Exodus from the Long Sun

Chapter 9 — A Piece of Pas

Auk pounded on the door of the old manse on Brick Street with the butt of his needler. Behind him, Incus cleared his throat, a soft and apologetic noise that might have issued from a rabbit or a squirrel. Behind Incus, twenty-two men and women murmured to one another.

Auk pounded again.

“He’s in there, trooper,” Hammerstone declared. “Somebody is, anyhow. I hear him.”

“I didn’t,” Auk remarked, “and I got good ears.”

“Not good enough. Want me to bust the door, Patera?”

“By no means. Auk, my son, allow me.”

Wearily, Auk stepped away from the door. “You think you can knock better than me, Patera, you go right ahead.”

“My knock would be no more effectual than your own, my son, I feel quite confident. Less so, if anything. My mind, however, may yet be of service.”

“Patera’s the smartest bio there is,” Hammerstone told the crowd, “the smartest in the whole Whorl” They edged forward, trying to peer around him.

Incus drew himself up to his full height, which was by no means great. “Blessed be this manse, in the Most Sacred Name of Pass Father of the Gods, in whose name we come. Blessed be it in the name of Gracious Echidna, His Consort, in those of their Sons and their Daughters alike, this day and until Pas’s Plan attains fulfillment, in the name of Scylla, Patroness of this Our Holy City of Viron and my own patroness.”

Hammerstone leaned toward him, reporting in a harsh stage whisper, “They stopped moving around in there, Patera.”

Incus filled his lungs again. “Patera Jerboa! For you we have the highest and holiest veneration. I who speak am like you a holy augur. Indeed, I am more, for I am that augur whom Scintillating Scylla herself has chosen to lead the Chapter of Our Holy City.

“Accompanying me are two laymen who themselves have the greatest of claims to your revered attention, for they are Auk and Hammerstone, the biochemical person and the chemical one, cojoined, selected by Lord Pas himself to execute his will at a holy sacrifice at which I presided, this very—”

The door opened a hand’s breadth, and the pale, affrighted face of Patera Shell appeared. “You — you… Are you really an augur?”

“I am, my son. But if you are Patera Jerboa, the augur of this manteion, you are the wrong Patera Jerboa, one whom we do not seek.”

From behind Hammerstone, the foremost of Auk’s followers declared, “He ain’t no augur! Twig his gipon.”

Incus turned back to address him, one small foot blocking the door. “Oh, but he is, my son. Do I not know my own kind? No mere tunic can deceive me.”

“Yeah,” Auk put in, “he’s a augur right enough, or I never seen one. C’mere, Patera.” Catching Shell’s wrist, he jerked him through the doorway. “What’s your name?”

Shell only stared at him with wide eyes, his mouth opening and shutting.

“He’s Patera Shell, my acolyte,” announced a white-bearded man who had taken Shell’s place; his antiquated voice creaked and groaned like the wheel of an overloaded cart, although he wore a brilliant blue tunic intended for a young man. “I’m Patera Jerboa, and I’m augur here.” His rheumy eyes fastened upon Incus, “You’re looking for me. I don’t hear much any more, but I heard that. Very well.” Jerboa stepped through the doorway and traced the sign of addition between Incus and himself, making it both higher and wider than was currently customary. “Do what you came to, but let Shell go.”

Auk already had. “You’re the cull, all right. You got a Window in your manteion, Patera?”

“It would not be a manteion without one. I’ve—” Jerboa coughed and spat. “I’ve served my Window for sixty-one years. I’d…” He fell silent, sucking his gums as he looked ftom Auk to Incus and back. “Who’s in charge here?”

“I am,” Auk told him, and offered his hand. “I’m what you call a theodidact, Patera. Patera Incus there ought to have told you. I been enlightened by Tartaros. Right now, I’m doing a job for his pa. So’re they.” He jerked his thumb at Hammerstone and Incus, then held out his hand again.

Jerboa clasped it, his own hand dry and cold, with a grip that seemed oddly weak for its size; for a moment his eyes were bright. “I was going to say that I’d like to die in front of my Sacred Window, my son, but you haven’t come to kill us.”

“Course not. Thing is, Patera, you got a piece of Pas.”

Shell, who had relaxed somewhat, stared again.

“He wants it back now. He sent us to get it for him.”

“My son—”

“That’s the job I been talking about, Patera. That’s what he asked me to do for him at the theophany.”

One of Auk’s followers called, “This afternoon, Patera! We were there!”

“There has been another?” Jerboa lifted his raddled old face to the vanishing thread of gold that was the long sun, and seemed at that moment nearly as tall as Auk.

“At Silk’s manteion!” the same follower called.

Auk nodded. “Only this time it was Pas, Patera. You know about that, don’t you? You seen him one time yourself, that’s what he said.”

“He did,” Shell announced unexpectedly.

“Dimber here.” Auk felt the last lingering doubt melt away, and grinned. “That’s good, Patera. That’s real good! People talk about how long it’s been since any god come to a Window, or they did ’fore Kypris told us we could solve any place we wanted that night. Only they don’t never say when last time was, or who it was that got the god to come. Pas said it was you and gave your name, but we didn’t know where to find you.”

