Calde of the Long Sun

Chapter 1 -- The Slaves of Scylla

As unruffled by the disturbances shaking the city as by the furious

thunderstorm that threatened with every gust to throw down its

shiprock and return its mud brick to the parent mud, His Cognizance

Patera Quetzal, Prolocutor of the Chapter of This Our Holy

City of Viron, studied his present sere and sallow features in the

polished belly of the silver teapot.

As at this hour each day, he swung his head to the right and

contemplated his nearly noseless profile, made a similar inspection

of its obverse, and elevated his chin to display a lengthy and notably

wrinkled neck. He had shaped and colored face and neck with care

upon arising, as he did every morning; nevertheless, there remained

the possibility (however remote) that something had gone awry by

ten: thus the present amused but painstaking self-examination.

"For I am a careful man," he muttered, pretending to smooth one

thin white eyebrow.

A crash of thunder shook the Prolocutor's Palace to its

foundations at the final word, brightening every light in the room to a

glare; rain and hail drummed the windowpanes.

Patera Remora, Coadjutor of the Chapter, nodded solemnly.

"Yes indeed, Your Cognizance. You are indeed a most--ah--advertent man."

Yet there was always that possibility. "I'm growing old, Patera.

Even we careful men grow old."

Remora nodded again, his long bony face expressive of regret.

"Alas, Your Cognizance."

"As do many other things, Patera. Our city... The whorl itself

grows old. When we're young, we notice things that are young, like

ourselves. New grass on old graves. New leaves on old trees."

Quetzal lifted his chin again to study his bulging reflection through

hooded eyes.

"The golden season of beauty and--um--elegiacs, Your Cognizance."

Remora's fingers toyed with a dainty sandwich.

"As we notice the signs of advancing age in ourselves, we see them

in the whorl. Just a few chems today who ever saw a man who saw a

man who remembered the day Pas made the whorl."

A little bewildered by the rapid riffle through so many generations,

Remora nodded again. "Indeed, Your Cognizance. Indeed

not." Surreptitiously, he wiped jam from one finger.

"You become conscious of recurrences, the cyclical nature of

myth. When first I received the baculus, I had occasion to survey

many old documents. I read each with care. It was my custom to

devote three Hieraxdays a month to that. To that alone, and to

inescapable obsequies. I gave my prothonotary the straitest instructions

to make no appointments for that day. It's a practice I recommend, Patera."

Thunder rattled the room again, lightning a dragon beyond the windows.

"I will, um, reinstitute this wise usage at once, Your Cognizance."

"At once, you say?" Quetzal looked up from the silver pot,

resolved to repowder his chin at the first opportunity. "You may go

to young Incus and so instruct him, if you want. Tell him now,

Patera. Tell him now."

"That is--ah--unfeasible, I fear, Your Cognizance. I sent Patera

Incus upon a--um--errand Molpsday. He has not--um--rejoined us."

"I see. I see." With a trembling hand, Quetzal raised his cup until

its gilt rim touched his lips, then lowered it, though not so far as to

expose his chin. "I want beef tea, Patera. There's no strength in this.

I want beef tea. See to it, please."

Long accustomed to the request, his coadjutor rose. "I shall

prepare it with my own hands, Your Cognizance. It will--ah--occupy

only an, um, trice. Boiling water, an, um, roiling boil. Your

Cognizance may rely upon me."

Slowly, Quetzal replaced the delicate cup in its saucer as he

watched Remora's retreating back; he even spilled a few drops

there, for he was, as he had said, careful. The measured closing of

the door. Good. The clank of the latchbar. Good again. No one

could intrude now without noise and a slight delay; he had designed

the latching mechanism himself.

Without leaving his chair, he extracted the puff from a drawer on

the other side of the room and applied flesh-toned powder delicately

to the small, sharp chin he had shaped with such care upon arising.

Swinging his head from side to side as before, frowning and smiling

by turns, he studied the effect in the teapot. Good, good!

Rain beat against the windows with such force as to drive trickles

of chill water through crevices in the casements; it pooled invitingly

on the milkstone windowsills and fell in cataracts to soak the carpet.

That, too, was good. At three, he would preside at the private

sacrifice of twenty-one dappled horses, the now-posthumous offering

of Councillor Lemur--one to all the gods for each week since

Thin more substantial than a shower had blessed Viron's fields. They

could be convened to a thank offering, and he would so convert them.

Would the congregation know by then of Lemur's demise?

Quetzal debated the advisability of announcing the fact if they did

not. It was a question of some consequence and at length, for the

temporary relief the act afforded him, he pivoted his hinged fangs

from their snug grooves in the roof of his mouth, snapping each

gratefully into its socket and grinning gleefully at his distorted image.

