The Children of the Company Part 30

"Ancient times," the man explained, looking a little uncomfortable. "Carthaginians had not yet heard the word of G.o.d. But Romans were much worse, killed millions of children. Carthaginians at least believed they were giving them as servants to their G.o.ds. And all nations have given children to their G.o.ds, in all times everywhere!"

"That's certainly true," said Labienus, deciding he was amused by the mortal. "And sacrifice is relative, isn't it? What do mortals bear them for, anyway, but to be of use?"

"It is every son's duty to do his father's will," agreed the mortal solemnly.

Unseen all around them the little ghosts were standing, not merely the lost children of Carthage but of Rome and Britain, of every nation on earth, watching, an army of specters gray as ashes, silent. No need to play the cymbals or the pipes now to drown them out, no need to tell them Hush, don't cry! Don't shame us!

An image flashed into Labienus's mind, memory of an ill.u.s.tration by Edward Gorey: Death, in the formal costume of a governess, skull-faced, grinning pleasantly at the viewer as she holds her umbrella aloft. Gathered around her feet are her tiny listless charges, a flock of children in old-fas.h.i.+oned clothes. Their eyes are vacant. They stand together like so many stuffed penguins.

The mortal children had done the job their parents asked of them, gone wide-eyed into h.e.l.l in exchange for victory, good harvests, gold, status, love. Pro patria mori. And they were fortunate, after all, compared to the children taken by Zeus.

"What if one of those children stood before you now?" said Labienus. "What do you suppose he'd have to tell you, about eternal life in the service of the G.o.ds?"

The mortal blinked at him.

"Would you like to purchase a holocard, monsieur?" he asked.

Labienus laughed. He bought a holocard and the mortal went away.

Nothing matters but the work. Yet the work is meaningless.

History cannot be changed. Yet history is a tissue of lies.

And if one can't leave the world, and if there is no better place, then the world will have to do for Paradise. No reason, then, not to shape the world to one's own desires, is there? But it will take scouring fire to purify it, and seas of blood to wash out its imperfections ...

So. What about this third boy, old Adonai revived at last?

Yet is there really a place for him now, at this end of the long corridor of time? It's hardly an age for heroes. No sweeping religious upheavals in which he might immolate himself, like Nicholas Harpole; no British Empire whose burden he might shoulder, as Edward Bell-Fairfax had done. Only a dwindling and pusillanimous global village, bickering feebly with its colonies on Luna and Mars ...

Though there will be real nastiness erupting on Mars ...

The rotten tree must fall; what wedge might be placed, to cause the profitable trunk to topple in just the right direction? What lord with a golden voice, and absolute confidence in his ideals?

What if the woman were brought in again, in her fatal role of catalyst? The Botanist Mendoza ...

Labienus glances up at his wilderness, distracted by something at the edge of his field of vision. He frowns.

"d.a.m.n!" He goes to inspect the window where the frantic mortal had stood. Smudged on the outer surface of the gla.s.s are a pair of handprints and ... yes ... that blob can only be the print of the mortal's nose. Disgusting monkeys!

He puts his head on one side, considering. Which of his subordinates has displeased him lately?

Spoyka! he transmits.

Yes, sir! The reply comes hastily.

Report to room 218 with a rag, a bottle of Windex, eighty feet of rope, and a rappelling harness. Further orders to follow.

Immediately, sir!

Labienus folds his arms and gazes out at the view. His smile has returned. Room 218 is two floors above his office. To reach his window, the man will actually need ninety feet of rope. Can he be creative, or will he suffer a painful accident?

Either way, it ought to be fun to watch.

TOR BOOKS BY KAGE BAKER.

The Anvil of the World.

The Graveyard Game.

The Life of the World to Come.

The Children of the Company.

end.