"You mean those sex fiends who orgasm for hours on a fungus drug?" I chipped in.
"Your information is distorted, Yaleen. That is only an aspect." It was his first use of my name; hitherto he had only called me "priestess". Suddenly his voice was full of wonder, as though here at last was the ideal—the climax—for which he had preened and prepared himself, and withheld himself waiting, all his bom days. "To halt time itself, Yaleen! To perceive the Real beneath the flow of Phenomena! Why, you actually turned time back upon itself."
"Sure I did. Which gives us a wee breathing space before most of the human race gets snuffed."
"That too is important," he acknowledged.
"You don't say."
"Your new book won't be printed—not entire. Yet it must be. I'll tell you how. A copy has to be smuggled out."
"Tell us something new," said Peli. "Those guards watch what goes out like snapperfish."
"Merely a practical detail! First, we need a good copy. I shall make it. I pen quickly. Once my copy is clear away from here—"
"You'll send it straight to your crackpot Guild of Seekers," Tam said suspiciously. "And that'll be that."
"No! Everybody must read it. Obviously it can't be printed here in Pecawar. It should be printed in Port Barbra."
"Uh?" said Tam. "No books are ever printed there. They don't know how."
"Hear me out! That's an excellent reason for sending the copy there."
"What, where it can't be printed?"
"Listen to me. All the type for Ajelobo's printing presses is made in Guineamoy. Likewise the type for newssheet presses everywhere. En route here, I stopped over at Guineamoy and made enquiries. I seek truth everywhere, you see! I assess all options. I discussed with a metalsmith the crafting of a special new fount of type—and the cost plus a price for discretion. We agreed; I commissioned the making of the fount."
"You hadn't seen Yaleen's new book then," said Peli. "You're ly- mg.
"We Seekers, in Ajelobo and 'Barbra, wish to print pamphlets privately. Tmth is about to blossom. Such changes recently!"
"Yon bunch of Seekers must have plenty of spare fish to toss around," said Tam.
"In the past—how shall I put this without sounding coarse?— several prosperous patrons have appreciated the erotic aspect of our investigations."
"And burned themselves up in the process, I'll be bound!" I said. "I know about that drug. You're old by thirty if you overdo it. So your Seekers are content to hook rich fools on early death, and buy printing type with the proceeds!"
Stamno's eyes gleamed. "Never mind about that. The whole galaxy might die before its time. In any case I must dissociate the Seekers of Truth from some of the more carnal activities of our own associates—which are best regarded, mind you, as a mask, a guise, a Special Path."
"Path where? To the graveyard?"
"You don't understand. Hear me out. The new type fount will be consigned to Port Barbra. Our associates have great influence over the newssheet in 'Barbra. Necessarily so! They don't want slanderous rumours published about them. The Book of the Stars will be printed in that newly minted typeface—untraceable! It will appear in the form of a flat newssheet of many pages. It won't be elegant and it won't be bound. The paper will be raggier. But it will be shipped everywhere covertly in that disguise—then released simultaneously. After which, you will publicly confirm your authorship."
"If I'm allowed."
"If you aren't, savants in Ajelobo will soon prove by exegesis that it is no forgery."
The confrontation had got completely turned around; and in short order. I began to appreciate the cunning style in which Stamno must have inveigled his way into the good graces of the river guild over a number of years without any 'mistresses suspecting deceitful intent; all for the sake of his ideal. There was a lot about this set-up which I didn't like. But nevertheless . . . and nevertheless, again!
"Okay," I said, "we'll do it."
"That's all very well," said Peli, "but how do we smuggle Stamno's copy out? I can't very well stuff the pages up my whatnot." She nudged Stamno, embarrassing him.
"In pots!" exclaimed Tam. "We'll smuggle it out a part at a time in pots with false bottoms. They're used to seeing me shift pots around, and take them out to the stall."
"Where I'll ensure that they're snapped up promptly," said Stamno. "I'll employ an agent."
"They're used to looking in my pots, too. That's where the false bottom comes in."
"Forgive me if this is a dumb question," said Peli, "but won't the papers bum to a frazzle if you're baking a false bottom over them?"
