Silence in SolitudeSILENCE IN SOLITUDE
The Second Book of "The Roads of Heaven"
by Melissa Scott
Copyright 1986 by Melissa Scott
Chapter 1
THE APPRENTICES' HALL WAS DANK, AND SMELLED faintly of the cheap incense used in 
the workrooms on the floor above. Silence Leigh sighed, rubbing her cold fingers 
together in a futile attempt to warm them, then held her hands just under the 
tube of fixed fire that lighted her section of the table. That was a little 
better, but she knew from experience that the warmth would vanish as soon as she 
took her hands away from the lamp.
In the six months she had been on Solitudo Hermae, she had grown to hate the 
damp chill of the apprentices' hall. The partitions to either side, which hid 
her work from the other apprentices who shared the long table, gave privacy but 
did nothing to cut the cold drafts.
She sighed again, and let her hands fall back to the photoflashed text that lay 
open before her. Unfortunately, there was no avoiding the daily study sessions 
in the hall: half the texts she and the other apprentices had to work from were 
restricted -- literally chained to the edge of each apprentice's section of the 
communal table.
There were three more books besides the open Theater of Meditation in her 
cubicle, their silvery chains glittering in the light from the fixed-fire lamp. 
Idly, she ran her fingers along the chain running from the Theater of Meditation 
to the massive staple embedded in the table top. She could feel the lingering 
resonances of the power the magi had used to forge the special metal and, after 
six months' intensive study, could begin to guess at the processes involved in 
the forging. She gave the chain a gentle tug, wondering just what it would take 
to break the bonds between chain, staple, and table. Then she smiled, slowly. 
That was a most improper thought for a magus's apprentice -- they were supposed 
to wait until their masters deemed them ready for new knowledge, not to seek 
such knowledge on their own. But then, she was hardly a proper apprentice.
Her smile faded. Less than a year ago, she had been a starship pilot and nothing 
more. The position had been hard for a woman to win, but steering her 
grandfather's trading ship Black Dolphin from world to world had been all she 
had ever wanted in life.
But then her grandfather had died, and she had been plunged into an increasingly 
complicated and dangerous series of adventures. First, her uncle, who was her 
legal guardian unless she married, had cheated her out of her rightful 
inheritance, the Black Dolphin. Then he had tried to trap her into working for 
him in his search for the lost, semi-legendary home of mankind, Earth. She had 
escaped that by taking the first job that was offered -- piloting for Denis 
Balthasar aboard the half-and-half Sun-Treader -- and had bought her legal 
freedom from her uncle by joining Balthasar and his engineer, Julian Chase Mago, 
in a three-way marriage of convenience.
She smiled again, a little wistfully this time. They were good men, both of 
them, and she did not regret her choice, but the marriage had thrown her 
straight into even more trouble. Denis Balthasar was a courier for the pirate 
combine Wrath-of-God, and Wrath-of-God had been engaged in its final battle with 
the Asterion Hegemony. The captains of Wrath-of-God had mustered every ship in 
their fleet, from the warships down to couriers like Sun-Treader, for a raid on 
the frozen world of Arganthonios -- and had been ambushed and defeated. 
Sun-Treader's crew were among the lucky ones, Silence knew: the Hegemon's navy 
was desperately short of men to crew its ships, and had bound some of the 
surviving pirates to its service. She, Balthasar, and Chase Mago had been so 
bound -- the geas had nearly killed Balthasar -- and assigned to crew a mailship 
carrying a special passenger to the siege of Castax.
It was then, Silence decided, that things had really begun to change. She had 
taken the first steps during the nightmare passage between Arganthonios and the 
navy depot on Sapriportus, discovering a power within that allowed her to resist 
the geas. But it was aboard the mail-ship that she had first seen how to use 
that strength. She had broken her own geas, then freed the others, but their 
escape had been blocked by their passenger, the magus Isambard. And that, 
Silence thought, was the real beginning. If we thought we had troubles 
before....
That was not entirely fair, and she knew it, but there was enough truth to it. 
Balthasar said as much at every opportunity. The mailship had carried no weapons 
that would be effective against a magus. In desperation, Silence had offered a 
bargain. She owned an ancient starbook that gave the road to lost Earth. She 
would take the magus to Earth and share the fabulous secrets they were sure to 
find there, if he in turn would protect them from the Hegemon's people. No magus 
could have resisted that offer.
They had made the attempt, but the Earth road was blocked by Rose Worlder siege 
engines, and the badly damaged mailship had barely limped into the nearest port, 
on Mersaa Maia. There, with the Rose Worlder authorities looking for any excuse 
to arrest and imprison them all, Isambard had calmly informed the three that, 
contrary to all the known rules of the magi's art, Silence was herself 
potentially a magus, and offered to train her -- if she would keep her part of 
the bargain and help Isambard reach Earth. She had agreed, and in a final, 
delightful act of revenge had stolen back the Black Dolphin, which had also come 
to Mersaa Maia in search of the Earth road.
That had been six months ago, and now, sitting shivering in the apprentices' 
hall on the magi's world Solitudo Hermae, it was hard to believe it had all 
happened. Silence shook her head slowly, not seeing the book that lay open 
before her. Isambard had had a hard time convincing the magi who oversaw the 
school that she, a woman, had the potential to become a magus, but once they had 
agreed to accept her as an apprentice, she had been completely absorbed into the 
system. Over the past months she had immersed herself in the Trivium -- the 
Three Arts of symbology, perception, and manipulation that were the basis of a 
magus's knowledge. Soon she would master them, she hoped, and be able to proceed 
to the Quadrivium; but in the meantime there was work to be done.
She looked again at the book in front of her, forcing herself to pay attention 
to the elaborately symbolic drawing. It was very like the illustrations in her 
starbooks, and she felt a sudden surge of loneliness. Piloting she knew, had 
already mastered completely, not like the Trivium. But more than that, to be a 
pilot again meant to be in space with her husbands. At the moment, she envied 
them bitterly: they had already been off-world half a dozen times, first to see 
Black Dolphin refitted, and then to see if Balthasar could reestablish contact 
with whatever was left of Wrath-of-God. They were off-world again now, and 
Silence found herself torn between envious resentment and the desire for their 
return.
She shook herself hard and pulled the book closer to her, trying to concentrate 
on the image. A woman in antique half-armor stood silhouetted against a sky that 
was half stormy and half clear. She held a spade in her right hand; her left 
rested on the ring of a huge anchor. Silence stared at it for a long moment, 
trying to deduce the special meaning behind the image, then sighed and reached 
for the hieroglyphica chained to the table in front of her. The main image, the 
standing, armored woman, was a common topos for metaphysical strength. The 
anchor, according to the hieroglyphica's table, could be anything from hope to 
the submaterial universe, depending on the surrounding images. She made a face: 
the magi's symbols were so much less precise than the pilots' voidmarks. But 
before she could find the final component of the drawing, something touched her 
foot.
She started, and in the same moment a familiar voice whispered, "Silence."
The pilot leaned back in her chair until she could see around the partitions, 
and glanced casually to her left. The apprentice sitting there, a thin, 
sharp-faced blond, gave her an urchin's grin.
"What is it, Kaare?" Silence glanced over her shoulder for the spidery 
homunculus that monitored the hall to keep the apprentices at work. It was 
nowhere in sight, and the pilot breathed a sigh of relief.
"You wanted me to keep a lookout for a ship coming in -- Recusante?" the other 
apprentice whispered back. "Well, Master Fynn sent me to the port today, and I 
got a look at the board. Recusante's due in tonight."
"Thanks," Silence said, and turned away, fighting down her sudden excitement. 
Black Dolphin, renamed Recusante now after her refit, was back at last. She 
would have to tell Isambard, as soon as the study session was over. But Isambard 
had forbidden her to visit the port, and she wanted very much to meet her 
husbands there.
She took a deep breath, forcing herself to think calmly. Isambard's reasons for 
keeping her away from the port were good ones: both the Hegemon and the Rose 
Worlders were still looking for a woman pilot who had escaped under mysterious 
and inexplicable circumstances. If Recusante were compromised by being connected 
with a woman pilot, there would have to be yet another expensive change of name 
and markings before they could make the attempt to reach Earth. Even Isambard 
did not have unlimited resources; a second refit might well be beyond his means. 
But... Silence glanced down at herself and smiled slowly. She was wearing an 
apprentice's smock and trousers -- boy's clothes -- as she had been since 
beginning her studies on Solitude Hermae, and her hair was cut as short as any 
boy's. If she could borrow something less conspicuous than the apprentice's 
glossy white smock, she could probably pass as a dock worker. And that, she 
thought triumphantly, would remove Isambard's only good reason for keeping me 
away from the port.
She turned her attention back to the Theater of Meditation, but it was 
impossible to concentrate on the elaborate drawings. Finally, she abandoned the 
struggle and leaned her chin on her folded hands, counting the minutes until the 
study session ended. When the three-toned chine finally sounded, she closed her 
book and rose without haste, timing her steps so that she reached the door at 
the same time as Kaare.
"I need your help, Kaare," she said, without preamble.
"Again?" the blond grumbled, but let himself be drawn aside into the shadow of 
the refectory.
"I just want to borrow some clothes," Silence said, running an assessing eye 
over the other apprentice's body. Kaare was about her height, or maybe a little 
taller; his clothes should fit, and loosely enough to disguise her figure. "A 
shirt and a long coat -- anything that isn't apprentice's stuff. Will you lend 
them to me?"
Kaare hesitated a moment, then grinned. "You're going in to the port, aren't 
you?"
Silence nodded.
"All right," Kaare said. "I've got some things that ought to fit you. I'll bring 
them to your room after dinner, all right?"
"That's fine," Silence said, then wished she had insisted on his bringing them 
immediately. Kaare was not known for his punctuality, and the longer she waited, 
the more likely it was that Isambard would guess her plans and prevent her.
But for once, Kaare kept his promise. He arrived almost as the clock chimed the 
end of the dinner hour, a bundle of clothing tucked under one arm. He opened it 
to reveal several shirts and a shapeless vest wrapped in a crumpled, knee-length 
coat, then politely turned his back. Silence hastily selected the largest of the 
shirts and pulled it on, then the vest. She shrugged herself into the heavy 
coat, and turned to face the narrow mirror.
The reflection that confronted her was not her own. Silence drew a slow, 
soundless breath, and lifted one hand to tug at the loose neck of the shirt. The 
image copied the movement. It was she, then this lanky, black-haired youth, and 
Silence smiled with growing satisfaction. The reflection smiled back at her, and 
Silence shook her head to see even that familiar expression transformed. 
Experimentally, she set her feet well apart and jammed her hands into the 
pockets of the still unfamiliar trousers, scowling at the mirror. It was a 
half-trained dock worker that scowled back at her, her moderate height turned to 
half-grown awkwardness, her body's curves hidden beneath the layers of loose 
clothing.
From behind her, Kaare said, "You'll do."
Silence saw her mouth twist wryly, and looked away again, suddenly unsure of 
herself. She had never seriously attempted to pass as a man before. She had 
originally adopted the smock and trousers to try to fit in with the crowds of 
adolescent male apprentices, and had never made any other effort to disguise 
herself, though her voice was naturally low enough to fall within the adolescent 
range. But it was a different game altogether to attempt to pass herself off as 
a man in Solitude's port and field complex.
As if he had read her thoughts, Kaare shook his head. "Trust me, Silence, no one 
will guess. And even if someone does, what does it matter? Solitudo isn't a 
Hegemonic-law planet, and even if it were, they couldn't do anything; you're 
Isambard's apprentice."
He was right, of course. Solitude's laws did not actually require that women go 
veiled and escorted; it was merely customary for them to do so. She could not 
afford to be recognized for other reasons.
"I know, Kaare. But I like to do things right."
The blond nodded. "I understand. Don't worry, you won't have any trouble." He 
stood, stretching easily. "Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Silence answered. She gave the mirror a final, measuring 
glance, then turned to pick up the tool bag that lay at the foot of her tidy 
bed. She unlatched it, checking for the worn grey binding of her Gilded Stairs, 
then relocked the bag carefully. Kaare was watching her with some amusement.
"What do you keep in there? I don't think I've ever seen you without it. "
Silence hesitated, then managed what she hoped was a convincingly rueful grin. 
"My starbooks," she answered. "Pilots' habits die hard."
"Don't you trust the magi?" Kaare asked, laughing, and pushed open the door of 
the room.
Clearly he wasn't expecting an answer. Silence followed him through the maze of 
corridors without speaking. But he's right, she thought, more right than he 
knows. I don't trust the magi at all, though it's only one of my books I have to 
worry about. Involuntarily she tightened her grip on the bag's shoulder strap. 
That single starbook -- an edition of the Gilded Stairs printed before the 
Millennial Wars that had destroyed the ancient, Earth-founded Union of the Human 
Sphere -- held the key to the lost roads to Earth. Earth, and the reasons behind 
the broken roads and vanished records, were probably the greatest of the 
mysteries that still nagged at magi, star-travellers, and homeworlders alike. If 
the magi, or any of the thousands of others obsessed with the search for Earth, 
realized what she had, they would not rest until they had taken it from her.
Kaare pushed open the door that led to the main courtyard of the teaching 
compound, and Silence caught it automatically. The night air was cool and 
sweetly scented from the gardens, but there was a lingering harshness beneath 
the fragrance. Silence sniffed hard, frowning, and Kaare said, "The wind's from 
the north."
From the north and from the sea, Silence thought, and that explained the odd 
taint to the air. Not salt -- there were no salts in the sterile waters of 
Solitude's artificial seas -- and not anything else, but rather the absence of 
the smells that made each world unique. She shook her head thoughtfully. The 
creation of Solitudo Hermae was a tremendous accomplishment -- and the further 
her studies progressed, the greater it seemed -- but it was still unmistakably 
an artificial world.
Kaare gave the door a little push, and Silence started. "Thanks, Kaare, " she 
said. "You've been a big help."
"Good luck," the other apprentice answered. "There's usually a flat at the gate 
around now."
"Thanks," Silence said again, and started across the shadowed courtyard toward 
the compound's central gate.
As Kaare had promised, a transport flat was waiting there, its open bed empty of 
passengers. The servant at the gate gave her no more than a cursory glance, but 
woke up enough to nod when Silence asked if the flat were headed for the port. 
The magi, who controlled everything on this, their private world, had no reason 
to restrict the apprentices' movements. She nodded her thanks and pulled herself 
up into the flat, trying not to look at its underside. She had spent most of her 
life in space, where homunculi did most of the heavy work, but neither that time 
nor the six months she had spent on Solitudo had erased her instinctive dislike 
of the magi's created beings. It didn't matter whether they had the quasi-human 
shape of the most common homunculi, or the more exotic forms developed for 
specialized tasks, like the transport flat itself: she disliked them all 
equally.
She set her foot on the single step, and one of the eight pairs of legs that 
carried the flat shifted to compensate for her weight. The caricatured head, set 
in a low socket at the front of the flat, swiveled to face her. Silence 
suppressed a shudder at the sight of the dull glass eyes sunk in the folds of 
grey pseudo-flesh. The flat, its rudimentary intelligence satisfied, turned away 
again.
Silence allowed herself a soft sigh of relief, and crossed the empty bed to 
settle herself as far from the head as possible. She wished, not for the first 
time, that there were some other way of getting to the port complex. But 
mechanical transport, though admittedly cheaper and more efficient -- at least 
at this particular task -- interfered with the magi's Art. On their own world, 
if nowhere else in human-settled space, the magi could afford to ban all 
mechanical devices.
Silence jumped as the head swiveled through three hundred sixty degrees, 
checking its cargo. The flat lurched unpleasantly as the multiple legs shifted 
to take their first step, and she grabbed hastily for one of the handholds that 
studded the walls. It bounced erratically for a few moments longer, and then the 
sixteen legs settled into an efficient, bone-jarring trot. Twin globes of fixed 
fire flared briefly on the front of the flat, then coalesced and focused to 
throw long cones of light across the roadway.
As the flat swung southeast along the sea cliff road, its lights swept across 
the teaching compound, momentarily illuminating the lush gardens, then flashed 
along the barren ground just beyond the compound's low wall. The contrast 
between the elaborate greenery and the untransformed rock was dramatic enough in 
daylight, but at night it had the unreality of nightmare. Silence shivered, and 
looked up to the familiar stars. Soon, she promised herself, she would be back 
in space -- and not merely as a pilot, but as a magus.
There was a sudden flash of light among the familiar constellations, the 
coruscating dissonance of a starship's keel striking atmosphere. Silence watched 
it cross the sky, the flickering dot growing to a delicate wedge as the ship 
fell toward the field complex, balancing against the harmony of the landing 
beam. Then the ship reached the horizon, and was hidden in the haze of light 
that surrounded the field itself.
Silence looked away, trying to deny the longing she felt. You wanted to be a 
magus, too, she reminded herself, and as badly as you ever wanted to be a pilot. 
But the memory of her first taste of power had faded during the months of her 
apprenticeship, eroded by the daily routine of advances and failures that had 
marked her struggle to achieve mastery. Piloting... She had mastered that art 
years ago, was comfortable with it in a way she could never imagine being with a 
magus's power, and right now she wanted nothing more than to return to that 
position of strength. If I'm not spotted, she thought, if no one recognizes me, 
still searching the sky for another flash of keel-light, we could get away. 
Denis and Julie could smuggle me aboard, and make some excuse to make a quick 
turnaround. We could lose ourselves among the star-travellers, and Isambard 
wouldn't know where to begin looking for us....
She sighed then, and shook her head at her own stupidity. In the first place, 
Isambard was no fool. He knew the star-travellers' culture fairly well himself, 
and was known in ports from the Rusadir to the farthest planets of the Fringe. 
More than that, he had helped his fellow magi often enough, and would not 
hesitate to call in those debts. And even if they were clever or lucky enough to 
outrun Isambard's pursuit, the magus was not the only person interested in them. 
The Hegemony wanted her -- no one else had ever broken free of the Navy's geas 
-- and it was the most powerful political entity in space, fresh from its 
conquest of the Rusadir. None of the Fringe Worlds, not even powerful Delos, 
would dare to protect her. Only the Rose Worlds might have the strength to stand 
up to the Hegemon, secure in their ring of closed worlds, but the Rose Worlds 
were blocking the road to Earth. Her first and only attempt to fly the Earth 
road had proved that, and warned the Rose Worlders that she knew at least a part 
of their secret. She would find no refuge in their trading circle.
Silence smiled wryly to herself, glad the darkness hid her face. No, once she 
had made her bargain with Isambard, she had no choice but to carry it through to 
the end. It was not as though she gained nothing from it: Isambard had agreed to 
teach her to use the magus's talent she should not have had, and they would all 
four share in the profits from finding Earth. But she disliked being under 
obligation to anyone.
The flat lurched again, and Silence grunted as she was jolted painfully against 
the side wall. It was coming up on the field perimeter, defined by another of 
the low retaining walls. This one was barely knee-high, but as deeply rooted in 
the planet's soil as the one that surrounded the teaching compound. There was no 
real gate, merely a pair of simple, shoulder-high pillars on either side of the 
road, but the ground within the enclosure was abruptly fertile, carpeted with 
coarse grass.
The flat slowed to a jog, swerving slowly to pass between the lines of tuning 
sheds. It was heading for the row of warehouses, and Silence leaned forward 
reluctantly.
"Take me to the main terminal."
For a long moment, she thought the homunculus had not heard, and she nerved 
herself to slap the rough pseudo-flesh of its head. Then, ponderously, the flat 
turned back, passing between the last of the sheds and the first of the docks to 
stop beside the main terminal. It had chosen the back entrance, the one reserved 
for the magi's servants.
Sighing, she dropped from the flat. Hoisting her bag back onto her shoulder, she 
threaded her way around the corner of the building, into the cone of light that 
outlined the main entrance. For a brief moment, blinking in the sudden 
brilliance, she felt as though all eyes were on her. Bracing herself, she pushed 
through the heavy door, pausing just inside the entranceway to survey the lobby.
To her surprise, there was no one to notice her arrival. She blinked again, 
hard, until her vision cleared, then stood for a moment longer staring at the 
terminal's lobby. The main thing now was to find out where her ship was docked, 
but she couldn't remember where the locator board stood. She glanced around the 
lobby again. To either side of the door, stairways curved up to the primary 
level, a low mutter of coine drifting down to mingle with the low rumble of 
baggage trucks. Ahead, the shallow first-floor lobby branched out into half a 
dozen tunnels, each leading to one of the main dock complexes. Figures were 
visible in the depths of most of these, men and homunculi alike indistinct 
shadows against the glaring lights, busy with cargo off the newly arrived 
starships.
Silence took a deep breath, suddenly aware of her own nervousness, and started 
up the stairs. The dock directory board was bound to be on the main floor, with 
the customs offices and all the other machinery of the port; she would go there 
first. She climbed the stairs deliberately, counting each step, and had to force 
herself to look up when she reached the top, waiting for challenge or snickering 
comment. The hurrying figures barely seemed to give her a second glance, and 
Silence shook herself, disgusted with her own timidity. Somehow, though, there 
was a real difference between being a woman and a pilot, and being a woman and 
dressing like a man. The psychic armor she had cultivated before no longer 
seemed to give much protection.
"Need some help, kid?"
Silence started, and turned toward the kiosk that stood just to the right of the 
stairway. A bored-looking man in Port Control flashes leaned across the worn 
counter, fixing her with an indifferent stare. "I'm looking for a ship," the 
pilot answered gruffly, and waited, holding her breath, for his reaction. The 
Port Control worker showed no sign of increased interest. Emboldened, Silence 
went on, "Recusante, she's called."
The Port Control worker shrugged. "Check the main board," he said, and looked 
away.
"Thanks," Silence muttered, and turned toward the dock directory board, a 
massive black cube suspended high above a pit of sand. Tiny multiply-armed 
homunculi scrambled across its faces, adjusting the bright characters that 
indicated where the starships were docked. On other, more normal worlds, the 
directory boards were mechanical; on Solitudo, where mechanics were not allowed, 
the magi had replaced the usual system with this more elaborate display. She 
could not repress a wry smile, guessing that the magi had created the cube as 
much to show off their Art as to provide information.
Silence pushed her way in to the rail, making herself meet the eyes of the men 
she displaced. A few looked annoyed, one muttering something about pretty boys, 
but all seemed to accept her at face value. Silence surveyed the listing with a 
growing sense of confidence.
Recusante's name was followed by a double letter and then a string of numbers, 
all in a vivid shade of green. Silence glanced down at the key engraved on the 
broad railing: JA 3381, in green, meant the main compound, third shed, dock 381, 
no special clearance required. And I should hope not, she thought, elbowing her 
way out of the crowd.
The terminal was connected to the docks and service sheds by a maze of shielded 
catwalks -- a necessity on a world like this, where the landing window was so 
narrow. The starships could not begin their descent into the planet's atmosphere 
until the hemisphere of fixed fire that provided Solitudo with its daylight was 
well clear of the single field. That meant that the leading edge of the 
night-sky, the hemisphere of untinctured air, had to be past the zenith before 
the ships could land. Technically, of course, the window was a full twelve hours 
wide, from the moment the night-sky's edge reached the zenith over the field to 
the moment the edge of the day-sky swung up to the same point. But practical 
considerations -- navigational difficulties, excess heat bleeding over into the 
night-sky, and a dozen other variables -- narrowed it to a six-hour window 
except in dire emergencies. Even then, it wasn't easy to be the first ship in 
the landing queue. Silence was just grateful that Balthasar had landed the ship 
when they first came to Solitudo.
She shook herself, annoyed at the irrelevance of her thoughts, and looked down 
at the tiled floor. Sure enough, a dozen different-colored lines of tile led 
away from the directory board toward the mouths of the closed catwalks. The 
green line led off toward the most distant catwalk: as always, Balthasar was 
saving money.
The catwalk ran along the side of the terminal for a short distance, then turned 
abruptly left to jump across an empty roadway to the roof of a tuning shed. From 
that vantage point, the tinctured glass walls gave onto a spectacular view of 
the field, looking down the long tow path to the landing table. A cradled 
freighter, broad hull dwarfing the blocky shape of its tow, was halfway down the 
path, heading for the docks. A second tow, lighter and more maneuverable, was 
shoving another, much larger cradle into position on the landing table, directly 
over the speaker of the landing beam. Silence glanced up quickly and saw, only 
slightly dimmed by the lights, the flickering bronze wedge of a star-ship's keel 
riding the landing beam down onto the table.
She found herself slowing to watch as the starship dropped closer. It was big, 
big enough to dwarf even the massive cradle waiting for it, with the long lines 
of a warship. She frowned nervously, scanning its side for service markings, but 
the interference flickering along its keel effectively hid its insignia. It 
didn't look like a Hegemonic ship, but Silence hesitated at the entrance to the 
JA dock, worried in spite of herself.
The warship was very close now, its keelsong sounding even through the tinctured 
glass of the catwalk. Patches of reddish light danced along the tow path and 
across the landing table, reflections from the straining keel. It was time -- 
maybe past time, Silence thought -- to break with the harmony of the landing 
beam. She put her fingers in her ears just in time.
Light flashed from the landing table, a coruscating, rainbow brilliance that 
completely obscured both ship and cradle. An instant later, the basso harmony of 
the landing beam was drowned in a discordant shriek that rattled the glass of 
the catwalk. Wincing, Silence squinted through the flashing lights to see the 
warship check its rushing descent, slowing as keel and beam repelled each other. 
She was right, though, the pilot had waited a little too long to break with the 
landing beam. The warship settled into its cradle with a thump that must have 
been painful to its crew. Interference faded as the engineers stopped down the 
harmonium, and at last she could make out the insignia painted on the stubby 
bow: the stylized moon and river of Tell Sukhas. Silence sighed gently, 
relieved.
She knew she should move on, but instead she stayed, leaning against the 
tinctured glass of the wall for a moment longer, staring at the warship. Tell 
Sukhas was a moderately wealthy world, at least by Fringe World standards. The 
ship, a four and probably the biggest ship in Tell Sukhas's fleet, was of a 
recent design, and in reasonably good repair. But Tell Sukhas was not the sort 
of world whose oligarchs sent warships to Solitude Hermae on good-will journeys. 
The Tell Sukhans must be in trouble, she thought, and there was really only one 
logical source of that trouble. The Hegemon had besieged Castax already, and the 
planet had capitulated after three months. The other Fringe Worlds must be 
worrying about who would be next. Silence shivered, remembering the massive 
engines she had seen ringing Castax, and turned away, abruptly disheartened. The 
Fringe Worlds had too many longstanding commercial rivalries even to begin to 
cooperate against the Hegemon's forces, and the Rusadir, united, had fallen to 
him anyway. All too soon, she would have no place left to run.
Silence shook herself, swearing at her own pessimism, and shoved through the 
door to the docking shed, slamming the push bar with unnecessary violence. The 
interior of the dock was dim, after the hot yellow lights of the landing field. 
Silence paused for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the new lighting, then 
studied the rows of ships laid out below her. The catwalk gave onto a narrow 
balcony overlooking the rows of dock spaces. Most of those were full, dura-felt 
baffling curtains drawn tight around the ships, protecting their delicate keels 
from disruptive influences. Like the main buildings, each dock had a number 
painted on the roofing curtain; it was the work of an instant to find 
Recusante's cubicle. She marked her path carefully, knowing how different things 
would look once she was down among the ships, curtains rising to either side. 
Down the right-hand staircase from the balcony, left along the dock wall until 
she reached the first cross-corridor, then up it to the broad central tow path. 
Turn right, and six spaces farther was JA 3381.
Silence started down the stairs, counting spaces. She found Recusante's dock 
without difficulty, and without drawing undue attention from the star-travellers 
who hurried through the wide corridors. The heavy baffles were drawn tight 
around the dock space, but a minuscule opening showed at the right-hand corner. 
Silence lifted the curtain there, shaking it gently to sound the alarm bells 
sewn at the upper hem, and stepped through the gap. The bells sounded softly, 
their sweet dissonance muffled by the dura-felt surrounding them, but even so 
the noise struck a whispering echo from Recusante's gleaming keel, and Silence 
shivered with pleasure at the familiar note, staring up at the cradled ship.
No refit could change the old Black Dolphin into a longship. The rounded 
merchant hull still bulged awkwardly over the slender keel, and Silence could 
not suppress a sigh of regret for Balthasar's half-and-half, Sun-Treader, 
destroyed on Arganthonios. Now there, she thought, was a ship that handled like 
a dream.... But Black Dolphin -- Recusants, she corrected herself automatically 
-- would take twice the punishment a fragile half-and-half could stand, and in 
the search for Earth, solidity was bound to be more important than mere speed. 
Besides, the refit had included a complete retuning of the keel, and that was 
certain to improve the way she handled, Silence thought, as would the removal of 
some of her uncle's less intelligent additions -- like the upper gun turret. 
Silence scanned the upper hull carefully, and was pleased to see that the raw 
welts where the turret had been were almost invisible beneath the fresh coat of 
sealant. The lower guns were the only really sensible addition her uncle, Otto 
Razil, had made. Their brassy muzzles showed at the open ports, their pods 
neatly dovetailed into the hull above the stubby atmospheric stabilizers: 
Balthasar was taking no chances even on this supposedly friendly planet.
The bow hatch popped noiselessly from its seating, and swung outward to settle 
against its stop. A massive, bearded man, so tall that he had to stoop a little 
to get through Recusante's conventional hatchway, came forward on the cradle's 
walkway, staring down at her with a total lack of recognition. Silence hid her 
grin, and waited.
After a moment, the big man said, "Yes? Can I help you?"
A second figure appeared in the hatchway, a smaller, leaner man with greying 
hair. Silence saw him frown, then saw the frown change to a delighted grin. 
"Julie, it's Silence," he said. "Welcome home, pilot -- or is it maga?"
The big man stared a moment longer. "My God, Silence, it is you," he said, and 
clattered down the cradle stairs in the other man's wake. Silence returned their 
joint embrace, but pulled away almost at once, looking at her husbands.
She had begun the three-way marriage as a convenient way of getting her freedom 
from her uncle's guardianship. She was still not entirely sure how or when 
things had changed, but she was certain they had, and equally certain the others 
felt the same. Still, it was a serendipitous combination. She shared something 
of a common culture with the big engineer, Julian Chase Mago. Like her, he was 
from the Rusadir, though from Kesse rather than Cap Bel, and an oligarch's son 
rather than of merchant stock. But Denis Balthasar, the greying second pilot and 
Recusante's nominal captain, was a Delian and an ex-pirate, part of 
Wrath-of-God's combine. And yet the three of them had formed a strong and 
lasting bond even before their capture by the Hegemony.
"It's a good idea, Silence, dressing like a man," Chase Mago said. "I really 
didn't recognize you."
"It was a friend's idea," Silence said.
"That does solve one problem," Balthasar said. "If you can pass for someone's 
apprentice, then we don't have to worry about explaining why we have a woman 
aboard." His face clouded at that, and Chase Mago shook his head slowly.
"Trouble?" Silence asked.
"Not any more," Balthasar said. He glanced away again. "Let's go aboard, have 
some tea, and you can fill us in on life on Solitudo."
Damn your secrecy, Silence thought, but she knew better than to make too strong 
a protest. That would only set Balthasar's back up, and it would take twice as 
long to get the information she wanted. "Good idea," she said aloud. "I thought 
we'd sleep in the compound."
Balthasar nodded, and Chase Mago said, turning back to the cradle stairs, "It'll 
be more comfortable than sleeping shipboard, that's for sure."
The curtain bells jangled softly again, and that sound was followed by the 
whisper of the baffle closing behind a newcomer. Balthasar's gaunt face 
contracted in a scowl, eyes fixed on the curtain. Silence, her back still to the 
opening, was nevertheless suddenly, painfully aware of the new presence. She 
said, not turning, "Isambard."
"Silence." The magus's voice, as always, held a certain touch of uncertainty 
when addressing her by her first name. His tone sharpened immediately. "Sieuri."
Balthasar growled an insincere greeting. Chase Mago said nothing, but came down 
from the cradle stairs to join the others.
"I expected to find you here, Silence," Isambard continued. "Despite my -- 
request -- to the contrary."
Silence took a deep breath, biting back a familiar anger. The relationship 
between magus and apprentice was not intended to be a comfortable one, but in 
their case, the usual tensions were complicated by the bargain that lay between 
them. When she was sure she had mastered her expression, she turned to face the 
magus, saying blandly, "I'm pleased not to have disappointed you, Isambard."
The magus, a small, unhealthily gaunt man with snow-white hair and beard, nodded 
gravely, clearly waiting for something.
"Will you come aboard?" Balthasar growled after a moment.
"Thank you." Isambard brushed past Chase Mago and began climbing the cradle 
stairs toward the hatch. The engineer gave him an astonished glance and 
followed, shaking his head.
Balthasar shrugged, waiting for Silence at the foot of the steps. As she passed, 
he said softly, "Stiff-necked bastard. Are all your people like him?"
Silence shook her head. "No, not really. And not my people, either."
Without waiting for an answer, she ran up the cradle stairs and ducked through 
the hatch. The refit had done more to Recusante's interior volume than to her 
exterior. Silence paused for a moment inside the rim of the hatch before she 
remembered that the common room had been shifted aft, leaving room for two small 
cabins forward, directly opposite the ladder to the control room. The door now 
lay in the main, lengthwise corridor. Silence took another deep breath, 
controlling her anger and frustration, and pushed through the half-open door.
Isambard was already sitting at the head of the single large table, a 
black-robed statue with a face the color of wax but the weathered texture of 
aged, hewn stone. Chase Mago was busy with the galley console. As Silence 
entered the compartment, the engineer turned away from the heating niche, easily 
carrying two mugs in each huge hand. He set one on the table; Silence took 
another, sniffing curiously at the spicy fragrance. This was asili, a strong, 
thick, bittersweet brew from some Ras Gavran herb, not the smoky tea Balthasar 
usually preferred. She looked curiously at the engineer, and Chase Mago 
grimaced.
"Long flight," he said. "I need the wake-up dose."
Silence nodded, and detached one of the padded chairs from the floor cleats, 
swinging it around so that she could sit near, but not at, the table. It was a 
minor point, she knew, maybe even a petty one, but it was time she started 
reasserting herself. Balthasar finished fiddling with one of the wall consoles 
and came to sit beside her, pulling a hammock chair from its usual place. Chase 
Mago, with one unreadable glance at the Delian, handed him his mug and seated 
himself at the opposite end of the table from Isambard.
"So how'd it go?" Silence asked.
Balthasar shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "We were just testing the waters, 
really, so it's hard to say --"
"We did all right," Chase Mago interrupted firmly. "But there's trouble. The 
Hegemon's people are definitely looking for you, and are willing to pay a high 
price for information." He gave Balthasar a pointed glance. "I think you'd 
better tell the rest, Denis."
Balthasar made a face, but nodded. "All right. I -- we went to Kilix, finally."
When the Delian showed no sign of continuing, Silence nodded encouragingly. 
Kilix was a Fringe World, with few resources and a bad reputation, but located 
at the nexus of several logical trading routes. "Kilix," she said.
"Yeah." Balthasar paused a moment longer, marshaling his thoughts, then 
continued. "I heard on Sisip' Catacecaumene that Wrath-of-God still had a factor 
there, so I figured it'd be a good idea to get back in touch with them. Well, we 
got lucky. The factor is Anse Valthier, and we know each other. Things are still 
pretty much a mess with Wrath-of-God, what with losing most of the fleet at 
Arganthonios, and then the Hegemon cracking down on the factors and the rest of 
the contact men. It's just lucky for the Council that the Hegemon hasn't tried 
raiding the Wrath itself. I don't know why, but he hasn't." He took a deep 
breath, and went on with difficulty, "What he's done -- Apparently the Hegemon 
is willing to let the Council buy itself off. Valthier says the Council wants 
what's left of our people to pass on word if they're contacted by anyone who got 
away after Arganthonios." He squared his shoulders. "Especially a woman pilot. 
Valthier isn't positive, but he's pretty sure the information goes straight to 
the Hegemon's people."
"Charming, isn't it?" Chase Mago growled.
Silence swore softly, telling herself she should not have been surprised. 
Wrath-of-God, for all its fleet and its agents spread throughout Fringe, 
Rusadir, and Hegemony, was still nothing more than a pirate combine. You 
couldn't expect loyalty from people like that -- but people like Balthasar gave 
Wrath-of-God their loyalty, and were owed something in return.
Balthasar smiled bitterly. "Oh, it's not that bad, Julie, it's just the 
Captains' -- the Captains' Council -- doing this. You saw how upset Valthier was 
about the order, and I'm damn sure he won't report us. You have to give his Most 
Serene Majesty credit, though. It's a hell of a lot cheaper for him to make 
Wrath-of-God tear itself apart than to try a direct attack."
Chase Mago nodded thoughtfully, and Silence found herself sighing in agreement. 
Of course it would be better for Wrath-of-God's controlling Council to refuse 
the Hegemon's "offer" -- but that would bring on an attack the pirate combine 
was in no condition to withstand.
Isambard cleared his throat. "You're quite certain, Captain Balthasar, that 
Valthier won't report you to your erstwhile employers?"
Balthasar rubbed irritably at the patch of pale skin that marred one cheek, 
marking the spot where Wrath-of-God's identifying tattoo had been removed. Chase 
Mago said, "If Denis says not, then he won't."
"Then that buys us some time," Isambard said. He looked directly at Silence. "I 
assume you see what this means?"
Silence frowned. "I see a lot of possible implications," she said slowly. "To 
which are you referring?"
Isambard gave her the faint, unhappy smile he used when her answers disappointed 
him. "Has it occurred to you that the Hegemon -- or at least his agents -- are 
willing to go to an extraordinary amount of trouble in order to recapture you?"
Silence kept her face impassive with an effort. It had not occurred to her, and 
now that it had been suggested, she could not believe it. It simply didn't make 
sense. Anomaly or not, magus-in-potential or not, she wasn't worth that kind of 
effort. Still, the thought was frightening, and it was hard to keep her voice 
steady as she said, "Too much trouble, it seems to me. Isn't it more probable, 
Isambard, that acquiring information about a woman pilot was the secondary 
purpose, the primary one being to destroy Wrath-of-God?"
Isambard nodded, and in spite of herself Silence felt a touch of pride. 
"However," the magus went on, and Silence sighed, damning herself for being 
stupid enough to expect unqualified praise from the old man, "the fact remains 
that the Hegemon's agents are offering rewards for information about you, and I 
would be very surprised if they did not also begin making inquiries among the 
magi."
"There wasn't anything said about a woman magus," Balthasar interjected.
"Not yet," Isambard said. "But female pilots are rare enough, if one discounts 
the Misthians, and it is known here that Silence is a pilot. Even if no further 
inquiries were made, it would not be unreasonable for one of my colleagues to 
take that kind of information to the Hegemon." He paused, then said 
thoughtfully, "Of course, we are discounting the possibility that his Most 
Serene Majesty has contacts within the Rose Worlds."
Silence took another deep breath. She still could not quite believe that the 
Hegemon would find a woman pilot enough of an anomaly to expend so much effort 
in trying to seek her out -- or that he would find such an elaborate revenge 
worth his time. But if one thing was in itself sufficient to tip the balance, it 
would be the possibility that this woman pilot had come very close to finding 
the Earth-road.
"I'm sure he does," Chase Mago said. There was an edge to his voice that made 
Isambard raise an eyebrow at him. "Take that as a given, Isambard. What then?"
"I should have thought that was clear," the magus said. "Solitude will not be 
entirely safe for much longer."
"How safe's entirely safe?" Balthasar muttered irritably.
Silence knotted her hands together inside the wide sleeves of her borrowed coat. 
"How much longer will I have to stay on Solitude?" she asked, and somehow 
managed to keep her tone detached, as though the question were merely academic.
Isambard looked full at her, with the impersonal appraisal she had come to 
expect from the magi. Silence was better armored against it now. After a moment 
she raised an eyebrow, waiting for her answer.
"You came to Solitudo knowing symbology better than most magi," the magus said 
at last. "That was to be expected in a star-traveller, especially in a pilot. 
Perception, too, you've mastered quickly enough; again, I expected that. Seeing 
the Form of a thing is much the same as seeing your voidmarks. Manipulation, 
even though you did nothing precisely like it as a pilot, is really nothing more 
than applying symbology and perception, and you've done about what I expected 
there. In addition, you show a certain, unconventional harmonic talent. In 
short, you've mastered the Trivium, and I could certify that."
Silence waited, counting heartbeats, and then, when Isambard showed no sign of 
continuing, said, "But?"
Isambard smiled gravely. "You are really only a theoretician as yet, though you 
may qualify as a practitioner. I had hoped to make you at least an adept before 
we attempted to reach Earth."
Silence sighed. Practitioner was the third of the five ranks, but the majority 
of students never progressed any further, unable to master the four Arts that 
made up the Quadrivium and achieve the real power of an adept. A practitioner 
was able to do a number of simple manipulations -- and, more important, was 
licensed to do so throughout the human-settled worlds -- but no mere 
practitioner could expect to be of much use in breaking the Rose Worlders' 
barriers. "All right," she said slowly. "If I were certified as a practitioner, 
could you teach me the Quadrivium shipboard?"
"It would not be impossible," Isambard answered reluctantly, "but I am a 
specialist in the creative and destructive arts. That is close enough to 
harmonics to allow me to encourage you in your natural talent, but I am not 
really suited to teach you the other two. Beyond that, we would not have 
Solitude's resources to draw on."
"But it could be done?" Silence repeated.
Isambard nodded.
"It sounds like a workable solution," Chase Mago observed.
"So," Silence said. "Isambard, if Solitudo isn't going to be safe any longer, we 
have to leave. Will you teach me shipboard, until I've learned enough to make 
our attempt to reach Earth?"
"As you say," the magus said, "there's little other choice. I would say, 
however, that we have at least a local month before any inquiries can reach us." 
He added sharply, "And you'll have to qualify as a practitioner first."
Silence nodded agreement, trying to look more confident than she actually felt. 
There was still no guarantee that she could pass the qualifying examination.... 
She put that thought firmly from her mind. Isambard was giving her a month, and 
that would have to be enough. "Denis, do you agree?"
Balthasar shrugged, but said, "Like Julie says, I don't see any other choice."
"It's agreed, then," Silence said, and yawned suddenly. It was nearly dawn by 
planetary reckoning, and she had been awake since just past dawn of the day 
before. She reached automatically for another cup of the asili, but Chase Mago 
touched her hand.
"Why don't you get some sleep?" the engineer asked gently. Giving Isambard a 
challenging glance, he added, "We could all use some sleep before we go to the 
compound."
"As you wish." Isambard rose, gathering his black robes about him. "However, I 
have work that can't wait. Good morning, sieuri."
Balthasar rose smoothly with the magus, and followed him from the common room. A 
few moments later, Silence heard the sound of the forward hatch opening, and 
then the thud as it closed.
"How'd it really go?" she asked, when Balthasar reappeared in the doorway.
Balthasar shrugged again, but to Silence's surprise, said, "A lot of work, with 
only me to pilot, but not so bad, otherwise. It'll be good to have you back 
aboard."
Chase Mago yawned hugely. "I'm dead tired," he said. "Can we talk in the 
morning?"
"It is morning," Balthasar said. "Sun's up -- or whatever your day-sky does."
"Rises," Silence said. She stood, stretching to work out the stiffness. "You're 
right, Julie. Let's get some sleep."
It took another hour of desultory conversation, but at last the three were 
sprawled together in the simple cabin they shared planet-side. The two men were 
asleep almost at once, exhausted by their long flight and the difficult landing, 
but Silence lay awake a moment longer, sleepily enjoying the half-familiar 
presence to either side. They were another reason it would be good to get back 
into space. I'll have to remember to ask Kaare about the qualifying exam for 
practitioner when I return his clothes, she thought. He tends to hear 
everything. And then her mind went blank and she, too, slept.
Chapter 2
IT WAS RISING DARK BEFORE SILENCE RETURNED TO THE teaching compound, leaving 
Balthasar and Chase Mago to finish the paperwork for Recusante's arrival. The 
night-sky was visible on the eastern horizon, a wedge of darkness like a distant 
mountain range. Silence eyed it sourly, wishing it were evening already. She had 
gotten barely four hours of sleep, and not even Balthasar's coffee could erase 
the fuzziness of mind and body. If the magi had ordered a more reasonable cargo, 
she thought, shifting her weight against the dull edges of the crates that 
filled the transport flat, I might've been able to get some sleep on the way. 
