Nightside the Long Sun

SUMMONED

“What Orchid’s got used to be for the owner and his wife,” Chenille explained. “Then their sprats had rooms close to theirs, then upper servants, then maids, I guess. I’m about halfway on the inside. That’s not so bad.”

Turning left, Silk followed her down the musty hallway.

“Half look out on the court like mine does. That’s not as good as it sounds, because they have big parties in there sometimes and it gets pretty noisy unless you stay till the end, and usually I don’t. You take those drunks up to your room and they get sick—then you never get the smell out. Maybe you think it’s gone, but wait for a rainy night.”

They turned the corner.

“Sometimes they chase the girls along the gangways and make lots of noise. But the outside rooms on this side have windows on the alley. There’s not much light, and it smells bad.”

“I see,” Silk said.

“So that’s not so good either, and they have to have bars on their windows. I’d rather hang on to what I’ve got.” Chenille halted, pulled a key on a string from between ample breasts, and opened a door.

“Are the rooms beyond yours vacant?”

“Huh-uh. I don’t think there’s an empty room in the place. She’s been turning them away for the last month or so. I’ve got a girlfriend that would like to move in, and I’ve got to tell her as soon as somebody goes.”

“Perhaps she might occupy Orpine’s room.” Chenille’s was less than half the size of Orchid’s bedroom, with most of its floorspace taken up by an oversized bed. There were chests along the wall, and an old wardrobe to which a hasp and padlock had been added.

“Yeah. Maybe. I’ll tell her. You want me to leave the door open?”

“I doubt that it would be wise.”

“All right.” She closed it. “I won’t lock us in. I don’t lock when there’s a man in here, it’s not a good idea. You want to sit on the bed with me?”

Silk shook his head.

“Suit yourself.” She sat down, and he lowered himself gratefully onto one of the chests, the lioness-headed stick clamped between his knees.

“All right, what is it?”

Silk glanced toward the open window. “I should imagine it would be easy for someone to stand there on the gallery, just out of sight. It would be prudent for you to make sure no one is.”

“Look here.” She aimed a finger at him. “I don’t owe you one single thing, and you’re not paying me, not even a couple bits. Orpine was kind of a friend of mine, we didn’t fight much, anyhow, and I thought it was nice, what you did for her, so when you said you wanted to talk to me, I said fine. But I’ve got things to do, and I’ll have to come back here tonight and sweat it like a sow. So talk, and I better like what you’re going to say.”

“What would you do if you didn’t, Chenille?” Silk asked mildly. “Stab me? I don’t think so; you’ve no dagger now.”

Her brightly painted mouth fell open then clamped shut again.

Silk leaned back against the wall. “It wasn’t terribly obscure. If the Civil Guard had been notified, as I suppose it should have been, I’m certain they would have understood what happened at once. It took me a minute or two, but then I know very little about such things.”

Her eyes blazed. “She did it herself! You saw it. She stabbed herself.” Chenille gestured toward her own waist.

“I saw her hand on the hilt of your dagger, certainly. Did you put it there? Or was it only that she was trying to pull it out when she died?”

“You can’t prove anything!”

Silk sighed. “Please don’t be foolish. How old are you? Honestly now.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing, I suppose. It’s only that you make me feel very old and wise, just as the children at our palaestra do. You’re not much older than some of them, I believe.”

For several seconds Chenille gnawed her lip. At last she said, “Nineteen. That’s the lily word, too, or anyhow I think it is. As well as I can figure, I’m about nineteen. I’m older than a lot of the girls here.”

“I’m twenty-three,” Silk told her. “By the way, may I ask you to call me Patera? It will help me to remember who I am. What I am, if you prefer.”

Chenille shook her head. “You think I’m some cank chit you can get to suck any pap you want to, don’t you? Well, listen, I know a lot you never even dream about. I didn’t stick Orpine. By Sphigx, I didn’t! And you can’t prove I did, either. What’re you after, anyhow?”

“Fundamentally I’m after you. I want to help you, if I can. All the gods—the Outsider knows that someone should have, long ago.”

“Some help!”

Silk raised his shoulders and let them drop. “Little help so far, indeed; but we’ve hardly begun. You say that you know much more than I. Can you read?”

Chenille shook her head, her lips tight.

