Return to the Whorl

6. DARK EMPTY ROOMS

Somethin' there, bucky." Pig's hand, groping through darkness that for Pig had no shadeup, found his arm and closed around it, pointed nails digging into his flesh. "Hoose, maybe."

"Do you think they might let us sleep there? I don't see any lights."

"Was nae lights ter Hound's, neither, yet said."

A short distance ahead Hound remarked, "Oil that will burn in lamps is very dear, and candles almost impossible to find at any price." After a moment he added, "I really can't say how near the city we are, but we've come a long way. I for one am ready for a rest. What about you, Horn?"

Pig released his arm, and the tapping of Pig's scabbard indicated that Pig was moving to his right. He said, "Pig's been walking, while I've done nothing but sit upon the back of this wonderfully tolerant donkey of yours. I feel sure that Pig-and my donkey-must be far more fatigued than I am."

'Wall." Pig's voice sounded nearby. "Nae winders, nor nae doors neither." There was a pause. "Here's ther gate. Wide h'open, ter."

"No gate!" Oreb informed him.

"There's a vacant mansion back there," Hound explained. "I've passed it many times. We could camp in it, if everybody's willing. It should keep off the rain, and rain's likely after this heat. How do you feel about it, Horn? Would you be willing to stop?"

"Yes." He got out the striker Tansy had given him. "I'd like to see it, if it belonged to a man named Blood. Did it?"

"I haven't the least notion who it belonged to. All I can tell you is that nobody's lived in it for as long as I've been taking this road. It's pretty remote, and there are a lot of empty houses. Most are in better shape than this one."

"Then I want to stop, if you and Pig are willing." The striker flared.

"I wouldn't use up more of that candle than you can help."

Pig's voice came from a greater distance. "Gang h'in, bucky. Yer comin'?"

"Yes, I am." He dismounted.

The wall was ruinous; the tangled iron through which Maytera Marble had picked her way had vanished. "I fought in a battle here, Oreb," he whispered to the bird on his shoulder.

"No fight!"

"Sometimes one must. Sometimes you do yourself."

Oreb fidgeted, his bill clacking unhappily. "Bad place."

"Oh, no doubt. They were holding Silk here, and Chenille, Patera Incus, and Master Xiphias. Not so long ago, I imagined Xiphias was walking along beside me. I wish he'd come back." He led his donkey through the gate and raised his lantern, hoping for a glimpse of the villa that had been Blood's; but the feeble light of the candle scarcely revealed the distant, pale bulk of Scylla's fountain. Under his breath he added, "Or that Silk would."

"Bad place!"

Behind them, Hound chuckled. "It's haunted, naturally. All these old places are supposed to be."

"It is indeed." The man Hound addressed waved his knobbed staff before him, although the light from his lantern showed no obstruction. "There should be a dead talus right here. I wonder what has become of it."

"Well, I wonder what's become of your friend Pig. I don't see him up ahead."

"You're right. Oreb, will you look for him, please? If he's in trouble, come back and tell us at once."

"Now that's a handy pet." Hound caught up. "You've been here before?"

"Twenty years ago. I had a slug gun instead of a stick then, and a thousand friends instead of two. No doubt I should say I like this better, because no one's trying to kill me; but the truth is I don't." He pointed back to the gate with his staff. "The Guard floaters broke through there and came in with buzz guns blazing at the same time we swarmed over the wall-volunteers like me, and Guardsmen, and even Trivigaunti pterotroopers. There were taluses in here, but between the floaters and us, they never had a chance. Others did much more, I'm sure; but I got off a shot before-"

Oreb returned, dropping onto his shoulder. "Pig come."

"He's all right then?"

Oreb croaked deep in his throat, and Hound said, "I couldn't understand him that time."

"He didn't say anything, just made a noise. It means he doesn't know what to say or doesn't know how to say it. So something's the matter with Pig that Oreb can't explain, or that he doesn't know how to tell us. Is he bleeding, Oreb?"

"No hurt."

"That's good. He didn't fall, I hope?"

"No, no."

The fountain was dry, its basin filled with rotting leaves and its once-white stone dirty gray. One of Scylla's arms had been broken off.

"Do people still worship her, Hound?"

Hound hesitated. "Sometimes. I'm not religious myself, so I don't pay a lot of attention, but I don't think it's like it used to be. They offer ducks now, mostly, or that's what Tansy's mother told me once."

"What about theophanies?"

"I'm afraid I don't know that word."

"Girl come," Oreb explained.

"Does Scylla appear in your Sacred Windows?"

"Oh, that." Hound urged his donkey forward, and jerked the rope of those he led. "Not like it used to be, I suppose. She comes to the window in the Grand Manteion two or three times a year, or the augurs say she does."

"It wasn't like that at all, really. No god ever visited us in all the time that I was growing up, not until just before we left for Blue."

"I didn't know that," Hound said.

"What I wanted-"

Oreb interrupted them. "Man come. Pig man."

"Good." He raised his lantern. "Pig? Are you all right?"

"Ho, aye."

"We were worried about you." He hurried forward.

The fitful light of the swinging lantern revealed the huge Pig, his dirty black trousers and dirty gray shirt, his big sword just now exploring the wide doorway of Blood's villa as Pig prepared to step out.

"We're going to camp in there. There are fireplaces, I'm sure, or there used to be."

"Aye, bucky."

He turned back to Hound. "Do you require our help with the donkeys?"

"No," Hound called. "But you could start that fire."

"I will. There-I'm going to blow out my candle, Pig. Hound doesn't want me to waste it, and he's right. I haven't seen any firewood around here anyway, and I imagine all the furniture was stolen or burned long ago."

"Aye."

Oreb muttered, "Poor man."

"So would you guide me to the back of the house and help look for wood? The trees overhang the wall there, as I remember, and there must be fallen branches."

Pig's big hand found his arm, and although Pig did not reply, he followed Pig docilely.

"This is where they had the sheds for Blood's floaters, and where the horned cats were penned. A talus cared for them, the one Silk killed in the tunnels. I suppose the others, the ones we killed when we stormed the house, were the Ayuntamiento's. The rabbit hutches must have been back here, too, though I don't remember seeing them."

"Seein'?" Pig's hand tightened. "Did yer say seein', bucky?"

Oreb fidgeted on his master's shoulder uneasily, wings half extended. "Watch out."

"Yes, Pig, I did."

"Pals, hain't we?"

"Certainly I am your friend, Pig. I hope you're mine as well."

"Then tell me somethin', bucky. Tell me what yer see."

"Right now? Nothing at all. It's totally dark."

"Yer said yer'd blow h'out yer glim, an' yer did. Heard yer. Heard yer h'open, an' blow, an' shut h'up."

"That's right. I can light it again if you wish, and use it to look around for wood."

"Nae sunshine, bucky?"

"No. None."

The hand on his shoulder, tight already, tightened still more. "What h'about ther skylands? Onie light h'up there?"

"No-wait." He lifted his head, scanning the sky. "One little pinpoint of red. It's a city burning, I suppose, though just a spark to us. That's what someone told me they were."

"What h'about ther hoose, bucky? Did yer gae Won Win?"

"No, not yet. I intended to, of course."

