I asked what her teachings would be.
“That there is no agathodaemon or afterlife. That the mind is extinguished in death as in sleep, yet more so.”
“But who will you say revealed that to you?”
She shook her head, then rested her pointed chin upon one hand, a pose that showed off the graceful line of her neck admirably. “I haven’t decided yet. An angel of ice, perhaps. Or a ghost. Which do you think best?”
“Isn’t there a contradiction in that?”
“Precisely.” Her voice was rich with the pleasure the question gave her. “In that contradiction will reside the appeal of this new belief. One can’t found a novel theology on Nothing, and nothing is so secure a foundation as a contradiction. Look at the great successes of the past—they say their deities are the masters of all the universes, and yet that they require grandmothers to defend them, as if they were children frightened by poultry. Or that the authority that punishes no one while there exists a chance for reformation will punish everyone when there is no possibility anyone will become the better for it.”
I said, “These things are too complex for me.”
“No they’re not. You’re as intelligent as most young men, I think. But I suppose you torturers have no religion. Do they make you swear to give it up?”
“Not at all. We’ve a celestial patroness and observances, just like any other guild.”
“We don’t,” she said. For a moment she seemed to brood on that. “Only the guilds do, you know, and the army, which is a kind of guild. We’d be better off, I think, if we did. Still all the days of feast and nights of vigil have become shows, opportunities to wear new dresses. Do you like this?” She stood and extended her arms to show the soiled gown.
“It’s very pretty,” I ventured. “The embroidery, and the way the little pearls are sewed on.”
“It’s the only thing I have here—what I was wearing when I was taken. It’s for dinner, really. After late afternoon and before early evening.” I said I was sure Master Gurloes would have others brought if she asked. “I already have, and he says he sent some people to the House Absolute to fetch them for me, but they were unable to find it, which means that the House Absolute is trying to pretend I don’t exist. Anyway, it’s possible all my clothes have been sent to our chateau in the north, or one of the villas. He’s going to have his secretary write them for me.”
“Do you know who he sent?” I asked. “The House Absolute must be nearly as big as our Citadel, and I would think it would be impossible for anyone to miss.”
“On the contrary, it’s quite easy. Since it can’t be seen, you can be there and never know it if you’re not lucky. Besides, with the roads closed, all they have to do is alert their spies to give a particular party incorrect direction, and they have spies everywhere.”
I started to ask how it was possible for the House Absolute (which I had always imagined a vast palace of gleaming towers and domed halls) to be invisible; but Thecla was already thinking of something else altogether, stroking a bracelet formed like a kraken, a kraken whose tentacles wrapped the white flesh of her arm; its eyes were cabochon emeralds. “They let me keep this, and it’s quite valuable. Platinum, not silver. I was surprised.”
“There’s no one here who can be bribed.”
“It might be sold in Nessus to buy clothing. Have any of my friends tried to see me? Do you know, Severian?”
I shook my head. “They would not be admitted.”
“I understand, but someone might try. Do you know that most of the people in the House Absolute don’t know this place exists? I see you don’t believe me.”
“You mean they don’t know of the Citadel?”
“They’re aware of that, of course. Parts of it are open to everyone, and anyway you can’t miss seeing the spires if you get down into the southern end of the living city, no matter which side of Gyoll you’re on.” She slapped the metal wall of her cell with one hand. “They don’t know of this—or at least, a great many of them would deny it still exists.”
She was a great, great chatelaine, and I was something worse than a slave (I mean in the eyes of the common people, who do not really understand the functions of our guild). Yet when the time had passed and Drotte tapped the ringing door, it was I who rose and left the cell and soon climbed into the clean air of evening, and Thecla who stayed behind to listen to the moans and screams of the others. (Though her cell was some distance from the stairwell, the laughter from the third level was audible still when there was no one there to talk with her.)
In our dormitory that night I asked if anyone knew the names of the journeymen Master Gurloes had sent in search of the House Absolute. No one did, but my question stirred an animated discussion. Although none of the boys had seen the place or so much as spoken with anyone who had, all had heard stories. Most were of fabled wealth—gold plates and silk saddle blankets and that sort of thing. More interesting were the descriptions of the Autarch, who would have had to be a kind of monster to fit them all; he was said to be tall when standing, of common size seated, aged, young, a woman dressed as a man, and so on. More fantastic still were the tales of his vizier, the famous Father Inire, who looked like a monkey and was the oldest man in the world. We had just begun trading wonders in good earnest when there was a knock at the door. The youngest opened it, and I saw Roche—dressed not in the fuligin breeches and cloak the regulations of the guild decree, but in common, though new and fashionable, trousers, shirt, and coat. He motioned to me, and when I came to the door to speak to him, he indicated that I was to follow him. After we had gone some way down the stair, he said, “I’m afraid I frightened the little fellow. He doesn’t know who I am.”
“Not in those clothes,” I told him. “He’d recall you if he saw you dressed the way you used to be.”
That pleased him and he laughed. “Do you know, it felt so strange, having to bang on that door. Today is what? The eighteenth—it’s been under three weeks. How are things going for you?”
“Well enough.”
“You seem to have the gang in hand. Eata’s your second, isn’t he? He won’t make a journeyman for four years, so he’ll be captain for three after you. It’s good for him to have the experience, and I’m sorry now you didn’t have more before you had to take the job on. I stood in your way, but I never thought about it at the time.”
“Roche, where are we going?”
“Well, first we’re going down to my cabin to get you dressed. Are you looking forward to becoming a journeyman yourself, Severian?” These last words were thrown over his shoulder as he clattered down the steps ahead of me, and he did not wait for an answer.
My costume was much like his, though of different colors. There were overcoats and caps for us too. “You’ll be glad for them,” he said as I put mine on. “It’s cold out and starting to snow.” He handed me a scarf and told me to take off my worn shoes and put on a pair of boots.
“They’re journeymen’s boots,” I protested. “I can’t wear those.”
“Go ahead. Everyone wears black boots. Nobody will notice. Do they fit?”
They were too large, so he made me draw a pair of his stockings on over my own. “Now, I’m supposed to keep the purse, but since there’s always a chance we may be separated, it would be better if you have a few asimi.” He dropped coins into my palm. “Ready? Let’s go. I’d like to be back in time for some sleep if we can.”
We left the tower, and muffled in our strange clothing rounded the Witches’ Keep to take the covered walk leading past the Martello to the court called Broken. Roche had been right: it was starting to snow, fluffy flakes as big as the end of my thumb sifting so slowly through the air that it seemed they must have been falling for years. There was no wind, and we could hear the creaking our boots made in breaking through the familiar world’s new, thin disguise. “You’re in luck,” Roche told me. “I don’t know how you worked this, but thank you.”