Calde of the Long Sun

Chapter 7 -- Where Thelx Holds Up a Mirror

Silk stopped to look at Ermine's imposing facade. Ermine's had

been built as a private house, or so it appeared--built for someone

with a bottomless cardcase and a deep appreciation of pillars,

arches, friezes, and cornices and the like; features he had previously

seen only as fading designs painted on the otherwise stark fronts of

shiprock buildings were real here in a jungle of stone that towered

fully five stories. A polished brass plaque of ostentatiously modest

proportions on the wide green front door announced: "Ermine's

Hotel."

Who, Silk wondered almost idly, had Ermine been? Or was he

still alive? If so, might Linsang be a poor relation--or even a rich

one who had turned against the Ayuntamiento? And what about

Patera Gulo? Stranger things had happened.

Though he felt cold, his hands were clammy; he groped for his

robe before remembering that it was back in the borrowed traveling

bag with the borrowed blue tunic, and wiped his hands on the yellow

one he was wearing instead.

"Go in?" Oreb inquired.

"In a minute." He was procrastinating and knew it. This was

Ermine's, the end of dreams, the shadeup of waking. If he was

lucky, he would be recognized and shot. If he was not, he would find

Thelxiepeia's image and wait until Ermine's closed, for even

Ermine's must close sometime. An immensely superior servant

would inform him icily that he would have to leave. He would stand,

and look about him one last time, and try to hold the servant in

conversation to gain a few moments more.

After that, he would have to go. The street would be gray with

morning and very cold. He would hear Ermine's door shut firmly

behind him, the snick of the bolt and the rattle of the bar. He would

look up and down the street and see no Hyacinth, and no one who

could be carrying a message from her.

Then it would be over. Over and dead and done with, never to

live again. He would recall his longing as something that had once

occupied an augur whose name chanced to be his, Silk, a name not

common but by no means outlandish. (The old calde, whose bust his

mother had kept at the back of her closet, had been--what? Had he

been Silk, too? No, Tussah; but tussah was another costly fabric.)

He would try to bring peace and to save his manteion, fail at both,

and die.

"Go in?"

He wanted to say that they were indeed going in, but found

himself too dismayed to speak. A man with a pheasant's feather in

his hat and a fur cape muttered, "Pardon me," and shouldered past.

A footman in livery (presumably the supercilious servant envisioned

a few seconds before) opened the door from inside.

Now. Or not at all. Leave or send a message. Preserve the illusion.

"Are you coming in, sir?"

"Yes," Silk said. "Yes, I am. I was wondering about my pet,

though. If there are objections, I'll leave him outside."

"None, sir," A faint, white smile touched the footman's narrow

lips like the tracery of frost upon a windowpane. "The ladies not

infrequently bring animals, sir. Boarhounds, sir. Monkeys. Your

bird cannot be worse. But, sir, the door..."

It was open, of course. The night was chill, and Ermine's would

be comfortably warm, rebellion or no rebellion. Silk climbed the

steps to the green door, discovering that Liana's barricade had been

neither higher nor steeper.

"This is your first visit to Ermine's, I take it, sir?"

Silk nodded. "I'm to meet a lady here."

"I quite understand, sir. This is our anteroom, sir." There were

sofas and stiff-looking chairs. "It is principally for the removal of

one's outer garments, sir. They are left in the cloakroom. You may

check your bag there, if you so desire. There is no hospitality here in

the anteroom, sir, but one can observe all the guests who enter or depart."

"Good man?" Oreb studied the footman through one bright, black

eye. "Like bird?"

"Tonight, sir," the footman leaned nearer Silk, and his voice

became confidential, "I might be able to fetch you some refreshment

myself, however. We've little patronage tonight. The unrest."

"Thank you," Silk said. "Thank you very much. But no."

"Beyond the anteroom, sir, is our sellaria. The chairs are rather

more comfonable, sir, and there is hospitality as well. Some

gentlemen read."

"Suppose I go into your seilaria and turn to the right," Silk

inquired, "where would I be then?"

"In the Club, sir. Or if one turns less abruptly, in the Glasshouse,

sir. There are nooks, sir. Benches and settees. There is hospitality,

sir, but it is infrequent."

"Thank you," Silk said, and hurried away.

Strange to think that this enormous room, a room that held fifty

chairs or more, with half that many diminutive tables and scores of

potted plants, statues, and fat-bellied urns, should be called by the

same name as his musty little sitting room at the manse. Swerving to

his right he wound among them, worrying that he had turned too

abruptly and feeling that he walked in a dream through a house of

giants--while politely declining the tray proffered by a deferential

waiter. All the chairs he saw were empty; a table with a glass top

scarcely bigger than the seat of a milking stool held wads of

crumpled paper and a sheet half covered with script, the only signs

of human habitation.

A wall loomed before him like the face of a mountain, or more

accurately, like a fog bank through rents in which might be glimpsed

scenes of unrelated luxury that were in truth its pictures. He veered

left, and after another twenty strides caught sight of a marble arch

framing a curtain of leaves.

