assumption that we don’t have to locate the cemetery; all we need to do is approach the vitarium. The Council is sending someone to the vitarium now; they want to move in before it closes up shop for tonight.” She added, “It’s my daughter they’re sending.”
“Ann?” Appleford said, surprised. “Why not an Erad?”
Mavis said, “Annie works well with men, and this will be with a Mr. Sebastian Hermes, an old-born, now in his mid-forties. We feel that this kind of approach will be more successful than an out-and-out raid; it’s conceivable that they brought the Anarch’s body from the cemetery to the vitarium, revived it, and then moved it to another location, a private nursing home that we’d never track down.”
“I see,” Appleford said, impressed. Ann McGuire impressed him, too; he had seen her at work before. Especially with men, as her mother said; she was generally effective whenever the matter of sex became involved.
It had always been his hope, his masochistic plea, that Mavis and the Council would dispatch Ann to do a hatchet job on
him.
In this situation, with Sebastian Hermes married, Ann would be especially efficient; her specialty was entering a man-woman relationship as a third party, eventually driving out the wife—or mistress; whatever—and reducing the number of players to two: herself and the man.
Lots of luck, Mr. Hermes, he thought wryly. And then he thought of timid little Mrs. Hermes subjected to the explorations of an Erad, and that made him uncomfortable.
After the interrogation, Lotta Hermes would be different. He wondered which way: for the good or for the worse. The interrogation would either make her or destroy her; it could go in either direction.
He hoped for the former; he had liked the girl.
But his hands were tied.
9
God does not know things because they are: they are
because He knows them, and His knowledge of them
is their essence.
—Erigena
Officer Joe Tinbane ruminated, I certainly made a horse’s mouth of myself. I’ve ruined my friendship with the Hermeses, and because of me she had to go back to the Library. It’s my moral burden, whatever happens to her; it’s on my conscience, until birth.
A lot of times, he reflected, when a person has a phobia about a particular place or situation, there’s a valid reason. It’s a form of precognition. If Lotta’s that afraid of going there, then she probably has reason to be. Those Erads, he said to himself. Mysterious; who and what are they? The Los Angeles Police Department doesn’t know;
I
don’t know.
He was home, now, with Bethel. And, as usual, she was giving him a hard time.
“You’re not taking any interest in your sogum,” Bethel said fiercely.
“I’m going off,” he announced, “and disgorge. Where I can be alone and think.”
“Oh? I interfere with your thoughts? Who are they about?”
He said, stung by her tone, “Okay; if you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
“Another woman.”
“Right.” He nodded. “One whom I could love.”
“You once said you could never love anyone in the way you loved me; that every other relationship—”
“That was then.” Too many years had passed; talk could not revive a moribund marriage. Why should I be married— stay married—to someone who doesn’t basically respect me or like me? he asked himself. The dreary years, passing . . . the accusations. Rising to his feet, he detached himself from his sogum pipe. “I may have killed her,” he said. “I take responsibility.” I have to get her out of the Library, he said to himself.
“You’re off to visit her now,” Bethel said. “Without even trying to conceal this—illicit relationship from me, your wife. I took our marriage vows seriously, but you’ve never tried; if we can’t work things out it’s because you haven’t tried or been responsible. And now you’re openly, blatantly, running off to her. Go ahead.”
“Hello,” he said; the conapt door shut after him and he
“Ann?” Appleford said, surprised. “Why not an Erad?”
Mavis said, “Annie works well with men, and this will be with a Mr. Sebastian Hermes, an old-born, now in his mid-forties. We feel that this kind of approach will be more successful than an out-and-out raid; it’s conceivable that they brought the Anarch’s body from the cemetery to the vitarium, revived it, and then moved it to another location, a private nursing home that we’d never track down.”
“I see,” Appleford said, impressed. Ann McGuire impressed him, too; he had seen her at work before. Especially with men, as her mother said; she was generally effective whenever the matter of sex became involved.
It had always been his hope, his masochistic plea, that Mavis and the Council would dispatch Ann to do a hatchet job on
him.
In this situation, with Sebastian Hermes married, Ann would be especially efficient; her specialty was entering a man-woman relationship as a third party, eventually driving out the wife—or mistress; whatever—and reducing the number of players to two: herself and the man.
Lots of luck, Mr. Hermes, he thought wryly. And then he thought of timid little Mrs. Hermes subjected to the explorations of an Erad, and that made him uncomfortable.
After the interrogation, Lotta Hermes would be different. He wondered which way: for the good or for the worse. The interrogation would either make her or destroy her; it could go in either direction.
He hoped for the former; he had liked the girl.
But his hands were tied.
9
God does not know things because they are: they are
because He knows them, and His knowledge of them
is their essence.
—Erigena
Officer Joe Tinbane ruminated, I certainly made a horse’s mouth of myself. I’ve ruined my friendship with the Hermeses, and because of me she had to go back to the Library. It’s my moral burden, whatever happens to her; it’s on my conscience, until birth.
A lot of times, he reflected, when a person has a phobia about a particular place or situation, there’s a valid reason. It’s a form of precognition. If Lotta’s that afraid of going there, then she probably has reason to be. Those Erads, he said to himself. Mysterious; who and what are they? The Los Angeles Police Department doesn’t know;
I
don’t know.
He was home, now, with Bethel. And, as usual, she was giving him a hard time.
“You’re not taking any interest in your sogum,” Bethel said fiercely.
“I’m going off,” he announced, “and disgorge. Where I can be alone and think.”
“Oh? I interfere with your thoughts? Who are they about?”
He said, stung by her tone, “Okay; if you want to know, I’ll tell you.”
“Another woman.”
“Right.” He nodded. “One whom I could love.”
“You once said you could never love anyone in the way you loved me; that every other relationship—”
“That was then.” Too many years had passed; talk could not revive a moribund marriage. Why should I be married— stay married—to someone who doesn’t basically respect me or like me? he asked himself. The dreary years, passing . . . the accusations. Rising to his feet, he detached himself from his sogum pipe. “I may have killed her,” he said. “I take responsibility.” I have to get her out of the Library, he said to himself.
“You’re off to visit her now,” Bethel said. “Without even trying to conceal this—illicit relationship from me, your wife. I took our marriage vows seriously, but you’ve never tried; if we can’t work things out it’s because you haven’t tried or been responsible. And now you’re openly, blatantly, running off to her. Go ahead.”
“Hello,” he said; the conapt door shut after him and he
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