Six Moon Dance Part 13

Estif muttered, "If you're sure the Hags are going to be involved, we ought to appear cooperative, I suppose. Is there a volunteer to take this doc.u.ment into Sendoph to the Haggery?"

Somewhat reluctantly, Bin g'Kiffle raised one hand. "I'm going back there tonight. I suppose I can take it." He intended to catch the afternoon boat upriver, and could, in fact, deliver it that evening. It would give him an excuse for not going home immediately on arrival. As everyone in the room knew, Bin would use any excuse not to go home. His wife was a termagant.

"I'm going up to Sendoph tonight on business," murmured Calvy. "I can take it if Bin doesn't want to be bothered."

"I said I'd take it," snapped Bin. "And I will!"

Calvy bowed, making an ironic face. He intended to call on an old friend in Sendoph, and he was glad enough not to make a time-consuming call at the Panhagion.

Estif handed over the vellum and the fancy envelope with the seals and ribbons. Bin stowed it away in his leather-and-gilt doc.u.ment case, almost as important a symbol of status as his c.o.c.kade and the g' before his name. After which the men carefully affixed their veils across their faces, adjusted their honorable c.o.c.kades, and took themselves back to home cities and places of business, where they belonged.

28.

A Family Man Visits the Hags.

Only in the secrecy of the Fortress of Lost Men was the Temple in Sendoph referred to as "the Haggery," and Bin g'Kiffle was careful not even to think the words as he climbed the wide stone steps leading to the huge bronze doors. One of the Consort Houses had doors like that, also, part of the cargo of the ship the first settlers had pirated. Pirated or not, males did not approach those doors for anything trivial. Males did not hurry when there were Hags in the vicinity. When at the Temple, even workmen or delivery men took their time, abating any tendency toward immodest alacrity. Here, everything was done slowly, deliberately, with due weight and moment.

Bin, therefore, climbed in a dignified, almost ritualistic manner. When he had completed this errand, he would take off his c.o.c.kade and go to one of the bas.e.m.e.nt taverns hidden in the warehouse district near the river. He would stay there as long as possible. He would tell his wife he had had an errand at the Temple, and if she didn't believe him, the h.e.l.l with her-the Temple offices were always open.

He was solicited by a holy prost.i.tute, not a bad-looking boy, considering, and Bin produced a generous contribution while murmuring the acceptable excuse. Tonight was his wife's night, he said. The prost.i.tute smiled slightly and went back to his fellows. No one questioned that excuse, but one had to be a Family Man to get away with it.

Bin bowed outside the door, waiting until three very pregnant women had preceded him to the font, then dipped his own fingers in the water, thereby symbolically cleansing himself of the taint of business, the stink of profit. Here at the Temple, business did not apply. Here one could not set a price on a sentient life, though people did so constantly elsewhere in the city. Here one did not speak of gain. In the Temple, there was no network of honorable Family Men on whom one could depend for information or influence. Here Bin was simply another man of Sendoph, like any other man of Sendoph, whether g'family or otherwise.

He opened the small door set into the huge one and went through into the Temple forecourt, a broad semicircle of mosaic pavement that bordered the outer half of the circular Sanctuary. To one side, a gentle ramp led to the birthing rooms below. The pregnant women were already partway down, chatting among themselves. All devout women tried to bear their children in the Temple; certainly Bin's wife had done so, for all the good it did. Five sons and only one daughter to show for it, and now his wife had a Hunk. Every cent he got for the girl would go to dower his eldest boy, and what was he to do with the others? He'd made the mistake of raising them above their expectations, at least the older two, so they were resentful and useless. He'd intended to start a dynasty, and now there was d.a.m.n little wherewithal to start anything. Whatever he did, there'd be no profit in it!

