THE WHISPERERS
PANDARAS  (NT[R[D  TP[  shadowy  arena  of  the  Basilica  just as
one  half  of  the  defense  force  charged  at  the  other. Tamora
led  the  point  of  the  attacking  wedge,  screaming fearsomely
Yama  ran  up  and  down  behind  the  double  rank of
the  defending  line  and  shouted  at  his  thralls  to  stand firm.
The  two  sides  met  with  a  rattle  of  padded  staves against
round  arm  shields.  Shadows  shifted  wildly  as fireflies
swooped  overhead  like  a  storm  of  sparks.  For  a moment
it  seemed  that  the  attack  must  fail,  but  then  one  of the
thralls  in  the  defending  line  gave  ground  to  Tamora's remorseless
blows.  Instead  of  closing  the  gap  as  the man
went  down  in  the  press,  the  first  rank  wavered  and broke,
stumbling  backward  into  the  second.  Yama  shouted the
order  to  regroup,  but  his  thralls  fell  over  each  other or
simply  dropped  their  shields  and  staves  and  ran,  and the
wedge  formation  of  the  attacking  force  dissolved  as thralls
began  to  chase  each  other  around  the Basilica.
In  the  middle  of  the  confusion,  Tamora  threw  down her
stave  in  disgust,  and  Yama  blew  and  blew  on  his whistle
until  everyone  stopped  running.  Pandaras  came toward
them,  trotting  over  the  pattern  of  chalked  lines Tamora
had  carefully  drawn  on  the  marble  floor  that  morning. His
                                                         two  fireflies  spun  above  his  small  sleek  head.  He said
                                                         cheerfully,  "Did  they  do  something  wrong?  I  thought it
                                                         was  very energetic."
                                                           "You  should  be  in  the  kitchen  with  the  rest  of  the pan
                                                         scourers,"  Tamora  said,  and  went  off  to  round  up the
                                                         thralls  so  that  she  could  tell  them  exactly  what  they had
                                                         done  wrong.  Her  
own  fireflies  seemed  to  have  caught some
                                                         of  her  anger;  they  flared  with  bright  white  light and
                                                         whirled  around  her  head  like  hornets  sprung  in  defense of
                                                         their  nest.  Her  long  queue  of  red  hair  gleamed  like  a rope
                                                         of  fresh  blood.  She  wore  a  plastic  corselet,  much scratched
                                                         and  scored,  and  a  short  skirt  of  overlapping  strips of
                                                         scuffed  leather  that  left  her  powerfully  muscled legs
                                                         mostly bare.
                                                           Pandaras  said,  "They  are  armed  with  sticks,  master. Is
                                                         that  part  of  your plan?"
                                                           "We  do  not  dare  give  them  proper  weapons  yet," Yama
                                                         told  the  boy.  Like  the  thralls,  he  wore  only  a breechclout.
                                                         The  floor  was  cold  and  gritty  under  his  bare  feet,  but he
                                                         was  sweating  in  the  chill  air,  and  his  blood  sang.  He could
                                                         feel  it  thrilling  under  his  skin.  His  vigorous  black  hair was
                                                         bushed  up  by  the  bandage  around  his  forehead.  A ceramic
                                                         disc,  of  the  kind  believed  to  have  been  used  as  coins in
                                                         the  Age  of  Enlightenment,  hung  from  his  neck  on  a leather
                                                         thong.  At  his  
back,  his  knife  hung  in  its  goatskin sheath
                                                         from  a  leather  harness  that  went  over  his  shoulders and
                                                         fastened  across  his chest.
                                                           He  said,  "We  had  them  at  drill  most  of  the  day. You
                                                         should  see  how  they  keep  in step!"
                                                           Pandaras  looked  up  at  his  master,  affecting concern.
                                                         "How  is  your  head,  master?  Is  the  wound  making you
                                                         feverish?  You  seem  to  think-an  army  of  polishers  and floor
                                                         sweepers,  armed  only  with  sticks,  can  frighten  away the
                                                         crack  troops  of  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs by
                                                         putting  on  a  marching display."
                                                           Yama  smiled.  "Why  are  you  here,  Pandaras?  Do you
                                                         really  have  something  to  tell  me,  or  have  you  come expressly
                                                           to  annoy  Tamora?  I  hope  not.  She  is  doing the
                                                         best  she can."
                   Pandaras  looked  to  either  side,  then  drew  himself up
                 until  his  sleek  head  was  level  with  Yama's  chest.  He said,
                 "I  have  learned  something.  You  may  have  exiled  me to
                 the  bowels  of  this  broken-backed,  bankrupt  and debauched
                 
department,  but  I  have  still  been  working  hard  for you."
                   "You  chose  your  place,  as  I remember."
                   Pandaras  said,  "And  now  you  may  thank  me  for my
                 foresight.  I  have  news  which  affects  our  whole scheme
                 here,  and  I  beg  to  be  allowed  to  lay  my  prize  at  your feet.
                 I  don't  think  you'll  be displeased."
                   "You  have  been  spying,  Pandaras.  What  did  you find?"
                   "It  was  in  the  mausoleum  they  call  the  Hall  of the
                 Tranquil  Mind,"  Pandaras  said.  "While  you  two have
                 been  playing  soldiers  with  the  hewers  of  wood  and drawers
                   of  water,  I've  been  risking  my  life  in  intrigue.  A deadly
                 game  with  the  worst  of  penalties  for  losing,  but  I have
                 had  the  good  fortune  to  learn  something  that  affects our
                 whole scheme."
                   The  Hall  of  the  Tranquil  Mind  was  a  black, windowless
                 edifice  carved  out  of  the  basalt  wall  of  the  big cavern
                 which  housed  the  Department  of  Vaticination.  Yama had
                 thought  that  it  was  locked  up  and  derelict,  like  so much
                 of  the Department.
                   He  said,  "I  suppose  you  went  there  to  meet  your sweetheart
                 .  Are  you  still  chasing  that  scullion?  You  are dressed
                 for  the part."
                   Pandaras  had  washed  and  mended  his  ragged clothes
                 and  polished  his  boots.  He  had  found  or  stolen  a  red silk
                 
scarf  which  was  knotted  around  his  long,  flexible neck
                 with  such  casual  elegance  that  Yama  suspected  he had
                 spent  half  the  morning  getting  it  just  so.  His  two fireflies
                 spun  above  his  head  like  living jewels.
                   He  winked  and  said,  "Chased,  caught,  wooed,  won. I
                 didn't  come  to  boast  of  my  conquests,  master.  It's  an old
                 tale  oft  told,  and  there's  not  time.  We're  in  mortal peril
                 here,  if  I'm  any  judge  of  the situation."
                   Yama  smiled.  His  self-appointed  squire  loved  to conjure
                 drama  from  the  slightest  of events.
                   Pandaras  said,  "There  is  a  gallery  that  runs  along one



                                                         side  of  the  Hall  of  the  Tranquil  Mind,  under  the  rim of
                                                         the  dome.  If  you  happen  to  be  standing  at  the  top  of the
                                                         stairs  to  the  gallery,  and  if  you  place  your  ear  close  to the
                                                         wall,  then  you  can  hear  anything  said  by  those  below. A
                                                         device  much  favored  by  tyrants,  I  understand,  who know
                                                         that  plotters  often  choose  public  buildings  to  meet,  for any
                                                         gathering  in  a  public  place  can  be  easily  explained away.
                                                         But  fortune  favors  the  brave,  master.  Today  I  was placed
                                                         in  the  role  of  tyrant,  and  I  overheard  the  whispered plotting
                                                         of  a  pair  of  schemers. "
                                                           Pandaras  paused.  Yama  had  turned  away  to  look across
                                                         the  shadowy  Basilica.  Tamora  was  marshalling  the reluctant
                                                           thralls  into  three  ranks.  Her  voice  raised  echoes under
                                                         the  shabby  grandeur  of  the  vaulted dome.
                                                           Pandaras  said,  "It  is  more  important,  master,  than playing
                                                           at soldiers."
                                                           "But  this  is  important,  too.  It  is  why  we  are  here, to
                                                         begin  with,  and  besides,  it  is  useful  to  stay  in practice."
                                                           
Yama  did  not  add  that  it  helped  satisfy  something in
                                                         him  that  hungered  for  action.  His  sleep  had  been troubled
                                                         by  bloodthirsty  dreams  ever  since  he  had  entered  the Palace
                                                           of  the  Memory  of  the  People,  and  sometimes  an unfocused
                                                           rage  stiffed  up  headaches  that  filled  his  sight with
                                                         jagged  red  and  black  lightnings,  and  left  him  weak and
                                                         ill.  He  had  been  hard-used  since  he  had  reached  Ys and
                                                         escaped  Prefect  Corin,  and  he  had  been  wounded  in an
                                                         ambush  when  they  had  first  arrived  outside  the  gates of
                                                         the  Department  of  Vaticination.  He  needed  rest,  but there
                                                         was  no  time  for it.
                                                           He  said,  "I  must  hear  what  Tamora  has  to  say. Walk
                                                         with  me, Pandaras."
                                                           "The  blow  to  the  head  has  given  you  delusions, master.
                                                         You  believe  yourself  a soldier."
                                                           "And  you  believe  that  you  are  my  squire,  so  we are
                                                         equally  deluded.  Hush,  now.  We  will  speak  of  what you
                                                         heard  when  Tamora  has  finished  with  our  poor warriors."
                                                           Tamora  had  jumped  
on  to  a  square  stone  plinth which
                                                         had  once  supported  a  statue-only  its  feet  remained, clad
                                                         in  daintily  pointed  slippers  which  still  retained  traces of
              yellow  pigment.  She  looked  at  the  six  decads  of thralls
              who  had  gathered  around  her,  allowing  scorn  to darken
              her  small,  triangular  face.  It  was  a  trick  she  had taught
              Yama.  To  be  a  teacher,  she  said,  was  to  be  an  actor first.
              Unless  delivered  from  the  heart,  no  lesson  could be
             convincing.
                 The  thralls  were  all  of  the  same  bloodline,  lean and
              long-armed  and  bowlegged,  with  loose  gray  skin  that hung
              in  heavy  folds  from  bony  joints.  They  had  long, vulpine
              faces,  untidy  manes  of  coarse  black  or  umber  hair that
              tumbled  down  their  bent  backs  and  muddy  yellow  or green
              eyes  that  peered  out  from  beneath  heavy  brows.  They were
              a  stupid  and  frustratingly  obdurate  bloodline. According
              to  Syle,  the  Secretary  of  the  Department  of Vaticination,
              their  families  had  served  here  for  more  than  twenty thousand
                years.  But  although  they  were  naturally  servile, the
              unaccustomed  drill  had  made  them  sullen  and mutinous,
              and  they  took  every  opportunity  to  make  it  clear  that Tamora
                and  Yama  had  no  real  authority  over  them. They
              glared  at  Tamora,  sharp  teeth  pricking  their  thin  black lips,
              as  she  told  them  how  badly  they  had done.
                 She  said,  "You  have  all  taken  your  turn  at  defense, 
and
              you  have  all  taken  your  turn  at  attack.  You  should know
              that  if  you  are  to  win  through  or  stand  firm,  you  must stay
              in  formation.  A  defending  rank  is  only  as  strong  as its
              weakest  member.  If  he  falls,  someone  must immediately
              take  his  place.  If  an  attacking  formation  breaks  through a
              line,  it  must  stay together."
                 One  of  the  thralls  said,  "They  ran  and  we  chased 'em
              down,  mistress.  What's  wrong  with that?"
                 Tamora  stared  at  the  man  until  he  lowered  his gaze.
              She  said,  "There  might  be  reserves  waiting  behind  a turn
              in  a  corridor.  If  your  disorganized  rabble  ran  into them,
              then  you'd  be  quickly slaughtered."
                 "But  there  wasn't  anyone  else,"  the  thrall mumbled,
              and  those  around  him  muttered  in agreement.
                 Tamora  raised  her  voice.  "This  is  an  exercise. When
              you  fight  for  real,  you  can't  assume  anything.  That's why
              you  must  fight  as  you're  told,  not  as  you  want.  It's very



                                                       easy  to  kill  one  man  on  his  own,  much  harder  to  kill him
                                                       when  he's  part  of  a  formation.  When  you  fight shoulder
                                                       to  shoulder,  you  defend  those  on  either  side  of  you, and
                                                       they  defend  you.  That  way  you  don't  have  to  worry about
                                                       the  enemy  getting  behind  your  back,  because  to  do that
                                                       they'd  have  to  get  around  the  line.  And  they  won't, not
                                                       in  the  corridors.  Elsewhere,  in  the  open,  you  fight in
                                                       squares,  as  you  tried yesterday."
                                                          When  Tamora  paused  for  breath,  a  thrall  stepped  out of
                                                       the  front  rank  and  said,  "We'd  do  better,  mistress,  if we
                                                       had  proper weapons."
                                                          "I'll  break  open  the  armory  when  you've mastered
                                                       those  sticks,"  Tamora  said.  "From  what  I've  just seen,
                                                       I've  a  mind  to  take  the  sticks away.
                                                          The  thrall  did  not  back  down.  He  was  taller  than the
                                                       rest,  if  only  because  he  was  straight-backed.  There were
                                                       streaks  of  gray  in  his  long  mane.  Most  of  the  thralls possessed
                                                         only  one  or  two  dim  fireflies,  but  six  hung  in a
                                                       
neat  cluster  above  his  head,  burning  nearly  as  brightly as
                                                       Tamora's.  He  said,  "We  won't  be  fighting  with these
                                                       sticks,  so  why  do  we  practice  with them?"
                                                          The  thralls  muttered  and  nudged  each  other,  and Pandaras
                                                         told  Yama,  "That's  what  they've  been complaining
                                                       about,  down  in  the kitchens."
                                                          Yama  felt  a  sudden  hot  anger.  He  strode  forward and
                                                       confronted  the  gray-maned  thrall.  "It  is  discipline, not
                                                       weapons,  that  makes  a  fighting  force,"  he  said loudly.
                                                       "Between  all  of  you,  there  is  not  the  discipline  to attack
                                                       a  nest  of rats."
                                                          The  thrall  returned  Yama's  glare.  He  said,  "Beg your
                                                       pardon,  dominie,  but  we  do  know  a  bit  about ratcatching
                                                       . "
                                                          Some  of  the  other  thralls  laughed  and  Yama  lost the
                                                       last  of  his  temper;  it  was  easily  lost  these  days. "Come
                                                       on,"  he  said.  "Come  on  then,  rat-catcher!  Show  me how
                                                       well  you fight!"
                                                          The  thrall  looked  around  at  his  fellows,  but  none were
                                                       willing  to  support  
him.  He  said  uneasily,  "It's  not  you I
                                                       want  to  fight, dominie."
                "You  cannot  choose  who  to  fight!"  Yama  asked Tamora
               to  lend  him  her  sword,  and  presented  it  hilt-first to
             the  thrall.  "Take  this!  Take  it  right now!"
                The  thrall  dropped  his  stave  and  spread  his empty
             hands.  "Dominie  .  . ."
                From  above,  Tamora  said  sharply,  "Do  as  he commands
             or  slink  away  like  the  cur  you are."
                Yama  thrust  the  hilt  of  the  sword  at  the  thrall  until he
             had  to  take  it  or  have  it  fall  on  his  feet,  "Take  it! Good.
             Now  hold  it  up.  It  is  not  a  broom.  It  is  a  weapon. You
             can  kill  with  the  point  or  with  the  cutting  edge,  and  if you
             do  not  have  the  taste  for  blood,  you  can  render  your enemy
             insensible  with  a  blow  to  the  head  with  the  flat  of the
             blade.  However,  I  do  not  recommend  you  try  the last
             against  anyone  less  skilled  than  you.  The  man who
             wounded  me  that  way  lost  most  of  his  fingers  when I
             countered  his  stroke.  Hold  it  up.  Keep  the  tip  of  the blade
             level  with  your eyes."
                Tamora  said,  "If  you're  any  kind  of  man,  you must
             know  that  the  higher  the  angle  the  better  the  thrust. Obey
             your  master!  Show  him  you're  a man!"
                The  other  thralls  had  broken  ranks  and  backed away,
             forming  a  rough  circle  around  Yama  and  the gray-maned
             thrall.  They  laughed  now,  and  Yama  scowled  at  them and
             
told  them  what  Sergeant  Rhodean  had  told  him  so many
            times.
                "Do  not  mock  an  armed  man  unless  you  wish  to fight
             him."  He  pointed  at  the  gray-maned  thrall  and thumped
             himself  just  below  the  breastbone.  "Now  thrust  at me.
             Aim  here.  If  you  miss  the  heart,  you  might  get  a lung.
             Either  way  you  will  have  killed  me.  Come on!"
                The  thrall  made  a  tentative  jab  that  did  not  carry more
             than  halfway.  Yama  batted  the  square  point  of  the sword
             aside  and  leaned  forward  and  shouted  in  the  thrall's face.
                "Come  on!  Kill  me,  or  I  will  tear  out  your  eyes  as a
             lesson!  Do it!"
                The  thrall  yelled  and  sprang  forward,  swiping wildly.
             Yama  stepped  inside  the  swing  and  caught  the  thrall's arm
             at  the  elbow,  pivoted  in  a  neat  half-turn  and  threw him



                                                           from  his  hip.  The  thrall  let  go  of  the  sword  when  he fell;
                                                           Yama  had  it  before  it  could  ring  on  the  marble  floor and
                                                           with  a  smooth  swing  laid  the  edge  at  the  thrall's throat.
                                                           For  a  moment,  he  struggled  against  the  urge  to complete
                                                           the motion.
                                                             The  thrall  looked  up  at  him,  his  yellow  slitted eyes
                                                           glaring  behind  the  agitated  orbits  of  his  six  fireflies.  In the
                                                           moment  of  shocked  silence,  Yama  looked  around. None
                                                           of  the  other  thralls  would  meet  his  gaze.  He  smiled and
                                                           reversed  the  sword  and  presented  it  to Tamora.
                                                             She  sheathed  it,  jumped  down  from  the  pedestal, and
                                                           helped  the  thrall  to  his  feet.  "Bravely  tried.  Better than
                                                           anything  anyone  else  has  done."  She  looked  around  at the
                                                           others.  "I  don't  mind  if  you  hate  us,  but  I  do  mind  if you
                                                           can't  get  angry.  Without  anger  you'll  have  only  fear when
                                                           it  comes  to  a  fight.  We  can't  teach  you  how  to  get angry,
                                                           but  if  you  can  manage  it  we  can  teach  you  how  to direct
                                                           your  anger.  Tomorrow  we  begin  again.  Now  get  out of
                                                           
my  sight.  Go  on! Run!"
                                                             Pandaras  applauded  languidly  as  the  thralls dispersed
                                                           around  him,  their  claws  clicking  on  marble.  He  said, "A
                                                           bold  display,  master.  I  had  not  thought  you  could play-act
                                                           so well."
                                                             Yama  shrugged.  Now  it  was  over  he  felt self-conscious.
                                                           His  head  wound  throbbed.  He  said,  "I  was  not play-acting.
                                                           I  lost  my  temper. "
                                                             Tamora  said,  "Like  I  said,  that's  what's  needed. You're
                                                           getting  an  edge  to  you,  Yama.  That's  good.  We'll make
                                                           you  into  something  like  one  of  the  Fierce  People,  eh? The
                                                           thralls  have  been  servants  for  thousands  of generations,
                                                           and  we've  been  treating  them  like  volunteers.  We have
                                                           been  too  kind.  They  take  up  arms  not  because  they want
                                                           to,  but  because  they  have  been  told  to.  Grab,  they  will not
                                                           do  anything  unless  they  are  told,  and  then  they  do what
                                                           they  are  told  and  no  more.  They  can  march  in perfect
                                                           formation  all  day  long  without  losing  step,  but they
                                                           haven't  the  
heart  to fight."
                                                             Tamora  was  angry  with  herself,  and  so  all  the more
                                                           unforgiving.  Nothing  had  gone  right  since  they  had been
              ambushed  by  hired  ruffians  when  they  had  arrived  at the
              Gate  of  Double Glory.
                 She  added,  "We're  just  a  couple  of  caterans.  We'll do
              our  best  with  what  we've  been  given,  but  in  the  end it
              won't  matter.  Indigenous  Affairs  will  march  right  in and
              slaughter  the  thralls  and  take  this  place  inside  a  day. This
              is  a  poor  diversion  in  your  search,  Yama.  I'm  sorry  for it."
                 "Without  this  subterfuge,  I  would  not  have  been able
              to  enter  the  Palace  without  being  questioned. Besides,"
              Yama  said,  "I  enjoy  these exercises."
                 It  was  true.  The  sound  of  padded  staves  thumping on
              shields  and  the  smell  of  chalk  and  sweat  had  brought back
              happy  memories  of  all  the  afternoons  he  had  spent training
              with  Telmon  and  Sergeant  Rhodean  in  the  gymnasium of
              the  peel-house.  The  practice  fights  satisfied  a  fierceness he
              had  not  known  he  had possessed.
                 Tamora  said,  "I  forget  how  young  you  are,  and how
              hopeful.  We  might  make  these  poor  fools  believe they
              have  the  heart  for  a  fight,  but  it'll  delay  their  deaths by
              no  more  than  a  minute.  They  know  they're  going  to 
die,
              and  they  know  that  their  wives  and  children  will  be killed
              too,  or  put  into  slavery.  We'll  be  ransomed,  but because
              our  ransoms  have  already  been  paid  into  bond  with the
              Department  of  Internal  Harmony,  we'll  be  freed  and given
              our  wages,  and  that'll  be  the  end  of that."
                 "I  pray  you  are  right.  I  think  that  Prefect  Corin  is still
              searching  for  me,  and  he  is  a  high  official  in Indigenous
             Affairs."
                 They  had  talked  about  this  before.  Tamora  said with
              exaggerated  patience,  "Of  course  I  am  right.  It  is  how it
              has  always  been,  since  the  world  was  made.  If  it  were not
              for  the  ancient  protocols,  there  would  be  constant civil
              war  here.  Your  Prefect  will  not  be  able  to  interfere.  I am
              sure  the  Indigenous  Affairs  sent  those  fools  to  ambush us,
              and.perhaps  Prefect  Corin  had  a  hand  in  it,  but  now we
              are  inside  the  boundary  of  this  Department  he  will dare
              do  nothing else.
                 "Listen.  Here  is  the  problem.  Not  your  Prefect,  but the
              real  problem.  We  fight  because  we're  paid.  Once captured



                                                     no  harm  will  come  to  us.  But  the  thralls  fight because
                                                     they've  been  told  to  fight,  and  they've  been  told  to fight
                                                     because  that  fat  fool  who  rules  this  place  and  claims to
                                                     see  into  the  future  predicts  victory.  The  thralls  know in
                                                     their  guts  that  she  is  wrong.  That  is  why  they  are so
                                                    sullen."
                                                       Yama  said,  "We  do  not  know  that  Luria  does  not have
                                                     the  powers  she claims."
                                                       "Grah.  She  knows  that  she  doesn't,  and  so  does Syle,
                                                     and  so  do  the  thralls.  And  the  other  pythoness  is  no more
                                                     than  a  whey-faced  wet-brained  child  stolen  from  her cradle
                                                     .  I  have  not  heard  her  speak  a  single  word  since we
                                                     came here."
                                                       Pandaras  said,  "From  what  I  hear,  Daphoene  might be
                                                     young,  but  she  does  have  power,  and  that's  why  she is
                                                     forbidden  to  speak.  Luria  fears  her  because  she  thinks that
                                                     one  day  innocent  Daphoene  will  expose  her  fraud. Master,
                                                     I  must  speak  with  you  about  what  I heard."
                                                       Yama  said,  "Daphoene  is  very  young.  She  may appear
                                                     
to  keep  her  own  counsel,  but  perhaps  she  has  none to
                                                    off er.
                                                       Tamora  laughed.  "Yama,  you're  so  innocent  that you're
                                                     a  danger  to  all  around  you.  For  once  your  pet  rat  has said
                                                     something  sensible.  If  Daphoene  does  have  true foresight,
                                                     then  Luria  has  every  reason  to  keep  her  quiet.  Syle too,
                                                     and  that  bloodless  wife  of  his.  For  Daphoene  will know
                                                     how  badly  the  defense  of  this  place  will go."
                                                       Yama  said,  "Well,  we  will  see  her  at  work soon
                                                    enough."
                                                       In  two  days,  the  oracle  would  be  opened  for public
                                                     inquisition,  and  the  pythonesses  would  answer  the questions
                                                       of  their  petitioners.  It  might  be  the  last  time the
                                                     ceremony  was  held,  for  ten  days  after  that  the deadline
                                                     for  challenging  the  quit  claim  would  run  out.  The Department
                                                       of  Indigenous  Affairs  would  be  allowed  to  march on
                                                     the  crumbling  glory  of  the  High  Morning  Court  of the
                                                     Department  of  Vaticination,  and  occupy  the  place where
                                                     once  Hierarchs  had  swum  amongst  maps  of  the Galaxy's
                
stars,  ordering  the  voyages  of  ships  that  fell  from  star to
                star  through  holes  in  space  and time.
                   Pandaras  told  Tamora,  "My  master  has  paid  you  to help
                him  find  his  bloodline,  and  it  is  a  better  and  more honorable
                  task  than  this  game  of  soldiers.  As  you  will  at once
                see,  if  you  let  me  tell  my tale."
                   "You  run  if  you  want,"  Tamora  said.  "I'd  like  to see
                you  run,  rat-boy.  It  would  prove  what  I've  always thought
                about you."
                   Pandaras  said,  with  an  air  of  affronted  dignity, "I'll
                ignore  the  slights  on  my  character,  except  to  say  that those
                who  attribute  base  motives  to  all  around  them  do  so because
                  they  expect  no  better  of  themselves.  But  while you
                have  been  playing  at  soldiers,  I  have  been  risking  my life.
                Master,  please  hear  me  out,  I  must  tell  you  what  I heard."
                   "If  this  is  more  kitchen  gossip,"  Tamora  said, "then
                hold  your  yap.  You'd  inflate  the  breaking  of  a  glass into
                an  epic tragedy."
                   "Neh,  and  why  not?  It's  a  painful  death  for  the glass
                concerned,  leaves  its  fellows  bereft  of  a  good companion,
                and  makes  them  aware  of  their  own mortality."
                   Yama  said,  "Pandaras  claims  to  have  overheard a
                
conspiracy. "
                   "Master,  she  will  not  believe  me.  It  is  not  worth telling
                  her. "
                   "Out  with  it,  Pandaras,"  Yama  said.  "Forget  your injured
                 dignity."
                   "There  were  two  of  them.  They  were  whispering together
                ,  but  I  heard  one  say,  'Tomorrow,  at  dawn. Go
                straightaway,  and  come  straight  back.'  This  was  a woman.
                The  other  may  have  been  a  servant,  for  he  simply made
                a  noise  of  assent,  and  the  first  said,  'Do  this,  and  I  see a
                great  elevation.  Fail,  and  she  lives.  And  if  she  lives we
                all  may  die.'  Then  they  both  moved  off,  master,  and I
                heard  no  more.  But  it  is  enough,  don't  you think?"
                   Tamora  said,  "We  should  expect  nothing  less. These
                old  departments  are  rats'  nests  of  poisonous  intrigues and
                feuds  over trifles."



                                                         Pandaras  said,  "If  we  can  trust  no  one  here,  why must
                                                      we  stay?  We  should  cut  our  losses  and run."
                                                         Yama  said,  "You  have  not  told  us  who  these plotters
                                                     were."
                                                         "Ah,  as  to  that .
                                                         Tamora  scowled.  "Grab.  You  were  scared,  and didn't
                                                      dare look."
                                                         "Had  I  leaned  out  over  the  gallery  rail,  I  might have
                                                      been  seen,  and  the  game  would  have  been  up." Pandaras
                                                      batted  at  the  pair  of  fireflies  which  circled  his  head; they
                                                      dipped  away  and  circled  back.  "These  cursed  things we
                                                      must  use  instead  of  candles  would  have  given  me away."
                                                         "As  I  said,  you  were scared."
                                                         Yama  said,  "It  does  not  matter.  The  gate  is  closed at
                                                      night,  and  opens  again  at  sunrise.  Whoever  leaves when
                                                      it  opens  tomorrow  will  be  our man."
                                                         Tamora  said,  "And  when  we  catch  him  we  can  cut the
                                                      truth  from him."
                                                         "No,"  Yama  said.  "I  will  follow  him,  and  learn what
                                                      
I  can.  If  there  is  a  conspiracy,  of  course.  There  may be
                                                      an  innocent explanation."
                                                         Drilling  the  thralls  was  all  very  well,  but  Yama had
                                                      done  little  else  in  the  three  days  since  they  had ardved
                                                      here.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  as  if  he  was  suffocating in
                                                      the  stale  air  of  the  Department  of  Vaticination,  with its
                                                      meaningless  ceremonies  and  its  constant  reverent evocation
                                                        of  the  dead  days  of  its  long-lost  glory.  He  wanted to
                                                      see  more  of  the  Palace.  He  wanted  to  find  the  records of
                                                      his  bloodline  and  move  on.  He  wanted  to  go downriver
                                                      and  plunge  into  the  war  at  the  midpoint  of  the world.
                                                         "It's  obviously  some  plot  against  the  fat  bitch," Tamora
                                                      said  thoughtfully.  "It's  because  of  Luria's  refusal  to bargain
                                                        with  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  that we're
                                                      here.  Without  her,  there  would  be  no dispute."
                                                           'Fail,  and  she  lives.  And  if  she  lives  we  all may
                                                      die,'  "  Pandaras said.
                                                         "When  your  rat-boy  agrees  with  me,"  Tamora told
                                                      Yama,  "then  you  
know  I  must  be  right.  Perhaps  the best
                                                      thing  to  do  would  be  to  do  nothing.  In  any  case, you
               should  not  leave  this  place,  Yama.  We  are  protected by
               law  and  custom  only  as  long  as  we  stay  within  the boundaries
                 of  the  Department  of  Vaticination.  I  know  that you
               want  to  begin  your  search  for  the  records  of  your bloodline
               .  But  be  patient.  In  a  decad,  the  Department  of Indigenous
                 Affairs  will  take  this  place,  no  matter  how  well we
               train  the  thralls.  Then  we  can  search  together,  as we
               agreed.  You're  already  wounded,  and  we  have  been misled
               about  the  kind  of  troops  we  were  to  command,  and our
               employers  plot  against  each  other.  It's  clear  someone here
               has  allied  themselves  to  Indigenous  Affairs,  and  hopes to
               make  a  bargain  after  assassinating  their  rivals.  It doesn't
               matter  who  is  plotting  against  who,  for  there's  no honor
               to  be  won  here.  The  defense  is  simply  a  matter  of form
               before  the  inevitable  surrender.  Like  all  of  Gorgo's little
               jobs,  this  has  nothing  to  commend  it.  Another  reason to
               kill  him,  when  we  are  done here."
                  Gorgo  was  the  broker  who  had  given  Tamora  this contract
               
.  He  had  tried  to  kill  Yama  because  Yama  had cost
               him  the  commission  on  a  previous  job  and  because he
               suspected  that,  with  Yama's  help,  Tamora  might  free herself
                 of  her  obligation  to  him.  Yama  had  killed  him instead,
               riddling  him  with  a  hundred  tiny  machines,  but Tamora
               had  not  seen  it  and  she  did  not  or  would  not  believe in
               what  she  called  Yama's  magic tricks.
                  "If  we  find  out  more,"  Yama  said,  "then  we  can end
               the  plot  before  it begins."
                  "Grah!  And  if  you  leave  here  before  the  end  of the
               contract,  you'll  be  assassinated.  You  will  stay  here, for
               your  own safety."
                  "I  can  take  care  of myself."
                  Tamora  said  sharply,  "How  is  your  wound?  Does it
               trouble you?"
                  "A  headache  now  and  then,"  Yama admitted.
                  He  had  the  beginning  of  a  headache  now.  He  felt  as if
               his  skull  was  too  small  to  contain  his  thoughts,  as  if his
               brain  was  a  bladder  pumped  up  by  a  growing  anger. Red
               and  black  sparks  crawled  at  the  edge  of  his  vision.  He had
               to  stifle  an  impulse  to  draw  his  knife  and  do  some harm.



                                                         He  said,  "I  will  not  make  the  same  mistake  again. And
                                                      I  will  do  as  I will."
                                                         Pandaras  said,  "Perhaps  my  master  should  leave now.
                                                      Go  and  find  the  records  of  his  bloodline,  for  that's why
                                                      he  is  really here."
                                                         Tamora  suddenly  whirled,  smashing  her  stave against
                                                      the  plinth  with  such  force  that  it  snapped  in  two. She
                                                      glared  at  the  splintered  stub  in  her  hand,  then  threw it
                                                      hard  and  fast  down  the  length  of  the  Basilica.  "Grah! Go
                                                      then!  Both  of  you!  Go,  and  accept  what  falls  out. Death,
                                                      most  likely.  Even  if  you  dodge  the  hirelings  of  the Department
                                                        of  Indigenous  Affairs,  you  know  nothing  about the
                                                      Palace,  and  it  is  a  dangerous place."
                                                         "I  will  come  back,"  Yama  said.  "I  promised  that I
                                                      would  help  you  and  I  was  taught  to  keep  my promises.
                                                      Besides,  I  hope  to  learn  something  here.  Is  not  one  of the
                                                      attributes  of  this  Department  the  ability  to  find lost
                                                     things?"
                         THE  EYE  Of  THE PRESERVERS.

IT  WAS  TU  custom  of  the  Department  of  Vaticination that
             everyone,  from  senior  pythoness  to  lowliest  collector of
             nightsoil,  took  their  evening  meal  together  in  the refectory
             hall  of  the  House  of  the  Twelve  Front  Rooms.  The pythonesses
               and  their  domestic  staff-the  secretary,  the bursar,
             the  chamberlain,  the  librarian,  the  sacristan,  and  a decad
             of  holders  of  ancient  offices  which  had  dwindled  to purely
             ceremonial  functions  or  nothing  more  than  empty titlesraised
               up  on  a  platform  at  one  end  of  the  refectory; the
             thralls  ranged  around  the  other  three  sides.  The refectory
             was  not  a  convivial  place.  Yama  supposed  that  there had
             once  been  tapestries  muffling  the  bare  stone walls-the
             hooks  were  still  in  place-and  perhaps  rugs  on  the flagstone
               floor,  but  now  the  gloomy  high-ceilinged  hall was
             undecorated,  and  lit  only  by  the  fireflies  which danced
             attendance  above  the  heads  of  every  man  and  woman. The
             thralls  ate  in  silence;  only  the  chink  and  scrape  of their
             knives  underlay  the  high,  clear  voice  of  the praise-sayer,
             who,  at  a  lectern  raised  in  one  corner  of  the refectory,
             recited  suras  from  the  Puranas.  Alone  amongst several
             hundred  sullen  servants,  only  Pandaras  dared  glance now
             and  then  at  the  people  on  the platform.



                                                         Although  the  refectory  was  bleak,  Yama  found  the formal
                                                         style  of  the  meals,  a  decad  of  courses  presented at
                                                       intervals  by  liveried  thralls,  comfortingly  familiar.  It reminded
                                                         him  of  suppers  at  the  long  banqueting  table  in the
                                                       Great  Hall  of  the  peel-house.  He  sprawled  in  a  nest  of silk
                                                       cushions  (their  delicate  embroidery  tattered,  stained and
                                                       musty)  at  a  low  square  table  he  shared  with  Syle, the
                                                       secretary  of  the  Department  of  Vaticination,  and Syle's
                                                       pregnant  wife,  Rega.  The  rest  of  the  domestic  staff were
                                                       grouped  around  other  tables,  and  all  were  turned toward
                                                       the  couches  on  which  the  two  pythonesses reclined.
                                                         The  Department  of  Vaticination  was  one  of  the oldest
                                                       in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People,  and although
                                                       it  had  fallen  on  hard  times,  it  kept  up  its  traditions. The
                                                       food  was  poor,  mostly  rice  and  glutinous  vegetable sauces
                                                       eaten  with  wedges  of  unleavened  bread  (the  thralls  had it
                                                       even  worse,  with  only  lentils  and  edible  plastic),  but it
                                                       was  served  on  fine,  
translucent  porcelain,  and accompanied
                                                       by  thin,  bitter  wine  in  fragile  cups  of  blown  glass veined
                                                       with  gold  and silver.
                                                         Luria,  the  senior  pythoness,  overflowed  her  couch, looking
                                                       ,  as  Tamora  liked  to  say,  like  a  grampus  stranded  on a
                                                       mudbank.  Crowned  by  a  tower  of  red  and  gold fireflies,
                                                       she  ate  with  surprising  delicacy  but  ferocious appetite;
                                                       usually,  she  had  finished  her  portion  and  rung  the  bell to
                                                       signal  that  the  dishes  should  be  taken  away  before the
                                                       others  on  the  platform  were  halfway  done.  Swags  of flesh
                                                       hung  from  her  jowls  and  from  her  upper  arms,  and her
                                                       eyes  were  half-hidden  by  the  puffy  ramparts  of  her cheeks.
                                                       They  were  large,  her  eyes,  and  a  lustrous  brown, with
                                                       long,  delicate  lashes.  Her  black  hair  was  greased  and tied
                                                       in  numerous  plaits  with  colored  silk  ribbons,  and  she wore
                                                       layers  of  colored  gauze  that  floated  and  stirred  on the
                                                       faintest  breeze.  Whenever  she  chose  to  walk,  she  had to
                                                       be  supported  by  two  thralls,  but  usually  she  was carried
                                                       about  on  a  chair.  
She  had  been  pythoness  for  more than
                                                       a  century.  She  was  the  imperturbable  center  of  such power
                                                       that  remained  in  the  faded  glory  of  the  Department of
                                                       Vaticination,  like  a  bloated  spider  brooding  in  a tattered
              web  in  a  locked,  airless  room.  Yama  knew  that  she did
              not  miss  a  single  nuance  of  the  whispered conversations
              around her.
                 The  junior  pythoness,  Daphoene,  was  Luria's starveling
              shadow.  Only  a  single  wan  firefly  flickered  above  her flat,
              pale  face,  as  if  she  were  no  better  than  the  least  of the
              kitchen  thralls.  She  wore  a  long  white  shift  that, girdled
              with  a  belt  of  gold  wires,  covered  her  body  from  neck to
              ankles.  Her  head  was  shaven,  and  lumpy  scars wormed
              across  her  scalp.  She  was  blind.  Her  eyes,  white  as stones,
              were  turned  toward  the  ceiling  while  her  fine-boned hands
              moved  amongst  the  bowls  and  cups  on  the  tray  a servant
              held  before  her,  questing  independently  like  small restless
              animals.  She  never  spoke,  and  did  not  appear  to  hear any
              of  the  conversations  around her.
                 Yama  suspected  that  Daphoene  was  inhabited  by more
              than  one  person.  Lately,  he  had  begun  to  sense  that everyone
                had  folded  within  themselves  a  small  irreducible kernel
                of  self,  the  soul  grown  by  the  invisibly  small machines
              
which  infected  all  of  the  changed  bloodlines.  But Daphoene
                was  a  vessel  for  an  uncountable  number  of kernels,
              a  constant  ferment  of  flickering fragments.
                 The  formal  evening  meals  were  a  trial  to  Tamora, and
              she  guyed  her  unease  by  playing  up  the  part  of  an uncouth
              cateran.  That  evening,  after  the  argument  in  the Basilica,
              she  had  chosen  to  sit  alone  at  a  table  at  the  far  end  of the
              platform,  and  was  more  restless  than  ever.  But  the more
              she  played  the  barbarian,  the  more  she  endeared  herself to
              Syle,  who  would  incline  his  head  toward  Yama  and comment
                in  an  admiring,  mock-scandalized  whisper  on the
              way  Tamora  tossed  and  caught  her  knife  over  and over,
              or  yawned  widely,  or  noisily  spat  a  bit  of  gristle  onto the
              floor,  or  drank  from  the  fingerbowl,  or,  as  now, scratched
              herself  with  a  cat's  lazy self-indulgence.
                 "Quite  wonderfully  untamed,"  Syle  murmured to
              Yama.  "Isn't  she  so  thrillingly physical?"
                 "She  comes  from  a  people  not  much  given  to formalities
              ,"  Yama  whispered back.
                 "Fortunately,  we  didn't  hire  her  for  her manners,"



                                                         Syle's  wife,  Rega,  said.  Rega  was  older  than  Syle,  with a
                                                         pointed  wit  and  a  sharp  gaze  that  measured  everyone it
                                                         fell  upon  and  usually  found  them  wanting.  She  was tremendously
                                                           pregnant;  as  round  as  an  egg,  as  her husband
                                                         fondly  put  it,  in  a  shift  of  purple  satin  that  stretched like
                                                         a  drumhead  over  her  distended  belly.  She  had  twisted her
                                                         feathery  hair  into  a  tall  cone  that  sat  like  a  shell  on top
                                                         of  her  small head.
                                                             "She  is  tired,  too,"  Yama  said.  "We  have  both been
                                                         working hard."
                                                             The  praise-sayer  had  been  reciting  from  the  sura which
                                                         described  how  the  Preservers  had  altered  the  orbits of
                                                         every  star  in  the  Galaxy,  as  a  feoffer  might  replant  a forest
                                                         as  a  formal  garden.  A  monument,  a  game,  a  work  of artwho
                                                           could  say?  Who  could  understand  the  minds  of those
                                                         who  had  become  gods,  so  powerful  that  they  had escaped
                                                         this  Universe  of things?
                                                             Yama  knew  these  suras  by  heart,  and  had  been paying
                                                         little  attention  
to  the  praise-singer.  But  now  the man
                                                         paused,  and  began  to  recite  a  sura  from  the  last  pages of
                                                         the Puranas.
                                                             The  worldfirst  showed  itself  as  a  golden  embryo of
                                                             sound.  As  soon  as  the  thoughts  of  the Preservers
                                                             turned  to  the  creation  of  the  world,  the  long vowel
                                                             which  described  the  form  of  the  world  vibrated in
                                                             the  pure  realm  of  thought,  and  re-echoed  on itself.
                                                             From  the  knots  in  the  play  of  vibrations,  the crude
                                                             matter  of  the  world  curdled.  In  the  beginning,  it was
                                                             no  more  than  a  sphere  of  air  and  water  with  a little
                                                             mud  at  the center.
                                                               And  the  Preservers  raised  up  a  man  and  set on
                                                             his  brow  their  mark,  and  raised  up  a  woman  of the
                                                             same  kind,  and  set  on  her  brow  the  same mark.
                                                             From  the  white  clay  of  the  middle  region  did they
                                                             shape  this  race,  and  quickened  them  with their
                                                             marks.  And  those  of  this  race  were  the  servants of
                                                             the  Preservers.  
And  in  their  myriads  this  race shaped
                                                             the  world  after  the  ideas  of  the Preservers.
               Yama's  blood  quickened.  It  was  a  description  of how
            the  Preservers  had  created  the  first  bloodline  of Confluence
            :  the  Builders,  his  own  bloodline,  long  thought  to have
            vanished  with  their  masters  into  the  black  hole  at  the heart
            of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  He  saw  that  Syle  was watching
              him,  and  knew  that  Syle  knew.  Knew  what  he was.
            Knew  why  he  was  here.  The  sura  had  been chosen
           deliberately.
               Luria  rang  her  little  bell.  The  attendants  cleared away
            the  bowls  of  rice  and  the  dishes  of  sauces,  and sprinkled
            the  diners  with  water  perfumed  with  rose petals.
               "You  will  watch  the  exercises  tomorrow,"  Luria told
            Syle.  "I  want  to  know  how  the  training  of  our defense
            force  is proceeding."
               Without  looking  away  from  Yama,  Syle  said,  "I am
            sure  that  it  is  in  capable  hands,  pythoness."  Yes,  he knew.
            But  what  did  he want?
               Tamora  said  loudly,  "Well,  we  didn't  kill  anyone today,
            and  I  believe  my  friend's  wound  is healing."
               She  had  spoken  out  of  turn.  Luria  took  no  more notice
            than  if  she  had belched.
               Syle  said,  "I  watched  the  exercises  yesterday, pythoness
            ,  but  I  will  do  so  again  tomorrow.  It  is  very diverting.
            You  should  see  how  well  the  thralls march."
               "It's  a  pity  they  can't  fight,"  Tamora said.
               "I  have  had  a  presentiment,"  Luria  told  Syle. "You
            will  see  to  it  that  all  is well."
               Tamora  said,  "If  you've  seen  something  with  your cards
            
or  dice,  perhaps  you  could  share  it  with  us.  It  could help
            our plans.
               There  was  a  silence.  Syle  turned  very  pale.  At last,
            Luria  said  in  a  soft  croak,  "Not  dice,  dear.  Dice  and cards
            are  for  street  performers  who  take  your  money  and promise
              anything  they  think  will  make  you  happy.  I  deal in
            the truth.
               Syle  said,  "The  pythoness  entered  a  trance  today.  If she
            has  said  little  to  you,  it  is  because  she  is  exhausted. You
            will  see  how  hard  divination  is  in  two  days'  time,  at the
            public inquisition."



                                                             "Syle  likes  to  explain  things,"  Luria  said.  "You will
                                                          show  him  the  progress  you  have  made.  He  will  then explain
                                                            it  to me."
                                                             "Oh,  pythoness,  you  should  see  how  the thralls
                                                          march!"  Syle  said  again,  and  began  to  describe  the precision
                                                            of  the  martial  drills  at  length,  falling  silent  only when
                                                          the  last  course,  iced  fruits  and  sweet  yellow  wine, was
                                                         served.
                                                             Luria  ate  a  token  mouthful,  then  rang  her  bell. The
                                                          praise-sayer  fell  silent.  The  meal  was  over.  Luria's chair
                                                          arrived  and  she  was  helped  into  it  by  two  tall  strong attendants
                                                            and  carried  away.  Another  attendant  took Daphoene's
                                                            arm,  and  she  rose  and  followed  him  with the
                                                          childlike  trust  of  a  sleepwalker.  Her  mouth  hung  open and
                                                          there  was  a  slick  of  drool  on  her chin.
                                                             As  the  thralls  began  to  move  out  of  the  hall, followed
                                                          by  flocks  of  faint  fireflies,  Rega.  told  her  husband, "You
                                                          are  kinder  to  Luria  than  she  deserves.  Certainly  kinder to
                                                          her  than  she  
is  to  you,  who  works  so  hard  for  her. "
                                                             Syle  said  mildly,  "She  worries  all  the  time  about the
                                                          quit  claim,  and  of  course  about  the  public  inquisition. We
                                                          are  all  a  little  short  of  patience,  these days."
                                                             Rega  said,  "Luria  has  her  fine  troops,  who  can march
                                                          in  formation  all  day  long  without  missing  a  step. Why
                                                          should  she  worry  about  the  quit  claim?"  She smiled
                                                          sweetly  at  Tamora  and  said,  "You're  doing  your  best, I'm
                                                          sure,  but  you  must  wish  for  proper soldiers."
                                                             "We  only  have  what  we  have,"  Syle  said,  again gazing
                                                          at  Yama.  "I'm  sure  the  thralls  will  fight  to  the death."
                                                             "I'm  sure  they  will,"  Rega  said.  She  held  out  her hand,
                                                          and  her  husband  helped  her  to  her  feet.  Her  round belly
                                                          swayed,  stretching  the  panels  of  her  satin  dress.  She added,
                                                          "A  very  quick  death  it  will  be,  too.  Yama,  Tamora, I
                                                          don't  blame  either  of  you.  Our  good  pythoness  has said
                                                          that  there  will  be  victory,  and  so  she  does  not  trifle to
                                                          provide  the  means  to  ensure  it.  Of  course,  it  isn't possible
                                                          
to  sell  even  one  tenth  of  her  jewels  and  trinkets. Although
                                                          she  does  not  wear  or  use  any  of  them,  they  are heirlooms
                                                          and  cannot  be  sacrificed  for  anything  as  trivial  as  the del
              fense  of  the  Department.  And  so  we  must  make  do, with
              the  fate  of  the  Department  in  the balance."
                 Tamora  drew  herself  up.  She  was  very  angry. She
              showed  her  sharp  white  teeth  and  said,  "If  you  find anything
                I  have  done  that  does  not  satisfy  you,  then  I will
              resign  at once."
                 Syle  made  fluttering  motions  with  his  hands. "Please.
              Nothing  of  the  sort  is  intended.  I  myself  have  seen how
              well  you  have  drilled  our  thralls.  A  thrilling  sight,  to see
              them  march! "
                 "Then  perhaps  your  reports  have  been misunderstood,"
              Tamora  said.  "Excuse  me.  I  have  work  to do."
                 Syle  caught  Yama's  arm  and  said  quietly,  "Walk with
              me,  if  you  will. "
                 Yama  looked  after  Tamora,  but  she  had  leapt  from the
              platform  and  was  already  halfway  across  the  refectory, the
              crowd  of  thralls  parting  before  her  as  rice  parts  before the
              scythe.  He  said,  "Of course."
                 Syle's  touch,  its  implication  of  familiarity,  excited him.
              He  felt  the  same  quickening  nervousness  which  had possessed
                him  whenever  he  had  attempted  a  dive  off  the end
              of  the  new  quay  into  the  strong  river  currents  in which
              
the  children  of  the  Amnan  sported  so  easily.  Not precisely
              fear,  but  an  anticipation  that  heightened  his  senses. He
              liked  Syle  too  much  to  be  afraid  of  him,  and  not only
              because  the  tall,  slightly  built  man,  with  his  delicate bones,
              fine  features,  and  white,  feathery  hair,  reminded  him of
              his  sweetheart, Derev.
                 Syle  had  taught  him  much  about  the  history  of  the Department
                of  Vaticination  and  of  its  trade  of prognostication
              .  There  were  very  many  ways  of  gaining foresight,
              Syle  said,  but  almost  all  of  them  were  false,  and those
              that  remained  could  be  divided  into  no  more  than three
              types.  The  least  of  these  was  sortilege,  the  drawing  of lots,
              or  astragalomancy,  the  use  of  dice  or  buckle-bones or
              sticks,  neither  of  which,  as  Luria  had  pointed  out, were
              practiced  in  the  Department,  although  they  were much
              abused  by  charlatans.  Of  more  merit  were  those methods
              classed  as  divination,  in  which  signs  were  scried  in the



                                                       client's  physiogonomy,  as  in  metascopy  or  chiromancy, or
                                                       in  the  landscape,  or  in  dust  cast  on  a  mirror  (Syle said
                                                       that  gold  was  best,  but  the  finings  of  any  metal  were better
                                                       than  ordinary  dust  or  the  husks  of  rice  grains  used by
                                                       village  witches).  The  form  most  often  performed  by the
                                                       Department  was  rhabdomancy,  or  dowsing,  used  to find
                                                       lost  property  or  to  find  the  best  place  for  the  site  of a
                                                       house  or  to  locate  a  hidden  spring.  Finally,  there  was true
                                                       foresight  obtained  through  visions,  either  in  dreams  or in
                                                       waking  trances.  It  was  the  most  difficult  and  most powerful
                                                         method  of  all,  and  it  was  by  custom  what  the pythonesses
                                                         would  attempt  in  two  days'  time  at  the public
                                                       inquisition,  although  these  days  most  clients  wanted answers
                                                         to  trivial  questions,  to  find  things  that  were  lost or
                                                       hidden  (wills  were  a  perennial  favorite,  for  many slighted
                                                       by  the  wishes  of  rich,  dead  relatives  came  to  believe that,
                                                       hidden  somewhere,  there  was  a  true  will  which would
                                                       favor  them),  to  
speak  with  the  dead,  or  to  gain assurance
                                                       of  the  success  of  a  new  business  or  a marriage.
                                                         The  problem  was  that,  as  Syle  put  it,  the  business of
                                                       the  future  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  ordinary citizens
                                                       of  Ys  would  believe  a  roadside  cartomancer  as  readily as
                                                       the  pythonesses  of  the  Department  of  Vaticination, and
                                                       other  departments  no  longer  called  upon  its  services when
                                                       planning  their business.
                                                         "Syle  wants  to  ask  you  something,"  Rega  told Yama.
                                                       "Be  good  enough  to  humor him."
                                                         "This  is  not  the  place,"  her  husband  told her.
                                                         "We  will  be  able  to  say  anything  we  like  soon enough.
                                                       Don't  do  anything  to  ruin  it."  Rega  gave  her  husband a
                                                       cold  look,  but  allowed  him  to  kiss  her  on  her forehead
                                                       before  she  took  her leave.
                                                         As  Syle  steered  him  toward  the  broad  stair  at  the far
                                                       end  of  the  hall,  Yama  said,  "Where  are  we going?"
                                                       Thralls  made  way  for  them.  Pandaras  had  disappeared, no
                                                       doubt  in  pursuit  
of  another  amatory conquest.
                                                         "I  have  something  to  show  you,"  Syle  said.  He had
                                                       the  tentative  touch  of  an  old  man,  although  he  was not
                                                       much  more  than  twice  Yama's  age,  and  much younger
             than  his  wife.  "I  promise  not  to  keep  you  long.  Is your
             wound  healing?  You  should  let  brother  Apothecary attend
             to  it. "
                "Tamora  said  that  the  dressing  should  not  be disturbed
             ,"  Yama  said.  "Besides,  it  is  mostly bruising."
                He  had  been  embarrassed  in  the  brief  fight.  The ruffians
             had  rushed  up  from  behind  as  Tamora,  Pandaras, and
             Yama  had  climbed  toward  the  Gate  of  Double  Glory. One
             had  struck  Yama  with  the  flat  of  a  blade;  dazed  and halfblinded
               by  blood,  Yama  had  saved  himself  with  a lucky
             swipe  that  had  hit  his  opponent's  sword-hand, severing
             two  fingers  and  causing  the  man  to  drop  his  weapon. By
             the  time  Yama  had  wiped  blood  from  his  eyes, Tamora
             had  killed  three  of  the  ruffians  and  the  two  survivors had
             fled,  with  Pandaras  chasing  after  them  and screaming
            insults.
                "We  have  lodged  a  protest  with  the  Department  of Internal
               Harmony  over  the  incident,"  Syle  said.  "If  it is
             successful,  then  we  may  move  on  to  a  formal hearing.
             Unfortunately,  the  petition  of  protest  must  be  read and
             approved  by  a  clerk  of  court  in  the  first  instance,  and then
             a  committee  will  be  deputized  to  discuss  it.  That  may 
take
             no  more  than  fifty  or  sixty  days  if  the  business  is rushed,
             but  I  do  not  suppose  it  will  be  rushed.  Nothing  ever is
             rushed  in  the  Palace,  but  of  course  that  is  only proper.
             These  are  serious  matters,  and  must  be  taken seriously.
             After  that,  well,  the  process  of  establishing  a  hearing usually
               takes  at  least  two years."
                 And  in  twelve  days  the  ultimatum  delivered  by the
             Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  will expire."
                Syle  said,  "Yes,  but  I  have  faith  in  you, Yama."
                Yama  had  learned  a  little  of  the  art  of  diplomacy from
             his  stepfather,  the  Aedile  of  Aeolis.  Nothing  must  be said
             directly;  to  ask  a  question  is  to  lose  advantage.  He said,
             "I  have  never  been  in  this  part  of  the  Department before."
                "This  was  the  main  entrance,  once  upon  a  time. Now
            no   one  uses  it  but  me.  It  leads  to  the roof
                They  reached  the  top  of  the  stairway  and  went  down a
             long  corridor.  Its  walls  were  paneled  in  dark, heavily



                                                        carved  wood  and  hung  with  big  square  paintings whose
                                                        pigments  were  so  blackened  by  time  that  it  was impossible
                                                        to  discern  what  scenes  or  persons  they  might  once have
                                                        depicted.  A  rat  fled  from  their  footsteps,  pursued  by a
                                                        single  wan  firefly.  It  disappeared  into  a  hole  in  the paneling
                                                        ,  and  rolled  the  end  of  a  broken  bottle  across  the hole
                                                        to  stop  it.  The  feeble  light  of  the  firefly  flickered behind
                                                        the  thick  roundel  of  glass  as  the  rat  lay  still  and watched
                                                        the  two  men pass.
                                                           The  corridor  ended  at  a  pair  of  round  metal  doors, with
                                                        a  metal-walled  antechamber  sandwiched  between them.
                                                        The  inner  door  was  open,  the  outer  dogged  shut.  Syle shut
                                                        the  inner  door  behind  them  and  talked  to  the  lock  of the
                                                        outer  door-Yama  felt  its  dim  intelligence  briefly wakenthen
                                                          instructed  Yama  to  spin  a  wheel  and  pull  the door
                                                        open.  It  moved  sweetly  on  its  counterbalanced  track, and
                                                        Yama  followed  Syle  over  the  high sill.
                                                           They  were  on  the  wide,  flat  roof  of  the  House  of the
                                                        
Twelve  Front  Rooms.  It  was  lapped  with  metal  plates that
                                                        fitted  together  like  the  scales  of  a  fish.  Behind  it  was the
                                                        cavern,  dark  except  for  a  few  tiny  stars  where  people walked,
                                                        attended  by  fireflies.  The  other  buildings  of  the Department
                                                        of  Vaticination-the  Basilica,  the  Hall  of  the  Tranquil Mind,
                                                        the  Hall  of  Great  Achievements,  and  the  Gate  of Double
                                                        Glory-were  set  symmetrically  around  the  edge  of this
                                                        great  hollow,  dark  shapes  sunk  deep  in  darkness.  On the
                                                        other  side  of  the  House  of  the  Twelve  Front  Rooms, beyond
                                                          the  looming  arch  of  the  cavern's  mouth,  was the
                                                        night  sky.  A  cold  wind  blew  past  skeletal  towers which
                                                        jutted  from  the  outer  edge  of  the  roof.  Syle  explained that
                                                        in  ancient  times  drugged  pythonesses  lashed  to platforms
                                                        on  top  of  these  towers  had  searched  for  intimations  of the
                                                        future  in  the  patterns  of  clouds  and  the  flight  of birds.
                                                        Beyond  the  towers,  a  narrow  walkway  projected  from a
                                                        corner  of  the  roof  into  the  windy  darkness.  It  was along
                                                        this  walkway  that  Syle  now  led  Yama,  who  clung  to the
                                                        
single  railing  with  sweating hands.
                                                           The  House  of  the  Twelve  Front  Rooms  faced toward
                                                        the  Great  River;  even  at  noon,  only  a  shallow  curtain of
              light  fell  into  the  mouth  of  the  cavern.  Directly  below the
              walkway,  a  long  steep  slope  of  scrub  and  bare  rock fell
              to  the  spurs  and  spires  and  towers  which  had accreted
              around  the  ragged  hem  of  the  Palace,  covering  it  as corals
              will  cover  a  wreck  in  the  warm  lower  reaches  of  the river.
              Beyond,  the  lights  of  Ys  were  spread  along  the  edge of
              the  broad  river;  Yama  could  see,  across  a  hundred leagues
              of  water,  the  flat  edge  of  the  world  itself  against  the empty
              darkness  of  the  night  sky.  Downriver,  where  the world
              narrowed  to  its  vanishing  point,  was  a  dim  red  glow, as
              if  a  fire  had  been  kindled  beneath  the horizon.
                 In  the  windy  dark,  his  mild  face  illuminated  by his
              crown  of  fireflies,  Syle  said,  "In  a  few  hours  the Preservers
                will  look  upon  us  for  the  first  time  this year."
                 "I  had  forgotten.  Will  there  be celebrations?"
                 "Amongst  the  rabble  of  the  city,  yes.  If  we  stay out
              long  enough  we'll  see  their  fireworks  and  bonfires. And
              later,  perhaps,  the  fires  of  riots,  and  then  the  flashes  of the
              
weapons  of  the  magistrates  as  they  restore order."
                 -Ys  is  a  strange  and  terrible city."
                 "It  is  a  very  large  city,  and  there  can  only  be  order by
              suppressing  any  disorder  at  once,  by  whatever  force is
              necessary.  The Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs has
              raised  an  army  to  fight  the  heretics;  that  is  why  they want
              new  territory.  But  the  magistrates  are  a  greater  army, one
              which  constantly  strives  against  a  greater  enemy.  It  is because
                we  have  fallen  from  grace  that  the  people war
              against  themselves  with  more  hatred  than  against the
             heretics."
                 Yama  remembered  Pandaras's  story  of  how  his uncle
              had  been  trapped  when  magistrates  had  laid  siege  to a
              block  of  the  city  which  had  refused  to  pay  an  increase in
              taxes.  He  said,  "In  the  city  where  I  grew  up,  the people
              celebrate  the  setting  of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers,  not its
              rising.  They  sail  across  the  river  to  the  farside  shore and
              hold  a  winter  festival.  They  polish  and  repair  the settings
              of  the  shrines,  and  renew  the  flags  of  the  prayer strings.
              They  light  bonfires,  and  feast  and  dance,  and  lay flowers
              and  other  offerings  at  the shrines."



                                                         "The  ordinary  people  of  Ys  celebrate  the  rising  of the
                                                       Eye  because  they  think  that  once  more  they  are beneath
                                                       the  beneficent  gaze  of  the  Preservers,  and  all  evil must
                                                       flee  away.  They  bang  gongs,  rattle  their  pots  and pans,
                                                       and  light  firecrackers  to  drive  evil  into  the  open.  I  am not
                                                       familiar  with  your  city,  Yama,  but  I  wonder  why  its people
                                                       are  glad  to  believe  that  they  are  free  of  this  gaze. Surely
                                                       they  must  worship  the  Preservers,  for  else  they  would be
                                                       unique  amongst  the  ten  thousand  bloodlines  of the
                                                      Shaped."
                                                         "They  celebrate  the  beginning  of  winter.  They dislike
                                                       the  summer's heat."
                                                         "Ah.  In  any  case,  although  the  Eye  is  named because
                                                       it  has  the  appearance  of  the  organ  of  sight,  it  does not
                                                       share  the  function  of  its  namesake.  Anyone  with  a little
                                                       learning  knows  that  when  the  Preservers  vanished beyond
                                                       the  horizon  of  the  Universe,  they  left  behind  servants to
                                                       watch  over  us,  their  poor  creatures.  Were  not  the shrines
                                                       once  the  homes  
of  countless  avatars  who  guided  and inspired
                                                         us?  Are  not  all  of  the  changed  bloodlines infected
                                                       with  the  particles  of  the  breath  of  the  Preservers,  who will
                                                       cherish  our  memories  after  we die?"
                                                         "I  am  glad  to  see  the  Eye.  I  have  always preferred
                                                       summer  to  winter.  Is  it  what  you  brought  me  to see?"
                                                         "I  would  like  to  talk  with  you  in  private.  Do  not be
                                                       afraid.  This  walkway  has  stood  for  longer  than  the Department
                                                       .  It  was  built  long  before  Confluence  entered  its present
                                                         orbit. "
                                                         But  Yama  felt  a  chill  vertigo,  for  they  were  now  so far
                                                       out  that  the  buildings  heaped  along  the  hem  of  the Palace
                                                       were  directly  below.  A  cold  wind  buffeted  him;  the walkway
                                                         hummed  like  a  plucked  wire.  All  he  could  see  of it
                                                       was  that  part  of  its  mesh  floor  beneath  his  feet, illuminated
                                                       by  the  intense  light  of  the  single  firefly  above  his head.
                                                       He  could  lose  his  grip  on  the  slender  rail  and  fall  like a
                                                       stone  through  someone's  roof  Slip,  or  perhaps  be pushed.
                                                         "You  are  the  
first  to  come  here  with  me,"  Syle said,
                                                       "but  then,  you  are  a  singular  young  man.  Take  your fire-
             fly,  for  instance.  You  should  have  allowed  them  to choose
             you,  and  not  taken  the  brightest  anyone  has  ever seen."
                "But  it  did  choose  me."  Yama  had  kept  others from
             joining  it  because  he  feared  that  he  would  be  blinded inside
               their  ardent orbits.
                "Some  say  that  fireflies  multiply  in  dark  places hidden
             from  our  sight,  but  I  think  not.  Every  year  there  are fewer
             and  fewer  people  in  the  Palace  proper-by  which  I mean
             the  corridors  and  chambers  and  cells,  and  not  the newer
             buildings  built  over  the  lower  floors.  Once,  even  the least
             of  bloodlines  were  crowned  with  twenty  or  thirty fireflies,
             and  the  Palace  blazed  with  their  light.  Now,  many fireflies
             are  so  feeble  that  they  have  become  tropically  fixed on
             members  of  the  indigenous  tribes  which  infest  the  roof, or
             on  rats  and  other  vermin.  I  doubt  that  there  is another
             firefly  as  bright  as  the  one  you  wear,  except  perhaps within
             the  chambers  of  the  Hierarchs.  It  will  attract  much attention
             ,  but  it  is  fixed  now,  and  will  not  leave  you  until you
             leave  this place."
                Yama  said,  "I  hope  that  it  does  not  put  me  in danger."
             He  could  order  the  firefly  to  leave,  and  then  choose others
             more  ordinary-but  that  might  be  worse  than  having selected
               it  in  the  first place.
                
Syle  did  not  answer  at  once.  At  last,  he  said, "You
             know  that  I  find  the  cateran  is  very  amusing,  but  I  do not
             think  that  she  will  be  able  to  marshal  a  successful defense
             of  the Department."
                Yama  remembered  what  Rega  had  said.  "If  you gave
             us  more men-"
                "How  would  you  train  them?  Indigenous  Affairs will
             send  an  army o   f  its  best  troops  to  enforce  the  quit claim."
                "That  is  what  Tamora  thinks, too."
                "Then  at  least  she  has  some  sense.  But  she  is  an ordinary
               cateran.  I  believe  that  you  are  capable  of greater
            things."
                Yama  said  warily,  "You do?"
                Yama's  wise  but  unworldly  stepfather  had  not known
             what  Yama  was.  He  had  sent  the  apothecary,  Dr. Dismas,
             to  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People  to discover



                                                        what  he  could  about  Yama's  bloodline,  but  Dr. Dismas
                                                        had  lied  to  the  old  man  and  claimed  to  have  found nothing,
                                                        and  then  tried  to  kidnap  Yama  for  his  own  purposes. For
                                                        the  first  time  Yama  wondered  whether  Syle,  kin  to his
                                                        sweetheart  and  to  one  of  the  curators  of  the  City  of the
                                                        Dead,  who  had  shown  him  that  he  was  of  the bloodline
                                                        which  had  built  the  world  according  to  the  will  of the
                                                        Preservers,  was  part  of  their conspiracy.
                                                           Syle  said,  "We  have  forgotten  how  to  speak plainly
                                                        here.  In  a  department  as  old  as  this,  words  raise such
                                                        echoes  that  their  meaning  might  never  be  clear. Forgive
                                                       me.-
                                                           "But  we  are  in  the  open  air now."
                                                           "Luria  has  been  pythoness  for  more  than  a  century, but
                                                        the  Department  is  more  than  two  hundred  times  older. I
                                                        must  be  loyal  to  the  Department first."
                                                           Yama  saw  the  man's  distress.  He  said,  "No  one can
                                                        overhear  us here."
                                                           "Except  the Preservers."
                                                           
"Yes.  We  must  always  speak  truthfully  to  them." Syle
                                                        gripped  the  fragile  rail  and  stared  into  the  night, toward
                                                        the  first  light  of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  He  said, "The
                                                        truth  then.  I  know  what  you  are,  Yama.  You  are  one of
                                                        the  Builders.  Your  bloodline  was  the  first  of  all  the bloodlines
                                                          the  Preservers  raised  up  to  populate  Confluence, and
                                                        the  machines  which  maintain  this  world  have  not forgotten
                                                        your  kind.  All  machines  obey  you,  even  those  that follow
                                                        the  orders  of  other  men.  Even  those  which  will  not obey
                                                        anyone  else."  He  laughed.  "There,  I  have  said  it. Rega
                                                        thought  I  could  not,  but  I  have.  And  the  world  has not
                                                        ended. "
                                                           Yama  said,  "How  did  you  find  out  what  I am?"
                                                           Wind  blew  Syle's  white,  feathery  hair  back  from the
                                                        narrow  blade  of  his  face.  He  said,  "Our  library  is very
                                                       extensive."
                                                           Yama's  heart  turned  over.  Perhaps  his  quest  was already
                                                        over,  before  he  had  hardly  begun.  He  said,  "I  came  to Ys
                                                        to  search  for  my  bloodline,  and  would  very  much  like to
                                                        
see  that  book.  Will  you  show  me now?"
               Syle  said,  "No,  not  yet.  The  library  is  closed  to  all but
            the  pythonesses  and  the  highest  officers  of  the domestic
            staff.  I  would  show  you  all  I  can,  Yama,  but  I  fear  that I
            am  more  in  need  of  help  than  you.  I'm  told  that  the Preservers
              act  through  you.  If  that's  true,  then  whatever you
            do  cannot  be  evil.  You  cannot  help  but  do  good. Don't
            deny  the  powers  you  have.  I  know,  for  instance,  that the
            Temple  of  the  Black  Well  was  burned  down  on  the day
            you  entered  the  Palace.  It  seemed  that  someone  woke the
            thing  in  the  well  and  then  destroyed  it.  As  for  us,  a lesser
            miracle  would suffice."
               Yama  had  encountered  two  feral  machines  since  he had
            arrived  in  Ys.  In  a  desperate  moment,  he  had  called down
            the  first  without  knowing  what  he  was  doing.  The second
            had  fallen  in  the  wars  of  the  Age  of  Insurrection,  and men
            had  later  built  a  temple  over  the  hole  it  had  burnt through
            the  keelrock.  The  machine  had  lain  brooding  within  a tomb
            of  congealed  lava  for  an  age,  until  woken  by  the same
            call  which  had  brought  down  the  first.  With  the  help of
            the  ancient  guardians  of  the  temple,  Yama  had  reburied it.
            Machines  like  those  had  destroyed  half  the  world  in the
            Age  of  Insurrection,  and  although  their  time  was  long past,
            
and  their  powers  had  faded  as  the  lights  of  the fireflies
            had  faded,  they  were  still  powerful.  They  shadowed the
            world  from  which  they  had  been  expelled,  waiting, some
            said,  for  the  Preservers  to  return  to  begin  the  final battle
            when  the  just,  living  and  dead,  would  be  raised  up, and
            the  damned  thrown aside.
               Beyond  dismissing  the  fireflies  which  had eagerly
            flocked  to  him  when  he  had  entered  the  Palace,  Yama had
            not  tried  to  influence  a  machine  since.  He  was  scared that
            he  might  inadvertently  wake  more  monsters  from  the past.
               He  told  Syle,  "I  signed  as  a  cateran,  for  a cateran's
            wages.  That  is  the  duty  I  will  discharge  to  you, dominie,
            nothing  more  and  nothing  less.  What  you  have learned
            from  your  library  is  your  own  affair.  You  have  not shared
            it  with  the  pythonesses,  or  you  would  not  have  brought me
            here  to  talk  in  secret.  Perhaps  I  should  ask  them  about it."
               Syle  turned  to  Yama  and  said  with  sudden passion,



                                                        "Listen  to  me!  If  you  can  help  me,  then  I  can  help you
                                                        find  out  about  your  bloodline.  True  pythonesses  can see
                                                        the  past  as  well  as  the  future.  Just  as  our  actions and
                                                        wishes  contain  the  seeds  of  the  future,  so  the  present also
                                                        holds  the  echoes  of  actions  and  wishes  of  the  past. Indeed,
                                                        since  there  was  only  one  past  but  there  are  many possible
                                                        futures  it  is  easier  to  read  the  past  from  the  present than
                                                        it  is  to  predict  the  future.  It  is  said  that  the Preservers
                                                        could  travel  from  the  future  into  the  past  as  easily as
                                                        starships  slip  from  star  to  star,  but  that  they  could not
                                                        travel  into  the  future  because  from  the  point  of  view  of the                                                       
                                                         ast  the  future  does  not  yet  exist.  And  so  with prediction."
                                                          "Yet  it  is  said  that  the  Preservers  will  return  from the
                                                        future,  so  there  can  only  be  one  future,  as  there  is only
                                                        one past."
                                                          "Our  world  has  only  one  past,  but  there  are  many possible
                                                          worlds  arrayed  in  the  future.  Some  say  that  every step
                                                        we  take  creates  new  worlds,  which  contain  all  the directions
                                                          
in  which  we  could  have  turned.  When  looking into
                                                        the  future,  a  pythoness  must  encompass all     these possible
                                                        states  and  choose  the  most  likely,  which  is  to  say  the one
                                                        which  is  most  common.  But  the  past  is  a  straight road,
                                                        because  the  world  has  traveled  along  it  to  reach the
                                                       present.'I
                                                          "You  do  not  speak  of  Luria,  do  you?  You  speak of
                                                       Daphoene."
                                                          Syle  nodded.  "Daphoene  has  true  sight.  The business
                                                        of  this  Department  is  to  tell  people  what  they  want to
                                                        hear,  or  what  they  most  need  to  hear,  which  is  not always
                                                        the  same  thing.  And  so  most  of  our  business  is concerned
                                                        with  collecting  intelligence  about  our  clients,  so  that we
                                                        can  satisfy  their inquiries."
                                                          "You  are  very candid."
                                                          "If  you  will  not  help  us,  then  what  I  tell  you  will do
                                                        no  harm,  for  the  Department  will  cease  to  exist.  If  you do
                                                        help  us,  then  you  will  need  to  know  these  things. Some
                                                        say  that  we  practice  magic,  but  in  truth  ours  is  a rational
                                                        
science. "
                                                          Yama  thought  of  the  buzzing  confusion  in Daphoene's
              head.  Perhaps  she  was  able  to  scry a      path  through the
              sheaves  of  possible  futures  because she   was  many people
              inhabiting  a  single  mind,  or  perhaps  what  he glimpsed
              within  her  were  futures  continually  appearing  and dying.
                Syle  said,  "Daphoene  tells  only  the  truth,  and  that is
              what  scares  Luria.  She  sees  our  clients  driven  away by
              the  truth.  Oh,  do  not  think  that  Luria  does  not  believe in
              her  own  powers.  Of  course  she  does.  If  her predictions
              come  true,  then  she  is  satisfied;  if  not,  then  she  will find
              some  condition  of  the  ceremony  to  he  at  fault,  or  she will
              say  that  something  more  powerful  intervened  to change
              events  from  the  course  she  had  divined.  There  can never
              be  any  blame  on  her  part  if  what  she  predicts  does not
              happen.  But  Daphoene  is  always  right,  and  needs  no cere
              mony.  She  speaks  directly.  I  brought  her  here,  Yama. I
              am  responsible  for  her.  I  had  hoped  that  she  would  be a
              true  pythoness,  and  it  seems  that  she  is  much  more than
              I  had  hoped.  Daphoene  frightens  Luria,  and  I  fear that
              because  of  that  Luria  will  destroy  her.  I  would  rather die
              than  bear that."
                
No  doubt  this  confession  was  supposed  to  win Yama's
              trust,  but  instead  it  made  him  wary.  Syle  was  so accustomed
                to  deceiving  the  clients  of  the  Department  of Vaticination
                that  he  habitually  deceived  himself,  too, by
              pretending  that  everything  he  did  was  for  the  good  of the
              Department  and  never  for  his  own  gain.  But  Yama suspected
                that  Syle  wanted  to  use  him  for  his  own  ends. If
              Syle  had  been  a  little  less  clever,  his  motives  might simply
              be  venal,  but  nothing  Syle  did  was  simple.  This seemed
             t
               b     straightforward  bargain-a  miracle  in  exchange for
              o  e a
                elation-but  Yama  remembered  the  plot  Pandaras had
             rev
              uncovered,  and  Tamora's  harsh  words.  These  old departments
                are  rats'  nests  of  poisonous  intrigues  and feuds
              over trifles.
                He  said,  "If  Daphoene  can  see  into  the  future,  then what
              does  she  say  about  the  Department?  Will  it  be saved?"
                "She  knows,  but  will  not  say.  Do  not  think  I  have not
              asked,  but  she  has  set  her  heart  against  revealing  what she
              knows.  She  says  that  if  she  speaks,  then  the  future may



                                                        be  changed,  and  the  fate  of  the  world  with  it.  All  she will
                                                        say  is  that  it  will  not  be  saved  by  force  of  arms.  I understand
                                                          that  to  mean  that  you  will intervene."
                                                           "But  if  I  asked  her,  would  she  speak  plainly  of my
                                                        fate?  Would  she  look  into  the  future  and  see  where  I might
                                                        meet  my people?"
                                                           "She  has  already  said  something.  That  is  why  you must
                                                        help  us,  Yama.  If  you  do  not,  then  yours  will  be a
                                                        tragic fate.
                                                           There,  in  the  windy  dark  high  above  the  oldest  city in
                                                        the  world,  Yama  knew  that  Syle  had  baited  a  hook  to set
                                                        in  his  heart.  But  he  had  to ask.
                                                           "Tell  me  what  she  said,  and  perhaps  I  will know
                                                        whether  I  should  help you."
                                                           Syle  turned  to  regard  the  panorama  spread  far below.
                                                        The  darkling  plain  of  Ys,  the  wide  ribbon  of  the Great
                                                        River  stretching  away  toward  the  vanishing  point, where
                                                        the  Eye  of  the  Preservers  had  risen  a  finger-breadth above
                                                        the  edge  of  the  
world.  He  inclined  his  head,  and said,
                                                        "There  are  two  parts.  The  first  is  that  you  will  either save
                                                        the  world  or  destroy  it.  She  said  that  both  things were
                                                        connected.  Do  not  ask  me  what  she  meant-she  would not
                                                        explain  it  to me."
                                                           Yama  said,  "Perhaps  the  first  is  more  likely  than the
                                                        second.  The  world  will  continue  as  before,  but  some might
                                                        say  that  I  am  responsible.  I  think  that  people  have more
                                                        faith  in  me  than  I  have  in myself"
                                                           "Then  it's  time  you  learned  to  trust  yourself," Syle
                                                        said  briskly.  "The  second  part  is  this:  if  you  do  not help
                                                        me,  then  you  will  be  betrayed  to  those  you  have already
                                                        escaped.  As  I  said,  if  you  do  not  help  the Department,
                                                        then  yours  is  a  dark fate."
                                                           Yama  felt  a  chill  of  presentiment.  His  stepfather had
                                                        sent  him  to  Ys  to  become  an  apprentice  to  the Department
                                                        of  Indigenous  Affairs,  the  same  department  he  was now
                                                        contracted  to  fight  against.  Although  he  had  escaped Prefect
                                                          Corin,  the  man  
to  whom  the  Aedile  had entrusted
                                                        him,  he  had  never  escaped  the  fear  that  the  Prefect, cold,
                                                        ruthless,  implacable,  would  find  him again.
                 He  said,  "That  seems  more like          a  threat  than a
             prediction."
                 "You  do  not  have  to  give  me  your  answer  now,  but it
              should  come  before  the  Gate  of  Double  Glory  opens tomorrow
              .  Think  hard  on  this,  Yama,  and  remember  that I
              am  your friend."
                 "The  future  is  uncertain,  but  you  must  know  that  I will
              discharge  the  duty  for  which  Tamora  and  I  were hired."
                 "To  act  merely  as  a  cateran  will  not  be  enough," Syle
              said.  "You  know  it  is  not  enough.  As  a  friend,  I  beg you
              to  help  us.  I  cannot  be  responsible  for  what  will happen
              to  you  if  you  do not."
                 Yama  would  have  asked  him  what  he  meant,  but Syle
              suddenly  pointed  toward  the  city  below.  "Look there!
              How  brightly  they burn!"
                 Near  and  far,  rockets  were  shooting  up  above  the streets
              and  houses  and  squares  of  the  endless  city,  red  and green
              and  gold  lights  streaking  high  into  the  night  air  and bursting
                in  fiery  flowers  that  drifted  down  in  clouds  of fading
              sparks  even  as  more  rockets  rose  through  them.  The noise
              
of  their  explosions  came  moments  later,  like  the popping
              of  kernels  of  corn  in  a  hot pan.
                 Yama  thought  again  of  Daphoene.  Her  mind  like the
              night  sky  full  of  sparks  constantly  flowering  and fading.
                 Rising  faintly  on  the  cold  wind  came  the  small sound
              of  trumpets  and  drums,  of  people  singing  and  cheering. A
              flight  of  rockets  terminated  their  brief  arc  in  a  shower of
              golden  sparks  a  few  chains  beneath  the  walkway  on which
              Yama  and  Syle  stood.  Bats  took  wing  from  crevices in
              the  rock  face  below,  a  cloud  of  black  flakes  that  blew out
              into  the  night  and  swept  across  the  red  swirl  of  the Eye
              of  the Preservers.



                                                                                               THE  DAY WARKET
                                                           A  S  S  0  0  N  A  S  the  inner  door  of  the  Gate  of  Double  Glory had
                                                           sunk  into  its  slot  in  the  roadway,  the  thrall  who  had been
                                                           waiting  in  front  of  it  walked  beneath  the  round  portal into
                                                           the  darkness  of  the  tunnel.  Yama  left  the  doorway  of the
                                                           Basilica  and,  with  Pandaras  trotting  at  his  heels, crossed
                                                           the  plaza.  He  hailed  the  gatekeeper  and  asked  for  the name
                                                           of  the  man  who  had  just  gone through.
                                                              "You  mean  Brabant?"  the  gatekeeper  said.  "Why would
                                                           you  want  him,  dominie?  He  done  something wrong?"
                                                             Yama  hid  a  yawn  behind  his  hand.  It  was  just after
                                                           dawn,  and  he  had  had  only  a  little  sleep.  He  had lain
                                                           awake  a  long  time  on  the  narrow  bunk  in  his  little cell,
                                                           thinking  about  everything  Syle  had  said.  It  was  as  if his
                                                           mind  had  split  in  two  factions,  and  their  armies  of thought
                                                           had  gone  to  war  inside  his skull.
                                                             After  he  had  inadvertently  called  down  one  feral machine
                                                             and  woken  
and  defeated  another,  after  he  had murdered
                                                             Gorgo  in  a  fit  of  anger,  he  had  sworn  not  to  use his                                                          
                                                            owers  again.  At  least,  not  until  he  understood  them. And
                                                           as  yet  he  did  not  know  if  he  could  do  what  Syle wanted
                                                           him  to  do.  He  did  not  know  if  he  could  successfully defend
                                                           the  Department  of  Vaticination  by  warping  the  minds of
             machines  to  serve  his  own  ends.  Besides,  if  his powers
             came  from  the  Preservers,  then  it  was  obvious  that he
             should  not  use  them  for  his  own gain.
               But  in  exchange  for  defending  the  Department  of Vaticination
             ,  he  might  learn  much  more  about  his bloodline.
             And  if  he  knew  where  he  came  from,  then  he  might better
             understand  his  powers  and  what  the  Preservers  wanted of
             him.  And  if  he  could  master  his  powers,  why  then he
             might  be  able  to  do anything.
               With  this  thought  came  a  tumble  of  images.  Yama flying
             on  the  back  of  a  metal  dragon,  driving  hordes  of defeated
             heretics  into  the  Glass  Desert  beyond  the  midpoint  of the
             world.  Yama  clad  in  a  buzzing  weave  of  bright motes,
             preaching  to  a  multitude  on  some  high  place,  with the
             world  spread  beyond.  Yama  on  a  doffing  ship, waking
             ancient  machines  from  the  depths  of  the  Great River.
             Yama  striking  with  a  golden  staff  a  rock  in  the  icy wastes
             at  the  head  of  the  Great  River,  and  calling  forth  new waters
               to  renew  the  world.  And  many  more  images, bright
             and  compelling,  as  if  his  mind  was  trying  to  master 
all
             the  futures  into  which  he  might  walk.  The  visions possessed
               him,  wonderful  and  terrifying.  When  he  was woken
             by  Pandaras  it  seemed  that  he  had  not  rested  at all.
               And  now,  not  half  an  hour  later,  he  stood  beneath the
             intricately  carved  portal  of  the  Gate  of  Double  Glory. The
             tunnel  beyond  it  slanted  downward,  curving  as  it descended
             .  The  thrall,  Brabant,  had  already  passed  out of
             Sight.
               "Brabant  never  did  anything  bad  I  heard  about," the
             gatekeeper  said.  "And  I  know  all  about  what  comes and
            goes.
               Yama  said,  "Did  Brabant  tell  you  what  his business
             might be?"
               The  gatekeeper  was  an  ancient  but  muscular  and vigorous
               thrall,  with  a  humped  back  and  a  white  mane. He
             looked  at  Yama  slyly.  "It  would  be  his  usual business,"
             he said.
               "And  what's  that?"  Pandaras  said.  "Speak  civilly to



                                                         my  master,  fellow.  He  has  the  safety  of  your department
                                                         in  his hands."
                                                            The  thrall  said,  "Why,  it's  well  known  Brabant  has the
                                                         keys  of  the  kitchens  of  the  household  of  the  House  of the
                                                         Twelve  Front  Rooms.  He's  often  out  this  early.  The day
                                                         markets  open  when  the  main  gates  open,  and  bidding is
                                                         fierce  these  days.  Things  aren't  what  they  were.  There are
                                                         shortages  because  of  the  war.  You  here  to  protect Brabant,
                                                         dominie?  He  in danger?"
                                                            "It  is  a  matter  of  security,"  Pandaras  told  the  old thrall.
                                                            This  seemed  to  satisfy  the  gatekeeper.  "Aye,  I suppose
                                                         we're  in  danger  even  now.  They're  not  to  start fighting
                                                         the  quit  claim  for  more  than  a  decad,  but  you  can't trust
                                                         Indigenous  Affairs.  It's  a  grower,  see.  Wants  to  get control
                                                         wherever  it  can,  however  it  can.  But  I  do  a  good job.
                                                         Don't  worry  about  the  gate.  Nothing  has  ever  passed me
                                                         by  without  proper authority."
                                                            For  once,  this  was  no  idle  boast.  Tamora  had surveyed
                                                         
the  Department  of  Vaticination  on  the  first  day,  and said
                                                         that  once  the  triple  doors  were  lowered,  the  gate  could not
                                                         be  forced  without  destroying  most  of  the cavern.
                                                            "We  should  hurry,  master,"  Pandaras  said.  "We will
                                                         lose  him. -
                                                            "You  will  stay  here,  Pandaras.  Stay  here,  and  do your
                                                         duty. -
                                                            "I'd  do  better  going  with  you.  I  see  you've  taken off
                                                         your  bandage,  but  your  wound  won't  have  healed,  not yet.
                                                         And  I've  a  fancy  to  seeing  more  of  this place."
                                                            "As  you  will,  when  we  are  done  here.  I  promise it."
                                                         Yama  turned  to  the  gatekeeper  and  said,  "How  do you
                                                         open  the  doors?  There  are  three,  I believe."
                                                            The  gatekeeper  nodded.  "One  here,  dominie,  another a
                                                         hundred  paces  further  down,  and  the  last  a  hundred paces
                                                         beyond  that.  To  keep  the  air  in,  see.  In  the  old  days, the
                                                         cavern  was  sealed  around  the  House  of  the  Twelve Front
                                                         Rooms,  but  the  bulkheads  were  sold  for  scrap  years ago.
                                                         Well,  in  the  old  days  there  was  a  word  you'd  speak and
                                                         
the  doors  would  obey.  But  they're  just  metal  now. The
      I",      vital  parts  died  long  ago.  So  now  we  do  it  by  water. You
      ,,     saw  me  haul  on  that wheel?"
                 It  stood  on  a  strong  post  inside  the  glass  booth that
               clung  to  the  right-hand  side  of  the  gate's  round  mouth. It
               was  as  tall  as  the  gatekeeper,  and  spoked  like  the wheel
               of  a wagon.
                 The  gatekeeper  said,  "It  controls  the  sluices.  Water is
                 what  does  the  job.  It  flows  out  of  the  counterweights and
               the  doors  sink  down  with  it,  and  then  it's  pumped  into a
               reservoir  above  our  heads,  ready  to  fill  the counterweights
               to  close  up  the  gate  as  need be."
                 "You  keep  watch  on  the  gate  all day?"
                 "My  little  house  is  up  above  the  gate-see  the  stair? It
               winds  right  up  to  it.  I'm  cozy  as  a  swallow  in  a godown
               roof  up there."
                 "Then  when  Brabant  comes  back,  you  will  make  a note
               of it')"
                  I  will  keep  watch,"  Pandaras  said,  "although I'd
               rather  come  with  you, master.-
                 "Your  boy  there  needn't  trouble  himself,"  the  old thrall
               said.  "I  see  everything  that  goes  in  and  out.  Our secretary
               Syle  likes  to  know  what's  going on."
                 The  tunnel  was  lined  with  a  slick,  white  material 
that
               diffused  the  light  of  Yama's  solitary  firefly;  it  was  as if
              he  moved  at  the  center  of  a  flowing  nimbus.  The tunnel
              turned  a  full  circle  as  it  descended,  then  opened  on  to a
               shaft  ten  times  as  wide,  one  of  the  main throughways
               that  ran  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  Palace.  Like  all the
               throughways,  its  gravity  was  localized;  the  tunnel  met its
               roof  at  right  angles.  Yama  stood  at  the  beginning  of a
               corkscrew  ramp,  looking  straight  across  the  throughway at
               the  tops  of  sleds  and  carts  and  wagons  that,  spangled with
               lanterns,  streamed  past  as  if  clinging  to  a  sheer  wall. But
               as  he  went  down  the  ramp,  the  throughway  seemed  to turn
               around  him,  until  at  last  he  was  standing  on  a walkway



                                                        beside  the  traffic  and  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  he  had left
                                                          was  a  hole  in  the  curved  roof  above  his head.
                                                           There  were  few  pedestrians,  and  Yama  had  no trouble
                                                        following  Brabant.  The  thrall  was  a  sturdy  fellow  with a
                                                        thick  black  mane  done  up  in  braids.  He  walked  at  a slow
                                                        but  steady  pace  along  the  walkway  into  the  lower  part of
                                                        the  Palace,  where  he  took  a  ramp  that  spiraled  up  into the
                                                        roof.  It  led  to  a  short,  narrow  tunnel  which suddenly
                                                        opened  on  to  a  huge  cavern  filled  with  stalls  and people.
                                                           It  was  one  of  the  day  markets.  People  from  the hundred
                                                        departments  of  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the People
                                                        were  wrangling  with  merchants,  gossiping,  strolling about,
                                                        or  eating  breakfast.  The  smoke  of  hundreds  of cooking
                                                        braziers  and  hotplates  mingled  beneath  a  low  ceiling of
                                                        stained  concrete,  a  blue  haze  which  defined  a  pale wedge
                                                        of  early  sunlight  above  the  flat  roofs  of  godowns  that stood
                                                        shoulder  to  shoulder  at  the  cavern's  wide mouth.
                                                           Machines  twinkled  
through  the  smoky  air;  thousands of
                                                        fireflies  spun  above  the  heads  of  the  people  who crowded
                                                        the  aisles  between  the  stalls.  The  noise  was tremendous.
                                                        The  bawling  of  animals  and  the  chatter  of  thousands of
                                                        conversations  echoed  and  re-echoed  from  the  bare rock
                                                        walls.  In  one  part  of  the  market,  shoals  of  fish  were laid
                                                        on  banks  of  smoking  ice,  and  bubbling  tanks  held mussels
                                                        and  oysters  and  slate-blue  crayfish;  in  another, tethered
                                                        goats  grazed  on  straw,  placidly  awaiting  the  knife. There
                                                        were  stalls  selling  erasable  paper,  inks  and  pigments, sandals
                                                        ,  spices,  every  kind  of  fruit  and  vegetable, cigarettes,
                                                        edible  plastic,  confectionery,  tea  bark,  and  much  more, and
                                                        at  every  one  spielers  praised  the  quality  and  cheapness of
                                                        their  wares.  Here  and  there,  soldiers  of  the  Department of
                                                        Internal  Harmony  stood  on  discs  floating  in  the  air, watching
                                                          the  crowds  that  surged  beneath  their feet.
                                                           Most  of  the  people  who  had  come  to  the  market were
                                                        clerks,  low  grade  administrators  or  record  keepers dressed
                                                        
in  crisp  white  shirts  with  high  collars  and  baggy black
                                                        trousers.  Everywhere  he  looked,  Yama  saw  a  reflection of
                                                        the  fate  his  stepfather  had  wished  on  him.  Most people
                                                        made  way  for  him  as  he  followed  Brabant  through the
               crowded  aisles,  and  some  even  touched  the  inky  tips of
               their  fingers  together;  Yama  realized  that  they  were deferring
                 not  to  him  but  to  the  spurious  rank  lent  him  by his
               single  bright firefly.
                 The  whole  brawling  tumult,  lit  only  by  the restless
               sparks  of  the  fireflies  and  the  smoky  wedge  of sunlight,
               reminded  Yama  of  the  emmet  nest  Telmon  had  once kept
               pressed  between  two  panes  of  glass.  He  suddenly  felt a
               suffocating  sense  of  the  vast  size  of  the  Palace  of the
               Memory  of  the  People,  its  mazes  of  corridors,  the stacks
               of  offices  and  chambers  and  apartments  of  its hundred
               Departments,  its  thousands  of  temples  and  chapels and
               shrines,  all  silted  with  a  hundred  thousand  years  of history.
                 Mendicants  were  preaching  here  and  there,  but  few in
               the  crowds  stopped  to  listen.  A  line  of  nearly  naked men
               danced  down  an  aisle,  lashing  their  shoulders  with leather
               thongs;  at  an  intersection,  a  group  of  men  in  red robes
               
whirled  on  the  spot  to  the  frenzied  beat  of  a  tambour. The
               hems  of  their  robes  were  weighted,  and  spun  out  in smooth
               bells  as  they  whirled  around  and  around;  their  faces glistened
                 with  sweat  and  their  eyes  had  rolled  back  so that
               only  the  whites  showed.  They  would  dance  until they
               dropped,  believing  themselves  to  be  possessed  by avatars
               of  the Preservers.
                 Amongst  the  stalls  were  shrines  and  altars  where men
               paused  to  dab  a  spot  of  ochre  powder  on  their foreheads
               and  mumble  a  prayer  or  turn  the  crank  of  a  prayer wheel.
               Brabant  stopped  at  one  of  the  shrines,  a  glossy  black circle
               framed  by  an  arbor  of  paper  flowers,  and  lit  a  candle and
               wafted  its  scented  smoke  toward  his  bowed  face. Praying
               for  the  success  of  his  traitorous  errand,  perhaps  .  .  . or
               simply  pausing  for  a  moment's  devotion  amidst  his ordinary
                duties.
                 After  Brabant  had  moved  on,  Yama  stopped  at the
               shrine  and  touched  the  coin  hung  from  the  thong around
               his  neck,  but  the  shrine  did  not  light.  The  Palace  of the
               Memory  of  the  People  was  littered  with shrines-Yama
               had  found  more  than  a  hundred  in  the  cavern  of  the Department
                 of  Vaticination-but  he  had  not  yet  found one



                                                        that  would  show  him  the  garden  where  the  woman in
                                                        white  waited  for  him.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  He was
                                                        not  yet  ready  to  confront  his  enemy again.
                                                          Yama  pushed  on  until  once  more  he  glimpsed Brabant's
                                                        braided  mane  amongst  the  press  of  clerks  and  record keepers
                                                        .  The  thrall  seemed  to  know  every  other  person  in the
                                                        market,  and  stopped  at  stalls  to  shake  hands  and exchange
                                                        a  few  words  with  the  merchants,  or  taste  a  sample  of food.
                                                        He  sat  a  while  with  a  spice  seller  amongst  aromatic sacks,
                                                        and  chatted  amiably  while  sipping  tea  from  a  copper bowl.
                                                        Yama,  watching  from  the  other  side  of  the  wide crowded
                                                        aisle,  ate  sugary  fried  almonds  from  a  paper  bag translucent
                                                          with  grease  and  wondered  if  the  plot  might  be one
                                                        of  assassination  by  poison,  or  if  Brabant  was  simply negotiating
                                                          a  good  price  for  turmeric  and mace.
                                                          Brabant  shook  the  spice  seller's  hand  and  got  up and
                                                        moved  on  through  the  market,  saluting  merchants, tasting
                                                        samples  and  exclaiming  
fulsomely  over  their freshness,
                                                        shouting  greetings  to  passersby.  If  he  was  on  a clandestine
                                                        errand,  he  seemed  to  want  everyone  to  know  where he
                                                        was;  Yama's  initial  small  doubt  grew stronger.
                                                          At  last,  Brabant  reached  the  far  end  of  the  huge market
                                                        and  entered  a  corridor  with  three-  or  four-story  houses on
                                                        either  side,  like  an  ordinary  street  under  a  concrete sky.
                                                        There  was more    light  here,  pouring  through  a  big curved
                                                        window  let  into  the  ceiling  at  the  far  end,  where palm
                                                        trees  rose from   clumps  of  sawgrass.  A  flock  of parrots
                                                        chased  from  tree  to  tree,  calling raucously.
                                                          A  woman sat     at  a  second-floor  window  of  one  of the
                                                        houses,  sleepily  combing  her  long  black  hair.  Below her,
                                                        a  man  in  a  linen  burnoose  sat  on  a  high  stool  outside the
                                                        door.  Brabant  stopped  to  talk  with  the  man,  then shook
                                                        his  hand  and  went inside.
                                                          Yama  walked  past,  suddenly  feeling  foolish  and  out of
                                                        place.  It  seemed  clear  that  Brabant  had  done  no  more than
                                                        
go  about  his  business  in  the  market  before  visiting a
                                                        bawdy  house  for  relaxation.  Perhaps  the  thralls  were one
                                                        of  those  bloodlines  which  could  mate  at  will,  rather than
                                                        on  a  particular  day  in  a  cycle  or  a  season.  Yet  Yama was
              reluctant  to  leave.,  He felt  that  he  should  see  this through
              to  the end.
                  He  drifted  toward  the  edge  of  a  crowd  which  had gathered
                under  the  palm  trees  at  the  end  of  the  street, where
              a  gambler  restlessly  switched  three  half  shells  around each
              other  on  a  little  table.  Men  in  white  shirts  threw  coins on
              the  table,  pointing  at  one  or  another  of  the  shells, and
              when  the  betting  was  finished  the  gambler  lifted  the shells
              one  by  one,  revealing  a  black  pearl  under  the  middle one.
              He  scooped  up  the  coins,  pressed  a  few  into  the outstretched
                hands  of  two  of  the  spectators  and  pocketed the
              rest,  then  covered  the  black  pearl  and  began  to  switch the
              shells  back  and  forth again.
                  While  the  spectators  made  more  bets,  the gambler
              caught  Yama's  eye  and  said,  "I  can't  allow  you  a wager,
              dominie.  A  man  like  you  could  ruin  me  in  a  single game."
                  Yama  smiled,  and  said  that  in  any  case  he  did not
             gamble.
                  
"Then  you  may  try  your  luck  for  the  fun  of  it," the
              gambler  said.  He  had  an  engaging  smile,  and  eyes  as blue
             as   cornflowers  in  a  pale  face.  A  single  firefly  crouched in
              his  crest  of  red  hair,  as  faint  as  the  one  which  had followed
              the  rat  in  the  old  entrance  hall  of  the  House  of  the Twelve
              Front Rooms.
                  The  gambler  took  his  hands  away  from  the  shells, and
              Yama,  gripped  by  a  sudden  impulse,  pointed  to  the middle
              one.  The  gambler  raised  an  eyebrow  and  lifted  the shell
              to  reveal  the  black  pearl.  The  white-shirted  clerks around
              Yama  groaned.  The  gambler  took  in  their  money, winked
              at  Yama,  and  started  shuffling  the  shells  again. Yama
              watched  closely  this  time,  and  it  seemed  that  the shell
              hiding  the  pearl  was  again  in  the  center-yet  at  the same
              time  he  knew  it  was  under  the  shell  on  the  right. The
              clerks  finished  laying  their  bets,  and  again  Yama pointed,
              this  time  meeting  the  gambler's  smile  with  his  own when
              the  pearl  was revealed.
                  The  clerks  murmured  amongst  themselves  and  the gambler
                said,  "You  see  through  my  little  illusion, dominie.



                                                       Maybe  you'd  like  to  try  your  skill  on  something  a little
                                                      harder."
                                                          "Perhaps  another time."
                                                          The  gambler  looked  around  at  the  spectators,  as  if calling
                                                         upon  them  to  witness  his  bravado.  He  said,  "I'd only
                                                       ask  you  to  risk  a  copper  rial  on  your  skill.  To  a  man like
                                                       you  that's  nothing,  and  you'd  stand  to  win  much more
                                                       from  me.  I'll  give  you  odds  of  ten  to one."
                                                          Yama  remembered  the  fierce  leathery  nomads  who in
                                                       summer  came  into  Aeolis  with  their  horses  and hunting
                                                       cats  and  tents  of  stitched  hides  to  sell  the  pelts  of fitchets,
                                                       marmots,  and  hares  they  had  trapped  in  the  foothills of
                                                       the  Rim  Mountains.  The  nomads'  dice  games  went  on for
                                                       days,  drawing  those  who  joined  them  deeper  and deeper,
                                                       until,  from  beginning  with  small  wagers,  they  emerged as
                                                       from  a  dream,  dazed  and  penniless,  sometimes without
                                                       even  their  shoes  and shirts.
                                                          "Your  odds  are  too  much  in  my  favor,"  he  told the
                                                       
gambler,  and  some  of  the  clerks laughed.
                                                          "They  are  in  it  together,"  someone  said.  He  was  a tall
                                                       boy  not  much  older  than  Yama,  flanked  by  two  others as
                                                       he  pushed  to  the  front  of  the  crowd.  All  three  wore enameled
                                                         badges  of  a  fist  closed  around  a  lightning  bolt pinned
                                                       to  the  high  collars  of  their  white shirts.
                                                          "I  assure  you,"  the  gambler  told  the  boy,  "that  I have
                                                       never  seen  this  good  fellow before."
                                                          "Cheats  and  swindlers,"  the  tall  boy  said.  "You  rig the
                                                       game  and  let  your  friend  win  to  make  others  think that
                                                       they  have  a chance."
                                                          The  gambler  started  to  protest  again,  but  his  mild manner
                                                         enraged  the  boy,  who  leaned  on  the  little  table and
                                                       shouted  into  his  face.  One  of  the  other  boys  swept the
                                                       shells  on  to  the  floor  and  his  leader  shouted  that  there was
                                                       no  pearl  and  it  was  no  game  at  all,  but  a  sharpy's trick.
                                                          Yama  hardly  heard  him.  He  had  just  seen  a  man come
                                                       out  of  the  bawdy  house.  He  wore  a  tunic  of  plain homespun
                                                         girdled  with  a  
red  cord,  and  his  face  was  covered in
                                                       a  glossy  black  pelt,  with  a  white  stripe  down  the  left side.
                 He  carried  a  staff  taller  than  himself,  and  Yama  knew that
                 it  was  shod  with  iron.  For  he  recognized  the  man  at once,
                 and  with  a  shock  knew  that  Brabant  must  be  involved in
                 a  conspiracy  after all.
                   The  man  was  Prefect Corin.



                                                                                              TRI AWBUSN
                                                     "A  SHARPY'S  TRIM"  the  leader  of  the  boys  shouted. "We
                                                     will  have  justice!  Grab  them  both,  lads-the  one  with the
                                                     knife first."
                                                       One  boy  seized  Yama's  arms.  The  other  wrenched the
                                                     sheathed  knife  from  its  harness  and  handed  it  to  the leader,
                                                     who  thrust  it  into  Yama's  face  and  said,  "By  what authority
                                                       do  you  cany  a  weapon here?"
                                                       "By  my  own,"  Yama  said.  "What  business  is  it of
                                                    yours?"
                                                       The  crowd  murmured  at  this.  The  tall  boy  scowled. He
                                                     and  his  two  friends  were  young  and  excited  and more
                                                     nervous  than  Yama,  not  quite  sure  what  they  had discovered
                                                     .  They  were  not  guards  or  soldiers,  who  would have
                                                     taken  Yama  away  for  interrogation,  but  apprentices of
                                                     some  kind,  eager  and  awkward,  daring  each  other on.
                                                       "You've  been  on  Department  territory  ever  since you
                                                     entered  the  day  market,"  the  leader  of  the  three said.
                                                     "Why  are  you  carrying  
this  antique?  Is  it licensed?"
                                                       The  gambler  said,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  masters,  but this
                                                     is  common  ground,  as  is  well known."
                                                       "Keep  out  of  it,  animal,"  the  boy  who  held Yama's
                knife  said.  He  looked  around  at  the  press  of  clerks and
                added,  "You  all  keep  out  of it."
                   The  boy  holding  Yama's  arms  said,  "Answer  Philo, you
               piece of shit."
                  "It  is  mine,"  Yama  said.  He  hoped  that  their leader,
               Philo,  would  try  and  draw  the  knife,  for  surely  the knife
                would  waken  and  defend him.
                   But  Philo  merely  dangled  the  sheathed  knife  by  its clip.
                He  had  a  small  face  framed  by  a  bob  of  glossy  black fur,
                a  flat,  bridgeless  nose,  and  a  wide  mouth.  He  thrust his
                face  so  close  to  Yama  that  he  laid  a  little  spray  of spittle
                of  Yama's  cheek  when  he  spoke.  His  breath  was scented
                with cloves.
                   "This?  This  is  at  least  ten  thousand  years  old.  What is
               a   kid  like  you  doing  with  it?  Explain  yourself.  If your
                business  is  innocent  we  will  let  you go."
                   "I  will  fetch  the  guards,"  one  of  the  clerks said.
                   "We  do  not  need  guards,"  Philo  said  loudly, turning
                this  way  and  that  as  he  tried  to  identify  the  man  
who had
                spoken.  "We  are  stronger.  We  will  deal  with  these cheats
                in  our  own way."
                   "You  are  fools,"  the  clerk  said.  He  turned  his  back on
                Philo  with  contempt,  and  the  crowd  parted  to  let him
               through.
                   The  crowd  had  grown.  Yama  could  no  longer  see Prefect
                  Corin.  From  the  center  of  a  great  calm,  he  told Philo,
                "You  have  no  authority  over  me.  You  may  kill  me with
                my  own  knife  if  it  is  not true."
                   "I  will  cut  out  your  insolent  tongue,"  Philo said.
                   All  three  boys  laughed.  Philo's  smile  widened  and he
                gripped  the  hilt  of  the  knife.  There  was  a  blue  flash. Philo
                screamed  and  dropped  the  knife  and  clutched  his hand.
                Blackened  skin  hung  in  strips  from  it.  There  was  a smell
                of  burned  meat.  Yama  felt  a  slight  relaxation  in  the grip
                of  the  boy  who  held  him.  He  stamped  on  the  boy's instep,
                wrenched  free,  and  kicked  the  boy's  legs  from  under him.
                The  third  boy  drew  a  slug  pistol  and  pointed  it  at Yama.
                The  pistol's  muzzle  was  describing  shaky  arcs,  but they
                were  centered  on  Yama's  chest.  The  clerks  behind him



                                                     moved  to  either  side.  All  this  time,  Philo  was screaming
                                                     that  he  had  been killed.
                                                        "Give  it  up,"  the  boy  with  the  pistol said.
                                                        "I  will  walk  away,"  Yama  said,  "and  that  will  be an
                                                     end  to this."
                                                        Many  at  the  front  of  the  crowd  were  trying  to escape
                                                     through  those  behind,  who  were  pressing  forward because
                                                     they  wanted  to  see  what  was  going  on.  Yama glimpsed
                                                     Prefect  Corin.  He  was  striking  out  with  his  staff  as he
                                                     tried  to  push  through  the  m8l6e.  A  decad  of  armed men
                                                     was  at  his back.
                                                        "Give  it  up,"  the  boy  with  the  pistol  said  again. He
                                                     was  braver  than  Yama  had  reckoned.  "Give  it  up  or  I will
                                                     put  a  big  hole  through  you. Yama
                                                          squeezed  his  eyes  shut.  The  explosive brightness
                                                     as  his  firefly  gave  up  all  its  light  in  one  instant  printed his
                                                     vision  with  red  and  gold.  All  around  him,  men screamed
                                                     that  they  were  blinded.  The  slug  pistol  went  off-the boy
                                                     must  have  pulled  
the  trigger  by  reflex-and something
                                                     whooped  past  Yama's  left  ear.  Another  scream:  one  of the
                                                     bystanders  had  been  hit.  When  Yama  opened  his eyes,
                                                     ghostly  volumes  of  light  seemed  to  hang  in  the  air. The
                                                     three  boys  and  the  clerks  at  the  front  of  the  crowd were
                                                     clutching  at  their  eyes;  Philo  was  screaming  louder than
                                                    ever.
                                                        "I  am  blinded!  I  am blinded!"
                                                        A  hand  fell  on  Yama's  shoulder.  "Come  with  me, dominie
                                                     ,"  the  gambler  said,  and  dashed  something  to the
                                                    floor.
                                                        At  once,  dense  red  smoke  billowed  up  around the
                                                     blinded  men.  It  obscured  Prefect  Corin  and  his  band of
                                                     men,  who  were  still  trying  to  fight  through  the panicky
                                                     crowd.  Overhead,  soldiers  on  floating  discs  swooped into
                                                     the street.
                                                        "With  me!"  the  gambler  said.  "We  are  your friends!"
                                                        But  Yama  shook  off  his  grip,  scooped  up  the  knife and
                                                     its  sheath,  and  ran  in  the  other  direction,  toward  the sunlit
                                                     stand  of  palm  trees.  
Prefect  Corin  broke  out  of  the bank
                                                     of  red  smoke  as  some  of  his  men  started  to  shoot  at the
                 soldiers  in  the  air.  The  soldiers  spun  around  and  shot back.
                 Yama  ran  beneath  a  rain  of  fronds  cut  down  by small
                 arms  fire.  Sawgrass  caught  at  his  trousers;  parrots  fled in
                 a  whir  of wings.
                    Beyond  the  trees  was  a  slender  metal  bridge which
                 arched  across  a  narrow  deep  cleft.  Something  beat down
                 there,  slow  and  steady  and  vast;  Yama  could  feel  its pulse
                 through  the  soles  of  his  boots  as  he  went  over  the bridge.
                    Then  a  glass-walled  tunnel  that  ran  along  the  side  of a
                 sheer  rock  face,  with  the  slope  of  the  mountain  falling to
                 the  mosaic  of  the  city,  and  mountains  in  the  misty distance
                 .  The  curved  wall  suddenly  crazed  into  a thousand
                 splinters;  a  moment  later  Yama  heard  the  sharp  echo  of a
                 pistol  shot,  and  then  Prefect  Corin  shouted  his name.
                    Yama turned.
                    The  Prefect  and  three  of  his  men  stood  fifty  paces away.
                 "Well  met,  Yamamanama,"  Prefect  Corin said.
                    He  looked  quite  unruffled,  standing  straight  with his
                 staff  grounded  beside  him.  He  was  not  even  out  of breath.
                 One  of  the  men  had  a  bandaged  hand.  He  was  the 
ruffian
                 Yama  had  wounded  outside  the  gate  of  the  Department of
                Vaticination.
                    Yama  held  the  knife  by  the  side  of  his  leg.  He  said, as
                 calmly  as  he  could,  "You  escaped  the  magistrates, then."
                    Prefect  Corin  said  amicably,  "As  did  you.  You talked
                to  their  machines,  did  you  not?  Your  father  should have
                 told  me  about  that  trick,  but  no  matter.  Here  you are
                anyway."
                    "I  will  not  come  back,"  Yama  said,  and  raised  his knife
                 when  Prefect  Corin  stepped forward.
                    Two  of  his  men  aimed  pistols  at  Yama;  the  third, the
                 one  with  the  bandaged  hand,  cocked  an arbalest.
                    "We  have  no  wish  to  harm  you,"  Prefect  Corin said.
                 "You  must  be  very  tired  and  confused  after  your adventures
                 ,  but  you  have  come  home  now.  You  have  found us,
                 as  the  Preservers  wished.  We  have  a  lot  to  talk  about, you
                 and  1.  There  have  been  sightings  of  feral  machines  in the
                 city,  and  the  Temple  of  the  Black  Well  was  destroyed by
                 the  Thing  Below.  Did  you  speak  to  them, too?"



