(though their occupants would have to have the attributes of bats to live there), the sum of these lactders and stairways was nowhere near sufficient to bear the city's weight. He had no way to judge its true scale, but he w@is certain Manhattan would have fitted upon the upper surface with room to spare, which meant that the dozen or so towers that rose there, each resembling a vast swathe of fabric, plucked up by one comcr and falling in countless folds, were many hundreds of stories high.
Despite the lights that blazed from their countless windows, Joe doubted the towers were occupied. B'Kether Sabbat's citizens were choking the roads that led from the city, or rising from its streets and towers in wheeling flocks.
Such was the sheer immensity of this spectacle he wis almost tempted to find himself a comfortable spot among the roots, and watch it until the wave broke, and it was obliterated. But the same curiosity that had brought him from the shore now pressed him on, down the slope and across a swampy field, where a crop of crystalline flowers sprouted, to the nearest of the roads. Despite the vast diversity of faces and forms in the throng upon that road, there was a certain desperation in their faces and in their forms a common dread. they shuddered and sweated as they went, their eyeswhite, golden, blue, and black@ast over their shoulders now and again towards the city they'd deserted, and the teetering darkness that shadowed it.
Few showed any interest in Joe. And those few that did looked at him pityingly, judging him crazy, he supposed, for being the only traveler on this highway who was not fleeing b'Kether Sabbat, but heading back towards it.
Musnakaff's Mistress was sitting in a bed so large it could, readily have slept ten, propped up on twenty lace pillows and surrounded by a litter of torn paper, which was so light that the merest breath of wind from window or hearth was enough to raise fty of the scraps into the air and make the sheets rustle like leaves. The chamber itself was absurdly overwrought, the smoke-stained ceiling painted with naked deities cavorting, the walls lined with mirrors, some cracked, the rest in severe decay. The same might have been said for the Mistress herself. Decayed she was, and plainly cracked. For fully five minutes Phoebe and Musnakaff waited at the end of her bed while she tore up pieces of paper into yet smaller pieces, muttering to herself as she did so.
What light there was came from the oil-lamps on the various tables, which were-like those in the rest of the house-turned down so that they barely glimmered, lending the whole chamber a troubled air. Its ambiguity did little to flatter the woman. Even by this subdued light she was a grotesque, her sparse hair dyed a lush black (which only served to emphasize her parchment pallor), her cheeks furrowed, her neck like a fraying rope.
At last, without looking up from her litter-making, she spoke, her thin lips barely moving.
"I could have used a woman like you, in the old days. You've got some meat on your bones. Men like that." Phoebe didn't respond. Not only was she intimidated by this crone, she was afraid her lack of sobriety would be all too evident if she spoke. "Not that I care what men like or don't like," the Mistress went on. "I'm past that. And it feels fine, not to care." She looked up now. Her eyes were rheumy, and roved back and forth in Phoebe's general direction, but didn't come to rest.
"If I cared," she said, "you know what I would do?" She paused. "Well, do you?" she demanded.
"I would dream myself a beauty," she replied, chuckling at the notion.
"I would make myself over as the most fetching woman in Creation, and I would go out in the streets and break every heart I could." The chuckled disappeared. "Do you think I could do that?" she said.
"I... I daresay you could."
"You daresay, do you?" the Mistress responded softly. "Well let me tell you: I could do it as easily as piss. Oh yes. No trouble. I dreamed this city, didn't I?"
"Did you?"
"I did! Tell her, my little Abr6!"
"It's true!" Musnakaff replied. "She dreamed this place into being."
"So I could dream myself a fetching woman just as easily." Again, she paused. "But I choose not to. And you know why?"
"Because you don't care?" Phoebe ventured.
The paper the woman was in the middle of tearing fell from her fingers.
"Exactly," she said, with great moment. "What's your name? Felicia?"
"Phoebe."
"Even worse."
"I like it," Phoebe replied, her tongue responding before she could check it.
"It's a vile name," the woman said.
"No it isn't."
"If I say it's a vile name, then vile it is. Come here." Phoebe didn't move. "Did you hear me?"
"Yes I heard you, but I don't care to come."
The woman rolled her eyes. "Oh for God's sake, woman, don't take offense at a little remark like that. I'm allowed to be objectionable. I'm old, ugly, and flatulent."
