her. "More, even, than I am about her--she must be under
Echidna's protection, in spite of what His Cognizance said."
Maytera Marble lifted her head in a slight, tantalizing smile.
"Don't fret about me. Maytera Marble's taking good care of me."
Unexpectedly, she brushed his cheek with warm metal lips. "If you
should see my boy Bloody, tell him not to worry either. I'll be all
right."
"I certainly will, Maytera." Silk took a hasty step back. "Good-bye,
Maytera Rose. About those tomatoes--I'm sorry, truly sorry about
everything. I hope you've forgiven me."
"She passed away yesterday, Patera. Didn't I tell you?"
"Yes," Silk mumbled. "Yes, of course."
Auk lay on the floor of the tunnel. He was tired--tired and weak
and dizzy, he admitted to himself. When had he slept last? Dayside
on Molpsday, after he'd left Jugs and Patera, before he went to the
lake, but he'd slept on the boat a dog's right before the storm. Her
and the butcher had been tired, too, tireder than him though they
hadn't been knocked on the head. They'd helped in the storm, and
Dace was dead. Urus hadn't done anything, would kill him if he got
the chance. He pictured Urus standing over him with a bludgeon
like the one he had seen, and sat up and stared around him.
Urus and the soldier were talking quietly. The soldier called, "I'm
keeping an eye out. Go back to sleep, trooper."
Auk lay down again, though no soldier could be a friend to
somebody like him, though he'd sooner trust Urus though he didn't
trust Urus at all.
What day was it? Thelxday. Phaesday, most likely. Grim Phaea,
for food and healing. Grim because eating means killing stuff to eat,
and it's no good pretending it don't. Stuff like Gelada'd killed Dace
with his bad arm and the string around his neck. That's why you
ought to go to manteion once in a while. Sacrifice showed you,
showed the gray ram dying and its blood thrown in the fire, and
poor people thanking Phaea or whatever god it was for "this good
food." Grim because healing hurts more than dying, the doctor cuts
you to make you well, sets the bone and it hurts. Dace said a bone in
his head was broken, was cracked or something, he was cracked for
sure and it was probably true because he got awful dizzy sometimes,
couldn't see good sometimes, even stuff right in front of him. A
white ram, Phaea, if I get over this.
It should've been a black ram. He'd promised Tartaros a black
ram, but the only one in the market had cost more than he had, so
he'd bought the gray one. That was before last time, before Kypris
had promised them it'd be candy, before the ring for Jugs, the
anklet for Patera. It had been why his troubles started, maybe,
because his ram had been the wrong color. They dyed those black
rains anyhow...
Up the tree and onto the roof, then in through the attic window, but
he was dizzy, dizzy and the tree already so high its top touched the
shade, brushed the shaggy shade with dead leaves rustling, rustling,
and the roof higher, Urus whistling, whistling from the corner
because the Hoppies were practically underneath this shaggy tree
now.
He stood on a limb, walked out on it watching the roof sail away
with all the black peaked roofs of Limna as the old man's old boat
put out with Snarling Scylla at the helm, Scylla up in Jugs's head not
taking up room but pulling her strings, jerking her on reins, digging
spurred heels in, Spurred Scylla a gamecock spurring Jugs to make
her trot. A little step and another and the roof farther than ever,
higher than the top of the whole shaggy tree and his foot slipped
where Gelada's blood wet the slick silvery bark and he fell.
He woke with a start, shaking. Something warm lay beside him,
dose but not quite touching. He rolled over, bringing his legs up
under her big soft thighs, his chest against her back, an arm around
her to warm her and it, cupping her breast. "By Kypris, I love you,
Jugs I'm too sick to shag you, but I love you. You're all the woman
I'll ever want."
She didn't talk, but there'd been a little change in her breathing,
so he knew she wasn't asleep even if she wanted him to think so.
That was dimber by him, she wanted to look at it and he didn't
blame her, wouldn't want a woman who wouldn't look because a
woman like that got you nabbed sooner or later even if she didn't
mean to.
Only he'd looked at it already, had looked all that he'd ever
need to while he was rolling over. And he slept beside her quite
content.
"I shocked you, Patera Calde. I know I did. I could see it in your
face. My eyes aren't what they were, I'm afraid. I'm no longer good
at reading expressions. But I read yours."
"Somewhat, Your Cognizance." Together, they were walking up a
deserted Sun Street, a tall young augur and a stooped old one
side-by-side, Silk taking a slow step for two of Quetzal's lame and
unsteady ones.
"Since you left the schola, Patera Calde, since you came to this
quarter, you've prayed that a god would come to your Window,
haven't you? I feel sure you have. All of you do, or nearly all. Who
did you hope for? Pas or Scylla?"
"Scylla chiefly, Your Cognizance. To tell the truth, I scarcely
thought about the minor gods then. I mean the gods outside the
Nine--no god is truly minor, I suppose. Scylla seemed the most
probable. It was only on Scylsdays that we had a victim, for one
thing; and she's the patroness of the city, after all."