The rattle of the latch was. nearly lost in another crash of thunder,

but he had kept an eye on the latchbar. There was a second and

louder rattle as Remora, on the other side of the door, contended

with the inconveniently-shaped iron handle that would, when its

balky rotation had been completed, laboriously lift the clumsy bar

clear of its cradle.

Quetzal touched his lips almost absently with his napkin; when he

spread it upon his lap again, his fangs had vanished. "Yes, Patera?"

he inquired querulously. "What is it now? Is it time already?"

"Your beef tea, Your Cognizance." Remora set his small tray on

the table. "Shall I--um--decant a cup for you? I have, er, obtained a

clean cup for the purpose."

"Do, Patera. Please do." Quetzal smiled. "While you were gone, I

was contemplating the nature of humor. Have you ever considered it?"

Remora resumed his seat. 'i fear not, Your Cognizance."

"What's become of young Incus? You hadn't expected him to be

gone so long?"

"No, Your Cognizance. I dispatched him to Limna." Remora spooned beef salts

into the clean cup and added water from the small copper kettle he had

brought, producing a fine plume of steam. "I am--ah--moderately

concerned. An, um, modicum of civil unrest last night, eh?" He stirred

vigorously. "This--ah--stripling Silk. Patera Silk, alas. I know him."

"My prothonotary told me." With the slightest of nods, Quetzal

accepted the steaming cup. "I'd have thought Limna would be safer."

"As would I, Your Cognizance. As did I."

A cautious sip. Quetzal held the hot, salty fluid in his mouth,

drawing it deliciously through folded fangs.

"I sent him in search of a--ah, um--individual, Your Cognizance.

A, er, acquaintance of this Patera Silk's. The Civil Guard is

searching for Patera himself, hey? As are, er, certain others.

Other--ah--parties. So I am told. This morning, Your Cognizance, I

dispatched still others to look for young Incus. The rain, however,

ah, necessitous, will hamper them all, hum?"

"Do you swim, Patera?"

"I, Your Cognizance? At the--um--lakeside, you mean? No. Or

at least, not for many years.

"Nor I."

Remora groped toward a point he had yet to discern. "A healthful

exercise, however. For those of, um, unaugmented years, eh? A hot

bath before sacrifice, Your Cognizance? Or--I have it!--springs.

There are, er, reborant springs at Urbs. Healing springs, most

healthful. Possibly, while--affairs are so--ah--unsettled here, eh?"

Quetzal shook himself. He had a way of quivering like a fat man

when he did that, although on the few occasions when Remora had

been obliged to lift him into bed, his body had in fact been light and

sinuous. "The gods..." He smiled.

"Must be served, to be sure, Your Cognizance. I would be on the

spot--ah--ensuring that the Chapter's interests were vigilantly

safeguarded, hey?" Remora tossed lank black hair away from his

eyes. "Each rite carried out with--um--"

"You must recall the story, Patera." Quetzal swayed from side to

side, perhaps with silent mirth. "A-man and Wo-man like rabbits in

a garden. The--what do you call them?" He held up a thin,

blue-veined hand, palm cupped.

"A cobra, Your Cognizance?"

"The cobra persuaded Wo-man to eat fruit from his tree, miraculous

fruit whose taste conferred wisdom."

Remora nodded, wondering how he might reintroduce the

springs. "I recollect the--um--allegory."

Quetzal nodded more vigorously, a wise teacher proffering praise

to a small boy. "It's all in the Writings. Or nearly all. A god called

Ah Lah barred Wo-man and her husband from the garden." He

ceased to speak, apparently wandering among thoughts. "We seem

to have lost sight of Ah Lah, by the way. I can't recall a single

sacrifice to him. No one ever asks why the cobra wanted Wo-man to

eat his fruit."

"From sheer, er, wickedness, Your Cognizance? That is what I

had always supposed."

Quetzal swayed faster, his face solemn. "In order that she would

ditrib his tree, Patera. The man likewise. Their story's not over

because they haven't climbed down. That's why I asked if you had

considered the nature of humor. Is Patera Incus a strong swimmer?"

"Why, I've--ah--no notion, Your Cognizance."

"Because you think you know why the woman you sent him to

look for visited the lake with our scamp Silk, whose name I see on

walls."

"Why, er, Your Cognizance is--ah--great penetration, as always."

Remora fidgeted.

"I saw it scratched on one five floors up, yesterday," Quetzal

continued as though he had not heard, "and went wide."

"Disgraceful, Your Cognizance!"

