THE WHITE         BOAT
T  0 1  0  N  S  T  A  B  L  1  0  F  Aeolis  was  a  shrewd,   pragmatic  man who
did  not  believe  in  miracles.  In  his  opinion,   everything must
have  an  explanation,   and  simple  explanations  were  best of
all.  "The  sharpest  knife  cuts  cleanest, "  he  often  told  his sons.
"The  more  a  man  talks,   the  more  likely  it  is  he's lying."
But  to  the  end  of  his  days,   he  could  not  explain  the affair
of  the  white boat.
It  happened  one  midsummer  night,   when  the  huge black
sky  above  the  Great  River  was  punctuated  only  by  a scattering
of  dim  halo  stars  and  the  dull  red  swirl,   no  bigger than
a  man's  hand,   of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  The  heaped lights
of  the  little  city  of  Aeolis  and  the  lights  of  the  carracks riding
at  anchor  outside  the  harbor  entrance  were  brighter  by far
than  anything  in  the sky.
The  summer  heat  was  oppressive  to  the  people  of Aeolis.
For  most  of  the  day  they  slept  in  the  relative  cool  of their
seeps  and  wallows,   rising  to  begin  work  when  the  Rim Mountains
clawed  the  setting  sun,   and  retiring  again  when  the sun
rose,   renewed,   above  the  devouring  peaks.  In  summer,  stores
and  taverns  and  workshops  stayed  open  from  dusk  until dawn, 
fishing  boats  set  out  at  midnight  to  trawl  the  black  river for
noctilucent  polyps  and  pale  shrimp,   and  the  streets  of Aeolis







          were  crowded  and  bustling  beneath  the  flare  of  cressets and
          the  orange  glow  of  sodium  vapor  lamps.  At  night,   in summer, 
          the  lights  of  Aeolis  shone  like  a  beacon  in  the  midst  of the
          dark shore.
             That  particular  night,   the  Constable  and  his  two  eldest sons
          were  rowing  back  to  Aeolis  in  their  skiff  with  two vagrant
          river  traders  who  had  been  arrested  while  trying  to  run bales
          of  cigarettes  to  the  unchanged  hill  tribes  of  the  wild shore
          downstream  of  Aeolis.  Part  of  the  traders'  contraband cargo, 
          soft  bales  sealed  in  plastic  wrap  and  oiled  cloth,   was stacked
          in  the  forward  well  of  the  skiff-,   the  traders  lay  in  the stem, 
          tied  up  like  shoats  for  the  slaughter.  The  skiff's powerful
          motor  had  been  shot  out  in  the  brief  skirmish,   and  the Constable's
            sons,   already  as  big  as  their  father,   sat  side  by  side on
          the  center  thwart,   rowing  steadily  against  the  current. The
          Constable  was  perched  on  a  button  cushion  in  the  skiffs high
          stem,   steering  for  the  lights  of Aeolis.
             The  Constable  was  drinking  steadily  from  a  cruse  of wine.
          He  was  a  large  man  with  loose  gray  skin  and  gross features, 
          like  a  figure  hastily  molded  from  clay  and  abandoned before
          it  was  completed.  A  pair  of  tusks  protruded  like  daggers from
          his  meaty  upper  lip.  One  tusk  had  been  broken  when  he 
had
          fought  and  killed  his  father,   and  the  Constable  had had
          capped  with  silver;  silver  chinked  against  the  neck  of the
          cruse  each  time  he  took  a  swig  of wine.
             The  Constable  was  not  in  a  good  temper.  He  would make
          a  fair  profit  from  his  half  of  the  captured  cargo  (die other
          half  would  go  to  the  Aedile,   if  he  could  spare  an  hour  or so
          from  his  excavations  to  pronounce  sentence  on  the traders), 
          but  the  arrest  had  not  gone  smoothly.  The  river  traders had
          hired  a  pentad  of  ruffians  as  an  escort,   and  they  had  put up
          a  desperate  fight  before  the  Constable  and  his  sons  had managed
            to  dispatch  them.  The  Constable's  shoulders  had taken
          a  bad  cut,   cleaving  through  blubber  to  the  muscle beneath, 
          and  his  back  had  been  scorched  by  reflection  of  the pistol
          bolt  which  had  damaged  the  skiff  s  motor.  Fortunately,  the
          weapon,   which  had  probably  predated  the  foundation  of Aeolis
          ,   had  misfired  on  the  second  shot  and  killed  the  man using
          it,   but  the  Constable  knew  that  he  could  not  rely  on good
          luck  forever.  He  was  getting  old,   ponderous  and muddled
       when  once  he  had  been  quick  and  strong.  He  knew that
       sooner  or  later  one  of  his  sons  would  challenge  him,   and he
       was  worried  that  this  night's  botched  episode  was  a harbinger
       of  his  decline.  Like  all  strong  men,   he  feared  his  own weakness
         more  than  death,   for  strength  was  how  he  measured the
       
worth  of  his life.
          Now  and  then  he  turned  and  looked  back  at  the  pyre of
       the  smugglers'  boat.  It  had  burnt  to  the  waterline,   a flickering
       dash  of  light  riding  its  own  reflection  far  out  across  the river's
       broad  black  plain.  The  Constable's  sons  had  run  it aground
       on  a  mudbank,   so  that  it  would  not  drift  amongst  the banyan
       islands  which  at  this  time  of  year  spun  in  slow  circles  in the
       shallow  sargasso  of  the  Great  River's  nearside  shoals,  tethered
         only  by  fine  nets  of  feeder roots.
          Of  the  two  river  traders,   one  lay  as  still  as  a  sated cayman, 
       resigned  to  his  fate,   but  his  mate,   a  tall,   skinny  old man
       naked  but  for  a  breechclout  and  an  unraveling  turban,  was
       trying  to  convince  the  Constable  to  let  him  go.  Yoked hand
       to  foot,   so  that  his  back  was  bent  like  a  bow,   he  stared up
       at  the  Constable  from  the  well,   his  insincere  frightened smile
       like  a  rictus,   his  eyes  so  wide  that  white  showed  clear around
       their  slitted  irises.  At  first  he  had  tried  to  gain  the Constable's
       attention  with  flattery;  now  he  was  turning  to threats.
          "I  have  many  friends,   captain,   who  would  be  unhappy to
       see  me  in  your  jail, "  he  said.  "There  are  no  walls strong
       enough  to  withstand  the  force  of  their  friendship,   for  I  am a
       generous  man.  I  am  known  for  my  generosity  across the
       breadth  of  the river."
          The  Constable  rapped  the  top  of  the  trader's  turban with
       the  butt  of  his  whip,   and  for  the  fourth  or  fifth  time advised
       
him  to  be  quiet.  It  was  clear  from  the  arrowhead  tattoos on
       the  man's  fingers  that  he  belonged  to  one  of  the  street gangs
       which  roved  the  ancient  wharves  of  Ys.  Any  friends  he might
       have  were  a  hundred  leagues  upriver,   and  by  dusk tomorrow
       he  and  his  companion  would  be dead.
          The  skinny  trader  babbled,   "Last  year,   captain,   I  took it
       upon  myself  to  sponsor  the  wedding  of  the  son  of  one  of my
       dear  friends,   who  had  been  struck  down  in  the  prime  of life.
       Bad  fortune  had  left  his  widow  with  little  more  than  a rented
       room  and  nine  children  to  feed.  The  son  was  besotted; his










          bride's  family  impatient.  This  poor  lady  had  no  one  to turn
          to  but  myself,   and  1,   captain,   remembering  the  good company
          of  my  friend,   his  wisdom  and  his  friendly  laughter,   took it
          upon  myself  to  organize  everything.  Four  hundred  people ate
          and  drank  at  the  celebration,   and  I  count  them  all  as my
          friends.  Quails'  tongues  in  aspic  we  had,   captain,   and mounds
          of  oysters  and  fish  roe,   and  baby  goats  tender  as  the butter
          they  were  seethed in."
            Perhaps  there  was a      grain  of  truth  in  the  story. Perhaps
          the  man  had  been  one  of  the  guests  at  such  a  wedding,  but
          he  could  not  have  sponsored  it.  No  one  desperate  enough to
          try  to  smuggle  cigarettes  to  the  hill  tribes  would  have been
          able  to  lavish  that  kind  of  money  on  an  act  of charity.
            The  Constable  flicked  his  whip  across  the  legs  of  the prisoners
          .  He  said,   "You  are  a  dead  man,   and  dead  men have
          no  friends.  Compose  yourself.  Our  city  might  be  a small
          place,   but  it  has  a  shrine,   and  it  was  one  of  the  last places
          along  all  the  river's  shore  where  avatars  talked  with men, 
          before  the  heretics  silenced  them.  Pilgrims  still  come here, 
          for  even  if  the  avatars  are  no  longer  able  to  speak,  surely
          they  are  still  listening.  We'll  let  you  speak  to  them 
after
          you've  been  sentenced,   I  suggest  you  take  the  time  to think
          of  what  account  you  can  give  of  your life."
            One  of  the  Constable's  son's  laughed,   and  the Constable
          gave  their  broad  backs  a  touch  of  his  whip.  "Row, "  he told
          them,   "and  keep quiet."
            "Quails'  tongues, "  the  talkative  trader  said. "Anything
          you  want,   captain.  You  have  only  to  name  it  and  it  will be
          yours.  I  can  make  you  rich.  I  can  offer  you  my  own home, 
          captain.  Like  a  palace  it  is,   right  in  the  heart  of  Ys.  Far from
          this  stinking hole-"
            The  boat  rocked  when  the  Constable  jumped  into  the well.
          His  sons  cursed  wearily,   and  shipped  their  oars.  The Constable
            knocked  off  the  wretched  trader's  turban,   pulled  up the
          man's  head  by  the  greasy  knot  of  hair  that  sprouted  from his
          crown  and,   before  he  could  scream,   ffirust  two  fingers into
          his  mouth  and  grasped  his  writhing  tongue.  The  trader gagged
          and  tried  to  bite  the  Constable's  fingers,   but  his  teeth scarcely
          bruised  their  leathery  skin.  The  Constable  drew  his knife, 
          sliced  the  trader's  tongue  in  half  and  tossed  the  scrap  of flesh
       over  the  side  of  the  skiff.  The  trader  gargled  blood and
       thrashed  like  a  landed fish.
         At  the  same  moment,   one  of  the  Constable's  sons cried
       out.  "Boat  ahead!  Leastways,   there's  running lights."
         This  was  Urthank,   a  dull-witted  brute  grown  as  heavy and
       muscular  as  his  father.  The  Constable  knew  that  it  would not
       
be  long  before  Urthank  roared  his  challenge,   and  knew too
       that  the  boy  would  lose.  Urthank  was  too  stupid  to  wait for
       the  right  moment;  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  suppress an
       impulse.  No,   Urthank  would  not  defeat  him.  It  would  be one
       of  the  others.  But  Urthank's  challenge  would  be  the beginning
         of  the end.
         The  Constable  searched  the  darkness.  For  a  moment he
       thought  he  glimpsed  a  fugitive  glimmer,   but  only  for  a moment
       .  It  could  have  been  a  mote  floating  in  his  eye,   or  a dim
       star  glinting  at  the  edge  of  the  world's  level horizon.
         "You  were  dreaming, "  he  said.  "Set  to  rowing,   or the
       sun  will  be  up  before  we  get back."
         "I  saw  it, "  Urthank insisted.
         The  other  son,   Unthank,  laughed.
         "There!"  Urthank  said.  "There  it  is  again!  Dead ahead, 
       just  like  I said."
         This  time  the  Constable  saw  the  flicker  of  light.  His first
       thought  was  that  perhaps  the  trader  bad  not  been boasting
       after  all.  He  said  quietly,   "Go  forward.  Feathered oars."
         As  the  skiff  glided  against  the  current,   the  Constable fumbled
         a  clamshell  case  from  the  pouch  hung  on  the  belt  of his
       white  linen  kilt.  The  trader  whose  tongue  had  been  cut out
       was  making  wet,   choking  sounds.  The  Constable  kicked him
       into  silence  before  opening  the  case  and  lifting  out  the spectacles
         that  rested  on  the  waterstained  silk  lining.  The spectacles
       were  the  most  valuable  heirloom  of  the  Constable's family;
       they  had  passed  from  defeated  father  to  victorious  son for
       more  than  a  hundred  generations.  They  were  shaped like
       bladeless  scissors,   and  the  Constable  unfolded  them  and carefully
         pinched  them  over  his  bulbous nose.
         At  once,   the  hull  of  the  flat  skiff  and  the  bales  of 
contraband
         cigarettes  stacked  in  the  forward  well  seemed  to  gain a
       luminous  sheen;  the  bent  backs  of  the  Constable's  sons and
       the  supine  bodies  of  the  two  prisoners  glowed  with furnace










           light.  The  Constable  scanned  the  river,   ignoring  flaws  in the
           old  glass  of  the  lenses  which  warped  or  smudged  the amplified
             light,   and  saw,   half  a  league  from  the  skiff,   a  knot  of tiny, 
           intensely  brilliant  specks  dancing  above  the  river's surface.
              "Machines, "  the  Constable  breathed.  He  stepped between
           the  prisoners  and  pointed  out  the  place  to  his sons.
              The  skiff  glided  forward  under  the  Constable's guidance.
           As  it  drew  closer,   the  Constable  saw  that  there  were hundreds
           of  machines,   a  busy  cloud  swirling  around  an  invisible pivot.
           He  was  used  to  seeing  one  or  two  flitting  through  the sky
           above  Aeolis  on  their  inscrutable  business,   but  he  had never
           before  seen  so  many  in  one place.
              Something  knocked  against  the  side  of  the  skiff,   and Urthank
             cursed  and  feathered  his  oar.  It  was  a waterlogged
           coffin.  Every  day,   thousands  were  launched  from  Ys.  For a
           moment,   a  woman's  face  gazed  up  at  the  Constable through
           a  glaze  of  water,   glowing  greenly  amidst  a  halo  of rotting
           flowers.  Then  the  coffin  turned  end  for  end  and  was borne
          away.
              The  skiff  had  turned  in  the  current,   too.  Now  it  was broadside
             to  the  cloud  of  machines,   and  for  the  first  time the
           Constable  saw  what  they attended.
              A  boat.  A  white  boat  riding  high  on  the  river's slow
          current.
              The  Constable  took  off  his  spectacles,   and  discovered that
           
the  boat  was  glimmering  with  a  spectral  luminescence. The
           water  around  it  glowed  too,   as  if  it  floated  in  the  center of
           one  of  the  shoals  of  luminous  plankton  that  sometimes rose
           to  the  surface  of  the  river  on  a  calm  summer  night.  The glow
           spread  around  the  skiff-,   each  stroke  of  the  oars  broke its
           pearly  light  into  whirling  interlocking  spokes,   as  if  the ghost
           of  a  machine  lived  just  beneath  the  river's skin.
              The  tongue-cut  trader  groaned  and  coughed;  his partner
           raised  himself  up  on  his  elbows  to  watch  as  the  white boat
           turned  on  the  river's  current,   light  as  a  leaf,   a  dancer barely
           touching  the water.
              The  boat  had  a  sharp,   raised  prow,   and  incurved  sides that
           sealed  it  shut  and  swept  back  in  a  fan,   like  the  tail  of  a dove.
           It  was  barely  larger  than  an  ordinary  coffin.  It  made another
       turn,   seemed  to  stretch  like  a  cat,   and  then  it  was alongside
       the  skiff,   pressed  right  against  it  without  even  a bump.
         Suddenly,   the  Constable  and  his  sons  were  inside  the cloud
       of  machines.  It  was  as  if  they  had  fallen  headfirst  into a
       nebula,   for  there  were  hundreds  of  them,   each  burning with
       ferocious  white  light,   none  bigger  than  a  rhinoceros beetle.
       Urthank  tried  to  swat  one  that  hung  in  front  of  his  snout,  and
       cursed  when  it  stung  him  with  a  flare  of  red  light  and a
       
crisp sizzle.
         "Steady, "  the  Constable  said,   and  someone  else said
       hoarsely,  "Flee."
         Astonished,   the  Constable  turned  from  his  inspection of
       the  glimmering boat.
         "Flee, "  the  second  trader  said  again.  "Flee,   you fools!"
         Both  of  the  Constable's  sons  had  shipped  their  oars and
       were  looking  at  their  father.  They  were  waiting  for  his lead.
       The  Constable  put  away  his  spectacles  and  shoved  the butt
       end  of  his  whip  in  his  belt.  He  could  not  show  that  he was
       afraid.  He  reached  through  the  whirling  lights  of  the machines
       and  touched  the  white boat.
       I  Its  bull  was  as  light  and  close  woven  as  feathers,   and at
       the  Constable's  touch,   the  incurved  sides  peeled  back  with a
       sticky,   crackling  sound.  As  a  boy,   the  Constable  had been
       given  to  wandering  the  wild  shore  downriver  of  Aeolis,  and
       he  had  once  come  across  a  blood  orchid  growing  in  the cloven
         root  of  a  kapok  tree.  The  orchid  had  made  precisely the
       same  noise  when,   sensing  his  body  heat,   it  had  spread its
       fleshy  lobes  wide  to  reveal  the  lubricious  curves  of  its creamy
       pistil.  He  had  fled  in  terror  before  the  blood  orchid's perfume
       could  overwhelm  him,   and  the  ghost  of  that  fear  stayed his
       hand now.
         The  bull  vibrated  under  his  fingertips  with  a  quick,  eager
       pulse.  Light  poured  out  from  the  boat's  interior,   rich and
       golden  and  filled  with  floating  motes.  A  body  made  a shadow
       inside  this  light,   and  the  Constable  thought  at  once  that the
       boat  was  no  more  than  a  coffin  set  adrift  on  the  river's current
       .  The  coffin  of  some  lord  or  lady  no  doubt,   but  in function
       
no  different  from  the  shoddy  cardboard  coffins  of  the poor
       or  the  enameled  wooden  coffins  of  the  artisans  and traders.
         And  then  the  baby  started  to cry.









             The  Constable  squinted  through  the  light,   saw something
          move  within  it,   and  reached  out.  For  a  moment  he  was at
          the  incandescent  heart  of  the  machines'  intricate  dance,  and
          then  they  were  gone,   dispersing  in  flat  trajectories  into the
          darkness.  The  baby,   a  boy,   pale  and  fat  and  hairless,  squirmed
          in  the  Constable's hands.
             The  golden  light  was  dying  back  inside  the  white  boat. In
          moments,   only  traces  remained,   iridescent  veins  and  dabs that
          fitfully  illuminated  the  corpse  on  which  the  baby  had been
         lying.
             It  was  the  corpse  of  a  woman,   naked,   flat-breasted and
          starveling  thin,   and  as  hairless  as  the  baby.  She  had been
          shot,   once  through  the  chest  and  once  in  the  head,   but there
          was  no  blood.  One  hand  was  three  fingered,   like  the grabs
          of  the  cranes  of  Aeolis's  docks;  the  other  was monstrously
          swollen  and  bifurcate,   like  a  lobster's  claw.  Her  skin  had a
          silvery-gray  cast;  her  huge  eyes,   divided  into  a honeycomb
          of  cells,   were  like  the  compound  lenses  of  certain insects, 
          and  the  color  of  blood  rubies.  Within  each  facet  lived  a flickering
            glint  of  golden  light,   and  although  the  Constable knew
          that  these  were  merely  reflections  of  the  white  boat's fading
          light,   he  had  the  strange  feeling  that  things,  malevolently
          watchful  things,   lived  behind  the  dead  woman's  strange 
eyes.
             "Heresy, "  the  second  trader  said.  Somehow,   he  had got
          up  on  his  knees  and  was  staring  wide-eyed  at  the  white boat.
             The  Constable  kicked  the  trader  in  the  stomach;  the man
          coughed  and  flopped  back  into  the  bilge  water  alongside his
          partner.  The  trader  glared  up  at  the  Constable  and  said again, 
          "Heresy.  When  they  allowed  the  ship  of  the  Ancients of
          Days  to  pass  beyond  Ys  and  sail  downriver,   our benevolent
          bureaucracies  let  heresy  loose  into  the world."
             "Let  me  kill  him  now, "  Urthank said.
             "He's  already  a  dead  man, "  the Constable      said.
             "Not  while  he  talks  treason, "  Urthank  said  stubbornly. He
          was  staring  straight  at  his father.
             "Fools, "  the  trader  said.  "You  have  all  seen  the argosies
          and  carracks  sailing  downriver  to  war  with  their  cannons and
          siege,   engines.  But  there  are  more  terrible  weapons  let loose
          in  the world."
             "Let  me  kill  him, "  Urthank said.
         The  baby  had  caught  at  the  Constable's  thumb,  although
       he  could  not  close  his  fingers  around  it.  He  grimaced,   as if
       trying  to  smile,   but  blew  a  saliva  bubble instead.
         The  Constable  gently  disengaged  the  baby's  grip  and set
       him  on  the  button  cushion  at  the  stem.  He  moved  carefully,  as
       if  through  air  packed  with  invisible  boxes,   aware  of Urthank's
       burning  gaze  at  his  back.  He  turned  and  said,   "Let  the man
       
speak.  He  might  know something."
         The  trader  said,   "The  bureaucrats  are  trying  to  wake the
       Hierarchs  from  their  reveries.  Some  say  by  science,   some by
       witchery.  The  bureaucrats  are  so  frightened  of  heresy consuming
         our  world  that  they  try  anything  to  prevent it."
         Unthank  spat.  "The  Hierarchs  are  all  ten  thousand years
       dead.  Everyone  knows  that.  They  were  killed  when  the Insurrectionists
         threw  down  the  temples  and  destroyed  most of
       the  avatars. "
      I  "The  Hierarchs  tried  to  follow  the  Preservers, "  the trader
       said.  "They  rose  higher  than  any  other  bloodline,   but  not so
       high  that  they  cannot  be  called back."
         The  Constable  kicked  the  man  and  said  roughly,  "Enough
       theology.  Is  this  one  of  their servants?"
         "Ys  is  large,   and  contains  a  multitude  of  wonders,   but I've
       never  seen  anything  like  this.  Most  likely  it  is  a  foul creature
       manufactured  by  the  forbidden  arts.  Those  trying  to forge
       such  weapons  have  become  more  corrupt  than  the heretics.
       Destroy  it!  Return  the  baby  and  sink  the boaW'
         "Why  should  I  believe you?"
         "'I'm  a  bad  man.  I  admit  it.  I'd  sell  any  one  of  my daughters
         if  I  could  be  sure  of  a  good  profit.  But  I  studied  for a
       clerkship  when  I  was  a  boy,   and  I  was  taught  well.  I remember
         my  lessons,   and  I  know  that  the  existence  of  this thing
       is  against  the  word  of  the Preservers."
         Urthank  said  slowly,   "We  should  put  the  baby  back. It
       isn't  our business."
         "All  on  the  river  within  a  day's  voyage  is  my business, "
       
the  Constable said.
         "You  don't  know  everything, "  Urthank  said.  "You just
       think  you do."
         The  Constable  knew  then  that  this  was  the  moment poor
       Urthank  had  chosen.  So  did  Unthank,   who  subtly  shifted on









         the  thwart  so  that  he  was  no  longer  shoulder  to  shoulder with
         his  brother.  The  Constable  met  Urthank's  stare  and said, 
         "Keep  your  place,  boy."
            There  was  a  moment  when  it  seemed  that  Urthank would
         not  attack.  Then  he  inflated  his  chest  and  let  out  the  air with
         a  roar  and,   roaring,   threw  himself  at  his father.
            The  whip  caught  around  Urthank's  neck  with  a  sharp crack
         that  echoed  out  across  the  black  water.  Urthank  fell  to his
         knees  and  grabbed  hold  of  the  whip  as  its  loop tightened
         under  the  slack  flesh  of  his  chin.  The  Constable  gripped the
         whip's  stock  with  both  hands  and  jerked  it  sideways  as  if he
         held  a  line  which  a  huge  fish  had  suddenly  struck.  The skiff
         tipped  wildly  and  Urthank  tumbled  headfirst  into  the glowing
         water.  But  the  boy  did  not  let  go  of  the  whip.  He  was stupid, 
         but  he  was  also  stubborn.  The  Constable  staggered,  dropped
         the  whip-it  hissed  over  the  side  like  a  snake-and  fell overboard
          too.
            The  Constable  kicked  off  his  loose,   knee-high  boots  as he
         plunged  down  through  the  cold  water,   kicked  out  again for
         the  surface.  Something  grabbed  the  hem  of  his  kilt,   and then
         Urthank  was  trying  to  swarm  up  his  body.  Light  exploded in
         the  Constable's  eye  as  his  son's  hard  elbow  hit  his face.
         They  thrashed  through  glowing  water  and  burst  into  the air, 
         separated  by  no  more  than  an  arm's length.
            
The  Constable  spat  a  mouthful  of  water  and gasped, 
         "You're  too  quick  to  anger,   my  son.  That  was  always your
        weakness."
            He  saw  the  shadow  of  Urthank's  arm  sweep  through the
         milky  glow,   and  countered  the  thrust  with  his  own  knife. The
         blades  clashed  and  slid  along  each  other,   locking  at  their hilts.
         Urthank  growled  and  pressed  down.  He  was  very  strong. The
         Constable  felt  a  terrific  pain  as  his  knife  was  twisted from
         his  grasp  and  Urthank's  blade  buried  its  point  in  his forearm.
         He  kicked  backward  in  the  water  as  Urthank  slashed  at his
         face;  spray  flew  in  a  wide fan.
            "Old, "  Urthank  said.  "Old  and slow."
            The  Constable  steadied  himself  with  little  circling kicks.
         He  could  feel  his  hot  blood  pulsing  into  the  water; Urthank
         had  caught  a  vein.  There  was  a  heaviness  in  his  bones; the
      wound  on  his  shoulder  throbbed.  He  knew  that  Urthank was
      right,   but  he  also  knew  that  he  was  not  prepared  to die.
         He  said,   "Come  to  me,   son,   and  find  out  who is
     strongest."
         Urthank  grinned,   freeing  his  tusks  from  his  lips.  He kicked
      forward,   driving  through  the  water  with  his  knife  held out
      straight,   trying  for  a  killing  blow.  But  the  water  slowed him
      as  the  Constable  had  known  it  would,   and  the Constable
      kicked  sideways,   always  just  out  of  reach,   while Urthank
      stabbed  wildly,   sobbing  curses  and  uselessly  spending his
      strength.  Father  and  son  circled  each  other.  In  the periphery
      of  his  vision,   the  Constable  was  aware  that  the  white boat, 
      had  separated  from  the  skiff,   but  he  could  spare  no thought
      for  it  as  he  avoided  Urthank's  next onslaught.
         At  last  Urthank  stopped,   paddling  to  keep  in  one  place 
and
      gasping heavily.
         "Strength  isn't  everything, "  the  Constable observed.
      "Come  to  me,   son.  I'll  grant  you  a  quick  release  and no
     shame."
         "Surrender,   old  man,   and  I'll  give  you  an  honorable burial
      on  land.  Or  I'll  kill  you  here  and  let  the  little  fishes strip
      your bones."
         "0  Urthank,   how  disappointed  I  am!  You're  no  son of
      mine  after all!"
         Urthank  lunged  with  a  sudden,   desperate  fury,   and  the Constable
        punched  precisely,   hitting  the  boy's  elbow  where the
      nerve  traveled  over  the  bone.  Urthank's  fingers  opened in
      reflex  and  his  knife  fluttered  away  through  the  water. He
      dove  for  it  without  thinking,   and  the  Constable  bore  down on
      him  with  all  his  weight,   enduring  increasingly  feeble  blows to
      his  chest  and  belly  and  legs.  It  took  a  long  time,   but  at last
      he  let  go  and  Urthank's  body  floated  free,   facedown  in the
      glowing water.
         "You  were  the  strongest  of  my  sons, "  the  Constable said
      when  he  had  his  breath  back.  "You  were  faithful  after your
      fashion,   but  you  never  had  a  good  thought  in  your  head. If
      you  had  killed  me  and  taken  my  wives,   someone  else would
      have  killed  you  in  a year."
         Unthank  paddled  the  skiff  over  and  helped  his  father clamber
        into  the  well,   The  white  boat  was  a  dozen oar-lengths









         off,  glimmering   against  the  dark.  The  skinny  trader whose
         tongue  the  Constable  had  cut  out  lay  facedown  in the
         bilgewater,   drowned  in  his  own  blood.  His  partner  was gone.
         Unthank  shrugged,   and  said  that  the  man  had  slipped over
         the side.
            "You  should  have  brought  him  back.  He  was  bound hand
         and  foot.  A  big  boy  like  you  should  have  had  no trouble."
            Unthank  returned  the  Constable's  gaze  and  said  simply,  "I
         was  watching  your  victory,  father."
            "No,   you're  not  ready  yet,   are  you?  You're  waiting for
         the  right  moment.  You're  a  subtle  one,   Unthank.  Not like
         your brother."
            "He  won't  have  got  far.  The  prisoner,   I mean.'
            "Did  you  kill him?"
            "Probably  drowned  by  now.  Like  you  said,   he  was bound
         hand  and foot."
            "Help  me  with  your brother."
            Together,   father  and  son  hauled  Urthank's  body  into the
         skiff.  The  milky  glow  was  fading  out  of  the  water.  After the
         Constable  had  settled  Urthank's  body,   he  turned  and  saw that
         the  white  boat  had  vanished.  The  skiff  was  alone  on  the wide
         dark  river,   beneath  the  black  sky  and  the  smudged  red whorl
         of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  Under  the  arm  of  the  tiller,  on
         the  leather  pad  of  the  button  cushion,   the  baby  grabbed at
         black  air  with  pale  starfish  hands,   chuckling  at unguessable
        thoughts.
                                               THE ANCHORITE.

0  N  I  I  V  I  N  I  N  G  E  A  R  I  Y  in  spring,   with  the  wheel  of  the Galaxy
     tilted  waist-deep  at  the  level  horizon  of  the  Great River, 
     Yama  eased  open  the  shutters  of  the  window  of  his room
     , and  stepped  out  onto  the  broad  ledge.  Any  soldier looking
     up  from  the  courtyard  would  have  seen,   by  the  Galaxy's bluewhite
       light,   a  sturdy  boy  of  some  seventeen  years  on the
     ledge  beneath  the  overhang  of  the  red  tile  roof,   and recognized
       the  long-boned  build,   pale  sharp  face  and  cap  of black
     hair  of  the  Aedile's  foundling  son.  But  Yama  knew  that Sergeant
       Rhodean  had  taken  most  of  the  garrison  of  the peelhouse
       on  patrol  through  the  winding  paths  of  the  City  of the
     Dead,   searching  for  the  heretics  who  last  night  had  tried to
     firebomb  a  ship  at  anchor  in  the  floating  harbor.  Further,  three
     men  were  standing  guard  over  the  laborers  at  the Aedile's
     excavations,   leaving  only  the  pack  of  watchdogs  and  a pentad
     of  callow  youths  under  the  command  of  old  one-legged Rotwang
     ,   who  by  now  would  have  finished  his  nightly  bottle of
     brandy  and  be  snoring  in  his  chair  by  the  kitchen  fire. With
     the  garrison  so  reduced  there  was  little  chance  that  any of
     the  soldiers  would  leave  the  warm  fug  of  the  guardroom to
     patrol  the  gardens,   and  Yama  knew  that  he  could persuade
     the  watchdogs  to  allow  him  to  pass unreported.









             It  was  an  opportunity  for  adventure  too  good  to  be missed.
           Yama  was  going  to  hunt  frogs  with  the  chandler's daughter, 
           Derev,   and  Ananda,   the  sizar  of  the  priest  of  Aeolis's temple.
           They  had  agreed  on  it  that  afternoon,   using  mirror talk.
             The  original  walls  of  the  Aedile's  peel-house  were  built of
           smooth  blocks  of  keelrock  fitted  together  so  cunningly that
           they  presented  a  surface  like  polished  ice,   but  at  some point
           in  the  house's  history  an  extra  floor  had  been  added,   with a
           wide  gutter  ledge  and  gargoyles  projecting  into  the  air at
           intervals  to  spout  water  clear  of  the  walls.  Yama walked
           along  the  ledge  as  easily  as  if  on  a  pavement,   turned  a corner, 
           hooked  his  rope  around  the  eroded  ruff  of  a  basilisk frozen
           in  an  agonized  howl,   and  abseiled  five  stories  to  the ground.
           He  would  have  to  leave  the  rope  in  place,   but  it  was a
           small risk.
             No  one  was  about.  He  darted  across  the  wide,   mossy lawn, 
           jumped  the  ha-ha  and  quickly  and  silently  threaded familiar
           paths  through  the  dense  stands  of  rhododendrons  which had
           colonized  the  tumbled  ruins  of  the  ramparts  of  the peelhouse's
             outer  defensive  wall.  Yama  had  played  endless games
           of  soldiers  and  heretics  with  the  kitchen  boys  here,   and knew
           every  path,   every  outcrop  of  ruined  wall,   all  the  holes  
in the
           ground  which  had  once  been  guard  rooms  or  stores  and the
           buried  passages  between  them.  He  stopped  beneath  a mature
           cork-oak,   looked  around,   then  lifted  up  a  mossy  stone to
           reveal  a  deep  hole  lined  with  stones  and  sealed  with polymer
           spray.  He  pulled  out  a  net  bag  and  a  long  slender trident
           from  this  hiding  place,   then  replaced  the  stone  and  hung the
           bag  on  his  belt  and  laid  the  trident  across  his shoulders.
             At  the  edge  of  the  stands  of  rhododendrons,   the ground
           dropped  away  steeply  in  an  overgrown  demilune breastwork
           to  a  barrens  of  tussock  grass  and  scrub.  Beyond  was the
           patchwork  of  newly  flooded  paeonin  fields  on  either  side of
           the  winding  course  of  the  Breas,   and  then  low  ranges  of hills
           crowded  with  monuments  and  tombs,   caims  and  cists: league
           upon  league  of  the  City  of  the  Dead  stretching  to  the foothills
           of  the  Rim  Mountains,   its  inhabitants  outnumbered  the living
           citizens  of  Aeolis  by  a  thousand  to  one.  The  tombs glimmered
           in  the  cold  light  of  the  Galaxy,   as  if  the  hills  had  been dusted
     with  salt,   and  little  lights  flickered  here  and  there,  where
     memorial  tablets  had  been  triggered  by  passing animals.
        Yama  took  out  a  slim  silver  whistle  twice  the  length of
     his  forefinger  and  blew  on  it.  It  seemed  to  make  no more
     than  a  breathy  squeak.  Yama  blew  three  more  times,  then
     stuck  his  trident  in  the  deep,   soft  leaf  mold  and  squatted on
     his  heels  and,   listened  to  the  peeping  chorus  of  frogs that
     
stitched  the  night.  The  frogs  had  emerged  from  their mucus
     cocoons  a  few  weeks  ago.  They  had  been  frantically feeding
     ever  since,   and  now  they  were  searching  for  mates,  every
     male  endeavoring  to  outdo  his  rivals  with  passionate froggy
     arias.  Dopey  with  unrequited  lust,   they  would  be  easy prey.
        Behind  Yama,   the  peel-house  reared  above  the rhododendrons
     ,   lifting  its  freight  of  turrets  against  the  Galaxy's bluewhite
       wheel.  A  warm  yellow  light  glowed  near  the  top of
     the  tall  watchtower,   where  the  Aedile,   who  had  rarely slept
     since  the  news  of  Telmon's  death  last  surnmer,   would be
     working  on  his  endless  measurements  and calculations.
        Presently,   Yama  heard  what  he  had  been  waiting  for,  the
     steady  padding  tread  and  faint  sibilant  breath  of  a watchdog.
     He  called  softly,   and  the  strong,   ugly  creature  trotted  out of
     the  bushes  and  laid  its  heavy  head  in  his  lap.  Yama crooned
     to  it,   stroking  its  cropped  ears  and  scratching  the  ridged line
     where  flesh  met  the  metal  of  its  skullplate,   lulling  the machine
       part  of  the  watchdog  and,   through  its  link,   the  rest of
     the  pack.  When  he  was  satisfied  that  it  understood  it  was not
     to  raise  the  alarm  either  now  or  when  he  returned,  Yama
     stood  and  wiped  the  dog's  drool  from  his  hands,   plucked up
     his  trident,   and  bounded  away  down  the  steep  slope  of the
     breastwork  toward  the  barren  ruins  and  the  flooded fields
    beyond.
        Ananda  and  Derev  were  waiting  at  the  edge  of  the ruins.
     Tall,   graceful  Derev  jumped  down  from  her  perch halfway
     up  a  broken  wall  cloaked  in  morning  glory,   and half-floated, 
     half-ran  across  overgrown  flagstones  to  embrace  Yama. Ananda
       kept  his  seat  on  a  fallen  stele,   eating  ghostberries he
     had  picked  along  the  way  and  pretending  to  ignore  the embracing
       lovers.  He  was  a  plump  boy  with  dark  skin  and a
     bare,   tubercled  scalp,   wearing  the  orange  robe  of  his office.
        
"I  brought  the  lantern, "  Ananda  said  at  last,   and  held it









           up.  It  was  a  little  brass  signal  lantern,   with  a  slide  and  a lens
           to  focus  the  light  of  its  wick.  The  plan  was  to  use  it to
           mesmerize  their prey.
             Derev  and  Yama  broke  from  their  embrace  and Ananda
           added,   "I  saw  your  soldiers  march  out  along  the  old road
           this  noon,   brother  Yama.  Everyone  in  the  town  says they're
           after  the  heretics  who  tried  to  set  fire  to  the  floating harbor."
             "if  there  are  heretics  within  a  day's  march,   Sergeant Rhodean
             will  find  them, "  Yama said.
             "Perhaps  they're  still  hiding  here, "  Derev  said.  Her neck
           seemed  to  elongate  as  she  turned  her  head  this  way  and that
           to  peer  into  the  darkness  around  the  ruins.  Her  feathery hair
           was  brushed  back  from  her  shaven  forehead  and  hung  to the
           small  of  her  back.  She  wore  a  belted  shift  that  left  her long, 
           slim  legs  bare.  A  trident  was  slung  over  her  left shoulder.
           She  hugged  Yama  and  said,   "Suppose  we  found them!
           Wouldn't  that  be exciting?"
             Yama  said,   "If  they  are  stupid  enough  to  remain  near the
           place  they  have  just  attacked,   then  they  would  be  easy to
           capture.  We  would  need  only  to  threaten  them  with  our frogstickers
             to  force  their surrender."
             "My  father  says  they  make  their  women  lie  with animals
           
to  create  monstrous warriors."
             Ananda  spat  seeds  and  said,   "Her  father  promised  to pay
           a  good  copper  penny  for  every  ten  frogs  we catch."
             "Derev's  father  has  a  price  for  everything, "  Yama said, 
          smiling.
             Derev  smiled  too-Yama  felt  it  against  his  cheek.  She said, 
           "My  father  also  said  I  should  be  back  before  the Galaxy
           sets.  He  only  allowed  me  to  come  here  because  I  told him
           that  one  of  the  Aedile's  soldiers  would  be  guarding us."
             Derev's  father  was  very  tall  and  very  thin  and habitually
           dressed  in  black,   and  walked  with  his  head,   hunched  into his
           shoulders  and  his  white  hands  clasped  behind  him.  From the
           back  he  looked  like  one  of  the  night  storks  that  picked over
           the  city's  rubbish  pits.  He  was  invariably  accompanied by
           his  burly  bodyservant;  he  was  scared  of  footpads  and the
           casual  violence  of  sailors,   and  of  kidnapping.  The  latter was
           a  real  threat,   as  his  family  was  the  only  one  of  its bloodline
           in  Aeolis.  He  was  disliked  within  the  tight-knit  trading corn-
     munity  because  he  bought  favors  rather  than  earned them, 
     and  Yama  knew  that  Derev  was  allowed  to  see  him only
     because  Derev's  father  believed  it  brought  him  closer  to the
    Aedile.
        Ananda  said,   "The  soldier  would  be  guarding something
     more  important  than  your  life,   although,   like  life,   once taken
     
it  cannot  be  given  back.  But  perhaps  you  no  longer  have it, 
     which  is  why  the  soldier  is  not here."
        Yama  whispered  to  Derev,   "You  should  not  believe everything
       your  father  says, "  and  told  Ananda,   "You  dwell too
     much  on  things  of  the  flesh.  It  does  no  good  to  brood on
     that  which  you  cannot  have.  Give  me  some berries."
        Ananda  held  out  a  handful.  "You  only  had  to  ask, " he
     said mildly.
        Yama  burst  a  ghostberry  between  his  tongue  and  palate: the
     rough  skin  shockingly  tart,   the  pulpy  seed-rich  flesh meltingly
     sweet.  He  grinned  and  said,   "It  is  spring.  We  could  stay out
     all  night,   then  go  fishing  at dawn."
        Derev  said,   "My father-"
        "Your  father  would  ay  more  for  fresh  fish  than for
                              p
    frogs."
        "He  buys  all  the  fish  he  can  sell  from  the  fisherfolk,  and
     the  amount  he  can  buy  is  limited  by  the  price  of salt."
        Ananda  said,   "It's  traditional  to  hunt  frogs  in  spring,  which
    is  why  we're  here.  Derev's  father  wouldn't  thank  you for
     making  her  into  a fisherman."
        "If  I  don't  get  back  before  midnight  he'll  lock  me up, "
     Derev  said.  "I  will  never  see  you again."
        Yama  smiled.  "You  know  that  is  not  true.  Otherwise your
     father  would  never  have  let  you  out  in  the  first place."
        "There  should  be  a  soldier  here, "  Derev  said. "We're
     none  of  us armed."
        "The  heretics  are  leagues  away.  And  I  will  protect you, 
    Derev.Derev
          brandished  her  trident,   as  fierce  and  lovely  as a
     naiad.  "We're  equally  matched,   I think."
        "I  cannot  stay  out  all  night  either, "  Ananda  said. "Father
     
Quine  rises  an  hour  before  sunrise,   and  before  then  I must
     sweep  the  naos  and  light  the  candles  in  the votary."









                "No  one  will  come, "  Yama  said.  "No  one  ever  does any
            more,   except  on  high days."
                "That's  not  the  point.  The  avatars  may  have  been silenced, 
           but  the  Preservers  are  still there."
                "They  will  be  there  whether  you  light  the  candles  or not.
            Stay  with  me,   Ananda.  Forget  your  duties  for once."
                Ananda  shrugged.  "I  happen  to  believe  in  my duties."
                Yama  said,   "You  are  scared  of  the  beating  you  will get
            from  Father Quine."
                "Well,   that's  true,   too.  For  a  holy  man,   he  has  a fearsome
            temper  and  a  strong  arm.  You're  lucky,   Yama.  The Aedile
            is  a  kindly,   scholarly man."
                "If  he  is  angry  with  me,   he  has  Sergeant  Rhodean beat
            me.  And  if  he  learns  that  I  have  left  the  peel-house  at night, 
            that  is  just  what  will  happen.  That  is  why  I  did  not  bring a
            soldier  with me."
                "My  father  says  that  physical  punishment  is barbaric, "
            Derev said.
                "It  is  not  so  bad, "  Yama  said.  "And  at  least  you know
            when  it  is over."
                "The  Aedile  sent  for  Father  Quine  yesterday, " Ananda
            said.  He  crammed  the  last  of  the  ghostberries  into  his mouth
            and  got  to  his  feet.  Berry  juice  stained  his  lips;  they looked
            
black  in  the  Galaxy's  blue-white light.
                Yama  said  unhappily,   "My  father  is  wondering  what to
            do  with  me.  He  has  been  talking.  about  finding  a clerkship
            for  me  in  a  safe  corner  of  the  department.  I  think  that  is why
            Dr.  Dismas  went  to  Ys.  But  I  do  not  want  to  be  a clerk-1
            would  rather  be  a  priest.  At  least  I  would  get  to  see something
            of  the world."
                "You're  too  old, "  Ananda  said  equitably.  "My parents
            consecrated  me  a  hundred  days  after  my  birth.  And besides
            being  too  old,   you  are  also  too  full  of  sin.  You  spy  on your
            poor  father,   and steal."
                "And  sneak  out  after  dark, "  Derev said.
                :'So  has Ananda."
                'But  not  to  fornicate, "  Ananda  said.  "Derev's father
            knows  that  I'm  here,   so  I'm  as  much  a  chaperon  as any
            soldier,   although  more  easily bribed."
       Derev  said,   "Oh,   Ananda,   we  really  are  here  to  hunt for
    frogs."
       Ananda  added,   "And  I  will  confess  my  sin  tomorrow,  before
       the shrine."
       "As  if  the  Preservers  care  about  your  small  sins, " Yama
    said.
       "You're  too  proud  to  be  a  priest, "  Ananda  said. "Above
     all,   you're  too  proud.  Come  and  pray  with  me. Unburden
    yourself."
       Yama  said,   "Well,   I  would  rather  be  a  priest  than  a clerk, 
     but  most  of  all  I  would  rather  be  a  soldier.  I  will  run away
     and  enlist.  I  will  train  as  an  officer,   and  lead  a  company 
of
     myrmidons  or  command  a  corvette  into  battle  against the
     heretics. "
       Ananda  said,   "That's  why  your  father  wants  you  to be
     a  clerk. "
       Derev  said,  "Listen."
       The  two  boys  turned  to  look  at  where  she  pointed.  Far out
     across  the  flooded  fields,   a  point  of  intense  turquoise light
     was  moving  through  the  dark,   air  toward  the  Great River.
       "A  machine, "  Yama said.
       "So  it  is, "  Derev  said,   "but  that  isn't  what  I  meant. I
     heard  someone  crying out."
       "Frogs  fornicating."  Ananda said.
       Yama  guessed  that  the  machine  was  half  a  league  off. It
     seemed  to  slide  at  an  angle  to  everything  else,   twinkling as
     if  stitching  a  path  between  the  world  and  its  own reality.
       He  said,   "We  should  make  a wish."
       Ananda  smiled,   "I'll  pretend  you  didn't  say  that,  brother
     Yama.  Such  superstitions  are  unworthy  of  someone  as educated
       as you."
       Derev  said,   "Besides,   you  should  never  make  a  wish in
     case  it  is  answered,   like  the  story  of  the  old  man  and  the fox
     maiden.  I  know  I  heard  something.  It  may  be  heretics. Or
     bandits.  Quiet! Listen!"
       Ananda  said,   "I  hear  nothing,   Derev.  Perhaps  your heart
     is  beating  so  quickly  it  cries  out  for  relief.  I  know  I'm  a poor
     priest,   Yama,   but  one  thing  I  know  is  true.  The Preservers
     see  all;  there  is  no  need  to  invoke  them  by  calling upon
     their servants."
L









               Yama  shrugged.  There  was  no  point  debating  such niceties
            with  Ananda,   who  had  been  trained  in  theology  since birth, 
            but  why  shouldn't  machines  at  least  hear  the  wishes  of those
            they  passed  by?  Wishing  was  only  an  informal  kind  of praying
            ,   after  all,   and  surely  prayers  were  heard,   and sometimes
            even  answered.  For  if  praying  did  not  bring  reward,  then
            people  would  long  ago  have  abandoned  the  habit  of prayer, 
            as  farmers  abandon  land  which  no  longer  yields  a  crop. The
            priests  taught  that  the  Preservers  heard  and  saw  all,   yet chose
            not  to  act  because  they  did  not  wish  to  invalidate  the free
            will  of  their  creations;  but  machines  were  as  much  a  part of
            the  world  which  the  Preservers  had  created  as  the Shaped
            bloodlines,   although  of  a  higher  order.  Even  if  the Preservers
            had  withdrawn  their  blessing  from  the  world  after  the affront
            of  the  Age  of  Insurrection,   as  the  divaricationists  believed,  it
            was  still  possible  that  machines,   their  epigones,   might recognize
              the  justice  of  answering  a  particular  wish,   and intercede.
            After  all,   those  avatars  of  the  Preservers  which  had survived
            the  Age  of  Insurrection  had  spoken  with  men  as  recently as
            forty  years  ago,   before  the  heretics  had  finally  silenced them.
               
In  any  event,   better  the  chance  taken  than  that  lost and
            later  regretted.  Yama  closed  his  eyes  and  offered  up  the quick
            wish,   hostage  to  the  future,   that  he  be  made  a  soldier and
            not  a clerk.
               Ananda  said,   "You  might  as  well  wish  upon  a star."
               Derev  said,   "Quiet!  I  heard  it again!"
               And  Yama  heard  it  too,   faint  but  unmistakable  above the
            frogs'  incessant  chorus.  A  man's  angry  wordless  yell,  and
            then  the  sound  of  jeering  voices  and  coarse laughter.
               Yama  led  the  others  through  the  overgrown  ruins. Ananda
            padded  right  behind  him  with  his  robe  tucked  into  his girdie--4he
              better  to  run  away  if  there  was  trouble,   he said, 
            although  Yama  knew  that  he  would  not  run.  Derev would
            not  run  away  either;  she  held  her  trident  like  a javelin.
               One  of  the  old  roads  ran  alongside  the  fields.  Its ceramic
            surface  had  been  stripped  and  smelted  for  the  metals  it had
            contained  thousands  of  years  ago,   but  the  long  straight track
     preserved  its  geodesic  ideal.  At  the  crux  between  the  old road
     and  a  footpath  that  led  across  the  embankment  between two
     of  the  flooded  fields,   by  a  simple  shrine  set  on  a wooden
     post,   the  Constable's  twin  sons,   Lud  and  Lob,   had ambushed
     an anchorite.
        The  man  stood  with  his  back  to  the  shrine,   brandishing his
     staff.  Its  metal-shod  point  flicked  back  and  forth  like  a watchful
       eye.  Lud  and  Lob  yelled  and  threw  stones  and  clods of
     dirt  at  the  anchorite  but  stayed  out  of  the  staff's striking
     
range.  The  twins  were  swaggering  bullies  who  believed that
     they  ruled  the  children  of  the  town.  Most  especially,  they
     picked  on  those  few  children  of  bloodlines  not  their own.
     Yama  had  been  chased  by  them  a  decad  ago,   when  he had
     been  returning  to  the  peel-house  after  visiting  Derev,   but he
     had  easily  lost  them  in  the  ruins  outside  the town.
        "We'll  find  you  later,   little  fish, "  they  had  shouted cheerfully
     .  They  had  been  drinking,   and  one  of  them  had slapped
     his  head  with  the  empty  bladder  and  cut  a  clumsy  little dance.
     "We  always  finish  our  business, "  he  had  shouted. "Little
     fish,   little  fish,   come  out  now.  Be  like  a man."
        Yama  had  chosen  to  stay  hidden.  Lud  and  Lob had
     scrawled  their  sign  on  a  crumbling.  wall  and  pissed  at its
     base,   but  after  beating  about  the  bushes  in  a  desultory fashion
     they  had  gown  bored  and  wandered off.
        Now,   crouching  with  Derev  and  Ananda  in  a  thicket of
     chayote  vine,   Yama  wondered  what  he  should  do.  The anchorite
       was  a  tall  man  with  a  wild  black  mane  and  wilder beard.
     He  was  barefoot,   and  dressed  in  a  crudely  stitched  robe of
     metallic-looking  cloth.  He  dodged  most  of  the  stones thrown
     at  him,   but  one  had  struck  him  on  the  head;  blood  ran down
     his  forehead  and  he  mechanically  wiped  it  from  his  eyes with
     his  wrist.  Sooner  or  later,   he  would  falter,   and  Lud  and Lob
     would pounce.
        Derev  whispered,   "We  should  fetch  the militia."
        "I  don't  think  it's  necessary, "  Ananda said.
        At  that  moment,   a  stone  struck  the  anchorite's  elbow and
     the  point  of  his  staff  dipped.  Roaring  with  glee,   Lob  and Lud
     ran  in  from  either  side  and  knocked  him  to  the  ground. The
     anchorite  surged  up,   throwing  one  of  the  twins  aside,   but the









             other  clung  to  his  back  and  the  second  knocked  the anchorite
             down again.
                Yama  said,   "Ananda,   come  out  when  I  call  your name.
             Derev,   you  set  up  a  diversion."  And  before  he  could think
             better  of  it  he  stepped  out  onto  the  road  and  shouted the
             twins' names.
                Lob  turned.  He  held  the  staff  in  both  hands,   as  if  about to
             break  it.  Lud  sat  on  the  anchorite's  back,   grinning  as he
             absorbed  the  man's  blows  to  his flanks.
                Yama  said,   "What  is  this,   Lob?  Are  you  and  your brother
             footpads now?"
                "Just  a  bit  of  fun,   little  fish, "  Lob  said.  He  whirled the
             staff  above  his  head.  It  whistled  in  the  dark air.
                :'We  saw  him  first, "  Lud added.
                'I  think  you  should  leave  him alone."
                :'Maybe  we'll  have  you  instead,   little fish."
                'We'll  have  him  all  right, "  Lud  said.  "That's  why we're
             here."  He  cuffed  the  anchorite.  "This  culler  got  in  the way
             of  what  we  set  out  to  do,   remember?  Grab  him,   brother,  and
             then  we  can  finish  this  bit  of fun."
                "You  will  have  to  deal  with  me",   and  with  Ananda,  too, "
             Yama  said.  He  did  not  look  around,   but  by  the  shift  in Lob's
             gaze  he  knew  that  Ananda  had  stepped  out  onto  the road
             
behind him.
                'The  priest's  runt,   eh?"  Ub  laughed,   and  farted tremendously.
                'Gaw, "  his  brother  said,   giggling  so  hard  his  triple chins
             quivered.  He  waved  a  hand  in  front  of  his  face.  "What a
            stink."
                "Bless  me  your  holiness, "  Lob  said,   leering  at Ananda, 
             and  farted again.
                :'Even  odds, "  Yama  said,  disgusted.
                'Stay  there,   little  fish, "  Lob  said.  "We'll  deal  with you
             when  we've  finished here."
                "You  wetbrain, "  Lud  said,   "we  deal  with  him first.
            Remember?"
                Yama  flung  his  flimsy  trident  then,   but  it  bounced uselessly
             off  Lob's  hide.  Lob  yawned,   showing  his  stout,   sharp tusks, 
             and  swept  the  staff  at  Yama's  head.  Yama  ducked,  then
             jumped  back  from  the  reverse  stroke.  The  staff's  metal tip
             cut  the  air  a  finger's  width  from  his  belly.  Lob  came on, 
     stepping  heavily  and  deliberately  and  sweeping  the  staff back
     and  forth,   but  Yama  easily  dodged  his  clumsily  aimed blows.
        "Fight  fair, "  Lob  said,   stopping  at  last.  He  was panting
     heavily.  "Stand  and  fight fair."
        Ananda  was  behind  Lob  now,   and  jabbed  at  his  legs with
     his  trident.  Enraged,   Lob  turned  and  swung  the  staff at
     Ananda,   and  Yama  stepped  forward  and  kicked  him  in the
     kneecap,   and  then  in  the  wrist.  Lob  howled  and  lost  his balance
     ,   and  Yama  grabbed  the  staff  when  it  clattered  to the
     ground.  He  reversed  it  and  jabbed  Lob  hard  in  the gut.
        
Lob  fell  to  his  knees  in  stages.  "Fight  fair, "  he gasped, 
     winded.  His  little  eyes  blinked  and  blinked  in  his corpulent
    face.
        "Fight  fair, "  Lud  echoed,   and  got  off  the  anchorite and
     pulled  a  knife  from  his  belt.  It  was  as  black  as  obsidian,  with
     a  narrow,   crooked  blade.  He  had  stolen  it  from  a  drunken sailor, 
     and  claimed  that  it  was  from  the  first  days  of  the  Age  of Enlightenrnent
       nearly  as  old  as  the  world.  "Fight  fair, "  Lud said
     again,   and  held  the  knife  beside  his  face  and grinned.
        Lob  threw  himself  forward  then,   and  wrapped  his arms
     around  Yama's  thighs.  Yama  hammered  at  Lob's  back with
     the  staff,   but  he  was  too  close  to  get  a  good  swing  at his
     opponent  and  he  tumbled  over  backward,   his  legs pinned
     beneath  Lob's weight.
        For  a  moment,   all  seemed  lost.  Then  Ananda  stepped forward
       and  swung  his  doubled  fist;  the  stone  he  held struck
     Ahe  side  of  Lob's  skull  with  the  sound  of  an  axe  sinking into
     wet  wood.  Lob  roared  with  pain  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  and
     Lud  roared  too,   and  brandished  his  knife.  Behind  him,   a tree
     burst  into flame.
        "It  was  all  I  could  think  of, "  Derev  said.  She  flapped her
     arms  about  her  slim  body.  She  was  shaking  with excitement.
     Ananda  ran  a  little  way  down  the  road  and  shouted  after the
     fleeing  twins,   a  high  ululant  wordless cry.
        Yama  said,   "It  was  well  done,   but  we  should  not mock
    them."
        "We  make  a  fine  crew, "  Ananda  said,   and  shouted again.









                 The  burning  tree  shed  sparks  upward  into  the  night,  brighter
              than  the  Galaxy.  Its  trunk  was  a  shadow  inside  a  roaring pillar
              of  hot  blue  flame.  Heat  and  light  beat  out  across  the  road. It
              was  a  young  sweetgurn  tree.  Derev  had  soaked  its  trunk with
              kerosene  from  the  lantern's  reservoir,   and  had  ignited  it with
              the  lantern's  flint  when  Lob  had  fallen  on Yama.
                 "Even  Lob  and  Lud  won't  forget  this, "  Derev  said gleefully.
                 "That  is  what  I  mean, "  Yama said.
                 "They'll  be  too  ashamed  to  try  anything.  Frightened by
              a  tree.  It's  too  funny,   Yama.  They'll  leave  us  alone from
              now  on. 11
                 Ananda  helped  the  anchorite  sit  up.  The  man  dabbed at
              the  blood  crusted  under  his  nose,   cautiously  bent  and unbent
              his  knees,   then  scrambled  to  his  feet.  Yama  held  out  the staff, 
              and  the  man  took  it  and  briefly  bowed  his  head  in thanks.
                 Yama  bowed  back,   and  the  man  grinned.  Something had
              seared  the  left  side  of  his  face;  a  web  of  silvery  scar tissue
              pulled  down  his  eye  and  lifted  the  corner  of  his  mouth. He
              was  so  dirty  that  the  grain  of  his  skin  looked  like embossed
              
leather.  The  metallic  cloth  of  his  robe  was  filthy,   too,  but
              here  and  there  patches  and  creases  reflected  the  light  of the
              burning  tree.  His  hair  was  tangled  in  ropes  around  his face, 
              and  bits  of  twig  were  caught  in  his  forked  beard.  He smelt
              powerfully  of  sweat  and  urine.  He  fixed  Yama  with  an intense
              gaze,   then  made  shapes  with  the  fingers  of  his  right hand
              against  the  palm  of  his left.
                 Ananda  said,   "He  wants  you  to  know  that  he  has been
              searching  for you."
                 "You  can  understand him?"
                 "We  used  hand  speech  like  this  in  the  seminary,   to talk
              to  each  other  during  breakfast  and  supper  when  we were
              supposed  to  be  listening  to  one  of  the  brothers  read  from the
              Puranas.  Some  anchorites  were  once  priests,   and  perhaps this
              is  such  a one."
                 The  man  shook  his  head  violently,   and  made  more shapes
              with  his fingers.
                 Ananda  said  uncertainly,   "He  says  that  he  is  glad  that he
              remembered  all  this.  I  think  he  must  mean  that  he  will always
              remember this."
                  Well, "  Derev  said,   "so  he  should.  We  saved  his life."
       The  anchorite  dug  inside  his  robe  and  pulled  out  a ceramic
     
disc.  It  was  attached  to  a  thong  looped  around  his  neck,  and
     he  lifted  the  thong  over  his  head  and  thrust  the  disc toward
     Yama,   then  made  more shapes.
       "You  are  the  one  who  is  to  come, "  Ananda translated.
       The  anchorite  shook  his  head  and  signed  furiously,  slamming
       his  fingers  against  his palm.
       "You  will  come  here  again.  Yama,   do  you  know what
     he means?"
       And  Derev  said,  "Listen!"
       Far  off,   whistles  sounded,   calling  and  answering  in the
    darkness.         i
       The  anchorite  thrust  the  ceramic  disc  into  Yama's  hand. He
     stared  into  Yama's  eyes  and  then  he  was  gone,   running out
     along  the  footpath  between  the  flooded  fields,   a  shadow dwindlmg
       against  cold  blue  light  reflected  ftorn  the  water,  gone.
       The  whistles  sounded  again.  "The  militia, "  Ananda said, 
     and  turned  and  ran  off  down  the  old road.
       Derev  and  Yama  chased  after  him,   but  he  soon outpaced
     them,   and  Yama  had  to  stop  to  catch  his  breath  before they
     reached  the  city wall.
       Derev  said,   "Ananda  won't  stop  running  until  he's thrown
     himself  into  his  bed.  And  even  then  he'll  run  in  his dreams
     until morning."
       Yama  was  bent  over,   clasping  his  knees.  He  had  a cramp
     in  his  side.  He  said,   "We  will  have  to  watch  out  for each
     other.  Lob  and  Lud  will  not  forgive  this  easily.  How  can you
     run  so  fast  and  so  far  without  getting  out  of breath?"
       Derev's  pale  face  glimmered  in  the  Galaxy's  light. She
     gave  him  a  sly  look.  "Flying  is  harder  work  than running."
       "If  you  can  fly,   I  would  love  to  see  it.  But  you  are teasing
     me again."
       "This  is  the  wrong  place  for  flying.  One  day,   perhaps,  I'll
     show  you  the  right  place,   but  it's  a  long  way  from here."
       
"Do  you  mean  the  edge  of  the  world?  I  used  to  dream that
     my  people  lived  on  the  floating  islands.  I  saw one---"
       Derev  suddenly  grabbed  Yama  and  pulled  him  into the
     long  grass  beside  the  track.  He  fell  on  top  of  her,  laughing, 
     but  she  put  her'hand  over  his  mouth.  "Listen!"  she said.
       Yama  raised  his  head,   but  heard  only  the  ordinary noises








             of  the  night.  He  was  aware  of  the  heat  of  Derev's  slim body
             pressing  against  his.  He  said,   "I  think  the  militia  have given
             up  their search."
               "No.  They're  coming  this way."
               Yama  rolled  over  and  parted  the  long  dry  grass  so  that he
             could  watch  the  track.  Presently  a  pentad  of  men  went past
             in  single  file.  None  of  them  were  of  the  bloodline  of the
             citizens  of  Aeolis.  They  were  armed  with  rifles  and arbalests.
               "Sailors, "  Yama  said,   when  he  was  sure  that  they  were gone.
               Derev  pressed  the  length  of  her  body  against  his. "How
             do  you know?"
               "They  were  strangers,   and  all  strangers  come  to  Aeolis by
             the  river,   either  as  sailors  or  passengers.  But  there  have been
             no  passenger  ships  since  the  war began."
               "They  are  gone  now,   whoever  they are."
               "Perhaps  they  were  looking  forthe anchorite."
               "He  was  crazy,   that  holy  man, but  we  did  the  right thing.
             Or  you  did.  I  could  not  have  stepped  out  and challenged
             those two."
               :'I  did  it  knowing  you  were  at  my back."
                'I'd  be  nowhere  else."  Derev  added  thoughtfully,  "He
             looked  like you."
               Yama laughed.
               "In  the  proportion  of  his  limbs,   and  the  shape  of  
his head.
             And  his  eyes  were  halved  by  folds  of  skin,   just  like yours."
               Derev  kissed  Yama's  eyes.  He  kissed  her  back. They
             kissed  for  a  long  time,   and  then  Derev  broke away.
               "You  aren't  alone  in  the  world,   Yama,   no  matter what
             you  believe.  It  shouldn't  surprise  you  to  find  one  of your
             own bloodline."
               But  Yama  had  been  looking  for  too  long  to  believe it
             would  be  that  easy.  "I  think  he  was  crazy.  I  wonder  why he
             gave  me this."
               Yama  pulled  the  ceramic  disc  from  the  pocket  of  his tunic.
             It  seemed  no  different  from  the  discs  the  Aedile's workmen
             turned  up  by  the  hundred  during  their  excavations: slick, 
             white,   slightly  too  large  to  fit  comfortably  in  his  palm. He
             held  it  up  so  that  it  faintly  reflected  the  light  of  the Galaxy, 
             and  saw  a  distant  light  in  the  crooked  tower  that  stood without
               the  old,   half-ruined  city wall.
               Dr.  Dismas  had  returned  from Ys.
                                                     DR. DISMAS.
0  R.  D  I  S  M  A  S'S 0 H  T-backed,   black-clad  figure  came  up  the dry, 
      stony  hillside  with  a  bustling,   crabbed  gait.  The  sun  was at
      the  height  of  its  daily  leap  into  the  sky,   and,   like  an aspect, 
      he  cast  no shadow.
        
The  Aedile,   standing  at  the  top  of  the  slope  by  the spoilheap
        of  his  latest  excavation  site,   watched  with  swelling expect.ation
        as  the  apothecary  drew  near.  The  Aedile  was tall
      and  stooped  and  graying,   with  a  diplomat's  air  of courteous
      reticence  which  many  mistook  for  absent-mindedness.  He was
      dressed  after  the  fashion  of  the  citizens  of  Aeolis,   in  a loosefitting
        white  tunic  and  a  linen  kilt.  His  knees  were swollen
      and  stiff  from  the  hours  he  had  spent  kneeling  on  a leather
      pad  brushing  away  dirt,   hairfine  layer  after  hairline layer, 
      from  a  ceramic  disc,   freeing  it  from  the  cerements  of  a hundred
        thousand  years  of  burial.  The  excavation  was  not going
      well  and  the  Aedile  had  grown  bored  with  it  before  it was
      halfway  done.  Despite  the  insistence  of  his  geomancer,  he
      was  convinced  that  nothing  of  interest  would  be  found. The
      crew  of  trained  diggers,   convicts  reprieved  from  army service, 
      had  caught  their  master's  mood  and  worked  at  a desultory
      pace  amongst  the  neatly  dug  trenches  and  pits,   dragging their
      chains  through  dry  white  dust  as  they  carried  baskets  of soil









           and  limestone  chippings  to  the  conical  spoil  heap.  A  drill rig
           taking  a  core  through  the  reef  of  land  coral  which  had overgrown
             the  hilltop  raised  a  plume  of  white  dust  that feathered
           off  into  the  blue sky.
              So  far,   the  excavation  had  uncovered  only  a  few potsherds, 
           the  corroded  traces  of  what  might  have  been  the  footings of
           a  watchtower,   and  the  inevitable  hoard  of  ceramic  discs. Although
             the  Aedile  had  no  idea  what  the  discs  had actually
           been  used  for  (most  scholars  of  Confluence's  early history
           believed  that  they  were  some  form  of  currency,   but  the Aedile
           thought  that  this  was  too  obvious  an  explanation),   he assiduously
             catalogued  every  one,   and  spent  hours  measuring the
           faint  grooves  and  pits  with  which  they  were  decorated. The
           Aedile  believed  in  measurement.  In  small  things  were the
           gauge  of  the  larger  world  which  contained  them,   and of
           worlds  without  end.  He  believed  that  all  measurements and
           constants  might  be  arithmetically  derived  from  a  single number
           ,   the  cypher  of  the  Preservers  which  could  unlock the
           secrets  of  the  world  they  had  made,   and  much else.
              But  here  was  Dr.  Dismas,   with  news  that  would determine
           the  fate  of  the  Aedile's  foundling  son.  The  pinnace  on which
           the  apothecary  had  returned  from  Ys  had  anchored beyond
           the  mouth  of  the  bay  two  days  before  (and  was anchored
           there  still),   and  Dr.  Dismas  had  been  rowed  ashore  last night, 
           but  the  Aedile  had  chosen  to  spend  the  day  at  his excavation
           
site  rather  than  wait  at  the  peel-house  for  Dr.  Dismas's call.
           Better  that  he  heard  the  news,   whatever  it  was,   before Yama.
              It  was  the  Aedile's  hope  that  Dr.  Dismas  had discovered
           the  truth  about  the  bloodline  of  his  adopted  son,   but  he did
           not  trust  the  man,   and  was  troubled  by  speculations  about the
           ways  in  which  Dr.  Dismas  might  misuse  his  findings.  It was
           Dr.  Dismas,   after  all,   who  had  proposed  that  he  take the
           opportunity  offered  by  his  summons  to  Ys  to  undertak6 research
             into  the  matter  of  Yama's  lineage.  That  this  trip had
           been  forced  upon  Dr.  Dismas  by  his  department,   and had
           been  entirely  funded  from  the  Aedile's  purse,   would  not reduce
             by  one  iota  the  obligation  which  Dr.  Dismas would
           surely  expect  the  Aedile  to express.
              Dr.  Dismas  disappeared  behind  the  tipped  white  cube of
           one  of  the  empty  tombs  which  were  scattered  beneath the
       brow  of  the  hill  like  beads  flung  from  a  broken necklacetombs
         of  the  dissolute  time  after  the  Age  of  Insurrection and
       the  last  to  be  built  in  the  City  of  the  Dead,   simple  boxes set
       at  the  edge  of  the  low,   rolling  hills,   crowded  with monaments
       ,   tombs  and  statues  of  the  ancient  necropolis. Presently, 
       Dr.  Dismas  reappeared  almost  at  the  Aedile's  feet  and labored
       up  the  last  hundred  paces  of  the  steep,   rough  path.  He was
       breathing  hard.  His  sharp-featured  face,   propped  amongst the
       high  wings  of  his  black  coat's  collar  and  shaded  by  a black, 
       broad-brimmed  hat,   was  sprinkled  with  sweat  in  which,  like
       
islands  in  the  slowly  shrinking  river,   the  plaques  of  his addiction
         stood isolated.
         "A  warm  day, "  the  Aedile  said  by  way  of greeting.
         Dr.  Dismas  took  out  a  lace  handkerchief  from  his sleeve
       and  fastidiously  dabbed  sweat  from  his  face.  "It  is  hot. Perhaps
         Confluence  tires  of  circling  the  sun  and  is  failing into
       it,   like  a  girl  tumbling  into  the  arms  of  her  lover. Perhaps
       we'll  be  consumed  by  the  fire  of  their passion."
         Usually,   Dr.  Dismas's  rhetorical  asides  amused  the Aedile, 
       but  this  wordplay  only  intensified  his  sense  of foreboding.
       He  said  mildly,   "I  trust  that  your  business  was successful, 
      doctor."
         Dr.  Dismas  dismissed  it  with  a  flick  of  his handkerchief, 
       like  a conjuror.
         "It  was  nothing.  Routine  puffed  up  with  pomp.  My department
         is  fond  of  pomp,   for  it  is,   after  all,   a  very  old department
       .  I am  ' returned,   my  Aedile,   to  serve,   if  I  may,  with
       renewed vigor.', 
         "I  had  never  thought  to  withdraw  that  duty  from  you,  my
       dear doctor.
         "You  are  too  kind.  And  more  generous  than  the miserable
       termagants  who  nest  amongst  the  dusty  ledgers  of  my department
       ,   and  do  nothing  but  magnify  rumor  into fact."
         Dr.  Dismas  had  turned  to  gaze,   like  a  conqueror,  across
       the  dry  slope  of  the  hill  and  its  scattering  of abandoned
       tombs,   the  patchwork  of  flooded  fields  along  the  Breas and
       the  tumbled  ruins  and  cluster  of  roofs  of  Aeolis  at  its mouth, 
       the  long  finger  of  the  new  quay  pointing  across  banks of
       green  mud  toward  the  Great  River,   which  stretched away, 
       shining  like  polished  silver,   to  a  misty  union  of  water and









         air.  Now  he  stuck  a  cigarette  in  his  holder  (carved,   he liked
         to  say,   from  the  finger-bone  of  a  multiple  murderer;  he cultivated
           a  sense  of  the  macabre),   lit  it  and  drew  deeply,  holding
         his  breath  for  a  count  of  ten  before  blowing  a  riffle  of smoke
         through  his  nostrils  with  a  satisfied sigh.
           Dr.  Dismas  was  the  apothecary  of  Aeolis,   hired  a  year ago
         by  the  same  council  which  regulated  the  militia.  He  had been
         summoned  to  Ys  to  account  for  several  lapses  since  he had
         taken  up  his  position.  He  was  said,   to  have  substituted glass
         powder  for  the  expensive  suspensions  of  tiny  machines which
         cured  river  blindness--and  certainly  there  had  been more
         cases  of  river  blindness  the  previous  summer,   although the
         Aedile  attributed  this  to  the  greater  numbers  of  biting flies
         which  bred  in  the  algae  which  choked  the  mud  banks  of the
         former  harbor.  More  seriously,   Dr.  Dismas  was  said  to have
         peddled  his  treatments  amongst  the  fisherfolk  and  the hill
         tribes,   making  extravagant  claims  that  he  could  cure cankers, 
         blood  cough  and  mental  illness,   and  halt  or  even reverse
         aging.  There  were  rumors,   too,   that  he  had  made  or grown
         chimeras  of  children  and  beasts,   and  that  he  had kidnapped
         a  child  from  one  of  the  hill  tribes  and  used  its  blood and
         perfusions  of  its  organs  to  treat  one  of  the  members  of the
         Council  for  Night  and Shrines.
           The  Aedile  had  dismissed  all  of  these  allegations  as fantasies
         ,   but  then  a  boy  had  died  after  blood-letting,   and the
         
parents,   mid-caste  chandlers,   had  lodged  a  formal protest.
         The  Aedile  had  had  to  sign  it.  A  field  investigator  of the
         Department  of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons  had  arrived a
         hundred  days  ago,   but  quickly  left  in  some  confusion,  It
         seemed  that  Dr.  Dismas  had  threatened  to  kill  him  when he
         had  tried  to  force  an  interview.  And  then  the  formal summons
         had  arrived,   which  the  Aedile  had  had  to  read  out  to Dr.
         Dismas  in  front  of  the  Council  of  Night  and  Shrines. The
         doctor  had  been  commanded  to  return  to  Ys  for  formal admonishment
         ,   both  for  his  drug  habit  and  (as  the document
         delicately  put  it)  for  certain  professional  lapses.  The Aedile
         had  been  informed  that  Dr.  Dismas  had  been  placed  on probation
         ,   although  from  the  doctor's  manner  he  might  have won
F1       a  considerable  victory  rather  than  a reprieve.
            The  apothecary  drew  deeply  on  his  cigarette  and said, 
      "The  river  voyage  was  a  trial  in  itself  It  made  me  so febrile
      that  I  had  to  lay  in  bed  on  the  pinnace  for  a  day  after it
      anchored  before  I  was  strong  enough  to  be  taken  ashore. I
      am  still  not  quite recovered."
         "Quite,   quite, "  the  Aedile  said.  "I  am  sure  you  came here
      as  soon  as  you could."
         But  he  did  not  believe  it  for  a  moment.  The apothecary
      was  up  to  something,   no  doubt  about it.
         "You  have  been  working  with  those  convicts  of yours
      again.  Don't  deny  it.  I  see  the  dirt  under  your  nails.  You are
      too  old  to  be  kneeling  under  the  burning sun."
         "I  wore  my  hat,   and  coated  my  skin  with  the  unguent you
      prescribed."  The  sticky  stuff  smelled  strongly  of menthol, 
      
and  raised  the  fine  hairs  of  the  Aedile's  pelt  into  stiff peaks, 
      but  it  seemed  uncharitable  to complain.
         "You  should  also  wear  glasses  with  tinted  lenses. Cumulative
        ultraviolet  will  damage  your  corneas,   and  at  your age
      that  can  be  serious.  I  believe  I  see  some  inflammation there.
      Your  excavations  will  proceed  apace  without  your  help. Day
      by  day,   you  climb  down  into  the  past.  I  fear  you  will leave
      us  all  behind.  Is  the  boy  well?  I  trust  you  have  taken better
      care  of  him  than  of yourself"
         "I  do  not  think  I  will learn    anything  here.  There  are the
      footings  of  a  tower,   but  the  structure  itself  must  have been
      dismantled  long  ago.  A  tall  tower,   too;  the  foundations are
      very  deep,   although  quite  rusted  away.  I  believe  that  it might
      have  been  made  of  metal,   although  that  would  have been
      fabulously  costly  even  in  the  Age  of  Enlightenment.  The geomancer
        may  have  been  misled  by  the  remains  into thinking
      that  a  larger  structure  was  once  built  here.  It  has happened
      before.  Or  perhaps  there  is  something  buried  deeper. We
      will  see. "
         The  geomancer  had  been  from  one  of  the  hill  tribes,   a man
      half  the  Aedile's  age,   but  made  wizened  and  toothless  by his
      harsh  nomadic  life,   one  eye  milky  with  a  cataract  which Dr.
      Dismas  had  later  removed.  This  had  been  in  winter,  with
      hoarfrost  mantling  the  ground  each  morning,   but  the geomancer
        had  gone  about  barefoot,   and  naked  under  his  red wool
      cloak.  He  had  fasted  three  days  on  the  hilltop  before scrying
      out  the  site  with'a  thread  weighted  with  a  sliver  of lodestone.









              Dr.  Dismas  said,   "In  Ys,   there  are  buildings  which are
            said  to  have  once  been  entirely  clad  in metal."
              "Quite,   quite.  If  it  can  be  found  anywhere  on Confluence, 
            then  it  can  be  found  in Ys."
              "So  they  say,   but  who  would  know  where  to  begin to
           look?"
              "If  there  is  any  one  person,   then  that  would  be  you,  my
            dear  Dr. Dismas."
              "I  would  like  to  think  I  have  done  my  best  for you."
              "And  for  the  boy.  More  importantly,   the boy."
              Dr.  Dismas  gave  the  Aedile  a  quick,   piercing  look. "Of
            course.  That  goes  without saying."
              "It  is  for  the  boy, "  the  Aedile  said  again.  "His  future is
            constantly  in  my thoughts."
              With  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  left  hand,   which were
            as  stiffly  crooked  as  the  claw  of  a  crayfish,   Dr. Dismas
            plucked  the  stub  of  his  cigarette  from  the  bone  holder and
            crushed  its  coal.  His  left  hand  was  almost  entirely affected
            by  the  drug;  although  the  discrete  plaques  allowed limited
            flexure,   they  had  robbed  the  fingers  of  all feeling.
              The  Aedile  waited  while  Dr.  Dismas  went  through  the ritual
              of  lighting  another  cigarette.  There  was  something  of Dr.
            Dismas's  manner  that  reniinded  the  Aedile  of  a  sly,  sleek
            nocturnal  animal,   secretive  in  its  habits  but  always  ready to
            pounce  on  some  scrap  or  tidbit.  He  was  a  gossip,   and 
like
            all  gossips  knew  how  to  pace  his  revelations,   how  to string
            out  a  story  and  tease  his  audience-but  the  Aedile  knew that
            like  all  gossips,   Dr.  Dismas  could  not  hold  a  secret  long. So
            he  waited  patiently  while  Dr.  Dismas  fitted  another cigarette
            in  the  holder,   and  lit  and  drew  on  it.  The  Aedile  was by
            nature  a  patient  man,   and  his  training  in  diplomacy  had inured
            him  to  waiting  on  the  whims  of others.
              Dr.  Dismas  blew  streams  of  smoke  through  his  nostrils and
            said  at  last,   "It  wasn't  easy,   you know."
              "Oh,   quite  so.  I  did  not  think  it  would  be.  The libraries
            are  much  debased  these  days.  Since  the  librarians  fell silent, 
            there  is  a  general  feeling  that  there  is  no  longer  the  need to
            maintain  anything  but  the  most  recent  records,   and  so everything
              older  than  a  thousand  years  is  considerably cornpromised
         The  Aedile  realized  that  he  had said       too  much.  He was
      nervous,   there  on  the  threshold  of revelation.
         Dr.  Dismas  nodded  vigorously.  "And  there  is  the present
      state  of  confusion  brought  about  by  the  current  political situation
      .  It  is  most regrettable."
         "Quite,   quite.  Well,   but  we  are  at war."
         "I  meant  the  confusion  in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory of
      the  People  itself,   something  for  which  your  department,  my
      dear  Aedile,   must  take  a  considerable  part  of  the  blame. All
      
of  these  difficulties  suggest  that  we  are  trying  to  forget the
      past,   as  the  Committee  for  Public  Safety  teaches  we should."
         The  Aedile  was  stung  by  this  remark,   as  Dr.  Dismas had
      no  doubt  intended.  The  Aedile  had  been  exiled  to  this tiny
      backwater  city  after  the  triumph  of  the  Committee  for Public
      Safety  because  he  had  spoken  against  the  destruction  of the
      records  of  past  ages.  It  was  to  his  everlasting  shame  that he
      had  only  spoken  out,   and  not  fought,   as  had  many  of his
      faction.  And  now  his  wife  was  dead.  And  his  son.  Only the
      Aedile  was  left,   still  in  exile  because  of  a  political squabble
      mostly  long forgotten.
         The  Aedile  said  with  considerable  asperity,   "The  past is
      not  so  easily  lost,   my  dear  Doctor.  Each  night,   we  have only
      to  look  up  at  the  sky  to  be  reminded  of  that.  In  winter,  we
      see  the  Galaxy,   sculpted  by  unimaginable  forces  in  ages past;
      in  summer,   we  see  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  And  here in
      Aeolis,   the  past  is  more  important  than  the  present.  After all, 
      how  much  greater  are  the  tombs  than  the  mudbrick houses
      down  by  the  bay?  Even  stripped  of  their  ornaments,   the tombs
      are  greater,   and  will  endure  in  ages  to  come.  All  that lived
      in  Ys  during  the  Golden  Age  once  came  to  rest  here,  and
      much  remains  to  be discovered."
         Dr.  Dismas  ignored  this.  He  said,   "Despite  these difficulties
      ,   the  library  of  my  department  is  still  well-ordered. Several
      of  the  archive  units  are  still  completely  functional  under manual
        control,   and  they  are  amongst  the  oldest  on Confluence.
      If  records  of  the  boy's  bloodline  could  be  found anywhere, 
      it  is  there.  But  although  I  searched  long  and  hard,   of  the boy's
      bloodline,   well,   I  could  find  no trace."
         
The  Aedile  thought  that  he  had  misheard.  "What  is that'?
      None  at all?"









             "I  wish  it  were  otherwise.  Truly  I do."
             "This  is--I  mean  to  say,   it  is  unexpected. Quite
         unexpected."
             "I  was  surprised  myself.  As  I  say,   the  records  of  my department
            are  perhaps  the  most  complete  on  Confluence. Certainly
          ,   I  believe  that  they  are  the  only  fully  usable  set,  ever
          since  your  own  department  purged  the  archivists  of  the Palace
          of  the  Memory  of  the People."
             The  Aedile  failed  to  understand  what  Dr.  Dismas  had told
          him.  He  said  weakly,   "There  was  no  correspondence  . .
             "None  at  all.  All  Shaped  bloodlines  possess  the universal
          sequence  of  genes  inserted  by  the  Preservers  at  the  time of
          the  remaking  of  our  ancestors.  No  matter  who  we  are,  no
          matter  the  code  in  which  our  cellular  inheritance  is written, 
          the  meaning  of  those  satellite  sequences  are  the  same. But
          although  tests  of  the  boy's  self-awareness  and rationality
          show  that  he  is  not  an  indigen,   like  them  he  lacks  that which
          marks  the  Shaped  as  the  chosen  children  of  the Preservers.
          And  more  than  that,   the  boy's  genome  is  quite  different from
          anything  on Confluence."
             "But  apart  from  the  mark  of  the  Preservers  we  are all
          different  from  each  other,   doctor.  We  are  all  remade  in the
          image  of  the  Preservers  in  our  various ways."
             "Indeed.  But  every  bloodline  shares  a  genetic inheritance
          with  certain  of  the  beasts  and  plants  and  microbes  of 
Confluence
          .  Even  the  various  races  of  simple  indigens,   which were
          not  marked  by  the  Preservers  and  which  cannot  evolve toward
          transcendence,   have  genetic  relatives  amongst  the  flora and
          fauna.  The  ancestors  of  the  ten  thousand  bloodlines  of Confluence
            were  not  brought  here  all  alone;  the  Preservers also
          brought  something  of  the  home  worlds  of  each  of  them. It
          seems  that  young  Yarnamanama  is  more  truly  a foundling
          than  we  first  believed,   for  there  is  nothing  on  record,  no
          bloodline,   no  plant,   no  beast,   nor  even  any  microbe,  which
          has  anything  in  common  with him."
             Only  Dr.  Dismas  called  the  boy  by  his  full  name.  It had
          been  given  to  him  by  the  wives  of  the  old  Constable,  Thaw.
          In  their  language,   the  language  of  the  harems,   it  meant Child
          of  the  River.  The  Council  for  Night  and  Shrines  had  met in
          secret  after  the  baby  had  been  found  on  the  river  by Constable
       Thaw,   and  it  had  been  decided  that  he  should  be  killed by
       exposure,   for  he  might  be  a  creature  of  the  heretics,   or some
       other  kind  of  demon.  But  the  baby  had  survived  for  ten days
       amongst  the  tombs  on  the  hillside  above  Aeolis,   and the
       women  who  had  finally  rescued  him,   defying  their husbands, 
       had  said  that  bees  had  brought  him  pollen  and  water,  proving
       that  he  was  under  the  protection  of  the  Preservers.  Even 
so, 
       no  family  in  Aeolis  would  take  in  the  baby,   and  so  he had
       come  to  live  in  the  peel-house,   son  to  the  Aedile  and brother
       to  poor Telmon.
         The  Aedile  thought  of  this  as  he  tried  to  fathom  the implications
         of  Dr.  Dismas's  discovery.  Insects  chirred  all around
       in  the  dry  grasses,   insects  and  grass  perhaps  from  the same
       long-lost  world  as  the  beasts  which  the  Preservers  had shaped
       into  the  ancestors  of  his  own  bloodline.  There  was  a comfort, 
       a  continuity,   in  knowing  that  you  were  a  part  of  the intricate
       tapestry  of  the  wide  world.  Imagine  then  what  it  would be
       like  to  grow  up  alone  in  a  world  with  no  knowledge  of your
       bloodline,   and  no  hope  of  finding  one!  For  the  first  time that
       day,   the  Aedile  remembered  his  wife,   dead  more  than twenty
       years  now.  A  hot  day  then,   too,   and  yet  how  cold  her hands
       had  been.  His  eyes  pricked  with  the  beginnings  of  tears,  but
       he  controlled  himself.  It  would  not  do  to  show  emotion in
       front  of  Dr.  Dismas,   who  preyed  on  weakness  like  a wolf
       which  follows  a  herd  of antelope.
         "All  alone, "  the  Aedile  said.  "Is  that possible?"
         "If  he  were  a  plant  or  an  animal,   then  perhaps."  Dr. Dismas
         pinched  out  the  coal  of  his  second  cigarette,   dropped the
       stub  and  ground  it  under  the  heel  of  his  boot.  Dr. Dismas's
       black  calf-length  boots  were  new,   the  Aedile  noted,  handtooled
         leather  soft  as butter.
         "We  could  imagine  him  to  be  a  stowaway, "  Dr. Dismas
       said.  "A  few  ships  still  ply  their  old  courses  between Confluence
         and  the  mine  worlds,   and  one  could  imagine something
         stowing  away  on  one  of  them.  Perhaps  the  boy  is an
       animal,   able  to  mimic  the  attributes  of  intelligence,   in 
the
       way'that  certain  insects  mimic  a  leaf  or  a  twig.  But then
       we  must  ask,   what  is  the  difference  between  the  reality and
       the mimic?"
         The  Aedile  was  repulsed  by  this  notion.  He  could  not bear








       to  think  that  his  own  dear  adopted  son  was  an  animal imitating
         a  human  being.  He  said,   "Anyone  trying  to  pluck such
       a  leaf  would know."
          "Exactly.  Even  a  perfect  mimic  differs  from  what  it is
       imitating  in  that  it  is  an  imitation,   with  the  ability  to dissemble
       ,   to  appear  to  be  something  it  is  not,   to  become something
       else.  I  know  of  no  creature  which  is  so  perfect  a  mimic that
       it  becomes  the  thing  it  is  imitating.  While  there  are insects
       which  resemble  leaves,   they  cannot  make  their  food from
       sunlight.  They  cling  to  the  plant,   but  they  are  not  part  of it."
          "Quite,   quite.  But  if  the  boy  is  not  part  of  our  world,  then
       where  is  he  from?  The  old  mine  worlds  are uninhabited."
          "Wherever  he  is  from,   I  believe  him  to  be dangerous.
       Remember  how  he  was  found.  'In  the  arms  of  a  dead woman, 
       in  a  fi-ail  craft  on  the  flood  of  the  river.'  Those,   I believe, 
       were  your  exact words."
          The  Aedile  remembered  old  Constable  Thaw's  story. The
       man  had  shamefully  confessed  the  whole  story  after  his wives
       had  delivered  the  foundling  to  the  peel-house. Constable
       Thaw  had  been  a  coarse  and  cunning  man,   but  he  had taken
       his  duties seriously.
          The  Aedile  said,   "But  my  dear  doctor,   you  cannot believe
       that  Yama  killed  the  woman-he  was  just  a baby."
          "Someone  got  rid  of  him, "  Dr.  Dismas  said. "Someone
       who  could  not  bear  to  kill  him.  Or  was  not  able  to  kill him."
          "I  have  always  thought  that  the  woman  was  his mother.
       She  was  fleeing  from  something,   no  doubt  from  scandal or
       from  her  family's  condemnation,   and  she  gave  birth  to him
       there  on  the  river,   and  died.  It  is  the  simplest explanation, 
       
and  surely  the  most likely."
          "We  do  not  know  all  the  facts  of  the  case, "  Dr. Dismas
       said.  "However,   I  did  examine  the  records  left  by  my predecessor
       .  She  performed  several  neurological  tests  on Yamamanama
         soon  after  he  was  brought  to  your  house,   and continued
       to  perform  them  for  several  years  afterward.  Counting backward
       ,   and  allowing  for  a  good  margin  of  error,   I  formed the
       opinion  that  Yarnamanama  had  been  born  at  least  fifty days
       before  he  was  found  on  the  river.  We  are  all  marked  by our
       intelligence.  Unlike  the  beasts  of  the  field,   we  must  all  of us
       continue  our  development  outside  the  womb,   because the
        womb  does  not  supply  sufficient  sensory  input  to stimulate
        growth  of  neural  pathways.  I  have  no  reason  to  doubt that
        this  is  not  a  universal  law  for  all  intelligent  races.  All the
        tests  indicated  that  it  was  no  newborn  baby  that Constable
        Thaw rescued."
           "Well,   no  matter  where  he  came  from,   or  why,   it seems
        that  we  are  all  he  has,  doctor."
           Dr.  Dismas  looked  around.  Although  the  nearest workers
        were  fifty  paces  away,   chipping  in  a  desultory  way  at the
        edge  of  the  neat  square  of  the  excavated  pit,   he  stepped closer
        to  the  Aedile  and  said  confidingly,   "You  overlook  one possibility
        .  Since  the  Preservers  abandoned  Confluence,   one new
        race  has  appeared,   albeit briefly."
           The  Aedile  smiled.  "You  scoff  at  my  theory,   doctor,  but
        at  least  it  fits  with  what  is  known,   whereas  you  make  a wild
        leap  into  thin  air.  The  ship  of  the  Ancients  of  Days passed
        downriver  twenty  years  before  Yama  was  found  floating in
        his  cradle,   and  no  members  of  its  crew  remained on
       
Confluence."
           "Their  heresies  live  on.  We  are  at  war  with  their ideas.
        The  Ancients  of  Days  were  the  ancestors  of  the Preservers, 
        and  we  cannot  guess  at  their  powers."  Dr.  Dismas looked
        sideways  at  the  Aedile.  "I  believe, "  he  said,   "that  there have
        been  certain  portents,   certain  sips  ...  The  rumors  are vague.
        Perhaps  you  know  more.  Perhaps  it  would  help  if  you told
        me  about them."
           "I  trust  you  have  spoken  to  no  one  else, "  the  Aedile said.
        "Talk  like  this,   wild  though  it  is,   could  put  Yama  in great
       danger."
           "I  understand  why  you  have  not  discussed Yamamanama's
        troublesome  origin  before,   even  to  your  own  department. But
        the  signs  are  there,   for  those  who  know  how  to  look. The
        number  of  machines  that  flit  at  the  borders  of  Aeolis,  for
        instanee.You  cannot  hide  these  things forever."
           The  machines  around  the  white  boat.  The  woman  in the
        shrine.  Yama's  silly  trick  with  the  watchdogs.  The  bees which
        had  fed  the  abandoned  baby  had  probably  been  machines,  too.
           The  Aedile  said  carefully,   "We  should  not  talk  of such
        things  here.  It  requires discretion."