"No. I'll put them in pots I've already made. I'll fold the sheets tight, wrap them in waxed paper, then tamp clay down on top. I'll just dry the false bottom by hanging the pot over a lamp; and I'll bmsh paint on to look like a glaze. The guards can peer inside to their heart's content. I'll make the necks of the pots too narrow to get their hands down."
Two mornings later, there was a bustle on the river. All the regatta visitors were being packed off home again. (Incidentally, I'd hoped that Hasso might avail himself of the temporary liberty of the waterway to pay me a visit. No such luck; maybe he couldn't afford the fare.) In the midst of these manoeuvres, hoping that they provided a pretty distraction, I sought Donnah and requested a lot more paper.
"Why? Is the book turning out long?"
"Oh yes. Besides, I spoiled oodles of sheets."
"That many? I hadn't noticed."
"I threw them in the river, didn't I? I made paper boats."
Donnah provided paper.
Stamno set to at his scribing task, working in his own cubby-hole of a room which he kept locked without causing comment, since he of course was a friend of the guild. Tam for his part began producing pitchers with narrow necks so that the guards would get used to seeing them. And I rushed to finish my writing.
Quite soon came the day when Chanoose called by to announce that work on the dikes would be completed the following Tauday. The 'jacks were almost home. The prisoners were safely beyond Aladalia, battened down, ready to be freighted over. Another few days, and the water could be pumped out of the dikes.
"What a fine success our regatta was," she cooed at me.
"I couldn't agree more." That was when we had uncovered Stamno and hatched our scheme.
"The number of visits here is falling off, though."
"Yes, I'd noticed." Thank goodness; I'd needed the extra hours.
"It's only to be expected. Price of success, eh? Do you know, we've enrolled almost the whole of Pecawar? Therefore the guild has decided that shortly you should go on a grand progress lasting half a year or so—down south to Tambimatu, first, then all the way north at least to Aladalia."
"But . . . but Tam just came from Aladalia to be with me!"
"Not to worry! With all that expensively gotten clay in his hands, he ought to be as happy as a mud-hopper. You see, people are joining us in the other towns—but your presence on the spot will attract many more. We do want the maximum number safely in the fold before the Godmind attacks, don't we?"
"Yes," I mumbled weakly.
"Good, that's all settled. You can set off on Rhoday next. Women only on the river by then!"
"Rhoday next, eh?" Stamno smoothed the hair lapping his nape. "I've nearly caught up in my copying."
"There's only a tiny bit more," I said. "I'm nearly done."
"We'd better start smuggling tomorrow. Right, Tam?"
Tam was staring at me slack-jawed.
"Half a year or so! What does 'or so' mean? Maybe they'll decide you ought to tour the river permanently. In which case, why did I ever come here?"
"To make pitchers, that's why," replied Stamno. "Pitchers in which to hide paper."
Tam bunched those bony fists of his; for once in his life he looked on the point of striking someone.
"I'll stick by your side," Peli promised me. "You can count on it."
This only made matters worse; Tam smashed his fis
ts together. He pounded his knuckles.
"Stow it!" snapped Stamno. "I don't see this as an ultimate tragedy. If need be, you can always walk home."
"After all this effort they've put into getting the right clay for me, who says as I'll be allowed?"
Stamno disregarded this. "If Yaleen's well away from here when The Book of the Stars appears, and if the river guild get vengeful, and if she happens to be in the general area of Ajelobo or Port Barbra—we Seekers can offer sanctuary."
"I can hide in the forests and be the pet of your cult? Lovely, charming! Just what do you think the guild would do for revenge? Cut my head off?"
Stamno laughed in a dry, rattly way. "We're wasting time in idle speculation. Fact number one: Yaleen is going on a trip. Fact number two: we have work to finish."
"Just a mo," said Peli. "What are you going to be doing after Rhoday next, Stamno?"
"Me? I'll remain here in all innocence and study the writings which Yaleen leaves behind. What else? Thus Tam shall not be entirely bereft of congenial company." Was this some essay at humour?
Tam, bless him, grinned crookedly. "With Peli gone off sailing, I could use another pair of hands at the kiln!"
