Exodus from the Long Sun
Chapter 1
Back from Death
An eerie silence overhung the ruined villa. Listening for the closing
of a slug gun's bolt, Maytera Mint heard only the groan of the wind
and the irregular snapping of the flag of truce she held.
"On Phaesday they were in situ," Patera Remora conceded. "The
Ayuntamiento, eh?"
They had come abreast of a dead talus, its painted steel sides
blistered by fire and blackened by smoke; she caught a whiff of fish
oil, despite the wind.
"Might be repaired, eh, General?" Remora pushed back a lock of
lank black hair that had fallen over his eyes. "Not like we biochemicals,
hey? Still we—ah—dispatch their spirits to Mainframe. Not identical
in the, um, revivified one, perhaps. Amongst the new parts."
"Or they really haven't any," Maytera Mint murmured. She had
stopped to wait for Remora, and was taking the opportunity to study
the windows of the house that had been Blood's.
Her remark bordered on heresy, but Remora thought it most
prudent to return to his earlier topic. "If they're not here, eh? Loris
and the rest? Will, ah, Buffalo—"
"Bison." She turned back to Remora, her face pinched and the tip
of her delicate nose red with cold. "Colonel Bison."
"Um, precisely. Will Colonel Bison," Remora waved vaguely at the
ruined wall, "and his—ah—troopers await our return back there?"
"You heard my instructions, Your Eminence."
"But if we're some time, eh? The front door is broken. Shattered,
in fact."
Maytera Mint, who had noted it as they passed through the ruined
gateway, nodded.
"So it's not a matter of knocking, hey? Not a mere matter of
knocking at all." Remora brightened. "Knock on the frame, eh? We
could do that. Wait a bit. Polite."
"I will go inside," she told him firmly, "and search. I would not
presume to dictate Your Eminence's course of action. If I can get
in touch with the Ayuntamiento, I'll ask them to send for you. If I
can't, I may be able to learn where we can. As for Colonel Bison,
he's completely loyal, my best officer. My only concern is that he
may send in a patrol to look for us, though I have forbidden it."
"I, um, apprehend your position," Remora said, rejoining her.
"If one does not expect obedience, one will not, ah, be obeyed.
Memorized it in schola, all of us did. Still, if he were to depart?
Decamp. Our, um, withdrawal to the city could be hazardous, hey?
Laborious, likewise."
"That's not the question." She forgot for a moment that Remora
was the second highest dignitary of the Chapter. "The question is
whether the enemy's back. There are no bodies."
"These, ah—"
"These taluses. It would take ten yoke of oxen to drag them away,
I suppose. No dead bios or chems."
"The, ah, Army, eh? To the Caldé. So I understood."
"Some soldiers went over to him, yes. Others who hadn't heard
about him didn't, and were fighting their comrades here."
Remora nodded. "Unfortunate. Um, tragic."
"When this man Blood's bodyguards learned Caldé Silk had killed
him, some attacked him and his soldiers. That's when Generalissimo
Oosik and General Saba stormed the house."
"Lovely, hum?" Remora harbored a sneaking admiration for
architecture as others cherish a vice. "Even, ah, despoiled. Pity. Pity. More
so, possibly. No pretensions now. No more vulgar display. Wreckage
more—um—romantic? Poetic." He favored Blood's torn lawns with
a toothy smile.
Maytera Mint drew her soiled habit more tightly about her and
for the hundredth time wished for her coif. "If we were to walk a
little faster, Your Eminence, we could get out of this wind, whether
the Ayuntamiento's come back or not."
"Of course, of course."
"And though I don't concede that Bison—"
"Those—um—corpses, General." Catching up, Remora strode
along beside her, his lanky legs making a single step of two of
hers. "You were about to, er, um, propose that we afford them
an—ah—sanctified burial? It would be most inconvenient, I fear.
Most inopportune!"
"Granted. But there must have been bodies, and I'd think more
than a few. The Ayuntamiento's soldiers and this man's bodyguards
would have been shooting from these windows."
Maytera Mint paused, drawing on her recent experiences to visualize
the scene. "Floaters would have rushed the gate, and Guardsmen and
General Saba's pterotroopers must have swarmed through every break
in the wall. Then my troopers from the city, thousands of them. Some
must have been killed, I'd think at least a hundred. Some of the
bodyguards and soldiers must have been killed too. See that line of
pock-marks? Buzz-gun fire. A floater's turret gun raked the front of
the house."
"I, an—"
For once she interrupted him. "We would have taken away our
dead, or I hope we would. But what about theirs? They were retreating
under fire, going down into the tunnels Sand talked about. Would
they have dragged bodies along with them? I find it hard to believe,
Your Eminence."
"If I may." Remora cleared his throat. "It seems to me that you
have, ah, disposed of the, um, dead yourself, though I confess that
I am no great hand at matters military."
"Nor I. I was appointed by Echidna, you must have heard of that.
What little I know I've picked up as I went along."
"Defeating commanders vastly more—ah—schooled. I would
conjecture, leastwise, that there must be something like our schola
for the officers of the, er, Caldé's Guard. As we call them now, eh,
General? The Civil Guard we used to phrase it, hey? Admirable, I,
um, insist."
