Gene Wolfe - Long Sun 4 - Exodus from the long sun

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EXODUS FROM THE LONG SUN

by Gene Wolfe

Chapter 1 -- Back from Death

An eerie silence overhung the ruined villa. Listening for the closing

of a slug gun's bolt, Maytera Mint heard only the groan of the wind

and the irregular snapping of the flag of truce she held.

"On Phaesday they were _in situ_," Patera Remora conceded. "The

Ayuntamiento, eh?"

They had come abreast of a dead talus, its painted steel sides

blistered by fire and blackened by smoke; she caught a whiff of fish

oil, despite the wind.

"Might be repaired, eh, General?" Remora pushed back a lock of

lank black hair that had fallen over his eyes. "Not like we biochemicals,

hey? Still we--ah--dispatch their spirits to Mainframe. Not identical

in the, um, revivified one, perhaps. Amongst the new parts."

"Or they really haven't any," Maytera Mint murmured. She had

stopped to wait for Remora, and was taking the opportunity to study

the windows of the house that had been Blood's.

Her remark bordered on heresy, but Remora thought it most

prudent to return to his earlier topic. "If they're not here, eh? Loris

and the rest? Will, ah, Buffalo--"

"Bison." She turned back to Remora, her face pinched and the tip

of her delicate nose red with cold. "Colonel Bison."

"Um, precisely. Will Colonel Bison," Remora waved vaguely at the

ruined wall, "and his--ah--troopers await our return back there?"

"You heard my instructions, Your Eminence."

"But if we're some time, eh? The front door is broken. Shattered,

in fact."

Maytera Mint, who had noted it as they passed through the ruined

gateway, nodded.

"So it's not a matter of knocking, hey? Not a mere matter of

knocking at all." Remora brightened. "Knock on the frame, eh? We

could do that. Wait a bit. Polite."

"I will go inside," she told him firmly, "and search. I would not

presume to dictate Your Eminence's course of action. If I can get

in touch with the Ayuntamiento, I'll ask them to send for you. If I

can't, I may be able to learn where we can. As for Colonel Bison,

he's completely loyal, my best officer. My only concern is that he

may send in a patrol to look for us, though I have forbidden it."

"I, um, apprehend your position," Remora said, rejoining her.

"If one does not expect obedience, one will not, ah, be obeyed.

Memorized it in schola, all of us did. Still, if he were to depart?

Decamp. Our, um, withdrawal to the city could be hazardous, hey?

Laborious, likewise."

"That's not the question." She forgot for a moment that Remora

was the second highest dignitary of the Chapter. "The question is

whether the enemy's back. There are no bodies."

"These, ah--"

"These taluses. It would take ten yoke of oxen to drag them away,

I suppose. No dead bios or chems."

"The, ah, Army, eh? To the Calde. So I understood."

"Some soldiers went over to him, yes. Others who hadn't heard

about him didn't, and were fighting their comrades here."

Remora nodded. "Unfortunate. Um, tragic."

"When this man Blood's bodyguards learned Calde Silk had killed

him, some attacked him and his soldiers. That's when Generalissimo

Oosik and General Saba stormed the house."

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"Lovely, hum?" Remora harbored a sneaking admiration for

architecture as others cherish a vice. "Even, ah, despoiled. Pity. Pity. More

so, possibly. No pretensions now. No more vulgar display. Wreckage

more--um--romantic? Poetic." He favored Blood's torn lawns with

a toothy smile.

Maytera Mint drew her soiled habit more tightly about her and

for the hundredth time wished for her coif. "If we were to walk a

little faster, Your Eminence, we could get out of this wind, whether

the Ayuntamiento's come back or not."

"Of course, of course."

"And though I don't concede that Bison--"

"Those--um--corpses, General." Catching up, Remora strode

along beside her, his lanky legs making a single step of two of

hers. "You were about to, er, um, propose that we afford them

an--ah--sanctified burial? It would be most inconvenient, I fear.

Most inopportune!"

