Fayol was in high spirits, swollen with self-satisfaction. Rod-Dick had rewarded the craftsman with thirty gold coins, each weighing one zhu, and the pouch they came in was heavy enough to sag. What Fayol had set down on the boy's anvil were thirty silver coins of much the same size, each weighing only half a zhu — a total value of a mere one and a half gold coins. The rest was his.
Fayol was not worried that Rod-Dick would blame him. The noble Lord Dick could never stoop to visiting a filthy, crude miner's house and standing before that furnace; to send his own scribe in person was already an honor to the household. He had carried out his mission exactly as Lord Dick ordered, and had been lucky enough to obtain the Tears of the Gods. Lord Dick would only be delighted, might even reward him, and would never bother about trivialities. He knew that Lord Dick far too well.
It was Fayol's first time seeing the Tears of the Gods as well; he had never even heard of such a thing before. Rod-Dick had told him it looked like a pale-gold, semi-transparent godstone. He had seen it in Amon's house, and now he had it.
The house reeked of sour wine and furnace smoke; Fayol did not want to stay another moment, and hurried off the instant the Tears of the Gods were in hand. As for this legendary token of the gods' favor, Fayol was desperately curious.
He could hardly keep himself from taking it in his fingers and peering at it to see just what was so wondrous about it — and he wanted even more to slip it into his own money pouch.
But of course he dared not; he could only carry the gold box that held the Tears of the Gods with reverence and great care.
Fayol left, and some while later Amon left the house too. He went looking for the old madman. Amon was still a child, with a grievance in his heart he could not put into words and could not speak of to his drunken father. Listening idly to the old madman's rambling nonsense was a kind of ease and comfort.
He stayed at the old madman's house about half a shichen, then quietly made his way to the west side of town. West of Duke Town lay a long run of hills clad in strange blue-black rock. Closer in, there were a few sparse grassy slopes among the hills where small flocks of sheep could be grazed. A little farther out, the country turned menacing: the rocks were not tall, but they were eerie, like a dense forest of devils, and the scrub growing on them looked like a man's unkempt hair.
The scrub stood only about two men tall, but its branches and trunks were extremely hard, and felling it took a good machete and axe. Charcoal burned from it was the finest furnace fuel for smelting iron billets. The whole stretch was called the Black Fire Thicket. It lay on the only road from Duke Town to the city-state of Xuya, and Xuya's post road ran through it as well.
Apart from the post road, which was garrisoned by city-state warriors every thirty li, people almost never went deep into the Black Fire Thicket. Those weird, tangled shrubs and jumbled boulders blocked every line of sight within a very short distance, so that the place looked steeped in mysterious and unfathomable danger.
But the old madman had told Amon that somewhere hidden in the Black Fire Thicket was a cold spring. Its water was icy to the bone, yet it could wash and purify a man's body. Bathing in that spring year in and year out could make the body stronger and the senses quicker. But one had to bathe in the way the old madman had taught Amon; otherwise there was not only no benefit, the cold would seep into the body and leave a hidden ailment behind, and once it broke out it could kill a man.
The method had been taught. Whether Amon could do it without hurting himself, and, having learned it, whether he could endure that piercing chill — all of it rested on him alone. Amon had once asked what other benefits there were to bathing in the cold spring, and the old madman had answered with two words, grinning: "Sobering up."
Amon had thought of bringing his drunkard father along to the cold spring to bathe, but the old madman glared at him: "Do you want to kill your old dad? He could never take it. Only you can go. Don't tell anyone!"
So Amon went alone, always at midnight when the moon was bright. At first he truly could not bear the cold that all but froze him through, but every time, after he finished bathing and sat a while by the spring, a warm current would well up and fill his whole body, so comfortable that he almost wanted to groan. Amon came to love that feeling. Whenever he was unhappy, he would go to the cold spring.