"Respect for our cloth, Patera. I myself swim well. Not so well as a

fish, but very well indeed. Or I did."

"I'm pleased to hear it, Your Cognizance."

"The jokes of gods are long in telling. That's why you ought to sift

the records of the past on Hieraxdays, Patera. Today's Hieraxday.

You'll learn to think in new and better ways. Thank you for my beef

tea. Now go."

Remora rose and bowed. "As Your Cognizance desires."

His Cognizance stared past him, lost in speculation.

Greatly daring, Remora ventured, "I have often observed that

your own way of thinking is somewhat--ah--unlike, as well as much

more, um, select than that of most men."

There was no reply. Remora took a step backward. "Upon every--ah--topic

whatsoever, Your Cognizance's information is quite, um, marvelous."

"Wait." Quetzal had made his decision. "The riots. Has the

Alambrera fallen?"

"What's that? The Alambrera? Why--ah--no. Not to my

knowledge, Your Cognizance."

"Tonight." Quetzal reached for his beef tea. "Sit down, Patera.

You're always jumping about. You make me nervous. It can't be

good for you. Lemur's dead. Did you know it?"

Remora's mouth gaped, then snapped shut. He sat.

"You weren't. It's your responsibility to learn things."

Remora acknowledged his responsibility with a shamefaced nod.

"May I inquire, Your Cognizance--?"

"How I know? In the same way I knew the woman you sent Incus

after had gone to Lake Limna with Patera Calde Silk."

"Your Cognizance!"

Once again, Quetzal favored Rernora with his lipless smile. "Are

you afraid I'll be arrested, Patera? Cast into the pits? You'd be

Prolocutor, presumably. I've no fear of the pits." Quetzal's long-skulled,

completely hairless head bobbed above his cup. "Not at my

age. None."

"None the less, I implore Your Cognizance to be more--ah--circumspect."

"Why isn't the city burning, Patera?"

Caught by surprise, Remora glanced at the closest window.

"Mud brick and shiprock walls. Timbers supporting upper floors.

Thatch or shingles. Five blocks of shops burned last night. Why isn't

the whole city burning today?"

"It's raining, Your Cognizance," Remora summoned all his courage.

"It's been raining--ah--forcibly since early this morning."

"Exactly so. Patera Calde Silk went to Limna on Molpsday with a

woman. That same day, you sent Incus there to look for an

acquaintance of his. A woman, since you were reluctant to speak of

it. Councillor Loris spoke through the glass an hour before lunch."

Remora tensed. "He told you Councillor Lemur was no longer

among us, Your Cognizance?"

Quetzal swung his head back and forth. "That Lemur was still

alive, Patera. There are rumors. So it would appear. He wanted me

to denounce them this afternoon."

"But if Councillor Loris--ah--assures--"

"Clearly Lemur's dead. If he weren't, he'd speak to me in person.

Or show himself at the Juzgado. Or both."

"Even so, Your Cognizance--"

Another crash of thunder made common cause with Quetzal's

thin hand to interrupt.

"Can the Ayuntamiento prevail without him? That's the question,

Patera. I want your opinion."

To give himself time to consider, Rernora sipped his now tepid

tea. "Munitions, the--ah--thews of contention, are stored in the

Alambrera, as well as in the, um, cantonment of the Civil Guard,

cast of the city."

"I know that."

"It is an, er, complex of great--um--redoubtability, Your

Cognizance. I am informed that the outer wall is twelve cubits

in--ah--laterality. Yet Your Cognizance anticipates its surrender

tonight? Before venturing an opinion, may I enquire as to the

source of Your Cognizance's information?"

"I haven't any," Quetzal told him. "I was thinking out loud. If the

Alambrera doesn't fall in a day or so, Patera Calde Silk will fail.

That's my opinion. Now I want yours."

"Your Cognizance does me honor. There is also the--um--dormant army

to consider. Councillor Lemur--ah--Loris will undoubtedly issue

an--ah--call to arms, should the, um, situation,

in his view, become serious."

"Your opinion, Patera."

Remora's cup rattled in its saucer. "As long as the--ah--fidelity of

the Civil Guard remains--um--unblemished, Your Cognizance," he

drew a deep breath, "it would appear to me, though I am assuredly

no--um--master hand at matters military, that--ah, um--Patera

Calde cannot prevail."

Quetzal appeared to be listening only to the storm; for perhaps

fifteen tickings of the coffin-shaped clock that stood beside the

door, the howling of the wind and the lash of rain filled the room.

At last he asked, "Suppose that you were to learn that part of the

Guard's gone over to Silk already?"

Remora's eyes widened. "Your Cognizance has--?"

"No reason to think so. My question's hypothetical."

