by Gene Wolfe
Unbidden, the manteion's familiar, fire-crowned altar rose before him as he stared at the open doors: the altar, the manse, the palaestra, and the shady arbor where he had sometimes chatted too long with Maytera Marble. Suppose that he were to walk down this staircase quite normally? Stroll through that hall, nodding and smiling to anyone who glanced toward him. Would any of them stop him, or call for guards? It seemed unlikely.
His own hot blood trickling down his right arm wet his fingers and dripped onto Blood's costly carpet. Shaking his head, Silk strode swiftly past the stair and seated himself in the matching red armchair on the other side. As long as his arm bled, he could be tracked by his blood: down the Spiral stair from the roof, down the attic stair, and along fills corridor.
Parting his robe, he started a tear above the hem of his tunic with his teeth and ripped away a strip.
Could not the blood trail be turned to his advantage? Silk rose and walked rapidly along the corridor, flexing his wrist and clenching his right hand to increase the bleeding, than entered the south wing by a short flight of steps; there he halted for a moment to win the strip about his wound knot it with his teeth just as Gib, the big man in the Cock, had. When he had satisfied himself that it would remain in place, he retraced his steps, passing the chair in which he had sat, the stairhead, the sleeper, and the narrow tapestry-covered door leading to the attic. Here, beyond paired icons of the minor deities Ganymedia and Catamitus, wide and widely spaced doors alternated with elaborately framed mirrors and amphorae overfilled with hothouse roses.
As Silk approached the entrance to the north wing, an officer in the uniform of the Guard emerged from an archway at the end of the corridor. The door nearest Silk stood half open; he stepped inside and shut it softly behind him.
He found himself facing a windowless pentagonal drawing room furnished in magnificent chryselephantine. For a moment he waited with his back to the corridor door, listening as he had listened so often that night. When he heard nothing, he crossed the thick carpet and opened one of the drawing room's ivory-encrusted doors.
This was a boudoir, larger and even more oddly shaped. There were wardrobes, two chairs, a rather tawdry shrine of Kypris whose smoldering thurible filled the room with the sweetness of frankincense, and a white dressing table before a glass whose pearlescent glow appeared to intensify as he entered. When he shut the door behind him, a swirl of colors danced across the glass. He fell to his knees.
"Sir?"
Looking up, Silk saw that the glass held only the gray face of a monitor. He traced the sign of addition. "Wasn't there a god? I saw…"
"I am no god, sir, merely the monitor of this terminal. What may I do to serve you, sir? Would you care to critique your digitally enhanced image?"
Disconcerted, Silk stood. "No. I-No, thank you." He struggled to recall how Auk had addressed the monitor in his glass. "I'd like to speak to a friend, if it isn't too much trouble, my son." That had not been it, surely.
The floating face appeared to nod. "The friend's name, please? I will attempt it."
"Auk."
"And this Auk lives where?"
"In the Orilla. Do you know where that is?"
"Indeed I do, sir. However, there are… fifty-four Auks resident there. Can you supply the street?"
"No, I'm afraid I have no idea." Suddenly weary, Silk drew out the dressing table's somewhat soiled little stool and sat down. "I'm sorry to have put you to so much trouble. But if you're-"
"There is an Auk in the Orilla with whom my master has spoken several times," the monitor interrupted. "No doubt he is the Auk you want. I will attempt to locate him for you."
"No," Silk said. "This Auk lives in what used to be a shop. So it must be on a shopping street, I suppose, with a lot of other stores and so on. Or at least on a street that used to have them." Remembering it, he recalled the thunder of the cartwheels. "A street paved with cobblestones. Does that help?"
"Yes. That is the Auk with whom my master speaks, sir. Let us see whether he is at home."
The monitor's face faded, replaced by Auk's disordered bed and jar of slops. Soon the image swelled and distorted, becoming oddly rounded. Silk saw the heavy wooden chair from which he had shriven Auk and beside which he had knelt when Auk shrived him. He found it heartening, somehow, to know that the chair was still there.
"I fear that Auk is unavailable, sir. May I leave a message with my similitude?"
"I-yes." Silk stroked his cheek. "Ask him, please, to tell Auk that I appreciate his help very, very much, and that if nothing happens to me it will be my great pleasure to tell Maytera Mint how kind he was. Tell him, too, that he's specified only one meritorious act thus far, while the penance he laid upon me called for two or three-for two at least. Ask him to let me know what the others should be." Too late, it occurred to Silk that Auk had asked that his name not be mentioned to the handsome boy who had spoken though Blood's glass. "Now then, my son. You referred to your master. Who is that?"
"Blood, sir. Your host."
"I see. Am I, by any chance, in Blood's private quarters now?"
"No, sir. These are my mistress's chambers."
"Will you tell Blood about the message I left for-for that man who lives in the Orilla?"
The monitor nodded gravely. "Certainly, sir, if he inquires."
"I see." A sickening sense of failure descended upon Silk. "Then please tell Auk, also, where I was when I tried to speak to him, and warn him to be careful."
"I shall, sir. Will that be all?"
Silk's head was in his hands, "Yes. And thank you. No." He straightened up. "I need a place to hide, a good place, and weapons."