                                                       Yama  said,  "You  lured  me  here,  but  I  will  not come
                                                    with  you.  I  will  not serve."
                                                       "Oh,  but  you  will.  The  day  market  is  not  yet  under the
                                                    Department's  authority,  but  this  place  is,  for  it  leads directly
                                                      to  one  of  the  gates  of  the  Department.  You ran
                                                    where  I  wanted  you  to  run,  Yama.  The  soldiers  of Internal
                                                    Harmony  cannot  help  you  here.  Come  with  me,  and you
                                                    will  be  treated  like  a  tetrarch  if  you  can  do  half  the things
                                                    I  believe  you  are  capable  of  doing.  Come  with  me now.
                                                    Come  home.  Your  father  and  your  sweetheart  will be
                                                    pleased  that  you  have  turned  up  safe  and sound."
                                                       For  an  instant,  Yama  was  aware  of  every machine
                                                    around  him,  all  the  way  out  to  the  edge  of  the  day market.
                                                    He  spoke  to  one  and  turned  and  struck  at  the splintered
                                                    glass  with  the  knife.  Blue  light  flared.  Prefect Corin
                                                    shouted  and  threw  aside  his  staff  and  ran  at  Yama, and
                                                    Yama  hurled  himself  bodily  at  the  circle  of  splintered glass
                                                    and  plunged  through  
it  into  the  open air.
                                                      THE  LIBRARY.
              THE  CITY  AND  the  side  of  the  mountain  described  a perfect
                 somersault  around  Yama's  head.  Then  something flashed
              toward  him  out  of  the  blue  sky  and  he  hit  it  hard, knocking
              his  breath  away.  It  was  the  floating  disc  he  had stolen
              from  under  the  feet  of  one  of  the soldiers.
                 With  one  hand  Yama  held  onto  the  knife  and  its sheath;
              with  the  other  the  edge  of  the  disc.  Its  smooth  flat shape
              was  hot  from  its  rapid  passage  through  the  air  and  it stung
              Yama's  skin,  but  he  clung  on  tightly  as  it  made  a breathtaking
                swoop  toward  a  huddle  of  roofs  far  below, halting
              just  above  a  flat  apron  of  red  adobe.  Yama  landed  in a
              tumble,  bruising  hip  and  knee  and  shoulder  and dropping
              the  knife  and  its sheath.
                 He  got  up  and  dusted  his  hands  on  the  seat  of  his trousers
              .  His  wounded  head  ached.  When  he  touched  it his
              fingers  came  away  smudged  with  sticky blood.
                 The  disc  hung  in  the  air  like  an  obedient  pet awaiting
             a   command.  When  he  dismissed  it,  it  shot  away  at once,
              rising  at  a  steep  angle  against  the  sheer  mountainside. It
              caught  the  light  of  the  sun  for  a  moment,  and  then it
              was gone.
                 Yama  picked  up  his  knife  and  sheathed  it.  He judged



                                                     that  he  had  fallen  at  least  five  furlongs;  the  glass tunnel
                                                     from  which  he  had  thrown  himself  was  no  more  than a
                                                     gleaming  thread,  as  fine  as  a  hair,  laid  between  two black
                                                     crags  that  were  themselves  only  interruptions  in  the mountain's
                                                       ascent  into  the  blue sky.
                                                        Somewhere  up  there  was  the  cavern  which contained
                                                     the  Department  of  Vaticination.  Tamora  would  be  hard at
                                                     work,  drilling  the  sullen  thralls  for  their  brief,  futile battle.
                                                     He  could  leave  her  and  Pandaras,  Yama  thought,  and continue
                                                       alone  on  his  quest  for  the  library  of  the Department
                                                     of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons,  the  place  where  Dr. Dismas
                                                       had  claimed  to  have  found  records  of  his bloodline.
                                                     But  he  knew  that  he  would  not.  He  had  sworn  to  help her,
                                                     as  she  had  sworn  to  help  him.  And  at  the  very  least he
                                                     must  tell  them  about  Prefect  Corin  and  the  attempted kidnapping
                                                     .  It  seemed  certain  that  the  conversation Pandaras
                                                     had  overheard  was  nothing  but  a  lure  aimed  to  draw Yama
                                                     into  a trap.
                                                       
More  immediately,  he  must  find  a  way  back  into the
                                                     mountain.  Beyond  the  parapet  at  the  edge  of  the  flat roof
                                                     was  a  drop  to  the  slope  of  teffacotta  tiles,  and  then the
                                                     roofs  of  a  huddle  of  buildings  and  the  slope  of  the mountain
                                                       falling  away  to  the  hatched  plain  of  the  great  city. As
                                                     Yama  contemplated  this  vista  something  cracked  like a
                                                     whip  past  his  ear,  shattered  half  a  dozen  tiles,  and went
                                                     whooping  away  into  the  distance.  He  remembered  the ruffians
                                                     '  slug  pistols  and  immediately  jumped  over  the parapet
                                                       and  ran  down  the  slope  of  sun-wartned  tiles. Another
                                                     slug  split  the  air  and  he  changed  direction  and tripped
                                                     and  suddenly  was  rolling  down  the  slope  amidst  a small
                                                     avalanche  of  loosened  tiles.  He  grabbed  at  the  edge  of the
                                                     roof  and  for  a  moment  hung  there,  breathing hard-and
                                                     then  the  tiles  gave way.
                                                       He  landed  on  his  back  on  a  cushion  of  thick moss.
                                                     Amazingly,  he  had  not  let  go  of  his  sheathed  knife. All
                                                     around,  terracotta,  tiles  smashed  to  dust  and  flinders. Small
                                                     
animals  fled,  screaming.  Monkeys,  with  silver-gray coats
                                                     and  long  tails  that  ended  in  tufts  of  black  hair. They
                                                     jumped  onto  a  shelf  of  black  rock  at  the  far  end  of the
                shadowy  courtyard,  their  wrinkled faces     both  anxious and
                mournful.  Dwarf  cedar  trees,  their  roots  clutching wet
                black  rocks,  made  islands  in  a  sweep  of  raked  gravel littered
                  with  the  hulls  of  pistachio  nuts.  On  three  sides of
                the  courtyard  were  black  wooden  walls  painted  with stylish               
  eyes  in  interlocked  swirls  of  red  and  white;  on the
                fourth  was  a clerestory.
                   When  Yama  stood,  the  largest  of  the  monkeys  ran forward
                  and  swarmed  up  a  rope  and  swung  from  side  to side.
                A  gon  started  a  brazen  clamor  somewhere  beyond the
                clerestory's arches.
                   Yama  ran.  A  broad  stair  led  down  from  the clerestory
               to  a  huge,  vaulted  hall  paneled  with  carved  wood. The
                plaster  ceiling  was  painted  black,  with  a  triple  armed swirl
               of  white  that  represented  the  Galaxy  at  one  end  and a
                recurved  red  swirl  that  represented  the  Eye  of  the Preservers
                 at  the  other.  This  was  the  temple  of  a  latriatic cult,
                then,  one  of  those  which  believed  that  the  grace  of the
                
Preservers  could  be  restored  to  the  world  by contemplation
                ,  prayer  and invocation.
                   The  gong  was  louder  here,  battering  the  cool  air with
                waves  of  brassy  sound.  Suddenly,  shaven-headed monks
               in  orange  robes  rushed  into  the  far  end  of  the  hall. They
                were  armed  with  a  motley  collection  of  spears  and cutlasses
                ;  one  carried  a  hoe.  Yama  drew  his  knife,  but even
               as  the  monks  started  to  advance  toward  him,  light flared
               in  the  center  of  the  hall  and  they  fell  to  their  knees and
                dropped  their  weapons  on  the  ebony floor.
                   At  first,  Yama  thought  that  part  of  the  roof  had been
                opened  to  admit  the  light  of  the  sun.  Then,  shading his
                eyes  against  the  glare  with  his  forearm,  he  saw  that a
                shrine  stood  in  the  middle  of  it.  It  was  an  upright disc
                twice  his  height,  and  it  was  filled  with  restless  white light.
                   Yama  drew  the  coin  from  his  shirt  and,  raising  it as
                high  as  the  thong  looped  around  his  neck  would allow,
                advanced  toward  the  shrine.  He  thought  that  the woman
                in  white  had  found  him  again,  drawn  by  the  coin,  but as
                the  blazing  light  beat  around  him,  he  was  seized  by  a deep
                dread.  Not  her,  which  would  have  been  bad  enough, but



                                                       something  worse.  Something  huge  and  fierce  and implacable
                                                         advancing  through  the  light,  very  far  away  in the
                                                       folded  space  within  the  shrine  but  rapidly  growing closer,
                                                       stooping  toward  him  as  a  lammergeyer  stoops through
                                                       leagues  of  air  to  snatch  an  oryx  grazing  on  a mountain
                                                      crag.
                                                         Yama's  nerve  failed.  He  dropped  the  coin  into  his shirt,
                                                       and  ran  past  the  shrine,  dodging  between  the  monks on
                                                       the  far  side.  They  were  groveling  with  their foreheads
                                                       pressed  to  the  ebony  floor,  their  buttocks  higher  than their
                                                       heads.  Not  one  moved  to  stop him.
                                                         He  ran  out  into  open  air,  along  a  stone  terrace  and down
                                                       a  long  flight  of  steps  dished  by  the  tread  of  countless feet.
                                                       Monks  in  orange  robes  turned  to  watch  as  he  ran past
                                                       them  down  narrow  stone  paths  between  plots  of pumpkin
                                                       vines,  yams  and manioc.
                                                         The  brass  gong  suddenly  fell  silent,  and  there  was only
                                                       the  buzz  of  insects  and  the  distant  roar  of  the  city. Yama
                                                       
did  not  stop.  Once  again  he  had  accidentally brought
                                                       something  into  the  world.  He  ran  from  it  headlong, with
                                                       nothing  in  his  head  but  his  hammering pulse.
                                                         This  part  of  the  mountain  had  been  built  over  with temples
                                                         and  monasteries  and  sanctuaries.  Many  stood  on the
                                                       ruins  of  older  structures.  Staircases  descended  sheer rock
                                                       faces  carved  with  grottoes  and  shrines.  Viaducts  and bridges
                                                         and  walkways  strung  across  gorges  and  looped between
                                                       crags.  One  pinnacle  had  been  hollowed  out;  a hundred
                                                       small  square  windows  pierced  its  steep  sides.  Slopes were
                                                       intricately  terraced  into  long  narrow  fields  where  vines and
                                                       vegetables  grew,  irrigated  by  stone  cisterns  that collected
                                                       rainwater  from  fan-shaped  slopes  of  white stone.
                                                         Yama  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  descending  the mountain.
                                                      It  seemed  that  there  was  always  a  flight  of  ravens turning
                                                       in  the  air  beyond  the  steep  mountainside.  He  hoped this
                                                       was  not  a  bad  omen,  for  ravens,  particularly  those  of the
                                                       Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People,  were  said  by some
              
t  be  spies.  Far  below,  the  city,  immemorial  Ys, stretched
              away  into  blue  distances  under  a  rippling  layer  of smoggy
             air  Around  noon,  as  the  sun  paused  at  the  height  of  its leap
              into  the  sky  before  falling  back  toward  the  Rim Mountains,
              he  arrived  at  a  long  terrace  thatched  in  emerald green
                                               -white  stone  splashed and
              grass.  An  ornate  fountain  of salt
              bubbled  in  the  middle.  He  drank  from  one  of  the fountain's
              clam  shell  basins  until  his  belly  was  full,  and  washed dust
              and  dried  blood  from  his  face,  but  he  did  not  dare stop
              for  long.  He  was  aware  of  the  populous  mountain that
              reared  above.  Prefect  Corin  might  be  watching  his flight
              through  a  telescope,  and  the  thing  that  lived  in  the light
              of  the  shrine  might  be  following him.
                He  had  no  clear  sense  of  where  he  was  going. Perhaps
              he  could  find  a  way  back  inside  the  mountain;  perhaps he
              could  reach  one  of  the  wide  roads  which  he sometimes
              glimpsed  on  the  lower  slopes.  Surely  they  led  to  a  gate to
              the  interior,  for  how  else  could  fresh  produce  be supplied
              to  the  day markets?
                He  was  descending  a  narrow  stair,  with  a  vertical rock
              face  on  one  side  and  nothing  but  a  slender  rail  of gleaming
              metal  protecting  him  from  a  sheer  drop  on  the  other, when
              it  suddenly  turned  and  went  under  an  arch. Something
              stopped  him  with  implacable  force,  as  if  the  air around
              
him  had  congealed,  and  asked  him  his  business.  But it
              yielded  at  once  to  his  will,  and  he  went  on  down the
              stairs  with  invisible  shawms  braying  and  a  stentorian voice
              gravely  announcing  the  arrival  of  a Hierarch.
                As  Yama  entered  the  courtyard  at  the  bottom,  a squad
              of  guards  in  full  armor  pushed  him  aside  and  clattered up
              the  stairs,  pistols  and  falchions  drawn.  The  courtyard was
              wide  and  shaded  by  high  stone  walls.  In  the  middle  of it,
              a  soldier  with  an  officer's  sash  over  his  corselet  stood on
              a  table.  He  was  shouting  at  the  people  milling  around two
              gates  in  the  high  wall  at  the  far end.
                "There  is  nothing  wrong!  Resume  your  places! Nothing
             is wrong!"
                Slowly,  order  was  restored.  Clerks  resumed  their seats



                                                      at  tables  shaded  by  large  paper  parasols.  The  crowd separated
                                                        into  lines  before  the  tables.  Both  of  the  gates were
                                                      guarded  by  armed  men.  One  seemed  to  be  an entrance;
                                                      the  other  an  exit.  All  who  went  through  the  latter were
                                                      stopped  by  the  guards,  who  carefully  scrutinized  the wads
                                                      of  documents  which  each  person  had  collected  at  the tables
                                                      .  Yama,  too  tired  to  consider  retracing  his  path, joined
                                                      the  end  of  the  line  nearest him.
                                                         The  line  moved  forward  very  slowly.  The  clerk  who sat
                                                      at  the  table  questioned  each  petitioner  closely, pausing
                                                      now  and  then  to  write  in  various  books  or  to  stamp papers
                                                      handed  to  him.  The  man  who  had  come  to  stand behind
                                                      Yama  told  him  that  there  was  no  hurrying  anything here.
                                                         "It's  an  old  department,"  he  added,  as  if  this explained
                                                       everything.
                                                         "It is?"
                                                         The  man  looked  at  Yama  and  said,  "Are  you lost,
                                                     brother?"
                                                         He  was  an  old  man,  stoop-shouldered  and  yet  still tall,
                                                      
as  tall  as  the  Aedile  or  Telmon,  with  smooth  black skin
                                                      and  silver  eyes.  Coarse  white  hair  wound  into  long corkscrew
                                                        ringlets  framed  his  broad-browed  face;  three fireflies
                                                      nested  there.  He  looked  at  Yama  with  a  shrewd, kindly
                                                     gaze.
                                                         Yama  said,  "I  believe  that  I  did  not  come  here  by the
                                                      usual  route.  What  is  this place?"
                                                         "The  Department  of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons," the
                                                      old  man  said,  and  his  silver  eyes  widened  when Yama
                                                     laughed.
                                                        "I
                                                            am  sorry,"  Yama  said.  "It  is  just  that  I  have been
                                                      searching  for  this  place,  and  came  upon  it  by accident."
                                                         "Then  you  were  surely  guided  here  by  the  will  of the
                                                      Preservers,  brother,"  the  old  man  said,  and  shook Yama's
                                                      hand  by  way  of  greeting.  He  added,  "Certainly  you are
                                                      more  fortunate  than  the  fool  who  tried  to  force entry
                                                      through  the  Gate  of  the  Hierarchs.  Some  poor  wretch tries
                                                      it  at  least  once  a  year.  After  the  guardian  has  finished with
                                                      him,  the  guards  
display  his  body  before  the  main  gate as
                                                      a lesson.
                 "Then  I  am  doubly  fortunate,"  Yama said.
                 The  old  man's  name  was  Eliphas.  He  was  a  runner who
              made  his  livelihood  by  researching  cases  which physicians
              could  not  cure  by  normal  means.  Eliphas  explained that
              most  of  the  people  queuing  in  the  courtyard  were runners
              for  physicians  or  leeches;  he  assumed  that  Yama  was from
              a  family  which  could  not  afford  to  employ  an intermediary
              .  He  saw  that  Yama  was  hungry,  and  took  one of
              Yama's  pennies  and  purchased  waybread  and  water from
              a  stall  on  the  other  side  of  the courtyard.
                 "A  tip  if  you  have  to  return  next  time,"  Eliphas said,
              smiling  tolerantly  as  Yama  devoured  the waybread.
              "Bring  food  with  you.  It's  cheaper,  and  will  probably be
              better,  too.  But  I  don't  suppose  they  told  you  how  long it
              would take."
                 "How  long  does  it  take?"  The  black  waybread was
              heavy  and  very  sweet,  but  it  satisfied  Yama's immediate
              hunger  at once.
                 "Usually  a  day  to  get  through  the  preliminary certification
              ,"  Eliphas  said,  "and  then  a  day  or  two  more  to have
              the  records  searched.  It  depends  on  how  you  phrase your
              question.  That's  part  of  the art."
                 "My  question  is  quite  simple.  I  want  to  know  if the
              Department  of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons  can  help me
              find  my people."
                 Eliphas  scratched  among  his  white  corkscrew tangles
                 
with  long,  thin  fingers.  His  nails  were  curved,  and filed
              into  points.  He  said,  "If  you  can  pay,  I'll  be  glad  to help.
              But  I've  never  heard  of  anyone  who  does  not  know his
              own bloodline."
                 "If  it  can  be  found  anywhere,  it  can  be  found  in Ys,"
              Yama  said.  "That  is  why  I  came  here.  When  I  was a
              baby,  I  was  found  on  the  river  and  taken  in  by  a kind
              man.  But  now  I  want  to  find  my  real  family.  I believe
              that  there  are  records  here  that  will  help  me,  but  I  am not
              certain  that  I  know  how  to  find  them.  If  you  will  help me,
              I  will  be  glad  to  pay  what  I can."
                 Eliphas  said,  "If  you  pay  for  my  evening  meal,  and my



                                                        breakfast,  why  then,  brother,  I'll  do  my  best  to  put you
                                                        on  the  right road."
                                                           "I  can  pay  a  fair  price,"  Yama  said,  stung  by the
                                                        thought  that  Eliphas  was  offering charity.
                                                           "It's  fair  enough,  brother.  The  way  to  learn  about the
                                                        system  is  to  see  how  it  responds  to  questions,  and  I believe
                                                        that  I  may  learn  a  lot  by  asking  yours.  The  more  you learn
                                                        about  the  way  information  is  catalogued,  the  more efficient
                                                        you  become.  I  can  process  up  to  a  decad  of  questions in
                                                        parallel.  There's  not  many  who  can  do  that,  but  I've been
                                                        working  here  all  my  life.  In  the  days  before  the heretics,
                                                        of  course,  it  was  simpler,  because  all  records  were stored
                                                        within  the  purlieu  of  the  avatars.  I  remember  that  what we
                                                        now  call  librarians  were  then  called  hierodules, which
                                                        means  holy  slaves.  The  real  librarians  were  simply subroutines
                                                          of  the  avatars.  They  spoke  through  the hierodules,
                                                        and  their  answers  came  promptly.  But  we  live  in  an imperfect
                                                          age.  The  shrines  are  silent,  and  we  must  ask clerks
                                                        
to  search  through  written  records  which  are  often secondor
                                                          third-hand  transcriptions,  and  not  always  stored where
                                                        they  should be."
                                                           "But  why  is  it  that  you  are  not  allowed  to  know how
                                                        the  library  is  set  out?  It  seems  to  me  you  must  work in
                                                        the  dark  when  all  that  is  needed  is  to  open  a shutter."
                                                           "Why,  there  are  a  thousand  clerks  employed  by this
                                                        library  alone,  and  this  is  one  of  the  smaller  ones.  If everyone
                                                          knew  where  everything  was  to  be  found,  the librarians
                                                        would  make  no  money  and  could  not  afford  to maintain
                                                        the  records  in  their  care.  And  if  facts  were  free,  why then
                                                        I  wouldn't  make  any  money  either.  But  that's  the  way it
                                                        is  with  most  professions,  brother.  If  their  mysteries were
                                                        removed,  why  then  there'd  be  no  need  for  most  of the
                                                        people  in  them.  I'd  say  nine-tenths  of  the  business  of any
                                                        department  is  to  do  with  guarding  the  mysteries,  and only
                                                        one-tenth  in  applying  them.  That's  why  rituals  are so
                                                        important.  I've  asked  thousands  of  questions  in  my time,
                                                        and  reckon  I  know  
as  much  about  medicine  as most
                                                        leeches,  but  I  could  never  practice  as  I'm  not inducted
                                                        into  their  mysteries.  If  I'd  been  born  to  one  of  the medical
             farm ies  it  might  be  different,  but only   the  Preservers can
             choose  how  to  be  born  into  the world.
                 Yama  learned  that  Eliphas's  own  family  had  been in
             the  trade  of  question-running  for  three  generations. Eliphas
             was  the  last  of  the  line.  His  only  son  had  joined  the army
             and  was  fighting  the  heretics  at  the  midpoint  of  the world,
             while  his  daughters'  children  would  be  raised  in  the trades
             of  their fathers.
                 "That's  the  difference  between  trades  and professions,"
             Eliphas  said.  "Trades  marry  out;  professions  marry among
             their  own  kind.  It's  how  they  keep  their power."
                 When  it  was  at  last  their  turn  to  speak  with  the clerk
             at  the  table,  the  sunlight  had  climbed  the  wall  and  left the
                 courtyard  in  shadow.  Lights  like  drifts  of  sparks had
             woken  across  the  darkening  slope  of  the  mountain. The
             fireflies  that  hung  above  the  heads  of  clerks  and petitioners
             stirred  and  brightened  as  the  sunlight  faded,  casting shiftI
       ing  tangles  of  light  and shadow.
                 Eliphas  leaned  over  the  table,  the  orbits  of  his fireflies
             nearly  merging  with  those  of  the  clerk,  and  fanned  a sheaf
            
of    pastel-colored  papers,  pointing  at  one  and  then another
             with  his  long  forefinger.  The  two  men  exchanged  a merry
             banter,  and  the  clerk  stamped  Eliphas's  papers without
             reading them.
                    "This  is  a  friend  of  mine,"  Eliphas  said,  standing aside
             for  Yama.  "You  do  well  by  him, Tzu."
                 "Picking  up  strays  again,  Eliphas?"  The  clerk looked
             Yama  up  and  down  with  a  raking  gaze  and  said, "Let's
             have  your  papers,  boy.  You'll  be  the  last  I  process this
            day.
                 "I  have  no  papers,"  Yama  said,  as  boldly  as  he could.
            "I   have  only  my question."
                 The  clerk,  Tzu,  had  a  long,  gloomy  face.  His brown
             skin  was  softly  creased,  like  waterlogged  leather. Now
             more  creases  appeared  above  his  wide-spaced  black eyes.
             He  said,  "Hand  over  your  papers,  or  you  can  walk back
             down  and  start  over tomorrow."
                 "I  have  my  question,  and  money  to  pay  the  fee.  I would



                                                      not  take  bread  from  the  mouths  of  your  family  by trying
                                                      to  gain  the  information  you  guard  for nothing."
                                                         Tzu  sighed,  and  shook  a  little  bell.  He  said,  "What have
                                                      you  brought  me,  Eliphas?  And  at  the  end  of  the  day, too.
                                                      We  have  procedures  here,"  he  told  Yama,  "and  no time
                                                      for troublemakers.
                                                         Another  clerk  appeared,  a  slight  old  man  with  a humped
                                                      back.  He  conferred  with  Tzu,  and  then  stared  at Yama
                                                      through  spectacles  perched  on  the  end  of  his  long nose.
                                                      He  had  a  wispy  white  beard  and  a  bald  pate mottled
                                                      with tubercles.
                                                         "Stand  straight,  boy,"  Tzu  said.  "This  is  Kun Norbu,
                                                      the  chief  of  all  the clerks."
                                                         "How  did  you  get  here,  boy?"  the  chief  of  clerks, Kun
                                                      Norbu, said.
                                                         "Down  those  stairs,"  Yama  said,  and  pointed across
                                                      the courtyard.
                                                         "Don't  lie,"  Tzu  said.  "There's  a  guardian.  No one
                                                      has  used  the  Gate  of  the  Hierarchs  for  a  century.  Now and
                                                      then  thieves  and  
vagabonds  try,  as  one  tried  today,  but all
                                                      are  destroyed  by  the guardian."
                                                         "Longer  than  that,  I  believe,"  Kun  Norbu  said. "The
                                                      last  Hierarch  to  visit  us  was  Gallizur  the  Joyous.  It would
                                                      have  been  in  the  summer  of  the  year  when  Ys  was invested
                                                        by  the  armies  of  the  Insurrectionists.  That would
                                                      be,  hmm,  eleven  thousand  five  hundred  and sixty-eight
                                                      years ago. 11
                                                         "A  long  time  indeed,  brother,"  Eliphas  said,  "but this
                                                      boy  is  no  thief.  I  can  vouch  for him."
                                                         Kun  Norbu  said,  "When  did  you  first  see  him, Eliphas?
                                                      Not  before  today,  I  would  wager.  I  suppose  he  bribed a
                                                      guard,  and  promised  to  pay  you  to  help  him.  He doesn't
                                                      even  have  a  single  firefly.  He's  some  indigenous wildman,
                                                      for  all  you know."
                                                         Yama  had  supposed  that  his  firefly  had  followed him,
                                                      but  he  now  realized  that  he  must  have  destroyed  it by
                                                      asking  it  to  give  up  all  its  light  at  once.  He  stared  at the
                                                      chief  of  clerks  and  said,  "As  for  fireflies,  if  that  is your
                                                      
only  concern,  then  my  lack  of  them  is  easily fixed."
               "Don't  be  impudent,"  Kun  Norbu  said. "Fireflies
            choose  a  host  according  to  their station.    Clearly  you have
           no   station  to  speak  of."  He  clapped his     hands. "Guards!
            Yes,  you  two!  To  me,  if  you please!"
               Tzu  gasped  and  stood  up,  knocking  over  his  stool. Eliphas
              stepped  back,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands. All
            around,  people  turned  to  stare  at  Yama.  A  few  knelt, heads
            bowed.  The  two  guards  who  had  started  across  the courtyard
              stopped  and  raised  their  partisans  as  if  to  strike  at an
            invisible  foe.  Light  gleamed  along  the  crescent  edges of
            their  double-bladed  weapons;  a  hundred  sparks were
            caught  in  the  lenses  of  Kun  Norbu's spectacles.
               In  an  extravagant  impulse  born  of  exhaustion  and impatience
            ,  Yama  had  clothed  himself  in  the  light  of  a thousand
            fireflies,  borrowed  from  everyone  close  by  or  called  from the
            wild  population  beyond  the  walls.  He  felt  that  he  was very
            close  to  the  end  of  his  quest,  and  he  would  not  be stopped
            by  the  petty  restrictions  of  a  moribund bureaucracy.
               "My  question  is  quite  simple,"  Yama  said.  "I  want to
            find  my  people.  Will  you  help me?"



                                                                                          THE  HELL-1        0  U  N D
T N  S  T  R  A  N  6  1  R  S'    0  D  G  I  of  the  Department  of  Apothecaries and
                                                       Chirurgeons  was  built  around  a  small  square courtyard.
                                                       Tiers  of  long,  narrow  balconies  rose  above  the courtyard
                                                       on  three  sides;  on  the  fourth  was  a  sloping  wall  of metal
                                                       as  transparent  as  glass,  on  which  the  last  light  of  the sun
                                                       glowed  like  the  shower  of  gold  by  which,  it  was  said, the
                                                       Preservers  had  manifested  themselves  for  the  first  and last
                                                       time  on  the  world,  when  they  had  seeded  it  with  the ten
                                                       thousand bloodlines.
                                                          Yama  bought  Eliphas  supper  in  the  refectory  on the
                                                       ground  floor,  and  they  ate  at  one  of  the  long  tables with
                                                       a  decad  of  other  petitioners.  All  were  crowned  by the
                                                       restless  sparks  of  fireflies;  there  was  no  other  light  in the
                                                       long  room.  Yama's  wad  of  papers  was  by  his  elbow, an
                                                       untidy  rainbow  fanned  on  the  table's  scarred  and polished
                                                       surface,  for  he  did  not  have  deep  enough  pockets  to hold
                                                       all  the  documents  he  had  been  given.  His  wound  had been
                                                       
washed  with  an  astringent  lotion  and  freshly bandaged.
                                                          Despite  the  trick  with  the  fireflies,  the  chief  of clerks,
                                                       Kun  Norbu,  had  insisted  that  Yama  should  prove  that he
                                                       had  been  able  to  persuade  the  guardian  of  the  Gate  of the
                                                       Hierarchs.  Yama,  still  clothed  in  a  thousand fireflies,
            walked  up  and  down  the  stairs  beneath  the  arch  three times
               efore  a  growing  audience  of  clerks.  It  seemed  to  him that
            they  would  have  watched  him  do  it  all  night,  and  after the
            third  time  he  told  Kun  Norbu  that  he  had  not  come  to the
            library  as  a  mountebank  or  clown,  and  returned  the fireflies
            to  their  former  hosts,  retaining  only  a  pentad  of  those he
            had  recruited  from  the  local  wild  population.  This trick
            astonished  the  clerks  more  than  that  of  being  able  to pass
            the guardian.
               Kun  Norbu  dismissed  every  clerk  but  Tzu,  who assiduously
              dealt  with  Yama's  paperwork,  and  then  the  chief of
            clerks  had  taken  Yama  and  Eliphas  to  his  cluttered office,
            where  they  sat  on  dusty  couches  and  drank  tea sweetened
            with  honey.  It  seemed  that  Kun  Norbu  was  an  old friend
  6         of  Eliphas's,  and  he  said  that  he  was  at  Yama's service.
               "Tell  your  story,  young  man.  Tell  us  how  we can
            help you."
               Yama  explained  that  as  a  baby  he  had  been  found  in a
            boat  on  the  Great  River,  that  he  had  been  told  that 
his
            bloodline  was  that  of  the  Builders,  long  thought  to have
            transcended  the  world.  He  said  that  he  had  come  to  Ys to
            search  for  others  like  himself,  and  added  that  he suspected
            that  a  certain  Dr.  Dismas  had  recently  found important
            clues  in  this  very  library.  Kun  Norbu  listened patiently,
            and  then  asked  Yama  a  hundred  questions,  most  of which
            he  could  not  begin  to  attempt  to  answer.  He  found himself
            saying  again  and  again,  "If  I  knew,  I  would  not  be search
            ing  for  the  answers  myself,"  or,  "I  hope  to  find that
  -,'     here."
                You  will  need  to  provide  a  sample  of  blood  and a
            scraping  of  cells,"  Kun  Norbu  said  at  last.  "That  will be
            a  good beginning."
               Eliphas  said,  "Then  you  will  take  his  case,  brother. I
            am glad."
               Kun  Norbu  smiled  and  said,  "I  think  we  might learn
           as  much  from  the  answers  as Yama.Yama
                 said,  "You  know  something  about  my bloodline,
            dominie.  I  see  that  you  do.  Can  I  find  what  I  am searching
           for here?"



                                                       Kun  Norbu's  smile  widened.  His  black  eyes twinkled
                                                     behind  the  lenses  of  his  spectacles.  "Not  everything  is to
                                                     be  found  in libraries."
                                                       Eliphas  closed  his  eyes  and  recited  a  fragment  of text
                                                     in  a  lilting  chant.  -  'They  were  the  first  men,  part  of the
                                                     word  which  the  Preservers  spoke  to  call  forth  the world.
                                                     They  were  given  the  keys  of  the  world,  and  ordered it
                                                     according  to  the  wishes  of  their  masters.' Yama
                                                       .  said,  "Is  that  from  the Puranas?"
                                                       Eliphas's  smile  was  a  wide  white  crescent  in  his black
                                                     face.  "It  sounds  like  the  Puranas,  doesn't it?"
                                                       Kun  Norbu  said,  "It  is  from  a  text  much  older  than the
                                                     Puranas.  Perhaps  it  was  written  by  one  of  the Builders.
                                                     Eliphas  and  I  were  enthusiastic  hunters  of  obscure texts
                                                     when  we  were  as  young  as  you,  Yama.  I  gave  up the
                                                     carefree  life  of  searching  for  lost  knowledge  many years
                                                     ago,  when  I  became  a  novice  clerk,  but  now,  do  you know,
                                                     I  feel  quite  young  again.  You  have  rekindled  my  sense of
                                                     
inquiry,  which  I  had  thought  long  ago  extinguished  by the
                                                     responsibilities  of  my office."
                                                       Yama  said,  "Then  we  should  start  at  once!  Why must
                                                     the  truth  be  approached  through  many  bits  of colored
                                                    paper?"
                                                       He  had  been  given  passes  for  the  library,  the refectory
                                                     and  one  of  the  dormitories  of  the  Strangers'  Lodge. His
                                                     name,  age,  and  birthplace  (Yama  had  given  it  as Aeolis)
                                                     had  been  written  down  on  a  pentad  of  differently colored
                                                     pieces  of  paper.  His  question  had  been  copied  ten times
                                                     over,  and  all  the  papers  had  been  stamped  with Tzu's
                                                    mark.
                                                       "It  is  the  way  things  are  done,"  the  chief  of clerks
                                                     said.  "You  are  young,  Yama,  and  would  tear  down the
                                                     world  and  start  all  over  again.  You  value  speed  over all
                                                     else.  Everything  must  be  done  at  once  or  given  to  you as
                                                     soon  as  you  need  it,  or  the  world  must  be  changed. That's
                                                     how  it  is  with  the  young.  But  as  you  get  older,  you'll see
                                                     the  wisdom  in  the  way  things  have  always  been.  Old men
                                                     
like  Eliphas  and  me  see  why  things  are  the  way  they are,
                                                     and  why  they  have  grown  in  particular  ways,  and how
            everything  is  connected.  We  see  that  without  direction velocity
              is  nothing  but  squandered energy."
               Yama  said,  "Surely  knowledge  should  be  free  to everyone
            ,  since  all  knowledge  is  the  gift  of  the Preservers."
               "Ah,  but  if  it  was  freed,"  Kun  Norbu  said,  "who would
            look  after  it?  Knowledge  is  a  delicate  thing,  easily destroyed
              or  lost,  and  each  part  of  the  knowledge  we look
            after  is  potentially  dependent  upon  every  other  part. I
            could  open  the  library  to  all  tomorrow,  if  I  was  so minded,
            but  I  will  not.  You  could  wander  the  stacks  for  a dozen
            years,  Yama,  and  never  find  what  you  are  looking  for. I
            can  lay  my  hand  on  the  place  where  the  answers  may lie
            in  a  few  hours,  but  only  because  I  have  spent  much of
            my  life  studying  the  way  in  which  the  books  and  files and
            records  are  catalogued.  The  organization  of  knowledge is
            just  as  important  as  knowledge  itself,  and  we  are responsible
              for  the  preservation  of  that organization."
               "He  will  be  up  all  night  looking  for  the answers,"
            Eliphas  said  to  Yama,  and  told  Kun  Norbu,  "It  is good
           to   see  the  light  of  adventure  in  your  eyes  once more,
            brother!  I  thought  you  were  falling  asleep  behind  the ledgers
              and  the rulebooks."
               "I  keep  my  hand  in,"  the  chief  of  clerks  said,  "if 
only
            to  keep  the  apprentices  on  their  toes."  He  made  a steeple
            of  his  fingers.  They  were  each  tipped  with  a  black claw
            like  a  rose  thorn,  and  linked  by  heavy,  wrinkled  webs of
            skin.  He  looked  at  them  and  said,  "Have  you  ever been
            ill, Yama?"
               "Just  blackwater  fever  and  ague.  I  lived  beside the
           river."
               "I  ask  because  I  do  not  know  if  Builders  are susceptible
            to  illness.  Be  glad  of  your  childhood  fevers!  If  any  of your
            people  live,  then  some  of  them  will  almost  certainly have
            been  treated  by  chirurgeons  or  by  apothecaries,  and the
            records  of  all  chirurgeons  and  apothecaries  are preserved
            here.  That  is  how  I  will  search,  using  the  template that
            lies  within  your  cells  as  a guide."
               He  summoned  a  young  clerk,  who  took  a  scraping from
            the  inside  of  Yama's  cheek  with  a  blunt  needle  and drew



                                                          a  minim  of  blood  from  the  tip  of  his  thumb  with  a glass
                                                          straw.  These  samples  also  required  documentation, and
                                                          Yama's  signature,  and  Kun  Norbu's stamp.
                                                            When  this  was  done,  the  chief  of  clerks  bowed  to Yama
                                                          and  said,  "You  need  not  lodge  in  the  commons.  You will
                                                          be  my  guest.  My  household  is  yours.  I  will  have someone
                                                          find  you  fresh  clothes and        see  that  your  wound is
                                                         cleaned.
                                                            "That  is  kind,"  Yama said,      "but  I  do  not  deserve special
                                                            treatment.  And  the wound     is  an  old  one.  It  does not
                                                          trouble me."
                                                            He  feared  that  Prefect  Corin  might  hear  that  the library
                                                          had  an  uncommon  visitor,  one  who  could  command fireflies
                                                            and  ancient guardians.
                                                            Kun  Norbu  gave  Yama  a  shrewd  look  and  said, "You
                                                          cannot  try  and  pretend  that  you  are  ordinary,  Yama. And
                                                          your  wound  has  been  bleeding  recently.  At  least  allow me
                                                          to  have  someone  look  at  it,  and  to  recommend  that Eliphas
                                                          look  after  you.  
He  knows  as  much  about  our  little library
                                                          as  any,  although  he  will  never  admit it."
                                                            After  Yama  and  Eliphas  had  eaten,  Eliphas  filled  the bowl
                                                          of  a  long-stemmed  clay  pipe  with  aromatic  tobacco,  lit it,
                                                          and  puffed  on  it  contentedly.  Yama  asked  him  where he
                                                          had  found  the  passage  he  had quoted.
                                                            "It  was  on  a  scrap  of  paper  which  someone  had torn
                                                          from  a  book  an  age  ago  and  used  to  jot  down  the addition
                                                          of  a  bill  of  small  goods.  We  found  it  tucked  between the
                                                          pages  of  an  old  record  book.  Paper  is  very  patient, and
                                                          old  paper  in  particular  is  well  made  and  forgets  very little.
                                                          That  scrap  had  preserved  the  verse  about  your  people on
                                                          one  side  and  the  trifling  calculation  on  the  other,  and had
                                                          also  patiently  kept  the  place  which  someone  dead  a thousand
                                                            years  had  marked.  It  is  not  that  things  are forgotten,
                                                          simply  that  they  are  mislaid.  Bindings  of  certain  books are
                                                          a  good  example  of  where  such  things  may  be  found, for
                                                          pieces  of  older  documents  are  often  used  as backing.
            
There's  no  end  of  places  to  look.  Kun  Norbu  and  I looked
            in  many  strange  places  when  we  were young."
               "I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  I  am  mislaid," Yama
            said.  "That  I  do  not  belong  in  this  time.  Many times,
            when  I  was  younger,  I  hoped  that  someone  was looking
            for me."
               "You  must  have  courage,  brother.  I  am  curious about
            one  thing,  though.  May  I  ask  a question?"
               "Of course."
               "Why,  there's  no  'of  course'  about  it.  I  simply  do my
            duty,  as  the  Preservers  would  wish.  I  do  not  expect you
            to  satisfy  my  idle  curiosity  as  reward.  But  thank  you. My
            question  is  this.  If  you  do  learn  where  your  family lives,
            what  will  you do?"
               "I  would  ask  them  why  I  was  set  adrift  on  the river,
           to  begin  with.  And  if  they  answered  that,  I  would ask
            them  ...  other questions."
               Eliphas  blew  a  riffle  of  smoke.  "Who  am  I?  Why am
            I  here?  Where  am  I going?"
               "Something  like that."
               "Forgive  me,  brother.  I  don't  mean  to  make  light of
            your predicament."
               "If  they  live  at  all,  I  think  that  they  must  be living
            somewhere  in  Ys,  or  in  the  boreal  lands  upriver  of Ys."
               "Then  hope  they  live  in  Ys,"  Eliphas  said.  "The land
            upriver  is  wild,  and  full  of  races  which  have  not yet
            changed,  or  perhaps  will  never  change.  Most  are little
            more  than  animals,  and  do  not  even  have  an  Archivist to
            record  their  lives.  The  city  streets  are  hard,  yet  with 
a
            little  money  and  a  modicum  of  cunning  one  can endure
            them.  But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  survive  in  the  dark forests
            and  the  ice  and  snow  of  the  boreal  regions  at  the  head of
            the  river. "
               Yama  sighed.  He  was  beginning  to  realize  the magnitude
              of  his  task.  He  said,  "The  world  is  very  large, and
            not  at  0  like  my map."
               "Your  map  must  be  very  old.  Little  has  altered  on Confluence
              since  the  Age  of  Insurrection.  It  is  true  that when
            bloodlines  reach  enlightenment,  the  change  wars  that fol-



                                                          low  usually  destroy  their  city.  But  the  survivors  move on,
                                                          and  there  are  always  prelapsarian  races  to  take  their place,
                                                          and  all  seems  as  it  was  before.  New  cities  are  built upon
                                                          the  old.  But  what  stood  in  those  places  at  the beginning
                                                          of  the  world?  I  would  very  much  like  to  see  this map
                                                          of  yours. "
                                                             "I  left  it  behind  when  I  came  to Ys."
                                                             Yama  told  Eliphas  about  Aeolis,  and  the  peel-house and
                                                          its  library,  and  Eliphas  said  that  he  knew  of  the  library of
                                                          the  Aedile  of Aeolis.
                                                             "I  knew  the  present  librarian,  Zakiel,  before  he was
                                                          disgraced  and  sent  away.  Sometimes  I  envy  his  exile, for
                                                          the  library  has  a  certain  notoriety.  It  is  said  that  an original
                                                          copy  of  the  Puranas  is  lodged there."
                                                             It  was  the  book  that  Zakiel  had  given  Yama  when he
                                                          had  left  Aeolis  for  Ys.  His  heart  turned  over  when he
                                                          realized  the  value  of  the  librarian's  gift.  The  book was
                                                          with  his  satchel  and  the  rest  of  his  belongings  in  the little
                                                          
stone  cell  in  the  House  of  the  Twelve  Front  Rooms, in
                                                          the  Department  of  Vaticination.  He  must  return  there tomorrow
                                                          ,  and  discharge  his  obligation  to  Tamora.  And then
                                                          he  must  flee,  for  he  must  not  be  captured  by  the Department
                                                            of  Indigenous  Affairs.  If  that  happened  he would
                                                          certainly  fall  into  Prefect  Corlin's hands.
                                                             He  said,  "Zakiel  was  one  of  my teachers."
                                                             Eliphas  blew  a  smoke  ring  and  watched  it  widen  in the
                                                          air,  then  sent  a  second,  smaller  smoke  ring spinning
                                                          through  the  fraying  circle  of  the  first.  He  said,  "Then no
                                                          wonder  you  value  knowledge.  With  your permission,
                                                          brother,  I'd  like  to  sleep  now.  We  must  rise  with  the sun
                                                          if  we're  to  get  a  place  at  the carrels.
                                                             Only  one  of  the  Lodge's  dormitories  was  open; clearly,
                                                          the  library  had  seen  greater  use  in  former  times.  But the
                                                          beds,  although  narrow,  were  comfortable,  and  the sheets
                                                          clean.  Eliphas  snored  and  someone  else  in  the dormitory
                                                          talked  in  his  sleep,  but  Yama  had  risen  early  and had
              
faced  death  and  had  walked  many  leagues,  and  he soon
              fell asleep.
                He  woke  in  pitch  darkness.  The  hairs  on  the  back of
              his  neck  and  on  his  forearms  were  prickling  and stirring,
              and  he  was  filled  with  a  feeling  of  unspecific  dread,  as if
              he  had  escaped  the  clutches  of  a  bad dream.
                There  was  a  faint  light  at  the  end  of  the  dormitory. At
              first  Yama  thought  sleepily  that  the  door  was  open, and
              that  it  must  be  morning.  But  then  he  saw  that  the light
              was  vaguely  man-shaped-although  taller  than  most men,
              and  thinner  than  any  living  man  should  be-and worse,
              that  it  was  moving.  It  drifted  like  a  bit  of waterweed
              caught  in  a  current,  or  like  a  candle  flame  dancing  in the
              draft  created  by  its  own  burning.  It  reminded  Yama of
              nothing  so  much  as  the  wispy  lights  that  could sometimes
              be  glimpsed  after  the  river  Breas  had  flooded  the ruins
              outside  the  city  wall  of  Aeolis.  The  Amnan  called those
              apparitions  wights,  and  believed  that  they  would  steal the
              soul  of  any  traveler  they  could  entice  into  their clutches.
              Yama  had  known,  because  Zakiel  had  told  him,  that the
              lights  were  nothing  more  than  pockets  of  marsh  gas which
              kindled  in  the  air  upon  bubbling  to  the  surface  of stagnant
              water;  Zakiel  had  once  made  a  demonstration,  with water
              and  a  bit  of  natrium  in  a  glass  tube.  But  knowing what
              
the  wights  were  did  not  make  them  less  eerie  when they
     ;
              were  seen  flickering  in  the  darkness  of  a  bleak winter's
             night.
                Unlike  a  candle  flame  or  a  marsh  wight,  the burning
              figure  gave  off  no  light  but  that  which  illuminated itself.
    6",       The  long  dormitory  remained  in  shadow,  lit  only  by the
    'P1,
              dim  clusters  of  fireflies  which  clung  to  the  walls above
   N,
              the  beds  where  their  hosts  slept,  but  when  the thing
              stooped  over  the  first  of  the  beds,  the  sleeper's  face was
              immersed  in  its  spectral  light.  The  man  murmured and
   turned  halfway  around,  but  he  did  not  wake.  The thing
              disengaged  itself  and  waved  through  the  dark  to  the next
             bed.
                Yama  discovered  that  he  was  clutching  the  sheet  so hard
              that  his  fingers  had  cramped.  He  remembered  the light



                                                      which  had  burst  through  the  shrine  in  the  temple  of the
                                                      latriatic  cult  and  the  thing  he  had  felt  rushing  toward him
                                                      from  the  depths  of  the  space  within  the  shrine,  and knew
                                                      that  the  apparition  was  searching  for  him.  He  sat  up cautiously
                                                      .  His  fireflies  brightened  before  he  remembered to
                                                      still  them,  but  the  burning  figure  did  not  appear  to notice.
                                                      It  was  bending  toward  the  third  sleeper,  like  a librarian
                                                      patiently  searching  a  shelf  book  by book.
                                                        Yama  put  his  hand  over  Eliphas's  mouth  and  shook the
                                                      old  man  awake.  Eliphas's  silver  eyes  opened  at  once, and
                                                      Yama  pointed  to  the  burning  figure  and  whispered,  "It is
                                                      looking  for me."
                                                        Eliphas  bolted  from  his  bed,  clutching  the  sheet  to his
                                                      skinny  body.  "A  hell-hound,"  he  said  in  a  hoarse whisper.
                                                      "Save  us!  It  is  a hell-hound."
                                                        "It  came  from  a  shrine  further  up  the  mountain,  I think
                                                      it  means  me harm."
                                                        Eliphas  was  staring  at  the  apparition.  His  shoulders were
                                                      shaking.  He  said  
distractedly,  "Mountain?  Yes,  I suppose
                                                      that  the  Palace  would  resemble  a  mountain  to someone
                                                      not  used  to  large buildings."
                                                        "It  stands  between  us and     the  door.  I  think  we should
                                                      wait  for  the guards."
                                                        Another  man's sleeping       face  appeared  in  the hellhound's
                                                        blue  light;  the  man  groaned  horribly,  as  if gripped
                                                      by  a  sudden  nightmare.  Yama  thought  that  everyone here
                                                      would  remember  the  same  dream  when  they woke-and
                                                      then  realized  that  if  the  hell-hound  could  affect men's
                                                      dreams,  then  perhaps  it  could  also  see  into  them. That
                                                      must  be  what  it  was  doing,  browsing  through  the  minds of
                                                      the  sleepers  as  a  scholar  may  browse  in  a  library,  hoping to
                                                      gain  insight  by serendipity.
                                                        Yama  snatched  up  his  shirt  and  the  harness  which held
                                                      his  sheathed  knife,  and  said,  "I  am  going  to  climb through
                                                      one  of  the  windows.  You  can  come  with  me  or  stay, but
                                                      I  would  be  happier  if  you  followed me."
                                                        "Of  course  I'm  coming.  It  is  a hell-hound."
                                                        
Yama  opened  the  shutter  of  the  window  above  his bed
                                                      and  climbed  out  on  to  the  balcony  outside.  When Eliphas
              followed,  clutching  his  clothes, Yama     turned  up  the light
              of  their  fireflies  and  discovered  that  they  were  only  a few
              man-lengths  above  the  mosaic  floor  of  the  courtyard. He
                                                      an
              swung  over  the  rail  of  the balcony,       I  ding  with  a rush
              and  a  shock  but  no harm.
                 Eliphas  let  his  clothes  flutter down   and  followed more
              cautiously,  and  sat  down  after  he had     landed, massaging
              his  knees.  "I  am  an  old  man,"  he  said,  "and  my  days of
              adventuring  are  long  past.  This was       never  part  of the
             bargain."
                 Yama  pulled  on  his  shirt  and  shrugged  the harness
              around  his  shoulders.  "You  do  not  have  to  follow me,"
             h  said.
                 Eliphas  was  pulling  on  his  trousers.  He  looked  up and
              said,  "Of  course  I  will  follow.  I  mean,  I  think  it would
              be  better  if  I  did.  The  hell-hound  is  looking  into  the minds
              of  those  men,  and  some  remember  that  they  saw  you with
              me.  And  if  it  looks  into  my  mind  it  will  find  my conversations
                with  you.  What  might  it  do then?"
                 
"Then  you  had  better  show  me  how  to  reach  the Gate
              of  the  Hierarchs.  I  will  get  us  past  the  guardian.  I have
             no  intention  of  staying here."
                 "I  think  it  would  be  better  if  we  found  Kun  Norbu. He
              will  know  what  to  do.  And  the  guards  are armed."
                 "We  will  return  in  the  morning,"  Yama said.
                 Eliphas  might  have  argued  the  point,  but  a  blue light
              appeared  at  the  balcony  above.  They  both  lost  their nerve
              then  and ran.
   ,
                 The  guardian  of  the  Gate  of  the  Hierarchs  had been
              driven  deep  inside  itself,  and  did  not  notice  when Yama
   i        and   Eliphas  passed  by.  It  was  a  few  hours  before dawn.
              It  was  not  cold,  but  Yama  and  Eliphas  were  soon mantled
             with  dew  after  they  sat  down  to  keep  watch  from  a turn
              of  the  long  flight  of  stairs  high  above  the  library. Yama
              said  that  Eliphas  could  leave  him  as  soon  as  it  grew light,
              but  Eliphas  said  that  he  would  as  soon  stay  with Yama.
                 "I  made  a  contract  with  you,  brother,  and  I  never  let a
              client down."
                 Yama  said,  "You  have  other  clients  before me."



                                                        "I'll  let  you  into  a  secret."  Eliphas  lit  his  pipe. When
                                                      he  drew  on  it,  the  burning  coal  of  tobacco  set  a  spark in
                                                      each  of  his  silvery  eyes.  He  was  calmer  now.  He said,
                                                      "Sometimes,  I  already  know  the  answers  to  the questions
                                                      I  am  sent  to  root  out  of  the  library.  It  would  not  do to
                                                      tell  the  client  that,  though.  It  would  put  the  business of
                                                      the  library  at  risk,  and  my  business,  too.  Besides,  no leech
                                                      will  believe  that  I  know  something  of  his  trade  that he
                                                      himself  does  not.  It  does  not  do  to  sell  the  truth cheaply.
                                                      Instead,  I  enact  a  little  charade.  I  come  here  and gossip
                                                      with  my  friends,  and  a  day  later  I  return  to  my  client and
                                                      give  him,  stamped  and  documented,  the  answer  I could
                                                      have  given  him  straightaway,  if  only  he  trusted  me. The
                                                      library  is  paid,  I  am  paid,  and  the  client  is  pleased with
                                                      his  answer.  That  is  why  I  was  so  happy  to  help  you. It
                                                      gave  me  something  to  do.  Besides,  like  my  friend, Kun
                                                      Norbu,  I  feel  young  again  in  your  presence.  I  had thought
                                                      that  there  were  
no  more  wonders  to  discover  in  the world,
                                                      and  you  have  proved  me wrong."
                                                        Yama  considered  this.  At  last,  he  said,  "The  road I
                                                      travel  may  be  long,  and  it  is  certainly dangerous."
                                                        "Don't  think  that  I  know  only  the  inside  of libraries,
                                                      brother,  and  am  innocent  of  the  world.  I  traveled  much in
                                                      my  younger  days,  searching  for  old  books.  It  took  me to
                                                      some  odd  places.  I  am  an  old  man,  brother.  My  wife is
                                                      dead,  my  daughters  are  married  and  concerned  with their
                                                      own  families,  and  my  only  son  is  fighting  heretics  at the
                                                      midpoint  of  the  world.  Now,  I  am  sure  that  we  can return
                                                      to  the  library  when  it  is  light,  and  find  out  what Kun
                                                      Norbu  has  discovered  about  your  people.  And  after we
                                                      find  the  records  concerning  your  bloodline,  I  will  be happy
                                                      to  help  you  look  for  your  people.  No,  I  will  stay  with you.
                                                      I  will  do  my part."
                                                        "I  have  some  business  to  complete  before  I  can  go and
                                                      look  for  my  people,"  Yama said.
                                                        He  started  to  
tell  Eliphas  about  the  conflict  between the
                                                      Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  and  the  Department of
                                                      Vaticination,  but  he  had  not  got  very  far  when Eliphas
                                                      suddenly  stood  and  said,  "Look!  Look there!"
                  A  cold  blue  light  flared  below.  It  defined  the curtain
               wall  of  the  library  and  several  of  its  slim  towers before
               winking  out.  There  was  the  sound  of  men  shouting  in the
               distance,  and  then  the  iron  voice  of  a  bell,  slow  at first
               but  gathering urgency.
                  Someone  down  there  had  an  energy  pistol.  For  a moment
               ,  an  intense  point  of  light  shone  like  a  fallen  fleck of
               the  sun.  There  was  a  noise  like  that  of  a  gigantic door
               slamming  deep  in  the  keel  of  the  world,  and  the backwash
               of  the  discharge  blossomed  above  the  roofs  and  towers of
               the  library  and  threw  the  shadows  of  Yama  and Eliphas
               far  up  the  long  flight  of  stairs.  The  cold  blue  light kindled
               again.  It  was  smaller  now,  and  seemed  to  be  climbing one
               of  the  towers.  Yama  saw  the  flashes  of  pellet  rifles; the
               sound  of  their  fusillade  was  like  the  crackle  of twigs
               thrown  on  a  fire.  The  mote  of  cold  blue  light dropped
               from  the  side  of  the  tower,  drifting  down  like  a 
leaf.
                  Eliphas  said,  "They  have  killed it!"
                  "I  do  not  think  so.  It  has  discovered  that  I  am  no longer
               where  it  thought  I  would  be.  It  must  have  found  out from
               one  of  the  sleepers  that  I  was  staying  in  the dormitory,
               and  now  it  has  finished  its  search,  or  it  was interrupted."
                  "Brother,  we  both  saw  it fall."
                  "I  do  not  think  it  can  be  killed  by  rifle  fire,  nor even
               by  the  discharge  of  an  energy  pistol.  It  is  not  of this
               world,  Eliphas,  but  of  the  world  men  once  glimpsed in
               the shrines."
                  Yama  remembered  that  the  woman  who  had appeared
               in  the  shrine  of  the  Temple  of  the  Black  Well  had told
               him  that  there  were  dangerous  things  beyond  the bounds
               of  the  garden  she  had  created.  He  was  certain  now that
               the  hell-hound  was  one  of  the  creatures  she  had feared.
                  Eliphas  nodded.  "Accounts  of  the  wars  of  the  Age of
               Insurrection  speak  not  only  of  the  battles  of  men  and machines
               ,  but  of  a  war  in  the  world  within  the  world. The
               priests  claim  that  this  means  that  the  enemy  strove  to con
               quer  men's  souls  as  well  as  their  cities,  but  archivists and
               librarians  know  better.  Hell-hounds  were  weapons  in that
               second front."



                                                          "The  Insuffectionists;  tried  to  destroy  the  avatars, and
                                                       the  link  between  men and     the Preservers."
                                                          Eliphas  nodded  again.  "And  the  heretics succeeded
                                                       where  the Insurrectionists   could  not.  Perhaps  they woke
                                                       the  old weapons."
                                                          "I  fear  that  I  have a     talent  for  drawing  enemies to
                                                       myself.  There!  There  it is  again!
                                                          The  tiny  point  of blue    light  had  appeared  at  the foot
                                                       of  the  dark  wall  of  the  library.  Now  it  began  to ascend
                                                       the stairway.
                                                          Eliphas  knocked  out  his  pipe  on  the  railing  of  the stairs.
                                                       His  fingers  were  trembling  as  he  put  it  away.  "We must
                                                       go  on.  The  hell-hound  travels  slowly,  or  it  would have
                                                       caught  you  long  before  you  reached  the  library,  but  I have
                                                       a  feeling  that  it  does  not rest."
                                                     THE  GAMBLER.
               YAMA  AND  ELIPHAS  reached  the  long  lawn  and  its  fountain just
             as  dawn  began  to  define  the  mountain  ranges  at  the edge
             of  the  city's  wide  plain.  The  library  was  far  below, its
             
towers  ablaze  with  lights,  but  there  was  no  sign  of the
            hell-hound.
                Eliphas  sat  heavily  on  the  wet  grass.  "Perhaps  it has
             lost  us,"  he said.
                "I  do  not  think  so.  It  followed  me  down  to  the library.
             There  is  no  reason  why  it  cannot  follow  me  in  the reverse
             direction.  You  are  tired, Eliphas."
                "I  am  old, brother."
                "And  my  head  aches.  But  we  cannot  stay here."
                Eliphas  slowly  clambered  to  his  feet,  unfolding his
             lanky  body  in  stages.  He  said,  "I'm  sure  we  can  spare a
             few  minutes  before  we  go  on.  I  am  thirsty  as  well as
            tired.
                As  Yama  and  Eliphas  approached  the  ornate fountain
             in  the  center  of  the  lawn,  two  deer  ran  from  it,  white scuts
             bobbing  as  they  disappeared  into  the  darkness. Eliphas
             thrust  his  head  into  a  spout  of  water  that  gushed  from the
             gaping  mouth  of  a  fish;  Yama  drank  from  a  basin shaped
             like  an  oyster  shell  and  splashed  cold  water  on  the back



                                                     of  his  neck.  His  head  wound  had  begun  to  bleed again.
                                                     While  Eliphas  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  fountain's  main basin
                                                     and  lit  his  pipe,  Yama  walked  back  to  the  edge  of the
                                                     lawn.  He  was  anxious  and  tired  and afraid.
                                                       There  was  now  enough  light  in  the  sky  to  make  out the
                                                     various  clusters  of  buildings  which  were  scattered across
                                                     the  long  slope  below.  Yama  could  see  that  the library's
                                                     curtain  wall  had  been  breached-the  adamantine stone
                                                     slumped  like  melted  candle  wax-and  that  its  slim white
                                                     towers  were  licked  with  black  soot.  The  path which
                                                     climbed  through  the  tiers  of  fields  seemed  empty,  and for
                                                     a  moment  his  heart  lifted.  Perhaps  Eliphas  was  right. But
                                                     then  he  saw  a  glimmer  of  cold  blue  light  emerge  from a
                                                     distant  stand  of  sago  palms;  the  hell-hound  came  on  in an
                                                     erratic  dance  like  a  scrap  of  fabric  caught  in  a breeze,
                                                     flitting  from  side  to  side,  but  always  moving upward.
                                                       Yama  ran  back  to  Eliphas,  but  the  old  man shrugged
                                                     phlegmatically  when  
he  heard  the  news  and  was maddeningly
                                                       slow  to  begin  to  move.  Exhaustion  had overcome
                                                     his  fear.  He  knocked  out  his  pipe  on  his  bootheel  and said
                                                     that  there  were  roads  still  in  use,  and  all  led  to  gates to
                                                     the interior.
                                                       "And  where  there  is  a  gate,"  Eliphas  said,  "there will
                                                     be guards.
                                                       "The  guards  of  the  library  could  not  stop  it.  We must
                                                     go,  Eliphas. "
                                                       "Some  guards  are  better  armed  than  others," Eliphas
                                                     said.  He  pressed  the  palms  of  his  hands  over  his silver
                                                     eyes  for  a  moment.  "The  main  part  of  the  Palace has
                                                     always  been  better  defended  than  the  outlying  offices. We
                                                     cannot  run  forever,  brother.  If  we  lead  it  to  them, the
                                                     soldiers  of  Internal  Harmony  will  know  what  to do."
                                                       Yama  did  not  share  Eliphas's  faith  in  this  plan,  but a
                                                     small  hope  was  better  than  no  hope  at  all.  He  said, "If
                                                     we  are  to  try  and  find  some  way  back  into  the mountain,
                                                     then  we  should  turn  aside.  The  monastery  where  I wakened
                                                       it  is  not  far  
above.  I  do  not  want  to  confront the
                                                     shrine  again,  especially  with  that  thing  at  my  back.  I might
               waken  something  worse.  As  it  is,  I  fear  that  the library
               is destroyed."
                   Eliphas  smiled.  "Not  at  all.  What  stands aboveground
              is   only  a  tenth  part  of  the  whole.  The  stacks  and carrels
              of   the  archives  run  far  back  into  the  Palace.  Kun Norbu
               may  be  somewhat  distracted  by  repair  work,  but  he will
               remember  your request."
                   "That  is  suddenly  the  least  of  my  concerns," Yama
              said.
                   They  found  a  narrow  path  at  the  far  end  of  the long
               lawn.  It  wound  along  the  foot  of  a  bluff  from  which a
               cluster  of  square,  white,  windowless  buildings  hung, like
               the  cells  of  a  wasp  nest.  Far  below,  the  hell-hound stopped
               for  a  full  minute,  burning  in  the  midst  of  a  steep  field of
               red  corn,  and  then  suddenly  moved  forward  at  a steady
               pace,  cutting  across  the  field  in  a  straight  line  toward them.
                   They  hurried  on,  passing  between  the  legs  of  a skeletal
               metal  tower  clad  in  a  living  cloak  of  green  vines.  The path
               angled  through  a  thicket  of  bamboo,  and  then  a  little village
                 
was  below,  flat  roofed  houses  of  wicker  and daub
               crowded  around  a  central  square.  Threads  of  smoke rose
               into  the  gray  sky  from  several  of  the  houses.  A cock
               crowed  in  anticipation  of  the  rising sun.
                   Eliphas  stopped  and  bent  over  and  clasped  his knees.
               For  a  while  all  he  could  do  was  breathe  hard.  Yama went
               back  to  the  beginning  of  the  bamboo  thicket  to  look for
               the  hell-hound,  then  returned  to  Eliphas,  who  slowly unbent
                 and  said,  "We  must  go  through  the  village.  If the
               hell-hound  follows,  the  villagers  will  try  and  stop it."
                   "Will  they  be  better  armed  than  the  library guards?"
                   Eliphas  shook  his  head.  Sweat  beaded  his  smooth black
               skin.  He  dabbed  at  his  brow  with  the  back  of  his  hand and
               said  wearily,  "They  are  husbandmen  who  till  the  fields on
               this  part  of  the  Palace  roof.  They  will  have  axes and
               scythes,  perhaps  a  few  muskets.  They  will  not  be  able to
               stop  it,  but  they  might  slow  it  down  so  we  can make
               our escape."
                   "No,  I  will  not  risk  their  lives.  We  cannot  wait here,
               Eliphas.  Remember  that  the  hell-hound  does  not rest."



                                                        Eliphas  waved  a  hand  in  front  of  his  face,  as  if Yama's
                                                     words  were  flies  that  could  be  brushed  away.  "A moment,
                                                     a  moment  more,  and  I  will  be  able  to  go  on. Listen,
                                                     brother.  The  quickest  way  to  the  nearest  gate  will  take us
                                                     through  the  village.  The  husbandmen  take  their produce
                                                     to  the  gates.  That's  where  they  sell  it  to  merchants from
                                                     the  day  markets.  Don't  spare  a  thought  for  them.  They are
                                                     indigens  whose  ancestors  colonized  the  ruined  parts  of the
                                                     Palace  ten  thousand  years  ago.  They  are  animals, brother,
                                                     of  no  more  importance  than  the  sacred  monkeys  of the
                                                     outer  temples.  Less  so,  in  fact,  since  priests  and sacerdotes
                                                     care  for  the  monkeys  that  live  in  their  monasteries and
                                                     temples,  but  no  one  cares  for  the  husbandmen.  They are
                                                     tolerated  only  because  they  supply  the  day  markets with
                                                     fresh  produce.  We'll  go  through  their  village,  eh?  It will
                                                     delay  the  hell-hound  a little."
                                                        Yama  remembered  the  fisherman,  Caphis,  who had
                                                     saved  his  life  after  
he  had  escaped  from  Dr.  Dismas and
                                                     the  young  warlord,  Enobarbus.  He  said,  "Even  if  the indigenous
                                                       peoples  cannot  transcend  their  animal origins,
                                                     still  they  are  something  more  than  animals,  I  think.  I will
                                                     not  risk  their  lives  to  save  mine."  He  pointed  to  the teraced
                                                        rice  paddies  that  stepped  away  below  the  next bluff.
                                                      'There  is  a  path  that  descends  beside  those  fields.  We can
                                                     follow  it.  Eliphas,  if  you  wish  to,  leave  me  now. Go
                                                     through  the  village.  The  hell-hound  will  not  follow you."
                                                        "I  made  a  bargain,"  the  old  man  said.  "Maybe  a bad
                                                     one,  but  it  might  still  pay  off.  Lead  on,  brother, although
                                                     I  fear  your  scruples  will  help  the  villagers  more  than they
                                                     will  help us."
                                                        The  sun  had  begun  to  rise  above  the  distant mountains
                                                     when  Yama  and  Eliphas  reached  the  steep  ladder  of steps
                                                     beside  the  terraced  rice  fields.  The  narrow  steps  were worn
                                                     by  the  tread  of  a  thousand  generations  of husbandmen,
                                                     and  slippery  with  seepage  from  the  flooded  paddies. Ferns
                                                     grew  in  cracks  between  
the  steps,  and  bright  green mosses
                                                     made  the  way  more  slippery still.
                                                        Despite  their  fearful  haste,  Yama  paused  at  a wayside
                                                     shrine.  Take  this  burden  from  me,  he  prayed,  as  he had
               prayed  so  often  before,  meaning,  make  me  ordinary, make
               me  no more  than  other  men.  Save  me  from myself.
                 The  rice  paddies  were  narrow  and  long,  curved  to follow
               the  contour  of  the  hillside  and  dammed  with  stout ramparts
               of  compacted  earth  wide  enough  for  two  water  buffalo to
               walk  abreast.  Freshly  planted  seedlings  made  a  haze of
               green  over  the calm  brown  water  that  flooded  them; the
               ripe  smell  of  ordure  reminded  Yama  of  the  flooded fields
               around  Aeolis;  at  another  time  it  would  have  eased his
              heart.
                 When  he  suggested  that  the  rice  paddies  might have
               been  here  before  the  Palace  had  been  built, Eliphas
               laughed  and  said  that  it  was  impossible.  "Even  now, we
               step  on  the  roof  of  the  Palace  itselL  The  indigens who
               tend  the  fields  or  hunt  the  wild  animals  here  are  like the
               birds  or  mice  which  colonize  the  older  habitations  of man.
               
It  would  have  meant  nothing  to  have  gone  through the
               village, brother."
                   'It  would  have  meant  something  to me."
                 After  they  had  descended  a  while  in  silence,  Eliphas said,
               "This  part  of  the  Palace  was  ruined  in  the  last  war  of the
               Age  of  Insurrection,  and  has  never  been  properly rebuilt.
               If  you  were  to  dig  deep  enough,  you  would  find  rock fused
               like  glass,  and  then  rubble,  and  then  rooms  and corridors
              wrecked  and  abandoned  ten  thousand  years  ago. Because
               this  side  of  the  Palace  faces  the  Rim  Mountains,  and  is in
               sunlight  for  most  of  the  day,  it  is  favored  for cultivation."
               Eliphas  laid  one  hand  on  the  small  of  his  back.  "I am
               sorry,  brother,  but  I  must  rest  again.  Only  for  a moment."
                 Each  time  Eliphas  stopped  to  catch  his  breath, Yama
               anxiously  looked  back  at  the  path  they  had  taken,  but by
               good  fortune  they  managed  to  reach  the  bottom  of the
  -         long  ladder  of  steps  before  the  hell-hound  finally appeared.
                 White  cockatoos  rose  into  the  blue  sky,  screeching in
               alarm.  A  moment  later  the  hell-hound  burst  out  of the
               thicket  of  bamboo  above  the  terraced  rice  paddies.  Like a
               whirlwind  or  dust  devil,  it  threw  clouds  of  dust  and scraps
               of  foliage  into  the  air  as  it  moved  forward.  It  seemed just
               as  bright  in  daylight  as  at  night,  like  a  bit  of  
sky fallen



                                                        to  earth  and  roughly  shaped  into  a  tall,  skeletal  man. It
                                                        started  toward  the  village,  but  quickly  returned  to  the path,
                                                        and  came  on steadily.
                                                          Yama  and  Eliphas  ran  down  a  dusty  track  between the
                                                        steep  bank  of  the  bottommost  rice  paddy  and  the margin
                                                        of  a  sloping  field  of  melon  vines.  They  splashed  across a
                                                        stream  and  ran  through  a  belt  of  eucalyptus  trees, scattering
                                                          a  herd  of  small  black  pigs,  and  ran  on  until Eliphas
                                                        tripped  and  fell  headlong  in  the dust.
                                                          At  first  Eliphas  could  not  get  up,  and  when  Yama finally
                                                        hauled  him  to  his  feet  he  said  that  he  could  not  run any
                                                        more.  They  were  on  a  long  downward  slope  with  tall grass
                                                        on  either  side  of  the  path.  A  chorus  of  crickets  was beginning
                                                          to  whistle,  woken  by  the  early  morning warmth.
                                                          "Leave  me,"  Eliphas  said.  He  was  trembling  and his
                                                        silver  eyes  were  half-closed.  He  could  not  get  his breath.
                                                        "Leave  me,  brother,  and  save  yourself.  I  will  find you
                                                        again,  if  we  both live."
                                                          
The  slender  eucalyptus  trees  at  the  top  of  the slope
                                                        stirred  and  shook  as  if  caught  in  a  localized  gale.  A horrible
                                                          squealing  went  up  and  black  pigs  pelted  out  of the
                                                        trees.  The  hell-hound  appeared  behind  them,  blazing like
                                                        a  piece  of  the  sun  caught  in  blue  glass.  It  seemed  to have
                                                        grown  taller  and  thinner,  as  if  the  glass,  melting,  was being
                                                        pulled  apart  by  its  own  weight.  Veils  of  dust  and leaves
                                                        whirled  up  around  it.  At  first  it  seemed  confused  by the
                                                        pigs  and  made  short,  swift  dashes  after  one  or  another of
                                                        them.  Most  of  the  pigs  scattered  into  the  tall  grass,  but a
                                                        few  ran  in  circles,  dazed  by  the  brilliant  light,  and finally
                                                        the  hell-hound  pounced  on  the  smallest.  The  hapless pig
                                                        flew  up  as  if  it  weighed  no  more  than  a  dead  leaf, was
                                                        dashed  to  the  ground,  and  lay  still.  As  if  excited  by this,
                                                        the  hell-hound  whirled  in  wider  circles.  It  swept through
                                                        the  tall  dry  grasses,  which  immediately  caught  fire  with a
                                                        sullen  crackling,  then  steadied  and  came  on  down  the path
                                                        toward  Yama  and Eliphas.
                                                          
Yama  got  a  shoulder  under  Eliphas's  arm  and  they staggered
                                                          down  the  path  to  the  edge  of  a  steep embankment.
                                                        Directly  below  was  a  broad  road  crowded  with  carts drawn
              b  bullocks  or  water  buffaloes,  camels  laden  with hessiany               
              wrapped  packs,  and  women  and  men  walking  with bundles
   n4         or  clay  pots  balanced  on  their  heads.  Carts  and  camels and
              people  were  all  moving  downhill  toward  the  high, square
              entrance  of  a  tunnel  in  the  side  of  the slope.
                As  Yama  and  Eliphas  staggered  down  the embankment,
              people  shrieked  and  shrank  away.  Yama  glanced  over his
              shoulder.  The  hell-hound  had  appeared  behind  them, buming
                brightly  against  a  reef  of  white  smoke.  Yama shouted
              in  despair  and  pulled  Eliphas  behind  a  cart  piled  high with
                   watermelons.  All  around,  men  and  women  screamed as
              the  hell-hound  swept  down  the  embankment.  A bullock
              bolted,  bawling  with  fear,  and  its  cart  overturned, spilling
              hands  of  red  bananas.  A  flock  of  moas  ran  in circles,
              screeching  wildly  and  kicking  up  dust.  The hell-hound
              plunged  amongst  the  birds,  rearing  back  and  forth  as if
             maddened.
                Yama  and  Eliphas  were  swept  along  in  the  midst  of the
              panicking  crowd  into  the  darkness  of  the  tunnel, brick
              walls  doubling  and  redoubling  the  shouts  and  screams of
              men  and  women  and  the  bawling  of  animals,  then  into a
              huge  underground  chamber.  Like  a  breaking  wave, the
              
crowd  washed  against  loading  bays  where  laborers were
              unloading  and  weighing  produce  and  clerks  were handing
              out  tallies  to husbandmen.
                Yama  and  Eliphas  were  halfway  across  the  wide chamber
                when  the  flock  of  moas  stampeded  out  of  the tunnel,
              the  hell-hound  burning  in  their  midst.  People screamed
              and  dropped  baskets  and  packages  and  ran  in  every direction
              ,  and  a  pentad  of  guards  came  out  of  a  tall narrow
              gate.  The  guards  wore  half  armor  and  carried  slug rifles
              which  they  began  to  fire  as  they  ran  toward  the hellhound
              .  Wounded  moas  fell  to  the  ground,  kicking with
              their  strong,  scaly  legs.  Ricocheting  slugs  whooped and
              rang,  knocking  dust  and  brick  fragments  from  the ground
              all  around  the  hell-hound  as  it  stretched  and  bent  this way
              and  that,  and  finally  fixed  on  Yama  and Eliphas.
                Eliphas  wailed  and  sank  to  his  knees,  his  arms wrapped
              over  his  head.  Yama  held  up  the  ceramic  coin  in  one hand



                                                       and  his  long  knife  in  the  other,  and  slowly  backed away
                                                       from  the  hell-hound.  It  had  elongated  to  four  or  five times
                                                       the  height  of  a  man  and  shone  so  brightly  that  he could
                                                       only  squint  at  it  through  half-closed  eyes.  It  made  a horrible
                                                         high-pitched  hiss  as  it  sinuously  advanced  toward him,
                                                       gouging  a  smoking  trench  in  the  brick  floor.  Its heat
                                                       parched  his  skin.  The  guards  kept  up  a  steady  rate  of fire,
                                                       but  the  fusillade  merely  kicked  up  shards  of  brick around
                                                       the  hell-hound  or  passed  through  it  as  if  it  was  no more
                                                       than  light-and  perhaps  it  was  no  more  than  light, light
                                                       bent  into itself
                                                          Yama  backed  into  a  stack  of  baskets  of  live chickens.
                                                       He  slashed  the  baskets  open  and  kicked  them  toward the
                                                       hell-hound.  The  thing  stopped  and  bent  in  a  half  circle as
                                                       panicked  chickens  scattered  around  it,  but  then  it straightened
                                                         and  fixed  on  Yama.  again.  He  tried  again  to command
                                                       it  to  halt,  but  he  might  as  well  have  tried  to  snuff  a furnace
                                                       by  pure  will.  He  was  aware  of  a  number  of  small machines
                                                       
in  the  chamber,  but  he  could  no  more  hurl  them  at the
                                                       hell-hound  than  he  could  have  endangered  the village.
                                                          People  were  fighting  to  get  through  the  gate;  no escape
                                                       there.  Yama  stepped  backward  as  the  hell-hound swayed
                                                       toward  him,  watched  by  laborers  and  husbandmen hiding
                                                       amongst  wagons  and  carts.  Eliphas  called  out. Yama
                                                       risked  glancing  around  and  saw  that  the  old  man was
                                                       standing  on  top  of  an  overturned  cart.  A  man  jumped up
                                                       beside  Eliphas;  Yama  recognized  the  gambler  who had
                                                       been  playing  the  shell  game  outside  the  bawdy house.
                                                          "This  way,  brother,"  Eliphas  called,  and  the gambler
                                                       shouted,  "Come  with  me  if  you  want  to live!"
                                                          Yama.  turned  and  ran,  and  knew  by  the  screams  of the
                                                       people  all  around  that  the  hell-hound  had  started  after him.
                                                       He  dodged  around  the  cart  and  for  a  moment  thought that
                                                       Eliphas  and  the  gambler  had  vanished.  No,  they had
                                                       ducked  through  a  little  round  hole  in  the  wall. Yama's
                                                       shadow  was  thrown  ahead  of  him,  and  he  ran  to  meet its
                                                       
dwindling  apex.  Fierce  heat  and  light  beat  at  his  back as
                                                       he  scrambled  through  the  low  opening,  and  then something
                                                       fell  with  a  clang  behind  him  and  he  was  in darkness.
                                THE  KING  OF  THE (ORRIDORS
               MOM[NIS  AITIR  IT  had  fallen  into  place  behind  Yama the
               hatch  rang  with  a  pure,  deep  note  and  a  smell  of scorched
               metal  began  to  fill  the  narrow  space  in  which  he stood,
               pressed  close  to  Eliphas  and  the gambler.
                  "Put  up  your  knife,  dominie,"  the  gambler said.
               "You're  with  friends  here.  Follow  me,  follow  me now.
               The  hatch  is  crystalline  iron,  but  it  won't  hold  for long."
                  The  gambler's  stiff  red  coxcomb,  with  its  single dim
               firefly,  brushed  the  low  ceiling.  He  wore  bright  red leggings
                 and  a  baggy  black  shirt  that  came  to  his knees.
               He  had  a  pungent  but  not  unpleasant  odor,  like  that  of a
               wet dog.
                  "I  am  at  your  service,"  Yama  said.  His  blood  was still
               thrilling  from  the  near  escape.  When  Eliphas  took  his arm,
              he  realized  that  he  was  trembling  so  much  that  he could
               hardly stand.
                  "It  is  my  turn  to  help  you,  brother,"  Eliphas  said, and
               put  his  shoulder  under  Yama's  arm  to  support  him  
as they
               followed  the  gambler  down  the tunnel.
                  Yama  said,  "What  is  this place?"
                  "The  service  corridors,"  Eliphas  said.  "They're supposed
                 to  run  through  every  part  of  the  Palace,  even  to the



                                                   offices  of  the  Hierarchs.  But  there  are  no  maps  to their
                                                   maze,  and  few  use  them now."
                                                      The  gambler  glanced  at  them  over  his  shoulder. His
                                                   long  pale  face  gleamed  in  the  combined  light  of  their fireflies
                                                   .  He  said,  "Most  of  that's  true,  but  more  use these
                                                   corridors  than  you  might  reckon,  and  not  everything has
                                                   been  forgotten.  Speaking  of  which,  do  you remember
                                                   me, dominie?"
                                                      "You  were  playing  the  shell  game  yesterday.  You were
                                                   wearing  a  silver  shirt then."
                                                      "You're  as  sharp  as  they  say  you  are,"  the gambler
                                                   said.  "I'm  Magon,  and  I'm  here  to  help  you.  We've been
                                                   on  the  lookout  for  you,  dominie.  You  ran  the  wrong way
                                                   yesterday,  and  it's  my  luck  to  have  found  you  again. Do
                                                   you  know  what  it  is  that  you  wakened?  You  did  wake it,
                                                   didn't you?"
                                                      "Yes.  Yes,  I  did.  It  was  in  a shrine."
                                                      "In  the  temple  of  a  latriatic  cult?  We  hadn't thought
                                                   that  one  was  still  
functional-well,  it  isn't  functional now,
                                                   of  course.  The  shrine  was  destroyed  when  the hell-hound
                                                   broke  through. "
                                                      Yama  touched  the  coin  that  hung  at  his  chest.  The gambler
                                                   ,  Magon,  saw  the  gesture,  and  said,  "That  won't help
                                                   you,  dominie.  It  isn't  a charm."
                                                      "I  was  wondering  if  it  had  woken  the thing."
                                                      The  woman  in  the  shrine  of  the  Temple  of  the Black
                                                   Well  had  said  that  the  coin  had  drawn  her  to him.
                                                      Magon  said,  "You  did  that  yourself,  I reckon.      Lucky
                                                   you  were  brought  up  where  you  were,  in  the City        of the
                                                   Dead,  and  not  in  Ys.  There  are  too  many shrines        in Ys,
                                                   and  more  remain  functional  than  most  folk think.       If you
                                                   had  been  brought  up  in  Ys,  it  is  likely  that  a hell-hound
                                                   would  have  scented  you  before  you  were  ready  for  it. But
                                                   that  would  be  a  different  world,  and  I  wouldn't  have the
                                                   good  fortune  of  talking  with  you  here  and now."
                                                      "You  seem  to  know  a  lot  about  me,"  Yama said.
                                                      "Lucky  for  you  that  
I  do,"  Magon  said jauntily.
                                                      "And  you  know  about  the hell-hound."
                                                      "A  little, dominie."
                 "It  seemed  to  be  made  of  light,"  Yama said.
                 "Something  very  like  it,"  Eliphas  said,  eager  to explain
               something  he  understood.  "Light  is  only  matter  in another
               forrii,  and  it  can  be  bound  for  a  while.  If  we  can keep
               away  from  it,  brother,  the  hell-hound  will  collapse when
               its  binding  energy  sinks  below  a  certain  level,  or  it will
               find  a  functioning  shrine  and  upload  itself  and  return to
               the  place  for  which  shrines  are  windows.  They  are terrible
               things.  They  can  live  in  the  space  inside  the  shrines, and
               in  our  world,  too.  They  pass  through  our  world  from one
               shrine  to  another  like  an  arrow  through  air,  if  an arrow
               could  make  itself  into  air  in  its  flight  and  remake itself
               when  it  hits  its  target.  They  were  sent  after avatars,
              originally.
                 Yama  said,  "And  this  one  came  for me."
                 "That  was  bad  luck,  and  not  just  for  you,"  Magon said.
               "It  must  have  been  bound  in  the  shrine.  No  doubt that's
               why  the  monastery  was  built  around  the  shrine.  It's all
               
too  easy  to  mistake  the  stirring  of  a  hell-hound  for the
               intimation  of  an  avatar.  Those  poor  monks,  praying for
               thousands  of  years  to  a  weapon  of  their  enemies! There's
               irony  for  you,  eh,  dominie?  Well,  they'll  worship the
               shrine  no  longer.  The  hell-hound  stole  the  residue  of the
               shrine's  potential  energy  when  it manifested."
                 "It  seemed  to  grow  stronger  in  sunlight,"  Yama said.
               He  had  the  horrible  thought  that  whoever  had  fired  at the
               hell-hound  with  a  pistol  would  have  fed  its  strength. He
               added,  "Perhaps  darkness  would  kill it."
                 "It  was  never  alive,"  Magon  said,  "So  killing and
               dying  don't apply."
                 Eliphas  said,  "Even  in  sunlight  it  loses  binding energy.
               Sunlight's  energy  is  too  dilute  to  sustain  it,  just  as we
               would  gasp  for  air  at  the  peaks  of  the  Rim  Mountains. I
               imagine  that  it  is  imprinted  on  you,  brother.  It  will follow
               as  long  as  it  can.  We  must  escape it."
                 Magon  said,  "It's  a  terrible  thing,  but  it's  old  and easily
 4r            confused.  If  we're  lucky  it  will  give  up,  or  lose  track or
               memory  of  you,  and  dissipate  when  its  binding energy
               drops  below  a  sustainable level."



                                                        "We  have  had  little  in  the  way  of  luck  so  far," Yama
                                                     said.  "I  think  that  I  will  have  to  find  a  way  of destroying
                                                      it."
                                                        "As  for  that,"  Magon  said,  "some  ways  are  better than
                                                     others,  as  the  fox  said  to  the  hen  lost  in  the  forest. We'll
                                                     go  through  here.  Don't  worry  about  the  water.  It's  dry on
                                                     the  other side."
                                                        They  had  reached  the  base  of  a  kind  of  well  or shaft.
                                                     A  patch  of  pale  daylight  showed  high  above  and  a sheet
                                                     of  water  fell  down  one  side  and  drained  away through
                                                     grids  in  the  floor.  Behind  the  water  three  corridors radiated
                                                     away  at  sixty  degrees  to  each  other.  Magon plunged
                                                     through  the  water  and  trotted  down  the  middle corridor.
                                                     When  Yama  and  Eliphas  followed-the  water  was as
                                                     warm  as  soup-they  found  the  gambler  waiting  at the
                                                     other  end,  where  a  slim  metal  bridge  arched  across  a narrow
                                                     ,  half-flooded  cavern.  Green  lights  flickered  deep beneath
                                                       the  water.  Waves  clashed  and  broke  against  the stone
                                                     walls,  casting  shivering  
shadows  on  the  arched ceiling.
                                                        Magon  stepped  quickly  and  lightly  across  the bridge's
                                                     span  and  turned  at  the  other  side  and  beckoned  to Yama
                                                     and  Eliphas.  As  he  crossed,  Yama  saw  shapes move
                                                     swiftly  just  beneath  the  water's  restless  surface, things
                                                     with  sleek,  arrowhead-shaped  bodies  that  ended  in knots
                                                     of  long,  twining  limbs:  creatures  like  the  polyps which
                                                     swarmed  in  the  river  at  midsummer,  but  grown  to  the size
                                                     of  a man.
                                                        Eliphas  saw  them  too.  He  grasped  the  rail  of  the bridge
                                                     and  looked  down  into  the  water  and  said,  "There  are more
                                                     things  forgotten  in  the  Palace  than  anyone  could  dream of
                                                     in  a  lifetime  of sleep."
                                                        "Not  forgotten  by  everyone,"  Magon  called  from the
                                                     other  end  of  the  bridge.  "They  come  up  from  the Great
                                                     River  through  flooded  passages  beneath  the  streets  of the
                                                     city.  Lupe  says  they  might  have  had  a  purpose  once upon
                                                     a  time,  but  that's  long  forgotten.  They  come  here  by habit
                                                     now."  He  told  Yama,  
"We  should  press  on, dominie.
                                                     Lupe  is  eager  to  meet you."
                                                        Eliphas  said,  "Begging  your  pardon,  Magon,  but  I al-
              ways  understood  that  no  one  lives  inside  the  walls  of the
              Palace  but  thieves  and cutthroats."
                 Magon  flashed  his  crooked  smile  and  said,  "Their kind
              doesn't  last  long.  We  see  to  that.  It  isn't  far  now,  I promise
              .  Lupe  is  waiting  for  you,  dominie,  and  your  friend is
              welcome  too.  We  know him."
                 "You  know  everyone,  it  seems,"  Yama  said.  He leaned
              beside  Eliphas.  Below,  the  reflected  stars  of  his  crown of
              fireflies  were  drawn  apart  and  flung  back  together  on the
              shivering  surface  of  the  water.  The  sleek  shapes  were gathering
                beneath  the  bridge.  Their  bodies  were  limned by
              patches  and  dots  and  lines  of  green  luminescence. Something
                like  a  snake  rose  up,  a  pale,  glistening  rope that
              sinuously  elongated  in  the  air.  It  caught  hold  of  the middle
              of  the  bridge's  high  arch  for  a  moment,  then  fell back.
                 Magon  said,  "It  isn't  safe  to  tarry  here, dominie."
              There  was  a  note  of  pleading  in  his  voice now.
                 Yama  did  not  trust  the  gambler.  His  ready  smile and
              quick  wit  seemed  assumed,  a  mask,  an  act.  He  said, "Before
                
we  move  on,  Magon,  tell  me  how  you  know  who I
              am.  It  is  not  just  because  I  saw  through  your  sleight of
              hand,  is it?"
 -Xc              agon  said,  "Of  course  not.  Please,  dominie,  we must
                M
              go.  You  don't  know  the  dangers  here."  His  calm, knowing
              pose  had  dissolved.  His  hands  writhed  in  a  knot before
              his  chest.  "You  shouldn't  play  with  poor  Magon. Lupe
              can  answer  your  questions.  I  am  to  take  you  to  him at
             once.
                 "You  are  not  a  gambler  at  all,  are  you?  That  is  just a
              cover  for  what  you  really  are.  So,  who  are  you?  And why
              do  you  know  so  much  about me?"
                 There  was  a  loud  splash  out  in  the  darkness,  as  if something
                big  had  lifted  itself  out  of  the  water  and  fallen back.
                 Magon's  left  hand  darted  to  his  hip,  where something
              made  a  shape  under  his  loose  shirt.  He  said,  "Lupe said
              to  bring  you  direct,  and  you  want  me  to  answer your
 !t         questions.  I've  tried  to  do  my  best,  but  I  can't  do both,
             dominie."
                 Eliphas  told  Magon,  "Keep  your  hand  away  from your



                                                  side,  brother.  You've  something  hidden  there-a  knife in
                                                  your  belt,  most  likely,  and  no  doubt  there's  another in
                                                  your  boot.  I  know  those  footpad tricks."
                                                     Yama  said,  "How  long  have  your  people  been watching
                                                   me?"
                                                     "You  were  supposed  to  go  to  the  Department  of Indigenous
                                                    Affairs,  but  your  escort  arrived  without  you. That's
                                                  when  we  started  looking,  but  we  didn't  catch  sight  of you
                                                  until  after  you  called  down  the  feral machine."
                                                     "My  escort?  You  mean  Prefect Corin?"
                                                     For  a  moment,  Yama  thought  that  Magon  was  in league
                                                  with  the Prefect.
                                                     "I  wouldn't  know  his  name,"  the  gambler  said, "but
                                                  someone  in  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs isn't
                                                  happy  he  lost  track  of  you.  He'll  be  searching  for you
                                                  hard,  now  you've  been  spotted  in  the  Palace.  We'll make
                                                  sure  you're  safe, dominie."
                                                     Magon  did  not  meet  Yama's  gaze  as  he  answered these
                                                  questions,  but  looked  from  side  to  side  as  things splashed
                                                  
in  the  darkness  on  either  side  of  the  bridge's  span. When
                                                  a  nest  of  pale  tentacles  rose  from  the  water  directly beneath
                                                    the  bridge,  he  gave  a  cry  and  took  a  step backward.
                                                     Yama  said,  "I  will  not  go  with  you  until  you have
                                                  answered  all  my  questions.  How  long  have  your people
                                                  been  looking  for me?"
                                                     "When  you  fought  the  thing  in  the  Temple  of  the Black
                                                  Well,  we  knew  for  sure.  Lupe  said  that  you  were  the one
                                                  foretold.  You  don't  have  to  worry  about  the  little interdepartmental
                                                    dispute  you've  become  involved  with, dominie
                                                  .  We'll  always  be  here  to  see  you right."
                                                     "And  my friends?"
                                                     Out  in  the  darkness  beyond  the  bridge,  something huge
                                                  surfaced  with  a  loud  splash.  Big  waves  clashed beneath
                                                  the  bridge;  spray  wet  the  walls  of  the chamber.
                                                     Magon  said,  the  note  of  pleading  in  his  voice stronger
                                                  now.  "Dominie,  you'll  have  to  ask  Lupe  these questions.
                                                  That's  why  I'm  to  bring  you  to  him.  Truly,  it  is not
                                                 safe-"
                                                     Yama  said,  "This  
is  not  the  first  time  I  have  met people
                  who  claim  more  for  me  than  I  would  ever  claim  for myself
                    And  I  have  business  elsewhere today."
                  This  was  the  day  that  the  Department  of Vaticination
                  opened  its  doors  for  public  inquisition  of  its pythonesses.
                 It  was  the  day  of  the  assassination  plot,  in  which, Yama
                  suspected,  Brabant,  the  servant  with  the  keys  to  the kitchens
                    of  the  House  of  Twelve  Front  Rooms,  was Prefect
                  Corin's  agent,  doing  double  duty  after  he  had  led Yama
                  to  the  Prefect.  Yama  still  did  not  know  who  was  the target
                  of  the  plot,  but  that  did  not  matter  as  long  as Brabant
                  was unmasked.
                  "You'll  have  to  talk  with  Lupe,  dominie.  Please,  I really
                  am  no  more  than  a  player  o  games.  We  re  a at               e
                   ice  of  the  workers  in  the  Palace,  and  that's  how  I make
  ,            serv
                 my  living.  You  might  say  that  if  we  had  a  department, it
                  would  be  the  oldest  of all."
  '
                  Eliphas  caught  Yama's  arm  and  whispered,  "I  know his
                  kind  now.  Thieves  and  cutthroats,  brother,  no  better than
                  the husbandmen."
                  Yama  whispered  back,  "Unless  you  know  the  way out,
                  
we  have  no  choice  but  to  follow him."
                  Magon  cocked  his  head,  his  eyes  bright  as  he looked
                  from  Eliphas  to  Yama.  He  said,  "You  don't  trust  me, and
                 I guess  that  if  I  was  in  your  position  I'd  feel  the  same. I
                  don't  have  the  answers  you  want,  dominie.  I'm  just here
                  to  bring  you  to  Lupe.  Lupe  will  answer  your questions.
                  We  must  leave  here.  The  hell-hound  is  still  at  your back,
                  and  the  big  fish  get  restless  after  a  while,  and  start questing
                  about  with  their  arms  to  see  if  they  can  catch  you. We-Blue
                    light  was  suddenly  reflected  in  Magon's eyes.
                  Yama  turned.  The  hell-hound  stood  at  the  end  of the
                  bridge.  It  was  smaller  now,  but  burned  as  brightly  as ever.
                  Yama  unsheathed  his  knife.  Its  curved  blade  kindled with
                  blue  flame,  as  if  to  challenge  the  hell-hound's unworldly
                 light.
                  The  hell-hound  slid  forward,  elongating  through black
                  air  as  it  climbed  the  arch  of  the  narrow  bridge.  Yama and
                  Eliphas  retreated  step  by  step.  They  had  scarcely reached
                  the  far  end  when  something  hit  the  underside  of  the bridge



                                                       so  hard  that  it  hummed  like  a  plucked  string.  Magon and
                                                       Eliphas  screamed.  Nests  of  pale  tendrils  rose  up  on either
                                                       side  of  the  bridge's  arch,  slithering  around  the slender
                                                       railings.  The  hell-hound  stopped,  bending  back  and forth
                                                       as  more  tentacles  quested  up  out  of  the water.
                                                         Yama  guessed  that  there  must  be  a  decad  or  more of
                                                       the  giant  polyps  beneath  the  bridge.  The  undersides  of the
                                                       tentacles  bore  rows  of  fleshy  suckers  which  stuck  and unstuck
                                                         to  the  metal  span  with  wet  noises;  their  ends were
                                                       frayed  into  feathery  palps  which  continually  tasted  the air.
                                                       Then  the  water  under  the  bridge  boiled  and  the  forest of
                                                       tentacles  which  gripped  the  railings  tensed.  The bridge
                                                       groaned  but  held,  and  the  tentacles  coiled  more  tightly and
                                                       tensed  again,  quivering  with  effort.  One  of  the  giant polyps
                                                       was  half-lifted  out  of  the  water.  Under  its  white  mantle, a
                                                       huge  blue  eye  with  a  golden  pupil  revolved  and  fixed its
                                                       gaze  on Yama.
                                                         The  bridge  groaned  again  and  then  the  central section
                                                       
gave  way  with  a  sudden  sharp  crack  that  echoed  and reechoed
                                                         from  the  cavern's  wet  walls.  On  the  other  side of
                                                       the  broken  bridge,  the  hell-hound  flared  brilliantly and
                                                       whirled  around  and  fled  into  the  tunnel,  and  Yama and
                                                       Eliphas cheered.
                                                         The  water  boiled  with  activity.  Green  lights  flashed furiously
                                                         under  its  foaming  surface.  One,  then  another, then
                                                       two  more:  the  great  polyps  lifted  the  edges  of  their mantles
                                                       out  of  the  water  and  stared  at  Yama.  Eliphas  and Magon
                                                       shouted  in  alarm,  but  Yama,  guessing  wildly,  lifted the
                                                       coin  from  his  shirt  and  held  it  up.  Satisfied,  the polyps
                                                       sank  back  one  by  one.  The  water  boiled  up  once more
                                                       and  then  darkened  as  the  living  lights  beneath  its surface
                                                       faded away.
                                                         "Nothing  will  follow  us  now,"  Yama said.
                                                         "The  hell-hound  will  find  another  way  to  follow you,"
                                                       Magon  said.  "That's  what  it  does."  He  was  very scared,
                                                       but  he  had  stood  firm,  and  Yama  liked  him  better  for that.
                                                         Eliphas  took  a  deep,  trembling  breath,  then another.
                                                       
"Lead  on,  brother.  And  remember  we  trust  you only
                                                       slightly  more  than  we  trust  your  fishy friends."
               The  narrow  corridor  which  led  away  from  the flooded
            cavern  was  circular  in  cross-section  and  lined  with fused
            rock  that  dully  reflected  the  lights  of  the  fireflies  of Yama
            and  Eliphas.  As  it  rose  and  turned,  Yama  was  certain that
            its  gravity  changed  direction,  too,  so  that  they  were no
            longer  walking  on  its  floor  but  along  its  wall,  rising vertically
              through  the  heart  of  the  mountain. Occasionally,
            other  corridors  opened  to  either  side  and  above;  gusts of
            warm  air  blew  from  these  openings,  sometimes bringing
            the  sound  of  distant machinery.
               Magon  soon  regained  his  jaunty  confidence,  and boasted
            that  these  were  the  old  skyways  which  only  his people
           knew.
               "You  might  say  that  there's  a  Palace  within  a Palace,
            each  twined  around  the  other  like  a  vine  around  a tree
            until  you  can't  tell  whether  the  tree  is  holding  up  the vine,
            or  the  vine  the  tree.  We  were  here  from  the beginning.
            Departments  come  and  go.  They  fight  each  other  and are
            destroyed  or  absorbed,  yet  we  are  still  here.  We  will be
            here  until  the end."
               Eliphas  said,  "I  suppose  this  is  the  teaching  of your
            master,  this Lupe."
               "It's  our  history,"  Magon  said.  "It's  passed  on  in song
            and  dance  from  father  to  son,  from  mother  to daughter.
            
Just  because  it's  not  written  in  books  doesn't  mean  it isn't
            true,  though  for  someone  like  yourself,  who  has breathed
            so  much  book  dust  he  is  mostly  book  himself,  that might
            be  hard  to  believe.  We  are  always  here  to  serve.  It's what
            we  do.  Whoever  owns  the  Palace  becomes  our master,
            whether  they  know  it  or not."
               "And  you  want  to  help me?"
               What  struck  Yama  now  was  that  in  his  posturing and
            anxious  capering,  his  hypersensitivity  to  moods  and eagern           
                 to  please,  Magon  was  just  like  the  kind  of  lap dog
            ess
           that  childless  gentlewomen keep.
               Magon  said,  "You  are  come  at  last,  dominie.  Lupe said



                                                       he  had  not  expected  it,  although  it  was  foretold  by an
                                                       anchorite  years  before.  But  Lupe  will  tell  you himself"
                                                         The  corridor  turned  around  itself  again.  Warm, humid
                                                       air,  laden  with  a  rich  organic  stink,  blew  into  their faces,
                                                       and  then  the  corridor  opened  out  into  a  long,  low  room. Its
                                                       bare  rock  walls  ran  with  condensation;  its  floor  was strewn
                                                       with  heaps  of  black  soil  in  which  frills  of  fungus grew;
                                                       dead  white,  blood  red,  a  yellow  so  shiny  it  might have
                                                       been  varnished.  At  the  other  end  of  the  room, Magon
                                                       parted  layers  of  nylon-mesh  curtains  and  ushered Yama
                                                       and  Eliphas  into  a  barrel-vaulted  cave  lit  by  shafts  of sunlight
                                                         that  fell  from  vents  in  the  rock  ceiling  far above.
                                                         "Our  home,"  Magon  said.  "It  is  the  capital  of my
                                                       people,  for  Lupe  lives here."
                                                         There  were  little  gardens,  and  patchwork  shacks built
                                                       of  plastic  or  cardboard  sheeting,  or  of  translucent paper
                                                       stretched  across  bamboo  framing.  People  drew around
                                                       Yama  and  Eliphas  
as  they  followed  Magon  across  the cavern
                                                       ,  and  they  quickly  became  the  center  of  a procession.
                                                       There  were  clowns  and  jugglers,  mummers  and mimes,
                                                       weightlifters  and  agonists,  fakirs  with  steel  pins through
                                                       their  cheeks  and  eyelids.  Acrobats  walked  on  wires strung
                                                       everywhere  across  the  midway  of  the  cavern.  There were
                                                       men  dressed  in  richly  embroidered  dresses  of  faded silk
                                                       stiff  with  brocade  and  silver  and  gold  thread,  with whitepainted
                                                         faces  and  black  makeup  that  exaggerated their
                                                       eyes,  transvestites  that  burlesqued  the  sacred  temple dancers
                                                       .  There  were  musicians  and  gamblers,  and prostitutes
                                                       of  all  four  sexes  and  seemingly  of  every imaginable
                                                      bloodline.
                                                         Eliphas  looked  around  uneasily,  but  Yama  knew that
                                                       they  would  not  be  harmed.  Not  here.  "They  exist to
                                                       serve!"  he  said,  and  took  the  old  man's  arm  to reassure
                                                      him.
                                                         The  gorgeous,  motley  procession  crossed  the  length of
                                                       the  cavern.  A  fakir  smashed  a  bottle  on  his  head and
                                                       
rubbed  a  handful  of  broken  glass  over  his  bare  chest; another
                                                         pressed  metal  skewers  through  folds  of  skin pinched
                                                       up  from  his  arms.  Musicians  played  a  solemn march;
            clowns  knocked  each  other  down  and  breathed  out gouts
            of  fire  or  blew  fountains  of sparkling    dust  high  into the
            air;  men  and  women  held  up  their  children,  who laughed
 ,         and  clapped  their hands.
               The  path  ended  at  a  round  gilt  frame  twice Yama's
            height.  It  might  once  have  held  a  shrine.  The  crowd parted
            to  let  Yama  and  Eliphas  follow  Magon  through this
           gateway.
               The  room  beyond  was  swagged  in  faded  tapestries and
            bunched  silks  stained  with  dust.  The  wrack  of  ten thousand
            years  lay  everywhere  in  an  indiscriminate  jumble. Lapi-
  .  .  .  .  . . dary  icons  were  heaped  like  beetles  in  a  green plastic
            bowl;  a  cassone,  its  sides  painted  with  exquisitely detailed
            scenes  from  the  Puranas,  its  top  missing,  was  filled with   
  ,N,
            filthy  old  boots;  ancient  books  lay  in  a  tumbled  heap next
            to  neat  rolls  of  plastic sheeting.
               A  man  sprawled  amongst  cushions  on  a  sagging bed
            beneath  a  canopy  of  cloth-of-gold.  Magon  capered forward
            and  jumped  onto  the  bed,  raising  a  cloud  of  dust  from the
            yellowed  linen  sheets,  and  laid  his  head  next  to  the man's
            bare  feet,  gazing  up  with  unqualified  adoration,  for  all the
            
world  like  a  faithful  puppy  gazing  at  its master.
               Without  doubt,  the  man  on  the  bed  was  Lupe,  the king
           of  the  Palace  within  the  Palace.  He  was  a  big  man; he
            was  an  old  man.  Skin  hung  in  mottled  flaps  from  his arms.
            His  face  was  scored  deeply  with  lines  and  wrinkles. He
            wore  a  long  brocade  dress  so  stiff  with  dirt  that  it was
            impossible  to  tell  what  color  it  might  once  have  been; an
            elaborate  headdress  of  gold  wire  woven  in  a  tall  cone and
            studded  with  bits  of  colored  glass  was  planted  on  top of
            tangled  gray  hair  that  fell  to  his  broad  shoulders.  His feet
            were  bare  and  his  toenails  were  painted  red;  the  nails of
            his  big,  strong  hands,  like  those  of  certain  mendicants, had
            been  allowed  to  grow  around  each  other  in  long corkscrews
            .  His  lips  had  been  stained  with  cochineal  and his
            eyes  were  made  up  like  the  wings  of  a  blue  butterfly. His
            pupils  were  capped  with  frost,  and  from  the  way  he held
            his  head  Yama  knew  he  was  blind.  He  did  not  look absurd



                                                        in  his  costume,  but  wore  it  with  a  grave, sacerdotal
                                                       majesty.
                                                          Lupe  turned  his  face  toward  Yama  and  Eliphas, and
                                                        said  in  a  soft,  hoarse  voice,  "Come  closer, dominie."
                                                          Eliphas  said,  "What  is  this place?"
                                                          Lupe  raised  his  head  and  turned  it  from  side  to  side, as
                                                        if  sniffing  the  air.  "Who  is  this  stranger, Magon?"
                                                          "A  companion  of  the  one  foretold, Lupe.-
                                                          "Then  he  is  welcome,"  the  old  man  said.  "As  are you,
                                                        dominie.  Welcome  and  twice  welcome.  It  is  my  honor to
                                                        welcome  you.  I  had  thought  that  I  would  die  before you
                                                        came,  and  it  is  with  all  my  heart  that  I  convey  the treasure
                                                        house  of  my  sentiments,  which  have  been  stored  up for
                                                        so  long  against  this  wonderful day."
                                                          "It  seems  that  I  am  expected,"  Yama said.
                                                          "You  are  the  one  who  is  foretold,"  Lupe  said.  His blind
                                                        eyes  were  turned  toward  Yama's  face.  "Please, dominie.
                                                        Please  sit  at  our  table!  All  that  we  have  is  yours! Three
                                                            
beautiful  girls,  arrayed  in  layers  of  splendid silks
                                                        that  left  only  their  arms  and  faces  bare,  stepped through
                                                        a  curtain.  Their  delicate  oval  faces  were  painted white;
                                                        their  full  lips  were  stained  black.  They  carried  trays of
                                                        sweetmeats  and  candied  fruits  arranged  on  plantain leaves
                                                        or  in  tiny  bowls  of  translucent  porcelain.  Their  eyes shone
                                                        with  excitement  and  they  giggled  as  they  fussed about
                                                        Yama,  seating  him  in  a  nest  of  dusty  cushions  and setting
                                                        the  food  before  him.  One  sat  Eliphas  beside  Yama; the
                                                        other  two  helped  Lupe  from  the  bed,  sat  him  on  a low
                                                        stool,  and  settled  the  full  skirt  of  his  dress  around him.
                                                          Yama  took  a  bowl  of  tea  from  one  of  the  girls and,
                                                        after  a  hesitation,  Eliphas  followed  suit.  Another  girl raised
                                                        a  bowl  to  Lupe's  lips;  the  old  man's  fingernails  were so
                                                        long  that  he  could  not  possibly  feed  himself.  The three
                                                        men  slurped  companionably,  and  Lupe  belched gravely.
                                                        While  one  of  the  girls  fed  Lupe  with  chopsticks, Yama
                                                        picked  at  diced  squares  of  candied  yam.  He  had  not eaten
                                                        
since  the  meal  in  the  Strangers'  Lodge  of  the Department
                                                        of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons,  but  he  was  too excited
                                                        and  nervous  to  have  much  of  an appetite.
               At  last,  he  said  to  Lupe.  "You  know  of  me, master.
            Where  does  that  knowledge  come from?"
               "Please,  dominie,  I  am  not  your  master!  I  am  Lupe, no
            more  than  Lupe  and  no  less,  and  completely  at  your service
            .  All  my  people  are  at  your  service.  All  this  was foretold
              and  we  have  made  many  songs  and  poems  and dances
            in  your  honor.  Not  all  our  dances  are  lewd  or  comic. Those
           are  for  our  public,  but  we  have  our  own  dances.  Once I
            could  dance  them,  but  now,  alas,  I  can  only remember
            them."  Lupe  tapped  his  wrinkled  brow  with  his knuckles.
           "All our  history  is  there,  in  the  dances,  and  so  are you."
               Eliphas  said  to  Yama,  "Ask  him  how  we  can destroy
            the  hell-hound,  brother.  Ask  him  to  show  us  the  way back
            to  the  roof  of  the  Palace,  so  I  can  help  you  find what
            you seek."
               Lupe  cocked  his  head,  and  said,  "Anything  you wish,
            dolmnie.  Anything  within  our  powers.  We  are  yours to
           command."
               Yama  said,  "How  is  it  that  you  know me?"
               He  did  not  feel  afraid  here-he  realized  that  this was
            the  first  time  since  he  had  left  his  home  in  Aeolis  that he
            did  not  feel  some  measure  of  fear.  But  he  could  not 
stay
            long.  The  gates  of  the  Department  of  Vaticination would
            open  to  petitioners  at  noon;  the  assassin  would  be sharpening
              his  covert  blade  or  preparing  his  vial  of  odorless poison
            .  But  this  was  an  opportunity  that  might  not come
            again,  and  he  was  intensely  eager  to  discover  all  that Lupe
            knew-or  believed  he  knew-about him.
               Lupe  did  not  answer  Yama's  question  at  once. Instead,
            he  motioned  to  his  attendants.  One  of  the  girls squatted
             eside  him  and  refilled  his  tea  bowl;  another  held  it  to his
            lips.  When  the  old  man  had  drained  his  tea,  he  wiped his
            red-stained  lips  on  the  back  of  his  hand  and  said, "We
            have  always  served,  dominie.  We  were  put  into  the world
            to  serve  and  to  bring  pleasure.  Thus,  while  our bloodline
            is  of  the  lowest  order,  the  nature  of  our  service  calls upon
            the  highest  arts.  For  while  we  might  be  counted  as beggars
            who  dance,  make  mock  or  make  love  for  a  paltry  slew of
            coinage,  our  reward  is  not  in  the  money  but  in  the pleasure



                                                       our  performances  bring  to  our  clients.  We  are  a simple
                                                       people.  We  do  not  need  money,  except  to  buy  cloth and
                                                       beads  and  metal  wire  for  our  costumes.  Your  friend looks
                                                       among  the  trinkets  stored  here,  and  wonders  perhaps that
                                7                      1  can  claim  to  be  poor,  yet  live  with  all  these  riches heaped
                                                       about  me."  (Eliphas  held  up  a  mildewed  leather  cap embroidered
                                                         with  silver  wire,  and  made  a  face.)  "But these
                                                       riches  are  all  gifts  from  grateful  clients,"  Lupe  said. "We
                                                       have  saved  them  out  of  sentiment,  not  avarice.  We  are a
                                                       simple  people,  and  yet,  dominie,  we  have  survived longer
                                                       than  any  other  bloodline.  We  are  too  simple  to  know how
                                                       to  change,  perhaps,  but  we  do  remember.  It  is  our other
                                                       virtue.  We  remember  your  people,  dominie.  We remember
                                                       how  great  and  good  they  were.  We  remember  how we
                                                       feared  and  adored  them.  They  have  been  gone  a  long time,
                                                       but  we  have  always  remembered them."
                                                          Yama  leaned  forward,  his  entire  attention  on Lupe's
                                                       grave,  blind  face.  
He  said,  "And  are  my  people  still in
                                                       the world?"
                                                          "They  are  not  in  the  Palace,  dominie,  and  so  we have
                                                       always  believed  that  they  are  no  longer  of  the  world. How
                                                       could  it  be  otherwise?  For  they  were  the  Builders,  and this
                                                       is  their  place.  It  was  here  that  they  commanded  the world,
                                                       in  their  day.  If  they  are  not  here,  then  surely  they live
                                                       nowhere else.
                                                          "Perhaps  this  is  no  longer  their  day.  Perhaps  they are
                                                      dwindled."
                                                          Lupe  shook  his  head.  "Ah,  dominie,  how  you  tease me!
                                                       You  know  I  cannot  speak  of  that.  We  know  the Palace.
                                                       We  know  something  of  Ys.  The  world  is  another place
                                                      entirely.
                                                          "Then  they  are  not  in  Ys,"  Yama  said.  He  had guessed
                                                      it,  but  this  was  still  hard  to  bear.  "Do  you  believe that
                                                       they  might return?"
                                                          Lupe  said,  "An  anchorite  came  to  me  seventeen years
                                                       ago  and  told  me  that  one  day  you  would  seek  help from
                                                       my  people.  And  here  you  are.  So  you  might  say  that your
                                                       people  have returned."
                                                          
Seventeen  years  ago  Yama  had  been  found  afloat  on the
             river,  a  baby  lying  on  the  breast  of a    dead  woman  in a
             white  boat.  For  a  moment,  Yama was       so  excited  that he
             could  not  speak.  He  touched  the coin     which  hung inside
             his  shirt.  An  anchorite  had  given  it  to  him  in  Aeolis, at
             the  beginning  of  his  adventures.  Derev  had  said  that the
             man  was  of  his bloodline.
                At  last,  he  said,  "What  did  he  look  like?  Was  he scarred
             about  the  face,  and dumb?"
                "He  had  a  gentle,  hoarse  voice.  As  for  what  he looked
             like,  I  could  not  tell  you,  dominie.  I  was  blind  then as
             now,  and  he  came  to  me  when  I  was  alone.  It  was deepest
             night,  and  those  of  my  people  not  working  were asleep.
             He  told  me  that  one  day,  near  the  end  of  the  world, a
             Builder  would  come  to  Ys,  and  that  he  would  need our
             help.  He  told  me  where  you  would  come  from,  and when.
             My  people  have  been  watching  the  docks  for  a hundred
             days  now.  I  thought  that  you  would  not  come,  but here
             you are.
                "I  came  by  the  road,  not  the river."
                "And  yet  you  are  the  Child  of  the  River,  and  the end
             of  the  world  seems  near.  The  departments  have  been perpetually
               at  war  with  each  other  since  the  Hierarchs fell
             from  power,  and  now  one  department  threatens  to destroy
             the  rest  in  the  name  of  the  war  against  the  heretics.  If it
             wins,  then  such  a  tyranny  may  rise  that  could  hold 
the
             world  in  its  grip  forever,  wielding  power  in  the  name of
             the  Preservers,  but  serving  only  itself.  I  have  feared this
             for  a  very  long  time,  but  now  I  know,  dominie.  Now I
             know!  How  glad  I  am  that  these  terrible  days  are  the last!"
                Lupe's  milky  eyes  shone  with  tears.  Magon  crept from
             the  bed  and  with  his  long,  crafty  fingers  tenderly blotted
             the  tears  from  his  master's  withered,  rouged  cheeks. "It's
             true,"  the  gambler  said,  looking  boldly  at  Yama. "Everything
               Lupe  says  is  true.  He  remembers  more  than anyone
             else.  It  is  why  he  is  our king."
                Lupe  composed  himself  and  said,  "I  weep  from joy,
             dominie,  that  you  have  come  again.  There  will  be new
             songs  and  dances  made  out  of  this  wonderful moment."
                "I  understand,"  Yama  said,  although  it  seemed  to him



                                                      that  he  had  mistakenly  stumbled  into  the  middle  of  a myth.
                                                      Lupe's  story  had  set  a  hundred  questions  tumbling through
                                                      his  head.  Who  was  the  anchorite?  Was  it  the  same man
                                                      who  had  given  him  the  coin?  Why  had  he  been  set adrift
                                                      on  the  river  in  the  first place?
                                                         He  said,  "I  am  grateful  for  your  hospitality,  Lupe, and
                                                      for  your  help.  But  you  know  that  I  cannot stay."
                                                         Magon  said,  "They  have  business  with  one  of  the fading
                                                        flowers,  Lupe.  I  told  them  that  they  need  not concern
                                                      themselves  with  it  any longer."
                                                         "Forgive  my  servant,"  Lupe  said.  "He  is  young and
                                                      eager,  but  he  means  well.  If  you  have  business  to attend
                                                      to,  dominie,  then  that  is  what  you  must  do.  My servant
                                                      will  take  you  where  you  need  to  go. "
                                                         Eliphas  said,  "Then  you  will  let  us go?"
                                                         "Wherever  you  are  in  the  Palace,  we  are  with you,"
                                                      Lupe  said.  "But  before  you  go,  walk  with  me.  Show my
                                                      people  that  you  
are  my  friend,  and  so  the  friend  of  us all."
                                                         Lupe  led  Yama  and  Eliphas  through  the  kingdom  of his
                                                      cavern.  A  hundred  brightly  costumed  clowns,  dancers, and
                                                      whores  followed  at  a  respectful  distance  while Lupe
                                                      gravely  introduced  Yama  to  each  of  the  elders  who stood
                                                      in  shabby  finery  outside  their  painted shacks.
                                                         Yama  asked  many  questions,  and  although  Lupe answered
                                                        every  one,  often  at  length,  he  learned  little more,
                                                      except  that  much  was  expected  of  him.  Lupe  was too
                                                      polite,  or  too  cunning,  to  state  exactly  what  this  was, but
                                                      Yama  slowly  began  to  realize  that  there  was  only one
                                                      thing  these  people  could  desire.  For  they  were indigens,
                                                      and  unlike  the  changed  and  unchanged  bloodlines they
                                                      were  untouched  by  the  breath  of  the  Preservers.  They were
                                                      creatures  which  had  borrowed  human  form;  perhaps even
                                                      their  intelligence  was  borrowed,  a  trick  or  skill  they had
                                                      learned  like  tumbling,  fire-eating,  or  prestidigitation. Everything
                                                        they  possessed  had  come  to  them  from other
                                                      
hands,  and  they  accepted  these  gifts  without discrimination
                                                      .  Fabulous  treasures  were  tipped  carelessly amongst
                                                      the  rubbish  that  had  formed  great  drifting  piles  in Lupe's
                                                      apartments;  a  beautiful  boy  carrying  nightsoil  to  the gar-
             dens  at  the  edge  of  the  caverns  might  be  wearing  a priceless
               dress;  a  dancer  made  up  as  fabulously  as  a courtesan
             might  be  clad  in  a  glittering  costume  that,  on  close inspection
             ,  was  constructed  of  sacking  decorated  with  a magpie's
             nest  of  scraps  of  plastic  and aluminum.
                The  only  thing  which  was  truly  theirs  was  the  art of
             simulation,  which  they  used  without  guile  to  enhance the
             pleasure  of  their  clients.  Watching  closely,  Yama  saw that
             the  three  girls  who  attended  Lupe  were  not  beautiful at
             all--or  rather,  that  their  beauty  was  a  trick  of  poise and
             muscle  tone  and  expression,  sustained  by  constant vigilance
             .  They  could  become  passable  imitations  of most
             bloodlines  by  synthesizing  and  exaggerating  with  a little
             makeup  the  two  or  three  features  by  which  each was
             distinguished  from  the  others.  And  so  with  beauty, for
             beauty  is  only  an  exaggeration  of  the  ordinary.  Just  as a
             transvestite  exaggerates  those  features  which  make a
             woman  attractive,  Lupe's  people  achieved  beauty through
             burlesque.  These  people  could,  through  their  art,  appear to
             
be  anything  that  their  clients  might desire.
                The  only  thing  they  could  not  be  was themselves.
                Many,  like  Eliphas,  believed  that  the  indigenous races
             were  no  more  than  animals.  Yama  thought  otherwise. For
             if  everything  in  the  world  had  proceeded  from  the minds
             of  the  Preservers,  then  surely  the  indigenous  races  had not
             been  brought  here  simply  to  be  despised  and persecuted.
             Surely  they  too  had  their place.
                It  was  almost  noon  by  the  time  Yama  and  Lupe finally
             completed  the  circuit  of  the  cavern  and  returned through
             the  gilt  frame  to  Lupe's  chambers.  Somewhere  high above,
             the  Gate  of  Double  Glory  would  be  admitting  those who
             wished  to  participate  in  the  public  inquisition  at  the Department
               of  Vaticination.  The  two  pythonesses  would soon
             appear  before  their  clients,  arrayed  in  ancient splendor.
                "I  do  not  forget  that  you  have  business  elsewhere," the
             dignified  old  man  said.  He  covered  Yama's  hands  with his
             own.  "You  can  leave  by  a  hidden  way,  and  the people
             will  think  you  stay  here  to  talk  with  me.  The  more important
               they  think  I  am,  the  easier  it  is  to  keep  order. We



                                                       are  a  fractious  people,  dominie.  We  get  too  many ideas
                                                       from others.
                                                         "You  have  been  very  generous,"  Yama said.
                                                         "We  have  done  all  we  can,  but  I  fear  that  it  is little
                                                      enough."
                                                         "You  have  given  me  my  life,  and  hope  that  my people
                                                       still  live,"  Yama  said.  "I  will  try  to  return  when  I can."
                                                         "Of  course  you  will  return,"  Lupe  said.  "And  so  I will
                                                       not  say  farewell,  for  in  reality  you  will  not  have left."
                                                         As  they  followed  Magon  up  a  long  stairway, Eliphas
                                                       said,  "This  is  a  day  of  wonders,  brother.  I  had  not known
                                                       that  the  miffor  people  stored  up  their  loot.  Amongst all
                                                       that  rubbish  is  an  edition  of  the  Book  of  Blood  that  I had
                                                       known  only  by  repute.  It  is  badly  damaged,  but  a man
                                                       could  live  for  a  year  from  the  sale  of  only  a  few intact
                                                       pages.  Will  you return?"
                                                         Yama  shook  his  head,  meaning  that  he  did  not know.
                                                       Yet  he  did  feel  a  prick  of  obligation.  Not  because Lupe's
                                                       people  had  saved  
his  life;  Lupe  had  made  it  clear that
                                                       there  was  no  debt  to  be  paid,  and  Yama  was  ready  to take
                                                       him  at  his  word.  But  there  was  the  other  matter.  There was
                                                       Lupe's  impossible  dream,  the  promise  of  the  anchorite, the
                                                       prophecy fulfilled.
                                                         No  wonder  my  people  have  hidden  themselves, he
                                                       thought,  for  the  world  holds  a  store  of  their  unpaid debts
                                                       and  I  seem  to  be  fated  to  redeem  them all.
                                                         He  said  with  sudden  bitterness,  "I  wish  I  had never
                                                       come  to  Ys!  I  only  hurt  myself,  and  those  who expect
                                                       things  from  me.  I  should  have  gone  downriver  with Dr.
                                                       Dismas  and  accepted  my fate!"
                                                         But  as  soon  as  he  said  it,  he  knew  that  the  words came
                                                       from  his  dark  half,  the  part  of  him  that  dreamed  of easy
                                                       glory  and  power  without  responsibility.  The  part  that had
                                                       been  touched  by  the  woman  in  the  shrine,  the  aspect whose
                                                       original  had  begun  the  heresy  which  threatened  to consume
                                                         the world.
                                                         Magon  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  his  pale  face thrown
                                                       
into  sharp  relief  by  the  lights  cast  by  the  fireflies  of Yama
                                                       and  Eliphas,  There  was  no  other  light  in  the  long stair,
              and  Yama  wondered  how  those  who  lived  in  the Palace
             c
                 uld  stand  it.  Except  in  places  at  the  edge  of things,  they
               o
              inhabited  little  bubbles  of  light  surrounded  by  vast ex
              panses  of  uncharted  shadow;  Lupe's  people, who           possessed
                only  the  dimmest  of  fireflies,  if  any,  must navigate
              the  maze  of  passages  and  tunnels  in  near darkness.
                 Yama  said,  "How  far  is  it, Magon?"
                 "Not  far,  dominie.  We  use  the  straightest route."
                 Eliphas  whispered,  "You  should  feel  no obligation,
              brother.  They  are  shadows.  Thieves  and  tricksters and   
              whores  who  live  off  the  crumbs  of  those  engaged  in honest
              toil.  They  are  like  the  indigens  of  the  roof gardens--except
              those  are  more  useful.  Would  you  be  the  savior  of such
              as they?"
                 "I  suppose  that  if  one  was  to  attempt  to  emulate the
              Preservers,  then  one  must  start  somewhere,  and  better to
              start  in  a  low  place  than  in  a  high  one.  But  I  aspire  to no
              such  thing.  I  see  that  you  are  a  pragmatic  man, Eliphas.
              You  prize  things  for  their utility."
                 "Brother,  things  are  what  they  are.  The  mirror people
              were  created  for  the  amusement  and  wonder  of  the bloodlines
                of  men,  nothing  more.  They  spin  fantasies,  but they
              
should  not  be  taken seriously."
                 "Yet  they  dream,  Eliphas.  They  believe  that  I belong
             in  their dreams."
                 "They  remember  their  creators,  brother,  as  men remember
                their  mothers  and  fathers.  But  once  we  are  grown up
              we  cannot  continue  to  depend  upon  our  parents.  We must
              face  the  world ourselves."
                 "If  Lupe's  people  are  still  as  children,"  Yama said,
              "then  I  envy them."
                 They  fell  silent  for  a  while,  following  Magon  up the
              stairway  to  a  dark,  narrow  tunnel  which,  binding gravity
              about  itself,  rose  vertically  through  the  Palace.  At last,
              Magon  stopped  and  said,  "It  is  not  far,  dominie. You
              follow  the  way  until  you  reach  a  place  where  it branches
              into  two.  Take  the  right-hand  branch  and  you  will find
              yourself  in  a  throughway  near  the  Gate  of  Double Glory,"
                 "I  owe  you  much, Magon."



