Nightside the Long Sun

TWILIGHT

“In here, Patera!”

Silk halted abruptly, nearly slipping as the wet gravel rolled beneath his shoes.

“In the arbor,” Maytera Marble added. She waved, her black-clad arm and gleaming hand just visible through the screening grape leaves.

The first fury of the storm had passed off quickly, but it was still raining, a gentle pattering that settled like a benediction upon her struggling beds of kitchen herbs.

We meet like lovers, Silk thought as he regained his balance and pushed aside the dripping foliage, and wondered for an instant whether she did not think the same.

No. As lovers, he admitted to himself. For he loved her as he had loved his mother, as he might have loved the older sister he had never had, striving to draw forth the shy smile she achieved by an inclination of her head—to win her approval, the approbation of an old sibyl, of a worn-out chem at whom nobody, when he had been small and there had been a lot more chems around, would ever have troubled to glance twice, whom no one but the youngest children ever thought interesting. How lonely he would have been in the midst of the brawling congestion of this quarter, if it had not been for her!

She rose as he entered the arbor and sat again as he sat. He said, “You really don’t have to do that when we’re alone, sib. I’ve told you.”

Maytera Marble tilted her head in such a way that her rigid, metal face appeared contrite. “Sometimes I forget. I apologize, Patera.”

“And I forget that I should never correct you, because I always find out, as soon as it’s too late, that you were right after all. What is it you want to talk to me about, Maytera?”

“You don’t mind the rain?” Maytera Marble looked up at the overarching thatch of vines.

“Of course not. But you must. If you don’t feel like walking all the way to the palaestra, we could go into the manteion. I want to see if the roof still leaks, anyway.”

She shook her head. “Maytera Rose would be upset. She knows that it’s perfectly innocent, but she doesn’t want us meeting in the palaestra, with no one else present. People might talk, you know—the kind of people who never attend sacrifices anyway, and are looking for an excuse. And she didn’t want to come herself, and Maytera Mint’s watching the fire. So I thought out here. It’s not quite so private—Maytera can see us through the windows of the cenoby—and we still have a bit of shelter from the rain.”

Silk nodded. “I understand.”

“You said the rain must make me uncomfortable. That was very kind of you, but I don’t feel it and my clothes will dry. I’ve had no trouble drying the wash lately, but it takes a great deal of pumping to get enough water to do it in. Is the manse’s well still good?”

“Yes, of course.” Seeing her expression, Silk shook his head. “No, not of course. It’s comforting to believe as children do that Pas won’t resist his daughter’s pleas in our behalf much longer, and that he’ll always provide for us. But one never knows, really; we can only hope. If we must have new wells dug, the Church will have to lend us the money, that’s all. If we can’t keep this manteion going without new wells, it will have to.”

Maytera Marble said nothing, but sat with head bowed as though unable to meet his eyes.

“Does it worry you so much, Maytera? Listen, and I’ll tell you a secret. The Outsider has enlightened me.”

Motionless, she might have been a time-smoothed statue, decked for some eccentric commemorative purpose in a sibyl’s black robe.

“It’s true, Maytera! Don’t you believe me?”

Looking up she said, “I believe that you believe you’ve been enlightened, Patera. I know you well, or at least I think I do, and you wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.”

“And he told me why—to save our manteion. That’s my task.” Silk stumbled after words. “You can’t imagine how good it feels to be given a task by a god, Maytera. It’s wonderful! You know it’s what you were made for, and your whole heart points toward that one thing.”

He rose, unable to sit still any longer. “If I’m to save our manteion, doesn’t that tell us something? I ask you.”

“I don’t know, Patera. Does it?”

“Yes! Yes, it does. We can apply logic even to the instructions of the gods, can’t we? To their acts and to their words, and we can certainly apply logic to this. It tells us two things, both of major importance. First, that the manteion’s in danger. He wouldn’t have ordered me to save it if it weren’t, would he? So there’s a threat of some sort, and that’s vital for us to know.” Silk strode out into the warm rain to stare east toward Mainframe, the home of the gods.

“The second is even more important, Maytera. It’s that our manteion can be saved. It’s endangered, not doomed, in other words. He wouldn’t have ordered me to save it if that couldn’t be done, would he?”

“Please come in and sit down, Patera,” Maytera Marble pleaded. “I don’t want you to catch cold.”

Silk re-entered the arbor, and she stood.

“You don’t have—” he began, then grinned sheepishly. “Forgive me, Maytera. Forgive me, please. I grow older, learning nothing at all.”

She swung her head from side to side, her silent laugh. “You’re not old, Patera. I watched you play a while today, and none of the boys are as quick as you are.”

“That’s only because I’ve been playing longer,” he said, and they sat down together.

Smiling she clasped his hand in hers, surprising him. The soft skin had worn from the tips of her fingers long ago, leaving bare steel darkened like her thoughts by time, and polished by unending toil. “You and the children are the only things at this manteion that aren’t old. You don’t belong here, neither of you.”

“Maytera Mint’s not old. Not really, Maytera, though I know she’s a good deal older than I am.”

Maytera Marble sighed, a soft hish like the weary sweep of a mop across a terrazzo floor. “Poor Maytera Mint was born old, I fear. Or taught to be old before she could talk, perhaps. However that may be, she has always belonged here. As you never have, Patera.”

“You believe it’s going to be torn down, too, don’t you? No matter what the Outsider may have told me.”

Reluctantly, Maytera Marble nodded. “Yes, I do. Or as I ought to say, the buildings themselves may remain, although even that appears to be in doubt. But your manteion will no longer bring the gods to the people of this quarter, and our palaestra will no longer teach their children.”

Silk snapped, “What chance would these sprats have—without your palaestra?”

“What chance do children of their class have now?”

He shook his head angrily, and would have liked to paw the ground.

“Such things have happened before, Patera. The Chapter will find new manteions for us. Better manteions, I think, because it would be difficult to find worse ones. I’ll go on teaching and assisting, and you’ll go on sacrificing and shriving. It will be all right.”

“I received enlightenment today,” Silk said. “I’ve told no one except a man I met in the street on my way to the market and you, and neither of you have believed me.”

“Patera—”

“So it’s clear that I’m not telling it very well, isn’t it? Let me see if I can’t do better.” He was silent for a moment, rubbing his cheek.

“I’d been praying and praying for help. Praying mostly to the Nine, of course, but praying to every god and goddess in the Writings at one time or another; and about noon today my prayers were answered by the Outsider, as I’ve told you. Maytera, do you…” His voice quavered, and he found that he could not control it. “Do you know what he said to me, Maytera? What he told me?”

