by Gene Wolfe
“It’s a real big table, Calde. It won’t be bad.”
“I know, I’ve seen it. Perhaps General Mint will come. Let’s hope so. She’ll certainly be welcome if she does.”
“Very welcome,” Bison rumbled.
“So they — no, wait a moment. What about Mucor? Surely she isn’t going to help you in the kitchen. Isn’t she going to eat with us?”
Horn looked slightly embarrassed. “Maytera thought it’d be better for her to eat in her room, Calde. She isn’t always — you know.”
“Maytera Marble’s granddaughter,” Silk explained to Bison. “I don’t believe you’ve met her.”
Bison shook his head.
“She must certainly eat with us. Tell Maytera I insist upon it. She had better be close to Maytera, however. Put her on the right side, between Maytera and Generalissimo Siyuf’s staff officer. That gives us six on each side, and fourteen places — fifteen diners in all, including Oreb. Be sure to letter a placecard for Mucor as well as one for General Mint.”
Silk heaved a sigh of relief, feeling better than he had since early that morning; his informal dinner no longer seemed a mere formality, and when the dinner was over the formalities (which he had come to detest) would be over as well. “She may be dead,” he told Bison. “With all my heart, I pray she isn’t, but she may be.”
Bison nodded gloomily.
“Even if she is, however — even if we were to find her body, even if we knew beyond doubt that she was dead — we dare not let the Trivigauntis know it, or even suspect we think it. She has won more victories than any other commander we’ve got, and the better chance they think we have of winning, the more help they will provide us. Am I making myself clear?”
Bison nodded again. “We mustn’t let her troopers know, either. Half would go after her on their own, if they knew the Ayuntanriento’s got her.”
“Or your troopers. Quite correct.” Silk pushed back his chair and stood up. “Come with me; there’s a glass in the next room.”
The gauntletted hand of old Jerboa withdrew the knife of sacrifice, and the calf fell to its knees and rolled over on its side, its spurting blood captured in an earthenware chalice held by one of the younger sibyls. With more dexterity than Auk would have believed he possessed, Jerboa cut off the calfs head and laid it on the fire. The right rear hoof gave him some difficulty, but he persisted.
A fleeting fleck of color in the Sacred Window caught Auk’s eye. He gasped, and it was gone.
The impact of the call’s final hoof sent up a fountain of scarlet sparks; Jerboa faced the Window, hands aloft. “Accept, O Great Pas—” He coughed. “Pas who art of all gods…”
The window bloomed pink, violet, and gold. As Auk watched open-mouthed, the dancing hues coalesced into a face of more than human beauty — one that he saw as plainly as he had ever seen any other woman’s. “You seek my lover,” the goddess said.
“We do, O Great Goddess.” Jerboa’s reedy old voice was weaker than ever. “We seek him because we seek to do his will.”
Auk blurted, “He said he’d come if we’d find Patera.”
The goddess’s violet eyes left Jerboa. “So much love… So much love here. Auk? You are Auk? Find her, Auk. Clasp her to you. Never part.”
“All right,” Auk said, and repeated, “All right.” It was difficult to argue with a goddess. “I sure will, Kindly Kypris. Only Pas gave us this job. We had to find Patera, so we did. Now we got to find Pas, got to get the two together, like.”
“The Grand Manteion. Auk.” The goddess’s shining eyes left him, opening their bottomless lakes to Jerboa once more. “Will you go, old man? Dear old man, so filled with love…? Will you find my lover and your god? Jerboa?”
The old augur struggled to speak. Shell said, “I’ll take him, Great Goddess. We’ll go together.” His voice was stronger than Auk had ever heard it.
Although he could not tear his gaze from hers, Incus, on his knees, scuttled backward. “I am pledged…”
“To prevent my mischief.” Kypris’s laughter was the peal of icy bells. “To kill fifty? A hundred children. Or more, that little Scylla may heed you. Homely little Scylla, with her father’s temperament and her mother’s intellect.”
Incus seemed incapable of speech or motion.
“You’ll require a sacrifice… Auk? Not children.”
“Not children,” Auk repeated, and felt an immense relief.
