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The Chatelaine Thea, who must have been listening to Vodalus though she had showed no sign of it, looked across him to me and said in a sweet, cooing voice, “Do you know how our world was renamed, torturer? The dawnmen went to red Verthandi, who was then named War. And because they thought that had an ungracious sound that would keep others from following them, they renamed it, calling it Present. That was a jest in their tongue, for the same word meant Now and The Gift. Or so one of our tutors once explained the matter to my sister and me, though I do not see how any language could endure such confusion.”

Vodalus listened to her as though he were impatient to speak himself, yet was too well mannered to interrupt her.

“Then others — who would have drawn a people to the innermost habitable world for their own reasons — took up the game as well, and called that world Skuld, the World of the Future. Thus our own became Urth, the World of the Past.”

“You are wrong in that, I fear,” Vodalus told her. “I have it on good authority that this world of ours has been called by that name from the utmost reaches of antiquity. Still, your error is so charming that I would rather have it that you are correct and I mistaken.”

Thea smiled at that, and Vodalus turned again toward me. “Though it does not explain why Urth is called as she is, my dear Chatelaine’s tale makes the vital point well, which is that in those times mankind traveled by his own ships from world to world, and mastered each, and built on them the cities of Man. Those were the great days of our race, when our fathers’ fathers’ fathers strove for the mastery of the universe.”

He paused, and because he seemed to expect some comment from me, I said, “Sieur, we are much diminished in wisdom from that age.”

“Ah, now you strike to the heart. Yet with all your perspicacity, you mistake it. No, we are not diminished in wisdom. We are diminished in power. Study has advanced without letup, but even as men have learned all that is needful for mastery, the strength of the world has been exhausted. We exist now, and precariously, upon the ruin of those who preceded us. While some skim the air in their fliers, ten thousand leagues in a day, we others creep upon the skin of Urth, unable to go from one horizon to the next before the westernmost has lifted itself to veil the sun. You spoke a moment ago of checkmating that mewling fool the Autarch. I want you to conceive now of two autarchs — two great powers striving for mastery. The white seeks to maintain things as they are, the black to set Man’s foot on the road to domination again. I called it the black by chance, but it would be well to remember that it is by night that we see the stars strongly; they are remote and all but invisible in the red light of day. Now, of those two powers, which would you serve?”

The wind was stirring in the trees, and it seemed to me that everyone at the table had fallen silent, listening to Vodalus and waiting for my reply. I said, “The black, surely.”

“Good! But as a man of sense you must understand that the way to reconquest cannot be easy. Those who wish no change may sit hugging their scruples forever. We must do everything. We must dare everything!”

The others had begun to talk and eat again. I lowered my voice until only Vodalus could hear me. “Sieur, there is something I have not told you. I dare not conceal it longer for fear you should think me faithless.”

He was a better intriguer than I, and turned away before he answered, pretending to eat. “What is it? Out with it.”

“Sieur,” I said, “I have a relic, the thing they say is the Claw of the Conciliator.”

He was biting the roasted thigh of a fowl as I spoke. I saw him pause; his eyes turned to look at me, though he did not move his head.

“Do you wish to see it, sieur? It is very beautiful, and I have it in the top of my boot.”

“No,” he whispered. “Yes, perhaps, but not here… No, better not at all.”

“To whom should I give it, then?”

Vodalus chewed and swallowed. “I had heard from friends I have in Nessus that it was gone. So you have it. You must keep it until you can dispose of it. Do not try to sell it — it would be identified at once. Hide it somewhere. If you must, throw it into a pit.”

“But surely, sieur, it is very valuable.”

“It is beyond value, which means it is worthless. You and I are men of sense.” Despite his words, there was a tinge of fear in his voice. “But the rabble believe it to be sacred, a performer of all manner of wonders. If I were to possess it, they would think me a desecrator and an enemy of the Theologoumenon. Our masters would think me turned traitor. You must tell me—”

Just at that moment, a man I had not seen previously came running up to the table with a look that indicated he bore urgent news. Vodalus rose and walked a few paces away with him, looking very much, I thought, like a handsome schoolmaster with a boy, for the messenger’s head was no higher than his shoulder.

I ate, thinking he would soon return; but after a long questioning of the messenger he walked away with him, disappearing among the broad trunks of the trees. One by one the others rose too, until no one remained but the beautiful Thea, Jonas and me, and one other man.

“You are to join us,” Thea said at last in her cooing voice. “Yet you do not know our ways. Have you need of money?”

I hesitated, but Jonas said, “That’s something that’s always welcome, Chatelaine, like the misfortunes of an older brother.”

“Shares will be set aside for you, from this day, of all we take. When you return to us, they will be given to you. Meanwhile I have a purse for each of you to speed you on your way.”

“We are going, then?” I asked.

“Were you not told so? Vodalus will instruct you at the supper.”

I had supposed the meal we were eating would be the final one of the day, and the thought must have been reflected in my face.

“There will be a supper tonight, when the moon is bright,” Thea said. “Someone will be sent to fetch you.” Then she quoted a scrap of verse:

“Dine at dawn to open your eyes, Dine at noon that you be strong. Dine at eve, and then talk long, Dine by night, if you’d be wise…”

“But now my servant Chuniald will take you to a place where you can rest for your journey.”

The man, who had been silent until now, stood and said, “Come with me.”

I told Thea, “I would speak with you, Chatelaine, when we have more leisure. I know something that concerns your schoolmate.”

She saw that I was serious in what I said, and I saw that she had seen. Then we followed Chuniald through the trees for a distance, I suppose, of a league or more, and at length reached a grassy bank beside a stream. “Wait here,” he said. “Sleep if you can. No one will come until after dark.”

I asked, “What if we were to leave?”

“There are those all through this wood who know our liege’s will concerning you,” he said, and turning on his heel, walked away.

Then I told Jonas what I had seen beside the opened grave, just as I have written it here.

“I see,” he remarked when I was finished, “why you will join this Vodalus. But you must realize that I am your friend, not his. What I desire is to find the woman you call Jolenta. You want to serve Vodalus, and to go to Thrax and begin a new life in exile, and to wipe out the stain you say you have made on the honor of your guild — though I confess I don’t understand how such a thing can be stained — and to find the woman called Dorcas, and to make peace with the woman called Agia while returning something we both know of to the women called Pelerines.”