or Scylla. Thus far it seems confined to the lower orders. The watchword ‘Silk for calde’ is written on walls, although not” (it was a guess, but Crane felt confident of his ground) “on the Palatine. I am in contact with him and am gaining his trust. I have seen to it that he has an azoth. This can be reported if it proves necessary to destroy him.”
Crane grinned to himself; that had been pure luck, but it would open their eyes.
“The Civil Guard is being expanded again. All units are at or over full strength. There is talk of forming a reserve brigade, officered by veterans.”
For nearly half a minute, he sat staring at what he had written; better to say too little than too much. He dipped the crow quill for the twentieth time. “The bird has been freed. Its trainer says this is necessary. He will try to lure it back within the next few days. Lemur and Loris are reported to have observed its release.”
And to have emerged from the subcellar, as upon several previous occasions, Crane reminded himself. Unquestionably the Ayuntamiento was making extensive use of the half-flooded construction tunnels, though its headquarters was not there.
Or could not be located if it was, although so many had perished there searching for it. Besides Viron’s dormant army, there were Vironese soldiers in those tunnels, as well as several taluses.
Crane shook his head, then smiled at the thought of the Rani’s reward. Turning to his glass, he clapped his hands. “Monitor!”
The floating face appeared.
“Code. Snakeroot. What have you got for me?”
Blood’s fleshy features filled the glass. “Councillor Lemur ought to hear this.”
Blood’s face was replaced by the deceptively cheerful-looking visage of Potto. “You can give me the message.”
“I’d rather—”
Crane smiled at Blood’s reluctance.
“That doesn’t matter. What is it?”
Crane edged nearer the glass.
When Blood had faded and the monitor reappeared to tell him there were no further exchanges of interest, Crane dipped his quill again. “Later. The bird has come back of its own volition. It is said to be in good condition.”
He wiped the quill carefully and returned it to his pen case, blew on the paper, and folded and refolded it until it was scarcely larger than his thumbnail. When he pressed it into Sphigx’s swordless left hand, the hand closed upon it.
Crane smiled, put away his pen case and the remaining paper, and considered the advisability of a long soak in the tub before bed. There was a good light in the bathroom—he had installed it himself—and if he read for an hour, the tightly folded sheet would have taken on the brown hue of the elaborately carved wood before he retired. He always liked seeing that, enjoyed making sure. He was, as he had to be, a very careful man.
“Thanks,” Auk said as he resumed his seat. “I feel better now. Listen, Patera, do you know how to use that thing?”
“The needler?” Silk shrugged. “I fired it, as I told you. Not other than that.”
Auk refilled his goblet. “I meant the azoth. No, naturally you don’t, but I’ll tell you about the needler anyhow.”
He drew his own needler, twice the size of the engraved and gold-plated weapon in Silk’s pocket. “Notice I got the safety on? There’s a lever like this on both sides.”
“Yes,” Silk said. “So it won’t shoot. I know about that.”
“Fine.” Auk pointed with his table knife. “This pin here, sticking out? You call this the status pin. If it’s pushed out like that, you’ve got needles left.”
Silk took Hyacinth’s needler from his pocket again. “You’re right, it’s flush with the side.”
“Now watch. I can empty mine by pulling this loading knob back.”
A silver fountain of needles sprang from the breach of Auk’s needler and scattered over the table. Silk picked one up.
“There’s not much to see,” Auk said. “Just little rods of solid alloy—some kind of stuff that a lodestone pulls a lot better than steel.”
Silk tested the tip with his finger. “I thought they’d be sharper.”
“Huh-uh. They wouldn’t work as good. If a thing as little as that went straight through somebody, it probably wouldn’t do much damage. You want it to slew around so it cuts sidewise. The point’s rounded just a shade to make it feed into the barrel, but not much.”
Silk put down the needle. “What makes the noise?”
“The air.” Auk smiled at Silk’s surprise. “When you were a sprat, didn’t some other sprat ever sling a rock at you and almost hit you? So you heard the rock go past your ear?”
Silk nodded.
“All right, there wasn’t a bang like with a slug gun, was there? It was just a rock, and the other sprat threw it with his sling. What you heard was the rock going through the air, just like you might hear the wind in the chimney. The bigger the rock was, and the faster it was going, the more noise it would make.”