“My lover. Pas? My lover is engaged with his wife. At present.” This time the precious bells were warm and merry. “Not in making more… Brats? You call them sprats. No. Oh, no. Wiping her out of core. Do you know what that means? Auk?” Kypris’s smile found Shell. “Tell him…”
“He don’t have to, Kindly Kypris. I got it.”
“You will need a victim. To get my lover’s attention. Not a child… Auk? Something unusual. Think upon it.”
“A victim in the grand Manteion,” Auk repeated numbly.
“Several. Perhaps. Auk. I offer no… Suggestions. But tonight. As quickly as you can.” For a half-second her high, ivory-smooth brow wrinkled in thought. “The piece the old man has may aid him in the fight. I hope so.”
As Silk limped into the room, one of the waiters provided by Ermine’s pulled out his chair for him. He halted behind it, his hands resting on the back. Bison, smiling broadly, made his way down the table to his seat near the foot.
“Welcome,” Silk said. He had intended to welcome them in the name of the gods, but the words died unspoken. “Welcome in the name of the City of Viron, to all of you. I deeply regret that I was unable to welcome most of you when you arrived; but I was engaged with Colonel Bison. Maytera will have welcomed you, I feel sure, in Scylla’s name.”
At the other end of the table, Maytera Marble nodded.
Xiphias whispered, “Sit down lad! Want your leg worse?”
“In which case,” Silk continued, “I welcome you in the name of him who enlightened me, the Outsider, the only god I trust.”
“He is right, Calde.” Oosik pushed back his chair. “If you will not, my son and I must rise. We cannot remain seated while our superior stands.” The pale cornet on his left was struggling to get to his feet already.
“Of course. That was thoughtless of me, Generalissimo. I beg your pardon, and your son’s.” Silk sat, finding his inlaid rosewood chair rather too high. “I was about to say that I do trust him, now, though it’s very hard for me to trust any god.”
“We are like children, Patera Calde,” Quetzal told him, and Oreb flew from Silk’s shoulder to perch upon the topmost level of the crystal chandelier. “A child has to trust its parents, even when they’re not to be trusted.”
The pale cornet looked up with a flash of anger that seemed as much a symptom as an emotion. “What are you two implying!”
“Nothing, Mattak. Nothing at all.” His father’s big hand covered his.
Siyuf’s laugh was clear, pleasant, and unaffected. “So we feel of Sphigx, Calde. But are we fighting among ourselves so quick as this? At home we make a rule that there is allowed no fighting until the fourth bottle.”
“That’s a good rule,” Bison put in, still smiling. “But the tenth might be better.”
The young officer had already relaxed, slumping back in his chair; Silk smiled, too. “I don’t know what the proper form is, but this is a thoroughly informal dinner anyway. Generalissimo Siyuf, have you met your fellow diners? I know you know His Cognizance and Generalissimo Oosik.”
“There is one I should particularly like to meet, Calde Silk. That very promising girl who sits with Major Hadale.”
The major, a gaunt, hard-faced woman of about forty, said, “Her name is Chenille, Generalissimo. She’s living here in the palace temporarily.”
Siyuf cocked an eyebrow at Silk. “I am surprise that you have not seated her next to you. She could fit in very easily here between you and me.”
“Good girl!” Oreb assured Siyuf from his lofty perch.
“Major H
adale is correct,” Silk told Siyuf. “Her name is Chenille, and she’s a close friend. So much has happened since we met that I could call her an old one. She has been helping Maytera here, haven’t you, Chenille?”
She stared down at her plate. “Yes, Patera.”
“Is there anyone else? What about Master Xiphias?”
“I have not this pleasure.” Siyuf’s eyes remained upon Chenille.
“Master Xiphias is my fencing teacher and my friend, as well as the best swordsman I have ever seen.”
“Rich, too, lad! Rich! You asked me to open the window, remember? Up there in Ermine’s! Everybody heard you! Think they’d stay away after that? Breaking my door down! Doubled my charges Molpsday, tripled them yesterday. It’s the truth!”
“I am happy for you,” Siyuf told him. “Your Calde speaks of swordsmen. He has never seen a swordswoman, perhaps. Soon we must cross blades for him.”
