Lake of the Long Sun

Chapter 7. THE ARMS OF SCYLLA

"May every god be with you this, er, noon, Patera," Remora said as soon as his prothonotary had closed the door behind Gulo. It was extraordinary condescension.

"Even so, may they be with Your Eminence." Gulo bowed nearly to the floor. The bow and conventional phrases gave him time for a final review of the principal items he had come to report. "May Maidenly Moipe, patroness of the day, Great Pas, patron of the whorl, to whom we owe all that we possess, and Scalding Scylla, patroness of this our Sacred City of Viron, be with you always, Your Eminence, every day of your life." In the course of his bow, Gulo had contrived to pat the pocket containing the bracelet and the letter.

Straightening up, he added, "I trust that Your Eminence enjoys the best of good health? That I have not come at an inconvenient moment?"

"No, no," Remora told him. "Um-not at all. I'm- ah-delighted, really quite delighted to see you, Patera. Please sit down. What do you-:ah-make of young Silk, eh?"

Gulo lowered his pudgy body to the black velvet seat of the armchair beside Remora's escritoire. "I've had little opportunity to observe his person thus far, Your Eminence. Very little. He left our manteion a moment or two after my arrival, and he had not yet returned when I myself left it in order to make this report to Your Eminence. He will not return before evening, or so he said, so it would seem less than likely that he is there now."

Remora nodded.

"He made an impression on me, however, even though I saw him so briefly, Your Eminence. A distinct one."

"I-ah-see." Remora leaned back in his chair, his long fingers tip to tip. "Would it be-um-convenient for you to describe this, um, momentary interview in detail, hey?"

"As Your Eminence desires. Shortly after I entered the quarter a man had given me this." Patera Gulo pulled the bracelet from his pocket and held it up; Remora pursed his lips.

"I must add, Your Eminence, that several other such men have come to the door of the manse since then. It was my impression-my marked impression, Your Eminence- that: they had come to proffer similar gifts. They declined to do so when they learned Patera Silk was not present, however."

"You-ah-pressed them, Patera?"

"As much as I dared, Your Eminence. They weren't men of a kind one would care to press too far."

Remora grunted.

"I was about to say, Your Eminence, that when I showed this to Patera Silk he gave me a similar piece and told me to lock both of them in his cashbox. It was a diamond anklet, Your Eminence. There were two other persons with him at the time, a man and a woman. All three were going to the lake, I think. Something was said to that effect." Gulo gave an apologetic cough. "Possibly, Your Eminence, only Patera and the woman."

"You would appear to feel that Patera ought to have been more discreet." Remora seemed to sink deeper into his chair. "Yet unless you have-um-ascertained the identities of these two, you cannot very well, um, gauge how indiscreet he may have been. Have you, eh?"

Gulo fidgeted. "He called them Auk and Chenille, Your Eminence. He introduced them to me."

"Let me see that-ah-bangle." Remora held out his hand for the bracelet. "It ought scarcely to be-ah-needful for me to say that you yourself, Patera, should have been, er, very much more discreet than you were. Ah-by discreet in-ah-this instance, Patera, I, um, intend forceful. The word will bear that-ah-interpretation, I am confident. To be discreet, Patera, is to, er, exercise good judgment, hey? In this present-ah-matter, good judgment would have-ah-prompted a forcible-um-strategy? Approach. Or attitude."

"Yes, Your Eminence."

"You ought to have gracefully and-ah-graciously received any offerings from the faithful, Patera." Remora held up the bracelet so that it caught the light from the bull's-eye window behind him, and swung it from side to side. "I will not-ah-um-desire excuses on that-ah- score, Patera. Do you follow me? None at all, eh?"

Gulo nodded humbly.

"These-ah-gentlemen may return, hey? Perhaps when Patera is absent, as he was in the-um-occasion. You will be-ah-vouchsafed an-um-golden opportunity, when that-ah-hour strikes, with which you may-ah-um-redeem your credit, eh? Not impossibly. See that you do, Patera."

Gulo squirmed. "I shall try, Your Eminence. I will be forceful, I assure you."

"Now then. Your-ah-observations of Silk himself? You needn't-ah-vex yourself with physical description. I've seen him."

"Yes, Your Eminence." Gulo hesitated, his mouth open, his protuberant eyes vague. "He seemed determined."

"Determined, hum?" Remora laid the bracelet on a stack of papers. "To do which?"

