by Gene Wolfe
A corner of Remora's mouth twitched upward. "But you will, eh? To be sure you will, Patera. Now, eh? Good to know that the-ah-arms of Scylla are good as new, eh? Or-ah-very nearly so. Not like-ah-um-Palustria's, hey? And many others. Soldiers and their-ah-weapons like new or nearly. Think about it, Patera."
Remora straightened up in his chair, resting his elbows on the escritoire. "What-um-more have you to report concerning Patera, Patera?"
"Your Eminence mentioned weapons. I found a paper packet of needles, Your Eminence. Opened."
"A paper of needles, Patera? I fail-"
"Not sewing needles," Gulo added hastily. "Projectiles for a needler, Your Eminence. In one of Patera's drawers, under clothing."
"I-ah-must consider that," Remora said slowly. "I-um-it is of-um-concern. No question. Anything- ah-further?"
"My final item, Your Eminence. One that I would much rather not have to report. This letter." Gulo extracted it from the pocket of his robe. "It's from-"
"You have, er, opened it." Remora favored him with a gentle smile.
"It's in a feminine hand, Your Eminence, and is heavily perfumed. Under the circumstances I think that what I did was justified. I hoped, very sincerely, Your Eminence, that it would prove to have emanated from a sister or some other female relation, Your Eminence. However-"
"You are-ah-bold, Patera. That's well, or so I am- ah-disposed to conclude. Sphigx favors the bold, eh?" Remora peered at the superscription. "Not from this- um-lady Chenille, hey? Or you would've said so previously, hum?"
"No, Your Eminence. From another woman."
"Read it to me, Patera. You must have-ah-puzzled out that-um-contorted scribble. I should, er, choose not to."
"I fear that you will find, Your Eminence, that Patera Silk has compromised himself. I wish-"
"I'll be the-ah-judge, eh? Read it, Patera."
Gulo cleared his throat and unfolded the letter. " 'O My Darling Wee Flea: I call you so not only because of the way you sprang from my window, but because of the way you hopped into my bed! How your lonely bloss has longed for a note from you!!!' "
"Bloss, Patera?"
"A pretended wife, I believe, Your Eminence."
"I-ah-very well. Proceed, Patera. Is there-ah further revelation?"
"I'm afraid so, Your Eminence. 'You might have sent one by the kind friend who brought you my gift, you know!' "
"Let me-ah-examine that, Patera." Remora extended his hand, and Gulo passed him the much-creased paper.
"Ah-hum."
"Yes, Your Eminence."
"She really does-ah-write like that, hey? Doesn't she? Yes-ah-does she not. I would not have-ah-conceded, er, previously, that a human being could."
Brows knit, Remora bent over the paper. " 'Now you have to tender me your,'-ah-um-'thanks,' I suppose that must be, eh? 'And so much more, when,'-ah-um- 'next we meet,' with yet another screamer. 'Don't you know that little,'-um-'place up on the Palatine-' Well, well, well!"
"Yes, Your Eminence."
" That little place up on the Palatine where Thelx,' I suppose she-ah-intends Thelxiepeia but doesn't-ah- apprehend the spelling. 'Where Thelx holds up a mirror? Hieraxday.' That last-um-underscored. Heavily, eh? Signature, 'Hy.' "
Remora tapped the paper with a long fingernail. "Well-ah-do you, Patera? Where is it, eh? A picture, I-ah-if I may guess at hazard. Not in one of the manteions, hey? I know them all."
Gulo shook his head. "I've never seen a picture like that, Your Eminence."
"In a-ah-house, most likely, Patera. A private- um-residence, I would-um-opine." Remora bawled, "Incus!" over Gulo's shoulder, and a small, sly-looking augur with buckteeth looked in so quickly as to suggest that he had been eavesdropping.
"Whereabouts might we-ah-descry Thelxiepeia and a mirror, here on the hill, eh, Incus? You don't know. Make-um-inquiries. I shall expect their result tomorrow at, um, no later than luncheon. Should be a simple matter, eh?" Remora glanced down at the letter's broken seal. "And fetch a seal with a-um-heart or kiss or some such for this." He tossed Hyacinth's letter across the room to Incus.
"Immediately, Your Eminence."
Remora turned back to Gulo. "It won't-um-signify if Patera has seen this one, Patera. She's the sort who'll have a round dozen at fewest, eh? You don't know how to- um-preserve the seal? Incus can show you. A useful art, eh?"