           He  would  never  tell  Dr.  Dismas  everything.  The  man presumed
          too  much,   and  he  was  not  to  be trusted.
           "I  am,   and  shall  continue  to  be,   the  soul  of discretion."
           Never  before  had  Dr.  Dismas's  dark,   sharp-featured face
        seemed  so  much  like  a  mask.  It  was  why  the  man  took the
        drug,   the  Aedile  realized.  The  drug  was  a  shield  from the
        gaze  and  the  hurts  of  the world.
           The  Aedile  said  sternly,   "I  mean  it,   Dismas.  You  will say
        nothing  of  what  you  found,   and  keep  your  speculations to
        yourself  I  want  to  see  what  you  found.  Perhaps  there is
        something  you missed.-
           "I  will  bring  the  papers  tonight,   but  you  will  see  that I
        am  right  in  every  particular.  Now,   if  I  may  have permission
        to  leave, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,   "I  would  like  to  recover from
        my  journey.  Think  carefully  about  what  I  told  you.  We stand
        at  the  threshold  of  a  great mystery."
           When  Dr.  Dismas  had  gone,   the  Aedile  called  for  his secretary
        .  While  the  man  was  preparing  his  pens  and  ink and
        setting  a  disc  of  red  wax  to  soften  on  a  sunwarmed stone, 
        the  Aedile  composed  in  his  head  the  letter  he  needed  to write.
        The  letter  would  undermine  Dr.  Dismas's  already blemished
        reputation  and  devalue  any  claims  the  apothecary  might make
        on  Yama,   but  it  would  not  condemn  him  outright.  It would
        suggest  a  suspicion  that  Dr.  Dismas,   because  of  his drug
        habit,   might  be  involved  with  the  heretics  who  had recently
        tried  to  set  fire  to  the  floating  docks,   but  it  must  be  the merest
        of  hints  hedged  round  with  equivocation,   for  the  Aedile was
        certain  that  if  Dr.  Dismas  was  ever  arrested,   he would
        promptly  confess  all  he  knew.  The  Aedile  realized  then that
        
they  were  linked  by  a  cat's  cradle  of  secrets  that was
        weighted  with  the  soul  of  the  foundling  boy,   the  stranger,  the
        sacrifice,   the  gift,   the  child  of  the river.
                                                     YAMAMANAMA.
YAMA  REMEMBERED  NOTHING  of  the  circumstances  of  his birth, 
        or  of  how  he  had  arrived  at  Aeolis  in  a  skiff  steered  by a
        man  with  a  corpse  at  his  feet  and  the  blood  of  his  own son
        fresh  on  his  hands.  Yama  knew  only  that  Aeolis  was home, 
        and  knew  it  as  intimately  as  only  a  child  can,   especially a
        child  who  has  been  adopted  by  the  city's  Aedile  and  so wears
        innocently  and  unknowingly  an  intangible  badge  of privilege.
          In  its  glory,   before  the  Age  of  Insurrection,   Aeolis,  named
        for  the  winter  wind  that  sang  through  the  passes  of  the hills
        above  the  broad  valley  of  the  river  Breas,   had  been  the disembarkation
          point  for  the  City  of  the  Dead.  Ys  had extended
        far  downriver  in  those  days,   and  then  as  now  it  was  the law
        that  no  one  could  be  buried  within  its  boundaries. Instead, 
        mourners  accompanied  their  dead  to  Aeolis,   where funeral
        pyres  for  the  lesser  castes  burned  day  and  night,   temples rang
        with, prayers  and  songs  for  the  preserved  bodies  of  the rich
        and  altars  shone  with  constellations  of  butter  lamps  that shiinmered
          amongst  heaps  of  flowers  and  strings  of  prayer flags.
        The  ashes  of  the  poor  were  cast  on  the  waters  of  the Great
        River;  the  preserved  bodies  of  the  ruling  and mercantile
        
classes,   and  of  scholars  and  dynasts,   were  interred  in tombs
        whose  ruined,   empty  shells  still  riddled  the  dry  hills beyond








        the  town.  The  Breas,   which  then  had  been  navigable almost
        to  its  source  in  the  foothills  of  the  Rim  Mountains,   had been
        crowded  with  barges  bringing  slabs  of  land  coral,  porphyry, 
        granite,   marble  and  all  kinds  of  precious  stones  for  the construction
          of  the tombs.
          An  age  later,   after  half  the  world  had  been  turned  to desert
        during  the  rebellion  of  the  feral  machines,   and  the Preservers
        had  withdrawn  their  blessing  from  Confluence,   and  Ys had
        retreated,   contracting  about  its  irreducible  heart,  funeral
        barges  no  longer  ferried  the  dead  to  Aeolis;  instead,  bodies
        were  launched  from  the  docks  and  piers  of  Ys  onto  the full
        flood  of  the  Great  River,   given  up  to  caymans  and fish, 
        lammergeyers  and  carrion  crows.  As  these  creatures consumed
          the  dead,   so  Aeolis  consumed  its  own  past. Tombs
        were  looted  of  treasures;  decorative  panels  and  frescoes were
        removed  from  the  walls;  preserved  bodies  were  stripped  of their
        clothes  and  jewelery;  the  hammered  bronze  facings  of doors
        and  tomb  furniture  were  melted  down-die  old  pits  of the
        wind-powered  smelters  were  still  visible  along  the escarpment
        above  the  little city.
          After  most  of  the  tombs  had  been  stripped,   Aeolis became
        no  more  than  a  way  station,   a  place  where  ships  put  in to
        replenish  their  supplies  of  fresh  food.  on  their  voyages downriver
          from  Ys.  This  was  the  city  that  Yama  knew.  There was
        the  new  quay  which  ran  across  the  mudflats  and  stands of
        zebra  grass  of  the  old,   silted  harbor  to  the  retreating  edge of
        the  Great  River,   where  the  fisherfolk  of  the  floating islands
        gathered  in  their  little  coracles  to  sell  strings  of  oysters 
and
        mussels,   spongy  parcels  of  red  river  moss,   bundles  of riverweed
          stipes,   and  shrimp  and  crabs  and  fresh  fish.  There were
        always  people  swimming  off  the  new  quay  or  splashing about
        in  coracles  and  small  boats,   and  men  working  at  the fish
        traps  and  the  shoals  at  the  mouth  of  the  shallow  Breas where
        razorshell  mussels  were  cultivated,   and  divers  hunting for
        urchins  and  abalone  amongst  the  holdfasts  of  stands  of giant
        kelp  whose  long  blades  formed  vast  brown  slicks  on the
        surface  of  the  river.  There  was  the  long  road  at  the  top of
        the  ruined  steps  of  the  old  waterfront,   where tribesmen'froin
        the  dry  hills  of  the  wild  shore  downriver  of  Aeolis squatted
        at  blanket  stalls  to  sell  fruit  and  fresh  meat,   and  dried mush-
        rooms  and  manna  lichen,   and  bits  of  lapis  lazuli  and marble
        pried  from  the  wrecked  facings  of  ancient  tombs.  There were
        ten  taverns  and  two  whorehouses;  the  chandlers' godowns
        and  the  farmers'  cooperative;  straggling  streets  of mudbrick
        houses  which  leaned  toward  each  other  over  narrow canals;
        the  one  surviving  temple,   its  walls  white  as  salt,   the  gilt of
        its  dome  recently  renewed  by  public  subscription.  And then
        the  ruins  of  the  ancient  mortuaries,   more  extensive  than the
        town,   and  fields  of  yams  and  raffia  and  yellow  peas,  and
        flooded  paddies  where  rice  and  paeonin  were  grown.  One of
        the  last  of  Aeolis's  mayors  had  established  the  paeonin industry
          in  an  attempt  to  revitalize  the  little  city,   but  when the
        heretics  had  silenced  the  shrines  at  the  beginning  of  the war
        there  had  been  a  sudden  shrinkage  in  the  priesthood  and a
        
decline  in  trade  of  the  pigment  which  dyed  their  robes. These
        days,   the  mill,   built at- 6e  downriver  point  of  the  bay  so that
        its  effluent  would  not  contaminate  the  silty  harbor,  worked
        only  one  day  in,  ten.
          Most  of  the  population  of  Aeolis  were  of  the  same bloodline
        .  They  called  themselves  the  Amnan,   which  meant simply
        the  human  beings;  their  enen-des  called  them  the  Mud People.
        They  had  bulky  but  well-muscled  bodies  and  baggy  gray or
        brown  skin.  Clumsy  on  land,   they  were  strong swimmers
        and  adept  aquatic  predators,   and  had  hunted  giant  otters and
        manatees  almost  t6, extinction  along  that  part  of  the Great
        River.  They  had  preyed  upon  the  indigenous  fisherfolk,  too, 
        before  the  Aedile  had  arrived  and  put  a  stop  to  it. More
        women  were  born  than  men,   and  sons  fought  their fathers
        for  control  of  the  harem;  if  they  won,   they  killed their
        younger  brothers  or  drove  them  out.  The  people  of Aeolis
        still  talked  about  the  fight  between  old  Constable  Thaw and
        his  son.  It  had  lasted  five  days,   and  had  ranged  up  and down
        the  waterfront  and  through  the  net  of  canals  between the
        houses  until  Thaw,   his  legs  paralyzed,   had  been  drowned in
        the  shallow  stream  of  the Breas.
          It  was  a  barbaric  custom,   the  Aedile  said,   a  sign  that the
        Amnan  were  reverting  to  their  bestial  nature.  The  Aedile went
        into  the  city  as  little  as  possible, --rarely  more  than  once every
        hundred  days,   and  then  only  to  the  temple  to  attend  the high
        day  service  with  Yama  and  Telmon  sitting  to  the  right and









       left  side  of  their  father  in  scratchy  robes,   on  hard,  ornately
       carved  chairs,   facing  the  audience  throughout  the  three or
       four  hours  of  obeisances  and  offerings,   prayer  and praisesongs
       .  Yama  loved  the  sturdy  square  temple,   with  its clean
       high  spaces,   the  black  disc  of  its  shrine  in  its  ornate gilded
       frame,   and  walls  glowing  with  mosaics  picturing  scenes of
       the  end  times,   in  which  the  Preservers  (shown  as  clouds of
       light)  ushered  the  re-created  dead  into  perfect  worlds  of parklands
         and  immaculate  gardens.  He  loved  the  pomp  and circurnstance
         of  the  ceremonies,   too,   although  he  thought that
       it  was  unnecessary.  The  Preservers,   who  watched  all,   did not
       need  ritual  praise;  to  walk  and  work  and, play  in  the world
       they  had  made  was  praise  enough.  He  was  happier worshipping
         at  the  shrines  which  stood  near  the  edge  of  the world
       on  the  far  side  of  the  Great  River,   visited  every  year during
       the  winter  festival  when  the  triple  spiral  of  the  Home Galaxy
       first  rose  in  its  full  glory  above  the  Great  River  and  most of
       the  people  of  Aeolis  migrated  to  the  farside  shore  in  a swarm
       of  boats  to  set  up  camps  and  bonfires  and  greet  the  onset of
       winter  with  fireworks,   and  dance  and  pray  and  drink  and feast
       for  a  whole decad.
          The  Aedile  had  taken  Yama  into  his  household,   but he
       was  a  remote,   scholarly  man,   busy  with  his  official  duties or
       preoccupied  with  his  excavations  and  the  endless measurements
         and  calculations  by  which  he  tried  to  divide everything
       
into  everything  else  in  an  attempt  to  discover  the  prime which
       harmonized  the  world,   and  perhaps  the  Universe.  It  left him
       with  little  in  the  way  of  small  talk.  Like  many unworldly, 
       learned  men,   the  Aedile  treated  children  as  miniature adults, 
       failing  to  recognize  that  they  were  elemental,   unfired vessels
       whose  stuff  was  malleable  and fey.
          As  a  consequence  of  the  Aedile's  benign  neglect,  Yama
       and  Telmon  spent  much  of  their  childhood  being  passed from
       one  to  another  of  the  household  servants,   or  running free
       amongst  the  tombs  of  the  City  of  the  Dead.  In  summer,  the
       Aedile  often  left  the  peel-house  for  a  month  at  a  time,  taking
       most  of  his  household  to  one  or  another  of  his excavation
       sites  in  the  dry  hills  and  valleys  beyond  Aeolis.  When diey
       were  not  helping  with  the  slow,   painstaking  work,   Yama and
       Telmon  went  hunting  and  exploring  amongst  desert suburbs
       of  the  City  of  the  Dead,   Telmon  searching  for  unusual insects
       for  his  collection,   Yama  interrogating  aspects-he  had a
       knack  for  awakening  them,   and  for  tormenting  and teasing
       them  into  revealing  details  of  the  lives  of  the  people  on whom
       they  were  based,   and  for  whom  they  were  both guardians
       and advocates.
          Telmon  was  the  natural  leader  of  the  two,   five  years older, 
       tall  and  solemn  and  patient  and  endlessly  inquisitive,   with a
       fine  black  pelt  shot  through  with  chestnut  highlights.  He was
       a  natural  horseman  and  an  excellent  shot  with  bow,  arbalest
       and  rifle,   and  often  went  off  by  himself  for  days  at  a time, 
       hunting  in  the  high  ranges  of  hills  where  the  Breas  ran white
       and  fast  through  the  locks  and  ponds  of  the  old  canal system.
       
He  loved  Yama  like  a  true  brother,   and  Yama  loved him
       in  turn,   and  was  as  devastated  as  the  Aedile  by  news of
       his death.
          Formal  education  resumed  in  winter.  For  four  days each
       decad  Yama  and  Telmon  were  taught  fencing,   wrestling and
       horsemanship  by  Sergeant  Rhodean;  for  the  rest,   their education
         was  entrusted  to  the  librarian,   Zakiel.  Zakiel  was  a slave, 
       the  only  one  in  the  peel-house;  he  had  once  been  an archivist, 
       but  had  committed  an  unspeakable  heresy.  Zakiel  did not
       seem  to  mind  being  a  slave.  Before  he  had  been  branded,  he
       had  worked  in  the  vast  stacks  of  the  library  of  the  Palace of
       the  Memory  of  the  People,   and  now  he  was  librarian  of the
       peel-house.  He  ate  his  simple  meals  amongst  dusty  tiers of
       books  and  scrolls,   and  slept  in  a  cot  in  a  dark  corner under
       a  cliff  of  quarto-sized  ledgers  whose  thin  metal  covers,  spotted
         with  corrosion,   had  not  been  disturbed  for  centuries. All
       knowledge  could  be  found  in  books,   Zakiel  declared,   and if
       he  had  a  passion  (apart  from  his  mysterious  heresy,  which
       he  had  never  renounced)  it  was  this.  He  was  perhaps the
       happiest  man  in  the  Aedile's  household,   for  he  needed nothing
         but  his work.
          "Since  the  Preservers  fully  understand  the  Universe,  and
       hold  it  whole  in  their  minds,   then  it  follows  that  all texts, 
       which  flow  from  minds  forged  by  the  Preservers,   are reflections
         of  their  immanence, "  Zakiel  told  Yama  and Telmon
       more  than  once.  "It  is  not  the  world  itself  we  should measure, 
       but-die  reflections  of  the  world,   filtered  through  the creations









          of  the  Preservers  and  set  down  in  these  books.  Of course, 
          boys,   you  must  never  tell  the  Aedile  I  said  this.  He  is happy
          in  his  pursuit  of  the  ineffable,   and  I  would  not  trouble him
          with  these  trivial matters."
            Yama  and  Telmon  were  supposed  to  be  taught  the Summalae
            Logicales,   the  Puranas  and  the  Protocols  of  the Department
          ,   but  mostly  they  listened  to  Zakiel  read  passages from
          selected  works  of  natural  philosophy  before  engaging  in long, 
          formal  discussions.  Yama  first  learned  to  read upside-down
          by  watching  Zakiel's  long,   ink-stained  forefinger tracking
          glyphs  from  right  to  left  while  listening  to  the  librarian recite
          in  a  sing-song  voice,   and  later  had  to  learn  to  read  all over
          again,   this  time  the  right  away  up,   to  be  able  to  recite  in his
          turn.  Yama  and  Telmon  had  most  of  the  major  verses  of the
          Puranas  by  heart,   and  were  guided  by  Zakiel  to  read extensively
            in  chrestornathies  and  incunabulae,   but  while Telmon
          dutifully  followed  the  program  Zakiel  set  out,   Yama preferred
          to  idle  time  away  dreaming  over  bestiaries,  prosopographies
          and  maps-most  especially maps.
            Yama  stole  many  books  from  the  library.  Taking  them was
          a  way  of  possessing  the  ideas  and  wonders  they contained, 
          as  if  he  might,   piece  by  piece,   seize  the  whole  world. Zakiel
          retrieved  most  of  the  books  from  various  hiding  places  in the
          house  or  the  ruins  in  its  grounds,   using  a  craft  more subtle
          than  the  tracking  skills  of  either  Telmon  or  Sergeant Rhodean
          
,   but  one  thing  Yama  managed  to  retain  was  a  map of
          the  inhabited  half  of  the  world.  The  map's  scroll  wa's the
          width  of  his  hand  and  almost  twice  the  length  of  his body, 
          wound  on  a  resin  spindle  decorated  with  tiny  figures  of a
          thousand  bloodlines  frozen  in  representative  poses.  The map
          was  printed  on  a  material  finer  than  silk  and  stronger than
          steel.  At  one  edge  were  the  purple  and  brown  and white
          ridges  of  the  Rim  Mountains;  at  the  other  was  the  blue ribbon
          of  the  Great  River,   with  a  narrow  unmarked  margin  at  its far
          shore.  Yama  knew  that  there  were  many  shrines  and monuments
            to  pillar  saints  on  the  farside  shore-he  visited some
          of  them  each  year,   when  the  whole  city  crossed  the Great
          River  to  celebrate  with  fireworks  and  feasting  the  rise  of the
          Galaxy  at  the  beginning  of  winter-and  he  wondered why
          the  map  did  not  show  them.  For  there  was  so  much detail
       crammed  into  the  map  elsewhere.  Between  the  Great River
       and  the  Rim  Mountains  was  the  long  strip  of  inhabited land, 
       marked  with  green  plains  and  lesser  mountain  ranges and
       chains  of  lakes  and  ochre  deserts.  Most  cities  were scattered
       along  the  Great  River's  nearside  shore,   a  thousand  or more
       which  lit  up  with  their  names  when  Yama  touched  them. The
       greatest  of  them  all  stood  below  the  head  of  the  Great River:
       Ys,   a  vast  blot  spread  beyond  the  braided  delta  where the
       river  gathered  its  strength  from  the  glaciers  and icefields
       which  buried  all  but  the  peaks  of  the  Terminal Mountains.
       When  the  map  had  been  made,   Ys  had  been  at  the  height of
       its  glory,   and  its  intricate  grids  of  streets  and  parks  
and temples
         stretched  from  the  shore  of  the  Great  River  to  the foothills
         and  canyons  at  the  edge  of  the  Rim  Mountains.  A disc
       of  plain  glass,   attached  to  the  spindle  of  the  map  by  a reel
       of  wire,   revealed  details  of  these  streets.  By  squeezing the
       edges  of  the  disc,   the  magnification  could  be  adjusted  to show
       individual  buildings,   and  Yama  spent  long  hours  gazing at
       the  crowded  rooftops,   imagining  himself  smaller  than  a speck
       of  dust  and  able  to  wander  the  ancient  streets  of  a more
       innocent age.
          More  and  more,   as  he  came  into  manhood,   Yama was
       growing  restless.  He  dreamed  of  searching  for  his bloodline.
       Perhaps  they  were  a  high-born  and  fabulously  wealthy clan, 
       or  a  crew  of  fierce  adventurers  who  had  sailed  their ships
       downstream  to  the  midpoint  of  the  world  and  the  end  of the
       Great  River,   and  fallen  from  the  edge  and  gone adventuring
       amongst  the  floating  islands;  or  perhaps  they  belonged  to a
       coven  of  wizards  with  magic  powers,   and  those  same powers
       lay  slumbering  within  him,   waiting  to  be  awakened. Yama
       elaborated  enormously  complicated  stories  around  his imagined
         bioodline,   some  of  which  Telmon  listened  to patiently
       in  the  watches  of  the  night,   when  they  were  carnped amongst
       the  tombs  of  the  City  of  the Dead.
          "Never  lose  your  imagination,   Yama, "  Telmon  told him.
       "Whatever  you  are,   wherever  you  come  from,   that  is your
       most  important  gift.  But  you  must  observe  the  world,  too, 
       learn  how  to  read  and  remember  its  every  detail,  celebrate
       its  hills  and  forests  and  deserts  and  mountains,   the Great
       River  and  the  thousands  of  rivers  that  run  into  it,   the thousand









         cities  and  the  ten  thousand  bloodlines.  I  know  how  much you
         love  that  old  map,   but  you  must  live  in  the  world  as  it  is to
         really  know  it.  Do  that,   and  think  how  rich  and  wild and
         strange  your  stories  will  become.  They  will  make  you famous
         ,   I  know it."
           This  was  at  the  end  of  the  last  winter  Telmon  had spent
         at  home,   a  few  days  before  he  took  his  muster  to  war. He
         and  Yama  were  on  the  high  moors  three  days'  ride inland, 
         chasing  the  rumor  of  a  dragon.  Low  clouds  raced  toward the
         Great  River  ahead  of  a  cold  wind,   and  a  freezing  rain,  gritty
         with  flecks  of  ice,   blew  in  their  faces  as  they  walked  at point
         with  a  straggling  line  of  beaters  on  either  side.  The moors
         stretched  away  under  the  racing  clouds,   hummocky and
         drenched,   grown  over  with  dense  stands  of waist-high
         bracken  and  purple  islands  of  springy  headier,   slashed with
         fast-running  peaty  streams  and  dotted  with  stands  of windblasted
           juniper  and  cypress  and  bright  green  domes  of bog
         moss.  Yama  and  Telmon  were  walking  because  horses were
         driven  mad  by  the  mere  scent  of  a  dragon.  They  wore canvas
         trousers  and  long  oilcloth  slickers  over  down-lined jackets, 
         and  carried  heavy  carbon-fiber  bows  which  stuck  up behind
         their  heads,   and  quivers  of  long  arrows  with  sharply tapered
         ceramic  heads.  They  were  soaked  and  windblasted  and utterly
          exhilarated.
           "I  will  go  with  you, "  Yama  said.  "I  will  go  to  war,  and
         fight  by  your  side  and  write  an  epic  about  our adventures
         that  will  ring  down  the ages!"
           
Telmon  laughed.  "I  doubt  that  I  will  see  any  fighting at
        all!"
           "Your  muster  will  do  the  town  honor,   Tel,   I  know it."
           "At  least  they  can  drill  well  enough,   but  I  hope  that  is all
         they  will  need  to do."
           After  the  Aedile  had  received  the  order  to  supply  a muster
         of  a  hundred  troops  to  contribute  to  the  war  effort,  Telmon
         had  chosen  the  men  himself,   mostly  younger  sons  who had
         little  chance  of  establishing  a  harem.  With  the  help  of Sergeant
           Rhodean,   Telmon  had  drilled  them  for  sixty  days; in
         three  more,   the  ship  would  arrive  to  take  them  downriver to
         the war.
           Telmon  said,   "I  want  to  bring  them  back  safely,   Yama. I
       will  lead  them  into  the  fighting  if  I  am  ordered,   but  they are
       set  down  for  working  on  the  supply  lines,   and  I  will be
       content  with  that.  For  every  man  or  woman  fighting  the heretics
         face  to  face,   there  are  ten  who  bring  up  supplies,  and
       build  defenses,   or  tend  the  wounded  or  bury  the  dead. That
       is  why  the  muster  has  been  raised  in  every  village  and town
       and  city.  The  war  needs  support  troops  as  desperately  as it
       needs  fighting men."
         "I  will  go  as  an  irregular.  We  can  fight  together,  Tel."
         "You  will  look  after  our  father,   first  of  all.  And  then there
       is Derev.-
         "She  would  not  mind.  And  it  is  not  as if-"
         Telmon  understood.  He  said,   "There  are  plenty  of metic
       marriages,   if  it  does  become  that serious."
         "I  think  it  might  be,   Tel.  But  I  will  not  get  married 
before
       you  return,   and  I  will  not  get  married  before  I  have  had my
       chance  to  fight  in  the  war. "
         "I'm  sure  you  will  get  your  chance,   if  that  is  what you
       want.  But  be  sure  that  you  really  want it."
         "Do  you  think  the  heretics  really  fight  with magic?"
         "They  probably  have  technology  given  to  them  by the
       Ancients  of  Days.  It  might  seem  like  magic,   but  that  is only
       because  we  do  not  understand  it.  But  we  have  right  on our
       side,   Yama.  We  are  fighting  with  the  will  of  the Preservers
       in  our  hearts.  It  is  better  than  any magic."
         Telmon  sprang  onto  a  hummock  of  sedge  and  looked left
       and  right  to  cheek  the  progress  of  the  beaters,   but  it was
       Yama,   staring  straight  ahead  with  the  rain  driving  into his
       face,   who  saw  a  little  spark  of  light  suddenly  blossom far
       out  across  the  sweep  of  the  moors.  He  cried  out  and pointed, 
       and  Telmon  blew  and  blew  on  his  silver  whistle,   and raised
       both  arms  above  his  head  to  signal  that  the  beaters  at  the far
       end  of  each  line  should  begin  to  walk  toward  each  other and
       close  the  circle.  Other  whistles  sounded  as  the  signal was
       passed  down  the  lines,   and  Yama  and  Telmon  broke  into a
       run  against  the  wind  and  rain,   leaping  a  stream  and running
       on  toward  the  scrap  of  light,   which  flickered  and grew
       brighter  in  the  midst  of  the  darkening plain.
         It  was  a  juniper  set  on  fire.  It  was  burning  so  fiercely that
       it  had  scorched  the  grass  all  around  it,   snapping  and crackling









        as  fire  consumed  its  needle-laden  branches  and  tossed yellow
        flame  and  fragrant  smoke  into  the  wind  and  rain. Telmon
        Yama  gazed  at  it  with  wonder,   then  hugged  and pounded
        each  other  on  the back.
           "It  is  here!"  Telmon  shouted.  "I  know  it  is here!"
           They  cast  around,   and  almost  at  once  Telmon  found the
        long  scar  in  a  stand  of  heather.  It  was  thirty  paces  wide and
        more  than  five  hundred  long,   burnt  down  to  the  earth and
        layered  with  wet  black ashes.
           It  was  a  lek,   Telmon said.    "The  male  makes  it  to attract
        females.  The  size  and  regularity  of  it  shows  that  he  is strong
        and fit."
           "This  one  must  have  been  very  big, "  Yama  said. The
        excitement  he  had  felt  while  running  toward  the  burning tree
        was  gone;  he  felt  a  queer  kind  of  relief  now.  He  would not
        have  to  face  the  dragon.  Not  yet.  He  paced  out  the  length of
        the  lek  while  Telmon  squatted  with  the  blazing  tree  at his
        back  and  poked  through  the char.
           "Four  hundred  and  twenty-eight, "  Yama  said,   when he
        came  back.  "How  big  would  the  dragon  be,  Tel?"
           "Pretty  big.  I  think  he  was  successful,   too.  Look  at the
        claw  marks  here.  There  are  two kinds."
           They  quartered  the  area  around  the  lek,   moving quickly
        because  the  light  was  going.  The  tree  had  mostly  burned out
        when  the  beaters  arrived  and  helped  widen  the  search. But
        the  dragon  was gone.
           Three  days later,     Telmon  and  the  muster  from Aeolis
        boarded  a  carrack  that  had  anchored  at  the  floating  harbor on
        
its  way  from  Ys  to  the  war  at  the  midpoint  of  the world.
        Yama  did  not  go  to  see  Telmon  off,   but  stood  on  the bluff
        above  the  Great  River  and  raised  his  fighting  kite  into the
        wind  as  the  little  flotilla  of  skiffs,   each  with  a  decad  of men, 
        rowed  out  to  the  great  ship.  Yama  had  painted  the  kite with
        a  red  dragon,   its  tail  curled  around  its  long  body  and fire
        pouring  from  its  crocodile  jaws,   and  he  flew  it  high  into the
        snapping  wind  and  then  lit  the  fuses  and  cut  the  string. The
        kite  sailed  out  high  above  the  Great  River,   and  the  chain of
        firecrackers  exploded  in  flame  and  smoke  until  the  last and
        biggest  of  all  set  fire  to  the  kite's  wide  diamond,   and  it fell
        from  the sky.
         After  the  news  of  the  death  of  Telmon,   Yama  began to
       feel  an  unfocused  restlessness.  He  spent  long  hours studying
       the  map  or  sweeping  the  horizons  with  the  telescope  in the
       tower  which  housed  the  heliograph,   most  often  pointing it
       upriver,   where  there  was  always  the  sense  of  the teeming
       vast  city,   like  a  thunderstorm,   looming  beyond  the vanishing
        point.
         Ys!  When  the  air  was  exceptionally  clear,   Yama could
       glimpse  the  slender  gleaming  towers  rooted  at  the  heart of
       the  city.  The  towers  were  so  tall  that  they  rose  beyond the
       limit  of  visibility,   higher  than  the  bare  peaks  of  the Rimwall
       Mountains,   punching  through  the  atmosphere  whose  haze hid
       Ys  itself.  Ys  was  three  days'  journey  by  river  and  four times
       
that  by  road,   but  even  so  the  ancient  city  dominated the
       landscape,   and  Yama's dreams.
         After  Telmon's  death,   Yama  began  to  plan  his  escape with
       meticulous  care,   although  at  first  he  did  not  think  of  it as
       escape  at  all,   but  merely  an  extension  of  the  expeditions he
       had  made,   first  with  Telmon,   and  latterly  with  Ananda and
       Derev,   in  the  City  of  the  Dead.  Sergeant  Rhodean  was fond
       of  saying  that  most  unsuccessful  campaigns  failed  not because
         of  the  action  of  the  enemy  but  because  of  lack of
       crucial  supplies  or  unforeseeable  circumstances,   and  so Yama
       made  caches  of  stolen  supplies  in  several hiding-places
       amongst  the  ruins  in  the  garden  of  the  peel-house.  But he
       didn't  seriously  think  of  carrying  out  his  plans  until  the night
       after  the  encounter  with  Lud  and  Lob,   when  Dr.  Dismas had
       an  audience  with  the Aedile.
         Dr.  Dismas  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  evening  meal. The
       Aedile  and  Yama  customarily  ate  together  in  the  Great Hall, 
       sitting  at  one  end  of  the  long,   polished  table  under  the high, 
       barrel-vaulted  ceiling  and  its  freight  of  hanging  banners,  most
       so  ancient  that  all  traces  of  the  devices  they  had  once borne
       had  faded,   leaving  only  a  kind  of  insubstantial,   tattered gauze.
       They  were  the  sigils  of  the  Aedile's  ancestors.  He  had saved
       them  from  the  great  bonfires  of  the  vanities  when,   after coming
         to  power,   the  present  administration  of  the Department
       of  Indigenous  Affairs  had  sought  to  eradicate  the past.
         Ghosts.  Ghosts  above,   and  a  ghost  unremarked  in the
       empty  chair  at  the  Aedile's  right hand.









          Servants  came  and  went  with  silent  precision,   bringing lentil
         soup,   then  slivers  of  mango  dusted  with  ginger,   and then
       a  roast  mannot  dismembered  on  a  bed  of  watercress. The
       Aedile  said  little  except  to  ask  after  Yama's day.
          Yama  had  spent  the  morning  watching  the  pinnace which
       had  anchored  downriver  of  the  bay  three  days  ago,   and now
       he  remarked  that  he  would  like  to  take  a  boat  out  to  have a
       closer  look  at it.
          The  Aedile  said,   "I  wonder  why  it  does  not  anchor  at the
       new  quay.  It  is  small  enough  to  enter  the  mouth  of  the bay, 
       yet  does  not.  No,   I  do  not  think  it  would  be  good  for  you to
       go  out  to,   it,   Yama.  As  well  as  good,   brave  men,   an  sorts of
       ruffians  are  recruited  to  fight  the heretics."
          For  a  moment,   they  both  thought  of Telmon, 
          Ghosts,   invisibly  packing  the air.
          The  Aedile  changed  the  subject.  ."When  I  first  arrived here, 
       ships  of  all  sizes  could  anchor  in  the  bay,   and  when  the river
       level  began  to  fall  I  had  the  new  quay  built.  But  now the
       bigger  ships  must  use  the  floating  harbor,   and  soon  that will
       have  to  be  moved  farther  out  to  accommodate  the  largest of
       the  argosies.  From  its  present  rate  of  shrinkage  I  have calculated
         that  in  less  than  five  hundred  years  the  river  will be
       completely  dry.  Aeolis  will  be  a  port  stranded  in  a desert
      plain."
          "There  is  the Breas.-
          "Quite,   quite,   but  where  does  the  water  of  the  Breas 
come
       from,   except  from  the  snows  of  the  Rim  Mountains,  which
       in  turn  fall  from  air  pregnant  with  water  evaporated  from the
       Great  River?  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  it  would  be good
       for  the  town  to  have  the  old  locks  rebuilt.  There  is  still good
       marble  to  be  quarried  in  the hills."
          Yama  mentioned  that  Dr.  Dismas  was  returned  from Ys, 
       but  the  Aedile  only  said,   "Quite,   quite.  I  have  even talked
       with him."
          "I  suppose  he  has  arranged  some  filthy  little clerkship
       for me.
          "This  is  not  the  time  to  discuss  your  future, "  the Aedile
       said,   and  retreated,   as  was  increasingly  his  habit,   into  a book.
       He  made  occasional  notes  in  the  margins  of  its  pages with
       one  hand  while  he  ate  with  the  other  at  a  slow,  deliberate
      pace  that  was  maddening  to  Yama.  He  wanted  to  go down
      to  the  armory  and  question  Sergeant  Rhodean,   who  had returned
        from  his  patrol  just  before darkness.
         The  servants  had  cleared  away  the  great  silver  salver bearing
        the  marmot's  carcass  and  were  bringing  in  a  dish  of iced
      sherbet  when  the  majordomo  paced  down  the  long  hall and
      announced  the  arrival  of  Dr. Dismas.
         "Bring  him  directly."  The  Aedile  shut  his  book,   took off
      his  spectacles,   and  told  Yama,   "Run  along,   my  boy.  I know
      you  want  to  quiz  Sergeant Rhodean."
         Yama  had  used  the  telescope  to  spy  on  the  Aedile  and Dr.
      Dismas  that  afternoon,   when  they  had  met  and  talked  on the
      dusty  hillside  at  the  edge  of  the  City  of  the  Dead.  He was
      convinced  that  Dr.  Dismas,   had  been  to  Ys  to  arrange an
      apprenticeship  in  some  dusty  corner  of  the Aedile's
     department.
         And  so,   although  he  set  off  toward  the  armory,  Yama
      
quickly  doubled  back  and  crept  into  the  gallery  just beneath
      the  Great  Hall's  high  ceiling,   where,   on  feast  days,  musicians
      hidden  from  view  serenaded  the  Aedile's  guests.  Yama thrust
      his  head  between  the  stays  of  two  dusty  banners  and found
      that  he  was  looking  straight  down  at  the  Aedile  and Dr.
     Dismas.
         The  two  men  were  drinking  port  wine  so  dark  that  it was
      almost  black,   and  Dr.  Dismas  had  lit  one  of  his cigarettes.
      Yama  could  smell  its  clove-scented  smoke.  Dr.  Dismas sat
      stiffly  in  a  carved  chair,   his  white  hands  moving  over the
      polished  surface  of  the  table  like  independently  questing animals
      .  Papers  were  scattered  in  front  of  him,   and  patterns of
      blue  dots  and  dashes  glowed  in  the  air.  Yama  would have
      dearly  loved  to  have  had  a  spyglass  just  then,   to  find out
      what  was  written  on  the  papers,   and  what  the  patterns meant.
         Yama  had  expected  to  hear  Dr.  Dismas  and  the Aedile
      discuss  his  apprenticeship,   but  instead  the  Aedile  was making
      a  speech  about  trust.  "When  I  took  Yama  into  my household, 
      I  also  took  upon  myself  the  responsibility  of  a  parent.  I have
      brought  him  up  as  best  I  could,   and  I  have  tried  to  make a
      decision  about  his  future  with  his  best  interests  in  my heart.
      You  ask  me  to  overthrow  that  in  an  instant,   to  gamble my
      duty  to  the  boy  against  some  vague promise."









           "It  is  more  than  that, "  Dr.  Dismas  said.  "The  boy's bloodline-tt
                                                                   I
           Yama's  heart  beat  more  quickly,   but  the  Aedile angrily
        interrupted  Dr.  Dismas.  "That  is  of  no  consequence.  I know
        what  you  told  me.  It  only  convinces  me  that  I  must  see to
        the  boy's future."
           "I  understand.  But,   with  respect,   you  may  not  be  able to
        protect  him  from  those  who  might  be  interested  to  learn of
        him,   who  might  believe  that  they  have  a  use  for  him.  I speak
        of  higher  affairs  than  those  of  the  Department  of Indigenous
        Affairs.  I  speak  of  great  forces,   forces  which  your  few decads
        of  soldiers  could  not  withstand  for  an  instant.  You should
        not  put  yourself  between  those  powers  and  that  which they
        may desire."
           The  Aedile  stood  so  suddenly  that  he  knocked  over his
        glass  of  port.  High  above,   Yama  thought  that  for  a moment
        his  guardian  might  strike  Dr.  Dismas,   but  then  the Aedile
        turned  his  back  on  the  table  and  closed  his  fist  under his
        chin.  He  said,   "Who  did  you  tell,  doctor?"
           "As  yet,   only you."
           Yama  knew  that  Dr.  Dismas  was  lying,   because  the answer
        sprang  so  readily  to  his  lips.  He,   wondered  if  the Aedile
        knew,  too.
           "I  notice  that  the  pinnace  which  brought  you  back. from
        Ys  is  still  anchored  off  the  point  of  the  bay.  I  wonder why
        that  might be."
           "I  suppose  I  could  ask  its  commander.  He  is  an acquaintance
          
of mine."
           The  Aedile  turned  around.  "I  see, "  he  said  coldly. "Then
        you threaten-"
           "My  dear  Aedile,   I  do  not  come  to  your  house  to threaten
        you.  I  have  better  manners  than  that,   I  would  hope.  I make
        no  threats,   only  predictions.  You  have  heard  my thoughts
        about  the  boy's  bloodline.  There  is  only  one  explanation. I
        believe  any  other  man,   with  the  same  evidence,   would come
        to  the  same  conclusion  as  1,   but  it  does  not  matter  if  I am
        right.  One  need  only  raise  the  possibility  to  understand what
        danger  the  boy  might  be  in.  We  are  at  war,   and  you have
        been  concealing  him  from  your  own  department.  You would
        not  wish  to  have  your  loyalty  put  to  the  question.  Not again."
          "Be  careful,   doctor.  I  could  have  you  arrested.  You are
       said  to  be  a  necromancer,   and  it  is  well  known  that you
       indulge  in drugs."
          Dr.  Dismas  said  cahnly,   "The  first  is  only  a  rumor,  and
       while  the  second  may  be  true,   you  have  recently demonstrated
         your  faith  in  me,   and  your  letter  is  lodged  with my
       department.  As,   I  might  add,   is  a  copy  of  my  findings. You
       could  arrest  me,   but  you  could  not  keep  me  imprisoned for
       long  without  appearing  foolish  or  corrupt.  But  why  do we
       argue?  We  both  have  the  same  interest.  We  both  wish no
       harm  to  come  to  the  boy.  We  merely  disagree  on  how to
       protect him."
          The  Aedile  sat  down  and  ran  his  fingers  through  the gray
       pelt  which  covered  his  face.  He  said,   "How  much  money do
       you want?"
          
Dr.  Dismas  laughed.  It  was  like  the  creaking  of  old wood
       giving  beneath  a  weight.  "In  one  pan  of  the  scales  is the
       golden  ingot  of  the  boy;  in  the  other  the  feather  of your
       worth.  I  will  not  even  pretend  to  be  insulted."  He  stood and
       plucked  his  cigarette  from  the  holder  and  extinguished  it in
       the  pool  of  port  spilled  from  the  Aedile's  glass,   then reached
       into  the  glowing  patterns.  There  was  a  click:  the patterns
       vanished.  Dr.  Dismas  tossed  the  projector  cube  into  the air
       and  made  it  vanish  into  one  of  the  pockets  of  his  long black
       coat.  He  said,   "If  you  do  not  make  arrangements,   then  I must.
       And  believe  me,   you'll  get  the  poorer  part  of  the  bargain if
       you do."
          When  Dr.  Dismas  had  gone,   the  Aedile  raked  up  the papers
       and  clutched  them  to  his  chest.  His  shoulders  shook. High
       above,   Yama  thought  that  his  guardian  might  be  crying,  but
       surely  he  was  mistaken,   for  never  before,   even  at  the news
       of  Telmon's  death,   had  the  Aedile  shown  any  sign  of grief.









                                                           THE S1161.
YAMA  LAY  AWAKE  long  into  the  night,   his  mind  racing with
          speculations  about  what  Dr.  Dismas  might  have discovered.
          Something  about  his  bloodline,   he  was  sure  of  that  at least, 
          and  he  slowly  convinced  himself  it  was  something  with which
          Dr.  Dismas  could  blackmail  the  Aedile.  Perhaps  his  real parents
            were  heretics  or  murderers  or  pirates  ...  but  who then
          would  have  a  use  for  him, -  and  what  powers  would  take an
          interest?  He  was  well  aware  that  like  all  orphans  he  had filled
          the  void  of  his  parents'  absence  with  extreme caricatures.
          They  could  be  war  heroes  or  colorful  villains  or dynasts
          wealthy  beyond  measure;  what  they  could  not  be  was ordinary
          ,   for  that  would  mean  that  he  too  was  ordinary,  abandoned
            not  because  of  some  desperate  adventure  or deep
          scandal,   but  because  of  the  usual  small  tragedies  of the
          human  condition.  In  his  heart  he  knew  these  dreams  for what
          they  were,   but  although  he  had  put  them  away,   as  he had
          put  aside  his  childish  toys,   Dr.  Dismas's  return  had awakened
          them,   and  all  the  stories  he  had  elaborated  as  a  child tumbled
          through  his  mind  in  a  vivid  pageant  that  raveled  away into
          confused  dreams  filled  with  unspecific longing.
             As  the  sun  crept  above  the  ragged  blue  line  of  the Rim
          Mountains,   Yama  was  woken  by  a  commotion  below his
      window.  He  threw  open  the  shutters  and  saw  that  three pentads
        of  the  garrison,   in  black  resin  armor  ridged  like the
      carapaces  of  sexton  beetles  and  kilts  of  red  leather  strips,  
and
      with  burnished  metal  caps  on  their  heads,   were  climbing onto
      their  horses.  Squat,   shaven-headed  Sergeant  Rhodean leaned
      on  the  pommel  of  his  gelding's  saddle  as  he  watched  his men
      settle  themselves  and  their  restless  mounts.  Puffs  of vapor
      rose  from  the  horses'  nostrils;  harness  jingled  and hooves
      clattered  on  concrete  as  they  stepped  about.  Other soldiers
      were  stacking  ladders,   grappling  irons,   siege  rockets  and coils
      of  rope  on  the  loadbed  of  the  grimy  black  steam  wagon. Two
      house  servants  maneuvered  the  'Aedile's  palanquin,  which
      floated  a  handspan  above  the  ground,   into  the  center  of the
      courtyard  and  then  the  Aedile  himself  appeared,   clad  in his
      robe  of  office,   black  sable  trimmed  with  a  collar  of white
      feathers  that  ruffled  in  the  cold  dawn breeze.
         The  servants  helped  the  Aedile  over  the  flare  of  the palanquin's
        skirt  and  settled  him  in  the  backless  chair  beneath its
      red  and  gold  canopy.  Sergeant  Rhodean  raised  a  hand above
      his  head  and  the  procession,   two  files  of  mounted  soldiers on
      either  side  of  the  palanquin,   moved  out  of  the courtyard.
      Black  smoke  and  sparks  shot  up  from  the  steam  wagon's tall
      chimney;  white  vapor  jetted  from  leaking  piston  sleeves. As
      the  wagon  ground  forward,   its  iron-rimmed  wheels striking
      sparks  from  concrete,   Yama  threw  on  his  clothes;  before it
      had  passed  through  the  arch  of  the  gate  in  the  old  wall he
      was  in  the  armory,   quizzing  the  stable hands.
         "Off  to  make  an  arrest, "  one  of  them  said.  It  was the
      foreman,   Torin.  A  tall  man,   his  shaven  bullet-head couched
      in  the  hump  of  muscle  at  -his  back,   his  skin  a  rich  dark brown
      mapped  with  paler  blotches.  He  had  followed  the  Aedile into
      exilefrom  Ys  and,   after  Sergeant  Rhodean,   was  the most
      senior  of  his  servants.  "Don't  be  thinking  we'll  saddle up
      
your  horse,   young  master, "  he  told  Yama.  "We've strict
      instructions  that  you're  to  stay here."
         "I  suppose  you  are  not  allowed to       tell  me  who  they are
      going  to  arrest.  Well,   it  does  not  matter.  I  know  it  is Dr.
     Dismas."
         "The  master  was  up  all  night, "  Torin  said,   "talking with









        the  soldiers.  Roused  the  cook  hours  ago  to  make  him early
        breakfast.  There  might  be  a  bit  of  a battle."
           "Who  told  you that?"                                . needles
           Torin  gave  Yama  an  insolent  smile.  His  teeth were
        of  white  bone.  "Why  it's  plain  to  see.  There"s  that  ship stift
        waiting  offshore.  It  might  try  a rescue."
           The  party  of  sailors.  What  had they      been  looking for?
        Yama  said,   ".Surely  it  is  on  our side."
           6IThere's  some  that  reckon  it's  for  Dr.  Dismas, " Torin
        said.  "That's  how  he  came  back  to  town,   after  all. There'll
        be  blood  shed  before  the  end  of  it.  Cook  has  his  boys making
        bandages,   and  if  you're  looking  for  something  to  do you
       should   oin them."
           Yama  ran again,     this  time  to  the  kitchens.  He  snatched a
        sugar  roll  from  a  batch  fresh  from  the  baking  oven,  then
        climbed  the  back  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time,   taking  big bites
        from  the  warm  roll.  He  waited  behind  a  pillar  while  the old
        man  who  had  charge  of  the  Aedile's  bedcharnber  locked the
        door  and  pottered  off,   crumpled  towels  over  one  arm,  then
        used  his  knife  to  pick  the  lock,   a  modern  mechanical thing
        as  big  as  his  head.  It  was  easy  to  snap  back  the  lock's wards
        one  by  one  and  to  silence  the  machines  which  set  up  a chorus
        of  protest  at  his  entrance,   although  it  took  a  whole  minute to
        convince  an  alembic  that  his  presence  would  not  upset its
        delicate settings.
           Quickly,   Yama  searched  for  the  papers  Dr.  Dismas had
        brought,   but  they  were  not  amongst  the  litter  on  the Aedile's
        
desk,   nor  were  they  in  the  sandalwood  traveling  chest,  with
        its  deck  of  sliding  drawers.  Perhaps  the  papers  were  in the
        room  in  the  watchtower-but  that  had  an  old  lock,   and Yama
        had  never  managed  to  persuade  it  to  let  him pass.
           He  closed  the  chest  and  sat  back  on  his  heels.  This part
        of  the  house  was  quiet.  Narrow  beams  of  early sunlight
        slanted  duough  the  tall,   narrow  windows,   illun-dnating  a patch
        of  the  richly  patterned  carpet,   a  book  splayed upside-down
        on  the  little  table  beside  the  Aedile's  reading  chair. Zakiel
        would  be  waiting  for  him  in  the  library,   but  there  were more
        important  things  afoot.  Yama  went  back  out  through the
        kitchen,   cut  across  the  herb  garden  and,   after  calming  one of
      the  watchdogs,   ran  down  the  steep  slope  of  the breastwork
      and  struck  off  through  the  ruins  toward  the city.
         Dr.  Dismas's  tower  stood  just  outside  the  city  wall.  It was
      tall  and  slender,   and  had  once  been  used  to  manufacture shot.
      Molten  blackstone  had  been  poured  through  a  screen  at the
      top  of  the  tower,   and  the  droplets,   rounding  into perfect
      spheres  as  they  fell,   had  plummeted  into  an  annealing bath
      of  water  at  the  base.  The  builders  of  the  tower  had sought
      to  advertise  its  function  by  adding  slit  windows  and a
                                                               parapet
      with  a  crenellated  balustrade  in  imitation  of  the watchtower
      of  a  castellan,   and  after  the  foundry  had  been  razed,   the tower
      had  indeed  been  briefly  used  as  a  lookout  post.  But  then the
      new  city  wall  had  been  built  with  the  tower  outside  it,  and
      
the  tower  had  fallen  into  disuse,   its  stones  slowly  pried apart
      by  the  tendrils  of  its  ivy  cloak,   the  platform  where molten
      stone  had  been  poured  to  make  shot  for  the  guns  of soldiers
      and  hunters  becoming  the  haunt  of  owls  and bats.
         Dr.  Dismas  had  moved  into  the  tower  shortly  after taking
      up  his  apothecary's  post.  Once  it  had  been  cleaned  out and
      joiners  had  fitted  new  stairs  and  three  circular  floors within
      it  and  raised  a  tall  slender  spire  above  the  crenellated balustrade
      ,   Dr.  Dismas,   had  closed  its  door  to  the  public,  preferring
      to  rent  a  room  overlooking  the  waterfront  as  his  office. There
      were  rumors  that  he  performed  all  kinds  of  black  arts  in the
      tower,   from  necromancy  to  the  surgical  creation  of chimeras
      and  other  monsters.  It  was  said  that  he  owned  a homunculus;
      he  himself  had  fathered  by  despoiling  a  young  girl  taken from
      the  fisherfolk.  The  homunculus  was  kept  in  a  tank  of saline
      water,   and  could  prophesy  the  future.  Everyone  in Aeolis
      would  swear  to  the  truth  of  this,   although  no  one,   of course, 
      had  actually  seen it.
         The  soldiers  had  already  begun  the  siege  by  the  time Yama
      reached  the  tower,   and  a  crowd  had  gathered  at  a respectful
      distance  to  watch  the  fun.  Sergeant  Rhodean  stood  at the
      door  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,   his  helmet  tucked  under one
      arm  as  he  bawled  out  the  warrant.  The  Aedile  sat straightbacked
        under the       canopy  of  the  palanquin,   which was








         grounded  amongst  the  soldiers  and  a  unit  of  the  town's militia
         ,   out  of  range  of  shot  or  quarrel.  The  militiamen  were a
         motley  crew  in  mismatched  bits  of  armor,   armed  mostly with
         homemade  blunderbusses  and  rifles  but  drawn  up  in  two neat
         ranks  as  if  determined  to  put  on  a  good  show.  The soldiers'
         horses  tossed  their  heads,   made  nervous  by  the  crowd and
         the  steady  hiss  of  the  steam  wagon's boiler.
            Yama  clambered  to  the  top  of  a  stretch  of  ruined  wall near
         the  back  of  the  crowd.  It  was  almost  entirely  composed of
         men;  wives  were  not  allowed  to  leave  the  harems.  They stood
         shoulder  to  shoulder,   gray-  and  brown-skinned,   corpulent and
         four  square  on  short,   muscular  legs,   barechested in
         breechclouts  or  kilts.  They  stank  of  sweat  and  fish  and stale
         riverwater,   and  nudged  each  other  and  jostled  for  a better
         view.  There  was  a  jocular  sense  of  occasion,   as  if  this were
         some  piece  of  theater  staged  by  a  traveling  mountebank. It
         was  about  time  the  magician  got  what  he  deserved,   they told
         each  other,   and  agreed  that  the  Aedile  would  have  a hard
         time  of  it  winkling  him  from  his nest.
            Hawkers  were  selling  sherbet  and  sweetmeats,   fried cakes
         of  riverweed  and  watermelon  slices.  A  knot  of  whores  of a
         dozen  different  bloodlines,   clad  in  abbreviated,   brightly colored
           nylon  chitons,   their  faces  painted  dead  white  under fantastical
           conical  wigs,   watched  from  a  little  rise  at  the back
         
of  the  crowd,   passing  a  slim  telescope  to  and  fro.  Their panderer
         ,   no  doubt  hoping  for  brisk  business  when  the  show was
         over,   moved  amongst  the  crowd,   cracking  jokes  and handing
         out  clove-flavored  cigarettes.  Yama  looked  for  the  whore he
         had  lain  with  the  night  before  Telmon  had  left  for  the war, 
         but  could  not  see  her,   and  blushingly  looked  away  when the
         panderer  caught  his  eye  and  winked  at him.
            Sergeant  Rhodean  bawled  out  the  warrant  again,   and when
         there  was  no  reply  set  his  helmet  on  his  scarred,   shaven head
         and  limped  back  to  where  the  Aedile  and  the  other soldiers
         waited.  He  leaned  on  the  skirt  of  the  Aedile's  palanquin and
         there  was  a  brief conference.
            "Burn  him  out!"  someone  in  the  crowd  shouted,   and there
         was  a  general  murmur  of agreement.
            The  steam  wagon  jetted  black  -smoke  and  lumbered forward
         ;  soldiers  dismounted  and  walked  along  the  edge  of the
          crowd,   selecting  volunteers  from  its  ranks.  Sergeant Rhodean
          spoke  to  the  bravos  and  handed  out  coins;  under  his supervision
          ,   they  lifted  the  ram  from  the  loadbed  of  the  steam wagon
          and,   flanked  by  soldiers,   carried  it  toward  the  tower. The
          soldiers  held  their  round  shields  above  their  heads,   but nothing
            stirred  in  the  tower  until  the  bravos  applied  the  ram to
          its door.
            The  ram  was  the  trunk  of  a  young  pine  bound  with  a spiral
          of steel,   slung  in  a  cradle  of  leather  straps  with handholds
          
for eight   men  and  crowned  with  a  steel  cap  shaped  like a
          caprice,   with  sturdy,   coiled  horns.  The  crowd  shouted encouragernent
            as  the  bravos  swung  it  in  steadily  increasing arcs.
         "One!"     they  shouted. "Two!"
            At the    first  stroke  of  the  ram  the  door  rang  like a       drum
          and  a  cloud  of  bats  burst  from  the  upper  window  of the
          tower.  The  bats  stooped  low,   swirling  above  the  heads  of the
          crowd  with  a  dry  rustle  of  wings,   and  the  men  laughed and
          jumped  up,   trying  to  catch  them.  One  of  the  whores ran
                                                                       down
          the  road  screaming,   her  hands  beating  at  two  bats  which had
          tangled  in  her  conical  wig.  Some  in  the  crowd cheered
          coarsely.  The  whore  stumbled  and  fell  flat  on  her  face  and a
          militiaman  ran  forward  and  slashed  at  the  bats  with  his knife.
          One  struggled  free  and  took  to  the  air;  the  man  stamped on
          the  other  until  it  was  a  bloody  smear  on  the  dirt.  As  if blown
          by  a  wind,   the  rest  of  the  bats  rose  high  and  scattered into
          the  blue sky.
            The  ram  struck  again  and  again.  The  bravos  had found
          their  rhythm  now.  The  crowd  cheered  the  steady  beat. Someone
            at  Yanials  shoulder  remarked,   "They  should  Burn him
         out.
            it  was  Ananda.  As  usual,   he  wore  his  orange  robe,  with
          his  left  breast  bare.  He  carried  a  small  leather  satchel 
cont         
           ni
          ai  ng  incense  and  chrism  oil.  He  told  Yama  that  his master
          was  here  to  exorcise  the  tower  and,   in  case  things  got  out of
          hand,   to  shrive  the  dead.  He  was  indecently  pleased about
          Dr.  Dismas's  impendiAg  arrest.  Dr.  Dismas  was  infamous for
          his  belief  that  chance,   not  the  Preservers,   controlled  the lives
          of  men.  He  did  not  attend  any  high  day  services,  although
          he  was  a  frequent  visitor  to  the  temple,   playing  chess with
          Father  Quine  and  spending  hours  debating  the  nature  of the








        Preservers  and  the  world.  The  priest  viewed  Dr.  Dismas as
        a  brilliant  mind  that  might  yet  be  saved;  Ananda  knew the
        doctor  was  too  clever  and  too  proud  for that.
           "He  plays  games  with  people, "  Ananda  told  Yama. "He
        enjoys  making  people  believe  that  he's  a  warlock,  although
        of  course  he  has  no  such  powers.  No  one  has,   unless they
        flow  from  the  Preservers.  It's  time  he  was  punished. He's
        been  revelling  in  his  notoriety  too long."
           "He  knows  something  about  me, "  Yama  said.  "He found
        it  out  in  Ys.  I  think  that  he  is  trying  to  blackmail  my father
        with it."
           Yama  described  what  had  happened  the  night  before,  and
        Ananda  said  kindly,   "I  shouldn't  think  that  Dismas  has found
        out  anything  at  all,   but  of  course  he  couldn't  return  and tell
        the  Aedile  that.  He  was  bluffing,   and  now  his  bluff  has been
        called.  You'll  see.  The  Aedile  will  put  him  to question."
           "He  should  have  killed  Dr.  Dismas  on  the  spot, " Yama
       .said.  "Instead,   he  stayed  his  hand,   and  now  he  has this
       farce."
           "Your  father  is  a  cautious  and  judicious man."
           "Too  cautious.  A  good  general  makes  a  plan  and strikes
        before  the  enemy  has  a  chance  to  find  a  place  to  make a
       stand."
           Ananda  said,   "He  could  not  strike  Dr.  Dismas  dead  on the
        spot  or  even  arrest  him.  It  would  not  be  seemly.  He  had to
        consult  the  Council  for  Night  and  Shrines-Dr.  Dismas is
        their  man,   after  all.  This  way,   justice  is  seen  to  be  done,  and
        all  are  satisfied.  That's  why  he  chose  volunteers  from the
        
crowd  to  break  down  the  door.  Everyone  is  involved  in this."
           "Perhaps, "  Yama  said,   but  he  was  not  convinced. That
        this  whole  affair  was  somehow  hinged  about  his  origin was
        both  exciting  and  shameful.  He  wanted  it  over  with,   and yet
        a  part  of  him,   the  wild  part  that  dreamed  of  pirates and
        adventurers,   exulted  in  the  display  of  force,   and  he  was more
        certain  than  ever  that  he  could  never  settle  into  a  quiet tenure
        in  some  obscure  office  within  the  Department  of Indigenous
       Affairs.
           The  ram  struck,   and  struck  again,   but  the  door  showed no
        sign  of  giving way.
           "It  is  reinforced  with  iron, "  Ananda  said,   "and  it  is not
          hinged,   but  slides  into  a  recess.  In any    case  we've  a long
          wait  even  after  they  break  down  the door
             Yama  remarked  that  Ananda  seemed  to  be  an  expert on
          the  prosecution  of sieges.
             "I  saw  one  before, "  Ananda.  said.  "It  was  in  the little
          town  outside  the  walls  of  the  monastery  where  1,   was taught, 
          in  the  high  mountains  upriver  of  Ys.  A  gang  of  brigands had
          sealed  themselves  in  a  house.  The  town  had  only  its militia, 
          and  Ys  was  two  days'  march  away-long  before soldiers
          could  arrive,   the  brigands  would  have  escaped  under cover
          of  darkness.  The  militia  decided  to  capture  the  brigands themselves
          ,   but  several  were  killed  trying  to  break  into  the place, 
          and  at  last  they  burned  the  house  to  the  ground,   and the
          
brigands  with  it.  That's  what  they  should  do  here; otherwise
          the  soldiers  will  have  to  break  into  every  floor  of  the tower
          to  catch  Dismas.  He  could  kill  many  of  them  before thatand
            suppose  he  has  something  like  the  palanquin?  He could
          fly away."
             "Then  my  father  could  chase  him."  Yama  laughed  at the
          vision  this  conjured  up:  Dr.  Dismas  fleeing  the  tower  like a
          black  beetle  on  the  wing  and  the  Aedile  swooping  behind in
          his  richly  decorated  palanquin  like  a  hungry bird.
             The  crowd  cheered.  Yama  and  Ananda  pushed  to  the front, 
          using  their  elbows  and  knees,   and  saw  that  the  door  had split
          from  top  to bottom.
             Sergeant  Rhodean  raised  a  hand  and  there  was  an expectant
          hush.  "One  more  time,   lads, "  the  sergeant  shouted,   "and put
          some  back  into it!"
             The  ram  swung  and  the  door  shattered  and  fell  away. The
          crowd  surged  forward,   carrying  Ananda  and  Yama  with it, 
          and  soldiers  pusho  them  back.  One  recognized  Yama. "You
          should  not  be  here,   young  master, "  he  said.  "Go  back now.
          Be sensible."
             Yama  dodged  away  before  the  soldier  could  grab  him and, 
          followed  by  Ananda,   retreated  to  his  original  vantage point
          on  the  broken  bit  of  wall,   where  he  could  see  over  the heads
          of  the  crowd  and  the  line  of  embattled  soldiers.  The  team of
          bravos  swung  the  ram  with  short  brisk  strokes,  knocking
          away  the  wreckage  of  the  door;  then  they  stood  aside  
as a









        pentad  of  soldiers  (the  leader  of  the  militia  trailing behind)
        came  forward  with  rifles  and  arbalests  at  the ready.
           Led  by  Sergeant  Rhodean,   this  party  disappeared  into the
        dark  doorway.  There  was  an  expectant  hush.  Yama looked
        to  the  Aedile,   who  sat  upright  under  the  canopy  of  his palanquin
        ,   his  face  set  in  a  grim  expression.  The  white feathers
        which  trimmed  the  high  collar  of  his  sable  robe  fluttered in
        the  morning breeze.
           There  was  a  muffled  thump.  Thick  orange  smoke suddenly
        poured  from  one  of  the  narrow  windows  of  the  tower,  round
        billows  swiftly  unpacking  into  the  air.  The  crowd murmured, 
        uncertain  if  this  was  part  of  the  attack  or  a  desperate defensive
          move.  More  thumps:  now  smoke  poured  from every
        window,   and  from  the  smashed  doorway.  The  soldiers stumbled
          out  under  a  wing  of  orange  smoke.  Sergeant Rhodean
        brought  up  the  rear,   hauling  the  leader  of  the  n-dlitia  with him.
           Flames  mingled  with  the  smoke  that  poured  from  the windows
        ,   which  was  slowly  changing  from  orange  to  deep red.
        Some  of  the  crowd  were  kneeling,   their  fists  curled against
        their  foreheads  to  make  the  sign  of  the Eye.
           Ananda  said  to  Yama,   "This  is  demon work."
           "I  thought  you  did  not  believe  in magic."
           "No,   but  I  believe  in  demons,   'After  all,   demons  tried to
        overthrow  the  order  of  the  Preservers  an  age  ago. Perhaps
        Dismas  is  one,   disguised  as  a man."
           "Demons  are  machines,   not  supernatural  creatures, " Yama
        said,   but  Ananda  had  turned  to  look  at  the  burning tower, 
        and  did  not  seem  to  have  heard him.
           The  flames  licked  higher;  there  was  a  ring  of  flames around
        
the  false  spire  that  crowned  the  top  of  the  tower.  Red smoke
        hazed  the  air.  Fat  flakes  of  white  ash  fell  through  it. There
        was  a  stink  of  sulphur  and  something  sickly  sweet,  Then
        there  was  another  muffled  thump  and  a  tongue  of  flame shot
        out  of  the  doorway.  The  tower's  spire  blew  to  flinders. Burning
          strips  of  plastic  foil  rained  down  on  the  heads  of the
        crowd  and  men  yelled  and  ran  in  every direction.
           Yama  and  Ananda  were  separated  by  the  sudden  panic as
        the  front  -ranks  of  the  crowd  tried  to  flee  through  the press
        of  those  behind  and  dozens  of  men  clambered  over  the broken
        wall.  A  horse  reared  up,   striking  with  its  hooves  at  a man
       who  had  grabbed  hold  of  its  bridle.  The  steam  wagon was
       alight  from  one  end  to  the  other  The  driver  jumped  from its
       burning  cab,   rolled  over  and  over  to  smother  his smoldering
       clothes,   and  staggered  to  his  feet  just  as  the  charges  on its
       loadbed  exploded  and  blew  him  to  red ruin.
          Siege  rockets  flew  in  crisscross  trajectories,   trailing burning
       lengths  of  rope.  A  cask  of  napalm  burst  in  a  ball  of oily
       flame,   sending  a  mushroom  of  smoke  boiling  into  the air.
       Flecks  of  fire  spattered  in  a  wide  circle.  Men  dived toward
       whatever  cover  they  could  find.  Yama  dropped  to  the ground, 
       his  arms  crossed  over  his  head,   as  burning  debris pattered
      around.
          There  was  a  moment  of  intense  quiet.  As  Yama climbed
       to  his  feet,   his  ears  ringing,   a  heavy  hand  fell  on  his shoulder
       and  spun  him around.
          "We've  unfinished  business,   small  fry, "  Lob  said. Behind
       
his  brother,   Lud  grinned  around  his tusks.









                            THE  MOUSE  Of  GHOST LANTERNS.
L  U  D  T  0  0  K  Y  A  M  A'  S  knife  and  stuck  it  in  his  belt  beside his
           own  crooked  blade.  "Don't  go  shouting  for  help, "  he said, 
           64or  we'll  tear  out  your tongue."
             People  were  making  a  hasty  retreat  toward  the  gate  in the
           city  wall.  Lob  and  Lud  gripped  Yama's  arms  and  carried him
           along  with  them.  The  tower  was  burning  furiously,   a roaring
           chimney  belching  thick  red  fumes  that,   with  the  smoke of
           the  burning  wagon  and  countless  lesser  fires,   veiled'the sun.
           Several  horses  had  thrown  their  riders  and were)galloping
           about  wildly.  Sergeant  Rhodean  strode  amidst  the  flames and
           smoke,   organizing  countermeasures;  already,   soldiers  and militiamen
             were  beating  at  small  grass  fires  with  wet blankets.
             The  fleeing  crowd  split  around  Ananda  and  the  priest. They
           were  kneeling  over  a  man  and  anointing  his  bloody  head with
           oil  while  reciting  the  last  rites.  Yama  turned  to  try  and catch
           Ananda's  eye,   but  Lud  snarled  and  cuffed  his  head  and forced
           him on.
             The  fumes  of  the  burning  tower  hung  over  the crowded
           flat  roofs  of  the  little  city.  Along  the  old  waterfront,  peddlers
           were  bundling  wares  into  their  blankets.  Chandlers,  tavern
           owners  and  their  employees  were  locking  shutters  over windows
             and  standing  guard  at  doors,   armed  with  rifles  and 
axes.
                                                 (PILD  of  THE  RIVER  - 65
       Men  were  already  looting  the  building  where  Dr.  Dismas had
       his  office.  They  dragged  furniture  onto  the  second  floor veranda
         and  threw  it  into  the  street;  books  rained  down like
       broken-backed  birds;  jars  of  simples  smashed  on  the concrete, 
       strewing  arcs  of  colored  powder.  A  man  was methodically
       smashing  all  the  windows  with  a  heavy  iron hammer.
          Lob  and  Lud  marched  Yama  through  the  riot and         turned
       down  a  sidestreet  that  was  little  more  than  a  paved walkway
       above  the  green  water  of  a  wide,   stagnant  canal.  The singlestory
         houses  which  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  along the
       canal  had  been  built  with  stone  looted  from  older,  grander
       buildings,   and  their  tall,   narrow  windows  were  framed by
       collages  of  worn  carvings  and  broken  tablets  incised with
       texts  in  long-forgotten  scripts.  Chutes  led  down  into the
       scummy  water;  this  part  of  the  city  was  where  the bachelor
       field  laborers  lived,   and  they  could  not  afford  private bathing
        places.
          For  a  moment,   Yama  thought  that  the  two  brothers had
       dragged  him  to  this  shabby,   unremarked  sidestreet  so that
       they  could  punish  him  for  interfering  with  their  fun  with the
       anchorite.  He  braced  himself,   but  was  merely  pushed forward.
       With  Lud  leading  and  Lob  crowding  behind,   he  was hustled
       through  the  street  doorway  of  a  tavern,   under  a  cluster of         i'
       ancient  ghost  lanterns  that  squealed  and  rustled  in  the fetid
      breeze.
          A  square  plunge  pool  lit  by  green  underwater  lanterns took
       up  half  the  echoing  space.  Worn  stone  steps  led  down into
       the  slop  of  glowing  water.  An  immensely  fat  man  floated on
       his  back  in  the  middle  of  the  pool;  his  shadow  loomed across
       the  galleries  that  ran  around  three  sides  of  the  room.  As 
Lob
       and  Lud  hustled  Yama  past  the  pool,   the  man  snorted and            I
       stirred,   expelling  a  rnist  of  oily  vapor  from  his  nostrils and
       opening  one  eye.  Lob  threw  a  coin.  The  fat  man  caught  it in
       the  mobile,   blubbery  lips  of  his  horseshoe-shaped  mouth. His
       lower  lip  inverted  and  the  coin  vanished  into  his  maw. He
       snorted  again  and  his  eye closed.
          Lud  jabbed  Yama  with  the  point  of  his  knife  and marched
       him  around  a  rack  of  barrels  and  along  a  narrow passage            If
       which  opened  into  a  tiny  courtyard.  Tbe  space,   roofed with
       glass  speckled  and  stained  by  green  algae  and  black mold, 










         contained  a  kind  of  cage  of  woven  wire  that  fitted  inside the
         whitewashed  walls  with  only  a  handsbreadth  to  spare  on either
           side.  Inside  the  cage,   beneath  its  wire  ceiling,   Dr. Dismas
         was  hunched  at  a  rickety  table,   reading  a  book  and smoking
         a  clove-scented  cigarette  stuck  in  his  bone  cigarette holder.
           "Here  he  is, "  Lud  said.  "We  have  him,  doctor!"
           "Bring  him  inside, "  the  apothecary  said,   and  closed his
         book  with  an  impatient snap.
           Yama's  fear  had  turned  to  paralyzing  astonishment. Lob
         roughly  pinioned  his  arms  behind  his  back  while  Lud unlocked
           a  door  in  the  cage;, then  Yama  was  dirust  through and
         the  door  was  closed  and  locked  behind him.
           "No, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,   "I  am  far  from  dead,   although I
         have  paid  a  heavy  price  for  this  venture.  Close  your mouth, 
         boy.  You  look  like  one  of  the  frogs  you  are  so  fond of
         hunting  late  at night."
           Outside  the  cage,   Lud  and  Lob  nudged  each  other. "Go
         on, "  one  muttered,   and  the-other,   "You  do  it!"  At last, 
         Lud  said  to  Dr.  Dismas,   "You'll  pay  us.  We  done what
         you asked.
           "You  failed  the  first  time, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,   "nd I
         haven't  forgotten.  There's  work  still  to  be  done,   and  if  I pay
         you  now  you'll  turn  any  money  1,   give  you  into  drink'. Go
         now.  We'll  start  on  the  second  part  of  this  an  hour after
        sunset."
           After  more  nudging,   Lob  said,   "We  thought  maybe  we get
         paid  for  the  one  thing,   and  then  we  do  the other."
           "I  told  you  that  I  would  pay  you  to  bring  the  boy here.
         And  I  will.  And  there  will  be  more  money  when  you help
         me  take  him  to  the  man  who  has  commissioned  me. But
         
there  will  be  no  money  at  all  unless  everything  is  done as
         I asked."
           "Maybe  we  only  do  the  one  thing, "  Lob  said,   "and not
         the other."
           "I  would  suggest  it  is  dangerous  to  leave  something unfinished
         , "  Dr.  Dismas  said. -
           "I  don't  know  if  this  is  right, "  Lud  said.  "We  did what
         you asked-"
           Dr.  Dismas  said  sharply,   "When  did  I  ask  you  to begin
         the  second  part  of  your work?"
               "Sunset, "  Lob  said  in  a  sullen mumble.
               "An  hour  after.  Remember  that.  You  will  suffer  as much
          as   I  if  the  work  is  done  badly.  You  failed  the  first time.
           Don't  fail again."
               Lud  said  sulkily,   "We  got  him  for  you,   didn't weT
               Lob  added,   "We  would  hive  got  him  the  other  night,  if
           this  old  culler  with  a  stick  hadn't  got  in  the way."
               Yama  stared  at  the  brothers  through  the  mesh  of  the cage.
           They  would  not  meet  his  eyes.  He  said,   "You  should allow
           me  to  go.  I  will  say  you  rescued  me  from  the  mob.  I  do not
           know  what  Dr.  Dismas  promised,   but  my  father  will pay
           double  to  have  we safe."
               Lud  and  Lob  grinned,   nudging  each  other  in  the ribs.
               "Ain't  he  a  corker, "  Lud  said.  "Like  a  proper little
          gentleman."
               Lob  belched,   and  his  brother sniggered.
               Yama  turned  to  Dr.  Dismas.  "The  same  applies  to you, 
          doctor.
              My    dear  boy,   I  don't  think  the  Aedile  can  afford 
my
          price, "   Dr.  Dismas  said.  "I  was  happy  in  my  home,  with
           my  research  and  my  books."  He  put  a  hand  on  his narrow
           chest  and  sighed.  He  had  six  fingers,   with  long  nails  filed to
          points.   "All  gone  now,   thanks  to  you.  You  owe  me  a great
           deal,   Yamamanama,   and  I  intend  to  have  my  price  in  full. I
           don't  need  the  Aedile's charity."
               Yama  felt  a  queer  mixture  of  excitement  and  fear.  He was
           convinced  that  Dr.  Dismas  had  found  his  bloodline,   if  not his
           family.  "'Iben  you  really  have  found  where  I  came from!
           You  have  found  my  family-that  is,   my  real family-"
               "0,   far  better  than  that, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,   "but  this is
           not  the  time  to  talk  about it."
               Yama  said,   "I  would  know  it  now,   whatever  it  is.  I deserve
           to  know it."
               Dr.  Dismas  said  with  sudden  anger,   "I'm  no  house servant, 
           boy, "  and  his  hand  flashed  out  and  pinched  a  nerve in
           Yama's  elbow.  Yama's  head  was  filled  with  pain  as  pure as
           light.  He  fell  to  his  knees  on  the  mesh  floor  of  the  cage,  and
           Dr.  Dismas  came  around  the  table  and  caught  Yama's chin
           between  long,   stiff,   cold fingers.
                You  are  mine  now, "  he  said,   "and  don't  forget  it." He










         turned  to  the  twins.  "Why  are  you  two  still  here?  You have
         your orders."
            "We'll  be  back  tonight, "  Lud  said.  "See  you  pay us
        then."
            "Of  course,   of  course."  Once  the  twins  had  gone,  Dr.
         Dismas  said  to  Yama  in  a  confiding  tone,   "Frankly,   I would
         rather  work  alone,   but  I  could  hardly  move  amongst the
         crowd  while  everyone  thought  I  was  in  the  tower."  He got
         his  hands  under  Yama's  anus  and  hauled  him  up. "Please, 
         do  sit.  We  are  civilized  men.  There,   that's better."
            Yama,   perched  on  the  edge  of  the  flimsy  metal  chair,  simply
           breathed  for  a  while  until  the  pain  had  retreated  to a
         warm  throb  in  the  muscles  of  his  shoulder.  At  last  he said, 
         "You  knew  the  Aedile  was  going  to  arrest you."
            Dr.  Dismas  resumed  his  seat  on  the  other  side  of  the little
         table.  As  he  screwed  a  cigarette  into  his  bone  holder,   he said, 
         "Your  father  is  a  man  who  takes  his  responsibilities seriously
         .  Very  properly,   he  confided  his  intentions  to  the Council
           for  Night  and  Shrines.  One  of  them  owed  me  a favor."
            "If  there  is  any  problem  between  you  and  my  father,   I am
         sure  it  can  be  worked  out,   but  not  while  you  hold  me captive.
         Once  the  fire  in  the  tower  bums  out,   they  will  look  for a
         body.  When  they  do  not  find  one,   they  will  look  for you.
         And  this  is  a  small city."
            Dr.  Dismas  blew  a  riffle  of  smoke  toward  the  mesh ceiling
         
of  the  cage.  "How  well  Zakiel  has  taught  you  logic.  It would
         be  a  persuasive  argument,   except  that  they  will  find  a body."
            "Then  you  planned  to  Burn  your  tower  all  along,   and you
         should  not  blame  me.  I  expect  you  removed  your  books before
           you left."        Dr.
              Dismas  did  not  deny  this.  He  said,   "How  did  you like
         the  display,   by  the way?"
            "Some  are  convinced  that  you  are  a magician."
            "There  are  no  such  creatures.  Those  who  claim  to  be magicians
           delude  themselves  as  much  as  their  clients.  My little
         pyrotechnic  display  was  simply  a  few  judiciously  mixed salts
         ignited  by  electric  detonators  when  the  circuit  was  closed by
         some  oaf  stepping  on  a  plate  I'd  hidden  under  a  rug. No
         more  than  a  jape  which  any  apprentice  apothecary  worthy of
         the  trade  could  produce,   although  perhaps  not  on  such  a grand
           scale."  Dr.  Dismas  pointed  a  long  forefinger  at  Yama,  who
           stifled  the  impulse  to  flinch.  "All  this  for  you.  You  do owe
          m
              e,   Yamamanama.  The  Child  of  the  River,   yes,   but which
           river,   I  wonder.  Not  our  own  Great  River,   I'm certain."
              "You  know  about  my  fan-fily."  Yama  could  notkeep the
           eagerness  from  his  voice.  It  was  rising  and  bubbling inside
           him-he  wanted  to  laugh,   to  sing,   to  dance.  "You know
           about  my bloodline."
              Dr.  Dismas  reached  into  a  pocket  of  his  long  coat and           I
           
drew  out  a  handful  of  plastic  straws.  He  rattled  them together
           in  his  long  pale  hands  and  cast  them  on  the  table.  He was
           making  a  decision  by  appealing  to  their  random pattern;
  t        Yama  had  heard  of  this  habit  from  Ananda,   who  had iported         I
           it  in  scandalized tones.
              Yama  said,   "Are  you  deciding  whether  to  tell  me  or not, 
          doctor?"
              "You're  a  brave  boy  to  ask  after  forbidden  knowledge,  so
           you  deserve  some  sort  of  answer."  Dr.  Dismas  tapped ash
           from  his  cigarette.  "Oxen  and  camels,   nilgai,   ratites and
           horses-all  of  them  work  under  the  lash,   watched  by boys
           no  older  than  you,   or  even  younger,   who  are  armed  with no
           more  than  fresh-cut  withes  to  restrain  their  charges.  How is
           this?  Because  the  art  in  those  animals  which  yearns for
                              p
           freedom  has  been  broken  and  replaced  by  habit.  No more
           than  a  twitch  of  a  stick  is  required  to  reinforce  that habit;
           even  if  those  beasts  were  freed  of  their  harness  and their
           burden,   they  would  be  too  broken  to  realize  that  they could
           escape  their  masters.  Most  men  are  no  different  from beasts        I
           of  burden,   their  spirits  broken  by  fear  of  the  phantoms of
           religion  invoked  by  priests  and  bureaucrats.  I  work  hard to        I
           
avoid  habits.  To  be  unpredictable-that  is  how  you cheat
           those  who  would  be  the  masters  of men."
              "I  thought  you  did  not  believe  in  the  Preservers,  doctor."
              "I  don't  question  their  existence.  Certainly  they  once existed
           .  This  world  is  evidence;  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers and
          all  the  ordered  Galaxy  are  evidence.  But  I  do  question the
           great  lie  with  which  the  priests  hypnotize  the  population,  that    i
           the  Preservers  watch  over  us  all,   and  that  we  must satisfy
           them  so  that  we  can  win  redemption  and  live  forever after
           death.  As  if  creatures  who  juggled  stars  in  their courses









         would  care  about  whether  or  not  a  man  beats  his  wife,   or the
         little  torments  one  child  visits  upon  another!  It  is  a  sop to
         keep  men  in  their  places,   to  ensure  that  so-called civilization
         can  run  on  its  own  momentum.  I  spit  on it."
            And  here  Dr.  Dismas  did  spit,   as  delicately  as  a  cat,  but
         nevertheless  startling Yama.
            The  apothecary  fitted  his  cigarette  holder  back  between his
         large,   flat-topped  teeth.  When  he  smiled  around  the holder, 
         the  plaques  over  his  cheekbones  stood  out  in  relief,  their
         sharp  edges  pressing  through  brown  skin  with  the  coarse,  soft
         grain  of wood-pulp.
            Dr.  Dismas  said,   "The  Preservers  created  us,   but  they are
         gone.  They  are  dead,   and  by  their  own  hand.  They created
         the  Eye,   and  fell  through  its  event  horizon  with  all their
         worlds.  And  why?  Because  they  despaired.  They  remade the
         Galaxy,   and  could  have  remade  the  Universe,   but  their nerve
         failed.  They  were  cowardly  fools,   and  anyone  who believes
         that  they  watch  us  still,   yet  do  not  interfere  in  the terrible
         suffering  of  the  world,   is  a  worse fool."
            Yama  had  no  answer  to  this.  There  was  no  answer. Ananda
         was  right.  The  apothecary  was  a  monster  who,   refused to
         serve  anyone  or  anything  except  his  own swollen, pride.
            Dr.  Dismas  said,   "The  Preservers  are  gone,   but machines
         still  watch  us,   and  regulate  the  world  according  to out-ofdate
           precepts.  Of  course,   the  machines  can't  watch everything
         at  once,   so  they  build  up  patterns  and  predict  the behavior
         of  men,   and  watch  only  for  deviation  from  the  norm.  It 
works
         most  of  the  time  for  most  of  the  people,   but  there  are  a few
         men  like  me  who  defy  their  predictions  by  basing important
         decisions  on  chance.  The  machines  cannot  track  our random
         paths  from  moment  to  moment,   and  so  we  become invisible.
         Of  course,   a  cage  such  as  the  one  in  which  we  sit  also helps
         hide  us  from  them.  It  screens  out  the  probing  of  the machines.
         I  wear  a  hat  for  the  same  reason-it  is  lined  with  silver foil."
            Yama  laughed,   because  Dr.  Dismas  confessed  this ridiculous
           habit  with  complete  solemnity.  "So  you  are  afraid of
        machines."
            "Not  at  all.  But  I  am  deeply  interested  in  them.  I  have a
         small  collection  of  parts  of  dead  machines  excavated from
         nuns  in  the  deserts  beyond  the  midpoint  of  the  world--one is
       almost  intact,   a  treasure  beyond  price."  Dr.  Dismas suddenly
       clutched  his  head  and  shook  it  violently  for  a  moment,  then
       winked  at  Yama.  "But  that's  not  to  be  spoken  of.  Not here!
       They  might  hear,   even  in  this  cage.  One  reason  I  came here
       is  because  machine  activity  is  higher  than  anywhere  else on
       Confluence-yes,   even  Ys.  And  so,   my  dear Yamamanama, 
       I  found you."
          Yama  pointed  at  the  straws  scattered  on  the  table. They
       were  hexagonal  in  cross-section,   with  red  and  green glyphs
       of  some  unknown  language  incised  along  their  faces.  He said, 
       "You  refuse  to  acknowledge  the  authority  of  the Preservers
       over  men,   yet  you  follow  the  guidance  of  these  bits of
      plastic."
          Dr.  Dismas  looked  crafty.  "Ah,   but  I  choose  which question
         to  ask them."
          Yama  had  only  one  question  in  his  mind.  "You found
       
something  about  my  bloodline  in  Ys,   and  told  my  father what
       you  had  learned.  If  you  will  not  tell  me  everything,   will you
       at  least  tell  me  what  you  told  him?  Did  you  perhaps  find my
       family there?"
          "You  will  have  to  look  farther  than  Ys  to  find  your family, 
       my  boy,   and  you  may  be  given  the  opportunity  to  do  so. The
       Aedile  is  a  good  enough  man  in  his  way,   I  suppose,   but that
       is  to  say  he  is  no  more  -than  a  petty  official  barely capable
       of  ruling  a  moribund  little  region  of  no  interest  to anyone.
       Into  his  hands  has  fallen  a  prize  which  could  determine the
       fate  of  all  the  peoples  of  Confluence---even  the  world itselfand
         he  does  nothing  about  it.  A  man  like  that  deserves  to be
       punished,   Yamamanama.  And  as  for  you,   you  are  very dangerous
       .  For  you  do  not  know  what  you are."
          "I  would  like  very  much  to  know."  Yama  had  not understood
         half  of  what  Dr.  Dismas  had  said.  With  a  sinking heart, 
       he  was  beginning  to  believe  that  the  man  was mad.
          "Innocence  is  no  excuse, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,   but  he appeared
         to  be  speaking  to  himself.  He  moved  the  plastic straws
       about  the  tabletop  with  a  long,   bony  forefinger,   as  if seeking
       to  rearrange  his  fate.  He.  lit  another  cigarette  and  stared at
       Yama  until  Yama  grew  uncomfortable  and  looked away.
          Dr.  Dismas  laughed,   and  with  sudden  energy  took  out a
       little  leather  case  and  opened  it  out  on  the  table.  Inside,  held









         by  elastic  loops,   were  a  glass  syringe,   an  alcohol  lamp,  a
         bent  silver  spoon,   its  bowl  blackened  and  tarnished,   a small
         pestle  and  mortar,   and  several  glass  bottles  with  rubber stoppers
         .  From  one  bottle  Dn  Dismas  shook  out  a  single dried
         beetle  into  the  mortar;  from  another  he  added  a  few  drops of
         a  clear  liquid  that  filled  the  room  with  the  smell  of apricots.
         Dr.  Dismas  ground  the  beetle  into  a  paste  with  finicky care
         and  scraped  the  paste  into  the  bowl  of  the spoon.
           "Candiarides, "  he  said,   as  if  that  explained everything.
         "You  are  young,   and  will  not  understand,   but  sometimes the
         world  becomes  too  much  to  bear  for  someone  of my
        sensibilities."
           "My  father  said  this  got  you  into  trouble  with  your department
         .  He said--
           "That  I  had  sworn  to  stop  using  it?  Oh  yes,   of  course I
         said  that.  If  I  had  not  said  that,   they  would  not  have  let me
         return  to Aeolis."
           Dr.  Dismas  lit  the  wick  of  the  alcohol  lamp  with  a flint
         and  steel  and  held  the  spoon  over  the  blue  flame  until the
         brown  paste  liquified  and  began  to  bubble.  The  smell  of apricots
           intensified,   sharpened  by  a  metallic  tang.  Dr. Dismas
         drew  the  liquid  into  the  hypodermic  and  tapped  the barrel
         with  a  long  thumbnail  to  loosen  the  bubbles  which  clung to
         
the  glass.  "Don't  think  to  escape, "  he  said.  "I  have  no key."
           He  spread  his  left  hand  on  the  tabletop  and  probed the
         web  of  skin  between  thumb  and  forefinger  until  he  hit  a vein.
         He  teased  back  the  syringe's  plunger  until  a  wisp  of red
         swirled  in  the  thin  brown  solution,   then  pressed  the plunger
        home.
           He  drew  in  a  sharp  breath  and  stretched  in  his  chair like
         a  bow.  The  hypodermic  dropped  to  the  table.  For  a moment, 
         his  heels  drummed  an  irregular  tattoo  on  the  mesh  floor,  and
         then  he  relaxed,   and  looked  at  Yama  with  half-closed eyes.
         His  pupils,   smeary  crosses  on  yellow  balls,   contracted and
         expanded  independently.  He  giggled.  "If  I  had  you long
         enough  ...  ah,   what  I'd  teach  you  . .
          "Doctor?"
           But  Dr.  Dismas  would  say  no  more.  His  gaze wandered
         around  the  cage  and  at  last  fixed  on  the  spattered  glass which
         roofed  the  courtyard.  Yama  tested  the  cage's  wire  mesh,  but
      although he    could  defonn  its  close-woven  hexagons,  they
      were  all  of  a  piece,   and  the  door  was  so  close-fitting Yama
      could  not  get  his  fingers  into  the  gap  between  it  and  its wire
      frame.  The  sun  crept  into  view  above  the  little courtyard's
      glass  ceiling,   filling  it  with  golden  light,   and  began  its slow
     reversal.
         At  last,   Yama  dared  to  touch  the  apothecary's outstretched
      hand.  It  was  clammy,   and  irregular  plates  shifted  under the
      loose  skin.  Dr.  Dismas  did  not  stir.  His  head  was  tipped back, 
      
his  face  bathed  by  the sunlight.
         Yama  found  only  one  pocket  inside  the  apothecary's long
      black  coat,   and  it  was  empty.  Dr.  Dismas  stirred  as Y
      withdrew  his  hand,   and  gripped  his  wrist  and  drew  him down
      with  unexpected  strength.  "Don't  doubt, "  he  murmured. His
      breath  smelt  of  apricots  and  iron.  "Sit  and  wait,  boy."
         Yama  sat  and  waited.  Presently  the  immensely  fat  man he
      had  seen  floating  in  the  tavern's  communal  pool shuffled
      down  the  passage.  He  was  naked  except  for  blue  rubber sandals
        on  his  broad  feet,   and  he  carried  a  tray  covered  with a
      white cloth.
         "Stand  back, "  he  told  Yama.  "No,   further  back. Behind
      the doctor."
         "Let  me  go.  I  promise  you  will  be rewarded."
         "I've  already  been  paid,   young  master, "  the  fat  man said.
      He  unlocked  the  door,   set  the  tray  down,   and  relocked the
      door.  "Eat,   young  master.  The  doctor,   he  won't  want anything
      .  I  never  seen  him  eat.  He  has  his drug."
         "Let  me  go!"  Yama  banged  at  the  cage's  locked  door and
      yelled  threats  at  the  fat  man's  retreating  back  before giving
      up  and  looking  under  the  cloth  that  covered  the tray.
         A  dish  of  watery  soup  with  a  cluster  of  whitened  fish eyes
      sunk  in  the  middle  and  rings  of  raw  onion  floating  on  top; a
      slab  of  black  bread,   as  dense  as'a  brick  and  almost  as hard;
      a  glass  of  small  beer  the  color  of  stale urine.
         The  soup  was  flavored  with  chili  oil,   making  it almost
      palatable,   but  the  bread  was  so  salty  that  Yama  gagged on
      the  first  bite  and  could  eat  no  more.  He  drank  the  sour beer
      and  somehow  fell  asleep  on  the  rickety chair.
         He  was  woken  by  Dr.  Dismas.  He  had  a  splitting headache
      and  a  foul  taste  in  his  mouth.  The  courtyard  and  the cage









         was  lit  by  a  hissing  alcohol  lantern  which  dangled  from the
         cage's  wire  ceiling;  the  air  beyond  the  glass  that  roofed the
         courtyard  was black.
           "Rise  up,   young  man, "  Dr.  Dismas  said.  He  was filled
         with  barely  contained  energy  and  hopped  from  foot  to foot
         and  banged  his  stiff  fingers  together.  His  shadow,  thrown
         across  the  whitewashed  walls  of  the  courtyard,   aped his
        movements.
           "You  drugged  me, "  Yama  said stupidly.
           "A  little  something  in  the  beer,   to  take  away  your cares."
         Dr.  Dismas  banged  on  the  mesh  of  the  cage  and shouted, 
         "Ho!  Ho!  Landlord!"  and  turned  back  to  Yama  and said, 
         "You  have  been  sleeping  longer  than  you  know.  The little
         sleep  just  past  is  my  gift  to  make  you  wake  into  your true
         self  You  don't  understand  me,   but  it  doesn't  matter. Stand
         up!  Stand  up!  Look  lively!  Awake,   awake,   awake!  You venture
           forth  to  meet  your  destiny!  Ho! Landlord!"
                                                       THE WARLORD.
N 10    0  A  R  K  N  I  S  S  outside  the  door  of  the  tavern,   Dr. Dismas
         clapped  a  wide-brimmed  hat  on  his  head  and  exchanged a
         few  words  with  the  landlord,   who  handed  something  to the
         apothecary,   knuckled  his  forehead,   and  shut  the  heavy street
         door.  The  cluster  of  ghost  lanterns  above  the  door creaked
         in  the  breeze,   glimmering  with  a  wan  pallor  that illuminated
         nothing  but  themselves.  The  rest  of  the  street  was  dark,  except
           for  blades  of  light  shining  between  a  few  of  the closed
         shutters  of  the  houses  on  the  other  side,   of  the  wide canal.
         Dr.  Dismas  switched  on  a  penlight  and  waved  its narrow
         beam  at  Yama,   who  blinked  stupidly  at  the  light;  his wits
         
were  still  dulled  by  sleep  and  the  residue  of  the  drugged beer.
            "If  you  are  going  to  be  sick, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,  "lean
         over  and  don't  spatter  your  clothes  or  your  boots.  You must
         be presentable."
            "What  will  you  do  with  me,  doctor?"
            "Breathe,   my  dear  boy.  Slowly  and  deeply.  Is  it  not  a fine
         night?  There  is  a  curfew,   I'm  told.  No  one  will  be  about to
         wonder  at  us.  Look  at  this.  Do  you  know  what  it is?"
            Dr.  Dismas  showed  Yama  what  the  landlord  had given
         him.  It  was  an  energy  pistol,   silver  and  streamlined,   with a
         blunt  muzzle  and  a  swollen  chamber,   and  a  grip  of memory









          plastic  that  could  mold  itself  to  fit  the  hands  of  most  of the
          bloodlines  of  the  world.  A  dot  of  red  light  glowed  at  the side
          of  the  chamber,   indicating  that  it  was  fully charged.
             "You  could  Burn  for  that  alone, "  Yama said.
             "Then  you  know  what  it  can  do."  Dr.  Dismas  pushed the
          muzzle  into  Yama's  left  armpit.  "I  have  it  at  its weakest
          setting,   but  a  single  shot  will  roast  your  heart.  We  will walk
          to  the  new  quay  like  two  old friends."
             Yama  did  as  he  was  told.  He  was  still  too  dazed  to  try to
          run.  Besides,   Sergeant  Rhodean  had  taught  him  that  in the
          event  of  being  kidnapped  he  should  not  attempt  to escape
          unless  his  life  was  in  danger.  He  thought  that  the  soldiers of
          the  garrison  must  be  searching  for  him;  after  all,   he  had been
          missing  all  day.  They  might  turn  a  corner  and  find  him at
          any moment.
             The  dose  of  cantharides  had  made  Dr.  Dismas talkative.
          He  did  not  seem  to  think  that  he  was  in  any  danger.  As they
          walked,   he  told  Yama  that  originally  the  tavern  had  been a
          workshop  where  ghost  lanterns  had  been  manufactured  in the
          glory  days  of Aeolis.
             "The  lanterns  that  advertise  the  tavern  are  a  crude representation
            of  the  ideal  of  the  past,   being  made  of  nothing more
          than  lacquered  paper  Real  ghost  lanterns  were  little round
          boats  made  of  plastic, with  a  deep  weighted  keel  to  keep 
them
          upright  and  a  globe  of  blown  nylon  infused  with luminescent
          chemicals  instead  of  a  sail.  Ghost  lanterns  were  floated on
          the  Great  River  after  each  funeral  to  confuse  any restless
          spirits  of  the  dead  and  make  sure  that  they  would  not haunt
          their  living  relatives.  There  is,   as  you  will  soon  see,   an analogy
            to  be  made  with  your  fate,   my  dear boy."
             Yama  said,   "You  traffic  with  fools,   doctor.  The  owner of
          the  tavern  will  be  burnt  for  his  part  in  my  kidnap-it  is the
          punishment  my  father  reserves  for  the  common  people. Lud
          and  Lob  too,   though  their  stupidity  almost  absolves them."
             Dr.  Dismas  laughed.  His  sickly  sweet  breath touched
          Yama's  cheek.  He  said,   "And  will  I  be  burnt,  too?"
             "It  is  in  my  father's  power.  More  likely  you  will  be turned
          over  to  the  mercies  of  your  department.  No  one  will profit
          from this.
             "That's  where  you  are  wrong.  First,   I  do  not  take  you for, 
      ransom,   but  to  save  you  from  the  pedestrian  fate  to which
      your  father  would  consign  you.  Second,   do  you  see anyone
      coming  to  your rescue?"
         The  long  waterfront,   lit  by  the  orange  glow  of sodium
      vapor  lamps,   was  deserted.  The  taverns,   the  chandlers' godowns
        and  the  two  whorehouses  were  shuttered  and dark.
      Curfew  notices  fluttered  from  doors;  slogans  in  the crude
      ideograms  used  by  the  -  Airman  had  been  smeared  on walls.
      Rubbish  and  driftwood  had  been  piled  against  the  steel doors
      of  the  big  godown  owned  by  Derev's  father  and  set alight, 
      but  the  fire  had  done  no  more  than  discolor  the  metal. Several
      
lesser  merchants'  offices  had  been  looted,   and  the building
      where  Dr.  Dismas  had  kept  his  office  had  been  burnt  to the
      ground.  Smoldering  timbers  sent  up  a  sharp  stench  that made
      Yama's  eyes water.
         Dr.  Dismas  marched  Yama  quite  openly  along  the new
      quay,   which  ran  out  toward  the  mouth  of  the  bay between
      meadows  of  zebra  grass  and  shoals  of  mud  dissected  by shallow
        stagnant  channels.  The  wide  bay  faced downriver.
      Framed  on  one  side  by  the  bluff  on  which  the  Aedile's house
      stood,   and  by  the  chimneys  of  the  paeonin  mill  on  the other, 
      the  triple-arined  pinwheel  of  the  Galaxy  stood  beyond the
      edge  of  the  world.  It  was  so  big  that  when  Yama  looked at
      one  edge  he  could  not  see  the  other.  The  Arm  of  the Warrior
      rose  high  above  the  arch  of  the  Arm  of  the  Hunter;  the Arm
      of  the  Archer  curved  in  the  opposite  direction,   below the
      edge  of  the  world,   and  would  not  be  seen  again  until next
      winter.  The  structure  known  as  the  Blue  Diadem,   that Yama
      knew  from  his  readings  of  the  Puranas  was  a  cloud  of fifty
      thousand  blue-white  stars  each  forty  times  the  mass  of the
      sun  of  Confluence,   was  a  brilliant  pinprick  of  light beyond
      the  frayed  point  of  the  outflung  Arm  of  the  Hunter,   like a
      drop  of  water  flicked  from  a  finger.  Smaller  star  clusters made
      long  chains  of  concentrated  light  through  the  milky  haze of
      the  galactic  arms.  There  were  lines  and  threads  and globes
      and  clouds  of  stars,   all  fading  into  a general       misty radiance
      notched  by  dark  lanes  which  barred  the  arms  at regularintervals
      .  The  core,   bisected  by  the  horizon,   was  knitted  from thin
      shells  of  stars  in  tidy  orbits  concentrically  packed  around the
      great  globular  clusters  of  the  heart  stars,   like  layers  of glitter-









          ing  tissue  wrapped  around  a  heap  of  jewels.  Confronted with
          this  ancient  grandeur,   Yama  felt  that  his  fate  was  as insignificant
            as  that  of  any  of  the  mosquitoes  which  danced before
          his face.
             Dr.  Dismas  cupped  his  free  hand  to  his  mouth  and called
          out,   his  voice  shockingly  loud  in  the  quiet  darkness. "Time
          to go!
             There  was  a  distant  splash  in  the  shallows  beyond  the end
          of  the  quay's  long  stone  finger.  Then  a  familiar  voice said, 
          "Row  with  me,   you  bugger.  You're  making  us  go  in circles."
             A  skiff  glided  out  of  the  darkness.  Lud  and  Lob shipped
          their  oars  as  it  thumped  against  the  bottom  of  a  broad stone
          stair.  Lob  jumped  out  and  held  the  boat  steady  as  Yama and
          Dr.  Dismas  climbed in.
             "Quick  as  you  like,   your  honor, "  Lud said.
             "Haste  makes  waste, "  Dr.  Dismas  said.  Slowly  and fussily
          he  settled  himself  on  the  center  thwart,   facing  Yama  with the
          energy  pistol  resting  casually  in  his  lap.  He  told  the twins, 
          "I  hope  that  this  time  you  did  exactly  as  I asked."
             "Sweet  as  you  like, "  Lob  said.  "They  didn't  know we
          were  there  until  the  stuff  went  up."  The  skiff  barely rocked
          when  he  vaulted  back  into  it;  he  was  surprisingly  nimble for
          someone  of  his  bulk.  He  and his       brother  settled themselves
          in  the  high  seat  at  the  stem  and  they  pushed  off  from 
the
          rough  stones  of  the quay.
             Yama  watched  the  string  of  orange  lights  along  the waterfront
            swiftly  recede  into  the  general  darkness  of  the shore.
          The  cold  breeze  off.  the  river  was  clearing  his  head,   and for
          the  first  time  since  he  had  woken  from  his  drugged  sleep he
          was  beginning  to  feel fear.
             He  said,   "Where  are  you  taking  me,  doctor?"
             Dr.  Dismas's  eyes  gleamed  with  red  fire  beneath  the brim
          of  his  hat;  his  eyes  were  backed  with  a  reflective membrane, 
          like  those  of  certain  nocturnal  animals.  He  said,   "You return
          to  the  place  of  your  birth,   Yarnamanama.  Does  that frighten
         you?"
             "Little  fish, "  Lud  said  mockingly.  "Little  fish,   little fish."
             "Fish  out  of  water, "  Lob added.
             They  were  both  breathing  heavily  as  they  rowed swiftly
          toward  the  open  water  of  the  Great River.
            "Keep  quiet  if  you  want  to  earn  your  money, "  Dr. Dismas
         said,   and  told  Yama,   "You  must  forgive  them.  Good  help is
         so  hard  to  find  in  backwater  places.  At  times  I  was tempted
         to  use  my  master's  men instead."
            Lud  said,   "We  could  tip  you  overboard,   doctor.  Ever think
         of that?"
            Dr.  Dismas  said,   "This  pistol  can  kill  you  and  your brother
         just  as  easily  as Yamamanama."
            "If  you  shoot  at  us,   you'll  set  fire  to  the  boat,   and drown
         
as  neat  as  if  we'd  thrown  you in."
            "I  might  do  it  anyway.  Like  the  scorpion  who convinced
         the  frog  to  carry  him  across  the  river,   but  stung  his mount
         before  they  were  halfway  across,   death  is  in  my nature."
            Lob  said,   "He  don't  mean  anything  by  it,   your honor."
            "I  just  don't  like  bad-mouthing  of  our  city, "  Lud said
        sullenly.
            Dr.  Dismas  laughed.  "I  speak  only  the  truth.  Both  of you
         agree  with  me,   for  why  else  would  you  want  to  leave?  It is
         an  understandable  impulse,   and  it  raises  you  above  the rest
         of  your kind."
            Lud  said,   "Our  father  is  young,   that's  all  it  is. We're
         strong,   but  he's  stronger.  He'd  kill  either  of  us  or  both  of us, 
         however  we  tried  it,   and  we  can't  wait  for  him  to  get weak.
         It  would  take  years  and years."
            Dr.  Dismas  said,   "And  Yamamanama  wants  to  leave,  too.
         Do  not  deny  it,   my  boy.  Soon  you  will  have  your wish.
         There!  Look  upriver!  You  see  how  much  we  do  for you!"
            The  skiff  heeled  as  it  rounded  the  point  of  the shallow, 
         silted  bay  and  entered  the  choppier  waters  of  the  river proper.
         As  it  turned  into  the  current,   Yama  saw  with  a  shock that
         one  of  the  ships  anchored  at  the  floating  harbor  half  a league
         upstream  was  ablaze  from  bow  to stem.
            The  burning  ship  squatted  over  its  livid  reflection,  tossing
         
harvests  of  sparks  into  the  night,   as  if  to  rival  the  serene light
         of  the  Galaxy.  It  was  a  broad-bearned  carrack,   one  of the
         fleet  of  transports  which  carried  troops  or  bulk  supplies to
         the  arn-iies  fighting  the  heretics  at  the  midpoint  of  the world.
         Four  small  boats  were  rowing  away  from  it,   sharply etched
         shadows  crawling  over  water  that  shone  like  molten copper.
         Even  as  Yama  watched,   gape-mouthed,   a  series  of muffled









         explosions  in  the  ship's  hold  blew  expanding  globes  of white
         flame  high  above  the  burning  mastheads.  The  ship,  brokenbacked
         ,   settled  in  the water.
           Lud  and  Lob  cheered,   and  the  skiff  rocked  alarmmgly as
         they  stood  to  get  a  better view.
           "Sit  down,   you  fools, "  Dr.  Dismas said.
           Lud  whooped,   and  shouted,   "We  did  it,   your  honor! Sweet
         as  you like!"
           Dr.  Dismas  said  to  Yama,   "I  devised  a  method  so simple
         that  even  these  two  could  carry  it  out successfully."
           Yama  said,   "You  tried  to  Burn  a  ship  a  few  days  ago,  did
               T9
         you not
           "Two  barrels  of  palm  oil  and  liquid  soap.  One  at  the bow, 
         one  at  the  stem, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,   ignoring  the question, 
         "armed  with  clockwork  fuses.  It  makes  a  fine  diversion,  don't
         you  think?  Your  father's  soldiers  are  busy  rescuing sailors
         and  saving  the  rest  of  the  floating  harbor  while  we  go about
         our business."
           "There  is  a  pinnace  anchored  farther  out, "  Yama  said. "Ir
         will investigate."
           "I  think  not, "  Dr.  Dismas  said.  "Its  commander  is most
         anxious  to  make  your  acquaintance,   Yamamanama.  He  is a
         cunning  warlord,   and  knows  all  about  the  fire.  He understands
         that  it  is  a  necessary  sacrifice.  The  heretics  will  be blamed
         for  the  burning  of  the  ship,   and  also  for  your disappearance.
         Your  father  will  receive  a  ransom  note  tomorrow,   but even
         if  he  answers  it  there  will,   alas,   be  no  reply.  You  win disappear
           
without  trace.  Such  things  happen,   in  this  terrible war."
           "My  father  will  search  for  me.  He  will  not stop
        searching."
           "Perhaps  you  won't  want  to  be  found,   Yamamanama. You
         want  to  run  away,   and  here  you  are,   set  on  a great
         adventure.' '
           Yama  knew  now  who  the  sailors  had  been  searching for.
         He  said,   "You  tried  to  kidnap  me  two  days  ago.  Those burning
           rafts  were  your  work,   so  my  father's  soldiers  would chase
         after  imaginary  heretics.  But  these  two  failed  to  get  hold of
         me,   and  you  had  to  try again."
           "And  here  we  are, "  Dr.  Dismas  said.  "Now  please be
         quiet.  We  have  a  rendezvous  to keep."
            The  skiff  drifted  on  a  slow current      parallel  to  the dark
         shore.  The  burning  ship  receded  into  the  night.  It had
         grounded  on  the  river  bottom,   and  only  the  forecastle  and the
         masts  were  still  burning.  The  fisherfolk  were  abroad,   and the
         lanterns  they  used  to  attract  fish  to  their  lines  made scattered
         constellations  across  the  breast  of  the  Great  River,   red sparks
         punctuating  the  reflected  sheen  of  the  Galaxy's light.
            Dr.  Dismas  stared  intently  into  the  glimmering  dark,  swearing
           at  Lud  and  Lob  whenever  they  dipped  their  oars  in the
         water.  "We  got  to  keep  to  the  current,   your  honor, " Lud
         said  apologetically,   "or  we'll  lose  track  of  where  we're supposed
           to be."
            "Quiet!  What  was that?"
           