"You don't have to be," Phoebe said.
"Says who?"
"You," Phoebe reminded her, glad she'd had all those years of dealing with obstinate patients. She was damned if she'd allow the harridan to intimidate her. "Two minutes ago, you said@' She caught Musnakaff frantically gesturing to her, but she'd begun now and it was too late to stop. "You said you could just dream yourself beautiful. So dream yourself young and gasless at the same time."
There was a weighty silence, the Mistress's eyes roving maniacally. Then she began to chuckle again, the sound escalating into a full-throated laugh. "Oh you believed me, you believed me, you sweet thing," she said. "Do you truly think I would live with this"-she raised her skeletal hands in front of her-"if I had any choice in the matter?"
"So you can't dream yourself beautiful?"
"I might have been able to do it, when I first came here. f was barely a hundred back then. Oh I know it sounds old to you, but it's nothing, nothing. I had a husband whose kisses' kept me young,"
"This is King Texas?" Phoebe said.
The woman's hands dropped back into her lap, and she uttered a shuddering sigh. "No," she said. '-Mis was in the Cosm, in my youth. A
soul I loved far more than I ever loved Texas. And who loved me back, to distraction...... An expression of utter loss crossed her face. "It never passes," she murmured. "Me pain of losing love. It never truly passes. I'm afraid to sleep some nights-Abrd knows; poor Abr6-i'm afraid because when I sleep I dream he,s returned into my arms, and I into his, and the hurt of waking is SO great I can't bear to close my eyes, for fear the dream will come again." She was suddenly weeping, Phoebe saw. Tears pouring down her gouged cbeeks. "Oh Lord, if I had my way I'd unmake love. Wouldn't that be fme?"
"No," Phoebe said softly. "I don't think that would be fine at all."
"You wait until you've outlived all those you care for, or lost them. You wait till all you've got left is a husk and some memories. You'll lie awake the way I do, and pray not to dream." She beckoned to Phoebe.
"Come closer, will You?" she said. "Let me see you a little more clearly."
Phoebe duly moved to the side of the bed. "Abr6, that lamp. Bring it closer. I want to see the face of this woman, who's so in love with love. Better, better." She lifted her hand as if to touch Phoebe's face, then withdrew from the contact. "Are there any new diseases in the Cosm?" she said.
"Yes there are." "Are they terrible?"
"Some of them, yes," Phoebe said, "One of them's very terrible indeed." She remembered Abrd's phrase. "the Cosm's a vale of tears," she said.
"I would dream myself a beauty," she replied, chuckling at the notion.
"I would make myself over as the most fetching woman in Creation, and I would go out in the streets and break every heart I could." The chuckled disappeared. "Do you think I could do that?" she said.
"I... I daresay you could."
"You daresay, do you?" the Mistress responded softly. "Well let me tell you: I could do it as easily as piss. Oh yes. No trouble. I dreamed this city, didn't I?" "Did you?"
"I did! Tell her, my little Abr6!"
"It's true!" Musnakaff replied. "She dreamed this place into being."
"So I could dream myself a fetching woman just as easily." Again, she paused. "But I choose not to. And you know why?"
"Because you don't care?" Phoebe ventured.
The paper the woman was in the middle of tearing I-ell from her fingers.
"Exactly," she said, with great moment. "What's your name? Felicia?"
"Phoebe."
"Even worse."
,i like it," Phoebe replied, her tongue responding before she could check it.
"It's a vile name," the woman said.
"No it isn't."
"If I say it's a vile name, then vile it is. Come here." Phoebe didn't move. "Did you hear me?"
"Yes I heard you, but I don't care to come."
The woman rolled her eyes. "Oh for God's s@tkc, woman, don't take offense at a little remark like that. ['in allowed to be objectionable. I'm old, ugly, and flatulent."
"You don't have to be," Phoebe said.
"Says who?"
"You," Phoebe reminded her, glad she'd had all those years of dealing with obstinate patients. She was damned if she'd allow the harridan to intimidate her. "Two minutes ago, you said-" She caught Musnakaff frantically gesturing t to her, but she'd begun now and it was too late to stop. "You said you could just dream yourself beautiful. So dream yourself young and gasless at the same time."