"Then yer don't know h'if there's lights h'in h'it, do yer?" Pig's voice shook.

"I-I'm inclined to doubt it. The entrance was dark, and weI-saw no lights in the windows. I didn't ask Hound, but if he had seen one he would have mentioned it, I'm sure."

"What h'about yer, H'oreb? Yer was h'in there wi' me."

"Bird go," Oreb confirmed cautiously.

"Yer Ben's guid h'in they dark. Better'n onie man's, hain't that lily, H'oreb? Look 'round noo, will yer? A favor ter ane what's yer friend?"

"Bird look."

"Yer needn't be a-feared. What do yer see?"

"Pig, Silk."

"Aye. What 'sides a' us?"

"Big wall. Big house."

"What a' a woman, H'oreb? Do yer see onie woman h'about, watchin' an' listenin'?"

"No girl."

"Lookin' h'out ther winder, h'it might be."

"No, no. No see."

There was a grunt of effort, followed by a thump as Pig's knee came down on the hard, dry grass. "Bucky, will yer help me? Yer me friend, yer said sae. Will yer?"

"Of course, Pig." From the new angle of Pig's arm, Pig was kneeling before him. He groped for him and found the other hand, a hairy hand as large as good-sized ham, that grasped the pommel of the big sword. "I'll help you in any way I can. Surely you know that."

"Recollect how yer felt a' me face, bucky?"

"Of course."

"Wanted ter prove ter yer Pig has nae een, bucky. Got me rag h'over 'em, an' some thinks Pig's soldierin'. Wanted yer ter find h'out fer yerself."

"I understand."

"Yer didn't have nae glim then, but yer does noo. Will yer light h'it fer me, bucky? Fer ane second, like."

"Certainly. It will be a relief to me, actually. Wait a moment." He opened the lantern and got out the striker again. It flared, shooting yellow-white sparks that seemed as bright as thrown torches; the butter-yellow flame of the candle rose.

The rag was no longer across Pig's broad, bearded face. Widely spaced holes like the eyes in a skull stared at nothing.

"Can yer see 'em, bucky? See me een? Where they was?"

He made himself speak. "Yes, Pig. Yes, I can."

"Gaen, hain't they? They cut 'em oot?"

He lowered his lantern and looked away. "Yes, they are. They did."

"Gets dirty, sometimes. Cleans h'in 'em wi' a rag h'on the h'end a' me fin'er."

"Man cry," Oreb informed him, and he looked back. Rivulets of moisture coursed down either side of Pig's broad nose.

"I'll clean them for you, Pig, if that's what you wish. With a clean cloth and clean water."

"Went h'in." Pig's voice was almost inaudible. "H'in ther hoose ter find what might be found, bucky. An' seen her."

Silence. He opened the little black lantern again and blew out its candle, and could not have explained why.

"Dark h'again, bucky?" There was a hideous mirth in Pig's voice that hurt more than any tears.

"Yes, Pig," he said. "Dark again."

"Yer dinna h'ask h'about her, bucky."

"No talk," Oreb advised him.

He ignored the warning. "I didn't think it the moment for prying questions."

"Yer dinna care, bucky?"

"I care very much. But this isn't the time. Hound is unloading his donkeys, Pig, and expecting us to find firewood. Let us find firewood for him. We said we would."

Later, when all three were sitting before a small fire in the large fireplace that had graced Blood's sellaria, Hound said, "I'm going to have a look at my donkeys. I've never had one get loose on a darkday, and I prefer that it never happen." He rose. "Can I get either of you anything?"

"We've more than enough."

As Hound left, Pig whispered, "Noo, bucky? Want ter hear h'about her noo?"

He shook his head. "Wait until Hound comes back."

"Want him ter hear h'it? Thought yer dinna."

"Of course I do. He knows this area and the people in it. Have you ever been here before, Pig?"

"Has Pig? Pig has nae!"

"Well, I have; but that was years ago. I'll have forgotten a great deal, even if I don't think I have. I'll have distorted more, and even the little I remember will be largely obsolete. I wanted to get you alone so I could find out what was troubling you. Now that I haveand it troubles me, too-I'm eager to hear what Hound will say about it." He waited for Pig to speak, and when Pig did not he added, "Of course I don't imagine that Hound can tell us how a man without eyes can see; but he may be able to tell us a something about what he has seen."

"Man come," Oreb announced. "Come back."

"I take it your donkeys haven't strayed, Hound? You wouldn't have returned so quickly if that had been the case."

Hound smiled as he resumed his seat. "No. They're fine. I worry too much about them, I'm afraid, and I doubt that will be the last time I check on them tonight. It must seem silly to you."

"Your concern for the animals in your care? Certainly not. But, Hound, Pig has confided something extraordinary to me, and he'd like you to hear about it, too."

"If it's something I can help with, I'll do what I can."

"I'm sure you will. Pig went into this house alone when we first arrived. I needn't dwell upon how dark it was, or mention that Pig carried no light."

Guardedly, Hound nodded.

"I wish it were not necessary for me to mention that Pig is blind as well. He is, and though I never doubted it, he insisted I verify it. I did, and he's totally blind. If you doubt it, I do not doubt that he'll let you verify it as well."

"I'll take your word for it," Hound declared, "but I can't imagine what this is leading up to."

"Man see," Oreb explained concisely.

"Exactly. He saw a woman, here in this house. Is that correct, Pig?"

"Aye."

"Now you know all that I do, Hound. Let's go on from there.

"It was dark, Pig. Not the mere darkness of night, in which one can often discern large objects, including persons, but pitch dark. The depths of this ruined villa must have been utterly lightless. How was it you were able to see her?"

"Dinna know." Pig shook his head.

"Was she carrying a light? A candle, for example?"

"If she'd a' been," Pig said slowly, "Pig would nae been h'able ter see h'it ter tell yer." He stretched out his hands. "Fire here, hain't there? Auld Pig feels h'it, feels ther heat a' h'it. Can Pig see h'it, ter? Pig canna."

"Could you see anything other than the woman? The floor she was standing on, for example, or the wall behind her?"

"Nae, bucky. Nor canna recall such."

"It wasn't anybody you know?" Hound asked. "Tansy or-or some woman you've met in your travels?"

Pig turned his head, about ten degrees in error. "Would Pig know? Ter see?"

"I guess you wouldn't." Hound fingered his chin.

"Man talk!" Oreb urged.

"All right, I will. I warned you this place is supposed to be haunted. Or anyway I warned you, Horn. Pig had gone on ahead, I think."

"Haunted by a woman?"

"Yes. Do you want the whole story? It's the sort of thing children tell younger children, I warn you."

"I do. What about you, Pig?"

"Ho, aye."

"All right. Many years ago, a very rich man who had an ugly daughter lived here. This daughter was so ugly that no one would marry her. The rich man gave balls and parties and invited all the eligible young men in the city, but none of them would marry her. A witch came to his door all robed in black, and he fed her and gave her a card, and asked what he could do about his ugly daughter. The witch told him to lock her up where nobody except himself would ever see her. What's wrong, Horn?"

"Nothing, except that I've just realized for the thousanth time what an idiot I am. Go on with your story, please-I'd like to hear it."

