"Go… Go on."

"I don't know you, so I really don't know whether you would be inclined to profane the name of a god-"

She shook her head.

"But I'm inclined to doubt it. You don't strike me as a fortunate person, and it's commonly the fortunate among us who do that. On the chance that I'm wrong, however, I must tell you that we don't harm the gods when we mingle their names with our curses and obscenities. We harm ourselves. I said that I didn't regard most gods as holy, but they don't have to be for our malice and mockery to recoil upon ourselves." He looked up at her shrouded face, hoping to see he had made his point, but learned nothing. "There is much more I might say, Olivine-things I may say to you another time, when we know each other better. But you wanted to know about Quadrifons."

She nodded.

"I really know very little about him, however, and I doubt that anyone knows much more than I. Just as Pas is said to be a twoheaded god-do you know about that?"

"Oh… Oh, yes." She sounded despondent.

"Quadrifons is a four-faced one. That is to say, he has only one head, but there is a face on every side of it, so that he looks east and west, and north and south, all at the same time. He's the god of bridges, passageways, and intersections, although he's clearly more important than those few and simple things would appear to imply. I told you he had four faces."

There was no sound but the tinkling of the fountain; then she said, "I've got a little statue with the two… I've got a little statue with the two heads."

"I'd like to see it. You do realize, don't you, that it's only a conventional representation? We need to picture Pas to ourselves during our private devotions sometimes, and statuettes and colored prints help us do it. I should tell you that just as Pas is depicted occasionally as a whirlwind, Quadrifons is sometimes shown as a sort of monster, combining Pas's eagle with Sphigx's lion. May I talk about Sphigx for a moment? It will seem to you that I've left the subject, but I assure you that what I want to say bears upon it."

"Go… Go ahead." By a sort of controlled collapse, she sat down opposite him, hugging her knees to her chest. Even through several thicknesses of sackcloth, it was apparent that she had sharp knees.

"This morning two friends and I were discussing Sphigx. She's the patroness of Trivigaunte, but she won't let the Trivigauntis make pictures or statues representing her, and we talked about that."

"Uh… Uh-huh."

"That's what I used to say to Patera Silk." He smiled at the memory. "He'd tell me to think of the honor of our Sun Street Palaestra, and say yes instead."

"I remember when… I remember when you were calde."

"When Patera Silk was, you mean. My own name is Horn."

She nodded again.

"In that case, Calde Bison must have let you stay on when he attained to the office. That was good of him."

"I don't think… I don't think he knows I'm here. Were you going to say Sphigx was like Quadrifons, keeping his name… Were you going to say Sphigx was like Quadrifons, keeping his name secret?"

"That's very perceptive of you. Yes, I was. You see, Olivine, there used to be a woman with a table in the market who sold images of Sphigx. They would have been quite similar to your image of Pas, I suppose."

"Mine's ivory… Mine's ivory, Patera."

He nodded thoughtfully. "These were wood. Or at least, they appeared to be wood. This woman was a Trivigaunti spy, and what she was doing-using the little wooden images to send informationwas really very clever, because no one who knew the customs of her city would associate images of Sphigx with Trivigaunte. Later on Blue, I learned that Trivigauntis who go abroad often buy images of Sphigx, which they carry home with them and hide."

"I don't… I don't understand." Olivine cocked her head, and again he caught the glint of glass.

"Why they want them? Because they're not supposed to have them, I suppose. Or because they feel that they provide special access to the goddess. Quadrifons' name-with your key-gives you special access to this lovely garden." He paused, looking beyond the branches that concealed them. "I used to live in the Calde's Palace too, Olivine. It had just been reopened, and this was weeds and a few trees; but Viron itself was thronged with people. When you and Quadrifons opened the door for me, those leaves and weeds were all that I expected to see. It never occurred to me that this garden would be tended as it was in the days of Calde Tussah when so much of the city lies in ruins. I find it heartening."

She had risen, and he rose too. "I merely wanted to say that by prohibiting the possession of her image in Trivigaunte, Sphigx has made it highly valued there. Quadrifons may have had something of the same kind in mind when he restricted the use of his name. Or he may have hoped to link himself to the Outsider, whose true name is unknown."

They left the spreading branches and crossed a bright, soft lawn. Seeing them, a white-haired man dropped his hoe and knelt.

"He wants your blessing…"

There seemed to be no help for it; he sketched the sign of addition over the old man's head. "Blessed be you in the Most Sacred Name of Pas, Father of the Gods, in those of his living children, in that of the patron of doors and crossroads, and in that of the Obscure Outsider, whom we pray will bless this, our Holy City of Viron."

"Come on… Come on, Patera." Olivine tugged his sleeve. "We've got to get some… We've got to get some bread." He followed, reflecting gloomily that the old man had probably noticed how very irregular his blessing had been, although he had kept his voice low and spoken as rapidly as he could.

A door (wooden, this time, although bound with iron) opened on a scullery, the scullery on the kitchen he vaguely remembered. A cook paring carrots froze as they entered, her mouth a perfect circle of surprise. The door of a cupboard rattled and banged; then Olivine was drawing him up a dark stair, her limp more pronounced than ever. Almost running, they passed a landing.

The next had a small window; he stopped before it to gasp for breath. "This floor."

"No… No, Patera. I was born down there… I was born down there, but my room's under the roof."

"I know, my child. I saw you there."

She shifted the small loaf to her other hand, and reached out to stroke his tunic. "You're… You're dirty."

"I've been traveling rough, I'm afraid. Last night I slept on the floor. It was a very dirty floor, too. Besides you were sitting on the ground, remember? And I knelt on it. I don't believe I even dusted my knees when I stood up. But, Olivine, I'd like to ask a personal question. May I?" She was rubbing a double thickness of his soiled tunic between her forefinger and thumb, and he had seen clearly that they were metal.

"Wouldn't you like… Wouldn't you like clean clothes?"

"Very much. I'd like a bath, too; but I'm afraid both are impossible."

She glanced up, her face inscrutable behind its swaddling sackcloth. "I know a… I know a place."

"Where I might take a bath? That's very good of you. It's wonderful of you, in fact; but before we leave this floor, there is something I must see-a certain room into which I must go, if I possibly can. I can find it for myself, I believe, and I'll rejoin you here afterward, or anywhere you choose."

"Here… Here, Patera." She opened a door; and he saw a corridor lined with more. He had forgotten it or thought he had, but the pattern in its carpet was like a blow.

"Yes, there. My-Nettle and I stayed here once. It was only for a few days, though it seemed forever then." He spoke to himself more than to her, but found it impossible to stop. "It was always cold, and we took blankets from other rooms-from empty rooms, I ought to say. There was a little fireplace, and the first one to get back at night would raid the woodbox in the kitchen." He paused to look at the hand that held the bread Olivine had gotten there. "And make a fire. There was an old brass pan you filled with coals to warm the bed, and we'd strip and bathe and huddle naked under the blankets trying to keep warm."