Epiphany of the Long Sun (2 page)

To give himself time to consider, Rernora sipped his now tepid tea. "Munitions, the-ah-thews of contention, are stored in the Alambrera, as well as in the, um, cantonment of the Civil Guard, cast of the city."

"I know that."

"It is an, er, complex of great-um-redoubtability, Your Cognizance. I am informed that the outer wall is twelve cubits in-ah-laterality. Yet Your Cognizance anticipates its surrender tonight? Before venturing an opinion, may I enquire as to the source of Your Cognizance's information?"

"I haven't any," Quetzal told him. "I was thinking out loud. If the Alambrera doesn't fall in a day or so, Patera Caldé Silk will fail. That's my opinion. Now I want yours."

"Your Cognizance does me honor. There is also the-um-dormant army to consider. Councillor Lemur-ah-Loris will undoubtedly issue an-ah-call to arms, should the, um, situation, in his view, become serious."

"Your opinion, Patera."

Remora's cup rattled in its saucer. "As long as the-ah-fidelity of the Civil Guard remains-um-unblemished, Your Cognizance," he drew a deep breath, "it would appear to me, though I am assuredly no-um-master hand at matters military, that-ah, um-Patera Caldé cannot prevail."

Quetzal appeared to be listening only to the storm; for perhaps fifteen tickings of the coffin-shaped clock that stood beside the door, the howling of the wind and the lash of rain filled the room. At last he asked, "Suppose that you were to learn that part of the Guard's gone over to Silk already?"

Remora's eyes widened. "Your Cognizance has-?"

"No reason to think so. My question's hypothetical."

Remora, who had much experience of Quetzal's hypothetical questions, filled his lungs again. "I should then say, Your Cogni zance, that should any such unhappy circumstance-ah-circumstances eventuate, the city would find itself amongst-ah-perilous waters."

"And the Chapter?"

Remora looked doleful. "Equally so, Your Cognizance. if not worse. As an augur, Silk could well, ah, proclaim himself Prolocutor, as well as Caldé."

"Really. He lacks reverence for you, my coadjutor?"

"No, Your Cognizance. Quite the, um, contrary."

Quetzal sipped beef tea in silence.

"Your Cognizance-ah-intends the Chapter to support the-um-host of, er, Patera Caldé?"

"I want you to compose a circular letter, Patera. You have nearly six hours. It should be more than enough. I'll sign it when we're through in the Grand Manteion." Quetzal stared down at the stagnant brown liquid in his cup.

"To all the clergy, Your Cognizance?"

"Emphasize our holy duty to bring comfort to the wounded and the Final Formula to the dying. Imply, but don't say-" Quetzal paused, inspired.

"Yes, Your Cognizance?"

"That Lemur's death ends the claim to rule the councillors had in the past. You say you know Patera Caldé Silk?"

Remora nodded. "I conversed with him at some-ah-extensively Scylsday evening, Your Cognizance. We discussed the financial-um-trials of his manteion, and-ah-various other matters."

"I don't, Patera. But I've read every report in his file, those of his instructors and those of his predecessor. Thus my recommendation. Diligent, sensitive, intelligent, and pious. Impatient, as is to be expected at his age. Respectful, which you now confirm. A tireless worker, a point his instructor in theonomy was at pains to emphasize. Pliable. During the past few days, he's become immensely popular. Should he succeed in subjugating the Ayuntamiento, he's apt to remain so for a year or more. Perhaps much longer. Charteral government by a young augur who'll need seasoned advisors to remain in office…"

"Indeed, Your Cognizance." Remora nodded energetically. "The same-ah-intuition had occurred tome."

With his cup, Quetzal gestured toward the nearest window. "We suffer a change in weather, Patera."

"An, um, profound one, Your Cognizance."

"We must acclimate ourselves to it. That's why I asked if young Incus swam. If you can reach him, tell him to strike out boldly. Have I made myself clear?"

Remora nodded again. "I will, um, strive to render the Chapter's wholehearted endorsement of an-ah-lawful and holy government apparent, Your Cognizance."

"Then go. Compose that letter."

"If the Alambrera doesn't-ah-hey?"

There was no indication that Quetzal had heard. Remora left his chair and backed away, at length closing the door behind him.