"Granted. But there must have been bodies, and I'd think more

than a few. The Ayuntamiento's soldiers and this man's bodyguards

would have been shooting from these windows."

Maytera Mint paused, drawing on her recent experiences to visualize

the scene. "Floaters would have rushed the gate, and Guardsmen and

General Saba's pterotroopers must have swarmed through every break

in the wall. Then my troopers from the city, thousands of them. Some

must have been killed, I'd think at least a hundred. Some of the

bodyguards and soldiers must have been killed too. See that line of

pock-marks? Buzz-gun fire. A floater's turret gun raked the front of

the house."

"I, an--"

For once she interrupted him. "We would have taken away our

dead, or I hope we would. But what about theirs? They were retreating

under fire, going down into the tunnels Sand talked about. Would

they have dragged bodies along with them? I find it hard to believe,

Your Eminence."

"If I may." Remora cleared his throat. "It seems to me that you

have, ah, disposed of the, um, dead yourself, though I confess that

I am no great hand at matters military."

"Nor I. I was appointed by Echidna, you must have heard of that.

What little I know I've picked up as I went along."

"Defeating commanders vastly more--ah--schooled. I would

conjecture, leastwise, that there must be something like our schola

for the officers of the, er, Calde's Guard. As we call them now, eh,

General? The Civil Guard we used to phrase it, hey? Admirable, I,

um, insist."

"I've lost to them, too, Your Eminence. Lost nearly as often as I've

won." They were passing Scylla's fountain, now sheathed in ice.

"Though no great hand," Remora repeated, "I offer the, um, this hypothesis.

Would not well regulated troops inter their dead? The generalissimo's men

are, ah, proficient, to be sure, and we--ah--furnish a chaplain to each

brigade. The, um, desiderata of that. Conduct military obsequies. Subsequently,

please to follow me here, Mayt--General. Would not such, er, troopers

compel the, ah, your own, though not then under, as it were, your eye--"

"Make them bury the rest? Possibly." Maytera Mint, who was very

tired, forced herself to stand straighter and square her shoulders.

"More likely no compulsion was needed. If they had not thought

of it themselves, seeing the Guard and Saba's pterotroopers loading

their dead to take back to the city would suggest it. But what about

the enemy dead? Where are they?"

"Within this desolate, ah, mansion. I dare say. They would not have

abandoned its shelter, hey? Shot through its windows. You--um--proposed

it yourself."

She pointed with the stick that held her white flag. "See where the

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wall's fallen? You can look into several rooms, and there's not a

single body in any of them."

"Yet, ah--"

"Through the doorway, too." They had nearly reached the steps of

Blood's portico. "That door would have been defended more strongly

than any other point, and I can look right into the sellaria. There's

not a one. Where are they?"

"I would, er, hazard that the victorious troops disposed of them

afterward."

She shook her head vigorously. "Troopers who've won are never

anxious to get the bodies of those they've killed out of sight, Your

Eminence. Never! I've seen that much more often than I like. They're

proud, and it's good for their morale. Yesterday Major Skin was

begging, literally begging me, not to have bodies that had lain in the

streets for days carted off. If the bodies are gone, it's because their

friends came back for them. It would be interesting to see if there

are graves behind the house. That's where they'd be, I imagine. By

the wall, as far as possible from the road. Do you know if there are

gardens in back?"

"I have never, um, had the pleasure." Remora started up the steps.

"Nor has His Cognizance, I think. He, um, confided it to me a

year or two past. We had been--um--dissecting? Decrying this, er, Blood's

influence. Was never a, um, visitor within these--ah--despoiled walls."

"Neither have. I, Your Eminence." Maytera Mint hiked up her skirt

and started up the steps.

"To be sure. To be sure, General. I regret it. Regret it now. I will not

dissemble, nor, um, ever. Seldom. To have seen this in its days of

prosperity would--prosperity and peace, eh? The contrast 'twixt memory

and the, um, less happy present. Do you follow me? Whereas one

can now but picture... See that picture? Fine. Very fine indeed, eh?

