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At his washstand upstairs, he stropped the big, bone-handled razor that had waited in his mother’s bureau until he was old enough to shave, lathered his face, and scraped away his reddish-blond beard. As he wiped the blade clean, it occurred to him, as it did at least once a week, that the razor had almost certainly been his father’s. As he had so many times before, he carried it to the window to look for some trace of ownership. There was no owner’s name and no monogram, not even a maker’s mark.

As often in this weather, Maytera Rose and Maytera Mint were enjoying their lunch at a table carried from the cenoby and set in the shade of the fig tree. When he had dried his face, Silk carried the basin back to the kitchen, poured out his shaving water, and joined the two sibyls in the garden.

By a gesture, Maytera Rose offered him the chair that would normally have been Maytera Marble’s. “Won’t you join us, Patera? We’ve more than enough here for three.”

It stung, as she had no doubt intended. Silk said, “No, but I ought to speak with you for a moment.”

“And I with you, Patera. I with you.” Maytera Rose began elaborate preparations for rising.

He sat down hurriedly. “What is it, Maytera?”

“I had hoped to tell you about it last night, Patera, but you were gone.”

A napkin-draped basket at Silk’s elbow exuded the very perfume of Mainframe. Maytera Marble had clearly baked that morning, leaving the fruit of her labor in the cenoby’s oven for Maytera Mint to remove after she herself had left with Crane. Silk swallowed his saliva, muttered, “Yes,” and left it at that.

“And this morning it had quite escaped my mind. All that I could think of was that awful man, the little girl’s father. I will be sending Horn to you this afternoon for correction, Patera. I have punished him already, you may be sure. Now he must acknowledge his fault to you—that is the final penalty of his punishment.” Maytera Rose paused to render her closing words more effective, her head cocked like the night chough’s as she fixed Silk with her good eye. “And if you should decide to punish him further, I will not object. That might have a salutary effect.”

“What did he do?”

The synthetic part of Maytera Rose’s mouth bent sharply downward in disgust; as he had on several similar occasions, Silk wondered whether the aged, disease-ridden woman who had once been Maytera Rose was still conscious. “He made fun of you, Patera, imitating your voice and gestures, and talking foolishness.”

“Is that all?”

Maytera Rose sniffed as she extracted a fresh roll from the basket. “I would say it was more than enough.”

Maytera Mint began, “If Patera himself—”

“Before Patera was born, I endeavored to inculcate a decent respect for the holy calling of augur, a calling—like that of we sibyls—established by Our Sacred Scylla herself. I continue that effort to this day. I try, as I have always tried, to teach every student entrusted to my care to respect the cloth, regardless of the man or woman who wears it.”

“A lesson to us all.” Silk sighed. “Very well, I’ll talk to him when I can. But I’m leaving in a few minutes, and I may not be back until late. That was what I wanted to tell you—to tell Maytera Mint particularly.”

She look up, a question in her melting brown eyes.

“I’ll be engaged, and I can’t say how long it may take. You remember Auk, Maytera. You must. You taught him, and you told Maytera Marble about him yesterday, I know.”

“Oh, Patera, I do indeed.” Maytera Mint’s small, not uncomely face glowed.

Maytera Rose sniffed, and Maytera Mint dropped her eyes again.

“I spoke to him last night, Maytera, very late.”

“You did, Patera?”

Silk nodded. “But I’m forgetting something I should tell you. I’d seen him earlier that evening, and shriven him. He’s trying, quite sincerely I believe, to amend his life.”

Maytera Mint looked up again, her glance bright with praise. “That’s truly wonderful, Patera!”

“It is indeed; and it’s far more your doing, and Patera Pike’s, than it is mine. What I wanted to say, Maytera, is that when I last spoke with him, he indicated that he might come here today. If he does, I’m sure he’ll want to pay his respects to you.”

He waited for her to confirm it. She did not, sitting with folded hands and downcast eyes.

“Please tell him that I’m anxious to see him. Ask him to wait, if he can. I doubt that he’ll come before supper. If I haven’t returned, tell him that I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Spreading rich yellow butter on another golden roll, Maytera Rose said, “Last night you had gone already by the time Horn had finished working for his father. I’ll tell him that he’ll have to wait, too.”