One aunt said, “I expected her to go to an art school in the capital. She had enough talent.”

“Can I see her work?” Kla asked.

“Most is gone. It was on her computer. You know she erased it?”

“Yes.”

“But some of us have photographs she gave us. I’ll show you.”

Kla followed the woman around the Amadi house. The photographs hung on walls in public and private rooms. They were indeed fine: long vistas of mountain valleys and the town’s fjord, close-ups of rocks and low vegetation. The girl had potential. It was a pity she was gone.

Kla went home to her apartment and filled her pipe with herb, then smoked, looking out at the docks and the water beyond. When Doctor Mel came home from looking at a fisher with a bad fracture, Kla described her day.

“What will you do next?” Mel asked.

“Find out where the girl went on her walks. Do you want to come with me?”

“With my leg? I’m not going to limp through the countryside.”

“Let’s rent tsinaand ride,” Kla said.

They went the next day, which was mild though overcast. Now and then, they felt fine drops of rain. The tsinawere docile animals, used to poor riders, which was good, since neither Kla nor the doctor was a practiced traveler-by- tsina.

They visited the town’s outlying houses. Most were too far away to be reached by walking. Nonetheless, they contained relatives, Amadi or Hewil, though most of these were not fishers. Instead, they spent their days herding or tending gardens that lay in sheltered places, protected by stone walls. Some of these people remembered the girl. They had seen her walking along farm roads and climbing the hillsides. A shy lass, who barely spoke. She always carried a camera and took pictures of everything.

Some had photographs she had given them, fastened to the walls of herding huts: favorite livestock, the mountains, the huts themselves. The girl did have an eye. Everything she photographed looked true and honest, as sharp as a good knife and balanced like a good boat that could ride out any storm.

“This is a loss,” Doctor Mel said.

“Yes,” Kla replied.

After several days of exploring the nearby country, they returned their tsinato the town stable and went home to their apartment. A fog rolled in at evening, hiding the fjord and the neighboring houses. Streetlights shone dimly. Sounds were muffled. Kla smoked her pipe.

“What next?” the doctor asked.

“There are paths going up the mountains above the fjord. No one lives up there, except the two soldiers at the weather station. We’ll ask them about the girl.”

“It’s too steep for me,” Doctor Mel said.

Kla tilted her head in agreement. “I’ll go by myself.”

The next day she did. The fog had lifted, but low clouds hid the mountain peaks. The fjord’s water was as gray as steel. Kla took a staff and leaned on it as she climbed the narrow path that led to the station. Hah! It seemed perilous! Drop offs went abruptly down toward the gray water. Cliffs hung overhead, seeming ready to fall. She was a townswoman, a bit afraid of heights, though she came of mountain ancestry. Her gift was language and a curious mind.

The station was a prefab metal building, set against the cliff wall. Beyond it was a promontory overlooking the fjord. Equipment stood there, far more complicated than an ordinary weather station. Well, it was maintained by the military. Who could say what they were watching, even here on the safe home planet? No doubt important women knew what was going on here.

A soldier came out of the prefab building, a slim male with dark grey fur. He wore shorts and sandals and an open jacket.

Casual, thought Kla.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

She explained that she was looking for people who had met Amadi Nam, a shy girl who loved to photograph.

“No such person has been here,” the soldier replied.

“Hah!” said Kla and looked at the magnificent view of the fjord beyond the equipment.

Now the second soldier appeared. He was the same height as the first male, but much broader with thick, white fur that was lightly spotted. He also wore shorts, but no jacket. His fur must be enough, even on this cool, damp day.

He agreed with the first man. The girl had never been to the station.

Kla thanked them and went back down the mountain. She arrived home at twilight. Lamps shone in the apartment windows. The electric heater in the main room was on. Doctor Mel had bought dinner, fish stew from a shop in town.

They ate, then Kla smoked, settled in a low chair close to the heater. Doctor Mel turned on her computer and watched a play on the world information net, her injured leg lifted up on a stool. Kla could hear music and cries of anger or joy. But the dialogue was a mumble, too soft to understand.

The play ended, and Doctor Mel turned the computer off. “Well?”

“I have a clue,” answered Kla.

“You do?”

Kla knocked the dottle out of her pipe. “It is similar to the dog that made noise in the night time.”

“What is a dog?”

“A domestic animal similar to a sul, though smaller and less ferocious. The humans use them to herd and guard, as we use sulin. In this case, in a story you have apparently not read, the dog did not make any noise.”

“Kla, you are being irritating. What are you trying to say?”

“The dog did not do what was expected, and this was the clue that enabled Holmes Sherlock to solve the problem.”

“You met a sulon the mountain?”

“I met two young men who said they never met my cousin, though she climbed every slope in the area and loved to photograph splendid vistas.”

“They are lying?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

Doctor Mel looked confused. “They belong to far-off lineages and have no relatives in town. Why would they become involved in something here? If Amadi Nam had been a boy, one might suspect a romance. But she was a girl, and the soldiers are lovers, as everyone knows.”

“This is true,” Kla replied. “But I am certain the soldiers are lying. I need to confront them.”

Doctor Mel rose and went to pour two cups of halin. She gave one to Kla and settled back in her chair. “If they are telling the truth, they will think you are crazy and may tell people in town. You will have to endure joking. More important, if they are lying, then they are crazy and may be dangerous. I’d go with you, except for the climb.”

“I’ll go to my grandmother tomorrow and explain the situation. She will know what to do.”

“Good,” said Doctor Mel.

The next day was clear and cold. Ice rimmed puddles in the streets and made the street paving stones slippery. Kla could see her breath.

Her grandmother was inside, next to an old-fashioned brazier full of glowing coals.

“Help yourself to tea and pour a cup for me,” the old lady said. “Then tell me what you have found.”

Kla did as she was told. When she had finished her story, the matriarch said, “The soldiers must be confronted.”

“My lover has suggested that they may be dangerous.”

“Hardly likely. But this story is disturbing. Something unpleasant has happened.” Her grandmother drank more tea. “I want to keep this in the family. I’ll pick two of your cousins, large and solid fisher-women. They’ll go with you up the mountain. Even if the soldiers are crazy, they will hardly do harm to three women, all larger than they are, though you are thin. The fishers will not be.”

A day later, Kla went back up the weather station. It was another clear, cold day. The fjord sparkled like silver.

The two fisher-women were named Serit and Doda. Both were second cousins to Kla, and both were tall and broad, with big knives in their tunic belts. Serit carried a harpoon gun, and Doda had a club.

“Is that necessary?” Kla asked.

“Always be provided,” Serit replied in a deep, calm voice.