As the latch clicked behind his bowing prothonotary, Remora rose once more. "You take that back to Sun Street with you, eh? When he's through with it. If Patera isn't back, put it on the mantel. If he is, say it was-ah-handed to you as you went out, eh? You haven't glanced at it, hey?" Gulo nodded glumly. "Naturally, Your Eminence."
Remora leaned closer to peer at him. "Something- um-troubling you, Patera. Out with it." "Your Eminence, how could an anointed augur, a man of Patera's high promise, compromise himself so? I mean this absurd, filthy woman. And yet a goddess-! I understand now, only too well, why Your Eminence believes Patera must be watched, but-but a theophany!"
Remora sucked his teeth. "It's an-ah-habitual observation of - eld Quetzal's that the gods don't have laws, Patera. Only preferences."
"I myself can see, Your Eminence-but when the augur in question-"
Remora silenced him with a gesture. "Possibly we will, er, be made privy to the secret, Patera. In due time, eh? Possibly there's none. You've considered Palustria?"
Afraid to trust his voice, Gulo merely nodded.
"Capital." Remora regarded him narrowly. "Now then. What do you know about the-ah-history of the caldes, Patera?"
"The caldes, Your Eminence? Only that the last one died before I was born, and the Ayuntamiento decided that nobody could replace him." "And replaced him-um-themselves, hey? In effect. You realize that, Patera?"
"I suppose so, Your Eminence."
Remora stalked across the room to a tall bookcase. "I knew him, eh? The last. A loud, tyrannical, tumultuous sort of man. The mob-um-doted upon him, hey? They always love that kind." He extracted a thin volume bound in russet leather and recrossed the room to drop it into Gulo's lap. "The Charter, eh? Written in-ah-deity by Scylla and corrected by Pas. So it-um-asserts. Have a look at clause seven. Quickly, hey? Then tell me what you find-um- outre in it."
Silence settled over the spacious, somberly furnished room once more as the young augur bent over the book. In the street, litter bearers fought like sparrows with much shouting and a few blows; as the minutes ticked by, Remora watched their dispute though the open window.
Gulo looked up. "It provides for the election of new councillors, Your Eminence. Every three years. I assume that this provision has been suspended?"
"Delicately-um-phrased, Patera. You may-ah-attain Palustria yet. What else?"
"And it says the calde is to hold office for life, and may appoint his successor."
Remora nodded. "Reshelve it, will you? Not done now, eh? No calde at all. Yet it's still law. You know of the frozen embryo trade, Patera? New breeds of cattle, exotic pets, slaves, too, in places like Trivigaunte, eh? Where do they come from, hey?"
Gulo hurried to the bookcase. "From other cities, Your Eminence?"
"Which say the same, Patera. Seeds and cuttings that grow plants of-um-bizarre form. They die, hey? Or most do. Or, um, thrive beyond nature."
"I've heard of them, Your Eminence."
"Most of the beasts, and men, are-ah-commonplace. Or nearly, eh? A few-um-monstrosities, eh? Pitiful. Or fearful. Extraordinary prices for those. Give ear now, Patera." "I'm listening, Your Eminence."
Remora stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, nearly whispering. "This was common knowledge, eh? Fifteen years ago. The calde's folly, we called it. Forgotten now, hum? And you're not to speak about it to anyone, Patera. Not to stir it up, hey?"
Craning his neck to meet the eyes of the coadjutor, Gulo declared, "Your Eminence can rely upon me absolutely."
"Capital. Before he-ah-collected his reward from the gods, Patera, the calde paid out a sum of that-um-magnitude, hey? Bought a human
embryo. Something-ah-extraordinary."
"I see." Gulo moistened his lips. "I appreciate your confidence in me. Your Eminence."
"A successor, eh? Or an-ah-weapon. Nobody knows, Patera. The Ayuntamiento's no-ah-wiser than yourself, Patera, now that I've told you." "If I may inquire, Your Eminence . . .?"
"What became of it? That is the-ah-crux, Patera. And what could it do? Extraordinary strength, perhaps. Or hear your thoughts, eh? Move things without touching them? There are rumors of such people. Ayuntamiento searched, eh? Never stopped, never gave up."
"Had it been implanted, Your Eminence?"
