Nightside the Long Sun

“I think so.”

“So do I. What’s your name, my daughter?”

“Poppy, Patera. Only I still don’t feel quite like I did before.”

“I see. You know, Poppy, Orchid mentioned you to me when we were talking earlier, I suppose—” He was on the point of saying that it had probably been because she was Chenille’s opposite physically; at the last possible moment he substituted, “because you’re very attractive. That may have had something to do with your possession, although I can’t be certain. When were you possessed, Poppy?”

“Just now.”

“Speak louder, please. I don’t believe everyone can hear you.”

Poppy raised her voice. “Just now, until you said be gone, Patera.”

“And how did it feel, Poppy?”

The small, dark girl began to tremble.

“If it frightens you too much, you don’t have to tell us. Would you rather sit back down?”

“I felt like I was dead. I didn’t care any more about anything, and I was right here but far away. I was seeing all the same things, but they meant different things, and I can’t explain. People were hollow, like clothes nobody was wearing, all of them except you.”

Violet said, “I had my best pins in my hair, and I laid one on the washstand. I didn’t want to, but I did, and the drain sort of reached up and ate it, a real good pin with a turquoise head, and I thought it was funny.”

Silk nodded. “And for you, Crassula?”

“I wanted to fly, and I did. I stood up in the bed and jumped off and sort of flew around the room. He hit me, but I didn’t care.”

“Was this last night? One of you was possessed last night. Was it you, Crassula?”

The thin woman nodded wordlessly.

“Was it you who screamed last night? I was here then—outside the house, on Lamp Street, and I heard someone scream.”

“That was Orpine. It had come back and I was throwing things. The flying was the first time, last month.”

Silk nodded, looking thoughtful. “Thank you, Crassula. I should also thank Poppy and Violet, and I do. I’ve never had the opportunity to speak with anyone who’s been possessed before now, and what you’ve told me may be helpful to me.”

Mucor was gone, or at least he could no longer see her in any of the faces before him. When they had met in Sun Street, Blood had told him that there were human beings who could possess others; he wondered whether Blood did not at least suspect that the devil who had troubled this house was his daughter. Silk decided that it might be best not to give him more time in which to think of it.

“Now we’re going to sing the song that we will sing in the course of the ceremony. Stand up, all of you, and join hands. Blood, you and Musk and the rest must sing with us. Come to the front and join hands.”

Most of them did not know the Hymn to Every God, but Silk taught them the chorus and the first three verses, and eventually achieved a creditable performance, to which Musk, who so seldom spoke, supplied a more than adequate tenor.

“Good! That was our rehearsal, and in a moment we’ll begin the ceremony. We’ll start outside. This little jar of paint and this brush—” Silk displayed them, “have been blessed and consecrated already. Five of you, chosen from among those who live in this house, will participate in the restoration of the voided cross over the Music Street door, while the rest of us sing. It would be best if the three who have been possessed were among that five. After that, we’ll circle the house three times in procession, and then assemble in here once more for the final casting out.”

Outside, while surprised urchins stared and pointed at the women, many of whom were still only half dressed, Silk chose the additional representatives, selecting two who were slight of build from among those who seemed to be taking the proceedings most seriously. The Hymn to Every God sounded faint and thin in the open air of Music Street, but a score of watching loungers removed their hats as Blood and Bass gravely lifted each of the five in turn on their shoulders. Gammadion by gammadion the nearly effaced voided cross was restored to prominence. When the base line had been added beneath it, Silk burned the brush and the remainder of the paint in the largest thurible.

“Aren’t you going to sacrifice?” Orchid asked. “The others did.”

“I’ve just done so,” Silk told her. “A sacrifice need not be of a living beast, and you’ve just witnessed one that wasn’t. Should a second exorcism be required, we will offer a beast, and retrace the sacred design in its blood. Do you understand the sacrifice, and why we’re doing all this? I’m assuming that the evil being entered your house through this Music Street door, since it is the only outside entrance to the profaned manteion.”

Orchid nodded hesitantly.

“Good.” Silk smiled. “As the second part proper of this exorcism, we will march in solemn procession, making a threefold circuit of the entire structure, while I read from the Chrasmologic Writings. It might be best if you were to walk behind me, and for the four men to take positions from which they can maintain order.”

He raised his voice for the benefit of the listening women. “It will not be necessary for you to keep in step like troopers. It will be necessary that you remain in a single file and pay attention to what I read.”

He got out his glasses, wiped them on his sleeve, and put them on. One of the young women tittered nervously.

Would Hyacinth laugh so, if she were to see him with these small and always somewhat smeared lenses before his eyes? Surely she would—she had laughed at less ridiculous things when they had been together. For the first time it struck him that she might have laughed as she had because she had been happy. He himself had been happy