“You see, although you know a great deal that I do not—I’m not denying that at all—what it comes down to is that we know different things. You are wise enough to swear falsely by Sphigx, for example; you know that nothing will happen to you if you do that, and I’m beginning to feel it’s something I should learn, too. Yesterday morning I wouldn’t have dared to do it. Indeed, I would hardly dare now.”

“I wasn’t lying!”

“Of course you were.” Silk laid Blood’s stick across his knees and studied the lioness’s head for a moment. “You said that I couldn’t prove what I say. In one sense, you’re quite correct. I couldn’t prove my accusation in a court of law, assuming that you were a woman of wealth and position. You’re not, but then I have no intention of making my case in any such court. I could convict you to Orchid or Blood easily, however. I’d add that you’ve admitted your guilt to me, as in fact you have now. Orchid would have the bald man who seems to live here beat you, I suppose, and force you to leave. I won’t try to guess what Blood might do. Nothing, perhaps.”

The raspberry-haired girl, still seated on the bed, would not meet his eyes.

“I could convince the Civil Guard, also, if I had to. It would be easy, Chenille, because no one cares about you. Very likely no one ever has, and that’s why you’re here now, living as you do in this house.”

“I’m here because the money’s good,” she said.

“It wouldn’t be. Not any longer. The big, bald man—I never learned his name—would knock out a tooth or two, I imagine. What Musk might do if Blood allowed him a free hand I prefer not to speculate on. I don’t like him, and it may be that I’m prejudiced. You know him much better, I’m sure.”

The girl on the bed made a slight, almost inaudible sound.

“You don’t cry easily, do you?”

She shook her head.

“I do.” Silk smiled and shrugged again. “Another of my all too numerous faults. I’ve been close to tears since I first set foot in this place, and the pain in my ankle is no help, I’m afraid. Will you excuse me?”

He pushed down his black stocking and took off Crane’s wrapping. It was warm still to his touch, but he lashed the floor with it and replaced it. “Shall I explain to you what happened, or would you prefer to tell me?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything.”

“I hope to change your mind about that. It’s necessary that you tell me a great deal, eventually.” Silk paused to collect his thoughts. “Very well, then. This unhappy house has been plagued by a certain devil. We’ll call her that for the present at least, though I believe that I could name her. As I understand it, several people have been possessed at one time or another. Did they all live here, by the way? Or were patrons involved as well? Nobody’s talked about that, if some were.”

“Only girls.”

“I see. What about Orchid? Has she been possessed? She didn’t mention it.”

Chenille shook her head again.

“Orpine? Was she one of them?”

There was no reply. Silk asked again, with slightly more emphasis, “Orpine?”

The door opened, and Crane looked in. “There you are! They said you were still around somewhere. How’s your ankle?”

“Quite painful,” Silk told him. “The wrapping you lent me helped a great deal at first, but—”

Crane had crouched to touch it. “Good and hot. You’re walking too much. Didn’t I tell you to stay off your feet?”

“I have,” Silk said stiffly, “insofar as possible.”

“Well, try harder. As the pain gets worse you will anyhow. How’s the exorcism coming?”

“I haven’t begun. I’m going to shrive Chenille, and that’s far more important.”

Looking at Crane, Chenille shook her head.

“She doesn’t know it yet, but I am,” Silk declared.

“I see. Well, I’d better leave you alone and let you do it.” The little physician left, closing the door behind him.

“You were asking about Orpine,” Chenille said. “No, she was never possessed that I know of.”

“Let’s not change the subject so quickly,” Silk said. “Will you tell me why that doctor takes such an interest in you?”

“He doesn’t.”

Silk made a derisive noise. “Come now. He obviously does. Do you think I believe he came here to inquire about my leg? He came here looking for you. No one but Orchid could have told him I was here, and I left her only a few moments ago; almost the last thing she said to me was that she wanted to be alone. I just hope that Crane’s interest is a friendly one. You need friends.”

“He’s my doctor, that’s all.”

“No,” Silk said. “He is indeed your doctor, but that’s not all. When Orchid and I heard someone scream and went out into the courtyard, you were fully dressed. It was very noticeable, because you were the only woman present who was.”

“I was going out!”

