“One of us must go after them. One must stay here to see where they put Windlow and Himaggery. Which?”
She thrust me away. “You must go after Huld. I have no Didir to protect my mind, and I cannot keep up this rhyming and jiggy song forever. You go. I will stay. I will meet you in that place they held the meeting, soon as may be. Go!” And I went. I went in a fever of impatience and anger, anger at myself, at Huld, at the silly, fatuous Manacle and his idiot son. If we were to save Himaggery and Windlow now, we would have to restore them to wholeness, put their two halves together, body and spirit, and who knew how to do that? The books? What books and where? I was reaching the end of my ability to slink and sly about, the limit of my self-control. It was Didir and Dorn who saved me, who soothed me into sleep like a fretful child and held me there, barely ticking, while they followed Huld, Manacle, Shear and toothy Flogshoulder deeper into the labyrinth while Huld sought information. “These books, Manacle. The ones which tell about rejoining the bodies. Have you seen them? Read them? What did they say about … the blues?”
“I don’t recall seeing anything about them in books. But then, I recall what my father said about them. A pattern, he said. The pattern of a personality. Yes. That was well put. The pattern of a personality. In ancient times, of course, the pattern was reunited with the body when both had reached their destination. It is this process we reenact during the ceremony. We don’t really do it, of course. Some of the younger men act the part of bodies, and we use the blues symbolically. It’s only a ritual, but very impressive for all that. But then I’ve told you all this before.”
“Why don’t you actually do it?” Huld asked. Didir could detect an avidity in this question though the tone of voice was deliberately casual. “That would be even more impressive.”
“Why, ah … I’m not sure,” began Manacle, only to be interrupted by his unfortunate son.
“Because no one knows how, the techs say. The manuals aren’t there, not where they belong. Of course, all techs are fools, as we all know, but that’s what they say.”
“Do they think the books were lost?” Huld, pursuing. “Or destroyed, perhaps? Or taken away?”
Flogshoulder put on a thoughtful face, marred by the obvious vacancy within his skull. “I should know. Truly I should. I’ve heard them talking about it often enough. They say Quench asked for the same books, and they’ve been looking for them.”
“Quench.” Manacle turned red, blustering. “Quench!”
“Yes, Father. Quench thinks it was Nitch took the books, that’s it. You remember Nitch? The books have been gone since he went.”
“Went?” asked Huld softly, so softly. “Went?”
“Away. He went away. At least, I think he went away. Didn’t he go away, Father?”
Manacle nodded angrily, muttering and counting under his breath as he walked along. “Quench, thirteen fourteen. Damn Quench. Fifteen. Mind his own business, keep to his place. Sixteen. He and Nitch two of a kind, ungrateful wretches. Seventeen. Ah, this is it. The seventeenth door from the corner, on the right. You wanted to see the defenders, Huld. Well, here we are. I’ll just find the key here, somewhere, among all these little ones I think. Gracious, haven’t looked in here almost since my investiture. Yes. This one.”
The door swung wide. They went through it, leaving it open behind them. I faded into the wall surface, unseen, unheeded. The room was empty save for one of those control surfaces which abounded in the place, this one with a large red lever and five covered keyholes, all bearing legends in archaic letters of a kind I had seen only once before — in that old book which Windlow had so coveted, the one I had found with the Gamesmen of Barish.
“They are self-repairing,” said Manacle in a self-important tone. “Requiring no maintenance, no techs, for which we may rejoice. Should we need to activate them, I have only to turn these keys in those holes, five of them. At one time each key was kept by a separate member of the faculty, but upon my investiture, I brought them all together in the interest of efficiency. There are times when ritual must give way to convenience, don’t you agree? So, I have only to insert them thus, and thus, and thus, here, and here, turning each one, so. Now, if any of us were to move the lever, the defenders would be activated at once. We will not do that, of course. There is no need. However, I will leave the keys here and turned, just in case. No point in wasting time later, if your warnings, dear Huld, were to prove accurate and immediate.”
“What — ah, what form do the defenders take?” This in Huld’s sweetest voice. Peter, who had been Huld’s captive in the dungeons of Bannerwell, did not trust that voice.
“I do not recall ever having heard what form the defenders take. What is that phrase in the ritual, Flogshoulder? You have learned it more recently than I — gracious, I have not thought of that in fifty years. Something about ‘Defense of the home, to hold inviolate — ’”
“No, Father. It goes, ‘Should they gain power to the extent that the base is threatened, in order that Home be held inviolate the defenders shall be activated that the Signtists and Searchers be held in glorious memory.”
“That’s not how I learned it,” objected Shear. “I learned it when I was only a boy, before I could read. It went, ‘Should their power and extent again threaten the base, the defenders will assure that Home is inviolate through the selfless action of signtists and searchers held forever in glorious memory.”
“Glorious memory,” said Manacle happily. “I think of that whenever we have the ceremony. The base. That’s where the shiptower is, dear Huld, and therefore the ceremony is held there. It’s very impressive, quite my favorite occasion. Let me tell you about it.
“We begin by placing a number of the bodies in the shiptower, along with some of the young fellows who play the part. We put some blues there, as well, for verisimilitude. The unloading machines are all polished and garlanded with flowers.
“Then I, as Dean, have the honor to take the part of Capan. I emerge from the shiptower and recite the inspiring words of dedication. All the Faculty is there, of course, down to the least boychild. I recite the words, then I start the unloading machines and they bring out the bodies and the blues. We put the young men into the rejoining machine, together with some blues to make it look real, and they emerge at once, all glowing and eager. Then I give them the Capan gown. This is symbolic, you understand, of our continuation in the academic tradition from the time of Capan to the present. We still wear the Capan gown in his honor. It is moving, my dear Huld, very moving. Then the machines take the rest of the bodies and the blues, the real ones, away to the caverns while Capan (I still have that part, of course) brings a monster out of the ship and puts her in the pit. This is symbolic too. It symbolizes our mission to search the monsters and record everything about them. Everyone cheers.
“Then, I go back in the shiptower and do the ‘Calling Home’ or ‘Signal Home’ as it’s sometimes called. I go alone into the shiptower and instruct the instrument to contact Home with our message, then I come out and tell everybody what message has been called Home and what Home said. Everyone gets very choked up at that, and the choir sings, and the techs serve special cake, and we all drink wine. A very happy time, Huld. A very happy time.” He wiped his eyes on the corner of his robe, looking all at once grave and grandfatherly, eyes full of an old and childlike joy. I wanted to kick him, but he went on in happy ignorance of my intent. “We give each other gifts, too, in honor of the occasion. I still have some gifts my father gave me, years ago.”
“You bring a monster out of the ship?” said Huld. “Does this mean that in that long ago time your forefathers brought the monsters to this place?”