Her hands closed upon his until their grip was actually painful. “Only that he has instructed you to preserve our manteion. Please tell me the rest, if you can.”

“You’re right, Maytera. It isn’t easy. I had always thought enlightenment would be a voice out of the sun, or in my own head, a voice that spoke in words. But it’s not like that at all. He whispers to you in so many voices, and the words are living things that show you. Not just seeing, the way you might see another person in a glass, but hearing and smelling—and touch and pain, too, but all of them wrapped together so they become the same, parts of that one thing.

“And you understand. When I say he showed me, or that he told me something, that’s what I mean.”

Maytera Marble nodded encouragingly.

“He showed me all the prayers that have ever been said to any god for this manteion. I saw all the children at prayer from the time it was first built, their mothers and fathers too, and people who just came in to pray, or came to one of our sacrifices because they hoped to get a piece of meat, and prayed while they were here.

“And I saw the prayers of all you sibyls, from the very beginning. I don’t ask you to believe this, Maytera, but I’ve seen every prayer you’ve ever said for our manteion, or for Maytera Rose and Maytera Mint, or for Patera Pike and me, and—well, for everyone in this whole quarter, thousands and thousands of prayers. Prayers on your knees and prayers standing up, and prayers you said while you were cooking and scrubbing floors. There used to be a Maytera Milkwort here, and I saw her praying, and a Maytera Betel, a big dark woman with sleepy eyes.” Silk paused for breath. “Most of all, I saw Patera Pike.”

“This is wonderful!” Maytera Marble exclaimed. “It must have been marvelous, Patera.” Silk knew it was impossible, that it was only their crystalline lenses catching the light, but it seemed to him that her eyes shone.

“And the Outsider decided to grant all those prayers. He told Patera Pike, and Patera Pike was so happy! Do you remember the day I came here from the schola, Maytera?”

Maytera Marble nodded again.

“That was the day. The Outsider granted Patera Pike enlightenment that day, and he said—he said, here’s the help that I’m—that I’m…”

Silk had begun to weep, and was suddenly ashamed. It was raining harder now, as if encouraged by the tears that streaked his cheeks and chin. Maytera Marble pulled a big, clean, white handkerchief out of her sleeve and gave it to him.

She’s always so practical, he thought, wiping his eyes and nose. A handkerchief for the little ones; she must have a child sobbing in her class every day. The record of her days is written in tears, and today I’m that sobbing child. He managed to say, “Your children can’t often be as old as I am, Maytera.”

“In class, you mean, Patera? They’re never as old. Oh, you must mean the grown men and women who were mine when they were boys and girls. Many of them are older than you are. The oldest must be sixty, or about that. I was—didn’t teach until then.” She called her memorandum file, chiding herself as she always did for not calling it more often. “Which reminds me. Do you know Auk, Patera?”

Silk shook his head. “Does he live in this quarter?”

“Yes, and comes on Scylsday, sometimes. You must have seen him. The large, rough-looking man who sits in back?”

“With the big jaw? His clothes are clean, but he looks as if he hasn’t shaved. He wears a hanger—or perhaps it’s a hunting sword—and he’s always alone. Was he one of your boys?”

Maytera Marble nodded sadly. “He’s a criminal now, Patera. He breaks into houses.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Silk said. For an instant he had a mental picture of the hulking man from the back of the manteion surprised by a householder and whirling clumsily but very quickly to confront him, like a baited bear.

“I’m sorry, too, Patera, and I’ve been wanting to talk to you about him. Patera Pike shrove him last year. You were here, but I don’t think you knew about it.”

“If I did, I’ve forgotten.” To quiet the hiss of the wide blade as it cleared the scabbard, Silk shook his head. “But you’re right, Maytera. I doubt that I knew.”

“I didn’t learn about it from Patera myself. Maytera Mint told me. Auk still likes her, and they have a little talk now and then.”

Blowing his nose in his own handkerchief, Silk relaxed a trifle. This, he felt certain, was what she had wanted to speak to him about.

“Patera was able to get Auk to promise not to rob poor people any more. He’d done that, he said. He’d done it quite often, but he wouldn’t any more. He promised Patera, Maytera says, and he promised her, too. You’re going to lecture me now, Patera, because the promise of a man like that—a criminal’s promise—can’t be trusted.”

“No man’s promise can be trusted absolutely,” Silk said slowly, “since no man is, or can ever be, entirely free from evil. I include myself in that, certainly.”

Maytera Marble pushed her handkerchief back into her sleeve. “I think Auk’s promise, freely given, can be relied on as much as anybody’s, Patera. As much as yours, and I don’t intend to be insulting. That was the way he was as a boy, and it’s the way he is as a man, too, as well as I can judge. He never had a mother or a father, not really. He—but I’d better not go on, or I’ll let slip things that Maytera’s made me promise not to repeat, and then I’ll feel terrible, and I’ll have to tell both of them that I broke my word.”

“Do you really believe that I may be able to help this man, Maytera? I’m surely no older than he is, and probably younger. He’s not going to respect me the way he respected Patera Pike, remember.”

Rain dripping from the sparkling leaves dotted Maytera Marble’s skirt; she brushed at the spots absently. “That may be true, Patera, but you’ll understand him better than Patera Pike could, I think. You’re young, and as strong as he is, or almost. And he’ll respect you as an augur. You needn’t be afraid of him. Have I ever asked a favor of you, Patera? A real favor?”

“You asked me to intercede with Maytera Rose once, and I tried. I think I probably did more harm than good, so we won’t count that. But you could ask a hundred favors if you wanted to, Maytera. You’ve earned that many and more.”

“Then talk with Auk, Patera, some Scylsday. Shrive him if he asks you to.”

“That isn’t a favor,” Silk said. “I’d do that much for anyone; but of course you want me to make a special effort for this Auk, to speak to him and take him aside, and so on; and I will.”

“Thank you, Patera. Patera, you’ve known me for over a year now. Am I lacking in faith?”

The question caught Silk by surprise. “You, Maytera? Why—why I’ve never thought so. You’ve always seemed, I mean to me at least—”

“Yet I haven’t had the faith in you, and the god who enlightened you, that I should’ve had. I just realized it. I’ve been trusting in merely human words and appearances, like any petty trader. You were saying that the god had promised Patera Pike help, I think. Could you tell me more about that? I was only listening with care before. This time I’ll listen with faith, or try to.”

