by Gene Wolfe
"Blood," Silk supplied.
"No, that's not it. Something more common, hey?"
Chenille murmured, "Musk?"
"Quite, quite correct. Musk, indeed. Rather a foolish name, hey? If I may put it so. Infants do not, as a rule, smell half so-ah-sweet. But this Musk has paid your taxes. That's how he got it. You follow me? For the taxes and some trifling amount over. These buildings are in need of-ah-refurbishing, eh? As you pointed out yourself, Patera. We'll let him do it, hey? Why not? Let him bear the expense, and not the burse, eh? Eventually he'll donate everything to us again. Give it all back to the Chapter, eh? A meritorious act."
Chenille shook her head. "I doubt-"
"We have ways, my dear, as you'll see. Dear old Quetzal has, most particularly. He's very good at it. His-ah- um-consequence as the Prolocutor of the Chapter. And his influence with the Ayuntamiento, eh? He has plenteous-ah-standing there even yet, never doubt it. An arsenal of pressures that he-ah-that we can, and will, exert in any such an eventuality as-ah-this present instance. As yours here on Sun Street, Patera."
Silk said, "Musk is no more than the owner of record, Your Eminence. Blood controls this property, and Blood is threatening to tear down everything."
"Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. You'll see, Patera." Remora flashed his toothy smile again. "It will not occur- ah-come to pass. No fear. No fear at all. Or if it should, the old structures will be replaced with better ones. That would be the best way, eh? Rebuilt in a better style, and upon a more-ah-commodious scale. I must remember to speak to Quetzal about it tomorrow when he has had his beef tea."
Remora inclined his head toward Chenille. "He's quite fond of beef tea, is old Quetzal. Doubtless Patera knows. These things get bandied about, you know, among us. Like a bunch of-um-washerwomen, eh? Gossip, gossip. But dear old Quetzal should eat more, hey? I'm forever after him about it. A man can't live on beef tea and air, hey? But Quetzal does. Feeble, though."
He glanced at the clock above the sellaria's diminutive fireplace. "What I-ah-ventured out to inform you of, Patera Silk- You see, my dear, I'm terribly selfish. Yes, even after half a lifetime spent in the pursuit of-ah-sacrosanctity. I wished to inform him myself. Patera, you shall no longer labor alone. I said-um-earlier, eh? I assured you that your struggles had not gone unnoticed, hey? But now I can say more, as I-ah-most certainly shall. As I do. An acolyte, a youthful augur who only in the springtide of this very year completed his studies with honors-um. As you yourself did, Patera. I-ah-we are very aware of that. With a prize, I was about to say, for hierologics will arrive in the morning. You yourself shall know the joy of leading this promising neophyte down the very paths that you yourself have traversed with so much credit. You have two bedrooms, I believe, upstairs here? Please have the less-ah-vantaged prepared to receive Patera Gulo."
Remora rose and extended his hand. "It has been a great pleasure, Patera. A pleasure and an honor much, much too long delayed. And denied. Self-denial, indeed, and self-denial must have an end, hey?"
Silk rose with the assistance of Blood's walking stick, and they shook hands solemnly.
"My dear, I'm sorry to have disrupted your own interview with your-ah-spiritual guide. With this devout young augur. I do apologize. Our little tete-a-tete cannot have been of much interest to you, yet-"
"Oh, but it was!" Chenille's smile might well have been sincere.
"Yet it was brief at least. Ah-succinct. And now my blessing upon you, whatever your troubles may be." Remora traced the sign of addition in the air. "Blessed be you in the Most Sacred Name of Pas, Father of the Gods, in that of Gracious Echidna, His Consort, in those of their Sons and their Daughters alike; this day and forever, in the name of their eldest child, Scylla, Patroness of this, Our Holy City of Viron." "The new owner," Silk informed Remora with some urgency, "insists that any moneys above the operating expenses of the manteion must be turned over to him. In light of what transpired today at sacrifice-Your Eminence simply cannot have remained unaware of it-"
Remora grunted as he set aside the heavy bar. "You have a good deal here in need of repair, Patera. Or replacement.' Or-ah-augmentation. Items which this Musk will not-um-exert himself to rehabilitate. Your own-ah- um-wardrobe, eh? That would be a fair beginning. You might do-um-much. Many things. As for the rest, you tote up your own accounts, I take it? Doubtless you can discover many good uses for this-ah-merely presumptive surplus. And you have bon-owed various sums, I believe. So I'm-ah-we, His Cognizance and I, have been given to understand."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Oreb whistled. "Bad man."
