Helliconia Spring

XIII • VIEW FROM A HALF ROON

On the Earth Observation Station, the term “bone fever” was well understood. It was part of a complex disease-mechanism caused by the virus known to the learned families on the Avernus as the helico virus, and its workings were better understood by them than by those who suffered and died from it on the planet below.

Research into Helliconian microbiology was far enough advanced for the Earthmen to know that the virus manifested itself twice in every 1825 years of the Helliconian great year. However it might appear to the contrary to the Helliconians, these manifestations were not random. They occurred invariably during the period of the twenty eclipses which marked the beginning of true spring, and again during the period of the six or seven eclipses occurring later in the great year. Climatic changes coincident with the eclipses acted as triggers to the phases of viral hyperactivity, which formed, its it were, mirror images of each other, their effects being equally devastating though entirely different at the different periods.

To the inhabitants of the world below, the two scourges were separate phenomena. They raged more than five Helliconian small centuries (that is, slightly over seven Earth centuries) apart. So they went by separate names, the bone fever and the fat death.

The disease stream of the virus, like an irresistible flood, affected the history of all through whose lands it swept its ways. Yet an individual virus, like a single drop of water, was negligible.

A helico virus would have to be magnified ten thousand times before it became visible to the human eye. Its size was ninety-seven millimicrons. It consisted of a bag partly covered in icosahedrons, made up of lipids and proteins, and containing RNA; in many ways, it resembled the pleomorphic helical virus responsible for an extinct terrestrial disease called mumps.

Both the scholars on the Avernus and the Helliconia-watchers back on Earth had deduced the function of this devastating virus. Like the ancient Hindu god Shiva, it represented the ancipital principles of destruction and preservation. It killed, and existence followed in its deadly wake. Without the presence of the helico virus on the planet, neither human nor phagorian life would have been possible.

Because of its presence, no person from Earth could set foot on Helliconia and survive. On Helliconia, the helico virus ruled, and set a cordon sanitaire about the planet.

As yet, the bone fever had not entered Embruddock. It was approaching, as surely as was the crusade of the young kzahhn, Hrr-Brahl Yprt. The question in the minds of the scholars on the Avernus was, which would strike first.

Other questions occupied the minds of those who lived in Embruddock. The question uppermost in the minds of the men within sight of the top of the shaky hierarchy was, how could power be attained and, when attained, how could it be retained.

Fortunately for the run of mankind, no permanent answer to this question has ever been devised. But Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd, venal and easygoing men, had no interest in the question in the abstract. As time passed, and another year—the fateful year of 26 in the new calendar—dawned, and Aoz Roon’s absence grew to over half a year, the two lieutenants ran affairs on a day-to-day basis.

This suited them. It suited Raynil Layan less. He had gained increasing say with both the two regents and the council. Raynil Layan saw that an entirely new system was overdue in Oldorando; by introducing it, he would secure power by the sort of nonviolent means which suited him best.

He would appear to yield to pressure from traders and bring in money to replace the age-old system of barter.

From now on, nothing would be free in Oldorando.

Bread would be paid for in his coin.

Satisfied that they would get their share, Tanth Ein and Faralin Ferd nodded agreement to Raynil Layan’s scheme. The city was expanding every day. Trade could no longer be confined to the outskirts; it was becoming the centre of life and so it appeared in the centre. And it could be taxed under Raynil Layan’s innovatory thinking.

“Buying food is not right. Food should be free, like the air.”

“But we’re going to be given money to buy it with.”

“I don’t like it. Raynil Layan’s going to get fat,” Dathka said.

He and his fellow Lord of the Western Veldt were strolling towards Oyre’s tower, inspecting some of their responsibilities on the way. Those responsibilities grew as Oldorando spread. Everywhere they saw new faces. Learned members of the council estimated—with some wringing of the hands—that little more than a quarter of the present population was born locally. The rest were foreigners, many of them in transit. Oldorando was situated at a continental crossroads which was just beginning to bear traffic.

What had been open land until a few months ago was now a site for huts and tents. Some changes went deeper. The old regime of the hunt, by turns harsh and sybaritic, vanished overnight. Laintal Ay and Dathka kept a slave to feed their hoxneys. Game had become scarce, stungebags had disappeared, and migrants were bringing in cattle which betokened a more settled way of life.

The blandishments of the bazaar had ruined the camaraderie of the hunt. Those who had gloried in riding like the wind over newly discovered grasslands in the days of Aoz Roon were now content to lounge about the streets, serving as stall holders, or ostlers, or strong-arm men, or pimps.

The Lords of the Western Veldt were now responsible for order in the growing quarter of the city that lay to the west of the Voral. They had marshals to assist them. Slaves from the south skilled in masonry were building them a tower in which to live. The quarry was in the brassimips. The new tower imitated the form of the old ones; it would command the tents of those the lords sought to control, and stand all of three stories high.

After inspecting the day’s work and exchanging a joke with the overseer, Laintal Ay and Dathka headed towards the old town, pushing through a crowd of pilgrims. Canvas stalls were set up, ready to cater to the needs of such travellers. Each stall was licenced with Laintal Ay’s office, and displayed its number on a disc.

The pilgrims surged forward. Laintal Ay stepped out of their way, putting his back against a new wall of canvas. His heel met with air, he slipped and found himself falling into a hole which the canvas had concealed. He drew his sword. Three pale young men, naked to the waist looked at him in horror as he turned to confront them.

The hole was waist deep, the size of a small room.

The foreheads of the men were painted with central eyes.

Dathka appeared around the corner of the canvas and looked down into the excavation, grinning at his friend’s mishap.

“What are you doing?” Laintal Ay demanded of the three men.

Recovering from their astonishment, the three stood firm. One said, “This will be a shrine dedicated to great Naba’s Akha, and is therefore sacred ground. We have to ask you to leave at once.”

“I own this ground,” Laintal Ay said. “Show me your licence to rent a patch here.”

While the young men were exchanging looks, more pilgrims gathered round the hole, looking down and muttering. All wore black and white robes.

“We haven’t got a licence. We aren’t selling anything.”

“Where are you from?”

A large man with a black cloth wound about his head stood on the edge of the hole, accompanied by two older women who carried a large object between them. He called down in a pompous voice, “We are followers of the great Naba’s Akha and we are proceeding southwards, spreading the word. We plan to erect a small chapel here and we demand you remove your unworthy self immediately.”

