by Gene Wolfe
of, er, Patera Calde?"
"I want you to compose a circular letter, Patera. You have nearly
six hours. It should be more than enough. I'll sign it when we're
through in the Grand Manteion." Quetzal stared down at the
stagnant brown liquid in his cup.
"To all the clergy, Your Cognizance?"
"Emphasize our holy duty to bring comfort to the wounded and
the Final Formula to the dying. Imply, but don't say--" Quetzal
paused, inspired.
"Yes, Your Cognizance?"
"That Lemur's death ends the claim to rule the councillors had in
the past. You say you know Patera Calde Silk?"
Remora nodded. "I conversed with him at some--ah--extensively
Scylsday evening, Your Cognizance. We discussed the financial--um--trials
of his manteion, and--ah--various other matters."
"I don't, Patera. But I've read every report in his file, those of his
instructors and those of his predecessor. Thus my recommendation.
Diligent, sensitive, intelligent, and pious. Impatient, as is to be
expected at his age. Respectful, which you now confirm. A tireless
worker, a point his instructor in theonomy was at pains to emphasize.
Pliable. During the past few days, he's become immensely
popular. Should he succeed in subjugating the Ayuntamiento, he's
apt to remain so for a year or more. Perhaps much longer. Charteral
government by a young augur who'll need seasoned advisors to
remain in office..."
"Indeed, Your Cognizance." Remora nodded energetically. "The
same--ah--intuition had occurred tome."
With his cup, Quetzal gestured toward the nearest window. "We
suffer a change in weather, Patera."
"An, um, profound one, Your Cognizance."
"We must acclimate ourselves to it. That's why I asked if young
Incus swam. If you can reach him, tell him to strike out boldly. Have
I made myself clear?"
Remora nodded again. "I will, um, strive to render the Chapter's
wholehearted endorsement of an--ah--lawful and holy government
apparent, Your Cognizance."
"Then go. Compose that letter."
"If the Alambrera doesn't--ah--hey?"
There was no indication that Quetzal had heard. Remora left his
chair and backed away, at length closing the door behind him.
Quetzal rose, and an observer (had there been one) might have
been more than a little surprised to see that shrunken figure grown
so tall. As if on wheels, he glided across the room and threw open
the broad casement that overlooked his garden. admitting pounding
rain and a gust of wind that made his mulberry robe stand out
behind him like a banner.
For some while he remained before the window, motionless,
cosmetics streaming from his face in rivulets of pink and buff, while
he contemplated the tamarind he had caused to be planted there
twenty years previously. It was taller already than many buildings
called lofty; its glossy, rain-washed leaves brushed the windowframe
and now even, by the width of a child's hand, sidled into his
bedchamber like so many timid sibyls, confident of welcome yet
habitually shy. Their parent tree, nourished by his own efforts, was
of more than sufficient size now, and a fount of joy to him: a
sheltering presence, a memorial of home, the highroad to freedom.
Quetzal crossed the room and barred the door, then threw off his
sodden robe. Even in this downpour the tree was safer, though he
could fly.
The looming presence of the cliff slid over Auk as he sat in the bow,
and with it a final whistling gust of icy rain. He glanced up at the
beetling rock, then trained his needler on the augur standing to the
halyard. "This time you didn't try anything. See how flash you're
getting?" The storm had broken at shadeup and showed no signs of
slackening.
Chenille snapped, "Steer for that," and pointed. Chill tricklings
from her limp crimson hair merged into a rivulet between her full
breasts to flood her naked loins.
At the tiller, the old fisherman touched his cap. "Aye, aye,
Scaldin' Scylla."
They had left Limna on Molpsday night. From shadeup to
shadelow, the sun had been a torrent of white fire across a dazzling
sky; the wind, fair and strong at morning, had veered and died away
to a breeze, to an occasional puff, and by the time the market
closed, to nothing. Most of that afternoon Auk had spent in the
shadow of the sail, Chenille beneath the shelter of the half deck; he
and she, like the augur, had gotten badly sunburned just the same.
Night had brought a new wind, foul for their destination.
Directed by the old fisherman and commanded to hold ever closer
by the major goddess possessing Chenille, they had tacked and
tacked and tacked again, Auk and the augur bailing frantically on
every reach and often sick, the boat heeling until it seemed the
gunnel must go under, a lantern swinging crazily from the masthead
and crashing into the mast each time they went about, going out half
a dozen times and leaving the three weary men below in deadly fear
of ramming or being rammed in the dark.
Once the augur had attempted to snatch Auk's needler from his
waistband. Auk had beaten and kicked him, and thrown him over
the side into the churning waters of the lake, from which the old
fisherman had by a miracle of resource and luck rescued him with a
boathook. Shadeup had brought a third wind, this out of the
southeast, a storm-wind driving sheet after gray sheet of slanting
rain before it with a lash of lightning.
"Down sail!" Chenille shrieked. "Loose that, you idiot! Drop the
yard!"
The augur hurned to obey; he was perhaps ten years senior to
Auk, with protruding teeth and small, soft hands that had begun to
bleed almost before they had left Limna.
