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〃An obsession； in other words。〃
〃That's one such flame； yes。〃
〃Why would we want to burn down these walls in the first place？ Don't they protect us？〃
〃Because if we don't； we die inside； kissing our own reflections；〃 Nikaetomaas said； the reply too well turned to be improvised。
〃Athanasius again？〃 Gentle said。
〃No；〃 said Nikaetomaas。 〃An aunt of mine。 She's been locked up in the Bastion for years； but in here〃…Nikaetomaas pointed to her temple…〃she's free。〃
〃And what about the Autarch？〃 Gentle said； turning his gaze up towards the fortress。
〃What about him？〃
〃Is he up there； kissing his reflection？〃
〃Who knows？ Maybe he's been dead for years； and the state's running itself。〃
〃Do you seriously believe that？〃
Nikaetomaas shook her head。 〃No。 He's alive； behind his walls。〃
〃What's he keeping out； I wonder？〃
〃Who knows？ Whatever he's afraid of； I don't think it breathes the same air that we do。〃
Before they left the rubble…strewn thoroughfares of the Kesparate called Hittahitte； which lay between the gates of the Eurhetemec Kesparate and the wide Roman streets of Yzordderrex's bureaucratic district； Nikaetomaas dug around in the ruins of a garret for some means of disguise。 She found a collection of filthy garments which she insisted Gentle don； then found some equally disgusting for herself。 Their faces and physiques had to be concealed； she explained； so that they could mingle freely with the wretched they'd find gathered at the gates。 Then they headed on； their climb bringing them into streets lined with buildings of classical severity and scale； as yet unscorched by the torches that were being passed from hand to hand； roof to roof； in the Kesparates below。 They would not remain pristine much longer； Nikaetomaas predicted。 When the rebels' fire reached these edifices…the Taxation Courts and the Bureaus of Justice…it would leave no pillar unblack…ened。 But for now the travelers moved between monoliths as quiet as mausoleums。
On the other side； the reason for their donning of stinking and louse…ridden clothes became apparent。 Nikaetomaas had brought them not to one of the great gates of the palace but to a minor opening； around which a group dressed in motley indistinguishable from their own was gathered。 Some of them carried candles。 By their fitful light Gentle could see that there was not a single body that was whole among them。
〃Are they waiting to get in？〃 he asked his guide。
〃No。 This is the gate of Saint Creaze and Saint Evendown。 Have you not heard of them in the Fifth？ I thought that's where they were martyred。〃
〃Very possibly。〃
〃They appear everywhere in Yzordderrex。 Nursery rhymes； puppet plays…〃
〃So what happens here？ Do the saints make personal appearances？〃
〃After a fashion。〃
〃And what are these people hoping for？〃 Gentle asked； casting a glance among the wretched assembly。 〃Healing？〃
They were certainly in dire need of such miracles。 Crippled and diseased； suppurating and broken； some of them looked so weak they'd not make it till morning。
〃No；〃 Nikaetomaas replied。 〃They're here for sustenance。 I only hope the saints aren't too distracted by the revolution to put in an appearance。〃
She'd no sooner spoken than the sound of an engine chugging into life on the far side of the gates pitched the crowd into frenzy。 Crutches became weapons； and diseased spittle flew； as the invalids fought for a place close to the bounty they knew was imminent。 Nikaetomaas pushed Gentle forward into the brawl； where he was obliged to fight； though he felt ashamed to do so； or else have his limbs torn from their sockets by those who had fewer than he。 Head down； arms flailing； he dug his way forward as the gates began to open。
What appeared on the other side drew gasps of devotion from all sides and one of incredulity from Gentle。 Trundling forward to fill the breadth of the gates was a fifteen…foot study in kitsch： a sculpted representation of Saints Creaze and Evendown； standing shoulder to shoulder； their arms stretched out towards the yearning crowd； while their eyes rolled in their carved sockets like those of carnival dummies； looking down on their flock as if affrighted by them one moment and up to heaven the next。 But it was their apparel that drew Gentle's appalled gaze。 They were clothed in their largesse： dressed in food from throat to foot。 Coats of meat； still smoking from the ovens； covered their torsos； sausages hung in steaming loops around their necks and wrists； at their groins hung sacks heavy with bread； while the layers of their skirts were of fruit and fish。 The crowd instantly surged forward to denude them； the brawlers merciless in their hunger； beating each other as they climbed for their share。