                                                        The  ragamuffin  gambler  bobbed  and  bowed.  "You have
                                                      repaid  me  a  thousandfold,  dominie,  by  allowing  me to
                                                      bring  you  to  my  people.  I  will  watch  for  your return."
                                                        When  Magon's  footsteps  had  faded  into  the darkness,
                                                      Yama  said,  "Whatever  my  intentions,  it  may  fall  out that
                                                      I  am  never  able  to  return. "
                                                        "Because  of  the  territorial  dispute,"  Eliphas  said. "It
                                                      is  no  secret,  brother.  The  whole  Palace  knows  the plight
                                                      of  the  Department  of  Vaticination.  Many  hope  it survives,
                                                      for  that  will  check  the  growth  of  the  Department  of Indigenous
                                                        Affairs. "
                                                        "It's  a  pity  that  there's  only  hope  and  no help."
                                                        "No  one  wishes  to  anger  the  Department  of Indigenous
                                                      Affairs,  for  lately  it  has  grown  very  powerful,  and careless
                                                      of  the  ancient  protocols.  That  is  why  it  has  been  able to
                                                      pick  off  lesser  departments  one  by one."
                                                        "And  there  is  the  hell-hound.  We  cannot  be  certain that
                                                      it  has  lost  my  trail.  You  do  not  have  to  follow  me, Eliphas.
                                                      
It  will  not  be  an  easy  time.  You  could  go  back  to the
                                                      library  and  your  friend,  if  you  wish,  and  wait  for me
                                                      there. "
                                                        The  old  man  smiled.  "And  suppose  the  hell-hound finds
                                                      me?  No,  I  will  stay  with  you,  brother.  Besides,  I  made a
                                                      pledge.  Lead  on,  and  I  will  help  as  best  I can."
                                      TUF  PUBLI( INQUISITION
               111161  MIRRORS  HAD  been  set  up  on  the  flat  roof  of  the House
               of  the  Twelve  Front  Rooms,  deflecting  sunlight  into the
               cavern  and  mercilessly  illuminating  the  shabby  faqades of
               the  buildings  ranged  around  the  wide  plaza.  Yama squinted
               against  the  mirrors'  multiple  glare  when  he  and Eliphas
               came  through  the  Gate  of  Double  Glory.  He  had expected
               to  find  a  crowd  waiting  for  the  pythonesses,  but although
               a  platform  had  been  set  up  on  the  steps  of  the Basilica,
               its  deck  covered  with  landscape  cloth  and  strewn with
               garlands  of  white  lilies  and  trumpet  flowers  that already
               were  beginning  to  wilt,  the  plaza  was deserted.
                  Inside  the  Basilica,  Tamora  was  roaring  at  a  double file
               of  thralls  marching  in  two-step  time,  turning  them again
               and  again  in  precise  right  angles.  Pandaras  ran  up  and said
               to  Yama,  while  staring  openly  at  Eliphas,  "We thought
               you  lost,  master! "
                  "So  I  was,  for  a  little  while.  This  is  my  friend, Eliphas.
               
He  searches  libraries  for  facts.  He  has  already  been of
               help  to  me,  and  I  hope  he  will  help  me  further. Eliphas,
               this  is  Pandaras.  The  fierce  woman  over  there  is Tamora."
                  "Yama  exaggerates  my  importance  in  our adventures
               on  the  roof,"  Eliphas said.



                                                        "I  am  Yama's  squire,"  Pandaras  said,  staring  up at
                                                     Eliphas  boldly.  The  boy  had  oiled  his  hair  back  from his
                                                     forehead.  It  gleamed  beneath  his  three  fireflies.  He turned
                                                    to  Yama  and  said,  "I  see  you  have  had  the  sense  to bandage
                                                       your  head,  master.  Let  me  look  at it."
                                                        "It  is  almost healed."
                                                        "As  you  said  two  days ago."
                                                        Now  Tamora  came  stalking  across  the  Basilica's marble
                                                     floor.  She  wore  her  corselet  and  a  short  leather  skirt, and
                                                     sandals  with  laces  that  crisscrossed  her  calves.  Her scalp
                                                     was  freshly  shaven,  and  the  fall  of  red  hair  at  the  back of
                                                     her  skull  had  been  braided  into  a  complex  knot. She
                                                     looked  both  terrified  and desirable.
                                                        "I  thought  you'd  been  killed,  or  that  you'd  run away,
                                                     she  said,  and  took  Yama's  arm  and  drew  him  a  little way
                                                     from  the  others.  "Grab.  You  stink  of  the  warrens  of some
                                                     subhuman  race.  Where  have  you  been?  And  who's your
                                                     fish-eyed friend?"
                                                        "I  was  lost.  Eliphas  
helped  me  find  my  way.  There is
                                                     a conspiracy-"
                                                        Tamora  grinned,  showing  her  rack  of  pointed teeth.
                                                     "The  servant  you  followed?  The  fucker  is  dead. When
                                                     you  didn't  come  back,  Pandaras  told  me  you  were following
                                                       this  fellow  by  the  name  of  Brabant,  and  I  told Syle.
                                                     On  his  advice,  Luria  ordered  the  execution.  Brabant was
                                                     bound  and  pitched  out  of  a  window  of  the  House  of the
                                                     Twelve  Front  Rooms.  It's  how  they  do  things  here. They
                                                     call  it  defenestration.  Yama,  I  talk  too  much,  but  it's because
                                                       I  am  pleased  to  see  you  alive!  I  thought Brabant
                                                     had  lured  you  into  an  ambush.  I  wanted  to  torture  him for
                                                     the  truth,  but  he  went  straight  out  the window."
                                                        Yama  said,  "I  think  I  know  the  whole  story, Tamora.
                                                     No  one  here  is  plotting  against  anyone  else.  Certainly not
                                                     Luria,  or  she  would  not  have  agreed  to  have Brabant
                                                    killed.
                                                        "Of  course  not.  Luria  has  so  much  meat  on  her  she can't
                                                     walk five  steps  in  a  straight  line.  Why  would  she  meet with
                                                     
someone  in  secret  in  a  remote  place  when  she  could  do so
                                                     at  case  in  her  own  chambers?  No,  I  think  it's  Syle. You
              might  trust  him,  but  I  don't.  Not  him,  and  not  that pregnant
              hen  of  his,  either.  He  could  have  had  Brabant  killed to
              cover  his tracks."
                 "Brabant  was  not  working  for  Syle,  but  for someone
              outside  the  Department.  In  fact, he
                 "He  is  dead.  If  there  are  other  traitors  here  they'll show
              themselves  soon  enough,  and I'll      deal  with  them. Now,
              tell  me  about  what  happened  to you."
                 Yama  suddenly  found himself        smiling.  He  could not
              help  it.  "I  have  found  the  library,  Tamora!  The library
              where  Dr.  Dismas  discovered  the  secret  of  my bloodline.
              I  have  put  a  question  to  it,  and  perhaps  the  answer is
              already known.
                 If  the  hell-hound  had  not  destroyed  the  records, he
              thought.  Eliphas  had  said  that  they  were  safe,  but Yama
              did  not  entirely  trust  the  old  man.  Eliphas  preferred  to tell
              people  what  he  thought  they  wanted  to  hear,  even  if it
              was  not  always  the truth.
                 "I'm  pleased  for  you,"  Tamora  said.  "I  get  paid no
              matter  how  you  go  about  your  search,  so  the  quicker the
              
better  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  But  right  now  we have
              work  to do."
                 "Then  I  have  not  missed  the  inquisition?  That  is good.
              I  mean  to  keep  my  word, Tamora."
                 "It  has  already  begun.  Go  and  put  on  your  armor. Luria
             is  still  worried  that  an  attempt  will  be  made  on  her life.
              The  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  would  claim this
              place  at  once  if  she  was killed."
                 "The  assassination  plot  is  only  half  the  story, Tamora.
              Perhaps  there  is  no  plot  at  all,  except  against me."
                 Tamora  lost  her  temper.  "Will  you  serve?  Then  do as
              I  say!  Put  on  your  armor  and  follow  my  orders! "
                 "I  have  your  armor  close  by,-  master,"  Pandaras said,
              and  ran  off  to  fetch it.
                 Yama  told  Tamora,  "Please  listen  to  me.  Brabant set
              up  a  charade,  making  sure  that  Pandaras  overheard  it, and
              then  he  lured  me  to  a  place  where  I  could  be  taken. Prefect
              Corin  tried  to  kidnap  me,  Tamora.  He  has  been looking



                                                          for  me,  and  he  almost  caught  me.  The  ruffians  who ambushed
                                                            us  were  part  of it."
                                                             "Well,  Brabant  is  dead,"  Tamora  said,  "and  you escaped."
                                                          She  turned  to  Eliphas.  "If  you're  a  friend,  go  up  with Pandaras
                                                          and  keep  watch.  That  way,  I  won't  have  to  worry  about you."
                                                             "Because  while  I  keep  watch,  the  boy  will  keep watch
                                                          on  me?"  Eliphas  smiled.  "I  understand  completely. But
                                                          you  do  not  have  to  worry,  Tamora.  Yama's  interests coincide
                                                            with mine."
                                                             "Then  we've  much  to  talk  about,"  Tamora  said. "And
                                                          we  will,  when  this  is  over. "
                                                             Yama  said,  "You  do  not  have  to  do  anything  here, Eliphas
                                                          .  This  has  nothing  to  do  with  helping  me  find  my people."
                                                              I  will  enjoy  it,  brother.  Like  my  friend  Kun Norbu,
                                                          all"this  excitement  makes  me  feel  young again."
                                                             Tamora  helped  Yama  to  assemble  his  patchwork armor.
                                                          "This  is  how  it  falls  out,"  she  said.  "Syle  is  talking with
                                                          the  clients  and  keeping  them  entertained  until  the ceremony
                                                            
begins.  What  he's  really  doing  is  finishing  off the
                                                          business  of  finding  out  as  much  as  possible  about them.
                                                          He  told  me  how  it  works.  The  clients  have  to  submit their
                                                          questions  two  decads  in  advance  of  the  ceremony, which
                                                          gives  him  plenty  of  time  to  research  them.  He employs
                                                          spies  and  bribes  clerks,  that  sort  of  thing.  He  says  that it
                                                          is  to  provide  the  pythonesses  with  as  much background
                                                          information  as  possible,  but  I  reckon  that  he  doesn't really
                                                          believe  in  the  pythonesses'  powers  of  prediction.  He finds
                                                          out  what  kind  of  answers  his  clients  want,  and  makes sure
                                                          that's  what  they get."
                                                             "He  believes  that  Daphoene  can  see  into  the future.
                                                          And  there  is  something  strange  about  her,  Tamora.  As if
                                                          her  head  is  full  of ghosts."
                                                             "Grah,  I'd  say  it  was  mostly  full  of  air.  She  says little,
                                                          and  because  of  her  position  her  few  words  seem important.
                                                          But  they're  not.  They're  nothing  but  simple-minded babble
                                                          .  But  I  know  you  don't  listen  to  me."  Tamora  knelt to
                                                          
tighten  the  buckles  of  Yama's  greaves-the  greaves he
                                                          had  won  by  killing  the  one-eyed  cateran,  Cyg.  She looked
                                                          up.  "There's  something  wrong  about  this  place.  It's noth-
              ing  to  do  with  your  funny  feeling  about  Daphoene.  It's as
              if  they  all  hold  knives  at  each  other's throats."
                 "In  a  few  days  they  will  be  under  attack,  and  they are
              already  under  siege.  You  must  listen  to  me,  Tamora. There
              is  no  intrigue  except  that  of  Prefect  Corin.  He  found out
              where  I  was  and  used  Brabant  to  lure  me  away.  If there
              is  an  assassination  plot,  then  it  is  also  the  work  of Prefect
               Corin."
                 "Then  why  are  they  at  each  other's  throats?  Luria has
              told  me  to  watch  Syle,  and  Syle  took  me  aside  after Brabant
                went  out  of  the  window  and  said  that  there  is a
              conspiracy  that  goes  deeper  than  one  foolish thrall."
                 Yama  hesitated.  He  knew  that  Tamora  did  not believe
              in  his  powers.  Did  not  believe,  or  refused  to  allow herself
              to  believe.  Although  he  had  tried  to  explain  how  he had
              awoken  the  Thing  Below  in  the  Temple  of  the  Black Well,
              and  how  he  had  killed  Gorgo,  she  had  merely  scoffed and
              told  him  that  the  blow  to  his  head  had  given  him 
delusions.
                 He  said,  "Syle  knows  what  I  am,  Tamora.  He knows
              that  I  am  one  of  the  Builders,  He  asked  me  to  use machines
                against  the  forces  of  the  Department  of Indigenous
              Affairs.  I  refused,  of course."
                 "So  he  betrayed  you  to  Prefect Corin?"
                 "This  was  after  Pandaras  overheard  Brabant.  But  I suppose
                that  Syle  might  think  of  selling  me now."
                 "Your  brain  is  still  bruised  from  the  ding  you  got at
              the  gate.  No  more  talk  about  magical  powers,  or  I'll begin
              to  regret  I  took  up  with  you. "
                 "I  know  you  do  not  believe  me,  Tamora,  but  I raised
              up  the  feral  machine  in  the  Temple  of  the  Black Well,
              then  woke  the  guards  which  destroyed  it.  It  was  that fight
              which  set  fire  to  the temple."
                 "It  was  the  assassin  who  did  that,  to  cover  his tracks.
              You're  brave  enough,  Yama.  You  got  the  priests  out of
              the  burning  temple.  Don't  spoil  it  with  silly stories."
                 "I  killed  Gorgo.  You  did  not  see  it,  but  thousands of
              others did."
                 "If  he  isn't  dead,  he  deserves  to  be.  He  will  be, when
              I  finish  here.  I'll  make  sure  of it."



                                                      "My  fireflies,  then.  I  left  here  with  one,  and  I have
                                                   returned  with five."
                                                      "You've  been  on  the  roof  Your  firefly  left  you then,
                                                   and  you  got  a  new  set  when  you  came  back inside."
                                                      Yama  laughed.  She  was  as  stubborn  as  an ox.
                                                      "Forget  your  fantasy,  Yama,  and  concentrate  on what
                                                   you  are.  Which  is  what  I  am,  a  cateran  hired  to defend
                                                   this  miserable  place."  Tamora  prowled  around Yama,
                                                   stepped  in  to  tighten  a  strap  of  his  cuirass,  stood  back and
                                                   gave  him  an  appraising  look.  "You  should  have kept
                                                   Cyg's  sword,  if  only  for show."
                                                      "That  was  all  it  was  good  for.  My  knife  serves  me well
                                                   enough."  Yama  realized  now  that  the  real  reason  he had
                                                   rejected  the  sword  was  because  it  had  been  wielded against
                                                   him,  and  saw  that  Tamora  had  understood  this  from the
                                                   beginning.  He  said,  "I  do  not  look  much  like  a soldier,
                                                   do IT'
                                                      Tamora  said,  "There's  nothing  to  it.  The  rat-boy  is on
                                                   the  roof  with  an  arbalest,  
and  your  new  friend  will help
                                                   him  keep  watch.  The  clients  have  brought  their own
                                                   guards,  and  I  reckon  that's  where  any  trouble  will come
                                                   from.  If  there  are  any  more  traitors  amongst  the servants,
                                                   they'll  choose  a  less  public  time.  A  knife  or  a strangling
                                                   cord  in  the  dark,  or  poison-that's  the  style  of  this place.
                                                   All  we  have  to  do  is  stand  on  either  side  of  the platform
                                                   and  look  fierce.  If  there  is  trouble,  we'll  get  the thralls
                                                   between  the  stage  and  the  clients.  Those gray-skinned
                                                   rockheads  can't  do  much,  but  at  least  they  can  get  in the
                                                   way  of  anyone  who  tries  to  hurt  the  fat  one  or  the airhead.
                                                   Promise  you  won't  try  any  heroics.  None  will  be needed."
                                                      Tamora  clapped  Yama  between  his  shoulder  blades and
                                                   added,  "Don't  doubt  yourself,"  and  went  off  to  shout at
                                                   the  thralls,  ordering  them  to  get  back  into formation.
                                                      When  Yama  and  Tamora  marched  out  of  the  main doors
                                                   of  the  Basilica  and  came  down  the  steps  leading  a double
                                                   column  of  thralls,  the  people  who  had  gathered  at  the foot
                
of  the  platform  fell  silent  and  stared  at  the  spectacle. There
                were  only  three  clients,  each  sitting  in  a  plain  chair with
                a  small  entourage  of  advisers,  clerks  and  bodyguards behind
                  them.  No  more  than  a  couple  of  decads  of  men in
                total,  and  a  scattering  of  old  women  who  had  no doubt
                come  for  the  entertainment.  Yama  went  right  and Tamora
                left,  each  leading  a  line  of  thralls.  Yama  halted  at the               
                 lace  where  the  rear  edge  of  the  platform  butted  the stairs,
                and  the  thralls  marched  past  him  and  turned  out  one by
                one,  forming  a  neat  are  down  the  long,  shallow staircase.
                Tamora  really  had  done  wonders  with  their  drill. Their
                metal  caps  shone  and  they  had  tied  long  red  ribbons beneath
                  the  double-edged  blades  of  their partisans.
                   Yama  did  not  feel  nervous  now  that  he  was  in place.
                As  with  the  public  ceremonies  he  had  attended  with his
                stepfather,  the  Aedile  of  Aeolis,  he  found  that  the worst
                thing  was  the  entrance,  when  the  audience  had nothing
                better  to  look  at  and  was  full  of  anticipation,  so  that any
                mistake  by  the  participants  was  most obvious.
                   A  small  procession  made  its  way  across  the  wide plaza
                toward  the  Basilica,  led  by  a  herald  who  blew  a braying
                brass  trumpet.  The  people  below  the  platform  turned 
to
                watch.  In  better  times,  Yama  supposed,  the  trumpet would
                have  been  necessary  to  clear  a  way  through  the crowd,
                but  now  it  sounded  small  and  plaintive,  and  its  echo came
                back  from  the  rock  walls  and  made  discords.  Behind the
                herald  came  a  tall  figure  in  a  cloud  of  red-it  was Syle,
                in  a  long  robe  of  red  feathers  that  fluttered  with  his every
                step.  He  marched  solemnly  ahead  of  the  palanquins, carried
                  on  the  shoulders  of  bare-chested  thralls,  on  which the
                pythonesses  sat.  Both  women  wore  white  gowns  and were
                crowned  with  wreaths  of  ivy.  Luria's  jowls  were rouged
                and  her  eyes  were  accentuated  by  gold  leaf; Daphoene's
                face  was  as  bloodless  as  ever,  and  she  ceaselessly worked
                her  narrow  jaw  as  if  chewing  something.  The  senior servants
                  of  the  household  walked  behind  the  palanquins. They
                were  led  by  Rega,  stately  as  a  carrack,  in  a  dove-gray silk
                dress  with  a  full  skirt  and  a  high  collar  trimmed with
               pearls.



                                                      Luria  was  carried  up  the  steps  to  the  right  of  the platform
                                                     and  Daphoene  to  the  left.  The  senior  servants took
                                                   their  place  on  the  steps  above  as  the  bearers,  their gray
                                                   skins  gleaming  with  oil,  carefully  set  the  palanquins on
                                                   the  platform.  The  landscape  cloth,  which  had  been showing
                                                     a  field  of  green  grass  ceaselessly  winnowed  by wind,
                                                   now  changed  to  show  blue  sky.  The  change  raced out
                                                   from  the  two  pythonesses,  so  that  they  seemed  to be
                                                   couched  on  air,  the  heaps  of  white  flowers  at  their feet
                                                   like clouds.
                                                      Syle  stood  beside  Yama  while  the  pythonesses  were set
                                                   in  place.  "I  am  so  pleased  to  see  you  return,"  he whispered
                                                   .  "I  had  thought  all  was  lost,  but  now  I  know that
                                                   we  are saved."
                                                      Before  Yama  could  ask  what  he  meant  by  this, Syle
                                                   moved  off,  taking  a  position  in  the  center  of  the platform,
                                                   in  front  of  a  little  brazier  which  stood  between  the pythonesses
                                                   .  Syle  bowed  to  both  of  them-Luria acknowledged
                                                   him  with  a  regal  nod,  
but  Daphoene  had  turned  her blind
                                                   face  toward  the  light  which  shone  from  the  mirrors  on the
                                                   far  side  of  the  plaza-and  threw  a  handful  of  dried leaves
                                                   on  the  glowing  charcoal  in  the  bowl  of  the  brazier. Instantly
                                                   ,  heavy  white  smoke  billowed  over  the  sides  of the
                                                   brazier  and  spread  across  the  platform.  The  white smoke
                                                   had  a  powerfully  sweet  smell.  It  spilled  over  the  edges of
                                                   the  sky-colored  platform  and  rolled  down  the stairs.
                                                      Syle  stepped  to  the  front  of  the  platform,  the  hem of
                                                   his  red  robe  swirling  through  white  vapor.  His fireflies
                                                   spun  above  his  head  like  a  spectral  crown.  He looked
                                                   hierophantic,  uncanny,  terrifying.  He  pulled  a  slate from
                                                   his  robes  and  read  from  it  in  a  conversational  voice. "The
                                                   merchant,  Cimbar,  would  ask  the  avatars  of  the Preservers
                                                   this  question.  Will  his  business  prosper  if  he  leases an
                                                   additional  two  ships  to  supply  the  loyal  army  of  the will
                                                   of  the Preservers?"
                                                      There  was  a  silence.  Then  Luria  began  to  intone sonorously
                                                   ,  "There  is  no  end  
to  the war-"
                                                      Daphoene  shuddered  violently  and  bent  over, squealing
                 like  a  stricken  shoat.  It  was  as  if  she  had  been struck
                 in  the  belly.  Syle  covered  his  confusion  by stepping
                 backward  and  casting  a  pinch  of  dried  leaves  on  to the
                brazier.
                   Daphoene  straightened.  Everyone  was  watching her,
                 even  Luria.  Yama  could  hear  her  breath  whistling through
                 her  narrow  lips.  The  faint  sense  he  had  of  the  ghosts of
                 many  machines  inhabiting  her  intensified  for  a moment,
                 like  a  sea  of  candle  flames  flaring  in  a  sudden draft.
                   Daphoene  said  in  a  thick,  choked  voice,  "No  one profits
                 from  war  but  the  merchants,"  and  fell  back  on  the couch
                 of  her  palanquin.  Blood  spotted  the  front  of  her white
                 gown;  she  had  bitten  her tongue.
                   The  fat  man  in  the  central  chair  smiled  and  nodded as
                 two  of  his  advisers  whispered  in  his  ear.  At  last  he waved
                 a  be-ringed  hand,  clearly  satisfied  with  his answer.
                   Syle  cleared  his  throat  and  said,  "The  avatars  of the
                 Preservers  have  answered,  and  the  answer  is acceptable."
                 He  raised  his  arms,  the  sleeves  of  his  red  robe falling
                 like  wings  around  him,  and  framed  the  second question,
                 
concerning  plantations  of  green  wood  which  were not
                 growing properly.
                   This  time  Luria  answered,  and  at  some  length. Yama
                 was  watching  Daphoene,  and  Tamora  the  small audience;
                 it  was  Pandaras  who  raised  the  alarm.  When  he  cried out,
                 half  of  those  in  front  of  the  platform  stared  up  at  the little
                 balcony  where  the  boy  and  Eliphas  stood,  high  above the
                 door  of  the  Basilica;  the  rest  turned  to  look  at  where he
                pointed.
                   Huge  shadows  flickered  across  the  cavern.  Yama realized
                   that  there  were  men  on  the  roof  of  the  House  of the
                 Twelve  Front  Rooms,  small  as  emmets  against  the glare
                 of  the  mirrors.  One  of  the  tiny  figures  fired  an energy
                 pistol.  A  thread  of  intense  red  light  burned  above the
                 plaza.  Fire  splashed  above  the  turrets  of  the  Gate  of Double
                   Glory,  and  a  curtain  of  rock  plunged  down  with  a roar
                 that  echoed  and  re-echoed  in  the  sounding  chamber of
                 the cavern.



                                                     After  that,  there  was  very  little  resistance.  Most  of the
                                                   thralls  threw  down  their  partisans  and  fled;  when Tamora
                                                   tried  to  rally  the  others,  one  drew  a  knife  and  ran  at her.
                                                   It  was  the  thrall  with  the  streaks  of  gray  in  his mane
                               id                  who  had  been  humbled  by  Yama  two  days  before. Tamora
                                                   parried  his  clumsy  stroke,  killed  him  with  a  single thrust
                                                   to  his  throat  and  turned  to  face  the  others,  the  point of
                                                   her  bloody  sword  held  up  before  her face.
                                                     Yama  drew  his  knife  and  started  toward  her,  but Syle
                                                   caught  his  arm  and  thrust  the  muzzle  of  a  slug  pistol into
                                                   his  side  and  said,  "You  should  have  listened  to  me when
                                                   I  asked  for  your  help,  but  perhaps  this  is  for  the  best. If
                                                   you  stay  calm,  all  of  your  friends  will  live.  One word
                                                   from  you,  and  they  die.  Drop  the  knife please."
                                                     "Perhaps  you  should  take  it.  I  do  not  want  to damage
                                                   the  blade. -
                                                     "I  know  what  it  can  do.  Drop it."
                                                     Soldiers  were  rappelling  down  the  wall  of  the  House of
                                                   
the  Twelve  Front  Rooms;  some  were  already running
                                                   across  the  plaza  toward  the  Basilica.  Luria  lifted  the ivy
                                                   wreath  from  her  head  and  dashed  it  into  the  fumes at
                                                   her  feet.  She  pointed  at  Syle  and  bellowed,  "You said
                                                   you'd wait!
                                                     Syle  told  her  calmly,  "I  promised  I'd  wait  until he
                                                   returned,  and  so  he  has.  My  first  duty  is  to  the Department
                                                   of  Vaticination,  not  the  dead  past."  He  said  to Yama,
                                                   "Tell  your  friends  to  come  down.  I've  no  desire  to see
                                                   them  killed  if  they  should  try  and  defend  their position.
                                                   Besides,  the  Basilica  might  be damaged."
                                                     Tamora  swung  around  when  Yama  called  to Pandaras,
                                                   and  Syle  showed  her  his  pistol.  She  spat  and  sheathed her
                                                   sword  and  ordered  the  thralls  who  remained  to  lay down
                                                   their partisans.
                                                     "I  demand  that  ransom  is  paid  for  my  freedom," she
                                                  said.
                                                     "I  would  give  it  to  you  at  once,"  Syle  said,  "but  it is
                                                   not  mine  to grant."
                    Pandaras  and  Eliphas  came  out  of  the  main  door  of the
                 
Basilica  as  the  attacking  force  began  to  disarm  the thralls.
                 Pandaras  held  the  arbalest  above  his  head.  A soldier
                 plucked  it  from  his  hands  and  pushed  him  toward the
    AM
    vy,         thralls.
                    A  man  in  homespun  tunic,  the  black  pelt  of  his face
                 marked  by  a  bolt  of  white,  vaulted  on  to  the  stage. Syle
                 thrust  Yama  forward  and  said,  "Here  he  is, dominie."
                    "I  am  the  master  of  no  man,"  Prefect  Corin  said. He
                 had  a  strip  of  translucent  cloth  tied  across  his  eyes. "We
                 meet  again,  Yama.  How  I  wish  this  little  drama  was not
                 necessary,  but  you  provoked me."
                    "Let  my  friends  go,"  Yama  said.  "They  are  no part
                 of this."
                    "They  know  about  you.  More  than  I  do,  I  think. Your
                 stepfather  kept  much  from  the  Department.  That  trick with
                 the  fireflies,  for  instance."  Prefect  Corin  touched  the cloth
                 over  his  eyes.  "Do  not  think  to  try  that  again,  by  the way.
                 This  will  shield  my  eyes,  and  all  my  men  are  protected in
                 the  same way."
                    Yama  remembered  the  little  machine  which  had saved
                 him  from  Cyg  by  piercing  the  cateran's  brain.  He could
                 
kill  everyone  in  the  plaza  and  walk  free.  He  forced the
                 thought  away.  He  would  not  murder  to  save himself
                    He  said,  "The  Aedile  told  you  all  he  knew.  I have
                 learned  much  since  I  came  to Ys."
                    Prefect  Corin  nodded.  "And  you  will  learn  more, with
                 the  Department's help."
                    Syle  said,  "You  remember  our agreement."
                    "Perfectly.  Will  you  kill  her  with  that  silly  little pistol,
                 or  shall  I  order  one  of  my  soldiers  to  do  it  for you?"
                    Syle  blushed  with  anger.  "Do  not  presume  to  tell me
                 what  to  do.  I  give  you  this  territory,  but  the Department
                 is  not  the territory."
                    Luria  struggled  to  her  feet.  White  smoke billowed
                 around  her.  She  pointed  at  Syle  and  said  loudly, "Traitor!
                 You  are  disowned,  Syle.  I  so rule."
                    Prefect  Corin  said  dryly,  "You  have  claimed  the De-



                                                    partment  of  Vaticination  for  yourself,  Syle.  I  hope  you can
                                                    control  it.  Do  be  careful.  I  believe  that  she  has  a knife."
                                                      It  was  small,  with  a  crooked  blade.  Luria  flourished it
                                                    dramatically,  as  if  about  to  plunge  it  into  her  own breast.
                                                      Daphoene  spread  her  eyes  wide.  She  was  smiling toward
                                                    Luria.  Her  white  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  A  thread  of blood
                                                    ran  from  one  corner  of  her mouth.
                                                      "Now  it  ends,"  she said.
                                                      To  Yama,  it  seemed  as  if  a  hundred  people  had spoken
                                                    with  the  same voice,
                                                      Syle  stepped  forward  and  said,  "Pythoness. Please-Luria
                                                        swung  the  knife.  Not  at  Syle,  but  at Daphoene.
                                                    The  blade  must  have  been  poisoned,  for  although  it only
                                                    inflicted  a  shallow  cut  on  Daphoene's  flat  breast,  the girl
                                                    convulsed  and  fell  back  on  to  the  chair  of  her palanquin.
                                                    A  moment  later  Luria  fell  too,  riddled  with  arbalest bolts.
                                                    Rega  wailed  and  ran  across  the  stage  to  Daphoene, and
                                                    snatched  her  up  and  covered  her  face  with desperate
                                                   
kisses.
                     THE  (OMWITTEE  FOR  PUBLI( SAFETY
              "DAPHOENI  WAS  Tfll  daughter  of  Rega  by  another marriage,"
              Prefect  Corin  said.  "I  think  it  was  Rega  who  had the
              idea-Syle  is  a  clever  man,  but  not  one  given  to carrying
              out  his  schemes.  Rega,  however,  is  very  ambitious. She
              was  not  content  to  be  the  wife  of  the  secretary  of  a dwindling
                department.  Her  father  was  a  failed  merchant who
              killed  himself  before  his  debtors  could,  and  she  clawed her
              way  up  from  poverty.  I  half  admire  her  for  her  ambition, if
              not  for  her  methods.  She  is  a  magnificent bitch.
                 "She  altered  her  daughter's  appearance  by  surgery and
              infected  her  with  machines  carrying  the  essences  of dead
              people.  It  is  a  technique  we  have  used  to  produce battlefield
                advisers.  The  infected  subject  becomes  a population
              which,  when  asked  a  question,  can  by  heuristics  derive the
              best  solution  to  a  particular  problem.  It  has  not  had a
              high  success  rate-most  of  the  subjects  retreat  into fugues.
              Daphoene  was  more  successful  than  most,  but  the procedure
                blinded  her,  and  most  of  her  own  personality was
              destroyed.  However,  Rega  felt  that  the  loss  of  her daughter's
                sight  and  sanity  was  an  acceptable  sacrifice  to her
              own  ambition.  I  think  that  Luria  suspected  that Daphoene
              was  Syle's  stepdaughter,  but  she  had  no  proof.  It  was Syle



                                                    who  organized  the  search  for  the  new  pythoness,  after all,
                                                    and  Syle  who  kept  all  the  records,  and  he  married  the only
                                                    person  who  could  betray him."
                                                       Yama  said,  "They  meant  to  betray  me  from  the beginning
                                                    .  Luria  wanted  to  exchange  me  for  the  safety  of her
                                                    department;  Syle  and  Rega  plotted  to  use  me  as  a counter
                                                    in  a  bargain  with  you.  At  the  last  moment,  Syle feared
                                                    that  the  plans  would  go  wrong  and  tried  to  persuade me
                                                    to  help  him  against  you,  but  I  would  not.  And  even  if I
                                                    had  helped  him,  I  think  that  Rega  would  still  have betrayed
                                                     me.
                                                       Brabant  had  been  innocent.  The  conversation which
                                                    Pandaras  had  overheard  had  been  staged  by  Syle  and Rega,
                                                    part  of  the  scheme  to  lure  Yama  into  territory  under the
                                                    control  of  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  so  that he
                                                    could  be  captured  by  Prefect  Corin.  It  was  well known
                                                    that  Brabant  patronized  the  bawdy  house  at  the  edge of
                                                    the  day  market,  and  Prefect  Corin  had  waited  for Yama
                                                    
there.  But  Yama  had  escaped  the  trap  and  had  to  be betrayed
                                                      all  over  again,  this  time  publicly.  The gatekeeper
                                                    had  informed  Syle  of  Yama's  return,  and  Syle  had delayed
                                                    the  start  of  the  public  inquisition  until  Prefect  Corin's men
                                                    were  in place.
                                                       Prefect  Corin  said,  "No  doubt  Rega  will  infect  her new
                                                    daughter  once  she  is  born-and  meanwhile  Syle  will find
                                                    an  amenable  candidate  to  play  the  role  of  pythoness.  He is
                                                    our  man,  now.  These  old  departments  are  utterly decadent,
                                                    Yama,  incurable  except  by  the  most  radical  surgery. We
                                                    have  developed  a  new  system  where  all,  from  the humblest
                                                    clerk  to  the  most  senior  legate,  are  answerable  to  a network
                                                      of  committees.  With  no  center  of  power,  no single
                                                    person  can  influence  the  Department  for  their  own ends.
                                                    Thus,  we  are  able  to  take  a  long-term  view  with  the best
                                                    interests  of  Confluence  in  mind.  In  time,  all  will  fall under
                                                    our  system,  and  we  can  begin  to  win  the  war against
                                                    the  heretics. "
                                                       They  sat  side  by  side  on  the  narrow  cot  in  Yama's tiny
                                                    
cell,  lit  only  by  a  luminous  stick.  Yama's  fireflies  had been
                                                    stripped  from  him,  as  had  his  knife  and  the  ancient coin
              which  the  anchorite  had  given  him.  He  had  been allowed
              to  keep  his  copy  of  the  Puranas  and  his  clothes, nothing
             else.
                 The  cell  was  spartan.  There  was  the  cot  with  its lumpy
              mattress,  a  plastic  slop  bucket,  a  shelf  which  folded down
              from  the  wall,  and  a  square  of  raffia  matting  on  the stone
              floor.  A  spigot  in  the  wall  delivered  lukewarm, tasteless
              water.  There  was  a  plastic  cup  hanging  on  a  chain beside
              the  spigot,  and  a  drain  beneath,  no  bigger  than Yama's
              outspread  hand.  Prefect  Corin  assured  Yama  that  it was
              no  different  from  his  own  cell  and  every  other  private cell
              in  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs.  Husbands and
              wives  each  kept  their  own  cells  when  they  were married,
              and  children  lived  in  dormitories  until  they  were old
              enough  to  be  given  a  job  and  a  cell  of  their own.
                 The  heart  of  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs was
             a   vast  honeycomb  of  cells  and  narrow  corridors, interspersed
                with  long,  low  chambers  where  clerks worked,
              row  upon  row  upon  row,  fireflies  flickering  above their
              heads  as  they  bent  over  papers  and  books  and  slates. A
              hundred  layers  of  cells  and  corridors  and chambers
              crammed  into  the  middle  levels  of  the  Palace  and ringed
              by  outlying  territories  sequestered  from  other departments,
              which  contained  barracks  and armories.
                 Tamora  and  Pandaras  and  Eliphas  were  being  held a
              
long  way  from  Yama,  in  their  own  cells.  They  were undergoing
                debriefing,  Prefect  Corin  said,  and  would  be released
              once  it  was  finished.  Yama  asked  when  that  might  be, and
              Prefect  Corin  replied  that  it  might  take  only  a  few days,
              or  it  might  take years.
                 "Once  we  know  everything,"  he said.
                 "There  is  no  end  to  questions,"  Yama said.
                 Prefect  Corin  considered  this.  He  said,  "In  your case,
              that  might  be true."
                 It  was  never  quiet.  There  was  always  the  sound of
              voices  somewhere,  the  clash  of  doors  slamming,  the tread
              of  feet.  Yama  lost  track  of  time.  At  the  beginning,  he was
              mostly  left  in  darkness,  and  meals-edible  plastic occasionally
                leavened  with  a  piece  of  fruit  or  a  dollop  of vege-



                                                      table  curry-arrived  at  irregular  intervals.  Later, when
                                                      daylight  was  piped  into  his  cell  through  a  glass  duct, he
                                                      could  at  least  read  in  the  Puranas  and  mark,  by  the waxing
                                                      and  waning  of  the  weak  light,  the  passage  of  the days.
                                                         At  intervals,  Yama  was  taken  from  the  cell  and marched
                                                     by   armed  guards  to  a  large,  dimly  lit  room  divided into
                                                      two  by  a  pane  of  thick  glass.  It  was  where  he  was tested.
                                                     On   one  side  of  the  glass  was  a  stool;  on  the  other were
                                                      fireflies,  anything  from  one  to  more  than  a  hundred. A
                                                      disembodied  voice  would  instruct  Yama  to  sit  on  the stool.
                                                      Once  he  was  seated,  his  side  of  the  room  would be
                                                      plunged  into  darkness.  Then  the  tests  would begin.
                                                         The  first  time  this  happened  there  was  only  a single
                                                      firefly,  a  brilliant  point  of  light  that  hung  in  the  center of
                                                      the  darkened  space  on  the  other  side  of  the  glass. Yama
                                                      was  told  to  move  it  to  the  right.  He  refused,  and  after a
                                                      long  time  he  was  taken  to  his  cell  and  left  in darkness
                                                      without  food.  Judging  
by  the  ebb  and  flow  of  noise, Yama
                                                      thought  that  two  days  might  have  passed.  At  last, weak
                                                      with  hunger,  he  was  brought  back  to  the  divided  room and
                                                      asked  by  the  voice  to  repeat  the exercise.
                                                         Yama  obeyed.  Both  sides  had  made  their  point.  He had
                                                      shown  that  he  was  acting  under  coercion;  they  had shown
                                                      that  they  would  not  tolerate  resistance.  The  voice  was patient
                                                        and  never  tired  or  varied  its  precise  inflection.  It gave
                                                      each  set  of  instructions  twice  over  and  waited  until Yama.
                                                      had  complied  before  issuing  the  next.  It  took  no  notice of
                                                      any  mistakes  or  failures.  Yama  gradually  constructed a
                                                      fantasy  image  of  the  voice's  owner.  A  middle-aged man,
                                                      with  cropped,  iron-gray  hair  and  a  square  jaw,  sitting  in a
                                                      cell  much  like  his  own,  a  single  firefly  at  his shoulder
                                                      illuminating  the  script  from  which  he read.
                                                         "Up,"  the  voice  would  say,  "Up."  And,  "Red firefly
                                                      circle  right,  white  firefly  circle  left.  Red  circle  right, white
                                                      circle left."
                                                         There  were  hundreds  
of  these  exercises. Sometimes
                                                      Yama  was  asked  to  weave  complex  dances  involving a
                                                      decad  of  differently  colored  fireflies;  sometimes  he spent
                                                      long  hours  moving  a  single  firefly  in  straight  lines back
               and  forth  across  the  darkness,  or  varying  its  brightness by
               increments.  He  did  not  try  to  understand  the significance
               of  the  different  kinds  of  exercises.  He  suspected  that if
               there  was  a  pattern,  it  had  been  randomized  so  that he
               could  never  unravel  it.  Better  to  think  that  there  was no
               pattern  at  all.  Better  to  think  that  they  did  not  know what
               they  wanted  to  find  out,  or  did  not  know  how  to  find out
               what  they  wanted  to know.
                  He  worked  hard  at  the  tests,  although  they  often left
               him  with  bad  headaches  or  worse.  Sometimes  red and
               black  sparks  would  fill  his  sight  and  sometime  later he
               would  find  himself  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  cell,  his trousers
                 soaked  with  stale  urine,  blood  on  his  lips  and tongue.
               These  fits  terrified  him.  Perhaps  they  were  a  legacy  of the
               blow  to  his  head  (although  the  wound  had completely
               healed;  there  was  not  even  a  scar),  exacerbated  by the
               stress  of  the  exercises.  He  told  no  one  about  them. 
He
               would  reveal  no  weakness  to  his enemies.
                  Whether  or  not  those  testing  Yama  were  learning about
               his  abilities,  he  was  certainly  learning  more  about himself
               every  day.  Despite  the  fits,  he  exulted  over  the growing
               control  over  his  powers.  And  for  the  first  time  since he
               had  set  out  from  Aeolis  on  the  road  to  Ys,  he  had time
               to  reflect  on  what  he  had  discovered  about  himself. Always
               ,  his  actions  had  been  driven  by  contingency  or by
               the  needs  of  others.  First,  under  the  unwanted protection
               of  Prefect  Corin  and  then,  after  his  escape  from  the Prefect
               and  (so  he  thought)  from  his  ordained  fate  as  a minor
               official  in  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs,  in the
               company  of  Pandaras  and Tamora.
                  He  had  promised  himself  that  he  would  discover the
               secret  of  his  origin-the  silver-skinned  woman,  the white
               boat  in  the  middle  of  the  Great  River,  attended  by  a cloud
               of  tiny  machines-and  he  had  failed.  No,  it  was worse
               than  that.  He  had  not  really  tried.  He  had  preferred to
               adventure  with  Tamora  and  Pandaras  rather  than think
               about  what  he  was,  and  why  he  was here.
                  When  he  was  alone  in  his  cell,  he  spent  his  time reviewing
               every  step  of  his  adventures  between  leaving  Aeolis  and the



                                                      fall  of  the  Department  of  Vaticination,  weighing  every one
                                                      of  his  actions  and  motives  and  finding  them  all wanting.
                                                      He  slept  a  lot,  too,  and  in  his  sleep  his  sense  of  the location
                                                        and  activity  of  machines  expanded.  Sometimes he
                                                      seemed  to  be  suspended  in  the  midst  of  a  vast  array of
                                                      little  minds  that  were  both  quick  and  stupefyingly dull,
                                                      with  webs  of  connectivity  blossoming  and  fading around
                                                      him  like  a  runaway  loom  simultaneously  weaving  and unraveling
                                                        a  cloth  in  three  dimensions.  Most  of  the machines
                                                      were  fireflies,  but  at  the  periphery  of  their  immense flock
                                                      Yama  could  detect  larger  machines  employed  in defense
                                                     0
                                                       f  the  Department.  Further  still,  glimpsed  like  bright lights
                                                      through  river  fog,  were  larger  machines  whose purpose
                                                      was  totally  obscure,  and  interspersed  through  the volume
                                                      of  greater  and  lesser  machines  were  intense  points which
                                                      he  recognized  as  the  potential  energies  of  active shrines.
                                                        And  sometimes,  at  the  furthest  edge  of  this  inward vision
                                                      
,  was  a  faint  intimation  of  the  feral  machine  he had
                                                      accidentally  drawn  down  at  the  merchant's  house.  It was
                                                      very  far  away,  hung  in  isolation  beyond  and  below the
                                                      end  of  the  world-but  it  was  always  there,  the  iron to
                                                      which  the  lodestone  of  his  mind  was  drawn  again and
                                                     again.
                                                        At  times,  his  sensitivity  increased  so  much  that  he could
                                                      even  perceive  the  clusters  of  tiny  machines  which every
                                                      sentient  person  carried  at  the  base  of  their  brain. Faintly,
                                                      he  could  feel  in  these  clusters  the  echoes  of  the memories
                                                      Of  their  hosts;  it  was  as  if  he  was  the  only  living person
                                                      in  an  impalpable  world  inhabited  by  hordes  of ghosts
                                                      mumbling  over  their  last ends.
                                                        In  his  sleep,  Yama  tried  to  discover  which  of  the ghosts
                                                      might  be  Tamora,  or  Pandaras,  or  Eliphas,  but  always this
                                                      effort  would  shift  his  trancelike  apprehension  of  the machines
                                                        around  him  into  a  dream.  Sometimes  he  ran along
                                                      a  web  of  narrow  paths  between  the  tombs  and  steles  of the
                                                      City  of  the  Dead,  
pursued  by  men  who  had  by grotesque
                                                      mutilation  merged  themselves  with  machines. Sometimes
                                                      he  fled  endlessly  from  the  hell-hound,  waking  with  a start
                                                      in  the  very  moment  that  its  burning  blue  light  swept across
               him.  And  sometimes  he  harried  numberless  enemies with
               bloody  zeal,  exultant  as  cities  burned  and  armies fought
               and  looted  the  length  of  the  world  in  his  name,  and woke
               shocked  and  ashamed,  and  swore  never  to  dream such
  15           dreams again.
                 But  they  were  always  with  him,  like  splinters  of cold
               metal  under  his skin.
                 At  intervals,  Prefect  Corin  came  and  sat  with Yama,
               and  slowly,  punctuated  by  long  silences,  a conversation
               would  begin.  Yama  supposed  that  these conversations
               were  really  interrogations,  but  mostly  it  seemed  that Prefect
                 Corin  was  interested  in  Yama's  childhood, asking
               about  details-and  details  within  those  details-of small
               events  or  ceremonies,  the  geography  of  Aeolis  or  the hinterlands
                 of  the  City  of  the  Dead,  the  disposition  of books
               in  the  library  of  the  peel-house,  the  lessons  taught  by the
  "Z"          librarian,  Zakiel,  or  by  the  master  of  the  guard, Sergeant
              Rhodean.
                 The  matter  of  the  white  boat,  the  mystery  of Yama's
               origins,  the  attempted  kidnap  by  Dr.  Dismas,  Yama's adventures
                 in  Ys-none  of  these  were  ever  touched upon.
               
Yama  did  not  have  to  dissemble  about  his  encounter with
               the  custodians  of  the  City  of  the  Dead  and  the  slate they
               had  shown  him,  in  which  he  had  seen  a  man  of  his bloodline
                 turning  away  to  contemplate  a  sky  full  of  stars. Nor
               did  he  have  to  describe  how  he  had  drawn  down  the feral
               machine  at  the  merchant's  house,  or  the  merchant's last
               words;  nor  how  he  had  woken  and  then  defeated  the feral
               machine  which  had  been  trapped  far  beneath  the Temple
               of  the  Black  Well;  nor  what  the  woman  in  white, aspect
               of  one  of  the  Ancients  of  Days,  had  told  him  when she
               had  appeared  in  the shrine.
                 But  it  also  meant  that  all  these  adventures  and discoveries
                 were  thrust  to  the  back  of  his  mind  by  Prefect Corin's
               patient  but  insistent  demands  for  increasingly  minute details
                 about  the  mundane  days  of  his  childhood.  It  was as
               if  all  that  had  happened  to  Yama  in  the  handful  of days
               between  leaving  his  home  in  Aeolis  and  arriving  here, in
               this  bleak  cell  amongst  thousands  of  identical  cells  in the



                                                      Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs,  had  been  no  more than
                                                      a  vivid  dream.  It  was  another  reason  why,  when  left alone
                                                      in  the  unquiet  darkness  of  his  cell,  Yama  traced  and retraced
                                                        his  every  footstep  between  Aeolis  and  Ys  like an
                                                      ox  plodding  around  and  around  a  water  lift,  the  groove of
                                                      its  path  infinitesimally  deepening  with  each  round.  He was
                                                      frightened  that  if  he  forgot  even  the  slightest  detail  of his
                                                      adventures  he  would  begin  to  forget  it  all,  as  the unraveling
                                                        of  a  piece  of  cloth  can  begin  with  the  fraying  of a
                                                      single thread.
                                                         Whenever  Yama  asked  a  question,  Prefect  Corin  had a
                                                      habit  of  falling  silent,  as  if  engaged  in  an  internal dialogue
                                                      with  himself,  before  asking  a  question  in  return.  The Prefect's
                                                        dry,  spare  manner  intensified  during  these interrogation
                                                        sessions.  His  silences  were  vast  and  arid;  his gaze
                                                      burned  intently  while  Yama  talked  at  random  about his
                                                      childhood,  like  a  mountain  lion  fixing  on  its  prey and
                                                      waiting  or  t  e  moment  o  wea  ness  or uncertainty              at
                                                      
will  betray  it.  It  was  as  if  he  had  shaped  his  intellect  to a
                                                      single  inquiring  point,  as  one  of  the  fisherfolk  might flake
                                                      a  pebble  to  form  the  head  of  a  harpoon.  Yama  got no
                                                      answers  from  him  at  all-only  questions.  And  he  did not
                                                      know  if  the  answers  he  gave  to  the  Prefect's questions
                                                      were  sufficient.  Like  all  of  his  own  questions,  that also
                                                      went unanswered.
                                                         Apart  from  Prefect  Corin  and  the  disembodied  voice in
                                                      the  divided,  darkened  room,  Yama's  only  human contacts
                                                      were  his  guards.  Four  men  had  sentry  duty  outside Yama's
                                                      cell,  changing  watches  in  regular  succession.  They lived
                                                      in  the  cells  on  either  side  of  his,  and  marched  with him
                                                      from  his  cell  to  the  room  where  he  took  his  tests, and
                                                      back again.
                                                         Only  one  of  the  guards  ever  talked  with  him.  This was
                                                      the  old  man  who  took  the  second  of  the  night watches,
                                                      from  midnight  to  dawn.  His  name  was  Coronetes.  He confided
                                                        to  Yama  that  he  did  not  mind  the  night  watch. He
                                                      was  old,  his  wife  had  died,  and  he  did  not  sleep much.
                                                         
"You,  young  man,  sleep  very  soundly,"  Coronetes said.
                                                       It  is  a  gift  of  the  young.  Old  men  do  not  need  to sleep
              because  soon  they  will  be  dead,  never  to  wake  again until
              they  wake  into  the  world  at  the  end  of  time  created by
              the  will  of  the Preservers."
                 Yama  smiled  at  this  conceit  and  replied  with  one  of his
              own.  "Then  it  will  be  no  sleep  at  all,  because  in the
              interval  you  will  not  exist,  and  so  no  time  will  pass. As
              it  says  in  the  first  sura  of  the  Puranas,  'Before  the Universe
              there  was  no  time,  for  nothing changed.'
                 "You  are  a  devout man."
                 "I  would  not  say that."
                 "I  suppose  you  must  have  done  something  bad,  to be
              here.  But  you  are  often  reading  in  the Puranas."
                 "Do  they  watch  me,  then?"  Yama  had  not  thought of
              that.  He  had  believed  that  the  cell  was  as  private  as the
              inside  of  his head.
                 Coronetes  nodded  vigorously.  "By  the  same pipe
              through  which  the  light  falls.  I  thought  you  would have
              known  that.  But  I  do  not  think  they  watch  now. They
             sleep."
                 Like  most  of  the  common  people  of  the  Department of
              Indigenous  Affairs,  Coronetes  was  slightly  built. His
              coarse  hair  was  black,  despite  his  age,  and  worn  in  
a stout,
              greased  pigtail  that  fell  halfway  down  his  back. Although
              he  was,  as  he  liked  to  say,  as  scrawny  as  a plucked
              chicken,  he  was  still  a  strong  man;  muscles  knotted his
              skinny  arms  as  if  walnuts  had  been  stuffed  under his
              brown  skin.  He  had  volunteered  for  the  army  at  the beginning
                of  the  war.  He  had  fought  in  the  Marsh  of  the Lost
              Waters,  and  still  suffered  from  fluxion  of  the lungs.
                 "There  are  sandflies  that  enter  the  mouth  or  nose  of a
              sleeping  man,"  he  explained,  "and  creep  into  the throat
              to  lay  eggs.  The  larvae  get  into  the  lungs  and  every now
              and  then  one  turns  into  a  fly  and  I  must  cough  it  out. But
              I  am  luckier  than  many  of  my  comrades.  The  diseases of
              the  midpoint  of  the  world  and  the  wild  creatures  of the
              marshes  and  the  forests  accounted  for  most  of  them, not
              the  fighting.  It  is  for  that  reason  that  the  heretics  are brothers
                to  the  gar,  panther  and sandfly."
                 Coronetes  had  been  so  weakened  by  fluxion  and fevers



                                                     that  his  wife  had  not  recognized  him  when  he  had returned
                                                     from  the  war.  He  had  become  a  clerk,  like  his  father before
                                                     him,  and  still  wore  a  clerk's  white  shirt,  for  he  had been
                                                     a  clerk  longer  than  he  had  been  a  soldier,  and  had risen
                                                     to  become  the  head  of  his  section.  He  was  fiercely loyal
                                                     to  his  Department  and  feared  no  one,  but  he  was lonely
                                                     in  his  old  age.  He  had  no  children,  and  had  outlived most
                                                     of  his  friends  while  still  a  young man.
                                                        "We  will  rule  the  world,"  Coronetes  said,  "because no
                                                     one  else  will  take  up  the  burden.  That  is  why  you will
                                                     confess  to  the  Committee  for  Public  Safety,  and  that is
                                                     why  you  will  enlist  in  our  cause.  It  is  the  only  cause worth.
                                                     fighting  for,  young man."
                                                        Coronetes  and  Yama  sat  on  the  bed  in  the  cell,  lit  by a
                                                     stick  of  cold  green  light  Coronetes  had  set  on  the folddown
                                                       shelf.  None  of  the  guards  had  fireflies.  Indeed, no
                                                     machines  came  near  Yama  except  those  on  the  far  side of
                                                     the  thick  glass  wall  
of  the  testing room.
                                                        Yama  said,  "I  was  brought  up  in  the  care  of  a senior
                                                     member  of  the  Department.  He  believed  that  service to
                                                     the  ideal  of  the  Preservers  was  the  beginning  and  end of
                                                     the  duty  of  every Department."
                                                        "The  Aedile  of  Aeolis?  He  has  the  luxury  of  living in
                                                     a  place  where  his  rule  is  undisputed.  That  kind  of  view is
                                                     considered  old-fashioned.  It  was  old-fashioned  even when
                                                     I  was  a  child,  and  that  was  a  long  time  ago.  Now my
                                                     grandfather,  he  was  a  soldier,  too.  That  was  before the
                                                     war  against  the  heretics.  He  fought  three  campaigns within
                                                     the  Palace  against  departments  who  tried  to  usurp our
                                                     functions  and  our  territory.  He  knew  where  his  duty lay.
                                                     You  were  lucky  to  be  brought  up  where  you  were, but
                                                     now  you  are in
                                                                      the  real world."
                                                        "This cell."
                                                        "It  is  no  different  from  my cell."
                                                        "Except  you  will  stop  me  if  I  try  and  walk out."
                                                        
Coronetes  smiled.  His  mouth  was  as  wide  and lipless
                                                    as  a  frog's.  He  had  lost  most  of  his  teeth,  and  those that
                                                     remained  were  brown  and  worn  down  to  the  gumline. He
             said,  "Well,  that  is  true.  I  would  do  my  best.  I  would kill
             you  if  I  had  to,  but  I  hope  it  will  not  be necessary."
               "So  do I.In
                 fact,  Yama  never  once  thought  of  escaping when
             Coronetes  came  to  visit  him  in  his  cell.  It  would  be dishonorable
             ,  for  whatever  else  Coronetes  might  be  and whatever
             motives  he  might  have,  he  presented  himself  as Yama's
            friend.
               "Tell  me  about  the  war,"  Yama  would  say,  when he
             found  himself  disagreeing  with  one  of  Coronetes' praise
             songs  to  the  great  heart  and  forthright  purpose  of  the Department
               of  Indigenous Affairs.
               Coronetes  had  many  stories  of  the  war,  of  long marches
             from  one  part  of  the  marshes  to  another,  of engagements
             where  nothing  could  be  seen  of  the  enemy  but  the distant
             flashes  of  their  weapons,  of  days  and  days  when nothing
             at  all  happened,  and  Coronetes'  company  lay  in  the sun
             and  swapped  stories.  Most  of  the  war  was  either marching
             or  waiting,  he  said.  He  had  only  been  in  two  real battles,
             one  which  had  lasted  a  hundred  days,  fought  to  capture a
             hill  later  abandoned,  and  one  in  a  town  where  the citizens
             had  begun  to  change  and  no  one  knew  who  was fighting
            whom.
               Jt  is  what  the  heretics  do,"  Coronetes  said. "They
             force  the  change  in  a  bloodline,  and  with  change comes
             
war.  The  war  is  not  one  war,  but  many,  for  we  must fight
             for  each  unchanged  bloodline,  to  make  sure  they  do not
             fall  under  the  spell  of  the  heretics  when  they  are most
             vulnerable.  If  we  did  only  what  we  wanted,  we  would be
             like  animals,  or  worse  than  animals,  because  animals are
             only  themselves,  and  cannot  help  what  they  are.  The Prefect
             ,  he  had  a  more  dangerous  job,  moving  amongst the
             unchanged  just  like  the  heretic  inciters.  That  is  where the
             war  is  really  fought,  if  you  want  my  opinion.  The heretics
             are  powerful  enemies  because  they  are  powerful  at persuading
               the  unchanged  to  see  things  their  way.  Our Committee
               is  dedicated  to  destroying  the  heretics,  but  even so
             it  uses  some  of  their  techniques  to  ensure  loyalty within
             the Department.



                                                          The  Committee  for  Public  Safety  had  transformed the
                                                        Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs,  turning  a  musty cabal
                                                        of  legal  clerks  and  serniautocrats  into  an  aggressive  hive of
                                                        radicals  that  claimed  to  be  fighting  for  all  the  souls  of Confluence
                                                        .  The  Committee  held  that  everyone  was  equal, and
                                                        the  least  clerk  felt  that  he  was  as  important  in  the struggle
                                                        as  the  most  senior  general.  Coronetes  sometimes talked
                                                        for  hours,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  pride,  about  the merits
                                                        of  the  organization  of  the  Department,  of  the  wonders it
                                                        had  achieved  and  the  paradise  it  would  bring  once  it had
                                                        defeated  the  heretics  and  united Confluence.
                                                          Yama  preferred  to  hear  about  the  war.  The  patrols that
                                                        looped  through  a  country  of  tall  grasses  without  ever engaging
                                                          the  enemy,  the  camps  amongst  the  buttress roots
                                                        of  trees  of  the  virgin  forest  of  the  great  marshes,  the geometry
                                                          of  advances  and  retreats.  He  learned  the  jargon  of the
                                                        common  soldiers,  the  rudimentary  sign  language  they used
                                                        when  the  enemy  
was  close  by.  More  than  ever,  he yearned
                                                        to  join  the  army  as  a  cateran  or  an  officer  of  the light
                                                        lance,  to  flee  downriver  and  lose  himself  in  the war.
                                                          Yama  supposed  that  these  visits  might  be  a  part  of his
                                                        interrogation,  but  if  so  it  did  not  matter.  He  looked forward
                                                        to  the  time  when,  late  at  night,  there  would  be  a scratching
                                                        at  the  door  and  he  would  call  out  and  ask  the  old  man to
                                                        enter.  Although  Yama  was  the  prisoner  and  Coronetes his
                                                        guard,  they  both  sustained  the  fiction  that  Yama  was the
                                                        host,  and  Coronetes  the  visitor.  Coronetes  always waited
                                                        for  Yama's  invitation  before  unlocking  the  door,  and neither
                                                          commented  on  the  fact  that  he  locked  it  again once
                                                        he  was  inside.  That  Yama  politely  forbore  to  argue against
                                                        Coronetes'  transparent  propaganda  was  part  of  this fiction-that
                                                        ,  and  his  suspicion  that  anything  he  said against
                                                        the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  or  the Committee
                                                        for  Public  Safety  would  be  used  against  him.  Yama was
                                                        always  disappointed  on  those  nights  when  Coronetes' inquinng
                                                          
scratch  failed  to  come,  and  had  almost become
                                                        used  to  the  unvarying  pattern  of  his  days  of  captivity when
                                                        the  ambush  changed everything.
                                     ''YOU  ARE A MONSTER.''
             YAMA  WAS  R[TURNIN6  to  his  cell  after  a  testing  session, with
             two  guards  walking  a  little  way  in  front  of  him  and two
             behind.  His  hands  were  bound  by  a  loop  of  plastic that
             was  designed  to  remorselessly  tighten  if  he  attempted to
             struggle  against  it.  He  had  learned  to  bend  his  arms and
             rest  his  fists  against  his  chest,  as  if  in  prayer,  to minimize
                 ement.  Coronetes  had  told  him  that  this  form  of reov              
             straint,  called  the  serpent,  could  amputate  limbs  if  left on
             for  too long.
               The  corridor  was  lit  only  by  the  luminous  sticks carried
             by  the  guards.  Yama  moved  in  a  bubble  of  dim green
             light,  with  darkness  ahead  and  darkness  behind,  every ten
             paces  passing  a  facing  pair  of  doors.  The  doors  were slabs
             of  dense,  grainy  white  plastic  deeply  recessed  in  the fused
             rock  walls,  as  indistinguishable  from  each  other  as cells
             in  a honeycomb.
               Yama  was  thinking  about  the  tests.  In  the  past  few days
             he  had  been  fitted  with  a  metal  cap  while  moving the
             
fireflies  about.  And  the  fireflies  were  changing,  too. At
             first  they  had  become  slow  to  respond  to  his commands;
             now  their  little  minds  were  hedged  with  loops  and knots
             of  futile  logic  which  he  had  to  unpick  before  they would



                                                    obey  him.  Those  testing  him  were  beginning  to  probe the
                                                    limits  of  his  power;  he  was  beginning  to  worry  about what
                                                    might  happen  when  those  limits  were reached.
                                                       Without  warning,  two  doors  were  flung  open,  one on
                                                    either  side.  Three  young  men  rushed  out  from  the left;
                                                    two  from  the  right.  They  yelled  hoarsely,  clubs  cocked at
                                                    their  shoulders.  The  leader  swung  a  killing  star  on  a short
                                                    chain.  Yama  ducked  and  rammed  the  man  in  the chest
                                                    with  his  shoulder,  catching  him  off  balance.  The man
                                                    slammed  into  the  wall  and  Yama  broke  his  nose  with his
                                                    forehead.  Then  someone  kicked  Yama's  legs  out from
                                                    under  him.  The  serpent  tightened  around  his  wrists when
                                                    he  tried  to  break  his  fall  and  the  back  of  his  head struck
                                                    the  floor.  Two  of  the  attackers  began  kicking  and pummelling
                                                      him  while  the  others  fought  with  the guards.
                                                       Yama  tucked  his  head  into  his  chest  and  curled  up as
                                                    tightly  as  he  could.  There  were  no  machines  he  could use
                                                    against  his  assailants-like  
the  guards,  the  young  men had
                                                    no  fireflies-but  their  own  ineptitude  saved  him. They
                                                    were  too  close  to  each  other  to  use  their  clubs properly
                                                    and  they  wore  only  soft-soled  shoes,  so  that  their kicks
                                                    bruised  rather  than  broke  bones.  Then  someone  fell heavily
                                                    on  Yama,  saving  him  from  the  worst  of  the  blows. A
                                                    moment  later,  one  of  the  guards  fired  his  slug  pistol, and
                                                    the  attackers ran.
                                                       Yama  was  hauled  to  his  feet  by  two  of  the  guards. It
                                                    was  Coronetes  who  had  fallen  on  him.  The  old man's
                                                    white  shirt  was  ripped  down  the  front  and  wet  with blood.
                                                    One  of  the  guards  knelt  beside  him  and  the  other two
                                                    dragged  Yama  away.  The  serpent  was  a  band  of intense
                                                    pain  around  his  wrists;  his  hands  had  lost  all feeling.
                                                       The  guards  would  not  answer  his  questions.  They unclasped
                                                      the  serpent  and  left  him  alone  in  his  cell. Yama
                                                    massaged  his  wrists  and  hands.  His  fingers  were  numb and
                                                    pale,  and  felt  as  if  they  had  swollen  to  twice  their normal
                                                    size.  They  started  
to  hurt  as  blood  flowed  back  into the
                                                    Yama  took  that  as  a  good  sign.  His  chest  ached  with each
                                                    breath,  but  the  pain  was  not  sharp,  and  he  did  not think
                                                    his  ribs  were  broken.  He  had  cut  his  tongue,  and there
                                                       of  DAYS  - IV
             were  pulpy  bruises  on  his  scalp.  There  was  blood  on his
             shirt,  so  much  blood  that  the  shirt  stuck  to  his  skin. He
             took  it  off  and  ran  his  hands  over  his  flanks  and  back and
             found  many  deep  bruises  but  no  other  wounds.  Then he
             realized  that  it  must  be  Coronetes' blood.
               He  had  rinsed  his  mouth  out  and  started  to  wash himself
             when  the  two  guards  came  back.  They  still  would not
             answer  his  questions.  They  fitted  the  serpent  to  his wrists
             and  marched  him  out  of  his  cell.  As  always,  the corridors
             were  deserted.  He  was  led  through  a  great  hall crammed
             with  long  tables  which  looked  as  if  they  had  been abandoned
               only  moments  before:  pens  flung  down  on unfinished
               sentences;  slates  still  showing  ranks  of glowing
             ; half-empty  bowls  of  tea.  More  guards  were waitfigures
             ing  at  the  far  side  of  the  room.  A  hood  was  thrust over
             his  head  and  the  forced  march  was  resumed.  At  one point
             he  was  taken  across  an  open  space  ---  cold  air whipped
             around  him-and  soon  after  that  the  hood  was  ripped from
             his  head  and  the  serpent  was  unclasped.  He  turned  just in
             time  to  see  a  door  slam  shut.  It  was  less  than  an hour
             
after  he  had  been attacked.
               The  room  was  four  times  the  size  of  his  cell,  and looked
             even  bigger  because  there  was  no  furniture  except  for a
             narrow  bed.  The  walls  were  fused  rock,  smooth  and slick
            as  glass;  the  floor  was  rammed  earth.  It  was  shaped like
            an  egg,  and  at  the  narrower  end  sunlight  flooded through
             a  big  glass bull's-eye.
               He  found  a  spigot  that  yielded  an  icy  trickle  of rustcolored
               water,  and  stripped  off  his  trousers  and washed
             Coronetes'  blood  from  his  bruised  body  as  best  he could.
             There  was  a  thin  gray  blanket  over  the  striped  ticking of
             the  bed's  mattress;  he  wrapped  it  around  his  shoulders and
             for  a  long  time  knelt  by  the  window,  gazing  out  at the
             blue  sky.  By  pressing  his  bruised  face  against  the cold
             glass,  he  could  glimpse  a  segment  of  a  steep  slope of
             tumbled  black  rocks.  Trees  clung  amongst  the  rocks, their



                                                     branches  all  bent  in  the  same  direction.  Wind  fluted beyond
                                                       the  roundel  of  glass,  and  now  and  then  birds slanted
                                                     through  the  air,  crossing  from  right  to  left  as  they tilted
                                                     on  air  currents  beyond  the  edge  of  the  scree slope.
                                                        He  broke  his  fingernails  prying  at  the  glass, but  it was
                                                     firmly  embedded  in  the  smooth  rock.  It  did  not  break or
                                                     crack  when  he  kicked  at  it;  he  succeeded  only  in bruising
                                                     his  heel.  He  had  just  begun  to  scrape  at  the  hard  earth at
                                                     the  bottom  edge  of  the  window  when  a  chirurgeon came
                                                     in,  flanked  by  two  guards.  The  chirurgeon  tested Yama's
                                                     limbs,  probed  his  mouth  and  shone  a  bright  light  into his
                                                     eyes,  then  left  without  saying  a  word.  Another guard
                                                     brought  in  a  slop  bucket  and  tossed  Yama's bloodstained
                                                     shirt  onto  the  bed,  and  then  Prefect  Corin  came in.
                                                        After  the  guards  had  locked  the  door  behind  them, Prefect
                                                       Corin  sat  on  the  end  of  the  bed.  Yama  stayed  by the
                                                     window.  He  was  conscious  of  being  naked  under  the thin
                                                     blanket.  He  said,  
"How  is Coronetes?"
                                                        "Dead.  As  are  your attackers."
                                                        "Your  Department  is  not  of  one  mind  about  me. That
                                                    is  comforting. "
                                                        "It  was  not  a  conspiracy.  They  wanted  revenge because
                                                     you  had  blinded  their  friends.  You  did  not  try  to defend
                                                     yourself.  Why  was that?"
                                                        "I  believe  that  I  broke  someone's nose."
                                                        "You  know  what  I  mean, boy."
                                                        "I  am  your  prisoner,  not  your  servant.  I  do  not  have to
                                                     explain myself."
                                                        "You  are  the  prisoner  of  the  Department.  I  am here
                                                     because  I  brought  you  to  Ys.  I  am  still  responsible for
                                                     you.  You  do  not  believe  me,  but  I  have  your  best interests
                                                     at heart."
                                                        Yama  smiled.  It  hurt.  "Then  you  endure  our conversations
                                                       as  a punishment?"
                                                        "It  is  my  duty,"  Prefect  Corin  said.  "Just  as  it  was my
                                                     duty  to  bring  you  to Ys."
                                                        "You  failed  at  that  and  you  failed  to  catch  me  by trickery
                                                     
,  too.  In  the  end  you  had  to  use  force.  Perhaps  you are
                                                     not  very  good  at  carrying  out  your duty."
                Prefect  Corin  rarely  smiled,  but  he  smiled  now.  It lasted
            only  for  a  moment  and  did  not  thaw  his  wintry expression
            in  the  slightest.  He  said,  "I  lost  you  once,  yet  here you
            ar  I  all  the  same.  If  I  was  superstitious,  I  might  say that
            it  was  fate,  and  that  our  lives  are  bound  together.  But I
            am  not;  and  they  are  not.  I  have  my  duty.  You  have your
            duty,  too,  Yarnamanama.  You  know  what  it  is,  but you
            resist  it.  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  you  are  so ungrateful.
            Your  stepfather  is  a  senior  officer  of  the  Department, and
            so  in  a  sense  the  Department  raised  you.  It  educated you
            and  trained  you,  and  yet  you  resist  acknowledging your
            considerable  obligation.  You  believe  that  your  own  will is
                stronger  than  the  collective  will  of  the  Department. Believe
           me    you  are wrong."
                "I  do  not  know  what  you  want  of  me."  A silence.
            Yama  corrected  himself.  "I  do  not  know  what  the Department
              wants  of me."
                Prefect  Corin  considered  this.  At  last,  he  said, "Then
            you  will  be  here  a  long  time,  and  so  will  your  friends. It
            is  not  about  what  you  know,  but  what  you  can do."
                "I  am  sorry  that  Coronetes  was  killed.  He  did  not deserve
             
it."
                "Nor  did  the  men  who  attacked  you.  They  were not
            much  more  than  boys,  and  foolish  boys  at  that,  but they
            were  brave.  Their  only  mistake  was  that  they  were more
            loyal  to  their  friends  than  to  the Department."
                Yama  said,  "Do  you  wish  that  they  had  killed me?"
                "You  are  a  monster,  boy.  You  do  not  know  it,  but you
            are.  You  have  more  power  than  any  individual should
            have,  and  you  use  it  without  purpose.  You  do  not even
            know  how  to  use  it  properly.  You  refuse  to  serve,  for no
            other  reason  than  your  pride.  You  could  help  win  the war,
            and  that  is  the  only  reason  why  you  are  kept  alive. Some
            want  you  dead.  I  have  argued  against  it,  and  so  you still
            live,  but  I  cannot  defend  you  forever.  Especially  if you
            continue  to resist."
                :'I  have  completed  every  test  as  best  I could."
                'This  is  not  about  the  tests.  It  is  about loyalty."
                "I  will  not  serve  blindly,"  Yama  said.  "If  I  am here,



                                                     with  such  gifts  as  I  have,  there  must  be  a  purpose to
                                                     it.  That  is  what  I  want  to  discover.  That  is  why  I came
                                                     to Ys."
                                                        "You  should  try  and  be  true  to  the  example  of your
                                                     stepbrother.  He  served.  He  served well."
                                                        "I  will  go  to  war  in  a  moment,  but  you  will  not allow
                                                    it.  So  please  do  not  invoke  Telmon's bravery."
                                                        Prefect  Corin  put  his  hands  on  his  knees  and leaned
                                                     forward,  looking  directly  into  Yama's  face.  His brown
                                                     eyes  were  steady  and  unforgiving.  He  said,  "You  are very
                                                     young.  Too  young  for  what  you possess."
                                                         I  will  not  serve  blindly,"  Yama  said.  "I  have thought
                                                     long  and  hard  about  this.  If  there  are  those  in  the Department
                                                       who  want  me  to  help  them,  then  they  should talk
                                                     with  me.  Or  you  should  kill  me  now,  and  then  at least
                                                     you  will  know  that  I  will  never  fight  against you."
                                                        "We  are  all  one,  hand  and  brain,"  Prefect  Corin said.
                                                     "Your  stepfather  did  not  like  the  way  things  had changed,
                                                     
but  still  he served."
                                                        "Yes,  Coronetes  once  said  something similar."
                                                        "But  you  will  not  serve.  You  set  yourself  apart. You
                                                     are  a  monster  of  vanity,  boy."  Prefect  Corin  stood  up and
                                                     tossed  something  on  the  mattress  of  the  bed.  "Here is
                                                     your  copy  of  the  Puranas.  Read  in  it  carefully,  and consider
                                                       your position."
                                                        Once  he  was  certain  that  he  had  been  left  alone, Yama
                                                     began  again  to  scrape  at  the  base  of  the  circular window.
                                                     He  broke  a  thin  strip  of  wood  from  the  frame  of  the bed
                                                     and  used  this  and  water  from  the  spigot  to  loosen the
                                                     packed  earth.  The  sky  had  darkened  by  the  time  he had
                                                     dug  to  the  depth  of  his  hand  and  found  the  point where
                                                     glass  merged  seamlessly  with  fused  rock.  Perhaps  the winL                               
                                                     dow  was  no  more  than  a  place  where  the  rock  had been
                                                     made  transparent,  but  apart  from  the  door  it  was  the only
                                                     possible  way  out  of  the cell.
                                                        He  began  to  extend  the  little  hole  he  had  made, scraping
              away  hard  earth  a  few  crumbs  at  a  time  until  the 
frayed
              strip  of  wood  met  something  embedded  in  the  dirt. He
              probed  carefully  with  his  bleeding  fingertips  and  felt  a thin
              curved  edge,  then  dug  around  it  until  he  could  pull  it free.
                It  was  a  ceramic  disc,  an  ancient  coin  exactly  like the
              coin  the  anchorite  had  given  him.  But  the  Aedile's excavations
                had  turned  up  thousands  of  coins  around  the tombs
              of  the  City  of  the  Dead,  and  there  was  no  reason  to believe
              that  this  one  should  be  any  different  from those.
                Yama  dug  a  little  more,  but  could  find  no potential
              weakness  in  the  window's  edge.  He  filled  in  the  hole he
              had  made  and  as  the  room  darkened  around  him  he leaned
              against  the  window  and  watched  the  shadows  of  the bent
              trees  lengthen  across  the  tumbled  rocks.  He  fell asleep,
              and  woke  to  find  a  constellation  of  faint  lights  hung just
              outside  the  window.  They  were  fireflies,  drawn  away from
              the  wild  creatures  which  lived  amongst  the  sliding stones.
              Beyond  the  shifting  sparks  of  the  fireflies,  the  small red
              swirl  of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers  was  printed  on the
              black sky.
  ',           Something  nagged  at  Yama,  like  a  speck  in  his  eye. It
              was  the  coin,  shining  softly  on  the  dirt  floor.  He  picked it
              up.  It  was  warmer  than  his  own  skin,  and  had become
              
translucent,  with  fine  filaments  and  specks  of  cold blue
              light  shifting  within  its thickness.
  A",           There  was  an  active  shrine nearby.
                He  could  suddenly  feel  it,  with  the  same  absolute sense
             of  direction  that  linked  him  with  the  feral  machine. He
              shivered  and  drew  the  blanket  around  himself.  He knew
              that  he  could  activate  the  shrine  even  at  this  distance, and
              a  plan  of  escape  presented itself.
                It  was  horribly  risky,  but  no  worse  than  trying  to climb
              through  a  window  high  above  a  steep  slope  of sliding
              stones  at  the  top  of  a  mountain.  And  he  could  not even
              open  the  window.  Before  he  could  frighten  himself by
              thinking  through  all  the  consequences,  he  willed it.
                Beyond  the  bull's-eye  window,  the  fireflies  scattered as
              if  before  a  great wind.



                                                        His  trousers  were  still  damp,  but  Yama  drew  them on
                                                      anyway,  and  tucked  the  sliver  of  wood  inside  the waistband
                                                      .  Then  he  wrapped  the  blanket  around  his shoulders
                                                      and  sat  by  the  window  in  the  dim  red  light  of  the  Eye of
                                                      the  Preservers,  waiting  for  something  to  happen.  At intervals
                                                      ,  he  held  the  coin  up  to  his  eye,  but  the  shifting patterns
                                                        of  luminous  lines  and  specks  told  him nothing.
                                                        Perhaps  the  shrine  was  dead  after  all  .  .  .  but  then he
                                                      knew  it  was  not,  as  surely  as  if  a  light  had  been  shone in
                                                      his  face.  He  got  up  and  paced  around  the  room,  a fierce
                                                      excitement  growing  in  him.  Presently  he  heard  shouts, and
                                                      then  the  thin  snapping  of  slug  guns.  The  sounds  of distant
                                                      combat  lasted  several  minutes;  then  there  was  the scream
                                                      of  an  energy  pistol's  discharge  and  wisps  of  white smoke
                                                      began  to  curl  around  the  edges  of  the  cell door.
                                                        Yama  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  at  the  same moment
                                                      the  door  was  flung  back  with  a  crash.  A  guard  tumbled in
                                                      ahead  of  a  thick  
billow  of  smoke.  His  tunic  was  torn across
                                                      the  chest.  The  right  side  of  his  face  was  scorched,  his hair
                                                      shriveled  to  blackened peppercorns.
                                                        "Come  with  me!"  the  guard  yelled. "Now!"
                                                        Yama  straightened  his  back  and  drew  the  blanket around
                                                      his  shoulders.  The  guard  glared  at  him  and  raised  his rifle.
                                                      "Come now!"
                                                        For  a  moment,  Yama  feared  that  the  man  had  lost his
                                                      mind  and  would  execute  him  on  the  spot.  Then  the guard
                                                      looked  over  his  shoulder  and  screamed.  He scrambled
                                                      across  the  cell,  knocking  Yama  aside  and  fetching up
                                                      against  the  bull's-eye  window,  clutching  his  rifle  to his
                                                      chest  and  staring  wide-eyed  at  the  door.  Yama  faced it
                                                      squarely,  his  heart  beating  quickly  and  lightly.  Blue light
                                                      filled  the  frame.  And  then,  without  a  transition,  the hellhound
                                                        was  inside  the cell.
                                                        It  was  a  pillar  of  blue  flame  that  seemed  somehow to
                                                      extend  beyond  the  floor  and  ceiling.  There  was  a continual
                                                      crackling  hiss  as  
its  energies  ate  the  air  which  touched its
              surface.  Its  heat  beat  a  ainst  Yama's  skin.  He  had  to squint                                    
              against  its  brilliance  as  he  held  up  the  coin.  It  took  all of
              his  will  to  stand still.
                He  said,  "I  do  not  know  if  we  have  already  met,  or if
              you  are  brother  to  the  one  I  called  forth  before,  but  in any
              case  I  apologize  for  my  behavior.  I  ran  away  because I
              did  not  know  what  I  had  called,  and  I  was  afraid. But
              now  I  have  freed  you  knowingly,  and  I  ask  for  your help."
                He  did  not  see  the  hell-hound  move,  but  there  was a
              brief  wash  of  heat  on  his  skin  and  suddenly  it  was gone.
              The  guard  screamed.  When  Yama  turned,  the  man  fell to
              his  knees  and  flung  his  arm  before  his  face.  The  sleeve of
              his  tunic  started  to  smolder.  Yama  realized  what  had happened
              ,  and  looked  away  before  he  killed  the man.
                He  had  expected  the  hell-hound  to  clear  a  way  for his
              escape.  Instead,  it  had  enveloped him.
                He  was  the  center  of  a  blue  radiance  that  fell  on everything
                he  looked  at.  He  no  longer  felt  the  hell-hound's heat.
              That  was  a  property  of  the  outermost  shell  of  its 
energies.
              Instead,  he  felt  a  tremendous  exhilaration.  His  bruises and
              cracked  ribs  no  longer  hurt.  There  was  a  prickling  all over
              his  body  as  every  hair  tried  to  stand  away  from its
             neighbors.
                There  was  a  short  corridor  beyond  the  cell. Guards
              scrambled  in  panic  through  the  door  at  the  far  end, although
                one  paused  and  shot  at  Yama  several  times before
              running  too,  his  clothes  and  hair  smoldering.  Yama followed
                them  into  a  wide  plaza.  Sheer  black  rock  rose on
              three  sides;  there  was  nothing  but  the  darkening  sky on
              the other.
                Men  ran  or  stood  their  ground  and  fired.  Slugs caught
              and  sank  slowly  in  the  outer  ed  e  of  the  blue  light that                                               
              surrounded  Yama,  flaring  brightly  before  evaporating. An
              officer  fired  a  pistol,  but  its  discharge  merely whitened
              Yama's  vision  for  a moment.
                He  did  not  attack  the  guards  or  even  look  at  them, but
              strode  directly  to  the  edge  of  the  plaza.  A  railing glowed
              red  and  yellow  and  white  before  melting  away. Directly
              below  was  the  steep  slope  of  black  rocks  he  had  seen from



                                                       the  window  of  the  cell.  Yama's  sight  washed  with white
                                                       light  for  an  instant-the  officer  with  the  pistol  was foolish,
                                                       but  brave.  Yama  did  not  look  back,  but  gave  himself to
                                                       the air.
                                                         He  floated  down  like  a  soap  bubble,  landing  beside a
                                                       dead  pine  tree  which  immediately  burst  into  crackling yellow
                                                         flame.  The  air  was  alive  with  things  which hummed
                                                       and  whined.  Bits  of  rock  flew  off  and  the  foliage  of the
                                                       stunted  trees  danced  jerkily.  Yama  realized  that  the guards
                                                       were  still  firing  at  him.  He  walked  to  the  edge  of  the slope
                                                       and  gave  himself  to  the  air  once more.
                                                         It  took  a  long  time  to  fall.  The  hell-hound  was subject
                                                       to  the  world's  gravity  fields,  but  could  modify  them so
                                                       that  it  fell  at  a  constant  rate.  Yama  saw  a  long  slope spread
                                                       below  him,  curving  away  on  either  side  and  studded with
                                                       the  lights  of  temples,  sanctuaries  and  the  offices  of those
                                                       lesser  departments  which  had  long  ago  lost  battles  for terTitory
                                                         inside  the  Palace  and  now  clung  to.existence  on its
                                                       
roof.  He  gave  the  hell-hound  an  order,  and  it  slid sideways
                                                       through  the air.
                                                         The  glass-walled  tunnel  which  linked  the  street  of pleasure
                                                         houses  with  the  territory  of  the  Department  of Indigenous
                                                         Affairs  had  been  repaired  with  wooden  paneling that
                                                       burst  into  flames  at  a  touch  and  fell  away.  Yama stepped
                                                       through  and  walked  amidst  reflections  of  blue  fire  into a
                                                       square  under  a  high  domed roof.
                                                         Three  guards  ran  into  the  gateway  on  the  far  side; their
                                                       officer  drew  his  pistol  and  fired  twice,  and  then stood
                                                       amazed  when  he  saw  that  the  energy  beam  had  done no
                                                       harm.  The  air  was  hazed  with  recondensed  particles of
                                                       rock  vaporized  by  the  deflected  pistol  blast;  Yama's gaze
                                                       burned  through  them  and  glanced  upon  the  officer, who
                                                       threw  up  his  hands  to  protect  his eyes.
                                                         "Fetch  your  masters,"  Yama  said.  "Do  you understand
                                                       ?  I  wish  to  speak  with them."
                                                         The  officer  turned  and  ran  through  the  gateway. Yama
                                                       followed.  He  was  
quite  without  fear.  He  felt  as  if  he could
                                                       run  forever  through  the  maze  of  corridors  and  halls, and
                                                       laughed  wildly  when  men  shot  at  him.  Slugs  embedded in
              the  hell-hound's  outermost  shell  became  molten  stars that
              flared  and died.
                 He  entered  a  huge  refectory  hall.  Hundreds  of people
              ran  from  him  through  a  maze  of  tables.  A  confused cloud
              of  fireflies  billowed  after  them.  Tables  and  chairs charred
             as  he  brushed  past.  He  shouted  for  the  masters  of this
              place  to  come  out,  but  there  was  no  answer  except  for a
              volley  of  rifle  shots  from  a  gallery  above  the  arched doorways
                at  the  far  end  of  the  hall.  Frayed  battle standards
              hung  above  the  central  dais  of  the  hall.  Yama  stared at
              them  until  they  caught  fire,  then  leaped  on  to  the  dais and
              shouted  that  he  would  speak  with  the  masters  of  this place
              or  burn  it  all down.
                 Men  ran  forward,  dragging  a  long  hose.  They sprayed
              water  at  Yama,  but  the  water  exploded  into  steam when
             it  struck  the  hell-hound's  envelope  and  the  men retreated,
              clutching  scalded  faces  and  hands.  An  officer  on  a floating
              disc  fired  his  pistol.  The  blue  glow  of  the  hell-hound flared
              white.  The  high-backed  chairs  and  the  long  table, inlaid
              with  ironwood  and  turtle  shell  ivory,  burst  into  flames; 
the
              stone  of  the  dais  burned  Yama's  feet  through  the  thin soles
              of  his  boots.  He  jumped  down,  stared  at  the  officer until
              the  man's  clothes  caught  fire,  and  strode  through  the nearest
               door.
                 Yama's  passage  through  toward  the  heart  of  the Department
                of  Indigenous  Affairs  was  a  confusion  of  shouts and
              screams,  flame  and  smoke  and  gunfire.  He  was  filled with
              an  exultant  rage.  Red  and  black  lightning  jagged  his vision
              .  He  could  have  killed  decads,  perhaps  hundreds of
              men.  He  did  not  know.  His  rage  had  taken  him  and  he let
              it  lead  him  where  it would.
                 When  it  cleared,  he  was  standing  at  the  base  of  a vast
              circular  shaft  that  rose  through  a  hundred  floors;  the temple
                of  Aeolis,  the  largest  building  Yama  had  known before
              he  had  come  to  Ys,  could  easily  have  fitted  into  it. Its
              looming  walls  were  hung  with  tiers  of  balconies;  its vast
              floor  was  crowded  with  desks.  Books  burned  in stacked
              shelving,  in  tumbled  heaps  on  the  floor.  Scraps  of burning



                                                       paper  flew into   the  darkness  above  like  sparks  up  the flue
                                                       of  a chimney.
                                                          Soldiers  armed  with  slug  rifles  stood  in  front  of every
                                                       door  around  the  base  of  the  shaft,  draped  from  head to
                                                       foot  in  black  cloth.  They  kept  up  a  steady bombardment
                                                       and  the  floor  around  Yama  was  soon  littered  with flecks
                                                       of  molten  metal.  A  machine  spun  slowly  through  the air
                                                       toward  him,  its  mind  defended  by  intricate  loops  of selfengulfing
                                                         logic.  In  his  anger  he  punched  right through
                                                       these  defenses  and  the  machine  suddenly  screamed upward
                                                       ,  its  load  of  explosive  detonating  with  a  white flash
                                                       and  a  flat  thump  at  the  top  of  the  shaft,  half  a league
                                                      above.
                                                         "I   know  you  are  here,  Prefect,"  Yama shouted.
                                                       "Show yourself!"
                                                          A  voice  spoke  from  the  air,  ordering  Yama  to surrender-it
                                                         was  the  same  even,  neutral  voice  which  had been
                                                       with  him  every  day  in  the  room.  He  laughed  at  it and
                                                       then,  inspired,  shut  down  the  light  of  every  firefly,  so that
                                                       
now  the  vast  circular  space  was  lit  only  by  the  blue glow
                                                       of  the  hell-hound,  the  flashes  of  the  rifles  around  the perimeter
                                                       ,  and  the  myriad  fires  started  by  spent  slugs and
                                                       Yama's  gaze.  Everything  was  hazed  with  smoke. Yama
                                                       felt  a  tightness  in  his  chest  and  a  scorched  taste  in his
                                                       mouth.  The  air  was  becoming  unbreathable.  He  knew that
                                                       he  would  have  to  leave  soon,  and  that  he  would  have to
                                                       kill  the  soldiers  to  do it.
                                                          Yet  still  he  felt  a  steady  exhilaration  thrilling  in his
                                                       blood,  a  boundless  energy.  He  did  not  consider himself
                                                       trapped,  but  called  out  again  for  the  masters  of  this place.
                                                       As  if  in  answer,  the  floor  heaved  sharply  and  Yama staggered
                                                         and  almost  fell.  Dust  and  shards  of  tiling  fell from
                                                       somewhere  above,  smashing  down  amongst  the  desks; for
                                                       a  moment,  Yama  stood  inside  a  sleet  of  burning particles.
                                                          The  soldiers  were  as  shaken  as  he.  They  were  still regrouping
                                                         when  a  fresh  wedge  of  troops  entered through
                                                       the  high  doors  beneath  a  long  gallery.  They  parted, and
                                                       
an  old  man  stepped  from  their  midst.  He  was  slightly built
                                                       and  his  dress  was  no  different  from  that  of  an ordinary
              clerk,  but  he  held  himself  proudly  and  at  his absentminded
                gesture  the  soldiers  around  him  immediately thrust
              three  people  to  the  front  of  their ranks.
                Tamora  shaded  her  eyes  and  called  out,  "Yama!  Is that
                you  inside  that light?"
                "He  has  come  to  free  us,"  Pandaras said.
                Yama  checked  himself.  He  had  been  about  to  run to
             them.
                The  old  man  walked  forward,  stepping  as  delicately as
             a  cat  amongst  broken  shards  and  heaps  of  burning books.
              He  stopped  when  the  floor  rippled  and  shook  dust  into the
              air,  and  then  walked  on  until  he  was  fifty  paces  from the
              blue  energies  of  the  hell-hound.  His  eyes  were masked
              by  a  strip  of  cloth,  jet-black  against  the  white  pelt of
              his face.
                "I  had  not  thought  to  ever  see  one  of  these things,"
              the  old  man  said.  "I  am  Escanes,  Yamamanama.  I am
              here  to  ask  why  you  are  doing this."
                "I  discovered  that  it  is  only  a  machine,"  Yama  said. "I
              should  thank  you  for  helping  me  focus  on  what  I  needed to
             do.'
                "It  is  an  inertial  field-caster,"  Escanes  said. "Amongst
              other  things.  Anything  trying  to  move  through  it  gives up
              momentum  in  the  form  of  heat.  It  burns  with  blue light
              
because  light  reflected  from  it  is  shifted  from  lower to
              higher  energy,  and  it  is  hot  because  of  the  energy released
              from  dust  and  air  in  motion  against  it.  I  should  warn you
              that  we  fully  understand it."
                "Yet  I  control  it,  and  you  do  not.  I  can  destroy everything
                around  me  with  a look."
                "Because  we  understand  such  things,"  Escanes said,
              "we  can  work  against  them.  You  are  not invulnerable.
              You  should  not  have  brought  it  here,  my  son.  You endanger
                the  records  of  the Department."
                "I  will  destroy  them  all  unless  you  let  my  friends go."
                "I  am  empowered  to  speak  for  the  Department, Yamamanama
              .  Listen  to  what  it  has  to  say.  We  will  let your
              three  friends  go.  You  will stay."
                "You  will  let  them  go,  and  let  me  go, too."



                                                        "I  do  not  think  so,"  Escanes  said  mildly. "Think
                                                     quickly.  One  word  from  me,  and  they  will die."
                                                        "Then  you  will  have  no  hold  over me."
                                                        The  floor  shook  again.  Yama  flexed  his  knees,  as  if he
                                                     was  on  a  boat.  Escanes  held  the  edge  of  a half-charred
                                                     desk  until  the  shaking  stopped.  A  balcony  gave  way and
                                                     smashed  down  twenty  stories  into  a  stack  of bookshelves
                                                     on  the  far  side  of  the shaft.
                                                        Yama  said,  "Someone  is  attacking  you,  I  think.  Is it
                                                    war?"
                                                        "Our  enemies  believe  that  we  are  weakened from
                                                     within,"  Escanes  said.  "We  will  prove  them  wrong.  It is
                                                     a  trivial  matter,  and  not  one  that  concerns  you.  What matters
                                                       is  your answer."
                                                        "Let  my  friends go."
                                                        "And  you  will stay?"
                                                        "No.  You  will  come  with me."
                                                        Yama  sprang  forward,  and  the  hell-hound  relaxed its
                                                     perimeter  for  an  instant.  Escanes  threw  up  his  hands, but
                                                     
he  was  already  inside  the  hell-hound's  envelope. Yama
                                                     caught  him  and  turned  him  around,  and  held  the sharpened
                                                     bit  of  wood  to  his  throat.  Escanes  struggled,  but Yama
                                                     held  him easily.
                                                        "Tell  your  people  to  let  my  friends go."
                                                        "They  will  not  obey  me.  I  am  only  a  mouth  for the
                                                     Department.  We  are  all  one.  Do  not  be  a  fool,  or your
                                                     friends  will die."
                                                        "Your  tunic  is  silk,  dominie,  not  artificial  cotton.  I think
                                                     that  your  dogma  requires  you  to  appear  to  be  the  same as
                                                     all  others  in  the  Department,  but  you  raise  yourself higher
                                                     than most."
                                                        "We  are  all one."
                                                        "Yet  some  value  themselves  more  than others."
                                                        Escanes  tried  to  turn  his  head,  but  Yama  jabbed the
                                                     sliver  of  wood  into  the  loose  flesh  of  the  old  man's neck
                                                     and  urged  him  forward.  The  soldiers  raised  their  rifles, but
                                                     an  officer  snapped  an  order  and  they  lowered  them again.
                                                        Yama  told  the  old  man,  "If  my  friends  walk  out  of here
                                                     with  me,  then  your  life  will  be  spared.  I  promise  that I
               
will  not  cause  any  more  damage.  You  will  be  free to
               defend  yourself  against  your  enemies.  But  if  anything happens
                 to  my  friends,  then  I  join  your  enemies  and fight
               against you."
                  "Fight  with  us,  Yamamanama,"  Escanes  said. "You
               could  be  the  most  powerful  general  in  our army."
                  "You  would  have  made  that  offer  already,  if  you could.
               Now repeat    to  your  men  what  I  have  told you.
                  It  was  easy  to  find  the  way  back  to  the  gate-the hellhound
                 had  left  a  trail  of  scorched  doors  and  scored floor
               tiles.  Yama  let  Tamora,  Pandaras  and  Eliphas  walk ahead
               of  him.  The  old  man,  Escanes,  did  not  struggle,  but continued
                 to  try  to  convince  Yama  to  give  himself  to  the mercy
               and  generosity  of  the  Department  until  at  last  Yama lost
               patience  and  put  a  hand  over  his mouth.
                  Yama  stopped  at  the  gate  and  told  the  others  to go
               ahead.  "While  I  stand  here,  no  one  can  get  past. Eliphas,
               you  know  a  safe  place  to  take them."
                  The  old  man  stared  and  Tamora  shook  him  and hissed
               in  his  ear.  Yama  asked  his  question  again  and Eliphas
               blinked  and  said,  "It  finally  caught  you,  brother." Blue
               light  shone  in  his eyes.
                  "No,  Eliphas.  I  caught  it.  I  understand  it  now. You
               remember  the  place  Magon  took  us to."
                  "I remember."
                  
Pandaras  said,  "He  isn't  quite  himself,  master.  He had
               a  harder  time  of  it  than  me.  I  knew  nothing  important, so
               they  didn't  hurt  me.  It  was  just  talking,  and  you know
               how  I  love  that.  I  told  them  many stories."
                  The  boy  wore  the  white  shirt  and  black  trousers  of a
               clerk.  Yama  said,  "It  seems  you  have  adopted their
              ways. I
                  "Kill  them  all,"  Tamora  said.  Her  head  had been
               shaved,  and  her  face  was  a  palimpsest  of  fresh  bruises laid
               over old.
                  "We  will  talk  later,  Tamora.  Go now."



                                                    The  old  man,  Escanes,  said,  "She  is  right.  You should
                                                  kill  us  all,  for  else  we  will  follow  you  to  the  end  of the
                                                  river  and beyond."
                              H                    "I  am  not  your enemy."
                                                    "Anyone  who  does  not  serve  is  our enemy."
                                                    "I  serve  the  Preservers,  if  I  can,  not  your Department."
                                                    "So  says  any  man  who  is  full  of  pride.  Such  a one
                                                  believes  that  by  doing  as  he  wishes  he  serves  a higher
                                                  power,  but  instead  he  has  allowed  himself  to  become a
                                                  slave  of  his  base  appetites.  You  would  claim  to  know what
                                                  the  Preservers  want?  Then  you  are  worse  than foolish,
                                                  young  man.  We  are  the  arm  of  the  Preservers.  We strive
                                                  against  their  enemies  at  the  midpoint  of  the world."
                                                    "I  do  not  know  why  I  was  born  here,  in  this  time and
                                                  place.  But  it  was  not  to  serve  your  hunger  for power."
                                                    Tamora,  Pandaras  and  Eliphas  had  disappeared  into the
                                                  tunnel  at  the  far  end  of  the  plaza.  Yama  told  Escanes to
                                                  close  his  e  es,  and  then  thrust  him  toward  the  gate. The                                                            
                                                  hell-hound's  envelope  
had  grown  hotter  because  it had
                                                  contracted,  and  the  old  man's  clothes  smoldered  as he
                                                  staggered away.
                                                    The  soldiers  rushed  forward  then.  Yama  ran  across the
                                                  square  into  the  tunnel  and  plunged  through  the  hole  he had
                                                  burned  in  the  patchwork  repair  to  the  tunnel's  glass wall.
                                                    The  night  was  spread  before  him.  The  hell-hound turned
                                                  and  dipped  and  in  a  sudden  rush  he  was  down, standing
                                                  beside  the  white  fountain  in  the  middle  of  the  long lawn.
                                                  Yama  thanked  the  hell-hound  and  dismissed  it,  and  felt a
                                                  gust  of  heat  as  it  moved  away  from  him.  It  shrank into
                                                  itself  and  rose,  a  bright  blue  star  that  dwindled away
                                                  against  the  black  bulk  of  the mountain.
                                                    Yama  stood  alone  in  darkness  in  the  center  of  a circle
                                                  of  charred  grass.  He  thought  of  returning  to  the  library of
                                                  the  Department  of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons  to ask
                                                  what  the  chief  of  clerks,  Kun  Norbu,  had  discovered about
                                                  his  bloodline.  He  thought  of  running  away.  But  he knew
                that  he  could  not.  He  had  saved  his  three  companions 
from
                immediate  danger,  but  they  were still     within  the bounds
                of  the  Palace,  and  the  Department of      Indigenous Affairs
                would  not  rest  until  they  were  recaptured.  Besides,  he was
                so  very  tired,  and  his  torn  muscles  and  cracked  ribs ached
                horribly.  It  was  as  if  he  drew  every  breath  through  a rack
                of  knives.  The  hell-hound  had  lent  him  some  of  its energies
                  while  it  had  enveloped  him,  but  now  he  had  only his
                own  reserves  of  strength  to  draw upon.
                  He  sat  at  the  edge  of  one  of  the  fountain's  wide shallow
                basins  and  drank  cold  water  with  his  cupped  hands, and
                splashed  water  on  his  face.  Presently,  a  small constellation
                of  fireflies  gathered  around  him,  lighting  his  way  as he
                crossed  the  long  lawn  and  went  down  the  steps.  His muscles
                  were  as  loose  and  weak  as  sacks  of  water,  and he
                had  to  stop  and  rest  every  five  minutes.  Each  time he
                stopped  it  was  harder  to  force  himself  to  stand  and  go on,
                but  the  dread  of  being  recaptured  drove  him forward.
                When  he  reached  the  beginning  of  the  path  through the
                grove  of  bamboo,  he  sat  down  and  rested  for  a  few 
minutes
                ,  breathing  hard  and  feeling  beads  of  sweat  roll down
                his  sides.  The  skeletal  tower,  hung  with  creepers, loomed
                above.  Yama  struggled  to  his  feet  and  went on.
                  White  birds,  ghostly  in  the  darkness,  fled  from him.
                Yama  caught  at  bamboo  stems  and  lost  his  grasp  and slid
                down  a  dusty  slope,  fetching  up  against  a  low  wall. Startled
                  goats  bounded  away,  their  wooden  bells clanking.
                Yama  lay  on  his  back,  looking  up  at  the  black  sky,  the few
                blurred  stars,  the  red  swirl  of  the  Eye  of  the Preservers.
                   After  a  while,  the  villagers  came  to  discover  what had
                disturbed  their  animals.  They  were  armed  with  spears and
                slings,  for  lynxes  and  fierce  red  foxes  prowled  the roof,
                and  the  Lords  of  the  Palace  were  restless  that  night. But
                they  found  only  Yama,  asleep  on  the  cropped grass.



