show. But
the gringos and the government guard their quantum technology very
carefully; if she's using an unlicensed machine, someone will be
interested. Even at São Paulo U the quantum cores were so
heavily monitored you had to have a security officer with you. You've
got yourself a scary girlfriend, Sextinho. So who is she, this
Quantum Girl?"
"She's called Fia Kishida."
And it is as if Captain Superb has been struck by a White Event and
been turned into a real superhero, for he flies off the bed. Miracle
Boy sees him clearly suspended in midair. Captain Superb leans over
Miracle Boy, spandex puffing and sucking around his mouth. He fumbles
for the zips, pulls it down, shakes his graying, wavy hair out.
"What did you say? Fia Kishida? Fia Kishida?"
JULY 22, 1732
"So you're the swordsman," the bishop of Grão Pará
said as Luis Quinn touched his lips to the proffered ring. "Younger
than I'd expected. And bigger. Most of the swordsmen I've met were
small things, scrawny chickens of things. Effete. But then many big
men are light on their feet, I've found."
"The sword belongs to another life, Your Grace." Luis Quinn
regained his feet and stood, hands folded in submission. Bishop Vasco
da Mascarennhas's chamber was dark, furnished in heavily carved woods
from the Tocantins, deep reds and blacks. The ornate putti and
seraphs had African mouths and noses, Indio eyes and cheekbones. The
heat was oppression, the light beyond the drawn shutters painful.
"Yours is a military order, is it not? Of course I cannot compel
you, but it would be no bad thing for your society to be seen to be .
. . muscular. Brazil respects power and little else. There are
fellows here aplenty—big idle lumps, up from the captaincies to
make their fortunes—who fancy themmselves a rip with the blade.
Yes, the very thing: I shall arrange a sport."
"Your Grace, I have foresworn-"
"Of course you have, of course. Wooden swords, a good poke in
the arse, that sort of thing. It would be good to show those arrogant
turkey cocks a thing or two. Teach them a little respect for Church
authority and keep them away from the indio girls. We get little
enough novelty here, as you might imagine." The bishop rose from
his ornate chair. Wood scraped heavily over stone. "Are you a
man for the sport, Father? I tell you, there is a great game they
have here, the indios brought it, played with a ball of blown latex,
though the blacks have the best skill at it. It's all in the feet;
you're allowed to use the head as well, but not the hands, never the
hands. You steer it to the enemy's goal purely by foot. A splendid
sight. You'll come with me to the cloister garden; the heat is
intolerable indoors this time of the day."
Bishop Vasco was a big man and not at all light on his feet. He
sweated luxuriously as he ambled around the shaded garden. Decorative
panels of handpainted blue-on-white Portuguese tiles depicted
allegories of the theological virtues. A fountain trickled in the
center of the worn limestone Bags, a sound as fragile and deep as
years. Birds peered and whooped from the eaves.
"I wish they had sent you to me, Quinn. Sometimes I wish Belem
were a dog, that I might shake it by the throat. Carnality and lust,
I tell you, carrnality and lust. Lust for gold; not merely the Vila
Rica gold, but the red gold and the black gold, especially in this
time of plague and madness. You know what I speak of. Oh, for a
dozen—half a dozen—stout mission fathers: even just one
examiner from the Holy Office! That would set them about their ears.
I have heard about your railing at the porters of the Cidade Baixa.
That is exactly the type of thing we need here, Quinn, exactly. A
tedious enough passage, I take it?"
"Contrary winds and currents, Your Grace, but I am no sailor. I
spent the time in prayer and preparation."
"Yes yes, my captains say it is faster and easier to sail to the
Island of Madeira and then Belém than the uncertain seas
the gringos and the government guard their quantum technology very
carefully; if she's using an unlicensed machine, someone will be
interested. Even at São Paulo U the quantum cores were so
heavily monitored you had to have a security officer with you. You've
got yourself a scary girlfriend, Sextinho. So who is she, this
Quantum Girl?"
"She's called Fia Kishida."
And it is as if Captain Superb has been struck by a White Event and
been turned into a real superhero, for he flies off the bed. Miracle
Boy sees him clearly suspended in midair. Captain Superb leans over
Miracle Boy, spandex puffing and sucking around his mouth. He fumbles
for the zips, pulls it down, shakes his graying, wavy hair out.
"What did you say? Fia Kishida? Fia Kishida?"
JULY 22, 1732
"So you're the swordsman," the bishop of Grão Pará
said as Luis Quinn touched his lips to the proffered ring. "Younger
than I'd expected. And bigger. Most of the swordsmen I've met were
small things, scrawny chickens of things. Effete. But then many big
men are light on their feet, I've found."
"The sword belongs to another life, Your Grace." Luis Quinn
regained his feet and stood, hands folded in submission. Bishop Vasco
da Mascarennhas's chamber was dark, furnished in heavily carved woods
from the Tocantins, deep reds and blacks. The ornate putti and
seraphs had African mouths and noses, Indio eyes and cheekbones. The
heat was oppression, the light beyond the drawn shutters painful.
"Yours is a military order, is it not? Of course I cannot compel
you, but it would be no bad thing for your society to be seen to be .
. . muscular. Brazil respects power and little else. There are
fellows here aplenty—big idle lumps, up from the captaincies to
make their fortunes—who fancy themmselves a rip with the blade.
Yes, the very thing: I shall arrange a sport."
"Your Grace, I have foresworn-"
"Of course you have, of course. Wooden swords, a good poke in
the arse, that sort of thing. It would be good to show those arrogant
turkey cocks a thing or two. Teach them a little respect for Church
authority and keep them away from the indio girls. We get little
enough novelty here, as you might imagine." The bishop rose from
his ornate chair. Wood scraped heavily over stone. "Are you a
man for the sport, Father? I tell you, there is a great game they
have here, the indios brought it, played with a ball of blown latex,
though the blacks have the best skill at it. It's all in the feet;
you're allowed to use the head as well, but not the hands, never the
hands. You steer it to the enemy's goal purely by foot. A splendid
sight. You'll come with me to the cloister garden; the heat is
intolerable indoors this time of the day."
Bishop Vasco was a big man and not at all light on his feet. He
sweated luxuriously as he ambled around the shaded garden. Decorative
panels of handpainted blue-on-white Portuguese tiles depicted
allegories of the theological virtues. A fountain trickled in the
center of the worn limestone Bags, a sound as fragile and deep as
years. Birds peered and whooped from the eaves.
"I wish they had sent you to me, Quinn. Sometimes I wish Belem
were a dog, that I might shake it by the throat. Carnality and lust,
I tell you, carrnality and lust. Lust for gold; not merely the Vila
Rica gold, but the red gold and the black gold, especially in this
time of plague and madness. You know what I speak of. Oh, for a
dozen—half a dozen—stout mission fathers: even just one
examiner from the Holy Office! That would set them about their ears.
I have heard about your railing at the porters of the Cidade Baixa.
That is exactly the type of thing we need here, Quinn, exactly. A
tedious enough passage, I take it?"
"Contrary winds and currents, Your Grace, but I am no sailor. I
spent the time in prayer and preparation."
"Yes yes, my captains say it is faster and easier to sail to the
Island of Madeira and then Belém than the uncertain seas
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