in royal Simjan livery were dashing among them with with trays of clinking glasses. Servants fanned the elder statesmen, who grumbled in their chairs. Beside a fountain in the shape of the Tree of Heaven the king was promising the wilting dignitaries 'a feast for the ages' when the ceremony ended. Pacu Lapadolma, true to her Maid-in-Waiting role, hovered by the gate to the Cactus Gardens.
Fiffengurt trained his good eye on her. 'Perhaps we should confide in Mistress Pacu.'
'No!' snapped Neeps.
'No,' Pazel agreed. 'She's fond of Thasha in her way, but her only real passions are horses and the glory of Arqual. Who knows what she'd do if we told her the plan?'
'The boys are right,' said Hercol. 'The Lapadolmas have fought and bled for the Magad Emperors for two hundred years, and Pacu embraces that history with measureless pride. We must assume, moreover, that Sandor Ott's spies remain active, no matter what has happened to their master.'
'I hope a ton of bricks happened to him,' said Pazel. 'Maybe one of those half-ruined buildings in Ormael.'
'He may have fled Ormael by now,' said Hercol, 'whether or not the Imperial governor has had the courage to order him brought to justice. But his agents are still in place, and they will be watching us. We shall be in danger by land and sea. Yet I cannot forget Ramachni's warning. At some point we must risk confidences again.'
Pazel felt a stab of worry. Ramachni was their mage, a good wizard in the body of a coal-black mink, who for reasons he would not discuss had taken an interest in Thasha for years. His home was not Alifros but a distant world. Pazel had glimpsed that world once, through a magic portal, the thought of which thrilled and frightened him to this day.
But last night Ramachni had left them. The battle with Arunis had taken all his strength, and forced him to crawl back through the portal to his own world, to recuperate. Find new allies, he had told them as he left: find them at all costs, or you can't hope to prevail. And when would he return? Look for me, he had said, when a darkness falls beyond today's imagining.
To Pazel that sounded like a very long time. He wondered if the others felt the same vague terror as he did. Without Ramachni's wisdom they were fumbling, blind — lost in the darkness already.
'You took one risk this morning, didn't you?' said Fiffengurt. 'You trusted me.'
Hercol laughed. 'That was not difficult. Pazel, Neeps and Thasha all vouched for you. Agreement among them is too rare a thing to ignore.'
'Yet I'm fond of Arqual myself,' said Fiffengurt. 'Not the Empire, mind you: I mean the old notions we sang about in nursery-days — Arqual, Arqual, just and true, land of hope forever new — before all this lust for territory and hugeness. They stole that Arqual out from under our noses a long time ago, in my granddad's day, maybe. If it ever existed, that is. By the Blessed Tree, I always thought it once had. But after what I've seen aboard Chathrand I don't know what to think.'
Hercol gave a rueful smile. 'It existed,' he said. 'But not in your grandfather's time. Perhaps his grandfather saw its twilight, as a young man. Such talk must wait, however. We must concentrate on Thasha if we are to save her.'
'I just wish we could tell the admiral,' said Pazel, looking sombrely through the gate.
'Not a chance,' said Fiffengurt. 'Thasha said it herself: old Isiq would never have agreed.'
'Master Hercol,' said a voice behind them.
The friends fell quickly silent. A young man with a bright smile and handsome, chisel-jawed features was standing a few paces away, hands folded. He was dressed smartly, dark vest over white shirt, billowed sleeves held snug at the wrists with cufflinks of polished brass: the uniform of a page or errand-runner for the well-to-do. He gave them a slight, ironic bow.
'What do you want, lad?' said Hercol. 'I don't know you.'
'Not know me?' said the youth, his voice amused. 'Does the leaf forget the tree that made it, or the tree the wooded mountain?'
Hercol froze at the words. Then he slowly turned to face the young man. The youth gave him a barely perceptible nod.
'Keep an eye out for Thasha,' said Hercol to the others. Then he took the young man by the elbow and moved swiftly away through the crowd. Pazel watched them cross a pebble-strewn path, around a trellis of scarlet flowers, and disappear towards a far corner of the garden.
To his surprise, Pazel felt a sudden, irrepressible desire to know what they were up to. Leaving Neeps protesting by the gate, he darted after Hercol and the youth. The rose bushes were tall and thick, and the guests were many, and it was several minutes before he spotted the pair — through the sun-dappled spray of the fountain, as it chanced.
Hercol was standing beside a pair of tall, fair women, wearing sky-blue gowns and circlets of silver in their hair. They were twin duchesses from Hercol's country; he had pointed them out to the tarboys just an hour before. The three were chatting quietly, sipping cups of hyacinth nectar. The Simjan youth was nowhere to be seen.
Pazel felt rather a fool — Hercol was making pleasantries, like everyone else. But when the sisters took their leave Hercol did not start back to the gate. Instead he turned very casually to face the juniper bushes. Pazel followed his gaze. And to his great surprise, he saw a face.
The junipers, he realised now, were arranged to hide a section of the iron fence around the gardens. The gaps were few and narrow. But framed in the largest, just beyond the fence, were the head and shoulders of an old but striking woman. She was tall and stern, grey eyes under a grey mane of hair, a face not so much wrinkled as creased with long thought. A royal face, Pazel thought, for he had been looking at royalty all morning; and yet there was something about this face that was like no other he had ever seen.
Her eyes met the Tholjassan's. Hercol kept very still, but it was like the stillness of a hunting hound tensed to spring. Then the woman drew a hood over her face and turned away. Pazel saw a pair of large, hard-faced men beside her, gripping her arms in the manner of body-guards. An instant later she was gone.
'What in the Pits?' muttered Pazel.
A hand touched his elbow. It was Neeps, looking rather flustered. 'Where've you been?' he demanded. 'Thasha will be here any minute, and Pacu's throwing a first-class fit.'
'You won't believe what I just saw.'
'Try me,' said Neeps.
Before Pazel could say more, a voice cried shrilly: 'Here she comes now! Boys! Boys!'
Neeps sighed. 'Come on, before she calls out the marines.'
They hurried back to the gate. The fact that they were Thasha's best friends did not matter a fig to Pacu Lapadolma. To her they were just tarboys, born to serve their betters, and nothing short of marrying royalty themselves could change that.
She snapped her fingers at them. 'Get in position! You' — she pointed at Pazel — 'must straighten your coat, and your hat, and keep your hair out of sight if possible. And there is a rose petal stuck to your shoe.'
Pazel raked uselessly at his hair. They had already thought of a dozen choice insults for the general's daughter. Neeps for his part was only awaiting the end of the crisis to deliver them.
'Do you have the Blessing-Band?'
Pazel tapped his vest pocket, where the silk ribbon lay coiled. 'Nothing's happened to it since the last time you asked.'
The young woman might have snapped a retort had Thasha not appeared just then at the gate.
'Darling!' said Pacu, seizing her arm.
Thasha firmly detached the hand. 'The last person who called me 'darling' was poisoning my father, Pacu.'
'What a dreadful comparison, you heartless thing! Syrarys never meant the word, and I love you like a sister. But you're simply gorgeous, Thasha Isiq! Yes, a sister, that's the exact sensation in my heart!'
'You're an only child.'
Pacu rescued an orchid that was sliding free of Thasha's love-knot. She gave an inquisitive sniff, and her eyes widened. 'Have you put on some new perfume? Or is it your father's cologne?'
'Never mind that,' said Thasha quickly. 'Be an angel, Pacu. Fetch me a glass of water.'
When she had gone Thasha turned and looked at the tarboys. 'Darlings!' she said.
'Thasha,' said Pazel. 'You're swaying.'