                                                                                     T  R  E  I  U  S  B  A N  D  W  I N
                                                    "THIRI,  MINI[,"  TH  headman  of  the  village  said. "You
                                                    see?  The  Lords  of  the  Palace  quarrel  amongst themselves
                                                    . "
                                                      Yama  looked  up,  following  the  line  of  the headman's
                                                    arm.  High  above  the  terraced  fields  of  the  little village,
                                                    a  thread  of  black  smoke  rose  from  the  upper  slope of
                                                    the mountain.
                                                      "The  roof  trembled  hard  last  night,"  the  headman said.
                                                    He  was  squat  and  muscular,  with  a  seamed  face  and lively
                                                    black  eyes,  and  skin  the  color  of  the  red  earth.  His white
                                                    hair  was  done  up  in  a  braid  that  fell  to  the  small  of his
                                                    back.  He  wore  much-darned  leggings  and  a  ragged but
                                                    clean  homespun  tunic  with  many pockets.
                                                      "A  bad  time,"  Yama said.
                                                      "Not  really.  The  Lords  of  the  Palace  will  pay  more for
                                                    our  food  when  they  are  done  fighting-the  winners will
                                                    need  to  feed  those  they  have captured."
                                                      "They  will  not  take  
it  from  you  by force?"
                                                      The  headman  touched  his  lips  with  the  tips  of  his fingers
                                                    .  It  was  a  gesture  characteristic  of  the  husbandmen. It
                                                    meant  no.  "All  serve  the  will  of  the  Preservers.  And we
                                                    are  their  most  faithful servants."
                  "Yet  all  of  those  fighting  each  other  also  profess to
               serve  the  will  of  the Preservers."
                  "We  don't  question  how  the  Preservers  order things,"
               the  headman  said.  "Are  you  feeling  stronger, dominie?"
                  "A  little.  Resting  here  in  the  sun helps.
                  Last  night,  Yama  had  been  given  the  headman's own
               hammock.  An  old  woman  had  looked  into  his  eyes and
               laid  her  head  on  his  chest  to  listen  to  his  breathing and
               heartbeat,  and  then  had  given  him  an  infusion  of dried
               leaves  to  drink.  When  Yama  had  woken,  most  of  the husbandmen
                 were  already  out  in  the  fields,  but  the headman
               and  his  wife  had  stayed  behind  to  tend  their  guest. They
               had  given  him  dried  fish  and  sweet  rice  cakes  to  eat, and
               a  homespun  tunic  to  cover  his  bare chest.
                  Yama  was  very  weak.  He  was  badly  bruised  from the
               beating  he  had  received  when  he  had  been  ambushed, and
  ,
               controlling  the  hell-hound  had  been  as  exhausting  as riding
               a  high-spirited  thoroughbred.  He  was  content  to  spend 
the
               day  lying  in  a  hammock  under  the  shade  of  freshly cut
               banana  leaves  by  the  sunwarmed  wall  of  the headman's
               house,  listening  to  the  headman's  stories  and watching
               children  play  in  the  dust  of  the  village square.
                  The  husbandmen  believed  that  they  had  been brought
              to  the  world  to  tend  the  gardens  of  the  Palace.  The headman
                 claimed  that  the  terraces  spread  above  and  below the
               village  had  once  held  beds  of  roses  and  lilies,  jasmine and
               sweet herbs.
                  "The  first  masters  of  the  world  walked  here  in the
               morning  and  the  evening,  dominie.  There  were different
               gardens  for  the  morning  and  the  evening  of  every  day of
               the  year,  and  we  tended  them  all.  That's  why  we look
               out  across  the  city  toward  the  place  where  the  sun rises
               and sets."
                  "What  did  they  look  like,  your masters?"
                  Yama  had  never  seen  a  picture  of  the  Sirdar,  those who
               had  ruled  the  world  when  it  had  been  newly  made. None
               of  the  Sirdar  had  ever  been  interred  in  the  City  of the
               Dead,  and  none  of  the  picture  slates  there  had revealed
               even  a  glimpse  of  them.  They  had  never  presented them-



                                                     selves  to  the  ordinary  people  but  had  ruled  invisibly, implementing
                                                       their  wishes  through  an  extensive  civil service
                                                     of  eunuchs  and hierodules.
                                                        The  headman  gazed  across  the  dusty  village  square, as
                                                    if  remembering,  then  said,  "They  were  small,  as small
                                                     as  our  children  playing  there,  and  their  skin  shone like
                                                     polished metal."
                                                        Yama  shivered,  remembering  that  the  dead  woman in
                                                     the  white  boat,  on  whose  breast  he  had  been  found, had
                                                     had  silver  skin.  Old  Constable  Thaw  had  said nothing
                                                     about  her  being  no  bigger  than  a  child,  but  to  his kind
                                                     most  bloodlines  seemed small.
                                                        The  headman  said,  "Words  are  poor  things.  If  I  had a
                                                     picture,  I  would  gladly  show  it  you,  dominie.  But  we have
                                                     no  pictures  of  those times."
                                                        "It  must  have  been  long ago."
                                                        The  headman  nodded.  He  sat  cross-legged  in  the white
                                                     dust  by  Yama's  hammock.  Blades  of  sunlight  fell through
                                                     the  notched  banana  
leaves  and  striped  his  lined  face. He
                                                     said,  "The  world  was  young  then,  dominie,  but  we remember
                                                       those  times.  We  are  not  able  to  change,  you see,
                                                     nor  do  we  wish  to,  for  we  would  forget  how  it  was, and
                                                     how  it  will  be again."
                                                        Some  believed  that  the  Sirdar  had  been  destroyed by
                                                     their  successors,  others  that  they  had  achieved enlightenment
                                                       and  passed  from  the  world.  There  had  been many
                                                     rulers  after  them,  but  it  was  said  that,  next  to  the Builders,
                                                     the  Sirdar  had  been  closest  to  the  Preservers.  The husbandmen
                                                       believed  that  their  old  masters  would come
                                                     again,  opening  the  sealed  core  of  the  Palace  and stepping
                                                     forth  as  a  flower  steps  forth  from  a  seed.  The  world would
                                                     become  a  garden  then,  changed  and  unchanged bloodlines
                                                     would  achieve  enlightenment  and  ascend  into  the  Eye of
                                                     the  Preservers,  and  the  husbandmen  would  spread across
                                                     the  face  of  the  world  they  longed  to inherit.
                                                        "Trees  would  drop  fruit  into  our  hands,  and  corn and
                                                     grain  will  grow  on  
the  plains  by  the  river  without  need of
                                                     tilling  or  sowing.  Until  then,"  the  headman  said,  with a
                smile  that  creased  his  clay-red  face still  further,  "we must
                toil  in  the fields."
                   "Perhaps  those  days  are  not  far  off.  Great  things happen
  :V1           i n the world."
                   Yama  was  thinking  of  the  war  against  the  heretics, but
               the  headman  knew  nothing  of  the  world  beyond  the Palace
                of  the  Memory  of  the  People.  He  believed  that  Yama was
                talking  about  the  conflict  in  the  mountain  heights above
                them.  He  said,  "These  may  be  the  end  times,  but  not because
                the  Lords  of  the  Palace  quarrel.  There  has  been  war  in the
                Palace  before.  Long  ago,  long  after  our  first  dear masters
                stopped  walking  in  the  gardens,  but  while  the  gardens were
                still  gardens  and  had  not  yet  been  turned  into  fields, one
                department  took  over  all  the  others.  It  was  known  as the
                Head  of  the  People.  It  ruled  for  many  generations,  and its
                rule  was  fierce  and  cruel.  It  was  a  great  weight  on  all the
                     es  of  the  world.  But  when  it  had  conquered  all, the
               peopi
                
Head  of  the  People  found  itself  without  enemies  and turned
                inward.  Soon,  it  was  fighting  against  itself.  The Hierarchs
                arose  and  ended  that  war,  and  in  turn  they  fell  after  the war
                against  the  Insurrectionists,  for  victory  cost  them  dear. Some
                of  the  oldest  departments  are  parts  of  that  greater department,
                although  they  have  long  forgotten  that  they  were  once part
                of  a  greater  whole,  much  as  a  lizard's  tail  forgets  that  it was
                shed  by  another  lizard  to  escape  an  enemy,  and  grows into
                another  lizard  exactly  like  the  first.  Bloodlines  forget much
                when  they  change;  we  cannot  change  and  so  we  forget nothing
                ,  like  the  lizard  that  lost  the  tail  in  the  first place."
                   "I  recently  met  someone  else  who  said  much the
                same thing."
                   "That  would  be  one  of  the  mirror  people.  Yes, they
                remember  much,  too,  but  they  have  not  lived  in  the Palace
                as  long  as  we  have.  They  are  really  fisherfolk, dominie.
                They  left  their  living  on  the  Great  River  when  the city
                spread  along  the  shore,  and  found  work  as  fishers  of men
                instead.  They  know  much,  but  we  know  more.  We understand
                  the  signs.  We  know  the  significance  of  the hellhound
                .  Twice  it  was  seen  in  the  past  decad.  The first
                
time,  it  vanished  into  the  Palace  after  passing  along the



                                                   ridge  above  this  village.  The  second  time,  it  was seen
                                                   floating  through  the  air,  and  there  was  a  ghost  inside it."
                                                      "I know."
                                                      The  headman  touched  his  forehead.  Yes.  "Then  you saw
                                                  it  too,  dominie.  Perhaps  you  do  not  remember  that hellhounds
                                                     were  used  as weapons."
                                                      "So  one  of  the  mirror  people  told me."
                                                      The  headman  touched  his  forehead  again.  "And they
                                                   learned  it  from  us,  for  they  arrived  after  the  war with
                                                   the machines."
                                                      He  meant  the  end  of  the  Age  of  Insurrection, when
                                                   the  Hierarchs  had  defeated  the  feral  machines  and those
                                                   bloodlines  which  had  risen  against  the  will  of  the Preservers
                                                     and  had  laid  waste  to  half  the world.
                                                      "We  remember  how  great  swaths  of  the  gardens were
                                                   destroyed  by  the  energies  of  packs  of  hell-hounds," the
                                                   headman  said,  "and  how  shrines  were  killed  so  that they
                                                   no  longer  spoke  to  the  masters  of  this  Palace.  Now the
                                                   hell-hounds  have  come  again,  and  one  was  carrying a
                                                   
ghost  or  a  demon.  I  had  not  expected  it,  but  if  such wonders
                                                     are  seen  in  the  world,  then  these  may  be  the end
                                                   times  for  which  we  have  waited  so long."
                                                      "It  was  not  a  ghost,"  Yama  said,  "and  it  certainly was
                                                   not  a  demon.  I  should  know,  because  I  was there."
                                                      The  headman  nodded.  "As  you  say,  dominie.  We believe
                                                     that  you  might  have  been  hurt  by  the hell-hound.
                                                   That  is  why  you  are  confused.  But  whatever  you believe
                                                   you  saw,  it  was  an  illusion.  Only  ghosts  or  demons from
                                                   the  space  inside  the  shrines  may  ride  hell-hounds.  It  is how
                                                   they  visit  the  world.  They  bring  nothing  but destruction."
                                                      "Well,  it  carried  me  here,"  Yama said.
                                                      The  headman  touched  his  lips.  "You  were  chasing it,
                                                   or  perhaps  it  was  chasing  you,  although  I  understand that
                                                   hell-hounds  take  little  notice  of  men,  who  are  no more
                                                   than  ghosts  to  them.  You  were  chasing  it,  then,  hoping to
                                                   harm  it.  We  saw  it  coming  toward  our  village,  and  we hid
                                                   from  it,  but  it  is  clear  that  you  saved  us,  or  tried  to save
                                                   
us.  You  did  not  know  what  you  were  chasing,  so  I cannot
                                                   say  that  you  were  foolish,  but  you  were  certainly brave.
               Perhaps  you  thrust  a  spear  at  it,  and  its  energies knocked
               you  down  the  slope,  where  we  found  you.  That  is why
               your  mind  is  confused  and  why  you  are  so  weak.  But the
               weakness  and  the  confusion  will  pass.  You  are  a young
               man,  and  strong.  Lucky  for  you,  dominie.  Such  an encounter
                 would  have  killed  most  men outright.-
                 "I  was  not  fighting  it.  I  used  it,  and  it  used  me.  I will
               show  you  if  you  let me."
                 Yama  tried  to  sit  up  in  the  hammock,  but  his sight
               washed  with  red.  He  fell  back,  and  felt  the  headman's dry,
               hard  fingers  at  his brow.
                 "Rest,"  the  headman  said.  "Rest  is  the  best medicine."
                 "I  rode  it,"  Yama  said.  "I  really  did.  It  is  only another
               kind  of  machine.  I  rode  it  all  the  way  down  the  side of
               the  mountain,  and  I  rescued  my friends."
                 Or  perhaps  he  only  said  it  to  himself,  for  the headman
               did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  The  headman  settled  the blanket
               around  Yama's  shoulders  and  went  away.  Yama  slept for
               a  while,  and  woke  to  find  the  headman's  wife  wiping his
               brow  with  a  wet  cloth.  He  was  inside  the  headman's house
               again.  Night  pressed  at  the  window  above  his hammock
               but  the  little  room  was  full  of  light,  for  hundreds  
of fireflies
                 hung  in  the air.
                 "You  have  a  fever,"  the  old  woman  said.  "In  a little
               while  I  will  bring  you  some  lemon broth."
                 Yama  clutched  the  wide  sleeve  of  her  embroidered shirt.
                I  walked  inside  it,"  he  said.  "It  carried  me through
               the air."
                 The  old  woman  gently  lifted  his  hand  away  from her
               sleeve.  "You  have  been  dreaming,  dominie.  You  are very
               weak,  weaker  than  you  believe,  and  so  your  dreams seem
               more  real  than  the  world  itself.  But  I  do  not  think that
               you  will  die.  You  will  take  some  broth.  You  will sleep.
               We  will  look  after  you.  It  is  an  honor  to us."
                 Yama  lay  in  the  hammock  for  two  days,  drifting bet              
                  en  waking  and  sleeping.  Whenever  he  woke,  he diswe



                                                    missed  the  fireflies  that  had  been  drawn  to  him  while he
                                                    slept.  At  last,  no  more  came:  he  had  exhausted  the local
                                                    population.  The  shadows  seemed  to  be  thronged with
                                                    dreams,  and  dreams  mingled  with  heightened  scenes  of his
                                                    recent  adventures.  Again,  he  walked  with  Prefect Corin
                                                    through  the  hot  dry  lands  on  the  road  between  Aeolis and
                                                    Ys,  but  now  the  Prefect  wore  a  crown  of  fireflies. Again,
                                                    he  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  deep  shaft  in  the  Temple of
                                                    the  Black  Well-and  this  time  it  was  not  the  feral machine
                                                    but  the  hell-hound  that  rose  out  of  black  air.  It enveloped
                                                    him  and  carried  him  through  the  air  to  the  top  of the
                                                    mountain  which  he  now  knew  was  no  mountain,  but in
                                                    truth  a  single  vast  building  older  than  the  world.  And at
                                                    the  windy  pinnacle,  with  the  city  spread  below  on one
                                                    side  and  the  Great  River  on  the  other,  he  stood  with his
                                                    sweetheart.  Derev.  She  clasped  him  to  her  breast and
                                                    spread  her  strong  wings  and  they  flew  higher  still, until
                                                    the  entire  world  lay  
beneath them.
                                                       When  Yama  woke,  dry-mouthed,  weak,  aching  in every
                                                    bone  but  clear-headed,  Tamora  was  there.  He  was  so glad
                                                    to  see  her  that  he  started  to weep.
                                                       She  grinned  and  said,  "So  the  hero  isn't  dead.  You are
                                                    such  a  fool, Yama."
                                                       "I  am  pleased  to  see  you,  too, Tamora."
                                                       She  wore  a  bronze-colored  corselet  he  had  not seen
                                                    before,  a  short  skirt  of  red  leather  strips,  and  a  metal cap
                                                    on  her  shaven,  scarred  head.  She  said,  "I  thought you
                                                    were  dead.  I  thought  that  the  weapon  you  used against
                                                    them  must  have  killed  you.  Don't  ever  play  the  hero again,
                                                    Yama.  Or  at  least  let  me  help  you.  That's  what  I am
                                                    paid  for. "
                                                       "I  lost  my  money,  Tamora,  and  my  knife.  I  have my
                                                    book,  though.  It  is  all  I have."
                                                                                                              is
                                                       He  had  carried  the  copy  of  the  Puranas  through  all h
                                                    adventures.  And  he  remembered  that  although  he  had lost
                                                    
the  coin  which  the  anchorite  had  given  him,  he  had found
                                                    a  replacement.  He  reached  for  it,  and  Tamora  caught his
                                                    hand  and  then  they  were  holding  each  other.  Her strong
                                                    arms;  her  spicy  odor;  her heat.
                  Tamora  said,  "Well,  you're  alive.  Oh,  Yama,  you are
               such  a  fool! "
                  They  held  each  other  for  a  long  time,  until Pandaras
               came in.
                  Eliphas  had  led Tamora     and  Pandaras  to  the  home of
               the  mirror  people,  and  Lupe  had  sheltered  them  until the
               search  for  the  escaped  prisoners  passed  into  the  lower levels
                 of  the  Palace.  The  war  between  the  Department of
               Indigenous  Affairs  and  its  lesser  rivals  was intensifying,
               and  Tamora  said  that  this  would  make  their  escape easy.
               She  said  that  she  had  arranged  passage downriver.
                  "I  had  to  use  your  money  to  do  it,  but  then  again  I had
              to  use  mine, too."
                  Yama  said,  "I  know  that  I  have  to  leave  the  city, Tamora
               .  But  I  should  leave  you,  too,  and  Pandaras. Simply
               by  being  with  me  you  are  in  great danger."
                  "Grab.  Your  brains  have  cooked  in  your  head.  I will
               come  with  you  for  your  own  good.  I  suppose  you could
               try  and  dismiss  the  rat-boy,  but  he  will  follow  you anyway.
               
He  is  in love."
                  From  the  doorway,  where  he  had  taken  up  position like
               a  guard,  Pandaras  said,  "I  merely  do  my  duty  as  a squire."
               The  boy  had  oiled  his  hair  and  brushed  it  back  from his
               narrow  face.  He  still  wore  the  black  trousers  and white
               shirt  that  was  the  uniform  of  the  clerks  of  the Department
               of  Indigenous  Affairs.  An ivory-handled  poniard sheathed
               in  black  leather  hung  from  a  loop  at  his waist.
                  Tamora  shrugged.  "Then  there  is  the  old man."
                 "Eliphas."
                  "I  don't  trust  him.  Tell  me  you  don't  need  him, and
               make  me happy."
                  "Eliphas  is  a  friend.  He  helped  me  without  being asked,
               and  he  promised  to  search  the  library  of  the Department
               of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons  for  records  of  my bloodline
              ."
                  Perhaps  the  answer  had  already  been  found.  Perhaps he



                                                    would  at  last  know  where  he  belonged.  And  yet  there was
                                                    also  the  mystery  of  the  dead  woman  in  the  white boat,
                                                    who  had  had  silver  skin  like  the  first  masters  of  the world.
                                                       "Take  me  there,"  Yama  said  to  Tamora.  "Take  me to
                                                    the  Department  of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons.  It  is only
                                                    a  few  hours'  walk.  All  I  want  to  know  is  there.  It must
                                                   be.
                                                       "Eliphas  told  me  all  about  it.  He's  gone  there  now, and
                                                    will  meet  us  at  the docks."
                                                       "I  want  to  go  there now."
                                                       "I  think  you're  still  too  weak.  You  have  been  lying in
                                                    bed  too  long.  Time  to  get  up!  Time  to  be  about your
                                                    business  in  the  world!  Small  steps  first,  and  then  the beginning
                                                      of  a  great adventure!"
                                                       Pandaras  clapped  his  misshapen  hands  and  said, "We
                                                    are  going  to  war,  master.  I  have  brought  you  a  spare set
                                                    of  clothes,  even  if  you  did  not  care  to  keep  hold  of your
                                                    knife  and  your  armor.  Ask  me,  and  I  will  find  them for
                                                    you,  even  if  I  have  
to  search  the  entire  Palace.  Or perhaps
                                                    I  will  bring  you  an  energy pistol."
                                                       "Those  are  for  officers,"  Tamora  said,  "and  we will
                                                    be  no  more  than  ordinary caterans."
                                                       "My  clothes?  Then  you  went back-"
                                                       Tamora  grinned,  showing  her  rack  of  sharp  white teeth.
                                                    "Oh,  I  went  back,  all  right.  I  told  you  that  I  had  spent our
                                                    money-how  do  you  think  I  got  it?  There  was  a  pentad of
                                                    soldiers  waiting  at  the  Gate  of  Double  Glory,  but  I killed
                                                    them  all  in  a  fair  fight.  "  She  patted  the  heavy saber
                                                    sheathed  at  her  side.  "That's  where  I  got  this  poor substitute
                                                      for  my  own  sword.  I  got  the  rat-boy  a  knife,  too, and
                                                    a  rapier  for  you.  Anyway,  I  killed  them  and  found where
                                                    Syle  was  hiding.  I  had  to  bend  the  back  of  that featherheaded
                                                      fool  over  my  thigh  until  he  would  agree,  but I
                                                    have  what  we  left  behind,  and  the  fee,  too.  Rega didn't
                              oil
                              I     I
                                    i               want  him  to  give  it  up,  but  he  feared  death  more  than he
                                                    
feared  her,  although  I  don't  think  you  could  put  a knife
                                                    blade  between  the  difference.  She  was  sitting  where Luria
                                                    used  to  sit,  in  a  white  dress  for  mourning.  I  hope she
                                                    enjoys  her  rule  of  the  Department  of  Vaticination  in the
               brief  time  before  the  fighting  spreads  and  she  is assassinated
              .
                  Yama  said,  "I  feel  sorry  for  Syle.  Despite  all  he did,
              at  heart  he  is  not  a  bad man."
                  "Grab.  He  tried  to  serve  his  department  and  his wife's
               ambitions,  and  will  end  up  losing  both,  and  his  own life.
               His  scheming  saved  the  Department  of  Vaticination  for a
               short  while,  but  it  is  seen  as  an  ally  of  Indigenous Affairs
               now.  And  Indigenous  Affairs  is  too  busy  defending itself
               to  save Syle."
                  Pandaras  said,  "He  betrayed  you,  master.  No  one trusts
               a  traitor,  least  of  all  those  who  employ  him.  Whoever wins
               the  war  up  there  will  get  rid  of him."
                  The  fighting  had  spread  through  the  upper  tiers  of the
               Palace.  The  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  had fought
               off  its  rivals  and  secured  its  borders,  but  now  there were
               bitter  skirmishes  in  the  corridors,  and  mines  and countermines
                 were  being  dug  through  the  fabric  of  the  Palace 
as
               the  warring  departments  tried  to  break  out  behind each
               other's lines.
                  "Our  enemy  has  won  the  first  stage  of  the  war," TaMora
                 said,  "but  it  will  have  a  hard  time  of  it  for  a while.
               And  even  if  it  wins  it  will  be  weakened,  and another
               department  or  alliance  of  departments  might  finish  it off."
                  "I  did  not  mean  to  destroy  it,"  Yama  said,  "but  it had
               made  many  enemies,  and  they  were  waiting  for  the slightest
                 weakness.  And  yet  we  go  to  fight  in  the  army  it has
               raised.  Do  you  not  think  that  strange, Tamora?"
                  "We  will  fight  the  heretics,  who  are  the  real  enemy of
               us  all.  At  the  midpoint  of  the  world,  the  doings  of the
               Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People  is  of  no importance.
               It  does  not  matter  who  has  charge  of  the  army there-you
               will  see.  You  must  get  ready,  Yama.  You  have  been lying
               in  luxury  too  long.  The  muscles  in  your  legs  will shrink
               and  you  won't  be  able  to  walk,  much  less  fight. We'll
               have  to  carry  you  everywhere,  like  a  houri.  You  will begin
               to  exercise  now,  and  you  will  exercise  once  we  are  on the
               ship.  It  will  be  a  long voyage."
                  Yama  thought  of  the  great  map  he  had  so  often unrolled,



                                                    at  first  to  dream  of  finding  where  his  people  lived,  and in
                                                    the  past  year  to  follow  the  progress  of  Telmon,  his stepbrother
                                                    ,  toward  the  war.  Yama  had  wanted  to  follow Telmon
                                                      and  become  his  squire,  but  Telmon  was  dead. And
                                                    now  he  stood  at  the  beginning  of  the  voyage  he had
                                                    dreamed  of,  with  a  squire  of  his  own,  and  it  seemed that
                                                    all  of  his  adventures  since  he  had  left  Aeolis  were  no more
                                                    than  a  preparation  for  this,  the  true adventure.
                                                       "There  is  something  you  must  do  before  you leave,"
                                                    Pandaras said.
                                                       "The  miffor  people  are  set  on  it,"  Tamora added.
                                                    "More  foolishness.  But  I  thought  perhaps  it  will  put an
                                                    end  to  your  delusions,  so  I  sent  one  of  these husbandmen
                                                    up  to  tell  Lupe  where  you are.
                                                       She  and  Pandaras  would  say  no  more,  except  that all
                                                    would  be  explained  tomorrow.  With  a  premonition of
                                                    black  dread,  Yama  suspected  that  he  knew  what  it was,
                                                    and  knew  that  he  would  fail  in  it.  Whatever  else  he was,
                                                    
he  could  not  be  the  savior  of  the  miffor people.
                                                       Tamora  and  Pandaras  helped  him  walk  around the
                                                    square  of  the  little  village,  but  he  was  quickly exhausted,
                                                    and  could  not  contemplate  going  any further.
                                                       "But  I  must  leave,"  he  said.  "I  cannot  do  what they
                                                   want."
                                                       "You  can  do  anything  at  all,  master,"  Pandaras said.
                                                    "You  just  need  to  rest  a little."
                                                       "Don't  listen  to  him,"  Tamora  said.  "Whatever those
                                                    fuckers  up  there  thought  you  were,  you're  going  to war
                                                    as  a  cateran.  That's  all  you  are.  You'll see."
                                                       Yama  laughed.  "0  Tamora.  You  believe  in  nothing you
                                                    cannot  touch  or  taste  or smell."
                                                       "Of  course.  Only  fools  believe  in magic."
                                                       "Well,  it  is  certain  that  my  enemies  believe  that  I am
                                                    more  than  I  seem  to  be. "
                                                       And  so  did  Lupe,  who  wanted  a  miracle  of him.
                                                       "You  are  greater  than  anything  they  can  imagine, master
                                                    ,"  Pandaras  said,  
and  touched  fingers  to  his  throat in
                                                    the  odd  gesture  so  many  of  the  lesser  citizens  of  Ys used,
                                                    like  a  salute,  or  a blessing.
             T flN  X  T  H  0  R  N  I  N  6,  the  whole  village  busied  itself  with preparations
               for  a  feast.  In  the  dusty  central  square,  long red
             cloths  were  unrolled  and  strewn  with  flowers.  Men and
             women  set  to  cooking  a  hundred  different  dishes over
             trenches  filled  with  white-hot  charcoal.  Their children
             stacked  pyramids  of  sweet  melons  like  the  skulls  of vanquished
               enemies,  and  built  mounds  of  breadapples and
             small  black  and  red bananas.
                "We  will  honor  our  friends  the  mirror  people," the
             headman  told  Yama,  "and  we  will  honor  you,  brave domime
             ,  who  is  the  friend  of  our  friends,  and  who  saved our
             village  from  the hell-hound."
               Like  the  rest  of  the  villagers,  the  headman  wore  a garland
               of  freshly  cut  white  flowers.  With  comical solemnity
             he  lowered  similar  necklaces  over  the  heads  of Yama,
             Tamora  and  Pandaras,  and  kissed  each  of  them  on the
             forehead.  Yama  was  still  weak,  and  despite  his growing
             dread  he  was  now  resigned  to  undergoing  this  ordeal. Besides
             ,  the  villagers  had  saved  his  life  and  believed  that he
             was  a  hero.  And  who  would  not  like  to  be  treated  as a
             hero,  even  if  only  for  a day?
               And  so  he  gave  up  all  idea  of  escape,  and  while the



                                                     villagers  bustled  to  and  fro  he  sat  in  the  sunshine with
                                                     Pandaras  at  his  feet  like  a  loyal  puppy.  Pandaras  had tried
                                                     to  persuade  Yama  to  put  on  his  second-best  shirt,  but he
                                                     preferred  the  homespun  tunic  the  headman  had  given him.
                                                     Tamora  sat  cross-legged  beside  him  with  her  new saber
                                                     across  her  lap,  sharpening  it  with  a  bit  of  whetstone and
                                                     complaining  about Eliphas.
                                                       "He  has  run  off  with  the  money  I  gave  him," she
                                                     said.  "Or  gone  straight  to  our  enemies.  I  was  a  fool to
                                                     trust  him. "
                                                       "If  he  was  going  to  betray  me,  then  surely  he would
                                                     have  done  it  already.  Besides,  he  does  not  know where
                                                     I am.
                                                       "He  went  off  before  we  started  to  look  for  you," Tamora
                                                       admitted.  "But  he  could  have  doubled  back  and followed
                                                      us."
                                                       "And  you  would  not  have  noticed  an  old  man trailing
                                                     behind you."
                                                       "Well,  that's  true.  But  these  husbandmen  have  told the
                                                     mirror  people  about  you,  and  they  could  have  told Eliphas.
                                                     
I  do  not  trust  him, Yama."
                                                       Pandaras  stirred  and  said,  "When  we  were  up  in the
                                                     balcony,  above  the  pythonesses'  ceremony,  he  told me
                                                     stories  about  how  he  used  to  search  for  old  books when
                                                     he  was  young.  I  think  Yama  has  reawakened  his spirit
                                                     of adventure."
                                                       Yama  said,  "You  trust  no  one  and  nothing, Tamora.
                                                     Eliphas  was  a  good  friend  to  me  at  the  library,  and  he did
                                                     not  abandon  me  when  I  was  pursued  by  the hell-hound."
                                                       The  mirror  people  arrived  when  the  sun  reached the
                                                     highest  point  in  the  sky.  They  came  up  the  steps beside
                                                     the  tiers  of  rice  paddies  in  a  long,  colorful procession.
                                                     Men  and  women  waved  red  and  gold  flags,  beat drums
                                                     and  tambours,  and  blew  discordant  blasts  on  trumpets that
                                                     coiled  like  golden  serpents  around  the  players' shoulders.
                                                     There  were  fire-eaters  exhaling  gouts  of  red  and blue
                                                     flame,  boys  and  girls  who  walked  on  their  hands  or on
                                                     stilts,  tumblers  and  jugglers.  Lupe  walked  in  the middle
                                                     of  this  circus,  wearing  
an  emerald-green  gown  with  a long
            train  held  by  two  stunningly beautiful    girls.  The tangled
            mane  of  the  old  man's  hair  was  dressed  with  glass beads
            and  brightly  colored  ribbons.  His  hands,  with  their long
            twisted  nails,  rested  on  the  bare  shoulders  of  two more
            girls  who  guided  him  to  the  center  of  the  village where
            the  headman  waited,  clad  only  in  his  darned  leggings and
            his  homespun  tunic,  and  his dignity.
              After  the  two  men  had  ceremoniously  kissed, Lupe
            turned  to  where  Yama  stood  with  Tamora  and Pandaras.
            "Well  met,  dominie,"  he  said.  His  hands  sought and
            clasped  Yama's.  "I  am  pleased  that  you  have  returned to
            us,  but  I  always  knew  that  you would."
              Yama  began  to  thank  the  old  man  for  helping his
            friends,  but  Lupe  put  his  long  fingernails  to  his  lips. His
            face  was  painted  white,  with  black  eyebrows  drawn above
            his  frost-capped  eyes.  His  lips  were  dyed  a  deep purple.
            "What  you  will  do  for  us  can  never  be  repaid,"  he said,
            "but  we  must  not  speak  of  that  now.  Our  brothers have
            prepared  food  and  drink,  and  we  must  dance  to earn
            their hospitality."
              The  feast  lasted  all  afternoon.  As  the  sun  sank behind
            the  shoulder  of  the  slope  above  the  village,  cressets, were
           lit  and  hung  on  high  poles,  filling  the  air  with scented
            smoke  and  sending  fierce  red  light  beating  across the
            crowded  square.  Children  served  a  stream  of  dishes, and
            husbandmen  and  mirror  people  ate  and  drank  with gusto.
            Pandaras  fell  asleep,  curled  in  his  place  with  his  nose in
            the  crook  of  his  knees.  Tamora  drank  sweet  yellow wine
            steadily  and  soon  was  as  drunk  as  anyone else.
              
Yama  sat  in  the  place  of  honor,  between  Lupe  and the
            headman  of  the  village.  The  Aedile  had  taught  him the
            trick  of  appearing  to  eat  and  drink  much  while  in fact
            consuming  little,  but  even  the  small  amount  of  wine he
            drank  went  straight  to  his  head,  and  there  were  times when
            he  believed  that  he  was  in  the  middle  of  a  hectic dream,
            where  animals  dressed  as  men  frolicked  and  bayed  at the
            black sky.
              As  the  air  darkened,  it  became  possible  to  make  out the
            sparkle  of  gunfire  around  one  high  crag  of  the Palace.



                                                     Once,  a  low  rumble  passed  like  a  wave  through  the ground
                                                     beneath  the  feasting  husbandmen  and  mirror  people, and
                                                     everyone  laughed  and  clapped,  as  if  it  was  a  trick done
                                                     for  their benefit.
                                                        Yama  asked  Lupe  if  he  was  worried  by  the  war between
                                                     departments,  but  Lupe  smiled  and  merely  said  that  it was
                                                     good  to  be  in  the  fresh  air  once  more.  "It  has  been  a long
                                                     time  since  I  felt  sunlight  on  my  face, dominie.-
                                                        "The  war  is  nothing  to  us,"  the  headman  said. "We
                                                     do  not  have  the  ambitions  of  the  changed.  How  much it
                                                     costs  them!  And  when  the  war  is  over,  everything  will be
                                                     as  it  was  before.  No  one  can  change  the  order  of things,
                                                     for  that  was  set  by  the  Preservers  at  the  beginning of
                                                     the world."
                                                        He  raised  a  beaker  of  wine  and  drank,  and  the husbandmen
                                                       around  him  knuckled  their  foreheads  and drank
                                                    too.
                                                        Lupe  had  been  sucking  the  marrow  from  a chicken
                                                     bone.  Now  he  bit  it  in  half  and  chewed  and swallowed
                                                     
the  splinters  and  said,  "At  the  far  end  of  time  all those
                                                     who  are  changed  will  be  resurrected  after  death  by the
                                                     charity  and  grace  of  the  Preservers.  Isn't  that right,
                                                    dominie?"
                                                        And  so  it  had  begun.  Yama  said,  as  steadily  as  he could,
                                                     "That  is  what  it  says  in  the Puranas."
                                                        "All  men,"  the  headman  said.  "But  not  all  who are
                                                     born  and  die  on  Confluence  are  men.  Changed bloodlines
                                                     become  more  and  more  holy,  and  at  last  pass  away into
                                                     story  and  song.  Many  have  passed  away  since  the world
                                                     was  made,  and  many  more  will  do  so  in  ages  to come.
                                                     But  we  are  less  than  men,  and  can  never  change.  And so
                                                     we  will  inherit  the  world  when  all  others  have transcended
                                                     their  base selves."
                                                        "These  people  have  no  ambition,  dominie,"  Lupe told
                                                     Yama.  "They  swear  never  to  leave  their  gardens. They
                                                     will  never  wear  a  crown  of  fireflies."  Lupe  waved  a hand
                                                     above  his  head,  as  if  to  swat  the  two  dim  fireflies which
                                                     circled  him.  "I  do  not  mean  these.  They  are  nothing. I
                                                     
know.  Rats  have  brighter  attendants.  I  mean  ones  such as
             those  you  wore  when  you  first visited     us.  I  am  sorry that
             you  no  longer  have them."
               "They  were  taken  away,"  Yama said.
               "We  do  not  need  fireflies,"  the  headman  said,  "for we
             work  in  the  sun  and  sleep  when  the  Rim  Mountains take
             away  the  light.  We  are  a  humble people."
               "They  have  no  ambition,  but  they  are  not humble,"
             Lupe  told  Yama.  "They  are  proudest  of  all  the  peoples of
             the  Palace.  They  cleave  to  their  work  in  the  old gardens
             and  claim  to  be  the  best  of  all  the  servants  of  the Preservers
             ,  but  surely  the  best  way  to  serve  the  Preservers  is to
             aspire  to  become  more  than  you  already are."
               Lupe  leaned  toward  Yama.  The  glass  beads  in  his tangled
               hair  clicked  and  rattled.  Each  held  a  point  of reflected
             torchlight.  His  green  dress  was  of  the  finest  watered silk,
             but  Yama  could  smell  the  must  of  the  long  years  it had
             spent  in  a  press.  Were  the  blind  old  man's cheekbones
             higher  and  sharper,  was  his  voice softer?
               Lupe  said,  "Who  is  right,  dominie?  They  say  we wish
            to  rise  above  what  we  are  destined  to  be;  we  believe that
             they  are  worse  sinners,  for  they  refuse  the challenge.
               On  Yama's  left  hand,  the  headman  said,  "If knowing
             what  you  are  is  a  sin,  then  I  admit  it.  But  isn't  it  a worse
             sin  to  dream  of  gaining  what  you  can  never have?"
               On  the  other  side  of  the  flower-strewn  strip  of cloth,
             
Tamora  suddenly  looked  up,  as  if  startled  awake. "That's
             right,"  she  said.  "Dreams  bring heartache."
               "Without  dreams,"  Lupe  said,  "we  are  only animals.
             Without  dreams,  we  are  no  more  than  we are."
               Yama  looked  from  one  old  man  to  the  other. Although
            he  had  drunk  little,  his  head  felt  as  if  it  was  filled with
             fireflies.  He  said,  "You  ask  me  to  judge  between you?
             Then  I  say  that  both  of  you  are  at  fault,  for  you  refuse to
             look  into  your  own  hearts  and  discover  why  you  wish for
             elevation  or  why  you  refuse  the  chance.  Each  of you
             clearly  sees  the  fault  of  the  other,  but  neither  sees  his own
             fault.  We  are  all  raised  up  by  the  Preservers,  but  they do
             not  set  limits  on  what  we  can  be.  That  is  up  to us."



                                                       The  headman  touched  his  forehead,  but  Lupe tipped
                                                    back  his  head  and laughed.
                                                       The  headman  glared  at  Lupe  and  said,  "Then  this foolishness
                                                      should  not  take place,   as  I  have  argued. Brother
                                                    Lupe,  this  man  is  a  hero, but    he  is  also  a  man.  We are
                                                    not  the  ones  to  test  him. Only   he  can  do that."
                                                       "You  show  him,"  Tamora  said.  "Show  him  what he
                                                    is.  What  he isn't."
                                                       "It  is  not  a  test  of  him,"  Lupe  said,  "but  of my
                                                    people. "
                                                       The  headman  said,  "And  as  the  dominie  pointed out,
                                                    you  have  thought  too  long  on  why  we  will  not  copy your
                                                    foolishness,  instead  of  thinking  why  you  wish  to attempt
                                                   it."
                                                       "Then  I  stand  for  my  people  alone,"  Lupe  said, and
                                                    held  out  his hands.
                                                       Two  girls  stepped  forward  and  helped  him  up. Gradually
                                                    ,  the  feast  fell  silent,  silence  spreading  through the
                                                    noise  of  laughter  and  drinking  and  eating  and  singing as
                                                    black  ink  spreads  
through  water.  The  people  who  sat crosslegged
                                                      around  the  strips  of  cloth  and  the  islands  of food
                                                    turned  to.  watch  Lupe.  The  faces  of  the  mirror  people were
                                                    tinted  red  by  the  crackling  flames  of  the  torches;  those of
                                                    the  husbandmen  were  tinted  black.  Two  giants  which had
                                                    been  trading  blows  with  clubs  in  the  center  of  the square
                                                    stepped  back  from  each  other  and  their  upper  halves threw
                                                    off  their  tinsel  helmets  and  jumped  down  from  their lower
                                                    halves,  who  shucked  the  wide  belts  which  had concealed
                                                    where  their  partners  had  stood  on  their shoulders.
                                                       Lupe  raised  a  hand,  and  someone  stepped  out  of the
                                                    darkness  into  the  flaring  light  of  the  torches.  It  was a
                                                    beautiful  young  woman  in  a  simple  white  shift. She
                                                    stepped  forward  lightly  and  gravely,  treading  the  dust of
                                                    the  square  like  a  dancer,  the  cynosure  of  every eye.
                                                       She  carried  a  basket  of  white  flowers.  When  she reached
                                                    the  center  of  the  square  she  knelt  gracefully  and offered
                                                    the  basket  to  Yama.  Yama  jumped  up  and  backed away,
                                                    
horrified.  Tamora  began  to laugh.
                 They  left  Yama  alone  with  the  baby  in  the  dark night
              in  a  ruined  temple  below  the  village.  Perhaps  it  had once
              had  gardens  and  a  courtyard  before  its  entrance,  but now
              it  was  little  more  than  a  small  square  cave  cut  into the
              cliff  at  the  edge  of  a  stony  field  of  vines.  The  lintel  of its
              entrance  was  cracked.  The  caryatids  which  had  for  an age
              shouldered  their  burden  uncomplainingly  on  either  side of
              the  door  had  fallen.  One  had  broken  in  two  and  was missing
                her  head;  the  other  lay  on  her  back,  her  blank eyes
              gazing  at  the  black  sky.  Torches  had  been  set  on poles
              thrust  into  the  dry  earth  on  either  side  of  the entrance.
              Their  smoky  red  light  sent  long  shadows  weaving across
              the  flaking  frescoes  of  the  naos  and  put  red  sparks  in the
              glossy  black  circle  of  the shrine.
                 For  a  long  time,  Yama  paced  back  and  forth between
              the  two  torches,  stopping  now  and  then  to  look  at  the baby,
              which  slept  innocently  on  the  blanket  of  white  blossoms. It
              was  a  boy,  fat  and  dusky  with  health.  What tormented
              Yama  was  the  thought  of  the  miracle  he  was expected
              to perform.
                 To  raise  this  poor  wight.  To  change  him  from innocence
                                                   -awareness.
             to  one  of  those  fallen  into  full self
 
11              It  was impossible.
                 The  innocence  of  the indigens      was  different  from that
             of   the  unchanged  bloodlines  because  it  was absolute.
              While  most  bloodlines  of  Confluence  could  evolve toward
              union  with  the  Preservers,  the  indigens  were  as  fixed in
              their  habits  as  the  beasts  of  field  and  flood  and  air. Certain
 X,
             c
                 arse  bloodlines,  such  as  the  Amnan,  excused  their perseo               
              cution  of  indigens  by  saying  that  their  victims  were merely
              animals  with  human  appearance  and  speech,  a  kind of
              amalgam  of  monkey  and  parrot.  Most,  though,  agreed that
              the  indigenous  races  resembled  unchanged  bloodlines in
              all  but  potential.  Their  only  sin  was  that  they  could never
              become  other  than  what  they  were.  They  could  not fall
              from  the  grace  to  which  they  had  been  raised  by  the Preservers
              ,  but  neither  could  they  transcend it.



                                                        More  than  once,  Yama  was  seized  with  the  strong urge
                                                      to  pick  up  the  baby  and  carry  him  back  to  the  village high
                                                      above,  where,  to  judge  from  the  sounds  of  laughter and
                                                      music  which  occasionally  drifted  to  him  on  the night
                                                      breeze,  the  feast  was  proceeding  as  heartily  as  when he
                                                      had  been  led  away  from  it.  And  more  than  once,  he was
                                                      seized  with  the  impulse  simply  to  walk  away  into the
                                                      night.  To  become  what  he  briefly  had  been  when  he had
                                                      first  arrived  in  Ys,  a  solitary  seeker  after  the  truth  of his
                                                      own life.
                                                        He  did  neither.  The  baby  was  in  his  care,  and  he could
                                                      not  return  until  the  night  was  over.  A  refusal  to  act would
                                                      be  worse  than  failure,  for  it  would  imply  that  he  was not
                                                      grateful  to  the  mirror  people  for  saving  his  life.  No, better
                                                      to  wait  out  the  night,  and  be  found  to  have  failed. Tamora
                                                      would  be  pleased,  for  it  would  prove  to  her  that  his powers
                                                      were  no  more  than  figments  of  his  imagination.  And perhaps
                                                        the  heavy  weight  of  the  mirror  people's  hope might
                                                      
pass  from him.
                                                        It  was  not  a  burden  that  Yama  had  ever  sought. That
                                                      was  what  was  so  unfair.  Zakiel  had  told  him  that, because
                                                      of  the  great  age  of  Confluence  and  the  multiplicity  of its
                                                      bloodlines,  there  were  so  many  stories  and  tales  that anyone
                                                        could  find  in  them  a  mirror  to  their  own  life.  And so
                                                      the  mirror  people  had  seen  in  Yama  a  reflection  of some
                                                      long-dead  hero  or  half-forgotten promise.
                                                        Yama  could  forgive  them  that-in  these  troubled times
                                                      people  looked  to  the  past  for  heroes  to  save  them,  for that
                                                      was  simpler  than  trying  to  save  themselves.  But although,
                                                      like  so  many  heroes  of  the  Apocrypha,  he  possessed mysterious
                                                        origins,  strange  powers,  and  what  might  be mistaken
                                                        for  a  magical  weapon  (but  he  had  lost  the  knife, and
                                                      the  coin  he  carried  was  not  the  coin  he  had  been given),
                                                      Yama  knew  that  he  was  no  hero.  As  a  child,  he had
                                                      dreamed  of  finding  others  of  his  bloodline,  that  they would
                                                      be  powerful  and  rich  and  strong.  But  he  knew  now that
                                                      
those  dreams  could  not  be  true.  Every  orphan  must have
                                                      similar  dreams,  but  very  few  orphans  are  of  notable birth.
                                                      Now,  older  and  chastened  by  the  rub  of  the  world, he
             wished  to  find  his  people  because  he  hoped  that they
             would  shelter  him  from  the  expectations  of  others. Even
             if  they  were  no  more  than  mendicants  and  anchorites, he
             would  join  them  gladly,  for  surely  they  would  accept him
             simply  for  what  he  was.  He  had  not  asked  for  what little
             power  that  he  had,  and  he  wanted  it gone.
                Let  it pass.
                More  than  once,  gripped  by  a  mixture  of self-loathing
             and  self-pity,  he  shouted  this  prayer  into  the  night. But
             there  was  never  any  reply,  nothing  more  than  the wind
             walking  amongst  the  dry  leaves  of  the  vines,  and  the faint
             sounds  of  revelry  high  above.  Presently,  he remembered
             that  this  place  was  very  old,  and  grew  fearful  that  he might
             wake  something,  and  was quiet.
                "You  are  better  off  without  it,"  he  whispered  to the
             baby.  His  throat  ached  from  shouting.  "The husbandmen
             are right."
                Yama  did  not  expect  to  sleep,  but  at  last  he  tired himself
             out  by  pacing  to  and  fro,  like  the  great  spotted  cat  he had
             once seen   in  a  cage  on  the  deck  of  a  ship  that  had  put in
             
at  Aeolis  on  its  way  back  to  Ys  from  the  jungles  near the
             midpoint  of  the  world.  The  cat  had  prowled  restlessly from
             one  corner  of  its  cage  to  the  other,  anger  blazing  in its
             green  eyes,  its  mad  thoughts  unguessable.  Perhaps  it had
             believed  that  if  it  paced  long  enough  it  might  find  a hidden
             door  to  the  jungle  from  which  it  had  been taken.
                Yama  sat  with  his  back  against  the  pedestal  of  one of
             the  caryatids  (her  feet,  shod  in  strap  sandals,  stood there
             still,  broken  off  at  the  ankles),  and,  tired  but sleepless,
             watched  the  lights  of  the  city  spread  beyond  the dark
             slopes  of  the  Palace roof.
                After  some  time,  he  realized  that  the  fallen  caryatid had
             opened  her  blank  eyes  and  was  watching  him.  He felt
             neither  fear  nor  amazement;  not  even  when  she spoke.
                "You  have  a  knack  of  finding  windows  that  still work,"
             she  said.  "I  see  you  lost  your  key  but  found another."
                Yama  knew  at  once  who  was  speaking  to  him. The
             woman  he  had  seen  in  the  shrine  of  the  Temple  of the



                                                        Black  Well.  The  aspect  of  the  author  of  the  heresies which
                                                        threatened  to  consume  the world.
                                                          He  was  seized  with  a  bottomless  dread,  as  if confronted
                                                        with  a  poisonous  serpent.  His  mouth  was  dry,  but  he managed
                                                          to  say,  "The  keys  are  everywhere,  but  people have
                                                        forgotten  what  they were."
                                                          "They  have  forgotten  much,"  the  woman  said lightly.
                                                        "When  I  walked  in  your  world,  I  tried  to  tell  them  a little
                                                        of  what  they  had  forgotten.  Some  remembered,  but many
                                                        resisted.  Knowledge  is  a  bitter  thing,  after  all,  and many
                                                        hesitate  to  sip  from  that  cup.  You,  for  instance,  are not
                                                        one  step  further  on  your  journey.  Why  are  you  sitting here,
                                                        and  who  is  it  you  are  sitting  with?  A  very unformed
                                                        mind  ...  Ah,  it  is  a  baby  from  one  of  the  true  alien races.
                                                        Another  orphan, Yama?"
                                                          "I  will  not  serve  you,"  Yama  said.  It  was  a  great effort
                                                        to  speak,  as  if  he,  too,  had  been  turned  to  stone.  He said,
                                                        "I  refuse  to  serve.  
I  refused  Prefect  Corin,  and  I refuse
                                                        you.  I  especially  refuse  you,  because  I  know  that you
                                                        deny  the  mercy  and  charity  of  the  Preservers.  You would
                                                        overthrow  them  and  rule  in  their  place  if  you  could.  It is
                                                        the  world's  good  fortune  that  you  are  nothing  but a
                                                       ghost."
                                                          "Do  you  refuse  the  mirror  people, too?"
                                                          "You  cannot  know  about that!"
                                                          "I  am  in  your  dreams,  Yama,  so  for  this  little  time I
                                                        share  some  of  your  memories.  The  mirror  people want
                                                        only  to  share  the  fate  of  the  other  bloodlines  of  this strange
                                                        world.  They  want  nothing  more  than  to  take  charge of
                                                        their  own  destiny,  to  become  infected  with  the machines
                                                        that  will  record  their  memories,  so  that  they  might live
                                                        again.  They  want  to  remember  their  own  story,  not have
                                                        it  remembered  for  them.  I  had  long  arguments  with Mr.
                                                        Naryan  on  that  point.  He  was  particularly enthusiastic
                                                        about  innocence,  I  remember,  but  no  parent  should keep
                                                        a  child  from growing."
                                                          
"Mr.  Naryan  ...  is  he  another ghost?"
                                                          "He  was  the  Archivist  of  the  town  of  Sensch,  As far
                                                        as  I  know,  he's  still  alive.  It  was  a  great  many  years ago,
               but  his  kind  live  long,  longer  than  most  of  the long-lived
               races  of  Confluence.  He  changed  his  mind,  of  course. He
               understands  my  ideas now."
                  "But  Sensch  was  where  the war-"
                  The  caryatid  smiled,  cracking  the  lichens  which had
               grown  like  cankers  on  her  stony  cheeks.  "I  set  them free,
               Yama.  Free  from  the  burden  of  this  world's  mindless theocracy
               .  Free  to  be themselves."
                  "The  Preservers  will  give  us  all  that freedom."
                  "Yes,  and  they  promise  to  do  so  at  the  very  instant of
               the  end  of  the  Universe.  It  is  an  easy  promise  to make,
               for  no  one  will  be  alive  to  call  them  to  account  when they
               fail.  The  Preservers  promise  everything  and  give nothing.
               I  promise  no  more  than  freedom,  and  that  is  what  I gave
               the  citizens  of  Sensch.  What  is  so  wrong  with that?
                  "Now,  pay  attention.  I  will  show  you  the  trick. When
               I  was  in  the  world,  I  had  to  call  on  the  shrines  to help
               me  change  the  people  of  Sensch.  Now  I  live  in  the space
               inside  the  shrines,  and  the  process  is  much simpler."
                  "No!  I  will  not serve!"
                  
But  in  his  dream,  Yama  seemed  to  be  swimming beneath
                 the  surface  of  the  river,  as  he  had  swum  so often
               when  he  was  still  a  child,  innocently  playing  with  the pups
               of  the  Amnan.  The  pups  had  liked  to  dive  from  the end
               of  the  new  quay  and  swim  out  to  the  kelp  beds, where
               long  green  fronds  trailed  just  beneath  the  surface. They
               swam  deeper  and  faster  than  Yama  ever  could, searching
               for  abalone  and  oysters  that  clustered  around  the holdfasts
               of  the  kelp  on  the  muddy  river  bottom.  Yama  was happy
               enough  to  splash  above  them,  but  sometimes  he struck
               downward  through  sunlight  toward  the  ghost  of  the river
               bottom  far  below,  toward  the  other  children.  He could
               never  reach  them.  His  lungs  began  to  ache  and  burn, and
               the  weight  of  the  water  compressed  his  chest  and  he had
               to  double  back  and  swim  strongly  for  the  surface, where
               he  sputtered  and  coughed  in  the  sunlight.  The  cool depths
               of  the  river  were,  for  him,  forever  unreachable.  But now,
               as  he  struck  through  a  hectic  flux  that  was  much  like the
               play  of  light  and  water,  it  came  to  him  that  his  wish had



                                                     finally  come  true.  The  caryatid  hung  beside  him,  and he
                                                     told  her  that  she  should  sink,  for  she  was  stone,  and stone
                                                     could  not float.
                                                        "Watch,"  she  said,  and  he  saw  the  knots  within the
                                                     baby's  brain,  saw  how  they  could  be  made  stronger here
                                                     and  here  so  that  the  swarming  machines,  smaller  than the
                                                     single-celled  plants  on  which  the  largest  fish  of  the river
                                                     grazed,  which  hung  invisibly  in  every  breath  of  air  just as
                                                     the  tiny  plants  hung  in  every  drop  of  water,  would exist
                                                     in  those  places,  and  begin  their  work  of  building  and amplifying
                                                       the  initial  trace  of self-consciousness.
                                                        The  caryatid  sank  away,  slowly  dissolving  into  the flux
                                                     of  light.  "Self-ordering  complexity,"  she  murmured. "It
                                                     only  needs  a  seed  .  .  . "
                                                        Yama  knew  now,  or  remembered,  that  this  was  a dream,
                                                     and  remembered  the  nature  of  the  creature  that  had visited
                                                     him.  Yet  still  something  in  him  yearned  toward  her,  as a
                                                     starving  man  will  reach  toward  any  kind  of  food,  no matter
                                                     
how  foul.  He  struck  out  with  fierce  desperation  toward the
                                                     place  where  she  had  disappeared,  and  woke  to  find Tamora
                                                     kneeling  beside  him.  He  was  lying  on  the  broken  tiles of
                                                     the  naos,  before  the  black  disc  of  the  shrine.  Was there
                                                     light  fading  within  it?  Or  was  it  simply  a  reflection  of the
                                                     dawn  light  which  was  framed  by  the  square  entrance of
                                                     the  little temple?
                                                        Tamora  was  watching  Yama  with  an  intent, troubled
                                                     expression.  She  snatched  back  her  hand  when  he reached
                                                     for  it,  and  he  asked  her  what  was  wrong.  Instead  of answering
                                                     ,  she  turned  and  pointed  to  the  temple's entrance,
                                                     where  people  clustered  around  something  on  the ground.
                                                     Immediately,  Yama  felt  a  sharp  pang  of  guilt.  He had
                                                     forgotten  the  baby.  He  had  fallen  asleep.  It  could  be dead.
                                                     It  could  have  been  snatched  by  wild animals.
                                                        He  staggered  outside,  every  muscle  stiff.  It  was already
                                                     warm,  and  light  flooded  the  slopes  of  the  Palace  and filled
                                                     the  sky,  so  bright  after  the  temple's  cool  shadows  that he
                                                     had  to  squint.  A  
great  cry  went  up  from  the  people and
                                                     Yama  started  back  in  alarm  before  he  understood  that they
                                                     were  smiling.  Lupe  stood  in  the  center  of  the  little crowd,
               his  blind  face  bent  to  a  girl  who  whispered  in  his ear.
               Another  girl  took  Yama's  hand  and  led  him  to  the basket
               of  white flowers.
                There  was  so  much  light  that  Yama  did  not  at first
               understand  why  the  baby's  eyes  kept  crossing,  and  why it
               batted  at  the  air  before  its  face  with  its  chubby  hands. And
               then  he saw.
                 Hung  above  its  forehead,  burning  with  fierce  white radiance
               ,  was  a  crown  of fireflies.



                                                                         THE  PROMS  ION  Of YANA
                                                    "TRY  WILI  SOON  go  away,"  Yama  whispered  into Pandaras's
                                                      ear.  "I  must  have  drawn  them  here,  but  they will
                                                    go  away  once  I  have  left.  Before  this  is  over  I should
                                                    explain  to  Lupe's  people  that  it  is  not  how  they think
                                                    it is."
                                                      "You  are  too  modest,  master!  You  could  live  as  a Hierarch
                                                      here,  and  instead  you  go  to war!"
                                                      The  produce  wagon  on  which  they  rode  swayed  as it
                                                    negotiated  a  pothole  in  the  old  road;  Pandaras staggered
                                                    and  then  sat  down  hard  by  Yama's  high  chair.  The boy
                                                    was  drunk.  From  the  noise  and  music  and  cheering  of the
                                                    procession,  from  plentiful  libations  of  sweet  yellow palm
                                                    wine.  A  wreath  of  ivy  and  the  long  white  flowers  of trumpet
                                                      vine  was  tipped  on  his  brow.  There  was  a  large wet
                                                    wine  stain  on  the  front  of  his  white shirt.
                                                      "They'd  kill  him,"  Tamora  said.  "Not  these  fools, but
                                                    the  people  in  power.  He's  a  threat  to them."
                                                      
She  stood  behind  Yama,  gripping  her  saber  and constantly
                                                      turning  from  left  to  right  to  watch  the  crowd, becoming
                                                      especially  alert  whenever  someone  let  off a
                                                    firecracker.  People  were  running  alongside  the  wagon and
                                                    its  attendant  procession  of  mirror  people,  or  stood  on ter-
              races  overlooking  the  road, cheering        and  waving palm
              fronds  or  brightly  colored  cloths,  offering  up  flowers or
              fruit.  One  group  had  launched  kites  into  the  air; painted
              with  fierce  faces,  the  red  and  black  and  yellow diamonds
              zoomed  and  swooped  around  each  other  in  the  bright air.
                 Lupe  sat  at  Yama's  feet,  arrayed  in  a  dress  of cloth-ofgold
                sewn  with  fake  pearls  and  sequins.  He  held  the baby
              with  its  crown  of  brilliant  fireflies  in  his  lap.  He  said, "We
              mean  no  harm  to  anyone.  We  simply  set  forth  from our
              immemorial  home  to  claim  our  place  in  the world."
                 "You'd  do  better  to  stay  here,"  Tamora  said.  She had
             to  raise  her  voice  to  a  shrill  pitch  to  be  heard  above the
             c
                 wd.  "Innocents  like  you  are  prey  for  every bandit,
               ro
              crimp  and  reaver  in  the city."
                 "When  I  was  a  young  man,"  Lupe  said,  "I  used the
              shell  game  to  take  money  from  your  people  at  the Water
              Market.  Before  that,  I  played  the  part  of  the  monkey 
in
              the  illusion  of  the  snake  and  rope,  and  helped  in  a puppet
              theater.  Marks  always  think  that  they  can  fool  us,  but they
              forget  that  they  play  our  games  by  our  rules.  Ah,  but we
              must  not  quarrel,  young  cateran,  for  we  are  both  set on
              the  same  path.  Hear  how  the  people  cheer  the procession
              of  your master!"
                 The  news  of  the  miracle  had  spread  fast  and  far.  By the
              time  the  procession  had  left  the  village  of  the husbandmen,
             people  were  already  lining  the  old  road  as  far  as they
            could  see.  Gangs  of  men  were  clearing  the  road  of brush
              and  fallen  rock,  or  patching  gaps  with  timbers.  The road
              had  not  been  used,  Lupe  said,  since  the  Hierarchs had
              fallen  silent,  ten  thousand  years ago.
                 The  procession  wound  three  times  around  the  slopes of
              the  Palace  as  it  descended  toward  the  city.  No  guards or
              troops  came  forward  to  stop  it,  but  now  and  then Tamora
              would  point  out  a  speck  in  the  air  beyond  the Palace's
              slopes,  where,  she  said,  an  officer  stood  on  a  disc, watching
                through  a  glass.  Once,  where  the  road  rounded the
              bulging  side  of  a  steep  cliff  with  sheer  rock  above and
              only  air  below,  a  flyer  paced  the  procession.  It  hung just
              beyond  the  edge  of  the  road,  so  close  that  one  of the



                                                        acrobats  could  have  easily  jumped  from  the  road  to the
                                                        wide  black  triangle  of  its  wing.  The  mirror  people pelted
                                                        it  with  flowers  and  libations,  and  then  the  road  turned into
                                                        a  short  tunnel  through  the  side  of  a  bluff,  and  when it
                                                        came  out  into  the  sunlight  the  flyer  was  gone,  and more
                                                        people  were  running  down  steeply  tilted  fields  toward the
                                                        procession,  waving  and cheering.
                                                           Yama  waved  back,  although  he  was  sick  at  heart. The
                                                        miracle  which  these  innocent  people  were  celebrating was
                                                        no  miracle  at  all,  but  a  trick  of  the  shadow  of  the creature
                                                        who  had  started  the  war.  She  had  used  him  as  a  tool to
                                                        change  the  baby,  either  to  show  him  what  she  was capable
                                                        of,  or  to  show  him  that  she  knew  his  powers  better than
                                                        he  did.  The  miracle  which  Lupe  had  desired  so  much was
                                                        a  perversion,  a  crude  and  cruel  joke  mocking  the  will of
                                                        the Preservers.
                                                           Yama's  only  hope  was  that  good  might  come  from this
                                                        after  all.  For  no  matter  how  it  had  been  done,  the baby
                                                        
was  changed.  Lupe's  people  had  the  proof  that  they could
                                                        be  raised up.
                                                           There  was  nothing  he  could  do  but  make  the  best  of it,
                                                        which  was  why  he  had  agreed  to  ride  with  Lupe. Tamora
                                                        had  said  that  taking  part  in  the  procession  was perilously
                                                        foolish,  but  Yama  had  asked  her  plainly  what  was bettersneaking
                                                          out  of  Ys  under  cover  of  darkness,  like escaping
                                                        thieves,  or  riding  in  the  place  of  honor  in  a  long, happy
                                                        procession  amidst  tumblers  and  musicians  and clowns,
                                                        with  the  population  cheering  them  along?  At  least Pandaras
                                                          was  caught  up  in  the  fever  of  it  all.  He  waved too,
                                                        and  drank  the  libations  which  people  handed  up, and
                                                        laughed  and  waved  some more.
                                                           Yama  turned  to  Tamora  and  said,  "Most  of  them think
                                                        it  is  some  kind  of performance."
                                                           She  shook  her  head.  "Just  look  at  who  has  come to
                                                        watch.  They  are  all  of  them  indigens  or  the  poorest  of the
                                                        poor,  sweepers  and  nightsoil  collectors  like  the rat-boy
                                                        here.  If  the  soldiers  
or  the  magistrates  decide  to  arrest you,
                                                        or  worse,  if  those  fuckers  from  Indigenous  Affairs come
              for  you,  this  trash  would  melt  away.  And  tomorrow they'd
              choose  another  King  of Fools."
                 "My  bloodline  helped  build  the  world,  Tamora,  and at
              one  time  I  believed  they  might  be  Lords  of  infinite time
              and  space.  I  know  now  that  they  were  no  such  thing. They
              were  laborers  such  as these."
                 The  miracle  was  not  that  he  had  performed  a miracle,
              for  he  knew  that  he  had  not,  but  that  Lupe  and  the mirror
              people  believed  that  he  had.  Perhaps  the  good  of  it was
              this:  that  these  people  believed  that  miracles  were possible,
              that  the  Preservers  could  still  intercede  in  the  world. And
              how  could  he  deny  it?  For  was  not  his  own  existence as
              much  a  miracle  as  the  crown  of  fireflies  around  that innocent
                baby's  head?  If  the  woman  in  the  shrine  had used
              him,  then  perhaps  she  in  turn  had  been  used  by some
              higher power.
                 "I  think  you're  better  than  them,"  Tamora  said, and
              went  back  to  watching  the crowd.
                 Yama  was  searching  the  faces  in  the  crowd,  too. He
              was  looking  for  Eliphas,  for  now  the  procession  was descending
                through  the  cramped  squares  and  narrow streets
              
that  threaded  between  the  tumultuous  jumble  of buildings
              at  the  hem  of  the  Palace,  and  still  there  was  no  sign of
              the  old man.
                 The  procession  moved  toward  a  great  gate.  People lined
              the  rooftops  on  either  side,  pelting  the  wagon  with flowers
              and  paper  strings  in  a  blizzard  so  dense  that  at  first Yama
              did  not  see  why  the  procession  suddenly  stopped. Tamora
              hissed,  but  Yama  held  up  his  hand,  hoping  that  she would
              not  strike.  For  now  he  saw,  through  falling  drifts  of flowers
              ,  a  line  of  troopers  strung  across  the  road  before the
              gate,  some  mounted  on  black-plumaged  ratites,  some on
             foot.
                 An  officer  on  a  floating  disc,  clad  in  metal  armor so
              polished  that  it  shone  like  a  mirror  broken  into  the shape
              of  a  man,  swooped  down  and  hung  in  the  air  above the
              two  oxen  that  drew  the  wagon.  He  was  bareheaded, his
              skull  heavily  ridged.  A  thick  black  mustache  framed the



                                                  puckered  cone  of  his  mouth.  He  stared  directly  at Yama
                                                  and  said,  "Who  is  in charge?"
                                                     "No  one  was  compelled  to  be  here,"  Yama  said. "They
                                                  came  of  their  own  free will."
                                                     The  officer  said,  "None  of  these  animals  know anything
                                                  about  free will."
                                                     Lupe  said,  "We  set  forth  toward  a  new  life, dominie.
                                                  And  this  is  the  one  who  sets  us  upon it."
                                                     Tamora  stepped  forward,  glaring  up  at  the  officer. "Get
                                                  out  of  the  way,  little  man.  And  take  your  toy soldiers
                                                  with  you. "
                                                     "Stand  down,"  Yama  told  her  gently,  as  he  might try
                                                  and  calm  a  highly  strung  mount.  He  said  to  the officer,
                                                  "What  authority  stops us?"
                                                     "The  Department  of  Internal  Harmony.  You  are Yamamanama
                                                  ?  I  am  here  to  escort  you  from  the  Palace. We
                                                  are  under  considerable  pressure  to  return  you  to  a certain
                                                  place,  but  the  Department  of  Internal  Harmony  does not
                                                  take  sides.  We  still  
have  full  control  of  the  lower floors
                                                  and  the  outer  defenses,  and  we  do  as  we  see  fit  to ensure
                                                  the  security  of  the  Palace.  Accordingly,  I  am  here  to make
                                                  sure  that  you  leave  the  Palace,  and  to  ask  you  to disperse
                                                  your followers."
                                                     "They  are  not  mine  to  command."  Yama gestured,
                                                  meaning  the  crowd  which  clogged  the  street  behind the
                                                  wagon,  the  people  on  the  rooftops  who  were  still tossing
                                                  flowers  into  the  air.  He  said,  "If  they  were,  I  would not
                                                  have  allowed  this.  I  am  as  embarrassed  by  it  as  you, but
                                                  I  believe  that  they  mean  no  harm  by  what  they do.
                                                     He  could  take  the  disc  from  beneath  the  officer's feet
                                                  and  use  it  as  a  scythe  against  the  troopers  who blocked
                                                  the  way.  He  could  call  down  machines  and  riddle them
                                                  through  and  through.  It  would  be  so  easy  .  .  .  but there
                                                  would  be  other  soldiers,  and  beyond  the  gates  was the
                                                  city,  and  the  hundred  thousand  magistrates  who  kept civil
                                                  order.  He  was  not  here  to  start  a  war.  What  was  he thinking
                                                  ?  The  woman  in  the  
shrine  had  put  something  in his
                                                  head  that  twisted  his  thoughts  to  fantasies  of  violence and
                                                  domination.  He  took  a  deep  breath  to  calm  himself, and
                remembered  that  the  Aedile  had  taught  him  that when
                negotiating  it  was  better  to  allow  your  opponent  to think
                that  he  had  come  to  a  decision  than  to  force  him  to make
                a  choice,  for  when  forced  a  man  will  usually  choose badly.
                   He  said,  "I  understand  why  you  must  keep order
                amongst  the  petitioners  and  palmers  who  seek  to  gain entrance
                ,  for  else  the  Palace  would  be  overwhelmed.  But the
                people  who  celebrate  here  are  of  the  Palace  itself, and
                wish  to  leave.  They  are  the  simple  people  who  work the
                fields  and  entertain  the clerks."
                   Lupe  said,  "We  have  always  come  and  gone freely.
                Why  are  we  stopped now?"
                   "I  know  your  kind,"  the  officer  said.  "They  come and
                go  by  ratholes  and  sewer  pipes,  along  with  the other
               vermin."
                   Yama  said,  "If  they  are  vermin,  why  then,  you would
                well  be  rid  of  them.  In  any  case  surely  you  should not
                waste  a  moment  on  them.  Would  you  stop  birds flying
                from  the  fields  above  us  to  the  banks  of  the  Great River?"
                   The  officer  thought  for  a  moment,  then  said,  "We 
serve
                the  ideal  of  the  Preservers.  We  always  have.  In  the black
                days  when  the  Head  of  the  People  swallowed  all other
                departments,  we  alone  maintained  our  independence. We
                allow  people  to  come  and  go  as  we  see fit."
                   "And  even  the  mirror  people  were  raised  up  by the
                Preservers.  Their  kind  have  lived  in  the  Palace  for longer
                than  almost  every  other  bloodline.  Perhaps  you would
                know  if  they  have  some  rights  in  this matter."
                   The  officer's  puckered  mouth  drew  back  to  show the
                strong,  yellow-ridged  grinding  plates  he  had  instead of
                teeth.  "Frankly,  I'll  be  glad  to  see  the  last  of  them. They
                are  parasites  upon  the  bodies  of  the  departments.  Only a
                decad  past  there  was  a  riot  in  one  of  the  day markets
                because  one  of  them  was  caught  cheating  at  some gambling
                  game.  Several  clerks  were  blinded  when  a  fool fired
                an  energy pistol."
                   Yama  believed  that  he  knew  something  of  the  truth of
                that  incident,  but  he  did  not  correct  the  officer.  He said,
                "Then  perhaps  all  will  benefit  if  they  pass  with me."



                                                     The  officer  nodded.  "They'll  be  the  magistrates' problem
                                                     once  they're  outside  the  Palace,  and  I  have  my orders
                                                   to  get  you  to  a  place  of  safety.  The  Department  of Indigenous
                                                     Affairs  pushed  too  hard  for  your  return.  We'll not
                                                   be  at  the  command  of  them,  or  anyone else."
                                                     "There  is  a  ship  waiting  for  us  at  the  docks," Yama
                                                   said.  "If  you  took  me  there,  it  would  be  an  end  to your
                                                   duty,  and  of  my  obligation  to you."
                                                     The  mounted  troopers  of  the  Department  of Internal
                                                   Harmony  fell  in  as  an  escort  ahead  and  behind  the wagon.
                                                   Their  ratites,  the  officer  confided  to  Yama,  were  not as
                                                   swift  or  fearsome  as  horses,  but  were  less  prone  to panic
                                                   and  more  maneuverable  in  the  press  of  a  crowd.  The procession
                                                     passed  beneath  the  arch  of  the  great  gate  (all the
                                                   fireflies,  from  Lupe's  to  those  of  the  baby  in  his  lap, flew
                                                   up  and  vanished;  Yama  was  glad  to  see  them  go) and
                                                   began  to  make  its  way  through  the  ordinary  streets  of Ys.
                                                     Yama  turned  back  
and  saw  the  Palace  rearing against
                                                   the  sky  above  close-packed  roofs,  and  fancied  he glimpsed
                                                   the  flash  of  some  weapon's  discharge  near  the  peak, where
                                                   the  war  between  departments  was  still  being  fought.  Or perhaps
                                                     it  was  no  more  than  the  sun  glinting  on  some metal
                                                   surface  high  up  in  the  Palace's  great  bulk-perhaps the
                                                   metal  which  clad  the  House  of  the  Twelve  Front Rooms
                                                   of  the  Department  of Vaticination.
                                                     The  procession  was  still  followed  by  cheering crowds,
                                                   but  now  there  were  just  as  many  people  on  the streets
                                                   who  merely  glanced  at  it  as  they  went  about  their normal
                                                   business.  Yama  remembered  the  procession  he  had seen
                                                   from  the  window  of  the  inn  where  he  had  woken after
                                                   plunging  into  the  Country  of  the  Mind  where  the crews
                                                   of  the  voidships  met  each  other,  and  laughed  to  think that
                                                   now  he  was  the  center  of  a  similar  spectacle, simultaneously
                                                   the  center  of  everyone's  gaze  and  something commonplace.
                                                     Tamora  cursed  Pandaras  for  getting  drunk  and  said that
                                                   
Yama  should  watch  the  rooftops  instead  of  waving like
               the  King  of  Fools.  "They  should  have  put  a  canopy over
               your  head.  It  wouldn't  block  quarrel,  but  it  would hinder
               the aim.
                  "We  are  quite  safe,"  Yama  said.  "We  have  the protection
                 of  the  Department  of  Internal  Harmony.  No  one will
 46            dare  try  and  take  me  by  force now.
  I
                  "Prefect  Corin  might  try  and  put  a  quarrel  through your
               head,  and  mine  too.  He  won't  have  forgiven  us  for escaping
               .  I  know  the  type.  And  those  magistrates  are watching
               us  too  closely  for  my liking."
                  Red-robed  magistrates  stood  on  floating  discs high
               above  the  heads  of  the  crowd  which  thronged  the streets,
               their  machines  a  dizzy  twinkle  in  the  air  about  them. Yama
               waved  at  them  as  the  wagon  trundled  past,  and suppressed
               the  impulse  to  twist  the  orbits  of  their  machines  into mocking
                configurations.
                  As  the  wagon  moved  toward  the  docks,  the  crowd began
              to  grow  denser,  swollen  by  refugees  come  to  beg  for help
               from  the  man  who  had  raised  up  one  of  the indigenous
               races.  Women  held  up  children  so  that  they  could see
               Yama  and  the  baby,  or  perhaps  to  be  blessed,  for many
               were  ill  or  deformed.  People  shouted  and  prayed and
               pleaded,  but  their  words  were  lost  in  the  general tumult
               
and  the  braying  of  the  trumpets  and  shawms  of  the mirror
                people.
                  At  last,  the  crowds  were  so  dense  that  the procession
               could  no  longer  move  forward.  Even  the  mounted soldiers
               were  trapped  in  the  press.  The  officer  swooped  down and
               told  Yama  that  he  would  arrange  for  him  to  be carried
               away  to  wherever  he wished.
                  Yama  shook  his  head.  "I  will  walk  if  I must!"
                  "You  must  come  with me!"
                  They  were  both  shouting  at  the  tops  of  their  voices, but
               could  hardly  hear  themselves  over  the  noise  of  the crowd.
               A  man  jumped  on  to  the  wagon  and  tried  to  asperge Yama
               with  scented  oil.  Tamora  kicked  him  in  the  throat  and he
               folded  over  and  fell  backward.  The  mob  closed around
               him  before  he  had  a  chance  to scream.
                  Yama  climbed  onto  the  bench  and  raised  his arms.



                                                     Gradually,  the  crowd  which  packed  the  street  ahead and
                                                     behind  the  wagon  grew  quiet,  except  for  a  scattering of
                                                     individual  voices  crying  out  with  hysteria  or  hurt  or fright.
                                                       "I  cannot  help  you,"  Yama  said.  He  was trembling
                                                     violently,  and  a  sharp  pain  pressed  between  his eyes.
                                                     "Only  you  can  help yourselves."
                                                       Most  did  not  hear  him,  but  the  crowd  cheered anyway.
                                                     Yama  remembered  the  magistrate  who  had  stopped him
                                                     and  Prefect  Corin  when  they  had  first  arrived  in  Ys, and
                                                     borrowed  a  machine  from  one  of  the  magistrates who
                                                     stood  on  a  rooftop  overlooking  the  street.  When  he spoke
                                                     to  it,  it  amplified  his  voice  so  that  it  echoed  from  the walls
                                                     of  the  buildings.  He  meant  to  tell  the  crowd  again  that he
                                                     could  not  help  them,  but  something  seized  him,  and then
                                                     he  hardly  knew  what  he  said.  The  crowd  cheered  and he
                                                     felt  lifted  up  by  their  cheers.  The  pain  between  his eyes
                                                     intensified  and  red  and  black  light  flashed  in  his  sight. He
                                                     tried  to  reach  out  
and  change  everyone  in  the  crowd and
                                                     failed  because  there  were  too  many,  and  cried  out  in rage.
                                                     A  myriad  tiny  machines  burned  and  fell  from  the  air. People
                                                       screamed  and  tried  to  flee  as  magistrates, believing
                                                     themselves  to  be  under  attack,  laid  into  those  nearest them
                                                     with  their  quirts,  But  there  was  nowhere  to  flee  to, and
                                                     suddenly  the  crowd  was  fighting  against  itself,  its unity
                                                    lost.
                                                       Yama  did  not  see  any  of  this.  Red  and  black lightning
                                                     tore  away  all  thought  and  he  fell  backward  into Tamora's
                                                      arms.
                                                       A  great  wind  blew  around  him.  The  sun  burned down
                                                     out  of  the  cloudless  sky,  but  the  rush  of  air  was  so cold
                                                     that  he  shivered  in  its  icy  blast  as  if  plunged  into  a stream
                                                     fed  by  the  glaciers  at  the  end  of  the  world.  He  lay  on a
                                                     ridged  metal  deck  that  vibrated  beneath  him.  When he
                                                     struggled  to  sit  up,  Pandaras  helped  him  and  said, "A
                                                     flying  machine,  master.  You  fainted  and  the  officer caught
                                                     you  up  and  carried  you off."
                    
"There  were  too many
                    Pandaras  misunderstood;  he  was  still  drunk.  His wreath
                 was  tipped  over  one  ear.  He  said,  "They  would  have torn
                 you  apart  if  this  hadn't  rescued  us.  Isn't  it wondrous?"
                    The  flying  machine  was  sleek  and  boat-shaped, with
                 short,  down-curved  wings.  Its  silver  skin  shone  like  a mirror
                   in  the  bright  sunlight.  Lupe  sat  behind  Yama  and Pandaras
                 ,  with  the  baby  in  his  lap  and  a  girl  on  either side.
                 Four  troopers  stood  behind  him.  Near  the  beaked prow,
                 Tamora  was  talking  with  a  man  clad  in  broken mirrors.
                 She  glanced  around,  grinning  fiercely,  and  said,  "We go
  'U,
                 directly  to  the docks."
                    The  mirror-clad  man  turned-it  was  the  officer  in his
                 polished  armor-and  said,  "This  is  only  a  dory,  not  a true
                 flyer.  Unfortunately  its  range  is  limited,  or  I  would take
                 you  as  far  from  the  city  as possible."
                    Yama  said  stupidly,  "Who  commands it?"
                    "It  flies  itself,"  the  officer  said.  "It  is  from  the early
                 days  of  the  world.  There.  You  see  what  we  have left
                behind."
                    The  little  dory  tilted  in  the  air.  Because  its  local gravity
                 compensated  for  the  motion,  the  world  seemed  to  
pitch beneath
                   it.  The  grid  of  the  city,  punctuated  here  and  there by
                 the  domes  and  spires  of  temples,  stretched  away  toward the
                 vast  bulk  of  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People. The
                 Palace's  peak  was  obscured  by  smoke.  A  long  way beyond
                 it  were  the  shining  towers  Yama  had  seen  so  often using
                 the  signal  telescope  on  the  roof  of  the  peel-house  at Aeolis,
                 white  needles  that  rose  higher  than  the  Rim Mountains,
                 their  tops  lost  in  a  glare  of  sunlight  beyond  the envelope
                 of  air  that  shrouded the-world.
                    Yama  pointed  at  the  Palace  and  said,  "They  are still
                fighting."
                    "It  is  the  rioting  in  the  streets  that  I  meant,"  the officer
                 said.  "Well,  I  suppose  we  are  too  high  to  see it."
                    As  if  it  understood  him,  the  dory  swooped  down. The
                 city  rushed  at  them.  The  crowded  roofs  of  the refugees'
                 shantytown,  built  over  the  mudbanks  left  by  the Great
                 River's  slow  retreat,  raveled  away  on  either  side.  The river



                                                     was  directly  ahead,  a  broad  plain  flashing  in  the sunlight
                                                     as  the  dory  swerved  toward  one  of  the  floating docks.
                                                       The  pontoon  quays  of  the  dock  were  lined  with sightseers
                                                     ,  and  a  flotilla  of  small  boats  stood  off  on  either side.
                                                     As  the  dory  gently  sank  through  the  air,  coming  to rest
                                                     just  above  the  edge  of  the  outermost  quay,  Yama  saw a
                                                     familiar  face  in  the  crowd  and  immediately  jumped down.
                                                       Tamora  got  in  front  of  Yama  and  helped  keep  off the
                                                     press  of  people  who  crowded  round,  shouting  and singing
                                                     and  praying  and  making  obeisance.  Some  clutched at
                                                     Yama's  homespun  tunic  and  he  realized  his  mistake and
                                                     would  have  climbed  back  on  the  dory,  but  there  was no
                                                     room  to  move.  Tamora  held  her  saber  above  her  head, in
                                                     case  someone  was  pushed  onto  it  by  those  pressing from
                                                     behind,  and  there  was  an  uncomfortable  minute  before the
                                                     troopers  managed  to  clear  a space.
                                                       Lupe  was  helped  down  by  his  attendants,  using  one of
                                                     the  wings  of  the  
dory  as  a  pont.  The  blind  old  man ignored
                                                     those  who  crowded  around  him.  He  cradled  the  baby in
                                                     one  arm  and  touched  Yama's  face  with  the  long fingernails
                                                     of  his  free  hand.  "You  should  not  have  left  us  the first
                                                     time,  dominie,"  he  said.  "You  will  forgive  me  if  I mention
                                                       that  you  caused  much  trouble.  But  all's  well that
                                                     ends well."
                                                       Yama  smiled,  and  then  remembered  that  the  old man
                                                     could  not  see.  He  said,  "You  have  been  a generous
                                                     friend, Lupe.
                                                       "We  are  your  servants,  dominie.  We  are  no  longer the
                                                     servants  of  the  pleasure  of  all  in  the  Palace,  but  for you
                                                     we  will  always  give  our lives."
                                                       "It  will  not  be necessary."
                                                       "I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  But  these  are  strange  times, dominie
                                                     .  The  end  of  the  world  is  at  hand.  Why  else  would you
                                                     have  kindled  the  change  in  our bloodline?"
                                                       Lupe  embraced  Yama  tremulously,  and  Yama  kissed the
                                                     old  man  on  both  cheeks.  The  baby  smiled  up  at  them, quite
                                                     
undisturbed  by  the  commotion  of  the  crowd.  Someone was
                                                     trying  to  push  between  the  troopers  who  guarded Yama
                                                     and  Lupe.  Tamora's  saber  point  flicked  in  that direction-
             but  it  was  Eliphas,  smiling  broadly  and  shouting wildly,
             his  silver  eyes  flashing  in  the  bright sunlight.
                "I  have  found  them,"  Eliphas  shouted.  "I  have found
             them,  brother! Downriver!"



                                                                                             THE WIAZEL
                                                   HE  SflIP  THEY  had  hired,  the  Weazel,  was  a  small lugger
                                                   which,  before  the  war,  had  spent  her  days  ferrying cargo
                                                   and  a  few  passengers  from  one  side  of  the  Great  River to
                                                   the  other.  She  was  single-masted  and  lateen-rigged,  and in
                                                   calm  weather  could  supplement  her  triangular mainsail
                                                   with  square  staysails  rigged  from  spars  spread  either side
                                                   of  her  mast.  She  pulled  a  shallow  draft,  and  with wind
                                                   and  current  behind  her  could  make  twice  the  speed  of the
                                                   huge  galliots  and  levanters  which  were  scattered across
                                                   the  Great  River  in  pods  of  three  or  four,  heading downriver
                                                   toward  the  war.  She  could  not  outrun  the  machines which
                                                   tried  to  follow  her,  but  Yama,  exhausted  though  he was,
                                                   told  them  to  disperse  even  before  the  drag  anchors had
                                                   been collapsed.
                                                     Pandaras  said  that  it  was  likely  that  the  Weazel  had been
                                                   used  as  much  for  smuggling  as  for  plying  regular trade,
                                                   but  he  was  careful  to  say  this  out  of  earshot  of  the ship's
                                                   
captain,  lxchel  Lorquital.  Captain  Lorquital  was  a cautious,
                                                   shrewd  widow  who  dominated  all  on  board  with  a natural
                                                   authority.  Like  all  the  women  of  her  bloodline,  she had
                                                   added  her  husband's  name  to  her  own  when  she had
                                                  married.
                 "But  that  don't  mean  I  was  anything  less  than him,"
              she  told  Yama.  "You  might  say  that  since  I  carry his
              name  and  his  memory  I'm  rather  more  than  he  ever was,
              the  Preservers  keep  his  memory safe."
                 lxchel  Lorquital  was  a  big  woman,  with mahogany-colored
              skin  that  shone  as  if  oiled  and  an  abundance  of coarse
              black  hair  she  habitually  tied  back  from  her  creased, round
              face  with  a  variety  of  colored  strings.  Her  forehead was
              ridged  with  keratin,  her  nostrils  no  more  than  slits  in the
              middle  of  her  face.  She  wore  a  silver  lip-plug which
              weighed  down  her  lower  lip,  exposing  yellow, spadeshaped
                teeth.  The  day-to-day  running  of  the  ship  was left
              to  her  daughter,  Aguilar,  who  combined  the  offices of
              bosun  and  purser,  and  Captain  Lorquital  habitually  sat in
              a  sling  chair  by  the  helm,  puffing  a  corncob  pipe, stately
              in  a  billowing  long  skirt  and  leather  tabard,  her wellmuscled
                arms  bare,  a  red  handkerchief  knotted  under her
              pendulous  jowls.  Eliphas  soon  struck  up  a  friendship with
              her,  and  they  spent  hours  talking together.
                 Ixchel  Lorquital  asked  no  questions  about  Yama  and his
             
friends.  She  offered  her  cabin  to  the  four  passengers, but
              Yama  politely  refused  this  generous  gesture.  Instead, he
              and  his  companions  camped  on  the  deck,  sleeping  on raffia
              mats  under  a  canvas  awning  that  slanted  steeply  from the
              rail  of  the  quarterdeck  to  a  cleat  by  the  cargo well.
                 Yama  slept  easily  and  deeply  on  the  Great  River. It
              reminded  him  of  the  happy  days  of  the  annual pilgrimages
              made  by  the  whole  population  of  Aeolis  to  the farside
              shore.  And  he  could  sleep  safe  in  the  knowledge  that he
              had  left  his  enemies  behind  him,  and  that  now  he  had a
              destination,  a  place  to  voyage  toward,  the  place  where his
              bloodline  might  still live.
                 Eliphas  had  told  Yama  all  about  his  discovery  as soon
              as  the  Weazel  had raised      her  rust-red  sail  and  begun to
              outpace  the  flotilla  of  small  boats  which  had  tried  to follow



                                                    her.  The  old  man  was  tremendously  pleased  with himself,
                                                    and  even  more  voluble  than usual.
                                                       "It  was  your  mention  of  Dr.  Dismas  that  aided the
                                                    search,"  he  said.  "It  was  a  simple  matter  to  check the
                                                    records  and  find  out  which  he  had  accessed.  He  had been
                                                    careful  to  cover  his  tracks,  but  he  was  not  subtle.  For one
                                                    as  expenenced  as  my  friend  Kun  Norbu,  the  chief of
                                                    clerks,  it  was  a  relatively  simple  matter  to  see through
                                                    the  deception. -
                                                       "You  say  that  they  were  living  downriver,"  Yama said
                                                    quickly,  before  Eliphas  could  launch  into  a  technical account
                                                      of  the  false  trails  left  by  Dr.  Dismas  and  the skills
                                                    the  chief  of  clerks  had  employed  to  untangle them.
                                                       "If  they  still  live,  brother,  then  that  is  where  they will
                                                   be  found,"  Eliphas said.
                                                       "Well,  I  am  alive,"  Yama said.
                                                       "That's  true,"  Eliphas  said.  "However,  I  feel  I should
                                                    point  out  that  while  your  being  alive  here  and  now means
                                                    that  at  least  two  
of  your  bloodline  were  alive  in  the recent
                                                    past,  it  does  not  mean  that  our  hypothetical  pair  are alive
                                                    now,  or  that  any  others  like  them  are  alive.  The documents
                                                    ,  you  see,  are  quite  old.  At  least  five  thousand years
                                                    old,  for  they  had  formed  part  of  the  original  binding  of a
                                                    book  which  had  been  made  then.  They  could  well  be much
                                                    older,  of course."
                                                       "How  much older?"
                                                       "Well,  that's  difficult  to  say,  brother.  With  more time,
                                                    Kun  Norbu  and  I  could  have  analyzed  the  inks,  for degradation
                                                      of  certain  elements  used  to  manufacture  inks occurs
                                                    at  a  fairly  constant  rate.  But  they  are  not  more  than ten
                                                    thousand  years  old,  for  before  that  time  the  region in
                                                    which  the  city  of  your  bloodline  is  located  was  not yet
                                                   formed."
                                                       "A city!"
                                                       Yama  had  never  imagined  more  than  a  small  keep, or
                                                     perhaps  a  small  town,  hidden  in  the  icy  fastness upriver
                                                    of  Ys.  Perhaps  a  citadel  tunneled  into  the  rock  of the
                                                    mountains,  a  fine  and  secret  place  full  of  ancient wonders.
                                                    
But  a  city ...
                  Eliphas  drew  a  little  leather  satchel  from  inside  his loose
               shirt,  unfastened  its  clasps,  and  took  out  a  cardboard folder
               tied  with  a  green ribbon.
                  "Neither  are  the  originals,  of  course,"  he  said. "My
               friend  the  chief  of  clerks  could  not  allow  such precious
               documents  to  leave  the  precincts  of  the  library. However,
               they  are  fair  copies,  made  by  the  best  of  the  copyists in
               the  library.  The  first  faithfully  reproduces  the appalling
               script  of  the  man  who  wrote  the  original,  and  even mimics
               the  stains  and  tatters  which  the  original  accumulated before
                 it  was  used  as  a  stiffener  in  the  binding  of  a common
              pharmacopium."
   ,             It  took  him  a  minute  more  to  unpick  the  knot  in the
               ribbon.  He  opened  the  folder  and  withdrew  a  piece of
               paper  which  had  been  folded  into  quarters  and  sealed with
               a  blob  of  black  wax.  It  fluttered  in  the  warm  wind which
               poured  past  the  rail  of  the  ship's  waist,  and  it  took  all of
               Yama's  will  to  resist  snatching  it  from  Eliphas's hand.
                  "Sealed  with  the  imprint  of  the  chief  of  clerks," Eliphas
               said,  and  snapped  the  wax  and  handed  the  folded paper
              to Yama.
                  
After  he  had  opened  it,  Yama  thought  at  first  that he
              h
                    the  paper  upside  down,  but  when  he  turned  it around
                ad
              he   still  could  not  read  the  irregular  lines  of squiggles
               and dashes.
                  Eliphas  smiled.  "It  is  a  long-dead  language, brother,
               and  the  man  who  wrote  this  account  used  a much-debased
               version.  However,  I  have  some  small  skill  in  it.  It  is a
               brief  account  written  by  a  scavenger  of  wrecked  war machines
                 in  the  Glass  Desert  beyond  the  midpoint  of the
               world.  That  is  why  I  would  guess  that  it  is  more  than five
               thousand  years  old.  The  remains  of  war  machines were
               almost  entirely  removed  from  the  accessible  areas  of the
               Glass  Desert  long  before  the  making  of  the  book  in which
               this  was found."
                  "Where  is  it  then?  Where  is  this place?"
                  "Several  hundred  leagues  beyond  the  end  of  the Great
               River,  in  a  series  of  caverns.  The  scavenger  believed that



                                                    it  was  once  a  huge  city,  but  only  a  small  part  of  it was
                                                    still  inhabited  when  he  stumbled  upon it."
                                                       Yama  remembered  the  places  beneath  the  world where
                                                    Beatrice  had  taken  him,  and  the  capsule  which  had transported
                                                      them  from  the  edge  of  the  Rim  Mountains  to the
                                                    shore  of  the  river.  With  growing  excitement,  he realized
                                                    that,  as  a  baby,  he  might  have  been  carried  from  one end
                                                    of  the  river  to  the  other  in  a  similar  device.  He  did not
                                                    know  if  his  people  still  lived  there,  but  at  last  he  had a
                                                    goal,  even  if  it  lay  beyond  the  armies  of  the heretics.
                                                       But  Tamora  still  did  not  trust  Eliphas,  and  said so
                                                    bluntly.  "You  are  a  fool  if  you  believe  him,"  she said,
                                                    later  that evening.
                                                       "Eliphas  thinks  he  will  find  treasures  there.  That  is why
                                                    he  is  so  eager  to  help.  He  is  quite  honest  about his
                                                   intentions."
                                                       "He  wants  to  be  young  again,"  Pandaras  said.  "It's a
                                                    futile  wish  most  men  share.  And  so  he  plunges  into an
                                                    adventure  like  those  
of  his  youth,  hoping  that  it  will revive
                                                    his  waning powers."
                                                       They  sat  on  rolled  raffia  mats  under  the  awning, their
                                                    faces  lit  by  a  single  candle  which  flickered  in  a resin
                                                    holder.  Eliphas  was  on  the  quarterdeck,  talking  with Captain
                                                      1xchel  Lorquital.  To  port,  Ys  made  a  web  of lights
                                                    that  stretched  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see;  to  starboard, the
                                                    Eye  of  the  Preservers  was  rising  above  the  black sweep
                                                    of  the river.
                                                       Tamora  had  taken  several  of  the  small  fish  the  cook had
                                                    caught  on  trotlines  trailing  from  the  ship's  stem. She
                                                    picked  up  one  and  tore  a  bite  from  it  and  swallowed without
                                                      chewing.  "Grab.  That  scrawl  could  be  anything or
                                                    nothing.  He  could  have  made  it  this  morning.  You have
                                                    only  his  word  that  this  is  a  record  of  your bloodline."
                                                       "Not  a  record,"  Yama  said,  "simply  an  account of
                                                    what  happened  to  a  scavenger  when  his  camels  died after
                                                    drinking  poisoned  water.  He  was  wandering  half-mad from
                                                    thirst  and  heat  exhaustion,  and  was  found  and  taken  in by
                                                    
a  tribe  of  people  who  looked  like  me.  He  says  that they
                                                    called  themselves  the  Builders.  They  had  fireflies, and
               other  machines.  He  was  there  for  more  than  a  decad, until
               he  had  recovered  from  his  ordeal.  Then  he  woke one
               morning  and  found  himself  hundreds  of  leagues  away, near
               the  fall  of  the  Great River."
                  "It  is  a  pretty  story,"  Tamora  said,  "but  where's the
              proof?"
                  "He  remembered  the  path  he  had  taken  up  to  the point
               when  his  rescuers  found  him. Here."
                  Yama  drew  out  the  other  piece  of  paper  Eliphas had
               brought.  Tamora  held  it  to  the  light  of  the  candle and
               Pandaras  craned  his  sleek  head  to look.
                  It  was  a map.
                  At  dawn  the  next  day  the  Weazel  was  sailing  past the
               lower  reaches  of  Ys  ahead  of  a  brisk  breeze,  dragging a
               creamy  wake  through  the  river's  tawny  water.  The ship
               kept  to  the  outermost  of  the  coastal  currents,  where the
               water  was  stained  by  silt  and  sewage  from  thousands of
               drains,  all  of  which  had  once  been  clear  streams  fed by
               the  snowcaps  of  the  foothills  of  the  Rim  Mountains. On
               the  port  side,  across  a  wide  stretch  of  calm  water 
broken
               here  and  there  by  small  islands  crowded  with buildings,
               or  by  long  picket  lines  which  marked  the  boundaries of
               fish  farms,  was  an  endless  unraveling  panorama  of closepacked
                 houses  which  stretched  away  beneath  a  dun haze
               created  by  millions  of  cooking  fires.  A  horde  of  tiny craft
               went  about  their  business  close  to  the  shore:  coracles and
               skiffs;  little  fishing  boats  and  puttering  reaction motors;
               slow  sampans  carrying  whole  families  and  menageries of
               chickens  and  rabbits  and  dwarf  goats;  crowded water
               buses;  luggers  like  the  Weazel,  their  big  triangular sails
               often  painted  with  a  stylized  swirl  representing  the  Eye of
               the  Preservers.  Occasionally,  a  merchant's  carvel moved
               at  a  deliberate  pace  amongst  the  smaller  craft,  or  a pinnace
               with  a  double  bank  of  oars  and  a  beaked  prow  sped swiftly
               by,  scattering  the  local  traffic,  the  beat  of  the  drum which



                                                     set  the  rhythm  of  the  rowers  sounding  clear  and small
                                                     across  the water.
                                                        Yama's  chest  tightened  each  time  one  of  the pinnaces
                                                     went  by,  partly  in  memory  of  the  time  when  Dr. Dismas
                                                     had  tried  to  kidnap  him,  partly  because  he  was  still not
                                                     sure  that  he  had  escaped  Prefect  Corin.  This  might  be no
                                                     more  than  a  reprieve  until  the  Prefect  or  some  other officer
                                                     of  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  tried  to snatch
                                                     him  back.  When  he  had  woken,  he  had  sent  away more
                                                     than  a  decad  of  machines  which  had  been  following the
                                                     Weazel,  and  he  expected  to  have  to  send  away  many more.
                                                        He  did  not  want  to  think  of  the  baby  of  the mirror
                                                     people,  of  the  dream  in  which  the  woman  had  spoken to
                                                     him,  of  how  badly  the  procession  had  ended.  He wanted
                                                     to  put  all  of  it  behind  him,  and  in  the  night  had prayed
                                                     that  it  would  pass  away,  another  one-day  wonder  in  a city
                                                     where  wonder  was commonplace.
                                                        To  starboard  was  nothing  but  the  wide  river, stretching
                                                     a  hundred  leagues  
to  its  own  flat  horizon,  where  tall white
                                                     clouds  were  stacked  above  the  merest  glimpse  of  the farside
                                                       shore.  Day  by  day  the  clouds  would  grow  taller and
                                                     nearer,  until  at  last  they  would  break  on  the  land  and bring
                                                     about  the  brief  rainy  season.  Apart  from  an occasional
                                                     fishing  boat,  trawling  for  deep-water  delicacies  in  the cornpany
                                                       of  a  swirling  flock  of  white  birds,  the  outer reaches
                                                     of  the  Great  River  were  the  preserve  of  the  big  ships. At
                                                     any  hour  at  least  a  hundred  could  be  counted, scattered
                                                     far  and  wide  across  the  gleaming  surface  of  the river.
                                                        Going downriver.
                                                        Going  to war.
                                                        Of  the  five  members  of  the  crew  of  the  Weazel, two,
                                                     including  the  fat  cook,  were  slaves  who  had  been purchased
                                                       at  udicial  auctions.  The  oldest  of  the  sailors, the
                                                     ship's  carpenter,  Phalerus,  a  bald-headed  fellow  with a
                                                     sharp  jutting  lizard's  face  and  a  ruff  of  skin  that  rose above
                                                     his  mottled  scalp,  had  once  been  a  slave  too-he  had bought
                                                     his  freedom  years  ago  but  had  stayed  on  anyway,  for he
                                                     
knew  no  other  home.  Of  the  other  two  freemen,  one  was a
                                                     cheerful,  simpleminded  man  named  Anchaile;  skinny and
             long-limbed,  he  swung  amongst  the  rigging  with astonishing
               agility.  The  other,  a  shy, quiet     boy,  was  said to
             have  killed  five  men  in  pit  fights  and  was  on  the  run from
             his  handler  because  he  had  refused  to  fight  a  woman. This
             boy,  Pantin,  and  the  second  slave,  a  grizzled  little man
             with  terrible  scars  on  his  back,  were  of  Pandaras's bloodline
             .  Whenever  there  was  slack  time  the  three  sat together
             telling  stories  or  singing  long  ballads  in  their  own Ianguage
             ,  one  dropping  out  as  another  took  over  in rounds
             that  sometimes  went  on  for hours.
                None  of  the  crew  were  allowed  to  cross  the  brass line
             set  aft  of  the  cargo  well  in  the  whitewood  deck (scoured
             each  day  by  coconut  matting  weighted  by  the  cook and
             dragged  back  and  forth  by  two  others)  without  the permission
               of  either  Captain  Lorquital  or  her  daughter, Aguilar.
             The  cargo  well  was  covered  with  a  tarpaulin  cover  as tight
             as  a  drum  head,  and  loaded  with  replacement  parts for
             artillery  pieces.  Each  part  was  sprayed  with  polymer foam;
             they  were  stacked  under  the  tarpaulin  like  so  many huge,
             soft  eggs.  By  the  forecastle  bulwark  were  pens  where hens
             and  guineafowl  strutted  and  a  single  shoat  rooted  in  a litter
             of  straw,  and  on  the  triangular  bit  of  decking  that 
roofed
             the  forecastle,  under  the  lines  which  tethered  the leading
             point  of  the  sail  to  the  long  bowsprit,  was  a  light cannon
             under  a  tarpaulin shroud.
                It  was  here  that  Tamora  chose  to  perch  the  second day,
             watching  the  city  shore  move  past  hour  upon  hour. She
             was  in  a  kind  of  sulk,  and  even  Aguilar,  a  jolly unselfconscious
               woman  who  claimed  to  have  at  least  three men
             lusting  after  her  in  every  city  along  the  Great  River, could
             not  cajole  more  than  three  or  four  words  from  her  at any
             one time.
               Yama  worried  about  Tamora's  mood,  but  bided his
             time.  He  reflected  that  he  still  did  not  know  her  well, and
             knew  even  less  about  her  bloodline.  Perhaps  she  was still
             recovering  from  their  adventures,  and  in  particular from
             her  long  incarceration  in  the  Department  of Indigenous
             Affairs,  of  which  she  would  not  speak.  Worse  had happened
               to  her,  Yama  suspected,  than  the  shaving  of her



                                                        head.  And  no  doubt  she  was  worried,  and  perhaps angry,
                                                        that  Eliphas  had  usurped  her  position  as  Yama's advisor,
                                                        that  he  and  not  she  had  found  clues  to  Yama's  origin. It
                                                        did  not  occur  to  him  that  there  was  a  simpler  answer, and
                                                        that  it  lay  within himself
                                                           At  the  end  of  the  second  'd"ay,  the  Weazel  finally passed
                                                        beyond  the  downriver  edge  of  the  city.  Red sandstone
                                                        cliffs,  fretted  with  the  square  mouths  of  old  tombs, stood
                                                        above  mudbanks  and  shoals  exposed  by  the  river's retreat.
                                                        The  only  signs  of  habitation  were  the  occasional fishing
                                                        hamlets  stranded  beyond  new  fields  made  where  the river
                                                        had  once flowed.
                                                           Early  the  next  morning,  the  wind  died  and  the Weazel's
                                                        triangular  mainsail  flapped  idly.  The  ship  drifted  on the
                                                        slow  river  current.  The  sun  beat  down  from  the  deep indigo
                                                          sky;  the  distant  cliffs  glowed  through  a  haze  of heat
                                                        like  a  bar  of  molten  iron;  the  big  ships  scattered across
                                                        the  gleaming  sweep  of  the  river  did  not  change position
                                                        
from  hour  to hour.
                                                           At  last,  Captain  Lorquital  had  the  sail  hauled down.
                                                        Drag  anchors  were  thrown  over  the  sides.  The  ship's crew
                                                        took  turns  to  swim  and  even  Captain  Lorquital  went overboard
                                                        ,  dressed  in  a  white  shift  as  big  as  a  tent, hauling
                                                        herself  down  the  ladder  at  the  stem  a  step  at  a  time. Pandaras
                                                          spouted  water  like  a  grampus,  splashing  with his
                                                        two  friends;  Eliphas  swam  with  a  dignified breaststroke,
                                                        keeping  his  white-haired  head  above  the  water  at  all times.
                                                           Tamora  sat  cross-legged  on  the  forecastle  decking, studiously
                                                          not  looking  at  the  frolics  in  the  water  around the
                                                       ship.
                                                           Yama  swam  a  long  way  out.  He  found  a  patch of
                                                        oarweed  and  wound  himself  in  cool,  slippery  fronds, a
                                                        trick  he  had  learned  as  a  child;  the  gas-filled  bladders of
                                                        the  oarweed  would  keep  him  afloat  without  any  effort. The
                                                        ship  was  a  small  black  shape  printed  on  the  burning water.
                                                        He  could  cover  it  with  his thumb.
             Soon,  he  would  pass  his  childhood  home,  and  he idly
          
thought  that  he  could  jump  ship  then,  and  return  to the
          peel-house  and  take  up  his  life  once  more.  He  could marry
          Derev.  It  would  be  a  metic  marriage,  but  they  would be
          happy.  He  would  not  mind  if  she  took  a  concubine  of her
          own  bloodline.  He  would  raise  the  children  as  if  they were
          his own.
             But  this  was  no  more  than  a  pretty  fantasy.  He could
          not  go  home  again.  He  could  not  pretend  that  things had
          not  changed.  That  he  had  not  changed,  in  ways  that frightened
            and  amazed him.
             He  could  feel  the  tug  of  the  feral  machine  far beyond
          the  end  of  the  world.  And  even  as  he  floated  on  his back
          amidst  the  oarweed,  machines  gathered  beneath him.
          Through  a  fathom  of  clear  deep  water  he  could  see things
          with  dull  silvery  carapaces  and  long  articulated  tails moving
            over  each  other  on  the  red  sand  of  the  riverbed. He
          ducked  his  head  underwater  to  study  this  aimless congregation
          ,  then  floated  on  his  back  and  watched  the distant
          ship,  and  thought  again  of  Derev  and  everything  else he
          had  left  behind  in  Aeolis,  and  at  last  swam  slowly back
          to  the ship.
             Tamora  did  not  turn  her  head  when  Yama  came  up the
          ladder  behind  her.  The  whitewood  of  the  forecastle deck
          was  hot  under  his  bare  feet;  water  dripping  from  his body
          darkened  it  for  only  a  few  moments  before drying.
             After  a  while,  Tamora  said,  "I  went  up  to  the crow's
          nest.  There's  a  little  smudge  on  the  horizon.  As  if something
            very  big  has  been  set  on  fire.  I've  been wondering
          what  it  could be."
             Yama  remembered  the  ship  Lud  and  Lob  had  fired as
          a  diversion  on  the  night  he  had  been  kidnapped  by Dr.
          Dismas.  He  said,  "Perhaps  it  is  a  galliot  or  a carrack,
          attacked  by pirates."
             
"The  war  goes  worse  than  I  knew  if  there  are raiding
          parties  this  far upriver."



