It was Delplas and Spalton, the madness of dagamant long forgotten, Spalton’s arm regenerating nicely. "Who’s this?" said Delplas. "Surely not Dak-Forgool?"

Toroca shook his head. "Forgool is dead. Wab-Babnol here has come to join us in his place. Babnol, meet two of the best surveyors in all of Land." His voice was full of warmth. "This reprobate is Gan-Spalton. He has a sly sense of humor, so watch yourself when around him — and only listen to him in the light of day."

Babnol bowed. "I cast a shadow in your presence, Gan-Spalton."

Spalton looked as though he was going to make some comment, possibly about Babnol’s horn. But, perhaps catching the expression on Toroca’s face, he said nothing, and simply bowed deeply.

"And this is Bar-Delplas."

"Greetings," said Babnol.

"What?" said Delplas with a click of her teeth. "No shadow-casting?"

"I’m sorry," said Babnol. "I cast a…"

Delplas held up her hand. "If you really want to cast something near me," she said, "let it be a net. The waters are rough here, but the fishing is excellent nonetheless. Do you like fish, Babnol?"

"I’ve rarely had any; I’m from an inland Pack."

"Well, then you’ve only had freshwater fish. Wait till you taste true River fish!"

Babnol dipped her head. "I’m looking forward to it."

The four of them began to amble down the beach. "You’ll meet the other four surveyors later," Toroca said to Babnol. Then he turned to face Delplas. "Babnol is an experienced fossil hunter," said Toroca.

"Whom did you study under?" asked Delplas.

"I’m self-taught," said Babnol, her head once again tilted up in that haughty way.

Delplas turned toward Toroca, her face a question.

"She’s not a trained geologist," he said, "but she’s very experienced. And she’s eager to learn."

Delplas considered for a moment, then: "Would that more of our people shared your passion for learning, Babnol." She bowed deeply. "Welcome to the Geological Survey of Land."

"I’m delighted to be a part of it," Babnol replied warmly.

"You’ll be even more delighted when you see what wonders we’ve found," said Toroca. He faced Spalton. "Still nothing below the Bookmark layer?"

"Nothing. We’ve taken thousands of samples, and still not a single find."

"The Bookmark layer?" said Babnol.

"Come," said Toroca. "We’ll show you."

They hiked farther along the beach, a few wingfingers circling overhead, and a crab occasionally scuttling across their path. Streamers of waterweeds were strewn here and there along the sands. At last they came to a small encampment consisting of a cluster of eleven small tents made out of thunderbeast hide arranged in a loose circle. A semicircular wall of stones had been built to shield them from the wind.

"This is home, at least for the next few dekadays," said Toroca. "After that, we’ll be heading to the south pole by sailing ship; we’ve recently requisitioned one for that journey. I don’t know which ship Novato will send, but I’m sure it will be a major vessel."

Babnol nodded.

The cliffs rose up in front of them. Babnol hadn’t been aware that her tail had been swishing back and forth to generate heat until they got here, in the lee of the stone crescent, and it suddenly stopped moving. Out of the biting wind, it was actually fairly pleasant. The sun was even peeking out from behind the clouds now.

Toroca gestured at the cliff, and Babnol let her eyes wander over its surface. She was startled to realize that way, way up the face, there were two Quintaglios, looking like tiny green spiders. "Those are two more members of our team," said Toroca. "You’ll meet them later."

"What are they doing?" said Babnol.

"Looking for fossils," said Toroca.

"And is the looking good here?"

"Depends," said Toroca, a mischievous tone in his voice. "I can tell you right now that Tralen — that’s the fellow higher up the cliff face — will find plenty, but Greeblo, the one lower down, will come up empty-handed."

"I don’t understand," said Babnol.

"Do you know what superposition is?" asked Spalton.

Babnol shook her head.

"My predecessor, Irb-Falpom, spent most of her life developing the theory of it," said Toroca. "It seems intuitively obvious once it’s explained, but until Falpom, no one had understood it." He gestured at the cliff. "You see the layers of rock?"

"Yes," said Babnol.

"There are two main types of rock: uprock and downrock. Uprock is thrust up from the ground as lava. Basalt is an uprock."

She nodded.

"But rain and wind and the pounding of waves cause uprock to crumble into dust. That dust is carried down to the bottom of rivers and lakes and gets compressed into downrocks, such as shale and sandstone."

"All right."

"Well, Falpom made the great leap: she realized that when you look at downrock layers, like the sandstone of these cliffs, the layers on the bottom are the oldest and the ones on the top are the youngest."

"How can that be?" said Babnol. "I thought all rocks came from the second egg of creation."

"That’s right, but they’ve changed in the time since that egg hatched. The way the rocks look today isn’t the way they were when the world was formed."

She looked skeptical, but let him continue.

"It’s really very simple," said Toroca. "I don’t know whether you’re a tidy person or not. I’m a bit of a slob myself, I’m sorry to say. My desk back in Capital City is covered with writing leathers and books. But I know if I’m looking for something I put on my desk recently, it will be near the top of the clutter, whereas something I set down dekadays ago will be near the bottom. It’s the same with rock layers."

"All right," said Babnol.

"Well, the rock layers we see here are the finest sequence in all of Land. The height of the cliffs from top to bottom represents an enormous span of kilodays, with the rock layers at the bottom representing truly ancient times."

"Uh-huh."

He pointed again. "You see that all the lower layers are brown or gray. If you look up, way, way up, almost nine-tenths of the way to the top, you’ll find the first layer that’s white. See it? Just a thin line?"

"Not really."

"We’ll climb up tomorrow, and I’ll show you. The layer in question is still a good fifteen paces from the top, of course, this being a big cliff, but — ah!" Spalton had disappeared a few moments ago into one of the tents and had now emerged holding a brass tube with an ornate crest on one end. "Thank you, Spalton," said Toroca, taking the object.

"A far-seer," said Babnol, her voice full of wonder. "I’ve heard of them, but never seen one up close."

"Not just any far-seer," said Delplas, jerking her head at the instrument Toroca now held. "That’s the one Wab-Novato gave to Sal-Afsan the morning after Toroca was conceived."

Toroca looked embarrassed. "It meant a great deal to my father," he said, "but once he was blinded, he could no longer use it. He wanted it to still be employed in the search for knowledge, and gave it to me when I embarked on my first expedition as leader of the Geological Survey." He proffered the device to Babnol.

She took it reverently, held the cool length in front of her with both hands, felt its weight, the weight of history. "Afsan’s far-seer…" she said with awe.

"Go ahead," said Toroca. "Put it to your eye. Look at the cliff."

She raised the tube. "Everything looks tiny!" she said.

Clicking of teeth from Spalton and Delplas. "That’s the wrong end," said Toroca gently. "Try it the other way."

She reversed the tube. "Spectacular!" She turned slowly through a half-circle. "That’s amazing!"

"You can sharpen the image by rotating the other part," Toroca said.

"Wonderful," breathed Babnol.

"Now, look at the cliff face."

She turned back to the towering wall of layered downrock. "Hey! There’s — what did you say his name was?"