The spring water had another peculiar quality: cold as it was, it could wash a man uncommonly clean, leaving not a speck of dust on his body.
Rod-Dick was wildly excited, beside himself with joy. He had indeed obtained the Tears of the Gods without a hitch — how wise, how brilliant, how lucky I am! Amid the praise of Fayol and his other underlings and servants, he held his wine cup and felt himself floating. Rod-Dick had never actually had that dream of the goddess Isis guiding him; he had invented it. But now he could not help believing that he truly had, by some unseen design, won the guidance and favor of the goddess Isis.
The first thing he did once the Tears of the Gods was in his hands was kneel and pray, praising the great deity. Then he rewarded Fayol with three godstones, and sent a lavish gift to Mayor Dasti. As for why the generous gift, Mayor Dasti surely knew the reason well enough.
Fayol had done as he was told: at the very moment the Tears of the Gods appeared, he had taken it on the spot, in the name of presenting it to the goddess Isis. This saved a great deal of trouble. If a thing so important were mined and then turned in to the city-state of Xuya according to local rules, it would be very hard to claim it back afterward; even with Dick's standing, plus a suitable threat, it might not be impossible to get it back, but there was no guarantee.
There were, of course, people in the Hatti Kingdom who wanted the Tears of the Gods; and even within the Eju Empire, the holy maiden candidates selected by the various city-states numbered more than Aikou-Maria alone. This was itself a contest of interests. But how could that lowly miner who had dug out the Tears of the Gods defy the noble will of Rod-Dick? Presenting it to the goddess Isis made everything seem perfectly natural and proper.
As for Mayor Dasti, Rod-Dick would certainly compensate him well; there would be dealings with him in the future, and he could not afford to lose this friend. As for who the miner was who had dug out the godstone, and what he had received — Rod-Dick no longer troubled himself over it. He had sent Fayol to handle it, he had generously handed over thirty zhu of gold coins, and Fayol had got it done. That was enough.
The human heart is a curious thing. Not long ago Rod-Dick had been drinking and grumbling, secretly thinking, Better to pray to a miner than to the gods. Now that he actually held the Tears of the Gods, he had put the miner who dug it out clean out of his mind, and could not help believing that he truly enjoyed the favor of the gods; his prayers of thanks to the goddess Isis came out marvelously devout.
Rod-Dick did not keep the Tears of the Gods for himself. He sent it straight to Gabriel. He knew very well that there would be plenty of people eager to snatch this Tear, and that securing the Isis Temple's recognition a step ahead of them mattered most. He meant to leave Duke Town the very next day, wanting no complications. But Gabriel told him that Aikou-Maria had fallen ill and would have to rest in this town at least three more days; she could not set off at once across the desert on a hard journey.
Early the next morning, when the townsfolk had only just risen and cooking smoke was drifting over every household, they heard the bell of the Temple of the Goddess Muyun at the north end of town. That was the signal summoning all the town's residents to assembly.
Mayor Dasti, surrounded by four servants and enjoying a lavish breakfast, heard the bell and was most displeased. Who was disturbing his comfortable leisure? In all Duke Town only two men had the right to ring the Muyun Temple's summoning bell. Dasti was the town's chief priest-official and nominally the high priest of the Muyun Temple, but the man in charge of the temple's actual affairs was the priest Makoluobo-Xiaogu.
Xiaogu also held the post of scribe for both Duke Town and the temple, responsible for writing and registering — recording the taxes the townsfolk paid each year and the goods and wealth presented to the temple. A scribe stood above ordinary commoners, ranking as a low noble, and since Xiaogu was a temple priest as well, his position was more honored still than an ordinary scribe's. He was the town's number two.
Do not look down on a scribe, for he can read and write. Whether in Hatti or in Eju, as a rule only nobles had the means to learn letters. Men like Rod-Dick's chief scribe, Fayol-Judah, could sit nearly as an equal to a Hatti Kingdom noble such as Mayor Dasti, even though he was nothing but an aide.
