Gene Wolfe - The Sword of the Lictor

“I am going inside if I can,” I told them. “I will come back to you if that is possible, and I will leave such doors as I may open for you.”

Llibio asked, “But suppose you cannot come back. How shall we know when the moment to draw our knives has come?”

“I will make some signal,” I said, and strained my wits to ink what signal I might make if I we’re pent in that black think tower. “They must have fires on such a night as this. I’ll show a brand at a window, and drop it if I can so that you’ll see the streak of fire. If I make no signal and cannot return to you, you may assume they have taken me prisoner — attack when the first light touches the mountains.”

A short time later I stood at the gate of the castle, banging a great iron knocker shaped (so far as I could determine with my fingers) like the head of a man against a plate of the same metal set in oak.

There was no response. After I had waited for the space of a score of breaths, I knocked again. I could hear the echoes waked inside, an empty reverberation like the throbbing of a heart, but there was no sound of voices. The hideous faces I had glimpsed in the Autarch’s garden filled my mind and I waited in dread for the noise of a shot, though I knew that if the Hierodules chose to shoot me — and all energy weapons came ultimately from them — I would probably never hear it. The air was so still it seemed the atmosphere waited with me. Thunder rolled to the east.

At last there were footsteps, so quick and light I could have thought them the steps of a child. A vaguely familiar voice called, “Who’s there? What do you want?”

And I answered, “Master Severian of the Order of the Seekers for Truth and Penitence — I come as the arm of the Autarch, whose justice is the bread of his subjects.”

“Do you indeed!” exclaimed Dr. Talos, and threw open the gate.

For a moment I could only stare at him.

“Tell me, what does the Autarch want with us? The last time I saw you, you were on your way to the City of Crooked Knives. Did you ever get there?”

“The Autarch wanted to know why your vassals laid hold of one of his servants,” I said. “That is to say, myself. This puts a slightly different light on the matter.”

“It does! It does! From our point of view too, you understand. I didn’t know you were the mysterious visitor at Murene. And I’m sure poor old Baldanders didn’t either. Come in and we’ll talk about it.”

I stepped through the gateway in the wall, and the doctor pushed the heavy gate closed behind me and fitted an iron bar into place.

I said, “There really isn’t much to talk about, but we might begin with a valuable gem that was taken from me by force, and as I have been informed, sent to you.”

Even while I spoke, however, my attention was drawn from the words I pronounced to the vast bulk of the ship of the Hierodules, which was directly overhead now that I was past the wall. Staring up at it gave me the same feeling of dislocation I have sometimes had on looking down through the double curve of a magnifying glass; the convex underside of that ship had the look of something alien not only to the world of human beings, but to all the visible world.

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Talos said. “Baldanders has your trinket, I believe. Or rather, he had it and has stuck it away somewhere. I’m sure he’ll give it back to you.”

From inside the round tower that appeared (though it could not possibly have done so) to support the ship, there came faintly a lonely and terrible sound that might have been the howling of a wolf. I had heard nothing like it since I had left our own Matachin Tower; but I knew what it was, and I said to Dr. Talos, “You have prisoners here.”

He nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I’ve been too busy to feed the poor creatures today, what with everything.” He waved vaguely toward the ship overhead. “You don’t object to meeting cacogens, I hope, Severian? If you want to go in and ask Baldanders for your jewel, I’m afraid you’ll have to. He’s in there talking to them.”

I said I had no objection, though I am afraid I shuddered inwardly as I said it.

The doctor smiled, showing above his red beard the line of sharp, bright teeth I recalled so well. “That’s wonderful. You were always a wonderfully unprejudiced person. If I may say so, I suppose your training has taught you to take every being as he comes.”

AS IS COMMON in such pele towers, there was no entrance at ground level. A straight stair, narrow, steep, and without railings, led to an equally narrow door some ten cubits above the pavement of the courtyard. This door stood open already, and I was delighted to see that Dr. Talos did not close it after us. We went through a short corridor that was, no doubt, no more than the thickness of the tower wall and emerged into a room that appeared (like all the rooms I saw within that tower) to occupy the whole of the area available at its level. It was filled with machines that seemed to be at least as ancient as those we had in the Matachin Tower at home, but whose uses were beyond my conjecture. At one side of this room another narrow stair ascended to the floor above, and at the opposite side a dark stairwell gave access to whatever place it was in which the howling prisoner was confined, for I heard his voice floating from its black mouth.

“He has gone mad,” I said, and inclined my head toward the sound.

Dr. Talos nodded. “Most of them are. At least, most of those I’ve examined. I administer decoctions of hellebore, but I can’t say they seem to do much good.”

“We had clients like that in the third level of our oubliette, because we were forced to retain them by the legalities; they had been turned over to us, you see, and no one in authority would authorize their release.”

The doctor was leading me toward the ascending stair. “I sympathize with your predicament.”

“In time they died,” I continued doggedly. “Either by the aftereffects of their excruciations or from other causes. No real purpose was served by confining them.”

“I suppose not Watch out for that gadget with the hook. It’s trying to catch hold of your cloak.”

“Then why do you keep him? You aren’t a legal repository in the sense we were, surely.”

“For parts, I suppose. That’s what Baldanders has most of this rubbish for.” With one foot on the first step, Dr. Talos turned to look back at me. “You remember to be on your good behavior now. They don’t like to be called cacogens, you know. Address them as whatever it is they say their names are this time, and don’t refer to slime. In fact, don’t talk of anything unpleasant. Poor Baldanders has worked so hard to patch things up with them after he lost his head at the House Absolute. He’ll be crushed if you spoil everything just before they leave.”

I promised to be as diplomatic as I could.

Because the ship was poised above the tower, I had supposed that Baldanders and its commanders would be in the uppermost room. I was wrong. I heard the murmur of voices as we ascended to the next floor, then the deep tones of the giant, sounding, as they so often had when I was traveling with him, like the collapse of some ruinous wall far off.

This room held machines too. But these, though they might have been as old as those below, gave the impression of being in working order; and moreover, of standing in some logical though impenetrable relation to one another, like the devices in Typhon’s hall. Baldanders and his guests were at the farther end of the chamber, where his head, three times the size of any ordinary man’s, reared above the clutter of metal and crystal like that of a tyrannosaur over the topmost leaves of a forest. As I walked toward them, I saw what remained of a young woman who might have been a sister of Pia’s lying beneath a shimmering bell jar. Her abdomen had been opened with a sharp blade and certain of her viscera removed and positioned around her body. It appeared to be in the early stages of decay, though her lips moved. Her eyes opened as I passed her, then closed again.