Calde of the Long Sun

Chapter 4 -- The Plan of Pas

"I'm sorry you did that, Mucor," Silk said mildly.

The old woman shook her head. "I wasn't going to kill you. But I

could've."

"Of course you could."

Quetzal had picked up the needler; he brushed it with his fingers,

then produced a handkerchief with which to wipe off the white bull's

blood. The old woman turned to watch him, her eyes widening as

her death's-head grin faded.

"I'm sorry, my daughter," Silk repeated. "I've noticed you at

sacrifice now and then, but I don't recall your name."

"Cassava." She spoke as though in a dream.

He nodded solemnly. "Are you ill, Cassava?"

"I..."

"It's the heat, my daughter." To salve his conscience, he added,

"Perhaps. Perhaps it's the heat, in part at least. We should get you

out of the sun and away from this fire. Do you think you can walk,

Villus?"

"Yes, Patera."

Quetzal held out the needler. "Take this, Patera. You may need

it." It was too large for a pocket; Silk put it in his waistband beneath

his tunic, where he had carried the azoth. "Farther back, I think,"

Quetral told him. "Behind the point of the hip. It will be safer there

and just as convenient."

"Yes, Your Cognizance."

"This boy shouldn't walk." Quetzal picked up Villus. "He has

poison in his blood at present, and that's no little thing, though we

may hope there's only a little poison. May I put him in your manse,

Patera? He should be lying down, and this poor woman, too."

"Women are not--but of course if Your Cognizance--"

"They are with my permission," Quetzal told him. "I give it. I also

permit you, Patera, to go into the cenoby to fetch a sibyl's habit.

Maytera here," he glanced down at Maytera Marble, "may regain

consciousness at any moment. We must spare her as much embarrassment

as we can." With Villus over his shoulder, he took

Cassava's arm. "Come with me, my daughter. You and this boy will

have to nurse each other for a while."

Silk was already through the garden gate. He had never set foot in

the cenoby, but he thought he had a fair notion of its plan: sellaria,

refectory, kitchen, and pantry on the lower floor; bedrooms (four at

least, and perhaps as many as six) on the upper floor. Presumably

one would be Maytera Marble's, despite the fact that Maytera

Marble never slept.

As he trotted along the graveled path, he recalled that the altar

and Sacred Window were still in the middle of Sun Street. They

should be carried back into the manteion as soon as possible,

although that would take a dozen men. He opened the kitchen door

and found himself far from certain of even that necessity. Pas was

dead--no less a divine personage than Echidna had declared it--and

he, Silk, could not imagine himself sacrificing to Echidna again, or

so much as attending a sacrifice honoring her. Did it actually matter,

save to those gods, if the altar of the gods or the Window through

which they so rarely condescended to communicate were ground

beneath the wheels of dung carts and tradesmen's wagons?

Yet this was blasphemy. He shuddered.

The cenoby kitchen seemed almost familiar, in part, he decided,

because Maytera Marble had often mentioned this stove and this

woodbox, these cupboards and this larder; and in part because it

was, although cleaner, very much like his own.

Upstairs he found a hall that was an enlarged version of the

landing at the top of the stair in the manse, with three faded pictures

decorating its walls Pas, Echidna, and Tartaros bringing gifts of

food, progeny, and prosperity (here mawkishly symbolized by a

bouquet of marigolds) to a wedding; Scylla spreading her beautiful

unseen mantle over a traveler drinking from a pool in the southern

desert; and Molpe, perfunctorily disguised as a young woman of the

upper classes, approving a much older and poorer woman's feeding

pigeons.

Momentarily he paused to examine the last. Cassava might, he

decided, have posed for the old woman; he reflected bitterly that

the flock she fed could better have fed her, then reminded himself

that in a sense they had--that the closing years of her life were

brightened by the knowledge that she, who had so little left to give,

could still give something.

A door at the end of the hall was smashed. Curious, he went in.

The bed was neatly made and the floor swept. There was water in a

ewer on the nightstand, so this was certainly Maytera Mint's room

or Maytera Rose's, or perhaps the room in which Chenille had spent

Scylsday night. An icon of Scylla's hung on the wall, much darkened

by the votive lamps of the small shrine before it. And here was--yes

what appeared to be a working glass. This was Maytera Rose's

room, surely. Silk clapped, and a monitor's bloodless face appeared

in its gray depths.

"Why has Maytera Rose never told me she had this glass?" Silk

demanded.

"I have no idea, sir. Have you inquired?"

"Of course not!"

"That may well be the reason, sir."

"If you--" Silk rebuked himself, and found that he was smiling.

What was this, compared to the death of Doctor Crane or Echidna's

theophany? He must learn to relax, and to think.

When the manteion had been built, a glass must have been

provided for the use of the senior sibyl as well as the senior augur;

that was natural enough, and in fact praiseworthy. The senior

augur's glass, in what was now Patera Gulo's room, was out of order

and had been for decades; this one, the senior sibyl's, was still

functioning, perhaps only because it had been less used. Silk ran his

fingers through his disorderly yellow hair. "Are there more glasses in

this cenoby, my son?"

"No, sir."

He advanced a step, wishing that he had a walking stick to lean

upon. "In this manteion?"

"Yes, sir. There is one in the manse, sir, but it is no longer

summonable."

Silk nodded to himself. "I don't suppose you can tell me whether

the Alambrera has surrendered?"

Immediately the monitor's face vanished, replaced by the turreted

building and its flanking walls. Several thousand people were

milling before the grim iron doors, where a score of men attempted

to batter their way in with what seemed to be a building timber. As

Silk watched, two Guardsmen thrust slug guns over the parapet of a

turret on the right and opened fire.

Maytera Mint galloped into view, her black habit billowing about

her, looking no bigger than a child on the broad back of her mount.

She gestured urgently, the newfound silver trumpet that was her

voice apparently sounding retreat, although Silk could not distinguish

her words; the terrible discontinuity that was the azoth's blade

sprang from her upraised hand, and the parapet exploded in a

shower of stones.

"Another view," the monitor announced smoothly.

From a vantage point that appeared to be fifteen or twenty cubits

above the street, Silk found himself looking down at the mob before

the doors; some turned and ran; others were still raging against the

Alambrera's stone and iron. The sweating men with the timber

gathered themselves for a new assault, but one fell before they

began it, his face a pulpy mask of scarlet and white.

"Enough," Silk said.

The monitor returned. "I think it safe to say, sir, that the

Alambrera has not surrendered. If I may, I might add that in my

judgement it is not likely to do so before the arrival of the relief

force, sir."

"A relief force is on the way?"

"Yes, sir. The First Battalion of the Second Brigade of the Civil

Guard, sir, and three companies of soldiers." The monitor paused. "I

cannot locate them at the moment, sir, but not long ago they were

marching along Ale Street. Would you care to see it?"

"That's all right. I should go." Silk turned away, then back. "How

were you--there's an eye high up on a building on the other side of

Cage Street, isn't there? And another over the doors of the

Alambrera?"

"Precisely, sir."

"You must be familiar with this cenoby. Which room is Maytera

Marble's?"