"I've lost to them, too, Your Eminence. Lost nearly as often as I've
won." They were passing Scylla's fountain, now sheathed in ice.
"Though no great hand," Remora repeated, "I offer the, um, this hypothesis.
Would not well regulated troops inter their dead? The generalissimo's men
are, ah, proficient, to be sure, and we—ah—furnish a chaplain to each
brigade. The, um, desiderata of that. Conduct military obsequies. Subsequently,
please to follow me here, Mayt—General. Would not such, er, troopers
compel the, ah, your own, though not then under, as it were, your eye—"
"Make them bury the rest? Possibly." Maytera Mint, who was very
tired, forced herself to stand straighter and square her shoulders.
"More likely no compulsion was needed. If they had not thought
of it themselves, seeing the Guard and Saba's pterotroopers loading
their dead to take back to the city would suggest it. But what about
the enemy dead? Where are they?"
"Within this desolate, ah, mansion. I dare say. They would not have
abandoned its shelter, hey? Shot through its windows. You—um—proposed
it yourself."
She pointed with the stick that held her white flag. "See where the
wall's fallen? You can look into several rooms, and there's not a
single body in any of them."
"Yet, ah—"
"Through the doorway, too." They had nearly reached the steps of
Blood's portico. "That door would have been defended more strongly
than any other point, and I can look right into the sellaria. There's
not a one. Where are they?"
"I would, er, hazard that the victorious troops disposed of them
afterward."
She shook her head vigorously. "Troopers who've won are never
anxious to get the bodies of those they've killed out of sight, Your
Eminence. Never! I've seen that much more often than I like. They're
proud, and it's good for their morale. Yesterday Major Skin was
begging, literally begging me, not to have bodies that had lain in the
streets for days carted off. If the bodies are gone, it's because their
friends came back for them. It would be interesting to see if there
are graves behind the house. That's where they'd be, I imagine. By
the wall, as far as possible from the road. Do you know if there are
gardens in back?"
"I have never, um, had the pleasure." Remora started up the steps.
"Nor has His Cognizance, I think. He, um, confided it to me a
year or two past. We had been—um—dissecting? Decrying this, er, Blood's
influence. Was never a, um, visitor within these—ah—despoiled walls."
"Neither have. I, Your Eminence." Maytera Mint hiked up her skirt
and started up the steps.
"To be sure. To be sure, General. I regret it. Regret it now. I will not
dissemble, nor, um, ever. Seldom. To have seen this in its days of
prosperity would—prosperity and peace, eh? The contrast 'twixt memory
and the, um, less happy present. Do you follow me? Whereas one
can now but picture... See that picture? Fine. Very fine indeed, eh?
Torn. Might be refurbished yet, in skillful hands. Like the tali, eh?"
"I suppose." She had glanced at the ruined furniture, and was
studying the shadowy doorways of further rooms. "He kept women here, didn't
he? This bad man Blood who owned the house. Women—women who..."
"Enough, enough! Do not, um, perturb yourself, Maytera. General.
A few such. An, er, select contingent. So I was given to understand
upon the occasion of our—um—my tête-à-tête,
eh? With old Quetzal. Do I, um, scandalize you? With His Cognizance. I am,
ah, betimes inclined to be overfree. To presume upon an old friendship. A
failing, I concede." Remora advanced to study the damaged Murtagon.
"Was this where it happened?"
"Where the women—ah?" He glanced back at her with a half smile.
"No indeed."
"Where Caldé Silk killed this man Blood, and Sergeant Sand killed
Councillor Potto."
"We've finer ones at the Palace, hey? Still it's nice and might
be—ah—emended. In an, um, one of the anterooms as I understand
it, General. May I ask why you wish to know. An um, monument
of some kind, possibly? A dedicational tablet of, er, bronze?"
"Because we know that the man who owned this house died in
it, Your Eminence," Maytera Mint explained. "This Blood, with
Councillor Potto. If their bodies aren't here, they've been removed
by someone, and I'd think that if Generalissimo Oosik or even General
Saba had done it I'd have heard. A councillor's body? Everyone would
be arguing about what should be done with it, and I would certainly
have heard."
Her tone grew crisp. "Now if you'll oblige me."
Remora, who was not used to being asked for favors in that
peremptory fashion, looked around sharply.
"There seems to be no one here, though my informants... Never
mind. Do you agree?"
"There is certainly no one in this room at present
except—ah—ourselves. With regard to the, er, remainder of the, um,
building, I—hum—further investigation."
"I've been listening carefully and heard nothing. The bodies may
be in plain view or hidden by furniture or whatnot." Rather tardily
Maytera Mint added, "Your Eminence. I'll search the rooms on this
side. I'd like you to search the other. We needn't bother with the rest
of the house, I think."
"If there are no, er, bodies, General," Remora smoothed the truant
lock into place, "shall we return to the city—ah—forthwith? Might
be wise, eh? We have no way of knowing what has transpired in our
absence, hey?"
