by Gene Wolfe
north to the Palatine, but it was over the Orilla... No, leagues
south of that, way over the lake. Hanging low in the southern sky
and, yes, opposing the wind in some fashion, because the wind was
in the north, was blowing cold out of the north where night was new,
because the wind must have come up, now that she came to think of
it, only a few minutes before while she had been in the palaestra
cutting up the last of the meat and carrying it down to the root
cellar. She had come upstairs again and found her hoarded wrapping
papers blown all over the kitchen, and shut the window.
So this thing--this huge thing, whatever it might be--had been
over the city or nearly over it when she had glimpsed it above the
back wall of the ball court. And it wasn't being blown south any
more, as a real cloud would be; if anything, it was creeping north
toward the city again, was creeping ever so slowly down the sky.
She watched for a full three minutes to make sure.
Was creeping north like a beetle exploring a bowl, losing heart at
times and retreating, then inching forward again. It had been here,
had been over the city, before. Or almost over it, when the wind had
risen--had been taken unawares, as it seemed, and blown away over
the lake; and now it had collected its strength to return, wind or no wind.
So briefly that she was not sure she had really seen it, something
flashed from the monstrous dark flying bulk, a minute pinprick of
light, as though someone in the shadowy skylands behind it had
squeezed an igniter.
Whatever it might be, there was no way for her to stop it. It would
come, or it would not, and she had work to do, as she always did.
Water, quite a lot of it, would have to be pumped to fill the wash
boiler. She picked her way back to the gable, wondering how much
additional damage she had done to a roof by no means tight to begin with.
She would have to carry wood in, enough for a big fire in the
stove. Then she could wash the sheets from the bed she had died in
and hang them out to dry. If Maytera Mint came back (and Maytera
Marble prayed very fervently that she would) she could cook
breakfast for her on the same fire, and Maytera Mint might even
bring friends with her. The men, if there were any, could eat in the
garden; she would carry one of the long tables and some chairs out
of the palaestra for them. Luckily there was still plenty of meat,
though she had cooked some for Villus and given more to his family
when she had carried him home.
She stepped back into the attic and closed the window.
Her sheets would be dry by shadeup. She could iron them and put
them back on her bed. She was still senior sibyl--or rather, was
again senior sibyl, so both rooms were hers, though she probably
ought to move everything into the big one.
Descending the folding steps, she decided that she would leave
them down until she oiled them. She could cut off some fat and boil
it in a saucepan while the wash water was getting hot; the boiler
wouldn't take up the whole stove. By shadeup, the thing in the air
would be back, perhaps; if she stood in the middle of Silver Street
she might be able to see it quite clearly then, if she had time.
Auk felt sure they had been tramping through this tunnel forever,
and that was funny because he could remember when they had
turned off the other one to go down this one that they had been
going down since Pas built the Whorl, Urus spitting blood and
carrying the body, himself behind them in case Urus needed
winnowing out, Dace and Bustard so they could talk to him, then
Patera with the big soldier with the slug gun who had told them how
to walk and made him do it, and last Chenille in Patera's robe, with
Oreb and her launcher. Auk would rather have walked with her and
had tried to, but it was no good.
He looked around at her. She waved friendly, and Bustard and
Dace had gone. He thought of asking Incus and the soldier what had
become of them but decided he didn't want to talk to them, and she
was too far in back for a private chat. Bustard had most likely gone
on ahead to look things over and taken the old man with him. It
would be like Bustard, and if Bustard found something to eat he'd
bring him back some.
Pray to Phaea, Maytera Mint instructed him. Phaea is the food
goddess. Pray to her, Auk, and you will surely be fed. He grinned at
her. "Good to see you, Maytera! I been worried about you." May
every god smile upon you, Auk, this day and every day. Her smile
turned the cold damp tunnel into a palace and replaced the watery
green glow of the crawling light with the golden flood that had
awakened him. Why should you worry about me, Auk? I have
served the gods faithfully since I was fifteen. They will not abandon
me. No one has less reason to worry than I. "Maybe you could get
some god to come down here and walk with us," Auk suggested.
Behind him, Incus protested, "_Auk_, my son!"
He made a rude noise and looked around for Maytera Mint, but
she was gone. For a minute he thought she might have run ahead to
talk to Bustard, then realized that she had gone to fetch a god to
keep him company. That was the way she'd always been. The least
little thing you happened to mention, she'd jump up and do it if she
could.
He was still worried about her, though. If she was going to
Mainframe to fetch a god, she'd have to pass the devils that made
trouble for people on the way, telling lies and pulling them off the
Aureate Path. He should have asked her to go get Phaea. Phaea and
maybe a couple pigs. Jugs would like some ham, and he still had his
hanger and knife. He could kill a pig and cut it up, and dish up her
ham. Shag, he was hungry himself and Jugs couldn't eat a whole pig.