“Yes, precisely. You were going out, and thus dressed, which I found a great relief—sneer if you like. I didn’t begin, of course, by asking myself why you were dressed, but why the others weren’t; and the answers were harmless and straightforward enough. They’d been up late the previous night. Furthermore, they expected to be examined by Crane, who would make them disrobe in any event, so there was no reason for them to dress until he’d left.

“Crane and I had arrived together just a few minutes earlier, yet you were fully dressed, which was why I noticed you and asked you to bring something to cover poor Orpine’s body. The obvious inference is that you had been examined already; and if so, you must certainly have been first. It seemed possible that Crane had begun at the far end of the corridor, but he didn’t—this room is only halfway to the old manteion at the back of the house. Why did he take you first?”

“I don’t know,” Chenille said. “I didn’t even know I was. I was waiting for him, and he came in. If nothing’s wrong, it only takes a second or two.”

“He sells you rust, doesn’t he?”

Surprised, Chenille laughed.

“I see I’m wrong—so much for logic. But Crane has rust; he mentioned it to me this morning as something that he could have given me to make me feel better. Orchid and a friend who knows you have both told me you use it, and neither has reason to lie. Furthermore, your behavior when you encountered Orpine confirms it.”

Chenille appeared about to speak, and Silk waited for her to do so while silence collected in the stuffy room. At last she said, “I’ll level with you, Patera. If I give you the lily word, will you believe me?”

“If you tell me the truth? Yes, certainly.”

“All right. Crane doesn’t sell me, or anybody, rust. Blood would have his tripes if he did. If you want it, you’re supposed to buy it from Orchid. But some girls buy it outside sometimes. I do myself, once in a while. Don’t tell them.”

“I won’t,” Silk assured her.

“Only you’re dead right, Crane’s got it, and sometimes he gives me some, like today. We’re friends, you know what I mean? I’ve done him a few favors and I don’t charge him. So he looks at me first, and sometimes he gives me a little present.”

“Thank you,” Silk said. “And thank you for calling me Patera. I noticed and appreciated that, believe me. Do you want to tell me about Orpine now?”

Chenille shook her head stubbornly.

“Very well, then. You said that Orpine had never been possessed, but that was mendacious—she was possessed at the time of her death, in fact.” The moment had come, Silk felt, to stretch the truth in a good cause. “Did you really think that I, an anointed augur, could view her body and not realize that? When Crane had gone you took some of the rust he’d given you, dressed, and left your room by that other door, stepping out onto the gallery, which you call the gangway.” Silk paused, inviting contradiction.

“I don’t know where you had your dagger, but last year we found that one of the girls at our school had a dagger strapped to her thigh. At any rate, while you were coming down those wooden steps, you came face-to-face with Orpine, possessed. If you hadn’t taken the rust Crane gave you, you would probably have screamed and fled; but rust makes people bold and violent. That was how I hurt my ankle last night, as it happens; I encountered a woman who used rust.

“In spite of the rust, Orpine’s appearance must have horrified you; you realized you were confronting the devil all of you have come to fear, and your only thought was to kill her. You drew your dagger and stabbed her once, just below the ribs with the blade angled up.”

“She said I was beautiful,” Chenille whispered. “She tried to touch me, to stroke my face. It wasn’t Orpine—I might have knifed Orpine, but not for that. I backed away. She kept coming, and I knifed her. I knifed the devil, and then it was Orpine lying there dead.”

Silk nodded. “I understand.”

“You figured out my dagger, didn’t you? I didn’t think of it until it was too late.”

“The picture representing your name, you mean. Yes, I did. I had been thinking about Orpine’s name ever since I’d heard it. There’s no point in going into that here, but I had. Crane gave you the dagger, isn’t that right? You said a moment ago that he occasionally makes you a present. Your dagger must have been one of them.”

“You think he gave it to me to get me into trouble,” Chenille said. “It wasn’t like that at all.”

“What was it like?”

“One of the other girls had one. She has, most of us have—do you really care about all this?”

“Yes,” Silk told her. “I do.”

“So she went out that night. She was going to meet him someplace to eat, I guess, only a couple of culls jumped her and tried to pull her down. She plucked, and cut them both. That’s what she says. Then she beat the hoof, only she’d got blood on her.

