who you are.'
Silk said, 'I feel certain Patera Gulo would want you to have
anything that can be of any assistance whatsoever to you, Your
Cognizance.'
As Quetzal tottered away, Maytera Marble asked, 'Are you going
to help Maytera Mint, Patera? You'll be in frightful danger, both of
you. I'll pray for you.'
'I'm much more worried about you than about myself,' Silk told
her. 'More, even, than I am about her--she must be under
Echidna's protection, in spite of what His Cognizance said.'
Maytera Marble lifted her head in a slight, tantalizing smile.
'Don't fret about me. Maytera Marble's taking good care of me.'
Unexpectedly, she brushed his cheek with warm metal lips. 'If you
should see my boy Bloody, tell him not to worry either. I'll be all
right.'
'I certainly will, Maytera.' Silk took a hasty step back. 'Good-bye,
Maytera Rose. About those tomatoes--I'm sorry, truly sorry about
everything. I hope you've forgiven me.'
'She passed away yesterday, Patera. Didn't I tell you?'
'Yes,' Silk mumbled. 'Yes, of course.'
Auk lay on the floor of the tunnel. He was tired--tired and weak
and dizzy, he admitted to himself. When had he slept last? Dayside
on Molpsday, after he'd left Jugs and Patera, before he went to the
lake, but he'd slept on the boat a dog's right before the storm. Her
and the butcher had been tired, too, tireder than him though they
hadn't been knocked on the head. They'd helped in the storm, and
Dace was dead. Urus hadn't done anything, would kill him if he got
the chance. He pictured Urus standing over him with a bludgeon
like the one he had seen, and sat up and stared around him.
Urus and the soldier were talking quietly. The soldier called, 'I'm
keeping an eye out. Go back to sleep, trooper.'
Auk lay down again, though no soldier could be a friend to
somebody like him, though he'd sooner trust Urus though he didn't
trust Urus at all.
What day was it? Thelxday. Phaesday, most likely. Grim Phaea,
for food and healing. Grim because eating means killing stuff to eat,
and it's no good pretending it don't. Stuff like Gelada'd killed Dace
with his bad arm and the string around his neck. That's why you
ought to go to manteion once in a while. Sacrifice showed you,
showed the gray ram dying and its blood thrown in the fire, and
poor people thanking Phaea or whatever god it was for 'this good
food.' Grim because healing hurts more than dying, the doctor cuts
you to make you well, sets the bone and it hurts. Dace said a bone in
his head was broken, was cracked or something, he was cracked for
sure and it was probably true because he got awful dizzy sometimes,
couldn't see good sometimes, even stuff right in front of him. A
white ram, Phaea, if I get over this.
It should've been a black ram. He'd promised Tartaros a black
ram, but the only one in the market had cost more than he had, so
he'd bought the gray one. That was before last time, before Kypris
had promised them it'd be candy, before the ring for Jugs, the
anklet for Patera. It had been why his troubles started, maybe,
because his ram had been the wrong color. They dyed those black
rains anyhow...
Up the tree and onto the roof, then in through the attic window, but
he was dizzy, dizzy and the tree already so high its top touched the
shade, brushed the shaggy shade with dead leaves rustling, rustling,
and the roof higher, Urus whistling, whistling from the corner
because the Hoppies were practically underneath this shaggy tree
now.
He stood on a limb, walked out on it watching the roof sail away
with all the black peaked roofs of Limna as the old man's old boat
put out with Snarling Scylla at the helm, Scylla up in Jugs's head not
taking up room but pulling her strings, jerking her on reins, digging
spurred heels in, Spurred Scylla a gamecock spurring Jugs to make
her trot. A little step and another and the roof farther than ever,
higher than the top of the whole shaggy tree and his foot slipped
where Gelada's blood wet the slick silvery bark and he fell.
He woke with a start, shaking. Something warm lay beside him,
dose but not quite touching. He rolled over, bringing his legs up
under her big soft thighs, his chest against her back, an arm around
her to warm her and it, cupping her breast. 'By Kypris, I love you,
Jugs I'm too sick to shag you, but I love you. You're all the woman
I'll ever want.'
She didn't talk, but there'd been a little change in her breathing,
so he knew she wasn't asleep even if she wanted him to think so.
That was dimber by him, she wanted to look at it and he didn't
blame her, wouldn't want a woman who wouldn't look because a
woman like that got you nabbed sooner or later even if she didn't
mean to.
Only he'd looked at it already, had looked all that he'd ever
need to while he was rolling over. And he slept beside her quite
content.
'I shocked you, Patera Calde. I know I did. I could see it in your
face. My eyes aren't what they were, I'm afraid. I'm no longer good
at reading expressions. But I read yours.'
'Somewhat, Your Cognizance.' Together, they were walking up a
deserted Sun Street, a tall young augur and a stooped old one
side-by-side, Silk taking a slow step for two of Quetzal's lame and
unsteady ones.
'Since you left the schola, Patera Calde, since you came to this
quarter, you've prayed that a god would come to your Window,
haven't you? I feel sure you have. All of you do, or nearly all. Who
did you hope for? Pas or Scylla?'
'Scylla chiefly, Your Cognizance. To tell the truth, I scarcely