“I own this ground, every spadeful of it. Why are you digging down if you need to build a chapel up? Don’t you foreigners know air from earth?”

One of the young diggers said, apologetically, “Akha is the god of earth and underground, and we live in his veins. We shall spread his good news through all lands. Are we not Takers from Pannoval?”

“You are not taking this hole without permission,” Laintal Ay roared. “Get out, all of you.”

The large pompous man began to shout, but Dathka drew his sword. He stabbed forward. The object the two older women carried was covered with a cloth. Pricking the cloth with his sword point, Dathka whisked the fabric away. An awkwardly crouching figure was revealed, semihuman, its frog eyes blind but staring. It was carved from a black stone.

“What a beauty!” Dathka exclainled, laughing. “An ugly mug like that needs to be covered up!”

The pilgrims became furious. Akha had been insulted; sunlight was never allowed to touch Akha. Several men flung themselves at Dathka. Laintal Ay jumped out of the hole shouting, and set about the pilgrims with the flat of his sword. The skirmish brought a marshal and two of his men armed with staves to the scene, and in a short while the pilgrims were battered enough to promise their future good conduct.

Laintal Ay and Dathka continued on to Oyre’s new rooms in Vry’s tower, which was being rebuilt. Oyre had moved because the square about the big tower had become so noisy, with its wooden stalls and drinking booths. With Oyre had gone Dol and her small son, Rastil Roon Den, together with Dol’s ancient mother, Rol Sakil. As Aoz Roon’s absence lengthened, Dol had become concerned for her safety in a building that also housed the two increasingly unruly lieutenants, Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein.

At the entrance to the tower, still referred to as Shay Tal’s Tower, four burly young freed Borlienian slaves were on guard. That arrangement was Laintal Ay’s doing. He received their salutes as he and Dathka entered.

“How’s Oyre?” he asked, already beginning to tramp upstairs.

“Recovering.”

He found his beloved lying in a bed, with Vry, Dol, and Rol Sakil beside her. He went to her and she put her arms round him.

“Oh, Laintal Ay—it was so horrible. I felt such fear.” She stared into his eyes. He looked upon her face, seeing there weariness, caught in the faint lines under her eyes. All who went father-communing were aged by the experience. “I thought I’d never get back to you, my love,” she said. “The world below becomes worse every time you visit it.”

Age had bent Rol Sakil double. Her long white hair covered her face, so that all that could be seen was her nose. She squatted by the bed nursing her grandson, and said, “It’s only them who are old who fail to return, Oyre.”

Oyre sat up and clung more tightly to Laintal Ay. He could feel her shivering.

“It seemed doubly awful this time—a universe without suns. The world below is the opposite of ours, with the original boulder like a sun below everything, black, giving out black light. All the fessups hang there like stars—not in air but rock. All being sucked slowly down into the black hole of the boulder… They’re so malign, they hate the living.”

“It’s true,” agreed Dol, soothing her old mother. “They hate us and would eat us up if they could.”

“They snap at you as you go by.”

“Their eyes are full of evil dusts.”

“Their jaws too …”

“But your father?” Laintal Ay prompted, bringing her back to the reason for her entering pauk.

“I met my mother in the world below…” Oyre could say no more for a moment. Though she clung to Laintal Ay, the world of air to which he belonged as yet seemed less real to her than the one she had left. Not one kind word had her mother for her, only blame and recrimination, and an intensity of hatred that the living scarcely dared reveal.

“She said how I’d disgraced her name, brought her in shame to her grave. I’d killed her, I was responsible for her death, she had detested me since she first felt me stir in her womb… All the bad things I did as a child … my helplessness … my scumble… Oh, oh, I can’t tell you…”

She began to wail horribly to release her grief.

Vry came forward and helped Laintal Ay hold her. “It’s not true, Oyre, it’s all imagination.” But she was thrust away by her weeping friend.

All had been in pauk at some time. All looked on in gloomy sympathy, locked in their own thoughts.

“But your father,” Laintal Ay said again. “Did you meet him?”

She recovered sufficiently to hold him at arm’s length, regarding him with red eyes, her face glistening with snot and tears.

“He was not there, thanks be to Wutra, he was not there. The time has not yet arrived when he must fall to the world below.”

They gazed round at each other in puzzlement at this news. To cover a dread that Aoz Roon was, after all, with Shay Tal, Oyre went on talking.

“Surely he won’t become that kind of evil gossie, surely he has lived a life full enough not to turn into one of those little bundles of malevolence? At least he’s spared that fate a while longer. But where is he, all these long weeks?”

Dol began to weep by infection, snatching Rastil Roon from her mother, rocking him, and saying, “Is he still alive? Where is he? He wasn’t so bad, to be honest… Are you sure he wasn’t down below?”

“I tell you he wasn’t. Laintal Ay, Dathka, he’s still somewhere in this world, though Wutra knows where, that we can be sure of.”

Rol Sakil began to wail, now that her movements were not hampered by the infant.

“We must all go down to that terrible place, sooner or later. Dol, Dol, it will be your poor old mother’s turn next… Promise you’ll come and see me, promise, and I promise I’ll say no word against you. I will never blame you for the way you’ve become involved with that terrible man who has afflicted all our lives…”

As Dol comforted her mother, Laintal Ay tried to comfort Oyre, but she suddenly pushed him away and climbed from the bed, wiping her face and breathing deep. “Don’t touch me—I stink of the world below. Let me wash myself.”

During these lamentations, Dathka had stood at the back of the room, his stocky figure against the rough wall, his face wooden. Now he came forward.

“Be silent, all of you, and try to think. We are in danger and must turn this news to our advantage. If Aoz Roon is alive, then we need a plan of action till he gets back—if he can get back. Maybe fuggies have captured him.

“I warn you, Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein plot to take over control of Oldorando. First, they mean to set up a mint, with that worm Raynil Layan in command of it.” His eyes slid to Vry and then away again. “Raynil Layan already has the metal makers at work, minting a coinage. When they control that and pay their men, they will be all-powerful. They will surely kill Aoz Roon when he returns.”

“How do you know this?” Vry asked. “Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein are his friends of long-standing.”

“As for that …” Dathka said, and laughed. “Ice is solid till it melts.”

He stood alert, looking at each, finally letting his gaze rest on Laintal Ay.