"She'd tell you what to do, which was what you wanted." Quetzal
squinted up at Silk with a toothless smile he found disconcerting.
"She'd fill your cash box, too. You could fix up those old buildings,
buy books for your palaestra, and sacrifice in the grand style every
day."
Reluctantly, Silk nodded.
"I understand. Oh, I understand. It's perfectly normal, Patera
Calde. Even commendable. But what about me? What about me,
not wanting gods to come at all? That isn't, is it? It isn't, and it's
bothering you."
Silk shook his head. "It's not my place to judge your acts or your
words, Your Cognizance."
"Yet you will." Quetzal paused to peer along Lamp Street, and
seemed to listen. "You will, Patera Calde. You can't help it. That's
why I've got to tell you. After that, we're going to talk about
something you probably think that you learned all about when you
were a baby. I mean the Plan of Pas. Then you can go off to Maytera
what'shername."
"Mint, Your Cognizance.
"You can go off to help her overthrow the Ayuntamiento for
Echidna, and I'll be going off to find you more people to do it with,
and better weapons. To begin--"
"Your Cognizance?" Silk ran nervous fingers through his haystack
hair, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Your Cognizance, did
you know Great Pas was dead? Did you know it already, before she
told us today?"
"Certainly. We can start there, Patera Calde, if that's troubling
you. Would you have talked about it from the ambion of the Grand
Manteion if you'd been in my place? Made a public announcement?
Conducted ceremonies of mourning and so forth?"
"Yes," Silk said firmly. "Yes, I would."
"I see. What do you suppose killed him, Patera Calde? You're an
intelligent young fellow. You studied hard at the schola, I know.
Your instructors' reports are very favorable. How could the Father
of the Gods die?"
Faintly, Silk could hear the booming of slug guns, then a long,
concerted roar that might almost have been thunder.
"Building falling," Quetzal told him. "Don't worry about that now.
Answer my question."
"I can't conceive of such a thing, Your Cognizance. The gods are
immortal, ageless. It's their immortality that makes them gods,
really, more than anything else."
"A fever," Quetzal suggested. "We mortals die of fevers every day.
Perhaps he caught a fever?"
"The gods are spiritual beings, Your Cognizance. They're not
subject to disease."
"Kicked in the head by a horse. Don't you think that could have
been it?"
Silk did not reply.
"I'm mocking you, Patera Calde, of course I am. But not idly.
My question's perfectly serious. Echidna told you Pas is dead,
since shortly after his death, in fact. How did he die? How could he?"
Silk combed his disorderly yellow hair with his fingers again.
"When I was made Prolocutor, Patera Calde, we had a vase at the Palace
that had been thrown on the Short Sun Whorl, a beautiful thing. They told me
it was five hundred years old. Almost inconceivable. Do you agree?"
"And priceless, I would say, Your Cognizance."
"Lemur wanted to frighten me, to show me how ruthless he could
be. I already knew, but he didn't know I did. I think he thought that
if I did I'd never dare oppose him. He took that vase from its stand
and smashed it at my feet."
Silk stared down at Quetzal. "You--you're serious, Your Cognizance?
He actually did that?"
"He did. Look, now. That vase was immortal. It didn't age. It was
proof against disease. But it could be destroyed, as it was. So could
Pas. He couldn't age, or even fall sick. But he could be destroyed,
and he was. He was murdered by his family. Many men die like that,
Patera Calde. When you're half my age, you'll know it. Now a god
has, too."
"But, Your Cognizance..."
"Viron's isolated, Patera Calde. All the cities are. He gave us
floaters and animals. No big machines that could carry heavy loads.
He thought that would be best for us, and I dare say he was right.
But the Ayuntamiento's not isolated. The calde wasn't either, when
we had one. Did you think he was?"
Silk said, "I realize we have diplomats, Your Cognizance, and
there are traveling traders and so forth--boats on the rivers, and
even spies."
"That's right. As Prolocutor, I'm no more isolated than he was.
Less, but I won't try to prove that. I'm in contact with religious
leaders in Urbs, Wick, and other cities, cities where his children
have boasted of killing Pas."
"It was the Seven, then, Your Cognizance? Not Echidna? Was
Scylla involved?"
Quetzal had found prayer beads in a pocket of Gulo's robe; he
ran them through his fingers. "Echidna was at the center. You've
seen her, can you doubt it? Scylla, Molpe, and Hierax were in it.
They've said so at various times."
"But not Tartaros, Thelxiepeia, Phaea, or Sphigx, Your Cognizance?"
Silk felt an irrational surge of hope.
"I don't know about Tartaros and the younger gods, Patera
Calde. But do you see why I didn't announce it? There would
have been panic. There will be, if it becomes widely known. The
Chapter will be destroyed and the basis of morality gone.