Great shapeless packs of Elysian grains would've been perfect -- even a bale or 
two of cloth would've been more pleasant. But the magi's cargo came packed in 
metal-sheathed starcrates, each one fully protected against the contingencies of 
star travel, and entirely too solid to be comfortable.
The flat slowed its pace abruptly, throwing Silence against the crate behind 
her. She cursed the homunculus under her breath, but even that release felt 
half-hearted. It altered its steps again and at last jerked to a stop at the 
main gate. Silence hauled herself out of the open bed, dragging her tool bag 
with her. The flat trotted away again as soon as she had dropped clear. The 
pilot swore again, adjusting her crumpled coat, and glared at the servant 
watching her from under the arch of the main gate. To her mild surprise, 
however, the man did not look away to hide a smirk, but actually came forward 
out of his little cubbyhole.
"Are you Silence Leigh?"
Apprentices did not merit any title of respect, but the man's tone was 
unexpectedly polite. Silence eyed him warily. "Yes."
"Doctor Isambard left an urgent message for you," the man went on. "He wants to 
see you at once, in his laboratory."
What the hell is he up to? Silence thought. Aloud, she said, "Thanks. Did he say 
what he wanted?"
The gatekeeper shook his head. "Just that it was urgent."
"That figures," Silence said. "Thanks."
Isambard, like most of the senior magi, had been granted laboratory facilities 
in the Officina, which formed the far wall of the Inner Yard, a good 
quarter-hour's walk from the main gate. She passed through the Library's long 
shadow -- the twenty-story tower, set at the point of the pentagonal compound, 
was a beacon that could be seen for miles -- then followed the Masters' Walk 
that led between the Library and the Inner Yard, careful not to step on its 
polished stones. The privilege of actually touching that gleaming, moon-colored 
path was reserved for the magi alone, confirmed in a solemn ceremony. Once in 
the Inner Yard, she skirted the central close -- also reserved for the magi -- 
fumbling in her pockets for the badge that would admit her to the Officina.
She had it in her hand as she tapped on the grille beside the doorkeeper's 
cubicle, and displayed it as soon as the servant's ill-tempered face appeared in 
the opening.
"What do you want, then?" he asked, without making any move toward the levers 
that controlled the heavy door.
"I'm Doctor Isambard's apprentice," Silence answered. "He left word at the gate 
he wanted to see me at once."
The servant grunted, and reached reluctantly for the levers. "You know where 
you're going, then?"
Silence nodded, though she had only been inside Isambard's workroom once before. 
Anything, including the risk of getting lost in the Officina's labyrinthine 
corridors, was better than being escorted by the sullen doorkeeper or one of his 
messenger-homunculi. The door swung open just enough to let her in. She ducked 
through the narrow opening, the servant's voice floating after her.
"Mind you go straight to your master's rooms, and don't loiter."
Silence raised a hand in acknowledgement, and the door slid shut behind her. The 
corridors of the Officina were windowless, lit only by an occasional globe of 
fixed fire, and the air was heavy with the sense of the power behind the sealed 
doors of the magi's labs. Isambard's workroom lay on the far side of the 
Officina's central court. Silence found the door that gave onto the barren, 
cobbled yard and crossed it quickly, aware of eyes watching her from the 
seemingly empty lab windows. In the court, even the unchanging light of the 
day-sky seemed occluded, distant, and she was glad to reach the unmarked door 
that gave onto Isambard's stairway.
In the tiny foyer, the sense of leashed power was even stronger than before. 
Silence shivered, feeling it tingle on her skin, then shook herself angrily and 
started up the narrow stairway. In this part of the Officina, the magi's 
workrooms opened directly off the tiny landings. As she climbed toward the third 
floor, Silence could see at least two doors covered with wax seals and marked 
with bright hieroglyphs. Behind those protective seals, magi were working with 
the Four Arts, imposing the Forms of the super-material plane onto the chaotic 
proto-matter of the sub-material, and bringing the fused result to existence in 
the material world. It was no wonder the resonance of that power raised the hair 
at the base of her neck.
The door to Isambard's laboratory stood ajar, inviting entrance, but Silence 
hesitated briefly before knocking.
"Enter."
Silence did as she was told, glancing curiously around the narrow room. Her 
lessons were given elsewhere, in the classroom buildings and the common 
laboratories; her previous visit had been hurried, giving her no chance to look 
around. The laboratory itself was small, but every inch of space was put to 
efficient use. The walls nearest the door were lined with books, only a few of 
which bore the dangling tags that marked books from the magi's great library. A 
counter ran the full length of the far wall, beneath a broad window that gave 
onto a view of the gardens and, beyond that, the sea. A tiny, powerful furnace 
stood in the very center of the room. The screens that deflected the worst of 
its heat were folded back now that it was not in use. All along the walls stood 
locked cabinets. Various objects hung from hooks set in the walls above and 
between the cabinets. One, at least, Silence recognized as a simple monochord, 
used to set the Pythagorean harmonies, but the rest remained unidentifiable.
"So, Silence, you're back at last." Isambard was sitting in a rather worn 
cushion chair, the single piece of impractical furniture in the long room. 
"Excellent. There's still time."
Silence jerked her attention away from the mysterious things hanging on the 
walls. "Time for what, Isambard?"
The magus smiled, and for the first time Silence thought she saw traces of 
excitement in the old man's bearded face. "I've arranged for you to be examined 
now, by a sympathetic committee -- magi who are willing to accept a woman 
magus."
"Examined?" Silence repeated stupidly, and then understood. "Isambard, I had 
four hours of sleep last night. I can't possibly cope with a certification exam 
now."
"You'd better be able to," Isambard said coolly. "You won't get a better 
chance."
Silence took a deep breath, fighting back sudden, unreasoning panic. It was like 
the nightmares her fellow apprentices so often described -- except that she was 
awake, and she really was unprepared for the examination she unexpectedly 
faced.... But I'm not unprepared, she told herself sternly. I have studied, I 
have worked hard, and I can be ready. Isambard wouldn't do this to me if he 
didn't think I could do it, if only for the sake of his own reputation. "What 
must I do?" she said, and was surprised at how steady her voice sounded.
"The committee will set you a simple problem from the Trivium," Isambard 
answered. "To create an object -- a common object -- from sub-material, give it 
Form, and fix it. That's all."
"I see," Silence said. All too well, she added to herself. A magus was certainly 
entitled to define such a creation as a simple problem, but it was still an 
application of the Great Arts. She had tried the operation only twice before, 
and had not yet succeeded. "How long do I have to prepare?"
Isambard glanced automatically at the window, where the night-sky was rising 
toward the zenith and Solitude's arbitrary sunset, and then at the nearest of a 
dozen clocks. "The sooner this is done, the better," he said. "Half an hour."
"And if I fail?" Silence asked.
Isambard shrugged. "You may try again, of course, but there will be a different 
committee. Doctor Nagid has drawn a seat on the next one."
"I see," Silence said again. Nagid was probably the single most vocal opponent 
of her presence on Solitude. "All right, I'll be ready."
"Good," Isambard said. "I'll inform the committee. In the meantime, prepare 
yourself. You may use any tools of mine you think you may need. " He stood, 
stiffly, and moved toward the door, pausing only to add, "Good luck." Then the 
door closed behind him.
Silence stared after him for a moment, then slowly shook her head. This was 
typical of the magi, of Isambard.... She took a deep breath then, and rubbed her 
forehead hard with both hands, trying to massage some awareness back into her 
mind. First things first, she told herself. Isambard offered tools, and the run 
of his laboratory. I should start there.
She looked around the walls again, then tugged at the doors of the nearest 
cabinet. The main doors were locked, but the three drawers beneath opened at her 
tug. The top one was filled with narrow tubes of incense, each labeled precisely 
in Hegemonic script with its common name, hieroglyph, and elemental affinities. 
As she sorted through the tubes, she was grateful for the school's insistence 
that all apprentices learn the High Speech, the Hegemony's official language. 
She had been unilingual before coming to Solitudo, a definite handicap outside 
the star-travellers' culture. The next drawer held a strange assortment of 
musical instruments -- drums and whistles and various sets of strings for the 
hanging monochord. The third was full of glassware that rattled dangerously as 
she opened and closed it. The next cabinet held more glassware, retorts and 
strange, multiply curved tubes, while its single drawer was heaped high with 
papers. The third cabinet was locked as well, but through its transparent doors 
Silence could see that each of its dozen broad shelves was lined with 
instruments, mostly of metal. She recognized the delicate Ficinan model, a 
closed cube where colors shifted like shadows to reflect conflicting elemental 
harmonies, and the orrery on the shelf below that, set up to reflect some 
two-planet system, but the rest were completely foreign.
She shook herself abruptly, and turned away from the cabinets. Most of those 
items, intended for very specific operations, were useless to her. The simple 
creation Isambard had described required correspondingly simple instruments. She 
would want the monochord, to set the harmonies, and -- incense? She returned to 
the first cabinet, opened its upper drawer, and stared again at the hundreds of 
neatly labeled tubes. Then, decisively, she closed it again. The main thing she 
would need was calm, and the incense alone would not bring that.
She lifted the monochord from its place -- the string sighed softly as she 
brushed against it, a cool, pleasant note -- and walked the length of the long 
room to hoist herself onto the empty counter. Below her, the gardens seemed 
almost to glow in the fading light, the lush growth vivid against the stark 
emptiness of the cliff top just outside the wall. Beyond that, the shadow of the 
night-sky moved westward across the waveless sea. Silence watched it for a 
while, hugging the monochord to her body. Then she composed herself, reciting 
the cantrips she had learned as a pilot to focus the mind and drain away fear 
and tension.
When the door opened at last, Silence did not turn at once, and Isambard's voice 
was unexpectedly gentle. "Are you ready, Silence?"
"Yes," she answered, closing her mind against resurgent panic. She slid down 
from the counter, still holding the monochord, and Isambard gave her an 
approving nod.
"A sensible choice," he said. Before Silence could respond to the unusual 
praise, the magus continued, "Come along."
Without waiting for her reply, Isambard pushed open the laboratory door. Silence 
followed him through the Officina's labyrinthine corridors, along the length of 
one wing, then through a suddenly narrow hallway that made an abrupt, 
right-angle turn to end in a heavily padded door. Isambard set his palm to the 
lock plate, then pulled open the door, motioning for Silence to step through. 
The pilot did as she was told, but waited just inside for the magus to join her. 
Beyond the landing on which she stood, a wide stairway curved gently down out of 
sight. It was lit by oddly smoky globes of fixed fire, the tiny flames swelling 
even as she watched to provide a yellowish illumination. Behind her, Isambard 
adjusted the inner lock, which hummed deeply under his touch. Startled, Silence 
turned to look, and her attention was caught by a line of scribbled words on the 
wall just inside the door. "The shortest road to hell," they read, and to make 
the meaning unmistakable, there was also an arrow, pointing down the stairs.
At her shoulder, Isambard gave a grunt. "Apprentices," he said irritably. "Come 
along."
Silence raised an eyebrow. It would be like an apprentice, especially a failed 
candidate, to add that graffito here, but even more like the examining magi to 
put it up as a further hazard. Isambard's attitude was nevertheless reassuring. 
She followed the magus around the curve of the stair, which turned twice more 
before it ended at another padded door. This one did not seem to be locked. 
Isambard pushed it open, and motioned for Silence to precede him.
The pilot hesitated, and Isambard said, "You must."
Silence took a deep breath and stepped through the door. She stood at the top of 
another flight of stairs, this one almost completely unlit, leading down into a 
brightly lit, circular area fitted out like a cleaner version of the 
apprentices' workshops, with a broad table set in the center of a brass 
isolation ring. Outside the ring, and almost outside the column of light, was a 
longer table that held an impressive assortment of material. Among the heap of 
things, Silence could pick out another monochord, a case of tubes that probably 
held incense, a mirror, and a dozen other miscellaneous pieces of equipment that 
she could not imagine wanting for a simple transformation.
Behind her, Isambard said, "Go on. All the way down."
Obediently, Silence started down the steep stairs. As her eyes adjusted to the 
strange light, she could see that the steps ran between banks of seats, empty 
now, and guessed that this was more usually some sort of demonstration hall. As 
she approached the bottom of the stairs, the pitch leveled out a little, and she 
could see four robed figures sitting in the row of seats to her left. Then she 
had reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped out into the column of light, 
turning to face the judges she could no longer see.
Isambard said, "Masters, I present Silence Leigh, candidate-practitioner."
There was a rustling in the darkness, and a dry, reedy voice said, "We accept 
the candidate."
Isambard bowed politely, and took a seat in the second row of chairs, just 
outside the reach of the lights. Silence waited, and after a moment, the same 
reedy voice said, "Candidate, are you prepared?"
"Yes," Silence answered, and when something more seemed to be expected, said, 
"I'm prepared." The words came out as more of a challenge than she had intended, 
seemed to ring on in the empty air of the chamber.
"Very well," the reedy voice said after another brief pause, and a second voice 
said, "Is the candidate familiar with the procedure? This is, after all, a 
committee formed in haste."
Silence gave a soundless sigh. The second voice was one she recognized: Fynn, 
Kaare's master, one of the few magi who had encouraged her training, at least as 
long as she continued to show promise.
"A reasonable point," a third voice murmured, and the reedy voice said, "Indeed. 
Candidate-practitioner, the purposes of this examination is to demonstrate that 
you have indeed mastered the first three Arts -- symbology, perception, and 
manipulation -- which are the basis of all further study. Rather than examine 
theoretical knowledge, we will set you a simple problem, which you must solve 
according to the Trivium. You have the free use of any of the items which you 
see behind you. You also have our word that nothing necessary to a solution of 
the problem has been omitted. There will be a time limit. Is this clear?"
Silence said again, "Yes."
"Excellent." There was a pause, as the magi of the committee whispered to each 
other, and then the reedy voice went on, over a rustling of paper. 
"Candidate-practitioner, this is the problem: You are in service at the court on 
Asterion, and the ladies of the court wish flowers for a banquet."
Abruptly, the reedy voice faltered, and Fynn said, "Surely we can skip over that 
part, sir?"
"Indeed."
Silence could hear embarrassment in the reedy voice, and was hard put to 
suppress her own slightly hysterical grin. The magus was reading from a common 
exercise book, intended to teach appropriate behavior in business situations as 
well as the Arts. From what little she knew of the Hegemony, she could guess 
that the omitted section of the exercise was intended to familiarize the budding 
magus with the basic rules of courtly behavior.
The senior examiner cleared his throat. "In any case, these ladies wish roses, 
in winter. Your task, candidate, is to create one rose, substantial, and 
complete. You have one hour." He closed the exercise book with an audible snap. 
"The examination has begun."
Silence took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning to survey the 
heaped-up equipment behind her. Stripped of the ridiculous situation surrounding 
it, the problem was simple: seek out the Form of a rose, the ideal, essential 
rose, and make it real. She had free choice of procedure and materials -- which 
was not much help, since she had not yet succeeded with any of them.
She put that thought aside, and advanced to the table. There were several ways 
of fixing Forms once summoned, and the materials for all were there: an alembic, 
its neck curving in on itself; a black mirror; crystal spheres of various sizes 
and shapes; prepared wax for the creation of simulacra. Silence studied them all 
for a long moment. A rose was a thing of nature rather than of the freed 
elements, which ruled out the quick, crude heat of the alembic. Best of all, 
perhaps, would be a simulacrum, formed from the unliving but receptive wax and 
then given the character of life by the summoned Form. But that method required 
a sculptor's talent to prepare the simulacrum itself, and Silence knew she 
lacked both that talent and the necessary knowledge. She had seen a living rose 
but once in her life, as a girl on Cap Bel. That left the mirror and the 
spheres, and her teachers had not yet reached the point of demonstrating the use 
of spheres. Carefully, she freed the black mirror and carried it to the table in 
the center of the isolation ring. Its surface gleamed dully, reflecting nothing.
That decision made, Silence returned to the table, glancing quickly over the 
profusion of material. She already had Isambard's monochord and the brass hammer 
to play it; now she needed only a trigger, some tangible spur to finding the 
Form. A glass rose lay among the litter, half hidden beneath a frayed sheet of 
paper. Silence lifted it thoughtfully, then set it aside again. She had no real 
reason for rejecting it, but it seemed too easy, too likely to be a trap. Among 
the tubes of incense was one labeled "rosae." She selected that, and the 
smallest of the six braziers, and returned to the isolation ring.
The next steps were almost automatic. Murmuring the activating word, she touched 
the metal of the ring and felt the brass vibrate softly under her fingertips, a 
note too deep to be heard. The ring was closed now against the operations of the 
Arts, protecting her work, and protecting the watching magi against her 
mistakes. Within the ring, the air was curiously thick and dead. It took an 
effort of will to convince herself that she had not sealed out the fresh air as 
well, that she would not suffocate inside a closed column. Silence reached for 
the monochord, searching for the correct sequence. The sequence would set the 
harmonies for any operation, the sympathetic notes being chosen according to the 
process involved. This exercise would use projection, the twelfth type of 
manipulation; the harmony was therefore the sequence of Saturn. For the first 
time since she had come to Solitude, Silence was grateful for the hours she had 
been forced to spend memorizing the tables of manipulations and their 
accompanying harmonies.
The sequence of Saturn was one of the simplest. Silence tapped the open string, 
striking a note that hung and swelled in the charged air, then slid the wand 
along the treated cord to strike a second note a step above the first. The 
dissonance, unpleasant to the human ear yet as perfect in its own right as the 
more conventionally beautiful sequences, filled the air, then faded to hang just 
at the edge of hearing. Satisfied, Silence turned to the tiny brazier, set its 
disk alight, and worked loose the stopper of the tube of incense. Very 
carefully, not wanting to smother herself with the smoke, she added a few grains 
to the tiny flame. The odor was not strong enough. She added a few grains more, 
then replaced the brazier's fretted cap and set it on the table to the right of 
the mirror. The preliminaries completed, she turned her attention to the mirror 
itself, focusing all her concentration on it.
The black surface that faced her was perfectly featureless, utterly 
unreflective. Silence took a deep breath and murmured the first of the cantrips, 
letting herself slip easily into the waking trance. Gradually, the mirror 
clouded, then began hazily to reflect the room behind her. Silence murmured the 
second cantrip, and felt the world narrow around her, while at the same time the 
mirror began to fill with images. Some were easily recognizable, distortions of 
herself or the furniture; others were intrusions, symbols reflecting her own 
imperfect concentration. Patiently, she identified and excluded each of them -- 
the red haze of her fear, the toiling wheel that was her exhaustion, the 
embarrassingly graphic images of her husbands -- and the mirror cleared again.
Slowly she began to seek the Form of the rose. There were many images to sift 
through, tag ends of memory and learning. Her girlhood visit to the Kiollr's 
garden, where she had first seen a living rose, was purged of its emotions and 
joined to the white rose that was the symbol of purity and the blood-red rose 
that was a symbol of knowledge and passion. Faintly at first, and then more 
clearly, an image began to take shape in the mirror's depths. It wavered, colors 
shifting. Silence frowned at it, bent all her will toward it, and the colors 
steadied to a rich crimson. In that instant of stability, she spoke the final 
cantrip. The image seemed to take on a new solidity, as though she could reach 
out and pluck it from the surface of the mirror.
Cautiously, she relaxed her concentration somewhat. When the image did not fade, 
and she felt certain it would not, she reached for the flower. Her fingers 
touched only the glass of the mirror. Silence bit back a cry of frustration. The 
operation had gone well so far, it should not require anything more to free the 
fixed Form from the imprisoning mirror....
She let her hand fall to her side, and forced herself to think calmly. This was 
the hardest part of the operation, bringing the fixed Form to full existence in 
the material world. It was this that had always defeated her before. Hastily, 
she thrust away that thought, and tried to concentrate on the search for a 
solution. The Form had been made particular, but was still trapped within the 
mirror. If it could only be freed, somehow, it would be real and as substantial 
as required....
Very distantly, the reedy voice of the senior magus said, "Candidate, your time 
is nearly up."
Silence bit back her rising panic. There had to be a way to free the rose. If 
the mirror were shattered, it would probably fall free, but that was out of the 
question. Or was it? she thought. The magi had said only that they wanted 
results, not that the method had to be elegant.... There was also a good chance 
that the falling shards of glass would destroy the rose, but it was a risk she 
had to take. She caught up the monochord's hammer and swung it blindly at the 
mirror just as the senior magus said, "The examination is over."
The mirror shattered, the glass falling in a discordant shower. The rose, 
half-open, blood-red, perfect to its single thorn, lay on top of the glittering 
heap. There was a murmur of appreciation from the watching magi.
A fourth voice, one that had not spoken before, said, "I think there's no 
question of the result?"
The reedy voice said, "Patience."
Automatically, Silence stooped to touch the isolation ring, deactivating it, 
while beyond its invisible borders light faded on over the watching magi. There 
were four of them, besides Isambard, who sat a little apart from the others. 
One, the biggest of them, hauled himself to his feet, saying, "The rose has not 
yet been fully examined." The reedy voice was startling, coming from such a huge 
body.
The fourth man, younger and almost albino-fair, said fretfully, "That hardly 
seems necessary." Nevertheless, he followed the big man down the last few steps 
and out into the isolation ring.
Fynn and the other magus followed more slowly and the four gathered around the 
worktable. The senior magus lifted the rose from its bed of glass and examined 
it intently, then passed it on to the fair man, who repeated the examination, 
touching the petals, the thorn, and sniffing to test the perfume. Silence, 
swaying slightly from sheer exhaustion, found their delicate gestures almost 
unbearably funny, and had to bite her lips hard to keep from laughing aloud. 
Fynn seemed to sense her thoughts, and glanced up at her, smiling approvingly 
across the rose. Silence barely managed to convert her laugh into a convincing 
cough.
The fourth magus accepted the rose, but his examination was perfunctory. 
Clearing his throat, he said, "I accept the rose as substantial and complete, as 
required. I question the time element."
Fynn said, "The mirror was broken as time was called, if not before."
The senior magus held up his hand, forestalling further argument. "The question 
is legitimate," he said, and Silence drew a slow, shaky breath. If, after all 
she had done, they could disqualify her now.... At least, if they did so, she 
would have proved to herself that she could perform a simple creation.
The senior magus pointed to the near-albino. "Fynn, you have stated your ruling. 
Hanif?"
The younger man said, "The mirror broke as time was called. I would accept it."
The senior magus nodded. "As would I. Do you still protest, Zesirik?"
Slowly, the fourth magus bowed his head. "I defer to the board. I accept the 
time as well."
"Excellent," the senior magus murmured. He eyed Zesirik for a moment longer, 
then turned ceremonially to Silence. "Candidate, I welcome you now to the 
company of practitioners of the Art, and will so certify you to all comers. Well 
done, practitioner."
The words were formulaic, devoid of warmth, but even so, Silence felt herself 
grinning uncontrollably. Still grinning, she accepted the formal congratulations 
of each member of the committee -- only Fynn projected any real sense of 
pleasure -- and then allowed Isambard to lead her out of the chamber and back up 
the stairs to the crooked hallways of the Officina proper. The magus paused in 
the arched doorway, just out of earshot of the man on duty at the entrance.
"It was well done, indeed," Isambard said judiciously, "if a trifle 
over-dramatic in your choice of conclusion. You will have to review --"
"It worked," Silence said. "No, it wasn't perfect, but it worked. I'm entitled 
to celebrate, and even you can't take that away from me."
Isambard stopped, considering. In the faint light from the wall globes, his bony 
face was grotesquely shadowed, almost demonic. Silence glared back at him, 
furious that he had taken any of her satisfaction from her. Damn it all, she 
thought, I know how fragile this is, I know how much I don't know. Don't spoil 
this success, too.
After a moment, Isambard said, almost mildly, "Very well. You have become a 
practitioner, after all." Without waiting for her answer, he stepped forward to 
the doorkeeper's cubicle, and gestured for the man to open the great door. 
Grudgingly, the bars slid back in their holders, and the door itself swung 
outward, hinges groaning. "Good night, Silence," Isambard said.
Silence stepped out into the risen night, drawing her coat tighter around her 
shoulders against the sudden chill. Overhead, the edge of the night sky had 
swung well past the zenith, and to the east, the stars had begun to come out. 
The glaring day-sky, now merely a wedge of white on the western horizon, cast 
its last feeble shadows across the courtyard. The sense of triumph had deserted 
her utterly. Sighing, she turned aside, skirting the edges of the central close, 
and left the Inner Courtyard for the barnlike dormitories where the apprentices 
were quartered.
Because of her unique situation, Silence had been allotted an end room, larger 
than the usual, and equipped with its own bathing chamber. It also opened onto 
the smaller side stairway, an advantage at a time like this when she wanted to 
see no one, strung as she was between exhaustion and triumph. The lock, in 
theory tuned only to the apprentices who actually lived on that stairway, was so 
old and jaded that it clicked open at the touch of her hand on the knob. She let 
the door fall closed behind her, not bothering to see if it locked again, and 
pulled herself painfully up the two flights of stairs that led to her room.
Her door was open slightly, spilling light into the dim hallway, and it opened 
further at the sound of her footsteps. Chase Mago glanced out, bearded face 
contracted into a scowl. His expression relaxed as he saw her, and he said, 
"There you are. We've been worried about you."
He held the door open for her. Silence did not have to duck to pass beneath his 
outstretched arm. Balthasar said, "What happened? Kaare said they were watching 
for you at the gate, that Isambard wanted you."
Silence nodded and murmured a greeting to Kaare, who was sitting cross-legged on 
the floor beside a battered portable stove. Kaare smiled nervously back at her, 
waiting for some further response. Clearly, Silence thought, he knew why she had 
been summoned, as well as by whom. Balthasar occupied the room's only chair, so 
the pilot dropped instead onto the bed, kicking off her shoes as she did so. 
"That's right," she said. Abruptly, she found herself wishing she did not have 
to tell them of the examination and its results, or that it could be passed off 
without a fuss, without celebration.
"You're getting to be as bad as Denis," Chase Mago complained, and came to sit 
beside her on the narrow bed.
"I'm sorry," Silence said, and shook herself. She owed them a better explanation 
than this. "You know how Isambard said he wanted to see me made a practitioner 
before we leave Solitudo? He set up the examination for this evening, cornered 
me as soon as I got back."
"And?" Balthasar demanded.
"I passed."
Chase Mago pulled her into an embrace, and Kaare gave a whoop of delight.
"She passed," Balthasar said, and laughed. "Listen to her, now, as though she 
does this every day. Congratulations, Silence."
"I'll get Mates," Kaare said, and Silence nodded. Mates was the only other 
apprentice whom she could call a friend; it was only fair, she thought, that he 
should get to share the celebration. Kaare scrambled to his feet and 
disappeared. Chase Mago released Silence long enough to lean across the bed and 
rummage in his battered carryall until he found a carved bottle. At the sight of 
the ruby liquid, Balthasar raised an eyebrow.
"You're going all out, aren't you, Julie?"
"Can you think of a better reason to finish it?" Chase Mago retorted. Without 
waiting for an answer, he poured out three minuscule glasses of the stuff. 
Silence, knowing what it would do to her in her present state of exhaustion, 
protested feebly, but the engineer ignored her and handed one to each of the 
others. "To Silence," he announced, and drained his glass.
Balthasar echoed him and drank more cautiously. Silence, surrendering, sipped 
dutifully at the sweet gin, and felt it burn its way down her throat to explode 
in the pit of her stomach. She gasped -- the first swallow was always the worst 
-- and tried again. A warm glow spread slowly outward, enveloping her.
Kaare returned a few moments later, bringing with him not just Mates but half a 
dozen other boys, each carrying some small contribution to the party, food, a 
stone jug of beer. The first one hesitated in the doorway, a little uncertain 
about the whole situation, but Silence, emboldened by the drink she had already 
had, smiled and beckoned. The apprentices crowded into the room, calling their 
congratulations.
Silence leaned back against Chase Mago's shoulder, holding her suddenly refilled 
glass very carefully with both hands. The sense of triumph was abruptly with her 
again, filling her being like a song. She had done a thing no other woman had 
done -- at least to the magi's knowledge -- no matter how ungracefully. As she 
had said to Isambard, she was entitled to this brief celebration.
On waking, well past noon of the next day, Silence had only the vaguest memory 
of the previous night's party. What she did remember was pleasant -- the shy 
congratulations of boy apprentices who had never seen an unveiled woman, Chase 
Mago's arm around her shoulder, Balthasar's fond teasing, and, most of all, the 
awareness of her triumph.
It was the last that did her the most good over the next few weeks. Isambard 
sent her a curt note by one of the provost's messengers, pointing out that her 
schedule had to be adjusted so that she could attend the classes in the higher 
arts of the Quadrivium. Almost at once, Silence was plunged into a frantic 
struggle to catch up with students who had begun their studies months or, in 
some cases, years before. Isambard pointed out caustically that every 
practitioner faced the same difficulties, and offered extra tutoring. Grimly, 
Silence set herself to master the unfamiliar disciplines. Of the four Arts that 
made up the Quadrivium, she found the harmonic arts -- music-based 
manipulations, the use of proportion and numerical consonance, and so on -- the 
easiest. With Isambard's expert help she made swift progress in his specialty, 
the creative and destructive arts. The magus's sparing praise for her knack with 
harmonics brought only extra hours of work, however. Isambard set her to learn 
each of the five pure instruments and the elementary scale sequences for each.
To offset those successes, she soon found she had no particular talent for the 
medicinal arts, at least as they were taught on Solitude, and, to her 
consternation, her training as a pilot actually interfered with her ability to 
learn the elemental arts. Pilots were traditionally taught half-truths, which 
were good enough for the limited, even passive operations of piloting. Now she 
had to unlearn those rough expedients, and learn a new system that frequently 
contradicted the old one. It was not easy, and neither Isambard nor Stanek, who 
was in charge of the class in elemental Arts, found her excuses acceptable. Only 
the memory of her recent success, of the surge of triumph she had felt when the 
rose lay unbroken on top of the shattered mirror, kept her from losing her 
temper in the face of their reprimands. She had learned the Trivium, impossible 
as that had seemed when she began studying it; she would learn the Quadrivium as 
well.
The only real advantage to having achieved the rank of practitioner -- aside 
from the gilded card that arrived two days after the examination, certifying 
that she could indeed practice the minor Arts on any of the known worlds -- was 
that she had at last gained Library privileges. Apprentices were restricted to 
the lower floors of the twenty-story tower, and to a selection of books approved 
by a committee of magi. Now she could pass through the closely guarded gate to 
the upper floors, where the full resources of the Library were at her disposal.
No one had unrestricted access to these books, however. Silence paused below the 
gate leading from the open sections of the building to show her newly minted 
license to the bored servant on duty there. Then, suppressing a shudder, she 
walked up the three steps that led between the massive twin homunculi and 
stepped through the tunnel-like entrance.
The wall that separated the two parts of the Library was nearly a meter thick, 
and the gate was thickened even further on both sides by a heavily carved flange 
that held the "brain" controlling the guarding homunculi. To emerge from that 
narrow passage into the airy hall was like stepping into a different world. On 
the floors below, windows barely the width of a man's palm stretched from floor 
to ceiling at infrequent, irregular intervals, casting an ever-changing pattern 
of barred light over the rows of tables at which the apprentices worked. Here 
every centimeter of the two side walls was given over to multicolored glass, 
interrupted every three meters by one of the thick columns that supported the 
upper stories. The pale carpet was bathed in a tapestry of colored light, broken 
here and there by the slow-moving shadow of a magus, pacing along the perimeter 
of the room like a planet in its orbit, absorbed in thought. Even knowing what 
she would see, Silence was dazzled. She stood for a moment, staring, then shook 
herself. She might be entitled to study here, but she would never be one of the 
magi pacing so serenely beside the colored windows. Nor, she added to herself, 
would I want to be. I am still a pilot, and will remain a pilot, too, whatever 
else I become.
A Librarian -- one of six who held that title, who neither had nor needed any 
other name -- was waiting in his tower in the center of the room, hands folded 
placidly in his lap. Only his eyes moved, darting constantly among the orbiting 
magi, the black-glass model of the Library and the shifting pinpoints of light 
within it, and the monkey-like creatures that crouched unmoving at his feet. As 
Silence approached, his eyes fixed briefly on her, then resumed their constant 
motion.
"Sir," Silence said. The Librarian's eyes flickered downward again, 
acknowledging her presence. "Sir, I request admittance. I am looking for studies 
in basic elemental theory."
The Librarian grimaced, and Silence was careful to keep her face expressionless. 
She knew perfectly well that the Librarians preferred it when users requested a 
single, specific text. The Librarian could then have brought it, without the 
necessity of admitting a stranger into the uppermost levels. That also gave him 
a chance to rule on whether or not he would allow the user to see a particular 
text -- which was one of the reasons Silence had chosen not to request the books 
she wanted. None of the three were controversial, or likely to be restricted, 
but she did not want to give him an opportunity for malice.
The Librarian sighed heavily. "Very well," he said, reluctantly, and snapped his 
fingers at one of the creatures crouching at the base of the tower. "The guide 
will take you to the section you want. Press the button when you're ready to 
leave, and you'll be escorted back here."
Silence nodded, already familiar with the procedure, and then shuddered in spite 
of herself as the creature turned its noseless face to stare at her. For all 
that it was lightly furred, and far more delicately made than most of its kind, 
it was still a homunculus. The creature blinked twice, then scurried away across 
the long room to the row of doors that stretched across the far end of the room. 
Silence followed more slowly.
The central door opened at the homunculus's approach, and the guide paused just 
inside until Silence caught up. The pilot had just enough time to see that a 
spiral staircase led down toward the lower stacks before the homunculus darted 
ahead, and Silence had to hurry to catch up. The door slammed shut behind her.
There was a second staircase two meters beyond the doorway, a wider spiral than 
the first. The homunculus scrambled up it, using both bony paws to help it 
climb. Silence hurried after it, but by the time she passed the third landing, 
the creature was five full turns ahead of her.
"Hey, slow down," she called, panting, but the homunculus did not seem to hear. 
At the next landing, it scuttled off the stairway and vanished through one of 
the featureless doorways that ringed the spiral. Silence cursed it, and took the 
stairs two at a time in a vain attempt to catch up. At the landing, she paused 
only long enough to get her breath back, then ducked through the left-hand 
doorway after it.
She found herself in a narrow, shelf-lined corridor, faintly lit by globes of 
fixed fire. The shelves were piled high with books, papers, and thin boxes of 
the ancient golden disks that the earliest magi had used to record their 
information. Some had identifying codes scrawled directly on the tops of the 
boxes, or on the fraying bindings; tags hung from the rest, the faded lettering 
hard to read in the dim light. There was no sign of the homunculus.
Silence swore again. Wandering aimlessly in the Library was actively 
discouraged, it could even be grounds for expulsion, or at least for loss of 
library privileges. It was not her fault that the homunculus had gotten ahead of 
her, but that would hardly matter. She took a few steps farther down the 
corridor, irrationally hoping she would suddenly see the homunculus's huge eyes 
glowing at her from the base of a set of shelves, then took a deep breath and 
forced herself to walk briskly toward the nearest cross-corridor. It was empty 
for as far as she could see to either side.
Silence hesitated. One of the buttons used to call a guide-homunculus dangled 
from the ceiling here; it would be the work of an instant to press it, admitting 
her mistake. Instead she walked farther down the corridor, pausing now to read 
the labels as she went. The first few codes, a sequence of numbers followed by a 
complex hieroglyph that could mean either the donor or the general subject of 
the work, were unfamiliar. As she moved along the shelves, however, she began to 
recognize the sequence of numbers, and whistled softly to herself, almost 
forgetting where she was. She had somehow stumbled into the section of the 
Library that dealt with star travel. With any luck, she thought, the subsection 
that deals with piloting will be nearby, and I can see what starbooks the magi 
keep hidden here. She ran her finger along the nearest shelf, trying to remember 
how the code sequences would run. Logically, the starbooks should come at the 
end of the entire section, but the Library did not follow any of the usual 
patterns. Her best bet was to go shelf by shelf, and keep looking for the 
compass wheel hieroglyph that marked pilot's texts.
As she approached the next cross-corridor, something -- a hint of a noise, a 
glimpse of motion in the cracks between the shelves -- made Silence look away 
from the rows of books and let her hand fall to her side. She acted just in 
time: an instant later, the guide homunculus turned the corner ahead of her and 
stopped dead, regarding her with baleful yellow eyes. Silence stared back at it, 
striving to project an air of injured innocence mingled with relief. The 
homunculus hesitated a moment longer, then beckoned impatiently with one clawed 
paw. Silence hurried to join it. With any luck at all, she thought, I can 
retrace my steps and come back here to look for more starbooks.
The guide homunculus led her quickly through the maze of intersecting corridors 
-- so quickly that it was hard to keep track of all the turnings. Silence swore 
under her breath, and dawdled as much as she dared. The homunculus moved more 
slowly this time, but still too fast for her to fix on any definite landmarks. 
Then, abruptly, it reached the first row of shelves that contained the textbooks 
on basic elemental •• theory and stopped. They had not come very far from the 
section on = star travel. Silence nodded dismissal, wishing the creature would 
leave " as quickly as it had come. It waited a moment longer while the lights, 
triggered by its continued presence, slowly brightened overhead. Silence bit her 
lip and lifted a book at random from the shelf in front of her to hide her 
impatience. It was one she had been looking for for the past two weeks, but she 
no longer cared. She turned its pages one by one, '. hardly seeing the words, 
until at last the homunculus scurried away. Silence forced herself to count 
slowly to a thousand before she moved.
The lights had dimmed almost to darkness in the corridors outside the elementals 
section. Silence moved cautiously, trying to picture the route exactly, feeling 
her way by the glow of the emergency lamps. Despite her caution, she took a 
wrong turn almost at once, and realized her mistake only when the INTL markings 
gave way to the crossed arrow that indicated ceration. The Library's quiet was 
affecting her. She did not even swear as she retraced her steps, until she found 
the place where she had chosen wrong. From there, knowing how she had gone 
wrong, it was easy to find her way back to the star-travel section, and from 
there to trace her way along the shelves, squinting in the dim light, to the 
starbooks.
There were nearly two dozen volumes, their unlettered bindings marked only with 
the compass-wheel hieroglyph, but as Silence pulled them one after the other 
from the shelf, flipping them open to the title pages, she felt a growing sense 
of disappointment. These books were nothing special, she thought. They were the 
sorts of manuals available in any reputable charthouse anywhere in the known 
worlds. Even the Hegemony's pilots had access to them. Then, very slowly, she 
began to smile. It was still nice to think that the pilots had managed to keep a 
good part of their art secret from the supposedly all-knowing magi. Unless, of 
course, the Librarians have filed the more interesting texts in some other part 
of the Library, she added to herself, and her smile faded a little. Since the 
starbooks had proved to be nothing new and exciting, she knew she should go back 
and look at the books she had come to study. But she could not bring herself to 
leave without some reward for her daring.
Frowning, she glanced at the shelf of texts beyond the starbooks. It was a mixed 
lot -- a stack of crudely bound notebooks piled next to a box of disks whose 
gold coating was badly chipped, which in turn stood next to a series of 
photoflashed texts bound in fraying cardboard. Curiously, Silence lifted down 
the first of the notebooks. To her disappointment, it was written in a script 
she could not identify. Even when she carried it out to the stronger light of 
the main corridor, she could not read the crabbed and drastically abbreviated 
handwriting, though she was able to figure out that the writer had used one of 
the Hegemonic alphabets. Sighing, she put the notebook back where she had found 
it, and moved slowly along the shelves.
A tag hanging from one of the photoflashed volumes caught her eye. She could not 
decipher the numbered code -- only the Librarians were allowed fully to 
understand how the system worked -- but a second, once-red label caught her eye. 
It read, "*/*," the code for information that was both incomplete and invalid. 
Silence frowned again, more deeply this time. Pilots' texts did not change much 
over time; the basic principles, in fact, had remained unchanged since the first 
years of exploration, when mankind had still been confined to Earth, before the 
Millenial Wars. I could understand labeling it incomplete, she thought, but not 
invalid. Carefully, she pulled the book from its place on the upper shelf and 
lifted the fragile cover.
The name at the bottom of the title page seemed to leap out at her: The Masters 
of the Leading-star, The Leading-star Guild was the first of the great pilots' 
guilds that had flourished before the Millenial Wars; it had first codified the 
system of voidmarks. That system had been superseded in the years since the Wars 
by the less complicated Cor Tauri system, but Leading-star's accomplishment was 
still respected. Certainly where pre-War texts like her own Gilded Stairs were 
involved, the Leading-star system was still unmatched.
The rest of the title read, "A Discussion of the Mediate Symbols on the Road of 
the Perilous Pit." Silence flipped through the text, barely recognizing the 
voidmarks it described. The article ended abruptly. It was little more than a 
pamphlet, Silence realized, bound in with a miscellaneous collection of other 
pamphlets. There was some justification, then, for the magi's describing it as 
both incomplete and invalid.
Idly, she flipped through the next pamphlet -- "The Descent of the Moon and the 
Black Sphinx of Mornag" -- and then through two more without seeing anything of 
particular interest. The final pamphlet was of a different style from the 
others, with an oddly patterned border. Silence paused to examine it more 
closely.
The first thing she noticed was the date -- 206 N. A. She whistled soundlessly 
at that. Her own Gilded Stairs, old as it was, dated only from the year 781 of 
the New Age reckoning, which counted from the first years of star travel. She 
glanced quickly at the title. "Maledictions Returned Unto the Maledictor," she 
read, and, in smaller letters below that flamboyant heading, "A Criticism of 
Portolan Use, with a Brief Compendium of the New Voidmarks, according to the 
Masters of the Leading-star. " This, then, was a pilot's manual from the very 
earliest days of star travel. Even though this was only a photoflashed copy, 
Silence eased her hold on the greying pages.
The printing in the body of the pamphlet was unclear, the lines of type on the 
underside of the page showing through the thin paper to make the copy almost 
illegible. Heedless now of the danger of meeting another guide-homunculus, 
Silence returned to the main corridor, holding the book directly under the 
central light globe. Now, with an eye-straining effort, she could make out the 
text. It was a dialogue between two pilots, one of whom was urging the merits of 
the Leading-star system against the other's "portolan." The teachers at the 
pilots' school on Cap Bel had never mentioned such a system. Hastily, Silence 
ran down the list of accepted hieroglyphicas and symbolic systems, then recited 
the list of the unacceptable systems. None of the names could ever have been a 
corruption of "portolan."
Frowning thoughtfully, Silence read on. It was hard to follow the debate, 
founded as it was in an active controversy: the writer rarely bothered to 
explain any of his terms, or to mention why certain seemingly trivial points 
were important. But, very slowly, Silence began to make sense of the argument, 
and felt herself tremble with excitement. As best she could tell from the 
convoluted debate, the "portolan" was not a system but a thing, or at least a 
thing as well as a system. It was a book like her own starbooks in that it 
guided pilots from star system to star system, but completely different in the 
way in which it worked. Under the Cor Tauri system, and under the Leading-star 
system, and every other system of voidmarks, the passage through purgatory 
involved an actual manipulation of the voidmarks. Once the harmonium, its music 
magnified by the starship's sounding keel, had brought the ship to the twelfth 
of heaven that marked the beginning of purgatory, the pilot found the 
appropriate voidmarks for the planets involved, and then took the ship through 
them. There was an interaction between pilot, ship, and symbol. But using a 
portolan....
Silence frowned even more deeply, and turned back a few pages to reread the 
clearest description she had found. If she understood the writer correctly -- 
and infuriatingly, the three charts at the end of the pamphlet showed only the 
Leading-star's standard tables, without the portolan system's drawings for 
comparison -- the portolan was little more than a collection of roadmaps. The 
pilot used the voidmarks as just that, marks by which to steer through the void, 
rather than allowing the ship to use the power of the symbol. It was no wonder 
the system had been abandoned, she thought. From the descriptions here, and the 
first speaker's criticisms, it was clear that this system of star travel was 
very slow, requiring the pilot to drop out of purgatory at regular intervals to 
check his position in the mundane universe. But it was the final argument that 
had really caught her attention.
She turned to those pages and read them again with great attention, fixing the 
essential details in her memory. The first speaker, an adherent of the 
Leading-star system, reminded the second pilot that the portolans were almost 
useless outside the worlds of the Ring, while the Leading-star's voidmarks 
worked equally well inside or out. The six worlds of the Ring, Silence knew, 
were the Rose Worlds; the seventh world of the Ring was Earth.