"Less so than you may suppose, sir. There are no other glasses in

this cenoby, sir, as I told you. And no eyes save mine, sir. However,

from certain remarks of my mistress's, I infer that it may be the

second door on the left, sir."

"By your mistress you mean Maytera Rose? Where is she?"

"Yes, sir. My mistress has abandoned this land of trials and

sorrows for a clime infinitely more agreeable, sir. That is to say, for

Mainframe, sir. My lamented mistress has, in short, joined the

assembly of the immortal gods."

"She's dead?"

"Precisely so, sir. As to the present whereabouts of her remains,

they are, I believe, somewhat scattered. This is the best I can do,

sir."

The monitor's face vanished again, and Sun Street sprang into

view: the altar (from which Musk's fire-blackened corpse had

partially fallen); and beyond it, Maytera Marble's naked metal

body, sprawled near a coffin of softwood stained black.

"Those were her final rites," Silk muttered to himself. "Maytera

Rose's last sacrifice. I never knew."

"Yes, sir, I fear they were." The monitor sighed. "I served her for

forty-three years, sir, eight months, and five days. Would you care

to view her as she was in life, sir? Or the last scene it was my

pleasure to display to her? As a species of informal memorial, sir? It

may console your evident grief, sir, if I may be so bold."

Silk shook his head, then thought better of it. "Is some god

prompting you, my son? The Outsider, perhaps?"

"Not that I'm aware of, sir.

"Last Phaesday I encountered a very cooperative monitor," Silk

explained. "He directed me to his mistress's weapons, something

that I wouldn't--in retrospect--have supposed a monitor would

normally do. I have since concluded that he had been ordered to

assist me by the goddess Kypris."

"A credit to us all, sir."

"He would not say so, of course. He had been enjoined to silence.

Show me that scene, the last your mistress saw."

The monitor vanished. Choppy blue water stretched to the

horizon; in the mid-distance, a small fishing boat ran close-hauled

under a lowering sky. A black bird (Silk edged closer) fluttered in

the rigging, and a tall woman, naked or neariy so, stood beside the

helmsman. A movement of her left hand was accompanied by a

faint crimson flash.

Silk stroked his cheek. "Can you repeat the order Maytera Rose

gave you that led you to show her this?"

"Certainly, sir. It was, 'Let's see what that slut Silk foisted on us is

doing now.' I apologize, sir, as I did to my mistress, for the meager

image of the subject. There was no nearer point from which to

display it, and the focal length of the glass through which I viewed it

was at its maximum."

Hearing Silk's approach, Maytera Marble turned away from the

Window and tried to cover herself with her new hands. With averted

eyes, he passed her the habit he had taken from a nail in the wall of

her room, saying, "It doesn't matter, Maytera. Not really."

"I know, Patera. Yet I feel... There, it's on."

He faced her and held out his hand. "Can you stand up?"

"I don't know, Patera. I--I was about to try when you came.

Where is everyone?" Harder than flesh, her fingers took his. He

heaved with all his strength, reawakening the half-healed wounds

left by the beak of the white-headed one.

Maytera Marble stood, almost steadily, and endeavored to shake

the dust from her long, black skirt, murmuring, "Thank you, Patera.

Did you get--? Thank you very much."

He took a deep breath. "I'm afraid you must think I've acted

improperly. I should explain that His Cognizance the Prolocutor

personally authorized me to enter your cenoby to bring you that.

His Cognizance is here; he's in the manse at the moment, I believe."

He waited for her to speak, but she did not.

"Perhaps if you got out of the sun."

She leaned heavily on his arm as he led her through the arched

gateway and the garden to her accustomed seat in the arbor.

In a voice not quite like her own, she said, "There's something I

should tell you. Something I should have told you long ago."

Silk nodded. "There's something I should have told you long ago,

too, Maytera--and something new that I must tell you now. Please

let me go first; I think that will be best."

It seemed she had not heard him. "I bore a child once, Patera. A

son, a baby boy. It was... Oh, very long ago."

"Built a son, you mean. You and your husband."

She shook her head. "Bore him in blood and pain, Patera. Great

Echidna had blinded me to the gods, but it wasn't enough. So I

suffered, and no doubt he suffered, too, poor little mite, though he

had done nothing. We nearly died, both of us."

Silk could only stare at her smooth, metal face.

"And now somebody's dead, upstairs. I can't remember who. It

will come to me in a moment. I dreamt of snakes last night, and I

hate snakes. If I tell you now, I think perhaps I won't have that

dream again."

"I hope not, Maytera," he told her. And then, "Think of something

else, if you can."

"It was... Was not an easy confinement. I was forty, and had

never borne a child. Maytera Betel was our senior then, an excellent

woman. But fat, one of those people who lose nothing when they

fast. She became horribly tired when she fasted, but never thinner."

He nodded, increasingly certain that Maytera Marble was possessed

again, and that he knew who possessed her.

"We pretended I was becoming fat, too. She used to tease me

about it, and our sibs believed her. I'd been such a small woman

before."

Watching carefully for her reaction, Silk said, "I would have

carried you, Maytera, if I could; but I knew you'd be too heavy for

me to lift."

She ignored it. "A few bad people gossiped, but that was all. Then

my time came. The pains were awful. Maytera had arranged for a

woman in the Orilla to care for me. Not a good woman, Maytera

said, but a better friend in time of need than many good women.

She told me she'd delivered children often, and washed her hands,

and washed me, and told me what to do, but it would not come

forth. My son. He wouldn't come into this world, though I pressed

and pressed until I was so tired I thought I must die."

Her hand--he recognized it now as Maytera Rose's--found his.

Hoping it would reassure her, he squeezed it as hard as he could.

"She cut me with a knife from her kitchen that she dipped in

boiling water, and there was blood everywhere. Horrible! Horrible!

A doctor came and cut me again, and there he was, covered with my

blood and dripping. My son. They wanted me to nurse him, but I

wouldn't. I knew that she'd blinded me, Ophidian Echidna had

blinded me to the gods for what I'd done, but I thought that if I

didn't nurse it she might relent and let me see her after all. She

never has."

Silk said, "You don't have to tell me this, Maytera."

"They asked me to name him, and I did. They said they'd find a

family that wanted a child and would take him, and he'd never find

out, but he did, though it must have taken him a long while. He

spoke to Marble, said she must tell me he'd bought it, and his name.

When I heard his name, I knew."

Silk said gently, "It doesn't matter any more, Maytera. That was

long ago, and now the whole city's in revolt, and it no longer

matters. You must rest. Find peace."

"And that is why," Maytera Marble concluded. "Why my son

Bloody bought our manteion and made all this trouble."

The wind wafted smoke from the fig tree to Silk's nose, and he

sneezed.

"May every god bless you, Patera." Her voice sounded normal

again.

"Thank you," he said, and accepted the handkerchief she offered.

"Could you bring me water, do you think? Cool water?"

As sympathetically as he could, he told her, "You can't drink

water, Maytera."

"Please? Just a cup of cool water?"

He hurried to the manse. Today was Hieraxday, after all; no

doubt she wished him to bless the water for her in Hierax's name.

