“Don't waste those charges,” Guasacht said at my elbow. More from habit, I think, than from fear, he had thrown himself flat beside me. I asked if the charges would be exhausted before night if I fired six times a watch.
He shrugged, then shook his head.
“That's how fast I've been shooting this thing, as well as I can judge by the sun. And when night comes...”
I looked at him, and he could only shrug again.
“When night comes,” I continued, “we won't be able to see them until they're only a few steps away. We'll fire more or less at random and kill a few score, then draw swords and stand back to back, and they'll kill us.”
He said, “Help will arrive before then,” and when he saw I did not believe him, he spat. “I wish I'd never looked at the damned thing's track. I wish I'd never heard of it.”
It was my turn to shrug. “Give it back to the Ascians, and we'll break out.”
“It's coin, I tell you! Gold to pay our troops. It's too heavy to be anything else.”
“The armor must weigh a good deal.”
“Not that much. I've seen these coaches before, and it's gold from Nessus or the House Absolute. But those things inside — who's ever seen such creatures?”
“I have.”
Guasacht stared at me.
“When I went out through the Piteous Gate in the Wall of Nessus. They are man-beasts, contrived by the same lost arts that made our destriers faster than the road engines of old.” I tried to recall what else Jonas had told me of them, and finished rather weakly by saying, “The Autarch employs them in duties too laborious for men, or for which men cannot be trusted.”
“I suppose that might be right enough. They can't very well steal the money. Where would they go? Listen, I've had my eye on you.”
“I know,” I said. “I've felt it.”
“I've had my eye on you, I say. Particularly since you made that piebald of yours go for the man that trained him. Up here in Orithyia we see a lot of strong men and a lot of brave ones — mostly when we step over their bodies. We see a lot of smart ones too, and nineteen out of twenty are too smart to be of use to anybody, including themselves. What's valuable are men, and sometimes women, who've got a kind of power, the power that makes other people want to do what they say. I don't mean to brag, but I've got it. You've got it too.”
“It hasn't been overwhelmingly apparent in my life before this.”
“Sometimes it takes the war to bring it out. That's one of the benefits of the war, and since it hasn't got many we ought to appreciate the ones it does. Severian, I want you to go down to the coach and treat with these man- animals. You say you know something about them. Get them to come out and help us fight. We're both on the same side, after all.”
I nodded. “And if I can get them to open the doors, we can divide the money among us. Some of us, at least, may escape.” Guasacht shook his head in disgust. “What did I tell you just a moment ago about being too smart? If you were really smart, you wouldn't have ignored it. No, you tell them that even if there's only three or four of them, every fighter counts. Besides, there's at least a chance the sight of them will frighten these damn freebooters away. Let me have your contus, and I'll hold your position for you until you come back.” I handed over the long weapon. “Who are these people, anyway?”
“These? Camp followers. Sutlers and whores — men as well as women. Deserters. Every so often the Autarch or one of his generals has them rounded up and put to work, but they slip away before long. Slipping away's their specialty. They ought to be wiped out.”
“I have your authority to treat with our prisoners in the coach?
You'll back me up?”
“They're not prisoners — well, yes, I suppose they are. You tell them what I said and make the best deal you can. I'll back you.” I looked at him for a moment, trying to decide whether he meant it. Like so many middle-aged men, he carried the old man he would become in his face, soured and obscene, already muttering the objections and complaints that would be his in the final skirmish.
“You've got my word. Go on.”
“All right.” I rose. The armored coach resembled the carriages that had been used to bring important clients to our tower in the Citadel. Its windows were narrow and barred, its rear wheels as high as a man. The smooth steel sides suggested those lost arts I had mentioned to Guasacht, and I knew the man-beasts inside had better weapons than ours. I extended my hands to show I was unarmed and walked as steadily as I could toward them until a face showed at one window grill.
When one hears of such creatures, one imagines something stable, midway between beast and human; but when one actually sees them — as I now saw this man-beast, and as I had seen the man-apes in the mine near Saltus — they are not like that at all. The best comparison I can make is to the flickering of a silver birch tossed by the wind. At one moment it seems a common tree, at the next, when the undersides of the leaves appear, a supernatural creation. So it is with the man-beasts. At first I thought a mastiff peered at me through the bars; then it seemed rather a man, nobly ugly, tawnyfaced and amber-eyed. I raised my hands to the grill to give him my scent, thinking of Triskele.
“What do you want?” His voice was harsh but not unpleasant.
“I want to save your lives,” I said. It was the wrong thing to say, and I knew it as soon as the words had left my mouth.
“We want to save our honor.”
I nodded. “Honor is the higher life.”
“If you can tell us how to save our honor, speak. We will listen. But we will never surrender our trust.”
