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normally his mind wandered
through books like a butterfly through a garden, he now evinced
indifference to the most interesting trivia. Yet a list hidden in a
drab almanac absorbed his attention for some time. He carefully
copied down sketches of various architectural features common in
the city. A lengthy, if not obsessive, inquiry into the properties
of various ropes caused him to shout with joy.
    At last Conwy had found all that he sought.
He opened his window. Then he addressed to the moon a lengthy and
solemn oath. All roads, so the saying goes, lead to Mayajat. This
is true of the roads of the heavens as well as those of the earth.
Thus Conwy had gods from a dozen worlds by whom to swear. He swore
by Isis and Osiris, by the senile and malignant gods who crouch in
the ruins of the Abysmal Plain, by the hyena-mouthed one who eats
the fruit of the machete , human hearts. Finally he
declared,
    "By all these gods I swear; my vassalage to
thee, O tyrant of the skies, draws close to its end!"
    But it was the first hour of dawn, and the
moon had already gone to sleep, and did not hear.
     
    ---
     
    Conwy set forth that very morning. The sun,
though he welcomed his return, revealed a scene best left hidden.
He smelled stale wine, urine and vomit. A blanket of detritus
covered all, as if some maleficent sea had flooded the streets and
then departed. The combination of hangover and adjusting to a new
temperament drove most to their hammocks for the morning, if not
the day. The few people on the streets shuffled without speed or
direction, and with queasy and bewildered expressions, their entire
attention taken with avoiding broken glass and pools of liquid.
    For many hours Conwy studied various
buildings, paying particular attention to their roofs. When the
shopkeepers arose at last, Conwy spent the few cowrie shells he
possessed on rope, a lantern, and other supplies not suited to
scholars. This took most of the day. The custom of Mayajat is for
buyer and seller to spend hours sipping strawberry tea and
haggling. Conwy returned home near sunset. The garbage-strewn
streets played host to a new revel, this time of gulls, roaches,
and rats. He wished for the cleansing monsoon. Alas, that was many
months away.
    He slept. When he arose again the sky was
dark. The moon was once more sovereign of the sky. But as she was
no longer full, Conwy held no fear of her. Indeed he hoped she was
watching. He went into the streets bearing a pack filled with his
purchases of the day. He held a machete, and kept his lantern
unlit, but no one challenged him, until he stopped in the shadows
of a nondescript building. He drew from his pack a rope, which
ended in a grappling hook. Once the claw of a dragon, the hook
retained the fierce grip it had in life. Conwy threw it upwards and
it gripped fast.
     
    ---
     
    As the Mayajenes said (and still say), not
all who are bearded are wise. Few on the ground had even heard of
the Owls of Yib. Yet only the wise mediation of these sages
prevents outright war between one roof-dwelling kindred and
another. For the talking sparrow has little love for the swan of
blood , as talking ravens are called, and the proud and violent
gargoyles loathe those roof-dwelling imps who make their way into
houses at night, stealing socks for unknown purposes.
    Conwy, rich in books but a beggar in
friendship, was probably better informed about the roofs than
anyone in the city. He knew where and when the Owls of Yib would be
holding court. And he knew that they were experts on the moon.
    Again he threw the grappling hook upwards and
into the darkness.
     
    ---
     
    Conwy was, by now, in the temple district:
the highest and oldest part of the city, rarely seen even by
burglars. His vision was obscured by thick mists, the rising smoke
of incense. Conwy smelled jasmine, honey, and vanilla. An
acquaintance of his youth had worn a similar scent. Conwy thought
for a moment of sky-coloured eyes.
    Remembering his beloved was like biting