Remora, who had much experience of Quetzal's hypothetical

questions, filled his lungs again. "I should then say, Your Cogni

zance, that should any such unhappy circumstance--ah--circumstances

eventuate, the city would find itself amongst--ah--perilous

waters."

"And the Chapter?"

Remora looked doleful. "Equally so, Your Cognizance. if not

worse. As an augur, Silk could well, ah, proclaim himself Prolocutor,

as well as calde."

"Really. He lacks reverence for you, my coadjutor?"

"No, Your Cognizance. Quite the, um, contrary."

Quetzal sipped beef tea in silence.

"Your Cognizance--ah--intends the Chapter to support the--um--host

of, er, Patera Calde?"

"I want you to compose a circular letter, Patera. You have nearly

six hours. It should be more than enough. I'll sign it when we're

through in the Grand Manteion." Quetzal stared down at the

stagnant brown liquid in his cup.

"To all the clergy, Your Cognizance?"

"Emphasize our holy duty to bring comfort to the wounded and

the Final Formula to the dying. Imply, but don't say--" Quetzal

paused, inspired.

"Yes, Your Cognizance?"

"That Lemur's death ends the claim to rule the councillors had in

the past. You say you know Patera Calde Silk?"

Remora nodded. "I conversed with him at some--ah--extensively

Scylsday evening, Your Cognizance. We discussed the financial--um--trials

of his manteion, and--ah--various other matters."

"I don't, Patera. But I've read every report in his file, those of his

instructors and those of his predecessor. Thus my recommendation.

Diligent, sensitive, intelligent, and pious. Impatient, as is to be

expected at his age. Respectful, which you now confirm. A tireless

worker, a point his instructor in theonomy was at pains to emphasize.

Pliable. During the past few days, he's become immensely

popular. Should he succeed in subjugating the Ayuntamiento, he's

apt to remain so for a year or more. Perhaps much longer. Charteral

government by a young augur who'll need seasoned advisors to

remain in office..."

"Indeed, Your Cognizance." Remora nodded energetically. "The

same--ah--intuition had occurred tome."

With his cup, Quetzal gestured toward the nearest window. "We

suffer a change in weather, Patera."

"An, um, profound one, Your Cognizance."

"We must acclimate ourselves to it. That's why I asked if young

Incus swam. If you can reach him, tell him to strike out boldly. Have

I made myself clear?"

Remora nodded again. "I will, um, strive to render the Chapter's

wholehearted endorsement of an--ah--lawful and holy government

apparent, Your Cognizance."

"Then go. Compose that letter."

"If the Alambrera doesn't--ah--hey?"

There was no indication that Quetzal had heard. Remora left his

chair and backed away, at length closing the door behind him.

Quetzal rose, and an observer (had there been one) might have

been more than a little surprised to see that shrunken figure grown

so tall. As if on wheels, he glided across the room and threw open

the broad casement that overlooked his garden. admitting pounding

rain and a gust of wind that made his mulberry robe stand out

behind him like a banner.

For some while he remained before the window, motionless,

cosmetics streaming from his face in rivulets of pink and buff, while

he contemplated the tamarind he had caused to be planted there

twenty years previously. It was taller already than many buildings

called lofty; its glossy, rain-washed leaves brushed the windowframe

and now even, by the width of a child's hand, sidled into his

bedchamber like so many timid sibyls, confident of welcome yet

habitually shy. Their parent tree, nourished by his own efforts, was

of more than sufficient size now, and a fount of joy to him: a

sheltering presence, a memorial of home, the highroad to freedom.

Quetzal crossed the room and barred the door, then threw off his

sodden robe. Even in this downpour the tree was safer, though he

could fly.

The looming presence of the cliff slid over Auk as he sat in the bow,

and with it a final whistling gust of icy rain. He glanced up at the

beetling rock, then trained his needler on the augur standing to the

halyard. "This time you didn't try anything. See how flash you're

getting?" The storm had broken at shadeup and showed no signs of

slackening.

Chenille snapped, "Steer for that," and pointed. Chill tricklings

from her limp crimson hair merged into a rivulet between her full

breasts to flood her naked loins.

At the tiller, the old fisherman touched his cap. "Aye, aye,

Scaldin' Scylla."

They had left Limna on Molpsday night. From shadeup to

shadelow, the sun had been a torrent of white fire across a dazzling

sky; the wind, fair and strong at morning, had veered and died away

to a breeze, to an occasional puff, and by the time the market

closed, to nothing. Most of that afternoon Auk had spent in the

shadow of the sail, Chenille beneath the shelter of the half deck; he

and she, like the augur, had gotten badly sunburned just the same.

