Margarida closed the door behind Tovera. Glow strips on the walls cast a yellow-green illumination to which Adele’s eyes quickly adapted, though she noticed that as soon as the spacers stepped inside they slid down their light-enhancing goggles.
“Yes, the tree’s still alive in this section,” the girl called in answer to Daniel’s question. “You’ll notice that the roots have grown over some of the lights a little way up the corridor.”
She smiled pleasantly to Adele as she passed, moving up to the front with the Prior, Daniel, and the Klimovs. Adele thought there was something appraising in the glance Margarida gave each of the Sissies in turn, but she supposed that was natural enough for a member of a small community suddenly visited by strangers three times its number.
“This is the refectory,” the Prior was saying as Adele entered a long room that grew from the tunnel rather than being served by it. “We eat twice a day here, though I should mention that our days are only nineteen standard hours. You’re welcome to dine with us while you’re on New Delphi, though please give us at least a few hours warning.”
He smiled; he still had his hair, but it was so fine and white that his scalp shone through. Since the only light was that of the glowstrips, what would normally be pink had a disconcerting purplish tone.
“Normally two acolytes prepare each meal, a senior and a novice,” the Prior explained. “I would wish to considerably increase the numbers in the kitchen if we’re to feed all of you.”
According to all Adele’s sources, the acolytes ate cheese, gruel and dried fruit, all of them imported but nonetheless of the simplest sort. They washed their identical meals down with water drawn up from the same aquifers which fed the Tree; reportedly it had enough iron to stain cups after a week or two of use.
“I believe we’ll eat aboard the Sissie rather than strain your resources, sir,” Daniel said. Count Klimov looked vaguely irritated, probably by the fact his employee had spoken rather than the decision itself, but he didn’t intervene. “His excellency the Count remarked that he’d like to see the incubation chamber. Is that permissible?”
“Why yes, of course,” the Prior said. “Those of us in the Service of the Tree have no secrets. There are no secrets from the Tree, you see.”
He led them between the long tables to one of the several doors opening off the left sidewall. An older woman in the robes of an acolyte entered the refectory, bowed to the party, and went out through the opposite side on an errand of her own. The large room could seat hundreds, but only two tables at the far end appeared to be in use.
“In fact, I’d like to hire a dream myself,” the Count said, his voice needlessly loud with nervousness. “How much will it cost me?”
The Prior, leaning against Daniel while Margarida hovered close to his other side, glanced at Klimov but continued his careful shuffle to the door. “We can discuss that at a later time, if you choose, your excellency,” he said. “It will not be possible for us to accede to your request immediately, but perhaps in a few days. . . . If you wish to remain on New Delphi, that is.”
“Look, if you’re concerned that I may not be able to pay your fees . . . ,” the Count said on a note rising toward real anger.
“Georgi!” snapped his wife. “They said nothing of the sort. And if they want to check our bona fides, well, that’s only common sense, no more than you’d do yourself before entering a card game with strangers. Not so?”
“It’s nothing to do with yourself or your credit, Count Klimov,” the Prior said calmly. “The Oracle isn’t available to you or anyone else at present due to a matter of scientific concern. Since you’re not in the Service, it might appear to be a matter of religious scruple. Either way, please accept my apologies.”
“Father, perhaps we can show our guests the library?” Margarida said. “It’s really the only part of the monastery that’s present in the material plane. All the rest is spiritual.”