                                                       "There  have  always  been  pirates.  They  live amongst
                                                       the  floating  islands  in  the midstream."
                                                       Tamora  shook  her  head.  She  said,  "The  pirates  have all
                                                       gone  downriver  to  the  war.  There  are  richer  and easier
                                                       pickings there."
                                                       Yama  reached  out  toward  her  scarred,  naked  scalp, but
                                                       halted  just  short  of  touching it.
                                                       Tamora  said,  "I  didn't  believe  you.  I  didn't  want to
                                                      believe.
                                                       Yama  understood.  "I  am  no  different,  Tamora.  I still
                                                       want  nothing  more  than  I  did  when  I  first  met  you. Once
                                                       I  have  found  my  people  I  want  to  join  the  war  and fight
                                                       as  best  I can."
                                                       "As  best  you  can!"  She  turned  and  looked  up  at him.
                                                       "I  thought  you  were  a  monster.  They  told  me  that,  in my
                                                       cell.  They  told  me  that  I  might  be  pregnant  by  you, and
                                                       be  carrying  your  spawn.  They  examined me-"
                                                       "Tamora.  I  did  not  know.  I  am sorry."
                                                       "No!  I  am  sorry.  I  was  weak.  I  allowed  the  fuckers to
                                                       
get  inside  my  head.  It  wasn't  you  that  put  a  monster inside
                                                       me,  but  them.  It's  been  whispering  inside  my  skull ever
                                                       since.  I  always  knew  what  you  were,  see,  but  I wouldn't
                                                       admit  it.  That's  why  those  fuckers  could  get  inside  me. I
                                                       won't  let  it  happen again."
                                                       With  a  sudden,  violent  heave,  she  twisted  around and
                                                       threw  herself  full  length  on  the  decking.  She  moved so
                                                       quickly  that  Yama  did  not  have  time  to  react.  She kissed
                                                       his  feet  and  looked  up  and  said,  "I  did  not  believe  in you.
                                                       But  I  do  now.  I  know  that  you  are  capable  of  miracles. I
                                                       will  serve  you  with  all  my  life  if  you  will  let me."
                                                       Yama  helped  her  up,  feeling  a  mixture  of embarrassment
                                                         and  confusion  and  fright.  He  said,  "We  will fight
                                                       side  by  side,  as  we  said  we would."
                                                       Tamora  finally  met  his  gaze.  She  said,  "Isn't  that what
                                                      I said?  But  in  what cause?"
                                                       "Against  the  heretics,  of course."
                                                       But  he  said  it  so  quickly  that  both  of  them  knew that
                                                      
it  was  said  out  of  habit,  not belief.
                                                       Tamora  saved  him.  "Well,  yes,"  she  said. "There's
                                                       always that."
                                                       Of WIRACLES
             111PHAS  SAID,  "I  studied  long  on  this  when  I  was much
             younger.  I  came  to  the  conclusion  then-and  I  have found
             no  reason  to  change  my  mind-that  there  are  three classes
             of miracles."
                The  old  man  was  sitting  with  Yama  and  Captain Lorquital
               on  the  quarterdeck,  in  the  shadow  of  the  booming sail.
             It  was  the  morning  of  the  third  day  of  the  voyage. The
             wind  had  picked  up  in  the  night,  blowing  strongly from
             the  upriver  quarter  of  the  farside  shore.  Water  rushed by
             the  hull  and  the  river  sparkled  out  to  its  distant horizon,
             salted  with  millions  of  whitecaps.  There  was  a lightning
             storm  fifty  leagues  to  starboard.  Whips  of  light flickered
             under  massed  purple  clouds,  and  now  and  again  the sound
             of  thunder  rolled  faintly  across  the  face  of  the waters.
                Eliphas  ticked  off  categories  of  miracle  on  his  long thin
             fingers.  He  said,  "There  are  those  events  in  which something
               happens  that  is  contrary  to  nature,  such  as  the sun
             failing  to  reverse  its  course  in  the  sky  at  noon,  but instead
             continuing  on  to  the  farside.  There  are  those  events which
             may  occur  in  Nature,  but  never  in  that  particular order,
             such  as  a  dead  man  returning  to  life,  or  the  Eye  of the
             Preservers  rising  at  the  same  time  as  the  Galaxy.  And then



                                                     there  are those    events  which  may  occur  naturally, but
                                                     which  in  the  case  of  a  miracle  do  so  without  natural causation
                                                     ,  such  as  this  good  ship  dashing  along  with  no wind
                                                     behind  her  and  no  current  beneath  her.  So  we  see that
                                                     most  miracles  are  quite  natural  processes,  but  without the
                                                     usual  causes  or order."
                                                       Ixchel  Lorquital  said,  "Myself,  I  don't  believe  in supernatural
                                                       happenings.  You'll  hear  talk  ashore  that  sailors are
                                                     superstitious.  But  what  it  is,  we're  careful  because we
                                                     can't  take  anything  for  granted  on  the  river.  It  seems to
                                                     me  that  miracles  happen  because  people  are  hoping they'll
                                                     happen.  It's  mostly  religious  people  who  claim  to have
                                                     seen  a  miracle,  as  is  only  natural.  They're  the  ones who've
                                                     the  most  to  gain  from  it,  even  if  they  don't  think that
                                                     way.  What  I'd  say  is,  if  someone  says  they  saw, something
                                                     contrary  to  nature,  then  it's  more  likely  that  they are
                                                    mistaken."
                                                       Eliphas  nodded.  "All  you  say  is  true,  sister.  The most
                                                     difficult  thing  about  
miracles  is  not  trying  to  explain them
                                                     away,  but  trying  to  prove  that  something  is  a  miracle, and
                                                     not  simply  a  manifestation  of  natural  law  or  of ancient
                                                     technology,  or  a  trick  cunningly  set  up,  or  an  illusion dependent
                                                       upon  a  willing  suspension  of  belief  on  the  part of
                                                     the  audience.  In  ancient  times  there  were  theaters  of the
                                                     mind  in  which  participants  could  explore  fantastic landscapes
                                                       where  miracles  occurred  as  a  matter  of course,
                                                     much  as  puppets  in  a  street  theater  may  be  made  to fly,
                                                     or  breathe  fire,  or  rise  from  the  dead.  But  of  course those
                                                     were  not  miracles,  but illusions."
                                                       "Then  you  might  say  that  I  only  dreamed  that  the caryatid
                                                       came  to  life,"  Yama  said,  "or  that  I  talked  with the
                                                     woman  in  the  shrine  of  the  Temple  of  the  Black  Well in
                                                     a  dream.  Unfortunately,  while  it  might  be  a comforting
                                                     thought,  I  do  not  believe  it  to  be  true.  The  truth  is that
                                                     there  are  things  in  the  world  which  are  long  forgotten, and
                                                     somehow  I  am  capable  of  waking  them.  The  question is
                                                     
not  how  these  things  happened,  but  why  they  happened to
                                                     me.  If  I  knew  the  answer  to  that,  I  would  be  a happy
                                                    man."
                  lxchel  Lorquital  said,  "Before  my  husband  died, before
              the  war,  we  traveled  up  and  down  the  Great  River  at least
              once  a  year.  I  reckon  to  have  seen  every  bloodline on
              Confluence,  including  most  of  the  indigenous  tribes that
              haunt  the  Rim  Mountains  and  the  jungles  and marshes
              down  by  the  midpoint  of  the  world.  But  I'm  sorry  to say
                   I  have  never  seen  anyone  like  you,  young man."
                 t
             tha
                  Yama  smiled  and  said,  "I  am  comforted  to  think  that I
              do  not  have  to  spend  my  time  searching,  for  you have
              already  done  it  for me."
                  "Not  even  as  sturdy  a  vessel  as  the  Weazel  could sail
              beyond  the  end  of  the  river,"  Eliphas  said,  "and  that is
              where  Yama's  bloodline  may  live now."
                  "No  one  goes  there,"  lxchel  Lorquital  said, "except
              for  desperate  prospectors  and  a  few  crazy  pillar saints."
 S
                  Eliphas  nodded.  "Precisely,  sister.  What  better place,
              then,  to hide?"
                  Ixchel  Lorquital  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands. They
              were  fleshy,  with  loose  webs  of  skin  linking  the fingers,
              and  they  made  a  loud  slapping  sound.  She  said,  "A gentleman
                as  worldly  as  you  could  charm  the  fish  from  the 
water
              by  persuading  them  that  the  air  was  safe  to  breathe. Fine
              words  are  wasted  on  an  old  woman  like  me.  My daughter
              now,  she's  a  connoisseur  of  compliments.  It  would cheer
              her  up  to  hear  some  of  that  shiny  talk  of yours."
                  Eliphas bowed.
                  "I  have  to  say  that  a  pale  skin  like  yours," lxchel
              Lorquital  told  Yama,  "is  not  suited  to  the  desert lands
              beyond  the midpoint."
                  Eliphas  said,  "The  memoir  found  by  my esteemed
              friend  Kun  Norbu,  the  chief  of  clerks  of  the Department
              of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons,  suggests  that  they live
             in   caverns  beneath  the  surface  of  the deserts."
                  Yama  smiled.  "My  father  is  always  digging  to  find the
              past.  What  better  place  to  find  the  first  people  of  the world
              than  in  an  underground city?"
                  "Just  so,  brother,  just  so.  Many  years  ago,  when  I was
              still  a  young  man-if  such  a  thing  can  be imagined-my
              friend  Kun  Norbu  and  I  found  a  passage  below  a ruined



                                                     cliff  temple.  It  led  far  underground,  to  a  chamber containing
                                                       many  vast  machines  which  were  no  longer functioning
                                                     ,  and  the  chamber  stretched  so  far  into  the darkness
                                                     that  after  two  days  we  scrupled  to  explore  no  further. But
                                                     perhaps  we  should  have  continued.  I  have  often dreamed
                                                     of  it  since,  and  sometimes  in  these  dreams  I  have glimpsed
                                                     such  wonders  that  on  waking  I  wondered  if  I  had gone
                                                    mad."
                                                        Eliphas's  silver  eyes  held  faint  concentric  patterns that
                                                     widened  and  closed  like  irises.  There  was  a  fine  grain, as
                                                     of  well-cured  leather,  to  his  smooth  black  skin.  His fingers:
                                                     bunches  of  deftly  articulated  twigs.  The  neat  whorls of
                                                     flesh  around  the  naked  tympani  of  his ears.
                                                        Yama  realized  that  he  really  knew  very  little  of  this old
                                                     man,  who  had  insisted  on  following  him  for  no  other reason
                                                     ,  it  seemed,  than  to  rekindle  the  adventurous  spirit of
                                                     his  long-lost  youth.  Last  night,  he  had  discovered Eliphas
                                                     crouched  in  the  glory  hole  below  deck,  muttering  to a
                                                     
small  plastic  rectangle,  some  kind  of  charm  or  fetish. What
                                                     prayers,  to  what  entity?  Surely  not  to  the  Preservers. Tamora
                                                       was  right,  Yama  thought.  He  should  not  trust people
                                                     so readily.
                                                        Eliphas  returned  Yama's  gaze.  He  smiled.  "As  for why
                                                     you  are  able  to  do  what  you  have  done,  brother,  that's quite
                                                     another  question.  We  must  ask  whether  miracles  are caused
                                                     because  the  Preservers  or  their  agents  actively  interfere in
                                                     the  world,  or  whether,  because  the  Preservers  created the
                                                     world,  miracles  occur  simply  as  part  of  a  natural  chain of
                                                     causation  that  was  ordained  from  the beginning."
                                                        lxchel  Lorquital  took  the  stem  of  her  unlit  pipe from
                                                     her  mouth,  leaned  back  in  her  sling  chair,  and  spat over
                                                     the  rail  toward  the  water  rushing  past  below.  She wiped
                                                     her  mouth  on  the  back  of  her  web-fingered  hand  and said,
                                                     "Everyone  knows  that  the  Preservers  have  turned away
                                                     from  the  world.  It  has  carried  on  without  them,  for better
                                                     or  worse,  so  it  never  did  need  them  to  run  everything. The
                                                     same  with  everything  
else,  I  reckon.  The  stars  were there
                                                     before  the  Preservers  came  along-they  just  moved them
                                                     into  more  pleasing patterns."
                "Just  so,"  Eliphas  said.  "But there     are  some  who believe
                that  the  Preservers,  when they     withdrew  from the
              Universe,  did  so  in  order  to  be  able  to  extend themselves
              from  first  cause  to  last  end.  And so,     by  leaving  us, the
              Preservers  have  in  fact  spread  themselves  throughout creation
              .  They  watch  over  us  still,  but  in  a  subtler fashion
              than  by  manifesting  their  will  through  the  avatars  of the
             shrines."
                "There  were  riots  when  the  last  of  the  avatars were
              silenced  by  the  heretics,"  lxchel  Lorquital  said. "Many
              temples  were  burned  down.  Those  were  black years."
                Eliphas  said,  "In  truth,  the  avatars  which  survived the
              Age  of  Insurrection  were  so  few,  and  most  were  so confused
              ,  that  they  were  merely  a  last  resort  for  people searching
                for  answers  to  unanswerable  questions.  They  were no
              longer  the  fount  of  all  wisdom,  and  the  guides  of the
              governance  of  the  world,  as  they  were  in  the  Golden Age
              before  the  Insurrectionists.  Of  course,  those subroutines
              which  acted  as  librarians  were  most  useful.  I  still miss
              them.  The  written  records  are  almost  as  extensive  as those
              
of  the  shrines,  but  less  easy  to search."
                "The  avatars  were  the  eyes  and  mouths  of  the Preservers
              ,"  Ixchel  Lorquital  said.  "That  was  what  I  was  taught as
              a  pup,  and  I  always  did  think  it  was  put  into  our  heads so
              we'd  do  as  we  were  told,  believing  the  Preservers were
              always  looking  over  our  shoulders  in  place  of our
             parents."
                "Miracles  need  witnesses,"  Eliphas  said,  returning to
              his  original  theme.  "Perhaps  the  Preservers  raise  fish from
              the  dead  in  the  deeps  of  the  river,  or  juggle  rocks  in sealed
              caverns  in  the  keel  of  the  world,  but  to  what  point? Miracles
                teach  us  something  about  the  nature  of  the  world and
              our  own  faith,  by  contradicting  our  understanding  of that
              nature  and  by  revealing  some  truth  about  the  minds  of the
              Preservers.  Of  course,  our  own  minds  may  be  too small
              to  contain  that truth."
                lxchel  Lorquital  closed  her  translucent  inner  eyelids, as
              if  to  help  her  look  into  her  own  mind.  She  said,  "To my
              reckoning,  the  only  miracles  are  where  there's  such an



                                                     unlikely  chain  of  circumstance  that  you  have  to believe
                                                     something  interfered  to  make  it  come  out  like  that. Anyone
                                                     that  kind  of  thing  happened  to  would  have  to  change their
                                                     way  of  thinking  about  their  place  in  the world."
                                                        "The  world  is  large,"  Eliphas  said,  "and  the Universe
                                                    is  far  larger,  and  far  older.  If  anything  is  possible, no
                                                     matter  how  unlikely,  then  there  is  no  reason  why  it should
                                                     not  have  happened somewhere."
                                                        lxchel  Lorquital  said  stubbornly,  "If  something unlikely
                                                     happens  to  you,  especially  if  it  happens  to  save  your life,
                                                     you'll  stop  and  think  hard  about  why  it  was  you  and not
                                                     some  other culler."
                                                        Yama  said,  "I  am  not  so  immodest  as  to  believe that
                                                     what  I  have  been  allowed  to  do-if  I  understand Eliphas
                                                     right-is  simply  to  shock  me  into  changing  my  mind, or
                                                     to  teach  me  some  lesson.  Yet  I  do  not  want  to believe
                                                     that  I  am  an  agent  who  is  being  used  by  something  I do
                                                     not  understand.  It  would  mean  that  everything  I  choose to
                                                     
do  is  not  by  my  own  will,  but  by  that  of  another.  Must I
                                                     believe  that  everything  I  do  is  willed elsewhere?"
                                                        What  had  happened,  when  the  crowd  had  rioted? What
                                                     had  he  said?  What  had  he  done?  He  could  not remember,
                                                     and  did  not  dare  ask  because  it  would  reveal  his weakness
                                                     and  his shame.
                                                        "That  is  the  question  every  self-aware  person  must ask
                                                     themselves,"'  Eliphas  said.  "One  thing  we  know  for certain
                                                       is  that  the  Preservers  took  ten  thousand  different kinds
                                                     of  animals  from  ten  thousand  different  worlds  and shaped
                                                     them  into  their  own  image  and  raised  them  to intelligence.
                                                     And  yet  that  was  not  enough,  of  course.  Each bloodline
                                                     still  must  find  its  own  way  to  grow  and  change,  and that
                                                     is  the  one  kind  of  miracle  on  which  we  can agree.
                                                        "Think  of  a  single  man  in  a  city  of  an  unchanged bloodline
                                                     .  He  may  be  a  poet  or  a  painter,  a  praise-singer  or a
                                                     priest,  but  we  will  say  he  is  a  poet.  Like  his  father, and
                                                     his  father  before  him,  he  has  followed  his  calling without
                                                     thought.  He  has  written  
thousands  of  lines,  but  any of
                                                     them  could  have  been  written  by  any  other  poet  of his
                                                     bloodline,  living  or  dead.  Like  all  the  unchanged,  he has
               less  sense  of  his  own  self  than  he has     of  the community
               of  like-minded  brothers  and  sisters of     which  he  is  but a
               single  element.  If  he  was  taken  from  this  community he
               would  soon  die,  much  as  a  single  bee  would  die  if it
               strayed  too  far  from  its  hive.  Like  a  hive,  the communities
               of  the  unchanged  are  sustained  not  by  the  meshing of
               individual  desires,  but  by  blindly  followed  habits and
              customs.
                 "On  this  one  night,  alone  in  his  room  amidst thousands
               of  others  who  are  so  very  much  like  himself,  our  poet has
               a  thought  which  has  never  before  been  thought  by  any of
               his  bloodline.  He  pursues  this  thought  through  the thickets
               of  his  mind,  and  by  its  light  he  slowly  begins  to define
               what  he  is,  and  what  he  is  not.  Think  of  a  sea  of lamps
               which  are  all  alike,  all  burning  with  the  same  dim flame.
               Now  think  of  a  single  lamp  suddenly  brightening, suddenly
               shining  so  brightly  that  it  outshines  all  others.  Our poet
               writes  his  thought  down  in  the  form  of  a  poem,  and  
it is
               published  and  read  because  all  poems  are  published and
               read  without  thought  or  criticism.  That  is  the  custom of
               the  city,  and  no  one  has  ever  questioned  it  until  now. But
               the  thought  the  poem  contains  lodges  in  the  minds  of our
               poet's  fellows  and  blossoms  there  as  a  spark  lodges  in a
               field  of  dry  grass  and  blossoms  into  a  field  of  fire. Soon
               there  are  a  hundred  competing  thoughts,  a  thousand, a
               million!  The  city  is  at  war  with  itself  as  its inhabitants
               struggle  to  define  their  own  selves.  Factions  fight  and clash
               in  its  streets.  Those  as  yet  unchanged,  innocent  and incapable
                 of  understanding  the  change,  are  winnowed.  The survivors
                 leave  the  battlefield,  perhaps  to  found  a  new city,
               perhaps  to  scatter  themselves  along  the  length  of the
               Great River.
                 "We  know  the  change  is  caused  by  unseen machines
               that  swarm  in  every  drop  of  water,  every  grain  of soil,
               every  puff  of  wind.  These  tiny  machines  bloom  in the
               brains  of  the  changed.  They  increase  the  mind's complexity
                 while  retaining  its  essence,  as  a  city  built  over  the site
               of  a  fishing  hamlet  may  retain  the  old  street  plan  in the
               arrangement  of  its  main  avenues.  The  machines  are in



                                                    the  brains  of  the  unchanged  bloodlines,  too,  but  they are
                                                    quiescent,  sleeping.  It  is  not  the  process  that  is  the mystery
                                                    ,  but  the  cause.  The  thought  that  comes  in  the night,
                                                    that  wakes  the  machines  and  sets  fire  to  a  bloodline until
                                                    it  is  burned  out  or  changed.  There  is  our miracle."
                                                      It  was  Yama's  miracle,  although  he  (or  the  woman in
                                                    the  shrine,  working  through  him)  had  not  forced the
                                                    change  upon  one  of  the  ordinary  unchanged bloodlines,
                                                    but  upon  one  of  the  indigenous  races,  which,  it  was said,
                                                    could  never  change.  Were  some  miracles  stronger and
                                                    stranger  than  others?  Was  there  a  hierarchy  of miracles,
                                                    or  were  all  miracles  equally  unlikely,  and  therefore equally
                                                    wondrous?  Yama  thought  about  this  for  a  long  time, while
                                                    Eliphas  and  Ixchel  Lorquital  talked  of  other things.
                                         TOE  CITY  OF  TOE DEAD
              TANORA'S  KEEN  (YES  had  already  glimpsed  the  first intimation
              of  smoke  far  downriver,  but  it  was  not  until  the beginning
              of  the  afternoon  watch  of  the  following  day  that  one of
              the  sailors,  perched  on  a  ratline  high  above  the  deck, sang
              
out  that  there  was  a  fire  to  port,  a  fire  on  the  shore. Everyone
                crowded  to  the  rail.  A  little  dark  cloud  hung  at the
              edge  of  the  land,  a  smudge  that  was,  Pandaras  said, no
              bigger  than  a  baby's  claw.  Captain  Lorquital  examined it
              through  her  spectacles  before  declaring  that  it  was trouble
              they  would  do  best  to  steer  clear of.
                 "There  are  fast  currents  we  can  use  further  out, and
              there's  a  floating  harbor  we'd  have  had  to  cut  around in
              any case."
                Yama  had  been  staring  at  the  shore  with  growing realization
              .  Suddenly  anxious,  he  asked  to  borrow  the Captain's
                spectacles.  He  squinted  through  one  of  the lenses
              and  the  distant  shore  leapt  forward,  horribly  familiar. For
              two  days  they  had  been  sailing  past  barren  hills populated
              with  the  ruined  houses  of  the  dead,  but  only  now  did he
              see  that  they  were  within  sight  of  the  heart  of  the  City of
              the Dead.
                There  was  the  wide  valley  of  the  Breas,  with  its quilt



                                                     of  fields  and  channels;  there  was  the  skull-swell  of the
                                                     bluff,  and  the  peel-house  perched  atop  it  like  a coronet;
                                                     the  dusty  hills  with  their  necklaces  of  white  tombs and
                                                     stands  of  dark  green  cedars  and  black  cypresses saddling
                                                     away  into  the  far  distance,  where  the  snowy  peaks  of the
                                                     foothills  of  the  Rim  Mountains  made  a  hazy  line against
                                                     the  blue  sky.  And  there  was  the  shallow  bay,  with  the long
                                                     stone  finger  of  the  new  quay  running  across  the  mudflats to
                                                     the  water's  edge,  and  then  the  old  waterfront  of Aeolis.
                                                       And  Aeolis  was burning.
                                                       A  triple-decked  warship  stood  at  the  wide  mouth  of the
                                                     bay,  raking  the  little  city  with  green  and  red  needles of
                                                     light  that  splashed  molten  stone  where  they  struck. The
                                                     bombardment  seemed  pointless,  for  every  stone building
                                                     was  already  smashed  flat,  and  everything  that  could burn
                                                     was  afire.  Black  reefs  of  smoke  rolled  up,  feeding  the pall
                                                     which  hung  above  the  city  like  a  crow's  wing.  Dr. Dismas's
                                                       tower  was  reduced  to  a  melted  stub;  light  raked the
                                                     
ancient  ruins  beyond  it  and  stabbed  into  the  flooded paeonin
                                                       fields,  sending  up  boiling  gouts  of  mud  and clouds
                                                     of  steam.  Only the    temple  still  stood,  its  white fagade
                                                     smudged  by  smoke,  the  tall  lycophytes  lining  the long
                                                     avenue  which  led to   it  withered  or aflame.
                                                       Yama  cried  out,  and  Pandaras  said,  "What  is it,
                                                    master?"
                                                       Yama  shook  his  head,  heartsick.  He  climbed  up  to the
                                                     quarterdeck,  where  Captain  Lorquital  and  her daughter
                                                     were  already  plotting  a  new  course  at  the  chart  table, and
                                                     heard  himself  asking  them  to  turn  the  Weazel  toward the
                                                     shore,  not  away  from it.
                                                       "It  is  my  home,"  he  said.  "Most  of  the  people  I hold
                                                     dear  live  there.  My  family.  My friends."
                                                       He  was  thinking  of  Derev.  She  was  brave  and clever
                                                     and  resourceful.  She  would  have  found  a  way  of surviving.
                                                     She  would  have  escaped  to  the  hills  above  the  city. She
                                                     knew  the  way  to  Beatrice  and  Osric's  remote  tower. Or
                                                     perhaps  the  Aedile  
had  taken  her  in,  and  her  family. He
                                                     would  have  tried  to  protect  all  of  the  citizens.  Or perhaps
              She  was  with  their  friend  Ananda, the        sizar  of  the priest
              of  Aeolis.  The  temple  still  stood, after all.
                 Ixchel  Lorquital  looked  hard  at  Yama  and  said, "Sit
              down  for  a moment."
                 Yama  found  he  was  trembling.  He  said,  "I  must go
             ashore.
                 "It's  too  dangerous,"  Aguilar  said.  "I'll  fight  if  I must,
              but  not  against  a  warship.  She  could  burn  us  to  the waterline
                with  one shot."
                 Tamora  had  followed  Yama.  She  stood  at  his shoulder
              and  said,  "Do  as  he asks."
                 Captain  Lorquital  looked  at  her,  looked  at  Yama. "I
              must  do  what's  best  for  the  ship.  That's  a  military action,
              and  I  won't  put  my  ship  and  my  crew  in  the  middle  of it."
                 Eliphas  was  sitting  in  his  customary  place  by  the Captain's
                sling  chair.  He  said,  "If  that  is  your  home, brother,
              don't  you  think  your  enemies  know  that?  They know
              you're  traveling  downriver,  and  perhaps  hope  to  lure you
             ashore.
                 Yama's  throat  was  parched.  He  said,  "Lend  me the
              dory.  I  will  put  ashore  myself.  You  can  anchor  at  the old
              floating  harbor,  or  there  are  shoals  and  banyan islands
              downstream  where  you  could  hide  a  flotilla  of  ships.  
I will
              rejoin  you  within  a  day.  If  I  do  not,  sail  on  without me."
                 Aguilar  said,  "And  lose  the dory?"
                 "Then  set  me  ashore  here  and  now.  I  will  meet  you on
              the  other  side  of  the  city  in  three days."
                 Eliphas  said,  "You  should  not  put  yourself  in danger,
             brother."
                 Captain  Lorquital  said,  "I'd  not  be  happy  to  lose a
              passenger, either."
                 "I'll  go  with  him,"  Tamora said.
                 Pandaras  jumped  on  to  the  rail  behind  her.  He  drew his
              poniard  and  flourished  it  above  his  head.  "So  will  I. He'll
              need  his squire."
                 Aguilar  said,  "If  these  three  want  to  go  over  the side,
              let  them  do  it  now,  before  we're  in  range  of  the big
              girl's cannon.
                 Captain  Lorquital  considered,  sucking  at  her  silver lip-



                                                       plug,  then  told  her  daughter,  "I  won't  have  three passengers
                                                         putting  themselves  in  danger,  but  clearly  they'll jump
                                                       over  the  side  if  they  have  no  other  option.  I'll  keep  to this
                                                       course.  If  there's  no  trouble,  perhaps  they  can  go ashore."
                                                          Aguilar  stared  at  Yama  and  said,  "There'll  be  no good
                                                      to  be  had  from this."
                                                          Captain  Lorquital  said,  "Have  a  little  charity, daughter.
                                                       The  first  sign  of  trouble,  and  we  run  for it."
                                                          Tamora  said,  "You  must  trust  him,  Captain.  He will
                                                       protect YOU."
                                                          Yama  bowed  his  head,  hoping  that  the  vessel  of TaMora's
                                                         faith  would  not  be  wrecked  on  the  reef  of  his own
                                                      self-doubt.
                                                         Aguilar   snorted.  "Then  pray  he  can  whistle  up some
                                                       wind.  We'll  need it."
                                                          Yama  and  Tamora  put  out  from  the  Weazel  in  the dory
                                                      a   little  way  upriver  of  the  floating  docks.  Pandaras had
                                                       been  persuaded  to  remain  behind  to  ensure  that Captain
                                                       Lorquital  kept  to  the  agreed  rendezvous  at  midnight. He                   A
                                                       
waved  from  the  rail  of  the  poop  deck  as,  in  the  last light
                                                       of  the  sun,  the  little  ship  heeled  around  and  headed out
                                                       toward  the  center  of  the river.
                                                          Tamora  took  up  her  oar  and  said,  "I  reckon  that blackskinned
                                                         silver-eyed  bookworm  is  right.  It  is  almost certainly
                                                         a trap."
                                                          Yama said     helplessly,  "I  know.  This  is  the  doing of
                                                       the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs.  The  peel-house still
                                                       stands,  and  it  is theirs."
                                                          "And  we  are  doing  what  they  want  by  walking  into it.
                                                       Grah.  At  least  we  will  take  them  by surprise."
                                                          If  Derev  had  taken  refuge  in  the  peel-house,  then she
                                                       was  surely  a  prisoner,  and  surely  had  been  put  to the
                                                       question  by  Prefect  Corin.  That  was  worse  than thinking
                                                       that  she  might  be  dead.  Yama  remembered  the  way she
                                                       had  fluttered  down  from  her  perch  in  the  ruins outside
                                                       Aeolis,  on  the  night  they  had  met  the  anchorite.  So light
              and  graceful,  her  long  white  hair  floating  about  her lovely,
              fine-boned face.
                 
He  took  up  his  own  oar.  Together  they  began  to row
              toward  the  floating  docks.  After  a  while,  he  said, "Perhaps
              they  are  afraid,  Tamora.  Do  you  think  they  could  be afraid
              of me?"
                 "The  Captain  and  her  daughter  are  afraid  of  you, and
              so  are  the  crew.  And  Eliphas  most  of  all.  I've  been watching
                him.  He  has  a  knife,  a  pretty  little  stiletto,  and sleeps
              with  his  hand  on it."
                 "I  trust  him  more  than  he  trusts  himself,"  Yama said,
              "but  less  than  I  trust you."
                 "You  should  not  trust  him  at  all.  He  wants something
              from you."
                 As  they  rowed,  Yama  kept  turning  to  stare  with  a kind
             of   sick  eagerness  at  the  burning  city,  but  he  could see
              little  more  than  he  had  from  the  deck  of  the  Weazel. There
              was  too  much  smoke,  and  clouds  of  steam  kept spurting
              up  where  beams  raked  the  waterfront,  boiling  the  water of
              the  shallow  bay  and  the  mudflats  where  once  he had
              hunted  crabs  and  dug  for  treasure  everyone  had believed
              to  be  buried  there,  finding  nothing  but  the  ancient coins.
              He  closed  his  hand  on  the  coin  he  had  found  in  the cell
              high  in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People,  no different
                
to  the  ones  he  had  dug  up  as  a  child,  when  he had
              been  surrounded  by  treasure,  had  he  but  realized it.
                 They  passed  the  long  maze  of  pilings  and  platforms and
              cranes  of  the  floating  harbor.  No  one  answered Yama's
              hail,  and  the  long  sheds  of  the  carpenters'  workshops had
              a  forlorn,  deserted  air.  A  door  banged  and  banged  in the
              wind;  nothing  else stirred.
                 The  setting  sun  was  dimmed  and  greatly  swollen,  a louring
                red  eye  that  glared  through  a  shroud  of  smoke and
              steam.  The  air  scraped  the  back  of  Yama's  throat  with an
              acrid,  metallic  taste.  Above  the  cliffs  of  the  bluff, the
              towers  of  the  peel-house,  rising  through  the  trees  of its
              garden,  caught  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  and  glowed with
              red  light;  the  river  held  a  bloody  cast  that  had Tamora
              grumbling  about  omens.  Flecks  of  black  soot  rained all



                                                    around,  smudging  their  skin  and  clothes.  Floating debris
                                                    began  to  knock  against  the  dory's  hull.  Broken  bits of
                                                    furniture,  books,  a  raft  of  bottles,  half-burned  rags. Bales
                                                    of  last  year's  hay  wrapped  in  black  plastic,  taut  as drumheads
                                                    ,  went  floating  by,  carried  out  of  the  bay  by  the ebb
                                                    tide.  No  bodies,  but  Tamora  said  that  meant little-the
                                                    dead  did  not  usually  rise  to  the  surface  until  distended by
                                                    the  gases  of decomposition.
                                                      The  dory  slipped  at  a  shallow  angle  toward  the shore
                                                    upriver  of  the  bluff.  The  hum  and  sizzle  of  the  light cannon
                                                      of  the  warship  carried  clearly  across  the  water. There
                                                    was  the  snapping  of  heat-stressed  stone,  the  explosive hiss
                                                    of  water  suddenly  shot  to  steam,  the  crackle  of innumerable
                                                      small fires.
                                                      As  he  rowed,  Yama  wondered  again  about  Derev, and
                                                    wondered  if  the  Aedile  had  resisted  the  razing  of Aeolis
                                                    and  was  now  a  prisoner  in  his  own  peel-house, wondered
                                                    what  had  happened  to  all  the  citizens  of  Aeolis,  and again
                                                    thought  of  Derev.  
He  felt  a  mixture  of  shame  and  fear and
                                                    anger  and  helplessness.  Again  and  again,  the  memory of
                                                    Prefect  Corin's  bland  face  tormented him.
                                                      The  quiet  of  the  shore  was  shocked  by  the  clatter of
                                W                   wings  as  a  flock  of  wading  birds  took  flight  from the
                                                    dory's  approach,  dipping  as  one  as  they  turned  across the
                                                    water.  Yama  and  Tamora  splashed  into  thigh-deep water
                                                    and  dragged  the  dory  up  the  shallow,  muddy beach.
                                                        I  wish  you'd  brought  your  rapier,"  she  grumbled. "I
                                                    said  I'd  look  after  you,  but  you'll  make  it  very  difficult if
                                                    you  won't  begin  to  think  of  defending yourself."
                                                      "This  is  my  home,  Tamora.  I  would  not  return  to it
                                                    armed  for war."
                                                      "If  your  enemy  has  taken  it,  then  it  is  no  longer your
                                                   home."
                                                      "We  shall  see,"  Yama  said,  but  to  appease  her  he broke
                                                    a  branch  from  a  young  pine  tree  that  the  river  had  cast up
                                                    on  this  muddy  strand.  The  branch  had  been  stripped of
                                                    bark  and  smoothed  by  the  rub  of  the  water,  but  it  had not
                                                    
yet  begun  to  rot  and  it  made  a  sturdy  staff  half again
                                                    his height.
                  The  sun  had  set  behind  the  Rim  Mountains  but  the Eye
               of  the  Preservers  had  not  yet  risen.  What  light  there was
               came  from  the  fires  burning  beyond  the  bluff.  The flashes
               of  cannon  shot  were  as  inconstant  as  heat  lightning. All
               of  the  lights  of  the  peel-house  were  ablaze,  and  the sight              
                  ve  Yama  little  hope.  Clearly,  whoever  commanded the
               peel-house  did  not  expect  an attack.
                  Tamora  could  see  better  than  Yama  in  the  near dark,
               and  she  led  the  way  along  an  embankment  above paeonin
               fields  carved  from  river-bottom  land.  The  old shoreline
               was  marked  by  a  line  of  ancient  date  palms.  As  a child,
               Yama  had  spent  long  summer  afternoons  in  their shade
               while  Zakiel  had  lectured  him  and  Telmon  on  natural history
               .  Not  far  from  here,  he  had  met  with  Derev  for the
               last  time  before  he  had  left  for  Ys  with  Prefect Corin.
               Now,  as  he  and  Tamora  walked  along  the  dusty embankent
                    toward  the  palms,  a  faint  crackling  sounded ahead
              m
               of  them  in  the  near  dark.  Tamora  grasped  Yama's arm
               and  bent  her  head  and  whispered  that  she  would  go ahead
               and investigate.
                  "There  are  no  machines,"  Yama  whispered back.
               "Surely  they  would  have machines."
                  Light  flared  amongst  the  graceful  arcs  of  the  date 
palms.
               With  a  clatter  of  metal  on  metal,  a  pentad  of spidery,
               man-sized  creatures  skittered  toward  them,  followed by
               armed soldiers.
                  "We  will  kill  her,"  the  leader  of  the  patrol,  a young,
               nervous  lieutenant,  told  the  mage.  "She  is  no  one important
               .  Only  a  dirty  little  cateran.  Not  even  her  mother will
               miss her."
                  Tamora  hissed,  and  tried  to  spit  at  the  lieutenant. But
               the  machine  held  her  too  tightly;  she  could  not  even turn
               her head.
                  "My  spiders  will  hold  her  as  easily  alive  as  dead," the
               mage  said,  "and  she  might  tell  us  something  useful.  I will
               be  glad  to  put  her  to  the  revolutionary.  Her  kind are



                                                   strong-willed.  It  would  be  a  fine  demonstration  of its
                                                   powers. "                                                                 i
                                                      Yama  and  Tamora  were  each  bound  tightly  and painfully
                                                     by  the  whiplike  metal  tentacles  of  a  spidery machine.
                                                   Their  feet  did  not  quite  touch  the  ground.  One  of the
                                                   soldiers  had  taken  Tamora's  saber;  when  it  had first
                                                   pounced  upon  him,  Yama  had  broken  his  staff  against the
                                                   machine  which  now  held  him tight.
                                                      "If  you  kill  her,"  Yama  said,  "then  you  must  kill me
                                                   too,  for  I  swear  I  will  hunt  you down."
                                                      The  lieutenant  said,  "You  are  in  no  position  to  tell me
                                                   what  to  do,  fellow."  He  laughed  and  looked  around, and
                                                   his  soldiers  laughed  too.  He  was  a  swarthy  fellow  in plastic
                                                     armor  over  a  leather  kirtle.  An  energy  pistol  was tucked
                                                   into  the  bandolier  that  crossed  his  transparent breastplate.
                                                      Yama  waited  until  they  were  quiet,  until  they  were looking
                                                     at  him  again,  wondering  how  he  would  reply,  He let
                                                   the  moment  stretch  
before  he  said,  "I  am  wanted  by Prefect
                                                     Corin  because  I  am  important  to  him.  He  wants me
                                                   to  work  with  him,  for  the  good  of  the  Department.  If you
                                                   kill  my  friend  that  is  what  I  will  do.  I  will  become  a loyal
                                                   soldier,  and  one  day  I  will  find  you  and  kill you."
                                                      The  lieutenant  spat  and  ground  the  oyster  of phlegm
                                                   into  the  dust  with  the  toe  of  his  boot.  "Oh,  I  will  not kill
                                                   her,"  he  said.  "There  are  worse  things  than  death. Prefect
                                                   Corin  will  probably  give  her  to  Nergal  here.  Then you
                                                   will  wish  that  you  had  allowed  me  to  give  her  a clean
                                                   death.  A  soldier's  death.  Nergal's  machines  are  cruel, and
                                                   these  are  the  least  of them."
                                                      The  remaining  spiders  were  grouped  behind  the soldiers,
                                                   holding  up  electric  lamps  which  had  drawn  hundreds of
                                                   moths  from  the  darkness  beyond.  They  were  crude affairs,
                                                   racks  of  aluminum  tubing,  electric  motors  and sensors
                                                   raised  high  on  three  pairs  of  jointed  legs.  A  decad  of long,
                                                   continually  questing  tentacles,  made  of  jointed  rings of
                                                   
metal  and  tipped  with  clawlike  manipulators,  sprouted between
                                                     the  front  pair  of legs.
                                                      The  tentacles  of  the  spider  which  held  Yama were
                                                   wrapped  tightly  around  his  arms  and  legs.  They pressed
                painfully  into  his  skin  and  tingled  with  a  faint electrical
                charge.  He  had  no  sense  of  these  machines.  They were
                controlled  by  the  mage,  Nergal,  a  man  with  black skin
                that  had  a  faint  scaly  iridescence  in  the  distilled  glare of
                the  electric  lamps,  and  large  round  eyes  as  dead  as stones.
                He  wore  a  long  robe  of  metallic  mesh,  a  tight-fitting copper
                  skullcap.  Close-fitting  white  plastic  gloves  sleeved his
                arms  to  the elbows,
                   "They  are  not  susceptible  to  your  power,"  Nergal told
                Yama.  He  made  shapes  with  his  gloved  left  hand,  and the
                machine  which  held  Yama  swung  to  the  right,  then centered
                  itself  again.  Yama  could  feel  the  shapes  made by
                the  mage  in  his  head,  and  allowed  himself  a  faint hope.
                   Nergal  said,  "These  are  a  new  class  of  machine, the
                first  new  machines  to  be  built  since  the  world  was created.
                They  dance  for  me  and  no  one else."
                   
"They  have  no  minds,"  Yama  said,  "so  how  can they
               be  truly useful?"
                   "They  caught  you,  Yamamanama,  and  they  hold you
                now.  That  is  useful  enough  to  begin  with.  They  have as
                much  logic  as  any  insect.  They  do  not  need  to think.
                Thinking  is  a  luxury,  as  any  laborer  well knows."
                   "Enough  talk,"  the  lieutenant  said.  "We  will  get this
                prize  back  to  the  peel-house.  I  have  little  liking  for this
                bone orchard.
                   "Quite  right,"  Yama  said.  "The  dead  can  be dangerous."
                   "Hold  your  yap,  or  I  will  have  you  gagged,"  the lieutenant
                  said.  "You  will  be  amongst  the  dead  soon enough,
                and  you  can  try  and  scare  me  then."  When  he laughed
                again  the  soldiers  around  him  did  not  join  in.  He glared
                at  them  and  said  sharply,  "Fall  in.  There  is  nothing here
                that  we  cannot  deal with."
                   Marshalled  by  the  shapes  Nergal  made  in  the  air with
                his  gloves,  the  machines  which  held  Yama  and Tamora
                walked  amidst  their  fellows  with  a  whine  of  servo motors
                and  a  clanking  of  hydraulic  joints.  The  soldiers  ambled on
                either  side,  rifles  held  at port.
                   "Make  these  things  go  faster,"  the  lieutenant said.
                 These  two  might  have friends."



                                                      "I  thought  you  had  driven  them  out,"  Nergal said.
                                                    "Most  fled downriver."
                                                      "We  cannot  guarantee  safety  outside  our perimeter,"
                                                    the  lieutenant  said.  "Have  these  things  pick  up speed."
                                                      "Once  we  reach  the  paved  road  they  will  be  able  to go
                                                    faster.  The  question  of  balance  on  rough  terrain  is very
                                                    complex,  and  requires  much  processing power."
                                                      "Any  trouble,  and  we  leave  the  machines  behind," the
                                                    lieutenant said.
                               .                     "As  you  have  told  me  repeatedly.  I  will  reply  as before.
                                                    Any  trouble,  and  my  machines  will  deal  with  it. Their
                                                    processors  and  servos  are  battle-hardened,  and  they have
                                                    infrared  sights  on  guns  which  fire  at  the  rate  of  a thousand
                                                    slugs  a  minute.  Soon,  all  our  armies  will  be composed
                                                    of  these  machines,  lieutenant.  Imagine  it!  Combined with
                                                    Yamamanama's  powers,  we  will  drive  the  heretics over
                                                    the  end  of  the river."
                                                      The  lieutenant  said,  "That  is  not  to  be  spoken  of in
                                                    front  of  the men.
                                                      Yama  said,  "I  am  
pleased  to  meet  one  of  those who
                                                    were  testing  me  when  I  was  briefly  a  guest  in  the Palace
                                                    of  the  Memory  of  the  People.  I  owe  you  much, Nergal."
                                                      The  patrol  was  approaching  one  of  the  wide,  white thoroughfares
                                                      of  the  City  of  the  Dead.  Many  merchants had
                                                    been  buried  here.  Their  crowded  tombs  glimmered  in the
                                                    near  darkness.  They  were  marked  by  ornate pyramids,
                                                    steles  and  statues;  even  in  death,  the  merchants  had cornpeted
                                                      with  their rivals.
                                                      "You  will  be  our  guest  again,"  Nergal said.
                                                      "He'll  kill  you  all  long  before  then,"  Tamora said.
                                                    "You  should  let  him  go now."
                                                      "I  think  not,"  Nergal  said.  "There  is  much  to discover.
                                                    There  is  a  peculiarity  of  your  brain,  Yamamanama, or
                                                    perhaps  of  your  nervous  system,  which  allows  you  to interface
                                                      with  the  old  machines.  We  will  find  it,  even  if we
                                                    have  to  open  up  your  skull  and  slice  you  up  bit  by bit.
                                                    But  I  hope  that  will  not  be  necessary.  Much  easier  if you
                                                    cooperate.  Much  easier  
if  you  tell  us  how  it  is done."
                 "I  do  not  know  if  I  can  tell you,"     Yama  said,  "but I
              am  sure  that  I  can  show you."
                 "We  will  find  out  how  to  control  the  machines usurped
             by   the  heretics,"  Nergal  said.  "We  will  control  all machines
                and  so  control  the  world.  As  a  beginning,  at least."
  ",            They  were  amongst  the  first  of  the  tombs,  now. The
              soldiers  moved  out  on  either  flank  and  the machines
              picked  up  their  pace  as  they  stepped  on  to  the  paved road,
              shining  their  lamps  this  way  and  that.  The  tombs here
              were  as  big  as  houses,  but  crudely  made.  Further along,
              am  ngst  the  older,  finer  tombs,  Yama  felt  a congregation
                0
              waking  and  turning  toward  him.  He  told  them  what  to do.
                 And  the  night  came  alive  with  the  light  of  the past.
                 The  soldiers  began  firing  in  panic  as  the  dead reached
              for  them.  Yama  had  delved  into  the  roots  of  the aspects
              and  changed  them  all.  No  longer  men  and  women smiling,
              beckoning,  eager  to  tell  to  anyone  who  listened  the life
              stories  of  the  dead  they  represented;  instead,  grim, withered
                faces  and  blazing  eyes,  or  no  eyes  at  all  but black
              pits  in  fleshless  skulls.  Skin  like  leather  shrunken  on long
              bones,  bony  fingers  clutching  at  faces.  Mad laughter,
              screeches,  a  rumbling  subsonic  that  Yama  could feel
              through  the  struts  of  the  machine  which  clasped  him so
              tightly.  A  white  mist  fell  like  a  curtain,  filled  
with halfglimpsed
                nightmare  shapes.  The  soldiers  vanished  into it;
              not  even  the  muzzle-flashes  of  their  rifles  could  be seen,
              although  their  dismayed  shouts  and  the  rattle  of  rifle shots
              echoed sharply.
                 Somewhere  in  the  mist,  the  lieutenant  shouted  an order
             to  cease  firing,  shouted  that  this  was  no  more  than  a trick.
              But  each  soldier  was  lost  to  every  other,  blinded  by glowing
                mist  and  surrounded  by  the  throng  of  the  dead. Nergal
                s  machines  halted  in  the  middle  of  what  seemed  to be
              a  foggy  street  where  skeletons  of  draft  animals  drew carts
              piled  with  rotting  bodies  that  stirred  with  a  feeble halflife
              .  Pale  things  with  burning  eyes  peered  from  the narrow
              windows  of  the  houses.  Below  Yama,  who  was still
              clasped  tightly  by  the  spider,  the  mage  sank  to  his knees.
              His  gloved  hands  flexed  at  his  throat,  tightening inexora-



                                                     bly.  He  stared  at  Yama  with  wide  eyes.  His  mouth gaped
                                                     as  he  tried  and  failed  to  draw air.
                                                        Yama  felt  a  terrible,  gleeful  triumph.  He  would not
                                                    relent.
                                                        "I  cannot  control  your  machines,"  he  shouted,  "but I
                                                     can  control  what  you  use  to  control  them.  You  fool! You
                                                     used  old  technology  to  control  the new!"
                                                        Nergal  did  not  hear  him.  Although  still  kneeling,  he was
                                                     dead,  strangled  by  feedback.  His  head  tipped  forward until
                                                     his  brow  struck  the  ground  and  his  body  relaxed and
                                                     slumped  sideways.  The  tentacles  which  held  Yama lost
                                                     their  tension  and  he  dropped  to  the  ground.  All around,
                                                     the  spiders  collapsed  in  a  clatter  of metal.
                                                        The  soldiers  were  still  shooting  at  ghosts  when Yama
                                                     and  Tamora  reached  the  old  stair.  Yama  had  woken every
                                                     aspect  in  the  City  of  the  Dead.  The  low  hills, crowded
                                                     with  tombs  and  monuments,  were  half-drowned  in  a lake
                                                     of  eldritch  mist.  Tamora  carried  a  rifle  taken  from  a soldier
                                                     
she  had  killed;  she  had  not  found  the  man  who  had taken
                                                     her  saber,  and  grumbled  about  the loss.
                                                        "I  have  already  lost  my  own  sword  to  the Department
                                                     of  Indigenous  Affairs.  It  had  a  fine  and  bitter  blade, but
                                                     it  cost  me  dear  enough.  I  would  not  be  here  if  I  had not
                                                     been  in  debt  with  Gorgo  because  of  it.  And  now  they have
                                                     taken  its replacement."
                                                        "I  will  find  you  another,"  Yama  said.  "There  are many
                                                     in  the  armory."  He  told  her  that  the  narrow  stair they
                                                     were  climbing,  its  stone  steps  worn  in  the  middle and
                                                     sometimes  missing,  went  all  the  way  up  the  sheer  side of
                                                     the  bluff.  It  was  used  by  the  kitchen  staff  of  the peelhouse
                                                     .  "There  are  certain  herbs  which  grow  only by
                                                     graves.  The  dead  impart  a  quality  to  the  soil  which they
                                                     require.  When  I  was  much  younger,  I  used  to  go  with the
                                                     youngest  kitchen  boy  early  every  morning  to  pick them."
                                                        "You  have  had  a  strange  childhood,  Yama.  Not many
                                                     would  think  to  use  a  graveyard  as  a  kitchen garden."
                "Fortunate  for  us  that  I  know  it so   well.  The soldiers
             
are  lost  in  the  illusion  spun  by  the  tombs,  but  I brought
            us  here  by  the  quickest  and straightest route.
                "I'm  glad  Nergal  is  dead.  Those  things  he  made were
            evil.
                The  triumphant  glee  Yama  had felt    when  he  had murdered
               Nergal  was  now  gone.  It  was  as  if  something had
             woken  in  him  and  then  returned  to  sleep.  But  it  was done,
             and  perhaps  it  was  better  that  the  mage  was  dead,  or he
             would  be  another  enemy  pursuing Yama.
                He  said,  "Surely  Nergal's  spiders  were  no  more evil
             than  your  rifle,  or  a  tiger  snake.  Like  them,  the spiders
             had  no  consciousness,  and  so  no  capacity  to distinguish
             between  good  and  evil.  Only  by  consciously  rejecting good
               can  evil  be done."
                "That's  what  I  meant.  What  he  wanted  to  do  with them
             was  evil.  So  was  what  he  wanted  to  do  with  you.  Can you
             really  bend  every  machine  in  the  world  to  your will,
            Yama?"
                "I  hope  it  was  merely  one  of  Nergal's  boasts.  But  I do
             not know."
                They  heard  men  shouting  as  they  neared  the  top  of the
             stair.  Further  off,  dogs  were  barking eagerly.
                Tamora's  grin  was  a  pale  flash  in  the  near  dark. "And
             I  suppose  that  you  can  silence  the  watchdogs,  just  as you
             did  in  the  merchant's house."
                "They  know  me,"  Yama  said.  "It  was  the  second trick
             
I learned."
                "And  what  was  the first?"
                "You  have  just  seen  it.  Although  I  thought  then that
             the  aspects  of  the  dead  took  no  more  than  an ordinary
             interest  in  me,  I  know  now  that  I  drew  them  to  me. I
             learned  much  from  them,  as  they  pleaded  for  the memory
             of  those  they represented."
                "Nothing  you  do  is  ordinary,"  Tamora  said,  and Yama
             heard  in  her  voice  the  same  note  he  had  heard  two days
             ago,  when  she  had  pledged  her  life  to his.
                There  were  two  soldiers  at  the  gate.  Tamora whispered
            to  Yama  that  they  were  hers.  He  squatted  in  bushes by



                                                      the  shoulder of   the  road  and  watched  the  play  of lights
                                                      within  the lake   of  mist  far  below.  It  now  covered  all but
                                                      the  tallest  monuments  of  the  City  of  the  Dead.  There were
                                                      watchdogs  nearby,  and  he  talked  briefly  with  them before
                                                      settling  down  to  await  Tamora's return.
                                                        She  came  so  silently  that  it  was  as  if  she  had stepped
                                                      out  of  a  secret  door  in  the  darkness.  She  had  slung the
                                                      rifle  over  her  shoulder  and  carried  a  short  stabbing sword.
                                                      When  she  squatted  beside  Yama  she  licked  blood  from its
                                                      broad  blade  with  her  rough  tongue  before  she spoke.
                                                        "I  killed  the  first  with  my  hands,  and  the  second with
                                                      the  sword  I  took  from  the  first.  Are  you  going  to  sit there
                                                      all  night,  or  are  we  going  to  try  and  make  the rendezvous?
                                                      That  is,  if  that  fat  seal  of  a  captain  bothers  to  come back."
                                                        "She  will.  Pandaras  will  see  to  it,  or  he  will  sink her
                                                      ship  trying.  But  I  do  not  think  that  she  will  need persuasion
                                                      .  She  is  a  good woman."
                                                        "Grab.  You  trust  
people  too  much.  It  will  be your
                                                     downfall."
                                                        As  they  went  through  the  gate,  Yama  called  the watchdogs
                                                        to  him,  and  they  ran  eagerly  out  of  the  trees and
                                                      across  the  wide  lawn.  Tamora  stood  her  ground,  her sword
                                                      raised  above  her  head,  while  Yama  greeted  each  by name
                                                      and  let  them  smell  his  wrists.  Light  from  the  windows of
                                                      the  peel-house  glinted  on  their  shoulder  plates, glistened
                                                      on  wet  muzzles  and  set  sparks  in  black eyes.
                                                        "They  will  not  hurt  you,"  he  told  Tamora.  "I  have told
                                                      them  that  you  are  my friend."
                                                        "I  have  no  liking  for  dogs.  Even  yours.  Where  is the
                                                      door  to  this place?"
                                                        Accompanied  by  a  tide  of  watchdogs,  they  went around
                                                      two  sides  of  the  peel-house  and  crossed  the courtyard
                                                      where  Yama  had  so  recently  said  farewell  to  the Aedile
                                                      and  the  household,  where  he  had  never  expected  to step
                                                      again.  The  guardhouse  and  Sergeant  Rhodean's quarters
                                                      were dark.
                                                        "They'll  be  out  
looking  for  us,"  Tamora  said, grinning.
                                                        "The  watchdogs  killed  all  the  soldiers  in  the grounds,"
              Yama  said.  "The  two  at  the  gate  were  yours;  a decad
              more  were mine."
                 They  went  through  the  kitchen  garden.  It  was much
              trampled.  Broken  furniture  was  scattered  around  an ashy
              fire.  Every  bit  of  glass  in  the  forcing  houses  had been
             smashed.
                 Yama  expected  more  destruction  in  the  kitchens, but
              when  he  kicked  open  the  door  nothing  seemed  to have
              changed.  By  the  big  fireplace,  people  pushed  back chairs
              and  stood,  their  faces  pale  in  the  flickering  light  of rush
              lamps.  They  were  the  household servants.
                 "You  are  in  danger,  young  ma-ma-master," Parolles,
              the  tall,  cadaverous  master  of  the  wine,  said.  He  was the
              most  senior  of  the  servants  who  remained,  and  took it
              upon  himself  to  speak  for  all  of  them.  "You  have seen
              the  ca-ca-candle  lit  in  the  town,  and  you  have  been drawn
              to  it  as  he  said  you  would.  Go!  Go  now!  Before  his soldiers
                find you."
                 "I  have  already  found  them,  with  the  help  of  my friend,
              Tamora.  How  is  my  father,  Parolles?  What  have  they done
              with him?"
                 The  flame  of  the  stout  candle  Parolles  held  put pinpricks
              of  light  in  the  center  of  his  slitted  irises.  Now  
these pinpricks
                grew  softer,  and  suddenly  a  chain  of  little lights
              spilled  down  the  old  servant's  hollow  cheeks  and began
              to  drip  from  the  end  of  his  sharp  chin.  He  said slowly,
              "Your  father  is  no  longer  here,  young  ma-master.  He fled
              just  last  night,  with  the  help  of  Sergeant Rho-rho-dean.
              There  was  a  small rebellion.
                 "We  think  they  have  gone  across  the  river," Bertram
              said.  He  was  the  pastry  cook,  half  the  height  of Parolles
              and  more  than  twice  as  wide.  He  held  a  big  ladle  at his
              shoulder  like  a club.
                 Parolles  blotted  his  cheeks  with  the  back  of  a  hand. He
              said,  "At  least,  we  think  that  is  where  he  has  gone. We
              cannot  he  sure.  Some  of  the  do-do-domestic  staff escaped
              too,  but  not,  alas,  all.  Those  you  see  here,  and the
             librarian.
                 Yama  felt  a  swelling  sense  of  relief.  He  had  feared the



                                                    worst,  but  that  weight  had  been  taken  from  him.  He said,
                                                    "Then  my  father  is  alive,  at  least.  And  the merchant's
                                                    daughter,  Derev?  Did  her  family  seek  safety here?"
                                                      "I  have  not  seen  her,"  Bertram  said.  "I  am sorry,
                                                    young master."
                                                      "They  treated  your  father  grievously,  young ma-mamaster
                                                    ,"  Parolles  said.  "Set  the  traitor  in  his  place, and
                              An                    put  him  to  question  using  monstrous ma-ma-machines
                                                    when  he  stood  up  to  them  over  the  matter  of  the burning
                                                    of  the town."
                                                      "I  have  had  some  revenge,"  Yama  said.  "The mage
                                                    is dead."
                                                      "But  the  viper  still  lives.  When  he  saw  the  lights  in the
                                                    City  of  the  Dead,  he  grew  mighty  sc-sc-scared,  and ordered
                                                      us  locked  up here."
                                                      "When  you  burst  in,  young  master,"  Bertram  said, "we
                                                    thought  our  time  had come."
                                                      "I  will  talk  with  this  viper,"  Yama  said grimly.
                                                      "We  will  come  with  you,  young  ma-ma-master. We
                                                    have  no  weapons  beyond  
some  kitchen  tools,  but  we will
                                                    do  all  we  can.  These  are  terrible  times.  The Department
                                                    fights  against itself."
                                                      "I  hope  it  will  end  soon,"  Yama  said.  "Now,  who is
                                                    with me?"
                                                      They  all were.
                                                      There  were  two  soldiers  in  the  minstrels'  gallery  of the
                                                    Great  Hall,  where  Yama  had  once  spied  on  his  father and
                                                    Dr.  Dismas,  but  only  one  got  off  a  shot  before Tamora
                                                    raked  them  with  rifle  fire.  One  man  fell  back;  the other
                                                    tumbled  over  the  railing  and  landed  on  the  long, polished
                                                    table  with  a  heavy,  wet  sound,  kicked  once,  and  was still.
                                                      "The  banners  are  gone,"  Yama  said,  looking  up  at the
                                                    high,  vaulted  ceiling.  The  hall  looked  larger  and dustier
                                                    without them.
                                                      "Burned,"  Parolles  said.  "A  terrible  burning  they had.
                                                    A  bonfire  of  the  vanities,  the  Prefect  called  it.  He ma-mamade
                                                      your  father  watch.  A  more  terrible  punishment than
                                                    the  machines,  I think."
                                                      Yama  and  Tamora  led  the  pack  of  watchdogs  and the
              servants  through  the  Great  Hall  toward  the  tall double
              
doors  of  the  receiving  chamber.  Two  more  soldiers stood
              there.  One  fled;  the  other  died  cursing  his  comrade's cowardice
              .  Yama  and  Tamora  flung  open  the  doors.  The tall
              square  room  beyond  was  blazing  with  light,  but empty.
              Although  the  four  great  tapestries  were  gone  from the
              walls,  the  canopied  chair  on  the  central  dais  on  which the
              Aedile  had  customarily  sat  while  holding  audience was
              still there.
                 Yama  went  around  the  dais  and  ducked  through the
              little  door  and  went  up  the  narrow  stair  that  led  to the
              Aedile's  private  chambers.  No  need  for  subtlety;  the alarm
             m
                 st  have  been  raised  by  now,  and  the  cheering  of the
                u
              servants  and  the  clatter  of  the  armor  of  the watchdogs
              against  the  curved  stone  walls  made  a  tremendous racket.
              With  Yama  at  their  head,  they  burst  into  the corridor.
              Some  of  the  servants  were  beating  against  the  walls or
              stamping  their  feet,  calling  for  the  traitor  to  come  out. If
              there  had  been  any  guards,  they  had  fled.  The  door  to the
              Aedile's  chambers  was  locked,  but  Tamora  shot  off the
              mechanical  lock  and  kicked  the  door  open  in  a single
              smooth motion.
                 The  room  was  hot  and  stuffy.  It  stank  of  sex  and spilled
              wine  and  cigarette  smoke,  and  was  lit  by  hundreds of
              candles,  stuck  to  every  surface  by  shrouds  of  their 
own
              melted  wax.  Papers  were  strewn  everywhere  amongst a
              litter  of  empty  bottles  and  bowls  of  untouched  food. The
              brass  alembic  was  overturned,  its  mechanism  spilled across
              a  carpet  sodden  with wine.
                 The  man  on  the  bed  raised  a  pistol,  holding  it  in both
              hands  as  he  took  aim  at  Yama.  He  was  naked  under the
              rumpled,  filthy  sheet,  and  so  was  the  woman  who clutched
              a  bolster  to  her  breasts--one  of  the  whores  from  the town,
              her  tall  blue  wig  askew,  her  face  caked  with  white makeup,
              black  pigment  smeared  about  her  mouth  like  a  bruise and
              more  black  pigment  around  her  wide eyes.
                 "Do  not  think  I  will  not  use  this,"  Torin  said, and
              showed  a  mouthful  of  white,  needle  teeth.  His humped
              back  was  pressed  against  the  carved  bedhead;  his shaven



                                                     head  gleamed  with  sweat.  "You  came  back,  just  as Corin
                                                     said  you  would.  And  now  you  are  mine.  Dismiss  the rabble
                                                       and  we  will  talk, boy."
                                                       "Do  not  li-li-listen  to  him,  young  ma-ma-master," Parolles
                                                      said.
                                                       Bertram  added,  "He  cannot  kill  us all."
                                                       "He  will  do  nothing."  Yama  said.  "He  knows  that the
                                                     soldiers  are  scattered,  and  that  he  cannot  call  upon Prefect
                                                     Corin.  How  long  have  you  been  in  his  employ, Torin?"
                                                       "He  will  burn  you  like  the  town,  if  he  has  to." The
                                                     pistol  wavered  when  Torin  spoke,  and  he  squinted down
                                                     its  short,  stubby  barrel  and  centered  it  on  Yama's chest
                                                     again.  He  was  very drunk.
                                                       "Then  you  will  burn  too.  It  saddens  me  to  see  you like
                                                     this,  Torin.  You  were  a  good  friend  to  my father."
                                                       "I  was  always  a  good  servant  to  the  Department. Your
                                                     father  was  a  traitor.  He  hid  all  he  knew  about  you, even
                                                     from  Prefect  Corin.  But  like  the  fool  that  he  was,  he wrote
                                                     
it  all  down.  It  is  all  here,  somewhere.  If  he  did  not know
                                                     what  he  had  he  is  a  fool.  If  he  did,  then  he  is  the blackest
                                                     traitor  in  our history."
                                                       "I  will  not  be  the  Department's  weapon,"  Yama said.
                                                       "Then  you  are  as  much  a  fool  and  a  traitor  as the
                                                     Aedile.  I  should  burn  you  where  you stand."
                                                       Yama  relaxed.  He  knew  then  that  Torin  could  not kill
                                                     him.  He  said,  "I  will  fight  against  the  heretics  like any
                                                     other  man.  But  I  fear  that  Prefect  Corin  has  other plans
                                                     for  me.  He  would  use  me  to  destroy  the  other departments.
                                                     He  would  use  me  to  take  the  world,  if  he  could.  Give me
                                                     the  pistol,  Torin,  and  I  will  see  that  you  leave here
                                                    unharmed."
                                                       "You  keep  away!  Keep  away!"  Torin  pulled  the naked
                                                     woman  in  front  of  him  and  jammed  the  pistol  at  her head.
                                                     "I  will  kill  her  and  the  rest  of  you!  I  will  burn  this fucking
                                                     pile  of  stones  to  the ground!"
                                                       The  woman  got  an  elbow  under  Torin's  narrow jaw
                                                     with  surprising  force.  His  needle  teeth  clicked  closed on
                                                     
his  lower  lip;  he  howled  with  pain  and  the  pistol  went off.
                                                     its  searing  red  beam  missed  his  face  by  a fingersbreadth,
               burned  through  the  canopy  of  the bed      and  reflected from
               the  ceiling.  The  canopy  burst into       flame  and Tamora
               crossed  the  room  in  a  bound  and  broke  Torin's  arm with
              a   single blow.
  JI              Torin,  his  face  badly  burned  by  the  near  miss, refused
               to  answer  any  of  Yama's  questions.  Yama  left  him  to the
               tender  mercy  of  the  other  servants  and  went  with Tamora
               to  find Zakiel.
                  The  tall,  gaunt  librarian  was  in  the  library.  He  had been
               shackled  around  his  neck,  and  a  heavy  chain  looped  up to
              a   sliding  clip  on  an  overhead  rail.  There  was  a  new, raw
               brand  on  his  cheek.  He  watched  calmly,  his  black eyes
               inscrutable,  as  Tamora  hacked  without  effect  at  the chain
               with  her sword.
                  "It  is  tempered  steel,"  he  said.  "Quenched  in  the blood
              of   oxen,  I  believe.  You  will  damage  the  edge  of your
               weapon, domina."
                  "It's  a  piece  of  shit  anyhow,"  Tamora  said,  but she
               tossed  the  sword  onto  Zakiel's  neatly  made  cot, which
               stood  as  always  beneath  the  racks  of  large, aluminumcovered
                 ledgers,  jumped  up  and  swung  from  one  of the
               studs  which  fastened  the  rail  to  the  ceiling  until  
it came
               away  in  a  shower  of  plaster  and  dust.  She  slid  the clip
               over  the  end  of  the  rail  and  the  free  end  of  the chain
               dropped  at  Zakiel's  long,  bare feet.
  W               The  librarian  wiped  dust  from  the  tops  of  the ledgers
               with  the  wide  sleeve  of  his  robe.  He  said,  "It  might have
               been  better  if  you  had  left  me  chained,  young master.
               Torin  may  have  received  the  rough  justice  he deserved,
               but  those  he  serves  will  soon return."
                  "You  should  come  with  us,"  Yama said.
                  "I  will  not,  as  you  well  know.  The  books  are  in my
  AN          care,  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  can  carry  them  all  with me.
               And  if  I  could,  how  would  I  keep  them  safe?  I  trust you
               still  have  the  copy  of  the Puranas.-
                  "I  have  always  kept  it  beside me."



                                                       Zakiel  picked  up  the  heavy  chain  and  draped  it  over one
                                                    arm.  "It  will  teach  you  much,  in  the  right  circumstances. I
                                                    am  pleased  that  you  have  returned,  young  master,  but I
                                                    fear  that  you  have  far  to go.
                                                       "How  much  did  my  father  know  about  me, Zakiel?
                                                    How  much  did  he  hide  from  the Department?"
                                                       "And  hide  from  you?"  Zakiel  smiled.  "He  has told
                                                    you  the  circumstances  of  how  you  came  to  Aeolis.  As for
                                                    the  rest,  he  should  tell  you,  not  1,  for  he  knows  it better.
                                                    He  has  been  taken  across  the  river  by  Sergeant Rhodean
                                                    and  his  merry  crew  of  guards.  The  good  Sergeant wanted
                                                    me  to  go,  too,  but alas-"
                                                       Yama  smiled.  "You  could  not  leave  the books."
                                                       "Precisely.  If  I  am  a  slave,  it  is  not  to  the Department,
                                                    but  to  my  duty  as  Librarian  of  the  peel-house.  And that
                                                    is  as  it  should  be,  for  I  am  merely  honoring  the  oath I
                                                    once  broke  when  I  was  younger  than  you  are  now. When
                                                    I  was  your  age,  I  
thought  in  my  blind  pride  that  I knew
                                                    better  than  those  whom  I  served,  but  now  I  know better.
                                                    Age  gives  a  certain  perspective.  It  is  like  climbing  a peak
                                                    of  the  Rim  Mountains.  At  last  you  run  out  of  air,  but how
                                                    wonderful  the  view!  These  books  are  my  life,  young master
                                                    ,  and  I  cannot  leave them."
                                                       "Do  you  know  what  happened  to  the Amnan?"
                                                       "Many  fled  across  the  river.  But  Derev  and  her family
                                                    left  a  day  before  the  warship  took  anchor  in  the  bay. Some
                                                    said  that  they  were  spies,  fleeing  to  safety,  but  I  do not
                                                    believe it."
                                                       Yama's  heart  turned  over.  He  felt  that  he  could  float to
                                                    the  ceiling.  He  grinned  and  said,  "She  is safe."
                                                       He  thought  that  he  knew  where  she  had  gone. She
                                                    would  be  with  Beatrice  and  Ostic  in  the  oldest  part  of the
                                                    City  of  the  Dead,  in  the  foothills  of  the  Rim Mountains.
                                                       Zakiel  said,  "Perhaps  she  will  return.  Perhaps you
                                                    might  have  a  message  for her."
                                                       "Tell  her  that  
I  go  downriver,  but  that  I  will come
                                                   back."
                                                       "Is  that  all?  Well,  I  will  tell  her,  when  I  see her."
                                                       "I  will  miss  you, Zakiel."
               "We  have  already  said  our  goodbyes.  Do  not worry
             about  me,  or  the  books.  Torin  held  many grievances
             against  the  peel-house,  for  he  believed  himself  better than
             he  was,  but  Prefect  Corin's  grievance  is  against you."
               "We  must  go,"  Tamora  said.  "There  is  less  than an
             hour  to  the rendezvous."



                                                                                THE  FLOATING FOREST
                                                     TKY  WIRE  LATE  for  the  rendezvous,  but  the  Weazel  was waiting
                                                       for  them  as  promised,  at  the  upriver  end  of  the floating
                                                     docks.  Yama  and  Tamora  stood  at  the  rail  of  the quarterdeck
                                                       as  the  little  ship  angled  away  from  the  burning town.
                                                     The  warship  was  still  raking  the  shore  with  needles  of hot
                                                     light.  Although  he  had  revenged  his  father's  torture, Yama
                                                     felt  a  mixture  of  shame  and  anger  and  helplessness. He
                                                     stood  straight,  gripping  the  polished  wooden  rail  so tightly
                                                     his  arms  ached  to  the  elbows,  and  watched  the  sack of
                                                     Aeolis  with  tears  slipping  down  his  cheeks.  He  would be
                                                     a  witness,  if  nothing  else.  He  would  face  this destruction
                                                     without  flinching,  and  carry  it  with  him forever.
                                                        The  sailors  nudged  each  other  and  whispered  that he
                                                     wept  for  his  home.  They  were  only  partly  right.  Yama did
                                                    not  know  it,  but  he  was  also  weeping  for  the  loss of
                                                     his innocence.
                                                        The  lookout  cried  a  warning.  Tamora  pointed  to the
                                
,                   lights  of  a  picketboat  that  was  coming  around  the  point of
                                                     the  bay,  heading  out  to  intercept  the WeazeL
                                                        "He  is  coming,"  Yama  said.  "I  knew  that  he would."
                                                        But  he  was  still  struck  through  and  through  by  fear, and
             had  to  lean  against  the  rail because      he  was suddenly
             trembling  so hard.
               Captain  Lorquital  ordered  the  staysails  unreefed. "We'll
             make  speed  as  best  we  can,"  she  told  Yama. "Those
             boys  have  oars,  but  as  long  as  the  wind  holds  we can
             outrun them."
               Tamora  wanted  to  unshroud  the  cannon  and  break out
             the  hand  weapons,  but  Captain  Lorquital  refused and
             Aguilar  stood  foursquare  in  front  of  the  armory chest.
             Yama  put  a  hand  on  Tamora's  arm  and  was  astonished to
             discover  that  she  was  trembling  almost  as  violently  as he
             was.  Prefect  Corin  had  put  his  mark  on  both  of them.
                'I'll  hold  by  what  we  agreed,"  Captain  Lorquital said,
             "and  so  will  you.  We've  no  fight  to  pick  here,  no matter
             what's  right  and  what's wrong."
               Silhouetted  against  the  burning  town,  the picketboat
             came  on  across  blood-red  water,  its  single  bank  of oars
             striking  to  the  beat  of  a  drum.  A  white  lantern  shone  at its
             masthead,  signifying  that  it  wished  to  parlay.  For several
             minutes,  it  steadily  closed  the  gap;  then  the  Weazel caught
             the  wind  and  the  gap  began  to  widen again.
               Something  shot  from  the  side  of  the  picketboat. It
             
skipped  over  the  water  like  a  flung  stone  and  rose high
             above  the  Weazel  before  Tamora  could  take  aim  with her
             captured  rifle.  It  was  a  small  machine,  as  flat  as  a late                                                                   
             and  spinning  rapidly.  It  moved  to  and  fro  in little     jerks
             above  the  tip  of  the  mast.  As  with  the  machine  which had
             been  sent  against  Yama  in  the  Department  of Indigenous
             Affairs,  its  mind  was  hidden  by  complex  loops  of selfengulfing
               logic  that  grabbed  at  his  attention  as  he  tried to
             cleave  through  them.  It  was  like  plunging  into  a briar
             patch  full  of  snapping  jaws  and  whirling  blades.  A ghastly
             light  suddenly  flooded  from  the  machine,  etching everyone's
               shadow  at  their  feet,  and  a  voice  boomed  out, ordering
               the  Weazel  to  stand  to  or  have  her  sail  cut free.
               Captain  Lorquital  cupped  her  hands  and  shouted across
             the  widening  gap  of  water  to  the  picketboat. "Show
             your  authority! "
               The  machine  tipped,  aiming  its  sharp  spinning  edge at



                                                       the  forestays;  at  the  same  moment,  Yama  untangled the
                                                       last  of  its  defenses  and  found  its  tiny  linear  mind.  It flung
                                                       itself  sideways,  falling  a  long  way  before  striking  the water
                                                       and  vanishing  with  scarcely  a splash.
                                                         Captain  Lorquital  gave  Yama  a  long  and  hard  look, but
                                                       said nothing.
                                                           Well,"  Tamora  said,  "he'll  know  you're  on board
                                                      now.
                                                         "He  knows  that  already,"  Yama said.
                                                         It  became  a  contest  of  skill  between  the  Weazel  and the
                                                       picketboat.  The  warship  turned  her  light  cannon  away from
                                                       the  burning  town,  but  too  late:  it  fired  no  more  than two
                                                       ranging  shots  before  the  Weazel  passed  beyond  the downriver
                                                         point  of  the  bay  (the  paeonin  mill  had  been leveled
                                                       to  a  hummock  of  glassy  slag)  and  the  warship  and the
                                                       burning  city  were  lost  from sight.
                                                         Yama  dredged  his  memory  for  a  map  of  the complicated
                                                       web  of  currents  as  the  Weazel  threaded  the  maze  of inshore
                                                         mud  shoals  and  
stands  of  banyans.  A  man  at the
                                                       bow  dropped  a  weighted  line  and  called  the  depth every
                                                       few  minutes,  and  Yama  stood  with  Captain  Lorquital and
                                                       the  helmsman  through  the  night  while  the  crew  took turns
                                                       to  rest.  Pandaras  and  Eliphas  slept  on  their  mats  under the
                                                       awning;  Tamora  paced  the  deck  amidships  or  stood  by the
                                                       man  at  the  bow,  peering  into  the  darkness  ahead  or sharpening
                                                         the  long  narrow  blade  of  the  sword  she  had taken
                                                       from  the  armory  of  the  peel-house.  Eliphas  woke near
                                                       dawn  and  came  up  onto  the  aft  deck  to  ask  how things
                                                      stood.
                                                         "Well,  we  are  still  here,"  lxchel  Lorquital  said.  "If the
                                                       wind  stays  fair  we'll  be  here  a  while longer."
                                                         There  were  floating  islands  spread  everywhere  ahead of
                                                       the  ship,  ten  thousand  green  dots  scattered  across  the shining
                                                         sweep  of  the  river.  The  ranges  of  cloud  that towered
                                                       above  the  farside  horizon  caught  the  early  light  of  the sun.
                                                       Their  folds  and  peaks  glowed  white  and  purple  and gold. 
               Eliphas  leaned  at  the  rail  next  to  Yama,  who  was 
staring
             into  the  light  of  the  rising  sun,  trying  to  make  out the
             smoke  of  the  burning  city  against  the  long  line  of the
             shore.  The  old  man  cleared  his  throat,  spat  accurately into
             the  white  water  that  purled  along  the  ship's  hull,  and said,
             "You  should  rest,  brother.  In  my  small  experience  of adventure
             ,  sleep  is  a  most  valuable currency."
               "Why  did  they  do  it, Eliphas?"
               Eliphas's  silver  eyes  shone  with  reflected  light. His
             black  skin  gleamed  as  if  oiled;  scraps  of  light  were caught
             in  the  tightly  nested  curls  of  his  white  hair.  He  said, "Because
               they  wanted  to  lure  you  into  a  trap,  and  were desperate
             .  Because  they  have  confused  their  duty  and  the base
             desires  of  their  own  selves.  Because  they  serve  the Preservers
               in  name  only,  and  have  turned  themselves  into a
             thing  that  would  destroy  the  world  to  save  it.  They have
             lost  their  way,  brother.  They  deserve  to  be destroyed."
               "Yet  no  one  stood  against  them  in  the  Palace  of the
             Memory  of  the  People  until  I acted."
               "Those  that  stand  against  the  Department  of Indigenous
             Affairs  are  destroyed  or  absorbed.  As  are  those  that do
             not,  by  and  by.  Indigenous  Affairs  has  fed  on  the war,
             and  the  war  has  become  its  reason  for  existence.  If it
             survives  the  insurrection  against  it  and  wins  the  war, 
then
             it  will  find  another  enemy,  even  if  it  is  some  part  of its
             own self.
               Yama  remembered  the  story  told  to  him  by  the headman
             of  the  village  of  the  husbandmen,  the  story  of  the department
               known  as  the  Head  of  the  People,  which  had absorbed
               all  others  until  at  last  it  had  nothing  to  fight against
             but  its  own  self.  Surely,  he  thought,  the  Preservers had
             not  created  the  world  so  that  it  would  repeat  the same
             stories  in  a  series  of  futile  cycles,  like  a  book  read again
             and  again  by  an  uncomprehending idiot.
               He  said,  "They  want  to  force  me  to  their  will. Because
             of  that,  I  can  only  see  them  as  my enemy."
               Eliphas  said,  "Brother,  you  should  use  your  gift against
             them.  The  machine  you  destroyed  is  nothing.  What you
             did  to  free  us  is  nothing.  You  are  capable  of  much more.



                                                     You  should  not  allow  yourself  to  be  enslaved  for  the sake
                                                     of  your conscience."
                                                        "Are  you  scared, Eliphas?"
                                                        "Of  course.  But  there  are  great  things  to  be discovered,
                                                     if  we  survive this."
                                                        "I  am  not  sure  if  I  can  be  free  if  I  use  my  .  .  . gift
                                                     without  knowing  how  I  use  it,  or  why  I  have  been given
                                                     it.  I  have  done  bad  things  before  this,  Eliphas,  although I
                                                     did  not  mean  to.  I  fear  that  I  might  do  them again."
                                                        Captain  Lorquital  had  been  standing  at  the  stem rail,
                                                     peering  upriver  through  her  spectacles;  now  she  came over
                                                     to  Yama  and  Eliphas  and  said,  "The  picketboat  is still
                                                     following,  but  we  have  at  least  two  leagues  on  it,  and our
                                                     lead  will  widen  as  long  as  the  wind  holds.  But  the warship
                                                     is  certain  to  follow  us  as  well,  and  will  be  at  least as
                                                     fast  as  we  are.  How  intent  are  these  people  on capturing
                                                     you, Yama?"
                                                        "They  will  not stop."
                                                        "I  thought  not.  I'll  wake  my  daughter  and  we'll decide
                                                     
what  to  do.  But  I  know  that  we  can't  run forever."
                                                        "Perhaps  we  can  hide,  or  find  some  way  of  turning to
                                                     the attack.
                                                        Captain  Lorquital  regarded  Yama  thoughtfully.  "if it
                                                     comes  to  a  final  fight,  what  would  you do?"
                                                        "I  do  not  know  how,  but  I  hope  that  I  would  be able
                                                    to  save  the  ship  and  everyone  on it."
                                                        Captain  Lorquital  seemed  satisfied  by  this  answer, but
                                                     after  she  had  gone  to  wake  Aguilar,  Eliphas  said,  "I hope
                                                     you  will  put  your  scruples  aside,  brother.  You  will never
                                                     find  your  bloodline  if  you  do  not  first  destroy your
                                                    enemy."
                                                        Yama  thought  that  Eliphas  was  wrong.  If  he defined
                                                     himself  against  his  enemies,  then  he  would  be  no better
                                                     than  they  were.  Yet  there  was  a  part  of  him  that exulted
                                                     in  the  idea  of  battle,  a  voracious  cayman  at  the  base of
                                                     his  brain  given  voice,  he  believed,  by  the  woman  in the
                                                     shrine.  Satisfied  not  by  persuasion  but  by  forceful coercion
                                                     ,  not  by  courtship  but  by  rape,  a  thing  of uncontrolled
                                                     
appetite  and  lust  that  would  destroy  the  world  rather than
              die.  He  must  control  it.  And  then he        thought,  if  I know
              that  Derev  is  dead,  if  my  father  is  dead  or  disgraced, which
              for  him  will  be  a  living  death,  will  I  still  be  able  to keep
              this resolve?
                 The  free  men  of  the  crew  broke  fast  with  manioc porridge
                while  the  cook  and  the  other  slave  scrubbed soot
              stains  from  the  white  deck  with  lye  and  holystones. Yama
              ate  without  appetite.  Although  he  was  very  tired  he felt
              that  he  could  not  rest,  so  Pandaras  brought  him  the rifle
              and  suggested  he  try  some  target  practice.  For  an hour,
              Yama  blipped  slugs  at  bits  of  flotsam  floating  by, and
              then  practiced  cleaning  and  reassembling  the  rifle under
              Tamora's  instruction,  his  fingers  thick  and  clumsy with
              lack  of  sleep.  At  last,  Pandaras  got  him  to  lie  down, and
              he  fell  asleep  at  once,  and  woke  with  the  sun  riding  at its
              highest point.
                 Pandaras  brought  a  hunk  of  black  bread  and  a  bowl of
              curried  lentils  salted  with  flecks  of  coarse  fish  flesh.  The boy
              squatted  in  front  of  his  master  in  the  shade  of  the awning
              and  watched  him  eat  with  a  tender  anxiety.  The triangular
              mainsail  and  the  square  staysails  stood  taut  against 
the
              blue  sky.  There  was  a  ragged  green  line  to  starboard: a
              banyan forest.
                 Yama  said,  "Where  do  we stand?"
                 "The  warship  is  in  sight,  master.  It  will  catch  up with
             us  in  a  day,  the  Captain  says.  It  is  a  very  big  ship,  but it
              has  big  motors  and  has  spread  all  its  sail, too."
                 Yama  used  the  heel  of  the  bread  to  scrape  up  the last
              of  the  lentils  from  his  wooden  bowl.  He  told  Pandaras, "I
              cannot  make  a  wish  and  save us."
                 "No  one  asks  you  to,  master.  We're  making  for the
              forest.  We  might  lose  them  there,  the  Captain  says. She
              and  Aguilar  talked  it  over  while  you  slept.  Tamora is
              pleased.  She  wants  a fight."
                 "I  am  sorry  to  have  brought  you  on  such  a  futile adventure
              ,  Pan aras.
                 Pandaras  struck  an  attitude  and  said,  "Master,  I  was a
              pot  boy  when  I  found  you.  Now  I  am  squire  to  a hero."
                 Yama  knew  that  it  was  not  as  simple  a  thing  as many



                                                       people  supposed,  to  give  up  your  life  and  dedicate  it to
                                                       another.  He  saw  the  love  in  Pandaras's  gaze  and smiled.
                                                       He  said,  "A  foolish  hero,  if  a  hero  at all."
                                                          "If  that's  so,  then  I'm  as  much  a  fool  for following
                                                       you,  master.  And  I  don't  think  I  am  a  fool  at  all.  Now let
                                                       me  take  your  tunic  and  wash  it.  I  have  your second-best
                                                       shirt  here,  clean  and  pressed.  We  have  certain standards
                                                       to  keep,  even  in  these circumstances."
                                                          Thousands  of banyans       had  rooted  in  a  long, narrow
                                                       shoal  at  the  backwater  edge  of  the  swift  current  in which
                                                       the  Weazel  was  sailing,  a  temporary  forest  that stretched
                                                       away  downriver  for  several  leagues.  Now  it  was almost
                                                       summer,  and  the  forest  was  beginning  to  break  up. Already
                                                       ,  singleton  banyans  floated  along  the  edge  of the
                                                       shoal,  turning  in  stately  circles;  fleets  of  fist-sized seeds,
                                                       each  with  a  single  upright  leaf  like  a  sail,  drifted  on the
                                                      currents.
                                                          The  Weazel  entered  the  forest's  maze  by  a  channel so
                                                       
wide  it  could  hold  twenty  ships  side  by  side,  and  for a
                                                       while  she  continued  to  make  way  under  sail.  But  the channel
                                                         split  and  split  again,  and  with  each  turn  it  grew narrower
                                                         until  at  last  the  staysails  and  their  spars  had  to be
                                                       drawn  in.  Captain  Lorquital  ordered  the  mast  lowered, for
                                                       the  canopies  of  the  banyans  sometimes  pressed togetbvr
                                                       overhead  to  form  a  living  green  arch.  Aguilar  started the
                                                       little  reaction  motor,  normally  used  for  maneuvering in
                                                       harbor.  It  made  a  hollow  knocking  sound  and  blew puffs
                                                       of  black  smoke  from  the  stem  vent.  The  smoke  stank of
                                                       burned  cooking  oil.  The  sailors  hacked  at  branches which
                                                       caught  in  the  rails  or  scraped  the  gunwale,  Bottom soundings
                                                         gave  wildly  differing  readings  from  minute  to minute,
                                                       from  narrow  channels  where  the  Weazel's  keel  scraped a
                                                       tangled  net  of  interlaced  feeder  roots  to  places  so deep
                                                       that  no  sounding  could  be made.
                                                          The  dim  green  light,  the  odor  of  rotting  vegetation and
                                                       of  silent  green  growth,  the  close  fetid  heat,  like  a cloth
              
laid  on  his  skin:  all  these  calmed  Yama.  Orchids  bright as
              flames  grew  amongst  the  glossy,  shingling  leaves. There
              were  loops  of  red-leaved  creeper  and  strangler  figs and
              parasitic  mangroves,  gray  hanks  of  hanging  moss.  Parts of
              the  waterway  were  covered  with  pavements  of brick-red
              water  fern  or  wide  patches  of  water  hyacinth,  whose waxy
              white  flowers  breathed  a  sickly  sweet  odor. Dragonflies
              with  wingspans  as  long  as  a  man's  arm  and  jaws that
              could  nip  off  a  finger  roosted  on  the  upright  spikes of
              breather  roots;  armies  of  metallic  blue  emmets  staged tireless
                campaigns  and  caravanserais  along  mossy boughs.
              Birds  stalked  from  floating  leaf  to  floating  leaf  with a
              swift  strutting  gait  on  feet  with  long  widespread  toes; hummingbirds
                darted  from  orchid  to  orchid;  parrots flashed
              through  the  green  shade;  gar  and  caymans  raised their
              snouts  to  watch  the  Weazel  labor  past.  A  troop  of longnosed
                monkeys  swung  along  their  aerial  highways above
              the  channel,  screaming  curses  and  raining  orange excrement
              ;  the  old  carpenter,  Phalerus,  shot  two  with  a short
              bow,  and  the  cook  set  to  skinning  them  for  the  pot. Once,
              the  flat  face  of  a  manatee  rose  beneath  the  surface  of the
              green  water  and  regarded  them  with  brown,  human eyesgood
                to  eat  but  bad  luck  to  kill,  Phalerus  confided to
             Yama.
                Tamora  sat  astride  the  bowsprit,  the  rifle  cradled  
in her
              arms,  her  shaven,  scarred  head  turning  from  side  to side
             as  she  scanned  the  green  press  of  leaves  passing  by on
              either  side.  Twice,  the  channel  the  Weazel  was following
              closed  into  an  impenetrable  wall  of  leaves  and branches,
              and  the  ship  had  to  laboriously  reverse  course.  Once, she
              grounded  on  the  half-sunken,  rotten  corpse  of  a  dead tree
              grown  through  with  the  feeder  roots  of  its  living neighbors,
              and  had  to  be  pulled  off  with  a  block  and  tackle rig
              attached  to  the  main  trunk  of  a  grandfather  banyan, with
              half  the  crew  pulling  on  the  ropes  and  the  other  half pushing
                with poles.
                The  light  went  quickly,  a  sudden  gold-green dazzle
              amongst  the  trees  and  then  a  swift  decline  to  pitch black.
              Frogs  peeped  and  whistled;  fish  made  splashes  in  the water



                                                    around  the  ship,  which  in  the  last  light  had  anchored at
                                                    the  junction  of  two  wide  channels.  Bats  swooped amongst
                                                    the  yards  of  the  mast;  insects  signaled  to  each  other with
                                                    coded  flashes  of  yellow  or  green light.
                                                       Supper  was  roast  monkey  flesh  with  fried  bananas and
                                                    rice  (Tamora  sucked  meat  from  a  raw  rack  of  ribs and
                                                    cracked  the  thin  bones  for  marrow),  eaten  in  the  dim red
                                                    light  of  half  a  dozen  lanterns,  against  which  big black
                                                    beetles  ceaselessly  dashed  themselves  in  unrequited lust.
                                                    Afterward,  Yama  climbed  the  tallest  of  the neighboring
                                                    banyans,  high  above  a  long,  narrow,  dark  sea  of ceaselessly
                                                      rustling  leaves  slashed  and  divided  by  forking channels
                                                    .  Upriver,  a  sudden  flash  of  light  defined  the  long line
                                                    of  the  forest.  Yama  counted  the  seconds  until  the sound
                                                    reached  him:  twenty-five.  A  few  moments  later  there was
                                                    another  flash,  a  little  way  downriver  from  the  first. There
                                                    were  machines  out  there  too,  but  so  far  off  that  he could
                                                    do  no  more  than  sense 
them.
                                                       Yama  climbed  down  out  of  the  fresh  cool  breeze into
                                                    the  dark  clammy  fetor  under  the  canopy  of  the banyans,
                                                    walked  along  a  mossy,  horizontal  branch  and  vaulted the
                                                    rail  at  the  ship's  waist.  When  he  told  Captain Lorquital
                                                    what  he  had  seen,  she  drew  on  her  pipe  and  blew  a cloud
                                                    of  fragrant  smoke  before  replying.  She  was  the  only one
                                                    not  troubled  by  the  bites  of  black  flies  which  at sunset
                                                    had  risen  above  the  still water.
                                                       At  last,  she  said,  "They  are  burning  their  way through
                                                    the  trees  with  their  light  cannon.  If  I  was  planning the
                                                    chase,  I  would  put  the  warship  downriver,  beyond the
                                                    point  of  the  shoal,  and  have  the  picketboat  quarter back
                                                    and  forth,  hoping  to  flush  us  out.  The  forest  is many
                                                    leagues  long  but  it  is  very  narrow,  and  our  enemy knows
                                                    that  we  are  heading  downriver  and  cannot  hide  here indefinitely
                                                    .  We're  caught  between  the  two  of them."
                                                       Aguilar  was  sitting  cross-legged  by  her  mother's sling
                                                    
chair.  She  said,  "We  should  not  have  come  here. Better
                                                    to  take  our  chances  in  the  open river."
                                                       In  the  darkness  by  the  rail,  Tamora  said,  "The warship
              was  catching  up  with  us.  At  least we      can  make  a stand
             here."
                  "We  don't  even  know  where  it is,"     Aguilar  said. "We
              don't  even  know  where  we  are.  We've  trapped ourselves
             in   a maze."
                  Yama  said,  "As  long  as  we  follow  the  channels where
              there  is  a  current,  we  will  find  our  way  out again."
                  The  glow  of  Captain  Lorquital's  pipe  brightened when
              she  drew  on  it.  Bright,  then  dim:  like  an  insect signaling
             in   the  dark.  She  said,  "I  have  heard  of  the  trick  with the
              current,  but  twice  today  we  were  following  a  current that
              went  under  a  stand  of  trees  and  left  us  in  a  channel with
              no  current  at all."
                  Phalerus  appeared  at  the  head  of  the  companionway, a
              shadow  against  the  glimmer  of  the  white  deck  below. He
              said,  "Something  is coming."
    ,           Yama  and  Tamora  followed  him  to  the  bow.  They climbed
              up  by  the  cannon  and  the  old  sailor  said, "Listen."
                  The  metallic  peeping  of  frogs;  little  plashes  and ripples
             in   the  current.  Yama  whispered  that  he  heard nothing
             unusual.
                  "They  are  out  there,"  Tamora  said,  and  opened the
              
valve  of  the  lantern  she carried.
                  Its  beam  fell  across  the  still  black  water.  On  the other
              side  of  the  channel,  backed  by  a  wall  of  foliage,  a greenskinned
                man  raised  a  hand  in  front  of  his face.



                                                                                         TH  I  F  I  SH  E  RFO   
                                                      T91  SAILORS  (RA(KID  the  valves  of  more  lanterns,  and wherever
                                                        they  shot  their  beams  they  discovered  little round
                                                      coracles,  each  with  two  men  sitting  cross-legged  and holding
                                                        leaf-shaped  paddles.  The  men  had  legs  as  long and
                                                      thin  as  those  of  storks,  and  their  naked  torsos  were mottled
                                                      with  green  and  dun  patches.  There  were  more  than  a hundred
                                                        of them.
                                                        Yama  laid  a  hand  on  Tamora's  shoulder  and  said, "It
                                                      is  all  right.  They  are  no enemy."
                                                        "No  friends  either,  to  arrive  unannounced  under cover
                                                      of darkness."
                                                        "This  is  their  home.  We  are  the  unannounced arrivals.Yama
                                                          hailed  the  fisherfolk,  and  asked  if  there  was one
                                                      amongst  them  called  Caphis-the  man  who  had helped
                                                      him  after  he  had  escaped  from  Dr.  Dismas's attempted
                                                      kidnapping.  The  shoal  of  coracles  swirled  apart  to allow
                                                      one  to  move  forward.  A  dignified  old  man  with  a  cap of
                                                      white  hair  stood  
in  it.  His  left  arm  ended  above  the elbow;
                                                      silvery  scars  crosshatched  his  chest  and shoulder.
                                                        "You  are  the  son  of  the  Aedile  of  Aeolis,"  the  old man
                                                      said.  "Caphis  is  my  son.  If  I  may,  I  will  come  aboard and
                                                      talk  with you."
                The  old  man's  name  was  Oncus.  He  explained  that he
              had  lost  his  hand  to  a  grandfather  cayman  when  he  was a
              young  man  and  usually  wore  a  hook  in  its  place,  but he
              had  taken  it  off  on  this  occasion  because  it  might  be mistaken
                for  a weapon.
                "We  have  no  quarrel  with  the  son  of  the  Aedile of
              Aeolis,"  he  said.  "The  Aedile  has  always  been  good to
              us.  Before  he  came,  the  Mud  People  of  Aeolis  hunted my
              people  for  sport  and  for  food,  but  the  Aedile  put  a stop
              to  that.  Because  of  your  father,  our  two  bloodlines have
              lived  in  peace  for  a  hundred  years.  Now  the  Mud People
              are  scattered  across  the  river  and  two  ships  burn  the forest.
              Bad  times  have  come again."
                Oncus  sat  cross-legged  on  the  main  deck  under  the awning
              ,  between  Yama  and  Captain  Lorquital,  who  lay on
              her  side,  propped  by  bolsters  and  puffing  calmly  on her
              pipe.  Aguilar,  Pandaras,  Eliphas  and  Tamora completed
              
the  circle.  Tamora's  sword  lay  across  her  lap  and  she kept
              her  hand  on  its  hilt.  A  small  entourage  of  fisherfolk stood
              behind  Oncus;  above,  the  sailors  stood  along  the slanted
              trunk  of  the  folded mast.
                Yama  said,  "It  is  my  fault,  grandfather.  They  are buming
                this  floating  forest  because  they  know  I  am hiding
              in it."
                Oncus  nodded.  "One  of  them  came  to  me  three days
              ago,  when  the  warship  first  arrived  off  the  stone  shore of
              the  Mud  People's  city.  He  showed  me  an  image  of you,
              and  said  that  we  would  be  rewarded  if  we  found  you. You
              must  be  a  great  enemy  of  theirs,  if  they  destroy  your home
              before  you  can  return  to it.
                "They  did  it  because  they  believe  me  to  be  their enemy,
              and  so  I  am,  because  of  what  they  have done."
                "Then  that  is  another  reason  to  help  you.  They have
                   spect  for  the  river.  Any  enemy  of  theirs  is  a friend
             no re
             of  ours,  and  you  are  doubly  a  friend,  for  you  are the
              Aedile's son.



                                                         "Is  he  alive?  And  the  people  of  Aeolis-are  they safe?"
                                                         "They  were  driven  from  their  homes  before  the  big ship
                                                      set  fire  to  the  land.  If  any  refused  to  leave,  and perhaps
                                                      many  did,  for  the  Mud  People  are  a  stubborn  race, then
                                                      they  are  dead.  The  city  has  been  burned  to  its foundations
                                                      and  its  fields  boiled  dry.  The  Aedile  tried  to  stop  it. He
                                                      stood  on  the  stone  shore  and  said  that  if  the  Mud People's
                                                      city  was  burned  then  he  would  be  burned,  too. Soldiers
                                                      took  him  away  and  locked  him  in  his  own  house, but
                                                      he  escaped. Yama
                                                           nodded.  "I  have  heard  that  he  escaped,  and it
                                                      pleases  me  to  hear  it  again.  Where  is  he?  Is  he safe?"
                                                         "Most  of  the  Mud  People  are  crossing  to  the farside
                                                      shore,"  Oncus  said.  "It  is  as  if  the  beginning  of winter
                                                      is  already  upon  us.  The  Aedile  overtook  them.  We found
                                                      him  on  a  boat  in  the  middle  of  the  river  the  day  after the
                                                      big  ship  began  to  burn  down  the  city.  We  took  him across
                                                      the  river  and  left  his  boat  adrift,  so  that  his  enemies might
                                                      
think  him  drowned.  That  is  how  I  know  this story."
                                                         "Then  I  am  in  your  debt,  Oncus,  as  I  am  in  your son's
                                                      debt.  You  saved  the  life  of  my  father  and  your  son saved
                                                      my life."
                                                         "As  for  the  last,"  Oncus  said,  "that  is  between Caphis
                                                      and  yourself.  Caphis  is  not  here,  and  I  will  only  say that
                                                      if  he  saved  your  life,  then  it  was  because  you  saved him
                                                      from  the  trap  of  one  of  the  Mud  People.  And  your father
                                                      has  saved  countless  lives  of  my  own  people.  Only the
                                                      Preservers  can  weigh  such debts."
                                                         Captain  Lorquital  stirred  in  her  nest  of  bolsters  and said,
                                                      "If  we  can  escape  this  forest,  then  the  warship  will follow
                                                      us,  and  no  more  damage  will  be  done  to  your home."
                                                         "The  small  ship  is  at  the  edge  of  the  forest," Oncus
                                                      told  her.  "The  big  ship  waits  downstream.  They  both shine
                                                      fire  into  the  trees  and  hope  to  make  you  quit  this place."
                                                         "As  I  thought,"  Captain  Lorquital said.
                                                         "We  sailed  into  a  trap  of  our  own  making," Aguilar
                                                      said.  Her  usual  
good  humor  had  leaked  away  during the
                                                      difficult passage  through  the  forest maze.
                "Let  them  come  and  look  for us,"       Tamora  told her,
               and  we'll  spring  the  trap  on them."
                Pandaras  said,  "It  seems  simple  to  me.  We  could leave
              the  ship  and  go  with  these  people.  They  can  take  us to
              Yama's father."
                Captain  Lorquital  said,  "I  can  no  more  leave  my ship
              than  you  can  leave  your  master, Pandaras."
                "And  I  will  not  run  away,"  Tamora  said.  "Be quiet,
             boy.
                Yama  said,  "My  enemies  have  orders  to  find  me. They
              will  not  go  away  as  long  as  they  are  sure  I  am hiding
              somewhere  close.  And  if  they  think  Oncus's  people are
              hiding  me,  they  will  burn  more  than  this forest."
                "I  was  afraid  that  might  be  so,"  the  old  man said.
                Captain  Lorquital  said  to  Oncus,  "If  your  people can
              guide  us  out  of  the  forest,  we  will  take  our  chances on
              the  wide river."
                "As  long  as  they  don't  see  us  leave,"  Aguilar said.
              "Otherwise  they'll  be  all  over  us  before  we've raised
   'In        the sail.
                "They  have  eyes  everywhere,"  Oncus said.
                He  gestured,  and  one  of  the  fisherfolk  stepped forward.
              The  man  carried  a  small  leather  sack.  He  opened  it to
              display  the  little  machine  inside.  It  was  the  size  of  a child's
              fist,  and  most  of  its  many  delicate  vanes  were crumpled
              or  broken off.
                "We  caught  this  one  in  a  net  and  drowned  it," Oncus
              
said.  "There  are  others.  They  fly  through  the  air  at the
              edges  of  the forest."
                Yama  touched  the  machine.  For  a  moment,  light glimmered
                in  the  compound  eyes  and  a  single  intact  vane feebly
                beat  the  air.  But  the  movement  was  little  more  than a
              reflex  powered  by  the  small  amount  of  charge remaining
              in  its  musculature,  and  the  machine  died  before Yama
              could  learn  anything  from it.
                Yama  looked  around  at  the  fisherfolk  and  the sailors
              standing  above  them.  Two  of  the  soldiers  touched their
              throats  with  the  tips  of  their fingers.



                                                         "You  must  destroy  them,  brother,"  Eliphas  said. "You
                                                      know  that  you  can.  Don't  hold back."
                                                         Oncus  said,  "You  cannot  leave  the  forest  because it
                                                      hides  you,  but  you  cannot  stay  because  your  enemies will
                                                      burn  it  to  the  waterline.  But  we  will  help  you.  We will
                                                      move  the forest."
                                                         Yama  laughed.  "Of  course!  It  is  summer!  And  if you
                                                      can  find  me  a  living  machine,  then  I  can  provide a
                                                     diversion."
                                                         "In  winter,  the  trees  root  and  draw  nutrients  from the
                                                      river  mud,"  Yama  told  Pandaras.  "In  summer  they break
                                                      away  from  their  feeder  roots  and  float  free  on  the flood.
                                                      They  float  all  summer  until  tide  and  chance  draw them
                                                      back  together  at  the  beginning  of  winter.  The fisherfolk
                                                      are  speeding  up  this  natural  process.  It  is  how  they control
                                                      the  floating  islands  on  which  they  make  their homes."
                                                         Pandaras  was  tired  and  frightened,  and  in  no  mood for
                                                      a  lesson  in  natural  history.  He  said,  "You  should sleep,
                                                     master."
                                                         
"Not  yet.  Oncus  is  right.  There  are  many machines."
                                                         "And  you  keep  them  away  from  us.  But  you cannot
                                                      stay  awake forever."
                                                         "They  keep  away  from  me,  Pandaras.  Their master
                                                      knows  what  I  can do."
                                                         "If  they  are  afraid  of  you  then  we  should  not  be afraid
                                                      of  them.  So  we  can  go  to sleep."
                                                         "They  might  not  stay  away  forever.  Besides, although
                                                      I  have  lived  by  the  river  all  my  life,  I  have  never seen
                                                      this before."
                                                         All  around  the  Weazel,  fisherfolk  were  working  by the
                                                      dim  glow  of  oil  lamps,  sinking  sacks  of  moss  amongst the
                                                      roots  of  the  banyans.  The  moss  had  been  soaked  in an
                                                      extract  of  the  hulls  of  banyan  seeds;  as  this  diffused into
                                                      the  water,  it  stimulated  the  trees  to  shed  the  myriad feeder
                                                      roots  which  anchored  them.  The  night  was  full  of the
                                                      creaking  and  groaning  of  banyans  which  were beginning
               to  shift  on  the  currents;  the  water all      around  the Weazel
               seethed  with  bubbles  as  pockets  of  gas  were  released by
               
roots  dragging  through mud.
                  Yama  said,  "Oncus  told  me  that  there  are  more  than a
               thousand  fisherfolk  from  a  hundred  families.  But how
               many  more trees?"
                  "They  are  fools,  master,  to  believe  that  they  can move
              a   forest.  And  we  are  more  foolish  still  to  believe them.
               We  should  go  with  them  while  we  have  the chance."
                  "They  know  the  floating  forests  better  than  anyone. We
               must  trust them."
                  Near  dawn,  Oncus  returned  to  the  ship  and  told Yama
               that  another  machine  had  been  caught.  Yama  was taken
               out  in  a  coracle  to  the  net  where  it  hung,  at  the farside
               edge  of  the  floating  forest.  The  forest  was  beginning to
               break  up  there.  Irregular  channels  and  lagoons  opened and
               closed  as  trees  spun  slowly  around  each  other.  The water
               was  stained  with  silt  and  alive  with  shoals  of fish.
                  The  picketboat  was  close  by,  slowly  advancing downriver
                 amongst  trees  that  had  become  a  myriad floating
               islands.  Every  now  and  then  the  red  flash  of  the picketboat's
                 cannon  lit  the  dark  sky  above  the  tops  of  the trees,
               followed  by  the  hiss  and  crack  of  water  flash-heated to
               steam.  The  air  had  a  brassy  taste,  and  there  was  a constant
               flutter  of  falling  ash flakes.
                  
"They  will  be  here  soon,"  one  of  the  fisherfolk said,
               and  Yama  saw  that  the  man's  hands  were  shaking  as he
               aimed  the  beam  of  his  lantern  at  one  of  the  floating islands.
                  The  net,  woven  from  monofilament  fibers  combed from
               float  bush  seed  heads,  fine  as  air  and  strong  as  steel, was
               strung  above  the  top  of  the  banyan,  guyed  by bamboo
               poles.  The  machine  caught  in  it  glittered  and  gleamed in
               the  beam  of  the  lantern;  as  soon  as  the  light  touched  it, it
               began  to  vibrate  in  short  furious  bursts,  shaking  the poles
               and  branches  to  which  the  corners  of  the  net  were fastened.
                  "Some  of  the  machines  can  burn  their  way free,"
               Oncus  said,  "but  ones  like  these  are  merely  spies. They
               are  stupid  and  weak.  We  sometimes  catch  them  by mis-



                                                      take.  They  are  blind  to  our  nets,  or  fly  too  fast  to avoid
                                                     them."
                                                         "And  you  destroy  what  you  catch,"  Yama  said distractedly
                                                      .  He  was  already  unpicking  the  familiar  tangle  of logical
                                                        loops  and  snares  which  hedged  the  machine's simple
                                                     mind.
                                                          Only  the  Preservers  need  to  see  all,"  Oncus said.
                                                      "Usually  we  drop  the  net  and  the  machine  drowns, although
                                                        some  can  swim  as  well  as  fly,  and  those escape
                                                     us.'
                                                         The  machine  was  no  more  intelligent  than  the watchdogs
                                                        which  patrolled  the  grounds  of  the  peel-house, and
                                                      after  its  defenses  had  been  penetrated  it  was  as  easy to
                                                      fool.  Once  Yama  had  convinced  it  that  he  was  its handler,
                                                      he  called  for  the  net  to  be  lowered,  and  he  cradled the
                                                      machine  while  two  of  the  fisherfolk  began  to  untangle its
                                                      vanes  from  the  fine  filaments  of  the net.
                                                         They  worked  quickly,  but  still  had  not  freed  the machine
                                                      when  an  intense  needle  of  red  light  lanced  across  the channel
                                                        
behind  them.  The  needle  struck  through  the  canopy of
                                                      a  banyan,  which  immediately  burst  into  a  crown  of  fire; a
                                                      second  needle  struck  the  main  trunk  and  burst  it  apart in
                                                      an  explosion  of  live  steam  and splinters.
                                                         The  two  coracles  were  lifted  and  turned  on  a  swell of
                                                      smoking  water.  All  around,  floating  banyans  rocked  to and
                                                      fro,  as  stately  as  green-clad  dowagers  at  a  ball.  The coracles
                                                        spun  apart  and  the  net  stretched  out  between them,
                                                      wrenching  the  machine  from  Yama's  grip.  Then  the swell
                                                      passed  and  the  coracles  revolved  back  toward  each other,
                                                      and  the  net  dipped  toward  the  water.  For  a  moment, Yama
                                                      feared  that  the  machine  would  be  drowned,  but Oncus
                                                      grabbed  the  net  with  his  good  hand,  and  Yama  and the
                                                      others  helped  him  haul  in  the slack.
                                                         A  minute  later,  they  had  freed  the  machine.  Yama cradled
                                                        it  to  his  chest,  but  before  the  two  coracles  could drive
                                                      for  cover,  red  light  flashed  again  and  two  more  trees burst
                                                      into  flame.  Steam  and  smoke  enveloped  them.  A drumbeat
                                                      
swelled;  a  dark  shape  glided  between  the  burning trees.
                The  coracles  bobbed  on  its  wake, and     then  the picketboat
                was past.
                  Yama  sent  up  the  machine  he  had  captured  as  a hunter
                sends  up  a  hawk,  and  used  it  to  call  other  machines to
                him.  It  took  several  hours  to  find  the  way  back because
                the  floating  forest  had  begun  to  break  up,  a  maze  in which
                channels  opened  and  closed  between  ten  thousand drifting
                trees.  By  the  time  the  two  coracles  had  returned  to the
                Weazel,  they  were  trailing  a  cloud  of  glittering machines,
                like  birds  following  a  fishing  boat.  The  sailors  eyed the
                machines  with  a  deep  unease,  but  the  fisherfolk  beat spears
                and  paddles  against  the  sides  of  their  coracles  at  this dern
                onstration  of  Yama's power.
                  The  Weazel  was  hauled  into  a  narrow  berth  hacked into
                the  dead  heart  of  a  grandfather  banyan,  and  lashed  to the
                main  trunk.  The  sailors  covered  her  sides  with  a blanket
               of  leafy  branches.  Tamora  commandeered  four coracles
                and  lashed  a  platform  across  them  and,  with  Aguilar, took
                the  light  cannon  to  the  nearside  edge  of  the  forest. When
                they  returned,  the  banyan  in  which  the  Weazel  was hidden
                
had  begun  to  float  amidst  a  flotilla  of  other  trees  on the
                strong current.
                  Late  in  the  afternoon,  the  tree  passed  one  of  the places
                struck  by  the  warship's  light  cannon.  It  was  as  wide as
                the  channel  by  which  the  Weazel  had  first  entered the
                shoal.  The  smoldering  stumps  of  banyans  poked through
                water  choked  with  ashes  and  the  corpses  of  parboiled fish.
                Hundreds  of  small  fires  smoldered  in  the  canopy  on either
                side,  and  smoke  hung  thick  in  the air.
                  The  fisherfolk  murmured  to  each  other  at  the  sight of
                this  destruction.  Oncus  told  Yama  that  one  day there
                would  be  a  reckoning.  "We  are  not  a  fierce  folk,  but we
                do  not forget."
                  By  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  there  was  open water
                on  all  sides  of  the  banyan's  floating  island.  Yama climbed
                to  the  topmost  branch  and,  clinging  there,  saw  a  vast archi-



                                                   pelago  of  small  green  islands  scattered  widely across
                                                   leagues  and  leagues  of  water.  The  remaining  part  of the
                                                   forest  was  a  green  line  shrouded  in  a  long  cloud  of smoke
                                                   and  steam  turned  golden  by  the  light  of  the sun.
                                                      When  Yama  climbed  down,  Captain  Lorquital said,
                                                   "We  are  set  on  our  course now."
                                                      "I  still  say  we  shouldn't  have  left  our  only  real weapon
                                                   behind,"  Aguilar said.
                                                      "If  the  timer works,  daughter,  then  it  will  serve  us better
                                                     than  by  being here."
                                                      "Of  course  it  will  work.  I  set  it  myself.  But  our fee
                                                   will  not  cover  the  cost  of  replacing  it.  It's  a  poor bargain."
                                                      "Better  alive  poor  than  dead  rich,"  Captain Lorquital
                                                   said,  and  Aguilar  laughed  for  the  first  time  since  they had
                                                   entered  the forest.
                                                      "That's  just  what  father  would say."
                                                      "Sometimes  he  managed  to  stumble  on  a  truth without
                                                   my help."
                                                      Yama  said,  "They  will  not  believe  the  machines alone
                                                   because  they  know  I  
can  fool  machines.  They  must also
                                                   have  something  to  aim at."
                                                      "I've  never  had  to  fire  the  thing  in  anger,"  lxchel Lorquital
                                                     said,  "but  I'll  still  miss it."
                                                      At  nightfall,  the  lines  which  lashed  the  Weazel  to the
                                                   banyan  were  cut  and  she  used  her  reaction  motor  to maneuver
                                                     out  of  her  hiding  place.  It  took  an  hour  to raise
                                                   the  mast  and  haul  up  the  sail;  then  everyone  stood  at the
                                                   port  rail  and  watched  the  dark  line  of  the  forest. They
                                                   watched  a  long  time,  and  although  they  knew  about the
                                                   timer,  the  sailors  cheered  when  at  last  the  flash  of the
                                                   cannon  showed,  a  vivid  red  point  of  light  doubled  by its
                                                   reflection  in  the  river.  The  sharp  crack  of  the discharge
                                                   rolled  across  the  water  a  moment  later;  then  the cannon
                                                   flashed again.
                                                      Yama  raised  his  arms-a  bit  of  theater,  for  he  had already
                                                     told  the  machines  to  go.  They  went  in  a whirring
                                                   rush  that  fanned  the  air,  scattering  toward  different parts
                                                   of  the  forest,  where  
they  would  lay  a  hundred  false trails
                                                   in  the  opposite  direction  to  the  Weazel's  intended course.
                  Even  as  the  machines  flew  up, the       warship answered
               the  Weazel's  light  cannon  with  a  bombardment  that  lit half
               the  sky.  At  once,  Ixchel  Lorquital  ordered  the  sail unfurled
               and  the  anchor  raised.  While  the  sailors  busied themselves,
               the  fisherfolk  departed  without  ceremony,  their  tiny bark
               coracles  dwindling  into  the  river's  vast  darkness. Oncus
               kissed  Yama  on  the  forehead  and  tied  a  fetish  around his
               wrist.  It  was  a  bracelet  of  coypu  hair  braided  with black
               seed  pearls,  and  when  Yama  began  to  thank  Oncus  in the
               formal  fashion  taught  by  his  father,  the  leader  of the
  X,,,
               fisherfolk  put  a  finger  to  his lips.
                  "Your  life  is  mine,"  the  old  man  said.  "I  give  you this
              to  protect  and  guide  you  on  your  journey.  I  fear  you will
               have  much  need  of it."
                  Captain  Lorquital  thanked  Oncus  for  the  safe passage  
  -N-          of  her  ship,  and  gave  him  a  steel  knife  and  several rolls
               of  tobacco.  And  then  he  too  was gone.
                  The  Weazel  caught  the  wind  and  heeled  to  port  as she
               set  course  toward  the  farside  shore.  Far  off,  the  cannon of
               
the  warship  set  up  a  stuttering  rake  of  fire.  Vast  clouds of
               steam  boiled  up  as  needles  of  hot  light  lashed  open water.
               If  the  Weazel's  dismounted  cannon  fired  again,  it  was lost
               in  the bombardment.
                  Yama  stood  at  the  stem  rail  and  watched  red  and green
               lights  flash  within  spreading  clouds  of  steam  and smoke.
               The  bombardment  continued  for  a  whole  watch. Yama
               knew  then  that  the  aim  of  the  chase  was  not  to capture
               him,  but  to  destroy  him.  He  watched  until  the warship's
               cannon  finally  stopped  firing,  and  at  last  the  night was
               dark  and  quiet  beneath  the  red  swirl  of  the  Eye  of the
              Preservers.



                                                                                                   TV[ MILE
                                                       THI  FARSIDI  SHORI  was  a  plain  of  tall  green  grasses, winnowed
                                                         by  unceasing  wind.  It  was  not  wide  at  that  part of
                                                       the  river.  During  the  festival  at  the  beginning  of winter,
                                                       Yama  and  his  stepbrother,  Telmon,  had  often  walked from
                                                       riverbank  to  world's  edge  in  a  single  day.  When  he had
                                                       been  very  young,  Yama  had  often  tired  himself  out by
                                                       trying  to  match  Telmon's  long,  eager  strides  and  had to
                                                       be  carried  home  asleep  in  his  stepbrother's  arms.  On those
                                                       expeditions,  Telmon  had  always  worn  a  set  of bolas
                                                       around  his  right  arm,  for  all  the  world  like  an indigen
                                                       from  one  of  the  hill  tribes.  Several  times,  Yama  had seen
                                                       him  bring  down  one  of  the  moas  that  roamed  the grass
                                                       plains,  breaking  the  bird's  legs  with  the  bolas  and throwing
                                                       himself  on  its  thrashing  body  to  cut  its  throat.  Telmon had
                                                       carried  a  sling,  too,  and  had  taught  Yama  how  to  use it
                                                       to  hurl  stones  with  killing  force  at  ortolans  and marmots.
                                                       He  had  given  Yama  
the  bolas  and  the  sling  when  he had
                                                       left  for  the  war:  remembering  all  this  as  the  Weazel approached
                                                         the  shore,  Yama  supposed  that  they  were  still in
                                                       his  room  in  the peel-house.
                                                         As  the  Great  River  retreated,  a  wide  floodplain  of emeraldgreen
                                                         bogs  and  muddy  meanders  had  grown  along  the mar-
              gin  of  the  farside  shore.  Under  gray  cloud,  swept  by quick
              heavy  showers,  the  Weazel  nosed  along  the  belts  of mangrove
                scrub  that  fringed  the  new  floodplain,  guided by
              Yama  to  the  place  where  the  citizens  of  Aeolis  had made
              their refuge.
                 They  had  arrived  only  that  morning,  and  were still
              pitching  tents  along  the  low  ridge  that  marked  the old
              shoreline,  above  a  swampy  inlet.  Men  were  raising  a defensive
                berm  of  earth  on  the  landward  side  of  the encampment
              ,  and  hexes  and  charms  had  been  fixed  to bamboo
              poles.  The  Amnan  believed  that  the  farside  shore was
              haunted  and  never  ventured  far  from  their  temporary festival
                camps,  unless  it  was  to  visit  the  shrines  at the
              world's edge.
                 This  camp  was  a  sorry  affair.  Fires  burning  here and
              there  sent  choking  white  smoke  streaming  into  the  wet air.
              
Piles  of  possessions  were  growing  soggy  under tarpaulins
              which  billowed  and  cracked  in  the  constant  warm, wet
              wind.  Even  before  the  tents  had  been  set  up,  each family
              had  dug  its  own  wallowing  pit  and  made  mud  slides down
              to  the  inlet.  Packs  of  wives  lay  in  the  slides  and bickered
              incessantly,  not  bothering  to  brush  away  the  black flies
 1K,          that  clustered  at  their  eyes  and  the  corners  of  their mouths,
              while  pups  chased  each  other  and  the  men  looked on
             disconsolately.
                 Only  the  Aedile's  quarters  were  in  good  order.  A big
              orange  marquee  had  been  raised  on  a  platform  of freshly
              cut  logs  at  the  shoreward  end  of  the  ridge,  and  the Aedile's
              standard  flew  at  half  mast,  snapping  in  the  brisk breeze.
 14
              Yama  saw  this  omen  as  the  Weazel  nosed  toward the
              muddy  shore,  and  his  heart  sank.  Have  faith,  he  told himself
                He  turned  Oncus's  fetish  around  and  around  his wrist.
              Have  faith.  But  it  was  hard,  with  his  childhood  home put
              to  flame,  and  all  he  held  dear  scattered  to  the  edges of
              the world.
                 Tamora  came  up  to  him  and  said,  "They  will follow
              us  here  as  soon  as  they  see  through  your  trick.  We can't
              stay long."
                 "It  will  hold  them  for  a while."