“Now we must prove our real worth. We tell nobody that Aoz Roon is still alive. Nobody. Better that they should be uncertain. Leave everyone in doubt. Oyre’s news would prompt the lieutenants to usurp power at once. They would act to forestall him before he got back.”

“I don’t think—” Laintal Ay began, but Dathka, suddenly in command of his tongue, cut him short.

“Who has the best claim to rule if Aoz Roon is dead? You, Laintal Ay. And you, Oyre. Loilanun’s son and Aoz Roon’s daughter. This infant of Dors is a dangerous counterargument that the council could seize on. Laintal Ay, you and Oyre must become united at once. Enough shilly-shallying. We’ll command a dozen priests from Borlien for the ceremony, and you will make the announcement that the old Lord is dead, so the two of you will rule in his stead. You’ll be accepted.”

“And Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein?”

“We can look after Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein,” said Dathka, grimly. “And Raynil Layan. They have no general support, as you do.”

They all regarded each other soberly. Finally, Laintal Ay spoke.

“I am not going to usurp Aoz Roon’s title while he is still alive. I appreciate your cunning, Dathka, but I will not carry out your plan.”

Dathka put his hands on his hips and sneered. “I see. So you don’t care if the lieutenants do take over? They’ll kill you if they do—and me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Believe what you wish, they’ll certainly kill you. And Oyre, and Dol and this kid. Probably Vry too. Come out of your dreams. They are tough men, and they have to act soon. The blindnesses, rumours of bone fever—they’ll act while you sit and mope.”

“It would be better to get my father back,” Oyre said, deliberately looking not at Laintal Ay but Dathka. “Things are in flux—we need a really strong ruler.”

Dathka laughed sourly at her remark and watched its effect on Laintal Ay without replying.

A heavy silence fell in the room. Laintal Ay broke it by saying awkwardly, “Whatever the lieutenants may or may not do, I am not going to bid for power. It would only be divisive.”

“Divisive?” Dathka said. “The place is divided, it’s sliding into chaos with all the foreigners here. You’re a fool if you ever believed Aoz Roon’s nonsense about unity.”

During this argument Vry had remained unobtrusively by the trapdoor, and was leaning with arms folded against the wall. She came forward now and said, “You make a mistake by thinking only of earthly things.

Pointing towards the baby, she said, “When Rastil Roon was born, his father had just disappeared. That is three quarters ago. The time of double sunset is past. So it is three quarters since the last eclipse, I will remind you. Or the last blindness, if you prefer the old term.

“I must warn you that another eclipse is approaching. Oyre and I have done our calculations—”

Dol’s aged mother set up a wail. “We never had these afflictions in the old days—what have we done to deserve them now? One more will finish everybody off.”

“I can’t explain the why; I’m only just learning to explain the how,” Vry said, casting a sympathetic glance at the old woman. “And if I’m correct, the next eclipse will be of much greater duration than the last, with Freyr totally concealed for over five and a half hours, and most of the day filled with the event, which will have begun when the suns rise. You can imagine the kind of panic that may ensue.”

Rol Sakil and Dol started to howl. Dathka ordered them abruptly to be quiet, and said, “A day-long eclipse? In a few years, we’ll have nothing but eclipse and no Freyr at all, if you’re right. Why do you make such claims, Vry?”

She faced him, looking seekingly at his dark countenance. Fearing what she saw, she answered deliberately in terms she knew he could not accept. “Because the universe is not random. It is a machine. Therefore one can know its movements.”

Such a deeply revolutionary statement had not been heard in Oldorando for centuries. It went entirely over Dathka’s head.

“If you are sure, we must try to protect ourselves with sacrifices.”

Without bothering to argue, Vry turned to the others, saying, “The eclipses will not last for ever. They will go on for twenty years, getting shorter after the first eleven. After number twenty, they will not return.”

Her words were meant to reassure. The expression on their faces showed the pain of their inward thought: in twenty years, none of them was likely to be alive.

“How can you know what’s going to happen in the future, Vry? Even Shay Tal couldn’t do that,” Laintal Ay said heavily.

She wanted to touch him, but was too shy. “It’s a matter of observation and gathering old facts, putting everything together. It’s a matter of understanding what we know, of seeing what we see. Freyr and Batalix are far apart, even when they appear close to us. Each balances on the edge of a great round plate. The plates are tipped at an angle. Where they intersect, there eclipses happen, because our world is in line with Freyr, with Batalix between. Do you understand that?”

Dathka strode up and down. He said impatiently, “Listen, Vry, I forbid you to speak of such mad notions in public. The people will kill you. This is what the academy has led you to. I’m not going to listen to any more.”

He gave her a dark look, bitter, yet oddly imploring. She was transfixed. Dathka left the room without further word. Silence was what he left behind.

He had been gone only a couple of minutes when there was a commotion in the street outside. Laintal Ay ran down immediately to see what was happening. He suspected Dathka’s intervention, but his friend had disappeared. A man had fallen from his mount and was crying for help—a foreigner by his garb. A crowd gathered round him, among them faces Laintal Ay knew, although none went to help the traveller.

“It’s the plague,” a man told Laintal Ay. “Anyone who aided this knave would be sick himself by Freyr-fall.”

Two slaves were brought up, and the sufferer was dragged towards the hospice.

This was the first public appearance of the bone fever in Oldorando.

When Laintal Ay returned to Oyre’s room, she had removed her hoxneys and was washing herself over a bowl, calling out from behind a curtain to Dol and Vry.

Dol’s dimpled face was for once registering expression. She uncoupled Rastil Roon from her breast and passed him to her mother, saying, “Listen, my friend, you must act. Call the people together and speak to them. Explain. Never mind Dathka.”

“You should do that, Laintal Ay,” Oyre called. “Remind everyone of how Aoz Roon built Oldorando, and how you were his faithful lieutenant. Don’t follow Dathka’s plan. Assure everyone that Aoz Roon is not dead, and will return soon.”

“That’s right,” Dol said. “Remind people how they fear him, and how he built the bridge. They’ll listen to you.”

“You’ve sorted out our troubles between you,” said Laintal Ay. “But you are mistaken. Aoz Roon has been gone too long. Half the people here scarcely know his name. They’re strangers, traders passing through. Go to the Pauk and ask the first man you meet who Aoz Roon is—he won’t be able to tell you. That’s why the question of power is open.” He stood solid before them.