Later she would sprinkle it upon Maytera Rose's coffin and in the

corners of her bedroom to prevent Maytera's spirit from troubling

her again.

Cassava was sitting in the kitchen, in the chair Patera Pike had

used at meals. Silk said, "Shouldn't you lie down, my daughter? It

would make you feel better, I'm sure, and there's a divan in the

sellaria."

She stared at him. "That was a needler, wasn't it? I gave you a

needler. Why'd I have a thing like that?"

"Because someone gave it to you to give me." He smiled at her.

"I'm going to the Alambrera, you see, and I'll need it." He worked

the pump-handle vigorously, letting the first rusty half-bucketful

drain away, catching the clear, cold flood that followed in a tumbler,

and presenting it to Cassava. "Drink this, please, my daughter. It

should make you feel better."

"You called me Mucor," she said. "Mucor." She set the untasted

tumber on the kitchen table and rubbed her forehead. "Didn't you

call me Mucor, Patera?"

"I mentioned Mucor, certainly; she was the person who gave you

the needler to give to me." Studying her puzzled frown, Silk decided

it would be wise to change the subject. "Can you tell me what has

become of His Cognizance and little Villus, my daughter?"

"He carried him upstairs, Patera. He wanted him to lie down, like

you wanted me."

"Doubtless he'll be down shortly." Silk reflected that the

Prolocutor had probably intended to bandage Villus's leg, and lost some

time searching for medical supplies. "Drink that water, please. I'm

sure it will make you feel better." He filled a second tumbler and

carried it outside.

Maytera Marble was sitting in the arbor just as he had left her.

Pushing aside the vines, he handed her the tumbler, saying, "Would

you like me to bless this for you, Maytera?"

"It won't be necessary, Patera."

Water spilled from the lip; rills laced her fingers, and rain

panered upon the black cloth covering her metal thighs. She smiled.

"Does that make you feel better?" he asked,

"Yes, much better. Much cooler, Patera. Thank you."

"I'll be happy to bring you another, if you require it."

She stood. "No. No, thank you, Patera. I'll be all right now, I

think."

"Sit down again, Maytera, please. I'm still worried about you, and

I have to talk to you."

Reluctantly, she did. "Aren't there others hurt? I seem to

remember others--and Maytera Rose, her coffin,"

Silk nodded. "That's a part of what I must talk to you about.

Fighting has broken out all over the city."

She nodded hesitantly. "Riots."

"Rebellion, Maytera. The people--some at least--are rising

against the Ayuntamiento. There won't be any burials for several

days, I'm afraid; so when you're feeling better, you and I must carry

Maytera's coffin into the manteion. Is it very heavy?"

"I don't think so, Patera."

"Then we should be able to manage it. But before we go, I ought

to tell you that Villus and an old woman named Cassava are in the

manse with His Cognizance. I can't stay here, nor will he be able to,

I'm sure; so I intend to ask him to allow you to enter to care for

them."

Maytera Marble nodded.

"And our altar and Window are still out in the street. I doubt that

it will be possible for you to get enough help to move them back

inside until the city is at peace. But if you can, please do."

"I certainly will, Patera."

"I want you to stay and look after our manteion, Maytera.

Maytera Mint's gone; she felt it her duty to lead the fighting, and

she answered duty's call with exemplary courage. I'll have to go

soon as well. People are dying--and killing others--to make me

calde, and I must put a stop to that if I can."

"Please be careful, Patera. For all our sakes."

"Yet this manteion is still important, Maytera. Terribly

important." (Doctor Crane's ghost laughed aloud in a corner of Silk's

mind.) "The Outsider told me so, remember? Someone must care

for it, and there's no one left but you."

Maytera Marble's sleek metal head bobbed humbly, oddly

mechanical without her coif. "I'll do my best, Patera."

"I know you will." Refilled his lungs. "I said there were two things

I had to tell you. You may not recall it, but I did. When you began

to speak, I found there were a great many more. Now I must tell you

those two, and then we'll carry Maytera into the manteion, if we

can. The first is something I should have said months ago. Perhaps I

did; I know I've tried. Now I believe--I believe it's quite likely I

may be killed, and I must say it now, or be silent forever."

"I'm anxious to hear it, Patera." Her voice was soft, her metal

mask expressionless and compassionate; her hands clasped his, hard

and wet and warm.

"I want to say--this is the old thing--that I could never have stood

it here if it hadn't been for you. Maytera Rose and Maytera Mint

tried to help, I know they did. But you have been my right arm,

Maytera. I want you know that."

Maytera Marble was staring at the ground. "You're too kind,

Patera."

"I've loved three women. My mother was the first. The third..."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. You don't know her, and I doubt

that I'll ever see her again." A pillar of swirling dust rose above the

top of the garden wall, to be swept away in a moment.

"The second thing, the new one, is that I can't remain the sort of

augur I've been. Pas--Great Pas, who ruled the whole Whorl like a

father--is dead, Maytera. Echidna herself told us. Do you remember that?"

Maytera Marble said nothing.

"Pas built our whorl, as we learn from the Writings. He built it, I

believe, to endure for a long, long time, but not to endure

indefinitely in his absence. Now he's dead, and the sun has no

master. I believe that the Fliers have been trying to tame it, or

perhaps only trying to heal it. A man in the market told me once

that his grandfather had spoken of them, saying their appearance

presaged rain; so all my life, and my mother's, and her parents', too,

have been lived under their protection, while they wrestled the sun."

Silk peered through the wilting foliage overhead at the dwindling

golden line, already narrowed by the shade. "But they've failed,

Maytera. A flier told me yesterday, with what was almost his final

breath. I didn't understand then; but I do now, or at least I believe I

may. Something happened in the street that made it unmistakable.

Our city, and every other, must help if it can, and prepare for worse

times than we've ever known."

Quetzal's tremulous old voice came from outside the arbor.

"Excuse me, Patera. Maytera." The wilting vines parted, and he

stepped inside. "I overheard what you said. I couldn't help it, it's so

quiet. You'll pardon me, I hope?"

"Of course, Your Cognizance." Both rose.

"Sit down, my daughter. Sit, please. May I sit beside you, Patera?

Thank you. Everyone's hiding indoors, I imagine, or gone off to

join the fighting. I've been upstairs in your manse, Patera, and I

looked out your window. There isn't a cart in the street, and you can

hear shooting."

Silk nodded. "A terrible thing, Your Cognizance."

"It is, as I overheard you say earlier, Patera. Maytera, you are,

from all I've heard and read in our files, a woman of sound sense. A

woman outstanding for that valuable quality, in fact. Viron's at war

with itself. Men and women, and even children, are dying as we

speak. They call us butchers for offering animal blood to the gods,

though they're only animals and die quickly for the highest of

purposes. Now the gutters are running with wasted human blood. If

we're butchers, what will they call themselves when it's over?" He

shook his head. "Heroes, I suppose. Do you agree?"

Maytera Marble nodded mutely.

"Then I ask you, how can it be ended? Tell me, Maytera. Tell us

both. My coadjutor fears my humor, and I myself fear at times that I

overindulge it. But I was never more serious."

