by Gene Wolfe
“I was going to kick her. I didn’t, but if I had I’d probably have killed her. I kicked a man to death, once. That was part of what I told Patera Pike.”
Silk nodded, forcing his eyes away from Auk’s boots. “If Patera brought you pardon, you need not repeat that to me; and if you refrained from kicking the unfortunate woman, you have earned the favor of the gods—of Scylla and her sisters particularly—by your self-restraint.”
Auk sighed. “Then that’s all I’ve done, Patera, since last time. Solved those houses and beat on Chenille. And I wouldn’t have, Patera, if I hadn’t of seen she wanted it for rust. Or anyhow I don’t think I would have.”
“You understand that it’s wrong to break into houses, Auk. You must, or you wouldn’t have told me about it. It is wrong, and when you enter a house to rob it, you might easily be killed, in which case you would die with the guilt upon you. That would be very bad. I want you to promise me that you will look for some better way to live. Will you do that, Auk? Will you give me your word?”
“Yes, Patera, I swear I will. I’ve already been doing it. You know, buying things and selling them. Like that.”
Silk decided it would be wiser not to ask what sorts of things these were, or how the sellers had gotten them. “The woman you beat, Auk. You said she used rust. Am I to take it that she was an immoral woman?”
“She’s not any worse than a lot of others, Patera. She’s at Orchid’s place.”
Silk nodded to himself. “Is that the sort of place I imagine?”
“No, Patera, it’s about the best. They don’t allow any fighting or anything like that, and everything’s real clean. Some of Orchid’s girls have even gone uphill.”
“Nevertheless, Auk, you shouldn’t go to places of that kind. You’re not bad looking, you’re strong, and you have some education. You’d have no difficulty finding a decent girl, and a decent girl might do you a great deal of good.”
Auk stirred, and Silk sensed that the kneeling man was looking at him, although he did not permit his own eyes to leave the picture of Scylla. “You mean the kind that has you shrive her, Patera? You wouldn’t want one of them to take up with somebody like me. You’d tell her she deserved somebody better. Shag yes, you would!”
For a moment it seemed to Silk that the weight of the whole whorl’s folly and witless wrong had descended on his shoulders. “Believe me, Auk, many of those girls will marry men far, far worse than you.” He drew a deep breath. “As penance for the evil you have done, Auk, you are to perform three meritorious acts before this time tomorrow. Shall I explain to you the nature of meritorious acts?”
“No, Patera. I remember, and I’ll do them.”
“That’s well. Then I bring to you, Auk, the pardon of all the gods. In the name of Great Pas, you are forgiven. In the name of Echidna, you are forgiven. In the name of Scylla, you are forgiven…” Soon the moment would come. “And in the name of the Outsider and all lesser gods, you are forgiven, by the power entrusted to me.”
There was no objection from Auk. Silk traced the sign of addition in the air above his head.
“Now it’s my turn, Auk. Will you shrive me, as I shrove you?”
The two men changed places.
Silk said, “Cleanse me, friend, for I am in sore danger of death, and I may give offense to Pas and to other gods.”
Auk’s hand touched his shoulder. “I’ve never did this before, Patera. I hope I get it right.”
“Tell me…” Silk prompted.
“Yeah. Tell me, Patera, so that I can bring you the forgiveness of Pas from the well of bottomless mercy.”
“I may have to break into a house tonight, Auk. I hope that I won’t have to; but if the owner won’t see me, or won’t do what a certain god—the Outsider, Auk, you may know of him—wishes him to do, then I’ll try to compel him.”
“Whose—”
“If he sees me alone, I intend to threaten his life unless he does as the god requires. But to be honest, I doubt that he’ll see me at all.”
“Who is this, Patera? Who’re you going to threaten?”
“Are you looking at me, Auk? You’re not supposed to.”
“All right, now I’m looking away. Who is this, Patera? Whose house is it?”
“There’s no need for me to tell you that, Auk. Forgive me my intent, please.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, my son,” Auk said, getting into the spirit of his role. “I got to know who this is, and why you’re going to do it. Maybe you won’t be running as big of a risk as you think you are, see? I’m the one that has to judge that, ain’t I?”