Fifty feet above his head, the barrel-vaulted ceiling curved away to right and left, the air hazed by the smoke of a dozen incense kiosks. The opposite wall, concentric with the outer wall, was a row of pillared and heavily curtained arches, beyond which was the Sanctuary, the statues of the Hagions, the lofty seats of the Prime Hags, the rites and observances that kept Newholme ticking. Even at this time of night, there was movement through the curtained arches, and Bin checked his veil compulsively. If a man wanted a slow, agonizing execution, just appear in the Temple unveiled. That would do it. There were always women here, women quite willing and eager to be punctilious about male behavior. Not to mention the ubiquitous Haggers.

The Sanctuary, barely visible between the curtains, was forbidden to him and all other males over the age of ten, but this wide foyer with its racks of votary candles was open to all. Bin turned to his left and went along the curve of the outer wall toward the offices, moving solemnly so as not to be suspected of frivolity. A young woman, younger, that is, than most of the Hags, nodded to him as he entered the open door of the reception area.

"Family Man," she said pleasantly.

As always, Bin chafed at the designation. She could see his c.o.c.kade, she knew who he was perfectly well, but no woman would greet a veiled man by name in public, not even a wife her husband. The avoidance was supposed to be proper, but to Bin it always felt rude, depersonalizing, as though he were invisible!

He bowed. "Madam. I bring a notification received by the Men of Business in Naibah. It concerns a proposed visit to Newholme by the Questioner...."

She smiled sweetly. "We have already received notification, Family Man. Though we thank you for your courtesy."

Bin shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "Our chairman, that is, Estif g'Bayoar, thought maybe the Questioner would like to stay at the Fortress in Naibah? That is ..."

"We'll call upon the Men of Business if we need them," she said, still sweetly. "Do shut the door on your way out, Family Man." And she bent back to her work, ignoring him so pointedly that he felt himself growing heated beneath his robes and veils.

He opened his mouth to say something snappish, then closed it again. She glanced up. "Something else?" Her face was now quite stern, the smile gone.

"Where we put her! It's important! She can't be allowed to-"

The woman held up her hand, palm outward, warningly. "The matter is being attended to, Family Man. You need not concern yourself. Do you understand?"

It took him a moment to find his voice. "Of course, Madam," he said, bowing. "Sorry to have disturbed you." Then, stubbornly, he said, "Madam, have the Hags any information about the volcanic activity? The Men of Business believe there has been a troubling increase and we seek guidance."

Her face grew very still. It was some time before she replied, "I will convey your concern to the Hags, Family Man. I cannot say at the moment whether they or the Hagions would find this matter within their purview, but I will inquire. Feel free to come again in a day or two, by which time I should know something."

He turned and left, shutting the door behind him, making no sound. Once out on the street, at the bottom of the steps, however, he muttered to himself. "d.a.m.n, uppity, pushy, Hags. d.a.m.n women. d.a.m.n female pushiness. d.a.m.n." He made a threatening gesture that drew the attention of a couple of Haggers who were sweeping the cobbles. Since male Haggers had, so to speak, foresworn being male, they wore no veils, and their faces were stern as they turned toward him, holding the thick, heavy broom handles like pikestaffs. At that, he came to his senses. Thrusting his hands into his sleeves, lowering his head so they could not see his eyes glaring at them through his veil, he walked steadily away. It was late. He had had a full day. He wanted to get home and go to bed!

"d.a.m.n Hagions," he cursed the G.o.ddesses. "d.a.m.n Haggers," he cursed their followers. "d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n Hags." And their priesthood, as well.

Behind him, through one of the slit windows that looked out upon the temple stairs and down into the street, the young woman he had spoken to along with two older Hags watched him depart.

"So the Men of Business are worried about the smoke," murmured D'Jevier.

"All that gray ash streaming from the scarp would be difficult to miss," muttered Onsofruct. "All those valley farms wiped out over the last five or six years."

"And the tidal wave that took six villages out along the Jellied Sea."

"And the way the pillars are shifting off their bases in the crypts of the Temple. More than worrisome, I'm afraid. I still wish we could ask for help from the Council of Worlds."

"We can't," snarled D'Jevier. "Obviously."

"Obviously."

"With the Questioner coming, we have other things to worry about."

"Obviously."

So agreed, they stood where they were, watching until Bin's skinny form disappeared into the dark.

