by Gene Wolfe
The soldier carrying the feet of the fourth soldier said, “He talked about our sergeant. We gave him to Pas.”
The third soldier objected, “He gave himself, that’s how it was. Now Pas wants him fixed. Not ’cause he don’t want him but ’cause we need him. Pas don’t want to scrap him.”
The augur tossed back a lock of lank black hair. “It — ah — gave. Sense of the word, hey? I myself—”
Maytera Mint was not to be distracted. “Do you know Auk the Prophet, Gib? Yes or no!”
“Sure do, General.”
“Describe him!”
“He’s part owner in my place, he’s maybe forgot but he is. Pretty big cully.” Gib waved his cast toward the larger of the rough-looking men. “Bout like him, only not so old. Got more hair than he needs an’ ears that stick out of it anyhow.”
“A strong, forthright jaw!” She was fairly dancing with anxiety and impatience.
“That’s him, General. You could hang your washing on it.” Gib chuckled, the laughter of a happy ogre hiding in his barrel chest. “I was wantin’ to say he looks like Bongo here. Auk’s my ol’ knot an’ wouldn’t mind. Maybe you would of, though, an’ maybe the god that’s tapped him. Tartaros is what he says.”
“This, er, hiatus, General…”
Maytera Mint nodded vigorously. “He’s right, Gib. Stand up. You needn’t address me as if I were a child, just because I’m not tall.”
She trotted forward, drawing the giant behind her like a magnet. “Let’s see… You don’t know anybody here except me. Neither does poor Maytera, whom I ought to have introduced. Or have you been introduced to His Eminence, Maytera?
“Your Eminence, this is my senior and my dearest friend, Maytera Marble. Maytera, this is His Eminence the Coadjutor, Putera Remora.”
Maytera Marble, hurrying after them, paused long enough to bow in approved fashion.
“An honor, eh? For me, Maytera. For me. Very much so. Um — privilege. We begin our acquaintance under the most — ah — propitious circumstances. You, um, concur?”
“Decidedly, Your Eminence!”
Maytera Mint never broke stride. “This is Gib, as you heard, a friend of Auk’s and a comrade-in-arms of mine. The soldier with his slug gun pointed at our prisoners — Slate, you really don’t need to do that. They’re not going to run.”
She glanced back at Maytera Marble. “Where was I? Oh, yes. That’s Acting Corporal Slate. I’ve put him in charge of his fellow soldiers till Great Pas, as he promised, restores Sergeant Sand to us by Auk’s agency.”
Catching up to her, Maytera Marble ventured, “That must be poor Sergeant Sand they’re carrying?”
“That’s right, and Schist and Shale are carrying him. Our prisoners — they’re friends now, friends of mine at least, and His Eminence’s too, I’d say — are Spider and Eland.” She had reached the milling crowd before the Grand Manteion and stood on tiptoe in the hope of catching a glimpse of Auk.
Xiphias had found a candle and lit it; Silk drew Hossaan away from its light and out into the darkness of the corridor. “Master Xiphias can help her look — hold the light, at least, which is all she needs. You and I have things to talk about.”
“Good man!” Oreb assured Silk.
“I employed you — knowing you are an agent of the Rani’s — because you Trivigauntis are our allies. You realize that, I’m sure.”
“Certainly, Calde.”
“You owe nothing to Viron, and nothing to me. But if you want to remain, you’ll have to be more forthcoming than you’ve been thus far.”
“Only because the old man was listening, Calde. I know you trust him, and you probably can. But I’m not you. I try not to trust anybody more than I’ve got to.”
“I understand. Do they trust you? I mean the officials to whom you report.”
There was a momentary silence; it was too dark for Silk to see Hossaan’s face, but he sensed that it would have done little good. Then Hossaan said, “No more than they have to, Calde. I don’t mind, though. I’m used to it.”
“I’m not. No doubt I must become used to it, too; but I’m finding that difficult. You’re deceiving them. That was the reason you had Horn — and others, no doubt — call you Willet, the name you had used here. That was also why you helped serve dinner. You wanted to show someone at my table that you had penetrated my household — someone who would recognize you at once. Isn’t that correct?”
