Eyes of the Calculor (68 page)

EYES OF THE CALCULOR 553

plaza a group of Gentheist priests took off their robes, poured olive oil on them, and set them afire, then cut their hair and flung the severed locks onto the flames. A brigade of lancers on the way to the Woomeran border was mobbed by well-wishers, and their way had to be cleared eventually by the Constable's Runners.

At last Lengina reached the palace gates. She walked inside, then climbed to the top of what remained of the wall and faced the crowd.

"My subjects, loyal citizens, Rochester has always stood for progress," she began. "Progress in the sciences, progress in theology, progress in administration, progress in trade, and progress in tolerance." She gestured to the shattered front of the palace. "There are those who think that tolerance is weakness, and that it is a signal to conquer the weak. The aviads have tolerated our attacks for centuries, but they are not weak. After my true love's death I appealed to the Avianese envoy for help to avenge him. Very soon an Avianese kitewing flew to Peterborough and silenced the voice of the greatest and most important beamflash tower of the Reformed Gentheists."

A rumbling groundswell of cheers greeted this news, washing back down the Avenue slowly, as her words were shouted in relay.

"Are we going to let our Avianese allies do all our fighting for us?"

The roar of "No!" blasted back from the crowd.

"The Gentheists have tried to exploit our tolerance, but tolerance does not mean standing back and accepting defeat. Tolerance means fighting for the right to live as we wish to live. Tolerance means serving in the Commonwealth army. Tolerance means serving in the Libris Calculor, beamflash network, and Dragon Librarian Service. Tolerant Gentheists should turn upon their Reformist preachers and slay them where they stand because those people hate tolerance. Tolerant Gentheists will embrace aviads as victims of the Greatwinter War's legacy, not as abominations. Tolerant Gentheists will teach our engineers and artisans to run their steam and compression engines in harmony with the world created by their Deity, not condemn them cynically for political gain."

The crowd was with her as she paused for breath, and to wipe away her tears.

"The man who I was to marry, the man whose leadership and genius held the Commonwealth together after Black Thirteenth, is dead. He had one last message for us all, however. Ilyire of Glenellen taught us that Mirrorsun means us no harm, that Mirrorsun destroyed machines of electrical essence because they caused it ill health. Fran-zas Dramoren now calls to you from his grave below Libris. The research that he sponsored says that tonight, at midnight, you will see why part of Mirrorsun spins, and you will be joyful. Go your way now, and my thanks for your good wishes."

Although the cheering began to subside after a half hour, the crowd did not disperse. The words "midnight" and "Mirrorsun" were on the lips of everyone, and they were determined to be together to see what was to happen.

Vorion's body was burned without ceremony, and his ashes scattered scattered on a dungheap outside Rochester. However, it was soon reported to Jemli that he had been the secret contact within the High-liber's office. Within weeks he was declared a Reformed Gentheist saint.

I he dungeons of the Overmayor's Palace in Rochester were clean, dry, and whitewashed, for their prisoners tended to be of a reasonably high social standing. The Overmayor of Woomera was certainly the most senior inmate ever to inhabit them, but he was not particularly impressed with the clean surfaces, warm blankets, cooked meals, and lack of lice. When the key turned in the lock to his door, he was on his feet at once, drawing breath for a barrage of invective. The warder opened the door to reveal Overmayor Lengina.

"Why were you not on the balcony for the ANZAC parade salute?" she asked as he stood speechless.

The Woomeran's astonishment gave way to sullen resignation.

He looked down at the flagstones, thought through the facts yet again, then spoke.

"Armed masked men and women came into my quarters in the palace guest suites, just before the parade was due to begin. They held me in silence until there was a distant explosion, then left without leaving a trace. After some minutes I went in search of a guard, a servant, anyone. I was arrested by your guardsmen, and have been held here ever since. The magistrate questioned me about a bomb, and why I was missing from the balcony during the ANZAC parade salute. What is going on?"

"The palace oration balcony was bombed, but by chance it had been evacuated only moments earlier. Were it not for that chance, dozens of leaders would have died, including me."