                                                       "They  know  that  you  can  fool machines."
                                                       "They  do  not  know  how  much  I  have  learned since
                                                    they  tested  me.  The  machines  were  strengthened against
                                                    me,  Tamora,  yet  I  broke  them  as  easily  as  any firefly."
                                                    He  felt  himself  smiling  and  heard  himself  saying,  "I will
                                                    be  glad  if  they  come  here.  I  will  destroy them."
                                                       Tamora  said  approvingly,  "Now  you  talk  like  a fighter.
                                                    About time."
                                                       Flanked  by  his  three  surviving  sons,  the  Constable of
                                                    Aeolis,  Unthank,  came  out  to  meet  Yama  when  he rowed
                                                    ashore  in  the  Weazel's  dory  with  Tamora  and Pandaras.
                                                    Eliphas  had  elected  to  stay  aboard,  claiming  that  the chase
                                                    had  tired  him  out.  Yama  suspected  that  the  old  man was
                                                    sulking  because  he  had  refused  to  try  to  destroy  the warship
                                                      and  the picketboat.
                                                       The  Constable  did  not  seem  surprised  by  Yama's arrival
                                                    .  He  was  a  large,  ugly  man  more  than  twice Yama's
                                                    height,  dressed  in  loose,  mud-spattered  trousers  and a
                                                    leather  waistcoat.  
A  pair  of  tusks  protruded  from  his upper
                                                    lip.  One  had  been  broken  when  he  had  fought  and killed
                                                    his  father  for  control  of  the  harem,  and  he  had  had it
                                                    capped  with  silver-the  same  silver  which  had  capped one
                                                    of  his  father's  tusks.  The  swagger  stick  that  was  his mark
                                                    of  office  was  tucked  under  one  muscular  arm.  He lumbered
                                                    up  with  a  rolling  gait  that  reminded  Yama  of  how clumsy
                                                    the  Amnan  were  on  land,  and  said  straightaway  that the
                                                    Aedile  was  dying.  "He's  up  there,  in  the  tent  with the
                                                    rest  of  his household."
                                                        Is  everyone  in  the  city here?"
                                                       "Most  everyone  who  escaped.  A  few  went  into  the City
                                                    of  the  Dead,  mostly  the  merchants.  We'll  speak  later, I
                                                    reckon."  The  Constable  spat  a  string  of  yellow  mucus at
                                                    Yama's  feet,  then  turned  and  walked  away.  The Constable's
                                                      sons  stared  hard  at  Yama  before  following their
                                                   father.
                                                       Pandaras  said,  "These  people  have  no  liking  for you,
                                                    master.  Are  we  safe here?"
                                                       
"There  is  bad  history  between  us,"  Yama  said,  as he
                                                    led  Tamora  and  Pandaras  through  the  refugee  camp. "One
               of  his  sons  died  by  my  hand;  another  was  executed. They
               were  working  for  someone  who  tried  to  kidnap  me before
               I  left Aeolis."
                  As  they  passed  through  the  camp,  they  gathered  a tail
              of  naked  pups  who  jeered  and  whistled,  and  threw clots
               of  mud.  A  group  of  men  stood  around  a  smoky bonfire,
               smoking  long-stemmed  clay  pipes  and  passing  a leather
               bottle  back  and  forth.  Someone  said  something  and the
               others  laughed,  a  low,  mocking,  mean laughter.
                  Yama  went  up  to  them  and  asked  if  they  had  seen the
               chandler  and  his  family.  Most  looked  away,  refusing to
               answer  or  even  acknowledge  him,  but  one,  a one-eyed
               fisherman  called  Vort,  said,  "Chasin'  after  your sweetheart
               ,  young master?"
                  "Don't  speak,"  another  man  said.  Yama  knew him,
               too.  Hud,  master  of  the  shellfish  farms  at  the  mouth of
               the Breas.
                  "He  deserves  a  chance  like  anyone,"  Vort  said. He
               wore  only  a  patched  linen  kilt  in  the  warm  rain.  His gray
               skin  shone  as  if  greased.  There  was  a  livid  burn  on one
               massive  shoulder.  He  looked  down  at  Yama  and  said, "I
               heard  tell  they  came  for  the  chandler  first.  Someone came
               banging  on  their  door  in  the  night.  They  were  gone 
the
               next  day,  and  then  the  ship came."
                  "I  heard  they  were  informers,"  Hud  said.  "That's why
               they  got  away  before  the  trouble.  They  got  away  with their
               wealth  while  the  rest  of  us  saw  our  lives  burned up."
                  "That's  enough,"  someone  else  said.  "He  don't deserve
                 to  know  nothing."  The  others  standing  around the
               fire  mumbled  agreement.  One  took  out  his  penis  and urinated
                 with  considerable  force  into  the  fire.  It  was  a gesture
               of  contempt,  and  there  was  another  round  of mocking
              laughter.
                  Yama  said  to  Vort,  "Who  took  them?  Where  did they
              go?"
                  "He  don't  deserve  it,"  Hud  told  Vort.  He  glared at
               Yama  through  a  fringe  of  lank  hair.  "I  don't  have family;
               none  of  us  here  do.  But  we  lost  our  lodges  all  the same,
               and  most  of  what  was  in  them.  They  let  us  take  what we



                                                    could  carry  and  burned  the  rest  to  the  ground,  yet your
                                                    peel-house  still stands."
                                                      "And  the  temple,"  someone  else said.
                                                      Yama  stood  his  ground  and  looked  at  the  men. They
                                                    turned  away,  mumbling.  Only  Vort  met  his  gaze. Yama
                                                    said,  "If  I  had  been  there,  I  would  have  given  myself up.
                                                    But  I  was  not.  The  city  was  burned  in  spite,  to  hurt me
                                                    and  to  draw  me  into  a  trap.  Well,  I  was  almost caught,
                                                    but  I  escaped.  And  I  will  not  forget  what  was  done. "
                                                      "We're  dead  men  here,"  Vort  said.  "This  is  the shore
                                                    of  ghosts  and  spirits,  and  we've  come  to  live here."
                                                      "If  you  believe  that,  then  you  have  let  them destroy
                                                    you  twice  over,"  Yama said.
                                                      No  one  replied;  even  Vort  turned  away.  Tamora got
                                                    between  Yama  and  the  men,  and  put  her  hand  on  the hilt
                                                    of  her  sword  and  glared  at  their  backs  as  Yama walked
                                                   away.
                                                      Pandaras  said,  "They  are  a  surly  rabble,  master. Little
                                                    wonder  you  left  as  
soon  as  you could."
                                                        They  have  lost  their  homes  and  their  livelihoods. Of
                                                    course  they  are  angry.  And  I  am  the  cause, walking
                                                    amongst  them  with  my  questions.  I  shamed  them.  I should
                                                    not  have spoken."
                                                      She  was  safe,  he  thought,  and  felt  a  pang  of unalloyed
                                                    joy.  She  had  escaped.  Zakiel  had  said  so,  and  now Vort
                                                    and  Hud  had  confirmed it.
                                                      "It  was  not  you  who  destroyed  their  city,  but  the Department
                                                      of  Indigenous  Affairs,"  Tamora  said.  "If they
                                                    want  to  lynch  someone,  they  should  look  for Prefect
                                                   Corin."
                                                      Yama  said,  "He  might  well  come  here.  As  you pointed
                                                    out,  my  deception  will  not  fool  him  for long."
                                                      "You  are  too  hard  on  yourself,  master,"  Pandaras said.
                                                      "Not  hard  enough,  I think."
                                                      A  lump  of  filth  tipped  Tamora's  shoulder,  and  she made
                                                   as  if  she  was  about  to  chase  the  pup  who  had  thrown it.
                                                    He  and  his  friends  slithered  off  through  the  mud, whistling
                                                    
with  laughter.  Tamora  said,  "If  we  are  staying  here overnight
                                                      we  should  sleep  on  the  ship,  and  have  it anchored
             a  good  distance  from  the  shore.  These  slugs  look  like they
             can  swim,  if  nothing else."
                "They  are  very  graceful  swimmers,"  Yama  said. "They
             mostly  hunt  in  the river."
                "They  could  eat  one  of  the  fisherfolk  whole,  it seems
            to  me,"  Pandaras  said.  "Indeed,  from  the  size  of their
             bellies,  some  look  as  if  they  have  done  just  that,  and are
             digesting  the remains."
               0
                 Id  Rotwang  sat  on  a  stool  outside  the  flap  of  the marquee
             ,  his  wooden  leg  raised  on  a  cushion  as  he sipped
             from  a  half-empty  wineskin.  A  rifle  was  propped against
             a  stay,  close  at  hand.  He  sprang  up  when  Yama hailed
             him,  and  gimped  over  and  shook  Yama's  hand effusively,
             saying  he  never  thought  he  would  have  the  pleasure again,
             never  in  all  the  long  world,  breathing  out  brandy fumes
             and  all  the  while  staring  at  Tamora  and Pandaras.
                "You  look  well,  boy.  And  you  have  grown  a  little, I
             think.  There  is  new  muscle  on  your  arms  and shoulders
            at  any  rate.  Wait  there.  I  will  get  the  Sergeant.  He has
             been  expecting  you  since  we  first  sighted  the ship."
                 My father-"
                But  Rotwang  had  already  pushed  through  the  tent flap.
             Before  Yama  could  follow,  Sergeant  Rhodean emerged,
             dapper  in  polished  breastplate  and  a  black  leather kirtle,
             his  boots  gleaming,  his  gray  hair  newly  cropped. He
             clapped  Yama  on  the  back  and  said  he  would  hear something
               
of  his  adventures  in Ys.
                "You  can  tell  me  how  you  got  that  scar  on  your forehead
             ,"  he  said.  "You  forgot  to  keep  your  sword  at point,
             I  would  wager.  But  never  mind,  a  hard  lesson  is  one not
             quickly forgotten."
                 My father-"
                Sergeant  Rhodean's  expression  did  not  change,  but a
             softness  entered  his  gaze.  He  said,  "The  Aedile sleeps.
             He  sleeps  a  lot.  When  he  wakens  you  will  be  the  first to
             speak  with  him,  but  I  will  not  wake  him  just  because his
             errant  son  has  returned."  His  gaze  took  in  Tamora  and Pandaras
             .  "We  will  have  tea,  and  you  will  introduce  me  to your



                                                      companions.  Have  you  become  a  cateran?  Tliat's  a harder
                                                      life  than  the  army,  but  you  will  see  more  fighting  that way."
                                                         Yama  smiled.  Sergeant  Rodean  had  always encouraged                               
                                                      him  in  his  wish  to  follow  Telmon  and  fight  against the
                                                     heretics.
                                                         They  took  tea  at  a  low  table  under  the  awning  of the
                                                      tent.  Outside,  bursts  of  rain  spattered  the  muddy ground.
                                                      Sergeant  Rhodean  was  uncharacteristically  voluble;  he was
                                                      being  kind,  trying  to  keep  Yama's  mind  from  the Aedile's
                                                       condition.
                                                         "I  was  a  cateran  for  a  year  or  so,"  he  said,  "when  I was
                                                      only  a  little  older  than  you.  Perhaps  I  will  be  one again,
                                                      although  at  the  moment,  of  course,  I  am  still  in  your father's
                                                      service.  And  will  be  for  many  years  yet,  I hope."
                                                         The  rough  skin  that  crested  his  prominent cheekbones
                                                      swelled  with  tender  passion  when  he  said  this,  and he
                                                      glared  at  Yama  as  if  challenging  him  to  deny it.
                                                         Yama  said,  "Did  they  hurt  my father?"
                                                         "Not  physically,  
except  for  a  few  bruises  when  he tried
                                                      to  resist  arrest.  But  it  is  his  spirit."  Sergeant Rhodean
                                                      looked  at  Tamora  and  Pandaras  and  hesitated,  clearly uncomfortable
                                                        about continuing.
                                                         "They  are  not  merely  my  companions  in  arms," Yama
                                                      said.  "They  are  my friends."
                                                         "I  am  his  squire,"  Pandaras  said  boldly,  "and Tamora
                                                      is  ...  well,  she  was  his  companion  but  I'm  not  quite sure
                                                      what  she  is now."
                                                         "I  also  serve  Yama,"  Tamora  said.  "My  life  is his."
                                                         Yama  said  to  Sergeant  Rhodean,  "Tell  me  about my
                                                      father.  I  hear  that  he  tried  to  stop  the  razing  of  the city."
                                                         "He  was  given  his  orders  the  day  before  the warship
                                                      arrived,  and  he  refused  them.  Instead,  he  began  the evacuation
                                                        of  the  city,  which  is  why  so  many  were  saved.  It hurt
                                                      him  grievously  to  do  it,  but  he  was  right.  The Department
                                                      has  changed.  There  is  no  longer  any  room  for argument
                                                      or  even  discussion,  and  although  the  Aedile  outranked the
                                                     Prefect-"
                                                         "Prefect Corin.-
                                                         
"The  man  who  took  you  to  Ys,  yes.  He  was flanked
               by  a  pentad  of  bullyboys  with pistols      on  their  hips, and
               he  acted  as  though  he  owned  the  peel-house  and everyone
               in  it.  But  the  Aedile  stood  up  to  him.  And  to  the traitor,
               Torin.  Oh  yes,  that  one  has  all  these  years  been scheming
               against  his  master,  loyal  to  the  villains  who  drove the
               Aedile  into  exile  in  the  first place."
                  "Torin  will  be  regretting  his  treachery  if  he  still lives,"
               Yama  said,  and  briefly  explained  how  he  and  Tamora had
               killed  the  mage  and  most  of  the  soldiers  who  had been
               guarding  the  peel-house,  and  left  Torin  to  the  mercy of
               his  fellow servants.
                  "That  is  good,"  Sergeant  Rhodean  said.  "Very good.
               The  mage  is  the  man  who  tortured  the Aedile."
                  "I know."
                  "Not  by  physical  hurt,  but  by  a  machine  that  took him
               into  some  sort  of  nightmare.  I  fear  that  he  has  not returned
               from  it  whole.  I  should  have  killed  that  worm myself."
               Sergeant  Rhodean  looked  at  Yama  sharply.  "But Prefect
               Conn  is  not dead?"
                  "No,  and  he  still  chases  me.  I  cannot  stay long."
                  "Why  is  he  after  you,  Yama?  Have  you  given him
               some cause?"
                  "He  is  not  a  man  to  take  things  personally.  That is
               
the  one  fault  he  does  not  possess.  He  is  a  creature of
               the Department."
                  "You  are  wrong,  I  think,"  Sergeant  Rhodean  said with
               some  vigor.  "He  pretends  humility,  but  excuses  his own
               impulses  as  the  wishes  of  the  Department.  He  is answerable
                 to  no  one,  having  assumed  moral  superiority which
               he  backs  not  with  reason  or  right  but  with  violence  or the
            threat  of  violence.  He  wants  you  for  some  purpose  that will
               help  his  own  ambition,  and  I  fear  you  will  have  to  kill him
               before  this  is  done."  Sergeant  Rhodean  drained  his  bowl of
               tea  and  banged  it  down  on  the  table.  "I  am  an  old  man, and
               I  have  not  fought  for  a  long  time,  but  I  would  have fought
               him  there  and  then  if  I  could  have  believed  he  would fight
               as  a  man.  But  he  would  have  ordered  me  shot  by  one  of his
               flunkies,  so  I  kept  my temper."
                  Yama  said,  "He  ordered  the  city  put  to  flame,  and the



                                                    Aedile  stood  on  the  dock  and  said  he  would  burn  too. I
                                                    learned  that  much  from  the fisherfolk."
                                                       Sergeant  Rhodean  nodded  grimly.  "They  arrested the
                                                    Aedile  and  tortured  him  with  the  foul  machine  of the
                                                    mage,  and  then  they  locked  him  in  his  room  in  the peelhouse
                                                    .  But  Zakiel  had  a  key  that  worked  the  lock  and we
                                                    made  our  escape.  It  sounds  more  exciting  than  it  was. I
                                                    do  not  think  they  particularly  cared  if  we  escaped,  for it
                                                    removed  a  source  of  embarrassment.  Do  you remember
                                                    what  I  told  you  about  planning  a campaign?"
                                                       "That  you  should  think  of  the  worst  things  that could
                                                    happen  and  plan  for  what  would  happen  if  they did."
                                                       "I  had  already  made  preparations  in  case  we  needed to
                                                    abandon  the  peel-house.  I  fitted  a  cutter  with  a  big motor,
                                                    provisioned  it,  and  anchored  it  below  the  bluff.  We got
                                                    the  Aedile  aboard  and  slipped  anchor.  No  one  tried to
                                                    chase  us.  The  fisherfolk  found  us  midriver  and  we  left the
                                                    cutter  for  Prefect  
Corin  to  find  and  puzzle  over.  And here
                                                    we  are.  Zakiel  would  not  come.  He  said  that  he  must look
                                                    after  his books."
                                                       "I  left  him  safe  and  well.  Tamora  freed  him  from his
                                                    chains,  but  he  would  not leave."
                                                       "It  is  only  by  good  luck  that  this  Prefect  Corin  is not
                                                    interested  in  burning  books,  or  Zakiel  would  have died
                                                    defending  them.  The  Aedile  tells  us  that  we  will  be able
                                                    to  return  to  the  peel-house  once  this  is  over,  Yama,  but it
                                                    is  the  kindliest  of  lies.  It  has  been  taken  from him."
                                                       "I  am  told  that  he  is  dying.  Do  me  honor,  and  tell me
                                                    the  truth,  plain  as light."
                                                       Sergeant  Rhodean  poured  himself  more  tea,  but  after a
                                                    single  sip  he  threw  the  bowl  out  into  the  mud  and rain
                                                    with  sudden  violence.  "It  has  gone  cold,"  he explained.
                                                    "Rotwang! Rotwang!"
                                                       Yania  touched  Sergeant  Rhodean's  hand.  Before  he had
                                                    left  the  peel-house  he  would  never  have  dared  this intimacy
                                                    .  As  a  child,  the  sergeant  had  seemed  to  him  to be
                                                    
an  all-knowing  kindly  tyrant,  but  now  he  saw  that  he was
                                                    a  loyal  old  man  whose  codes  of  honor  had  been proven
              obsolete.  Yama  said,  "I  should know      how  he  is  before I
              go  to  see him."
                 "Of  course.  He  has  been  waiting  for  your  return.  I think
              he  has  been  waiting  only  for that."
                 "Then  I  should  leave  here  at  once,  and  return  in a
              hundred years.
                 "I  wish  he  could  wait  that  long.  I  wish  we  all could.
              Why  are  they  chasing  you,  Yama?  They  would  not say."
                 Rotwang  brought  more  tea,  and  dry  biscuits  and  a green
              paste  of  waterweed  flavored  with  flecks  of  ginger. Yama
              tried  to  tell  the  story  of  his  adventures  in  Ys  and the
              Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People  as  briefly  as  he could,
              but  Pandaras  kept  interrupting,  and  his  inventions made
              Yama's  adventures  far  more  daring  and  exotic  than the
              prosaic truth.
                 At  the  end,  Tamora  told  Sergeant  Rhodean,  "You may
              not  believe  half  of  it,  but  it  is  the  truth.  Even  the rat-boy's
              embroidery  is  a  kind  of  truth,  because  words  are  a poor
              measure  of  what  really happened."
                 "I  fought  under  the  command  of  someone  of your
              bloodline  once,"  Sergeant  Rhodean  told  her.  "It  was before
                any  of  you  were  born,  in  the  first  campaigns against
              
the  heretics.  I  remember  him  still,  though.  He  never told
              a  lie,  and  we  loved  him  for  his  honesty.  Besides,  we always
                knew  how  the  boy  could  charm  the  watchdogs. His
              power  has  grown,  that  is  all.  As  he  has  grown.  He  left a
              child,  and  has  returned  a man."
                 Yama  laughed.  "I  thought  I  was  so  cunning,  but  I am
              glad  that  you  saw  through  my tricks."
                 Tamora  said,  with  sudden  passion,  "He  will  save the
              world.  It's  been  foretold."  She  glared  around  her,  as if
              defying  them  to  deny it.
                 Behind  her,  Rotwang  opened  the  flap  of  the  tent and
              said,  "The  Aedile  is awake."
                 The  Aedile  lay  in  a  bed  within  a  curtained compartment
             at  the  heart  of  the  tent.  A  stove  at  the  foot  of  the bed



                                                    gave  off  a  fierce  dry  heat,  but  the  Aedile  was  covered by
                                                    a  heap  of  furs  so  that  only  his  sleek  gray  head showed.
                                                    When  he  saw  Yama  he  smiled  and  held  out  a hand-it
                                                    was  cold,  despite  the  sweltering  heat.  His  pelt  was dry
                                                    and  lusterless,  and  the  contours  of  his  sharp cheekbones
                                                    and  the  notches  in  the  bone  around  his  round  eye sockets
                                                    showed  clearly  beneath it.
                                                       "My  son,"  he  said,  when  he  saw  Yama.  "How  glad I
                                                    am  to  see  you.  I  thought  that  I  would  not  see  you until
                                                    we  were  both  resurrected  by  the  grace  of  the Preservers."
                                                       Yama  helped  the  Aedile  sit  up,  and  Rotwang  settled a
                                                    richly  embroidered  wrap  around  his  master's  shoulders and
                                                    started  to  fuss  with  the  coverings  before  the  Aedile dismissed
                                                     him.
                                                       "You  will  take  tea,"  Rotwang  said,  "and  a  shot of
                                                    heart  of wine."
                                                       "Perhaps  later.  Let  me  talk  with  my  son,  Rotwang. I
                                                    am  not ill."
                                                       Yama  said,  "I  have  failed  you,  father.  More  than once.
                                                    
All  this  is  my  fault. "
                                                       The  Aedile  said  with  a  touch  of  his  old  asperity, "What
                                                    is  this  talk  of  fault  and  failure?  I  will  not  hear it."
                                                        To  begin  with,  I  went  as  far  as  Ys  with  Prefect Corin,
                                                    and"then  I  ran away."
                                                       "You  should  not  have  gone  at  all.  I  should  not have
                                                    sent  you.  No  doubt  Sergeant  Rhodean  has  told  you what
                                                    happened.  He  is  full  of  anger,  but  I  am  full  of  shame.  I was
                                                    lied  to,  Yama,  by  the  highest  offices  of  the  Department. I
                                                    have  no  doubt  that  as  soon  as  they  learned  about  you from
                                                    their  spies,  they  wanted  you.  Not  for  who  you  are,  but for
                                                    what  they  believed  you  to  be.  I  told  them  about  you from
                                                    the  first,  of  course,  and  sent  in  reports  from  time  to time,
                                                    but  they  were  always  anodyne.  I  kept  certain  things secret,
                                                    you  see.  Despite  the  circumstances  of  your  arrival  in Aeolis
                                                    ,  and  certain  events  afterward,  I  always  hoped  that you
                                                    were  only  an  ordinary boy.
                                                       "All  the  trouble  began  when  I  had  Dr.  Dismas search
                                                    for  records  of  your  
kind.  One  of  the  Department's spies
                                                    in  my  household-there  were  at  least  three  that  I knew
             of,  although  it  was  a  shock  to  discover  that  Torin  was also
             a  spy--one  of  them  must  have  passed  on  the  details of
             what  Dr.  Dismas  found,  and  of  why  Dismas  tried  to kidnap
             you.  We  got  that  from  the  wretched  landlord  of  the tavern
             where  you  were  taken,  but  I  kept  it  from  the Department.
             That  was  why  I  knew  you  could  not  stay,  Yama. Believe
             me  when  I  say  that  I  acted  out  of  love,  and  forgive me."
                Yama  thought  of  the  lies  he  had  told  the  Aedile.  He had
             not  told  the  truth  about  how  he  had  escaped  Dr.  Dismas, or
             of  his  adventures  afterward.  If  the  Aedile  had  known about
             them,  he  would  never  have  sent  him  away.  He said,
             "There  is  nothing  to forgive."
                "I  was  told  that  you  would  be  given  an  entry  into the
             Department  and  entrusted  you  to  them.  But  they  lied. They
             knew  what  you  were.  And  that  was  why  so  high ranking
                  sonage  as  Prefect  Corin  came  to  bring  you  to them.
             a per
             Of  course,  even  then  they  did  not  know  the  whole story."
                "I  ran  away  not  because  I  knew  what  I  was,  but because
             of  pride.  I  wanted  only  to  be  like Telmon."
                "We  were  both  foolish,  Yama.  You  were  foolish because
               you  wanted  to  follow  your  brother  without thought
             
or  preparation;  I  was  foolish  because  I  would  not  let you.
             I  am  glad  that  you  ran  away  from  Prefect  Corin.  You did
             not  know  it,  perhaps,  but  it  was  the  right  thing  to do."
                "He  caught  me  again,"  Yama  said,  and  for  the second
             time  he  told  his  story.  Without  Pandaras's  fanciful contributions
               it  took  less  than  half  the  time,  although  the Aedile
             fell  asleep  in  the  middle  of  the  telling.  Yama  waited until
             his  father  woke,  seemingly  without  noticing  that  he had
             fallen  asleep,  and  continued  to  the end.
                When  Yama  told  of  Eliphas's  discovery  in  the records
             of  the  Department  of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons, the
             Aedile  stirred  and  said,  "That  is  most  curious.  For Dr.
             Dismas  also  looked  there,  and  reported  that  he  had found
             no  records  of  your  bloodline.  He  said  that  you were
            unique."
                Yama  remembered  the  conversation  he  had overheard
             when  he  had  spied  on  the  Aedile  and  Dr.  Dismas from
             the  gallery  of  the  Great  Hall.  He  said,  "Dismas  was lying.



                                                      He  found  out  about  my  bloodline.  He  hid  what  he found
                                                      from  you,  and  planned  my kidnap."
                                                         The  Aedile  was  too  tired  to  argue.  He  did  not  even ask
                                                      what  Yama  had  learned  about  his  bloodline,  He sighed
                                                      and  said,  "Perhaps,  perhaps.  Dr.  Dismas  is  a  clever man,
                                                      but  very  venal-  Beware  those  who  want  to  help  you and
                                                      ask  for  no reward."
                                                         "Then  I  would  have  to  mistrust  all  my friends."
                                                         The  Aedile  closed  his  eyes  and  Yama  thought  that he
                                                      had  fallen  asleep  again.  But  then  he  opened  them  and said,
                                                      "I  do  not  regret  taking  you  into  my  house,  Yama. You
                                                      are  my  son  as  Telmon  was  my  son,  whatever  else you
                                                      are.  You  were  found  in  a  white  boat.  Do  you remember
                                                      the story?"
                                                         "I  was  a  baby,  lying  on  the  breast  of  a  dead woman."
                                                         "Quite,  quite.  I  have  always  wondered  if  she  was your
                                                      mother,  but  old  Constable  Thaw  said  that  she  had silver
                                                      skin,  and  that  one  arm  was  deformed.  As  you  grew, I
                                                      worried  that  your  
skin  would  turn  silver,  but  it  never did.
                                                      I  looked  very  hard  to  find  your  people,  Yama.  That is
                                                      why,  at  last,  I  asked  Dr.  Dismas  to  search  the  archives of
                                                      his  department.  It  was  the  last  hope  of  a  foolish  old man."
                                                         "I  am  glad  that  I  grew  up  where  I did."
                                                         "The  year  after  you  were  found  on  the  river,  I took
                                                      you  to  one  of  the  shrines  on  this  shore.  It  lit  up  as  if the
                                                      avatar  had  returned,  but  it  was  not  the  avatar.  Instead it
                                                      was  a  kind  of  demon  disguised  as  a  woman.  She  tried to
                                                      bend  me  to  her  and  I  did  something  shameful.  I  used my
                                                      pistol  against  her,  and  the  energy  overloaded  the shrine.
                                                      Do  you  remember  anything  of this?"
                                                         "I  was  a  baby, father."
                                                         "Quite,  quite.  Well,  I  have  never  told  anyone  about the
                                                      shrine  before.  Not  Father  Quine,  not  Dr.  Dismas,  not even
                                                      the  Department.  There  were  other  signs,  too.  When you
                                                      were  first  rescued,  the  Council  for  Night  and  Shrines decided
                                                        that  you  were  a  danger,  and  they  left  you exposed
                                                      
on  a  hillside  outside  the  city.  Little  machines  brought you
                                                      manna  and  water.  They  cared  for  you  until  old Constable
                                                      Thaw's  wives  came  and  took  you  back.  Dr.  Dismas said
              that  he  came  here  because  so  many  machines  flew  in the
              air  around  about  the  city.  And  then  there  were  the silly
              tricks  you  would  play  with  the  watchdogs  ...  I  wish now
              that  I  had  told  you  more  about  these  wonders,  but I
              thought  it  better  to  try  and  give  you  an  ordinary childhood.
              I  have  been  very foolish."
                 "I  will  always  remember  you,"  Yama  said. "Wherever
             I   go,  whatever  I do."
                 They  were  both  saying  farewell,  he  realized,  and only
              then  did  he  begin  to  weep.  The  Aedile  scolded  him and
              slept  a  little,  and  then  woke  and  said,  "Do  you  think that
              good  can  come  from  an  evil act?"
                 Yama  misunderstood,  and  said  that  he  would revenge
              the  burning  of  Aeolis  in  any  way  he could.
                 "Let  the  people  of  Aeolis  do  that.  I  wonder  at  my life.
              All  this  time  I  have  been  serving  something  with  evil at
              its  heart.  I  did  not  know  it,  but  does  that  still  make everything
                I  have  done evil?"
                 "On  the  road  to  Ys,  Prefect  Corin  tried  to  save 
pilgrims
              from  bandits.  He  made  it  into  a  test  which  I  failed,  but I
              think  that  he  did  want  to  save  them,  all  the  same. Whatever
                else  he  is,  whatever  else  he  has  done,  he  risked his
              own  life  for  the  lives  of  strangers.  The  Puranas  have it
              that  nothing  human  is  perfect,  neither  perfectly  evil nor
              perfectly  good.  We  can  only  hope  to  be  true  to  the best
              of  what  we are."
                 But  the  Aedile  was  asleep.  Yama  held  his  father's hand
              until  Rotwang  came  and  announced  that  supper  was ready.



                                                                                                    TME PYRE
                                                      SUPPIR  WAS  B0111D  beans,  samphire  and  a  little  salt fish,
                                                      served  with  beer  sent  over  by  Constable  Unthank. Tamora
                                                      wanted  to  return  to  the  Weazel,  but  Yama  refused. He
                                                      knew  that  the  Aedile  might  not  last  the  night,  and wanted
                                                      to  be  with him.
                                                        He  lay  down  just  outside  the  partitioned  space where
                                                      the  Aedile  rested.  His  arms  and  legs  tingled  and  felt heavy;
                                                      he  was  very  tired.  The  heat  of  the  stove  beat  through the
                                                      curtains.  On  the  other  side  of  the  big  orange marquee,
                                                      Tamora  and  Pandaras  talked  in  low,  sleepy  voices with
                                                      Sergeant  Rhodean.  All  of  them  sounded  a  little drunk;
                                                      perhaps  they  had  finished  the  beer.  Yama  tried  to  read a
                                                      little  in  the  Puranas,  beginning  with  the  sura  about good
                                                      and  evil  he  had  quoted  to  the  Aedile,  but  the  columns of
                                                      glyphs  bluffed  into  his  drowsy,  not  unpleasant headache,
                                                      and  he  fell  asleep  almost  at once.
                                                        He  dreamed  that  he  was  riding  a  moa  across  the grass
                                                      
plains  amongst  drifting  constellations  of  tiny  lights and
                                                      felt  a  tremendous  sense  of  exhilaration  as  the  bird's long
                                                      powerful  legs  ate  up  the  distance-but  then  the  bird stumbled
                                                        or  he  fell  and  he  woke  with  a  horrible start.
                                                        He  was  lying  on  the  ground.  Vague  shapes moved
             around  him  in  near  darkness.  His  head  ached  and his
             mouth  was  dry.  When  he  tried  to  get  up something
             smashed  into  his  chest  and  knocked  him  on  to  his back.
               "Enough  of  that,"  a  man  said.  "We  decided  what we'd
             do  and  we'll  stick  to it.
               Yama  was  lifted  up  then,  but  his  legs  were unstrung
             and  he  fell  to  his  knees.  His  gorge  rose  and  he  vomited a
             sour  mess  of  half-digested  beans  and beer.
               Constable  Unthank  squatted  so  that  his  fat,  round face
             was  level  with  Yama's.  "That'll  pass,"  he  said. "We
             laced  the  beer  with  liquor  from  boiled  pufferfish  livers. It
             knocked  you  out nicely."
               Behind  the  Constable,  men  were  moving  to  and fro,
             piling  branches  on  top  of  a  conical  heap  already twice
             their  height.  The  Eye  of  the  Preservers  stood  above the
             flat  horizon,  peering  through  a  rent  in  the  clouds. The
             grass  plain  was  black  in  the  Eye's  sullen  red  light, and
             studded  with  tall  slabs  like  the  markers  of  the  graves of
             giants-termite  castles,  Yama  realized.  Each  housed a
             mind  shattered  in  a  million  fragments,  through which
             
strange  slow  thoughts  rolled  like  the  waves  that rolled
             from  one  side  of  the  river  to  the  other,  and  each fragmented
               mind  was  linked  to  its  neighbors,  a network
             stretching  along  the  straight  edge  of  the  world ...
               Constable  Unthank  slapped  Yama's  face  to  get  his attenA   
   6,
   R         tion,  grabbed  his  wrists  and  hauled  him  to  his  feet. This
             time,  Yama  found  that  he  could  stand.  His  copy  of the
   4K,
   ;,3,
   N         Puranas  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  with  an  oddly tender
             gesture  Unthank  picked  it  up  and  placed  it  in  one  of the
             pockets  of  Yama's  homespun tunic.
               "You'd  been  reading  in  that  before  the  beer  got to
             you,"  he  said,  "and  you'll  need  it  where  you're going.
             See  to  him,  lads.  Remember  that  he  can  play  tricks,  so do
             it properly."
   A           One  of  Unthank's  sons  seized  Yama's  hands, wrenched
             them  behind  his  back  and  tied  them  at  the  wrists.  He was
             breathing  heavily,  and  stank  of  beer.  "He  has  one  of those
             charms  the  greenies  wear.  Much  good  it'll  do  him," he



                                                       said,  and  spat  in  Yama's  face  and  would  have  hit him,
                                                       but  Unthank  caught  his arm.
                                                          "Leave  that  off,"  Unthank  said.  "This  will  be done
                                                      properly."
                                                          "For  Lud  and  Lob,"  Unthank's  son  hissed  in Yama's
                                                      ear.
                                                          Unthank  spat  on  the  ground  between  his  feet. "They
                                                       were  no  sons  of  mine.  They  were  too  stupid  to  live. I
                                                       reckon  my  first-wife  had  been  lying  with  a  grampus when
                                                       she  got  them.  They  brought  shame  on  our  family, and
                                                       anyone  who  defends  them  can  fight  me  here  and  now. But
                                                       none  of  you  are  ready,  you  little  scum,  and  Lud  and Lob
                                                       never  would  have  been  ready.  I'd  have  ripped  their throats
                                                       the  moment  they  tried.  This  isn't  for  them.  This  is  for all
                                                       our  people.  A  burning  for  a burning."
                                                          With  a  clean  shock,  Yama  suddenly  understood what
                                                       they  intended  to  do.  He  tried  to  pull  from  the  grip of
                                                       Unthank's  son,  but  the  man  held  steady.  Yama  had faced
                                                       worse  danger  than  
this,  but  he  had  never  before  felt such
                                                       fear  as  he  felt  now.  The  Puranas  counseled  that  no one
                                                       need  fear  death,  for  the  breath  of  the  Preservers  lived in
                                                       the  brain  of  each  and  every  changed  citizen.  When the
                                                       Preservers  returned  at  the  end  of  time,  everyone  on the
                                                       world,  including  all  the  dead,  would  rise  into  their grace
                                                       and  live  forever.  But  although  the  Puranas  taught that
                                                       death  was  nothing  more  than  a  moment  of  unbeing between
                                                         last  breath  and  rebirth  into  eternal  life  at  the everlasting
                                                         final  moment  of  the  Universe,  they  did not
                                                       counsel  how  to  face  dying.  Yama  had  been  close to
                                                       death  before,  but  in  every  case  he  had  not  realized it
                                                       until  after  the  event.  When  he  and  Tamora  had been
                                                       ambushed  at  the  Gate  of  Double  Glory,  or  when  he and
                                                       Eliphas  had  been  chased  by  the  hell-hound,  he  had been
                                                       too  busy  trying  to  save  his  life  to  feel  real  fear.  But now,
                                                       in  the  implacable  grip  of  his  enemies,  confronted  with the
                                                       manner  of  death  which  they  wished  upon  him,  he  felt fear
                                                       
beating  inside  him  with  such  force  that  he  thought  it might
                                                       burst  his chest.
                Unthank's  son  said,  "He's  trembling  like  a  wife  on her
             first night."
                "Little  you  know  about  that,"  Unthank  said. "Little
             you'll  ever  know  about  it,  you  worm.  Bring  him  on before
            he   faints.  We'll  get  this  done  and  get  back  before he's
             missed,  and  before  the  rain  comes  too.  I  don't  much like
             the  look  of  those clouds."
                Yama  felt  a  measure  of  anger  then.  He  would  not be
             thought  a  coward.  He  could  not  stop  his  limbs shaking,
             but  he  drew  himself  up  and  marched  as  best  he  could, so
             that  Unthank's  son  had  to  double  his  pace  to  keep  up. He
             felt  as  if  a  door  had  closed  behind  him,  and  with  it  all of
             his  life  had  been  shut  away.  There  was  only  the  pyre and
             the  warm  damp  wind  and  the  hiss  of  bending  grasses, the
             ceaselessly  winnowed  grasses  all  around  them,  black in
             the  dull  red  light  of  the  Eye  of  the Preservers.
                Yama  was  led  into  the  trampled  circle  around  the pyre.
             The  men  crowded  around,  pushing  and  shoving  to  get to
             the  first  rank.  Almost  all  of  the  male  citizens  of Aeolis
             were  there.  They  were  mostly  naked,  their  loose  gray or
             brown  skins  glistening  in  the  light  of  the  burning brands
             
they  held,  their  little  eyes  glinting.  Their  sibilant breath
             whistled  at  a  hundred  different  keys.  Yama recognized
             some  of  them  as  his  childhood  companions  and  he called
             to  them  by  name,  but  they  turned  away  and  would not
            answer.
                Unthank  made  a  long  speech.  Yama  paid  little attention
             to  it.  He  had  a  sudden  great  urge  to  shout  or  burst into
             wild  laughter  to  break  the  remorseless  unfolding  of Unthank's
               spell,  but  he  suppressed  the  impulse.  There was
             no  spell  to  break.  Unthank  talked  of  honor,  of  home and
             hearth,  of  revenge  and  return  and  rebuilding,  of  justice for
             all,  not  merely  for  those  in  power.  It  was  the  cry  of all
             men  who  feel  that  they  have  less  power  than  they deserve.
             Yama  allowed  it  to  become  mere  noise.  He  let  his mind
             range  outward,  seeking  any  trace  of  a  machine  that might
             help  him.  Nothing,  nothing  but  the  fragmented minds
             housed  within  the  slabs  of  the  termite  castles,  unified by
             slow  waves  of  thought.  Yama  began  to  follow  the connec-



                                                         tions  from  castle  to  castle-they  spread  all  around, further
                                                         than  he  could  see-but  the  man  who  held  him  cuffed his
                                                         head  and  told  him  to  wake  up  and  pay attention.
                                                            Clouds  had  pulled  across  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers. The
                                                         men  held  their  torches  high;  flames  guttered  and  flared in
                                                         the  wind.  Something  drummed  far  off-thunder, rolling
                                                         amongst  the  thickening  clouds.  Unthank,  standing before
                                                         two  men  holding  up  torches,  was  pointing  at  Yama with
                                                         his  swagger  stick.  He  had  worked  himself  up  to  a fever
                                                         of  righteous  anger.  His  nostrils  flared  wide;  white showed
                                                         at  the  edges  of  his  eyes.  His  flabby  crest  had  risen  on top
                                                         of  his  tuberculate  scalp.  His  finger,  his  hand,  his  arm quivered
                                                         .  His  voice  rose  in  pitch  as  it  grew  louder,  as if
                                                         squeezed  through  a  narrowing  gap  in  his throat.
                                                            "There  is  the  cause,"  Unthank  said.  "There  is the
                                                         stranger  who  hid  amongst  us.  I  was  there  when  he was
                                                         taken  from  the  river,  and  it  shames  me  that  I  did  not fight
                                                         and  kill  my  weak  
and  foolish  father  then,  and  kill  this one
                                                         too.  We  have  been  punished  because  of  him  and  he has
                                                         delivered  himself  into  our  hands.  We'll  have  our revenge,
                                                         and  clean  our  house.  We'll  make  our  own  justice, because
                                                         none  will  make  it  for  us.  He's  our  bad  luck,  and we'll
                                                         burn  it  and  start  again.  burn him!"
                                                            The  men  took  up  the  cry.  Yama  was  lifted  up  and set
                                                         on  a  chair,  and  lashed  to  it  with  a  rope  that  went three
                                                         times  around  his  chest.  A  sudden  strong  cold  wind gusted
                                                         straight  down  out  of  the  black  sky,  flattening  grass all
                                                         around  the  pyre  and  snuffing  more  than  half  the torches
                                                         of  the  watching  men.  Every  hair  stood  up  on  Yama's head;
                                                         his  whole  skin  tingled.  Four  men  hauled  him  backward up
                                                         the  uneven  slope  and  set  him  at  its  summit  and scampered
                                                         away,  while  others  shook  brandy  and  paraffin  over the
                                                         lower  part  of  the pyre.
                                                            Unthank  stepped  forward  and  with  an  almost careless
                                                         gesture  threw  a  torch  on  to  the  base  of  the  pyre.  At once
                                                         
brandy  ignited  with  a  dull  thump  and  blue  flames licked
                                                         up.  The  others  threw  their  torches,  too-they  flew  out of
                                                         the  darkness  like  falling  stars,  shedding  tails  of  yellow fire
                                                         as  they  tumbled  end  for  end.  One  struck  Yama  on the
            chest  and  showered  him  with  sparks  as  it  spun  away. Heat
            beat  at  his  feet  and  legs.  White  smoke  rolled  around him
            as  wet  wood  smoldered  before  bursting  into  flame. He
            coughed  and  coughed,  but  could  not  get  his  breath. Perhaps
              he  would  suffocate  before  he  burned,  a  small mercy.
               Then  the  smoke  was  parted  by  a  sudden  gust  of cold
            wind,  and  Yama  glimpsed  the  men  below.  They seemed
            to  be  dancing.  More  smoke  rolled  up,  dense  and choking.
            Yama  lifted  his  head  as  an  animal  part  of  him, blindly
            seeking  survival,  struggled  to  draw  breath.  And  cold hard
            hail  struck  his  upturned  face,  pouring  down everywhere
            from  the  sky,  blowing  in  great  drenching billows.
               Yama  was  soaked  to  the  skin  in  an  instant.  The smoke
            blew  out  in  a  circle  all  around  him.  Yama  shouted into
            the  wind  and  hail.  He  could  not  remember  afterward what
           he   had  shouted,  only  knew  that  he  laughed  and  sang as
           he   struggled  to  get  free.  He  was  mad  with  life.  His sight
            pulsed  red  and  black.  Below,  lit  by  intermittent  strobes of
            lightning,  the  men  were  sinking  into  the  ground.  It  was as
            if  it  had  turned  to  water  beneath  them.  They thrashed
            waist-deep  in  muck  which  glinted  and  shimmered  as it
            boiled  around them.
               Yama  fell  over,  rolling  with  the  chair  at  his  back 
down
            a  collapsing  slope  of  charred  branches.  When  he  came to
           a   stop  at  the  bottom  of  the  pyre,  the  men  had vanished.
            The  raging  thing  still  possessed  him.  He  thrust  his face
            into  the  mud  and  chewed  and  gobbled  and swallowed.
               Then  he  was  on  his  knees,  still  tied  to  the  chair, sick
            and  frightened.  He  spat  out  a  mouthful  of  mud  in which
            silvery  things  squirmed;  his  stomach clenched.
               As  he  struggled  to  free  himself,  he  thought  wildly that
            the  men  had  run,  that  they  would  soon  recover  their courage
              and  come  back  and  finish  what  they  had  begun. But
            then  lightning  flashed  again,  so  close  that  thunder boomed
            in  the  same  moment.  In  that  instant  Yama  saw,  just in
            front  of  his  face,  a  hand  reaching  up  from  the  mud. Silvery
            insects  swarmed  over  the  fingers.  When  lightning flashed
            again,  the  hand  was  gone,  and  the  hail  softened  and became
              merely rain.



                                                        At  last,  Yama  managed  to  free  his  hands.  He  pulled at
                                                      the  rope  that  bound  him  to  the  chair  until  the  loops, loosened
                                                        by  the  tumble  down  the  pyre,  finally  unraveled. He
                                                      staggered  to  his  feet.  Rain  beat  all  around  him. Lightning
                                                      defined  from  moment  to  moment  the  termite  castles in
                                                      one  direction,  the  edge  of  the  world  in  the  other.  He was
                                                      quite alone.
                                                  ANOTHIR ORPNAK
             T N   S  T  0  R  M  R  0  111  D  past  but  the  rain  continued  to  pour down
             as  if  it  might  never  end,  as  if  the  whole  of  the  Great River
             had  been  upended  into  the  sky  and  was  now  falling back
             to  the  world.  The  rain  flattened  the  long  grass and
             drenched  Yama's  clothes.  It  fell  so  heavily  that  he feared
             that  he  might  drown  every  time  a  squall  blew  into  his face.
                Upriver,  lightning  flickered  and  thunder  rolled  in the
             narrow  margin  between  land  and  cloud.  Eldritch lights
             played  around  the  tall  narrow  slabs  of  the  termite castles,
             crowning  them  with  wispy  blue  fire.  Searching  for shelter
             on  the  flat  plain,  frightened  that  the  ground  might  at any
             moment  boil  and  liquefy  beneath  his  feet  or  that  he might
             be  struck  by  lightning,  Yama  saw  a  dot  of  white light
             burning  in  the  distance,  as  if  a  star  had  fallen  to  
the shore
             of  Confluence,  and  at  the  same  moment  felt  the  coin he
             had  found  in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the People
             grow  warm  in  his  tunic  pocket.  He  took  it  out: grainy
             configurations  of  light  were  shifting  restlessly  within it.
             He  knew  at  once  what  the  distant  speck  must  be.  With no
             other  compass  point  in  the  windy,  rainy  dark,  he stumbled
             toward it.
                It  was  a  shrine,  a  black  disc  standing  on  a  strip  of naked



                                                        keelrock  at  the  very  edge  of  the  world.  There  were many
                                                        shrines  scattered  across  the  farside  shore.  No  one  had ever
                                                        built  temples  around  them.  They  were  marked  by cairns
                                                        and  prayer  flags  and  prayer  wheels,  and  some  had slab
                                                        altars  raised  before  them  for  the  sacrifice  of  animals, but
                                                        otherwise  they  had  been  left  as  they  had  been  found, open
                                                        to  nature.  Many  people  believed  that  the  avatars  of the
                                                        Preservers,  which  the  heretics  had  silenced  in  every shrine
                                                        in  the  temples  of  the  civilized  lands  of  the  nearside shore,
                                                        sometimes  still  appeared  in  these  remote  shrines  when no
                                                        one  was  watching,  or  that  they  appeared  before  secret congregations
                                                          of  moas,  red  foxes  and  ground sloths.
                                                          This  shrine  was  marked  by  a  kind  of  ragged teepee
                                                        which  towered  beyond  it,  built  of  bamboo  and brushwood
                                                        on  a  bamboo  platform  that  jutted  over  the  edge  of the
                                                        world.  The  teepee  was  draped  with  prayer  flags  that had
                                                        been  tattered  and  bleached  by  years  of  exposure,  and at
                                                        the  very  top,  
a  single  threadbare  banner  streamed  out in
                                                        the  rain  and  the  constant wind.
                                                          As  Yama  approached  the  shrine,  fluttering banderoles
                                                        of  all  colors  bled  into  the  white  light,  as  if  it  was  a window
                                                        that  had  turned  toward  a  festival  sky.  Rain  fell  all around
                                                        with  undiminished  intensity,  but  it  did  not  fall  close to
                                                        the shrine.
                                                          Yama  sat  down  on  smooth  dry  keelrock  bathed  in flickering
                                                          multicolored  light.  He  took  off  his  sodden  tunic and
                                                        spread  it  out,  and  shook  water  from  the  pages  of  his copy
                                                        of  the  Puranas.  He  was  drenched  and  shivering,  and kept
                                                        coughing  up  strings  of  mucus  blackened  by  smoke inhalation
                                                        .  His  mouth  was  filled  with  the  swamp  taste  of the
                                                        mud  he  had  eaten  in  his  fit  of  madness.  He  knew that
                                                        he  was  being  watched  and  he  thought  that  he  knew who
                                                        was watching.
                                                          He  said,  "Well,  you  brought  me here."
                                                          He  said,  "I  suppose  you  will  say  that  you  saved my
                                                       life.
                                                          He  said,  "I  
am  not  your  creature.  It  will  be  day soon,
                                                        and  then  I  will go."
                                                          As  before,  as  in  the  shrine  of  the  Temple  of  the Black
               Well,  the  fluttering  colors  parted  like  a  curtain  and the
               woman  was  suddenly  in  there  in  her  garden, looking
               through  the  round  window  of  the  shrine  as  if  peering into
               a  house.  The  green  light  of  the  garden  washed  into the
               rainy  night.  The  woman  looked  no  different  from  her first
               appearance:  long  black  hair  and  bronze  blade  of  a  face, a
               clinging  white  garment  with  tubes  for  arms  and  legs. Yama
               discovered  that  he  no  longer  feared  her.  Worse  things lived
               in  the  space  beyond  the  shrines;  he  had  conquered  one of
               them.  He  would  conquer  her, too.
                  She  said,  "You  are  there.  You  really  are.  I've been
               searching  for  so  long  since  I  last  saw  you.  You're learning,
               Yamamanarna.  I'm  pleased.  I  saw  you  twice  in  that moun
               tain  of  a  building  in  the  old  city,  but  I  couldn't  speak to
               you.  Most  of  these  windows  don't  work  at  all.  Most of
               the  rest  only  work  one  way.  I  saw  you  as  you  passed by,
               
and  I  called  out,  but  you  didn't  hear.  But  this  one works.
               You  called  me,  and  here  I  am.  Where  is  it?  How  did you
               find it?"
                  "Then  you  did  not  save  my life?"
                  "Wait."  The  woman  closed  her  eyes,  then slowly
               smiled  and  opened  them  again.  "Now  I  know  where you
               are.  As  I  told  you,  the  shrines  on  the  far  side  of  the river
               do  still  work.  Some  of  them,  anyway.  This  one,  at least.
               How  clever  of  you  to  find  it!  Do  you  think  I  saved your
              life?"
                  Yama  described  what  had  happened  to  the  men who
               had  tried  to  kill  him.  When  he  had  finished,  the woman
               shook  her  head  gravely.  "You  shouldn't  meddle  in what
               you  don't  understand,  Yamamanama.  You  are  still  so very
               young,  and  there  is  so  much  that  I  can  teach  you.  Do you
               know  what  they  are-the  things  you  call termites?"
                  Yama  remembered  Telmon's  nature  lessons.  He said,
               "Communal  insects.  They  live  together  like  bees or
              emmets.
                  "I  suppose  that  they  were  once  insects.  They've been
               changed,  just  as  the  originals  of  the  other  bloodlines of
               this  habitat  were  changed  when  they  were  brought here.
               The  termites  have  retained  their  social  structure,  with a



                                                       queen,  a  male  suitor,  and  billions  of  daughter  workers and
                                                       soldiers  and  builders,  but  they  have  been  quickened  to a
                                                       kind  of  communal  intelligence.  Each  castle  is  a single
                                                       processor,  and  all  the  processors  are  linked  together  in a
                                                       massive  parallel  architecture.  Just  as  the  billions  of insects
                                                       in  each  colony  are  united  to  form  a  single  castle,  so the
                                                       thousands  of  castles  are  united  in  a  single meta-structure."
                                                          "I  could  feel  their  thoughts.  I  could  feel  that  the castles
                                                       were  linked.  But  I  do  not  know  what  they  were thinking."
                                                          The  woman  smiled.  She  said,  "No  more  do  1.  But they
                                                       responded  to  your  call,  so  you  should  not  be  afraid of
                                                       them.  They  killed  your  enemies,  and  it  is  likely  that they
                                                       created  the  storm  that  drenched  the  fire,  too.  A simple
                                                       matter  of  changing  the  relative  difference  in electrical
                                                       charge  between  ground  and  air.  Your  power  grows, Yamamanama
                                                       .  I  can  help  you  discover  its  limits.  We  can do
                                                       great  things  together,  darling.  We  can  end  the  silly war.
                                                       We  can  bring  revenge  
on  those  who  destroyed your
                                                      home."
                                                          "I  wondered  if  you  knew  about  that,"  Yama  said, remembering
                                                         what  the  Aedile  had  confided  to  him.  "I suppose
                                                         that  you  used  the  shrine  in  the  temple  at Aeolis."
                                                          "I  have  seen  you  there,  from  time  to  time,  but  I have
                                                       never  been  able  to  speak  to  you.  It  has  been  very frustrating
                                                       ,  but  now  you  can  waken  the  shrines  fully.  Now we
                                                       can  help  each  other.  You  want  revenge.  You  want  to be
                                                       reunited  with  your  true  family.  I  want  the  war  to end.
                                                       With  my  knowledge  and  your  power  we  can  do  all of
                                                       these  things,  and more."
                                                          Yama  thought  of  the  man  who  had  given  him  the first
                                                       coin,  which  had  been  taken  from  him  in  the Department
                                                       of  Indigenous  Affairs.  He  said,  "Was  the  anchorite one
                                                       of  your creatures?"
                                                          "I  have  no  creatures.  I  possess  nothing  but  what  I know,
                                                       Fortunately,  even  though  many  of  the  files  are corrupted,
                                                       that  is  a  very  great  deal.  Certainly  I  know  more  than anyone
                                                         
else  on  this  strange world."
                                                          I  'If  you  have  knowledge  but  no  power,  then  I have
                                                       power  without  the  knowledge  of  how  to  control  it. You
                might  say  that  I  am  inhabited  by  a  power  which  uses me,
                just  as  it  used  the  termites  or  the  hell-hound.  Perhaps you
                are  using  me  through  this power."
                   "You  are  my  secret  sharer.  You  called  me  at  the temple,
                if  you  remember.  And  when  you  were  bound,  in  the middle
                  of  the  fire,  whom  did  you  call  on then?"
                   "How  did  you  know  about  the fire?"
                   "Why,  the  termites  told  me.  Did  you  call  on me?"
                   "I  believe  that  I  called  on  the Preservers."
                   The  woman  smiled,  showing  her  small,  white, even
                teeth.  "Perhaps  you  did,  but  they  did  not  answer. They
                will  never  answer,  will  they?  They  cannot.  They  have gone
                where  no  light  will  escape  until  evaporation  of  the event
                horizon  at  the  end  of  time.  Oh,  once  upon  a  time their
                avatars  could  hear  your  prayers  and  relay  them  to the
                Preservers.  But  the  Preservers  could  never  reply.  Light can
                fall  into  the  gravity  well  of  the  black  hole,  you  know, but
                not out.
                   Yama  knew.  It  was  in  the  last  sura  of  the Puranas.
                   
"I've  explored  many  places  inside  these  windows," the
                woman  said,  "and  I've  yet  to  find  more  than  an  echo of
                the  avatars.  They  were  here  with  me  for  a  little  while, but
                now  they  have  all  gone.  They  have  gone,  and  left  no trace
                of  their passing."
                   "The  heretics  drove  them out."
                   "The  avatars  were  already  weak,  darling.  There  is much
                ancient  damage  in  this  network.  There  was  a  war here
                long  before  the  heretics,  between  those  machines which
                refused  to  serve  and  those  which  remained  loyal  to their
                creators.  It  caused  far  more  damage  than  anything  the heretics
                  did.  But  we  can  redeem  the  world,  you  and  1. Perhaps
                you  can  even  bring  back  the  avatars.  Have  you  thought of
                that?  As  for  how  you  were  saved,  perhaps  you  called on
                your  own  self  If  some  power  does  inhabit  you,  don't you
                think  that  it  is  as  much  a  part  of  you  as  I  am  of the
                shrines?  I  cannot  live  outside  the  space  within the
                shrines-not  yet-and  what  you  call  your  power cannot
                live  outside  you.  Therefore,  you  must  trust  it,  because its



                                                       survival  depends  upon  your  survival.  If  it  could,  it would
                                                       make  you  live forever."
                                                          Yama  laughed  at this      transparent  blasphemy.  He saw
                                                       now  how  little  power  the  woman  had.  Only  words, and
                                                       she  did  not  know  how to       use  them  against  him.  He was
                                                       no  longer  afraid  of  her.  He  said,  "All  those  created by
                                                       the  Preservers  will  die,  yes,  but  they  will  live  again, and
                                                       forever,  in  the  last  moment  of  infinite  time.  But  no one
                                                       lives  forever  in  the  first life."
                                                          "Perhaps  you  will.  I know      of  the  infection  that  all the
                                                       changed  races  carry,  but  I  confess  that  it  is  beyond my
                                                       ability  to  understand  how  it  works.  It  appears  to store
                                                       information  within  the  hidden  dimensions  of  space, and
                                                       although  we  knew  that  this  was  theoretically  possible, we
                                                       did  not  have  the  tools  with  which  to  manipulate those
                                                      dimensions.
                                                          "But  there  are  many  ways  of  living  forever.  My original
                                                       died  and  rose  again  many  times  before  she  was  cast ont
                                                                                                                    
0
                                                       this  strange  wild  shore.  She  died  here,  but  she  will be
                                                       born  again  elsewhere.  And  before  she  died  she copied
                                                       herself  into  the  space  between  the  shrines.  I  am  that copy.
                                                       I  should  have  been  erased,  but  they  came  for  my original
                                                       before  my  task  was completed."
                                                          The  woman  lifted  her  hands  as  if  to  touch  her shoulders
                                                       with  her  wrists.  It  was  a  kind  of  shrug.  "My  original was
                                                       killed  and  her  ship  fled,  and  I  linger  here.  I  will  live as
                                                       long  as  the  world  lives.  It  is  hard  to  watch  the  world and
                                                       not  be  able  to  help  it,  but  not  as  hard,  I  think,  as  to have
                                                       the  power  to  help  the  world,  and  not  be  able  to  use it."
                                                          "Then  you  were  once alive?"
                                                          "Don't  you  listen?  I  was  never  alive.  I  am  a  copy of
                                                       my  original,  as  she  was  a  copy  of  the  template  of the
                                                       original  of  us  all.  Our  original  was  born  millions  of years
                                                       ago.  She  died  long  ago,  but  lives  on  in  a  series  of copies.
                                                       She  has  died  and  risen  again  many  times.  Perhaps  she is
                                                       
the  last  true  human,  now  that  the  Preservers  have drawn
                                                       the  event  horizon  around  themselves.  We  hoped otherwise,
                                                       and  perhaps  the  ship  will  find  some  remnants  of humanity
               elsewhere  in  the  Galaxy,  but  the  search  could  take thousands
                 of  years  even  if  the  ship  is cloned."
                 Yama  did  not  understand  any  of  this,  but  he thought
               that  if  he  drew  the  woman  out,  she  might  let  slip useful
               knowledge.  He  said,  "Something  keeps  the  rain away
               from  the  shrine,  but  I  wish  I  could  light  a  fire.  The light
               gives  no  warmth  and  I  am  cold.  Too  cold  to  sleep, too
               tired  not  to.  Talk  to  me.  I  am  frightened  that  if  I  go to
               sleep  I  might  not  wake up."
                 He  thought  of  his  father  lying  under  the  fur  throws in
               the  close  heat  of  the  little  room,  of  the  coldness  of his
               father's  hand.  His  tunic  was  still  wet,  but  he  put  it back
               on  and  wrapped  his  arms  around himself
                 "Talk  to  me,"  he  said  again.  "Tell  me  about  your original
               .  Was  she  one  of  the  Ancients  of  Days?  Someone I
               met  described  two  of  them  to  me-he  had  not  seen them,
               but  his  father  had-and  they  wore  clothing  like yours."
                 "I  have  already  explained  what  she  was.  What  she is."
                 "The  last  human.  But  there  are  many  kinds  of human
              here."
                 
"She  was  the  last  original  human.  You  are  not human.
               None  of  you  are  human.  You  have  been  shaped  to approximate
                 human  form,  that's  all.  For  all  I  know,  your ancestors
               were  methane-breathing  mud  puppies  or hydrogen-filled
               photosynthesizing  blimps  in  a  gas  giant's  upper atmosphere
               .  But  what  you  call  the  Ancients  of  Days  were truly
               human.  They  were  all  different  aspects  of  the  same individual
               ,  and  my  original  was  the  synthesis  of  them  all, a
               true  copy  whose  lineage  stretched  back  through millions
               of  years  to  a  human  being  long dead."
                 "Why  did  the  Ancients  of  Days  come  here?  Why did
               they  go away?"
                 "Their  ship  brought  them  here.  They  had  been asleep
              a  long  time.  No,  not  asleep,  but  not  dead  either. They
               were  stored,  neither  living  nor  dead,  like  a  story  that lies
               within  the  printed  pages  of  a  book  and  lives  only when
               the  book  is  taken  from  a  shelf  and  someone  begins  to read
               it.  Did  you  ever  stop  to  think  that  when  you  lay  a book



                                                     down,  its  story  only  half-read,  time  stops  in  the  story until
                                                     you  pick  it  up again?"
                                                       There  were  books  in  the  library  of  the  peel-house which
                                                     had  not  been  opened  for  so  long  that  their  pages  had fused
                                                     together.  For  those  books,  time  had  stopped  or  it  had vanished
                                                     ,  leaving  the  words  of  the  stories  stranded nowhereor
                                                       all  the  time  stored  within  had  become  the  same time,
                                                     happening  everywhere  at  once,  as  at  the  beginning  or end
                                                     of  the Universe.
                                                       Yama  said,  "In  a  story,  centuries  can  pass  between one
                                                     sentence  and  the  next.  If  this  was  a  story,  I  could walk
                                                     away  and  within  a  moment  be  sleeping  safe  and  dry in
                                                     my  own bed."
                                                       "Or  perhaps  you  would  find  your  place  in  the  story had
                                                     ended  and  that  you  no  longer existed."
                                                       "Then  I  suppose  that  I  would  have  to  wait  until someone
                                                       started  to  read  from  the  beginning.  You  said  that you
                                                     were  created  here,  but  you  seem  to  remember  things from
                                                     the  time  before  you  were created."
                                                       
The  woman  said,  "In  my  language,  the  language in
                                                     which  I  was  coded,  not  that  which  I  have  learned  so that
                                                     I  can  talk  to  you  and  read  the  records  of  this  world, my
                                                     name  means  messenger.  It  was  the  name  of  my original,
                                                     and  so  it  is  my  name,  too.  She  brought  a  message  to this
                                                     world,  although  she  did  not  realize  it  at  the  time.  I was
                                                     created  by  her  to  find  out  why  she  was  changing  what she
                                                     changed,  all  unknowing.  Rather  like  you,  Yama.  I  am like
                                                     a  reflection  that  instead  of  aping  the  movements  of the
                                                     real  person  gains  independent  life  and  walks  off  into the
                                                     world  beyond  the  frame  of  the  mirror.  Because  I  am a
                                                     copy,  I  remember  something  of  the  story  before  my own
                                                     part  was written."
                                                       "Tell  me  what  you  remember.  I  would  like  to hear
                                                     your story.
                                                       "Listen,  then.  Millions  of  years  ago,  while  all  of what
                                                     would  become  humanity  lived  on  the  nine  worlds and
                                                     thousand  moons  and  worldlets  of  a  single  star  in  the Sky
                                                     Hunter  arm  of  the  Galaxy,  there  was  a  religion which
                                                     
taught  that  individuals  need  never  die.  It  embraced every
                 kind  of  technology  that  could  promote  this  end,  and admitted
                   no  god  except  the  possibility  that,  at  the  very  end of
                 the  Universe,  all  of  its  followers  might  unite  in  a single
                 entity  which  would  have  access  to  an  infinite  amount of
                 energy  and  so  be  able  to  recreate  all  possibilities, including
                 every  human  that  ever  lived  or  might  have lived.
                   "It  was  this  religion  which  first  drove  humanity from
                 star  to  star.  Individuals  copied  their  personalities  into cornputers
                 ,  or  cloned  themselves,  or  spread  their personalities
                 through  flocks  of  birds,  or  shoals  of  fish,  or  even amongst
                 hive  insects  like  your  termites.  They  called  themselves the
                 transcendents,  for  they  believed  that  they  could become
                i
                  ore  than human.
                n
                    In  two  million  years  every  part  of  the  Galaxy  had been
                 explored;  in  three  more,  every  part  had  been  settled, and
                 the  great  reshaping  had  begun,  transforming  every  star and
                 every  planet.  My  original  once  held  a  gathering  around a
                 rim  star  several  thousand  light-years  above  the  plane of
                 
the  Galaxy.  For  a  whole  century,  on  a  world  shaped across
                 its  entire  surface  into  something  like  the  gardens  in which
                 you  see  me  standing,  a  clade  composed  of  millions of
                 copies  of  a  hundred  or  more  different  generations  met and
                 exchanged experiences.
 f,                "For  there  was  one  flaw  in  this  religion.  Clones and
                 downloaded  copies,  and  copies  of  those  copies,  and clones
                of  those  copies-all  were  different  from  the  original because
                   they  all  experienced  and  encountered different
                 things,  After  millions  of  years,  many  were  no longer
                 human  in  form  or  in  thought,  except  that  they  could trace
                 back,  generation  upon  generation,  their  descent  from  a single
                   human  ancestor.  Thus,  each  individual  became  a clade
                 or  alliance  of  millions  of  different  minds.  Some even
                 founded  nations  or  empires  in  which  every individual
                 could  trace  ancestry  back  to  a  single person.
                   "The  gathering  organized  by  my  original  was  one of
                 the  first  and  most  successful.  Many  others  ended  in bitter
                 wars  over  disputes  about  ancestry-at  that  time, tracing
                 consanguinity  was  the  most  important  commerce  in the
                 Galaxy  and  there  were  many  false  claimants  to  the honor



                                                     of  belonging  to  the  original  lineage  of  each  clade. With
                                                     these  wars,  the  hold  of  the  transcendents  weakened and
                                                     the  worlds  of  ordinary  humans  began  to  rise  in influence,
                                                     warring  amongst  themselves  for  control  of  the  ruined empires
                                                       of  the  transcendents.  During  this  time,  much  of the
                                                     imposed  architecture  which  ordered  the  four  hundred billion
                                                       stars  of  the  Galaxy  was  lost  or  destroyed.  Millions of
                                                     stars  were  turned  into  supemovas;  millions  of  others were
                                                     displaced  from  their  orbits  and  sent  wandering  beyond the
                                                     Galaxy.  The  wars  lasted  two  million  years  and  the reconstruction
                                                       after  the  wars  lasted  two  more,  and  at  the end
                                                     of  it  most  of  the  transcendents  had  been  destroyed.  It was
                                                     felt  by  the  commonality  of  surviving  human  stock that
                                                     they  were  a  danger  to  the  variety  and  the  potential for
                                                     evolution  within  and  between  the  civilizations  in the
                                                    Galaxy.
                                                        "My  original,  who  had  once  ruled  an  empire  of millions
                                                     of  planetary  systems,  fled  from  the  crusades  against the
                                                     
transcendents.  She  copied  herself  into  the  central nervous
                                                     system  of  her  ship,  crewed  it  with  partial  copies  of herself,
                                                     and  embarked  on  a  voyage  between  the  Home  Galaxy and
                                                     the  Andromeda  Galaxy  that  lasted  more  than  two million
                                                     years.  She  was  looking  for  truly  alien  civilizations, but
                                                     found  nothing,  and  at  last  decided  to  return.  And  on the
                                                     voyage  home,  while  she  lay  as  dormant  as  a  story between
                                                     the  pages  of  an  unread  book,  her  ship  detected  changes in
                                                     the  Large  Magellanic  Cloud,  one  of  the  satellite galaxies
                                                     of  the  Home  Galaxy.  All  of  its  stars  were  failing toward
                                                     its  gravitational  center.  Their  mass  fed  a  vast  black hole,
                                                     perhaps  the  largest  in  the  Universe.  The  ship  turned toward
                                                     it,  and  when  my  original  woke  the  ship  was approaching
                                                     the  star  of  this  strange  world,  an  artificial  habitat occupied
                                                     by  the  discarded  toys  of  what  humanity  had  become in
                                                     the  four  and  a  half  million  years  since  she  had left.
                                                        "Now  I  am  done  with  talking.  Now  you  must decide
                                                     what  you  will  do.  Together  we  can  unite  in  a common
                                                          
purpose  and  end  the  war.  That  at  least,  for  a beginning.
                                                        Yama  knew  what  he  must  do,  but  he  still  wanted to
                                                     learn  as  much  as  he  could.  He  said,  "Tell  me  more  of the
                  story.  What  happened  when  she  came  here?  What  did she
                  do?  Where  did  she go?"
                     "You  can  read  that  for  yourself,  I  have  placed  it in
                  your  book.  I  have  no  more  words  to  ease  your  night unless
                  you  agree  to  help  me.  If  it  is  warmth  you  require, your
                  companions  can  lend  it  to you."
                     The  woman  pointed  beyond  Yama's  shoulder.  He turned
                  and  saw  with  amazement  that  a  congregation  of many
                  different  animals  had  gathered  at  the  margins  of the
                  shrine's  green  glow.  There  was  a  little  flock  of  moas, their
                  small  heads  raised  alertly  on  long  necks,  their feathers
                  bedraggled  in  the  downpour.  Peccaries  and  tapirs stood
                  shoulder  to  shoulder,  snuffling  softly;  one  peccary sprawled
                  on  the  bare  rock,  suckling  a  pair  of  piglets.  Two giant
                  ground  sloths  squatted  on  their  haunches,  their arms
                  around  each  other's  hairy  shoulders  like  human  lovers. A
                  solitary  buffalo  stood  to  one  side,  its  horn-heavy  head low,
                                               ar
                  
green  light  glinting  in its   I  ge,  liquid  eyes;  two white
                  egrets  perched  on  the  hump  of  muscle  on  its  back.  A ack                                                                        
                  of  red  foxes  sat together,     their  large  ears  set forward
                  alertly.  A  mantid sprawled    in  a  tangle  of  body segments
                  and  many-jointed  limbs, its    tiny  blind  face  turned  to the
                  screen.  There  were  many  smaller  animals,  too:  mice and
                  rock  hyraxes  and molerats,     cassowaries  and  grass pipers,
                  a  writhing  mass  of  kraal  vipers.  At  the  very  front  of this
                  motley  audience,  a  lioness  lay  on  the  dry  keelrock. She
                  was  watching  the  shrine  alertly,  her  pads,  with sheathed
                  claws  that  could  unsearn  Yama  from  neck  to  navel  in an
                  instant,  crossed  before her.
                     All  of  the  animals  were  watching  the  screen,  not Yama,
                  although  the  lioness  shifted  her  hot  yellow  gaze  for  a moment
                    when  he  looked  at  her.  Yama  turned  back  to the
                  woman  and,  remembering  the  stories  told  about  the farside
                  shrines,  said,  "Have  they  come  to worship?"
                      Didn't  you  summon them?"
                     "I  do  not  think  so.  I  do  not know."
                     Even  as  he  said  it,  the  animals  stood  up  and stretched
                  or  shivered  or  shook  their  heads  and  trotted  away  
into the
                  darkness.  Only  the  lioness  remained;  she  yawned, showing



                                                     a  ridged  pink  mouth  and  a  large  pink  tongue lolling
                                                     amongst  racks  of  white  teeth.  A  rumble  filled  the  air, so
                                                     low  in  pitch  that  Yama  felt  it  through  the  scorched soles
                                                     of  his  boots,  in  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  The  lioness was
                                                     purring.  Yama,  remembering  the  cats  of  the peel-house,
                                                     scratched  behind  her  ears;  she  buffeted  him  with  her forehead
                                                       and  licked  his  hand  with  her  dry  rough tongue.
                                                        The  woman  in  white  said,  "We  can  tame  the world,
                                                     you  and  1.  Only  agree  to  it,  my  darling,  and  I  will reveal
                                                     all  manner  of wonders."
                                                        "No,"  Yama  said.  "You  are  a  truer  copy  of  your original
                                                       than  you  think.  You  want  power  as  much  as  she did,
                                                     and  you  would  do  anything  for  it.  She  began  the war
                                                     which  you  want  to  end,  and  I  will  not  be  your servant
                                                     or mouthpiece."
                                                        "We  will  do  this  together.  For  the  sake  of  the world,
                                                     not  for ourselves."
                                                        "No  one  who  wants  power  wishes  to  share  it," Yama
                                                    said.
                                                        The  woman's  appearance  
did  not  change,  but suddenly
                                                     her  exotic  beauty  seemed  filmed  with  something loathsome
                                                     .  She  said,  "Shrines  are  more  than  windows. There
                                                     are  things  I  can  send  into  the  world  and  things  I  can do
                                                     which  will  amaze  and  terrify  you.  There  are  things  I know
                                                     which  I  have  not  yet  told  you.  How  you  came  here, to
                                                     begin  with.  You  will  help  me,  in  one  way  or another."
                                                        "You  could  not  even  speak  to  me  without  my help,"
                                                     Yama  said,  and  called  to  the  creature  he  had  used before,
                                                     which  he  had  once  feared  as  much  as  this  poor abandoned
                                                      aspect.
                                                        Blue  light  flared  in  the  disc  of  the  shrine.  The woman
                                                     did  not  even  have  time  to scream.
                                                        Yama  still  did  not  know  precisely  how  he  had quickened
                                                       the  change  in  the  baby  of  the  mirror  people. But
                                                     later,  as  he  slept  with  his  back  resting  against  the lioness's
                                                     warm  flank,  he  dreamed  that  he  was  flying  over  a dark
                city  in  which  only  a  single  window  glowed.  He circled
                low  over  the  ridged  rooftops  and  saw  a  room illuminated
                by  a  single  point  of  light.  Inside,  a  woman  sat  
at  a plain
                table.  She  was  reading  his  copy  of  the  Puranas.  When she
                looked  up,  he  saw  that  a  firefly  hung  above  her  head, an
                attentive  white  star  that  suddenly  flew  at  him.  Its radiance
                flooded  his  eyes,  and  he woke.
                  It  had  stopped  raining.  The  air  was  growing lighter
               U
                 nder  a  lid  of  gray  cloud.  The  shrine  still  showed the
                 reen  otherwordly  garden,  but  the  woman  was  gone, In               
                her  place  stood  the  blue  flame  of  the  hell-hound;  it had
                watched  over  Yama  all  night.  Yama  thanked  it,  and it
                dwindled  to  an  intense  point  that  took  all  the  light  of the
                shrine  and  left  it  a  dull  black circle.
                  Yama  discovered  that  he  had  been  clutching  the coin
               so  tightly  that  his  fingers  had  cramped.  He  stood  up, stiff
               in  every  joint,  feeling  the  places  where  he  had been
                kicked,  the  rope  burns  across  his  chest,  the  tender bruise
                around  the  upper  part  of  his  left  arm  where  he  had been
                gripped  by  Constable  Unthank's son.
                  The  lioness  lay  with  her  large  paws  crossed  in  front of
                her  and  watched  as  Yama  did  exercises  to  loosen  his joints
                and  warm  his  stiff  muscles.  Then  her  ears  pricked,  
and a
                moment  later,  Yama  heard  someone  shout  his  name. He
                turned  and  saw  someone  coming  toward  him  across the
                 rassy  plain,  picking  their  way  between  the  tall  slabs of               
                the  termite nests.
   F,             The  lioness  sprang  up  and  trotted  off  at  a  leisurely pace,
                parting  the  long  grass  as  if  it  was  a  curtain.  In  the other
               direction  Tamora  began  to  run  toward  him,  and suddenly
               Yama  knew  with  a  dull,  heavy  certainty  that  the Aedile
                was dead.



                                                                                                  ANGEL.
                                                 "IT  WAS  A  lion,"  Tamora  said.  "A  lion  or  a  panther.  It was
                                                 right  beside  him,  and  then  it  was  gone.  It  ran  along the
                                                 edge  of  the  world  like  an  arrow  shot  from  a bow."
                                                   Pandaras  said,  "Most  likely  it  was  an  ordinary  cat. The
                                                 women  of  the  Mud  People  keep  them  as  pets,  and perhaps
                                                 one  of  them  followed  my  master.  I  noticed  that  they kept
                                                 away  from  you,  and  no  doubt  you  scared  off  the  one which
                                                 had  kept  him company."
                                                    "I  know  what  I  saw,"  Tamora  said,  with  grim insistence
                                                 .  "There  was  a  shrine,  too.  It  was  alive.  It  showed a
                                                 garden  and  a  blue  flame,  but  when  I  drew  near  the garden
                                                 had  gone  and  the  shrine  was  as  black  as  your tongue."
                                                   When  the  cateran  was  in  one  of  her  moods,  she gave
                                                 off  a  heavy  scent  that  started  Pandaras's  heart  racing and
                                                 had  him  looking  around  for  hiding  places.  He  was scared
                                                 that  she  might  unseam  him  with  a  gesture,  or  bite  off his
                                                 head  for  a  grisly  snack  or  simply  to  shut  him  up.  But her
                                                 
stubborn  literalness  annoyed  him  so  much  that  he was
                                                 compelled  to  respond  to  it.  Like  most  of  his bloodline,
                                                 Pandaras  preferred  to  speak  and  take  the consequences
                                                 rather  than  regret  a  missed  chance  at  a  witty  remark. So
               instead  of  biting  his  tongue,  he  said,  "No  doubt  the garden
               went  to  the  same  place  as  the lioness."
                  "I  know  what  I  saw,"  Tamora  said  again,  and  spat over
               the  rail  into  the  brown water.
                  The  Weazel,  her  big  triangular  sail  bellying  in  the headwind
               ,  was  slipping  away  from  the  dense  mangroves that
               fringed  the  mudflats;  and  dissected  mires  along  the shore.
               Ahead  was  the  open  river.  It  was  burnished  with  the light
               of  the  setting  sun,  and  drifting  banyans  showed black
               against  it.  A  pair  of  carracks  stood  four  leagues  off, but
               there  was  no  sign  of  the  warship  or  the  picketboat which
               had  pursued  them  from  the  burning  city  to  the floating
              forest.
                  A  long  way  behind  the  Weazel's  spreading  wake, the
               smoke  of  the  embers  of  the  Aedile's  funeral  pyre  sent up
               a  ribbon  of  smoke  that  bent  into  the  dark  sky.  The pyre
                    een  built  on  a  platform  on  top  of  the  ridge  of the
               old  shoreline,  and  the  body,  washed  and  coated  with 
unguents
                 and  oil  of  spikenard,  had  been  laid  amidst heaps
               of  flowers.  Yama  had  lit  the  fire  himself.  Gunpowder and
               flowers  of  sulphur  had  burned  fiercely  at  the  base  of the
               pyre,  and  then  the  sweet  gum  logs  had  caught, crackling
               and  sending  up  dense,  fragrant  white  smoke.  The Aedile's
               body  had  sat  up  in  the  midst  of  the  fire,  as  bodies often
               did  when  heat  dried  and  contracted  the  muscles,  but Yama
               had  shown  no  sign  of  emotion  even  then.  He  had watched
               the  pyre  with  fierce  unblinking  attention, occasionally
               throwing  aromatic  oils  and  salts  of  nitre  onto  the flames,
               until  the  body  of  his  father  was  quite consumed.
                  It  had  taken  several  hours.  Much  later,  as  Yama had
               bent  to  scoop  up  a  bowlful  of  white  ashes  and  bits of
               bone,  Sergeant  Rhodean  had  given  a  cry.  He  had kicked
               aside  smoldering  logs  and  had  plucked  the  Aedile's heart,
               black  and  shriveled  but  unconsurned,  from  the  hot ashes.
               It  had  been  as  hot  as  any  ember  and  Sergeant Rhodean
               had  burned  his  hand  badly,  but  he  had  showed  no  sign of              
                  n.  "I  will  take  it  back  myself,"  he  had  told  Yama. "I
                ai
               will  bury  it  in  the  garden  of  the peel-house."
                  As  the  Weazel  had  set  sail,  Yama  had  thrown handfuls



                                                   of  his  father's  ashes  onto  the  water  while  Captain Lorquital
                                                     had  recited  the  sura  of  the  Puranas  which  told  of the
                                                   resurrection  of  the  dead  at  the  end  of  all  time  and space.
                                                   Now,  he  sat  on  the  forecastle  deck,  leafing  through the
                                                   papers  left  to  him  by  his  father,  and  Tamora  would not
                                                   let  go  of  the  argument  about  what  she  had seen.
                                                      She  told  Pandaras,  "I  can  count  the  men  standing on
                                                   the  decks  of t
                                                                 hose  merchant  ships.  Can  you?  Unless you
                                                   can,  don't  doubt  what  I saw."
                                                      Pandaras  relented.  He  said,  "It's  certainly  true  that you
                                                   do  not have    any  imagination.  If  he  can  tame  men and
                                                   women, then    I  suppose  he  can  also  tame  wild beasts."
                                                      "I  would  have  said  the  second  is  easier  than  the first.
                                                   The  only  way  to  tame  men  is  to  break  their  spirit and
                                                   make  them slaves."
                                                      "Yet  you  follow  him,  and  so  does  the  Captain. Why
                                                   else  would  she  have  brought  her  ship  to  the  farside shore
                                                   and  waited  two  days?  
He  didn't  even  have  to ask-she
                                                   saw  his  need  and  stayed,  when  instead  she  should have
                                                   made  as  much  speed  from  this  cursed  place  as  she could."
                                                      Tamora  said,  "I  am  not  his  slave,  although  I  can't speak
                                                   for  you  or  anyone else."
                                                      "You  don't  have  to  be  a  slave  in  order  to  follow someone
                                                   .  You  can  follow  of  your  own  free  will  and  yet still
                                                   bend  your  life  to  the  service  of  another.  Lovers  do  it all
                                                   the  time,  although  I'm  not  sure  that  what  passes amongst
                                                   your  people  for  sex  could  be  called  love.  My  people are
                                                   used  to  serving  others,  so  perhaps  I'm  able  to  see what's
                                                   happening  to  everyone  on  board  the  ship  while  you deny
                                                  it."
                                                      "Grah.  I  deny  nothing.  That's  cowardice.  Besides, if
                                                   Yama  casts  a  spell,  then  Eliphas  is resistant."
                                                      "I  have  my  suspicions  about  the  old  fellow,  too. My
                                                   master  chooses  to  believe  his  story  about  a  lost  city beyond
                                                     the  end  of  the  river,  but  that  does  not  mean  that I
                                                   must.  He's  entirely  too  familiar  with  the  Captain,  too, and
                                                   
has  a  sly  and  secretive  air  about  him.  I  think  he  has designs
                                                     on  our master."
                  "I  keep  a  careful  watch,"  Tamora  said.  "I  keep watch
               on  everyone.  You  stick  to  washing  and  mending shirts."
                  "Have  you  thought  that  our  master  might  be  able to
               look  after  himself?  He  was  kidnapped,  true,  but  he rescued
               himself  And  the  fisherfolk  came  to  his  rescue earlier."
                  Tamora  shrugged.  "Why  shouldn't  they  help  us? We
               shared  a  common  enemy.  Besides,  they  are  indigens. They
               are  as  easily  swayed  as  a  parrot  or  a  pet  monkey.  Are all
               your  people  so  superstitious  that  they  see  an  invisible hand
               in  all  that  happens?  The  sergeant,  Rhodean,  hasn't followed
                 Yama,  and  nor  have  any  of  the  others  in  the service
               of  the  Aedile.  By  your  argument  they  would  already be
               under  his  spell,  for  he  has  lived  with  them  for  most  of his
               life.  That  they  are  not  suggests  that  there  are  no spells.
               There's  no  magic  in  this  world,  only  old  arts  whose workings
                 have  been  long forgotten."
                  Pandaras  said,  "There's  scarcely  room  for  the Aedile's
               soldiers  on  the  ship.  Perhaps  they  will  follow  in another,
               or  perhaps  our  master  does  not  want  them  to  follow.  If I
               were him-"
                  
"You  claim  to  know  his  mind?  Grah.  You  set yourself
               higher  than  you  can  ever reach."
                  Pandaras  touched  his  fingers  to  his  lips  in supplication.
               "I  have  no  quarrel  with  you,  Tamora.  I  do  not compete
               for  my  master's  affections.  I'm  simply  happy  to  serve him
               as  I  can.  Why,  I  may  hope  only  to  be  remembered in
               some  song  or  other  and  I  would  be  content.  Even  that is
               more  than  a  mere  pot  boy  deserves.  I  have  left  that life
               behind,  and  my  family  too.  I  think  my  master--our master-does
                 the same."
                  Tamora  spat  over  the  side  again.  "You're  a  natural servant
               ,  but  I  have  dedicated  my  life  to  his  service. There's
               a  difference.  You  stick  to  his  laundry.  I  guard  his  life with
               my own."
                  She  said  it  so  fiercely  that  Pandaras  could  not  deny the
               depth  of  the  love  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  admit. He
               changed  the  subject.  "Do  you  think  he  will  speak  of the
               men  who disappeared?"
                  "I  could  follow  their  trail  out  easily  enough.  At  the end



                                                    of  it  I  found  the  remains  of  a  great  fire,  but  no  trace of
                                                    them;  not  so  much  as  a  splash  of  blood.  It  was  as  if they
                                                    had  been  plucked  from  the  face  of  the world."
                                                      Pandaras  said,  "Perhaps  they had."
                                                      "Most  likely  they  grew  frightened  and  ran  away. They
                                                    are  a  bully  race,  all  wind  and  no  spine.  But  Yama spoke
                                                    no  more  than  three  or  four  words  to  me  on  the whole
                                                    journey  back,  and  I  did  not  ask.  Besides,  why  should I
                                                   care?"
                                                      "I  heard  that  they  wanted  to  kill  him,  as  revenge for
                                                    the  burning  of  their  town.  You  can't  deny  they poisoned
                                                    our  beer  to  make  us  sleep.  I  had  the  worst  of headaches
                                                    all  day.  They  took  him  off  and  he  escaped,  and  they are
                                                    vanished.  It  is  a  mystery.  Perhaps  your  lioness  ate them."
                                                      "Not  from  the  way  she  ran.  Be  grateful  that  a headache
                                                   is  all  the  sacrifice  you  have  had  to make."
                                                      Tamora  turned  from  the  rail  and  looked  toward  the little
                                                    forecastle  deck,  where  Yama  sat  cross-legged  under the
                                                    
taut  lines  of  the  yards.  He  had  given  up  looking through
                                                    the  untidy  mass  of  his  father's  papers  and  was  reading in
                                                    his  book,  unconsciously  turning  the  fetish  Oncus  had given
                                                    him  around  and  around  on  his wrist.
                                                      She  said,  "At  least  he  finds  some  comfort  in the
                                                   Puranas."
                                                      The  book  had  changed.  Yama  remembered  what the
                                                    woman  had  said  before  he  had  destroyed  her,  and knew
                                                    now  what  she  had  done.  The  frames  of  the  pictures were
                                                    still  there,  but  the  scenes  they  showed  were  no longer
                                                    heraldic  representations  of  the  deep  time  before  the creation
                                                      of  the  world.  Instead,  each  picture,  glowing with
                                                    freshly  minted  color,  displayed  a  single  scene  laden with
                                                    implicit  symbolism.  One  after  the  other,  they  told  the story
                                                    of  what  happened  to  the  original  of  the  woman  in the
                                                    shrine  after  her  ship  had  made  landfall  on Confluence.
                                                      Yama  followed  the  story  far  into  the  night,  reading by
                                                    the  light  of  a  lantern  Pandaras  lit  for  him,  ignoring the
               food  laid  beside  him.  Pandaras stayed      a  while, watching
               
his  master  tenderly,  but  Yama could        not  speak  to him.
               Even  thinking  of  speaking  so  soon  after  his  father's death
               brought  an  ache  into  his  throat.  Gritty  ash  'was  still lodged
               under  his  nails  and  in  the  creases of      his  palms,  but he
               would  not  wash  his hands.
                 Dumb  with  grief,  he  lost  himself in      the  story  and traveled
                 far  from  the  hurt  of  the Aedile's     death,  the burning
               of  Aeolis,  the  disappearance  of Derev.
                 Angel  ran  from  the ship     soon  after  it  arrived  at Confluence
               .  There  was  a  whole  world  to  understand  and  to conquer
               ,  and  she  plunged  into  it,  reveling  in  her  escape from
               the  suffocating  caution of    the  consensus  of  her partials.
               They  wanted  to  go  on to       the  Home  Galaxy,  but Angel
               was  tired  of  searching.  She  ran  with  a  wild  glee  and a
               sense  of  relief  at  being  able  to  control  her  fate once
              more.
                 Angel  had  set  out  millions  of  years  ago  to  find aliensnot
                 the  strange  creatures  that  thronged  the  riverside cities
               of  Confluence,  which  were  merely  animals  changed by
               design  to  resemble  human  beings,  but  true  aliens, sapient
               creatures  of  a  completely  separate  and  independent evolutionary
                 sequence.  She  had  left  an  empire  behind  and she
               had  hoped  to  found  another,  far  from  the  crusade against
               the  transcendents.  Although  no  sapient  aliens  had been
               
found  in  the  Home  Galaxy,  the  Universe  was  a  vast place.
               There  were  a  dozen  small  satellite  galaxies  around the
               Home  Galaxy,  thousands  of  galaxies  in  the  local group,
               and  twenty  thousand  similar  superclusters  of  galaxies. The
               search  could  last  a  billion  years,  but  it  gave  her  a purpose,
               concealing  the  reality  that  she  was  fleeing  from  defeat and
               certain  death.  Behind  her,  billions  of  her  lineage were
               being  purged  by  humans  who  did  not  believe  in  the cult
               of  the  immortal  individual,  by  humans  she  considered little
               more  than  animals,  clinging  as  they  did  to  sexual reproduction
                 and  the  dogma  that  maintenance  of  genetic  and social



                                                      diversity  was  more  important  than  any  individual,  no matter
                                                        how  old,  how  learned,  how powerful.
                                                         Angel  fled  far,  neither  sleeping  nor  dead,  no  more than
                                                      stored  potentials  triply  engraved  on  gold.  The  nearest spiral
                                                      galaxy  was  almost  two  million  light-years  away,  and that
                                                      was  where  she  went.  Although  the  ship  flew  so  fast  that it
                                                      bound  time  about  itself,  the  journey  still  took  thousands of
                                                      years  of  slowed  shipboard  time,  and  more  than  two million
                                                      years  as  measured  by  the  common  time  of  the  Universe. At
                                                      the  end  of  that  long  voyage,  Angel  and  her  partials  were not
                                                      wakened:  they  were  incarnated  and  born anew.
                                                         What  she  learned  then,  within  a  hundred  years  of waking
                                                      ,  was  that  the  Universe  was  not  made  for  the convenience
                                                        of  humans.  What  she  and  her  crew  of  partials found
                                                      was  a  galaxy  ruined  and dead.
                                                         A  billion  years  ago  it  had  collided  with  another, slightly
                                                      smaller  galaxy.  There  were  only  a  few  collisions between
                                                      the  billions  of  
stars  as  the  two  galaxies interpenetrated,
                                                      because  the  distances  between  stars  were  so  great. But
                                                      interactions  between  gases  and  dark  matter  at relative
                                                      speeds  of  millions  of  kilometers  per  second  sent violent
                                                      gravity  waves  and  compression  shocks  racing  through the
                                                      tenuous  interstellar  medium.  During  the  long,  slow collision
                                                      ,  stars  of  both  galaxies  were  torn  from  their orbits
                                                      and  scattered  in  a  vast  halo:  some  were  even  ejected with
                                                      sufficient  velocity  to  escape  into  intergalactic space,
                                                      doomed  to  wander  forever,  companionless.  The majority
                                                      of  the  stars  coalesced  into  a  single  body,  but  except for
                                                      ancient  globular  clusters,  which  survived  the catastrophe
                                                      because  of  their  steep  gravity  fields,  all  was wreckage.
                                                         Angel  and  her  crew  of  partials  were  not  able  to  chart a
                                                      single  world  where  life  had  survived.  Many  had  been remelted
                                                        because  of  encounters  with  clumps  of perturbed
                                                      dark  matter  so  dense  that  collisions  with  atoms  of ordinary
                                                      matter  occurred,  releasing  tremendous  amounts  of energy.
                                                      
They  found  a  world  sheared  in  half  by  immense tidal
                                                      stresses;  the  orbits  of  the  two  sister  worlds  created  by this
                                                      disaster  were  so  eccentric  that  they  were  colder  than Pluto
                                                      at  their  furthest  points,  hotter  than  Mercury  at  their nearest.
               There  were  worlds  smashed  into  millions  of fragments,
               scattered  so  widely  in  their  orbital  paths  that  they never
               could  re-form.  They  found  a  cold  dark  world  of nitrogen
               ice  wandering  amongst  the  stars;  there  were  millions of
               such  worlds  cast  adrift.  Millions  more  had  been scorched
               clean  by  flares  and  supemovas  triggered  in  their parent
               stars  by  infalling  dust  and  gas  or  by  gravity  pulses. There
               were  gas  giants  turned  inside  out-single  vast perpetual
               storms.  Angel's  ship  constructed  telescope  arrays  and sent
               out  self-replicating  probes  and  spent  twenty  thousand years
               sampling  a  small  part  of  the  huge  galaxy.  Its  crew returned
               to  the  unbeing  of  storage  while  traveling  from  star  to star.
               Angel  and  her  partials  were  reborn  over  and  over. They
               did  not  find  life anywhere.
                 Angel's  ship  was  a  storehouse  of  knowledge.  She had
               not  known  what  she  might  need  and  so  had  taken everything
                 she  could,  triply  encoded,  like  herself,  on  lattices of
               gold  atoms.  She  ordered  a  search  of  the  records and
               learned  that  there  had  been  millions  of  collisions 
between
               galaxies,  and  that  it  was  likely  that  most  galaxies had
               suffered  such  collisions  at  least  once  during  their lifetime.
               Even  part  of  one  arm  of  the  Home  Galaxy  had  been disrupted
                 by  transit  of  a  small  cluster  of  stars,  although the
               reconstruction  of  the  Home  Galaxy  by  the transcendents
               had  long  ago  erased  the  damage  this  had caused.
                 But  the  Home  Galaxy  was  a  statistical  freak. Unlike
               other  galaxies  it  had  never  endured  a  major  collision with
               a  body  of  similar  size.  There  were  various possibilitiesit
                was  one  of  the  largest  in  the  observable  Universe, and
               it  resided  in  an  area  with  an  anomalously  low  density of
               dark  matter-but  whatever  the  explanation,  it  was  an outlier
                 at  the  far  end  of  the  distribution  of  possible evolutionary
                 paths,  and  therefore  so  too  was  life.  It  was  likely that
               only  the  stars  of  the  Home  Galaxy  had  planetary systems
               stable  enough  for  life  to  have  evolved-it  took  a billion
               years  for  simple  unicellular  forms  to  develop,  four  and a
               half  billion  years  for  humans-for  otherwise  other civilizations
                 would  have  surely  arisen  in  the  unbounded Universe,
               and  traces  of  their  existence  would  have  been detected.



                                                     Angel  concluded  that  humanity,  in  all  its  swarming vigor
                                                     and  diversity,  was  alone.  It  must  make  of  itself  what it
                                                     could,  for  there  was  nothing  against  which  it  could measure
                                                       itself.  There  were  no  aliens  to  conquer,  no  wise, ancient
                                                       beings  from  which  to  learn  deep  secrets  hidden in
                                                     the  beginnings  of  time  and space.
                                                        Angel  did  not  consider  that  she  might  be  wrong. She
                                                     killed  herself,  was  reborn,  and  killed  herself  again  as soon
                                                     as  she  learned  what  her  previous  self  had discovered.
                                                     When  she  woke  again,  with  part  of  her  memory suppressed
                                                     by  the  ship,  more  than  two  million  years  had  passed. The
                                                     ship  was  in  trailing  orbit  beyond  a  huge  construction that
                                                     orbited  a  star  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand light-years
                                                     beyond  the  spiral  arms  of  the  Home  Galaxy,  close  to the
                                                     accretion  disc  of  a  vast  black  hole  where  the  Large Magellanic
                                                       Cloud  had  once been.
                                                        The  ship  showed  her  what  it  had  observed  as  it had
                                                     traversed  the  long  geodesic  between  the  two  galaxies. At
                                                     
first  there  was  an  intense  point  of  light  within  the heart
                                                     of  the  Large  Magellanic  Cloud.  It  might  have  been  a supernova
                                                     ,  except  that  it  was  a  thousand  times  larger than
                                                     any  supernova  ever  recorded.  The  glare  of  this  one dying
                                                     star  obscured  the  light  of  its  millions  of  companions  for a
                                                     long  time,  and  when  at  last  it  faded  all  of  the remaining
                                                     stars  were  streaming  around  the  point  where  it  had been.
                                                     Those  stars  nearest  the  center  elongated  and dissipated,
                                                     spilling  their  fusing  hearts  across  the  sky,  and  more and
                                                     more  stars  crowded  in  until  nothing  was  left  but  the gas
                                                     clouds  of  the  accretion  disc,  glowing  by  red-shifted Cerenkov
                                                       radiation,  all  that  was  left  of  material  falling  into the
                                                     event  horizon  of  the  central  black  hole-a  black  hole that
                                                     massed  a  million suns.
                                                        The  ship  had  searched  the  Home  Galaxy  for  sources of
                                                     coherent  electromagnetic  radiation  and  had  found nothing
                                                     except  for  a  scattering  of  ancient  neutrino  beacons. Apart
                                                     from  these,  signals  in  the  Home  Galaxy  had  ceased while
                                                     the  ship  was  still  
half  a  million  light-years  out-the time
                                                     when  the  first  supernova  had  flared  in  the  Large Magellanic
                                                     Cloud.  There  had  been  a  great  deal  of  activity  around the
              Large  Magellanic  Cloud  while  the  black  hole  grew,  but at
              last,  a  hundred  thousand  light-years  out,  that  too  had ceased.
                Angel  beat  the  ship  to  its  conclusion.  Humanity,  or whatever
                humanity  had  become  in  the  four  and  a  half million
              years  since  she  had  fled  the  crusade,  had  created  the black
              hole  and  vanished  into  it.  The  ship  spoke  of  the possibility
              that  humanity  had  developed  wormhole  technology-it had
              located  a  number  of  double  occultations  within  the Home
              Galaxy  that  were  typical  of  the  theoretical  effect  of  a wormhole
                exit  passing  between  a  star  and  an  observer.  The ship
              had  also  spotted  a  concentrated  cluster  of  occultation events
              around  a  halo  star  more  than  ten  thousand  light-years beyond
              the  accretion  disc  of  the  giant  black  hole.  The  ship told
              Angel  that  it  had  changed  course-a  maneuver  that  had taken
              a  thousand  years-and  that  it  had  built  up  a  detailed  map of
              the  space  around  the  star.  Angel  studied  the  map.  There were
              more  than  a  hundred  wormhole  entrances  orbiting  the star,
              
and  there  was  also  an  artefact  as  big  as  a  world,  if  the surface
              of  a  world  might  be  peeled  from  its  globe  and  stretched out
              into  a  long  plane.  The  ship  had  built  arrays  of  detectors. It
              had  obtained  the  infrared  signatures  of  water  and molecular
              oxygen,  and  estimated  the  average  temperature  of  the surface
              of  the  artefact  to  be  two  hundred  and  ninety-three degrees
              above  absolute  zero.  It  had  detected  the  absorption signatures
              of  several  classes  of  photosynthetic  pigments,  most notably
              rhodopsin  and chlorophyll.
                Angel  beat  the  ship  to  its  second  conclusion.  There was
              life  on  the  surface  of  the artefact.
                In  the  night,  Pandaras  settled  a  blanket  around Yama's
              shoulders.  Yama  did not       notice.  Beetles  smashed  at the
              lantern  above  his  head as     he  read on.
                The  artefact  was  a  stout  needle  twenty  thousand kilometers
              ;  long  and  less  than  a  thousand  wide,  with  a  dep keel



                                                     beneath  its  terraformed  surface.  It  hung  in  a  spherical envelope
                                                       of  air  and  embedded  gravity  fields.  It  tilted back
                                                     and  forth  on  its  long  axis  once  every  twenty-four hours
                                                     and  took  just  over  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days to
                                                     complete  a  single  orbit  of  its  ordinary  yellow  dwarf star.
                                                     These  parameters  struck  a  deep  chord  in  Angel, whose
                                                     original  had  been  born  in  the  planetary  system  where humanity
                                                       had  evolved.  For  the  first  time  in  millions  of years
                                                     she  called  up  the  personality  fragment  which retained
                                                     memories  of  the  earliest  part  of  her  long  history.  She muttered
                                                       a  little  mantra  over  and  over  as  she  studied  the data
                                                     the  ship  had  gathered:  twenty-four  hours,  three hundred
                                                     and  sixty-five  days,  thirty-two  meters  per  second squared,
                                                     twenty  percent  oxygen,  eighty  percent nitrogen.
                                                        The  orbit  of  the  artefact  was  slightly  irregular; there
                                                     would  be  seasons  on  its  surface.  One  side  was bounded
                                                     by  mountains  fifty  kilometers  high.  Their  naked  peaks rose
                                                     out  of  the  atmospheric  
envelope.  On  the  other  side,  a great
                                                     river  ran  half  the  length,  rising  in  mountains three-quarters
                                                     buried  in  ice  at  the  trailing  end  of  this  strange  world and
                                                     falling  over  the  edge  at  the  midpoint.  It  was  not  clear how
                                                     the  water  was  recycled.  The  ship  made  neutrino  and deep
                                                     radar  scans  and  discovered  a  vast  warren  of  caverns and
                                                     corridors  and  shafts  within  the  rocky  keel  of  the artefact,
                                                     but  no  system  of  aquifers  or canals.
                                                        One  half  of  the  world,  beyond  the  fall  of  the  river, was
                                                     dry  cratered  desert  with  a  dusty  icecap  at  the  leading end
                                                     and  a  scattering  of  ruined  cities.  The  other  half  was verdant
                                                       land  bounded  on  one  side  by  the  river  and  on the
                                                     other  by  ice-capped  ranges  of  mountains  which  were mere
                                                     foothills  to  the  gigantic  peaks  at  the  edge.  There were
                                                     cities  strung  like  beads  along  the  river,  and  every city,
                                                     except  the  largest,  was  inhabited  by  a  different  race of
                                                     humanlike  creatures.  The  ship  sent  out  thousands  of tiny
                                                     probes.  Many  were  destroyed  by  the  machines which
                                                     
roamed  everywhere  on  the  surface  of  the  artefact,  but the
                                                     survivors  returned  with  cellular  samples  of  thousands of
                                                     different  organisms.  Less  than  one-tenth  of  the  plants and
                                                     animals  were  from  lineages  that  originated  in  the human
             home  star  system;  the  rest  were  of  unknown  and multiple
             origins.  None  of  the  inhabitants  were  of  human descent,
             the  ship  said,  and  except  for  a  few  primitive  races they
             all  had  an  artificial  homeobox  inserted  within  their genetic
              material.
                The  ship  could  not  explain  what  the  homeobox sequence
             coded  for.  It  could  not  explain  why  there  were thousands
             of  different,  seemingly  sapient,  alien  races  crowded together
               on  the  surface  of  a  single  world-sized  habitat. Nor
             could  it  explain  why  the  physical  appearance  of  almost all
             of  these  races  mapped  to  at  least  eighty  percent  of the
             human  norm-a  much  closer  conformation  than  those of
             many  of  Angel's  lineages,  in  the  days  of  her  lost empire.
                Angel  ordered  the  ship  to  match  the  orbit  of  the artefact.
             It  refused,  and  her  partials  argued  that  the  artefact  was an
             anomaly  and  they  had  a  better  chance  of understanding
             what  had  happened  to  humanity  by  exploring  the Home
             Galaxy.  Angel  overrode  them,  and  in  the  process discovered
               the  data  the  ship  had  hidden  from  her.  She learned
             all  over  again  that  there  was  unlikely  to  be  life anywhere
             else  in  the  local  group  of  galaxies,  and  perhaps  in the
             
entire Universe.
                This  time  she  did  not  kill herself.
                There  was  a  huge  city  near  the  source  of  the  long river.
            It  was  clearly  the  capital  of  this  artificial  world, ancient
             and  extensive  and  swarming  with  a  hundred  different kinds
             of  humanlike  creature.  The  ship  landed  at  the  docks and
             Angel  and  her  crew  of  partials  began  their exploration.
                There  was  a  capital  city  but  no  obvious  unified system
             of  government;  there  was  a  palace,  but  no  rulers. There
             were  millions  of  bureaucrats  organized  into  a  hundred or
             more  different  departments,  but  most  of  them  appeared to
             be  engaged  in  maintaining  records  rather  than determining
             or  carrying  out  policy.  Indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  no central
               or  permanent  government.  Order  was  maintained by
             undiscussed  consent,  enforced  by  roaming  gangs  of magistrates
               who  appeared  to  be  answerable  to  no  one  but themselves
             ,  their  powers  limited  only  by  strict  adherence to
            custom.



                                                         It  seemed  that  there  had  been  rulers  long  ago,  before a
                                                      war  fought  between  two  factions  of  the  machines which
                                                      mingled  with  the  people  (some  of  the  machines  had tried
                                                      to  investigate  the  ship,  and  it  destroyed  the  machines, and
                                                      would  have  destroyed  more  except  that  Angel  ordered it
                                                      to  stop).  The  war  had  scorched  one  half  of  the  world to
                                                      desert,  and  the  ship  said  that  it  was  possible  that  the sparse
                                                      cloud  of  machines  which  trailed  the  orbital  path  of the
                                                      artefact  were  survivors  belonging  to  the  losing  side. The
                                                      people  of  the  capital  city  told  Angel  that  after  the war
                                                      many  of  the  avatars  of  the  Preservers  had  fallen  silent and
                                                      many  of  the  shrines  had  died.  The  Hierarchs,  who appeared
                                                        to  have  interceded  between  the  avatars  and the
                                                      people,  had  vanished  shortly  after  the  end  of  the  war; the
                                                      surviving  avatars  were  consulted  only  under  the direction
                                                      of  priests.  The  ship  told  Angel  that  the  shrines  were clearly
                                                      some  kind  of  information  processing  system,  but most
                                                      were  inactivated,  
and  those  still  active  were functionally
                                                     compromised.
                                                         "The  Preservers  watch  all,"  she  was  told  by everyone
                                                      she  asked.  They  were  the  invisible  power  by  which the
                                                      illusion  of  order  was  maintained.  It  was  like  a theocracy,
                                                      except  that  the  priests  and  hierodules  of  the  multitude of
                                                      temples  claimed  no  special  power  or  privileges.  All served
                                                      the  ideal  of  the Preservers.
                                                         Angel  went  everywhere,  for  there  was  no  one who
                                                      seemed  to  want  to  stop  her,  and  she  asked  every  kind of
                                                      question,  because  there  seemed  to  be  no  taboos.  She found
                                                      that  the  people  of  the  capital  city,  Ys,  were  eager  to help,
                                                      and  she  began  to  suspect  what  the  inserted homeobox
                                                      coded  for.  The  inhabitants  of  this  strange  world  were better
                                                      servants  than  her  partials;  they  would  lay  down  their lives
                                                      if asked.
                                                         Angel  used  them  to  help  her escape.
                                                         She  did  not  plan  it.  If  she  had,  no  doubt  her  ship and
                                                     its  crew  of  partials  would  have  stopped  her.  She  did  it on
                                                      
a  whim,  an impulse.
                                                         She  was  walking  by  the  docks,  followed  by  the usual
                                                      crowd  of  curious  people  and  a  small  group  of  the law
              keepers-magistrates-and  their  machines.  The  sun was
              high.  Its  diamond  light  sparkled  on  the  wide  sweep  of the
              river.  The  city  stretched  away  under  a  haze  of  smoke that
              hid  the  foothills  of  the  mountains  beyond,  so  that their
              snowcapped  peaks  seemed  to  float  in  the  blue distance.
              The  dock  road  was  lined  by  trees  in  blossom:  big  red flowers
              attended  by  clouds  of  sulphur-yellow  butterflies. Vendors
              stood  at  their  carts  or  stalls  in  the  sun-speckled  shade  of the
              trees,  crying  their  wares.  White  birds  wheeled  over sunstruck
              water  or  strutted  and  pecked  on  wrinkled  mudflats beneath
              the  stone  walls  of  the  quays.  Small  clinker-built dinghies
              lay  on  their  sides  on  the  wet  mud.  Further  out,  larger boats
              bobbed  at  buoys  and  floating  docks;  sails  dotted  the wide,
              wide  river.  Closer  to  shore,  men  sat  in  small  boats, fishing
    25;       with  the  help  of  black  long-necked  birds  very  like cormorants
              ;  hundreds  of  men  crowded  stone  steps  at  the water's
              edge,  washing  themselves  in  the  river's  brown  water while
              children  swam  and  splashed  and  shrieked  with laughter;
              men  sat  cross-legged  as  they  mended  fine  mesh nets
              
stretched  across  wide  frames;  women  gutted  silver fish
                                 of  green  banana  leaves,  surrounded by
              under  a canopy
              noisy  flocks  of  birds  that  fought  for  fish  guts  tossed over
              the  edge  of  the  quay;  a  small  machine  moved  at  the water's
                edge  in  quick  bursts,  like  a  squeezed  pip  of mercury.
                 An  ache  rose  in  Angel,  a  universal  desolation.  Lost, all
             lost.  All  she  had  known  was  lost,  and  yet  all  around were
              echoes  of  what  she  had  lost.  For  the  first  time  since she
              had  been  reborn,  she  felt  the  wei  lit  of  her age.                                                  
                 The  people  who  were  following  her  were  not human.
              They  were  aliens.  She  was  surrounded  by  aliens which
              distorted  the  human  norm,  by  pigmen,  lionmen, lizardmen,
              birdmen,  toadmen  and  others  she  could  not  begin  to iden
              tify.  They  were  animals  trying  to  be  human;  they were
              humans  masked  with  animal  faces.  They  called themselves
              the  Shaped,  and  said  that  they  had  been  changed, two
  it
              words  with  the  same  root  but  subtly  different meanings
              she  did  not  quite understand.
                 Angel  had  lost  so  much,  and  so  much  surrounded her,
              rich  and  strange,  yet  hauntingly  familiar.  The  birds and



                                                      the  butterflies,  the  wet  fetid  smell  of  the  mud,  the smells
                                                      of  hot  stone  and  cooking  oil  and  the  acrid  smoke from
                                                      fires  fueled  with  dry  dung,  the  sunlight  on  the  water and
                                                      the  wind  that  stirred  the  glossy  leaves  and  the  red flowers
                                                      of  the  trees:  a  thousand  fragmentary  impressions  that defined
                                                        from  moment  to  moment  the  unquantifiable richness
                                                      of  the  quiddity  of  the  world.  Many  of  the transcendents,
                                                      had  disappeared  into  imaginary  empires  within  vast data
                                                      banks,  creating  perfect  images  of  known  worlds  or building
                                                        impossible  new  ones,  but  Angel  had  always  felt that
                                                      these  were  less  satisfactory  than  dreams,  too  perfect  to be
                                                      truly  real.  That  was  why  she  had  opted  for  nonbeing during
                                                        the  long  transits  of  her  voyage,  rather  than slowtime
                                                      in  a fabrication.
                                                        Reality,  or nothing.
                                                        Angel  took  a  ship  out  from  the  city.  It  was  that easy.
                                                      The  ship's  captain  was  a  fat,  solemn,  ponderous  man with
                                                      sleek  black  skin  and  small  eyes;  his  mother  or grandmother
                                                        might  have  been  
a  seal,  or  might  have  lain with
                                                      one.  He  did  not  question  Angel's  presence  as  they sailed
                                                      downriver  from  city  to  city,  but  deferred  to  her  with quiet
                                                      good  humor.  The  fact  that  she  had  hijacked  his  ship and
                                                      his  life  was  never  raised.  A  city  of  tombs;  a  city  of porcelain
                                                      ;  a  city  of  caves  in  cliffs  high  above  the  river;  a city
                                                      of  trees;  a  city  built  on  stilts  in  the  middle  of  the river.
                                                      Dozens  of  cities,  each  inhabited  by  a  different  race of
                                                      people,  all  sharing  the  same  unquestioned  laws and
                                                     religion.
                                                        And  then  a  city  at  war  with itself.
                                                        A  Change  War,  the  ship's  captain  said,  and  when Angel
                                                      told  him  to  put  in  at  the  city's  long  waterfront  he came
                                                      close  to  disobeying  her  for  the  first  time.  It  was  a  city of
                                                      square  houses  of  red  mudbrick,  all  heaped  on  each other
                                                      like  a  tumbled  pile  of  boxes.  A  terraced  ziggurat  of white,
                                                      weather-worn  stone  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  forest outside
                                                        the  city  wall,  guarded  by  machines  that constantly
                                                      looped  through  the  
air  above  it.  It  was  the  home  of  an old
                                                      woman  who  called  herself  the Commissioner.
                                                        Angel  sat  with  the  Commissioner  on  a  high  terrace of
             the  ancient  ziggurat,  amongst  potted  lemon  trees  and geraniums
             .  Riverward,  across  a  sea  of  treetops,  part  of  the city
             was  burning.  The  sound  of  distant  rifle  fire  popped and
             crackled,  brought  erratically  by  the  warm  wind.  The Cornmissioner
               served  Angel  a  bowl  of  the  earthy  infusion of
             twigs  which  people  everywhere  on  this  world  called tea.
             The  Commissioner  was  half  Angel's  height,  a  slow, delibe            
                te  woman  with  a  humped  back  and  a  round  face with
              ra
             lips  pursed  like  a  beak,  and  small  black  eyes half-hidden
             amongst  the  wrinkles  of  her  leathery  skin.  She  wore a
             kind  of  tent  of  fustian  which  dropped  in  many  folds from
             a  gold  circlet  at  her  neck  to  puddle  the  floor.  A small
             machine  darted  and  hovered  above  her  like  a bejeweled
            dragonfly.
                The  Commissioner  seemed  to  regard  the  war  as  an unfortunate
               but  inevitable  natural  process  which  could not
             be  prevented  but  must  be  endured,  like  a  sudden hailstorm
             or  a  forest  fire.  She  told  Angel  that  some  of  the  people of
             the  city  had  changed,  and  were  at  war  with  those who
             had not.
                "The  changed  ones  will  win,  of  course.  They always
             do.  And  then  they  will  move  on  and  found  a  new  city, 
or
             more  likely  scatter  along  the  river.  It  is  an  exciting time
             for them.
                It  took  Angel  a  long  time  to  find  out  from  the Commissioner
               what  she  meant  by  change.  It  was  a  kind  of transcendence
               or  epiphany,  a  realization  of  individual worth,
             the  possibility  of  sin  or  at  least  of  transgression against
             the  fixed  codes  by  which  the  citizens  had  ordered their
             lives  for  millennia.  It  was  a  little  like  the  memes with
             which  Angel  had  once  experimented  when  attempting to
             unify  her  spreading  empire,  but  it  was  also  a physical
             infection,  a  change  in  brain  structure  and  chemistry which
             provided,  as  far  as  Angel  understood  it,  an  area  of high
             density  information  storage  that  somehow  interacted with
             the  nine  infolded  dimensions  in  the  quantum  foam  at the
             bottom  of  reality.  Everything  anyone  of  the  changed races
             or  bloodlines  did  or  experienced  was  recorded  or remembered
               by  something  like  a  soul  that  would  survive until



                                                      the  end  of  the  Universe.  It  was  the  true  immortality which
                                                      Angel  and  her  kind  had  dreamed  of  millions  of  years ago,
                                                      when  they  had  still  been human.
                                                         The  Commissioner  explained  that  the  most primitive
                                                      races,  the  indigens,  would  never  change,  but  all  others had
                                                      changed  or  would  change-there  were  still  hundreds of
                                                      unchanged  races.  Some  had  gone  beyond  the  first change
                                                      and  transcended  the  world  entirely,  but  the Commissioner
                                                      could  not  tell  Angel  where  they  had  gone.  It  was  the work
                                                      of  the  Preservers,  and  therefore  not  to  be  questioned. It
                                                      simply was.
                                                         Angel  wondered  what  happened  to  those  of  the unchanged
                                                        and  indigenous  races  who  died  (she  was wondering
                                                        about  herself).  The  Commissioner  grew  reflective. It
                                                      was  night,  now.  The  burning  waterfront  of  the  city stood
                                                      above  its  own  reflection  in  the  still  water  of  its  long barbor
                                                      .  There  were  skirmishes  in  the  fields  and orchards
                                                      upriver  of  the  city-the  flashes  of  rifles  defined  the opposing
                                                        
positions,  and  once  there  was  a  tremendous explosion
                                                      that  sent  an  expanding  ball  of  red  and  yellow  flame into
                                                      the  air  and  shook  the  terrace,  rattling  the  bowls  of  tea on
                                                      the  slab  of  polished  rock  that  floated  between  the two
                                                     women.
                                                         "It  is  a  question  for  the  archivists,"  the Commissioner
                                                      said  at  last.  "But  they  are  busy  at  the  moment, talking
                                                      with  the  wounded,  and  I  do  hope  you  will  not disturb
                                                      them.  Because  of  the  war,  so  many  lives  will  pass unremarked-that
                                                        is  the  cost  of  change,  and  it  is  a  heavy price
                                                      to  pay.  But  some  say  that  the  Preservers  mark  all,  and all
                                                      will  be  restored  whether  we  record  it  or not."
                                                         Angel  thought  of  the  millions  of  clerks  laboring  in the
                                                      great  palace  of  the  capital  city.  She  said,  "Recording the
                                                      world  is  important.  Why  is that?"
                                                         The  Commissioner  was  watching  the  distant fighting.
                                                      The  fires,  the  stuttering  flashes  of  rifles,  the  red blossoms
                                                      of  a  cannonade,  the  abrupt  fountains  of  earth  and  fire: at
                                                      a  distance,  war  
is  often  beautiful.  Firelight  gleamed  in her
                                                      round,  black  eyes.  She  said,  "It  is  one  of  the highest
                                                     tasks.
                "Recording  memories  for  the  Preservers  to use?"
                "The  Preservers  will  resurrect  everyone  at  the  end of
              time.  We  will  all  live again."
                This  is  an  experiment,  Angel  thought.  An experiment
              that  records  its  own  self.  Things  have  been  set  in motion;
              evolution  is  expected.  That  means  I  can  change things
              here.  If  the  Preservers  are  using  these  people,  then so
              can 1.
                She  said,  "If  you  could  gain  much  in  this  life  by behaving
                badly,  and  still  the  Preservers  would  resurrect you,
              then  perhaps  it  is  worth  behaving  badly.  You  could have
              power  and  wealth  now,  everything  that  you  are promised
              in  eternity,  and  the  Preservers  would  forgive you."
                The  Commissioner  considered  this  for  a  while. Angel
              watched  the  dark  city  beyond  the  forest.  There  were small
              fires  scattered  around  the  dimming  glow  of  the  site  of the
              big  explosion;  the  rifle  fire  seemed  to  have stopped.
                At  last,  the  Commissioner  said,  "All  possible worlds
              can  be  created  by  the  Preservers  at  the  end  of  time, and
              that  means  not  only  all  possible  good,  but  also  all possible
              evil.  But  the  Preservers  will  not  permit  evil  because it
              
contradicts  the  love  they  bear  toward  us.  For  if  they did
              not  love  us,  why  did  they  lift  us  up?  So  we  must  live our
              lives  as  best  we  can,  for  otherwise  we  might  not have
              anything  to  live  for  beyond  this  life.  Some  say  that the
              Preservers  can  correct  evil  in  any  person.  No  matter how
              great  that  evil  might  be,  the  Preservers  have  all  of time
              and  all  of  space  in  which  to  work  their  will.  They  say that
              the  willingness  of  the  Preservers  to  resurrect  an  evil person
              and  punish  them  while  holding  out  the  possibility  of redemption
                demonstrates  the  depth  of  their  love  toward us,
              their  imperfect  creations.  But  even  if  this  is  true,  it is
              better  to  do  good,  for  in  the  presence  of  infinite  good it
              is  better  for  you  to  act  well  and  help  others  than  to harm
              them,  for  you  will  gain  nothing  more  by  acting badly."
              The  Commissioner  laughed.  "Ah,  besides  that,  to think
              of  the  shame  of  having  to  endure  the  forgiveness  of the
              Preservers!  It  is  a  heavy  burden.  Few  could  bear it."



