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The Priestess of Argo laughed. “Captain, take him.” She looked at Geo. “The words for calming the angry bear have been recited before him. Now, Geo, we will see how good a poet you are, and if the spell works.” At last she turned to Urson. “Have you ever killed a man?”

  Urson was silent a moment. “I have.”

  “Had you told me that,” said the Priestess, “I would have chosen you first. I have need of you also. Captain, you must take him. If he is a good sailor, then we cannot spare him. I will channel what special talents he may have. Geo, since you said the spell and are his friend, I charge you with his control. Also, I wish to talk with you, Poet, student of rituals. Come. You all stay on shipboard tonight.”

  She signaled them to follow, and they mounted the plank onto the deck. At the request to speak with Geo, Urson, Snake, and Jordde had exchanged glances; but now, as they crossed to the hatch, all were silent.

  chapter two

  An oil lamp leaked yellow light on the wooden walls. A mustiness of stale bedding lay around them as the three entered. Geo wrinkled his nose, then shrugged.

  “Well,” said Urson, “this is a pleasant enough hole.” He climbed one of the tiers of bunked beds and pounded the ticking with the flat of his hand. “Here, I’ll take this one. Wriggly-arms, you look like you have a strong stomach; you take the middle. And Geo, sling yourself down in the bottom there.” He clumped to the floor. “The lower down you are,” he explained, “the better you sleep, because of the rocking. Well, what do you think of your first forecastle?”

  The poet was silent. Double pins of light struck yellow dots in his dark eyes, then went out as he turned from the lamp.

  “I put you in the bottom because a little rough weather can unseat your belly pretty fast if you’re up near the ceiling and not used to it,” Urson expounded, dropping his hand heavily on Geo’s shoulder. “I told you I’d look out for you, didn’t I, friend?”

  But Geo turned away and seemed to examine something else.

  Urson looked at Snake, who was watching him from against the wall. Urson’s glance was questioning. But Snake stayed silent.

  “Hey,” Urson called to Geo once more. “Let’s you and me take a run around this ship and see what’s tied down where. A good sailor does that first thing—unless he’s too drunk. That lets the Captain and the Mate know he’s got an alert eye out, and sometimes he can learn something that will ease some back-bending later on. What do you say?”

  “Not now, Urson,” interrupted Geo. “You go.”

  “Would you please tell me why my company suddenly isn’t good enough for you? This silence is a bilgy way to treat somebody who’s sworn himself to see that you make the best first voyage that a man could have. Why, I think—”

  “When did you kill a man?”

  Silence rumbled in the cabin, more palpable than the slosh of water outside. Urson stood still; his hands twisted to knots of bone and muscle. Then they opened. “Maybe it was a year ago,” he said softly. “And maybe it was a year, two months, and five days, on a Thursday morning at eight o’clock in the brig of a heaving ship. Which would make it one year, two months, five days and ten hours, now.”

  “You killed a man? How could you go all this time and not tell me about it, then admit it to a stranger just like that. You were my friend; we’ve slept under the same blanket, drunk from the same wineskin. What sort of a person are you?”

  “And what sort of a person are you?” asked the giant. “A nosy bastard that I’d break in seven pieces if…” He sucked in a breath. “If I hadn’t promised I’d make no trouble. I’ve never broken a promise to anyone, alive or dead.” The fists formed, relaxed again.

  “Urson, I didn’t mean to judge you. Know that. But tell me about it. We’ve been like brothers; you can’t keep a thing like that from….”

  The heavy breathing continued. “You’re so quick to tell me what I can or cannot do.” Suddenly he raised one hand, flung it away, and spat on the floor. He turned toward the steps.

  Then the noise hit. No, it was higher than sound. And it nearly broke their heads. Geo caught his ears and whirled toward Snake. The boy’s black eyes darted twin spots of light to Urson, to Geo, and back.

  The noise came again, quieter this time, and recognizable as the word help. Only it was no sound; rather, the fading hum of a tuning fork rung inside their skulls, immediate yet fuzzy.

  You…help…me…together…came the words once more, indistinct and blurring into one another.

