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Stralchus for once seems pleased to be addressed.

"Those texts that speak of oracles always couch their language in ambiguity," the mystic says, probably reciting from some well-known religious source. "If the Apostolic Mound has oracular powers, especially in this strange place, we're in great danger, as danger always follows oracles. But if—as I judge more likely—it's in touch with Dr. Sabbatine through more conventional means, we may still be able to escape."

Stralchus absently checks the breech of his rifle.

"Of course, I still expect nothing. A trick. A betrayal. Be on your guard, Mexihcatl. This is a wicked land."

Before you can ask Stralchus any more questions, the Painted Guardians point their obsidian-spiked clubs at you and gesture for you to approach. Aware of the danger posed by two huge men with allegedly invulnerable skin, you hesitate until Keimia gives you a nudge. With no other choice, you stride as confidently as you can up the steps. But the Painted Guardians offer no challenge as you reach the top of the stairs, pass beneath the cyclopean stone arch, and behold the sprawl of the Apostolic Mound's temple estate.

The mound's servants and the Guardians occupy cliffside dwellings on the far side of a wide plaza paved with huge stones. The Guardians spar with one another or patrol in small groups, while mundane servants fetch water, pound meal, or operate elaborate rope-and-pulley systems of uncertain function. Some people look like priests or priestesses; these wear spotless linen skirts, their limbs bound with gold and copper. There are over a hundred people here. Some resemble the River People, with straight black hair and ocher skin, but others are darker or lighter, smaller or larger.

And then you can see what must be the Apostolic Mound. You had not expected a human, but you had not expected this, either. And you wonder what wisdom you will find in this alien place.

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