"I don't know, Your Eminence. But his jaw was firm, I thought. His manner was decisive. There was-if I may say it, Your Eminence-a glint as of steel in his eyes, I thought. Perhaps that simile is something overblown, Your Eminence-"

"Perhaps it is," Remora told him severely.

"And yet it at least expresses what I sensed in him. At the schola, Your Eminence, Patera was two years before me."

Remora nodded.

"I noticed him there as anyone would, Your Eminence. I thought him good-looking and studious, but rather slow, if anything. Now, however-"

Remora waved the present aside. "You implied, I think, Patera, that Patera-ah-decamped, eh? With a couple. A married couple? Were they-um-ah-wed, so far as you could judge?"

"I believe they may have been, Your Eminence. The woman had a fine ring."

Rcmora's long fingers toyed with the jeweled gammadion he wore. "Describe them, eh? Their-ah-appearance."

"The man was lough-looking, Your Eminence, and somewhat older than I, I should say. He had not shaved, yet he was decently dressed and wore a hanger. Straight brown hair, Your Eminence. A reddish beard, and dark and piercing eyes. Quite tall. I look note of his hands, particularly, when he took that," Gulo indicated the bracelet, "from me. And when he returned it to me, Your Eminence. He had unusually large and powerful ones. Your Eminence. A brawler, I should say. Your Eminence finds me fanciful, I fear."

Remora grunted again. "Go ahead, Patera. Let me hear it. I'll tell you afterward, eh?"

"His hanger. Your Eminence. It was brass-fitted, with a large guard, and to judge from the scabbard it had a longer, broader blade than most, rather sharply curved. It seemed to me that the weapon was like to the man, Your Eminence, if you understand what I mean."

"I-ah-misdoubt that you do yourself. Patera. Yet these details may not be, um, wholly valueless. What of the woman, eh? This Chenille? Be as fanciful as you please."

"Remarkably attractive, Your Eminence. About twenty, tall though not stately. And yet there was an air-"

Remora's uplifted palm halted the younger augur in mid-thought. "Cherry-colored hair?"

"Why, yes, Your Eminence."

"I know her, Patera. I have had a-ah-achates or, um, three out looking for her since last night. So this-ah- fiery vixen was back at Silk's manteion this morning, eh? I will have this and that to say to my, um, adherents, Patera. Let's see that gaud again."

He picked the bracelet up. "I don't suppose you know what this is worth? The green stone, eh? Particularly?"

"Fifty cards, Your Eminence?"

"I have no idea. You haven't had it-um-valuated? No, no, don't. Return it to Silk's box, eh? Tell him-ah- nothing. I'll tell him myself. Tell Incus on your way out that I want to speak with Patera on Tarsday. Have Incus send a note with you, but it's not to mention that you were here, hey? Have him mark the time on my regimen."

Gulo nodded forcefully. "I will. Your Eminence."

"This - ah-woman. Precisely what did she say and do while she was in your presence? Every word, eh?"

"Why nothing, Your Eminence. I don't believe she ever spoke. Let me think."

Remora waved permission. "Take as long as you-ah- consider best. No, um, circumstance too trivial to mention, hey?"

Gulo shut his eyes and bent his head, a hand pressed to his temple. Silence descended upon the large and airy room from which Patera Remora, as coadjutor, conducted the often-tangled affairs of the Chapter. Through four blazing eyes, Twice-headed Pas regarded Gulo's bowed back from a priceless painting by Campion; a Guardsman's restless mount nickered in the street below.

After a minute or two had passed, Remora rose and walked to the bull's-eye window behind his chair. It stood open, and through its circular aperture (whose diameter exceeded his own very considerable height), he could see the gabled roofs and massive towers of the Juzgado at the foot of this, the western and least precipitous slope of the Palatine. High above the tallest, flying from a pole some trick of the glaring sunlight rendered nearly invisible, floated the bright green banner of Viron. Upon it, fitfully animated by the hot and dilatory wind, Scylla's long, white arms appeared to beckon, just as the papillae of certain invertebrates of her lake waved in evident imitation of its surface, searching the clear waters blindly and ceaselessly for bits of can-ion and living fish alike.

"Your Eminence? I believe I can tell you everything I saw now."

Remora turned back to Gulo. "Excellent. Ah-capital! Proceed, Patera."

"It was brief, as I said, Your Eminence. If it had been longer I would be less confident. Is Your Eminence familiar with the small garden attached to our manteion?"

Remora shook his head.

"There is such a place, Your Eminence. One can enter it from the manteion proper-that's how I entered it upon my arrival. I had looked in the manteion first, thinking that I might find Patera Silk at prayer."