Torn. Might be refurbished yet, in skillful hands. Like the tali, eh?"

"I suppose." She had glanced at the ruined furniture, and was

studying the shadowy doorways of further rooms. "He kept women here, didn't

he? This bad man Blood who owned the house. Women--women who..."

"Enough, enough! Do not, um, perturb yourself, Maytera. General.

A few such. An, er, select contingent. So I was given to understand

upon the occasion of our--um--my _tete-a-tete_,

eh? With old Quetzal. Do I, um, scandalize you? With His Cognizance. I am,

ah, betimes inclined to be overfree. To presume upon an old friendship. A

failing, I concede." Remora advanced to study the damaged Murtagon.

"Was this where it happened?"

"Where the women--ah?" He glanced back at her with a half smile.

"No indeed."

"Where Calde Silk killed this man Blood, and Sergeant Sand killed

Councillor Potto."

"We've finer ones at the Palace, hey? Still it's nice and might

be--ah--emended. In an, um, one of the anterooms as I understand

it, General. May I ask why you wish to know. An um, monument

of some kind, possibly? A dedicational tablet of, er, bronze?"

"Because we know that the man who owned this house died in

it, Your Eminence," Maytera Mint explained. "This Blood, with

Councillor Potto. If their bodies aren't here, they've been removed

by someone, and I'd think that if Generalissimo Oosik or even General

Saba had done it I'd have heard. A councillor's body? Everyone would

be arguing about what should be done with it, and I would certainly

have heard."

Her tone grew crisp. "Now if you'll oblige me."

Remora, who was not used to being asked for favors in that

peremptory fashion, looked around sharply.

"There seems to be no one here, though my informants... Never

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mind. Do you agree?"

"There is certainly no one in this room at present

except--ah--ourselves. With regard to the, er, remainder of the, um,

building, I--hum--further investigation."

"I've been listening carefully and heard nothing. The bodies may

be in plain view or hidden by furniture or whatnot." Rather tardily

Maytera Mint added, "Your Eminence. I'll search the rooms on this

side. I'd like you to search the other. We needn't bother with the rest

of the house, I think."

"If there are no, er, bodies, General," Remora smoothed the truant

lock into place, "shall we return to the city--ah--forthwith? Might

be wise, eh? We have no way of knowing what has transpired in our

absence, hey?"

She nodded. "Agreed. We'll know then that they've been here and

may return later. I'll leave one of Bison's officers to watch, with a few

troopers. If we _do_ find a body, either one, it should be safe to

assume that the Ayuntamiento's troops have never come back at all. We can

go back to the city at once and forget about this house."

"Wisely, er, spoken." Remora was already hurrying toward the first

of his assigned roorns. "I shall inform you promptly should I discover

an--ah--the mortal remains."

The anteroom Maytera Mint entered had, it appeared, been the

owner's study. A massive mahogany desk, lavishly carved, stood

against one wall, and there were shelves of books, mostly (she scanned

the titles on a shelf at the level of her eyes) erotic if not pornographic:

_Three Maids and Their Mistress, The Astonishing Exploits of a Virile

Young Man and His Donkey, His Resistance Overcome_...

She turned away. What had it been like to be here under such a

master? She tried to picture the lives of the women who had endured

it, and failed. They had been bad women, as the whorl judged, but

that only meant that they had commanded defenses greatly inferior

to her own.

Strange, how she had come to think in military metaphors during

the past few days.

The desk drawers seemed apt to tell her a good deal about the owner,

who counted for nothing now, and nothing about the Ayuntamiento

and those who served it. She opened a drawer at random anyway,

glanced at the papers it had held--all of them concerned in some

fashion with money--shut it, and made sure no corpse lay concealed

in the leg hole.

"_General!_"

Turning so quickly that the long, black skirt of her habit billowed

about her, she hurried out of the study and across the sellaria. "What

is it, Your Eminence?"

He met her at the doorway, visibly struggling to conceal his pleasure.

