Some of the Tympani are already a bit suspicious. I have been careful, but it is impossible to make no mistakes. I have made very few, or my mantle would have been stripped long ago. But it has been many eightyweeks since I entered Ushulubang’s service.
She ducked into another alley-mouth and examined the street behind her. Then, satisfied, continued on.
I would not have taken this chance, except—there has perhaps never been a parcel more precious than the one I carry tonight. And I have not seen Ushulubang in so long. We must speak together, for all the risk. I must make certain that she understands the truth of the situation.
This pogrom will be—terrible.
Rottu finally reached her destination, and gave the signal. Moments later, she was following a pashoc through the labyrinth of cellars beneath the slums. Now that she was in the relative safety of the underground, she admitted to herself that there had been another reason she had taken the risk of coming here personally.
I must see Ushulubang myself. It has been so long, and my soul needs replenishing.
Ushulubang’s quarters were, as always, spare and lean. A simple pallet. A sturdy reading bench. A crudely-trimmed glowmoss colony, which cast barely enough light for the sage to read by. Barely, but enough. Nothing more. Even for a former warrior like Ushulubang, the rigor of her life must sometimes be trying.
But Rottu saw, with relief, that there were no signs of that rigor upon Ushulubang. The sage was old, of course. But she still seemed as vigorous as ever.
After they entwined their arms, Ushulubang stepped back and whistled humorously.
“Why such an air of gloom, Rottu? Your mantle might as well be pure brown.”
“Stop making jokes, you old fool.” From the corner of her eye, Rottu saw the mantle of the pashoc glow orange and pink. The young Pilgrim was shocked to hear someone speak to the great opoloshuku in such an unseemly fashion.
Let her be shocked. Someone has to speak the truth to this—this saintly idiot.
The green in Ushulubang’s own mantle never wavered, of course. Ushulubang enjoyed the rare occasions when someone flailed her. It reminded her, she would say, of the days when she had wandered the world with Goloku. Days long gone. The most precious of days. The days when Goloku had flailed her with the truth, and shown her the road of the Way.
“Always so grim. Always so grim.”
Ushulubang made the gesture of rueful acceptance.
“Very well, Rottu. I see I will not be able to avoid your flail. But first—do you have the packet?”
Rottu withdrew the packet from where she had secreted it within her mantle cavity. With considerable relief. The packet was large and heavy. She extended it to the sage. Ushulubang’s arms made short work of unwrapping the cloth.
The sage moved closer to the light shed by the glowmoss. Slowly, she examined the sheets.
“You have seen?”
“Yes, Ushulubang. I have made my own copies of the most important sheets.”
A tinge of pink came into Ushulubang’s mantle.
“Isn’t that a bit—”
Rottu interrupted with a rude whistle. The pashoc in the corner of the chamber glowed azure and orange with indignation.
“Stick to philosophy, Ushulubang. Let me worry about keeping things secret.”
Again, Ushulubang made the gesture of rueful acceptance.
“I am well flailed. I had forgotten how uncouth you are! But, as you say, you are the mistress of such things.”
She gestured to the sheets.
“What do you think?”
“It is perfect. We will never be able to pronounce the language exactly the way they do, of course. But the Pilgrims on the mountain say that the demons themselves are changing their manner of speech to fit our needs.”
Ushulubang issued a soft hoot of surprise.
“Truly?”
Rottu made the gesture of affirmation. “And in every other respect, Enagulishuc is ideal. Clear and logical. And the written form is very easy to learn, once one learns the strange method. Even the barbarians at Fagoshau are learning it. More easily, in fact, than the Anshac.”
Ushulubang looked back at the sheets. “That is not so surprising, Rottu. The former barbarians do not have their minds cluttered with the arcane complexities of Anshaku writing.”