Night had brought a new wind, foul for their destination.

Directed by the old fisherman and commanded to hold ever closer

by the major goddess possessing Chenille, they had tacked and

tacked and tacked again, Auk and the augur bailing frantically on

every reach and often sick, the boat heeling until it seemed the

gunnel must go under, a lantern swinging crazily from the masthead

and crashing into the mast each time they went about, going out half

a dozen times and leaving the three weary men below in deadly fear

of ramming or being rammed in the dark.

Once the augur had attempted to snatch Auk's needler from his

waistband. Auk had beaten and kicked him, and thrown him over

the side into the churning waters of the lake, from which the old

fisherman had by a miracle of resource and luck rescued him with a

boathook. Shadeup had brought a third wind, this out of the

southeast, a storm-wind driving sheet after gray sheet of slanting

rain before it with a lash of lightning.

"Down sail!" Chenille shrieked. "Loose that, you idiot! Drop the

yard!"

The augur hurned to obey; he was perhaps ten years senior to

Auk, with protruding teeth and small, soft hands that had begun to

bleed almost before they had left Limna.

After the yard had crashed down, Auk turned in his seat to peer

forward at their destination, seeing nothing but rainwet stone and

evoking indignant squawks from the meager protection of his legs.

"Come on out," he told Silk's bird. "We're under a cliff here."

"No out!"

Dry by comparison though the foot of the cliff was, and shielded

from the wind, it seemed colder than the open lake, reminding Auk

forcibly that the new summer tunic he had worn to Limna was

soaked, his baggy trousers soaked too, and his greased riding boots

full of water.

The narrow inlet up which they glided became narrower yet,

damp black rock to left and right rising fifty cubits or more above

the masthead. Here and there a freshet, born of the storm,

descended in a slender line of silver to plash noisily into the quiet

water. The cliffs united overhead, and the iron mast-cap scraped stone.

"She'll go," Chenille told the old fisherman confidently. "The

ceiling's higher farther in."

"I'd 'preciate ter raise up that mains'l ag'in, ma'am," the old

fisherman remarked almost conversationally, "an' undo them reefs.

It'll rot if it don't dry."

Chenille ignored him; Auk gestured toward the sail and stood to

the halyard with the augur, eager for any exercise that might warm

him.

Oreb hopped onto the gunnel to look about and fluff his damp

feathers. "Bird wet!" They were gliding past impressive tanks of

white-painted metal, their way nearly spent.

"A _Sacred Window!_ It _is!_ There's a Window and an altar

_right there!_ Look!" The augur's voice shook with joy, and he released

the halyard. Auk's kick sent him sprawling.

"Got ter break out sweeps, ma'am, if there's more channel."

"Mind your helm. Lay alongside the Window." To the augur

Chenille added, "Have you got your knife?"

He shook his head miserably.

"Your sword then," she told Auk. "Can you sacrifice?"

"I've seen it done, Surging Scylla, and I got a knife in my boot.

That might work better." As daring as Remora, Auk added, "But a

bird? I didn't think you liked birds."

"That?" She spat into the water.

A fender of woven cordage thumped, then ground against stone.

Their side lay within a cubit of the natural quay on which the tanks

and the Window stood. "Tie us up." Chenille pointed to the augur.

"You, too! No, the stern, you idiot. He'll take the bow."

Auk made the halyard fast, then sprang out onto the stone quay.

It was wet, and so slimed that he nearly fell; in the watery light of

the cavern, he failed to make out the big iron ring at his feet until he

stepped on it.

The augur had found his ring sooner. He straightened up. "I--I

_am_ an _augur_, Savage Scylla. I've sacrificed to you and to all

the Nine _many times_. I'd be _delighted_, Savage Scylla. With his

knife..."

"Bad bird," Oreb croaked. "Gods hate." He flapped his injured

wing as if to judge how far it might carry him.

Chenille bounded onto the slippery stone and crooked a finger at

the old fisherman. "You. Come up here."

"I oughter--"

"You ought to do what you're told, or I'll have my thug kill you

straight off."

It was a relief to Auk to draw his needler again, a return to

familiar ground.

"_Scylla!_" the augur gasped. "A _human being?_ Really--"

She whirled to confront him. "What were you doing on my boat?

"Who sent you?"

"Bad cut," Oreb assured her.

The augur drew a deep breath. "I am H-his _Eminence's_

prothonotary." He smoothed his sopping robe as if suddenly conscious of his

bedraggled appearance. "H-his E-e-eminence desired me to _l-locate_

a particular y-y-young woman--"

Auk trained his needler on him.