She muttered something inaudible.

"Louder, Maytera."

"Patera Silk must become our calde."

Quetzal leaned back in the little rustic seat. "There you have it.

Her reputation for good sense is entirely justified, Patera Calde."

"Your Cognizance!"

Maytera Marble made Quetzal a seated bow. "You're too kind,

Your Cognizance."

"Maytera. Suppose I maintain that yours isn't the only solution.

Suppose I say that the Ayuntamiento has governed us before and

can govern us again. We need only submit. What's wrong with that?"

"There'd be another rebellion, Your Cognizance, and more riots."

Maytera Marble would not meet Silk's eyes. "More fighting, new

rebellions every few years until the Ayuntamiento was overthrown.

I've watched discontent grow for twenty years, Your Cognizance,

and now they're killing, Patera says. They'll be quicker to fight next

time, and quicker again until it never really stops. And--and..."

"Yes?" Quetzal motioned urgently. "Tell us."

"The soldiers will die, Your Cognizance, one by one. Each time

the people rise, there will be fewer soldiers."

"So you see." His head swung about on its wrinkled neck as he

spoke to Silk. "Your supporters must win, Patera Calde. Stop

wincing when I call you that, you've got to get used to it. They must,

because only their victory will bring Viron peace. Tell Loris and the

rest they can save their lives by surrendering now. Lemur's dead,

did you know that?"

Swallowing, Silk nodded.

"With Lemur gone, a few smacks of your quirt will make the rest

trot anywhere you want. But you must be calde, and the people

must see you are."

"If I may speak, Your Cognizance?"

"Not to tell me that you, an anointed augur, will not do what I,

your Prolocutor, ask you to, I trust."

"You've been Prolocutor for many years, Your Cognizance. Since

long before I was born. You were Prolocutor in the days of the last

calde."

Quetzal nodded. "I knew him well. I intend to know you better,

Patera Calde."

"I was a child when he died, Your Cognizance, a child just

learning to walk. A great many things must have happened then that

I've never heard of. I mention it to emphasize that I'm asking out of

ignorance. If you would prefer not to answer, no more will be said

about the matter."

Quetzal nodded. "If it were Maytera here inquiring, or your

acolyte, let's say, or even my coadjutor, I might refuse exactly as

you suggest. I can't imagine a question asked by our calde that I

wouldn't feel it was my duty to answer fully and clearly, however.

What's troubling you?"

Silk ran his fingers through his hair. "When the calde died, Your

Cognizance, did you--did anyone--protest the Ayuntamiento's

decision not to hold an election?"

Quetzal nodded, as if to himself, and passed a trembling hand

across his hairless scalp, a gesture similar to Silk's yet markedly

different. "The short answer, if I intended nothing more than a

short answer, would be yes. I did. So did various others. You

deserve more than a short answer, though. You deserve a

complete explanation. In the meantime, that lucky young man's

body lies half consumed on the altar. I saw it from your window.

You indicate that you're not inclined to plead your office to

excuse disobedience. Will you follow me into the street and help

me do what can be done there? When we're finished, I'll answer

you fully."

Crouched behind the remaining wall of a fire-gutted shop, Maytera

Mint studied her subordinates' faces. Zoril looked fearful, Lime

stunned, and the big, black-bearded man (she found she had

forgotten his name, if she had ever heard it) resolute. "Now, then,"

she said.

Why it's just like talking to the class, she thought. No different at

all. I wish I had a chalkboard,

"Now then, we've just had news, and it's bad news, I don't intend

to deny that. But it isn't unexpected news. Not to me, and I hope to

none of you. We've got Guards penned up in the Alambrera, where

they're supposed to pen up other people."

She smiled, hoping they appreciated the irony. "Anyone would

expect that the Ayuntamiento would send its people help. Certainly

I expected it, though I hoped it wouldn't be quite so prompt. But it's

come, and it seems to me that we can do any of three things." She

held up three fingers. "We can go on attacking the Alambrera,

hoping we can take it before they get here." One finger down. "We

can withdraw." Another finger down. "Or we can leave the Alambrera

as it is and fight the reinforcements before they can get inside."

The last finger down. "What do you suggest, Zoril?"

"If we withdraw, we won't be doing what the goddess said for us to."

The black-bearded man snorted.

"She told us to capture the Alambrera and tear it down," Maytera

Mint reminded Zoril. "We've tried, but we haven't been able to.

What we've got to decide, really, is should we go on trying until

we're interrupted? Or rest awhile until we feel stronger, knowing

that they'll be stronger too? Or should we see to it that we're not

interrupted. Lime?"

She was a lank woman of forty with ginger-colored hair that

Maytera Mint had decided was probably dyed. "I don't think we can

think _only_ about what the goddess said. If she just wanted it torn

down, she could have done it herself. She wants us to do it."

Maytera Mint nodded. "I'm in complete agreement."

"We're mortals, so we've got to do it as mortals." Lime gulped. "I

don't have as many people following me as the rest of you, and most

of mine are women."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Maytera Mint assured her. "So

am I. So is the goddess, or at least she's female like us. We know

she's Pas's wife and seven times a mother. As for your not having

lots of followers, that's not the point. I'd be happy to listen to

somebody who didn't have any, if she had good, workable ideas."

"What I was trying to say--" A gust of wind carried dust and

smoke into their council; Lime fanned her face with one long, flat

hand. "Is most of mine don't have much to fight with. Just kitchen

knives, a lot of them. Eight, I think it is, have needlers, and there's

one who runs a stable and has a pitchfork."

Maytera Mint made a mental note.

"So what I was going to say is they're feeling left out. Discouraged,

you know?"

Maytera Mint assured her that she did.

"So if we go home, I think some will stay there. But if we can beat

these new Hoppies that're coming, they could get slug guns. They'd

feel better about themselves, and us, too."

"A very valid point."

"Bison here--"

Maytera Mint made another note: "Bison" was clearly the black-bearded

man; she resolved to use his name whenever she could until

it was fixed in her memory.

"Bison thinks they won't fight. And they won't, not the way he

wants them to. But if they had slug guns, they'd shoot all day if you

told them to, Maytera. Or if you told them to go someplace and

Hoppies tried to stop them."

"You're for attacking the relief column, Lime?"

Lime nodded.

Bison said, "She's for it as long as somebody else does the

fighting. I'm for it, too, and we'll do the fighting."

"The fighting among ourselves, you mean, Bison?" Maytera Mint

shook her head. "That sort of fighting will never bring back the

Charter, and I'm quite sure it isn't what the goddess intended. But

you're in favor of attacking the relief column? Good, so am I! I'm

not sure I know what Zoril wants, and I'm not sure he knows. Even

so, that's a clear majority. Where would you suggest we attack it,

Bison?"

He was silent, fingering his beard.

"We'll lose some stragglers. I realize that. But there are steps we

can take to keep from losing many, and we might pick up some new

people as well. Zoril?"

"I don't know, Maytera. I think you ought to decide."

"So do I, and I will. But it's foolish to make decisions without

listening to advice, if there's time for it. I think we should attack

right here, when they reach the Alambrera."