“There’s more than I could ever tell.” Silk stroked his cheek. He had himself in check now. “Patera Pike was enlightened, as I said; and I was shown his enlightenment. He was told that all those prayers he had said over so many years were to be granted that day—that the help he had asked for, for himself and for this manteion and the whole quarter, would be sent to him at once.”

Silk discovered that his fists were clenched. He made himself relax. “I was shown all that; then I saw that help arrive, alight as if with Pas’s fire from the sun. And it was me. That was all it was, just me.”

“Then you cannot fail,” Maytera Marble told him softly.

Silk shook his head. “I wish it were that easy. I can fail, Maytera. I dare not.”

She looked grave, as she often did. “But you didn’t know this until today? At noon, in the ball court? That’s what you said.”

“No, I didn’t. He told me something else, you see—that the time has come to act.”

Maytera Marble sighed again. “I have some information for you, Patera. Discouraging information, I’m afraid. But first I want very much to ask you just one thing more, and tell you something, perhaps. It was the Outsider who spoke to you, you say?”

“Yes. I don’t know a great deal about him, however, even now. He’s one of the sixty-three gods mentioned in the Writings, but I haven’t had a chance to look him up since it happened, and as I remember there isn’t a great deal about him anyway. He told me about himself, things that aren’t in the Writings unless I’ve forgotten them; but I haven’t really had much time to think about them.”

“When we were outside like him, living in the Short Sun Whorl before this one was finished and peopled, we worshipped him. No doubt you knew that already, Patera.”

“I’d forgotten it,” Silk admitted, “but you’re right. It’s in the tenth book, or the twelfth.”

“We chems didn’t share in sacrifices in the Short Sun Whorl.” Maytera Marble fell silent for a moment, scanning old files. “It wasn’t called manteion, either. Something else. If only I could find that, I could remember more, I think.”

Without understanding what she meant, Silk nodded.

“There have been many changes since then, but it used to be taught that he was infinite. Not merely great, but truly without limit. There are expressions like that—I mean in arithmetic. Although we never get to them in my class.”

“He showed me.”

“They say that even the whorl ends someplace,” Maytera Marble continued, “immense though it is. He doesn’t. If you were to divide him among all the things in it, each part of him would still be limitless. Didn’t you feel awfully small, Patera, when he was showing you all these things?”

Silk considered his answer. “No, I don’t think I did. No, I didn’t. I felt—well, great. I felt that way even though he was immeasurably greater, as you say. Imagine, Maytera, that His Cognizance the Prolocutor were to speak to me in person, assigning me some special duty. I’d feel, of course, that he was a far greater man than I, and a far, far greater man than I could ever be; but I’d feel that I too had become a person of significance.” Silk paused, ruminating. “Now suppose a Prolocutor incalculably great.”

“I understand. That answers several questions that I’ve had for a long while. Thank you, Patera. My news—I want to tell you why I asked you to meet me.”

“It’s bad news, I assume.” Silk drew a deep breath. “Knowing that the manteion’s at risk, I’ve been expecting some.”

“It would appear to indicate—mistakenly, I feel sure, Patera—that you’ve failed already. You see, a big, red-faced man came to the palaestra while you were away. He said that he’d just bought it, bought the entire property from the city.” Maytera Marble’s voice fell. “From the Ayuntamiento, Patera. That’s what he told me. He was here to look at our buildings. I showed him the palaestra and the manteion. I’m quite sure he didn’t get into the cenoby or the manse, but he looked at everything from the outside.”

“He said the sale was complete?”

She nodded.

“You’re right, Maytera. This sounds very bad.”

“He’d come in a floater, with a man to operate it for him. I saw it when we were going from the palaestra to the manteion. We went out the front, and along Sun Street past the ball court. He said he’d talked to you before he came here, but he hadn’t told you he’d bought it. He said he’d thought you’d make trouble.”

Silk nodded slowly. “I’d have hauled him out of his floater and broken his neck, I think, Maytera. Or at least I would have tried to.”

She touched his knee. “That would have been wrong, Patera. You’d go to the Alambrera, and into the pits.”

“Which wouldn’t matter,” Silk said. “His name’s Blood, perhaps he told you.”

“Possibly he did.” Maytera Marble’s rapid scan seldom functioned now; she fell silent as she searched past files, then said, “It’s not a common name at all, you know. People think it’s unlucky. I don’t believe I’ve ever had a single boy called Blood.”

Silk stroked his cheek, his eyes thoughtful. “Have you heard of him, Maytera? I haven’t, but he must be a wealthy man to have a private floater.”

“I don’t think so. If the sale is complete, Patera, what can you do?”

“I don’t know.” Silk rose as he had before. A step carried him out of the arbor. A few drops of rain still fell through sunshine that seemed bright, though the shade had more than half covered the sun. “The market will be closing soon,” he said.

“Yes.” Maytera Marble joined him.

The skylands, which had been nearly invisible earlier, could be seen distinctly as dawn spread across them: distant forests, said to be enchanted, and distant cities, said to be haunted—subtle influences for good or ill, governing the lives of those below. “He’s not a foreigner,” Silk said, “or at least he doesn’t talk like any foreigner I’ve ever met. He sounded as though he might have come from this quarter, actually.”

Maytera Marble nodded. “I noticed that myself.”

“There aren’t many ways for our people here to become rich, are there, Maytera? I wouldn’t think so, at least.”

“I’m not sure I follow you.”

“It doesn’t matter. You wanted me to speak with this man Auk. On a Scylsday, you said; but there are always a dozen people waiting to talk to me then. Where do you think I might find Auk today?”

“Why, I have no idea. Could you go and see him this evening, Patera? That would be wonderful! Maytera Mint might know.”

Silk nodded. “You said that she was in the manteion, waiting for the fire to die. Go in and ask her, please, while you’re helping her purify the altar. I’ll speak with you again in a few minutes.”

Watching them from a window of the cenoby, Maytera Rose grunted with satisfaction when they separated. There was danger there, no matter how Maytera and Patera might deceive themselves—filthy things she could do for him, and worse that he might do to her. Undefiled Echidna hated everything of that kind, blinding those who fell as she had blinded her. At times Maytera Rose, kneeling before her daughter’s image, felt that she herself was Echidna, Mother of Gods and Empress of the Whorl.

Strike, Echidna. Oh, strike!