Shell looked beseechingly at Incus. “I don’t understand, Patera. The Peace of Pas? Patera’s brought the Peace of Pas to thousands, I’m sure, but—”

“A chunk of him,” Hammerstone explained. “Like a slice, sort of, or if I was to unscrew one of my fingers.”

“We need some animals for him,” Auk announced, raising his voice. “A whole herd of ’em. Listen up, you culls! We found him. This right here’s the holy augur that’s got a piece of Pas in his head, a piece that Pas wants back. Our job was to find him. I mean mine and Hammerstone’s, and Patera’s here.”

A sibyl, herself stooped and old, appeared like a shadow at Jerboa’s side. “Are they going to hurt you, Patera? I came through the manse. I broke the rule, but I don’t care. If you are — if they’re going to do something bad to you…”

“It will be all right, Maytera,” the old augur assured her. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

Still addressing his followers, Auk told them, “We did our job, and it’s your turn. You want to be part of this? Part of the biggest thing that’s ever happened yet? You want to bring Pas back for people everywhere in the whorl? You get us those animals now, good ones. Get ’em anyway you can, and bring ’em back to this manteion.”

“You can’t answer your own door,” Maytera Marble scolded Silk. “You simply cannot!”

He resumed his seat, vaguely unhappy that the longed-for respite from the stacks of paper before him would be postponed. The city’s various accounts at the Fisc totalled — he tapped his pencil in unconscious imitation of Swallow — not much over four hundred thousand cards. In private hands it would have been a vast fortune; but the Guard had to be paid, as did the commissioners, clerks, and other functionaries, to say nothing of the contractors who sometimes cleaned the streets and were supposed to keep them in repair.

His mouth twisting, he recalled his promise — so lightly given — to reward those who had fought bravely on either side.

All four taluses would have to be paid for as well before Swallow would deliver even one; it was in the contract he had signed less than an hour ago. Long before those taluses were finished, the Guard would need food, ammunition, and repairs to five armed floaters. (For the tenth or twelfth time that day, Silk considered using those floaters in the tunnels and rejected it.) Meanwhile, both the taluses the Guard employed currently, the remnant of those it had when the fighting began, would have to be paid as well.

Maytera Marble reentered, bowing. “It’s Generalissimo Oosik, Patera. He desires to speak with you at once.” Oosik’s bulky form was visible in the reception hall beyond the ornate doorway, rocking back and forth with impatience.

“Of course,” Silk said heartily. “Show him in, please, Maytera. I apologize for asking you to get the door.”

“It was no trouble, Patera. I was glad to do it.”

Behind her, Oosik was already marching into the room; he halted before Silk’s work table and saluted with a flourish and a click of polished heels. “I trust that your wounds are not too troublesome, Calde.

“Not at all, Generalissimo. Thank you, Maytera — that will be all.”

“Coffee, Patera? Tea?”

Oosik shook his head.

“No, but thank you.” Silk waved her away. “Pull up a chair, Generalissimo. Sit down and relax. Have you found — ?”

Oosik shook his head. “I regret not, Calde.”

“Sit down. What is it, then?”

“You watched the parade, as I did.” Oosik carried over an armless chair that looked too small for him.

“The Guard detachment was amazingly trim, I thought, for having just been taken from the fighting.”

“Pah!” Oosik blew aside the detachment. “I thank you, Calde. You are gracious. But the Trivigauntis? That was the thing to see, Siyuf’s horde.”

Silk, who had been wondering how to bring up the matters that had occupied his mind earlier in the afternoon, tried to seize the opportunity. “It was what I didn’t see that seemed most significant. Sit down, please. I don’t like having to look up at you like this.”

Oosik sat. “You saw their infantry. I hope you were impressed, as I was.”

“Of course.”

“Also their cavalry. A great deal of that, Calde. Twice what I had expected.” Oosik wound one end of his white-tipped mustache around his finger and tugged.

“The cavalry was beautiful, certainly, but I was struck by their guns; I’d never seen big guns like that. Do we — do you have any, Generalissimo?”

“A few, yes. Never as many as I would like. What did you think of their floaters, Calde?”

“There weren’t any.”

“What of the taluses? I should like your opinion, Calde.”

Silk shook his head. “You won’t get it, Generalissimo. There weren’t any of those either. That is a matter—”

“Precisely so!” Oosik released his mustache and waved his forefinger to emphasize his point. “I do not seek to embarrass you, Calde. Every man knows much upon some subjects, little or nothing on others. It cannot be otherwise. No one can predict what will happen in war, yet a commander must try. What sort of fighting does Siyuf anticipate here? A horde shapes itself as a man dresses, at one time to hunt, at another to attend the theater. I have seen her horde now, and I will tell you.”

Silk, who had been about to speak at length himself, said, “Please do, Generalissimo.”

“She will fight above ground, not in tunnels. Not in the city, either, or little. Infantry, Calde, for fighting in a city, and to defend one. The guns that so impressed you are for defense also. Mostly she will attack. Thus she brings cavalry, which can go swiftly to a place chosen by herself in her airship and strike without warning. She spoke of mules to free her guns from mud. I overheard your talk, for which I hope you will forgive me.”

“Of course you did; you were standing beside General Saba.”