After the yard had crashed down, Auk turned in his seat to peer
forward at their destination, seeing nothing but rainwet stone and
evoking indignant squawks from the meager protection of his legs.
"Come on out," he told Silk's bird. "We're under a cliff here."
"No out!"
Dry by comparison though the foot of the cliff was, and shielded
from the wind, it seemed colder than the open lake, reminding Auk
forcibly that the new summer tunic he had worn to Limna was
soaked, his baggy trousers soaked too, and his greased riding boots
full of water.
The narrow inlet up which they glided became narrower yet,
damp black rock to left and right rising fifty cubits or more above
the masthead. Here and there a freshet, born of the storm,
descended in a slender line of silver to plash noisily into the quiet
water. The cliffs united overhead, and the iron mast-cap scraped stone.
"She'll go," Chenille told the old fisherman confidently. "The
ceiling's higher farther in."
"I'd 'preciate ter raise up that mains'l ag'in, ma'am," the old
fisherman remarked almost conversationally, "an' undo them reefs.
It'll rot if it don't dry."
Chenille ignored him; Auk gestured toward the sail and stood to
the halyard with the augur, eager for any exercise that might warm
him.
Oreb hopped onto the gunnel to look about and fluff his damp
feathers. "Bird wet!" They were gliding past impressive tanks of
white-painted metal, their way nearly spent.
"A _Sacred Window!_ It _is!_ There's a Window and an altar
_right there!_ Look!" The augur's voice shook with joy, and he released
the halyard. Auk's kick sent him sprawling.
"Got ter break out sweeps, ma'am, if there's more channel."
"Mind your helm. Lay alongside the Window." To the augur
Chenille added, "Have you got your knife?"
He shook his head miserably.
"Your sword then," she told Auk. "Can you sacrifice?"
"I've seen it done, Surging Scylla, and I got a knife in my boot.
That might work better." As daring as Remora, Auk added, "But a
bird? I didn't think you liked birds."
"That?" She spat into the water.
A fender of woven cordage thumped, then ground against stone.
Their side lay within a cubit of the natural quay on which the tanks
and the Window stood. "Tie us up." Chenille pointed to the augur.
"You, too! No, the stern, you idiot. He'll take the bow."
Auk made the halyard fast, then sprang out onto the stone quay.
It was wet, and so slimed that he nearly fell; in the watery light of
the cavern, he failed to make out the big iron ring at his feet until he
stepped on it.
The augur had found his ring sooner. He straightened up. "I--I
_am_ an _augur_, Savage Scylla. I've sacrificed to you and to all
the Nine _many times_. I'd be _delighted_, Savage Scylla. With his
knife..."
"Bad bird," Oreb croaked. "Gods hate." He flapped his injured
wing as if to judge how far it might carry him.
Chenille bounded onto the slippery stone and crooked a finger at
the old fisherman. "You. Come up here."
"I oughter--"
"You ought to do what you're told, or I'll have my thug kill you
straight off."
It was a relief to Auk to draw his needler again, a return to
familiar ground.
"_Scylla!_" the augur gasped. "A _human being?_ Really--"
She whirled to confront him. "What were you doing on my boat?
"Who sent you?"
"Bad cut," Oreb assured her.
The augur drew a deep breath. "I am H-his _Eminence's_
prothonotary." He smoothed his sopping robe as if suddenly conscious of his
bedraggled appearance. "H-his E-e-eminence desired me to _l-locate_
a particular y-y-young woman--"
Auk trained his needler on him.
"Y-you. Tall, red hair and so forth. I _didn't_ know it was you,
Savage Scylla." He swallowed and added desperately, "H-his interest
was ha-wholly friendly. H-his Eminence--"
"You are to be congratulated, Patera." Chenille's voice was
smooth and almost courteous; she had an alarming habit of remaining
immobile in attitudes no mere human being could have maintained for
more than a few seconds, and she did so now, her pivoting
head and glaring eyes seemingly the only living pans of her lush
body. "You have succeeded splendidly. Perhaps you identified the
previous occupant? You say this woman," she touched her chest,
"was described to you?"
The augur nodded rapidly. "_Yes_, Savage Scylla. Fiery hair
and--and s-skill with a _knife_ and..."
Chenille's eyes had rolled backward into her skull. until only the
whites could be seen. "Your Eminence. Silk addressed him like that.
You attended my graduation, Your Eminence."
The augur said hurriedly, "He wished me to _assure_ her of our
submission. Of the _Chapter's_. To offer our _advise_ and
_support_, and declare our _loyalty_. Information H-his Eminence
had received indicated that--that you'd _g-gone_ to the lake with
Patera Silk. His Eminence is Patera's _superior_. He--I--we
declare our _undying_ loyalty, Savage Scylla."
"To Kypris."
There was that in Chenille's tone which rendered the words
unanswerable. The augur could only stare at her.
"Bad man," Oreb announced virtuously. "Cut?"
"An augur? I hadn't considered it, but..."
