The Cydonian Pyramid by Pete Hautman Page B

and maintained the few machines still used by the Lah Sept — machines like her entertainment table and the priests’ shock batons. Some said that Boggsians were immune to the Plague. Others maintained that they were themselves victims and carriers. The priests denounced them for their digital ways and their peculiar religious practices, even as they purchased their digital technologies.
    We know little of what the Boggsians do in their domains,
the Lait Pike had once told her.
Their ways are hidden. It is said by some that they never change their clothes, that their prayers are woven of numbers and dark thoughts, that they eat the eggs of crows. Still, they are a necessary evil, like white lies and black knives.
    As the Boggsian and his horse clopped toward her, Lia noticed a curious thing. The
clop-clop-clop
sound did not match the fall of the horse’s hooves, as if the horse was walking silently while a recording of an entirely different horse played. The driver pulled back on the reins. The horse stopped, but the sound of its hooves continued for a moment.
    The Boggsian was dark haired, olive skinned, and nearly as big around the middle as his horse. He touched the brim of his black hat with a thick-fingered hand and spoke in a voice that made her think of tumbling stones.
    “Be this the
shayner maidel
?”
    Shayner maidel?
Lia had been taught several languages, but these words were unfamiliar.
    The man on the cart saw her incomprehension. He leaned toward her and spoke carefully. “My name is Artur Zelig-Boggs, child. You must call me Artur.” She could not see much of his mouth because of the beard, but the corners of his eyes crinkled in a kindly fashion.
    “Your horse is not a horse,” she said.
    He raised his heavy black eyebrows in surprise. “Ach, but he is! Gort is a very
goot
horse!”
    Lia reached out to touch the horse. Her fingers disappeared into its flank. She jerked her hand back.
    “I’ve never seen a horse like
that
before!”
    Artur chuckled. “You see his image. You will come with me and see him fleshwise,
nu
?” Artur patted the seat beside him.
    Lia looked from Artur to the guards.
    “Go,” said the guard on her left.
    “What if I don’t want to?”
    The guards did not reply, but she feared she knew the answer. If she refused to go with the Boggsian, the Medicants would take their payment in body parts. She took a step closer to the cart and touched the wheel. It felt real — a steel hoop shod in hard black rubber. The solidity of the wheel reassured her. Perhaps the Boggsian meant her no harm. He reached down. Lia grasped his thick hand and let him help her up onto the padded bench seat. He was, she thought, the largest man she had ever met.
    Artur gave the reins a twitch. The cart moved forward. The wheels turned smoothly. A faint vibration rose up through the wooden seat. The not-horse moved its legs.
    Artur guided the cart around a row of autos, then directed it back toward the exit. The guards stayed where they were, watching until the cart left the garage and rolled out of the building and onto the street.
    Lia had given no thought to what might lie outside the Medicant hospital, so her reaction to the surrounding city was utter and complete amazement. The street they turned onto ran straight as an arrow through a walled canyon of nearly identical blocky buildings, hands of stories tall, all faced with a stonelike substance in gray, beige, and tan, all with windows of uniform size and shape. Each building had symbols affixed to its front. Lia suspected that the symbols represented numbers; she tried not to look at them. The street itself was several lanes of smooth gray concrete filled with humming, moving vehicles — mostly the same sort of autos she had seen parked inside the hospital building, though some were larger. Artur calmly guided the horse and cart into the traffic stream. The autos shifted and slowed to make room for them. They settled into the right lane. Autos