"Y-you. Tall, red hair and so forth. I _didn't_ know it was you,

Savage Scylla." He swallowed and added desperately, "H-his interest

was ha-wholly friendly. H-his Eminence--"

"You are to be congratulated, Patera." Chenille's voice was

smooth and almost courteous; she had an alarming habit of remaining

immobile in attitudes no mere human being could have maintained for

more than a few seconds, and she did so now, her pivoting

head and glaring eyes seemingly the only living pans of her lush

body. "You have succeeded splendidly. Perhaps you identified the

previous occupant? You say this woman," she touched her chest,

"was described to you?"

The augur nodded rapidly. "_Yes_, Savage Scylla. Fiery hair

and--and s-skill with a _knife_ and..."

Chenille's eyes had rolled backward into her skull. until only the

whites could be seen. "Your Eminence. Silk addressed him like that.

You attended my graduation, Your Eminence."

The augur said hurriedly, "He wished me to _assure_ her of our

submission. Of the _Chapter's_. To offer our _advise_ and

_support_, and declare our _loyalty_. Information H-his Eminence

had received indicated that--that you'd _g-gone_ to the lake with

Patera Silk. His Eminence is Patera's _superior_. He--I--we

declare our _undying_ loyalty, Savage Scylla."

"To Kypris."

There was that in Chenille's tone which rendered the words

unanswerable. The augur could only stare at her.

"Bad man," Oreb announced virtuously. "Cut?"

"An augur? I hadn't considered it, but..."

The old fisherman hawked and spat. "If'n you're really Scaldin'

Scylla, ma'am, I'd like ter say somethin'." He wiped his grizzled

mustache on the back of his hand.

"I am Scylla. Be quick. We must sacrifice now if we're to sacrifice

at all. My slave will arrive soon."

"I been prayin' and sacrificin' ter you all my life. You an' your pa's

the only ones us fishermen pay mind to. I'm not sayin' you owe me

anythin'. I got my boat, an' I had a wife and raised the boys. Always

made a livin'. What I'm wantin' ter say is when I go you'll be losin'

one of your own. It's goin' ter be one less here for you an' ol' Pas.

Maybe you figure I took you 'cause the big feller's got his stitchin'

gun. Fact is, I'd of took you anywheres on the lake soon as I knowed

who you was."

"I must reintegrate myself in Mainframe," Chenille told him.

"There may be new developments. Are you through?"

"Pretty nigh. The big feller, he does anythin' you want him, just

like what I'd do in his britches. Only he b'longs ter Hierax, ma'am."

Auk started.

"Not ter you nor your pa neither. He maybe don't know it hisself,

but he do. His bird an' that needler he's got, an' the big hangersword,

an' his knife what he tells he's got in his boots, they all show

it. You got ter know it better'n me. As fer this augur you're gettin'

set ter offer me up, I fished him out O' the lake last night, and t'other

day I seen another fished up. They do say--"

"Describe him."

"Yes'm." The old fisherman considered. "You was down in the

cuddy then, I guess. When they'd got him out, I seen him look over

our way. Lookin' at the bird, seemed like. Pretty young. Tall as the

big feller. Yeller hair--"

"Silk!" Auk exclaimed.

"Pulled out of the water, you said?"

The fisherman nodded. "Scup's boat. I've knowed Scup thirty year."

"You may be right," Chenille told him. "You may be too valuable

to sacrifice, and one old man is nothing anyway."

She strode toward the Window before whirling to face them

again. "Pay attention to what I say, all three of you. In a moment,

I'll depart from this whore. My divine essence will pass from her

into the Sacred Window that I have caused to be put here, and be

reintegrated with my greater divine self in Mainframe. Do you

understand me? All of you?"

Auk nodded mutely The augur knelt, his head bowed.

"Kypris, my mortal enemy and the enemy of my mother, my

brothers, and my sisters--of our whole family, in fact--has been

mischief-making here in Viron. Already she seems to have won to

her side the meager fdol this idiot--What's your name, anyhow?"

"Incus, Savage Scylla. I-I'm Patera _Incus_."

"The fool this idiot calls His Eminence. I don't doubt that she

intends to win over my Prolocutor and my Ayuntamiento too, if she

can. The four of you, I include the whore after I'm through with her,

are to see to it that she fails. Use threats and force and the power of

my name. Kill anyone you need to, it won't be held against you. If

Kypris returns, do something to get my attention. Fifty or a hundred

children should catch my eye, and Viron's got plenty to spare."

She glared at each man in turn. "Questions? Let's hear them now,

if there are any. Objections?"

Oreb croaked in his throat, one bright black eye trained warily

upon her.