"If I may say so, sir," remarked the monitor, "you require a proper dressing more than either. With respect, sir, you are dripping on our carpet."
Lifting his right arm, Silk saw that it was true; blood had already soaked through the strip of black cloth he had torn from his tunic a few minutes earlier. Crimson rivulets trickled toward his elbow.
"You will observe, sir, that this room has two doors, in addition to that through which you entered. The one to your left opens upon the balneum. My mistress's medicinal supplies are there, I believe. As to-"
Silk had risen so rapidly that he had knocked over the stool. Darting through the left-hand door, he heard nothing more.
The balneum was larger than he had anticipated, with a jade tub more than big enough for the naked goddess at the head of the staircase and a separate water closet. A sizable cabinet held a startling array of apothecary bottles, an olla of violet salve that Silk recognized as a popular aseptic, a roll of gauze, and gauze pads of various sizes. A small pair of scissors cut away the blood-soaked strip; he smeared the ragged wound that the white-headed one's beak had left in his forearm with the violet salve, and at the second try managed to bandage it effectively. As he ruefully took stock of his ruined tunic, he discovered that the bird's talons had raked his chest and abdomen. It was almost a relief to wash and salve the long, bloody scratches, on which he could employ both his hands.
Yellowish encrustations were forming on his robe where he had wiped away his spew. He took it off and washed it as thoroughly as he could in the lavabo, wrung it out, smoothed it as well as he could, pressed it between two dry towels, and put it back on. Inspecting his appearance in a mirror, he decided that he might well pass a casual examination in a dim light.
Returning to the boudoir, he strewed what he took to be face powder over the clotted blood on the carpet.
The monitor watched him, unperturbed. "That is most interesting, sir."
"Thank you." Silk shut the powder box and returned it to the dressing table.
"Does the powder possess cleansing properties? I was unaware of it."
Silk shook his head. "Not that I know of. I'm only masking these, so visitors won't be unsettled."
"Very shrewd, sir."
Silk shrugged. "If I could think of something better, I'd do it. When I came in, you said that you weren't a
god. I knew you weren't. We had a glass in the-in a palaestra I attended."
"Would you like to speak to someone there, sir?" "Not now. But I was privileged to use that glass once, and it struck me then-I suppose it struck all of us, and I remember some of us talking about it one evening-that the glass looked a great deal like a Sacred Window. Except for its size, of course; all Sacred Windows are eight cubits by eight. Are you familiar with them?" "No, sir."
Silk righted the stool and sat down. "There's another difference, too. Sacred Windows don't have monitors." "That is unfortunate, sir."
"Indeed." Silk stroked his cheek with two fingers. "I should tell you, then, that the immortal gods appear at times in the Sacred Windows." "Ah!"
"Yes, my son. I've never seen one, and most people- those who aren't augurs or sibyls, particularly-can't see the gods at all. Although they frequently hear the voice of the god, they see only a swirl of color."
The monitor's face flushed brick red. "Like this, sir?" "No. Not at all like that. I was going to say that as I understand it, those people who can see the gods first see the swirling colors as well. When the theophany begins, the colors are seen. Then the god appears. And then the colors reappear briefly as the god vanishes. All this was set down in circumstantial detail by the Devoted Caddis, nearly two centuries ago. In the course of a long life, he'd witnessed the theophanies of Echidna, Tartaros, and Scylla, and finally that of Pas. He called the colors he'd seen the Holy Hues."
"Fascinating, sir. I fear, however, that it has little to do with me. May I show you what it is I do, sir? What I do most frequently, I should say. Observe."
The monitor's floating face vanished, replaced by the image of a remarkably handsome man in black. Although the tunic of the man in the glass was torn and white gauze showed beneath it, Silk did not recognize this man as himself until he moved and saw the image move with him.
"Is that…?" He leaned closer. "No. But…"
"Thank you, sir," his image said, and bowed. "Only a first attempt, although I think it a rather successful one. I shall do better next time."
"Take it away, please. I am already too much given to vanity, believe me."
"As you wish, sir," his image replied. "I intended no disrespect. I merely desired to demonstrate to you the way in which I most frequently serve my mistress. Would you care to see her in place of yourself? I can easily display an old likeness."
Silk shook his head. "An old unlikeness, you mean. Please return to your normal appearance."
"As you wish, sir." In the glass, Silk's face lost its blue eyes and brown cheeks, its neck and shoulders vanished, and its features became flatter and coarser.
"We were speaking of the gods. No doubt I told you a good deal that you already knew."
"No, sir. I know very little about gods, sir. I would advise you to consult an augur."
"Then let's talk about monitors, my son. You must know more than most about monitors. You're a monitor yourself."
"My task is my joy, sir."
"We're fortunate, then, both of us. When I was at-in the house of a certain man I know, a man who has a glass like this one, he clapped his hands to summon the monitor. Is that the usual method?"
"Clapping the hands or tapping on the glass, sir. All of us much prefer the former, if I may be excused for saying it."
"I see." Silk nodded to himself. "Aren't there any other methods?"
