“Pure whiskey, most of them. … I suppose it’s just as well,” continued Sefill, apparently following his last thought. “Keylinn’s father was upset when she left, and her sister is shy around strangers, like many of her people.”
The Dean appeared at the far end of the hall and caught Tal’s eye, motioning him to come forward. “Stay and enjoy yourself,” said Tal to Spider. “I may be a while.”
A moment later he vanished, with the Dean, through a doorway. Spider leaned on a railing and watched diem disappear. He said to Sefill, “Do you know what ‘gathrid’ means?” The word had jumped out at him from the brief exchange in the car—he’d once heard Keylinn use it of Tal, in no flattering way.
“As a matter of fact I do—it’s from the Old Tongue, a very rich language. It means ‘angel.’ ”
Spider was nonplussed. Then he said, “I must have the wrong word.”
“Maybe if you could tell me the context—” began Sefill, then he laughed. “Of course, the word also means ‘demon.’ In the old tongue, the two are the same.”
No wonder some people thought the Graykey were one step above witches. “That’s pretty odd, don’t you think?”
“Well, you must understand the history it stems from. The gathrid is a favorite character in Old Tongue plays— the propellor of the action, often. Things happen around a gathrid. And after all, the important thing to a Graykey is not good or evil, but consistency of behavior.”
Spider straightened up from the railing. “You’re not joking with me, are you?”
“No, not at all! If you knew the trouble I had getting my classes to understand Outsider mindsets— Forget it. Just take my word for it, that the Graykey respect consistency over goodness. They like to know where they stand. The contract is everything; a man who keeps his contracts is honorable, and can be trusted. The man who never keeps them need not be trusted. But an apparently honorable man who suddenly breaks a contract is beneath contempt.”
Spider watched as Keylinn’s little sister abruptly pulled open a cluster of dancers and joined them. She stamped and whirled wildly, the glitter on her shoes catching the light. Her head was thrown back and she shrieked as they turned a sharp comer of the dance. He said to Sefill, “I thought you said she was shy.”
“I said among strangers.”
Spider saw with some alarm that Keylinn’s father had left a knot of people and was making his way to them through the crowd. What was he supposed to say to the man? He said to Sefill, “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“He’s not supposed to. But you have no idea how quickly rumors can— Hello, Rory. I see Jannie is stamping up steam on the dance floor. She’s becoming quite a little lady, I don’t doubt she’ll be entering single combats soon.”
Up close, Keylinn’s father was a sad-faced man with brown hair and thick brows. He wore a green and black cap. He said, “You hear all the Outsider news, Sefill. What’s this about a ship landing with news of Keylinn?”
“You’d be better asking the Chief Judge than me, Rory.”
“It’s you I’m asking. And who’s this with you? I hope you’re not forgetting your manners.”
Sefill gave in gracefully. “May I present Stratton Hastings—Rory Camberil Murtagh.”
Rory Murtagh inclined his head. “Stratton Hastings, of … ?”
“Of the Diamond,” said Spider, giving up. “Honored to meet you, sir.”
“The Diamond.” Rory Murtagh had the sort of eyes that seem to expect the worst. He turned those eyes on Spider in mute inspection. “But you’re not the gathrid, are you?”
“No, sir, I’m not.”
“Ah, well, we may not be fated to meet. It’s only the young and fearless who walk openly with gathrids and send letters home saying not to worry. Do you know if my Keylinn is all right, Stratton Hastings?”
“She was all right when I last saw her,” said Spider, taking refuge had he but known it in the deception of “Graykey truth.” It was a good thing he’d never met Keylinn’s father, he thought, and had had no time to prepare; rehearsal always killed his ability to lie.
“But you’ve come here for some purpose,” said Rory Murtagh.
Actually, sir, we seem to have lost your daughter. “I’m just along for the ride,” said Spider. “You’d have to talk to the gathrid.”
“I will, should fate and the Dean allow us to meet.” Keylinn’s father stood a moment, then bowed and left them.
Spider let out his breath. “Why hasn’t somebody else told him?”
Sefill said, “It’s a matter for the school and the Society of Judges. A contact matter. And besides, Rory Murtagh is not the most stable of men. He has black depressions, they last for months sometimes.” He reached for a passing tray. “Ah, wine at last. My insides were not fashioned for hard Graykey liquor.” He sipped, and watched Rory return to his companions. “It’s a small place here. Everybody knows everything about everybody else.”
The dancing had reached frenzied proportions and then slipped somehow into a waltz. Spider saw two young women spot each other from opposite ends of the hall. Evidently they had not met in a long time. They yelled joyfully, ran to meet, and went into a private dance of false fighting—feinting, jabbing, ramming into each other gently, and other physical displays. He’d seen this kind of affectionate horseplay among young men, particularly the City Guard, but never among women. Surely they held back from this sort of indignity.
Sefill saw his glance and said, “I was a bit shocked myself, when I first came. My people are much more reserved. We don’t go in for such casual behavior. But the Graykey training has a strong physical component, you know; all that energy has to go somewhere. They lose their natural reticence.”
“I see,” said Spider.
“Old habits die hard. I’ve seen sixty-year-olds tumbling over each other like puppies. Why, my housekeeper came to see me one morning with her back thrown out, and when I asked her how it