"No one knew. Still don't, eh?" Remora returned to his escritoire and sat down. "A year passed. Then two, five-ah-ten. They came to us. Wanted us to test every child in every palaestra in the city, and we did it. Memory, eh? Dexterity. All sorts of things. There were a few we-ah-took an interest in. No good, hey? The harder we, er, scrutinized them, the less-ah-outlandish they looked. Early development, eh? A few years and the rest caught up."
Remora shook his head. "Not-ah-um-unforeseen, we said, and the-ah-Lemur, Loris, and the rest likewise. They're not always what they're cracked up to be, these frozen embryos. Die in the womb, more often than not. Everybody forgot it. You follow me?"
Though Gulo was seldom subject to flashes of insight, he had one at that moment. "Y-y-your Eminence has located this person! It's this woman Chenille!"
Remora pursed his lips. "I did not-ah-asseverate anything of the kind, Patera."
"Indeed not, Your Eminence."
"Patera has become an-ah-popular figure, Patera, as I, er, implied to you yesterday. This theophany, to be sure. "'Silk for calde' daubed upon walls forest-to-lake. Bound to attract all sorts, eh? Me must be watched over by an acolyte of-um-sagacity. And large discretion. His associates must be watched likewise. A weighty-um-obligation for one so young. But for the future coadjutor for Palustria, a fitting devoir."
Sensing his dismissal, Gulo rose and bowed. "I will do my best, Your Eminence."
"Capital. See Incus about that letter, and my note to Patera."
Greatly daring, Gulo inquired, "Do you think that Patera himself may have guessed, Your Eminence? Or that this woman may have told him outright?"
Remora nodded gloomily.
Here, at its loftiest point, the cliff jutted into the lake like the prow of a giant's boat. Here, according to a modest bronze plaque let into its side next to the entrance, Lacustral Scylla's most humble petitioner Lemur, Presiding Officer of the Ayuntamiento, had erected to her glory this chaste hemispherical dome of milky, translucent, blue stone, supported on the wavering tips of these (Silk counted them) ten tapering, fragile-looking pillars, themselves resting upon a squat balustrade. There were fine-lined drawings other exploits, both factual and legendary, traced in bronze on the balustrade. Most impressive of all, there was her representation, with floating hair and bare breasts, inlaid in bronze in the stone floor, with ten coiling arms extended toward the ten pillars.
And there was nothing else.
"There's no one here, Oreb," Silk said. "Yet I know we saw somebody."
The bird only muttered.
Still shaking his head in perplexity, Silk stepped into the deep shadow of the dome. As his dusty black shoe made contact with the floor, he thought he heard a faint groan from the solid rock beneath him.
And very much to Silk's surprise, Oreb flew. He did not fly well or far, merely out between two pillars to alight heavily upon a spur of naked rock eight or ten cubits from the shrine; but fly he did, Crane's little splint a bright blue against his sable plumage.
"What are you afraid of, silly bird? Falling?"
Oreb cocked his sleek head in the direction of Limna. "Fish heads?"
"Yes," Silk promised. "More fish heads just as soon as we get back."
"Watch out!"
Fanning himself with his wide straw hat, Silk turned to admire the lake. A few friendly sails shone here and there, minute triangles of white against the prevailing cobalt. It was cooler here than it had been among the rocks, and would be cooler still, no doubt, in a boat like those he watched. If he preserved the manteion as the Outsider wished, perhaps he might some summer bring a party from the palaestra here, children who had never seen the lake or ridden in a boat or caught a fish. It would be an experience that they would never forget, surely; an adventure they would treasure for the whole length of their lives.
"Watch arm!"
Orcb's voice came on the land breeze, faint but shrill. Silk glanced up automatically at his own left hand, lifted nearly to the low dome as he leaned against one of the bent pillars; it was perfectly safe, of course.
He looked around for Oreb, but the bird seemed to have vanished in the jumble of naked rock inland.
Oreb was returning to the wild now, Silk told himself-to freedom, exactly as he himself had invited him to do on that first night. To think of the once-caged bird happy and free should not have been painful, yet it was.
Scanning the rocks for Oreb, he saw, from the comer of one eye, the delicately curved pillars nearest the entrance drop from the dome. One barred the entrance with a double S. The other reached for him, its sinuous motion seemingly casual and almost careless. He dodged and struck at it with Blood's walking stick.