It had been as warm as he had expected in the sellaria; passing

through the arch he entered an atmosphere warmer still, humid, and

freighted with exotic perfumes. A moth with mauve-and-gray wings

larger than his palms fluttered before his face to light on a purple

flower the size of a soup tureen. A path surfaced with what seemed

precious stones, narrower even than the graveled path through the

garden of his manteion, vanished after a step or two among vines

and dwarfish trees. The music of falling water was everywhere.

"Good place," Oreb approved.

It was, Silk thought. It was stranger and more dream-like than the

sellaria, but more friendly and more human, too. The sellaria had

been a vision of opulence bordering on nightmare; this was a gentler

one of warmth and water, sunshine and lush fertility, and though

this glass-roofed garden might be used for vicious purposes, sunshine

and fertility, water and warmth were things in themselves

good; their desirability could only be illustrated more clearly by the

proximity of evil. "I like it," he whispered to Oreb. "Hyacinth must

too, or she wouldn't have told me to meet her here, where all this

would surely dim the beauty of a woman less lovely."

The sparkling path divided. He hesitated, then turned to his right.

A few steps more, and there was no light save that from the skylands

floating above the whorl. "His Cognizance would like this as much as

we do, I believe, Oreb. I've been in his garden at the Palace, and

this reminds me of it, though that's an open-air garden, and this

can't be nearly as large."

Here was a seat for two, masterfully carved from a single block of

myrtle. He halted to stare at it, longing to sit but restrained by the

fear that he would be unable to stand again. "We have to find this

image of Thelxiepeia," he muttered, "and there must be places to sit

there. Hyacinth won't come. She's at Blood's in the country, she's

bound to be. But we can rest there awhile."

A new voice, obsequious and affected, murmured, "I _beg_ your

pardon, sir."

"Yes, what is it?" Silk turned.

A waiter had come up behind him. "I'm rather embarrassed, sir. I

really don't know quite how to phrase it."

"Am I not supposed to be in here now?" As Silk asked, he

resolved not to leave without a fight; they might overwhelm him

with a mob of waiters and footmen, but they would have to--no

mere order or argument would suffice.

"Oh, no, sir!" The waiter looked horrified. "It's quite all right."

The desperate struggle Silk had visualized faded into the mist of

unactualized eventualities.

"There is a gendeman, sir. A very tall gentleman, sir, with a long

face? Rather a sad face, if I may say so, sir. He's in the Club."

"No go," Oreb announced firmly.

"He would not give me his name, sir. He said it was not relevant."

The waiter cleared his throat. "He would not give your name either,

sir, but he described you. He said that I was to say nothing if you

were with someone, sir. I was only to offer to bring you and anyone

who might be in your company refreshment, for which he would

pay. But that if I found you alone, I was to invite you to join him."

Silk shook his head. "I have no idea who this gentleman is. Do

you?"

"No, sir. He is not a regular patron. sir. I don't think I've ever

seen him before."

"Do you know the figure of Thelxiepela, waiter? Here in the

Glasshouse?"

"Certainly, sir. The tall gentleman instructed me to look for you

there, sir."

Colonel Oosik was tall, Silk reflected, though so massive that his

height had not been very noticeable; but Oosik could scarcely be

called long-faced. Since only he and Captain Gecko had read

Hyacinth's letter, the long-faced man was presumably Gecko. "Tell

him I can't join him in the Club," Silk said, choosing his words.

"Express my regrets. Tell him I'll be at the figure of Thelxiepeia. and

I'm alone. He may speak to me there if he chooses."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. May I get you anything, sir? I could

bring it there."

Silk shook his head impatiently.

"Very well, sir. I will deliver your message."

"Wait a moment. What time is it?"

The waiter looked apologetic. "I have no watch, sir."

"Of course not. Neither do I. Approximately."

"I looked at the barman's clock, sir, only a minute or two before I

came here. It was five until twelve then, sir."

"Thank you," Silk said, and sat down on the carved wooden seat

without a thought about the difficulty of getting up.

_Hieraxday_, Hyacinth's letter said. He tried to recall her exact

words and failed, but he remembered their import. She had

mentioned no time, perhaps intending late afternoon, when she

would have finished her shopping. The barman's clock was in the

Club, no doubt; and the Club would be a drinking place, primarily

for men--a rich man's version of the Cock, where he had found

Auk. The waiter was unlikely to have glanced at the barman's clock

after speaking to the long-faced man, whoever he was; so it had

probably been ten minutes or more since he had noticed the time.

Hieraxday was past. This was Thelxday, and if Hyacinth had waited

for him (which was highly unlikely) he had not come.

"Hello, Jugs," Auk said, emerging from the darkness of a side

tunnel. "He wants us to work on Pas's Plan."

Chenille whirled. "Hackum! I've been looking all over for you!"

She ran to him, surprising him, threw her arms around him, and

wept.

"Now," he said. "Now, now, Jugs. Now, now." She had been

unhappy, and he knew it and knew that in some ill-defined and

troubling way it was his fault, although he had meant her no harm,

had wished her well and thought of her with kindness when he bad

thought of her at all. "Excuse," he muttered, and let go of Tartaros's

hand to embrace her with both arms.

When at last she ceased sobbing, he kissed her as tenderly as he

could, a kiss she returned passionately. She wiped her eyes, sniffled,

and gulped, "Oh, Hierax! Hackum, I missed you so much! I've been

so lonesome and scared. Hug me."

