shade, brushed the shaggy shade with dead leaves rustling, rustling,
and the roof higher, Urus whistling, whistling from the corner
because the Hoppies were practically underneath this shaggy tree
now.
He stood on a limb, walked out on it watching the roof sail away
with all the black peaked roofs of Limna as the old man's old boat
put out with Snarling Scylla at the helm, Scylla up in Jugs's head not
taking up room but pulling her strings, jerking her on reins, digging
spurred heels in, Spurred Scylla a gamecock spurring Jugs to make
her trot. A little step and another and the roof farther than ever,
higher than the top of the whole shaggy tree and his foot slipped
where Gelada's blood wet the slick silvery bark and he fell.
He woke with a start, shaking. Something warm lay beside him,
dose but not quite touching. He rolled over, bringing his legs up
under her big soft thighs, his chest against her back, an arm around
her to warm her and it, cupping her breast. "By Kypris, I love you,
Jugs I'm too sick to shag you, but I love you. You're all the woman
I'll ever want."
She didn't talk, but there'd been a little change in her breathing,
so he knew she wasn't asleep even if she wanted him to think so.
That was dimber by him, she wanted to look at it and he didn't
blame her, wouldn't want a woman who wouldn't look because a
woman like that got you nabbed sooner or later even if she didn't
mean to.
Only he'd looked at it already, had looked all that he'd ever
need to while he was rolling over. And he slept beside her quite
content.
"I shocked you, Patera Calde. I know I did. I could see it in your
face. My eyes aren't what they were, I'm afraid. I'm no longer good
at reading expressions. But I read yours."
"Somewhat, Your Cognizance." Together, they were walking up a
deserted Sun Street, a tall young augur and a stooped old one
side-by-side, Silk taking a slow step for two of Quetzal's lame and
unsteady ones.
"Since you left the schola, Patera Calde, since you came to this
quarter, you've prayed that a god would come to your Window,
haven't you? I feel sure you have. All of you do, or nearly all. Who
did you hope for? Pas or Scylla?"
"Scylla chiefly, Your Cognizance. To tell the truth, I scarcely
thought about the minor gods then. I mean the gods outside the
Nine--no god is truly minor, I suppose. Scylla seemed the most
probable. It was only on Scylsdays that we had a victim, for one
thing; and she's the patroness of the city, after all."
"She'd tell you what to do, which was what you wanted." Quetzal
squinted up at Silk with a toothless smile he found disconcerting.
"She'd fill your cash box, too. You could fix up those old buildings,
buy books for your palaestra, and sacrifice in the grand style every
day."
Reluctantly, Silk nodded.
"I understand. Oh, I understand. It's perfectly normal, Patera
Calde. Even commendable. But what about me? What about me,
not wanting gods to come at all? That isn't, is it? It isn't, and it's
bothering you."
Silk shook his head. "It's not my place to judge your acts or your
words, Your Cognizance."
"Yet you will." Quetzal paused to peer along Lamp Street, and
seemed to listen. "You will, Patera Calde. You can't help it. That's
why I've got to tell you. After that, we're going to talk about
something you probably think that you learned all about when you
were a baby. I mean the Plan of Pas. Then you can go off to Maytera
what'shername."
"Mint, Your Cognizance.
"You can go off to help her overthrow the Ayuntamiento for
Echidna, and I'll be going off to find you more people to do it with,
and better weapons. To begin--"
"Your Cognizance?" Silk ran nervous fingers through his haystack
hair, unable to restrain himself any longer. "Your Cognizance, did
you know Great Pas was dead? Did you know it already, before she
told us today?"
"Certainly. We can start there, Patera Calde, if that's troubling
you. Would you have talked about it from the ambion of the Grand
Manteion if you'd been in my place? Made a public announcement?
Conducted ceremonies of mourning and so forth?"
"Yes," Silk said firmly. "Yes, I would."
"I see. What do you suppose killed him, Patera Calde? You're an
intelligent young fellow. You studied hard at the schola, I know.
Your instructors' reports are very favorable. How could the Father
of the Gods die?"
Faintly, Silk could hear the booming of slug guns, then a long,
concerted roar that might almost have been thunder.
"Building falling," Quetzal told him. "Don't worry about that now.
Answer my question."
"I can't conceive of such a thing, Your Cognizance. The gods are
immortal, ageless. It's their immortality that makes them gods,
really, more than anything else."
"A fever," Quetzal suggested. "We mortals die of fevers every day.
Perhaps he caught a fever?"
"The gods are spiritual beings, Your Cognizance. They're not
subject to disease."
"Kicked in the head by a horse. Don't you think that could have
been it?"
Silk did not reply.
"I'm mocking you, Patera Calde, of course I am. But not idly.
My question's perfectly serious. Echidna told you Pas is dead,
and you can't help believing her. I've known it for thirty years,
since shortly after his death, in fact. How did he die? How could he?"
Silk combed his disorderly yellow hair with his fingers again.
"When I was made Prolocutor, Patera Calde, we had a vase at the Palace
that had been thrown on the Short Sun Whorl, a beautiful thing. They told me
it was five hundred years old. Almost inconceivable. Do you agree?"
"And priceless, I would say, Your Cognizance."
"Lemur wanted to frighten me, to show me how ruthless he could
be. I already knew, but he didn't know I did. I think he thought that
if I did I'd never dare oppose him. He took that vase from its stand
and smashed it at my feet."
Silk stared down at Quetzal. "You--you're serious, Your Cognizance?
He actually did that?"
"He did. Look, now. That vase was immortal. It didn't age. It was
proof against disease. But it could be destroyed, as it was. So could
Pas. He couldn't age, or even fall sick. But he could be destroyed,
and he was. He was murdered by his family. Many men die like that,
Patera Calde. When you're half my age, you'll know it. Now a god
has, too."
"But, Your Cognizance..."
"Viron's isolated, Patera Calde. All the cities are. He gave us
floaters and animals. No big machines that could carry heavy loads.
He thought that would be best for us, and I dare say he was right.
But the Ayuntamiento's not isolated. The calde wasn't either, when
we had one. Did you think he was?"
Silk said, "I realize we have diplomats, Your Cognizance, and
there are traveling traders and so forth--boats on the rivers, and
even spies."
"That's right. As Prolocutor, I'm no more isolated than he was.
Less, but I won't try to prove that. I'm in contact with religious
leaders in Urbs, Wick, and other cities, cities where his children
have boasted of killing Pas."