Dol shook her fist at him. “You dare say that! It’s lies. If—when he comes back, he’ll rule as before. I’ll see that he kicks out Faralin Ferd and Tanth Ein, too. Not to forget that reptile, Raynil Layan.”

“Maybe go, maybe not, Dol. The point is, he is not here. What about Shay Tal? She’s been gone just as long. Who speaks of her nowadays? You may still miss her, Vry, but others don’t.”

Vry shook her head. She said quietly, “If you want the truth, I miss neither Shay Tal nor Aoz Roon. I think they blighted our lives. I believe she blighted mine—oh, it was my fault, I know, and I owe her much, I being the daughter of a mere slave woman. But I followed Shay Tal too slavishly.”

“That’s right,” old Rol Sakil piped, bouncing the baby. “She was a bad example to you, Vry—too virginal by half, was our Shay Tal. You’ve gone the same way. You must be fifteen now, near middle age, and still not laid. Get on with it, afore it’s too late.”

Dol said, “Ma’s right, Vry. You saw how Dathka marched out of here, furious because you argued with him. He’s in love with you, that’s why. Be more submissive, that’s a woman’s job, isn’t it? Throw your arms round him and he’ll give you what you want. I should think he’d be quite lusty.”

“Throw your legs round him, not your arms, that’s my advice,” Rol Sakil said, cackling with laughter. “There’s pretty women passing through Oldorando, now—not like when we was all young, when flesh was in short supply. The things they get up to in the bazaar nowadays! No wonder they want a coinage. I know the slot they’ll stuff it in…”

“That’s enough,” Vry said, her cheeks red. “I’ll manage my own life without your crude advice. I respect Dathka but I am not at all fond of him. Change the subject.”

Laintal Ay took Vry’s arm with a consoling gesture, as Oyre emerged from behind her curtain, her hair piled on the top of her head. She had discarded her hoxney skins, which were now regarded as somewhat outmoded among a younger set in Oldorando. Instead, she wore a green woollen dress which trailed almost to the ground.

“Vry’s being advised to take a man soon—just like you,” Laintal Ay told her.

“At least Dathka’s mature and knows his own mind.”

Laintal Ay scowled at this remark. Turning his back on Oyre, he said to Vry, “Explain to me about the twenty eclipses. I didn’t understand what you were saying. How is the universe a machine?”

She frowned and then said, “You’ve heard the elements before, but would not listen. You must be prepared to believe that the world is stranger than you give it credit for. I’ll try to explain clearly.

“Imagine that the land-octaves extend into the air high above us, as well as into the ground. Imagine that this world, which the phagors can Hrl-Ichor, follows its own octave regularly. In fact, its octave winds round and round Batalix. Hrl-Ichor goes round Batalix once every four hundred and eighty days—hence our year, as you know. Batalix does not move. It is we that move.”

“What when Batalix sets every evening?”

“Batalix is motionless in the sky. It is we that move.”

Laintal Ay laughed. “And the festival of Double Sunset? What moves then?”

“The same. We move. Batalix and Freyr remain stationary. Unless you believe that, I can explain no further.”

“We have all seen the sentinels move, my dear Vry, every day of our lives. So what follows, supposing I believe both of them to be turned to ice?”

She hesitated, then said, “Well, in fact Batalix and Freyr do move as Freyr grows brighter.”

“Come—first you’d have me believe that they didn’t move, then that they did. Stop it, Vry—I’ll believe your eclipses when they happen, not before.”

With a scream of impatience, she raised her scrawny arms above her head. “Oh, you’re such fools. Let Embruddock fall, what difference would it make? You can’t understand one simple thing.”

She left the room even more furiously than Dathka.

“There are some simple matters she don’t understand either,” Rol Sakil said, cuddling the small boy.

Vry’s old room showed the change that had come to Oldorando. No longer was it so bleak. Oddments gathered from here and there decked the room. She had inherited some of Shay Tal’s—and hence Loilanun’s—possessions. She had traded in the bazaars. A star chart of her making hung near the window, with the paths of the ecliptics of the two suns marked on it.

On one wall hung an ancient map, given her by a new admirer. It was painted in coloured inks upon vellum. This was her Ottaassaal map depicting the whole world, at which she never ceased to wonder. The world was depicted as round, its land masses encircled by ocean. It rested on the original boulder—bigger than the world—from which the world had sprung or been ejected. The simple outlined land masses were labelled Sibornal, with Campannlat below, and Hespagorat separate at the bottom. Some islands were formally indicated. The only town marked was Ottaassaal, set at the centre of the globe.

She wondered how far away one would have to be to see the actual world in such a way. Batalix and Freyr were two other round worlds, as she well understood. But they had no support from original boulders beneath them; why then did the world need one?

In a niche in the wall beside the map stood a little figurine which Dathka had brought her. She lifted it down now, cradling it in her palm rather abstractedly. It depicted a couple enjoying coition in a squatting position. Man and woman were carved out of one stone. The hands through which the object had passed had worn them into anonymity, age had rendered them both featureless. The carving represented the supreme act of being together, and Vry regarded it longingly as it rested in her hand. “That’s unity,” she murmured, in a low voice.

For all her friends’ teasing, she wanted desperately what the stone represented. She also recognised, as Shay Tal had before her, that the path to knowledge was a solitary one.

Did the figurine portray a pair of real lovers whose names had been lost far in the past? It was impossible to tell.

In the past lay the answers to much that was in the future. She looked hopelessly at the astronomical clock she was trying to construct from wood, which lay on the table by her narrow window. Not only was she unused to working in wood, but she still had not grasped the principle that maintained the world, the three wandering worlds, and the two sentinels in their paths.

Suddenly, she perceived that a unity existed among the spheres—they were all of one material, as the lovers were of one stone. And a force as strong as sexual need bound them all mysteriously together, dictating their movements.

She sat down at her table, and commenced wrenching the rods and rings apart, trying to rearrange them in a new order.

She was thus engaged when there was a tap at her door. Raynil Layan sidled in, giving hasty looks about him to see that nobody else was in the room.

He saw her framed in the pale blue rectangle of window, the light brooding on her profile. She held a wooden ball in one hand. At his entrance, she half started up, and he saw—for he watched people closely—that her habitual reserve had left her for once. She smiled nervously, smoothing her hoxney skin over the definitions of her breast. He pushed the door closed behind him.