It was dark enough already for the bang of the door to kindle the bleared light in one corner of Silk’s bedroom, the room over the kitchen, the old storeroom that old Patera Pike had helped clean out when he arrived. (For Silk had never been able to make himself move his possessions into Pike’s larger room, to throw out or burn the faded portraits of the old man’s parents or his threadbare, too-small clothing.) By that uncertain glow, Silk changed into his second-best robe. Collar and cuffs were detachable in order that they might be more easily, and thus more frequently, laundered. He removed them and laid them in the drawer beside his only spare set.

What else? He glanced in the mirror; some covering for his untidy yellow hair, certainly. There was the wide straw hat he had worn that morning while laying new shingles on the roof, and the blue-trimmed black calotte that Patera Pike had worn on the coldest days. Silk decided upon both; the wide straw would cast a strong shadow on his face, but might blow off. The calotte fit nicely beneath it, and would supply a certain concealment still. Was this how men like this man Auk felt? Was it how they planned?

As reported by Maytera Marble, Maytera Mint had named half a dozen places in which he might come across Auk; all were in the Orilla, the worst section of the quarter. He might be robbed, might be murdered even though he offered no resistance. If Blood would not see him …

Silk shrugged. Blood’s house would be somewhere on the Palatine; Silk could scarcely conceive of anyone who rode in a privately owned floater living anywhere else. There would be Civil Guardsmen everywhere on the Palatine after dark, Guardsmen on foot, on horseback, and in armed floaters. One could not just kick down a door, as scores of housebreakers did in this quarter every night. The thing was impossible.

Yet something must be done, and done tonight; and he could not think of anything else to do.

He fingered his beads, then dropped them back into his pocket, removed the silver chain and voided cross of Pas and laid them reverently before the triptych, folded two fresh sheets of paper, put them into the battered little pen case he had used at the schola, and slipped it into the big inner pocket of his robe. He might need a weapon; he would almost certainly need some sort of tool.

He went downstairs to the kitchen. There was a faint stirring from the smelly waste bin in the corner: a rat, no doubt. As he had often before, Silk reminded himself to have Horn catch him a snake that might be tamed.

Through the creaking kitchen door, he stepped out into the garden again. It was almost dark, and would be fully dark by the time he reached the Orilla, eight streets away. The afternoon’s rain had laid the dust, and the air, cooler than it had been in months, was fresh and clean; perhaps autumn was on the way at last. He should be tired, Silk told himself, yet he did not feel tired as he unlocked the side door of the manteion. Was this, in sober fact, what the Outsider wanted? This rush to battle? If so, his service was a joy indeed!

The altar fire was out, the interior of the manteion lit only by the silver sheen of the Sacred Window and the hidden flame of the fat, blue-glass lamp between Echidna’s feet—Maytera Rose’s lamp, burning some costly scented oil whose fragrance stirred his memory.

He clapped his hands to kindle the few lights still in working order, then fumbled among the shadows for the long-hafted, narrow-bladed hatchet with which he split shingles and drove roofing nails. Finding it, he tested its edge (so painstakingly sharpened that very morning) before slipping its handle into his waistband.

That, he decided after walking up and down and twice pretending to sit, would not do. There was a rusty saw in the palaestra’s supply closet; it would be simple to shorten the handle, but the hatchet would be a less useful tool, and a much less serviceable weapon, afterward.

Stooping again, he found the rope that had prevented his bundle of shingles from sliding off the roof, a thin braided cord of black horsehair, old and pliant but still strong. Laying aside robe and tunic, he wound it about his waist, tied the ends, and slid the handle of the hatchet through several of the coils.

Dressed again, he emerged once more into the garden, where a vagrant breeze sported with the delectable odor of cooking from the cenoby, reminding him that he ought to be preparing his own supper at this very moment. He shrugged, promising himself a celebratory one when he returned. The tomatoes that had dropped green from his vines were still not ripe, but he would slice them and fry them in a little oil. There was bread, too, he reminded himself, and the hot oil might be poured over it afterward to flavor and soften it. His mouth watered. He would scrape out the grounds he had reused so long, scrub the pot, and brew fresh coffee. Finish with an apple and the last of the cheese. A feast! He wiped his lips on his sleeve, ashamed of his greed.

After closing and carefully locking the side door of the manteion, he made a wary study of the cenoby windows. It would probably not matter if Maytera Marble or Maytera Mint saw him leave, but Maytera Rose would not hesitate to subject him to a searching cross-examination.

The rain had ended, there could be no doubt of that; there had been an hour of rain at most, when the farmers needed whole days of it. As he hurried along Sun Street once more, east this time and thus away from the market, Silk studied the sky.

The thinnest possible threads of gold still shone here and there among scudding clouds, threads snapped already by the rising margin of the ink-black shade. While he watched, the threads winked out; and the skylands, which had hovered behind the long sun like so many ghosts, shone forth in all their beauty and wonder: flashing pools and rolling forests, checkered fields and gleaming cities.

Lamp Street brought him to the Orilla, where the lake waters had begun when Viron was young. This crumbling wall half buried in hovels had been a busy quay, these dark and hulking old buildings, warehouses. No doubt there had been salting sheds, too, and rope walks, and many other things; but all such lightly built structures had disappeared before the last caldé, rotted, tumbled, and at last cannibalized for firewood. The very weeds that had sprouted from their sites had withered, and the cellar of every shiprock ruin left standing was occupied by a tavern.

Listening to the angry voices that issued from the one he approached, Silk wondered why anyone went there. What sorts of lives could they be to which fifty or a hundred men and women preferred this? It was a terrifying thought.

He paused at the head of the stair to puzzle out the drawing chalked on the grimy wall beside it, a fierce bird with outstretched wings. An eagle? Not with those spurs. A gamecock, surely; and the Cock had been one of the places suggested by Maytera Mint, a tavern (so Maytera Marble had said) she recalled Auk’s mentioning.

The steep and broken stairs stank of urine; Silk held his breath as he groped down them, not much helped by the faint yellow radiance from the open door. Stepping to one side just beyond the doorway, he stood with his back to the wall and surveyed the low room. No one appeared to pay the least attention to him.

It was larger than he had expected, and less furnished. Mismatched deal tables stood here and there, isolated, but surrounded by chairs, stools, and benches equally heterodox on which a few silent figures lounged. Odious candles fumed and dribbled a sooty wax upon some (though by no means all) of these tables, and a green and orange lampion with a torn shade swung in the center of the room, seeming to tremble at the high-pitched anger of the voices below it. The backs of jostling onlookers obscured what was taking place there.

“Hornbus, you whore!” a woman shrieked.