Bison nodded emphatically.

"In the first place, we don't have much time to prepare, and that

will give us the most."

Bison said, "People are throwing stones at them from the roof-tops.

The messenger told us that, too, remember? Maybe they'll kill

a few Hoppies for us. Let's give them a chance."

"And perhaps some of their younger men will come over to us.

We ought to give them as much opportunity as we can to do that."

Inspired by the memory of games at the palaestra, she added,

"When somebody changes sides, it counts twice, one more for us and

one fewer for them. Besides, when they get here the Guards in the

Alambrera will have to open those big doors to let them in." Their

expressions showed that none of them had thought of that, and she

concluded, "I'm not saying that we'll be able to get inside ourselves.

But we might. Now them, how are we going to attack?"

"Behind and before, with as many men as we can," Bison rumbled.

Lime added, "We need to take them by surprise, Maytera."

"Which is another reason for attacking here. When they get to the

Alambrera, they'll think they've reached their goal. They may relax

a little. That will be the time for us to act."

"When the doors open." Bison drove a fist into his palm.

"Yes, I think so. What is it, Zoril?"

"I shouldn't say this. I know what everybody's going to think, but

they've been shooting down on us from the walls and the high

windows. Just about everybody we've lost, we've lost like that." He

waited for contradiction, but there was none.

"There's buildings across the street as high as the wall, Maytera,

and one just a little up the street that's higher. I think we ought to

have people in there to shoot at the men on the wall. Some of mine

that don't have needlers or slug guns could be on the roofs, too,

throwing stones like the messenger talked about. A chunk of

shiprock falling that far ought to hit as hard as a slug, and these

Hoppies have got armor."

Maytera Mint nodded again. "You're right. I'm putting you in

charge of that. Get some people--not just your own, some of the

older boys and girls particularly--busy right away carrying stones

and bricks up there. There must be plenty around after the fires.

"Lime, Your women are no longer fighters unless they've got

needlers or slug guns. We need people to get our wounded out of

the fight and take care of them. They can use their knives or

whatever they have on anyone who tries to interfere with them. And

that woman with the pitchfork? Go get her. I want to talk to her."

A fragment of broken plaster caught Maytera Mint's eye. "Now,

Bison, look here." Picking it up, she scratched two widely spaced

lines on the fire-blackened wall behind her. "This is Cage Street."

With speed born of years of practice, she sketched in the Alambrera

and the buildings facing it.

There was still a good deal of cedar left, and the fire on the altar had

not quite gone out. Silk heaped fresh wood on it and let the wind fan

it for him, sparks streaking Sun Street.

Quetzal had taken charge of Musk's corpse, arranging it decently

beside Maytera Rose's coffin. Maytera Marble, who had gone to the

cenoby for a sheet, had not yet returned.

"He was the most evil man I've ever known." Silk had not

intended to speak aloud, but the words had come just the same.

"Yet I can't help feeling sorry for him, and for all of us, as well,

because he's gone."

Quetzal murmured, "Does you credit, Patera Calde," and wiped

the blade of the manteion's sacrificial knife, which he had rescued

from the dust.

Vaguely, Silk wondered when he had dropped it. Maytera Rose

had always taken care of it, washing and sharpening it after each

sacrifice, no matter how minor; but Maytera Rose was gone, as

dead as Musk.

After he had cut the sign of addition in Villas's ankle, of course,

when he had knelt to suck out the poison.

When he had met Blood on Phaesday, Blood had said that he had

promised someone--had promised a woman--that he would pray at

this manteion for her. Suddenly Silk knew (without in the least

understanding how he knew) that the "woman" had been Musk. Was

Musk's spirit lingering in the vicinity of Musk's body and prompting

him in some fashion? Whispering too softly to be heard? Silk traced

the sign of addition, knowing that he should add a prayer to

Thelxiepeia, the goddess of magic and ghosts, but unable to do so.

Musk had bought the manteion for Blood with Blood's money;

and Musk must have felt, in some deep part of himself that all his

evil actions had not killed, that he had done wrong--that he had by

his purchase offended the gods. He had asked Blood to pray for

him, or perhaps for them both, in the manteion that he had bought;

and Blood had promised to do it.

Had Blood kept his promise?

"If you'd help with the feet, Patera Calde?" Quetzal was standing

at the head of Maytera Rose's coffin.

"Yes, of course, Your Cognizance. We can carry that in."

Quetzal shook his head. "We'll lay it on the sacred fire, Patera

Calde. Cremation is allowed when burial is impractical. If you

would...?"

Silk picked up the foot of the coffin, finding it lighter than he had

expected. "Shouldn't we petition the gods, Your Cognizance? On

her behalf?"

"I already have, Patera Calde. You were deep in thought. Now

then, as high as you can, then quickly down upon the fire. Without

dropping it, please. One, two, _three!_"

Silk did as he was told, then stepped hurriedly away from the

lengthening flames. "Possibly we ought to have waited for Maytera,

Your Cognizance."

Quetzal shook his head again. "This way is better, Patera Calde. It

would be better for you to keep from looking at the fire, too. Do

you know why coffins have that peculiar shape, by the way? Look at

me, Patera Calde."

"To allow for the shoulders, Your Cognizance, or so I've

heard."

Quetzal nodded. "That's what everyone's told. Would this sibyl of

yours need extra room for her shoulders? Look at me, I said."

Already the thin, stained wood was blackening honestly, charring

as the flames that licked it brought forth new flames. "No," Silk said,

and looked away again. (It was strange to think that this bent, bald

old man was in fact the Prolocutor.) "No, Your Cognizance. Nor

would most women, or many men."

There was a stench of burning flesh.

"They do it so that we, the living, will know at which end the head

lies, when the lid's on. Coffins are sometimes stood on end, you see.

Patera!"

Silk's gaze had strayed to the fire again. He turned away and

covered his eyes.

"I would have saved you that if I could," Quetzal told him, and

Maytera Marble, arriving with the sheet, inquired, "Saved him from

what, Your Cognizance?"

"Saved me from seeing Maytera Rose's face as the flames

consumed it," Silk told her. He rubbed his eyes, hoping that she

would think he had been rubbing them before, that he had gotten

smoke in them.

She held out one end of the sheet. "I'm sorry I took so long,

Patera. I--I happened to see my reflection. Then I looked for

Maytera Mint's mirror. My cheek is scratched."

Silk took corners of the sheet in tear-dampened fingers; the wind

tried to snatch it from him, but he held it fast. "So it is, Maytera.

How did you do it?"

"I have no idea!"

To his surprise, Quetzal lifted Musk's half-consumed body easily.

Clearly, this venerable old man was stronger than he appeared.

"Spread it flat and hold it down," he told them. "We'll lay him on it

and fold it over him."

A moment more, and Musk, too, rested among the flames.

"It's our duty to tend the fire until both have burned. We don't

have to watch, and I suggest we don't." Quetzal had positioned

himself between Silk and the altar. "Let us pray privately for the

repose of their spirits."