"I have the--ah--it is my unhappy duty--"

"You've found a body. Whose?"

"The, um, late councillor's, I believe. If, perhaps, you would not

care--"

"To see it? I must! Your Eminence, I've seen hundreds of bodies

since this began. Thousands." There had been a time when she had

found it nearly impossible to cut the throat of a goat; as she pushed

past Remora, she reflected that she would find that difficult still,

and find it literally impossible to cut a man's, even an enemy's. Yet

she had made plans and given orders that had clogged entire streets

with corpses.

"I took the, um, responsibility? The--ah--presumption of, er,

tidying him up. On his back now, eh? Folded the arms, prior to

calling you."

Potto lay almost at her feet, his arms crossed in such a way as to

hide the wound Sand's slug had made just below his sternum. The

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graying hair that he had worn long trailed over Blood's lush carpet,

and Maytera Mint found herself muttering, "He looks surprised."

"Doubtless he--ah--was." Remora cleared his throat. "Caught

unawares, hey? Shot by one of his own. All in a, um, trice. So my

prothonotary tells me. He--ah--Incus is his name, General. Patera

Incus. He has, um, fallen prey in some--ah--wise to the notion that

he's old Quetzal--"

She knelt beside the corpse, traced the sign of addition, and opened

its card case.

"Mad, I fear. Deranged. Bit of rest, eh? He'll come to himself soon

enough. General--ah--?"

In the first place," Maytera Mint explained, "there may be papers

of value in here. In the second, there's money, ten cards or so, and

we need that very badly."

"I, ah, see."

Cards and papers vanished into her wide sleeve. "Where's the

blood? Did you clean up his blood before you called to me, Your

Eminence?"

"Through the heart, eh?" Remora's nasal tones sounded slightly

strangled. "Not much bleeding then, eh? So I am--ah--apprised."

Gently at first, then with increased vigor, Maytera Mint rubbed

the councillor's cheek. "This's a chem!"

"I--um--"

She looked up at Remora. "You knew."

"I--ah--suspected."

"You rolled him over, you said, Your Eminence. You folded his

arms. You must have known."

"Then? Oh, yes, I--ah--confirmed, eh? I had, um,

and--ah--Quetzal, eh? Old Quetzal. Wouldn't tell. Asked him once. More,

actually. He, ah, er, wouldn't. Confides in me, eh? Nearly everything. Very,

ah, delicate points. Sensitive matters, finances. Everything. But

he--ah--wouldn't."

Suddenly Remora was on his knees beside her. "General--ah--General.

Alone here, hey? No one but, er, ourselves. May I call you Maytera?"

She ignored it. "There'll be the question of burial. A dozen questions,

really. You must have realized I'd find out."

"I--ah--did. Indeed. Not so swiftly, however. You are

most--or--perspicacious."

"Then why didn't you say so? Why all that nonsense about

blood?"

"Because I--Incus. Patera Incus. And old Quetzal, eh? My position

is, er, delicate. Imperiled. Maytera, hear me, I--ah--beg you. Yes,

beg. Implore."

She nodded. "I'm listening. What is it?"

"Incus, my prothonotary. Was. You know him?"

She shook her head. "Just tell me."

"He's been appointed Prolocutor. By, um, Scylla. He says it, I

mean. Credits it himself, eh? Convinced. Spoke to him yesterday,

but he--you..."

"Me?" For a second, Maytera Mint felt she was missing some vital

clue. It dawned upon her, and she rocked backward to sit cross-legged

on the carpet, her head in her hands.

"Maytera? Er, General?"

She looked up at Remora. "I was appointed by Echidna, in front

of thousands of people. Is that it, Your Eminence?"

Remora's mouth opened and shut silently.

"So you know it happened. All those witnesses. And I've been

successful, as you say. The victorious commander, chosen for us by

the gods. Even Bison and the captain talk like that, and then there's

Patera Silk."

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Remora nodded miserably.

