window. The captain pointed. "We have a buzz gun for this
post, as you see, My General. A buzz gun because the street offers
the most direct route to the entrance. The angle affords us a
longitudinal field of fire. Down there," he pointed again, "a step or
two more, and we could be fired upon from an upper window of the
Alambrera."
"They could come down this street, straight across Cage, and go
into the Alambrera?"
"That is correct, My General. Therefore we will not go farther.
This way, please. You do not object to the alley?"
"Certainly not."
How strange the service of the gods was! When she was only a
girl, Maytera Mockorange had told her that the gods' service meant
missing sleep and meals, and had made her give that response each
time she was asked. Now here she was; she hadn't eaten since
breakfast, but by Thelxiepeia's grace she was too tired to be hungry.
"The boy you sent off to bed." The captain chuckled. "He will
sleep all night. Did you foresee that, My General? The poor girl will
have to remain at her post until morning."
"Horn? No more than three hours, Captain, if that."
The alley ended at a wider steet. Mill Street, Maytera Mint told
herself, seeing the forlorn sign of a dark coffee shop called the Mill.
Mill Street was where you could buy odd lengths of serge and tweed cheaply.
"Here we are out of sight, though not hidden from sentries on the
wall. Look." He pointed again. "Do you recognize it, My General?"
"I recognize the wall of the Alambrera, certainly. And I can see a
floater. Is it yours? No, it can't be, or they'd be shooting at it, and
the turret's missing."
"It is one of those you destroyed, My General. But it is mine now.
I have two men in it." He halted. "Here I leave you for perhaps three
minutes. It is too dangerous for us to proceed, but I must see that all
is well with them."
She let him trot away, waiting until he had almost reached the
disabled floater before she began to run herself, running as she had
so often pictured herself running in games with the children at the
palaestra, her skirt hiked to her knees and her feet flying, the fear of
impropriety gone who could say where.
He jumped, caught the edge of the hole where the turret had
been, pulled himself up and rolled over, vanishing into the disabled
floater. Seeing him, she felt less confident that she could do it too.
Fortunately she did not have to; when she was still half a dozen
strides away, a door opened in its side. "I did not think you would
remain behind, My General," the captain told her, "though I dared
hope. You must not risk yourself in this fashion."
She nodded, too breathless to speak, and ducked into the floater.
It was cramped yet strangely roofless, the crouching Guardsmen
clearly ill at ease, trained to snap to attention but compressed by
circumstance. "Sit down," she ordered them, "all of you. We can't
stand on formality in here."
That word _stand_ had been unwisely chosen, she reflected. They
sat anyway, with muttered thanks.
"This buzz gun, you see, My General," the captain patted it, "once
it belonged to the commander of this floater. He missed you, so it is
yours."
She knew nothing about buzz guns and was curious despite her
fatigue. "Does it still operate? And do you have," at a loss, she
waved a vague hand, "whatever it shoots?"
"Cartridges, My General. Yes, there are enough. It was the fuel
that exploded in this floater, you see. They are not like soldiers,
these floaters. They are like taluses and must have fish oil or
palm-nut oil for their engines. Fish oil is not so nice, but we employ
it because it is less costly. This floater carried sufficient ammunition
for both guns, and there is sufficient still."
"I want to sit there." She was looking at the officer's seat. "May I?"
"Certainly, My General." The captain scrambled out of her way.
The seat was astonishingly comfortable, deeper and softer than
her bed in the cenoby, although its scorched upholstery smelled of
smoke. Not astonishing, Maytera Mint told herself, not really. To
be expected, because it had been an officer's seat, and the Ayuntamiento
treated officers well, knowing that its power rested on
not forget.
"Do not touch the trigger, My General. The safety catch is
disengaged." The captain reached over her shoulder to push a small
lever. "Now it is engaged. The gun will not fire."
"This spider web thing." She touched it instead. "Is it what you call
the sight?"
"Yes, the rear sight, My General. The little post you see at the end
of the barrel, that is the front sight. The gunner aligns the two, so
that he sees the top of the post in one or another of the small rectangles."
"I see."
"Higher rectangles, My General, if the target is distant. To left or
right if there is a strong wind, or because the gun favors one side or
another."
She leaned back in the seat and allowed herself, for no more than
a second or two, to close her eyes. The captain was saying
something about night vision, short bursts hitting more than long
ones, about fields of fire.
Fire was eating up somebody's home while he talked, and Lime
(if Teasel had found her quickly and she hadn't been far) was
looking for her right now, going from sentry post to post to post to
post. Looking for her and asking people at each post whether they
had seen her, whether they knew where the next one was and
whether they would take her there because of the fires, because
Bison had known, had rightly known that the fires must be put out
but had been afraid to say it because he had known his people
couldn't do it, could not, men and women who had fought so long
and hard already all day, fight fires tonight and fight again tomorrow.
