by Gene Wolfe
Clumsily, Silk vaulted from the floater, trying to put as much weight as he could on his sound left leg; at once he found himself sunounded by well-wishers, some of them in green Civil Guard uniforms, some in mottled green conflict armor, most in bright tunics or flowing gowns, and more than a few in rags; they touched him as they might have touched the image of a god, in speeches blurted in a second or two declared themselves his disciples, partisans, and supporters forever, and carried him along like the rush of a rain-swollen river.
Then the garden wall was at his elbow, and Maytera Marble at the gate waving to him while the Guardsmen swung the butts of the slug guns to keep back the crowd. A voice at his ear said, "I shall come with you, My Caldé. Always now, you must have someone to protect you." It was the captain with whom he had breakfasted at four in the morning in Limna.
The garden gate banged shut behind them; on the other side Maytera Marble's key grated in the lock. "Stay here," the captain ordered a Guardsman in armor. "No one is to enter." He turned back to Silk, pointed toward the cenoby. "Is that your house, My Caldé?"
"No. It's over there. The triangular one." Belatedly. he realized that it did not appear triangular from the garden; the captain would think him mad. "The smaller one. Patera Gulo won't have locked the door. Potto got my keys."
"Councillor Potto, My Caldé?"
"Yes, Councillor Potto." Yesterday's pain rushed back: Potto's fists and electrodes, Sand's black box. Scrupulous answers that brought further blows and the electrodes at his groin. Silk pushed the memories away as he limped along the graveled path, the captain behind him and five troopers behind the captain, passing the dying fig in whose shadow the animals that were to die for Orpine's spirit had rested, the arbor in which he had spoken to Kypris and chatted with Maytera Marble, her garden and his own blackberries and wilting tomato vines, all in less time than his mind required to recognize and love them.
"Leave your men outside, Captain. They can rest in the shade of the tree beside the gate if they like." Were they doomed, too? From the deck of the floater he had talked of Sphigx; and those who perished in battle were accounted her sacrifices, just as those struck by lightning were said to have been offered to Pas.
The kitchen was exactly as he recalled it; if Gulo had eaten since moving into the manse, he had not done it here. Oreb's water cup still stood on the kitchen table beside the ball snatched from Horn. "If it hadn't happened, the big boys would have won," he murmured.
"I beg pardon, My Caldé?"
"Pay no attention-I was talking to myself." Refusing the captain's offer of help, he toiled at the pump handle until he could splash his face and disorderly yellow hair with cold water that he could not help imagining smelled of the tunnels, soap and rinse them, and rub them dry with a dish towel.
"You'll want to wash up a bit, too, Captain. Please do so while I change upstairs."
The stair was steeper than he remembered; the manse, which he had always thought small, smaller than ever. Seated on the bed that he had left unmade on Molpseday morning, he lashed its wrinkled sheets with Doctor Crane's wrapping.
He had told the crowd he would burn his tunic and loose brown trousers, but although soaked and muddy they were still practically new, and of excellent quality; washed, they might clothe some poor man for a year or more. He pulled the tunic off and tossed it into the hamper.
The azoth he had filched from Hyacinth's boudoir was in the waistband of the trousers. He pressed it to his lips and carried it to the window to examine it again. It had never been Hyacinth's, from what Crane had told him; Crane had merely had her keep it, feeling that her rooms were less likely to be searched than his own. Crane himself had received it from an unnamed Idlanum in Trivigaunte who had intended it as a gift for Blood. Was it Blood's, then? If so, it must be turned over to Blood without fail. There must be no more theft from Blood; he had gone too far in that direction on Phaesday.
On the other hand, if Crane had been authorized to dispose of it (as it seemed he had), it was his, since Crane had given it to him as Crane lay dying. It might be sold for thousands of cards and the money put to good use-but a moment's self-examination convinced him that he could never exchange it for money if he had any right to it.
Someone in the crowd beyond the garden wall had seen him standing at the window. People were cheering, nudging each other, and pointing. He stepped back, closed the curtains, and examined Hyacinth's azoth again, an object of severe beauty and a weapon worth a company of the Civil Guard-the weapon with which he had slain the talus in the tunnels, and the one she had threatened him with when he would not lie with her.
