Glory Season

After the episode next to the conveyor belt, Maia found herself overreacting to those lazy smiles of halfhearted flirtation young men normally cast this time of year, more as a courtesy than any kind of offer. When one gangly youth winked at her, Maia scowled back, eliciting a look of hurt dismay that instantly made her feel embarrassed, contrite.

Should all males be feared, because a few go crazy?

It wasn't only men causing problems, after all. The three races — winter folk, men, and vars — mingled peaceably for the most part. But the twins had seen incidents of rowdy summerlings — wildly varied in shape and color, but united in poverty — harassing small groups of identicals from some local clan. Frustration boiling over in rebellious hostility.

Are these really signs? The heretic spoke of a "time of changes," a term familiar from teledramas and lurid storybooks. Stability, the great gift of Lysos and the Founders, was never guaranteed to any particular generation. Even scripture said a perfect society must flex, from time to time.

Is it just Lanargh, or is this happening all over Stratos? Maia felt more determined than ever to try catching the tele-news tonight.

She reacted with a startled jump to a nudge in the ribs, and quickly saw that they had wandered onto the chief city square. Strollers, who had spent midday under shaded loggias, were emerging to enjoy the late sun's slanting rays. Leie pointed across the broad piazza toward a row of elegant, multistoried houses. "Over there, leaning against that column. Ain't that your Bosun, trying to look invisible?"

Maia picked out the trim figure of Naroin, resting one shoulder on a pillar, acting as if she had only to watch the world go by. What's she up to? That var never relaxed a day in her life.

As if reading her thoughts — which she still did all too often — Leie nudged Maia a second time. "I bet your bosun's spying on that lot over there."

"Hm. . . . Maybe." Naroin appeared well-positioned to discreetly observe a mixed gathering of lavishly dressed males and females sitting at an open-air cafe. The men didn't look like sailors, while the women had a massaged, billowy appearance Maia associated with pleasure clans, specializing in relieving the tensions of others in houses of ease. Several such houses lined the square, positioned to serve clients coming from the harbor in summer, and uptown in winter. Above each entrance, gaily painted signs depicted a leaping rabbit, a snowflake, a grinning bull clutching a bell between its jaws. Servants labored on the house overlooking the cafe, changing the decorations from warm, aurora shades to those of frost.

In autumn, the two clienteles of such places overlapped like incoming and ebbing waves, which explained the mixed group at the veranda cafe. Maia wondered what the men and women found to talk about.

Was Naroin's surveillance also out of curiosity?

Unlikely. Especially when Maia noticed among the loungers a man in a floppy hat. "So that's the guy?" Leie asked. "I don't know what he did to Lem and Eth, but those boys sure got in trouble. Think your bosun's gonna pick a fight? The fop's got twice her mass."

Whatever the reason or season, Maia wouldn't bet against the petite sailor. "Don't ask me," the Naroin had said. Or, Keep your nose out of this.

Despite the power of her own inquisitiveness, almost hormonally intense, Maia decided to quash it. At her station in life, wisdom dictated keeping a low profile.

And yet … . .

An abrupt clattering broke out to their left. The bell tower overlooking the piazza emitted a loud thunk, and beaten copper doors, green with verdigris, rattled open. Soon the famous clock figures of Lanargh would emerge to start their stately dance — five minutes of choreographed automation, finishing with the tolling of Three-Quarters Day. Crowds began moving up to watch the sublime, hundred-year-old gift from Gollancz Sanctuary perform its evening ritual, timed to satellite pulses from Caria University, halfway around the world.

Maia hadn't realized it was so late. The program she wanted to watch would be on soon. "Come on," she urged. "Or we'll miss the news."

Leie shook her head. "There's lots of time. I want to see the first part again. We'll go after that, I promise."

Maia sighed, knowing by instinct when Leie's tenacity could be fought, and when it was futile. Fortunately, they had a good view as the clock-tower doors finished opening with a reverberating clang. Then, first out its portal, emerged the bronze figure of the He-Ape, knuckle-walking above the onlookers, carrying a twitching four-legged animal under one arm and a sharpened stone in its mouth. The ape turned three times to a ratcheting beat, appearing to scrutinize those below. Then the figure rose up on its hind legs, miraculously unfolding into the erect figure of a man, now carrying loops of chain. The stone in his mouth had transformed into the stylized phallic protuberance of The Bomb.