She nodded. "Agreed. We'll know then that they've been here and
may return later. I'll leave one of Bison's officers to watch, with a few
troopers. If we do find a body, either one, it should be safe to
assume that the Ayuntamiento's troops have never come back at all. We can
go back to the city at once and forget about this house."
"Wisely, er, spoken." Remora was already hurrying toward the first
of his assigned roorns. "I shall inform you promptly should I discover
an—ah—the mortal remains."
The anteroom Maytera Mint entered had, it appeared, been the
owner's study. A massive mahogany desk, lavishly carved, stood
against one wall, and there were shelves of books, mostly (she scanned
the titles on a shelf at the level of her eyes) erotic if not pornographic:
Three Maids and Their Mistress, The Astonishing Exploits of a Virile
Young Man and His Donkey, His Resistance Overcome...
She turned away. What had it been like to be here under such a
master? She tried to picture the lives of the women who had endured
it, and failed. They had been bad women, as the whorl judged, but
that only meant that they had commanded defenses greatly inferior
to her own.
Strange, how she had come to think in military metaphors during
the past few days.
The desk drawers seemed apt to tell her a good deal about the owner,
who counted for nothing now, and nothing about the Ayuntamiento
and those who served it. She opened a drawer at random anyway,
glanced at the papers it had held—all of them concerned in some
fashion with money—shut it, and made sure no corpse lay concealed
in the leg hole.
"General!"
Turning so quickly that the long, black skirt of her habit billowed
about her, she hurried out of the study and across the sellaria. "What
is it, Your Eminence?"
He met her at the doorway, visibly struggling to conceal his pleasure.
"I have the—ah—it is my unhappy duty—"
"You've found a body. Whose?"
"The, um, late councillor's, I believe. If, perhaps, you would not
care—"
"To see it? I must! Your Eminence, I've seen hundreds of bodies
since this began. Thousands." There had been a time when she had
found it nearly impossible to cut the throat of a goat; as she pushed
past Remora, she reflected that she would find that difficult still,
and find it literally impossible to cut a man's, even an enemy's. Yet
she had made plans and given orders that had clogged entire streets
with corpses.
"I took the, um, responsibility? The—ah—presumption of, er,
tidying him up. On his back now, eh? Folded the arms, prior to
calling you."
Potto lay almost at her feet, his arms crossed in such a way as to
hide the wound Sand's slug had made just below his sternum. The
graying hair that he had worn long trailed over Blood's lush carpet,
and Maytera Mint found herself muttering, "He looks surprised."
"Doubtless he—ah—was." Remora cleared his throat. "Caught
unawares, hey? Shot by one of his own. All in a, um, trice. So my
prothonotary tells me. He—ah—Incus is his name, General. Patera
Incus. He has, um, fallen prey in some—ah—wise to the notion that
he's old Quetzal—"
She knelt beside the corpse, traced the sign of addition, and opened
its card case.
"Mad, I fear. Deranged. Bit of rest, eh? He'll come to himself soon
enough. General—ah—?"
In the first place," Maytera Mint explained, "there may be papers
of value in here. In the second, there's money, ten cards or so, and
we need that very badly."
"I, ah, see."
Cards and papers vanished into her wide sleeve. "Where's the
blood? Did you clean up his blood before you called to me, Your
Eminence?"
"Through the heart, eh?" Remora's nasal tones sounded slightly
strangled. "Not much bleeding then, eh? So I am—ah—apprised."
Gently at first, then with increased vigor, Maytera Mint rubbed
the councillor's cheek. "This's a chem!"
"I—um—"
She looked up at Remora. "You knew."
"I—ah—suspected."
"You rolled him over, you said, Your Eminence. You folded his
arms. You must have known."
"Then? Oh, yes, I—ah—confirmed, eh? I had, um,
and—ah—Quetzal, eh? Old Quetzal. Wouldn't tell. Asked him once. More,
actually. He, ah, er, wouldn't. Confides in me, eh? Nearly everything. Very,
ah, delicate points. Sensitive matters, finances. Everything. But
he—ah—wouldn't."
Suddenly Remora was on his knees beside her. "General—ah—General.
Alone here, hey? No one but, er, ourselves. May I call you Maytera?"
She ignored it. "There'll be the question of burial. A dozen questions,
really. You must have realized I'd find out."
"I—ah—did. Indeed. Not so swiftly, however. You are
most—or—perspicacious."
"Then why didn't you say so? Why all that nonsense about
blood?"
"Because I—Incus. Patera Incus. And old Quetzal, eh? My position
is, er, delicate. Imperiled. Maytera, hear me, I—ah—beg you. Yes,
beg. Implore."
She nodded. "I'm listening. What is it?"
"Incus, my prothonotary. Was. You know him?"
She shook her head. "Just tell me."
"He's been appointed Prolocutor. By, um, Scylla. He says it, I
mean. Credits it himself, eh? Convinced. Spoke to him yesterday,
but he—you..."
"Me?" For a second, Maytera Mint felt she was missing some vital
clue. It dawned upon her, and she rocked backward to sit cross-legged
on the carpet, her head in her hands.
"Maytera? Er, General?"
