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“They would, if they were returned to their proper places in a lander. We will have to return some ourselves soon.”
Horn was watching Silk narrowly. “Did Sciathan tell you all that?”
“Not in so many words, but he said enough to let me infer the rest. What was it you wanted to ask?”
“A whole bunch of stuff. You know, Calde, for my book. Is it all right if I call you Calde?”
“Of course. Or Patera, or Silk, or even Patera Calde, which is what His Cognizance calls me. As you like.”
“I heard Chenille tell Moly that when she was Kypris she made you call her Chenille anyway. It must have seemed fu
Nettle said, “I’m not writing a book, Calde, but I’ve got stuff I want to ask, too. I’m helping Horn with his, I guess. I’ll have to, probably. Did you make the dead people come back and talk to us like they did?”
“Mainframe did that, Nettle.” Silk smiled. “Believe me, I’m unable to compel it to do anything. I asked Sciathan to ask it on our behalf, but he explained that it was u
“But not back home.” Nettle waved vaguely at the deck some ten cubits below. “It doesn’t hear everything there.”
“No, it doesn’t; but it discovers more than I would have believed. Since Echidna’s theophany, I’ve assumed the gods knew only what they saw and heard through Sacred Windows and glasses, which seems to be very near the truth. Those are Mainframe’s principal sources, too; but it has others — the Fliers’ data, for example.”
Horn said, “I’ve got a tough one, Calde. I’m not trying to show you up or anything.
“Of course not. What is it?”
“Tartaros told Auk the short sun whorl would be like ours, only there wouldn’t be any people, or no people like us. Auk told Chenille, and I asked her. She said it means there’ll be grass and rocks and flowers, only not like we’re used to. Why is that?”
Nettle shook her head in disbelief. “That’s not hard at all. Because Pas picked them out for us to make it easy.”
“Or difficult,” Silk muttered.
“I don’t understand.”
“Suppose there were no plants or animals — we’ll leave the rocks aside. Auk’s lander is stocked with seeds and embryos, as you saw. He’ll be able to grow whichever ones he wants; and if the whorl he chooses had none of its own, those would be the only plants and animals with which he would have to deal. As things are, he’ll have a much more interesting time of it — as well as a much harder one.”
The hum of their engines deepened, and the three of them drifted toward the prow of the second gondola until the ropes that united them with the first were taut. “We’re under way,” Horn a
“As soon as we’re gone, I don’t think I’ll believe I was here.” Nettle sighed. “Grandma came for a talk. I said stay with me and we’ll take you back, but she said she couldn’t.”
“Patera Remora’s mother came to see him,” Horn told Silk. “He’s been smiling at everybody. He told her he had his own manteion now, and he’d sacrifice and shrive and bring the Peace, and wouldn’t have to work in the Palace any more. And she said it’s what she’d wanted for him all the time.”
“Hyacinth’s mother visited her, too.”
Nettle looked surprised. “I didn’t think her mother was dead, Calde.”
“Neither did Hyacinth.”
Hand over hand they pulled themselves forward again, until they were standing on the deck, although standing very lightly; Silk freed himself from the loop of rope.
Nettle said, “Calde, you never did answer my question about the roofs. And I wanted to know why the shade’s so close here, and we can’t see the sun.”
“The Pylon makes it,” Horn declared, “or anyhow it shoots it into the sky. Isn’t that right, Calde? Then the sun burns it but instead of smoke it turns into air. If the Pylon didn’t shoot out more, the shade would burn up and there’d be daylight all the time. Only Mainframe would fry, because it’s so close. The sun starts at the top of the Pylon and goes all the way to the West Pole.”
“Long way,” Oreb elaborated.
“We, too, have a long way to go,” Silk said, addressing neither Horn nor Nettle, “but at last we’ve begun.”
“I understand about the roofs now,” Nettle said.
He looked around at her. “Do you? Tell me.”
“We used to go to the lake every summer when I was little. Then… I don’t know, something happened, and it seemed like we never had enough money.”
“Taxes went up after the old calde died,” Horn told her. “They went up a lot.”
“Maybe that was it. Anyway, one year when I was nine or ten we waited till everybody else had gone home, and went when it was cheaper, and after that we never went any more.”
Silk nodded.
“It would be nice, sometimes, in the afternoons, and we’d swim, but it was pretty cold in the morning. One morning I got up when everybody else was still asleep and walked to the lake just to look at it. I think I knew this was the last year, and we wouldn’t come any more. Maybe we were going home that day.”
“This isn’t about roofs,” Horn said; but Silk put a finger to his lips.
“The lake was all covered with ghosts, white shapes coming up out of the water and reaching for the air, getting bigger and stronger all the time. I was thinking about ghosts a lot then, because Gam had, you know, gone to Mainframe, the one I talked to today. We were supposed to say she was in Mainframe, but we didn’t think it meant anything. Aren’t you going to say that it wasn’t really ghosts, Horn?”
He shook his head.
“It wasn’t, it was fog. There was an old lady fishing off the pier, and I guess she liked me because when I asked she said there was water in the air over the lake, and when it got cold enough it came together and made tiny little drops that take a long, long while to fall, and that was what you saw. I’d never wondered where fog came from before then.”
“Fog good.”
“That’s right, you’re a marsh bird. Don’t they come from Palustria, Calde? The swamps around there?”
Silk nodded. “I believe so.”
“What I was going to say was that the fog got thicker and thicker that day, and got everything wet. So if they have a lot of fogs here… We’re not hardly there, though, any more. But you know what I mean. Only you wouldn’t want it inside, so you’d have roofs, and they do.”
Horn said, “The fountains get the grass wet, too, like it does at home on a windy day. It’s not as much as you’d think, because there’s a thing that sucks in air at the bottom and takes the water out for the pump. If they shut that off, it would water everything.”
Silk tossed aside his rope and watched it settle to the deck. “We have weight once more.”
“Yeah, I know. I mean yes.”
“I should consider this better before I speak, Horn, but I find it exhilarating. When we arrived and could float — could fly, after a fashion, after Sciathan secured propulsion modules for us — I found that exhilarating as well. I’m contradicting myself, I suppose.”
Horn looked to Nettle, who said, “I don’t think so.”
“It’s not easy for me to sort out, and even less easy for me to explain. Sciathan is a Flier, in love with flight and pardonably proud of his wings and his special status among the Crew. Until we got here, I was confident that I understood his feelings.”
Horn looked puzzled. “Everybody flies here, Calde.”
“Exactly. They have to, and we flew in the same way. Or floated. Floated may be the better term. It’s easy, so much so that all three of us floated here without modules; but we floated under a lowering shade that never brought night or rose to bring a new day.”
“It’s getting to be daylight here.” Horn gestured toward the sky-filling brown bulk of the airship.
“We’ve reached the foothills of the Mountains That Look At Mountains,” Silk said, “and if we had tried to float this far, we’d have settled to the ground. But Sciathan flies over these hills, and across the mountains, too — or soars from valley to valley, if he chooses.”