"Everyone says he's been appointed by Great Pas to be our calde,

even Maytera Marble. He's been successful, too, so it looks like

the gods have decided to choose leaders for us, and if this Patera

Incus is going to be the new Prolocutor, he'll want to pick his own

coadjutor."

"Nor--ah--um--worse. If he--ah--old Quetzal, you

know. Resourceful. Cunning. Seen it myself, hundreds of times,

eh? Ayuntamiento had the force, but he'd get 'round them. Get

'round Lemur and Loris, all of them. Old man, hey? Foolish old

man. What they think. His Cognizance. Quetzal. But sly, Mayt--General.

Very sly. Deep."

She made a small sound of encouragement.

"Compromise. I--ah--sense it. I am not, um, clever, General. Try

to be, indeed. Try. Some have said--well, it pares no parsnips. But not

like old Quetzal. Experienced, though. My--ah--self. Conferences,

negotiations. And I wind it. Wind it already. Be coadjutor, Incus.

Obvious, eh? First thing anybody would, er, formulate. Old Quetzal

would--ah--visualize? Comprehend the whole before Incus finished.

Old man. Die soon, hey? A year, two years, to--ah--fit yourself into

the position, Patera. I'll be gone. I can, um, hear him as I--we--speak.

So I didn't dare, eh? Tell you. You see my predicament? The--ah--Loris.

Galago. All the rest. Chems, every one of them. I suspected

it for years. Meeting with this one, that one, entire days, sometimes.

Saw them up close. Quetzal knows, he must."

"But His Cognizance wouldn't talk about it?"

"No. Ah--no. Too sensitive. Even for me, eh? He, Incus. I

told you?"

"You told me he says Scylla's made him Prolocutor."

"He, um, offered me..."

One bony hand pushed back the straying lock, and Maytera Mint

saw how violently that hand shook. "He offered you...?"

"A--ah--appointment. A position. He was," Remora swallowed,

"not abusive. It was not, I judge, his intent to be--ah--disparage.

He said that I--I refused, to be sure. His prothonotary. His, ah,

I--I--I..."

Maytera Mint nodded. "I see."

"We have been, er, companions, Maytera. Coworkers--ah--partners in peace,

hey? Son and daughter of the Chapter. We have conferred, and the

same--um--consecrated vision has inspired us both. I

well--ah--recollect our first meeting. You averred

with--um--coruscant eyes that peace was your, er, sole desire once you

had--ah, um--executed the will of the gods. I affirmed? Avowed that it was

mine likewise. In concert we have conferred with Brigadier Erne and the

calde. You are a hero, um, heroine to the--ah--populace. There is

talk of a statue, hey? A word from you, your support..."

"Be quiet," she told him. "I haven't had a moment to get used to the

idea that the Ayuntamiento's made up of chems, and now this."

"If I, ah--"

"Be quiet, I said!" She drew a deep breath, running the fingers of

both hands through her short brown hair. "To begin with, no, you

may not call me Maytera. Not in private, and not any other time. If

His Cognizance will release me, I mean to return to secular life. I,"

another breath, "may marry. We'll see. As for you, if this Patera Incus

has in fact been named Prolocutor by Scylla, then he _is_ Prolocutor,

regardless of any arrangement that he and Patera Quetzal may make.

I can readily imagine a younger man of great sanctity deferring to

a much older one. Viewed in a certain light, it would be an act of

noble self-renunciation. But it wouldn't alter the fact. He would be

our Prolocutor, though he wasn't called so. Since he proposed that

you become his prothonotary, plainly you're not to be coadjutor any

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longer. No doubt Patera Quetzal is, in solemn truth, coadjutor. That

being so, I'll call you Patera."

"My dear young woman!"

Her look silenced him. "I'm not your dear young woman, or

anyone's. I'm thirty-six, and I assure you that for a woman it's no

longer young. Call me General, or I'll make your life a great deal

less pleasant than it has been."

A door at the far end of the room opened, and someone who was

neither Mint nor Remora applauded. "Brava, my dear young general!

Simply marvelous! You ought to be on the stage."