  “Hey,” Urson said, “is that you?”

  Do…not…angry…came the words.

  “We’re not angry,” Geo said. “What are you doing?”

  I…thinking…The words seemed to generate from the boy.

  “What sort of a way to think is that if everyone can hear it?” demanded Urson.

  Snake tried to explain: Not…everyone…just…you…you…think…I…hear…came the soundless words. I…think…you…hear…

  “I know we hear,” Urson said. “It’s just like you were talking.”

  “That’s not what he means,” Geo said. “He means he hears what we think just like we hear him. Is that right, Snake?”

  When…you…think…loud…I…hear…

  “I may just have been doing some pretty loud thinking,” Urson said. “And if I thought something I wasn’t supposed to—well, I apologize.”

  Snake didn’t seem interested in the apology, but asked again: You…help…me…together…

  “What sort of help do you want?” Geo asked.

  “And what sort of trouble are you in that you need help out of it?” added Urson.

  You…don’t…have…good…minds…Snake said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Urson asked. “Our minds are as good as any in Leptar. You heard the way the Priestess talked to my friend the poet, here.”

  “I think he means we don’t hear very well,” said Geo.

  Snake nodded.

  “Oh,” Urson said. “Well then, you’ll just have to go slow and be patient with us.”

  Snake shook his head: Mind…hoarse…when…shout…so…loud…Suddenly he went over to the bunks. You…hear…better…see…too…if…sleep…

  “Sleep is sort of far from me,” Urson said, rubbing his beard with the back of his wrist.

  “Me too,” Geo admitted. “Can’t you tell us something more?”

  Sleep…Snake said.

  “What about talking like an ordinary human being?” suggested Urson, still somewhat perplexed.

  Once…speak…Snake told them.

  “You say you could speak once?” asked Geo. “What happened?”

  Here the boy opened his mouth and pointed.

  Geo stepped forward, held the boy’s chin in his hand, examined the face, and peered into the mouth. “By the Goddess!”

  “What is it?” Urson asked.

  Geo came away now, his face in a sickly frown. “His tongue has been hacked out,” he told the giant. “And not too neatly.”

  “Who on the seven seas and six continents did a thing like that to you, boy?” Urson demanded.

  Snake shook his head.

  “Now come on, Snake,” he urged. “You can’t keep secrets like that from friends and expect them to rescue you from I don’t know what. Now who was it hacked your voice away!”

  What…man…you…kill…came the sound.

  Urson stopped, and then he laughed. “All right,” he said. “I see.” His voice rose once more. “But if you can hear thoughts, you know the man already. And you know the reason. And this is what we’d find out from you, if only for help and friendship’s sake.”

  You…know…the…man…Snake said.

  Geo and Urson exchanged puzzled frowns.

  sleep…said Snake. You…sleep…now…

  “Maybe we ought to try,” said Geo, “and find out what’s going on.” He crossed to his bunk and slipped in.

  Urson hoisted himself onto the upper berth, dangling his feet against the wooden support. “It’s g
oing to be a long time before sleep gets to me tonight,” he said. “You, Snake, little Strange One.” He laughed. “Where do you people come from?” He glanced down at Geo. “You see them all around the city. Some with three eyes, some with one. You know, at Matra’s House they say they keep a woman with eight breasts and two of something else.” He laughed again. “You know the rituals, know about magic. Aren’t the Strange Ones some sort of magic?”

  “The only mention of them in rituals says that they are ashes of the Great Fire. The Great Fire was back before the purges, the ones I spoke to the Priestess about, so I don’t know anything more about them.”

  “Sailors have stories of the Great Fire,” Urson said. “They say the sea boiled, great birds spat fire from the sky, and metal breasts rose up from the waves and destroyed the harbors. But what were the purges you mentioned?”

  “About five hundred years ago,” Geo explained, “all the rituals of the Goddess Argo were destroyed. A new set was introduced into the temple practices. All references to the earlier ones were destroyed, and with them, much of Leptar’s history. Stories have it that the rituals and incantations were too powerful. But this is just a guess, and most priests are very uncomfortable about speculating.”