The master of the tanners had assumed grandeur these days. His forked beard was tied with two ribbons, in a manner he had learned from foreigners, and he wore trousers of silk. Recently, he had been paying Vry attention, presenting her with such items as the Ottaassaal map, acquired in Pauk, and listening closely to her theories. All this she found obscurely exciting. Although she mistrusted his smooth manners, she was flattered by them, and by his interest in all she did.

“You work too hard, Vry,” he said, cocking a finger and raising an eyebrow at her. “More time spent outdoors would put colour back into those pretty cheeks.”

“You know how busy I am, running the academy now Amin Lim’s gone with Shay Tal, as well as doing my own work.”

The academy flourished as never before. It had its own building, and was largely run by one of Vry’s assistants. They engaged learned men to speak; anyone passing through Oldorando was approached. Many ideas were put into practical operation in the workshops under the lecture room. Raynil Layan himself kept a watch on all that was happening.

His eye missed nothing. Catching sight of the stone figurine among the litter on her table, he scrutinised it closely. She flushed and fidgetted.

“It’s very old.”

“And still very popular.”

She giggled. “I meant the object itself.”

“I meant their objective.” He set it down, looking archly at her, and settled his body against the edge of the table so that their legs were touching.

Vry bit her lip and looked down. She had her erotic fantasies about this man she did not greatly like, and they came crowding back to her now.

But Raynil Layan, as was his style, had changed tack. After a moment’s silence, he moved his leg, cleared his throat, and spoke seriously.

“Vry, among the pilgrims just arrived from Pannoval is a man not as blinded with religion as the rest of his crowd. He makes clocks, working them precisely from metal. Wood is no good for your purpose. Let me bring this craftsman to you, and you can instruct him as you will to build your model expertly.”

“Mine’s no mere clock, Raynil Layan,” she said, looking up at him as he stood against her chair, wondering if she and he could in any way be regarded as being made of the same stone.

“That I understand. You instruct the man about your machine. I’ll pay him in coin. I shall soon take up an important post, with power to command as I will.”

She stood up, the better to assess his response.

“I hear you are to run an Oldorandan mint.”

He narrowed his eyes and surveyed her, half-smiling, half-angry. “Who told you that?”

“You know how news travels.”

“Faralin Ferd has been blabbing out of turn again.”

“You don’t think greatly of him or Tanth Ein, do you?”

He made a dismissive gesture and seized her hands. “I think of you all the while. I will have power and, unlike those other fools—unlike Aoz Roon—I believe that knowledge can be wedded to power to reinforce it… Be my woman and you shall have what you wish. You shall live better. We will discover all things. We will split open the pyramid that my predecessor, Datnil Skar, never managed to do, for all his prattle.”

She hid her face, wondering if her thin body, her torpid queme, could entice and hold a man.

Pulling her wrists from his grasp, she backed away. Her hands, now free, flew like birds to her face to try to conceal the agitation she felt.

“Don’t tempt me, don’t play with me.”

“You need tempting, my doe.”

Narrowing his eyes, he opened the purse at his belt, and brought forth some coins. These he extended towards her, like a man tempting a wild hoxney with food. She came cautiously to inspect them.

“The new currency, Vry. Coins. Take them. They’re going to transform Oldorando.”

The three coins were improperly rounded and crudely stamped. There was a small bronze coin stamped “Half Roon,” a larger copper coin stamped “One Roon,” and a small gold coin stamped “Five Roons.” In the middle of each coin was the legend:

Vry laughed with excitement as she examined them. Somehow, the money represented power, modernity, knowledge. “Roons!” she exclaimed. “That’s rich.”

“The very key to riches.”

She set them on her worn table. “I’ll test your intelligence with them, Raynil Layan.”

“What a way you do court a man!” He laughed, but saw by her narrow face that she was serious.

“Let the Half Roon be our world, Hrl-Ichor. The big One Roon is Batalix. This little gold one is Freyr.” With her finger, she made the Half Roon circle about the Roon. “This is how we move through the upper air. One circle is one year—in which time, the Half Roon has revolved like a ball four hundred and eighty times. See? When we think we see the Roon move, it is we who move on the Half Roon. Yet the Roon is not still. There’s a general principle involved, much like love. As a child’s life revolves about its mother, so does the Half Roon’s about the Roon—and so also does the Roon, I have decided, about the Five Roons.”

“You have decided? A guess?”

“No. Simple observation. But no observation, however simple, can be made except by those predisposed to make it. Between winter and spring solstices, the Half Roon moves its maximum to either side of the Roon.” She demonstrated the diameter of its orbit. “Imagine that behind the Five Roons there are a number of tiny sticks standing to represent fixed stars. Then imagine you are standing on the Half Roon. Can you imagine that?”

“More, I can imagine you standing there with me.”

She thought how quick he was, and her voice shook as she said, “There we stand, and the Half Roon goes first this side of the Roon, then the other… What do we observe? Why, that the Five Roons appears to move against the fixed stars behind it.”

“Only appears?”

“In that respect, yes. The movement shows both that Freyr is close compared to the stars, and that it is we who really move and not the sentinels.”

Raynil Layan contemplated the coins.

“But you say that the two small denominations move about the Five Roons?”

“You know that we share a guilty secret. There’s the matter of your predecessor illegally presenting Shay Tal with information from your corps book… From King Denniss’s dating we know that this is the year he would call 446. That is the number of years after someone—Nadir…”

“I’ve had a better chance than you to puzzle that dating out, my doe, and other dates to compare it with. The date Zero is a year of maximum cold and dark, according to the Denniss calendar.”

“Exactly what I believe. It is now 446 years since Freyr was at its feeblest. Batalix never changes its light intensity. Freyr does—for some reason. Once, I believed that it grew bright or dim at random. But now I think that the universe is no more random than a stream is random. There are causes for things; the universe is a machine, like this astronomical clock which seeks to imitate it. Freyr is getting brighter because it approaches—no, vice versa—we approach Freyr. It’s hard to shake off the old ways of thought when they are embedded in the language. In the new language, the Half Roon and the Roon are approaching the Five Roons.

He fiddled with the little ribbons on his beard. Vry watched him thinking over her statement.

“Why is the approach theory preferable to the dim-bright theory?”

She clapped her hands. “What a clever question to ask. If Batalix doesn’t fluctuate from dim to bright, why should Freyr? The Half Roon always approaches the Roon, though the Roon always moves out of the way. So I think the Roon approaches the Five Roons in the same way—taking the Half-Roon with it. Which brings us to the eclipses.” She circulated the two lower denomination coins again.