"The woman, please, Patera. This-ah-Chenille, eh?"

"There's a grape arbor near the center, Your Eminence, with seats under the vines. She was sitting there, almost completely concealed by the dependent foliage. Patera and the layman, Auk, had been talking there with her, I believe. They came to meet me, but she remained seated."

"She-ah-emerged, eventually?"

"Yes, Your Eminence. We spoke for a minute or so, and Patera gave me their names, as I've reported them. Then he said that he was leaving, and his bird-is Your Eminence familiar with his bird?"

Remora nodded again. "The woman, Patera."

"Patera said they would leave, and she left the arbor. He said-these are his precise words, I believe-'This is Patera Gulo, Chenille. We were speaking of him earlier.' She nodded and smiled."

"And then, Patera? What-ah-next transpired, hey?"

"They left together, Your Eminence. The three of them. Patera had said, 'We're off to the lake, you silly bird.' And as they went out of the gate-there's a gate to Sun Street from the garden, Your Eminence-the layman said, 'Hope you get something, only don't go down in the chops if you don't.' But the woman said nothing at all."

"Her dress, Patera?"

"Black, Your Eminence. I remember that for a moment I thought it was a sibyl's habit, but it was actually just a black wool gown, such as fashionable women wear in winter."

"Jewelry? You said she wore a ring, eh?"

"Yes, Your Eminence. And a necklace and earrings, both jade. I noticed her ring particularly because it sparkled as she pushed the grapevines to one side. There was a dark red gem like a carbuncle, quite large, I believe in a simple setting of yellow gold. If Your Eminence would only confide in me . . . ?"

"Tell you why she's-um-central? She may not be." Sighing, Remora pushed his chair away from the escritoire and returned to the window. With his back to Gulo and his hands clasped behind it, he repeated, "She may not be."

Moved by an excess of mannerliness, Gulo stood, too.

"Or yet, she-um-may. You're anxious to minister to the gods, Patera. Or so you declare, eh?"

"Oh, yes, Your Eminence. Extremely anxious."

"And also to rise in the-ah-books of an-er-um- remarkably extensive family, hey? That I have-ah-made note of as well. You have considered that in, um, due course you might eventually become Prolocutor, hey?"

Gulo blushed like a girl. "Oh, no, Your Eminence. That-that is-I-"

"No, no, you have, eh? Every young augur does; I did it myself. Has it struck home yet that by the time you get so much as-um-a whiff of mulberry, those whom you hope to-ah-impress? Overawe. That they will be dead? Gone, eh? Forgotten by everyone except the gods, Patera Gulo my boy. And you, eh? Forgotten by everyone save the gods and yourself. And who can vouch for the gods, eh? Such is the-ah-fact of the matter, I, er, warrant you."

No doubt wisely, Gulo swallowed and remained silent.

"You cannot do it by any stretch, Patera. Eh? By none. Assume the office. If you ever do. Not till I myself have gone, eh? And my successor, likewise. You are-ah-too young at present. Not even if I live long, hey? You know it, eh? Take an idiot not to, hey?"

Poor Gulo nodded, desperately wishing that he might flee instead.

The coadjutor turned to face him. "I cannot-um- speak for him, eh? My successor. Only for myself. Ah-yes. For myself, I-ah-um-meditate a reign longer than old Quetzal's, hey?"

"I would never wish you less, Your Eminence."

"His chambers are over there, Patera." Remora waved his left hand vaguely. "On this very floor of the palace, hey? South side. Faces our garden." He chuckled. "Bigger than Patera Silk's. Much more-ah-extensive, er, doubtless. Fountains-ah-statuary, and big trees. All that."

Gulo nodded. "They're lovely, I know. Your Eminence."

"He's held the office for thirty-three years already, hey? Old Quetzal. There are one hundred and-ah-odd of your generation, Patera, Many better-um-connected. I-ah-proffer a nearer target, an-ah-straighter road for your ambition."

Remora resumed his chair and motioned for Gulo to sit. "An-ah-little game now, eh? A sport, to while away this, um, overheated hour. Choose yourself a city, Patera. Any city you care to name, so long as it is not Viron. I'm perfectly serious. Within the-um-hedge of the game. Consider. Large? Fair? Rich? Which city will you have, eh, Patera?"

"Palustria, Your Eminence?"