Bison who made her feel so strong and competent, whose thick
and curling black beard was longer than her hair. Maytera Mockorange
had warned her about going without her coif, which was not
just against the rule but stimulating to a great many men who were
aroused by the sight of women's hair, particularly if long. She had
lost her coif somewhere, had gone without it though her hair was
short, though it had been cropped short on the first day, all of it.
She fled Maytera Mockorange's anger down dark cold halls full of
sudden turnings until she found Auk, who reminded her that she
was to bring him the gods.
"I am Colonel Oosik, Calde," Silk's visitor informed him. He was a
big man, so tall and broad that Shell was hidden by his green-uniformed bulk.
"The officer who directs this brigade," Silk offered his hand. "In
command. Is that what you say? I'm Patera Silk."
"You have familiarized yourself with our organization." Oosik sat
down in the chair Shell had carried in earlier.
"Not really. Are those my clothes you have?"
"Yes." Oosik held them up, an untidy
black bundle. "We will
speak of them presently, Calde. If you have made no study of our
organization charts, how is it you know my position?"
"I saw a poster." Silk paused, remembering. "I was going to the
lake with a woman named Chenille. The poster announced the
formation of a reserve brigade. It was signed by you, and it told
anyone who wanted to join it to apply to Third Brigade Headquarters.
Patera Shell was kind enough to look in on me a few minutes
ago, and he happened to mention that this was the Third Brigade.
After he had gone, I recalled your poster."
Shell said hurriedly, "The colonel was in the captain's room when
I got there, Patera. I told them I'd wait, but he made me come in
and asked what I wanted, so I told him."
"Thank you," Silk said. "Please return to your manteion at once,
Patera. You've done everything that you can do here tonight."
Trying to freight the words with significance, he added, "It's already
late. Very late."
"I thought, Patera--"
"Go," Oosik tugged his drooping mustache. "Your calde and I
have delicate matters to discuss. He understands that. So should you."
"I thought--"
"Go!" Oosik had scarcely raised his voice, yet the word was like
the crack of a whip. Shell hurried out.
"Sentry! Shut the door."
The mustache was tipped with white, Silk observed; Oosik wound
it about his index finger as he spoke. "Since you have not studied our
organization, Calde, you will not know that a brigade is the
command of a general, called a brigadier."
"No." Silk admitted. "I've never given it any thought."
"In that case no explanation is necessary. I had planned to tell
you, so that each of us would know where we stand, that though I
am a mere colonel, an officer of field grade," Oosik released his
mustache to touch the silver osprey on his collar, "I command my
brigade exactly as a brigadier would. I have for four years. Do you
want your clothes?"
"Yes. I'd like to get dressed, if you'll let me."
Oosik nodded, though it was not clear whether his nod was meant
to express permission or understanding. "You are nearly dead,
Calde. A needle passed through your lung."
"Nevertheless, I'd feel better if I were up and dressed." It was a
lie, although he wished fervently that it were true. "I'd be sitting on
this bed then, instead of lying in it; but I've got nothing on."
Oosik chuckled. "You wish your shoes as well?"
"My shoes and my stockings. My underwear, my trousers, my
tunic, and my robe. Please, colonel."
The corners of the mustache tilted upward. "Dressed, you might
easily escape, Calde. Isn't that so?"
"You say I'm near death, Colonel. A man near death might
escape, I suppose; but not easily."
"We have handled you roughly here in the Third, Calde. You
have been beaten. Tortured."
Silk shook his head. "You shot me. At least, I suppose that it was
one of your officers who shot me. But I've been treated by a doctor
and installed in this comfortable room. No one has beaten me."
"With your leave." Oosik peered at him. "Your face is bruised. I
assumed that we had beaten you."
Silk shook his head, pushing back the memory of hours of
interrogation by Councillor Potto and Sergeant Sand.
"You do not wish to explain the source of your bruises. You have
been fighting, Calde, a shameful thing for an augur. Or boxing.
Boxing would be permissible, I suppose."
"Through my own carelessness and stupidity, I fell down a flight of
stairs," Silk said.
To his surprise, Oosik roared with laughter, slapping his knee.
"That is what our troopers say, Calde," he wiped his eyes, still
chuckling, "when one has been beaten by the rest. He says he fell
down the barracks stairs, almost always. They don't want to
confess that they've cheated their comrades, you see, or stolen
from them."
