you're in favor of attacking the relief column? Good, so am I! I'm
not sure I know what Zoril wants, and I'm not sure he knows. Even
so, that's a clear majority. Where would you suggest we attack it,
Bison?'
He was silent, fingering his beard.
'We'll lose some stragglers. I realize that. But there are steps we
can take to keep from losing many, and we might pick up some new
people as well. Zoril?'
'I don't know, Maytera. I think you ought to decide.'
'So do I, and I will. But it's foolish to make decisions without
listening to advice, if there's time for it. I think we should attack
right here, when they reach the Alambrera.'
Bison nodded emphatically.
'In the first place, we don't have much time to prepare, and that
will give us the most.'
Bison said, 'People are throwing stones at them from the roof-tops.
The messenger told us that, too, remember? Maybe they'll kill
a few Hoppies for us. Let's give them a chance.'
'And perhaps some of their younger men will come over to us.
We ought to give them as much opportunity as we can to do that.'
Inspired by the memory of games at the palaestra, she added,
'When somebody changes sides, it counts twice, one more for us and
one fewer for them. Besides, when they get here the Guards in the
Alambrera will have to open those big doors to let them in.' Their
expressions showed that none of them had thought of that, and she
concluded, 'I'm not saying that we'll be able to get inside ourselves.
But we might. Now them, how are we going to attack?'
'Behind and before, with as many men as we can,' Bison rumbled.
Lime added, 'We need to take them by surprise, Maytera.'
'Which is another reason for attacking here. When they get to the
Alambrera, they'll think they've reached their goal. They may relax
a little. That will be the time for us to act.'
'When the doors open.' Bison drove a fist into his palm.
'Yes, I think so. What is it, Zoril?'
'I shouldn't say this. I know what everybody's going to think, but
they've been shooting down on us from the walls and the high
windows. Just about everybody we've lost, we've lost like that.' He
waited for contradiction, but there was none.
'There's buildings across the street as high as the wall, Maytera,
and one just a little up the street that's higher. I think we ought to
have people in there to shoot at the men on the wall. Some of mine
that don't have needlers or slug guns could be on the roofs, too,
throwing stones like the messenger talked about. A chunk of
shiprock falling that far ought to hit as hard as a slug, and these
Hoppies have got armor.'
Maytera Mint nodded again. 'You're right. I'm putting you in
charge of that. Get some people--not just your own, some of the
older boys and girls particularly--busy right away carrying stones
and bricks up there. There must be plenty around after the fires.
'Lime, Your women are no longer fighters unless they've got
needlers or slug guns. We need people to get our wounded out of
the fight and take care of them. They can use their knives or
whatever they have on anyone who tries to interfere with them. And
that woman with the pitchfork? Go get her. I want to talk to her.'
A fragment of broken plaster caught Maytera Mint's eye. 'Now,
Bison, look here.' Picking it up, she scratched two widely spaced
lines on the fire-blackened wall behind her. 'This is Cage Street.'
With speed born of years of practice, she sketched in the Alambrera
and the buildings facing it.
There was still a good deal of cedar left, and the fire on the altar had
not quite gone out. Silk heaped fresh wood on it and let the wind fan
it for him, sparks streaking Sun Street.
Quetzal had taken charge of Musk's corpse, arranging it decently
beside Maytera Rose's coffin. Maytera Marble, who had gone to the
cenoby for a sheet, had not yet returned.
'He was the most evil man I've ever known.' Silk had not
intended to speak aloud, but the words had come just the same.
'Yet I can't help feeling sorry for him, and for all of us, as well,
because he's gone.'
Quetzal murmured, 'Does you credit, Patera Calde,' and wiped
the blade of the manteion's sacrificial knife, which he had rescued
from the dust.
Vaguely, Silk wondered when he had dropped it. Maytera Rose
had always taken care of it, washing and sharpening it after each
sacrifice, no matter how minor; but Maytera Rose was gone, as
dead as Musk.
After he had cut the sign of addition in Villas's ankle, of course,
when he had knelt to suck out the poison.
When he had met Blood on Phaesday, Blood had said that he had
promised someone--had promised a woman--that he would pray at
this manteion for her. Suddenly Silk knew (without in the least
understanding how he knew) that the 'woman' had been Musk. Was
Musk's spirit lingering in the vicinity of Musk's body and prompting
him in some fashion? Whispering too softly to be heard? Silk traced
the sign of addition, knowing that he should add a prayer to
Thelxiepeia, the goddess of magic and ghosts, but unable to do so.
Musk had bought the manteion for Blood with Blood's money;
and Musk must have felt, in some deep part of himself that all his
evil actions had not killed, that he had done wrong--that he had by
his purchase offended the gods. He had asked Blood to pray for
him, or perhaps for them both, in the manteion that he had bought;
and Blood had promised to do it.
Had Blood kept his promise?
'If you'd help with the feet, Patera Calde?' Quetzal was standing
at the head of Maytera Rose's coffin.
'Yes, of course, Your Cognizance. We can carry that in.'
Quetzal shook his head. 'We'll lay it on the sacred fire, Patera
Calde. Cremation is allowed when burial is impractical. If you
