carts brought by the various hawkers, making their last few florins off the tourists.  Like most of those in the square, she wore a costume purchased from a local shop for a price she found nearly as scandalous as the neckline and the midriff.  Presumably, it was some artist's uniformed idea of what a Firoccan lady would wear in the 17th Century, liberally misinterpreted through the centuries.  She'd found a replacement hat - a gaudy tricorne covered in fake gold lace and plumed with flambouyant red feathers - and paired it with a ceramic mask she'd hand-painted at one of the various shops.

Areli, who'd gotten tired much earlier in the afternoon, perched on Orazia's shoulder, giving slow lazy blinks and occasionally a toothy yawn.  The cordillera cat was by his nature disposed toward afternoon naps, and the growing crowd made it difficult for Orazia to walk him on a leash.  Instead, he lounged on her shoulder in the shade of her parasol, letting his human do all of the work.

The cordillera cat's relatively sleepy demeanor had already provided Orazia with several moments of amusement, as startled passersby, under the impression that the cat was stuffed, occasionally started at Areli's rare movements.

"Oh!" Orazia said, noting a bookseller's cart.  "Look, Areli - books!  I wonder what they have."

Areli gave a noncommital chirp.

"I know, I know," Orazia said, understanding his pessimism.  "But hope springs eternal."  Areli acknowledged this with a feline yawn, then extended one paw in a claws-extended stretch.  A man just to her left, in a rather plainly-painted wooden mask, recoiled away slightly as the claw intruded into his peripheral vision.  His eyes - the only part of him visible behind his mask flickered quickly around to the stretching cat, and then to Orazia herself, roving steadily downward until a point a dozen centimeters below her chin, where they abruptly stopped and widened.

"Excuse me, sir!" Orazia said, slightly annoyed.  "If I might step past you?"

"Oh, of course," the man said, eyes flickering back up to her face as he stepped out of the way, almost bowing with a gallant cavalier air that - nearly - made Orazia forgive the earlier transgression as she left him behind.  A slight glance out of the corner of her eye confirmed he remained behind.

Orazia reached the bookseller's cart and started browsing.  "You were right, Areli," Orazia said, picking through the literary selection.  Areli chirped and swished his tail, watching these proceedings with disinterest.

"Something in particular, miss?" the peddler inquired.

"Looking for something to give my father - the older the better," Orazia answered.

"Ah, I'm afraid I don't have many antique volumes with me," the peddler said.  "But go over there - that red door - and my partner can assuredly find you something suitable."

"Excellent; thank you, sir!" Orazia said, eyeing the indicated shop-front, and stepping out of earshot of the salesman.  "What do you think, Areli?  Shall we?"

Areli trilled and softly kneaded her Orazia's shoulder.

"I agree," Orazia said.  "It's still a few minutes before they ring the bell; and it will be cooler inside, with more shade."

The bookseller's shop smelled dusty, and the craggy-faced partner wobbled off to snatch a few volumes he wished to recommend.  Orazia selected one - she knew her father still lacked the third volume of Simas Valacius' groundbreaking "*Empires Before the Remans*" tetralogy, the purchase of which would lighten Orazia's purse by an eye-watering twenty-five florins.  Satisfied at this expense, she browsed some minutes more before rounding a bookshelf to find herself face-to-face with the man from the square.

"Miss Dusvente," the man said.

"How, sir, do you know my name?" Orazia demanded.  Areli lifted his head and tensed, his tail swishing back and forth as he sensed Orazia's agitation.

The man removed his mask; his face underneath was blank and unreadable, simultaneously forgettable yet distressingly handsome.  Orazia, for reasons she herself did not entirely fathom, reciprocated his gesture by loosening her own mask.

"I recognized you," the man said, his accent foreign but unidentifiable, "from the amulet."

Orazia looked down, and realized that the lunula her father had sent her lay on the outside of her costume gown, gleaming ferociously in the dimly-lit shop.  "Who are you?" Orazia challenged, wondering what bizarre sort of encounter this was about to become.  Was she in danger?  Should she scream for help?  Would anyone but the septuagenarian old bookseller hear her?

"I have a message for you," the man said, ignoring Orazia's question.  With his mask removed, sweat beaded on his face.  "Stay out of Tel Zimra after dark.  Take the left-handed path in the Tomb of Haman.  Beware the House of Alterio."