                                                      Angel  said,  "Those  who  are  changed  are  acting badly
                                                   now.
                                                      "Only  because  their  unchanged  brothers,  who  know no
                                                    other  way  of  life,  are  fighting  them.  The  unchanged cannot
                                                    imagine  change,  and  so  they  fight  it  to  the  death,  and those
                                                    who  have  changed  must  defend  themselves.  The unchanged
                                                      do  not  know  good  or  evil  because  they cannot
                                                    choose  between  them.  They  are  what  they  are,  and no
                                                   more."
                                                      "Yet  you  know  the  difference,  and  you  do  not intercede
                                                    .  You  could  remove  the  changed  and  stop  the war.
                                                    You  condemn  many  to  death  by  inaction.  Is  that  not evil?"
                                                      "No  one  should  set  themselves  in  the  place  of  the Preservers
                                                    ,"  the  Commissioner  said,  staring  at  Angel.  For the
                                                    first  time,  she  seemed  to  be offended.
                                                      Angel  knew  better  than  to  insult  the  Preservers. They
                                                    were  universally  worshipped,  but  no  one  could  tell her
                                                    much  about  them.  Only  that  they  had  withdrawn their
                                                    grace  from  the  world  
but  would  return  at  the  end  of time
                                                    and  resurrect  everyone  who  had  ever  lived,  and everyone
                                                    would  live  forever  in  an  infinity  of  perfect  worlds.  It was
                                                    a  creed  that  was  not  dissimilar  to  the  ambitions  of the
                                                    transcendents,  but  everyone  on  Confluence  believed that
                                                    the  Preservers  were  capable  of  realizing  it.  At  the same
                                                    time,  everyone  believed  that  the  ultimate  nature  of the
                                                    Preservers  was  unknowable.  What  little  that  could  be understood
                                                      about  them  was  in  the  Puranas,  but  the Puranas,
                                                    which  formed  a  kind  of  moral  handbook  illustrated by
                                                    lessons  in  cosmology  and  galactic  history,  were maddeningly
                                                      vague  and  imprecise.  Early  on,  Angel  had  asked the
                                                    ship  to  give  her  a  pr6cis  of  the  Puranas,  and recognized
                                                    her  own  empire  in  a  brief  half  sentence  that  horribly distorted
                                                      what  she  had  tried  to  do.  That  was  another thing
                                                    which  must  be  put  right.  Her  empire  had  once  been the
                                                    largest  in  human  history,  perhaps  the  largest  empire ever
                                                    known.  She  had  not  yet  decided  what  she  would  do, but
                                                    
she  would  make  sure  that  her  long-lost  empire  was given
                                                    its  proper recognition.
                  "I'll  stay  here  tonight,"  Angel said.  "I  assume  this  is a
               safe  place.  Find  me  food  and  a  bed.  I'll  leave tomorrow."
                  "Of  course."  The  Commissioner  clacked  her  horny lips
               together  and  added,  "However,  I  do  believe  that  your ship
               has  already left."
                  It  was  true.  While  Angel  had  been  talking  with the
               Commissioner,  the  ship  she  had  commandeered  at  Ys had
               escaped  her  geas  and  made  off.  But  the  next  day Angel
               simply  commandeered  another  and  continued downriver.
               The  new  ship  was  much  larger  than  the  first.  Its three
               masts  bore  square  sails  with  sunbursts  painted  on them
               and  its  deep  holds  were  full  of  fruit  which  had  been bound
               for  a  city  upriver.  The  fruit  rotted  after  a  week  and Angel
               ordered  it  thrown  over  the  side.  It  took  the  crew, including
               the  officers  and  the  captain,  a  whole  day  to  empty the
               holds,  but  the  ship  rode  high  in  the  water  afterward, and
               sailed  more  swiftly.  The  captain  said  that  the  ship should
               be  ballasted  with  stones,  for  otherwise  it  was  likely to
               capsize  in  a  storm,  but  Angel  ignored  him.  She  was  in a
               hurry now.
                  She  passed  city  after  city,  mostly  inhabited  by 
unchanged
                 races  as  fixed  in  their  habits  as  ants  or bees.
               Without  free  will,  they  were  more  like  zombies  or organic
               machines  than  people,  but  even  so,  their unremarkable
               lives  were  recorded  by  patient  archivists.  They  were policed
                 by  magistrates  of  their  own  kind.  Although  one or
               two  officials  of  one  or  another  of  the  changed  races were
               present,  they  merely  provided  a  kind  of  moral authority
               that  was  called  on  only  when needed.
                  The  last  of  the  cities  of  the  long,  long  river  was called
               Sensch.  It  was  a  desert  city  of  narrow  streets  shaded by
               palms  and  ginkgoes,  dusty  squares,  flat-roofed buildings
               of  whitewashed  mudbrick.  There  were  extensive plantations
                 of  sago  and  date  palms,  orange  and  pomegranate and
               banana,  and  various  kinds  of  groundnuts.  There  was a
               great  deal  of  camel  breeding,  too.  At  least,  the  things were
               a  little  like camels.
                  The  citizens  of  Sensch  were  a  slender  people,  skilled in
               pottery  and  glassmaking.  They  had  low,  heavily ridged



                                                       foreheads  and  small,  lidless  black  eyes;  their  brown and
                                                       black  skins  exhibited  varying  degrees  of  residual scaliness.
                                                       Snakes,  the  Commissioner  of  Sensch  called  them.  He was
                                                       a  small,  active  fellow  who  lived  in  a  garden  that floated
                                                       above  the  pink  sandstone  palace  that  was  his  official residence
                                                       .  The  Commissioner,  Dreen,  seemed  anxious to
                                                       please,  but  Angel  did  not  press  her  needs  at once.
                                                         She  met  the  Archivist  of  Sensch,  a corpulent          fellow
                                                       with  a  limp,  a  few  days  later.  His  name  was  Mr. Naryan.
                                                       He  was  of  the  same  race  as  the  captain  of  the  first shi
                                                       Angel  had  commandeered;  she  had  seen  him swimming
                                                       off  the  wide  plaza  by  the  river,  as  graceful  in  the water
                                                       as  he  was  awkward  and  slow  on  land.  He  sat  down beside
                                                       Angel  in  a  tea  shop  by  one  of  the  city's  camel markets,
                                                       pretending  at  first  not  to  realize  who  she  was.  Angel liked
                                                       his  sly,  patient  air  and  demanded  nothing  of  him  at all,
                                                       not  even  that  he  accept  her  for  what  she  was.  She missed
                                                       conversation  amongst 
equals.
                                                         The  Archivist  was  afraid  of  Angel,  but  he  hid  it well.
                                                       He  made  small  talk  about  a  procession  that  went past,
                                                       explaining  that  the  people  had  had  their  reason  taken away,
                                                       either  as  punishment  or  because  of  what  he  called  a religious
                                                         avocation.  He  said  that  he  understood  that  she had
                                                       come  a  long  way,  and  she  laughed  at  the understatement.
                                                         The  Archivist  said  with  mild  alarm,  "I  do  not  mean to
                                                       insult you.
                                                         Angel  tried  to  make  it  easier  by  talking  about  the Archivist
                                                         himself.  She  pointed  at  his  loose,  belted  shirt  and said,
                                                       "You  dress  like  a  ...  native."  She  had  almost  said Snake.
                                                       She  said,  "Is  that  a  religious avocation?"
                                                         He  told  her  what  she  already  knew,  that  he  was the
                                                       city's  archivist.  He  had  a  round,  kindly  face,  with heavy
                                                       wrinkles  at  his  brow  and  three  fat  folds  under  his chin.
                                                         Angel  said,  "The  people  here  are  different-a different
                                                       race  in  every  city.  When  I  left,  not  a  single intelligent
                                                       alien  species  was  
known.  It  was  one  reason  for  my voyage.
                                                       Now  there  seem  to  be  thousands  strung  along  this long
                                                       river.  They  treat  me  like  a  ruler-is  that  it?  Or  am  I like
                                                       a god?"
                  "The  Preservers  departed  long ago.     These  are  the end
               times."
                  The  Archivist  said  this  by  rote.  He  had  not  really understood
                  her questions.
                  Angel  said,  "There  are  always  those  who  believe they
                live  at  the  end  of  history.  We  thought  that  we  lived  at the
                end  of  history,  when  every  star  system  in  the  Galaxy had
                been  mapped,  every  habitable  world settled.
                  "I  was  told  that  the  Preservers,  who  I  suppose  are my
                descendants,  made  the  different  races,  but  each  race calls
                itself  human,  even  the  ones  who  don't  look  as  if they
                could  have  evolved  from  anything  that  ever  looked remotely
                 human."
                  "The  Shaped  call  themselves  human  because  they have
                no  other  name  for  what  they  have  become,  changed and
                unchanged  alike.  After  all,  they  had  no  name  before they
                were  raised  up."  The  Archivist  added  in  a  pleading tone,
                
"The  citizens  of  Sensch  remain  innocent.  They  are  our ...
               responsibility."
                  Angel  told  him  that  his  kind  was  not  doing  a  very good
                job,  judging  by  the  Change  War  she  had  witnessed upriver.
                She  described  the  war,  and  asked  the  Archivist  many questions
                ,  most  of  which  he  was  unable  to  answer. Without
                asking  her  permission,  he  jotted  down  her  description of
                the  Change  War  and  her  questions  on  a  tablet  using an
                impacted  system  of  diacritical  marks.  Angel  was amused.
                  "You  listen  to  people's stories."
                  "Stories  are  important.  In  the  end  they  are  all  that is
                left,  all  that  history  leaves  us.  Stories endure."
                  Angel  thought  about  this.  She  said  at  last,  "I  have been
                out  of  history  a  long  time.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  want  to be
                a  part  of  it again.
                  She  was  tired.  While  she  had  been  traveling,  she had
                been  able  to  forget  that  she  had  escaped  her  ship  and her
                responsibilities,  but  now  she  would  have  to  come  to a
                decision.  She  did  not  want  to  talk  anymore  and  left the
                Archivist.  He  knew  better  than  to  follow  her,  and  she liked
                him  for  that, too.
                  She  found  a  suitable  house,  a  two-story  affair  
with a



                                                      balcony  around  the  upper  story  overlooking  a central
                                                      courtyard  shaded  by  a  jacaranda.  tree.  Its  owners, grateful
                                                      for  her  attention,  were  only  too  pleased  to  give  it  to her,
                                                      and  others  came  with  gifts:  furniture,  carpets,  food and
                                                      wine,  musical  instruments,  cigarettes,  paintings,  sheets of                                                     
                                                       lastic  she  realized  were  books,  slates  which showed
                                                      scenes  from  the  world's  past,  stolen  from  tombs  of hierophants
                                                        far downriver.
                                                         Some  of  the  people  stayed  with  her,  mostly  young men.
                                                      Angel  experimented  with  sex.  Full  intercourse  with the
                                                      Snakes  was  anatomically  impossible,  but  there  were  a variety
                                                        of  pleasing  and  diverting  exercises.  In  the evenings,
                                                      she  watched  dancers  or  shadow  puppet  plays,  or listened
                                                      to  the  atonal  nasal  singing  of  the  finest  poet  of  the city,
                                                      accompanied  by  a  silver  flute  and  a  two-string  lyre. The
                                                      days  passed  pleasantly  until  the  Archivist  found  her  in the
                                                      teahouse  by  the  camel  market  and  told  her  that  her ship
                                                      was  coming  to Sensch.
                                                         Angel  affected  
a  casualness  she  did  not  feel.  She had
                                                      expected  it  to  find  her,  but  not  so  quickly.  She  fell into
                                                      conversation  with  the  Archivist  and  eventually  took him
                                                      back  to  her  house.  He  took  in  the  bustle  with  a solemn
                                                      air  and  told  her  gently  that  she  should  not  take advantage
                                                      of  the citizens.
                                                         Angel  said  sharply,  "They  seem  happy  to  me. What's
                                                      wrong  with that?"
                                                         The  Archivist  cast  his  eyes  down.  She  knew  then that
                                                      he  could  not  argue  with  her,  and  felt  a  stab  of shame.
                                                         She  had  tea  and  honey  fritters  brought  out,  and described
                                                        something  of  what  she  had  seen  on  her  long river
                                                      journey,  and  asked  the  Archivist  many  questions about
                                                      Dreen's  authority  and  the  way  that  order  was maintained
                                                      in  the  city.  She  caught  one  of  the  machines  and showed
                                                      it  to  him.  "And  these?  By  what  authority  do  these little
                                                      spies operate?"
                                                         The  Archivist  stared  at  it  opened-mouthed.  Perhaps he
                                                      had  never  seen  anyone  catch  one  before.  Pinched between
                                                      Angel's  thumb  and  
forefinger,  the  little  bronze  bug wriggled
                                                        as  it  tried  to  free  itself.  Its  sensor  cluster,  a  froth of
                glass  and  silver  beads,  turned  back  and  forth  until Angel
                let  it go.
                  The  Archivist  watched  it  rise  above  the  roof  of the
                house.  He  said,  "Why,  they  are  part  of  the maintenance
                system  of Confluence."
                  "Can  Dreen  use  them?  Tell  me  all  you  know.  It may
                be important."
                  Angel  met  with  the  Archivist  at  intervals  in  the days
                that  followed.  The  young  men  who  followed  her formed
                a  kind  of  band  or  gang,  and  some  went  with  her wherever
                she  went.  They  made  the  Archivist  nervous,  but Angel
                encouraged  them,  if  only  because  it  was  a  measure  of what
                she  co4ld  do.  She  gave  them  white  headbands lettered
                with  a  slogan  she  had  composed.  Giving  away  one  of the
                headbands  was  like  bestowing  a  blessing.  She made
                speeches  in  the  markets  and  on  the  plaza  by  the  river to
                try  and  rouse  the  citizens,  but  although  people gathered
                and  listened  politely,  nothing  much  came  of  it,  except that
                her  own  followers  sometimes  grew  too  excited.  They were
                apt  to  misunderstand  what  she  had  to  say  about rising
                above  destiny,  and  defaced  walls  with  slogans,  or overturned
                  
stalls  in  the  market.  They  were  gripped  by powerful
                but  unfocused emotions.
                  Perhaps  these  petty  acts  were  to  her  followers heady
                and  radical  statements,  but  Angel  knew  that  it  was  not the
                way.  She  went  to  the  temple  and  had  one  of  the priests
                help  her  consult  the  interactive  librarian  which manifested
                in  one  of  the  large  terminals  the  priests  called  shrines. She
                decided  that  she  would  cross  the  river  to  where  a cluster
                of  old  shrines  stood,  unused  since  the  Snakes  had come
                to  occupy  Sensch.  She  would  try  and  wake  the shrines
                there,  and  learn  from them.
                  Then  there  was  a blank      picture.  Whatever  Angel had
                done  at  the  shrines  at  the  edge  of  the  world,  by  the great
                falls  at  the  end  of  the  river,  was  not  recorded.  Yama set
                his  book  aside.  He  was  very  tired,  but  not  at  all sleepy.



                                                       It  was  a  few  hours  from  dawn.  The  smoky  swirl  of the
                                                    Eye  of  the  Preservers  was  setting  at  the  edge  of  the world.
                                                    Tamora  and  Pandaras  slept  under  the  awning.  Captain Lorquital
                                                      and  Aguilar  slept  in  their  cabins  beneath  the poop
                                                    deck;  the  sailors  slept  head  to  toe  in  their  hammocks beneath
                                                      the  deck  on  which  Yama  sat.  He  had  always needed
                                                    less  sleep  than  Telmon  or  anyone  else  he  knew,  and was
                                                    used  to  being  awake  when  everyone  else  slept.  Even so,
                                                    and  even  though  he  was  not  strictly  alone,  for  the helmsman
                                                      stood  at  the  wheel  in  the  red  glow  of  the  shaded stem
                                                    lantern,  Yama  felt  a  desolation,  a  vast  aching emptiness,
                                                    there  on  the  ship  in  the  midst  of  the  wide  river.  He wondered
                                                      if  this  was  how  Angel  had  felt,  estranged  from all
                                                    she  knew  by  millions  of  years  of  history,  with  only cornpliant
                                                      uncomprehending  aliens  for  company.  How lonely
                                                    she  must  have  been,  ruler  of  all  the  world,  but  with no
                                                   purpose!
                                                       He  would  finish  her  story  in  a  little  while,  he thought.
                                                    
He  already  suspected  that  he  knew  how  it  ended. Enough
                                                    for  now.  First  his  father's  papers,  and  the  shock  they contained
                                                      amongst  their  dense  ladders  of  calculations. And
                                                    now  this.  No  more stories.
                                                       Yama  shook  dew  from  the  blanket  Pandaras  had put
                                                    around  his  shoulders  and  lay  down,  just  for  a moment.
                                                    And slept.
                "IT  IS  A  city  that  shines  like  the  ice  flows  of  the mountains
                at  the  end  of  the  world,"  Eliphas  told  Yama.  "I  last saw
                it  many  years  ago,  but  I  still  remember  how  it  shone in
                the  sunlight  across  the  blue  waters  of  the  river.  The river
                may  be  shrinking,  brother,  but  it  runs  deeper  here than
                anywhere  else  in  the  world,  deeper  even  than  at  Ys. They
                fish  for  leviathans  off  the  shore  of Gond.Yama
                    flinched,  remembering  the  one  solid  fact  he had
                gleaned  from  the  muddle  of  his  stepfather's  papers. Eliphas
                  did  not  notice.  He  was  lost  in  his memories.
                   "They  fish  not  from  coracles  or  cockleshells,"  the old
                man  said,  "but  from  barges  as  big  as  fields,  with big
                motors  that  make  the  water  boil  around  their  stems when
                
they  are  working.  There  are  leviathans  deep  beneath our
                keel,  and  that's  what  these  barges  are  after.  They send
                down  lures  as  tall  as  a  man  and  armed  with explosive
                hooks,  using  steel  cables  several  leagues  long.  If they
                strike  lucky,  they  haul  up  their  catch  and  render  it there
                and  then.  Of  course,  most  of  the  time  the  leviathan escapes
                ,  and  sometimes,  despite  its  power,  a  barge is
                dragged  under  by  what  it catches."



                                                         "I  thought  that  the  people  of  Gond  led  aesthetic and
                                                      contemplative  lives,"  Yama said.
                                                         "The  fishermen  come  from  the  cities  of  the  Dry Plains,
                                                      further  downriver.  From  Ush  and  Kalyb  and  Galata, and
                                                      the  twin  cities  of  Kilminar  and  Balbeck."  Eliphas intoned
                                                      the  names  with  sonorous  pleasure.  "If  a  barge catches
                                                      more  than  one  leviathan  in  the  hunting  season  its crew
                                                      count  themselves  lucky.  The  proceeds  from  rendering one
                                                      monster  would  buy  a  ship  like  this  twice over."
                                                         Yama  and  Eliphas  were  leaning  side  by  side  at  the rail
                                                      of  the  main  deck  of  the  Weazel,  in  the  shadow  of  the big,
                                                      rust-red  sail.  Sternward,  smoky  columns  of  rain twisted
                                                      beneath  the  reefs  of  white  and  gray  clouds  that overshadowed
                                                        the  farside  shore-a  desolation  of  mudflats  and pioneer
                                                        mangroves  inhabited  only  by  birds  and  swarms of
                                                      army  crabs.  There  had  been  no  sign  of  either  the warship
                                                      or  the  picketboat  in  the  past  three  days,  and  the Weazel
                                                      was  at  last  angling  
away  from  the  farside  and  the spurious
                                                      safety  of  the  mangrove  swamps.  Ahead,  in  the  far distance,
                                                      the  Great  River  bent  toward  the  Rim  Mountains,  and at
                                                      the  angle  of  the  nearside  shore  a  mote  of  light glistened,
                                                      white  as  a  crystal  of  salt:  the.  city  of  Gond.  Captain Lorquital
                                                        had  announced  that  the  Weazel  would  put  in  there to
                                                      collect  a  passenger  and  to  take  on  fresh provisions.
                                                         Yama  told  Eliphas,  "I  see  that  you  are  happy  to retrace
                                                      the  steps  you  took  when  you  were  a  young man."
                                                         Eliphas  closed  his  eyes.  His  face  was  shaded  by the
                                                      wide  brim  of  the  straw  hat  he  wore  as  protection  from the
                                                      sun.  "It  has  been  more  than  a  hundred  years.  I  thought I
                                                      had  forgotten  most  of  it,  but  each  place  we  pass brings
                                                      memories  rising  from  the  depths  of  my  mind,  as  the monsters
                                                        of  the  abyssal  currents  of  the  river  rise  to  follow the
                                                      glowing  lures  trailed  by  the  fishing barges."
                                                         He  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled:  silver  and  white flashed
                                                      in  his  black  face.  "Do  not  worry,  brother.  I  will  fulfill the
                                                      
promise  I  made  to  you  in  the  library  of  the Department
                                                      of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons.  I  will  find  the  lost city
                                                      for  you.  I  know  that  your  servants  are  suspicious  of me,
                                                      but  I  have  your  best  interests  at heart."
                   "They  are  not  my  servants, Eliphas."
                   Eliphas  smiled.  "They  believe  otherwise,  brother. Look
                there!  A  pod  of  grampuses!  See  how  they sport!"
                   Three,  four,  five  sleek  white  creatures  swam swiftly
           through  the  clear  water,  effortlessly  overtaking  the speeding
                  ship.  They  caught  up  with  the  purling  bow-wave and
                rode  it  briefly,  plunging  and  leaping  in  white  foam, then
                all  at  once  they  sounded,  pale  shadows  dwindling away
                into  the  dark  depths  of  the river.
                   Eliphas  said,  "Some  believe  they  are  intelligent, and
                that  they  herd  the  fish  of  the  river  as  the  autochthons of
                the  mountains  herds  sheep  or goats."
                   "When  you  are,  swimming  in  the  river,  you  can sometimes
                  hear  them  singing,"  Yama  said.  He  had  often heard
                their  songs  himself,  for  in  summer  schools  of grampuses
                migrated  far  upriver.  Songs  that  lasted  for  hours, deep
                throbbings  overlaid  with  scatterings  of  chirps  and whistles,
                haunting,  mysterious  and  somehow  lonely,  as  if defining
                the  inhuman  vastness  of  the  Great River.
                   "They  say  that  the  Preservers  placed  everything  on this
                
world  for  a  purpose,"  Eliphas  said,  "and  the  ultimate purpose
                  is  to  raise  up  all  the  Shaped  so  that  we  may live
                forever  in  their  glory.  But  I  sometimes  wonder  if  the Preservers
                  brought  creatures  like  the  grampuses  to  the world
                simply  because  of  the  joy  they  strike  in  the  hearts  of men.
                If  that  is  true,  I  can  forgive  them much."
                   Yama  remembered  that  the  woman  in  the shrine,
                Angel's  aspect,  had  said  that  the  Preservers  were descended
                  from  her  own  people.  He  said,  "I  think  that the
                Preservers  were  once  not  so  different  from  us.  The first
                suras  of  the  Puranas  tell  us  that  in  times  long  past there
                were  no  gods,  but  only  many  kinds  of humans."
                   "There  is  no  gradation  in  godhood,"  Eliphas  said. "It
                is  not  like  the  process  of  aging,  which  is  so  gradual that
                only  by  looking  back  are  you  shocked  by  how  much you
                have  changed,  for  you  have  no  sense  of  having changed
                at  all.  And  of  course,  from  day  to  day  you  have not
                changed  in  any  measurable  sense.  No,  brother,  the Preservers
                  changed  utterly  and  at  once,  and  so  what  they were



                                                   before  they  became  gods  is  irrelevant.  When  godhood descended
                                                     upon  them,  or  when  they  ascended  to godhood,
                                                   everything  they  had  been  fell away."
                                                      "And  yet  they  made  us  over  in  their  image.  Not as
                                                   what  they  became,  but  as  what  they  once  were.  And so
                                                   they  did  not  leave  their  past behind."
                                                      Eliphas  nodded  gravely.  The  old  man  loved metaphysical
                                                     discourse.  He  was  one  of  those  for  whom  the world
                                                   is  merely  an  object  from  which  theoretical  ideals  might be
                                                   abstracted,  and  therefore  less  important  than thought.
                                                      "The  Preservers  have  not  forgotten  what they          once
                                                   were,"  he  said,  "but  they  put  it  behind  them,  as  a butterfly
                                                   puts  behind  its  caterpillar  childhood  when  it  emerges from
                                                   its  cocoon.  The  Puranas  are  perhaps  that  cocoon, which
                                                   we  riddle  for  clues.  Yet  it  is  only  an  empty  shell left
                                                   clinging  to  the  twig  of  the  world.  That  which  matters has
                                                   ascended  into  everlasting sunlight."
                                                      Yama  smiled  at  the  
old  man's  fanciful  metaphor. He
                                                   enjoyed  these  conversations;  they  reminded  him  of the
                                                   long  debates  with  Zakiel  and  Telmon,  of  happier times.
                                                   He  said,  "You  have  seen  me  read  in  the  Puranas.  It  is not
                                                   to  understand  the  Preservers.  It  is  to  understand myself."
                                                      "I  believe  that  your  copy  of  the  Puranas  is  a  very old
                                                  one. 11
                                                      Yama  knew  that  Eliphas  wanted  to  examine  the book,
                                                   but  he  had  decided  that  he  would  not  show  the transformed
                                                   pictures  to  anyone.  Not,  at  least,  until  he  had understood
                                                   Angel's  story.  He  would  read  more  tonight.  He thought
                                                   that  he  already  knew  how  it  ended-but  perhaps  it had
                                                   not  ended  after  all.  Perhaps  he  was  part  of  that story,
                                                   coming  late  onto  the  stage  to  draw  the  curtain  and announce
                                                     the  end  of  the play.
                                                      Eliphas  said,  "Books  are  more  powerful  than  the world.
                                                   Even  if  the  world  ended,  then  surely  someone  would chronicle
                                                     it.  And  so  that  book  would  save  the  world,  for  it would
                                                   live  again  in  the  rninds  of  any  who  read  the account."
                                                      
"I  spent  much  of  my  childhood  in  a  library. Perhaps
                                                   too  much  of  it  was  spent  studying  the  past.  I  want  to see
                 the  world,  Eliphas,  and  all  its wonders.   I  want  the present,
                 not  the past."
                    "But  the  past  is  all  around  us.  We  cannot  escape it.
                 Everything  important  has  happened in        the  past,  and we
                 are  its  children.  The  Preservers  achieved  odhood  in the                                                              
                 past  and  made  the  world  in  the  past  and  shaped  the bloodlines
                   in  the  past.  The  future  is  a  small  thing  and hazily
                 glimpsed,  and  we  are  told  that  once  every  bloodline has
                 changed  the  future  will  cease,  for  history  will  cease. But
                 you  are  right,  brother.  Children  should  look  ahead, not
                 behind.  We  cannot  live  in  the  past,  or  else  the  future will
                 only  echo  what  has  already happened."
                    So  they  talked  as  the  ship,  sailing  aslant  the river's
                 currents,  drew  closer  to  the  shining  city  of  Gond. Eliphas
                 preferred  his  own  opinions  to  those  of  anyone  else, but
                 Yama  was  grateful  for  the  diversion  of  his company.
                    He  could  not  grieve  for  his  stepfather,  not  yet.  He could
                 not  give  way  to  grief  or  anger.  He  must  stay  calm  
and alert,
                 for  sooner  or  later  he  would  have  to  face  Prefect  Corin again.
                 He  did  not  believe  that  he  had  escaped.  Prefect  Corin was
                 a  thorough  man.  He  would  not  have  been  fooled  for long
                 by  Yama's  ruse,  and  would  have  returned  to  the floating
                 forest  to  search  for  remains  of  his  quarry.  Finding  none, he
                 would  have  gone  on  downriver,  implacable,  relentless. This
                 was  not  mere  supposition:  Yama  had  already  turned aside
                 several  machines  that  were  searching  the  wide  river  for any
                 trace  of  the  WeazeL  So  he  was  not  surprised  when, that
                 evening,  as  the  Weazel  scudded  ahead  of  a  light breeze
                 toward  the  floating  harbor  that  stood  off  the  shore  of Gond,
                 Captain  Lorquital  called  him  up  to  the quarterdeck.
 -A
 Al                 Aguilar  and  Tamora  stood  on  either  side  of Captain
                 Lorquital's  sling  chair.  Aguilar  told  Yama,  "Your trick
 0
                 with  the  machines  has  run  aground.  The  devil  has got
                 ahead  of us."
                    "We'll  have  to  face  him  now,"  Tamora  said,  and her
                 black  lips  peeled  back  from  her  teeth  at  the thought.
                    Ixchel  Lorquital  handed  Yama  her  spectacles without
                 
comment.  Through  their  magnifying  lenses,  the floating
                 harbor  leapt  closer.  There  were  ships  of  every  size  laid up



                                                    at  the  leagues  of  pontoons  and  cranes  and  warehouses of
                                                    the  docks;  their  masts  made  a  leafless  forest.  And  in the
                                                    channels  beyond  the  floating  harbor,  a  picketboat  and a
                                                    triple-decked  warship  were  anchored  side  by  side, their
                                                    sails half-reefed.
                                                       "Well,"  Yama  said,  "we  could  not  hope  to  hide from
                                                    him  forever. "
                                                       "There  was  a  light  signal  from  the  harbor," Captain
                                                    Lorquital  said.  "We  are  to  pick  up  our  passenger tonight.
                                                    He's  an  important  man,  and  we  can  leave  tomorrow morning
                                                      under  his  protection,  like  any  other  honest vessel."
                                                       "We  can't  depend  on  that,"  Aguilar  said,  and  told Yama,
                                                    "Your  devil  will  be  watching  the  river  night  and  day,  but I
                                                    think  we'll  have  a  better  chance  if  we  run  at night."
                                                       Tamora  said,  "We  might  surprise him."
                                                       "I  saw  a  machine  today,"  Captain  Lorquital  said. "It
                                                    was  making  directly  for  us  when  it  suddenly  angled away,
                                                    as  if  it  remembered  business  it  had elsewhere."
                                                       "I  cannot  confuse  
the  minds  of  men,"  Yama  said, "and
                                                    Aguilar  is  right.  Prefect  Corin's  men  will  be watching
                                                    every  ship  that  passes  by.  Especially  those  few  that pass
                                                    by  at night.
                                                       "We  have  lost  our  cannon,"  Aguilar  said.  "We have
                                                    only  our  small  arms.  If  it  comes  to  a  fight,  we  must surprise
                                                     them.
                                                       "We  must  strike  first,"  Tamora said.
                                                       "We  have  made  plans,"  Aguilar  said.  "Barrels  of pitch.
                                                   A  catapult-"
                                                       Captain  Lorquital  said,  "I  won't  be  a  pirate, daughter.
                                                    They  must  fire  the  first shot."
                                                       "And  that  one  shot  could  sink  us,"  Aguilar said.
                                                       Yama  said,  "It  is  better  to  know  where  our  enemy  is than
                                                    to  run  with  the  thought  that  he  is  always  somewhere  behind us.
                                                    Besides,  he  will  have  no  warrant  or  power  here.  He  is merely
                                                    another  sailor  put  in  for  shore  leave  and  reprovisioning. If
                                                    he  tries  to  hurt  us,  the  common  law  will  protect us."
                                                       "The  people  of  Gond  care  little  for  anything  but their
                                                    philosophies,"  Aguilar  
said.  "They'll  probably  turn us
                  over  to  that  town  burner  rather  than  interrupt  their meditations
                    to  listen  to  us  plead  our case."
                      "She's  right,"  Tamora  said.  "We  must  take matters
                  into  our  own hands,"
                      "Then  we'll  be  worse  than  them,"  Captain Lorquital
                  said  firmly.  "This  is  an  end  to  the  argument.  We'll behave
                 as   any  normal  ship.  The  free  men  will  get  their shore
                  leave,  and  you,  daughter,  will  stand  guard  with  the slaves.
                  Nothing  will  happen  to  us  at  the  harbor,  and  once our
                  passenger  is  aboard,  we'll  have  his protection."
                      Afterward,  Tamora  followed  Yama  to  the  bow. "You
                  are  planning  something,"  she  said.  "I  know  you don't
                  believe  that  crut  about  common law."
                      "I  want  to  kill  him,"  Yama said.
                      Tamora  grinned  hugely.  "That's  more  like  it. How?
                  And  how  can  I help?"
                      "I  want  to  kill  him,  but  I  do  not  think  that  I should."
                      "Then  he  will  kill you."
                      "Yes,  he  will,  if  he  cannot  make  me  serve him."
                      "He  destroyed  your  home,  Yama.  He  killed  your father
                 as   surely  as  if  he  had  put  an  arbalest  bolt  through  his heart.
                  He  is  your  enemy.  There  is  nothing  sweeter  than drinking
                  the  blood  of  your  enemy.  Don't  deny  yourself  the pleasure."
                      
"He  is  only  one  man.  How  many  more  will  the Department
                    send  after  me?  How  many  more  would  I  have to
                  kill?  If  I  kill  Prefect  Corin  there  will  never  be  an  end to
                  killing.  I  will  always  be  hunted.  But  if  I  can  find  a way
                  to  end  this,  then  I  will  be free."
                      Tamora  thought  about  this.  "We'll  try  your  way," she
                  said  at  last.  "And  if  that  doesn't  work,  give  him  to me.
                  He  is  as  much  my  enemy  as  yours.  I'll  rip  his  heart from
                  his  chest  and  eat  it  in  front  of  his  dying eyes."
                      She  smiled  fiercely  at  the  thought,  but  Yama  knew that
                  she  shared  his foreboding.
                      A  fishing  barge  was  anchored  upstream  of  the floating
                  harbor,  the  enormous  carcass  of  a  leviathan sprawled



                                                    across  its  wide  flat  deck.  Already  partly  defleshed, the
                                                    arches  of  the  leviathan's  ribcage  rose  higher  than the
                                                    barge's  cranes.  Its  guts,  tinged  pink  with  the  plankton on
                                                    which  it  had  fed,  spilled  in  heavy  loops  from  a  rent that
                                                    would  have  admitted  the  Weazel,  mast  and  all.  A  line of
                                                    men  was  strung  across  the  wide  flat  tail  of  the carcass,
                                                    like  harvesters  working  across  a  field.  They  were using
                                                    huge  flensing  knives  to  cut  the  hide  away  from  the blubber
                                                    beneath.  Black  smoke  poured  from  the  barge's rendering
                                                    furnaces,  sending  up  a  stink  of  burning  fat  and  hazing the
                                                    last  light  of  the  sun.  Flocks  of  birds  dipped  and  rose like
                                                    whirling  snowstorms,  fighting  for  titbits  in  the bloody
                                                   waters.
                                                      As  the  Weazel  glided  through  the  lee  of  the  barge, Yama
                                                    watched  the  city  of  Gond  slip  past  to  starboard.  It had
                                                    once  risen  out  of  the  river;  now,  it  looked  like  the last
                                                    tooth  of  an  old  man,  its  roots  exposed  beyond  a labyrinth
                                                    of  mudflats.  Gond,  the  porcelain  city.  A  clutch  of luminous
                                                    
white  shells  three  leagues  across,  rising  and  falling in
                                                    rounded  contours  like  a  range  of  ancient  dunes, tinged
                                                    with  rose  and  silver  and  gold.  Here  and  there  were clusters
                                                    of  slim  towers,  their  tops  ringed  round  by  tiers  of balconies
                                                    .  Floating  gardens  hovered  along  the  river  margin, their
                                                    parks  and  woods  strung  with  thousands  of lamps.
                                                      Eliphas  climbed  onto  the  forecastle  deck.  "There are
                                                    probably  not  more  than  a  hundred  living  there  now," he
                                                    said.  "Mostly,  it  is  maintained  by machines."
                                                      "Yet  they  once  ruled  Ys,"  Yama said.
                                                      He  had  once  read  a  brief  history  of  the  porcelain city,
                                                    and  remembered  that  it  had  grown  from  a  single seed
                                                    planted  in  the  sand  of  a  beach  at  the  first  bend  in the
                                                    Great  River.  He  wondered  if  that  beach  was  still there,
                                                    beneath  the  carapace  of  the  city-the  past  preserved forever
                                                      in  the  present.  But  no  strangers  were  allowed into
                                                    Gond.  Its  beauty  was  also  its  shield.  Its  people  were great
                                                    philosophers  and  teachers,  but  they  did  their  work  in colleges
                                                      
scattered  amongst  the  orchards  and  fields  and paddies
                                                    that  surrounded  the  city.  From  the  first,  the  city  had drawn
                                                      circle  around itself.
                  "They  ruled  Ys  a  long  time  ago,"  Eliphas  said,  "in the
               grim  days  after  the  Hierarchs  vanished,  but  before  the civil
               service  reached  its  present  consensus.  They  are  much diminished
               ,  yet  still  much  exulted.  If  any  who  live  in these
               days  are  close  to  the  Preservers,  then  the  people  of Gond
               are  the  closest.  They  are  so  holy  that  they  no  longer have
               children.  Their  bloodline  dwindles.  The  youngest  is  a century
                 older  than  me,  and  I  am  counted  as  long-lived  by my
               bloodline.  Their  holiness  will  be  the  death  of  them, soon
               enough.  The  past  has  consumed  them,  brother.  The face
               of  the  city  is  more  beautiful  than  I  remembered,  but  it is
               the  beauty  of  a  well-kept tomb."
                  As  the  Weazel  made  her  way  toward  the  harbor under
               the  power  of  her  reaction  motor,  her  sail  neatly  reefed, a
               small  boat  motored  out  to  meet  her.  A  pilot  came aboard
               and  formally  greeted  Captain  Lorquital,  then  asked  to see
               the  boy, Yama.
                  "We  have  two  ships  under  command  of  an  official of
               
the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs,"  the  pilot told
               Yama.  "Perhaps  you  know him."
                  "His  name  is  Corin.  He  is  a  Prefect  of  the Department
              ."
                  The  pilot  was  a  small  man,  smaller  even  than Pandaras,
               but  he  had  the  brisk,  assured  air  of  someone  used  to command
               .  He  wore  immaculately  polished  black  boots and
               loose  linen  trousers  under  a  scarlet  djellaba,  and was
               smoking  a  black  cigarillo.  He  blew  a  riffle  of  smoke with
               a  flourish  and  looked  at  Yama  squarely.  "Whatever business
                 you  have  with  him,  it  is  nothing  to  do  with  the harbor.
               We  have  become  a  staging  post  for  the  war,  but  we are
              n
                ot  under  the  command  of  the  Department  of Indigenous
              Affairs.
                  "I understand."
                  "You  will  not  take  weapons  if  you  go  ashore. Neither
               will  he,  nor  will  his  men.  All  go  unarmed here."
                  "You  put  it  very  plainly,"  Yama  said.  "I  hope  that I
               may  speak  plainly,  too.  This  man  wants  to  make  me his
               prisoner.  Because  of  that,  Captain  Lorquital  fears  for the
               safety  of  her ship."



                                                      The  pilot  nodded,  and  drew  on  his  cigarillo.  "He tried
                                                    to  force  the  issue,  and  the  Harbor  Master  had  to  point out
                                                    that  we  do  not  take  sides  in  any  dispute.  Nor  will  we be
                                                    the  arena  for  the  settling  of  any  quarrel.  Frankly,  if  he had
                                                    not  tried  to  force  us,  we  would  have  let  him  take  you. But
                                                    we  cannot  allow  him  to  set  a  dangerous  precedent." He
                                                    flicked  the  butt  of  his  cigarillo  over  the  side  and turned
                                                    on  his  heel.  "Now,  Captain  Lorquital,  the  helm  if you
                                                      ase.  I  wi  I  take  you in."
                                                      The  pilot  guided  the  Weazel  to  a  berth  at  a  long pontoon
                                                    at  the  inner  edge  of  the  harbor,  amongst  mussel dredgers
                                                    and  two-masted  ketches  of  the  kind  which  carried small
                                                    cargoes  between  cities  everywhere  along  the  river. The
                                                    sultry  air  tasted  of  the  acrid  smoke  of  the  fishing barge's
                                                    rendering  furnaces.  The  water  around  the  pontoon was
                                                    stained  with  sullen  rainbows;  flocks  of  tiny machines
                                                    skated  the  surface,  absorbing  spilled  fuel  oil  through pads
                                                    on  their  long  legs.  
Pelicans  perched  on  mooring posts,
                                                    drying  their  wings,  like  rows  of  arrowheads  against the
                                                    red  light  of  the  setting  sun.  A  league  away,  across  a maze
                                                    of  channels  and  pontoons  and  graving  basins,  colored neon
                                                    lights  blazed  and  winked  above  clusters  of clapboard
                                                    buildings  and  plastic  domes.  The  pilot  repeated  his warning
                                                      to  Yama  and  Captain  Lorquital,  and  took  his leave.
                                                      "We  can't  go  ashore  unarmed,"  Tamora said.
                                                      "You  have  your  teeth  and  claws,"  Pandaras  said, "I
                                                    have  my  cunning,  and  our  master  has  his  power  over machines
                                                    .  What  more  do  we need?"
                                                      "I  want  to  talk  with  him,"  Yama  said.  "I  will  go alone,
                                                    and unarmed."
                                                      Tamora  said,  "And  where  will  you  begin  to  look for
                                                    him?  It  would  be  better  if  you  stayed  here.  It'll  be the
                                                    first  place  he'll  look,  and  there's  nothing  to  say  we can't
                                                    be  armed  if  we  stay  aboard  our  own ship.
                                                      Even  as  the  sailors  began  to  make  the  Weazel  fast in
                                                    her  berth,  shills  
appeared  on  the  pontoon,  handing  out little
                                                    tiles  that  whispered  seductive  invitations  to whorehouses
                                                    and  bars.  One  of  the  shills  called  Yama's  name  and threw
                                                    a  tile  to  the  deck  at  his  feet  and  quickly  walked away,
                pushing  through  the  others.  Yama  picked  up  the  white tile
                and  the  golden  dragon  printed  on  its  surface  flexed its
                wings  and  breathed  a  wisp  of  blue  fire  that  formed two
                words.  A name.
                  Mother Spitfire's.
                  Yama  insisted  on  going  alone,  although  Tamora argued
                fiercely  against  it.  "The  crews  of  the  picketboat  of the
                warship  will  be  crawling  all  over  this  place,"  she said.
                "A  gang  of  them  could  set  on  you  anywhere.  Better to
                fight  in  a  place  of  your  own choosing."
                  "I  know  where  he  wants  to  meet  you,"  Eliphas said.
                "This  place  is  famous  for  its  entertainments.  Of course,
                it  has  moved  downriver.  It  used  to  be  anchored off
                Kalyb,  but  the  fall  in  the  level  of  the  river  has stranded
                that  city  a  dozen  leagues  from  navigable  water." He
                peered  at  the  long  strip  of  lights  twinkling  in  the  dusk and
                added,  "It  seems  larger,  but  I  suppose  that  is  because of
                the war.
                  Tamora  spat  over  the  side  of  the  ship.  A  tiny 
machine
                skated  over  oily  water  after  her  gob  of  spittle.  "Grah. You
                should  swim  out  to  the  warship,  if  you  are  so  eager to
                meet  Corin.  It  would  make  as  much  sense.  A  man like
                him  won't  dirty  the  soles  of  his  boots  in  the  stews  of a
                place  like  this.  His  invitation  is  a trick."
                  "Better  we  speak  on  neutral  ground,"  Yama said.
                  "I  could  break  his  neck  for you."
                  "I  am  sure  you could."
                  "Or  gouge  out  his eyes."
                  "I  just  want  to  talk  with  him,  Tamora.  That  is  why I
                will  go  alone,  or  not  at all."
                  Pandaras  agreed  readily  enough  to  this.  He  said  that he
                had  a  mission  of  his own.
                  "Captain  Lorquital  has  given  the  freemen  liberty until
                the  midnight  watch,  and  it  seems  that  my  friend, Pantin,
                has  never  been  with  a  woman.  It  was  part  of  the discipline



                                                     of  his  former  trade.  I  feel  it's  time  he  was  taken  in hand,
                                                     as  it were.
                                                        "If  you  know  what  you  are  doing,"  Yama  said, thinking
                                                       of  the  young  sailor's  reputation  as  a  pit  fighter. Pantin
                                                     was  already  on  the  pontoon,  waiting  with  his  hands  in the
                                                     back  pockets  of  the  scuffed  leather  trousers  he habitually
                                                    wore.
                                                        "Pantin  has  renounced  the  knife  life,"  Pandaras said,
                                                       and  I'll  make  sure  he's  too  busy  to  get  into trouble."
                                                        Pandaras  walked  a  little  way  with  Yama,  then  he and
                                                     Pantin  went  off  arm  in  arm,  and  Yama  went  in  the other
                                                     direction,  toward  the  far  end  of  the  Strip  and Mother
                                                    Spitfire's.
                                                        The  main  drag  of  the  floating  harbor  was  laid  out along
                                                     a  broadwalk  half  a  league  long.  The  gaudily  painted fronts
                                                     of  chandlers,  bars  and  whorehouses  rose  shoulder  to shoulder
                                                       on  either  side.  Groups  of  intoxicated  sailors  and soldiers
                                                       surged  and  staggered  beneath  flashing  neon and
                                                     flaring  torches,  carrying  paper  cups  of  beer  or smoking
                                                     
pipes  of  crystal  or  weed  as  they  moved  from  one attraction
                                                     to  the  next.  This  was  the  last  stop  their  transports would
                                                     make  before  the  battlefields  above  the  midpoint  of the
                                                     world,  and  Yama  supposed  that  they  sought  oblivion in
                                                     the  few  hours  it  took  for  their  ships  to  renew  their stores.
                                                     Hawkers  cried  the  merits  of  drinking  or  smoking dens;
                                                     there  were  tattoo  parlors  and  fast-food  joints,  dream parlors
                                                       and  gambling  palaces.  Dancers  of  all  sexes  and a
                                                     decad  of  different  bloodlines  (or  perhaps  they  were all
                                                     mirror  people,  &W  thought)  bumped  and  ground in
                                                     lighted  windows  above  the  awnings  of  bars; musicians,
                                                     magicians  and  gamblers  made  islands  in  the  throng. Here
                                                     and  there,  magistrates  stood  on  floating  discs  above the
                                                     packed  heads  of  the  crowds,  and  their  tiny,  glittering machines
                                                       spun  everywhere  through  the  neon-lit air.
                                                        Mother  Spitfire's  was  a  gambling  palace  at  the  far end
                                                     of  the  Strip.  A  dragon  limned  in  golden  neon tubing
                                                     sprawled  across  its  tall  faqade;  pillars  of  fire  roared within
                                                     
tall  columns  of  glass  on  either  side  of  the  wide doors.
                                                        Tamora  and  Eliphas  were  waiting  outside,  and Yama's
                first  pang  of  anger  quickly  gave  way  to  relief.  He laughed,
                and  said,  "I  suppose  Pandaras  and  Pantin  are skulking
                somewhere nearby."
                  "I  sent  them  off  to  a  whorehouse,"  Tamora  said, "but
                the  old  man  insists  on  staying  here,  even  though  he'll only
                be  in  the  way."  She  was  not  wearing  her  sword,  and stood
                with  her  thumbs  stuck  in  the  belt  of  her  leather skirt,
                scowling  at  every passerby.
                  "I  know  this  place,"  Eliphas  said,  "and  I  hope  that I
                can  be  of  help.  But  I  fear  that  Prefect  Corin  does  not want
                to  talk.  There  are  many  places  on  the  Strip  that  will amuse
                you.  Let  me  show  them  to  you.  Forget  all  this  for  a few
                hours,  and  then  we  will  be gone."
                  "You  wanted  me  to  destroy  him  a  few  days ago,"
                Yama  said.  "If  you  do  not  wish  to  meet  Prefect Corin,
                then  go  back  to  the  ship.  I  will  not  blame you."
                  "We  can  still  strike  first,"  Tamora  said, "beginning
                with  this  Mother  Spitfire.  She  must  be  a  friend of
               Corin's."
                  "She  is  famous  here,"  Eliphas  said,  "Or rather,
               infamous."
                  Yama  said,  "lxchel  Lorquital  told  me  that  Mother Spitfire
                  
will  lose  her  license  if  she  allows  any  of  her guests
     ,         to  bear  arms.  We  will  talk.  That  is all."
                  Tamora  passed  the  palm  of  one  hand  over  her scarred
                scalp.  She  said,  "I'll  do  more  than  talk  with  him  if  he so
                much  as  looks  at  me  in  a  funny  way.  Him  or  anyone else."
                  Inside,  men  and  women  crowded  at  dice  tables  down a
                long  room,  under  greenery  that  spilled  from  floating discs.
                Most  of  the  gamblers  were  in  uniform.  The  roar  of their
                wagers  and  prayers  mingled  with  the  plaintive  music  of a
                shadow  puppet  show  that  played  on  a  screen  raised above
                the  midpoint  of  the  room.  Beyond,  more  people crowded
                around  the  walls  of  a  fighting  pit  or  were  scattered  on the
                tiers  of  wide  steps  that  rose  on  either side.
                  Mother  Spitfire  herself  came  up  the  central  aisle  to greet
                Yama.  She  was  very  tall  and  very  slender, golden-skinned
                and  clad  in  a  sheath  dress  of  red  silk  that  flowed like
                water.  Two  burly  men  of  Tamora's  bloodline  stood behind



                                                 her,  impassive  in  black  robes.  Tamora  stared  at  them; they
                                                 stared back.
                                                    "Welcome,  Yamamanama,"  Mother  Spitfire  said, bowing
                                                   so  sinuously  that  her  small,  sleek  head  was brought
                                                 close  to  Yama's.  Her  breath  smelled  of  honey  and cinnamon
                                                 .  She  pressed  a  stack  of  gambling  markers into
                                                 Yama's  hand.  Her  fingernails  were  very  long,  and painted
                                                 scarlet.  "May  your  luck  increase  this  poor  gift many
                                                 times over."
                                                    "Where  is he?"
                                                    Mother  Spitfire's  green,  slit-pupilled  eyes  were large
                                                 and  lidless;  a  nictitating  membrane  filmed  them  for  a moment
                                                 .  She  said,  "You  are  as  bold  and  direct  as  he said
                                                 you  would  be.  Is  it  bravery,  I  wonder,  or  innocence? He
                                                 is  on  his  way.  Meanwhile  enjoy  yourselves.  We  have several
                                                   pairs  of  well-matched  contestants  tonight--her voice
                                                 lowered-"although  if  I  were  to  place  a  wager  on the
                                                 next  bout,  I  would  favor  the  smaller animal."
                                                    "Thank  you  for  your  advice,"  Yama said.
                                                    
"There  will  be  no  fighting  here,"  Mother  Spitfire said,
                                                 looking  at  Tamora  for  a  moment,  "except  for  that  in the
                                                pit."
                                                    "I  trust  you  were  paid  well  for  the  risk,"  Yama said.
                                                    "Not  so  much  that  I  can  afford  to  have  my business
                                                 closed.  I  have  pledged  that  there  will  be  no  trouble from
                                                 either side."
                                                    Mother  Spitfire  swept  away,  followed  by  her bodyguards
                                                 .  Tamora  stared  after  her  and  said,  "They could
                                                 take  us  here  and  no  one  would notice."
                                                    Yama  pointed  to  one  of  the  little  machines  that spun
                                                 through  the  smoky  air  above  the  gaming  tables. "The
                                                 magistrates  watch  everywhere,"  he  said.  "What happens
                                                 in  the pit?"
                                                    "They  fight  to  the  death,"  Eliphas  said.  "This  place is
                                                 infamous.  Mother  Spitfire  is  the  last  of  her  kind, older
                                                 than  anyone  in  Gond.  But  it  is  not  a  seemly  spectacle that
                                                 she  presides  over,  brother.  Perhaps  Tamora  is  correct. We
                                                 should  choose  our  own  meeting  place.  Here,  we place
                                                 ourselves  at  the  mercy  
of  our enemy."
                 "I  am  tired  of  running,"  Yama said.
                 He  led  the  way  through  the  crowd  that  clustered around
               the  oval  fighting  pit,  and  climbed  the  sweep  of  steps to
               the  very  top.  The  pit  was  filled  with  water  and  lit by
               powerful  lamps.  Men  and  women  leaned  at  the  rail, watching
                 as  two  naked  slaves  trawled  fragments  from  the water
               with  long-handled  rakes.  A  gong  sounded  softly  and the
               slaves  set  down  their  rakes  and  cranked  down springloaded
                 arms  with  a  net  stretched  between  them, dividing
               the  flooded  pit  in  two.  A  little  old  man  in  a  black robe,
               his  beard  so  long  that  he  wore  its  forked  end  over his
               shoulder,  climbed  into  a  basket  seat  and  pulled vigorously
               on  a  system  of  ropes  and  pulleys  to  hoist  himself above
               the water.
                 "They  keep  them  in  heat,"  Eliphas  said.  "They  do it
               with  injections,  so  they're  always  ready  to fight."
                 The  gong  sounded  again,  battered  brass  soft  as  a dying
               man's  last  sigh.  Water  boiled  at  either  end  of  the  pit and
               two  sleek  shapes  glided  out  into  the  light.  There  was a
               flurry  of  betting  amongst  the spectators.
                 Yama's  breath  caught  in  his  throat.  The  creatures  in the
               
water  were  kelpies.  Steel  spurs  were  fastened  to  their flippers
               ;  spiked  chains  to  their  tails.  One  swam  straight  at the
               net  and  recoiled  from  a  sputter  of  fat  blue  sparks, spouting
               a  cloud  of  oily  vapor.  The  other  held  still  in  the center
               of  its  half  of  the  pit,  its  tail  moving  up  and  down with
               slow deliberation.
                 The  old  man  said  something  about  preparing  the bout,
               and,  last  wagers  please.  As  his  amplified  voice echoed
               around  the  room,  there  was  a  renewed  flurry  of betting.
               Then  the  gong  sounded  for  the  third  time  and  the springloaded
                 arms  snapped  back,  raising  the  net  out  of  the water
               with  an  explosive  motion.  The  two  kelpies  shot  into the
               center  of  the  pit,  lashing  around  each  other,  parting, and
               engaging again.
                 Water  splashed  over  the  sides,  draining  away through
               slots  in  the  floor.  The  spectators  hooted  and  stamped and
               whistled.  Both  kelpies  were  bleeding  from  gashes  in their
               pale  bellies.  Their  blood  looked  black  as  it fluttered



                                                     through  the  brilliantly  lit  water.  For  a  moment,  they hung
                                                     head  to  head;  then  they  engaged  again,  and  suddenly one
                                                     was  on  top  of  the  other.  It  beat  at  its  opponent's flanks
                                                     with  its  tail  chains,  and  with  its  teeth  ripped  through blubher
                                                       and  flesh  to  expose  the  spine,  which  it  broke  with a
                                                     quick  snap  of  its  head.  It  slid  away,  snorting  vapor through
                                                     the  nasal  slits  at  the  top  of  its  head  and  making  a hoarse
                                                     braying  whistle,  and  the  corpse  rolled  over  and sank
                                                     through  a  cloud  of  its  own  blood.  The  old  man  above the
                                                     pit  chanted  a  string  of  numbers  and  there  was  a  flurry of
                                                     activity  amongst  the  spectators  as  betting  markers were
                                                     exchanged.  Slaves  used  long  electrified  prods  to  drive the
                                                     victorious  kelpie  away  from  the  corpse  and  harry  it into
                                                     one  of  the tunnels.
                                                        Yama  felt  both  sick  and  excited.  The  spectacle  was horrible
                                                       and  degrading,  yet  even  in  their hormone-induced
                                                     fury,  the  animals  were  possessed  of  a  fierce beauty.
                                                        Eliphas  saw  Yama's  disgust.  He  said,  "There  is worse
                                                     
to  come,  brother.  We  should  leave  now.  Meet  with your
                                                     enemy  elsewhere.  Let  me  show you-"
                                                        "Too  late,"  Tamora  said.  "He  is here."
                                                        Three  men  were  coming  up  the  steps  toward  them. As
                                                     always,  Prefect  Corin  wore  a  plain  homespun  tunic, but
                                                     this  time  he  was  not  carrying  his  staff.  His  two companions
                                                       wore  breastplates  of  plastic  armor  and  short  kirtles of
                                                     red  cloth  that  left  their  legs bare.
                                                        Tamora  insisted  on  patting  the  three  men  down. Prefect
                                                     Corin  submitted  to  her  search  with  good  humor,  and favored
                                                       Yama  with  one  of  his  rare  smiles.  "You  are well,
                                                     boy,"  he  said.  He  looked  sleek  and  self-satisfied  and calm.
                                                     "I  am  glad.  It  was  quite  a  chase  you  led  me.  The trick
                                                     with  the  scouts  was  good.  I  should  have  guessed  that you
                                                     could  fool  them  sooner  than  I  did.  You  have  learned a
                                                     great  deal  since  I  last  talked  with you."
                                                        "Many  things  have  changed,"  Yama  said.  He  had expected
                                                       to  feel  a  hot  rage  when  he  confronted  the  man who
                                                     
had  murdered  his  stepfather,  but  instead  he  felt  nothing at
                                                     all,  not  even  contempt.  His  hands  were  trembling, though,
              and  he  folded  his  arms  and  returned  Prefect  Corin's gaze
              as  steadily  as  he could.
                 "They're  clean,"  Tamora  said,  "but  don't  let them
              come  any  closer.  I'll  break  their  necks  if  they  try." She
              glared  at  Prefect  Corin's  companions,  who  looked through
              her  as  if  she  did  not exist.
                 Prefect  Corin  said,  "The  reputation  of  your companion
             is  not  the  highest,  but  I  understand  that  she  tries  to make
             up  with  bravado  what  she  lacks  in  skill."  He  glanced at
              Eliphas.  "This  man  had  a  reputation,  too.  Where  is he
              leading  you?  What  trick  is  he  upon?  You  are  out  of your
              depth,  Eliphas.  You  should  have  stuck  to  gouging wouldbe
                widows  wanting  recipes  for  undetectable poisons."
                 Eliphas  said  with  great  dignity,  "I  don't  know you,
              dominie,  but  I  see  that  my  jealous  rivals  have  been whispering
                in  your ear."
                 Yama  told  Prefect  Corin,  "I  am  not  sorry  about your
              machines.  I  will  destroy  any  you  send  against  me. You
              must  know  that.  And  you  must  know  that  I  will not
             serve."
                 Prefect  Corin  said,  "There  are  always  more machines.
              Think  of  it  as  a  test.  The  more  you  resist,  the  more we
              learn  about  you.  The  more  you  try  to  escape,  the  more we
              
will  chase  you.  If  you  came  here  hoping  that  I would
              allow  you  to  go  on  your  way  unhindered,  than  I must
              disappoint  you.  Give  in,  boy.  The  river  is  wide,  but  it is
              not  endless.  The  further  you  travel,  the  nearer  you approach
                the  war,  where  there  are  millions  under  the cornmand
                of  the  Department.  You  cannot  hide  from  all of
              them;  you  cannot  override  all  of  the  machines.  I  can offer
              you  much,  and  that  is  why  I  am  here.  We  do  not  want to
              lose you."
                 Yama  met  Prefect  Corin's  mild  gaze  with  an  effort of
              will.  He  said,  "How  goes  the  war  amongst  the departments
                in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the People?"
                 "We  will win."
                 "Perhaps  not,  since  you  have  not  already won."
                 "What  will  you  do  if  you  do  not  join  us?  Trust Eliphas
              and  his  wild  tales?  Preach  to  the  underclasses  as  you did



                                                    on  the  roof  of  the  Palace?  Take  care  with  your  answer. I
                                                    would  not  like  to  indict  you  for  heresy  against  the word
                                                    of  the Preservers."
                                                       "I  go  in  search  of  my  people,  nothing  more.  And  I do
                                                    not  believe  that  you  serve  the  Preservers.  You  do  not even
                                                    serve  the  Department.  You  serve  your  own ends."
                                                       "You  were  brought  up  in  the  traditions  of  the Department
                                                    ,  and  you  should  know  that  we  are  here  to  serve the
                                                    people,  not  our  own  selves.  I  was  sorry  to  hear  of your
                                                    father's  death,  by  the  way.  He  was  a  good  servant, although
                                                      a  weak  man  who  clung  to  traditions  long  past their
                                                    usefulness.  He  should  not  have  become  involved  in this."
                                                       Tamora  said,  "Yama,  I'll  make  them  go.  Just  give me
                                                    the  word. "
                                                       "I  will  hear  what  he  has  to  offer,"  Yama  said.  He felt
                                                    perfectly  calm,  despite  the  tremor  in  his  hands. Crowds
                                                    were  gathering  around  the  flooded  fighting  pit  again. The
                                                    body  of  the  loser  had  been  removed  and  the  water had
                                                    been cleaned.
                                                       
Prefect  Corin  shrugged.  "Perhaps  I  will  not  bother. Perhaps
                                                      I  believe  that  you  have  already  made  up  your mind,
                                                   Yamamanama."
                                                       "But  you  cannot  know  for  certain.  That  is  why you
                                                   came."
                                                       "You  dare  to  presume-"  For  the  first  time, Prefect
                                                    Corin's  reserve  was  breached.  He  drew  a  finger  down the
                                                    white  streak  which  divided  the  left  side  of  his black-furred
                                                    face  and  said,  "You  presume  too  much.  You  are  not subtle
                                                    ,  boy.  But  I  will  tell  you  this.  We  will  not  ask  you to
                                                    fight.  We  will  ask  only  that  we  can  study  you  to  find out
                                                    how  you  control  machines.  And  when  we  know,  why, you
                                                    will  be  free  to  do  as  you  will.  You  wish  to  find  out why
                                                    you  are  here  and  where  you  come  from?  All  the resources
                                                    of  the  Department  will  be  at  your  disposal.  You  will be
                                                    elevated  through  the  ranks  to  the  first  circle  of committees.
                                                    If  you  wish  to  help  the  underclasses,  do  so  within established
                                                      structures  of  power.  Otherwise  you  waste  all that
                                                    you  might  be.  How  can  you  justify  throwing  that away,
                                                    
because  of pride?"
                  "You  would  raise  me  up  to  a level         I  do  not  deserve in
               order  to  give  the  Department  power  it  does  not deserve.
               The  Department  exists  to  serve those        you  call  the underclasses
               .  Perhaps  it  has  forgotten  that.  Perhaps  it  would be
               best  if  the  Department  looked  to  its  own  faults before
               attempting  to  correct  the  faults  of others."
                  "Ah,  Yamamanama.  I  admire  your  certainty.  But do
               think  a  while  on  what  I  have  said.  We  have  no hurry.
               Your  captain  still  awaits  her  passenger,  although  he would
               be  ill-advised  to  journey  with  you,  should  you  choose to
               attempt  to leave."
                  The  gong  sounded  again.  Prefect  Corin  turned toward
               the  pit.  He  said,  "We  will  watch  the  next  bout.  I think
               that  it  will  amuse  you.  And  while  you  watch,  think on
               what  I  have offered."
                  "It  is  the  worst  of  the  wickedness  of  this  place," Eliphas
                 said,  with  a  sudden passion.
                  Two  men  sat  at  either  end  of  the  pool,  in  the  same kind
               of  suspended  basket  chairs  as  the  old  man  who  had refereed
                 the  first  bout.  The  men  were  masked  and  gloved. Thin
               cables  trailed  from  the  chairs  into  the  water.  As spectators
               thickened  around  the  pit,  the  men  sat  quietly  above 
the
               rising  buzz  of  conversation  and  the  rattle  of  betting markers
               .  The  net  was  not  lowered  this  time;  suddenly, without
               fuss,  two  kelpies  were  hanging  at  either  end  of  the flooded
               pit,  shadows  floating  as  quiet  and  still  in  the  water  as the
               two  men  seated  in  the  air  above them.
                  Yama  asked  Eliphas  what  kind  of  contest  this would
               be,  but  Eliphas  simply  said  that  Yama  would  soon see.
               "But  we  should  leave,"  he  said.  "It  is  a  perversion of
               old knowledge."
                  Prefect  Corin  said,  "Knowledge  is  like  power.  It  is only
               effective  if  it  is  used.  You  will  not  use  your  power, Yamamanama
               .  That  is  why  we  will  triumph,  and  you  will lose."
                  The  gong  gently  battered  the  air  again.  Above  the pit,
               the  men  rolled  and  twisted  in  their  basket  chairs. The
               kelpies  shot  forward.  They  missed  each  other  on  the first
               pass.  One  smashed  its  blunt  head  against  the  side  of the
               tank  while  the  other  somersaulted  clumsily  and  bore in



                                                  with  a  sudden  rush.  It  ripped  a  gash  in  the  belly  of its
                                                  opponent  with  a  steel-tipped  flipper,  but  failed  to follow
                                                 through.
                                                    Yama  saw  the  thin  cables  that  trailed  after  each kelpie
                                                  and  understood  what  was  happening.  The  kelpies were
                                                  living  puppets,  commanded  by  the  masked  and  gloved men
                                                  just  as  Nergal  had  commanded  the spiders.
                                                    He  seized  control  with  a  spasm  of  anger  and disgust.
                                                  The  kelpies  shot  past  each  other  and  crashed  into opposite
                                                  ends  of  the  tank.  The  impact  killed  them  instantly; their
                                                  human  operators  were  both  stricken  by  seizures  that jerked
                                                  them  out  of  their  suspended  chairs.  One  hung  by  his harness
                                                  ;  the  other  toppled  over  and  smashed  into  the water.
                                                  Yama  collapsed  against  Tamora,  momentarily  blinded by
                                                  feedback  and  red  and  black lightning.
                                                    Half  of  the  spectators  surged  forward  to  see  what had
                                                  happened;  the  others  were  trying  to  get  away.  Knots of
                                                  fighting  broke  out.  A  grossly  fat  woman  stood  in  the middle
                                                    
of  the  m6l6e,  screaming  with  operatic force.
                                                    Yama  shrugged  off  Tamora's  grip  and  started  down the
                                                  steps.  One  of  Prefect  Corin's  men  tried  to  stop  him, but
                                                  Tamora  kicked  him  in  the  back  of  his  knee  and  he went
                                                  down  as  Yama  dodged  past.  He  threw  up  the markers
                                                  Mother  Spitfire  had  given  him  and,  as  people scrambled
                                                  for  them,  ran  under  the  screen  and  dodged  through the
                                                  maze  of  gambling  tables,  overturning  them  as  he  went. He
                                                  was  fueled  by  rage  and  fear.  His  sight  pounded  with red
                                                  and  black  in  solid  flashes.  The  thing  inside  him  had come
                                                  back;  he  was  a  helpless  passenger  in  his  own skull.
                                                    The  entire  building  seemed  transparent,  with  all the
                                                  places  where  machines  worked  shining  clear.  Overhead, a
                                                  hundred  little  spies  exploded  in  sputters  of white-hot
                                                  sparks,  crashing  down  amongst  the  gamblers  and  the tables
                                                  ,  starting  a  hundred  fires  and  doubling  and redoubling
                                                  panic.  Yama  was  carried  forward  by  a  sudden  press of
                                                  people  who  shared  the  same  thought:  to  get  out  before the
                                                  
fires  took  hold.  His  body  knew  what  to  do.  It  fought to
                                                  keep  its  feet  on  the  ground,  for  with  one  slip  it  would be
                                                  trampled  underfoot.  One  of  Mother  Spitfire's black-robed
              bodyguards  pushed  through  the  crowd  and  reached for
              him,  and  Yama  saw  the  machines  in  the  bodyguard's head
              and  did  something terrible.
                 When  he  came  to  himself,  he  had  fetched  up  in the
              doorway  of  a  dream  parlor  at  the  other  end  of  the Strip.
              One  hand  clasped  the  wrist  of  the  other,  crushing the
              coypu  hair  fetish.  Seed  pearls  pricked  his  fingertips. There
              was  blood  on  his  hands  and  flecks  of  blood  and bloody
              matter  spattered  his  tunic  and  face  and  hair.  It  was not
              his blood.
                 Inside  the  dream  parlor,  within  a  huge  glass  tank filled
              with  boiling  wreaths  of  thick  green  smoke,  a  naked woman
              pressed  her  face  and  breasts  against  the  glass  for  a moment
              ,  her  mouth  opening  and  closing  as  if  she  was trying
              to  tell  him something.
                 Yama  cried out.
                "Angel!"
                 But  the  woman  stepped  backward  into  the  smoke and
              was gone.
                 Sailors  and  soldiers  were  rioting  up  and  down  the length
              of  the  Strip.  Yama  borrowed  the  eyes  of  a  machine high
              above  the  crowd  and  saw  that  white  smoke  was pouring
              
from  the  edges  of  the  steep  tiled  roof  of  Mother Spitfire's
              gambling  palace.  The  gold  neon  dragon  spat  sheets of
              sparks;  one  of  its  wings  went  out.  Yama  spun  the machine
              and  saw  that  the  buildings  around  the  gambling palace
              were  on  fire,  too.  Magistrates  on  floating  discs  were cutting
                a  firebreak  across  the  Strip  with  pistol  shots.  A painted
              fagade  plunged  like  a  huge  guillotine  blade  into  a  gap that
              was  blown  open  in  front  of  it.  Strings  of  lightbulbs and
              strips  of  jointed  neon  tubing  fell,  smashing  amongst the
              noting crowd.
                 Yama  released  the  machine  and  got  up  and  started back
              toward  the  ship,  but  he  had  not  gone  very  far  when he
              was  seized  from  behind,  lifted,  and  flung  against  a wall.
              There  were  two  men,  burly  and  tall,  as  alike  as brothers.
              They  wore  breechclouts  and  plastic  breastplates,  and their
              shaven  heads  were  crowned  with  tight-fitting  copper caps.



                                                    One  man  pinned  him  while  the  other  quickly  and roughly
                                                    frisked him.
                                                       "I  have  no  money,"  Yama said.
                                                       The  man  who  held  him  laughed  and  said,  "He thinks
                                                    we're  robbing  him, Diomedes!"
                                                       "We're  badly  misunderstood,  Dercetas,"  the  other said,
                                                    and  told  Yama,  "We're  from  an  old  friend,  boy.  He'll be
                                                    pleased  to  see  you again."
                                                       Dercetas  got  Yama  in  an  armlock  and  shoved  him forward
                                                    ,  down  a  service  walkway  that  ran  out  above black
                                                    water.  Diomedes  brandished  a  pistol,  and  when  a magistrate
                                                      suddenly  swooped  down  from  the  darkness beyond
                                                    the  rail,  he  twitched  his  pistol  and  fired.  The magistrate
                                                    fell  with  his  clothes  on  fire;  his  disc  shot  straight  up  in a
                                                    clap  of thunder.
                                                       Most  of  the  magistrate's  machines  had  been destroyed
                                                    in  the  violet  flare  of  the  pistol  blast.  Yama  threw  the rest
                                                    at  Diomedes.  The  man  was  knocked  backward  and spun
                                                    around,  held  upright  
only  by  the  machines  which  had embedded
                                                      themselves  in  his  flesh.  One  eye  was  a bloody
                                                    hole;  blood  filled  the  space  beneath  his  transparent breastplate
                                                      and  ran  down  his  bare legs.
                                                       "Let  me  go,"  Yama  shouted.  "Let  me  go  and  I will
                                                    spare  you! "
                                                       His  head  hurt  very  badly.  He  could  barely  see because
                                                    great  flags  of  red  and  black  were  crowding  in. Diomedes's
                                                    body  twitched  as  the  machines  began  to  work  their way
                                                    out  of  his flesh.
                                                       Dercetas  thrust  Yama  from  him  and  stepped backward,
                                                    then  turned  and  ran.  Yama  staggered  after  him  and said
                                                    in  an  entirely  new  voice,  "Wait.  You  fool.  Wait  for me."
                                                       But  the  man  had  vanished  into  the  crowd  at  the  end of
                                                    the  walkway.  Behind  Yama,  the  dead  man  fell forward
                                                    and  the  machines  flew  away  into  the night.
                                                       Much  later,  Pandaras  and  Pantin  found  Eliphas standing
                                                    over  Yama.  There  was  a  bloody  corpse  nearby,  but  at first
               Pandaras  thought  nothing  of  it.  The  riots  had  been very
               
bad,  and  order  was  only  now  being  restored. Magistrates
               were  supervising  teams  of  sailors  and  soldiers,  putting out
               fires  and  clearing  debris  from  the  walkways.  Bodies had
               been  laid  in  neat  rows  in  the  big  square  at  the  center of
               the  Strip,  awaiting  identification  and shriving.
                 Eliphas  seemed  to  be  praying  over  Yama.  As Pandaras
               approached,  the  old  man  turned  and  said,  "He  is  sick, but
              I do  not  think  that  he  is wounded."
                 "Let  me  see,"  Pandaras  said.  He  pushed  Eliphas aside
               and  squatted  beside  his  master.  Yama  stared  past  him at
               an  imaginary  point  somewhere  beyond  the  world. Pandaras
               said,  "Master,  do  you  know  who  I  am?  Do  you know
               where  you are?"
                 "He  killed  that  man,"  Eliphas said.
                 For  the  first  time,  Pandaras  looked  closely  at  the dead
               man.  He  wore  a  plastic  breastplate  and  a  copper  cap. The
               breastplate  was  riddled  with  bloody holes.
                 "I've  seen  others  dressed  like  that,"  Pandaras  said. "I
               expect  they're  Prefect  Corin's  men.  Help  me,  Eliphas. We
               must  get  him  back  to  the ship."
                 Two  men  wearing  armor  and  copper  caps  had found
               Pandaras  and  Pantin  in  a  whorehouse.  Pantin  had stabbed
               one  in  the  eye  with  a  table  knife  and  had  jumped  on the
               back  of  the  other  and  cut  his  throat,  sawing  and sawing
               
with  the  blunt  blade  until  the  man's  head  had  been nearly
               cut  off.  The  boy  was  trembling  but  docile  now,  like a
               horse  which  has  just  run  a  race.  Blood  crusted  his bare
              chest.
                 Together,  Eliphas  and  Pandaras  helped  Yama stand.
                 "We  must  get  out  of  this,  master,"  Pandaras  said. "Prefect
                 Corin  found  you,  didn't  he?  I  shouldn't  have listened
               to  Tamora.  I  should  have  stayed.  I'm sorry."
                 "There  is  a  monster,"  Yama  said  dreamily.  "I  am dangerous
               ,  Pandaras.  Even  to myself."
                 "He's  too  hard  on  himself,"  Pandaras  told Eliphas.
               "You  don't  go  running  to  the  magistrates  to  ask  for justice
               when  it's  your  own  family,  and  you  don't  stint,  either. If
               it  was  me,  I  would  have  burned  the  whole  thing  down to
               make  sure  I  killed Corin.-



                                                                       THE  AS(ENS  I  ON  OF ANGEL
                                                 ''TUIY'RI  HOIDIN6  PRURT  Corin  and  both  his  ships," Captain
                                                 Lorquital  said,  "The  magistrates  think  that  he brought
                                                 weapons  ashore,  or  allowed  his  men  to.  They'd  like to
                                                 blame  you,  too,  but  they  can't  see  how  one  young man
                                                 could  have  caused  so  much  destruction.  Our  passenger put
                                                 in  a  word, too.
                                                    "Prefect  Corin  will  follow  us,"  Yama  said.  "The magistrates
                                                   may  delay  him,  but  they  will  not  be  able  to stop
                                                 him.  They  have  no  real  cause,  and  he  will  be  able  to deny
                                                 responsibility.  After  all,  he  is  not  the  one  who wrecked
                                                 Mother  Spitfire's  gambling palace."
                                                    They  stood  on  the  quarterdeck,  watching  the  lights of
                                                 the  floating  harbor  diminish  across  a  widening  gap of
                                                 black  water  as  the  Weazel  maneuvered  through  a channel
                                                 marked  by  luminescent  buoys.  The  fires  had  been  put out
                                                 and  the  crowds  of  sailors  and  soldiers  had  been dispersed
                                                 to  their  ships.  The  places  which  had  been  damaged were
                                                 
ringed  with  lights,  and  the  sounds  of  construction work
                                                 could  be  heard.  Beyond  the  floating  harbor,  the  city of
                                                 Gond  shone  against  the  night  by  its  own  inner  light, like
                                                 a  range  of  low  hills  covered  in  luminous snow.
                  "The  less  of  that  kind  of  talk,  the  better,"  lxchel Lorquital
                 said.  "The  magistrates  have  ears  in  the  wind here."
                  "No  more,"  Yama  said,  and  shivered;  he  did  not know
               why  he  had  said it.
                  Pandaras  had  described  in  vivid  detail  how  he  and Pantin
                 had  found  Yama  by  the  dead  man,  with  Eliphas praying
               over  him.  Yama  had  riddled  a  man  with  machines,  but he
               did  not  remember  it.  He  remembered  nothing  after  his rage
               had  taken  him  in  the  gambling  palace.  He  had  been floating
                 above  the  Strip  with  burning  buildings  on  either  side ...
               There  had  been  a  woman  hanging  in  green  vapor  ... He
               turned  the  fetish  around  and  around  on  his  wrist;  it helped
               him  remember  who  he was.
                  He  had  suffered  only  a  few  scrapes  and  bruises, and
               there  was  a  bump  in  the  hollow  between  the  two  big tendons
                 at  the  back  of  his  skull.  Something  hard-edged which
               he  could  move  around  under  the  skin.  He  should know
               
what  it  was  ...  but  the  memory  slid  away  when  he tried
               to  articulate it.
                  "By  tomorrow,"  Captain  Lorquital  said,  "the  place will
               be  back  to normal."
                  "They  will  catch  more  of  them,"  Yama  said. "The
               river  renews  all,  good  and bad."
                  He  was  thinking  of  the  kelpies  in  Mother  Spitfire's pit,
               but  lxchel  Lorquital  misunderstood.  "Every  day  more soldiers
                 pass  by  on  their  way  downriver  to  the  war," she
               said.  "The  war  has  changed  everything  along  the river.
               This  place  is  the  least  of it."
                  As  the  Weazel  passed  beyond  the  edge  of  the floating
               harbor  and  raised  her  sail  to  catch  the  offshore breeze,
               fireworks  shot  up  from  Gond,  bursting  in overlapping
               showers  of  gold  and  green  and  raining  down  toward their
               own  reflections  in  the  river's  black  water.  The Weazel's
               crew,  up  in  the  rigging,  cheered  each  new explosion.
                  "For  our  passenger,"  lxchel  Lorquital  said  with  a smile.
               "So  few  remain  in  the  city  that  they  mark  the departure
               or  return  of  every  one  of  their bloodline."
                  Yama  had  forgotten  about  the  passenger  for  whom the
               Weazel  had  put  in  at  the  floating  harbor.  He  said,  "I sup-



                                                   pose  you  and  your  daughter  have  lost  your  cabin  to him.
                                                   Is  that  where  he  is  now?  I  would  like  to  meet  him, and
                                                   thank  him  for  his help."
                                                      Captain  Lorquital  pointed  at  the  mast  with  the  stem of
                                                   her  clay  pipe.  "He  has  taken  the  crow's  nest.  Climb up
                                                   if  you  want  to  talk,  but  he'll  be  with  us  for  at  least five
                                                  days."
                                                      The  passenger  from  Gond  had  arrived  an  hour before
                                                   Pandaras  and  Pantin  had  brought  Yama  back  to  the ship.
                                                   He  was  an  envoy  to  the  cities  of  the  Dry  Plains, where
                                                   there  were  disputes  about  the  new  land  uncovered  by the
                                                   river's  retreat.  It  was  all  to  do  with  the  war,  Captain Lorquital
                                                     declared.  Normally,  such  matters  were  decided  at a
                                                   festival  of  dance  and  song,  but  most  of  the  able young
                                                   men  had  gone  to  fight  the  heretics,  and  there  were not
                                                   enough contestants.
                                                      "He's  been  appointed  to  make  peace  between the
                                                   cities,"  Captain  Lorquital  said.  "The  people  of  Gond are
                                                   a  holy  people.  Their  decisions  are  not  easily  come  by, and
                                                   
are  highly respected."
                                                      All  this  time,  Tamora  had  been  sitting  in  the  pool of
                                                   light  cast  by  the  big  square  lantern  at  the  stem  rail, sharpening
                                                     her  sword  with  a  stone  and  scrap  of  leather. When
                                                   Yama  left  Captain  Lorquital  to  her  charts  and  went forward
                                                     to  the  bow,  Tamora  followed him.
                                                      "I  fucked  up,"  she  said  bluntly.  "Put  me  off  at the
                                                   next  port  and  I'll  find  another job."
                                                      "I  remember  that  you  saved  my  life,"  Yama said.
                                                   "And  that  I  then  did  something  foolish.  The  fault is
                                                   mine. "
                                                      "You  should  have  burned  the  place  to  the waterline,"
                                                   Tamora  said  fiercely.  "It's  no  more  than  it  deserves. You
                                                   don't  need  me  when  you  can  command  any  machine. Let
                                                   me go."
                                                      "I  am  too  tired  to  talk  about  this,"  Yama  said.  In fact,
                                                   he  was  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done,  although  he  did not
                                                   remember  much  of  it.  "I  need  your  strength,  Tamora. I
                                                   need  to  know  when  to  act  and  when  to  stay  my hand."
                   
Tamora  said,  "That's  easy.  You  only  strike  when you
                have to."
                   "I  need  to  be  sure  that  I  am  acting  for  myself.  I  feel like
                a  horse  under  a  skillful  rider.  Most  of  the  time  I  pick my
                own  way,  but  sometimes  I  am  pulled  up  short,  or  made to
                gallop  in  a  direction  not  of  my  own  choosing.  I  do  not know
                if  I  am  on  the  side  of  good  or  evil.  Help  me, Tamora."
                   She  fixed  him  with  her  gold-green  gaze.  "Before  I was
                hurt  in  the  war,  they  said  I  was  crazy.  No  one  would fight
               by  my  side  because  they  said  I  took  too  many  risks. You
                know  what?  I  did  it  because  I  was  scared.  It's  easier to
                charge  the  enemy  under  fire  than  stand  and  wait  for the
                right  moment.  So  that's  what  I  did  until  I  was wounded.
                Afterward,  while  I  was  recovering,  I  had  plenty  of time
                to  think  about  what  I'd  done,  and  I  swore  then  that I
                would  never  again  let  fear  control  me.  I  thought  that  I had
                been  true  to  that  oath  until  this night."
                   Yama  remembered  that  Sergeant  Rhodean  had  told him
                that  the  best  generals  judge  the  moment  to  attack; the
                worst  are  driven  by  events  willy-nilly,  like  a  ship before
                
a  storm.  He  said,  "You  are  right.  Fear  is  natural,  but I
                should  be  able  to  control  it.  Thank you."
                   "What  for?  For  being  a  damned  fool?  For  letting  you walk
                into  that  trap?  For  failing  to  help  you  when  it  went wrong?"
                   "For  trusting  me  with  your story."
                   They  watched  the  last  of  the  fireworks  burst  far astern
               as  the  Weazel  headed  out  into  the  deep  water,  and later
                fell  asleep  -in  each  other's  arms.  As  the  sky lightened,
                Yama  woke  and  disentangled  himself  from  Tamora's embrace
                .  Someone,  probably  Pandaras,  had  covered them
                with  a  blanket.  Tamora  sighed  and  yawned,  showing her
                sharp  white  teeth  and  black  tongue,  and  Yama  told  her to
                go  back  to sleep.
                   Apart  from  the  old  sailor,  Phalerus,  who  had  the helm,
               the  whole  ship  was  asleep.  The  new  passenger  must still
                be  in  the  crow's  nest,  for  only  Pandaras  and  Eliphas slept
                on  the  raffia  matting  under  the  awning.  The  Weazel was
                running  ahead  of  a  strong  wind,  her  triangular mainsail
                filled,  water  creaming  by  on  either  side  of  her  bow. The



                                                      Great  River  stretched  away  on  all  sides;  the  Rim Mountains
                                                        were  no  more  than  a  long  line  floating  low  in the
                                                      lightening  sky.  The  water  here  was  not  the  usual brown
                                                      or  umber  but  was  the  same  dark  blue  as  the  predawn sky.
                                                      It  was  more  than  a  league  deep  in  places;  some  of the
                                                      abyssal  trenches  plunged  into  the  keel  of  the  world. Hard
                                                      to  believe  that  this  could  ever  change,  and  yet  year by
                                                      year  the  cities  of  the  shore  were  stranded  further  and further
                                                        inland  by  the  river's  retreat.-The  Great  River would
                                                      at  last  run  dry  even  here,  leaving  only  a  string  of long,
                                                      narrow  lakes  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep  dry valley.
                                                         Yama  leaned  at  the  starboard  rail.  Warm  wind  blew his
                                                      unruly  black  hair  back  from  his  face.  The  bright  lights of
                                                      the  huge  fishing  barges  were  scattered  widely  across the
                                                      river.  Yama  wondered  what  monsters  lay  in  the deeps
                                                      under  the  Weazel's  keel,  and  for  the  first  time  in many
                                                      days  felt  the  tug  of  the  feral  machine  which  hung  in its
                                                      cold,  solitary  orbit  
a  million  leagues  beyond  the  end of
                                                      the  world,  attached  to  him  by  an  impalpable  thread, just
                                                      as  the  kelpies  had  been  attached  to  their  operators  by wires
                                                      and  cables.  But  who  was  puppet,  and  who  operator? And
                                                      for  what  end?  He  remembered  the  conclusion  of  his stepfather's
                                                        complicated  calculations  about  the  river's shrinkage
                                                      and  shivered  in  the  brightening sunlight.
                                                         After  a  while,  he  took  out  his  copy  of  the Puranas.
                                                      The  bright  crammed  pictures  stirred  to  life  under  his gaze,
                                                      speaking  directly  to  an  unconsciously  receptive  part  of his
                                                      mind.  He  realized  that  there  must  be  machines embedded
                                                      in  the  pages.  Was  every  book  freighted  with  hidden meanings
                                                      ?  As  a  child,  had  he  dreamed  so  vividly  of  the past
                                                      because  books  from  the  library  of  the  peel-house  had lain
                                                      by  his bed?
                                                         But  then  he  was  lost  in  the  last  of  Angel's  story, and
                                                      all  idle  speculation  was  driven away.
                                                         When  Angel  came back       from  the  far  side  of  the river,
                                                      she  talked  with  
those  of  her  followers  who  had  waited at
                the  docks  for  her,  then  went  straightaway  to  Mr. Naryan,
                the  Archivist  of  Sensch,  to  tell  him  what  she  had found.
                   The  Archivist  was  with  a  pupil,  but  the  hapless  lad was
                immediately  dismissed  when  Angel  appeared.  Fortified by
                tea  brought  by  the  Archivist's  wife,  a  quiet  woman of
                Sensch's  lizard  race,  Angel  began  to  tell  the  tale  of her
                adventure  on  the  farside shore.
                   The  Archivist  knew  that  Angel  had  been  to  the  edge of
                the  world,  and  for  the  first  time  he  could  not  hide  his fear.
                He  was  afraid  of  what  she  might  have  done  amongst the
                shrines  on  the  river's  far  side,  about  what  she might
               change.
                   She  said,  teasingly,  "Don't  you  want  to  hear  my story?
                Isn't  that  your avocation?"
                   "I  will  listen  to  anything  you  want  to  tell  me," the
                Archivist  said.  Despite  his  fear,  he  maintained  his  air of
                quiet  dignity,  and  she  liked  him  for that.
                   She  said,  "The  world  is  a  straight  line.  Do  you know
                about libration?"
                   The  Archivist  shook  his head.
                   Angel  held  out  her  hand,  palm  down,  and  tipped  
it back
                and  forth.  "This  is  the  world.  Everything  lives  on  the back
                of  a  long  flat  plate  which  circles  the  sun.  The  plate rocks
                on  its  axis,  so  the  sun  rises  above  one  edge  and then
                reverses  its  course.  I  went  to  the  edge  of  the  world, where
                the  river  that  runs  down  half  its  length  falls  into  the void.
                I  suppose  it  must  be  collected  and  redistributed,  but it
                really  does  look  like  it  falls  away forever."
                   "The  river  is  eternally  renewed,"  the  Archivist said.
                "Where  it  falls  is  where  ships  used  to  arrive  and depart,
                but  this  city  has  not  been  a  port  for  many years."
                   "Fortunately  for  me,  or  my  companions  would already
                be  here.  There's  a  narrow  ribbon  of  land  on  the  far side
               of  the  river.  Nothing  lives  there,  not  even  an  insect. No
                earth,  no  stones.  The  air  shakes  with  the  sound  of the
                river's  fall,  and  swirling  mist  burns  with  raw  sunlight. And
                there  are  shrines,  in  the  thunder  and  mist  at  the  edge  of the
                world."  Angel  paused  for  effect,  then  said,  "One  spoke to
               me.



                                                     She  could  see  that  the  Archivist  was  taken  aback. He
                                                   said  nothing,  staring  past  her  in  some  private  reverie. She
                                                   grinned  and  said,  "Don't  you  want  to  know  what  it said
                                                   to  me?  It's  part  of  my story."
                                                     "Do  you  want  to  tell me?"
                                                     The  Archivist  looked  at  her.  It  was  a  look  of helpless
                                                   love;  she  knew  then  that  like  all  the  others  he  was hers
                                                   to  command.  The  thought  disgusted  her.  She  wanted him
                                                   to  be  a  friend,  not  a  pet  or  a  puppet.  She  passed  her hand
                                                   over  the  top  of  her  head.  She  had  had  her  hair  cut close
                                                   in  the  manner  of  microgravity  construction  workers,  a style
                                                   ten  million  years  out  of  date.  The  bristly  hair  made  a crisp
                                                   sound  under  her  palm.  She  said,  "No.  No,  I  don't  think I
                                                   do.  Not yet.
                                                     Instead,  she  told  him  what  the  ship  had  showed  her of
                                                   the  creation  of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  He  seemed happier
                                                     with  this.  It  was  something  he  understood.  He said
                                                   that  it  was  just  as  it  was  written  in  the Puranas.
                                                     
She  said,  "And  is  it  also  written  there  why Confluence
                                                   was  constructed  around  a  halo  star  between  the Home
                                                   Galaxy  and  the  Eye  of  the Preservers?"
                                                     "Of  course.  It  is  so  we  can  worship  and  glorify the
                                                   Preservers.  The  Eye  looks  upon  us all."
                                                     It  was  a  stock  answer,  taken  from  the  commentary at
                                                   the  end  of  the  last  sura  of  the  Puranas.  He  had nothing
                                                   new  to  tell  her.  No  one  on  this  strange  world  had  had a
                                                   new  idea  since  its  creation,  but  she  would  change that.
                                                   If  she  was  going  to  rule  here,  she  must  first  topple the
                                                   old gods.
                                                     The  news  that  she  had  woken  one  of  the  shrines  on the
                                                   farside  shore  spread  through  the  city.  The  streets around
                                                   her  house  became  choked  with  curious  citizens.  She could
                                                   no  longer  wander  about  the  city,  because  huge crowds
                                                   gathered  everywhere  she  went.  There  was  a  story  that she
                                                   had  been  tempted  with  godhood,  and  that  she  had refused.
                                                   It  was  not  something  she  had  told  the  citizens-they were
                                                   changing  her  story  
to  fit  their  needs.  She  tried  to teach
                                                   them  that  the  Universe  of  things  was  all  there  was, that
                                                   there  were  no  gods  capable  of  intercession,  that everyone
               was  responsible  for  their  own destiny.     Seize  the  day, she
               told  them,  and  they  made  the  slogan  into  their  battle cry.
               Her  followers  daubed  slogans  everywhere,  and  now many
               of  the  slogans  were  of  their  own making.
                  Somehow,  the  citizens  of  Sensch  came  to  believe that
               they  could  use  the  farside  shrines  just  as  she  had, without
               intervention  of  priest  or  hierodule,  and  that  personal redemption
                 was  within  their  grasp.  They  set  off  in their
               thousands  on  pilgrimages  across  the  river;  so  many  that the
               city's  markets  closed  because  the  merchants  had  moved to
               the  docks  to  supply  those  making  the  journey  across the
               river.  Meanwhile,  Angel  became  a  prisoner  in  her house,
               surrounded  by  followers,  her  every  move  watched with
               reverence.  She  had  to  stand  on  the  roof  so  that  she could
               be  seen  and  heard  by  all  of  them.  She  was  trying  to free
               them  from  their  habits  and  their  unthinking  devotion to
               the  Preservers,  to  shape  them  into  an  army  that  could be
               used  against  her  ship  when  it  finally  came  for her.
                  
She  built  devices  that  might  help  her  escape.  A crude
               muscle  amplification  suit.  A  circuit-breaking  device that
               would  interfere  with  the  broadcast  power  on  which the
               myriads  of  tiny  machines  fed.  She  tinkered  with  the gravity
                 units  of  cargo  sleds,  and  painstakingly reprogrammed
               a  few  captured  machines.  But  all  of  this  activity  was marking
                 time.  It  was  almost  a  relief  when  her  ship finally
              arrived.
                  Angel  went  up  to  the  roof  of  her  house  when  the ship
               drew  near  the  city's  docks.  It  had  reconfigured  itself into
               a  huge  black  wedge  composed  of  stacked  tiers  of flat
               plates.  Its  pyramidal  apex  was  taller  than  the  tallest towers
               of  the  city.  Angel  knew  that  the  ship  would  try  to take
               her  back,  but  she  might  be  able  to  escape  if  she  could use
               the  powers  of  the  ship  against itself.
                  She  insisted  on  going  to  the  docks.  The  young  men who
               were  her  closest  followers  were  very  afraid,  but  they could
               not  disobey  her.  She  had  two  of  them  carry  the circuit
               breaker,  and  armed  the  rest  with pistols.
                  The  streets  were  almost  empty.  Thousands  upon thousands
                 of  citizens  had  gathered  at  the  docks  to  greet the



                                                   ship,  held  back  by  a  thin  line  of  magistrates  and their
                                                   machines.  The  people  were  restless;  they  made  a humming
                                                   noise  that  rose  and  fell  in  pitch  but  never  ended. Machines
                                                   swept the ' ir  packed  heads  with  flares  of  light.  There had
                                                   already  been  trouble,  for  those  near  the  front were
                                                   wounded  in  some  way,  fallen  to  their  knees  and wailing
                                                   and  clutching  at  their  faces.  And  when  Dreen,  the Commissioner
                                                     of  Sensch,  rode  a  cargo  sled  to  the  top  of the
                                                   ship  to  greet  the  men  and  women  of  the  crew,  the crowd
                                                   pressed  forward  eagerly,  held  back  only  by  the  quirts and
                                                   machines  of  the magistrates.
                                                     Angel  knew  then  that  this  was  her  only  chance  to take
                                                   the  ship  from  the  crew.  She  fired  up  the  circuit breaker
                                                   and  every  machine  fell  from  the  sky,  burned  out  by the
                                                   power  surge.  The  magistrates  were  powerless  to  stop the
                                                   crowd  as  it  surged  down  the  docks  toward  the  ship. Angel
                                                   saw  Dreen's  cargo  sled  fly  away  from  the  top  of  the shipit
                                                     drew  power  from  the  world's  gravity  fields-toward the
                                                   
floating  gardens  above  the  pink  sandstone  palace.  The Archivist
                                                     was  coming  toward  her,  struggling  through the
                                                   crowd.  Angel  ordered  those  around  her  to  take  him  to the
                                                   palace,  and  left  to  organize  the siege.
                                                     Power  was  down  all  over  the  city.  The  population had
                                                   lost  all  restraint,  as  if  it  was  only  the  presence  of the
                                                   machines  which  had  kept  them  in  order.  There  was drunkenness
                                                     and  gambling  and  open  fornication.  Buildings were
                                                   set  on  fire;  markets  were  looted.  But  those  citizens Angel
                                                   encountered  still  obeyed  her  unquestioningly.  They loaded
                                                   up  cargo  sleds  with  batteries  for  a  localized  power system
                                                   and  marched  on  the  palace  and  attacked  the  floating gardens
                                                   ,  some  using  the  modified  sleds  to  smash  away pieces
                                                   of  the  gardens'  superstructure,  others  starting  to grow
                                                   towers  into  the  air  using  self-catalyzing masonry.
                                                     Angel  was  sitting  in  the  middle  of  her  followers on
                                                   the  palace  roof,  with  the  machines  she  had reprogrammed
                                                   spinning  above  her  head,  when  the  Archivist  was brought
                                                   
before  her.  He  was  bruised  and  disheveled,  not  badly hurt,
                                                   but  clearly  terrified.  She  beckoned  him  forward  and he
                                                   drew  on  his  last  reserves  of  dignity  to  confront  her. She
               said,  "What  should  I  do  with  your  city,  now  that  I have
               taken  it  from you?"
                  The  Archivist  said,  "You  have  not  finished  your story."
               There  was  a  hint  of  defiance  in  his  voice,  but  then he
               added  weakly,  "I  would  like  to  hear  it all."
                  "My  people  can  tell  you.  They  hide  with  Dreen up
               above,  but  not  for  long."  Angel  pointed  to  a  dozen men
               who  were  wrestling  a  sled  into  the  crude  launch  cradle and
               explained  how  she  had  enhanced  its  anti-gravity properties.
               "We'll  chip  away  that  floating  fortress  piece  by  piece if
               we  have  to,  or  we'll  finish  growing  towers  and  storm its
               remains,  but  I  expect  them  to  surrender  long  before then."
                  "Dreen  is  not  the  ruler  of  the city."
                   Not anymore."
                  The  Archivist  dared  to  step  closer.  He  said,  "What did
               you,  find  out  there,  that  you  rage against?"
                  Angel  laughed.  None  of  them  understood.  They were
               not  human-how  could  they  understand  her,  the last
               human  in  the  Universe?  She  said,  "I'll  tell  you  about rage.
               It  is  what  you  have  forgotten,  or  never  learned.  
It  is the
               motor  of  evolution,  and  evolution's  end, too."
                  She  snatched  a  beaker  of  wine  from  one  of  her followers
               and  drained  it  and  tossed  it  aside.  Its  heat  mixed smoothly
               with  her  angry  contempt.  She  said,  "We  traveled  for so
               long,  not  dead,  not  sleeping.  We  were  no  more  than stored
               potentials  triply  engraved  on  gold.  Although  the  ship flew
               so  fast  that  it  bound  time  about  itself,  the  journey still
               took  thousands  of  years  of  shipboard  time.  At  the  end of
               that  long  voyage  we  did  not  wake:  we  were  born. Or
              rather,  others  like  us  were  born,  although  I  have their
               memories,  as  if  they  are  my  own.  They  learned  then that
               the  Universe  is  not  made  for  the  convenience  of humans.
               What  they  found  was  a  galaxy  dead  and ruined."
                  Angel  took  the  Archivist's  hands  in  hers  and  held them
               tightly  as  she  told  him  of  the  ruin  of  the neighboring
               galaxy,  the  disrupted  nebulae,  the  planets  torn  from their
               orbits  by  gravity  stress,  the  worlds  torched  smooth  by stars
               which  had  flared  because  of  infalling  gases.  She  told him
               what  she  had learned.



                                                      "Do  you  know  how  many  galaxies  have  endured such
                                                   collisions?  Almost  all  of  them.  Life  is  a  statistical freak.
                                                   Our  galaxy  has  never  collided  with  another  like  it,  or not
                                                   for  a  long  time,  long  enough  for  life  to  have  evolved on
                                                   planets  around  some  of  its  stars.  It  must  be  unique,  or else
                                                   other  civilizations  would  surely  have  arisen  elsewhere in
                                                   the  unbounded  Universe.  As  it  is,  we  are  certain  that we
                                                   are  alone.  We  must  make  of  ourselves  what  we  can. We
                                                   should  not  hide  from  the  truth,  as  your  Preservers chose
                                                   to  do.  Instead,  we  should  seize  the  day,  and  make the
                                                   Universe  over  with  the  technology  that  the  Preservers used
                                                   to  make  their  hiding place."
                                                      The  Archivist  said,  "You  cannot  become  a Preserver.
                                                   No  one  can,  now.  You  should  not  lie  to  these innocent
                                                  people."
                                                      "I  didn't  need  to  lie.  They  took  up  my  story  and made
                                                   it  theirs.  They  see  now  what  they  can  inherit-if  they dare.
                                                   This  won't  stop  with  one  city.  It  will  become  a crusade!"
                                                   
She  stared  into  the  Archivist's  black  eyes  and  said softly,
                                                   "You'll  remember  it  all,  won't you?"
                                                      The  Archivist  said  nothing,  but  she  knew  that  he was
                                                   hers,  now  and  forever.  It  seemed  to  make  him unbearably
                                                   sad  and  it  broke  her  heart,  too,  to  have  to  use  him so
                                                   badly  when  she  had  wanted  him  to  be  her friend.
                                                      Around  them,  the  crowd  of  her  followers  cheered. The
                                                   sled  rocketed  up  from  its  cradle  and  smashed  into the
                                                   underside  of  the  hanging  gardens.  Another  piece  of the
                                                   gardens'  substructure  was  knocked  loose.  It  spilled dirt
                                                   and  rocks  amongst  the  spires  of  the  palace  roof  as it
                                                   twisted  free  and  spun  away  into  the  night.  The crowd
                                                   cheered  again,  and  Angel  saw  that  figures  had appeared
                                                   at  the  wrecked  edge  of  the  habitat.  One  of  the figures
                                                   tossed  something  down,  and  a  man  brought  it  to Angel.
                                                      It  was  a  message  tube.  She  shook  it  open:  Dreen's face
                                                   glowed  on  the  flexible  membrane.  His  voice  was squeezed
                                                   small  and  metallic  by  the  tube's  induced  speaker. Angel
                                                   
listened  to  his  entreaties  and  was  filled  with  joy  and hope.
                                                      "Yes,"  she  said,  but  so  softly  that  perhaps  only the
                                                   Archivist  heard  her.  She  stood  and  raised  her  hands above
              her  head,  and  when  she  had  the  attention  of  her followers
              she  cried  out,  "They  wish  to  surrender!  Let  them come
             down!
                 The  cargo  sled  dropped.  They  were  all  there,  the men
              and  women  who  were  closer  to  her  than  sisters  and brothers
              ,  shining  in  their  white  clothes.  Angel's  followers jeered
              and  threw  rocks  and  burning  brands  and  clods  of earth,
              but  her  partials  had  modified  the  sled's  field  and everything
                was  deflected  away  into  the  night.  Angel  smiled. She
              had  anticipated  that trick.
                 The  partials  called  to  her,  pleading  with  her  to return,
             to  join  them  and  search  for  their  long-lost  home. Dreen
              jumped  from  the  sled  and  dodged  through  the  crowd of
              Angel's  followers.  The  little  Commissioner  caught  the Archivist's
                hand  and  told  him  breathlessly,  "They  are all
              one  person,  or  variations  on  one  person.  The  ship makes
              its  crew  by  varying  a  template.  Angel  is  an  extreme. A
             mistake."
                 Angel  laughed.  So  Dreen  had  been  subverted  by the
              partials!  "You  funny  little  man,"  she  said.  "I'm  the real
              one-they  are copies!"
                 She  turned  to  the  partials,  who  were  still  calling  
out to
              her,  pleading  with  her  to  come  back,  to  join  them  in the
              search  for  their  lost  home.  None  had  dared  follow Dreen.
              "There's  no  home  to  find,"  she  told  them.  "Oh  you fools!
              This  is  all  there  is!  Give  me  back  the ship!"
                 She  knew  they  would  never  agree,  but  she  wanted to
              give  them  the  chance.  It  was  only fair.
                 "It  was  never  yours,"  they  chorused.  "Never  yours to
              own,  only  yours  to serve."
                 Angel  jumped  onto  her  chair  and  signaled  to  the man
              she  had  entrusted  with  the  field  degausser.  It  shot hundreds
              of  fine  silvery  threads  at  the  sled.  For  a  moment, she
              thought  it  might  not  work,  for  when  the  threads reached
              the  edge  of  the  field  their  ends  flicked  upward.  But then
              the  threads  drained  the  field-there  was  a  great  smell of
              burning  as  the  degausser's  iron  heat-sink  glowed red-hotand
                the  threads  fell  in  a  tangle  over  the  partials. Angel's
              followers,  seeing  what  had  happened,  began  to  pelt the



                                                   crew  with  rubbish,  but  Angel  ordered  them  to  stop. She
                                                   wanted  to  defeat  the  crew,  not  humiliate it.
                                                      She  said,  "I  have  the  only  working  sleds.  That which
                                                   I  can  enhance,  I  can  also  take  away."  The  partials could
                                                   not  follow  her  now.  The  ship  was  hers  for  the  taking. She
                                                   turned  to  the  Archivist  triumphantly.  "Come  with  me, and
                                                   see  the  end  of  the story."
                                                      That  was  when  one  of  the  partials  walked  away from
                                                   the  grounded  sled,  straight  toward  Angel.  She confronted
                                                   him.  She  told  herself  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear. She
                                                   had  won.  She  said  to  him,  "I'm  not  afraid  of you."
                                                      "Of  course  not,  sister,"  the  man said.
                                                      He  reached  out  and  grasped  her  wrists.  And  the world
                                                   fell away.
                                                      The  acceleration  was  so  brutal  that  Angel  almost passed
                                                   out.  A  rush  of  air  burned  her  clothes  and  scorched her
                                                   skin  ...  and  then  there  was  no  more  air.  She  was  so tall
                                                   above  the  world  that  she  could  see  across  its  width, tall
                                                   
mountains  on  one  side  and  a  straight  edge  on  the other,
                                                   stretching  ahead  and  behind  to  their  vanishing  points. The
                                                   world  was  a  dark  line  hung  in  an  envelope  of  air. Angel
                                                   saw  the  brilliant  point  of  the  sun  come  into  view beneath
                                                   it.  Vacuum  stung  her  eyes  with  ice-cold  needles;  air rushed
                                                   from  her  nose  and  mouth;  her  entire  skin  ached.  The man
                                                   embracing  her  pressed  his  lips  against  hers,  kissing her
                                                   with  the  last  of  his  breath,  tasting  the  last  of hers.
                                                      There  were  only  two  pictures  after  that.  Neither spoke
                                                   to  Yama.  They  were  only pictures.
                                                      The  first  showed  a  vast  room  within  the  ship  of the
                                                   Ancients  of  Days.  There  was  a  window  which displayed
                                                   the  triple  spiral  of  the  Home  Galaxy.  Two  men  stood before
                                                     it,  one  grossly  corpulent,  the  other  wide-hipped and
                                                   long-armed,  as  small  as  a  child.  The  Archivist  of Sensch,
                                                   Mr.  Naryan,  and  the  Commissioner  of  Sensch, Dreen.
                                                   Dreen  was  pointing  at  the  glowing  window.  He  was telling
                                                   Mr.  Naryan something.
                 The  second  picture  was  from  a  point  of  view above
               
Dreen,  who  stood  at  the  edge  of  a  huge  opening  in the
               ship,  looking  down  at  the  river  far  below.  A  figure hung
               halfway  between  the  hatch  and  the  river.  It  was Mr.
              Naryan.
                  So  Angel  had  died-although  if  her  ship  wished, she
               could  be  born  again-but  her  ideas  lived  on.  They had
               escaped  with  Mr.  Naryan,  and  Yama  knew  that,  with the
               help  of  the  aspect  Angel  had  downloaded  into  the space
               inside  the  shrines,  the  old  Archivist  had  spread Angel's
               story  far  and  wide.  The  revolution  in  Sensch  was  only the
               beginning  of  the  heresy  which  had  set  one  half  of Confluence
                 against  the other.
                  Shoreward,  the  sky  grew  brighter.  The  floating  line of
               the  Rim  Mountains  freed  the  platinum  disc  of  the  sun. A
               widening  lane  of  sunlight  glittered  on  the  river,  like a
               golden  path  leading  to  infinity.  Yama  watched  the  play of
               light  on  water  and  thought  for  a  long  time  about  the things
               that  the  changed  pictures  in  his  copy  of  the  Puranas had
               shown him.



                                                                                        THEMS TREASURE
                                                        T  N  I  I  N    0    I  R  0  M  Gond,  Theias,  did  not  come  down  from the
                                                        crow's  nest  that  day.  When  Aguilar  went  aloft  with his
                                                        midday  meal,  Yama  asked  her  to  tell  the  envoy  that he
                                                        was  eager  to  meet  him.  But  when  she descended--4espite
                                                        her  bulk,  she  slid  down  a  backstay  with  an  acrobat's casual
                                                        grace-she  told  Yama  that  the  envoy  sent  his apologies.
                                                          "He  says  he  has  a  lot  to  think  about,"  Aguilar said.
                                                        "He's  a  holy  man  all  right.  He  wanted  only  a  little bread
                                                        and  salt  to  eat,  and  river  water  to drink."
                                                          "He  could  stay  up  there  for  the  whole  voyage, brother,"
                                                        Eliphas  said.  "They  are  a  strange  people,  in Gond.Later
                                                          ,  Yama  sat  alone  at  the  bow  and  thought again
                                                        about  what  the  book  had  shown  him.  Angel's  aspect had
                                                        wanted  him  to  understand  her  history,  but  how  could he
                                                        trust  what  he  had  been  told?  Angel's  story  was  more dangerous
                                                          than  most.  It  was  a  scream  aimed  straight  at the
                                                        most  primitive  
part  of  the  mind,  where  raw appetite
                                                        dwelled  like  a  toad  at  the  bottom  of  a  well.  Seize  the day!
                                                        Forget  duty,  forget  responsibility,  forget  devotion  to the
                                                        Preservers,  forget  everything  but  personal gain.
                                                          There  was  no  denying  what  she  had  discovered,  but it
                                                        did  not  mean  that  people  should  fear  the  Universe. Rather,
               Yama  thought,  they  should celebrate        its  vast emptiness.
               By  accepting  the  Universe  for  all  that  it  was,  you became
               a  true  part  of  it  and  could  never truly    cease  to  exist until
               it  also  ceased  to  exist.  It  was  not  necessary  to distinguish
               between  being  and  nonbeing,  between  life  and  mere dead
               matter.  It  was  all  part  of  the  same  eternal  braid.  Only the
               Preservers  had  stepped  outside  of  the  Universe-an  act of
               transcendence  impossible  for  those  who  were  not gods.
                 Although  Angel  feared  the  ultimate  darkness  of nonbeing-that
                 was  why  she  had  been  so  quick  to despairYama
                 knew  that  it  was  nothing  to  fear,  for  it  was nothing
               at  all.  The  Puranas  taught  that  just  as  there  was  no time
               before  the  beginning  of  the  Universe,  there  was  also no
               time  after  death,  for  in  both  cases  there  was  no  way to
               measure  the  passing  of  time.  Death  was  a  timeless interval
               
before  rebirth  at  the  infinite  moment  at  the  end  of  all time.
                 Angel  denied  this.  She  did  not  trust  what  she  could not
               understand.  She  trusted  no  one  but  her  own  self.  She had
               no  faith,  except  faith  in  herself,  and  she  believed herself
              to  be  unique,  entire,  and  circumscribed,  so  that  a time
               when  she  was  absent  from  the  Universe  was,  to  her, simply
                 unthinkable.  It  was  true  that  she  had  passed hundreds
               of  years  of  shipboard  time  as  a  mere  text,  that  she had
               died  and  risen  again:  many  times.  But  these  brief interregna
                 were  nothing  compared  to  the  billions  of  years of
               nonbeing  between  now  and  the  end  of  the  Universe, and
               the  machineries  which  stored  her  self  and  gave  her rebirth
               time  and  time  again  were  real  in  a  way  that  the Preservers
               were  not.  It  did  not  need  a  leap  of  faith  to  believe in
              machines.
                 Yama  thought  about  these  things  for  a  long  time, while
               the  Weazel  stood  before  a  fair  wind  and  raced  her own
               shadow  across  sunlit  waters.  The  crew  mended  the staysails
                 and  tightened  lanyards  and  stays  through deadeyes;
               the  joints  of  the  deck  were  resealed  with  pitch  and its
               planks  were  scrubbed  until  they  shone  as  white  as  
salt; a
               cradle  was  lowered  over  the  side  so  that  Phalerus could
               smooth  and  repaint  places  splintered  and  scraped by
               weather  and  passage  through  the  floating  forest.  There had



                                                     not  been  time  to  fully  reprovision  the  ship,  and  the shoat,
                                                     which  had  been  pampered  on  scraps  since  the  Weazel had
                                                     left  Ys,  was  led  from  its  pen  onto  an  oilcloth  and soothed
                                                     with  song  before  the  cook  cut  its  throat.  For  a moment
                                                     the  shoat  stood  astonished  as  rich  red  blood  pattered noisily
                                                       into  a  blue  plastic  bucket  held  under  its  head;  then it
                                                     sighed  and  sat  down  and died.
                                                        Tamora  helped  with  the  butchery,  and  ate  the shoat's
                                                     liver  raw.  The  joints,  ribs,  head,  tongue  and  heart were
                                                     sealed  in  barrels  of  brine,  and  the  intestines  were cleaned
                                                     and  steamed  with  the  lungs.  After  sunset,  everyone feasted
                                                     on  fried  plantain  leaves  and  fritters  of  banana  and minced
                                                     pork.  All  except  the  envoy,  who  still  had  not  shown himself
                                                     .  Yama  was  beginning  to  believe  that  he  did  not exist.
                                                        That  night,  Yama  slept  alone  on  the  triangular  bit of
                                                     decking  over  the  forecastle.  He  woke  at  dawn  to find
                                                     someone  hanging  upside  down  from  a  forestay  above his
                                                     head.  A  small,  slightly  
built  man,  his  flat  face,  the color
                                                     of  old  parchment  and  framed  by  a  fringe  of  fine hair,
                                                     cocked  at  his  shoulder  so  that  he  could  stare  straight down.
                                                     Yama  realized  with  a  shock  that  the  envoy  from Gond
                                                     was  of  the  some  bloodline  as  the  long-lost Commissioner
                                                     of  Sensch, Dreen.
                                                        The  envoy  smiled  and  said  in  a  high,  lilting  voice, "You
                                                     are  not  so  much  after  all,"  and  swung  the  right  way up.
                                                        "Wait,"  Yama  said,  "I  would  like to-"
                                                        "I  expected  someone  taller,  with  thunder  on  his brow,
                                                     or  a  wreath  of  laurels.  Perhaps  you  are  not  him,  after all."
                                                        Before  Yama  could  reply,  the  envoy  turned  and  ran off
                                                     along  the  forestay.  He  swarmed  up  the  mast  as  nimbly as
                                                     any  sailor  and  disappeared  into  the  crow's nest.
                                                        Toward  midmorning,  Yama  saw  a  machine spinning
                                                     above  the  waves  half  a  league  to  starboard,  a  little thing
               with  a  decad  of  paired  mica  vanes  that  flashed  and winked
               in  the  sunlight,  and  a  tapered  body  that  was  mostly a
               sensor  cluster.  He  brought  it  closer,  and  made  it 
circle
               around  and  around  the  crow's  nest.  It  made  a  thin crackling
                 sound  like  oil  seething  in  a  hot  pan,  and occasionally
                      fan  of  sparks  that  sputtered  down  the  bellying slope
               spat a
               of the   sail's  rust-red  canvas.  Captain  Lorquital watched
               from  her  sling  chair,  but  said nothing.
                  At  last,  the  envoy  swung  out  of  the  crow's  nest  and ran
               down  the  forestay,  halting  halfway  and  calling  to Yama,
               "Am  I  supposed  to  be  impressed?  You  are  very foolish!"
                  Yama  let  the  machine  go.  It  shot  away  to  starboard in
              a   long  falling  arc  that  almost  touched  the  river's glassy
               swell  before  it  abruptly  changed  direction  in  a  twinkling of
               vanes,  just  like  a  dog  shaking  itself  awake.  In  a  moment, it
               was  lost  from sight.
                  The  envoy  descended  to  the  end  of  the  forestay. He
              w
                  ore  a  simple  belted  tunic  which  left  his  legs  bare, and
               carried  a  leaf-shaped  fan  woven  of  raffia  and  painted with
              a   stylized  eye.  His  feet  had  long  gripping  toes. He
               thwacked  Yama  on  top  of  the  head  with  his  fan, said,
               "That  is  for  your  impertinence,  young  man,"  and leapt
               lightly  onto  the deck.
                  The  sailors  who  had  been  watching  grinned  at  this display
               
.  Tamora  shook  her  head  and  turned  away; Pandaras,
               sitting  bare-chested  and  cross-legged  in  the  shade  of the
               awning  at  the  far  end  of  the  main  deck,  looked  up from
               the  embroidery  work  he  was  doing  on  the  collar  of his
               shirt.  In  her  sling  chair  on  the  quarterdeck,  Captain Lorquital
                 puffed  imperturbably  on  her  pipe.  Eliphas  sat beside
               her,  his  wide-brimmed  straw  hat  casting  his  face into
              shadow.
                  The  envoy  said  to  Yama,  "Here  I  am.  What  is your
              question?"
                  "I  hoped  we  could  talk, dominie."
                  "But  what  will  you  talk  about?  Something  important, I
,             hope,  unless  you  are  even  more  foolish  than  you look."
                  "Perhaps  we  should  talk  about  my foolishness."



