was, although cleaner, very much like his own.
Upstairs he found a hall that was an enlarged version of the
landing at the top of the stair in the manse, with three faded pictures
decorating its walls Pas, Echidna, and Tartaros bringing gifts of
food, progeny, and prosperity (here mawkishly symbolized by a
bouquet of marigolds) to a wedding; Scylla spreading her beautiful
unseen mantle over a traveler drinking from a pool in the southern
desert; and Molpe, perfunctorily disguised as a young woman of the
upper classes, approving a much older and poorer woman's feeding
pigeons.
Momentarily he paused to examine the last. Cassava might, he
decided, have posed for the old woman; he reflected bitterly that
the flock she fed could better have fed her, then reminded himself
that in a sense they had--that the closing years of her life were
brightened by the knowledge that she, who had so little left to give,
could still give something.
A door at the end of the hall was smashed. Curious, he went in.
The bed was neatly made and the floor swept. There was water in a
ewer on the nightstand, so this was certainly Maytera Mint's room
or Maytera Rose's, or perhaps the room in which Chenille had spent
Scylsday night. An icon of Scylla's hung on the wall, much darkened
by the votive lamps of the small shrine before it. And here was--yes
what appeared to be a working glass. This was Maytera Rose's
room, surely. Silk clapped, and a monitor's bloodless face appeared
in its gray depths.
'Why has Maytera Rose never told me she had this glass?' Silk
demanded.
'I have no idea, sir. Have you inquired?'
'Of course not!'
'That may well be the reason, sir.'
'If you--' Silk rebuked himself, and found that he was smiling.
What was this, compared to the death of Doctor Crane or Echidna's
theophany? He must learn to relax, and to think.
When the manteion had been built, a glass must have been
provided for the use of the senior sibyl as well as the senior augur;
that was natural enough, and in fact praiseworthy. The senior
augur's glass, in what was now Patera Gulo's room, was out of order
and had been for decades; this one, the senior sibyl's, was still
functioning, perhaps only because it had been less used. Silk ran his
fingers through his disorderly yellow hair. 'Are there more glasses in
this cenoby, my son?'
'No, sir.'
He advanced a step, wishing that he had a walking stick to lean
upon. 'In this manteion?'
'Yes, sir. There is one in the manse, sir, but it is no longer
summonable.'
Silk nodded to himself. 'I don't suppose you can tell me whether
the Alambrera has surrendered?'
Immediately the monitor's face vanished, replaced by the turreted
building and its flanking walls. Several thousand people were
milling before the grim iron doors, where a score of men attempted
to batter their way in with what seemed to be a building timber. As
Silk watched, two Guardsmen thrust slug guns over the parapet of a
turret on the right and opened fire.
Maytera Mint galloped into view, her black habit billowing about
her, looking no bigger than a child on the broad back of her mount.
She gestured urgently, the newfound silver trumpet that was her
voice apparently sounding retreat, although Silk could not distinguish
her words; the terrible discontinuity that was the azoth's blade
sprang from her upraised hand, and the parapet exploded in a
shower of stones.
'Another view,' the monitor announced smoothly.
From a vantage point that appeared to be fifteen or twenty cubits
above the street, Silk found himself looking down at the mob before
the doors; some turned and ran; others were still raging against the
Alambrera's stone and iron. The sweating men with the timber
gathered themselves for a new assault, but one fell before they
began it, his face a pulpy mask of scarlet and white.
'Enough,' Silk said.
The monitor returned. 'I think it safe to say, sir, that the
Alambrera has not surrendered. If I may, I might add that in my
judgement it is not likely to do so before the arrival of the relief
force, sir.'
'A relief force is on the way?'
'Yes, sir. The First Battalion of the Second Brigade of the Civil
Guard, sir, and three companies of soldiers.' The monitor paused. 'I
cannot locate them at the moment, sir, but not long ago they were
marching along Ale Street. Would you care to see it?'
'That's all right. I should go.' Silk turned away, then back. 'How
were you--there's an eye high up on a building on the other side of
Cage Street, isn't there? And another over the doors of the
Alambrera?'
'Precisely, sir.'
'You must be familiar with this cenoby. Which room is Maytera
Marble's?'
'Less so than you may suppose, sir. There are no other glasses in
this cenoby, sir, as I told you. And no eyes save mine, sir. However,
from certain remarks of my mistress's, I infer that it may be the
second door on the left, sir.'
'By your mistress you mean Maytera Rose? Where is she?'
'Yes, sir. My mistress has abandoned this land of trials and
sorrows for a clime infinitely more agreeable, sir. That is to say, for
Mainframe, sir. My lamented mistress has, in short, joined the
assembly of the immortal gods.'
'She's dead?'
'Precisely so, sir. As to the present whereabouts of her remains,
they are, I believe, somewhat scattered. This is the best I can do,
sir.'
The monitor's face vanished again, and Sun Street sprang into