"What...?" Orazia asked, confused and alarmed by his torrent of words.

The man stoof there a few moments more, and then - with a serpentine speed - swept forward and kissed Orazia with a startling passion.  Orazia was so bewildered that she did not pull away and slap him into the next province for his presumption.

In the square outside, voices rose to climactic cheers as the Thunder Bell sounded, tolling with such depth and emotion that Orazia felt it in her stomach.  The mystery man was gone as quickly as he'd appeared.

"Oh my," Orazia said, putting a hand to her lips in confusion; she hastily tucked the amulet inside her gown.  Areli, his eyes sharply alert with feline hunting instincts, had one paw raised as if to bat at something; his tail was floofed out and back half-arched.

The bookseller meandered from the front of the shop.  "Did you say something, miss?  I'm afraid you didn't see the ringing of the bell..."

"Where did the other gentleman back here go?" Orazia asked.

"Other gentleman?" the bookseller asked, clearly confused.  "You're the only customer in the shop."

Orazia blinked and, with no small amount of suspicion, donned her carnival mask again.  "I suppose I shall pay for this book and be on my way, then," she said.

Areli slowly lowered his paw, claws retracting as he looked around; but he did not relax again until they both fled the shop.

"Did I dream that, Areli?" Orazia asked, bewildered.  "What was it he said? **Stay out of Tel Zimra after dark.  Take the left-handed path in the Tomb of Haman.  Beware the House of Alterio.**  Help me remember that."

The cat purred, and slowly relaxed back onto her shoulder.

## Part Three

*Solymitana, May 5, 1908*

Orazia pressed her face to the dirty train window as it rattled into the station.  Solymitana!  The place was shrouded in history and legend, one of the oldest continuously-occupied cities in the world - though at the moment, it was merely one of the many cities of the Republic of Syrellia, which happened to control the territory for this particular century.  It was a cradle of religions - the various Theophanites sects being the most noteworthy - where Messiah was killed millenia before.

Solymitana still served as a place of pilgrimage for thousands, but - for various reasons - few of those pilgrims took the train, instead hiking the dusty road up from the sea.  The railway, then, was the domain of locals and business-people, rather than the pilgrims.

Had it been cooler - or had she not been so keen to arrive at her father's dig site - Orazia might have spent the extra two days hiring a donkey on the pilgrimage road to Solymitana.  Instead, she sat on the train with a crowd of locals.

At least in this district, the Syrellians who administered the province were in the minority.  In fact, everyone here was in some minority or another, with the definitions varying wildly from one neighborhood to the next.  Elbarites (half-cousins of the Birite tribes) brushed shoulders with Kongomani.  A tiny smattering of Astyrians and a veneer of ethnic Remani mingled with Birites and the remnants of the Juduaki, while the Syrellians kept things mostly peaceful.

Still, there were tensions from this collision of cultures.  For those reasons, Orazia wore a longer skirt - well below her knees - of brown denim, and a colorful red linen head-scarf; some of the locals, particularly the Elbarites, found the sight of a woman's hair or knees criminally provocative.

The train finally came to a halt, and Orazia stroked Areli's ears as he snoozed in her lap.  "We've arrived, Areli," she said.

The cordillera cat faked ignorance, and then - after some more insistent petting - yawned and stretched.  He left Orazia's lap reluctantly, however, accepting his leash with ill grace.

Railway staff unloaded Orazia's steamer chest from the baggage car while Orazia looked through the crowd.  She'd sent a telegram ahead to inform her father of her arrival in Syrellia, and expected he would meet her here...  "Ah!" she yelped, catching sight of a familiar figure.  "Father, over here!"

Dr. Adomas Dusvente grabbed her in a massive hug, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around in the air.  "Orry!" he roared.  "You're finally here.  How was your trip?  Have you eaten supper yet?  Tired?"

"Just fine, Father," Orazia said.

Dr. Dusvente bent down and offered his hand for Areli to sniff.  "And how are you, Cat?" he asked.  "Keeping my little Orry safe and entertained?  I brought a treat for you!"

Areli purred with pleasure as he bunted Dr. Dusvente's shins, then chirped when the archaeologist cracked a small can of chicken, which disappeared swiftly.