The portolan system worked inside the Rose Worlds, at least, and probably on the 
Earth road as well. The Rose Worlders' siege engines worked by disrupting the 
harmonies necessary to the interaction of pilot, ship, and symbol: Silence had 
learned that much from Isambard even before she came to Solitude. But the siege 
engines could not disrupt a ship that used a portolan to steer through 
purgatory, since no manipulation of the symbols was involved. Silence smiled 
slowly. If all their other plans failed -- if Isambard was unable to break the 
power of the engines -- they might still be able to use this new system to find 
Earth. If she could obtain a portolan.
Silence's smile faded slightly at the thought. That might not be at all easy, 
especially since she doubted that any other pilots would recognize the term. She 
would have to go to the magi, and to the hordes of other scholars who populated 
the known worlds. More precisely, Isambard would have to approach them -- 
unless, of course, the Library itself possessed one. She turned back to the 
corridor where she had found the starbooks, hastily sliding the collection of 
pamphlets back into its place. As she had thought, there was nothing among the 
row of starbooks but the most ordinary texts. On the other hand, given the 
Library's unique organization, a portolan might well be kept in some other 
section, unrecognized for what it was. But it would be better to let Isambard 
look for that.
Quickly, she set the last starbook back into its place, and retraced her steps 
to the elemental arts section. There she took a deep breath, shifted a few books 
in their places, then glanced quickly at her reflection in the dull metal of the 
shelving to make sure she bore no signs of her unauthorized explorations. Only 
then did she press the button that summoned the guide-homunculus.
The creature seemed to take hours to answer that call, and when at last it did 
appear, it traveled so quickly through the maze of corridors that once again 
Silence was hard put to keep up with it. This time, however, she managed to keep 
it in sight, and emerged breathless in the lobby. The Librarian gave her a 
rather sour look from under his thin eyebrows, but Silence ignored him, opening 
her bag for the homunculus who guarded the tunnel door. The creature gave the 
starbooks only a cursory inspection, and did not hinder her passage.
Silence made her way through the upper reading room and down the long staircase 
to the main doors, trying not to hurry. In the main lobby, she paused at one of 
the long counters to scribble a brief note to Isambard, asking him in veiled 
terms to meet her at her rooms as soon as possible. She sealed it tightly, 
fixing the thin tape securely all around the edges. Then, too excited to feel 
her usual disgust, she stopped at the alcove by the door where a bored 
apprentice monitored the homunculi the school used to carry messages among the 
magi, and paid the half-mark fee to send one of the long-legged creatures in 
search of Isambard. Only then did she allow herself to head back toward her own 
rooms.
Chapter 3
BALTHASAR AND CHASE MAGO WERE BOTH IN HER ROOMS, Balthasar frowning intently at 
a dice-board, while Chase Mago stared vaguely out the single window, watching 
the turning sphere of the day-sky. Both men looked up as the door opened, 
clearly glad of any break in the monotony of their day, and Balthasar said, 
"Good news?"
Silence grimaced. "I didn't think I was so transparent."
Chase Mago smiled, saying nothing, and Balthasar said, "Come on, out with it."
Silence nodded, setting her tool bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. The 
two did need to be told what she had found before Isambard arrived. Quickly, she 
ran through the important parts of her discovery, unable to resist dwelling on 
her adventures in the Library itself, and was rewarded by an approving nod from 
the engineer and a thoughtful whistle from Balthasar.
"A neat trick, if we can manage it," he said, "but it sounds as though you have 
to spend a lot of time in normal space."
Silence nodded again. "That's the one problem I can see. But if we can't break 
through the siege engines' interference...." She let her voice trail off as the 
others nodded.
"If you can get hold of a portolan," Chase Mago murmured.
Silence made a face. She had almost forgotten, in her excitement, that she still 
had to find one of the ancient mapbooks. More soberly, she said, "The Library 
may well have one, even though I didn't find it. Isambard can look -- he has 
full access to the catalogues. If nothing else, maybe he can find out something 
about the principles involved, so maybe we could reconstruct the maps. Anyway, 
I've asked him to come here as soon as he can."
Balthasar nodded, and swept the dice and counters together off the board. "You 
know, if we get to Earth, we can ask for whatever we want from the Hegemon. I 
bet he'd be only too glad to forget about that mailship, and one minor 
midshipman, as long as we told him how we did it."
Chase Mago laughed softly, but before he could say anything, there was a knock 
at the door. Silence called, "Who's there?"
"Isambard." Before Silence could move to undo the latch, the door flew open and 
the magus stepped into the room.
Out of the corner of her eye, Silence saw Balthasar sigh deeply and slip his 
heylin back into the pocket of his coat. Her own heart was racing painfully. 
"What is this, Isambard?" she demanded. "My message wasn't that urgent."
Isambard glanced at her with a brief, puzzled frown. "I didn't get any message 
from you," he said. "I came to tell you that we have to leave Solitude at once. 
The Hegemon is circulating an inquiry, and the description is -- accurate."
Balthasar cursed softly, and Chase Mago said, "How long do we have?"
"No time at all," Isambard said grimly. "Get your things together now. We'll 
leave at once --"
"Wait a minute," Silence said. Isambard glanced at her again, then looked away. 
"Listen to me," Silence said, more sharply this time, and the magus stopped, 
turning to consider her with a visible effort.
"I've found something very important in the Library," Silence said, looking for 
words that would catch the magus's attention at once. "A new way of reaching 
Earth."
"Ah?" Isambard's sudden interest would have been comic, Silence thought sourly, 
in other circumstances. "Yes. Do you know anything about a thing called a 
portolan?"
The magus shook his head.
Hastily, Silence explained again about the pamphlet she had found, adding, "If 
we can't break the siege engines -- and you said there'd be trouble, since I'm 
only a practitioner -- a portolan should give us a way around the blockage."
Isambard hesitated an instant longer, then nodded once, decisively. "Very well," 
he said, and allowed the deceptively battered carryall to slip from his 
shoulders. "Take this with you, then. I will check the Library catalogues, and 
join you at the starport as soon as I'm finished with that."
"It's another four hours before we can lift," Balthasar said. "And that's 
assuming we can get a place at the head of the liftoff queue."
"Do your best, captain," Isambard said. He looked at Silence. "They will think 
twice before questioning me -- at least on Solitude! -- but you are another 
matter entirely. You must leave the compound at once."
"All right," Silence said. Across the room, Chase Mago was already throwing her 
belongings into the nearest carryall. "But where -- ?"
Before she could finish the question, the magus had vanished. Silence swore 
softly to herself and turned to help the engineer, saying, "And where do we go 
once we get off-world?"
Balthasar shrugged, staring again out the narrow window that overlooked the 
courtyard. "Anywhere. Leave that to me, Silence. I've had plenty of practice --" 
He broke off abruptly, still staring out the window. Silence frowned, and moved 
to look over his shoulder. In the court below, a tallish man in magus's robes 
was talking with one of the apprentices, who frowned, then pointed to the window 
where the two stood. Silence swore again.
"I can't disobey a direct summons, not without convicting myself or losing my 
license. We've got to get out of here."
Balthasar nodded grimly. "Your books?"
"I have them." Silence ran her gaze rapidly around the room. There was nothing 
else here that she could not do without, though she would be sorry to leave some 
of it.... There was no time for regrets. She caught up her own carryall, and 
then, with an effort, lifted Isambard's heavy bag. Chase Mago stuffed a final 
shirt into the half-empty carryall, and latched it.
"Come on," Balthasar said, and opened the door.
Silence darted past him, already aware of the presence moving slowly up the main 
stairs, and beckoned for the others to follow her down the back stairway. She 
had never been so glad of its existence. The others followed more cautiously, 
Chase Mago pausing briefly to lock the door behind him. At the bottom of the 
staircase, Silence started to push open that door, but Balthasar pulled her 
back.
"Wait," he said. "Take off that damn smock." He was shrugging off his own coat 
as he spoke. Silence, not fully understanding, pulled the loose shirt over her 
head, and took the coat from Balthasar.
"Put it on," Balthasar hissed. "And the cap. You want to look like a 
star-traveller again."
Silence did as she was told, stuffing the discarded apprentice's uniform into 
her bag on top of the starbooks. Balthasar's coat was too big, the sleeves 
falling almost to her knuckles, but there was no time to adjust that now. 
Already, she could hear movement at the top of the stairs. The others heard it, 
too. Chase Mago cursed softly and snatched up Isambard's bag, motioning for the 
others to hurry. Silence abandoned her attempt to turn back the cuffs and pushed 
open the door, blinking as she stepped out into the fading light. The night-sky 
was rising rapidly but, as Balthasar had said, it was another four hours before 
any starships could begin leaving Solitude, and six hours before most of them 
would be willing to try it. She glanced quickly around -- there was no one in 
sight, not even a wandering apprentice to notice their hurried departure -- and 
started quickly for the main gate, Chase Mago at her heels. Almost at once, she 
stopped: Balthasar was still standing in the open door, bending over the lock. 
Silence hesitated, not wanting to shout. The Delian straightened, slamming the 
door behind him, and loped after them, waving for them to keep moving.
"What the hell?" Silence demanded as he joined them.
"I jammed the lock mechanism," Balthasar answered, grinning. "Should slow down 
even a magus. With luck, he'll think it's been jammed for a while."
Silence gave the captain a dubious look -- the magi were better than Balthasar 
was inclined to admit -- but when there was no sign of pursuit, she slowed her 
steps a little, adjusting the sleeves of the borrowed coat.
"And now, Denis?" Chase Mago asked.
Silence grinned at the engineer's tone. Chase Mago sounded as wary as she felt 
about Balthasar's improvised plans. Of course, Balthasar was rather good at 
improvisation -- it was just unfortunate that he had to do it so often.
Balthasar shrugged. "Get back to the ship, see how early we can get in the 
queue. We can probably have the leading place, if we're willing to go as soon as 
the window opens. Then we wait for the magus. What else can we do?" He gave 
Silence an appraising glance, and added, "Put on that cap you were wearing 
before. You'll have to pass for an apprentice -- one of ours, I mean, not one of 
theirs. And rub some dirt on your hands -- your face, too."
Silence grimaced at the arbitrary orders, but Chase Mago rummaged in the bags he 
carried until he found the cap, and handed it to her. Silence jammed it tightly 
on her head, then, reluctantly, stooped and caught up a handful of dirt, rubbing 
it on her hands and then smearing dirty fingers across her forehead. Balthasar 
nodded approvingly. "We'll leave by the servants' gate," he said. "No sense 
attracting undue attention."
"Do we have a story?" Chase Mago asked mildly.
Balthasar grimaced, and Silence said, "You've made a delivery here, haven't 
picked up work, and are trying to make another contract back in the Fringe."
"Sounds good to me," Balthasar said, and Chase Mago nodded.
They were approaching the busier parts of the teaching compound, and Silence 
fought the urge to hide her face. It would only look furtive, she told herself. 
No one has seen you in anything but an apprentice's robes; no one will recognize 
you. She forced herself to look around boldly, staring up at the twenty-story 
height of the Library, then gaping like any stranger at the school buildings and 
at the black-robed passerby. A few she recognized -- magi that she knew by sight 
-- but none gave her a second glance. Still, it was a relief to leave the 
well-travelled walkways for the dreary paths that ran behind the servants' 
barracks.
The servants' gate was always locked, and there was no attendant on duty. 
Silence glanced warily at the others, wondering if the servants had already been 
warned to stop her. Balthasar made a disgusted face, and Chase Mago muttered, 
"It's always the same. When you want them, they aren't here."
Balthasar grunted agreement, and reached for the bell that hung beside the 
locked gate. He shook it vigorously, and then, when nothing happened, shook it 
again. After what seemed a very long time, a door opened in the nearest 
barracks, and a man came out, half a sandwich held in his teeth as he shrugged 
awkwardly into his coat.
"Caught me at lunch," he explained, taking the sandwich out of his mouth just in 
time. Shrewd eyes flicked from Balthasar to Chase Mago to Silence, then back, 
with veiled approval, to Balthasar. "Transport to the port, sieuri?"
"That's right," Balthasar said.
The servant nodded again, and passed his hand across a square of cloudy glass 
set into the wall beside the gateposts. After a while, a square of brighter turf 
between two of the barracks lifted almost noiselessly, and a four-legged 
transport flat -- a smaller version, with seats, of the cargo flats Silence had 
ridden before -- plodded slowly into sight. The servant touched another square 
of glass, opening the gate itself, and said to the flat, "These gentlemen are 
going to the port."
"Main terminal," Balthasar added, and the servant said, "Take them to the main 
terminal."
The controlling head, set low between the first pair of legs, gave no sign of 
having understood, but Balthasar swung himself into the padded seat without 
hesitation. Chase Mago tossed his bags into the space between the seats, while 
Silence scrambled up beside Balthasar. She braced herself against the footrail 
and held out a hand to Chase Mago. Nodding his thanks, the engineer pulled 
himself up behind them, just as the flat began to move.
The ride to the port complex was something of an anticlimax. They passed only a 
couple of other flats on the road, both heavy transports, their beds piled high 
with cargo. Inside the port itself the workers were too busy preparing for the 
liftoff window to spare them more than a cursory glance. Nevertheless, Balthasar 
insisted on going alone to the astrologers' offices in the main complex, and 
Silence was just as happy to let him. She and Chase Mago made their way through 
the maze of enclosed walkways to the shed where Recusante was docked. The walks, 
only partly protected from the day-sky's heat, were uncomfortably warm, and 
Silence did not dare take off the disguising coat. It was a relief to climb down 
into the cool dimness of the docking shed, but she did not remove the coat until 
she was inside the ship itself.
Chase Mago vanished immediately into the engine room, leaving Silence alone in 
the common area. Sighing, Silence switched on the tea machine, and settled 
herself to wait, leafing slowly through her starbooks. She could do nothing to 
plot a course until someone told her where they were going. Still, there were 
some obvious destinations -- Delos or the Madakh in the Fringe, Naryx or Astapa 
in the Hegemony -- where they could lose themselves among the hordes of other 
star-travellers, and still be in a good position to make the attempt on Earth. 
Idly, she turned to the tables in the Speculum Astronomi, looking for the roads 
leading from Solitudo to the various planets, but set the book aside as soon as 
Chase Mago's huge form appeared in the hatchway.
"Is everything all right?"
"Fine," the engineer answered. "All my boards show orange. We'll be ready 
whenever Denis -- or Isambard -- is." He drew himself a cup of tea from the 
machine on the bulkhead and seated himself at the table, staring into the depths 
of the mug.
"There's something wrong," Silence said.
Chase Mago grimaced. "I don't like this bargain. I never have. And we should've 
settled on a destination before Denis split off, so you and I could be doing 
something useful."
Silence nodded her agreement. The engineer was right, on all counts. Before she 
could say anything, however, the faint noise of the curtain bells sounded 
through the open hatch. Though it could only be Balthasar, Silence felt a knot 
of fear in her stomach. Chase Mago rose quickly and headed for the main hatch. 
Silence followed him, reaching into the pocket of Balthasar's coat for the 
heylin he had left there. The touch-plate was comfortingly warm under her thumb: 
a full charge, then, she thought. Balthasar never carried anything smaller than 
a ten-shot, which should be more than sufficient to deal with any intruders....
It was Balthasar, of course. He grinned cheerfully up at them from the bottom of 
the cradle stairs. Silence sighed deeply, and stood aside to let the captain 
into the corridor, letting the heylin drop to her side. Balthasar raised an 
eyebrow, seeing the weapon.
"You were expecting trouble?" he asked.
In the same moment, Chase Mago said, "So where are we going, Denis?"
Balthasar glanced over his shoulder as he headed for the common room. "The 
Madakh, I thought -- at least officially."
Silence said sharply, "What do you mean, officially?"
Balthasar grinned, but said nothing. In the common room, he headed for the tea 
machine and drew himself a mug, then seated himself comfortably at the table. At 
last, he said, "We have to go into the dead roads anyway to get to Earth, 
right?"
Silence nodded. The dead roads were relics of the Millennial Wars, roads which 
had been abandoned and then forgotten because the planets to which they had once 
led had been destroyed. Wrath-of-God had used those roads for their own 
purposes, and Balthasar, who had been a pilot for the pirate combine, knew them 
well enough. "And the departure course for the Madakh coincides with one for the 
dead roads?"
"You got it." Balthasar reached into his trouser pocket, and brought out a 
much-folded sheet of paper. Silence took it, unfolding it carefully to study the 
neatly jotted formulae. After a moment, she reached for her Gilded Stairs, 
turning to the supplement to find the matching formulae, then back to the main 
tables to find the voidmarks for Decelea. The table listed an unfamiliar road, 
the Salamander's Path. Silence frowned, flipping through the pages to find the 
half-page miniature and three-line commentary that described the voidmarks. 
Decelea had been destroyed, and the destruction of the planet had irrevocably 
distorted the voidmarks of all the roads leading to that planet. It would be 
nearly impossible to learn the road from the elaborate image of the Gilded 
Stairs.
"Denis, have you flown the Salamander's Path?" she asked.
"Not by that name," Balthasar answered. Silence held out the starbook, and the 
Delian's expression changed. "But I've flown that one, yes. The Fire-Lizard, we 
called it. It hasn't changed that much, compared to some of the others. The 
flames look higher -- you have to fly through them to reach the dragon's head -- 
and the tail's twisted, kinked up, almost. But that's all."
Silence gave him a sour look -- that was a fairly substantial change -- but 
closed the book again and tucked it under her arm. "I'll be in my cabin, then," 
she said. Balthasar nodded, his attention already returning to the departure 
course.
Silence closed the cabin door behind her, and then, after a moment's thought, 
latched it. It had been months since she had calculated a course or learned a 
set of voidmarks; she would need both time and absolute privacy to do her work 
properly. The narrow cabin, unused since the first flight to Solitude Hermae, 
was chill and oddly musty. Frowning, Silence flipped on the monitor console that 
dominated one bulkhead, adjusting the ventilators, then seated herself 
cross-legged on the bunk, the starbook open in her lap.
The image seemed to leap out at her. A clawed lizard, its spine patterned with 
stars, lay comfortably in the heart of a roaring fire, looking up with sleepy, 
golden eyes. The multiple symbolism flooded her mind. The salamander was rebirth 
and control in passion. It was another symbol for elemental fire, and for the 
suit of wands. It was also mastery, and could even be the symbol of ecstatic 
saints.... Silence swore softly and looked away.
All of those meanings were present in the salamander, and were necessary for a 
magus, but they were less than useless for a pilot. She set the book aside for a 
moment, rubbed her eyes hard, then forced herself to concentrate on a pilot's 
discipline. It was the problem of the gate that was not a gate, and that was all 
it could be. The voidmarks were merely voidmarks, not greater symbols. She took 
a deep breath, and looked back at the picture.
Slowly, the pilots' meaning came clear. The Salamander's Path was a simple 
enough road, at least in its original form, the course plain along the back of 
the lizard, following the star-shaped markings. The flames symbolized dangerous 
dissonance to either side of the road, to be avoided at all cost, but the 
salamander was a promise that the central path was perfectly safe. She studied 
it for a few minutes longer, until she was certain she had a clear picture of 
her course, then closed the book again.
That was still only the original form of the road, and Balthasar's verbal 
description was no real substitute for a good set of drawings. She stilled that 
negative thought and shut her eyes, trying to remember exactly what Balthasar 
had said about the changed road. The flames were higher -- only to be expected, 
she thought, with the destruction of Decelea still echoing through the star 
system -- and the ship had to fly through them to reach the salamander's head 
and the first voidmark. That would be the trickiest part, and she would need 
Chase Mago's help if the ship's keel were not to be damaged by the howling 
dissonances. Then, Balthasar had said, the tail was kinked.... Probably another 
sign of the increased dissonance, Silence decided, but less dangerous than the 
higher flames. It was simply a further indication that she would have to be 
precise. She kept her eyes closed a moment longer, picturing the route in 
detail, then opened them and stretched slowly. The chronometer on the monitor 
showed that nearly three hours had passed.
Silence grimaced, and set the Gilded Stairs on the shelf above the bunk. She 
hesitated a moment, then lifted the other starbooks from the carryall and set 
them beside the Gilded Stairs, closing the guardrail across them. Her shipsuits, 
the specially treated bodysuits worn to hide some of the more disturbing effects 
of purgatory, were still folded neatly in the storage cell. She pulled one on, 
fighting the clinging fabric, and shoved the others back into the cell, throwing 
the bag on top of them. Then she unlocked the cabin door and stepped out into 
the companion-way. The main hatch was still propped open a few centimeters, the 
entry bell hanging from the inner face. Apparently Isambard had not yet come 
aboard. Silence shrugged to herself and went on into the common area.
Balthasar and Chase Mago were sitting at the table, both also wearing their 
shipsuits. They looked up as she came in, and Balthasar said, "Where the hell is 
he? I should've known better than to get a spot at the head of the queue --"
"Relax, Denis," Chase Mago said, and Silence said, in the same moment, "He'll be 
here, worse luck."
"You said it, not me," Balthasar muttered, but subsided again, staring into his 
tea.
"We're at the head of the queue?" Silence asked after a moment, and looked at 
Chase Mago.
The engineer nodded. "But there's another hour before the tow boss shows up to 
drag the cradle. And we can cancel, if we have to."
Silence nodded, though she knew Chase Mago was really talking to Balthasar. 
Balthasar made a face, but before he could say anything, there was a noise from 
outside. Silence jumped in spite of herself, and Balthasar jerked around in his 
seat. "Curtain bells," Chase Mago said succinctly, and headed for the main 
hatch.
Silence started to follow, but Balthasar caught her arm. "Wait, put on your 
coat."
"Damn," Silence said, and took the heavy garment. As she shrugged it on, she 
thought, I'll have to be more careful. It was harder than she had expected to 
remember that she was passing as a man now, and that everything depended on 
passing successfully. She fastened the last clip, and hurried out into the 
corridor.
Isambard was already aboard, half hidden behind Chase Mago's height as the three 
men came back toward the common area. Balthasar brought up the rear, scowling 
irritably at the release of tension. That was a predictable reaction, Silence 
thought, but she was careful to hide her grin as she asked, "Any luck with 
portolan, Isambard?"
The magus shook his head. The lines that marked his face seemed starkly 
apparent, and Silence gave him a worried look. "Is something wrong?" she asked.
The magus sighed, and seated himself carefully at the table. Really alarmed now, 
Silence gestured for Chase Mago to get him a cup of tea, ignoring Balthasar's 
gesture of annoyance. Isambard took the huge mug gratefully, inhaling the steam 
with an expression of contentment. Silence waited, and after a moment, the magus 
said, "As I told you, the Hegemon is circulating an inquiry regarding a 
non-Misthian woman pilot who may be showing anomalous abilities." He looked up, 
and even managed a rather weary smile. "His Most Serene Majesty alleges piracy 
and murder against this person."
Balthasar said, "Will we be able to get off-planet, magus, or will your people 
be searching the ships?"
"My people?" the magus asked.
Balthasar made a face. "Your security, whatever you call them."
Isambard shook his head. "Not yet. I was able to avoid any direct inquiry, as 
you were, Silence. They will wait until they are certain we're not somewhere in 
the compound before they take so drastic a step. Indeed, I do not believe they 
have decided on any official course of action as yet. The majority are simply 
curious about the affair."
Silence sighed softly. For once things were working out the way they had 
planned. Aloud, she said, "But you weren't able to find a portolan?"
"I do not believe -- no, I am certain the Library does not contain one, " 
Isambard answered. "There are other possibilities -- Inarime, for example." He 
paused, looking expectantly at Silence.
The pilot frowned, then remembered. Inarime's satrap owned a collection of 
ancient texts that rivaled many a magus's. "The satrap's supposed to be 
particularly interested in old documents."
Isambard nodded. "I suggest, however, that we postpone any visit to Inarime -- 
or any other attempt to find a portolan -- until after we've tried conventional 
methods. I need not stress how important it's become that we find Earth."
Silence nodded, almost to herself. The Hegemon was after blood: they had escaped 
his geas, stolen a ship, killed one of his nobles -- though admittedly a minor 
one -- and in general proved that it was possible to defy the Hegemon and live. 
They would need something of very great value indeed if they were to obtain his 
pardon -- but, as Balthasar had said, the secret of the Earth road should be 
enough.
Chase Mago said, "I hope his Serene Majesty will be willing to bargain."
Isambard cocked his head to one side, and smiled very slightly. "I think he will 
be. Indeed, I am quite certain of it. He would not dare to do otherwise."
"You hope," Balthasar growled. He stood abruptly. "Be that as it may, Silence, 
you and I had better get up to control and make the final checks." He gave the 
magus a final baleful glance, and added, "Especially since we're at the head of 
the departure queue."
"Relax, Denis," Chase Mago said. There was a note in his voice that suggested he 
had said the same thing a hundred times already, and Silence didn't bother to 
hide an affectionate grin.
"Plenty of time, Denis," she said. Nevertheless, she followed the captain 
forward to the lower bridge, settling herself in the second pilot's couch.
Recusante's lower bridge was even less comfortable than it had been before the 
massive refit. The newer, more sensitive musonar complex was shoehorned in 
between the triple display screens and the keyboard that gave the pilots minimal 
control of the harmonium's pitch. Still, it was good to be back on a starship's 
bridge again, especially Black Dolphin's. Silence felt her eyes fill with tears, 
and she looked away. Balthasar said nothing, concentrating on his own boards as 
he flipped the switches that powered up the various instruments. After a moment, 
Silence got herself back under control, and reached to activate the secondary 
controls. "I'm all right now," she said softly. "Thanks, Denis."
Balthasar shrugged, then gave her a quirky smile. "Good to have you back," he 
said.
"Thanks," Silence said again, then forced herself to be professional. "You'll 
handle the liftoff?"
Balthasar nodded. "It's a short run-up to the twelfth," he said. "There's 
nothing much out here to interfere with the celestial harmonies."
"I'll be ready," Silence said, a little grimly. Privately, she could not help 
being a little nervous. It had been months since she had last taken a ship 
through purgatory, and she could not help wondering if the rudiments of a 
magus's learning would help or hinder her. But then she put that thought firmly 
aside. She was a pilot; she could -- she would -- fly the ship.
A light flashed on the communications panel above Balthasar's head, and the 
Delian reached quickly to flip the switch that lit the view-screens. 
"Recusante."
"Recusante, this is your tow boss," an unfamiliar voice said. The triple screen 
showed only the folds of the baffle curtains. The tow had to be sitting outside, 
Silence thought.
"Are you ready for us?" the tow boss went on.
"On moment," Balthasar said, and flipped a second set of switches, cutting the 
outside transmitter and opening the inships channel. "Julie, the tow's here. Are 
you set?"
Chase Mago answered, "Everything's amber. I can give you systems power any time, 
and I'll go to green on your word."
"Go ahead with both," Balthasar answered. "Isambard, we're beginning liftoff 
procedures. I suggest you go to your cabin -- the one you had before -- and 
strap down. This is likely to be rough." He cut the internal channel without 
waiting for an answer from the magus, and waited until a new line of lights 
flared first amber, then green across his boards, before opening the outside 
line again. "We're ready here, tow. Come on in."
"Confirmed." In the right-hand screen, Silence saw the baffle curtain move 
slowly back, drawn by a homunculus the size of a small monkey. The tug, sitting 
squat and powerful atop its treads, looked like an ordinary machine from any of 
the human-settled worlds, though a little larger, but Silence knew perfectly 
well that its power came from homunculi walking an endless internal treadmill. 
She shook her head, and turned her attention to the lights winking along her 
boards.
"I show full systems power, Denis," she said.
"Right," Balthasar said, and flipped the switch for the inships transmitter. 
"All set, Julie?"
"All set below," Chase Mago answered over the rising note of the harmonium. 
Silence shivered at the familiar sound.
"I'm releasing the cradle lock," Balthasar announced, and threw five switches in 
quick succession, leaving a trail of orange lights across one section of his 
board. He touched another switch, and said, "Tow, I've released the cradle lock. 
You can link when ready."
"Thank you, Recusante," the tow boss answered, and cut his transmission.
In the screen, Silence watched as more homunculi, spindly, delicate-looking 
things, with oversized hands to manipulate the tow hooks, swarmed from the tow 
itself, and began to attach the hooks. Balthasar, watching, shook his head.
"Damned expensive equipment."
Homunculi were expensive to grow, and even more expensive to teach. Even these 
specialized creatures, capable of only a single act, would cost tens of 
thousands of Delian pounds apiece on the Fringe Worlds. But then, this was 
Solitude Hermae, and the magi looked after their own. Silence said, "The magi 
don't want anybody using mechanics here and polluting the harmonies. The adepts 
have to grow them as part of their training."
Balthasar grunted, then winced as the larger of the two homunculi jostled the 
cradle. Silence barely noticed. There was one advantage to leaving Solitudo now, 
she realized, and that realization made her smile rather ruefully. She would not 
have to grow a homunculus herself. That could be either good or bad -- after 
all, having to tend one of the creatures through the long stages of its growth 
might cure her dislike of them once and for all -- but she was just as glad to 
have avoided it.
The ship jerked, and Silence shot a quick look at the screens. The hookup was 
complete, and the tow was moving slowly out of the berth, dragging the cradle 
with it. The cradle jerked again, and Balthasar muttered a curse. Then it 
settled to a gentle swaying, and the captain relaxed. Cradle and tow moved 
toward the massive doors of the docking shed, which opened slowly at their 
approach. The cradle bounced once, and then they had left the dock and turned 
ponderously down the long taxiway leading to the launch table.
It was still very light outside, though the shadows were lengthening. Silence 
touched the keys that would adjust the exterior cameras, switching from one to 
another until she could get a picture of the sky. The image dimmed hastily, 
blocking out most of the light, but Silence could still see that the night-sky 
had only just reached the zenith above the port complex.
"Cutting it a little close, aren't we?" she asked.
"Just a little," Balthasar agreed. His smile was utterly without humor. "But we 
should be all right."
Silence settled back in her couch, trying to loosen the growing tension in her 
arms and neck. I wonder if I secured everything in my cabin? she wondered 
suddenly. All they would need, after a difficult lift and a short run-up to 
purgatory, was to have all the unsecured items in the ship start wandering 
about, looking for their functionally proper place as the harmonium stimulated 
the minute amounts of celestial material present in all things. But it was too 
late to worry about that now.
The tow reached the launch table at last, and turned slowly in its tracks, 
dragging the cradle around until Recusante's bow was pointing toward the rising 
night sky. Balthasar watched his own directional readouts, and signaled the tow 
boss as soon as the ship was lined up along the path laid out by the astrologers 
in the tower. The tow boss gave a signal, and the homunculi detached the tow 
from the cradle, then climbed onto the tow for the short ride to the bunkers. 
Balthasar ignored them, switching on the Ficinan display that stood between the 
two consoles. The projection globes dimmed, then brightened, showing the 
harmonic envelope, the musica mundana, surrounding the planet. Balthasar fiddled 
with the controls, refining the area displayed, and Silence shook her head at 
the swirling, multicolored dissonances. Most of it was caused by heat leakage 
from the day-sky: there were no other planets, or even a natural sun, to 
interfere with Solitudo's own harmony. The edge of the day-sky was sharply 
delineated, but even as she watched, that brilliant wedge of color slid from the 
globe, leaving only lighter streaks and whorls in its wake.
Those smaller streaks were dangerous enough, representing dissonances and 
pockets of interference that could easily tear a ship apart, or so distort her 
tuning that she could never reach purgatory, and would wander lost in the 
immense distances between the stars. Silence glanced nervously at Balthasar, and 
saw her own fears reflected in his face. Then the speaker chimed twice, and the 
Delian visibly shook away his worries, reaching for the switches that controlled 
the communications console.
"Recusante."
Silence reached for her headset and eased it into place, feeling singularly 
useless. Under normal circumstances, communication with the planetary authority 
was her responsibility, but to speak now would be to betray the presence of a 
woman pilot aboard Recusante, and alert the very people she was trying to avoid. 
Still, it was a strange and frustrating experience to listen to Port Control's 
brief checkup without responding.
In the Ficinan model, the flaring dissonance was fading a little, easing to 
tolerable levels through the lower forty-five degrees of sky. Balthasar took a 
deep breath, just as Port Control announced, "Recusante, interference levels 
have dropped to acceptable levels for a low-line lift."
Balthasar touched the button for the inships speaker. "All secure below, Julie?"
"All secure," Chase Mago answered.
Silence glanced quickly at her own boards. The lights all showed green, except 
for the double row of lights that showed the harmonium's status. Those lights 
glowed orange. Chase Mago had already tuned the harmonium to its highest 
settings, ready to override as much of the interference as possible. 
Automatically, Silence adjusted the pilots' keyboard to match the changed 
settings. Balthasar nodded, and flipped a last series of switches on the 
communications console. "Solitudo Control, this is Recusante." His voice sounded 
very calm, almost bored. Silence glanced at his hands, and saw that they were 
trembling. Balthasar stilled them with an effort, and continued, "We're ready to 
lift."
"You may lift when ready, Recusante. Good voyage."
Despite the friendly words, Solitudo Control sounded distinctly uninterested in 
their welfare. Balthasar grimaced, and said, "First sequence, Julie."
"Coming up," Chase Mago answered. The harmonium's music rose steadily as he 
spoke, sending a sympathetic shudder through the hull. Then the engineer opened 
the last stops, and with a second, greater shudder, the ship lifted from its 
cradle. It rose very slowly, Balthasar's hands busy on his keyboard, shaping the 
enveloping sound to steer a flattened course toward that section of the 
night-sky low on the horizon where the interference appeared lightest. The 
harmonium wailed, the music of the planet and the celestial harmonies that 
lifted the ship in painful conflict. Silence, slammed against the back of her 
couch by a crushing weight, fought to reach her own keyboard to correct the 
rising dissonance, but Chase Mago was there before her. The pitch shifted 
subtly, easing to a different note, and the worst of the interference faded, 
leaving only a nagging whine just at the edge of hearing. Silence turned her 
head painfully, saw that the interference indicator was glowing, the column of 
light flickering just below the danger line. She said, raising her voice to be 
heard over the harmonium's noise, "Denis --"
Balthasar said, "I hear. Numbers?"
"Five-nine," Silence answered, struggling for breath. "Six now."
Balthasar swore softly, eyes darting from his viewscreens to the Ficinan model 
and the musonar display, and back to the viewscreens. Silence followed his 
glance, recognizing his dilemma. Balthasar had chosen a shallow course, one that 
closely followed the curve of the planet before finally rising through the shell 
of air at a point of lesser interference. On any other planet, it would have 
been the best choice, with solar and related systemic harmonies to counteract 
the pervasive music of the planet itself. But Solitude Hermae, with neither sun 
nor sister worlds to modulate the music of its core, was setting up a greater 
interference than he had expected. Though the harmonium had been able to lift 
the ship, it had been unable fully to establish its protective field.
Chase Mago's voice sounded in the headphones. "Pull out now, Denis?" Despite his 
size and strength, the engineer sounded faintly breathless.
Balthasar hesitated a moment longer, eyes roving across his board. "We go. 
Silence, help me."
Silence cast a last glance at the Ficinan model -- the globe was filled with 
reddish swirls like frozen whirlpools, heat leaking from the fixed fire of the 
day-sky -- then fastened her attention on the multiple interference gauges. 
Raising her voice to carry over the noise of the harmonium, she began to recite 
the shifting numbers. Balthasar listened a moment longer, choosing his time, 
then said, "Now, Julie!"
The harmonium roared as Chase Mago opened all the stops, cutting in the upper 
register for a brief instant. Recusante trembled, then rose under Balthasar's 
sure handling. The crushing weight vanished abruptly, the harmonium at last 
overriding the planetary music. Light flared once around the ship as it burst 
through the layer of interference, and then they were free of Solitude. Hastily, 
Chase Mago stopped down the harmonium, closing off the upper register. The ship 
steadied to the normal music of interstellar flight, which faded rapidly as the 
celestial harmonies asserted themselves.
Solitude Control said placidly, "Recusante, we confirm a successful liftoff."
"Acknowledged," Balthasar said, busy with his own readouts, and then the contact 
was lost.
"Nice work," Silence said, and meant it. Even if it had been an avoidable crisis 
-- and she was not convinced that it had been -- it had still been a pretty 
piece of flying. There was a noticeable lack of response from the engine room.
After a moment, Balthasar looked up from his controls. He gave Silence a wry 
smile, and flicked the switch for the inships channel, "All right, Julie, I blew 
it. But we're still in one piece, aren't we?"
"No thanks to you," Chase Mago said, but he sounded mollified by the apology. "I 
could've overloaded the entire system, blown out every pipe we have, cutting in 
the upper register so far below purgatory."
There wasn't any answer to that, Silence thought, except a further apology. She 
looked curiously at Balthasar, but the captain showed no inclination to respond. 
There was nothing she could say, either. Sighing, she settled back in her couch 
to wait for the ship to reach the twelfth of heaven.
As Balthasar had warned, it was not long before the distant stars began to show 
the faint coronae that marked the transition to purgatory. Silence unstrapped 
herself from her couch, and pulled herself up the ladder to the upper bridge. 
Her feet and hands clung slightly to the rungs, so that she had to make an 
effort to pull herself loose. It was a common effect of purgatory, usually too 
familiar to notice. After so long planetside, Silence savored it.
Already, the dome of the upper bridge was fading to translucence, the ringed 
stars showing faintly through the specially treated material. Hastily, Silence 
took her place before the control wheel, working her feet into the depressions 
on the platform in front of it. The status lights glowed amber along the main 
spoke.
Despite the change of name, the massive refit done with Isambard's money, the 
upper bridge remained Black Dolphin's. Silence stood very still, momentarily 
overwhelmed by a sense of time askew. Nothing had changed. The pilot's bridge 
remained exactly as it had been a year ago, when she had been a mere pilot 
working for her grandfather and uncle. It was almost startling when Balthasar's 
voice sounded in her ears.
"Silence? We're ready to switch to the upper register -- properly, this time."
Silence shook herself and reached quickly for the lock. "Ready on the bridge," 
she said.
"Ready below," Chase Mago said.
"Go ahead, all," Balthasar said.
"Switching now," the engineer announced.
The keelsong changed, broadening, adding whole octaves and less-human scales. 
The last shadow of the pilot's dome vanished, and in the same instant Silence 
flipped off the lock, the wheel moving freely under her hand. It moved too 
freely, and the void was suddenly full of signs and images, a hundred different 
symbols obscuring the central, necessary salamander. Silence gasped and looked 
away, only to see still more symbols wreathing the blood-laced bones of her 
hands, moving in the shadowy depths of her own flesh. She cried out, startled 
and yet enthralled, her hands jerking on the wheel. The symbols darted through 
and along the blood vessels, coiled around bones and nestled in muscle and 
cartilage....
The keelsong rose, shifted further to a note of strain and then active protest. 
Silence forced herself to look out again, to confront the shifting images and 
close them out, seeking only the voidmarks, her voidmarks, and nothing more. 
Slowly, the chaos faded, resolving itself into the expected image. The 
salamander lay in the heart of flame, no longer the sleepy-eyed, benign creature 
of the starbook, but a demi-dragon, its mouth half open to engulf Recusante. 
Silence swore, suddenly aware of Balthasar's voice in her earphones. Cautiously, 
she shifted the wheel -- it moved more stiffly now, its symbolic linkages fully 
engaged at last -- pulling the ship up and back, away from the open mouth. The 
keelsong eased a little, but there was still a raggedness, a note that pulsed 
with the movement of the flames that swept past the salamander's head. Recusante 
was moving very fast. There was no time to choose a safe course through that 
illusory fire. Silence braced herself and eased the wheel farther over, bringing 
the ship up to skim the salamander's nose. There was a great shriek of song, the 
keel crying its protest in curious harmony. Then they were through the flames, 
sliding with sudden leisure down the salamander's star-dappled spine.
Cautiously, Silence loosened her hold on the wheel, only too aware of the lack 
of comment from the others. Her piloting had been appalling, and she could only 
begin to guess why. Her half-finished training was the main cause, no doubt; the 
magi had taught her to see, but not how to be willfully blind. Even as she 
thought that, the ghostly symbols reappeared -- cup and sword, rose and lily, 
horned moon and ringed planet -- dancing just out of her line of vision, 
threatening to seduce her from her work. With an effort that was almost painful, 
Silence ignored them, concentrating instead on her proper voidmarks. The 
salamander's back stretched smooth before her. She forced herself to see every 
scale, to examine each tongue of flame as it curled up from beneath the lizard's 
belly. Slowly, the intrusive symbols faded again.
Silence took a deep breath. If she could not control her own perceptions, she 
would be useless as a pilot.... She suppressed that thought, reciting the 
pilot's cantrips under her breath, until not even the shadow of an extraneous 
mark remained to distract her. Then, with exquisite care, she looked around 
again.
The Salamander's Path was a short road. Already, the lizard's spine sloped 
sharply down to the tail, the safe course almost obliterated by leaping flames. 
They arched over the tail, met and merged to form a tunnel of fire through which 
Recusante must pass. Silence could feel the illusory heat on her face, was 
dazzled by its light. Balthasar had warned her that the tail was kinked, 
somewhere here, but she could not see farther than a ship-length into the fiery 
tunnel. Muttering a curse, she shifted the wheel to its left, easing the ship 
onto the line of stars that marked the salamander's spine and the center of the 
safe path. The heat was growing stronger, but Silence did not dare lift a hand 
to wipe her sweating face. The opening in the wall of flame seemed impossibly 
small.
Then Recusante entered the tunnel of fire. Silence's world narrowed to the 
flames above and to either side, and the scaled tail that was her only link with 
safety. The flames seemed to be closing in, and the tail itself was glowing as 
though made of metal. Silence cursed softly, unable for a moment to decide 
between risking the dissonances of the fire or the unknown dangers of the 
glowing tail, then brought the ship lower, so that the keel was almost touching 
the salamander's scales. The heat grew worse, as though the lizard were hotter 
than the flames, but the keelsong stayed true and clear.
As abruptly as Balthasar had said, the tail dipped and swerved to the right, the 
flames closing to an impossibly tiny opening. Silence had been watching for that 
kink in the path, but it was only a pilot's instinctive reaction that saved her. 
She brought the ship up a hair, then put the wheel hard over to thread the 
needle's eye. The harmonium wailed a protest, and a surge of distant music shook 
the starship from bow to stern. Then at last they were free of the fire, sailing 
down the fading tip of the salamander's tail toward the twelfth of heaven and 
the mundane universe. The pitch changed as Chase Mago closed the stops of the 
upper register, and the dome of the upper bridge clouded, solidity returning.
Balthasar said, sounding faintly breathless, "I have the con."
"You have it," Silence acknowledged, and snapped on the locks. After her erratic 
piloting, she had no desire to return to the lower bridge, to face Balthasar's 
questions and criticism -- or worse, his pity, but to navigate Decelea's broken 
system successfully, the Delian would need her help. Reluctantly, she slid down 
the ladder, glancing from the Ficinan model to the musonar's display even before 
she landed. Balthasar, absorbed in the effort of controlling the ship against 
the dissonances of the system, did not even look up as Silence took her place in 
the left-hand couch.
From the musonar, it looked as though Balthasar was aiming for the nearest clear 
area, well outside the slowly pulsing rings of interference that marked the spot 
where Decelea had been destroyed. Something -- the passage through purgatory or 
the music of Decelea's system -- had untuned one of the captain's preset 
harmonies, setting one note sharp and sour. Automatically, Silence adjusted 
that, and felt the harmonium ease a little. Balthasar nodded his thanks.
Silence smiled, too busy monitoring the various readouts to manage a better 
answer. At last, Recusante slid into the dead spot, shielded from the last 
echoes of long-vanished siege engines by the music of Decelea's sister planets. 
Balthasar adjusted his own controls, locking the harmonium to a note that would 
hold Recusante to this position, and leaned back in his couch.
"What a ride," he said.
Silence flushed and looked away. After a moment, Balthasar went on, "Are you all 
right?" There were worlds of meaning in his tone.