  “That was after the Great Fire?” Urson asked.

  “Nearly a thousand years after,” Geo said.

  “It must have been a great fire indeed if ashes from it are still falling from the wombs of healthy women.” He looked down at Snake. “Is it true that a drop of your blood in vinegar will cure gout? If one of you kisses a female baby, will she have only girl children?” He laughed.

  “You know those are only tales,” Geo said.

  “There used to be a short one with two heads that sat outside the Blue Tavern and spun a top all day. It was an idiot, though. But the dwarfs and the legless ones that wheel about the city and do tricks, they are clever. But strange and quiet, usually.”

  “You oaf,” chided Geo, “you could be one too. How many men do you know who reach your size and strength by normal means?”

  “You’re a crazy liar,” said Urson. Then he scrunched his eyebrows together in thought, and at last shrugged. “Well, anyway, I never heard of one who could hear what you thought. It would make me uncomfortable walking down the street.” He dropped his head down and looked at Snake between his legs. “Can you all do that?”

  Snake, from the middle bunk, shook his head.

  “That makes me feel better,” said Urson. “Once we had one on a ship. Some captains will take them on. He had a little head, the size of my fist or even smaller. But a great big chest, a huge man in every other way as well. And his eyes and nose and mouth and things weren’t on that bald little knob, but on his chest, right here. One day he got into a fight and got his head, if you could call it that, broke right in half with a marlin pin. Bleeding all over himself, he went down to the ship’s surgeon, and came up an hour later with the whole thing cut off and a big bandage right where his neck should have been, and his big green eyes blinking out from under his collarbone.” Urson stretched out on his back, but then suddenly looked over the edge of the berth toward Geo. “Hey, Geo, what about those little baubles she had. Do you know what they are?”

  “No, I don’t,” Geo said. “But she was concerned over them enough.” He looked up over the bunk bottom between himself and Urson. “Snake, will you give me another look at that thing again?”

  Snake held out the thong and the jewel.

  “Where did you get it?” Urson asked. “Oh, never mind. I guess we learn that when we go to sleep.”

  Geo reached for it, but Snake’s one hand closed and three others sprang around it. “I wasn’t going to take it,” explained Geo. “I just wanted to see.”

  Suddenly the door of the forecastle opened, and the tall Mate was silhouetted against the brighter light behind him. “Poet?” he called. “She wants to see you.” Then he was gone.

  Geo looked at the other two, shrugged, then swung off the berth and made his way up the steps and into the companionway.

  —

  On deck it was dark. Stars flecked the heavens, and the only thing to distinguish sea from sky was that the bottom half of the great sphere in which they seemed suspended was lightless. Light fell through a cabin window here and another farther on. Geo paused to look in the first, and then, on distinguishing nothing, went toward the second.

  Halfway along, a door before him opened and a blade of illumination sliced the deck. He jumped.

  “Come in,” summoned the Priestess of Argo. He turned into a windowless cabin and stopped one step beyond the threshold. The walls rippled tapestries, lucent green, scarlet. Golden braziers perched on tapering tripods beneath pale blue smoke that moved into the room, piercing faintly but cleanly into his nostrils like knives. Light lashed the polished wooden newels of a great bed on which silk, damasked satin, and brocade swirled. A huge desk, cornered with wooden eagles, was spread with papers, instruments of cartography, sextants, rules, compasses; great, shabby books were piled on one corner. From the beamed ceiling, hung by thick chains, swayed a branching petrolabra of oil cups, some in the hands of demons or the mouths of monkeys, burning in the bellies of nymphs or between the horns of satyrs’ heads, red, clear green, or yellow.

  “Come in,” repeated the Priestess. “Close the door.”

  Geo obeyed.

  She walked behind her desk, sat down, and folded her hands in front of her veiled face. “Poet,” she said, “you have had moments to think. What do you make of this all? What can you tell me of this journey we are about to make that I shall not have to tell you?”

  “Only that its importance must be of great concern to Leptar.”