"Down amongst the pollywogs, hey? Good enough. Then conceive yourself at the head of the Chapter in Palustria. Perhaps-ah-a decade hence. You will tithe, I should think, to the parent Chapter, here in Viron. You continue subject to the Prolocutor, eh? Whomever he may be. To old Quetzal, or to-ah-myself, as is more probable in ten years time. Do you find it a-um-attractive prospect, Patera?"' Remora raised a hand as he had before. "Needn't say so, if it-ah-troubles you."

"Your Eminence-?"

"I have no idea, Patera. None whatsoever, eh? But the drought. You're aware of that, hey? Can't escape it. How fairs your-ah-choice, Patera? How fares Palustria in the drought?"

Gulo swallowed. "I've heard that the rice crop failed, Your Eminence. I know there's no rice in the market here, though traders usually bring it."

Remora nodded. "There is rioting, Patera. There is- um-no starvation. None as yet. But there is the specter of starvation. Soldiers trying to, er, check the-ah-mob. Practically-ah-worn out, some of those soldiers. Uncle a military man, eh?"

Bewildered by the sudden shift in topic, Gulo managed, "Wh-why I-one is, Your Eminence."

"Major in the Second Brigade. Ask him where our army is, Patera. Or perhaps you can tell me now? Heard his- um-table talk? Where is it, eh?"

"In storage, Your Eminence. Underground. Here in Viron the Civil Guard is all we need."

"Precisely. Not so elsewhere though, Patera. We die, eh? Grow old like-ah-His Cognizance. And tread the path to Mainframe. Chems last longer, though. Forever?"

"I hadn't considered the matter, Your Eminence. But I would think-"

A corner of Remora's mouth twitched upward. "But you will, eh? To be sure you will, Patera. Now, eh? Good to know that the-ah-arms of Scylla are good as new, eh? Or-ah-very nearly so. Not like-ah-um-Palustria's, hey? And many others. Soldiers and their-ah-weapons like new or nearly. Think about it, Patera."

Remora straightened up in his chair, resting his elbows on the escritoire. "What-um-more have you to report concerning Patera, Patera?"

"Your Eminence mentioned weapons. I found a paper packet of needles, Your Eminence. Opened."

"A paper of needles, Patera? I fail-"

"Not sewing needles," Gulo added hastily. "Projectiles for a needler, Your Eminence. In one of Patera's drawers, under clothing."

"I-ah-must consider that," Remora said slowly. "I-um-it is of-um-concern. No question. Anything- ah-further?"

"My final item, Your Eminence. One that I would much rather not have to report. This letter." Gulo extracted it from the pocket of his robe. "It's from-"

"You have, er, opened it." Remora favored him with a gentle smile.

"It's in a feminine hand, Your Eminence, and is heavily perfumed. Under the circumstances I think that what I did was justified. I hoped, very sincerely, Your Eminence, that it would prove to have emanated from a sister or some other female relation, Your Eminence. However-"

"You are-ah-bold, Patera. That's well, or so I am- ah-disposed to conclude. Sphigx favors the bold, eh?" Remora peered at the superscription. "Not from this- um-lady Chenille, hey? Or you would've said so previously, hum?"

"No, Your Eminence. From another woman."

"Read it to me, Patera. You must have-ah-puzzled out that-um-contorted scribble. I should, er, choose not to."

"I fear that you will find, Your Eminence, that Patera Silk has compromised himself. I wish-"

"I'll be the-ah-judge, eh? Read it, Patera."

Gulo cleared his throat and unfolded the letter. " 'O My Darling Wee Flea: I call you so not only because of the way you sprang from my window, but because of the way you hopped into my bed! How your lonely bloss has longed for a note from you!!!' "

"Bloss, Patera?"

"A pretended wife, I believe, Your Eminence."

"I-ah-very well. Proceed, Patera. Is there-ah further revelation?"

"I'm afraid so, Your Eminence. 'You might have sent one by the kind friend who brought you my gift, you know!' "

"Let me-ah-examine that, Patera." Remora extended his hand, and Gulo passed him the much-creased paper.

"Ah-hum."

"Yes, Your Eminence."

"She really does-ah-write like that, hey? Doesn't she? Yes-ah-does she not. I would not have-ah-conceded, er, previously, that a human being could."

Brows knit, Remora bent over the paper. " 'Now you have to tender me your,'-ah-um-'thanks,' I suppose that must be, eh? 'And so much more, when,'-ah-um- 'next we meet,' with yet another screamer. 'Don't you know that little,'-um-'place up on the Palatine-' Well, well, well!"