The saints were not without defense； however； there were penalties for the gluttonous。 Hooks and spikes； expressly designed to wound； were set among the bountiful folds of skirts and coats。 The devotees seemed not to care； but climbed up over the statues； disdainful of fruit and fish； in order to reach the steaks and sausages above。 Some fell； doing themselves bloody mischief on the way down； others…scrambling over the victims…reached their goals with shrieks of glee and set about loading the bags on their backs。 Even then； in their triumph； they were not secure。 Those behind either dragged them from their perches or pulled the bags from their backs and pitched them to acplices in the crowd； where they in turn were set upon and robbed。
Nikaetomaas held on to Gentle's belt so that they wouldn't be separated in this melee； and after much maneuvering they reached the base of the statues。 The machine had been designed to block the gates； but Nikaetomaas now squatted down in front of the plinth； and…her activities concealed from the guards watching from above the gate…tore at the casing that housed the vehicle's wheels。 It was beaten metal； but it came away like cardboard beneath her assault； its rivets flying。 Then she ducked into the gap she'd created。 Gentle followed。 Once below the saints； the din of the crowd became remoter； the thump of bodies punctuating the general hubbub。 It was almost pletely dark； but they shimmied forward on their stomachs； the engine…huge and hot…dripping its fluids on them as they went。 As they reached the other side； and Nikaetomaas began to prize away the casing there； the sound of shouting became louder。 Gentle looked around。 Others had discovered Nikaetomaas1 handiwork and； perhaps thinking there were new treasures to be discovered beneath the idols； were following： not two or three； now； but many。 Gentle began to lend Nikaetomaas a hand； as the space filled up with bodies； new brawls erupting as the pursuers fought for access。 The whole structure； enormous as it was； began to shudder； the bination of brawlers below and above conspiring to tip it。 With the violence of the rocking increasing by the moment； Gentle had sight of escape。 A sizable courtyard lay on the other side of the saints； scored by the tracks of the engine and littered with discarded food。
The instability of the machine had not gone unnoticed； and two guards were presently forsaking their meal of prime steak and raising the alarm with panicked shouts。 Their retreat allowed Nikaetomaas to wriggle free unnoticed； then turn to haul Gentle after her。 The juggernaut was now close to toppling； and shots were being fired on the other side as the guards above the gate sought to dissuade the crowd from further burrowings。 Gentle felt hands grasping at his legs； but he kicked back at them； as Nikaetomaas dragged him forward； and slid out into the open air as several cracks； like sudden thunder； announced that the saints were tired of teetering and ready to fall。 Backs bent； Gentle and Nikaetomaas darted across the rind… and crust…littered ground to the safety of the shadows as； with a great din the saints fell backwards like ic drunkards； a mass of their adherents still clinging to arms and coats and skirts。 The structure came apart as it hit the ground； pitching pieces of carved； cooked； and crippled flesh in all directions。
The guards were descending from the ramparts now； to stem with bullets the flow of the crowd。 Gentle and Nikaetomaas didn't linger to watch this fresh horror but took to their heels； up and away from the gates； the pleas and howls of those maimed by the fall following them through the darkness。
〃What's the din； Rosengarten？〃
〃There's a minor problem at the Gate of Saints； sir。〃
〃Are we under siege？〃
〃No。 It was merely an unfortunate accident。〃
〃Fatalities？〃
〃Nothing significant。 The gate's now been sealed。〃
〃And Quaisoir？ How's she？〃
〃I haven't spoken with Seidux since early evening。〃
〃Then find out。〃
〃Of course。〃
Rosengarten withdrew； and the Autarch returned his attention to the man transfixed in the chair close by。
〃These Yzordderrexian nights；〃 he said to the fellow； 〃they're so very long。 In the Fifth； you know； they're half this length； and I used to plain they were over too soon。 But now〃…he sighed…〃now I wonder if I wouldn't be better off going back there and founding a New Yzordderrex。 What do you think？〃
The man in the chair didn't reply。 His cries had long since ceased； though the rever