There was a weighty silence, the Mistress's eyes roving Maniacally. Then she began to chuckle again, the sound escalating into a full-throated laugh. "Oh you believed me, you believed me, you sweet thing," she said. "Do you truly think I would live with this"-she raised her skeletal hands in front of her-"if I had any choice in the matter?"
"So you can't dream yourself beautiful?"
"I might have been able to do it, when I first came here. I was barely a hundred back then. Oh I know it sounds old to You, but it's nothing, nothing. I had a husband whose kisses kept me young."
"This is King Texas?" Phoebe said.
The woman's hands dropped back into her lap, and she uttered a shuddering sigh. "No," she said. "This was in the Cosm, in my youth. A
soul I loved far more than I ever loved Texas. And who loved me back, to distraction...." An expression of utter loss crossed her face. "It never passes," she murmured. "The pain of losing love. It never truly passes. I'm afraid to sleep some ni,,lhts-Abrd knows; poor Abr6-I'm afraid because when I sleep I dream he's returned into my arms, and I into his, and the hurt of waking is so great I can't bear to close my eyes, for fear the dream will come again." She was suddenly weeping, Phoebe saw. Tears pouring down her gouged cheeks. "Oh Lord, if I had my way I'd unmake love. Wouldn't that be fine?"
"No," Phoebe said softly. "I don't think that would be fine at all."
"You wait until you've outlived all those you care for, or lost them. You wait till all you've got left is a husk and some memories. You'll lie awake the way I do, and pray not to dream." She beckoned to Phoebe.
"Come closer, will you?" she said. "Let me see you a little more clearly."
Phoebe duly moved to the side of the bed. "Abr6, that lamp. Bring it closer. I want to see the face of this woman, who's so in love with love. Better, better." She lifted her hand as if to touch Phoebe's face, then withdrew from the contact. "Are there any new diseases in the Cosm?" she said.
"Yes there are."
"Are they terrible?"
"Some of them, yes," Phoebe said, "One of them's very terrible indeed," She remembered Abr6's phrase. 'The Cosm's a vale of tears," she said.
It did the trick. The Mistress smiled. "There," she said, turning to Abr6. "Isn't that what I always say?"
"That's what you say," Musnakaff replied. "No wonder you fled it," the woman said, turning her attention back to Phoebe.
111 didn't-"
"What?" "Flee. I didn't flee. I came because there's somebody here I want to find."
"And who might that be?"
"My... lover."
The Mistress regarded her pityingly. "So you're here for love?" she said.
"Yes," Phoebe replied. "Before you ask, his name's Joe."
"I had no intention of asking," the Mistress rasped.
"Well I told you anyhow. He's somewhere out there at sea. And I've come to find him."
"You'll fail," the harridan said, making no attempt to disguise her satisfaction at the thought. "You know what's going on out there, I presume?" "Vaguely."
"Then you surely know there's no chance of finding him. He's probably already dead." "I know that's not true," Phoebe said. "How can you know?" the Mistress said. "Because I was here in a dream. I met him, out there in Quiddity." She dropped her voice a little, for dramatic effect. "We made love." "In the sea?" "In the sea."
"You actually coupled in Quiddity?" Musnakaff said. "Yes.
The Mistress had picked up a sheet of paper from the bed-it was covered, Phoebe saw, with line upon line of spidery handwriting-and proceeded to tear it up. "Such a thing," she said, half to herself. "Such a thing."
"Is there any way you can help me?" Phoebe said.
it was Musnakaff who replied. "I'm afraid-"
He got no further. "Maybe," the Mistress said. "The sea doesn't speak. But there are those in it that do." She had reduced the first sheet of paper to litter, and now picked up a second. "What would I get in return?" she asked Phoebe.
"How about the truth?" Phoebe replied.
The Mistress cocked her head. "Have you lied to me?" she said.
"I said what I was told to say," Phoebe replied.
"About what?"
"About the Cosm being a vale of tears."
"Is that not so?" the Mistress said, somewhat testily.
"Some of the time. People live unhappy lives. But not all the time. And not all of the people." The Mistress grunted. "I guess maybe you don't want to hear the truth after all. Maybe you're happier just sitting tearing up love letters and thinking you're better off here than there."