"We actually appear in response to any loud sound, sir, to determine whether there is something amiss. Should a fire be in progress, for example, I would notify my master or his steward, and warn his guests."
"And from time to time," Silk said, "you must look into this room although no one has called you, even when there has been no loud sound. Isn't that so?"
"No, sir."
"You don't simply look in to make certain everything's all right?"
"No, sir. My mistress would consider that an invasion of her privacy, I'm sure."
"When I entered this room," Silk continued, "I did not make any sound that could be called loud-or at least none that I'm aware of. Certainly I didn't clap my hands or tap on this glass; yet you appeared. There was a swirl of color, then your face appeared in the glass. Shortly afterward you told me you weren't a god."
"You closed the door, sir."
"Very gently," Silk said. "I didn't want to disturb your mistress.
"Most considerate, sir."
"Yet the sound of my shutting that door summoned you? I would think that in that case almost any sound would do, however slight."
"I really cannot say what summoned me, sir."
"That's a suggestive choice of words, my son."
"I concede that it may be, sir." The monitor's face appeared to nod. "Such being the case, perhaps I may proffer an additional suggestion? It is that you abandon this line of inquiry. It will not reward your persistence, sir. Prior to entering the balneum, you inquired about weapons, sir, and places of concealment. One of our wardrobes might do."
"Thank you." Silk looked into the nearest, but it was filled almost to bursting with coats and gowns.
"As to weapons, sir," the monitor continued, "you may discover a useful one in my lowest left drawer, beneath the stockings."
"More useful than this, I hope." Silk closed the wardrobe.
"I am very sorry, sir. There appear to have been many purchases of late of which I have not been apprised."
Silk hardly heard him-there were angry and excited voices in the corridor. He opened the door to the drawing room and listened until they faded away, his hand upon the glass latchbar of the boudoir door, acutely conscious of the thudding of his bean.
"Are you leaving, sir?"
"The left drawer, I think you said."
"Yes, sir. The lowest of the drawers to your left. I can guarantee nothing, however, sir. My mistress keeps a small needier there, or perhaps I should say she did so not long "ago. It may, however…"
Silk had already jerked out the drawer. Groping under what seemed to be at least a hundred pairs of women's hose, his fingers discovered not one but two metal objects.
"My mistress is sometimes careless regarding the safety catch, sir. It may be well to exercise due caution until you have ascertained its condition."
"I don't even know what that is," Silk muttered as he gingerly extracted the first.
It was a needier so small that it lay easily in the palm of his hand, elaborately engraved and gold plated; the thumb-sized ivory grips were inlaid with golden hyacinths, and a minute heron scanned a golden pool for fish at the base of the rear sight. For a moment, Silk too knew peace, lost in the flawless craftsmanship that had been lavished upon every surface. No venerated object in his manteion was half so fine.
"Should that discharge, it could destroy my glass, sir."
Silk nodded absently. "I've seen needlers-I saw two tonight, in fact-that could eat this one."
"You have informed me that you are unfamiliar with the safety catch, sir. Upon either side of the needier you hold, you will observe a small movable convexity. Raised, it will prevent the needier from discharging."
"This," Silk said. Like the grips, each tiny boss was marked with a hyacinth, though these were so small that their minute, perfect florets were almost microscopic. He pushed one of the bosses down, and the other moved with it. "Will it fire now?"
"I believe so, sir. Please do not direct it toward my glass. Glasses are now irreplaceable, sir, the art of their manufacture having been left behind when-"
"I'm greatly tempted nevertheless."
"In the event of the destruction of this glass I should be unable to deliver your message to Auk, sir."
"In which case there'd be no need of it. This smooth bar inside the ring is the trigger, I suppose."
"I believe that is correct, sir."
Silk pointed the needier at the wardrobe and pressed the trigger. There was a sharp snap, like the cracking of a child's whip. "It doesn't seem to have done anything," he said.
"My mis
tress's wardrobe is not a living creature, sir."
"I never thought it was, my son." Silk bent to examine the wardrobe's door; a hole not much thicker than a hair had appeared in one of its polished panels. He opened the door again. Some, though not all, of the gowns in line with the hole showed ragged tears, as if they had been stabbed with a dull blade a little narrower than his index finger.
"I should use this on you, you know, my son," he told the monitor, "for Auk's sake. You're just a machine, like the scorer in our ball court."
"I am a machine, but not just a machine, sir."
Nodding mostly to himself, Silk pushed up the safety catch and dropped the little needier into his pocket.
The other object hidden under the stockings was shaped like the letter T. The stem was cylindrical and oddly rough, with a single, smooth protuberance below the crossbar; the crossbar itself seemed polished and slightly curved, and had upturned ends. The entire object felt unnaturally cold, as reptiles often do. Silk extracted it from the stockings with some difficulty and examined it curiously.
"Would it be convenient for me to withdraw, sir?" the monitor asked.
Silk shook his head. "What is this?"
"I don't know, sir."
He regarded the monitor narrowly. "Can you lie, under extreme provocation, my son? Tell an untruth? I know a chem quite well; and she can, or so she says."
"No, sir."
"Which leaves me not a whit the wiser." Silk seated himself on the stool again.
"I suppose not, sir."