A man’s voice, slurred by beer yet hissing swift with the ocher powder called rust, suggested, “Stick it out your skirt, sweetheart, an’ maybe she will.” There was a roar of laughter. Someone kicked over a table, its thud accompanied by the crash of breaking glass.

“Here! Here now!” Quickly but without the appearance of haste, a big man with a hideously scarred face pushed through the crowd, an old skittlepin in one hand. “OUTside now! OUTside with this!” The onlookers parted to let two women with dirty gowns and disheveled hair through.

“Outside with her!” One woman pointed.

“OUTside with both.” The big man caught the speaker expertly by the collar, tapped her head almost gently with the skittlepin, and shoved her toward the door.

One of the watching men stepped forward, held up his hand, and gestured in the direction of the other woman, who seemed to Silk almost too drunk to stand.

“Her, too,” the big man with the skittlepin told her advocate firmly.

He shook his head.

“Her too! And you!” The big man loomed above him, a head the taller. “OUTside!”

Steel gleamed and the skittlepin flashed down. For the first time in his life, Silk heard the sickening crepitation of breaking bone; it was followed at once by the high, sharp report of a needier, a sound like the crack of a child’s toy whip. A needier (momentarily, Silk thought it the needier that had fired) flew into the air, and one of the onlookers pitched forward.

Silk was on his knees beside him before he himself knew what he had done, his beads swinging half their length in sign after sign of addition. “I convey to you, my son, the forgiveness of all the gods. Recall now the words of Pas—”

“He’s not dead, cully. You an augur?” It was the big man with the scarred face. His right arm was bleeding, dark blood oozing through a soiled rag he pressed tightly against the cut.

“In the name of all the gods you are forgiven forever, my son. I speak here for Great Pas, for Divine Echidna, for Scalding Scylla, for—”

“Get him out of here,” someone snapped; Silk could not tell whether he meant the dead man or himself. The dead man was bleeding less than the big man, a steady, unspectacular welling from his right temple. Yet he was surely dead; as Silk chanted the Final Formula and swung his beads, his left hand sought a pulse, finding none.

“His friends’ll take care of him, Patera. He’ll be all right.”

Two of the dead man’s friends had already picked up his feet.

“… and for Strong Sphigx. Also for all lesser gods.” Silk hesitated; it had no place in the Formula, but would these people know? Or care? Before rising, he finished in a whisper: “The Outsider likewise forgives you, my son, no matter what evil you did in life.”

The tavern was nearly empty. The man who had been hit with the skittlepin groaned and stirred. The drunken woman was kneeling beside him just as Silk had knelt beside the dead man, swaying even on her knees, one hand braced on the filthy floor. There was no sign of the needier that had flown into the air, nor of the knife that the injured man had drawn.

“You want a red ribbon, Patera?”

Silk shook his head.

“Sure you do. On me, for what you done.” The big man wound the rag about his arm, knotted it dexterously with his left hand, and pulled the knot tight with his left hand and his teeth.

“I need to know something,” Silk said, returning his beads to his pocket, “and I’d much rather learn it than get a free drink. I’m looking for a man called Auk. Was he in here? Can you tell me where I might find him?”

The big man grinned, the gap left by two missing teeth a little cavern in his mirth. “Auk, you say, Patera? Auk? There’s quite a few with that name. Owe him money? How’d you know I’m not Auk myself?”

“Because I know him, my son. Know him by sight, I should have said. He’s nearly as tall as you are, with small eyes, a heavy jaw, and large ears. I would guess he’s five or six years younger than you are. He attends our Scylsday sacrifices regularly.”

“Does he now.” The big man appeared to be staring off into the dimness of the darkest corner of the room; abruptly he said, “Why, Auk’s still here, Patera. Didn’t you tell me you’d seen him go?”

“No,” Silk began. “I—”

“Over there.” The big man pointed toward the corner, where a solitary figure sat at a table not much larger than his chair.

“Thank you, my son,” Silk called. He crossed the room, detouring around a long and dirty table. “Auk? I’m Patera Silk, from the manteion on Sun Street.”

“Thanks for what?” the man called Auk inquired.

“For agreeing to talk with me. You signaled to him somehow—waved or something, I suppose. I didn’t see it, but it’s obvious you must have.”

“Sit down, Patera.”

There was no other chair. Silk brought a stool from the long table and sat.

“Somebody send you?”

Silk nodded. “Maytera Mint, my son. But I don’t wish to give you the wrong impression. I haven’t come as a favor to her, or as a favor to you, either. Maytera was doing me a favor by telling me where to find you, and I’ve come to ask you for another one, shriving.”

“Figure I need it, Patera?” There was no trace of humor in Auk’s voice.

“I have no way of knowing, my son. Do you?”

Auk appeared to consider. “Maybe so. Maybe not.”

Silk nodded—understandingly, he hoped. He found it unnerving to talk with this burly ruffian in the gloom, unable to see his expression.

The big man with the wounded arm set an astonishingly delicate glass before Silk. “The best we got, Patera.” He backed away.

“Thank you, my son.” Turning on his stool, Silk looked behind him; the injured man and the drunken woman were no longer beneath the lampion, though he had not heard them go.

“Maytera Mint likes you, Patera,” Auk remarked. “She tells me things about you sometimes. Like the time you got the cats’ meat woman mad at you.”

“You mean Scleroderma?” Silk felt himself flush, and was suddenly glad that Auk could not see him better. “She’s a fine woman—a kind and quite genuinely religious woman. I was hasty and tactless, I’m afraid.”

“She really empty her bucket over you?”

Silk nodded ruefully. “The odd thing was that I found a scrap of—of cats’ meat, I suppose you’d call it, down my neck afterward. It stank.”

Auk laughed softly, a deep, pleasant laugh that made Silk like him.

“I thought it an awful humiliation at the time,” Silk continued. “It happened on a Thelxday, and I thanked her on my knees that my poor mother wasn’t alive to hear about it. I thought, you know, that she would have been terribly hurt, just as I was myself at the time. Now I realize that she would only have teased me about it.” He sipped from the graceful little glass before him; it was probably brandy, he decided, and good brandy, too. “I’d let Scleroderma paint me blue and drag me the whole length of the Alameda, if it would bring my mother back.”

“Maytera Mint was the nearest to a real mother I ever had,” Auk said. “I used to call her that—she let me—when we were alone. For a couple of years I pretended like that. She tell you?”

Silk shook his head, then added, “Maytera Marble said something of the sort. I’m afraid I didn’t pay a great deal of attention to it.”

