But there were no more chimer forests. Those scattered about the Chee world had long since been located, transplanted tree by tree, bartered and sold hi the first heady months of discovery by the initial load of colonists. And why not, considering the prices that were offered for them?
Chimer forests hadn’t existed for nearly a hundred years, as best he could remember. And yet the sound could be of nothing else.
“That music,” he murmured, entranced.
215
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . .
She was sitting in a chair nearby, ignoring him in favor of the thick book in her lap. He tried to get out of bed, failed. “The music,” he repeated.
“The forest, yes,” she finally replied, confirming his guess. “I know what you’re thinking: that it’s impossible, that such a thing doesn’t exist anymore. But it’s both possible and true. The mountains have protected this forest, you see—the Silver Spars’ inaccessibility, and also the fact that all the great concentrations of chimers were found far, far to the south of Holda-mere. Never this far east, never this far north.
“This forest is a freak, but it has survived, survived and developed in its isolation. This is a virgin forest, never cut, Mr….”
“Caitland, John Caitland.”
“An untouched forest, Mr. Caitland. Unsoiled by the excavators or the predators, unknown to the music lovers.” Her smile disappeared. “. . . To the music eaters, those whose desire for a musical toy in their homes destroyed the chimers.”
“It’s not their fault,” Caitland objected, “that the chimers don’t reproduce when transplanted. People will have what they want, and if there’s enough money to pay for what they want, no mere law is going to prevent . . .” He stopped. That was too much already. “It’s a damned shame they can’t reproduce in captivity, but that’s—”