"If you want me to." Hound held up the wine bottle from which he had been drinking, saw that it was still almost full, and sipped. "The witch told him to lock up his daughter where nobody could see her until everybody forgot how ugly she was. So that's what he did. He locked her in a dark, bare room and kept the shutters closed day and night so that nobody would see her and brought her food himself, and pretty soon everybody forgot about her except the augur who had christened her. I don't know what her name was, though no doubt the augur did."

"It was Mucor."

Hound stared.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Go on, I want to hear the rest."

"This augur would come to the rich man's house and ask about her. Each time the rich man would make some excuse, saying that his daughter was ill or away. Soon the augur became suspicious. He had a hatchet, and he would come at night with his hatchet and chop open the shutter and let the ugly daughter out. Then she would go from house to house asking people to take her in. No one would because she was so ugly, and so she played tricks on them, throwing their supper plates at them and making them hit themselves with their own fists, and so on.

"But a god told the augur to go away, and he did. General Mint killed the rich father, and there was nobody left to let the ugly daughter out or feed her, so she starved to death in her room. But her ghost still haunts the house, walking on top of the wall or on the roof, and sometimes she stops travelers. If she stops you and you're polite to her, she'll tell your fortune and bring good luck. But if you even hint at how ugly she is, she'll curse you and you'll die within a year."

"Tell good!" Oreb applauded with his wings.

Hound smiled. "There it is. That's all I know except that there's a family in Endroad who claim to have the hatchet, which they say the augur left behind. I've seen it and it's just an old hatchet, with no magic powers as far as I know. You look very thoughtful, Horn."

He nodded. "I am, because your story suggests that Silk has left Viron-that he's on Blue or Green, if he's still alive. Patera Silk was the augur who pried open Mucor's shutter with his hatchet, and thus beyond question the augur in the story. I'd guess that the wise witch in black robes represents someone's confused recollection of Maytera Rose; but Silk was the augur. There can be no doubt of that."

He turned to Pig. "No one-very much including me-ever asked what became of the other people who were living here, but we should have. Silk killed Blood, and Echidna killed Musk; Hyacinth became Silk's wife, and Silk cared for Mucor until she came to Blue with her grandmother. Doctor Crane-I almost forgot him, and I shouldn't-was killed in error by the Guard. I have no doubt that some others, many of Blood's bodyguards particularly, were killed in the battle that freed Silk and the other prisoners the Ayuntamiento was holding here. Still, there must have been two or three dozen cooks and maids and footmen and prostitutes."

Pig's eyeless face addressed the fire. "They tell yer how onie blind mon can see a woman, bucky?"

"No, Pig. Not really; but they tell me something equally important that I may have been in danger of forgetting-that real stories, real events, never really end. When Nettle and I wrote our few pages about Blood, we thought that Blood's story and this big house's were over and done with. Blood was dead and the house had been looted, and there was nothing left to do but write it down as we had heard it from Silk and Hyacinth and the old man who had built the kite. He had come with us to Blue, by the way, and didn't want us to use his name, although he told us a great deal about Musk and his birds. We never foresaw that Blood and his daughter and his house would live on in legend, but that is clearly what has happened."

" 'Tis a book h'or somethin' yer wrote, bucky?"

"Yes, that my wife and I wrote together. May I have some of your wine, Hound?"

"Certainly. You said you didn't want any."

"I know." He wiped the mouth of the bottle, and put it to his own.

"H'on me h'account, bucky?"

"Yes. You can't drink since you've lost your sight. That, at least, is what you've told me."

"Aye. A mon what drinks has got ter see, h'or falls."

"I understand. We were together, you and I, Pig-closer than either of us is to Hound, though he and Tansy have treated us so well. If you couldn't drink wine, I wouldn't. We're going to be separated for a while now, and to tell you the truth, I think a few swallows of Hound's good wine may be needed to keep off the ghosts. Here you are, Hound, and thank you."

Hound accepted the bottle. "Do you mean the ugly daughter?"

"Was nae h'ugly ter me," Pig said rather too loudly.

"Silk talk!"

"No, I'll be looking for Mucor-for the daughter in your story." He stood, aided by his staff. "I'm going to leave my lantern here with you. As you say, the candle is valuable and may be irreplaceable. I shouldn't need it to see her any more than Pig needed eyes. It had never occurred to me to ask how Silk saw Mucor when she wasn't physically present."

Pig rose, too. "Comin' wi' yer, bucky."

"I-this is something I would prefer to do alone."

"Be blind Was me, bucky. H'oreb can tell yer, but better yer had somebody what's h'used ter h'it. Bucky… "

"Yes, Pig?"

"Bonnie she was, bucky. Beautiful ter me, ter auld Pig. Yer a smart mon, bucky."

He shook his head, although he knew that Pig could not see the gesture. "No, Pig."

"Yer h'are. Dinna stand nae higher 'n me belt, an' bony. Bonnie ter me, though. Ken why, bucky?"

"Yes, I believe so. Because you could see her, and she was the only thing you've seen in however long it's been. In years."

"Smack h'on, bucky. Yer ken her, dinna yer?"

"Yes, Pig. I-this will mean nothing to you, I realize-but I helped feed and care for her while she and I were living in the Calde's Palace in Viron." He turned to Hound. "Does it surprise you that I lived in the Calde's Palace for a few days?"

Hound shook his head.

"I did, and Nettle and I came to know Mucor there, the woman you've been calling the ugly daughter. Much later, she gave me a tame hus. I'd like to show her that I'm here trying to repay her by finding eyes for her grandmother, and ask where Silk is."

Hound said, "You credit this ghost, both of you."

"Yes. Except that she isn't dead-or I don't believe she is. Certainly she did not starve to death in this house."

"H'if yer h'object ter me comin', bucky-"

"I do. I-yes, I do."

"What'll yer do h'about h'it? Think yer can gae sae hush naebody can hear yer?"

"Pig come," Oreb declared.

"Be talkin' ter her, bucky. An' me? Be standin' behind yer, lookin' h'over yer head. Yer hear, bucky? Said lookin'."

"Yes, Pig. I understand. If I agree to your coming, will you assist me? There's a climb, and it may be difficult. Will you let me stand on your shoulders?"

"Will he? He will!"

"Then come with me."

Together they went out into the blind dark. One of the donkeys brayed, happy to hear human footsteps; and both spoke to it, equally happy, perhaps, to hear another voice, even if it was no more than that of a friendly animal. When they halted and turned to face the villa again, the faint radiance of the fire, glowing weakly through the open doorway, seemed as remote as the burning city in the skylands.

"Where we gang, bucky?"

"To the room Hound mentioned." He found that he was almost whispering, and cleared his throat. "The room to which Mucor was confined by Blood. We're facing the villa now, and it should be to the right, though I can't be certain of that. Oreb, you can see the building before us, can't you?"

"See house!"

"Good. There was a conservatory at one end, a rather low addition with battlements like the rest, and large windows. Can you see that?"

"Bird find." Oreb took wing. "Come bird!"

"Ter yer right, bucky."

"I know." He had already begun to walk. "This was a soft lawn once, Pig."

"Aye."

"A soft, green lawn, before what was in effect a palace, an establishment more palatial than the Calde's Palace in the city, or even the Prolocutor's Palace. It's hard to believe that all the changes that have taken place here have been-ultimately-for the best. Yet they have."