“Yes,” Silk admitted.
“And I see why you looked for me, ’cause I can do it better than anybody. Only I got to know, ’cause if this’s just some candy, I got to tell you to go to a real augur after you scrape out, and forget about me. There’s houses and then there’s Houses. So who is it and where is it, Patera?”
“His name is Blood,” Silk said, and felt Auk’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “I assume that he lives somewhere on the Palatine. He has a private floater, at any rate, and employs a driver for it.”
Auk grunted.
“I think that he must be dangerous,” Silk continued. “I sense it.”
“You win, Patera. I got to shrive you. Only you got to tell me all about it, too. I need to know what’s going on here.”
“The Ayuntamiento has sold this man our manteion.”
Silk heard Auk’s exhalation.
“It was bringing in practically nothing, you realize. The income from the manteion is supposed to balance the loss from the palaestra; tutorage doesn’t cover our costs, and most of the parents are behind anyway. Ideally there should be enough left over for Juzgado’s taxes, but our Window’s been empty now for a very long while.”
“Must be others doing better,” Auk suggested.
“Yes. Considerably better in some cases, though it’s been many years since a god has visited any Window in the city.”
“Then they—the augurs there—could give you a little something, Patera.”
Silk nodded, remembering his mendicant expeditions to those solvent manteions. “They have indeed helped at times, Auk. I’m afraid that the Chapter has decided to put an end to that. It’s turned our manteion over to the Juzgado in lieu of our unpaid taxes, and the Ayuntamiento has sold the property to this man Blood. That’s how things appear, at least.”
“We all got to pay the counterman come shadeup,” Auk muttered diplomatically.
“The people need us, Auk. The whole quarter does. I was hoping that if you—never mind. I intend to steal our manteion back tonight, if I can, and you must shrive me for that.”
The seated man was silent for a moment. At length he said, “The city keeps records on houses and so on, Patera. You go to the Juzgado and slip one of those clerks a little something, and they call up the lot number on their glass. I’ve done it. The monitor gives you the name of the buyer, or anyhow whoever’s fronting for him.”
“So that I could verify the sale, you mean.”
“That’s it, Patera. Make sure you’re right about all this before you get yourself killed.”
Silk felt an uncontrollable flood of relief. “I’ll do as you suggest, provided that the Juzgado’s still open.”
“They wouldn’t be, Patera. They close there about the same time as the market.”
It was hard for him to force himself to speak. “Then I must proceed. I must act tonight.” He hesitated while some frightened portion of his mind battered the ivory walls that confined it. “Of course this may not be the Blood you know, Auk. There must be a great many people of that name. Could Blood—the Blood you know—buy our manteion? It must be worth twenty thousand cards or more.”
“Ten,” Auk muttered. “Twelve, maybe, only he probably got it for the taxes. What’s he look like, Patera?”
“A tall, heavy man. Angry looking, I’d say, although it may only have been that his face was flushed. There are wide bon
es under his plump cheeks, or so I’d guess.”
“Lots of rings?”
Silk struggled to recall the prosperous-looking man’s fat, smooth hands. “Yes,” he said. “Several, at least.”
“Could you smell him?”
“Are you asking whether he smelled bad? No, certainly not. In fact—”
Auk grunted. “What was it?”
“I have no idea, but it reminded me of the scented oil—no doubt you’ve noticed it—in the lamp before Scylla, in our manteion. A sweet, heavy odor, not quite so pungent as incense.”
“He calls it musk rose,” Auk said dryly. “Musk’s a buck that works for him.”
“It is the Blood you know, then.”
“Yeah, it is. Now be quiet a minute, Patera. I got to remember the words.” Auk rocked back and forth. There was a faint noise like the grating of sand on a shiprock floor as he rubbed his massive jaw. “As a penance for the evil that you’re getting ready to do, Patera, you got to perform two or three meritorious acts I’ll tell you about tonight.”
“That is too light a penance,” Silk protested.
