“I'm sorry,” said Simony. “I really am. But the Truth is important.”
The soldier opened his mouth to give his opinion of the truth and then slumped forward.
the light went out.
Vorbis's voice said, “Take the lead again.”
Trembling, Brutha obeyed. He felt the soft flesh of an outflung arm under his sandal for a moment.
The pit, he thought. Look into Vorbis's eyes, and there's the pit. And I'm in it with him.
I've got to remember about fundamental truth.
No more guides were patrolling the labyrinth. After a mere million years, the night air blew cool on his face, and Brutha stepped out under the stars.
“Well done. Can you remember the way to the gate?”
“Yes, Lord Vorbis.”
The deacon pulled his hood over his face.
“Carry on.”
There were a few torches lighting the streets, but Ephebe was not a city that stayed awake in darkness. A couple of passers-by paid them no attention.
“They guard their harbor,” said Vorbis, conversational. “But the way to the desert . . . everyone knows that no one can cross the desert. I am sure you know that, Brutha.”
“But now I suspect that what I know is not the truth,” said Brutha.
“Quite so. Ah. The gate. I believe it had two guards yesterday?”
“I saw two.”
“And now it is night and the gate is shut. But there will be a watchman. Wait here.”
Vorbis disappeared into the gloom. After a while there was a muffled conversation. Brutha stared straight ahead of him.
The conversation was followed by muffled silence. After a while Brutha started to count to himself.
After ten, I'll go back.
Another ten, then.
All right. Make it thirty. And then I'll . . .
“Ah, Brutha. Let us go.”
Brutha swallowed his heart again, and turned slowly.
“I did not hear you, lord,” he managed.
“I walk softly.”
“Is there a watchman?”
“Not now. Come help me with the bolts.”
A small wicket gate was set into the main gate. Brutha, his mind numb with hatred, shoved the bolts aside with the heel of his hand. The door opened with barely a creak.