"Oh dear me," said Stamno.
"I hear you're going away," said Mum. "I think I shall come with you."
"What? How about Dad? He can't sail. He's stuck here, same as Tam."
"I'm not stuck."
For a brief moment I almost hated my mother.
"Your father will be happy with his facts and figures," she continued lightly. "Temple statistics matter more them his spice accounts of old. Though of course those were also important; in their way." Her voice hardened. "I don't have a home any more, except with you, Yaleen. Do you suggest I remain as caretaker of an empty temple? A sort of human dust-sheet?"
"This temple won't be a ghost when I'm gone! If you think so, what price Dad's facts and figures—not to mention his happiness?"
She shrugged. "This trip is different from your other trips, daughter dear. This time you won't be a young woman well able to look after yourself. You're only three years old."
"Peli will be going."
"Is Peli your mother?"
"She's a riverwoman! Um, maybe you and Dad ought to move back to our house while I'm away?"
"And caretake there, for a change? No, Yaleen, I want more. I have a right. Didn't I endure childbirth twice for you?"
"Yes, yes. But look, I really don't see how you can do this to Dad."
"What am I doing?"
"Abandoning him, damn it!"
"Yet it's all right for me to be abandoned?"
"You wouldn't be. You'd be together."
"Since I moved in here, Yaleen, I've become a person of some import. That's a new sensation for me. Your father and I spent years cosseted together. Narya's birth reaffirmed our ties—but it was a false reaffirmation, wasn't it?"
"Have you spoken to Dad about this?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. I thought I'd tell you first. It's my decision, mine alone."
"Mum, this trip mightn't be plain sailing."
"Why ever not? Are we boarding a leaky boat?"
"Life's uncertain. Anything might happen."
"Equally, anything might not happen. We'll just be away half a year, you and I."
"Really made your mind up, haven't you?"
"High time, too! Others have been arranging my life for long enough. You, Chanoose, the guild. Yes, it's time to assert myself— just as you have always done. The mother learns from the daughter." Mum smiled benevolently; it was such a smile as 1 had seen on Chanoose's face.
"Assert? I don't know that I've been in much of a position to do that lately."
"Opinions might vary on that score. People seem to be forever running errands for you. All the way from Aladalia and Ajelobo. Building dikes, goodness knows what else. Now let's do something for my benefit, shall we? In turn I can help you assert yourself more effectively."
This business has all gone to your head, I thought to myself. You ve become a dowager, from out of a story book. . . .
Again, that smile. "Do you know, daughter, I haven't travelled anywhere significant since my wanderweeks all those years ago. Now I shall."
"But. . . ." But I don't want you on that boat. I'm not really a child. Your presence will make me into one! You 'll diminish me. You 'll elbow out Peli who s my true ally.
I couldn't bring myself to say any of this. She was my mother, after all. My mum twice over.
It was early on a Newday morning. In just twenty-four hours we were due to sail—me, Mum, Peli, Donnah, and assorted guards— aboard a schooner, the Crackerjill, which had been placed entirely at our disposal. First port of call: Gangee.
Almost the whole of Stamno's copy of The Book of the Stars had already been smuggled out of the temple at the bottom of various pitchers. The previous evening, I had finished the last few pages—for Stamno to copy, and Tam to encase in clay. The job would have been completed overnight.
I was sitting on the top step of the marble stairway which led down to Pemba Avenue. I was hugging my knees as I watched the world go by to work. Quite a few people waved to me; I smiled and ducked my head at them. Guardswoman Bartha loitered a few paces behind, keeping an eye.
I heard voices from the entry hall: Tam's—and Mela's. Mela was another guard.
"Let's have a look, then," she was saying.
"Oh, you've seen the like of these before." Tam sounded perfectly casual.
I looked round. He had one pitcher in his hand and another tucked under his arm.
"Just so," said Mela. "I've been thinking how that style's rather ugly for a hot-shot potter—specially now that you have the super clay to make true porcelain."
"I've had to keep my hand in."
"You couldn't even get a hand in one of those. How do you clean it? I wouldn't buy a jug I couldn't clean."
"It isn't a jug. It's a pitcher. You just swill it out."
