Dol said, “Ma’s right, Vry. You saw how Dathka marched out of here, furious because you argued with him. He’s in love with you, that’s why. Be more submissive, that’s a woman’s job, isn’t it? Throw your arms round him and he’ll give you what you want. I should think he’d be quite lusty.”
“Throw your legs round him, not your arms, that’s my advice,” Rol Sakil said, cackling with laughter. “There’s pretty women passing through Oldorando, now—not like when we was all young, when flesh was in short supply. The things they get up to in the bazaar nowadays! No wonder they want a coinage. I know the slot they’ll stuff it in…”
“That’s enough,” Vry said, her cheeks red. “I’ll manage my own life without your crude advice. I respect Dathka but I am not at all fond of him. Change the subject.”
Laintal Ay took Vry’s arm with a consoling gesture, as Oyre emerged from behind her curtain, her hair piled on the top of her head. She had discarded her hoxney skins, which were now regarded as somewhat outmoded among a younger set in Oldorando. Instead, she wore a green woollen dress which trailed almost to the ground.
“Vry’s being advised to take a man soon—just like you,” Laintal Ay told her.
“At least Dathka’s mature and knows his own mind.”
Laintal Ay scowled at this remark. Turning his back on Oyre, he said to Vry, “Explain to me about the twenty eclipses. I didn’t understand what you were saying. How is the universe a machine?”
She frowned and then said, “You’ve heard the elements before, but would not listen. You must be prepared to believe that the world is stranger than you give it credit for. I’ll try to explain clearly.
“Imagine that the land-octaves extend into the air high above us, as well as into the ground. Imagine that this world, which the phagors can Hrl-Ichor, follows its own octave regularly. In fact, its octave winds round and round Batalix. Hrl-Ichor goes round Batalix once every four hundred and eighty days—hence our year, as you know. Batalix does not move. It is we that move.”
“What when Batalix sets every evening?”
“Batalix is motionless in the sky. It is we that move.”
Laintal Ay laughed. “And the festival of Double Sunset? What moves then?”
“The same. We move. Batalix and Freyr remain stationary. Unless you believe that, I can explain no further.”
“We have all seen the sentinels move, my dear Vry, every day of our lives. So what follows, supposing I believe both of them to be turned to ice?”
She hesitated, then said, “Well, in fact Batalix and Freyr do move as Freyr grows brighter.”
“Come—first you’d have me believe that they didn’t move, then that they did. Stop it, Vry—I’ll believe your eclipses when they happen, not before.”
With a scream of impatience, she raised her scrawny arms above her head. “Oh, you’re such fools. Let Embruddock fall, what difference would it make? You can’t understand one simple thing.”
She left the room even more furiously than Dathka.
“There are some simple matters she don’t understand either,” Rol Sakil said, cuddling the small boy.
Vry’s old room showed the change that had come to Oldorando. No longer was it so bleak. Oddments gathered from here and there decked the room. She had inherited some of Shay Tal’s—and hence Loilanun’s—possessions. She had traded in the bazaars. A star chart of her making hung near the window, with the paths of the ecliptics of the two suns marked on it.
On one wall hung an ancient map, given her by a new admirer. It was painted in coloured inks upon vellum. This was her Ottaassaal map depicting the whole world, at which she never ceased to wonder. The world was depicted as round, its land masses encircled by ocean. It rested on the original boulder—bigger than the world—from which the world had sprung or been ejected. The simple outlined land masses were labelled Sibornal, with Campannlat below, and Hespagorat separate at the bottom. Some islands were formally indicated. The only town marked was Ottaassaal, set at the centre of the globe.
She wondered how far away one would have to be to see the actual world in such a way. Batalix and Freyr were two other round worlds, as she well understood. But they had no support from original boulders beneath them; why then did the world need one?
In a niche in the wall beside the map stood a little figurine which Dathka had brought her. She lifted it down now, cradling it in her palm rather abstractedly. It depicted a couple enjoying coition in a squatting position. Man and woman were carved out of one stone. The hands through which the object had passed had worn them into anonymity, age had rendered them both featureless. The carving represented the supreme act of being together, and Vry regarded it longingly as it rested in her hand. “That’s unity,” she murmured, in a low voice.
For all her friends’ teasing, she wanted desperately what the stone represented. She also recognised, as Shay Tal had before her, that the path to knowledge was a solitary one.
Did the figurine portray a pair of real lovers whose names had been lost far in the past? It was impossible to tell.
In the past lay the answers to much that was in the future. She looked hopelessly at the astronomical clock she was trying to construct from wood, which lay on the table by her narrow window. Not only was she unused to working in wood, but she still had not grasped the principle that maintained the world, the three wandering worlds, and the two sentinels in their paths.
Suddenly, she perceived that a unity existed among the spheres—they were all of one material, as the lovers were of one stone. And a force as strong as sexual need bound them all mysteriously together, dictating their movements.
She sat down at her table, and commenced wrenching the rods and rings apart, trying to rearrange them in a new order.
She was thus engaged when there was a tap at her door. Raynil Layan sidled in, giving hasty looks about him to see that nobody else was in the room.
He saw her framed in the pale blue rectangle of window, the light brooding on her profile. She held a wooden ball in one hand. At his entrance, she half started up, and he saw—for he watched people closely—that her habitual reserve had left her for once. She smiled nervously, smoothing her hoxney skin over the definitions of her breast. He pushed the door closed behind him.
The master of the tanners had assumed grandeur these days. His forked beard was tied with two ribbons, in a manner he had learned from foreigners, and he wore trousers of silk. Recently, he had been paying Vry attention, presenting her with such items as the Ottaassaal map, acquired in Pauk, and listening closely to her theories. All this she found obscurely exciting. Although she mistrusted his smooth manners, she was flattered by them, and by his interest in all she did.
“You work too hard, Vry,” he said, cocking a finger and raising an eyebrow at her. “More time spent outdoors would put colour back into those pretty cheeks.”
“You know how busy I am, running the academy now Amin Lim’s gone with Shay Tal, as well as doing my own work.”
The academy flourished as never before. It had its own building, and was largely run by one of Vry’s assistants. They engaged learned men to speak; anyone passing through Oldorando was approached. Many ideas were put into practical operation in the workshops under the lecture room. Raynil Layan himself kept a watch on all that was happening.
His eye missed nothing. Catching sight of the stone figurine among the litter on her table, he scrutinised it closely. She flushed and fidgetted.
“It’s very old.”
“And still very popular.”
She giggled. “I meant the object itself.”
“I meant their objective.” He set it down, looking archly at her, and settled his body against the edge of the table so that their legs were touching.