Effortlessly, the pillar looped about his waist, a noose of stone. Blood's stick shattered at the third blow.
In the floor, Scylla opened stony lips; irresistibly the tentacle carried him toward her gaping mouth, and as he hung struggling above the dark orifice, dropped him into it.
The initial fall was not great; but it was onto carpeted steps, and he tumbled down them, rolling in wild confusion until he sprawled at last on a floor twenty- or thirty cubits below the shrine, with sore knees and elbows and a bruised cheek.
"Oh, you gods!"
The sound of his voice brought light; there were large, comfortable-looking armchairs here, upholstered in brown and burnt orange, and a sizable table; but Silk gave them small attention, gripping his injured ankle in one hand while the other lashed the carpet with Crane's wrapping.
As though by a miracle, the circular panel of deep blue that was the farther end of the room irised wide, revealing a towering talus; its ogre's face was of black metal, and the slender black barrels of buzz guns flanked its gleaming fangs. "You again!" it roared.
The memory of Blood's blade-crowned wall returned-the still and sweltering night, the gate of thick-set bars, and this shouting giant of brass and steel. Silk shook his head as he replaced the wrapping; though it required an effort to keep his voice steady, he said loudly, "I've never been here before."
"I knew you!" Swiftly, the talus's left arm lengthened, reaching for him.
He scrambled up the carpeted stair. "I didn't want to come here! I wasn't trying to get in." "I know you!"
A metal hand as large as a shovel closed on Silk's right forearm, clamping the injuries inflicted by the white-headed one; Silk screamed.
"Does this hurt you!"
"Yes," he gasped. "It hurts. Terribly. Please let me go. I'll do whatever you say."
The steel hand shook him. "You don't care!"
Silk screamed again, writhing in the grasp of fingers as thick as pipes.
"Musk punished me! Humiliated me!"
The shaking stopped. The enormous mechanical arm lifted Silk, and, as he dangled puppylike in midair, contracted. Through chattering teeth, he gasped, "You're Blood's talus. You stopped me at his gate."
The steel hand opened, and he fell heavily to the floor. "I was right!"
The azoth he had carried from the city to the lake was no longer in his waistband. Striving to keep his voice from breaking, he said, "May I stand up?" hoping to feel it slip down his trouser leg.
"Musk sent me away!" the talus roared; grotesquely, its vertical upper body angled forward as it addressed him.
Silk stood, but the azoth was gone; it had been in place when he had admired the lake from the shrine, certainly; so it had presum
ably been lost in his fall, and might still be near the top of the stair.
He risked a cautious step backward. "I'm terribly sorry-really, I am. I don't have any influence with Musk, who dislikes me much more than he could ever dislike you. But I may have some small amount with Blood, and I'll do whatever I can to get you reinstated."
"No! You won't!"
"I will." Silk essayed another small backward step. "I will, I assure you."
"You soft things!" Noiselessly, and apparently without effort, the talus glided over the carpet on twin dark belts, the crest of its brazen helmet almost scraping the ceiling.
"You look the same because you are the same! Easy to break! No repair! Full of filth!"
Still edging backward, Silk asked, "Were you in the shrine? Up there?"
"Yes! My processor by interface!"
Both the talus's steel hands reached for him this time, extended so swiftly that he escaped them by no more than the width of a finger. He stumbled backward, desperately pushed a heavy armchair into the path of one hand, and dove beneath the table. It was lifted, rotated in the air, and slammed down flat to kill him as a man swats a fly; he rolled frantically to one side and felt the edge of its massive top brush the wide sleeve of his robe, the sudden gust as it crashed down.
Something lay on the floor, not a cubit from his face, a green crystal in a silver setting. He snatched it up as the talus snatched him up, holding him this time by the back of his robe, so that he dangled from its hand like a black moth caught by its sooty wings.
"Musk hurt me!" the talus roared. "Hurt me and made me go! I returned to Potto! He was not pleased!"
"I had nothing to do with that." Silk's voice was as soothing as he could make it. "I'll help you if I can-I swear it."
"You got inside! I was on guard!" It shook him. "In the tunnel the red water won't matter!"
It was backing through the irised wall with him, moving slowly but steadily, its arms retracting to bring him ever closer to its fearsome face.
"I don't want to hurt you," Silk told it. "It's evil-that means very wrong-to destroy chems, as wrong as it is to destroy bios, and you're very nearly a chem."