Silk recalled Hyacinth’s feigned fencing with the azoth; to hide what he felt, he said, “We are neglecting the cornet. Neither Generalissimo Siyuf nor I have met you, Cornet. That is our loss, beyond doubt. Are you a swordsman? As a cavalry officer, you must be.”
“I am Cornet Mattak, Calde,” the young officer announced politely. “My sword has been drawn against you. I’m sure you know that. Now I long to draw it again, in your service.”
“You must recover your health first,” his father told him.
Quetzal murmured, “I will pray for him, Generalissimo. We augurs teach others to pray for their foes. We try, at least. We seldom get a chance to pray for ours, because we have so few. I’m grateful for this opportunity.”
Maytera Marble was equally grateful for the opportunity to turn the talk to religion. “It’s Lord Pas who teaches us that, isn’t it, Your Cognizance?”
“No, Maytera.” Quetzal’s hairless head swayed from side to side above his long, wrinkled neck.
Mattak said, “I want to apologize, Your Cognizance. I’ve been feverish…” His voice faded as he met Quetzal’s gaze.
“My son has horrible dreams,” Oosik explained to the table at large. “Even when he is awake—” He was interrupted by the arrival of the wine, a huge bottle rich with dust and cobwebs.
“We’ve an extensive cellar here,” Silk told Siyuf, “laid down by my predecessor. Experts tell me a good deal of it may have soured, however. I know nothing about such things myself.”
The sommelier poured him a half finger, releasing a light aroma suggestive of wildflowers. “Not this, Calde.”
“No, indeed.” Silk swirled the pale fluid in his glass. “I really don’t need to taste it. No ceremony could mean less.” He tasted it nonetheless, and nodded.
“Except these introductions,” Bison said unexpectedly, “if the generalissimo’s intelligence is as good as I imagine. I’m Colonel Bison, Generalissimo.
“They are not,” Siyuf told him, “yet I hear of you, and I receive a description I find accurate.” She let the sommelier half fill her wineglass, then waved him away. “You are Mint’s chief subordinate. Not long ago you are upon the same footing as many others. Now you are their superior, answerable to her alone. Is it not so?”
“I’m her second in command, yes.”
“So well regarded that Calde Silk closets himself with you before this dinner. I congratulate you.”
Siyuf paused, glancing around the table. “There is but one other I do not know. That thin girl beside my Colonel Abanja. She is also of the calde’s household? Pretty Chenille, you must know her. Tell me.”
“Her name’s Mucor, and she’s Maytera’s granddaughter,” Chenille explained. “We take care of her.”
“This is by adoption, I take it.”
Chenille hesitated, then nodded.
“Hello, Mucor. I am Generalissimo Siyuf from Trivigaunte. Are we to hope that you will soon be a fine strong trooper? Or a holy woman like your grandmother?”
Mucor did not reply. The sommelier paused, his bottle poised above her wineglass. Maytera Marble put her left hand over it, and Silk shook his head.
“I see. This is not fortunate. Calde Silk, you know of my General Saba, and you have heard the names of Colonel Abanja and Major Hadale, also. Will you not tell me of the empty chair at your left? I did not read the little card before sitting.
“Wait!” Siyuf raised her hand. “Let me to guess. Mine is the place of honor. I am your distinguished guest. But in the second is not Generalissimo Oosik as I expect, but another. It is then for someone deserving of exceptional honor, and not one of us, for Crane who saved you from the enemy is now dead.”
Surreptitiously, Silk made the sign of addition.
“Tell me if I am right as far as I have gone. If Crane is living and I am wrong, I like to know.”
“No, he’s dead. I wish it weren’t so.”
A waiter whose livery differed from the others came in with a tray of hors d’oeuvres; as he set the first small plate before Siyuf, Silk recognized him as Hossaan.
If Siyuf herself had recognized him as well, she gave no indication. “Then Crane must be dismissed. Each officer here was permitted a subordinate. That is our custom, and I think it a good one. For me, Colonel Abanja, for my General Saba is Major Hadale, and for your own generalissimo his son. But there is here also Colonel Bison. Mint herself is not present.”
“You’re entirely correct,” Silk told Siyuf, still studying Hossaan out of the corner of his eye; he handed Maytera Mint’s placecard to Siyuf He had invited Bison himself and forgotten to tell him that he could bring a subordinate, but there seemed little point in mentioning it.