She looked up at Remora. "I was appointed by Echidna, in front
of thousands of people. Is that it, Your Eminence?"
Remora's mouth opened and shut silently.
"So you know it happened. All those witnesses. And I've been
successful, as you say. The victorious commander, chosen for us by
the gods. Even Bison and the captain talk like that, and then there's
Patera Silk."
Remora nodded miserably.
"Everyone says he's been appointed by Great Pas to be our caldé,
even Maytera Marble. He's been successful, too, so it looks like
the gods have decided to choose leaders for us, and if this Patera
Incus is going to be the new Prolocutor, he'll want to pick his own
coadjutor."
"Nor—ah—um—worse. If he—ah—old Quetzal, you
know. Resourceful. Cunning. Seen it myself, hundreds of times,
eh? Ayuntamiento had the force, but he'd get 'round them. Get
'round Lemur and Loris, all of them. Old man, hey? Foolish old
man. What they think. His Cognizance. Quetzal. But sly, Mayt—General.
Very sly. Deep."
She made a small sound of encouragement.
"Compromise. I—ah—sense it. I am not, um, clever, General. Try
to be, indeed. Try. Some have said—well, it pares no parsnips. But not
like old Quetzal. Experienced, though. My—ah—self. Conferences,
negotiations. And I wind it. Wind it already. Be coadjutor, Incus.
Obvious, eh? First thing anybody would, er, formulate. Old Quetzal
would—ah—visualize? Comprehend the whole before Incus finished.
Old man. Die soon, hey? A year, two years, to—ah—fit yourself into
the position, Patera. I'll be gone. I can, um, hear him as I—we—speak.
So I didn't dare, eh? Tell you. You see my predicament? The—ah—Loris.
Galago. All the rest. Chems, every one of them. I suspected
it for years. Meeting with this one, that one, entire days, sometimes.
Saw them up close. Quetzal knows, he must."
"But His Cognizance wouldn't talk about it?"
"No. Ah—no. Too sensitive. Even for me, eh? He, Incus. I
told you?"
"You told me he says Scylla's made him Prolocutor."
"He, um, offered me..."
One bony hand pushed back the straying lock, and Maytera Mint
saw how violently that hand shook. "He offered you...?"
"A—ah—appointment. A position. He was," Remora swallowed,
"not abusive. It was not, I judge, his intent to be—ah—disparage.
He said that I—I refused, to be sure. His prothonotary. His, ah,
I—I—I..."
Maytera Mint nodded. "I see."
"We have been, er, companions, Maytera. Coworkers—ah—partners in peace,
hey? Son and daughter of the Chapter. We have conferred, and the
same—um—consecrated vision has inspired us both. I
well—ah—recollect our first meeting. You averred
with—um—coruscant eyes that peace was your, er, sole desire once you
had—ah, um—executed the will of the gods. I affirmed? Avowed that it was
mine likewise. In concert we have conferred with Brigadier Erne and the
caldé. You are a hero, um, heroine to the—ah—populace. There is
talk of a statue, hey? A word from you, your support..."
"Be quiet," she told him. "I haven't had a moment to get used to the
idea that the Ayuntamiento's made up of chems, and now this."
"If I, ah—"
"Be quiet, I said!" She drew a deep breath, running the fingers of
both hands through her short brown hair. "To begin with, no, you
may not call me Maytera. Not in private, and not any other time. If
His Cognizance will release me, I mean to return to secular life. I,"
another breath, "may marry. We'll see. As for you, if this Patera Incus
has in fact been named Prolocutor by Scylla, then he is Prolocutor,
regardless of any arrangement that he and Patera Quetzal may make.
I can readily imagine a younger man of great sanctity deferring to
a much older one. Viewed in a certain light, it would be an act of
noble self-renunciation. But it wouldn't alter the fact. He would be
our Prolocutor, though he wasn't called so. Since he proposed that
you become his prothonotary, plainly you're not to be coadjutor any
longer. No doubt Patera Quetzal is, in solemn truth, coadjutor. That
being so, I'll call you Patera."
"My dear young woman!"
Her look silenced him. "I'm not your dear young woman, or
anyone's. I'm thirty-six, and I assure you that for a woman it's no
longer young. Call me General, or I'll make your life a great deal
less pleasant than it has been."
A door at the far end of the room opened, and someone who was
neither Mint nor Remora applauded. "Brava, my dear young general!
Simply marvelous! You ought to be on the stage."
He waddled over to them, a short, obese man with bright blue eyes,
a cheerful round face, and hair so light as to be nearly blond. "But as
for accepting an Ayuntamiento of chems, you need not trouble. I'm
no chem, though I confess that the object before you is something
of the kind."
Remora gasped, having recognized him.
"This augur and I are old—I really can't say friends. Acquaintances.
You, I feel sure, are the rebels' famous General Mint." The stranger
giggled. "Presumably you aim at supreme power, which would make
you the Govern-Mint. I like that! I'm Councillor Potto. Curtain. Did
you wish to speak to me?"
For a fleeting moment in which his heart nearly stopped, it seemed
to Silk that he had seen Hyacinth among the cheering pedestrians.