Chenille put out her arm, and the bird hopped onto it "Not really, Oreb. Only a man deeply in love with his own cleverness."
A slight smile played about the comers other mouth as she spoke to Silk. "All that for a single manifestation by a merely minor goddess. For one not numbered among the Nine-didn't you say something like that in the manteion? I think I remember that."
Silk dropped the bar into place and turned to reply, but she raised a hand. "I know what you intend to say, Patera. Don't say it. My name is Chenille. That is to be a given, not subject to debate or qualification. You're to call me Chenille, even when we're alone. And you're to treat me as Chenille."
"But-" "Because I am Chenille. You don't really grasp these things, no matter how much you may have studied. Now sit down. Your leg hurts, I know."
Silk dropped into his chair.
"There was something else you wanted to say-not that other, which isn't really true. What is it?" "I'm afraid that it may offend you, but it isn't intended to offend." He hesitated and swallowed. "Chenille, you . . . you talk very differently at different times. Yesterday at Orchid's, you spoke like a young woman who had grown up in the streets, who couldn't read but who had picked up a few phrases and some sense of grammatical principles from better-educated people. Tonight, before His Eminence came, you used a great deal of thieves' cant, as Auk does. As soon as His Eminence arrived, you became a young woman of culture and education."
Her smile widened. "Do you want me to justify the way I speak to you, Patera? Hardly the request of a gentleman, much less a man of the cloth."
Silk sat in silence for a time, stroking his cheek. Oreb hopped from Chenille's wrist to her shoulder, then to the top of the battered library table next to Silk's chair.
At length Silk said, "If you had spoken to His Eminence as you spoke to me, he would have assumed that I had hired you for the evening or something of that kind. To save me from embarrassment, you betrayed your real nature to me. I wish I knew how to thank you properly for that, Chenille."
"You pronounce my name as though it were a polite lie. I assure you, it's the truth."
Silk asked, "But if I were to use another name-we both know which-wouldn't that be the truth as well?"
"Not really. Far less than you believe, and it would lead to endless difficulties."
"You're more beautiful tonight than you were in Orchid's house. May I say that?"
She nodded. "I wasn't trying then. Or not much. Not well. Men think it's all bones and makeup. But a lot is ... Certain things I do. My eyes and my lips. The way I move. The right gestures. You do it too, unconsciously. Silk. I like to watch you. When you don't know I'm watching." She yawned and stretched until it seemed that her full breasts would split her gown. "There. That wasn't very beautiful, was it? Though he used to love it when I yawned, and kiss my hand. I did it sometimes. Just to give him pleasure. Such delight. Silk, I'm going to have to have a place to sleep tonight. I love your name, Silk. I've been wanting to say it all night. Most names are ugly. Will you help me?"
"Of course," he said. "I am your slave."
"Chenille."
He swallowed again. "I'll help you all I can, Chenille. You can't sleep here, but I feel sure we can find something better."
Suddenly she was again the woman he had met at Orchid's. "We've got to talk about that, but there are other things to talk about first. You do realize why
that awful man came? Why you're getting an acolyte? Why that awful man and this Prolocutor are going to try to take your manteion back from Blood?"
Silk nodded gloomily. "I'm naive at times, I admit; but not that naive. Once I was on the point of suggesting that he drop the pretense."
"He would have turned nasty, I'm sure." "So am I." Silk drew a deep breath and exhaled with mingled relief and disgust. "That acolyte's being sent to keep an eye on me. I'd like to find out how he's spent the summer."
"You think he may be a protege of Remora's? Something of that kind?"
Silk nodded. "He's probably been an assistant to his prothonotary. Not the prothonotary himself, because I've met him and his name isn't Gulo. If I can talk with some other augurs who were in the same class, they may be able to tell me."
"So you intend to spy on the spy." Chenille smiled. "At least your manteion's safe."