"Thank the Deity—"

"Silence! One leader did remain behind, and died. The Commonwealth's Highliber, my fiance."

The Woomeran swallowed. This was serious, more than politics was involved.

"The Rochestrian Commonwealth and the Woomeran Confederation are now at war. The act of terrorism from which you would have been spared even if chance had not led to an evacuation, was before the declaration of war. My Council of Mayors has considered the magistrate's report on you, and has condemned you to death for terrorism."

"What?"

"God have mercy on your soul. Guards, take him out to the firing squad."

Lengina was signing papers in her administration chambers when the blast of musketry reached her ears. Her advisors, clerks, and lackeys froze for a moment as she looked up.

"Returned to his Maker," muttered the Christian Bishop of Rochester awkwardly.

"With a complaint," added Lengina, reaching for the next document.

"Ah, now, this is my pastoral clarification regarding fueled en-

gines," explained the bishop. " 'Engines are only hateful in the sight of God if the fuel consumed in the service of humanity is not in balance with the restoration of fruits of the Earth consumed in its production.' "

"In other words, if you grow it you can burn it in an engine."

"Well, er, yes. But we would like your endorsement, in the cause of good church-state relations."

"Strike out 'in the service of humanity,' it could lead to misinterpretations that could insult our Avianese allies."

Without another word the bishop drew a line through the words and initialed the change. Lengina now scrawled her approval to the bishop's text.

Peterborough, the Woomeran Confederation

In Peterborough there were also rumors about Mirrorsun. A Ghan prophet was in the city, addressing people in the markets, preaching at street corners, speaking from the steps of buildings, and even preaching as an invited guest in churches and shrines. His messages were simple and clear. The tolerant have nothing to fear from Rochester or Avian. Mirrorsun's rotation would cease a half hour before midnight. Science without conscience is evil. Religion without conscience is evil. Finally, he began to add that Jemli the Prophet was a fool. The last statement was naturally the occasion for quite a degree of comment, and it quickly reached the ears of Jemli. Very soon Ilyire himself was brought before her. He was still wearing a threadbare cloak over his kilt.

"I have been told about the heresies you have spread throughout the Rochestrian Commonwealth," she said as Ilyire stood before her flanked by guards, with his hands bound.

"Hearing about the lies you have been spreading inspired me to action," replied Ilyire, then he turned to a guard and winked. "I was once her lover, you know."

The outraged guard backhanded him across the face. Ilyire staggered, then shrugged.

"You preach tolerance for lies alongside truth, evil beside good, conspiracy beside justice," said Jemli. "I preach the Word of the Deity."

"For whose truth people have to take your word."

"People are not fools, they know, their hearts tell them."

"Their hearts tell them about everlasting love, as well. While courting Frelle Darien I loved her more than life itself, but after three years of living with her. . . sheema sheesh! Hearts are fools, I should know."

"My heart knows the Deity's voice."

"Your heart fell to Glasken's charms—but maybe the Deity has a sense of humor."

Jemli's lips became a thin, tight line, and her eyes narrowed. Ilyire knew that look only too well.

"Which you obviously don't share, Frelle. Just like Lemorel. She was always too serious for her own good, and the good of about a quarter of a million who died early, thanks to her."

"Lemorel had no message, she was just in search of power. I have the Word."

"Does the Word tell you Mirrorsun will cease to spin tonight?"

"I have consulted the mathematicians and natural philosophers who are among my faithful. What you say is impossible. It is called conservation of momentum, and Mirrorsun has a huge amount of momentum."

"Impossible even for the Deity?"

"The Deity does not do tricks, the Deity gives signs. The Deity tells me what you are planning. You think to trick me into predicting that Mirrorsun will stop, then Mirrorsun will not stop. You want to make the Enlightened One seem not so enlightened. Very clever."

"I do not believe in a Deity that would tell you a lie like that, Frelle Jemli. Perhaps demons lie to you, in the guise of the Deity."

"I know the Word, and the Word is the truth!"

