“Well,” Avery said, “I do appreciate that. It’s just that—”
Ahead the noise grew louder. Avery was tempted to have Janx waylay Rigurd, knock him out and store him somewhere, but just then a door opened and two more figures emerged, both women, apparently having just groomed themselves; they wore fresh make-up and their hair was newly primped.
“Ha ha!” Rigurd said. “More little pigeons, eh?” They nodded, giggling, even though neither was below fifty. “Oh good! I say, it will be a merry throng, of that we can be assured. So many pigeons come home to roost.”
Avery glanced over his shoulder to Janx, who shrugged. This would be an excellent opportunity for them to discover what was going on, and they could break away later when they needed to.
They poured into a crowded room. Here men and women who were clearly priests, wearing dark ceremonial robes, passed around lighter, grayish robes to the gathering—people who must be pilgrims, Avery supposed, come to visit their god, to attend whatever ceremony was about to happen. Some were clearly infected, sporting gills or needle teeth, but others were not, likely boasting more subtle mutations; they would have to hope Janx came off as one of these. The priests distributed the robes to everyone, talking and laughing with the parishioners as they did, trying to make sure each one received the proper size and knew the proper codes of conduct. The women who had come in ahead of Avery complained that the cowl would mess up their hair, but a priest informed them that they need not pull it up if they didn’t want to. “The Great One will want to see your lovely faces, I’m sure,” the priest added, and they giggled again.
“Oh, isn’t this thrilling?” the man who called himself Rigurd said, slipping his robe on gracefully and reminding Avery of a snake slipping out of its skin in reverse. “I just love these sorts of things.”
Janx grunted, holding his robe at arm’s length as though it were something foul—easy enough to find around here. To provide a proper example, Avery stuffed himself into his own garment, pulling it over the clothes he’d come in with as he’d seen some of the others doing; still more stripped, going naked before everyone, blushing but clearly basking in the thrill of it all, before donning their new vestments. Janx, though he wore a sour expression, pulled the robe over his head. It tugged at his arms and chest, but he was able to put it on without breaking it.
“Oh, there there!” said Rigurd. “Don’t we all look splendid!”
“Splendid,” Avery agreed. Rigurd looked at him expectantly, and Avery added, “We’ve really been looking forward to this.”
“Oh? Oh. But I didn’t think anyone knew—I certainly didn’t. Wasn’t it only just announced?”
“Ah,” Avery said, “what I meant was we looked forward to coming here—to this place—not necessarily looking forward to the event itself.”
“Oh, yes. Yes of course. I’m sure everyone feels the same way. It is such an honor. Tell me, tell me, which chapel do you come from?”
“The one ... you know ...” He started to say Givunct, since it was the only Under-town he was familiar with other than Muscud, but that had been a populous place; what if Rigurd hailed from there? And he certainly couldn’t name Muscud; what if Rigurd asked him if he knew a particular priest there? He needed some place that was remote …
“Yes?” Rigurd said.
Janx stepped in. “Soriscu,” he said. “By the Old Channel.”
“Ah!” said Rigurd. “I have heard of that place. Such a wicked town! Wicked! They did not take kindly to our order.” His gaze turned hard, appraising Avery and Janx anew. “It must be difficult, living there. Enduring the prejudice. The intolerance.”
“Small minds,” Avery said.
“Oh, but they shall reap the reward that comes to all such narrow-mindedness,” Rigurd said. “They shall reap nothing, and they shall reap it soon.”
Avery felt a bead of sweat trickle down behind his ear. “Good. It’s no more than they deserve.”
Rigurd blinked at him queerly. “But are they not your friends? Your neighbors? Your family, even? You should preach conversion, not destruction! What mad birds have come to this roost? We will not have such cold breeds here!”
Avery swallowed. His mind was suddenly blank. He wished Janx had strangled the man in the hall.
Once again, Janx saved him. “They ain’t our folk anymore,” the whaler said. “Not after we found the Faith and they turned their backs on us.” He spat. “They can go hang.”
Rigurd stared at him, wrinkles folded around his small, bright blue eyes, then laughed, sounding rather like a crow. “Justly said, my gargantuan friend! My titan! Justly said indeed! They will all burn.”
A priest at the front of the room shook a bell, and they turned to regard him. “All people supposed to help with the dirigible party should leave now,” he said. “As for the rest of you, it is time to assemble. Come with me.”
They left the changing area and followed the priest through a tight hallway, tilting to one side, the floor sometimes sagging. The hallway met another, and another, hitting it at strange angles, and floods of pilgrims in gray robes joined their progress, talking and gesturing to each other gaily. Avery slipped away from Rigurd and fell back next to Janx.
“We gotta get outta here, Doc,” Janx said.
Avery nodded, eyes darting about for a likely avenue of escape. There were many doorways, but the press of people was thick and ducking into one would momentarily jam the traffic, drawing attention.
A man next to Avery, clearly drunk, weaved as he walked, sometimes stumbling over Avery’s feet, and Avery was obliged to gently shove him back on his own course.
“’orry,” the man said, “it’s just these halls. They’re so curvy.”
“They are,” Avery agreed.
“Wanna drink?” The man tapped his chest where a flask must be. “Jus’ the thing to settle y’r nerves.”
“No, thank you.”
“It’s just, well—seein’ him, y’know. I’ve never see ‘im before. But—I’ve heard stories.” He shuddered. “I mean, I know he’s a god, but, what I hear’, he’s a fuckin’ scary god.” He shook again, then laughed.
“I’m sure,” Avery said.
“Well ain’t you calm? You’ve already had some, haven’t you? Haven’t you?” He rubbed at his eyes. “Well, ‘least it ain’t a ‘acrifice. Not yet. M’ stomach’s too wea’ fer uh sa ...sacl ... sacmrimice ...” He leaned against a wall momentarily, then pushed himself on.
“Just what have you heard—about the ceremony?” Avery said, now paying attention.
“Ah, jus’ ... y’know ... ‘acrement ...” Again the man leaned against a wall, and this time Avery left him.
To Janx, Avery said, “Did you hear?”
“Someone’s getting the Sacrament,” Janx said. “But I don’t get it. Why all this hoop-la for that? Thousands of people get it every day, I thought, at least in Octung.”
“That’s a very a good question.”