This baffled him, because he already was. He tried, "I'm sorry,

Jugs," and when it seemed to do no good, "I won't ever leave you

again unless you want me to."

She nodded and swallowed. "It's all right, as long as you keep

coming back."

He noticed her ring. "Didn't I give you that?"

"Yeah, thanks." Stepping back, she held it up to show it off better,

although the bleared greenish lights could never do it justice. "I love

it, but you can have it back anytime if you need the gelt."

"I'm flush, but I gave it to you?"

"You forget, huh?" She looked at him searchingly. "On account of

hitting your head. Or maybe a god got you like Kypris did me? It's

still pretty hard for me to remember lots of things that happened

when she was boss, or Scylla."

Auk shook his head, and found that it no longer ached. "I've

never had no god bossing me, Jugs, or wanted to either. That's lily.

I never even knew about Kypris, but you were a lot different when

you were Scylla."

"Some of that was me, I think. Hold me tighter, won't you? I'm

really cold."

"Your sunburn don't hurt any more?"

She shook her head. "Not much. I'm starting to peel a little.

The bird was pulling on the peels before he left, only I made him

stop."

Auk looked around. "Where is he?"

"With Patera and Stony, I guess. That Urus beat the hoof and they

took off after him. Me, too, only we came to a split in the tunnel,

you know?"

"Sure. I've seen a lot of them."

"And then I thought, they're not going to look for Auk anymore,

and that's what I want to do. So I sort of slowed down, and when

they went one way I went the other. I guess the bird went with

them."

"That was you I heard calling me."

Chenille nodded. "Yeah. I yelled until my pipe gave out. Oh,

Hackum, I'm so glad I found you!"

"We found you," he told her seriously. "Why I ran off, Jugs..."

He fell silent, massaging his big jaw.

"You saw somebody, Hackum. Or anyhow you thought you did. I

could see that, and Patera said so, too."

"Yeah. My brother Bustard. He's dead, see? Only he was down

here talking to me. I was going to say he wasn't really, I just sort of

dreamed it, only now I'm not so sure. Maybe he was. Know what I mean?"

The gray shiprock walls seemed to press in upon her. "I think so,

Hackum."

"Then he went away, and I missed him a lot, just like when he

died. So then when I saw him again, maybe it was a couple, three

hours later, I waved and yelled and tried to catch up, only I never

did. Then I got lost, but I didn't care because I was looking for

Bustard, and he could've been anywhere. Then I ran into this god.

Into Tartaros. Mostly I call him Terrible Tartaros, 'cause I can't say

the other right."

"You met a god, Hackum? Like you'd meet somebody in the

street, you mean?"

"Sort of." Auk sat down on the tunnel floor. "Jugs, will you sit on

my lap, the way you used to do in the old days? I'd like that."

"All right." She did, laying her launcher flat, crossing her long

legs, and leaning back in his arms "This is really better, Hackum.

It's a lot warmer Except I don't do it much any more because I

know I'm a pretty good load. Orchid says I'm getting fat. She's been

telling me for a couple of months now."

He held her closer, reveling in her softness. "She's fat. Real fat.

Not you, Jugs."

"Thanks. This god you met. Tartaros, right? He's for you like

Kypris is for us."

"Yeah, except he's one of the Seven."

"I know that. Tarsday."

"He's got a whole bunch of stuff besides us. The main thing is, he's

the night god. Anywhere it's dark, that's a special place for him.

Sleep and dreams, too. I mean, any god can send a dream if he

wants to, but the regular kind that seem like nobody sent 'em are

his. I call him Terrible Tartaros 'cause you had to say terrible or the

other, or Maytera'd stomp you. I'd lay he could cut up rough, but

he's been a bob cull with me. He came along to show how to find

you and get out of here, and all that. He's next to us right now, only

you can't see him 'cause he's blind."

"You mean he's here with us?" Chenille's eyes were wide.

"Yeah, he's sitting right here with me, only I wouldn't try to reach

over and feel. Maybe he wouldn't do anything--"

She had already, waving her free arm through the empty space on

Auk's right.

He shook her, not roughly. "Don't, Jugs. I told you."

"He's not there. There's nothing there."

"All right, there's nothing there. I was shaving you."

"You shouldn't do that." She got up. "You don't know how shaggy

scared I am down here, or how shaggy hungry."

Auk rose too. "Yeah, it wasn't very funny, I guess. I'm sorry,

Jugs. I won't do it again. C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"Out."

"Really, Hackum?"

"Sure. You're hungry. So am I. We're going to go out and get a

dimber dinner, probably at Pork's or one of those places. After that,

we can rent a room and get a little rest. He says I got to rest. After

that, maybe we'll do what Scylla said, only I don't know. I'll have to

ask him."

"Tartaros? That's who you're talking about? You really met him?"

"Yeah. It's real dark in there and pretty wet. Water's sort of

raining through the roof. If you saw it, you probably didn't go in,

but there's nothing in there that'll hurt you. I don't think so,

anyhow."

"I've still got this lantern that Gelada had, Hackum, only there's

no way to light it."

"We don't have to," he told her. "It's not very far."