The old fisherman hawked and spat. "If'n you're really Scaldin'
Scylla, ma'am, I'd like ter say somethin'." He wiped his grizzled
mustache on the back of his hand.
"I am Scylla. Be quick. We must sacrifice now if we're to sacrifice
at all. My slave will arrive soon."
"I been prayin' and sacrificin' ter you all my life. You an' your pa's
the only ones us fishermen pay mind to. I'm not sayin' you owe me
anythin'. I got my boat, an' I had a wife and raised the boys. Always
made a livin'. What I'm wantin' ter say is when I go you'll be losin'
one of your own. It's goin' ter be one less here for you an' ol' Pas.
Maybe you figure I took you 'cause the big feller's got his stitchin'
gun. Fact is, I'd of took you anywheres on the lake soon as I knowed
who you was."
"I must reintegrate myself in Mainframe," Chenille told him.
"There may be new developments. Are you through?"
"Pretty nigh. The big feller, he does anythin' you want him, just
like what I'd do in his britches. Only he b'longs ter Hierax, ma'am."
Auk started.
"Not ter you nor your pa neither. He maybe don't know it hisself,
but he do. His bird an' that needler he's got, an' the big hangersword,
an' his knife what he tells he's got in his boots, they all show
it. You got ter know it better'n me. As fer this augur you're gettin'
set ter offer me up, I fished him out O' the lake last night, and t'other
day I seen another fished up. They do say--"
"Describe him."
"Yes'm." The old fisherman considered. "You was down in the
cuddy then, I guess. When they'd got him out, I seen him look over
our way. Lookin' at the bird, seemed like. Pretty young. Tall as the
big feller. Yeller hair--"
"Silk!" Auk exclaimed.
"Pulled out of the water, you said?"
The fisherman nodded. "Scup's boat. I've knowed Scup thirty year."
"You may be right," Chenille told him. "You may be too valuable
to sacrifice, and one old man is nothing anyway."
She strode toward the Window before whirling to face them
again. "Pay attention to what I say, all three of you. In a moment,
I'll depart from this whore. My divine essence will pass from her
into the Sacred Window that I have caused to be put here, and be
reintegrated with my greater divine self in Mainframe. Do you
understand me? All of you?"
Auk nodded mutely The augur knelt, his head bowed.
"Kypris, my mortal enemy and the enemy of my mother, my
brothers, and my sisters--of our whole family, in fact--has been
mischief-making here in Viron. Already she seems to have won to
her side the meager fdol this idiot--What's your name, anyhow?"
"Incus, Savage Scylla. I-I'm Patera _Incus_."
"The fool this idiot calls His Eminence. I don't doubt that she
intends to win over my Prolocutor and my Ayuntamiento too, if she
can. The four of you, I include the whore after I'm through with her,
are to see to
it that she fails. Use threats and force and the power of
my name. Kill anyone you need to, it won't be held against you. If
Kypris returns, do something to get my attention. Fifty or a hundred
children should catch my eye, and Viron's got plenty to spare."
She glared at each man in turn. "Questions? Let's hear them now,
if there are any. Objections?"
Oreb croaked in his throat, one bright black eye trained warily
upon her.
"Good. You're my prophets henceforth. Keep Viron loyal, and
you'll have my favor. Believe nothing Kypris may tell you. My slave
should be here shortly. He'll carry you there, and assist you. See the
Prolocutor and talk to the commissions in the Juzgado. Tell
everyone who'll listen about me. Tell them everything I've said to
you. I'd hoped that the Ayuntamiento's boat would be in this dock.
It usually is. It isn't today, so you'll have to see the councillors for
me. The old man can bring you back here. Tell them I mean to sink
their boat and drown them all in my lake if my city goes over to Kypris."
Incus stammered, "A th-theophany, S-savage S-s-scylla, w-would--"
"Not convince your councillors. They think themselves too wise.
Theophanies may be useful, however. Reintegrated, I may consider them."
She strode to the damp stone altar and sprang effonlessly to its top.
"I had this built so your Ayuntamiento might offer private
sacrifices and, when I chose, confer with me. Not a trace of ash!
They'll pay for that as well.
"You." She pointed to Auk. "This augur Silk's plotting to overthrow
them for Kypris. Help him, but show him where his duty lies.
If he can't see it, kill him. You've my permission to rule yourself as
my Calde in that case. The idiot here can be Prolocutor under
similar circumstances, I suppose."
She faced the Window and knelt. Auk knelt, too, pulling the
fisherman down. (Incus was kneeling already.) Clearing his throat,
Auk began the prayer that he had bungled upon the Pilgrims' Way,
when Scylla had revealed her divine identity. "Behold us, lovely
Scylla, woman of the waters--"
Incus and the fisherman joined in. "Behold our love and our need
for thee. Cleanse us, O Scylla!"
At the name of the goddess, Chenille threw high her arms with a
strangled cry. The dancing colors called the Holy Hues filled the
Sacred Window with chestnut and brown, aquamarine, orange,
scarlet, and yellow, cerulean blue and a curious shade of rose
