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inappropriate. I lay down instead, and now that it was daylight, slept.
    I woke again about noon. The lazaret was as quiet as it ever became; somewhere far off two men were talking and another cried out, but their voices only emphasized the stillness. I sat up and looked around, hoping to see the soldier. On my right lay a man whose close-cropped scalp made me think at first that he was one of the slaves of the Pelerines. I called to him, but when he turned his head to look at me, I saw I had been mistaken.
    His eyes were emptier than any human eyes I had ever seen, and they seemed to watch spirits invisible to me. "Glory to the Group of Seventeen," he said.
    "Good morning. Do you know anything about the way this place is run?"
    A shadow appeared to cross his face, and I sensed that my question had somehow made him suspicious. He answered, "All endeavors are conducted well or ill precisely in so far as they conform to Correct Thought."

    Wolfe,_Gene_-_Book_of_the_New_Sun_4_-_The_Citadel_of_the_Autarch
    "Another man was brought in at the same time I was. I'd like to talk to him. He's a friend of mine, more or less."
    "Those who do the will of the populace are friends, though we have never spoken to them. Those who do not do the will of the populace are enemies, though we learned together as children."
    The man on my left called, "You won't get anything out of him.
    He's a prisoner."
    I turned to look at him. His face, though wasted nearly to a skull, retained something of humor. His stiff, black hair looked as though it had not seen a comb for months.
    "He talks like that all the time. Never any other way. Hey, you !
    We're going to beat you!"
    The other answered, "For the Armies of the Populace, defeat is the springboard of victory, and victory the ladder to further victory."
    "He makes a lot more sense than most of them, though," the man on my left told me.
    "You say he's a prisoner. What did he do?"
    "Do? Why, he didn't die."
    "I'm afraid I don't understand. Was he selected for some kind of suicide mission?"
    The patient beyond the man on my left sat up—a young woman with a thin but lovely face. "They all are," she said. "At least, they can't go home until the war is won, and they know, really, that it will never be won."
    "External battles are already won when internal struggles are Wolfe,_Gene_-_Book_of_the_New_Sun_4_-_The_Citadel_of_the_Autarch conducted with Correct Thought."
    I said, "He's an Ascian, then. That's what you meant. I've never seen one before."
    "Most of them die," the black-haired man told me. "That's what I said."
    "I didn't know they spoke our language."
    "They don't. Some officers who came here to talk to him said they thought he'd been an interpreter. Probably he questioned our soldiers when they were captured. Only he did something wrong and had to go back to the ranks."
    The young woman said, "I don't think he's really mad. Most of them are. What's your name?"
    "I'm sorry, I should have introduced myself. I'm Severian." I almost added that I was a lictor, but I knew neither of them would talk to me if I told them that.
    "I'm Foila, and this is Melito. I was of the Blue Huzzars, he a hoplite."
    "You shouldn't talk nonsense," Melito growled. "I am a hoplite. You are a huzzar."
    I thought he appeared much nearer death than she.
    "I'm only hoping we will be discharged when we're well enough to leave this place," Foila said.
    "And what will we do then? Milk somebody else's cow and herd his pigs?" Melito turned to me. "Don't let her talk deceive you—we were volunteers, both of us. I was about to be promoted when I was Wolfe,_Gene_-_Book_of_the_New_Sun_4_-_The_Citadel_of_the_Autarch wounded, and when I'm promoted I'll be able to support a wife."
    Foila called, "I haven't promised to marry you!"
    Several beds away, someone said loudly, "Take her so she'll shut up about it!"
    At that, the patient in the bed beyond Foila's sat up. "She will marry me." He was big, fair skinned, and pale haired, and he spoke