So, Joe had asked, what man or woman had founded the island that Noah had constantly referred to as "my country." Noah had replied that he didn't know, but there were those in the great city of b'Kether Sabbat who knew, and perhaps Joe would find favor with one of them, and be initiated into that mystery.
A frail hope, even then. Now it was not worth entertaining. The people on the shore were plainly refugees, most likely from that very city. If b'Kether Sabbat still stood, it probably stood deserted.
Joe intended to see it nevertheless. He'd come so far, and at such cost. Not to see the city which had been, according to Noah, the jewel of the Ephemeris-its Rome, its New York, its Babylon-would be defeatist. And even if he didn't make it, even if there was only a wasteland on the other side of the trees, anything was better than lingering here, among these desolate people.
So thinking, he started up the shore, the dream of power with which he had begun this journey entirely dashed, and in its place the simple desire to see what could be seen and know what could be known before he lost the power to do either.
Six Though Liverpool had seemed charmiess to Phoebe when she and Musnakaff first entered-its public buildings austere and grimy, its private houses either tenement rows or gloomy mansions-they soon encountered signs of an inner life that quite endeared the place to her. There were noisy parties going on in a number of residences they passed by, with parties spilling out onto the sidewalk. There were huge bonfires blazing in several of the squares, surrounded by dancing people. There was even a parade of children, singing as they went.
"What's the celebration?" she asked Musnakaff.
"There isn't one," he replied. "People are just making the most of what little time they think's left to them."
"Before the lad comes?" He nodded. "Why don't they try and leave the city?"
"A lot of folks have. But then there's a lot more who think: What's the use? Why go and shiver in Trophett6 or Plethoziac, where the lad's going to find you anyway, when you could be at home drinking yourself stupid with your family around you?"
"Do you have a family?"
"The Mistress is my family," the fellow replied. "She's all I need. All I've ever needed."
"You said she was insane."
"I exaggerated," he replied fondly. "She's just a little loopy." they came at last to a three-story house standing on its own, in a snow-dusted garden. There were lights burning in every room, but there were no partygoers here. The only sound was the din of sea-gulls, who sat on the roof and chimneys, staring out to sea. they had quite a view. Even from the street Phoebe was able to gaze down over a chilly but spectacular vista of roofs and spires, all snow-dusted, to the docks and the many dozens of sailing ships at anchor there. She knew very little about ships, but the sight of these vessels moved her, evoking as it did an age when the world had still possessed mystery. Now, perhaps, the only sea left to explore was the sea that stretched beyond the harbor, the dream-sea, and it seemed right to her that these sleek, elegant vessels be the ones to ply it.
"That's how the Mistress made herself," Musnakaff remarked, coming to Phoehe's shoulder to share the panorama.
"Ships?"
"Sailors," he replied. "She traded in dreams, and it made her rich beyond counting. Happy, too; till King Texas."
As he'd promised, Musnakaff had spoken about King Texas on the journey, and it was a sad tale. He had seduced the Mistress in her prime, so Musknakaff explained, and then, tiring of her, had left her for another woman. She had pined for him pitifully, and had several times attempted to kill herself, but life, it seemed, hadn't been done with her, because each time she'd survived to grieve another day.
And then, many years after his departure, he'd suddenly returned, begging her forgiveness, and asking to be allowed back into her arms and bed. Against all expectation, she had refused him. He had changed, she said. The man she had loved and lost, the man she still moumed, and always would, was gone.
"Had you been with me," she'd said, "we might have changed together; and found new reasons for love. But there's nothing left of you for me to want, except the memory."
The story seemed to Phoebe ineffably sad, as did the notion of trading in dreams, though she had no little difficulty imagining what that actually meant.
"Can dreams be bought and sold?" she asked Musnakaff "Everything can be bought and sold," he replied, look ing at her quickly. "But you know that, coming from the Cosm."
"But dreams-?"
He raised his hand to ward off further questions and led her to the gates of the house-which he unlocked with a key hanging at his belt-then ushered her up to the front steps. Here he paused to offer one last piece of advice before they entered.
"She'll want to quiz you about the Cosm. Tell her it's a vale of tears, and she'll be happy."
"That's no lie," Phoebe said.
"Good," he replied, and started up the stairs. "Oh, one more thing," he said as he went. "You may want to tell her I saved you from certain death. Please feel free to lie a little about that, just to make it seem more@'
"Heroic?"
"Dramatic." "Oh yes. Dramatic," Phoebe said with a little smile.
"Don't worry."
"Only I'm all she's got left now that the sailors don't come. And I want her to feel protected. You understand?"
"I understand," Phoebe said. "You love her as much as King Texas."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
"It's not even... I mean... she doesn't All his confidence had suddenly drained from him, He was trembling.
"You're saying she doesn't know?"
"I'm saying... " he studied the steps, "I'm saying she wouldn't care even if she did." Then, not meeting Phoebe's eyes, he turned from her and hurried up the icy steps to the front door. It was open in an instant, and he went inside, where the lamps were turned to tiny glittering flames, and he could wrap his sorrow in the shadows.
Phoebe followed him up and in. He directed her down a narrow, high-ceilinged passage to the back of the house. "You'll find plenty of food in the kitchen. Help yourself." Then he headed up the lushly carpeted stairs, his ascent announce y a tinkling of tiny bells.
The kitchen, Phoebe discovered, had probably been modern in nineteen-twenty, but it was a reassuring place to sit and rest her heavy body. There was an open fire, which she fed with a few logs, there was an immense black iron stove, pots large enough to cook for fifty, and the raw materials for such an enterprise arrayed everywhere: shelves of canned goods, bowls and baskets of fruit and vegetables, bread and cheese, and coffee. Phoebe stood in front of the fire for a couple of minutes, to get some warmth back into her chilled limbs, then set to constructing herself a substantial sandwich. The beef was rare and soft as butter, the bread still warm from the oven, the cheese ripe and piquant. By the time she'd finished putting the sandwich together, her mouth was awash. She took a hearty bite-it was better than goodthen poured herself a cup of fruit juice and settled down in front of the fire.
Her thoughts drifted as she ate and drank, back along the shore, through the crack and down the mountain to Everville. It seemed like days since she and Tesia had waited in the traffic on Main Street, and talked about whether people were real or not. The conversation struck her as even more nonsensical now than it had at the time. Here she was in a place where dreams were traded, eating rare beef in front of a wan-n fire; things were as real here as they'd been in the world she'd left, and that was a great comfort to her. It meant she understood the rules. She wouldn't fly here, but nor would she be chased by the Devil. This was just another country. Of course it had its share of strange customs and wild life, but so did Africa or China. She just had to get used to its peculiarities, and she'd be able to make her way here without difficulty.