Silence frowned irritably. "Of course I am...." Her voice trailed off as she saw 
the look of concern on Balthasar's face. It was not unreasonable of him to ask, 
since he was nominally captain, and the back-up pilot, and risking his life, but 
there was more than merely professional worry in his eyes. She managed a wry 
smile. "It's been a while since last I took anything through purgatory, that's 
all. It's harder just to see the voidmarks, without pulling in other symbols -- 
the magi do all their work through purgatory, after all. But I think I've got 
the hang of it now."
Balthasar's expression eased a little. "I certainly hope so," he said, and 
unfastened the webbing that held him in his couch.
That was more like Balthasar, Silence thought. Sighing, she reached to do the 
same.
Isambard and Chase Mago were already waiting in the common room. The magus had a 
dozen or more battered books open on the table in front of him, and the engineer 
was looking discreetly over his shoulder. Both men looked up as Silence entered, 
and Chase Mago's expression grew worried. Soundlessly, he shaped the words, are 
you all right?
Silence nodded, focusing her attention on Isambard. "You need to teach me how 
not to see, as well."
The magus tilted his head, an oddly birdlike gesture. "It was different, then?" 
Silence nodded again, and Isambard said, "How?"
Balthasar, at Silence's shoulder, cleared his throat. "Can that be discussed 
later? We can't hold position here forever."
If Isambard showed any indication of knowing anything that might help, Silence 
thought, I'd insist. But he didn't even know for certain that there would be 
differences. "Let's get on with it, then," she said aloud.
They had made their preliminary plans in their first weeks on Solitudo, and now 
the four spread the fruits of those planning sessions on the table before them. 
It had been agreed from the beginning that Isambard would do most of the actual 
work involved in breaking the Rose Worlders' barriers. Siege engines were the 
magus's specialty, and he, at least, was certain that the Rose Worlders' engines 
were merely a variation of that basic instrument. But the breaking of that 
control was only a part of the work that would have to be done to reach Earth.
Silence scanned the spreading pile of papers until she found the rough notes she 
had made weeks ago. After Bruja had nearly been destroyed, the first time they 
had attempted the Earth road, they were all agreed on the need for an escape 
route. The trick was to choose the right one. She had known the voidmarks and 
the bearings involved -- they had been seared into her brain on the crazy flight 
from Castax to Decelea. It had been a relatively simple exercise to pick out a 
parallel course, one that used an identical harmonic bearing and a set of 
voidmarks that reflected a set of objects in the mundane universe similar to the 
linked suns reflected in the Earth road. The deeper theory she had learned on 
Solitudo assured her that, since all places were the same in purgatory -- which 
was itself both all places and no particular place -- she could switch from one 
star road to the other, within certain limits, if their attempt failed. Still, 
she had never heard of such a thing being tried before, much less tried 
successfully. She sighed and turned her attention to the scribbled figures 
before her. She was limited to similar bearings and voidmarks by the power of 
Recusante's harmonium: if she had the power of a Navy six or seven behind her, 
she could choose almost any road she wanted.
But there was no point in such thoughts. Sighing again, she shuffled the more 
recent notes until she found a sheet covered with Balthasar's scrawl. It was 
only part of what she wanted. "Julie, do you have the most recent bearing?"
"Here," Chase Mago said, and slid a slip of paper across the table. "I took 
these as soon as we reached the null zone."
"Thanks," Silence said. Space was unstable along the dead roads. How could it be 
otherwise, she thought, with all the dead planets and poisoned suns to distort 
the harmonies? The normally static harmonic bearings had a tendency to drift. 
Under normal circumstances, there was enough leeway in the listed bearings that 
this hardly mattered -- unless, of course, the shift was a major one. Balthasar 
had a cruelly funny story of the horrific results when a Wrath-of-God ship took 
another of the dead roads from the wrong bearing. But if the escape route were 
to function as it should, she had to match the bearing precisely. She glanced 
quickly at the set of numbers and the noted pitch for each, then turned to her 
original set of notes, with the bearings for the Earth road and a half-dozen 
different roads with similar voidmarks. She found a three-way match almost at 
once, correct to the third place, and gave a soft exclamation of pleasure.
"So where are we going?" Balthasar asked, without lifting his head from his own 
work.
"Just a minute," Silence answered, irrationally irritated. She took her time, 
ostentatiously rustling pages, though the answer was clearly noted. "Sisip' 
Catacecaumene," she said at last.
Balthasar gave a pleased grunt, and continued studying a single sheet of paper. 
Silence suppressed her anger, belatedly recognizing it as displaced fear. Chase 
Mago and the magus were still deep in discussion of some arcane principle, but 
even as the pilot looked curiously in their direction the engineer straightened 
with a sigh.
"That means retuning, you know."
Balthasar looked up, shocked, and Chase Mago said hurriedly, "Not a major 
retuning, Denis, but some. Nothing to worry about, though."
"That's what they all say," Balthasar muttered, darkly.
"Can you do it?" The question slipped out before Silence thought about it. The 
answer was clear even before Chase Mago began to speak. Of course he could -- 
all engineers were trained to do it, if the emergency were great enough. And 
Chase Mago, having worked for Wrath-of-God and escaped the Hegemonic net around 
Kesse before that, had probably done an emergency retuning more than once. 
Mercifully, however, Chase Mago did not seem inclined to take offense.
"I've done it before. I've got everything I need," he said, smiling rather 
tightly. "I can do it."
"I'll want to spend some time getting the feel of her," Balthasar said.
Silence nodded. "So will I." A change hi the tuning would change the feel of the 
ship, the way it responded to the most ordinary things -- which was all she 
needed, when she was uncertain enough about her ability to take the ship through 
purgatory.... She cut off that thought with an effort, telling herself 
unconvincingly that she had already passed that hurdle.
"As long as you need," Chase Mago said soothingly. He stood, huge, competent, 
and reassuring. "I'll get on it right away."
"You do that," Balthasar muttered, clearly not appeased. The engineer grinned, 
ruffling the other man's greying hair before ducking through the hatch to return 
to his engines. Balthasar grimaced, more because it was expected of him than 
because the engineer had failed to reassure him.
Silence said hastily, "I'll be in my cabin. I want to go over the voidmarks 
again."
Balthasar nodded, but Isambard said, "Could you spare me a moment, Silence? I 
want to review our part in this."
Silence sighed, biting back the anger that was really fear, and said, "All 
right, but I do need some time for the marks."
"I'll leave you to it," Balthasar said. There was an odd note in his voice, 
almost of jealousy, but before Silence could be certain of what she had heard, 
the Delian was gone. She shrugged to herself, putting the whole thing down to an 
overstrained imagination, and turned to the magus.
"The key to this operation," Isambard began thoughtfully, "lies in the 
manipulation of the final four symbols, does it not?"
Silence ran a hand through her short hair as if that would help her concentrate. 
The Earth road was a peculiar road, one that possessed two distinct sets of 
voidmarks. And, yes, it was the manipulation of the final four -- the elemental 
symbols -- that allowed a starship to break free from the maze of the road. 
"That's where the Rose Worlders have blocked it, yes."
"And the first part of the road," Isambard pursued as though she had not spoken, 
"is preparation, as alchemical marriage is preparation for the creation of the 
philosopher's tincture, is it not?"
Silence nodded, remembering the twining king and queen that lay at the heart of 
the illusory maze. But of course Isambard had seen that image as well, on their 
first attempt to open the Earth road, and would have recognized the symbolism 
from the beginning.
"So I will not be needed until we have reached the final stages of the road," 
the magus finished.
"That's right," Silence answered, rousing herself from contemplation of the 
Earth road and its gorgeous, seductive voidmarks. "Stay below until then." She 
hadn't meant to sound so abrupt, or to give such an uncompromising order, and 
felt her face grow hot with embarrassment. But before she could offer an 
apology, the magus nodded.
"Very well, I see the sense of that."
Not only that, Silence thought, he doesn't even sound offended. She ducked her 
head over the sheets of paper to hide the fading color in her cheeks. Was that 
the best way to deal with magi? She kept her head down, unable to suppress a 
sudden, mischievous smile. Not likely! "When we make the turn," she said aloud.
Isambard frowned. "The turn?"
"The --" Silence checked herself instantly. She had gotten away with one sharp 
comment already; there was no point in pushing her luck. And besides, there was 
no reason to think that the Earth road's voidmarks would have burned themselves 
into the magus's memory: their lure was for pilots alone. "It's part of the 
road. You have to bring the ship as close as possible to the twinned suns -- the 
royal couple -- and then turn very sharply away. You don't see the four elements 
until after you've made that turn. You'll see when we get there. Better still, 
ride the run-up on the lower bridge. That way, Denis can warn you as we get 
close, but I don't think you could miss it."
Isambard nodded again. "And the elements are my business," he said. "I will want 
your help, as we discussed before." He paused, looking at her as though to 
assess her abilities for the hundredth time. Silence stared back, meeting his 
gaze with all the impassivity she could manage, and for the first time she 
realized the magus was as nervous as the rest of them. No, she thought, not 
precisely nervous, but certainly cautious, excited, wary.... Isambard spoke 
before she could find the word she was looking for.
"It's your strength I want," he said, "and then your pilot's knowledge. Nothing 
more."
In spite of her resolution to remain impassive, Silence lifted an eyebrow at the 
other's tone, even more peremptory than usual. Isambard was right, though, she 
thought. I still don't know enough, for all I've passed one exam, to be of any 
active help. "Very well," she said, unconsciously mimicking the magus's 
acquiescence. "But now I want to study my voidmarks."
Isambard waved dismissal, already engrossed in his own notes. Most of those, 
Silence knew, had been compiled after their first attempt to reach Earth, on the 
way from Mersaa Maia to Solitude, and then during the time on Solitude. But the 
magus would have cause to remember the details of the force that had nearly 
destroyed them, she told herself firmly, for the same reasons that she 
remembered the voidmarks with such clarity.
Silence shut the door of her cabin and latched it behind her, then settled 
herself comfortably on the narrow bunk. There was no real need to review the 
voidmarks of the Earth road, but even so she lifted her copy of the Gilded 
Stairs, opening it to the familiar page. The uncolored design seemed to shout 
its various meanings. The man in the long coat, who used a giant compass to 
inscribe the final circle of the ancient symbol for the completed Work on a 
crumbling wall, was the pilot and the specialist and a warning against the 
seductive pull of the voidmarks....
Silence closed the starbook with a snap, forcing herself to ignore the multiple 
meanings. That attraction was even more dangerous to her now that she knew a 
little of the magi's art, and she would have to be fully on her guard against 
it. To the best of her knowledge there had never been a pilot who was also a 
magus -- or at least no one had ever reported on that magus's piloting -- but 
she did know, from horrific legend and even more dreadful example, what could 
happen if a pilot lost control of the voidmarks. At best, the ship might survive 
the tearing distortions, to emerge from purgatory far from any sun. If the keel 
were not too badly damaged, the ship might be able to regain purgatory, but 
without a known beginning, the starbooks could not indicate the proper road. The 
ship could easily wander until air and supplies gave out, until, even the 
elemental water that powered the harmonium was exhausted, and the ship plummeted 
from purgatory to be destroyed in the nearest star.
Silence shook herself abruptly. It had been a long time since she had thought of 
those possibilities, a long time since she had last had cause to doubt her own 
skills as a pilot. But she had managed the dead road that brought Recusante to 
Decelea, and the Earth road was no worse. I'm warned, she told herself firmly. I 
will be prepared.
There was little point in attempting to review the images in the Gilded Stairs, 
she decided. She remembered, with an almost painful clarity, her first attempt. 
The power-laden symbols of the starbook would only add to the confusion. She 
reached instead for the fussy, reliable Star-Followers' Handbook, flipping 
through the index until she found the road she wanted, from Decelea to Sisip' 
Catacecaumene. The overcrowded drawing for the Road of the Drowning King was 
mercifully free of the sort of powerful symbols that filled the illustration of 
the Earth road. A turbulent stream ran between overgrown banks, twisting down 
toward a whirlpool where a crowned figure struggled, arms in the air, mouth open 
in a futile cry for help. The meaning was easy enough to extract. The stream was 
the correct path, dangerous because of interference -- the rocks that studded 
the channel made that only too clear -- but less dangerous than the ugly, 
twisted vegetation that reached down almost to the water. The ship would have to 
follow the stream to the whirlpool itself, then through the whirlpool and out 
into the mundane universe. Silence glanced at the single line of commentary to 
confirm her certainty. It read: "The way runs clear, but only the intervention 
of the king can save the virtuous." Silence nodded to herself. She had been 
right, but it was good to have that pilot's insight corroborated, especially 
after the hard passage from Solitudo. She set the starbook aside, reaching for 
the intercom key.
Before she could press the switch, however, there was a knock at the door. She 
frowned, a little annoyed by the interruption, but hit the lock switch. 
Balthasar stood in the doorway.
"Julie's finished the retuning," he announced without preliminaries. "Do you 
want to come up now and get the feel of it, or do you need more time with the 
books?"
Silence sighed, bracing herself. "I'm ready."
To Silence's surprise, however, the shift in the tuning did not seem 
significantly to affect how the ship handled. The sound was different, of 
course, with new, more lavish harmonies, but Chase Mago had done an excellent 
job. Recusante responded easily to the changed notes. Silence and Balthasar 
spent three hours flying the ship in lazy circles, from the edge of the null 
zone to the first and then the second lines of interference, and back again. At 
the end of it, Balthasar pronounced himself satisfied, and the two returned to 
the common area to snatch a hurried meal before facing the Earth road.
It was not a long flight out of Decelea's system. Silence relinquished her place 
on the lower bridge to Isambard, not without unspoken objections from Balthasar, 
and climbed to the upper bridge to take her place before the control wheel. 
There were no instruments by which she could monitor Recusante'?, progress 
toward the twelfth of heaven. Instead, she listened to the note of the 
harmonium, first pure, then strained and dissonant, and finally shifting again 
toward the familiar celestial harmonies as Recusante fought free of the broken 
system. Silence took a deep breath, reaching for the wheel lock, then, with an 
effort, let her hands drop to her side. Recusante was not nearly at the twelfth 
of heaven. She took refuge in her memories of the Earth road instead.
Almost before she was ready, Balthasar's voice sounded again in her earphones, 
oddly formal. "Two minutes to upper register. All secure, Silence?"
Silence frowned, wondering at the Delian's sudden change of tone, then 
remembered that Isambard was on the bridge beside him. It was something of a 
relief to realize that the magus's presence could be inhibiting even to 
Balthasar. "All green here," she announced, and flipped the last switch to make 
it true. The row of lights glimmered through her fading flesh, striking strange 
greenish glints from her bones. She looked away quickly.
"Julie?" Balthasar went on.
"Ready below," the engineer answered promptly.
"Stand by," Balthasar said. Silence could almost hear him counting off the final 
seconds. "Now."
Even as the captain spoke, Chase Mago opened all the stops, and the harmonium's 
note swelled gloriously. Silence flicked off the wheel lock, and sought her 
voidmarks through the now-transparent dome. She stood suspended for a moment 
among a wilderness of symbols, and then the pilot's discipline reasserted 
itself. The voidmarks, hauntingly familiar even after a single passage, sprang 
into existence before her. But there were differences. Instead of the solid 
walls of greenery framing the path that led to the heart of the maze, there were 
gaps -- almost, she thought, as though a sort of autumn had fallen in this 
illusory garden. That alone would be no great problem -- the path was still 
clear -- except for the scenes she glimpsed through the gaps. To her left, two 
monstrous animals, a dragon and something the likes of which she had never seen 
even in a hieroglyphica, were locked in deadly combat; to her right, a man with 
bleeding stumps where hands and feet should have been struggled toward the 
hedge.
She swore softly and looked away, forcing herself to concentrate on the 
approaching turn. The central core of the maze loomed before her, and this time 
there was no screening hedge to mask what lay within. The king and queen lay 
locked together, her absolute dark feeding on his absolute light, both 
featureless, yet of a perfection that could only be felt, not seen....
Then it was time to make the turn. Silence swung the wheel hard over, heard the 
sudden change in pitch as the harmonium's various notes began to cancel each 
other out. Her eyes were wet. She wiped at them impatiently, not sure if she 
were weeping for knowledge lost, or for the sheer beauty of it, or simply 
because the blinding light had nearly been too much for her. She sniffed hard, 
and said, "Isambard --"
"Here," the magus answered calmly.
Silence started in spite of herself, but did not turn her head. "The marks will 
be coming up," she said, and damned herself for the betraying huskiness of her 
voice.
To her surprise, Isambard said nothing, and she risked a glance over her 
shoulder. The magus was standing motionless, eyes closed, lips moving in 
calculation. All around them, the harmonium's note was fading, merging into a 
sound that was almost, but not quite, a single note.
"Six-twelfths of heaven," Chase Mago announced, as though that were the most 
ordinary thing in human space. "Seven, eight-twelfths."
Was there a hint of surprise in his voice that time? Silence thought. The music 
touched a chord deep within her, set something singing, as the sounding keel 
answers the harmonium, and she laughed aloud for the sheer beauty of it all.
"Steady, girl," Isambard said, but he did not sound entirely disapproving. Did 
he feel it too, Silence wondered, this joy too intense for anything but music?
"Steady," the magus said again, and this time Silence realized he was speaking 
to himself.
Then the first of the voidmarks appeared, a rusted, pitted world that should 
have showed the oily gleam of elemental earth. Silence took a deep breath, 
bracing herself to answer Isambard's demands. The magus remained still, and it 
was all Silence could do to keep from making the necessary course correction. 
She waited, holding herself motionless with an effort, and then at last Isambard 
shouted aloud. It was no word Silence knew, nor even any language that she 
recognized, but it struck echoes from the keel and from the very fabric of 
purgatory. It was elemental earth -- solid, cold, dry, the very Form given 
tongue. The voidmark wavered, shifted, and in that instant Silence swung the 
wheel, bringing the ship around to face the next mark. It gleamed balefully, the 
bands of gas that whirled across its surface an even uglier green than she 
remembered.
Again, Isambard waited until the last minute, then spoke the word that was the 
Form of elemental air. The colors cleared, then blued, and Silence eased the 
wheel again, aligning the ship to face the final pair of signs. So far, she 
thought cautiously, Isambard's plan seemed to be working, and the magus had not 
yet had to call on her strength.
They approached the sullen, reddened sun that was the sign of Fire, and Isambard 
spoke again, the word this time crackling dry and hot. The voidmark did not 
change. The magus frowned and shouted again, adding a second, reinforcing word. 
Reluctantly, as though someone had blown on dying embers, the sun brightened. 
The final voidmark, a frozen world, its snows tinted yellow, loomed before them. 
Isambard spoke again, and the ice cracked, dissolving momentarily into water. 
Silence adjusted the wheel a final time.
"Now," Isambard said, and in the same moment reached for Silence's shoulder. She 
glanced at him, startled. The magus wore no shipsuit, and she could see the 
power glowing behind the fence of his bones.
"Now," he said again, and Silence felt something like a touch deep within her 
being. It shaped, gave direction to the singing she had felt as they reached 
eight-twelfths of heaven. She submitted willingly to that knowledgeable control.
Without need of further orders, she pulled back hard on the control wheel, 
bringing Recusante up and around in a great loop that would bring the ship into 
a new position relative to the four elemental symbols. The harmonium surged -- 
Chase Mago had been waiting for that moment -- its note momentarily overriding 
the Rose Worlders' engines, then wavered painfully into dissonance. The ship 
shuddered, the wheel bucking in Silence's hands.
Isambard spoke again, a chain of words that merged and melded into a single note 
that cut through the dissonance, binding Recusante to its sound, then swelling 
as if it would change the very stuff of purgatory. The voidmarks remained 
obstinately the same. The magus shouted a second phrase, and Silence felt him 
drawing on her own strength to reinforce its harsh command. Still nothing 
happened, and now Silence could sense, with the part of herself that was still 
purely a pilot, that they were cutting things very fine. If Isambard did not 
break through the interference soon, the ship would leave the outlined path and 
enter unknown territory. She opened her mouth to speak, but realized that 
Isambard had already read her thought. The magus shouted again, a string of 
words even more commanding than the last, packed with even more compelling 
music, but nothing happened. Silence knew the magus's decision even before he 
spoke.
"I can do no more."
Instantly, Silence wrenched the wheel over, turning back into the path that 
would swing them back around the central linked figures. That bought them time 
to make the transition from one star road to another. She took a deep breath and 
turned her will to the voidmarks. She fought to see the path that stretched 
before her as the surface of a stream, not the indeterminate cloudy gravel that 
it now seemed. The leafless hedges must become trees, gnarled and dangerous, 
overspreading the path. Slowly, so slowly, the gravel rippled and became sullen 
water; the stems of the hedge twined and grew together to a single trunk.... 
With terrifying abruptness, the entire scene shifted. Recusante, bobbing and 
twisting like a cork caught in a maelstrom, swept at impossible speed toward the 
central whirlpool. Swearing aloud, Silence struggled with the wheel as the 
drowning king's mouth gaped to swallow them.
And then they were through, the harmonium sliding down the scale, while 
Balthasar's voice echoed in their earphones, demanding damage reports.
Chase Mago answered instantly and incredulously. "Stressed, but nothing major."
Silence clung to the wheel a moment longer, then summoned the strength to snap 
on the lock, turning control back to Balthasar. She was suddenly, intensely 
exhausted, barely able to keep her feet. She was remotely aware that Isambard 
had vanished from the upper bridge. Balthasar's voice seemed very distant in her 
ears.
"What the hell? Julie, put everything on automatic for now, and come and help me 
with the damn magus."
"What's wrong?" Chase Mago responded sharply, and Silence could hear the music 
change as he adjusted the harmonium to hold the ship in place.
"He's passed out on me." Balthasar paused, and then, almost in spite of himself, 
sounded relieved. "Hell, he's asleep -- snoring."
Silence giggled.
Chase Mago said, "I'll be right there. See to Silence, Denis."
That sounded very pleasant, Silence thought. She let herself slide slowly to the 
decking, leaning back against the column of the wheel. She was only dimly aware 
of footsteps on the ladder, and then of being lifted and lowered carefully down 
to the main bridge. She was fully asleep long before the two men got her to her 
cabin.
Chapter 4
SILENCE SLEPT THROUGH THE LANDING ON SISIP' Catacecaumene, and through the 
customs inspection that followed. She did not stir even when Customs, 
represented by a team of three nearly identical blondish men, insisted on 
entering her cabin and verifying her living presence. By the time she woke, 
Chase Mago had completed the minor repairs and he and Balthasar had already made 
a quick circuit of the port. Sisip' Catacecaumene was a major transfer point 
within the Hegemony, living off other peoples' trade rather than its own 
resources, and like most such worlds, it had an extensive star-travellers' Pale 
where everything could be bought and sold. Balthasar, with his Wrath-of-God 
connections, already knew most of the information brokers in the Pale, and had 
spent a few of Isambard's marks on inquiries. His discreet questions had brought 
mixed results. As usual, there was no real word out of the Rose Worlds, not even 
enough to let them know if their attempt to break the barrier had been noticed.
"It must have been," Silence said, and Balthasar shrugged.
"Who knows? In any case, there's no hint of a hunt out for us."
"Except the Hegemon's question," Chase Mago murmured, staring into his second 
mug of coffee. "That's still circulating."
"Which means you should probably stay out of sight, Silence," Balthasar agreed. 
"They saw you were a woman, so we had to tell Customs you were the stewardess -- 
that we were chartered by Isambard."
"What?" Silence gave the Delian an indignant look. Balthasar shrugged again, a 
little uncomfortably this time.
"It was the best I could do, on the spur of the moment."
"The hell it was," Silence said, "you've been planning that story for months, I 
bet."
Chase Mago laughed softly. "The first time he admits he hasn't had everything 
worked out ahead of time, you don't believe him. Serves you right, Denis."
Silence relaxed slowly. It was true that Balthasar rarely planned things in 
advance, trusting to luck and inspiration to see him through, and equally true 
that that was the best explanation for a woman's presence on board a starship. I 
don't want to know how they knew I was female, she thought -- what I don't know 
won't embarrass me. Aloud, she said, "I suppose. Anyway, it's the Rose Worlders' 
response that worries me more. They must know someone tried to break the 
barrier. I just wonder if they could have identified the ship."
"Possibly." Isambard stood in the hatchway, one hand resting on the frame. He 
still looked miserably tired, his face drawn, its lines more prominent than ever 
above the uncombed beard. Even the color of his skin had greyed. For the first 
time, Silence was fully aware of the fact that he was an old man.
Chase Mago said hastily, "Tea, sir?" Even Balthasar looked a little alarmed, and 
shoved a chair in the magus's direction. Isambard seated himself with a humanly 
grateful sigh, but when he spoke again, his voice held all its old austerity.
"In any case, no good can come of delay. I think it is time we tried your 
suggestion, Silence. We must go to Inarime." Absently, the magus accepted the 
cup of tea Chase Mago handed to him.
"Inarime?" Balthasar asked.
"Inarime," Isambard repeated, and glanced at Silence. It was as if he had 
gestured for her to speak, reducing her in an instant to his apprentice.
The pilot bit back an angry retort, and said, rather shortly, "The satrap of 
Inarime has a reputation as a great collector of curiosities -- especially old 
documents. If the Library on Solitude doesn't have a portolan, Inarime's the 
next logical place to look." She fixed Isambard with a challenging stare. "May I 
ask why you think the satrap will let you have the run of his collection?"
The magus did not seem to notice her tone. "Adeben Kibbe is an old --" He 
hesitated over the word. "Yes, an old friend of mine. And in my debt. I think he 
will help us."
"Tsa, that's it," Chase Mago said abruptly. The Rusadir accent was suddenly very 
strong. "Inarime -- I knew there was something I'd heard about that world, about 
the satrap. Do you remember, Denis, on Wrath-of-God?"
"The satrap of Inarime?" Balthasar shook his head.
"And it was your story, too," Chase Mago murmured. "The satrap of Inarime had 
trouble with his customs people -- the Hegemon had him flogged for not keeping a 
better eye on them."
Balthasar snapped his fingers in sudden recollection. "So, of course. Which also 
means he has no reason to love the Hegemon."
"Just so." Isambard nodded gravely. "He is a very proud man."
"How soon can we lift?" Silence asked.
Chase Mago gave her a proud smile. "Any time you're ready. We're back in perfect 
tune again."
"As soon as we can get clearance?" Balthasar asked, and looked at Silence.
"Give me six hours to find and learn the road, and I'll be ready," the pilot 
answered. And I will be, too, she thought with some surprise. She was learning 
not to see too much; already she had learned enough to anticipate the worst 
parts.
The easiest road from Sisip' Catacecaumene to Inarime was one Silence had flown 
a hundred times. It did not take her long to review the voidmarks, and by the 
time Balthasar was able to top off Recusante's supply bunkers and get a place in 
the lifting queue, Silence had completely submerged herself in her piloting. The 
flight itself was uneventful, the familiar voidmarks only somewhat changed by 
Silence's new perception. On a different road, Silence knew, that would be 
different, and the crowding, complicating symbols would return. Even so, it was 
reassuring to be able to slip back into her old place, if only for a single 
flight.
Inarime Approach Control was very friendly -- almost too friendly. Silence and 
Balthasar exchanged wary glances as Approach greeted them not only with guidance 
into the roads, but stayed on the frequency to offer advice about docking and 
port fees, and to insert a few casual questions into the stream of talk. 
Balthasar was careful to switch off his own communications console before 
saying, "There's something up down there."
Silence nodded, staring at the multiple viewscreens. Two showed the picture from 
the long-range cameras mounted in Recusante's stubby wings. The third gave the 
musonar's view of the space surrounding the planet. To the camera's eye, Inarime 
was a pretty, undistinguished world, blue-oceaned and banded with clouds, much 
like any other world in human-settled space. But the musonar view was strangely 
empty, showing none of the glittering dots that marked the usual heavy traffic 
surrounding a Hegemonic world. And Inarime was a satrapy, too -- a sector 
governor's world.... "There should be more traffic than this," she said aloud.
Balthasar nodded, and reached to open the communications channels again. 
"Inarime Approach, this is Recusante. Will you reserve us a class-two berth in 
Tycha Mainport? We're on a charter, so we won't be needing heavy-cargo 
facilities."
"So sorry, Recusante," Approach answered promptly. "There aren't any class-twos 
available at Tycha -- no berths at all, in fact. You'll have to divert to Port 
Mosata. There's plenty of room there."
"Impossible," Silence whispered, and Balthasar frowned deeply.
"My charter's business is in Tycha --" He broke off abruptly, staring at the 
Ficinan model. Silence followed the direction of his gaze, and swore softly. A 
brilliant orange light had blossomed in the display globe, trailing Recusante at 
a respectable but still deadly distance. A warship, certainly -- the orange 
light meant that the ship's sensors had picked up the characteristic note of 
cannons and armor. The question now was whom it belonged to.
"Sorry," Approach said again, not sounding particularly regretful. "But don't 
worry, captain, Mosata's not far at all from Tycha city."
Silence ignored Balthasar's grumbling response, and reached for the board that 
controlled the cameras. At the very end of its track, the port camera could just 
pick up the shape of the trailing warship. Silence slowly increased the 
magnification and enhancement, and at last the slender shape came clear. It was 
a navy six, the second-largest of the Hegemonic warships, guns bristling along 
its narrow, keel-heavy length, but its insignia was the red hart of Inarime. 
Silence let out a long breath
-- at least it was not directly part of the Hegemonic Navy -- and glanced at 
Balthasar's board to make sure the pickup was turned off. The telltale glowed 
red, and she said, "It's not Hegemonic, Denis."
Balthasar grunted. "Inarime's private navy still looks Hegemonic to me, " he 
muttered. "And I've got three more on musonar. What the hell is going on down 
there?"
"Isambard might know," Silence began, but a crackling from the speakers cut her 
off.
"Recusante, this is Inarime Approach. You will enter atmosphere in thirty-three 
minutes. Please switch to Port Mosata control frequency. Good landing!"
"Thank you, Approach, for your good wishes," Balthasar said, keying the 
transmitter again. He adjusted the frequency as directed, and said, "Port Mosata 
Control, this is DRV Recusants. We're standing by for landing instructions."
Mosata Control was slightly less cheerful than Inarime Approach, but just as 
polite. It answered instantly, which also was unusual on a busy world. Silence 
and Balthasar exchanged another look. "Recusante, this is Mosata Control. Are 
you ready to receive your landing beam?"
"I wish to hell we could just cut out of here," Balthasar muttered, almost 
inaudibly, and flipped an intercom switch. "Julie, you hear?"
"I heard," Chase Mago answered grimly. "I'm ready to tape it -- if you want me 
to."
"No choice," Balthasar said, with a rapid glance to make sure the main 
transmitter was off. "There's a navy six sitting on our tail, and a couple more 
swanning around in the outer planets."
Chase Mago sighed heavily. "Let's get it over with."
Balthasar opened the main channel. "We're ready to take your beam, Control."
"Transmitting," Control answered promptly.
A moment later, Chase Mago said, "Received and recorded."
"Thanks, Julie," Silence said, and heard Balthasar repeat the engineer's words 
to Mosata Control. It was all Silence could do to lean back in her couch and 
monitor the various readouts when every nerve screamed that the Hegemon or his 
agents were waiting for them on Inarime. Balthasar is right, she told herself, 
there's nothing we can do to get away from at least three heavy warships. If 
there were, Wrath-of-God would have taught it to him, and he'd already have done 
it.
Balthasar gave her a quick, nervous smile, as though he'd read her thoughts. 
"Cheer up, Silence," he said softly. "I figure if it was the Hegemon, it'd be 
his people down there, not planetary troops. He wouldn't risk letting you fall 
into a satrap's hands."
Silence grimaced and did not answer. It's all very well for Denis to say that, 
she thought, but I know I'm not all that important. Why shouldn't he let a 
satrap handle our capture -- unless the Hegemon knows we almost reached Earth? 
There was no point in such speculation. With an effort, she closed off that line 
of thought, forcing herself to concentrate on the landing.
Balthasar brought Recusante to a textbook landing on the waiting cradle, 
signaling Chase Mago to break the sympathetic harmony at just the right moment. 
The starship settled almost without a jolt, and the cradle's padded clamps 
closed gently around the hull.
"Nice landing, Recusante," Mosata Control said. "Stand by for a tow."
Balthasar glanced quickly at Silence, then said into the open microphone, "Not 
much traffic, Control?"
There was a fractional hesitation before Control answered, "It's been slow 
today." That hesitation was more than enough. Silence gave a soundless whistle, 
and saw Balthasar's face tighten. If there were no places left in the bays at 
Tycha Mainport, and all of the planet's traffic was being funneled through Port 
Mosata, there should be more than enough arrivals to keep Mosata Control busy. 
If nothing else, Silence thought, Control should be screaming for us to clear 
the table, so that he could bring down some more ships. But there had been no 
merchant ships visible on musonar, only the patrolling warships. Balthasar 
nodded, as though he'd read her thoughts, and fumbled in the pocket of his 
trousers until he found a flat, glittering key. He flipped it across, and 
Silence caught it almost by instinct. It was the key to the arms locker.
"Get out the little heylins we bought on Kilix, the ones that're supposed to be 
undetectable," Balthasar said. "One for each of us."
"Isambard, too?" Silence asked, already loosening the straps that held her in 
her couch.
The Delian hesitated, then nodded. "Isambard, too. And a couple of extra clips 
for each of us. The damn things're only five-shots. Let's hope we don't need 
them."
Silence nodded, and worked her way free of the final bank of controls. The arms 
locker was no longer in the captain's cabin, as it had been when this had been 
her grandfather's ship. Instead, Chase Mago had installed an inconspicuous, and 
larger, cabinet in the common room, just to the right of the intercom panel. The 
lock worked smoothly, and Silence slid back the panel to reveal the rack of 
weaponry. Balthasar -- who after all had the most experience, from his long 
service with Wrath-of-God -- had bought mostly heylins, relatively cheap and 
unrestricted handguns that threw a bolt of fixed fire. He had also purchased a 
pair of sonic rifles, which now hung at the bottom of the rack, their 
bell-shaped muzzles gleaming dully in the lights. Silence hesitated, looking at 
them -- they were far more effective weapons than the heylins -- but put the 
thought aside. Instead, she reached for the heylins Balthasar had requested, 
flat, ungainly-looking things only a little larger than the palm of her hand. 
The smooth grey-green metal felt oddly grainy to the touch, as though it 
mimicked wood. Frowning, she tucked the four weapons into the pocket of her 
smock, filled the other pocket with the spare charges, and headed aft to the 
engine room.
Chase Mago was waiting in the hatchway, the orange warning lights that ringed 
the opening throwing strange shadows across his face and untidy beard.
"All secure?" Silence asked automatically.
The engineer gave a grunt of agreement, then raised an eyebrow as the pilot 
pulled out one of the heylins. "Serious trouble?"
Silence shrugged. "You heard yourself."
Chase Mago nodded and accepted the heylin, running a knowledgeable thumb across 
the touchplate to confirm a full charge.
"They're supposed to be invisible to most sensors," Silence said, and managed a 
smile. "I hope they're right."
"Only five-shots?" Chase Mago said.
Silence nodded, her feeble attempt at humor dying. "I have to get back to 
control. And I want to warn Isambard."
"Right," the engineer answered. He was still staring very thoughtfully at the 
little heylin, turning it over and over in his huge hands. Silence shivered, and 
hurried back up the central corridor to the magus's cabin.
Isambard opened the door almost before she had finished knocking. "Is there 
trouble?"
Quickly, Silence explained what was happening, and as she finished, felt the 
decking jerk and sway underfoot. The tow had arrived, and was hauling the ship 
toward the docking sheds. Isambard frowned deeply, a new, worried look in his 
eyes.
"I do not think Adeben would give me up without a struggle," he murmured, almost 
to himself. "I have done too much work here for that...."
Silence said, "Isambard, do you want a heylin?" She held out the little weapon. 
The magus stared at it as though he were not sure what it was. Then, quite 
slowly, his expression changed to one of vast amusement, and he laughed aloud. 
Silence flushed angrily.
"No," Isambard said, his laughter vanishing almost as soon as it had begun. "I 
have no need of it -- and neither have you, girl." His tone sharpened. "Or did 
you learn nothing on Solitudo?"
"Nothing useful for self-defense," Silence snapped, but even as she said it, she 
realized that it was not true. A number of things she had learned -- minor 
tricks of perception and illusion, certain types of manipulation, even the 
greater Art of transformation -- could be turned from peaceful uses to something 
far more deadly. Isambard nodded as though he had read her thought.
"Go, quickly, put those toys away." He dismissed the heylins with a contemptuous 
wave of his hand. "They will only get you into trouble."
Still blushing, though now less from anger than from embarrassment, Silence did 
as she was told, restoring two of the three heylins and their ammunition to the 
arms locker. Then she hurried forward to the control room to give Balthasar his 
weapon. The Delian accepted it absently, his attention on the screens, which 
showed the cradle approaching the huge docking shed. Silence leaned over his 
shoulder to monitor the balance while Balthasar stowed the heylin and its extra 
clips deep in the inner pockets of his coat.
"Thanks," Balthasar said. "You better get back to commons -- and get Isambard 
there with you."
"Right," Silence said, suppressing a stab of resentment. The Delian was right. 
She could not be found on the bridge, could not afford to start the Inarimans 
thinking about women pilots -- if indeed any of them spotted her sex beneath the 
concealing smock. It had all been planned in advance, down to their carefully 
forged papers and Isambard's simple, believable story of the charter, but it was 
still very difficult for her to sit quietly in the common room, without even a 
screen to monitor, while someone else brought her ship into an unfamiliar shed.
Isambard was already there, seated patiently at the table. Silence paced the 
length of the room. She stumbled when the cradle lurched across the threshold of 
the shed, but was too nervous to sit down. You have your papers in your pocket, 
she told herself repeatedly, and they're good forgeries, the best that money and 
Wrath-of-God connections can buy. And you're Isambard's apprentice. He'll 
protect you.
At last the cradle shuddered to a stop. The intercom panel whistled, and Silence 
jumped to answer that signal.
"Commons."
In the same instant, Chase Mago said, "Engineering."
Balthasar's voice was fractionally distorted by the cheap speakers. "We're in 
the bay, and -- shit." There was a pause, during which Silence could hear 
scuffling noises as Balthasar fumbled with various controls. It was only with a 
great effort that the pilot kept from demanding information. After what seemed 
an eternity, the Delian spoke again, breathlessly. "Customs team's here, army 
backed, with a heavy sensor suite --"
He broke off as a new voice sounded over the external channel, tinnily repeated 
by the intercom. "Recusante, open to inspection."
Balthasar answered promptly and politely, and Silence gave a soft sigh of 
relief. "Opening the main hatch." There was a pause, and then Silence heard, 
quite distinctly, the soft popping as the four-point seal was broken. "Main 
hatch is open." Balthasar hesitated, then asked, "Is there some problem, 
Customs?" His voice held just the right mix of innocence and wariness, Silence 
thought, and jammed her hands into her pockets to hide their shaking. Any 
star-traveller would be nervous, seeing planetary troops in with Customs.
"Assemble in your common area," the Inariman voice said flatly. "Anyone found 
outside the ship's common area will be shot on sight. You have sixty seconds to 
comply."
For a heart-stopping moment, Silence thought Balthasar would try something 
foolish. Then the Delian said, just as flatly, "Acknowledged."
Both Balthasar and Chase Mago reached the common room just in time, only seconds 
before the main hatch sighed open. The sound of heavy boots carried clearly, a 
rush of feet moving suddenly fore and aft, and then the common room hatch was 
flung open. A tall, hardbitten man in a faded, practical uniform with a 
colonel's crescents on his high collar stood in the hatchway. He was flanked by 
two troopers with lowered sonic rifles.
"This is everyone?" the colonel snapped.
Balthasar spread his empty hands very carefully. "This is all, crew and 
passengers, sir. May I ask --"
"You may not," the colonel snapped. "Remain here. You, Hedeon, stand guard. At 
the first sign of trouble, shoot them."
"Sir!" The trooper snapped briefly to attention, then took the colonel's place 
in the hatchway, his sonic rifle already lowered for action. The colonel nodded 
abruptly and vanished back into the corridor, taking the second trooper with 
him.
Silence shivered, and fought to hide her despair. Everything they had been 
through, everything they had done, was useless; they were caught again like 
rats.... Isambard cleared his throat, and the trooper shifted the rifle to cover 
him. The magus ignored the threat and said, almost conversationally, "I see 
these are his Highness's men. We should have nothing to fear."
Balthasar made a choked sound of disbelief. Chase Mago lifted an eyebrow, but 
then, after a moment, nodded thoughtfully. Silence hunched her shoulders inside 
the anonymous coat, working her hands deep into the pockets. Isambard was right. 
These soldiers wore the badge of Inarime on their drab uniforms, and it was -- 
fractionally -- better to face Inarime's men than to face Hegemonic troops. That 
is, she thought, if Isambard's credit with this satrap is still good.
They waited for what seemed an eternity, listening to the sounds of soldiers 
moving through the ship, until at last the colonel reappeared in the hatchway. 
Silence saw Balthasar's shoulders stiffen, his left arm, the weapon arm, almost 
painfully motionless at his side. She frowned at him as unobtrusively as she 
could, thinking, don't do it, not yet, but the Delian did not relax. Chase Mago, 
closer to the captain than Silence was, laid a warning hand on the smaller man's 
shoulder. Then the colonel gestured brusquely for the waiting trooper to put up 
his weapon, and himself stepped into the common room.
"Your pardon, captain, but this is a matter of internal security." The 
Inariman's voice was indifferent: clearly, Silence thought, he didn't care 
whether or not Balthasar accepted the perfunctory apology. "Your papers?"
One by one, they handed over the thin folders. The colonel looked hard at them, 
then passed them on to a smaller, weedy man in Customs blues, who subjected the 
papers to further scrutiny before finally photoflashing them and returning them 
to their owners.
"Doctor Isambard," the colonel said abruptly. "Your business here, Doctor?"
The magus lifted an eyebrow at the Inariman's tone, but answered with great 
tranquility, "I have worked for his Highness before. I have a new proposition I 
thought might interest him."
"I see." Before the colonel could continue, a younger man with a major's star 
and a massive decoration at his throat appeared in the hatchway. The colonel 
turned, scowling, but the major said something in an undertone that eased the 
other's expression. The colonel listened a moment longer, then gave a 
startlingly human sigh, almost of relief, and turned back to face the 
star-travellers. "Thank you, major, that will be all. Captain, doctor, once 
again, I ask your pardon, but all foreigners are being restricted to the Pale 
until further notice. Internal security."
Balthasar murmured his agreement. By the look on his face, Silence thought, he 
would agree to anything out of sheer relief. Isambard said, still mildly, "My 
business is to his Highness. What pass or privilege will I need, and how may I 
obtain it?"
"If his Highness is able to see you," the colonel said, with deliberate 
emphasis, "he will send an escort and the necessary documents. You should apply 
through the usual channels."
"Thank you, colonel," the magus said. His lined face was very thoughtful.
"Sieuri." The colonel gave them a stiff nod, almost a salute. "I remind you, you 
are restricted to the Pale of Port Mosata. I cannot answer for your safety if 
you venture outside." With that, he turned on his heel and was gone, drawing the 
troopers after him. After perhaps a dozen heartbeats there came the faint sound 
of the main hatch closing again behind them.
"Internal security," Chase Mago said, very thoughtfully.
It was plausible enough, Silence thought, watching idly as Balthasar crossed to 
the intercom panel and began running a quick status check, looking for hidden 
listeners or any other devices, organic or mechanical, that the colonel might 
have left behind. "Internal security" was the usual euphemism for popular 
rebellion, and that sort of upheaval was common enough in the repressive 
Hegemony. Though surely that was more likely in the newly conquered worlds of 
the Rusadir, not in the long-settled worlds of the Hegemony proper?
"All clear," Balthasar announced, turning off the last set of switches. "There's 
nothing aboard that doesn't belong here."
"Internal security," Chase Mago said again. "I can well believe it, knowing the 
Hegemony, but...." He looked up, frowning. "It just doesn't ring true, somehow."
Balthasar shrugged. "But with luck, it's not our business." Seeing the others' 
expressions, he sighed. "Look, we may be restricted to the Pale, but that 
doesn't mean we can't find out what's going on. We'll do just what the colonel 
said, keep our noses clean, but it's perfectly reasonable for us to ask a lot of 
questions." He grinned suddenly. "Hell, it'd look strange if we didn't, after 
that welcome."