“Exactly so. Why not taluses, Calde? In your Guard, we use our taluses to free mired guns and even wagons, and a talus is stronger than thirty mules. Why will she not use taluses, and tell you so?”

“Because she hasn’t got any. I noticed it at the time, and before the parade was over I became very conscious of it. It may be that no one in Trivigaunte knows how to make them, though I’d think unemployed taluses would go there seeking work if that were the case.”

“They have kept their taluses at home to defend their city, Calde. Their floaters, too. Those are best for forcing a city street, however. I would think them best for tunnels, also.”

“I agree.”

“They would have been destroyed in the tunnels, fighting the soldiers and taluses of the Ayuntamiento. You see.”

Silk, who feared that he saw only too well, said, “Not as clearly as I’d like. Go on, Generalissimo.”

“My wife visits a woman who professes to reveal the future to her.” Oosik tugged his mustache again. “She says she does not believe this, but she does. I have upbraided her without effect. A man without a wife is spared a full half of life’s unpleasantness.”

“We augurs,” Silk said carefully, “profess to reveal the future, too. That is to say, we profess to read the will of the gods in the entrails of their sacrifices. I admit that the intestines of a sheep seem like an unlikely tablet even for a god, but history records many striking instances of accurate predictions.”

A slight smile elevated Oosik’s mustache. “My change of topic did not discomfit you, Calde.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. I mentioned this woman because she and many like her are false, and I do not wish you to think me a false prophet like them. If I predict, with success, the next event of the war, will that increase my credit with you?”

“It can go no higher, Generalissimo.”

“Then this will demonstrate that I deserve the confidence you repose in me. Siyuf will send a force of substance into the tunnels. It will bravely engage the enemy, and there will be terrible fighting. You, I think, Calde, will be taken to see it, if you will go. You will find a tunnel choked with bodies.”

Silk nodded thoughtfully.

“Once more in the Juzgado, you will insist that the force be withdrawn, those gallant young girls. Soon it will be, and after that, Siyuf will fight in the tunnels no more.”

“You are a false prophet, Generalissimo,” Silk told him. “Having heard your prophesy, I won’t permit that to happen.”

“In which case we must fight there, and because they are narrow, a hundred or two at a time. One by one we will lose our floaters and taluses, and with them scores of troopers. It will be slow work, and while it is done our numbers will grow less each day. These thousands and thousands of troopers of General Mint’s, who constitute so formidable a force. Can you afford to pay them?”

Silk shook his head.

“Then what will there be to hold them, if there is little fighting for them? A trooper fights for honor, Calde, whether he is General Skate’s trooper or hers. Or from loyalty. Or for loot sometimes. But he waits for pay. He will not wait without it, because when there is no fighting there is no honor to win, no flag to die for, no loot to gain.”

“The Trivigauntis are stronger than we are already,” Silk said pensively. “I think so at least, after what I saw today.”

Oosik shook his head. “Not yet, Calde, though Mint’s ranks have begun to thin, perhaps. By the end of the winter—” Oosik was interrupted by climes, and Horn’s hurrying footsteps.

The three augurs had agreed that Jerboa would offer the first victim and the largest. The rest — eight had been led through the chill dusk into the old manteion on Brick Street, and more were expected momentarily — would be divided between Incus and Shell, with Incus offering the second, fourth, sixth, and eighth, and each choosing freely from those available, as long as he did not choose the largest.

Auk, who had been a silent witness to their discussion, watched with interest as Jerboa tottered to the ambion; this feeble frame, this snowy-haired, half-naked skull, contained a tiny fragment of Great Pas, Lord of the Whorl and Father of the Seven. Did it know it was about to be reclaimed?

Shag yes, Auk told himself, it was bound to. He, Auk, had explained the whole thing to old Jerboa, hadn’t he? How gods could tear chunks off themselves without getting smaller, and how they could slip those into a cull. The chunk could be jefe then if it wanted to, but it didn’t have to. It could, as he had been at pains to make clear, just go along. It was like a buck on a donkey. Sure, he could order it around, make it trot or stop, turn one way or the other — only he didn’t have to. Maybe he’d just let go of the reins, hook a leg over the pommel, and snoodge, letting his donkey graze or look for water, or whatever it wanted to. That was what Pas had done for years and years, but how long would he keep it up?

“My very dear new friends,” Jerboa began, “I know you have not, any of you—” He coughed and clearly wished to spit, but swallowed. “That you haven’t come out here and brought the gods more fine offerings than we’ve seen since… I don’t know.”

Benevolently, he looked toward the sibyls gathered about the fire that the youngest was kindling on the altar. “Maytera Wood, you’ve a better memory. They just brought another calf. That makes three. No, four. Four nice calves and four lambs, and a colt. We’ll have a bull before we’re done, I declare… What was I going to ask you about, Maytera?”

“When we’d had better animals,” the oldest sibyl told him. “It was when you came from the schola, Patera. Your parents and your aunt bought a bullock and a peacock, and — oh, dear. It was Maytera Salvia who told me. What else did she say?”

“A monkey,” Jerboa informed her. “I recollect the monkey, Maytera.” He had not liked offering the monkey, and something of that showed in his face after sixty-one years. “It doesn’t matter. There were nine, one for each of the Nine.”

