thought so myself. But the technique of making the neural connections was difficult, and he found that the best way — all this was with experimental subjects I provided for him — was to transfer only the voluntary functions by surgery. When that was done, the involuntary ones transferred themselves, eventually. Then the original head could be removed. It would leave a scar, of course, but a shirt would cover it.”
“But something went wrong?” I had already moved as far from him as I could in the narrow boat.
“Mostly it was a matter of time.” The terrible vigor of his voice, which had been unrelenting, now seemed to wane. “Piaton was one of my slaves — not the largest, but the strongest of all. We tested them. It never occurred to me that someone with his strength might be strong, too, in holding to the action of the heart...”
“I see,” I said, though in truth I saw nothing.
“It was a period of great confusion as well. My astronomers had told me that this sun's activity would decay slowly. Far too slowly, in fact, for the change to be noticeable in a human lifetime. They were wrong. The heat of the world declined by nearly two parts in a thousand over a few years, then stabilized. Crops failed, and there were famines and riots. I should have left then.”
“Why didn't you?” I asked.
“I felt a firm hand was needed. There can only be one firm hand, whether it is the ruler's or someone else's...
“Then too, a wonder-worker had arisen, as such people do. He wasn't really a troublemaker, though some of my ministers said he was. I had withdrawn here until my treatment should be complete, and since diseases and deformities seemed to flee from him, I ordered him brought to me.”
“The Conciliator,” I said, and a moment later could have opened my own wrist for it.
“Yes, that was one of his names. Do you know where he is now?”
“He has been dead for many chiliads.”
“And yet he remains, I think?”
That remark startled me so that I looked down at the sack suspended from my neck to see if azure light were not escaping from it. At that moment, the vessel in which we rode lifted its prow and began to ascend. The moaning of the air about us became the roaring of a whirlwind.
The Eyes of the World
Perhaps the boat was controlled by light — when light flashed about us, it stopped at once. In the lap of the mountain I had suffered from the cold, but that was nothing to what I felt now. No wind blew, but it was colder than the bitterest winter I could recall, and I grew dizzy with the effort of sitting up.
Typhon sprang out. “It's been a long time since I was here last. Well, it's good to be home again.”
We were in an empty chamber hewn from solid rock, a place as big as a ballroom. Two circular windows at the far end admitted the light; Typhon hastened toward them. They were perhaps a hundred paces apart, and each was some ten cubits wide. I followed him until I noticed that his bare feet left distinct, dark prints. Snow had drifted through the windows and spilled upon the stone floor. I fell to my knees, scooped it up, and stuffed my mouth with it. I have never tasted anything so delicious. The heat of my tongue seemed to melt it to nectar at once; I truly felt that I could remain where I was all my life, on my knees devouring the snow. Typhon turned back, and seeing me, laughed. “I had forgotten how thirsty you were. Go ahead. We have plenty of time. What I wanted to show you can wait.”
Piaton's mouth moved too as it had before, and I thought I caught an expression of sympathy on the idiot face. That brought me to myself again, possibly only because I had already gulped several mouthfuls of the melting snow. When I had swallowed again, I remained where I was, scraping a new heap together, but I said, “You told me about Piaton. Why can't he speak?”
“He can't get his breath, poor fellow,” Typhon said. Now I saw that he had an erection, which he nursed with one hand. “As I told you, I control all the voluntary functions — I will control the involuntary ones too, soon. So although poor Piaton can still move his tongue and shape his lips, he is like a musician who fingers the keys of a horn he cannot blow. When you've had enough of that snow, tell me, and I'll show you where you can get something to eat.” I filled my mouth again and swallowed. “This is enough. Yes, I am very hungry.”
“Good,” he said, and turning away from the windows went to the wall at one side of the chamber. When I neared it, I saw that it, at least, was not (as I had thought) plain stone. Instead, it seemed a kind of crystal, or thick, smoky glass; through it I could see loaves and many strange dishes, as still and perfect as food in a painting.
“You have a talisman of power,” Typhon told me. “Now you must give it to me, so that we can open this cupboard.”
“I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean. Do you want my sword?”
“I want the thing you wear at your neck,” he said, and stretched out a hand for it. I stepped back. “There is no power in it.”
“Then you lose nothing. Give it to me.” As Typhon spoke, Piaton's head moved almost imperceptibly from side to side. “It is only a curio,” I said. “Once I thought it had great power, but when I tried to revive a beautiful woman who was dying, it had no effect, and yesterday it could not restore the boy who traveled with me. How did you know of it?”
“I was watching you, of course. I climbed high enough to see you well. When my ring killed the child and you went to him, I saw the sacred fire. You don't have to actually put it in my hand if you don't want to — just do what I tell you.”
“You could have warned us, then,” I said. “Why should I? At that time you were nothing to me. Do you want to eat or not?” I took out the gem. After all, Dorcas and Jonas had seen it, and I had heard the Pelerines had displayed it in a monstrance on great occasions. It lay on my palm like a bit of blue glass, all fire gone. Typhon leaned over it curiously. “Hardly impressive. Now kneel.” I knelt.
“Repeat after me: I swear by all this talisman represents that for the food I shall receive, I shall be the creature of him I know as Typhon, evermore —”
