With Lur at her heels the girl edged around to pull cautiously at the
branch. It yielded at once to her touch, swinging its tip out of the
lake. She sniffed--there was a languid perfume in the air, the perfume
of the blooming turbi. She examined the flowers closely, to all
appearances they were perfect and natural.
"It preserves," Lur settled back on his haunches and waved one front paw
at the quiet water. "What goes into it remains as it was just at the
moment of entrance."
"But if this is seven months old--"
"It may be seven years old," corrected Lur. "How can you tell when that
branch first dipped into the lake? Yet the flowers do not fade even when
withdrawn from the water. This is indeed a mystery!"
"Of which I would know more!" Varta dropped the turbi and started on
around the edge of the lake.
Twice more they found similar evidence of preservation in flower or
leaf, wherever it was covered by the opaline water.
The lake itself was a long and narrow slash with one end cutting into
the desert of glass while the other wet the foot of the mountain. And it
was there, on the slope of the mountain that they found the greatest
wonder of all, Lur scenting it before they sighted the remains among the
stones.
"Man made," he cautioned, "but very, very old."
And truly the wreckage they came upon must have been old, perhaps even
older than Memphir. For the part which rested above the water was almost
gone, rusty red stains on the rocks outlining where it had lain.
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