“So I wanted to get one for when I go out, but I don’t know much about them, so I asked Crane where I could get a good one, where they wouldn’t cheat me. He said he didn’t know either, but he’d find out from Musk, because Musk knows all about knives and the rest of it, so next time he brought me that one. He’d got it specially made for me, or anyhow the picture put on.”

“I see.”

“Do you know, Patera, I’d never even seen chenille, not to know it was my flower anyway, till he brought me a bouquet for my room last spring? And I love it—that’s when I did my hair this color. He said sometimes they call it burning cattail. We laugh about it, so when I asked he gave me the dagger. Bucks buy dells things like that pretty often, to show they trust her not to do anything.”

“Is Doctor Crane the friend you mentioned?”

“No. That’s somebody younger. Don’t make me tell you who, unless you want to get me hurt.” Chenille fell silent, tight-lipped. “That’s abram. This’s going to hurt me a lot more, isn’t it? But if I don’t tell, he might help me if he can.”

“Then I won’t ask you again,” Silk said. “And I’m not going to tell Orchid or Blood, unless I must to save someone else. If the Guard were investigating, I suppose I’d have to tell the officer in charge, but I believe it might be a far worse injustice to turn you over to Blood than to permit you to go unpunished. Since that’s the case, I’ll let you go unpunished, or almost unpunished, if you’ll do as I ask. Orpine’s service will take place at eleven tomorrow, at my manteion on Sun Street. Orchid’s going to demand that all of you to attend it, and doubtless many of you will. I want you to be among those who do.”

Chenille nodded. “Yeah. Sure, Patera.”

“And while the service is in progress, I want you to pray for Orpine and Orchid, as well as for yourself. Will you do that as well?”

“To Hierax? All right, Patera, if you’ll tell me what to say.”

Silk gripped Blood’s walking stick, flexing it absently between his hands. “Hierax is indeed the god of death and the caldé of the dead, and as such is the most appropriate object of worship at any such service. It will be Scylsday, however, and thus our sacrifice cannot be his alone.”

“Uh-huh. That’s about the only prayer I know—what they call her short litany. Will that be all right?”

Silk laid aside the stick and leaned toward Chenille, his decision made. “There is one more god to whom I wish you to pray—a very powerful one who may be able to help you, as well as Orchid and poor Orpine. He is called the Outsider. Do you know anything about him?”

She shook her head. “Except for Pas and Echidna, and the days and months, I don’t even know their names.”

“Then you must open your heart to him tomorrow,” Silk told her, “praying as you’ve never prayed before. Praise him for his kindness toward me, and tell him how badly you—how badly all of us in this quarter need his help. If you do that, and your prayers are heartfelt and truthful, it won’t matter what you say.”

“The Outsider. All right.”

“Now I’m going to shrive you, removing your guilt in the matter of Orpine’s death and any other wrongs that you have done. Kneel here. You don’t have to look at me.”

Half the abandoned manteion had been converted into a small theater. “The old Window’s still back there,” Chenille explained, pointing. “It’s the back of the stage, sort of, only we always keep a drop in front of it. There’s four or five drops, I think. Anyhow, we go in back of the Window to towel off and powder, and there’s a lot of hoses on the floor and hanging down back there.”

Silk was momentarily puzzled until he realized that the “hoses” were in actuality sacred cables. “I understand,” he said, “but what you describe could be dangerous. Has anyone been hurt?”

“A dell fell off the stage and broke her arm once, but she was pretty full.”

“The powers of Pas must indeed have departed from this place. And no wonder. Very well.” He put his bag and the triptych on seats. “Thank you, Chenille. You may go out now if you wish, although I would prefer that you remain to take part in the exorcism.”

“If you want me I’ll stay, Patera. All right if I grab something to eat?”

“Certainly.”

He watched her go, then shut the door to the courtyard behind her. Her mention of food had reminded him not only that he had given the cheese he had intended for his lunch to the bird, but of his fried tomatoes. No doubt Chenille would go to the pastry shop across the street. He shrugged and opened his bag, resolved to divert his mind from food.

There seemed to be a kitchen in the house, however; if Blood had not yet eaten, it was quite possible that he would invite him to lunch when the exorcism had been concluded. How long had it been since he had sat beneath the fig tree, watching Maytera Rose consume fresh rolls? Several hours, surely, but he had failed to share his breakfast with her; he was justly punished.

