The White Gryphon

fountain after dark, for instance, they could take a chill.”

Makke nodded and sent both of the little ones tumbling away with pats to their hindquarters. In the past few weeks, she had been spending more and more time in the gryphons’ suite, time that had nothing to do with any cleaning that was needed. All Makke’s children were gone, and the twins had obviously aroused in her all the old maternal urges. Zhaneel had been more confident with Makke in charge of the nursery than she had been in entrusting the safety of the little ones to the young and obviously childless “nursemaids” supplied by the chief of the serving staff.

Makke was clearly surprised, despite all her earlier talks with Zhaneel, that anyone of Zhaneel’s rank would grant her such a privilege. She had even protested, once or twice, that this was not the sort of thing that she should be allowed to do.

“But you have been a mother, have you not?” Zhaneel had said, with patient logic.

Makke had nodded slowly.

“And you know and love children, you see my two imps as children and not as some sort of odd pet.” That was the problem with the “nursemaids,” who had probably been brought hi from the ranks of those normally in attendance on the many animals that courtiers brought with them. The girls treated the gryphlets as beloved pet animals, not as children—expecting a degree of self-sufficiency from them that the youngsters simply didn’t have yet. They might be as large as any of the biggest lion-hunting mastiffs, but you simply couldn’t leave them alone for any length of time without them getting themselves into some kind of trouble. Tadrith, in particular, had a genius for getting himself into situations he couldn’t get out of.

“That is so, great lady,” Makke had admitted.

“Then you are the correct person to help me with them,” Zhaneel had said firmly. “We of White Gryphon count what is in one’s heart far more important than what caste one is born into. For those of us who shared the same trials, bore the same burdens, rank has come to mean very little.”

Normally Makke came to the nursery with smiles wreathing her wrinkled old face, but tonight she had been unaccountably gloomy. Now she watched the two youngsters play with such a tragic hunger in her eyes that it might as well be the last time she ever expected to do so. Even as Zhaneel watched, the old woman blinked rapidly, as if she were attempting to hold back tears with an effort.

“Makke!” Zhaneel exclaimed, reaching out to her. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, great lady—” Makke began, but then her resolve and her courage both crumpled, and she shook her head, tears spilling out of her soft dark eyes and pouring over her withered cheeks. “Oh, lady—” she whispered tightly, blotting at her eyes with her sash. “Oh, lady—I am old, my children are gone, I have nowhere to go—and I must leave the Court—I have disgraced myself and I will be dismissed, and once I have been dismissed, I will die. There is nowhere that will shelter me—”

“Dismissed?” Zhaneel interrupted sharply. “Why? What could you possible have done that they would dismiss you for? I need you, Makke, isn’t that—”

“But you cannot trust me, lady!” Makke wailed softly, her face twisted with despair, the tears coming faster. “You must not trust me! I have failed in my duty and my trust, and you cannot ever dare to trust me with so precious a thing as your children, can you not see that? And I will be dismissed because I have failed in my trust! I must be dismissed! It is better that a worthless old rag as I should go after so failing in my duty!”

“But what have you done?” Zhaneel persisted, now seriously alarmed. “What on earth have you done?” A hundred dire possibilities ran through her mind. Makke was old, and sometimes the old made mistakes—oh, horrible thought! Could she have accidentally hurt or poisoned someone? Could she have let the fact that she suspected the Kaled’a’in of having mind-magic slip to one of the Priests? Could she have allowed someone of dubious reputation into the Palace?

Could she even, somehow, have been indirectly involved in the murders Skan had been accused of?

“Tell me!” Zhaneel demanded, insistently. “Tell me what you have done!”

“I—” Makke’s face crumpled even further, and her voice shrank to a hoarse whisper, as she yielded to the long habit of instantly obeying those in a caste above hers. “I—oh, great lady! It is dreadful—dreadful! I have cast disgrace over myself for all time! I lost someone’s—” Her voice fell to a tremulous whisper. “laundry.”

She—no—Zhaneel felt her beak gaping open. “You— what?” She shook her head violently. “You lost—laundry? And for this you would be dismissed and disgraced?” She shook her head again, and the words made no more sense than they had before. She blurted out the first thing that came into her mind. “Are you people insane?”

She did not doubt Makke, nor that events would follow precisely as Makke described. But—dismissal? For that?

“Great lady—” Makke dabbed at her eyes and straightened a little, trying to meet Zhaneel’s gaze without breaking down again. “Great lady, it is a matter of honor, you see. If it were my own laundry, or that of the Chief of Servants—or even that of a ranking lady, it would be of—of less concern. But it is the