CALDE OF THE LONG SUN botls-3 Read online

  of, er, Patera Calde?"

  "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 Calde 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."

  Auk started.

  "Not ter you nor your pa neither. He maybe don't know it hisself,

  but he do. His bird an' that needler he's got, an' the big hangersword,

  an' his knife what he tells he's got in his boots, they all show

  it. You got ter know it better'n me. As fer this augur you're gettin'

  set ter offer me up, I fished him out O' the lake last night, and t'other

  day I seen another fished up. They do say--"

  "Describe him."

  "Yes'm." The old fisherman considered. "You was down in the

  cuddy then, I guess. When they'd got him out, I seen him look over

  our way. Lookin' at the bird, seemed like. Pretty young. Tall as the

  big feller. Yeller hair--"

  "Silk!" Auk exclaimed.

  "Pulled out of the water, you said?"

  The fisherman nodded. "Scup's boat. I've knowed Scup thirty year."

  "You may be right," Chenille told him. "You may be too valuable

  to sacrifice, and one old man is nothing anyway."

  She strode toward the Window before whirling to face them

  again. "Pay attention to what I say, all three of you. In a moment,

  I'll depart from this whore. My divine essence will pass from her

  into the Sacred Window that I have caused to be put here, and be

  reintegrated with my greater divine self in Mainframe. Do you

  understand me? All of you?"

  Auk nodded mutely The augur knelt, his head bowed.

  "Kypris, my mortal enemy and the enemy of my mother, my

  brothers, and my sisters--of our whole family, in fact--has been

  mischief-making here in Viron. Already she seems to have won to

  her side the meager fdol this idiot--What's your name, anyhow?"

  "Incus, Savage Scylla. I-I'm Patera _Incus_."

  "The fool this idiot calls His Eminence. I don't doubt that she

  intends to win over my Prolocutor and my Ayuntamiento too, if she

  can. The four of you, I include the whore after I'm through with her,

  are to see to
it that she fails. Use threats and force and the power of

  my name. Kill anyone you need to, it won't be held against you. If

  Kypris returns, do something to get my attention. Fifty or a hundred

  children should catch my eye, and Viron's got plenty to spare."

  She glared at each man in turn. "Questions? Let's hear them now,

  if there are any. Objections?"

  Oreb croaked in his throat, one bright black eye trained warily

  upon her.

  "Good. You're my prophets henceforth. Keep Viron loyal, and

  you'll have my favor. Believe nothing Kypris may tell you. My slave

  should be here shortly. He'll carry you there, and assist you. See the

  Prolocutor and talk to the commissions in the Juzgado. Tell

  everyone who'll listen about me. Tell them everything I've said to

  you. I'd hoped that the Ayuntamiento's boat would be in this dock.

  It usually is. It isn't today, so you'll have to see the councillors for

  me. The old man can bring you back here. Tell them I mean to sink

  their boat and drown them all in my lake if my city goes over to Kypris."

  Incus stammered, "A th-theophany, S-savage S-s-scylla, w-would--"

  "Not convince your councillors. They think themselves too wise.

  Theophanies may be useful, however. Reintegrated, I may consider them."

  She strode to the damp stone altar and sprang effonlessly to its top.

  "I had this built so your Ayuntamiento might offer private

  sacrifices and, when I chose, confer with me. Not a trace of ash!

  They'll pay for that as well.

  "You." She pointed to Auk. "This augur Silk's plotting to overthrow

  them for Kypris. Help him, but show him where his duty lies.

  If he can't see it, kill him. You've my permission to rule yourself as

  my Calde in that case. The idiot here can be Prolocutor under

  similar circumstances, I suppose."

  She faced the Window and knelt. Auk knelt, too, pulling the

  fisherman down. (Incus was kneeling already.) Clearing his throat,

  Auk began the prayer that he had bungled upon the Pilgrims' Way,

  when Scylla had revealed her divine identity. "Behold us, lovely

  Scylla, woman of the waters--"

  Incus and the fisherman joined in. "Behold our love and our need

  for thee. Cleanse us, O Scylla!"

  At the name of the goddess, Chenille threw high her arms with a

  strangled cry. The dancing colors called the Holy Hues filled the

  Sacred Window with chestnut and brown, aquamarine, orange,

  scarlet, and yellow, cerulean blue and a curious shade of rose