“I will not eat,” he muttered to himself as he unpacked the glass lamps and the little flask of oil, “until someone invites me to a meal; then and only then shall I be free of this vow. Strong Sphigx, hardship is yours! Hear me now.”

Perhaps Orchid would wish to speak to him again about the arrangements for tomorrow; judging from her appearance (and thus, as he reminded himself, very possibly unfairly) Orchid ate often and well. She might easily fancy a bowl of grapes or a platter of peach fritters …

Largely to take his mind off food, he called, “Are you here, Mucor? Can you hear me?”

There was no reply.

“I know it was you, you see. You’ve been following me, as you said you would last night. I recognized your face in Teasel’s father’s face this morning. Was it you that drank her blood? This afternoon I saw your face again, in poor Orpine’s.”

He waited but there was no whisper at his ear, no voice except his own echoing from the bare shiprock walls.

“Say something!”

A gravid silence filled the deserted manteion.

“That woman screaming in this house last night while I was outside in the floater—it was too apposite for mere chance. The devil was there because I was, and you’re that devil, Mucor. I don’t understand how you do the things you do, but I know it’s you that do them.”

He had packed the glass lamps in rags. As he unwrapped one, he caught sight of what might almost have been Mucor’s death’s-head grin. Carrying a lamp in each hand, he limped to the stage to look more closely at the painted canvas—it was presumably what Chenille had called a drop—behind it.

The scene was a crude mockery of Campion’s celebrated painting of Pas enthroned. As depicted here, Pas had two erections as well as two heads; he nursed one in each hand. Before him, worshipful humanity engaged in every perversion that Silk had ever heard of, and several that were entirely new to him. In the original painting, two of Pas’s taluses, mighty machines of a peculiarly lovely butter yellow, were still at work upon the whorl, planting a sacred goldenshower in back of Pas’s throne. Here the taluses were furnished with obscene war rams, while Pas’s blossom-freighted holy tree had been replaced by a gigantic phallus. Overhead the vast, dim faces of the spiritual Pas leered and slavered.

After carefully setting the blue lamps on the edge of the stage, Silk extracted Hyacinth’s azoth from beneath his tunic. He wanted to slash the hateful thing before him to ribbons, but to do so would certainly destroy whatever might remain of the Window behind it. He pressed the demon, and with one surgical stroke slit the top of the painted canvas from side to side. The detestable painting vanished with a thump, in a cloud of dust.

Blood came in while he was setting up his triptych in front of the blank, dark face of the Window. Votive lamps burned again before that abandoned Window now, their bright flames stabbing upward from the blue glass as straight as swords; thuribles lifted slender pale columns of sweet smoke from the four corners of the stage.

“What did you do that for?” Blood demanded.

Silk glanced up. “Do what?”

“Destroy the scenery.” Blood mounted the three steps at one side of the stage. “Don’t you know what that stuff costs?”

“No,” Silk told him. “And I don’t care. You’re going to make a profit of thirteen thousand cards on my manteion. You can use a fraction of it to replace what I’ve destroyed, if you choose. I don’t advise it.”

Blood kicked the pile of canvas. “None of the others did anything like this.”

“Nor were their exorcisms effective. Mine will be—or so I have reason to believe.” With the triptych centered between the lamps to his satisfaction, Silk turned to face Blood. “You are afflicted by devils, or one devil at least. I won’t bother to explain just who that devil is now, but do you know how a place or a person—any person—falls into the power of devils?”

“Pah! I don’t believe in them, Patera. No more than I do in your gods.”

“Are you serious?” Silk bent to retrieve the walking stick Blood had given him. “You said something of the sort yesterday morning, but you have a fine effigy of Scylla in front of your villa. I saw it.”

“It was there when I acquired the property. But if it hadn’t been, I might have put up something like that anyway, I admit. I’m a loyal son of Viron, Patera, and I like to show it.” Blood stooped to examine the triptych. “Where’s Pas?”

Silk pointed.

“That whirlwind? I thought he was an old man with two heads.”

“Any representation of a god is ultimately a lie,” Silk explained. “It may be a convenient lie, and it may even be a reverent one; but it’s ultimately false. Great Pas might choose to appear as your old man, or as the spiraling storm which is his eldest representation. Neither image would be more nearly true than the other, or more true than any other—merely more appropriate.”

