"Patera Quetzal de-emphasized the worship of Great Pas, Your Cognizance, knowing that Pas was dead. He chose--doubtless wisely--to emphasize that of Scylla instead."

Patera Remora patted his forehead with a worn and yellowed, but neatly folded, handkerchief. "I remember it well." It was the first warm day of summer.

"You, Your Cognizance, might choose to emphasize that of the Outsider, for example."

"I, um."

"He, at least--"

"Good G.o.d," Oreb remarked.

"Will not come to your Window, Your Cognizance. I believe I can a.s.sure Your Cognizance of that. Not in your time, nor in your acolyte's, nor in his."

Patera Remora nodded slowly at first, then more rapidly. "I, er, comprehend."

"Mainframe may reach Blue, Your Cognizance, before the Whorl Whorl puts out again; but Mainframe can never have the power here that it had there, the reins of the sun. Meanwhile it might be well for New Viron--for all of Blue--if you were to exercise your discretion." puts out again; but Mainframe can never have the power here that it had there, the reins of the sun. Meanwhile it might be well for New Viron--for all of Blue--if you were to exercise your discretion."

"I, um, have. In another matter, hey? But--ah--first, Pat-- Er, Horn. May I say that you are most, um, perspicacious? You are correct. I, ah, apprehend it now. I would, um . . . On my own, eh? Having been given the, er, hint? No, intimation. By you. During the--ah--the ceremony, eh? Your, um, son's nuptials. I would have, um, come wise?" He chuckled.

"I feel certain you would, Your Cognizance."

"Was it this? This the, er, topic? Upon which you, eh?"

"No, Your Cognizance." His visitor sighed. "Or at least, only partially."

"In that case, um . . . ?"

"It is wrong to take one's own life."

He waited for a reply, but none came.

"Is it also wrong to put oneself in harm's way, in the hope that one's life may be taken?"

"Poor Silk!" Oreb exclaimed, and fluttered from his shoulder to an overhanging branch.

"You, um, did. You arranged for the . . . ah? At the wedding?"

"Yes, Your Cognizance."

Remora pushed back his sweat-damp hair with bony fingers. "Not, um, sufficient. Tell me."

"Your Cognizance will recall the first inhumu, who attacked Hide. His name was Juganu, or at least that is the name by which I knew him. He was infatuated with a human woman, a murderess. He wanted to free her. She is in a prison, as I ought to have told Your Cognizance."

"You, um, opposed this? Quite right."

"I opposed it, Your Cognizance, in such a way as to stir up Juganu's ill will as much as possible." Each hand warred with the other, twisting and tearing. "I didn't--I've searched my conscience on this, Your Cognizance. I didn't imagine that Juganu would enlist hundreds of his kind for a public attack."

Remora grunted.

"I believed it most probable that Juganu would come for me alone. I would feign sleep and permit him to drink his fill, which would be much. If I lived, so be it."

Remora nodded to himself. "But if you, hum?"

"So be it. Possibly he would bring a companion. I foresaw that. Possibly he would bring two or even three; in either case I would certainly die."

"So--um--et cetera, Patera?"

"Yes, exactly, Your Cognizance. It would be what I wanted. I wanted someone else to kill me, so that I would not bear the guilt myself. You know the result of my folly--the deaths of a round dozen people and hundreds of inhumi."

"Evil, eh? Vile, um, miscreations that deserve to--ah--perish, my son."

"Yes, Your Cognizance." He straightened up and squared his shoulders. "I have been on friendly terms with three, however. No, four, because I was briefly on such terms with Juganu himself. With two inhumus, Your Cognizance, and two inhumas. I made a covenant with evil, one I bitterly regret, though those I have known have been no worse than we. I wish to be shriven of that, as well. Shall we begin?"

"No. Um, no." Remora shook his head. "First, Patera, you must tell me why you wish to--ah--ascend."

"Isn't it obvious?" His voice was angry, so much so that Oreb fled to a higher branch. "I failed! I gave my life, and still I failed."

Remora leaned back, his fingers forming a lofty steeple whose apex touched his chin. "My son, you--ah--adverted a moment ago that the, er, our attackers were no, um, not inferior to--ah--morally. I let it pa.s.s. Ignored it, hey?"

"Your Cognizance--"

A bony hand waved him to silence. "Hear me out. The--ah-- implication, hum? We no better than, er, they are. It--ah--will not argue. Possibly. Possibly."

"Bad things!" Oreb declared with unshakable conviction.

"Worse things than birds," his master agreed, and added sadly, "but so are we. I thought perhaps--oh, never mind."

"Possibly," Remora repeated. "I--ah--concede that. I, er, myself--"

"I intend nothing personal, Your Cognizance, believe me."

"Um, do. Yet I myself, eh? Conscious, always conscious of many shortcomings. Now, um, Gyrfalcon, eh? A bad man? You would, um, acquiesce, my son?"

He shrugged. "Many people say he was, now that he's dead."

"Was Gyrfalcon as, er, iniquitous as an inhumu? As this, hum, Juganu you once--ah?"

"I imagine so."

"As do I. The--ah. Old Quetzal. Recollect him, Patera?"

"Of course."

"Knew, Lemur, eh? Many, um, discussions. I, er, likewise. With Gyrfalcon. I--ah--understood him. Boasting, eh? Yes, boasting. Don't often, hey? But the truth. Talk with, er, him. Dined. Shrived him, eh? A bad man. In--ah--concordance on that point. But he-- ah. Hear me here, Patera."