"Yet most days lately I've seen you take a couple of those down to yon stall; where they certainly don't gather dust. They're grabbed almost before you can say £«-store."
"That's gratifying to hear."
"Oh, didn't you know?"
I didn't dare continue watching, in case I seemed anxious. Perhaps it was time to arrange a little diversion? Such as Yaleen tumbling downstairs?
"Let's take a closer look at these much-desired items, shall we?"
I heard fumbling, stamping—then a splintering crash. "Oh shit!" cried Tam.
I jerked round. The pitcher from under his arm lay shattered.
"Look what you've gone and done!" he bellowed. But he didn't sound panicked.
"That's exactly what I'm doing: looking." Mela toed the fragments with her boot, sorting them about.
Ah. The broken pitcher had been a decoy. Tam had dropped it deliberately.
I jumped up. "Hey, you! Mela!"
Bartha clamped a hand on my shoulder, suppressing me.
"Now let's break the other one," suggested Mela silkily.
"Oh come on," growled Tam. "What do you think you're playing at?" But his cheeks had flushed.
"Guild security," said Mela. She snatched at the pitcher in his hand. Tam jerked it away. She grabbed again. He swung it high out of reach.
Then the incredible happened. To extend her reach, Mela unsheathed her machete and slashed at the pitcher. The target clove in half, leaving Tam clutching the neck. The base flew away in my direction, smashing on the floor. Potsherds lay scattered—and amidst them a slab of uncooked clay, with an edge of waxed paper sticking out. Bartha's hand became a vice on my shoulder.
"What's that?" exulted Mela.
Tam lost his cool. Discarding the top of the pitcher he dived to secure the waxed package. Mela also dived. The machete, which was still in her hand, was a part of her hand. It was the reach she lacked. As Tam's fingers closed around the clay-wadded paper, Mela's hand descended fiercely. The machete blade chopped Tam's wrist an
d stuck in the floor.
Pulsing squirts of blood spouted—over a hand which lay severed. Tam's blood was pumping from a stump. Mela's machete had sliced right through flesh, muscle and bone.
Tam didn't howl. Maybe he couldn't feel any pain yet. Maybe the pain was blotted out by the sight before his eyes. He lay sprawled, staring madly at his potter's right hand—and his wrist-stump spurting life-blood.
Mela sprawled too. She still held her weapon, with the edge buried like a cleaver in a butcher's block. Her teeth were chattering crazily.
No, Tam didn't howl. But I did. And what I was howling was, "Current! Current! Madden Mela! Kill her! Send her to the Earth!"
No such thing happened. The Worm didn't rear itself in Mela's mind. (And maybe this was just as well. Who wants a priestess who can frenzy you and slay you when she fancies, with a chant of hatred?) Nor did my frantic wrenching release me from Bartha's grasp. But my cries alerted the temple. Feet came running.
Donnah took in the scene in a trice. "Tourniquet!" she screamed. Tearing her own belt free, she ripped Tam's sleeve away and began binding the belt above his elbow. "Another one! Wads! Bandage!" Within moments Donnah was tightening somebody else's belt just below Tam's shoulder. I'd run out of breath to howl by now—and he, I think, had fainted. "Salve! And clay! Wet clay to plaster on!"
Presently Donnah rose. Mela hovered nearby, brandishing the waxed package. Her blade stayed stuck in the floor. She thrust her discovery at Donnah.
"Here! He was trying to sneak this out. It was buried in clay at the bottom of the jug. When the jug got smashed he tried to snatch it. He would have run off with it. So I had to .... It was an accident, Donnah: his hand. I swear it."
Donnah accepted the package. She ripped it open, unfolded the sheets written in Stamno's hand and scanned them. "So," she said.
"It was an accident." Mela's voice pleaded. "That thing's important, isn't it?"
"Yes. But you . . . exceeded all bounds. And in front of her! Get out of my sight, Mela!"
Mela fled.
A wide board from a trestle table was brought. Tam was eased on to this. By now he was moaning and shivering. Tremors racked his body. Two guards bore him away, within.
Donnah approached me slowly, and knelt to be on a level with me. "I think we've saved him, Yaleen."
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