"In my case it's the truth." Silk considered. "I had been trying to
steal, though not to cheat, two days earlier. But I really did fall
down steps and bruise my face."
"I am happy to hear you haven't been beaten. Our men do it
sometimes without orders. I have known them to do it when it was
contrary to their orders, as well. I punish them for that severely, you
may be sure. In your case, Calde," Oosik shrugged. "I sent out an
officer because I required better information concerning the
progress of the battle before the Alambrera than my glass could give
me. I had made provisions for wounded and for prisoners. I needed
to learn whether they would be sufficient."
"I understand."
"He came back with you." Oosik sighed. "Now he expects a medal
and a promotion for putting me in this very difficult position. You
understand my problem, Calde?"
"I'm not sure I do."
"We are fighting, you and I. Your followers, a hundred thousand
or more, against the Civil Guard, of which I am a senior officer, and
a few thousand soldiers. Either side may win. Do you agree?"
"I suppose so," Silk said.
"Let us say, for the moment, that it is mine. I do not intend to be
unfair to you, Calde. We will discuss the other possibility in a
moment. Say that the victory is ours, and I report to the Ayuntamiento
that you are my prisoner. I will be asked why I did not
report it earlier, and I may be court-martialed for not having
reported it. If I am fortunate, my career will be destroyed. If I am
not, I may be shot."
"Then report it," Silk told him, "by all means."
Oosik shook his head again, his big face gloomier than ever.
"There is no right course for me in this, Calde. No right course at all.
But there is one that is clearly wrong, that can lead only to disaster,
and you have advised it. The Ayuntamiento has ordered that you be
killed on sight. Do you know that?"
"I had anticipated it." Silk discovered that his hands were clenched
beneath the quilt. He made himself relax.
"No doubt. Lieutenant Tiger should have killed you at once. He
didn't. May I be frank? I don't think he had the stomach for it. He
denies it, but I don't think he had the stomach. He shot you. There
you lay, an augur in an augur's robe, gasping like a fish and bleeding
from the mouth. One more shot would be the end." Oosik shrugged.
"No doubt he thought you would die while he was bringing you in.
Most men would have."
"I see," Silk said. "He'll be in trouble now if you tell the
Ayuntamiento that you have me, alive."
"_I_ will be in trouble." Oosik tapped his chest with a thick
forefinger. "I will be ordered to kill you, Calde, and I will have to do
it. If we lose after that, your woman Mint will have me shot, if she
doesn't light upon something worse. If we win, I will be marked for
life. I will be the man who killed Silk, the augur who was, as the city
firmly believes, chosen by Pas to be calde. If it is wise, the
Ayuntamiento will disavow my actions, court-martial me, and have
me shot. No,
Calde, I will not report that I hold you. That is the last
thing that I will do."
"You said that the Guard and the Army--I've been told there are
seven thousand soldiers--are fighting the people. What is the
strength of the Guard, Colonel?" Silk strove to recall his conversation
with Hammerstone. "Thirty thousand, approximately?"
"Less."
"Some Guardsmen have deserted the Ayuntamiento. I know that
for a fact."
Oosik nodded gloomily.
"May I ask how many?"
"A few hundred, perhaps, Calde."
"Would you say a thousand?"
For half a minute or more, Oosik did not speak; at last he said, "I
am told five hundred. If that is correct, almost all have come from
my own brigade."
"I have something to show you," Silk said, "but I have to ask you
for a promise first. It's something that Patera Shell brought me,
and I want you to give me your word that you won't harm him or
the augur of his manteion, or any of their sibyls. Will you promise?"
Oosik shook his head. "I cannot disobey if I am ordered to arrest
them, Patera."
"If you're not ordered to." It should give them ample time to
leave, Silk thought. "Promise me that you won't do anything to them
on your own initiative."
Oosik studied him. "You are offering your information very
cheaply, Calde. We don't bother you religious, except under the
most severe provocation."
"Then I have your word as an officer?"
Oosik nodded, and Silk took the Prolocutor's letter from under
his quilt and handed it to him. He unbuttoned a shirt pocket and got
out a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, shifting his position slightly so
that the light fell upon the letter.
In the silence that followed, Silk reviewed everything Oosik had
said. Had he made the right decision? Oosik was ambitious--had
probably volunteered to take charge of the reserve brigade as well
as his own in the hope of gaining the rank and pay to which his
position entitled him. He might be, in fact he almost certainly was,
underestimating the fighting capabilities of soldiers like Sand and
Hammerstone; but he was sure to know a great deal about those of
the Civil Guard, in which he had spent his adult life; and he was
considering the possibility that the Ayuntamiento would lose. The
Prolocutor's letter, with its implications of increased support for