slid down a thin arm of gray metal, and a moment later he caught
sight of Maytera Marble's shining, beloved face below the waving,
flesh-like hand. It seemed too good to be true.
'_Maytera!_' In the tumult of the crowd he could scarcely hear his
own voice; he silenced them with a gesture, arms out, palms down.
'_Quiet! Quiet, please!_'
The noise diminished, replaced by the troubled bleating of sheep
and the angry hissing of geese; as the crowd parted before the
floater, he located the animals themselves.
'Maytera! You're holding a viaggiatory sacrifice?'
'Maytera Mint is! I'm helping!'
'Patera!' Gulo was back, trotting alongside the floater, his black
robe fallow with dust. 'There are dozens of victims, Patera! Scores!'
They would have to sacrifice alternately if the ceremony were not
to be prolonged till shadelow--which was what Gulo wanted, of
course; the glory of offering so many victims, of appearing before so
large a congregation. Yet he was not (as Silk reminded himself
sharply) asking for more than his due as acolyte. Furthermore, Gulo
could begin immediately, while he, Silk, would have to wash and
change. 'Stop,' he called to the driver. 'Stop right here.' The floater
settled to the ground before the altar.
Silk swung his legs from the turret to stand at the edge of the deck
before it, admonished by a twinge from his ankle.
'_Friends!_' A voice he felt he should recognize at once, shrill yet
thrilling, rang from the walls of every building on Sun Street. 'This is
Patera Silk! This is the man whose fame has brought you to the
poorest manteion in the city. To the Window through which the
gods look upon Viron again!'
The crowd roared approval.
'Hear him! Recall your holy errand, and his!'
Silk, who had identified the speaker at the fourth word, blinked
and shook his head, and looked again. Then there was silence, and
he had forgotten what he had been about to say.
An antlered stag among the waiting victims (an offering to
Thelxiepeia, the patroness of divination, presumably) suggested an
approach; his fingers groped for an ambion. 'No doubt there are
many questions you wish to ask the gods concerning these unsettled
times. Certainly there are many questions I need to ask. Most of all,
I wish to beg the favor of every god; and most of all to beg Stabbing
Sphigx, at whose order armies march and fight, for peace. But
before I ask the gods to speak to us, and before I beg their favor, I
must wash and change into suitable clothes. I've been in a battle,
you see--one in which good and brave men died; and before I
return to our manse to scrub my face and hands and throw these
clothes into the stove, I must tell you about it.'
They listened with upturned faces, eyes wide.
'You must have wondered at seeing me in a Guard floater. Some
of you surely thought, when you saw our floater, that the Guard
intended to prevent your sacrifice. I know that, because I saw you
drawing weapons and reaching for stones. But you see, these
Guardsmen have endorsed a new government for Viron.'
There were cheers and shouts.
'Or as I should have said, a return to the old one. They wish us to
have a calde--'
'_Silk is calde!_' someone shouted.
'--and a return to the forms laid down in our Charter. I
encountered some of these brave and devout Guardsmen in Limna,
and because I was afraid we might be stopped by other units of the
Guard, I foolishly suggested that they pretend I was their prisoner.
Many of you will have anticipated what happened as a result. Other
Guardsmen attacked us, thinking that they were rescuing me.' He
paused for breath.
'Remember that. Remember that you must not assume that every
Guardsman you see is our enemy, and remember that even those
who oppose us are Vironese.' His eyes sought out Maytera Marble
again. 'I've lost my keys, Maytera. Is the garden gate unlocked? I
should be able to get into the manse that way.'
She cupped her hands (hands that might have belonged to a bio
woman) around her mouth. 'I'll open it for you, Patera!'
'Patera Gulo, proceed with the sacrifice, please. I'll join you as
soon as I can.'
Clumsily, Silk vaulted from the floater, trying to put as much
weight as he could on his sound left leg; at once he found himself
sunounded by well-wishers, some of them in green Civil Guard
uniforms, some in mottled green conflict armor, most in bright
tunics or flowing gowns, and more than a few in rags; they touched
him as they might have touched the image of a god, in speeches
blurted in a second or two declared themselves his disciples,
partisans, and supporters forever, and carried him along like the
rush of a rain-swollen river.
Then the garden wall was at his elbow, and Maytera Marble at the
gate waving to him while the Guardsmen swung the butts of the slug
guns to keep back the crowd. A voice at his ear said, 'I shall come
with you, My Calde. Always now, you must have someone to
protect you.' It was the captain with whom he had breakfasted at
four in the morning in Limna.
The garden gate banged shut behind them; on the other side
Maytera Marble's key grated in the lock. 'Stay here,' the captain
ordered a Guardsman in armor. 'No one is to enter.' He turned
back to Silk, pointed toward the cenoby. 'Is that your house, My
Calde?'
'No. It's over there. The triangular one.' Belatedly. he realized
that it did not appear triangular from the garden; the captain would
think him mad. 'The smaller one. Patera Gulo won't have locked
the door. Potto got my keys.'
'Councillor Potto, My Calde?'
'Yes, Councillor Potto.' Yesterday's pain rushed back: Potto's
fists and electrodes, Sand's black box. Scrupulous answers that
brought further blows and the electrodes at his groin. Silk pushed