Before he could shout to his bearers, the woman turned her head and
the illusion ended. He had been ready, as he realized as he settled
back among the cushions, to spring out of the litter.
I need my glasses, he thought. My old ones, which I can't possibly
get back, or some new ones.
Oreb fluttered on his shoulder. "Good Silk!"
"Crazed Silk," he told his bird. "Mad and foolish Silk. I mistook
another woman for her."
"No see."
"My own thought exactly. Several times I've dreamed my mother
was alive. Have I told you about that?"
Oreb whistled.
"For a minute or two after I woke up, I believed it, and I was so
happy. This was like that." Leaning from the right side of the litter,
he addressed the head bearer. "You needn't go so fast. You'll wear
yourselves out."
The man grinned and bobbed his head.
Silk settled back again. Their speed was increasing. No doubt the
bearers felt it a question of honor; when one carried the caldé, one ran.
Otherwise ordinary people who had never had the privilege of carrying
the caldé's litter might think him on an errand of no importance. Which
would never do; if his errand were of no importance, neither were his
bearers.
"I've got twenty Guardsmen looking for her," he told Oreb. "That's
not enough, since they didn't find her, but it's all we could spare
with the Fourth Brigade holding out on the north side, and the
Ayuntamiento in the tunnels."
Mention of the tunnels made Oreb croak unhappily.
At what amounted to a dead run, the litter swayed, yawed, and
swerved off Sun Street onto Lamp. Leaning out Silk said, "Music
Street—I thought I made it clear. A block east."
The head bearer's head bobbed as before.
"If twenty Guardsmen can't find her, Oreb, I certainly can't; and
last night I didn't. We didn't, I ought to say. So we need help, and I
cant hink of three places—no, four—where we may get it. Today we're
going to try them all Most of the fires are out, and Maytera Mint and
Oosik can actually fight better without me in the way; so although
the physician says I should be in bed, and I'm not supposed to have
a minute to myself, I intend to take as many hours as necessary."
Yawing as before, the litter turned onto a still narrower street that
Silk did not recognize.
"It's up to the gods, I'm afraid. I don't trust them—not even the
Outsider, who seems to trust me—but they may smile on us yet."
"Find girl?"
He had lost his desire to talk, but the intensity of his emotions
drove the words forth. "What did he want with her!" As he spoke,
the litter sped past a shop with a zither and a dusty bassoon in its
window.
But Caldé Silk of Viron did not see them.
"This is the kitchen?" Maytera Mint looked around her in surprise.
It was the largest that she had ever seen.
"There are, ah, alternatives," Remora ventured. "Still entire, eh?
Equally, hum, unsigned by Sabered Sphigx."
"I find it cozy," Potto declared. "For one thing, there's food, though
your troops, my dear young General, made off with a lot. I like food,
even if I can't eat it. For another, I'm a good host, eager for the
comfort of my guests, and it's easy to heat. Behold this noble stove
and laden woodbox. I'm happily immune to drafts, but you aren't.
I'm determined to make you comfortable. Those other rooms offer the
chilly attractions of a society beauty. This will provide warmth and tea,
even soup." He giggled. "All the solid virtues of an old nurse. Besides,
there are a great many sharp knives, and I'm always encouraged by
the presence of sharp knives."
"You can't be here alone," Maytera Mint said.
Potto grinned. "Do you propose to attack me if I am?"
"Certainly not."
"You have an azoth, the famous one given you by Silk. I won't
search you for it now."
"I left it with Colonel Bison. If I had come armed after calling for
a truce, you'd be entitled to kill me."
"I am anyhow," Potto told her. He picked up a stick of firewood
and snapped it between his hands. "The rules of war protect armies
and their auxiliaries. Yours is a rebellion, not a war, and rebels get
no such protection. Patera there knows that's the truth. Look at
his face."
"I—ah—assert the privilege of my cloth."
"You can. You haven't fought, so you're entitled to it. The General
has and isn't. It's all very simple."
When neither replied, Potto added, "Speaking of cloth, I forgot to
say that the rules apply only to soldiers and those auxiliaries who wear
their city's uniform, as General Saba does. You, my dear General,
don't. The upshot is that though I can't offer violence to your armies
as long as the truce holds, I'm entitled to break both your leggies if I
want to, and even to wring your necky. Sit down, there's a cozy little
table right over there. I'll build a fire and put the kettle on."
They sat, Remora tucking the rich overrobe he wore around his
legs, Maytera Mint as she might have in the cenoby, her delicate
hands folded in her lap, and her head bowed.
Potto filled one of the stove's fireboxes and stroked a stick of
kinding. It burst into flame, not merely at one end like a torch, but
along its entire length. He tossed it into the firebox and shoved the
firebox back in place with an angry grinding of iron.
"He, um, intrigues to separate us," Remora whispered. "A—ah—hallowed?
Elementary stratagem, General. I shall, um, cleave to you,
eh? If you in, ah, analogous fashion—"
"Maytera. Call me Maytera, please, Your Eminence, when we're
alone."