He waddled over to them, a short, obese man with bright blue eyes,

a cheerful round face, and hair so light as to be nearly blond. "But as

for accepting an Ayuntamiento of chems, you need not trouble. I'm

no chem, though I confess that the object before you is something

of the kind."

Remora gasped, having recognized him.

"This augur and I are old--I really can't say friends. Acquaintances.

You, I feel sure, are the rebels' famous General Mint." The stranger

giggled. "Presumably you aim at supreme power, which would make

you the Govern-Mint. I like that! I'm Councillor Potto. Curtain. Did

you wish to speak to me?"

For a fleeting moment in which his heart nearly stopped, it seemed

to Silk that he had seen Hyacinth among the cheering pedestrians.

Before he could shout to his bearers, the woman turned her head and

the illusion ended. He had been ready, as he realized as he settled

back among the cushions, to spring out of the litter.

I need my glasses, he thought. My old ones, which I can't possibly

get back, or some new ones.

Oreb fluttered on his shoulder. "Good Silk!"

"Crazed Silk," he told his bird. "Mad and foolish Silk. I mistook

another woman for her."

"No see."

"My own thought exactly. Several times I've dreamed my mother

was alive. Have I told you about that?"

Oreb whistled.

"For a minute or two after I woke up, I believed it, and I was so

happy. This was like that." Leaning from the right side of the litter,

he addressed the head bearer. "You needn't go so fast. You'll wear

yourselves out."

The man grinned and bobbed his head.

Silk settled back again. Their speed was increasing. No doubt the

bearers felt it a question of honor; when one carried the calde, one ran.

Otherwise ordinary people who had never had the privilege of carrying

the calde's litter might think him on an errand of no importance. Which

would never do; if his errand were of no importance, neither were his

bearers.

"I've got twenty Guardsmen looking for her," he told Oreb. "That's

not enough, since they didn't find her, but it's all we could spare

with the Fourth Brigade holding out on the north side, and the

Ayuntamiento in the tunnels."

Mention of the tunnels made Oreb croak unhappily.

At what amounted to a dead run, the litter swayed, yawed, and

swerved off Sun Street onto Lamp. Leaning out Silk said, "Music

Street--I thought I made it clear. A block east."

The head bearer's head bobbed as before.

"If twenty Guardsmen can't find her, Oreb, I certainly can't; and

last night I didn't. We didn't, I ought to say. So we need help, and I

cant hink of three places--no, four--where we may get it. Today we're

going to try them all Most of the fires are out, and Maytera Mint and

Oosik can actually fight better without me in the way; so although

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the physician says I should be in bed, and I'm not supposed to have

a minute to myself, I intend to take as many hours as necessary."

Yawing as before, the litter turned onto a still narrower street that

Silk did not recognize.

"It's up to the gods, I'm afraid. I don't trust them--not even the

Outsider, who seems to trust me--but they may smile on us yet."

"Find girl?"

He had lost his desire to talk, but the intensity of his emotions

drove the words forth. "What did he _want_ with her!" As he spoke,

the litter sped past a shop with a zither and a dusty bassoon in its

window.

But Calde Silk of Viron did not see them.

"This is the kitchen?" Maytera Mint looked around her in surprise.

It was the largest that she had ever seen.

"There are, ah, alternatives," Remora ventured. "Still entire, eh?

Equally, hum, unsigned by Sabered Sphigx."

"I find it cozy," Potto declared. "For one thing, there's food, though

your troops, my dear young General, made off with a lot. I like food,

even if I can't eat it. For another, I'm a good host, eager for the

comfort of my guests, and it's easy to heat. Behold this noble stove

and laden woodbox. I'm happily immune to drafts, but you aren't.

I'm determined to make you comfortable. Those other rooms offer the

chilly attractions of a society beauty. This will provide warmth and tea,

even soup." He giggled. "All the solid virtues of an old nurse. Besides,

there are a great many sharp knives, and I'm always encouraged by

the presence of sharp knives."