Silk shut his eyes, bowed his head, and addressed himself to the

Outsider, without much confidence that this most obscure of gods

heard him or cared about what he said, or even existed.

"_And yet I know this_." (His lips moved, although no sound issued

from them.) "_You are the only god for me. It is better for me that I

should give you all my worship, though you are not, than that I

should worship Echidna or even Kypris, whose faces l have seen.

Thus I implore your mercy on these, our dead. Remember that I,

whom once you signally honored, ought to have loved them both but

could not, and so failed to provide the impetus that might have

brought them to you before Hierax claimed them. Mine therefore is

the guilt for any wrong they have done while they have known me. I

accept it, and pray you will forgive them, who burn, and forgive me

also, whose fire is not yet lit. Obscure Outsider, be not angry with us,

though we have never sufficiently honored you. All that is outcast,

discarded, and despised is yours. Are this man and this woman, who

have been neglected by me, to be neglected by you as well? Recall the

misery of our lives and their deaths. Are we never to find rest? I have

searched my conscience, Outsider, to discover that in which l have

displeased you. I find this: That I avoided Maytera Rose whenever I

could, though she might have been to me the grandmother I have

never known; and that I hated Musk, and feared him too, when he

had not done me the least wrong. Both were yours, Outsider, as I

now see; and for your sake I should have been loving with both. I

renounce my pride, and I will honor their memories. This I swear.

My life to you, Outsider, if you will forgive this man and this woman

whom we burn today_."

Opening his eyes he saw that Quetzal had already finished, if he

had ever prayed. Soon Maytera Marble raised her head as well, and

he inquired, "Would Your Cognizance, who knows more about the

immortal gods than anyone else in the whorl, instruct me regarding

the Outsider? Though he's enlightened me, as I informed your

coadjutor, I would be exceedingly grateful if you could tell me

more."

"I have no information to give, Patera Calde, regarding the

Outsider or any other god. What little I have learned in the course

of a long life, regarding the gods, I have tried to forget. You saw

Echidna. After that, can you ask me why?"

"No, Your Cognizance." Silk looked nervously at Maytera

Marble.

"I didn't, Your Cognizance. But I saw the Holy Hues and heard

her voice, and it made me wonderfully happy. I remember that she

exhorted all of us to purity and confirmed Scylla's patronage,

nothing else. Can you tell me what else she said?"

"She told your sib to overthrow the Ayuntamiento. Let that be

enough for you, Maytera, for the present."

"Maytera Mint? But she'll be killed!"

Quetzal's shoulders rose and fell. "I think we can count on it,

Maytera. Before Kypris manifested here on Scylsday, the Windows

of our city had been empty for decades. I can't take credit for that, it

wasn't my doing. But I've done everything in my power to prevent

theophanies. It hasn't been much, but I've done what I could. I

proscribed human sacrifice, and got it made law, for one thing. I

admit I'm proud of that."

He turned to Silk. "Patera Calde, you wanted to know if I

protested when the Ayuntamiento failed to hold an election to

choose a new calde. You were right to ask, more right than you

knew. If a new calde had been elected when the last died, we

wouldn't have had that visit from Echidna today."

"If Your Cognizance--"

"No, I want to tell you. There are many things you have to know

as calde, and this is one. But the situation wasn't as simple as you

may think. What do you know about the Charter?"

"Next to nothing, Your Cognizance. We studied when I was a boy--that

is to say, our teacher read it to us and answered our questions.

I was ten, I think."

Maytera Marble said, "We're not supposed to teach it now. It was

dropped from all the lesson plans years ago."

"At my order," Quetzal told them, "when even mentioning it

became dangerous. We have copies at the Palace, however, and I've

read it many times. It doesn't say, Patera Calde, that an election

must be held on the death of the calde, as you seem to believe. What

it really says is that the calde is to hold office for life, that he may

appoint his successor, and that a successor is to be elected if he dies

without havmg done it. You see the difficulty?"

Uneasily, Silk glanced up and down the street, seeing no one near

enough to overhear. "I'm afraid not, Your Cognizance. That sounds

quite straightforward to me."

"It does _not_ say that the calde must announce his choice,

you'll notice. If he wants to keep it secret, he can do it. The reasons are

so obvious I hesitate to explain them."

Silk nodded. "I can see that it would put them both in an

uncomfonable position."

"In a very dangerous one, Patera Calde. Partisans of the successor

might assassinate the calde, while those who'd hoped to become

calde would be tempted to murder the successor. When the last

calde's will was read, it was found to designate a successor. I

remember the exact wording. It said, 'Though he is not the son of

my body, my son will succeed me.' What do you make of that?"

Silk stroked his cheek. "It didn't name this son?"

"No. I've given you the entire clause. The calde had never

married, as I should have told you sooner. As far as anybody knew,

he had no sons."

Maytera Marble ventured, "I never knew about this, Your

Cognizance. Didn't the son tell them?"

"Not that I know of. It's possible he did and was killed secretly by

Lemur or one of the other councillors, but I doubt it." Quetzal

selected a long cedar split and poked the sinking fire. "If they'd done

that, I'd have heard about it by this time. Probably much sooner. No

public announcement was made, you understand. If there'd been

one, pretenders would have put themselves forward and made

endless trouble. The Ayuntamiento searched in secret. To be frank,

I doubt that the boy would have lived if they'd found him."

Silk nodded reluctantly.

"If it had been a natural son, they could've used medical tests. As

it was, the only hope was turn up a record. The monitors of every

glass that could be located were queried. Old documents were read

and reread, and the calde's relatives and associates interrogated, all

without result. An election should have been held, and I urged one

repeatedly because I was afraid we'd have a theophany from Scylla

unless something was done. But an election would have been illegal,

as I had to admit. The calde had designated his successor. They

simply couldn't find him."

"Then I'll have no right to office if it's forced on me."

"Hardly. In the first place, that was a generation ago. It's likely

the adopted son's dead if he ever existed. In the second, the Charter

was written by the gods. It's a document expressing their will

regarding our governance nothing more. It's clear they're displeased

with the present state of things, and you're the only

alternative, as Maytera told you."

Quetzal handed the sacrificial knife to Maytera Marble. "I think

we can go now, Maytera. You must stay. Watch the fire until it goes

out. When it does, carry the ashes into your manteion and dispose

of them as usual. You may notice bones or teeth among them. Don't

touch them, or treat them differently from the rest of the ashes in

any way."

Maytera Marble bowed.

"Purify the altar as usual. If you can get people to help you, take it

back into the manteion. Your Sacred Window, too."

She bowed again. "Patera has already instructed me to do so,

Your Cognizance."

"Fine. You're a good sensible woman, Maytera, as I said. I was

glad to see that you had resumed your coif when you went back to

your cenoby. You've my permission to enter the manse. There's an

old woman there. I think you'll find she's well enough to go home.

There's a boy on one of the beds upstairs. You can leave him there

or carry him into your cenoby to nurse, if that will be more

convenient. See to it that he doesn't exert himself, and that he

drinks a lot of water. Get him to eat, if you can. You might cook

some of this meat for him."