Isambard nodded. "Yes, I think that would be the best. And while you make your 
inquiries, I will attempt to make an appointment with Adeben."
Silence said, a trifle grimly, "Denis, I'm going with you."
To Silence's surprise, neither of the two made more than a token protest, 
Balthasar insisting only that she discard the apprentice's smock for an equally 
concealing tunic of his own. It was a concession she was prepared to make. If 
the satrap's men were watching the ship -- and even Balthasar was not willing to 
hazard a guess either way -- they saw only two men and a gawky boy leave the 
ship, and head through the working port to the less public pleasures of the 
Pale.
The Mosata Pale was small, compared to most such places, and lay entirely within 
the confines of the port. Like all the star-travellers' Pales throughout 
human-settled space, though, that small area contained a bewildering variety of 
shops, bars, and cheap hostels, staffed by men and women from a dozen different 
worlds. Recusante's crew made the rounds, first to the chart house, where 
Balthasar submitted Silence's starbooks for updating. Silence prowled nervously 
along the walls of the waiting room until they were returned, and snatched back 
the carryall as soon as they were outside again. Then they went to the 
engineers' quarter near the tuning sheds, where Balthasar and Silence waited in 
the growing dusk while Chase Mago exchanged the gossip of his profession, and at 
last to the bars. Silence hovered in the background, close enough to listen but 
not to talk, while the two men tossed back thimbleful after thimbleful of harsh 
quiyan, and asked their questions. By midnight, they had visited most of the 
larger bars along the three main streets, and had found out very little for 
their pains. Neither Balthasar nor Chase Mago was very drunk -- Silence would 
have been more surprised by that, if she hadn't seen Balthasar empty several of 
his drinks down his wide sleeve, while Chase Mago swallowed sobrei-pills between 
bars -- but even so, Balthasar stopped beside one of the brightly lit fountains 
to splash cold water on his face. It was a warm night, the breeze only just 
edged with chill. Suddenly very tired, Silence sat down on the edge of the 
fountain and, after only a second's pause, Chase Mago sat down beside her. 
Balthasar looked quizzically down at them, but made no move to join them.
"So," he said, after a moment, "shall we try -- oh, I don't know which one -- 
next?"
"I think we should go back to the ship, Denis," Chase Mago said. He glanced 
around the square, empty except for a few shadowy figures weaving their way from 
one bar to the next and the red eyes of the Watchers crouching under the eaves. 
He lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "The off-worlders don't know any more 
than we do, and the locals -- they've been told not to talk."
Silence nodded. The engineer's words crystallized her own impression of the 
evening's questions. Something out of the ordinary -- something that smelled of 
politics -- was happening on Inarime. The Inarimans knew it, but, most 
untypically, they held their tongues.
"All the more reason to keep on," Balthasar began, then smiled rather ruefully. 
"No, you're right, Julie, there's no point to it. But if this is an internal 
security matter --" His tone gave the words vicious quotation marks." -- I'm the 
emperor of Earth." He held out his hands and pulled the other two to their feet. 
"Let's go."
"Maybe Isambard's heard something," Silence said, without much hope.
By the time they returned to the ship, however, the magus's cabin door was 
closed. The next morning, Isambard made it clear that he had learned no more 
than they had, and then stalked away to closet himself with a fellow magus, who 
handled most of the port business. Over the next six days, Isambard divided his 
time between the port magus and the ship's communications panel, speaking with 
various minor officials of the satrap's household. It was not until the seventh 
day that he reached someone with enough authority to remember him and carry his 
request to the satrap, but once he did, things moved with startling rapidity.
Silence was dozing through the noon heat, her head pillowed on her copy of the 
Topoi, when Balthasar kicked at the door, waking her. "What the hell do you 
want?" she called, embarrassed at being caught sleeping, but the Delian didn't 
seem to notice.
"Isambard got through to the satrap. He's sending a car for you now, and 
Isambard says to wear your good robes."
"How long?" Silence asked, and swung herself upright, bad temper forgotten.
"They're on their way now," Balthasar said. "Better hurry."
"Right," Silence answered, and pushed herself up off the bunk. She had only one 
good robe, and it was still the glossy, unadorned white satin of an apprentice, 
not yet topped with the black hood and stole of a licensed practitioner. She had 
never bothered, on Solitude Hermae, to order the formal hood -- and in any case, 
it was Isambard who held the purse strings. Well, Silence thought as she 
unfolded the heavy fabric, wincing at the travel wrinkles, it's his fault as 
much as mine if I'm not properly dressed. And it's the license that matters, not 
the clothes.
She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should continue to wear trousers 
and shirt beneath the gown, or if she should appear in her own proper person. 
Then, shrugging, she pulled on her one good shirt and the cleanest pair of 
trousers, then adjusted the heavy gown over them. If Isambard wanted me to be a 
woman, he'd've said so, she told herself, and glanced quickly at the mirror on 
the back of the cabin door. She looked very young, more like a boy of fifteen 
than a woman nearly twice that age. Silence made a face at that deceptive 
reflection, and left the cabin for the common room.
Isambard was waiting there already, dressed in his own formal robes, the jet 
black cloth relieved only by the gold-edged scarlet of his hood. The hood's 
lining showed brilliantly blue at his throat, the color echoed in the massive 
enameled shield that clasped his gown. Surprisingly, the heavy folds did not 
dwarf the magus; rather, he seemed to draw strength and confidence from the 
impressive draperies. Silence sighed, wishing she felt one-tenth as confident as 
he looked, and said, "I'm ready, Isambard."
The magus looked her over critically, appraising the fall of the shorter white 
gown, and said, "You've forgotten your hood."
"I don't have one," Silence retorted, and broke off abruptly as the magus 
pointed to the flat box lying on the table.
"Quickly, girl. Adeben's men will be here any minute."
Silence opened the box as she was told, and saw almost without surprise that it 
contained a practitioner's black hood. She donned it awkwardly, settling the 
hood at the nape of her neck and allowing the two narrow bands of the stole to 
fall over her shoulders to her waist. It was better balanced than she expected 
-- the stole's ends were weighted to counterbalance the slipperiness of the 
material -- but she was glad to see that Isambard had also included the guard 
chain that would hold it more securely in place. She fastened the first pin, a 
golden circle no larger than her thumbnail, careful to catch the fabric of both 
stole and gown in its clasp. She straightened the short length of chain that 
connected the two pins, but before she could adjust the second pin, Isambard 
clucked impatiently and twitched the material out of her hands. Silence stood 
meekly, feeling like a child again, while the magus gave the hood a slight 
twist, exposing its grey lining, and then fastened the remaining pin. Isambard 
stepped back, cocking his head to one side, then gave her an approving nod. 
Silence made a face, but before she could think of a suitable retort, Chase Mago 
appeared in the doorway.
"The satrap's people are here," he said.
"Excellent," Isambard answered, and gave Silence a final searching glance, like 
a general inspecting his troops. "Come along, Silence."
The pilot followed him, too annoyed and too nervous to make any comment, and 
Chase Mago trailed behind her, laying one hand on her shoulder in cautious 
consolation. Balthasar was waiting just inside the main hatch, peering warily 
around the frame, but at Silence's approach he, too, gave her shoulder a quick 
squeeze, whispering, "Good luck."
Silence managed a rather nervous smile for them both, and followed Isambard out 
of the ship. A double-domed transport was waiting at the bottom of the cradle 
stairs, flanked on either side by unsmiling men in the uniform of Inarime's 
planetary army. Their commander, a youngish lieutenant with a delicate, overbred 
face, saluted as Isambard reached the bottom of the stairs, and then, with his 
own hands, tripped the latch that opened the rear dome. That was unprecedented 
courtesy, from a Hegemonic officer to a magus. Silence could not suppress her 
lifted eyebrow, but Isambard accepted it as no more than his due. Gathering his 
heavy robes about him, he eased himself into the transport, beckoning 
imperiously for Silence to follow. Silence scrambled, less gracefully, into the 
seat beside him. The lieutenant closed the dome over them, and then, to 
Silence's surprise, hit the switch that opaqued the glass.
"What the hell?" Silence began in a cautious whisper, but Isambard raised a hand 
in warning, then shook his head. Silence subsided into her seat, watching 
unhappily as the dome clouded over. Through the thickening milky color, she 
caught a last glimpse of the soldiers taking their places on the broad running 
boards, one hand reaching for the grab bars that studded the twin domes, the 
other on the straps of their slung sonic rifles. Then the dome was fully 
opaqued, and she was jostled back against the seat cushions as the transport 
jerked awkwardly into motion. Slung rifles....
It took a moment for the significance of that final detail to penetrate, but 
when it did, Silence sat up straight, hardly aware of the sluggish swaying of 
the transport. Not a protection squad, then, to guard the satrap's magus against 
local rebels -- a protection squad wouldn't dare to travel without heylins and 
sonics and cannon all lowered and ready -- but a guard of honor. And that meant, 
as if she needed further confirmation, that the whole tale of "internal security 
matters" was indeed a lie. She longed to tell Isambard her thoughts, but the 
magus wore his most forbidding face. Probably he was right, she thought. The 
lieutenant is bound to have ways to listen in on this compartment. But I want to 
talk to him -- I wish he would tell me what he makes of all this, if nothing 
else.
The transport made very slow progress, often stopping for inexplicably long 
times. The first time it paused, Silence could hear the low growling hum of some 
large engine. Isambard heard it, too, and tilted his head to one side, listening 
with an abstracted expression on his bearded face. Seeing his expression, 
Silence strained to listen, but could not make out the source. Neither could the 
magus: after a moment, Isambard gave a tiny shrug and relaxed into his place 
again. Silence tried to copy his calm, folding her hands placidly inside the 
wide white sleeves of her gown, but she could not still the rapid beating of her 
heart.
The blind journey ended so suddenly that it seemed to be merely another of the 
inexplicable pauses until the lieutenant swung back the transport's dome. There 
was a rush of heady fragrance, as though the transport had stopped in the middle 
of some fabulous garden. Silence sniffed at it, entranced, trying to identify 
the various scents. Then Isambard prodded her with a bony finger, and she shook 
herself out of her reverie. The lieutenant had mistaken her preoccupation for 
uncertainty, and extended a hand to help her out, saying, "Better get a move on, 
boy."
That reminder of her disguise steadied Silence. She let the lieutenant pull her 
from the transport, then turned respectfully to help the magus. The perfect 
apprentice, she took her place at the magus's left hand, trying not to stare at 
the magnificence around her. The transport had come to rest in the center of a 
giant circle of some dark blue-grey stone some five times the length of the 
transport in diameter. Its surface was etched with delicate hieroglyphs. It was 
ringed on three sides by a stand of trees that had been carved and trained into 
fantastic twisted shapes -- or perhaps, Silence thought, a thousand years of 
careful breeding had made that branching spiral the tree's natural shape. A few 
leaves had fallen into the circle, shining like copper coins against the dark 
stone. They were the source of the wonderful scent, and it was all Silence could 
do not to pick one up and sniff at it.
The lieutenant said, "If you'd follow me, Doctor?"
Silence started, and had to hurry to catch up with the magus. The escorting 
troopers, falling into step at her back, laughed softly, and Silence felt 
herself blush, fiercely. The lieutenant led the way through the fragrant trees 
and onto a broad path that led up a gentle slope to the satrap's palace.
It was a handsome building, very plain in its design, but magnificent in its 
severity. Nothing but the most expensive stone had been used in its 
construction, the pale, blue-grey Lebidi marble of the facade a glowing backdrop 
to the jet-veined charcoal of the cloud-agate columns and the cinnabar-red 
choorl keystones of the arched windows. The richness of the materials gave a 
strange splendor to the sober geometry of the rows of windows, each one 
precisely the same distance from each of its neighbors, each one perfectly 
aligned with the windows above and below. Even the gabled windows in the roof 
were proportionately placed, one jutting above every other window on the main 
floors. The main door.... Silence gasped in spite of herself. The main door 
seemed to be made of a single, solid sheet of beaten gold.
One of the soldiers laughed again, and another said, "Better than the magi's 
world, eh, boy?"
Silence said nothing, hunching her shoulders in a deliberate imitation of 
Kaare's sullen embarrassment.
As they came up to the door, the lieutenant said, pitching his voice to carry to 
a pickup hidden somewhere in the carvings that almost hid the doorframe, "Doctor 
Isambard, to see his Highness. He's expected." Almost as an afterthought, the 
lieutenant added, "And his apprentice."
There was a long pause, and then the door swung open, very slowly. A wrinkled 
older man, well-dressed but wearing the flat cap of a house-servant, appeared in 
the opening. He bowed respectfully to Isambard, and said, "Thank you, Eli." It 
was clearly a dismissal. The lieutenant saluted sharply and backed away. The 
servant ignored him, saying, "If you would be so good as to follow me, Doctor, 
his Highness will see you now. "
"Of course," Isambard murmured, gathering his robes around him. Silence hurried 
after him, unwilling to be left behind with the soldiers.
The interior of the palace was as magnificent as the exterior, and in much the 
same somber way. The house-servant led them through hallways paneled in carved 
Oeud Tessaan blackwood, easily the most expensive wood in human-settled space, 
over carpets that had been laid over a bed of softly scented herbs. Through 
half-open doors, Silence caught tantalizing glimpses of still more magnificence 
-- tapestries that glittered as though they were woven of spun jewels; books 
bound with bands of silvered metal, sealing them against any reader but the 
satrap; everyday objects, a bowl, a vase, a pencase, made from precious metals; 
flowering plants so rare that even Silence recognized their value -- but the 
servant moved so quickly that the pilot barely had time to realize what she was 
seeing.
Then the house-servant pushed back a door and bowed them through into another 
long hallway. It, too, was paneled in carved blackwood, but the outer wall was 
one long window, supported at regular intervals by cloud-agate pillars. The red 
hart of Inarime had been cast in the center of each panel, throwing ruby shadows 
across the blackwood paneling.
At the far end of the corridor stood another door, quite unadorned. A boy of 
sixteen or seventeen in the brocaded court-livery of a noble's page stood 
outside, thin features impassive. As Isambard approached, the boy bowed very 
deeply. "His Highness greets you, Doctor. Please enter," he said. With a 
flourish, he touched the lockplate with a red-tipped wand, and the doors swung 
open before him. Silence hid a sudden grin. It was not much of a trick to have 
the doors of a house set to respond to such a control rod; any halfway competent 
practitioner could do it. Hell, she thought, half startled by the idea, I could 
probably doit.
Isambard nodded his thanks and stepped through the open door, but when Silence 
started to follow him, the page barred her way. "His Highness wishes to speak to 
the magus alone," the boy informed her haughtily, and closed the doors in her 
face.
Left to herself, Silence turned away from the door, and paced the full length of 
the corridor before she got a grip on her temper. How dare they shut me out like 
that? she thought. How dare they, when I'm their key to Earth? But they don't 
know that, she told herself, and it's better that they don't know, at least for 
now. Besides, the farther away you stay from this satrap, the better off you'll 
be.
Unbidden, a Cap Bel proverb rose in her mind: "To sup with nobles, you need a 
long spoon indeed." And Cap Bel, like most of the Rusadir worlds now groaning 
beneath the Hegemony's yoke, was hardly a world that lacked a privileged class. 
But the Cap Bel oligarchs, trade-rich and trade-powerful though they were, 
distrusted the Hegemonic nobility, and she would do well to follow their 
example. After all, the satrap of Inarime was the Hegemon's vassal, and might 
well consider it his duty to hand her over to the Hegemon.
Sighing, she walked back along the corridor, under the blackwood carvings that 
showed their copper highlights to the setting sun, and seated herself on the 
single long bench that stood against the wall at the precise midpoint of the 
corridor. It was not very comfortable. The cushions were not padded at all but 
trompel'oeil carvings made of the same wood as the rest of the bench. She 
settled herself on the least uncomfortable part of the carvings and composed 
herself to wait.
The shadows had lengthened perceptibly, the blobs of red light cast by the 
window decorations sliding slowly across the floor and up the paneled wall, 
before the door opened again. By then, Silence had regained her self-control. 
She gave the page a polite, incurious glance, and did not rise until he said, 
"His Highness will see you now, boy -- I mean, sieura."
Silence rose gracefully, copying Isambard's stately carriage as best she could. 
So he's told the satrap who -- and probably what -- I am, she thought. Now we'll 
see. Somehow that thought robbed her of any pleasure in the page's discomfiture. 
She kept her face impassive as she stepped through the double doors into the 
satrap's inner sanctum. The page closed those doors gently behind her, 
announcing, "Sieura Leigh."
The room was very dark, despite the clusters of fixed-fire globes in each corner 
of the room. It took a long moment for Silence's eyes to adjust to the sudden 
gloom. As she hesitated, blinking, an unfamiliar voice said, "So. You can see 
it, when you're told, but..." The voice trailed off doubtfully, and Isambard 
said, "With more light, Highness, you would see better."
The satrap, little more than a stooped shadow in the center of the room, sighed 
noisily. "Light the lamps, boy," he said. Resignation and hope warred in his 
voice.
The page touched some hidden control, and there was a sudden scurrying in the 
shadows near the almost invisible ceiling. Silence bit back a startled 
exclamation as a pinpoint of light flared up, revealing a mass of tiny, 
monkey-like creatures scrambling frantically around an inverted pyramid of wire. 
Each held what seemed to be a candle, though Silence was quite certain it was 
some more lasting creation of the magi's Art. Two of those quasi-candles were 
already lit; as Silence watched, each monkey shape thrust its candle into the 
first flame, and scrambled back to its place on the wire pyramid, to freeze into 
some fantastically twisted attitude. The shadows retreated.
"A pretty toy, Highness," Isambard said, in the tone of one giving praise where 
praise was due. "Lei Rida's work?"
"Yes," the satrap said, his eyes still on Silence. The pilot returned his 
scrutiny. Adeben Kibbe was not a particularly tall man, but he carried himself 
with the assurance of someone twice his size. Like most of the members of the 
Thousand -- the highest ranking nobility, from whom the Hegemon drew his elite 
guard -- he had a high-boned, hawkish face, shaped by generations of privilege. 
Unlike many of the Thousand, he carried that authority lightly, without undue 
conceit.
"So," the satrap said again. "You are the cause of all this trouble."
He had used the High Speech instinctively -- or, more likely, as a test. Silence 
said nothing -- there was nothing she could say to that -- and after a moment 
the satrap nodded to himself. "Very well, sieura, be seated." He gestured 
vaguely at the cluster of tabourets drawn up in the center of the room.
Silence seated herself cautiously, careful to choose a seat that was both to 
Isambard's left and lower than the magus's tabouret. By the furnishings -- a 
massive, paperstrewn desk, heavily curtained windows, locked bookpress filled 
with account books, locked and shielded computer cabinet -- this was the 
satrap's private office, and she took comfort in that realization. It implied 
that the satrap was willing to do business with Isambard, rather than hand them 
over to the Hegemon.
"Sieura Leigh." The satrap was leaning now against his desk, hands braced behind 
him on its massive surface. "Silence Leigh. Pilot, perhaps a magus, and a 
woman."
In the pause that followed, Isambard started to say something, but the satrap 
lifted a thin hand in rebuke. "Let me go about this my own way, Isambard. Your 
master has explained to me what it is you want, sieura, and he has offered me no 
small share of the inevitable profits." The satrap smiled thinly, allowing a 
faint hint of irony to color his tone. "As it happens, I have the volume -- the 
portolan -- you seek. Oh, yes," he added, forestalling some comment from the 
magus, "grant I know my own collection that well, Isambard. But --" His gaze 
returned to Silence." -- my price is somewhat higher."
She waited, a dozen different questions chasing each other through her brain. 
None of them was proper, or safe, not yet, but the satrap was obviously waiting 
for her to say something. "Indeed, Highness?" she asked, and managed just the 
right note of polite indifference. She used the High Speech herself, and out of 
the corner of her eye, saw Isambard's fractional, approving nod.
"Indeed." The satrap's face hardened suddenly. "You will have noticed the 
security precautions when you landed, and I don't doubt you wondered about the 
cause. Sieura, the Hegemon has offered me and mine an unforgivable insult, one 
that can only be wiped out in his blood. I intend to make him pay that debt, 
with his blood and with his crown."
Involuntarily, Silence gave a soundless whistle. Balthasar's story. ... Yes, a 
public flogging was more than enough to turn a member of the Thousand into the 
Hegemon's deadly enemy, but.... "Why -- what is my part in all this?" she asked, 
still in the same polite voice. "If you wish to hire a magus, Isambard is my 
teacher and my superior, yet you speak to me."
The satrap nodded, and for the first time seemed to falter. "It's my daughter," 
he said, and straightened his shoulders abruptly. "My eldest daughter, the only 
child of my first wife. After my -- disgrace -- the Hegemon commanded Aili to 
return to Asterion, ostensibly as a companion to his sister, the Princess Royal, 
but actually as a hostage for my good behavior. I thought that I would be able 
to win her release, and went ahead with my plans, but I have not been able to 
free her."
Silence frowned. Giving the Hegemony's laws, an imprisoned daughter should make 
little difference to the satrap's plans. After all, a woman could neither 
inherit nor hold power, or even minor property, without some man to act as her 
guardian.
Isambard said softly, "Aili is the only surviving child of his High-ness's First 
Wife, thus the most legitimate of his children."
"More than that," the satrap interrupted, with a bitter smile, "if I were to 
sacrifice her -- and I would do it, don't mistake me -- that would give the 
Hegemon an excellent propaganda weapon to turn against me." His voice rose in 
savage mimicry." 'If he was willing to lose his own daughter's life, why should 
he respect yours?' Bah."
Silence nodded. "But why me?" she asked again.
The satrap raised one thin eyebrow in surprise. "My daughter is in the Women's 
Palace."
That, at least, Silence understood. The Women's Palace on Asterion was the 
secluded residence of the Hegemon's female relatives, whose chastity had to be 
protected at all costs, and of any other single women attached to the court. No 
men were ever allowed to enter the confines of the Palace, which stood on an 
island in the center of a lake, which in turn was at the center of a heavily 
guarded forest preserve. She said slowly, "You must have agents of your own on 
Asterion, but they'd be men, of course. Which means they probably couldn't even 
contact your daughter, much less rescue her. And you want me to do that for 
you."
The satrap was watching her with new respect. "That is so."
"The security must be very heavy," Silence said. "Doubly heavy where your 
daughter's concerned."
"My agents have investigated," the satrap answered, with a wry smile. "They tell 
me it would be easier to break out from the inside than to break in from the 
outside, but in either case, a magus's skills are needed. An impossibility, I 
thought, but now I've found a woman magus -- a maga?" He glanced at Isambard, 
who shrugged.
Silence ignored the byplay. "And if I refuse?"
"That is better not thought of," the satrap answered silkily.
"If," Silence said, ignoring Isambard's warning frown.
The satrap shrugged. "I would have to confine you here until the fighting was 
over. After that...."
Silence nodded. The consequences were obvious. If the satrap won, they would be 
at his mercy, and would have displeased him by refusing. If the Hegemon won, 
they would be part of the spoils of war, and the Hegemon was already making 
efforts to find them.
"But let us consider the more likely alternative," the satrap said, after a 
moment. "My plan is simple. Your looks are -- adequate, sieura, and I believe 
that with teaching you could pass for a woman of the Ten Thousand. As such, I 
can place you as my daughter's waiting-woman, in the Women's Palace itself. I 
have agents on the planet, as I've said, and they would be able to contact you. 
And as you have a ship of your own --"
He glanced at the page, waiting motionless in a corner, and the boy said softly, 
"Recusante, Highness. Merchant craft, of Delian registry."
The satrap nodded. "Recusante has no known connection with me or mine, " he went 
on. "Your companions should have no difficulty landing on Asterion, and will be 
ideally placed to retrieve you and the shazadi once you've broken free of the 
Palace."
"You're --" Silence bit off the rest of the sentence, and searched for a more 
diplomatic phrase. "Your Highness, this plan relies on any number of 
uncertainties. And I'm merely a practitioner, not a magus."
The satrap held up his hand, cutting off any further protest. "Obviously, 
sieura, this is only the bare bones of a plan. But even so, I would like you to 
consider it."
It was not a request. Silence sighed. "Your Highness," she said abruptly, "I 
can't -- I don't have the right to make this decision alone. As Isambard has 
probably mentioned, I have two husbands, and their rights must be considered. 
Will you give me time to talk this over with them?"
The satrap nodded graciously. "I will send for them at once," he said. "You will 
spend the night here, in the guest wing, and can give me your decision in the 
morning."
A nice try, Silence thought, but not good enough. She had hoped to get back to 
the ship. She bowed politely. "Thank you, your Highness. You're most kind."
Chapter 5
THE GUEST WING WAS AS LUXURIOUS AS THE REST OF THE palace, and showed the same 
curious mix of magnificence and sobriety. Silence was escorted to a bedroom not 
much smaller than one of Recusante's holds by a second, even more supercilious 
page, who made certain she had seen all the amenities the room offered before he 
bowed himself out.
Left to herself, Silence pushed back the curtains -- rich blue-and-gold brocade 
over pale blue silk so fine as to be almost transparent -- and stared out into 
the garden that filled the central courtyard of the palace. The sun had almost 
set, and the garden was a bowl of shadows lit only by pale sprays of 
lantern-flowers, but she barely saw the beauty of the scene. Isambard had 
managed to put them into an impossible situation, and now it was up to her to 
get them out.
Almost as if her thought had conjured him, there was a knock at the door, and 
the magus called, "May I come in, Silence?"
Silence made a face. "Why not?" she demanded, and then had to hurry to touch the 
proper keys on the cube that controlled the room's various functions. It was a 
mechanical toy, Delian work. She glared at it, wishing she were back on Delos 
herself.
The magus coughed politely, and Silence wheeled to confront him. "How much of 
this did you know about?" she demanded.
"None of it," Isambard answered. He looked old and tired, and Silence felt her 
anger ease slightly. He could not have known what would happen, and it was not 
entirely his fault that the satrap had seized on her as the obvious answer to 
his problems.
"And what about the search for Earth?"
Isambard sighed. "I regret the delay -- you can't know how much I regret it -- 
but Adeben has left us with very little choice."
"There are other options," Silence began, and stopped abruptly, less out of fear 
of being overheard than out of the realization that their options were pitifully 
limited. She had been thinking of somehow making her way back to Recusante and 
escaping into space, but the mere articulation of the thought was enough to show 
her how poor the chances were. Even if she and the magus could make it back to 
the ship
-- she herself had no idea where the Palace stood in relation to the port
-- they would still have to raise ship illegally and then escape the cordon of 
warships that ringed the planet. And that would be almost impossible, even 
drawing on Balthasar's Wrath-of-God training.
"Do you think I haven't thought of all of them?" Isambard demanded. "And a few 
others you couldn't know of?" His expression softened suddenly, became almost 
pleading. "Yes, there will be a delay, but at the end of it, the certainty -- 
the certainty, Silence -- of reaching Earth. Adeben will keep his word, and 
we'll have the portolan you need."
Silence regarded him sourly. "What if I fail, or die succeeding?"
Isambard hesitated, then said, "I don't know. But you should not fail."
Silence made a face. She had been on Solitudo long enough to learn to read 
something of a person's thoughts in the involuntary movements of his body, and 
Isambard's real answer was almost painfully clear. If she died and the magus 
survived, Isambard believed he could still persuade the satrap to let him have 
the portolan. With it, any pilot could reach Earth. "I wouldn't bet on it," she 
muttered, and added, more loudly, "I do understand the situation, believe me. 
But I still want to talk to Denis and Julie first."
Isambard nodded, almost the gesture of equal to equal. "Very well. I will see 
you in the morning, then."
Before Silence could think of an appropriate answer, the magus had gone, closing 
the doors gently behind him. Silence cursed him in a whisper, then settled 
herself in the narrow window seat to try to work out some better plan. The 
satrap had not spared any expense in the decoration of the guest rooms, but 
Silence barely noticed the rosilk cushions or the subtle fragrance of the 
Sareptan orchids that floated in shallow bowls beneath the long windows. Over 
the next two hours, she formulated, tested, and regretfully discarded half a 
dozen plans for escaping from Inarime. By the time the control cube chimed and 
announced the arrival of Balthasar and Chase Mago, she was almost ready to admit 
defeat.
The two men had been given rooms directly opposite her own. She found them both 
in Balthasar's room, staring at the decorations -- a motif of goats and grape 
clusters -- with expressions somewhere between outrage and amusement.
"They've got your number, Denis," Chase Mago was saying. He stood, hands on 
hips, surveying the goats.
Balthasar gave him a rather sour look. "Was this your idea, Silence?" he 
demanded.
Silence shook her head, uncertain quite how to begin.
"Trouble?" Chase Mago asked.
"We have to talk," Silence said, grateful that the engineer, at least, had 
recognized her worry, and glanced around the room. The carved paneling, the 
grape-cluster chandelier, the ornate bedstead, and the tasseled cushions 
provided many possible hiding places for listening devices. Like all 
apprentices, she had been taught the technique of creating an aphonic ring, but 
she had never had reason to practice the procedure outside the workshops.
"Not much chance of that, at least not privately," Balthasar said.
Silence did not answer, glancing again around the opulent room. She closed her 
eyes, letting herself slip into the awareness that was the first stage of 
perception. She could feel the elemental harmonies of Inarime's core rising 
through her feet, until her whole body quivered in response. She opened her 
eyes, and saw the same currents trembling in the air, just at the edge of 
vision. As she had expected, the palace had been built to take full advantage of 
the planetary harmonies, and with that to draw on, she should have no trouble 
setting the ring. She let herself slip out of that unnatural stillness, and saw 
the others looking expectantly at her. She smiled, and in the same moment, Chase 
Mago said, "What can we do?"
Silence did not answer for a moment, studying the furniture, then dragged three 
tabourets together into the center of the room. "Sit there," she said, and 
managed a smile of apology for the brusque orders. "And don't do anything."
The two men did as they were told, but kept their eyes fixed on Silence. She was 
only too aware of their regard. You'll just have to ignore them, she told 
herself firmly. Begin.
The carpeting in this room was a deep monochromatic pile, the sort that showed 
every footstep. With finicky care, Silence sketched a broad ring in the pile, 
encircling the three tabourets. She dragged her foot two and three times over 
the same spot to make sure the ring would keep its shape. When the circle was 
complete, she stepped inside it, turning her back on the others. Closing her 
eyes, she let herself slip back into the hyperawareness of the first stage, 
feeling again for the elemental harmonies. When she was sure she had fixed them 
in her mind, she murmured the First Cantation, the words that bent the solid 
reality of the material world and allowed her to shape that substance to a new 
Form. This was not the sort of major creation that had formed her examination, 
but rather a reshaping of something already present in the air around her, and 
she was grateful for that. She took a deep breath and whispered the words that 
were the Form of the aphonic ring. The harmonic lines quivered and thickened, 
resisting the new and unnatural shaping. Silence could feel the floor tremble, 
very faintly, and spoke again, repeating the Form of the ring. This time, the 
Form compelled obedience. The subtle tension eased abruptly, the harmonic lines 
flowing and shifting to encircle the tabourets, the harmonies of earth and air 
mingling to shut out all sound. Silence relaxed slowly and turned to face the 
others, a proud smile on her lips. This was the first time she had used her 
newfound talents outside the classroom and without Isambard's supervision, and 
it was both a relief and a triumph to find that the ring had actually worked.
Balthasar was staring at her, and Silence felt her smile widen into a grin. 
Chase Mago nodded slowly and said, "Most impressive, maga."
Balthasar closed his mouth with a snap, as though he'd just realized he was 
staring. "Yes, very nice, but what's the occasion?"
Silence grimaced, annoyed that the Delian had broken her moment of triumph. But 
he was right, she told herself, there was no time to waste on 
self-congratulation. Still, her voice was a little more acerbic than she had 
intended when she answered, "The satrap's got a portolan, but he wants a pretty 
stiff price for it."
"We might have expected that," Chase Mago said calmly, after a moment. "What 
does he want?"
"He wants us to get his daughter back," Silence said. The others were looking at 
her, Balthasar with deep suspicion, Chase Mago with a resigned, world-weary 
smile on his bearded face. The pilot took a deep breath and explained. The two 
men were quiet for a long time after she had finished. Finally, Balthasar said, 
matter-of-factly, "The son of a bitch can't really expect us to do that -- it's 
impossible. What do you think he really wants?"
"This is what he really wants," Silence said, and Chase Mago nodded.
"His daughter -- she'd be a shazadi, I suppose -- is too important politically 
for him to risk. He can't afford to lose her."
"Wonderful," Balthasar muttered, then added, more loudly, "It's too risky. You 
pass yourself off as a lady of the court, Silence, while we fly into Anshar' 
Asteriona, pick you up, and then fly out again, with the whole Hegemonic Navy on 
our tail -- assuming, of course, they don't spot us the minute we land?" He 
glanced over his shoulder at the window. "How far do you think we are from the 
port?"
"I have no idea," Silence said. "They brought us in a closed transport. "
Chase Mago said, "If we get to the port, Denis, can you get Recusante through 
that cordon we passed on the way down?"
There was a long pause, and Silence felt her heart sink. Until then, she had not 
realized quite how much she had expected Balthasar to come up with a way out. 
But for once the Delian was facing a problem that could not be solved by one of 
his wild schemes. And if Balthasar had no plan, Silence thought, there simply 
wasn't an answer. The same realization was clear on Chase Mago's bearded face, 
and Balthasar wore an expression almost of guilt. He met her eyes only 
reluctantly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, " he murmured, so softly Silence 
almost didn't hear him.
The pilot shook herself angrily. Since there was no alternative, they would have 
to go through with this plan and somehow make it work. She forced a smile. "You 
better hope I can look like a high-born lady," she said, and reached to touch 
the invisible barrier, destroying it.
Chase Mago laughed softly and after a moment, Balthasar managed a smile. Silence 
nodded to them, trying to project a confidence she did not truly feel, and 
slowly the mood lightened. Still, she was very glad to spend that night in 
Balthasar's bed, the warm bodies to either side giving her the illusion of 
security.
In the morning, Isambard was waiting, sitting stiffly on a tabouret outside the 
door of her room. He seemed mildly surprised to see Silence emerge from 
Balthasar's room, but before he could say anything, the pilot scowled at him and 
said, "Well?"
"Your decision?" Isambard answered placidly.
"What do you think?" Silence retorted, with some bitterness. "We'll do it, all 
right -- but the satrap owes us most of the profits."
Isambard nodded and stood up, gathering his robes around him. "I will inform 
him."
Silence muttered a curse at his departing back, and pushed the latch-plate to 
open the room door. Discreet servo-mechanisms had already been at work: the 
curtains were drawn back to admit the daylight, and a breakfast table was drawn 
up in front of the windows. A clothes horse had emerged from a wall niche, 
bearing a floor-length, long-sleeved gown and a heavier, sleeveless overdress. 
Silence recognized the style as some sort of court dress, and her eyes narrowed.
Before she could investigate further, however, a light flashed on top of the 
room's control cube and a chime sounded softly. Silence touched the receive 
button, and a disembodied voice -- a woman's, this time -- spoke.
"His Highness requires that you admit the visit of the Domna Kalere, who will 
begin your lessons. The domna requests that you receive her wearing the clothes 
which have been provided for you."
Silence's mouth tightened. Either Isambard had moved more quickly than she had 
expected, or the satrap had simply assumed her cooperation. She controlled her 
voice, and answered mildly, "Very well. When will the domna arrive?"
To her annoyance, the woman did not answer, and the light went out on the top of 
the cube, signaling the end of the conversation. In that case, Silence thought, 
I'll eat first. The satrap, or his housekeepers, had been generous: she ate with 
real pleasure, and then made herself sit at ease until she had finished the last 
of the carafe of sweetwater. There was still no sign of the domna, and Silence 
toyed with the idea of waiting until the woman arrived to do the satrap's 
bidding. Then she shook her head, angry with herself this time. There was no 
point in putting off the inevitable, and no sense whatsoever in provoking this 
Domna Kalere -- yet. Reluctantly, Silence turned her attention to the clothes 
horse.
The gown and overdress were of finer material than she had realized at first, 
and Silence fingered the heavy folds with new respect. There were more things 
folded on the platform beneath the dresses. Silence pulled them out one by one. 
A pair of embroidered slippers, a thin undershift, a grey silk fan, plain and 
unpainted... The last item was a loosely folded pile of thin black material, and 
Silence unfolded it suspiciously. As she had expected, it expanded into the 
enveloping, uncomfortable formal veil worn by noblewomen. Experimentally, she 
threw it over herself, letting it settle around her until she was completely 
hidden in its floor-length folds. She could see dimly through the thin cloth, 
but a glance in the mirror confirmed that it concealed any details of her 
features.
With sudden revulsion, she scrambled free of the veil, almost tearing the 
delicate fabric in her haste. She hated the thing, hated it with a passion as 
the badge of slavery. She would never wear it.... She calmed herself with an 
effort that left her spent and trembling. She would wear it, because she would 
have to, if she was to rescue the shazadi. It was just a part of the job, 
nothing more -- and she would wear it by her own choice, not because she was 
ordered to do so. The thoughts were hollow, and even when she had regained 
enough control to begin the laborious process of changing clothes, she left the 
veil lying where it had fallen.
The doorchime sounded almost as soon as she had finished dressing. Silence gave 
the control cube a suspicious glance -- the domna's timing was almost too good 
to be true -- but opened the door without comment. A greying older woman, not 
tall, with a lined, thoughtful face, stood there, a maidservant hovering behind 
her.
"I am the Domna Kalere," the older woman announced.
"Silence Leigh." Silence stepped back to allow the other woman to enter.
Kalere came into the room, and motioned for the maid to set her bundle on the 
nearest table. "That will be all, Daru. You may go."
The maid bobbed a quick curtsy and vanished. Silence touched a button to close 
the door behind her and waited, watching the other woman. Kalere returned the 
stare quite steadily and, after a moment, nodded to herself.
"Well, your hair's a bit short, but it'll do. I am told you are a pilot and a 
magus?" Kalere's voice was frankly skeptical.
"That's right," Silence answered.
"Where were you trained?"
"As a pilot, on Cap Bel in the Rusadir, under the Cor Tauri guild-system," 
Silence answered. "Then on Solitude Hermae, apprenticed to Doctor Isambard. Do 
you want to see my practitioner's license, sieura?"
"Domna," Kalere corrected automatically. "The Cor Tauri guild? Then you're 
trained to the Chanfro exercises?"
"Yes," Silence said, a little warily. Those were the teaching rituals the pilots 
used when a great deal of information had to be imparted in a very short time. 
The method was effective, but exhausting. She had been subjected to it twice, 
once during training and again just after the Hegemony conquered the Rusadir 
worlds, when the guild-seniors had passed along as much information as they 
could before the Hegemon's troops burned their library. It was not an experience 
she would care to repeat.
Kalere was nodding again. "Then we may be able to do this after all," she said. 
"Sieura Leigh, his Highness has explained what it is you are to do for him, and 
I assure you I will do everything in my power to help you. Aili -- her Highness 
the shazadi -- was my nursling, and my charge after that. But even with the 
Chanfro techniques, it will take time to learn everything you need to know." She 
turned briskly to the bundle waiting on the table and unwrapped it, exposing an 
odd miscellany of objects -- books, a flat gilt box, a collection of tubes and 
jars. "You will go to Asterion as Jamilla Sahen, whose father is commander of 
his Highness's fleets. She is of appropriate birth to act as companion to her 
Highness, and that will give you the rank of domna as well. The papers are 
already being processed." She stopped abruptly. "You do understand the duties 
involved?"
Silence nodded. "I think so. To be a companion -- a sort of glorified maid, 
isn't it?"
"In a manner of speaking," Kalere answered, rather dryly. "You will act as the 
shazadi's representative to the outside world. If she requires something from 
outside the Palace, for example, you will inform the guards, and you will accept 
it when it's brought to you. If there are visitors, you will act as chaperone. 
If they are of lower rank, you will meet them on the shazadi's behalf."
She looked expectantly at Silence, and the pilot nodded. "I see. No, wait, I 
have a question."
"Very well." Kalere seated herself at the table and began to sort the objects 
into rough piles.
"This Jamilla Sahen, whose papers I'll be taking. Won't her pictures be on file 
somewhere in the royal archives or something?" Kalere was regarding her with an 
expression of amused incredulity. Silence flushed, but continued doggedly, "It 
seems pretty likely that I'll be spotted before I even get to the Palace."
"My dear girl, Jamilla is a lady of the Ten Thousand. Not even the image of her 
face may be seen by outsiders." Kalere smiled. "The admiral will swear you are 
his daughter -- his Highness has taken the perjury on himself -- and no one 
would presume to disbelieve."
Silence raised an eyebrow at that. If the Women's Palace was as closely guarded 
as everyone said it was, then the guards would be suspicious of everyone and 
everything just as a matter of routine. At least there would be no photorecord 
to betray her. For once, the Hegemony's laws would work for her, not against 
her. It was a new experience, and Silence allowed herself to feel a cautious 
optimism.
"Now," Kalere studied the piled miscellany for a moment longer, then handed the 
stack of books to Silence. "We have much to do -- thank God you know Chanfro! -- 
we'll begin with these."
Silence turned over the books to study the titles emblazoned on the spine. 
Thanks to the accelerated study on Solitudo Hermae, the Hegemonic script no 
longer looked peculiar to her, but the titles were old-fashioned enough to make 
her hesitate, mentally shifting from one alphabet to the more familiar coine 
characters, before she was certain she understood them: The An of Courtly 
Behavior, Recollections of a Long Life, Regulations of the Royal House, The 
Register of the Thousand, and the even larger Register of the Ten Thousand.
"Most of it will simply be memorization," Kalere went on, "but there are things 
-- the proper gestures, and some rituals -- that will have to be rehearsed. You 
can begin by memorizing those."
Silence glanced dubiously at the books. "You expect me to memorize the entire 
Hegemonic nobility -- at least eleven thousand families?"
"The important ones are marked," Kalere answered. "The Regulations and the 
Courtly Art will tell you the basics of proper behavior; you must concentrate on 
those. In the meantime, you must move into the women's quarter --"
"No," Silence said, flatly.
The older woman frowned. "It is not appropriate for you to remain here with the 
men."
Silence took a deep breath. "Domna Kalere, I accept that I must learn to behave 
like a woman of your kind and class. Fine. I'll study my lessons and all that. 
But if I'm going to rescue your precious shazadi, I will need to have access to 
my husbands --" Kalere flinched almost imperceptibly, and Silence repeated the 
word with relish." -- yes, my husbands, both of them. To Isambard, too, to 
figure out how to get out of the Women's Palace once I'm in it."
Kalere's lips tightened to a thin line, but after a moment, she nodded. "Very 
well, you have sufficient reason. But a word of warning. Don't expect to get 
your way so easily on Asterion."
"I don't," Silence answered.
"Good." Kalere rose to her feet, leaving the litter of objects on the table. She 
studied Silence for a moment longer, as if trying to assess the pilot's worth, 
and then her stern face softened. "It's to help Aili," she said, almost to 
herself, then added, "I will return this afternoon. Begin with the Courtly Art. 
If you finish, go on to the Regulations. Both are compatible with Chanfro -- 
well, you'll see the structure once you begin."
"All right." Silence settled herself comfortably on the nearest tabouret, 
drawing her legs up beneath her.
"No."
Silence looked up in genuine surprise, then realized what she was doing. Her own 
mother had once cherished ambitions of seeing her married to a Cap Bel oligarch, 
and had tried for years to teach her daughter more ladylike behavior. The pilot 
laughed softly. It was to be hoped she could learn it now, when so much depended 
on it.
Kalere gave an exasperated sigh. "No," she said again. "If you are to learn in 
time, you must begin now. When you wear those clothes, you must be Jamilla. Put 
your feet on the floor, straighten your dress...."
Dutifully, Silence suppressed her laughter and sat up straight, tugging at the 
material of the overdress so that it fell in heavy, graceful folds. She opened 
the first book at random, one hand under the spine, the other touching the 
pages, and glanced up at the domna.
"Well, someone's made a start," Kalere said tartly. "Remember, you are an 
admiral's daughter, a woman of the Ten Thousand, and behave as such. I will 
return at the sixteenth hour, and we'll go over afternoon informals." Without 
waiting for a reply, she stalked from the room.
Silence rose to lock the door behind her, then returned to the tabouret and 
picked up the copy of the Courtly Arts. She had no idea what the domna had meant 
by "afternoon informals," but she intended to find out.
