was a shadow Orem recognized. "God," Orem said.
Orem strode through the outer door and touched the half-naked servant on the shoulder. "What do you want with me?"
The old man turned around, and his eyes were dark; in the light from the room Orem could see that there was no white at all - iris only, staring through his face to see what lay behind.
"Time," the old man said. "You delay too long."
"Delay what? What have you come for?"
"You blinded her, yet still you do not act."
Orem wanted to ask for explanations, but Flea tugged at his arm. "He's just the guide," Flea said. "The others want you - they found me, brought me down, and sent me here to get you because they figured that you'd come if I asked. You can trust me, Orem - it's not a trick or a trap. They say it's too important for delay."
"I'll come then."
"Wait!" Timias stopped him. "You're not following this little thief down into God knows what pit - you don't believe him, do you?"
"Before you were my friend, he was," Orem said, "and with less reason."
When he saw that Orem meant to go, Timias insisted that they stop at his room for him to get a sword. The old man seemed to sneer at him for it, but what of that? Orem didn't mind knowing that Timias was with him, and armed.
The old man led them a twisted route, all through the Palace itself, sometimes up, sometimes down, into places Orem had never seen, and finally into places that seemed to have been abandoned years before, dust thick on the floor, furniture nested with rats. They left the candled rooms behind, and carried lamps to light the way, all except the old man, though he led them into the darkness. At first Flea was full of talk, but later on that stilled.
Through one door, and now the stairs were wooden, and so ancient that they walked only on the outmost parts of the treads, for fear the lumber of the middle would give way beneath them. And when the stairs ended, the floor was stone, the walls rock, the ceiling moist and dripping here and there, and shored with timbers. It reminded Orem of his trip into the catacombs with Braisy. But the catacombs had been outside the city walls, on the west side, and they were in the east here, and within the mount of Queen's Town. And still down.
The manmade tunnel widened and became a cave; narrowed again into a natural crevice in the rock, through which they made their way with difficulty, forced to bend their bodies at odd angles. Always the old man was waiting for them, not too patiently, on the other side. "I'd like to know how that old man makes it through some of those places," Timias whispered.
"Look at his eyes. Have you seen his eyes?"
They traversed a ledgeless slope over a pit so deep the stones they dropped never made a
sound at all. They shimmied down a chimney in the rock, scraping their knees and covering each over with the dust of passage. "How were you so clean in my room?" Orem asked. "I took a bath," Flea answered. "What else did I have to do while I was waiting? I was only borrowing some clothes when your friend came in. What are you looking at?"
Orem was looking at three barrels against a wall that was only faintly lit by Flea's lamp. Orem walked closer, knowing what he would see. But the tops were off, and the barrels were empty. He breathed again in relief.
"What's written on them?" Timias asked. Orem lowered his light. He had seen the words before, of course, and remembered well how they were written.
Sis Go Ho terd rn
Slu Sla St t ve one Yo Yo Yo u u u
MMM ust ust ust
Se Se Sa e rve ve
He remembered another message that once had been written on these barrels: Let me die. He had obeyed that command; the rest of the message waited. Now he knew he had to understand if he was to do what must be done.
"You know this writing?" Timias asked. "You know what it means?"
"Not what it means. But it was written to me. Two years ago."
God slave you must serve. Orem looked at the old man. "You are what you say you are, I
think." The eyes blazed. "I will serve you if I can." "At the Rising of the Dead," God whispered. Then