Yama  ' heard  a  rustle  of  wings  and  a  faint splash.
            "Just  a  bat, "  Lud  said.  "They  fish  out  here  at night."
            "We  catch  'em  with  glue  lines  strung  across  the water, "
         Lob  explained.  "Make  good  eating,   bats  do,   but  not  in spring.
         After  winter  they're  mainly  skin  and  bone.  They  need to
         fatten up---
            "Do  shut  up!"  Dr.  Dismas  said  in  exasperation. "One
         more  word  and  I'll  fry  you  both  where  you  sit.  You  have so
         much  fat  on  your  bodies  that  you'll  go  up  like candles."
            The  current  bent  away  from  the  shore  and  the  skiff drifted
         with  it,   scraping  past  young  banyans  that  raised  small crowns
         of  leaves  a  handspan  above  the  water.  Yama  glimpsed the
         pale  violet  spark  of  a  machine  spinning  through  the  night. It
         seemed  to  be  moving  in  short  stuttering  jerks,   as  if searching
         for  something.  At  any  other  time  he  would  have wondered
         at  it,   but  now  its  remote  light  and  unguessable  motives only
         intensified  his  feeling  of  despair.  The  world  had suddenly
         turned  strange  and  treacherous,   its  wonders  traps  for the
        unwary.
            At  last  Dr.  Dismas  said,   "There!  Row,   you fools!"
            Yama  saw  a  red  lamp  flickering  to  starboard.  Lud  and Lob
         bent  to  their  oars  and  the  skiff  flew  across  the  water toward
         it.  Dr.  Dismas  lit  an  alcohol  lantern  with  flint  and  steel and
         held  it  up  by  his  face.  The  light,   cast  through  a  mask  of blue
         plastic,   made  his  pinched  face,   misshapen  by  the plaques
         
beneath  its  skin,   look  like  that  of  a corpse.
            The  red  lantern  was  hung  from  the  stem  of  a lateen-rigged









           pinnace  which  swung  at  anchor  beside  a  solitary  banyan. It
           was  the  ship  which  had  returned  Dr.  Dismas  to  Aeolis. Two
           sailors  had  climbed  into  the  branches  of  the  tree,   and they
           watched  over  the  long  barrels  of  their  rifles  as  the  skiff came
           alongside.  Lob  stood  and  threw  a  hne  up  to  the  stem  of the
           pinnace.  A  sailor  caught  the  end  and  made  the  skiff  fast,  and
           someone  vaulted  the  pinnace's  rail,   landing  so  suddenly and
           lightly  in  the  well  of  the  skiff  that  Yama  half  rose  in alarm.
             The  man  clamped  a  hand  on  Yama's  shoulder. "Easy
           there,   lad, "  he  said,   "or  you'll  have  us  in  the  river." He
           was  only  a  few  years  older  than  Yama,   bare-chested,  squat
           and  muscular,   with  an  officer's  sash  tied  at  the  waist  of his
           tight,   white  trousers.  His  broad,   pugnacious  face,   framed by
           a  cloud  of  loose,   red-gold  hair,   was  seamed  with  scars,  like
           a  clay  mask  someone  had  broken  and  badly  mended,  but
           his  look  was  frank  and  appraising,   and  enlivened  by goodhumored
            intelligence.
             The  officer  steadied  the  skiff  as  Dr.  Dismas unhandily
           clambered  up  the  short  rope  ladder  dropped  down  the side
           of  the  pinnace,   but  when  it  was  his  turn  Yama  shook  off the
           officer's  hand  and  sprang  up  and  grabbed  the  stem  rail. 
His
           breath  was  driven  from  him  when  his  belly  and  legs slarnined
           against  the  clinkered  planks  of  the  pinnace's  hull,   and pain
           shot  through  his  arms  and  shoulders  as  they  took  his weight, 
           but  he  pulled  himself  up,   got  a  leg  over  the  rail  and rolled
           over,   coming  up  in  a  crouch  on  the  deck  of  the  stem platform
           at  the  bare  feet  of  an  astonished sailor.
             The  officer  laughed  and  sprang  from  a  standing  jump to
           the  rail  and  then,   lightly  and  easily,   to  the  deck.  He said, 
           "He  has  spirit,  doctor."
             Yama  stood  up.  He  had  banged  his  right  knee.  and it
           throbbed  wam-fly.  Two  sailors  leaned  on  the  steering  bar and
           a  tall  man  in  black  stood  beside  them.  T'he  pinnace's single
           mast  was  rooted  at  the  edge  of  the  stem  platform;  below it, 
           three  decads  of  rowers,   naked  except  for  breechelouts,   sat in
           two  staggered  rows.  The  sharp  prow  was  upswept,   with a
           white  stylized  hawk's  eye  painted  on  the  side.  A smalL
           swivel-mounted  cannon  was  set  in  the  prow's  beak;  its gunner
           had  turned  to  watch  Yama  come  aboard,   one  arm  resting on
           the  cannon's  fretted barrel.
      Yama  looked  at  the  black-clad  man  and  said,   "Where is
   the  warlord  who  would  buy me?"
      
Dr.  Dismas  said  querulously,   "I  dislike  doing business
   with  guns  pointed  at me."
      The  officer  gestured,   and  the  two  sailors  perched  in the
   banyan  branches  above  the  pinnace  put  up  their  rifles. "Just
   a  precaution,   Dismas,   in  case  you  had  brought  along uninvited
     guests.  If  I  had  wanted  you  shot,   Dercetas  and Diomedes
     would  have  picked  you  off  while  you  were  still rowing
   around  the  point  of  the  bay.  But  have  no  fear  of  that,  my
   friend,   for  I  need  you  as  much  as  you  need me."
      Yama  said  again,   loudly,   "Where  is  he,   this warlord?"
      The,   bare-chested  officer  laughed.  "Why  here  I  am, " he
   said,   and  stuck  out  his hand.
      Yama  took  it.  The  officer's  grip  was  firm,   that  of  a strong
   man  who  is  confident  of  his  strength.  His  fingers  were tipped
   with  claws  that  slid  a  little  from  their  sheaths  and pricked
   the  palm  of  Yama's hand.
      "Well  met,   Yamamanama, "  the  officer  said.  His  large eyes
   were  golden,   with  tawny  irises;  the  only  beautiful  feature of
   his  broken  face.  The  lid  of  the  left  eye  was  pulled  down by
   a  deep,   crooked  scar  that  ran  from  brow  to chin.
      "'Ibis  war  breeds  heroes  as  ordure  breeds  flies, "  Dr. Dismas-remarked
   ,   "but  Enobarbus  is  a  singular  champion. He
   set  sail  last  summer  as  a  mere  lieutenant.  He  led  a picket
   boat  smaller  than  his  present  command  into  the  harbor  of tdhe
   enemy  and  sank  four  ships  and  damaged  a  dozen  others before
     his  own  boat  was  sunk  under him."
      "It  was  a  lucky  venture, "  Enobarbus  said.  "We  had a
   long  swim  of  it,   I  can  tell  you,   and  a  longer  walk afterward."
      Dr.  Dismas  said,   "If  Enobarbus  has  one  flaw,   it  is his
   humility.  After  his  boat  was  sunk,   he  led  fifteen men-his
   entire  crew-through  twenty  leagues  of  enemy  lines,   and did
   not  lose  one.  He  was  rewarded  with  command  of  a division, 
   and  he  is  going  downriver  to  take  it  up.  With  your help, 
   Yamamanama,   he  will  soon  command  much more."
      Enobarbus  grinned.  "As  for  humility,   I  always  have you, 
   
Dismas.  If  I  haveany  failing,   you  are  swift  to  point  it out.
   How  fortun4te,   Yamamanama,   that  we  both  know him."
      "More  fortunate  for  you,   I  think, "  Yama said.









            "Every  hero  must  be  reminded  of  his  humanity,   from time
          to  time, "  Dr.  Dismas said.
            "Fortunate  for  both  of  us, "  Enobarbus  told  Yama. "We'll
          make  history,   you  and  1.  That  is,   of  course,   if  you  are what
          Dismas  claims.  He  has  been  very  careful  not  to  bring the
          proof  with  him,   so  that  I  must  keep  him  alive.  He  is  a most
          cunning fellow."
            "I've  lied  many  times  in  my  life, "  Dr.  Dismas  said,  "but
          this  time  I  tell  the  truth.  For  the  truth  is  so  astonishing that
          any  lie  would  pale  before  it,   like  a  candle  in  the  sun.  I think
          we  should  leave.  My  diversion  was  splendid  while  it lasted, 
          but  already  it  is  almost  burned  out,   and  while  the  Aedile of
          that  silly  little  city  may  be  a  weak  man,   he  is  no  fool. His
          soldiers  searched  the  hills  after  my  men  set  fire  to  the first
          ship,   and  they  will  search  the  water  this time."
            "You  should  have  trusted  my  men,   Dismas, " Enobarbus
          said.  "We  could  have  taken  the  boy  two  nights ago."
            "And  the  game  would  have  been  up  at  once  if  anyone had
          seen  you.  We  should  move  on  at  once,   or  the  Aedile will
          wonder  why  you  do  not  come  to  the  aid  of  the  burning ship."
            "No, "  Enobarbus  said, -  "we'll  tarry  here  a  while.  I have
          brought  my  own  physician,   and  he'll  take  a  look  at  your lad."
            Enobarbus  called  the  man  in  black  forward.  He  was  of 
the
          same  bloodline  as  Enobarbus,   but  considerably  older. Although
            he  moved  with  the  same  lithe  tread,   he  had  a comfortable
            swag  of  a  belly  and  his  mane,   loose  about  his  face,  was
          streaked  with  gray.  His  name  was Agnitus.
            "Take  off  your  shirt,   boy, "  the  physician  said.  "Let's see
          what  you're  made of."
            "It's  better  you  do  it  yourself, "  Dr.  Dismas advised.
          "They  can  tie  you  down  and  do  it  anyway,   and  it  will be
          more  humiliating,   I  promise  you.  Be  strong,  Yamamanama.
          Be  true  to  your  inheritance.  All  will  be  well.  Soon  you will
          thank me."
            "I  do  not  think  so, "  Yama  said,   but  pulled  his  shirt over
          his  head.  Now  he  knew  that  he  was  not  going  to  be killed, 
          he  felt  a  shivery  excitement.  This  was  the  adventure  he had
          dreamed.  of,   but  unlike  his  dreams  it  was  not  under his
         control.
            The  physician,   Agnitus,   sat  Yama  on  a  stool  and  took his
          right  arm  and  turned  the  joints  of  his  fingers  and  wrist and
          elbow,   ran  cold  hard  fingers  down  his  ribs  and  prodded at
          his  backbone.  He  shone  a  light  in  Yama's  right  eye  and gazed
          closely  at  it,   then  fitted  a  kind  of  skeletal  helmet  over Yama's
          scalp  and  turned  various  screws  until  their  blunt  ends gripped
          
his  skull,   and  recorded  the  measurements  in  a  little oilskincovered
           notebook.
             Dr.  Dismas  said  impatiently,   "You'll  see  that  he  has a
          very  distinctive  bone  structure,   but  the  real  proof  is  in his
          genotype.  I  hardly  think  you  can  conduct  that  kind  of test
         here."
             Agnitus  said  to  Enobarbus,   "He's  right,   my  lord.  I must
          take  a  sample  of  the  boy's  blood  and  a  scraping  of  the skin
          from  the  inside  of  his  cheek.  But  I  can  tell  you  now  that his
          bloodline  is  not  one  I  recognize,   and  I've  seen  plenty  in my
          time.  And  he's  not  a  surgical  construct,   unless  our apothecary
          is  more  cunning  than  I am."
              I  would  not  presume, "  Dr.  Dismas said.
             "A  proof  by  elimination  is  less  satisfactory  than  one by
          demonstration, "  Enobarbus  said.  "But  unless  we  stonn the
          library  of  the  Department  of  Apothecaries  and Chirurgeons, 
          we  must  be  content  with  what  we have."
            T    is  true, "  Dr.  Dismas  said.  "Haven't  I  sworn  it so?
          And  does  he  not  fulfil  the  prophecy  made  to you?"
             Enobarbus  nodded.  "Yamamanama,   you've  always believed
            yourself  special.  Do  you  have  a  clear  view  of your
         destiny?"
             Yama  pulled  his  shirt  over  his  head.  He  liked Enobarbus's
          bold  candor,   but  mistrusted  him  because  he  was  clearly an
          ally  of  Dr.  Dismas.  He  realized  that  everyone  was  looking 
at
          him,   and  he  said  defiantly,   "I  would  say  that  you  are  a proud
          and  ambitious  man,   Enobarbus,   a  leader  of  men  who would
          seek  a  prize.greater  than  mere  promotion.  You  believe  that I
          can  help  you,   although  I  do  not  know  how-unless  it  is to
          do  with  the  circumstances  of  my  birth.  Dr.  Dismas knows
          about  that,   I  think,   but  he  likes  to tease."
             Enobarbus  laughed.  "Well  said!  He  reads  us  both  as easily
          as  reading  a  book,   Dismas.  We  must  be careful."
             "The  Aedile  would  have  made  him  a  clerk, "  Dr. Dismas
          said  with disgust.









             "The  Aedile  belongs  to  a  part  of  our  department  that is
          not  noted  for  its  imagination, "  Enobarbus  said.  "It  is why
          men  like  him  are  entrusted  with  the  administration  of unimportant
            towns.  They  can  be  relied  upon  precisely because
          they  have  no  imagination.  We  should  not  condemn  him for
          what,   in  his  office,   is  a virtue.
             "Yamamanama,   listen  to  me.  With  my  help,   the world
          itself  lies  within  your  grasp.  Do  you  understand?  You have
          always  considered  yourself  to  be  of  special  birth,   I know.
          Well,   Dismas  has  discovered  that  you  are  unique,   and  he has
          convinced  me  that  you  are  a  part  of  my destiny."
             And  then  this  powerful  young  man  did  an extraordinary
          thing.  He  knelt  before  Yama  and  bowed  his  head  until his
          forehead  touched  the  deck.  He  looked  up  through  the tangle
          of  his  mane  and  said,   "I  will  serve  you  well,  Yamamanama.
          I  swear  with  my  life.  Together  we  will  save Confluence."
             "Please  get  up, "  Yama  said.  He  was  frightened  by this
          gesture,   for  it  marked  a  solemn  moment  whose significance
          he  did  not  fully  understand.  "I  do  not  know  why  I  have been
          brought  here,   or  why  you  are  saying  these  things,   but  I did
          not  ask  for  any  of  it,   and  I  do  not  want it."
             "Stand  fast, "  Dr.  Dismas  hissed,   and  grasped Yama's
          upper  arm  in  a  cruel pinch.
             Enobarbus  stood.  "Let  him  alone,   Dismas.  My  lord  .  . .
          Yarnamanama  ...  we  are  about  to  embark  upon  a  hard and
          perilous  journey.  I  have  worked  toward  it  all  my  life.  When I
          was  a  cub,   I  was  blessed  by  a  vision.  It  was  in  the  temple of
          
my  bloodline,   in  Ys.  I  was  praying  for  my  brother,   who had
          died  in  battle  a  hundred  days  before.  The  news  had  just reached
          me.  I  was  praying  that  I  could  avenge  him  and  that  I could
          play  my  part  in  saving  Confluence  from  the  heretics.  I  was very
          young,   as  you  might  imagine,   and  very  foolish,   but  my prayers
          were  answered.  The  shrine  lit  and  a  woman  arrayed  in white
          appeared,   and  told  me  of  my  destiny.  I  accepted,   and  I have
          been  trying  my  best  to  carry  it  out  ever since.
             "Yamamanama,   to  know  one's  fate  is  a  privilege granted
          only  to  a  few  men,   and  it  is  a  heavy  responsibility.  Most men
          five  their  lives  as  they  can.  I  must  live  my  life  in  pursuit  of an
          ideal.  It  has  stripped  me  of  my  humanity  as  faith  strips an
          eremite  of  worldly  possessions,   and  honed  my  life  to  a single
       point.  Nothing  else  matters  to  me. How       often  have  I wished
       that  the  obligation  be  lifted,   but  it  has  not,   and  I  have  come to
       accept  it.  And  here  we  are,   as  was  predicted  long ago."
         Enobarbus  suddenly  smiled.  It  transformed  his wrecked
       face  as  a  firework,   bursting  across  the  dark  sky,  transforms
       the  night.  He  clapped  his  hands.  "I  have  spoken  enough for
       now.  I  will  speak  more,   Yamamanama,   I  promise,   but  it must
       wait  untilwe  are  safe.  Pay  your  men,   Dismas.  We  are  at last
       embarked  on  our journey."
         Dr.  Dismas  pulled  out  his  pistol.  "It  would  be  well  if 
your
       boat  put  some  distance  between  their  miserable  skiff.  I'm not
       sure  of  the  range  of  this  thing. "
         Enobarbus  nodded.  "It's  probably  for  the  best, "  he said.
       "They  might  guess,   and  they'll  certainly talk."
         "You  overestimate  them, "  Dr.  Dismas  said.  "They deserve
         to  die  because  they  endangered  my  plans  by  their stupidity
       .  Besides,   I  cannot  stand  boorishness,   and  I  have been
       exiled  amongst  these  uncivilized  creatures  for  an  entire year.
       This  will  be  a catharsis."
         "I'll  hear  no  more.  Kill  them  cleanly,   and  do  not  seek to
       justify yourself."
         Enobarbus  turned  to  give  his  orders,   and  at  that moment
       one  of  the  sailors  perched  in  the  branches  of  the  banyan to
       which  the  pinnace  was  moored  cried out.
         "Sail!  Sail ahead!"
         "Thirty  degrees  off  the  starboard  bow, "  his  mate added.
       "Half  a  league  and  bearing  down hard."
         Enobarbus  gave  his  orders  without  missing  a  beat. "Cut
       the  mooring  ropes  fore  and  aft.  Dercetas  and  Diomedes,  to
       your  posts  at  once!  Ready  the  rowers,   push  off  on  my word!
       I  want  thirty  beats  a  minute  from  you  lads,   and  no slacking
       or  we're  ad men."
         In  the  midst  of  the  sudden  rush  of  activity,   as  oars were
       raised  and  sailors  hacked  at  mooring  lines,   Yama  saw his
       opportunity.  Dr.  Dismas  made  a  grab  for  him,   but  was too
       slow.  Yama  vaulted  the  rail  and  landed  hard  in  the  well of
       the skiff.
         "Row!"  Yama  yelled  to  Lob  and  Lud.  "Row  for your
      lives!"









              "Catch  hold  of  him!"  Dr.  Dismas  shouted  from above.
            "Catch  him  and  make  sure  you  don't  let go!"
              Lud  started  forward.  "It's  for  your  own  good,   little fish, "
            he said.
              Yama  dodged  Lud's  clumsy  swipe  and  retreated  to the
            stem  of  the  little  skiff.  "He  wants  to  kill you!"
              "Get  him,   you  fools, "  Dr.  Dismas said.
              Yama  grabbed  hold  of  the  sides  of  the  skiff  and  rocked it
            from  side  to  side,   but  Lud  stood foursquare.        He grinned.
            "That  won't  help,   little  fish.  Keep  still,   and  maybe  I won't
            have  to  hurt you."
              "Hurt  him  anyway, "  Lob said, 
              Yama  picked  up  the  alcohol  lantern  and  dashed  it  into the
            well  of  the  skiff.  Instantly,   translucent  blue  flames licked
            up.  Lud  reared  backward,   and  the  skiff  pitched violently.
            Unbearable  heat  beat  at  Yama's  face;  he  took  a  deep breath
            and  dived  into  the river.
              He  swairn  as  far  as  he  could  before  he  came  up  and drew
            a  gulp  of  air  that  burned  all  the  way  down  the  inverted trees
            of  his  lungs.  He  pulled  at  the  fastenings  of  his  heavy boots
            and  kicked  them off.
              The  skiff  was  drifting  away  from  the  side  of  the pinnace.
            Flames  flickered  brightly  in  its  well.  Lud  and  Lob  were trying
            to  beat  out  the  fire  with  their  shirts.  Sailors  threw  
ropes down
            the  side  of  the  pinnace  and  shouted  to  them  to  give  it  up and
            come  aboard.  A  tremendous  glow  was  growing  brighter and
            brighter  beyond  the  pinnace,   turning  everything  into  a shadow
            of  its  own  self.  The  cannon  in  the  prow  of  the  pinnace spoke:
            a  crisp  rattling  burst,   and  then another.
              Yama  swam  as  hard  as  he  could,   and  when  he finally
            turned  to  float  on  his  back,   breathing  hard,   the  whole scene
            was  spread  before  him.  The  pinnace  was  sliding  away from
            the  banyan  tree,   leaving  the  burning  skiff  behind.  A great
            glowing  ship  was  bearing  down  toward  the  pinnace.  She was
            a  narrow-hulled  frigate,   her  three  masts  crowded  with square
            sails,   and  every  part  of  her  shone with     ' cold  fire.  The pinnace's
              cannon  spoke  again,   and  there  was  a  crackling  of rifle
            fire.  And  then  Dr.  Dismas  fired  his  pistol,   and  for  an instant
            a  narrow  lance  of  red  fire  split  the night.
                                                TH FISNIRWAN.
DR.  DISHAS'S  SHOT  must  have  missed  the  glowing frigate, 
      for  it  bore  down  on  the  pinnace  relentlessly.  The bristling
      oars  of  the  pinnace  set  a  steady,   rapid  beat  as  it  left the
      burning  skiff  behind  and  began  to  turn  toward  its pursuer.
      Yama  saw  that  Enobarbus  was  planning  to  come  around to
      the  near  side  of  the  frigate,   to  pass  beneath  its  cannons and
      rake  its  sides  with  her  own  guns,   but  before  he  could complete
        
his  maneuver  the  frigate  swung  about  like  a  leaf blown
      by  the  wind.  In  a  moment,   its  bow  loomed  above  the stricken
      pinnace.  The  pinnace's  cannon  hammered  defiantly,  and
      Yama  heard  someone  cry out.
         But  at  the  instant  the  frigate  struck  the  pinnace,   it dissolved
      into  a  spreading  mist  of  white  light.  Yama  backstroked  in the
      cold  water,   watching  as  the  pinnace  was  engulfed  by  a globe
      of  white  fog  that  boiled  up  higher  than  the  outflung  arm of
      the  Galaxy.  A  point  of  violet  light  shot  up  from  this spreading
      bank  of  luminous  fog,   rising  into  the  night  sky  until  it had
      vanished  from sight.
         Yama  did  not  stop  to  wonder  at  this  miracle,   for  he knew
      that  Enobarbus  would  start  searching  for  him  as  soon  as the
      pinnace  had  escaped  the  fog.  He  turned  in  the  water and
      began  to  swim.  Although  he  aimed  for  the  dark,   distant shore, 









           he  quickly  found  himself  in  a  swift  current  that  took him
           amongst  a  scattered  shoal  of  banyans.  They  were  rooted  in a
           gravel  bank  that  at  times  Yama  could  graze  with  his  toes; if
           he  had  been  as  tall  as  the  Aedile  he  could  have  stood with
           his  head  clear  of  the  swiftly  running water.
              At  first,   the  banyans  were  no  more  than  handfuls  of broad, 
           glossy  leaves  that  stood  stiffly  above  the  water,   but  the current
             carried  Yama  deeper  into  a  maze  of  wide  channels between
             stands  of  bigger  trees.  Here,   they  rose  in  dense thickets
           above  prop  roots  flexed  in  low  arches.  The  prop  roots were
           fringed  by  tangled  mats  of  feeder  roots  alive  with  schools of
           tiny  fish  that  flashed  red  or  green  dots  of  luminescence as
           they  darted  away  from Yama.
              With  the  last  of  his  strength,   Yama  swam  toward  one of
           the  largest  of  the  banyans  as  he  was  swept  past  it.  The cold
           water  had  stolen  all  feeling  from  his  limbs  and  the muscles
           of  his  shoulders  and  arms  were  tender  with  exhaustion. He
           threw  himself  into  floating  nets  of  feeder  roots  and,  scraping
           past  strings  of  clams  and  bearded  mussels,   dragged himself
           onto  a  smooth  horizontal  trunk,   and  lay  gasping  like  a fish
           that  had  just  learned  the  trick  of  breathing air.
              
Yama  was  too  cold  and  wet  and  scared  to  sleep,   and something
             in  the  tangled  thickets  of  the  tree  had  set  up  a thin, 
           hTegular  piping,   like  the  fretting  of  a  sick  baby.  He  sat with
           his  back  against  an  arched  root  and  watched  the uppermost
           arm  of  the  Galaxy  set  beyond  the  bank  of  faintly luminescent
           fog  that  had  spread  for  leagues  across  the  black  river. Somewhere
             in  the  fog  was  Enobarbus's  pinnace,   lost,   blinded. By
           what  strange  allies,   or  swmger  coincidence?  The  top  of the
           wide  fog  bank  seethed  like  boiling  milk;  Yama  watched the
           black  sky  above  it  for  the  return  of  the  machine's violet
           spark.  Answered  prayers,   he  thought,   and shivered.
              He  dozed  and  woke,   and  dozed  again,   and  jerked awake
           from  a  vivid  dream  of  standing  on  the  flying  bridge  of the
           ghostly  frigate  as  it  bore  down  on  the  pinnace.  The frigate
           was  crewed  neither  by  men  nor  even  by  ghosts  or revenants, 
           but  by  a  crowd  of  restless  lights  that  responded  to  his unspo-
       ken  commands  with  quick  unquestioning  intelligence. Zakiel
       had  taught  him  that  although  dreams  were  usually stitched
       from  fragments  of  daily  experience,   sometimes  they were
       more,   portents  of  the  future  or  riddles  whose  answers were
       keys  to  the  conduct  of  the  dreamer's  fife.  Yama  did  not know
       if  this  dream  was  of  the  first  or  second  kind,   let  alone what
       it  might  mean,   but  when  he  woke  it  left  him  with  a clinging
       horror,   as  if  his  every  action  might  somehow  be magnified, 
       with  terrible consequences.
         The  Galaxy  had  set,   and  dawn  touched  the  flood  of the
       
river  with  flat  gray  fight.  The  bank  of  fog  was  gone; there
       was  no  sign  of  the  pinnace.  Yama  dozed  again,   and woke
       with  sunlight  dancing  on  his  face,   filtered  through  the restless
       leaves  of  the  banyan.  He  found  himself  on  a  wide  limb that
       gently  sloped  up  from  the  water  and  ran  straight  as  an old
       road  into  the  dense  leafy  tangles  of  the  banyan's heal, 
       crossed  by  arching  roots  and  lesser  branches  that dropped
       prop  roots  straight  down  into  the  water.  The  banyan's glossy
       leaves  hung  everywhere  like  the  endlessly  deep  folds  of a
       ragged  green  cloak,   and  the  bark  of  its  limbs,   smoothly wrinkled
         as  skin,   was  colonized  by  lichens  that  hung  like curtains
       of  gray  lace,   the  green  barrels  of  bromeliads,   and  the scarlet
       and  gold  and  pure  white  blossoms  of  epiphytic orchids.
         Yama  ached  in  every  muscle.  He  drew  off  his  wet shirt
       and  trousers  and  hung  them  on  a  branch,   then  set  to the
       exercises  Sergeant  Rhodean  had  taught  him  until  at  last his
       joints  and  muscles  loosened.  He  drank  handfuls  of  cold water, 
       startling  shoals  of  fairy  shrimp  that  scattered  from his
       shadow,   and  splashed  water  on  his  face  until  his  skin tingled
       with  racing blood.
         Yama  had  come  ashore  on  the  side  of  the  banyan that
       faced  toward  the  far  side  of  the  river.  He  slung  his damp
       clothes  over  his  shoulder  and,   naked,   set  off  through the
       thickets  of  the  tree,   at  first  following  the  broad  limb and
       then,   when  it  joined  another  and  bent  upward  into  the high, 
       sunspeckled  canopy,   scrambling  through  a  tangle  of lesser
       branches.  There  was  always  still,   black  water  somewhere beneath
         the  random  lattice  of  branches  and  prop  roots. Tiny
       hummingbirds,   clad  in  electric  blues  and  emerald  greens,  as
       if  enameled  by  the  most  skillful  of  artists,   darted  from flower









       to  flower.  When  Yama  blundered  through  curtains  of leaves, 
       clouds  of  blackflies  rose  up  and  got  in  his  eyes  and mouth.
       At  last,   he  glimpsed  blue  sky  through  a  fall  of  green vines.
       He  parted  the  soft,   jointed  stems  and  stepped  through them
       onto  a  sloping  spit  of  mossy  ground,   where  a  round coracle
       of  the  kind  used  by  the  fisherfolk  was  drawn  up  on  the miniature
        shore.
          The  blackened,   upturned  shell  of  a  snapping  turtle  held the
       ashes  of  a  small  fire,   still  warm  when  Yama  sifted them
       through  his  fingers.  Yama  drew  on  his  damp  shirt  and trousers
       and  called  out,   but  no  one  answered  his  call.  He  cast around
       and  quickly  found  a  winding  path  leading  away  from  the spit.
       And  a  moment  later  found  the  fisherman,   tangled  in  a crude
       net  of  black  threads  just  beyond  the  second bend.
          The  threads  were  the  kind  that  Amnan  used  to  catch bats
       and  birds,   resin  fibers  as  strong  as  steel  covered  with thousands
         of  tiny  blisters  that  exuded  a  strong  glue  at  a touch.
       The  threads  had  partly  collapsed  when  the  fisherman had
       blundered  into  them,   and  he  hung  like  a  corpse  in  an unraveling
         shroud,   one  arm  caught  above  his  head,   the  other bound
       tightly  to  his side.
          He  did  not  seem  surprised  to  see  Yama.  He  said,   in a
       quiet,   hoarse  voice,   "Kill  me  quick.  Have mercy."
          "I  was  hoping  for  rescue, "  Yama said.
          The  fisherman  stared  at  him.  He  wore  only  a breecliclout, 
       and  his  pale  skin  was  blotched  with  islands  of  pale green.
       Black  hair  hung  in  greasy  tangles  around  his  broad,  chinless
       froggy  face.  His  wide  mouth  hung  open,   showing  rows of
       tiny  triangular  teeth.  He  had  watery,   protuberant  eyes,   and a
       transparent  membrane  flicked  over  their  balls  three  times before
         he  said,   "You  are  not  one  of  the  Mud People.'
          
"I  come  from  Aeolis.  My  father  is  the Aedile."
          "The  Mud  People  think  they  know  the  river.  It's  true they
       can  swim  a  bit,   but  they're  greedy,   and  pollute  her waters."
          "One  of  them  seems  to  have  caught YOU."
          "You're  a  merchant's  son,   perhaps.  We  have  dealings with
       them,   for  flints  and  steel.  No,   don't  come  close,   or  you'll be
       caught  too.  There  is  only  one  way  to  free  me,   and  I don't
       think  you  carry it."
          "I  know  how  the  threads  work, "  Yama  said,   "and  I am
        sorry  that  I  do  not  have  what  is  needed  to  set  you  free.  I do
        not  even  have  a knife."
          "Even  steel  will  not  cut  them.  Leave  me.  I'm  a  dead man, 
        fit  only  to  fill  the  bellies  of  the  Mud  People.  What  are you
       doing?"
          Yama  had  discovered  that  the  surface  of  the  path  was a
        spongy  thatch  of  wiry  roots,   fallen  leaves  and  the tangled
        filaments  of  epiphytic  lichens.  He  lay  on  his  belly  and pushed
        his  arm  all  the  way  through  the  thick  thatch  until  his fingers
        touched  water.  He  looked  at  the  fisherman  and  said,   "I have
        seen  your  people  use  baited  traps  to  catch  fish.  Do  you have
        one  on  your  coracle?  And  I  will  need  some  twine  or rope, 
       tw.19
          While  Yama  worked,   the  fisherman,   whose  name was
        Caphis,   told  him  that  he  had  blundered  into  the  sticky web
        just  after  dawn,   while  searching  for  the  eggs  of  a  species of
        coot  which  nested  in  the  hearts  of  banyan  thickets.  "The 
eggs
        are  good  to  eat, "  Caphis  said,   "but  not  worth  dying for."
          Caphis  had  put  into  the  banyan  shoal  last  night.  He had
        seen  a  great  battle,   he  explained,   and  had  thought  it prudent
        to  take  shelter.  "So  I  am  doubly  a fool."
          While  the  fisherman  talked,   Yama  cut  away  a  section of
        lichenous  thatch  and  lashed  the  trap  upright  to  a  prop root.
        He  had  to  use  the  blade  of  the  fisherman's  short  spear  to cut
        the  twine,   and  several  times  sliced  his  palm.  He  sucked at
        the  shallow  cuts  before  starting  to  replace  the  thatch.  It was
        in  the  sharp  bend  of  the  path;  anyone  hurrying  down  it would
        have  to  step  there  to  make  the turn.
          He  said,   "Did  you  see  much  of  the battle?"
          "A  big  ship  caught  fire.  And  then  the  small  boat which
        has  been  lying  offshore  of  the  Mud  People's  city  for three
        days  must  have  found  an  enemy,   because  it  started  firing into
        the  dark.' t
          "But  there  was  another  ship-it  was  huge  and glowing, 
        and  melted  into  fog  .  . ."
          The  fisherman  considered  this,   and  said  at  last,   "I turned
        for  shelter  once  the  firing  started,   as  anyone  with  any sense
        would.  You  saw  a  third  ship?  Well, -  perhaps  you  were closer
        than  L  and  I  expect  that  you  saw  more  than  you  wanted to."









            "Well,   that is  true  enough."  Yama  stood,   leaning  on the
         stout  shaft  of  the spear.
            "The  river  carries  all  away,   if  you  let  it.  That's  our view.
         What's  done  one  day  is  gone  the  next,   and  there's  a new
         start.  He  might  not  come  today,   or  even  tomorrow.  You will
         not  wait  that  long.  You  will  take  the  coracle  and  leave me
         to  the  fate  I deserve."
            "My  father  outlawed this."
            "They  are  a  devious  people,   the  Mud  People." Sunlight
         splashed  through  the  broad  leaves  of  the  banyan,   shining on
         the  fisherman's  face.  Caphis  squinted  and  added,   "If you
         could  fetch  water,   it  would  be  a blessing."
            Yama  found  a  resin  mug  in  the coracle.      He  was dipping
         it  into  the  water  at  the  edge  of  the  mossy  spit  when  he saw
         a  little  boat  making  its  way  toward  the  island.  It  was  a skiff, 
         rowed  by  a  single  man.  By  the  time  Yama  had  climbed into
         a  crotch  of  the  banyan,   hidden  amongst  rustling  leaves high
         above  the  spit,   the  skiff  was  edging  through  the  slick of
         feeder  roots  that  ringed  the banyan.
            Yama  recognized  the  man.  Grog,   or  Greg.  One  of  the bach
         elor  laborers  who  tended  the  mussel  beds  at  the  mouth  of the
         Breas.  He  was  heavy  and  slow,   and  wore  only  a  filthy kilt.
         The  gray  skin  of  his  shoulders  and  back  was  dappled  with 
a
         purple  rash,   the  precursor  of  the  skin  canker  which affected
         those  Amnan  who  worked  too  long  in sunlight.
            Yama  watched,   his  mouth  dry  and  his  heart beating
         quickly,   as  the  man  tied  up  his  boat  and  examined  the coracle
         and  the  cold  ashes  in  the  turtle  shell.  He  urinated  at  the edge
         of  the  water  for  what  seemed  a  very  long  time,   then  set off
         along  the path.
            A  moment  later,   while  Yama  was  climbing  down  from his
         hiding  place,   made  clumsy  because  he  dared  not  let  go of
         the  fisherman's  short  spear,   someone,   the  man  or  the fisherman
         ,   cried  out.  It  startled  two  white  herons  which  had been
         perching  amongst  the  topmost  branches  of  the  banyan; the
         birds  rose  up  into  the  air  and  flapped  away  as  Yama crept
         down  the  path,   clutching  the  spear  with  both hands.
            There  was  a  tremendous  shaking  in  the  leaves  at  the bend
         of  the  path.  The  man  was  floundering  hip-deep  amongst the
         broken  thatch  which  Yama  had  used  to  conceal  the  trap. The
        big  trap  was  wide-mouthed  and  two  spans  long,   tapering to
        a  blunt  point.  It  was  woven  from  pliable  young  prop roots, 
        and  bamboo  spikes  had  been  fastened  on  the  inside,  pointing
        downward,   so  that  when  a  fish  entered  to  get  at  the  bait it
        could  not  back  out.  These  spikes  had  dug  into  the  flesh of
        the  man's  leg  when  he  had  tried  to  pull  ftee,   and  he was
        bleeding  hard  and  grunting  with  pain  as  he  pushed  down with
        his  hands  like  a  man  trying  to  work  off  a  particularly 
tight
        boot.  He  did  not  see  Yama  until  the  point  of  the  spear pricked
        the  fat  folds  of  speckled  skin  at  the  back  of  his neck.
          After  Yama  bad  used  the  spray  which  dissolved the
        threads'  glue,   Caphis  wanted  to  kill  the  man  who  would have
        killed  and  eaten  him,   but  Yama  kept  hold  of  the  spear,  and
        at  last  Caphis  satisfied  himself  by  tying  the  man's thumbs
        together  behind  his  back  and  leaving  him  there,   with  his leg
        still  in  the trap.
          The  man  started  to  shout  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of sight.
        "I  gave,   you  the  stuff,   didn't  I?  I  didn't  mean  no  harm. Let
        me  go,   master!  Let  me  go  and  I'll  say  nothing!  I  swear it!"
          He  was  still  shouting  when  Caphis  and  Yama  put  out from
        the banyan.
          The  fisherman's  scrawny  shanks  were  so  long  that his
        knees  jutted  above  the  crown  of  his  head  as  he  squatted in
        the  coracle.  He  paddled  with  slow,   deliberate  strokes. The
        threads  of  the  trap  had  left  a  hundred  red  weals  across the
        mottled  yellow  skin  of  his  chest.  He  said  that  once  he had
        warmed  up  his  blood  he  would  take  Yama  across  to the
       shore.
          "That  is,   if  you  don't  mind  helping  me  with  my night
       'lines."
          "You  could  take  me  to  Aeolis.  It  is  not far."
          Caphis  nodded.  "That's  true  enough,   but  it  would  take 
me
        all  day  to  haul  against  the  current.  Some  of  us  go  there to
        trade,   and  that's  where  I  got  that  fine  spear-point  last year.
        But  we  never  leave  our  boats  when  we  go  there,   because it
        is  a  wicked town!"
          Yama  said,   "It  is  where  I  five.  You  have  nothing  to fear.









           Even  if  the man    gets  free,   he  would.be  burnt  for  trying to
           murder YOU.
             "Perhaps. But     then  his  family  would,   make  a vendetta
           against  my  fan-dly.  That  is  how  it  is."  Caphis  studied Yama, 
           and  said  at  last,   "You'll  help  me  with  my  lines,   and  I'll take
           you  to  the  shore.  You  can  walk  more  quickly  to  your home
           than  I  can  row.  But  you'll  need  some  breakfast  before you
           can  work,   I reckon."
             They  landed  at  the  edge  of  a  solitary  grandfather banyan
           half  a  league  downstream.  Caphis  built  a  fire  of  dried moss
           in  the  upturned  turtle  shell  and  boiled  up  tea  in  the resmi
           mug,   using  friable  strips  of  the  bark  of  a  twiggy  bush that
           grew,   he  said,   high  up  in  the  tangled  tops  of  the banyans.
           When  the  tea  started  to  boil  he  threw  in  some  flat  seeds that
           made  it  froth,   and  handed  Yama  the mug.
             The  tea  was  bitter,   but  after  the  first  sip  Yama  felt  it warm
           Ins  blood,   and  he  quickly  drained  the  mug.  He  sat  by the
           fire,   chewing  on  a  strip  of  dried  fish,   while  Caphis moved
           about  the  hummocky  moss  of  the  little  clearing  where they
           had  landed.  With  his  long  legs  and  short  barrel  of  a body, 
           and  his  slow,   deliberate,   flatfooted  steps,   the  fisherman 
looked
           something  like  a  heron.  The  toes  of  his  feet  were webbed, 
           and  the  hooked  claws  on  his  big  toes  and  spurs  on  his heels
           helped  him  climb  the  banyan's  smooth,   interlaced branches.
           He  collected  seeds  and  lichens  and  a  particular  kind  of moss, 
           and  dug  fat  beetle  grubs  from  rotten  wood  and  ate  them at
           once,   spitting  out  the heads.
             All  anyone  could  want  could  be  found  in  the banyans, 
           Caphis  told  Yama.  The  fisherfolk  pounded  the  leaves  to make
           a  fibrous  pulp  from  which  they  wove  their  clothes. Their
           traps  and  the  ribs  of  their  coracles  were  made  from young
           prop  roots,   and  the  hulls  were  woven  from  strips  of bark
           varnished  with  a  distillation  of  the  tree's  sap.  The  kernels of
           banyan  fruit,   which  set  all  through  the  year,   could  be ground
           into  flour.  Poison  used  to  stun  fish  was  extracted  from die, 
           skin  of  a  particular  kind  of  frog  that  lived  in  the  tiny ponds
           cupped  within  the  living  vases  of  bromeliads.  A  hundred kinds
             Of  fish  swarmed  around  the  feeder  roots,   and  a thousand
           kinds  of  plants  grew  on  the  branches;, all  had  their  uses,  and
         their  own  tutelary  spirits  which  had  to  be individually
        appeased.
           "There's  hardly  anything  we  lack,   except  metals  and tobacco
         ,   which  is  why  we  trade  with  you  land  folk. Otherwise
         we're  as  free  as  the  fish,   and  always  have  been.  We've 
never
         risen  above  our  animal  selves  since  the  Preservers  gave us
         the  banyans  as  our  province,   and  that  is  the  excuse  the Mud
         People  use  when  they  hunt  us.  But  we're  an  old  folk,  and
         we've  seen  much,   and  we  have  long  memories. Everything
         comes  to  the  river,   we  say,   and  generally  that's true."
           Caphis  had  a  tattoo  on  the  ball  of  his  left  shoulder,   a snake
         done  in  black  and  red  that  curled  around  so  that  it could
         swallow  its  own  tail.  He  touched  the  skin  beneath  this tattoo
         with  the  claw  of  his  thumb  and  said,   "Even  the  river comes
         to  its  own self."
           "What  do  you mean?"
           "Why,   where  do  you  think  the  river  goes,   when  it falls
         over  the  edge  of  the  world?  It  swallows  its  own  self and
         returns  to  its  beginning,   and  so  renews  itself.  That's  how the
         Preservers  made  the  world,   and  we,   who  were  here  from the
         first,   remember  how  it  was.  Lately,   things  are  changing. Year
         by  year  the  river  grows  less.  Perhaps  the  river  no longer
        bites  its  own  tail,   but  if  that  is  so  I  cannot  say  where it
         goes instead."
           "Do  you-your  people,   do  they  remember  the Preservers9"
           Caphis's  eyes  filmed  over.  His  voice  took  on  a sing-song
         filt.  "Before  the  Preservers,   the  Universe  was  a  plain  of ice.
         The  Preservers  brought  light  that  melted  the  ice  and woke
         
the  seeds  of  the  banyans  which  were  trapped  there.  The first
         men  were  made  of  wood,   carved  from  a  banyan  tree  so huge
         that  it  was  a  world  in  itself,   standing  in  the  universe  of water
         and  light.  But  the  men  of  wood  showed  their  backs  to the
         Preservers,   and  did  not  respect  animals  or  even themselves, 
         and  destroyed  so  much  of  the  world-tree  that  the Preservers
         raised  a  great  flood.  It  rained  for  forty  days  and  forty nights, 
         and  the  waters  rose  through  the  roots  of  the  banyan  and rose
         through  the  branches  until  only  the  youngest  leaves showed
         above  the  flood,   and  at  last  even  these  were  submerged. All
         of  the  creatures  of  the  world-tree  perished  in  the  flood except
         for  a  frog.and  a  heron.  The  frog  clung  to  the  last  leaf which









         showed  above  the  flood  and  called  to  its  own  kind,   but the
         1otWy-bw=, , bmrdJts  call  and  stooped, down  and  ate it.
            "Well,   the  Pieservers,   mw  -fts,   And  the  frog  grew within
         the  heron's  stomach  until  it  split  open  its  captor,   and stepped
         out,   neither  frog  nor  heron  but  a  new  creature  which had
         taken  something  from  both  its  parents.  It  was  the  first  of our
         kind,   and  just  as  it  was  neither  frog  nor  heron,   neither was
         it  man  or  woman.  At  once  the  flood  receded.  The  new creature
           lay  down  on  a  smooth  mudhank  and  fell  asleep. And
         while  it  slept,   the  Preservers  dismembered  it,   and  from its
         ribs  fifty  others  were  made,   and  these  were  men  and women
         of  the  first  tribe  of  my  people.  The  Preservers  breathed on
         them  and  clouded  their  minds,   so  that  unlike  the  men of
         wood  they  would  not  challenge  or  be  disrespectful  to their
         creators.  But  that  was  long  ago,   and  in  another  place. You, 
         if  you  don't  mind  me  saying  so,   look  as  if  your bloodline
         climbed  down  from  the trees."
            "I  was  born  on  the  river,   like you."
            Caphis  clacked  his  wide  flat  lower  jaw-it  was  the way
         the  fisherfolk  laughed.  "Sometime  I'd  like  to  hear  that story.
         But  now  we  should  set  to.  The  day  does  not  grow younger, 
         and  there  is  work  to  do.  It  is  likely  that  the  Mud  Man will
         escape.  We  should  have  killed  him.  He  would  bite  off his
         own  leg,   if  he  thought  that  would  help  him  escape.  The Mud
         
People  are  treacherous  and  full  of  tricks-that  is  how they
         are  able  to  catch  us,   we  who  are  more  clever  than  they,  as
         long  as  our  blood  is  warmed.  That  is  why  they  generally hunt
         us  at  night.  I  was  caught  because  my  blood  had  the night
         chill,   you  see.  It  made  me  slow  and  stupid,   but  now  I am
         warm,   and  I  know  what  I  must do."
            Caphis  pissed  on  the  fire  to  extinguish  it,   packed  away the
         cup  and  the  turtle  shell  beneath  the  narrow  bench  which circled
           the  rim  of  the  coracle,   and  declared  himself ready.
            "You  will  bring  me  luck,   for  it  was  by  luck  that  you saved
         yourself  from  the  phantom  and  then  found me."
            With  Yama  seated  on  one  side  and  Caphis  wielding  a leafshaped
           paddle  on  the  other,   the  coracle  was  surprisingly. stable
         ,   although  it  was  so  small  that  Yama's  knees pressed
         against  Caphis's  bony  shins.  As  the  craft  swung  out  into the
         current,   Caphis  paddled  with  one  hand  and  filled  a long-
        stemmed  clay  pipe  with  ordinary  tobacco  with  the other, 
        striking  a  flint  against  a  bit  of  rough  steel  for  a spark.
           It  was  a  bright  clear  afternoon,   with  a  gentle  wind that
        barely  ruffled  the  surface  of  the  river.  There  was  no  sign of
        the  pinnace;  no  ships  at  all,   only  the  little  coracles  of the
        fisherfolk  scattered  across  the  broad  river  between  shore and
        misty  horizon.  As  Caphis  said,   the  river  bore  all  away. For
        
a  while,   Yama  could  believe  that  none  of  his  adventures had
        happened,   that  his  life  could  return  to  its  normal routines.
           Caphis  squinted  at  the  sun,   wet  a  finger  and  held  it  up to
        the  wind,   then  drove  Ins  craft  swiftly  between  the scattered
        tops  of  young  banyans  (Yama  thought  of  the  lone  frog in
        Caphis's  story,   clinging  to  the  single  leaf  above  the universal
        flood,   bravely  calling  but  finding  only  death,   and  in death, 
       transfiguration).
           As  the  sun  fell  toward  the  distant  peaks  of  the  Riin Mountains
        ,   Yama  and  Caphis  worked  trotlines  strung between
        bending  poles.  anchored  in  the  bottom  of  the  gravel bank.
        Caphis  gave  Yama  a  sticky,   odorless  ointment  to  rub  on his
        shoulders  and  arms  to  protect  his  skin  from  sunburn. Yama
        soon  fell  into  an  unthinking  rhythm,   hauling  up  lines,  rebaiting
          hooks  with  bloodworms  and  dropping  them  back. Most
        of  the  hooks  were  empty,   but  gradually  a  pile  of  small silver
        fish  accumulated  in  the  well  of  the  coracle,   frantically jinking
        in  the  shallow  puddle  there  or  lying  still,   their  gill  flaps pulsing
          like  blood  red  flowers  as  they  drowned  in air.
           Caphis  asked  forgiveness  for  each  fish  he  caught. The
        fisherfolk  believed  that  the  world  was  packed  with spirits
        which  controlled  everything  from  the  weather  to  the flowering
        of  the  least  of  the  epiphytic  plants  of  the  banyan  shoals. Their
        days  were  spent  in  endless  negotiations  with  these spirits
        to  ensure  that  the  world  continued  its  seamless untroubled
        spinning out.
           At  last  Caphis  declared  himself  satisfied  with  the day's
        
catch.  He  gutted  a  pentad  of  fingerlings,   stripped  the fillets
        of  pale  muscle  from  their  backbones,   and  gave  half  to Yama, 
        together  with  a  handful  of  fleshy leaves.
           The  fillets  of  kh  were  juicy;  chewed,   the  leaves  tasted of
        sweet  limes  and  quenched  Yama's  thirst.  Following Caphis's
        example,   he  spat  the  leaf  pulp  overboard,   and  tiny fish









        promptly  swarmed  around  this  prize  as  it  sank  through the
        clear  dark water.
           Caphis picked     up  his  paddle  and  the  coracle skimmed
        across  the water    toward  a  bend  of  the  stony  shore,  where
        cliffs  carved and    socketed  with  empty  tombs  rose  from a
        broad  pale beach.
           "There's  an  old  road  that  leads  along  the  shore  to Aeolis, "
        Caphis  told  Yama.  "It  will  take  you  the  rest  of  this  day,  and
        a  little  of  the  next,   I reckon."
           "If  you  would  take  me  directly  to  Aeolis,   I  can promise
        you  a  fine  reward.  It  is  little  enough  in  return  for  your fife."
           "We  do  not  go  there  unless  we  must,   and  never after
        nightfall.  You  saved  my  life,   and  so  it  is  always  in  your care.
        Would  you  risk  it  so  quickly,   by  taking  me  into  the  jaws of
        the  Mud  People?  I  do  not  think  you  would  be  so  cruel. I
        have  my  family  to  consider.  They'll  be  watching  for  me this
        night,   and  I  don't  want  to  worry  them further."
           Caphis  grounded  his  frail  craft  in  the  shallows  a  little way
        from  the  shore.  He  had  never  set  foot  on  land,   he  said,  and
        he  wasn't  about  to  start  now.  He  looked  at  Yama  and said, 
        "Don't  walk  after  dark,   young  master.  Find  shelter before
        the  sun  goes  down  and  stick  to  it  until  first  light.  Then you'll
        be  all  right.  There  are  ghouls  out  there,   and  they  like  a bit
        of  live  meat  on occasion."
           Yama  knew  about  the  ghouls.  He  and  Telmon  had once
        
hidden  from  a  ghoul  on  one  of  their  expeditions  into the
        foothills  of  the  City  of  the  Dead.  He  remembered  the way
        the  man-shaped  creature's  pale  skin  had  glimmered  in the
        twilight  like  wet  muscle,   and  how  frightened  he  had  been as
        it  stooped  this  way  and  that,   and  the  stench  it  had  left. He
        said,   "I  will  be careful."
           Caphis  said,   "Take  this.  No  use  against  ghouls,   but  I hear
        tell  there  are  plenty  of  coneys  on  the  shore.  Some  of  usi hunt
        them,   but  not me."
           It  was  a  small  knife  carved  from  a  flake  of  obsidian. Its
        hilt  was  wrapped  with  twine,   and  its  exfoliated  edge  was as
        sharp  as  a razor.
           "I  reckon  you  can  look  after  your  own  self,   young master, 
        but  maybe  a  time  will  come  when  you  need  help.  Then my
        family  will  remember  that  you  helped  me.  Do  you  recall what
        I  said  about  the river?"
          "Everything  comes  around again."
          Caphis  nodded,   and  touched  the  tattoo  of  the self-engulfing
        snake  on  his  shoulder.  "You  had  a  good  teacher.  You know
        how  to  pay attention."
          Yama  slid  from  the  tipping  coracle  and  stood knee-deep
        in  ooze  and  brown  water.  "I  will  not  forget, "  he said.
          "Choose  carefully  where  you  camp  this  night, " Caphis
        said.  "Ghouls  are  bad,   but  ghosts  are  worse.  We  see their
        lights  sometimes,   shining  softly  in  the ruins."
          Then  he  pushed  away  from  the  shallows  and  the coracle
        waltzed  into  the  current  as  he  dug  the  water  with  his leafshaped
          paddle.  By  the  time  Yama  had  waded  to  shore,  the
        coracle  was  already  far  off,   a  black  speck  on  the shining
        
plane  of  the  river,   making  a  long,   curved  path  toward  a raft
        of  banyan  islands  far  from shore.









                                                       T111 KNIFE.
I  fl  (  0  (  A  (  fl  W  A  S  made  of  deep,   soft  drifts  of  white  shell fragments
       ;  it  was  not  until  Yama  began  to  climb  the  worn stone
       stair  that  zigzagged  up  the  face  of  the  carved  cliff  that he
       remembered  how  difficult  it  was  to  walk  on  firm ground, 
       where  each  step  sent  a  little  shock  up  the  ladder  of  the spine.
       At  the  first  turn  of  the  stair,   a  spring  welled  inside  a trough
       cut  from  the  native  stone.  Yama  knelt  on  the  mossy ground
       by  the  trough  and  drank  clear  sweet  water  until  his belly
       sloshed,   knowing  that  there  would  be  little  chance  of finding
       any  potable  water  in  the  City  of  the  Dead.  Only  when he
       stood  did  he  notice  that  someone  else  had  drunk  there recently-no
       ,   to  judge  by  the  overlapping  footprints  in  the soft
       red  moss,   it  had  been  two people.
         Lud  and  Lob.  They  had  also  escaped  Dr.  Dismas. Yama
       had  tucked  the  obsidian  knife  into  his  belt  under  the  flap of
       his  shirt,   snug  against  the  small  of  his  back.  He  touched the
       handle  for  reassurance  before  he  continued  his ascent.
         An  ancient  road  ran  close  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,   its flat
       pavement,   splashed  with  the  yellow  and  gray  blotches  of lichens
       ,   so  wide  that  twenty  men  could  have  ridden abreast
       along  it.  Beyond,   the  alkaline,   shaley  land  shimmered  in the
       level  light  of  the  late  afternoon  sun.  Tombs  stood everywhere, 
       casting  long  shadows  toward  the river.    This  was  the Silent
       Quarter,   which  Yama  had  rarely  visited-he  and  Telmon preferred
         the  ancient  tombs  of  the  foothills  beyond  the Breas, 
       where  aspects  could  be  wakened  and  the  flora  and  fauna was
       
richer.  Compared  to  the  sumptuously  decorated mausoleums
       of  the  older  parts  of  the  City  of  the  Dead,   the  tombs here
       were  poor  things,   mostly  no  more  than  low  boxes  with domed
       roofs,   although  here  and  there  memorial  steles  and columns
       rose  amongst  them,   and  a  few  larger  tombs  stood  on artificial
       stepped  mounds,   guarded  by  statues  that  watched  the river
       with  stony  eyes.  One  of  these  was  as  big  as  the peel-house, 
       half  hidden  by  a  small  wood  of  yews  grown  wild  and twisted.
       In  all  the  desiccated  landscape  nothing  stirred  except  for a
       larnmergeyer  high  in  the  deep  blue  sky,   riding  a  thermal on
       outspread wings.
         When  Yama  was  satisfied  that  he  was  not  about  to be
       ambushed,   he  set  off  down  the  road  toward  the distant
       smudge  that  must  surely  be  Aeolis,   halfway  toward  the vanishing
         point  where  the  Rim  Mountains  and  the  misty horizon
       of  the  farside  seemed  to converge.
         Little  grew  in  the  stone  gardens  of  this  part  of  the  City of
       the  Dead.  The  white,   sliding  rocks  weathered  to  a  bitter dust
       in  which  only  a  few  plants  could  root,   mostly  yuccas and
       creosote  bushes  and  clumps  of  prickly  pear.  Wild  roses crept
       around  the  smashed  doorways  of  some  of  the  tombs,  their
       blood-red  blooms  scenting  the  warm  air.  The  tombs  had all
       been  looted  long  ago,   and  of  their  inhabitants  scarcely  a bone
       remained.  If  the  cunningly  preserved  bodies  had  not been
       carted  away  to  fuel  the  smelters  of  old  Aeolis,   then wild
       animals  had  long  ago  dismembered  and  consumed  them once
       they  had  been  disinterred  from  their  caskets.  Ancient debris
       was  strewn  everywhere,   from  fragments  of  smashed funeral
       urns  and  shards  of  broken  furniture  fossilized  on  the dry
       
shale,   to  slates  which  displayed  pictures  of  the  dead,  impressed
         into  their  surfaces  by  some  forgotten  art.  Some of
       these  were  still  active,   and  as  Yama  went  past,   scenes from
       ancient  Ys  briefly  came  to  life  or  the  faces  of  men and
       women  turned  to  watch  him,   their  lips  moving soundlessly
       or  shaping  into  a  smile  or  a  coquettish  kiss.  Unlike  the aspects
         of  older  tombs,   these  were  mere  recordings without









        intelligence;  the  slates  played  the  same  meaningless  loop over
        and  over,   whether  for  the  human  eye  or  the uncomprehending
        gaze  of  any  lizard  that  flicked  over  the  glazed  surfaces in
        which  the  pictures  were embedded.
           Yama  was  familiar  with  these  animations;  the  Aedile had
        an  extensive  collection  of  them.  They  had  to  be  exposed to
        sunlight  before  they  would  work,   and  Yama  had  always wondered
          why,   for  they  were  normally  found  inside  the tombs.
        But  although  he  knew  what  these  mirages  were,   their unpredictable
          flicker  was  still  disturbing.  He  kept  looking behind
        him,   fearful  that  Lud  and  Lob  were  stalking  him  through the
        quiet  solitude  of  the ruins.
           The  oppressive  feeling  of  being  watched  grew  as  the sun
        fell  toward  the  ragged  blue  fine  of  the  Rim  Mountains and
        the  shadows  of  the  tombs  lengthened  and  mingled  across the
        bone-white  ground.  To  be  walking  through  the  City  of the
        Dead  in  the  bright  sunshine  was  one  thing,   but  as  the light
        faded  Yama  increasingly  glanced  over  his  shoulder  as he
        walked,   and  sometimes  turned  and  walked  backward  a few
        paces,   or  stopped  and  slowly  scanned  the  low  hills  with their
        freight  of  empty  tombs.  He  had  often  camped  in  the  City of
        the  Dead  with  the  Aedile  and  his  retinue  of  servants and
        archaeological  workers,   or  with  Telmon  and  two  or three
        soldiers,   but  never  before alone.
           The  distant  peaks  of  the  Rim  Mountains  bit  into  the reddened
          disc  of  the  sun.  The  lights  of  Aeolis  shinunered  in the
        distance  like  a  heap  of  tiny  diamonds.  It  was  still  at least
        
half  a  day's  walk  to  the  city,   and  would  be  longer  in darkness.
        Yama  left  the  road  and  began  to  search  the  tombs  for one
        that  would  give  shelter  for  the night.
           It  was  like  a  game.  Yama  knew  that  the  tombs  he rejected
        now  would  be  better  than  the  one  he  would  choose  of necessity
          when  the  last  of  the  sun's  light  fled  the  sky.  But  he did
        not  want  to  choose  straightaway  because  he  still  felt  that he
        was  being  watched  and  fancied,   as  he  wandered  the network
        of  narrow  paths  between  the  tombs,   that  he  heard  a padding
        footfall  behind  him  that  stopped  when  he  stopped  and resumed
          a  moment  after  he  began  to  move  forward  again. At
        last,   halfway  up  a  long,   gentle  slope,   he  turned  and called
        out  Lud  and  Lob's  names,   feeling  both  fearful  and  defiant as
      the  echoes  of  his  voice  died  away  amongst  the  tombs spread
      below  him.  There  was  no  answer,   but  when  he  moved  on he
      heard  a  faint  squealing  and  splashing  beyond  the  crest of
      the slope.
        Yama  drew  the  obsidian  knife.  and  crept  forward  like a
      thief.  Beyond  the  crest,   the  ground  fen  away  in  an abrupt
      drop,   as  if  something  had  bitten  away  half  the  hill.  At the
      foot  of  the  drop,   a  seep  of  brackish  water  glearned  like copper
      in  the  sun's  last  light,   and  a  family  of  hyraces  were sporting
      in  the  muddy shallows.
        Yama  stood  and  yelled  and  plunged  down  the steep
      slope.  The  hyraces  bolted  in  every  direction  and  a youngster
        ran  squealing  in  blind  panic  into  the  middle  of the
      shallow  pond.  It  saw  Yama  charging  toward  it  and stopped
      so  suddenly  that  it  tumbled  head  over  heels.  Before  it could
      change  direction,   he  threw  himself  on  its  slim,   hairy body
      
and  wrestled  it  onto  its  back  and  slit  its  throat  with his
     knife.
     Yama  built  a  fire  of  twisted  strands  of  dried  wood picked
      from  the  centers  of  prickly  pear  clumps  and  lit  it  using a
      friction  bow  made  from  two  twigs  and  a  sinew  from the
      hyrax's  carcass.  He  cleaned  and  skinned  and  jointed the
      hyrax,   roasted  its  meat  in  the  hot  ashes,   and  ate  until his
      stomach  hurt,   cracking  bones  for  hot  marrow  and  licking the
      fatty  juices  from  his  fingers.  The  sky  had  darkened  to reveal
      a  scattering  of  dim  halo  stars,   and  the  Galaxy  was rising, 
      salting  the  City  of  the  Dead  with  a  blue-white  glow and
      casting  a  confusion  of shadows.
        The  tomb  Yama  chose  as  a  place  to  sleep  was  not  far from
      the  seep,   and  as  he  rested  against  its  granite  fagade,  which
      still  held  the  day's  heat,   he  heard  something  splash  in the
      pool-an  animal  come  to  drink.  Yama  laid  the  remains of
      the  hyrax  on  a  flat  stone  a  hundred  paces  from  the  tomb and
      took  the  precaxtion  of  dragging  a  screen  of  rose  stems across
      the  tomb's  entrance  before  curling  up  to  sleep  on  the empty
      catafalque  inside,   his  head  pillowed  on  his  folded  shirt,  the
      obsidian  knife  in  his hand.









           Yama  awoke  from  bad  dreams  at  first  light,   stiff  and cold.
          The  golden  sun  stood  a  handspan  above  the  Rim Mountains.
          The  tomb  in  which  he  had  slept  was  one  of  a  row that
          stretched  along  the  ridge  above  the  pool,   each  with  a gabled
          false  front  of  rosy  granite;  they  glowed  like  so  many hearths
          in  the  sun's  early  light.  Yama  warmed  himself  with  a  set of
          exercises  before  pulling  on  his  shirt  and  walking  down to
          the pool.
             His  offering  was  gone;  only  a  dark  stain  was  left  on the
          flat  white  stone.  There  was  a  confusion  of  tracks  around the
          water's  edge,   but  he  could  find  no  human  ones,   only  the slots
          of  hyraces  and  antelopes,   and  what  looked  like  the impress
          of  the  pads  of  some  large  cat,   most  likely  a  spotted panther.
             The  seep  water  of  the  pool  was  chalky  with suspended
          solids,   and  so  bitter  that  Yama  spat  out  the  first moudiful.
          He  chewed  a  strip  of  cold  meat  and  skinned  and  ate new
          buds  taken  from  a  prickly  pear  stand,   but  the  cool  juices did
          not  entirely  quench  his  thirst.  He  put  a  pebble  in  his mouth
          to  stimulate  the  flow  of  saliva  and  walked  back  toward the
          river,   thinking  that  he  would  climb  down  the  cliff  to drink
          and  bathe  at  the  water's edge.
             He  had  wandered  farther  than  he  had  thought  when  he 
had
          been  looking  for  shelter  the  previous  evening.  The narrow
          paths  that  meandered  between  the  tombs  and  memorials and
          up  and  down  the  gentle  slopes  of  the  low  hills  were  all alle, 
          and  not  one  ran  for  more  than  a  hundred  paces  before meeting
          with  another,   or  splitting  into  two,   but  Yama  kept  the  sun at
          his  back,   and  by  midmorning  had  reached  the  wide straight
          road again.
             The  cliffs  there  were  sheer  and  high;  if  the  peel-house had
          stood  in  the  seething  water  at  their  bases,   its  tallest turret
          would  not  have  reached  to  their  tops.  Yama  got  down  on his
          belly  and  hung  over  the  edge  and  looked  right  and  left,  but
          could  not  see  any  sign  of  a  path  or  of  stairs,   although there
          were  many  tombs  cut  into  the  cliff  faces--there  was one
          directly  below  him.  Birds  nested  in  the  openings,   and thousands
            floated  on  the  wind  that  blew  up  the  face  of  the cliff, 
          like  flakes  of  restlessly  sifting  snow.  Yama  spat  out  the peb-
         ble  and  watched  it  bounce  from  the  ledge  in  front  of the
         tomb  directly  below  and  dwindle  away;  it  vanished  from sight
         before  it  hit  the  tumbled  slabs  of  rock  that  were  covered and
         uncovered  by  the  heave  of  the  river's  brown water.
            Behind  him,   someone  said,   "A  hot morning."
            And  someone  else:  "Watch  you  don't  fall,   little fish."
            Yama  jumped  to  his  feet.  Lud  and  Lob  stood  on  top  
of a
         bank  of  white  shale  on  the  far  side  of  the  road.  Both wore
         only  kilts.  Lob  had  a  coil  of  rope  over  his  bare  shoulder; the
         skin  of  Lud's  chest  was  reddened  and  blistered  by  a  bad burn.
            "Don't  think  of  running, "  Lud  advised.  "It's  too  hot for
         you  to  get  far  without  water,   and  you  know  you  can't get
        away.11
            Yama  said,   "Dr.  Dismas  tried  to  have  you  killed. There
         is  no  enmity  between us."
            "I  wouldn't  know  about  that, "  Lud  said.  "I  reckon we've
        a   score  to settle."
            "You  owe  us, "  Lob said.
            "I  do  not  see it."
            Lud  explained  patiently,   "Dr.  Dismas  would  have  paid us
         for  our  trouble,   and  instead  we  had  to  swim  for  our lives
         when  you  pulled  that  trick.  I  got  burnt,  too."
            "And  he  lost  his  knife, "  Lob  added.  "He  loved  that knife, 
         you  miserable  culler,   and  you  made  him  lose it."
            Lud  said,   "And  then  there  was  the  boat  you  put  on fire.
        Yo         for  that,   I reckon."
            , That  was  not yours."
            Lud  scratched  at  the  patch  of  reddened  skin  on,   his chest
         and  said,   "It's  the  principle  of  the thing, "
            "In  any  case,   I  can  only  pay  you  when  I  get home, "
         Yama said.
              
'In  any case, "  Lud  echoed  in  a  mocking  voice. "That's
         not  how  we  see  it.  How  do  we  know  we  can  trust you?"
            "Of  course  you can."
            Lud  said,   "You  haven't  even  asked  how  much  we want, 
         and  then  you  might  just  think  to  tell  your  father.  I  don't think
         he'd  pay  us  then,   would  he,  brother?"
            "It's doubtful."
            "Very  doubtful,   I'd say."








            Yama  knew  that  there  was  only  one  chance  to  escape. He
          said,   "Then  you  do  not  trust me?"
            Lud  saw  Yama's  change  M'  posture.  He  started  down the
          slope,   raising  a  cloud  of  white  dust,   and  yelled,  "Don't-"
            Yama  did.  He  turned  and  took  two  steps  backward,  and
          then,   before  he  could  have  second  thoughts,   ran  forward and
          jumped  over  the  edge  of  the cliff.
            He  fell  in  a  rush  of  air,   and  as  he  fell  threw  back  his head
          and  brought  up  his  knees.  (Sergeant  Rhodean  was saying, 
          "Just  let  it  happen  to  you.  If  you  learn  to  trust  your body
          it's  all  a  matter  of  timing.")  Sky  and  river  revolved around
          each  other,   and  then  he  landed  on  his  feet,   knees  bent  to take
          the  shock,   on  the  ledge  before  the  entrance  to  the tomb.
            The  ledge  was  no  wider  than  a  bed,   and  slippery  with bird
          excrement.  Yama  fell  flat  on  his  back  at  once,   filled  with a
          wild  fear  that  he  would  tumble  over  the  edge-there had
          been  a  balustrade  once,   but  it  had  long  ago  fallen  away. He
          caught  a  tuft  of  wiry  grass  and  held  on,   although  the sharp
          blades  of  grass  reopened  the  wounds  made  by Caphis's
         spearhead.
            As  he  carefully  climbed  back  to  his  feet,   a  stone clipped
          the  ledge  and  tumbled  away  toward  the  heaving  water far
          below.  Yama  looked  up.  Lob  and  Lud  capered  at  the  top Of
          the  cliff,   silhouetted  against  the  blue  sky.  They  shouted 
down
          at  him,   but  their  words  were  snatched  away  by  the wind.
          One  of  them  threw  another  stone,   which  smashed  to flinders
          scarcely  a  span  from  Yama's feet.
            Yama  ran  forward,   darting  between  the  winged figures, 
          their  faces  blurred  by  time,   which  supported  the  lintel  of the
          gaping  entrance  to  the  tomb.  Inside,   stone  blocks  fallen from
          the  high  ceiling  littered  the  mosaic  floor.  An  empty casket
          stood  on  a  dais  beneath  a  canopy  of  stone  carved  to look
          like  cloth  rippling  in  the  wind.  Disturbed  by  Yama's footfalls, 
          bats  fell  from  one  of  the  holes  in  the  ceiling  and dashed
          around  and  around  above  his  head,   chittering  in alarm.
            The  tomb  was  shaped  like  a  wedge  of  pie,   and  behind the
          dais  it  narrowed  to  a  passageway.  It  had  once  been sealed
          by  a  slab  of  stone,   but  that  had  been  smashed  long  ago by
          robbers  who  had  discovered  the  path  used  by  the  builders of
          the  tomb.  Yama  grinned.  He  had  guessed  that  the  tombs in
      the  cliffs  would  have  been  breached  and  stripped  just like
      those  above.  It  was  his  way  of  escape.  He  stepped  over the
      sill  and,   keeping  one  hand  on  the  cold  dry  stone  of  the wall, 
      felt  his  way  through  near darkness.
         He  had  not  gone  far  when  the  passage  struck  another running
        at  right  angles.  He  tossed  an  imaginary  coin  and chose
      the  left-hand  way.  A  hundred  heartbeats  later,   in  pitch darkness
      ,   he  went  sprawling  over  a  slump  of  rubble.  He  got up
      cautiously  and  climbed  the  spill  of  stones  until  his head
      bumped  the  ceiling  of  the  passage.  It  was blocked.
         Then  Yama  heard  voices  behind  him,   and  knew  that Lud
      
and  Lob  had  followed  him.  He  should  have  expected  it. They
      would  lose  their  lives  if  he  was  able  to  escape  and  tell the
      Aedile  about  the  part  they  had  played  in  Dr. Dismas's
     scheme.
         As  Yama  slid  down  the  rubble,   his  hand  fell  on something
      cold  and  hard.  It  was  a  metal  knife,   its  curved  blade  as long
      as  his  forearm.  It  was  cold  to  the  touch  and  gave  off  a faint
      glow;  motes  of  light  seemed  to  float  in  the  wake  of  its blade
      when  Yama  slashed  at  the  darkness.  Emboldened,   he  felt his
      way  back  to  the tomb.
         The  dim  light  hurt  his  eyes;  it  spilled  around  one  of the
      twins,   who  stood  in  the  tomb's  narrow entrance.
         "Little  fish,   little  fish.  What  are  you  scared of?"
         Yama  held  up  the  long  knife.  "Not  you,  Lud."
         "Let  me  get  him, "  Lob  said,   peering  over  his brother's
     shoulder.
         "Don't  block  the  light,   stupid."  Lud  pushed  Lob  out of
      the  way  and  grinned  at  Yama.  "There  isn't  a  way  out,  is
      there?  Or  you  wouldn't  have  come  back.  We  can  wait. We
      caught  -fish  this  morning,   and  we  have  water.  I  don't think
      you  do,   or  you  would  have  set  out  for  the  city  straight away."
         Yama  said,   "I  killed  a  hyrax  last  night.  I  ate well
      enough then."
         Lud  started  forward.  "But  I  bet  you  couldn't  drink the
      water  in  the  pool,   eh?  We  couldn't,   and  we  can  drink just
      about anything."
         Yama  was  aware  of  a  faint  breath  of  air  at  his  back. He
      said,   "How  did  you  get  down here?"









            "Rope, "  Lob  said.  "From  the  boat.  I  saved  it.  People say
          we're  stupid,   but  we're not."
            "Then  I  can  climb  back  up, "  Yama  said,   and advanced
          on  Lud,   making  passes  with  the  knife  as  he  came  around the
          raised  casket.  The  knife  made  a  soft  hum,   and  its  rusty hilt
          pricked  his  palm.  He  felt  a  coldness  flowing  into  his wrist
          and  along  his  arm  as  the  blade  brightened  with  blue light.
            Lud  retreated.  "You  wouldn't, "  he said.
            Lob  pushed  at  his  brother,   trying  to  get  past  him.  He was
          excited.  "Break  his  legs, "  he  shrieked.  "Break  his  legsl See
          how  he  swims then!"
            "A  knife!  He's  got  a knife!"
            Yama  swung  the  knife  again.  Lud  crowded  backward into
          Lob  and  they  both  fell over.
            Yama  yelled,   words  that  hurt  his  throat  and  tongue. He
          did  not  know  what  he  yelled  and  he  stumbled,   because suddenly
            his  legs  seemed  too  long  and  bony  and  his  arms hung
          wrong.  Where  was  his  mount  and  where  was  the  rest  of the
          squad?  Why  was  he  standing  in  the  middle  of  what looked
          like  a  ruined  tomb?  Had  he  fallen  into  the  keelways?  All he
          could  remember  was  a  tremendous  crushing  pain,   and then
          he  had  suddenly  woken  here,   with.two  fat  ruffians threatening
          him.  He  struck  at  the  nearest  and  the  man  scrambled  out of
          the  way  with  jittery  haste;  the  knife  hit  the  wall  and  
spat a
          shower  of  sparks.  It  was  screaming  now.  He  jumped  onto the
          casket-yes,   a  tomb-but  his  body  betrayed  him  and  he lost
          his  balance;  before  he  could  recover,   the  second ruffian
          caught  his  ankles  and  he  fell  heavily,   striking  the  stone floor
          with  hip  and  elbow  and  shoulder.  The  impact  numbed his
          fingers,   and  the  knife  fell  from  his  grasp,   clattering  on the
          floor  and  gouging  a  smoking  rut  in  the stone.
            Lud  ran  forward  and  kicked  the  knife  out  of  the way.
          Yama  scrambled  to  his  feet.  He  did  not  remember falling.
          His  right  arm  was  cold  and  numb,   and  hung  from  his shoulder
          like  a  piece  of  meat;  he  had  to  pull  the  obsidian  knife from
          his  belt  with  his  left  hand  as  Lud  ran  at  him.  They slammed
          against  the  wall  and  Lud  gasped  and  clutched  at  his chest.
          Blood  welled  over  his  hand  and  he  looked  at  it dully.
          "What?"  he  said.  He  stepped  away  from  Yama  with  a bewildered
            look  and  said  again,  "What?"
           "You  killed  him!"  Lob said.
           Yama  shook  his  head.  He  could  not  get  his  breath. The
        ancient  knife  lay  on  the  filthy  floor  exactly  between  him and
        Lob,   sputtering  and  sending  up  a  thick  smoke  that  stank of
        burning metal.
           Lud  tried  to  pull  the  obsidian  knife  from  his  chest,   but it
        snapped,   leaving  a  finger's  width  of  the  blade  protruding. He
        blundered  around  the  tomb,   blood  all  over  his  hands now, 
        blood  running  down  his  chest  and  soaking  into  the waistband
        
of  his  kilt.  He  didn't  seem  to  understand  what  had happened
        to  him.  He  kept  saying  over  and  over  again,   "What? What?"
        and  pushed  past  his  brother  and  fell  to  his  knees  at  the entrance
          to  the  tomb.  Light  spilled  over  his  shoulders. He
        seemed  to  be  searching  the  blue  sky  for  something  he could
        not find.
           Lob  stared  at  Yama,   his  gray  tongue  working  between his
        tusks.  At  last  he  said,   "You  killed  him,   you  culler. You
        didn't  have  to  kill him."
           Yama  took  a  deep  breath.  His  hands  were  shaking. "You
        were  going  to  kill me."
           "All  we  wanted was      a  bit  of  money.  Just  enough  to get
        away.  Not  much  to  ask,   and  now  you've  gone  and lulled
        MY brother."
           Lob  stepped  toward  Yama  and  his  foot  struck  the knife, 
        He  picked  it  up-and  screamed.  White  smoke  rose  from his
        hand  and  then  he  was  not  holding  the  knife  but  a creature
        fastened  to  his  arm  by  clawed  hands  and  feet.  Lob staggered
        backward  and  slammed  his  arm  against  the  wall,   but the
        creature  only  snarled  and  tightened  its  grip.  It  was  the size
        of  a  small  child,   and  seemed  to  be  made  of  sticks.  A kind
        of  mane  of  dry,   white  hair  stood  around  its  starveling face.
        A  horrid  stink  of  burning  flesh  filled  the  tomb.  Lob  beat at
        the  creature  with  his  free  hand  and  it  vanished  in  a sudden
        flash  of  blue light.
           The  ancient  knife  fell  to  the  floor,   tinging  on  the stone.
        Yama  snatched it   up  and  fled  down  the  passage,   barely remembering
          to  turn  right  into  the  faint  breeze.  He banged
        
from  wall  to  wall  as  he  ran,   and  then  the  walls  fell  away and
        he  was  tumbling  through  a  rush  of  black air.









            THE  CURATORS  OF  THE  (ITY  Of  Tot DEAD.
T  N  E  R  0  0  N  W  A  5  in  some  high,   windy  place.  It  was  small and
         square,   with  whitewashed  stone  walls  and  a  ceiling  of tongueand-groove
           planking  painted  with  a  hunting  scene.  The day
         after  he  first  woke,   Yama  managed  to  raise  himself  from the
         thin  mattress  on  the  stone  slab  and  stagger  to  the deep-set
         slit  window.  He  glimpsed  a  series  of  stony  ridges stepping
         away  beneath  a  blank  blue  sky,   and  then  pain  overcame his
         will  and  he fainted.
            "He  is  HI  and  he  does  not  know  it, "  the  old  man said.
         He  had  half-turned  his  head  to  speak  to  someone  else  as he
         leaned  over  Yama.  The  tip  of  his  wispy  white  beard  hung a
         finger's  width  from  Yama's  chin.  The  deeply  wrinkled skin
         of  his  face  was  mottled  with  brown  spots,   and  there  was only
         a  fringe  of  white  hair  around  his  bald  pate.  Glasses with
         lenses  like  small  mirrors  hid  his  eyes.  Deep,   old  scars cut
         the  left  side  of  his  face,   drawing  up  the  side  of  his  mouth in
         a  sardonic  rictus.  He  said,   "He  does  not  know  how much
         the  knife  took  from him."
            "He's  young, "  an old      woman's  voice  said.  She added, 
         "He'll  learn  by  himself,   won't  he?  We can't-"
            The  old  man  curled  and  uncurled  the  end  of  his wispy
      beard  around  his  fingers.  At  last,   he  said,   "I cannot
     remember."
         Yama  asked  them  who  they  were,   and  where  this cool
      white room    was,   but  they  did  not  hear  him.  Perhaps  he had
      not  spoken  at  all.  He  could  not  move  even  a  single fingertip, 
      
although  this  did  not  scare  him.  He  was  too  tired  to  be scared.
      The  two  old  people  went  away  and  Yama  was  left  to stare
      at  the  painted  hunting  scene  on  the  ceiling.  His thoughts
      would  not  fit  together.  Men  in  plastic  armor  over brightly
      colored  jerkins  and  hose  were  chasing  a  white  stag through
      a  forest  of  leafless  tree  trunks.  The  turf  between  the  trees was
      starred  with  flowers.  It  seemed  to  be  night  in  the  painting,  for
      in  every  direction  the  slim  trunks  of  the  trees  faded into
      darkness.  The  white  stag  glimmered  amongst  them  like a
      fugitive  star.  The  paint  had  flaked  away  from  the  wood in
      places,   and  a  patch  above  the  window  was  faded.  In the
      foreground,   a  young  man  in  a  leather  jacket  was  pulling a
      brace  of  hunting  dogs  away  from  a  pool.  Yama  thought that
      he  knew  the  names  of  the  dogs,   and  who  their  owner was.
      But  he  was dead.
         Some  time  later,   the  old  man  came  back  and  lifted Yama
      up  so  that  he  could  sip  thin  vegetable  soup  from  an earthenware
        bowl.  Later,   he  was  cold,   so  cold  that  he  shivered under
      the  thin  gray  blanket,   and  then  so  hot  that  he  would have
      cast  aside  the  blanket  if  he  had  possessed  the strength.
         Fever,   the  old  man  told  him.  He  had  a  bad  fever. Something
        was  wrong  with  his  blood.  "You  have  been  in the
      tombs, "  the  old  man  said,   "and  there  are  many  kinds  of old
      sicknesses there."
         Yama  sweated  into  the  mattress,   thinking  that  if  only he
      could  get  up  he  would  quench  his  thirst  with  the  clear water
      of  the'forest  pool.  Telmon  would  help him.
         But  Telmon  was dead.
         In  the  middle  of  the  day,   sunlight crept     a  few  paces into
      the  little  room  before  shyly  retreating.  At  night,   wind hunted
      at  the  corners  of  the  deep-set  window,   making  the candle
      
gutter  inside  its  glass  sleeve.  When  Yama's  fever  broke it
      was  night.  He  lay  still,   listening  to  the  wuthering  of  the wind.
      He  felt  very  tired  but  entirely  clearheaded,   and  spent hours
      piecing  together  what  had happened.