Hossaan’s only answer was an eerie silence. On Silk’s shoulder, Oreb croaked and fluttered uneasily.
“That person will assume, of course, that I am not aware you’re a Trivigaunti—”
“Let’s not dodge words, Calde. I’m a spy. I know it and you’ve known it since you spotted me on the boat.”
“You will be applauded and rewarded.”
Hossaan started to speak, but Silk cut him off. “I’m not finished. While you took us out here, I was thinking about your deception and your position as my driver. Please don’t tell me that your lie is essentially the truth because I’m the only one who knows and you intend to inform your superiors that I do. It would only be a further lie.”
“All right, I won’t.”
“Then I say this. You may tell your superiors everything you learn. I’ve assumed that you would from the start, and since I haven’t the least intention of betraying the Rani, it can do Viron no harm. But you must afford me the same courtesy Doctor Crane did — you must tell me everything I want to know about what you’re doing and reporting. In return, I’ll keep your secret.”
A second crept by, then two. “All right, Calde. But I’ve always been willing to tell you whatever you needed to know.”
“Thank you. Earlier I asked whether Generalissimo Siyuf or General Saba knew you by sight. You said neither did, and I believed you.” For a moment, it seemed to Silk that something stealthy moved through the darkness. He paused to listen, but heard only the sudden flapping of wings as Oreb launched himself from his shoulder.
“I ask again — was it the truth? Does either know you?”
“It is, Calde. I’ve never spoken with them, and I doubt that they know what I look like, either one of them.”
“There was someone at my dinner who does. Who was it?”
“Colonel Abanja. Didn’t you ask what she does on Siyuf’s staff? She intelligence officer.”
“Do you report to her?”
“I will now, probably. You still don’t see—”
Soft candlelight had appeared in Hyacinth’s doorway. Oreb announced, “Cat come!” from Xiphias’s shoulder.
Silk asked, “How are you faring, Master Xiphias?”
The old man shook his head. “Not a thing, lad! Want a bit of silver chain? Ring worth half a card?”
“No, thank you.”
“Me neither! But we found ’em! Think she’d keep ’em? Threw ’em on the floor! Fact!”
Oreb confided, “Girl cry.”
“You shouldn’t have left her in the dark,” Silk muttered.
“Chased me out, lad! Candle and all!”
Feeling the pressure of Hossaan’s hand on his back, Silk said, “You’re right, of course, Willet. I must go in to her. I don’t know that I can help, but I must try.”
Alone, he walked down the dark corridor and turned into the darker doorway of what had been Hyacinth’s suite. Here there had been a dressing table inlaid with gold and ivory, wardrobes crammed with expensive gowns and coats, and a summonable glass. Only darkness remained, and the melancholy sweetness of spilled perfume. One door had led to Hyacinth’s balneum, Silk reminded himself, another to her bedchamber. In vain, he tried to recall which was to the left and which to the right, although with her sobs to guide him he did not really need to know. By touch, he located the correct door and found that it was open.
After that, there was nothing for it but to walk in, with the ghost of the Patera Silk that he had been.
“Halt!” The voice was male, accompanied by the rattle of sling swivels and the
click of the safety; Siyuf’s intelligence officer raised her hands while trying to make out the sentry in the cloud-dimmed skylight. “I am Colonel Abanja, in the Rani’s service.”
Whispering. There were two or more sentries, clearly. “Advance and give the password.”
Abanja moved forward slowly, hands still in the air. If these nervous men were from the Calde’s Guard, they were (or at least ought to be) disciplined troopers. If they were General Mint’s volunteers, they might fire without warning.
“Halt in the name of the Rani!”
Abanja stopped again and identified herself a second time. Somewhere behind her, a voice hissed, “They’re shaggy shook up, lady. I wouldn’t stand between ’em.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “That’s good advice, I’m sure.”
A lanky trooper of the Companion Cavalry stepped from a shadow; Abanja was happy to see that the muzzle of her slug gun was lowered. “You must give to me our password also, Colonel.”