Had her need really been so great? Or had she hoped to make him love her by giving herself to him, as he had hoped (he recognized the kernel of truth in the thought) to make her love him by refusing? Hyacinth was a prostitute, a woman rented for a night for a few cards-that was to say, for the destruction of the mind of some forsaken, howling monitor like the one in the buried tower. He was an augur, a member of the highest and holiest of professions. So he had been taught.
An augur ready to steal to get just such cards as her body sold for. An augur ready to steal by night from the man from whom he had already bullied three cards at noon. One of those cards had bought Oreb and a cage to keep him in. Would three have bought Hyacinth? Brought her to this old three-sided cage of a manse, with its bolted doors and barred windows?
He placed the azoth on his bureau, put Hyacinth's needler and his beads beside it, and removed his trousers. They were muddier even than the tunic, the knees actually plastered with mud, though their color made their state less obvious. Seeing them, it struck him that augurs might wear black not in order that they might eavesdrop on the gods while concealed by the color of Tartaros, but because it made a dramatic background for fresh blood, and masked stains that could not be washed out.
His shorts, cleaner than the trousers but equally rain-soaked, followed them into the hamper.
Rude people called augurs butchers for good reason, and there was butchery enough waiting for him. Leaving aside his proclivity toward theft, were augurs really any better in the eyes of a god such as the Outsider than a woman like Hyacinth? Could they be better than the people they represented before the gods and still represent them? Bios and chems alike were contemptible creatures in the eyes of the gods, and ultimately those were the only eyes that mattered.
Eyes in the foggy little mirror in which he shaved caught his. As be stared, Mucor's deathly grin coalesced below them; in a travesty of coquetry, she simpered, "This isn't the first time I've seen you with no clothes on."
He spun around, expecting to see her seated on his bed; she was not there.
"I wanted to tell you about my window and my father. You were going to tell him to lock my window so I couldn't get out and bother you any more."
By that time he had recovered his poise. He got clean undershorts from the bureau and pulled them on, then shook his head. "I wasn't. I hoped that I wouldn't have to."
From beyond the bedroom door: 'My Caldé?"
"I'll be down in a moment, Captain."
"I heard voices, My Caldé. You are in no danger?"
"This manse is haunted, Captain. You may come up and see for yourself if you like."
Mucor tittered. "Isn't this how you talk to them? In the glasses?"
"To a monitor, you mean?" He had been thinking of one; could she read his thoughts? "Yes, it's very much like this. You must have seen them."
"They don't look the same to me."
"I suppose not." With a considerable feeling of relief, Silk pulled on clean black trousers.
"I thought I'd be one for you."
He nodded in recognition of her consideration. "Just as you use your window and the gods their Sacred Windows. I had not thought of the parallel, but I should have."
Unreflected, her face in his mirror bobbed up and down. "I wanted to tell you it's no good any more, telling my father to lock my window. He'll kill you if he sees you,
now. Potto said he had to, and he said he would."
The Ayuntamiento had learned that he was alive and in the city, clearly; it would learn that he was here soon, if it had not already. It would send loyal members of the Guard, might even send soldiers.
"So it doesn't matter. My body will die soon anyway, and I'll be free like the others. Do you care?"
"Yes. Yes, I do. Very much. Why will your body die?"
"Because I don't cat. I used to like it, but I don't any more. I'd rather be free."
Her face had begun to fade. He blinked, and nothing but the hollows that had been her eyes remained. A breath of wind stirred the curtains, and those hollows, too, were gone.
He said, "You must eat, Mucor. I don't want you to die." Hoping for a reply, he waited. "I know you can hear me. You have to eat." He had intended to tell her that he had wronged her and her father. That he would make amends, although Blood might kill him afterward. But it was too late.
Wiping his eyes, he got out his last clean tunic. His prayer beads and a handkerchief went into one trouser pocket, Hyacinth's needler into the other (He would return it when he could, but that problematic moment at which they might meet again seemed agonizingly remote.) His waistband claimed the azoth; it was possible that augury would provide some hint of what he ought to do with it. He considered selling it again, and thought again of the howling face that had been so like Mucor's in his minor, and shuddered.