"I have a horse and cart outside the train station," Dr. Dusvente said.  "We should fetch your trunk and head back to the dig."

A few minutes later, in the front seat of the cart, Orazia grinned at her father.  "So where are you working this month, Father?  Your last letter said you were preparing to start a new site..."

"We moved last week!" the elder Dusvente replied.  "We've started excavating a new tel about two kilometers outside Solymitana - Tel Zimra."

Orazia gasped.  "Tel Zimra!"

"Yes.  Why, Orry, what is the matter?  You look like you've seen a ghost!"

Orazia, with nervous energy, admitted that she'd stopped in Svyturys for the Carnival, and revealed her encounter with the stranger in the bookshop, neglecting only the mention of the stolen kiss - for that would completely derail Father's attention.  "Do you know who it was?  How did he *know*?" Orazia demanded.

"I certainly have no idea," Dr. Dusvente said, frowning unhappily.  "But we've had no issues at Tel Zimra.  It's been quite safe."

"What about the other things he mentioned?" Orazia asked, now deeply worried.

"The House of Alterio?  The Tomb of Haman?"  Dr. Dusvente frowned.  "Alterio is an Antar surname, but I can't say I remember any bearers of it.  As for the Tomb of Haman..." he paused in thought.  "There are a few Hamans in history.  The most notable, of course, is Haman the Nahathite - if you'll remember your scripture - from the *Acts of the Prophets of Shilhoah*.  But most archaeologists still believe him to be fictional."

"So what am I to make of all this, Father?" Orazia asked.  "Is it some twisted joke?  Should I take it seriously?  Whatever does it mean?"

"I'm sure I have no idea," Dr. Dusvente said, frowning.  "Perhaps it is a joke - in very poor taste indeed.  But I shall go tomorrow to visit the local Syrellian administrator, and ask for a few of his policemen.  And I shall write one of my friends back home to search out any reference to the House of Alterio, or the Tomb of Haman.  Don't fear, Orry."

"Ah, Father, how could I?" Orazia said with a smile.  "Not with you around."

## Part Four

*Tel Zimra, June 28, 1908*

The hot Syrellian sun poured down across Tel Zimra's stones.  Once, the little hill had been the site of a sizeable village which, over centuries and millenia, had been knocked down and rebuilt a dozen times or more - each new generation adding another layer, until the whole tel stood no small distance taller than when the first stone age family staked it out for their homestead.

Sketchpad on her knee, Orazia sat in the shade at the crest of the tel, looking down on the valley and toward Solymitana several kilometers distant.  Gleaming in the afternoon sun she saw the marble white dome of the basilica - hints of the green palms surrounding the old Juduak temple at the heart of the city - the six-story Solymitana Hotel, where the distinguished guests stayed.  She sketched the skyline, botching half of the details but still persisting at her rough artistry.

Areli, flattened against the ground, stalked an unwary sparrow that had alighted on a nearby thorn-bush; before he could pounce, the sparrow fluttered down the hill with a chirp, and the cordillera cat gave a frustrated chitter.

"I wouldn't have let you eat him anyway, boy," Orazia chuckled.  "And don't I feed you well enough?"

The cat chittered again in annoyance.

"Orry!"

Orazia lifted her head, and recognized her father's voice, carrying her name on the wind.  "Let's go, Eli," Orazia said, standing quickly.  "I think Father's calling for us."

Father stood halfway down the slopes of the tel, talking excitedly with his two partners, Dr. Vitkus and Dr. Galarza, and several of the hired workmen conducting most of the heavy labor.  "What did you find, Father?" Orazia asked.

"This!" Dr. Dusvente said, gesturing to a hole on the side of the hill.  Black darkness beckoned through the narrow slot between two large stones.

"What's inside?" Orazia asked excitedly.

"No idea yet," Dr. Dusvente replied.  He patted his stomach mournfully.  "None of us are thin enough to get through the hole yet."

"Oh!  May I?" Orazia said.  She was thinner by a good margin than any of the men present, and was certainly younger and more dextrous.

"Go ahead, but be careful."

"Let me fetch a lantern," Orazia said, hurrying back to the camp and returning with a safety lantern.

