got to let me take you there."
"If it isn't inconvenient-"
"It's shaggy-excuse me, Patera. Yeah, it's going to put me out by a dog's right, only you got to let me do it anyhow, if you really go to Blood's. If you don't, you'll get lost sure trying to find it Or somebody'll know you, and that'll be worse. But first you're going to give Blood a whistle on my glass over there, see? Maybe he'll talk to you, or if he wants "to see you he might even send somebody."
Auk strode across the room and clapped his hands; the monitor's colorless face rose from the depths of the glass.
"I want Blood," Auk told it. "That's the buck that's got the big place off the old Palustria Road." He turned to Silk. "Come over here, Patera. You stand in front of it. I don't want 'em to see me."
Silk did as he was told. He had talked through glasses before (there had been one in the Prelate's chambers at the schola), though not often. Now he discovered that his mouth was dry. He licked his lips.
"Blood is not available, sir," the monitor told him imperturbably. "Would someone else do?"
"Musk, perhaps," Silk said, recalling the name Auk had mentioned.
"It will be a few minutes, I fear, sir."
"I'll wait for him," Silk said. The glass faded to an opalescent gray.
"You want to sit, Patera?" Auk was pushing a chair against the backs of his calves.
Silk sat down, murmuring his thanks.
"I don't think that was too smart, asking for Musk. Maybe you know what you're doing."
Still watching the glass, Silk shook his head. "You had said he worked for Blood, that's all."
"Don't tell him you're with me. All right?"
"I won't."
Auk did not speak again, and the silence wrapped itself about them. Like the silence of the Windows, Silk thought, the silence of the gods: pendant, waiting. This glass of Auk's was rather like a Window, all glasses were, although they were so much smaller. Like the Windows, glasses were miraculous creations of the Short-Sun days, after all. What was it Maytera Marble had said about them?
Maytera herself, the countless quiescent soldiers that the Outsider had revealed, and in fact all similar persons-all chems of whatever kind-were directly or otherwise marvels of the inconceivably inspired Short-Sun Whorl, and in time (soon, perhaps) would be gone. Their women rarely conceived children, and in Maytera's case it was quite…
Silk shook his shoulders, reminding himself severely that in all likelihood Maytera Marble would long outlive him- that he might be dead before shadeup, unless he chose to ignore the Outsider's instructions.
The monitor reappeared. "Would you like me to provide a few suggestions while you're waiting, sir?"
"No, thank you."
"I might straighten your nose just a trifle, sir, and do something regarding a coiffeur. You would find that of interest, I believe."
"No," Silk said again; and added, as much to himself as to the monitor, "I must think."
Swiftly the monitor's gray face darkened. The entire glass seemed to fall away. Black, oily-looking hair curled above flashing eyes from which Silk tore his own in horror.
As a swimmer bursts from a wave and discovers himself staring at an object he has not chosen-at the summer sun, perhaps, or a cloud or the top of a tree-Silk found that he was looking at Musk's mouth, lips as feverishly red and fully as delicate as any girl's.
To damp his fear, he told himself that he was waiting for Musk to speak; and when Musk did not, he forced himself to speak instead. "My name is Patera Silk, my son." His chin was trembling; before he spoke again, he clenched his teeth. "Mine is the Sun Street manteion. Or I should say it isn't, which is what I must see Blood about."
The handsome boy in the glass said nothing and gave no sign of having heard. In order that he might not be snared by that bright and savage stare again, Silk inventoried the room in which Musk stood. He could glimpse a tapestry and a painting, a table covered with bottles, and two elaborately inlaid chairs with
"If it isn't inconvenient-"
"It's shaggy-excuse me, Patera. Yeah, it's going to put me out by a dog's right, only you got to let me do it anyhow, if you really go to Blood's. If you don't, you'll get lost sure trying to find it Or somebody'll know you, and that'll be worse. But first you're going to give Blood a whistle on my glass over there, see? Maybe he'll talk to you, or if he wants "to see you he might even send somebody."
Auk strode across the room and clapped his hands; the monitor's colorless face rose from the depths of the glass.
"I want Blood," Auk told it. "That's the buck that's got the big place off the old Palustria Road." He turned to Silk. "Come over here, Patera. You stand in front of it. I don't want 'em to see me."
Silk did as he was told. He had talked through glasses before (there had been one in the Prelate's chambers at the schola), though not often. Now he discovered that his mouth was dry. He licked his lips.
"Blood is not available, sir," the monitor told him imperturbably. "Would someone else do?"
"Musk, perhaps," Silk said, recalling the name Auk had mentioned.
"It will be a few minutes, I fear, sir."
"I'll wait for him," Silk said. The glass faded to an opalescent gray.
"You want to sit, Patera?" Auk was pushing a chair against the backs of his calves.
Silk sat down, murmuring his thanks.
"I don't think that was too smart, asking for Musk. Maybe you know what you're doing."
Still watching the glass, Silk shook his head. "You had said he worked for Blood, that's all."
"Don't tell him you're with me. All right?"
"I won't."
Auk did not speak again, and the silence wrapped itself about them. Like the silence of the Windows, Silk thought, the silence of the gods: pendant, waiting. This glass of Auk's was rather like a Window, all glasses were, although they were so much smaller. Like the Windows, glasses were miraculous creations of the Short-Sun days, after all. What was it Maytera Marble had said about them?
Maytera herself, the countless quiescent soldiers that the Outsider had revealed, and in fact all similar persons-all chems of whatever kind-were directly or otherwise marvels of the inconceivably inspired Short-Sun Whorl, and in time (soon, perhaps) would be gone. Their women rarely conceived children, and in Maytera's case it was quite…
Silk shook his shoulders, reminding himself severely that in all likelihood Maytera Marble would long outlive him- that he might be dead before shadeup, unless he chose to ignore the Outsider's instructions.
The monitor reappeared. "Would you like me to provide a few suggestions while you're waiting, sir?"
"No, thank you."
"I might straighten your nose just a trifle, sir, and do something regarding a coiffeur. You would find that of interest, I believe."
"No," Silk said again; and added, as much to himself as to the monitor, "I must think."
Swiftly the monitor's gray face darkened. The entire glass seemed to fall away. Black, oily-looking hair curled above flashing eyes from which Silk tore his own in horror.
As a swimmer bursts from a wave and discovers himself staring at an object he has not chosen-at the summer sun, perhaps, or a cloud or the top of a tree-Silk found that he was looking at Musk's mouth, lips as feverishly red and fully as delicate as any girl's.
To damp his fear, he told himself that he was waiting for Musk to speak; and when Musk did not, he forced himself to speak instead. "My name is Patera Silk, my son." His chin was trembling; before he spoke again, he clenched his teeth. "Mine is the Sun Street manteion. Or I should say it isn't, which is what I must see Blood about."
The handsome boy in the glass said nothing and gave no sign of having heard. In order that he might not be snared by that bright and savage stare again, Silk inventoried the room in which Musk stood. He could glimpse a tapestry and a painting, a table covered with bottles, and two elaborately inlaid chairs with
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