“The Old One brought up us boys, and he raised us hard. It’s the best way. I’ve seen a lot that didn’t get it, and I know.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Every so often I tell myself I ought to stick my knife in her, just to get her and her talk out of my head. Know what I mean?”

Silk nodded, although he could not be certain that the burly man across the table could see it. “Better than you do yourself, I think. I also know that you’ll never actually harm her. Or if you do, it won’t be for that reason. I’m not half as old as Patera Pike was, and not a tenth as wise; but I do know that.”

“I wouldn’t take the long end of that bet.”

Silk said nothing, his eyes upon the pale blur that was Auk’s face, where for a moment it seemed to him that he had glimpsed the shadow of a muzzle, as though the unseen face were that of a wolf or bear.

Surely, he thought, this man can’t have been called Auk from birth. Surely “Auk” is a name he’s assumed.

He pictured Maytera Mint leading the boy Auk into class on a chain, then Maytera Mint warned by Maytera Rose that Auk would turn on her when he was grown. He sipped again to rid himself of the fancy. Auk’s mother had presumably named him; the small auks of Lake Limna were flightless, thus it was a name given by mothers who hoped their sons would never leave them. But Auk’s mother must have died while he was still very young.

“But not here.” Auk’s fist struck the table, nearly upsetting it. “I’ll come Scylsday, day after tomorrow, and you can shrive me then. All right?”

“No, my son,” Silk said. “It must be tonight.”

“Don’t you trust—”

“I’m afraid I haven’t made myself entirely clear,” Silk interposed. “I haven’t come here to shrive you, though I’d be delighted to do it if you wish, and I’m certain it would make Maytera Mint very happy when I told her I had. But you must shrive me, Auk, and you must do it tonight. That is what I’ve come for. Not here, however, as you say. In some more private place.”

“I can’t do that!”

“You can, my son,” Silk insisted softly. “And I hope you will. Maytera Mint taught you, and she must have taught you that anyone who is himself free of deep stain can bring the pardon of the gods to one who is in immediate danger of death.”

“If you think I’m going to kill you, Patera, or Gib over there—”

Silk shook his head. “I’ll explain everything to you in that more private place.”

“Patera Pike shrove me one time. Maytera got after me about it, so I finally said all right. I told him a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”

“And now you’re wondering whether he told me something of what you told him,” Silk said, “and you think that I’m afraid you’ll kill me when I tell you that I told someone else. No, Auk. Patera told me nothing about it, not even that it took place. I learned that from Maytera Marble, who learned it from Maytera Mint, who learned of it from you.”

Silk tasted his brandy again, finding it difficult to continue. “Tonight I intend to commit a major crime, or try to. I may be killed, in fact I rather expect it. Maytera Marble or Maytera Mint could have shriven me, of course; but I didn’t want either of them to know. Then Maytera Marble mentioned you, and I realized you’d be perfect. Will you shrive me, Auk? I beg it.”

Slowly, Auk relaxed; after a moment he laid his right hand on the table again. “You don’t go the nose, Patera, do you?”

Silk shook his head.

“If this’s a shave, it’s a close one.”

“It’s not a shave. I mean exactly what I say.”

Auk nodded and stood. “Then we’d better go somewhere else, like you want. Too bad, I was hoping to do a little business tonight.”

He led Silk to the back of the dim cellar room, and up a ladder into a cavernous night varied here and there by pyramids of barrels and bales; and at last, when they had followed an alley paved with refuse for several streets, into the back of what appeared to be an empty shop. The sound of their feet summoned a weak green glow from one corner of the overlong room. Silk saw a cot with rumpled, soiled sheets; a chamber pot; a table that might have come from the tavern they had left; two plain wooden chairs; and, on the opposite wall, what appeared to be a still-summonable glass. Planks had been nailed across the windows on either side of the street door; a cheap colored picture of Scylla, eight-armed and smiling, was tacked to the planks. “Is this where you live?” he asked.

“I don’t exactly live anywhere, Patera. I’ve got a lot of places, and this is the closest. Have a seat. You still want me to shrive you?”

Silk nodded.

“Then you’re going to have to shrive me first so I can do it right. I guess you knew that. I’ll try to think of everything.”

Silk nodded again. “Do, please.”

With speed and economy of motion surprising in so large a man, Auk knelt beside him. “Cleanse me, Patera, for I have given offense to Pas and to other gods.”

His gaze upon the smiling picture of Scylla—and so well away from Auk’s heavy, brutal face—Silk murmured, as the ritual required, “Tell me, my son, and I will bring you his forgiveness from the well of his boundless mercy.”

“I killed a man tonight, Patera. You saw it. Kalan’s his name. Gurnard was set to stick Gib, but he got him…”

“With his skittlepin,” Silk prompted softly.

“That’s lily, Patera. That’s when Kalan come out with his needler, only I had mine out.”

“He intended to shoot Gib, didn’t he?”

“I think so, Patera. He works with Gurnard off and on. Or anyway he used to.”

“Then there was no guilt in what you did, Auk.”

“Thanks, Patera.”

After that, Auk remained silent for a long time. Silk prayed silently while he waited, listening with half an ear to angry voices in the street and the thunderous wheels of a passing cart, his thoughts flitting from and returning to the calm, amused and somehow melancholy voices he had heard in the ball court as he had reached for the ball he carried in a pocket still, and to the innumerable things the owner of those voices had sought to teach him.

“I robbed a few houses up on the Palatine. I was trying to remember how many. Twenty I can think of for sure. Maybe more. And I beat a woman, a girl called—”

“You needn’t tell me her name, Auk.”

“Pretty bad, too. She was trying to get more out of me after I’d already given her a real nice brooch. I’d had too much, and I hit her. Cut her mouth. She yelled, and I hit her again and floored her. She couldn’t work for a week, she says. I shouldn’t have done that, Patera.”

“No,” Silk agreed.

“She’s better than most, and high, wide and handsome, too. Know what I mean, Patera? That’s why I gave her the brooch. When she wanted more…”

“I understand.”

“I was going to kick her. I didn’t, but if I had I’d probably have killed her. I kicked a man to death, once. That was part of what I told Patera Pike.”

Silk nodded, forcing his eyes away from Auk’s boots. “If Patera brought you pardon, you need not repeat that to me; and if you refrained from kicking the unfortunate woman, you have earned the favor of the gods—of Scylla and her sisters particularly—by your self-restraint.”