"You said we were going out."

"It's on our way." He stopped and faced her. "Only we'd be going

even if it wasn't, 'cause he's got something to show us. He just told

me, see? Now listen up."

She nodded, drawing Incus's robe around her.

"This's a real god. Tartaros, just like I told you. My head's not

right 'cause I got a bruise in there and a big gob of blood, too, he

says. He's trying to fix it, and I been feeling better ever since he

started. Only we got to do like he says, so you're coming if I got to

carry you."

"Wood girl," Oreb called. "Here girl!"

Silk sat up; the 'girl' might be Hyacinth. If there was the least

chance, one in a thousand or ten million--if there was any chance at

all--he had to go. He made himself stand, picked up the bag,

coughed, spat, and stumbled away. The path wound right then left,

dropped into a tiny vale, and forked. White as ghosts, enormous

blossoms dripped moisture. "I'm coming, Oreb. Tell her I'm coming."

"Here, here!"

The bird sounded very near. He stepped off the glittering path,

his feet sinking in soft soil, and parted the leaves; the face that

stared into his own might have been that of a corpse, hollow-cheeked

and dull-eyed. He gasped, and saw its bloodless lips part. Oreb flew

to him, becoming two birds.

He advanced another step, sparing the crowding plants as much

as he could, and found himself standing upon red stones that

bordered a clear pool no bigger than a tablecloth, which a path

approached from the opposite side.

"Here girl!" Oreb hopped to the wooden figure's head and rapped

it smartly with his beak.

"Yes," Silk said, "that's Thelxiepeia." No other goddess had those

tilted eyes, and a carved marmoset perched upon the figure's

shoulder. He tapped his reflected face with a finger and clapped his

hands, but no monitor appeared in the silvered globe she held. "It's

just a mirror," he told Oreb. "I hoped it might be a glass--that

Hyacinth might call me on it."

"No call?"

"No call on this, alas." With help from a friendly tree, he walked

the stony rim of the pool to a swinging seat facing the water. Here,

as Oosik had said, one saw the pool reflected in Thelxiepeia's

mirror, and her mirror reflected in it.

Hieraxday had been the day for dying and for honoring the dead.

Crane had died; but he, Silk, had done neither. Today, Thelxday,

was the day for crystal gazing and casting fortunes, for tricks and

spells, and for hunting and trapping animals; he resolved to do none

of those things, leaned back in the swing, and closed his eyes.

Thelxiepeia was at once the cruelest and kindest of goddesses, more

mercurial even than Molpe, though she was said--it would be why

her image was here--to favor lovers. Love was the greatest of

enchantments; if Echidna and her children succeeded in killing

Kypris, Thelxiepeia would no doubt, would doubtless...

_Become the goddess of love in a century or less_, said the Outsider,

standing not behind Silk as he had in the ball court, but before

him--standing on the still water of the pool, tall and wise and kind, with a

face that nearly came into focus. _I would claim her in that case, long

before the end. As I have so many others. As I am claiming Kypris

even now because love always proceeds from me, real love, true love.

First romance_.

The Outsider was the dancing man on a toy, and the water the

polished toy-top on which he danced with Kypris, who was Hyacinth

and Mother, too. _First romance_, sang the Outsider with the music

box. _First romance_. It was why he was called the Outsider. He was

outside--

"I, er, hope and--ah--trust I'm not disturbing you?"

Silk woke with a start and looked around wildly.

"Man come," Oreb remarked. "Bad man." Oreb was perched on a

stone beside Thelxiepeia's pool; when he had concluded his

remarks, he pecked experimentally at a shining silver minnow that

darted away in terror.

"Names are not--um--requisite, eh? I know who you are. You

know me, hey? Let that be enough for both of us."

Silk recognized his swaying visitor, started to speak, and assimilating

what had been said remained silent.

"Capital. I--ah--we are taking a risk, you and I. An--ah--rash

gamble. Simply by, urp, being where we belong. Here on the hill, eh?"

"Won't you sit down?" Silk struggled to his feet.

"No. I--ah--no." His visitor belched again, softly. "Thank you. I

have been waiting in the--ah--bar. Where, ump, I have been

compelled to buy drinks. And--um--drink. Standing's best. Um, at

present, eh? I'll just, er, lean on this, if I may. But please--ah--be

seated yourself, Pa--" He covered his mouth with his hand. "Seated

by all means. It is I who should--and I do. I, um, am. As you see, eh?"

Silk resumed his place in the swing. "May I ask--"

His visitor raised a hand. "How I knew I should find you here? I did not,

Pa--Did not. Nothing of the sort. But while I was--rup!--sitting in

that, er, whatchamacallit, I observed you to enter the

room. Not the--um--one I sat in, that, ah, darksome and paneled

drinking place, hey? The other. The outer room, much bigger."

"The sellaria," Silk supplied.

"Ah--quite. I, um, went to the door. Spied upon you."

The visitor shook his head in self-reproach.

"It was excusable, surely, under the circumstances. I have recently

done far worse things."

"Good of you to say so. I--um--waylaid that waiter. You spoke

with him."

Silk nodded.