Pig's hand closed upon his shoulder. "Swing yer stick wider, bucky. Yer h'about ter hit ther wall."

"Thank you. I'm afraid I had practically forgotten to swing it at all."

"Aye. Yer see like yer bird, bucky?"

Hearing him, Oreb called, "Come bird!"

"No. I can see no better in this darkness than you can yourself, Pig."

"Then swing yer stick an' tap ther ground 'fore yer get a fall ter teach yer."

"I will. Have you found the conservatory yet, Oreb?"

"Bird find! Come bird!"

"He's nearer now, isn't he, Pig? Pig, can you judge whether the building on our left is as high now as it was? The original structure is three stories and an attic, as I remember."

There was a lengthy pause before Pig replied, " 'Tain't nae mair, h'or dinna seem like h'it."

"Then we're here." The tip of his staff found the wall. "I'm no acrobat, Pig, and even if I were I'd imagine I might have trouble balancing on your shoulders in the dark. Can you stoop here, near this wall, so I can get on? And remain near enough for me to prop myself on it as you stand up? You'll find me heavy, I'm afraid."

"Yer, bucky?" Pig squeezed his shoulder. "Had me fetch oot a donsy mon, ance. Cap'n Lann, 'twas." Pig squatted, bringing his voice to the level of his listener's ear. "A heavy mon they said, yer ther h'only ane ter carry him. Climb h'on, bucky."

"I'm trying."

"'Twasn't easy ter find him, but he did nae weigh nae mair'n a pup. Me arms wanted ter tass him like a stick. Sae when Nall was safe 'twas back h'again an' here's yer horse. Had h'it behind me neck like a yowe. He was that fashed. Standin' noo, bucky. Got yer han' h'on ther wall?"

"Yes," he said, "I'm ready any time."

It was not as easy as he had hoped, but he was just able to squeeze through one of the ornamental crenels.

"Silk come!" Oreb announced proudly.

"Well…" He got his feet, puffing with exertion. "At least it's true Silk was up here once."

He leaned across the battlement, trying in vain to see his friend in the darkness. "Pig, do you think you might hand my staff up? I laid it by the wall, and I'll need it to feel my way along."

"Aye." A pause. "Here 'tis. Put h'out yer han'."

"No close. Come bird."

Oreb's owner felt a sudden thrill of fear. "Don't hit him with it by accident, as I did once."

"Got yer han' feelin' fer h'it, bucky?"

"Silk feel!"

"Yes. Yes, I-stop! It touched my fingers just then. There, I've got it."

"Guid. What h'about me, bucky? How's Pig ter get h'up?"

He straightened up, lifting the knobbed staff over the battlement and tapping the uneven surface on which he stood. "You're not. We have no way of doing that, and I'm not at all certain this roof would support your weight. I know Mucor, as I said; and she's been willing to do favors for me in the past. If I find her, I'll bring her to you." He weighed the morality of this statement for a moment and added, "Or send her."

Before Pig could object, he turned away. Once the questing tip of his staff found an aching void where the glass roof of the conservatory had been; after that, he stepped cautiously and stayed so near the battlement that from time to time his left leg brushed its merlons.

"Wall come," Oreb warned.

The tip of his staff discovered it. His hands, groping by instinct, found a window. He pushed aside what remained of a broken shutter. "Right here," he told Oreb. "Here it is, just as I imagined it. Is there anyone in there?"

"No man. No girl."

He put his staff through the window, turned it sidewise, and used it to pull himself up while the toes of his well-worn shoes scrabbled the wall. "This is the place, I feel sure. This was Mucor's room, the first room Silk entered when he broke into this house."

His staff discovered only the floor, and empty space. He asked, "Is there furniture in here, Oreb? A table? Anything of that kind?" Putting a hand on the wall, he took a cautious step, then another. "In Silk's day, the door was barred from outside," he told the darkness, "but it seems unlikely that's still the case." There was no reply. After half a minute more of cautious exploration he called, "Oreb? Oreb?" but no bird answered.

"Have you been bad?"

The voice seemed achingly remote. Aloud he said, "As if the speaker were in fact on Blue. As you are, I believe."

Silence and darkness, and the weight of years.

"I'd like to talk to you, Mucor. I've something to tell you and something to ask you, and a favor to ask as well. Won't you talk to me?"

The distant voice did not return. His fingers found the door and pulled it open.

"Have you been bad?"

He thought of Green and the war fought and lost there, of delectable nights with a one-armed lover whose lips had tasted of the saltsweet sea. "Yes, I have. Many times."

As though she had always been there, Mucor stood before him. "You came looking for me." It was not a question.

"Yes, to tell you that I'm here, and that I'm looking for eyes for your grandmother. I promised her I would."

"You've been gone a long time."

He nodded humbly. "I know. I've done my best to find Silk, but I haven't found him. I'm still looking."

"You will find him." Her tone admitted of no doubt.

"I will?" His heart leaped. "That's wonderful! Are you sure, Mucor? Do you really know the future, as gods do?"

She stood silent before him, no larger than a child, her face a skull, her lank black hair falling to her waist.

"You look…" He groped for words. "Like-the way you did the first time I saw you."

"Yes."

"As if you have starved almost to death. I-I thought that sailors brought your food there on your island, that you and your grandmother caught fish."

"You've been gone a long time," she repeated. This time she added, "I haven't."

"I see-or at least believe I see. Certainly I see you, which reminds me of the favor I must ask in a moment; before I do, where will I find Silk?"

"In whatever place you go."

"In Viron? Thank you, I'm sure you must be correct. Will you, Mucor, as a great favor to me, go outside and talk-if only just for a moment-to my friend Pig?"

In an instant she was gone, and he was left in darkness. Retracing his steps, he found her window again and looked out. He could see nothing, only darkness beyond that of any natural night. He heard Pig's voice, and although he could not make out what Pig had said, that voice overflowed with joy. There was a hiatus, a half minute of silence. Pig's deep tones came again, trembling and so freighted with exaltation that he knew Pig was near to weeping.

Hound stroked the donkey's smooth, soft nose, saying, "There, there. Nothing to worry about." The donkey (it was Tortoise, not the one Hound rode) seemed in less than full agreement, although determined to be polite.

"If there were wolves about, I'd know it, wouldn't I?" Hound stepped back and twirled his burning stick, whose faint flame had nearly died away. It made a pretty pattern of sparks, and fanned the flame enough to show the fearful donkeys huddled together with their forelegs hobbled.

"Bird back!" Oreb settled on one of Scylla's outstretched arms. "Bird back. Silk back. Come fire."

"I'm glad to hear it," Hound said, "I've been worrying about him. He and Pig have been gone a long time." Hound went through the portico and re-entered what had been Blood's reception hall. "There you are! Is everything all right, Horn?"

"No." He turned away from the fire. "May I have some more of your wine?"

"Go right ahead. Empty the bottle. There's not much left."

"Thank you."

"You look tired." Hound sat down next to him. "Maybe it's just the firelight. I hope so. But you don't look well."

"Good Silk," Oreb muttered, perching on his shoulder.

