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〃Do we care about fortunes？〃 Gentle said。
〃You might not； boss；〃 Monday replied。 〃Personally； I'm much in favor。〃
He was right； Gentle thought。 They could have sold a thousand maps already； and they were only just entering the Third： maps which would have been copied； and the copies copied； each transcriber inevitably adding their own felicities to the design。 The thought of such proliferation led Gentle back to his own hand； which had seldom worked for any purpose other than profit； and which for all its labor had never produced anything of lasting value。 But unlike the paintings he'd forged； maps weren't cursed by the notion of a definitive original。 They grew in the copying； as their inaccuracies were corrected； their empty spaces filled； their legends redevised。 And even when all the corrections had been made； to the finest detail； they could still never be cursed with the word finished； because their subject continued to change。 Rivers widened and meandered； or dried up altogether； islands rose and sank again； even mountains moved。 By their very nature； maps were always works in progress； and Gentle…his resolve strengthened by thinking of them that way…decided after many months of delay to turn his hand to making one。
Occasionally along the road they'd meet an individual who； in ignorance of his audience； would boast some association with the Fifth's most celebrated son； the Maestro Sartori； and would proceed to tell Gentle and Monday about the great man。 The accounts varied； especially when it came to talk of his panion。 Some said he'd had a beautiful woman at his side； some his brother； called Pie； others still （these the least numerous） told of a mystif。 At first it was all Monday could do not to blurt the truth； but Gentle had insisted from the outset that he wanted to travel incognito； and having been sworn to secrecy the boy was as good as his word。 He kept his silence while wild tales of the Maestro's doings were told： marriages celebrated on the ceiling； copses springing up overnight where he'd slept； women made pregnant drinking from his cup。 The fact that he'd bee a figment of the popular imagination amused Gentle at first； but after a time it began to weigh on him。 He felt like a ghost among these living versions of himself； invisible among the listeners who gathered to hear tales of his exploits； the details of which were embroidered and embellished with every telling。
There was some fort in the fact that he was not the only character around whom such parables occurred。 There were other fables alive in the air between the ears and tongues of the populace； which the pilgrims were usually told when they asked after Jude and Hoi…Polloi： tales of miraculous women。 A whole new nomadic tribe had appeared in the Dominions since the fall of Yzordderrex。 Women of power were abroad； rising to the occasion of their liberation； and rites they'd only practiced at the hearth and cot were now performed in the open air for all to see。 But unlike the stories of the Maestro Sartori； most of which were pure invention； Gentle and Monday saw ample evidence that the stories concerning these women were rooted in truth。 In the province around Maike； for instance； which had been a dust bowl during Gentle's first pilgrimage； they found fields green with the first crop in six seasons； courtesy of a woman who'd sniffed out the course of an underground river and coaxed it to the surface with sways and supplications。 In the temples of L'Himby a sibyl had carved from a solid slab…using only her finger and her spittle…a representation of the city as she prophesied it would be in a year's time； her prophecy so mesmeric that her audience had gone out of the temple that very hour and had torn down the trash that had disfigured their city。 In the Kwem…where Gentle took Monday in the hope of finding Scopique…they found instead that the once shallow pit where the Pivot had stood was now a lake； its waters crystalline but its bottom hidden by the congregation of life that was forming in it： birds； mostly； which rose in sudden excited flocks； fully feathered and ready for the sky。
Here they had a chance to meet the miracle worker； for the woman who'd made these waters （literally； her acolytes said； it was the pissing of a single night） had taken up residence in the blackened husk of the Kwem Palace。 In the hope of gleaning some clue to Jude and Hoi…Polloi's whereabouts； Gentle ventured into the shadows to find the lake maker； and though she refused to show herself she answered his inquiry。 No； she hadn't seen a pair of travelers such as he described； but yes； she could tell him where they'd gone。 There were only two directions for wandering women these days； she explained： out of Yzordderrex and into it。
He thanked her for this information and asked her if there was anything he could do for her in return。 She told him that there was nothing she wanted from him personally； but she'd be very glad of the pany of his boy for an hour or two。 Somewhat chagrined； Gentle went out and asked Monday if he was willing to chance the woman's embrace for a while。 He said he was and left the Maestro to find himself a seat by the bird…breeding lake while he ventured into its maker's boudoir。 It was the first time in Gentle's life that any woman in search of sexual attentions had passed him over for another。 If ever he'd needed proof that his day was done； it was here。
When； after two hours； Monday reappeared （with a flushed face and ringing ears）； it was to find Gentle sitting at the lakeside； long ago tired of working on his map； surrounded by several small cairns of pebbles。
〃What are these？〃 the boy said。
〃I've been counting my romances；〃 Gentle replied。 〃Each one of them is a hundred women。〃
There were seven cairns。
〃Is that them all？〃 Monday said。
〃It's all that I remember。〃
Monday squatted down beside the stones。 〃I bet you'd like to love them all over again；〃 he said。
Gentle thought about this for a little time and finally said； 〃No。 I don't think so。 I've done my best work。 It's time to leave it to the younger men。〃
He tossed the stone he had in hand out into the middle of the teeming lake。
〃Before you ask；〃 he said。 〃That was Jude。〃
There were no diversions after that； nor any need to pursue rumors of women hither and thither。 They knew where Jude and Hoi…Polloi had gone。 Having left the lake； they were on the Lenten Way within a matter of hours。 Unlike so much else； the Way hadn't changed。 It was as busy and as wide as ever： an arrow； driving its straight way into the hot heart of Yzordderrex。
26
In the Fifth； winter came： not suddenly but certainly。 Hallowe'en was the last time people chanced the night air without coats； hats； and gloves； and it saw the first substantial visitation of Londoners to Gamut Street…revelers who'd taken the spirit of All Hallow's Eve to heart and e to see if there was any truth in the bizarre rumors they'd heard about the neighborhood。 Some retreated after a very short time； but the braver among them stayed to explore； a few lingering outside number 28； where they puzzled over the designs on the door and peered up at the carbonized tree that shaded the house fro