"Indeed. Indeed! O, ah, soror neque enim ignari sumus ante malorum.
O passi graviora, dabit Pas his guoque finem."
Potto was filling a teakettle. Without turning his head, he said, "I
have sharp ears. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Maytera Mint looked up. "Then I'm spared the necessity of raising
my voice. Are you really Councillor Potto? We came to negotiate with
the Ayuntamiento, not with anyone we chanced to meet. If you are,
whose body was that?"
"Yes." Potto put the kettle on the stove. "Mine. Have you more
questions?"
"Certainly. Are you willing to stop all this bloodshed?"
"It bothers you, doesn't it?" He pulled out a stout stool and sat
down so heavily the floor shook.
"Seeing good and brave troopers die? Watching someone who was
eager to obey me a few seconds ago writhing and bleeding in the
street? It does!"
"Well, it doesn't me, and I don't understand why it should you. I
never have. Call it a gift. There are people who can listen to music
all evening, then go home and write everything down, and others
who can run faster and farther than a horse. Did you know that?
Mine's a less amazing gift, though it's brought me success. I don't
feel pain I don't feel. Is that what you call a tautology? It's what life
has taught me. I give it to you for nothing."
Remora nodded, his long face longer than ever. "I, er, vouchsafe
it might be included under that—ah—rubric."
"Councillor."
"Why—ah—indeed. I had no, um, intention—"
"Thanks. I'm the only member who forced his way in, or had to.
Did you know that, either of you?"
Maytera Mint shook her head.
"We're all related, as you can see from our names. Lemur and Loris
were brothers. Lemur's dead. You don't have to look surprised, I know
you know. He packed the Ayuntamiento with relatives, back before
Patera here was born. I came to him. I approached him forthrightly
and fairly. He'd brought in Galago, a second cousin by courtesy. I
was much closer, and I said so. He said he'd take it under advisement.
A week later—there'd been this and that, you know, nothing serious—he
tried to have me killed. I saw to it that the man's flesh was
served to us at dinner, and dessert was his head in lemon sherbet.
Lemur jerked away from it, and I scooped up a little sherbet with
my fingers and ate it. I took the oath next day. Councillor Potto.
My cousins soon discovered that I was a useful friend, not just an
unpleasant relative."
Maytera Mint nodded. "You're proud of being useful, as everyone
who is, is entided to be. Now you have a chance to be of great service
to our whole city."
"We have, ah, ventured forth in good faith," Remora put in. "The
general has come unarmed. My—ah—vocation prohibits weapons.
Such, at least, is my own opinion, though the—our caldé's may differ. I
ask you, Council or, whether you, er, similarly. Are we intermediaries?
Or, um, captives?"
"You want to go before your tea's ready?" Potto waved in the
direction of the door. "Make the experiment, Patera."
"My duty, um, confines me."
"Then you're a prisoner, but not mine. Dear young General Mint,
wouldn't you like to know how I manage to be alive in the kitchen
and dead in the drawing room?"
"There were two of you, clearly." She had taken her big wooden
prayer beads from her pocket; she ran them through her fingers,
comforted by their familiar shapes.
"No, only one, and that one is neither here nor there. As we aged,
Cousin Tarsier made us new bodies out of chems. Lemur got the
first one, and the rest of us later as we came to need them, bodies
we can work from our beds. I can't enjoy food, but I eat. I'm feeding
intravenously right now."
"What became of the chems?" Maytera Mint managed to keep her
voice steady. "Of their minds?"
"I thought you were going to ask me whether he made the others
more than one."
"No. Clearly he did, or someone did. But you got this body from
another person. And—and changed it to look like you? You must
have. Did he consent to any of that?"
"The logical question is whether there are two of all of us." Potto
struck the table with his fist. "You didn't even ask how I got the wood
to burn. How am I supposed to deal with someone who won't stick
to the point?"
Remora began, "I, ah—" But Potto was not through. "By sticking
with the point myself. That's it! I may soon stick with one so well
that it sticks out your back." He turned to Remora. "Yes, Patera.
You were about to say...?"
"I was, um, speculating, Councillor, upon how you ignited that
wood so, er, effortlessly. I, um, hope that you will, um, consent to
ah—illuminate that matter for us."
"I am not going to sit here teaching a butcher chemistry. Can't
either of you understand that once I've told you what I want, I don't
want it? What are you doing here anyway? Dear General Mint's the
leader, after Silk. Why are you here?"
"To, er, mediate. We, um, His Cognizance and, hum—"
"To bring peace," Maytera Mint declared. "Caldé Silk has offered
to let all of you keep your seats under the Charter. Considering all
that's happened, I think it very generous."
"For life?"
Remora touched her arm, and she found it easy to interpret the
jesture. "Is there a provision for life tenure? If so, I imagine it might
be invoked." Remora shook his head; the motion was slight, but
she saw it.
Potto smiled; it was so unexpected that she wondered for
a moment whether she had unwittingly promised a return to
power.
Seeing it, Remora positively beamed. "Better! Oh, indeed! Must be
mends, eh? Friends can make peace, foes, er, unable."
"You misunderstand my expression, Patera."