"Yes, Your Eminence."

" That little place up on the Palatine where Thelx,' I suppose she-ah-intends Thelxiepeia but doesn't-ah- apprehend the spelling. 'Where Thelx holds up a mirror? Hieraxday.' That last-um-underscored. Heavily, eh? Signature, 'Hy.' "

Remora tapped the paper with a long fingernail. "Well-ah-do you, Patera? Where is it, eh? A picture, I-ah-if I may guess at hazard. Not in one of the manteions, hey? I know them all."

Gulo shook his head. "I've never seen a picture like that, Your Eminence."

"In a-ah-house, most likely, Patera. A private- um-residence, I would-um-opine." Remora bawled, "Incus!" over Gulo's shoulder, and a small, sly-looking augur with buckteeth looked in so quickly as to suggest that he had been eavesdropping.

"Whereabouts might we-ah-descry Thelxiepeia and a mirror, here on the hill, eh, Incus? You don't know. Make-um-inquiries. I shall expect their result tomorrow at, um, no later than luncheon. Should be a simple matter, eh?" Remora glanced down at the letter's broken seal. "And fetch a seal with a-um-heart or kiss or some such for this." He tossed Hyacinth's letter across the room to Incus.

"Immediately, Your Eminence."

Remora turned back to Gulo. "It won't-um-signify if Patera has seen this one, Patera. She's the sort who'll have a round dozen at fewest, eh? You don't know how to- um-preserve the seal? Incus can show you. A useful art, eh?"

As the latch clicked behind his bowing prothonotary, Remora rose once more. "You take that back to Sun Street with you, eh? When he's through with it. If Patera isn't back, put it on the mantel. If he is, say it was-ah-handed to you as you went out, eh? You haven't glanced at it, hey?" Gulo nodded glumly. "Naturally, Your Eminence."

Remora leaned closer to peer at him. "Something- um-troubling you, Patera. Out with it." "Your Eminence, how could an anointed augur, a man of Patera's high promise, compromise himself so? I mean this absurd, filthy woman. And yet a goddess-! I understand now, only too well, why Your Eminence believes Patera must be watched, but-but a theophany!"

Remora sucked his teeth. "It's an-ah-habitual observation of - eld Quetzal's that the gods don't have laws, Patera. Only preferences."

"I myself can see, Your Eminence-but when the augur in question-"

Remora silenced him with a gesture. "Possibly we will, er, be made privy to the secret, Patera. In due time, eh? Possibly there's none. You've considered Palustria?"

Afraid to trust his voice, Gulo merely nodded.

"Capital." Remora regarded him narrowly. "Now then. What do you know about the-ah-history of the caldes, Patera?"

"The caldes, Your Eminence? Only that the last one died before I was born, and the Ayuntamiento decided that nobody could replace him." "And replaced him-um-themselves, hey? In effect. You realize that, Patera?"

"I suppose so, Your Eminence."

Remora stalked across the room to a tall bookcase. "I knew him, eh? The last. A loud, tyrannical, tumultuous sort of man. The mob-um-doted upon him, hey? They always love that kind." He extracted a thin volume bound in russet leather and recrossed the room to drop it into Gulo's lap. "The Charter, eh? Written in-ah-deity by Scylla and corrected by Pas. So it-um-asserts. Have a look at clause seven. Quickly, hey? Then tell me what you find-um- outre in it."

Silence settled over the spacious, somberly furnished room once more as the young augur bent over the book. In the street, litter bearers fought like sparrows with much shouting and a few blows; as the minutes ticked by, Remora watched their dispute though the open window.

Gulo looked up. "It provides for the election of new councillors, Your Eminence. Every three years. I assume that this provision has been suspended?"

"Delicately-um-phrased, Patera. You may-ah-attain Palustria yet. What else?"

"And it says the calde is to hold office for life, and may appoint his successor."

Remora nodded. "Reshelve it, will you? Not done now, eh? No calde at all. Yet it's still law. You know of the frozen embryo trade, Patera? New breeds of cattle, exotic pets, slaves, too, in places like Trivigaunte, eh? Where do they come from, hey?"

Gulo hurried to the bookcase. "From other cities, Your Eminence?"

"Which say the same, Patera. Seeds and cuttings that grow plants of-um-bizarre form. They die, hey? Or most do. Or, um, thrive beyond nature."

"I've heard of them, Your Eminence."