"I-" He drank, and put down the bottle. "That doesn't matter. I owe you an apology, and offer it freely. Before I left, I drank your good wine for a bad reason, which is a species of crime. There's something sacred about wine. Have you noticed?"

Hound shrugged. "It belongs to some minor god or other. But then everything does that doesn't belong to one of the Nine."

"To Thyone's son. Isn't it odd that I should remember it? Supposedly, there is no less significant fact in religion, yet that one has stuck with me. I recalled it when Nettle and I wrote our book about Patera Silk, and I recall it now. May I have some more?"

"Certainly." Hound handed him the bottle again.

"Wine is sacred to Thelxiepeia because it intoxicates and intoxication is hers, like magic, paradoxes, illusions and other things of that sort. But wine in and of itself is sacred to Thyone's son. Thyone is a very minor goddess."

"I don't mean to change the subject," Hound said, "but do you know what has become of Pig?"

"I do and I don't."

"Poor Pig!" Oreb croaked.

Both men were silent, looking into the fire; then Hound said, "You can't tell me what happened to him?"

"Nor what happened to me, though I suppose I'll talk about it when I've ordered my thoughts a bit more."

"Wise Silk!"

He smiled. "That's the sort of the thing Hammerstone was always saying about Patera Incus. Is Incus Prolocutor now?"

Hound nodded. "I think that's the name."

"That's very well. He may be willing to help me. There's only a swallow left, wouldn't you like it? Here."

"I've had more than my share already. I've been trying to remember the bad purpose you mentioned, and I can't. Wine does that to you, makes you forget. All that I can think of is that you said it might keep away ghosts, but not the ghost of the ugly daughter. You wanted to see her."

He nodded. "That was the bad purpose-keeping off the ghosts. We always go wrong when we use it for something other than itself, Hound. It's meant to be a beverage, a pleasant, refreshing drink, next to good cold water the best we have. When we use it for something else-to make us forget, which is what I meant when I said it might keep off the ghosts-or to warm us when we are chilled, we pervert it. Have you noticed, by the way, that it's no longer as hot as it was?"

Hound smiled. "You're right. Praise Pas!"

"No, not at all. Pas is the sun god, and it is blowing out the Long Sun that has cooled the whorl for us. I mentioned the son of Thyone. He's called that because no one knows his name-or much of anything else about him save that he's dark, and that wine is sacred to him. Am I boring you? We don't have to talk about this."

Hound raised the bottle, then lowered it again without drinking. "Not at all. What do you say we save this for Pig?"

"I doubt that he'll drink it, but it's a kind thought."

"You were saying nobody knows the wine god's name. Isn't that unusual? I thought we knew the names of all the gods, or that the augurs did even if I don't."

"It is unusual, yes-but not unique. I had an instructor once who made a joke about it. We studied the gods a good deal, and spent half a day, perhaps, on Thyone and her dark son. My instructor said that Thyone's son had drunk so much that we had forgotten his name."

Hound chuckled.

"He also said that Thyone's son was the only god whose name we don't know. It was years before I realized that he'd been wrong. We speak of the Outsider, but it's obvious that `the Outsider' can't be his name-that it's an epithet, a nickname."

"Good god," Oreb remarked.

Hound said, "He's your favorite, isn't he? The god you love the most."

"The only god I love at all, if I've ever succeeded in loving him. In a larger sense, he's the only god worth loving. I've been outside, you see, Hound. I've been to Blue and to Green, other whorls quite different from this one."

Hound nodded.

"One goes outside full of high ideals, but one soon discovers that one has left the gods behind, even Pas. I told you how badly things were going in New Viron."

"Yes, you did."

"That's one of the chief reasons, I feel sure. So many of us were good only because we dreaded the gods. The Outsider-this is very like him, very typical of him-has shown us to ourselves. He tells us to look at ourselves and see how much real honesty there is, how much genuine kindness. You're hoping to become the father of a child."

Hound nodded. "A son, I hope. Not that we wouldn't love a daughter."

"There are children who sweep hoping to be rewarded, and there are children who sweep because the floors need sweeping and Mother's tired. And there is an abyss between them far deeper than the abyss that separates us from Blue."

"The gods keep telling us to go. That's what everybody says. I-"

"That is their function."

"I don't go to manteion myself, Horn. It seems to me that the gods ought to go with us, that they owe it to us."

"It must seem to them, I suppose, that we should take them with us gladly, that we owe them that and more."

Hound did not speak, staring into the fire.

"For three hundred years they let us live in this whorl, which they control. Their influence was malign occasionally, but benign for the most part. Scylla is a poor example, but because you know her better than the rest I'll use her anyway. She helped found Viron and graciously condescended to be its patron. She wrote our Charter, which served us so well for three centuries. Don't you think that the people who leave Viron owe it to her to take her along-if they can?"

"Why did you call her a bad example?"

"Because she's probably dead. She was Echidna's eldest child, and seems the most likely to have assisted in her father's murder. She may come back, of course, as he did. We don't call them the immortal gods for nothing."

Hound rose, broke a stick across his knee, and tossed both halves into the fire.

"You're ready to sleep, I suppose, and I'm keeping you up. I'm sorry."

"Not at all. My donkeys are afraid of something tonight, and I'm waiting for them to calm down. If I go to sleep now, they'll be all over the forest when I wake up."

"Have you any idea what may have frightened them?"

"It's wolves, usually. That's one reason I wanted to stop here. I'm sure a whole menagerie of small animals have moved in since the owners moved out, but the wolves haven't taken to denning in here yet, and I don't think they like coming inside the wall. Maybe the ghosts keep them away."

"Perhaps they do. They will keep me away after tonight, I'm sure. Is it really night, by the way? Where would the shade be if the sun were rekindled now?"

"I have no way of telling."

"Nor do I. Oreb, have you seen any wolves since we've been here?"

"No see."

"Something's frightening Hound's donkeys. Do you know what it is? Might you guess?"

"No, no."

"Then as a favor to me, would you go out and have a look around? If you see a wolf-or anything else that the donkeys might find frightening-stay well clear of it and come back and tell us."

Oreb took wing.

"You spoke of ghosts, Hound. I ought to tell you that I saw the woman who is called the ugly daughter in your story. She told me that Silk was in Viron, and that I'd find him there. Please don't ask me to exhibit her to you-"

"I wasn't about to," Hound declared emphatically.

"I cannot control her movements-her appearances and disappearances-though I confess there have been times when I very much wished I could. She's not a bad person, but I find her a frightening one, and I've never been more afraid of her than I was tonight, not even when I sat with her in the hut she and poor Maytera Marble built of driftwood. She was really present on that occasion, really there just as you and I are here. This time she was not, and I spoke with a sort of memory she has of herself."

Hound broke another stick. "You said she isn't a real ghost. That she isn't really dead as far as you know."

"I suppose I did."

"But Scylla is. Are you saying that if Scylla were to appear in the Sacred Window of the little manteion where Tansy and I were mar tied she would be a ghost, the ghost of a goddess? People used to talk about Great Pas's ghost when I was a sprat, and some of them still swear by it."

