Small Gods

Urn reappeared with another scroll.

‘You shouldn’t do this,’ said Brutha wretchedly. ‘All this …’ His voice trailed off.

‘I know about sureness,’ said Didactylos. Now the light, irascible tone had drained out of his voice. ‘I remember, before I was blind, I went to Omnia once. This was before the borders were closed, when you still let people travel. And in your Citadel I saw a crowd stoning a man to death in a pit. Ever seen that?’

‘It has to be done,’ Brutha mumbled. ‘So the soul can be shriven and—’

‘Don’t know about the soul. Never been that kind of a philosopher,’ said Didactylos. ‘All I know is, it was a horrible sight.’

‘The state of the body is not—’

‘Oh, I’m not talking about the poor bugger in the pit,’ said the philosopher. ‘I’m talking about the people throwing the stones. They were sure all right. They were sure it wasn’t them in the pit. You could see it in their faces. So glad it wasn’t them that they were throwing just as hard as they could.’

Urn hovered, looking uncertain.

‘I’ve got Abraxas’s On Religion,’ he said.

‘Old “Charcoal” Abraxas,’ said Didactylos, suddenly cheerful again. ‘Struck by lightning fifteen times so far, and still not giving up. You can borrow this one overnight if you want. No scribbling comments in the margins, mind you, unless they’re interesting.’

‘This is it!’ said Om. ‘Come on, let’s leave this idiot.’

Brutha unrolled the scroll. There weren’t even any pictures. Crabbed writing filled it, line after line.

‘He spent years researching it,’ said Didactylos. ‘Went out into the desert, talked to the small gods. Talked to some of our gods, too. Brave man. He says gods like to see an atheist around. Gives them something to aim at.’

Brutha unrolled a bit more of the scroll. Five minutes ago he would have admitted that he couldn’t read. Now the best efforts of the inquisitors couldn’t have forced it out of him. He held it up in what he hoped was a familiar fashion.

‘Where is he now?’ he said.

‘Well, someone said they saw a pair of sandals with smoke coming out just outside his house a year or two back,’ said Didactylos. ‘He might have, you know, pushed his luck.’

‘I think,’ said Brutha, ‘that I’d better be going. I’m sorry to have intruded on your time.’

‘Bring it back when you’ve finished with it,’ said Didactylos.

‘Is that how people read in Omnia?’ said Urn.

‘What?’

‘Upside down.’

Brutha picked up the tortoise, glared at Urn, and strode as haughtily as possible out of the Library.

‘Hmm,’ said Didactylos. He drummed his fingers on the tables.

‘It was him I saw in the tavern last night,’ said Urn. ‘I’m sure, master.’

‘But the Omnians are staying here in the palace.’

‘That’s right, master.’

‘But the tavern is outside.’

‘Yes.’

‘Then he must have flown over the wall, do you think?’

‘I’m sure it was him, master.’

‘Then … maybe he came later. Maybe he hadn’t gone in when you saw him.’

‘It can only be that, master. The keepers of the labyrinth are unbribable.’

Didactylos clipped Urn across the back of the head with his lantern.

‘Stupid boy! I’ve told you about that sort of statement.’

‘I mean, they are not easily bribable, master. Not for all the gold in Omnia, for example.’

‘That’s more like it.’

‘Do you think that tortoise was a god, master?’

‘He’s going to be in big trouble in Omnia if he is. They’ve got a bastard of a god there. Did you ever read old Abraxas?’

‘No, master.’

‘Very big on gods. Big gods man. Always smelled of burnt hair. Naturally resistant.’

Om crawled slowly along the length of a line.

‘Stop walking up and down like that,’ he said, ‘I can’t concentrate.’

‘How can people talk like that?’ Brutha asked the empty air. ‘Acting as if they’re glad they don’t know things! Finding out more and more things they don’t know! It’s like children proudly coming to show you a full potty!’

Om marked his place with a claw.

‘But they find things out,’ he said. ‘This Abraxas was a thinker and no mistake. I didn’t know some of this stuff. Sit down!’

Brutha obeyed.

‘Right,’ said Om. ‘Now … listen. Do you know how gods get power?’

‘By people believing in them,’ said Brutha. ‘Millions of people believe in you.’

Om hesitated.

All right, all right. We are here and it is now. Sooner or later he’ll find out for himself …

‘They don’t believe,’ said Om.

‘But—’

‘It’s happened before,’ said the tortoise. ‘Dozens of times. D’you know Abraxas found the lost city of Ee? Very strange carvings, he says. Belief, he says. Belief shifts. People start out believing in the god and end up believing in the structure.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Brutha.

‘Let me put it another way,’ said the tortoise. ‘I am your God, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ll obey me.’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Now take a rock and go and kill Vorbis.’

Brutha didn’t move.

‘I’m sure you heard me,’ said Om.

‘But he’ll … he’s … the Quisition would—’