Quetzal rose, and an observer (had there been one) might have been more than a little surprised to see that shrunken figure grown so tall. As if on wheels, he glided across the room and threw open the broad casement that overlooked his garden. admitting pounding rain and a gust of wind that made his mulberry robe stand out behind him like a banner.

For some while he remained before the window, motionless, cosmetics streaming from his face in rivulets of pink and buff, while he contemplated the tamarind he had caused to be planted there twenty years previously. It was taller already than many buildings called lofty; its glossy, rain-washed leaves brushed the windowframe and now even, by the width of a child's hand, sidled into his bedchamber like so many timid sibyls, confident of welcome yet habitually shy. Their parent tree, nourished by his own efforts, was of more than sufficient size now, and a fount of joy to him: a sheltering presence, a memorial of home, the highroad to freedom.

Quetzal crossed the room and barred the door, then threw off his sodden robe. Even in this downpour the tree was safer, though he could fly.

The looming presence of the cliff slid over Auk as he sat in the bow, and with it a final whistling gust of icy rain. He glanced up at the beetling rock, then trained his needler on the augur standing to the halyard. "This time you didn't try anything. See how flash you're getting?" The storm had broken at shadeup and showed no signs of slackening.

Chenille snapped, "Steer for that," and pointed. Chill tricklings from her limp crimson hair merged into a rivulet between her full breasts to flood her naked loins.

At the tiller, the old fisherman touched his cap. "Aye, aye, Scaldin' Scylla."

They had left Limna on Molpsday night. From shadeup to shadelow, the sun had been a torrent of white fire across a dazzling sky; the wind, fair and strong at morning, had veered and died away to a breeze, to an occasional puff, and by the time the market closed, to nothing. Most of that afternoon Auk had spent in the shadow of the sail, Chenille beneath the shelter of the half deck; he and she, like the augur, had gotten badly sunburned just the same.

Night had brought a new wind, foul for their destination. Directed by the old fisherman and commanded to hold ever closer by the major goddess possessing Chenille, they had tacked and tacked and tacked again, Auk and the augur bailing frantically on every reach and often sick, the boat heeling until it seemed the gunnel must go under, a lantern swinging crazily from the masthead and crashing into the mast each time they went about, going out half a dozen times and leaving the three weary men below in deadly fear of ramming or being rammed in the dark.

Once the augur had attempted to snatch Auk's needler from his waistband. Auk had beaten and kicked him, and thrown him over the side into the churning waters of the lake, from which the old fisherman had by a miracle of resource and luck rescued him with a boathook. Shadeup had brought a third wind, this out of the southeast, a storm-wind driving sheet after gray sheet of slanting rain before it with a lash of lightning.

"Down sail!" Chenille shrieked. "Loose that, you idiot! Drop the yard!"

The augur hurned to obey; he was perhaps ten years senior to Auk, with protruding teeth and small, soft hands that had begun to bleed almost before they had left Limna.

After the yard had crashed down, Auk turned in his seat to peer forward at their destination, seeing nothing but rainwet stone and evoking indignant squawks from the meager protection of his legs. "Come on out," he told Silk's bird. "We're under a cliff here."

"No out!"

Dry by comparison though the foot of the cliff was, and shielded from the wind, it seemed colder than the open lake, reminding Auk forcibly that the new summer tunic he had worn to Limna was soaked, his baggy trousers soaked too, and his greased riding boots full of water.

The narrow inlet up which they glided became narrower yet, damp black rock to left and right rising fifty cubits or more above the masthead. Here and there a freshet, born of the storm, descended in a slender line of silver to plash noisily into the quiet water. The cliffs united overhead, and the iron mast-cap scraped stone.

"She'll go," Chenille told the old fisherman confidently. "The ceiling's higher farther in."

"I'd 'preciate ter raise up that mains'l ag'in, ma'am," the old fisherman remarked almost conversationally, "an' undo them reefs. It'll rot if it don't dry."

Chenille ignored him; Auk gestured toward the sail and stood to the halyard with the augur, eager for any exercise that might warm him.

Oreb hopped onto the gunnel to look about and fluff his damp feathers. "Bird wet!" They were gliding past impressive tanks of white-painted metal, their way nearly spent.

"A
Sacred Window!
It
is!
There's a Window and an altar
right there!
Look!" The augur's voice shook with joy, and he released the halyard. Auk's kick sent him sprawling.

