"What's the problem?"
"I want to be back in the world."
"Oh that," said the man in the tree. "It cannot he had, so don't break your heart wanting it." There was a shaking of the canopy, as the man adjusted his position. "They've gone, haven't they?" he said. "Who?"
"The fools who used to gather here. Nordhoff and Dolan"-he practically spat the word Dolan out-"and the rest. I came down the mountain to finish my business with them, but I don't see them and I don't smell them-"
"No?"
"No. All I see is you. Where did they go?"
"It's difficult to explain," Erwin said. "Do your best."
He did. Described all that he'd seen and felt at the crossto ads, though his lawyerly vocabulary was barely adequate. It was the unburdening he'd sought, and it felt good.
"So they were whisked away, huh?"
"That's what it looked like," Erwin said. "It was bound to happen," the occupant of the tree said. "There was a bloody business started here, and it had to be finished sooner or later."
"I know what you're talking about," Erwin said. "I read a confession-"
"Whose?"
"His name was McPherson."
The man loosed a guttural growl that made Erwin shudder. "Don't speak that name!" he said.
"Why not?"
"Just don't!" the man roared. "Anyway, it's not his atroc ities I was referring to. There was another slaughter up on Harmon's Heights, before it ever had a name. And I've waited a long time to see its consequences."
"Who are you?" Erwin said. "Why are you hiding up there?"
"I think you've seen enough strangeness for one day," the man replied.
"Without laying eyes on me."
"I can deal with it," Erwin replied. "Show yourself."
There was silence from the tree for a few moments. Then the man said,
"As you wish," and the foliage sighed as he clambered down into view. He wasn't so strange. Scarred, certainly, and somewhat bestial, but he resembled a man.
"There," he said, when he reached the bottom of the e. "Now you see me."
"I'm-glad to know you," Erwin said. "I was afraid I was going to be alone."
"What's your name?"
"Erwin Toothaker. And yours?"
The wounded beast inclined his head. "I'm pleased to meet you," he said. "My name is Coker Ammiano."
PART SIX. THE GRAND DESIGN
It took Musnakaff an hour or more to prepare his mistress for the journey out into the chilly streets of Liverpool, during which time Phoebe was given permission to wander the house. It was a melancholy trek. The rooms were for the most part beautifully appointed, the beds vast and inviting, the bathrooms positively decadent, but there was dust on every surface and gull-shit on every window; a sense everywhere of the best times having passed by. There was no sign of the individuals who had lived in this house; who had admired the view from its windows or laid their heads on its pillows. Had they dreamed? Phoebe wondered. And if so, of what? Of the world that she'd come from? It amused her at first, thinking that the people who'd lived in these fine rooms might have yearned for the Cosm the way she'd yearned for some unreachable dream-place. But the more she pondered it, the more melancholy it seemed, that people on both sides of the divide lived in discontent, wishing for the other's lot. If she survived this journey, she thought, she would return to Everville determined to live every moment as it came, and not waste time pining for some sweet faraway.
When she emerged from one of the bedrooms she looked into a mirror in the hallway, and told herself aloud, "Enjoy it while you can. Every minute of it."
"What did you say?" Musnakaff asked her, stepping from a doorway along the passage.
She was embarrassed to have been caught this way.
"How long have you been watching me?" she wanted to know.
"Only a moment or two," he replied. "You make a fine sight, Phoebe Cobb. There's music in you."
"I'm tone-deaf," she told him, a little sharply.
"There's music and music," Musnakaff replied. "Your spirit sings even if your throat doesn't. I hear drums when I look at your breasts, and a choir when I think of you naked." She gave him the forbidding stare that had terrorized a thousand tardy patients, but it didn't work. He simply grinned at her, his decorated cheeks twinkling. "Don't he offended," he said. "This house had always been a place where people talk plainly about such matters.
"Then I'll talk plainly too," Phoebe said. "I don't appreciate you ogling me when my back's turned, and drums or no drums I'll thank you not to look at my breasts."
"Do you not like your breasts?"
"That's between me and my breasts," Phoebe said, realizing as the words came out how absurd they sounded.
Musnakaff erupted with laughter, and try as she might Phoebe could not help but let go a tiny smile herself, the sight of which only made Musnakaff gush further.
"I'll say it again," Musnakaff told her. "This house has seen many fine women, but you are among the finest, the very finest."
It was so nicely said, she could not help but be flattered. "Well....
she said. "Thank you."
"The pleasure's mine," Musnakaff said. "Now, if you're ready, the Mistress's bearers have arrived. I believe it's time we all went down to the water."
It took less than an hour of traveling on the road to b'Kether Sabbat for Joe to lose most of his sympathy for the refugees flooding in the opposite direction. He witnessed countless acts of casual cruelty in that time. Children more heavily burdened than their parents, whipped along', animals abused and beaten into a frenzy; rich men and women, hoisted up onto the backs of imperi ous cousins to the camel, cutting a bloody swathe through those careless enough to stumble into their path. In short, all that he might have expected to see in the Cosm.
When these sorry spectacles became too much, however, he simply set his sights on the city itself, and his weary limbs found fresh strength. The people who had lived in b'Kether Sabbat were as petty and barbarous as die citizens of any terrestrial city, but the edifice they were vacating was without parallel.
As for the wave of the lad, it seethed and divided, but did not advance. It simply hovered over the city like a vast' beast, mesmerized by something in its shadow. He only hoped that he could reach the city, and walk its streets and climb its blazing towers before the lad's interest staled, and it delivered the coup de grfice.
As he came within a quarter mile of the nearest ladders-the city looming like an inverted mountain before him-he heard a shrill shout above the din and an ashen creature dug its way through the throng to block his way.
"Affique!" he said. "Afrique! You're alive!" The creature laid his webbed hands upon Joe's chest. "You don't know me, do you?"
"No. Should I?"
"I was on the ship with you," the man said, and now Joe recognized him. He was one of the slaves Noah had seconded to crew The Fanacapan: a broad, burly fellow with sluggish, froglike features. His manner, now that he was once again his own man, belied his appearance. He had a quick, lively quality about him. "My name's Wexel Fee, Afrique," he said, covered in smiles. "And I am very glad to see you. Very, very glad." "I don't know why," Joe said. "You were treated like shit." "I heard what you said to Noah Su@a Sunimamentis. You tried to do something for us. It's not your fault you failed." I'll in afraid it is," Joe said guiltily. "Where are the others?" "Dead." "All of them?"
"All."
"I'm sorry." "Don't be. they weren't friends of mine."
"Why did you not die and they did? Noah said when he was done with you-"