Quetzal turned to Silk. "I want to look in on him again, Patera,

while Maytera's busy with the fire. I'm also going to borrow a spare

robe I saw up there, your acolyte's, I suppose. It looked too short

for you, but it should fit me, and when we meet the rebels--perhaps

we should call them servants of the Queen of the Whorl, some such.

When we meet them, it may help if they know who I am as well as

who you are."

Silk said, "I feel certain Patera Gulo would want you to have

anything that can be of any assistance whatsoever to you, Your

Cognizance."

As Quetzal tottered away, Maytera Marble asked, "Are you going

to help Maytera Mint, Patera? You'll be in frightful danger, both of

you. I'll pray for you."

"I'm much more worried about you than about myself," Silk told

her. "More, even, than I am about her--she must be under

Echidna's protection, in spite of what His Cognizance said."

Maytera Marble lifted her head in a slight, tantalizing smile.

"Don't fret about me. Maytera Marble's taking good care of me."

Unexpectedly, she brushed his cheek with warm metal lips. "If you

should see my boy Bloody, tell him not to worry either. I'll be all

right."

"I certainly will, Maytera." Silk took a hasty step back. "Good-bye,

Maytera Rose. About those tomatoes--I'm sorry, truly sorry about

everything. I hope you've forgiven me."

"She passed away yesterday, Patera. Didn't I tell you?"

"Yes," Silk mumbled. "Yes, of course."

Auk lay on the floor of the tunnel. He was tired--tired and weak

and dizzy, he admitted to himself. When had he slept last? Dayside

on Molpsday, after he'd left Jugs and Patera, before he went to the

lake, but he'd slept on the boat a dog's right before the storm. Her

and the butcher had been tired, too, tireder than him though they

hadn't been knocked on the head. They'd helped in the storm, and

Dace was dead. Urus hadn't done anything, would kill him if he got

the chance. He pictured Urus standing over him with a bludgeon

like the one he had seen, and sat up and stared around him.

Urus and the soldier were talking quietly. The soldier called, "I'm

keeping an eye out. Go back to sleep, trooper."

Auk lay down again, though no soldier could be a friend to

somebody like him, though he'd sooner trust Urus though he didn't

trust Urus at all.

What day was it? Thelxday. Phaesday, most likely. Grim Phaea,

for food and healing. Grim because eating means killing stuff to eat,

and it's no good pretending it don't. Stuff like Gelada'd killed Dace

with his bad arm and the string around his neck. That's why you

ought to go to manteion once in a while. Sacrifice showed you,

showed the gray ram dying and its blood thrown in the fire, and

poor people thanking Phaea or whatever god it was for "this good

food." Grim because healing hurts more than dying, the doctor cuts

you to make you well, sets the bone and it hurts. Dace said a bone in

his head was broken, was cracked or something, he was cracked for

sure and it was probably true because he got awful dizzy sometimes,

couldn't see good sometimes, even stuff right in front of him. A

white ram, Phaea, if I get over this.

It should've been a black ram. He'd promised Tartaros a black

ram, but the only one in the market had cost more than he had, so

he'd bought the gray one. That was before last time, before Kypris

had promised them it'd be candy, before the ring for Jugs, the

anklet for Patera. It had been why his troubles started, maybe,

because his ram had been the wrong color. They dyed those black

rains anyhow...

Up the tree and onto the roof, then in through the attic window, but

he was dizzy, dizzy and the tree already so high its top touched the

shade, brushed the shaggy shade with dead leaves rustling, rustling,

and the roof higher, Urus whistling, whistling from the corner

because the Hoppies were practically underneath this shaggy tree

now.

He stood on a limb, walked out on it watching the roof sail away

with all the black peaked roofs of Limna as the old man's old boat

put out with Snarling Scylla at the helm, Scylla up in Jugs's head not

taking up room but pulling her strings, jerking her on reins, digging

spurred heels in, Spurred Scylla a gamecock spurring Jugs to make

her trot. A little step and another and the roof farther than ever,

higher than the top of the whole shaggy tree and his foot slipped

where Gelada's blood wet the slick silvery bark and he fell.

He woke with a start, shaking. Something warm lay beside him,

dose but not quite touching. He rolled over, bringing his legs up

under her big soft thighs, his chest against her back, an arm around

her to warm her and it, cupping her breast. "By Kypris, I love you,

Jugs I'm too sick to shag you, but I love you. You're all the woman

I'll ever want."

She didn't talk, but there'd been a little change in her breathing,

so he knew she wasn't asleep even if she wanted him to think so.

That was dimber by him, she wanted to look at it and he didn't

blame her, wouldn't want a woman who wouldn't look because a

woman like that got you nabbed sooner or later even if she didn't

mean to.

Only he'd looked at it already, had looked all that he'd ever

need to while he was rolling over. And he slept beside her quite

content.

"I shocked you, Patera Calde. I know I did. I could see it in your

face. My eyes aren't what they were, I'm afraid. I'm no longer good

at reading expressions. But I read yours."

"Somewhat, Your Cognizance." Together, they were walking up a

deserted Sun Street, a tall young augur and a stooped old one

side-by-side, Silk taking a slow step for two of Quetzal's lame and

unsteady ones.

"Since you left the schola, Patera Calde, since you came to this

quarter, you've prayed that a god would come to your Window,

haven't you? I feel sure you have. All of you do, or nearly all. Who

did you hope for? Pas or Scylla?"

"Scylla chiefly, Your Cognizance. To tell the truth, I scarcely

thought about the minor gods then. I mean the gods outside the

Nine--no god is truly minor, I suppose. Scylla seemed the most

probable. It was only on Scylsdays that we had a victim, for one

thing; and she's the patroness of the city, after all."

"She'd tell you what to do, which was what you wanted." Quetzal

squinted up at Silk with a toothless smile he found disconcerting.

"She'd fill your cash box, too. You could fix up those old buildings,

buy books for your palaestra, and sacrifice in the grand style every

day."

Reluctantly, Silk nodded.

"I understand. Oh, I understand. It's perfectly normal, Patera

Calde. Even commendable. But what about me? What about me,

not wanting gods to come at all? That isn't, is it? It isn't, and it's

bothering you."

Silk shook his head. "It's not my place to judge your acts or your

words, Your Cognizance."

"Yet you will." Quetzal paused to peer along Lamp Street, and

seemed to listen. "You will, Patera Calde. You can't help it. That's

why I've got to tell you. After that, we're going to talk about

something you probably think that you learned all about when you

were a baby. I mean the Plan of Pas. Then you can go off to Maytera

what'shername."

"Mint, Your Cognizance.

"You can go off to help her overthrow the Ayuntamiento for

Echidna, and I'll be going off to find you more people to do it with,

and better weapons. To begin--"

"Your Cognizance?" Silk ran nervous fingers through his haystack

hair, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Your Cognizance, did

you know Great Pas was dead? Did you know it already, before she

told us today?"

"Certainly. We can start there, Patera Calde, if that's troubling

you. Would you have talked about it from the ambion of the Grand

Manteion if you'd been in my place? Made a public announcement?

Conducted ceremonies of mourning and so forth?"

