fatigued.'
'Please do.' Hastily, Silk moved to one side.
'Thank you--ah--thank you. Most thoughtful. I have had no
supper. Hesitated to order anything in--ah--that place. With the
wine. Parsimony. Foolish--ah--imbecile, actually.'
'Catch fish,' Oreb suggested.
Silk's visitor ignored him. 'I've funds, eh? You?'
'No, nothing.'
'Here, Pa--My boy. Hold out your hands.' Golden cards
showered into Silk's lap. 'No, no! Take them! Others--ah--more.
Where they came from, eh? Wait for the waiter. Buy yourself a bit
of food. For me, ah, in addition. I am, um, in need. Of help. Of--ah--succor.
Such is, um, the long and short of it. I cast myself--um.
Ourselves. I--we--cast ourselves upon your--ah--commiseration.'
Silk looked searchingly at Thelxiepeia, who returned his look with
wooden aplomb. Was this enchanted gold that would (figuratively at
least) melt at a touch? If not, what had he done to earn her favor?
'Thank you,' he managed at last. 'If I can be of any service to Your--to
you, I will be only too happy to oblige you.' He counted them by
touch: seven cards.
'They came to the Palace. To the--ah--Palace itself, if you can,
um, credit that.' His visitor sat with his head in his hands. 'I was,
um, dining. At dinner. In came a, ah, page, eh? One of the boys
who runs with messages for us, hey? You do that?'
'No. I know of them, of course.'
'Some of us did, eh? I, myself. Many years ago. We--ah--matriculate
to schola. Ah--afterwards. Some of us. Fat little boy.
Not I. He was. Is. Said they'd arrest me. Arrest His Cognizance! I
said, ah, balderdash. Ate my sweet, eh? They--um--arrived.
Unannounced. Officer--um--captain, lieutenant, something.
Troopers with him, Guardsmen everywhere, eh? Looked everywhere for
His Cog--Turned the whole place upside down. Couldn't
find him though. Took me. Bound my hands. Me! Hands tied
behind me under my robe.'
'I'm very sorry,' Silk said sincerely.
'They, er, carried me to the headquarters of the Second Brigade.
A temporary headquarters. Do I make myself--ah--intelligible?
Brigadier's house. No more--ah--titular generals in the Civil
Guard, hey? No generalissimo any more. Only this, er, brigadiers.
Quizzed me, eh? Hours and hours. Absolutely. Old Quetzal's
letter, hey? You know about it?'
'Yes, I've seen it.'
'I--ah--composed it. I didn't--ah--inform the brigadier, eh?
Didn't 'fess up. Would have shot me, eh? We--ah--I'd expected
trouble. Labored to phrase it softly. His--He wouldn't hear of it.'
His visitor looked around at Silk with the expression of a whipped
hound, his breath thick with wine. 'You apprehend whom I--ah--intend?'
'Of course.'
'He sent it back. Twice. Hadn't happened in years, eh? The third
stuck. 'How readily here might I, ah, inscribe--' Yes, inscribe. Ah,
'Let us welcome him and obey him as one of ourselves. With what
delight do--shall I inscribe in its place, let us welcome him and, ump,
obey him, for he is one of ourselves!' That's what got the third draft past
His--ah--past the person known to us both, eh? So I--um--presume.
Proud of it, hey? Still am. Still am.'
'With reason,' Silk told him. 'But the Civil Guard can't have
cared for it. I'm surprised they let you go.' He yawned and rubbed
his eyes, discovering that he felt somewhat better, refreshed by his
few moments of sleep.
'Talked my way out, hey? Eloquent. No one speaks of me like
that. Dull at the ambion, eh? What they say. I know, I know.
Eloquent tonight, though. Swim or sink, and I did Pa--I did. Go
between. Peacemaker. End rebellion. Used their glass to talk to
Councillor Loris. Harmless, ump! Let him go. Bad feeling in the
ranks, hey? Augurs shot, eh? A sibyl, too. The--um--missive. Lay
clothing, as you, er, wise. Fearful still. Terribly frightened. Not, er,
shamed by the accusation--admission. Still afraid, sitting in there
sipping. Looking over my shoulder, hey? Afraid they'd come for
me. Sprang up like a rabbit when a porter dropped something in the
street.'
'I suppose that every man is frightened when his life is threatened.
It's very much to Your--to your credit that you are willing to admit it.'
'You will--ah--assist me? If you can?'
Oreb looked up from his fishing. 'Watch out!'
'I'm tired and very weak,' Silk said, 'but yes, I will. Will we have
to walk far?'
'Won't have to walk at all.' His visitor thrust his hand beneath his
cream-colored tunic. 'I've, ah, informed you it wasn't me they
wanted, eh? After old Quetzal, actually. The Prolocutor. His
Cognizance. Signed the letter, hey?'
Silk nodded.
'They'd have shot him, eh? Earlier. Earlier. When they--ah--constrained
me. That was then, hum? This is--er--the present
instant. After midnight. Nearly one, eh? Nearly one. Late when
they released me. I've said it? Suppertime--after suppertime,
really. They know your--um--profession. Vocation, hey? Mint's a
sibyl. You take my meaning?'
'Of course,' Silk said.
His visitor produced an elegant ostrich-skin pen case. 'On the
other side, old Quetzal is, hey? Unmistakable. The letter shows it.
And there is that--ah, um--other matter. Vocation, eh? Brigadier
thinks he and I might arrange an--urp--hiatus in hostilities. A
truce, hey? His word. Been one alread, eh? So why not?'
Silk straightened up. 'There has? That's wonderful!'
'Little thing, eh? Few hundred involved. Didn't last. But an augur--see
the connection? This augur, one of our--ah--of the Chapter's
own, crossed the lines. One side to the other, eh? Got them to stop
shooting so he could. Colonel's son, wounded. Nearly dead. This--ah--holy
augur brought him the Pardon. So far so good? Rebels--ah--tendered an
