The museum building itself was of classic design, fronted by a broad lawn and with large, richly-ornamented arched windows flanking the entrance. Inside, Dema was instantly in her element. She found herself surrounded by objects reflecting the age-old occupations and life style of the Transylvanian rural population, and everything she touched opened worlds to her of the past. She quickly decided they should stay on for a while and make this a base for forays into the countryside.

Along with the artifacts and photos there were shelves of scholarly publications and maps. Although they could not actually read the Romanian text, they could gather enough of an impression from the photos and maps to make perusing them worthwhile, so she and Cern appropriated a small table to one side of the main gallery and settled in to see where it would lead.

As they dug deeper into local lore, they learned that Tirgu-Mures had been a major trade center since at least 1300, when it was known as the Market of the Seklars, free men, and that settlements here dated back to neolithic times, much like in Britain. Dema became more certain they were on the right track.

Their inability to actually read the text became more frustrating as hints of interesting possibilities mounted. Dema found herself wishing they had a translator, perhaps even a guide, and began wondering where they might find such a person. She was about to get up and visit the information desk near the entrance to ask, when she noticed a quaintly dressed man standing in the shadows of a nearby gallery, watching them with deep dark eyes. She was already so immersed in her sense of the familiar that she spoke to him quietly in Romanian without thinking, "Please, may I ask you a question?"

He seemed startled by her request, and reluctant to approach, but then he said, "As you wish."

"We have some text here that we cannot read. Will you help us?"

He became sufficiently emboldened by this request to join them, silently sliding into a nearby chair. Dema laid an open journal on the table in front of him, and he leaned forward to look at it.

"Ah yes, the Dacian fortress. I know where that is."

"Really? Could you take us there?"

Again an astonished look, and a hint of withdrawal, but then he said, "You would ask this of me? I would be only too pleased."

"Wonderful!" She slid other journals his way, and he waved his hand over them.

"I know all these places. I was...very familiar with them in the old days."

"During the Communist era?"

His look darkened for an instant, and he said. "Those were not good times for me."

He had an archaic manner of speech, matching his rough dress. Dema took this to indicate that he was one of those who had retained old ways and old beliefs. A stroke of luck to find him, she thought. "What is your name?"

"I am Avram."

"Avram, I am Dema, and this is Cern. We are from America, but my ancestors came from here, and I want to visit some of the sites where they might have lived. Will you help guide us?"

Avram looked at her for a long moment, his deep, shadowed eyes growing subtly bolder, and finally he whispered. "Yes. I would like nothing better."