Auk sighed. “Then that’s all I’ve done, Patera, since last time. Solved those houses and beat on Chenille. And I wouldn’t have, Patera, if I hadn’t of seen she wanted it for rust. Or anyhow I don’t think I would have.”

“You understand that it’s wrong to break into houses, Auk. You must, or you wouldn’t have told me about it. It is wrong, and when you enter a house to rob it, you might easily be killed, in which case you would die with the guilt upon you. That would be very bad. I want you to promise me that you will look for some better way to live. Will you do that, Auk? Will you give me your word?”

“Yes, Patera, I swear I will. I’ve already been doing it. You know, buying things and selling them. Like that.”

Silk decided it would be wiser not to ask what sorts of things these were, or how the sellers had gotten them. “The woman you beat, Auk. You said she used rust. Am I to take it that she was an immoral woman?”

“She’s not any worse than a lot of others, Patera. She’s at Orchid’s place.”

Silk nodded to himself. “Is that the sort of place I imagine?”

“No, Patera, it’s about the best. They don’t allow any fighting or anything like that, and everything’s real clean. Some of Orchid’s girls have even gone uphill.”

“Nevertheless, Auk, you shouldn’t go to places of that kind. You’re not bad looking, you’re strong, and you have some education. You’d have no difficulty finding a decent girl, and a decent girl might do you a great deal of good.”

Auk stirred, and Silk sensed that the kneeling man was looking at him, although he did not permit his own eyes to leave the picture of Scylla. “You mean the kind that has you shrive her, Patera? You wouldn’t want one of them to take up with somebody like me. You’d tell her she deserved somebody better. Shag yes, you would!”

For a moment it seemed to Silk that the weight of the whole whorl’s folly and witless wrong had descended on his shoulders. “Believe me, Auk, many of those girls will marry men far, far worse than you.” He drew a deep breath. “As penance for the evil you have done, Auk, you are to perform three meritorious acts before this time tomorrow. Shall I explain to you the nature of meritorious acts?”

“No, Patera. I remember, and I’ll do them.”

“That’s well. Then I bring to you, Auk, the pardon of all the gods. In the name of Great Pas, you are forgiven. In the name of Echidna, you are forgiven. In the name of Scylla, you are forgiven…” Soon the moment would come. “And in the name of the Outsider and all lesser gods, you are forgiven, by the power entrusted to me.”

There was no objection from Auk. Silk traced the sign of addition in the air above his head.

“Now it’s my turn, Auk. Will you shrive me, as I shrove you?”

The two men changed places.

Silk said, “Cleanse me, friend, for I am in sore danger of death, and I may give offense to Pas and to other gods.”

Auk’s hand touched his shoulder. “I’ve never did this before, Patera. I hope I get it right.”

“Tell me…” Silk prompted.

“Yeah. Tell me, Patera, so that I can bring you the forgiveness of Pas from the well of bottomless mercy.”

“I may have to break into a house tonight, Auk. I hope that I won’t have to; but if the owner won’t see me, or won’t do what a certain god—the Outsider, Auk, you may know of him—wishes him to do, then I’ll try to compel him.”

“Whose—”

“If he sees me alone, I intend to threaten his life unless he does as the god requires. But to be honest, I doubt that he’ll see me at all.”

“Who is this, Patera? Who’re you going to threaten?”

“Are you looking at me, Auk? You’re not supposed to.”

“All right, now I’m looking away. Who is this, Patera? Whose house is it?”

“There’s no need for me to tell you that, Auk. Forgive me my intent, please.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, my son,” Auk said, getting into the spirit of his role. “I got to know who this is, and why you’re going to do it. Maybe you won’t be running as big of a risk as you think you are, see? I’m the one that has to judge that, ain’t I?”

“Yes,” Silk admitted.

“And I see why you looked for me, ’cause I can do it better than anybody. Only I got to know, ’cause if this’s just some candy, I got to tell you to go to a real augur after you scrape out, and forget about me. There’s houses and then there’s Houses. So who is it and where is it, Patera?”

“His name is Blood,” Silk said, and felt Auk’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “I assume that he lives somewhere on the Palatine. He has a private floater, at any rate, and employs a driver for it.”

Auk grunted.

“I think that he must be dangerous,” Silk continued. “I sense it.”

“You win, Patera. I got to shrive you. Only you got to tell me all about it, too. I need to know what’s going on here.”

“The Ayuntamiento has sold this man our manteion.”

Silk heard Auk’s exhalation.

“It was bringing in practically nothing, you realize. The income from the manteion is supposed to balance the loss from the palaestra; tutorage doesn’t cover our costs, and most of the parents are behind anyway. Ideally there should be enough left over for Juzgado’s taxes, but our Window’s been empty now for a very long while.”

“Must be others doing better,” Auk suggested.

“Yes. Considerably better in some cases, though it’s been many years since a god has visited any Window in the city.”

“Then they—the augurs there—could give you a little something, Patera.”

Silk nodded, remembering his mendicant expeditions to those solvent manteions. “They have indeed helped at times, Auk. I’m afraid that the Chapter has decided to put an end to that. It’s turned our manteion over to the Juzgado in lieu of our unpaid taxes, and the Ayuntamiento has sold the property to this man Blood. That’s how things appear, at least.”

“We all got to pay the counterman come shadeup,” Auk muttered diplomatically.

“The people need us, Auk. The whole quarter does. I was hoping that if you—never mind. I intend to steal our manteion back tonight, if I can, and you must shrive me for that.”

The seated man was silent for a moment. At length he said, “The city keeps records on houses and so on, Patera. You go to the Juzgado and slip one of those clerks a little something, and they call up the lot number on their glass. I’ve done it. The monitor gives you the name of the buyer, or anyhow whoever’s fronting for him.”

“So that I could verify the sale, you mean.”

“That’s it, Patera. Make sure you’re right about all this before you get yourself killed.”

Silk felt an uncontrollable flood of relief. “I’ll do as you suggest, provided that the Juzgado’s still open.”

“They wouldn’t be, Patera. They close there about the same time as the market.”

It was hard for him to force himself to speak. “Then I must proceed. I must act tonight.” He hesitated while some frightened portion of his mind battered the ivory walls that confined it. “Of course this may not be the Blood you know, Auk. There must be a great many people of that name. Could Blood—the Blood you know—buy our manteion? It must be worth twenty thousand cards or more.”

“Ten,” Auk muttered. “Twelve, maybe, only he probably got it for the taxes. What’s he look like, Patera?”

“A tall, heavy man. Angry looking, I’d say, although it may only have been that his face was flushed. There are wide bones under his plump cheeks, or so I’d guess.”