"You can't be here alone," Maytera Mint said.

Potto grinned. "Do you propose to attack me if I am?"

"Certainly not."

"You have an azoth, the famous one given you by Silk. I won't

search you for it now."

"I left it with Colonel Bison. If I had come armed after calling for

a truce, you'd be entitled to kill me."

"I am anyhow," Potto told her. He picked up a stick of firewood

and snapped it between his hands. "The rules of war protect armies

and their auxiliaries. Yours is a rebellion, not a war, and rebels get

no such protection. Patera there knows that's the truth. Look at

his face."

"I--ah--assert the privilege of my cloth."

"You can. You haven't fought, so you're entitled to it. The General

has and isn't. It's all very simple."

When neither replied, Potto added, "Speaking of cloth, I forgot to

say that the rules apply only to soldiers and those auxiliaries who wear

their city's uniform, as General Saba does. You, my dear General,

don't. The upshot is that though I can't offer violence to your armies

as long as the truce holds, I'm entitled to break both your leggies if I

want to, and even to wring your necky. Sit down, there's a cozy little

table right over there. I'll build a fire and put the kettle on."

They sat, Remora tucking the rich overrobe he wore around his

legs, Maytera Mint as she might have in the cenoby, her delicate

hands folded in her lap, and her head bowed.

Potto filled one of the stove's fireboxes and stroked a stick of

kinding. It burst into flame, not merely at one end like a torch, but

along its entire length. He tossed it into the firebox and shoved the

firebox back in place with an angry grinding of iron.

"He, um, intrigues to separate us," Remora whispered. "A--ah--hallowed?

Elementary stratagem, General. I shall, um, cleave to you,

eh? If you in, ah, analogous fashion--"

"Maytera. Call me Maytera, please, Your Eminence, when we're

alone."

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"Indeed. Indeed! _O_, ah, _soror neque enim ignari sumus ante malorum.

O passi graviora, dabit Pas his guoque finem_."

Potto was filling a teakettle. Without turning his head, he said, "I

have sharp ears. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Maytera Mint looked up. "Then I'm spared the necessity of raising

my voice. Are you really Councillor Potto? We came to negotiate with

the Ayuntamiento, not with anyone we chanced to meet. If you are,

whose body was that?"

"Yes." Potto put the kettle on the stove. "Mine. Have you more

questions?"

"Certainly. Are you willing to stop all this bloodshed?"

"It bothers you, doesn't it?" He pulled out a stout stool and sat

down so heavily the floor shook.

"Seeing good and brave troopers die? Watching someone who was

eager to obey me a few seconds ago writhing and bleeding in the

street? It does!"

"Well, it doesn't me, and I don't understand why it should you. I

never have. Call it a gift. There are people who can listen to music

all evening, then go home and write everything down, and others

who can run faster and farther than a horse. Did you know that?

Mine's a less amazing gift, though it's brought me success. I don't

feel pain I don't feel. Is that what you call a tautology? It's what life

has taught me. I give it to you for nothing."

Remora nodded, his long face longer than ever. "I, er, vouchsafe

it might be included under that--ah--rubric."

"Councillor."

"Why--ah--indeed. I had no, um, intention--"

"Thanks. I'm the only member who forced his way in, or had to.

Did you know that, either of you?"

Maytera Mint shook her head.

"We're all related, as you can see from our names. Lemur and Loris

were brothers. Lemur's dead. You don't have to look surprised, I know

you know. He packed the Ayuntamiento with relatives, back before

Patera here was born. I came to him. I approached him forthrightly

and fairly. He'd brought in Galago, a second cousin by courtesy. I

was much closer, and I said so. He said he'd take it under advisement.

A week later--there'd been this and that, you know, nothing serious--he

tried to have me killed. I saw to it that the man's flesh was

served to us at dinner, and dessert was his head in lemon sherbet.

Lemur jerked away from it, and I scooped up a little sherbet with

my fingers and ate it. I took the oath next day. Councillor Potto.