"Or perhaps a little half-truth, just like you are only Lemorel's illegitimate half sister—"

Jemli was not so much enraged as panicked at the prospect of her followers knowing that her fraternal connection with the great Lemorel was less than perfect. Almost without thinking, she drew a small-bore flintlock from her sleeve and shot him through the heart. Ilyire collapsed in the grip of the guards, then fell facedown to the floor as they released him.

"I had to protect you from the demon that twisted his tongue," she explained. "It was not what I wished to do."

"But he died happy, telling a truth."

A figure in a Dragon Librarian's uniform stepped out of the shadows. It was of an old-fashioned uniform, and her rank was Dragon Silver. Her Morelac fired twice, and the two guards fell. A knife stapled Jemli's shoe to the floor, narrowly missing her toes.

"Every time I appear I become a little more real," said the apparition.

"Lemorel?"

"You do not sound convinced. How may I convince you that I am now completely real?"

The apparition lashed a slap across her face. Jemli tried to back away, forgetting that her foot was pinned to the floor. She overbalanced and fell heavily.

"No, no, no!" Jemli moaned. "At home it was always you, best at everything! Go away! It's my turn now."

"Shut up with your whining, Jemli Milderellen. If you wanted what I had then you should have studied and worked as hard as I did!" the wraith Lemorel shouted. "I used to get so sick of you as a girl. I still do. You make up your own histories, then believe them real. Now you have learned to make other people believe as well."

"Guards!" screamed Velesti.

Two guards flung the door open and rushed in, followed by their captain. They saw Jemli lying on the floor, and the ghost standing not far away. Ilyire and the other two guards lay still beside Jemli.

"Kill her, she's real," cried Jemli.

"Gen'gi, you were only nine when I last saw you!" Lemorel's reincarnation exclaimed to the captain.

"Frelle—Frelle, are you . . ."

"You wanted to ride with us, to invade what was then the Southeast Alliance, but your father said no, and I agreed. Remember what I said?"

"There will always be wars," said the captain.

"Ah, not quite. I said there will always be wars, so be patient."

"Frelle Lemorel. But you were shot."

"And I am dead, but I am here. Death is no problem."

She touched Ilyire's body. He got up, and she untied his hands. Next she raised the guards she had killed.

Jemli drew her gun again, but the striker clicked sparks into an empty flash pan. The toe of her half sister's boot flicked the gun from her hand.

"Are many of the old ones here tonight?" she asked Gen'gi.

"Many of them, Frelle."

"Then let us see them, come."

They left Jemli lying on the floor, and walked out into the palace hallways. Ilyire and his two guards dropped back, then their images faded into nothingness. The real Ilyire stepped out from behind a pillar and hurried to catch up with them. They entered a hall where several dozen mayors, overhands, and priests were gathered. Those who had known Lemorel two decades earlier gasped with astonishment.

"I'm afraid I have not changed in twenty-two years, but the rest of you are older," the reincarnated Lemorel said to the silent crowd.

A Ghan elder came forward and peered at her intently.

"Baragania," Lemorel said. "Yes, you were right. When I was alive, I made mistakes. I wanted power for its own sake. I conquered in the name of conquest. I avenged for the sake of revenge. Now I see it happening again. Do you really want to pour your blood into foreign earth because of my stupid young half sister?"

"You have the flesh of Frelle Lemorel," said Baragania. "Why are you here? To restore our ways to the Deity's path, to preserve the protection!"

Lemorel unbuttoned her coat, then started on her blouse. She pulled it open to reveal a modest amount of cleavage.

"Does my nakedness offend you?" she asked.

The elder's nerve wavered. Not only did she look like Lemorel, but she had a strangely similar charisma.

"No, Frelle Lemorel."

She backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling, spitting teeth.

"Then why impose your religious cloistering and bondage, which the protection is, on your family's women?" she demanded.

She strode around him, slowly doing up her buttons again.

"You disgust me, following that clown Jemli after the lesson of my death. If you want to learn from me, come to Rochester. Come with your women. One female pilgrim with every male. Come and learn from the diversity there."

She swept her eyes across them all.

"I did not appreciate being brought back from the dark, cold serenity of death to undo what Jemli is doing in the Deity's name. Stupidity makes me very angry."