"The Autarch Sartori," Pie said, as if trying the words for their music. Then, its voice a dirge, it said, "It has a ring."
"You knew 1 was a Maestro all along, didn't you?"
"Of course.";
"But you didn't tell me."
"I got as close as I dared. But I had sworn an oath never to remind you of who you were."°
"Who made you swear that oath?"
"You did, Maestro. You were in pain, and you wanted to forget your suffering."
"How did I come to forget?"
"A simple feit."
"Your doing?"
Pie nodded. "I was your servant in that, as in everything. I swore an oath that when it was done, when the past was i^ifidden away, I would never show it to you again. And oaths don't decay."
"But you kept hoping I'd ask the right questions—"
"Yes."
"—and invite the memory back in."
"Yes. And you came close."
"In Maike. And in the mountains."
"But never close enough to free me from my responsibilty. I had to keep my silence."
"Well, it's broken now, my friend. When you're nealed—"
"No, Maestro," Pie said. "A wound like this can't be healed."
"It can and will," Gentle said, not willing to countenance the thought of failure.
He remembered Nikaetomaas1 talk of the Dearthers' encampment on the margin of the Second and First Dominions, where she'd said Estabrook had been taken. Miracles of healing were possible there, she'd boasted.
"We're going to make quite a journey, my friend," he said, starting to lift the mystif up.
"Why break your back?" it said to him. "Let's say our farewells here."
"I'm not saying goodbye to you here or anywhere," Gentie said. "Now put your arms around me, lover. We've got a long way to go together yet."
3
The Comet's ascent into the heavens above Yzordderrex, and the light it shed upon the city's streets, didn't shame the atrocities there into hiding or cessation; quite the other way around. The city was ruled by Ruin now, and its court was everywhere: celebrating the enthronement, parading its emblems—the luckiest already dead—and rehearsing its rites in preparation for a long and inglorious reign. Children wore ash today, and carried their parents' heads like censers, still smoking from the fires where they'd been found. Dogs had the freedom of the city and devoured their masters without fear of punishment. The carrion birds Sartori had once tempted off the desert winds to feed on bad meat were gathered on the streets in garrulous hordes, to dine on the men and women who'd gossiped there the day before.
There were those survivors, of course, who clung to the dream of Order and banded together to do what they could under the new regime, digging through the rubble in the hope of finding survivors, dousing fires in buildings that were whole enough to save, giving succor to the grieving and quick dispatch for those too wounded to bear another breath. But they were easily outnumbered by the souls whose faith in sanity had been shattered and met the comet's eye with dissolution in their hearts. By midmorning, when Gentle and Pie reached the gate that led out of the city into the desert, many of those who'd begun the day determined to preserve something from this calamity had given up and were leaving while they still had their lives. The exodus that would empty Yzordderrex of much of its population within half a week had begun.
Beyond the vague instruction, gleaned from Nikaetomaas, that the encampment to which Estabrook had been taken lay in the desert at the limits of this Dominion, Gentle was traveling blind. He'd hoped to find somebody along the way to give him some better directions, but he encountered nobody who looked fit enough, mentally or physically, to lend him assistance. He'd bound the hand he'd wounded beating down the door of the Pivot Tower as best he could before leaving the palace. The stab wound he'd sustained when Huzzah had been snatched and the cut the mystif s ribbon blade had opened were slight enough to cause him little discomfort. His body, possessed of a Maestro's resilience, had survived three times a natural human span without significant deterioration, and it was quick to begin the process of mending itself now.
The same could not be said for Pie 'oh' pah's wounded frame. Sartori's sway was venomous, draining the mystif s strength and consciousness. By the time Gentle left the city, the mystif was barely able to move its legs, obliging Gentle to half-hoist it up beside him. He only hoped they found some means of transport before too long, or this journey would be over before it was begun.
There was little chance of hitching a ride with any of their fellow refugees. Most were on foot, and those who had transport-carts, cars, runty mules—were already laden with passengers. Several overburdened vehicles had given up the ghost within sight of the city gates, and those who'd paid for their ride were arguing on the roadside. But most of the travelers went on their way with an eerie hush, barely raising their eyes from the road a few feet in front of them, at least until they reached the spot where that road divided.
Here a bottleneck had been created, as people milled around, deciding on which of the three routes available to them they were going to take. Straight ahead, though a considerable distance from the crossroads, lay a mountain range as impressive as the Jokalaylau. The road to the left led off into greener terrain, and, not surprisingly perhaps, this was the most favored way. The least favored, and for Gentle's purposes the most promising, was the road that lay to the right. It was dusty and badly laid, the terrain it wound through the least lush and therefore the most likely to deteriorate into desert. But he knew from his months in the Dominions that the terrain could change considerably within the space of a few miles, and that perhaps out of sight along this road lay verdant pastures, while the track behind him could just as easily lead into a wilderness. While he was standing in the mill of travelers debating with himself, he heard a high-pitched voice and, peering through the dust, caught sight of a small fellow—young, spectacled, bare-chested, and bald-making his way towards him, arms raised.
"Mr. Zacharias! Mr. Zacharias!"
He knew the face, but from precisely where he couldn't recall, nor could he put a name to it. But the man, perhaps used to being only half remembered, was quick to supply the information.
"Floccus Dado," he said. "You remember?"
Now he did. This was Nikaetomaas' comrade-in-arms.
Floccus snatched off his glasses and peered at Pie. "Your lady friend looks sick," he said.
"It's not a she. It's a mystif."
"Sorry. Sorry," Floccus said, slipping his spectacles back on and blinking violently. "My error. Sex was never my strong point. Is it very sick?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Is Nikae with you?" Floccus said, peering around. "Don't tell me she's gone on ahead. I told her I was going to wait for her here if we got separated."
"She won't be coming, Floccus," Gentle said.
"Why in the Hyo not?"
"I'm afraid she's dead."
Dado's nervous tics and blinks ceased on the instant. He stared at Gentle with a tiny smile on his face, as if he was used to being the butt of jokes and wanted to believe that this was one. "No," he said.
"I'm afraid so," Gentle replied. "She was killed in the palace."
Floccus took off his glasses again and ran his thumb and middle finger from the bridge of his nose along his lower lids. "That's grim," he said.
"She was a very brave woman."
"She was that."
"And she put up a very spirited defense. But we were outnumbered."
"How did you escape?" Floccus asked, the inquiry innocent of accusation.
"That's a very long story," Gentle said, "and I don't think I'm quite ready to tell it yet."
"Which way are you heading?" Dado said.