"I, um, hail and approve it. Time—ah—sufficient for understanding,
er, presently. Maybe I put forward a proposal, Councillor? General?
My wish, a heartfelt suggestion. That we—ah—solemnly convene at
the present moment, offering our prayer to the Nine. Our petition,
if you will, that—"
"Shut up," Potto snapped. "I've got the key, and you go on blathering.
Caldé Silk sent you, General. Is that right?"
"He would approve of my coming, certainly. For days we've been
trying to reach you councillors on our glasses. I thought we might
try this."
When Potto did not reply, she added, "His Eminence was chosen
as an intermediary by your Brigadier Erne and our caldé. Soon after,
as I understand it, His Cognizance offered his help as well. We were
and are overjoyed. I would hope—"
"You can't speak for him," Potto told her. "You may think
you can, or that Patera here can, but you can't. I've known
him a long time, and there's not a more malicious and unpredictable
person in the city. Not even me. You're a general, General?"
She nodded. "Appointed by Divine Echidna in a theophany. My
instructions," she amended them mentally in the interests of peace,
"were to tear down the Alambrera and see to it that Viron remained
loyal to Scylla. If you're asking my position in the command structure,
Caldé Silk is the head of our government, civil as well as military.
Generalissimo Oosik is our supreme military commander. I am in
charge of the armed populace, and General Skate commands the
Caldé's Guard."
Potto tittered. "Then you've a firm grasp of the military situation.
I don't. Lemur was our military man. Explain our circumstances to
me, General, so we can start together."
"You're serious?"
He rocked with silent merriment. "Never more."
"As you wish. After Ophidian Echidna's theophany, we had about
thirty thousand troopers. Not that there were that many witnesses,
or half that many, but a great many who heard what had happened
from others joined us. Some were Guardsmen, none, I think, above
captain. You, the Ayuntamiento, called out the Army, giving you
something like seven thousand soldiers, besides the twenty-four
thousand troopers of your Civil Guard."
"Go on," Potto told her. "None of this is quite right, but it's
interesting."
"My figures for the Guard come from Generalissimo Oosik, who
was certainly in a position to know. Those for the Army, from Sergeant
Sand, the leader of those brave soldiers who saw that true loyalty lay
in siding with the caldé."
Potto was still grinning. "Excuse the interruption."
"I was about to say that since then we've gained strength, and
you've lost it. By shadelow, we had nearly reached our present total
of about fifty thousand. I'm referring to my own troops here. That
night, every brigade of your Civil Guard went over to the caldé except
the Fourth. The Fourth and the Third, which was the generalissimo's,
had been holding the Palatine. The Fourth, commanded by Brigadier
Erne was driven from it next day, and into the northern suburbs."
"Where it still is."
"That's correct. We had fires all over the city to fight, hundreds of
them, and we've been busy trying to get ourselves organized. When the
Alambrera surrendered, we got thousands of slug guns and hundreds
of thousands of rounds of arnmunition. We had to see to it that they
went to people of good character. Furthermore, there's a feeling that
the Fourth Brigade might come over to our side in another day or
two. Caldé Silk and Generalissimo Oosik think so, and so do I. I'm
told that His Cognizance is of the same opinion."
Remora cleared his throat. "It was, hmp!, Brigadier Erne who, um,
entreated me to—ah—initiate? To set in motion these negotiations.
I, er, thereafter—shortly thereafter—sought out the caldé, whom,
um, approved likewise. I can—am able and—ah—authorized. The
brigadier's viewpoint."
"Not now," Potto told him. "General, could you crush the Fourth
Brigade? Suppose Silk ordered it."
"Certainly, in two or three hours. Less if I had a few taluses and
floaters, as well as my people. But we'd rather not, obviously, in
view of the loss of—"
"Not to me!" Potto chortled. "It's not obvious to me! Is the bloodshed
really what's bothering you?"
"I should think it would bother anyone."
"Well, you're right, but you're wrong too. The bloodshed wouldn't
bother me, but why shouldn't you take five thousand prime troopers
if you can get them? We would. Are those the only reasons,
General?"
"I'll be frank. There's another aspect. You, by which I mean the
Ayuntamiento, are down in the tunnels with most of the Army and
a few troopers."
"Nearly a thousand."
"Setting them aside, you must have about seven thousand soldiers
down there."
Potto's grin widened.
"More? Very well, if you say so. Seven thousand was our estimate.
In any case, if we got deeply involved in an attack on the Fourth,
which shouldn't be our primary objective anyway, you might make
a sortie from the tunnels and strike us from behind. According to
reports I've had, it takes at least four of my troopers to match a
soldier, which means that your seven thousand that's the figure
we discussed—are equivalent to twenty-eight thousand of mine. We
didn't feel we could risk it. I should say that we don't feel we can
as yet."
Potto nodded rather too enthusiastically. "Someplace in all that
verbiage was a morsel that seemed intelligent, my dear General. You
said our Guard, or what's left, wasn't what you really wanted to
destroy. That it was us. Why don't you come down after us?"
Remora looked deeply distressed. "Do you, er, Councillor... Is
this—ah—productive?"