             Dr.  Dismas's  tower,   burning  like  a  firework.  The strange
          cage,   and  the  burning  ship.  The  leonine  young  war hero, 
          Enobarbus,   his  face  as  ruined  as  the  old  man's.  The ghost
          ship,   and  his  escape--more  fire.  The  whole  adventure seemed
          to  be  punctuated  by  fire.  He  remembered  the  kindness  of the
          fisherman,   Caphis,   and  the  adventure  amongst  the  dry tombs
          of  the  Silent  Quarter,   which  had  ended  in  Lud's  death. He
          had  run  from  something  terrible,   and  as  for  what  had happened
            after  that,   he  remembered  nothing  at all.
             "You  were  carried  here, "  the  old  woman  told  him,  when
          she  brought  him  breakfast.  "It  was  from  a  place  on  the shore
          somewhere  downstream  of  Aeolis,   I'd  judge.  A  fair distance, 
          as  the  fox  said  to  the  hen,   when  he  gave  her  a  head start."
             Her  skin  was  fine-grained,   almost  translucent,   and her
          white,   feathery  hair  reached  to  the  small  of  her  back. She
          was  of  the  same  bloodline  as  Derev,   but  far  older  than either
          of  Derev's parents.
             Yama  said,   "How  did  you know?"
             The  old  man  smiled  at  the  woman's  shoulder.  As always, 
          he  wore  his  mirrored  lenses.  "Your  trousers  and  your shirt
          were  freshly  stained  with  river  silt.  It  is  quite  distinctive. But
          I  believe  that  you  had  been  wandering  in  the  City  of the
          Dead,  too.
             Yama  asked  why  he  thought that.
              'The  knife,   dear, "  the  woman said.
             The  old  man  pulled  on  his  scanty  white  beard  and said, 
          
"Many  people  carry  old  weapons,   for  they  are  often  far more
          potent  than  those  made today."
             Yama  nodded,   remembering  Dr.  Dismas's  energy pistol.
             "However,   the  knife  you  carried  has  a  patina  of corrosion
          that  suggests  it  had  lain  undisturbed  in  some  dark,   dry place
          for  many  years.  Perhaps  you  have  carried  it  around without
          scrupling  to  clean  it,   but  I  think  that  you  are  more responsible
          than  that.  I  think  that  you  found  it  only  recently,   and  did not
          have  time  to  clean  it.  You  landed  at  the  shore  and  began to
          walk  through  the  City  of  the  Dead,   and  at  some,   point found
          the  knife  in  an  old tomb."
             "It's  from  the  Age  of  Insurrection,   if  I'm  a  judge, " the
          woman  said.  "It's  a  cruel thing."
             "And  she  has  forgotten  a  good  deal  more  than  I ever
       knew, "  the  old  man  said  fondly.  "You  will  have  to  learn its
       ways,   or  it  could  kill you."
         "Hush!"  the  old  woman  said  sharply.  "Nothing should
       be changed!"
         "Perhaps  nothing  can  be  changed, "  the.old  man said.
         "Then  I  would  be  a  machine, "  the  old  woman  said,  "and
       I  don't  like  that thought."
         "At  least  you  would  not  need  to  worry.  But  I  will be
       careful.  Pay  no  attention  to  me,   youngster.  My  mind wanders
       these  days,   as  my  wife  will  surely  remind  you  at every
      opportunity."
         They  had  been  married  a  long  time.  They  both  wore the
       same  kind  of  long,   layered  shifts  over  woollen  trousers,  and
       
shared  the  same  set  of  gestures,   as  if  love  were  a  kind of
       imitation  game  in  which  the  best  of  both  participants was
       mingled.  They  called  themselves  Osric  and  Beatrice,  but
       Yama  suspected  that  these  were  not  their  real  names. They
       both  had  an  air  of  sly  caution  which  suggested  that  they were
       withholding  much,   although  Yama  felt  that  Osric  wanted to
       tell  him  more  than  he  was  allowed  to  know.  Beatrice was
       strict  with  her  husband,   but  she  favored  Yama  with fond
       glances,   and  while  he  had  been  stricken  with  fever  she had
       spent  hours  bathing  his  forehead  with  wet  cloths  infused with
       oil  of  spikenard,   and  had  fed  him  infusions  of  honey and
       herbs,   crooning  to  him  as  if  he  were  her  child.  While Osric
       was  bent  by  age,   his  tall,   slender  wife  carried  herself  eke a
       young dancer.
         Later,   husband  and  wife  sat  side  by  side  on  the ledge
       beneath  the  narrow  window  of  the  little  room,  watclung
       Yama  eat  a  bowl  of  boiled  maize.  It  was  his  first  solid food
       since  he  had  woken.  They  said  that  they  were  members of
       the  Department  of  the  Curators  of  the  City  of  the  Dead,  an
       office  of  the  civil  service  which  had  been  disbanded centuries
        ago.
         "But  my  ancestors  stayed  on,   dear, "  Beatrice explained.
       "They  believed  that  the  dead  deserved  better  than abandonment
       ,   and  fought  against  dissolution.  There  was  quite  a little
       war.  Of  course,   we're  much  diminished  now.  Most would
       say  that  we  had  vanished  long  ago,   if  they  had  heard  of us









        at  all,   but  we  still  hold  some  of  the  more  important  parts of
        the  city. -
          "You  might  say  that  I  am  an  honorary  member  of the
        department,   by  marriage, "  Osric  said.  "Here,   I  cleaned the
        knife  for YOU. 11
          Osric  laid  the  long,   curved  knife  at  the  foot  of  the bed.
        Yama  looked  at  it  and  discovered  that  although  it  had saved
        his  life  he  feared  it;  it  was  as  if  Osric  had  set  a  live snake
        at  his  feet.  He  said,   "I  found  it  in  a  tomb  in  the  cliffs by
        the river."
          "Then  it  came  from  somewhere  else, "  Osric  said,   and laid
        a  bony  finger  beside  his  nose.  The  tip  of  the  finger was
        missing.  He  said,   "I  used  a  little  white  vinegar  to  take the
        bloom  of  age  from  the  metal,   and  every  decad  or  so you
        should  rub  it  down  with  a  cloth  touched  to  mineral  oil. But
        it  will  not  need  sharpening,   and  it  will  repair  itself,  within
        limits.  It  had  been  imprinted  with  a  copy  of  the personality
        of  its  previous  owner,   but  I  have  purged  that  ghost. You
        should  practice  with  it  as  often  as  you  can,   and  handle  it at
        least  once  a  day,   and  so  it  will  come  to  know you."
          6  10sric-1 9
          "He  needs  to  know, "  Osric  told  his  wife.  "It  will not
        hurt.  Handle  it  often,   Yama.  The  more  you  handle  it,  the
        better  it  will  know  you.  And  leave  it  in  the  sunlight,  or
        between  places  of  different  temperature-placing  the  point in
        
a  fire  is  good.  Otherwise  it  will  take  energy  from  you again.
        It  had  lain  in  the  dark  a  long  time-that  was  why  you were
        hurt  by  it  when  you  used  it.  I  would  guess  it  belonged  to an
        officer  of  the  cavalry,   dead  long  ages  past.  They  were issued
        to  those  fighting  in  the  rain  forests  two  thousand leagues
       downriver."
          Yama  said  stupidly,   "But  the  war  started  only forty
        years  ago. "
          "Tbis  was  another  war,   dear, "  Beatrice said.
          "I  found  it  by  the  river.  In  a  tomb  there.  I  put  out my
        hand  in  the dark."
          Yama  remembered  how  the  knife  had  kindled  its eldritch
        glow  when  he  had  held  it  up,   wonderingly,   before  his face.
        But  when  Lob  had  picked  it  up,   the  horrible  thing  had happened
        .  The  knife  was  different  things  to  different people.
          Yama  had  been  brought  a  long  way  from  the  river. This
       was  the  last  retreat  of  the  last  of  the  curators  of  the  City of
       the  Dead,   deep  in  the  foothills  of  the  Rim  Mountains. He
       had  not  realized  until  then  the  true  extent  of  the necropolis.
          "The  dead  outnumber  the  living, "  Osric  said,   "and this
       has  been  the  burial  place  for  Ys  since  the  construction of
       Confluence.  Until  this  last,   decadent  age,   at least."
          Yama  gathered  that  there  were  not  many  curators  left now, 
       and  that  most  of  those  were  old.  This  was  a  place  where the
       past  was  stronger  than  the  present.  The  Department  of the
       Curators  of  the  City  of  the  Dead  had  once  been responsible
       for  preparation  and  arrangement  of  the  deceased,   whom they
       called  clients,   and  for  the  care  and  maintenance  of  the graves, 
       
tombs  and  memorials,   the  picture  slates  and  aspects  of the
       dead.  It  had  been  a  solemn  and  complex  task.  For instance, 
       -Yama  learned  that  there  had  been  four  methods  of dealing
       with  clients:  by  interment,   including  burial  or entombment;
       by  cremation,   either  by  fire  or  by  acids;  by  exposure,  either
       in  a  byre  raised  above  the  ground  or  by  dismemberment; and
       by water.
          "Which  I  understand  is  the  only  method  used  these days, "
       Osric  said.  "It  has  its  place,   but  many  die  a  long  way from
       the  Great  River,   and  besides,   many  communities  are  too close
       together,   so  that  the  corpses  of  those  upriver  foul  the water
       of  those  below  them.  Consider,   Yama.  Much  of Confluence
       is  desert  or  mountain.  Interment  in  the  soil  is  rare,   for there
       is  little  enough  land  for  cultivation.  For  myriad  upon myriad
       days,   our  ancestors  built  tombs  for  their  dead,   or  burned them
       on  pyres  or  dissolved  them  in  tanks  of  acid,   or  exposed them
       to  the  brothers  of  the  air.  Building  tombs  takes  much labor
       and  is  suitable  only  for  the  rich,   for  the  badly constructed
       tombs  of  the  poor  are  soon  ransacked  by  wild  animals. Firewood
         is  in  as  short  supply  as  arable  land,   for  the  same reasons
       ,   and  dissolution  in  acid  is  usually considered
       aesthetically  displeasing.  How  much  more  natural,   in  the circumstances
       ,   to  expose  the  client  to  the  brothers  of  the  air. It
       is  how  I  wish  my  body  to  be  disposed,   when  my  time comes.
       Beatrice  has  promised  it  to  me.  The  world  win  end  before I
       die,   of  course,   but  I  think  there  will  still  be  birds  .  . ."       I









            "You  forgot  preservation, "  Beatrice  said  sharply.  "He always
           does, "  she  told  Yama.  "He disapproves."
            "Ah,   but  I  did  not  forget.  It  is  merely  a  variation  on interment
         .  Without  a  tomb,   the  preserved  body  is  merely fodder
         for  the  animals,   or  a  curiosity  in  a sideshow."
            "Some  are  turned  into  stone, "  Beatrice  said.  "It  is mostly
         done  by  exposing  the  client  to  limy water."
            "Ana  then  there  is  mummificatim  and  desiccation,   either by
         vacuum  or  by  chemical  treatment,   and  treatment  by  tar,   of by
         ice."  Osric  Ocked  off  the  variations  on  his  fingers.  "But you
         know  M  well  that  I  mean  the  most  common  method,   and the
         most  decadent.  Which  is  to  say,   those  clients  who  were preserved
           while  still  alive,   in  the  hope  of  physical  resurrection in
         ages  to  come.  Irmbead,   robbers  opened  the  tombs  and  took what
         there  was  ofvalue,   and  threw  away  the  bodies  for  wild animals
         to  devour,   or  burned  them  as  fuel,   or  ground  them  up  for fertilizer
         .  The  brave  cavalry  officer  who  once  wielded  your  knife in
         battle,   young  Yama,   was  in  all  probability  burned  in  some furnace
           to  melt  the  alloy  stripped  from  his  tomb.  Perhaps  one of
         the  tomb  robbers  picked  up  the  knife,   and  it  attacked  him. He
         
dropped  it  where  you  would  find  it  an  age.  later.  We  live in
         impoverished  times.  I  remember  that  I  played  amongst the
         tombs  as  a  child,   teasing  the  aspects  who  still  spoke  for those
         beyond  hope  of  resurrection.  There  is  a  lesson  in  folly. Only
         the  Preservers  outrun  time.  I  did  not  know  then  that  the aspects
         were  bound  to  oblige  my  foolishness;  the  young  are needlessly
         cruel  because  they  know  no better."
            Beatrice  straightened  her  back,   held  up  her  hand,   and recited
           a verse:
            Letfame,   that  all  hunt  after  in  their lives, 
             Live  registered  upon  our  brazen tombs, 
             And  then  grace  us  in  the  disgrace  of death;
             When,   spite  of  the  cormorant  devouring time, 
             The  endeavor  of  this  present  breath  may buy
             That  honor  which  shall  bate  his  scythe's  keen edge, 
             And  makes  us  heirs  to  all eternity.
            Yama  guessed  that  this  was  from  the  Puranas,   but Beatrice
         said  that  it  was  far  older.  "There  are  too  few  of  us  to remem-
         ber  everything  left  by  the  dead, "  she  said,   "but  we  do what
         we  can,   and  we  are  a  long-lived race."
           There  was  much  more  to  the  tasks  of  the  curators than
         preparation  of  their  clients,   and  in  the  next  two  days Yama
         learned  something  about  care  of  tombs  and  the preservation
         of  the  artifacts  with  which  clients  had  been  interred,  each
         according  to  the  customs  of  their  bloodline.  Osric  and Beatrice
           fed  him  vegetable  broths,   baked  roots  and succulent
         young  okra,   corn  and  green  beans  fried  in  airy  batter.  
He was
         getting  better,   and  was  beginning  to  feel  a  restless curiosity.
         He  had  not  broken  any  bones,   but  his  ribs  were  badly bruised
         and  muscles  in  his  back  and  arms  hadbeen  torn.  There were
         numerous  half-healed  cuts  on  his  limbs  and  torso,   too,  and
         the  fever  had  left  him  very  weak,   as  if  most  of  his  blood had
         been drained.
           Beatrice  cleaned  out  the  worst  of  his  wounds;  she explained
           that  the  stone  dust  embedded  in  them  would otherwise
           leave  scars.  As  soon  as  he  could,   Yama  started to
         exercise,   using  the  drills  taught  him  by  Sergeant Rhodean.
         He  practiced  with  the  knife,   too,   mastering  his instinctive
         revulsion.  He  handled  it  each  day,   as  Osric  had suggested, 
         and  otherwise  left  it  on  the  ledge  beneath  the  narrow window, 
         where  it  would  catch  the  midday  sun.  To  begin  with,   he had
         to  rest  for  an  hour  or  more  between  each  set  of exercises, 
         but  he  ate  large  amounts  of  the  curators'  plain  food  and felt
         his  strength  return.  At  last,   he  was  able  to  climb  the winding
         stairs  to  the  top  of  the  hollow crag.
           He  had  to  stop  and  rest  frequently,   but  finally  stepped out
         of  the  door  of  a  little  hut  into  the  open  air  under  an achingly
         blue  sky.  The  air  was  clean  and  cold,   as  heady  as  wine after
         the  stuffy  room  in  which  he  had  lain  for  so long.
           The  hut  was  set  at  one  end  of  the  top  of  the  crag,  which
         was  so  flat  that  it  might  have  been  sheared  off  by someone
         
wielding  a  gigantic  blade.  Possibly  this  was  more  or less
         what  had  been  done,   for  during  the  construction  of Confluence
         ,   long  before  the  Preservers  had  abandoned  the  ten thousand
           bloodlines,   energies  had  been  deployed  to  move whole
         mountains  and  shape  entire  landscapes  as  easily  as  a gardener
         might  set  out  a  bed  of flowers.
           The  flat  top  of  the  crag  was  no  bigger  than  the  Great Hall









          of  the  peel-house,   and  divided  into  tiny  fields  by  low drystone
          walls.  There  were  plots  of  squash  and  yams,   corn  and kale
          and  cane  fruits.  Little  paths  wandered  between  these plots, 
          and  there  was  a  complicated  system  of  cisterns  and gutters
          to  provide  a  constant  supply  of  water  to  the  crops.  At  the far
          end,   Beatrice  and  Osric  were  feeding  doves  which fluttered
          around  a  round-topped  dovecote  built  of  unmortared stone.
            The  crag  stood  at  the  edge  of  a  winding  ridge  above a
          gorge  so  deep  that  its  bottom  was  lost  in  shadow.  Other flattopped
            crags  stood  along  the  ridge,   their  smooth  sides fretted
          with  windows  and  balconies.  There  was  a  scattering  of tombs
          on  broad  ledges  cut  into  the  white  rock  of  the  gorge's steep
          sides,   huge  buildings  with  blind,   whitewashed  walls under
          pitched  roofs  of  red  tile  that  stood  amidst  manicured lawns
          and  groves  of  tall  trees.  Beyond  the  far  side  of  the gorge, 
          other  ridges  stepped  up  toward  the  sky,   and  beyond  the farthest
            ridge  the  peaks  of  the  Rim  Mountains  seemed  to float
          free  above  indistinct  blue  and  purple  masses,   shining  in the
          light  of  the sun.
            Yama  threaded  the  winding  paths  to  the  little  patch of
          grass  where  Beatrice  and  Osric  were  scattering  grain. Doves
          rose  up  in  a  whir  of  white  wings  as  he  approached. Osric
          raised  a  hand  in  greeting  and  said, "'This  is  the  valley  of the
          kings  of  the  first  days,   Some  maintain  that  Preservers are
          
buried  here,   but  if  that  is  true,   the  location  is  hidden from
         us."
            "It  must  be  a  lot  of  work,   looking  after  these tombs."
            The  mirror  lenses  of  Ostic's  spectacles  flashed  light at
          Yama.  "They  maintain  themselves, "  the  old  man  said,  "and
          there  are  mechanisms  which  prevent  people  from approaching
          too  closely.  It  was  once  our  job  to  keep  people  away for
          their  own  good,   but  only  those  who  know  this  place come
          here  now. "
            "Few  know  of  it, "  Beatrice  added,   "and  fewer come."
            She  held  out  a  long,   skinny  arm.  A  dove immediately
          perched  on  her  hand,   and  she  drew  it  to  her  breast  and stroked
          its  head  with  a  bony  forefinger  until  it  began  to coo.
            Yama  said,   "I  was  brought  a  long way."
            Osric  nodded.  His  wispy  beard  blew  sideways  in  the wind.
          "The  Department  of  the  Curators  of  the  City  of  the Dead
         once  maintained  a  city  that  stretched  from  these mountains
         to  the  river,   a  day's  hard  ride  distant.  Whoever  brought you
         here  had  a  good reason."
           Beatrice  suddenly  flung  out  her  hands.  The  dove  rose into
         the  wind  and  circled  high  above  the  patchwork  of  tiny fields.
         She  watched  it  for  a  minute  and  then  said,   "I  think  it's time
         we  showed  Yama  why  he  was  brought here."
           "I  would  like  to  know  who  brought  me  here,   to begin
        with."
           '.'As  long  as  you  do  not  know  who  saved  you, "  Osric said, 
         "there  is  no obligation."
           Yama  nodded,   remembering  that  after  he  had  saved Caphis
         from  the  trap,   the  fisherman  had  said  that  his  life  was 
forever
         in  Yama's  care.  He  said,   "Perhaps  I  could  at  least  know the
         circumstances. "
           "Something  had  taken  one  of  our  goats, "  Beatrice said.
         "It  was  in  a  field  far  below.  We  went  to  look  for  her,  and
         found  you.  It  is  better  if  you  see  for  yourself  why  you have
         been  brought  here.  Then  you'll  understand.  Having climbed
         so  high,   you  must  descend.  I  think  that  you  are strong
        enough."
           Descending  the  long  spiral  of  stairs  was  easier  than climbing
           up,   but  Yama  felt  that  if  not  for  him,   Osric  and Beatrice
         would  have  bounded  away  eagerly,   although  he  was  so much
         younger  than  they.  The  stairs  ended  at  a  balcony  that girdled
         the  crag  halfway  between  its  flat  top  and  its  base.  A series
         of  arched  doorways  opened  off  the  balcony,   and  Osric immediately
           disappeared  through  one.  Yama  would  have followed, 
         but  Beatrice  took  his  arm  and  guided  him  to  a  stone bench
         by  the  low  wall  of  the  balcony.  Sunlight  drenched  the ancient
         stone;  Yama  was  grateful  for  its warmth.
             There  were  a  hundred  thousand  of  us,   once, " Beatrice
         said,   "but  we  are  greatly  reduced.  This  is  the  oldest  part of
         all  that  still  lies  within  our  care,   and  it  will  be  the  last  to fall.
         It  w"ill  fall  eventually,   of  course.  All  of  Confluence  will fall."
           Yama  said,   "You  sound  like  those  who  say  that  the war
         at  the  midpoint  of  the  world  may  be  the  war  at  the  end of
         all things."
           Sergeant  Rhodean  had  taught  Yama  and  Telmon  the major









            battles,   scratching  the  lines  of  the  armies  and  the  routes of
            their  long  marches  in  the  red  clay  floor  of  the gymnasium.
              Beatrice  said,   "When  there  is  a  war,   everyone believes
            that  it  will  end  in  a  victory  that  will  bring  an  end  to all
            conflict,   but  in  a  series  of  events  there  is  no  way  of determining
              which  is  to  be  the last."'
              Yama  said  stoutly,   "The  heretics  will  be  defeated because
            they  challenge  the  word  of  the  Preservers.  The  Ancients of
            Days  revived  much  old  technology  which  their  followers use
            against  us,   but  they  were  lesser  creatures  than  the Preservers
            because  they  were  the  distant  ancestors  of  the Preservers.
            How  can  a  lesser  idea  prevail  against  a  greater one?"
              "I  forget  that  you  are  young, "  Beatrice  said,  smiling.
            "You  still  have  hope.  But  Osric  has  hope,   too,   and  he  is a
            wise  man.  Not  that  the  world  will  not  end,   for  that  is certain, 
            but  that  it  will  end  well.  The  Great  River  fails  day  by day, 
            and  at  last  all  that  my  people  care  for  will  fall away."
              "With  respect,   perhaps  you  and  your  husband  live  for the
            past,   yet  I  live  for  the future."
              Beatrice  smiled.  "Ah,   but  which  future,   I  wonder? Osric
            suspects  that  there  might  be  more  than  one.  As  for  us,   it is
            our  duty  to  preserve  the  past  to  inform  the  future,   and this
            
place  is  where  the  past  is  strongest.  There  are  wonders interred
              here  which  could  end  the  war  in  an  instant  if wielded
            by  one  side,   or  destroy  Confluence,   if  used  by  both against
            each other.
              "The  living  bury  the  dead  and  move  on,   and  forget. We
            remember.  Above  all,   that  is  our  duty.  There  are  record keepers
              in  Ys  who  claim  to  be  able  to  trace  the  bloodlines of
            Confluence  back  to  their  first  members.  My  family preserves
            the  tombs  of  those  ancestors,   their  bodies  and  their artifacts.
            The  record  keepers  would  claim  that  words  are  stronger than
            .the  phenomena  they  describe,   and  that  only  words endure
            while  all  else  fails,   but  we  know  that  even  words change.
            Stories  are  mutable,   and  in  any  story  each  generation  finds a
            different  lesson,   and  with  each  telling  a  story  changes slightly
            until  it  is  no  longer  the  thing  it  was.  The  king  who prevails
            against  the  hero  who  would  have  brought  redeeming  light to
            the  world  becomes  after  many  tellings  of  the  story  a hero
            saving  the  world  from  fire,   and  the  light-bringer  becomes a
         fiend.  Only  things  remain  what  they  are.  They  are themselves.
         Words  are  merely  representations  of  things;  but  we  have the
         things  themselves.  How  much  more  powerful  they  are than
         their representations!
            
Yama  thought  of  the  Aedile,   who  put  so  much  trust  in the
         objects  that  the  soil  preserved.  He  said,   "My  father  seeks to
         understand  the  past  by  the  wreckage  it  leaves  behind. Perhaps
         it  is  not  the  stories  that  change  but  the  past  itself,   for  all that
         lives  of  the  past  is  the  meaning  we  invest  in  what remains.
            Behind  him,   Osric  said,   "You  have  been  taught  by  a record
         keeper.  That  is  just  what  one  of  those  beetle-browed nearsighted
           hookworms  would  say,   bless  them  all,   each  and every
         one.  Well,   there  is  more  of  the  past  than  can  be  found in
         books.  That  is  a  lesson  I  had  to  learn  over  and  over,  young
         man.  All  that  is  ordinary  and  human  passes  away without
         record,   and  all  that  remains  are  stories  of  priests  and philosophers
         ,   heroes  and  kings.  Much  is  made  of  the  altar stones
         and  sacraria  of  temples,   but  nothing  of  the  cloisters where
         lovers  rendezvoused  and  friends  gossiped,   and  the courtyards
         where  children  played.  That  is  the  false  lesson  of history.
         Still,   we  can  peer  into  random  scenes  of  the  past  and wonder
         at  their  import.  That  is  what  I  have  brought you."
            Osric  carried  something  square  and  flat  under  his  arm,  covered
           with  a  white  cloth.  He  removed  the  cloth  with  a flourish, 
         revealing  a  thin  rectangle  of  milky  stone  which  he  laid  in a
         pool  of  sunlight  on  the  tiled  floor  of  the balcony.
            Yama  said,   "My  father  collects  these picture          slates,  but
         this  one  appears blank."
            "He  collected  them  for  important research,              perhaps, 
"
         Osric  said,   "but  I  am  sorry  to  hear  of,   it.  Their  proper resting
         place  is  not  in  a  collection,   but  in  the  tomb  in  which they
         were installed.
            "I  have  always  wondered  why  they  need  to  drink sunlight
         to  work,   when  they  were  buried  away  in darkness."
            "The  tombs  drink  sunlight,   too, "  Osric  said,   "and distribute
           it  amongst  their  components  according  to  need.  The pictures
           respond  to  the  heat  given  off  by  a  living  body,   and in
         the  darkness  of  the  tomb  would  waken  in  the  presence of
         any  watcher.  Outside  the  tomb,   without  their  usual power
         source,   the  pictures  also  require sunlight."









           "Be  quiet,   husband, "  Beatrice  said.  "It  wakens.  Watch it, 
         Yama,   and  learn.  This  is  all  we  can  show you."
           Colors  mingled  and  ran  in  the  slate,   seeming  to  swirl just
         beneath  its  surface.  At  first  they  were  faint  and amorphous, 
         little  more  than  pastel  flows  within  the  slate's  milky depths, 
         but  gradually  they  brightened,   running  together  in  a sudden
         silvery flash.
           For  a  moment,   Yama  thought  that  the  slate  had  turned into
         a  mirror,   reflecting  his  own  eager  face.  But  when  he leaned
         closer,   the  face  within  the  slate  turned  as  if  to  speak  to someone
           beyond  the  frame  of  the  picture,   and  he  saw  that  it was
         the  face  of  someone  older  than  he  was,   a  man  with  lines at
         the  corners  of  his  eyes  and  grooves  at  either  side  of his
         mouth.  But  the  shape  of  the  eyes  and  their  round  blue irises-, 
         and  the  shape  of  the  face,   the  pale  skin  and  the  mop  of wiry
         black  hair:  all  these  were  so  very  like  his  own  that  he cried
         out  in astonishment.
           The  man  in  the  picture  was  talking  now,   and suddenly
         smiled  at  someone  beyond  the  picture's  frame,   a  frank,  eager
         smile  that  turned  Yama's  heart.  The  man  turned  away and
         the  view  slid  from  his  face  to  show  the  night  sky.  It  was not
         the  sky  of  Confluence,   for  it  -was  full  of  stars,   scattered like
         
diamond  chips  carelessly  thrown  across  black  velvet. There
         was  a  frozen  swirl  of  dull  red  light  in  the  center  of the
         picture,   and  Yama  saw  that  the  stars  around  it  seemed  to be
         drawn  into  lines  that  curved  in  toward  the  red  swirl. Stars
         streaked  as  the  viewpoint  of  the  picture  moved,   and  for a
         moment  it  steadied  on  a  flock  of  splinters  of  light hung
         against  pure  black,   and  then  it faded.
           Osric  wrapped  the  white  cloth  around  the  slate. Immediately
         ,   Yama  wanted  to  strip  the  cloth  away  and  see  the picture
         blossom  within  the  slate  again,   wanted  to  feast  on  the stranger's
           face,   the  stranger  who  was  of  his  bloodline,   wanted to
         understand  the  strange  skies  under  which  his  long-dead ancestor
           had  stood.  His  blood  sang  in  his ears.
           Beatrice  handed  him  a  square  of  lace-trimmed  cloth. A
         handkerchief.  Yama  realized  then  that  he  was weeping.
           Osric  said,   "This  is  the  place  where  the  oldest  tombs on
         Confluence  can  be  found,   but  the  picture  is  older  than anything
           on  Confluence,   for  it  is  older  than  Confluence  itself. It
          shows  the  first  stage  in  the  construction  of  the  Eye  of the
          Preservers,   and  it  shows  the  lands  which  the Preservers
          walked  before  they  fell  into  the  Eye  and  vanished  into the
          deep  past  or  the  deep  future,   or.  perhaps  into  another universe
           entirely.
            "I  would  like  to  see  the  tomb.  I  want  to  see  where 
you
          found  this picture."
            Osric  said,   "The  Department  of  the  Curators  of  the City
          of  the  Dead  has  kept  the  picture  a  long  time,   and  if  it once
          rested  in  a  tomb,   then  it  was  so  long  ago  that  all  records of
          that  tomb  are  lost.  Your  bloodline  walked  Confluence  at its
          beginning,   and  now  it  walks  it again."
            Yama  said,   "This  is  the  second  time  that  someone has
          hinted  that  I  have  a  mysterious  destiny,   but  no  one  will explain
            why  or  what  it is."
            Beatrice  told  her  husband,   "He'll  discover  it  soon enough.
          We  should  not  tell  him more."
            Osric  tugged  at  his  beard.  "I  do  not  know everything.
          What  the  hollow  man  said,   for  instance,   or  what  lies beyond
          the  end  of  the  river.  I  have  tried  to  remember  it  all over
          again,   and  I cannot!"
            Beatrice  took  her  husband's  hands  in  her  own  and told
          Y ta,   ' 'He  was  hurt,   and  sometimes  gets  confused about
            t
           aT
         wha     ight  happen  and  what  has  happened.  Remember the
          slate.  It's important."
            Yama  said,   "I  know  less  than  you.  Let  me  see  the slate
          again.  Perhaps  there  is something-"
            Beatrice  said,   "Perhaps  it  is  your  destiny  to  discover your
          past,   dear.  Only  by  knowing  the  past  can  you know
         yourself
            Yama  smiled,   because  that  was  precisely  the  motto which
          
Zakiel  used  to  justify  his  long  lessons.  It  seemed  to  him that
          the  curators  of  the  dead  and  the  librarians  and  archivists were
          so  similar  that  they  amplified  slight  differences  into  a deadly
          rivalry,   just  as  brothers  feuded  over  nothing  at  all  simply to
          assert  their individuality.
            "You  have  seen  all  we  can  show  you,   Yama, "  Osric said.
          "We  preserve  the  past  as  best  we  can,   but  we  do  not pretend
          to  understand  everything  we preserve."
            Yama  said  formally,   "I  thank  you  for  showing  me this









          wonder."  But  he  thought  that  it  proved  only  that  others like
          him  had  lived  long  ago-he  was  more  concerned  with discovering
            if  they  still  lived  now.  Surely  they  must-he was
          proof  of  that-but  where?  What  had  Dr.  Dismas discovered
          in  the  archives  of  his department?
            Beatrice  stood  with  a  graceful  flowing  motion.  "You cannot
            stay,   Yama.  You  are  a  catalyst,   and  change  is  most dangerous
            here. "
            Yama  said,   "If  you  would  show  me  the  way,   I  would go
          home  at once."
            He  said  it  with  little  hope,   for  he  was  convinced  that the
          two  curators  were  holding  him  prisoner.  But  Beatrice smiled
          and  said,   "I  will  do  better  than  that.  I  will  take you."
            Osric  said,   "You  are  stronger  than  you  were  when you
          arrived  here,   but  not,   I  think,   as  strong  as  you  can  be. Let
          my  wife  help  you,   Yama.  And  remember  us.  We  have served
          as  best  we  can,   and  I  feel  that  we  have  served  well. When
          you  discover  your  purpose,   remember us."
            Beatrice  said,   "Don't  burden  the  poor  boy,   husband. He
          is  too  young.  It  is  too early."
            "He  is  old  enough  to  know  his  mind,   I  think. Remember
          that  we  are  your  friends,  Yama."
            Yama  bowed  from  the  waist,   as  the  Aedile  had  taught him, 
          and  turned  to  follow  Beatrice,   leaving  her  husband  sitting in
          a  pool  of  sunlight,   his  ravaged  face  made  inscrutable  by the
          
mirror  lenses  of  his  spectacles,   the  blue  uncharted mountain
          ridges  framed  by  the  pillars  behind  him,   and  the  picture slate, 
          wrapped  in  white  cloth,   on  his lap.
            Beatrice  led  Yama  down  a  long  helical  stair  and through
          chambers  where  machines  as  big  as  houses  stood half-buried
          in  the  stone  floor.  Beyond  these  were  the  wide,  circular
          mouths  of  pits  in  which  long  narrow  tubes,   made  of  a metal
          as  clear  as  glass,   fell  into  white  mists  a  league  or  more below.
          Vast  slow  lightnings  sparked  and  rippled  in  the transparent
          tubes.  Yama  felt  a  slow  vibration  through  the  soles  of his
          feet,   a  pulse  deeper  than sound.
            He  would  have  stayed  to  examine  the  machines,   but Beatrice
            urged  him  past  and  led  him  down  a  long  hall  with black
          keelrock  walls,   lit  by  balls  of  white  fire  that  spun  beneath a
          high  curved  ceiling.  Parts  of  the  floor  were  transparent and
       Yama  saw,   dimly,   huge  machines  crouched  in  chambers far
       below  his feet.
          "Don't  gawp, "  Beatrice  said.  "You  don't want           to wake
       them  before  their time."
          Many  narrow  corridors  led  off  the  hall. Beatrice      ushered
       Yama  down  one  of  them  into  a  small  room which,             once its
                                                                            4
       door  slid  shut,   began at    once  to  hum  and  shake.  Yama felt
          r  a  moment  as  if  he  had  stepped  over  a  cliff,  and     clutched
       at  the  rail  which  ran  around  the  curved  walls  of  the room.
       
fo  "We  fall  through  the  keelways, "  Beatrice  said. "Most
       people  live  on  the  surface  now,   but  in  ancient times      the surface
         was  a  place  where  they  came  to  play  and  meet,  while
       they  had  their  dwelling  and  working  places  underground. This
       is  one  of  the  old  roads.  It  will  return  you  to  Aeolis  in less
       than  an hour."
          "Are  these  roads everywhere?"
          "Once.  No  more.  We  have  maintained  a  few  beneath the
       City  of  the  Dead,   but  many  more  no  longer  function,  and
       beyond  the  limits  of  our  jurisdiction  things  are  worse. Everything
         fails  at  last.  Even  the  Universe  will  fall  into itself
      eventually."
          "The  Puranas  say  that  is  why  the  Preservers  fled  into the
       Eye.  But  if  the  Universe  will  not  end  soon,   then  surely that
       is  not  why  they  fled.  Zakiel  could  never  explain  that.  He said
      it  was  not  for  me  to  question  the Puranas."
          Beatrice  laughed.  It  was  like  the  tinkling  of  old,  fragile
       bells.  "How  like  a  librarian!  But  the  Puranas  contain many
       riddles,   and  there  is  no  harm  in admitting        that  not  all the
       answers  are  obvious.  Perhaps  they  are  not  even comprehensible
         to  our  small  minds,   but  a  librarian will     never  admit that
       any  text  in  his  charge  is  unfathomable.  He  must  be  the master
       of  them  all,   and  is  shamed  to  admit  any  possible failure."
          "The  slate  showed  the  creation  of  the  Eye.  There  is  a sura
      in  the  Puranas,   the  forty-third  sura,   I  think,   which  says that
       the  Preservers  made  stars  fall  together,   until  their  light 
grew
       too  heavy  to escape."
          "Perhaps.  There  is  much  we  do  not  know  about  the past, 
       Yama.  Some  have  said  that  the  Preservers  set us           here for
       their  own  amusement,   as  certain  bloodlines  keep  caged birds
       for  amusement,   but  I  would  not  repeat  that heresy.        All who









        believed  it  are  safely  dead  long  ago,   but  it  is  still  a dangerous
         thought.
           "Perhaps  because  it  is  true,   or  contains  some  measure of
        the  truth. "
           Beatrice  regarded  him  with  her  bright  eyes.  She  was  a head
        taller  than  he  was.  "Do  not  be  bitter,   Yama.  You  will find
        what  you  are  looking  for,   although  it  might  not  be  where you
        expect  it.  Ah,   we  are  almost there."
           The  room  shuddered  violently.  Yama  fell  to  his  knees. The
        floor  was  padded  with  a  kind  of  quilting,   covered  in  an artificial
          material  as  slick  and  thin  as satin.
           Beatrice  opened  the  door  and  Yama  followed  her  into a
        very  long  room  that  had  been  carved  from  rock.  Its  high roof
        was  held  up  by  a  forest  of  slender  pillars  and  wan  light fell
        from  narrow  slits  in  the  roof.  It  had  once  been  a stonemasons'
        workshop,   and  Beatrice  led  Yama  around  half-finished carvings
          and  benches  scattered  with  tools,   all  abandoned  an age
        ago  and  muffled  by  thick  dust.  At  the  door,   she  took  out a
        hood  of  sok  black  cloth  and  said  that  she  must  blindfold him, 
           "We  are  a  secret  people,   because  we  should  not  exist. Our
        department  was  disbanded  long  ago,   and  we  survive only
        because  we  are  good  at hiding."
           "I  understand.  My father-"
           
"We  are  not  frightened  of  discovery,   Yama,   but  we have
        stayed  hidden  for  so  long  that  knowledge  of  where  we  are is
        valuable  to  certain  people.  I  would  not  ask  you  to  carry that
        burden.  It  would  expose  you  to  unnecessary  danger.  If you
        need  to  find  us  again,   you  will.  I  can  safely  promise  that,  I
        think.  In  return,   will  you  promise  that  you  won't  mention us
        to  the Aedile?"
           "He  will  want  to  know  where  I  have been."
           "You  were  ill.  You  recovered,   and  you  returned. Perhaps
        you  were  nursed  by  one  of  the  hill  tribes.  The  Aedile will
        be  so  pleased  to  see  you  that  he  won't  question  you too
        closely.  Will  you promise?"
           "As  long  as  I  do  not  have  to  lie  to  him.  I  think  that  I am
        done  with lies."
           Beatrice  was  pleased  by  this.  "You  were  honest  from the
        first,   dear  heart.  Tell  the  Aedile  as  much  of  the  truth  as is
        good  for  him,   and  no  more.  Now,   come  with me."
          Blinded  by  the  soft,   heavy  cloth  of  the  hood,   Yama took
        Beatrice's  hot,   fine-boned  hand,   and  allowed  himself  to be
        led  once  more.  They  walked  a  long  way.  He  trusted this
        strange  old  woman,   and  he  was  thinking  about  the  man of
        his  bloodline,   dead  ages past.
          At  last  she  told  him  to  stand  still.  Something  cold and
        heavy  was  placed  in  his  right  hand.  After  a  moment  of silence
        ,   Yama  lifted  the  hood  away  and  saw  that  he  was  in a
        dark  passageway  walled  with  broken  stone  blocks,   with stout
        tree  roots  thrust  between  their  courses.  A  patch  of sunlight
        fell  through  a  narrow  doorway  at  the  top  of  a  stair whose
        
stone  treads  had  been  worn  away  in  the  center.  He  was hold-.
        ing  the  ancient  metal  knife  he  had  found  in  the  tomb  by the
        river's  shore-or  which  had  found  him.  A  skirl  of  blue sparks
        flared  along  the  outer  edge  of  its  blade  and  sputtered  out one
        by one.
          Yama  looked  around  for  Beatrice  and  thought  he  saw a
        patch  of  white  float  around  the  corner  of  a  passageway. But
        when  he  ran  after  it,   he  found  a  stone  wall  blocking  his way.
        He  turned  back  to  the  sunlight.  This  place  was  familiar,  but
        he  did  not  recognize  it  until  he  climbed  the  stair  and stepped
        out  into  the  ruins  in  the  Aedile's  garden,   with  the peel-house
        looming  beyond  masses  of  dark  green rhododendrons.









                                               PRIMT (ORIN.
L  0  B  A  N  D  T  H  I  landlord  of  The  House  of  Ghost  Lantems were
        arrested  before  Yama  had  finished  telling  his  story  to the
        Aedile,   and  the  next  day  were  tried  and  sentenced  to death
        for  kidnap  and  sabotage.  The  Aedile  also  issued  a warrant
        for  the  arrest  of  Dr.  Dismas,   although  he  confided  to Yama
        that  he  did  not  expect  to  see  the  apothecary again.
           Although  it  took  a  long  time  to  explain  his adventures, 
        Yama  did  not  tell  the  whole  story.  He  suppressed  the part
        about  Enobarbus,   for  he  had  come  to  believe  that  the young
        warlord  had  somehow  been  caught  by  Dr.  Dismas's  spell. He
        kept  his  promise  to  Beatrice,   too,   and  said  that  after  he had
        escaped  from  the  skiff  and  had  been  helped  ashore  by one
        of  the  fisherfolk,   he  had  fallen  ill  after  being  attacked  by Lob
        and  Lud  amongst  the  ransacked  tombs  of  the  Silent Quarter, 
        and  had  not  been  able  to  return  to  the  peel-house  until he
        had  recovered.  It  was  not  the  whole  truth,   but  the  Aedile did
        not  question  him closely.
           Yama  was  not  allowed  to  attend  the  trial;  nor  was  he allowed
          to  leave  the  grounds  of  the  peel-house,   although he
        very  much  wanted  to  see  Derev.  The  Aedile  said  that  it was
        too  dangerous.  The  families  of  Lob  and  the  tavern landlord
        would  be  looking  for  revenge,   and  the  city  was  still  on edge
       after  the  riots  which  had  followed  the  failed  siege  of Dr.
       Dismas's  tower.  Yama  tried  to  contact  Derev  using mirror
       talk,   but  although  he  signaled  for  most  of  the  afternoon there
       was  no  answering,   spark  of  light  from  the  apartments Derev's
       
father  had  built  on  top  of  his  godown  by  the  old waterfront
       of  the  city.  Sick  at  heart,   Yama  went  to  plead  with Sergeant
       Rhodean,   but  the  Sergeant  refused  to  provide  an escort.
         "And  you're  not  to  confuse  the  watchdogs  and  go sneaking
       out  on  your  own,   neither, "  Sergeant  Rhodean  said.  "Oh yes, 
       I  know  all  about  that  trick,   lad.  But  see  here,   you  can't rely
       on  tricks  to  keep  yourself  out  of  trouble.  They're  more likely
       to  get  you  into  it  instead.  I  won't  risk  having  any  of  my men
       hurt  rescuing  you  from  your  own  foolishness,   and  think how
       it  would  look  if  we  took  you  down  there  in  the  middle  of a
       decad  of  armed  soldiers.  You'd  start  another  riot.  My men
       have  already  spent  too  much  time  looking  for  you  when you
       were  lost  in  the  City  of  the  Dead,   and  they'll  have  their hands
       full  in  a  couple  of  days.  The  department  is  sending  a clerk
       to  deal  with  the  prisoners,   but  no  extra  troops.  Pure foolishness
         on  their  part,   and  I'll  get  blamed  if  something goes
      wrong."
         Sergeant  Rhodean  was  much  exercised  by  this.  As he
       talked,   he  paced  in  a  tight  circle  on  the  red  clay  floor  of the
       gymnasium.  He  was  a  small,   burly  man,   almost  as  wide as
       he  was  tall,   as  he  liked  to  say.  As  always,   his  gray  tunic and
       blue  trousers  were  neatly  pressed,   his  black  knee-boots were
       spit-polished,   and  the  scalp  of  his  heavy,   ridged  skull was
       close-shaven  and  burnished  with  oil.  He  favored  his  right leg, 
       and  the  thumb  and  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  were missing.
       He  had  been  the  Aedile's  bodyguard  long  before  the entire
       household  had  been  exiled  from  the  Palace  of  the Memory
       
of  the  People,   and  had  celebrated  his  hundredth  birthday two
       years  ago.  He  lived  quietly  with  his  wife,   who  was always
       trying  to  overfeed  Yama  because,   she  said,   he  needed  to put
       some  muscle  on  his  long  bones.  They  had  two  married daughters
       ,   six  sons  away  fighting  the  heretics,   and  two  more who
       had  been  killed  in  the  war;  Sergeant  Rhodean  had mourned
       Telmon's  death  almost  as  bitterly  as  Yama  and  the Aedile.
         Sergeant  Rhodean  suddenly  stopped  pacing  and  looked at









        Yama  as  if  for  the  first  time.  He  said,   "I  see  you're wearing
        that  knife  you  found,   lad.  Let's  take  a  look  at it."
          Yama  had  taken  to  hanging  the  knife  from  his  belt  by a
        loop  of  leather,   with  its  blade  tied  flat  against  his  thigh  by a
        red  ribbon.  He  undid  the  ribbon,   unhooked  the  loop  and held
        out  the  knife,   and  Sergeant  Rhodean  put  on  thick-lensed spectacles
        ,   which  vastly  magnified  his  yellow  eyes,   and peered
        closely  at  it  for  a  long  time.  At  last,   he  blew reflectively
        through  his  drooping  mustache  and  said,   "It's  old,   and sentient
        ,   or  at  least  partly  so.  Maybe  as  smart  as  one  of the
        watchdogs.  A  good  idea  to  carry  it  around.  It  will  bond to
        you.  You  said  you  were  ill  after  using it?"
          "It  gave  out  a  blue  light.  And  when  Lob  picked  it  up,  it
        turned  into  something horrible."
          "Well  now,   lad,   it  had  to  get  its  energy  from somewhere
        for  tricks  like  that,   especially  after  all  the  time  in  the dark.
        So  it  took  it  from you."
          "I  leave  it  in  sunlight, "  Yama said.
          "Do  you?"  Sergeant  Rhodean  gave  Yama  a  shrewd look.
        "Then  I  can't  tell  you  much  more.  What  did  you  clean it
        with?  White  vinegar?  As  good  as  anything,   I  suppose. Well, 
        let's  see  you  make  a  few  passes  with  it.  It  will  stop you
        brooding  over  your  true love."
          For  the  next  hour,   Sergeant  Rhodean  instructed  Yama on
        how  to  make  best  use  of  the  knife  against  a  variety  of 
imaginary
          opponents.  Yama  found  himself  beginning  to  enjoy the
        exercises,   and  was  sorry  when  Sergeant  Rhodean  called a
        halt.  He  had  spent  many  happy  hours  in  the  gymnasium,  with
        its  mingled  smell  of  clay  and  old  sweat  and  rubbing alcohol, 
        its  dim  underwater  light  filtered  through  green-tinted windows
        high  up  in  the  whitewashed  walls,   the  green  rubber wrestling
        mats  rolled  up  like  the  shed  cocoons  of  giant  caterpillars and
        the  rack  of  parallel  bars,   the  open  cases  of  swords  and knives, 
        javelins  and  padded  staves,   the  straw  archery  targets stacked
        behind  the  vaulting  horse,   the  battered  wooden  torsos  of the
        tilting  dummies,   the  frames  hung  with  pieces  of  plastic and
        resin  and  metal armor.
          "We'll  do  some  more  work  tomorrow,   lad, " Sergeant
        Rhodean  said  at  last.  "You  need  to  work  on  your backhand.
        You  aim  too  low,   at  the  belly  instead  of  the  chest,   and any
         opponent  worth  their  salt would     spot  that  in  an  instant. Of
         course,   a  knife  like  this  is  really  intended  for  close  work by
         a  cavalryman  surrounded  by the      enemy,   and  you  might do
         better  carryinga  long  sword or       a  revolver  when walking
         about  the  city.  It's  possible  that  an  old  weapon  like  this might
         be  proscribed.  But  now  I  have  to  drill  the  men.  The  clerk is
         coming  tomorrow,   and  I  suppose  your  father  will  want an
         honor  guard  for him."
           But  the  clerk sent     from  Ys  to  oversee  the executions
         
slipped  unnoticed  into  the  peel-house  early  the  next morning, 
         and  the  first  time  Yama  saw  him  was  when  the  Aedile summoned
           him  to  an  audience  that afternoon.
           "The  townspeople  already  believe  that  you  have  blood on
         your  hands, "  the  Aedile  said.  "I  do  not  wish  to  see any
         more  trouble.  So  I  have  come  to  a decision."
           Yama  felt  his  heart  turn  over,   although he       already knew
         that  this  was  no  ordinary  interview.  He  had  been  escorted to
         the  Aedile's  receiving  chamber  by  one  of the      soldiers  of the
         house  guard.  The  soldier  now  stood  in  front  of  the  tall double
         doors,   resplendent  in  burnished  helmet  and  corselet  and scarlet
           hose,   his  pike  at  parade rest.
           Yama  perched  on  an  uncomfortable  curved  backless seat
         before  the  central  dais  on  which  the  Aedile's  canopied chair
         stood.  The  Aedile  did  not,   sit  down  but  paced  about restlessly.
         He  was  dressed  in  a  tunic  embroidered  with  silver  and gold, 
         and  his  sable  robe  of  office  hung  on  a  rack  by  his chair.
           There  was  a  fourth  person  in  the  room,   standing in          the
         shadows  by  the  small  private  door  which  led,   via  a stairway, 
         to  the  Aedile's  private  chambers.  It  was  the  clerk  who had
         been  sent  from  Ys  to  supervise  the  executions.  Yama watched
         him  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  He  was  a  tall,   slender man
         of  the  Aedile's  bloodline,   bareheaded  in  a  plain homespun
         tunic  and  gray  leggings.  A  close-clipped  black  pelt covered
         his  head  and  face,   with  a  broad  white  stripe,   like  a badger's
         marking,   on  the  left  side  of  his face.
           
Yama's  breakfast  had  been  brought  to  his  room  that moming
         ,   and  this  was  the  first  chance  he  had  to  study  the man.
         He  had  heard  from  the  stable  hands  that  the  clerk  had disembarked
           from  an  ordinary  lugger,   armed  with  only  a stout
         ironshod  staff  and  with  no  more  than  a  rolled  blanket  on his









          back,   but  the  Aedile  had  prostrated  himself  at  the  man's feet
          as  if  he  were  a  Hierarch  risen  from  the files.
             "I  don't  think  he  expected  someone  so  high  up  in the
          Committee  for  Public  Safety, "  the  foreman,   Torin,   had said.
             But  the  clerk  did  not  look  like  an  executioner,   or anyone
          important.  He  could  have  been  any  one  of  the  thousands of
          ordinary  scribes  who  plied  pens  in  cells  deep  in  the Palace
          of  the  Memory  of  the  People,   as  indistinguishable  from each
          other  as ants.
             The  Aedile  stood  before  one  of  the  four  great tapestries
          that  decorated  the  high,   square  room.  It  depicted  the seeding
          of  Confluence.  Plants  and  animals  rained  out  of  a  blaze of
          light  toward  a  bare  plain  crossed  by  silvery  loops  of water.
          Birds  soared  through  the  air,   and  little  groups  of  naked men
          and  women  of  various  bloodlines  stood  on  wisps  of cloud, 
          hands  modestly  covering  their  genitals  and breasts.
             Yama  had  always  loved  this  tapestry,   but  now  that  he had
          talked  with  the  curators  of  the  City  of  the  Dead  he  knew that
          it  was  a  lie.  Since  he  had  returned,   everything  in  the peelhouse
            seemed  to  have  changed.  The  house  was  smaller; the
          gardens  cramped  and  neglected;  the  people  preoccupied with
          , small  matters,   their  backs  bent  to  routine  labor  so  that,  like
          
peasants  planting  a  paddy  field,   they  failed  to  see  the great
          events  of  the  world  rushing  above  their heads.
             At  last,   the  Aedile  turned  and  said,   "It  was  always my
          plan  to  apprentice  you  to  my  department,   Yama,   and  I have
          not  changed  my  mind.  You  are  perhaps  a  little  young to
          begin  proper  apprenticeship,   but  I  have  great  hopes  of you.
          Zakiel  says  that  you  are  the  best  pupil  he  has  known,  and
          Sergeant  Rhodean  believes  that  in  a  few  years  you  will be
          able  to  best  him  in  archery  and  fencing,   although  he adds
          that  your  horse  riding  still  requires attention.
             "I  know  your  determination  and  ambition,   Yama.  I think
          that  you  will  be  a  great  power  in  the  department.  You are
          not  of  my  bloodline,   but  you  are  my  son,   now  and always.
          I  would  wish  that  you  could  have  stayed  here  until  you were
          old  enough  to  be  inducted  as  a  full  apprentice,   but  it  is clear
          to  me  that  if  you  stay  here  you  are  in  great danger."
             "I  am  not  afraid  of  anyone  in Aeolis."
             But  Yama's  protest  was  a  formality.  Already  he  was dizzy
       with  the  prospect  of  kicking  the  dust  of  this  sleepily corrupt
       little  city  from  his  heels.  In  Ys,   there  were  records which
       went  back  to  the  foundation  of  Confluence.  Beatrice  had said
       as  much.  She  and  Osric  had  shown  him  a  slate  which had
       displayed  the  likeness  of  an  ancestor  of  his  bloodline;  in Ys, 
       he  might  learn  who  that  man  had  been.  There  might  even be
       people  of  his  bloodline!  Anything  was  possible.  After all, 
       
surely  he  had  come  from  Ys  in  the  first  place,   borne downstream
         on  the  river's  current.  For  that  reason  alone  he would
       gladly  go  to  Ys,   although  more  than  ever  he  knew  that he
       could  not  serve  as  a  clerk.  But  he  could  not  tell  his father
       that,   of  course,   and  it  burned  in  his  chest  like  a coal.
          The  Aedile  said,   "I  am  proud  that  you  can  say  that you
       are  unafraid  with  such  conviction,   and  I  think  that  you truly
       believe  it.  But  you  cannot  spend  your  life  looking  over your
       shoulder,   Yama,   and  that  is  what  you  would  have  to  do if
       you  stayed  here.  One  day,   sooner  or  later,   Lob  and Lud's
       brothers  will  seek  to  press  their  need  for  revenge.  That they
       are  the  sons  of  the  Constable  of  Aeolis  makes  this more
       likely,   not  less,   for  if  any  one  of  them  killed  you,   it would
       not  only  satisfy  their  family's  need  for  revenge,   it  would also
       be  a  triumph  over  their father.
          "It  is  not  the  townspeople  I  fear,   however.  Dr.  Dismas has
       fled,   but  he  may  try  to  revive  his  scheme,   or  he  may  sell his
       information  to  others.  In  Aeolis  you  are  a  wonder;  in Ys, 
       which  is  the  fount  of  all  the  wonders  of  the  world,   less so.
       Here,   I  command  only  three  decads  of  soldiers;  there,  you
       will  be  in  the  heart  of  the department."
          "When  will  I go?"
          The  Aedile  clasped  his  hands  and  bowed  his  head.  It was
       a  peculiarly  submissive  gesture.  "You  will  leave  with Prefect
       Corin,   after  he  has  concluded  his  business here."
          The  man  in  the  shadows  caught  Yama's  gaze.  "In cases
       like  this, "  he  said  in  a  soft,   lilting  voice,   "it  is  
not advisable
       to  linger  once  duty  has  been  done.  I  will  leave tomorrow."
          No,   the  clerk,   Prefect  Corin,   did  not  look  like  an execu7
      tioner,   but  he  had  already  visited  Lob  and  the  landlord  of the
       tavern,   who  had  been  held  in  the  peel-house's  oubliette since
       their  trial.  They  were  to  be  burned  that  evening  outside the
       town's  walls,   and  their  ashes  would  be  scattered  on  the wind









        so  that  their  families  would  have  no  part  of  them  as  a memorial
          and  their  souls  would  never  have  rest  until  the Preservers
        woke  all  the  dead  at  the  end  of  the  Universe.  Sergeant Rhodean
          had  been  drilling  his  men  ever  since  the  trial.  If there
        was  any  trouble,   he  could  not  rely  on  the  Constable  and the
        city  militia  for  aid.  Every  bit  of  armor  had  been polished, 
        and  every  weapon  cleaned  or  sharpened.  Because  the steam
        wagon  had  been  destroyed  in  the  siege  of  Dr. Dismas's
        tower,   an  ordinary  wagon  had  been  sequestered  to transport
        the  condemned  men  from  the  peel-house  to  the  place of
        execution.  It  had  been  painted  white,   and  its  axles greased
        and  its  wheels  balanced,   and  the  two  white  oxen which
        would  draw  it  had  been  brushed  until  their  coats  shone. The
        entire  peel-house  had  been  filled  with  bustle  over  the affair, 
        but  as  soon  as  he  had  arrived,   Prefect  Corin  had  become its
        still center.
          The  Aedile  said,   "It  is  abrupt,   I  know,   but  I  will  see you
        in  Ys,   as  soon  as  I  can  be  sure  that  there  will  be  no more
        trouble  here.  In  the  meantime,   I  hope  you  will  remember me
        with  affection. "
          "Father,   you  have  done  more  for  me  than  I  ever  can deserve
        ."  It  was  a  formal  sentiment, ,   and  sounded  trite,  but
        Yama  felt  a  sudden  flood  of  affection  for  the  Aedile then, 
        and  would  have  embraced  him  if  Prefect  Corin  had not
        been watching.
          The  Aedile  turned  to  study  the  tapestry  again.  Perhaps Prefect
          
Corin  made  him  uncomfortable,   too.  He  said,  "Quite, 
        quite.  You  are  my  son,   Yama.  No  less  than Telmon."
          Prefect  Corin  cleared  his  throat,   a  small  sound  in  the large
        room,   but  father  and  son  turned  to  stare  at  him  as  if  he had
        shot  a  pistol  at  the  painted ceiling.
          "Your  pardon, "  he  said,  "but        it is  time  to  shrive the
       prisoners."
          Two  hours  before  sunset,   Father  Quine,   the  priest  of the
        temple  of  Aeolis,   came  in  his  orange  robes,   walking barefoot
        and  bareheaded  up  the  winding  road  from  the  city  to the
        peel-house.  Ananda  accompanied  him,   carrying  a  chrism of
       oil.  The  Aedile  greeted  them  formally  and  escorted  them to
       the  oubliette,   where  they  would  hear  the  final  confessions of
       the prisoners.
          Again,   Yama  had  no  part  in  the  ceremony.  He  sat  in one
       corner  of  the  big  fireplace  in  the  kitchen,   but  that had
       changed,   too.  He  was  no  longer  a  part  of  the  kitchen's bustle
       and  banter.  The  scullions  and  the  kitchen  boys  and  the three
       cooks  politely  replied  to  his  remarks,   but  their  manner was
       subdued.  He  wanted  to  tell  them  that  he  was  still  Yama,  the
       boy  who  had  wrestled  with  most  of  the  kitchen  boys,  who
       had  received  clouts  from  the  cooks  when  he  had  tried  to steal
       bits  of  food,   who  had  cheeked  the  scullions  to  make them
       chase  him.  But  he  was  no  longer  that boy.
          After  a  while,   oppressed  by  polite  deference,   Yama went
       out  to  watch  the  soldiers  drilling  in  the  slanting  sunlight,  and
       
that  was  where  Ananda  found him.
          Ananda's  head  was  clean-shaven;  there  was  a  fresh cut
       above  his  right  ear,   painted  with  yellow  iodine.  His  eyes were
       enlarged  by  clever  use  of  blue  paint  and  gold  leaf.  He gave
       off  a  smell  of  cloves  and  cinnamon.  It  was  the  scent  of the
       oil  with  which  the  prisoners  had  been anointed.
          Ananda  knew  how  to  judge  Yama's  mood.  For  a while, 
       the  two  friends  stood  side  by  side  in  companionable silence
       and  watched  the  soldiers  make  squares  and  lines  in  the dusty
       sunlight.  Sergeant  Rhodean  barked  orders  which  echoed off
       the  high  wall  of  the peel-house.
          At  last,   Yama  said,   "I  have  to  go  away tomorrow."
          "I know."
          "With  that  little  badger  of  a  clerk.  He  is  to  be  my master.
       He  will  teach  me  how  to  copy  records  and  write  up administrative
         reports.  I  will  be  buried,   Ananda.  Buried  in  old paper
       and  futile  tasks.  There  is  only  one consolation."
          "You  can  look  for  your bloodline."
          Yama  was  astonished.  "How  did  you know?"
          "Why,   you've  always  talked  about  it."  Ananda  looked at
       Yama  shrewdly.  "But  you've  leamt  something  about it, 
       haven't  you?  That's  why  it's  on  your mind."
          "A  clerk,   Ananda.  I  will  not  serve.  I  cannot.  I  have more
       important  things  to do."









           "Not  only  soldiers  help  fight  the  war.  And  don't change
        the  subject. -
           "That  is  what  my  father  would  say.  I  want  to  be  a hero, 
        Ananda.  It  is  my destiny!"
           "If  it's  your  destiny,   then  it  will  happen."  Ananda pulled
        a  pouch  from  inside  his  robe  and  spilled  hulled pistachios
        into  his  meaty  palm.  "Want some?"
           Yama  shook  his  head.  He  said,   "It  has  all  changed so
       quickly."
           Ananda  put  his  palm  to  his  lips  and  said,   around  a mouthful
          of  pistachios,   "Is  there  time  to  tell  me  all  that happened?
        I'm  never  going  to  leave  here,   you  know.  My  master will
        die,   and  I  will  take  his  place,   and  begin  to  teach  the new
        sizar,   who  will  be  a  boy  just  like  me.  And  so on."
           "I  am  not  allowed  to  go  to  the execution."
           "Of  course  not.  It  would  be unseemly."
           "I  want  to  prove  that  I  am  brave  enough  to  see it."
           "What  did  happen,   Yama?  You  couldn't  have  been lost
        for  so  long,   and  they  couldn't  have  taken  you  far  if  you said
        you  escaped  on  the  night  you  were taken."
           "A  lot  of  things  happened  after  that.  I  do  not understand
        all  of  them,   but  one  thing  I  do  understand.  I found
        something  ...  something  important. "
           Ananda  laughed.  "You  mustn't  tease  your  friends,  Yama.
        Share  it  with  me.  Perhaps  I  can  help  you understand
       everything."
           "Meet  me  tonight.  After  the  executions.  Bring  Derev,  too.
        I  tried  to  send  a  message  to  her  by  mirror  talk,   but  no one
        replied.  I  want  her  to  hear  my  story.  I  want  to  .  . .-
           "I  know.  There  will  be  a  service.  We  have  to exculpate
        Prefect  Corin  after  he  sets  the  torch  to  .  .  .  well,   
to the
        prisoners.  Then  there's  a  formal  meal,   but  I'm  not  invited to
        that,   of  course.  It  begins  two  hours  after  sunset,   and  I'll come
        then.  And  I'll  find  a  way  of  bringing Derev.-
           "Have  you  ever  seen  an  execution,  Ananda?"
           Ananda  poured  more  pistachios  into  his  palm.  He looked
        at  them  and  said,   "No.  No,   I  haven't.  Oh,   I  know everything
        that  will  happen,   of  course,   and  I  know  what  I  have  to do, 
        but  I'm  not  sure  how  I'll act."
             "You  will  not  disgrace  your  master.  I  will  see  you two
          hours  after  sunset.  And  make  sure  to  bring Derev.-
             "As  if  I  would  forget."  Ananda  tipped  the  pistachios into
          the  dirt  and  brushed  his  hands  together.  "The  landlord  of the
          tavern  was  an  addict  of  the  drug  that  Dismas  used,   did you
          know  that?  Dismas  supplied  him  with  it,   and  he'd  do anything
            asked  of  him.  It  didn't  lessen  the  sentence,   of course, 
          but  it  was  how  he pleaded."
             Yama  remembered  Dr.  Dismas  grinding  dried  beetles and
          clear,   apricot-scented  liquid  into  paste,   the  sudden relaxation
          of  his  face  after  he  had  injected himself.
             "Cantharides, "  he  said.  "And  Lob  and  Lud  did  it for
         money."
             "Well,   Lob  had  his  payment,   at  least, "  Ananda  said. "He
          was  drunk  when  he  was  arrested,   and  I  hear  he'd  been buying
          the  whole  town  drinks  for  several  days  before  that.  I think
          
he  knew  that  you'd  be back."
             Yama  remembered  that  Lob  and  Lud  had  not  been  paid by
          Dr.  Dismas.  Where  then  had  Lob  got  the  money  for  his drinking
            spree?  And  who  had  rescued  him  from  the  old  tomb,  and
          taken  him  to  the  tower  of  Beatrice  and  Osric?  With  a cold
          pang,   he  realized  who  it  must  have  been,   and  how  she had
          known  where, to  find him.
             Ananda  had  turned  to  watch  the  soldiers  wheel  out  on the
          parade  square,   one  line  becoming  two  that  marched  off side
          by  side  toward  the  main  gate,   with  Sergeant  Rhodean loudly
          counting  the  pace  as  he  marched  at  their  head.  After  a while, 
          Ananda  said,   "Did  you  ever  think  that  Lob  and  Lud were
          a  little  bit  like  you?  They  wanted  to  escape  this  place,  too."
             Yama  wanted  to  watch  Lob  and  the  landlord  of  the tavern
          leave  the  peel-house  for  the  place  of  execution,   but even
          that  was  denied  him.  Zakiel  found  him  at  a  window,  staring
          down  at  the  courtyard  where  soldiers  were  harnessing the
          stamping  horses  to  the  white  wagon,   and  took  him  off to
          the library.
             "We  have  only  a  little  time,   master,   and  there  is  so much
         to  tell you."









            "Then  why  begin  to  try?  Are  you  going  to  the executions
         ,  Zakiel?"
            "It  is  not  my  place,  master.-
            "I  suppose  that  my  father  told  you  to  keep  me occupied.
         I  want  to  see  it,   Zakiel.  They  are  trying  to  exclude  me from
         it  all.  I  suppose  it  is  to  spare  my  feelings.  But  imagining it
         is  worse  than knowing."
            "I  have  taught  you  something,   then.  I  was  beginning to
        wonder."
            Zakiel  rarely  smiled,   but  he  smiled  now.  He  was  a tall, 
         gaunt  man,   with  a  long,   heavy-browed  face  and  a shaven
         skull  with  a  bony  crest.  His  black  skin  shone  in  the yellow
         light  of  the  flickering  electric  sconce,   and  the  muscles  of his
         heavy  jaws  moved  under  the  skin  on  either  side  of  the crest
         when  he  smiled.  As  a  party  piece,   on  high  day  feasts,  he
         would  crack  walnuts  between  his  strong  square  teeth.  As always
         ,   he  wore  a  gray  tunic  and  gray  leggings,   and sandals
         soled  with  rubber  that  squeaked  on  the  polished marquetry
         of  the  paths  between  the  library  stacks.  He  wore  a  slave collar
         around  his  neck,   but  it  was  made  of  a  light  alloy,   not iron, 
         and  covered  with  a  circlet  of  handmade lace.
            Zakiel  said,   "I  could  tell  you  what  will  happen,   if you
         like.  I  was  instructed  in  it,   because'  it  is  believed  that  to tell
         the  prisoner  exactly  what  will  happen  to  him  will  make 
it
         endurable.  But  it  was  the  cruellest  thing  they  did,   far crueller
         than  being  put  to question."
            Zakiel  had  been  sentenced  to  death  before  he  had  come to
         work  for  the  Aedile.  Yama,   who  had  forgotten  that,   was mortified
         .  He  said,   "I  was  not  thinking.  I  am  sorry.  No,   do not
         tell  me. "
            "You  would  rather  see  it.  You  believe  your  senses,  but
         not  words.  Yet  the  long-dead  men  and  women  who  wrote all
         these  volumes  which  stand  about  us  had  the  same appetites
         as  as,   the  same  fears,   the  same  ambitions.  All  we  know of
         the  world  passes  through  our  sensory  organs  and  is reduced
         to  electric  impulses  in  certain  sensory  nerve  fibers.  When you
         open  one  of  these  books  and  read  of  events  that happened
         before  you  were  born,   some  of  those  nerve  fibers  are stimulated
           in  exactly  the  same way."
            "I  want  to  see  for  myself.  Reading  about  it  is different."
         Zakiel  cracked  his  knuckles.  They  were  swollen,   like all
       of  his  joints.  His  fingers  looked  like  strings  of nuts.
         "Why,   perhaps  I  have  not  taught  you  anything  after all.
       Of  course  it  is  different.  What  books  do  is  allow  you  to share
       the  perceptions  of  those  who  write  them.  There  are certain
       wizards  who  claim  to  be  able  to  read  minds,   and mountebanks
       who  claim  to  have  discovered  ancient  machines  that  print out
       a  person's  thoughts,   or  project  them  in  a  sphere  of  glass or
       crystal  metal,   but  the  wizards  and  mountebanks  lie. Only
       books  allow  us  to  share  another's  thoughts.  By  reading them, 
       
we  see  the  world  not  through  our  senses,   but  through those
       of  their  authors.  And  if  those  authors  are  wiser  than  us,  or
       more  knowing,   or  more  sensitive,   then  so  are  we  while we
       read.  I  will  say  no  more  about  this.  I  know  you  would read
       the  world  directly,   and  tomorrow  you  will  no  longer  have to
       listen  to  old  Zakiel.  But  I  would  give  you  something,   if I
       may.  A  slave  owns  nothing,   not  even  his  own  life,   so  this is
       in  the  nature  of  a  loan,   but  I  have  the  Aedile's permission."
         Zakiel  led  Yama  deeper  into  the  stacks,   where  books stood
       two-deep  on  shelves  that  bent  under  their  weight.  He pulled
       a  ladder  from  a  recess,   set  its  hooked  top  on  the  lip  of the
       highest  shelf,   and  climbed  up.  He  fussed  there  for  a minute, 
       blowing  dust  from  one  book  after  another,   and  finally climbed
       down  with  a  volume  no  bigger  than  his hand.
         "I  knew  I  had  it, "  he  said,   "although  I  have  not touched
       it  since  I  first  cataloged  the  library.  Even  the  Aedile  does not
       know  of  this.  It  was  left  by  one  of  his  predecessors;  that is
       the  way  this  library  has  grown,   and  why  there  is  so  much of
       little  value.  Yet  some  hold  that  gems  are  engendered  in mud, 
       and  this  book  is  such  a  gem.  It  is yours."
         It  was  bound  in  a  black,   artificial  stuff  that,  although
       scuffed  at  the  corners,   shone  as  if  newly  made  when Zakiel
       wiped  away  the  dust  with  the  hem  of  his  tunic.  Yama riffled
       the  pages  of  the  book.  They  were  stiff  and  slick,   and seemed
       to  contain  a  hidden  depth.  When  he  tilted  the  pages  to the
       light,   images  came  and  went  in  the  margins  of  the crisp
       double-columned  print.  He  had  expected  some  rare  history of
       
Ys,   or  a  bestiary,   like  those  he  had  loved  to  read  when  he was
       younger,   but  this  was  no  more  than  a  copy  of  the Puranas.









             Yama  said,   "If  my  father  told  you  to  give  me  this book, 
           then  how  is  it  that  he  does  not  know  he  owns it?"
             "I  asked  if  I  could  give  you  a  volume  of  the  Puranas,  and
           so  I  have.  But  this  edition  is  very  old,   and  differs  in some
           details  from  that  which  I  have  taught  you.  It  is  an edition
           that  has  long  been  suppressed,   and  perhaps  this  is  the only
           copy  of  that  edition  which  now exists."
             "It  is different?"
             "In  some  parts.  You  must  read  it  all  to  find  out,  and
           remember  what  I  have  taught  you.  So  perhaps  my teachings
           will  continue,   in  some  fashion.  Or  you  could  simply  look at
           the  pictures.  modern  editions  do  not,   of  course,  have
          pictures."
             Yama,   who  had  been  tilting  the  pages  of  the  book  to the
           light  as  he  turned  them,   suddenly  felt  a  shock  of recognition.
           There  in  the  margin  of  one  of  the  last  pages  was  the view
           he  had  glimpsed  behind  the  face  of  his  ancestor,   of stars
           streaming  inwards  toward  a  dull glow.
             He  said,   "I  will  read  it,   Zakiel.  I promise."
             For  a  moment  Zakiel  stared  at  Yama  in  silence,   his black
           eyes  inscrutable  beneath  the  bony  shelf  of  his  brow. Then
           the  librarian  smiled  and  clapped  dust  from  his  big,  bony
           hands.  "Very  good,   master.  Very  good.  Now  we  will drink
           some  tea,   and  talk  on  the  history  of  the  department  
of which, 
           when  you  reach  Ys,   you  will  be  the  newest  and youngest
          member."
             "With  respect,   Zakiel,   I  am  sure  that  the  history  of the
           department  will  be  the  first  thing  I  will  be  taught  when I
           arrive  in  Ys,   and  no  doubt  the  clerk  will  have  some words
           on  it  during  our journey."
             "I  do  not  think  that  Prefect  Corin  is  a  man  who wastes
           words, "  Zakiel  said.  "And  he  does  not  see  himself  as a
          teacher."
             "My  father  would  have  you  occupy  my  mind.  I understand
           .  Well  then,   I  would  like  to  hear  something-of  the history
           of  another  department.  One  that  was  broken  up  a  long time
           ago.  Is  that possible?"
                                          THE IMUTION.
AFTER   S  U  N  S  I  T,   Y  A  M  A  climbed  to  the  heliograph  platform that
     circled  the  top  of  the  tallest  of  the  peel-house's  towers. He
     uncapped  the  observation  telescope  and,   turning  it  on the
     heavy  steel  gimbals  which  floated  in  sealed  oil  baths,  lined
     up  its  declinational  and  equatorial  axes  in  a  combination he
     knew  as  well  as  his  own name.
       Beyond  the  darkening  vanishing  point,   the  tops  of the
     towers  that  rose  up  from  the  heart  of  Ys  shone  in  the last
     light  of  the  sun  like  a  cluster  of  fiery  needles  floating high
     above  the  world,   higher  than  the  naked  peaks  of  the Rim
     Mountains.  Ys!  In  his  room,   Yama  had  spent  a  little time
     gazing  at  his  old  map  before  reluctantly  rolling  it  up and
     
putting  it  away.  He  had  traced  the  roads  that  crossed the
     barrens  of  the  coastal  plains,   the  passes  through  the mountains
       that  embraced  the  city.  He  vowed  now  that  in  a handful
     of  days  he  would  stand  at  the  base  of  the  towers  as  a free
    man.
       When  he  put  up  the  telescope  and  leaned  at  the  rail,  with
     warm  air  gusting  around  him,   he  saw  prickles  of  light flickering
       in  the  middle  distance.  Messages.  The  air  was  full of
     messages,   talking  of  war,   of  faraway  battles  and  sieges  at the
     midpoint  of  the world.









             Yama  walked  to  the  other  side  of  the  tower  and  stared out
          across  the  wide  shallow  valley  of  the  Breas  toward Aeolis, 
          and  saw  with  a  little  shock  that  the  execution  pyre  had already
            been  kindled.  The  point  of  light  flickered  like  a baleful
          star  fallen  to  the  ground  outside  the  wall  of  the  little city.
             "They  would  have  killed  me, "  he  said,   trying  out the
          words,   "if  there  was  money  in it."
             Yama  watched  for  a  long  time,   until  the  distant  fire began
         to  dim  and  was  outshone  by  the  ordinary  lights  of  the city.
          Lob  and  the  landlord  of  The  House  of  Ghost  Lantems were
          dead.  The  Aedile  and  the  colorless  man,   the  clerk,  Prefect
          Corin,   would  be  in  grave  procession  toward  the  temple,  led
          by  Father  Quine  and  flanked  by  Sergeant  Rhodean's  men in
          polished  black armor.
             His  supper  had  been  set  out  in  his  room,   but  he  left  it and
          went  down  to  the  kitchen  and,   armored  by  his  new authority, 
          hacked  a  wedge  from  a  wheel  of  cheese  and  took  a melon, 
          a  bottle  of  yellow  wine,   and  one  of  the  heavy  date loaves
          that  had  been  baked  that  morning.  He  cut  through  the kitchen
          gardens,   fooled  the  watchdogs  for  the  last  time,   and walked
          along  the  high  road  before  plunging  down  the  steep  slope of
          the  bluff  and  following  the  paths  along  the  tops  of  the dikes
          which  divided  the  flooded  paeonifi fields.
             The  clear,   shallow  Breas  made  a  rushing  noise  in  the darkness
            
as  it  ran  swiftly  over  the  flat  rocks  of  its  bed.  At the
          waterlift,   two  oxen  plodded  side  by  side  around  their circle, 
          harnessed  to  the  trimmed  trunk  of  a  young  pine.  This spar
          turned  the  shaft  that,   groaning  as  if  in  protest  at  its eternal
          torment,   lifted  a  chain  of  buckets  from  the  river  and tipped
          them  in  a  never-ending  cascade  into  the  channels  which fed
          the  irrigation  system  of  the  paeonin  fields.  The  oxen walked
          in  their  circle  under  a  roof  of  palm  fronds,   their  tails rhythmically
            slapping  their  dung-spattered  flanks.  Now  and  then they
          snatched  a  mouthful  of  the  fodder  scattered  around  the perimeter
            of  their  circular  path,   but  mostly  they  walked  with their
          heads  down,   from  nowhere  to nowhere.
             No,   Yama  thought,   I  will  not serve.
             He  sat  on  an  upturned  stone  a  little  distance  off  the path
          and  ate  meltingly  sweet  slices  of  melon  while  he  waited. The
          oxen  plodded  around  and  around,   turning  the  groaning shaft.
     Frogs  peeped  in  the  paeonin  fields.  Beyond  the  city,   at the
     mouth  of  the  Breas,   the  misty  light  of  the  Arm  of  the Warrior
     was  lifting  above  the  farside  horizon.  It  would  rise  a little
     later  each  night,   a  little  farther  downriver.  Soon  it  would not
     rise  at  all,   and  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers  would  appear above
     the  upriver  vanishing  point,   and  it  would  be  summer. But
     before  then  Yama  would  be  in Ys.
        Two  people  were  coming  along  the  path,   shadows moving
     through  the  Galaxy's  blue  twilight.  Yama  waited  until they
     
had  gone  past  before  he  whistled sharply.
        "We  thought  you  might  not  be  here, "  Ananda  said  as he
     walked  up  to  where  Yama sat.
        "Well  met, "  Derev  said,   at  Ananda's  shoulder.  The Galaxy
       put  blue  shadows  in  the  unbound  mass  of  her white
     hair  and  a  spark  in  each  of  her  large,   dark  eyes.  "0,  well
     met,  Yama!"
        She  rushed  forward  and  hugged  him.  Her  light-boned body, 
     her  long  slim  arms  and  legs,   her  heat,   her  scent.  Yama was
     always  surprised  to  discover  that  Derev  was  taller  than himself
       Despite  the  cold  certainty  he  had  nursed  ever  since Ananda's
       remark  about  Lob's  drunken  spree,   his  love rekindled
     in  her  embrace.  It  was  an  effort  not  to  respond,   and  he hated
     himself  because  it  seemed  a  worse  betrayal  than  anything she
     might  have done.
        Derev  drew  back  a  little  and  said,   "What's wrong?"
        Yama  said,   "I  am  glad  you  came.  There  is  something I
     want  to  ask you."
        Derev  smiled  and  moved  her  arms  in  a  graceful circle, 
     making  the  wide  sleeves  of  her  white  dress  floatingly glimmer
     in  the  half-dark.  "Anything!  As  long,   of  course,   as  I can
     hear  your  story.  All  of  it,   not  just  the highlights."
        Ananda  found  the  wedge  of  cheese  and  began  to  pare slices
     from  it.  "I've  been  fasting, "  he  explained.  "Water  for breakfast
     ,   water  for lunch."
        "And  pistachios, "  Yama said.
        "I  never  said  I  would  make  a  good  priest.  I  am supposed
     to  be  cleaning  out  the  narthex  while  Father  Quine  dines with
     the  Aedile  and  Prefect  Corin.  This  is  a  strange  place to
     meet,  Yama.









               "There  was  something  Dr.  Dismas  once  said  to  me,  about
            the  habits  we  fall  into.  I  wanted  to  be  reminded  of it."
               Derev  said,   "But  you  are  all  right.  You  have recovered
            from  your adventures."
               :'I  learned  much  from them."
               'And  you  will  tell  all, "  Ananda  said.  He  handed around
            slices  of  bread  and  cheese,   and  pried  the  cork  out  of  the wine
            bottle  with  his  little  knife.  "I  think, "  he  said,   "that you
            should  start  at  the beginning."
               The  story  seemed  far  stranger  and  more  exciting  than the
            actual  experience.  To  tell  it  concisely,   Yama  had  to  miss out
            the  fear  and  tension  he  had  felt  during  every  moment  of his
            adventures,   the  long  hours  of  discomfort  when  he  had tried
            to  sleep  in  wet  clothes  on  the  ftw  of  the  banyan,   his growing
              hunger  and  thirst  while  wandering  the  hot  shaly  land of
            the  Silent  Quarter  of  the  City  of  the Dead.
               As  he  talked,   he  remembered  a  dream  he  had  had while
            sleeping  on  the  catafalque  inside  the  old  tomb  in  the Silent
            Quarter.  He  had  dreamed  that  he  had  been  swimming  in the
            Great  River,   and  that  a  current  had  suddenly  caught  him and
            swept  him  toward  the  edge  of  the  world,   where  the  river fell
            
away  in  thunder  and  spray..He  had  tried  to  swim  against the
            current,   but  his  arms  had  been  trapped  at  his  sides  and he
            had  been  helplessly  swept  through  swift  white  water toward
            the  tremendous  noise  of  the  river's  fall.  The  oppressive helplessness
              of  the  dream  had  stayed  with  him  all  that morning, 
            right  up  to  the  moment  when  Lud  and  Lob  had  caught up
            with  him,   but  he  had  forgotten  about  it  until  now.  And now
            it  seemed  important,   as  if  dream  and  reality  were,   during the
            telling  of  his  tale,   coterminous.  He  told  his  two  friends about
            the  dream  as  if  it  were  one  more  part  of  his  adventures,  and
            then  described  how  Lob  and  Lud  had  surprised  him,   and how
            he  had  killed  Lud  by accident.
               "I  had  found  an  old  knife,   and  Lob  got  hold  of  it,  ready
           to  kill  me  because  I  had  killed  his  brother.  But  the  knife hurt
            him.  It  seemed  to  turn  into  something  like  a  ghoul,   or a
            giant  spider.  I  ran,   I  am  ashamed  to  say.  I  left  him  with his
            dead brother."
               "He  would  have  killed  you, "  Derev  said.  "Of  course you
            should  have run."
         Yama  said,   "I  should  have  killed  him.  The  knife would
      have  done  it  for  me  if  I  had  not  taken  it,   I  think.  It helped
      
me,   like  the  ghost ship."
         "Lob  escaped, "  Ananda  said.  "He  wanted  his  father to
      condemn  you  for  the  murder  of  his  brother,   the  fool,   but then
      you  came  back.  Lob  had  already  convicted  himself,   and Unprac
        confessed  to  his  part  as  soon  as  he  was arrested."
         Unprac  was  the  name  of  the  landlord  of  The  House of
      Ghost  Lanterns.  Yama  had  not  known  it  until  the trial.
         "So  I  killed  Lob  anyway.  I  should  have  killed  him then, 
      in  the  tomb.  It  would  have  been  a  cleaner  death.  It  was a
      poor  bargain  he  got  in  the end."
         "That's  what  they  said  about  the  farmer, "  Derev said, 
      "after  the  girl  fox  had  lain  with  him  and  took  his baby
      in payment."
         Suddenly,   with  a  feeling  like  falling,   Yama  saw Derev's
      face  as  a  stranger  might.  All  planes,   with  large  dark  eyes and
      a  small  mouth  and  a  bump  of  a  nose,   framed  by  a  fall of
      white  hair  that  moved  in  the  slightest  breeze  as  if possessed
      with  an  independent  life.  They  had  pursued  each  other all
      last  summer,   awakened  to  the  possibilities  of  each other's
      bodies.  They  had  lain  in  the  long  dry  grasses  between the
      tombs  and  tasted  each  other's  mouths,   each  other's  skin. He
      had  felt  the  swell  of  her  small  breasts,   traced  the  bowl  of her
      pelvis,   the  elegant  length  of  her  arms,   her  legs.  They  had not
      made  love;  they  had  sworn  that  they  would  not  make love
      together  until  they  were  married.  Now,   he  was  glad  that they
      had not.
         He  said,   "Do  you  keep  doves,  Derev?"
          You  know  that  my  father  does.  For  sacrifice.  Some palmers
        still  come  here  to  pray  at  the  temple's  shrine.  Mostly they
      don"'t  want  doves,   though,   but  flowers  or fruit."
          
There  were  no  palmers  this  year, "  Ananda said.
         "When  the  war  is  over,   they'll  come again, "      Derev said.
      "My  father  clips  the  wings  of  the  doves.  It  would  be  a bad
      omen  if  they  escaped  in  the  middle  of  the sacrifice."
         Ananda  said,   "You  mean  that  it  would be         bad   for his
     trade.
         Derev  laughed.  "Then  the  desires  of  the  Preservers are
      equal  to  those  of  my  father,   and  I  am glad."









                 "There  is  one  more  mystery, "  Yama  said,   and explained
               that  he  had  been  knocked  unconscious  by  a  fall  and had
               woken  e  where,   in  a  ttle room         a  ho  ow crag
               the  Great  River's  shore,   watched  by  an  old  man  and  an old
               woman  who  claimed  to  be  curators  of  the  City  of  the Dead.
                 "They  showed  me  a  marvel.  It  was  a  picture  slate  from a
               tomb,   and  it  showed  someone  of  my  bloodline.  It  was  as if
               they  had  been  waiting  for  me,   and  I  have  been  thinking about
               what  they  showed  me  ever  since  I  was  returned here."
                 Derev  had  the  bottle  of  wine.  She  took  a  long swallow
               from  it  and  said,   "But  that's  good!  That's  wonderful!  In less
               than  a  decad  you  have  found  two  people  of  your bloodline."
                 Yama  said,   "'Me  man  in  the  picture  was  alive  before the
               building  of  Con  uence.  I  imagine  he  is  long  dead.  What is
               interesting  is  that  the  curators  already  knew  about  me,  for
               they  had  the  picture  slate  ready,   and  they  also  had prepared
               a  route  from  their  hiding  place  to  the  very  grounds  of the
               peel-house.  That  was  how  I  returned.  One  of  them,  the
               woman,   was  of  your  bloodline,  Derev."
                 "Well,   so  are  many.  We  are  traders  and  merchants. We
               are  to  be  found  throughout  the  length  and  breadth 
of
              Confluence."
                 Derev  looked  coolly  at  Yama  when  she  said  this,   and his
               heart  meltingly  turned.  It  was  hard  to  continue,   but  he had
               to.  He  said,   "I  did  not  think  much  of  it  for  that  very reason, 
               and  I  did  not  even  make  very  much  of  the  fact  that,   like you, 
               they  had  a  fund  of  cautionary  sayings  and  stories concerning
               magical  foxes.  But  they  kept  doves.  I  wonder,   if  I looked
               amongst  your  father's  doves,   if  I  would  find  some  that were
               not  clipped.  I  think  you  use  them  to  keep  in  touch with
               your people-Ananda
                   said,   "What  is  this,   Yama?  You  make  a trial
              here."
                 Derev  said,   "It's  all  right,   Ananda.  Yama,   my  father said
               that  you  might  have  guessed.  That  was  why  he  did  not allow
               me  to  go  to  the  peel-house,   or  to  talk  with  you  using the
               mirror.  But  I  came  here  anyway.  I  wanted  to  see  you. Tell
               me  what  you  know,   and  I'll  tell  you  what  we  know. How
               did  you  guess  that  I  helped you?"
                 "I  think  that  the  old  woman,   Beatrice,   had  a  son,   and that
     he  is  your  father.  When  Lob  returned  to  Aeolis,   you gave
     
him  money  and  got  him  drunk  to  learn  his  story.  I  know that
     he  had  not  been  paid  by  Dr.  Dismas,   so  he  had  to  get the
     money  from  somewhere.  You  found  me,   and  took  me  to your
     grandparents.  They  made  up  a  story  about  looking  for  a lost
     goat  and  finding  me  instead,   but  they  ate  only  vegetables. As
     do  you  and  your  parents,  Derev."
        "They  make  cheese  from  goats'  milk, "  Derev  said. "And
     they  did  lose  one  last  year,   to  a  leopard.  But  you  more or
     less  have  the  truth.  I'm  not  sure  what  scared  me  more,  getting
     Ub  drunk,   or  climbing  down  the  cliff  using  the  rope  he had
     left  behind  and  picking  my  way  through  the  dark  tomb to
     find you."
        "Did  your  family  come  here  because  of  me?  Am  I so
     important,   or  am  I  merely  foolish  to  believe  it?  Why  are you
     interested  in me?"
        "Because  you  are  of  a  bloodline  which  vanished  from the
     world  long  ago.  My  family  have  stayed  true  to  the  old department
       as  no  others  of  my  bloodline  have.  We  revere  the dead, 
     and  keep  the  memory  of  their  fives  as  best  we  can,   but we
     do  not  remember  your  bloodline,   except  in  legends  from the
     beginning  of  the  worldL  Beatrice  isn't  my  grandmother,  although
       she  and  her  husband  came  to  live  at  the  tower after
     my  great-grandparents  died.  My  grandparents  wanted  a normal
       fife,   you  see.  They  established  a  business  downriver and
     my  father  inherited  it,   but  Beatrice  and  her  husband persuaded
       him  to  move  here  because  of  you."  She  paused. She
     said,   "I  know  you  are  destined  for  great  things,   but  it doesn't
     change  what  I  feel  for you."
        Yama  remembered  Beatrice's  verse  and  recited,  "Letfame, 
     that  all  hunt  after  in  their  lives,   Live  registered  upon our
     brazen tombs."
        
Derev  said,   "Yes,   it's  a  favorite  verse  of  Beatrice's. She
     has  always  said  that  it  was  far  older  than  Confluence. But
     we  keep  the  memory  of  all  the  dead  alive,   even  if  no one
     else vvill."
        Yama  said,   "Am  I  then  of  the dead?"
        Derev  walked  about,   pumping  her  elbows  in  and  out as
     was  her  habit  when  agitated.  Her  white  dress  glimmered in
     the  fight  of  the  outflung  arm  of  the  Galaxy.  "You  were very









             ill  when  I  found  you.  You  had  been  lying  there  all  night. I
             took  you  to  Beatrice  and  Osric:  by  the  keel  road  and they
             saved  your  life,   using  old  machines.  I  didn't  know  what else
             to  do.  I  thought  you  might  die  if  I  took  you  to  Aeolis,   or if
             I  went  to  fetch  the  soldiers  who  were  looking  for  you. Well, 
             it  is  time  you  knew  that  my  family  have  been  watching over
             you.  After  all,   Dr.  Dismas  found  out  about  you  and  put you
             in  peril.  So  might  others,   and  you  should  be ready."
                Ananda  said,   "What  are  you  saying,   Derev?  That you're
             some  kind  of  spy?  On  which side?"
                Yama  laughed.  "Derev  is  no  spy.  She  is  anxious  that I
             should  receive  my  inheritance,   such  as  it is."
                "My  father  and  mother  know,   too.  It  isn't  just  me.  At first, 
             I  didn't  even  know  why  we  came here."
                Ananda  had  drunk  most  of  the  wine.  He  tipped  the bottle
             to  get  the  last  swallow,   wiped  his  mouth  on  his  sleeve,  and
             said  gravely,   "So  you  don't  want  to  sell  rubbish  to sailors
             and  Mud  Men,   Derev?  There's  no  harm  in  that.  It's good
             that  you  want  to  keep  to  the  old  ways  of  your people."
                "The  Department  of  the  Curators  of  the  City  of  the Dead
             was  disbanded  long  ago, "  Yama  said,   looking  at Derev.
                
"It  was  defeated, "  Derev  said,   "but  it  endures.  There are
             not  many  of  us  now.  We  mostly  live  in  the  mountains,  or
             in Ys."
                "Why  are  you  interested  in me?"
                "You've  seen  the  picture, "  Derev  said.  She  had turned
             her  back  to  Yama  and  Ananda,   and  was  looking  out across
             the  swampy  fields  toward  the  ridge  at  the  far  side  of the
             Breas's  valley.  "I  don't  know  why  you're  important. My
             father  thinks  that  it  is  to  do  with  the  ship  of  the  Ancients of
             Days.  Beatrice  and  Osric  know  more,   I  think,   but  won't tell
             even  me  all  they  know.  They  have  many secrets."
                Ananda  said,   "The  ship  of  the  Ancients  of  Days passed
             downriver  years  before  Yama  was born."
                Derev  ignored  his  interruption.  "The  Ancients  of  Days left
             to  explore  the  neighboring  galaxy  long  before  the Preservers
             achieved  godhead.  They  left  more  than  five  million  years ago, 
             while  the  stars  of  the  Galaxy  were  still  being  moved into
             their  present  patterns.  It  was  long  before  the  Puranas were
      written,   or  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers  was  made,   or Confluence
      was built."
         "So  they  claimed, "  Ananda  said.  "But  there  is  no word
      of  them  in  the Puranas."
         "They  returned  to  find  all  that  they  knew  had  passed into
      the  Eye  of  the  Preservers,   and  that  they  were  the  last  of their
      kind.  They  landed  at  Ys,   traveled  downriver  and  sailed away
      from  Confluence  for  the  galaxy  they  had  forsaken  so long
      
ago,   but  they  left  their  ideas behind."
         "They  turned  innocent  unfallen  bloodlines  against the
      word  of  the  Preservers, "  Ananda  said.  "They  woke  old technologies
        and  created  armies  of  monsters  to  spread their
     heresies."
         "And  twenty  years  later  you  were  born,  Yama."
         "So  were  many  others, "  Ananda  said.  "All  three  of us
      here  were  born  after  the  war  began.  Derev  makes  a fantasy."
         "Beatrice  and  Osric  think  that  Yama's  bloodline  is  the one
      which  built  Confluence, "  Derev  told  Ananda.  "Perhaps the
      Preservers  raised  his  bloodline  up  for  just  that  task  and then
      dispersed  it,   or  perhaps  as  a  reward  it  passed  over  with the
      Preservers  when  they  fell  into  the  Eye  and  vanished  from the
      Universe.  In  any  event,   it  disappeared  from  Confluence long
      ago.  And  yet  Yama  is  here  now,   at  a  time  of  great danger."
         Ananda  said,   "The  Preservers  needed  no  help  in creating
      Confluence.  They  spoke  a  word,   and  it  was so."
         "It  was  a  very  long  word, "  Derev  said.  She  lifted her
      arms  above  her  head,   and  raised  herself  up  on  the  points of
      her  toes,   as  graceful  as  a  dancer.  She  was  remembering something
        she  had  learned  long  ago.  She  said,   "It  was  longer than
      the  words  in  the  nuclei  of  our  cells  which  define  what we
      are.  If  all  the  different  instructions  for  all  the  different bloodlines
        of  Confluence  were  put  together  it  would  not  be one
      hundredth  of  the  length  of  the  word  which  defined  the initial
      conditions  necessary  for  the  creation  of  Confluence. That
      word  was  a  set  of  instructions  or  rules.  Yama's bloodline
      was  part  of  those instructions."
         Ananda  said,   "This  is  heresy,   Derev.  I'm  a  bad  priest,  but
      I  know  the  sound  of  heresy.  The  Preservers  needed  no help
      
in  making Confluence."
         "Let  her  explain, "  Yama said.