“Bird eat?” The hors d’oeuvres included clams from Lake Limna, and Oreb regarded them hungrily.
“Of course,” Silk told him. “Come down and take whatever you fancy.”
Oreb fluttered nervously. “Girl say.”
“Me?” Chenille looked up at him. “Why Oreb, how nice! I’m flattered, I really and truly am. I always thought you liked Auk better.” She gulped, and Maytera Marble directed a searching glance at her. “Only I don’t blame you, because I do too. I’ll get a bunch of these, and you can have anything you want, like Patera says.” Oreb glided from the chandelier.
Siyuf asked Silk, “He is dead, this Auk?”
Silk shook his head.
“He is not, and so this card,” Siyuf held it up, “should be for him. Is that not so? He is alive, you say. But your General Mint is as dead as my Doctor Crane.”
Quetzal asked, “Are you sure, Generalissimo? I have good reasons for thinking otherwise.”
“You have cut open some sheep.”
“Many, I fear.”
“A god speaks to us, also. Sublime Sphigx cares more for us than any other city. She alone of the gods speaks to us in our ancient tongue, speaking as we did in my mother’s house, and as we speak in mine.”
Silk said, “The High Speech of Trivigaunte? I’ve heard of it, but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the language itself. Could you say something for us? A prayer or a bit of poetry?”
Siyuf shook her head. “It is not for amusement at dinner parties, Calde. Instead, I shall say what I set out to say. It is that no other city is so close to its goddess as we. Look at you. You have a goddess, you say. Scylla. Yet your women are slaves. If Scylla cared for you, she would care for them.”
Mattak started to protest, but Siyuf raised her voice. “We who are near the heart of Sphigx do not butcher beasts to read her will in offal. Each day we pray to her, and do not tease her with questions but offer sincere praise. When we wish to know a thing, we go and find it out. Your Mint has been shot.” She looked at Saba for confirmation, and Saba nodded.
“This is not pleasant,” Siyuf continued, “and I would like that I am not the one to say it. She went to treat with the enemy, is that not so?”
From Saba’s right, Bison answered, “Yes. It is.”
“With a holy man to safeguard. The enemy has killed both. Captured, they say, but I have spoken to their leader
, this man Loris, and he cannot produce either.” Siyuf waited for someone to contradict her, but no one did.
“Your Mint was of greatest spirit. I would have liked to speak to her. Even a bout with practice swords, this old man to see fair play. All I have heard says plainly that she was of greatest spirit, and I am sure that when she, who had come to talk peace, was made prisoner she would resist. Some fool shot her and her holy man also, a filthy crime. I learned of this after our parade and already I have set our Labor Corps to dig. We will find these tunnels, make a new entrance near the big lake, and soon find one that shall lead us to this Ayuntamiento of Viron. Then Mint will be avenged.”
Bison glanced at Silk; Silk nodded, and Bison said, “I must tell you, Generalissimo, that the calde and I saw General Mint in his glass before we sat down. The calde had a place set for her originally as a sort of signal, I’d say. He wanted to show that we hoped she was still alive.”
“That she would return to us soon,” Silk added.
“Now that chair,” Bison gestured, “is more than a symbol. Calde Silk got a monitor to show us what it had seen before we questioned it, and it was General Mint, with four other people and some soldiers and animals hurrying along a tunnel. She may join us before the evening’s over.”
Siyuf pursed her lips. “If your Mint was in the hands of soldiers, is not that the enemy?”
Saba put down her wineglass. “Vironese soldiers protected the calde when some private guards tried to kill him, sir. I mentioned that…” Her voice altered and her mouth assumed a ghastly grin. “I found her, Silk. She was in the market. She bought a little animal that talks. She’s taking it where they kill them.”
Chapter 10 — A Life for Pas
Sergeant Sand had scrambled up first. Maytera Mint, exhausted and practically suffocated by the ash that filled the air of the tunnel, thought it strange that it should be large enough to admit his bulky steel body. She had purified the altar of the old manteion on Sun Street many times, and although she told herself that she must surely be mistaken, it seemed to her that its chute had been scarcely half as large as this one.