Clean collar and cuffs on his second-best robe would have to do. And here was the captain, waiting at the foot of the stair and looking nearly as spruce as he had in that place-what had it been called? In the Rusty Lantern in Limna.
"I was concerned for your safety, My Caldé."
"For my reputation, you mean. You heard a woman's voice."
"A child's, I thought, My Caldé."
"You may search the upper floor if you wish, Captain. If you find a woman-or a child, either-please let me know."
"Hierax have my bones if I have thought of such a thing, My Caldé!"
"She is a child of Hierax's, certainly."
The Silver Street door was barred, as it should have been; Silk rattled the handle to make certain it was locked as well. The window was shut, and locked behind its bars.
"I can station a trooper in here, if you wish, My Caldé."
Silk shook his head. "We'll need every trooper you have and more, I'm afraid. That officer in the floater-"
"Major Civet, My Caldé.
"Tell Major Civet to station men to give the alarm if the Ayuntamiento sends its troopers to arrest me. They should be a street or two away, I suppose."
"Two streets or more, My Caldé, and there must be patrols beyond them."
"Very well, Captain. Arrange it. I'm willing to stand trial if I must, but only if it will bring peace."
"You are willing, My Caldé. We are not. Nor are the gods."
Silk shrugged and went into the sellaria. The Sun Street door was locked and barred. Two letters on the mantel, one sealed with the Chapter's knife and chalice, one with a flame between cupped hands; he dropped them into the large pocket of his robe. Both the Sun Street windows were locked.
As they hurried through the garden again and into the street, he found himself thinking of Mucor. And of Blood, who had adopted her; then of Highest Hierax, who had dropped from the sky a few hours ago for Crane and the solemn young trooper with whom he and Crane had talked in the Rusty Lantern. Mucor wanted to die, to yield to Hierax; and he, Silk, would have to save her if he could. Had it been wrong of him, then, to call her a child of Hierax?
Perhaps not. Women as well as men were by adoption the children of the gods, and no other god so suited Mucor.
Chapter 3
A Tessera for the Tunnel
"Bad thing," Oreb muttered, watching the burning talus to see whether it could hear him. When it did not react, he repeated more loudly, "Bad thing!"
"Shut up." Auk, too, watched it warily.
Chenille addressed it, stepping forward with her launcher ready. "We'd put out the fire if we could. If we had blankets or-or anything we could beat it out with."
"I die! Hear me!"
"I just wanted to say we're sorry." She glanced back at the four men, and Dace nodded.
"I serve Scylla! You must!"
Incus drew himself up to his full height. "You may rely upon me to do everything in my power to carry out the goddess's will. I speak here for my friend Corporal Hammerstone, as well as for myself."
"The Ayuntamiento has betrayed her! Destroy it!"
Hammerstone snapped to attention. "Request permission to speak, Talus."
The slender black barrel of one buzz gun trembled and the gun fired, its burst whistling five cubits above their heads and sending screaming ricochets far down the tunnel.
"Maybe you better not," Auk whispered. He raised his voice, "Scylla told us Patera Silk was trying to overthrow them, and ordered us to help him. We will if we can. That's Chenille and me, and his bird."
"Tell the Juzgado!"
"Right, she said to." Dace and Incus nodded.
A tongue of flame licked the talus's cheek. "The tessera! Thetis! To the subceltar…" An interior explosion rocked it.
Needlessly, Auk shouted, "Get back!" As they fled down the tunnel, fire veiled the great metal face.
"She's done fer now! She's goin' down!" Dace was slower even than Auk, who tottered on legs weaker than he had known since infancy.
A second muffled explosion, then silence except for the sibilation of the flames. Hammerstone, who had been matching strides with Auk, broke step to snatch up a slug gun. "This was a sleeper's," he told Auk cheerfully. "See how shiny the receiver is? Probably never been fired. I couldn't go back for mine 'cause I was supposed to watch you. Mine's had about five thousand rounds through it." He put the new slug gun to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel.