As if they were a backward class, he fixed his eyes on Auk and Hammerstone, and those of Auk’s followers who had returned. “There are nine great gods, as all you young people should know. That’s Pas and Echidna, and their children. What my father and my aunt did was to buy a gift for each, for me to give them the first time I sacrificed. On that altar right over there it was. Most were small. Some kind of a singing bird for Molpe, and a mole for Tartaros, and the monkey. I recollect those.”

Incus, waiting with Shell, stirred impatiently.

If Jerboa noticed, he did not betray it. “What they were doing was a very important thing. They were starting a young man off—” He coughed again. “Excuse it. The gods’ will, I’m sure. I just want to say it’s a more important thing that we’re doing tonight. A god, not just any god but Lord Pas himself, they say, has told these new gentlemen and Patera — Patera — ?”

“Incus,” Hammerstone prompted from a front seat.

“What’s an incus anyway? I don’t think I’ve offered an incus in all my years. Well, never mind. One of those little things that live in trees and eat the birds’ eggs, I imagine.” Another cough. “Told them if they’d find me… Is that right?”

Incus, who had been on the point of objecting violently a moment before, exerted self-control. “You are indeed the augur whom Pas himself designated, Patera, if you are that Jerboa whom he intended.”

Shell added encouragingly, “I’m sure you are, Patera.”

“If they’d find me and sacrifice, he’d come again, he said. Have I got that right?”

Hammerstone, Incus, and even Shell nodded confirmation, as did most of those assembled; there was a stir at the back of the manteion as an immensely tall worshipper led in a tame baboon.

“What I wanted to say while our good sibyls get the fire going is that it’s not a little thing. Not a little thing at all. Theophanies over on Sun Street lately, and this you’ve come from makes three. But I’m no stranger to them, not what you could call a stranger at all.”

He turned, shuffling around behind his ambion to address Incus. “You talked to Pas, did you?”

“I did.” Incus swelled with pride.

Jerboa faced about again. “He said he was going to come. Well, we’ll see. It’ll be a great thing, a tremendous thing. If it happens.”

Maytera Wood presented him with the knife of sacrifice, the signal that the sacred fire was burning satisfactorily. “I’ll have that black calf with the white face,” he decided.

“Bird back!”

Bison halted before Silk’s table and saluted at the very moment that Oreb, who had been riding on Horn’s shoulder, landed upon Silk’s head; no slightest twitching of Bison’s thick black beard betrayed amusement, although it seemed to Silk that there had been the briefest possible flicker of hilarity in Bison’s dark and darting eyes. “I’m early, Calde,” Bison confessed. “I came beforehand because I want to talk to you. If you object, I understand. Go ahead and tell me. But I have to talk to you, and I hope you’ll let me when you’re through.”

“We could have talked at dinner.” Silk was thinking about Bison’s salute. Bison had not tried to imitate a Guardsman’s click, snap, and flourish, which would almost certainly have rendered him ridiculous; yet the salute had conveyed respect for order and the office of calde, plainly and even attractively.

“Not alone. Part of what I’m going to say…” Bison let the thought trail off.

Oosik rose. “We must speak more upon our topic, Calde. Not now, but soon. I hope you agree.”

Silk nodded, causing Oreb to hop from his head to his left shoulder.

“With your permission, I shall look in on my son. I hope he is well enough to attend. I will return at eight.”

Silk glanced at the clock; it was after seven. “Of course. Tell your son, please, that all of us hold high hopes for his recovery.” Oosik saluted and made an about face.

Stepping aside for Oosik, Horn put in, “Willet’s back with Master Xiphias, Calde. He asked me to tell you.”

Silk was on the point of instructing Horn to call Hossaan by his true name, but thought better of it. If Hossaan had called himself Willet, Hossaan had no doubt had a reason.

“Master Xiphias’s in the Blue Room. He says he doesn’t have to see you before dinner unless you want to see him.”

“That’s good.” Silk smiled. “I’m in dire need of people who don’t have to see me. I wish that there were more. You’d better go home now, Horn, or you’ll miss supper.”

“Nettle and me are going to help. We’ll get something.”

“Fish heads?” Oreb inquired.

“If there are any, I’ll save them for you,” Horn promised.

“Very well, Horn, and thank you.” Silk returned to Bison. “When I heard you were here early, I hoped that you had come to tell me you’d found Maytera Mint. I take it you haven’t.”

“No, Calde, but that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

“Then sit down and do it. I don’t have long before dinner — the other guests will be here soon — but we can finish up afterward if we must.”

Bison sat; like Oosik, he seemed too large for the chair. “You’ve talked to Loris and Potto on a glass, Calde.”

Silk nodded.

“They won’t talk to me. I know, because I tried before I came here. But they talked to you, and they might talk to you again. I want you to ask them to let you see General Mint for yourself. They say they’ve got her. Make them prove it.”

“Why do you doubt them, Colonel?”

Bison sighed and leaned back. “I knew you’d ask that. I don’t blame you, I would too. Just the same, I kept hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Poor man!” Oreb commiserated.

“When I ask to see her, they’ll want to know why. I must have something to tell them, and the more compelling it is, the more likely it will be that they’ll show her to us — assuming that they have her.”

“You’ll let me watch?”