"I think so. You'll see. Answer me if you can, General."
"Because the tunnels are too defensible. I haven't been in them,
but they've been described to me. A dozen soldiers could hold a
place like that against a hundred troopers. If we've got to, we'll
find a way, digging shafts and so on. But we'd rather not, which
is why I'm here. Also there's another consideration. You spoke of
destroying the Fourth. Clearly, we don't want to. Still less do we
want to destroy the Army, which is of immense value to our city.
We know that—"
"You are an amazing woman." Potto pushed his stool back and
crossed the big kitchen to the stove. "A woman who talks sense
whenever it suits her but can't hear a kettle boil."
"Women generally talk sense, if men will listen to it."
"Those who are generals generally do, anyway. You're right about
the Fourth, and right about the Army and not tackling the tunnels,
though you really don't understand the situation at all. I'm our head
spy, did you know that? I was in charge of Lemur's spies, and now
I've got Loris's." Potto tittered. "Who are generally the same, General,
and mine. Do you really think all the troopers in the city are yours
or ours? You simply can't be that simple!" He lifted the big copper
teakettle off the stove; it was spurting steam.
Maytera Mint pursed her lips.
"There are, um, an—ah—minuscule? Likewise. Token, eh? An—ah—few
hundred..."
"Two hundred, more or less," she supplied. "Two hundred Trivigaunti
pterotroopers commanded by General Saba, who also commands the
airship. Two hundred's a very small force, as His Eminence says,
though with supporting fire from the airship even a small force might
accomplish a great deal. General Saba has offered her help when we
move against the Fourth, by the way."
"How kind." Potto had carried the steaming teakettle to their
table.
"Not to you, Councillor. I realize that. But to us it is. It's a gesture
good will from the Rani to the new government of Viron, and as
is greatly appreciated."
"Your diplomacy flourishes." He raised the teakettle.
"It does. It's in its infancy, but it does." Maytera Mint stood. "We
need a teapot, and tea. Sugar, milk, and a lemon, if His Eminence
takes lemon. I'll look for them."
"I was about to ask you if my face looks dusty."
"I beg your pardon, Councillor?"
"Whether it's dusty. Look carefully, will you? Maybe we should
go to a window, where the light will be better."
"I don't see any dust." She was struck, unexpectedly and unpleasantly
by the lack of warmth in that face, which seemed so animated.
Maytera Marble's familiar metal mask held a whorl of humility and
passion; this, for all its seeming plumpness and high color, was
as cold as Echidna's serpents.
"It's been packed away for years, you see." Leaning back at an
impossible angle, Potto scratched the tip of his nose with the steaming
spout of the teakettle. "I'm the youngest member of the Ayuntamiento,
dear General. Did you know that?"
Maytera Mint shook her head.
"Just the same, they thought this seemed too young, and asked
me to replace it." He contrived to lean even farther backward. A
trickle of boiling water escaped the spout. "You don't know about
the Rani's horde, either. Do you?"
"What about it?"
"My face?" Potto jabbed the spout toward it. "It was in storage. I
said that, why didn't you listen? Now I can't see as clearly as I did.
I may have dust in my eyes."
Before Maytera Mint could stop him, he raised the teakettle and
tilted it. Seething water cascaded down onto his nose and eyes. Remora
exclaimed, "Oh, you gods!" as Maytera Mint jumped back from the
hissing spray.
"There. That ought to do it." Straightening up, Potto regarded her
through wide blue eyes again, blinking hard to clear them of boiling
drops. "That's much better. I can see everything. I hope you can, too,
my dear young General. The Rani's horde has already set out, and
there's sixty thousand foot and fifteen thousand cavalry. I haven't
the luxury of an airship to keep watch on Viron's enemies, but I do
the best I can. Seventy-five thousand battle-hardened troopers, with
their support troops, a supply train of fifteen thousand camels, and
a labor battalion of ten thousand men." Potto turned to Remora.
"Trivigaunte's men are of your school, Patera. No weapons. Or
anyway they're supposed to be."
Remora had regained his composure. "If this extensive and, ah,
formidable force is—ah—marching? Marching, you said, eh? Then I
take it that it can't be marching here, or you—um—the Ayuntamiento,
more formally. Terms of surrender, hey?"
Potto tittered.
Maytera Mint squared her shoulders. "I wouldn't laugh, Councillor.
His Eminence is entirely correct. If the Rani is sending us a force of
that size, your cause is doomed."
"It's just as I feared," Potto told her. He held up the teakettle. "Do
you think it's cooled too much?"
"To make tea?" She took an involuntary step backward. "I doubt
it."
"To wash eyes, so they can see. I think you're right. Boiling water
stays hot for a long time."
"I came under a flag of truce!"
He reached for her, moving much faster than so fat a man should
have been able to. She whirled and ran, feeling his fingertips brush
her habit, reached the door a hand's breadth ahead of him, and flung
herself through. An arm hooked her like a lamb; another pinned her
own arms to her sides. Her face was crushed against musty cloth.
Sounding near, Potto said, "Bring her back in here."