  “Do you know just how great the concern is?” she asked. “It is great enough to jar every man, woman, and child in Leptar, from the highest priestess to the most deformed Strange One. The world of words and emotions and intellect has been your range till now, Poet. But what do you know of the real world, outside Leptar?”

  “That there is much water, some land, and mostly ignorance.”

  “What tales have you heard from your bear friend, Urson? He is a traveled man and should know some of what there is of the earth.”

  “The stories of sailors,” said Geo, “are menageries of beasts that no one has ever seen, of lands for which no maps exist, and of peoples no man has met.”

  She smiled. “Since I boarded this ship I have heard many tales from sailors, and I have learned more from them than from all my priests. You, on the docks this evening, have been the only man to give me another scrap of the puzzle except a few drunken seamen misremembering old fantasies.” She paused. “What do you know of the jewels you saw tonight?”

  “Nothing, ma’am.”

  “A common thief hiding on the docks has one; I, a priestess of Argo, possess another; and if you had one, you would probably exchange it for a kiss from some tavern maid. What do you know of the god Hama?”

  “I know of no such god.”

  “You,” she said, “who can spout all the rituals and incantations of the White Goddess Argo, you do not even know the name of the Dark God Hama. What do you know of the Island of Aptor?”

  “Nothing, ma’am.”

  “This boat has been to Aptor once and now will return. Ask your ignorant friend the Bear to tell you tales of Aptor; and blind, wise Poet, you will laugh, and probably he will too. But I will tell you: his tales, his legends, and his fantasies are not a tithe of the truth. Perhaps you will be no help after all. I am thinking of dismissing you.”

  “But, ma’am—”

  The Priestess looked up, having been about to fall to some work.

  “Ma’am, what can you tell me about these things? You have scattered only crumbs. I have extensive knowledge of incantation, poetry, magic, and I know these concern your problem. Give me what information you have, and I will be able to make use of mine in full. I am familiar with many sailors’ tales. True, none of Aptor or Hama, but I may
be able to collate fragments. I have learned the legends and jargon of thieves through a broad life; this is more than your priests have, I’ll wager. I have had teachers who were afraid to touch books I have opened. And I fear no secret you might know. If all of Leptar is in danger, you owe each citizen the right to try to save his brothers. I ask for that right alone.”

  “No, you are not afraid,” admitted the Priestess. “You are honorable and foolish…and a poet. I hope the first and last will wipe out the middle one in time. Nevertheless, I will tell you some.” She stood up now and drew out a map.

  “Here is Leptar.” She pointed to one island. Then her finger crossed water to another. “This is Aptor. Now you know as much about it as any ordinary person in Leptar might. It is a barbaric land, uncivilized. Yet they occasionally show some insidious organization. Tell me, what legends of the Great Fire have you heard?”

  “I know that beasts are supposed to have come from the sea and destroyed the world’s harbors, and that birds spat fire from the air.”

  “The older sailors,” said the Priestess, “will tell you that these were beasts and birds of Aptor. Of course there are fifteen hundred years of retelling and distortion in a tradition never written down, and perhaps Aptor has simply become a synonym for everything evil, but these stories still give you some idea. Chronicles, which only three or four people have had access to, tell me that once, five hundred years ago, the forces of Aptor actually attempted to invade Leptar. The references to the invasion are vague. I do not know how far it went or how successful it was, but its methods were insidious and unlike any invasion you may have read of in history, so unlike that records of it were destroyed and no mention of it is made in the histories given to schoolchildren.

  “Only recently have I had chance to learn how strange and inhuman they were. And I have good reason to believe that the forces of Aptor are congealing once more, a sluggish but huge amoeba of horror. Once fully awake, once launched, it will be unstoppable. Tendrils have reached into us for the past few years, have probed, and then have been withdrawn before they were recognized. Sometimes they dealt catastrophic blows to the center of Leptar’s government and religion. All this has been assiduously kept from the people. For if it were made known, we would also have to reveal how staggering our ignorance is, and there would be a national paralysis. I have been sent to clear perhaps just one more veil from the unknown. And if you can help me in that, you are welcome more than I could possibly express.”