"I had, um, observed you to pass under--ah--through the arch. I

had never had the, er, pleasure myself, eh? I, ah, apprehended that

it was--ah, is--some sort of garden, however. I inquired about it.

He, um, indicated that it was--is, I surmise--employed for, um,

discussions of a--ah--amorous nature."

"You knew that I would be here, at this particular spot." Silk

found it extremely inconvenient to be unable to say _Your Eminence_.

"You told him to look for me here."

"No, no!" His visitor shook his head emphatically. "I, ah, anticipated

you might, um, possibly have an appointment. As he had,

um, inadverted. But I--ah--in addition, um, however, ah,

considered that you might wish to, um, petition the immortal gods.

As I, ah, myself. I inquired about such a place in this, um,

conservatory. He mentioned the present, ah, xylograph." The visitor

smiled "That's the spot, I told him. That's where you'll find him.

Would you mind if I, um, sat myself, now? There by you? I'm--ah--quite

fatigued."

"Please do." Hastily, Silk moved to one side.

"Thank you--ah--thank you. Most thoughtful. I have had no

supper. Hesitated to order anything in--ah--that place. With the

wine. Parsimony. Foolish--ah--imbecile, actually."

"Catch fish," Oreb suggested.

Silk's visitor ignored him. "I've funds, eh? You?"

"No, nothing."

"Here, Pa--My boy. Hold out your hands." Golden cards

showered into Silk's lap. "No, no! Take them! Others--ah--more.

Where they came from, eh? Wait for the waiter. Buy yourself a bit

of food. For me, ah, in addition. I am, um, in need. Of help. Of--ah--succor.

Such is, um, the long and short of it. I cast myself--um.

Ourselves. I--we--cast ourselves upon your--ah--commiseration."

Silk looked searchingly at Thelxiepeia, who returned his look with

wooden aplomb. Was this enchanted gold that would (figuratively at

least) melt at a touch? If not, what had he done to earn her favor?

"Thank you," he managed at last. "If I can be of any service to Your--to

you, I will be only too happy to oblige you." He counted them by

touch: seven cards.

"They came to the Palace. To the--ah--Palace itself, if you can,

um, credit that." His visitor sat with his head in his hands. "I was,

um, dining. At dinner. In came a, ah, page, eh? One of the boys

who runs with messages for us, hey? You do that?"

"No. I know of them, of course."

"Some of us did, eh? I, myself. Many years ago. We--ah--matriculate

to schola. Ah--afterwards. Some of us. Fat little boy.

Not I. He was. Is. Said they'd arrest me. Arrest His Cognizance! I

said, ah, balderdash. Ate my sweet, eh? They--um--arrived.

Unannounced. Officer--um--captain, lieutenant, something.

Troopers with him, Guardsmen everywhere, eh? Looked everywhere for

His Cog--Turned the whole place upside down. Couldn't

find him though. Took me. Bound my hands. Me! Hands tied

behind me under my robe."

"I'm very sorry," Silk said sincerely.

"They, er, carried me to the headquarters of the Second Brigade.

A temporary headquarters. Do I make myself--ah--intelligible?

Brigadier's house. No more--ah--titular generals in the Civil

Guard, hey? No generalissimo any more. Only this, er, brigadiers.

Quizzed me, eh? Hours and hours. Absolutely. Old Quetzal's

letter, hey? You know about it?"

"Yes, I've seen it."

"I--ah--composed it. I didn't--ah--inform the brigadier, eh?

Didn't 'fess up. Would have shot me, eh? We--ah--I'd expected

trouble. Labored to phrase it softly. His--He wouldn't hear of it."

His visitor looked around at Silk with the expression of a whipped

hound, his breath thick with wine. "You apprehend whom I--ah--intend?"

"Of course."

"He sent it back. Twice. Hadn't happened in years, eh? The third

stuck. 'How readily here might I, ah, inscribe--' Yes, inscribe. Ah,

'Let us welcome him and obey him as one of ourselves. With what

delight do--shall I inscribe in its place, let us welcome him and, ump,

obey him, for he is one of ourselves!" That's what got the third draft past

His--ah--past the person known to us both, eh? So I--um--presume.

Proud of it, hey? Still am. Still am."

"With reason," Silk told him. "But the Civil Guard can't have

cared for it. I'm surprised they let you go." He yawned and rubbed

his eyes, discovering that he felt somewhat better, refreshed by his

few moments of sleep.

"Talked my way out, hey? Eloquent. No one speaks of me like

that. Dull at the ambion, eh? What they say. I know, I know.

Eloquent tonight, though. Swim or sink, and I did Pa--I did. Go

between. Peacemaker. End rebellion. Used their glass to talk to

Councillor Loris. Harmless, ump! Let him go. Bad feeling in the

ranks, hey? Augurs shot, eh? A sibyl, too. The--um--missive. Lay

clothing, as you, er, wise. Fearful still. Terribly frightened. Not, er,

shamed by the accusation--admission. Still afraid, sitting in there

sipping. Looking over my shoulder, hey? Afraid they'd come for

me. Sprang up like a rabbit when a porter dropped something in the

street."

"I suppose that every man is frightened when his life is threatened.

It's very much to Your--to your credit that you are willing to admit it."

"You will--ah--assist me? If you can?"