"I think it likely, but I can't say with any certainty. I know less about the gods than you may be inclined to believe, and in all humility I don't think anyone knows a great deal. We suppose that they are like us, and we read our own passions and failings into them-which was the point of my instructor's joke, of course. If we find our neighbor irritating, we're confident that the gods are irritated by him to an equal degree, and so on. I've even heard people say that a certain god was sleeping and required a sacrifice to wake him up."

Hound started to speak, stopped, and at last blurted, "Horn, do you think it's possible your friend Pig's gone to sleep in another room?"

"It's possible, I suppose, though I doubt very much that it's actually occurred. If it has, it's probably the best thing we could hope for. I pray that it has."

"You're worried about him, too."

"Yes, I am. You're not sleeping now because you're worried about your donkeys. I'm not sleeping because I'm concerned for Pig-and for myself and my errand, to acknowledge the truth."

"This woman who's not a ghost, couldn't she have harmed him? You say she's not a ghost. All right, I accept that. She sounds a lot like a goddess to me, Horn, and a goddess… You're shaking your head."

He sat up straighter and turned away from the fire to face Hound. "She isn't. May I tell you what she is? You may know some or all of it already, in which case I apologize."

Hound said, "I wish you would. And I wish you'd sent Oreb for Pig, instead of worrying about wolves. You don't agree."

"No, I don't. It might conceivably have helped. I don't know; but my best guess was and is that it would have been very dangerous for Oreb-far more so than scouting for wolves, which are unlikely to pose a threat to a bird. He would have been in a confined space with a very large man who has a sword, acute hearing, and an amazing ability to locate even silent objects by sound. If Pig had been enraged by the intrusion, which I judge by no means unlikely, Oreb might have been killed."

"You're saying Pig needs privacy right now."

"I am."

Hound sat down again, crossing plump legs. "Because of something the ghost said to him?"

"Possibly. I don't know."

"Tell me about her."

"As you wish. You mentioned that the gods have been telling everyone to leave. The devices used to cross the abyss to Blue or Green are called landers. Are you familiar with them?"

"I've heard of them," Hound said. "I've never seen one."

"Are you aware that they were provisioned by Pas before the W'iorl set out from the Short Sun Whorl? And that most of them have been looted?"

"All of them is what everybody says."

"I won't argue the point. There were human embryos among their supplies, ancient embryos preserved by cold far beyond that of the coldest winter nights. Sometimes the looters simply left those embryos. Sometimes they wantonly destroyed them, and sometimes they took and sold them, packing them in ice in an attempt to preserve them until they could be implanted."

"You said human embryos, Horn. I've heard of it being done with animals."

"Yes." His face was solemn in the flickering firelight, his blue eyes lost beneath their graying brows. "There were human embryos as well. There were also seeds, kept frozen like the embryos, so that they would sprout even after hundreds of years; but it is with the human embryos that you and I have to do, because Mucor was such an embryo. So was Patera Silk."

"Calde Silk? You can't be serious!"

He shook his head. "I set out to explain Mucor, but there would be no Mucor-or so I believe-without Patera Silk. Nor would either of them exist without Pas, who was called Typhon on the Short Sun Whorl."

Hound said, "I've heard that the gods have different names in different places, sometimes."

"That seems to have been the case with Pas, Echidna, and the rest. They had other names on the Short Sun Whorl, and those persons-Typhon, his family, and his friends-continued to exist there after they had entered the Whorl."

"Go on, please."

"If you wish. I should say that I heard that Pas had been called Typhon from a man named Auk, someone I knew long ago, who said he had been told by Scylla. He was a bad man, a bully and a thug, yet he was deeply religious in his way-I very much doubt that he would have made such a thing up. It was not his sort of lie, if you know what I mean.

"When Pas-let us call him Pas, since we're accustomed to that name-decided to send mortals to the whorls beyond the Short Sun Whorl, he used no less than three separate means. Some he sent as sleepers, unconscious in tubes of thin glass until they were awakened by the breaking of the glass. Some-your ancestors, Hound, and mine-he simply set down here inside the Whorl. And some he sent as frozen embryos, the products of carefully controlled matings in his workshops."

"Why so many ways?" Hound asked.

"I can only guess, and you could guess every bit as well. Do so now."

Hound looked thoughtful. "Well, he wanted us to colonize the new whorls, didn't he? So he put people in here to do it."

"Waking or sleeping?"

"Both, I guess. He must have been afraid we'd fight in here, and kill everyone off. Or get some disease that would wipe us out. No, that can't be right, because then there would have been no one to wake up the sleepers."

"Mainframe could have done that, I believe."

"I've never met a sleeper, Horn. I've never even seen one. I take it that you have. Are they very different from us?"

"In appearance? No, not at all. They were made to forget certain things and given falsified memories in their place, but one only occasionally catches a hint of it."

"You're saying that everybody could have been asleep? All of us? No houses and no people, just trees and animals?"

"No, I'm saying Pas must have considered that and rejected it as unworkable, or at least undesirable."

Hound nodded. "He'd have had nobody to worship him."

"That's true, though I'm not sure it was a consideration. If it didn't seem so impious, I'd say now that the Chapter and the manteions seem almost to have been a joke, that Pas made himself our chief god largely because it amused him. Do you know the story about the farmer who complained all his life about getting too much rain or too little, about the soil and the winds and so on? It's no more impious than my instructor's joke about Thyone's son; and like that one, it has wisdom."

Hound shook his head.

"The farmer died and went to Mainframe, and was soon called to the magnificent chamber in which Pas holds court. Pas said to him, `I understand you feel that I botched certain aspects of the job when I built the Whorl'; and the farmer admitted it was so, saying, `Well, sir, pretty often I thought I could have made it better.' To which Pas replied, `Yes, that's what I wanted you to do.' "

"That hits very close to home." Hound smiled.

"It does. It also explains many things, once you understand that Pas himself was brought into being by the Outsider. Pas wished to mold and guide us; and for him to do it, we had to be awake. As our chief god, he was ideally situated, though the false memories given the sleepers may have been intended to serve the same purpose. Like the farmer we complain of storms, but Pas must have foreseen that there would be storms-and things far worse-on the new whorls. How could we cope with them if we never saw snow, or a wind storm?"

"I still don't understand about the embryos. You said that you… that Calde Silk was one of the people grown from them, and this Mucor was, too."

"To colonize the new whorls-speaking of storms and such, there's a wind rising outside. Have you noticed?"

"I've been listening to it. I won't bring my donkeys in unless there's an actual storm. They can't graze in here."

"To colonize Blue and Green, Pas had to make certain that some human beings reached them alive. He pretty well assured that by dividing us into the two groups-ourselves, and the sleepers. If the sleep process, whatever it was, couldn't keep them alive for three hundred years, we would supply colonists. If we were wiped out by some disease as you suggested, the sleepers could be roused by Mainframe, or by the chems that Pas put in this whorl as well.

"But though our surviving until we reached Blue and Green was necessary, it was not sufficient. We had to survive on those whorls afterward. Blue is a hospitable one; we are our own worst enemies there. Green is much harsher. It's where the inhumi breed, and there are diseases and dangerous animals. Pas felt we ordinary people might not be able to deal with those, so he took steps to see that we'd have some extraordinary ones as well, people like Mucor, who can send out her spirit without dying; and people like Silk, who was the sort of leader we weave legends about but seldom get-or deserve, I might add."

