by Gene Wolfe
“These victims, eh?” Remora coughed, eyeing the yearling tunnel gods Eland had taken charge of. “For, hem!, Pas. His — er — ah — ghost?”
Schist nodded. “That’s what the Prolocutor says.”
“You’re saying that Pas is dead.” Maytera Mint was by no means sure she believed such a thing possible, still less that it had taken place. “He’s come back as a ghost?”
“That’s it, General.”
Shale added, “We’re not sayin’ it happened, but that’s what he says.” He jerked his head toward the chute into which Sand’s heels had vanished. “Sarge believes him. So do I, I guess.”
Urus edged nearer Maytera Mint. “They’re abram, lady, all these chems Look, we’re bios, all right? You ’n me, ’n Spider ’n Eland here. Even the long butcher.”
She could scarcely make out Urus’s features in the ash-dimmed light; yet she could picture his wheedling expression only too vividly.
“We got to stick, us bios. Got to make a knot, don’t we? The way they’re talkin’, we’ll all be cold.”
“Good riddance,” Spider muttered.
Sand’s voice ended the conversation, hollow-sounding as it echoed down the chute overhead. “The augur next. Hand him up.”
Remora was peering up the chute. “It’s a manteion, eh?”
“Big one, Patera. Pretty dark, too. Wait a minute.”
Slate had crouched at Remora’s feet. “I’m goin’ to grab you by the legs, see, Patera? I’m goin’ to lift you up ’n in. Get your arms up over your head to steer yourself. When you’re in good, I’ll push on your feet ’n get you up as far as I can. Maybe you’ll have to wiggle up a little more before Sarge can grab hold of you.” Abruptly the dark mouth of the chute became a rectangle of light.
It is big, Maytera Mint thought; it has to be. They have a lot of victims, burn a cartload of wood at every sacrifice.
Sand’s voice returned. “They got oil lamps here. I lit a couple for you.”
“Thank you!” Remora called. “My most, um, deepest — ah — sincere appreciation, my son.” He looked down at Slate. “I am ready, eh? Lift away.”
“You’ll be fine, Your Eminence,” Maytera Mint assured him.
“You think — ah — fear me apprehensive.” Remora smiled, his teeth visible in the light from the chute. “To, um, revisit the whorl of light, Maytera, I should — umph!”
Slate had grasped his ankles and was rising. For a moment Remora swayed dangerously and it seemed he must fall; but Spider pushed his hips to right him, and in another second his arms and head were out of sight.
“Here he comes, Sarge!”
“What it is, see,” Urus was nearly at Maytera Mint’s ear, “is they think they ought to give Pas somethin’. He put that in their heads, your jefe did.”
“His Cognizance.” Coughing, she turned to face Urus. “I cannot imagine His Cognizance in these horrible tunnels, though I know he was here with the calde.”
“Me neither. Only, see—”
“Be quiet.” Maytera Mint was studying Eland’s beasts. “How are we going to get these animals up there, Slate?”
“I been thinkin’ about that,” Slate said. “Watch this.”
Crouching again, he sprang into the chute and scrambled up.
“You two’d better stay here to lift the general and me up,” Spider told Schist and Shale.
“Sure thing.” With Slate gone, Schist leaned back against the shiprock wall. “We’ll pass ’em up just like the slug guns. You’ll see.”
Shale indicated the opening with a contemptuous gesture. “He’s buckin’ for another stripe, Slate is. We used to have this corporal from ‘H’ Company, only he bought it in the big fight with the talus the other day. This time probably they’ll promote from inside, and Slate figures he’ll cop it.”
Slate’s voice came from the chute. “Knock off jawin’ down there ’n pass them guns.”
Schist said, “Sure thing,” and lifted the bundled slug guns into the chute. Shale explained, “I strapped ’em together with one of the slings. Makes ’em easier to handle.”
The bundle of guns vanished amid scrapings and bumpings. Schist tilted his head back and to the left to grin at Maytera Mint. “He’s hangin’ in there, see? Sarge’s got his feet.”
Spider coughed. “Maybe you’d like to go next, General.”