Even after she had read through the section on informals, however, she was not 
entirely certain. The term referred to some sort of light meal, that much was 
clear. An "informal" could take place in the morning or afternoon, and was 
further categorized as "sweet" or "salt," depending on the food served. No 
intoxicant of any kind could be served -- to do so changed the meal from an 
"informal" to a "gathering." All this information was arrived at by inference, 
sifted out of the endless discussion of the proper topics of conversation, the 
proper number and status of guests, suitable clothing, accessories, tableware, 
and decorations -- no more than four small pieces.
Silence shook her head and closed the book. This was the most extreme case of 
the sort of life most women led. She had almost forgotten -- had done her best 
to forget, in the eight years she had been a pilot, acting as a man in the men's 
world -- how much time could be spent on the obsessive interpretation of every 
gesture, every action, until boredom and constraint created an unspoken language 
and a society in which the bitterest feuds were fought with nuance and the 
lifted eyebrow, and the slightest error of ceremony could doom one to perpetual 
exile. The merchant classes of Cap Bel, to which Silence's family had belonged, 
had been relatively free of such concerns -- Rusadir women were only bound by 
the Hegemony's laws since the conquest, and traditionally had helped in the 
family businesses as best they could -- but Silence's mother had been ambitious 
above her station, and had done her best to interest her daughter in the ways of 
the oligarchy. The pilot shook her head again, remembering adolescent 
awkwardness and rebellion. Her mother was revenged, it seemed; she would have to 
learn the rules after all.
Silence shook herself then. It was not at all the same thing, she told herself 
angrily. Thinking that way will only hurt you. You're learning this for your own 
purposes, to rescue this shazadi and to get the damned portolan so that you can 
reach Earth -- and you're doing it on your own terms. She made herself savor her 
small victory to the fullest: she was not confined to the women's quarters, and 
wouldn't be until she arrived on Asterion. She had demanded to be allowed to 
stay with the others, and had won. Not much of a triumph, perhaps... No, she 
corrected herself, here it's a very real victory. But now there's work to be 
done.
She spent the next three weeks in a whirl of activity. The first week was spent 
committing the contents of half a dozen texts -- the essentials, according to 
Kalere, of courtly behavior -- to memory. The Chanfro techniques, with their 
tricks for speeding the absorption of information, helped the process 
considerably. At the end, Silence, exhausted though she was, was still able to 
survey the complicated interrelated mnemonic chains with a sense of grim pride. 
Through those linked images, she could recall in seconds the proper behavior for 
any situation and act on it. Admittedly, her knowledge was purely theoretical, 
and that gave her responses a rather stiff, mechanical quality. Kalere did her 
best to drill away that stiffness, but agreed with Silence that it suited an 
admiral's daughter. As the pilot's education progressed, she was allowed to join 
the other women of the satrap's household for various meals and gatherings, 
passing herself off as one of Kalere's poor relations, until at last the domna 
professed herself satisfied.
Silence was not given much time to dwell on that success, however. As soon as 
she had learned the basic rules, Kalere began drilling her in the more subtle, 
unwritten rules of courtly life. Isambard, too, reclaimed a portion of her 
attention, arriving every afternoon precisely at fifteen hours to cram in as 
much advanced training as he could before she left for Asterion. He concentrated 
on the parts of the Four Arts that he guessed would be of most use in the 
Women's Palace, and Silence wished she could go back and fill in the gaps that 
she knew existed in her knowledge. In the evenings, when Silence could stay 
awake, she and Balthasar and Chase Mago pored over the maps and holocubes of 
Asterion and her sister planets. Balthasar grumbled loudly at the information in 
the navy holocubes provided by the satrap's servants. The three sister worlds, 
Falathar, Mim Seras, and Niminx, all boasted heavily fortified moons, each the 
base for a double-strength pursuit squadron, and Asterion had a defensive patrol 
in permanent close orbit. Still, the captain allowed himself to be somewhat 
appeased by the satrap's promise that the patrolling ships would be 
"distracted."
"Though precisely what he means by that, I don't know," Balthasar grumbled.
"Are you sure you want to know details?" Chase Mago asked.
Silence laughed, and Balthasar smiled reluctantly. "I wouldn't want to be the 
pilot, I grant you." He glanced sideways, reaching for the jug of wine that 
stood half buried under the piled charts. "More your speed, Silence."
The pilot made a face. They had not been told the precise details of the 
satrap's planned "distraction," and would not be, for obvious reasons: if they 
were captured, they couldn't betray what they didn't know. It was not something 
Silence liked to contemplate. She reached quickly for the nearest map of 
Asterion, swinging it until she found the large blank spot that marked the 
Women's Palace.
"What's the probable error in this again?" she asked.
Balthasar refilled his own glass and held out the jug in mute question. Chase 
Mago nodded, saying, "Here's the one the satrap's agents produced. It's supposed 
to be accurate to within a hundred meters along the shoreline."
He slid the smaller sheet of paper across the table, and Silence took it, 
nodding for Balthasar to refill her glass as well. She sipped thoughtfully at 
the wine, studying the map. All the maps of Asterion produced by the official 
Hegemonic cartographers left a blank where the Women's Palace should stand; the 
best traced the outline of the Palace park and left the interior empty. This 
one, a highly unofficial production, concentrated on the park and Palace. The 
park itself was an irregularly shaped area of woodland covering nearly one 
hundred and thirty square kilometers. The lake that contained the Palace itself 
stood not in the center of that wood, but in the southwestern quadrant, only 
forty kilometers from the border. She ran her finger slowly along the green line 
that marked that edge, wondering if it would be safer to try and rendezvous with 
the others outside the Palace park. Balthasar shook his head.
"That side's the cliff" -- most of the park is on a natural plateau -- and it's 
heavily guarded anyway. Look at the patrol lines. I figured we'd lift from 
Anshar' Asteriona and land somewhere in here." The Delian traced a short arc 
along the northern border of the lake.
"The guardpost's there," Chase Mago objected.
"I know," Balthasar answered, "but the ground's rougher, and it doesn't seem to 
be patrolled as well."
"We hope," Chase Mago muttered.
Silence stared at the network of fine lines running through the park. Each one 
represented an established patrol run -- or so the satrap's agents had thought. 
There were bound to be other patrol routes, both established ones and occasional 
spot checks. "It seems to me," she said slowly, "that we shouldn't set a 
rendezvous point now. The satrap's people ought to have more information by the 
time you land -- and they must change the patrol schedules on a regular basis 
anyway."
Balthasar nodded. "That makes sense, especially since they promise I'll be able 
to contact you." He studied the map again, then reached for his glass. "But 
almost certainly somewhere in there."
Silence nodded, yawning. They had spent over two hours tonight on the maps, and 
she had lost count of the other evenings they had spent planning the landing and 
rendezvous. "I think --" she began, but she was interrupted by a knock at the 
door.
Chase Mago frowned, glancing at the chronometer, but said, "Yes?" Silence saw 
without surprise that Balthasar's left hand was deep in the pocket of his coat.
"Your pardon, sieuri, for the late hour." The voice was familiar from other 
late-night visits: the satrap's most trusted page, the one who had been in 
attendance when Silence first encountered Adeben. "But his Highness wishes to 
speak with you."
"Again?" Silence whispered, and reached for the man's coat hanging on the back 
of her chair. Here in the privacy of Balthasar's room, she wore coat and 
trousers, in defiance of Kalere's orders.
Balthasar slid the heavy heylin out of his pocket, setting it on top of the pile 
of maps. "I wonder what he wants this time?"
Chase Mago shrugged and opened the door. "At once?" he asked.
The page nodded, his eyes sweeping across all three of them. "Yes, Sieur Chase 
Mago -- oh, good, his Highness asked specially that Sieura Leigh wear man's 
clothes."
Silence raised her eyebrows at that, but there was no time to ask questions. She 
swung the disguising coat across her shoulders and jammed the cap Balthasar 
handed her onto her untidy hair.
"What's all this about?" the Delian asked.
"I'm sorry, Sieur Balthasar, but I may not tell you." The page gave them an 
inquiring glance. "Are you ready, sieuri?"
"We're ready," Silence said, biting back an annoyed comment -- the boy had 
emphasized the word "may" -- and gestured for the page to precede them from the 
room.
He led them by a roundabout route, through darkened corridors and past rooms 
filled with shrouded furniture. At last they emerged into a familiar, 
glass-walled corridor, and Silence realized they had been brought once again to 
the satrap's private chamber. Chase Mago and Balthasar exchanged a glance, but 
said nothing as the page touched the doorplate with his control wand.
"Highness, I bring Sieur -- the sieuri, as you ordered," the page announced, and 
gestured for the three to enter.
Silence did as she was told, grateful for the others' presence at her back, and 
heard the snap as the lock closed behind them. Only a few points of flame showed 
at the very top of the great candelabra, casting bizarre shadows across the 
carpeted floor. Most of the light in the long room came from globes of fixed 
fire smaller than a woman's fist, each encased in a fretted sphere that cast 
even more strange shadows. The satrap sat in his thronelike chair just inside 
the circle of light thrown by one of the globes; there were other figures in the 
shadows.
Silence heard Balthasar whisper a curse, and kept herself still with an effort. 
There were at least half a dozen strangers, each sitting with their faces in 
shadow. More than that, she realized, each one of them was masked.... Startling 
herself with her own presumption, she said, "Your Highness requires?"
There was a stirring in the shadows to her left, just out of her line of sight, 
but she did not move. The satrap nodded once, his face impassive. "Please be 
seated, sieuri."
Three tabourets had been drawn up at the edge of the light thrown by the 
candelabra. Silence seated herself carefully on the central one, realizing as 
she did so that their presence would complete the circle, and waited. Balthasar 
and Chase Mago took their places to either side.
"These are the agents?" It was a dry, papery voice, filtered through an 
expensive distortion-mask. Silence disliked it instantly.
"They are." The satrap's tone precluded further questions. "Sieuri, I have asked 
you here tonight for two reasons. First, to prove to my associates that in truth 
I am not indifferent to the fate of my eldest daughter."
Was it just my imagination, Silence thought, or did he look at the papery voice 
when he said that?
"Second," the satrap continued, "I wished you to know something of my larger 
plans, so that you might face your own part in them with more confidence."
"Damn decent of you," Balthasar breathed. Silence ignored him, watching the 
satrap.
"As you have surely guessed," the satrap said, "I am not without allies among 
the great ones of the Hegemony. Many others, both of the Thousand and the Ten 
Thousand, have felt the Hegemon's unjust anger and are ready for a new regime." 
He gave a thin smile. "Some are even willing to lend their own troops to the 
cause. When my fleet attacks Asterion, it will be supported by attacks on a 
dozen other key worlds, and --" He glanced to his left, still smiling." -- By 
persons within the Hegemon's own armies."
There was a movement in the shadows, and a new voice said, in a crisply military 
tone, "We of the True Thousand have been blamed unreasonably for trifling 
errors. We will not allow this to continue."
The True Thousand. Silence kept herself still with an effort. Then that man, he 
of the soldier's voice, was one of the Hegemon's elite guard, the people who had 
captured and bound herself and her husbands back on Arganthonios. She felt 
numbly certain that her escape was one of the "trifling errors" for which the 
soldiers of the Thousand were being blamed, and was very glad of her man's 
dress. And the satrap wanted me to wear it, too, she thought. That was 
considerate of him.
"Adeben, you are a fool." That was the papery voice again. "Why do you tell them 
these things, when they will certainly betray you if they're caught -- will 
probably betray you anyway?"
Silence held her breath, hearing Chase Mago's angry hiss. The satrap said 
sharply, "You're the fool, if you don't see it. These people will be risking 
their lives to save my daughter. I owe them some promise that I, and mine, will 
be doing our part."
Silence let her breath out slowly, remembering Isambard's way of dealing with 
the satrap. "And your Highness has told us nothing that would not be immediately 
obvious to the Hegemon if we were caught," she said boldly.
There was a momentary pause, and then the satrap said, "That is also true."
"Nevertheless, I'm glad to hear my assumptions confirmed," Silence went on, and 
heard someone in the shadows whisper, "A magus... ?"
348 THE ROADS OF HEAVEN
The satrap turned his head to look directly at the source of the papery voice. 
"Are you satisfied with my arrangements?"
There was a movement as though the figure bowed his head. "I am satisfied."
"And the rest of you?" the satrap demanded. There was a murmur of agreement, and 
the satrap's voice softened slightly. "And you, sieuri, have you any questions?"
Not that I'd ask here, Silence thought, but she made a production of glancing at 
Balthasar and then at Chase Mago before she answered. "No, your Highness, we are 
satisfied."
"Thank you. Then you may go." the satrap beckoned to the waiting page, who moved 
quickly to unlock the door. Silence rose with all the dignity she could muster, 
and bowed to the satrap before she stalked from the room.
None of the three said anything until they were back in Balthasar's room and 
Chase Mago had carefully locked the door behind them. Then Balthasar gave an 
explosive sigh and reached for the jug of wine. "I'm not happy, " he said.
"I'm happier than I was," Chase Mago answered. "Rebellions and raids on twelve 
other worlds besides Asterion, plus a mutiny, or at least a sympathetic party 
within the True Thousand -- that should keep the Hegemon busy. And it should 
mean our 'distraction' will be on a similarly large scale."
"It should be, yeah," Balthasar said, "but that's not what I meant. I don't 
trust that guy with the raspy voice. I wish he weren't on our side."
"They have to be careful," Chase Mago said, mildly enough. "A rebellion on this 
scale is dangerous, Denis."
Balthasar opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Silence said, "It's the 
satrap's problem, not ours. He'd better know his people by now." She yawned 
ostentatiously. "Right now, I'm for bed." Grumbling a little, the others agreed, 
but unaccountably Silence found herself unable to sleep. She lay in the 
darkness, listening to the men's breathing, and wondered if she had been right 
to dismiss Balthasar's worries so calmly. She didn't trust that man either.... 
But you have to assume the satrap knows which of his friends he can trust, she 
told herself again. Obviously, he thinks he can trust this one. And you have to 
trust him. She paused, staring up into the darkness at the invisible goats. 
There was always the possibility of selling the satrap to the Hegemon -- the 
plans for the rebellion in exchange for her pardon -- but aside from the fact 
that she found the idea distasteful, she was quite certain the Hegemon would not 
agree. She smiled wryly. Which leaves us where we always were: we have to do 
this. There simply isn't any other choice.
Suddenly, all too soon, it was time to go. Silence woke to the sound of 
Balthasar's clock chiming nine. She had slept a full twelve hours; the others 
were up and dressed long ago. And, she remembered abruptly, she was supposed to 
be aboard the transport at noon. She flung back the covers and made a hasty 
toilet, hardly noticing the chill of the water in the bathing pool. She dressed 
quickly, the long gown and overdress no longer completely unfamiliar. Then, more 
reluctantly, she set in place the headpiece that would support the full-length 
veil. Once she was accepted on Asterion, she had learned, she would only have to 
wear the more comfortable face veil, but until then she would have to observe 
the strictest regulations. Sighing, she pinned the veil to the headpiece, but 
did not draw it down into place: there was still her baggage, the three 
starcrates full of clothes and jewelry that were considered appropriate for an 
admiral's daughter, to be sealed and sent ahead to the transport.
The crates were already gone from her room. Startled, Silence looked around for 
a moment before she found the slip of paper tucked under the corner of the 
control cube. It took her a moment to decipher Balthasar's handwriting and the 
drastically abbreviated coine -- one of the more irritating results of the 
Delian's obsessive secrecy -- but at last she figured it out. "Gone to 
Ballisarda with trunks," it read. "Back soon. " Naturally, Balthasar had not 
noted the time of writing, but he could not have been gone long. Silence settled 
herself on a tabouret beneath the window and composed herself to wait.
It was very sunny in the garden, and for the first time since her arrival on 
Inarime, Silence had the leisure to study the exotic flowers in the daylight. 
She recognized very few; the rest were merely vividly beautiful, or, in the case 
of one gnarled, woody ovoid that grew on a twisting, two-meter-tall stalk, 
spectacularly grotesque. She soon turned away from the window. She was afraid, 
she decided dispassionately, but that fear was for the moment overriden by sheer 
physical relief: this was the first time in weeks that she was not on the edge 
of utter exhaustion. She found herself wishing that she had not been too tired 
the night before for anything but sleep, and resolutely turned her mind away 
from such an unprofitable speculation.
Despite all their work, the plan remained in essence exactly the one that the 
satrap had outlined to Isambard when the magus first arrived on the planet. She 
would travel to Asterion aboard one of the satrap's small personal liners, its 
actual size and crew complement precisely calculated to match her supposed rank. 
Once there, she would be taken to the Women's Palace as the shazadi's new domna. 
And there, Silence thought, was the first of many uncertainties. There had been 
no safe way of alerting the shazadi to her arrival. The satrap's best agent was 
not able to contact the shazadi except through the well-monitored ghost-lines. 
The satrap had added private alert-codes to the formal announcement of 
"Jamilla's" appointment, and the agent had passed on a similarly cautious coded 
warning that something was about to happen, but there was no way for Aili to 
reply to either message. There was no guarantee that the shazadi would accept 
Silence as Jamilla Sahen, and if she didn't, the mission would be over before it 
had properly begun.
Silence shook her head angrily. The satrap swore his daughter would cooperate -- 
that she was clever enough to be expecting almost anything after receiving the 
two coded messages, and a good enough actress to respond accordingly. The pilot 
would just have to hope he was right. At least Balthasar and Chase Mago had been 
provided with new papers -- genuine papers, for once made out by the satrap's 
own Port Authority -- in their names. They also had a new registration file for 
Recusante and even a semi-legitimate cargo for a cover. They should have no 
trouble landing safely, or in contacting the satrap's agent. Isambard, too, had 
new papers, but in any case, no one would dare question a magus too closely.
Silence made a wry face. She had not been told the name or the station of the 
satrap's agent, and that told her just how slim her chances were thought to be. 
If she survived the security checks and her first meeting with the shazadi Aili, 
she still had to figure out some way to get past the elaborate security system 
of the Women's Palace, and bring both herself and the shazadi to a rendezvous 
with Recusante. For all the satrap's praise of his daughter's intelligence and 
levelheadedness, Silence doubted the girl would be much use when it came to real 
action, and she was not looking forward to having to act as nursemaid. On top of 
everything else, Kalere had made it clear that Aili had to continue to observe 
all the customary strictures, or forfeit her status as one of the Thousand. 
Unfortunately, Silence thought, no one's told me how I'm going to do all this. 
The satrap's data on Palace security had been pitifully meager, little more than 
what was available to the general public.
Suddenly unable to keep still, Silence rose quickly and paced the length of the 
room, automatically adjusting her stride to the weight of her robes. This was 
certainly the most difficult thing she had ever contemplated doing, and there 
was a small, not-quite-suppressed part of her that kept repeating that it was 
impossible. Not even aboard the Hegemony's transport, locked under their geas, 
had she wanted so much to be back in space, preferably millions of parsecs from 
Inarime.
She was well on her way to blind panic, and knew it. She took a deep breath and 
fought back grimly. She was at least free this time, and doing the job under the 
semblance of her own choice. And she was a magus -- half-trained, perhaps, but 
more powerful than anything she would encounter in the Women's Palace. She would 
manage.
The light on top of the control cube flashed, and an unfamiliar voice said, 
"Domna Jamilla, your escort attends you." Before Silence could answer, or demand 
to wait for her husbands, the light flashed again and Kalere's voice cut in. 
"Sieura, I was asked to tell you that your husbands have gone ahead to the 
field, and will meet you there. His Highness requests you accompany the escort."
"Very well," Silence answered, and reluctantly drew the veil down over her, 
hiding face and body. She took a final deep breath, and touched the key that 
unlocked the room door.
The door slid back to reveal a heavyset, middle-aged man in the uniform of the 
satrap's personal fleet. Four more men, two in fleet livery, two in house 
uniforms, waited at his back, gleaming sonic rifles slung at their shoulders. 
The first man -- a deck-officer/third by the twists of his shoulder braid -- 
bowed punctiliously. "Domna Jamilla, your car is waiting."
"Thank you, officer," Silence answered, and was surprised to find her voice 
steady.
The officer bowed again and offered his arm. The pilot gathered the folds of the 
veil around her with her left hand -- she had discovered early on how easy it 
was to trip over the billowing material -- and laid her right hand, still 
discreetly veiled, on the officer's forearm. He led her down the long corridor 
and out into the courtyard, the escort following a discreet three paces to the 
rear.
The waiting transport was exactly like the one that had first brought Silence to 
the satrap's palace, a double-domed, six-wheeled vehicle chosen for the comforts 
that would fit into the passenger dome rather than for speed or efficiency. 
Punctiliously polite, the officer handed Silence into the passenger compartment 
-- the pilot managed to take her place without too ungraceful a display of foot 
and hand -- then seated himself on the pull-down shelf opposite her, and 
gestured for the nearest escort to close the dome. The soldier did as he was 
told, and took his place on the running board just before the transport 
shuddered into motion.
This time the driver did not cloud the dome, and Silence was able to get her 
first real look at Port Mosata. It looked like a pleasant city, most of the 
houses moderately wealthy, the streets clean and in good repair -- as of course 
they would be, Silence thought. Port Mosata contained the satrap's favorite 
residence, and his private ships used its starport almost exclusively. Of course 
the city government would do its best to present an appealing facade, even if it 
had to remove the poor to do it. But then the transport turned onto a broader, 
more heavily travelled avenue, and Silence could see, behind the rows of 
storefronts, lanes of cheap stackhouses. They looked old, but reasonably well 
cared for, and the pilot grudgingly adjusted her opinion of both city and 
satrap. There was some difference between hiding poverty and controlling it -- 
though of course it was always possible that the poor had merely been expelled 
from the city, as rumor said had happened in the capital on Aja. But remembering 
her meetings with the satrap, Silence did not think that had happened here.
The wide avenue led directly into the walled port. The transport did not pause 
at the massive, jade-green gate, but drove straight through, the officer 
touching his forehead to return the guards' precise salutes. They did not pause 
at any of the usual buildings, either, but continued straight through the tangle 
of buildings toward the satrap's private hangar. To reach it, the driver had 
either to cut directly across the field itself or turn aside and follow the 
usual service roads. Silence winced as the soldier chose to keep to his 
inflexible course, and looked up quickly, squinting through the veil for the 
interference light of a landing star-ship. At this range, any keelsong would be 
at least painful, and probably actively dangerous....
She saw the officer looking curiously at her and looked away again, fighting to 
keep her expression neutral. Of course no other ships would be landing, she 
berated herself. Not only is one of the Ten Thousand about to embark, but 
Inarime's closed off, all the traffic being rerouted anyway. It was not a bad 
mistake, but a mistake nonetheless, and it chilled her. It was so easy to arouse 
suspicion, and so hard to answer it once roused. She would have to be much more 
careful in the future.
Then the transport pulled up to one of the private docking sheds, set well apart 
from the rest of the port buildings. This special area was like a port within a 
port, with its own docks and tuning sheds and tug bunkers, even its own 
miniature control tower set a little apart from the rest. One of the escorts 
pulled back the dome, and the officer scrambled from his seat, turning quickly 
to assist Silence. The pilot accepted his help automatically, her attention on 
the half-open door of the shed. She could just see the satrap's liner 
Ballisarda, a slim, streamlined ship twice the size of Recusante, waiting on her 
cradle a few meters from the door. The unshrouded keel gleamed coolly in the dim 
light, running with colors like oil-film on water. Silence gave a sigh of sheer 
desire. Ballisarda was a beautiful ship; it would be an act of pure joy to pilot 
her.
Another man in the full-dress uniform of the satrap's fleet was waiting for her 
at the door of the shed. He bowed sharply as Silence and her escort approached, 
and as he straightened, Silence saw the twin crescents at collar and 
shoulderboards: Ballisarda's captain.
"Thank you, Brishen. I relieve you," the captain said formally.
The deck officer saluted with equal formality, and turned away, accepting the 
dismissal.
"Domna," the captain said, and offered his arm. Silence accepted numbly and let 
herself be drawn inside. There was still no sign of either Chase Mago or 
Balthasar, and she was hit by sudden panic at the thought of leaving Inarime 
without a chance to make some sort of farewell.
"Or should I say, sieura?" the captain continued, lowering his voice.
Silence glanced sharply at him, and saw that he was smiling. Beyond him, hidden 
from anyone outside the shed, were Balthasar and Chase Mago. Silence allowed 
herself a long sigh of relief, and then realized that both Isambard and the 
satrap were waiting with them.
"His Highness has explained something of the circumstances, sieura," the captain 
went on, "and I am under orders to help you in any way I can. My name is 
Mali-Mehtar Varid. I am captain of Ballisarda."
"Yes, thank you," Silence said, her attention on her husbands, and Varid bowed 
again.
"If you will excuse me, domna, your Highness," he said, raising his voice so 
that his words carried to the satrap, "I will make ready for liftoff. "
The satrap nodded and then came forward to greet Silence, as the captain hurried 
up the cradle ladder. "You understand the plan?" he asked, without 
preliminaries. "Do you have any questions?"
Silence shook her head, a little annoyed by the questions. "You didn't have the 
only other information I needed; I understand the rest fine, thank you."
The satrap frowned, his face darkening with anger, then, quite abruptly, bent 
his head a fraction. "I accept your stricture. I speak out of concern for my 
daughter." He took a deep breath. "Your baggage is already aboard, and your 
cabin prepared. You must go aboard momentarily."
"Wait a minute," Silence said. "I want to say goodbye."
The satrap's thin eyebrows rose, his expression half scandalized, half amused. 
"I was given to understand this was a marriage of convenience."
"Wrong," Silence said shortly, and stalked past him.
Neither Balthasar nor Chase Mago came forward to meet her, and Silence was 
momentarily hurt, until she realized that the men were standing in the shadow of 
a large pile of starcrates which effectively blocked the sightlines of anyone on 
Ballisarda's bridge. The pilot smiled rather wolfishly as she approached, and 
saw her own expression mirrored on Balthasar's lean face. Then she, too, was out 
of Ballisarda's sight, and both men stepped forward to catch her in an awkward 
joint embrace. Silence returned the clumsy hug eagerly, and realized to her 
horror that she was on the verge of tears. She sniffed angrily, fighting them, 
and Chase Mago gently stroked her hair through the heavy veil.
Balthasar said, the tone belying his words, "That thing's damned clumsy. Can't 
you take it off?"
Silence laughed through her tears, and fought free enough to fold the cloth back 
over her headdress, exposing her face. "I suppose you count as family."
"I should hope so," Balthasar said, but his heart wasn't in it. "Ah, Silence..."
"Be very careful," Chase Mago said, and put out a hand to touch the pilot's 
cheek.
Silence nodded. There was suddenly nothing to say -- or rather, she realized, 
there was entirely too much to be said, and none of them were articulate in such 
things. With a choked cry she reached for both men, pulling them into a tight, 
wordless embrace. They stood so for a long moment, until a chime sounded high in 
the roof of the docking shed, and a disembodied voice announced, "The boarding 
period is ending. All passengers aboard, please. All passengers aboard."
Silence sniffled hard and pulled herself away. "You be careful, too, both of 
you." She tried to think of something light and clever, but nothing came to 
mind. "Just be careful."
"Wait," Chase Mago said, rummaging in the pocket of his coat. "Take these. They 
shouldn't be noticed." He pressed something small and hard into the pilot's 
hand.
Startled, Silence accepted the objects, turning her hand to reveal three rings, 
solid bands of what looked to be cloud agate. She looked up, meeting Chase 
Mago's eyes, and the engineer nodded.
"Never had the time to get them before," he said, and held up his own left hand. 
Three matching stone bands circled his ring finger. Silence felt the tears 
rising in her eyes again. Then Balthasar grabbed her left hand, and almost 
roughly slid the rings onto her third finger. There were three more matching 
rings on the Delian's hand.
"You'd better get going," Balthasar said, and for a wonder his voice was thick 
with tears.
Silence nodded, unable to speak. With a shaking hand, she lowered her veil into 
place just as the boarding chime sounded again.
"Go," Balthasar managed, and Chase Mago said, strongly, "We'll see you on 
Asterion, Silence."
The pilot nodded again, and echoed, "On Asterion, Julie, Denis." Then she turned 
and almost ran for the cradle steps, grateful for the veil that hid her tears 
from the midshipman waiting at the hatch. The boy offered her his arm with 
stiffly military courtesy, saying, "May I show you to your cabin suite, domna?"
Silence inclined her head under the veil, unable to trust herself to speak, and 
set her own hand on the boy's elbow. He clicked his heels, and said, "You're on 
the main level, domna, in the quarters." Silence barely heard him, listening for 
the sound of the hatch closing behind her. It came -- a dull, almost soundless 
thud -- and she was truly alone.
Chapter 6
THE CABIN TO WHICH THE MIDSHIPMAN LED HER WAS actually two connecting 
compartments, set apart from the rest of the ship by a sturdy metal grate that 
closed the corridor leading to the compartment's door. Both Varid and the satrap 
were waiting by that grating. The captain bowed low at Silence's approach, 
saying, "Welcome aboard, domna. I hope you will find these quarters to your 
liking."
Silence got a grip on herself with an effort. "I'm sure I will, captain, thank 
you." Her voice was shaky, but no one seemed to notice.
"Domna Jamilla." The satrap made a brisk demi-bow, and turned his attention to 
the captain. "Captain Lord Varid, I commend to you the domna Lady Jamilla Sahen, 
and place her under your hand. Domna Jamilla, I entrust you to Lord Varid; he 
speaks with my voice."
As she had been taught, Silence extended a veiled hand and the satrap took it, 
placing her fingers on Varid's proffered wrist. Silence murmured the proper 
response: "Imn' zhayan." I shall obey.
The satrap gave her a final, dubious glance, then straightened briskly. 
"Captain, I will not delay you further. Domna, if you please?" He gestured to 
the half-open grating.
Silence stiffened unhappily, but this, too, was part of the procedure she had so 
hastily memorized. She -- or, rather, Jamilla -- was not of high enough rank to 
be granted a human servant, but at the same time some formal precautions had to 
be taken if she was to travel unescorted on a ship crewed only by men. 
Therefore, she would be locked into the two-room suite, and would be released by 
the satrap's vizier on Asterion. Mustering all her dignity, Silence stepped 
through the gate and watched while the captain drew it closed. The satrap 
himself locked it and then placed his own sealstrip across the lock mechanism. 
In an emergency, of course, the captain could easily open the grating, but it 
was unlikely he would do so for less than utter disaster.
"Domna Jamilla," the satrap said quietly. "I send you with my own good wishes, 
and with my warmest greetings to my daughter. May your service on Asterion be 
pleasant, its burdens light."
Silence bowed deeply. "It shall be so," she answered, and in spite of herself 
her tone was all too fervent.
Varid stepped in hastily to cover the mistake. "Domna, you will find a welcome 
tray set out, and also the elixir for the transitions through purgatory. Also, 
should you require anything, please inform your guard-of-honor, or please use 
the call-crystal to tell me, and it will be done."
"Thank you, captain," Silence said, her voice under complete control again.
The satrap nodded. Silence curtsied deeply, and the satrap turned to leave, 
Varid following. As soon as they were out of sight, and the midshipman had taken 
up his blank-eyed watch outside the grating, Silence turned back to the cabin 
and went inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
As Varid had promised, a welcome tray was waiting on the thickly carpeted dais 
that served as a table in the suite's main area. Silence wrenched off her veil 
and tossed the supporting headdress after it into the nearest corner, then 
dropped to her knees beside the dais to examine the tray. As was traditional, 
the bidi-silver tray held a small flask and a miniature goblet of iridescent 
glass, a shallow silver bowl full of salty-sweet pombe nuts, and an inlaid plate 
with three perfect chocolates. Silence ate one, hoping the sweet would improve 
her mood, then reached for the flask to pour herself a glass of whatever liqueur 
Varid had thought appropriate for an admiral's daughter. If nothing else, she 
thought, I can get myself happy, or at least well out, before we even leave the 
planet.
Instead of pura, or one of the other sticky, syrupsweet liqueurs that were 
commonly offered to women of rank, the drink was almost clear, and had the faint 
pungency of Anxuran gin. Silence sipped cautiously: it was Anxuran gin, cut with 
maratha, and both were of the best quality, too. I bet I have Denis to thank for 
this, she thought, and her eyes filled again with tears. She shook herself 
angrily and took another, larger swallow of the liquor. Then she pushed herself 
to her feet and, glass in hand, began to investigate the cabin area.
She had never travelled in such luxury before. Even in her present state, the 
elegance-in-miniature of the cabin-suite was enough to distract her, reducing 
the knot of fear and loneliness. The outer room, furnished with floor-bolsters 
rather than more conventional furniture, was paneled in oil-wood as light and 
glowing as fine marble. A carved screen hid an elaborate mechanical galley -- an 
extremely expensive toy, considering the cost of shielding that large a machine 
to keep it from interfering with the harmonium -- but to Silence's 
disappointment, there was only a single, inadequate repeater screen linked to 
the ship's main monitor system. Of course, she reminded herself, very few of the 
women who travelled in this ship would be interested in -- or trained to follow 
-- the starship's progress. And I'll be asleep anyway, once we hit purgatory.
With that thought in mind, she went on into the second of the two cabins. It was 
considerably smaller than the main room, but so beautifully designed that it did 
not feel crowded. The recessed bunk, lace-curtained and discreetly lit, took up 
most of the space; a mobile table stood beside it, the black lacquer oval of a 
medicine case prominently displayed. Silence checked the dosage: enough and more 
to put her into a sound sleep, proof against even the most seductive music of 
purgatory. She had made the journey through purgatory without either drugs or 
her own work to distract her only once. That had been as a prisoner aboard a 
Hegemonic transport and it was not an experience she would willingly repeat.
Frowning, she shook away the memory, and checked the tiny storage alcove and the 
bath nook. The single starcrate that held the few things she would need for the 
journey was in place in the alcove, her formal robes already stretched across a 
clothes horse to keep them from wrinkling. The bath nook was something of a 
disappointment: the fixtures were exactly the same as those on Recusante, except 
that they were trimmed with precious metals.
Sighing, Silence returned to the main room, and settled herself cross-legged 
beside the welcome tray. She missed her starbooks, not just their comforting 
weight against her hip, but the knowledge of where and by what road she would be 
travelling. By the time Ballisarda was positioned on the launching table, 
Silence had finished the two glasses of gin and most of the pombe nuts. The 
pilot made her way into the bedroom, and reached for the oval box with its three 
tiny, glittering bottles. She uncorked the first bottle and swallowed its 
contents, then stretched out on the bunk to wait for the elixir to take hold.
The flight to Asterion was a little over fifty hours long, entering purgatory 
twice. Silence slept through the first passage, and spent the waking hours 
refining her plans for Asterion. Most of that involved reviewing the persona she 
had invented for "Jamilla." Knowing she could not learn enough to take full part 
in the life of the Women's Palace, Silence and Kalere had decided to emphasize 
the fact that Jamilla was an admiral's daughter, and had travelled with him 
during his tours of duty. That, they hoped, would explain any oddities in her 
behavior. She reviewed the material she had memorized under the Chanfro 
techniques, until the mnemonic chains and convoluted images seemed to shine as 
though polished. Still, the preparations and review could not last forever, and 
she was very glad to swallow the last dose of elixir and sink at last into a 
dreamless sleep.
She had timed the dose so that she was stirring just as the ship reached the 
edge of Asterion's system. The monitor in the outer room was talking quietly to 
itself as she came slowly back to full awareness. She had left the machine on so 
that she would know what was happening, but it was the harmonium's note that 
first told her Ballisarda was approaching planetary harmonies. She pulled 
herself upright, still fuzzy from the drug, and listened to the flow of data 
from the monitor. Ballisarda was still well out from the planet, and on a 
leisurely course. She had a little time.
Silence lay back against the pillow, tasting the bitter aftereffects of the 
elixir, but still too dizzy to do anything about it. After a few minutes her 
head cleared a little, and she reached for the last of the bottles in the 
medicine box. She drank off the counterdrug, and sat massaging her temples until 
the drink began to work. Then she staggered into the bath nook and turned the 
shower on full power, letting the pulsing stream of water beat the last cobwebs 
from her mind.
When she was sure she was fully alert again, she turned the power down, and 
adjusted a secondary control to add a hint of amberwood to the water. She 
scrubbed herself, then, reluctantly, toed the switch that cut off the water and 
triggered the warm-air blowers. She felt almost normal as she stepped from the 
bath nook, except for the growing knot of fear in her belly. This will never do, 
she thought, and closed her eyes, forcing herself into the mindless relaxation 
of the first-stage exercises. The tension eased to a manageable level.
The monitor in the outer room was showing only an hour before Ballisarda landed 
at Asterion's main port, the imperial capital Anshar' Asteriona itself. 
Silence's mouth set into a grim line, and she returned to the bedroom to dress. 
Formal wear seemed to involve an almost infinite number of layers. Even in the 
perfectly controlled climate of the starship, Silence was sweating lightly by 
the time she had donned the final overgown. There were two layers beneath that, 
a thin silk shift and a heavier brocade dress cut tight in the bodice and full 
in sleeves with a lightly stiffened bell-shaped skirt. The overgown, of a sober 
wine-black satin that fell in heavy pleats straight from the shoulders, flared 
slightly over the skirt, opening a few centimeters at the hem to reveal flashes 
of the brighter brocade beneath.
Silence surveyed herself in the mirror, and had to admit that the colors, at 
least, had been chosen to flatter her black hair and pale skin. As for the 
rest... the style had dignity, and Silence was still unwillingly impressed by 
the row of carved gemstones that buttoned the overgown to the waist, but other 
than that, the pilot could find little to recommend in it. It was uncomfortable, 
and almost impossible to move in, and the full court-veil only made things 
worse.
Silence sighed and glanced at the monitor. I'll wait till we land before I start 
on the veils, she decided. There's no point in being miserable until I have to 
be. Instead, she settled herself against the bolsters to watch the landing on 
the monitor. Ballisarda's pilot was good. The big liner settled easily through 
the planet's atmosphere, the details of the field swelling slowly, only slightly 
reddened by the interference as Ballisarda's harmonium overrode the ethereal 
notes of the upper atmosphere. The Inariman pilot cut the harmony at just the 
right moment, dropping the starship into its cradle with barely a jolt. Silence 
sighed her envy, wishing that that was all she had to worry about, and went back 
into the bedroom to finish dressing.
There was no point wasting time on jewelry or makeup: either would be hidden 
beneath the enveloping veils. Silence took a deep breath, knowing she couldn't 
put it off any longer, and fitted the supporting headdress into place. This was 
a more elaborate structure than the usual light coronet, a complicated structure 
of gold wires that rose to a slight peak above the wearer's forehead, and formed 
a close cap across the back of the skull. Two gemmed clips, like the 
cheek-pieces of an archaic helmet, framed the pilot's face. Silence grimaced at 
them -- they were uncomfortable, and the headdress as a whole was heavy -- and 
then, reluctantly, fitted the ends of the underveil into the clips. The solid 
rectangle of cloth covered her face from cheek to chin, falling below the collar 
of her overgown at its longest point. Silence twitched at the cloth, adjusting 
the folds, and made a face at her image in the mirror. Only the tightening of 
the skin at the corners of her eyes betrayed the grimace. That was one advantage 
to the system, Silence thought -- maybe the only advantage. Sighing, she picked 
up the filmy main veil and fitted the gold eyelets in its center onto the tiny 
hooks of the headdress. The almost transparent grey-black silk fell heavily 
around her ankles, weighted by the meter-wide band of metallic embroidery at the 
hem. The complete ensemble weighed over twelve kilograms, and Silence was 
grateful that custom decreed that women of the Ten Thousand did not travel 
afoot.
She had cut things rather fine after all. Almost as soon as she had finished 
adjusting the fall of the outer veiling, the monitor buzzed discreetly, and an 
unfamiliar voice said, "Domna Jamilla, the vizier Halian n'Halian has come 
aboard to escort you to the Women's Palace."
"Thank you," Silence said, feeling a sudden tightness in her throat. She could 
feel herself beginning to shake as she took up her position in front of the 
cabin door, and took deep, calming breaths. The trembling eased, but the tight 
knot of fear was back at the pit of her stomach. Then the tiny green light set 
into the bulkhead above the doorway winked out: Varid and n'Halian were at the 
grating. Silence hit the switch that opened the cabin door.
The vizier was a tall, gaunt man who wore his court dress -- silk trousers, 
brocade coat, and gorgeously embroidered sash-shawl -- with an air. As the door 
opened, he bowed slightly from the waist, and touched fingers to his lips. As he 
took his hand away, Silence saw that his forked beard was gilded at the tips, as 
though he had leaned forward into a pot of liquid gold. The effect was so 
startling that she almost missed his formal greeting.
"-- Anshar' Asteriona. In our common masters' names, I greet you. " N'Halian 
took a quick breath, and continued sonorously, "You have been commended to my 
care for the brief time until you reach the Palace of Women. I trust, Domna 
Jamilla, this is acceptable to you."
"Imn' zhayan," Silence answered, with a brief inclination of her head. N'Halian 
smiled glintingly -- his teeth, too, were set with gold, Silence realized. She 
was hard put not to laugh aloud at the sight.
The vizier seemed not to notice. "If you will bear witness, my lord captain?"
"As my lord wishes," Varid murmured.
N'Halian nodded, and with a flourish, stripped the sealtape from the lock. He 
folded the piece of tape carefully and tucked it into the folds of his waist 
sash. With another flourish, he produced a glittering lock-box and unlocked the 
grating. A junior officer -- a lieutenant this time, Silence noted -- hastened 
to pull back the grating, and n'Halian extended a long hand to the pilot. 
Silence came forward slowly, putting out her own hand, decently covered by the 
outer veil, to touch the other's wrist.
"If you will come with me, domna?" n'Halian went on.
"Imn' zhayan," Silence answered automatically, then contradicted herself. "Oh, 
but a moment, my lord. Captain Varid, I thank you for your courtesy in the 
preparation of my quarters. My journey was most pleasant."
"Our pleasure to serve," Varid answered.
N'Halian nodded. Silence wondered exactly what in her he was approving -- her 
courtesy, or her bravery in speaking to the captain without the vizier's consent 
-- and started down the starship's corridors. All the crewmen had, of course, 
been told to stay clear. Silence found the empty spaces disconcerting, and she 
was glad when they reached the main hatchway.
The cradle stairs were covered by a crimson carpet, and servants -- beautifully 
formed homunculi -- waited at the base of the stairs. They held a gold-fringed 
canopy blazoned with Inarime's red hart. As the two human beings approached, the 
homunculi lifted the canopy in salute. The vizier did not appear to notice as he 
took his place beneath it, Silence still modestly half a step to the rear.
The homunculi escorted them through Inarime's private docking shed, and out into 
the blazing sunlight of Asterion. Ballisarda was docked in the secluded sector 
reserved for the ships of planetary overlords; even so, Silence was amazed by 
the elaborate facilities. There were whole planets, in the Rusadir and on the 
Fringe, that lacked a single starport as elaborate as this private park. She 
counted nearly a dozen docking sheds, each one reserved for a single noble, and 
three or four support buildings before n'Halian cleared his throat softly, 
drawing her attention.
A temporary barrier had been set up about twenty meters from the Inariman shed, 
and half a dozen uniformed men waited beside it. There were more men, in the 
brighter uniforms of Inarime's private forces, waiting on the far side of the 
barrier, but Silence had eyes only for the first group. She recognized the sober 
blazoning only too well: these were men of the True Thousand, the elite 
aristocratic soldiers who were the real base of the Hegemon's power. Silence 
controlled her shudder with an effort, reminding herself of the officer who had 
been on Inarime, the one who had been present at the satrap's secret conference. 
Not all the men of the True Thousand were her enemies. Still, her hand trembled 
on the vizier's wrist. N'Halian gave her a sidelong glance and a quick, private 
smile.
"Courage domna," he said softly. "You have nothing to fear."
Silence kept her face expressionless behind her veils. She did not know if 
n'Halian knew about the satrap's plan, and could not tell from his words. In 
either case, she thought, I know better than you just how much there is to fear. 
I was on Arganthonios when the Thousand retook it from Wrath-of-God; I've been 
their prisoner. I know.