My cousins soon discovered that I was a useful friend, not just an

unpleasant relative."

Maytera Mint nodded. "You're proud of being useful, as everyone

who is, is entided to be. Now you have a chance to be of great service

to our whole city."

"We have, ah, ventured forth in good faith," Remora put in. "The

general has come unarmed. My--ah--vocation prohibits weapons.

Such, at least, is my own opinion, though the--our calde's may differ. I

ask you, Council or, whether you, er, similarly. Are we intermediaries?

Or, um, captives?"

"You want to go before your tea's ready?" Potto waved in the

direction of the door. "Make the experiment, Patera."

"My duty, um, confines me."

"Then you're a prisoner, but not mine. Dear young General Mint,

wouldn't you like to know how I manage to be alive in the kitchen

and dead in the drawing room?"

"There were two of you, clearly." She had taken her big wooden

prayer beads from her pocket; she ran them through her fingers,

comforted by their familiar shapes.

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"No, only one, and that one is neither here nor there. As we aged,

Cousin Tarsier made us new bodies out of chems. Lemur got the

first one, and the rest of us later as we came to need them, bodies

we can work from our beds. I can't enjoy food, but I eat. I'm feeding

intravenously right now."

"What became of the chems?" Maytera Mint managed to keep her

voice steady. "Of their minds?"

"I thought you were going to ask me whether he made the others

more than one."

"No. Clearly he did, or someone did. But you got this body from

another person. And--and changed it to look like you? You must

have. Did he consent to any of that?"

"The logical question is whether there are two of all of us." Potto

struck the table with his fist. "You didn't even ask how I got the wood

to burn. How am I supposed to deal with someone who won't stick

to the point?"

Remora began, "I, ah--" But Potto was not through. "By sticking

with the point myself. That's it! I may soon stick with one so well

that it sticks out your back." He turned to Remora. "Yes, Patera.

You were about to say...?"

"I was, um, speculating, Councillor, upon how you ignited that

wood so, er, effortlessly. I, um, hope that you will, um, consent to

ah--illuminate that matter for us."

"I am not going to sit here teaching a butcher chemistry. Can't

either of you understand that once I've told you what I want, I don't

want it? What are _you_ doing here anyway? Dear General Mint's the

leader, after Silk. Why are you here?"

"To, er, mediate. We, um, His Cognizance and, hum--"

"To bring peace," Maytera Mint declared. "Calde Silk has offered

to let all of you keep your seats under the Charter. Considering all

that's happened, I think it very generous."

"For life?"

Remora touched her arm, and she found it easy to interpret the

jesture. "Is there a provision for life tenure? If so, I imagine it might

be invoked." Remora shook his head; the motion was slight, but

she saw it.

Potto smiled; it was so unexpected that she wondered for

a moment whether she had unwittingly promised a return to

power.

Seeing it, Remora positively beamed. "Better! Oh, indeed! Must be

mends, eh? Friends can make peace, foes, er, unable."

"You misunderstand my expression, Patera."

"I, um, hail and approve it. Time--ah--sufficient for understanding,

er, presently. Maybe I put forward a proposal, Councillor? General?

My wish, a heartfelt suggestion. That we--ah--solemnly convene at

the present moment, offering our prayer to the Nine. Our petition,

if you will, that--"

"Shut up," Potto snapped. "I've got the key, and you go on blathering.

Calde Silk sent you, General. Is that right?"

"He would approve of my coming, certainly. For days we've been

trying to reach you councillors on our glasses. I thought we might

try this."

When Potto did not reply, she added, "His Eminence was chosen

as an intermediary by your Brigadier Erne and our calde. Soon after,

as I understand it, His Cognizance offered his help as well. We were

and are overjoyed. I would hope--"

"You can't speak for him," Potto told her. "You may think

you can, or that Patera here can, but you can't. I've known

him a long time, and there's not a more malicious and unpredictable

person in the city. Not even me. You're a general, General?"

She nodded. "Appointed by Divine Echidna in a theophany. My

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