"I doubt that. In the first place, I don't have a great deal of confidence in His Cognizance's ability to manipulate Blood. Less, anyway, than His Eminence has, or says that he has. Everyone knows the Chapter doesn't have the influence in the Ayuntamiento that it once had, although Lady Kypris's theophany today may help considerably. And . . ."
"Yes? What is it now?" Chenille was stroking Oreb's back. Stretching out his neck, the bird rubbed her arm with his crimson beak.
"In the second, if they can manipulate Blood I won't be here much longer. I'll be transferred, most likely to some administrative position, and this Patera Gulo will take over everything."
"Urn-hum. I'm proud of you." Chenille was still looking at the bird. "Then my little suggestion is still of interest to you?"
"Spying on Viron?" Silk gripped Blood's lioness-headed stick with both hands as if he intended to break it.
"No! Not unless you order me to do it. And, Chenille - you really are Chenille? Now?"
She nodded, her face serious.
"Then, Chenille, I can't allow you to continue to do it either. All questions of loyalty aside, I can't let you risk your life like that."
"You're angry. I don't blame you, Silk. Though it's better to be cold. He . . . You call him Pas. Someone said once that he was always in a cold fury. Not always, Silk."
She licked her lips. "It wasn't true. But almost. And he came to rule the whole-whorl. Our whorl, bigger than this. So fast. All in a few years. No one could believe it."
Silk said, "I don't think I'm very good at cold furies, but I'll try. I was going to ask what will happen if we succeed? Suppose that we get twenty-six thousand cards from Doctor Crane to hand over to Blood. I doubt that it's even possible, but suppose we do. What good would it do anybody except Blood?"
Silk fell silent for a time, his face in his hands. "I should want to do good to Blood, of course, as I should want to do good to everyone. Even when I broke into his house to try to make him give my manteion back, I did it in part to keep him from staining his spirit by converting the property to a bad purpose. But getting money for him that he doesn't need isn't going to do him any good, and it may even do him harm."
Oreb dropped onto Silk's shoulder, startling him into looking up; as he did, Oreb caught a lock of his straying hair and tugged at it.
"He knows what you're feeling," Chenille said quietly. "He would like to make you laugh, if he can."
"He's a good bird-a very good bird. This isn't the first time he's come to me of his own accord."
"You would take him with you, wouldn't you? Even if you were sent to that administrative position? Silk. It isn't against some rule for augurs to keep pets?"
"No. They're permitted."
"So everything wouldn't be lost, even then." Chenille floated from her chair to slip behind his own. "I could . . . Supply some trifling comfort, too. Now, Silk. If you wish it."
"No," he repeated.
Silence refilled the little sellaria. After two minutes or more had passed, he added, "But thank you anyway. Thank you very much. What you said shouldn't make me feel better; but it does, and I'll always be grateful to you."
"I'll take advantage of your gratitude, you know."
He nodded soberly. "I hope you do. I want you to."
"You don't like girls like me."
"That isn't so." Pie fell silent for a moment to think about it. "I don't like what you do-the kinds of things that go on every night at Orchid's-because I know they do everyone involved more harm than good, and injure all of us eventually. I don't dislike you or Poppy or the others; in fact, I like you. I even like Orchid, and every god"-He would have stopped, but it was already too late-"knows I felt sorry for her this afternoon."
She laughed softly. "All the gods don't know. Silk. . . . One does. Two. You think those men don't many, because they have us. Most are married already, and shouldn't be."
He nodded reluctantly. "You've seen how young most of us are. What do you think happens to us?"
"I've never considered it." He wanted to say that many probably perished like Orpine; but she had stabbed Orpine.
"You think we all turn into Orchids, or use too much rust and die in convulsions. Most of us marry, that's all. You don't believe me, but it's the truth. We marry some buck who always asks for us. Silk."
She was stroking his hair. Inexplicably he felt that if he were to turn around he would not see her; that these were the ringers of a phantom.
"You said you wouldn't. Silk. Because you wanted to see a god. To someone. Yesterday? And now?"
"Now I don't know," he admitted.
"You're afraid I'll laugh. You'll be clumsy. All men are. Silk. Patera. You're frightened of my laughter."