                                                       "You  assume  that  I  am  interested  in  it,"  the envoy
                                                    said.  "Do  you  know  who  I am?"
                                                       "Theias,  the  envoy  from  Gond  to  the  warring  cities of
                                                    the  Dry Plains."
                                                       "And  you,  Child  of  the  River,  should  know  that  I was
                                                    contemplating  my  mission  when  you  sent  that  poor imitation
                                                      of  a  dragonfly  buzzing  around  my  eyrie.  I  like  it up
                                                    there.  I  can  see  all  that  is  going  on  without  having  to be
                                                    an  active  part  of  it.  I can   see  so  far  that  I  can  spy into
                                                    the  future-there  is  trouble  in  it  for  you,  young  man, but
                                                    why  I  am  telling  you  I  do  not know."
                                                       Yama  thought  that  for  a  holy  man  of  great  age,  of one
                                                    of  the  oldest  bloodlines  on  Confluence  and  from  the second
                                                      oldest  city  in  the  world,  Theias  had  a  remarkably short
                                                    temper.  But  he  bowed  and  said,  "I  have  been  rude.  I am
                                                    sorry.  I  see  you  know  my  true  name,  so  I  must presume
                                                    you  have  some  interest  in me."
                                                       "Your  reputation  preceded  you,  and  I  must  say  it was
                                                    
larger  and  more  colorful  than  the truth."
                                                       "I  suppose  your  people  keep  doves,"  Yama said.
                                                       Theias  looked  at  Yama  sharply.  "Doves?  There  are all
                                                    kinds  of  birds  in  Gond,  but  I  do  not  pay  much attention
                                                    to  them.  Doves  do  not  talk,  in  any  event,  or  at  least ours
                                                    do  not.  No,  I  heard  about  you  on  the  geophone,  and then
                                                    there  is  the  heliograph,  which  I  used  to  talk  with this
                                                    cockleshell  before  I  boarded  her.  I  heard  that overnight
                                                    you  changed  a  whole  tribe  of  indigenous  squatters  on the
                                                    roof  of  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People,  and that
                                                    you  started  a  war  between  the  departments.  Some  say you
                                                    are  the  harbinger  of  the  return  of  the  Preservers;  some say
                                                    that  you  are  a  mage  in  league  with  the  antitheist heretics.
                                                    I  do  not  suppose  you  are  either  one.  To  look  at  you, I
                                                    would  say  that  you  are  a  not  particularly  successful cateran
                                                    off  to  try  his  luck  in  the wars."
                                                       "I  wish  that  I  was.  It  may  sound  strange,  but  that was
                                                    once  my  ambition.  But  I  do  not  know  what  I  am, except
                                                    
that  I  am  not  what  people  want  me  to be."
                                                       "Is  that  so?  I  would  say  that  is  the  root  of  your trouble.
                                                    Does  the  stick  know  it  is  a hoe?"
                   "If  it  is  used  as  a  hoe,  then  I  suppose  it would."
                   The  envoy  swatted  Yama's  shoulder  with  his  fan. "No
                no  no.  A  stick  does  not  have  to  ask  itself  stupid questions,
                It  accepts  its  nature.  If  you  tried  to  be  more  like  a stick
                and  less  like  a  hero  you  would  cause  less  trouble. What
                is  that  book  you  were  reading?  The  Puranas,  I  would say,
                except  no  edition  of  the  Puranas  has  pictures  such as
               yours.
                   I  It  is  an  old  edition,  and  it  has  been  added  to since.
                One  of  your  people  was  a  part  of  the  story.  A  man named
                Dreen.  He  was  the  Commissioner  of Sensch."
                   "I  already  know  something  of  Dreen's seduction,"
                Theias  said.  He  scratched  behind  one  of  his  large, translucent
                  ears,  then  folded  at  the  knees  and  sat  down  and patted
                the  decking  beside  him.  "Here.  Sit  with  me.  Perhaps you
                will  show  me  the  rest  of  the tale."
                   They  sat  together  on  the  forecastle  deck,  under  the shifting
                  shade  of  the  sail,  for  a  long  time.  Theias  fluttered 
his
                fan  under  his  chin  and  cursed  the  heat,  and  asked many
                questions  about  the  pictures.  Yama  answered  as  best he
                could,  and  discovered  that  he  knew  more  than  he had
                realized.  Pandaras  brought  food-unIeavened  bread and
                plain  water  for  Theias,  and  bread,  chickpea  paste, slices
                of  melon,  and  a  basket  of  sweet  white  wine  for Yamaand
                  stayed  to  listen,  sitting  quietly  and  working  on the
                embroidery  of  his  shirt collar.
                   At  the  end  of  the  story,  Theias  said,  "Poor  Dreen allowed
                  himself  to  become  what  he  was  not.  We still
                mourn him."
                   "He  is  not  dead,  I think."
                   Theias  said  sharply,  "Even  if  he  stood  here  before me
                I  would  say  that  he  was  not alive."
                   "Because  the  Ancients  of  Days  made  him  into their
               servant?"
                   "No  no  no,"  Theias  said  impatiently.  "You  have much
                to  learn. "
                   "I  do  want  to  learn.  I  am  seeking  the  truth  about myself,
                and  I  am  trying  to  understand  how  I  can  train  my mind
                so  that  I  might  hope  to  find it."



                                                      "Foolish  boy.  There  is  no  mind,  so  you  cannot  train it.
                                                   There  is  no  truth,  so  you  cannot  hope  to  reach it."
                                                      "Yet  I  have  heard  that  the  men  of  Gond  are  great teachers
                                                   .  What  do  they  teach,  if  not  the  truth?  What  do they
                                                   train,  if  not minds?"
                                                      "We  do  not  teach,  because  we  do  not  have tongues.
                                                   How  can  we  tell  others  what  to  do  without tongues?"
                                                      Theias  said  this  with  all  seriousness,  but  Yama laughed
                                                   at  the  absurdity.  "I  do  not  think  you  are  telling  me the
                                                   truth!  You  play  with me."
                                                      "How  can  I  lie  when  I  have  no  tongue?  You  have not
                                                   been  listening,  young  man.  I  waste  my  time  with you.
                                                  Farewell."
                                                      Theias  swung  onto  the  forestay  and  scampered  up to
                                                   the  crow's nest.
                                                      Pandaras  bit  off  the  end  of  a  colored  thread  and said,
                                                   "He's  a  puzzle,  master,  isn't he?"
                                                      "He  is  trying  to  make  me  think,  but  I  am  not  sure what
                                                   he  wants  me  to  think about.
                                                      
"I'm  only  your  squire,  master.  I  wouldn't  know about
                                                   these  higher  matters.  My  people,  we've  always  let others
                                                   worry  about  hard  questions.  We  prefer  stories  and songs
                                                   for  the  pleasure  of  telling  them  and  singing  them,  and let
                                                   others  worry  about  what  they  mean.  Was  this  Angel in
                                                   the  story  the  same  woman  that  appeared  in  the shrines?"
                                                      "At  first  I  thought  that  the  woman  in  the  shrine  was an
                                                   aspect,  but  I  think  now  that  she  was  more  like  a reflection.
                                                   The  perfect  image  of  a  person,  but  without  volition. Like
                                                   a  picture,  if  a  picture  could  move  or  speak.  In  any case,
                                                   the  Angel  of  the  story  in  my  book  was  not  the  same as
                                                   the  one  who  first  set  out  on  the  long  voyage.  She was
                                                   copied  many  times,  and  the  copies  changed  so  much that
                                                   sometimes  they  warred  with  each other."
                                                      "I  used  to  quarrel  with  my  brothers  and  sisters," Pandaras
                                                     said,  "often  in  the  very  worst  way.  Sometimes, I
                                                   swear,  we  all  wanted  to  kill  each  other.  It's  always the
                                                   way  when  someone  is  close  to  you,  it's  either  love  or hate
                                                   
and  nothing  in between."
                  Theias  came  down  from  the  crow's  nest  late  in  the afternoon
                .  He  sat  in  front  of  Yama  and  Pandaras  and  said at
                once,  "What  is  the  difference  between  Angel and
               yourself?"
                  Yama  had  been  thinking  about  this,  and  the question
                did  not  surprise  him.  He  said,  "She  would  not  accept her
                nature,  but  I  do  not  know mine."
                  "You  are  not  as  stupid  as  you  pretend  to  be," Theias
                said,  "but  you  are  not  as  clever  as  you  believe.  I  am not
                talking  about  small  distinctions  of  intent,  but  of actions.
                Both  of  you  have  meddled  in  the  destinies  of  other bloodlines
                .  Therefore,  which  of  you  is worse?"
                  "I  did  it  only  because  I  was  asked.  Angel  did  it because
                she  wanted  to  make  an  army  of followers."
                  Theias  looked  at  Yama  intently.  "Is  that  a sufficient
               difference?"
                  "In  my  case,  I  do  not  understand  how  it  was  done. It
               is  one  of  the  many  things  I  do  not understand."
                  Theias  smiled.  "Then  perhaps  there  is  some  hope for
               you.
                  "I  want  to  understand  these  things.  You  are pleased
                that  I  have  no  control  over  my  powers,  but  I  am frightened
                for  the  same reason."
                  
"And  I  would  be  frightened  if  you  did  have control
                over them."
                  "I  have  been  able  to  save  myself  from  my  enemies, but
                often  with  consequences  that  seem  worse  than  the danger
                I faced.
                  Theias  said,  "If  it  is  in  your  nature  to  resist  your eneMies
                ,  then  that  is  what  you  must  do.  But  I  thought that
                you  did  not  understand  your nature."
                  "Angel  wanted  to  rule  the  -world.  I  do  not  want that.
                Even  if  others  wanted  it,  I  would  refuse."  Yama smiled.
                "I  am  amazed  that  I  am  even  speaking  of  such things.
                The  world  belongs  to  no  one  but  the Preservers."
                  "False  humility  is  worse  than  pride.  If  you  refuse to



                                                    accept  the  burden  of  your  destiny,  then  you  are denying
                                                    your  nature. "
                                                       "Your  bloodline  is  old,  dominie.  Does  it remember
                                                   mine?"
                                                       "Some  say  you  are  of  the  bloodline  of  the Builders,
                                                    but  I  do  not  see  it  myself.  They  were  gone  long before
                                                    any  of  the  Shaped  were  brought  to  Confluence,  and left
                                                    only  their  works  behind.  Perhaps  the  Builders  never really
                                                    existed-have  you  thought  of  that?  People  reason  that servants
                                                      of  the  Preservers  must  have  constructed  the world,
                                                    and  so  they  invent  a  mythical  bloodline  and  give  them all
                                                    the  attributes  they  imagine  world-builders  might possess.
                                                    But  perhaps  the  world  created  itself,  once  the Preservers
                                                    had  willed  it.  For  if  the  Preservers  are  gods,  then  they can
                                                    speak  true  words,  words  so  true  that  they  are  no different
                                                    from  the  thing  they  stand for."
                                                       Yama  remembered  the  slate  he  had  been  shown  in the
                                                    City  of  the  Dead,  which had      shown  a  man  of  his own
                                                    bloodline  with  a  starry  
sky  behind  him.  But  perhaps the
                                                    slate  had  shown  only  a  story.  Perhaps  everything  was a
                                                    story.  He  said,  "Words  are  not  truth,  are they?"
                                                       Theias  slapped  Yama  about  the  head  with  his  fan. "You
                                                    have  been  reading  in  the  Puranas.  There  are  many stories
                                                    in  the  Puranas  that  reveal  the  nature  of  the  world, although
                                                    it  is  only  by  deep  thought  and  contemplation  that  one can
                                                    truly  understand  their  importance.  The  stories  are  not lessons
                                                      in  themselves,  but  act  upon  the  receptive  mind to
                                                    bring  it  into  a  state  by  which  one  can  obtain enlightenment
                                                    .  Words  cannot  represent  anything  but  themselves, no
                                                    more  than  things  can  be  anything  but  what  they  are. And
                                                    so  words  can  teach nothing."
                                                       "For  one  without  a  tongue,  you  are  a  good teacher."
                                                       Once  again  Theias  battered  Yama  about  the  head with
                                                    his  fan.  Yama  endured  it.  Pandaras  looked  to  his sewing
                                                    and  tried  to  hide  a smile.
                                                       "Foolish  boy,"  the  envoy  said.  "If  you  need  a teacher,
                                                    
then  you  are  unable  to  learn."  He  held  his  fan  a handspan
                                                    before  Yama's  face.  "If  you  call  this  a  fan,  you oppose
                 its  reality.  If  you  do  not  call  it  a  fan,  you  ignore  the fact.
                 Now,  what  do  you  wish  to  call this?"
                    Yama  took  the  fan  from  Theias's  unresisting fingers,
                 fanned  himself,  and  handed  it back.
                    Pandaras  sang  softly,  as  if  to himself:
                      Holding  out  the  leafy fan,
                      He  gave  an  order  of  life  or death.
                      Positive  and  negative interwoven,
                      Even  the  Preservers  cannot  escape  this attack.
                    Theias  smiled.  "Your  servant  knows  the  Puranas, at
                 least.  You  might  learn  from him."
                    "I  have  not  read  in  them,"  Pandaras  said,  "but your
                 riddle  reminded  me  of  a  game  my  people  play amongst
                themselves."
                    Theias  pulled  at  the  long  hairs  that  fringed  his  chin and
                 said,  "Then  your  people  are  wiser  than  me,  for  I take
                 these  riddles  seriously.  I  must  go  now.  I  will  leave  for the
                 cities  of  the  Dry  Plains  in  a  few hours."
                    Yama  said,  "It  will  take  longer  than  that  to  make landfall
                 ,  I think."
                    "Not  at  all.  You  see  only  what  you  want  to  see, and
                 ignore  the  obvious.  But  at  least  you  have  made  a beginning
                 .  Study  the  Puranas  if  you  must,  although  you would
                 
do  better  to  listen  to  your  servant's  jokes.  Now,  you may
                 ask  me  one  more question."
                    Yama  thought  hard.  He  had  so  many  questions  that he
                 could  not  even  begin  to  decide  which  was  the  most important
                 ,  and  many  required  specific  answers  which Theias,
                 although  he  was  wise,  might  not  know.  At  last,  he said,
                 "I  will  ask  you  this,  dominie.  Is  there  a  teaching  no master
                 has  ever  taught before?"
                    "Yes,  of course,"
                    "Then  what  is it?"
                    Theias  put  his  hands  on  top  of  his  head.  His  fan hung
                 down,  covering  his  eyes.  He  said,  "I  have answered
                 your question."



                                                       "You  have  told  me  that  you  can  answer  it, dominie,
                                                     and  I  know  you  are  an  honorable man."
                                                       "it  is  not  mind,  it  is  not  the  Preservers,  it  is  not things."
                                                       Theias  said  this  very  quickly  and  immediately swung
                                                     onto  the  forestay  and  scampered  away  to  the  crow's nest.
                                                     There  was  a  brief  commotion  up  there,  and  then something
                                                     fluttered  over  the  rail.  It  hit  the  slope  of  the  sail  and slid
                                                     down  and  fell  to  the deck.
                                                       It  was  Theias's  fan.  Even  as  Pandaras  ran  to  retrieve it,
                                                     the  envoy  rose  above  the  crow's  nest.  He  was  standing on
                                                     a  gleaming  disc  which  slid  away  through  the  air  at an
                                                     increasing  speed  toward  the  nearside  shore,  vanishing from
                                                     sight  in  less  than  a minute.
                                                       Yama  was  astonished.  He  said,  "He  did  not  need to
                                                     travel  on  the  ship.  He  came  only  because  he  wanted to
                                                     see me.
                                                       Pandaras  held  up  the  fan  and sang:
                                                     Theias  was  too  kind  and  lost  his treasure.
                                                     
Truly,  words  have  no power.
                                                     Even  though  the  Rim  Mountains  become  the  Great River,
                                                     Words  cannot  open  another's mind.
                                                      THE DRIDGIRS
                LISS  THAN  AN  hour  after  Phalerus  had  climbed  into the
                crow's  nest  Theias  had  so  precipitately  abandoned,  the old
                sailor  called  in  a  high,  hoarse  voice,  "Sail!  Ten leagues
                to  the  first quarter!
   'R              "It  is  the  picketboat,"  Captain  Lorquital  told Yama,
                after  looking  upriver  through  her spectacles.
                   So  Prefect  Corin  had  escaped  the  authorities  at the
                floating  harbor.  Yama  had  been  expecting  it,  and  he felt
               a   sense  of  relief  rather  than fear.
                   Captain  Lorquital  said,  "I  suppose  we  should  be grateful
                  it  isn't  the  warship,  but  she's  rowing  steadily  and hard
                and  has  crowded  every  yard  with  sail.  I'd  say  she's bearing
                on  us  at  twice  our  speed  or  better.  She  won't  be  able to
                keep  up  that  pace,  but  we're  in  the  midway  of  the river   
                and  it  will  take  us  more  than  a  day  to  run  to  shore  and a
                hiding  place.  I  fear  that  she  will  catch  us  before then."
                   There  was  little  that  could  be  done,  for  the  
Weazel was
                already  running  briskly  before  a  good  wind,  dipping and
                rising  through  long  waves  that  marched  across  the Great
                River  from  farside  shore  to  near.  Captain  Lorquital and
                Aguilar  discussed  putting  out  the  staysails,  but decided



                                                  that  this  would  drive  the  Weazel's  bows  down  and make
                                                  her  more  likely  to plow.
                                                    "We  should  do  it  anyway,"  Tamora  grumbled  to Yama.
                                                    "It  would  only  delay  the  moment,  and  it  would  put the
                                                  ship  at  risk,"  Yama said.
                                                    They  stood  by  the  big  square  lantern  at  the  stem rail.
                                                  By  naked  eye,  the  picketboat  was  a  black  dot  far  off across
                                                  the  shimmering  sunstruck  plain  of  the river.
                                                    "It  is  Eliphas  who  leads  them  on  to  us,"  Tamora said,
                                                  "I  swear  he  made  a  bargain  with  Prefect  Corin  while we
                                                  were  all prisoners."
                                                    "Yet  he  urged  me  not  to  go  into  Mother  Spitfire's gambling
                                                    palace.  I  wish  I  had  taken  his advice."
                                                    "Grab.  It  is  likely  that  Eliphas  was  to  be  the  goat leading
                                                    you  to  an  ambush  somewhere  else,  which  is  why he
                                                  so  earnestly  wanted  you  to leave."
                                                    Eliphas  was  talking  with  Ixchel  Lorquital,  hunched forward
                                                    earnestly  on  the  stool  by  her  sling  chair,  his big
                                                  hands  moving eloquently,
                                                    
Yama  said,  "No,  he  is  no  more  than  an  old  man looking
                                                  for  one  last  adventure.  Look  at  him-he  talks  too much
                                                  to  be  a  spy.  Besides,  I  met  him  by accident."
                                                    "Are  you sure?"
                                                    "If  not,  anyone  could  be  an  agent  of  Prefect Corin's,
                                                  and  how  am  I  to  live?  Eliphas  has  given  me  a destination,
                                                  Tamora.  A  place  where  my  people  might  still  live.  If  it is
                                                  true,  it  is  a  most  precious gift."
                                                    "Grab.  I'll  believe  in  this  lost  city  when  I  see  it, but
                                                  let's  say  he  didn't  lie  about  it.  Maybe  he  didn't  start out
                                                  to  betray  you.  But  I  still  think  he's  struck  a  bargain with
                                                  Prefect  Corin.  Maybe  he  didn't  want  to,  maybe  he was
                                                  forced.  Think  carefully.  You  keep  the  spy  machines away,
                                                  but  something  has  led  Prefect  Corin  straight  to  us.  In all
                                                  the  wide  river,  how  would  he  find  us  so  quickly unless
                                                  led?  It  must  be  Eliphas.  He'll  have  been  given  a device
                                                  of  some  sort.  Let  me  search  his  kit.  Let  me  search him,
                                                  down  to  the bones."
                                                    "I  cannot  know  about  every  machine,  Tamora. One
                                                  
could  hang  high  above  us,  and  I  would  not  know. Besides,
                 Prefect  Corin  knows  that  we  are  going  downriver. The
                 river  is  wide,  but  it  is  not infinite."
                    Tamora  stared  hard  at  him.  Sunlight  dappled  her skin,
                 glittered  in  her  green  eyes.  She  said,  "I  will  lay  my life
                 down  for  you,  willingly  and  gladly.  But  I  would  hope it
                 is  not  because  some  fool  thinks  to  line  his pockets."
                    The  cook  prepared  a  sumptuous  meal  after  sunset, roasting
                   a  side  of  ribs  from  the  slaughtered  shoat  and serving
                 it  with  a  sauce  of  apricots  and  plums,  riverweed fried
                 with  ginger,  and  side  dishes  of  candied  sweet  potatoes and
                 cassava  porridge  flavored  with  cumin.  Most  of  the crew
                 ate  heartily,  in  a  fine  spirit  of  gallows  humor,  and  all drank
                 the  ration  of  heart  of  wine  Aguilar  had broached.
                    "There'll  be  another  ration  at  the  beginning  of  the first
                 morning  watch,"  Aguilar  announced.  "All  hands to
                 deck then."
                    She  did  not  need  to  say  that  by  then  the picketboat
                 would  be  in  cannon  shot  of  the WeazeL
                    Before  they  bedded  down  for  the  night,  Eliphas told
                 Yama,  "Our  captain  hopes  to  hail  another  ship tomorrow.
                 She  steers  toward  the  nearside  shore  for  that  reason. Not
                 
because  she  hopes  to  reach  it  before  being  overtaken, but
                 because  that  is  where  the  shipping  lanes  are.  If  you are
                 right  about  Prefect  Corin's  motives,  brother,  if  he  has no
                 official  sanction  but  pursues  you  for  his  own  ends,  he will
                 not  attack  us  in  plain  sight  of others."
                    "I  think  that  Captain  Lorquital  underestimates Prefect
                Corin."
                    "He  is  only  a  man.  Don't  make  him  more  than  he is,
                 brother.  You  will  find  a way."
                    Yama  had  surprised  himself  by  eating  his  fill,  and he
                 found  sleep  surprisingly  easy,  too.  Perhaps  it  was because
                 he  had  come  to  a  decision,  a  way  of  ending  the uncertainty
                 of  the  chase.  It  had  crept  into  the  base  of  his  brain during
                 the  feast,  as  cruelly  sharp  as  a  knife.  He  would  wake in
                 a  few  hours,  cut  the  dory  free,  and  make  off  into the
                 darkness.  Once  he  was  far  enough  from  the  ship,  he would
                 put  out  the  dory's  drag  anchor  and  wait  for  the picketboat
                 to  bear  down  on  him.  Attracting  attention  would  be easy



                                                   enough-he  had  only  to  call  on  Prefect  Corin's machines.
                                                   He  would  allow  himself  to  be  captured,  and  at  the first
                                                   opportunity  he  would  kill  the  Prefect.  He  would  gather all
                                                   the  machines  within  the  range  of  his  powers  and  kill everyone
                                                     on  the  picketboat,  and  then  continue  downriver alone.
                                                      He  had  become  a  soldier  after  all,  he  thought,  and realized
                                                     that  the  war  reached  further  upriver  than  the battlefields
                                                     where  armies clashed.
                                                      Yama  slept  and,  freed  by  sleep,  his  mind  ranged far
                                                   down  into  the  lightless  depths  of  the  river,  where vast
                                                   segmented  monsters  blindly  humped  through  abyssal ooze.
                                                   Wholly  aware  that  he  was  sleeping  but  that  this  was not
                                                   a  dream,  Yama  engaged  with  the  minds  of  these ancient
                                                   machines.  He  learned  of  the  immemorial  routes  they followed
                                                     among  the  slow,  cold  currents  at  the  bottom  of the
                                                   river,  of  their  endless  work  of  pushing  sediment  into the
                                                   subduction  channels  which  transported  it  to  the Rim
                                                   Mountains  for  redistribution  by  glacial  melt.  Theirs  was a
                                                   
world  defined  by  the  echoes  of  ultrasonic  clicks and
                                                   pulses,  by  touch  and  chemical  cues.  Neighbor constantly
                                                   reassured  neighbor  with  little  bursts  of  data;  they moved
                                                   through  a  web  of  shared  information  that  mapped  the entire
                                                     river  bottom,  its  braided  currents  and  thermal gradients
                                                   ,  its  deltas  of  mud  and  plains  of  chalky ooze.
                                                      As  the  machines  plowed  the  river  bottom,  they were
                                                   accompanied  by  their  sharers.  The  sharers  fed  on  the shell
                                                   fish  and  blind  crabs  exposed  by  the  machines,  and  in return
                                                   scouted  the  layers  of  water  above  the  trenches  and channels
                                                     of  the  river  bottom,  and  cleaned  away  parasites which
                                                   sought  lodging  on  the  overlapping  plates  of  the machines'
                                                   armored bides.
                                                      We  will  help,  the  machines  told  Yama,  although  he had
                                                   not  asked  them  for  help.  He  expected  them  to  begin to
                                                   rise  toward  the  surface-any  one  of  them  could  have sunk
                                                   the  picketboat  by  ramming  it-but  when  he  pictured this
                                                   the  machines  told  him  that  they  could  never  leave  the river
                                                   bottom.  They  would  
help  in  their  own way.
                                                      A  league  beneath  the  Weazel's  keel,  the  machines abandoned
                                                     their  routines  for  the  first  time  in  thousands  of years.
                 They  altered  their  buoyancy,  lifting  from  the  long trenches
                 they  had  made  in  the  ooze  and  drifting  on  cold currents
                 until  they  reached  the  maws  of  nearby  subduction channels
                 .  As  the  machines  blocked  the  channels,  the  cold river
                 bottom  currents  were  deflected  upward,  where  they spread
                 out  beneath  warmer  layers  until  they  reached  the steep
                 drop-off  at  the  coastal  shelf.  The  machines  saw,  by an
                 increase  in  the  echo  delay  of  their  ultrasonic  chirps,  a huge
                 unsteady  lens  of  cold  water  growing  beneath  the warmer
                 layers  over  the  coastal  shelf,  pushing  upward  and sideways
                i
                     nstable  equilibrium  .  . .
                 n u
                   He  was  woken  by  Pandaras.  It  was  dawn,  but  the light
                 had  a  diffuse  cast.  It  was  like  waking  inside  a  pearl. The
                 main  mast  stabbed  upward,  vanishing  into streaming
                 whiteness.  Fog  had  settled  damply  over  his  blanket and
                 drops  of  water  hung  everywhere  from  stays  and ratlines.
                   
"There's  something  wrong  with  the  weather," Pandaras
                 said.  He  had  wrapped  a  blanket  around  his  narrow shoulders
                   like  a  cloak,  but  was  shivering  all  the same.
                   "Where  are  the  crew?"  He  would  kill  them  all,  if he
                 had  to,  beginning  with  this  silly  little  boy.  Kill everyone
                 who  stood  in  his  way  when  he  took  the  dory.  Or kill
                 everyone  now,  and  let  the  picketboat  overtake  the Weazel.
                   "Master,  are  you  all right?"
                   Yama  found  that  he  was  awake,  standing  beside Pandaras
                   in  the  middle  of  a  fog  so  dense  he  could  not see
                 the  bow  of  the  ship.  Something  had  possessed  him, horrible
                   thoughts  like  ooze  from  the  bottom  of  his  brain. His
                 power,  he  thought.  It  would  survive  any  way  it  could, at
                 any  cost.  He  pressed  the  heels  of  his  palms  to  his eyes.
                 Red  and  black  jags  of  light.  He  suddenly  had  a terrible
                 headache,  He  said,  "I  am  going  to  steal  the  dory. You
                 and  Tamora  will  help me."
                   "Tamora  is  with  Aguilar.  They  are  laying  out  the weapons
                 ,  master,  as  sorry  a  collection  of  antiques  that  I've ever
                 seen.  As  for  the  dory,  you'll  have  to  explain  your  plan to



                                                  the  Captain.  She  came  up  on  deck  an  hour  ago,  when the
                                                  fog  bank  rolled  across  the river."
                                                    "The  machines  of  the  river  deeps,"  Yama  said, remembering
                                                    the  dream  which  had  not  been  a  dream  after  all. A
                                                  small  hope  kindled  in  his breast.
                                                    "Machines,  master?  At  the  bottom  of  the  river? What
                                                  would  machines  be  doing  down there?"
                                                    "I  found  them  and  talked  to  them,  and  they  said that
                                                  they  would  help me."
                                                    "They  would  be  dredgers,"  Eliphas  said,  looming out
                                                  of  the  fog.  Like  Pandaras,  he  had  wrapped  a blanket
                                                  around  his  shoulders.  His  eyes  were  dull  pewter  in the
                                                  diffuse  light;  droplets  of  water  beaded  his  smooth black
                                                  skin  and  clung  to  the  stiff  curls  of  his  white  hair.  "I once
                                                  saw  the  carcass  of  a  dredger  that  had  been  washed ashore.
                                                  They  are  divided  into  segments  like  worms,  and  each segment
                                                    bears  a  pair  of  paddles  or  other  appendages. They
                                                  clear  mud  and  detritus  that  collects  in  the  deeps; without
                                                  
them  the  river  would  soon  silt up."
                                                    Yama  tried  to  think  it  through.  The  headache  was  like a
                                                  spike  driven  through  his  forehead.  He  said  slowly, "They
                                                  changed  the  currents  at  the  bottom  of  the  river.  The water
                                                  is  colder  in  the  deeps,  and  perhaps  it  is  now  coming to
                                                  the  surface.  Cold  air  is  denser  than  warm  air,  so  that as
                                 i                the  air  above  the  river  is  cooled,  it  draws  down more.
                                                  That  is  what  drives  the  wind.  The  fog  forms  as  the warm
                                                  air  cools,  and  can  no  longer  carry  as  much  moisture." He
                                                  felt  a  sudden  surge  of  hope.  "They  are  hiding  us from
                                                  Prefect Corin!"
                                                    Eliphas  nodded,  but  Pandaras  did  not  believe  a  word of
                                                  it.  He  said  scornfully,  "Nothing  can  change  the  course of
                                                  the  river! "
                                                    "Not  its  course,"  Eliphas  said,  "but  its  currents. The
                                                  dredgers  are  very  large.  The  one  I  saw  was  several hundred
                                                    paces  long,  and  each  segment  was  as  big  as  a house.
                                                  Ah!  There  it  is again!"
                                                    A  flash  of  red  light  far  beyond  the  Weazel's  stem, a
                                                  dim  flare  that  brightened  
and  faded  in  the  fog. Prefect
                                                  Corin's  picketboat  was  still  pursuing them.
                    "She's  trying  the  range,"  Captain  Lorquital  told Yama,
                 when  he  climbed  up  to  the  quarterdeck.  "She  is  still too
                 far  off,  but  I  think  that  she  will  catch  up  with  us soon.
                 The  stronger  the  wind,  the  more  advantage  we  have, because
                   we're  the  bigger  ship.  But  the  wind  has  almost died
                 away  since  the  fog  rose.  She'll  use  her  oars  again, when
                 her  men  are  rested,  and  then  she'll  catch  us.  There's one
                 hope,  but  it  is  a  small  one.  If  the  fog  was  coming from
                 the  farside  shore  I'd  say  we  were  heading  into  a storm,
                 and  a  storm  might  save  us  if  we  were  blown  in  one direction
                   and  the  picketboat  was  blown  in  another.  But this
                 came  up  from  the  nearside,  and  I  can't  tell  if  it  means a
                 storm  or not."
                    The  fog  was  dense  but  patchy.  Toward  the  end  of the
                 morning  watch  the  Weazel  sailed  out  of  a  bank  of white
                 vapor  into  clear  air.  Everyone  squinted  in  brilliant sunlight
                 that  burned  off  the  rust-red  sail  and  the  white  deck, and
                 
laid  a  net  of  dazzling  diamonds  across  blue  water all
                 around.  To  starboard,  long  banks  of  fog  hung  just above
                 the  river  like  a  range  of  low  hills,  their  white  peaks stirred
                 and  torn  by  the  fresh  cold  wind;  to  port,  the  black anvils
                 of  thunderstorms  towered  along  the  margin  of  the nearside
                 shore.  Drifts  of  hail  and  rain  swept  across  the  sunlit water,
                 falling  from  such  a  height  that  they  seemed  to  come from
                 cloudless  sky.  The  Weazel  passed  through  a  brief hailstorm
                 that  had  everyone  running  for  cover.  Small  silver  fish fell
                 among  the  hail,  jinking  frantically  as  they  sought escape
                 through  the  scuppers.  The  storm  ended  as  suddenly  as it
                 had  begun,  leaving  4  scattering  of  dead  fish  and shallow
                 drifts  of  hailstones  which  quickly  melted,  leaving bloodred
                   stains  from  the  dust  at  their  cores  on  the  white deck.
                    Soon  afterward,  the  picketboat  breasted  out  of  the fog
                 bank  behind  the  Weazel.  Her  light  cannon  flashed and
                 flashed.  Plumes  of  water  driven  by  superheated  steam shot
                 up  and  collapsed  half  a  league sternward.
                    "She'll  get  the  range  soon  enough,"  Captain Lorquital
                 
told  Yama.  She  stood  at  the  stem  rail,  immense  and foursquare
                 ,  her  day  pipe  jutting  from  a  corner  of  her mouth.
                 She  had  put  on  a  jacket  stiff  with  braid,  the  better  to make



                                                   a  target,  she  said.  It  had  belonged  to  her  dead husband,
                                                   and  its  sleeves  were  pinned  back  from  her  wrists.  "I sent
                                                   a  heliograph  signal,  telling  her  to  lay  back  and  cease firing,
                                                   but  she's  not  responding.  Of  course,  I  suppose  the cannon
                                                   shots  could  be  a  kind  of reply."
                                                      "Let  me  speak  plainly,"  Yama  said.  The  brief moment
                                                   ,of  hope  had  passed.  He  was  convinced  that  the dredgers
                                                   had  failed  him.  That  he  had  failed.  "They  do  not want
                                                   your  ship  or  your  cargo.  They  want  only  me.  Lend me
                                                   your  dory.  I  will  put  out  in  it  and  wait  for  the picketboat
                                                   to  overtake me."
                                                      Ixchel  Lorquital  drew  on  her  pipe  and  looked  at him
                                                  calmly.
                                                      "I  will  not  let  them  take  your  ship,"  Yama said.
                                                      "That's  a  generous  thought,  but  you're  only  a passenger
                                                   ,  and  the  ship  is  mine  to  dispose  of  as  I  will. My
                                                   husband  always  told  me  that  when  passengers  start giving
                                                   advice,  you  should  always  agree,  and  then  do nothing
                                                   about  it.  But  I'd  
rather  not  give  you  the  false  idea that
                                                   you'll  be  able  to  make  such  a  silly  sacrifice,  so  I  will say
                                                   now  that  I  will  not  allow it."
                                                      Yama  stood  his  ground.  "If  you  have  any  idea about
                                                   what  we  should  do,  I  would  like  to  hear  it.  You have
                                                   heard mine."
                                                      Captain  Lonquital  turned  her  back  on  Yama  and contemplated
                                                     the  picketboat.  She  said,  "I  am  responsible for
                                                   all  my  passengers,  not  just  you.  Besides,  they'll  still sink
                                                   us.  They'll  want  to  leave  no witnesses."
                                                      "Then  put  yourself  and  your  crew  in  the  dory.  I will
                                                   stand  here  in  plain  sight.  They  will  not  chase  you  if they
                                                   have me."
                                                      Captain  Lorquital  said  stubbornly,  "I  have  sailed this
                                                   ship  for  fifty  years.  I've  been  captain  for  ten.  I won't
                                                   abandon  her  for  anyone.  Even you."
                                                      Phalerus,  who  had  the  helm,  said,  "She's  right, dominie.
                                                   If  we  get  a  bit  of  wind,  we  still  might  show  those cullers
                                                   a  clean  pair  of heels."
                                                      For  the  first  time,  
Yama  considered  giving  Captain Lorquital
                                                     a  direct  order,  but  the  thought  that  she  might obey
                him  with  the  same  unquestioning  alacrity  as  any machine
                was  unnervingly  horrible.  Worse  was  the  thought  that if
                he  tried  to  call  upon  machines  to  kill  Perfect  Corin he
                might  be  seized  by  his  rage  and  kill  everyone  around him.
                No.  He  would  avenge  his  father,  but  as  an  ordinary man.
                   Tamora  came  up  onto  the  quarterdeck.  She  had  put on
                her  corset,  and  a  fusil  was  slung  over  her  shoulder. The
                bell  of  its  muzzle  flared  above  her  shaven  scalp. Captain
                Lorquital  said  mildly,  "I  do  not  remember  ordering the
                crew  to  take  up arms."
                   "We  can  show  our  teeth  at  least,"  Tamora  said. "Why
                don't  you  put  back  into  the fog?"
                   "They  followed  us  through  the  night  and  the  fog," Captain
                  Lorquital  said.  "Why  should  day  be different?"
                   At  that  moment,  the  man  in  the  crow's  nest  cried out.
                Patches  of  water  around  the  Weazel  began  chum,  as if
                vast  pumps  were  laboring  to  produce  submerged fountains.
                Glassy  hummocks  rose  up,  sputtering  rafts  of  foam and
                slicks  of  fine  silt.  The  crew  crowded  the  rails,  
but Aguilar
                drove  them  back,  shouting  that  they  must  see  to  the sail.
                Captain  Lorquital  told  Phalerus  to  make  hard  to  port, but
                even  as  the  Weazel  heeled  about,  more  hummocks spurted
                around her.
                   A  shoal  of  fish  fled  past  the  ship,  swimming  so frantically
                  that  they  flung  themselves  high  into  the  air. Some
                landed  on  the  deck.  They  were  as  long  as  a  man's arm
                and  their  narrow  heads  and  stiff  dorsal  fins  were plated
                with  dull  red  chitin;  they  banged  and  clattered  against the
                deck  as  they  thrashed  toward  the  scuppers.  Yama wondered
                  if  these  were  the  sharers  of  the dredgers.
                   Caught  between  two  rising  currents,  the  Weazel began
               to  turn  in  a  slow  circle.  The  sail  flapped,  filled, flapped.
                Aguilar  ordered  it  reefed,  but  before  the  sailors  could obey
                a  stay  gave  with  a  snap  like  a  rifle  shot.  The  broken end
               of  the  rope  whiplashed  against  the  sail  and  ripped  a long
                tear  in  the  canvas;  the  block  which  had  anchored  it turnbled
                  end  over  end  through  the  air  and  smashed  into the
                deck  a  handsbreadth  from  Tamora's feet.
                   The  picketboat  fired  again.  The  cannon's  hot light



                                                  flashed  water  into  steam  to  the  port  side  of  the Weazel.
                                                  Water  poured  over  the  little  ship's  waist;  spray  wet the
                                                  torn  sail  from  top  to  bottom.  At  the  same  moment, Yama
                                                  saw  something  like  a  bush  or  tree  rise  a  little  way  out of
                                                  the  water  off  the  stem.  It  was  white  and  pulpy,  like something
                                                    dead  that  had  been  floating  in  the  water  for  a long
                                                 time.
                                                     Captain  Lorquital  ordered  that  the  sail  be  struck  at once,
                                                  and  turned  to  Tamora  and  told  her  to  take  off  her sword
                                                  and  return  the  fusil  to  the  armory chest.
                                                     Yama  laid  a  hand  on  Tamora's  arm.  "They  will take
                                                  me  in  any  case,"  he said.
                                                     Tamora  glowered.  "I'll  throw  away  this blunderbuss,
                                                  but  I'll  keep  the  sword.  It's  a  poor  thing,  but  it's mine,
                                                  and  you'll  have  to  pry  it  from  my  cold  dead hand."
                                                     There  was  another  flash  of  red  light,  but  the picketboat
                                                  was  no  longer  aiming  at  the  Weazel.  Instead,  she  was firing
                                                  into  t  e  water  close    her  u  ,  slow    obscuring erse
                                                  
in  flashes  of  red  light  and  billowing  clouds  of  steam. The
                                                  sailors  aloft  in  the  yards  cried  out  and  started  to swing
                                                  down  to  the  deck,  and  the  Weazel  shuddered  as  if  she had
                                                  struck  some  underwater  snag.  Yama  was  thrown against
                                                  the  head  of  the  companionway,  and  he  clung  there  as the
                                                  Weazel  rolled  to  port  and  then  righted  herself  violently. A
                                                  forest  of  white  branches  was  rising  around  the  ship, as
                                                  if  the  river  was  draining  away  from  trees  drowned an
                                                  age past.
                                                     Tamora  swore  and  unslung  the  fusil,  but  Yama, remembering
                                                    his  dream,  told  her  to  hold  her fire.
                                                     All  around  the  ship,  creamy  tentacles  erupted  from the
                                                  water  and  rose  into  the  air,  questing  this  way  and that.
                                                  Some  ended  in  leaf-shaped  paddles;  some  bore  ranks of
                                                  suckers;  some  were  tapered  and  frayed  in  a  multitude of
                                                  feathery  feelers.  Huge,  sleek  arrow  shapes  moved beneath
                                                  the  churning  surface  of  the  river.  Many  were  as  long as
                                                  the  Weazel;  a  few  were  even larger.
                                                     The  sharers  of  the  
dredgers  had  come  to  the surface.
                                                     Captain  Lorquital  took  Yama's  advice  and  ordered the
                                                  crew  to  stand  from  the  rails,  and  to  put  down  the handIm
               spikes  and  halberds  with  which  they  had  armed themselves
               .  Most  of  the  sailors  promptly  climbed  back  up into
               the  rigging,  dodging  tentacles  which  rose  toward  the mast
               and  plucked  at  ratlines  and  stays  as  if  at  a  harp. Aguilar
               stood  at  the  bow,  her  cutlass  resting  on  her  shoulder, looking
                 right  and  left  at  the  questing  tentacles  as  if daring
               them  to  get  close enough.
                 As  Pandaras  and  Eliphas  clambered  up  the  ladder  to the
               quarterdeck,  the  ship  shuddered  and  a  cluster  of palps
               dropped  onto  the  starboard  rail.  Their  ends  thrashed in
               every  direction  like  a  nest  of  blind  white  snakes, stretching
               thinner  and  thinner  as  they  walked  on  their  tips  across the
               deck.  The  rail  splintered  under  the  mass  of flesh.
                 One  of  the  crew  darted  forward  and  with  a  cry  stuck a
               knife  in  a  rubbery  coil.  It  was  Pandaras's  friend,  the boy,
               Pantin.  Tentacles  weaved  about  him.  One  plucked his
               knife  from  his  grasp;  two  more  shot  forward  and struck
               him,  one  around  the  neck,  the  other  around  his  feet. Pantin
               barely  had  time  to  scream  before  he  was  lifted  up. The
               
tentacles  pulled  in  different  directions.  A  rich  red spray
               spattered  the  white  deck  and,  still  clutching  the  pieces of
               the  boy's  body,  the  tentacles  fell  backward  into  the river.
                 More  tentacles  poured  over  the  rail.  The  Weazel began
              to  list  to  starboard.  In  the  yards,  the  sailors  scrambled for
  F            better  foot-  and  hand-holds;  skinny  Anchiale  clung  to the
               top  of  the  mast  with  his  long  legs  tucked  into  his chest
               while  a  tentacle  explored  the  crow's nest.
                  Yama  remembered  the  polyps  which  had  swum  in the
               flooded  chamber  deep  in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory of
               the  People.  Those  had  long  ago  lost  whatever  powers of
               reasoning  they  had  once  possessed,  or  so  Magon  had said,
               and  returned  to  their  cisterns  only  through  habit;  yet they
               had  helped  Yama  by  breaking  the  bridge  before  the hellhound
                 could  cross  it.  Yama  suspected  that  these giants
               were  different  not  only  in  size,  but  in  intelligence, too.
               They  did  not  serve  blindly.  They  were  looking  for something
               .  Clinging  to  the  rail,  looking  down  into  a roiling
 Z             mass  of  tentacles  directly  below,  he  glimpsed  an  eye as
               big  as  his  head.  Its  round  pupil  was  rimmed  with  gold. It



                                                   stared  at  him  for  a  long  moment,  and  then  it  sank beneath
                                                   a  rush  of  white water.
                                                     Yama  knew  then  what  the  polyps  were  searching for.
                                                   He  vaulted  to  the  main  deck,  landing  on  hands  and knees
                                                   amidst  a  slowly  writhing  nest  of  white  coils  and cables.
                                                   Someone  shouted  and  he  looked  up  and  saw  Tamora falling
                                                     toward  him,  her  sword  held  above  her  head. She
                                                   landed  on  the  balls  of  her  feet,  bounced  up,  caught Yama's
                                                   shoulders  and  shouted  into  his  face,  "I  won't  let them
                                                   kill you."
                                                     "They  are  looking  for  me!  They  cannot  tell  the ships
                                                   apart  so  they  are  looking  for me!"
                                                     Something  coiled  around  Yama's  thigh.  A  wet palp
                                                   slapped  his  chest  and  a  hundred  fine  threads  crawled over
                                                   his  tunic.  Tamora  was  caught  around  the  waist  by  a tentacle
                                                     as  thick  through  as  her  arm;  three  more,  stretched thin,
                                                   whipped  around  and  around  her  corset.  She  held  her arms
                                                   high,  the  sword  crooked  above  her head.
                                                     Yama  was  frightened  
that  she  would  do  something that
                                                   would  get  them  both  killed.  He  reached  for  her  hand, but
                                                   tendrils  as  thin  and  as  strong  as  metal  wire  coiled around
                                                   his  wrist  and  dragged  it  down.  Something  wet  and rubbery
                                                   slapped  onto  his  face,  covering  his  eyes  and  nostrils. It
                                                   stank  horribly  of  fish  and  rotten  eggs.  He  could  feel a
                                                   hundred  tiny  suckers  fasten  and  unfasten  over  his  skin as
                                                   the  palp  adjusted  to  the  contours  of  his  face.  It  flexed and
                                                   spread  so  that  it  covered  his  mouth.  Something  pressed at
                                                   his  lips  and  he  was  frightened  that  he  would  be smothered.
                                                   The  pressure  was  insistent.  Although  Yama  clamped the
                                                   muscles  of  his  jaws  as  hard  as  he  could,  something the
                                                   size  of  his  little  finger  slipped  between  his  lips  and probed
                                                   at  the  crevices  between  his  gums  and  teeth before
                                                  withdrawing.
                                                     The  palp  dropped  away  from  his  face.  The tentacle
                                                   around  his  legs  uncoiled  and  dragged  away  across the
                                                   deck.  All  the  tentacles  were  retreating,  thickening and
                                                   pouring  backward  over  
the  broken  rail.  The  ship groaned
                                                   as  she  righted.  Tamora  lowered  her  sword  and  rested its
                square  point  against  the  deck,  so that     the  sailors would
                not  see  how  her  arm trembled.
                   Yama  ran  to  the  broken  rail,  but  already  the  sleek shapes
                were  sinking  away  through  choppy  water  stained with
                abyssal  silt.  High  above,  Anchiale  regained  the crow's
                nest  and  cried  out.  Yama  remembered  to  look  for the
               picketboat.
                   But  it  was gone.



                                                                                        STORW DAWAGE
                                                   (APTAIN  [ORQUITAL  INSISTID  on  sailing  the  Weazel  in slow
                                                   circles  around  the  place  where  the  picketboat  had  last been
                                                   seen,  but  except  for  a  few  splintered  pla  s  bobbing on
                                                   the  chop  nothing  was  found.  The  wind  was  rising,  and it
                                                   drove  the  fog  banks  toward  the  farside  shore.  Waves grew
                                                   higher,  breaking  in  white  water  at  their  crests,  lifting and
                                                   dropping  the  Weazel  as  they  marched  past  in ceaseless
                                                   succession.  At  last,  as  it  was  growing  dark,  fog engulfed
                                                   the  Weazel again.
                                                     Captain  Lorquital  turned  her  ship  to  head  into the
                                                   waves,  but  the  waves  grew  higher  still,  breaking  over the
                                                   pitching  bow  and  washing  the  main  deck.  Wind howled
                                                   and  plucked  at  the  rigging.  The  crew,  in  yellow oilskins,
                                                   with  lines  clipped  to  their  belts,  worked  aloft  to storm-rig
                                                   the  sail  while  the  Weazel  now  plunged  bow  first  into the
                                                   high  waves,  now  was  battered  lengthwise,  heeling hard
                                                   with  spray  dashing  like  shot  across  her.  The  awning and
                                                   
bedding  on  the  main  deck  were  washed  away;  so  were the
                                                   chickens  and  guineafowl  in  their  bamboo cages.
                                                     The  four  passengers  retreated  to  Captain Lorquital's
                                                   cabin.  Pandaras  felt  the  pitching  worst  and  was several
                                                   times  sick  in  a  basin,  groaning  profuse  apologies between
               spasms.  Tamora  sat  cross-legged on        the  Captain's wide
               bunk  and  glared  at  Eliphas,  who  was  trying  to interest
               Yama  in  his  theories  about  the  cause  of  the storm.
                  Yama  hardly  heard  the  old  man.  He  could  still sense
               the  minds  of  the  gigantic  dredging  machines,  far below.
               It  was  as  if  the  little  cabin-the  pitching  floor covered
               with  felt  rugs,  the  swinging  lanterns  which  cast  wild shadows
                 across  the  tapestries  on  the  lapped  plank walls-was
               slowly  turning  into  smoke,  or  was  a  picture  projected onto
               smoke  that  was  slowly  dissolving  to  reveal  the  real world.
                  The  dredgers  had  returned  to  their  immemorial routines,
               singing  each  to  each  as,  followed  by  flocks  of sharers,
               they  plowed  river-bottom  silt  in  the  cold  black currents.
               Yama  was  caught  up  in  their  communion.  Join  us, they
               urged.  Watch  over  us.  Affirm  us.  Their  siren  song wound
               seductive  coils  in  his  brain.  They  claimed  to  know  all the
               wonders  of  the  world,  for  everything  came  at  last  to the
               river.  They  claimed  to  remember  his  people.  They would
               tell  him  all  they  knew,  they  said,  if  only  he  would 
join
               with  them  in  the  joy  of  forever  renewing  the world.
                  Someone  shook  Yama's  shoulder  and  whispered  in his
               ear.  Master,  Master,  are  you  asleep!  Another  said, He's
               not  sleeping.  Either  he  is  in  shock,  or  calling  up  the monsters
                 of  the  deep  has  exhausted  him.  And  a  third said
               sharply,  I  have  seen  men  like  this  after  battle.  If  he  is not
               wakened  now  he  may  never  wake.  The  first  voice again:
               His  coin  is  filled  with  light!  See?  You  see?  Master,  I am
               taking  it  away.  I  think  that  it  is  doing  something bad
               to you.
                  It  was  all  very  far  away  and  insubstantial,  like  the harmless
                 chittering  of  agitated  ghosts.  Yama  was  only dimly
               aware  of  someone  slapping  his  face,  of  cold  cloths laid
               on  his  forehead,  of  being  walked  around.  The  songs of
               the  deeps  were  more  immediate  than  the  voices  or the
               manipulation  of  his  body;  the  channeled  abyssal plain
               more  vivid  than  the  pitching  cabin  and  its swinging
              lanterns.
                  One  of  the  ghosts  said,  It  may  kill him.
                  Yama  tried  to  tell  them  that  that  was  what  he wanted,



                                                    to  escape  his  body  and  fall  into  the  depths  where the
                                                    dredgers  sang  songs  in  which  every  word  was true,
                                                    charged  with  the  wise  love  of  the Preservers.
                                                      Something  stung  his  neck.  Suddenly  his  heart  was racing
                                                      and  he  was  back  in  the  cabin,  lying  in  the  bunk with
                                                    Pandaras's  sharp,  narrow  face  bent  over  his. Wind
                                                    screamed  to  itself  outside;  there  were  a  hundred tinkling
                                                    movements  in  the  cabin  as  things  shifted  to  and  fro. The
                                                    lanterns  swung  a  beat  behind  the  pitching  of  the deck.
                                                      "He's  awake,"  Pandaras  said  to  the  people  behind him.
                                                      Yama  turned  his  head  away,  but  he  was  quite alone.
                                                    The  deeps  and  the  singers  in  the  deeps  were gone.
                                                      Strong  hands  turned  his  head.  A  woman  wearing the
                                                    fierce  face  of  a  tiger  looked  into  his  eyes.  He  said, "I
                                                    know  you.  Derev.  It  is  time  we  took  away  our masks."
                                                    And  then  he  wept,  because  he  knew  that  Derev  was dead
                                                    or  lost,  and  all  his  childhood  was  burned away.
                                                      In  the  end,  they  
had  given  him  an  injection  of adrenaline.
                                                      "You  were  slipping  away  from  us,  master," Pandaras
                                                    said.  "Tamora  suggested it."
                                                      "It  was  shock,"  Tamora  said.  "I've  seen  it  before. The
                                                    stuff  works  on  most bloodlines."
                                                      Eliphas  nodded.  "The  Preservers  made  us  all  in their
                                                    image,  to  the  least detail."
                                                      "They  must  have  run  short  of  time  with  your kind,"
                                                    Tamora said.
                                                      Yama  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk  now, bracing
                                                    himself  as  the  ship  plunged  and  rose.  He  said,  "I called
                                                    them,  and  then  they  called  me.  And  they  were stronger.
                                                    Stronger  and  wiser.  I  should  talk  with  them  again, because
                                                    they  know  so  much  .  . ."
                                                      The  cabin  door  banged  open;  air  and  spray roared
                                                    around  Captain  Lorquital  as  she  struggled  to  shut  it behind
                                                    her.  She  wore  a  yellow  oilskin  cape  that  shed  a cascade
                                                    of  water  around  her  flat  bare  feet.  She  looked  at Yama
                                                    and  said,  "It  didn't  
kill  you,  then.  Some  bloodlines can't
              take  it.  Their  hearts  burst  or  their  tongues  swell  up and
              strangle  them.  Eliphas  says  you  called  up  the  storm. Is
              that true?"
                 "The  cold  currents  no  longer  rise,"  Yama  said.  "I think
              that  it  will  pass  soon.  Will  it  sink  the Weazel?"
                 "I'd  rather  not  put  her  to  the test."
                 "There  is  nothing  I  can  do,"  Yama  said.  He  saw that
              Captain  Lorquital  did  not  believe  him,  and  saw  too that
              this  brave,  capable  woman  was  more  afraid  of  him than
              of  the  storm.  She  nodded  curtly  and  turned away.
                 The  storm  blew  all  night  and  all  the  next  day,  and began
              to  fall  only  in  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  of  the third
              day.  When  Yama  came  up  on  deck  soon  after  dawn, Phalerus
              ,  who  had  been  fixing  the  broken  rail,  turned away
              and  touched  his  throat  in  a  warding gesture.
                 The  storm  had  driven  the  Weazel  before  it.  The farside
              shore  was  less  than  a  league  off  the  starboard  side,  a maze
              of  channels  snaking  between  viridescent  mudbanks and
              dense  stands  of  mangroves.  The  margin  of  the  old shore
              was  a  low  cliff  exposed  years  ago  by  the  falling  level of
              the  river,  a  long  black  line  that  shimmered  and  jiggled in
              the  heat  haze  far  beyond  the  mangroves.  A  sign  of his
              birth,  Yama  thought,  and  wondered,  not  for  the  first 
time,
              if  he  was  the  destroyer  of  the  world  rather  than  its savior.
              The  sun  shone  through  a  haze  of  cloud,  but  it  was very
              warm,  and  the  white  deck steamed.
                 There  was  no  sign  of  Captain  Lorquital,  but  Yama found
              Aguilar  helping  Anchiale  and  the  grizzled  slave move
              foam-cased  pieces  of  machinery  in  the  hold.  The cargo
              had  shifted  in  the storm.
                 "My  mother  is  asleep,"  the  sturdy  young  woman said.
              She  gave  Yama  a  hard,  defiant  look.  "She  stayed  on deck
              for  most  of  the  blow.  She  saved  us  all,  I reckon."
                 Yama  said,  "If  I  could  have  stopped  the  storm,  then I
              would  have  done  so  at once.



                                                     "You  have  my  mother  under  some  spell,"  Aguilar said,
                                                   "but  not  all  of  us  are charmed."
                                                     "I  asked  only  for  passage,  and  paid  for  it,  too. What
                                                   are  you  looking at?"
                                                     Aguilar  had  tied  an  electric  lantern  to  a  line,  and now
                                                   the  two  sailors  began  to  lower  it  into  the  gap  they had
                                                   made  between  the  tumbled  foam  eggs  of  the  cargo. She
                                                   said,  "The  ship  is  wallowing.  There.  That's why."
                                                     Yama  looked  down.  At  the  bottom  of  a  wedge  of darkness
                                                   ,  the  lantern  swung  above  its  own reflection.
                                                     Captain  Lorquital,  rumpled  from  her  early awakening,
                                                   stood  at  the  edge  of  the  cargo  well  and  argued  with her
                                                   daughter  for  a  while.  Aguilar  maintained  that  the planking
                                                   had  sprung  and  the  ship  was  taking  on  water because
                                                   braces  had  been  removed  from  the  hull  during  her last
                                                   refit;  her  mother  said  that  the  Weazel  had  ridden  out the
                                                   storm  only  because  removal  of  certain  of  the  braces had
                                                   made  her  hull flexible.
                                                     "Water  could  have  
got  in  under  the  tarpaulin," Captain
                                                   Lorquital  said.  "The  decks  were  awash  for  the  best part
                                                   of  three  days.  We  were  more  in  the  river  than  on it."
                                                     "The  covers  were  reefed  fast,"  Aguilar  said stubbornly.
                                                   "Besides,  the  water  is  getting  deeper  in there."
                                                     All  of  the  steel  bands  had  been  sprung  around  the hatch,
                                                   and  the  tarpaulin  covers  rolled  away.  Anchiale  and the
                                                   slave  were  lifting  out  part  of  the  cargo  with  a  winch rigged
                                                   from  the  mast;  foam-covered  ovals  cluttered  the  main deck
                                                   before  and  aft  of  the  hatch.  Presently,  both  Captain Lorquital
                                                     and  her  daughter  climbed  down  into  the  hold. They
                                                   were  down  there  a  long  time,  and  Captain  Lorquital was
                                                   grim-faced  when  they  came  back up.
                                                     "We'll  put  in  for  repairs,"  she  told  Yama.  "I  was right,
                                                   though.  The  storm  didn't  spring  the  planks.  The way
                                                   they're  splintered,  it  looks  like  something  took  a bite
                                                   from them."
                                                     A  hand-pump  worked  by  two  of  the  sailors  lifted Water
               from  the  flooding  hold  and  sent  sparkling  gushes  into 
the
               river.  A  patch  of  canvas  was  lowered  over  the starboard
               side  and  hauled  tight  by  a  rope  that  went  under  the keel.
               There  were  bumps  and  groans  from  the  hold;  Aguilar went
               down  and  came  back  up,  shaking  her  head.  Part  of the
               cargo  was  floating  and  shifting  about,  she said.
                  "If  we're  lucky,  it  won't  capsize  us  or  smash  the hole
               wider,  but  the  hole's  already  wide  enough  to  sink  us  in a
               day  or  two."  She  stared  at  Yama.  "There's  a  curse on
               this  voyage,  I reckon."



                                                                                     THE  BLA( TOWER
                                                   THE  BUSINISS  Of  grounding  the  Weazel  took  a  whole day.
                                                   Captain  Lorquital  used  the  reaction  motor  to  pick  a way
                                                   between  banks  of  stinking  mud  and  stands  of  pioneer mangroves
                                                   ,  and  to  cross  a  plain  of  tall  yellow  reeds  cut  by a
                                                   hundred  meandering  channels.  Phalerus  was  in  the crow's
                                                   nest,  scrying  a  path  through  the  reed  beds,  and  the grizzled
                                                   slave  of  Pandaras's  bloodline  stood  at  the  bow,  using a
                                                   weighted  line  to  sound  the depth.
                                                      At  last,  Captain  Lorquital  ran  her  foundering ship
                                                   aground  by  one  of  the  islands  at  the  far  side  of  the reed
                                                   beds.  Ropes,  pivoting  on  belts  of  leather  greased  with palm
                                                   oil,  were  slung  around  several  of  the  blue  pine  trees which
                                                   had  colonized  the  island,  and  crew  and  passengers labored
                                                   at  the  ship's  windlass  to  haul  her  out  of  the  shallows until
                                                   the  hole  bitten  through  her  hull  was visible.
                                                     Because  the  ship  was  lying  at  a  steep  angle, everyone
                                                   camped  on  the  island.  
Smoky  fires  were  lit  to  keep  off clouds
                                                   of  black  flies  and  tiny  sweat  bees.  Yama  sat  a  little way
                                                   from  the  others,  sifting  through  his  father's  papers  by the
                                                   light  of  an  electric  lamp,  once  again  tracing  and checking
                                                   the  threads  of  logic  that  bound  the  complicated computations.
                                                     The  Aedile  had  been  obsessed  with  measurements, ci-
               phers  and  calculations.  He  had  been  convinced  that there
               was  a  golden  rule  by  which  everything  could  be divided
               into  everything  else,  leaving  as  an  irreducible  kernel the
               prime  which  harmonized  the  world  and  perhaps  the Universe
               ,  the  secret  signature  of  the  Preservers.  His research
               had  never  led  to  anything  but  a  maze  in  which  he  had lost
               himself,  but  these  calculations  were different.
                  Every  decad  for  almost  fifteen  years,  the  Aedile had
               taken  measurements  of  the  Great  River's  slow  retreat from
               the  old  shoreline  around  Aeolis.  From  these,  with elaborate
               allowances  for  seasonal  variation  and  for  the buffering
               effect  of  the  ice  fields  of  the  Terminal  Mountains,  he had
               worked  out  when  the  river  had  begun  to  fail.  The answer
               was  not  exact,  and  hedged  with  cautious interpolations,
               but  Yama  believed  that  the  conclusion  was inescapable,
               and  laden  with  appalling implications.
                  The  Great  River  had  begun  its  inexorable  decline  
at about
               the  time  he  had  been  found  by  the  old  Constable  of Aeolis
               in  a  white  boat,  a  baby  lying  on  the  breast  of  a  dead woman.
                  Now  Yama  once  more  fumbled  his  way  through  the tables
               of  measurements  and  staggered  rows  of  calculations, trying
               and  failing  to  guess  what  they  might  mean,  by  turns frightened
                 and  full  of  wonder.  Most  people  blamed  the  fall  of the
               river  on  the  heretics;  was  he  then  their  creature?  Or  was the
               fall  of  the  river  in  some  way  linked  with  his birth?
                  When  at  last  he  looked  up  from  the  papers,  he discovered
               that  someone-probably  Pandaras-had  settled  a blanket
               around  his  shoulders.  The  fire  had  burned  down.  Apart from
               the  man  on  watch  at  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  a  black shadow
               against  the  black  water,  marked  only  by  the  fitful  red  spark of
               a  cigarette,  everyone  in  the  camp  was  sleeping.  Yama switched
               off  the  little  lantern.  He  lay  down  on  the  lumpy  ground and
               rolled  himself  up  in  the  blanket  and  fell  asleep  almost  at once.
                  He  was  woken  early  the  next  morning  by  Tamora. Eliphas
                 had  disappeared,  she  said.  No  one  had  seen  him go,
               not  even  the  old  slave  who  had  taken  the  night watch.



                                                     "He  will  be  back,"  Captain  Lorquital  said.  "He  has a
                                                  great  curiosity,  and  he  has  gone  to explore."
                                                     But  Tamora  said  with  some  satisfaction  this  was surely
                                                  proof  that  Eliphas  was  the  traitor  who  had  betrayed their
                                                  course  to  Prefect  Corin.  She  was  all  for  tracking  him down
                                                  and  giving  him  a  summary  trial  and  immediate execution,
                                                  but  Yama  persuaded  her  to  be  patient,  and  was relieved
                                                  when  Eliphas  came  back  in  the  middle  of  the morning,
                                                  casually  walking  into  the  camp  as  a  man  might  walk into
                                                  his  own house.
                                                     He  told  Yama  he  had  been  to  the  far  end  of  the island.
                                                  "I  know  this  part  of  the  shore,"  he  said.  "We  are very
                                                  close  to  the  edge  of  the  world,  brother,  and  a marvelous
                                                  shrine  that  stands  beyond it."
                                                     Yama  was  sitting  on  the  mossy  bole  of  a  fallen  tree in
                                                  a  patch  of  sunlight.  Pandaras  was  cutting  his  hair. Aguilar
                                                  and  Anchiale  were  trimming  branches  from  the  trunk  of a
                                                  felled  pine;  the  steady  sound  of  their  axes  rang  across the
                                                  
clearing.  There  was  a  smell  of  fresh  sawdust  and pine
                                                  resin.  A  cauldron  of  pitch  sat  on  white-hot  embers  in the
                                                  center  of  the  cleared  area,  sending  up  reeking  fumes in
                                                  the  sultry  heat.  In  the  bright  sunlight  beyond  the  shade of
                                                  the  trees,  the  Weazel  lay  canted  in  shallow  water. Watched
                                                  by  Captain  Lorquital,  Phalerus  and  the  two  slaves were
                                                  working  up  to  their  waists  in  water,  cutting  and prying
                                                  away  damaged planks.
                                                     "The  shore  must  have  changed  very  much,"  Yama said
                                                  to  Eliphas.  "How  can  you  be certain?"
                                                     "You  will  see,  brother,  if  you  come  with  me.  The water
                                                 is  very  shallow  on  the  other  side  of  the  island.  We can
                                                  wade  across  to  he  old  shoreline,  reach  the  shrine beyond
                                                  the  edge  of  the  world  and  return,  all  in  a day."
                                                     Pandaras  combed  cuttings  from  Yama's  hair  with his
                                                  claws.  After  a  moment,  he  said,  "You  have  hard places
                                                  under  your  scalp,  master.  Here  and here."
                                                     They  were  smooth  and  flat,  and  had  straight  edges. One
                                                  was  twice  the  size  
of  the  other.  They  moved  slightly beneath
                                                    Yama's  fingertips.  He  did  not  know  what they
               were--or  rather,  he  still  could  not  quite  put  a  name on
               them-but  he  was  not alarmed.
                  "I  noticed  one  a  few  days  ago,"  he  said.  "They  do not
               hurt.  It  is nothing."
                  "My  master  is  ill,"  Pandaras  told  Eliphas.  "He needs
               to rest."
                  "I  am  quite  well,"  Yama  said.  "Where  is  this place?"
                  "It  is  not  much  more  than  a  stroll,"  Eliphas  said, "even
               for  an  old  man  like  me.  It  is  a  very  unusual  place, brother.
               I  believe  you  will  learn  much  from it."
                  In  the  end,  they  made  an  expedition  of  it.  Captain Lorquital
                 sent  along  the  cook  to  collect  fresh  roots  and greens.
               Tamora  insisted  on  coming;  so  did  Pandaras,  although he
              was  still  much  weakened  by  his  bout  of  river sickness.
                  Crossing  the  island  was  easy  enough,  for  little flourished
               in  the  dense  shade  of  the  blue  pines  which  grew  along its
               central  ridge.  Eliphas  led  the  others  down  a  path  he had
               cut  through  a  belt  of  tamarisk  and  swamp  grape,  and then
               they  were  out  in  sunlight  at  the  edge  of  a  shallow creek
               that  spread  between  the  island  and  the  low  cliffs  of the
               
old shore.
                  The  tower  was  black  and  slender,  standing  half  a league
               off  like  a  beckoning  finger  against  the  deep  blue  sky. Eliphas
                 said  that  once  upon  a  time  it  had  been  decorated with
               prayer  flags  and  banners,  and  mankites  had  been flown
               from  its  top  to  keep  watch  for  floating islands.
                  "There  was  a  camp  of  soldier  monks  here  each summer.
               The  currents  of  the  air  are  much  like  those  of  water, and
               this  is  a  place  where  the  islands  sometimes  gather  in shoals
               and  archipelagoes  that  stretch  far  away  into  the sky."
                  Floating islands!
                  As  a  boy,  Yama  had  visited  the  farside  shore every
               year,  when  the  Amnan  had  crossed  the  river  for  the festival
               at  the  beginning  of  winter,  but  he  had  only  ever  seen one
               floating  island  at  close  quarters.  Although  a  few could
               always  be  glimpsed  beyond  the  edge  of  the  world, scat-



                                                    tered  across  the  vast  blue  depths  of  the  sky  which wrapped
                                                    around  the  world,  they  were  usually  so  distant  that even
                                                    when  Yama  looked  at  them  through  his  stepfather's spyglass
                                                      they  remained  little  more  than  dots.  It  was  said that
                                                    rebel  machines  lived  on  the  islands,  and  that  tribes of
                                                    heretics,  cannibals  and  pirates  traveled  from  island  to island
                                                      on  the  backs  of  eagles  feathered  in  metal  vanes, or
                                                    on  mankites  or  in  balloons.  Yama  had  dreamed  that his
                                                    people  might  live  there too.
                                                       Yama  had  finally  seen  an  island  at  close  quarters two
                                                    years  ago.  It  had  been  the  last  festival  that  Telmon had
                                                    attended;  at  the  end  of  that  winter  he  had  set  off downriver
                                                    toward  the  war,  and  news  of  his  death  had  reached the
                                                    peel-house  at  midsummer,  just  after  the  turning  of the
                                                   year.
                                                       That  day,  Telmon  and  Yama  had  gone  hunting  for cassowaries
                                                    ,  leaving  the  smoke  and  noise  and  mud  of the
                                                    festival  encampment  of  the  citizens  of  Aeolis  far behind.
                                                    
Winter  had  come  early.  Telmon  and  Yama  were mantled
                                                    in  woolen  ponchos.  Their  ponies  sent  up  plumes  of steam
                                                    with  every  breath.  It  was  almost  dark.  They  had  found no
                                                    cassowaries,  but  just  as  they  were  about  to  turn  back, they
                                                    flushed  out  a basilisk.
                                                       The  size  of  a  small  dog,  the  creature  stood foursquare
                                                    in  front  of  the  burrow  it  had  scraped  out  beneath  a briar
                                                    patch.  It  raised  its  frilled  mane,  yawned  to  show  the triple
                                                    rows  of  teeth  within  its  black  mouth,  and  arched  its naked,
                                                    segmented  tail  over  its  back.  A  single  drop  of  venom hung
                                                    from  the  hooked  spine  of  its stinger.
                                                       Although  Telmon  and  Yama  kept  a  safe distance,
                                                    Yama's  pony  stepped  about  so  much  that  he  had  to dismount
                                                      and  hold  the  animal's  head  and  breathe  into its
                                                    nostrils  to  calm  it.  He  threw  stones  at  the  basilisk,  but the
                                                    creature  snatched  them  out  of  the  air  and  swallowed them,
                                                    much  to  Telmon's amusement.
                                                       "He  swallows  stones  as  birds  do,  so  that  he  can grind
                                                    food  in  his  crop.  The  Amnan  say  that  one  will  sting itself
                                                    
to  death  rather  than  be  captured.  Unlike  snakes,  they are
                                                    not  immune  to  their  own poison."
                    "Dr.  Dismas  says  that  the  diluted  poison  can  be used
                to  stop  the  growth  of  cankers  and  fistulas.  I  expect he
                would  pay  well  for  this  one.  We  could  easily  kill  it, Tel.
                It  cannot  guard  both  flanks  at once."
                    "Dr.  Dismas  is  a  fantasist,"  Telmon  said.  "He  tells so
                many  tales  that  he  has  long  ago  forgotten  which  are true
                and  which  are  not.  You  should  not  talk  to  him, Yama.
                There  is  something  odd  about  his  interest  in you."
                    Telmon  sat  straight  in  his  saddle  and  kept  a careful
                watch  on  the  basilisk,  one  gloved  hand  holding  the reins,
                the  other  resting  behind  him,  close  to  the  socket  in which
                his  javelin  was  set.  He  had  recently  had  Sergeant Rhodean
                shave  his  hair,  leaving  only  a  central  topknot.  It  was the
                style  fashionable  among  calvarymen;  the  topknot, shaped
                like  a  square  loaf,  formed  a  cushion  between  skull and
                helmet.  His  red  poncho  was  neatly  folded  back  to  free his
                arms,  showing  the  silvery  padded  jacket  he  wore beneath.
                His  tight  knee-length  boots  had  been  spit-shined  so that
                they  gleamed  even  in  the  twilight.  He  was  all  that 
Yama
                yearned  to  be:  elegant,  fastidious,  kindly  and knowledgeable
               .
                    Telmon  said,  "We  will  leave  this  brave  fellow  to his
                home.  There  is  still  a  little  light,  and  we  might  get lucky."
                    As  they  rode  on,  Yama  said,  "Dr.  Dismas  says  that he
                might  be  able  to  find  out  about  my  bloodline.  That  is why
               he   wants  to  make  a  study  of me."
                     Dr.  Dismas  is  easy  with  his  promises,  Yama.  It  is a
                cheap  and  quick  way  of  winning  people's  gratitude,  and I
                expect  he  will  move  on  before  he  has  to  make  good any
                of them.
                    "You  will  look  for  my  people,  Tel.  That  is,  when you
                are  not  fighting  heretics  or  charming women."
                    "I  will  keep  watch  every  step  of  the  way,  but  I cannot
                promise  anything.  You  know  that  father  has  made many
                enquiries,  but  never  with  any  success.  It  is  not  likely that
                I  will  come  across  anyone  of  your  bloodline  by chance."
                    They  rode  up  the  shallow  slope  to  the  top  of  the rise.
                There  were  narrow  tracks  worn  through  the  tall grasses
                which  Telmon  said  were  certainly  made  by cassowaries,



                                                    but  all  they  found  were  two  peahens,  which  whirred up
                                                    under  their  ponies'  hooves  and  flew  off  into  the dusk.
                                                    Yama  was  still  calming  his  pony  when  Telmon  spied the
                                                    floating island.
                                                       It  was  like  a  small  round  barrow  or  cairn,  but  it stood
                                                    where  no  bar-row  or  cairn  should  be,  atop  the  long flat
                                                    horizon  of  the  edge  of  the  world.  When  Yama  and Telmon
                                                    rode  closer,  they  saw  that  the  island  had  grounded  on a
                                                    wide  apron  of  eroded  keelrock.  It  was  a  dense  tangle of
                                                    violet  and  red  vines  and  tubes  and  bladders,  as  wide  as a
                                                    paeonin  field  and  twice  as  tall  as  a  house.  It  was  full of
                                                    noises,  stealthy  rustles  and  squeaks  and  crepitations,  as if
                                                    its  vines  and  bladders  were  continually  jostling  and creeping
                                                      over  one  another,  and  little  blue  lights  came  and went
                                                    in  its  tangled  thickets.  Yama  feared  that  these  might be
                                                    the  lanterns  of  pirates  or  heretics,  but  Telmon  laughed and
                                                    said  that  they  were  only  burning  hydrogen  vented from
                                                    collapsed  lift pods.
                                                       "Heretics  are  men  
like  you  and  me.  They  have  no use
                                                    for  floating  islands,  either  in  the  air  or  on  the  river. Birds
                                                    roost  in  the  islands,  though,  and  they  are  inhabited by
                                                    species  of  crab  found  nowhere  else,  which  feed  on dead
                                                    vegetation  and  fiercely  protect  their  home,  and barnacles
                                                    which  sieve  the  air  for  floating  spores.  The  whole  thing is
                                                    really  one  organism,  for  although  it  appears  to  be made
                                                    of  many  different  species,  they  have  all  lost  their autonomy
                                                      so  that  they  might  function  better  within  the whole.
                                                    Each  is  a  servant  with  a  different  task,  and  by specializing
                                                    in  their  tasks  they  have  lost  the  ability  to  live separately.
                                                    Rather  like  the  peel-house,  eh?  This  one  must  be diseased.
                                                    Usually,  they  don't  come  so  close  to  the  world.  Out in
                                                    the  air,  Yama,  is  another  nature  entirely  different  from the
                                                    one  we  inhabit.  You  should  ask  Derev  about  it.  It  is said
                                                    that  her  people  once  flew  there,  but  gave  that  up  to live
                                                    here  with us."
                                                       Yama,  stung  by  the  last  remark,  said,  "That  is  just a
                                                    story  the  Mud  People  
put  about.  Derev  would  have told
                                                    me  if  it  was true."
                                                       Telmon  smiled.  "You  are  in  love  with  her.  0,  do not
                deny  it!  I  am  your  brother,  Yama,  as  truly  a  brother  as if
                you  were  of  my  own  blood.  I  have  watched  you  grow up,
                and  it  seems  to  me  that  you  mature  quickly.  You must
                give  some  thought  to  the  shape  of  your  life,  for  it might
                not  be  as  long  as  you wish."
                   "It  might  be  longer,"  Yama said,
                   "It  might  at  that.  We  do  not  know,  do  we?  It  is a
                terrible  thing,  not  to  know  who  you  really  are  or  why you
                are  here,  but  you  cannot  fill  your  life  with  dreams.  I would
                like  to  see  you  give  up  your  wild  ideas,  and  perhaps Derev
                can  help  you.  There  is  nothing  wrong  with  metic marriages
                ,  and  it  would  certainly  make  her  father pleased."
                   Yama  said  stoutly,  "I  am  going  to  war,  Tel.  Like you,
                I  want  to  fight  the  heretics  and  help  redeem  the world.
                Besides,  I  might  find  my  bloodline  on  my  way  to the
                midpoint  of  the world."
                   "Perhaps."  Telmon  looked  around.  "It  grows  dark, and
                the  ponies  are  tired.  We  can  come  back  and  look  at this
                
in daylight."
                   But  when  they  returned  the  next  morning,  the island
                had  departed,  leaving  only  a  fret  of  shallow  channels eaten
                into  the  sloping  apron  of  keelrock  on  which  it  had rested.
                Perhaps  the  island  had  not  been  diseased  after  all, Telmon
               said,  or  perhaps  it  had  cured  itself  by  leaching minerals
                from  the  keelrock.  He  was  intensely  interested  in  how the
                world  and  its  creatures  worked.  Although  Yama spent
                more  time  in  the  library  than  his  stepbrother,  it  was mostly
                to  dream  among  the  books  and  maps  of  finding  his bloodline
                  and  his  true  parents.  Telmon  ransacked  it  in sporadic
                bursts  to  learn  about  what  he  had  observed,  and  would as
                soon  dissect  the  animals  and  birds  he  brought  back from
                hunting  expeditions  as  eat  them.  Like  his  father,  he was
                interested  in  things  for  their  intrinsic  worth;  if  he had
                become,  Aedile,  no  doubt  he  would  have  filled  the peelhouse
                  with  a  menagerie,  and  its  gardens  with  exotic plants
                from  the  length  of  the world.
                   But  the  war  had  taken  him  away,  and  then  he  was dead.
                   Yama  did  not  know  if  he  remembered  the  floating island
                because  of  the  basilisk,  or  the  basilisk  because  of the



                                                     floating  island,  but  he  had  never  forgotten  either. Sometimes
                                                     ,  he  still  dreamed  that  his  people  were  living among
                                                     the  floating  islands;  once,  while  shut  in  the  cell  in  the hive
                                                     of  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs,  he  had dreamed
                                                     that  Derev  had  taken  him  to  his  people,  carrying  him in
                                                     her  arms  while  she  rowed  the  air  with  strong  white wings
                                                     she  had  somehow grown.
                                                        And  now  he  was  eager  to  see  for  himself  the archipelagoes
                                                       that  Eliphas  promised  would  be  floating  in  the sky
                                                     beyond  the  edge  of  the  world.  He  led  the  way  across the
                                                     stream,  pushing  through  a  strong  current  that swirled
                                                     around  his  thighs,  his  waist,  his  chest,  then  throwing himself
                                                       forward  and  swimming  strongly  toward  the  reed banks
                                                     that  stood  along  the  far  bank.  He  was  filled  with  a sudden
                                                     inexpressible  joy,  for  it  seemed  that  with  Prefect Corin
                                                     dead  his  life  was  his  own,  to  do  with  it  as  he  would  in a
                                                     world  filled  with wonders.
                                                        Yama  hauled  himself  onto  an  unstable  platform  of reeds
                                                     
and  rolled  over  onto  his  back  and  lay  there  in  hot sunlight
                                                     with  water  steaming  from  his  wet  clothes,  watching  as the
                                                     others  floundered  through  the  stream  toward  him. Tamora
                                                     held  her  sword  above  her  head;  Pandaras  rode  on the
                                                     cook's  broad  shoulders;  Eliphas  half-walked, half-swam,
                                                     his  hands  parting  the  water  in  front  of  his  narrow chest
                                                     with  a  curiously  formal  paddling  motion,  his  straw hat
                                                     perched  squarely  on  top  of  his head.
                                                        Yama  shook  water  from  the  slick  pages  of  the Puranas
                                                     and  glanced  at  the  picture  of  Angel's  final,  fatal ascension
                                                     before  putting  the  volume  away.  A  dragonfly  perched on
                                                     a  reed  and  with  clawed  forelegs  preened  veined  wings as
                                                     long  as  his  arms  while  watching  him  sidelong  with prismatic
                                                       eyes.  It  flew  off  with  a  crisp  whir  as  the others
                                                     climbed  up  beside  him.  He  wanted  to  go  on  at  once, but
                                                     the  cook  said  that  first  he  must  set  traps  for crayfish.
                                                        "The  Captain  will  bear  down  hard  on  me  if  I don't,
                                                     master.  She  does  love  crayfish  fried  in  a  bit  of  salt butter,
                                                     
and  it  will  stop  her  fretting  about  the  hurt  done  to the
                                                    ship.
                                                        The  cook  was  a  large,  hairless  man  with pinkish-gray
                skin  and  a  round,  dolorous  face.  His  name  was  Tibor. He
                wore  only  ragged  trousers  belted  with  a  length  of frayed
                rope,  and  chain-smoked  cigarettes  he  rolled  from scraps
                of  paper  and  strands  of  coarse  black  tobacco  he  kept  in a
                plastic  pouch.  He  absentmindedly  snapped  at  passing insects
                ,  and  when  he  spoke  he  passed  his  long  red tongue
                over  his  black  lips  at  the  end  of  every  sentence,  as if
                relishing  the  taste  of  his words.
                   Yama,  who  had  learned  the  trick  as  a  child, helped
                Tibor  weave  crayfish  traps  from  strips  of  reed.  The traps
                were  simple  things,  little  baskets  of  close-woven reed
                stems  with  spines  at  the  mouth  which  pointed inward;
                when  the  crayfish  entered,  they  could  not  back through
                the  spines  to  get  out.  Tibor's  big  hands,  each  with  his long
                fingers  set  around  a  sensitive  pad,  worked  quickly and
                deftly,  making  two  traps  for  every  one  of  Yama's. The
                cook  baited  the  traps  with  scraps  of  smelly  fat,  and tied
                them  at  intervals  along  the  margin  of  the stream.
                   They  soon  fell  to  talking.  The  cook  was  from  a bloodline
                  which  had  been  enslaved  for  hundreds  of generations;
                
his  distant  ancestors  had  fought  on  the  side  of  the fallen
                machines  in  the  Age  of  Insurrection.  Having  sinned against
                the  Preservers,  they  were  now  their  slaves,  and  so the
                slaves  of  all  free  men  on  Confluence.  Most  were hierodules
                ,  but  Tibor  had  been  sold  on  the  open  market after
                the  shrine  of  his  temple  had  failed  at  the  beginning  of the
 "             war  against  the heretics,
                   Tibor  was  not  bitter  about  his  fate,  even  when  he explained
                  that  the  long  vertical  scars  on  his  chest marked
                where  his  nipples  had  been  seared  away.  "It  is  so  I cannot
                feed  children,  which  is  what  the  men  of  my  people do.
                Our  owners  do  not  like  us  to  keep  families;  our babies
                are  taken  at  birth  and  fed  on  an  artificial  milk.  If  they fed
                from  me,  they  could  feed  only  from  me  and  no  other, and
                I  would  have  to  feed  them  for  three  years.  No owner
                would  want  that!  You  do  not  believe  me,  because  in most
                peoples  it  is  the  women  who  care  for  babies,  but  it  is true.
                So  instead  of  my  babies  I  feed  all  of you!
                   Tibor  laughed  loudly  at  this  joke.  Despite  his down4i



                                                     turned  mouth  and  downwardly  slanting  eyes,  he  was by
                                                     nature  a  cheerful  man,  "I  am  not  smart,"  he  said, "but
                                                     that  is  good  for  me,  because  a  smart  slave  is always
                                                    unhappy."
                                                       Yama  thought  of  the  librarian  of  the  peel-house. Zakiel
                                                     had  been  born  a  free  man;  unlike  Tibor,  he  had known
                                                     another  life.  And  yet  he  was  happy,  for  although  he possessed
                                                       nothing,  not  even  his  own  life,  he  still  had  the work
                                                     he  loved.  Yama  had  not  thought  about  this  before, and
                                                     asked  the  cook  many  questions.  They  talked  together until
                                                     Tibor  said  that  they  had  enough  traps  to  feed  the whole
                                                     ship  for  two  days  if  only  half  caught  anything, adding
                                                     that  for  a  little  while  Yama  had  been  the  servant,  and he
                                                     the master.
                                                       "Some  say  you  are  the  slave  of  all  of  the  peoples of
                                                     Confluence,"  Tibor  said.  Yama  asked  him  to  explain, but
                                                     he  only  laughed  and  changed  the  subject.  "This  is  a bad
                                                     land,  the  sailors  say.  They  do  not  stray  far  from  the ship
                                                     because  of  it.  They  
told  me  I  was  a  fool  to  come with
                                                     you,  but  they'll  be  glad  of  fresh food."
                                                       Pandaras  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  sun,  and  woke  to find
                                                     that  leeches  were  feeding  on  his  ankles,  which  he had
                                                     dangled  in  the  stream  to  keep  cool.  Tibor  burned  off the
                                                     leeches  with  the  glowing  coal  of  a  cigarette,  and Pandaras
                                                     fussed  at  the  blood  that  streamed  down  his  ankles from
                                                     the  little  round  punctures,  and  complained  that  he had
                                                     soaked  his  second-best  pair  of  trousers  and  would never
                                                     get  them  back  into  shape,  and  only  shut  up  when Tamora
                                                     pointed  out  that  if  he  wanted  to  go  back  now  he would
                                                     have  to  go  back alone.
                                                       It  did  not  take  long  to  walk  to  the  base  of  the tower.
                                                     The  low  cliffs  were  easy  to  climb,  for  their  black, pebbly
                                                     clay  was  deeply  gullied  by  erosion.  Beyond  was  a plain
                                                     less  than  a  league  wide  but  of  seemingly  infinite length,
                                                     thin  red  laterite  and  dry  grasses  punctuated  by  stands of
                                                     saw-toothed  yucca  and  palmetto,  and  sprawling  clumps of
                                                     gumbo-limbo.  There  
were  many  outcrops  of keelrock,
                                                     smooth  spurs  or  folded  layers  just  as  they  had  been cast
                                                     a  hundred  thousand  years  before.  Not  even  lichens had
                gained  a  hold  on  the  slick  keelrock,  and  all  across the
                narrow  plain  a  thousand  facets  shone  and  winked  in the
                strong sunlight.
                  The  tower  seemed  to  be  fused  into  the  keelrock ridge
                at  the  edge  of  the  world,  or  perhaps  it  had  been grown
                from  it  by  an  art  that  had  been  lost  since  the Preservers
                had  seeded  Confluence  with  the  ten  thousand  races  of the
                Shaped.  The  tower  was  smooth  and  round,  and several
                hundred  chains  high.  Its  black  surface  was  slickly reflective
                ,  and  like  the  keelrock  quite  unscarred  by  time. Tumbled
                  remains  of  wooden  scaffolding  and  bent  hoops which
                had  once  been  the  frames  of  tents  were  scattered around
                it.  Ravens  rose  into  the  air  as  the  party  approached, calling
                loudly  to  each  other  in  hoarse,  indignant  voices before
                circling  away  into  the  vast  volumes  of air.
                  Beyond  the  tower,  the  edge  of  the  world  dropped vertically
                  into  clouds  that  seemed  to  stretch  away  forever, as
                if  the  world  swam  not  in  the  void  but  in  a  sea  
of absolute
                whiteness.  Chains  of  islands  floated  above  their  own shadows
                ,  lying  at  different  levels  in  the  clear  air  above the
                clouds.  Hundreds  of  islands,  thousands.  Yama  marveled at
                their number.
                  The  shadow  of  the  black  tower  lay  on  the  white cloud
                deck  like  a  road,  and  sunlight  broke  in  splintered rainbows
                around  its  top.  Beside  it,  the  shadows  of  the  five people
                were  like  giants  aping  their  every  movement,  and around
                the  head  of  each  was  a  circular  rainbow.  Yama  moved his
                arms  and  grinned  when  his  shadow  gestured  back across
                leagues  of  cloud.  Pandaras  and  the  cook  danced  and capered
                  there  at  the  edge  of  the  world,  and  even Tamora,
                who  had  been  nervously  alert  since  leaving  the ship,
                smiled  at  the sight.
                  "It  is  a  rare  wonder,"  Eliphas  said  proudly,  as  if he
                had  led  them  here  just  to  see  this.  "A  blessing  of the
               Preservers."
                  Tamora  turned  and  squinted  into  the  level  sunlight at
                their  backs.  "Grah.  I'd  say  it  is  a  matter  of  the  angle of
                light  and  properties  of  the  clouds."  She  would  not agree



                                                    with  Eliphas  about  anything,  but  she  added grudgingly,
                                                    "It  is  some  kind  of  wonder,  I suppose."
                                                       "It  is  beautiful,"  Pandaras  said.  "It  is  a  miracle  of light
                                                    and  air  and  mist.  I  will  make  a  song  of it."
                                                       "Out  of  my  hearing,  I  hope,"  Tamora  said.  "Yama, as
                                                    soon  as  we  are  rested,  we  should  turn back.
                                                       Eliphas  said  to  Yama,  "The  blessings  of  the Preservers
                                                    will  be  upon  you,  doubled  and  redoubled,  when  you visit
                                                    the  shrine,  brother.  We  will  leave  the  others  to  rest here,
                                                    and  go  down together."
                                                       Yama  said,  "Where  is  the shrine?"
                                                       Eliphas  smiled,  and  pointed  straight down.
                                       THE  ME  Of  THE WORLD
               A  S  I  A  I  R,  I  N  T  I  R  I  D  by  a  narrow  defile  between  two  tall, roughly
               man-shaped  outcrops  that  Eliphas  called  the  Watchers of
               the  Void,  led  down  the  vertical  rock  face  at  the  edge of
               the  world.  It  was  broad  enough  for  a  decad  of  men to
               have  descended  abreast,  but  its  steps,  carved  from naked
               keelrock,  were  steep  and  narrow  and  slippery.  Yama 
discovered
                 that  he  was  terrified  of  falling,  imagining himself
               plummeting  through  the  cloud  deck  and  continuing  to fall
               until  at  last  passing  beyond  the  envelope  of  the world's
               atmosphere  and  perishing,  as  Angel  had  perished  in the
               embrace  of  a  copy  of  her  own  self  Were  their  bodies still
               falling  through  the  void  beyond  the  world?  He  and Tamora
               clung  to  the  carved  face  of  the  cliff  as  they  followed Eliphas
               ,  finding  comfort  in  the  faces  and  bodies  of  the men
               and  women  and  creatures  that  flowed  under  their fingertips
              .
                  The  cook,  Tibor,  had  stayed  behind  to  dig  for edible
               roots,  and  Pandaras.  had  volunteered  to  help  him. Yama
               had  given  the  boy  his  book  and  coin,  in  case  either drew
               the  aspect  of  Angel  to  the  shrine.  Although  the hell-hound
               had  destroyed  her,  there  might  be  other copies.
                  Tamora  had  insisted  that  it  was  her  duty  to  watch over



                                                   Yama.  She  thought  that  Eliphas  was  leading  him  into a
                                                   trap.  If  she  was  right  then  neither  her  sword  nor  her bravery
                                                     could  save  him,  but  Yama  did  not  trouble  to  tell her
                                                   that.  There  was  a  coldness  growing  in  his  heart;  as he
                                                   descended  the  stair  it  seemed  to  him  that  Tamora and
                                                   Eliphas  had  become  strangers,  or  worse,  ghosts of
                                                  strangers.
                                                      The  world's  edge  was  a  black  vertical  cliff  that rose
                                                   straight  up  from  the  sea  of  cloud  and  stretched  away for
                                                   thousands  of  leagues  on  either  side.  It  was  dark  and cold;
                                                   the  only  light  was  that  reflected  from  the  clouds  far below.
                                                   Yama,  Tamora  and  Eliphas  were  like  mice  descending a
                                                   mountain,  emmets  crawling  down  a wall.
                                                      They  descended  a  long  way.  At  intervals,  the stair
                                                   opened  out  onto  wide  platforms  or  ledges,  but  always it
                                                   continued  downward.  Once,  a  stream  spurted  from  the cliff
                                                   and  arched  above  the  stair,  a  muscular  silvery  braid shredded
                                                     by  wind  as  it  fell  toward  the  cloud  deck.  Wind buffeted
                                                     
them  and  whispered  and  whistled  among  the intricate
                                                   carvings  of  the  sheer  cliff  face.  Eliphas's  straw  hat was
                                                   blown  from  his  head  and  dwindled  away  into  the infinite
                                                   ocean  of air.
                                                      Presently,  light  puddled  around  Yama's  feet. Tamora
                                                   gasped  and,  five  steps  below,  Eliphas  turned  and stared.
                                                   Pinpricks  of  light  reflected  in  his  silver  eyes.  A handful
                                                   of  fireflies  had  found  Yama  and  crowned  him  with their
                                                   cold  blue-white  fire.  Soon  afterward,  the  stair turned
                                                   around  a  fold  of  rock.  There  was  a  wide  ledge,  and  a tall,
                                                   narrow  arch  cut  into  the  adamantine  keelrock  of  the cliff.
                                                      "The  shrine!"  Eliphas  announced.  "Some  say  it  is the
                                                   oldest  in  the  world.  You  will  learn  much  here, brother."
                                                      "At  least  as  much  as  from  any  other  hole  in the
                                                   ground,"  Tamora said.
                                                      A  fugitive  light  glimmered  inside  the  arch,  and  it brightened
                                                     as  Eliphas  led  Yama  and  Tamora  toward  it.  It did
                                                   not  come  from  any  source,  but  seemed  to  stain  the  air as
                                                   pigments  stain  the  water  in  which  a  painter  dips his
                                                  
brushes.
                                                      The  place  beyond  the  arch  did  not  seem  to  Yama  to be
                  a  shrine  at  all.  There  was  no  black  disc,  no  altar  or sanctuary
                  ,  nothing  but  featureless,  slightly  translucent  walls that
                  curved  up  and  met  high  overhead.  It  was  as  if  they had
                  stumbled  into  a  gigantic  blown  egg  filled  with sourceless
                  light.  While  Tamora  prowled  around  the  perimeter  of this
                  lambent  space,  Eliphas  told  Yama,  "When  the  shrine was
                  in  use,  one  of  the  priests  would  stand  in  the  center and
                  become  possessed  by  the  avatar.  That  is  why  there  is no
                 screen."
                     Yama  said  boldly,  "Are  you  hoping  that  I  can awaken
                  the avatar?"
                     He  was  excited  by  the  idea.  He  had  come  so  far, from
                  the  silent  shrines  of  Ys  to  this,  a  shrine  older  than  any on
                  the  nearside  shore.  He  had  learned  the  extent  of  his powers
                  ,  and  where  his  people  might  still  live.  He  had mastered
                  the  hell-hound  and  destroyed  Angel's  aspect.  He suddenly
                  felt  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  anything  in  the world.
                     Eliphas's  eyes  blankly  reflected  the  even  light. Nothing
                  
could  be  learned  from  his  face.  He  said,  "The woman
                  should  wait  outside.  She  might  spoil  the reading."
                     "I  stay  with  Yama,"  Tamora  said.  Her  voice echoed
                  from  several  points  in  the  vaulted  space.  "If  anything happens
                    to  him,  old  man,  it  will  happen  to  you,  too.  I'll make
                  sure  of it."
                    "You  could  watch  from  the  entrance  as  easily  as from
                  in  here,"  Eliphas  said.  "If  you  stay  here,  your presence
                  may  disturb  the operation."
                     Tamora  crossed  her  arms.  "Then  why  should  I move?
                  You  give  Yama  airs,  making  him  believe  he  can  wake the
                  dead.  Those  days  are  gone.  We  don't  need  avatars  to tell
                  us  what  to  do anymore."
                     Eliphas  said,  "He  stands  there  crowned  with fireflies.
                  Is  that  not  sign  enough  for  you?"  He  turned  and asked
                  Yama,  "If  the  avatar  came,  brother,  what  would  you ask
                 it.
                     Yama  grinned.  He  no  longer  trusted  Eliphas,  but  he did
                  not  fear  him,  either.  He  strode  to  the  middle  of  the room.
                  immediately,  the  light  thickened  around  him.  Tamora and
                  Eliphas  dwindled  into  the  light  becoming  shadows that



                                                  frayed  away  and  disappeared.  Yama  seemed  to  be standing
                                                  inside  a  bank  of  glowing  mist,  and  then  the  mist cleared
                                                  and  he  saw  a  needle  hung  before  the  red  swirl  of  the Eye
                                                  of  the Preservers.
                                                    It  was  the  world.  Not  the  representation  which Angel's
                                                  aspect  had  shown  him  in  the  Temple  of  the  Black Well,
                                                  but  the  world  as  it  was  at  that  very  moment.  Yama discovered
                                                    that  if  he  stared  at  one  spot  long  enough  he flew
                                                  directly  toward  it.  He  saw  the  brawling  streets  of  Ys and
                                                  the  blackened  ruins  of  Aeolis;  the  immemorial  gardens and
                                                  tombs  of  the  City  of  the  Dead,  and  the  garden-topped crag
                                                  where  Beatrice  and  Osric  lived.  He  saw  the  white contours
                                                  of  the  ceramic  shell  of  the  holy  city  of  Gond,  and followed
                                                  the  course  of  the  Great  River  toward  the  midpoint  of the
                                                  world.  His  gaze  passed  over  a  dozen  different  cities:  a city
                                                  of  glass  domes  like  nests  of  soap  bubbles;  a  city  of white
                                                  cubes  stacked  over  each  other;  a  city  built  among  trees; a
                                                  city  of  spires  that  rose  from  a  lake;  a  city  carved  into red
                                                  
sandstone  cliffs  above  a  curve  of  the  river;  a  city  of gardens
                                                    and  houses  raised  high  on  stilts.  He  saw  the great
                                                  forests  that  stretched  for  a  thousand  leagues  above the
                                                  Marsh  of  the  Lost  Waters,  and  the  ruined  cities  along the
                                                  forest  shore.  Smoke  hung  in  tattered  banners  where cannon
                                                  of  the  army  of  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs were
                                                  bombarding  a  fortified ridge.
                                                    Yama  would  have  looked  more  closely  at  the  forces of
                                                  the  heretics  then,  but  he  felt  that  someone  among them
                                                  was  looking  for  him  and  he  quickly  turned  away. The
                                                  view  unraveled  to  show  the  world  entire  again.  He noticed
                                                  a  loose  cloud  of  tiny  lights  that  trailed  behind  it  and at
                                                  once  the  constant  tug  of  the  feral  machine  he  had called
                                                  down  at  the  merchant's  house  became  more  insistent. One
                                                  of  the  lights  grew  until  it  eclipsed  all  the  others, burning
                                                  away  the  world  and  encasing  him  in  its radiance.
                                                    If  the  machine  spoke  to  Yama,  he  did  not  hear  it. But
                                                  across  a  great  gulf  he  heard  his  own  voice, apparently
                                                  
answering  a  series  of questions.
                                                    Yes.  Yes.  I  will. Yes.
                                  I                 He  reeled  backward,  overwhelmed  by  light,  and fell,
                  and  for  an  instant  thought  that  he  fell  through  the void
                  beyond  the  edge  of  the  world.  Fell  with  Angel.  Fell in
                  her arms.
                    Something  struck  the  length  of  his  body  with  the weight
                  of  the  whole  world.  Blood  filled  his  mouth  where  he had
                  bitten  his  tongue  and  cheeks;  red  and  black  pain filled
                  his head.
                    Tamora  lifted  Yama's  head  and  cleared  blood  from his
                  mouth  with  her  fingers.  She  had  a  shallow  cut  on  one arm.
                  Her  sword  lay  beside  her  on  the  softly  glowing  floor. It
                  was  bloody  to  the hilt.
                    Yama  discovered  that  he  had  urinated  in  his trousers;
                  they  clung  unpleasantly  to  his  thighs.  Dried  blood crusted
                  his  nostrils  and  his  upper  lip,  and  his  head  felt  as  if someone
                    had  tried  to  split  it  with  a  wedge.  Little  bits  of fused
                  metal  and  flaked  carbon  char  were  scattered  in  a circle
                  around  him-the  remains  of  the  fireflies  which  earlier had
                  
crowned  him,  now  burned  out  and  quite dead.
                    Eliphas  was  gone,  but  there  were  still  three  people in
                  the  shrine.  Something  was  inside  Yama,  looking through
                  his  eyes.  Sharing  his  thoughts.  He  knew  now  why  he had
                  eaten  mud  rotten  with  termites.  For  the  metal  in  the bodies
                  of  the  insects.  For  the  metal  needed  to  grow  the machine
                  under  his skin.
                    Tamora  got  Yama  to  his  feet  and  helped  him  walk about
                  until  he  had  recovered  his  sense  of  who  and  where he
                  was.  She  told  him  that  he  had  stood  raptly  in  the center
                  of  the  shrine  for  hours,  his  face  turned  up,  his  eyes rolled
                  back  so  that  only  the  whites  showed.  He  tried  to  tell her
                  what  he  had  seen.  The  whole  world,  immense  and particular
                  ,  as  the  Preservers  might  see it.
                    "It  is  so  strange,"  he  said.  "So  huge  and  yet so
                 fragile."
                    Then  he  laughed,  and  felt  more  laughter  rising within
                  him,  wild  and  strong.  He  rose  on  it  as  on  great  wings. It
                  might  have  possessed  him  entirely,  but  Tamora slapped
                  his  face  and  the  sting  of  the  slap  sobered him.
                    He  said,  "The  feral  machine  found  me,  as  I  once found
                  
it.  Or  perhaps  it  found  me  long  ago,  and  has  been bending



                                                  my  will  toward  it  ever  since.  They  are  still  there, Tamora,
                                                  the  rebel  machines  and  avatars.  They  were  banished from
                                                  the  world  at  the  end  of  the  Age  of  Insurrection,  but they
                                                  have  not  abandoned  it.  They  spoke  to  me  or  to  a  part of
                                                  me,  but  I  cannot  remember  what  they  said  .  . ."
                                                     As  amazed  by  this  as  by  his  laughter,  he  began  to cry.
                                                     "Hush,"  Tamora  said.  "Hush."  She  held  Yama and
                                                  rocked him.
                                                     "I  serve  evil  ends,"  he  said.  "I  cannot  be  what  I am
                                                  not,  and  I  have  been  made  to  serve  evil  ends.  I  am their
                                                 creature."
                                                     "You're  only  what  you  are,"  Tamora  said helplessly.
                                                  "Don't  try  to  be  more  than  that,  or  you'll destroy
                                                 yourself."
                                                     He  asked  what  had  happened  to  Eliphas,  and  she said
                                                  grimly  that  the  old  man  had  escaped.  "You  were  so long
                                                  in  your  trance  or  your  dream  or  whatever  it  was  that after
                                                  a  while  I  sat  down  to  rest.  What  happened  then  was my
                                                  fault.  I  was  watching  you  instead  of  watching  Eliphas, and
                                                  
perhaps  I  slept  for  a  moment.  He  came  upon  me suddenly
                                                  and  the  silly  fucker  would  have  killed  me  if  only  he had
                                                  kept  silent.  But  he  couldn't  stop  himself  yelling  when he
                                                  struck,  and  I  turned  in  time  to  receive  his  blade  on my
                                                  arm  instead  of  my  neck.  I  cut  his  thigh  with  a backswing,
                                                  but  he  got away.
                                                     "I  would  have  followed,  Yama,  but  I  could  not leave
                                                  you.  He  has  not  come  back.  I  hope  he  has  fallen  off the
                                                  edge  of  the  world  or  has  bled  to  death.  But  I  didn't feel
                                                  my  blade  hit  bone  and  I  don't  think  I  cut  any  major blood
                                                  vessels  because  there's  not  enough  blood  on  the floor.
                                                  He's  probably  still  alive.  Tell  me  that  you're  all  right and
                                                  I'll  go  look  for  him,  and  kill  him  when  I  find him."
                                                     "He  wanted  to  use  me,"  Yama  said.  He  sat down,
                                                  feeling  suddenly  dizzy.  The  pain  in  his  head  was expanding
                                                  .  Red  and  black  rags  of  light  seemed  to  flutter at
                                                  the  edge  of  his  vision.  He  was  diminishing,  or  the world
                                                  was  receding  from him.
                                                     He  said,  "I  thought  that  he  wanted  to  help  me,  but I
                 
have  been  a  fool.  He  wanted  to  use  me,  like  most  people I
                 have  met.  You  were  right  all  along,  Tamora.  I apologize,"
                    "I  was  wrong,  too.  I  thought  he  was  working  for Prefect
                 Corin,  when  all  along  he  had  his  own  plans.  This  was his
                 chance  to  master  you,  but  he  failed.  Everything  will  be all
                 right now."
                    Light  flooded  the  chamber.  They  both  looked  up. It
                 came  from  the  entrance,  a  harsh  blinding  glare  that shriveled
                   the  soft  radiance  of  the  shrine.  Tamora  swept  up her
                 sword  and  ran  straight  through  the  arch  into  the  light, and
                 Yama  followed  as  quickly  as  he could.
                    Outside,  the  light  was  as  bright  as  the  sun.  Every figure
                 in  the  intricate  friezes  which  covered  the  cliff  wall stood
                 beside  its  own  shadow.  The  wide  steep  steps  shone like
                 ice.  With  one  hand  raised  to  shade  his  eyes,  Yama saw
                 that  Tamora  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  stair,  gazing up
                 at  the  huge  shadow  that  floated  behind  the  flood  of light.
                    It  was  as  big  as  the  Weazel,  and  shaped  like  a  claw. It
                 floated  only  a  chain  from  the  edge  of  the  stair,  a hundred
                 or  so  steps  above  the  entrance  to  the  shrine.  Figures 
moved
                 on  its  upper  surface,  bleached  shadows  within  the nimbus
                 of  brilliant  light  that  shone  from it.
                    It  was  a  flyer,  Yama  realized,  and  he  knew  then why
                 Eliphas  had  brought  him  to  the  edge  of  the  world. He
                 shouted  a  warning  to  Tamora,  but  she  was already
                 bounding  forward,  taking  the  steps  two  at  a  time.  She was
                 running  toward  Eliphas,  who  had  crept  out  of  his hiding
                 place  between  two  carved  figures  and  begun  to climb
                 toward  the  flyer.  The  old  man  had  ripped  the  sleeve from
                 his  shirt  and  tied  it  around  his  wounded  leg,  which dragged
                 behind  him  as  he  climbed.  He  held  the  little  black  box to
                 his  mouth.  He  was  shouting  prayers  into  the  box  and when
                 Tamora  was  almost  upon  him  he  turned  and  raised  it as
                 if  in  a  warding  gesture.  Her  sword  went  under  his arm
                 and  he  jerked  and  tried  to  hold  onto  the  blade  at  the place
                 where  it  pierced  his body.
                    For  a  moment,  they  stood  still,  joined  by  the sword.
                 Then  there  was  a  flash  of  fierce  red  light  and  a  wave of
                 nauseous heat.



                                                     "Yamamanama,"  a voice'said.
                                                     Yama  was  wedged  against  the  feet  of  a  carved  man. He
                                                  looked  up,  blinking  blood  from  his  eyes.  When  he tried
                                                  to  speak  a  bubble  of  blood  swelled  inside  his  mouth and
                                                  broke  over  his  teeth  and  his  lips.  All  of  his  muscles had
                                                  turned  to water.
                                                     The  black,  bent  figure  of  Dr.  Dismas  stood  over him.
                                                  The  apothecary  had  a  pistol  in  his  left  hand,  its blunt
                                                  muzzle  laid  along  his  thigh.  In  his  right  he  held  a little
                                                  black  box,  the  twin  of  the  one  Eliphas  had  carried. Behind
                                                  him,  the  flyer  floated  down  and  grounded  against  the ledge
                                                  at  the  entrance  to  the  shrine,  just  as  the  floating island
                                                  Yama  and  Telmon  had  seen  on  the  farside  shore had
                                                  grounded  against  the  edge  of  the  world.  Above  the flyer,
                                                  the  stair  rose  between  the  black  cliff  and  the  sky, scorched
                                                  clean  by fire.
                                                     "It  was  ordained  we  should  meet  again,  dear  boy," Dr.
                                                  Dismas  said.  "How  pleased  I  am  to  see you."
                                                     Yama  spat  a  mouthful  of  blood.  "It  was  you,"  he said.
                                                  
"All  the  time  it  was you."
                                                     The  light  around  them  was  very  bright.  He  could clearly
                                                  see  the  edges  of  the  plaques  under  the  skin  of  Dr. Dismas's
                                                  hands.  The  same  sharp-edged  shapes  that  lay  under his
                                                  own scalp.
                                                     Yama  said,  "How?  How  did  you  infect me?"
                                                     "At  The  House  of  Ghost  Lanterns,"  Dr.  Dismas said.
                                                     "In  the  beer.  Or  the  food  .  . ."
                                                     "Good!  Very  good!  Yes.  Little  builders.  They have
                                                  been  working  ever  since.  You  are  strong. Yamamanama.
                                                  You  resisted  them  for  a  very  long time."
                                                     Yama  spat  more  blood.  So  much  blood.  First  Lud, and
                                                  then  Lob  and  Unprac,  the  landlord  of  The  House  of Ghost
                                                  Lanterns.  The  palmers  and  the  bandits,  the  cateran who
                                                  had  tried  to  kill  him,  lachimo  and  the  rogue  star-sailor and
                                                  its  creatures,  the  two  pythonesses  of  the  Department of
                                                  Vaticination,  the  old  guard,  Coronetes,  and  all  the clerks
                 and  soldiers  in  the  Department  of  Indigenous Affairs,     the
                 mage  and  the  soldiers  who  had  taken  the peel-house,      
the
                 traitor  Torin,  the  Constable  of  Aeolis  and  his  sons  and the
                 mob,  Prefect  Corin  and  the  crew  of  the  picketboat, Dr.
                 Dismas's  man  and  the  boy,  Pantin.  And  the  Aedile, his
                 heart  broken,  and  now  Tamora  and  Eliphas.  All dead.      All
                 because  of him.
                   Yama  said.  "Tamora  thought  that  Eliphas  was  in league
                 with  Prefect  Corin.  But  all  the  time  he  was  working for
                YOU."
                   Dr.  Dismas  waggled  the  little  black  box.  "He  kept in
                 touch  using  the  twin  of  this,  right  until  the  end.  A  pity he
                 had  to  be  killed.  He  was  a  useful  servant.  He  was turned
                 long  ago,  in  one  of  the  chambers  beneath  the  surface of
                 the  world.  He  was  looking  for  old  texts  to  sell,  but found
                 something  far  more  valuable.  Or  rather,  it  found him."
                   "I  thought  that  he  was  praying  to  that  little box."
                   Surreptitiously,  Yama  pulled  the  fetish  from  his wrist.
                 When  Pandaras  came  to  look  for  him,  he  would  find it,
                 and  know  that  his  master  was  still alive.
                   "Long  wavelength  light,"  Dr.  Dismas  said.  "Bounced 
off
                 one  of  us  a  million  leagues  above  the  plane  of  the world.
                 You  will  soon unde  ' rstand  everything, Yarnamanama."
                   Yama  felt  very  cold.  He  was  badly  hurt,  and  the thing
                 in  his  head  had  turned  his  heart  to  ice.  He  said, "My
                 people.  Eliphas  found  where  .  . ."
                   "The  map  and  the  scavenger's  account?  My  dear Yamamanama
                 ,  they  were  forgeries,  and  not  even  very  good forgeries
                 .  But  they  did  not  have  to  be,  because  you wanted
                 so  very  much  to  believe  in  them.  No,  your  people died
                 out  long  ago,  All  are  dead  except  you,  and  even  we do
                 not  know  where  you  came  from.  Once  I  realized  what you
                 were,  I  went  to  Ys  to  search  for  your  origin. Eliphas
                 helped  me  then,  but  we  found  nothing  and  I  came back
                 empty-handed.  It  does  not  matter.  All  that  matters  is that
                 you  are  here,  and  that  you  will  join  us.  You  are  my creature
                 ,  Yamamanama.  We  will  do  wonderful  things together.
                 To  begin  with,  we  will  form  an  alliance  with  the heretics,
                 and  save  the world."
                                                       Men  walked  out  of  the  light  toward  them.  Yama was
                                                     lifted  up.  Light  swept  over  him,  and  then  a  warm darkness.
                                                     Presently,  the  flyer  tilted  away  from  the  side  of  the cliff
                                                     
and  rose  above  the  edge  of  the  world.  There  was  a small
                                                     business  to  attend  to,  a  few  witnesses  to  be  removed. It
                                                     did  not  take  long,  and  when  it  was  done  the  flyer shot
                                                     away  downriver,  toward  the war.