"Yes," Silk said firmly. "Yes, I would."

"I see. What do you suppose killed him, Patera Calde? You're an

intelligent young fellow. You studied hard at the schola, I know.

Your instructors' reports are very favorable. How could the Father

of the Gods die?"

Faintly, Silk could hear the booming of slug guns, then a long,

concerted roar that might almost have been thunder.

"Building falling," Quetzal told him. "Don't worry about that now.

Answer my question."

"I can't conceive of such a thing, Your Cognizance. The gods are

immortal, ageless. It's their immortality that makes them gods,

really, more than anything else."

"A fever," Quetzal suggested. "We mortals die of fevers every day.

Perhaps he caught a fever?"

"The gods are spiritual beings, Your Cognizance. They're not

subject to disease."

"Kicked in the head by a horse. Don't you think that could have

been it?"

Silk did not reply.

"I'm mocking you, Patera Calde, of course I am. But not idly.

My question's perfectly serious. Echidna told you Pas is dead,

and you can't help believing her. I've known it for thirty years,

since shortly after his death, in fact. How did he die? How could he?"

Silk combed his disorderly yellow hair with his fingers again.

"When I was made Prolocutor, Patera Calde, we had a vase at the Palace

that had been thrown on the Short Sun Whorl, a beautiful thing. They told me

it was five hundred years old. Almost inconceivable. Do you agree?"

"And priceless, I would say, Your Cognizance."

"Lemur wanted to frighten me, to show me how ruthless he could

be. I already knew, but he didn't know I did. I think he thought that

if I did I'd never dare oppose him. He took that vase from its stand

and smashed it at my feet."

Silk stared down at Quetzal. "You--you're serious, Your Cognizance?

He actually did that?"

"He did. Look, now. That vase was immortal. It didn't age. It was

proof against disease. But it could be destroyed, as it was. So could

Pas. He couldn't age, or even fall sick. But he could be destroyed,

and he was. He was murdered by his family. Many men die like that,

Patera Calde. When you're half my age, you'll know it. Now a god

has, too."

"But, Your Cognizance..."

"Viron's isolated, Patera Calde. All the cities are. He gave us

floaters and animals. No big machines that could carry heavy loads.

He thought that would be best for us, and I dare say he was right.

But the Ayuntamiento's not isolated. The calde wasn't either, when

we had one. Did you think he was?"

Silk said, "I realize we have diplomats, Your Cognizance, and

there are traveling traders and so forth--boats on the rivers, and

even spies."

"That's right. As Prolocutor, I'm no more isolated than he was.

Less, but I won't try to prove that. I'm in contact with religious

leaders in Urbs, Wick, and other cities, cities where his children

have boasted of killing Pas."

"It was the Seven, then, Your Cognizance? Not Echidna? Was

Scylla involved?"

Quetzal had found prayer beads in a pocket of Gulo's robe; he

ran them through his fingers. "Echidna was at the center. You've

seen her, can you doubt it? Scylla, Molpe, and Hierax were in it.

They've said so at various times."

"But not Tartaros, Thelxiepeia, Phaea, or Sphigx, Your Cognizance?"

Silk felt an irrational surge of hope.

"I don't know about Tartaros and the younger gods, Patera

Calde. But do you see why I didn't announce it? There would

have been panic. There will be, if it becomes widely known. The

Chapter will be destroyed and the basis of morality gone.

Imagine Viron with neither. As for public observances, how do

you think Pas's murderers would react to our mourning him?"

"We--" Something tightened in Silk's throat. "We, you and I,

Your Cognizance. Villus and Maytera Marble, all of us are--were

his children too. That is to say, he built the whorl for us. Ruled us

like a father. I..."

"What is it, Patera Calde?"

"I just remembered something, Your Cognizance. Kypris--you

must know there was a theophany of Kypris at our manteion on

Scylsday."

"I've had a dozen reports. It's the talk of the city."

"She said she was hunted, and I didn't understand. Now I believe I may."

Quetzal nodded. "I imagine she is. The wonder is that they

haven't been able to corner her in thirty years. She can't be a tenth

as strong as Pas was. But it can't be easy to kill even a minor goddess

who knows you're trying to. Not like killing a husband and father

who trusts you. Now you see why I've tried to prevent theophanies,

don't you, Patera Calde? If you don't, I'll never be able to make it

clear."

"Yes, Your Cognizance. Of course. It's--horrible. Unspeakable.

But you were right. You are right."

"I'm glad you realize it. You understand why we go on sacrificing

to Pas? We must. I've tried to downgrade him somewhat. Make him

seem more remote than he used to. I've emphasized Scylla at his

expense, but you're too young to have realized that. Older people

complain, sometimes."

Silk said nothing, but stroked his cheek as he walked.

"You have questions, Patera Calde. Or you will have when you've

digested all this. Don't fear you may offend me. I'm at your disposal

whenever you want to question me."

"I have two," Silk told him. "I hesitate to pose the first, which

verges upon blasphemy."

"Many necessary questions do." Quetzal cocked his head. "This

isn't one, but do you hear horses?"

"Horses, Your Cognizance? No."

"I must be imagining it. What are your questions?"

Silk walked on in silence for a few seconds to collect his thoughts.

At length he said, "My original two questions have become three,

Your Cognizance. The first, for which I apologize in advance, is,

isn't it true that Echidna and the Seven love us just as Pas did? I've

always felt, somehow, that Pas loved them, while they love us; and

if that is so, will his death--terrible though it is--make a great deal

of difference to us?"

"You have a pet bird, Patera Calde. I've never seen it, but so I've

been told."

"I had one, Your Cognizance, a night chough. I've lost him, I'm

afraid, although it may be that he's with a friend. I'm hoping he'll

return to me eventually."

"You should have caged him, Patera Calde. Then you'd still have him."

"I liked him too much for that, Your Cognizance."

Quetzal's small head bobbed upon its long neck. "Just so. There

are people who love birds so much they free them. There are others

who love them so much they cage them. Pas's love of us was of the

first kind. Echidna's and the Seven's is of the other. Were you going

to ask why they killed Pas? Is that one of your questions?"

Silk nodded, "My second, Your Cognizance."

"I've answered it. What's the third?"

"You indicated that you wished to discuss the Plan of Pas with me,

Your Cognizance. If Pas is dead, what's the point of discussing his

plan?"

Hoofbeats sounded faintly behind them.

"A god's plans do not die with him, Patera Calde. He is dead, as

Serpentine Echidna told us. We are not. We were to carry Pas's plan

out. You said he ruled us as a father. Do a father's plans benefit

him? Or his children?"

"Your Cognizance, I just remembered something? Another god,

the Outsider--"

"_Pateras!_" The horseman, a lieutenant of the Civil Guard in

mottled green conflict armor, pushed up his visor. "Are you--you

there, Patera. The young one. Aren't you Patera Silk?"

"Yes, my son," Silk said. "I am."

The lieutenant dropped the reins. His hand appeared slow as it

jerked his needler from the holster, yet it was much too quick to

permit Silk to draw Musk's needler. The flat crack of the shot

sounded an instant after the needle's stinging blow.