"Most of the beasts, and men, are-ah-commonplace. Or nearly, eh? A few-um-monstrosities, eh? Pitiful. Or fearful. Extraordinary prices for those. Give ear now, Patera." "I'm listening, Your Eminence."

Remora stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, nearly whispering. "This was common knowledge, eh? Fifteen years ago. The calde's folly, we called it. Forgotten now, hum? And you're not to speak about it to anyone, Patera. Not to stir it up, hey?"

Craning his neck to meet the eyes of the coadjutor, Gulo declared, "Your Eminence can rely upon me absolutely."

"Capital. Before he-ah-collected his reward from the gods, Patera, the calde paid out a sum of that-um-magnitude, hey? Bought a human embryo. Something-ah-extraordinary."

"I see." Gulo moistened his lips. "I appreciate your confidence in me. Your Eminence."

"A successor, eh? Or an-ah-weapon. Nobody knows, Patera. The Ayuntamiento's no-ah-wiser than yourself, Patera, now that I've told you." "If I may inquire, Your Eminence . . .?"

"What became of it? That is the-ah-crux, Patera. And what could it do? Extraordinary strength, perhaps. Or hear your thoughts, eh? Move things without touching them? There are rumors of such people. Ayuntamiento searched, eh? Never stopped, never gave up."

"Had it been implanted, Your Eminence?"

"No one knew. Still don't, eh?" Remora returned to his escritoire and sat down. "A year passed. Then two, five-ah-ten. They came to us. Wanted us to test every child in every palaestra in the city, and we did it. Memory, eh? Dexterity. All sorts of things. There were a few we-ah-took an interest in. No good, hey? The harder we, er, scrutinized them, the less-ah-outlandish they looked. Early development, eh? A few years and the rest caught up."

Remora shook his head. "Not-ah-um-unforeseen, we said, and the-ah-Lemur, Loris, and the rest likewise. They're not always what they're cracked up to be, these frozen embryos. Die in the womb, more often than not. Everybody forgot it. You follow me?"

Though Gulo was seldom subject to flashes of insight, he had one at that moment. "Y-y-your Eminence has located this person! It's this woman Chenille!"

Remora pursed his lips. "I did not-ah-asseverate anything of the kind, Patera."

"Indeed not, Your Eminence."

"Patera has become an-ah-popular figure, Patera, as I, er, implied to you yesterday. This theophany, to be sure. "'Silk for calde' daubed upon walls forest-to-lake. Bound to attract all sorts, eh? Me must be watched over by an acolyte of-um-sagacity. And large discretion. His associates must be watched likewise. A weighty-um-obligation for one so young. But for the future coadjutor for Palustria, a fitting devoir."

Sensing his dismissal, Gulo rose and bowed. "I will do my best, Your Eminence."

"Capital. See Incus about that letter, and my note to Patera."

Greatly daring, Gulo inquired, "Do you think that Patera himself may have guessed, Your Eminence? Or that this woman may have told him outright?"

Remora nodded gloomily.

Here, at its loftiest point, the cliff jutted into the lake like the prow of a giant's boat. Here, according to a modest bronze plaque let into its side next to the entrance, Lacustral Scylla's most humble petitioner Lemur, Presiding Officer of the Ayuntamiento, had erected to her glory this chaste hemispherical dome of milky, translucent, blue stone, supported on the wavering tips of these (Silk counted them) ten tapering, fragile-looking pillars, themselves resting upon a squat balustrade. There were fine-lined drawings other exploits, both factual and legendary, traced in bronze on the balustrade. Most impressive of all, there was her representation, with floating hair and bare breasts, inlaid in bronze in the stone floor, with ten coiling arms extended toward the ten pillars.

And there was nothing else.

"There's no one here, Oreb," Silk said. "Yet I know we saw somebody."

The bird only muttered.

Still shaking his head in perplexity, Silk stepped into the deep shadow of the dome. As his dusty black shoe made contact with the floor, he thought he heard a faint groan from the solid rock beneath him.

And very much to Silk's surprise, Oreb flew. He did not fly well or far, merely out between two pillars to alight heavily upon a spur of naked rock eight or ten cubits from the shrine; but fly he did, Crane's little splint a bright blue against his sable plumage.

"What are you afraid of, silly bird? Falling?"

Oreb cocked his sleek head in the direction of Limna. "Fish heads?"

"Yes," Silk promised. "More fish heads just as soon as we get back."

"Watch out!"