Oreb looked up from his fishing. "Watch out!"

"I'm tired and very weak," Silk said, "but yes, I will. Will we have

to walk far?"

"Won't have to walk at all." His visitor thrust his hand beneath his

cream-colored tunic. "I've, ah, informed you it wasn't me they

wanted, eh? After old Quetzal, actually. The Prolocutor. His

Cognizance. Signed the letter, hey?"

Silk nodded.

"They'd have shot him, eh? Earlier. Earlier. When they--ah--constrained

me. That was then, hum? This is--er--the present

instant. After midnight. Nearly one, eh? Nearly one. Late when

they released me. I've said it? Suppertime--after suppertime,

really. They know your--um--profession. Vocation, hey? Mint's a

sibyl. You take my meaning?"

"Of course," Silk said.

His visitor produced an elegant ostrich-skin pen case. "On the

other side, old Quetzal is, hey? Unmistakable. The letter shows it.

And there is that--ah, um--other matter. Vocation, eh? Brigadier

thinks he and I might arrange an--urp--hiatus in hostilities. A

truce, hey? His word. Been one alread, eh? So why not?"

Silk straightened up. "There has? That's wonderful!"

"Little thing, eh? Few hundred involved. Didn't last. But an augur--see

the connection? This augur, one of our--ah--of the Chapter's

own, crossed the lines. One side to the other, eh? Got them to stop

shooting so he could. Colonel's son, wounded. Nearly dead. This--ah--holy

augur brought him the Pardon. So far so good? Rebels--ah--tendered an

extension. Both sides, um, sweep up bodies. Claim

their dead, hey? They did. So why not longer? Old Quetzal might

do it. Respected by both sides. Man of peace. You follow me?"

Silk nodded to himself.

"If your, ah, supporters learn the brigadier sent me, eh? What

then? Shoot, eh? Possibly. Very possibly. So I require some, um,

document from you, Pa--From, ah, you. Signed," the visitor's voice

faded to a whisper, "with your--ah--as the--um--your civil

title."

"I see. Certainly."

"Capital!" He took a sheaf of paper from the pen case. "These, um,

fanciful leathers are not--ah--conducive to penmanship. But the

paper should help, hey? I'll hold the ink bottle for you. Brief, ah,

inconsiderable. Concise. The, um, bearer, eh? Respect his--ah--um..."

"No shoot," Oreb suggested.

He handed Silk a quill. "Point suit you? Not too fine, eh? My

prothonotary, Pa--Incus. You know him?"

"I met him once when I was trying to see you."

"Ah? Hm."

The pen case braced on both knees, Silk dipped the quill.

"He--ah--Incus. He points them for me. Had him do it, ah,

Molpsday. Too fine, though. Hairsplitters. I shall rid myself of

Incus, ah, presently. Could be dead this moment. 'Mongst the gods,

eh? Haven't laid eyes on him for days. Gave him a--um--errand.

Never came back. All this unrest."

Bent above the paper, Silk hardly heard him.

To General Mint, her officers and troopers.

The bearer, Patera Rernora, is authorized by me and by...

Silk looked up. "To whom did you speak? Who was this brigadier

who released you?"

"Brigadier, er, Erne. Signed for me, too, eh? His side."

Brigadier Erne to negotiate a truce. Please show him every

courtesy.

The wavering tip of the quill stopped and began to blot; there

seemed to be no more to say. Silk forced it to move on.

If the whereabouts of His Cognizance the Prolocutor are

known to you, please conduct the bearer to him in order that

he may assist His Cognizance in conducting negotiations.

Oreb dropped a struggling goldfish and pinned it with one foot. "No

shoot," he repeated. "Man hide."

I hold you responsible for the safety of the bearer, and that

of His Cognizance. Both are to be permitted to pass

unharmed. Their movements are not to be restricted in any

fashion.

A truce made and kept in good faith is greatly to be

desired.

I am Pa. Silk, of Sun Street, Calde

"Capital! Yes, capital, Pa--Thank you!"

With his beak pointed to the glass roof, Oreb gulped down a

morsel of goldfish and announced loudly, "Good man!"

"There is a--um--dispenser in here someplace." The visitor

retrieved his pen case and took out a silver shaker. "If you require

sand, eh?"

Silk shuddered, added the date, blew upon the paper, then spat

congealing blood into the moss at his feet.

"I thank you. I have--ah--so expressed myself, um, previously. I,

er, recognize. I am, um, in your, ah, books, eh? Your debtor."

Silk handed him the safe-conduct.

"I, ah, surmise that I can stand now, er, walk. All the rest.

Taken a bit dizzy there, eh? For an, er, momentarily." He

climbed to his feet, holding tightly to the chain from which their

seat was suspended. "I shall partake of an, er, morsel of food, I

believe. An, um, collation. Much as I should like--ah--may be

imprudent..."

"I had a good supper," Silk told him, "and it might be dangerous

for us to be seen together. I'll stay here."

"I, um, consider it would be best myself." His visitor released the

chain and smiled. "Better, hey? Be all right with a bite to eat. Too

much wine. I--ah--concede it. More than I ought. Frightened, but

the wine made it worse. To think that we, ump, we pay--" He fell

silent. Slowly his smile widened to a death's-head rictus. "Hello,

Silk," he said. "They made me find you."