As they approached the barrier, the officer in command of the troop stepped 
forward, touching a hand to his heart in greeting. He wore a captain's crescent 
pinned to his collar. Seeing that, Silence allowed herself a soundless sigh of 
relief. If her real mission had been betrayed, surely the Hegemon would have 
sent a higher-ranking officer and a larger squad to arrest her.
"M'lord vizier, domna," the captain said. "May I see the lady's papers, my 
lord?"
"Of course, captain," n'Halian answered, and produced a slim gilt case from the 
folds of his sash. The women of the Hegemony did not carry their own papers, 
either: Silence had never even seen the documents on which her safety rested.
The captain accepted the case with a slight inclination of his head that might 
have been intended as a bow, and flipped back the lid. He carried a jeweled 
scanner on a waist chain, and brought it up smartly to record the information 
set out on the engraved plaque. In spite of the satrap's promises, Silence 
tensed beneath her veils. She still found it hard to believe that the Hegemony 
did not keep better track of the women of the Ten Thousand. Even if photos were 
prohibited, there were half a dozen other, equally accurate ways of ensuring 
identity. I suppose, Silence thought, they think one woman more or less couldn't 
make any difference. And who would believe a satrap would lie? Still, she was 
hard put to hide her sigh of relief as the captain snapped the case closed over 
the plate's micro-graved oaths and seals, and handed it back to n'Halian.
"In his Majesty's name, I welcome you to Anshar' Asteriona, Domna Jamilla," the 
captain said, and saluted gravely.
Silence bent her head in response, but could not quite bring herself to thank 
him for his courtesy. N'Halian shot her another quick look, and then the 
soldiers of the Thousand were trundling the barrier aside. The Inariman troops 
moved forward, bowing and touching hands to lips in Silence's direction.
A gaudy ground-effect vehicle was waiting, balanced on its cushion of air, 
flanked by grounded escort pods. N'Halian gestured to the gever's pilot, who 
lowered the bulky vehicle, fans whining in protest, until Silence was able to 
step easily into its carpeted interior. N'Halian followed her, and the gever 
bobbed back to its normal cruising level. The soldiers took their place in the 
escort pods and lifted rapidly, closing in around the gever. N'Halian touched a 
hidden control, and a clear dome slid into place over the passenger compartment. 
To Silence's pleased surprise, however, the vizier did not darken the glass but 
signaled the driver to proceed.
Anshar' Asteriona was a magnificent city. Silence had always known this, from 
star-travellers' stories and the tapes she had studied on Inarime, but the 
reality was enough to take her breath away. The main administrative complex, 
with its high spires and lacy, glittering walkways connecting each of the lesser 
buildings into a spectacular whole, was larger and more beautiful than most 
oligarchs' palaces in the Rusadir.
The pilot turned the gever onto a rampway that led into and then through the 
glass-roofed central arcade of the complex. Silence was dizzied by the sheer 
variety of figures flashing past, Hegemonic nobles in brilliant silks mingling 
with star-travellers in the dress of half a hundred worlds. Then the gever 
flashed under a meter-wide security band -- it turned briefly white, then green, 
registering both the escort's weaponry and its right to carry the heavy heylins 
-- and swept down a second ramp, to turn onto a wide, park-lined avenue. This 
was the famous Street of the Triumphs. Silence gave up her pretense of 
indifference, and stared open-mouthed as the gever slid beneath the first of the 
massive arches that spanned the roadway. The arch, of the semiprecious 
bluemarble found only on Elysium, was carved on every available surface with 
inscriptions in the flowing Hegemonic script and complicated, gem-studded 
reliefs.
"That's Fadil III's Triumph," n'Halian said, smiling. "To commemorate the Treaty 
of Elysium and the establishment of the Hegemony."
Silence nodded, still staring. They passed beneath a second arch, this one ten 
meters thick, carved from what seemed to be a single solid block of crystal. 
Within its depths, ghostly images formed and shifted. Most were starships locked 
in mortal combat, but the keystone, the most vivid image, showed a panoramic 
battle, a planet under attack.
"Adeben II's Triumph," n'Halian said, "celebrating the victory over 
Wrath-of-God. It's said --" The vizier gave a rather malicious smile. " -- that 
his Most Serene Majesty wants to build his own Wrath-of-God triumph, after the 
fighting on Arganthonios."
Silence snorted angrily, but managed to bite back the rest of her instant, 
bitter response. Arganthonios had been an ambush, not a battle; it hardly 
merited a commemorative medal, much less a Triumph to match the others. N'Halian 
gave her another unreadable glance, and Silence wondered again just how much the 
vizier knew about her mission.
The gever flashed beneath a third Triumph, this one black stone inlaid with line 
after line of silver Hegemonic script, and traffic began to pick up appreciably. 
The pilot slowed, muttering to himself, and n'Halian tapped one hand against the 
hidden control box. Silence, caught up in the spectacle outside the gever, 
barely noticed their impatience.
A dozen other gevers, each badged with the symbols of a noble house, made their 
way up the broad avenue, their escorts jostling for position. Other, slower 
ground transport hastily made way for them, while air scooters, their modified 
harmoniums humming like swarms of angry insects, darted in and out of the 
ponderous processions, the gaudily dressed young nobles who rode them exchanging 
cheerful obscenities with the soldiers of the escorts. One scooter darted 
perilously close to her own gever, and Silence caught a good look at the riders. 
The driver was a noble, of course, black-haired and with a neatly trimmed black 
beard, coat and sashes flapping in the wind, but his passenger was a woman. She 
was veiled, as law and custom required, but both her billowing drapery and the 
coat and trousers beneath it were sheer, almost transparent, revealing jeweled 
breast and crotch pieces. Silence raised an eyebrow, and n'Halian chuckled 
softly.
"A -- dancer," he said.
"A dancer," Silence repeated, and did her best to sound as though she believed 
him. N'Halian laughed again, but before he could say anything else, the pilot's 
attention was distracted by a heavily guarded palanquin, permanently joined to 
the shoulders of four heavy-service homunculi. The palanquin's curtains were 
laced tightly closed beneath the metal mesh shell, and the heavily armed escorts 
stayed very close to its sides, heylins at the ready. Even the most reckless of 
the young nobles were careful to give it a wide berth. Silence glanced curiously 
at n'Halian, but the vizier was looking elsewhere, and the pilot did not want to 
betray her lack of knowledge by asking outright. It was probably someone's wife, 
she decided, or maybe an unmarried girl -- certainly a woman of desirable age 
and good family.
The Street of Triumphs led directly to the Grand Palace itself. The gever slowed 
still further as it passed the perimeter markers, two slender white wands set 
into the immaculate turf to either side of the roadway. Silence eyed them 
curiously, feeling the tingle of leashed power, but the gever was still 
traveling too quickly for her to figure out exactly what defense screen they 
controlled. Then they were coming up on the deceptive outer wall of the 
compound, and Silence concentrated on the part she had to play.
There were more of the Thousand's troopers waiting beside the gate, led by 
another crescent-badged captain. N'Halian exchanged sonorous greetings with him, 
and handed over the case containing Silence's papers. The captain examined it 
with excruciating care, then motioned for the gever to proceed into the Palace. 
He did not return the case. The escort remained outside, grounding their pods to 
wait for n'Halian's return.
The captain led them not to the main buildings but to an auxiliary complex, then 
through a series of winding passages to an unroofed courtyard. A slim flyer was 
waiting there, its modified harmonium throbbing gently. At n'Halian's signal, 
the pilot lowered the gever almost to the ground, and the vizier stepped out, 
turning at once to help Silence disembark. Silence was grateful for his 
steadying hand as she turned to face the captain. He bowed sharply then, and 
returned the case to n'Halian. The vizier nodded thanks, and gestured sharply at 
the waiting flyer. A hatch slid back stiffly along its gleaming hull, and stairs 
unfolded with a gentle clicking.
"This will take you to the Women's Palace, my lord, lady domna," the captain 
announced.
"Thank you, captain," n'Halian answered, and motioned for Silence to precede him 
up the steps and into the flyer.
The interior of the flyer was very dark, and Silence reached instinctively for 
the control that would lighten the window glass. N'Halian shook his head, 
pointing to a pinpoint light on the forward bulkhead. "You can clear the windows 
when that light goes off," he said. "Security."
I should've guessed that they'd require that, Silence thought, and settled 
herself for a blind flight. When the cartographers went to great lengths to 
conceal even the general position of the Women's Palace on their maps, it stood 
to reason that the security troops would not advertise either the exact location 
or the particular routes used to get there. Then the liftoff slammed her back 
against the seat, and it took all her self-restraint to suppress a very 
unladylike curse.
The light stayed on for a little over an hour, straining Silence's nerves almost 
to the breaking point. When it winked out at last, Silence twisted the control 
so hard that the knob nearly came off in her hand. The windows lightened, and 
she peered out eagerly.
The flyer was just crossing over the shoreline of a large lake, heading out over 
open water. Silence had just enough time to register that the surrounding area 
was heavily wooded, without visible clearings or roads, when the flyer banked 
sharply, cutting off her view. This time she did swear, and apologized stiffly, 
too aware of the amusement in n'Halian's eyes. Then the flyer banked again, less 
steeply this time, and Silence caught her first glimpse of the Women's Palace.
It was set in the very center of the lake, on an island with banks so regular 
that they had to be artificial. The Palace itself, an odd, four-lobed building 
topped with extravagant towers and dotted with hidden courtyards, filled most of 
the available land, leaving only four thin triangles of grass in between the 
lobes of the building. Then the flyer straightened, cutting off Silence's view 
again, and began to descend toward the shoreline.
Silence frowned, and n'Halian said, "We land at the guardpost, and take a boat 
across to the Palace."
"Oh."
The flyer landed gently, but n'Halian did not move from his seat. After a 
moment, the hatch folded upward, and a helmeted face peered into the 
compartment. Silence tensed, but relaxed a little at n'Halian's discreet hand 
signal. A moment later, the head was withdrawn, and the steps unfolded 
themselves, clattering down to the pavement. N'Halian rose, stretching a little, 
and offered Silence his arm. The pilot took it, and together they descended the 
little stairway into the sunlight.
Another squad of the Thousand's soldiers were waiting on the smoothed landing 
field, drawn up in the double lines of an honor guard. Their commander, a full 
colonel this time, brought up his decorative sword in punctilious salute, but 
Silence's attention was caught by the heavily armored vehicle that stood to one 
side, its double cannons trained on the flyer. At least they don't suspect us, 
she thought, a little numbly, or they'd've blasted us already. With an inward 
shiver, she let n'Halian draw her toward the lake, following the colonel between 
the rows of soldiers.
An elaborate, flag-bedecked barge was drawn up against the end of the field that 
projected into the lake, and still more of the Thousand waited beneath the 
fluttering streamers. They saluted at their colonel's approach, and one -- a 
thin, graceful boy in a common soldier's coat -- hurried forward to help Silence 
into the barge. The pilot accepted his help, and let herself be led to a seat in 
the very center. N'Halian took his place at her left shoulder, one hand resting 
casually on the back of the chair.
"Cast off," the colonel ordered, and one of the troopers released his hold on a 
heavy line. Its engine throbbing throatily, the barge swung slowly away from the 
field.
The lake was very calm, kept so, Silence guessed, by elaborate counterharmonics 
and damping fields. The snow-white buildings of the Palace seemed to float like 
an icy sculpture just above the surface of the water. Viewed abstractly, it was 
very beautiful, but Silence was in no mood to appreciate its charms. All too 
soon now, she would be inside those walls, trapped by the rules of the Palace 
itself even if she was not inadvertently betrayed by Aili. She closed her eyes, 
mentally repeating relaxation exercises. The panic ebbed, but the cold knot of 
fear stayed solidly in her stomach.
Then the barge slid neatly against the Palace dock, and two of the troopers 
leaped out to secure the lines. N'Halian cleared his throat nervously. Silence 
gave a convulsive start and forced herself to move. Her fingers were icy: in a 
distant, irrelevant way, she felt sorry for the young officer who extended a 
hand to help her from the barge. Like a sleepwalker trapped in a nightmare, she 
followed the colonel and n'Halian down an interminable, blue-ceilinged corridor, 
until, quite suddenly, they emerged into a tiny courtyard. The walls surrounding 
it were completely windowless, the apparently solid stone pierced only by a door 
directly opposite the one from which they had just emerged. Silence could not 
resist a quick glance over her shoulder: the two were identical.
A broad band of black stone ran across the courtyard, dividing it into two equal 
sections. The colonel stopped well back of the line, and gestured to one of the 
troopers, who produced a small, curling trumpet. He sounded it, producing an 
ugly honking like a nahr-cat in heat, then sounded it again. Moving with an 
almost visible reluctance, the far door swung open.
Five women moved slowly into the courtyard. Three were clearly high-ranking 
servants like "Jamilla," the outline of the domna's robes plainly visible 
beneath their veils. Silence had eyes only for the other two. One, the smaller 
of the pair, wore a dress so full that her veil was stretched almost taut over 
the stiff skirts, displaying its bejeweled hem to great advantage. Silence 
guessed she was the shazadi Aili. The other, taller woman wore an outer veil 
that seemed to have been woven from solid gold. It was she who spoke first.
"Well, colonel?" The harsh voice seemed to come from nowhere. Silence shivered 
again, recognizing a will to match her own behind that concealing golden 
curtain.
The colonel bowed very low. "Your Serenity, I present the lord n'Halian, who 
speaks for the satrap of Inarime."
So the woman in the golden veil was the Hegemon's sister Radiah, Silence 
thought, the person who held at least nominal authority in the Women's Palace. 
And from the sound of her voice, her power is much more than merely nominal.
"Speak, Inarime's vizier," Radiah said. Her tone was not encouraging, and 
Silence saw that n'Halian bowed very low indeed.
"Your Serenity, I bring to the Palace and present for your approval the domna 
Jamilla Sahen, to be a companion to my master's daughter."
Radiah was silent for a long moment, then said, in the same discouraging tone, 
"Come here, girl."
That was not part of the ritual Silence had so carefully memorized. She did her 
best to hide her fear, however, and walked forward to the very edge of the black 
line. She could not step over it until she was officially accepted into the 
shazadi's household, but she would obey the Princess Royal's order as closely as 
she could. The golden veil shifted slightly, and Silence knew Radiah was 
examining her from behind its heavy folds. Even behind her own veil Silence 
braced herself, and was grateful when at last the Princess turned away.
"Inform your master, Inarime's vizier, that we accept this Jamilla Sahen into 
our household -- provisionally." Radiah turned, the metallic veil moving stiffly 
with her. "You, Jamilla, will come with me. Colonel, you are dismissed."
The colonel and n'Halian bowed again and backed toward the door by which they 
had entered the courtyard. Silence stepped unwillingly across the line and 
followed the other domnas through the second door. It slid closed behind them, 
leaving them in sudden darkness for a moment before the corridor lights clicked 
on. Silence heard Radiah mutter a startling curse and, quite suddenly, her own 
fear faded, eased by that evidence of human frailty. The Hegemon's sister was 
only a woman, after all, and an ill-tempered one, at that. I can deal with her, 
Silence told herself. Somehow, I can.
This corridor was much shorter than the one through which Silence had entered 
the Palace. It ended quite abruptly, a lighter door rolling back to reveal a 
pleasant, tree-lined walk. The domna to Silence's left gave a quite human sigh 
of relief, and hurried to help Radiah divest herself of her outer veil. Other 
women were waiting to help Aili and the domnas. Silence allowed one of them, a 
plump, pleasant-looking girl a few years younger than herself, to help her fold 
the heavy cloth back over her headdress. Aili, small and dark and slender, had 
already removed both veils, and advanced on Silence with outstretched arms. The 
pilot took a deep breath, knowing she couldn't delay any longer, and pulled off 
her underveil.
Aili checked, but only fractionally, and said, "Lord, Jamilla, you've changed." 
Without waiting for an answer, she embraced Silence warmly.
"It's been a long time, Aili," the pilot answered, cautiously. Over the 
shazadi's shoulder, she could see the Princess Royal watching them closely, and 
was suddenly glad Aili had explained her surprise.
"So," Radiah said. She had not removed her underveil, and did not seem inclined 
to do so; instead, she watched the younger women over its muffling folds. "You 
are Jamilla Sahen -- Admiral Sahen's daughter?"
Silence bobbed a curtsy, as she had been taught. "Yes, your Serenity."
"Then you must play nago," the Princess Royal continued. "Good."
Nago was the most popular gambling game in the Hegemonic Navy. Silence had been 
taught the rules, but she had no particular knack for gambling. Kalere had 
quickly decided that it would be better if she did not play at all, and had 
created half a dozen excuses for almost any social situation. However, Silence 
had not expected to have to produce them so soon. "I beg your Serenity's 
pardon," she stammered, "but I'm afraid I don't play. " She saw Aili's eyes 
widen slightly, as if in dismay, and Radiah's thin eyebrows drew together into a 
frown.
"The Jamilla Sahen of whom I am aware once defeated a full complement of ship's 
officers at nago." There was more than a hint of frost in Radiah's voice.
And why didn't someone tell me that? Silence wondered remotely. "My noble father 
was not pleased by the exploit, your Serenity," she improvised. "Thus, I do not 
play."
Aili relaxed slightly, but the Princess Royal continued to frown. "And if I 
command it?"
"Your Serenity," Aili interposed. She had a pleasant voice, low and sweet. "I 
beg your indulgence for Jamilla. If the lord admiral has forbidden her to play, 
surely she shouldn't go against his wishes? And in any case, she's just arrived, 
practically this instant. She must be exhausted from the trip, and I've so much 
to talk to her about."
The artless prattle seemed to soften Radiah's temper -- or was it all so 
artless, Silence wondered, watching the ways Aili's movements contradicted her 
words. The shazadi at least thought she had found a weak spot in the Princess 
Royal's armor, and was exploiting it to the fullest.
"Very well," Radiah said, "I will hold you excused for now, Jamilla. You may 
show her to your quarters, Aili."
"Thank you, your Serenity," Aili said, curtsying, and Silence copied her. The 
shazadi tugged at Silence's arm, drawing her off down the tree-lined walk, 
talking as she went.
"The homunculi will bring your luggage as soon as the colonel is satisfied it's 
safe." Aili's laugh was beautifully unforced. "I have most of this wing," she 
added, as they passed through a series of arches into a semi-enclosed arcade 
that looked out onto a small, unpretentious garden. At irregular intervals, the 
keystones were set with tiny carved faces. Watching closely, Silence saw one 
face open its eyes, following their passage, and looked away hastily. The garden 
looked pleasant. A fountain played gently in the center of the concentric 
circles that were the paths, and Silence could not help smiling at the sight.
"I'm glad you like it," Aili exclaimed. "This is one of my favorite places, too. 
Come on." Without waiting for a response, she pulled Silence through the nearest 
archway, and out into the garden. She led the unresisting pilot to the fountain, 
and seated herself on its edge, gesturing for Silence to sit beside her. "Now," 
Aili said, still with a smile that belied her sudden fierce whisper, "who the 
hell are you?"
Silence glanced quickly around, and saw no human eavesdroppers or any more of 
the carved faces. Even so, she lowered her own voice to an almost soundless 
whisper before she answered, "Your father sent me. By token of the nargal."
Aili relaxed slightly but visibly. "Thank God."
She sounded very different from the dutiful daughter Silence had been led to 
expect, and from the giddy child she had played for the Princess Royal. The 
pilot eyed her with new respect, saying, "Is it safe to talk?"
Aili gave a sudden, elfin grin. "As safe as anywhere, which is not very. "
Silence nodded, as much to herself as to the other. She had expected internal 
security to be fairly tight, and had made her plans accordingly. Besides, she 
thought as she closed her eyes and felt for the harmonic lines running beneath 
the Palace, a direct demonstration is the best way I can think of to convince 
her I'm a magus. The Palace was laid out roughly in tune with the planetary 
harmonies -- it would have to be, Silence thought, if they were using large 
numbers of homunculi as servants. She would not have to draw a ring, either: the 
nearest encircling path would do very nicely. She felt for the elemental 
harmonies, held them, and subvocalized the cantation that bent them to her will. 
She whispered the words that called up the Form of the aphonic ring, shaping air 
and earth with them, and felt the ring leap into place around them. She opened 
her eyes to see Aili staring at her.
"You're a magus," the shazadi stated flatly. "How in God's name did you get past 
the Seer?" Her eyes searched Silence's body in startled, appalled speculation, 
but then she shook her head, murmuring, "But even neutering couldn't change the 
chromosomes... ?"
"I'm a woman," Silence said impatiently, and then, as the other's words 
registered, added, "What Seer?"
"The black band in the entrance court," Aili said. "If a male crosses it -- and 
it defines 'male' by the genetic typing, not by bodily equipment -- alarms go 
off, the homunculi attack, and so on." She shook her head and returned to her 
primary question. "You can't be a magus. It's impossible."
I'm glad I didn't know about the Seer when I crossed it, Silence thought. Aloud, 
she said, "I am a magus -- and a star pilot, too, for that matter. I'm an 
anomaly, nobody's quite been able to explain me. It doesn't really matter, 
anyway. What does matter is that I have a magus's power, and I know how to use 
it." Mostly, she added, to herself.
Aili still looked skeptical, but the aphonic ring surrounding them, perceptible 
even to non-magi, was convincing evidence. "And my father sent you to -- what?"
"Get you out of here," Silence said. Even inside the aphonic ring, she lowered 
her voice as she added, "He's planning to attack the Hegemon and take the throne 
for himself, but he has to get you out of the way first, so you can't be used as 
a hostage."
Aili sighed. "That, Jamilla -- or whoever you are -- is likely to take some 
doing." Her voice changed suddenly, eyes focusing on someone behind Silence. 
"Quick, dissolve the ring!"
Silence made the necessary pass, and the ring vanished.
"Household homunculus," Aili hissed, "coming our way."
Silence turned at the creature's approach, successfully killing a shudder. Aili 
said, "Yes?"
"The mistress's pardon," the homunculus said in a flat, uninflected voice. "The 
new domna's baggage has arrived. Where shall it be put?"
Aili pulled herself to her feet. "We'd better see to that," she said. Silence 
sighed, agreeing, and followed the other woman into the depths of the Palace.
Chapter 7
IT TOOK ONLY A FEW DAYS FOR SILENCE TO ACCUSTOM herself to the routine of life 
in the Women's Palace. She was given a suite of rooms in the wing reserved for 
the shazadi and her household. The suite -- main room, study, bedroom, and 
lavish bath -- was small by Palace standards, but luxurious in comparison to the 
life Silence was used to, and even more elaborate than the room she had occupied 
on Inarime. In the mornings, she accompanied Aili to the Observances, the 
quasi-religious recitation of the Hegemon's names and titles, accompanied by 
formal protestations of loyalty. The Princess Royal was strict in meeting her 
own obligations, and would tolerate nothing less in the women who shared her 
palace. Then she waited on the shazadi through the interminable late-morning 
meal.
In the afternoon, she and Aili roamed through the Palace compounds and explored 
its facilities ostensibly catching up on the years they had spent apart, but 
actually examining the security arrangements. Evenings were spent in the 
Princess Royal's quarters talking, playing dominoes or nago or any of a dozen 
different card games, performing or listening to music. The Princess Royal did 
not ask Jamilla to play nago again, but Silence was often aware of Radiah's 
thoughtful gaze, and was very grateful she did not have to spend any more time 
in the older woman's company. She did not know exactly what, if anything, she 
had done to rouse the Princess Royal's suspicions -- the nago incident seemed 
absurdly small -- but she did her best to stay out of Radiah's way. The Princess 
Royal was not at all the spoiled, ornamental female Silence had been led to 
expect. She was a strong-willed, intelligent woman, who missed very little of 
what was going on in her kingdom. At the evening gatherings, Silence caught 
enough glimpses of books and study tapes to guess that the Princess Royal still 
dabbled in Hegemonic politics, and redoubled her efforts to avoid notice.
At least none of the other Palace inmates seemed to pose the same dangers as the 
Princess Royal. There weren't many of them, either: Silence, counting carefully, 
could find only six. There was the Princess Royal, of course, and the 
Queen-sister, the unmarried sister of the Hegemon's chief wife; Aili and four 
other shazadis, daughters and sisters of planetary satraps held unofficially as 
hostages; and one of the Hegemon's natural daughters, kept at the Palace until 
an appropriate alliance could be sealed with her marriage. She was a sweet, 
stupid girl of fourteen who took an unaccountable liking to Silence. Each of 
them had some kind of household, of course, ranging from a single domna to the 
six women who waited on the Princess Royal, but all told, Silence thought, there 
were fewer than forty women rattling about in a Palace clearly built to house 
several hundred.
"Where is everyone?" she asked abruptly.
Aili looked up curiously. The two women were sitting in a narrow, glass-enclosed 
gallery that overlooked the lake on one side, and the shazadi's favorite garden 
on the other. Silence had sealed it against prying her second day on Asterion. A 
piece of crystal, tossed casually into a flower arrangement, would glow red if 
anyone tampered with her work. Even so, old habits were hard to break: both 
women still spoke elliptically, their voices lowered.
"What do you mean?" the shazadi asked.
"The Palace...." Silence shrugged, annoyed with herself for being unnecessarily 
curious. "It just seems as though there ought to be more people here, that's 
all."
Aili grinned. It was her private smile, a fierce, boyish grin that she was 
careful to hide from the other inmates. Seeing it, Silence was again reminded of 
how wrong she had been in her expectations. "Most of the Thousand would rather 
keep their women at home these days," the shazadi said. "His Most Serene 
Majesty's temper is a little -- uncertain, of late. No one wants to leave him a 
hostage if they can help it. The only women here who aren't part of his family 
are hostages, like me." Aili lowered her voice, glancing automatically over her 
shoulder. "And then, of course, there's Radiah."
"Radiah?" Silence asked. "What about her?"
"Don't you know the story?" Aili returned. "Where have you been?"
Silence was strongly tempted to answer, but bit back the words just in time. She 
was not angry at the shazadi at all, but at the entire situation, at the 
necessity for caution and methodical planning, when every nerve in her body 
still screamed for her to run. "No, I don't," she said aloud, and the shazadi 
looked properly contrite.
"I'm sorry, Jamilla, I wasn't thinking. They say that Radiah was exiled here 
because she meddled too much in politics. I hear it's true, all right, but her 
real crime was that she was smarter about it than his Most Serene Majesty. It's 
certain the Hegemon's policy has been a lot less clever since she took up 
residence here."
"That's not very reassuring," Silence muttered.
"No, I suppose not," Aili admitted, her smile fading. She set aside her 
needlework and leaned forward. "What do you think our chances are?"
Silence sighed, and did not answer at once, staring out over the calm waters of 
the lake. The afternoon sunlight, pouring in through the thick glass, was an 
almost physical weight pressing against her skin; it sparkled gaily from the 
tiny wavelets. The lake itself was the greatest obstacle. The Palace's defenses 
were intended to keep people out rather than to keep people in. Silence had 
already spotted two unused water-gates she thought she could open.
"I don't know," she said at last. "There's the old boathouse gate, and the spot 
over the intake -- you were there when I found them, so you know. I'm pretty 
sure I can get us out." She stared morosely across the glittering water. "The 
trouble is, first, I don't know if I can keep the alarms from sounding. Hell, I 
don't even know what the alarms are, or how they work. And then, I don't know 
how to get us across the lake before we're missed. The guards would have no 
trouble at all spotting us on the water."
Aili nodded thoughtfully. "Some sort of diversion?" she began doubtfully, and 
Silence shrugged.
"I really need to know more about the alarm system."
"Of course." Aili looked up, her eyes sparkling. "If I were to get you access to 
the Palace library, do you think it might hold information on the alarms?"
"It might," Silence said. More probably it wouldn't, she added to herself, and 
even if it does, it will be well hidden and well protected from prying eyes like 
mine. Seeing the excitement in the shazadi's face, however, Silence didn't have 
the heart to voice her thoughts. "It's worth a try. I didn't know this place had 
a library."
"One of her Serenity's better-kept secrets," Aili answered.
Silence nodded. That actually might improve the chances of the information she 
wanted being in the library, and accessible. She said aloud, "In the meantime, I 
think it's time we made contact with your father's agent here. There are some 
things I need to make a start on breaking out, and the sooner I get to work, the 
better."
Aili nodded, consulting the chronograph pinned to her skirt. "I can do that 
within the hour." She gave a sudden, almost shy smile. "I play chess with him 
every afternoon."
Silence's eyebrows rose. Aili had a regular game of chess -- by ghost-link, of 
course -- with one of the officers of the Thousand attached to the lakeside 
guardpost. The pilot had spent a number of dull afternoons draped in her 
uncomfortable veiling, watching a similarly veiled Aili move sensitized pieces 
across a gemstone board. A magus's link-spell carried her move to the man 
waiting on the lake shore, and moved the ghostly reflection of his pieces along 
her board. "Coded moves?" she asked.
"Not exactly," Aili answered. "I wouldn't spoil my game for anything. You'll 
see." She stood, glancing over her shoulder into the garden, and stiffened 
abruptly. "Oh, lord, Jamilla, it's your shadow."
Silence stood, too, and swore softly. Ceiki, the Hegemon's illegitimate 
daughter, was moving purposefully along the paths, heading for Aili's quarters. 
The shazadi said, between amusement and annoyance, "She's got quite a crush on 
you."
"If only she weren't so damned stupid," Silence said.
Aili frowned, this time at Silence. "She's not so much stupid as uneducated. I 
doubt she can do much more than write her name -- his Most Serene Majesty 
doesn't believe in wasting money on tutors for his bastards, especially the 
girls."
"With all the tutors in the world," Silence said, unwarily, "she'd still be 
stupid."
There was a moment's dangerous quiet, and then Aili said, very slowly, "You 
don't like women very much, do you, 'Jamilla'?"
Silence turned on her, stung, but there was enough truth in the shazadi's words 
to cut off the instant response. After a moment, she said, "I haven't known 
many. But I'm learning."
Aili relaxed a little, muttering an apology, and Silence managed some 
embarrassed response. It was a deserved reproof, the pilot admitted. She had 
been trying so hard to fit in as a pilot, on Solitudo, and even before, that she 
had started to believe the things men said about women. There was absolutely no 
reason to feel that way, either; there was always Misthia, an entire planet 
ruled by women, to disprove the slanders. The Misthians she had known -- too few 
of them -- were good people. Tasarla, the best of them, had died on 
Arganthonios, saving another Misthian's ship; two more Misthians had been 
instrumental in helping her get back Recusante. Silence's eyes filled with 
unexpected tears. She sniffed angrily, trying to decide what to say, how to 
defend herself, but before she could think of anything, there was a knock at the 
door.
"Get the field, quick," Aili hissed.
Silence made the gesture that dissolved her security rings, and the shazadi 
opened the door to admit Ceiki. The Hegemon's daughter was a stocky, round-faced 
child who reminded Silence of nothing so much as an importunate puppy. Mindful 
of Aili's criticism, the pilot did her best to be gracious to the girl, and to 
her surprise Ceiki expanded under the attention. By the time Aili reminded them 
of the time, and her upcoming chess game, Silence was almost willing to admit 
that the shazadi might be right. Certainly Ceiki was deplorably ignorant; 
equally certainly she was interested in at least a few things other than the 
approved talk of clothes and marriages and babies. Still, it was hard to tell 
the difference between ignorance and stupidity, and Silence could not quite 
decide which Ceiki was. One thing's for sure, though, Silence thought as Aili 
sent the girl on her way and prepared to settle down to her chess game. If I'd 
met Ceiki in the Fringe -- on Delos, say -- she's just the sort of kid I'd want 
to tell star-travellers' stories to.
Aili had had the homunculi screen off an alcove for her chess set. There was 
barely enough room in the tiny enclosure for two chairs and the specially built 
table. Usually, the shazadi negotiated the confined space with unconscious 
grace. Today, however, she managed to bump against the table, sending some of 
her own pieces crashing to the floor. She and the guardsman had been in the 
middle of a game. Behind the light, informal veil, Aili made a self-disgusted 
face, and reached to pick up the pieces. They had been late in arriving, too; 
already, the link had been established, and the translucent shadow-shapes of the 
guardsman's pieces were already in place.
Aili hesitated theatrically, then set her knight back on the board. She had put 
it in the wrong place, Silence realized abruptly, and her interest sharpened. An 
instant later, the guardsman's shadowy red knight rose from its place, tapped a 
different square, and returned to the place where it had started. But that 
wasn't the white knight's position, either, Silence thought. Aili smiled behind 
her veil, and put the knight where it belonged.
The shazadi repeated the performance with the fallen bishop, putting it on the 
wrong square, allowing herself to be "corrected", and finally returning the 
piece to its proper place, then settled down to play out the rest of the game. 
Silence watched with half an eye, her mind on the coded messages. It was an 
extremely clever code, she thought admiringly -- it was reasonably flexible, it 
fit perfectly into Aili's established routine, and it was impossible to decipher 
without the key. She was barely able to control her impatience, but at last, the 
hour-and-a-half allotted for chess dragged to an end, and the guard's pieces 
faded gently away. Aili gave a reluctant sigh and stood, stretching.
Silence moved to help her with her veil, saying softly, "Well? Did you get 
through?"
"Oh, yes," Aili said absently. Her mind was clearly still on the game. "He's 
very good, that one. I hear he was a planetary junior master, when he was a 
cadet."
Silence paused, the coded message driven momentarily from her mind. "You don't 
just hold him even, either. I've seen you win, oh, at least twice. How good are 
you, Aili?"
The shazadi faced her. "Women of the Thousand may not compete in the tourneys," 
she said. "But... Four years ago, there was an open competition on Inarime, and 
I entered anonymously -- I played from a covered palanquin. They computed my 
rank then at the system-tourney level."
Silence whistled softly. There were only a couple of hundred men in 
human-settled space who could regularly compete in the systemwide tournaments. 
For Aili to equal them, without their opportunities to practice and compete.... 
Silence did not finish the thought.
"Anyway," Aili said, shaking away her mood, "I passed along the message. He'll 
be here the day after tomorrow."
As the shazadi had promised, two days later Silence was summoned from her lunch 
to stand in for Aili in receiving a message from the satrap. The pilot had been 
well briefed in the appropriate procedures on Inarime -- the satrap's agent was 
not of sufficient rank to allow him to meet Aili face to face, and so had to 
convey all messages through the shazadi's domna -- but her briefing had not 
prepared her for the Princess Royal's disapproving presence at the ritual 
veiling. It took all Silence's concentration to remember everything, unnerved as 
she was by Radiah's unwavering stare, and she was already exhausted by the time 
the homunculi led her down the chill corridor to the entrance court.
The door slid back, disclosing the slim figure of a young man in the full formal 
uniform of the Thousand standing just across the black line of the Seer. Silence 
took a tighter grip on the innocent-looking worry-stone she carried beneath her 
veil -- it was actually one of Isambard's warning devices, and would grow warm 
if they were being monitored. She stepped into the courtyard just as the 
homunculus announced flatly, "Domna Jamilla Sahen, I present Captain-Lieutenant 
Marcinik."
Somehow, Silence kept from crying out, but she stopped in her tracks, unable for 
a moment to go on. Marcinik.... That figure had looked vaguely familiar, but she 
hadn't been able to place it from the one brief glance. Marcinik had been an 
officer on the Hegemonic transport where she had first discovered her anomalous 
powers. He had shown them all a sort of distant kindness when they thought 
Balthasar was going to die, and he would certainly, unquestionably, remember 
Chase Mago and the Delian, even if he didn't recognize Silence beneath the 
concealing veil.
The pilot forced herself to move forward again, aware she was drawing the wrong 
kind of attention from the captain-lieutenant. The Marcinik she remembered had 
been a mere lieutenant, she thought without much hope. Maybe this is a different 
man. Then they faced each other across the Seer, and that hope died. The 
captain-lieutenant had not changed much over the months since Silence's capture 
and escape. He was still very handsome, in the almond-eyed, aristocratic way of 
the Thousand, but there were two faint, fresh lines bracketing the corners of a 
surprisingly firm mouth. He was eyeing Silence curiously, as though trying to 
place her while he waited for her to speak.
Etiquette demanded that she speak first. Trying to disguise her voice as much as 
possible, the pilot said, "Captain-Lieutenant Marcinik?"
Marcinik's eyes widened sharply, and he said, "Silence Leigh." His voice was the 
merest thread of sound. Nevertheless, Silence winced, tightening her grip on the 
sensor egg. It remained reassuringly cold to the touch.
"I fear you're mistaken," she began, and Marcinik shook his head.
"I couldn't forget you, sieura. Not after all this." Her confusion must have 
shown through the veil, Silence realized, because Marcinik managed a humorless 
grin. "My dear Sieura Leigh, service at the Women's Palace is no great honor, 
not even when it comes with a promotion. The Hegemon was very angry at your 
escape; I'm one of the many who got blamed for it."
Silence felt her blood run cold. If Marcinik blamed her for his demotion -- as 
well he might, she thought dizzily, it did seem to be her fault -- not only 
could he refuse to help her, but it would be easy to turn her over to the 
Hegemon. He would certainly earn back his place in the fighting ranks -- even 
win a real promotion for it. Desperately, Silence sought for something to say to 
persuade him not to turn her in, but to help them all.
The captain-lieutenant's smile abruptly disappeared. "And you're serving her 
Highness?"
There weren't many occasions for complete honesty, Silence thought, but this was 
one of them. "We -- my husbands and I -- are working for his Highness of 
Inarime. We've come to rescue Aili before the attack."
"Them, too?" Marcinik's jaw dropped, then set into a mulish scowl. "Does his 
Highness know what he's dealing with?"
"Yes," Silence snapped, "and I'm the only person who can help Aili now. But I 
can't do it without an outside contact."
She watched the play of emotions on Marcinik's handsome face -- anger at her, at 
his demotion, at the Hegemon -- and chagrin warring with his loyalty to the 
satrap of Inarime and his daughter. Abruptly, the captain-lieutenant shook his 
head. "I've sworn an oath," he said, "to serve him and to protect her." He 
jerked his head almost imperceptibly at the Palace beyond the courtyard walls. 
"And to have vengeance. What do you want me to do?"
Silence let out a soundless sigh of relief. "First, I need you to establish 
contact with my husbands. They'll be arriving on Asterion within the next day or 
so. It's just possible they're already here, but I doubt it. Their ship is a 
small freighter, about a hundred-twenty mass units, called Recusante. They're 
officially under charter to a magus called Jeks." Isambard had felt an alias was 
necessary, after he had vanished rather precipitously from Hegemonic service. 
"He'll probably have some things for me. Can you smuggle them into the Palace?"
"Would this Jeks be the Doctor Isambard who deserted during the siege of Castax 
and was subsequently condemned in absentia by the Hegemon himself?" Marcinik 
asked wearily.
"Condemned?" Silence shot back.
The captain-lieutenant nodded. "To death."
"I didn't know that," Silence said. "I don't think he did, either."
"The proceedings were kept semi-secret," Marcinik answered. "Only the people 
already involved with you know about it. But the port authorities will be 
looking for him."
"Damn," Silence said. "Oh, damn." Without Isambard's advice and his ability to 
procure the things she would need to escape from the Palace, she was not at all 
sure she could manage.
"However," Marcinik went on, still in that same, tired voice, "you are here, so 
I think it's safe to assume that he made it, too. What do you need from this 
Doctor Jeks?"
Silence shook herself. The captain-lieutenant was right, there was no point in 
worrying yet. "He'll have a packet made up -- a basic magus's kit. Can you get 
that in?"
"And you're a magus, too." Marcinik gave her a rather bitter look. "There's 
nothing in it that would show up on sensors as overtly harmful?"
Silence shook her head.
"Then I can probably pass it in as a medical supplement," Marcinik said. "The 
message I've brought's a medical one."
The sensor egg grew suddenly hot in Silence's hand. She hissed at Marcinik to be 
quiet, saying quickly, "Her Highness will be relieved at that." As she spoke, 
she glanced overhead. A brilliantly hued creature, like a Ras Oavran jewelfly 
but twice that insect's size, hovered overhead, watching and listening.
Marcinik, obedient to the pilot's hint, was droning on about the results of 
Aili's latest scan-check. After a moment, the giant jewelfly darted away. The 
egg slowly cooled, and Silence remembered to breathe. "It's gone," she said 
softly.
Marcinik nodded. "I'll take your messages," he said, "but for now, I must be 
going." He brought out a message-wafer sealed in a gaudy envelope, and set it 
down just on his side of the Seer. He managed a sort of apologetic smile as he 
added, "I'm afraid you'll have to take that from there."
Silence smiled back and stooped as gracefully as she could manage for the 
envelope. As she came upright again, Marcinik bowed sharply. "My best 
compliments to your mistress, domna," he said. "Until we meet again."
"Until we meet again," Silence echoed.
To Silence's unspoken relief, the Princess Royal was otherwise occupied when she 
returned, and it was the placid, easygoing queen-sister who superintended the 
veil-raising. Her questions -- intended to make sure that the domnas were not 
corrupted or unduly influenced by their work -- were perfunctory, and rather 
wistful. Silence guessed she missed the world outside.
As soon as the brief ceremony was over, she was free to do as she liked. Trying 
not to seem in too much of a hurry -- she did not want to rouse any gossip or 
speculation as to the contents of the message -- she made her way back to the 
shazadi's rooms. Aili was waiting on the protected gallery, staring out over the 
lake. She turned quickly as Silence entered.
"Well?"
Silence did not answer at once, hastily making the gestures and whispering the 
cantrips that activated her security seals. When she was satisfied everything 
was in place, she said, "He'll act as our liaison. He'll be bringing in a 
magus's kit for me soon. I don't know when, exactly, but it'll be coming in as a 
medical kit. He said it'd tie in with this message." She took the bright 
envelope from the pocket of her overdress, and handed it to the shazadi. Aili 
took it absently, snapping the seal, but did not open it at once.
"Tell me," she said, and there was a new note in her voice that made Silence 
look up sharply. "How is Marcinik?"
"You didn't tell me his name -- I didn't know you knew it."
"You know him?" Aili's hands closed tight on the message-wafer.
"In a way," Silence answered grimly. She did not think this was the time to go 
into her life's story. "I wish you'd told me."
Aili took a deep breath, her eyelids fluttering in uncharacteristic 
embarrassment. "I beg your pardon, Jamilla. I didn't mean to be so abrupt."
With a start, Silence realized that the shazadi was not apologizing for 
withholding the captain-lieutenant's name. Before she could figure out quite 
what it was that Aili was sorry for, the shazadi went on, "But tell me, is he 
well?"
"He seems to be," Silence said. "He looks about the same as when I saw him -- a 
little less harried, maybe. Why do you ask?"
"He plays a good game of chess," Aili answered, her eyes still lowered. Then she 
looked up again and said, defiantly, "Because I'm interested in him. Because if 
my father wins, I will be his first heir, and I can marry whom I like. And I 
like him."
All this from a few games of chess? Silence thought, feeling suddenly very old. 
Then again, why not? Hell, I decided to marry Denis and Julie because we made a 
good starship's crew. And from all I saw on that damned transport, Marcinik's 
better than most of his kind. Aili was still watching her, waiting for some 
response. Silence said, "What does he want?" It was not quite what she had 
intended to say, but somewhat to her surprise, the shazadi did not seem 
offended.
"I know my worth. If my father wins, there's no man in human-settled space who'd 
refuse me." Aili's face softened slightly, shyly. "But I think he might want me 
anyway."
"Then good luck to you." Silence glanced at the still-unopened envelope, but 
Aili forestalled her.
"Are you married?"
Silence hesitated, but answered truthfully. "Yes."
"I know so little about you," Aili mused, almost as though she had forgotten 
there was someone else in the room. "I didn't think you would be. I mean, why 
would you, a magus, bother?"
Silence laughed aloud. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Aili was still 
staring expectantly at her, and the pilot sighed, sobering. "I married my 
husbands -- yes, two of them -- because it was convenient, for a lot of reasons 
too complicated to go into. And I stayed with them because we suit each other. 
We work well together and, I suppose, we love each other." Quite suddenly, she 
was afraid for them, landing on Asterion without knowing there was a price on 
Isambard, and closed her eyes to hide the fear.
"I'm sorry," Aili said again. "I shouldn't pry."
"It's all right," Silence said, indistinctly, and pointed to the letter. "What 
about it?"
Aili pulled out the message wafer, scanned its cryptic symbols and, 
unexpectedly, laughed. "I've been diagnosed as suffering from tristitia, 
compounded by homesickness. The doctors prescribe various herbs, elixirs, and 
such, compounded from Inariman ingredients, plus extra attention from home -- 
and, most of all, familiar company. That means you, Jamilla."