“I would,” she confessed, “but I’ll go last. It is my place as the senior officer present.”
“I don’t think you can jump up there,” Schist objected.
She turned on him. “ ‘I don’t think you can jump up there, sir.’ Or ‘General.’ I give you your choice, Private, which is more than I ought to give you.”
“Yes, sir. Only I don’t think you can, sir, and I’d be glad to stay down here and help you, sir.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Maytera Mint turned to the other soldier. “Private Shale.”
“Yes, sir!” Shale snapped to attention.
“You were very ingenious with that sling. After you and Private Schist have passed these beasts up and helped Spider, Urus, and this other convict—”
“Eland,” Eland put in, speaking for the first time since they had reached this darkest stretch of tunnel.
“Thank you. And Eland to climb up, you will contrive a rope of slug gun slings, making a loop at the bottom into which I can put one foot. Can you do that?”
“Sure thing, sir.”
“Good. Do it. Then you can pull me up. Last.”
Spider ventured, “You’re goin’ to be down here all alone, for a minute or two, anyhow.”
“These—” She was wracked by a paroxysm of coughing. “These animals. I don’t know what to call them.”
“Bufes,” Eland supplied.
“Thank you.” Turning her head, she spat. “I will not call them gods. That must stop. More bufes may come, though I hope they won’t. I pray they won’t. But if they do I’ll shoot them. If I don’t see them in time, or don’t aim well, I will die.”
“I’ll stay with you,” Spider told her.
She shook her head. “Only one—”
From the chute, Slate called, “Gimme a god.” Shale lifted a squirming beast over his head and thrust its hindquarters into the opening in the ceiling; its eyes were wild, and blood ran from the sinews binding its muzzle.
“I dunno if I could of trained ’em as big as that,” Eland muttered, “only it seems like a shame to waste ’em.”
“I caught ’em, sir,” Shale explained to Maytera Mint. “The bios and me were back by that dead bio you left behind. We knew the smell would fetch ’em.”
Schist added, “That was why Slate and Sarge jumped out of the dirt when they did, probably, sir. Sarge thought you might scare ’em off if you went back for the dead one.”
“Perhaps. I can understand how a soldier could capture such an animal. What I cannot understand is how you, Eland, were able to capture others without the help of one.”
“Mine was littler when I got ’em.” He watched the second beast vanish up the chute. “We killed the big ’uns, we had to. I got behind the little ’uns and got a noose over their mouth.”
“It must have been dangerous just the same.”
He shrugged, the motion of his skeletal shoulders barely visible. “I want to go up next. Be with ’em. That all right?”
From the chute, Slate called, “Pass up them other bios.”
“Certainly,” Maytera Mint told Eland. She gestured toward the chute, and Schist lifted him.
“You can’t get ’em to like you,” Eland said as his head vanished into the chute, “only maybe mine did, a little.”
From nearer the top, Slate told him, “Grab on.”
“If the bufes don’t bring Pas, lady, ’n they won’t, I know they won’t—”
Maytera Mint shook her head. “You cannot know.”
“Then it’s us. Me ’n Eland. Him, too,” Urus pointed to Spider, “if you let ’em. That sergeant—”
“My son.” Maytera Mint stepped so close to Urus that the muzzle of the needler she held gouged his ribs. “I have been most remiss with you. I have let you call me ‘lady’ or whatever you wished. I must remember to bring it up at my next shriving, if there is a next shriving. In future, you are to address me as Maytera. It means mother. Will you do that?”
“Yeah. Dimber here, Maytera.”
“That is well.” She smiled up at him; she was a full head shorter than he. “As your mother, your spiritual mother, I must explain something to you. Please pay strict attention.”
Urus nodded mutely. From the chute, Slate called, “Gimme another one.”
“Go, Spider,” Maytera Mint said, and turned back to Urus. “I haven’t had much time in which to form my estimate of your character, yet I think it accurate. It is not an estimate very favorable to you.”