Blood straightened up. “You were going to tell me about devils.”

“But I won’t, not at present at least. It would take some time, and you wouldn’t believe me in any case. You’ve saved me a decidedly unwelcome walk, however. I want you to assemble every living person in this house in this theater. Yourself, Musk if he’s come back, Crane, Orchid, Chenille, the bald man, all the young women, and anyone else who may be present. By the time you get them in here, I will have completed my preparations.”

Blood mopped his sweating face with a handkerchief. “I don’t take orders from you, Patera.”

“Then I will tell you this much about devils.” Silk freed his imagination and felt it soar. “They are here, and one person has died already. Once they have tasted blood, they grow fond of it. I might add that it is by no means unusual to find them acting upon merely verbal resemblances, notions that you or I might consider only puns. It’s apt to occur to them that if ordinary blood is good, the blood of Blood should be much better. You’d be wise to keep that in mind.”

The women arrived by twos and threes, curious and more or less willingly driven by Musk and the muscular bald man, whose name seemed to be Bass; soon they were joined by Loach and Moorgrass from Silk’s own manteion, both frightened and very glad to see him. Eventually Crane and a dry-eyed, grim Orchid took seats in the last row. Silk waited for Blood, Bass, and Musk to join them before he began.

“Let me describe—”

His words were drowned by the chattering of the women.

“Quiet!” Orchid had risen. “Shut up, you sluts!”

“Let me describe,” Silk began again, “what has happened here and what we will be trying to accomplish. The entire whorl was originally under the protection of Great Pas, the Father of the Gods. Otherwise it could never have existed.”

He paused, studying the faces of the twenty-odd young women before him intently, and feeling rather as if he were addressing Maytera Mint’s class in the palaestra. “Great Pas planned every part of it, and it was constructed by his slaves under his direction. In that way were the courses of all our rivers charted, and Lake Limna itself dug deep. In that way were the oldest trees planted, and the manteions through which we are to know him built. You are sitting, of course, in one such manteion. When the whorl was complete, Pas blessed it.”

Silk paused again, counting silently to three, as he so often had at the ambion, while he searched the faces of his audience for one that had come to resemble the mad girl’s, however subtly. “Even if you’re inclined to dispute what I’ve said, I require that you accept it for the present, for the sake of this exorcism. Is there anyone here who cannot accept it? If so, please stand.” He stared hard at Blood, but Blood did not rise.

“Very well,” Silk continued. “Please understand that it was not merely the whorl as a whole that received Pas’s blessing and with it his protection. Each individual part received it as well, and most have it still.

“At times, however, and for good reasons, Pas withdraws his protection from certain parts of this whorl he created. It may be a tree, a field, an animal, a person, or even an entire city. In this instance, it is surely a building—the one we are in now, the one that has since become a part of this house, so that Pas’s protection has departed from the entire house.”

He let that sink in while his eyes roved from face to face. All of Orchid’s women were relatively young, and one or two were strikingly beautiful; many if not most were more than ordinarily good-looking. None resembled Mucor in the least.

“What, you may ask, does that mean? Does it mean that the tree dies or the city burns? No, it does not. Suppose that one of you owned a cat, one that bit and scratched you until at last, in disgust, you thrust your cat out into the street and shut your door. That cat, which once was yours, would not die—or at least, it would not die immediately. But when dogs attacked it, there would be no one to defend it, and any passerby who wished to stone it or lay claim to it could do so with impunity.

“So it is with those of us from whom Pas’s blessing has been taken. Some of you, I know, have suffered possession here, and in a few moments I am going to ask one of you who has been possessed to describe it.”

A small dark woman at one end of the first row grinned, and though little in her face had changed, it seemed to Silk that he could see the skull that underlay it. He relaxed, and realized that his palms were running with sweat, that the carved handle of Blood’s walking stick was slippery with it, his forehead beaded with perspiration that threatened to run into his eyes. He wiped it away with the sleeve of his robe.