The hole proved to be a purpose-built shaft left between two irregular rows of stones.  Orazia squirmed through several tight spots before squeezing out the other end in a dark chamber that looked like a storage chamber - possibly for water, possibly for grain.  Dark alcoves held the promise of further passages.  The lantern light shown on graffitti scratched, or perhaps painted, on the walls.  She related this discovery to her father.

"Wonderful!" Dr. Dusvente cheered.  "Sketch what you see and then come back out; we'll work on clearing the hole further before we progress further!"

## Part Five

*Tel Zimra, July 5, 1908*

The discoveries at Tel Zimra increased by the day.  Orazia, with utmost care, made her way through the tunnel uncovered a week before, and arrived in the coolness of the underground chamber.

The investigations carried out by Doctors Dusvente, Vitkus, and Galarza led them to the strong suspicion that the chamber was a water-storage cistern, carved by the ancients to store water during the dry summer months.  Four meters wide and twice as many deep, it had a ring of steps circling down the side, all the way to the bottom, allowing the inhabitants to draw water without fear of mishap.

Dr. Dusvente, as the youngest (and thinnest) of the three archaeologists in the team, took charge of investigations underground.  The graffiti scratched into the walls of the cistern was a source of some amusement to him, as well as information.

"What's that one say?" Orazia asked, tracing unfamiliar ancient characters on her pad, while her father held the lantern.

"It says - oh, how impolite! 'Secundus's mother is diseased.'  Clearly from the early First Reman era... Secundas is a Reman name... it predates the 2nd Century CE, since the 'S' is still sketched in the style of that period.  I find it very curious that so much of the graffitti here is of Reman origin..."

Orazia paused in her sketching.  "Why?  They occupied this region for centuries, didn't they?"

"1st century BCE to 2nd century CE..." Dr. Dusvente said, defaulting to lecturer mode.  "And again during the 11th century - though only for about two decades, and most of the troops were actually from the tributary kingdom of Sextiana in modern-day Erisia..." he rattled on for several minutes before meandering back on topic.  "But no, I'm actually curious about the amount of ancient Reman graffitti since it implies their presence here was quite formidable when this part of the tel was built.  We have no written records of Reman garrisons outside Solymitana's walls..."

When the day's work was done, Orazia climbed back up to the peak of the tel, and sat on the largest stone, looking out over the valley.  Solymitana was barely visible on the horizon, lights gleaming in the dusk.

Areli came and curled up in Orazia's lap, softly kneading with his paws until he found a comfortable spot; his soft purr of delight kept Orazia from moving as the last rays of the sun disappeared on the horizon, and dusk slowly started to fall.

Orazia's mind went back to the mysterious warning she'd received back at the Carnival: "Stay out of Tel Zimra after dark."  Orazia frowned at the memory, conscious that - this night, at least - she was flagrantly violating this warning.

"Well, I was never very obedient," Orazia said, scratching Areli between his ears, and enjoying his quiet purr.

She wasn't quite sure how long she sat there.  The western horizon still burned red with the fading sun, though the sun itself had disappeared.  On the horizon, the electric lights faded, replaced by ancient torches on the watchtowers of Solymitana.  The Reman Army, encamped in siege around the city walls...

Orazia blinked.  She'd allowed her imagination to wander, and had, ever so briefly, envisioned the scene from two millenia before, when the Remans encircled and captured the Holy City.

"Oh!" Orazia said excitedly.  "Oh!  Oh!"

Areli lifted his head and stared at her with cat eyes, then yawned.  Orazia picked him up and trotted down the tel.

"Father!" she said, catching site of the good doctor in his tent, studying some of the markings they'd found earlier that day.  "I had an idea why we've found so many Reman artifacts at Tel Zimra."

"Do share!" Dr. Dusvente said, looking up with sudden fascination.

"You remember in the *Annals of the Campaigns of Decimeridius Cyrellius* that - when the Remans conquered this region, the generals constructed a 'castrum' atop a nearby hill during the seige, so that-"

"OH!" Dr. Dusvente exclaimed.  "Of course!  Of course, how did I not think of it earlier?  This topmost layer of the tel would then be where the Remans... Orry!" he said, picking her up and spinning her around in a circle, "that means one of the greatest Reman emperors lived less than a kilometer from this very hill!"