They'd save the tongue for Bustard, he'd always liked pig's tongue.
It was Phaesday, so Maytera would most likely bring Phaea, and
Phaea generally brought at least one pig. Gods generally brought
whatever animal theirs was, or anyhow, pretty often.
Pigs for Phaea. (You had to get them all right if you wanted to
learn the new stuff next year.) Pigs for Phaea and lions or anyhow
cats for Sphinx. Who'd eat a cat? Fish for Scylla, but some fish
would be all right. Little birds for Molpe, and the old 'un had limed
perches for 'em, salted 'em, and made sparrow pie when he'd got
enough. Bats for Tartaros, and owls and moles.
Moles?
Suddenly and unpleasantly it struck Auk that Tartaros was the
underground god, the god for mines and caves. So this was his
place, only Tartaros was supposed to be a special friend of his and
look what had happened to him down here, he had made Tartaros
shaggy mad at him somehow because his head hurt, his head wasn't
right, something kept sliding and slipping up there like a needler
that wouldn't chamber right no matter how much you oiled it and
made sure every last needle was as straight as the sun. He reached
under his tunic for his, but it wasn't right at all-
-was so wrong, in
fact, that it wasn't there, though Maytera Mint was his mother and
in need of him and it.
"Poor Auk! Poor Auk!" Oreb circled above his head. The wind
from his laboring wings stirred Auk's hair, but Oreb would not
settle on his shoulder, and soon flew back to Chenille.
It wasn't there any more and neither was she. Auk wept.
The captain's salute was much smarter than his torn and soiled
green uniform. "My men are in position, My General. My floater is
patrolling. To reinforce the garrison by stealth is no longer possible.
Nor will reinforcement at the point of the sword be possible, until
we are dead."
Bison snorted, tilting back the heavy oak chair that was temporarily his.
Maytera Mint smiled. "Very good, Captain. Thank you. Perhaps
you had better get some rest now."
"I have slept, My General, though not long. I have eaten as well,
as you, I am told, have not. Now I inspect my men at their posts.
When my inspection is complete, perhaps I shall sleep another hour,
with my sergeant to wake me."
"I'd like to go with you," Maytera Mint told him. "Can you wait
five minutes?"
"Certainly, My General. I am honored. But..."
She looked at him sharply. "What is it, Captain? Tell me, please."
"You yourself must sleep, My General, and eat as well. Or you
will be fit for nothing tomorrow."
"I will, later. Please sit down. We're tired, all of us, and you must
be exhausted." She turned back to Bison. "We have a principle in the
Chapter, for sibyls like me and augurs like Patera Silk. Discipline,
it's called, and it comes from an old word for pupil or student. If
you're a teacher, as I am, you must have discipline in the classroom
before you can teach anything. If you don't, they'll be so busy
talking among themselves that they won't hear a thing that you say,
and draw pictures instead of doing the assignment."
Bison nodded.
Recalling an incident from the year before, Maytera Mint smiled
again. "Unless you've _told_ them to draw pictures. If you've told
them to draw, they'll write each other notes."
The captain smoothed his small mustache. "My General. We have
discipline also, we officers and men of the Civil Guard. The word is
the same. The practice, I dare say, not entirely different."
"I know, but I can't use you to patrol the streets and stop the
looting. I wish I could, Captain. It would be very convenient, and no
doubt effective. But to many people the Guard is the enemy. There
would be a rebellion against our rebellion, and that's exactly what
we cannot afford."
She turned back to Bison. "You understand why this is needed,
don't you? Tell me."
"We're robbing ourselves," he said.
His beard made it difficult to read his expression, but she tried
and decided he was uncomfortable. "What you say is true. The
people whose houses and shops are being looted are our people,
too, and if they have to stay there to defend them, they can't fight
for us. But that isn't all, is it? What else did you want to say?"
"Nothing, General."
"You must tell me everything." She wanted to touch him, as she
would have touched one of the children at that moment, but decided
it might be misconstrued. "Telling me everything when I ask you to
is discipline as well, if you like. Are we going to let the Guard be
better than we are?"
Bison did not reply.
"But it's really more important than discipline. Nothing is more
important to us now than my knowing what you think is important.
You and the captain here, and Zoril, and Kingcup, and all the rest."
When he still said nothing, she added, "Do you want us to fail, so
you won't be embarrassed, Bison? That is what is going to happen if
we won't share concerns and information: we will fail the gods and
die. All of us, probably. Certainly I will, because I will fight until
they kill me. What is it?"