“This object behind me was once a Sacred Window—I doubt that there is anyone present who is so ignorant that she does not know that. Through the Window that this once was, Lord Pas spoke to mankind. So it is with the gods, as every one of you must know—they speak to us by means of the Windows that Great Pas built for them and us. They have other ways as well, of course, of which augury is but one. That doesn’t alter the fact that the Windows are the primary means. Is it any wonder, then, that when we permitted this one to fall into disrepair, Pas withdrew his blessing? I say we, because I include myself; we, every man and every woman in Viron, let this devilish thing happen.

“In preparation for this exorcism, I did everything that I could to repair your Window. I cleaned and tightened its connections, spliced and reconnected its broken cables, and attempted certain other more difficult repairs. As you see, I failed. Your Window remains lightless and lifeless. It remains closed to Pas, and we can only hope that he will take the will for the deed and restore his blessing to this house, as we pray.”

Several of the young women traced the sign of addition in the air.

Silk nodded approvingly, then looked straight at the dark woman. “Now I am going to speak directly to the devil who has come among us, for I know that it is here, and that it hears me.

“That very great god the Outsider has placed you in my power. You, also, have a window, as we both know. I can close it, and lock it against you, if I choose. Depart from this house forever, or I will so choose.” Silk struck the stage with Blood’s stick. “Be gone!”

The young women started and gasped, and the dark one’s grin faded. It was (Silk told himself) as though she’d had a fever; the fever was draining away as he watched, and her delirium with it.

“Now I have spoken enough for the present. Orchid, I asked Chenille a while ago whether you’d been possessed, and she said you hadn’t. Is that correct?”

Orchid nodded.

“Stand up, please, and speak loudly enough for all of us to hear you.”

Orchid rose and cleared her throat. “No, Patera. It’s never happened to me. And I don’t want it to.”

Several of the young women tittered.

“It will never happen to any of you again. I believe that I can promise you that, and I do. Orchid, you know to whom it has already happened. Who are they?”

“Violet and Crassula.”

Silk gestured with the walking stick. “Will they stand up, please?”

Reluctantly, they did so, Violet taller than most, with sleek black hair and flashing eyes; Crassula thin and almost plain.

Silk said, “This isn’t all. I know that there’s one more at least. If you’ve been possessed, please stand up, even if Orchid did not name you.”

Blood was smiling in the back row; he nudged Musk, who smiled in return as he cleaned his nails with a long-bladed knife. The women stared at one another; a few whispered. Slowly, the small, dark woman rose.

“Thank you, my daughter,” Silk said. “Yes, you’re the one. Has the devil gone now?”

“I think so.”

“So do I. What’s your name, my daughter?”

“Poppy, Patera. Only I still don’t feel quite like I did before.”

“I see. You know, Poppy, Orchid mentioned you to me when we were talking earlier, I suppose—” He was on the point of saying that it had probably been because she was Chenille’s opposite physically; at the last possible moment he substituted, “because you’re very attractive. That may have had something to do with your possession, although I can’t be certain. When were you possessed, Poppy?”

“Just now.”

“Speak louder, please. I don’t believe everyone can hear you.”

Poppy raised her voice. “Just now, until you said be gone, Patera.”

“And how did it feel, Poppy?”

The small, dark girl began to tremble.

“If it frightens you too much, you don’t have to tell us. Would you rather sit back down?”

“I felt like I was dead. I didn’t care any more about anything, and I was right here but far away. I was seeing all the same things, but they meant different things, and I can’t explain. People were hollow, like clothes nobody was wearing, all of them except you.”

Violet said, “I had my best pins in my hair, and I laid one on the washstand. I didn’t want to, but I did, and the drain sort of reached up and ate it, a real good pin with a turquoise head, and I thought it was funny.”

Silk nodded. “And for you, Crassula?”

“I wanted to fly, and I did. I stood up in the bed and jumped off and sort of flew around the room. He hit me, but I didn’t care.”

“Was this last night? One of you was possessed last night. Was it you, Crassula?”

The thin woman nodded wordlessly.

“Was it you who screamed last night? I was here then—outside the house, on Lamp Street, and I heard someone scream.”

“That was Orpine. It had come back and I was throwing things. The flying was the first time, last month.”

Silk nodded, looking thoughtful. “Thank you, Crassula. I should also thank Poppy and Violet, and I do. I’ve never had the opportunity to speak with anyone who’s been possessed before now, and what you’ve told me may be helpful to me.”