              Ananda  stood.  "It's  lies, "  he  said  flatly.  "Her  people deceive
              themselves  that  they  know  more  of  Confluence  and the
            Preservers  than  is  written  in  the  Puranas.  They  spin elaborate
            sophistries,   and  delude  themselves  with  dreams  of hidden
            power,   and  they  have  snared  you,   Yama.  Come  with me.
            Don't  listen  any  more.  You  leave  for  Ys  tomorrow.  Don't be
            fooled  into  thinking  that  you  are  more  than  you are."
              Derev  said,   "We  don't  pretend  to  understand  what we
            remember.  It  is  simply  our  duty.  It  was  the  duty  of  our bloodline
              since  the  foundation  of  Confluence,   and  my  family are
            among  the  last  to  keep  that  duty.  After  the  defeat  of the
            department,   my  bloodline  were  scattered  the  length and
            breadth  of  the  Great  River.  They  became  traders  and merchants
            .  My  grandparents  and  my  father  wanted  to  be like
            them,   but  my  father  was  called back."
              Yama  said,   "Sit  down,   Ananda.  Please.  Help me
            understand. "
              Ananda  said,   "I  don't  think  you're  fully  recovered,  Yama.
            You've  been  ill.  That  part  I  believe.  You  have  always wanted
            to  see  yourself  as  the  center  of  the  world,   for  you  have no
            center  to  your  own  life.  Derev  is  treating  you  cruelly,  and
            I'll  hear  no  more.  You've  even  forgotten  about  the execution.
            Let  me  tell  you  that  Unprac  died  badly,   screaming  to the
            Preservers  for  aid  with  one  breath,   and  cursing  them  and all
            
who  watched  with  the  next.  Lob  was  stoic.  For  all  his faults, 
            he  died  a man."
              "That  is  cruel,   Ananda, "  Yama said.
              "It's  the  truth.  Farewell,   friend  Yama.  If  you  must dream
            of  glory,   dream  of  being  an  ordinary  soldier  and  of giving
            your  life  for  the  Preservers.  All  else  is vanity."
              Yama  did  not  try  to  stop  Ananda.  He  knew  how stubborn
            his  friend  could  be.  He  watched  as  Ananda  walked away
            beside  the  noisy  river,   a  shadow  against  the  blue-white arch
            of  the  Galaxy.  Yama  hoped  that  the  young  priest  would at
            least  turn  and  wave farewell.
              But  he  did not.
              Derev  said,   "You  must  believe  me,   Yama.  At  first  I became
              your  friend  because  it  was  my  duty.  But  that quickly
            changed.  I  would  not  be  here  if  it  had not."
              Yaina  smiled.  He  could  not  stay  angry  at  her;  if  she had
      deceived  him,   it  was  because  she  had  believed  that  she was
      helping him.
         They  fell  into  each  other's  arms  and  breathlessly kissed
      and  rekissed.  He  felt  her  heat  pressing  through  their clothes, 
      the  quick  patter  of  her  heart  like  a  bird  beating  at  the cage
      of  her  ribs.  Her  hair  fell  around  his  face  like  a trembling
      veil:  he  might  drown  in  its  dry scent.
         After  a  while,   he  said,   "If  you  took  me  to  Beatrice and
      Osric,   and  they  nursed  me  back  to  health,   then  what  of die
      ghost  ship?  Do  they  claim  that,  too?"
         
Derev's  eyes  shone  a  handspan  from  his.  She  said,  "I'd
      never  heard  of  it  before  you  told  me  your  story.  But there
      are  many  strange  things  on  the  river,   Yama.  It  is always
     changing."
           Yet  always  the  same, "  Yama  said,   remembering Caphis's
      tattoo,   the  snake  swallowing  its  own  tail.  He  added,  "You
      thought  that  the  anchorite  we  saved  from  Lud  and  Lob was
      one  of my, bloodline."
         "Perhaps  he  was  the  first  generation,   born  just  after the
      ship  of  the  Ancients  of  Days arrived."
         "There  may  be  hundreds  of  my  bloodline  by now, 
      Derev. Thousands!"
         "That's  what  I  think.  I  told  Beatrice  and  Osric  about the
      anchorite,   but  they  didn't  seem  to  be  very  interested. Perhaps
      I  was  mistaken  about  him  being  of  your  bloodline,   but  I do
      not  think  I  was.  He  gave  you  a  coin.  You  should  take it
      with you."
         "So  he  did.  I  had  forgotten it."








                                                   TRI PALMERS.
YAMA  DIS(OVIRID  TH  knife  at  the  bottom  of  his  satchel on
            the  first  evening  of  his  journey  to  Ys  in  the  company of
            Prefect  Corin.  Yama  had  given  the  knife  to  Sergeant Rhodean
            that  morning,   because  Prefect  Corin  had  said  that  it  was not
            the  kind  of  thing  an  apprentice  'should  own.  The  Prefect had
            been  quite  specific  about  what  Yama  could  and  could not
            carry;  before  they  had  set  off  he  had  looked  through Yama's
            satchel  and  had  removed  the  knife  and  the  carefully folded
            map  of  Ys  and  the  horn-handled  pocket-knife  which  had once
            belonged  to  Telmon.  Yama  had  been  able  to  take  little with
            him  but  a  change  of  clothes  and  the  money  given  to  him by
            the  Aedile.  He  had  the  copy  of  the  Puranas  and  the anchorite's
              coin,   which  he  wore  around  his  neck,   inside  his shirt, 
            but  because  they  had  been  given  to  him  so  recently  they did
            not  yet  seem  like  proper possessions.
               Sergeant  Rhodean  must  have  slipped  the  knife  back into
            the  satchel  when  Yama  had  been  making  his  farewells. It
            was  sheathed  in  brown  and  white  goatskin  and  tucked beneath
            Yama's  spare  shirt  and  trousers.  Yama  was  pleased  to  see it, 
            even  though  it  still  made  him  uneasy.  He  knew  that  all heroes
            carried  weapons  with  special  attributes,   and  he  was determined
              to  be  a  hero.  He  was  still  very young.
        
Prefec
                 Corin  asked  him  what  he  had  found. Reluctantly, 
       Yama  s  ipped  the  knife  from  its  sheath  and  held  it  up  in the
       firelight.  A  blue  sheen  slowly  extended  from  its  hilt  to the
       point  of  its  curved  blade.  It  emitted  a  faint  high-pitched buzz, 
       and  a  sharp  smell  like  discharged electricity.
         "I  am  certain  that  Sergeant  Rhodean  meant  well, " Prefect
       Corin  said,   "but  you  will  not  need  that.  If  we  are attacked, 
       it  will  do  nothing  but  put  you  in  danger.  In  any  case,   it is
       very  unlikely  that  we  will  be attacked."
         Prefect  Corin  sat  crosslegged  on  the  other  side  of  the small
       campfire,   neat  and  trim  in  his  homespun  tunic  and  gray leggings
       .  He  was  smoking  a  long-stemmed  clay  pipe  which he
       held  clenched  between  his  small  even  teeth.  His ironshod
       staff  was  stuck  in  the  ground  behind  him.  They,   had walked
       all  day  at  a  steady  pace,   and  this  was  the  most  he  had said
       to  Yama  at  any  one time.
         Yama  said,   "That  is  why  I  gave  it  away,   dominie,   but it
       has  come back."
         "It  is  not regulation."
         "Well,   but  I  am  not  yet  an  apprentice, "  Yama  said. He
       added,   "Perhaps  I  could  make  a  gift  of  it  to  the department."
         "That  is  possible, "  Prefect  Corin  allowed.  "Tributes are
       not  unknown.  Weapons  like  that  are  generally  loyal  to their
       owner,   but  loyalty  can  be  broken  with  suitable treatment.
       Well,   we  cannot  leave  it  here.  You  may  carry  it,   but  do not
       think  to  try  to  use it."
         
But  after  Prefect  Corin  had  fallen  asleep,   Yama  took ou
                                                                      t
       the  knife  and practiced   the  passes  and  thrusts  that Sergeant
       Rhodean  had  taught  him,   and  later  slept  sweetly  and deeply, 
       with  the  point  of  the  knife  thrust  into  the  warm  ashes of
       the campfire.
         The  next  day,   as  before,   Yama  dutifully  walked  three paces
       behind  Prefect  Corin  along  raised  paths  between  the flooded
       fields  that  made  an  intricate  green  and  brown  quilt  along the
       margin  of  the  river.  It  was  the  planting  season,   and  the fields
       were  being  ploughed  by  teams  of  water  buffalo commanded
       by  small,   naked  boys  who  controlled  their  charges  with no








                more  than  shouts  and  vigorous  application  of  long bamboo
               switches.
                  A  cool  wind  blew  from  the  Great  River,   ruffling  the brown
                waters  which  flooded  the  fields,   stirring  the  bright  green flags
                of  the  bamboos  and  the  clumps  of  elephant  grass  that grew
                at  the  places  where  the  corners  of  four  fields  met.  Yama and
                Prefect  Corin  rose  just  before  dawn  and  prayed  and walked
                until  it  was  too  hot,   and  sheltered  in  the  shade  of  a  tree until
                early  evening,   when,   after  a  brief  prayer,   they  walked again
                until  the  Galaxy  began  to  rise  above  the river.
                  Ordinarily,   Yama  would  have  enjoyed  this  adventure,  but
                Prefect  Corin  was  an  impassive,   taciturn  companion.  He did
                not  comment  on  anything  they  saw,   but  was  like  a machine
                moving  implacably  through  the  sunlit  world,   noticing only
                what  was  necessary.  He  responded  with  no  more  than  a grunt
                when  Yama  pointed  to  a  fleet  of  argosies  far  out  across the
                glittering  waters  of  the  Great  River;  he  ignored  the  ruins they
                passed,   even  a  long  sandstone  cliff-face  which  had been
                carved  with  pillars  and  friezes  and  statues  of  men  
and beasts
                around  gaping  doors;  he  ignored  the  little  villages which
                could  be  glimpsed  amongst  stands  of  palms,   flowering magnolias
                  and  pines  on  the  ridge  of  the  old  river  bank  in the
                blue  distance,   or  which  stood  on  islands  of  higher ground
                amongst  the  mosaic  of  flooded  fields;  he  ignored  the fishermen
                  who  worked  the  margin  of  the  Great  River  beyond the
                weedy  gravel  banks  and  mud  flats  revealed  by  the river's
                retreat,   fishermen  who  stood  thigh-deep  in  the  shallows and
                cast  circular  nets  across  the  water,   or  who  sat  in  tiny bark
                boats  further  out,   using  black  cormorants  tethered  by  one leg
                to  catch  fish.  (Yama  thought  of  the  verse  which  the  old curator
                ,   Beatrice,   had  recited  to  him.  Had  its  author  seen the
                ancestors  of  these  fishermen?  He  understood  then  a  little of
                what  Zakiel  had  tried  to  teach  him,   that  books  were  not obdurate
                  thickets  of  glyphs  but  transparent  windows,   looking out
                through  another's  eyes  on  to  a  familiar  world,   or  on  to a
                world  which  lived  only  when  the  book  was  read,   and vanished
                  
when  it  was  set down.)
                  The  mud  walls  of  the  straw-thatched  huts  of  the villages
                often  incorporated  slates  stolen  from  tombs,   so  that pictures
                from  the  past  (as  often  as  not  sideways  or  upside down)
      flashed  with  vibrant  colors  amongst  the  poverty  of  the peasants
      '  lives.  Chickens  and  black  pigs  ran  amongst  the huts, 
      chased  by  naked  toddlers.  Women  pounded  grain  or gutted
      fish  or  mended  fishing  nets,   watched  by  impassive  men sitting
      in  the  doorways  of  their  huts  or  beneath  shade  trees,  smoking, 
      clay  pipes  or  sipping  green  tea  from  chipped glasses.
         In  one  village  there  was  a  stone  pen  with  a  small dragon
      coiled  on  the  white  sand  inside  it.  The  dragon  was black, 
      with  a  double  row  of  diamond-shaped  plates  along  its ridged
      back,   and  it  slept  with  its  long,   scaley  snout  on  its forelegs, 
      like  a  dog.  Flies  clustered  around  its  long-lashed  eyes; it
      stank  of  sulphur  and  marsh  gas.  Yama  remembered  the abortive
        hunt  at  the  end  of  last  winter,   before  poor  Telmon went
      away,   and  would  have  liked  to  see  more  of  this  wonder,  but
      Prefect  Corin  strode  past  without  sparing  it  a  single glance.
         Sometimes  the  villagers  came  out  to  watch  Yama  and Prefect
        Corin  go  by,   and  little  boys  ran  up  to  try  and  sell them
      wedges  of  watermelon  or  polished  quartz  pebbles  or charms
      woven  of  thorny  twigs.  Prefect  Corin  ignored  the animated
      crowds  of  little  boys;  he  did  not  even  trouble  to  use  his staff
      to  clear  a  way  but  simply  pushed  through  them  as  through a
      thicket.  Yama  was  left  behind  to  apologize  and  ask  for indulgence
      ,   saying  over  and  over  that  they  had  no  money.  It was
      almost  true.  Yama  had  the  two  gold  rials  which  the Aedile
      had  given  him,   but  one  of  those  would  buy  an  entire village, 
      
and  he  had  no  smaller  coins.  And  Prefect  Corin  had nothing
      but  his  staff  and  his  hat,   his  leggings  and  his  homespun tunic, 
      his  sandals  and  his  blanket,   and  a  few  small  tools packed
      inside  the  leather  purse  that  hung  from  his belt.
         "Be  careful  of  him, "  the  Aedile  had  whispered,   when he
      had  embraced  Yama  in  farewell.  "Do  all  he  asks  of  you,  but
      no  more  than  that.  Reveal  no  more  than  is  necessary.  He will
      seize  on  any  weakness,   any  difference,   and  use  it  against you.
      It  is  their way."
         The  Prefect  was  a  spare,   ascetic  man.  He  drank  tea made
      from  fragments  of  dusty  bark  and  ate  only  dried  fruit  and the
      yeasty  buds  of  manna  lichen  picked  from  rocks,   although he
      let  Yama  cook  the  rabbits  and  lizards  he  caught  in  wire snares
      set  each  evening.  As  he  walked,   Yama  ate  ghostberTies picked
      from  thickets  which  grew  amongst  ruined  tombs,   but the








          ghostberries  were  almost  over  now  and  difficult  to  find under
          the  new  leaves  of  the  bushes,   and  Prefect  Corin  would not
          allow  Yama  to  move  more  than  a  few  paces  from  the edge
          of  the  path.  There  were  traps  amongst  the  tombs,   he said, 
          and  ghouls  and  worse  things  at  night.  Yama  did  not argue
          with  him,   but  apart  from  the  necessities  of  toilet  he  was never
          out  of  Prefect  Corin's  sight.  There  were  a  hundred moments
          when  he  wanted  to  make  a  run  for  it.  But  not  yet.  Not yet.
          He  was  learning  patience,   at least.
             The  stretches  of  uncultivated  country  between  the villages
          grew  wider.  There  were  fewer  flooded  fields  and  more ruined
          tombs,   overgrown  with  creepers  and  moss  amidst rustling
          stands  of  bamboo  or  clumps  of  date  or  oil  palms,   or copses
          of  dark  green  swamp  cypress.  Then  they  passed  the  last village
            and  the  road  widened  into  a  long,   straight  pavement. It
          was  like  the  ancient  road  that  ran  between  the  river  and the
          edge  of  the  Silent  Quarter  downriver  of  Aeolis,  Yama
          thought,   and  then  he  realized  that  it  was  the  same road.
             It  was  the  third  day  of  the  journey.  They  camped  that night
          in  a  hollow  with  tall  pines  leaning  above.  Wind moved
          through  the  doffing  branches  of  the  pines.  The  Great River
          stretched  away  toward  the  Galaxy,   which  even  at  this late
          hour  showed  only  the  upper  part  of  the  Arm  of  the Warrior
          above  the  horizon,   with  the  Blue  Diadem  gleaming  cold and
          sharp  at  the  upflung  terminus  of  the  lanes  of  misty starlight.
          
Halo  stars  were  like  dimming  coals  scattered  sparsely across
          the  cold  hearth  of  the  sky;  the  smudged  specks  of distant
          galaxies  could  be  seen  here  and there.
             Yama  lay  near  the  little  fire  on  a  soft,   deep  layer  of brown
          pine  needles  and  thought  of  the  Ancients  of  Days  and wondered
            what  it  might  be  like  to  plunge  through  the emptiness
          between  galaxies  for  longer  than  Confluence  had  been  in existence
          .  And  the  Ancients  of  Days  had  not  possessed  one hundredth
            of  the  power  of  their  distant  children,   the Preservers.
             Yama  asked  Prefect  Conn  if  he  had  ever  seen  the Ancients
          of  Days  after  they  had  arrived  at  Ys.  For  a  long  time,   the man
          did  not  answer,   and  Yama  began  to  believe  that  he  had  not been
          heard,   or  that  Prefect  Corin  had  simply  ignored  the  question. But
          at  last  the  Prefect  knocked  out  his  pipe  on  the  heel  of  his boot
          and  said,   "I  saw  two  of  them  once.  I  was  a  boy,   a  little older
      than  you,   and  newly  apprenticed.  They  were  both  tall,   and as
      alike  as  brothers,   with  black  hair  and  faces  as  white  as new
      paper.  We  say  that  some  bloodlines  have  white  skin-your own
      is  very  pale-but  we  mean  that  it  has  no  pigmentation  in it, '
      except  that  it  is  suffused  by  the  blood  in  the  tissues beneath.
      But  this  was  a  true  white,   as  if  their  faces  had-  been powdered
      with  chalk.  They  wore  long  white  shirts  that  left  their  arms and
      legs  bare,   and  little  machines  hung  from  their  belts.  I  
was in
      the  Day  Market  with  the  oldest  of  the  apprentices,   carrying the
      spices  he  had  bought.  The  two  Ancients  of  Days  walked through
      the  aisles  at  the  head  of  a  great  crowd  and  passed  by  as close
      to  me  as  you  are now.
         'They  should  have  been  killed,   all  of  them Unfortunately, 
      it  was  not  a  decision  the  Department  could  make,   although even
      then,   in  Ys,   it  was  possible  to  see  that  their  ideas  were dangerous
      .  Confluence  survives  only  because  it  does  not  change. The
      Preservers  unite  us  because  it  is  to  them  that  each department
      swears  its  loyalty,   and  so  no  department  shows  particular favor
      to  any  of  the  bloodlines  of  Confluence.  The  Ancients  of Days
      have  infected  their  allies  with  the  heresy  that  each bloodline, 
      indeed  every  individual,   might  have  an  intrinsic  worth. They
      promote  the  individual  above  society,   change  above  duty. You
      should  reflect  on  why  this  is  wrong,  Yama."
         "Is  it  true  that  there  are  wars  in  Ys  now?  That different
      departments  fight  each  other,   even  in  the  Palace  of  the Memory
        of  the People?"
         Prefect  Conn  gave  him  a  sharp  look  across  the  little  fire and
      said,   "You  have  been  listening  to  the  wrong  land  of gossip."
         Yama  was  thinking  of  the  curators  of  the  City  of  the Dead, 
      whose  resistance  had  dwindled  to  a  stubborn  refusal  to yield
      to  the  flow  of  history.  Perhaps  Derev  would  be  the  last of
      them.  He  said,   trying  to  draw  out  the  Prefect,   "But surely
      there  are  disputes  about  whether  one  department  or another
      should  carry  out  a  particular  duty.  I  have  heard  that outmoded
      departments  sometimes  resist  amalgamation  or disbandment, 
      and  I  have  also  heard  that  these  disputes  are  increasing,  
and
      that  the  Department  of  Indigenous  Affairs  is  training  most of
      its  apprentices  to  be soldiers."
         "You  have  a  lot  to  learn, "  Prefect  Corin  said.  He tamped
      tobacco  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  and  lit  it  before adding, 








          "Apprentices  do  not  choose  the  way  in  which  they  serve the
          Department,   and  you  are  too  young  to  be  an  apprentice in
          any  case.  You  have  had  an  odd  childhood,   with  what amounts
          to  three  fathers  and  no  mother.  You  have  far  too  much pride
          and  not  enough  education,   and  most  of  that  in  odd  bits of
          history  and  philosophy  and  cosmology,   and  far  too  much in
          the  arts  of  soldiering.  Even  before  you  can  be  accepted  as an
          apprentice,   you  will  have  to  catch  up  in  all  the  areas your
          education  has neglected."
             Yama  said,   "I  think  I  might  make  a  good soldier."
             Prefect  Corin  drew  on  his  pipe  and  looked  at  Yama with
          narrowed  eyes.  They  were  small  and  close  together,  and
          gleamed  palely  in  his  black-furred  face.  The  white  stripe ran
          past  the  outer  corner  of  his  left  eye.  Eventually  he  said,  "I
          came  down  here  to  execute  two  men  because  their crimes
          involved  the  Aedile's  private  life.  That  is  the  way  it  is done
          in  the  Department.  It  demonstrates  that  the  Department supports
            the  action  of  its  man,   and  it  ensures  that  none  of the
          local  staff  have  to  do  the  job.  That  way,   there  is  no  one for
          the  locals  to  take  revenge  on,   with  the  exception  of  the Aedile
          himself,   and  no  one  will  do  that  as  long  as  he  commands his
          
garrison,   because  he  has  the  authority  of  the  Preservers. I
          agreed  to  bring  you  to  Ys  because  it  is  my  duty.  It  does not
          mean  I  owe  you  anything,   especially  answers  to  your questions
          .  Now  get  some sleep."
             Later,   long  after  the  Prefect  had  rolled  himself  in  his blanket
          and  gone  to  sleep,   Yama  cautiously  stood  and  backed away
          from  the  fire,   which  had  burnt  down  to  white  ash  around a
          dimming  core  of  glowing  coals.  The  road  stretched  away between
            hummocks  of  dry  friable  stone  and  clumps  of  pines. Its
          paved  surface  gleamed  faintly  in  the  light  of  the  Galaxy. Yama
          settled  his  pack  on  his  shoulders  and  set  off.  He  wanted  to go
          to  Ys,   but  he  was  determined  not  to  become  an  apprentice clerk, 
          and  after  the  final  dismissal  of  his  worth  he  thought  that he
          could  not  bear  Prefect  Corin's  company  a  day longer.
             He  had  not  gone  very  far  down  the  road  when  he  heard a
          dry  rattle  in  the  darkness  ahead.  Yama  put  his  hand  on the
          hilt  of  his  knife,   but  did  not  draw  it  from  its  sheath  in case
          its  light  betrayed  him.  He  advanced  cautiously,   his  eyes wide, 
          his  whole  skin  tingling,   his  blood  rustling  in  his  ears. Then
     a  stone  smashed  onto  the  paved  road  behind  him!  He whirled
     around,   and  another  stone  exploded  at  his  feet.  A fragment
     cut  his  shin,   and  he  felt  blood  trickle  into  his boot.
        
He  gripped  the  knife  tightly  and  said,   "Who  is  it? Show
    yourself
        Silence,   and  then  Prefect Corin     stepped  up  behind Yama
     and  gripped  the  wrist  of  his  right  hand  and  said  in  his ear, 
     "You  have  a  lot  to  learn,  boy."
        "A  clever  trick, "  Yama  said.  He  felt  oddly  calm,   as  if he
     had  expected  this  all along.
        After  a  moment  Prefect  Corin  released  him  and  said,  "It
     is  lucky  for  you  I  played  it,   and  no  one  else."  Yama had
     never  seen  Prefect  Corin  smile,   but  in  the  blue  light  of the
     Galaxy  he  saw  the  man's  lips  compress  in  what  might have
     been  the  beginning  of  a  smile.  "I  promised  to  look  after you, 
     and  so  I  will.  Meanwhile,   no  more  games.  All right?"
        "All  right, "  Yama said.
        "Good.  You  need  to  sleep.  We  still  have  a  long  way  to go."
        Early  the  next  day,   Yama  and  Prefect  Corin  passed  a group
     of  palmers.  They  soon  left  the  group  behind,   but  the palmers
     caught  up  with  them  that  night  and  camped  a  little  way off.
     They  numbered  more  than  two  decads,   men  and  women in
     dust-stained  orange  robes,   their  heads  cleanly  shaven and
     painted  with  interlocked  curves  which  represented  the  Eye of
     the  Preservers.  They  were  a  slightly  built  people,  with
     pinched  faces  under  swollen,   bicephalic  foreheads,   and leathery
       skin  mottled  with  brown  and  black  patches.  Like Prefect
     Corin,   they  carried  only  staffs,   bedrolls,   and  little  purses hung
     from  their  belts.  They  sang  in  clear  high  voices  around their
     campfire,   welding  close  harmonies  that  carried  a  long way
     across  the  dry  stones  and  the  empty  tombs  of  the hillside.
        Yama  and  Prefect  Corin  had  made  camp  under  a  group of
     fig  trees  beside  the  road.  A  little  spring  rose  amongst the
     trees,   a  gush  of  clear  water  that  fell  from  the  gaping mouth
     
of  a  stone  carved  with  the  likeness  of  a  fierce,   bearded face
     into  a  shallow  pool  curbed  with  flat  rocks.  The  road had
     turned  away  from  the  Great  River,   climbing  a  switchback of








              low,   gentle  hills  dotted  with  creosote  scrub  and  clumps of
              saw-toothed  palmettos  as  it  rose  toward  the pass.
                 The  priest  who  was  in  charge  of  the  palmers  came  over to
              talk  with  Prefect  Corin.  His  group  was  from  a  city  a thousand
              leagues  downriver.  They  had  been  traveling  for  half  a year, 
              first  by  a  merchant  ship  and  then  by  foot  after  the  ship had
              been  laid  up  for  repairs  after  having  been  attacked  by water
              bandits.  The  palmers  were  archivists  on  their  way  to  the Palace
                of  the  Memory  of  the  People,   to  tell  into  the  records the
              stories  of  all  those  who  had  died  in  their  city  in  the  last ten
              years,   and  to  ask  for  guidance  from  the prognosticators.
                 The  priest  was  a  large  smooth-skinned  man  by  the name
              of  Belarius.  He  had  a  ready  smile  and  a  habit  of mopping
              sweat  from  his  bare  scalp  and  the  fat  folds  of  skin  at the
              back  of  his  neck  with  a  square  of  cloth.  His  smooth,  chromeyellow
                skin  shone  like  butter.  He  offered  Prefect  Corin a
              cigarette  and  was  not  offended  when  his  offer  was refused, 
              and  without  prompting  started  to  talk  about  the  risks  of traveling
                by  foot.  He  had  heard  that  there  were  roving  bands of
              deserters  abroad  in  the  land,   in  addition  to  the  
usual bandits.
                 "Near  the  battlelines,   perhaps, "  Prefect  Corin  said. "Not
              this  far  upriver."  He  drew  on  his  pipe  and  stared judiciously
              at  the  fat  priest.  "Are  you armed?"
                 Belarius  smiled-his  smile  was  as  wide  as  a  frog's,  and
              Yama  thought  that  he  could  probably  hold  a  whole watermelon
                slice  in  his  mouth.  The  priest  said,   "We  are palmers, 
              not soldiers."
                 "But  you  have  knives  to  prepare  your  food,   machetes to
              cut  firewood,   that  kind  of thing?"
                 4401,  yes.1t
                 "A  large  group  like  yours  need  not  worry.  It  is people
              traveling  alone,   or  by  two  or  by  three,   who  are vulnerable."
                 Belarius  mopped  at  his  scalp.  His  smile  grew  wider. He
              said  eagerly,   "And  you  have  seen nothing?"
                 "But  for  the  -chattering  of  this  boy,   it  has  been  a quiet
             journey."
                 Yama  smarted  at  Prefect  Corin's  remark,   but  said nothing.
              Belarius  smoked  his  cigarette-it  smelt  overpoweringly of
              cloves-and  gave  a  rambling  account  of  exactly  how  the ship
              on  which  he  had  hoped  to  take  his  charges  all  the  way  to Ys
     had  been  ambushed  one  night  by  water  bandits  in  a  decad of
     small  skiffs.  The  bandits  had  been  beaten  off  when  the ship's
     
captain  had  ordered  pitch  spread  on  the  water  and  set  on fire.
        "Our  ship  put  every  man  to  the  oars  and  rowed  free of
     the  flames, "  Belarius  said,   "but  the  bandits  were consumed."
        Prefect  Corin  listened,   but  made  no comment.
        Belarius  said,   "The  bandits  fired  chainshot.  It  damaged the
     mast  and  rigging  and  struck  the  hull  at  the  waterline.  We were
     taking  on  water  in  several  places,   and  so  we  limped  to the
     nearest  port.  My  charges  did  not  want  to  wait  out  the repairs, 
     so  we  walked  on.  The  ship  will  meet  us  at  Ys,   when  we have
     finished  our  business  there.  A  ghoul  has  been  following  us the
     past  week,   but  that  is  the  only  trouble  we  have  had.  Such are
     the  times,   when  the  road  is  safer  than  the  Great River."
        After  Belarius  had  filled  his  waterskin  from  the  spring and
     taken  his  leave,   Yama  said,   "You  do  not  like him, "
        Prefect  Corin  considered  this,   then  said  in  a  measured tone, 
     "I  do  not  like  veiled  insults  about  the  competence  of the
     Department.  If  the  Great  River  is  no  longer  safe,   it  is because
     of  the  war,   and  those  who  travel  on  it  should  take suitable
     precautions  and  travel  in  convoy.  Not  only  that,   but  our wellupholstered
       priest  did  not  hire  any  bodyguards  as  escort on
     the  road,   which  would  have  been  prudent,   and  it  would have
     been  more  prudent  to  have  waited  until  the  ship  was repaired
     than  to  have  gone  forward  on  foot.  I  rather  think  that  he has
     told  us  only  half  of  the  story.  Either  he  does  not  have the
     money  to  hire  men  or  to  pay  for  repairs  to  the  ship,   or  he is
     willing  to  risk  the  lives  of  his  charges  to  make  extra profit.
     And  he  put  aboard  with  a  bravado  captain,   which  says little          t
     for  his  judgement.  If  the  ship  was  able  to  outdistance  the fire
     
it  set  on  the  water,   then  it  could  have  outdistanced  the bandits
     .  Often  flight  is  better  than fight."
        "If  less honorable."
        "There  is  no  honor  in  needless  fighting.  The  captain could
     have  destroyed  his  ship  as  well  as  the  bandits  with  his trick."
        "Will  we  stay  with  these people?"
        "Their  singing  will  wake every        bandit  in  a hundred
     leagues, "  Prefect  Corin  said.  "And  if  there  are  any bandits, 
     then  they  will  be  attracted  to  the  larger  group  rather  than to
     the lesser.                                                         w








                                                    TRE BANDITS.
T  0  1  H  I  X  I  D  A  1,   Yama  and  Prefect  Corin  drew  ahead  of the
              group  of  palmers,   but  never  so  far  ahead  that  the  dust cloud
              the  palmers  raised  was  lost  from  sight.  That  night,   the palmers
                caught  up  with  them  and  camped  nearby,   and Belarius
              came  over  and  talked  to  Prefect  Corin  about  the  day's journey
              for  the  length  of  time  it  took  him  to  smoke  two  of  his cloveflavored
                cigarettes.  The  palmers'  songs  sounded  clear and
              strong  in  the  quiet evening.
                When  Prefect  Corin  woke  Yama  from  a  deep  sleep  it was
              past  midnight,   and  the  fire  was  no  more  than  warm ashes.
              They  had  camped  by  a  square  tomb  covered  in  the scrambling
              thorny  canes  of  roses,   on  top  of  a  bluff  that  overlooked the
              Great  River.  He  was  leaning  on  his  staff.  Behind  him,  the
              white  roses  glimmered  like  ghosts  of  their  own  selves. Their
              strong  scent  filled  the air.
                "Something  bad  nearby, "  Prefect  Corin  said  in  a quiet
              voice.  Galaxy  light  put  a  spark  in  each  of  his  close-set eyes.
              "Take  up  your  knife  and  come  with me."
                Yama  whispered,   "What  is it?"
                "Perhaps  nothing.  We  will see."
                They  crossed  the  road  and  circled  the  palmers' camp, 
              which  had  been  pitched  in  a  grove  of  eucalyptus.  Low cliffs
     
loomed  above.  The  openings  of  tombs  carved  into  the rock
     were  like  staggered  rows  of  hollow  eyes:  a  hiding  place for
     an  army.  Yama  heard  nothing  but  the  rustle  of euc
                                                            alyptus
     leaves,   and,   far  off,   the  screech  of  a  hunting  owl.  In the
     camp,   one  of  the  palmers  groaned  in  his  sleep.  Then  the wind         4
     shifted,   and  Yama  caught  a  faint,   foul  odor  above  the medicinal
       tang  of  the eucalyptus.
       Prefect  Corin  pointed  toward  the  camp  with  his  staff and
     moved  forward,   dry  leaves  crackling  beneath  his  feet. Yama
     saw  something  scuttle  away  through  the  trees,   man-sized yet
     running  on  all  fours  with  a  lurching  sideways  movement. He
     drew  his  knife  and  gave  chase,   but  Prefect  Corin overtook                        T
     him  and  sprang  onto  an  outcrop  of  rock  beyond  the trees
     with  his  staff  raised  above  his  head.  He  held  the  pose  for a
     moment,   then  jumped down.
       "Gone, "  he  said.  "Well,   the  priest  is  right  about  one thing.
     They  have  a  ghoul  following them."
       Yama  sheathed  his  knife.  His  hand  was  trembling.  He was
     out  of  breath  and  his  blood  sang  in  his  head.  He remembered
     the  time  he  and  Telmon  had  hunted  antelope,   armed only
     with  stone  axes  like  the  men  of  the  hill  tribes.  He  said,  "I
     saw it."
       "I  will  tell  them  to  bury  their  rubbish  and  to  make sure
     that  they  hang  their  food  in branches."
       "Ghouls  can  climb, "  Yama  said.  He  added,   "I  am sorry.
     I  should  not  have  chased  after it."
       "It  was  bravely  done.  Perhaps  we  seared  it off."
       Yama  and  Prefect  Corin  reached  the  pass  the  next  day. It
     was  only  a  little  wider  than  the  road,   cutting  through  a 
high
     scarp  of  rough-edged  blocks  of  gray  granite  which rose
     abruptly  from  the  gentle  slope  they  had  been  climbing all
     morning.  A  cairn  of  flat  stones  stood  at  the  edge  of  the road
     near  the  beginning  of  the  pass,   built  around  a  slab engraved
     with  a  list  of  names.  Prefect  Corin  said  that  it  was  the memorial
       of  a  battle  in  the  Agiof  Insurrection,   when  those few
     men  whose  names  were  engraved  on  the  slab  had  held the
     pass  against  overwhelming  odds.  Every  man  defending the








                   pass  had  died,   but  the  army  they  had  fought  had  been held
                   up  long  enough  for  reinforcements  from  Ys  to  arrive and
                   drive  them back.
                     Across  the  road  from  the  shrine  was  a  house-sized platform
                   of  red  rock  split  down  the  middle  by  a  single,  straight-edged
                   crack.  Prefect  Corin  sat  in  the  shade  of  the  rock's overhang
                   and  said  that  they  would  wait  for  the  palmers  to  catch up
                   before  they  tried  the pass.
                     "Safety  in  numbers, "  Yama  said,   to  provoke  a reaction.
                     "Quite  the  reverse,   but  you  do  not  seem  to understand
                   that."  Prefect  Corin  watched  as  Yama  restlessly  poked about, 
                   and  eventually  said,   "There  are  supposed  to  be  footprints on
                   top  of  this  rock,   one  either  side  of  the  crack.  It  is  said that
                   an  aesthetic  stood  there  an  age  past,   and  ascended  directly to
                   the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  The  force  of  his  ascent cracked
                   the  rock,   and  left  his  footprints  melted  into it."
                     "Is  it true?"
                     "Certainly  a  great  deal  of  energy  would  be  required to
                   accelerate  someone  so  that  they  could  fall  beyond  the influence
                     
of  Confluence's  gravity  fields,   more  than  enough  to melt
                   rock.  But  if  the  energy  was  applied  all  at  once  a  normal body
                   would  be  flash-heated  into  a  cloud  of  steam  by  friction with
                   the  air.  I  do  not  blame  you  for-not  knowing  that,   Yama. Your
                   education  is  not  what  it  should be."
                     Yama  did  not  see  any  point  replying  to  this provocation, 
                   and  continued  to  wander  about  in  the  dry  heat,   searching for
                   nothing  in  particular.  The  alternative  was  to  sit  by Prefect
                   Corin.  Small  lizards  flicked  over  the  hot  stones;  a  scarlet and
                   gold  hummingbird  hung  in  the  air  on  a  blur  of  wings  for a
                   few  moments  before  darting  away.  At  last,   Yama  found a
                   way  up  a  jumble  of  boulders  to  the  flat  top  of  the outcrop.
                   The  fracture  was  straight  and  narrow,   and  its  depths glittered
                   with  shards  of  what  looked  like  melted  glass.  The fabled
                   prints  were  just  as  Prefect  Corin  had  described  them,   no more
                   than  a  pair  of  foot-sized  oval  hollows,   one  on  either  side of
                   the crack.
                     Yama  lay  down  on  warm,   gritty  rock  and  looked  up  at the
                   empty  blue  sky.  His  thoughts-  moved  lazily.  He  started to
                   
read  his  copy  of  the  Puranas,   but  did  not  find  anything that
                   was  different  from  his  rote  learning  and  put  the  book away.
     It  was  too  bright  and  hot  to  read,   and  he  had  already looked
     long  and  hard  at  the  pictures;  apart  from  the  one which
     showed  the  creation  of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers,   they were
     little  different  from  the  scenes  of  the  lost  past  captured in
     the  slates  of  tombs-and  unlike  the  pictures  in  the  slates,  the
     pictures  in  the  book  did  not move.
        Yama  idly  wondered  why  the  ghoul  was  following the
     palmers,   and  wondered  why  the  Preservers  had  created ghouls
     in  the  first  place.  For  if  the  Preservers  had  created  the world
     and  everything  in  it  as  was  written  in  the  Puranas,   and had
     raised  up  the  ten  thousand  bloodlines  from  animals  of ten
     thousand  worlds,   then  what  were  the  ghouls,   which stood
     between  animals  and  the  humblest  of  the  indigenous races?
        According  to  the  argument  from  design,   which  Zakiel had
     taught  Yama  and  Telmon,   ghouls  existed  because  they aided
     the  processes  of  decay,   but  there  were  many  other scavenger
     species,   and  ghouls  had  a  particular  appetite  for  the  flesh of
     men,   and  would  take  small  children  and  babies  if  they could.
     Others  said  that  ghouls  were  only  imperfectly  raised  up,  their
     natures  partaking  of  the  worst  of  men  and  of  beasts,   or that
     their  bloodline  had  not  advanced  like  those  of  other  kinds of
     men,   or  remained  unchanged,   like  the  various indigenous
     races,   but  had  run  backward  until  they  retained  nothing of
     the  gifts  of  the  Preservers  but  the  capacity  for  evil. Both
     arguments  suggested  that  the  world  which  the  Preservers had
     created  was  imperfect,   although  neither  denied  the possibility
     of  perfectibility.  Some  claimed  that  the  Preservers  had chosen
     
not  to  create  a  perfect  world  because  such  a  world  would be
     unchanging,   and  only  an  imperfect  world  allowed  the possibility
       of  evil  and,   therefore,   of  redemption.  By  their nature, 
     Preservers  could  do  only  good,   but  while  they  could  not create
       evil,   the  presence  of  evil  was  an  inevitable consequence
     in  their  creation,   just  as  light  casts  shadows  when material
     objects  are  interposed.  Others  argued  that  since  the  light of
     the  Preservers  had  been  everywhere  at  the  construction  of the
     world,   where  then  could  any  shadows  lie?  By  this argument, 
     evil  was  the  consequence  of  the  rebellion  of  men  and machines
       against  the  Preservers,   and  only  by  rediscovering the
     land  of  lost  content  which  had  existed  before  that rebellion
     could  evil  be  banished  and  men  win redemption.








           Still  others  argued  that  evil  had  its  use  in  a  great  plan that
        could  not  be  understood  by  any  but  the  Preservers themselves.
        That  such  a  plan  might  exist,   with  past,   present  and future
        absolutely  determined,   was  one  reason  why  no  one should
        rely  on  miracles.  As  Ananda  would  say,   no  use  praying for
        intercession  if  all  was  determined  from  the  outset.  If  the Preservers
          wanted  something  to  be  so,   then  they  would have
        created  it  already,   without  waiting  to  hear  prayers asking
        for  intercession,   without  needing  to  watch  over  every soul.
        Everything  was  predestined  in  the  single  long  word which
        the  Preservers  had  spoken  to  bring  the  world  into existence.
           Yama's  mind  rebelled  against  this  notion,   as  a  man buried
        before  his  death  might  fight  against  a  winding  sheet.  If everything
          was  part  of  a  predetermined  plan,   then  why should
        anyone  in  it  do  anything  at  all,   least  of  all  worship  the Preservers
        ?  Except  that  too  was  a  part  of  the  plan,   and everyone
        in  the  world  was  a  wind-up  puppet  ratcheting  from  birth to
        death  in  a  series  of  preprogrammed. gestures.
           It  was  undeniable  that  the  Preservers  had  set  the  world in
        motion,   but  Yama  did  not  believe  that  they  had abandoned
        it  in  disgust  or  despair,   or  because,   seeing  all,   they knew
        every  detail  of  its  destiny.  No,   Yama  preferred  to  think that
        the  Preservers  had  left  the  world  to  grow  as  it  would,   as a
        fond  parent  must  watch  a  child  grow  into  independence. In
        this  way,   the  bloodlines  which  the  Preservers  had  raised up
        
from  animals  might  rise  further  to  become  their  equals,  and
        that  could  not  occur  if  the  Preservers  interfered  with destiny, 
        for  just  as  a  man  cannot  make  another  man,   so  gods cannot
        make  other  gods.  For  this  reason,   it  was  necessary  that individuals
          must  be  able  to  choose  between  good  and evil-they
        must  be  able  to  choose,   like  Dr.  Dismas,   not  to  serve goodness
        ,   but  their  own  appetites.  Without  the  possibility  of evil, 
        no  bloodline  could  define  its  own  goodness.  The  existence of
        evil  allowed  bloodlines  to  fail  and  fall,   or  to  transcend their
        animal  natures  by  their  own efforts.
           Yama  wondered  if  ghouls  had  chosen  to  fall,   reveling in
        their  bestial  nature  as  Dr.  Dismas  reveled  in  his rebellion
        against  the  society  of  men.  Animals  did  not  choose their
        natures,   of  course.  A  jaguar  did  not  delight  in  the  pain it
        caused  its  prey;  it  merely  needed  to  eat.  Cats  played with
      mice,   but  only  because  their  mothers  had  taught  them  to hunt
      by  such  play.  Only  men  had  free  will  and  could  choose to
      wallow  in  their  base  desires  or  by  force  of  will overcome
      Pem.  Were  men  little  different  from  ghouls,   then,  except
      they  struggled  against  their  dark  side,   while  ghouls  swam in
      it  with  the  innocent  unthinking  ease  of  fish  in  water? By
      praying  to  the  Preservers,   perhaps  men  were  in  reality doing
      no  more  than  praying  to  their  own  as  yet  unrealized higher
      natures,   as  an  explorer  might  contemplate  the untraveled
      peaks  he  must  climb  to  reach  his goal.
        If  the  Preservers  had  left  the  world  to  its  own  devices and
      there  were  no  miracles,   except  the  existence  of  free  will,  
what
      then,   of  the  ghost  ship?  Yama  had  not  prayed  for  it;  or  at least
      had  not  known  that  he  had  done  so,   and  yet  it  had  come precisely
        when  he  had  needed  a  diversion  to  make  good  his escape.
      Was  something  watching  over  him?  If  so,   to  what  purpose? Or
      perhaps  it  was  no  more  than  a  coincidence:  some  old machinery
      had  been  accidentally  awakened,   and  Yama  had  seized  the moment
        to  escape.  It  was  possible  that  there  was  another world
      where  the  ghost  ship  had  not  appeared,   or  had  appeared too
      early  or  too  late,   and  Yama  had  gone  with  Dr.  Dismas  and the
      warlord,   Enobarbus.  He  would  be  traveling  downriver  on the
      pinnace  even  now,   a  willing  or  unwilling  participant  in their
      plans,   perhaps  to  death,   perhaps  to  a  destiny  more  glorious than
      the  apprenticeship  which  now  lay  ahead  of him.
        Yama's  speculations  widened  and  at  some  point  he  was no
      longer  in  control  of  them  but  was  carried  on  their  flow,  like
      a  twig  on  the  Great  River's  flood.  He  slept,   and  woke  to find
      Prefect  Corin  standing  over  him,   a  black  shadow  against the
      dazzling  blue  of  the sky.
        "Trouble, "  the  man  said,   and  pointed  down  the  long gentle
      slope  of  the  road.  A  tiny  smudge  of  smoke  hung  in  the middle
      distance,   trembling  in  the  heat  haze,   and  at  that moment
      Yama  realized  that  all  along  Prefect  Corin  had  been protecting
        the palmers.
        They  found  the  dead  first.  The  bodies  had  been dragged
      off  the  road  and  stacked  and  set  on  fire.  Little  was  left but








       greasy  ash  and  charred  bones,   although,   bizarrely,   a  pair of
       unburnt  feet  stiH  shod  in  sandals  protruded  from  the bottom
       of  the  gruesome  pyre.  Prefect  Corin  poked  amongst  the hot
       ashes  with  his  staff  and  counted  fourteen  skulls,   leaving nine
       unaccounted  for.  He  cast  about  in  one  direction,   bending low
       as  he  searched  the  muddle  of  prints  on  the  ground,   and Yama, 
       although  not  asked,   went  in  the  other.  It  was  he,   following a
       trail  of  blood  speckles,   who  found  Belarius  hiding  inside a
       tomb.  The  priest  was  cradling  a  dead  woman,   and  his robe
       was  drenched  in  her blood.
       "They  shot  at  us  from  hiding  places  amongst  the tombs, "
       Belarius  said.  "I  think  they  shot  Vril  by  accident  because they
       did  not  shoot  any  of  the  other  women.  When  all  the  men had
       been  killed  or  badly  wounded,   they  came  for  the  women Small
       fierce  men  with  bright  red  slan  and  long  arms  and  legs,  some
       on  foot,   some  on  horse,   three  or  four  decads  of  them. Ilke
       spiders.  They  had  sharp  teeth,   and  claws  like  thorns.  I remember
       they  couldn't  close  their  hands  around  their weapons."
          "I  know  the  bloodline, "  Prefect  Corin  said.  "They  are a
       long  way  from home."
          "Two  came  and  looked  at  me,   and  jeered  and  went away
       again, "  Belarius said.
          "They  would  not  kill  a  priest, "  Prefect  Corin  said.  "It 
is
       bad luck."
          "I  tried  to  stop  them  despoiling  the  bodies, "  Belarius said.
       "They  threatened  me  with  their  knives  or  spat  on  me or
       laughed,   but  they  didn't  stop  their  work.  They  stripped the
       bodies  and  dismembered  them,   cut  what  they  wanted from
       the  heads.  Some  of  the  men  were  still  alive.  When  they were
       finished,   they  set  the  bodies  on  fire.  I  wanted  to  shrive the
       dead,   but  they  pushed  me away."
          "And  the women?"
          Belarius  started  to  cry.  He  said,   "I  meant  no  harm to
       anyone.  No  harm.  No  harm  to anyone."
          "They  took  the  women  with  them, "  Prefect  Corin said.
       "To  despoil  or  to  sell.  Stop  blubbering,   man!  Which way
       did  they go?"
            "Toward  the  mountains.  You  must  believe  that  I  meant no
         harm.  If  you  had  stayed  with  us  instead  of  getting aheadno
         ,   forgive  me.  That  is unworthy."
            "We  would  have  been  killed,   too, "  Prefect  Corin said.
         "These  bandits  strike  quickly,   and  without  fear.  They will
         attack  larger  groups  better  armed  than  themselves  if they
         think  that  the  surprise  and  fury  of  their  assault  will overcome
         their  opponents.  As  it  is,   we  may  yet  save  some  of your
         people.  Go  and  shrive  your  dead,   man.  After  that  you must
         decide  whether  you  want  to  come  with  us  or  stay here."
            When  Belarius  was  out  of  earshot,   Prefect  Corin  said to
         Yama,   "Listen  carefully,   boy.  You  can  come  with  me,  but
         only  if  you  swear  that  you  will  do  exactly  as  I say."
            "Of  course, "  Yama  said  at  once.  He  would  have promised
         anything  for  the chance.
            
It  was  not  difficult  to  track  the  bandits  and  the captured
         women  across  the  dry,   sandy  land.  The  trail  ran  parallel  to the
         granite  scarp  across  a  series  of  flat,   barren  salt  pans.  Each was
         higher  than  the  next,   like  a  series  of  giant  steps.  Prefect Corin
         set  a  relentless  pace,   but  the  priest,   Belarius,   kept  up surprisingly
         well;  he  was  one  of  those  fat  men  who  are  also  strong,   and the
         shock  of  the  ambush  was  weanng  off  Yama  supposed  that this
         was  a  chance  for  Belarius  to  regain  face.  Already,   the priest
         was  beginning  to  speak  of  the  attack  as  if  it  was  an accident
         or  natut-al  disaster  from  which  he  would  rescue  the survivors.
            "As  if  he  did  not  invite  the  lightning, "  Prefect  Corin said
         to  Yama,   when  they  stopped  to  rest  in  the  shade  of  a tomb.
         "At  the  best  of  times,   bringing  a  party  of  palmers  on the
         land  route  to  Ys  without  proper  escort  is  like  herding sheep
         through  a  country  of  wolves.  And  these  were  archivists,  too.
         Not  proper  archivists-those  are  from  the  Department,  and
         are  trained  in  the  art  of  memory.  These  use  machines to
         record  the  lives  of  the  dying.  If  you  had  looked  closely at
         the  skulls,   you  would  have  seen  that  they  had  been broken
         open.  Some  bandits  eat  the  brains  of  their  victims,   but these
         wanted  the  machines  in  their heads."
            
Yama  laughed  in  disbelief.  "I  have  never  heard  of such
         a thing!"
            Prefect  Corin  passed  a  hand  over  his  black-ftnTed  face,  like
         a  grooming  cat.  "It  is  an  abomination,   promulgated  by  a depart-








       ment  so  corrupt  and  debased  that  it  seeks  to  survive  by coarse
       imitation  of  the  tasks  properly  carried  out  by  its superiors.
       Proper  archivists  learn  how  to  manage  their  memories  by training
       ;  these  people  would  be  archivists  in  a  few  days,   by swallowing
         the  seeds  of  machines  which  migrate  to  a  certain area
       of  the  brain  and  grow  a  kind  of  library.  It  is  not  without risks.
       In  one  in  fifty  of  those  who  swallow  the  seeds,   the machines
       grow  unchecked  and  destroy  their  host's brains."
         "But  surely  only  the  unchanged  need  archivists? Once
       changed,   everyone  is  remembered  by  the Preservers."
         "Many  no  longer  believe  it,   and  because  the Department
       will  not  supply  archivists  to  the  cities  of  the  changed,  these
       mountebanks  make  fortunes  by  pandering  to  the  gullible. Like
       real  archivists,   they  listen  to  the  life  stories  of  the  dying and
       promise  to  transmit  them  to  the  shrines  of  the  Palace  of the
       Memory  of  the People."
         Yama  said,   "No  wonder  the  priest  is  upset.  He believes
       that  many  more  died  than  we saw."
         "They  are  all  remembered  by  the  Preservers  in  any event, "
       Prefect  Corin  said.  "Saints  or  sinners,   all  men  marked  by the
       Preservers  are  remembered,   while  true  archivists remember
       the  stories  of  as  many  of  the  unchanged  bloodlines  as they
       can.  The  priest  is  upset  because  his  reputation  will  be blemished
       ,   and  he  will  lose  trade.  Hush.  Here  he comes."
         Belarius  had  ripped  away  the  blood-soaked  part  of  his orange
         robe,   leaving  only  a  kind  of  kilt  about  his  waist. The
       smooth  yellow  skin  of  his  shoulders  and  his  fat  man's breasts
       had  darkened  in  the  sun  to  the  color  of  blood  oranges,  
and
       he  scratched  at  his  sunburnt  skin  as  he  told  Yama  and Prefect
       Corin  that  he  had  found  fresh  horse droppings.        , 
         "They  are  not  more  than  an  hour  ahead  of  us.  If  we hurry, 
       we  can  catch  them  before  they  reach  the foothills.Prefect
           Corin  said,   "They  make  the  women  walk.  It slows
       them down."
         "Then  their  cruelty  will  be  their  undoing."  Belarius curled
       his  right  hand  into  a  fist  and  ground  it  into  the  palm  of his
       left.  "We  will  catch  them  and  we  will  crush them."
         Prefect  Corin  said  calmly,   "They  are  cruel  but  not stupid.
       They  could  tie  the  women  to  their  horses  if  they  wanted to
       outpace  us,   yet  they  do  not.  They  taunt  us,   I  think. They
 I     want  sport.  We  must  proceed carefully.       We  will  wait until
       night,   and  follow  them  to  their camp."
         "They  will  leave  us  behind  in  the darkness!"
         "I  know  this  bloodline.  They  do  not  travel  by  night,  for
       their  blood  slows  as  the  air  cools.  Meanwhile  we  will rest.
       You  will  pray  for  us,   Belarius.  It  will  set  our  rninds  to the
       struggle ahead.
       They  waited  until  the  sun  had  fallen  behind  the  Rim Mountains
         and  the  Galaxy  had  begun  to  rise  above  the farside
       horizon  before  they  set  off.  The  tracks  left  by  the  bandits ran
       straight  across  the  flat  white  land  into  a  tangle  of shallow
       draws  which  sloped  up  toward  a  range  of  low  hills. Yama
       tried  his  best  to  imitate  Prefect  Corin's  ambling  gait,  and
       remembered  to  go  flatfooted  on  loose  stones,   as  Telmon had
       taught  him.  Belarius  was  less  nimble,   and  every  now and
       then  would  stumble  and  send  stones  clattering  away downslope
       .  There  were  tombs  scattered  at  irregular  intervals along
       the  sides  of  the  draws,   unornamented  and  squarely  built,  
with
       tall  narrow  doors  which  had  been  smashed  open  an  age ago.
       A  few  had  picture  slates,   and  these  wakened  when  the three
       men  went  by,   so  that  they  had  to  walk  along  the  tops  of the
       ridges  between  the  draws  to  avoid  being  betrayed  by  the light
       of  the  past.  Belarius  fretted  that  they  would  lose  the  trail,  but
       then  Yama  saw  a  flickering  dab  of  light  brighten ahead.
         It  was  a  dry  tree  set  on  fire  in  the  bottom  of  a  deep draw.
       It  burned  with  a  white  intensity  and  a  harsh  crackling,  sending
         up  volumes  of  acrid  white  smoke.  Its  tracery  of branches
       made  a  web  of  black  shadows  within  the  brightness  of its
       burning.  The  three  men  looked  down  on  it,   and  Prefect Corin
       said,   "Well,   they  know  that  we  are  following  them. Yama, 
       look  after  Belarius.  I  will  not  be long."
         H  was  gone  before  Yama  could  reply,   a  swift shadow
       flowing  down  the  slope,   circling  the  burning  tree  and disappearing
         into  the  darkness  beyond.  Belarius  sat  down heavily
       and  whispered,   "You  two  should  not  die  on  my account."
         "Let  us  not  talk  of  death, "  Yama  said.  He  had  his  knife in
       his  hand--he  had  drawn  it  upon  seeing  the  burning  tree. It








          showed  not  a  spark,   and  he  sheathed  it  and  said,   "A  little while
          ago,   I  was  taken  aboard  a  pinnace  by  force,   but  a  white ship
          appeared,   glowing  with  cold  fire.  The  pinnace  attacked  the white
          ship  and  I  was  able  to  escape.  Yet  the  white  ship  was  not real;
          even  as  it  bore  down  on  the  pinnace  it  began  to  dissolve. Was
          this  a  miracle?  And  was  it  for  my  benefit?  What  do  you think?"
             "We  shouldn't  question  the  plan  of  the  Preservers. Only
          they  can  say  what  -is. rqkwulous."
                                 y.  Belarius  was  more  intent  on  the darkness
            beyond  the  burning  tree than         on  Yama's  tale.  He was
          smoking  one  of  his  clove-scenXed-cigakates;  cupping  it hunlight
                                               of  the  burning  tree beat
          on  him  unmercifully;  shadows  in  his  deep  eye  sockets made
          a  skull  of  his face.
             Prefect  Corin  came  back  an  hour  later.  The  tree  had burnt
          down  to  a  stump  of  glowing  cinders.  He  appeared  out  of the
          darkness  and  knelt  between  Belarius  and  Yama.  "The way
          is  clear, "  he said.
             Yama  said,   "Did  you  see them?"
             Prefect  Corin  considered  this.  Yama  thought  he looked
          smug,   the  son-of-a-bitch.  At  last  he  said,   "I  saw  our friend
          of  last night."
             "The ghoul?'
             "It  is  following  us.  It  will  feed  well  tonight,   one  
way  or the
          other.  Listen  carefully.  This  ridge  rises  and  leads  around  to a
          place  above  a  canyon.  There  are  large  tombs  at  the  bottom of
          the  canyon,   and  that  is  where  the  bandits  are  camped. They
          have  stripped  the  women  and  tied  them  to  stakes,   but  I  do not
          think  they  have  used  them"  Prefect  Corin  looked  directly at
          Belarius.  "These  people  come  into  heat  like  dogs  or  deer,  and
          it  is  not  their  season.  They  display  the  women  to  make us
          angry,   and  we  will  not  be  angry.  They  have  built  a  big fire, 
          but  away  from  it  the  night  air  will  make  them  sluggish. Yama, 
          you  and  Belarius  will  create  a  diversion,   and  I  will  go  in and
          cut  the  women  free  and  bring  them out."
             Belarius  said,   "It  is  not  much  of  a plan."
             "Well,   we  could  leave  the  women, "  Prefect  Corin said, 
          with  such  seriousness  that  it  was  plain  he  would  do  just that
          if  Belarius  refused  to help.
           "They'll  sleep, "  the  priest  said.  "We  wait  until  they sleep, 
        and  then  we  take  the women."
           Prefect  Corin  said,   "No.  They  never  sleep,   but  simply become
          less  active  at  night.  They  will  be  waiting  for  us. That
        is  why  we  must  make  them  come  out,   preferably  away from
        their  fire.  I  will  kill  them  then.  I  have  a pistol."
           
It  was  like  a  flat,   water-smoothed  pebble.  It  caught the
        Galaxy's  cold  blue  light  and  shone  in  Prefect  Corin's palm.
        Yama  was  amazed.  The  Department  of  Indigenous Affairs
        was  surely  greater  than  he  had  imagined,   if  one  of  them could
        carry  a  weapon  not  only  forbidden  to  most  but  so valuable, 
        because  the  secret  of  its  manufacture  was  lost  an  age past, 
        that  it  could  ransom  a  city  like  Aeolis.  Dr.  Dismas's energy
        pistol,   which  merely  increased  the  power  of  light  by making
        its  waves  march  in  step,   had  been  a  clumsy  imitation  of the
        weapon  Prefect  Corin held.
           Belarius  said,   "Those  things  are evil, "
           "It  has  saved  my  life  before  now.  It  has  three  shots,  and
        then  it  must  lie  in  sunlight  all  day  before  it  will  fire again.
        That  is  why  you  must  get  them  into  the  open,   so  I  have a
        clear  field  of fire."
           Yama  said,   "How  will  we  make  the diversion?"
           "I  am  sure  you  will  think  of  something  when  you get
        there, "  Prefect  Corin said.
           His  lips  were  pressed  together  as  if  he  was  suppressing a
        smile,   and  now  Yama  knew  what  this  was  all about.
           Prefect  Corin  said,   "Follow  the  ridge,   and  be  careful not
       to  show  yourself  against  the sky."
           "What  about guards?"
           "There  are  no  guards, "  Prefect  Corin  said.  "Not  any more."
           And  then  he  was gone.
           The  canyon  was  sinuous  and  narrow,   a  deeply  folded crevice
        winding  back  the  hills.  The  ridge  rose  above  it  to  a tabletop
        bluff  dissected  by  dry  ravines.  Lying  on  his  belly,   looking 
over
        the  edge  of  the  drop  into  the  canyon,   Yama  could  see  the fire
        the  bandits  had  lit  on  the  canyon  floor  far  below.  Its  red glow
        beat  on  the  white  faces  of  the  tombs  that  were  set  into  the walls








        of  the  canyon,   and  the  brushwood  corral  where  a  decad of
        horses  milled,   and  the  line  of  naked  women  tied  to stakes.
          Yama  said,   "It  is  like  a test."
          Belarius,   squatting  on  his  heels  a  little  way  from  the edge, 
        stared  at him.
          "I  have  to  show  initiative, "  Yama  said.  "If  I  do not, 
        Prefect  Corin  will  not  try  to  rescue  the women."
          He  did  not  add  that  it  was  also  a  punishment.  Because he
        carried  the  knife;  because  he  wanted  to  be  a  soldier; because
        he  had  tried  to  run  away.  He  knew  that  he  could  not allow
        himself  to  fail,   but  he  did  not  know  how  he  could succeed.
          "Pride, "  Belarius  said  sulkily.  He  seemed  to  have reached
        a  point  where  nothing  much  mattered  to  him.  "He makes
        himself  into  a  petty  god,   deciding  whether  my  poor clients
        live  or die."
          "That  is  up  to  us,   I  think-  He  is  a  cold  man,   but  he wants
        to  help  you. Belarius
            pointed  into  the  darkness  behind  him.  "There's a
        dead  man  over  there.  I  can  smell him."
          It  was  one  of  the  bandits.  He  was  lying  on  his  belly  in the
        middle  of  a  circle  of  creosote  bushes.  His  neck  had  been broken
        and  he  seemed  to  be  staring  over  his  shoulder  at  his doom.
          Belarius  mumbled  a  brief  prayer,   then  took  the  dead man's
        short,   stout  recurved  bow  and  quiver  of  unfledged  arrows. He
        seemed  to  cheer  up  a  little,   and  Yama  asked  him  if  he knew
        how  to  use  a bow.
          "I'm  not  a  man  of violence."
          "Do  you  want  to  help  rescue  your clients?"
          
"Most  of  them  are  dead, "  Belarius  said  gravely.  "I will
        shrive  this  poor  wight now."
          Yama  left  the  priest  with  the  dead  man  and  quartered the
        ground  along  the  edge  of  the  canyon.  Although  he  was tired, 
        he  felt  a  peculiar  clarity,   a  keen  alertness  sustained  by a
        mixture  of  anger  and  adrenalin.  This  might  be  a  test,   but the
        women's  lives  depended  on  it.  That  was  more  important than
        pleasing  Prefect  Corin,   or  proving  to  himself  that  he could
        live  up  to  his dreams.
          A  round  boulder  stood  at  the  edge  of  the  drop.  It  was half
        Yama's  height  and  bedded  in  the  dirt,   but  it  gave  a little
        when  he  put  his  back  to  it.  He  tried  to  get  Belarius  to help
      him,   but  the  priest  was  kneeling  as  if  in  prayer  and either
      did  not  understand  or  did  not  want  to  understand,   and he
      would  not  stand  up  even  when  Yama  pulled  at  his  arm. Yama
      groaned  in  frustration  and  went  back  to  the  boulder  and began
      to  attack  the  sandy  soil  around  its  base  with  his  eating knife.
      He  had  not  been  digging  for  long  when  he  struck something
      metallic.  The  little  knife  quivered  in  his  hands  and  when he
      drew  it  out  he  found  that  the  point  of  the  blade  had been
      neatly  cut  away,   He  had  found  a machine.
         Yama  knelt  and  whispered  to  the  thing,   asking  it  to  come to
      him.  He  did  it  more  from  reflex  than  hope,   and  was  amazed when
      the  soil  shifted  between  his  knees  and  the  machine  slid  into the
      air  with  a  sudden  slipping  motion,   like  a  squeezed watermelon
      seed.  It  bobbed  in  the  air  before  Yama's  face,   a  shining,  
silvery
      oval  that  would  have  fitted  into  his  palm,   had  he  dared touch
      it.  It  was  both  metallic  and  fluid,   like  a  big  drop  of hydrargyrum.
      Flecks  of  light  flickered  here  and  there  on  its  surface.  It emitted
      a  strong  smell  of  ozone,   and  a  faint  crepitating sound.
         Yama  said,   slowly  and  carefully,   shaping  the  words  in his
      mind  as  well  as  his  mouth  as  he  did  when  instructing the
      peel-house's  watchdogs,   "I  need  to  make  this  part  of the
      edge  of  the  canyon  fall.  Help me."
         The  machine  dropped  to  the  ground  and  a  little  geyser of
      dust  and  small  stones  spat  up  as  it  dug  down  out  of sight.
      Yama  sat  on  his  heels,   hardly  daring  to  breathe,   but although
      he  waited  a  long  time,   nothing  else  seemed  to  happen. He
      had  started  to  dig  around  the  base  of  the  boulder  again when
      Belarius  found him.
         The  priest  had  uprooted  a  couple  of  small  creosote bushes.
      He  said,   "We  will  set  these  alight  and  throw  them down
      onto  those  wicked men."
         "Help  me  with  this boulder."
         Belarius  shook  his  head  and  sat  by  the  edge  and  began to
      tie  the  bushes  together  with  a  strip  of  cloth  torn  from remnants
        of  his robe.
         "If  you  set  fire  to  those  bushes,   you  will  make  yourself a
      target, "  Yama said.
         "I  expect  that  you  have  a  flint  in  your satchel."
         "Yes,  but-"
         In  the  canyon  below,   horses  cried  to  each  other. Yama








           looked  over  the  edge  and  saw  that  the  horses  were running
           from  one  corner  of  the  corral  to  the  other,   They  moved in
           the  firelight  like  water  running  before  a  strong,   choppy wind, 
           bunched  together  and  flicking  their  tails  and  tossing their
           heads.  At  first,   Yama  thought  that  they  had  been disturbed
           by  Prefect  Corin,   but  then  he  saw  something  white clinging
           upside-down  to  the  neck  of  a  black  mare  in  the  middle of
           the  panicky  herd.  The  ghoul  had  found  the  bandits.  Men were
           running  toward  the  horses  with  a  scampering  crabwise gait, 
           casting  long  crooked  shadows  because  the  fire  was  at their
           backs,   and  Yama  threw  his  weight  against  the  boulder,  knowing
             he  would  not  have  a  better chance.
              The  ground  moved  under  Yama's  feet  and  he  lost  his footing
           and  fell  backward,   banging  the  back  of  his  head  against the
           boulder.  The  blow  dazed  him,   and  he  was  unable  to  stop Belarius
             pawing  through  his  satchel  and  taking  the  flint.  The ground
           moved  again  and  the  boulder  stirt-ed  and  sank  a  handspan into
           the  soil.  Yama  realized  what  was  happening  and  scrambled out
           of  the  way  just  as  the  edge  of  the  canyon collapsed.
              The  boulder  dropped  straight  down.  A  cloud  of  dust  and dirt
           shot  up  and  there  was  a  crash  when  the  boulder  struck  the side
           of  the  canyon,   and  then  a  moment  of  silence.  The  ground 
was
           still  shaking.  Yama  tried  to  get  to  his  feet,   but  it  was  like trying
           to  stand  up  in  a  boat  caught  in  cross-currents.  Belarius was
           kneeling  over  the  bundle  of  creosote  bushes,   striking  the flint
           against  its  stone.  Dust  puffed  up  behind  him,   defining  a long
           crooked  line,   and  a  kind  of  hp  opened  in  the  ground. Little
           lights  swarmed  in  the  churning  soil.  Yama  saw  them  when he
           snatched  up  his  satchel  and  jumped  the  widening  gash. He
           landed  on  hands  and  knees  and  the  ground  moved  again and
           he  fell  down.  Belarius  was  standing  on  the  other  side  of the
           gash,   his  feet  planted  wide  apart  as  he  swung  two burning
           bushes  around  his  head.  Then  the  edge  of  the  canyon  gave way
           and  fell  with  a  sliding  roar  into  the  canyon.  A  moment  later a
           vast  cloud  of  dust  boiled  up  amidst  a  noise  like  a thunderclap, 
           and  lightning  lit  the  length  of  the  canyon  at  spaced intervals.
           Once,   twice,   three times.
                                               THE WAGISTRATE.
A  T  I  I  R  S  T  T  0  1  houses  were  no  more  than  empty  tombs that
      people  had  moved  into,   making  improvised  villages strung
      out  along  low  cliff  terraces  by  the  old  edge  of  the Great
      River.  The  people  who  lived  there  went  about  naked. They
      were  thin  and  very  tall,   with  small  heads  and  long,  glossy
      
black  hair,   and  skin  the  color  of  rust.  The  chests  of  the men
      were  welted  with  spiral  patterns  of  scars;  the  women stiffened
      their  hair  with  red  clay.  They  hunted  lizards  and  snakes and
      coneys,   collected  the  juicy  young  pads  of  prickly  pear and
      dug  for  tuberous  roots  in  the  dry  tableland  above  the cliffs, 
      picked  samphire  and  watercress  in  the  marshes  by  the margin
      of  the  river  and  waded  out  into  the  river's  shallows  and cast
      circular  nets  to  catch  fish,   which  they  smoked  on  racks above
      fires  built  of  creosote  bush  and  pine  chips.  They  were cheerful
        and  hospitable,   and  gave  food  and  shelter  freely  to Yama
      and  Prefect Corin.
        Then  there  were'proper  houses  amongst  the  tombs,  foursquare
        and  painted  yellow  or  blue  or  pink,   with  little gardens
      planted  out  on  their  flat  roofs.  The  houses  stepped  up the
      cliffs  like  piles  of  boxes,   with  steep  narrow  streets between.
      Shanty  villages  had  been  built  on  stilts  over  the mudbanks
      and  silty  channels  left  by  the  river's  retreat,   and  beyond these, 








                sometimes  less  than  half  a  league  from  the  road,  sometimes
                two  or  three  leagues  distant,   was  the  river,   and  docks made
                of  floating  pontoons,   and  a  constant  traffic  of  little cockleshell
                  sailboats  and  barges  and  sleek  fore-and-aft  rigged cutters
                and  three-masted  xebecs  hugging  the  shore.  Along  the old
                river  road,   street  merchants  sold  fresh  fish  and  oysters and
                mussels  from  tanks,   and  freshly  steamed  lobsters  and spiny
                crabs,   samphire  and  lotus  roots  and  water  chestnuts,  bamboo
                and  little  red  bananas  and  several  kinds  of  kelp,   milk from
                tethered  goats,   spices,   pickled  walnuts,   fresh  fruit  and grass
                juice,   ice,   jewelery  made  of  polished  shells,   black  seed pearls, 
                caged  birds,   bolts  of  brightly  patterned  cloth,   sandals made
                from  the  worn  rubber  tread  of  steam  wagon  tires,   cheap plastic
                  toys,   tape  recordings  of  popular  ballads  or  prayers,   and a
                thousand  other  things.  The  stalls  and  booths  of  the merchants
                formed  a  kind  of  ribbon  market  strung  along  the  dusty margin
                of  land  at  the  shoulder  of  the  old  road,   noisy  with  the cries
                of  hawkers  and  music  from  tape  recorders  and  itinerant 
musicians
                ,   and  the  buzz  of  commerce  as  people  bargained and
                gossiped.  When  a  warship  went  past,   a  league  beyond the
                crowded  tarpaper  roofs  of  the  shanty  villages  and  the cranes
                of  the  floating  docks,   everyone  stopped  to  watch  it.  As  if in
                salute,   it  raised  the  red  and  gold  blades  of  its triple-banked
                oars  and  fired  a  charge  of  white  smoke  from  a  cannon,  and
                everyone  watching cheered.
                  That  was  when  Yama  realized  that  he  could  see,   for the
                first  time,   the  farside  shore  of  the  Great  River,   and  that the
                dark  line  at  the  horizon,   like  a  storm  cloud,   Were  houses and
                docks.  The  river  here  was  deep  and  swift,   stained brown
                along  the  shore  and  dark  blue  farther  out.  He  had reached
                Ys  and  had  not  known  it;  the  city  had  crept  up  on  him like
                an  army  in  the  night,   the  inhabited  tombs  like  scouts,  these
                painted  houses  and  tumbledown  shanty  villages  like  the first
                ranks  of  footsoldiers.  It  was  as  if,   after  the  fiasco  of the
                attempted  rescue  of  the  palmers,   he  had  suddenly  woken from
                a  long sleep.
                   Prefect  Corin  had  said  little  about  the  landslide  
which had
                killed  the  bandits,   the  kidnapped  women  and  their priest, 
                Belarius.  "You  did  what  you  could, "  he  had  told  Yama. "If
                we  had  not  tried,   the  women  would  be  dead anyway."
          Yama  had  not  told  Prefect  Corin  about  the  machine. Let
       him  think  what  he  liked.  But  Yama  had  not  been  able  to stop
       himself  reliving  what  had  happened  as  he  had  trudged behind
       the  Prefect  on  the  long  road  to  Ys.  Sometimes  he  felt a
       tremendous  guilt,   for  it  had  been  his  foolish'pride  which had
       prompted  him  to  use  the  machine,   which  had  led  to  the deaths
       of  the  bandits  and  the  kidnapped  women.  And  sometimes he
       felt  a  tremendous  anger  toward  Prefect  Corin,   for  having laid
       such  a  responsibility  upon  him.  He  had  little  doubt  that the
       Prefect  could  have  walked  into  the  bandits'  camp,   killed them
       all,   and  freed  the  women.  Instead  he  had  used  the situation
       to  test  Yama,   and  Yama  had  failed,   and  felt  guilt  for having
       failed,   and  then  anger  for  having  been  put  to  an impossible
      test.
          Humiliation  or  anger.  At  last,   Yama  settled  for  the latter.
       As  he  walked  behind  Prefect  Corin,   he  often  imagined drawing
         his  knife  and  backing  the  man's  head  from  his shoulders
       with  a  single  blow,   or  picking  a  stone  from  the  side  of the
       road  and  using  it  as  a  hammer.  He  dreamed  of  running fast
       and  far  and,   until  the  warship  passed,   had  been  lost  in his
      dreams.
          
Yama  and  Prefect  Corin  ate  at  a  roadside  stall. Without
       being  asked,   the  owner  of  the  stall  brought  them steamed
       mussels,   water  lettuce  crisply  fried  in  sesame  oil  with strands
       of  ginger,   and  tea  made  from  kakava  bark;  there  was  a red
       plastic  bowl  in  the  center  of  the  table  into  which fragments
       of  bark  could  be  spat.  Prefect  Corin  did  not  pay  tor the
       food-the  stall's  owner,   a  tall  man  with  loose,   pate  skin and
       rubbery  webs  between  his  fingers,   simply  smiled  and bowed
       when  they left.
          "He  is  glad  to  help  someone  from  the  Department, " Prefect
         Corin  explained,   when  Yama asked.
          "Why  is that?"
          Prefect  Corin  waved  a  hand  in  front  of  his  face,   as  if  at a
       fly.  Yama  asked again.
          "Because  we  are at    war, "  the  Prefect  said.  "Because the
       Department  fights that    war.  You  saw  how  they  cheered the
       warship.  Must  you  ask  so  many questions?"
          Yama  said,   "How  am  I  to  learn,   if  I  do  not ask?"
          Prefect  Corin  stopped  and  leaned  on  his  tall  staff  and stared








           at  Yama.  People  stepped  around  them.  It  was  crowded here, 
           with  two-  and  three-story  houses  packed  closely  together on
           either  side  of  the  road,   A  string  of  camels  padded  past,  their
           loose  lips  curled  in  supercilious  expressions,   little  silver bells
           jingling  on  their  leather harness.
              "The  first  thing  to  learn  is  when  to  ask  questions  and when
           to  keep  silent, "  Prefect  Corin  said,   and  then  he  turned and
           strode  off  through  the crowd.
              Without  thinking,   Yama  hurried  after  him.  It  was  as  if this
           stem,   taciturn  man  had  made  him  into  a  kind  of  pet,  anxiously
           trotting  at  his  master's  heels.  He  remembered  what  Dr. Dismas
             had  said  about  the  oxen,   trudging  endlessly  around the
           water  lift  because  they  knew  no  better,   and  his resentment
           rose  again,  refreshed.
              For  long  stretches,   now,   the  river  disappeared behind
           houses  or  godowns.  Hills  rose  above  the  flat  roofs  of the
           houses  on  the  landward  side  of  the  road,   and  after  a while
           Yama  realized  that  they  were  not  hills  but  buildings.  In the
           hazy  distance,   the  towers  he  had  so  often  glimpsed  using the
           telescope  on  the  peel-house's  heliograph  platform  shone like
           silver  threads  linking  earth  and sky.
              For  all  the  long  days  of  traveling,   the  towers  seemed 
as
           far  away  as ever.
              There  were  more  and  more  people  on  the  road,   and strings
           of  camels  and  oxen,   and  horse-drawn  or  steam  wagons bedecked
             with  pious  slogans,   and  sleds  gliding  at  waist height, 
           their  loadbeds  decorated  with  intricately  carved  wooden rails
           painted  red  and  gold.  There  were  machines  here,   too.  At first, 
           Yama  mistook  them  for  insects  or  hummingbirds  as they
           zipped  this  way  and  that  above  the  crowds.  No  one  in Aeolis
           owned  machines,   not  even  the  Aedile  (the  watchdogs were
           surgically  altered  animals,   and  did  not  count)  and  if  a machine
             strayed  into  the  little  city's  streets  everyone  would get
           as  far  away  from  it  as  possible.  Here,   no  one  took  any notice
           of  the  many  machines  that  darted  or  spun  through  the  air on
           mysterious  errands.  Indeed,   one  man  was  walking toward
           Yama  and  Prefect  Corin  with  a  decad  of  tiny  machines circling
             above  his head.
              The  man  stopped  in  front  of  the  Prefect.  The  Prefect was
           tall,   but  this  man  was  taller  still-he  was the        tallest  man
        Yama  had  ever  seen.  He  wore  a  scarlet  cloak  with  the hood
        cast  over  his  head,   and  a  black  tunic  and  black trousers
        tucked  into  thigh-high  boots  of  soft  black  leather.  A quirt
        like  those  used  by  ox  drivers  was  tucked  into  the  belt  of his
        
trousers;  the  ends  of  the  quirt's  hundred  strands  were braided
        with  diamond-shaped  metal  tags.  The  man  squared  up  to Prefect
          Corin  and  said,   "You're  a  long  way  from  where you
        should  be. "
           Prefect  Corin  leaned  on  his  staff  and  looked  up  at  the man.
        Yama  stood  behind  the  Prefect.  People  were  beginning to
        form  a  loose  circle  with  the  red-cloaked  man  and Prefect
        Corin  in  its center.
           The  man  in  the  red  cloak  said,   "If  you  have  business here, 
        I  haven't  heard  of it."
           A  machine  landed  on  Prefect  Corin's  neck,   just beneath
        the  angle  of  his  jaw.  Prefect  Corin  ignored  it.  He  said,  "There
        is  no  reason  why  you should, "
           "There's  every  reason."  The  man  noticed  the people
        watching  and  slashed  the  air  with  his  quirt.  The  tiny,  bright
        machines  above  his  head  widened  their  orbits  and one
        dropped  down  to  hover  before  the  man's lips.
           "Move  on, "  the  man  said.  His  voice,   amplified  by the
        machine,   echoed  off  the  faces  of  the  buildings  on  either side
        of  the  street,   but  most  of  the  people  only  stepped  back  a few
        paces.  The  machine  rose  and  the  man  told  Prefect  Corin in
        his  ordinary  voice,   "You're  causing  a disturbance."
           Prefect  Corin  said,   "There  was  no  disturbance  until you
        stopped  me.  I  would  ask why."
           "This  is  the road,    not  the river."
           Prefect  Corin spat  in  the  dust  at  his  feet.  "I  had noticed."
           "You  are  carrying  a pistol."
           "By  the  authority  of  my Department."
           "We'll  see  about  that.  What's  your  business?  Are you
        
spying  on us?"
           "If  you  are  doing  your  duty,   you  have  nothing  to  fear. But
        do  not  worry,   brother,   I  am  no  spy.  I  am  returning  from a
        downriver  city  where  I  had  a  task  to  perform.  It  is  done,  and
        now  I return."
           "Yet  you  travel  by road."








             "I  thought  I  would  show  this  boy  something  of  the countryside
          .  He  has  led  a  very  sheltered life."
             A  machine  darted  forward  and  spun  in  front  of Yama's
          face.  There  was  a  flash  of  red  light  in  the  backs  of Yama's
          eyes  and  he  blinked,   and  the  machine  flew  up  to  rejoin the
          spinning  dance  above  the  man's  head.  The  man  said,  "This
          is  your  catamite?  The  war  is  going  badly  if  you  can't find
          better.  This  one  has  a  corpse's  skin.  And  he  is  carrying a
          proscribed weapon."
             "Again,   by  the  authority  of  my  Department, " Prefect
          Corin said.
             "I  don't  know  the  bloodline,   but  I'd  guess  he's  too young
          for  an  apprenticeship.  You  had  better  show  your  papers to
          the  officer  of  the day.
             The  man  snapped  his  fingers  and  the  machines dropped
          and  settled  into  a  tight  orbit  around  the  Prefect's  head,  circling
            him  like  angry  silver  wasps.  The  man  turned  then,  slashing
            the  air  with  his  quirt  so  that  those  nearest  him  fell back, 
          pressing  against  those  behind.  "Make  way!"  the  man shouted
          as  he  hacked  a  path  through  the  crowd  with  his  quirt. "Make
          way!  Make way!"
             Yama  said  to  Prefect  Corin,   as  they  followed  the  man,  "Is
          this  the  time  to  ask  a question?"
             "He  is  a  magistrate.  A  member  of  the  autonomous civil
          authority  of  Ys.  There  is  some  bad  blood  between  his department
            
and  mine.  He  will  make  a  point  about  who  is  in charge
          here,   and  then  we  will  be  on  our way."
             "How  did  he  know  about  the  pistol  and  my knife?"
             "His  machines  told him."
             Yama  studied  the  shuttling  weave  of  the  little machines
          around  Prefect  Corin's  head.  One  still  clung  to  the Prefect's
          neck,   a  segmented  silver  bead  with  four  pairs  of wire-like
          legs  and  mica  wings  folded  along  its  back.  Yama  could feel
          the  simple  thoughts  of  the  machines,   and  wondered  if he
          might  be  able  to  make  them  forget  what  they  had  been ordered
            to  do,   but  he  did  not  trust  himself  to  say  the  right thing
          to  them,   and  besides,   he  was  not  about  to  reveal  his ability
          by  helping  the Prefect.
             The  road  opened  onto  a  square  lined  with  flame  trees just
          coming  into  leaf.  On  the  far  side,   a  high  wall  rose  above the
        roofs  of  the  buildings  and  the  tops  of  the  trees.  It  was built
        of  closely  fitted  blocks  of  black,   polished  granite,   with gun
        platforms  and  watch-towers  along  its  top.  Soldiers lounged
        by  a  tall  gate  in  the  wall,   watching  the  traffic  that jostled
        through  the  shadow  of  the  gate's  arch.  The  magistrate led
        Prefect  Corin  and  Yama  across  the  square  and  the soldiers
        snapped  to  attention  as  they  went  through  the  gate. They
        climbed  a  steep  stair  that  wound  widdershins  inside  the wall
        to  a  wide  walkway  at  the  top.  A  little  way  along,   the wall
        turned  at  a  right-angle  and  ran  beside  the  old  bank  of 
the
        river,   and  a  faceted  blister  of  glass,   glittering  in  the sunlight, 
        clung there.
           It  was  warm  and  full  of  light  inside  the  glass  blister. Magistrates
          in  red  cloaks  stood  at  windows  hung  in  the  air,  watching
          aerial  views  of  the  road,   of  ships  moored  at  the  docks or
        passing  up  and  down  the  river,   of  red  tile  rooftops,   of  a man
        walking  along  a  crowded  street.  Machines  zipped  to  and fro
        in  the  bright  air,   or  spun  in  little  clouds.  At  the  center  of all
        this  activity,   a  bareheaded  officer  sat  with  his  boots  up  on a
        clear  plastic  table,   and  after  the  magistrate  had  talked with
        him  the  officer  called  Prefect  Corin over.
           "Just  a  formality, "  the  officer  said  languidly,   and  held out
        his  hand.  The  eight-legged  machine  dropped  from  the Prefect's
          neck  and  the  officer's  fingers  briefly  closed  around it.
        When  they  opened  again,   the  machine  sprang  into  the  air and
        began  to  circle  the  magistrate's head.
           The  officer  yawned  and  said,   "Your  pass,   Prefect Corin, 
        if  you  please."  He  ran  a  fingernail  over  the  imprinted seal
        of  the  resin  tablet  Prefect  Corin  gave  him,   and  said,  "You
        didn't  take  return  passage  by  river,   as  you  were ordered."
           "Not  ordered.  I  could  have  taken  the  river  passage  if I
        chose  to,   but  it  was  left  to  my  discretion.  The  boy  is  to be
        
apprenticed  as  a  clerk.  I  thought  that  I  would  show  him something
          of  the  country.  He  has  led  a  sheltered life."
           The  officer  said,   "It's  a  long,   hard  walk."  He  was looking
        at  Yama  now.  Yama  met  his  gaze  and  the  officer winked.
        He  said,   "There's  nothing  here  about  this  boy,   or  his weapon.
        Quite  a  hanger  for  a  mere apprentice."
           "An  heirloom.  He  is  the  son  of  the  Aedile  of Aeolis."








                Prefect  Corin's  tone  implied  that  there  was  nothing  more to
                be  said  about  the matter.
                  The  officer  set  the  tablet  on  the  desk  and  said  to  the magistrate
                ,   "Nym,   fetch  a  chair  for  Prefect Corin."
                  Prefect  Corin  said,   "There  is  no  need  for delay."
                  The  officer  yawned  again.  His  tongue  and  teeth  had been
                stained  red  by  the  narcotic  leaf  he  had  wadded  between gum
                and  cheek.  His  tongue  was  black,   long  and  sharply pointed.
                "It'll  take  a  little  while  to  confirm  things  with  your department
                .  Would  you  like  some refreshment?"
                  The  tall,   red-cloaked  magistrate  set  a  stool  beside Prefect
                Corin.  The  officer  indicated  it,   and  after  a  moment Prefect
                Corin  sat  down.  He  said,   "I  do  not  need  anything  from you."
                  The  officer  took  out  a  packet  of  cigarettes  and  put  one in
                his  mouth  and  lit  it  with  a  match  he  struck  on  the  surface of
                the  desk.  He  did  all  this  at  a  leisurely  pace;  his  gaze  did not
                leave  the  Prefect's  face.  He  exhaled  smoke  and  said  to the
                magistrate,   "Some  fruit.  And  iced  sherbet."  He  told Prefect
                Corin,   "While  we're  waiting,   you  can  tell  me  about your
                long  walk  from-"  he  glanced  at  the  tablet  --Aeolis. 
A
                party  of  palmers  has  gone  missing  somewhere  around there, 
                I  believe.  Perhaps  you  know  'something.  Meanwhile,  Nym
                will  talk  with  the  boy,   and  we'll  see  if  the  stories  are the
                same,   What  could  be simpler?"
                  Prefect  Corin  said,   "The  boy  must  stay  with  me.  He  is in
                my charge."
                  "Oh,   I  think  he  will  be  safe  with  Nym,   don't you?"
                  "I  have  my  instructions, "  Prefect  Corin said.
                  The  officer  stubbed  out  his  half-smoked  cigarette. "You
                cleave  to  them  with  admirable  fidelity.  We'll  take  care  of the
                boy.  You'll  tell  your  story  to  me.  He'll  tell  his  to  Nym. Then
                we'll  see  if  the  stories  are  the  same.  What  could  he simpler?"
                  Prefect  Corin  said,   "You  do  not know-"
                  The  officer  raised  an eyebrow.
                  "He  is  in  my  charge, "  Prefect  Corin  said.  "We  will go
                now,   I think."
                  He  started  to  rise,   and  for  an  instant  was  crowned  with a
                jagged  circle  of  sparks.  There  was  a  sudden  sharp  smell of
                burnt  hair  and  he  fell  heavily  onto  the  stool.  The  little ma
                chines  calmly  circled  his  head,   as  if  nothing  had happened.
         
