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A man named Inclito sat down next to me while I was writing that last. We fell to talking, as two men will who have nothing better to do than sun themselves like crocodiles of a su
He began our conversation, naturally enough, by asking what I was writing; and I confessed that it was foolishness, which this certainly is.
"Wisdom, " he corrected me. "You are a wise man. Everyone sees it. Such a wise man would not write foolishness."
"Would a wise man write at all?" I asked him. To tell the truth, I simply wanted to ask him an inoffensive question to keep him talking, and hit upon that one.
Without batting an eye, he returned it to me. "Would one, Master?"
I had not expected to be addressed in such a fashion, but it seems to be the custom here. At home it usually meant a teacher such as Master Xiphias, the owner of a dog, or the leader of a band of musicians. I said, "A wise man might write, but he wouldn't write as I do. That is to say, he wouldn't record the events of his life. He would consider that they might be read by some i
"That is well said." Inclito drew himself up. "I am an old trooper myself."
I told him respectfully that it was a most honorable occupation, but had never been mine.
"You have a wound."
I glanced down, afraid that the wound in my side was bleeding again and staining my robe.
"There too? I meant your eye." (I must get a rag to wear over that, as Pig did.) Seeing my expression, Inclito continued, "I'm sorry. It's not good to be reminded."
His own wide, square face is disfigured too, but by some skin disorder. It is not the sort of face that appeals to women; but courage, honesty, strength, and intelligence show in it very plainly. As I sit here waiting for him to take me to di
We talked for an hour or more, each of us trying to draw the other out. I doubt that there is any point in giving all of that here. I said as little as possible about myself because I did not want him to know what a hash I have made of my task. Inclito was at least as reticent, I would guess because he has a horror of boasting.
"As long as you're here, " he told me smiling, "you got to think about me when you pass water. Our sewers? They're mine."
"You designed them?"
"I made some sketches. We built them, but they didn't work." He chuckled. "So we tore up my sketches and did them over."
He seems to have been a military officer as well.
"You walked here." (I had told him that I had.)
"Where you going to have di
"I doubt that I will-Oreb, be quiet!-I certainly hadn't pla
"You think I want you to eat in my sewers." He chuckled again. "In my house. All right? Seven. You can come at seven?"
I said that I would come at seven gladly, if he would tell me where it was.
"It's a long way. I bring you myself. Where you staying?"
Staying was vague enough for me to stretch its meaning a trifle, and I told him that I was "staying" at the shop where I was given this paper, and supplied the name of the little street.
"I know the place. Atteno, he's putting you up?"
"I hope, at least, that he won't drive me away."
Inclito laughed; he has a good, loud, booming laugh. "I show you my sewers if he does. One I got never gets wet. Would make a good place to sleep. I pick you up at six, all right? Where you're staying."
So here I am. It is not six yet; but I have nothing better to do, and the shopkeeper, who is very obliging, lets me sit in his window and scribble away. I suppose I am a sort of living advertisement. I have swept his floors again, as I did for my quire of paper, dusted off everything, and rearranged a few little items on his shelves that were in some disorder-the tasks of my boyhood. I would like to tie his bundles of quills for him, as I did for my father; but he has already tied them all himself.
I wish I could charge as much for our paper as he charges for his. Nettle and I would be rich.
What Inclito said about his sewers here reminded me most unpleasantly of the great sewer on Green, underneath the City of the Inhumi. If I am going to chronicle my misadventures (which is what I seem to have been doing) I ought to include that one, the most horrible.
Sinew and the rest were asleep. I was sitting up and thinking over Krait's brief visit when the Neighbor came. He opened the door and left it standing open behind him, and I was so busy wondering whether I should wake the others and urge them to escape while they could that I found it hard to answer him sensibly.
"You are a friend of ours?" He smiled and pointed to Sea wrack's ring. His voice was thrilling in a way I ca
"Yes," I said. "I mean, I would like to be."
He smiled again. Although his face was shadowed by the brim of his hat, I could see his teeth flash. "Then will you open a sewer for us? We ask your help."
With every fiber of my being I wanted to say that I would, that I would gladly toil in his sewer for the remainder of my life if that was what he wanted. What I said instead was "I can't. We're prisoners here." Since I could see the open door beyond (and to some extent, through) him, it was an extraordinarily stupid remark.
He glanced at it. "It is true that your captors may be angry with you."
"I hope… Well, it really doesn't matter, but I don't like leaving my friends here. Can we take them with us?"
He shook his head.
"I didn't think so. My son?"
"No."
By that time we were out the door, which he slammed noisily behind us. "That will wake them up, " I muttered. Privately, I was afraid that it would bring an inhumu.
He said, "We want to wake all of you up."
"To our danger, you mean? It's much too late for that. We know it now." I explained to him how we had taken the lander, and how the inhumi had recaptured us when we landed.
"To your safety, " he said when I had finished. Now that I understand Krait's secret, I understand his remark as well; but at the time I had no notion of what he meant.
We went out a narrow door into an empty courtyard, and from the courtyard into the street. There were two luminous bodies in the night sky that were too large for stars; they seemed to engender shadows (vague and diffuse for the most part but occasionally deep) without actually giving light. I mean, of course, that they conveyed that impression.
"Are you afraid of enclosed places, or of underground places? Many of you are."
"I don't know. I haven't been in one for a long time." As soon as I spoke I recalled the pit from which Krait had saved me; and I said, "Except for one, and I was afraid of that one because I couldn't get out of it."
He looked at me thoughtfully. Written down as I have just now written it, it sounds silly; I could not see his face well enough to read its expression. I should say only that he turned his face toward me, and appeared to study me for several seconds. "You can get out of this sewer, " he told me, "provided you do not drown."
"That's good."
"If you are frightened, there will be nothing to prevent you from leaving before the sewer is open again. Will you do that?"
"I suppose I might. I'll try not to. Aren't you coming with me?"
"No, " he told me.
After that we walked in silence for a long time, a time in which we passed several streets-four or five at least. This was in the City of the Inhumi, and although it was late at night, it is at night that they are most active, on Green as here. It seemed strange to me then that we did not see more of them, and that they did not see us; but I know now that those who were active were seeking blood, and expected to find none in their city.