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He shivered and steadied his hands enough to begin his polishing again. He felt everything slipping again, everything balanced on a precipice and ready to tumble over the edge. What did the rest of his life promise if this was the begi
There was a thunder in the sky that for the moment he attributed to the clouds and the rain, but it kept coming, and steadied, and he knew then what it was, that at the port a part of Waden’s reality had come to earth. A part of his own, at some time to come. He had no time for it at the moment, did not want to think about it ... yet. There was a cold spot where that knowledge rested, colder than the stone or the recent rain. He heard the shuttle come down and heard the noise stop. His mind kept ru
He pursed his lips and dipped his cloth in the abrasive, concentrated on the curve he was smoothing, finger width by finger width.
Something stirred near him, a step. Suddenly someone reached up near him and took the hammer. Leona, he thought; he did not want to see. There was the impression of midnight cloth in the corner of his eye. Slowly the tool moved off the platform, and there was a crash, metal on stone; he looked, alarmed.
He stared within a blue hood at no human face, and at once his vision blanked and he caught for support against the statue itself. It went away, a shadow in his vision, and he stayed there with his heart beating against his ribs and the impression of what he had almostseen lingered in his vision, wide dark eyes, a dusky color like the cloth, and features ... he did not want to see. Ever.
“Sir?” Carl Gytha asked, coming near the platform. “You all right, sir?”
He nodded, shrugged, put himself to work again.
Simple pilferage. He finished the place he had begun, calmly set himself at the next. It had gone long enough ... he could work late, drive himself just a little longer....
... get finished with this, once for all.
No, he reminded himself. He had tried that and nearly broken himself. “I’m folding up,” he said. “Going back for the day.”
“We’ll stay,” Gytha said, “by turns. Keep things from harm.”
They came to help him down. He accepted the help, dusted himself off and started the walk home, for a decent supper and a little rest.
They had seen, he persuaded himself. Even normal people sawas much as he had seen. They proved that, by offering to stay and protect things. He was not abnormal. Perhaps they had seen Leona Pace, too, and were too self-possessed to admit it. He had never been able to ask anyone. No one was able to ask anyone.
He walked as far as the hedge and through the archway. He stopped then and blinked in surprise at the entourage which had come down Port Street and pulled up in front of the Residency. There were vehicles and troops; men in no-color uniforms ... with weapons. He had never seen the like, not in such numbers. They filled four trucks; a fifth was vacant, with soldiers all over the frontage of the Residency, and some in the doorway; and now came transports with what might be dignitaries. Those were not Kierkegaard vehicles, they had come from offworld. From up there and out there, and something larger than an ordinary shuttle had landed to carry all of that.
His appetite deserted him. He walked across the street, between the trucks, startled as one of the Outsiders swung a gun in his direction.
“Got out of here,” they told him in a strange accent. He gave them a foul look and walked on to the Residency steps, stared in outrage as one of those guarding the door barred his way with an extended arm.
“I live here,” he said. “Get out of my way.”
The soldier looked uncertain at that, and he pushed past in that moment, found more Outsiders in the halls inside. “You,”said a soldier near the desk, but the regular secretary intervened. “He’s Master Herrin Law.”
“Master of what?” the offworlder asked.
Herrin turned a second foul look on him and the man declined further questions. “I want this lot clear of my room,” he told the secretary.
“Sir,” the secretary said meekly, caught between.
“I’ll have supper in my room. Send the order.”
“The First Citizen asked, if you should come in before midnight, sir, he’s in his office, sir.”
Herrin said nothing, paused for a third look at the offworlder, young and unrecommended by his ma
He was trembling in every muscle. Outraged.
Outsiders. Invisibles no less than Leona Pace. They were here, in the Residency, and Waden Jenks invited them in. He headed for the stairs, walked up the five flights of stairs and into a whole array of guards.
“Out of my way,” he said, and walked through with the assumption they would not dare. One seized his arm and he glared at that man until the hand dropped.
“Excuse me, sir. Presence up here has to be cleared.”
“You’re incompetent and ignorant. Clear it.”
“If you’ll tell me who you are, sir.”
“Get the First Citizen out here. Now.”
The hand left his arm. The man backed off, blinked and backed a few paces to Waden’s door, knocked on it. “Sir. Sir.”
The door opened; Herrin walked toward it and soldiers shifted in panic. A rifle barrel slammed into his arm. He kept going nonetheless, through the door before they stopped him. Waden was there, risen from his chair among others.
“Let him go,” Waden said at once, and Herrin stalked in, shedding the soldiers like so many parasites. “What is this?” Herrin asked.
“Herrin Law,” Waden said, gesturing to the others. “Colonel Martin Olsen, Military Mission.”
Herrin failed to follow the hand, stared at Waden instead. “The halls are cluttered. Something struck me—I call your attention to the matter.”
“Citizen Law,” one of the Outsiders said, offering a hand. Herrin looked past the lot of them, smiled coldly, seeing Keye standing, in Student’s Black, by the wall of the ell the room made.
“Keye, how pleasant to see you. I meant to come and call. Waden explained things. I owe you profound apologies for my desertion. You distressed me; I admit it freely. I’ve mended my ways, you see, moved into the Residency. Are you living here or just sleeping over?”
Keye’s mouth quirked into a familiar smile. “Does it concern you?”
“Herrin.”
He looked at Waden, read behind the slow smile which was less amused than Keye’s.
“First Citizen,” said the intrusive voice. “Would you explain?”
Waden ignored it too. “Point taken, Artist. But there is a certain reality operative here that Ichoose. I’ll remind you of that.”
“Construe it for me. I’ll decide if I want to participate.”
“Bear with me. Master Herrin Law, let me present Colonel Martin Olsen, with that understanding.”
The hand was offered a second time. Herrin looked the stout gray-haired man up and down, finally reached and scarcely touched the offered fingers. The hand withdrew.
“Not an auspicious color,” he commented of the midnight clothing.
“I agree,” said Waden. “Herrin, don’t be argumentative in this. A personal favor.”
“There seems to have been a misunderstanding,” said the colonel. “If there was some difficulty, we extend an apology.”
“Second mistake,” Herrin said, passing a glance past him on the way to Keye. “Are you going to wait for this or will you join me for di
“I have a commitment,” she said. “Another time.”
“I trust so,” he said. “Waden, I reserve judgment on your Reality. What do you purpose for them?”