“You see how the Half Roon reaches a point each year where observers on it—you and I—would not see the Five because the One would get in the way? That is an eclipse.”

“So why isn’t there an eclipse every year? It spoils all your theory if one part of it is wrong, just as a hoxney won’t run with only three legs.”

You’re smart, she thought—much smarter than Dathka or Laintal Ay—and I like clever men, even when they’re unscrupulous.

“Oh, there’s a reason for it, which I can’t properly demonstrate. That’s why I am trying to build this model. I’ll show you soon.”

He smiled and took her slender hand again. She trembled as if she were down the brassirrup tree.

“You shall have that craftsman here tomorrow, working in gold to your specifics, if you will agree to be mine and let me publish the news. I want you close—in my bed.”

“Oh, you’ll have to wait … please … please …” She fell trembling into his arms as he clutched her. His hands moved over her body seeking her narrow contours. He does want me, she thought, in a whirl, he wants me in a way Dathka doesn’t dare. He’s more mature, far more intelligent. He’s not half so bad as they make out. Shay Tal was wrong about him. She was wrong about a lot of things. Besides, manners are different in Oldorando now and, if he wants me, he shall have me…

“The bed,” she gasped, tearing at his clothes. “Quick, before I change my mind. I’m so divided… Quick, I’m ready. Open:’

“Oh, my trousers, have a care …” But he was pleased by her haste. She felt, she saw, his rising excitement, as he lowered his bulk onto her. She groaned as he laughed. She had a vision of the two of them, one fiesh, whirling among the stars in the grip of a great universal power, anonymous, eternal…

The hospice was new and not yet complete. It stood near the fringes of the town, extending from what had been called Prast’s Tower in the old days. Here came those travellers who had fallen sick on their journeyings. Across the street was the establishment of a veterinary surgeon which received sick animals.

Both hospice and surgery had a bad name—it was claimed that the tools of their respective trades were interchangeable; but the hospice was efficiently run by the first woman member of the apothecary’s corps, a midwife and teacher at the academy known to all as Ma Scantiom, after the flowers with which she insisted on decking the wards under her command.

A slave took Laintal Ay to her. She was a tall sturdy person of middle age, with plenty of bosom, and a kindly expression on her face. One of her aunts had been Nahkri’s woman. She and Laintal Ay had been on good terms for many years.

“I’ve two patients in an isolation ward I want you to see,” she said, selecting a key from a number that hung at her belt. She had discarded hoxneys in favour of a long saffron apron-dress which hung almost to the floor.

Ma Scantiom unlocked a sturdy door at the rear of her office.

They went through into the old tower and climbed the ramps until they were at the top.

From somewhere below them came the sound of a clow, played by a convalescent patient. Laintal Ay recognised the tune: “Stop, Stop, Voral River.” The rhythm was fast, yet with a melancholy which matched the useless exhortation of the chorus. The river ran and would not stop, no, not for love or life itself…

Each floor of the tower had been divided into small wards or cells, each with a door with a grille set in it. Without a word, Ma Scantiom slid back the cover over the grille and indicated that Laintal Ay was to look through.

There were two beds in the cell, each bearing a man. The men were almost naked. They lay, in locked positions, nearly rigid but never entirely still. The man nearest the door, who had a thick mane of black hair, lay with his spine arched and his hands clenched together above his head. He was grinding his knuckles against the stone wall so that they seeped blood, which ran down the blue-veined paths of his arms. His head rolled stiffly at awkward angles. He caught sight of Laintal Ay at the grille, and his eyes tried to fix on him, but the head insisted on its continued slow-motion movement. Arteries in his neck stood out like cord.

The second patient lying below the window, held his arms folded tight into his chest. He was curling himself into a ball and then unrolling, at the same time waggling his feet back and forth so that the little bones cracked. His gaze, distraught, moved between floor and ceiling. Laintal Ay recognized him as the man who had collapsed in the street.

Both men were deathly pale and glistening with sweat, the pungent smell of which filtered out of the cell. They continued to wrestle with invisible assailants as Laintal Ay drew the cover across the grille.

“The bone fever,” he said. He stood close to Ma Scantiom, seeking out her expression in the thick shadow.

She merely nodded. He followed down the ramps behind her.

The clow was still wearily playing.

Ma Scaritiorn said over her shoulder, “The first of them arrived two days ago—I should have called you yesterday. They starve themselves; they can hardly be persuaded to take water. It’s like a prolonged muscular spasm. Their minds are affected.”

“They’ll die?”

“Only about half survive attacks of bone fever. Sometimes, when they have lost a third of their body weight, they simply pull out of it. They then normalise at their new weight. Others go mad and die, as if the fever got in their harneys and killed them.”

Laintal Ay swallowed, feeling his throat dry. Back in her office, he took a deep inhalation of a bunch of scantiom and raige on the window sill to cleanse the stench in his nostrils. The room was painted white.

“Who are they? Traders?”

“They have both come from the east, travelling with different groups of Madis. One’s a trader, one’s a bard. Both have phagor slaves, which are at present in the vet’s surgery. You probably know that bone fever can spread fast and become a major plague. I want those patients out of my hospice. We need somewhere away from town where we can isolate them. These won’ t be the only cases.”

“You’ve spoken to Faralin Ferd about it?”

She frowned. “Worse than useless. First of all, he and Tanth Ein said the sick must not be moved from here. Then they suggested killing them and dumping the bodies in the Voral.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I know a ruined tower about five miles away. Perhaps that would be suitable.”

“I knew you’d help.” She put a hand on his sleeve, smiling. “Something brings the disease. Under favourable conditions, it can spread like a fire. Half the population would die—we know of no cure. My belief is that those filthy phagors carry it. Perhaps it is the scent of their pelts. There are two hours of Freyr-dark tonight; in that time, I am going to have the two phagors in the vet’s surgery killed and buried. I wanted to tell someone in authority, so I’m telling you. I knew you’d be on my side.”

“You think they will spread bone fever further?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t wish to take any risks. There may be another cause entirely—the blindness may bring it. Wutra may send it.”

She tucked her lower lip in. He read the concern in her homely face.

“Bury them deep where the dogs can’t scratch them up again. I’ll see about the ruined tower for you. Are you expecting”—he hesitated—“more cases soon?”

