'Of course,' I said. 'There is growing hatred in the city for our darling Ubara.'
'Where is she, then?'
'In the Central Cylinder, I would conjecture,' I said.
'As a virtual prisoner?' he asked.
'Probably as much so,' I said, 'as when she was kept there, sequestered in her shame by Marlenus.'
'But she is still Ubara,' he said.
'Of course,' I said, 'under Cos.'
'Where do you think the records are?' he asked.
'I do not know,' I said.
'Why then are we going to the house of records, with a rope and iron?' he asked. 'They may be there,' I said.
'You would take such risks, one which are not only unnecessary, but perhaps meaningless, just to keep the records out of the hands of Cos?'
'You do not need to accompany me,' I said.
'Be serious,' he said.
'The fact that Seremides, if I read him right, set such a trap for the Delta Brigade, supposedly with the delta records, indicates if nothing else that he is quite serious in his suspicion of the delta veterans, and that he may act against them.'
'They are not all bad fellows in all cities,' I said. 'Even in Ar's Station.'
'Perhaps,' grumbled Marcus.
'Certainly,' I assured him.
'What is your plan?' he asked.
'To approach the house of records over adjoining roofs, eschewing the use of patrolled streets,' I said, 'then to hurl the iron and rope from the roof of a nearby building to the roof of the house of records, and thence, later, by means of its displuviate atrium, to obtain entrance.' The atrium is the house of records, I had learned, was open to the sky, which opening, as in many public and private Gorean buildings in the south, serves to admit light. The displuviate atrium is open in such a way as to shed rainwater outwards, keeping most of it from the flooring of the atrium below. This would also facilitate the use of the rope and iron. The alternative atrium, if unroofed, of course, is impluviate, so constructed as to guide rainwater into an awaiting pool below. This sort of atrium is less amenable to the rope and iron because of the pitch of the roof.
'You are confident you can recognize the records?'
'Not at all,' I said.
'Surely you do not expect to carry them off?'
'Not at all,' I said, 'that would be impractical.'
'You are going to burn them?'
'Yes,' I said.
'How will you know what to burn?' he asked.
'I do not think that will present a problem,' I said.
'Why not? he asked.
'I plan on burning the entire building,' I said.
'I see,' he said. 'What if the fire spreads throughout the entire district, and then burns down Ar?'
'I had not considered that,' I admitted.
'Well,' he said. 'It is hard to think of everything.'
'Yes,' I granted him. He was right, of course.
'What if the records are in the Central Cylinder,' he asked, 'already at the war office?'
'That I where I suspect they are,' I said.
He groaned.
'But they may be here.'
'You are not planning on burning down the Central Cylinder, are you?' he asked. 'Of course not,' I said. 'If they are there, with their facilities, they have probably already been copied, and perhaps more than once, and who knows where those copies might be stored, either there or about the city. Besides there are slave girls there.'
'Such as the Ubara,' he asked.
'Yes,' I said.
I suddenly stopped.
'What is it?' he asked, instantly alert.
'Listen,' I said.
We could hear footsteps approaching, rapidly. We moved back, against a wall. A brawny figure, in the darkness, passed.
I was not sure, but it seemed I had seen it somewhere, some place.
'Not everyone is observant of the curfew,' remarked Marcus.
'You are out,' I said.
'We have armbands,' he said.
'I think there is another coming,' I said.
We kept back, in the shadows.
Another fellow was in the street, approaching, but suddenly detected us, shadows among shadows. He whipped free a sword and mine, and that of Marcus, too, left its sheath. He seemed startled, for a moment. I, too, was startled. Then, not sheathing the blade, he hurried on.
'Are there others?' whispered Marcus.
'Probably,' I said, 'but on other streets, each taking a separate way.'
Marcus put back his sword. I, too, sheathed mine.
'Did you recognize the first fellow?' I asked.
'No,' he said.
'I think he was of the peasant levies,' I said. 'I first saw him outside the walls. He had come from the west, and had survived the final defeat of Ar.' I thought I remembered him. he was a shaggy giant of a man. He had won the game of standing on the verr skin. He had cut the skin. I remembered the wine, soaking the ground, like blood. He had stood upon the skin and regarded us. 'I have won,' he had said. He had been of the peasants. I would have expected him to have left the vicinity of the city. To be sure, his village may have been one of several nearby villages put to the torch, its supplies gathered in by foragers, or burned. Such villages, after all, had furnished their quotas for the defensive levies. Indeed, a good portion of youth, many not old enough to know how to handle a weapon.
'You recognized the second fellow?' said Marcus.
'I think so,' I said.
'I think he may have recognized us as well,' he said.
'Perhaps,' I said.
'Plenius,' said he, 'from the delta.'
'Yes,' I said.
'I hear cries in the street,' said Marcus.
'There is an alarm bar, as well,' I said.
'Look there!' said Marcus.
'I see it,' I said.
The sky was red in the east. It was a kind of radiance, flickering and pulsing. 'That is not the dawn,' said Marcus grimly.
'I think we should return to our quarters,' I said.
Some men ran past us now, towards the east, toward the light. We could hear more than one alarm bar now.
'Surely the curfew is still in effect,' said Marcus.
'It will be hard to enforce now,' I said.
'What is going on?' I called to a fellow hurrying past us, carrying a lantern. 'Have you not heard?' he asked. 'It is the house of records. It is afire!'