"Take  the  boy  away,   Nym, "  the  officer  said.  "Find out
       where  he's  been  and  where  he's going."
         Prefect  Corin  turned  and  gave  Yama  a  dark  stare. His
       shoulders  were  hunched  and  his  hands  were  pressed between
       his  knees.  A  thin  line  of  white  char  circled  his  sleek black
       head,   above  his  eyes  and  the  tops  of  his  tightly  folded ears.
       "Do  what  you  are  told, "  he  said.  "No  more  than that."
         The  magistrate,   Nym,   took  Yama's  arm  and  steered him
       around  the  windows  in  the  air.  The  machines  quit  their orbits
       around  Prefect  Corin's  head  and  followed  the  magistrate in
       a  compact  cloud.  In  the  hot  sunlight  outside  the  dome,  Nym
       looked  through  Yama's  satchel  and  took  out  the sheathed
      knife.
         "That  was  a  gift  from  my  father, "  Yama  said.  He halfhoped
         that  the  knife  would  do  something  to  the magistrate, 
       but  it  remained  inert.  Yama  added,   "My  father  is  the Aedile
       of  Aeolis,   and  he  told  me  to  take  good  care  of  it. "
         "I'm  not  going  to  steal  it,   boy."  The  magistrate  pulled the
       blade  halfway  out  of  its  sheath.  "Nicely  balanced. Loyal, 
       too."  He  dropped  it  'into  Yama's  satchel.  "It  tried  to bite
       me,   but  I  know  something  about  machines.  You  use  it  to cut
       firewood,   I  suppose.  Sit  down.  There.  Wait  for  me,  Don't
       move.  Try  to  leave,   and  the  machines  will  knock  you down, 
       like  they  did  with  your  master.  Try  to  use  your  weapon and
       they'll  boil  you  down  to  a  grease  spot.  I'll  come  back and
       we'll  have  a  little  talk,   you  and me.
         Yama  looked  up  at  the  magistrate.  He  tried  not  to blink
       when  the  machines  settled  in  a  close  orbit  around  his head.
       "When  you  fetch  refreshments  for  my  master,   remember that
       I  would  like  sherbet,  too.
         "Oh  yes,   we'll  have  a  nice  talk,   you  and  me.  Your master
       doesn't  have  a  pass  for  you,   and  I'll  bet  you  don't  have 
a
       permit  for  your  knife,   either.  Think  about that."
         Yama  waited  until  Nym  had  gone  down  the  stairway,  then
       told  the  machines  to  leave  him  alone.  They  wanted  to know
       where  they  should  go,   so  he  asked  them  if  they  could cross
       the  river,   and  when  they  said  that  they  could  he  told them
       to  go  directly  across  the  river  and  to  wait there.
         The  machines  gathered  into  a  line  and  flew  straight out
       over  the  edge  of  the  wall,   disappearing  into  the  blue sky








             above  the  crowded  roofs  of  the  stilt  shanties  and  the masts
             of  the  ships  anchored  at  the  floating  docks.  Yama  went down
             the  stairs  and  walked  boldly  past  the  soldiers.  None  of them
             spared  him  more  than  a  glance,   and  he  walked  out  of the
             shadow  of  the  gate  into  the  busy  street  beyond  the wall, 
                                                  THE (ATERAN.
  A  T  F  I  R  S  T  T  0  1  landlord  of  the  inn  did  not  want  to  rent  a room
      to  Yama.  The  inn  was  full,   he  said,   on  account  of  the Water
      Market.  But  when  Yama  showed  him  the  two  gold  rials,  the
      man  chuckled  and  said  that  he  might  be  able  to  make a
      special  arrangement.  Perhaps  twice  the  usual  tariff,   to take
      account  of  the  inconvenience,   and  if  Yama  would  like  to eat
      while  waiting  for  the  room  to  be  made  up  ...  ?  The landlordwas
        a  fat  young  man  with  smooth  brown  skin  and short, 
      spiky  white  hair,   and  a  brisk,   direct  manner.  He  took  one of
      the  coins  and  said  that  he'd  bring  change  in  the morning, 
      seeing  as  the  money  changers  were  closed  up  for  the day.
        Yama  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  taproom,   and  presently  a pot
      boy  brought  him  a  plate  of  shrimp  boiled  in  their  shells and
      stir-fried  okra  and  peppers,   with  chili  and  peanut  sauce and
      flat  discs  of  unleavened  bread  and  a  beaker  of  thin  rice beer.
      Yama  ate  hungrily.  He  had  walked  until  the  sun  had fallen
      below  the  roofs  of  the  city,   and  although  he  had  passed numerous
        stalls  and  street  vendors  he  had  not  been  able  to buy
      
any  food  or  drink-he  had  not  realized  that  there  were men
      whose  business  was  to  change  coins  like  his  into smaller            I
      denominations.  The  landlord  would  change  the  coin tomorrow
      ,   and  Yama  would  begin  to  search  for  his  bloodline. But








               now  he  was  content  to  sit  with  a  full  stomach,   his head
               pleasantly  lightened  by  the  beer,   and  watch  the inn's
              customers.
                  They  seemed  to  fall  into  two  distinct  groups.  There were
               ordinary  working  men  of  several  bloodlines,   dressed  in homespun
                 and  clogs,   who  stood  at  the  counter  drinking quietly, 
               and  there  was  a  party  of  men  and  a  single  red-haired woman
               eating  at  a  long  table  under  the  stained  glass  window which
               displayed  the  inn's  sign  of  two  crossed  axes.  They  made a
               lot  of  noise,   playing  elaborate  toasting  games  and calling
               from  one  end  of  the  table  to  the  other.  Yama  thought  that they
               must  be  soldiers,   caterans  or  some  other  kind  of  irregulars,  for
               they  all  wore  bits  of  armor,   mostly  metal  or  resin chestplates
               painted  with  various  devices,   and  wrist  guards  and greaves.
               Many  were  scarred,   or  had  missing  fingers.  One  big,  barechested
                 man  had  a  silver  patch  over  one  eye;  another had
               only  one  arm,   although  he  ate  as  quickly  and  as dextrously
               as  his  companions.  The  red-haired  woman  seemed  to  be one
               of  them,   rather  than  a  concubine  they  had  picked  up; she
               wore  a  sleeveless  leather  tunic  and  a  short  leather  
skirt that
               left  her  legs  mostly bare.
                  The  landlord  -seemed  to  know.  the  caterans,   and  when he
               was  not  busy  he  sat  with  them,   laughing  at  their  jokes and
               pouring'wine  or  beer  for  those  nearest  him.  He whispered
               something  in  the  one-eyed  man's  ear  and  they  both laughed, 
               and  when  the  landlord  went  off  to  serve  one  of  the other
               customers,   the  one-eyed  man  grinned  across  the  room at
              Yama.
                  Presently,   the  pot  boy  told  Yama  that  his  room  was ready
               and  led  him  around  the  counter  and  through  a  small hot
               kitchen  into  a  courtyard  lit  by  electric  floodlights  hung from
               a  central  pole.  There  were  whitewashed  stables  on  two sides
               and  a  wide  square  gate  shaded  by  an  avocado  tree  in which
               green  parrots  squawked  and  rustled.  The  room  was  in the
               eaves  above  one  of  the  stable  blocks.  It  was  long  and low
               and  dark,   with  a  single  window  at  its  end  looking  out over
               the  street  and  a  tumble  of  roofs  falling  toward  the Great
               River.  The  pot  boy  lit  a  fish-oil  lantern  and  uncovered a
               pitcher  of  hot  water,   turned  down  the  blanket  and  
fussed with
      the  bolster  on  the  bed,   and  then  hesitated,   clearly reluctant
      to leave.
        "I  do  not  have  any  small  coins, "  Yama  said,   "but tomorrow
        I  will  give  you  something  for  your trouble."
        The  boy  went  to  the  door  and  looked  outside,   then closed
      it  and  turned  to  Yama.  "I  don't  know  you,   master, "  he said, 
      "but  I  think  I  should  tell  you  this,   or  it'll  be  on  my conscience
      .  You  shouldn't  stay  here tonight."
        "I  paid  for  the  room  with  honest  money  left  on account, "
      Yama said.
        The  boy  nodded.  He  wore  a  clean,   much-darned  shirt and
      a  pair  of  breeches.  He  was  half  Yama's  height  and slightly
      built,   with  black  hair  slicked  back  from  a  sharp,   narrow face.
      His  eyes  were  large,   with  golden  irises  that  gleamed  in the
      candlelight.  He  said,   "I  saw  the  coin  you  left  on  trust. I
      won't  ask  where  you  got  it,   but  I  reckon  it  could  buy this
      whole  place.  My  master  is  not  a  bad  man,   but  he's  not a
      good  man  either,   if  you  take  my  meaning,   and  there's plenty
      better  that  would  be  tempted  by  something  like that."
        "I  will  be  careful, "  Yama  said.  The  truth  was  that  he was
      tired,   and  a  little  dizzy  from  the beer.
        "If  there's  trouble,   you  can climb     out  the  window onto
      the  roof, "  the  boy  said.  "On  the  far  side  there's  a  vine that's
      grown  up  to  the  top  of  the  wall.  It's  an  easy  climb down.
      I've  done  it  many times."
        After  the  boy  e  Yama  bolted  the  door  and  eane  at the
      open  window  and  gazed  out  at  the  vista  of  roofs  and river
      under  the  darkening  sky,   listening  to  the  evening  sounds of
      
the  city.  There  was  a  continual  distant  roar,   the  blended noise
      of  millions  of, people  going  about  their  business,   and closer
      at  hand  the  sounds  of  the  neighborhood:  a  hawker's  cry; a
      pop  ballad  playing  on  a  tape  recorder;  someone hammering
      metal  with  quick  sure  strokes;  a  woman  calling  to  her children
      .  Yama  felt  an  immense  peacefulness  and  an intense
      awareness  that  he  was  there,   alone  in  that  particular place
      and  time  with  his  whole  life  spread  before  him,   a  sheaf of
      wonderful possibilities.
        He  took  off  his  shirt  and  washed  his  face  and  arms,  then
      pulled  off  his  boots  and  washed  his  feet.  The  bed  had a
      lumpy  mattress  stuffed  with  straw,   but  the  sheets  were freshly








             laundered  and  the wo - ol  blanket  was  clean.  This  was probably
             the  potboy's  room,   he  thought,   which  was  why  the boy
             wanted  him  to leave.
                He  intended  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes  before  getting  up to
             close  the  shutters,   but  when  he  woke  it  was  much  later. The
             cold  light  of  the  Galaxy  lay  on  the  floor;  something  made a
             scratching  sound  in  the  rafters  above  the  bed.  A  mouse  or a
             gecko,   Yama  thought  sleepily,   but  then  he  felt  a feathery
             touch  in  his  mind  and  knew  that  a  machine  had  flown into
             the  room  through  the  window  he  had  carelessly  left open.
                Yama  wondered  sleepily  if  the  machine  had  woken him, 
             but  then  there  was  a  metallic  clatter  outside  the  door.  He sat
             up,   groping  for  the  lantern.  Someone  pushed  at  the  door and
             Yama,   still  stupid  with  sleep,   called out.
                The  door  flew  open  with  a  tremendous  crash,   sending the
             broken  bolt  flying  across  the  room.  A  man  stood silhouetted
             in  the  doorway.  Yama  rolled  onto  the  floor,   reaching  for his
             satchel,   and  something  hit  the  bed.  Wood  splintered  and straw
             flew  into  the  air.  Yama  rolled  again,   dragging  his satchel
             with  him.  He  cut  his  hand  getting  his  knife  out  but hardly
             noticed.  The  curved  blade  shone  with  a  fierce  blue  light and
             
spat  fat  blue  sparks  from  its point.
                The  man  turned  from  the  bed,   a  shadow  in  the  blue halflight
             .  He  had  broken  the  frame  and  slashed  the  mattress to
             ribbons  with  the  long,   broad  blade  of  his  sword.  Yama threw
             the  pitcher  of  water  at  him  and  he  ducked  and  said,  "Give
             it  up,   boy,   and  maybe  you'll live."
                Yama  hesitated,   and  the  man  struck  at  him  with  a sudden
             fury.  Yama  ducked  and  heard  the  air  part  above  his head, 
             and  slashed  at  the  man's  legs  with  the  knife,   so  that  he had
             to  step  back.  The  knife  howled  and  Yama  felt  a  sudden coldness
               in  the  muscles  of  his arm.
                "You  fight  like  a  woman, "  the  man  said. Knife-light
             flashed  on  something  on  his  intent face.
                Then  he  drove  forward  again,   and  Yama  stopped thinking.
             Reflexes,   inculcated  in  the  long  hours  in  the gymnasium
             under  Sergeant  Rhodean's  stem  instruction,   took over.
             Yama's  knife  was  better  suited  to  close  fighting  than the
             man's  long  blade,   but  the  man  had  the  advantage  of  reach and
             weight.  Yama  managed  to  parry  a  series  of  savage,  hacking
      strokes-fountains  of  sparks  spurted  at  each  blow-but the
      force  of  the  blows  numbed  his  wrist,   and  then  the man's
      longer  blade  slid  past  the  guard  of  Yama's  knife  and nicked
      his  forearm.  The  wound  was  not  painful,   but  it  bled copiously
      and  weakened  Yama's  grip  on  his knife.
         Yama  knocked  the  chair  over  and,   in  the  moment  it took
      
the  man  to  kick  it  out  of  the  way,   managed  to  get  out  of the
      corner  into  which  he  had  been  forced.  But  the  man  was still
      between  Yama  and  the  door.  In  a  moment  he  pressed his
      attack  again,   and  Yama  was  driven  back  against  the wall.
      The  knife's  blue  light  blazed  and  something  white  and bonethin
        stood  between  Yama  and  the  man,   but  the  man laughed
      and  said,   "I  know  that  trick, "  and  kicked  out,  catching
      Yama's  elbow  with  the  toe  of  his  boot.  The  blow numbed
      Yama's  arm  and  he  dropped  the  knife.  The  phantom vanished
      with  a  sharp snap.
         The  man  raised  his  sword  for  the  killing  blow.  For  a moment
      ,   it  was  as  if  he  and  Yama  stood  in  a  tableau  pose. Then
      the  man  grunted  and  let  out  a  long  sighing  breath  that stank
      of  onions  and  wine  fumes,   and  fell  to  his  knees.  He dropped
      his  sword  and  pawed  at  his  ear,   then  fell  on  his  face at
      Yama's feet.
         Yama's  right  arm  was  numb  from  elbow  to  wrist;  his left
      hand  was  shaking  so  much  that  it  took  him  a  whole minute
      to  find  the  lantern  and  light  it  with  his  flint  and  steel.  By its
      yellow  glow  he  tore  strips  from  the  bedsheet  and  bound the
      shallow  but  bloody  wound  on  his  forearm  and  the smaller, 
      self-inflicted  gash  on  his  palm.  He  sat.  still  then,   but heard
      only  horses  stepping  about  in  the  stables  below.  If anyone
      had  heard  the  door  crash  open  or  the  subsequent struggle, 
      which  was  unlikely  given  that  the  other  guests  would be
      sleeping  on  the  far  side  of  the  courtyard,   they  were  not coming
        to investigate.
         The  dead  man  was  the  one-eyed  cateran  who  had looked
      at  Yama  across  the  taproom  of  the  inn.  Apart  from  a trickle
      of  dark,   venous  blood  from  his  right  ear  he  did  not appear
      to  be  hurt.  For  a  moment,   Yama  did  not  understand  what had
      happened.  Then  the  dead  man's  lips  parted  and  a machine
      
slid  out  of  his  mouth  and  dropped  to  the floor.
         The  machine's  teardrop  shape, was  covered  in  blood,  and








           it  vibrated  with  a  brisk  buzz  until  it  shone  silver  and clean.
           Yama  held  out  his  left  hand  and  the  machine  slid  up  the air
           and  landed  lightly  on  his palm.
             "I  do  not  remember  asking  you  for  help, "  Yama  told it, 
           "but  I  am grateful."
             The  machine  had  been  looking  for  him;  there  were many
           of  its  kind  combing  this  part  of  Ys.  Yama  told  it  that it
           should  look  elsewhere,   and  that  it  should  broadcast  that idea
           to  its  fellows,   then  stepped  to  the  window  and  held  up his
           hand.  The  machine  rose,   circled  his  head  once,   and flew
           straight  out  into  the night.
             Yama  pulled  on  his  shirt  and  fastened  his  boots  and  set to
           the  distasteful  task  of  searching  the  dead  cateran.  The man
           had  no  money  on  him  and  carried  only  a  dirk  with  a thin
           blade  and  a  bone  hilt,   and  a  loop  of  wire  with  wooden pegs
           for  handles.  He  supposed  that  the  man  would  have  been paid
           after  he  had  done  his  job.  The  pot  boy  had  been  right after
           all.  The  landlord  wanted  both coins.
             Yama  sheathed  his  knife  and  tied  the  sheath  to  his belt, 
           then  picked  up  his  satchel.  He  found  it  suddenly  hard  to turn
           his  back  on  the  dead  man,   who  seemed  to  be  watching 
him
           across  the  room,   so  he  climbed  out  of  the  window sideways.
             A  stout  beam  jutted  above  the  window  frame;  it might
           once  have  been  a  support.  for  a  hoist  used  to  lift supplies
           from  the  street.  Yama  grasped  the  beam  with  both  hands and
           swung  himself  once,   twice,   and  on  the  third  swing  got his
           leg  over  the  beam  and  pulled  himself  up  so  that  he  sat astride
           it.  The  wound  on  his  forearm  had  parted  a  little,   and  he retied
           the  bandage.  Then  it  was  easy  enough  to  stand  on  the beam's
           broad  top  and  pull  himself  on  to  the  ridge  of  the roof
                                      THE  WATER MARKET.
T  N  I  V  I  N  I  W  A  S  just  where  the  pot  boy  had  said  it  would be.
       It  was  very  large  and  very  old-perhaps  it  had  been planted
       when  the  inn  had  been  built-and  Yama  climbed  down its
       stout  leafy  branches  as  easily  as  down  a  ladder.  He knew
       that  he  should  run,   but  he  also  knew  that  Telmon  would not
       have  run.  It  was  a  matter  of  honor  to  get  the  coin  back,  and
       there  in  the  darkness  of  the  narrow  alley  at  the  back  of the
       inn  Yama  remembered  the  landlord's  duplicitous  smile and
       felt  a  slow  flush  of anger.
          He  was  groping  his  way  toward  the  orange  lamplight at
       the  end  of  the  alley  when  he  heard  footsteps  behind  him. For
       a  moment  he  feared  that  the  cateran's  body  had  been found, 
       and  that  his  friends  were  searching  for  his  killer.  But  no cry
       
had  been  raised,   and  surely  the  city  was  not  so  wicked that
       murder  would  go  unremarked.  He  forced  himself  not  to look
       back,   but  walked  around  the  corner  and  drew  his  knife and
       waited  in  the  shadows  by  the  inn's  gate,   under  the wide
       canopy  of  the  avocado tree.
          When  the  pot  boy  came  out  of  the  alley,   Yama pushed
       him  against  the  wall  and  held  the  knife  at  his  throat.  "I don't
       mean  any  harm!"  the  boy  squealed.  Above  them,   a parrot








          echoed  his  frightened  cry,   modulating  it  into  a screeching
         cackle.
            Yama  took  away  the  knife.  The  thought  came  to  him that
          if  the  one-eyed  cateran  had  crept  into  the  room  to  cut his
          throat  or  use  the  strangling  wire,   instead  of  bursting  in with
          his  sword  swinging  wildly,   he,   and  not  the  cateran,  would
          now  be dead.
            "He  came  for  you, "  the  pot  boy  said.  "I  saw him."
            "He  is  dead."  Yama  sheathed  his  knife.  "I  should have
          listened  to  you.  As  it  is,   I  have  killed  a  man,   and  your master
          still  has  my coin."
            The  pot  boy  fussily  straightened  his  ragged  jerkin.  He had
          regained  his  dignity.  He  looked  up  at  Yama  boldly  and said, 
          "You  could  call  the magistrates."
            "I  do  not  want  to  get  you  into  trouble,   but  perhaps you
          could  show  me  where  your  master  sleeps.  If  I  get  back the
          coin,   half  of  it  is yours."
            The  boy  said,   "Pandaras,   at  your  service,   master.  For a
          tenth  of  it,   I'll  skewer  his  heart  for  you.  He  beats  me,  and
          cheats  his  customers,   and  cheats  his  provisioners  and wine
          merchants,   too.  You  are  a  brave  man,   master,   but  a poor
          judge  of  inns.  You're  on  the  run,   aren't  you?  That's  why you
          won't  call  on  the magistrates."
            
"It  is  not  the  magistrates  I  fear  most, "  Yama  said,  thinking
          of  Prefect Corin.
            Pandaras  nodded.  "Families  can  be  worse  than  any lockup
          ,   as  I  know  too well."
            "As  a  matter  of  fact,   I  have  come  here  to  search  for my
          family. "
            "I  thought  you  were  from  the  wrong  side  of  the wallsno
            one  born  in  the  city  would  openly  carry  a  knife  as old
          and  as  valuable  as  yours.  I'll  bet  that  dead  man  in  your room
          was  more  interested  in  the  knife  than  your  coins.  I  may not
          be  much  more  than  a  street  urchin,   but  I  know  my way
          around.  If  hunting  down  your  family  is  what  you  want,  why
          then  I  can  help  you  in  a  hundred  different  ways.  I'll  be glad
          to  be  quit  of  this  place.  It  never  was  much  of  a  job anyway, 
          and  I'm  getting  too  old  for it."
            Yama  thought  that  this  pitch  was  little  more  than  a gentler
      form  of  robbery,   but  said  that  for  the  moment  he  would be
      glad  of  the  boy's help.
         "My  master  sleeps  as  soundly  as  a  sated  seal, " Pandaras
      said.  "He  won't  wake  until  you  put  your  blade  to  his throat."
         Pandaras  let  Yama  into  the  inn  through  the  kitchen door
      and  led  him  upstairs.  He  put  a  finger  to  his  black  lips before
      delicately  unlatching  a  door.  Yama's  knife  emitted  a faint
      blue  glow  and  he  held  it  up  like  a  candle  as  he  stepped into
      the  stuffy room.
         
The  landlord  snored  under  a  disarrayed  sheet  on  a huge
      canopied  bed  that  took  up  most  of  the  space;  there  was no
      other  furniture.  Yama  shook  him  awake,   and  the  man pushed
      Yama's  hand  away  and  sat  up.  The  sheet  slipped  down his
      smooth  naked  chest  to  the  mound  of  his  belly.  When Yama
      aimed  the  point  of  the  knife  at  his  face,   the  man  smiled and
      said,   "Go  ahead  and  kill  me.  If  you  don't,   I'll  probably set
      the  magistrates  on you."
         "Then  you  will  have  to  explain  that  one  of  your guests
      was  attacked  in  his  room.  There  is  a  dead  man  up  there,  by
      the  way. "
         The  landlord  gave  Yama  a  sly  look.  The  knife's  blue glow
      was,   liquidly  reflected  in  his  round,   black  eyes  and glimmered
      in  his  spiky  white  hair.  He  said,   "Of  course  there  is,   or you
      wouldn't  be  here.  Cyg  wasn't  working  for  me,   and  you can't
      prove  different. "
         "Then  how  did  you  know  his name?"
         The  landlord's  shrug  was  like  a  mountain  moving. 'Everyone
        knows Cyg.
          Then  everyone  will  probably  know  about  the  bargain he
      made  with  you.  Give  me  my  coin  and  I  will  leave  at once."
         "And  if  I  don't,   what  will  you  do?  If  you  kill  me you
      w  "'t  find  it.  Why  don't  we  sit  down  over  a  glass  of brandy
        on
      and  talk  about  this  sensibly?  I  could  make  use  of  a sharp
      young  cock  like  you.  There  are  ways  to  make  that  coin multiply
      ,   and  I  know  most  of them."
         "I  have  heard  that  you  cheat  your  customers, "  Yama said.
      "Those  who  cheat  are  always  afraid  that  they  will  be cheated
      in  turn,   so  I  would  guess  that  the  only  place  you  could have
      
hidden'  my.  coin  is  somewhere  in  this  room.  Probably under
      your pillow."








                The  landlord  lunged  forward  then,   and something         struck
              at  Yama's  knife.  The  room  filled  with  white  light  and the
              landlord screamed.
             Afterwards,   the  landlord  huddled  against  the  headboard of
              his  bed  and  wouldn't  look  at  Yama  or  the  knife.  His hand
              was  bleeding  badly,   for  although  he  had  wrapped  his sheet
              around  it  before  grabbing  at  the  knife,   the  blade  had  cut him
              deeply.  But  he  took  no  notice  of  his  wound,   or  Yama's questions
              .  He  was  staring  at  something  which  had  vanished as
              quickly  as  it  had  appeared,   and  would  only  say,   over and
              over,   "It  had  no  eyes.  Hair  like  cobwebs,   and  no eyes."
                Yama  searched  beneath  the  bolster  and  the  mattress,  and
              then,   remembering  the  place  where  he  had  hidden,   his map
              in  his  own  room  in  the  peel-house,   rapped  the  floor  with the
              hilt  of  his  knife  until  he  found  the  loose  board  under which
              the  landlord  had  hidden  the  gold  rial.  He  had  to  show the
              landlord  his  knife  and  threaten  the  return  of  the  apparition to
              make  the  man  roll  onto  his  belly,   so  that  he  could  gag him
              and  tie  his  thumbs  together  with  strips  torn  from  
the bedsheet.
                "I  am  only  taking  back  what  is  mine, "  Yama  said.  "I do
              not  think  you  have  earned  any  payment  for  hospitality. The
              fool  you  sent  to  rob  me  is  dead.  Be  grateful  you  are not."
                Pandaras  was  waiting  outside  the  gate.  "We'll  get some
              breakfast  by  the  fishing  docks, "  he  said.  "The  boats  go out
              before  first  light  and  the  stalls  open early."
                Yama  showed  Pandaras  the  gold  rial.  His  hand  shook. Although
                he  had  felt  quite  calm  while  looking  for  the  coin,  he
              was  now  filled  with  an  excess  of  nervous  energy.  He laughed
              and  said,   "I  have  no  coin  small  enough  to  pay  for breakfast."
                Pandaras  reached  inside  his  ragged  shirt  and  lifted  out two
              worn  iron  pennies  hung  on  a  string  looped  around  his neck.
              He  winked.  "I'll  pay,   master,   and  then  you  can  pay me."
                "As  long  as  you  stop  calling  me  master.  You  are hardly
              younger  than  I am."
                "Oh,   in  many  ways  I'm  much  older, "  Pandaras  said. "Forgive
                me,   but  you're  obviously  of  noble  birth.  Such  folk live
              longer  than  most;  relatively  speaking,   you're  hardly weaned
     
from  the  wet  nurse's  teat."  He  squinted  up  at  Yama  as they
     passed  through  the  orange  glow  of  a  sodium  vapor lamp.
     "Your  bloodline  isn't  one  I  know,   but  there  are  many strange
     folk  downriver  of  Ys,   and  many  more  in  her  streets. Everything
       may  be  found  here,   it's  said,   but  even  if  you  lived a
     thousand  years  and  spent  all  your  time  searching  you'd never
     find  it  all.  Even  if  you  came  to  the  end  of  your  searching so
     much  would  have  changed  that  it  would  be  time  to  start all
     over again."
       Yama  smiled  at  the  boy's  babble.  "It  is  the  truth about           j
     my  bloodline  I  have  come  to  discover, "  he  said,   "and fortu-         I
     nately  I  think  I  know  where  to  find it."
       As  they  descended  toward  the  waterfront,   down narrow
     streets  that  were  sometimes  so  steep  that  they  were  little more
     than  flights  of  shallow  steps,   with  every  house  leaning  on the
     shoulder  of  its  neighbor,   Yama  told  Pandaras  something of
     the  circumstances  of  his  birth,   of  what  he  thought  Dr. Dismas
     had  discovered,   and  of  his  journey  to  Ys.  "I  know  the Department
       of  Apothecaries  and  Chirurgeons, "  Pandaras said.
     "It's  no  grand  place,   but  stuck  as  an  afterthought  on the
     lower  levels  of  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the People."
       "Then  I  must  go  there  after  all, "  Yama  said.  "I thought
     I  had  escaped it."
       "The  place  you  want  is  on  the  roof, "  Pandaras  said. "You
     won't  have  to  go  inside,   if  that's  what's  worrying you."
       The  sky  was  beginning  to  brighten  when  Yama  and Pandaras
       reached  the  wide  road  by  the  old  waterfront.  A brace
     of  camels  padded  past,   loaded  with  bundles  of  cloth  and led
     by  a  sleepy  boy,   and  a  few  merchants  were  rolling  up the
     shutters  of  their  stalls  or  lighting  cooking  fires.  On  the 
long
     piers  which  ran  out  to  the  river's  edge  between  shacks raised
     on  a  forest  of  stilts  above  the  wide  mud  flats,   fishermen were
     coiling  ropes  and  taking  down  nets  from  drying  poles and
     folding  them  in  elaborate pleats.
       For  the  first  time,   Yama  noticed  the  extent  of  the riverside
     shanty  town.  The  shacks  crowded  all  the  way  to  the  edge of
     the  floating  docks,   half  a  league  distant,   and  ran  along the
     river  edge  for  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see.  They  were built
     mostly  of  plastic  sheeting  dulled  by  smoke  and weather
     toward  a  universal  gray,   and  roofed  with  tarpaper  or sagging








           canvas.  Channels  brimming  with  thick  brown  water  ran between
             mudbanks  under  the  tangle  of  stilts  and  props. Tethered
           chickens  pecked  amongst  threadbare  grass  on  drier  pieces of
           ground.  Already,   people  were  astir,   washing  clothes  or washing
             themselves,   tending  tiny  cooking  fires,   exchanging gossip.
           Naked  children  of  a  decad  or  more  different bloodlines
           chased  each  other  along  swaybacked  rope walkways.
              Pandaras  explained  that  the  shanty  towns  were  the home
           of  refugees  from  the  war.  "Argosies  go  downriver loaded
           with  soldiers,   and  return  with  these  unfortunates.  They are
           brought  here  before  they  can  be  turned  by  the heretics."
              "Why  do  they  live  in  such squalor?"
              "They  know  no  better,   master.  They  are unchanged
          savages."
              "They  must  have  been  hunters  once,   or  fishermen  or farmers
           .  Is  there  no  room  for  them  in  the  city?  I  think  that  it is
           much  smaller  than  it  once was."
              "Some  of  them  may  go  to  the  empty  quarters,   I suppose, 
           but  most  would  be  killed  by  bandits,   and  besides,   the empty
           quarters  are  no  good  for  agriculture.  Wherever  you  dig there
           are  stones,   and  stones  beneath  the  stones.  The  Department of
           Indigenous  Affairs  likes  to  keep  them  in  one  place,  where
           they  can  be  watched.  They  get  dole  food,   and  a  place to
          live."
              "I  suppose  many  become beggars."
              Pandaras  shook  his  head  vigorously.  "No,   no.  They would
           
be  killed  by  the  professional  beggars  if  they  tried.  They are
           nothing,   master.  They  are  not  even  human  beings.  See how
           they five!"
              In  the  shadows  beneath  the  nearest  of  the  shacks,   beside a
           green,   stagnant  pool,   two  naked  men  were  pulling  pale guts
           from  the  belly  of  a  small  cayman.  A  boy  was  pissing into
           the  water  on  the  other  side  of  the  pool,   and  a  woman was
           dipping  water  into  a  plastic  bowl.  On  a  platform  above,  a
           woman  with  a  naked  baby  on  her  arm  was  crumbling gray
           lumps  of  edible  plastic  into  a  blackened  wok  hung  over a
           tiny  fire.  Beside  her,   a  child  of  indeterminate  age  and sex
           was  listlessly  sorting  through  wilted  cabbage leaves.
              Yama  said,   "It  seems  to  me  that  they  are  an  army drawn
           up  at  the  edge  of  the city.
        "They  are  nothing,   master.  We  are  the  strength  of  the city, 
     as  you  will see."
        Pandaras  chose  a  stall  by  one  of  the  wide  causeways that
     ran  out  to  the  pontoon  docks,   and  hungrily  devoured  a shrimp
     omelette  and  finished  Yama's  leavings  while  Yama warmed
     his  hands  around  his  bowl  of  tea.  In  the  growing  light Yama
     could  see,   three  or  four  leagues  downriver,   the  wall where
     he  and  Prefect  Corin  had  been  taken  yesterday,   a  black line
     rising  above  red  tile  roofs  like  the  back  of  a  sleeping dragon.
     He  wondered  if  the  magistrates'  screens  could  be  turned in
     this  direction.  No,   they  had  set  machines  to  look  for him,    but
     
he  had  dealt  with  them.  For  now  he  was safe.
        Pandaras  called  out  for  more  tea,   and  told  Yama  that there
     was  an  hour  at  least  before  the  money  changers opened.
        Yama  said,   "I  will  make  good  my  debt  to  you,   do not
     worry.  Where  will  you go?"
        "Perhaps  with  you,   master, "  Pandaras  said,   grinning. 441, 11
     help  you  find  your  family.  You  do  not  know  where  you were
     born,   and  wish  to  find  it,   while  I  know  my  birthplace  all too
     well,   and  want  to  escape it."
        The  boy  had  small,   sharp  teeth  all exactly    the  same size.
     Yama  noticed  that  his  black,   pointed  fingernails  were more
     like  claws,   and  that  his  hands,   with  leathery  pads  on their
     palms  and  hooked  thumbs  stuck  stiffly  halfway  up  the wrists, 
     resembled  an  animal's  paws.  He  had  seen  many  of Pandaras's
     bloodline  yesterday,   portering  and  leading  draft  animals and
     carrying  out  a  hundred  other  kinds  of  menial  jobs. The
     strength  of  the city.
        Yama  asked  about  the  caterans  who  had  been  eating  in the
     taproom  of  the  inn,   but  Pandaras  shrugged.  "I  don't know
     them.  They  arrived  only  an  hour  before  you,   and  they'll leave
     this  morning  for  the  Water  Market  by  the  Black Temple, 
     looking  for  people  who  want  to  employ  them.  I  thought that
     you  might  be  one  of  them,   until  you  showed  my master
     the coin."
        "Perhaps  I  am  one,   but  do  not  yet  know  it, "  Yama said, 
     thinking  of  his  vow.  He  knew  that  he  was  still  too  young to
     join  the  army  in  the  usual  way,   but  his  age  would  be  no bar
     to  becoming  an  irregular.  Prefect  Corin  might  think him
     young,   but  he  had  already  killed  a  man  in  close  combat,  and







          had  had  more  adventures  in  the  past  two  decads  than most
          people  could  expect  in  a  lifetime.  He  said,   "Before  we go
          anywhere  else,   take  me  to  the  Water  Market,   Pandaras. I
          want  to  see  how  it  is done."
             "if  you  join  up  then  I'll  go  with  you,   and  be  your squire.
          You've  enough  money  to  buy  a  good  rifle,   or  better  still,  a
          pistol,   and  you'll  need  armor,   too.  I'll  polish  it  bright between
          battles,   and  keep  your  devices clean-"
             Yama  laughed.  "Hush!  You  build  a  whole  fantasy  on a
          single  whim.  I  only  want  to  find  out  about  the  caterans;  I do
          not  yet  want  to  become  one.  After  I  know  more  about where
          I  come  from,   then,   yes,   I  intend  to  enlist  and  help  win the
          war.  My  brother  was  killed  fighting  the  heretics.  I  have made
          a  vow  to  fight  in  his place."
             Pandaras  drained  his  cup  of  tea  and  spat  fragments  of bark
          onto  the  ground.  "We'll  do  the  first  before  the  Castellan  of the
          Twelve  Devotions  sounds  its  noon  gun, "  he  said,   "and the
          second  before  the  Galaxy  rises.  With  my  help,   anything  is possible
          .  But  you  must  forgive  my  prattle.  My  people  love  to talk
          and  to  tell  stories,   and  invent  tall  tales  most  of  all.  No doubt
          you  see  us  as  laborers  little  better  than  beasts  of  burden. 
And
          that  is  indeed  how  we  eam  our  btead  and  beer,   but although
          we  may  be  poor  in  the  things  of  the  world,   we  are  rich  in the
          things  of  imagination  Our  stones  and  songs  are  told  and sung
          by  every  bloodline,   and  a  few  of  us  even  gam  brief  fame as
          jongleurs  to  the  great  houses  and  the  rich  merchants,   or as
          singers  and  musicians  and  storytellers  of  cassette recordings."
             Yama  said,   "It  would  seem  that  with  all  their  talents,  your
          people  deserve  a  better  station  than  they have."
             "Ah,   but  we  do  not  live  long  enough  to  profit  from them.
          No  more  than  twenty  years  is  the  usual;  twenty-five  is almost
          unheard  of.  You're  surprised,   but  that's  how  it  is.  It  is our
          curse  and  our  gift.  The  swiftest  stream  polishes  the pebbles
          smoothest,   as  my  grandfather  had  it,   and  so  with  us.  We live
          brief  but  intense  lives,   for  from  the  pace  of  our  living comes
          our  songs  and stories."
             Yama  said,   "Then  may  I  ask  how  old  you are?"
             Pandaras  showed  his  sharp  teeth.  "You  think  me  your age, 
          I'd  guess,   but  I've  no  more  than  four  years,   and  in another
          I'll  marry.  That  is,   if  I  don't  go  off  adventuring  with you."
        "If  you  could  finish  my  search  in  a  day,   1,   would  be the
     
happiest  man  on  Confluence,   but  I  think  it  will  take longer
     than  that. "
        "A  white  boat  and  a  shining  woman,   and  a  picture  of one
     of  your  ancestors  made  before  the  building  of  Confluence. What
     could  be  more  distinctive?  I'll  make  a  song  of  it  soon enough.
     Besides,   you  said  that  you  know  to  begin  your  search  in the
     records  of  the  Department  of  Apothecaries  and Chinirgeons."
        "If  Dr.  Dismas  did  not  lie.  He  lied  about  much else."
        The  sky  above  the  crowded  rooftops  was  blue  now,  and
     traffic  was  thickening  along  the  road.  Fishing  boats  were moving
     out  past  the  ends  of  the  piers  of  the oating                   russet
     and  tan  sails  bellying  in  the  wind  and  white  birds  flying  in their
     wake  as  they  breasted  the  swell  of  the  morning  tide.  As he
     walked  beside  Pandaras,   Yama  thought  of  the  hundred leagues
     of  docks,   of  the  thousands  of  boats  of  the  vast  fishing fleets
     which  put  out  every  day  to  feed  the  myriad  mouths  of  the city, 
     and  began  to  understand  the  true  extent  of Ys.
        How  could  he  ever  expect  to  find  out  about  his  birth,  or
     of  the  history  of  any  one  man,   in  such  a  mutable throng?
     And  yet,   he  thought,   Dr.  Dismas  had  found  out  something in
     the  records  of  his  department,   and  he  did  not  doubt  that he
     could  find  it  too,   and  perhaps  more.  Freshly  escaped from
     his  adventure  with  the  cateran  and  from  the  fusty  fate the
     Aedile  and  Prefect  Corin  had  wished  upon  him,   Yama felt
     his  heart  rise.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  might  fail in
     his  self-appointed  quest.  He  was,   as  Pandaras  had  pointed out, 
     still  very  young,   and  had  yet  to  fail  in  anything important.
        The  first  money  changer  refused  Yama's  rials  after  a mere
     glance.  The  second,   whose  office  was  in  a  tiny  basement with
     
a  packed  dirt  floor  and  flaking  pink  plaster  walls,   spent a
     long  time  looking  at  the  coins  under  a  magnifying screen, 
     then  scraped  a  fleck  from  one  coin  and  tried  to  dissolve  it in
     a  minim  of  aqua  regia.  The  money  changer  was  a small, 
     scrawny  old  man  almost  lost  in  the  folds  of  his  black silk
     robe.  He  clucked  to  himself  when  the  fleck  of  gold refused
     to  dissolve  even  when  he  heated  the  watchglass,   then motioned
       to  his  impassive  bodyguard,   who  fetched  out  tea bowls
     and  a  battered  aluminium  pot,   and  resumed  his  position at
     the  foot  of  the  steps  up  to  the street.







                 Pandaras  haggled  for  an  hour  with  the  money  changer,  over
              several  pots  of  tea  and  a  plate  of  tiny  honeyeakes  so piercingly
              sweet  that  they  made  Yama's  teeth  ache.  Yama  felt cramped
              and  anxious  in  the  dank  little  basement  with  the  tramp  of feet
              going  to  and  fro  overhead  and  the  bodyguard  blocking  most of
              the  sunlight  that  spilled  down  the  stair,   and  was  relieved when
              at  last  Pandaras  announced  that  the  deal  was done.
                 "We'll  starve  in  a  month,   but  this  old  man  has  a  stone for
              a  heart, "  he  said,   staring  boldly  at  the  money changer.
                 "You  are  quite  welcome  to  take  your  custom elsewhere, "
              the  money  changer  said,   thrusting  his  sharp  face  from the
              fold  of  black  silk  over  his  head  and  giving  Pandaras  a fierce, 
              hawkish  look.  "I'd  say  your  coins  were  stolen,   and  any price
              I  give  you  would  be  fair  enough.  As  it  is,   I  risk  ruining my
              reputation  on  your behalf"
                 "You'll  not  need  to  work  again  for  a  year, " Pandaras
              retorted.  Despite  the  money  changer's  impatience,   he insisted
              on  counting  the  slew  of  silver  and  iron  coins  twice  over. The
              iron  pennies  were  pierced-for  stringing  around  the neck, 
              Pandaras  said.  He  demonstrated  the  trick  with  his  share before
                shaking  hands  with  the  money  changer,   who suddenly
              
smiled  and  wished  them  every  blessing  of  the Preservers.
                 The  street  was  bright  and  hot    after  the  money  changer's basement
              .  The  road  was  busier  than  ever,   and  the  traffic crowding
              its  wide  asphalt  pavement  moved  at  walking  pace.  The  air was
              filled  with  the  noise  of  hooves  and  wheels,   the  shouts  and curses
              of  drivers,   the  cries  of  hawkers  and  merchants,   the  silver notes
              of  whistles  and  the  brassy  clangor  of  bells.  Small  boys darted
              amongst  the  legs  of  beasts  and  men,   collecting  the  dung of
              horses,   oxen  and  camels,   which  they  would  shape  into patties
              and  dry  on  walls  for  fuel  for  cooking  fires.  'Mere  were beggars
              and  thieves,   skyclad  mendicants  and  palmers,   jugglers  and contortionists
              ,   mountebanks  and  magicians,   and  a  thousand other
              wonders,   so  many  that  as  he  walked  along  amongst  the throng
              Yama  soon  stopped  noticing  any  but  the  most  outrageous,  for
              else  he  would  have  gone  mad  with amazement.
                 A  black  dome  had  been  raised  up  amongst  the  masts of
              the  ships  and  the  flat  roofs  of  the  godowns;  at  the  edge of
              the  river,   and  Yama  pointed  to  it.  "That  was  not  there when
              we  first  came  here  this  morning, "  he said.
       "A  voidship, "  Pandaras  said  casually,   and  expressed surprise
       
when  Yama  insisted  that  they  go  and  look  at  it. He
     said,   "It's  just  a  lighter  for  a  voidship  really.  The  ship to
     which  it  belongs  is  too  big  to  make  riverfall  and  hangs beyond
       the  edge  of  Confluence.  It  has  been  there  a  full year
     now,   unloading  its  ores.  The  lighter  will  have  put  in  at the
     docks  for  fresh  food.  It's  nothing special."
       In  any  case,   they  could  not  get  close  to  the  lighter;  the dock
     was  closed  off  and  guarded  by  a  squad  of  soldiers  armed with
     fusiliers  more  suited  to  demolishing  a  citadel  than  keeping away
     sightseers.  Yama  looked  up  at  the  lighter's  smooth  black flank, 
     which  curved  up  to  a  blunt  silver  cap  that  shone  with  white fire
     in  the  sunlight,   and  wondered  at  what  other  suns  it  had seen.
     He  could  have  stood  there  all  day,   filled  with  an undefined
     longmg,   but  Pandaras  took  his  arm  and  steered  him away.
       "It's  dangerous  to  linger, "  the  boy  said.  "The star-sailors
     steal  children,   it's  said,   because  they  cannot  engender their
     own.  If  you  see  one,   you'll  understand.  Most  do  not even
     look  like men."
       As  they  walked  on,   Yama  asked  if  Pandaras  knew  of the
     ship  of  the  Ancients  of Days.
       Pandaras  touched  his  fist  to  his  throat.  "My grandfather
     said  that  he  saw  two  of  them  walking  through  the  streets of
     our  quarter  late  one  night,   but  everyone  in  Ys  alive  at that
     time  claims  as  much."  He  touched  his  fist  to  his  throat and
     added,   "My  grandfather  said  that  they  glowed  the  way the
     river  water  sometimes  glows  on  summer  nights,   and  that they
     stepped  into  the  air  and  walked  away  above  the  rooftops. He
     made  a  song  about  it,   but  when  he  submitted  it  to  the legates
     he  was  arrested  for  heresy,   and  he  died  under  the question."
       The  sun  had  climbed  halfway  to  zenith  by  the  time Yama
     
and  Pandaras  reached  the  Black  Temple  and  the  Water Market.
     The  Black  Temple  had  once  been  extensive,   built  on  its own
     island  around  a  protrusion  or  plug  of  keelrock  in  a  wide deep
     bay,   but  it  had  been  devastated  in  the  wars  of  the  Age of
     Insurrection  and  had  not  been  rebuilt,   and  now  the  falling level
     of  the  Great  River  had  left  it  stranded  in  a  shallow muddy
     lagoon  fringed  with  palm  trees.  The  outline  of  the  temple's inner
     walls  and  a  row  of  half-melted  pillars  stood  amongst  outcrops of
     keelrock  and  groves  of  flame  trees;  the  three  black  circles of







             the  temple's  shrines  glittered  amongst  grassy  swales  where the
             narthex  had  once  stood.  Nothing  could  destroy  the  shrines,  not
             even  the  energies  deployed  in  the  battle  which  had  won back
             Ys  from  the  Insurrectionists,   for  they  were  only  partly  of the
             world  of  material  existence.  Services  were  still  held  at  the Black
             Temple  every  New  Year,   Pandaras  said,   and  Yama  noticed the
             heaps  of  fresh  flowers  and  offerings  of  fruits  before  the shrines.
             Although  most  of  the  avatars  had  disappeared  in  the  Age of
             Insurrection,   and  the  last  had  been  silenced  by  the heretics, 
             people  still  came  to  petition them.
                At  the  mouth  of  the  bay  which  surrounded  the temple's
             small  island,   beyond  wrinkled  mudflats  where  flocks  of white
             ibis  stalked  on  delicate  legs,   on  rafts  and  pontoons and
             barges,   the  Water  Market  was  in  full  swing.  The standards
             of  a  hundred  condottieri  flew  from  poles,   and  there  were a
             dozen  exhibition  duels  under  way,   each  at  the  center  of a
             ring  of  spectators.  There  were  stalls  selling  every  kind of
             weapon,   armorers  sweating  naked  by  their  forges  as they
             repaired  or  reforged  pieces,   provisioners  extolling  the virtue
             of  their  preserved  fare.  A  merchant  blew  up  a  water 
bottle
             and  jumped  up  and  down  on  it  to  demonstrate  its durability.
             Newly  indentured  convicts  sat  in  sullen  groups  on benches
             behind  the  auction  block,   most  sporting  fresh mutilations.
             Galleys,   pinnaces  and  picket  boats  stood  offshore,   their masts
             hung  with  bright  flags  that  flapped  in  the  strong,   hot breeze.
                Yama  eagerly  drank  in  the  bustle  and  the  noise,   the exotic
             costumes  of  the  caterans  and  the  mundane  dove-gray uniforms
             of  regular  soldiers  mingled  together  the  ringing  sound  of the
             weapons  of  the  duelists,   and  the  smell  of  hot  metal  and plastic
             from  the  forges  of  the  armorers.  He  wanted  to  see everything
             the  city  had  to  offer,   to  search  its  great  temples  and  the meanest
             of  its  alleys  and  courts  for  any  sign  of  Ins bloodline.
                As  he  followed  Pandaras  along  a  rickety  gangway between
             two  rafts,   someone  stepped  out  of  the  crowd  and  hailed him.
             His  heart  turned  over.  It  was  the  red-haired  woman  who last
             night  had  sat  eating  with  the  man  he  had  killed.  When she
             saw  that  he  had  heard  her,   she  shouted  again  and  raised her
             naked  sword  above  her head.
                               THE  THING  IN  TIE BOTTLE.
T  P  I  Y  A  R  I  Y  0  U  R  S  by  right  of  arms, "  Tamora,   the red-haired
     cateran,   said.  "The  sword  is  too  long  for  you,   but  I know
     an  armorer  who  can  shorten  and  rebalance  it  so  sweetly you'd
     swear  afterwards  that'show  it  was  first  forged.  The corselet
     
and  the  greaves  can  be  cut  down  to  suit,   and  you  can  sell the
     trimmings.  That  way  it  pays  for  itself.  Old  armor  is expensive
     because  it's  the  best.  Especially  plastic  armor,   because no
     one  knows  how  to  make  the  stuff  anymore.  You  might think
     my  breastplate  is  new,   but  that's  only  because  I  polished it
     this  morning.  It's  a  thousand  years  old  if  it's  a  day,   but even
     if  it's  better  than  most  of  the  clag  they  make  these  days,  it's
     still  only  steel.  But,   see,   these  greaves  are  real  old.  I could
     have  taken  them,   but  that  wouldn't  be  right.  Everyone says
     we're  vagabonds  and  thieves,   but  even  if  we  don't  belong to
     any  department,   we  have  our  traditions.  So  these  are your
     responsibility  now.  You  won  them  by  right  of  arms.  You can
     do  what  you  want  with  them.  Throw  them  in  the  river  if you
     want,   but  it  would  be  a  fucking  shame  if  you did."
        "She  wants  you  to  give  them  back  to  her  as  a  reward for
     giving  them  to  you, "  Pandaras said.
        "I  talk  to  the  master, "  Tamora  said,   "not  his fool."
        Pandaras  struck  an  attitude.  "I  am  his squire."






           "I  was  the  fool, "  Yama  said  to  Tamora,   "and because
        I  was  a  fool  your  friend  died.  That  is  why  I  cannot take
        his things."
           Tamora  shrugged.  "Cyg  was  no  friend  of  mine,   and  as far
        as  I'm  concerned  he  was  the  fool,   getting  himself  killed by
        a  scrap  of  a  thing  like  you.  Why,   you're  so  newly hatched
        you  probably  still  have  eggshell  stuck  to  your back."
           Pandaras  said,   "If  this  is  to  be  your  career,   then  you must
        arm  yourself  properly,   master.  As  your  squire,   I  strongly suggest
         it."
           "Squire,   is  it?"  Tamora  cracked  open  another  oyster with
        her  strong,   ridged  fingernails,   slurped  up  the  flesh  and wiped
        her  mouth  with  the  back  of  her  hand.  The  cateran's bright
        red  hair,   which  Yama  suspected  was  dyed,   was  cut  short over
        her  skull,   with  a  long  fringe  in  the  back  that  fell  to her
        shoulders.  She  wore  her  steel  breastplate  over  a  skirt made
        of  leather  strips  and  a  mesh  shirt  which  left  her muscular
        arms  bare.  There  was  a  tattoo  of  a  bird  sitting  on  a  nest of
        flames  on  the  tawny  skin  of  her  upper  arm,   the  flames  in red
        ink,   the  bird,   its  wings  outstretched  as  if  drying  them  in the
        fire  which  was  consuming  it,   in blue.
           They  were  sitting  in  the  shade  of  an  umbrella  at  a table
        by  a  food  stall  on  the  waterfront,   near  the  causeway  that led
        from  the  shore  to  the  island  of  the  Black  Temple.  It was
        
sunstruck  noon.  The  owner  of  the  stall  was  sitting  under the
        awning  by  the  ice-chest,   listening  with  half-closed  eyes  to a
        long  antiphonal  prayer  burbling  from  the  cassette recorder
        under  his chair.
           Tamora  squinted  against  the  silver  light  that  burned  off the
        wet  mudflats.  She  had  a  small,   triangular,   feral  face,  with
        green  eyes  and  a  wide  mouth  that  stretched  to  the  hinges of
        her  jaw.  Her  eyebrows  were  a  single  brick-red  rope;  now the
        rope  dented  in  the  middle  and  she  said,   "Caterans  don't have
        squires.  That's  for  regular  officers,   and  their  squires  are appointed
          from  the  common  ranks.  This  boy  has  leeched onto
        you,   Yama.  I'll  get  rid  of  him  if  you want."
           Yama  said,   "It  is  just  a  joke  between  the  two  of us."
           "I  am  his  squire, "  Pandaras  insisted.  "My  master  is of
        noble  birth.  He  deserves  a  train  of  servants,   but  I'm  so good
        he  needs  no other."
         Yama laughed.
         Tamora  squinted  at  Pandaras.  "You  people  are  all  the same
       to  me,   like  fucking  rats  running  around  underfoot,   but  I could
       swear  you're  the  pot  boy  of  the  crutty  inn  where  I  stayed the
       night."  She  told  Yama,   "If  I  was  more  suspicious,   I might
       suspect  a plot."
         "If  there  was  a  plot,   it  was  between  your  friend  and the
       landlord  of  the inn."
         
"Grah.  I  suspected  as  much.  If  I  survive  my  present job, 
       and  there's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't,   then  I'll  have words
       with  that  rogue.  More  than  words,   in fact."
         Tamora's  usual  expression  was  a  sullen,   suspicious pout, 
       but  when  she  smiled  her  face  came  to  life,   as  if  a  mask had
       suddenly  dropped,   or  the  sun  had  come  out  from  behind a
       cloud.  She  smiled  now,   as  if  at  the  thought  of  her revenge.
       Her  upper  incisors  were  long  and  stout  and  sharply pointed.
         Yama  said,   "He  did  not  profit  from  his treachery."
         Pandaras  kicked  him  under  the  table  and frowned.
         Tamora  said,   "I'm  not  after  your  fucking  money,   or else
       I  would  have  taken  it  already.  I  have  just  now  taken  on a
       new  job,   so  be  quick  in  making  up  your  mind  on  how you'll
       dispose  of  what  is  due  to  you  by  right  of  arms.  As  I said
       before,   you  can  throw  it  in  the  river  or  leave  it  for  the scavengers
         if  you  want,   but  it's  good gear."
         Yama  picked  up  the  sword.  Its  broad  blade  was  iron and
       had  seen  a  lot  of  use.  Its  nicked  edge  was  razor  sharp. The
       hilt  was  wound  with  bronze  wire;  the  pommel  an unornamented
         plastic  ball,   chipped  and  dented.  He  held  the blade
       up  before  his  face,   then  essayed  a  few  passes.  The  cut  on his
       forearm  stickily  parted  under  the  crude  bandage  he  had tied
       and  he  put  the  sword  down.  No  one  sitting  at  the tables
       around  the  stall  had  looked  at  the  display,   although  he had
       hoped  that  they would.
         He  said,   "I  have  a  knife  that  serves  me  well  enough,  and
       the  sword  is  made  for  a  strong  unsubtle  man  more  used to
       hewing  wood  than  fighting  properly.  Find  a  woodsman and
       
give  it  to  him  although  I  suspect  he  would  rather  keep his
       axe.  But  I  will  take  the  armor.  As  you  say,   old  armor is
       the best."
         "Well,   at  least  you  know  something  about  weapons, " Ta-






         mora  said  grudgingly.  "Are  you  here  looking  for  hire?  If so, 
         I'll  give  some  advice  for  free.  Come  back  tomorrow,  early.
         That's  when  the  best  jobs  are  available.  Condottieri  like a
         soldier  who  can  rise early."
            "I  had  thought  to  watch  a  duel  or  two, "  Yama said.
            "Grab.  Exhibition  matches  between  oiled  cornfed  oafs who
         wouldn't  last  a  minute  in  real  battle.  Do  you  think  we fight
         with  swords  against  the  fucking  heretics?  The  matches draw
         people  who  would  otherwise  not  come,   that's  all.  They get
         drunk  with  recruiting  sergeants  and-the  next  day  find them
         selves  indentured  in  the  army,   with  a  hangover  and  the taste
         of  the  oath  like  a  copper  penny  in  their mouth."
            "I  am  not  here  to  join  the  army.  Perhaps  I  will  become a
         cateran  eventually,   but  not yet."
            "He's  looking  for  his  people, "  Pandaras said.
            It  was  Yama's  turn  to  kick  under  the  table.  It  was greenpainted
           tin,   with  a  bamboo  and  paper  umbrella.  He  said,  "I
         am  looking  for  certain  records  in  one  of  the departmental
        libraries."
            Tamora  swallowed  the  last  oyster  and  belched.  "Then sign
         up  with  the  department.  Better  still,   join  the  fucking archivists
         .  After  ten  years'  apprenticeship  you  might  just  be sent
         to  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People;  more  likely you'll
         be  sent  to  listen  to  the  stories  of  unchanged  toads squatting
         in  some  mudhole.  But  that's  a  better  chance  than  trying to
         bribe  your  way  into  their  confidence.  They're  a  frugal lot, 
         
and  besides,   if  any  one  of  them  was  caught  betraying his
         duty  he'd  be  executed  on  the  spot.  The  same  penalty applies
         to  any  who  try  to  bribe  them.  Those  records  are  all that
         remains  of  the  dead,   kept  until  they're  resurrected  at  the end
         of  time.  It's  serious  shit  to  even  look  at  them  the wrong
         way.   I
            "The  Puranas  say  that  the  Preservers  need  no  records,  for
         at  the  end  of  time  an  infinite  amount  of  energy becomes
         available.  In  the  last  instant  as  the  Universe  falls  into itself
         all  is  possible,   and  everyone  who  ever  lived  or  ever could
         have  lived  will  live  again  forever,   in  that  eternal  now. Besides
         ,   the  records  I  am  looking  for  are  not  in  the  Palace of
         the  Memory  of  the  People,   but  in  the  archives  of  the Department
           of  Apothecaries  and Chirurgeons."
          "That's  more  or  less  the  same  place.  On  the  roof rather
       than  inside,   that's all."
          "Just  as  I  told  you,   master, "  Pandaras  said.  "You don't
       need  her  to  show  you  what  I  already know.'
          Tamora  ignored  him.  "Their  records  are  maintained by
       archivists,   too.  Unless  you're  a  sawbones  or  a sawbones'
       runner,   you  can  forget  about  it.  It's  the  same  in  all  the departments
       .  The  truth  is  expensive  and  difficult  to  keep  pure,  and
       so  getting  at  it  without  proper  authority  is  dangerous." Tamora
         smiled.  "But  that  doesn't  mean  that  there  aren't ways
       of  getting  at it."
          Pandaras  said,   "She  is  baiting  a  hook.  Be careful."
          Yama  said to     Tamora,   "Tell  me  this.  You  have fought
       against  the  heretics--that  is  what  the  tattoo  on  your arm
       
implies,   anyway.  In  all  your  travels,   have  you  ever  seen any
       other  men  and  women  like me?"
          "I  fought  in  two  campaigns,   and  in  the  last  I  was  so badly
       wounded  that  I  took  a  year  recovering.  When  I'm  fit  I'll go
       again.  It's  better  pay  than  bodyguard  or  pickup  work. and
       more  honorable,   although  honor  has  little  to  do  with  it when
       you're  there.  No,   I  haven't  seen  anyone  like  you,   but it
       doesn't  signify.  There  are  ten  thousand  bloodlines  on Confluence
       ,   not  counting  all  those  hill  tribes  of  indigens,  who
       are  little  more  than animals."
          "Then  you  see  how  hard  I  must  search, "  Yama said.
          Tamora.  smiled.  It  seemed  to  split  her  face  in  half. "How
       much  will  you pay?"
         "Master--2'
          "All  I  have.  I  changed  two  gold  rials  for  smaller coins
       this  morning.  It  is  yours,   if  you  help me."
          Pandaras  whistled  and  looked  up  at  the  blue sky.
          "Grah.  Against  death,   that  is  not  so much."
          Yama  said,   "Do  they  guard  the  records  with  men,  or
       with machines?"
          "Why,   mostly  machines  of  course.  As  I  said,   the records
       of  any  department  are  important.  Even  the  poorest departments
         guard  their  archives  carefully-often  their  archives are
       all  they  have left."
          "Well,   it  might  be  easier  than  you suppose."
          Tainora  stared  at  Yama.  He  met  her  luminous  green gaze






       and  for  a  long  moment  the  rest  of  the  world  melted away.
       Her  pupils  were  vertical  slits  edged  with  closely crowded
       dots  of  golden  pigment  that  faded  to  copper  at  the periphery.
       Yama  imagined  drowning  in  that  green-gold  gaze,   as  a luckless
         fisherman  might  drown  in  the  Great  River's  flood.  It was
       the  heart-stopping  gaze  that  a  predator  turns  upon  its prey.
          Tamora's  voice  said  from  far  away,   "Before  I  help you, 
       if  I  do  help  you,   you  must  prove yourself."
          Yama  said  faintly,  "How?"
          "Don't  trust  her, "  Pandaras  said.  "If  she  really wanted
       the  job,   she'd  have  asked  for  all  your  money.  There  are plenty
       like  her.  If  we  threw  a  stone  in  any  direction,   we'd  hit at
       least two."
          Tamora  said,   "In  a  way,   you  owe  it  to me."
          Yama  was  still  looking  into  Tamora's  gaze.  He  said,  "Cyg
       was  going  to  partner  you,   I  think.  Now  I  know  why you
       came  here.  You  were  not  looking  for  me,   but  for  a replacement
       .  Well,   what  would  you  have  me do?"
          Tamora  pointed  over  his  shoulder.  He  turned,   and  saw the
       black,   silver-capped  dome  of  the  voidship  lighter  rising beyond
         the  flame  trees  of  the  island  of  the  Black  Temple. The
       cateran  said,   "We  have  to  bring  back  a  star-sailor who
       jumped ship."
          They  sold  the  sword  to  an  armorer  for  rather  more  than Yama
       expected,   and  left  the  corselet  and  the  greaves  with  the same
       man  to  be  cut  down.  Tamora  insisted  that  Yama  get  his wounds
       treated  by  one  of  the  leeches  who  had  set  up  their  stalls near
       the  duelling  arena,   and  Yama  sat  and  watched  two  men fence
       with  chainsaws  ("Showboat  juggling, "  Taniora  sneered) while
       the  cut  on  his  forearm  was  stitched,   painted  with  blue  
gel and
       neatly  bandaged.  The  shallow  cut  on  Yama's  palm  should be
       left  to  heal  on  its  own,   the  leech  said,   but  Tamora  made him
       bandage  it  anyway,   saying  that  the  bandage  would  help Yama
       grip  his  knife.  She  bought  Pandaras  a  knife  with  a  long diin
       round  blade  and  a  fingerguard  chased  with  a chrysanthemum
       flower;  it  was  called  a  kidney puncher.
          "Suitable  for  sneaking  up  on  someone  in  the  dark, " Ta-
        mora  said.  "If  you  stand  on  tiptoe,   rat-boy,   you  should be
        able  to  reach  someone's  vitals  with this."
          Pandaras  flexed  the  knife's  blade  between  two clumsy, 
        clawed  fingers,   licked  it  with  his  long,   pink  tongue,  then
        tacked  it  in  his  belt.  Yama  told  him,   "You  do  not  have to
        follow  me.  I  killed  the  man  who  would  have  helped  her,  and
        it  is  only  proper  that  I  should  take  his  place.  But  there  is no
        need  for  you  to come."
          "Well  put, "  Tamora said.
          Pandaras  showed  his  small  sharp  teeth.  "Who  else would
        watch  your  back,   master?  Besides,   I  have  never  been aboard
        a voidship."
          One  of  the  guards  escorted  them  across  the  wharf  to the
        voidship  lighter.  Cables  and  flexible  plastic  hoses  lay everywhere
        ,   like  a  tangle  of  basking  snakes.  Laborers,   nearly naked
        in  the  hot  sunlight,   were  winclung  a  cavernous  pipe  toward an
        opening  which  had  dilated  in  the  lighter's  black  hull.  An ordinary
          canvas  and  bamboo  gangway  angled  up  to  a smaller
       
entrance.
          Yama  felt  a  distinct  pressure  sweep  over  his  skin  as,  following
          Tamora  up  the  gangway,   he  ducked  beneath the
        port's  rim.  Inside,   a  passageway  sloped  away  to  the left, 
        curving  as  it  rose  so  that  its  end  could  not  be  seen. Yama
        supposed  that  it  spiralled  around  the  inside  of  the  hull of
        the  lighter  like  the  track  a  maggot  leaves  in  a  fruit.  It was
        circular  in  cross-section,   and  lit  by  a  soft  directionless red
        light  that  seemed  to  hang  in  the  air  like  smoke. Although
        the  lighter's  black  hull  radiated  the  day's  heat,   inside  it was
        as  chilly  as  the  mountain  garden  of  the  curators  of  the City
        of  the Dead.
          Another  guard  waited  inside.  He  was  a  short,   thickset man
        with  a  bland  face  and  a  broad,   humped  back.  His  head was
        shaven,   and  ugly  red  scars  criss-crossed  his  scalp.  He wore
        a  many-pocketed  waistcoat  and  loose-fitting  trousers,   and did
        not  appear  to  be  armed.  He  told  them  to  keep  to  the middle
        of  the  passageway,   not  to  touch  anything,   and  not  to  talk to
        any  voices  which  might  challenge them.






          "I've  been  here  before, "  Tamora  said.  She  seemed subdued
          in  the  red  light  and  the  chill  air  of  the passageway.
          "I  remember  you, "  the  guard  said,   "and  I  remember  a man
        with  only  one  eye,   but  I  do  not  remember  your companions."
          "My  original  partner  ran  into  something  unexpected. But
        I'm  here,   as  I  said  I  would  be,   and  I  vouch  for  these two.
        Lead  on.  This  place  is  like  a tomb."
          "It  is  older  than  any  tomb, "  the  guard said.
          They  climbed  around  two  turns  of  the  passageway. Groups
        of  colored  lights  were  set  at  random  in  the  black  stuff which
        sheathed  the  walls  and  ceiling  and  floor.  The  floor  gave softly
        beneath  Yama's  boots,   and  there  was  a  faint  vibration  in the
        red-lit  air,   so  low-pitched  that  he  felt  it  more  in  his bones
        than  in  his ears.
          The  guard  stopped  and  pressed  his  palm  against  the wall, 
        and  the  black  stuff  puckered  and  pulled  back  with  a grating
        noise.  Ordinary  light  flooded  through  the  orifice,  which
        opened  onto  a  room  no  more  than  twenty  paces  across and
        ringed  round  with  a  narrow  window  that  looked  out  across the
        roofs  of  the  city  in  one  direction  and  the  glittering  expanse of
        the  Great  River  in  the  other.  Irregular  clusters  of colored
        lights  depended  from  the  ceiling  like  stalactites  in  a cave, 
        and  a  thick-walled  glass  bottle  hung  from  the  ceiling  in the
        middle  of  the  clusters  of  lights,   containing  some  kind  of red
        and  white  blossom  in  turgid liquid.
          
Yama  whispered  to  Tamora,   "Where  is  the captain?"
          He  had  read  several  of  the  old  romances  in  the  library of
        the  peel-house,   and  expected  a  tall  man  in  a  crisp,  archaic
        uniform,   with  sharp,   bright  eyes  focused  on  the  vast distances
        between  stars,   and  skin  tanned  black  with  the  fierce  light of
        alien suns.
          Pandaras  snickered,   but fell   silent  when  the  guard looked
        at him.
          The  guard  said,   "There  is  no  captain  except  when  the crew
        meld,   but  the  pilot  of  this  vessel  will  talk  with you."
          Tamora  said,   "The  same  one  I  talked  with  two  days ago?"
          "Does  it  matter?"  the  guard  said.  He  pulled  a  golden circlet
          from  one  of  his  pockets  and  set  it  on  his  scarred scalp.
        At  once,   his  body  stiffened.  His  eyes  blinked,   each  to  a differ
        ent  rhythm,   and  his  mouth  opened  and closed.
J        Tamora  stepped  up  to  him  and  said,   "Do  you  know who
       I am?"
         The  guard's  mouth  hung  open.  Spittle  looped  between his
       lips.  His  tongue  writhed  behind  his  teeth  like  a wounded
       snake  and  his  breath  came  out  as  a  hiss  that  slowly shaped
       itself  into  a word.
        "Yessss."
         Pandaras  nudged  Yama  and  indicated  the  bottled blossom
       with  a  crooked  thumb.  "There's  the  star-sailor, "  he said.
       "It's  talking  through  the guard."
         Yama  looked  more  closely  at  the  thing  inside  the bottle.
       What  he  had  thought  were  fleshy  petals  of  some  exotic flower
       were  the  lobes  of  a  mande  that  bunched  around  a  core woven
       of  pink  and  gray  filaments.  Feathery  gills  rich  with  red blood
       waved  slowly  to  and  fro  in  the  thick  liquid  in  which they
       
were  suspended.  It  was  a  little  like  a  squid,   but  instead of
       tentacles  it  had  white,   many-branching  fibers  that disappeared
       into  the  base  of  its bottle.
         Pandaras  whispered,   "Nothing  but  a  nervous system.
       That's  why  it  needs puppets."
         The  guard  jerked  his  head  around  and  stared  at  Yama and
       Pandaras.  His  eyes  were  no  longer  blinking  at  different rates, 
       but  the  pupil  of  the  left  eye  was  much  bigger  than  that of
       the  right.  Speaking  with  great  effort,   as  if  forcing  the words
       around  pebbles  lodged  in  his  throat,   he  said,   "You  told me
       you  would  bring  only  one other."
         Tamora  said,   "The  taller  one,   yes.  But  he  has  brought his
      ... servant."
         Pandaras  stepped  forward  and  bowed  low  from  the waist.
       "I  am  Yama's  squire.  He  is  a  perfect  master  of fighting.
       Only  this  night  past  he  killed  a  man,   an  experienced fighter
       better  armed  than  he,   who  thought  to  rob  him  while  he slept."
         The  star-sailor  said  through  its  puppet,   "I  have  not seen
       the  bloodline  for  a  long  time,   but  you  have  chosen  well. He
       has  abilities  you  will  find useful."
         Yama  stared  at  the  thing  in  the  bottle,   shocked  to  the core.
         Tamora  said,   "Is  that so?"
         "I  scanned  all  of  you  when  you  stepped  aboard. This
       one-"  the  guard  slammed  his  chest  with  his  open hand
        -will  see  to  the  contract,   following  local  custom.  It  will be






      best  to  return  with  the  whole  body,   but  if  it  is  badly damaged
      then  you  must  bring  a  sample  of  tissue.  A  piece  the  size of
      your  smallest  finger  will  be  sufficient.  You  remember  what I
      told YOU. 19
         Yama  said,   "Wait.  You  know  my bloodline?"
         Tamora  ignored  him.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  recited,   " 'It
      will  be  lying  close  to  the  spine.  The  host  must  be mutilated
      to  obliterate  all  trace  of  occupation.  Burn  it  if  possible.' "
      She  opened  her  eyes.  "Suppose  we're  caught?  What  do we
      tell  the magistrates?"
         "If  you  are  caught  by  your  quarry,   you  will  not  live to
      tell  the  magistrates anything."
         "He'll  know  you  sent us."
         "And  we  will  send  others,   if  you  fail.  I  trust  you  will not."
         "You  know  my  bloodline, "  Yama  said.  "How  do you
      know  my bloodline?"
         Pandaras  said,   "We  aren't  the  first  to  try  this,   are we?"
         "There  was  one  attempt  before, "  Tamora  said.  "It failed.
      That  is  why  we're  being  so  well paid."
         The  guard  said,   "If  you succeed."
         "Grah.  You  say  I  have  a  miracle  worker  with  me. Of
      course  we'll succeed."
         The  guard  was  groping  for  the  circlet  on  his  head. Yama
      said  quickly,   "No!  I  want  you  to  tell  me  how  you know
      my  bloodline I"
         The  guard's  head  jerked  around.  "We  thought  you all
      dead, "  he  said,   and  pulled  the  circlet  from  his  scalp.  
He fell
      to  his  knees  and  retched  up  a  mouthful  of  yellow  bile which
      was  absorbed  by  the  black  floor,   then  got  to  his  feet and
      wiped  his  mouth  on  the  sleeve  of  his  tunic.  He  said  in his
      own  voice,   "Was  it agreed?"
         Tamora  said,   "You'll  make  the  contract,   and  we  put our
      thumbs  to it."
         "Outside, "  the  guard said.
         Yama  said,   "He  knew  who  I  was!  I  must  talk  with him!"
         The  guard  got  between  Yama  and  the  bottled star-sailor.
      He  said,   "Perhaps  when  you return."
         "We  should  get  started  straightaway, "  Tamora  said. "It's
      a  long  haul  to  the estate."
         The  door  ground  open.  Yama  looked  at  the  star-sailor in
      its  bottle,   and  said,   "I  will  return,   and  with  many questions."
                                                               1ACRINO.
W  H  E  N  T 0   6  1  A  N  T  guard  went  past  the  other  side  of  the gate
       for  the  third  time,   Tamora  said,   "Every  four  hundred heartbeats
       .  You  could  boil  an  egg  by him."
          She  lay  beside  Yama  and  Pandaras  under  a  clump  of thorny
       bushes  in  the  shadows  beyond  the  fierce  white  glare  of  a battery
       of  electric  arc  lamps  that  crackled  at  the  top  of  the  wall.  The gate
       was  a  square  lattice  of  steel  bars  set  in  a  high  wall  of  fused rock, 
       polished  as  smoothly  as  black  glass.  The  wall  stretched away
       into  the  darkness  on  either  side,   separated  from  the  dry scrub
       by  a  wide  swathe  of  barren  sandy soil.
          Yama  said,   "I  still  think  we  should  go  over  the  wall somewhere
         else.  The  rest  of  the  perimeter  cannot  be  as heavily
       guarded  as  the gate."
          
"The  gate  is  heavily  guarded  because  it's  the  weakest part
       of  the  wall, "  Tamora  said.  "That's  why  we're  going in
       through  it.  The  guard  is  a  man.  Doesn't  look  it,   but  he is.
       He  decides  who  to  let  in  and  who  to  keep  out. Elsewhere, 
       the  guards  will  be  machines  or  dogs.  They'll  kill without
       thinking  and  do  it  so  quick  you  won't  know  it  until  you find
       yourself  in  the  hands  of  the  Preservers.  Listen.  After the
       guard  goes  past  again,   I'll  climb  the  wall,   kill  him,   and open
       the  gates  to  let  you in."






             "If  he  raises  the alarm-"
             "He  won't  have  time  for  that, "  Tamora  said,   and showed
          her teeth.
             "Those  won't  do  any  good  against  armor, "  Pandaras said.
             "They'll  snap  off  your  head  if  you  don't  swallow your
          tongue.  Be  quiet.  This  is  warrior work."
             They  were  all  tired  and  on  edge.  It  had  been  a  long journey
          from  the  waterfront.  Although  they  had  traveled  most  of the
          distance  in  a  public  calash,   they  had  had  to  walk  the final
          three  leagues.  The  merchant's  estate  was  at  the  top  of  one of
          a  straggling  range  of  hills  that,   linked  by  steep scrub-covered
          ridges,   rose  like  worn  teeth  at  the  edge  of  the  city's wide
          basin.  An  age  ago,   the  hills  had  been  part  of  the  city. As
          Yama,   Tamora  and  Pandaras  had  climbed  through  dry,  fragrant
            pine  woods,   they  had  stumbled  upon  an  ancient paved
          street  and  the  remains  of  the  buildings  which  had  once lined
          it  They  had  rested  there  until  just  after  sunset.  Yama and
          Pandaras  had  eaten  the  raisin  cakes  they  had  bought hours
          before,   while  Tamora  had  prowled  impatiently  amongst the
          ruins,   wolfing  strips  of  dried  meat  and  snicking  off  the fluffy
          seeding  heads  of  fireweed  with  her rapier.
             The  merchant  who  owned  the  estate  was  a  star-sailor who
          had  jumped  ship  the  last  time  it  -had  lain  off  the  edge of
          Confluence,   over  forty  years  ago.  He  had  amassed  his wealth
          
by  surreptitious  deployment  of  technologies  whose  use was
          forbidden  outside  the  voidships.  For  that  alone,   quite apart
          from  the  crime  of  desertion,   he  had  been  sentenced  to death
          by  his  crewmates,   but  they  had  no  jurisdiction  outside their
          ship  and,   because  of  the  same  laws  which  the  merchant had
          violated,   could  not  use  their  powers  to  capture him.
             Tamora  was  the  second  cateran  hired  to  carry  out  the sentence
          .  The  first  had  not  returned,   and  was  presumed  to have
          been  killed  by  the  merchant's  guards.  Yama  thought  that this
          put  them  at  a  disadvantage,   since  the  merchant  would be
          expecting  another  attack,   but  Tamora  said  it  made no
         difference.
             "He  has  been  expecting  this  ever  since  his  old  ship returned
          .  That's  why  he  has  retreated  to  this  estate,   which has
          better  defenses  than  the  compound  he  maintains  in  the city.
          We're  lucky  there  aren't  patrols  outside  the walls."
         In  fact,   Yama  had  already  asked  several  machines  to ignore
       them  as  they  had  toiled  up  the  hill  through  the  pine woods, 
       but  he  did  not  point  this  out.  There  was  an  advantage in
       being  able  to  do  something  no  one  suspected  was possible.
       He  already  owed  his  life  to  this  ability,   and  it  was  to his
       benefit  to  have  Tamora  believe  that  he  had  killed  the cateran
       by  force  of  arms  rather  than  by  lucky  sleight  of hand.
         Now,   crouched  between  Tamora  and  Pandaras  in  the dry
       brush,   Yama  could  faintly  sense  other  machines  beyond the
       high  black  wall,   but  they  were  too  far  away  to  count,  let
       
alone  influence.  He  was  dry-mouthed,   and  his  hands  had a
       persistent  uncontrollable  tremor.  All  his  adventures  with Telmon
         had  been  childhood  games  without  risk,   inadequate preparation
         for  the  real  thing.  His  suggestion  to  try  another part
       of  the  wall  was  made  as  much  from  the  need  to  delay the
       inevitable  as  to  present  an  alternative strategy.
         Pandaras  said,   "I  have  an  idea.  Master,   lend  me your
       satchel,   and  that  book  you  were reading."
         Tamora  said  fiercely,   "Do  as  I  say.  No  more,   no less."
         "I  can  have  the  guard  open  the  gates  for  me, " Pandaras
       said.  "Or  would  you  rather  break  your  teeth  on  steel bars?"
         "If  you  insist  that  we  have  to  go  through  the  gate, " Yama
       told  Tamora,   as  he  emptied  out  his  satchel,   "at  least we
       should  listen  to  his idea."
         "Grah.  Insist?  I  tell  you  what  to  do,   and  you  do  it. This
       is  not  a  democracy. Wait!"
         But  Pandaras  stood  up  and,   with  Yaina's  satchel slung
       around  his  neck,   stepped  out  into  the  middle  of  the asphalt
       road  which  ran  through  the  gateway.  Tamora  hissed  in frustration
         as  the  boy  walked  into  the  glare  of  the  arc  lights,  and
       Yama  told  her,   "He  is  cleverer  than  you think."
         "He'll  be  dead  in  a  moment,   clever  or not."
         Pandaras  banged  on  the  gate.  A  bell  trilled  in  the distance
       and  dogs  barked  closer  at  hand.  Yama  said,   "Did  you know
       there  were dogs?"
         "Grah.  Dogs  are  nothing.  It  is  easy  to  kill dogs."
         Yama  was  not  so  sure.  Any  one  of  the  watchdogs  of the
       peel-house  could  bring  down  an  ox  by  clamping  its powerful
       jaws  on  the  windpipe  of  its  victim  and  strangling  it--and to






           judge  by  the  volume  and  ferocity  of  the  barking  there were
           at  least  a  dozen  dogs  beyond  the gate.
             The  guard  appeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate.  in his
           augmented  armor,   painted  scarlet  as  if  dipped  in  fresh blood, 
           he  was  more  than  twice  Pandaras's  height.  His  eyes  were red
           embers  that  glowed  in  the  shadow  beneath  the  bill  of his
           flared  helmet.  Energy  pistols  mounted  on  his shoulders
           trained  their  muzzles  on  Pandaras  and  the  guard's amplified
           bass  voice  boomed  and  echoed  in  the gateway.
             Pandaras  stood  his  ground.  He  held  up  the  satchel and
           opened  it  and  showed  it  to  the  guard,   then  took  out  the book
           and  flipped  through  its  pages  in  an  exaggerated pantomime.
           The  guard  reached  through  the  gate's  steel  lattice,   his arm
           extending  more  than  a  man's  arm  should  reach,   but Pandaras
           danced  backward  and  put  the  book  back  in  the  satchel and
           folded  his  arms  and  shook  his  head  from  side  to side.
             The  guard  conferred  with  himself  in  a  booming  mutter of
           subsonics;  then  the  red  dots  of  his  eyes  brightened  and  a bar
           of  intense  red  light  swept  up  and  down  Pandaras.  The red
           light  winked  out  and  with  a  clang  the  gate  sprang  open a
           fraction.  Pandaras  slipped  through  the  gap.  The  gate slammed
           shut  behind  him  and  he  followed  the  monstrously  tall guard
           into  the  shadows beyond, 
             
"He's  brave,   your  fool, "  Tamora  remarked,   "but he's
           even  more  of  a  fool  than  I  thought possible."
                   us  wait  and  see, "  Yama  said,   although  he  did not
           really  believe  that  the  pot  boy  could  do  anything  against thearmored
             giant.  He  was  as  astonished  as  Tamora  when,   a few
           mmutes  later,   the  dogs  began  to  bark  again,   the  gate clanged
           open,   and  Pandaras  appeared  in  the  gap  and  beckoned to
          them.
             The  giant  guard  sprawled  on  his  belly  in  the  roadway a
           little  way  beyond  the  gate.  His  helmet  was  turned  to one
           side,   and  one  of  his  arms  was  twisted  behind  him,   as  if he
           was  trying  to  reach  something  on  his  back.  Yama  knew that
           the  guard  was  dead,   but  he  could  feel  a  glimmer  of machine
           intelligence  in  the  man's  skull,   as  if  something  still lived
           there,   gazing  with  furious  impotence  through  its  host's dead
          eyes.
             Pandaras  returned  Yama's  satchel  with  a  flourish,  and
      Yama  stuffed  his  belongings  into it.       Tamora  kicked the
      guard's  scarlet  cuirass,   then  turned  on Pandaras.
         "Tell  me  how  you  did  it  later, "  she  said.  "Now  we must
      silence  the  dogs.  You're  lucky  they  weren't  set  on you."
         Pandaras  caMy  stared  up  at  her.  "A  harmless messenger
      like me?"
         "Don't  be  so  fucking cute."
         "Let  me  deal  with  the  dogs, "  Yama said.
         
"Be  quick, "  Pandaras  said.  "Before  I  killed  him,  the
      guard  sent  for  someone  to  escort  me  to  the house."
         The  dogs  were  baying  loudly,   and  other  dogs answered
      them  from  distant  parts  of  the  grounds.  Yama  found  the kennel
        to  the  left  of  the  gate,   cut  into  the  base  of  the wall.
      Several  dogs  thrust  their  snouts  through  the  kennel's barred
      door  with  such  ferocity  that  their  skull  caps  and  the machines
      embedded  in  their  shoulders  struck  sparks  from  the  iron bars.
      They  howled  and  whined  and  snapped  in  a  ferocious tumult, 
      and  it  took  Yama  several  minutes  to  calm  them  down  to a
      point  where  he  could  ask  them  to  speak  with  their fellows
      and  assure  them  that  nothing  was wrong.
         "Go  to  sleep, "  he  told  the  dogs,   once  they  had  passed on
      the  message,   and  then  he  ran  back  to  the road.
         Tamora  and  Pandaras  had  rolled  the  guard  under  the partial
      cover  of  a  stand  of  moonflower  bushes  beside  the  road. Tamora
        had  stripped  the  guard's  heavy  pistols  from  their shoulder
        mountings.  She  handed  one  to  Yama  and  showed him
      how  to  press  two  contact  plates  together  to  make  it fire.
          I  should  have  one  of  those, "  Pandaras  said.  "Right of
      arms,   and  all that."
         Tamora  showed  her  teeth.  "You  killed  a  man  in  full powered
        armor  twice  your  height  and  armed  with  both  of these
      pistols.  I'd  say  you  are  dangerous  enough  with  that kidney
      puncher  I  chose  for  you.  Follow  me,   if  you can!"
         She  threw  herself  into  the  bushes,   and  Yama  and Pandaras
      ran  after  her,   thrashing  through  drooping  branches  laden with
      white,   waxy  blossoms.  Tamora  and  Pandaras  quickly outpaced
        Yama,   but  Pandaras  could  not  sustain  his  initial burst
      of  speed  and  Yama  soon  caught  up  with  him.  The  boy was
      leaning  against  the  am  of  a  cork  oak,   watching  the dark
      stretch  of  grass  beyond  while  he  tried  to  get  his  breath back.






            "She  has  the  blood  rage, "  Pandaras  said,   when  he could
          speak  again.  "No  sense  in  chasing  after her."
            Yama  saw  a  string  of  lights  burning  far  off  through a
          screen  of  trees  on  the  far  side  of  the  wide  lawn.  He began
          to  walk  in  that  direction,   with  Pandaras  trotting  at  his side.
            Yama  said,   "Will  you  tell  me  how  you  killed  the guard?
          I  might  need  the  trick myself.-
            "How  did  you  calm  the watchdogs?"
            "Do  you  always  answer  a  question  with  a question?"
            "We  say  that  what  you  know  makes  you  what  you are.
          So  you  should  never  be  free  with  what  you  know,   or strangers
          will  take  pieces  of  you  until  nothing  is left."
            "Nothing  is  free  in  this  city,   it seems."
            "Only  the  Preservers  know everything,        master. Everyone
          else  must  pay  or  trade  for  information.  How  did  you calm
          the dogs?"
            "We  have  similar  dogs  at  home.  I  know  how  to  talk to
         them."
            "Perhaps  you'll  teach  me  that  trick  when  we  have time."
            "I  am  not  sure  if  that  is  possible,   Pandaras,   but  I suppose
          that  I  can  try.,   How  did  you  get  through  the  gate  and kill
          the guard?"
            "I  showed  him  your  book.  I  saw  you  reading  in  it when
          we  rested  in  the  ruins.  It's  very  old,   and  therefore  very valuable
          .  My  former  master-"  Pandaras  spat  on  the clipped
          grass  "-and  that  stupid  cateran  you  killed  would  have taken
          the  gold  rials  and  left  the  book,   but  my  mother's  family deals
          in  books,   and  I  know  a  little  about  them.  Enough  to 
know
          that  it  is  worth  more  than  the  money.  I  talked  with someone
          through  the  guard,   and  they  let  me  in.  The  rich  often collect
          books.  There  is  power  in them."
            "Because  of  the  knowledge  they contain."
            "You're  catching  on.  As  for  killing  the  guard,   it  was no
          trick.  I'll  tell  you  how  I  did  it  now,   master,   and  you must
          tell  me  something  later.  The  guard  seemed  a  giant,   but he
          was  an  ordinary  man  inside  that  armor.  Without  power,  he
          could  not  move  a  step;  with  it,   he  could  sling  a  horse over
          his  shoulders  and  still  run  as  fast  as  a  deer.  I  jumped onto
          his  back,   where  he  couldn't  reach  me,   and  pulled  the cable
          that  connected  the  power  supply  to  the  muscles  in  his armor.
        Then  I  stuck  my  knife  in  the  gap  where  the  cable  went in, 
        and  pierced  his  spinal  cord.  A  trick  one  of  my stepbrothers
        taught  me.  The  family  of  my  mother's  third  husband work
        in  a  foundry  that  refurbishes  armor.  I  helped  out  there when
        I  was  a  kit.  You  get  to  know  the  weak  points  that waythey're
          where  mending  is  most  needed.  Do  we  have  to go
        so fast?"
          "Where  is  the  house,  Pandaras?"
          "This  man  is  rich,   but  he  is  not  one  of  the  old trading
        families,   who  have  estates  upriver  of  the  city.  So  he  has a
        
compound  by  the  docks  where  he  does  his  business,   and this
        estate  in  the  hills  on  the  edge  of  the  city.  That  is  why the
        wall  is  so  high  and  strong,   and  why,   there  are  many guards.
        They  all  fear  bands  of  robbers  out  here,   and  arm  their men
        as  if  to  fight  off  a  cohort. "
          Yama  nodded.  "The  country  beyond  is  very  wild.  It used
        to  be  part  of  the  city,   I  think. "
          "No  one  lives  there.  No  one  important,   anyhow.  The robbers
          come  from  the city."
          "The  law  is  weaker  here,  then?"
          "Stronger,   master,   if  you  fall  foul  of  it.  The  rich make
        their  own  laws.  For  ordinary  people,   it's  the  magistrates who
        decide  right  and  wrong.  Isn't  that  how  it  was  where you
        come from?"
          Yama  thought  of  the  Aedile,   and  of  the  militia.  He said, 
        "More  or  less.  Then  the  house  will  be  fortified.  Sheer force
        of  arms  might  not  be  the  best  way  to  try  and  enter it."
          "Fortified  and  hidden,   That's  the  fashion  these  days. We
        could  wander  around  for  a  day  and  not  find  it.  Those lights
        are  probably  where  the  servants  live,   or  a  compound  for other
        guards."  Pandaras  stopped  to  untangle  the  unraveling edge
        of  his  sleeve  from  the  thorny  canes  of  a  bush.  "If  you ask
        me,   this  crutty  greenery  is  all  part  of  the defenses."
          Yama  said,   "There  is  a  path  through  there.  Perhaps that
        will  lead  to  the house."
          "If  it  was  that  simple,   we'd  all  be  rich,   and  have big
        houses  of  our  own,   neh?  It  probably  leads  to  a  pit  full of
        
caymans  or snakes."
          "Well,   someone  is  coming  along  it,   anyway. Here."
          Yama  gave  the  pistol  to  Pandaras.  It  was  so  heavy  that the







       boy  needed  both  hands  to  hold  it.  "Wait, "  he  said,  "you
      can't-"
          But  Yama  ran  toward  the  lights  and  the  sound  of hooves, 
       carried  by  a  rush  of  exhilaration.  It  was  better  to  act  than to
       hide,   he  thought,   and  in  that  moment  understood  why Tamora
       had  charged  off  so  recklessly.  As  he  ran,   he  took  the book
       from  his  satchel;  when  lights  swooped  toward  him through
       the  dark  air,   he  stopped  and  held  it  up.  A  triplet  of machines
       spun  to  a  halt  above  his  head  and  bathed  him  in  a  flood of
       white  light.  Yama  squinted  through  their  radiance  at  the three
       riders  who  had  pulled  up  at  the  edge  of  the road.
          Two  guards  in  plastic  armor  reined  in  their prancing
       mounts  and  levelled  light  lances  at  him.  The  third  was  a mild
       old  man  on  a  gray  palfrey.  He  wore  a  plain  black  tunic and
       his  long  white  hair  was  brushed  back  from  the  narrow blade
       of  his  face.  His  skin  was  yellow  and  very  smooth,  stretched
       tautly  over  high  cheekbones  and  a  tall,   ridged brow.
          Yama  held  the  book  higher.  The  white-haired  man said, 
       "Why  aren't  you  waiting  at  the gate?"
          "The  guard  was  attacked,   and  I  got  scared  and  ran. Thieves
       have  been  after  what  I  carry  ever  since  I  have  come  to this
       city.  Only  last  night  I  had  to  kill  a  man  who  wanted  to steal
       from me."
          The  white-haired  man  jogged  his  palfrey  so  that  it stepped
       sideways  toward  Yama,   and  he  leaned  down  to  peer  at the
       book.  He  said,   "I  can  certainly  see  why  someone  would want
       to  steal this."
          "I  have  been  told  that  it  is  very valuable."
          
"Indeed."  The  white-haired  man  stared  at  Yama  for  a full
       minute.  The  two  guards  watched  him,   although  their lances
       were  still  pointed  at  Yama,   who  stood  quite  still  in  the light
       of  the  three  machines.  At  last,   the  man  said,   "Where  are you
       from,  boy?"
         "Downriver."
          Did  he  know?  And  if  he  knew,   how  many others?
          "You've  been  amongst  the  tombs,   have  you not?"
          "You  are  very  wise,  dominie."
          It  was  possible  that  the  Aedile  knew.  Perhaps  that was
       why  he  had  wanted  to  bury  Yama  in  a  drab  clerkship,  away
        from the   eyes  of  the  world.  And  if the     Aedile  had known, 
        then  Prefect  Corin  had  known too.
           One  of  the  guards  said,   "Take  the  book  and  let  us deal
        with  him.  He  won't  be missed."
           "I  allowed  him  in, "  the  white-haired  man  said. "Although
        he  should  have  waited  by  the  gate,   I  will  continue  to be
        responsible  for  him.  Boy,   where  did  you  get  that  book? From
        one  of  the  old  tombs  downriver?  Did  you  find anything
        else there?"
           Before  Yama  could  answer,   the  second  guard  said,  "He
        has  the  pallid  look  of  a tomb-robber."
           The  white-haired  man  held  up  a  hand.  His  fingers were
        very  long,   with  nails  filed  to  points  and  painted  black. "It
        isn't  just  the  book.  I'm  interested  in  the  boy too."
           The  first  guard  said,   "He  carries  a  power  knife  in his
       satchel."
           "More  loot,   I  expect, "  the  white-haired  man  said. "You
        won't  use  it  here,   will  you,  boy?"
           "I  have  not  come  to  kill  you, "  Yama said.
           
The  second  guard  said,   "He's  a  little  old  for you, 
       Iachimo."
            Be  silent, "  the  white-haired  man,   Iachimo,   said pleasant'lly
       '  "or  I'll  slice  out  your  tongue  and  eat  it  in  front of
        you."  He  told  Yama,   "They  obey  me  because  they  know I
        never  make  an  idle  threat.  I  wish  it  were  otherwise,   but you
        cannot  buy  loyalty.  You  must  win  it  by  fear  or  by  love. I
        find  fear  to  be  more effective, "
           The  second  guard  said,   "We  should  check  the gate."
           Iachimo  said,   "The  dogs  have  not  raised  any  real alarm
        and  neither  has  the guard."
           The  first  guard  said,   "But  here's  this  boy  wandering the
        grounds.  There  might  be others."
           "Oh,   very  well, "  Iachimo  said,   "but  be  quick."  He swung
        down  from his     palfrey  and  told  Yama,   "You'll  come with
        me,  boy."
           As  they  crossed  the  road  and  plunged  into  a  stand  of pine
        trees  beyond,   Iachimo  said,   "Is  the  book  from  the  City of
        the  Dead?  Answer  truthfully.  I  can  smell  out  a  lie,   and  I have
        little  patience  for evasion."
           Yama  did  not  doubt  it,   but  he  thought  to  himself  that la-







        chimo  was  the  kind  of  man  who  believed  too  strongly  in his
        cleverness,   and  so  held  all  others  in  contempt  and  did not
        pay  as  much  attention  to  them  as  he  should.  He  said,  "It
        was  not  from  the  City  of  the  Dead,   dominie,   but  a place
        close by."
           -Hmm.  As  I  remember,   the  house  occupied  by  the Aedile
        of  Aeolis  has  an  extensive  library."  Iachimo  turned and
        looked  at  Yama  and  smiled.  "I  see  I  have  hit  the  truth. Well, 
        I  doubt  that  the  Aedile  will  miss  it.  The  library  is  a depository
        of  all  kinds  of  rubbish,   but  as  the  fisherfolk  of  that region
        have  it,   rubies  are  sometimes  engendered  in  mud  by  the light
        of  the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  Nonsense,   of  course,   but despite
        that  it  has  a  grain  of  truth.  In  this  case,   the  fisherfolk are
        familiar  with  pearls,   which  are  produced  by  certain shellfish
        when  they  are  irritated  by  a  speck  of  grit,   and  secrete layers
        of  slime  to  enclose  the  irritation.  This  slime  hardens,  and
        becomes  the  black  or  red  pearls  so  eagerly  sought  by gentlemen
          and  ladies  of  high  breeding,   who  do  not  know  of the
        base  origin  of  their  beloved  jewels.  Your  book  is  a pearl, 
        without  doubt.  I  knew  it  as  soon  as  I  saw  it,   although  I do
        not  think  it  was  you  who  held  it  up  at  the gate."
           "It  was  my  friend.  But  he  got  scared  and  ran off."
           "The  guards  will  catch  him.  ,   Or  the  dogs,   if  he is
       unlucky."
           
"He's  only  a  pot  boy  from  one  of  the  inns  by  the waterfront
        .  I  struck  up  a  friendship  with him."
           "From  which  he  hoped  to  profit,   I  expect, "  Iachitno said, 
        and  then  stopped  and  turned  to  look  back  at  the  way they
        had come.
           A  moment  later,   a  thread  of  white  light  lanced  through the
        darkness,   illuminating  a  distant  line  of  trees.  Yama  felt the
        ground  tremble  beneath  his  feet;  a  noise  like  thunder rolled
        through  the grounds.
           Iachimo  grasped  Yama's  shoulders  and  pushed  him forward
        .  "One  of  the  weapons  mounted  by  the  gatekeeper,  unless
          I  am  mistaken.  And  I  am  never  mistaken.  Your friend
        has  been  found,   I  believe.  Do  not  think  of  running,   boy,  or
        you'll  suffer  the  same fate."
           Yama  did  not  resist.  Both  Tamora  and  Pandaras were
        armed  with  the  pistols  taken  from  the  gatekeeper,   and la-
       clumo  did  not  yet  know  that  the  gatekeeper  was  dead. Besides
       ,   he  was  being  taken  to  the  very  place  the  others were
       looking for.
          Yama  and  Iachimo  descended  into  a  narrow  defile between
       steep  rock  walls  studded  with  ferns  and  orchids. Another
       white  flash  lit  the  crack  of  sky  above.  Pebbles  rattled down
       the  walls  in  the  aftershock.  Iachimo  tightened  his  grip on
       Yama's  shoulder  and  pushed  him  on.  "This  matter  is consuming
         more  time  than  I  like, "  he said.
          "Are  you  in  charge  of  the  guards?  They  do  not  seem to
       be  doing  a  very  good job."
          "I  am  in  charge  of  the  entire  household.  And  do  not think
       I  turned  out  for  you,   boy.  It  was  the  book.  But  I  admit you
       are  a  curiosity.  There  could  be  some  advantage here."
          
