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“Sure. Wait till you look outside.”
He made himself stand. “May I come? I’ll try not to…” He groped for words, reminding himself of Remora.
“Puke,” Chenille supplied.
“See their beds?” Hyacinth kicked the side of a bladder. “There’s four rows, and twenty-five in a row, so this gondola’s meant for a hundred pterotroopers. Gondola’s what you call this thing we’re in, Gib says.”
Silk nodded.
“Look through the floor and you can see the guns. Their floor’s got to be solid, I guess, so it’s iron or anyhow some kind of a metal. There’s three on each side, and the barrels stick out through those holes. That’s why it’s so cold here, it comes up through the floor.”
“How do you get them open?” Chenille was wresting with the fastenings of a port.
Silk rapped the wall with his knuckles. “Wood.”
“You’ve got to pull out both pins, Chen. You’re right, they’re wood, bent like on a boat, but really thin.”
Chenille slid back the frame of greased parchment to reveal what looked like a snow-covered plain bright with sun.
“There’s another gondola ahead of ours,” Hyacinth told her, “and two in back. You can see them if you stick your head out. I don’t know why they don’t just have one big, long one.”
“It would break, I imagine,” Silk told her absently. “This airship must bend a good deal at times.” He looked out as she had suggested, peering above him as well as to left and right.
“Remember when we were up in the air in that floater? I was scared to death.” Her thigh pressed his with voluptuous warmth, and his elbow was somehow pushing her breast. “But you weren’t scared at all! This is kind of like that.”
“I was terrified.” Silk backed away, fighting with all his strength against the thoughts tugging at his mind.
Chenille put her head through the port as he had; she spoke and Hyacinth said, “Because we’re blowing along, or that’s what I think. Going with it, you can’t feel anything.”
Chenille retreated. “It’s beautiful, really beautiful, only I can’t see the lake. You said we were over it, but I guess the fog’s too thick. I was hoping to see the place Auk and me bumped out to, that little shrine.” She turned to Silk. “Is this how the gods see everything?”
“No,” he said. The gods who were in some incomprehensible fashion contained in Mainframe saw the whorl only through their Sacred Windows, he felt sure, no matter what augurs might say.
His sweating hands fumbled the edge of the open port.
Through Windows and the eyes of those whom they possessed, although Tartaros could not even do that, Auk said; born blind, Tenebrous Tartaros could never see.
Over the snowy plain the long sun stretched from Mainframe to the end of the whorl — a place unimaginable, though the end of the whorl must come very soon.
Through Sacred Windows and other eyes, and perhaps through glasses, too. No, certainly through glasses when they chose, since Kypris had spoken through Orchid’s glass, had manifested the Holy Hues in Hyacinth’s glass while Hyacinth slept.
“The Outsider,” he told Chenille. “I think the Outsider must be able to see the whorl this way. The rest of the gods can’t — not even Pas. Perhaps that’s what’s wrong with them.” A shoelace had knotted, as it always did when he tried to take off his shoes quickly. He jerked the shoe off anyway.
Hyacinth asked, “What are you doing?”
“Earning you, I hope.” He pulled off his stockings and stuffed them into the toes of his shoes, recalling the chill waters of the tu
“You don’t have to earn me! You’ve already got me, and if you didn’t I wouldn’t charge you.”
He had her, perhaps, but he had not deserved her — he despaired of explaining that. “Doctor Crane and I shared a room at the lake. I doubt that I’ve mentioned it.”
“I don’t care what you did with him. It doesn’t matter.”
“We did nothing. Not the way you mean.” Memories flooded back. “I don’t believe he was inclined that way; certainly I’m not, though many augurs are. He told me you’d urged him to give me the azoth, and said something I’d forgotten until now. He said, ‘When I was your age, it would have had me swinging on the rafters.’ ”
Hyacinth told Chenille, “Half the time I don’t understand a thing he says.”
She gri
“One does, at least. I looked out the window of that room just as we’ve been looking out this opening.” Silk put his foot on its edge and stepped up and out, holding the upper edge to keep from falling. “I was afraid the Guard would come.”
He had feared the Civil Guard, and had been willing to try to pull himself up onto the roof of the Rusty Lantern to escape it; yet very little had been at stake: if he had been taken, he would have been killed at worst.
The roof of the gondola was just out of reach; but the side slanted inward, as the sides of large boats did.
Much, much more was at stake now, because Auk’s faith might kill them all. How many pterotroopers were on this airship? A hundred? At least that many, and perhaps twice that many.
Hyacinth was looking out at him, saying something he could not understand and did not wish to hear; her hand or Chenille’s grasped his left ankle. Absently, he kicked to free it as he waited, gauging the rhythm of the airship’s slight roll.
Auk and his followers would wait, biding their time until shadelow probably, if shadelow came before the airship reached Trivigaunte — break the hatch that barred them from its body, climb the rope ladder through the canvas tube that he could just glimpse, and strike with a rush, breaking necks and gouging out eyes…
At the next roll. It was useless to wait. Hyacinth would have called for help already; Auk and Gib would grapple his legs and pull him inside.
He jumped, caught the edge of the top of the gondola, and to his delight found it a small coaming. In some remote place, someone was screaming. The noise entered his consciousness as he scrambled frantically up the clinker-laid planks, hooking his leg over the coaming when the slow roll favored him most.
A final effort, and he was up, lying on the safe side of the coaming and almost afraid to look at it. Rolling onto his back put half a cubit between him and the edge; he pressed his chest with both hands and shut his eyes, trying to control the pounding of his heart.
Almost he might have been on top of Blood’s wall, with its embedded sword blades at his shoulder. Almost, except that a fall from Blood’s wall would have been survivable — he had survived one, in fact.
He sat up and wiped his face with the hem of his robe.
How foolish he had been not to take off his robe and leave it with his shoes! The gondola had been cold, the draft from the port colder still; and so he had kept his robe, and never so much as considered that he might have lightened himself by some small amount by discarding it. Yet it was comforting to have it now, comforting to draw its soft woolen warmth around him while he considered what to do next.
Stand up, though if he stood he might fall. Muttering a prayer to the Outsider, he stood.
The top of the gondola was a flat and featureless deck, painted mummy-brown or perhaps merely varnished. Six mighty cables supported the gondola, angled out and stabbing upward into the airship’s fabric-covered body. Forward, the canvas tube snaked up like an intestine; aft was a hatch secured with lashings, a hatch that would return him to the gondola — that would, equally, permit those inside it to leave. Once again he pictured the stealthy advance and wild charge, a score of young pterotroopers dead, the rest firing, disorganized at first.
Soon, shouted orders would render them a coherent body. A few Vironese would have weapons by then, and they might kill more pterotroopers; but they would be shot down within a minute or two, and the rest shot as well. Auk and Chenille and Gib would die, and with them Horn and Nettle and even poor Maytera Marble, who called herself Moly now. And not long after that, unless he and Hyacinth were lucky indeed -