Free On Blue's waters by Gene Wolfe

boyhood was over and done with long ago, and my young manhood was behind me. I had married because it had seemed natural for Nettle and me to marry as we had planned from childhood. We would not willingly separate as long as we both lived, no matter how much distance might separate us; and if she should die before me, I would not marry again. Life and chance had given us three sons; we would have liked a daughter as well, a daughter certainly, or even two; but it was too late for that now, perhaps. Or if not too late, it would be when I returned from the Long Sun Whorl.
    Time to close, to tote up accounts.
    That, as I realized sitting alone upon the quiet sea, had been the chief reason I had so readily accepted the task those five people had come to persuade me to undertake. How surprised they had been! They had brought food, tents, and trunks full of clothing, expecting to spend a week or more on Lizard; but in my books Silk was an account that had never been closed, one so large that it dwarfed all others. At fifteen, I had thought him the greatest of great men. At thirty-five, only a little taller, thick-bodied and nearly bald, I thought him a great man still.
    I closed the book, and secured it in the cubby under the foredeck.
    He would meet us at the lander, he had said, if he could; he had not met us there. Latecomers such as Blazingstar had reported that he was still caldé when they had left Viron; but even their information was years out of date. There had been Trivigaunti troopers in the tunnels, and it seemed probable to me then (I mean then, on the sloop) that they had captured him when he had tried to rejoin us. If so, it seemed likely that Generalissimo Siyuf would soon have restored him as caldé, subject to her orders. That would account for the latecomer’s reports, and in that case he might be governing Viron still, with every decision he made dictated by some cruel and arrogant Trivigaunti general.
    Yet there were half a dozen other possibilities. No more settlers had reached us from Old Viron for years now, and Silk might have died aboard a lander that had failed to reach either whorl; everyone knew that not all the landers that left the Whorl landed safely on Blue or Green.
    Equally, he might have been killed on Siyuf’s orders at a later date, or been deposed by her or some other Trivigaunti; in which case he might be living in exile.
    With or without Hyacinth, he might have boarded a lander that took him to Green, and if he had he was presumably dead. Equally, he might have landed on some part of Blue remote from us. (This still seems possible to me, as I wrote when I began this straggling history.) Before they left Lizard, I had brought up the possibility with Marrow and the rest, and they had agreed that it could not be discounted entirely. Here I am in a part of Blue a very considerable distance from New Viron, and hear nothing of Silk; but that means nothing. If he were a hundred leagues east of Gaon and me-or on Shadelow-it would explain everything.
    I may find him yet. Perseverance and prayer! All is not lost until I give up the search.
    * * *
    Very busy the last few days, busy until I was at length forced to put off all the others who desired to speak with me or desired to do it again, telling them that I required rest and prayer (which was true enough) and that my subordinates would hear their protestations, weigh their proofs, and decide matters. And telling my subordinates in turn that I trusted their judgment (which is not entirely false) and would support their decisions as long as they played no favorites and took no bribes.
    Having said all that, and made it clear that I meant it, I retreated to this pleasant room and shut and barred the door. Here I sit, surrounded by a reverent hush, having prayed and read this rambling account of the beginning of my adventures through, and prayed again. All with intervals of pacing up and down, slamming my fist into my palm, and providing food and fresh