Silk nodded wearily. "Hello, Mucor."

"It's smoky in here. All smoky."

For a moment he did not understand what she meant.

"Dark, Silk. Like falling down steps."

"The fumes of the wine, I suppose. Who made you find me?"

"The councillors will burn me again."

"Torture, unless you do as they say?" Silk tried to keep the anger

he felt out of his voice. "Do you know their names, these councillors

who threaten to burn you?"

The visitor's grinning head bobbed. "Loris. Tarsier. Potto. My

father said not, but the soldier made him go."

"I see. His Eminence--the man you're possessing--told me he'd

talked with Councillor Loris through a glass. Is that why you

possessed him when you were sent to look for me?"

"I had to. They burned me like Musk."

"Then you were right to obey, to keep from being burned again. I

don't blame you at all."

"We're going to kill you, Silk."

Foliage beside the pool shook, spraying crystal droplets as warm

as blood; a white-haired man stepped into view. In one hand be held

a silver-banded cane with which he had parted the leaves. The other

poised a saber, its slender blade pointed at the visitor's heart.

"Don't!" Silk told him.

"No stick," Oreb added with the air of one who clarifies a difficult

situation.

"You're Silk yourself, lad! You're him!"

"I'm afraid I am. If you left your place of concealment to protect

me, I would be somewhat safer if you didn't speak quite so loudly."

Silk turned his attention back to the death-mask that had supplanted

his visitor's face. "Mucor, how are you supposed to kill me? This

man has Musk's needler now; he followed me here to return it to

me, I imagine. Do you--does the man you're possessing have a

weapon?"

"I'll tell them, and they'll come."

"I see. And if you won't, they'll burn you."

The visitor's head bobbed again. "It brings me back. I can't stay

gone when they burn me."

"We must get you out of there." Silk raised the ankle he had

broken jumping from Hyacinth's window and rubbed it. "I've said

you're like a devil--I told Doctor Crane that, I know. I thought it,

too, when I saw the dead sleepers; I forgot that devils, who torment

others, are themselves tormented."

The saber inched forward. "Shall I kill him, lad?"

"No. He's as good a chance for peace as our city has, and I doubt

that killing him would ensure Mucor's silence. You can do no good

here."

"I can protect you, lad!"

"Before I left you, I knew that I'd meet Hierax tonight." Silk's face

was somber. "But there's no reason for you to die with me. If you've

tracked me through half the city to return the needler I dropped,

give it to me and go."

"This, too!" He held out the silver-banded cane. "Lame, aren't

you? Lame when we fought! Take it!" He threw the cane to Silk,

then drew Musk's needler and tossed it into Silk's lap as well.

"You're the calde, lad? The one they tell about?"

"I suppose I am."

"Auk told me! How'd I forget that? Gave your name! I didn't

know until this augur said it. Councillors! Loris? Going to kill you?"

"And Potto and Tarsier." Silk laid Musk's needler aside, thought

better of it, and put it into his waistband. "I'm glad that you brought

that up. I'd lost sight of it, and it strains probability. Mucor, do you

have to return to Loris right away? I'd like you to do me a favor, if

you can."

"All right."

"Thank you. First, did Councillor Loris tell you about the man

you're possessing? Did he ask you to find him?"

"I know him, Silk. He talks to the man who's not there."

"To Pas, you mean. Yes, he does, I'm sure. But Loris told you.

Did he say why?"

The visitor's head shook. "I have to go soon."

"Go to Maytera Mint first--to General Mint, they're the same

person." Silk's forefinger traced a circle on his cheek. "Tell her

where I am, and that they'll come here to kill me. Then tell Maytera

Marble--"

"Girl go," Oreb remarked.

The corpse-grin was indeed fading. Silk sighed again and rose.

"Sheath that sword, please. We've no need of it."

"Possession? That's what you call this, lad?"

"Yes. He'll come to himself in a moment."

Silk's visitor caught hold of the chain to steady himself. "You

proferred a comment, Pa--? I was taken, ah, vertiginous again, I

fear. Please accept my--um--unreserved apology. This--ah--gentleman

is..."

"Master Xiphias. Master Xiphias teaches the sword, Your Eminence.

Master Xiphias, this is His Eminence Patera Remora,

Coadjutor of the Chapter."

"Really, ah, Patera, you might be more circumspect, hey?"

Silk shook his head. "We're past all that, I'm afraid, Your

Eminence. You're in no danger. I doubt that you ever were. My

own is already so great that it wouldn't be much greater if you

and Master Xiphias were to run up to the first Guardsman you

could find and declare that Calde Silk was at Ermine's awaiting arrest."

"Really! I--ah--"

"You spoke to Councillor Loris, so you told me, through Brigadier

Erne's glass."

"Why, er, yes."

"For a moment--while you were dizzy, Your Eminence--I

thought that Loris might have told you where to find me; that a

certain person in the household he's visiting had told him that I

might be here, or had confided in someone else who did. It could

have come about quite innocently--but it can't be true, since Loris

sent someone to you in order to locate me. Clearly the information

traveled the other way: you knew that I might come here tonight. I

doubt that you actually told Loris that you knew where to find me;

you couldn't have been that certain I'd be here. You said something

that led him to think you knew, however. In his place, I'd have

ordered Brigadier Erne to have you followed. Thanks to some

careless remarks of mine Tarsday, he didn't need to. Will you tell

me--quickly, please--how you got your information?"

