“Yes,” Silk told her. “I do.”
“So she went out that night. She was going to meet him someplace to eat, I guess, only a couple of culls jumped her and tried to pull her down. She plucked, and cut them both. That’s what she says. Then she beat the hoof, only she’d got blood on her.
“So I wanted to get one for when I go out, but I don’t know much about them, so I asked Crane where I could get a good one, where they wouldn’t cheat me. He said he didn’t know either, but he’d find out from Musk, because Musk knows all about knives and the rest of it, so next time he brought me that one. He’d got it specially made for me, or anyhow the picture put on.”
“I see.”
“Do you know, Patera, I’d never even seen chenille, not to know it was my flower anyway, till he brought me a bouquet for my room last spring? And I love it—that’s when I did my hair this color. He said sometimes they call it burning cattail. We laugh about it, so when I asked he gave me the dagger. Bucks buy dells things like that pretty often, to show they trust her not to do anything.”
“Is Doctor Crane the friend you mentioned?”
“No. That’s somebody younger. Don’t make me tell you who, unless you want to get me hurt.” Chenille fell silent, tight-lipped. “That’s abram. This’s going to hurt me a lot more, isn’t it? But if I don’t tell, he might help me if he can.”
“Then I won’t ask you again,” Silk said. “And I’m not going to tell Orchid or Blood, unless I must to save someone else. If the Guard were investigating, I suppose I’d have to tell the officer in charge, but I believe it might be a far worse injustice to turn you over to Blood than to permit you to go unpunished. Since that’s the case, I’ll let you go unpunished, or almost unpunished, if you’ll do as I ask. Orpine’s service will take place at eleven tomorrow, at my manteion on Sun Street. Orchid’s going to demand that all of you to attend it, and doubtless many of you will. I want you to be among those who do.”
Chenille nodded. “Yeah. Sure, Patera.”
“And while the service is in progress, I want you to pray for Orpine and Orchid, as well as for yourself. Will you do that as well?”
“To Hierax? All right, Patera, if you’ll tell me what to say.”
Silk gripped Blood’s walking stick, flexing it absently between his hands. “Hierax is indeed the god of death and the calde of the dead, and as such is the most appropriate object of worship at any such service. It will be Scylsday, however, and thus our sacrifice cannot be his alone.”
“Uh-huh. That’s about the only prayer I know—what they call her short litany. Will that be all right?”
Silk laid aside the stick and leaned toward Chenille, his decision made. “There is one more god to whom I wish you to pray—a very powerful one who may be able to help you, as well as Orchid and poor Orpine. He is called the Outsider. Do you know anything about him?”
She shook her head. “Except for Pas and Echidna, and the days and months, I don’t even know their names.”
“Then you must open your heart to him tomorrow,” Silk told her, “praying as you’ve never prayed before. Praise him for his kindness toward me, and tell him how badly you—how badly all of us in this quarter need his help. If you do that, and your prayers are heartfelt and truthful, it won’t matter what you say.”
“The Outsider. All right.”
“Now I’m going to shrive you, removing your guilt in the matter of Orpine’s death and any other wrongs that you have done. Kneel here. You don’t have to look at me.”
Half the abandoned manteion had been converted into a small theater. “The old Window’s still back there,” Chenille explained, pointing. “It’s the back of the stage, sort of, only we always keep a drop in front of it. There’s four or five drops, I think. Anyhow, we go in back of the Window to towel off and powder, and there’s a lot of hoses on the floor and hanging down back there.”
Silk was momentarily puzzled until he realized that the “hoses” were in actuality sacred cables. “I understand,” he said, “but what you describe could be dangerous. Has anyone been hurt?”
“A dell fell off the stage and broke her arm once, but she was pretty full.”
“The powers of Pas must indeed have departed from this place. And no wonder. Very well.” He put his bag and the triptych on seats. “Thank you, Chenille. You may go out now if you wish, although I would prefer that you remain to take part in the exorcism.”
“If you want me I’ll stay, Patera. All right if I grab something to eat?”
“Certainly.”
He watched her go, then shut the door to the courtyard behind her. Her mention of food had reminded him not only that he had given the cheese he had intended for his lunch to the bird, but of his fried tomatoes. No doubt Chenille would go to the pastry shop across the street. He shrugged and opened his bag, resolved to divert his mind from food.
There seemed to be a kitchen in the house, however; if Blood had not yet eaten, it was quite possible that he would invite him to lunch when the exorcism had been concluded. How long had it been since he had sat beneath the fig tree, watching Maytera Rose consume fresh rolls? Several hours, surely, but he had failed to share his breakfast with her; he was justly punished.
“I will not eat,” he muttered to himself as he unpacked the glass lamps and the little flask of oil, “until someone invites me to a meal; then and only then shall I be free of this vow. Strong Sphigx, hardship is yours! Hear me now.”
Perhaps Orchid would wish to speak to him again about the arrangements for tomorrow; judging from her appearance (and thus, as he reminded himself, very possibly unfairly) Orchid ate often and well. She might easily fancy a bowl of grapes or a platter of peach fritters …
