He circled the structure, startling several cats and surprising four children who were busy plastering the exterior walls with what appeared to be a mixture of clay and straw.
“Hi,” he said. “Sorry to have startled you.”
“That’s all right, sir,” the largest of the boys said. “You must be the visitor from Settlement Three.”
“Harribon Kruss,” he said, holding out a hand.
Each took it in turn, announcing his or her own name. Saturday Wilm. Jep Wilm. Gotoit Quillow. Willum R. Quillow.
“That’s quite a big job,” Harribon commented. “You going to do the whole outside?”
“It’s traditional,” remarked Gotoit. “To do it every year.”
“After it’s smooth and dry, we can paint it,” said Saturday. “We’re thinking up the designs now.”
“What do you plan to put on it?”
“This year we think some kind of aquatic motif,” said Gotoit. “Creelies and water weed and all kind of little creepers. Like out at Bubble Lake …”
“This Bubble Lake,” interrupted Harribon. “I don’t think I’ve heard of that before.”
“Well we only found it recently,” said Jep. “It lies out west of the settlement, in a little fold, sort of, where you wouldn’t happen on it ordinarily.”
“Anywhere near Cloudbridge?”
“No, Cloudbridge is more up toward the Gobbles. Past the New Forest.”
Harribon nodded. He hadn’t heard of a New Forest, either, trees being in short supply anywhere except up on the escarpment.
“Okay if I go inside?” he asked.
There was a moment’s hesitation, only a moment, as though they were thinking this over.
Then, “Sure,” said Saturday. “No reason why not. Don’t scuff up the floors, though. They were a lot of work.”
He took off his boots when he went inside, slipping along the curved floors in his socks, floors curved to fit the rumps of the Departed, so he’d been told. The place had a strange beauty. He didn’t remember the temple he’d visited before as being beautiful, but this one was. Very dim, of course, with only the light reflected through the grills from the central space and the tiny amount that came in through the ventilation slits and open door. Would the Departed have used the temples at night? How would they have lighted them? There were no candle sticks, no lanterns. He roamed around the scooped floor, stopping at the grilled door to peer into the central space.
It stood there, regarding him. He remained poised, almost off-balance for a long, frozen moment as he stared at it, then he stumbled back the way he had come. The children were outside the door, mixing more mud plaster.
“You have … you have another God,” he said, wondering if they knew.
“Oh, yes,” said Jep offhandedly. “Did it startle you, sir? I’m sorry.”
“It’s name is Birribat Shum,” said Saturday. “Jep and I are the Ones Who take care of it.
“We help,” protested Gotoit and Willum R. simultaneously.
“Oh, yes,” Saturday agreed. “Lots of people help. And cats.”
“How long have you had it?” Harribon asked, pulling on his boots, his blood pressure slowly returning to normal, now feeling slightly ashamed of his first reaction.
“He was raised fifteen days ago,” said Saturday. “Between the tenth and the eleventh hour of the day watch. Like his predecessor, he was Noon Discovered.” She laughed, the others laughing with her. “It’s a pun,” she told Harribon. “Or maybe a riddle. Bondru Dharm means ‘Noon Discovered.” so Birribat is also Bondru Dharm.”
The children went back to their plastering. Harribon sat where he was, just outside the door of the temple, listening to them bickering back there. They sounded like any children anywhere. Willum R. was teasing Jep about being Saturday’s sweetheart, threatening to paint a big heart with an arrow through it on the temple when they got it plastered. Gotoit was telling him to quit teasing and get more straw. After a time other children came through the willows, greeted him, and went to help the plastering crew.
Harribon sat and listened. There was a mud fight. There was much squealing and laughter, but no one was hurt, though Gotoit spoke vehemently to Willum R. about his getting mud in her ear. Several faces were washed down at the stream. Still Harribon sat. When it began to grow dark, Saturday and Jep Wilm came from behind the temple and offered to walk with him back to the settlement. They stopped at the stream to wash.
“The only problem with this job is it’s really filthy,” Saturday complained. “It’s like monstrous mud pies.”
“Should you say that?” Harribon asked in slight wonderment. “Since it’s for the God?”
“Why shouldn’t you?” she asked him. “The God doesn’t care about stuff like that.”
“I thought Gods were very strict about stuff like that,” he persisted. “Strict about, ah … blasphemy. Joking about … sacred things.”
“There’s nothing sacred about plastering the temple, is there, Jep?”
Jep was drying his face on his shirttail and only grunted in reply.
“Isn’t the God sacred?” Harribon went on, wondering why he was asking these children questions like these. “I mean, you do call it God.”
“Oh, we could call him anything,” Saturday announced. “We could call him Bafflebreeze. Or Chinless. Or Australia. It doesn’t matter what you call him, for shish sake. He’s Birribat Shum, just like I’m Saturday, and Jep’s Jep. Just like you’re Harribon Kruss, Topman of Settlement Three. It’s just a name, that’s all. Kind of a label, you know.”
“It’s just a way,” said Jep. “A convenience. A kindness.” He stopped abruptly. “Here’s where we have to cut off for our clanhome, sir. A pleasant nightwatch.”
Harribon stood and watched them darting away through the dusk, down a sideway toward a cluster of houses, which were no doubt fully occupied by the Wilm clan. They were no different from the clanhouses found in Settlement Three, and yet he found himself examining them, trying to find something strange or exotic about them. Everything was built of foam panels. There wasn’t much a builder could do to make a sponge-panel structure look distinctively different from any other sponge-panel structure. The brotherhouse had a wide porch