"I swear--warrant you, Patera--"

"We'll have to talk about it later." Silk stood up less steadily than

Remora had, leaning on the silver-banded cane. "A moment ago I

told Master Xiphias not to kill you; I'm not certain it would have

been wrong for me to have told him to go ahead, but I don't have

time for questions--we must go before the Guard gets here. You,

Master Xiphias, must return home. You're a fine swordsman, but

you can't possibly protect me from a squad of troopers with slug

guns. You, Your Eminence, must go to Maytera Mint. Don't bother

filling your belly. If--"

"Girl come!" Oreb flew to Silk's shoulder, fluttered his wings, and

added, "Come quick!"

For a wasted second, Silk stared at Remora, searching for signs of

Mucor in his face. Hyacinth was in sight before he heard the rapid

pattering of her bare feet on the path of false gems and saw her,

mouth open and dark eyes bright with tears above the rosy

confusion of a gossamer dishabille, her hair a midnight cloud behind

her as she ran.

She stopped. It was as if the sight of him had suspended her in

amber. "You're here! You're really here!"

By Thelxiepeia's spell she was in his arms, suffocating him with

kisses. "I didn't--I knew you couldn't come, but I had to. Had to, or

I'd never know. I'd always think--"

He kissed her, clumsy but unembarrassed, trying to say by his kiss

that he, too, had been forced by something in himself stronger than

himself.

The pool and the miniature vale that contained it, always dark,

grew darker still. Looking up after countless kisses, he saw idling

fish of mottled gold and silver, black, white, and red, hanging in air

above the goddess's upraised hand, and for the first time noticed

light streaming from a lamp of silver filigree in the branches of a

stunted tree. "Where did they go?" he asked.

"Was--somebody--else here?" She gasped for breath and smiled,

giving him sweeter pain than he had ever known.

"His Eminence and a fencing master." Silk felt that he should look

around him, but would not take his eyes from hers.

"They must have done the polite thing," she kissed him again, "and

left quietly."

He nodded, unable to speak.

"So should we. I've got a room here. Did I tell you?"

He shook his head.

"A suite, really. They're all suites, but they call them rooms. It's a

game they play, being simple, pretending to be a country inn." She

sank to her knees with a dancer's grace, her hand still upon his arm.

"Will you kneel by the pool here with me? I want to look at myself,

and I want to look at you, too, at the same time." Abruptly. the tears

overflowed. "I want to look at _us_."

He knelt beside her.

"I knew you couldn't come," a tear fell. creating a tiny ripple, "so I

have to see us both. See you beside me."

As in the ball court (though perhaps only because he had

experienced it there) it seemed that he stood outside time.

And when they breathed again and turned to kiss, it seemed to

him that their reflections remained as they had been in the quiet

water of the pool, invisible but forever present. "We--I have to

go," he told her. It had taken an enormous effort to say it. "They

know I'm here, or they soon will if they don't already. They'll

send troopers to kill me, and if you're with me, they'll kill you, too."

She laughed, and her soft laughter was sweeter than any music.

"Do you know what I went through to get here? What Blood will do

to me if he finds out I took a floater? By the time I got onto the hill,

past the checkpoints and sentries--Are you sick? You don't look at

all well."

"I'm only tired." Silk sat back on his heels. "When I thought about

having to run again, I felt... It will pass." He believed it as soon as

he had said it, himself persuaded by the effort he had made to

compel her belief.

She rose, and gave him her hand. "By the time I got to Ermine's, I

thought I'd been abram to come at all, drowning in a glass of water.

I didn't even look in here," happy again, she smiled, "because I

didn't want to see there wasn't anyone waiting. I didn't want to be

reminded of what a putt I'd been. I got my room and started getting

ready for bed, and then I thought--I thought--"

He embraced her; from a perch over the filigree lamp, Oreb

croaked, "Poor Silk!"

"What if he's there? What if he's _really down there_, and I'm up

here? I'd unpinned my hair and taken off my makeup, but I dived

down the stairs and ran through the sellaria, and you were here, and

it's only a dream but it's the best dream that ever was."

He coughed. This time the blood was fresh and red. He turned

aside and spat it into a bush with lavender flowers and emerald

leaves and felt himself falling, unable to stop.

He lay on moss beside the pool. She was gone; but their reflections

remained in the water, fixed forever.

When he opened his eyes again, she was back with an old man

whose name he had forgotten, the waiter who had offered him

wine in the sellaria, the one who had told him of Remora, the

footman who had opened the door, and others. They rolled him

onto something and picked him up, so that he seemed to float

somewhere below the level of their waists, looking up at the belly

of the vast dark thing that had come between the bright skylands

and the glass roof. His hand found hers. She smiled down at him

and he smiled too, so that they journeyed together, as they had

on the deadcoach in his dream, in the companionable silence of

two who have overcome obstacles to be together, and have no

need of noisy words, but rest--each in the other.