Without changing her expression, she said, “Of course.”

As he left, the clow was still playing its plaintive tune, remote in the depths of the building.

Laintal Ay did not think of complaining to Ma Scantiom, although he had laid other plans for the two hours of Freyr-dark.

Dathka’s speech of the morning, when Oyre had returned from her pauk-induced spell of father-communing, troubled him deeply. He saw the strength of the argument which said that he and Oyre together represented invincible claimants to the leadership of Oldorando. In general, he wanted what was rightfully his, as anyone else did. And he certainly wanted Oyre. But did he want to rule Oldorando?

It seemed that Dathka’s speech had subtly changed the situation. Perhaps he could now win Oyre only by taking power.

This line of thought occupied his mind as he went about Ma Scantiom’s business, which was everyone’s business. Bone fever was no more than a legend, yet the fact that nobody had experienced the reality made the legend all the more dark. People died. Plague was like the manic stepping-up of a natural process.

So he worked without complaint, conscripting help from Goija Hin. Together, Laintal Ay and the slave driver collected the two phagors belonging to the bone fever victims and sent them into the isolation cell. There, the phagors were made to roll their sick masters into rush mats and carry them away from the hospice. The innocuous-looking mat rolls would cause no panic.

The small group moved with its burdens out of town towards the ruined tower Laintal Ay knew of. With them shuffled the ancient slave phagor, Myk, to take an occasional turn carrying the diseased men. This was designed to hasten the proceedings, but Myk had become so ancient that progress was slow.

Goija Hin, also bent with age, his hair growing so long and stiff over his shoulders that he resembled one of his miserable captives, lashed Myk savagely. Neither lash nor curses hastened the old burdened slave. He staggered onward without protest, though his calves above his fetters were raw from whipping.

“My trouble is, I neither want to wield the lash nor feel it,” Laintal Ay told himself. Another layer of thought arose in his mind, like mist on a still morning. He reflected that he lacked certain qualities. There was little he wished for. He was content with the days as they fled.

I’ve been too content, I suppose. It was enough to know that Oyre loved me, and to lie in her arms. It was enough that once Aoz Roon was almost like a father to me. It was enough that the climate changed, enough that Wutra ordered his sentinels to keep their place in the sky.

Now Wutra has left his sentinels to stray. Aoz Roon has gone. And what was that cutting thing Oyre said earlier—that Dathka was mature, implying I was not? Oh, that silent friend of mine, is that maturity, to be a mass of cunning plots inside? Wasn’t contentment maturity enough?

There was too much of his grandfather, Little Yuli, in him, too little of Yuli the Priest. And for the first time in a long while, he recalled his mild grandfather’s enchantment with Loil Bry, and of how they had stayed together happily in the room with the porcelain window. It was another age. Everything had been simpler then. They had been so content then, with so little.

He was not content to die now. Not content to be killed by the lieutenants if they thought him involved with Dathka’s plotting. And not content either to die of the bone fever, contracted from these two wretches they were carrying away from the city. It was still three miles to the old tower he had in mind.

He paused. The phagors and Goija Hin trudged on automatically with their vile burdens. Here he was again, once more meekly doing what was asked of him. There was no reason for it. His stupid habit of obedience had to be broken.

He shouted to the phagors. They halted. They stood where they were, without moving. Only the burdens on their shoulders creaked slightly.

The group was standing on a narrow track with thickets of dogthrush on either side. A child had been eaten near here a few days earlier; evidence suggested a sabre-tongue had been the killer—the predators came in close to settlements now that wild hoxneys were scarce. So there were few people about.

Laintal Ay struck in among the bushes. He got the phagors to carry their sick masters into the thicket and set them down. The monsters did so carelessly, so that the men rolled on the ground, still in locked positions.

Their lips were blue, peeled back to reveal yellow teeth and gums. Their limbs were distorted, their bones creaked. They were in some way aware of their position, yet unable to cease a constant motor movement, making their eyeballs roll horribly in their stretched facial skin.

“You know what’s the matter with these men?” Laintal Ay asked. Goija Hin nodded his head and smiled evilly to demonstrate his mastery over human knowledge. “They’re ill,” he said.

Nor did Laintal Ay forget the fever he had once caught off a phagor. “Kill the men. Make the phagors scrape out graves with their hands. As fast as you can.”

“I understand.” The slave master came heavily forward. Laintal Ay stood with a branch pressing in his back, watching the fat old man do as he was bid, as Goija Hin had always done. At each step in the proceedings, Laintal Ay gave an order and it was executed. He felt himself fully implicated in everything and would not let himself look away. Goija Hin drew a short sword and stabbed it twice through the hearts of the sick men. The phagors scraped graves with their horny hands—two white phagors, and Myk, as obese as his master, prickled with the black hairs of age and working very slowly.

All the phagors had shackles on their legs. They rolled the corpses into their graves and kicked dirt over them, then stood without movement, as was their fashion, awaiting the next order. They were commanded to scrape three more graves under the bushes. This they did, working like mute animals. Goija Hin ran his sword between the ribs of the two strange phagors, afterwards smearing the yellow ichor on their coats as they lay face down, in order to clean his blade.

Myk was made to push them in their graves and cover them with dirt.

As he stood up, he faced Laintal Ay, sliding his pale milt up the slot of his right nostril.

“Not kill now Myk, master. Strike off my chains and allow me to go away to die.”

“What, let you loose, you old scumble, after all these years?” Goija Hin said angrily, raising the sword.

Laintal Ay stopped him, staring at the ancient phagor. The creature had given him rides on his back when he was a boy. It touched him that Myk did not attempt to remind him of the fact. There was no feeble appeal to sentiment. Instead, he stood without movement, awaiting whatever would befall.

“How old are you, Myk?” Sentiment, he thought, my sentiment. You couldn’t face giving the necessary order to kill, could you?

“I prisoner, don’t count years.” The s’s were dragged like bees from his throat. “Once, we ancipitals ruled Embruddock, and you Sons of Freyr were our slaves. Ask Mother Shay Tal—she knew.”

“She told me. And you killed us as we kill you.”

The crimson eyes blinked once. The creature growled, “We kept you alive through the centuries when Freyr was sick. Much foolish. Now you Sons will all die. You strike away my chains, leave me go to die in tether.”

Laintal Ay gestured to the open grave. “Kill him,” he ordered Goija Hin.