“Certainly.” Silk paused, his forefinger tracing circles on his cheek. “You’re emotionally involved. Oreb senses it, and so do I. I hope you won’t let your attachment to Maytera Mint, one that I feel myself, goad you into acting rashly.

“I hope so, too, Calde.” Bison clenched hairy fists that looked as big as hams. “You’ve been down in the tunnels. You said so during that meeting.”

“Bad hole!”

“Well, so have I. Maybe I should’ve told you then, but I didn’t because it didn’t seem relevant and I didn’t want you to think I was showing off. There’s a way down in the Orilla, and I’m pretty sure there’s more, besides the one under the Juzgado that Sand and his soldiers used.”

Silk nodded. It had not occurred to him that Bison might be a thief, and he adjusted his mind to the new information as Bison spoke again.

“I got a hunch after a while. I remembered a place down there, an old guardroom that they used when there were soldiers underneath the city all the time. I had a feeling they might have taken her there, and went in with thirty of my troopers to check it out myself.”

“Bad hole!” Oreb repeated; and Silk nodded again. “It is a bad hole, and I’m not in the least sure that what you did was wise, Colonel. I understand why you did it, however.

“We found the place all right.” The big hands clasped and seemed intent upon pulling each other’s fingers off “The door was open, and there were bloodstains all over the floor. Fresh blood, Calde.”

“Which could have been anybody’s.” Silk hoped that his expression did not reveal the dismay he felt. “Horn! Horn, would you come back in here for a moment, please?”

“When we got back to the sufface, I tried to talk to the Ayuntamiento on a glass,” Bison continued. “There used to be one in that old guardroom, I think, but it was stolen a long time ago, if there was. Anyway, I tried to talk to Potto, and when he wouldn’t, to Loris. Then to Tarsier or Galago. None of them would speak to me. That was when I came here.”

“Did you ask your glass to find Maytera for you?”

Bison shook his head. “It didn’t occur to me. Do you think they might have her where there’s a glass?”

Horn burst in. “Yes, Patera? I mean Calde.

“It’s late,” Silk said, “and I’m getting tired. It seems to me that I’ve been inviting people to dinner all day long, and relying on Maytera to keep track of everybody. Would you ask her, please, as soon as she has time, to write me a complete list of the guests we expect?”

“I can tell you, Calde. Or write it out for you if you’d rather. I wrote the placecards and put them around.”

“Tell me then. If I need a written list afterward, I’ll have you do it.”

“You, Calde, at the head of the table. On your right will be Generalissimo Siyuf. Maytera said we had to put her there because the dinner was to welcome her to the city.”

Silk nodded. “Quite right.”

“Then His Cognizance. She’ll be between you and him.”

Oreb fluttered uncomfortably; Silk said, “Go on.”

“Then General Saba, she’s the captain of their airship. Then Colonel Bison.”

“I’m Colonel Bison,” Bison explained. “I came a little early to speak to the Calde.”

“Good man!” Oreb assured Horn.

“Horn is one of the boys at our palaestra,” Silk told Bison. “The leader of the boys at our palaestra, I ought to say, and he’s been worth a hundred cards to us. Continue, if you please, Horn.”

“Sure. Colonel Bison, then Generalissimo Siyuf’s staff officer, whoever she is. And then Maytera at the foot of the table, only I don’t think she’s going to sit down there much and talk to people, Calde. She’s too excited and worried about something going wrong in the kitchen. That’s the chair closest to the kitchen.”

“Of course.

“On her right there’ll be General Saba’s staff officer, then Chenille, then Master Xiphias.”

“I’m beginning to lose track,” Silk told him. “Where will Generalissimo Oosik sit?”

“On your left, Calde. Then his son. When he got here, he said please put his son right beside him, because he’s been so sick. He’s worried about him.”

“Naturally,” Silk said.

“Then Master Xiphias on the Generalissimo’s son’s left.”

“If I’ve been following you, there should be five people on the right side of the table and five on the left.” Silk counted on his fingers. “Right — Siyuf, His Cognizance, Saba, Colonel Bison here, and Siyufs staff officer. Left — Oosik, his son, Xiphias, Chenille, and Saba’s staff officer.

“That’s right, Calde, and you and Maytera make twelve.”

“Bird eat?”

“Yes indeed.” Silk smiled, glancing sidelong at Oreb. “I wouldn’t think of dining without your company. Unfortunately you’d make thirteen at table the way things stand; you won’t, however, because I’m asking Horn to ask Maytera to set one more place to my immediate left — a place for General Mint. Please letter a card for her as well, Horn, and set her place exactly like all the others. It will make the left side a trifle more crowded than the right, but the guests on that side will have to bear it.”

“It’s a real big table, Calde. It won’t be bad.”

“I know, I’ve seen it. Perhaps General Mint will come. Let’s hope so. She’ll certainly be welcome if she does.”

“Very welcome,” Bison rumbled.

“So they — no, wait a moment. What about Mucor? Surely she isn’t going to help you in the kitchen. Isn’t she going to eat with us?”

Horn looked slightly embarrassed. “Maytera thought it’d be better for her to eat in her room, Calde. She isn’t always — you know.”

“Maytera Marble’s granddaughter,” Silk explained to Bison. “I don’t believe you’ve met her.”