"Got ter break out sweeps, ma'am, if there's more channel."

"Mind your helm. Lay alongside the Window." To the augur Chenille added, "Have you got your knife?"

He shook his head miserably. "Your sword then," she told Auk. "Can you sacrifice?"

"I've seen it done, Surging Scylla, and I got a knife in my boot. That might work better." As daring as Remora, Auk added, "But a bird? I didn't think you liked birds."

"That?" She spat into the water. A fender of woven cordage thumped, then ground against stone. Their side lay within a cubit of the natural quay on which the tanks and the Window stood. "Tie us up." Chenille pointed to the augur. "You, too! No, the stern, you idiot. He'll take the bow."

Auk made the halyard fast, then sprang out onto the stone quay. It was wet, and so slimed that he nearly fell; in the watery light of the cavern, he failed to make out the big iron ring at his feet until he stepped on it.

The augur had found his ring sooner. He straightened up. "I-I
am
an
augur,
Savage Scylla. I've sacrificed to you and to all the Nine
many times
. I'd be
delighted
, Savage Scylla. With his knife…"

"Bad bird," Oreb croaked. "Gods hate." He flapped his injured wing as if to judge how far it might carry him.

Chenille bounded onto the slippery stone and crooked a finger at the old fisherman. "You. Come up here."

"I oughter-"

"You ought to do what you're told, or I'll have my thug kill you straight off."

It was a relief to Auk to draw his needler again, a return to familiar ground.

"Scylla!"
the augur gasped. "A
human being?
Really-"

She whirled to confront him. "What were you doing on my boat? "Who sent you?"

"Bad cut," Oreb assured her.

The augur drew a deep breath. "I am H-his
Eminence's
prothonotary." He smoothed his sopping robe as if suddenly conscious of his bedraggled appearance. "H-his E-e-eminence desired me to
l-locate
a particular y-y-young woman-"

Auk trained his needler on him.

"Y-you. Tall, red hair and so forth. I
didn't
know it was you, Savage Scylla." He swallowed and added desperately, "H-his interest was ha-wholly friendly. H-his Eminence-"

"You are to be congratulated, Patera." Chenille's voice was smooth and almost courteous; she had an alarming habit of remaining immobile in attitudes no mere human being could have maintained for more than a few seconds, and she did so now, her pivoting head and glaring eyes seemingly the only living pans of her lush body. "You have succeeded splendidly. Perhaps you identified the previous occupant? You say this woman," she touched her chest, "was described to you?"

The augur nodded rapidly.
"Yes,
Savage Scylla. Fiery hair and-and s-skill with a
knife
and…"

Chenille's eyes had rolled backward into her skull. until only the whites could be seen. "Your Eminence. Silk addressed him like that. You attended my graduation, Your Eminence."

The augur said hurriedly, "He wished me to
assure
her of our submission. Of the
Chapter's.
To offer our
advise
and
support,
and declare our
loyalty.
Information H-his Eminence had received indicated that-that you'd
g-gone
to the lake with Patera Silk. His Eminence is Patera's
superior.
He-I-we declare our
undying
loyalty, Savage Scylla."

"To Kypris."

There was that in Chenille's tone which rendered the words unanswerable. The augur could only stare at her.

"Bad man," Oreb announced virtuously. "Cut?"

"An augur? I hadn't considered it, but…"

The old fisherman hawked and spat. "If'n you're really Scaldin' Scylla, ma'am, I'd like ter say somethin'." He wiped his grizzled mustache on the back of his hand.

"I am Scylla. Be quick. We must sacrifice now if we're to sacrifice at all. My slave will arrive soon."

"I been prayin' and sacrificin' ter you all my life. You an' your pa's the only ones us fishermen pay mind to. I'm not sayin' you owe me anythin'. I got my boat, an' I had a wife and raised the boys. Always made a livin'. What I'm wantin' ter say is when I go you'll be losin' one of your own. It's goin' ter be one less here for you an' ol' Pas. Maybe you figure I took you 'cause the big feller's got his stitchin' gun. Fact is, I'd of took you anywheres on the lake soon as I knowed who you was."

"I must reintegrate myself in Mainframe," Chenille told him. "There may be new developments. Are you through?"

"Pretty nigh. The big feller, he does anythin' you want him, just like what I'd do in his britches. Only he b'longs ter Hierax, ma'am."