Fanning himself with his wide straw hat, Silk turned to admire the lake. A few friendly sails shone here and there, minute triangles of white against the prevailing cobalt. It was cooler here than it had been among the rocks, and would be cooler still, no doubt, in a boat like those he watched. If he preserved the manteion as the Outsider wished, perhaps he might some summer bring a party from the palaestra here, children who had never seen the lake or ridden in a boat or caught a fish. It would be an experience that they would never forget, surely; an adventure they would treasure for the whole length of their lives.

"Watch arm!"

Orcb's voice came on the land breeze, faint but shrill. Silk glanced up automatically at his own left hand, lifted nearly to the low dome as he leaned against one of the bent pillars; it was perfectly safe, of course.

He looked around for Oreb, but the bird seemed to have vanished in the jumble of naked rock inland.

Oreb was returning to the wild now, Silk told himself-to freedom, exactly as he himself had invited him to do on that first night. To think of the once-caged bird happy and free should not have been painful, yet it was.

Scanning the rocks for Oreb, he saw, from the comer of one eye, the delicately curved pillars nearest the entrance drop from the dome. One barred the entrance with a double S. The other reached for him, its sinuous motion seemingly casual and almost careless. He dodged and struck at it with Blood's walking stick.

Effortlessly, the pillar looped about his waist, a noose of stone. Blood's stick shattered at the third blow.

In the floor, Scylla opened stony lips; irresistibly the tentacle carried him toward her gaping mouth, and as he hung struggling above the dark orifice, dropped him into it.

The initial fall was not great; but it was onto carpeted steps, and he tumbled down them, rolling in wild confusion until he sprawled at last on a floor twenty- or thirty cubits below the shrine, with sore knees and elbows and a bruised cheek.

"Oh, you gods!"

The sound of his voice brought light; there were large, comfortable-looking armchairs here, upholstered in brown and burnt orange, and a sizable table; but Silk gave them small attention, gripping his injured ankle in one hand while the other lashed the carpet with Crane's wrapping.

As though by a miracle, the circular panel of deep blue that was the farther end of the room irised wide, revealing a towering talus; its ogre's face was of black metal, and the slender black barrels of buzz guns flanked its gleaming fangs. "You again!" it roared.

The memory of Blood's blade-crowned wall returned-the still and sweltering night, the gate of thick-set bars, and this shouting giant of brass and steel. Silk shook his head as he replaced the wrapping; though it required an effort to keep his voice steady, he said loudly, "I've never been here before."

"I knew you!" Swiftly, the talus's left arm lengthened, reaching for him.

He scrambled up the carpeted stair. "I didn't want to come here! I wasn't trying to get in." "I know you!"

A metal hand as large as a shovel closed on Silk's right forearm, clamping the injuries inflicted by the white-headed one; Silk screamed.

"Does this hurt you!"

"Yes," he gasped. "It hurts. Terribly. Please let me go. I'll do whatever you say."

The steel hand shook him. "You don't care!"

Silk screamed again, writhing in the grasp of fingers as thick as pipes.

"Musk punished me! Humiliated me!"

The shaking stopped. The enormous mechanical arm lifted Silk, and, as he dangled puppylike in midair, contracted. Through chattering teeth, he gasped, "You're Blood's talus. You stopped me at his gate."

The steel hand opened, and he fell heavily to the floor. "I was right!"

The azoth he had carried from the city to the lake was no longer in his waistband. Striving to keep his voice from breaking, he said, "May I stand up?" hoping to feel it slip down his trouser leg.

"Musk sent me away!" the talus roared; grotesquely, its vertical upper body angled forward as it addressed him.

Silk stood, but the azoth was gone; it had been in place when he had admired the lake from the shrine, certainly; so it had presumably been lost in his fall, and might still be near the top of the stair.

He risked a cautious step backward. "I'm terribly sorry-really, I am. I don't have any influence with Musk, who dislikes me much more than he could ever dislike you. But I may have some small amount with Blood, and I'll do whatever I can to get you reinstated."

"No! You won't!"

"I will." Silk essayed another small backward step. "I will, I assure you."

"You soft things!" Noiselessly, and apparently without effort, the talus glided over the carpet on twin dark belts, the crest of its brazen helmet almost scraping the ceiling.

"You look the same because you are the same! Easy to break! No repair! Full of filth!"

Still edging backward, Silk asked, "Were you in the shrine? Up there?"

"Yes! My processor by interface!"