“Don’t weigh feathers with me, Patera, ’cause you don’t know what they are yet. You’re going to do ’em, ain’t you?”
“Yes, Auk,” Silk said humbly.
“That’s good. Don’t forget. All right, then I bring to you, Patera, the pardons of all the gods. In the name of Great Pas, you’re forgiven. In the name of Echidna, you’re forgiven. In the name of Scylla, of Molpe, of Tartaros, of Hierax, of Thelxiepeia, of Phaea, of Sphigx, and of all the lesser gods, you’re forgiven, Patera, by the powers trusted to me.”
Silk traced the sign of addition, hoping that the big man was doing the same over his head.
The big man cleared his throat. “Was that all right?”
“Yes,” Silk said, rising. “It was very good indeed, for a layman.”
“Thanks. Now about Blood. You say you’re going to solve his place, but you don’t even know where it is.”
“I can ask directions when I reach the Palatine.” Silk was dusting his knees. “Blood isn’t a particular friend of yours, I hope.”
Auk shook his head. “It ain’t there. I been there a time or two, and that gets us to one of those meritorious acts that you just now promised me about. You got to let me take you there.”
“If it isn’t inconvenient—”
“It’s shaggy—excuse me, Patera. Yeah, it’s going to put me out by a dog’s right, only you got to let me do it anyhow, if you really go to Blood’s. If you don’t, you’ll get lost sure trying to find it. Or somebody’ll know you, and that’ll be worse. But first you’re going to give Blood a whistle on my glass over there, see? Maybe he’ll talk to you, or if he wants to see you he might even send somebody.”
Auk strode across the room and clapped his hands; the monitor’s colorless face rose from the depths of the glass.
“I want Blood,” Auk told it. “That’s the buck that’s got the big place off the old Palustria Road.” He turned to Silk. “Come over here, Patera. You stand in front of it. I don’t want ’em to see me.”
Silk did as he was told. He had talked through glasses before (there had been one in the Prelate’s chambers at the schola), though not often. Now he discovered that his mouth was dry. He licked his lips.
“Blood is not available, sir,” the monitor told him imperturbably. “Would someone else do?”
“Musk, perhaps,” Silk said, recalling the name Auk had mentioned.
“It will be a few minutes, I fear, sir.”
“I’ll wait for him,” Silk said. The glass faded to an opalescent gray.
“You want to sit, Patera?” Auk was pushing a chair against the backs of his calves.
Silk sat down, murmuring his thanks.
“I don’t think that was too smart, asking for Musk. Maybe you know what you’re doing.”
Still watching the glass, Silk shook his head. “You had said he worked for Blood, that’s all.”
“Don’t tell him you’re with me. All right?”
“I won’t.”
Auk did not speak again, and the silence wrapped itself about them. Like the silence of the Windows, Silk thought, the silence of the gods: pendant, waiting. This glass of Auk’s was rather like a Window; all glasses were, although they were so much smaller. Like the Windows, glasses were miraculous creations of the Short-Sun days, after all. What was it Maytera Marble had said about them?
Maytera herself, the countless quiescent soldiers that the Outsider had revealed, and in fact all similar persons—all chems of whatever kind—were directly or otherwise marvels of the inconceivably inspired Short-Sun Whorl, and in time (soon, perhaps) would be gone. Their women rarely conceived children, and in Maytera’s case it was quite …
Silk shook his shoulders, reminding himself severely that in all likelihood Maytera Marble would long outlive him—that he might be dead before shadeup, unless he chose to ignore the Outsider’s instructions.
The monitor reappeared. “Would you like me to provide a few suggestions while you’re waiting, sir?”
“No, thank you.”
“I might straighten your nose just a trifle, sir, and do something regarding a coiffeur. You would find that of interest, I believe.”
“No,” Silk said again; and added, as much to himself as to the monitor, “I must think.”
Swiftly the monitor’s gray face darkened. The entire glass seemed to fall away. Black, oily-looking hair curled above flashing eyes from which Silk tore his own in horror.
