Auk’s hand touched his shoulder. “I’ve never did this before, Patera. I hope I get it right.”
“Tell me…” Silk prompted.
“Yeah. Tell me, Patera, so that I can bring you the forgiveness of Pas from the well of bottomless mercy.”
“I may have to break into a house tonight, Auk. I hope that I won’t have to; but if the owner won’t see me, or won’t do what a certain god—the Outsider, Auk, you may know of him—wishes him to do, then I’ll try to compel him.”
“Whose—”
“If he sees me alone, I intend to threaten his life unless he does as the god requires. But to be honest, I doubt that he’ll see me at all.”
“Who is this, Patera? Who’re you going to threaten?”
“Are you looking at me, Auk? You’re not supposed to.”
“All right, now I’m looking away. Who is this, Patera? Whose house is it?”
“There’s no need for me to tell you that, Auk. Forgive me my intent, please.”
“I’m afraid I can’t, my son,” Auk said, getting into the spirit of his role. “I got to know who this is, and why you’re going to do it. Maybe you won’t be running as big of a risk as you think you are, see? I’m the one that has to judge that, ain’t I?”
“Yes,” Silk admitted.
“And I see why you looked for me, ’cause I can do it better than anybody. Only I got to know, ’cause if this’s just some candy, I got to tell you to go to a real augur after you scrape out, and forget about me. There’s houses and then there’s Houses. So who is it and where is it, Patera?”
“His name is Blood,” Silk said, and felt Auk’s hand tighten on his shoulder. “I assume that he lives somewhere on the Palatine. He has a private floater, at any rate, and employs a driver for it.”
Auk grunted.
“I think that he must be dangerous,” Silk continued. “I sense it.”
“You win, Patera. I got to shrive you. Only you got to tell me all about it, too. I need to know what’s going on here.”
“The Ayuntamiento has sold this man our manteion.”
Silk heard Auk’s exhalation.
“It was bringing in practically nothing, you realize. The income from the manteion is supposed to balance the loss from the palaestra; tutorage doesn’t cover our costs, and most of the parents are behind anyway. Ideally there should be enough left over for Juzgado’s taxes, but our Window’s been empty now for a very long while.”
“Must be others doing better,” Auk suggested.
“Yes. Considerably better in some cases, though it’s been many years since a god has visited any Window in the city.”
“Then they—the augurs there—could give you a little something, Patera.”
Silk nodded, remembering his mendicant expeditions to those solvent manteions. “They have indeed helped at times, Auk. I’m afraid that the Chapter has decided to put an end to that. It’s turned our manteion over to the Juzgado in lieu of our unpaid taxes, and the Ayuntamiento has sold the property to this man Blood. That’s how things appear, at least.”
“We all got to pay the counterman come shadeup,” Auk muttered diplomatically.
“The people need us, Auk. The whole quarter does. I was hoping that if you—never mind. I intend to steal our manteion back tonight, if I can, and you must shrive me for that.”
The seated man was silent for a moment. At length he said, “The city keeps records on houses and so on, Patera. You go to the Juzgado and slip one of those clerks a little something, and they call up the lot number on their glass. I’ve done it. The monitor gives you the name of the buyer, or anyhow whoever’s fronting for him.”
“So that I could verify the sale, you mean.”
“That’s it, Patera. Make sure you’re right about all this before you get yourself killed.”
Silk felt an uncontrollable flood of relief. “I’ll do as you suggest, provided that the Juzgado’s still open.”
“They wouldn’t be, Patera. They close there about the same time as the market.”
It was hard for him to force himself to speak. “Then I must proceed. I must act tonight.” He hesitated while some frightened portion of his mind battered the ivory walls that confined it. “Of course this may not be the Blood you know, Auk. There must be a great many people of that name. Could Blood—the Blood you know—buy our manteion? It must be worth twenty thousand cards or more.”
“Ten,” Auk muttered. “Twelve, maybe, only he probably got it for the taxes. What’s he look like, Patera?”
“A tall, heavy man. Angry looking, I’d say, although it may only have been that his face was flushed. There are wide bones under his plump cheeks, or so I’d guess.”
“Lots of rings?”
Silk struggled to recall the prosperous-looking man’s fat, smooth hands. “Yes,” he said. “Several, at least.”
“Could you smell him?”
“Are you asking whether he smelled bad? No, certainly not. In fact—”
Auk grunted. “What was it?”