Hound stared at the fire before he spoke. "You said most of those embryos had been stolen or destroyed."

"I'm afraid so."

"Does that mean we'll fail?"

"Perhaps. On Green at least."

"I'd like to go. Am I crazy? I've never felt this way way before."

"The crossing is very dangerous-I don't deny that. But you and Tansy might make a better life for yourselves and your children on Blue than you will ever have here, and you would be doing the will of Pas."

"Not Blue," Hound said. "I want to go to Green. I want to go where I'm needed, Horn."

Before he replied, he stretched out on the floor, his hands behind his head. "You're a brave man."

"I'm not! I know I'm not. But-but…"

"You are."

"But I'm steady, and I've got a good head on my shoulders, and I don't drink or get so angry I ruin everything. I'm no troublemaker. I can work with my hands, and I drive a hard bargain. They could use me. I know they could!"

"I'm sure you're right."

"I'm going to have think about it. I'm going to have to think for a long time, probably until after the baby's born."

Silence descended on the ruined villa, a silence broken only by the moaning of the wind outside, the crackling of the fire, and the soft breathing of the man stretched on the floor.

When some time had passed, Hound rose, took a burning stick from the fire, and went outside again. When he returned, he got a blanket and spread it over the man on the floor, who opened his eyes and murmured, "Thank you."

"You're awake," Hound said.

"I fear I am."

"You said some things tonight that sounded pretty, I don't know, not religious. You admitted it yourself."

"The joke about the dead farmer."

"Yes, and other things too. I've got a question, Horn. It's going to sound bad, or anyhow I'm afraid it will. And it may be pretty silly."

"You're afraid I may not take you seriously."

Hound sat down. "I guess so."

"If you ask it seriously, I'll answer seriously, or try to. What is it?"

"You said that there are two gods we don't know. I mean, we know that there are gods like that, but we don't know their names. You said too that the Outsider had made Pas?"

"Yes. Both gods and Men-the human race-were created by the O•itsider. It's explicitly stated in the Chrasmologic Writings, and I'm confident that it's true."

"The other nameless god, is that Thyone's son? Does anybody know who his father was?"

"Pas, supposedly. It's said that Thyone is one of his inferior concubines, less favored than Kypris."

"Then what I was going to ask about is pretty silly. I was going to ask if it isn't possible they're really the same."

The man lying on the floor said nothing.

"Since we don't know the names. That the Outsider is Thyone's son, the wine god, too."

"That isn't silly at all; it's extremely perceptive. You've amazed me twice within a few minutes. Yes, it's possible and it may well be true. I don't know."

"But if the Outsider made Pas, and Pas is the wine god's father…?"

"Have you ever seen Thyone, Hound? In a Sacred Window or anyplace else?"

Hound shook his head.

"Neither have I. What about Pas? I have not."

"No."

"Then what do either of us know about the parentage of the wine god, and what such parentage may entail? What limitations the Outsider may be subject to or free from? I told you about Auk-how he was told by Scylla that Pas's name had been Typhon on the Short Sun Whorl."

Hound nodded.

"Scylla was in possession of a woman named Chenille when that conversation took place; Chenille told my wife a good deal about it not long afterward. Do you think that because Scylla was possessing Chenille she was absent from Mainframe? Or that Scylla can't have been in another woman-or a man, for that matter-at the same time?"

"I guess she could have if she wanted to."

"Certainly she could." The man who had been lying on the floor sat up. "I was going to tell you what happened to me, and to Pig, after I left you. Then I decided that it might better be left unsaidthat I'd let Pig tell both of us, if he would, and let it pass in silence if he wouldn't. Now I've changed my mind again. You need to hear this. You and your wife welcomed us, and I would be neglecting a duty if I withheld it."

"Does this have something to do with the gods?" Hound asked.

"I think it may. We went outside, as you know, and I spoke with Mucor, and asked her to talk to Pig when I was finished."

Hounded nodded.

"After that, I couldn't decide whether to come back here or visit the room that had been Hyacinth's."

"Silk's wife's?"

"Yes. She had lived in this house for a time. She was a very beautiful woman, the most beautiful I'd ever seen. I've seen one other since who might rival her, despite being maimed."

"Go on, Horn."

"Recalling her, and how beautiful I'd thought her then, I felt a sort of itch to stand in the suite she'd occupied, and touch the walls. She'd split her stone windowsill with an azoth. I wanted to feel that windowsill, if it was still there, and stand for a time at the very window Silk had jumped from. I told myself over and over how foolish it was, and that I should return here. Have I told you Oreb had left?"

Hound shook his head.

"He had. Mucor frightens him, as I should have remembered. It was utterly dark, of course, and I had to feel my way with my stick. It must have taken me five minutes to cross Mucor's room and find the door. I decided I'd try to return here to you, and if I blundered on a set of rooms that fit Silk's description of Hyacinth's, so much the better."

"That sounds sensible."

"Thank you. It may have been sensible, but it did me little good. Soon after I had left Mucor's room, I was completely lost, and bitterly regretted having left my lantern behind with you. I stumbled around helplessly for a long while. I was looking for stairs and tried to stay out of the rooms-after I had explored a few-because I felt certain one would enter the staircases from a corridor."

"I understand."

"I blundered into a suite just the same, and for a minute or two I didn't know I had done it. When I realized what must have happened, I found a door and went through, thinking I'd be in the corridor again; but it was another room, bigger than the first and, as well as I could judge, almost triangular. I don't know whether the geome- te-s have a name for that shape, a wide triangle with two corners cut off. I felt certain then-absolutely certain, Hound-that I was standing in what had been Hyacinth's dressing chamber. I had never been there before in my life, though I was in this house long ago as I told you; but I have thought of it a thousand times, and I knew with absolute certainty that I was standing there. You're free to doubt me if you wish-I don't blame you."

"Go on," Hound said again. "What did you do?"

"Well, I thought that since I was there I might as well find the bedroom, which is where the window Silk had jumped through had been, and touch that windowsill and stand at the window and so on. I was tapping around with my stick, looking for the door, when I heard the sound of a tremendous blow, a blow and the sound of wood splintering. I can't begin to convey to you how frightening I found that, alone in the dark."

Hound raised his eyebrows. "Do you know, I think I may have heard it too. There was a loud bang way off in the house someplace, a long time before you came back. I thought Pig might have fallen down."

"Perhaps that was what it was, though I doubt it. My guess-and it is merely a guess, nothing more-is that Pig struck a wall, either with the sword that he uses in this darkness as I use my stick, or with his fist."

"That he struck the wall?"

"Yes. I doubt that there's furniture left in this house, or that there has been for many years. Blood would have had fine furniture, from what I've heard of him, and I feel sure it must have been carted away long ago. We pile up treasures, Hound, and believe in our folly that we are piling them up for ourselves, when in fact we are accumulating them for those who will come after us. May I confide something personal and rather disreputable concerning my own family?"

"Absolutely, if you want to."

"My oldest son was often difficult. He felt he was far wiser than Nettle and I-that we should do as he said, and be grateful that he condescended to rule and advise us."

Hound smiled. "I gave my own father some headaches, too."

"Once when he was angry at Nettle, he punched a cabinet I made so violently that he broke the door, as well as hurting his hand pretty badly. Have I clarified the sound you heard?"