"Yes, I am."
"Would you kill me? Silk? For fear that I might laugh? Men do that."
He did not reply at once. Her hands were where Musk's had been, yet he knew they would bring no pain. He waited for her to speak again, but heard only the distant crackle of the dying fire in the kitchen stove and the rapid tick of the clock on the mantel. At last he said, "Is that why some men strike women, in love? So they won't laugh?"
"Sometimes."
"Does Pas strike you?"
She laughed again, a silver flood, whether at Pas or at him he could not have told. "No. Silk. He never strikes anyone. He kills ... or nothing."
"But not you. He hasn't killed you." He was conscious again other mingled perfumes, the mustiness of her gown.
"I don't know." Her tone was serious, and he did not understand.
Oreb whistled abruptly, hopping from Silk's shoulder to the tabletop. "She here! Come back." He hopped to the shade of the broken reading lamp, fluttering from there to the top of the curio cabinet. "Iron girl!"
Silk nodded and rose, limping to the garden door.
Chenille murmured, "I didn't mean, by the way, that we should spy on Viron for Crane. I don't think I'll be doing it anymore myself. What I meant to suggest was that we get your money from Crane."
She yawned again, covering her mouth with a hand larger than most women's. "He seems to have a lot. To control a lot, at least. So why shouldn't we take it? If you were the owner of this manteion, it would be awkward to transfer you, I'd think."
Silk gawked at her.
"Now you expect me to have an elaborate plan. I don't. I'm not good at them, and I'm too tired to think anymore tonight anyway. Since you won't sleep with me, you think about it. And I will, too, when I get up."
"Chenille-"
Maytera Marble's steel knuckles tapped the door.
"It's that mechanical woman of yours, like Oreb said. What is it they called them? Robota? Robotniks? There used to be a lot more."
"Chems," he whispered as Maytera Marble knocked again.
"Whatever. Open the door so she can see me, Silk." He did so, and Maytera Marble regarded the tall, fiery-haired Chenille with considerable surprise.
"Patera has been shriving me," she told the sibyl, "and now I need someplace to stay. I don't think he wants me to sleep here."
"You . . . ? No, no!" Although it was impossible, Maytera
Marble's eyes appeared to have widened.
Silk interposed, "I thought that you-and Maytera Rose and Maytera Mint-might put her up in the cenoby tonight. You have vacant rooms, I know. I was about to come over and ask. You must have read my mind, Maytera."
"Oh, no. I was just bringing back your plate, Patera." She held it out. "But-but . . ."
"You'd be doing me an enormous favor." He accepted the plate. "I promise that Chenille won't give you any trouble, and perhaps you, and Maytera Rose and Maytera Mint, may be able to advise her in ways that I, a man, cannot-though if Maytera Rose is not willing, Chenille will have to stay elsewhere, of course. It's getting late, but I'll try to find a family that will open its home to her."
Maytera Marble nodded meekly. "I'll try, Patera. I'll do my best. Really, I will."
"I know," he assured her, smiling.
Leaning against the doorjamb with the plate in his hand, he watched the two women, Maytera Marble in her black habit and Chenille in her black gown, alike yet so very unlike as they walked slowly along the little path. When they had nearly reached the door of the cenoby, the second, lagging behind, turned to wave.
And it seemed to Silk at that moment that the face he glimpsed was not Chenille's, and not a conventionally good-looking face at all but one of breathtaking loveliness.
Hare was waiting outside the floater shed. "Well, it's finished," Hare said.
"Will it fly?"
Hare shrugged. He had noticed the bruise on Musk's jaw, but was too wise to mention it.
"Will it fly?" Musk repeated.
"How'd I know? I don't know anything about them."
Musk, a head shorter, advanced a step. "Will it fly? This's the last time."
"Sure." Hare nodded, tentatively at first, then more vigorously. "Sure it will."
"How the shag do you know, putt?"
"He says it will. He says it'll lift a lot, and he's been making them for fifty years. He ought to know."
Musk waited, not speaking, his face intent, his hands hovering near his waist.
"It looks good, too." Hare took a half step backward. "It looks real. I'll show you." Musk nodded almost reluctantly and motioned toward the side door. Hare hurried to open it.