Yama  said  boldly,   "What  do  you  know  about  my bloodline
       ?  You  recognized  it,   and  that  was  why  I  was  not killed."
          "You  know  less  than  1,   1  think.  I  wonder  if  you even
       know  your pawnts."
          "Only  that  my  mother  is dead."
          A  silver  lady  in  a  white  boat.  The  old  Constable,  Thaw, 
       had  said  that  he  had  plucked  Yama  from  her  dead  breast,  but
       as  a  young  boy  Yama  had  dreamed  that  she  had  only been
       profoundly  asleep,   and  was  searching  for  him  in  the wilderness
         of  tombs  around  Aeolis.  Sometimes  he  had  searched for
       her  there-as  he  was  searching still.
          Iachimo  said,   "Oh,   she's  dead  all  right.  Dead  ages past.
       You're  probably  first  generation,   .  revived  from  a stored
      template."
          The  narrow  defile  opened  out  into  a  courtyard  dimly  lit by
       a  scattering  of  floating  lanterns,   tiny  as  fireflies,   that drifted
       in  the  black  air.  Its  tiled  floor  was  crowded  with  gray,  lifesized
         statues  of  men  and  animals  in  a  variety  of contorted
       poses.  Iachimo  pushed  Yama  forward.  Horribly,   the statues
       stirred  and  trembled,   sending  up  ripples  of  gray  dust  and a
       dry  scent  of  electricity.  Some  opened  their  eyes,   but  the orbs
       they  rolled  toward  Yama  were  like  dry,   white marbles.
          Iachimo  said  in  Yama's  ear,   "There's  worse  that  can happen
         to  you  than  being  returned  to  storage.  Do  we understand
       each other?"
          Yama  thought  of  his  knife.  It  occurred  to  him  that there







           were  situations  in  which  it  might  be  more  merciful  to  use it
           against  himself  rather  than  his  enemies.  He  said,   "You are
           taking  me  to  your master."
              "He  wants  only  to  see  the  book.  You  will  be  a surprise
           gift.  We'll  see  what  shakes  out,   and  afterwards  we'll talk."
              Iachimo  smiled  at  Yama,   but  it  was  merely  a movement
           of  certain  muscles  in  his  narrow,   high-browed  face.  He was
           lost  in  his  own  thoughts,   Yama  saw,   a  man  so  clever  that he
           schemed  as  naturally  as  other  men breathed.
              Yama  said,   "How  do  you  know  about  my bloodline?"
              "My  master's  bloodline  is  long-lived,   and  he  is  one  of the
           oldest.  He  has  taught  me  much  about  the  history  of  the world.
           I  know  that  he  will  be  interested  in  you.  Of  course,   he may
           want  you  killed,   but  I  will  try  to  prevent  it.  And  so  you owe
           me  your  life  twice  over.  Think  of  that,   when  you  talk with
           him.  We  can  do  things  for  each  other,   you  and L"
              Yama  remembered  that  the  pilot  of  the  voidship lighter
           had  said  that  it  knew  his  bloodline,   and  understood  that he
           was  a  prize  which  Iachimo  would  offer  to  his  master  in the
           hope  of  advancement  or  reward.  He  said,   "It  seems  to me
           that  this  is  a  very  one-sided  bargain.  What  will  I gain?"
              "Your  life,   to  begin  with.  My  master  may  want  to  
kill you
           at  once,   or  use  you  and  then  kill  you,   but  I  can  help you, 
           and  you  can  help  me.  Damn  these things!"
              Iachimo  was  standing  beside  the  statue  of  a  naked boyor
             perhaps  it  had  once  been  a  living  boy,   encased  or transformed
             in  some  way-and  the  statue  had  managed  to grasp
           the  hem  of  his  tunic.  lachirno  tugged  impatiently,   then broke
           off  the  statue's  fingers,   one  by  one.  They  made  a  dry snapping
             sound,   and  fell  to  dust  when  they  struck  the floor.
              Iachimo  brushed  his  hands  together  briskly  and  said,  "My
           master  has  revived  certain  technologies  long  thought forgotten
           .  It  is  the  basis  of  his  fortune  and  his  power.  You understand
             why  you  will  be  of  considerable  interest  to him."
              Yama  realized  that  this  was  a  question,   but  he  did not
           know  how  to  begin  to  answer  it.  Instead,   he  said,   "It  is a
           very  old  edition  of  the Puranas."
              "Oh,   the  book.  Like  you,   it  is  not  an  original,   but  it  is not
           far  removed.  You  have  read it?"
             "Yes."
          "Don't  tell  my  master  that.  Tell  him  you  stole  it,  nothing
       more  Lie  if  you  must;  otherwise  he  may  well  have  you killed
       on    spot,   and  that  is  something  that  will  be  difficult for
       me  to  prevent.  He  controls  the  guards  here.  Let  us  go. He
       is waiting."
          On  the  far  side  of  the  courtyard  was  an  arched doorway
       
and  a  broad  flight  of  marble  steps  that  led  down  toward a
       pool  of  warm  white  light.  Iachimo's  long,   pointed  nails dug
       into  Yama's  shoulder,   pricking  his  skin  through  his shirt.
          "Stand  straight, "  Iachimo  said.  "Use  your  backbone  as it
       was  intended.  Remember  that  you  were  made  in  the image
       of  the  Preservers,   and  forget  that  your  ancestors  were animals
       that  went  about  on  all  fours.  Good.  Now  walk  forward,  and
       do  not  stare  at  anything.  Most  especially,   do  not  stare  at my
       master.  He  is  more  sensitive  than  he  might  appear.  He has
       not  always  been  as  he  is now."







                                                THE  HOLLOW MAN.
V  10  6  110  R  I  Y  A  M  A  reached  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,   he knew
         that  there  was  a  large  number  of  machines  ahead  of  him,  but
         the  size  of  the  room  was  still  surprising.  Golden pillars
         twisted  into  fantastic  shapes  marched  away  across  an emerald
         green  lawn,   lending  perspective  to  a  space  perhaps  a thousand
         paces  long  and  three  hundred  wide.  The  lawn  was studded
         with  islands  of  couches  upholstered  in  brilliant  silks,  and
         fountains  and  dwarf  fruit  trees  and  statues-these  last merely
         of  red  sandstone  or  marble,   not  petrified  flesh.  Displays of
         exotic  flowers  perfumed  the  air.  Constellations  of brilliant
         white  lights  floated  in  the  air  beneath  a  high  glass ceiling.
         Above  the  glass  was  not  air  but  water-schools  of golden
         and  black  carp  lazily  swam  through  illuminated  currents,  and
         pads  of  water  Iffies  hung  above  them  like  the silhouettes
         of clouds.
           Thousands  of  tiny  machines  crawled  amongst  the closely
         trimmed  blades  of  grass  or  spun  through  the  bright  air like
         silver  beetles  or  dragonflies  with  mica  wings,   their thoughts
         a  single  rising  harmonic  in  Yama's  head.  Men  in  scarlet and
         white  uniforms  and  silver  helmets  stood  in  alcoves carved
         into  the  marble  walls.  They  were  unnann-ally  still  and,   like the
      fallen  guard  at  the  gate,   emitted  faint  glimmers  of machine
      intelligence,   as  if  machines  inhabited  their skulls.
         As  Yama  walked  across  the  lawn,   with  Iachimo following
      close  behind,   he  heard  music  in  the  distance:  the chiming
      runs  of  a  tambura  like  silver  laughter  over  the  solemn pulse
      
of  a  tabla.  A  light  sculpture  twisted  in  the  air  like  a writhing
      column  of  brightly  colored  scarves  seen  through  a  heat haze.
         The  two  musicians  sat  in  a  nest  of  embroidered  silk cushions
        to  one  side  of  a  huge  couch  on  which  lay  the fattest
      man  Yama  had  ever  seen.  He  was  naked  except  for  a loincloth
      ,   and  as  hairless  as  a  seal.  A  gold  circlet  crowned his
      shaven  head.  The  thick  folds  of  his  belly  spilled  his flanks
      and  draped  his  swollen  thighs.  His  black  skin  shone  with oils
      and  unguents;  the  light  of  the  sculpture  slid  over  it  in greasy
      rainbows.  He  was  propped  on  his  side  amongst  cushions and
      bolsters,   and  pawed  in  a  distracted  fashion  at  a  naked woman
      who  was  feeding  him  pastries  from  a  pile  stacked  high  on a
      silver  salver.  Without  doubt,   this  was  the  master  of  the house, 
      the  merchant,   the  rogue star-sailor.
         Ymna  halted  a  few  paces  from  him  and  bowed  from the
      waist,   but  the  merchant  did  not  acknowledge  him. Yama
      stood  and  sweated,   with  Iachimo  beside  him,   while  the musicians
        played  through  the  variations  of  their  raga  and  the merchant
        ate  a  dozen  pastries  one  after  the  other  and  stroked the
      gleaming  pillows  of  the  woman's  large  breasts  with swollen, 
      nng-encrusted  fingers.  Like  her  master,   the  woman  was quite
      without  hair.  The  petals  of  her  labia  were  pierced  with rings;
      from  one  of  these  rings  a  fine  gold  chain  ran  to  a bracelet
      on  the  merchant's wrist.
         When  the  concluding  chimes  of  the  tambura  had died
      away,   the  merchant  closed  his  eyes  and  sighed  deeply,  then
      waved  at  the  musicians  in  dismissal.  "Drink, "  he  said  in a
      high,   wheezing  voice.  The  woman  jumped  up  and  poured red
      wine  into  a  bowl  which  she  held  to  the  merchant's  lips. He
      slobbered  at  the  wine  horribly  and  it  spilled  over  his chin
      and  chest  onto  the  grassy  floor.  Yama  saw  now  that  the cushions
        
of  the  couch  were  stained  with  old  spillages  and littered
      with  crumbs  and  half-eaten  crusts;  underlying  the  rich scents
      of  spikenard  and  jasmine  and  the  sweet  smoke  of candles







       which  floated  in  a  bowl  of  water  was  a  stale  reek  of old
       sweat  and  spoiled food.
          The  merchant  belched  and  glanced  at  Yama.  His cheeks
       were  so  puffed  with  fat  that  they  pushed  his  mouth  into a
       squashed  rosebud,   and  his  eyes  peered  above  their ramparts
       like  sentries,   darting  here  and  there  as  if  expecting  a sudden
       attack  from  any  quarter.  He  said  petulantly,   "What's this, 
       Iachimo?  A  little  old  for  your  tastes,   isn't he?"
          Iachimo  inclined  his  head.  "Very  amusing,   master,   but you
       know  that  I  would  never  trouble  you  with  my  bed companions
       .  Perhaps  you  might  look  more  closely.  I  believe  that you
       will  find  he  is  a  rare  type,   one  not  seen  on  Confluence for
       many  an  age. "
          The  merchant  waved  a  doughy  paw  in  front  of  Ins face, 
       as  if  trying  to  swat  a  fly.  "You  are  always  playing games, 
       Iachimo.  It  will  be  your  downfall.  Tell  me  and  have done
       with it."
          "I  believe  that  he  is  one  of  the  Builders, "  Iachimo said.
          The  merchant  laughed-a  series  of  grunts  that convulsed
       his  vast,   gleaming  body  as  a  storm  tosses  the  surface  of the
       river,   At  last  he  said,   "Your  inventive  mind  never  ceases to
       amaze  me,   Iachimo.  I'll  grant  he  has  the  somatype,   but  this is
       some  river-rat  a  mountebank  has  surgically  altered,   no doubt
       inspired  by  some  old  carving  or  slate.  You've  been had."
          "He  came  here  of  his  own  accord.  He  brought  a  book of
       great  antiquity.  I  have  it here."
          The  merchant  took  the  copy  of  the  Puranas  from Iachimo
       and  pawed  through  it,   grunting  to  himself,   before casually
       
tossing  it  aside.  It  landed  facedown  and  splayed  open amongst
       the  cushions  on  which  the  merchant  sprawled.  Yama  made a
       move  to  retrieve  it,   but  Iachimo  caught  his arm.
          "I've  seen  better, "  the  merchant  said.  "If  this  fake says
       he  brought  you  an  original  of  the  Puranas,   then  that  too win
       be  a  fake.  I'm  no  longer  interested.  Take  this  creature away, 
       Iachimo,   and  its  book.  Dispose  of  it  in  the  usual  way,  and
       dispose  of  its  companion,   too,   once  you've  caught  it.  Or do
       I  have  to  take  charge  of  the  guards  and  do  that  myself?. "
          "It  won't  be  necessary,   master.  The  other  boy  is certainly
       no  more  than  a  river-rat  He  won't  be  missed.  But  this one
       is  something  rarer."  Iachimo  prodded  Yama  in  the  small of
      the  back  with  a  fingernail  as  sharply  pointed  as  a  stiletto and
      whispered,   "Show  him  what  you  can do."
        "I  do  not  understand  what  you  want  of me."
        "Oh,   you  understand, "  Iachimo  hissed.  "I  know  what you
      can  do  with  machines.  You  got  past  the  gatekeeper,   so you
      know  something  of  your inheritance."
        The  merchant  said,   "I'm  in  an  indulgent  mood,  Iachimo.
      Here's  your  test.  I'm  going  to  order  my  soldiers  to  kill you, 
      boy.  Do  you  understand?  Stop  them,   and  we'll  talk some
      more.  Otherwise  I'm  rid  of  a fraud."
        Four  of  the  guards  started  forward  from  their  niches. Yama
      stepped  back  involuntarily  as  the  guards,   their  faces expressionless
        beneath  the  bills  of  their  silver  helmets,   raised their
      gleaming  falchions  and  marched  stiffly  across  the lawn
      toward  him,   two  on  the  right,   two  on  the left.
        Iachimo  said  in  a  wheedling  tone,   "Master,   surely this
      isn't necessary."
        
"Let  me  have  my  fun, "  the  merchant  said.  "What  is he
      to  you,  eh?"
        Yama  put  his  hand  inside  his  satchel  and  found  the  hilt of
      his  knife,   but  the  guards  were  almost  upon  him  and  he knew
      that  he  could  not  fight  four  at  once.  He  felt  a  tingling expansion
        and  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "Stop!  Stop now!"
        The  guards  froze  in  midstep,   then,   moving  as  one,  knelt
      and  laid  down  their  falchions,   and  bent  until  their  silver helmets
        touched  the grass.
        The  merchant  reared  up  and  squealed,   "What  is  this? Do
      you  betray  me,  Iachimo?"
        "Quite  the  reverse,   master.  I'll  kill  him  in  a  moment,  if
      you  give  the  word.  But  you  see  that  he  is  no mountebank's
      fiake. The
          merchant  glared  at  Yama.  There  was  a  high whine, 
      like  a  bee  trapped  in  a  bottle,   and  a  machine  dropped through
      the  air  and  hovered  in  front  of  Yama's  face.  Red  light flashed
      in  the  backs  of  his  eyes.  He  asked  the  machine  to  go away, 
      but  the  red  light  flashed  again,   filling  his  vision.  He could
      see  nothing  but  the  red  light  and  held  himself  still,  although
      panic  trembled  in  his  breast  like  a  trapped  dove.  He could
      feel  every  corner  of  the  machine's  small  bright  mind,   but by
      a  sudden  inversion,   as  if  a  flower  had  suddenly dwindled







        down  to  the  seed  from  which  it  had  sprung,   it  was closed
        to him.
           Somewhere  beyond  the  red  light,   the  merchant,   said,  "Recently
          born.  No  revenant.  Where  is  he  from,  Iachimo?"
           "Downriver, "  Iachimo  said,   close  by  Yama's  ear. "Not
        far  downriver,   though.  There's  a  small  town  called Aeolis
        amongst  the  old  tombs.  The  book  at  least  comes  from there."
           The  merchant  said,   "The  City  of  the  Dead.  There  are older
        tombs  elsewhere  on  Confluence,   but  I  suppose  you  aren't to
        know  that.  Boy,   stop  trying  to  control  my  machines.  I have
        told  them  to  ignore  you,   and  fortunately  for  you,   you don't
        know  the  extent  of  your  abilities.  Fortunate  for  you,  too, 
        Iachimo.  You  risked  a  great  deal  bringing  him  here.  I'll not
        forget  that. Iachimo
             said,   "I  am  yours  to  punish  or  reward,   master. As
        always.  But  be  assured  that  this  boy  does  not  understand what
        he  is.  Otherwise  I  would  not  have  been  able  to  capture him."
           "He's  done  enough  damage.  I  have  reviewed  the security
        systems,   something  you  haven't  troubled  to  do.  He blinded
        the  watchdogs  and  the  machines  patrolling  the  grounds,  which
        is  why  he  and  his  friend  could  wander  the  grounds with
        impunity.  I  have  restored  them.  He  has  killed  the gatekeeper
        too,   and  his  friend  is  armed.  Wait-there  are  two  of them, 
        both  armed,   and  loose  in  the  grounds.  The  security system
        was  told  to  ignore  them,   but  I'm  tracking  them  now. You
        have  let  things  get  out  of  hand,  Iachimo."
           "I  had  no  reason  to  believe  the  security  system  was not
        operating  correctly,   master,   but  it  proves  my  point.  Here  
is a
        rare treasure."
           Yama  turned  his  head  back  and  forth,   but  could  see nothing
        but  red  mist.  There  was  a  splinter  of  pain  in  each  of  his eyes.
        He  said,   "Am  I  blinded?"  and  his  voice  was  smaller and
        weaker  than  he  would  have liked.
           "I  suppose  it  isn't  necessary, "  the  merchant  said,   and the
        red  mist  was gone.
           Yama  knuckled  his  stinging  eyes,   blinking  hard  in  the sudden
          bright  light.  Two  of  the  guards  stood  at  attention behind
        the  merchant's  couch,   their  red  and  white  uniforms gleaming, 
        their  falchions  held  before  their  faces  as  if  at parade.
           The  merchant  said,   "Don't  mind  my  toys.  They won't
      harm  you  as  long  as  you're sensible."       His  voice  was silkily
      unctuous  now.  "Drink,   eat.  I  have  nothing  but  the  best. The
      best  vintages,   the  finest  meats,   the  tenderest vegetables."
          "Some  wine,   perhaps.  Thank you."
          The  naked  woman  poured  wine  as  rich  and  red  as fresh
      blood  into  a  gold  beaker  and  handed  it  to  Yama,   then poured
      another  bowl  for  the  merchant,   who  slobbered  it  down before
      Yama  could  do  more  than  sip  his.  He  expected  some rare
      vintage,   and  was  disappointed  to  discover  that  it  was  no better
      than  the  ordinary  wine  of  the  peel-house's cellars.
          The  merchant  smacked  his  lips  and  said,   "Do  you know
      what  I  am?  And  do  stop  trying  to  take  control  of  my servants.
      You  will  give  me  a headache."
          Yama  had  been  trying  to  persuade  one  of  the machines
      which  illuminated  the  room  to  fly  down  and  settle  above his
      head,   but  despite  his  sense  of  expansion,   as  if  his thoughts
      had  become  larger  than  his  skull,   he  might  as  well  have tried
      
to  order  an  ossifrage  to  quit  its  icy  perch  in  the  high foothills
      of  the  Rim  Mountains.  He  stared  at  the  gold  circlet  on the
      merchant's  fleshy,   hairless  pate,   and  said,   "You  are really
      one  of  those  things  which  crew  the  voidships.  I  suppose that
      you  stole  the body."
          "As  a  matter  of  fact  I  had  it  grown.  Do  you  like it?"
          Yama  took  another  sip  of  wine.  He  felt  calmer  now. He
      said,   "I  am  amazed  by it."
          "You  have  been  raised  to  be  polite.  That's  good.  It will
      make  things  easier,   eh,  Iachimo?"
         "
          I'm  sure  he  could  stand  a  little  more  polishing,  master."
          "I've  yet  to  find  a  body  that  can  withstand  my appetites, "
      the  merchant  told  Yama,   "but  that's  of  little consequence, 
      because  there  are  always  more  bodies.  This  is  my-what is
      it,   Iachimo?  The tenth?"
          The  ninth,  master."
          "Well,   there  will  soon  be  need  for  a  tenth,   and  there win
      be  more,   an  endless  chain.  How  old  are  you,   boy?  No more
      than  twenty,   I'd  guess.  This  body  is  half  that age."
          The  merchant  pawed  at  the  breasts  of  the  woman.  She was
      feeding  him  sugared  almonds,   popping  them  into  his mouth
      each  time  it  opened.  He  chewed  the  almonds mechanically, 







         and  a  long  string  of  pulp  and  saliva  drooled  unheeded down
         his chin.
            He  said,   "I've  been  male  and  female  in  my  time,  too.
         Mostly  male,   given  the  current  state  of  civilization,   but now
         that  I've  made  my  fortune  and  have  no  need  to  leave my
         estate,   perhaps  I'll  be  female  next  time.  Are  there others
         like you?"
            "That  is  what  I  want  to  discover, "  Yama  said.  "You know
         of  my  bloodline.  You  know  more  than  me,   it  seems. You
         called  me  a  builder.  A  builder  of what?"
            But  he  already  knew.  He  had  read  in  the  Puranas,   and he
         remembered  the  man  in  the  picture  slate  which  Osric and
         Beatrice  had  shown him.
            Iachimo  said,   "  '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.' There's
         more,   but  you  get  the  general  idea.  Those  are  your people, 
         boy.  So  long  dead  that  almost  no  one remembers-"
            Suddenly,   the  room  brightened:  white  light  flashed beyond
         the  lake  which  hung  above  the  long  room.  Rafts  of waterlily
         pads  swung  wildly  on  clashing  waves  and  there  was  a deep, 
         heavy  muffled  sound,   as  if  a  massive  door  had  slammed in
         
the  keel  of  the world.
            The  merchant  said,   "No  hope  there,   boy.  You  put some
         of  my  guards  to  sleep,   but  they're  all  under  my  control again, 
         and  almost  have  your  two  friends.  Iachimo,   you  did  not say
         that  one  of  them  was  a cateran."
            "There  was  another  boy,   master.  I  knew  of  no other."
            The  merchant  closed  his  eyes.  For  a  moment,   Yama felt
         that  a  thousand  intelligences  lived  in  his  head.  Then  the feeling
           was  gone  and  the  merchant  said,   "She  has  killed several
         guards,   but  one  caught  a  glimpse  of  her.  She's  of  the Fierce
         People,   and  she's  armed  with  one  of  the gatekeeper's
        pistols."
            "There  are  still  many  guards,   master,   and  many machines.
         Besides,   the  lake  will  absorb  any  blast  from  the pistol."
        The  merchant  pulled  the  woman  close  to  him.  "He's an
      assassin's  tool,   you  idiot!  Why  else  would  a  cateran come
      here?  You  know  I  have  been  expecting  this  ever  since my
      old  ship  returned  through  the manifold."
        "There  was  the  man  who  broke  into  the  godown, " lacbimo
        said,   "but  we  dealt  with  him  easily enough."
        "It  was  just  the  beginning.  They  won't rest-"
        There  was  another  flash  of  white  light.  A  portion  of water
      above  the  glass  ceiling  seethed  into  a  spreading  cloud of
      white  bubbles,   and  the  glass  rang  like  a  cracked bell.
        The  merchant  closed  his  eyes  briefly,   then  relaxed and
      drew  the  naked  woman  closer.  "Well,   it  doesn't  matter now.
      There's  a  weapon  in  his  satchel,   Iachimo.  Take  it  out and
      give  it  to me."
        The  white-haired  man  lifted  out  the  sheathed  knife and
      said,   "It  is  only  a  knife,  master."
        "I  know  what  it  is.  Bring  it here."
        
Iachimo  offered  the  sheathed  knife,   hilt  first.  Yama implored
        it  to  manifest  the  horrible  shape  which  had frightened
      Lob  and  the  landlord  of  The  Crossed  Axes,   but  he  was  at the
      center  of  a  vast  muffling  silence.  The  merchant  squinted at
      the  knife's  goatskin  sheath,   and  then  the  woman  drew  it and
      plunged  it  into  Iachimo's belly.
        Iachimo  grunted  and  fell  to  his  knees.  The  knife flashed
      blue  fire  and  the  woman  screamed  and  dropped  it and
      clutched  her  smoking  hand.  The  knife  embedded  itself point
      first  in  the  grass,   sizzling  faintly  and  emitting  a  drizzle  of fat
      blue  motes.  Iachimo  was  holding  his  belly  with  both hands.
      There  was  blood  all  over  his  fingers  and  the  front  of his
      black tunic.
        The  merchant  looked  at  the  woman  and  she  fell  silent in
      mid-scream.  He  said  to  Yama,   "So  die  all  those  who think
      to  betray  me.  Now,   boy,   you'll  answer  all  my  questions truthfully
      ,   or  you'll  join  your  two  friends.  Yes,   they  have been
      captured.  Not  dead,   not  yet.  We'll  talk,   you  and  1,   and decide
      their fate."
        Iachimo,   kneeling  over  the  knife  and  a  pool  of  his own
      blood,   said  something  about  a  circle,   and  then  the guards
      seized  him  and  jerked  him  upright  and  cut  his  throat and
      lifted  him  away  from  the  merchant,   all  in  one  quick motion.







         They  dropped  the  body  onto  the  neatly  trimmed  grass beneath
         the  light  sculpture  and  returned  to  their  position  behind the
         merchant's couch.
           "You're  trouble,   boy, "  the  merchant  said.  The woman
         tremblingly  placed  the  mouthpiece  of  a  clay  pipe  between his
         rosebud  lips  and  lit  the  scrap  of  resin  in  its  bowl.  He drew
         a  long  breath  and  said,   dribbling  smoke  with  the words, 
         "Your  people  were  the  first.  The  rest  came  later,   but you
         were  the  first.  I  had  never  thought  to  see  your  kind again, 
         but  this  is  an  age  of  wonders.  Listen  to  me,   boy,   or  I'll have
         you  killed  too.  You  see  how  easy  it is."
           Yama  was  holding  the  wine  goblet so       tightly  that  he had
         reopened  the  wound  in  his  palm.  He  threw  it  away  and said
         as  boldly  as  he  could,   "Will  you  spare  my friends?"
           "They  came  to  kill  me,   didn't  they?  Sent  by my         crewmates
         ,   who  are  jealous  of me."
           Yama  could  not  deny  it.  He  stared  in  stubborn  silence at
         the  merchant,   who  calmly  drew  on  his  pipe  and contemplated
         the  wreaths  of  smoke  he  breathed  out.  At  last,   the merchant
         said,   "The  woman  is  a  cateran,   and  their  loyalty  is easily
         bought.  I  might  have  a  use  for  her.  The  boy  is  no different
         from  a  million  other  river-rats  in  Ys.  I  could  kill  him  and it
         would  be  as  if  he  had  never  been  -  born.  I  see  that  you want
         him  to  live.  You  are  very  sentimental.  Well  then.  You must
         prove  your  worth  to  me,   and  perhaps  the  boy  will  live. 
Do
         you  know  exactly  what  you are?"
           Yama  said,   "You  say  that  I  am  of  the  bloodline  of the
         Builders,   and  I  have  seen  an  ancient  picture  showing  one of
         my  kind  before  the  world  was  made.  But  I  also  have been
         told  that  I  might  be  a  child  of  the  Ancients  of Days."
           "Hmm.  It's  possible  they  had  something  to  do  with  it. In
         their  brief  time  here  they  meddled  in  much  that  didn't concern
           them.  They  didn't  achieve  anything  of  consequence,  of
         course.  For  all  that  they  might  have  appeared  as  gods to
         the  degenerate  population  of  Confluence,   they  predated the
         Preservers  by  several  million  years.  Their  kind  were  the ancestors
           of  the  Preservers,   but  with  about  as  much  relation to
         them  as  the  brainless  plankton  grazers  which  were  the ancestors
           of  my  own  bloodline  have  to  me.  It  is  only  because the
         Ancients  of  Days  were  timeshifted  while  travelling  to our
      neighboring  galaxy  and  back  at  close  to  the  speed  of light
      that  they  appeared  so  late,   like  an  actor  delayed  by circumstance
        who  incontinently  rushes  on  stage  to  deliver  his lines
      and  finds  that  he  has  interrupted  the  closing  soliloquy instead
      of  beginning  the  second  act.  We  are  in  the  end  times,  young
      builder.  This  whole  grand  glorious  foolish  experiment  has all
      but  run  its  course.  The  silly  little  war  downriver  begun by
      the  Ancients  of  Days  is  only  a footnote."
        The  merchant  seemed  exhausted  by  this  speech,   and drank
      more  wine  before  he  continued.  "Do  you  know,   I haven't
      th6ught  about  this  for  a  long  time.  Iachimo  was  a  very clever
      man,   but  not  a  brave  one.  He  was  doomed  to  a servant's
      role,   and  resented  it.  I  thought  at  first  you  were  some scheme
      of  his,   and  I  haven't  fully  dismissed  the  thought  from my
      
mind.  I  do  not  believe  that  it  was  through  simple carelessness
      that  he  allowed  the  cateran  to  roam  free,   or  that  you were
      allowed  to  carry  a  knife  into  my presence."
        "I  have  never  seen  him  before  tonight.  I  am  not  the servant
      of  any man."
        The  merchant  said,   "Don't  be  a  fool.  Like  most  here,  your
      bloodline  was  created  as  servants  to  the  immediate  will of
      the Preservers."
        "We  all  serve  the  Preservers  as  we  can, "  Yama said.
        "You've  been  in  the  hands  of  a  priest, "  the  merchant said.
      His  gaze  was  shrewd.  "You  parrot  his  pious  phrases,   but do
      you  really  believe them?"
        Yama  could  not  answer.  His  faith  was  never  something he
      had  questioned,   but  now  he  saw  that  by  disobeying  the wishes
      of  his  father  he  had  rebelled  against  his  place  in  the social
      hierarchy,   and  had  not  that  hierarchy  proceeded  from the
      Preservers?  So  the  priests  taught,   but  now  Yama  was unsure.
      For  the  priests  also  taught  that  the  Preservers  wanted their
      creations  to  advance  from  a  low  to  a  high  condition,   and how
      could  that  happen  if  society  was  fixed,   eternal and
     unchanging?
        The  merchant  belched.  "You  are  just  a  curiosity,   boy. A
      revertant.  An  afterthought  or  an  accident-it's  all  the same.
      But  you  might  be  useful,   even  so.  You  and  I  might  do great
      things  together.  You  asked  why  I  am  here.  It  is  because I
      have  remembered  what  all  others  of  my  kind  have  long for-






        gotten.  They  are  lost  in  ascetic  contemplation  of  the mathematics
          of  the  manifolds  and  the  secrets  of  the  beginning and
        end  of  the  cosmos,   but  I  have  remembered  the  pleasures of
        the  real  world,   of  appetite  and  sex  and  all  the  rest  of the
        messy  wonderful  business  of  life.  They  would  say  that mathematics
          is  the  reality  underlying  everything;  I  say  that  it  is an
        abstraction  of  the  real  world,   a  ghost.  "  He  belched again.
        "There  is  my  riposte  to algebra."
           Yama  made  a  wild  intuitive  leap.  He  said,   "You  met the
        Ancients  of  Days,   didn't you?"
           "My  ship  hailed  theirs,   as  it  fell  through  the  void toward
        the  Eye  of  the  Preservers.  They  had  seen  the  Eye's construction
          by  ancient  light  while  hundreds  of  thousands  of years
        out,   and  were  amazed  to  discover  that  organic  intelligent life
        still  existed.  We  merged  our  mindscapes  and  talked long
        there,   and  I  followed  them  out  into  the  world.  And  here I
        am.  It  is  remarkably  easy  to  make  a  fortune  in  these benighted
        times,   but  I'm  finding  that  merely  satisfying  sensual appetites
        is  not  enough.  If  you're  truly  a  Builder,   and  I  am  not quite
        convinced  that  you  are,   then  perhaps  you  can  help  me. I
        have plans."
           "I  believe  that  I  am  no  man's  servant.  I  cannot  serve you
        as  Iachimo did."
           The  merchant  laughed.  "I  would  hope  not.  You  will have
        to  unlearn  your  arrogance  to  begin  with;  then  I  will  see what
        I  can  make  of  you.  I  can  teach  you  many  things,   boy.  
I can
        realize  your  potential.  There  are  many  like  Iachimo  in the
        world,   intelligent  and  learned  and  quite  without  the  daring to
        act  on  their  convictions.  There  is  no  end  to  natural followers
        like  him.  You  are  something  more.  I  must  think  hard about
        it,   and  so  will  you.  But  you  will  serve,   or  you  will  die,  and
        so  will  your friends."
           The  twisting  scarves  of  color  in  the  light  sculpture ran
        together  into  a  steely  gray  and  widened  into  a  kind  of window
        ,   showing  Tamora  and  Pandaras  kneeling  inside tiny
        cages  suspended  in  dark air.
           For  a  moment,   Yama's  breath  caught  in  his  throat.  He said, 
        "Let  them  go,   and  I  will  serve  you  as  I can."
           The  merchant  shifted  his  immense  oiled  bulk.  "I  think not.
        I'll  give  you  a  taste  of  their  fate  while  I  decide  how  I can
      make  use  of  you.  When  you  can  make  that  promise from
      your  heart,   then  we  can  talk again."
         The  two  guards  turned  toward  Yama,   who  stared  in sudden
      panic  into  their  blank,   blind  faces.  His  panic  inflated into
      something  immense,   a  great  wild  bird  he  had  loosed,  its
      wings  beating  at  the  edges  of  his  sight.  In  desperation,  quite
      without  hope,   his  mind  threw  out  an  immense imploring
      scream  for help.
         The  merchant  pawed  at  his  head  and  far  down  the room
      something  struck  the  glass  ceiling  with  a  tremendous bang.
      For  a  moment,   all  was  still.  Then  a  line  of  spray sheeted
      down,   and  the  glass  around  it  gave  with  a  loud splintering
      crash.  The  spray  became  a  widening  waterfall  that poured
      
down  and  rebounded  from  the  floor  and  sent  a  tawny wave
      flooding  down  the  length  of  the  room,   knocking  over pillars
      and  statues  and  sweeping  tables  and  couches  before it.
         The  merchant's  couch  lurched  into  the  air.  The woman
      gave  a  guttural  cry  of  alarm,   and  clung  to  her  master's flesh
      as  a  shipwrecked  sailor  clings  to  a  bit  of  flotsam. Yama
      dashed  forward  through  surging  water  (for  a  moment,  Iachimo's
        corpse  clutched  at  his  ankles;  then  it  was swept
      away),   made  a  desperate  leap  and  caught  hold  of  one  end of
      the  rising  couch.  His  weight  rocked  it  on  its  long  axis,  so
      violently  that  for  one  moment  he  hung  straight  down,  the
      next  tipped  forward  and  fell  across  the  merchant's legs.
         The  merchant  roared  and  his  woman  clawed  at  Yama with
      sudden  fury,   her  long  nails  opening  his  forehead  so  that blood
      poured  into  his  eyes.  The  couch  turned  in  a  dizzy  circle above
      the  guards  as  they  struggled  to  stay  upright  in  the seething
      flood.  The  merchant  caught  at  Yama's  hands,   but  his grasp
      was  feeble,   and  Yama,   half-blinded,   grabbed  the  golden circlet
        around  the  man's  fleshy  scalp  and  pulled  with  all his
     strength.
         For  a  moment,   he  feared  that  the  circlet  would  not give
      way.  Then  it  snapped  in  half  and  unravelled  like  a ribbon.
      All  the  lights  went  out.  The  couch  tipped  and  Yama  and the
      merchant  and  the  woman  fell  into  the  wash  of  the flood.
      Yama  went  under  and  got  a  mouthful  of  muddy  water and
      came  up  spitting  and gasping.
         The  guards  had  fallen;  so  had  all  the machines.







           Yama  asked  a  question,   and  after  a  moment  points  of intense
           white  light  flared  down  the  length  of  the  room,  burning
         through  the  swirling  brown  flood.  Yama  wiped  blood from
         his  eyes.  The  current  swirled  around  his  waist.  He  was clutching
           a  tangle  of  golden  filaments  tipped  with  stringy fragments
         of flesh.
           At  the  far  end  of  the  huge  room,   something  floated  a handspan
           above  the  water,   turning  slowly  end  for  end.  It  was as
         big  as  Yama's  head,   and  black,   and  decorated  all  over with
         spikes  of  varying  lengths  and  thickness,   some  like rose
         thorns,   others  long  and  finely  tapered  and  questing  this way
         and  that  with  blind  intelligence.  The  thing  radiated  a black
         icy  menace,   a  negation  not  only  of  life,   but  of  the  reality of
         the  world.  For  a  moment,   Yama  was  transfixed;  then the
         machine  rose  straight  up,   smashing  through  the  ceiling. Yama
         felt  it  rise  higher  and  higher,   and  for  a  moment  felt  all the
         machines  in  Ys  turn  toward  it-but  it  was gone.
           The  merchant  sprawled  across  the  fallen  couch  like a
         beached  grampus.  A  ragged  wound  crowned  his  head,  streaming
           blood;  he  snorted  a  jelly  of  blood  and  mucus  through his
         nose.  The  woman  lay  beneath  him,   entirely  submerged Her
         head  was  twisted  back,   and  her  eyes  looked  up  through the
         swirling  water.  Up  and  down  the  length  of  the  room,  the
         guards  were  dead,  too.
           
Yama  held  the  frayed  remnants  of  the  circlet  before the
         merchant's  eyes,   and  said,   "Iachimo  told  me  about  this with
         his  last  breath,   but  I  had  already  guessed  its  secret.  I saw
         something  like  it  on  the lighter."
           "The  Preservers  have  gone  away, "  die,  naerchant
        whispered.
           The  floodwaters  were  receding,   running  away  into deeper
         levels  of  the  sunken  house.  Yama  knelt  by  the  couch and
         said,   "Why  am  I here?"
           The  merchant  drew  a  breath.  Blood  ran  from  his nostrils
         and  his  mouth.  He  said  wetly,   "Serve  no one."
           "If  the  Preservers  are  gone,   why  was  I  brought back?"
           The  merchant  tried  to  say  something, .but  only  blew  a bubble
           of  blood.  Yama  left  him  there  and  went  to  find Tamora
         and Pandaras.
                                             THE  FIER([ PEOPLE.
T  A  M  0  9  A  (A  M  1  8  A  (K  to  the  campfire  at  a  loping  run.  She was
         grinning  broadly  and  there  was  blood  around  her  mouth. She
         threw  a  brace  of  coneys  at  Yama's  feet  and  said proudly, 
         "This  is  how  we  live,   when  we  can.  We  are  the Fierce
         People,   the  Memsh Tek!"
           Pandaras  said,   "Not  all  of  us  can  live  on  meat alone."
           "Your  kind  have  to  exist  on  leaves  and  the  filth  swept into
         street  gutters, "  Tamora  said,   "and  that  is  why  they  are so
         weak.  Meat  and  blood  are  what  warriors  need,   so  be glad
         that  I  give  you  fine  fresh  guts.  They  will  make  you strong."
           She  slit  the  bellies  of  the  conies  with  her  sharp thumbnail, 
         crammed  the  steaming,   rich  red  livers  into  her  mouth and
         gulped  them  down.  Then  she  pulled  the  furry  skins  from 
the
         gutted  bodies,   as  someone  might  strip  gloves  from their
         hands,   and,   set  about  dismembering  them  with  teeth  and nails.
           She  had  attacked  the  merchant's  carcass  with  the same
         butcher's  skill.,   using  a  falchion  taken  from  one  of  the dead
         guards  to  fillet  it  from  neck  to  buttocks  and  expose  the thing
         which  had  burrowed  into  the  fatty  flesh  like  a  hagfish.  It was
         not  much  like  the  bottled  creature  Yama  had  seen  on the
         lighter.  Its  mantle  was  shrunken,   and  white  fibers  had knitted





      around  its  host's  spinal  column  like  cords  of  fungus  in rotten
       wood.
         Tamora  kept  most  of  the  coney  meat  for  herself  and  ate it
      raw,   but  she  allowed  Yama  and  Pandaras  to  cook the
      haunches  over  the  embers  of  the  fire.  The  unsalted  meat was
      half-burned  and  half-raw,   but  Yama  and  Pandaras hungrily
      stripped  it  from  the bones.
         "Burnt  meat  is  bad  for  the  digestion, "  Tamora  said,  grinning
        at  them  across  the  embers  of  the  fire.  She  wore only
      her  leather  skirt.  Her  two  pairs  of  breasts  were  little more
      than  enlarged  nipples,   like  tarnished  coins  set  on  her narrow
      ribcage.  In  addition  to  the  bird  burning  in  a  nest  of  fire on
      her  upper  arm,   inverted  triangles  were  tattooed  in  black ink
      on  her  shoulders.  There  was  a  bandage  around  her  waist; she
      had  been  seared  by  backflash  from  a  guard's  pistol  shot. She
      took  a  swallow  of  brandy  and  passed  the  bottle  to  Yama. He
      had  bought  the  brandy  in  a  bottleshop  and  used  a  little to
      preserve  the  filaments  Tamora.  had  fiensed  from  the merchant's
        body  and  placed  in  a  beautiful  miniature  flask,  cut
      from  a  single  crystal  of  rose  quartz,   which  Yama  had found
      in  the  wreckage  left  by  the  flood  when  he  had  been searching
      for  his  copy  of  the Puranas.
         Yama  drank  and  passed  the  bottli  to  Pandaras,   who was
      cracking  coney  bones  between  his  sharp teeth.
         "Drink, "  Tamora  said.  "We  fought  a  great  battle today."
         Pandaras  spat  a  bit  of  gristle  into  the  fire.  He  had already
      made  it  clear  how  unhappy  he  was  to  be  in  the  Fierce People's
        tract  of  wild  country,   and  he  sat  with  his  kidney puncher
      laid  across  his  lap  and  his  mobile  ears  pricked.  He  said,  "I'd
      rather  keep  my  wits  about me."
         Tamora.  laughed.  "No  one  would  mistake  you  for  a coney.
      You're  about  the  right  size,   but  you  can't  run  fast  enough 
to
      make  the  hunt interesting."
         Pandaras  took  the  smallest  possible  sip  from  the brandy
      bottle  and  passed  it  back  to  Yama.  He  told  Tamora,  "You
      certainly  ran  when  the  soldiers came."
         "Grab.  I  was  trying  to  catch  up  with  you  to  make sure
      you  went  the  right way."
         "Enough  stuff  to  set  a  man  up  for  life, "  Pandaras said, 
      "and  we  had  to  leave  it  for  the  city  militia  to loot."
          "I'm  a  cateran,   not  a  robber.  We  have  done  what we
       contracted  to  do.  Be  happy."  Tamora  grinned.  Her pink
       tongue  lolled  amongst  her  big,   sharp  teeth.  "Eat  burnt bones.
       Drink.  Sleep.  We  are  safe  here,   and  tomorrow  we  are paid."
          Yama  realized  that  she  was  drunk.  The  bottle  of brandy
       had  been  the  smallest  he  could  buy,   but  it  was  still big
       enough,   as  Pandaras  put  it,   to  drown  a  baby.  They  had needed
       only  a  few  minims  to  fill  the  crystal  flask,   and  Tamora had
       drunk  about  half  of  what  was left.
          "Safe?"  Pandaras  retorted.  "In  the  middle  of  any number
       of  packs  of  bloodthirsty  howlers  like  you?  I  won't  sleep at
       all tonight."
          "I  will  sing  a  great  song  of  our  triumph,   and  you will
       listen.  Pass  that  bottle,   Yama.  It  is  not  your child."
          Yama  took  a  burning  swallow  of  brandy,   handed  the bottle
       over,   and  walked  out  of  the  firelight  to  the  crest  of  the ridge.
       The  sandy  hills  where  the  Fierce  People  maintained their
       hunting  grounds  looked  out  across  the  wide  basin  of  the city
       toward  the  Great  River.  The  misty  light  of  the  Arm  of the
       Warrior  was  rising  above  the  farside  horizon.  It  was past
       midnight.  The  city  was  mostly  dark,   but  many campfires
       flickered  amongst  the  scrub  and.clumps  of  crown  ferns,  pines
       
and  eucalyptus  of  the  Fierce  People's  hunting  grounds,  and
       from  every  quarter  came  the  sound  of  distant  voices raised
       in song.
          Yama  sat  on  the  dry  grass  and  listened  to  the  night  music of
       the  Fierce  People.  The  feral  machine  still  haunted  ban,   like a
       ringing  in  the  ears  or  the  afterimage  of  a  searingly bright
       light.  And  beyond  this  psychic  echo  he  could  feel  the ebb
       and  flow  of  the  myriad  machines  in  the  city,   like  the flexing
       of  a  great  net.  They  had  also  been  disturbed  by  the feral
       machine,   and  the  ripples  of  alarm  caused  by  the disturbance
       were  still  spreading,   leaping  from  cluster  to  cluster  of machines
         along  the  docks,   running  out  toward  the  vast  bulk of
       the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People,   clashing  at the
       bases  of  the  high  towers  and  racing  up  their  lengths  out of
       the atmosphere.
          Yama  still  did  not  know  how  he  had  called  down  the feral
       machine,   and  although  it  had  saved  him  he  feared  that he
       might  call  it  again  by  accident,   and  feared  too  that  he had






        exposed  himself  to  discovery  by  the  network  of machines
        which  served  the  magistrates,   or  by  Prefect  Corin,   who must
        surely  still  be  searching  for  him.  The  descent  of  the feral
        machine  was  the  most  terrifying  and  the  most  shameful of
        his  adventures.  He  had  been  paralyzed  with  fear  when confronted
          with  it,   and  even  now  he  felt  that  it  had  marked him
        in  some  obscure  way,   for  some  small  part  of  him yearned
        for  it,   and  what  it  could  tell  him.  It  could  be  watching him
        still;  it  could  return  at  any  time,   and  he  did  not  know what
        he  would  do  if  it did.
          The  merchant-Yama  still  found  it  difficult  to  think  of him
        as  the  parasitic  bundle  of  nerve  fibers  burrowed  deep within
        that  tremendously  fat  body-had  said  that  he  was  a Builder, 
        a  member  of  the  first  bloodline  of  Ys.  The  pilot  of the
        voidship  had  said  something  similar,   and  the  slate  that Beatrice
          and  Osric  had  shown  him  had  suggested  the same
        thing.  His  people  had  walked  Confluence  in  its  first days, 
        sculpting  the  world  under  the  direct  instruction  of  -the Preservers
        ,   and  had  died  out  or  ascended  ages  past,   so  long  ago that
        most  had  forgotten  them.  And  yet  he  was  here,   and  he still
        did  not  know  why;  nor  did  he  know  the  full  extent  of his
       powers.
          The  merchant  had  hinted  that  he  knew  what  Yama was
        capable  of,   but  he  might  have  been  lying  to  serve  his own
        ends,   and  besides,   he  was  dead.  Perhaps  the  other star-sailors
        knew-Iachimo  had  said  that  they  were  very long-lived---or
        perhaps,   as  Yama  had  hoped  even  before  he  had  set  out 
from
        Aeolis,   there  were  records  somewhere  in  Ys  that  would explain
          everything,   or  at  least  lead  him  to  others  of  his kind.
        He  still  did  not  know  how  he  had  been  brought  into the
        world,   or  why  he  had  been  found  floating  on  the  river  on the
        breast  of  a  dead  woman  who  might  have  been  his  mother or
        nurse  or  something  else  entirely,   but  surely  he  had  been born
        to  serve  the  Preservers  in  some  fashion.  After  the Preservers
        had  fallen  into  the  event  horizon  of  the  Eye,   they could, still
        watch  the  world  they  had  made,   for  nothing  fell  faster than
        light,   but  they  could  no  longer  act  upon  it.  But  perhaps their
        reach  was  long-perhaps  they  had  ordained  his  birth,   here in
        what  the  merchant  had  called  the  end  times,   long  before they
        had  withdrawn  from  the  Universe.  Perhaps,   as  Derev be-
       lieved,   many  of  Yama's  kind  now  walked  the  world,   as they
       had  at  its  beginning.  But  for  what  purpose?  All  through his
       childhood  he  had  prayed  for  a  revelation,   a  sign,   a  hint,  and
       had  received  nothing.  Perhaps  he  should  expect  nothing else.
       Perhaps  the  shape  of  his  life  was  the  sip  he  sought,   if only
       he  could  understand it.
         But  he  could  not  believe  he  was  the  servant  of  the feral
       machines.  That  was  the  worst  thought  of all.
         Yama  sat  on  a  hummock  of  dry  grass,   with  the  noise of
       crickets  everywhere  in  the  darkness  around  him,   and leafed
       through  his  copy  of  the  Puranas.  The  book  had  dried out
       well,   although  one  corner  of  its  front  cover  was  faintly 
but
       indelibly  stained  with  the  merchant's  blood.  The  pages held
       a  faint  light,   and  the  glyphs;  stood  out  like  shadows against
       this  soft  effulgence.  Yama  found  the  sura  which  Iachimo had
       quoted,   and  read  it  from  beginning  to end.
         The  world  first  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  read  on,   although  the  next  sura  was  merely  an exhaustive
         description  of  the  dimensions  and  composition  of  the world, 
       and  he  knew  that  there  was  no  other  mention  of  the Builders, 
       nor  of  their  fate.  This  was  toward  the  end  of  the  Puranas. The
       world  and  everything  in  it  was  an  afterthought  at  the  end of
       the  history  of  the  Galaxy,   created  in  the  last  moment before






          the  Preservers  fell  into  the  Eye  and  were  known  no  more in
          the  Universe.  Nothing  had  been  written  about  the  ten thousand
            bloodlines  of  Confluence  in  the  Puranas;  if  there had
          been,   then  there  would  have  never  been  a  beginning  to the
          endless  disputations  amongst  priests  and  philosophers about
          the  reason  for  the  world's creation.
            Tamora  said,   "Reading,   is  it?  There's  nothing  in books
          you  can't  learn  better  in  the  world,   nothing  but  fantastic rubbish
            about  monsters  and  the  like.  You'll  rot  your  mind and
          your  eyes,   reading  too  much  in books."
            "Well,   I  met  a  real  monster today."
            4  ', , W  he's  dead,   the  fucker,   and  we  have  a  piece  of him
          in  brandy  as  proof.  So  much  for him."
            Yama  had  not  told  Tamora  and  Pandaras  about  the feral
          machine.  Tamora  had  boasted  that  one  of  her  pistol  shots had
          weakened  the  ceiling  and  so  caused  the  flood  which had
          saved  them,   and  Yama  had  not  corrected  her  error.  He  felt a
          rekindling  of  shame  at  this  deception,   and  said  weakly,  "I
          suppose  the  merchant  was  a  kind  of  monster.  He  tried  to flee
          from  his  true  self,   and  let  a  little  hungry  part  of  himself rule
          his  life.  He  was  all  appetite  and  nothing  else.  I  think he
          would  have  eaten  the  whole  world,   if  he could."
            "You  want  to  be  a  soldier.  Here's  some  advice. Don't
          think  about  what  you  have  to  do  and  don't  think  about it
          
when  it's done."
            "And  can  you  forget  it  so easily?"
            "Of  course  not.  But  I  try.  We  were  captured,   your rat-boy
          and  me,   and  thrown  into  cages,   but  you  had  it  worse,   I think.
          The  merchant  was  trying  to  bend  you  toward  his  will. The
          words  of  his  kind  are  like  thorns,   and  some  of  them  are still
          in  your  flesh.  But  they'll  wither,   and  you'll  forget them."
            Yama  smiled  and  said,   "Perhaps  it  would  be  no  bad thing, 
          to  be  the  ruler  of  the world."
            Tamora  sat  down  close  beside  him.  She  was  a  shadow in
          the  darkness.  She  said,   "You  would  destroy  the  civil service
          and  rule  instead?  How  would  that  change  the  world  for the
         better?"
            Yama  could  feel  her  heat.  She  gave  off  a  strong scent
          compounded  of  fresh  blood  and  sweat  and  a  sharp  musk. He
          said,   "Of  course  not.  But  the  merchant  told  me something
      about  my  bloodline.  I  may  be  alone  in  the  world.  I  may be
      a  mistake  thrown  up  at  the  end  of  things.  Or  I  may  be something
        else.  Something intended."
         "The  fat  fuck  was  lying.  How  better  to  get  you  to follow
      him  than  by  saying  that  you  are  the  only  one  of  your kind, 
      and  he  knows  all  about you?"
         "I  am  not  sure  that  he  was  lying,   Tamora.  At  least,   I think
      he  was  telling  part  of  the truth."
         "I  haven't  forgotten  what  you  want,   and  I  was  a  long time
      hunting  coneys  because  I  really  went  to  ask  around. Listen.
      I  have  a  way  of  getting  at  what  you  want.  There  is  a  job for
      a  couple  of  caterans.  Some  little  pissant  department needs
      
someone  to  organize  a  defense  of  its  territory  inside  the Palace
        of  the  Memory  of  the  People.  There  are  many disputes
      between  departments,   and  the  powerful  grow  strong  at the
      expense  of  the  weak.  That's  the  way  of  the  world,   but  I don't
      mind  defending  the  weak  if  I  get  paid  for it."
         "Then  perhaps  they  may  be  stronger  than  you  after all."
         "Grah.  Listen.  When  a  litter  is  born  here,   the  babies are
      exposed  on  a  hillside  for  a  day.  Any  that  are  weak  die,  or
      are  taken  by  birds  or  foxes.  We're  the  Fierce  People,  see?
      We  keep  our  bloodline  strong.  The  wogs  and  wetbacks and
      snakes  and  the  rest  of  the  garbage  down  there  in  the city, 
      they're  what  we  prey  on.  They  need  us,   not  the  other way
      around."  Tamora  spat  sideways.  Yes,   she  had  drunk  a  lot of
      brandy.  She  said,   "There's  prey,   and  there's  hunters. You
      have  to  decide  which  you  are.  You  don't  know,   now  is the
      time  you  find  out.  Are  you  for it?"
         "It  seems  like  a  good plan."
         "Somewhere  or  other  you've  picked  up  the  habit  of not
      speaking  plain.  You  mean  yes,   then  say it."
         "Yes.  Yes,   I  will  do  it.  If  it  means  getting  into  the Palace
      of  the  Memory  of  the People."
         "Then  you  got  to  pay  me,   because  I  found  it  for  you,  and
      I'll  do  the work."
         "I  know  something  about fighting."
         Tamora.  spat  again.  "Listen,   this  is  a  dangerous  job. This
      little  department  is  certain  to  be  attacked  and  they  don't have
      a  security  office  or  they  wouldn't  be  hiring  someone from







         outside.  They're  bound  to  lose,   see,   but  if  it's  done  right then
         only  their  thralls  will  get  killed.  We  can  probably  escape,  or
         at  worse  lose  our  bond  when  we're  ransomed,   but  I won't
         deny  there's  a  chance  we'll  get  killed,   too.  You  still  want it?"
            "It  is  a  way in."
            "Exactly.  This  department  used  to  deal  in prognostication, 
         but  it  is  much  debased.  There  are  only  a  couple  of  seers left, 
         but  it  is  highly  placed  in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of the
         People,   and  other  more  powerful  departments  want  to displace
           it.  It  needs  us  to  train  its  thralls  so  they  can  put up
         some  kind  of  defense,   but  there  will  be  time  for  you  to search
         for  whatever  it  is  you're  looking  for.  We  will  agree payment
         now.  You'll  pay  any  expenses  out  of  your  share  of  the fees
         for  killing  the  merchant  and  for  this  new  job,   and  I keep
         my  half  of  both  fees,   and  half  again  of  anything  that's left
         Of  yours.  t 9
            "Is  that  a  fair price?"
            "Grah.  You're  supposed  to  bargain,   you  idiot!  It  is twice
         what  the  risk  is worth."
            "I  will  pay  it  anyway.  If  I  find  out  what  I  want  to know, 
         I  will  have  no  need  of money."
            "If  you  want  to  join  the  army  as  an  officer,   you'll need
         
plenty,   more  than  you're  carrying  around  now.  You'll have
         to  buy  the  rest  of  your  own  armor,   and  mounts,   and weaponry
         .  And  if  you're  looking  for  information,   there  will be
         bribes  to  be  paid.  I'll  take  a  quarter  of  your  fees,  bargaining
         against  myself  like  a  fool,   and  share  expenses  with you.
         You'll  need  the  rest,   believe me."
            "You  are  a  good  person,   Tamora,   although  I  would like
         you  better  if  you  were  more  tolerant.  No  one  bloodline should
         raise  itself  above  any other."
            "I'll  do  well  enough  out  of  this,   believe  me.  One other
         thing.  We  won't  tell  the  rat-boy  about  this.  We  do  this without
          him."
            "Are  you  scared  of  him  because  he  killed  the gatekeeper?"
            "If  I  was  scared  of  any  of  his  kind,   I  would  never dare
         spit  in  the  gutter  again,   for  fear  of  hitting  one  in  the  eye. Let
         him  come  if  he  must,   but  I  won't  pretend  I  like  it,   and any
         money  he  wants  comes  from  you,   not me."
          'He  is  like  me,   Tamora.  He wants      to  be  other  than his
     fate.
         "Then  he's  certainly  as  big  a  fool  as  you."  Tamora handed
      Yama  the  brandy  bottle.  It  was  almost  empty.  "Drink. Then
      you  will  listen  to  me  sing  our  victory  song.  The  rat-boy is
      scared  to  sit  with  my  brothers  and  sisters,   but  I  know you
      won't be.
         Although  Yama  tried not     to  show  it,   he  was intimidated
      by  the  proud,   fierce  people  who  sat  around  the  campfire: an
      
even  decad  of  Tamora's  kin,   heavily  muscled  men and
      women  marked  on  their  shoulders  by  identical  tattoos  of inverted
        triangles.  Most  intimidating  of  all  was  a straightbacked
        matriarch  with  a  white  mane  and  a  lacework  of fine
      scars  across  her  naked  torso,   who  watched  Yama  with redbacked
        eyes  from  the  other  side  of  the  fire  while Tamora
     sang.
         Tamora's  victory  song  was  a  discordant  open-throated ululation
        that  rose  and  twisted  like  a  sharp  silver  wire  into the
      black  air  above  the  flames  of  the  campfire.  When  it  was done, 
      she  took  a  long  swig  from  a  wine  skin  while  the  men and
      women  murmured  and  nodded  and  showed  their  fangs in
      quick  snarling  smiles,   although  one  complained  loudly that
      the  song  had  been  less  about  Tamora  and  more  about this
      whey-skinned stranger.
         "That  is  because  it  was  his  adventure, "  Tamora said.
         "Then  let  him  sing  for  himself, "  the  man grumbled.
         The  matriarch  asked  Tamora  about  Yama,   saying  that she
      had  not  seen  his  kind before.
         "He's  from  downriver,  grandmother."
         "That  would  explain  it.  I'm  told  that  there  are many
      strange  peoples  downriver,   although  I  myself  have  never troubled
        to  go  and  see,   and  now  I  am  too  old  to  have  to bother.
      Talk  with  me,   boy.  Tell  me  how  your  people  came  into the
     world."
         "That  is  a  mystery,   even  to  myself.  I  have  read something
      in  the  Puranas  about  my  people,   and  I  have  seen  a picture
      of  one  in  an  old  slate,   but  that  is  all  I know."






             "Then  your  people  are  very  strange  indeed, "  the matriarch
          said.  "Every  bloodline  has  its  story  and  its  mysteries  and its
          three  names.  The  Preservers  chose  to  raise  up  each bloodline
          in  their  image  for  a  particular  reason,   and  the  stories explain
          why.  You  won't  find  your  real  story  in  that  book  you carry.
          That's  about  older  mysteries,   and  not  about  this  world at
          all."  She  cuffed  one  of  the  women  and  snatched  a  wine skin
          from  her.  "They  keep  this  from  me, "  she  told  Yama,  "because
            they're  frightened  I'll  disgrace  myself  if  I  get drunk."
             "Nothing  could  make  you  drunk,   grandmother, "  one of
          the  men  said.  "That's  why  we  ration  your  drinking,   or you'd
          poison  yourself trying."
             The  matriarch  spat  into  the  fire.  "A  mouthful  of  this rotgut
          will  poison  me.  Can  no  one  afford  proper  booze?  In  the old
          days  we  would  have  used  this  to  fuel  our lamps."
             Yama  still  had  the  brandy  bottle,   with  a  couple  of fingers
          of  clear,   apricot-scented  liquor  at  its  bottom.  "Here,  grandmother
          , "  he  said,   and  handed  it  to  the matriarch.
             The  old  woman  drained  the  bottle  and  licked  her  lips in
          appreciation.  "Do  you  know  how  we  came  into  the world, 
          boy?  I'll  tell you."
             Several  of  the  people  around  the  fire  groaned,   and the
          matriarch  said  sharply,   "It'll  doyou  good  to  hear  it again.
          
You  young  people  don't  know  the  stories  as  well  as you
          should.  Listen,  then.
             "After  the  world  was  made,   some  of  the  Preservers set
          animals  down  on  its  surface,   and  kindled  intelligence  in them.
          There  are  a  people  descended  from  coyotes,   for instance, 
          whose  ancestors  were  taught  by  the  Preservers  to  bury their
          dead.  This  odd  habit  brought  about  a  change  in  the coyotes, 
          for  they  learned  to  sit  up  so  they  could  sit  beside  the graves
          and  mourn  their  dead  properly.  But  sitting  on  cold  stone wore
          away  their  bushy  tails,   and  after  many  generations  they began
          standing  upright  because  the  stone  was  uncomfortable  to their
          naked  arses.  When  that  happened,   their  forepaws lengthened
          into  human  hands,   and  their  sharp  muzzles  shortened  bit by
          bit  until  they  became  human  faces.  That's  one  story,  and
          there  are  as  many  stories  as  there  are  bloodlines descended
          from  the  different  kinds  of  animals  which  were  taught to
          become  human.  But  our  own  people  had  a  different origin.
           "Two  of  the  Preservers  fell  into an     argument  about the
        right  way  to  make  human  people.  The  Preservers  do  not have
        sexes  as  we  understand  them,   nor  do  they  many,   but  it is
        easier  to  follow  the  story  if  we  think  of  them  as  wife and
        husband,   One,   Enki,   was  the  Preserver  who  had  charge of
        the  world's  water,   and  so  his  work  was  hard,   for  in those
        early  times  all  there  was  of  the  world  was  the  Great River, 
        running  from  nowhere  to  nowhere,   He  complained  of  his hard
        work  to  his  wife,   Nimnah,   who  was  the  Preserver  of earth, 
        and  she  suggested  that  they  create  a  race  of  marionettes 
or
        puppets  who  would  do  the  work  for  them.  And  this  they did, 
        using  the  small  amount  of  white  silt  that  was  suspended in
        the  Great  River.  I  see  that  you  know  this  part  of  the story."
           "Someone  told  me  a  little  of  it  today.  It  is  to  be  found in
        the  Puranas. "
           "What  I  tell  you  is  truer,   for  it  has  been  told  from mouth
        to  ear  for  ten  thousand  generations,   and  so  its  words still
        live,   and  have  not  become  dead  things  squashed  flat  on plastic
        or  pulped  wood.  Well  then,   after  this  race  was  produced from
        the  mud  of  the  river,   there  was  a  great  celebration because
        the  Preservers  no  longer  needed  to  work  on  their creation.
        Much  beer  was  consumed,   and  Ninmah  became especially
        light-headed.  She  called  to  Enki,   saying,   'How  good  or bad
        is  a  human  body?  I  could  reshape  it  in  any  way  I  please,  but
        could  you  find  tasks  for  itT  Enki  responded  to  this challenge, 
        and  so  Ninmah  made  a  barren  woman,   and  a  eunuch,  and
        several  other cripples.
           "But  Enki  found  tasks  for  them  all.  The  barren  woman he
        made  into  a  concubine;  the  eunuch  he  made  into  a  civil servant
        ,   and  so  on.  Then  in  the  same  playful  spirit  he challenged
        Ninmah.  He  would  do  the  shaping  of  different  races,   and she
        the  placing.  She  agreed,   and  Enki  first  made  a  man whose
        making  was  already  remote  from  him,   and  so  the  first old
        
man  appeared  before  Ninmah.  She  offered  the  old  man bread, 
        but  he  was  too  feeble  to  reach  for  it,   and  when  she thrust
        the  bread  into  his  mouth,   he  could  not  chew  it  for  he  had no
        teeth,   and  so  Nimnah  could  find  no  use  for  this unfortunate.
        Then  Enki  made  many  other  cripples  and  monsters,   and Ninmah
          could  find  no  use  for  them,  either.
           "The  pair  fell  into  a  drunken  sleep,   and  when  they wa-







         kened  all  was  in  uproar,   for  the  cripples  Enki  had made
         were  spreading  through  the  world.  Enki  and  Ninmah were
         summoned  before  the  other  Preservers  to  explain themselves, 
         and  to  escape  punishment  Enki  and  Ninmah  together  made a
         final  race,   who  would  hunt  the  lame  and  the  old,   and so
         make  the  races  of  the  world  stronger  by  consuming their
         weak members.
           "And  so  we  came  into  the  world,   and  it  is  said  that we
         have  a  quick  and  cruel  temper,   because  Enki  and Ninmah
         suffered  dreadfully  from  the  effects  of  drinking  too much
         beer  when  they  made  us,   and  that  was  passed  to  us  as a
         potmaker  leaves  her  thumbprint  in  the clay."
             I  have  heard  only  the  beginning  of  this  story, " Yaina
         said,   "and  I  am  glad  that  now  I  have  heard  the  end  of it."
           "Now  you  must  tell  a  story, "  one  of  the  men  said loudly.
         It  was  the  one  who  had  complained  before.  He  was smaller
         than  the  others,   but  still  a  head  taller  than  Yama.  He wore
         black  leather  trousers  and  a  black  leather  jacket  studded with
         copper nails.
           "Be  quiet,   Gorgo, "  the  matriarch  said.  "This  young man
         is  our guest."
           Gorgo  looked  across  the  fire  at  Yama,   and  Yama  met his
         truculent,   challenging  gaze.  Neither.  was  willing  to  look away, 
         but  then  a  branch  snapped  in  the  fire  and  sent  burning fragments
           flying  into  Gorgo's  lap.  He  cursed  and  brushed  at the
         sparks  while  the  others laughed.
           Gorgo  glowered  and  said,   "We  have  heard  his boasts
         
echoed  in  Tamora's  song.  I  simply  wonder  if  he  has  the heart
         to  speak  for  himself.  He  owes  that  courtesy,   I think."
           "You're  a  great  one  for  knowing  what's  owed, " someone
          said.
           Gorgo  turned  on  the  man.  "I  only  press  for  payment when
         it's  needed,   as  you  well  know.  How  much  poorer  you would
         be  if  I  didn't  find  you  work!  You  are  all  in  my debt."
           The  matriarch  said,   "That  is  not  to  be  spoken  of.  Are we
         not  the  Fierce  People,   whose  honor  is  as  renowned  as our
         strength  and  our temper?"
           Gorgo  said,   "Some  people  need  reminding  about honor."
           One  of  the  women  said,   "We  fight.  You  get  the rewards."
           "Then  don't  ask  me  for  work, "  Gorgo  said petulantly.
       "Find  your  own.  I  force  no  one,   as  is  well  known,   but so
       many  ask  for  my  help  that  I  scarcely  have  time  to  sleep or
       catch  my  food.  But  here  is  our  guest.  Let's  not  forget him.
       We  hear  great  things  of  him  from  Tamora.  Hush,   and  let him
       speak  for himself."
         Yama  thought  that  Gorgo  could  speak  sweetly  when he
       chose,   but  the  honey  of  his  words  disguised  his  envy and
       suspicion.  Clearly,   Gorgo  thought  that  Yama's  was  one of
       the  trash  or  vermin bloodlines.
         Yama  said,   "I  will  tell  a  story,   although  I  am  afraid that
       it  might  bore  you.  It  is  about  how  my  life  was  saved  by one
       of  the indigens."
         Gorgo  grumbled  that  this  didn't  sound  like  a  true  story at
       all.  "Tell  something  of  your  people  instead, "  he said.
       "Please  do  not  tell  me  that  such  a  fine  hero  as  yourself,  
if
       we  are  to  believe  the  words  of  our  sister  here,   is  so ashamed
       of  his  own  people  that  he  has  to  make  up  stories  of subhuman
         creatures  which  do  not  carry  the  blessing  of the
      Preservers."
         Yama  smiled.  This  at  least  was  easy  to  counter.  "I wish
       I  knew  such  stories,   but  I  was  raised  as  an orphan."
         "Perhaps  your  people  were  ashamed  of  you, "  Gorgo said, 
       but  he  was  the  only  one  to  laugh  at  his sally.
         "Tell  your  story, "  Tamora  said,   "and  don't let         Gorgo
       interrupt  you.  He  is  jealous,   because  he  hasn't  any  stories of
       his own.'
         When  Yama  began,   he  realized  that  he  had  drunk more
       than  he  intended,   but  he  could  not  back  out  now.  He described
         how  he  had  been  kidnapped  and  taken  to  the pinnace, 
       and  how  he  had  escaped  (making  no  mention  of  the ghostly
       ship)  and  cast  himself  upon  a  banyan  island  far  from shore.
         "I  found  one  of  the  indigenous  fisherfolk  stuck  fast  in a
       trap  left  by  one  of  the  people  of  the  city  which  my father
       administers.  The  people  of  the  city  once  hunted  the fisherfolk, 
       but  my  father  put  a  stop  to  it.  The  unfortunate  fisherman had
       become  entangled  in  a  trap  made  of  strong,   sticky  threads of
       the  kind  used  to  snare  bats  which  skim  the  surface  of the
       water  for  fish.  I  could  not  free  him  without  becoming caught
       fast  myself,   so  I  set  a  trap  of  my  own  and  waited.  When the
       hunter  came  to  collect  his  prey,   as  a  spider  sidles  down to







        claim  a  fly  caught  in  its  web,   it  was  the  hunter  who became
        the  prey.  I  took  the  spray  which  dissolves  the  trap's glue, 
        and  the  fisherman  and  I  made  our  escape  and  left  the foolish
        hunter  to  the  torments  of  those  small,   voracious  hunters who
        outnumber  their  prey,   mosquitoes  and  blackflies.  In  turn,  the
        fisherman  fed  me  and  took  me  back  to  the  shore  of  the Great
        River.  And  so  we  saved  each other."
           "A  tall  tale, "  Gorgo  said,   meeting  Yama's  gaze again.
           "It  is  true  I  missed  out  much,   but  if  I  told  everything then
        we  would  be  up  all  night.  I  will  say  one  more  thing.  If not
        for  the  fisherman's  kindness,   I  would  not  be  here,   so  I have
        learnt  never  to  rush  to  judge  any  man,   no  matter  how worthless
          he  might appear."
           Gorgo  said,   "He  asks  us  to  admire  his  reflection  in his
        tales.  Let  me  tell  you  that  what  I  see  is  a  fool.  Any sensible
        man  would  have  devoured  the  fisherman  and  taken  his coracle
        and  escaped  with  a  full belly."
           "I  simply  told  you  what  happened, "  Yama  said,  meeting
        the  man's  yellow  gaze.  "Anything  you  see  in  my  words is
        what  you  have  placed  there.  If  you  had  tried  to  steal the
        hunter's  prey,   you  would  have  been  stuck  there  too,   and been
        butchered  and  devoured  along  with  the fisherman."
           Gorgo  jumped  up.  "I  think  I  know  something  about hunting
        ,   and  I  do  know  that  you  are  not  as  clever  as  you imagine
        yourself  to  be.  You  side  with  prey,   and  so  you're  no hunter
        
at all."
           Yama  stood  too,   for  he  would  not  look  up  from  a lesser
        to  a  higher  position  when  he  replied  to  Gorgo's  insult. Perhaps
          he  would  not  have  done  it  if  he  had  been  less drunk, 
        but  he  felt  the  sting  of  wounded  pride.  Besides,   he  did not
        think  that  Gorgo  was  a  threat.  He  was  a  man  who  used words
        as  others  use  weapons.  He  was  taller  and  heavier  than Yama, 
        and  armed  with  a  strong  jaw  and  sharp  teeth,   but Sergeant
        Rhodean  had  taught  Yama  several  ways  by  which  such differences
          could  be  turned  to  an advantage.
           "I  described  what  happened,   no  more  and  no  less, " Yama
        said.  "I  hope  I  do  not  need  to  prove  the  truth  of  my words."
           Tamora  grabbed  Yama's  hand  and  said,   "Don't mind
        Gorgo.  He  has  always  wanted  to  fuck  me,   and  I've always
        refused.  He's  quick  to  anger,   and jealous."
           Gorgo  laughed.  "I  think  you  have  me  wrong,   sister.  It is
        not  your  delusion  I  object  to,   but  his.  Remember  what you
        owe  me  before  you  insult  me again."
           "You  will  both  sit  down, "  the  matriarch  said.  "Yama is
        our  guest,   Gorgo.  You  dishonor  all  of  us.  Sit  down. Drink.
        We  all  lose  our  temper,   and  the  less  we  make  of  it the
        better. "
           "You  all  owe  me, "  Gorgo  said,   "one  way  or another."
        He  glared  at  the  circle  of  people,   then  spat  into  the  fire and
        turned  and  stalked  away  into  the night.
           There  was  an  awkward  pause.  Yama  sat  down  and apologized
        ,   saying  that  he  had  drunk  too  much  and  lost his
       judgment.
           "We've  all  slapped  Gorgo  around  one  time  or another, "
        one  of  the  women  said.  "He  grows  angry  if  his advances
        
are ignored."
           "He  is  more  angry  than  fierce, "  someone  said,   and the
        rest laughed.
           "He's  a  fucking  disgrace, "  Tamora  said.  "A  sneak  and a
        coward.  He  never  hunts,   but  feeds  off  the  quarry  of  us all.
        He  shot  a  man  with  an  arbalest  instead  of  fighting fair-"
           "Enough, "  the  matriarch  said.  "We  do  not  speak  of others
        to  their backs."
           "I'd  speak  to  his  face, "  Tamora  said,   "if  he'd  ever look
        me  in  the eye."
           "If  we  say  no  more  about  this, "  Yama  said,   "I promise
        to  say  no  more  about myself."
           There  were  more  drinking  games,   and  more  songs,   and at
        last  Yama  begged  to  be  released,   for  although  Tamora's people
          seemed  to  need  little  sleep,   he  was  exhausted  by his
        adventures.  He  found  his  way  back  to  his  own  campfire by
        the  faint  light  of  the  Arm  of  the  Warrior,   falling  several times
        but  feeling  no  hurt.  Pandaras  was  curled  up  near  the warm
        ashes,   his  kidney  puncher  gripped  in  both  hands.  Yama lay
        down  a  little  way  off,   on  the  ridge  which  overlooked  the dark
        city.  He  did  not  remember  wrapping  himself  in  his blanket, 
        or  falling  asleep,   but  he  woke  when  Tamora  pulled  the blanket
          away  from  him.  Her  naked  body  glimmered  in  the near
        dark.  He  did  not  resist  when  she  started  to  undo  the  laces of
        his  shirt,   or  when  she  covered  his  mouth  with hers.







                                THE  COUNTRY  Of  TOE WIND.
THE  NEXT  MORNING,   Pandaras  watched  with unconcealed
        amusement  as  Tamora  swabbed  the  scratches  on Yaxna's
        flanks  and  the  sore  places  on  his  shoulders  and  neck where
        she  had  nipped  him.  Pandaras  sleeked  back  his  hair with
        wrists  wet  by  his  own  saliva,   slapped  dust  from  his ragged
        jerkin,   and  announced  that  he  was  ready  to go.
           "We  can  buy  breakfast  on  the  way  to  the  docks.  With all
        the  money  we  have  earned,   there's  no  reason  to  live like
        unchanged rustics."
           "You  slept  soundly  last  night, "  Yama said.
           "I  was  not  sleeping  at  all.  When  I  had  not  fainted away
        with  fright  I  was  listening  to  every  sound  in  the  night,  imagining
          that  some  hungry  meat-eater  was  creeping  up  on me.
        My  people  have  lived  in  the  city  forever.  We  were  not made
        for  the countryside."
           Yama  held  up  his  shirt.  It  was  stained  with  sidt  from the
        flood  which  had  fallen  through  the  ceiling  of  the merchant's
        house,   and  flecked  with  chaff  where  he  and  Tamora  had used
        it  as  a  pillow.  He  said,   "I  should  wash  out  my  clothes. This
        will  make  no  impression  on  our  new employers."
           Pandaras  looked  up.  "Are  we  away  then?  We'll collect
        our  reward,   and  go  to  our  new  employer  in  the  Palace  of the
       Memory  of  the  People,   and  find  your  family,   all  before the
       mountains  eat  the  sun.  We  could  already  be  there,   master,  if
       you  had  not  slept  so late."
          "Not  so  quickly, "  Yama  said,   smiling  at Pandaras's
      eagerness.
          
"I'll  be  an  old  man  before  long,   and  no  use  to  you  at all.
       At  least  let  me  wash  your  clothes.  It  will  take  but  a minute, 
       and  I  am,   after  all,   your squire."
          Tamora  scratched  at  reddened  skin  at  the  edge  of  the bandage
         around  her  waist.  "Grah.  Some  squire  you'd make, "
       she  said,   "with  straws  in  your  hair  and  dirt  on  your snout.
       Come  with  me,   Yama.  There's  a  washing  place  farther up."
          Pandaras  flourished  his  kidney  puncher  and  struck  an attitude
         and  smiled  at  Yama,   seeking  his  approval.  He  had an
       appetite  for  drama,   as  if  all  the  world  were  a  stage,   and he
       was  the  central  player.  He  said,   "I  will  guard  your satchel, 
       master,   but  do  not  leave  me  alone  for  long.  I  can  fight  off two
       or  three  of  these  ravenous  savages,   but  not  an  entire tribe."
          A  series  of  pools  in  natural  limestone  basins  stepped away
       down  the  slope  of  the  hill,   with  water  rising  from  hot springs
       near  the  crest  and  falling  from  one  pool  to  the  next. Each
       pool  was  slightly  cooler  than  the  one  above.  Yama  sat with
       Tamora  in  the  shallow  end  of  the  hottest  pool  he  could bear
       and  scrubbed  his  shirt  and  trousers  with  white  sand. He
       spread  them  out  to  dry  on  a  flat  rock  already  warm  from the
       sun,   and  then  allowed  Tamora  to  wash  his  back.  Little fish
       striped  with  silver  and  black  darted  around  his  legs  in the
       clear  hot  water,   nipping  at  the  dirt  between  his  toes. Other
       people  were  using  pools  higher  up,   calling  cheerfully  to each
       other  under  the  blue sky.
          Tamora  explained  that  the  water  came  from  the  Rim Mountains
       .  "Everyone  in  the  city  who  can  afford  it  uses mountain
       water;  only  beggars  and  refugees  drink  from  the river."
          "Then  they  must  be  the  holiest  people  in  Ys,   for  the water
       
of  the  Great  River  is sacred."
          "Grah,   holiness  does  not  cleanse  the  river  of  all  the shit
       put  into  it.  Most  bathe  in  it  only  once  a  year,   on  the high
       day  celebrated  by  their  bloodline.  Otherwise  those  who can
       avoid  it,   which  is  why  water  is  brought  into  the  city.  One of
       the  underground  rivers  which  transports  the  mountain water






      passes  close  by.  It's  why  we  have  our  hunting  grounds here.
      There  are  waterholes  where  animals  come  to  drink  and where
      the  hunting  is  good,   and  at  this  place  we  have  hidden machines
        to  heat  the water."
         "It  is  a  wonderful  place, "  Yama  said.  "Look,   a hawk!"
         Tamora  lifted  the  thong  around  Yama's  neck  and fingered
      the  coin  which  hung  from  it.  "What's  this?  A keepsake?"
         "Someone  gave  it  to  me.  Before  I  left Aeolis."
         "You  find  them  everywhere,   if  you  bother  to  dig  for  a few
      minutes.  We  used  to  play  with  them  when  we  were children.
      This  is  less  worn  than  most,   though.  Who  gave  it  to  you? A
      sweetheart,  perhaps?"
         Derev.  This  was  the  second  time  Yama  had  betrayed her
      trust.  Although  he  did  not  know  if  he  would  ever  see Derev
      again,   and  although  he  had  been  drunk,   he  felt suddenly
      ashamed  that  he  had  allowed  Tamora  to  take him.
         Tamora's  breath  feathered  his  cheek.  It  had  a  minty tang
      from  the  leaf  she  had  plucked  from  a  bush  and  folded inside
      her  mouth  between  her  teeth  and  her  cheek.  She  fingered the
      line  of  Yama's  jaw  and  said,   "There's  hair  coming  in here."
         "There  is  a  glass  blade  in  my  satchel.  I  should have
      brought  it  to  shave.  Or  perhaps  I  will  grow  a beard."
         "It  was  your  first  time,   wasn't  it?  Don't  be  ashamed. Everyone
        must  have  a  first time."
         "No.  I  mean,   no,   it  was  not  the  first time."
         Telmon's  high,   excited  voice  as  he  threw  open  the  door of
      the  brothel's  warm,   scented,   lamp-lit  parlor.  The  women turning
        to  them  like  exotic  orchids  unfolding.  Yama  had gone
      with  Telmon  because  he  had  been  asked,   because  he had
      been  curious,   because  Telmon  had  been  about  to  leave for
      the  war.  Afterwards,   he  had  suspected  that  Derev  had known
      
all  about  it,   and  if  she  had  not  condoned  it,   then  perhaps at
      least  she  had  understood.  That  was  why  Yama  had  been so
      fervent  with  his  promises  on  the  night  before  he  left Aeolis, 
      and  yet  how  easily  he  had  broken  them.  He  felt  a sudden
      desolation.  How  could  he  even  think  of  being  a hero?
         Tamora  said,   "It  was  your  first  time  with  one  of  the Fierce
      People.  That  should  Burn  away  the  memory  of  all others."
      She  nipped  his  shoulder.  "You  have  a  soft  skin,   and  it tastes
      of salt."
          "I  sweat  everywhere,   except  the  palms  of  my  hands and
       the  soles  of  my feet.
          "Really?  How  strange.  But  I  like  the  taste.  That's  why I
       bit  you  last night."
          "I  heal quickly."
          Tamora  said,   "Yama,   listen  to  me.  It  won't  happen again.
       Not  while  we're  working  together.  No,   stay  still.  I  can't clean
       your  back  if  you  turn  around.  We  celebrated  together last
       night,   and  that  was  good.  But  I  won't  let  it  interfere  with MY
       work.  If  you  don't  like  that,   and  think  yourself  used,  then
       find  another  cateran.  There  are  plenty  here,   and  plenty more
       at  the  Water  Market.  You  have  enough  money  to  hire the
      best."
          "I  was  at  least  as  drunk  as  you were."
          "Drunker,   I'd  say.  I  hope  you  didn't  fuck  me  just because
       you  were drunk."
          Yama blushed.    "I  meant  that  I  lost  any  inhibitions  I might
       otherwise  have  had. Tamora-"
          "Don't  start  on  any  sweet  talk.  And  don't  tell  me about
       any  sweetheart  you  might  have  left  at  home,   either,   or 
about
       how  sorry  you  are.  That's  there.  This  is  here.  We're battle
       companions.  We  fucked.  End  of  that  part  of  the story."
          "Are  all  your  people  so direct?"
          "We  speak  as  we  find.  Not  to  do  so  is  a  weakness.  I like
       you,   and  I  enjoyed  last  night.  We're  lucky,   because some
       bloodlines  are  only  on  heat  once  a  year-imagine  how n-dserable
         they  must  be-and  besides,   there's  no  danger  of  us making
         babies  together.  That's  what  happens  when  my people
       fuck,   unless  the  woman  is  already  pregnant.  I'm  not ready
       for  that,   not  yet.  In  a  few  years  I'll  find  some  men  to run
       with  and  we'll  raise  a  family,   but  not  yet.  A  lot  of  us choose
       the  metic:  way  for  that reason."
          Yama  was  interested.  He  said,   "Can  you  not use
      prophylactics?"
          Tamora  laughed.  "You  haven't  seen  the  cock  of  one of
       our  men!  There  are  spines  to  hold  it  in  place.  Put  a rubber
       on  that?  Grah!  There's  a  herb  some  women  boil  into  a tea
       and  drink  to  stop  their  courses,   but  it  doesn't  work  most of
       the time."
          "Women  of  your  people  are  stronger  than men."







            "It's  generally  true  of  all  bloodlines,   even  when  it doesn't
         seem  so.  We're  more  honest  about  it,   perhaps.  Now  you clean
         my  back,   and  I'll  go  use  the  shittery,   and  then  we'll  find the
         rat-boy.  If  we're  lucky,   he's  run  back  to  where  he belongs."
            As  they  went  back  down  the  hill,   along  the  path  that wandered
           between  stands  of  sage  and  tall  sawgrasses,   Yama saw
         someone  dressed  in  black  watching  them  from  the  shade at
         the  edge  of  a  grove  of  live  oaks.  He  thought  it  might have
         been  Gorgo,   but  whoever  it  was  stepped  back  into  the shadows
           and  was  gone  before  Yama  could  point  him  out to
        Tamora.
            The  city  was  still  disturbed  by  Yama's  drawing  down of
         the  feral  machine.  Magistrates  and  their  attendant  clouds of
         machines  were  patrolling  the  streets,   and  although Yama
         asked  the  machines  to  ignore  him  and  his  companions,  he
         was  fearful  that  he  would  miss  one  until  it  was  too  late,  or
         that  Prefect  Corin  would  lunge  out  of  the  crowds  toward him.
         He  kept  turning  this  way  and  that  until  Tamora  told  him to
         stop  it,   or  they'd  be  arrested  for  sure.  Little  groups  of soldiers
         lounged  at  every  major  intersection.  They  were  the  city mihtia
         ,   armed  with  fusils  and  carbines,   and  dressed  in  loose red
         trousers  and  plastic  cuirasses  as  slick  and  cloudily transparent
         as  ice.  They  watched  the  crowds  with  hard,   insolent eyes, 
         
but  they  did  not  challenge  anyone.  They  did  not  dare,  Pandaras
           said,   and  Yama  asked  how  that  could  be,   if  they had
         the  authority  of  the Preservers.
            "There  are  many  more  of  us  than  there  are  of them, "
         Pandaras  said,   and  made  the  sign  Yama  had  noticed before, 
         touching  his  fist  to  his throat.
            The  boy  did  not  seem  scared  of  the  soldiers,   but instead
         openly  displayed  a  smoldering  contempt,   and  Yama noticed
         that  many  of  the  other  people  made  the  same  sign  when they
         went  by  a  group  of  soldiers.  Some  even  spat  or  shouted a
         curse,   safe  in  the  anonymity  of  the crowd.
            Pandaras  said,   "With  the  war  downriver,   there  are even
         fewer  soldiers  in  the  city,   and  they  must  keep  the  peace by
         terror.  That's  why  they're  hated.  See  that  cock,  there?"
         Yama looked     up.  An  officer  in  gold-tinted  body armor
      stood  on  a metal   disc  that  floated  in  the  air  above  the dusty
      crowns  of  the  ginkgoes  which  lined  one  side  of  the broad, 
      brawling avenue.
         "He  could  level  a  city  block  with  one  shot,   if  he  had a
      mind  to, "  Pandaras  said.  "But  he  wouldn't  unless  he  had no
      other  choice,   because  there'd  be  riots  and  even  more  of the
      city  would  be  burned.  If  someone  stole  a  pistol  and  tried to
      use  it  against  soldiers  or  magistrates,   then  he  might  do it."
         "It  seems  an  excessive punishment."
         Tamora  said,   "Energy  weapons  are  prohibited,   worse luck.
      I'd  like  one  right  now.  Clear  a  way  through  these  herds of
      grazers  in  a blink."
         "One  of  my  uncles  on  my  mother's  side  of  the  family was
      
caught  up  in  a  tax  protest  a  few  years  back, "  Pandaras said.
      "It  was  in  a  part  of  the  city  a  few  leagues  upriver.  A merchant
        bought  up  a  block  and  levelled  it  to  make  a  park,  and
      the  legates  decided  that  every  tradesman  living  round about
      should  pay  more  tax.  The  park  made  the  area  more attractive, 
      neh?  The  legates  said  that  more  people  would  come because
      of  the  open  space,   and  spend  more  in  the  shops  round about.
      So  the  tradesmen  got  together  and  declared  a  tax  strike in
      protest.  The  legates  called  up  the  magistrates,   and  they came
      and  blockaded  the  area.  Set  their  machines  spinning  in the
      air  to  make  a  picket  line,   so  no  one  could  get  in  or  out. It
      lasted  a  hundred  days,   and  at  the  end  they  said  people inside
      the  picket  line  were  eating  each  other.  The  food  ran  out,  and
      there  was  no  way  to  get  more  in.  A  few  tried  to  dig tunnels, 
      but  the  magistrates  sent  in  machines  and  killed them."
         Yama  said,   "Why  did  they  not  give  up  the strike?"
         "They  did,   after  twenty  days.  They  would  have  held out
      longer,   but  there  were  children,   and  there  were  people who
      didn't  live  there  at  all  but  happened  to  be  passing through
      when  the  blockade  went  up.  So  they  presented  a  petition of
      surrender,   but  the  magistrates  kept  the  siege  going  as punishment
      .  That  kind  of  thing  is  supposed  to  make  the  rest  of us
      too  frightened  to  spit  unless  we  get permission."
         Tamora  said,   "There's  no  other  way.  There  are  too many
      people  living  in  the  city,   and  most  are  fools  or  grazers. An
      argument  between  neighbors  can  turn  into  a  feud between







        bloodlines,   with  thousands  killed.  Instead,   the  magistrates or
        the  n-dlitia  kill  two  or  three,   or  even  a  hundred  if necessary, 
        and  the  matter  is  settled  before  it  spreads.  There  are  a dozen
        bloodlines  they  could  get  rid  of  and  no  one  would notice."
           "We're  the  strength  of  Ys, "  Pandaras  said  defiantly,  and
        for  once  Tamora  didn't  answer back.
           They  reached  the  docks  late  in  the  afternoon.  The same
        stocky,   shaven-headed  guard  met  them  in  the  shadow  of the
        lighter.  He  looked  at  the  brandy-filled  flask  and  the strings
        of  nerve  tissue  that  floated  inside  and  said  that  he  had already
        heard  that  the  merchant  was dead.
           Tamora  said,   "Then  we'll  just  take  our  money  and go."
           Yama  said  to  the  guard,   "You  said  you  would  need  to test
        what  we brought."
           The  guard  said,   "The  whole  city  knows  that  he  was killed
        last  night.  To  be  frank,   we  would  have  preferred  less attention
        drawn  to  it,   but  we  are  happy  that  the  task  was  done.  Do not
        worry.  We  will  pay you."
          "Then   let's  do  it  now, "  Tamora  said,   "and  we'll  be on
        our way.
           Yama  said  quickly,   "But  we  have  made  an  agreement. I
        would  have  it  seen  through  to  the  letter.  Your  master wanted
        to  test  what  we  brought,   and  I  would  have  it  done  no other
        way,   to  prove  that  we  are honest."
           The  guard  stared  hard  at  Yama,   then  said,   "I  would not
        insult  you  by  failing  to  carry  out  everything  we  agreed. 
Come
        with me."
           As  they  followed  the  guard  up  the  gangway,  Tamora
        caught  Yama's  arm  and  whispered  fiercely,   "This  is  a foolish
        risk.  We  do  the  job,   we  take  the  money,   we  go.  Who cares
        what  they  think  of  us?  Complications  are  dangerous,  especially
          with  the  star-sailors,   and  we  have  an  appointment at
        the  Water Market."
           "I  have  my  reasons, "  Yama  said  stubbornly.  "You and
        Pandaras  can  wait  on  the  dock,   or  go  on  to  the  Water Market, 
        just  as  you please."
           He  had  thought  it  over  as  they  had  walked  through the
      streets  of  the  city  to  the  wharf  where  the  voidship  lighter was
      moored.  The  star-sailor  who  piloted  the  lighter  had  said that
      it  knew  something  of  Yama's  bloodline,   and  even  if  it was
      only  one  tenth  of  what  the  merchant  had  claimed  to know, 
      it  was  still  worth  learning.  Yama  was  prepared  to  pay  for the
      knowledge,   and  he  thought  that  he  knew  a  sure  way  of getting
      at  it  if  the  star-sailor  refused  to  tell  him anything.
         Inside  the  ship,   in  the  round  room  at  the  top  of  the spiral
      corridor,   the  guard  uncapped  the  crystal  flask  and  poured its
      contents  onto  the  black  floor,   which  quickly  absorbed the
      brandy  and  the  strings  of  nervous  tissue.  He  set  the gold
      circlet  on  his  scarred,   shaven  scalp  and  jerked  to attention.
      His  mouth  worked,   and  he  said  in  a  voice  not  his  own,  "This
      one  will  pay  you.  What  else  do  you  want  of me?"
         Yama  addressed  the  fleshy  blossom  which  floated inside
      its  bottle.  "I  talked  with  your  crewmate  before  he  died. He
      said  that  he  knew  something  of  my bloodline."
         
The  star-sailor  said  through  its  human  mouthpiece,  "No
      doubt  he  said  many  things  to  save  his life."
         "This  was  when  he  had  me  prisoner,   and  my  friends,  too."
         "Then  perhaps  he  was  boasting.  You  must  understand that
      he  was  mad.  He  had  corrupted  himself  with  the  desires of
      the flesh."
         "I  remember  you  said  that  I  had  abilities  that  might be
     useful."
         "I  was  mistaken.  They  have  proved  ...  inconvenient. You
      have  no  control  over  what  you  can do."
         Tamora  said,   "We  should  leave  this.  Yama,   I'll  help you
      find  out  what  you  want  to  know,   but  in  the  Palace  of the
      Memory  of  the  People,   not  here.  We  made  a deal."
         Yama  said  stubbornly,   "I  have  not  forgotten.  The few
      questions  I  want  to  ask  will  not  end  my  quest,   but  they may
      aid  it."  He  turned  back  to  the  thing  in  the  bottle.  "I win
      waive  my  part  of  the  fee  for  the  murder  of  your crewmate
      if  you  will  help  me  understand  what  he  told  me.  I I
         Tamora  said,   "Don't  listen  to  him,   dominie!  He  hasn't the
      right  to  make  that bargain!"
         The  guard's  mouth  opened  and  closed.  His  chin  was slick
      with  saliva.  He  said,   "He  was  driven  mad  by  the  desires of
      the  flesh.  1,   however,   am  not  mad.  I  have  nothing  to  say to.







           you  unless  you  can  prove  that  you  know  what  you  are. Return
           then,   and  we  can talk."
              "If  I  knew  that,   I  would  have  nothing  to  ask you."
              Tamora  grabbed  Yama's  arm.  "You're  risking everything, 
           you  fool.  Come on!"
              Yama  tried  to  free  himself,   but  Tamora's  grip  was unyielding
             and  her  sharp  nails  dug  into  his  flesh  until  blood  ran. He
           stepped  in  close,   thinking  to  throw  her  from  his  hip,   but she
           knew  that  trick  and  butted  him  on  the  bridge  of  his  nose with
           her  forehead.  A  blinding  spike  of  pain  shot  through  his head
           and  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes.  Tamora  twisted  his  arm up
           behind  his  back  and  started  to  drag  him  across  the  room to
           the  dilated  doorway,   but  Pandaras  wrapped  himself around
           her  legs  and  fastened  his  sharp  teeth  on  her  thigh. Tamora
           howled  and  Yama  pulled  free  and  flung  himself  at  the guard, 
           ripping  the  gold  circlet  from  the  man's  head  and  jamming it
           on  his own.
              White light.
              White noise.
              Something  was  in  his  head.  It  fled  even  as  he  noticed it
           and  he  turned  in  a  direction  he  had  not  seen  before  and flew
           after  it.  It  was  a  woman,   a  naked,   graceful  woman  with pale
           
skin  and  long  black  hair  that  fanned  out  behind  her  as she
           soared  through  clashing  currents  of  light.  Even  as  she fled, 
           she  kept  looking  back  over  her  bare  shoulder.  Her  eyes blazed
           with  a  desperate light.
              Yama  followed  with  mounting  exhilaration.  He  seemed to
           be  connected  to  her  through  a  kind  of  cord  that  was growing
           shorter  and  stronger,   and  he  twisted  and  turned  after his
           quarry  without  thought  as  they  plunged  together  through interlaced
             strands  of light.
              Others  were  pacing  them  on  either  side,   and  beyond these
           unseen  presences  Yama  could  feel  a  vast congregation, 
           mostly  in  clusters  as  distant  and  faint  as  the  halo  stars. They
           were  the  crews  of  the  voidships,   meeting  together  in this
           country  of  the  mind,   in  which  they  swam  as  easily  as  fish in
           the  river.  Whenever  Yama  turned  his  attention  to  one  or another
             of  these  clusters,   he  felt  an  airy  expansion  and  a fleeting
           glimpse  of  the  combined  light  of  other  minds,   as  if through
           a  window  whose  shutters  are  flung  back  to  greet  the rising
      sun.  In  every  case  the  minds  he  touched  with  his  mind recoiled
      ;  the  shutters  slammed;  the  light faded.
         In  his  desperate  chase  after  the  woman  through  the country
      of  the  mind,   Yama  left  behind  a  growing  wake  of confused
      and  scandalized  inhabitants.  They  called  on  something,  a
      
guardian  or  watchdog,   and  it  rose  toward  Yama  like  a pressure
        wave,   angling  through  unseen  dimensions  like  a pike
      gliding  effortlessly  through  water  toward  a  duckling paddling
      on  the  surface.  Yama  doubled  and  redoubled  his  effort to
      catch  the  woman,   and  was  almost  on  her  when  white light
      blinded  him  and  white  noise  roared  in  his  ears  and  a black
      floor  flew  up  and  struck  him  with  all  the  weight  of  the world.