"Good. You're my prophets henceforth. Keep Viron loyal, and

you'll have my favor. Believe nothing Kypris may tell you. My slave

should be here shortly. He'll carry you there, and assist you. See the

Prolocutor and talk to the commissions in the Juzgado. Tell

everyone who'll listen about me. Tell them everything I've said to

you. I'd hoped that the Ayuntamiento's boat would be in this dock.

It usually is. It isn't today, so you'll have to see the councillors for

me. The old man can bring you back here. Tell them I mean to sink

their boat and drown them all in my lake if my city goes over to Kypris."

Incus stammered, "A th-theophany, S-savage S-s-scylla, w-would--"

"Not convince your councillors. They think themselves too wise.

Theophanies may be useful, however. Reintegrated, I may consider them."

She strode to the damp stone altar and sprang effonlessly to its top.

"I had this built so your Ayuntamiento might offer private

sacrifices and, when I chose, confer with me. Not a trace of ash!

They'll pay for that as well.

"You." She pointed to Auk. "This augur Silk's plotting to overthrow

them for Kypris. Help him, but show him where his duty lies.

If he can't see it, kill him. You've my permission to rule yourself as

my Calde in that case. The idiot here can be Prolocutor under

similar circumstances, I suppose."

She faced the Window and knelt. Auk knelt, too, pulling the

fisherman down. (Incus was kneeling already.) Clearing his throat,

Auk began the prayer that he had bungled upon the Pilgrims' Way,

when Scylla had revealed her divine identity. "Behold us, lovely

Scylla, woman of the waters--"

Incus and the fisherman joined in. "Behold our love and our need

for thee. Cleanse us, O Scylla!"

At the name of the goddess, Chenille threw high her arms with a

strangled cry. The dancing colors called the Holy Hues filled the

Sacred Window with chestnut and brown, aquamarine, orange,

scarlet, and yellow, cerulean blue and a curious shade of rose

brushed with drab. And for a moment it seemed to Auk that he

glimpsed the sneering features of a girl a year or two from

womanhood.

Chenille trembled violently and went limp, slumping to the altar

top and roiling off to fall to the dark and slimy stone of the quay.

Oreb fluttered over to her. "God go?"

The girl's face--if it had been a face--vanished into a wall of

green water, like an onrushing wave. The Holy Hues returned, first

as sun-sparkles on the wave, then claiming the entire Window and

filling it with their whirling ballet before fading back to luminescent

gray.

"I think so," Auk said. He rose, and discovered that his needler

was still in his hand; he thrust it beneath his tunic, and asked

tentatively, "You all right, Jugs?"

Chenille moaned.

He lifted her into a sitting position. "You banged your head on the

rock, Jugs, but you're going to be all right." Eager to do something

for her, but unsure what he should do, he called, "You! Patera! Get

some water."

"She throw?"

Auk swung at Oreb, who hopped agilely to one side.

"Hackum?"

"Yeah, Jugs. Right here." He squeezed her gently with the arm

that supponed her, conscious of the febrile heat of her sunburned skin.

"You came back. Hackum, I'm so glad."

The old fisherman coughed, striving to keep his eyes from

Chenille's breasts. "Mebbe it'd be better if me an' him stayed on the

boat awhile?"

"We're all going on your boat," Auk told him. He picked up

Chenille.

Incus, a battered tin cup of water in his hand, asked, "You intend

to _disobey?_"

Auk dodged. "She said to go to the Juzgado. We got to get back to

Limna, then there's wagons to the city."

"She was sending someone, sending her slave she said, to take us

there." Incus raised the cup and sipped. "She also said _I_ was to be

_Prolocutor_."

The old fisherman scowled. "This feller she's sendin', he'll have a

boat o' his own. Have ter, ter git out here. What becomes o' mine if

we go off with him? She said fer me ter fetch the rest back ter see

them councillors, didn't she? How'm I s'posed ter do that if I ain't

got my boat?"

Oreb fluttered onto Auk's shoulder. "Find Silk?"

"You got it." Carrying Chenille, Auk strode across the quay to eye

the open water between it and the boat; it was one thing to spring

from the gunnel to the quay, another to jump from the quay to the

boat while carrying a woman taller than most. "Get that rope," he

snapped to Incus. "Pull it closer. You left too much slack."

Incus pursed his lips. "We cannot _possibly_ disobey the instructions

of the goddess."

"You can stay here and wait for whoever she's sending. Tell him

we'll meet up with him in Limna. Me and Jugs are going in Dace's

boat."

The old fisherman nodded emphatically.

