The window slid closed, then half a minute later slid open again. “Give the Nimbus agent my heartfelt greetings, and wishes for good relations between our respective organizations.” “Very well,” said Xenocrates, impatient to move this along. If he deems that responding will not violate the Separation of Scythe and State, the agent will answer, and I shall relay that answer to you.” You are to tell me whatever you wish to convey, and I will pass it on to the Nimbus agent. “Yes, well, the Nimbus agent to my right has full authority to speak for the Thunderhead in this trialogue.” She cleared her throat. “I am to be your proxy to the Thunderhead.” “Good day, Your Excellency,” said a woman with a pleasant enough voice. Were mortal humans so malnourished that they could fit in such a space? The Parliamentarian had to force the door closed.Ī few moments later the High Blade heard the Nimbus agent enter the far compartment, and after an interminable delay, the Interlocutor took center position.Ī window too small and too low to see through slid open, and the Interlocutor spoke. Xenocrates took his place in the right-hand booth, horrified by how cramped it was. “I know, I know, but I do have a right to be annoyed.” “Audience by proxy is the only audience with the Thunderhead that you can have, Your Excellency.” Once you are both in place, we shall bring in the Interlocutor to sit in the center section between you.” “The Nimbus agent representing the Thunderhead will be seated on the left. “You are to take the booth on the right, Your Excellency,” the Parliamentarian told him. He resented the fact that he had to do so now. So rare, in fact, that Xenocrates, in all his years as High Blade, had never had to engage in one. Trialogues between the scythedom and the Thunderhead were rare. “The priest would sit in the center chamber,” the docents would explain to tourists, “and listen to confessions from the right booth, then from the left booth, so that the procession of supplicants could move more quickly.”Ĭonfessions were no longer heard here, but the three- compartment structure of the confessional made it perfect for an official trialogue. Behind him was a set of three ornately carved booths, connected, but with partitions between them. The scythedom was still feeling heavy aftershocks from the trouble he whipped.Īt the front end of the cathedral, past the altar, stood the scythedom’s Parliamentarian, a tedious little scythe whose job was to make sure that rules and procedures were properly followed. Even in death, the man was wreaking havoc. It was Goddard who was ultimately responsible for the current situation. Such as the time he nearly drowned in Scythe Goddard’s pool, ensconced in the many layers of his gilded robe. Xenocrates enjoyed the robe-except on the occasions that its weight became an issue. That underling had found herself exceptionally unemployable after that. An underling had once commented that he looked like an ornament that had fallen off a giant’s Christmas tree. The gold adornments of the altar ahead paled in comparison to his golden robe, decorated in glittering brocade. Xenocrates, High Blade of MidMerica-the most important scythe in the region-was as light on his feet as a man of his considerable weight could be as he walked down the center aisle of the cathedral. On extremely rare occasions, however, the building was closed to the public and became a site for highly sensitive official business. Tours were given seven days a week by docents with PhDs in the study of mortal humans. Now the venerable structure was a historical site. Its stained glass windows were filled with the mythology of a falling/rising god from the Age of Mortality. Its soaring columns conjured a towering forest of limestone. The building was once called a cathedral.
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