                         THE  TEWPLE  Of  THE  BLACK WELL.
W  0  1  N  Y  A  M  A  W  0  K  1,   the  first  thing  he  saw  was  Pandaras sitting
        cross-legged  by  the  foot  of  the  bed,   sewing  up  a  rip  in his
        second-best  shirt.  Yama  was  naked  under  the scratchy
        starched  sheet,   and  clammy  with  old  sweat.  His  head ached, 
        and  some  time  ago  a  small  animal.seemed  to  have  crept into
        the  dry  cavern  of  his  mouth  and  died  there.  Perhaps  it was
        a  cousin  of  the  bright  green  gecko  which  clung  upside down
        in  a  patch  of  sunlight  on  the  far  wall,   its  scarlet  throat pulsing.
        This  was  a  small  room,   with  ochre  plaster  walls  painted with
        twining  patterns  of  blue  vines,   and  dusty  rafters  under a
        slanted  ceiling.  Afternoon  light  fell  through  the  two  tall windows
        ,   and  with  it  the  noise  and  dust  and  smells  of  a busy
       street.
           Pandaras  helped  him  up,   fussing  with  the  bolster,  and
        brought  him  a  beaker  of  water.  "It  has  salt  and  sugar  in it, 
        master.  Drink.  It  will  make  you stronger."
           Yama  obeyed  the  boy.  It  seemed  that  he  had  been asleep
        for  a  night  and  most  of  the  day  that  followed.  Pandaras and
        Tamora  had  brought  him  here  from  the docks.
           "She  has  gone  out  to  talk  with  the  man  we  should have
        met  yesterday.  And  we  didn't  get  paid  by  the  star-sailor,  so
        she's  angry  with you."
        "I  remember  that  you  tried  to  help  me."  Yama discovered
      that  at  some  time  he  had  bitten  his  tongue  and  the  insides 
of
      his  cheeks.  He  said,   "You  killed  the  guard  with  that kidney
      puncher  she  gave you."
        "That  was  before,   master.  At  the  gate  of  the merchant's
      estate.  After  that there  was  the  voidship  lighter,   when you
      snatched  the  circlet  from  the  guard  and  put  it  on  your head."
        "The  merchant was       wearing  the  circlet.  It  was  how he
      controlled  his  household.  But  I  broke  it  when  I  took  it away
      from him."
        "This  was  in  the  voidship  lighter.  Please  try  and re
                                                                memher
      ,   master!  You  put  the  circlet  on  your  head  and straightaway
        you  collapsed  with  foarn  on  your  lips  and  your eyes
      rolled  right  back.  One  of  my  half-sisters  has  the  falling sickness
      ,   and  that's  what  it  looked like."
        "A  woman.  I  saw  a  woman.  But  she  fled  from me."
        Pandaras  pressed  on  with  his story.    "I  snatched  the circlet
      from  your  head,   but  you  didn't  wake.  More  guards came, 
      and  they  marched  us  off  the  lighter.  The  first  guard,   the one
      you  took  the  circlet  from,   he  and  Tamora  had  an argument
      about  the  fee.  I  thought  she  might  kill  him,   but  he  and his
      fellows  drew  their  pistols,   and  there  was  no  argument after
      that.  We  took  some  of  your  money  to  pay  for  the  room,  and
      for  the  palanquin  that  carried  you  here.  I  hope  we  did right."
        "Tamora  must  be  angry  with  you,  too."
        "She  doesn't  take  any  account  of me,          which  is  just as
      well.  I  bit  her  pretty  badly  when  she  tried  to  stop  you taking
      the  circlet,   but  she  bandaged  up  her  legs  and  said  nothing of
      it.  Wouldn't  admit  I  could  hurt  her,   neh?  And  now  I'm not
      
frightened  of  her  because  I  know  I  can  hurt  her,   and  I'll do
      it  again  if  I  have  to.  I  didn't  want  to  fight  with  her,  maoster, 
      but  she  shouldn't  have  tried  to  stop  you.  She  didn't have
      the right."
        Yama  closed  his  eyes.  Clusters  of  lights  hanging  from the
      ceiling  of  the  round  room  at  the  top  of  the  voidship lighter.
      The  thing  in  the  bottle,   with  rose-red  gills  and  a lily-white
      mantle  folded  around  a  thick  braid  of  naked  nerve  tissue. "I
      remember, "  he  said.  "I  tried  to  find  out  about  my bloodline.
      The  country  of  the mind-', 







           Pandaras  nodded  eagerly.  "You  took  the  circlet  from the
         guard  and  put  it  on  your  own head."
           "Perhaps  it  would  have  been  better  if  Tamora  had stopped
         me.  She  was  worried  that  I  would  no  longer  have  any need
         of  her. Pandaras
             took  the  empty  beaker  from  Yama  and said, 
         "Well,   and  do  you  need  her,   master?  You  stood  face  to face
         with  that  thing  and  talked  to  it  direct.  Did  it  tell  you what
         you  wanted  to know?"
           It  seemed  like  a  dream,   fading  even  as  Yama  tried  to remember
           its  details.  The  woman  fleeing,   the  faint  stars  of other
         minds.  Yama  said,   "I  saw  something  wonderful,   but  I did
         not  learn  anything  about  myself,   except  that  the  people who
         crew  the  voidships  are  scared  of me."
           "You  scared  me  too,   master.  I  thought  you  had  gone into
         the  place  where  they  live  and  left  your  body  behind.  I'll have
         some  food  sent  up.  You  haven't  eaten  in  two days."
           "You  have  been  good  to  me,  Pandaras."
           "Why,   it's  a  fine  novelty  to  order  people  about  in  a place
         like  this.  A  while  ago  it  was  me  running  at  any  cock's shout, 
         and  I  haven't  forgotten  what  it  was like."
           "It  was  not  that  long  ago.  A  few days., '
           "Longer  for  me  than  for  you.  Rest,   master.  I'll  be back
        soon."
           But  Pandaras  was  gone  a  long  time.  The  room  was hot
         and  close,   and  Yama  wrapped  the  sheet  around  himself and
         sat  at  one  of  the  windows,   where  there  was  a  little breeze.
         He  felt  weak,   but  rested  and  alert.  The  bandage  was gone
         
from  the  wound  on  his  forearm  and  the  flesh  had knitted
         about  the  puckers  made  by  the  black  crosses  of  the stitches;
         the  self-inflicted  wound  on  his  palm  was  no  more  than  a faint
         silvery  line.  All  the  bruises  and  small  cuts  from  his recent
         adventures  were  healed,   too,   and  someone,   presumably Pandaras
         ,   had  shaved  him  while  he  had  been sleeping.
           The  inn  stood  on  a  broad  avenue  divided  down  the center
         by  a  line  of  palm  trees.  The  crowds  which  jostled  along the
         dusty  white  thoroughfare  contained  more  people  than Yama
         had  ever  seen  in  his  life,   thousands  of  people  of  a hundred
         different  bloodlines.  There  were  hawkers  and  skyclad mendicants
         ,   parties  of  palmers,   priests,   officials  hurrying  along in
      groups  of  two  or  three,   scribes,   musicians,   tumblers,  whores
      and  mountebanks.  An  acrobat  walked  above  the  heads  of the
      crowd  on  a  wire  strung  from  one  side  of  the  avenue  to the
      other.  Vendors  fried  plantains  and  yams  on  heated  iron plates, 
      or  roasted  nuts  in  huge  copper  basins  set  over  oil burners.
      Ragged  boys  ran  amongst  the  people,   selling  flavored ice, 
      twists  of  licorice,   boiled  sweets,   roast  nuts,   cigarettes,  plastic
      trinkets  representing  one  or  another  of  the  long-lost aspects
      of  the  Preservers,   and  medals  stamped  with  the  likenesses of
      official  heroes  of  the  war  against  the  heretics.  Beggars exhibited
        a  hundred  different  kinds  of  mutilation  and deformity.
      Messengers  on  nimble  genets  or  black  plumaged  ratites rode
                                                                             A
      at  full  tilt  through  the  crowds.  A  few  important personages
      walked  under  silk  canopies  held  up  by  dragomen,   or were                 "I
      carried  on  litters  or  palanquins.  A  party  of  solemn giants
                                                                             
J
      walked  waist  high  amidst  the  throng  as  if  wading  in  a stream.
      Directly  across  the  avenue,   people  gathered  at  a  stone altar, 
      burning  incense  cones  bought  from  a  priest,   muttering prayers
      and  wafting  the  smoke  toward  themselves.  A  procession of
      ordinands  in  red  robes,   their  freshly  shaven  heads gleaming
      with  oil,   wound  in  a  long  straggling  line  behind  men banging
       tambours.
        In  the  distance,   the  sound  of  braying,   discordant trumpets
      rang  above  the  noise  of  the  crowded  avenue,   and presefttly
      the  procession  heralded  by  the  trumpeters  hove  into  view. It
      was  a  huge  cart  pulled  by  a  team  of  a  hundred sweating, 
      half-naked  men,   with  priests  swinging  fuming  censers  on either
        side.  It  was  painted  scarlet  and  gold  and  bedecked with
      garlands  of  flowers,   and  amidst  the  heaps  of  flowers  stood a
      screen,   its  black  oval  framed  by  omate  golden scrollwork.
      The  cart  stopped  almost  directly  opposite  Yama's window, 
      and  people  gathered  on  the  rooftops  and  threw  down bucketfuls
        of  water  on  the  men  who  pulled  it,   and  dropped more
      garlands  of  flowers  onto  the  cart  and  around  the  men  and the
      attendant  priests  in  a  soft,   multicolored  snowstorm. Yama
      leaned  out  farther  to  get  a  better  view,   and  at  that moment
      heard  a  noise  in  the  room  behind  him  and  turned,   thinking it
      was Pandaras.
        A  patch  of  ocher  plaster  on  the  wall  opposite  the window






           was  cracked  in  a  spiderweb  pattern,   and  in  the  center  of the
           web  stood  an  arbalest bolt.
              The  bolt  was  as  long  as  Yama's  forearm,   with  a  shaft of
           dense,   hard  wood  and  red  flight  feathers.  From  the downward
           pointing  angle  at  which  the  bolt  had  embedded  itself  in the
           plaster,   it  must  have  been  fired  from  one  of  the  flat  roofs on
           the  other  side  of  the  avenue,   for  all  of  them  were  higher than
           the  window.  Yama  crouched  down  and  scanned  the rooftops, 
           but  there  were  hundreds  of  people  crowded  along  their edges, 
           scattering  flowers  and  pitching  silvery  twists  of  water  at the
           cart.  He  tried  to  find  a  machine  which  might  have been
           watching,   but  it  seemed  that  there  were  no  magistrates here.
              Still  crouching,   Yama  closed  and  bolted  the  heavy slatted
           shutters  of  both  windows,   then  pulled  the  arbalest  bolt from
           the wall.
              A  few  minutes  later,   Pandaras  returned  ahead  of  a  pot boy
           who  set  a  tray  covered  in  a  white  cloth  on  the  low,  round
           table  which,   apart  from  the  bed  and  the  chair  in  which Yama
           sat,   were  the  only  pieces  of  furniture  in  the  room. Pandaras
           dismissed  the  pot  boy  and  whipped  away  the  tray's cover
           like  a  conjuror,   revealing  a  platter  of  fruit  and  cold  meat,  and
           
a  sweating  earthenware  pitcher  of  white  wine.  He poured
           wine  into  two  cups,   and  handed.one  to  Yama.  "I'm  sorry it
           took  so  long,   master.  There's  a  festival.  We  had  to  pay double
           rates  just  to  get  the room."
              The  wine  was  cold,   and  as  thickly  sweet  as  syrup. Yama
           said,   "I  saw  the  procession  go by."
              "There's  always  some  procession  here.  It's  in  the nature
           of  the  place.  Eat,   master.  You  must  break  your  fast before
           you  go anywhere."
              Yama  took  the  slice  of  green  melon  Pandaras  held out.
           -1-Khere  are we?"
              Pandaras  bit  into  his  own  melon  slice.  "Why,   it's  the quarter
             that  runs  between  the  river  and  the  Palace  of  the Memory
           of  the People."
              "I  think  we  should  go  and  find  Tamora.  Where  are my
          clothes?"
              "Your  trousers  are  under  the  mattress,   to  keep them
           pressed.  I  am  mending  one  of  your  shirts;  the  other  is  in your
           pack.  Master,   you  should  eat,   and  then rest."
         "I  do  not  think  so, "  Yama  said,   and  showed  Pandaras the
      arbalest bolt.
         The  landlady  called  to  Yama  and  Pandaras  as  they pushed
      through  the  hot,   crowded  taproom  of  the  inn.  She  was a
      plump,   broad-beamed,   brown-skinned  woman,   her  long black
      hair  shiny  with  grease  and  braided  into  a  thick  rope.  She was
      sweating  heavily  into  her  purple  and  gold  sarong,   and she
      waved  a  fretted  palm  leaf  to  and  fro  as  she  explained  that a
      
message  had  been  left  for them.
         "I  have  it  here, "  she  said,   rummaging  through  the drawer
      of  her  desk.  "Please  be  patient,   sirs.  It  is  a  very  busy day
      today.  Is  this  it?  No.  Wait,   here  it is."
         Yama  took  the  scrap  of  stiff  paper.  It  had  been  folded four
      times  and  tucked  into  itself,   and  sealed  with  a  splash  of wax.
      Yama  turned  it  over  and  over,   and  asked  Pandaras,  "Can
      Tamora  read  and write?"
         "She  put  her  thumb  to  the  contract,   master,   so  I'd guess
      she  has  as  much  reading  as  I  have,   which  is  to  say none."
         The  landlady  said  helpfully,   "There  are  scribes  on every
      corner.  The  seal  is  one  of theirs."
         "Do  you  know  which one?"
         "There  are  very  many.  I  suppose  I  could  have  one  of my
     boys          The  landlady  patted  her  brow  with  a  square of
      yellow  cloth  that  reeked  of  peppermint  oil.  Her  eyes were
      made  up  with  blue  paint  and  gold  leaf  and  her  eyebrows had
      been  twisted,   and  stiffened  with  wax  to  form  long tapering
      points,   giving  the  effect  of  a  butterfly  perched  on  her face.
      She  added,   "That  is,   when  we  are  less  busy.  It  is  a festival
      day,   you see."
         Yama said,    "I  saw  the  cart  go by."
         "The cart?   Oh,   the  shrine.  No,  no,     that  is  nothing  to do
      with  the  festival.  It  passes  up  and  down  the  street  every day, 
      except  on  its  feast  day,   of  course,   when  it  is  presented  at the
      Great  River.  But  that  is  a  hundred  days  off,   and  just  a local
      affair.  People  have  come  here  from  all  over  Ys  for  the festival
      ,   and  from  downriver,   too.  A  very  busy  time,   although Of
      
course  there  are  not  so  many  people  as  there  once were.







        Fewer  travel,   you  see,   because  of  the  war.  That  is  why  I was
        able  to  find  you  a  room  at  short notice."
           "She  moved  two  palmers  into  the  stables,   and  charges us
        twice  what  they  paid, "  Pandaras remarked.
           "And  now  they  are  paying  less  than  they  would have, "
        the  landlady  said,   "so  it  all  evens  out.  I  hope  that  the message
        is  not  bad  news,   sirs.  The  room  is  yours  as  long  as  you want
        it."  Despite  her  claim  to  be  busy,   it  seemed  that  she had
        plenty  of  time  to  stick  her  nose  in  other  people's business.
           Yama  held  up  the  folded  paper  and  said,   "Who brought
       this?"
           "I  didn't  see.  One  of  my  boys  gave  it  to  me.  I  could find
        him,   I  suppose,   although  it's  all  a  muddle today-"
           "Because  of  the  festival."  Yama  snapped  the  wax  seal and
        unfolded  the paper.
           The  message  was  brief,   and  written  in  neatly aligned
        glyphs  with  firm  and  decisive  downstrokes  and  fine feathering
        on  the  upstrokes.  Most  likely  it  had  been  set  down  by a
        scribe,   unless  Tamora  had  spent  as  long  as  Yama learning
        the  finer  nuances  of penmanship.
           I  have  gone  on.  The  man  you  want  is  at  the  Temple  of the
        Black Well.
           Pandaras  said,   "What  does  it say?"
           Yama  read  the  message  to  Pandaras,   and  the  landlady said, 
         'That's  not  too  far  from  here.  Go  down  the  passage  at the
        left  side  of  the  inn  and  strike  toward  the  Palace.  I  could get
        
you  a  link  boy  if  you'd  like  to  wait  . .
           But  Yama  and  Pandaras  were  already  pushing  their way
        through  the  crowded  room  toward  the  open  door  and the
        sunlit  avenue beyond.
           The  narrow  streets  that  tangled  behind  the  inn  were cooler
        and  less  crowded  than  the  avenue.  They  were  paved with
        ancient,   uneven  brick  courses,   and  naked  children  played in
        the  streams  of  dirty  water  that  ran  down  the  central gutters.
        The  houses  were  flat-roofed  and  none  were  more  than two
        stories  high,   with  small  shuttered  windows  and  walls covered
        in  thick  yellow  or  orange  plaster,   walls  that  were crumbling
      and  much-patched.  Many  had  workshops  on  the  ground floor, 
      open  to  the  street,   and  Yama  and  Pandaras  passed  a hundred
      tableaus  of  industry,   most  to  do  with  the  manufacture  of the
      religious  mementoes  which  were  displayed  in  shops which
      stood  at  every  corner  of  every  street,   although  none  of the
      shops  seemed  to  be open.
        It  was  a  secretive,   suspicious  place,   Yama  thought,  noting
      that  people  stopped  what  they  were  doing  and  openly stared
      as  he  and  Pandaras  went  past.  But  he  liked  the serendipitous
      geography,   so  that  a  narrow  street  might  suddenly  open onto
      a  beautiful  square  with  a  white  fountain  splashing  in  its center
      ,   and  liked  the  small  neighborhood  shrines  set  into the
      walls  of  the  houses,   with  browning  wreaths  of  flowers and
      pyramids  of  ash  before  a  flyspotted  circle  of  black  glass that
      poorly  mimicked  the  dark  transparency  of  true shrines.
        The  domes  and  pinnacles  and  towers  of  temples and
      shrines  reared  up  amongst  the  crowded  flat  roofs  of  the ordinary
        houses  like  ships  foundering  in  the  scruffy  pack  ice of
      the  frozen  wilderness  at  the  head  of  the  Great  River hundreds
      of  leagues  upstream.  And  beyond  all  these  houses  and temples
        
and  shrines,   the  black  mountain  of  the  Palace  of the
      Memory  of  the  People  climbed  terrace  by  terrace  toward its
      distant  peak,   with  the  setting  sun  making  the  sky  red behind
       it.
        Pandaras  explained  that  this  part  of  the  city  was given
      over  to  the  business  of  worship  of  the  Preservers  and  of the
      governance  of  Ys.  Civil  service  departments  displaced from
      the  interior  of  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People occupied
        lesser  buildings  on  its  outskirts,   and  a  thousand cults
      flourished  openly  or  skulked  in  secret  underground chambers.
        "At  night  it  can  be  a  dangerous  place  for  strangers, " Pandaras
       said.
        "I  have  my  knife.  And  you  have yours."
        "You  should  have  worn  your  armor.  We  collected  it from
      the  Water  Market,   cut  down  neatly  and  polished  up  as good
      as  new. "
        Yama  had  found  it  when  he  had  taken  his  shirt  from the
      satchel.  He  said,   "It  would  attract  attention.  Someone might
      take  a  fancy  to  it.  Already  I  feel  as  if  I  am  a  procession,  the
      way  people  turn  to stare."







           "They  might  want  our  blood.  Or  want  to  scoop  out our
        brains  and  put  them  in  tanks,   all  alive-o  like  the star-sailors.
           Yama  laughed  at  these fantasies, 
           Pandaras  said  darkly,   "This  is  a  place  of  good  and evil, 
        master.  It  is  the  New  Quarter,   built  on  a  bloody battleground.
        You  are  a  singular  person.  Don't  forget  it.  You  would  be a
        great  prize  for  a  blood sacrifice."
           "New?  It  seems  to  me  very old."
           "That's  because  nothing  here  has  been  rebuilt  since the
        Age  of  Insurrection.  The  rest  of  the  city  is  far  older,  but
        people  are  always  knocking  down  old  buildings  and putting
        up  new  ones.  The  Hierarchs  ordered  clearance  of  the ruined
        buildings  where  the  last  battle  between  machines  was fought, 
        and  the  bones  and  casings  of  all  the  dead  were  tipped into
        great  pits  and  the  ground  around  about  was  flattened and
        these  houses  were built."
           "I  know  there  was  a  battle  fought  near  Ys,   but  I thought
        it  was  much  farther  upriver."  Yama  remembered  now that
        the  Temple  of  the  Black  Well  had  something  to  do  with that
        last  battle,   although  he  could  not  quite  remember  what  it was.
           Pandaras  said,   "They  built  the  houses  over  the battleground
        ,   and  nothing's  changed  since,   except  for  the building
        of  shrines  and temples."
           "I  had  thought  the  houses  were  built  around them."
           "Houses  have  to  be  knocked  down  each  time  a  new temple
        is  built.  It's  a  dangerous  business.  There  are  old  poisons in
        the  ground,   and  old  weapons  too,   and  sometimes  the weapons
        discharge  when  they  are  uncovered.  There's  a department
        which  does  nothing  but  search  by  divination  for  old weapons, 
        and  make  them  safe  when  they're  found.  And  some  parts of
        the  quarter  are  haunted,   too.  It's  why  the  people  are so
        
strange  hereabouts,   neh?  The  ghosts  get  inside  their heads, 
        and  infect  them  with  ideas  from  ages past."
           Yama  said,   "I  have  never  seen  a  ghost."  The aspects
        which  haunted  the  City  of  the  Dead  did  not  count,   for they
        were  merely  semi-intelligent  projections.  And  while the
        Amnan  claimed  that  the  blue  lights  sometimes  seen floating
        amongst  the  ruins  below  the  peel-house  were  wights,   the eidolons
          of  the  restless  dead,   Zakiel  said  that  they  were no
        more  than  wisps  of  burning  marsh gas.
         Pandaras  said,   "These  are machine         ghosts  mostly,  but
                   human,   once,   and  they  say  that  those  are the
      some were
      worst.  That's  why  they  make  so  many  icons  hereabouts,  master
      .  If  you  were  to  look  inside  one  of  these  houses,  you'd
      find  layer  upon  layer  of  them  on  the walls."
         "To, keep  out  the ghosts."
         "They  don't  usually  work.  That's  what  I  heard,  anyway.
         "Look  there.  Is  that  our temple?99
         It  reared  up  a  few  streets  ahead,   a  giant  cube  built  of huge
      roughly  hewn  stone  blocks  stained  black  with  soot,  and
      topped  by  an  onion  dome  lapped in       scuffed  gilt tiles.
         Pandaras  squinted  at  it,   then said,   "No,   ours  has  a rounder
      roof,   with  a  hole  in  the  top  of it."
         "Of  course!  Where.  the  machine fell!"
         The  Temple  of  the  Black  Well  had  been  built  long after
      the  feral  machine's  fiery  fall,   but  its  dome  had  been left
      symbolically  uncompleted,   with  the  aperture  at  its  apex directly
        above  the  deep  hole  made  when  the  machine  had struck
      the  surface  of  the  world  and  melted  a  passage  in  the  rock all
      the  way  down  to  the  keel.  Yama  had  been  told  the  story by
      the  aspect  of  a  leather  merchant  who  had  had  his tannery
      
near  the  site  of  the  temple's  construction.  Mysyme,   that had
      been  the  merchant's  name.  He  had  had  two  wives  and six
      beautiful  daughters,   and  had  done  much  charitable work
      amongst  the  orphaned  river-rats  of  the  docks.  Mysyme was
      dead  an  age  past,   and  Yama  had  lost  interest  in  the limited
      responses  of  his  aspect  years  ago,   but  now  he remembered
      them  all  over  again.  Mysyme's  father  had  seen  the  fall  of the
      machine,   and  had  told  his  son  that  when  it  hit,   a  plume of
      melted  rock  had  been  thrown  higher  than  the atmosphere, 
      while  the  smoke  of  secondary  fires  had  darkened  the sky
      above  Ys  for  a decad.
         "It's  a  little  to  the  left, "  Pandaras  said,   "and  maybe ten
      minutes'  walk.  That  place  with  the  gold  roof  is  a  tomb of
      a  warrior-saint.  It's  solid  all  the  way  through  except  for a
      secret chamber."
         "You  are  a  walking  education,  Pandaras."
         "I  have  an  uncle  who  used  to  live  here,   and  one  time I
      stayed  with  him.  He  was  on  my  mother's  side,   and  this was
      when  my  father  ran  off  and  my  mother  went  looking  for him.







         She  was  a  year  at  it,   and  never  found  him.  And  a  year  is a
         long  time  for  my  people,   So  she  came  back  and married
         another  man,   and  when  that  didn't  work  out  she  married my
         stepfather.  I  don't  get  on  with  him,   and  that's  why  I  took the
         job  of  pot  boy,   because  it  came  with  a  room.  And  then you
         came  along,   and  here  we  are."  Pandaras  grinned.  "For a
         long  time  after  I  left  this  part  of  the  city,   I  thought  maybe I
         was  haunted.  I'd  wake  up  and  think  I'd  been  hearing voices, 
         voices  that  had  been  telling  me  things  in  my  sleep.  But I
         haven't  heard  them  since  I  met  up  with  you,   master. Maybe
         your  bloodline  is  a  cure  for ghosts."
            "All  my  bloodline  are  ghosts,   from  the  little  I have
         learned, "  Yama said.
            The  Temple  of  the  Black  Well  stood  at  the  center  of a
         wide,   quiet  plaza  of  mossy  cobbles.  It  had  been  built  in the
         shape  of  a  cross,   with  a  long  atrium  and  short  apses; its
         dome,   covered  in  gold  leaf  that  shone  with  the  last  light of
         the  sun,   capped  the  point  where  the  apses  intersected the
         atrium.  The  temple  was  clad  in  lustrous  black  stone,  although
         here  and  there  parts  of  the  cladding  had  fallen  away  to reveal
         the  grayish  limestone  beneath.  Yama  and  Pandaras walked
         all  the  way  around  the  temple  and  saw  no  one,   and then
         climbed  the  long  flight  of  shallow  steps  and  went through
         the  tall narthex.
            
It  was  dark  inside,   but  a  thick  slanted  column  of reddish
         light  fell  through  the  open  apex  of  the  dome  at  the  far end
         of  a  long  atrium  flanked  by  colonnades.  Yama  walked toward
         the  light.  There  was  no  sip  of  Tamora  or  her mysterious
         contact;  the  whole  temple  seemed  deserted.  The  pillars  of the
         colonnades  were  intricately  carved  and  the  ruined  mosaics of
         the  floor  sketched  the  outlines  of  heroic  figures.  The temple
         had  been  splendid  once,   Yama  thought,   but  now  it  had the
         air  of  a  place  that  was  no  longer  cared  for.  He  thought  it an
         odd  choice  for  a  rendezvous-far  better  for  an ambush.
            Pandaras  clearly  felt  the  same  thing,   for  his  sleek head
         continually  turned  this  way  and  that  as  they  went  down the
         atrium.  The  reddish  light,   alive  with  swirling  motes  of dust, 
         fell  on  a  waist-high  wall  of  undressed  stone  which  ringed a
         wide  hole  that  plunged  down  into  darkness.  It  was  the well, 
         the  shaft  the  fallen  machine  had  melted.  The  wide  coping on
       top  of  the  wall  was  covered  in  the  ashy  remnants  of incense
       cones,   and  here  and  there  were  offerings  of  fruit  and flowers.
       A  few  joss  sticks  jammed  into  cracks  in  the  wall  sent  up curls
       of  sweet-smelling  smoke,   but  the  flowers  were  shrivelled and
       brown,   and  the  little  piles  of  fruit  were  spotted  with decay.
          "Not  many  come  here, "  Pandaras  said.  "The  ghost  of the
       machine  is  powerful,   and  quick  to anger."
          Yama  gripped  the  edge  of  the  coping  and  looked  into the
       
depths  of  the  well.  A  faint  draught  of  cold,   stale  air  blew up
       around  him  from  the  lightless  depths.  The  walls  of  the shaft
       were  long  glassy  flows  of  once-melted  rock,   veined  with impurities
       ,   dwindling  away  to  a  vanishing  point  small  as the
       end  of  his  thumb.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  how  deep  the well
       really  was,   and  in  a  spirit  of  inquiry  Yama  dropped  a softening
         pomegranate  into  the  black air.
          "That  isn't  a  good  idea, "  Pandaras  said uneasily.
          "I  do  not  think  a  piece  of  fruit  would  wake  this particular
       machine.  It  fell  a  long  way  as  I  recall-at  least,   it  was two
       days  in  failing,   and  appeared  in  the  sky  as  a  star  clothed in
       burning  hair.  When  it  struck  the  ground,   the  blow knocked
       down  thousands  of  houses  and  caused  a  wave  in  the river
       that  washed  away  much  of  the  city  on  the  farside  shore. And
       then  the  sky  turned  black  with  smoke  from  all  the fires.
          "There  might  be  other  things  down  there, "  Pandaras said.
       "Bats,   for  instance.  I  have  a  particular  loathing  of bats."
          Yama  said,   "I  should  have thrown        a  coin.  I  might have
       heard  it hit."
          But  a  small  part  of  his  mind  insisted  that  the  fruit  was still
       falling  through  black  air  toward  the  bottom,   two  leagues or
       more  to  the  keel.  He  and  Pandaras  walked  around  the well, 
       but  apart  from  the  smoking  joss  sticks  there  was  no  sign that
       Tamora  or  anyone  else  had  been  there  recently,   and the
       hushed  air  was  beginning  to  feel  oppressive,   as  if  it  held a
       note  endlessly  drawn  out  just  beyond  the  range  of hearing.
          
Pandaras  said,   "We  should  go  on,   master.  She  isn't here."
       He  added  hopefully,   "Perhaps  she  has  run  off  and  left us."
          "She  made  a  contract  with  me.  I  should  think  that  is a
       serious  thing  for  someone  who  lives  from  one  job  to  the next.
       We  will  wait  a  little  longer."  He  took  out  the  paper and






     read  it  again.  "  'The  man  you want               I  wonder what
     she meant."
        "It'll  be  dark soon."
        Yama  smiled,   and  said,   "I  believe  that  you  are  scared of
     this place."
        "You  might  not  believe  in  ghosts,   master,   but  there are
     many  who  do-most  of  the  people  in  the  city,   I reckon."
        "I  might  have  more  cause  to  believe  in  ghosts,   because I
     was  brought  up  in  the  middle  of  the  City  of  the  Dead,   but I
     do  not.  Just  because  a  lot  of  people  believe  in  ghosts does
     not  make  them  real.  I  might  believe  that  the  Preservers have
     incarnated  themselves  in  river  turtles,   and  I  might persuade
     a  million  people  to  believe  it,   too,   but  that  does  not make
     it  true. "
        "You  shouldn't  make  jokes  like  that, "  Pandaras  said. "Especially
       not here."
        "Surely  the  Preservers  will  forgive  a  small joke."
        "There's  many  who  would  take  offense  on  their account, "
     Pandaras  said  stubbornly.  He  had  a  deep  streak  of superstition
     ,   despite  his  worldly-wise  air.  Yama  had  seen  the care
     with  which  he  washed  himself  in  a  ritual  pattern  after eating
     and  upon  waking,   the  way  he  crossed  his  fingers  when walking
       past  a  shrine-a  superstition  he  shared  with  the citizens
     of  Aeolis,   who  believed  that  it  disguised  the  fact  that you
     had  come  to  a  shrine  without  an  offering-and  his devotion
     at  prayer.  Like  the  Amnan,   who  could  not  or  would  not read
     the  Puranas  and  so  only  knew  them  secondhand  through the
     preaching  of  priests  and  iconoclasts,   Pandaras  and  the countless
       millions  of  ordinary  folk  of  Ys  believed  that  the Preservers
       had  undergone  a  transubstantiation,   disappearing  not into
     the  Eye  but  dispersing  themselves  into  every  particle  of the
     world  which  they  had  made,   so  that  they  were everywhere
     
at  once,   immortal,   invisible  and,   despite  their  limitless power, 
     quick  to  judge  and  requiring  constant  placation.  It  was not
     surprising,   then,   that  Pandaras  believed  in  ghosts  and other
    revenants.
        Pandaras  said,   "Ghosts  are  more  like  ideas  than  you might
     think.  The  more  people  believe  in  them,   the  more powerful
     they  become.  Listen!  What  was that?"
        "I  heard  nothing, "  Yama  said,   but  even  as  he  said  it there
      was  a  faint  brief  rumble,   as  if  the  temple,   with  all  its massy
      stones,   had  briefly  stirred  and  then  settled  again.  It seemed
      to  come  from  the  well,   and  Yama  leaned  over  and peered
      into  its  depths.  The  wind  which  blew  out  of  the darkness
      seemed  to  be  blowing  a  little  more  strongly,   and  it  held a
      faint  tang,   like  heated metal.
         "Come  away, "  Pandaras  pleaded  uneasily.  He  was shifting
      his  weight  from  foot  to  foot,   as  if  ready  to run.
         "We  will  look  in  the  apses.  If  anything  was  going  to happen
      ,   Pandaras,   it  would  have  happened  by now."
         "If  it  does  happen,   it'll.  be  all  the  worse  for waiting."
         "You  go  left  and  I  will  go  right,   and  if  we  find  nothing I
      promise  we  will  go  straight  out  of  this place."
         "I'll  come  with  you,   master,   if  you  don't  mind. I've      no
      liking  for  being  left  alone  in  this hecatomb."
         The  archway  which  led  into  the  apse  to the       right  of the
      well  was  curtained  by  falls  of  fine  black  plastic  mesh. Beyond
      was  a  high  square  space  lit  by  shafts  of  dim  light striking
      through  knotholes  that  pierced  the  thick walls     just beneath
      the  vaulted  roof.  There  was  a  shrine  set  in the    center  of the
      
space,   a  glossy  black  circle  like  a  giant's  coin  or eyeglass
      stood  on  its side.
         Statues  three  times  the  height  of  a  man  stood  in recesses
      all  around  the  four  walls,   although  they  were  not  statues of
      men,   and  nor  were  they  carved  from  stone,   but  were made
      of  the  same  slick,   translucent  stuff  as  ancient  armor. Yama
      could  dimly  see  shapes  and  catenaries  inside  their chests
      and limbs.
         Pandaras  went  up  to  a  statue  and  knocked  his knuckles
      against  its  shin:  it  rang  with  a  dull  note.  "There's  a story
      that  these  things  fought  against  the Insuffectionists."
         "More  likely  they  were  made  in  the  likeness  of  great generals
      , "  Yama  said,   looking  up  at  their  grim visages.
         "Don't  worry, "  a  woman's  voice  said.  "They've been
      asleep  so  long  they've  forgotten  how  to wake."





                                   THE  WOMAN IN           WRITE.
Y  A  N  A  T  U  R  N  I  D,   A  N  D  streamers  of  blazing  white  light suddenly
        raced  through  the  shrine's  black  disc.  He  raised  an  arm to
        shade  his  eyes,   but  the  white  light  had  already  faded  into a
        swirling  play  of  soft colors.
          Pandaras's  clenched  paw  fluttered  under  his  open mouth.
        He  said,   "Master,   this  is  some  horrid trick."
          Cautiously,   Yama  stepped  through  polychromatic  light and
        touched  the  shrine's  slick,   cold  surface.  He  was  possessed by
        the  mad  idea  that  he  could  slip  into  it  as  easily  as slipping
        into  the  cool  water  of  the river.
          Like  a  reflection,   a  hand  rose  through  swirling  colors to
        meet  his  own.  For  a  moment  he  thought  that  he  felt  its touch, 
        like  a  glove  slipping  around  his  skin,   and  he  recoiled in
       shock.
          Laughter,   like  the  chiming  of  small  silver  bells. Streaks
        and  swirls  and  dabs  of  a  hundred  colors  collapsed  into themselves
        ,   and  a  woman  was  framed  in  the  disc  of  the shrine.
        Pandaras  shouted  and  ran,   flinging  himself  in  a  furious panic
        through  the  black  mesh  curtains  which  divided  the  apse from
        the  main  part  of  the temple.
          Yama  knelt  before  the  shrine,   fearful  and  amazed.  "Lady ...
        what  do  you  want  from me?"
         "Oh  do  get  up.  I  can't  talk  to  the  top  of  your head."
         Yama  obeyed.  He  supposed  that  the  woman  was one             of
      
the  avatars  of  the  Preservers,   who,   as  was  written  in the
      Puranas,   stood  between  the  quotidian  world  and  the  glory of
      their  masters,   facing  both  ways  at  once.  She  was  tall and
      slender,   with  a  commanding,   imperious  gaze,   and  wore a
      white  one-piece  garment  which  clung  to  her  limbs  and body.
      Her  skin  was  the  color  of  newly  forged  bronze,   and  her long
      black  hair  was  caught  in  a  kind  of  net  at  her  right shoulder.
      A  green  garden  receded  behind  her:  smooth  lawns  and  a maze
      of  high,   trimmed  hedges.  A  stone  fountain  sent  a muscular
      jet  of  water  high  into  the  sunlit air.
         "Who  are  you,   domina?  Do  you  live  in  this shrine?"
         "I  don't  know  where  I  live,   these  days.  I'm  scattered,  I
      suppose  you  could  say.  But  this  is  one  of  the  places where
      I  can  look  out  at  the  world.  It's  like  a  window.  You  five in
      a  house  made  of  rooms.  Where  I  live  is  mostly windows, 
      looking  out  to  different  places.  You  drew  me  to  this window
      and  I  looked  out  and  found you."
         "Drew  you?  Domina,   I  did  not  mean to."
         "You  wear  the  key  around  your  neck.  You  have discovered
      that,   at least."
         Yama  lifted  out  the  coin  which  hung  on  the  thong around
      his  neck,   the  coin  which  the  anchorite  had  given  him the
      spring  night  when  Dr.  Dismas  had  returned  to  Ys,   and everything
        had  changed.  Yama  had  gone  out  to  hunt  frogs,  and
      caught  something  far  stranger.  The  coin  was  warm,   but perhaps
        only  because  it  had  lain  next  to  his skin.
         The  woman  in  the  shrine  said,   "It  works  by  light,  and
      briefly  talked  with  this  transceiver.  I  heard  it,   and  came here.
      Don't  be  afraid.  Do  you  like  where  I live?"
         Yama  said,   with  reflexive  politeness,   "I  have  never seen
      a  garden  like yours."
         "Of  course  you  haven't.  It  is  from  some long-vanished
      
world,   perhaps  even  from  Earth.  Do  you  wish  me  to change
      it?  I  could  live  anywhere,   you  know.  Or  at  least anywhere
      on  file  that  hasn't  been  corrupted.  The  servers  are  very old, 
      and  there's  much  that  has  been  corrupted.  Atoms migrate;
      cosmic  rays  and  neutrinos  disrupt  the  lattices  ... Anyway, 
      I  like  gardens.  It  stirs  something  in  my  memory.  My original





         ruled  many  worlds  once,   and  surely  some  of  those possessed
         gardens.  It's  possible  she  owned  a  garden  just  like  this,  once
         upon  a  time.  But  I've  forgotten  such  a  lot,   and  I  was never
         really  whole  in  the  first  place.  There  are  peacocks.  Do you
         know  peacocks?  No,   I  suppose  not.  Perhaps  there  are autochthonous
           creatures  like  peacocks  somewhere  on Confluence, 
         but  I  don't  have  the  files  to  hand.  If  we  talk  long enough
         perhaps  one  will  come  past.  They  are  birds.  The  cocks have
         huge  fan-shaped  tails,   with  eyes  in them."
           Yama  was  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  the  image  of  an electric
           blue  long-necked  bird  with  concentric  arcs  of  fiery eyes
         peering  over  its  tiny  head.  He  turned  away,   the  heels  of his
         palms  pressed  into  his  eye  sockets,   but  the  vision  still beat
         inside  his head.
             Wait, "  the  woman  said.  Was  there  a  note  of uncertainty
         in  her  voice?  "I  didn't  mean  .  .  .  The  gain  is  difficult to
         control ...
           The  sheaves  of  burning  eyes  vanished;  there  was  only ordinary
           bloodwarm  darkness  behind  his  eyelids. Cautiously, 
         Yama  turned  back  to  the shrine.
           "It  isn't  real, "  the  woman  said.  She  stepped  up  to the
         inner  surface  of  the  shrine  and  pressed  her  hands  against it
         and  peered  between  them  as  if  trying  to  see  through the
         window  of  a  lighted  room  into  a  dark  landscape.  Her palms
         were  dyed  red.  Paeonin.  She  said,   "That  it  isn't  real  is the
         important  thing  to  remember.  But  isn't  everything  an illusion?
         We're  all  waves,   and  even  the  waves  are  really half-glimpsed
         
strings  folded  deeply  into themselves."
           She  seemed  to  be  talking  to  herself,   but  then  she smiled
         at  Yama.  Or  no,   her  eyes  were  not  quite  focused  on  him,  but
         at  a  point  a  little  to  one  side  of  the  top  of  his head.
           Yama  said,   prompted  by  a  flicker  of  suspicion,  "Excuse
         me,   domina,   but  are  you  really  an  avatar?  I  have  never seen
         one before.
           "I'm  no  fragment  of  a  god,   Yamamanama.  The  clade of
         my  original  ruled  a  million  planetary  systems,   once  upon a
         time,   but  she  never  claimed  to  be  a  god.  None  of  the transcendents
           ever  claimed  that,   only  their enemies."
           Fear  and  amazement  collapsed  into  relief.  Yama laughed
         and  said,   "An  aspect.  You  are  an  aspect.  Or  a ghost."
         "A  ghost  in  the  machine.  Yes,   that's  one  way  of looking
      at  it.  Why  not?  Even  when  my  original  walked  the surface
      of  this  strange  habitat  she  was  a  copy  of  a  memory,   and I
      suppose  that  would  make  me  a  kind  of  a  ghost  of  a ghost.
      But  you're  a  ghost,   too.  You  shouldn't  be  here,   not  at this
      time.  You're  either  too  young,   or  too  old,   a  hundred thousand
      years  either  way  ...  Do  you  know  why  you  are here?"
         "I  wish  with  all  my  heart  to  find  out, "  Yama  said,  "but
      I  do  not  believe  in ghosts."
         "We  have  spoken  before."  The  woman  tilted  her head
      with  a  curiously  coquettish  gesture,   and  smiled.  "You don't
      remember,   do  you?"  she  said.  "Well,   you  were  very young, 
      and  that  foolish  man  with  you  hid  your  face  in  a  fold  of his
      robes.  I  think  he  must  have  done  something  to  the shrine, 
      afterwards,   because  that  window  has  been  closed  to  me ever
      
since,   like  so  many  others.  There  is  much  old  damage  in the
      system  from  the  war  between  the  machines.  I  could only
      glimpse  you  now  and  then  as  you  grew  up.  How  I  wish I
      could  have  spoken  to  you!  How  I  wish  I  could  have helped
      you!  I  am  so  happy  to  meet  you  again,   but  you  should not
      be  here,   in  this  strange  and  terrible  city.  You  should  be on
      your  way  downriver,   to  the war."
         "What  do  you  know  about  me?  Please,   domina,   will you
      tell  -me  what  you know?"
         "There  are  gates.  Manifolds  held  open  by  the negative
      gravity  of  strange  matter.  They  run  in  every  direction,  even
      into  the  past,   all  the  way  back  to  when  they  were  created. I
      think  that  is  where  you  come  from.  That,   or  the voidships.
      Perhaps  your  parents  were  passengers  or  stowaways  on a
      voidship,   time-shifted  by  the  velocity  of  some  long voyage.
      We  did  not  learn  where  the  voidships  went.  There  was not
      enough  time  to  learn  a  tenth  of  what  we  wanted  to  know. In
      any  case,   you  come  from  the  deep  past  of  this  strange world, 
      Yamamanama,   but  although  I  have  searched  the  records,   I do
      not  know  who  sent  you,   or  why.  Does  it  matter?  You are
      here,   and  there  is  much  to  be done."
         Yama  could  not  believe  her.  For  if  he  had  been  sent here
      from  the  deep  past  when  his  people,   the  Builders,   had been
      constructing  the  world  according  to  the  desires  of  the Preserv-





        ers,   then  he  could  never  find  his  family  or  any  others like
        him.  He  would  be  quite  alone,   and  that  was unthinkable.
           He  said,   "I  was  found  on  the  river.  I  was  a  baby,  lying
        on  the  breast  of  a  dead  woman  in  a  white  boat."  He suddenly
        felt  that  his  heart  might  burst  with  longing.  "Please  tell me!
        Tell  me  why  I  am here!"
           The  woman  in  the  shrine  lifted  her  hands,   wrists cocked
        in  an  elegant  shrug.  She  said,   "I'm  a  stranger  here.  My original
          walked  out  into  your  world  and  died  there,   but  not before
        she  started  to  change  it.  And  before  she  died  part  of  her came
        here,   and  here  I  am  still.  I  sometimes  wonder  if  you're part
        of  what  she  did  after  she  left  me  here.  Would  that  make you
        my  son,   if  it  were true?"
           Yama  said,   "I  am  looking  for  answers,   not  more riddles."
           "Let  me  give  an  example.  You  see  the  statues?  You think
        them  monuments  to  dead  heroes,   but  the  truth  is  simpler than
        any  story.   I
           "Then  they  are  not statues?"
           "Not  at  all.  They  are  soldiers.  They  were  garrisoned here
        after  the  main  part  of  the  temple  was  built,   to  guard against
        what  the  foolish  little  priests  of  the  temple  call  the Thing
        Below.  I  suppose  that  when  the  apses  were  remodelled many
        years  later  it  was  easier  to  incorporate  the  soldiers  into the
        architecture  than  to  move  them.  Most  of  their  kind  have been
        
smelted  down,   and  small  pieces  of  armor  have  been  cast from
        their  remains,   so  in  a  sense  they  still  defend  the populace.
        But  the  soldiers  around  us  are  the  reality,   and  the human
        soldiers  who  wear  reforged  scraps  of  the  integuments  of their
        brothers  are  but  the  shadows  of  that  reality,   as  I  am  a shadow
        of  the  one  for  whom  I  speak.  Unlike  the  soldiers,   she  is quite
        vanished  from  this  world,   and  only  I remain."
           Yama  looked  up  at  the  nearest  of  the  figures.  It stared
        above  his  head  at  one  of  its  fellows  on  the  opposite  side of
        the  square  apse,   but  Yama  fancied  that  he  saw  its  eyes flicker
        toward  him  for  an  instant.  They  were  red,   and  held  a faint
        glow  that  he  knew  had  not  been  there before.
           He  said,   "Am  I  then  a  shadow  too?  I  am  searching for
        others  like  me.  Can  I  find them?"
           "I  would  be  amazed  and  delighted  if  you  did,   but  they are
        all  long  dead.  I  think  that  you  will  be  sufficient,  Yamama-
       nama.  Already  you  have  discovered  that  you  can  control the
       machines  which  maintain  this  habitat.  There  is  much  more I
       can  teach you."
         "My  bloodline  was  made  by  the  Preservers  to  build the
       world,   and  then  they  went  away.  That  much  I  have  learnt,  at
       least.  I  will  discover  more  in  the  Palace  of  the  Memory of
       the People."
         "They  were  taken  back, "  the  woman  said.  "You might
       say  that  if  I  am  a  shadow  of  what  I  was,   then  your  kind were
       a  shadow  of  what  you  call  the  Preservers  and  what  I suppose
       I  could  call  my  children,   although  they  are  as  remote from
       
me  as  I  am  from  the  plains  apes  which  walked  out  of Afrique
       and  set  fire  to  the  Galaxy. Someone
           had  recently  said  something  similar  to Yama.
       Who?  Trying  to  remember,   he  said  automatically,   "All are
       shadows  of  the Preservers."
         "Not  quite  all.  There  are  many  different  kinds  of  men on
       this  strange  world-I  suppose  I  must  call  it  a world-and
       each  has  been  reworked  until  it  retains  only  a  shadow  of its
       animal  ancestors.  Most,   but  not  all,   have  been  salted  with a
       fragment  of  inheritable  material  derived  from  the Preservers.
       The  dominant  races  of  this  habitat  are  from  many different
       places  and  many  different  times,   but  they  all  are  marked by
       this  attribute,   and  all  believe  that  they  can  evolve  to  a higher
       state.  Indeed,   many  seem  to  have  evolved  out  of existence, 
       but  it  is  not  clear  if  they  have  transcended  or  merely become
       extinct.  But  the  primitive  races,   which  resemble  men  but are
       little  better  than  animals,   are  not  marked,   and  have never
       advanced  from  their  original  state.  There  is  much  I  still do
       not  understand  about  this  world,   but  that  much  I  do know."
         "If  you  can  help  me  understand  where  I  came  from,  perhaps
         I  can  help you."
         The  woman  smiled.  "You  try  to  bargain  with  me.  But I
       have  already  told  you  where  you  came  from,  Yamamanama, 
       and  I  have  already  helped  you.  I  have  sung  many  songs of
       praise  in  your  honor.  I  have  told  many  of  your  coming. I
       have  raised  up  a  champion  to  fight  for  you.  You  should be
       with  him  now,   sailing  downriver  to  the war."
         Yama  remembered  the  young  warlord's  story.  He said, 
       "With Enobarbus?"





         "The  soldier  too.  But  I  meant  Dr.  Dismas.  He  found me
      long  ago,   long  before  I  spoke  with  Enobarbus.  You should
      be  with  them  now.  With  their  help,   and  especially  with mine, 
      you  could  save  the world."
         Yama  laughed.  "Lady,   I  will  do  what  I  can  against the
      heretics,   but  I  do  not  think  I  can  do  more  than  any other
     man."
         "Against  the  heretics?  Don't  be  silly.  I  have  not  been able
      to  speak  to  you,   but  I  have  watched  you.  I  heard  your prayers, 
      after  your  brother's  death.  I  know  how  desperately  you wish
      to  become  a  hero  and  avenge  him.  Ah,   but  I  can  make you
      more  than that."
         After  the  news  of  Telmon's  death,   Yama  had  prayed all
      night  before  the  shrine  in  the  temple.  The  Aedile  had sent
      two  soldiers  to  watch  over  him,   but  they  had  fallen asleep, 
      and  in  the  quiet  hour  before  dawn  Yama  had  asked  for a
      sign  that  he  would  lead  a  great  victory  in  Telmon's name.
      He  had  thought  then  that  he  wanted  to  redeem  his brother's
      death,   but  he  understood  now  that  his  prayers  had been
      prompted  by  mere  selfishness.  He  had  wanted  a  shape  to his
      own  life,   to  know  its  beginning  and  to  be  given  a destiny.
      He  realized  that  perhaps  his  prayer  had  been  answered after
      all,   but  not  in  the  way  he  had hoped.
         "You  must  take  up  your  inheritance, "  the  woman  said. "I
      can  help  you.  Together  we  can  complete  the  changes my
      original  began.  I  think  you  have  already  begun  to explore
      what  you  can  do.  There  is  much  more,   if  you  will  let me
      teach  you. "
         "If  you  had  listened  to  me,   domina,   you  would  know that
      I  pledged  to  save  the  world,   not  change it."
         Did  her  gaze  darken?  For  a  moment,   it  seemed  to Yama
      that  her  strange  beauty  was  merely  a  mask  or  film covering
      something horrible.
         She  said,   "If  you  want  to  save  the  world,   it  must be
      
changed.  Change  is  fundamental  to  life.  The  world  will be
      changed  whichever  side  wins  the  war,   but  only  one  side can
      ensure  that  stasis  is  not  enforced  again.  Stasis  preserves dead
      things,   but  it  suffocates  life.  A  faction  of  the  servants  of this
      world  realized  that  long  ago.  But  they  failed,   and  those which
       survived  were  thrown  into  exile.  Now  they  are  our servants, 
       and  together  we  will  succeed  where  they  alone  did not.Yama
           remembered  the  cold  black  presence  of  the feral
       machine  he  had  inadvertently  called  down  at  the merchant's
       house,   and  it  took  all  his  will  not  to  run  from  the woman, 
       as  Pandaras  had  run  at  first  sight.  He  knew  now  which side
       this  avatar  was  on,   and  where  Enobarbus  and  Dr. Dismas
       would  have  taken  him  if  he  had  not  escaped.  Dr.  Dismas had
       lied  about  everything.  He  was  a  spy  for  the  heretics,  and
       Enobarbus  was  not  a  champion  against  them,   but  a warlord
       secretly  fighting  on  their  side.  He  had  not  escaped  when his
       ship  had  been  sunk,   but  had  been  captured  by  the heretics
       and  made  into  one  of  them.  Or  perhaps  he  had  been granted
       safe  passage  because  he  already  was  one  of  them-for had
       he  not  spoken  of  a  vision  which  had  spoken  to  him  from the
       shrine  of  the  temple  of  his  people?  Yama  knew  now who
       had  spoken  to  the  young  soldier,   and  knew  what  course he
       had  been  set  upon.  Not  against  the  heretics,   but  for them.
       What  a  fool  he  had  been  to  believe otherwise!
         He  said,   "The  world  cannot  be  saved  by  contesting the
       will  of  those  who  made  it.  I  will  fight  the  heretics,  not
       serve  them. "
         Silver  bells,   ringing  in  the  air  all  around.  "You  are still
       so  young,   Yamamanama!  You  still  cling  to  the  beliefs of
       
your  childhood!  But  you  will  change  your  mind.  Dr. Dismas
       has  promised  that  he  has  already  sown  the  seeds  of change.
       Look  on  this,   Yamamanama.  All  this  can  be ours!"
       . The  shrine  flashed  edge  to  edge  with  white  light. Yama
       closed  his  eyes,   but  the  white  light  was  inside  his  head,  too.
       Something  long  and  narrow  floated  in  it,   like  a  needle in
       milk.  It  was  his  map.  No,   it  was  the world.
         Half  was  green  and  blue  and  white,   with  the  Great River
       running  along  one  side  and  the  ranges  of  the  Rim Mountains
       on  the  other,   and  the  icecap  of  the  Endpoint  shining  in the
       sunlight;  half  was  tawny  desert,   splotched  and  gouged with
       angry  black  and  red  scars  and  craters,   the  river  dry,   the icecap
        gone.
         It  floated  before  Yama,   serene  and  lovely,   for  a  long moment
       .  And  then  it  was  gone,   and  the  woman  smiled  at him





        from  the  window  of  the  shrine,   with  the  green  lawn  and the
        high  hedges  of  the  garden  receding  behind her.
           "Together  we  will  do  great  things, "  she  said.  "We will
        remake  the  world,   and  everyone  in  it,   as  a start."
           Yama  said  steadfastly,   "You  are  an  aspect  of  one  of the
        Ancients  of  Days.  You  raised  up  the  heretics  against  the will
        of  the  Preservers.  You  are  my enemy."
           "I  am  no  enemy  of  yours,   Yamamanama.  How  could an
        enemy  speak  from  a shrine?"
           "The  heretics  silenced the     last  avatars  of  the Preservers.
        Why  shouldn't  something  else  take  their  place?  Why  do you
        tempt  me  with  foolish  visions?  No  one  can  rule  the world."
           The  woman  smiled.  "No  one  does,   and  there  is  its problem
        .  Any  advanced  organism  must  have  a  dominating principle
        ,   or  else  its  different  parts  will  war  against  each  other,  and
        it  will  be  paralyzed  by  inaction.  As  with  organisms,   so with
        worlds.  You  have  so  many  doubts.  I  understand.  Hush! Not
        another  word!  Someone  comes.  We'll  talk  again.  If  not here, 
        then  at  one  of  the  other  transceivers  that  are  still functioning.
        There  are  many  on  the  farside shore."
           "If  I  talk  with  you  again,   it  will  be  because  I  have found
        some  way  of  destroying you."
           She  smiled.  "I  think  you  will  change  your  mind about
       that."
          "Never!"
           "Oh,   but  I  think  that  you  will.  Already  it  has begun.
        Until then."
           And  then  she  was  gone,   and  with  her  the  light.  Once more, 
        
Yama  could  see  through  the  darkly  transparent  disc  of the
        shrine.  On  the  far  side  of  the  apse,   the  curtain  of  black mesh
        stirred  as  someone  pushed  it aside.
                                             TH ASSASSIN.
IT  WAS  NOT  Pandaras,   nor  even  Tamora,   but  a barechested
      giant  of  a  man  in  black  leather  trews.  His  skin  was  the color
      of  rust  and  his  face  was  masked  with  an  oval  of  soft black
      moleskin.  He  carried  a  naked  falchion,   and  there  was  a percussion
        pistol  tUcked  into  his  waistband.  His  muscular arms
      were  bound  tightly  with  leather  thongs;  plastic vambraces, 
      mottled  with  extreme  age,   were  laced  around  his forearms.
        As  soon  as  he  saw  Yama,   the  man  quickly advanced
      around  the  shrine.  Yama  stepped  backward  and  drew  his long
      knife.  It  ran  with  blue  fire,   as  if  dipped  in  flaming brandy.
        The  man  smiled.  His  mouth  was  red  and  wet  inside the
      slit  in  his  black  mask.  1he  pointed  teeth  of  a  small fierce
      animal  made  a  radiating  pattern  around  the  mask's  mouth slit
      and  little  bones  made  a  zig-zag  pattern  around  the eyeholes, 
      exaggerating  their  size.  The  man's  rust-colored  skin  shone as
      if  oiled,   and  a  spiral  pattern  of  welts  was  raised  on  the skin
      of  his  chest.  Yama  thought  of  the  friendly  people  who had
      colonized  the  abandoned  tombs  at  the  edge  of  Ys.  This was
      one  of  their  sons,   corrupted  by  the  city.  Or  perhaps  he had
      left  his  people  because  he  was  already corrupted.
         "Who  sent  you?"  Yama  said.  He  was  aware  that  one of
      the  statues  was  only  a  few  paces  from  his  back. Remembering





        what  Sergeant  Rhodean  had  taught  him,   he  carefully watched
        as  the  man  moved  toward  him,   looking  for  weaknesses he
        might  exploit  if  it  came  to  a fight.
          "Put  up  that  silly  pricking  blade,   and  I'll  tell  you, " the
        man  said.  His  voice  was  deep  and  slow,   and  set  up echoes
        in  the  vaulted  roof  of  the  apse.  "I  was  asked  to  kill you
        slowly,   but  I  promise  to  make  it  quick  if  you  don't struggle."
          "It  was  Gorgo.  He  hired  you  at  the  Water Market."
          The  man's  eyes  widened  slightly  under  the  mask  and Yama
        knew  that  he  had  guessed  right,   or  had  struck  close  to the
       truth.
          He  said,   "Or  you  are  a  friend  of  Gorgo,   or  someone who
        owes  him  a  favor.  In  any  case,   it  is  not  an  honorable act."
          The  man  said,   "Honor  has  nothing  to it."
          Yama's  fingers  sweated  on  the  hilt  of  the  knife  and the
        skin  and  muscles  of  his  forearm  tingled  as  if  held  close  to a
        fire,   although  the  knife  blade  gave  off  no  heat.  Pandaras had
        not  known  to  leave  the  knife  in  sunlight  while  I  was  ill,  he
        thought.  Now  it  takes  the  energy  it  needs  from  me,   and I
        must  strike soon.
          He  said,   "Did  Gorgo  tell  you  who  I  killed?  He cannot
        have  forgotten,   because  it  was  only  two  nights  ago.  It  was a
        rich  and  powerful  merchant,   with  many  guards.  I  was his
        prisoner,   and  my  knife  was  taken  from  me,   but  he  is dead
        and  I  stand  here  before  you.  Go  now,   and  I  will  spare 
you."
          He  was  calling  out  to  any  machine  for  help,   but  there were
        none  close  by.  He  could  only  feel  their  distant,  directionless
        swarm,   as  a  man  bears  the  many  voices  of  a  city  as an
        unmodulated roar.
          The  assassin  said,   "You  think  to  keep  me  talking,   that I
        may  spare  you  or  help  will  come.  Those  are  foolish hopes.
        Put  up  your  knife  and  it'll  be  a  quick  dispatch.  You have
        my word."
          "And  perhaps  you  talk  because  you  do  not  have  the stomach
          for it."
          The  assassin  laughed,   a  rumble  Re  rocks  moving over
        each  other  in  his  belly.  "It's  the  other  way  around.  I was
        paid  to  kill  you  as  slowly  as  possible,   and  to  withhold the
        name  of  my  client  until  the  last  possible  moment.  You won't
      put  away  your  silly  little  blade?  You  choose  a  slow death, 
     then."
        Yama  saw  that  the  assassin  favored  his  right  arm;  if he
      ran  to  the  left,   the  man  must  turn  before  striking.  In that
      instant  Yama  might  have  a  chance  at  a  successful  blow. Although
        the  shrine  was  dark  and  fading  sunlight  had climbed
      halfway  up  the  walls,   laying  a  bronze  sheen  on  the cloudily
      opaque  torsoes  of  the  gigantic  soldiers,   everything  in the
      square  apse  shone  with  an  intense  particularity.  Yama had
      never  felt  more  alive  than  now,   at  the  moment  before his
      certain dpath.
        He  yelled  and  ran,   striking  at  the  man's  masked  face. His
      opponent  whirled  with  amazing  speed  and  parried automatically
        with  such  force  that  Yama  was  barely  able  to  fend off
      the  blow.  The  knife  screamed  and  spat  a  stream  of sparks, 
      and  notched  the  assassin's sword.
        
The  assassin  did  not  press  his  advantage,   but  stared distractedly
        at  something  above  Yama's  head.  Yama struck
      again,   lunging  with  the  point  of  his  knife;  Sergeant Rhodean
      had  taught  him  that  the  advantage  of  a  shorter  blade  is the
      precision  with  which  it  can  be  directed.  The  assassin parried
      with  the  same  casual,   brutal  force  as  before  and  stepped back, 
      pulling  the  percussion  pistol  from  his waistband.
        Suddenly,   dust  boiled  around  them  in  a  dry,   choking cloud.
      Chips  of  stone  rained  down  like  hail,   ringing  on  the stone
      flags  of  the  floor.  In  the  midst  of  this,   Yama  lunged again.
      It  was  a  slight,   glancing  blow  that  barely  grazed  the assassin's
      chest,   but  the  knife  flashed  and  there  was  a  terrific  flash of
      blue  light  that  knocked  the  man  down.  Yama's  arm  was instantly
        numbed  from  wrist  to  shoulder.  As  he  shifted the
      knife  to  his  left  hand,   the  assassin  got  to  his  feet  and raised
      the  percussion pistol.
        The  man's  mouth  was  working  inside  the  mask's  slit,  and
      his  eyes  were  wide.  He  fired  and  fired  again  at something
      behind  Yama.  The  pistol  failed  on  the  third  shot  and the
      assassin  threw  it  hard  over  Yama's  head  and  ran,   just as
      Pandaras  had  run  when  the  woman  had  appeared  in the
     shrine.
        Yama  chased  after  the  assassin,   his  blood  singing  in his
      head,   but  the  man  plunged  through  the  curtain  of  black mesh





         and  Yama  stopped  short,   fearing  an  ambush  on  the  other side.
         He  turned  and  looked  up  at  the  soldier  which  had stepped
         from  its  niche,   and  asked  it  to  go  back  to  sleep  until  it was
         needed  again.  The  soldier,   its  eyes  glowing  bright  red  in its
         impassive  face,   struck  its  chestplate  with  a  mailed  fist,  and
         the  apse  rang  like  a  bell  with  the sound.
                                           THE  THIN6 BELOW.
A  L  0  H  G  W  A  Y  down  the  shadow-filled  atrium,   in  the  glow of
      a  palm-oil  lantern  which  had  been  lowered  on  a  chain from
      the  lofty  ceiling,   two  men  bent  over  something.  Yama ran
      forward  with  his  knife  raised,   but  they  were  only  priests tending
        to  Pandaras.  The  boy  lay  sprawled  on  the  mosaic floor, 
      alive  but  unconscious.  Yama  knelt  and  touched  his  face. His
      eyes  opened,   but  he  seemed  unable  to  speak.  There  was a
      bloody  gash  on  his  temple;  it  seemed  to  be  his  only wound.
         Yama  sheathed  his  knife  and  looked  up  at  the  two priests.
      They  wore  homespun  robes  and  had  broad,  wide-browed
      faces  and  tangled  manes  of  white  hair:  the  same  bloodline as
      Enobarbus.  Although  Yama  had  guessed  that  this  was the
      place  where  the  young  warlord  had  received  his  vision,  he
      still  felt  a  small  shock  of recognition.
         He  asked  the  priests  if  they  had  seen  who  had wounded
      his  friend,   and  they  looked  at  each  other  before  one volunteered
        that  a  man  had  just  now  run  past,   but  they  had already
      discovered  this  poor  boy.  Yama  smiled  to  think  of  the spectacle
        the  masked  assassin  must  have  made,   running  through the
      temple  with  a  sword  in  his  hand  and  blood  running  down his
      bare  chest.  Gorgo  must  be  nearby-if  he  had  sent  the assas-





          sin,   surely  he  would  want  to  witness  what  he  had  paid forand
            he  would  have  seen  the  rout  of  his hireling.
            The  priests  looked  at  each  other  again  and  the  one who
          had  spoken  before  said,   "I  am  Antros,   and  this  is  my brother, 
          Balcus.  We  are  keepers  of  the  temple.  There  is  a  place to
          wash  your  friend's  wound,   and  to  tend  to  your  own wounds, 
          too.  Follow me."
            Yama's  right  arm  had  recovered  most  of  its  strength,  although
            it  now  tingled  as  if  it  had  been  stung  by  a  horde of
          ants.  He  gathered  up  Pandaras  and  followed  the  old priest.
          The  boy's  skin  was  hot  and  his  heartbeat  was  light  and rapid, 
          but  Yama  had  no  way  of  knowing  whether  or  not  this was
         normal.
            Beyond  the  colonnade  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the atrium
          was  a  little  grotto  carved  into  the  thick  stone  of  the temple's
          outer  wall.  Water  trickled  into  a  shallow  stone  trough from
          a  plastic  spout  set  in  the  center  of  a  swirl  of  red mosaic.
          Yama  helped  Pandaras  kneel,   and  bathed  the  shallow wound
          on  his  temple.  Blood  which  had  matted  the  boy's  sleek hair
          fluttered  into  the  clear  cold  water,   but  the  bleeding  had already
            stopped  and  the  edges  of  the  wound  were clean.
            "You  will  have  a  headache, "  Yama  told  Pandaras,  "but
          nothing  worse.  I  think  he  struck  you  with  the  edge  of his
          
vambrace,   or  with  his  pistol,   rather  than  with  his falchion.
          You  should  have  stayed  with  me,  Pandaras."
            Pandaras  was  still  unable  to  speak,   but  he  clumsily caught
          Yama's  hand  and  squeezed it.
            The  old  priest,   Antros,   insisted  on  cleaning  the shallow
          cuts  on  Yama's  back.  As  he  worked,   he  said,   "We heard
          two  pistol  shots.  You  are  lucky  that  he  missed  you,  although
          I  would  guess  that  he  did  not  miss  you  by  much,   and you
          were  hurt  by  stone  splinters  knocked  from  the wall."
            "Fortunately,   he  was  not  aiming  at  me, "  Yama said.
            Antros  said,   "This  was  a  fine  place  once.  The  pillars were
          painted  azure  and  gold,   and  beeswax  candles  as  tall  as  a man
          scented  the  air  with  their  perfume.  Our  temple  was  filled with
          mendicants  and  palmers  from  every  town  and  city  along the
          length  of  the  river.  That  was  long  before  my  time,   of course, 
          but  I  do  remember  when  an  avatar  of  the  Preservers still
          appeared  in  the shrine."
         "Was  this  avatar  a  woman,   dressed  in white?"
         "It  was  neither  man  nor  woman,   and  neither  young nor
      old."  The  old  priest  smiled  in  recollection.  "How  I  miss its
      wild  laughter-it  was  filled  with  fierre  joy,   and  yet  it  was a
      gentle  creatuse.  But  it  is  gone.  They  have  all  gone.  Men still
      come  to  pray  at  the  shrine,   of  course,   but  although  the Preservers
        hear  every  prayer,   men  have  fallen  so  far  from grace
      that  there  are  no  longer  answers  to  their  questions.  Few come
      here  now,   and  even  fewer  to  bare  themselves  humbly before
      
their  creators.  Most  who  come  do  so  to  ask  the  one below
      to  curse  their  enemies,   but  there  are  not  even  very many
      of  them. "
         "I  suppose  that  most  people  fear  this place."
         "Just  so,   although  we  do  have  problems  with  cultists from
      time  to  time,   for  they  are  attracted  by  the  same  thing which
      the  ordinary  folk  fear.  My  brother  and  I  come  here each
      evening  to  light  the  lamps,   but  otherwise  the  temple  is not
      much  used,   even  by  our  own  bloodline.  Of  course,   we have
      our  high  day  when  the  atrium  is  decorated  with  palm fronds
      and  wreaths  of  ivy  and  there  is  a  solemn  procession to
      aspurge  every  corner  and  to  propitiate  the  Thing  Below. But
      otherwise,   as  I  have  said,   most  people  keep  away.  You are
      a  stranger  here.  A  palmer,   perhaps.  I  am  sorry  that  you and
      your  friend  were  attacked.  No  doubt  a  footpad  followed you, 
      and  saw  his chance."
         Yama  asked  Antros  if  the  Thing  Below  was  the machine
      which  had  fallen  in  the  final  battle  at  the  end  of  the Age
      of Insurrection.
         "Indeed.  You  must  not  suppose  it  was  destroyed. Rather, 
      it  was  entombed  alive  in  rock  made  molten  by  its  fall. It
      stirs,   sometimes.  In  fact,   it  has  been  very  restless recently.
      Listen!  Do  you  hear it?"
         Yama  nodded.  He  had  supposed  that  the  high  singing in
      his  head  was  his  own  blood  rushing  through  his  veins with
      the  excitement  of  his  brief skirmish.
         "It  is  the  second  time  in  as  many  days, "  Antros said.
      "Most  of  our  bloodline  are  soldiers,   and  part  of  our  duty is
      to  guard  the  well  and  the  thing  entombed  at  its  bottom. But
      many  have  gone  downriver  to  fight  in  the  war,   and  many of
      those  have  been  killed there."





              '41  met  one, "  Yama  said.  He  did  not  need  to  ask when
           the  machine  had  begun  to  be  restless,   and  felt  a  chill  in his
           blood.  He  had  called  for  help  in  the  merchant's  house,  and
           the  feral  machine  which  had  answered  his  call  was  not the
           only  one  to  have  heard  him.  What  else?  What  else  might he
           have  inadvertently awakened?
              Out  in  the  atrium,   someone  suddenly  started  to shout, 
           raising  overlapping  echoes.  The  old  priest  looked alarmed, 
           but  Yama  said,   "Do  not  be  afraid,   dominie.  I  know that
          voice."
           Tamora  had  returned  to  the  inn,   she  said,   and  had  had to
           threaten  the  painted  witch  who  ran  it  to  find  out  where Yama
           and  Pandaras  had  gone.  "Then  I  realized  what  the  game was, 
           and  came straightaway."
              "It  was  Gorgo, "  Yama  said,   as  he  tied  the  laces  of his
           torn,   blood-stained  shirt.  "I  appear  to  have  a  knack  of making
            enemies."
              "I  hope  you  gouged  out  his  eyes  before  you  killed him, "
           Tamora said.
              "I  have  not  seen  him.  But  someone  shot  an  arbalest bolt
           at  me  earlier,   and  I  remember  that  you  said  Gorgo  had killed
           someone  with  an  arbalest.  He  missed,   and  then  he  sent 
another
             man  to  kill  me.  Fortunately,   I  had  some  help,   and was
           able  to  scare  off  the assassin."
              "I  will  have  his  eyes, "  Tamora  said  with  venomous passion
           ,   "if  I  ever  see  him  again!  His  balls  and  his  eyes!  He is
           a  disgrace  to  the  Fierce People!"
              "He  must  be  very  jealous,   to  want  to  kill  me because
           of YOU."
              Tamora  laughed,   and  said,   "0  Yama,   at  last  you show
           some  human  weakness,   even  if  it  is  only  conceit  about your
           cockmanship.  The  truth  is,   I  owe  Gorgo  money.  He's  not one
           for  fighting,   but  for  making  deals.  He  finds  work  for others, 
           and  takes  a  cut  of  the  fees  for  his  trouble.  And  he loans
           money,   too.  I  borrowed  from  him  to  buy  new  armor  and this
           sword  after  I  was  wounded  in  the  war  last  year.  I  lost my
           kit  then,   you  see.  I  was  working  on  commission  to  pay off
       the  debt  and  the  interest.  I  got  enough  to  live  on,   and he
       took  the rest."
          "Tben  the  job  I  did  with you-"
          "Yes,   yes, "  Tamora  said  impatiently.  "On  Gorgo's commission
       .  He  didn't  really  expect  me  to  succeed,   but  he was
       still  angry  when  I  told  him  that  we'd  killed  the  merchant and
       hadn't  been  able  to  collect  the fee."
          
"And  that  is  why  you  agreed  to  help me."
          "Not  exactly.  Yama,   we  don't  have  time  for this."
          "I  need  to  know,  Tamora."
          Yama  understood  now  why  Tamora  had  embarked  on such
       a  risky  enterprise,   but  he  still  did  not  understand  why Gorgo
       wanted  him dead.
          Tamora  hung  her  head  for  a  moment,   then  said  with  a mixture
       of  vulnerability  and  defiance,   "I  suppose  it's  only  fair.  The starsailor
         job  would  have  paid  well,   but  we  lost  the  fee because
       you  went  crazy  and  grabbed  that  circlet.  And  I  still  owe Gorgo, 
       and  I  was  going  off  to  work  for  you,   as  he  saw  it.  I  said he
       should  wait  and  I'd  pay  back  everything,   but  he's  greedy. He
       wants  the  liver  and  the  lights  as  well  as  the  meat  and bones.."
          Yama  nodded.  "He  decided  to  kill  me  and  steal  the money
       I have."
          "He  said  that  he  would  rob  you,   not  kill  you.  He  said it
       was  only  fair,   because  you'd  lost  him  the  fee  for  killing the
       merchant.  I  didn't  know  he'd  try  and  kill  you.  I  swear it."
          "I  believe  you, "  Yama  said.  "And  I  know  that Gorgo
       found  someone  else  to  help  you  with  the  job  in  the Palace
       of  the  Memory  of  the  People.  He  wanted  me  out  of  the way."
          "A  man  with  red  skin  and  welts  on  his  chest.  I  told Gorgo
       that  I  was  going  to  work  with  you,   Yama,   and  no  other,  but
       Gorgo  said  the  man  would  be  waiting  for  me  at  the Palace
       
gate.  I  went  there,   but  I  couldn't  find  the  man  and  I went
       back  to  the  inn  and  found  that  you  had  come here."
          "Well,   the  man  you  were  waiting  for  was  here.  It  was he
       who  tried  to  kill me."
          "I  was  going  to  tell  you  everything, "  Tamora  said. "I
       decided  something,   while  I  was  waiting.  Hear  me  out.  I made
       an  agreement  with  you,   and  I  will  stick  with  it.  Fuck Gorgo.
       When  the  job  is  finished  I'll  find  him  and  kill him."
          "Then  you  will  work  for  me,   and  not Gorgo?"
                                                                              J7





              "Isn't  that  what  I  said?"  Tamora  said  impatiently. "But
            there  isn't  time  to  stand  and  talk  a  moment  longer,   not now!
            You've  been  lying  around  in  bed,   and  then  fooling  about in
            this  mausoleum,   and  meanwhile  I  have  been  busy.  We have
            already  missed  one  appointment,   and  we  must  not  miss the
            second,   or  the  contract  will  be  voided.  Can  you ride?"
              :'A little."
               'That  had  better  mean  you  can  ride  like  the  wind." Tamora
              seemed  to  notice  Pandaras  for  the  first  time. "What
            happened  to  the rat-boy?"
              "A  blow  to  the  head.  Luckily,   the  assassin  Gorgo hired
            had  some scruples."
              "Maybe  it'll  have  knocked  some  of  his  airs  out  and let
            some  sense  in.  I  suppose  you  still  want  to  bring  him? Well, 
            I'll  carry  him  for  you.  Why  are  you  staring  at  me?  Do you
            call  off  our  contract  after  all this?"
              "I  have  already  woken  things  best  left  sleeping.  If  I go
            on,   what  else  might  I do?"
              Tamora  said  briskly,   "Would  you  emasculate yourself, 
            then?  If  you  don't  know  who  you  are  and  where  you came
            from,   then  you  can't  know  what  you  can  become.  Come with
            me,   or  not.  I'm  taking  the  job  anyway,   because  I'll  get paid
            for  it  with  you  or  without  you.  And  when  I've  finished there, 
            I'll  kill Gorgo."
              
She  slung  Pandaras  over  her  shoulder  and  walked away
            with  a  quick,   lithe  step,   as  if  the  boy  weighed  nothing  at all.
            After  a  moment,   Yama followed.
              It  was  dusk.  Warm  lights  glowed  in  windows  of  the houses
            around  the  mossy  plaza.  Two  horses  were  tethered  to  a pole
            topped  by  a  smoky,   guttering  cresset.  Tamora  and  Yama lifted
            Pandaras  onto  the  withers  of  her  mount,   and  then  she vaulted
            easily  into  the  saddle  behind  him.  She  leaned  down  and told
            Yama,   "I  had  to  pay  the  painted  witch  a  fortune  for  the hire
            of  these.  Don't  stand  and  gape.  Already  it  may  be  too late."
              The  horses  were  harnessed  cavalry  fashion,   with  light saddles
            and  high  stirrups.  Yama  had  just  grasped  the  horn  of  his mount's
            saddle  and  fitted  his  left  foot  in  the  stirrup,   ready  to swing
            himself  up,   when  the  ground  shook.  The  horse  jinked  and as
            Yama  tried  to  check  it,   he  saw  a  beam  of  light  shoot  up through
            the  aperture  of  the  domed  roof  of  the  Black Temple.
         The  light  was  as  red  as  burning  sulphur,   with  flecks of
       violet  and  vermilion  whirling  in  it  like  sparks  flying  up a
       chimney.  It  burned  high  into  the  sky,   so  bright  that  it washed
       the  temple  and  the  square  in  bloody light.
         
Yama  realized  at  once  what  was  happening,   and  knew that
       he  must  confront  what  he  had  wakened.  He  was horribly
       afraid  of  it,   but  if  he  did  not  face  it  then  he  would always
       be afraid.
         He  threw  the  reins  of  his  mount  to  Tamora  and  ran  up the
       steps  into  the  temple.  As  he  entered  the  long  atrium,   the floor
       groaned  and  heaved,   like  an  animal  tormented  by  biting flies.
       Yama  fell  headlong,   picked  himself  up,   and  ran  on toward
       the  column  of  red  light  that  burned  up  from  the  well and
       filled  the  temple  with  its  fierce glare.
         The  temple  was  restless.  The  stone  of  its  walls  squealed and
       howled;  dust  and  small  fragments  rained  down  from  the ceiling.
       Several  of  the  pillars  on  either  side  had  cracked  from  top to
       bottom;  one  had  collapsed  across  the  floor,   its  heavy  stone discs
       spilled  like  a  stack  of  gianes  coins.  The  intricate  mosaics of
       the  floor  were  fractured,   heaved  apart  in  uneven  ripples.  A long
       ragged  crack  ran  back  from  the  well,   and  the  two  old priests
       stood  on  either  side  of  it,   silhouetted  in  the  furnace  light. Balcus
       had  drawn  his  sword  and  held  it  above  his  head  in  pitiful defiance
       ;  Antros  knelt  with  the  heels  of  his  hands  pressed  to his
       eyes,   chanting  over  and  over  an  incantation  or prayer.
         The  language  was  a  private  dialect  of  the  priests' bloodline, 
       but  its  rhythm  struck  deep  in  Yama.  He  fell  to  his knees
       beside  the  old  priest  and  began  to  chant too.
         It  was  not  a  prayer,   but  a  set  of  instructions  to  the 
guards
       of  the temple.
         He  was  repeating  it  for  a  third  time  when  the  black mesh
       curtain  which  divided  the  right-hand  apse  from  the atrium
       was  struck  aside.  Two,   four,   five  of  the  giant soldiers
       marched  out.  The  red  light  gleamed  like  fresh  blood  on their
       transparent carapaces.
         The  two  old  priests  immediately  threw  themselves fulllength
         on  the  floor,   but  Yama  watched  with  rapt fascination.
       The  five  soldiers  were  the  only  survivors  of  the  long sleep
       of  the  temple's  guards.  One  dragged  a  stiff  leg,   and another
       was  blind  and  moved  haltingly  under  the  instructions  of the





         others,   but  none  of  them  had  forgotten  their  duty.  They took
         up  position,   forming  a  five-pointed  star  around  the  well,  threw
         open  their  chest-plates  and  drew  out  bulbous  silver  tubes as
         long  as  Yama  was  tall.  Yama  supposed  that  the soldiers
         would  discharge  their  weapons  into  the  well,   but  instead they
         aimed  at  the  coping  and  floor  around  it  and  fired  as one.
           One  of  the  weapons  exploded,   blowing  the  upper  part of
         its  owner  to  flinders;  from  the  others,   violet  threads  as intensely
           bright  as  the  sun  raked  stone  until  it  ran  like water
         into  the  well.  Heat  and  light  beat  at  Yama's  skin;  the atrium
         filled  with  the  acrid  stench  of  burning  stone.  The  floor heaved
         again,   a  rolling  ripple  that  snapped  mosaics  and  paving slabs
         like  a  whip  and  threw  Yama  and  the  priests backward.
           And  the  Thing  Below  rose  up  from  the  white-hot annulus
         around  its pit.
           It  was  brother  to  the  feral  machine  that  Yama  had inadvertently
           drawn  down  at  the  merchant's  house,   although  it was
         very  much  larger.  It  barely  cleared  the  sides  of  the wellblack
         ,   spherical,   and  bristling  with  mobile  spines.  It had
         grown  misshapen  during  its  long  confinement,   like  a spoiled
         orange  that  flattens  under  its  own weight.
           The  giant  soldiers  played  violet  fire  across  the machine, 
         but  it  took  no  notice  of  them.  It  hung  in  the  midst  of its
         column  of  red  light  and  looked  directly  into  Yama's head.
         You  have  called  me.  I  am  here.  Now  come  with  me,   and serve.
           
Pain  struck  through  Yama's  skull  like  an  iron  wedge. His
         sight  was  filled  with  red  and  black  lightnings.  Blind,  burning
         inside  and  out,   he  gave  the  soldiers  a  final order.
           They  moved  as  one,   and  then  Yama  could  see  again. The
         four  soldiers  were  clinging  to  the  machine  as  men  cling  to a
         bit  of  flotsam  from  a  wreck.  They  were  shearing  away the
         machine's  spines  with  the  blades  of  their hands.
           The  spines  were  what  enabled  the  machine  to  bend the
         gravity  field  of  the  world  to  its  will.  It  spun  and  jerked,  like
         a  hyrax  attacked  by  dire  wolves,   but  it  was  too,   late.  It fell
         like  a  stone  into  the  well,   and  the  temple  shuddered again.
         There  was  a  long  roaring  sound,   and  the  column  of  red light
         flickered  and  then  went out.
                                        THE  PALACE  Of THE
                                  W[WORY  Of  THE PEOPLE.
YANA  AND  THE  two  priests  helped  each  other  through the
       smoky  wreckage  of  the  temple.  A  great  cheer  went  up when
       they  emerged  into  the  twilight,   scorched,   blinking,  coughing
       on  fumes  and  covered  in  soot.  The  people  who  lived  in the
       houses  around  and  about  the  temple  had  run  out  of their
       homes  convinced  that  the  last  day  of  the  world  was  at hand, 
       and  now  they  knew  that  they  were  saved.  Men  of  the priests'
       bloodline  ran  up  and  helped  them  away;  Tamora  urged her
       horse  up  the  shallow  steps,   leading  Yama's  mount  by its
      reins.
         Yama  fought  through  the  crowd.  "It  is  gone!"  he shouted
       to  her.  "I  woke  the  soldiers  and  I  defeated it!"
         "We  may  be  too  late!"  Tamora  shouted  back.  "If you're
       done  here,   follow me!"
         By  the  time  Yama  had  climbed  into  the  saddle  of  his horse, 
       
she  was  already  galloping  away  across  the  square. He
       whooped  and  gave  chase.  His  horse  was  a  lean,  sure-footed
       gelding,   and  needed  little  guidance  as  he  raced Tamora
       through  the  narrow  streets.  The  rush  of  warm  evening air
       stung  his  scorched  skin  but  cleared  his  head.  His  long hair, 
       uncut  since  he  had  left  Aeolis,   streamed  out  behind him.





             A  bell  began  to  toll,   and  Tamora  looked  back  and yelled, 
          "The  gate!  Ten  minutes  before  it closes!"
             She  lashed  the  flanks  of  her  mount  with  her  reins,   and it
          laid  back  its  ears  and  raised  its  tail  and  doubled  its speed.
          Yama  shouted  encouraging  words  in  the  ear  of  his  own horse, 
          and  it  took  heart  and  gave  chase.  A  minute  later,   they shot
          out  of  the  end  of  the  narrow  street  and  began  to plough
          through  crowds  that  clogged  a  wide  avenue  beneath globes
          of  blue  fire  floating  high  in  the air.
             They  were  petitioners,   penitents  and  palmers  trying  to gain
          entrance  to  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People,  their
          numbers  swelled  by  those  panicked  by  earth  tremors and
          strange  lights.  Tamora  laid  about  her  with  bunched  reins,  and
          people  pressed  back  into  each  other  as  she  forced  a way
          through,   with  Yama  close  behind.  The  tolling  of  the bell
          shivered  the  air,   drowning  the  screams  and  shouts  of the
         crowd.
             When  Tamora  and  Yama  reached  the  end  of  the avenue, 
          they  found  a  picket  fine  of  machines  spinning  in the           air, 
          burning  with  fierce  radiance  like  a  cord  of  tiny  suns. Overhead
          ,   more  machines  flitted  through  the  dusk  like fireflies.
          They  filled  Yama's  head  with  their  drowsy  hum,   as  if  he had
          plunged  head-first  into  a  hive  of  bees.  Robed  and hooded
          magistrates  stood  behind  the  glare  of  the  picket  line. Beyond
          them  the  avenue  opened  out  into  a  square  so  huge  it could
          easily  have  contained  the  little  city  of  Aeolis.  At  the  
far side
          of  the  square  a  high  smooth  cliff  of  keelrock  curved  away to
          the  left  and  right,   punctuated  by  a  gateway  that  was guarded
          by  a  decad  of  soldiers  in  silvery  armor  who  stood  on floating
          discs  high  in  the  blue-lit air.
             The  black  mountain  of  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of the
          People  loomed  above  all  of  this,   studded  with  fights and
          blotting  out  the  sky.  Its  peaks  vanished  into  a  wreath of
          clouds.  Yama  stared  up  at  it.  He  had  come  so  far  in  a handful
          of  days,   from  the  little  citadel  of  the  peel-house  of  the Aedile
          of  Aeolis  to  this,   the  greatest  citadel  of  all,   which  the preterites
            claimed  was  older  than  the  world  itself.  He  had learned
          that  his  bloodline  was  older  than  the  world,   and  that  he could
          bend  to  his  will  the  machines  which  maintained  the world.
          He  had  learned  that  the  heretics  considered  him  a  great prize, 
       and  had  resolved  to  fight  against them      with  A  his mightand
         he  had  confronted  and  defeated  one  of  their  dark angels.
          He  had  left  behind  his  childhood.  Ahead  lay  the  long struggle
         by  which  he  would  define  himself.  Perhaps  it  would end
       in  death;  certainly,   countless  men  had  already  died  in the
       war,   and  many  more  would  die  before  the  heretics  were defeated
       .  But  at  this  moment,   although  he  was  exhausted and
       bruised,   his  clothes  scorched  and  tattered,   he  felt  more alive
       than  ever  before.  Somewhere  in  the  great  citadel  that reared
       above  him,   in  the  stacks  of  its  ten  thousand  libraries,   
in the
       labyrinths  of  the  hundreds  of  temples  and  shrines  and departments
       ,   must  be  the  secret  of  his  origin.  He  did  not  doubt it.
       The  woman  in  the  shrine  had  said  that  he  had  come from
       the  deep  past,   but  she  was  his  enemy,   and  surely  she had
       been  lying.  He  would  prove  her  wrong.  He  would  find the
       secrets  that  Dr.  Dismas  had  uncovered  and  discover where
       his  bloodline  still  lived,   and  learn  from  them  how  to  use his
       powers  against  the heretics.
          Tamora  caught  the  bridle  of  Yama's  horse  and shouted
       that  they  would  do  better  to  return  tomorrow.  "The  gates are
       about  to close!"
          "No!  We  must  go  now!  It  is  my destiny!"
          Pandaras  raised  his  head  and  said  weakly,   "My master
       wills it."
          Tamora  grinned,   showing  the  rack  of  her  sharp  white teeth, 
       and  held  up  something  that  flashed  with  red  light.  The picket
       line  of  incandescent  machines  spun  apart  before  her. People
       started  toward  the  gap  and  magistrates  moved  forward,  lashing
         out  with  their  quirts,   driving those   at  the  front  into those
       pressing  forward  from  behind.  In  the  midst  of  the  m8l6e,  a
       fat  woman  reclining  on  a  pallet  born  by  four  oiled,  nearly
       naked  men  suddenly  clutched  at  the  swell  of  her bosom.
       Under  her  plump  hands,   a  vivid red         stain  spread  over her
       white  dress.  She  slumped  sideways  and  the  pallet  tipped and
       foundered,   sending  a  wave,   of  confusion  spreading out
       through  the  close-packed people.
          Yama  did  not  understand  what  had  happened  until  a man
       right  by  his  horse's  flank  flew  forward  and  folded  over and
       fell  under  the  feet  of  his  neighbors.  Yama  glimpsed  the red





          fletching  of  the  bolt  in  the  dead  man's  back,   and  then the
          crowd  closed  over him.
             Tamora  had  drawn  her  sword  and  was  brandishing  it about
          her  as  she  forced  a  way  through  the  crowd.  Yama  kicked at
          hands  which  tried  to  grasp  the  bridle  of  his  plunging mount, 
          and  fought  through  the  tumult  to  her side.
             "Gorgo!"  he  shouted  at  Tamora.  "Gorgo!  He  is here!"
             But  Tamora  did  not  hear  him.  She  was  leaning against
          Pandaras  and  shouting  at  the  magistrates  who  barred  her way.
          Yama  reached  for  her  shoulder  and  something  went  past his
          ear  with  a  wicked  crack,   and  when  he  jerked  around  to see
          where  it  had  come  from  another  bolt  smashed  the  head  of a
          man  who  had  been  tying  to  catch  hold  of  the  bridle of
          his horse.
             Yama  lashed  out  in  panic  and  anger  then.  Red  and black
          lightning  filled  his  head.  And  suddenly  he  saw  the square
          from  a  thousand  points  of  view  that  all  converged  on  a figure
          on  a  flat  roof  above  the  crowded  avenue.  Gorgo screamed
          and  raised  the  arbalest  in  front  of  his  face  as  hundreds of
          tiny  machines  smashed  into  him,   riddling  his  torso  and arms
          and  legs.  He  must  have  died  in  an  instant,   but  his  body did
          not  fall.  Instead,   it  rose  into  the  air,   the  sole  of  one boot
          brushing  the  parapet  as  it  drifted  out  above  the  packed heads
          
of  the crowd.
             Yama  came  to  himself  and  saw  that  Tamora.  had forced
          her  way  through  the  line  of  magistrates.  He  galloped after
          her.  On  the  far  side  of  the  vast  square,   the  great  iron gates
          of  the  Palace  of  the  Memory  of  the  People  were  closing. The
          bell  fell  silent,   and  there  was  a  shocking  moment  of silence.
          Then  people  felt  drops  of  blood  falling  on  them  and looked
          up  and  saw  Gorgo's  riddled  body  sustained  high  above,  head
          bowed  and  arms  flung  wide,   the  arbalest  dangling  by  its strap
          against  his  ruined chest.
             A  woman  screamed  and  the  crowd  began  to  yell  again,  ten
          thousand  voices  shouting  against  each  other.  The  discs which
          bore  the  soldiers  swooped  toward  the  crowd  as  Yama and
          Tamora  raced  their  horses  across  the  square  and plunged
          through  the  gates  into  the  darkness beyond.