Bison shook his head.

“She must certainly eat with us. Tell Maytera I insist upon it. She had better be close to Maytera, however. Put her on the right side, between Maytera and Generalissimo Siyuf’s staff officer. That gives us six on each side, and fourteen places — fifteen diners in all, including Oreb. Be sure to letter a placecard for Mucor as well as one for General Mint.”

Silk heaved a sigh of relief, feeling better than he had since early that morning; his informal dinner no longer seemed a mere formality, and when the dinner was over the formalities (which he had come to detest) would be over as well. “She may be dead,” he told Bison. “With all my heart, I pray she isn’t, but she may be.”

Bison nodded gloomily.

“Even if she is, however — even if we were to find her body, even if we knew beyond doubt that she was dead — we dare not let the Trivigauntis know it, or even suspect we think it. She has won more victories than any other commander we’ve got, and the better chance they think we have of winning, the more help they will provide us. Am I making myself clear?”

Bison nodded again. “We mustn’t let her troopers know, either. Half would go after her on their own, if they knew the Ayuntanriento’s got her.”

“Or your troopers. Quite correct.” Silk pushed back his chair and stood up. “Come with me; there’s a glass in the next room.”

The gauntletted hand of old Jerboa withdrew the knife of sacrifice, and the calf fell to its knees and rolled over on its side, its spurting blood captured in an earthenware chalice held by one of the younger sibyls. With more dexterity than Auk would have believed he possessed, Jerboa cut off the calfs head and laid it on the fire. The right rear hoof gave him some difficulty, but he persisted.

A fleeting fleck of color in the Sacred Window caught Auk’s eye. He gasped, and it was gone.

The impact of the call’s final hoof sent up a fountain of scarlet sparks; Jerboa faced the Window, hands aloft. “Accept, O Great Pas—” He coughed. “Pas who art of all gods…”

The window bloomed pink, violet, and gold. As Auk watched open-mouthed, the dancing hues coalesced into a face of more than human beauty — one that he saw as plainly as he had ever seen any other woman’s. “You seek my lover,” the goddess said.

“We do, O Great Goddess.” Jerboa’s reedy old voice was weaker than ever. “We seek him because we seek to do his will.”

Auk blurted, “He said he’d come if we’d find Patera.”

The goddess’s violet eyes left Jerboa. “So much love… So much love here. Auk? You are Auk? Find her, Auk. Clasp her to you. Never part.”

“All right,” Auk said, and repeated, “All right.” It was difficult to argue with a goddess. “I sure will, Kindly Kypris. Only Pas gave us this job. We had to find Patera, so we did. Now we got to find Pas, got to get the two together, like.”

“The Grand Manteion. Auk.” The goddess’s shining eyes left him, opening their bottomless lakes to Jerboa once more. “Will you go, old man? Dear old man, so filled with love…? Will you find my lover and your god? Jerboa?”

The old augur struggled to speak. Shell said, “I’ll take him, Great Goddess. We’ll go together.” His voice was stronger than Auk had ever heard it.

Although he could not tear his gaze from hers, Incus, on his knees, scuttled backward. “I am pledged…”

“To prevent my mischief.” Kypris’s laughter was the peal of icy bells. “To kill fifty? A hundred children. Or more, that little Scylla may heed you. Homely little Scylla, with her father’s temperament and her mother’s intellect.”

Incus seemed incapable of speech or motion.

“You’ll require a sacrifice… Auk? Not children.”

“Not children,” Auk repeated, and felt an immense relief.

“My lover. Pas? My lover is engaged with his wife. At present.” This time the precious bells were warm and merry. “Not in making more… Brats? You call them sprats. No. Oh, no. Wiping her out of core. Do you know what that means? Auk?” Kypris’s smile found Shell. “Tell him…”

“He don’t have to, Kindly Kypris. I got it.”

“You will need a victim. To get my lover’s attention. Not a child… Auk? Something unusual. Think upon it.”

“A victim in the grand Manteion,” Auk repeated numbly.

“Several. Perhaps. Auk. I offer no… Suggestions. But tonight. As quickly as you can.” For a half-second her high, ivory-smooth brow wrinkled in thought. “The piece the old man has may aid him in the fight. I hope so.”

As Silk limped into the room, one of the waiters provided by Ermine’s pulled out his chair for him. He halted behind it, his hands resting on the back. Bison, smiling broadly, made his way down the table to his seat near the foot.

“Welcome,” Silk said. He had intended to welcome them in the name of the gods, but the words died unspoken. “Welcome in the name of the City of Viron, to all of you. I deeply regret that I was unable to welcome most of you when you arrived; but I was engaged with Colonel Bison. Maytera will have welcomed you, I feel sure, in Scylla’s name.”

At the other end of the table, Maytera Marble nodded.

Xiphias whispered, “Sit down lad! Want your leg worse?”

“In which case,” Silk continued, “I welcome you in the name of him who enlightened me, the Outsider, the only god I trust.”

“He is right, Calde.” Oosik pushed back his chair. “If you will not, my son and I must rise. We cannot remain seated while our superior stands.” The pale cornet on his left was struggling to get to his feet already.