When he did not speak, she added, “Not favorable at all. I will not compare you to such a man as Sergeant Sand. Though not pious, he is resolute, energetic, loyal, and reasonably honest. To compare him to you would be grossly unjust to him. Nor will I venture to compare you to His Eminence. His Eminence has less physical courage, I think, than many other men. Yet he has more than a casual observer might suppose, as I have seen, and his assiduity and piety have justly earned him a high position in the Chapter. He is intelligent as well, and he labors almost too diligently to put the mental acuity that he received from the gods at their service.”
“Have you got the safety on that thing, lady?”
“Call me Maytera. I insist on it.”
“All right, all right!” His voice shaking, Urus repeated, “Have you got the safety on?” and added, “Maytera?”
“No, my son, I do not.” She took a deep breath. “Stop talking and listen. Your life hangs upon it, and we haven’t long. I am a general and a sibyl. As a sibyl I try to find good in everyone, and though it may sound less than modest, I generally succeed. I find a great deal in His Eminence, as I would expect. I find more than I expected in Sergeant Sand. There is good in Private Slate, too, and in Private Shale and Private Schist here. Not good of a very high order, perhaps, but abundant in its kind. I have tried to find good in Spider and found more than I dared hope for. The glimmers of good in Eland are hardly discernible, yet unmistakable.” She sighed. “I talk too much when I’m tired. I hope you’ve followed me.”
Urus nodded. There was a faint play of light across one cheekbone; it was half a second before she understood that he was sweating, cold perspiration soaking the gray ash black and running down his face like rivulets of fresh paint.
“As a general, it is my duty to defeat the enemy. I must do it by killing men and women. I find that repugnant, but such is the case. You are the enemy, Urus. Do you follow me still?”
From the chute, Slate called, “Ready for the next one.”
“That will be you,” Maytera Mint told Shale. “Remember what I told you about those slings.”
He saluted with a clash of steel. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”
She returned her attention to Urus. “You are the enemy, I say. Should I, who have been called the Sword of Echidna, let you live when I have you at my mercy?”
“You’re fightin’ the Ayuntamiento, right? General, I swear by every shaggy god there is that I never done nothin—”
“Be quiet!” Angrily, she poked him with the muzzle of the big needler that had been Spider’s. “What you say is true, I’m sure. You never served the Ayuntamiento. But ultimately the enemy is evil. Evil is the ultimate enemy of us all.”
She fell silent, listening to the faint rattle as Shale was helped up the chute, to the sighing of the ever-present breeze, and to Urus’s feverish breathing. “The ash is not so thick in the air as it was,” she said.
Schist nodded. “Not so many stirrin’ it up, sir.”
“I suppose so, and those ugly beasts were struggling.” She jabbed Urus as hard as she could, and he yelped.
“This one, too. I’m tired, Urus. I’m awfully tired. I’ve slept on floors, and walked for leagues and leagues. I forget, sometimes, what I’ve said, and what I intended to say. You were thinking of snatching my needler a moment ago.”
Schist chuckled, a hard dry metallic rattle.
“No doubt you could. No doubt you can. Taking a needler from a tired woman much smaller than yourself, a woman so close that her needler is within easy reach, should be simple for you. For anybody.” She waited.
“If you’re not going to, you’d better raise your hands. Otherwise some small motion may cause me to pull the trigger.”
Slowly, Urus’s hands went up.
“As you say, you haven’t served the Ayuntamiento. I’ve talked with Councillor Potto, Urus. Did you know that?”
He shook his head.
“I have. Also with Spider, who served the Ayuntamiento and would serve it still if he could. With a number of Guardsmen, Generalissimo Oosik particularly, who served it for many years. I’ve questioned prisoners, too. In not one of them did I fail to discover some gleam of good. Councillor Potto is the worst, I think. But even Councillor Potto is not entirely evil.”
From the chute, Slate called, “How about the general and that other bio?”
Maytera Mint backed away, then motioned toward the area under the chute. “I give you fair warning. I must see some good in you, Urus, and soon.”
His smile was at once pitiable and horrible. “You’re goin’ to let me get out, lady? Let me go up there?”
“Call me Maytera!”
“M-maytera. Maytera, I figured, see, I’d made it out. Only it w-w-was just the pit, the shaggy pit, ’n then we run back down ’n got into it with the old man—”
Schist lifted him by his ankles. “He ain’t got no sores on his legs like that other one, sir. Maybe you saw ’em.”
