He dipped his pen again. This time he drew a lovely woman, supple-breasted and yearning in idealism.

“Here,” said the Builder, “is the Singer and his mate. The simple men of Urbis would worship such a cosmic pair. Why in their fantasies the two could romp through starry constellations and their progeny would be the infant galaxies. The ecstasy that they might give the poor of Terra would truly set men free.”

He stopped again while Anthem shook his head. In flurried words the Builder then erupted one more time. “By the gods, dear Anthem, we shall make him ride the unicorn. Think of it! A strident warrior- troubadour who reigns among the stars with his great consort Radia. And when they leave the unicorn to love, the earth will yield great harvests of fertility and joy.”

“No, Builder!” cried Anthem. “Put by your gods and unicorns. The Singer is Earthmaker’s only Son. He needs no temple built by men. Temples are prisons of both gods and men. Stone redeemers neither live nor come again.”

“But,” said the Builder, “let’s edit him and set him free. Not slay him, just adapt his small ontology and give him more humanity that we may understand, that’s all. Change his solo to a choir and broaden his small song till all the gods of Urbis sing along.”

Further argument with Praxis would be to no avail. That both Anthem and Everyman could see. The voyage soon would end, and it was clear at least for now the Singer’s friends would not include the Builder.

The Builder scooped his papers from the bridge and walked away. The night drew close; so therefore did the day. Shortly after dawn, a sailor yelled the sighting of their destiny. When Anthem raised his head to look, great golden Urbis floated on the sea.

Two left the ship to sing in city streets that very morn. But in one mind, the Singer sat astride a unicorn.

XVII

Thank God the priests are dead and stenographers type memos where machine-gunned clerics bled. We were surprised to hear that the revolutionaries were atheists. It should not have surprised us as it did. We had forgotten that the rabble teemed the lower city and walked in rags and prayed to St. Basil year by year. But the Saint was far too busy with the Czars to hear. It cost St. Basil everything to be so uppity.

The Singerians were not so new to Urbis as Anthem first had thought. Some isolated groups of singers were here and there in Urbis but always in the lower city.

Lower Urbis was a tunneled plain where lived the multitudes of dispossessed. They were the secret of the commerce of the upper city where lived the Poet King and all his complex court.

Anthem mingled in the tunnelways of lower Urbis and listened to the superstitions of the laundresses, confectioners and old bootblacks who labored there. They talked in envy of the world above them, the glistening city in the sun.