Imagine Viron with neither. As for public observances, how do
you think Pas's murderers would react to our mourning him?"
"We--" Something tightened in Silk's throat. "We, you and I,
Your Cognizance. Villus and Maytera Marble, all of us are--were
his children too. That is to say, he built the whorl for us. Ruled us
like a father. I..."
"What is it, Patera Calde?"
"I just remembered something, Your Cognizance. Kypris--you
must know there was a theophany of Kypris at our manteion on
Scylsday."
"I've had a dozen reports. It's the talk of the city."
"She said she was hunted, and I didn't understand. Now I believe I may."
Quetzal nodded. "I imagine she is. The wonder is that they
haven't been able to corner her in thirty years. She can't be a tenth
as strong as Pas was. But it can't be easy to kill even a minor goddess
who knows you're trying to. Not like killing a husband and father
who trusts you. Now you see why I've tried to prevent theophanies,
don't you, Patera Calde? If you don't, I'll never be able to make it
clear."
"Yes, Your Cognizance. Of course. It's--horrible. Unspeakable.
But you were right. You are right."
"I'm glad you realize it. You understand why we go on sacrificing
to Pas? We must. I've tried to downgrade him somewhat. Make him
seem more remote than he used to. I've emphasized Scylla at his
expense, but you're too young to have realized that. Older people
complain, sometimes."
Silk said nothing, but stroked his cheek as he walked.
digested all this. Don't fear you may offend me. I'm at your disposal
whenever you want to question me."
"I have two," Silk told him. "I hesitate to pose the first, which
verges upon blasphemy."
"Many necessary questions do." Quetzal cocked his head. "This
isn't one, but do you hear horses?"
"Horses, Your Cognizance? No."
"I must be imagining it. What are your questions?"
Silk walked on in silence for a few seconds to collect his thoughts.
At length he said, "My original two questions have become three,
Your Cognizance. The first, for which I apologize in advance, is,
isn't it true that Echidna and the Seven love us just as Pas did? I've
always felt, somehow, that Pas loved them, while they love us; and
if that is so, will his death--terrible though it is--make a great deal
of difference to us?"
"You have a pet bird, Patera Calde. I've never seen it, but so I've
been told."
"I had one, Your Cognizance, a night chough. I've lost him, I'm
afraid, although it may be that he's with a friend. I'm hoping he'll
return to me eventually."
"You should have caged him, Patera Calde. Then you'd still have him."
"I liked him too much for that, Your Cognizance."
Quetzal's small head bobbed upon its long neck. "Just so. There
are people who love birds so much they free them. There are others
who love them so much they cage them. Pas's love of us was of the
first kind. Echidna's and the Seven's is of the other. Were you going
to ask why they killed Pas?
Is that one of your questions?"
Silk nodded, "My second, Your Cognizance."
"I've answered it. What's the third?"
"You indicated that you wished to discuss the Plan of Pas with me,
Your Cognizance. If Pas is dead, what's the point of discussing his
plan?"
Hoofbeats sounded faintly behind them.
"A god's plans do not die with him, Patera Calde. He is dead, as
Serpentine Echidna told us. We are not. We were to carry Pas's plan
out. You said he ruled us as a father. Do a father's plans benefit
him? Or his children?"
"Your Cognizance, I just remembered something? Another god,
the Outsider--"
"_Pateras!_" The horseman, a lieutenant of the Civil Guard in
mottled green conflict armor, pushed up his visor. "Are you--you
there, Patera. The young one. Aren't you Patera Silk?"
"Yes, my son," Silk said. "I am."
The lieutenant dropped the reins. His hand appeared slow as it
jerked his needler from the holster, yet it was much too quick to
permit Silk to draw Musk's needler. The flat crack of the shot
sounded an instant after the needle's stinging blow.
Chapter 5 -- Mail
They had insisted she not look for herself, that she send one of them
to do it, but she felt she had already sent too many others. This time
she would see the enemy for herself, and she had forbidden them to
attend her. She straightened her snowy coif as she walked, and held
down the wind-tossed skirt of her habit--a sibyl smaller and younger
than most, gowned (like all sibyls) in black to the tops of her worn
black shoes, out upon some holy errand, and remarkable only for
being alone.
The azoth was in one capacious pocket, her beads in the other;
she got them out as she went around the corner onto Cage Street,
wooden beads twice the size of those Quetzal fingered, smoothed
and oiled by her touch to glossy chestnut.
First, Pas's gammadion: "_Great Pas, Designer and Creator of the
Whorl, Lord Guardian of the Aureate Path, we_--"
The pronoun should have been _I_, but she was used to saying them
with Maytera Rose and Maytera Marble; and they, praying together
in the sellaria of the cenoby, had quite properly said "we." She
thought: But I'm praying for all of us. For all who may die this
afternoon, for Bison and Patera Gulo and Bream and that man who