Looking down at the needler, Maytera Mint felt herself nod.
“I had to sorta wash off my hands with ashes.” Somewhat violently, Schist shoved Urus’s head and shoulders into the chute. “After I lifted him, sir. I got pus on ’em, sir.”
“No doubt he’d been nipped from time to time by the beasts he had earlier,” Maytera Mint said absenfly. “Those would be the ones our calde says Patera Incus killed, perhaps.” Eland and Urus might have encountered Auk, in that case; she made a mental note to ask them about it, adding as an afterthought that she must not kill Urus before she had a chance to question him.
“You’re goin’ to stay, sir?”
“Until Private Shale lets down his slings. Yes, I am. Go ahead, Schist. Anytime they’re ready for you.”
The safety had been off, as she had said. Did that make her better, because she had told the truth? Or worse, because she had practically nerved herself to killing Urus? Dropping the needler into one of the big side pockets of her torn and soiled habit, she watched Schist’s feet disappear into the chute, then sat down in the ash to await Shale’s slings, or the beasts that he called gods, and Eland bufes.
Bison put down the untasted leg of a pheasant. “Two cards to every one of them, Calde?”
Silk nodded, his eyes upon Mucor. “Yes. I hadn’t meant to tell you tonight, Colonel. To be more exact, I hadn’t planned to make my decision until morning.”
Saba began, “I submit—”
“But if Mucor can locate the manteion to which the woman I’ve had her looking for is bringing her offering, I’ll be busy tomorrow. Besides, it’s better that I announce it now, so that Generalissimo Oosik and Generalissimo Siyuf can hear it. We’ll send the volunteers home tomorrow, each with a letter of credit worth two cards at the Fisc.”
“Calde…” Oosik reached across Maytera Mint’s vacant place to touch Silk’s arm. “It will take longer than one day merely to collect their weapons.”
Silk shook his head. “We won’t collect them. They’re to keep whatever they have — those are their weapons now”
Saba looked at Siyuf, and when Siyuf did not speak, said, “That’s unheard-of. It’s folly. Insanity.�
� Chenille caught Silk’s eye and nodded. “She’s right, Patera. It’s abram.”
He spoke to Maytera Marble, at the far end of the table. “You told me something earlier that weighed heavily with me, Maytera; there’s no one whose judgement I value more, as you know. Would you repeat it for us?”
“I can’t, Patera. I don’t remember what it was.”
Xiphias put in, “Couldn’t you just let them keep their swords, lad?”
“I could scarcely take those, could I? Those are their own property already. Chenille, you agree that I shouldn’t do this. Why not?”
Saba snapped, “Because they’re men, ninety percent of them, and unstable, like all men.” Chenille added, “They’ll kill each other, Patera.”
“Of course they will — they always have.” Silk addressed Siyuf “My manteion is in what we call the Sun Street Quarter. I should explain that our city counts many more quarters than four; a quarter in our sense really means no more than the area served by a manteion.”
If she inclined her head, the motion was too slight to be seen. “Fifty thousand, Calde Silk? All with slug guns?”
“There are more than fifty thousand certainly, but not all of them have slug guns. Fifty thousand slug guns, perhaps, or a little over.”
When she put no further question, he said, “It’s a violent quarter; most augurs would say it’s the worst in the city. It borders on the Orilla, which is what we call an empty quarter — one without a manteion. A few people from the Orilla come to our manteion, however, just as a few from our quarter go into the Orilla to buy stolen goods. What I was going to say is that there’s seldom a week without a killing or two, and there are often three or four. When one man decides to kill another, he does it. If he has a slug gun or a needler, he may use it; but if he doesn’t, he uses a dagger or a sword. Or a hatchet, an axe, or a stick of firewood.”
Recalling Auk, Silk added, “A big, strong man may simply knock down a weaker one and kick him to death. A group of men could clearly do the same thing; and I know of one instance in which a man who had raped a child was killed by a dozen women, who beat him to death with their washing sticks and stabbed him with kitchen knives and scissors.”