Episode 59
The Gleamhall
Droma finished scrubbing the cast iron pot and rinsed it off, then rested it on the edge of the drying rack and carefully rearranged the other dishes with his free hand to make room for it. The other scullions were also finishing up, and they helped each other lift the large washtubs and pour the filthy water into the wide stone drain and scrape the food sludge from the mesh.
The seven of them sat on stools in a little shade at the end of the alley and had their break, chewing over flatbread and drinking cool water from rough ceramic cups. Mostly they didn’t understand each other’s languages. They spoke in broken Akašan, taught each other words, sometimes laughed. A few of them shared a smoke.
The kitchen door rattled, and everyone hurriedly finished up and got back to work.
Droma crossed the yard. It was almost dusk, the big brass lamps about to be lit, and the novices were finishing their afternoon sunwork, dozens of sweaty bodies stepping and turning in unison, the hushed shuffle of their movement placidly resting within the still, hot air, the shadows lengthening beneath a dusty orange sky.
The bathhouse was quiet, with only a few other attendants. The novices would be here soon. He stripped off and stepped down into the bath, relaxing into the pleasantly balmy water. He swam slowly out into the middle and floated on his back.
He breathed in, and breathed out, ears submerged in the water.
He stared up at the ceiling, the metallic, interlocking circles and radiating lines shining faintly with reflected firelight like the celestial bodies they represented.
He breathed in, breathed out, ears submerged in the water.
He was thinking less and less about what he’d forgotten. It was probably a good thing.
Attend. Look again.
He breathed in, breathed out, ears submerged in the water.
The circles and lines shone.
Droma dreamed again of the gleamhall.
The bronzes stared impassively above him as he pushed open the double doors. Frogs croaked in the rushes pressing up against the balustrades on either side, moonlight silvering the rushes and the path up ahead.
After a short distance the roof ended and the walkway became square stepping stones bisecting the fore-pool, which was open to the sky and filled with flowering water lilies. The stepping stones across the dark water led to wide steps, and the steps to towering cedar doors; the doors were flanked by bearded moonbulls, one hand on their heart, the other an outstretched palm.
The doors were banded in bronze with intricate astrological and mathematical signs.
“Define a foundational infinity topos.” The woman’s voice was clear and calm.
Droma turned. There was no one there.
Moonlight shone on the pool, the white lilies offering themselves to the night air.
Somehow he knew that the great doors behind him were swinging silently inward.