Small Gods

without one—”
    The Library door shook to a thunderous knocking. It wasn’t the knocking of people who expected the door to be opened.
    “We could throw some of the others into the—”
    The hinges leapt out of the walls. The door thudded down.
    Soldiers scrambled over it, swords drawn.
    “Ah, gentlemen,” said Didactylos. “Pray don’t disturb my circles.”
    The corporal in charge looked at him blankly, and then down at the floor.
    “What circles?” he said.
    “Hey, how about giving me a pair of compasses and coming back in, say, half an hour?”
    “Leave him, corporal,” said Brutha.
    He stepped over the door.
    “I said leave him.”
    “But I got orders to—”
    “Are you deaf? If you are, the Quisition can cure that,” said Brutha, astonished at the steadiness of his own voice.
    “You don’t belong to the Quisition,” said the corporal.
    “No. But I know a man who does,” said Brutha. “You are to search the palace for books. Leave him with me. He’s an old man. What harm can he do?”
    The corporal looked hesitantly from Brutha to his prisoners.
    “Very good, corporal. I will take over.”
    They all turned.
    “Did you hear me?” said Sergeant Simony, pushing his way forward.
    “But the deacon told us—”
    “Corporal?”
    “Yes, sergeant?”
    “The deacon is far away. I am right here.”
    “Yes, sergeant.”
    “Go!”
    “Yes, sergeant.”
    Simony cocked an ear as the soldiers marched away.
    Then he stuck his sword in the door and turned to Didactylos. He made a fist with his left hand and brought his right hand down on it, palm extended.
    “The Turtle Moves,” he said.
    “That all depends,” said the philosopher, cautiously.
    “I mean I am…a friend,” he said.
    “Why should we trust you?” said Urn.
    “Because you haven’t got any choice,” said Sergeant Simony briskly.
    “Can you get us out of here?” said Brutha.
    Simony glared at him. “You?” he said. “Why should I get you out of here? You’re an inquisitor!” He grasped his sword.
    Brutha backed away.
    “I’m not!”
    “On the ship, when the captain sounded you, you just said nothing,” said Simony. “You’re not one of us.”
    “I don’t think I’m one of them, either,” said Brutha. “I’m one of mine.”
    He gave Didactylos an imploring look, which was a wasted effort, and turned it towards Urn instead.
    “I don’t know about this soldier,” he said. “All I know is that Vorbis means to have you killed and he will burn your Library. But I can help. I worked it out on the way here.”
    “And don’t listen to him,” said Simony. He dropped on one knee in front of Didactylos, like a supplicant. “Sir, there are…some of us…who know your book for what it is…see, I have a copy…”
    He fumbled inside his breastplate.
    “We copied it out,” said Simony. “One copy! That’s all we had! But it’s been passed around. Some of us who could read, read it to the others! It makes so much sense!”
    “Er…” said Didactylos. “What?”
    Simony waved his hands in excitement. “Because we know it—I’ve been to places that—it’s true! There is a Great Turtle. The turtle does move! We don’t need gods!”
    “Urn? No one’s stripped the copper off the roof, have they?” said Didactylos.
    “Don’t think so.”
    “Remind me not to talk to this chap outside, then.”
    “You don’t understand!” said Simony. “I can save you. You have friends in unexpected places. Come on. I’ll just kill this priest…”
    He gripped his sword. Brutha backed away.
    “No! I can help, too! That’s why I came. When I saw you in front of Vorbis I knew what I could do!”
    “What can you do?” sneered Urn.
    “I can save the Library.”
    “What? Put it on your back and run away?” sneered Simony.
    “No. I don’t mean that. How many scrolls are there?”
    “About seven hundred,” said Didactylos.
    “How many of them are important?”
    “All of them!” said Urn.
    “Maybe a couple of hundred,” said Didactylos, mildly.
    “Uncle!”
    “All the rest is just wind and vanity publishing,” said Didactylos.
    “But they’re books! ”
    “I may be able to take more than that,” said Brutha slowly. “Is there a way out?”
    “There…could be,” said Didactylos.
    “Don’t tell him!” said Simony.
    “Then all your books will burn,” said Brutha. He pointed to Simony. “He said you haven’t got a choice. So you haven’t got anything to lose, have you?”
    “He’s