“Wonderful,” Pie said to Huzzah when the woman had departed. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find my way back to my people’s Kesparate. Now I know the way.”
“Up through the Oke T’Noon, to the Caramess, where they make the Autarch’s sweetmeats,” Huzzah said, repeating the directions as if she was reading them off a blackboard. “Follow the wall of the Caramess till we get to Smooke Street, then up to the Viaticum, and we’ll be able to see the gates from there.”
“How did you remember all that?” Gentle said, to which Huzzah somewhat disdainfully asked how he could have allowed himself to forget.
“We mustn’t get lost,” she said.
“We won’t,” Pie replied. “There’ll be people in my Kesparate who’ll help us find your grandparents.”
“If they don’t it doesn’t matter,” Huzzah said, looking gravely from Pie to Gentle. “I’ll come with you to the First Dominion. I don’t mind. I’d like to see the Unbeheld.”
“How do you know that’s where we’re going?” Gentle
said.
“I’ve heard you talking about it,” she replied. “That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m not scared. We’ve seen a Goddess, haven’t we? He’ll be the same, only not as beautiful.”
This unflattering notion amused Gentle mightily.
“You’re an angel, you know that?” he said, going down on his haunches and sliding his arms around her.
She’d put on a few pounds in weight since they’d begun their journey together, and her hug, when she returned it,
was strong.
“I’m hungry,” she murmured in his ear.
“Then we’ll find somewhere to eat,” he replied. “We can’t have our angel going hungry.”
They walked up through the steep streets of the Oke T’Noon until they were clear of the throng of itinerants coming off the causeway. Here there were any number of -establishments offering breakfast, from stalls selling barbecued fish to cafes that might have been transported from the streets of Paris, but that the customers sipping coffee were more extraordinary than even that city of exotics could boast. Many were species whose peculiarities he now took for granted: Oethacs and Heratea; distant relatives of Mother Splendid and Hammeryock; even a few who resembled the one-eyed croupier from Attaboy. But for every member of a tribe whose features he recognized, there were two or three he did not. As in Vanaeph, Pie had warned him that staring too hard would not be in their best interests, and he did his best not to enjoy too plainly the array of courtesies, humors, lunacies, gaits, skins, and cries that filled the streets. But it was difficult. After a time they found a small caf6 from which the smell of food was particularly tempting, and Gentle sat down beside one of the windows, from which he could watch the parade without drawing too much attention.
“I had a friend called Klein,” he said as they ate, “back in the Fifth Dominion. He liked to ask people what they’d do if they knew they only had three days to live.” “Why three?” Huzzah asked.
“I don’t know. Why three anything? It’s one of those numbers.”
” ‘In any fiction there’s only ever room for three players,’ “ the mystif remarked. “ The rest must be .. .’ “—its flow faltered in mid-quotation—” ‘agents,’ something, and something else. That’s a line from Pluthero Quexos.” “Who’s he?” “Nevermind.” “Where was I?” “Klein,” said Huzzah.
“When he got around to asking me this question, I told him, If I had three days left I’d go to New York, because you’ve got more chance of living out your wildest dreams there than anywhere. But now I’ve seen Yzordderrex—” “Not much of it,” Huzzah pointed out. “It’s enough, angel. If he asks me again I’m going to tell • him I’d like to die in Yzordderrex.”
“Eating breakfast with Pie and Huzzah,” she said. “Perfect.”
“Perfect,” she replied, echoing his intonation precisely. “Is there anything I couldn’t find here if I looked hard enough?”
“Some peace and quiet,” Pie remarked. The hubbub from outside was certainly loud, even in the cafe.
“I’m sure we’ll find some little courtyards up in the palace,” Gentle said.
“Is that where we’re going?” Huzzah asked. “Now listen,” said Pie. “For one thing, Mr. Zacharias ‘.’• doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about—” ;;.. “Language, Pie,” Gentle put in.