29.

Calvy and his Friends.

Calvy had ridden up the river with Bin, avoiding his carping by pretending to be asleep most of the way, and he left the boat at the Brewer's Bridge. He took the precaution of removing his c.o.c.kade before leaving the boat, his veils were impeccably impenetrable, and thus he had no difficulty whatsoever achieving his goal without being recognized by anyone at all-a good thing, for Family Men of good repute did not visit Consort Houses.

Calvy did. He had visited House Genevois at intervals for some years, and in the doing he had made a good friend of Madame and a better friend of Simon, who had taught him a number of interesting and provocative tricks. His current business with House Genevois was the procurement of a birthday present for his wife, a matter that Simon and Madame could accomplish more deftly than Calvy himself, given all the import regulations that he, as a Man of Business, was forced to uphold. The Consort Houses were more devious. Consorts had to give gifts; women expected it; and the Consort Houses helped their graduates meet expectations.

The present was on Madame's desk, and after pouring them each a gla.s.s of a pleasant restorative, she laid the velvet box before him with a flourish, a necklace of gemstones and gold, the stones local, but cut and faceted off planet, the gold of a fine workmanship utterly impossible to achieve on Newholme. The necklace was not ma.s.sive, and it was not gaudy, but every link of it spoke of quality and care.

"Your lady will simply love it," said Simon.

"She'd better," murmured Madame, thinking how nice it would be to have a man as much in love with one as Calvy was with Carezza. "You've outdone yourself, g'Valdet."

He smiled, stretching back on the sofa, letting Simon fill his gla.s.s. "It's an odd old world we live in, Madame."

"It is indeed. You're noting some particular oddity?"

"Though I cultivate a certain fatalism and eschew the fidgets my colleagues are displaying, I agree with them that the world seems increasingly unstable, in a geological sense."

Madame frowned. "The Hags are worried, but they don't let themselves show it, and therefore the people, who are also worried, don't show it either. What brings it to your mind today?"

"The Questioner is coming."

Simon looked puzzled, but Madame nodded, lips thinned. "Oh, is she, now." With a side glance at Simon, she said, "Haraldson's creature, Simon. You know."

He did know. The Questioner was the monster under the bed, the bugaboo in the closet, the sound creeping up the midnight stairs. To anyone without a clear conscience, the Questioner was the ultimate terrifier. He nodded, sipping at the wine while Madame went on. "You think she's coming because of this rumbling and rattling we've had to endure lately?"

"That, possibly. Though it could be another thing or two, or both."

She asked, "The other thing being?"

"The Questioner has on more than one occasion recommended severe action against the mankind population of worlds when that population had not governed in accordance with Haraldson's edicts."

Madame sipped at her gla.s.s. "As in the matter of our invisible people."

"That is one such matter."

"You know of another?"

"There's our odd imbalance of the s.e.xes, Madame."

She frowned. "But we know why that is. There's a virus peculiar to this planet that attaches to the mother's X chromosome. When the cell doubles, at the polar body stage, the virus doesn't double, and it has a fifty-fifty chance of staying with the oocyte or being discarded with the polar body. It's more complex than that, but that's the pith. The Hags have been unable to find a cure, though they've searched diligently."

He smiled, sipped, murmured, "I merely have a feeling the Questioner may doubt that. Having read the Council of Worlds accounts of some of her investigations, she seems a doubting sort of device."

"Where do you get Council of World's reports?" demanded Simon.

"They're public record. I subscribe to the journals that record them. The data cubes come in with our other supplies. Some of her visits are extremely interesting. There was one case I was very taken with. Beltran Four."

"I don't know of it," said Madame.

"A warlike planet, ruled by a polygynous warrior elite. Because of the constant battles, there are many fewer men than women. Our own situation, in reverse. This results in a large surplus of women, so the powerful men have huge harems of them."

"Why did this interest you enormously?" asked Madame, with an expression of distaste.

"Because, essentially, the powerful men keep the battles going that result in the deaths of the young men that result in the surpluses of women they then take advantage of."