“Of course. That was thoughtless of me, Generalissimo. I beg your pardon, and your son’s.” Silk sat, finding his inlaid rosewood chair rather too high. “I was about to say that I do trust him, now, though it’s very hard for me to trust any god.”

“We are like children, Patera Calde,” Quetzal told him, and Oreb flew from Silk’s shoulder to perch upon the topmost level of the crystal chandelier. “A child has to trust its parents, even when they’re not to be trusted.”

The pale cornet looked up with a flash of anger that seemed as much a symptom as an emotion. “What are you two implying!”

“Nothing, Mattak. Nothing at all.” His father’s big hand covered his.

Siyuf’s laugh was clear, pleasant, and unaffected. “So we feel of Sphigx, Calde. But are we fighting among ourselves so quick as this? At home we make a rule that there is allowed no fighting until the fourth bottle.”

“That’s a good rule,” Bison put in, still smiling. “But the tenth might be better.”

The young officer had already relaxed, slumping back in his chair; Silk smiled, too. “I don’t know what the proper form is, but this is a thoroughly informal dinner anyway. Generalissimo Siyuf, have you met your fellow diners? I know you know His Cognizance and Generalissimo Oosik.”

“There is one I should particularly like to meet, Calde Silk. That very promising girl who sits with Major Hadale.”

The major, a gaunt, hard-faced woman of about forty, said, “Her name is Chenille, Generalissimo. She’s living here in the palace temporarily.”

Siyuf cocked an eyebrow at Silk. “I am surprise that you have not seated her next to you. She could fit in very easily here between you and me.”

“Good girl!” Oreb assured Siyuf from his lofty perch.

“Major Hadale is correct,” Silk told Siyuf. “Her name is Chenille, and she’s a close friend. So much has happened since we met that I could call her an old one. She has been helping Maytera here, haven’t you, Chenille?”

She stared down at her plate. “Yes, Patera.”

“Is there anyone else? What about Master Xiphias?”

“I have not this pleasure.” Siyuf’s eyes remained upon Chenille.

“Master Xiphias is my fencing teacher and my friend, as well as the best swordsman I have ever seen.”

“Rich, too, lad! Rich! You asked me to open the window, remember? Up there in Ermine’s! Everybody heard you! Think they’d stay away after that? Breaking my door down! Doubled my charges Molpsday, tripled them yesterday. It’s the truth!”

“I am happy for you,” Siyuf told him. “Your Calde speaks of swordsmen. He has never seen a swordswoman, perhaps. Soon we must cross blades for him.”

Silk recalled Hyacinth’s feigned fencing with the azoth; to hide what he felt, he said, “We are neglecting the cornet. Neither Generalissimo Siyuf nor I have met you, Cornet. That is our loss, beyond doubt. Are you a swordsman? As a cavalry officer, you must be.”

“I am Cornet Mattak, Calde,” the young officer announced politely. “My sword has been drawn against you. I’m sure you know that. Now I long to draw it again, in your service.”

“You must recover your health first,” his father told him.

Quetzal murmured, “I will pray for him, Generalissimo. We augurs teach others to pray for their foes. We try, at least. We seldom get a chance to pray for ours, because we have so few. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”

Maytera Marble was equally grateful for the opportunity to turn the talk to religion. “It’s Lord Pas who teaches us that, isn’t it, Your Cognizance?”

“No, Maytera.” Quetzal’s hairless head swayed from side to side above his long, wrinkled neck.

Mattak said, “I want to apologize, Your Cognizance. I’ve been feverish…” His voice faded as he met Quetzal’s gaze.

“My son has horrible dreams,” Oosik explained to the table at large. “Even when he is awake—” He was interrupted by the arrival of the wine, a huge bottle rich with dust and cobwebs.

“We’ve an extensive cellar here,” Silk told Siyuf, “laid down by my predecessor. Experts tell me a good deal of it may have soured, however. I know nothing about such things myself.”

The sommelier poured him a half finger, releasing a light aroma suggestive of wildflowers. “Not this, Calde.”

“No, indeed.” Silk swirled the pale fluid in his glass. “I really don’t need to taste it. No ceremony could mean less.” He tasted it nonetheless, and nodded.

“Except these introductions,” Bison said unexpectedly, “if the generalissimo’s intelligence is as good as I imagine. I’m Colonel Bison, Generalissimo.

“They are not,” Siyuf told him, “yet I hear of you, and I receive a description I find accurate.” She let the sommelier half fill her wineglass, then waved him away. “You are Mint’s chief subordinate. Not long ago you are upon the same footing as many others. Now you are their superior, answerable to her alone. Is it not so?”

“I’m her second in command, yes.”

“So well regarded that Calde Silk closets himself with you before this dinner. I congratulate you.”

Siyuf paused, glancing around the table. “There is but one other I do not know. That thin girl beside my Colonel Abanja. She is also of the calde’s household? Pretty Chenille, you must know her. Tell me.”

“Her name’s Mucor, and she’s Maytera’s granddaughter,” Chenille explained. “We take care of her.”

“This is by adoption, I take it.”

Chenille hesitated, then nodded.

“Hello, Mucor. I am Generalissimo Siyuf from Trivigaunte. Are we to hope that you will soon be a fine strong trooper? Or a holy woman like your grandmother?”