As a swimmer bursts from a wave and discovers himself staring at an object he has not chosen—at the summer sun, perhaps, or a cloud or the top of a tree—Silk found that he was looking at Musk’s mouth, lips as feverishly red and fully as delicate as any girl’s.
To damp his fear, he told himself that he was waiting for Musk to speak; and when Musk did not, he forced himself to speak instead. “My name is Patera Silk, my son.” His chin was trembling; before he spoke again, he clenched his teeth. “Mine is the Sun Street manteion. Or I should say it isn’t, which is what I must see Blood about.”
The handsome boy in the glass said nothing and gave no sign of having heard. In order that he might not be snared by that bright and savage stare again, Silk inventoried the room in which Musk stood. He could glimpse a tapestry and a painting, a table covered with bottles, and two elaborately inlaid chairs with padded crimson backs and contorted legs.
“Blood has purchased our manteion,” he found himself explaining to one of the chairs. “By that I mean he’s paid the taxes, I suppose, and they have turned the deed over to him. It will be very hard on the children. On all of us, to be sure, but particularly on the children, unless some other arrangement can be made. I have several suggestions to offer, and I’d like—”
A trooper in silvered conflict armor had appeared at the edge of the glass. As he spoke to Musk, Silk realized with a slight shock that Musk hardly reached the trooper’s shoulder. “A new bunch at the gate,” the trooper said.
Hurriedly, Silk began, “I’m certain for your sake—or for Blood’s, I mean—that an accommodation of some sort is still possible. A god, you see—”
The handsome boy in the glass laughed and snapped his fingers, and the glass went dark.
Chapter 4
NIGHTSIDE
It had been late already when they had left the city. Beyond the black streak of the shade, the skylands had been as clear and as bright as Silk (who normally retired early and rose at shadeup) had ever seen them; he stared at them as he rode, his thoughts drowned in wonder. Here were nameless mountains filling inviolate valleys to the rim with their vast, black shadows. Here were savannah and steppe, and a coastal plain ringing a lake that he judged must certainly be larger than Lake Limna—all these doming the gloomy sky of night while they themselves were bathed in sunlight.
As they had walked the dirty and dangerous streets of the Orilla, Auk had remarked, “There’s strange things happen
nightside, Patera. I don’t suppose you know it, but that’s the lily word anyhow.”
“I do know,” Silk had assured him. “I shrive, don’t forget, so I hear about them. Or at least I’ve heard a few very strange stories that I can’t relate. You must have seen the things as they occurred, and that must be stranger still.”
“What I was going to say,” Auk had continued, “was that I never heard about any that was any stranger than this, what you’re going to do, or try to do. Or seen anything stranger, either.”
Silk had sighed. “May I speak as an augur, Auk? I realize that a great many people are offended by that, and Our Gracious Phaea knows I don’t want to offend you. But this once may I speak?”
“If you’re going to say something you wouldn’t want anybody to hear, why, I wouldn’t.”
“Quite the contrary,” Silk had declared, perhaps a bit too fervently. “It’s something that I wish I could tell the whole city.”
“Keep your voice down, Patera, or you will.”
“I told you a god had spoken to me. Do you remember that?”
Auk had nodded.
“I’ve been thinking about it as we walked along. To tell the truth, it’s not easy to think about anything else. Before I spoke to—to that unfortunate Musk. Well, before I spoke to him, for example, I ought to have been thinking over everything that I wanted to say to him. But I wasn’t, or not very much. Mostly I was thinking about the Outsider; not so much what he had said to me as what it had been like to have him speaking to me at all, and how it had felt.”
“You did fine, Patera.” Auk had, to Silk’s surprise, laid a hand on his shoulder. “You did all right.”
“I don’t agree, though I won’t argue with you now. What I wanted to say was that there is really nothing strange at all about what I’m doing, or about your helping me to do it. Does the sun ever go out, Auk? Does it ever wink out as you or I might snuff out a lamp?”
“I don’t know, Patera. I never thought about it. Does it?”
Silk had not replied, continuing in silence down the muddy street, matching Auk stride for stride.
“I guess it don’t. You couldn’t see them skylands up there nightside, if it did.”