"I agree it is unethical. And the Questioner dealt severely with mankind on that planet?"

"No." Calvy smiled. "That's what interested me enormously. She did not."

Madame and Simon exchanged confused glances, at which Calvy smiled the wider. "As I said. It's an odd little old world, but I didn't mean to discuss each and every little oddity in today's conversation. I did mean to thank you for your help with the necklace."

"Always glad to help," murmured Simon.

Calvy nodded. "I did hope one of you would say that, for I have another problem. Carezza is pregnant. Tinsy, our chatron child tender, is up to his fat little armpits with the older children. I need another chatron. Unfortunately, a few of our friends have been sharing horror stories, and both Carezza and I want to be sure...."

Madame nodded. "You want a supernume of good repute. Someone trustworthy."

Calvy said, "Someone cut long enough ago that he's over the trauma, settled down, able to enjoy what's enjoyable without being angry at the world. The angry ones take it out on the children."

Madame pursed her lips and Simon frowned.

"What?" Calvy asked.

Simon blurted, "Of course they take it out on the children. What does anyone expect? Removing a man's s.e.x organ doesn't increase his happiness, or his delight in other men's children!"

"Simon is right, Calvy," said Madame. "I think all this amputation business really goes too far. We're seeing more and more chatrons every year. The fact that many of them die makes them rare, their rarity makes them status symbols. Would you consider a supernume who has not been altered? Or even a retired Consort? If we pick carefully, I can guarantee you, he'll have a better temper and more considerate feelings. It's the maiming chatrons really hate, and their anger must manifest itself somehow."

Calvy said plaintively, "But Tinsy has been so good."

Madame said, "I located him for you, Calvy. He was cut when he was a baby, before he was conscious of there being anything there to lose. He already had a sweet disposition and was hardworking by nature, with a great desire to please. I don't know of any other like him, but I do know of at least two retired Consorts and one supernume who're very good with children. They genuinely like them, and they aren't bitter about life. The two Consorts simply like taking care of people, and the supernume is looking for a new place because his last charge is just entering school, and he's really not needed in the family anymore."

"Was it a good family?" Calvy asked, significantly.

"It was a kind family for one so well-to-do," said Simon, promptly. "I know who she means, and he is a good lad. The mother doesn't spend all her time partying and being cultural, she stays in touch with the children and doesn't forget their names or their birthdays. The father is a good man, considerably overworked, what with business and caring for the children and overseeing the domestic arrangements, but then, which of you Men of Business isn't overworked, present company excepted."

Madame said, "I can understand your wife's concern, though being so concerned is unconventional. Carezza should be so involved with her Consort, she wouldn't be worried about the children."

"But then, Calvy doesn't have a conventional family," said Simon with a grin. "He and Carezza seem to have something quite exceptional going on."

"As my colleagues are constantly throwing into my face," Calvy confessed. "I sometimes find it hard to imagine how other men manage. They work all day, every day, they worry over their young children, trying to be sure the nursery tender does a good job and doesn't smack them about, they gamble with the investment made in the children, knowing there won't be enough girls born to keep all the boys in the family, so if they're at all soft-hearted, they try to make some kind of provision for the su-pernumes, and all this while their wives are going here and there, enjoying themselves.

"With Carezza and me, even with a good child tender, it's so much easier with both of us involved. I really feel for some of my colleagues. Those with six or eight offspring look quite worn out. I look ahead to the time that we finally build a reproductive center and have enough women that all men can live as Carezza and I do."

Madame laughed, the laugh turning gleeful when she saw his offended expression. "Oh, my dear Calvy, do you really think having more women available would make everyone live as you and Carezza do? Come now, dear, and you a bit of an historian?"

He flushed. He had been unb.u.t.toned by the wine and said something stupid. She was right, of course. Having more women wouldn't a.s.sure that his colleagues lived as he and Carezza did.

"I'll interview your supernume," he agreed. "And I'll talk to Carezza about it. Perhaps you're right, Madame. You very frequently are."

For a short time, too short a time, all three of them forgot the impending visitation.

30.