Mucor did not reply. The sommelier paused, his bottle poised above her wineglass. Maytera Marble put her left hand over it, and Silk shook his head.

“I see. This is not fortunate. Calde Silk, you know of my General Saba, and you have heard the names of Colonel Abanja and Major Hadale, also. Will you not tell me of the empty chair at your left? I did not read the little card before sitting.

“Wait!” Siyuf raised her hand. “Let me to guess. Mine is the place of honor. I am your distinguished guest. But in the second is not Generalissimo Oosik as I expect, but another. It is then for someone deserving of exceptional honor, and not one of us, for Crane who saved you from the enemy is now dead.”

Surreptitiously, Silk made the sign of addition.

“Tell me if I am right as far as I have gone. If Crane is living and I am wrong, I like to know.”

“No, he’s dead. I wish it weren’t so.”

A waiter whose livery differed from the others came in with a tray of hors d’oeuvres; as he set the first small plate before Siyuf, Silk recognized him as Hossaan.

If Siyuf herself had recognized him as well, she gave no indication. “Then Crane must be dismissed. Each officer here was permitted a subordinate. That is our custom, and I think it a good one. For me, Colonel Abanja, for my General Saba is Major Hadale, and for your own generalissimo his son. But there is here also Colonel Bison. Mint herself is not present.”

“You’re entirely correct,” Silk told Siyuf, still studying Hossaan out of the corner of his eye; he handed Maytera Mint’s placecard to Siyuf He had invited Bison himself and forgotten to tell him that he could bring a subordinate, but there seemed little point in mentioning it.

“Bird eat?” The hors d’oeuvres included clams from Lake Limna, and Oreb regarded them hungrily.

“Of course,” Silk told him. “Come down and take whatever you fancy.”

Oreb fluttered nervously. “Girl say.”

“Me?” Chenille looked up at him. “Why Oreb, how nice! I’m flattered, I really and truly am. I always thought you liked Auk better.” She gulped, and Maytera Marble directed a searching glance at her. “Only I don’t blame you, because I do too. I’ll get a bunch of these, and you can have anything you want, like Patera says.” Oreb glided from the chandelier.

Siyuf asked Silk, “He is dead, this Auk?”

Silk shook his head.

“He is not, and so this card,” Siyuf held it up, “should be for him. Is that not so? He is alive, you say. But your General Mint is as dead as my Doctor Crane.”

Quetzal asked, “Are you sure, Generalissimo? I have good reasons for thinking otherwise.”

“You have cut open some sheep.”

“Many, I fear.”

“A god speaks to us, also. Sublime Sphigx cares more for us than any other city. She alone of the gods speaks to us in our ancient tongue, speaking as we did in my mother’s house, and as we speak in mine.”

Silk said, “The High Speech of Trivigaunte? I’ve heard of it, but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the language itself. Could you say something for us? A prayer or a bit of poetry?”

Siyuf shook her head. “It is not for amusement at dinner parties, Calde. Instead, I shall say what I set out to say. It is that no other city is so close to its goddess as we. Look at you. You have a goddess, you say. Scylla. Yet your women are slaves. If Scylla cared for you, she would care for them.”

Mattak started to protest, but Siyuf raised her voice. “We who are near the heart of Sphigx do not butcher beasts to read her will in offal. Each day we pray to her, and do not tease her with questions but offer sincere praise. When we wish to know a thing, we go and find it out. Your Mint has been shot.” She looked at Saba for confirmation, and Saba nodded.

“This is not pleasant,” Siyuf continued, “and I would like that I am not the one to say it. She went to treat with the enemy, is that not so?”

From Saba’s right, Bison answered, “Yes. It is.”

“With a holy man to safeguard. The enemy has killed both. Captured, they say, but I have spoken to their leader, this man Loris, and he cannot produce either.” Siyuf waited for someone to contradict her, but no one did.

“Your Mint was of greatest spirit. I would have liked to speak to her. Even a bout with practice swords, this old man to see fair play. All I have heard says plainly that she was of greatest spirit, and I am sure that when she, who had come to talk peace, was made prisoner she would resist. Some fool shot her and her holy man also, a filthy crime. I learned of this after our parade and already I have set our Labor Corps to dig. We will find these tunnels, make a new entrance near the big lake, and soon find one that shall lead us to this Ayuntamiento of Viron. Then Mint will be avenged.”

Bison glanced at Silk; Silk nodded, and Bison said, “I must tell you, Generalissimo, that the calde and I saw General Mint in his glass before we sat down. The calde had a place set for her originally as a sort of signal, I’d say. He wanted to show that we hoped she was still alive.”

“That she would return to us soon,” Silk added.

“Now that chair,” Bison gestured, “is more than a symbol. Calde Silk got a monitor to show us what it had seen before we questioned it, and it was General Mint, with four other people and some soldiers and animals hurrying along a tunnel. She may join us before the evening’s over.”

Siyuf pursed her lips. “If your Mint was in the hands of soldiers, is not that the enemy?”

Saba put down her wineglass. “Vironese soldiers protected the calde when some private guards tried to kill him, sir. I mentioned that…” Her voice altered and her mouth assumed a ghastly grin. “I found her, Silk. She was in the market. She bought a little animal that talks. She’s taking it where they kill them.”