17

The whirlaway flew high through the red light of afternoon: south across Ascolais to a set of soft swelling hills and at last settled upon Fader’s Waft.

From the whirlaway to the six-sided fane extended an arch of web: “— lest archveults seize upon this opportunity to expunge all of us together!” So Ildefonse explained the precaution.

Into the enclosure filed the group, with Ildefonse bringing up the rear. As always, the Perciplex rested upon its cushion of black satin. In a chair to the side sat a man-shaped creature white of skin and white of eye, with a soft fluff of pink feathers for hair.

“Ah Sarsem,” said Ildefonse in a hearty voice. “How goes the vigil?”

“All is well,” said Sarsem in a glum voice.

“No difficulties? Neither incursions nor excursions since I saw you last? All is in order?”

“The vigil proceeds unmarred by incident.”

“Good!” declared Ildefonse. “Now let us examine the projection. Possibly it confused us before, and this time we will all look closely and make no mistakes. Sarsem, the projection!”

Upon the wall flashed the Blue Principles. Ildefonse chortled with delight. “Precisely so! As I declared, we were all confused together — even the redoubtable Hurtiancz, who now reads the Monstrament for a third and decisive time. Hurtiancz! Be kind enough to read the passage aloud!”

Tonelessly Hurtiancz read: “Any person who knowingly and purposefully alters, mutilates, destroys or secretes the Blue Principles or any copy thereof is guilty of a crime, and likewise in equal measure his conspirators, punishable by the measures described in Schedule D. If said acts are committed in the progress of an unlawful act, or for unlawful purposes, the penalties shall be those described in Schedule G.”

Ildefonse turned to Hache-Moncour, who stood with bulging eyes and sagging jaw. “So there you are, Hache-Moncour! I was right after all and now you must acknowledge as much.”

Hache-Moncour muttered abstractedly: “Yes, yes; so it seems.” He turned a long frowning glance towards Sarsem, who avoided his gaze.

“So much is now settled!” declared Ildefonse. “Let us return to Boumergarth and proceed with our inquiry.”

Hache-Moncour said sulkily: “I am not well. Raise your web so that I may return to my manse.”

“Impossible!” said Ildefonse. “All must be present during the deliberations. If you recall, we are trying a case against Rhialto.”

“But there is no longer a case against Rhialto!” bleated Byzant the Necrope. “The proceedings are now devoid of interest! We must go home to look to our properties!”

“To Boumergarth, all!” thundered Ildefonse. “I will brook no further reluctance!”

With poor grace the magicians trooped to the whirlaway and sat in silence during the return flight. Three times Hache-Moncour raised a finger as if to address Ildefonse, but each time caught himself and held his tongue.

At Boumergarth the magicians filed glumly into the Great Hall and took their places. In the shadows stood the man in black, as if he had never moved.

Ildefonse spoke: “We now resume consideration of the action brought by Rhialto and its counter-action. Are there any opinions to be heard?”

The chamber was silent.

Ildefonse turned to the man in black. “Rhialto, what have you to say?”

“I have stated my case against Hurtiancz and his conspirators. I now await resolution of the action.”

Ildefonse said: “The persons present are divided into two categories: Rhialto, the plaintiff, and the defendants who number all the rest of us. In such a case we can only go for guidance to the Blue, and there can be no question as to the findings. Rhialto, as Preceptor, I declare that you have fairly proved your case. I declare that you are entitled to recover your sequestered goods and a stipulated penalty.”

Rhialto came forward to lounge against the lectern. “I have won a sad and profitless victory, against persons whom I deemed my lesser or greater friends.”

Rhialto looked around the room. Few returned his gaze. In a flat voice Rhialto continued: “The victory has not been easy. I have known toil, fear, and disappointment. Nevertheless, I do not intend to grind home my advantage. I make the same demand upon each of you, save in one case only: return all my sequestered property to Falu, with the addition of a single IOUN stone from each as penalty.”

Ao of the Opals said: “Rhialto, your act is both generous and wise. Naturally you have won little popularity with your victory; in fact, I notice both Hurtiancz and Zilifant grinding their teeth. Still, you have incurred no new enmity. I admit my mistake; I accept the penalty and will pay you an IOUN stone with humility. I urge my fellows to do the same.”