Myk put up no struggle. Goija Hin kicked the huge body into the depression and piled dirt about it with his boot. Then he stood among the tanglewood, facing Laintal Ay, moistening his lips and looking uneasy.

“I knew you when you was a little boy, sir. I was good to you. Myself, I always said you should be Lord of Embruddock—you ask my mates if I didn’t.”

He made no attempt to defend himself with his sword. It fell from his hands and he went down on his knees, blubbering, bowing his hoary head.

“Myk’s probably right,” Laintal Ay said. “We’ve probably got the plague in us. We’re probably too late.” Without another glance, he left Goija Hin where he was and strode back to the crowded city, angry with himself for not striking the fatal blow.

It was late when he entered his room. He stared round it without relaxing his black expression. Horizontal rays of Freyrlight lit the far corner, flaring up brightly, casting the rest of the room into unlikely shade.

He rinsed his face and hands in the basin, scooping up the cool water, letting it run over his brow, his eyelids, his cheeks, and drip from his jaw. He did it repeatedly, breathing deeply, feeling the heat leave him and the self-anger remain. As he smoothed his face, he noted with satisfaction that his hands had ceased to tremble. The light in the corner slid to one wall and faded to a smouldering yellow, making a square no bigger than a box in which the world’s gold decayed. He went round the room, collecting a few items to take with him, scarcely giving a thought to the task.

There was a knock on the door. Oyre looked in. As if sensing immediately the tension in the room, she paused on the threshold.

“Laintal Ay—where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“There was something I had to do.”

She paused with her hand still on the latch, watching, breathing a sigh. With the light behind him, she could not decipher his expression through the thick dusk gathering in the room, but she caught the abruptness in his voice.

“Is anything the matter, Laintal Ay?”

He stuffed his old hunter’s blanket into a pack, punching it down. “I’m leaving Oldorando.”

“Leaving … ? Where are you going?”

“Oh … let’s say I’m going to look for Aoz Roon.” He spoke bitterly. “I’ve lost interest in—in everything here.”

“Don’t be silly.” She moved a step forward as she spoke, to see him better, thinking how large he seemed in the low-ceilinged room. “How will you seek him in the wilderness?”

He turned to face her, slinging the pack over one shoulder. “Do you think it’s sillier to seek him in the real world or to go down in pauk among the gossies to find him, as you do? You were always telling me I had to do something great. Nothing satisfied you… Well, now I’m off, to do or die. Isn’t that something great?”

She laughed feebly, and said, “I don’t want you to go. I want—”

“I know what you want. You think Dathka is mature and I’m not. Well, to hell with that. I’ve had enough. I’m going, as I always longed to do. Try your luck with Dathka.”

“I love you, Laintal Ay. Now you’re acting like Aoz Roon.”

He took hold of her. “Stop comparing me with other people. Perhaps you’re not as clever as I thought, or you’d know when you were hurting me. I love you too, but I’m going…”

She screamed. “Why are you so brutal?”

“I’ve lived with brutes long enough. Stop asking stupid questions.”

He put his arms round her, dragging her close, and kissed her hard on the mouth, so that her lips were forced back and their teeth slid together.

“I hope to be back,” he said. He laughed sharply at the stupidity of his own remark. With a final glance, he left, slamming the door behind him, leaving her in the empty room. The gold had died to ashes. It was almost dark, though she saw points of fire in the street outside.

“Oh scumb,” she exclaimed. “Curse you—and curse me, too.”

Then she recovered herself, ran to the door, and flung it open, shouting to him. Laintal Ay was running down the stairs and did not respond. She ran after him, clutching his sleeve.

“Laintal Ay, you idiot, where are you going?”

“I’m going to saddle up Gold.”

He said it so angrily, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, that she remained where she was. Then the thought occurred to her that she must get Dathka at once. Dathka would know how to deal with his friend’s madness.

Just recently, Dathka had become elusive. Sometimes he slept in the unfinished building across the Voral, sometimes in one tower or another, sometimes in one of the doubtful new places springing up. All she could think of at this hour was to run to Shay Tal’s tower to see if he was with Vry. Fortunately, he was. He and Vry were in the middle of a quarrel; her cheek burned and she cowered almost as if Dathka had struck her. Dathka looked pale with fury, but Oyre broke in on them and poured out her tale, oblivious to their troubles. Dathka gave a choking noise.

“We can’t let him leave now, just when everything’s falling apart.”

With one deadly glance at Vry, he ran from the room.

He ran all the way to the stables, and was in time to catch Laintal Ay walking out, leading Gold. They confronted each other.

“You’re plain mad, friend—behave sensibly. No one wants you to go. Come to your senses and look after your own interests.”

“I am sick of doing what everyone wants me to do. You want me here because you need me to play a role in your schemes.”

“We need you to see that Tanth Ein and his mate, and that slimy toad Raynil Layan, don’t take control of everything we’ve got.” His expression was bitter.

“You don’t stand a chance. I’m going to find Aoz Roon.”

Dathka sneered. “You’re mad. Nobody knows where he is.”

“I believe he went with Shay Tal to Sibornal.”

“You fool! Forget Aoz Roon—his star’s set, he’s old. Now it’s us. You’re getting out of Oldorando because you’re afraid, aren’t you? It so happens I still have a few friends who haven’t betrayed me, including one at the hospice.”

“What does that mean?”

“I know as much as you know. You’re getting out because you’re afraid of the plague.”

Afterwards, Laintal Ay repeated obsessively the angry words they exchanged, realising that Dathka was not his ordinary rather emotionless self. At the time, he simply acted on reflex. He struck Dathka with all his might, bringing up his open right hand and dealing his friend an upward blow under the nose with the edge of his palm. He heard the bone go.

Dathka fell back immediately, clutching his face. Blood flowed, and dripped from his knuckles. Laintal Ay swung himself up into the saddle, spurred Gold, and edged through the gathering crowd. Chattering with excitement, the crowd swarmed round the injured man, who staggered about, cursing and bent double with pain.

His temper still raging within him, Laintal Ay rode out of town. He had brought few of the things he intended to bring. In his present mood, it felt good to be leaving with little but his sword and a blanket.

As he went, he felt in his pocket and brought out a small carved object. In the twilight, he could scarcely make out its shape—but it was familiar to him since boyhood. It was a dog which moved its jaw when its tail was worked up and down. He had had it since the day his grandfather died.

He pitched it into the nearest bush.