"If _you_ wish to disobey, my son, _I_ will not attempt to prevent

you. However--"

Something in the darkness beyond the last tank fell with a crash,

and the scream of metal on stone echoed from the walls of the

cavern. A new voice, deeper and louder than any merely human

voice, roared, "_I bring her! Give her to me!_"

It was that of a talus larger than the largest Auk had ever seen; its

virescent bronze face was cast in a grimace of hate, blinding yellow

light glared from its eyes, and the oily black barrels of a flamer and a

pair of buzz guns jutted from its open mouth. Behind it, the black

dark at the back of the cavern had been replaced by a sickly greenish

glow.

"_I bring her! All of you! Give her to me!_" The talus extended a

lengthening arm as it rolled toward them. A steel hand the size of

the altar from which she had fallen closed about Chenille and

plucked her from Auk's grasp; so a child might have snatched a

small and unloved doll from the arms of another doll. "_Get on my

back! Scylla commands it!_"

A half dozen widely spaced rungs of bent rod laddered the talus's

metal flank. Auk scrambled up with the night chough flapping

ahead of him; as he gained the top, the talus's huge hand deposited

Chenille on the sloping black metal before him.

"Hang on!"

Two rows of bent rods much like the steps of the ladder ran the

length of the talus's back. Auk grasped one with his left hand and

Chenille with his right. Her eyelids fluttered. "Hackum?"

"Still here."

Incus's head appeared as he clambered up; his sly face looked sick

in the watery light. "By--by _Hierax!_"

Auk chuckled.

"You--You--Help me _up_."

"Help yourself, Patera. You were the one that wanted to wait for

him. You won. He's here."

Before Auk had finished speaking, Incus sprang onto the talus's

back with astonishing alacrity, apparently impelled by the muscular

arm of the fisherman, who clambered up a moment later. "You'd

make a dimber burglar, old man," Auk told him.

"Hackum, where are we?"

"In a cave on the west side of the lake."

The talus turned in place, one wide black belt crawling, the other

locked. Auk felt the thump of machinery under him.

Puffs of black smoke escaped from the joint between the upright

thorax and long wagon-like abdomen to which they clung. It rocked,

jerked, and skewed backward. A sickening sidewise skid ended in a

geyser of icy water as one belt slipped off the quay. Incus clutched at

Auk's tunic as their side of the talus went under, and for a dizzying

second Auk saw the boat tossed higher than their heads.

The wave that had lifted it broke over them like a blow, a

suffocating, freezing whorl that at once drained away; when Auk

opened his eyes again Chenille was sitting up screaming, her

dripping face blank with terror.

Something black and scarlet landed with a thump upon his

sopping shoulder. "Bad boat! Sink."

It had not, as he saw when the talus heaved itself up onto the quay

again; Dace's boat lay on its side, the mast unshipped and tossing

like driftwood in the turbulent water.

Huge as a boulder, the talus's head swiveled around to glare at

them, revolving until it seemed its neck must snap. "_Five ride! The

small may go!_"

Auk glanced from the augur to the fisherman, and from him to

the hysterical Chenille, before he realized who was meant. "You can

beat the hoof if you want to, bird. He says he won't hurt you if you do."

"Bird stay," Oreb muttered. "Find Silk."

The talus's head completed its revolution, and the talus lunged

forward. Yellow light glared back at them, reflected from the

curved white side of the last tank, leaving the Sacred Window empty

and dead looking behind them. Sallow green lights winked into

being just above the talus's helmeted head, and the still-tossing

waters of the channel congealed to rough stone as the cavern

dwindled to a dim tunnel.

Auk put his arm around Chenille's waist. "Fancy a bit of company, Jugs?"

She wept on, sobs lost in the wind of their passage.

He released her, got out his needler, and pushed back the

sideplate; a trickle of gritty water ran onto his fingers, and he blew

into the mechanism. "Should be all right," he told Oreb, "soon as it

dries out. I ought to put a couple drops of oil on the needles,

though."

"Good girl," Oreb informed him nervously. "No shoot."

"Bad girl," Auk explained. "Bad man, too. No shoot. No go away,

either."

"Bad bird!"

"Lily." Gently, he kissed Chenille's inflamed back. "Lie down if

you want to. Lay your head in my lap. Maybe you can get a little

sleep."

As he pronounced the words, he sensed that they came too late.

The talus was descending, the tunnel angling downward, if only

slightly. The mouths of other tunnels flashed past to left and right,

darker even than the damp shiprock walls. Drops of water clinging

to the unchanging ceiling gleamed like diamonds, vanishing as they

passed.

The talus slowed, and something struck its great bronze head,

ringing it like a gong. Its buzz guns rattled and it spat a tongue of

blue fire.