Mucor was gone, or at least he could no longer see her in any of the faces before him. When they had met in Sun Street, Blood had told him that there were human beings who could possess others; he wondered whether Blood did not at least suspect that the devil who had troubled this house was his daughter. Silk decided that it might be best not to give him more time in which to think of it.

“Now we’re going to sing the song that we will sing in the course of the ceremony. Stand up, all of you, and join hands. Blood, you and Musk and the rest must sing with us. Come to the front and join hands.”

Most of them did not know the Hymn to Every God, but Silk taught them the chorus and the first three verses, and eventually achieved a creditable performance, to which Musk, who so seldom spoke, supplied a more than adequate tenor.

“Good! That was our rehearsal, and in a moment we’ll begin the ceremony. We’ll start outside. This little jar of paint and this brush—” Silk displayed them, “have been blessed and consecrated already. Five of you, chosen from among those who live in this house, will participate in the restoration of the voided cross over the Music Street door, while the rest of us sing. It would be best if the three who have been possessed were among that five. After that, we’ll circle the house three times in procession, and then assemble in here once more for the final casting out.”

Outside, while surprised urchins stared and pointed at the women, many of whom were still only half dressed, Silk chose the additional representatives, selecting two who were slight of build from among those who seemed to be taking the proceedings most seriously. The Hymn to Every God sounded faint and thin in the open air of Music Street, but a score of watching loungers removed their hats as Blood and Bass gravely lifted each of the five in turn on their shoulders. Gammadion by gammadion the nearly effaced voided cross was restored to prominence. When the base line had been added beneath it, Silk burned the brush and the remainder of the paint in the largest thurible.

“Aren’t you going to sacrifice?” Orchid asked. “The others did.”

“I’ve just done so,” Silk told her. “A sacrifice need not be of a living beast, and you’ve just witnessed one that wasn’t. Should a second exorcism be required, we will offer a beast, and retrace the sacred design in its blood. Do you understand the sacrifice, and why we’re doing all this? I’m assuming that the evil being entered your house through this Music Street door, since it is the only outside entrance to the profaned manteion.”

Orchid nodded hesitantly.

“Good.” Silk smiled. “As the second part proper of this exorcism, we will march in solemn procession, making a threefold circuit of the entire structure, while I read from the Chrasmologic Writings. It might be best if you were to walk behind me, and for the four men to take positions from which they can maintain order.”

He raised his voice for the benefit of the listening women. “It will not be necessary for you to keep in step like troopers. It will be necessary that you remain in a single file and pay attention to what I read.”

He got out his glasses, wiped them on his sleeve, and put them on. One of the young women tittered nervously.

Would Hyacinth laugh so, if she were to see him with these small and always somewhat smeared lenses before his eyes? Surely she would—she had laughed at less ridiculous things when they had been together. For the first time it struck him that she might have laughed as she had because she had been happy. He himself had been happy then, though for no good reason.

As he cleared his throat, he sought to recollect those emotions. No, not happy—joyful.

Joyous. Silk endeavored to imagine his mother offering Hyacinth the pale, greenish limeade that they had drunk each year during the hottest weather, and failed utterly.

“‘A devil does violence to itself, first of all, when it becomes an abscess and, as it were, a cancer in the whorl, as far as it can; for to be enraged at anything in the whorl is to separate oneself from that whorl, and its ultimately semi-divine nature, in some part of which the various natures of all other things whatsoever are contained. Secondly, a devil does violence to itself when it turns away from any good man, and moves against him with the intention of doing harm.’”

Silk risked a glance behind him. Orchid’s hands were clasped in prayer, and the younger women were following in decent order, though a few seemed to be straining to hear. He elevated his voice.

“‘Thirdly, a devil does violence to itself whenever it succumbs to the pleasure of pain. Fourthly, when it plays a part, whether acting or speaking insincerely or untruthfully. Fifthly, when it acts or moves, always aimlessly…’”

They had completed half of the third and final circuit when a window shattered above their heads, subjecting Crane, near the end of their straggling line, to a shower of glass. “Just the devil departing,” he assured the women around him. “Don’t start yelling.”

Orchid had stopped to stare up at the broken window. “That’s one of my rooms!”

A feminine voice from the window, vibrant and firm, spoke like thunder. “Send up your augur to me!”