Oreb squawked, and Auk said, "Careful there! You might hit Jugs."
"Safety's on." Hammerstone lowered the gun. "You knew her before, huh?"
Auk nodded and slowed his pace enough to allow Dace to catch up. "Since spring, I guess it was."
"I had a girl myself once," Hammerstone told him. "She was a housemaid, but you'd never have guessed it to look at her. Pretty as a picture."
Auk nodded. "What happened?"
"I had to go on reserve. I went to sleep, and when I woke up I wasn't stationed in the city any more. Maybe I should've gone looking for Moly." He shrugged. "Only I figured by then she'd found somebody else. Just about all of them had."
"You'll find somebody, too, if you want to," Auk assured him. He paused to look back up the tunnel; the talus was still in view but seemed remote, a dot of orange fire no larger than the closest light. "You could be dead," he said. "Suppose Patera hadn't fixed you up?"
Hammerstone shook his head. "I can't ever pay him. I can't even show how much I love him, really. We can't cry. You know about that?"
"Poor thing!" Oreb sounded shocked.
Auk told him, "You can't cry either, cully."
"Bird cry!"
"You meatheads are always talking about how good us chems have it," Hammerstone continued. "Good means not being able to eat, and duty seventy-four, maybe a hundred and twenty, hours at a stretch. Good means sleeping so long the Whorl changes, and you got to learn new procedures for everything. Good means seven or eight tinpots after every woman. You want to try it?"
"Shag, no!"
Dace caught Auk's arm. "Thanks for waitin' up."
Auk shook him off. "I can't go all that fast myself."
More cheerfully Hammerstone said, "I could carry you both, only I'm not supposed to. Patera wouldn't like it."
Dace's grin revealed a dark gap from which two teeth were missing. "Mama, don't put me on no boat!"
Auk chuckled.
"He means well," Hammerstone assured them. "He cares about me. That's one reason I'd die for him."
Auk suppressed his first thought and substituted, "Don't you th
ink about your old knot any more? The other soldiers?"
"Sure I do. Only Patera comes first."
Auk nodded.
"You got to consider the whole setup. Our top commander ought to be the Caldé. That's our general orders. Only there isn't one, and that means all of us are stuck. Nobody's got the right to give an order, only we do it 'cause we've got to, to keep the brigade running. Sand's my sergeant, see?"
"Uh-huh."
"And Schist and Shale are privates in our squad. He tells me and I tell them. Then they go sure, Corporal, whatever you say. Only none of us feels right about it."
"Girl wait?" Oreb inquired. He had been eyeing Chenille's distant, naked back.
"Sooner or later," Auk told him. "Snuff your jaw. This is interesting."
"Take just the other day," Hammerstone continued, "I was watching a prisoner. A flap broke and I tried to handle it, and he got away from me. If everything was right, I'd've lost my stripes over that, see? Only it's not, so all I got was a chewing out from Sand and double from the major. Why's that?" He leveled a pipe-sized finger at Auk, who shook his head.
"I'll tell you. "Cause both of them know Sand wasn't authorized to give anybody orders in the first place, and I could've told him dee-dee if I'd wanted to."
"Dee-dee?" Oreb peered quizzically at Hammerstone.
"You want the straight screw? I felt pretty bad when it happened, but it was a lot worse when I was talking to them. Not 'cause of anything they said. I've heard all that till I could sing it. 'Cause they didn't take my stripes. I never thought I'd say that, but that's what it was. They could've done it, only they didn't 'cause they knew they didn't have authority from the Caldé, and I kept thinking, you don't have to tell me to wipe them off, I'll wipe them off myself. Only that would just have made them feel worse."
"I never liked working for anybody but me," Auk told him.
"You got to have somebody outside. Or anyhow I do. You feeling pretty good now?"
"Better'n I did."
"I been watching you, 'cause that's what Patera wants. And you can't hardly walk. You hit your head when the talus bought it, and we figured you were KIA. Patera sort of liked it at first. Only then, not so much. His essential nobility of character coming out. Know what I'm saying?"