"Yes, Your Cognizance."

"Gyrfalcon, um, dispatched you, eh? One of, um, five of, er, us. The worst. Possibly. Possibly the worst of the, er, group. Even he would not, um? Blame someone who, er, expired. So you told me. Who--ah--died in the attempt. Do you take my meaning, Patera?" Remora shook his head violently. "Not so bad a man as that, eh? Not so bad a man as you are, Patera?"

There was silence.

"Do you still, um?"

"Want to end it?" He sighed. "Yes, I suppose I do, really. Nettle will have Hoof and Hide and Vadsig. She'll be all right."

"No die!"

Remora smiled. "Who is Nettle, Patera?"

"My wife. You know her, surely."

"An, er, dark day for me, eh? Boasted. Now I'm about to--ah-- intrude. Did you, eh? And she? Husband. Lengthy absence, eh? One, um, expects the--hum--warm commerce."

"No, Your Cognizance. She didn't want to, and neither did I; but if we had, there would have been nothing wrong in that, surely."

"I, um, suspend judgment, hey? Shriving, likewise."

"You can't be so cruel, Your Cognizance."

"No? I, um, consider otherwise. You still, um? Reject the gift, hey? The gift of life, Patera. Look at me, eh? Look at me, and tell you no longer desire, er, release. Can you do it?"

His eyes were on the ground. "No, Your Cognizance. If I had brought Pig--if some way I could have . . ."

"Forbear. For children, eh? For sprats, these ifs."

There was no reply.

"The, um, ceremony. Nuptials, eh? You recall them?"

"Yes, Your Cognizance."

"Well? Ah--distinctly?"

"Very distinctly, Your Cognizance."

"I, um, homily. Curtailed, eh? Yes--ah--abbreviated while the sacred fire, eh? But the, um, reading first. You were not, er, inattentive."

"I hope not, Your Cognizance."

"I, um, advanced to the ambion, eh? Took up the Writings?"

"Yes."

"And, um, then? What next, Patera? Please elucidate."

"You found the pa.s.sage in which marriage--"

"No! You--ah--erroneous. Previous to that."

"Wait a minute." His forefinger drew small circles over his right cheek. "I remember. You opened the Writings, apparently at random, read a pa.s.sage, and appeared to reject it. You turned to the pa.s.sage on marriage then."

"Did I, er, communicate the first pa.s.sage, Patera?"

"Read it aloud, you mean? No, you read it silently, then opened the book at a different place."

"Have you--ah--formed an, er, theory to account for um?"

"Only the obvious one, Your Cognizance." As he spoke, he felt an icy tendril of dread that he could not have explained. "The initial pa.s.sage was not suitable for a wedding."

A toss of Remora's head cleared his eyes of his lank hair. "It was, um, suitable, Patera. Your own word, eh? It was--ah--cogent. Very. I, um, declined, eh? Nonetheless. An error. Ah--hubris. Knew better than the G.o.ds, eh? At my, um, time of life, I should be wiser." Remora rose. "If you will, er, be unoffended by a brief absence? I shall return presently. Will you, um, enjoy the fine weather?"

"Certainly, Your Cognizance. I'll be here when you return."

"Capital. I shan't be long."

"Good Silk!" Oreb called by way of farewell.

His hands were still now as he watched Remora's retreating back. A minute pa.s.sed, then two. A rockwren sang in the tree in which Oreb perched, then flew away, singing still.

"Poor Silk," Oreb remarked with simple sympathy. "Poor, poor. Poor Silk!"

He rose and began to pace the length of the little garden, left toward the docks and the sea, right toward the farms and the mountains, then left again. "I am a prisoner in a cell," he told Oreb, "and that tall man in black will return with my death warrant. I know it, and can't do a thing about it. Tell Nettle I loved her, please. Will you do that?"

"Bird tell."

"Thank you." He sat again, his head in his hands. "I loved Sinew, too. And Hoof and Hide and Krait. Jahlee and Seawrack. I should not have loved any of them--they were almost as selfish as I am, Oreb. But I did, and I asked the Greater Scylla on the Red Sun Whorl how I could find Seawrack again."

Oreb whistled sharply.

"She taught me how to communicate with her sister here. That was our bargain; but I have not used the information. I would never have used it while Nettle was alive."

"Good Silk!"

"Most of all, I loved Silk. I tried to model myself on him, and see what a mess I made of it. When at last I was given the chance to actually do something for him, I failed."

Returning with a worn volume, Remora had caught the last few words. "You did not--um--miss the mark. Ah--Horn. Yes, Horn."

"You are too kind, Your Cognizance. I did."

Resuming his seat, Remora said, "Possibly you have--um-- observed that I have been calling you Patera?"

"Yes, Your Cognizance. Many people do, because of the robe, though I am aware that I am no augur. I've grown tired of objecting and generally let it pa.s.s."

"I, er, comprehend." Remora held up his book. "The Chrasmologic Writings, hey? From, um, your own Sun Street Quarter. Salvaged from the--ah--conflagration. By me, Patera. See where the cover's scorched?"

"Yes, Your Cognizance." He touched the discolored leather tentatively, as though it were a serpent. "This was Silk's? He used to read from this--from this copy--at manteion when I was a boy?"

"Um--ah--no. Not, er, exactly, Patera. Yet you are--hum-- nearly correct. A--ah--near miss. To the point now, eh? Permit me."