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“Company!” Dr. Talos called. “You won’t guess who.”
The giant’s head swung slowly around, but he regarded me, I thought, with as little comprehension as he had when Dr. Talos had awakened him that first morning in Nessus.
“Baldanders you know,” the doctor continued to me, “but I must introduce you to our guests.”
Three men, or what appeared to be men, rose graciously. One, if he had been truly a human being, would have been short and stout. The other two were a good head taller than I, as tall as exultants. The masks all three wore gave them the faces of refined men of middle age, thoughtful and poised; but I was aware that the eyes that looked out through the slits in the masks of the two taller figures were larger than human eyes, and that the shorter figure had no eyes at all, so that only darkness was visible there. All three were robed in white.
“Your Worships! Here’s a great friend of ours, Master Severian of the torturers. Master Severian, let me present the honorable Hierodules Ossipago, Barbatus, and Famulimus. It’s the labor of these noble personages to inculcate wisdom in the human race — here represented by Baldanders, and now, yourself.”
The being Dr. Talos had introduced as Famulimus spoke. His voice might have been wholly human save that it was more resonant and more musical than any truly human voice I have ever heard, so that I felt I might have been listening to the speech of some stringed instrument called to life. “Welcome,” it sang. “There is no greater joy for us, than greeting you, Severian. You bow to us in courtesy, but we to you will bend our knees.” And he did briefly kneel, as did both the others.
Nothing he could possibly have said or done could have astounded me more, and I was too much taken by surprise to offer any reply.
The other tall cacogen, Barbatus, spoke as a courtier might to fill the silence of an otherwise embarrassing gap in the conversation. His voice was deeper than Famulimus’s, and seemed to have something soldierly in it. “You are welcome here — very welcome, as my dear friend has said, and all of us have tried to indicate. But your own friends must remain outside as long as we are here. You know that, of course. I mention it only as a matter of form.”
The third cacogen, in a tone so deep that one felt rather than heard it, muttered, “It doesn’t matter,” and as though he feared I might see the empty eye slits of his mask, turned and made a show of staring out the narrow window behind him.
“Perhaps it doesn’t, then,” Barbatus said. “Ossipago knows best, after all.”
“You have friends here then?” Dr. Talos whispered. It was a peculiarity of his that he seldom spoke to a group as most people do, but either addressed a single individual in it almost as though he and the other were alone, or else orated as if to an assembly of thousands.
“Some of the islanders gave me an escort,” I said, trying to put the best face I could on things. “You must know of them. They live on the floating masses of reeds in the lake.”
“They are rising against you!” Dr. Talos told the giant. “I warned you this would happen.” He rushed to the window through which the being called Ossipago seemed to look, shouldering him to one side, and stared out into the night. Then, turning toward the cacogen, he knelt, seized his hand, and kissed it. This hand was quite plainly a glove of some flexible material painted to resemble flesh, with something in it that was not a hand.
“You will help us, Worship, will you not? You have fantassins aboard your ship, surely. Once line the walls with horrors, and we will be safe for a century.”
In his slow voice, Baldanders said, “Severian will be the victor. Else why did they kneel to him? Though he may die, and we may not. You know their ways, Doctor. The looting may disseminate knowledge.”
Dr. Talos turned upon him furiously. “Did it before? I ask you!”
“Who can say, Doctor?”
“You know it did not. They are the same ignorant, superstitious brutes they have always been!” He whirled again. “Noble Hierodules, answer me. You must know, if anyone does.”
Famulimus gestured, and I was never more aware of the truth behind his mask than I was at that moment, for no human arm could have made the motion his did, and it was a meaningless motion, conveying neither agreement nor disagreement, neither irritation nor consolation.
“I will not speak of all the things you know,” he said. “That those you fear have learned to overcome you. It may be true that they are simple still; still, something carried home may make them wise.”
He was addressing the doctor, but I could contain myself no longer and said, “May I ask what you’re talking about, sieur?”
“I speak of you, of all of you, Severian. It ca
Barbatus interjected, “Only if you don’t do it too freely.”
“There is a mark they use upon some world, where sometimes our worn ship finds rest at last. It is a snake with heads at either end. One head is dead — the other gnaws at it.”
Without turning from the window, Ossipago said, “That is this world, I think.”
“No doubt Camoena could reveal its home. But then, it doesn’t matter if you know it. You will understand me the more clearly. The living head stands for destruction. The head that does not live, for building. The former feeds upon the latter; and feeding, nourishes its food. A boy might think that if the first should die, the dead, constructive thing would triumph, making his twin now like himself. The truth is both would soon decay.”
Barbatus said, “As so often, my good friend is less than clear. Are you following him?”
“I am not!” Dr. Talos a
“That does not matter,” Barbatus told me, “since his master does.”
He paused as though waiting for Baldanders to contradict him, then continued, still addressing me. “Our desire, you see, is to advance your race, not to indoctrinate it.”
“Advance the shore people?” I asked.
All this time, the waters of the lake were murmuring their night-grief through the window. Ossipago’s voice seemed to blend with it as he said, “All of you…”
“It is true then! What so many sages have suspected. We are being guided. You watch over us, and in the ages of our history, which must seem no more than days to you, you have raised us from savagery.” In my enthusiasm, I drew out the brown book, still somewhat damp from the wetting I had given it earlier in the day, despite its wrappings of oiled silk. “Here, let me show you what this says: ‘Man, who is not wise, is yet the object of wisdom. If wisdom finds him a fit object, is it wise in him to make light of his folly?’ Something like that.”
“You are mistaken,” Barbatus told me. “Ages are aeons to us. My friend and I have dealt with your race for less than your own lifetime.”
Baldanders said, “These things live only a score of years, like dogs.” His tone told me more than is written here, for each word fell like a stone dropped down some deep cistern.
I said, “That ca
“You are the work for which we live,” Famulimus explained. “That man you call Baldanders lives to learn. We see that he hoards up past lore — hard facts like seeds to give him power. In time he’ll die by hands that do not store, but die with some slight gain for all of you. Think of a tree that splits a rock. It gathers water, the sun’s life-bringing heat… and all the stuff of life for its own use. In time it dies and rots to dress the earth, that its own roots have made from stone. Its shadow gone, fresh seeds spring up; in time a forest flourishes where it stood.”
Dr. Talos emerged again from the stairwell, clapping slowly and derisively.
I asked, “You have left them these machines, then?” I was acutely conscious, as I spoke, of the eviscerated woman mumbling beneath her glass somewhere behind me, a thing that once would not have bothered the torturer Severian in the least.