Hound scratched his head. "What made Pig so angry?"

"The tapping of my stick, I assume."

"He was in Calde Silk's wife's bedroom?"

"And thought that he was about to be interrupted. It's all guesswork; but yes, I believe that's what must have happened."

"I understand now why you didn't want to send Oreb to look in on him." Hound scraped together the twigs and bark that were all that remained of their firewood and added them to the fire. "What I don't understand is what Pig was doing there."

"In an empty room in this dark, empty house? It seems to me that there's very little he could have been doing, other than what I planned to do myself-listen to the silence, touch the walls and the windowsill, and try to guess where the bed and the rest of Hyacinth's furnishings had been."

"I thought Pig hadn't ever been in this part of the whorl before. He said so, I think. So did you, Horn."

"I probably did." He stood, dusting his knees and the seat of his trousers. "We need more wood. With your permission, I'm going to try to find some."

Hound said, "You don't want to talk about this any more."

"You can put it like that if you choose to. I've nothing sensible left to say about it, and I don't like sounding foolish, though I often do. Would you like examples of my foolishness?"

Hound reached for his lantern. "Yes, I would."

"It wasn't Pig I heard, but someone else. That suite wasn't Hyacinth's but someone else's. Pig's connection wasn't with her, but with someone who had occupied her suite before she did."

"Do you believe any of that?"

"Not a word of it. When-if-Pig returns, I may ask, very diplo matically, what Mucor said to him, and why he went to the suite that Hyacinth once occupied. I may-but I may not. I advise you not to question him at all, though I can't forbid it. Are you coming with me to look for wood?"

"Yes." Hound had opened his lantern and was kneeling by the fire to light its candle. "I'll take this, too. If we go outside the wall we ought to be able to find any amount of dead wood, blown out of the trees by that wind."

It was blowing hard when they left the flickering firelight and the smell of woodsmoke, and stepped through the opening that had been Blood's door, a gale with a hint of autumn in it that swung Hound's lantern like a feather on a string.

Hound went at once to his huddled donkeys. "I'm going to bring them inside. It'll pour in a minute or two."

His companion was about to tell him to go ahead, and to remark that the coming storm was probably what the donkeys had been afraid of earlier, when Oreb swooped to a hard landing upon his shoulder, croaking, "Man come! Big man!"

"Pig? Where is he?"

"Big big! Watch out!"

"Believe me, I'll be as careful as possible. Where is he?"

"No, no!" Oreb fluttered to keep his balance in the wind.

"You don't have to come with me, but where did you see him?"

"In back. Bird show." Oreb darted forward, flapping hard into the wind's eye, no higher than his owner's knees. The faint light of the lantern faded and was gone as Hound led his donkeys into the ruined villa.

"Come bird!" Oreb called through the darkness.

"Yes! I am!"

"Good Silk!" The hoarse croak was almost lost in the roaring of the wind. "Watch out!"

His probing staff found nothing until a huge hand closed around him, its grip enveloping him from shoulder to waist.

"Would you have light?" The godling's voice mingled with distant thunder; it was as if the coming storm had spoken.

The man the godling had addressed gasped.

"I will burn this house for you, holy one, if you wish."

He found it impossible to think, almost impossible to speak. "If you tighten your grip, I'll be killed."

"I will not tighten my grip. Will you sit upon my palm, holy one? You must not fall."

"Yes," he said. "I-yes."

Something pressed his feet; his knees, which he could not have kept straight, bent. The hand that had grasped him relaxed, sliding upward and away. He groped the hard, uneven surface on which he had been seated, discovering that it fell away half a cubit to his left and right, found the great fingers (each as wide as his head) curled behind him. "Oreb?"

It had emerged as a whisper; he had intended a shout. He filled his lungs and tried again. "Oreb!"

"Bird here." Here was clearly a considerable distance.

"Oreb, come to me, please."

He was conscious of the wind, cool and violent, threatening with gusts to blow him from his precarious seat.

"Hurt bird?"

"No!" He cleared his throat. "You know I won't hurt you."

"Big man. Hurt bird?"

The deep voice rumbled out of the darkness again. "If you fall…" Lightning gleamed on the horizon. For a fraction of a second it revealed a face as large as Echidna's had been in the Sacred Window so long ago: tiny eyes, nostrils like the lairs of two beasts, and a cavernous mouth. "I cannot catch you."

"Please." He gasped for breath, fighting the feeling that the wind blew every word to nothing. "You said I could have light. If I wanted it. I have a lantern. May I light it?"

"As you say, holy one." It was a hoarse whisper, like a distant avalanche.

He had shoved his own lantern into a pocket when he had seen Hound lighting his; now he fumbled with it and with the striker, nearly dropping both.

"It is very small, holy one." There was a faint note of amusement in the terrifying rumble this time.

"That's all right," he said, with a growing sense of relief. "So am I." White sparks cascaded onto the trembling wick. It was as if there were shooting stars in his hands, like the stars at the bottom of the grave to which Silk and Hyacinth had driven Orpine's body in a dream he recalled with uncanny clarity.

Here we dig holes in the ground for our dead, he thought, to bring them nearer the Outsider; and on Blue we do the same because we did it here, though it takes them away from him.

The yellow flame of the candle rose; he shut his lantern, mesmerized by the end of the godling's thumb, the smoothly rounded face of a faceless man wearing a peaked hat that was in fact a claw.

"You see me." The gigantic speaker sounded faintly pleased.

"Yes. You could see me before."

Slowly the great face descended. Slowly it rose, as a large boat might have in a long swell.

"Like Oreb. Oreb can see even when it seems to me that there's no light at all."

There was no reply, and he wondered whether the godling had heard him. "Oreb's eyes are larger than mine," he continued gamely, "though Oreb is so much smaller. Your eyes seem very small to me, but that's only because they are small in proportion to your face. Each must be the size of Oreb's head."

Rain fell like a lash.

"You speak too fast, holy one," the godling rumbled.

And it must seem to you that we move very fast as well, he reflected. That we dart about like squirrels or rabbits.

"Are you in danger, holy one? I will protect you."

"No." He held up the light, his sodden tunic clinging to his arm. This was better-far better-than the sewer on Green.

"Are you in need, holy one? I will supply you."

"That is good of you." He struggled to make himself heard.

"Bird here!" Oreb landed heavily on his head, and every limb jerked with terror. "Wet wet!" A fine spray of water joined the rain as Oreb shook himself and fluttered his wings.

"Getting in under the fingers, aren't you?"

"Good bird! Good Silk!"

Suddenly contrite, he spoke slowly to the godling. "You've made a shelter for me, and even let Oreb share it. Am I-are we keeping you out in this?"

Again the rumble seemed slightly amused, although he could not be sure he was not imagining it. "I do not suffer, holy one." There was pause in which the huge face, lit faintly from below, regarded him. "Are you in need?"

"No." It was still difficult for him to speak.

"The rest are to stay," the godling rumbled. Its breath, hot, moist, and fetid, pierced the wind; and lightning flashed as it spoke, starkly revealing colorless skin splashed with inky shadows. "Enough have gone. Tell the rest to stay. That is what I have come to tell you. Silk says it."