Both the talus's steel hands reached for him this time, extended so swiftly that he escaped them by no more than the width of a finger. He stumbled backward, desperately pushed a heavy armchair into the path of one hand, and dove beneath the table. It was lifted, rotated in the air, and slammed down flat to kill him as a man swats a fly; he rolled frantically to one side and felt the edge of its massive top brush the wide sleeve of his robe, the sudden gust as it crashed down.

Something lay on the floor, not a cubit from his face, a green crystal in a silver setting. He snatched it up as the talus snatched him up, holding him this time by the back of his robe, so that he dangled from its hand like a black moth caught by its sooty wings.

"Musk hurt me!" the talus roared. "Hurt me and made me go! I returned to Potto! He was not pleased!"

"I had nothing to do with that." Silk's voice was as soothing as he could make it. "I'll help you if I can-I swear it."

"You got inside! I was on guard!" It shook him. "In the tunnel the red water won't matter!"

It was backing through the irised wall with him, moving slowly but steadily, its arms retracting to bring him ever closer to its fearsome face.

"I don't want to hurt you," Silk told it. "It's evil-that means very wrong-to destroy chems, as wrong as it is to destroy bios, and you're very nearly a chem."

That halted it momentarily. "Chems are junk!"

"Chems are wonderful constructions, a race that we bios created long ago, our own image in metal and synthetics." "Bios are fish guts!" The backward glide resumed.

Silk held the azoth firmly in his left hand, his thumb on the demon. "Please say that you won't kill me."

"No!"

"Let me return to the surface."

"No!"

"I'll do you no more harm, I swear; and I'll help you if I can."

"I will drop you and crush you!" the talus roared. "One blow .'"The wall irised closed behind them, leaving them in a long, dim passageway, a little more than twice the talus's width, bored through the solid stone of the cliff.

"Don't you fear the immortal gods, my son?" Silk asked in desperation. "I'm the servant of one god and the friend of another."

"I serve Scylla!"

"As an augur, I receive the protection of all the gods, including hers."

The steel fingers shook him more violently than before, then released his robe; he fell, nearly losing his grip on the azoth as he struck the dark and dirty stone floor. Sprawling, half-blind with pain, he looked up into that ogre's mask of a metal face and glimpsed the steel fist lifted higher than its owner's head.

The wings of Hierax roared in his ears; without time to think, reason, threaten, or equivocate, he pressed the demon.

Stabbing out from the hilt, the azoth blade of universal discontinuity caught the talus below the right eye; jagged scraps of incandescent slag burst from the point it struck. The steel fist smashed down but appeared to lose direction as it descended, hammering the stone floor to his left.

Black smoke and crackling orange flames erupted from the mass of wreckage that had been the talus's head, and with them a deafening roar of rage and anguish. The great steel fists swung wildly, pounding flying chips as sharp as flints from the stone sides of the passageway. Eyeless and ablaze, the talus lurched toward him.

A single slash from the azoth severed both the wide dark belts on which it had moved; they lashed the floor, the walls, and the dying talus itself like whips, then fell limp. There was a muffled explosion; flames shot up from the wagonlike body behind the vertical torso.

Scrambling away from the heat and smoke, Silk released the demon, stood, thrust the azoth back into his waistband, dusted off his black robe, and got out his beads. Swinging their voided cross toward the burning talus, he traced the sign of addition again and again. "I convey to you, my son, the forgiveness of all the gods."

His chant was flat and almost mechanical at first, but as the wonder and magnanimity of divine amnesty filled his mind, his voice grew louder and shook with fervor. "Recall now the words of Pas, who said, 'Do my will, live in peace, multiply, and do not disturb my seal. Thus you shall escape my wrath. Go willingly, and any wrong that you have ever done shall be forgiven you. . . .' "

Incus returned Hyacinth's letter to Gulo with a smirk. Its new seal, similar though not identical to the original one, displayed a leaping flame between cupped hands. "Her full name would be Hymenocallis, I expect," Incus remarked. "Very pretty. I've used it a time or two myself."

"I didn't write it," Gulo told him sullenly. "But you're supposed to write to Patera Silk now, telling him to wait upon His Eminence Tarsday. You're to set the hour and mark it on His Eminence's regimen."

The buck-toothed prothonotary nodded. "You'll deliver it for us? I'd rather not have to whistle up another boy just now so old Remora can whip your randy cur to kennel." Pudgy Patera Gulo advanced on him with clenched fists and reddening cheeks. "Patera Silk's a real man, you manse-wife. Whatever he may've done with this woman, he's worth a dozen of you and three of me. Remember that, and the proportion."

Incus grinned up at him. "Why Gully! You're in love!"