He bowed and she touched his head.
Then he looked up into her face, and for one splendid moment the goddess filled wide space, to its depths and its heights. Her radiance drove out the dark. . ..
“I must go now,” he said. “Thank you, thank you—for your blessing.”
He turned quickly and started from the chamber. “Wait!” said Kubera. “You spoke of Yama. Where is he?”
“Seek him at the Inn of the Three-Headed Fire-Hen,” Tak said, over his shoulder, “if you must seek him, that is. Perhaps ’twere better you wait till he seeks you, though.”
Then Tak was gone.
As Sam approached the Palace of Kama, he saw Tak hurrying down the stair.
“Tak, a good morning to you!” he called, but Tak did not answer until he was almost upon him. Then he halted abruptly and shielded his eyes, as against the sun.
“Sir! Good morning.”
“Where hurry you, Tak? Fresh from trying out your new body and off to lunch?”
Tak chuckled. “Aye, Lord Siddhartha. I’ve an appointment with adventure.”
“So I’ve heard. I spoke with Olvegg last night. . . . Fare thee well upon thy journeying.”
“I wanted to tell you,” said Tak, “that I knew you’d win. I knew you’d find the answer.”
“It wasn’t the answer, but it was an answer, and it wasn’t much, Tak. It was just a small battle. They could have done as well without me.”
“I mean,” said Tak, “everything. You figured in everything that led up to it. You had to be there.”
“I suppose I did . . . yes, I do suppose I did. . . . Something always manages to draw me near the tree that lightning is about to fall upon.”
“Destiny, sir.”
“Rather an accidental social conscience and some right mistake-making, I fear.”
“What will you do now. Lord?”
“I don’t know, Tak. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Come with Olvegg and me? Ride with us about the world? Adventure with us?”
“Thank you, no. I’m tired. Maybe I’ll ask for your old job and become Sam of the Archives.”
Tak chuckled once more.
“I doubt it. I’ll see you again. Lord. Good-bye now.”
“Good-bye. . .. There is something . . .”
“What?”
“Nothing. For a moment, something you did reminded me of someone I once knew. It was nothing. Good luck!”
He clasped him on the shoulder and walked by. Tak hurried on.
The innkeeper told Kubera that they did have a guest who fit that description, second floor, rear room, but that perhaps he should not be disturbed.
Kubera climbed to the second floor.
No one answered his knocking, so he tried the door.
It was bolted within, so he pounded upon it.
Finally, he heard Yama’s voice:
“Who is it?”
“Kubera.”
“Go away, Kubera.”
“No. Open up, or I’ll wait here till you do.”
“Bide a moment, then.”
After a time, he heard a bar lifted and the door swung several inches inward.
“No liquor on your breath, so I’d say it’s a wench,” he stated.
“No,” said Yama, looking out at him. “What do you want?”
“To find out what’s wrong. To help you, if I can.”
“You can’t, Kubera.”
“How do you know? I, too, am an artificer—of a different sort, of course.”
Yama appeared to consider this, then he opened the door and stepped aside. “Come in,” he said.
The girl sat on the floor, a heap of various objects before her. She was scarcely more than a child, and she hugged a brown and white puppy and looked at Kubera with wide, frightened eyes, until he gestured and she smiled.
“Kubera,” said Yama.
“Koo-bra,” said the girl.
“She is my daughter,” said Yama. “Her name is Murga.”
“I never knew you had a daughter.”
“She is retarded. She suffered some brain damage.”
“Congenital, or transfer effect?” asked Kubera.
“Transfer effect.”
“I see.”
“She is my daughter,” repeated Yama, “Murga.”
“Yes,” said Kubera.
Yama dropped to his knees at her side and picked up a block.
“Block,” he said.
“Block,” said the girl.
He held up a spoon. “Spoon,” he said.
“Spoon,” said the girl.
He picked up a ball and held it before her. “Ball,” he said.