The ghels stopped. "You are certain that you will not change your mind?"
"Look here," Seeling said. "I've come here to collect artifacts, or anything I can lay my hands on for my people on Earth. If I don't bring something good back, they'll send others who won't be as patient with you as I am."
"That is sad, indeed, for the Radiance that made us still lingers in the castle," said the ghel.
"I'm not going to hurt His Radiant Majesty, whoever he is," Seeling said. "What I want is junk—stuff that you never use anyhow. So let's get on with it."
George Seeling was panting by the time he had climbed to the top of the central tower. He had always thought of a tomb as some damp, dark hole beneath the surface of the ground, for such had been his experience many times before. But the resting place of Solon Regh the Wise was a large, light room, not half so eerie as the big throne room below, for instance.
It took him five minutes to work the mechanism of the outer door. When he got it open he went in and found a convenient coffin to sit on, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and indulged in a cigarette before continuing.
The room had no windows, but there was light coming in from the great transparent dome of roof. A cheerful place, he thought, for a crypt. There were six coffins in the room, neatly arranged around its periphery. He wondered which one was Solon Regh's.
All of the biers were plain, untarnished metal—a silvery alloy he couldn't quite identify. Upon one of them there was a modest crest, or symbol. That one, he decided, must be the coffin of Solon Regh.
He was feeling a little ill. A headache from the altitude, he thought. Or perhaps he'd caught a touch of the fever. Better to get it over with and get out of here. All the pleasure of discovery was gone now.
He took out his array of chisels and went to work on the coffin, which yielded easily to his professional looter's touch. The lid was light and slid aside soundlessly.