“Boraz.” Now she would see whether this trooper’s lack of familiarity with the Common Tongue, with its implication of aristocracy, was real or feigned.
“You can pass, sir.”
Feigned.
“Halt!” It was the calde’s men again. Abanja said, “I’ve already halted for you once.”
“Do you have our password?”
Inwardly, she sighed. “I didn’t know one was required. I have to speak with the officer in charge of our detachment.”
“You can’t go in the Juzgado without our password.”
“Then you must give it to me.”
Another whispered conference. “It’s against regulations, Colonel.”
Her eyes were adapting to the darkness; both male sentries were visible to her now, skylight gleaming on their waxed armor. “If it’s against regulations to give it to me, you can’t expect me to know it.” She spoke to the cavalry trooper. “Go get her. You have my permission to leave your post.”
Too softly for the men to overhear, the voice behind Abanja hissed, “There’s a nice place, Trotter’s. A street down ’n turn west. We can have a drink. Tell these hoppies to send her when she comes.”
Abanja shook her head.
“Lady, you need me worse’n I need you.”
Without looking around Abanja murmured, “Do I? I hadn’t realized it.”
“I could of got you in without a hitch. Shag, I still will. Tell ’em Charter. This’s for free.”
“Sentry!” Abanja called. “I remember your password now. Your calde told me at dinner.”
Both advanced with leveled slug guns. “Give it.”
She smiled. “Unless someone’s changed it without notifying your calde, it’s Charter.”
“Pass, friend.”
“Thank you again,” Abanja murmured.
The hiss was scarcely audible. “Back room. Name’s Urus.”
“All g-gone.” Slowly, Hyacinth’s sobs had subsided into sniffles. “All the times. All that smiling. Cream and lotion. Beggar’s root and rust, do this and do that. N-nothing left.” The sobs returned. “Oh, K-k-kypris! Have pity!”
Silk muttered, “I think perhaps she already has.”
“Bake here shop!” It was the catachrest. “Cuss-cuss.”
He did, kissing Hyacinth’s ear and the nape of her neck, and when she raised her face to his, her lips.
“Niece! Mow cuss!” The little catachrest attempted a smacking that emerged between the intended kiss and a squall.
The third cuss was not yet over. When it was, Hyacinth said, “Wipe your face. I got snot all over you.”
“Tears.” Silk took out his handkerchief.
“B-both. I was crying so hard my nose ran. Don’t think I can’t cry pretty when I w-want to.”
“Itty laddie, done! Shop!”
“I’ve got certain things I think about, and here it comes. Know what I had when I left h-home?”
He shook his head, then said, “What was it?” realizing that she could not have seen the motion.
“Two gowns M-Mother made and her umbrella. She didn’t have a-anything else to give me, so she gave me that. A big green umbrella. I kept it for years, and I don’t know what happened to it. H-Here’s what I’ve got now. The clothes I’ve got on and a gown Orchid promised to get cleaned, Tick here, and one card. But I owe her seven. That’s w-way too much for what I got, but what could I say?”
Silk stood. “That you’ll repay her later. You can say that again, too.”
“Y-y-you know…” A stifled sob. “You’re learning, you really are. Listen, I’m not through crying about all this yet. I’ll cry m-m-more — cry some m-more…”
“Shop!”
“Tonight. Before I go to sleep. I just about always cry then, and when I’m asleep, too, s-sometimes. Well, by Thelx!”
“What is it?” Silk inquired.
“Go stand in the doorway. Shut it behind you. Don’t ask, do it quick.”
He did, and heard voices in the dark: “Tick? Tick, are you still in here?” “Puck Tuck ape no!” “All right, quit pulling my skirt.” “Nod heavey.” “Did I say why I got him? You can open the door again. I was going to give him to Kypris and ask her to give me you.”
Once more, Silk was speechless.
“The market was closed, but some animal culls are always in there, and I gave the watchman a card to let me in and got Tick. The cull said talking animals are the best.”
“So I’ve been told — by the same seller, I’m sure.”
