A tremendous cylindrical device of tapering bronze stood upright, like a pillar, beneath a sailcloth awning. The central shaft had been fixed in place by six stone columns and an ingenious apparatus of rope and precious bronze. Yet it could not be a functioning telescope, for even if, by some miracle, mirrors of that size had been made, it was aimed straight down.

“What kind of telescope is it?” she asked Yawa.

“A spiritual one.”

“A spiritual telescope?”

“Of course. It peers into the world.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Come, come along, you balk like a baby goat.”

Yawa led the way down the ampitheater steps into the telescope’s pit. Directly beneath the apparatus was a pool of clear water—but no, no, that couldn’t be water, it didn’t seem to catch the light quite right.

Baru peered over the edge.

The well plunged into shimmering confusion. Far down below shone a blue-green light, like tide fire. But it came up to Baru through illuminated layers of color character, golden, greasy, soap-shine iridescent. “What is this?”

“An oil pit. The lens of the World Telescope.” Yawa tucked her feet beneath her on the bottom step. “Five years ago, in Duchy Lyxaxu, a dry pit was found in an ancient valley. I ordered it filled with concrete. Not the worst thing I ever did. But close.”

It smelled faintly but bitingly of alcohol. Open-mouthed she breathed the well air, until hints of deeper flavor gave her a theory. “Ah! The well’s full of different layers of chemistry. Alcohol water is the lightest, so it comes to the top. Next should be, ah, I can’t remember my densities.…”

“Lamp oil, I should think.”

“Yes! A vegetable extract next—”

“And freshwater at the bedrock base. The light from the bottom of the world comes up through the layers of oil, see, and becomes distorted by each layer—”

“But why would anyone want the light distorted?” Baru protested.

“Because this telescope observes messages from the heart of creation! One dares not see such things too clearly.”

“I’d dare,” Baru grumbled.

“Because you’re already quite insane.”

Baru stared at her wavering reflection. The tiny motions of the earth and air must stir this pool of layered oils. The very subtlest derangements of the universe, captured in the tremble of the surface.…

“I’m not insane,” she said, softly.

“Oh, come now,” Yawa clucked. “Let’s not bicker over the obvious. You have blunt-trauma dextral hemineglect with an alien limb and possible complicating fugue flight. If I were reviewing your marriage license I’d never let you bear children. Imagine them all born half-minded. Or half-bodied, goodness.”

She let that rest a moment. “And if I’d been asked to develop a case for your institutionalization in the Metademe, I would have no trouble writing a very convincing report.”