Duke Town was only a small town; it could not, and need not, support so many noble officials. Mayor Dasti least of all wanted many people sharing the power here, so the simpler things were, the better. By city-state law a scribe was required, and a priest to oversee temple affairs was required; so let Xiaogu hold both. Dasti also knew that the lord of the city-state of Xuya was well disposed toward Xiaogu — or, to put it more precisely, had taken bribes from Xiaogu.
What was more comical still: after a Temple of Horus was built in the town as well, in order to save manpower and concentrate power, Mayor Dasti again took the high priesthood himself, and the priest and scribe in charge of the Temple of Horus's actual affairs was, again, Xiaogu.
By the time Mayor Dasti had changed into his sumptuous outer robe and arrived, last of all, with his servants at the plaza before the Temple of the Goddess Muyun, the people had already ringed it in a great circle. Amon and his father stood at the very front of the crowd, heads bowed, and Xiaogu stood on the temple's high steps facing the people.
The crowd opened a path for Dasti. As he walked he called out in displeasure: "Xiaogu, why ring the bell at this ungodly hour and call everyone here? Lord Dick is still in town — have you no fear of disturbing our honored guest?"
Xiaogu hurried down the steps and bowed to Dasti. "Honored chief priest-official, my lord, someone has profaned our guardian deity, the great goddess Muyun." Then he lowered his voice: "Mayor, perhaps you haven't heard. Someone in this town mined a legendary Tear of the Gods and did not turn it in, but privately presented it to Lord Rod-Dick. You know as well as I do that even if it were to be presented, it should go to you, or to me…"
Dasti hastily cut him off in a low voice: "Xiaogu, say no more of this! Lord Dick wanted that Tear of the Gods, and he is sitting right here in town — could you or I stop him? But we did not turn it in to the city-state as the rules require; if someone comes investigating, who takes the blame?
The miner who dug it out presented it voluntarily to the goddess Isis, with Lord Dick to vouch for it — that saves you and me the trouble. Set your mind at ease; Lord Dick's gift will be delivered to your house tonight, and it will not disappoint you… Is there anything else?"
Xiaogu was taken aback for a moment, then nodded humbly. "Understood. We shall do as you say. But there is one more matter that must be dealt with, because someone has trampled on the dignity of the gods…"
The people in the plaza saw only the two lords Xiaogu and Dasti whisper a few words to each other. Then Xiaogu turned and raised his voice: "The miner's son, Amon, has violated the divine decree handed down through the generations of Duke Town. Without the grace and blessing of the goddess Muyun, he privately broke open an ore core and took out a godstone. I verified it last night — his own father admitted it with his own mouth… The esteemed Lord Dasti is here before you. How do you all say he should be dealt with?"
Dasti frowned but said nothing; he could only put on a stern and dignified look. In his heart he resented Xiaogu for stirring up trouble at such a time, yet he had no way to stop him. Where blasphemy was concerned, everyone had to tread carefully; he could not let Xiaogu catch him out, and besides, this really was the age-old law of Duke Town, bound up with the dignity of the guardian deity. He thought to himself: What is Xiaogu trying to make of this business? Is he coming after me?
As Xiaogu spoke he watched Amon the way a cold-eyed hawk watches a shivering rabbit — though Amon, biting his lip, was not shivering at all. He had long since taken a dislike to this child. Duke Town produced an endless stream of godstone, the emblem of inexhaustible wealth, and yet in this little town only four people could write: Dasti, Xiaogu, the old madman Nietzsche, and this boy Amon.
Dasti could write only the clay-tablet blade script used through the lands of Hatti, Balun, and Assyria — a script first cut into clay with a knife — whereas Xiaogu could write two kinds of script: besides blade script, also the brush script of the Eju Empire, written with a brush on papyrus. The old madman had taught him both. But now the old madman had taught both scripts to Amon as well.