Quetzal touched Silk's hand with cold, dry fingers that might have
been boneless. 'You're wounded, Patera Calde, and weaker than
you think. Stay seated. That is my wish.' His head rose to the level
of Silk's own.
'As Your Cognizance desires.' With both hands on the rim of the
hatch, Silk heaved up his unwontedly uncooperative body. For an
instant the effort seemed too great; his heart pounded and his arms
shook; then one foot found a corner of the box on which Quetzal
stood, and he was able to hoist himself up enough to sit on the
coaming of the open turret hatch. 'The gunner's seat remains for
Your Cognizance,' he said.
The floater lifted beneath them, gliding forward. Louder than the
roar of its engine, Oosik's voice seemed to reach into every street in
the city: '_People of Viron! Our new calde is coming among you as we
promised. At his side is His Cognizance the Prolocutor, who has
confirmed that Calde Silk has the favor of all the gods. Hail him!
Follow him!_'
Brilliant white lights glared to left and right, less than an arm's
length away, more than half blinding him.
'Girl come!' Oreb exclaimed.
A black civilian floater had nosed between their floater and the
troopers, and was pushing through the mounted officers. Hyacinth
stood on its front seat beside the driver; and while Silk watched
open mouthed, she stepped over what seemed to be a low invisible
barrier, and onto the waxed and rounded foredeck. 'Your stick!' she
called.
Silk tightened the handle, leaned as far back as he dared, and held
it out to her; the civilian floater advanced until its cowling touched
the back of the floater upon which he rode.
And Hyacinth leaped, her scarlet skirt billowing about her bare
legs in the updraft from the blowers. For an instant he was certain
she would fall. Then she had grasped the cane and stood secure on
the sloping rear deck of his floater, waving in triumph to the
mounted officers, most of whom waved in return or saluted. As the
floater in which she had come turned away and vanished into the
twilight beyond the lights on their own, Silk recognized the driver
who had returned him to his manse Phaesday night.
Hyacinth gave him a mischievous grin. 'You look like you've seen
a ghost. You didn't expect company, did you?'
'I thought you were inside. I should've--I'm sorry, Hyacinth.
Terribly sorry.'
'You ought to be.' He had to put his ear to her lips to hear her,
and she nipped and kissed it. 'Oosie sent me away. Don't tell him
I'm up here.'
Lost in the wonder of her face, Silk could only gasp.
Quetzal raised the baculus to bestow a benison, although Silk
could see no one beyond the glare that enveloped the three of them
except the mounted officers. The roar of their floater was muted
now; an occasional grating hesitation suggested that its cowling was
actually scraping the cobbles.
'You said you took a floater,' Silk told Hyacinth. 'I thought you
meant that you just, well, took it.'
'I wouldn't know how to make one go.' Sitting, she edged nearer,
grasping the coaming of the turret hatch. 'Would you? But that
driver's my friend, and I gave him a little money.'
They rounded a corner, and innumerable throats cheered from
the dimness beyond the lights. Someone shouted, 'We've gone over
to Silk!'
A thrown chrysanthemum brushed his cheek, and he waved.
Another voice shouted, 'Live the calde!' It brought a storm of
cheering, and Hyacinth waved and smiled as if she herself were that
calde, evoking a fresh outburst. 'Where are we going? Did Oosie
tell you?'
'To the Alambrera.' Silk had to shout to make himself heard.
'We'll free the convicts. The Juzgado afterward.'
A jumble of boxes and furniture opened to let them pass--Liana's
barricade.
Beside him, Quetzal invoked the Nine: 'In the name of Marvelous
Molpe, you are blessed. In the name of Tenebrous Tartaros...'
They trust the gods, Silk thought, all these wretched men; and
because they do, they have made me their leader. Yet I feel I can't
trust any god at all, not even the Outsider.
As if they had been chatting over lunch, Quetzal said, 'Only a fool
would, Patera Calde.'
Silk stared.
'Didn't I tell you that I've done everything I could to prevent
theophanies? Those we call gods are nothing more than ghosts.
Powerful ghosts, but only because they entailed that power to
themselves in life.'
'I--' Silk swallowed. 'I wasn't aware that I had spoken aloud,
Your Cognizance. I apologize; my remark was singularly inappropriate.'
Oreb stirred apprehensively on his shoulder.
'You didn't, Patera Calde. I saw your face, and I've had lots of
practice. Don't look at me or your young woman. Look at the
people. Wave. Look ahead. Smile.'
Both waved, and Silk tried to smile as well. His eyes had adjusted
to the lights well enough now for him to glimpse indistinct figures
beyond the mounted officers, many waving slug guns just as he
waved the cane. Through clenched teeth he ventured, 'Echidna told
us Pas was dead. Your Cognizance confirmed it.'
'Dead long ago,' Quetzal agreed, 'whoever he really was, poor
old fellow. Murdered by his family, as was inevitable.' Deftly he
caught a bouquet. 'Blessings on you, my children. Blessings,
blessings... May Great Pas and the immortal gods smile upon you
and all that you own, forever!'
'Silk is calde! Long live Silk!'
Hyacinth told him happily, 'We're getting a real tour of the city!'
He nodded, feeling his smile grow warm and real.
'Look at them, Patera Calde. This is their moment. They have