"They're burning, too," he blurted. "The burning's worse than the
looting, a lot worse. With this wind, they'll burn down the city if we
don't stop them. And--and..."
"And what?" Maytera Mint nibbled her underlip. "And put out the
fires that are raging all around the city already, of course. You're
right, Bison. You always are." She glanced at the door. "Teasel? Are
you still out there? Come in, please. I need you."
"Yes, Maytera."
"We're telling one another we should rest, Teasel. It seems to be
the convention of this night. You're not exempt. You were quite ill
only a few days ago. Didn't Patera Silk bring you the Peace of Pas?"
Teasel nodded solemnly; she was a slender, pale girl of thirteen,
with delicate features and lustrous black hair. "On Sphixday,
Maytera, and I started getting better right away."
"Sphixday, and this is Hieraxday." Maytera Mint glanced at the
blue china clock on the sideboard. "Thelxday in a few hours, so we'll
call it Thelxday. Even so, less than a week ago you were in
imminent danger of death, and tonight you're running errands for
me when you ought to be in bed. Can you run one more?"
"I'm fine, Maytera."
"Then find Lime. Tell her where I am, and that I want to see her
just as soon as she can get away. Then go home and go to bed.
_Home_, I said. Will you do that, Teasel?"
Teasel curtsied, whirled, and was gone.
"She's a good, sensible girl," Maytera Mint told Bison and the
captain. "Not one of mine. Mine are older, and they're off fighting
or nursing, or they were. Teasel's one of Maytera Marble's, very
likely the best of them."
Both men nodded.
"Captain, I won't keep you waiting much longer. Bison, I had
begun to talk about discipline. I was interrupted, which served me
right for being so long-winded. I was going to say that out of twenty
boys and girls, you can make eighteen good students with discipline.
I can, and you could too. In fact you would probably be better at it
than I am, with a little practice." She sighed, then forced herself to
sit up straight with her shoulders back.
"Of the remaining, two one will never be a good student. He
doesn't have it in him, and all you can do is stop him from unsettling
the others. The other one doesn't need discipline at all, or at least
that's how it seems. Pas's own truth is that he's already disciplined
himself before you ever called the class to order. Do you understand me?"
Bison nodded.
"You're one of those. If you weren't, you wouldn't be my
surrogate now. which you are, you know. If I am killed, you must
take charge of everything."
Bison grinned, big white teeth flashing in the thicket of his black
beard. "The gods love you, General. Your getting killed's one thing
I don't have to worry about."
She waited for a better answer.
"Hierax forbid," Bison said at last. "I'll do my best if it happens."
"I know you will, because you always do. What you have to do is
find others like yourself. We don't have enough time to establ
ish
real discipline, though I wish very much that we did. Choose men
with needlers, won't need slug guns for this--older men, who won't
loot themselves when they're sent to stop looters. Organize them in
groups of four, designate a leader for each group, and have to tell--
"Don't forget this, it's extremely important. Have them tell
everyone they meet that the looting and burning have to stop, and
they'll shoot anyone they find doing either."
She rose. "We'll go Captain. I want to see how you've arranged
this. I've a great deal to learn and very little time to learn it in."
Horn and Nettle, he with a captured slug gun and she with a
needler, had stationed themselves outside the street door.
"Horn, go in the house and find yourself a bed," Maytera Mint
told him. "That is an order. When you wake up, come back here and
relieve Nettle if she's still here. Nettle, I'm going around the
Alambrera with the captain. I'll be back soon."
The wind that chilled her face seemed almost supernatural
after so many months of heat; she murmured thanks to Molpe,
then recalled that the wind was fanning the fires Bison feared,
and that it might--that in some cases it most certainly would--spread
fire from shop to stable to manufactory. That there was a
good chance the whole city would burn while she fought the
Ayuntamiento for it.
"The Ayuntamiento. They aren't divine, Captain."
"I assure you, I have never imagined that they were, My
General." He guided her down a crooked street whose name she
had forgotten, if she had ever known it; around its shuttered store
fronts, the wind whispered of snow.
"Since they aren't," she continued, "they can't possibly resist the
will of the gods for long. It is Echidna's will, certainly. I think we
can be sure it's Scylla's too."
"Also that of Kypris," he reminded her. "Kypris spoke to me, My
General, saying that Patera Silk must be calde. I serve you because
you serve him, him because he serves her."
She had scarcely heard him. "Five old men. Four, if His Cognizance
is right, and no doubt he is. What gives them the courage?"
"I cannot guess, My General. Here is our first post. Do you see it?"
She shook her head.
"Corporal!" the captain called. Hands clapped, and lights kindled
across the street; a gleaming gun barrel protruded from a second-floor