Eshmiel cried out: “Well spoken, Ao! I share your sentiments. Rhialto, who is the one person whom you except from the penalty and why do you do so?”

“I except Hache-Moncour, whose actions cannot be excused. By his attack upon our law he attacked us all: you are his victims no less than I, though your sufferings would be yet to come.

“Hache-Moncour must lose all his magic, and all his capacity for magic. This effect was worked upon him by Ildefonse as I spoke to you. The Hache-Moncour you see yonder is not the same man who stood here an hour ago, and even now Ildefonse is calling his servants. They will take him down to the local tannery, where he will be afforded suitable employment.

“As for me, tomorrow I return to Falu, where my life will continue more or less as before, or so I hope.”

18

Shalukhe the Swimmer sat beside the River Ts under the blue aspens which grew along the banks and partly screened Falu from sight. Rhialto, with his household restored to order, came out to join her. She turned her head, took note of his approach, then returned to her contemplation of the river.

Rhialto seated himself nearby and, leaning back, watched the shiver of dark sunlight along the moving water. Presently he turned his head and studied first the delicate profile, then the graceful disposition of her body. Today she wore sand-colored trousers fitted close at the ankles, loose around the hips, black slippers, a white shirt and a black sash. A red ribbon confined her dark hair. In her own time, reflected Rhialto, she had been a Paragon of Excellence, the Best of the Best, and now who would ever know?

She became aware of his inspection and turned him a questioning glance.

Rhialto spoke. “Shalukhe the Swimmer, Furud Dawn-thing: what shall be done with you?”

The Paragon returned to her contemplation of the river. “I too wonder what to do with myself.”

Rhialto raised his eyebrows. “Admittedly this era, the last to be known on the world Earth, is in many ways dark and disturbing. Still, you want nothing; you are irked by no enemies; you are free to come and go as you wish. What then troubles you?”

Shalukhe the Swimmer shrugged. “I would seem captious were I to complain. Your conduct has been courteous; you have treated me with both dignity and generosity. But I am alone. I have watched you at your colloquy, and I was minded of a group of crocodiles basking on a Kuyike River mud-bank.”

Rhialto winced. “I as well?”

Shalukhe, preoccupied with her own musings, ignored the remark. “At the Court of the East-Rising Moon I was Paragon, the Best of the Best! Gentlemen of rank came eagerly to touch my hand; when I passed, my perfume evoked sighs of wistful passion and sometimes, after I passed, I heard muffled exclamations, which I took to signify admiration. Here I am shunned as if I were the Worst of the Worst; no one cares whether I leave a perfume in my wake or the odor of a pig-sty. I have become gloomy and full of doubts. Am I so bland, dull and tiresome that I instill apathy everywhere I go?”

Rhialto leaned back in his seat and stared towards the sky. “Absurdity! Mirage! Dream-madness!”

Shalukhe smiled a tremulous bitter-sweet smile. “If you had treated me shamefully, and ravished me to your desires, at least I would have been left with my pride. Your courteous detachment leaves me with nothing.”

Rhialto at last found his voice. “You are the most perverse of all maidens! How often my hands have tingled and twitched to seize you; always I have held back so that you might feel secure and easy! And now you accuse me of cold blood and call me a crocodile! My graceful and poetic restraint you choose to regard as senile disability. It is I who should feel the pangs!”

Jumping to his feet, Rhialto went to sit beside her; he took her hands. “The most beautiful maidens are also the most cruel! Even now you use a subtle means to rack my emotions!”

“Oh? Tell me, so that I may do it again.”

“You are troubled because I seemed to ignore your presence. But, by this reasoning, you would feel equally diminished in your pride had the man been Dulce-Lolo with his expressive feet, or Zilifant, or even Byzant the Necrope. That it was I, Rhialto, who treated you so shabbily seems to be incidental! My own vanity now torments me; am I then so unappealing? Do you feel not the slightest regard for me?”

Shalukhe the Swimmer at last smiled. “Rhialto, I will say this: were you Dulce-Lolo, or Zilifant, or Byzant, or any other than Rhialto, I would not be sitting here holding your hands so tightly in my own.”

Rhialto sighed in relief. He drew her close; their faces met. “Confusions and cross-purposes: they are now resolved; perhaps the Twenty-first Aeon now seems a less dismal time.”