“Lots of rings?”

Silk struggled to recall the prosperous-looking man’s fat, smooth hands. “Yes,” he said. “Several, at least.”

“Could you smell him?”

“Are you asking whether he smelled bad? No, certainly not. In fact—”

Auk grunted. “What was it?”

“I have no idea, but it reminded me of the scented oil—no doubt you’ve noticed it—in the lamp before Scylla, in our manteion. A sweet, heavy odor, not quite so pungent as incense.”

“He calls it musk rose,” Auk said dryly. “Musk’s a buck that works for him.”

“It is the Blood you know, then.”

“Yeah, it is. Now be quiet a minute, Patera. I got to remember the words.” Auk rocked back and forth. There was a faint noise like the grating of sand on a shiprock floor as he rubbed his massive jaw. “As a penance for the evil that you’re getting ready to do, Patera, you got to perform two or three meritorious acts I’ll tell you about tonight.”

“That is too light a penance,” Silk protested.

“Don’t weigh feathers with me, Patera, ’cause you don’t know what they are yet. You’re going to do ’em, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Auk,” Silk said humbly.

“That’s good. Don’t forget. All right, then I bring to you, Patera, the pardons of all the gods. In the name of Great Pas, you’re forgiven. In the name of Echidna, you’re forgiven. In the name of Scylla, of Molpe, of Tartaros, of Hierax, of Thelxiepeia, of Phaea, of Sphigx, and of all the lesser gods, you’re forgiven, Patera, by the powers trusted to me.”

Silk traced the sign of addition, hoping that the big man was doing the same over his head.

The big man cleared his throat. “Was that all right?”

“Yes,” Silk said, rising. “It was very good indeed, for a layman.”

“Thanks. Now about Blood. You say you’re going to solve his place, but you don’t even know where it is.”

“I can ask directions when I reach the Palatine.” Silk was dusting his knees. “Blood isn’t a particular friend of yours, I hope.”

Auk shook his head. “It ain’t there. I been there a time or two, and that gets us to one of those meritorious acts that you just now promised me about. You got to let me take you there.”

“If it isn’t inconvenient—”

“It’s shaggy—excuse me, Patera. Yeah, it’s going to put me out by a dog’s right, only you got to let me do it anyhow, if you really go to Blood’s. If you don’t, you’ll get lost sure trying to find it. Or somebody’ll know you, and that’ll be worse. But first you’re going to give Blood a whistle on my glass over there, see? Maybe he’ll talk to you, or if he wants to see you he might even send somebody.”

Auk strode across the room and clapped his hands; the monitor’s colorless face rose from the depths of the glass.

“I want Blood,” Auk told it. “That’s the buck that’s got the big place off the old Palustria Road.” He turned to Silk. “Come over here, Patera. You stand in front of it. I don’t want ’em to see me.”

Silk did as he was told. He had talked through glasses before (there had been one in the Prelate’s chambers at the schola), though not often. Now he discovered that his mouth was dry. He licked his lips.

“Blood is not available, sir,” the monitor told him imperturbably. “Would someone else do?”

“Musk, perhaps,” Silk said, recalling the name Auk had mentioned.

“It will be a few minutes, I fear, sir.”

“I’ll wait for him,” Silk said. The glass faded to an opalescent gray.

“You want to sit, Patera?” Auk was pushing a chair against the backs of his calves.

Silk sat down, murmuring his thanks.

“I don’t think that was too smart, asking for Musk. Maybe you know what you’re doing.”

Still watching the glass, Silk shook his head. “You had said he worked for Blood, that’s all.”

“Don’t tell him you’re with me. All right?”

“I won’t.”

Auk did not speak again, and the silence wrapped itself about them. Like the silence of the Windows, Silk thought, the silence of the gods: pendant, waiting. This glass of Auk’s was rather like a Window; all glasses were, although they were so much smaller. Like the Windows, glasses were miraculous creations of the Short-Sun days, after all. What was it Maytera Marble had said about them?

Maytera herself, the countless quiescent soldiers that the Outsider had revealed, and in fact all similar persons—all chems of whatever kind—were directly or otherwise marvels of the inconceivably inspired Short-Sun Whorl, and in time (soon, perhaps) would be gone. Their women rarely conceived children, and in Maytera’s case it was quite …

Silk shook his shoulders, reminding himself severely that in all likelihood Maytera Marble would long outlive him—that he might be dead before shadeup, unless he chose to ignore the Outsider’s instructions.

The monitor reappeared. “Would you like me to provide a few suggestions while you’re waiting, sir?”

“No, thank you.”

“I might straighten your nose just a trifle, sir, and do something regarding a coiffeur. You would find that of interest, I believe.”

“No,” Silk said again; and added, as much to himself as to the monitor, “I must think.”

Swiftly the monitor’s gray face darkened. The entire glass seemed to fall away. Black, oily-looking hair curled above flashing eyes from which Silk tore his own in horror.

As a swimmer bursts from a wave and discovers himself staring at an object he has not chosen—at the summer sun, perhaps, or a cloud or the top of a tree—Silk found that he was looking at Musk’s mouth, lips as feverishly red and fully as delicate as any girl’s.

To damp his fear, he told himself that he was waiting for Musk to speak; and when Musk did not, he forced himself to speak instead. “My name is Patera Silk, my son.” His chin was trembling; before he spoke again, he clenched his teeth. “Mine is the Sun Street manteion. Or I should say it isn’t, which is what I must see Blood about.”

The handsome boy in the glass said nothing and gave no sign of having heard. In order that he might not be snared by that bright and savage stare again, Silk inventoried the room in which Musk stood. He could glimpse a tapestry and a painting, a table covered with bottles, and two elaborately inlaid chairs with padded crimson backs and contorted legs.

“Blood has purchased our manteion,” he found himself explaining to one of the chairs. “By that I mean he’s paid the taxes, I suppose, and they have turned the deed over to him. It will be very hard on the children. On all of us, to be sure, but particularly on the children, unless some other arrangement can be made. I have several suggestions to offer, and I’d like—”

A trooper in silvered conflict armor had appeared at the edge of the glass. As he spoke to Musk, Silk realized with a slight shock that Musk hardly reached the trooper’s shoulder. “A new bunch at the gate,” the trooper said.

Hurriedly, Silk began, “I’m certain for your sake—or for Blood’s, I mean—that an accommodation of some sort is still possible. A god, you see—”

The handsome boy in the glass laughed and snapped his fingers, and the glass went dark.