There were tidbits from Hoi-Polloi once in a while, so casually dropped they were enigmas in themselves. "... the fires are so comical..." she said at one point, as they passed a pile of twisted metalwork that had been one of the Autarch's war machines. And at another place, where a deep blue pool housed fish the size of men, said: "... apparently they have their own city... but it's so deep in the ocean I don't suppose I'll ever see it. The children will, though. That's what's wonderful...."
Finally, she brought them to a door that was curtained with running water and, turning to Gentle, said, "They're waiting for you."
Monday went to step through the curtain at Gentle's side, but Hoi-Polloi restrained him with a kiss on his neck.
"This is just for the Maestro," she said. "Come along. We'll go swimming."
"Boss?"
"Go ahead," Gentle told him. "No harm's going to come to me here."
"I'll see you later then," Monday said, content to have Hoi-Polloi tug him away.
Before they'd disappeared into the thicket, Gentle turned to the door, dividing the cool curtain with his fingers and stepping into the chamber beyond. After the riot of life outside, both its scale and its austerity came as a shock. It was the first structure he'd seen in the city that preserved something of his brother's lunatic ambition. Its vastness was uninvaded by all but a few shoots and tendrils, and the only waters that ran here were at the door behind him and those falling from an arch at the other end. The Goddesses had not left the chamber entirely unmarked, however. The walls of what had been built as a windowless hall were now pierced on all sides, so that for all its immensity the place was a honeycomb, penetrated by the soft light of evening. There was only one item of furniture: a chair, close to the distant arch, and seated upon it, with a baby on her lap, was Judith.
As Gentle entered, she looked up from the child's face and smiled at him. "I was beginning to think you'd lost your way," she said.
Her voice was light: almost literally, he thought. When she spoke, the beams that came through the walls flickered,
"I didn't know you were waiting," he said.
"It's been no great hardship," she said. "Won't you come closer?" As he crossed the chamber towards her, she said, "I didn't expect you to follow us at first, but then I thought, He will, he will, because he'll want to see the child."
"To be honest... I didn't think about the child."
"Well, she thought about you," Jude said, without rebuke.
The baby in her lap could not be more than a few weeks old but, like the trees and flowers here, was burgeoning. She sat on Jude's lap rather than lay, one small strong hand clutching her mother's long hair. Though Jude's breasts were bare and comfortable, the child had no interest in nourishment or sleep. Her gray eyes were fixed on Gentle, studying him with an intense and quizzical stare.
"How's Clem?" Jude asked when Gentle stood before her.
"He was fine when I last saw him. But I left rather suddenly, as you know. I feel rather guilty about that. But once I'd started ..."
"I know. There was no turning back. It was the same for me."
Gentle went down on his haunches in front of Jude and offered his hand, palm up, to the child. She grasped it instantly.
"What's her name?" he said.
"I hope you won't mind ..."
"What?"
"I called her Huzzah."
Gentle smiled up at Jude. "You did?" Then back to the baby, called by her scrutiny: "Huzzah?" he said, leaning his face towards hers. "Huzzah. I'm Gentle."
"She knows who you are," Jude said, without a trace of doubt. "She knew about this room before it even existed. And she knew you'd come here, sooner or later."
Gentle didn't inquire as to how the child had shared her knowledge. It was just one more mystery to add to the catalogue in this extraordinary place.
"And the Goddesses?" he said.
"What about them?"
"They don't mind that she's Sartori's child?"
"Not at all," Jude said, her voice daintier at the mention of Sartori. "The whole city... the whole city's here to prove how good can come from bad."
"She's better than good, Jude," Gentle said.
She smiled, and so did the child. "Yes, she is."
Huzzah was reaching for Gentle's face, ready to topple from Jude's lap in pursuit of her object.
"I think she sees her father," Jude said, lifting the child back into the crook of her arm and standing up.
Gentle also stood, watching Jude carry Huzzah to a litter of playthings on the ground. The child pointed and gurgled.
"Do you miss him?" he said.
"I did in the Fifth," Jude replied, her back still turned while she picked up Huzzah's chosen toy. "But I don't here. Not since Huzzah. I never felt quite real till she appeared. I was a figment of the other Judith." She stood up again, turning to Gentle. "You know I still can't really remember all those missing years? I get snatches of them once in a while, but nothing solid. I suppose I was living in a dream. But she's woken me, Gentle." Jude kissed the baby's cheek. "She's made me real. I was only a copy until her. We both were. He knew it and I knew it. But we made something new." She sighed. "I don't miss him," she said. "But I wish he could have seen her. Just once. Just so he could have known what it was to be real too."
She started to cross back to the chair, but the child reached out for Gentle again, letting out a little cry to emphasize her wishes.
"My, my," Jude said. "You are popular."
She sat down again and put the toy she'd picked up in front of Huzzah. It was a small blue stone.
"Here, darling," she cooed. "Look. What's this? What's this?"
Gurgling with pleasure, the child claimed the plaything from her mother's finger with a dexterity far beyond her tender age. The gurgles became chuckles, as she laid it to her lips, as if to kiss it.
"She likes to laugh," Gentle said.
"She does, thank God. Oh, now listen to me. Still thanking God."
"Old habits ..."
"That one'll die," Jude said firmly.
The child was putting the toy to her mouth.
"No, sweetie, don't do that," Jude said. Then, to Gentle: "Do you think the Erasure'11 decay eventually? I have a friend here called Lotti; she says it will. It'll decay, and then we'll have to live with the stench from the First every time the wind comes that way."
"Maybe a wall could be built."
"By whom? Nobody wants to go near the place."
"Not even the Goddesses?"
"They've got their work here. And in the Fifth, They want to free the waters there too."
"That should be quite a sight."
"Yes, it should. Maybe I'll go back for that,"
Huzzah's laughter had subsided during this exchange, and she was once again studying Gentle, reaching up towards him from her mother's lap. This time her tiny hand was not open but clutching the blue stone.
"I think she wants you to have it," Jude said.
He smiled at the child and said, "Thank you. But you should keep it."
Her gaze became more intent at this, and he was certain she understood every word he was saying. Her hand still proffered its gift, determined he should take it.
"Go on," Jude said.
As much at the behest of the eyes as at Jude's words, Gentle reached down and gingerly took the stone from Huzzah's hand. There was some considerable strength in her. The stone was heavy: heavy and cool.
"Now our peace is really made," Jude said.
"I didn't know we'd been at war," Gentle replied.
"That's the worst kind, isn't it?" Jude said. "But it's over now. It's over forever."
There was a subtle modulation in the plush of the water-curtained arch behind her, and she glanced around. Her expression had been grave, but when she looked back at Gentle she had a smile on her face.