“I had a string around his neck, and I held it while I was looking for my things. Sometimes I held it in my teeth. When I got to crying I put my foot on it, but he got it off. Untied it or got it up where he could bite it, I guess.”
“Nod rum.”
“No, you didn’t run, and I know you knew what I was going to do, ’cause you kept on begging me not to.” To Silk, Hyacinth added, “Then everybody was going to that big manteion uphill, so I did, too.”
“I understand.”
“But when he got loose he didn’t beat hoof. Why not, Tick?”
“Say wharf laddie.”
“I guess.” Abandoning Tick, she addressed Silk. “What I’m trying to say is I know you’re really religious. I’m not, but you could teach me.”
He could not escape the thought that it would be better if she taught him. “I’m far from being the best possible teacher, but I’ll try if you wish it.”
“You said we’d go to the Prolocutor’s when we were done here. If it was for me, we don’t have to.”
He smiled. “You’re not going to offer Tick?”
“I will if you want me to.”
Tick protested, “New!”
“I see no point in it.” Something large and soft pressed Silk’s leg; he groped for it in the dark, but there was nothing there. “You want me to teach you. The gods — this is what I’ve found — aren’t greatly influenced by our gifts. When they give us what we ask—” The soft pressure resumed, practically pushing him off his feet.
“What is it?”
“That’s what I was wondering myself, but now I believe I know. Oreb tried to tell me out in the hall; and I should have guessed when he flew the first time I heard it. Mucor calls them lynxes. There’s one in the room with us.”
“Are they like bats?” Hyacinth sounded alarmed.
“They’re cats.”
“Have — something touched me. As big as a big dog.”
“That’s it; but there’s no point in my describing them, when you could see this one for yourself.” Silk raised his voice. “Master Xiphias, bring your candle, please.”
“Are they the big cats the talus used to let out at night?” Hyacinth sounded more frightened than ever.
“Mucor controls them, to her benefit and ours.” Silk tried to sound reassuring. “I’d imagine that this one would like us to bring it to the Calde’s Palace, where she is.”
There was a muted yowl, far too deep and reverberant to have proceeded from Tick.
Abanja glanced around Trotter’s, which seemed deserted except for an old man asleep at a table and a fat man washing earthenware mugs. “Barman?”
“Yeah, sister. You need a drink?”
She shook her head. “I’m addressed as Colonel. Since I want something, you may call me sister. When you want something from me, call me Colonel. You might get it if you do.”
The fat man looked up. “Hey, I’ll call you Colonel right now, sister.”
“Though I don’t think so. You have a patron named Urus.”
“Couple, anyhow,” the fat man said. “Three I can lay hand to, only one got the pits.”
“Urus is in your back room, and he’s expecting me. Show me where it is.”
“Nobody’s in my back room, sister.”
“Then I’ll wait there for him. That yellow bottle.” She pointed. “I take it that’s sauterne?”
The fat man shrugged. “S’posed to be.”
“Bring it, and two clean glasses.”
“I got some that’s better, only it’s twenty-seven bits. That up there’s sixteen.”
“Bring it. You keep accounts for patrons? Start one for me. My name is Abanja.”
“You mean you’ll pay later? Sister, I don’t — put that thing away!”
“You men.” Abanja smiled as she stepped behind the bar. “How are you to face lances if one small needler terrifies you? Get the good sauterne and the glasses. Are you going to send for the Calde’s Guard when you leave me? They won’t arrest an officer of the Rani’s, but I don’t think my friend Urus will like it.”
“I never do that, sister.”
“Then it won’t be necessary for me to have you arrested when they come. Nor will I have to shoot you. I admit I had thought about it.” Abanja smiled more broadly, amused by the clinking of the glasses in the fat man’s hand. “Lead the way. If you don’t misbehave, you have no reason to be frightened.”
With her needler in his back, he pushed aside the dirty green curtain that had concealed the entrance to a dark and narrow hall. She said, “You know, I think I understand this Trotter’s of yours. Are you Trotter?”
He nodded.
“Your courts meet in the Juzgado, and this is where the accused drink before they go there. Or if they’re discharged. It’s empty because your courts are not in session.”