He let the hand that held the ear fall, and Oosik took it from him.
'For which we all give thanks,' Oosik said, and Oreb muttered,
'Watch out.'
No one spoke after that. Although Oosik and his surgeon,
Xiphias, and Quetzal were all present, the bedroom felt empty.
Beyond the window, a hush hung over the Palatine. No street
vendor hawked his wares and no gun spoke.
Peace.
Peace here, at least; for those on the Palatine and those surrounding
it, there was peace. Incredible as it seemed, hundreds--thousands--had
ceased fighting, merely because he, Silk, had told them to.
He felt better; perhaps peace, like blood, made one feel better.
He was stronger, though he was still not strong. The surgeon had
poured blood--more blood--into him while he slept, and that sleep
must have been something akin to a coma, because the needle had
not awakened him. Another's blood--another's life--had let him
live, though he had been certain the night before that he would die
that night. Premonitions born of weakness could be frustrated,
clearly; he would have to remember that. With friends to help, a
man could make his own fate.
Chapter 9 -- Victory
Xiphias, it transpired, had gone to the Palace, bringing back one
of Remora's fine robes. It fit Silk surprisingly well, although it
carried in its soft fabric a suggestion of somber luxury he found
detestable. 'They won't know you outside of this, lad,' Xiphias
said. He, shaking his head, wondered how they could possibly
know him in it.
Oosik returned. 'I have had more lights mounted on your floater,
Calde. There will be a flag on its antenna as well. Most will be on
you, two on the flag.' Without waiting for a reply, he asked the
surgeon, 'Is he ready?'
'He shouldn't walk far,' the surgeon said.
'I can walk around the city if need be,' Silk told them.
Hyacinth declared, 'He should lie down again till it's time to go,'
and to please her, he did.
Within half a minute, it seemed, Xiphias and the surgeon were
lowering him into a litter. Hyacinth walked beside him as she had
when the waiters had carried him out of the Glasshouse, and it
seemed to him that his mother's garden walked with her; from the
other side, Quetzal asperged him with benedictions, his robe of
mulberry velvet contributing the mingled smells of frankincense and
something else to the cool and windy dark. At his ears, the
_frou-frou-frou_ of Hyacinth's skirt and the _whish-shish_
of Quetzal's robe sounded louder than the snap of Oosik's flag. Troopers
saluted, clicking their heels. One knelt for Quetzal's blessing.
'It would be better,' Oosik said, 'if you did not have to be carried
into the floater, Calde. Can you do it?'
He could, of course, rising from the litter with the help of
Xiphias's cane. A volley of shots crackled in the distance; it was
followed by a faint scream, rarefied and unreal. 'Men fight,' Oreb
commented.
'Some do,' Silk told him. 'That's why we're going.'
The entry port let spill a sallow light; the surgeon was crouching
inside to help him in. 'Blood's floater was open,' Silk remarked,
remembering. 'There was a transparent canopy--a top that you
could see through almost as well as air--but when it was down, you
could stand up.'
'You can stand in this, too,' the surgeon said, 'right here.' He
steered Silk toward the spot. 'See? You're under the turret here.'
Straightening up, Silk nodded. 'I rode in one of these yesterday--on the
outside, when the rain stopped. It wasn't nearly as roomy as this.' Corpses,
including Doctor Crane's, had taken up most of the space inside.
'We took out a lot of ammo, Calde,' the trooper at the controls
told him.
Silk nearly nodded again, although the trooper could not see his
head. He had found the ladder he recalled, a spidery affair of metal
rods, and was climbing cautiously but steadily toward the open
hatch at the top of the turret.
'Bad thing,' Oreb informed him nervously. 'Thing shine.'
To his own astonishment Silk smiled. 'This buzz gun, you
mean?' It was dull black, but the open breech revealed bright
steel. 'They won't shoot us with it, Oreb. They won't shoot
anyone, I hope.'
The surgeon's voice floated up from below. 'There's a saddle for
the gunner, Calde, and things to put your feet in.'
'Stirrups.' That voice had been Oosik's, surely.
Silk swung himself onto the leather-covered seat, almost but not
quite losing his grip on Xiphias's cane. There were officers on
horseback around the floater, and what seemed to be a full company
of troopers standing at ease half a street behind it. The footman who
had admitted him to Ermine's was watching everything from his
station by the door; Silk waved to him with the cane, and he waved
in return, his grin a touch of white in the darkness.
It's going to rain again, Silk thought. I don't believe we've had a
morning this dark since spring.
Quetzal's head rose at his elbow. 'I'm going to be besides you,
Patera Calde. They're finding a box for me to stand on.'
With as much firmness as he could muster, Silk said, 'I can't
possibly sit while your Cognizance stands.'
A hatch opened at the front of the floater; Oosik's head and
shoulders emerged, and he spoke to someone inside.
