sat, gazing out to sea, and grief grew tangled in the complexities. She could have awakened the Brazen Head and asked for advice again, but she had no desire for riddles now, no interest in clever puzzles, and anyway she wanted no one’s advice anymore.
Soter had always been. He was a permanent fixture in the world, dependably grouchy, as adamant as she was recalcitrant. She’d no concept of what a world without him was like, but one thing she did know: She would be damned before she gave up Diverus, too. The gods could hang themselves if they thought she would sit by and allow it. As she’d said to Soter, while they thought they were forging their own, they had all become characters in a different story, one belonging to a seemingly lifeless husk, which Soter had mistaken for Bardsham’s body and ghost. They were like bees carrying pollen from one place to another, from an island, across spirals, to its proper destination, although it might well be to death that she was delivering. Bees acted out of their own needs. They didn’t realize that flowers would bloom as a result. Were the patterns of the world as capricious as the gods or merely inscrutable? There was a question for the Brazen Head to answer sometime. Some other time.
Now it was time to go.
She got up, and even as she did, one lone straggling gray cloud let loose a few drops of rain on her.
Then out of the turret at the end of the bridge a figure emerged, and she was astonished to recognize Orinda in a violet mourning gown.
Soter’s body lay on the cot back in the costume room of the theater. No one knew what to do with him now. The theater itself was closed until further notice. Somebody would have to send to Sacbé for wood to repair the stage and the galleries—Colemaigne had none. Probably it would fall to Bois and Glaise to do it.
Orinda took in the view as she approached, her face encased in a violet veil. Only her eyes showed above it, and Leodora realized it was her poise that had identified her. “I have never been up here before,” she said. “I wasn’t aware it was accessible. You can see everything, can’t you?“
“You can see a lot.”
“Sometimes a different perspective helps.”
“How did you—”
“Glaise followed you. I think he was worried you might do yourself harm. I knew better, but still I didn’t want you to go.” She hesitated before adding, “We’d hoped you might stay on with us.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Of course. Your puppets are gone.”
Leodora asked, “Did you love him?”
The eyes widened, stung and unprepared. Orinda raised a trembling hand to her mouth, hidden though it was. Her eyes looked inward awhile before she spoke. “I suppose I must have. He whinged a good deal, and was unnecessarily harsh to you, but he always brought me in mind of Mr. Burbage, and of the best times ever this theater knew. And now you go, too, and that will be the last ember. The fire dies and I’ve no energy to kindle it afresh. Gods come to the rescue just so many times, I think.”
“Love makes no sense.”
“Nor ever has, dear. The theater is full of examples.”
“He named that puppet after you, didn’t he? There was no figure in any stories with the name Orinda.”
Above the veil, Orinda’s eyes teared and she squeezed them closed until she had fought back the urge to give in to sorrow. “Where do you go now?” she asked.
“Back through the Pons Asinorum again. From there to . . . wherever it is Diverus has been taken. I’m not certain where that is, but I know now who lies at the far end of it.”
“Nothing can be in this world certain but uncertainty,” Orinda proclaimed. She reached out and grasped Leodora’s arm. “Return to us,” she said in words laced with fear. As she had already given an answer to that, Leodora said nothing and, when Orinda let go, she stood her ground. Orinda turned and walked quickly back into the turret. Above the crenellations, she gave one last look out across the ocean, then descended.
The sun hugged the horizon now, and the puddles on the rampart were dark enough for her needs. She straddled one and took out the stone phial from the recesses of her tunic. As she let one drop fall, the Brazen Head animated. It watched the drop splash into the puddle