Silence nodded, smiling. Tristitia was one of those nebulous complaints that 
often afflicted women of the Thousand. Its presence was hard to disprove, and 
its cure provided an excellent excuse for receiving visits and packages. The 
satrap's plan was proceeding on schedule.
Aili snapped her fingers. "I've got more good news, too," she exclaimed. "I 
spoke to the Princess Royal today. I told her you were interested in naval 
history because of your father, and she said you could use the Palace library if 
you wanted. You're to report to her after the Observances tomorrow, and she'll 
show you what you can and can't touch."
"Wonderful," Silence said, without much enthusiasm.
The next morning she dressed with special care, choosing her plainest dress to 
wear beneath the sober overgown. After a moment's hesitation, she tucked a small 
informal veil into the gown's pockets. She should not need it, but the Princess 
Royal was enough of a martinet to invoke one of the minor rules and require her 
to wear it while reading books written by men. There's no point in borrowing 
trouble, Silence told herself sternly, and headed for the hall where the 
Observances were held.
At the end of the tedious ceremonial -- after the first day, Silence had 
resolved never to allow anyone to trace her family tree -- the pilot presented 
herself before the Princess Royal. She bobbed a curtsy, well aware of Radiah's 
disdainful stare, murmuring, "Her Highness informed me that you've condescended 
to allow me to use the Palace library, your Serenity?"
The hovering domna sniffed, but Radiah answered mildly enough, "That's correct. 
She told me you were interested in history?"
"Naval history, your Serenity," Silence said. It was dangerous to correct the 
Princess Royal, but the pilot guessed Radiah had made that slip quite 
deliberately. "My honored father encourages it."
The Princess Royal made a noncommittal noise, and said, "Come with me."
She turned and stalked away without waiting to see if Silence would follow. The 
pilot had to scramble to catch up. The Princess Royal led them rapidly through a 
maze of corridors, across a narrow strip of gardens, and back into the Palace 
corridors. Silence, who had gotten a fairly clear picture of the Palace's layout 
during her explorations with Aili, realized that Radiah was deliberately leading 
them astray, doubling back on her trail at least once. For an instant she 
wondered why the Princess Royal would bother, but then, looking at the domnas, 
the pilot thought she understood. If she could not find her own way to the 
library, Radiah would have an even better excuse to send her own domnas as 
escorts -- and to keep track of Silence's movements. The pilot hid a smile. She 
was perfectly willing to let a domna escort her back and forth, as long as that 
domna let her alone to work. At last Radiah brought them up a spiral staircase 
into a dim, wood-paneled corridor.
This was the old administrative part of the Palace, Silence realized, built over 
the corridor that led from the main gate to the Seer's courtyard, and she felt a 
sudden surge of hope. If the library was part of that complex, there was a 
better chance that she could find information on the security arrangements. 
After all, the original administrators would have had to have access to that 
material.
The Princess Royal stopped abruptly in front of a door banded with strips of 
what appeared to be raw gold. She produced a slim, jewel-headed control wand 
from somewhere in her voluminous robes, and passed it twice across a concealed 
receptor. A moment later the door swung back, and a strange object creaked into 
view.
It was a homunculus, Silence realized at once, but of a totally unfamiliar kind. 
It had a standard, humanoid head and torso, shaped so as to be completely 
sexless, but that torso was set into a wheeled pedestal that glittered with 
lights and strange, inset characters. It was very old: the grey pseudo-flesh had 
a blurred, worn look, as though the details of its formation had been rubbed 
away over the years. With more creaking, it managed a sort of jerky bow, bending 
from the neck and bobbing its shoulders a little, and said, in a voice as dusty 
as the top of its pedestal, "The Princess Royal requires?"
"I wish to admit a new user to the Library," Radiah answered. Without looking 
back, she snapped her fingers at her own domna, who hastily put something into 
the Princess Royal's hand. "Her name is Jamilla Sahen, domna to the shazadi Aili 
of Inarime. This is her card." She held up a thin metal plaque, letting it 
dangle by its silver chain. The plaque itself seemed mostly blue, but changed 
colors as it moved, waves of gold and green and red washing across its surface.
The homunculus made its peculiar bow again. "I accept the Princess Royal's 
wishes."
Radiah eyed it without favor and turned to Silence. "Domna Jamilla, this is your 
user's card. You must wear it while you are inside the library. If you remove 
it, or if you should -- accidentally, of course -- attempt to use books outside 
the area in which you've declared an interest, the Librarian will be summoned, 
and you will lose your privilege. This card only grants access to the historical 
materials." She seemed to be smiling grimly behind her veil. "I would regret to 
hear that you had been careless."
Silence curtsied again, and allowed the Princess Royal to place the chain around 
her neck. "I'll be very careful, your Serenity, I promise." And I will, too, the 
pilot added, but not quite the way you mean.
"I'm sure you will," Radiah said, disconcertingly. She gestured to her domna. 
"Pilisi will return for you at noon."
Silence curtsied once again, murmuring her thanks, and the two women vanished 
down the corridor. The homunculus made a throat-clearing noise. "If the lady 
domna will follow me?"
"Lead on," Silence said, and followed the strange construction into the library.
The room was much taller than she had expected. She paused, disoriented, then 
realized she must be at the base of one of the towers that sprouted from the 
main buildings. It was like being at the bottom of a well, except that the walls 
were lined with shelf after shelf of books, rising to a ceiling five stories 
away. What Silence had at first taken for sunlight was the light of a faceted 
lamp set at the very point of the tower roof. For a moment, she could not figure 
out how one could reach the upper levels of books, then realized that a narrow 
ramp spiraled up the tower wall, giving access to all the shelves.
The homunculus was waiting patiently beside a high carrel. Silence shook herself 
and moved to join it, still trying to take in everything at once. There were 
only two study tables, each with a heavily padded chair and a separately lighted 
noteboard, but there were a few other, less comfortable-looking chairs set at 
intervals along the walls and on the ramp itself.
"This is the catalogue," the homunculus announced sonorously, and Silence 
dragged her attention back to it. One twig-fingered, grey-fleshed hand was 
pointing to the set of six heavy volumes chained to the shelf above the carrel. 
The pilot suppressed a shudder, and nodded.
"As you can see, the volumes may not be moved from this place," the homunculus 
continued. "You may obtain the shelf location from the Catalogue, and then 
either I will fetch them for you, or you may get them yourself, if you wish to 
do so. You may move freely along the ramp, but do not touch the books except in 
the areas for which you have been granted privileges. Do you have any questions, 
Domna Jamilla?"
"Yes." Silence had been studying the room as the creature spoke; now she pointed 
at a glass case that stood at the opposite end of the room from the Catalogue. 
It held what seemed to be a crystal sculpture, but it was impossible to make out 
the details at a distance. "What's that?"
The homunculus's eyes flashed red. "Restricted!" it rasped, in a voice entirely 
unlike its previous, polite drone. Silence whispered a curse, furious that she 
had already managed to get her privileges revoked, and then the homunculus's 
primary imprinting reasserted itself, overriding the security print. "I beg your 
pardon, lady domna, but that is restricted, part of the security system. The 
case should not even be uncovered. I will have to ask you to excuse me." It 
rolled away without waiting for Silence to reply.
"Of course I'll excuse you," Silence said. "I'll be sure to keep well away, 
too." At least, she added, until I can find a way to override this card, and get 
a good look at it. Whatever the thing is, if it's part of the security system, I 
want a look at it.
The homunculus drew a heavy grey-blue cover up over the case, and Silence's 
interest sharpened even further. The cover looked as though it were made of 
dura-felt, the specially treated material used to protect a starship's keel 
against interference. If the case's contents had to be protected by 
dura-felt.... Then the homunculus was rolling back toward the Catalogue, and the 
pilot hastily smoothed her expression.
"The Catalogue is organized on the Solitudo system," the homunculus went on, as 
if there had been no interruption. "Do you need further instruction, lady 
domna?"
Silence suppressed a laugh, and shook her head. "No, thank you, that will be 
all." She reached for the first of the Catalogue volumes and the homunculus 
rolled away again, to return a moment later pushing a high, wheeled stool. It 
carried a noteboard and stylus in its free hand. Silence took them, muttering 
her thanks, and settled herself to work, flipping through the first volume. She 
was almost painfully familiar with Solitude's system, after the time she had 
spent in the magi's great Library. She found the first set of entries on her 
ostensible subject without trouble, and began automatically to copy out the 
shelf notes, letting her mind range freely.
Her job here was twofold, she decided. First, to find out if the information she 
wanted was here. Involuntarily, her eyes strayed to the covered case at the far 
end of the room. And, second, to figure out a way to get at that information. 
Thoughtfully, she caressed the user's card on its chain around her neck, rubbing 
its lightly incised surface between her thumb and forefinger. It had the slick, 
coated feel of a magus's work. She rubbed harder, and felt it vibrate gently in 
response, more a tingling in her brain than a real sensation. It was a simple 
harmonic receptor, then, she thought, tuned to a particular harmony, and set to 
broadcast the dissonance if someone picks up the wrong book. The question now is 
how the book's harmonies are set -- probably a sounding disk somewhere in the 
book itself, since the homunculus said the alarm was set off by touching the 
wrong books. That was easily enough checked, later, but for now it was more 
important that she find out about the security systems.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the homunculus had retreated to a 
corner and seemed almost to doze, its thin arms folded across its chest. Silence 
took a deep breath, and trying not to look too furtive, lifted down the 
Catalogue's fourth volume. She was braced for alarms, but nothing happened. Of 
course not, she told herself almost angrily, flipping hastily through the pages. 
The Solitude system is so strange that you can't ever predict exactly where 
you'll find a reference. They can't sensitize the Catalogue. She found the 
section she was looking for quickly enough, and skimmed through it, pausing only 
to memorize a pair of shelf listings. There was, of course, no entry reading 
"Palace security blueprints," but she was familiar enough with the peculiarities 
of Solitude's codes to guess that "Custodiae, aleph/second-trial, blue and 
green" was probably what she wanted. She set the volume back in its place and 
rose stiffly, stretching. The homunculus, alerted by her movements, unfolded its 
arms and rolled forward, bowing.
"May I serve you, lady domna?"
"Yes," Silence said. "Where would I find these shelf listings?"
"I can bring them for you, Domna Jamilla, if you wish," the homunculus 
responded.
"No, I want to look for myself," Silence said. "Where would I find them?"
The homunculus gave an almost human sigh, shifting its torso to point to the 
ramp's entrance. "The books are shelved according to the Catalogue entries, 
first books at the bottom, later books on the upper levels, and so on to the 
top. These books --" The homunculus shifted its body again with another sighing 
sound. "These books are on the second level, halfway around."
Silence sighed herself -- that meant climbing two and a half stories -- but 
said, "Thank you." She made her way up the long ramp, very careful not to get 
too close to the books. She could feel a sort of sound radiating from them, from 
tiny disks buried somewhere in their bindings, and she could feel her card 
vibrating with that sound, ready to burst into dissonance at any moment. If she 
stretched out a hand, touched the source of the almost-music, the vibrations 
would travel through her bones, strike the card, and flower into an angry noise. 
She could picture herself doing it, so vividly that she was tempted to touch the 
nearest book and get it over with, but fought the feeling under control, 
shuddering. She had felt something like that once before, looking down from the 
Nathra Tower on Cap Bel, seven stories from the open roof garden to the square 
below. She had imagined herself leaning forward, falling, a picture so horribly 
real that she had almost wished to fall just to stop the image.
Then at last she had reached the second level, and the buzzing above her heart 
faded away. The compulsion faded with it, and she drew a shaky breath. She moved 
slowly, scanning the bindings for the proper symbols, until she found the first 
of the volumes on her list. It was on the bottom shelf, perfect for her 
purposes. She knelt, glancing quickly through the railing to be sure the 
homunculus had returned to its corner, and laid her hand gently against the 
spine of the book. She felt the vibration swell under her fingers, travelling 
along the channel of her arm, setting bone and flesh singing to the same note. 
It reached the card, struck a sympathetic harmony from its receptor, and 
broadened into soundless song. Silence stayed frozen, letting the harmonies 
sound through her until she was sure she understood the system, then let the 
book slide back into place. I can change the card, she thought triumphantly. I 
can give myself the access I want.
Then her triumph faded slightly, and she sighed, reaching again for the book. 
She couldn't change the card here and now, and it was important that she have 
some solid work to show for her hours in the library. She settled herself in the 
nearest chair, half a turn down from the book's location, not far from the 
painted band that marked the beginning of the second level.
Before she could skim through more than a few pages, a gong sounded, seemingly 
in midair. Silence started, nearly dropping her book, and the homunculus sprang 
into motion, rolling toward the door. It opened at his approach, and the pilot 
caught a glimpse of the oddly foreshortened figure of Radiah's domna waiting 
just outside the door. The homunculus conferred briefly with her, then rolled 
back to the center of the library, gesturing for Silence to come down.
"Domna Jamilla, the Princess Royal has sent Domna Pilisi to fetch you."
For an instant, Silence was seized by utter panic, but then she caught sight of 
her own chronograph. She had been in the library longer than she had realized. 
It was already noon, and Pilisi was just arriving on schedule, not because the 
Princess Royal suspected anything. Still, there could be no harm in reinforcing 
the other domna's self-importance a little. Silence took a deep breath and 
leaned over the railing, calling, "Oh, please, Domna Pilisi, can't I stay just a 
little longer?"
Through the doorway, she could just see Pilisi swell like a puff-bird, gloating 
in her borrowed authority. "Of course not, Domna Jamilla. Her Serenity's orders 
were quite explicit. Come down at once."
Silence hid a smile and did as she was told, first returning the book to its 
place in the shelves. It had been a profitable day, she thought, as she followed 
Pilisi back through the corridors toward Aili's rooms. I know where the 
information I need is; now all I have to do is get at it. And once I change this 
card -- she stroked it gently, very grateful that Isambard's teaching had 
emphasized harmonics -- I shouldn't have any trouble at all.
Aili was waiting eagerly for her return. The shazadi had had their luncheon laid 
out on the protected balcony, Silence saw with approval. They would be able to 
talk in reasonable safety. While they ate, she explained what she had done that 
morning, and what she would have to do to get the information for their escape, 
tossing the user's card casually onto the table between them. Aili eyed it 
warily, touched it with a cautious finger, but did not pick it up.
"I don't feel anything," she said.
"Oh, it's there, all right," Silence said. Her skin still tingled lightly from 
its touch. "How soon do you think Marcinik can bring in my things?"
Aili shrugged. "Not for another three or four days, at least. It would take that 
long for a package to get here from Inarime."
"Too long." Silence bit thoughtfully at her thumbnail, a habit she thought she 
had conquered years before. Scowling, she went on, "We don't have a whole lot of 
time before your father's fleet lifts from Inarime."
"We still have three weeks," Aili objected softly.
Silence did not answer, staring out across the lake. The surface shivered a 
little under an unusually brisk breeze; otherwise, nothing had changed from all 
the other days. "The trouble is," she said, half to herself, "I need to make a 
tincture before I can work on the card. And I can't make a tincture without the 
materials in the kit. Well, I could, theoretically, but I doubt I could find the 
time or the privacy to make it work...." She let her voice trail off, still 
staring at the lake.
"What sort of materials do you need?" Aili asked hesitantly.
Silence shrugged, her mind elsewhere. "Nivi casi, protean matter, materia 
stellans, things like that. Almost anything in which a magus has fixed power, 
actually...." A lamp? she wondered suddenly. One of those fixed-fire globes? She 
discarded the idea almost as soon as it was formed, not without regret. But fire 
was probably the most dangerous elemental force, even diluted and adulterated as 
it must be in the lamps. There was too much chance of setting the entire Palace 
on fire -- and besides, she thought, the homunculi would certainly spot a 
missing light-globe, and report it to the Princess Royal. The same held true for 
all the other nonmechanical objects she had seen in the Palace: if they weren't 
too dangerous to use, their absence would be noticed and reported.
The lake shivered again as the breeze struck its surface, but refused to break 
into whitecaps. Silence smiled slowly. The lake was held in place by an 
elaborate stasis web, the kind the magi used to keep unstable liquids from 
separating. Though this was on a much larger scale, surely the process could not 
be that different. And the first step in creating a stasis web involved infusing 
the liquid with a tincture of materia stellans. There would be enough of the 
stuff suspended in the liquid for her to distill and use.
"You've thought of something?" Aili asked.
Silence nodded, still smiling. "How close can we get to the lake?"
Aili shrugged, looking confused, but answered, "To the water, if we can get into 
the boathouse."
Silence grimaced. The boathouse was locked, and subject to frequent inspections 
and overflights from the giant jewelflies. The shazadi went on, "Or we could try 
the pleasance."
"Pleasance?" Silence asked. It was the first she'd heard of such a thing.
"One of the Hegemons built it for his mother," Aili answered, impatiently. "It's 
a bathing pool, let into the Palace walls. Nobody uses it because the Princess 
Royal doesn't approve of swimming, but she hasn't actually forbidden it. I 
didn't think of it before," she added, in answer to the pilot's unspoken 
criticism, "because it doesn't connect to the lake in any useful way. It's 
heavily screened. Nothing could get in or out."
"But the water comes directly from the lake?" Silence asked, and the shazadi 
nodded. Silence smiled. "Do you know how to swim?"
After some searching, Aili found bathing costumes for both of them, 
high-collared, sleeveless bodysuits and loose-fitting, hooded robes. Silence was 
enough taller than the shazadi to make the bodysuit uncomfortably tight, but 
Aili deftly slit and restitched the side and shoulder seams to make it wearable. 
It was harder than Silence had expected to find something to carry the water in, 
but finally Aili sacrificed the contents of two bottles of scented oil, and the 
pilot tucked the carefully rinsed bottles into the pocket of her robe. Aili led 
the way onto the lower concourse, and from there to the lower perimeter walk, 
careful to stay out of sight of any of the Princess Royal's servants.
The bathing pool was little more than a sort of cage built into the angle of the 
outer walls where two of the four lobes met. A narrow tiled platform jutted into 
the water, and there were two smaller pools, each no more than fifteen 
centimeters deep.
"Wading pools," Aili explained, and laughed at the pilot's expression of 
disgust. "Not everyone can swim, Jamilla."
Silence did not answer, surveying the water beyond the platform. As Aili had 
said, the bathing area connected directly with the lake. The coppery bars of the 
cage, webbed with almost invisible mesh, swept out and down, to vanish below the 
surface some twelve meters from the end of the platform. Underwater, Silence 
knew, they would curve back to meet the Palace wall. She wondered how much depth 
the designers had left for swimming.
"We'd better get on with it," she said, and loosened the ties of her robe, 
letting the spongy cloth pool around her feet. The breeze was unexpectedly chill 
against her bare skin, much cooler than it had seemed inside the Palace. The 
pilot shivered. Aili hugged herself and reached quickly for her discarded robe. 
Silence dropped to her knees, fumbling for the first bottle. She was just about 
to pull it from the robe's pocket when a harsh voice froze her in her tracks.
"What is this, Aili?"
Silence let the bottle slide back into its hiding place, and turned slowly, 
still on her knees. The Princess Royal, flanked by two of her domnas and 
followed by a long-limbed household homunculus, stood just inside the doorway, 
frowning suspiciously at the two younger women.
Aili let her robe fall again, and heroically hid a shiver as she answered, "We 
wanted to swim, your Serenity. I hope I haven't offended...."
The Princess Royal's eyes darted from Silence to the shazadi and back to 
Silence. "Domna Jamilla," Radiah began, disapproval heavy in her voice, "I might 
have expected such hoyden's behavior from the daughter of a mere admiral. I can 
hardly consider you fit company --"
"I beg your Serenity's clemency," Aili interrupted, managing to appear at once 
contrite and winsome. "It's all my fault. I persuaded Jamilla to come -- it's 
been so long since I've been swimming, your Serenity, and I've missed it so 
much."
"Indeed."
Silence could see, in the hard, suspicious line of Radiah's mouth, that the 
Princess Royal did not believe Aili's story, and held her breath, waiting for 
the decision. Still, Radiah had no proof that they were lying. As long as the 
Princess Royal did not search the robes, they should be all right, Silence 
thought. And surely even Radiah needs some kind of excuse, if she's to treat a 
satrap's daughter like a criminal.
Slowly, the Princess Royal's mouth relaxed, curving into an unpleasant smile as 
she stared at Silence. "You should have informed me of your intentions, Aili," 
she said, with an attempt at cordiality. "But of course you can swim, if you 
like. Pilisi, stay with them as domna while they take their exercise."
For a moment, Aili seemed about to protest, and Silence tensed, willing her to 
keep quiet. Then the shazadi relaxed almost imperceptibly, and said, "Your 
Serenity is too gracious. Thank you -- and thank you, Pilisi."
The Princess Royal's smile widened slightly. "Don't let me delay you, girls."
It might as well have been an order, Silence thought. "Thank you, your 
Serenity," she said, through clenched teeth, and walked to the edge of the 
platform. Under the Princess Royal's watchful eye, there was no point in delay. 
Silence took a deep breath, not quite daring to dive, and jumped.
The water was icy. She sank deep, swearing to herself, and struck the floor of 
the cage about three meters down. She pushed off, hard, and broke the surface, 
gasping as much from the cold as from the lack of oxygen. Aili, standing on the 
edge of the platform, was watching dubiously. Silence could feel her teeth 
beginning to chatter as she beckoned for the shazadi to join her. Aili made an 
indescribable face and dove in, to surface neatly half a meter from Silence's 
outstretched hand.
She cursed feelingly, if softly, her lips already blued with cold, and said, 
"How long do we keep this up?"
"As long as we have to," Silence said, grimly. She could see the Princess Royal 
watching from the platform, the same unpleasant smile still playing on her lips. 
"Swim, and swim hard." The pilot followed her own advice, kicking strongly for 
the cage. I should've known it would be this cold, she berated herself. Of 
course a stasis field would do this, especially when it's created on such a 
large scale.
Her hand touched the fragile-looking mesh of the cage, and she clung there for a 
moment, gasping, until Aili caught up with her. The Princess Royal had vanished, 
but Pilisi was still standing on the platform, her dark robes conspicuous 
against the white stone of the Palace.
"Back again?" Aili asked, shivering, and Silence nodded, too cold to speak. "How 
are we going to get the bottles filled now?"
Silence shrugged, and started for the platform. The shazadi splashed after her, 
swearing.
Silence clung to the edge of the platform for a moment, gathering her strength, 
then hauled herself up onto the tiled surface. For a moment, it seemed warm out 
of the water, and then the breeze circled back, chilling her even further. In 
the pool, Aili ducked lower in the water, obviously preferring that to the touch 
of the air. Silence reached into the pocket of her robe and brought out the 
bottle. Checking to be sure the stopper was securely seated, she tossed it in 
Aili's direction, shouting, "Catch!"
The shazadi stared blankly at her for a moment, but dove obediently toward the 
floating bottle. Silence reached for the second one, and Pilisi called, "Stop."
The pilot froze, then forced herself to turn toward the other domna. "What's 
wrong?"
"It's time to come in," Pilisi said, querulously. Silence could see her hugging 
herself through the thick cloth of her overgown. It was cold on the platform, 
the pilot thought, hiding a grin, and Pilisi wasn't one to suffer for someone 
else's pleasure, or even the Princess Royal's revenge.
"But Domna Pilisi," Silence began, hoping Aili would use the diversion to fill 
her bottle. Pilisi shook her head.
"No more. My lady shazadi, you must come in at once."
Silence made a sort of half-bow, stooping to collect Aili's robe, and turned to 
help the shazadi onto the platform. Aili was already clinging to the tiled edge 
with one hand, the other out of sight below the surface. As Silence bent to help 
her up, the pilot let the robe spill out of her hands in concealing folds; in 
the same instant, Aili whipped the filled and stoppered bottle out of the water 
and tucked it deftly into the robe's pocket. The whole thing was over in an 
instant, as neatly, Silence thought, as if they'd rehearsed it a hundred times. 
She set the robe aside, mumbling something, and caught the shazadi's wrists, 
half pulling the other woman out of the water.
Aili was shivering painfully, and Silence was quick to wrap the thick robe 
around the smaller woman's shoulders. "I'm quite all right," the shazadi said. 
"Get yourself warm, too."
Silence shrugged on her own robe, grateful for its warmth, and allowed Pilisi to 
herd them back inside the Palace, ignoring her grumbled complaints. At the 
crossroads, where a gently sloping ramp led up from the perimeter walks to the 
well-lit corridors of the main level, Aili turned abruptly, saying in a voice 
Silence had never heard her use before, "That will be all, Domna Pilisi. You may 
go."
Pilisi was obviously not prepared for that sudden assertion of authority either, 
Silence saw with delight. The older domna hesitated, and Aili said, with the 
same flat assumption of superiority, "Her Serenity was most gracious, but you 
may go now."
Routed, Pilisi bobbed a quick curtsy and edged away, glancing nervously over her 
shoulder as she went. When she was out of earshot, Aili said, tonelessly, "That 
bitch."
Silence shrugged, and said, driven by an obscure impulse, "It wasn't Pilisi's 
fault."
"I didn't mean her," Aili snapped. "I meant her damned Serenity. She knew how 
cold the water would be. She did that out of pure malice."
"I should've realized, too," Silence said. "I'm sorry, Aili."
"It's not your fault," Aili said, and shivered convulsively. "God, I don't think 
I'll ever be warm again."
"I know," Silence said, and the shazadi gave her a quick, rueful smile. "But at 
least we got the water."
Aili shivered again. "I think I'd rather have waited."
They followed the main arcade back toward Aili's quarters, no longer restricted 
to the back hallways. The sun streamed through the skylights, warming them. By 
the time they reached the triple arch that marked the boundary of the shazadi's 
quarters, Silence was feeling fully recovered, and thoroughly pleased with 
herself. She was already planning the next part of her plan when an odd 
snuffling sound broke her concentration.
"What -- ?" she began, but Aili had already darted into the nearest alcove. 
Swearing to herself, Silence followed, to find the shazadi kneeling in front of 
a sobbing Ceiki, who obstinately refused to budge from her contorted position, 
pressed tight into the corner of the alcove. Aili gave Silence a meaningful 
glance, and awkwardly, the pilot held out her hands, saying, "Ceiki?"
Still sobbing, the girl launched herself into Silence's arms, and clung tight. 
Not knowing what else to do, Silence stroked her hair, saying, "Hush now, what's 
wrong?"
After a few moments, Ceiki's sobs eased a little, and Silence managed to get 
them both seated on the alcove's bench. Aili made herself as inconspicuous as 
possible in the archway. "What is it?" Silence said again.
Ceiki sniffled, cautiously wiping her face with the lining of her sleeve. "It's 
-- I'm to be married," she managed at last.
"So soon?" Silence exclaimed, startled.
"It's for an alliance, they said," Ceiki answered. "To the satrap of Aja."
Aili gave a soft hiss, instantly cut off. Silence glanced up at her, and saw the 
shazadi's face set tight with anger. So it was not likely to be a good marriage, 
either, she thought.
Ceiki went on without noticing the exchange of glances. "He's old, and he's got 
three wives already. I don't want to marry him."
She seemed about to burst into tears again. Silence reached for her hand, saying 
foolishly, "Now, Ceiki...."
"When is the betrothal?" Aili asked.
"Two weeks," Ceiki answered, and wiped her eyes again. "Twelve days exactly." 
She squeezed Silence's hand painfully tight. "Jamilla, what do I do?"
Silence shook her head, hating herself for not having a better answer. "I don't 
know, Ceiki. I'm so sorry...."
"Ceiki." Aili straightened abruptly. "Your domna."
Ceiki gave a final choked sob, but straightened her back obediently as the large 
woman swept into view, almost filling the alcove.
"There you are, darling. I've been looking for you. Come along, we've a lot to 
do before you're betrothed." For the first time, she seemed to notice that the 
girl had been crying. "Now, now, no need for that, you're to be married. Think, 
Ceiki, and to a satrap, too. How marvelous, especially for a girl of your 
birth." Still talking, she led Ceiki away, the girl staring forlornly over her 
shoulder at Silence.
As soon as they were out of sight, Silence spat on the gilded tiles, furious 
with herself for being so ineffectual. "We couldn't bring her with us," she 
said, more than half to herself. "It just isn't possible. She sleeps in the 
Princess Royal's wing...."
Aili was mumbling something under her breath, and the pilot looked sharply at 
her. "What?"
"I said, when my father wins...." Aili broke off with a quick gasp of alarm. 
"What am I saying?"
Silence took a deep breath, calming herself with an effort. "There's nothing we 
can do now," she said, as much to convince herself as to convince Aili. "Later, 
this betrothal can be repudiated." She sighed and looked up at the shazadi. "But 
for now -- Aili, doesn't a betrothal involve all sorts of festivities, feasting, 
fireworks, general merriment?"
Aili nodded, puzzled.
Silence managed a bitter smile. "And there's a betrothal twelve days from today. 
I think we have our diversion."
Chapter 8
SILENCE DID HER BEST TO PUT CEIKI'S MISERY OUT OF HER thoughts, concentrating 
instead on modifying the user's card for her own escape. That's the best help 
you can give the girl, she told herself firmly, and tried not to think about it 
any more. The first step was to distill from the lake water enough of the 
materia stellans to make a tincture strong enough to affect the user's card. 
That was a fairly simple process even without a magus's specialized equipment, 
and Silence set to work at once.
As Asterion's sun was setting, she took her place on the shielded balcony, the 
bottle of lake water balanced awkwardly between a flat silver dish and a dozen 
folded squares of Sareptan linen, all "borrowed" from the Palace storage cells. 
Silence set a work ring while the shadows deepened into evening, and as the 
first stars appeared, very pale against the darkening blue, poured the water out 
into the dish. It sparkled, very faintly, with a light that was not reflected 
starlight. It was a good thing Asterion had no natural moon, Silence thought, 
laying the first of the napkins across the dish. Lunar harmonies would only make 
the process more complicated.
When the last of the sunset had faded from the sky, Silence passed her hand 
gently over the dish, not quite touching the draped napkin. She felt nothing, 
and frowned, then composed herself and tried again. This time, she felt a 
feather's touch in the palm of her hand: the materia was reacting to the stellar 
harmonies, setting up the faintest of vibrations in the air around it. Good, she 
thought. At least I know there's enough materia to work with.
She had no monochord to set the proper harmonies, but for this process, almost 
mechanical in its repetitive simplicity, she hardly needed it. Murmuring the 
first cantrip, she let herself slip into the waking trance. The glimmering grew 
stronger beneath the napkin, silvery at first, then tinged with flickers of 
other colors, no sooner named than they were gone. The lake, too, shone with the 
same cold fires. Silence smiled and spoke the second cantrip, feeling the world 
shift and broaden, then spoke the words that released the materia from its 
temporary bond with the lake water. Very slowly, it began to work itself free, 
rising only to be stopped by the thin fabric of the napkin.
Silence waited while the materia gathered on the underside of the napkin, caught 
up in the strange timelessness that was the magus's view of reality. Overhead, 
the stars took on new depth and color, scattered against the blue-black 
magnificence of the sky. Once, there was a distant flash of red as a starship's 
keel touched atmosphere; Silence watched it slide from near zenith to the 
horizon, too far outside herself to wish she were its pilot. The lake shivered 
and glowed, the bonded materia in its heart writing strange patterns across its 
still surface.
After a while, the napkin glowed strongly. Silence passed her hand across its 
surface again, feeling the materia still moving in the lake water, and reached 
for another of the napkins. She spread it across the dish above the first, then, 
very carefully, eased the first napkin out from under the fresh one. She folded 
the filled napkin with deliberate haste, making sure the side that held the 
captured materia was turned to the inside, and finished by fastening the corners 
in an elaborate, significant knot. Despite her care, however, a little of the 
materia escaped, the glittering specks flashing up into the air as though they 
had a will of their own. Silence watched them rise faster and faster, the cloud 
dissipating as it rose. A distant part of her being hoped that the guards at the 
lakeshore post were not watching the Palace too closely tonight. Then she 
returned to her vigil.
Releasing the bonded materia stellans from the lake water took most of the 
night. Silence returned to her bed in time to snatch an hour's broken sleep 
before a household homunculus roused her for the Observances, and managed to 
doze for another three hours while pretending to read in the Palace library. She 
snatched another few hours' sleep that afternoon, pleading a mild, female 
complaint, and spent the evening preparing herself for another sleepless night.
This time, she had to reverse the process she had used the night before, 
returning the materia to water to make a tincture strong enough to allow her to 
change the coding of her user's card. This, too, was a long, quasi-mechanical 
process, and Silence was exhausted by the time she had finished. She dozed 
through the next morning's library session as well, waking up just in time for 
Pilisi to bring her back to the main section of the Palace. Aili was waiting 
with a message from the Princess Royal: Radiah had noted Jamilla's absence from 
the evening gathering with regret, and hoped the domna would be present today. 
There was no evading that veiled command, and Silence resigned herself to an 
evening of boredom, telling herself firmly that she would work the better for a 
good night's sleep.
It was not until the following afternoon that Silence was finally able to begin 
work on the user's card. She had spent her morning's session in the library 
ostensibly searching for a couple of oddly catalogued texts, but in actuality 
moving up and down the ramp in a last-minute check of her calculations. By the 
time she was able to return to the protected balcony, she was certain she knew 
what had to be done.
Aili had succeeded in borrowing a glassflute belonging to one of the other 
shazadis, and had left it on the balcony. The glassflute was a common instrument 
in both Hegemony and Rusadir; it was also close enough in form to stand in for a 
magus's pipe. On Solitude, Silence had been forced to learn its simple 
fingerings. She glanced quickly at the crystal telltale, which still shone 
clear, set the user's card into the silver dish, and poured the tincture she had 
made the night before over it. Then she redrew her isolation ring, bringing 
flute and tincture inside it with her, and set to work.
The library's security system was based on a modified sequence of Mercury, with 
its five essential notes and almost infinite variations. The user's card was set 
to resonate to a limited number of those variations. Silence had to change its 
tuning, make it respond to the full range of the Mercurian sequence. 
Experimentally, she lifted the glassflute, fumbled through a trial scale. The 
notes were eerie, threaded with odd, semi-audible overtones, but the important 
ones sounded clear and true. Silence took a deep breath, set the flute aside, 
and bent over the dish that held the tincture and the user's card.
The tincture, which had stood motionless in the silver dish, indistinguishable 
from ordinary water except by the occasional mother-of-pearl shadow that crossed 
its surface, was releasing tiny bubbles, clustering around the edge of the bowl. 
So far, at least, things were going well. Silence closed her eyes, marshalling 
her strength -- she was still not completely recovered from the effects of two 
nearly sleepless nights -- and whispered the first cantrip. The water shivered 
lightly as she spoke -- or was it just that she was able to perceive a 
shivering, she wondered. She had to drag herself back from that seductive line 
of contemplation. It was all right to lose herself in that sort of much-debated 
mystery when she had nothing to do but monitor an ongoing process; it was 
another thing entirely when she had an active role to perform.
She spoke the second cantrip, feeling the air tremble as the barriers between 
realities weakened and it met the submaterial reflection of itself, and quickly 
capped that with a third phrase, and a fourth. The user's card lay inert at the 
bottom of the dish. Silence frowned. She had been certain she knew the key 
words, had recognized the feel of the cantrips and invocations that had created 
the card. She hesitated, assessing what she had done, the tensions inherent in 
the air around her. Then, cautiously, she intoned a final phrase. The words, 
though spoken softly, rolled like thunder in the quiet of the ring. Silence 
winced slightly, but in the dish, the surface of the card seemed to move. The 
final phrase had hit the precise combination of Forms used to shape the card, 
unlocking it from its fixed state. It was ready to be reshaped to Silence's 
will.
The pilot took two slow, deep breaths and lifted the card from the dish of 
tincture. The liquid was so cold that she was mildly surprised to find it water 
rather than ice, and the card itself was cold enough to burn. Silence suppressed 
her curse and hung the card on the air before her. It floated balanced on the 
conjunction of the three planes. The metal of the card looked odd, unfinished, 
as though only surface tension held it in its present shape. Strange shadows 
seemed to move beneath its polished surface.
Silence noted them without really appreciating their peculiar beauty, working 
her fingers to free them of the numbing cold. When she was certain they would 
not slip on the glassflute's keys, she lifted the flute and blew a single, 
experimental note. More shadows danced and twisted across the card. Silence 
watched these movements with interest, mapping the pattern they formed. She 
sounded a second note, and a third, and so on through the Mercurian sequence, 
until she was certain she had traced the card's tuning precisely. Then, very 
carefully, she spoke a final word. The shadows in the card writhed and pulsed, 
seeming almost ready to burst through the deceptive tension that held it to its 
given form. An edge bulged fractionally, fell back into place; a corner shifted 
momentarily out of true, and snapped back again. Silence lifted the glassflute 
and played the Mercurian sequence a final time, watching the music give new 
order to the card. Colors flared beneath the golden surface, whirled through a 
rainbow-hued pinwheel like a miniature fireworks display, and settled slowly. 
Silence spoke the phrase that sealed the new form into material reality, and the 
tingling tension vanished from the air. Deprived of its support, the card fell 
clattering to the tiled floor.
Drained by her efforts, Silence stooped to pick it up, already scanning its 
surface for any signs of her tampering. The card now felt very warm to her 
touch, but that faded even as she noticed it. It seemed otherwise unchanged. 
Sighing her relief, she placed the card back around her neck and took up the 
glassflute again. She ran through the Keplerian Variations on the sequence of 
Mercury and felt the card respond. Now, at last, she was grateful for Isambard's 
insistence that she learn the major sequential variations on a variety of 
different instruments. The card trembled gently against her skin, stinging into 
dissonance only when her fingers faltered and she hit an out-of-sequence note. 
She had done all that she could here; only using it would prove if she had been 
completely successful. Stretching, she reached to dissolve the ring.
By the next morning, however, some of her confidence had eroded. She found 
herself almost regretting the moment when the Observances ended, and Pilisi 
appeared to escort her to the Library. It was all she could do not to lag 
behind, and despite her efforts, Pilisi gave her a curious look.
"Are you all right, Jamilla?"
Silence bit back a curse, and answered, "I'm fine -- truth. I'm just tired." 
Pilisi's eyes narrowed, and the pilot added quickly, "Women's troubles." It was 
the perfect excuse. Pilisi's suspicion faded visibly, and there was even a touch 
of sympathy in her voice.
"A bad time of it? I'm sorry. Should you be working?"
"The best thing for me," Silence answered, and was proud of her rather martyred 
smile. Pilisi gave her another assessing look, and the pilot suppressed another 
curse. Surely I haven't overdone it? she thought.
Then they had reached the library door, and Pilisi gave a fractional shrug. "If 
you need help, tell the librarian to summon one of us," she said, and passed her 
hand across the sensor plate. The door opened, the librarian-homunculus creaking 
forward to great them. Silence took a deep breath, hoping her modifications 
would work, and stepped across the threshold. The user's card thrummed against 
her heart. She flinched, waiting for it to burst into song or crashing 
dissonance, but after that one pulsing burst, it steadied to the normal gentle 
buzzing.
The homunculus brought her noteboard and stylus, then rolled back to its corner 
and seemed to become dormant. Silence settled herself in front of the Catalogue, 
selected a volume at random, and composed herself to look busy. She waited for 
seven minutes by the clock, then, stretching, slid from her high stool. The 
homunculus's eyes flickered open. Silence shook her head at it, smiling, and its 
eyes closed again. It had become used to her insistence on finding her own 
books.
Silence started up the ramp, and felt the card tremble against her skin as she 
came within range of the disks buried in the books. The trembling had a new 
feeling to it, a sense of harmony rather than of dissonance. She hid her smile 
of triumph: the retuning had worked. The book she wanted -- the Custodiae -- was 
well up in the tower, at the border of the fourth and fifth levels. She took her 
time climbing the ramp, pausing once or twice to pretend to examine a book, and 
tucked a pair of heavy naval volumes under her arm. The homunculus did not stir 
from its somnolent state.
At the painted band that marked the division between the fourth and fifth 
levels, Silence paused, glancing back over the railing. Far below, the 
homunculus drowsed in its corner, arms folded across its worn torso, eyes 
closed. It should not move, she knew, unless the security system alerted it. She 
took a deep breath, and turned back to the shelves.
She found the book she wanted quickly enough. It was the only one of its kind in 
the row, a massive, metal-bound volume nearly twenty centimeters thick. Bracing 
herself for disaster, Silence pulled it quickly from its place. The card 
tingled, recognizing a sympathetic harmony. The pilot glanced again over the 
railing: the homunculus had not stirred. She allowed herself a quick, triumphant 
smile, and settled on the floor of the ramp, flipping quickly through the 
metal-edged pages.
Most of the book was taken up with particular schemae, the conventional notation 
of harmonic formulae. Silence skimmed through them, barely acknowledging the 
sting of regret that she did not have time to examine them more closely, until 
she found the section she was looking for. This was an appendix intended for the 
magi's employers: a layman's explanation of the processes, and, more important, 
of precisely what had been done.
Some of it Silence had already discovered -- the hovering giant jewel-flies that 
kept a random watch on the outdoor areas of the Palace; the guard-homunculi that 
populated the lowest levels, where the service locks were located; the 
watcher-nodes set in the boathouse and the governors and recall/overrides set in 
the fantastically shaped boats themselves; the faces in the side corridors' 
ceilings. It was good to have their presence confirmed, and to learn that the 
magi who installed them had not used any particularly esoteric techniques. There 
were other things that Silence had not even suspected: the corridor-spanning 
gates that could be closed in an emergency to seal off parts of the Palace, for 
one, and the elaborate auxiliary installations linked to the courtyard Seer. 
Worst of all, the magi had created the Palace and the lake together; buildings 
and lakebed were webbed with an elaborate sensor net that would report and track 
any unexplained movements. Silence swore softly to herself. If she and Aili were 
to escape, that net would have to be deactivated somehow. She reread the 
specifications, more carefully this time. The net was intended primarily to 
catch anyone trying to enter the Palace, not an inmate trying to escape; that 
was something in her favor.
Then a smaller notation caught her eye, directing her to the second volume of 
the Custodiae. She frowned, but searched the shelf in front of her until she 
found it. This was a much thinner book, bound in duplas rather than metal, and 
the publication date was considerably later: clearly there had been 
modifications to the system over the years. Silence sighed at the thought of 
having to take that into account as well. But as she skimmed through the second 
volume -- less lavishly illustrated, and full of relatively clumsy schemae -- 
she realized that all of the modifications had been intended to channel the 
original security system through a single control point. Silence muttered 
another curse, and flipped through the pages again to find the set of schemae 
that dealt with the control point itself. If the control point were located in 
the lakeside guard post, as was only logical, it would be almost impossible to 
put the system out of action, unless...
She found the schemae then, and set herself to read carefully. If the magi who 
made the changes had wanted to save time and effort -- and they seemed to have 
been far less skillful than the magi who had created the first system -- it was 
possible they had tied everything together in the Palace, and linked that 
primary control point to a secondary point on the shore. So far, the schemae 
pointed to that solution. Then she turned a page, and gasped at the drawing 
spread out before her. It was a sketch of the Palace -- or no, she realized 
instantly, a sketch of the control point -- which was itself an exact model of 
the Palace and its surrounding lake. Hieroglyphs along the margin indicated it 
was made of the most expensive materials the magi had been able to find -- 
halcyon crystal, shirai, a bed of crushed gems for the waters of the lake. 
Halcyon crystal was an excellent harmonic conductor, too, Silence thought, 
though rarely used because of its cost. It would have been simple to set up a 
resonating copy in the guardpost, carved to sound to the same harmonies as the 
original; a small harmonium would provide any ampliflcation that was needed. 
According to the notes, the copy, of less powerful material, remained inert 
until a special signal triggered it, presumably to conserve power. The question 
now was where the Palace's model was kept.
She turned the page, found that the section ended there, and turned back to the 
illustration, squinting at the square of tiny characters that filled one corner 
of the page. The words were not High Speech or coine. Silence frowned at them 
for a moment before she realized that they were written in a drastically 
abbreviated magistical neo-latin. Sure now that she had found the information 
she needed -- magi did not bother with neo-latin unless they had something to 
conceal from the uninitiated -- she set to work, first guessing at the full word 
behind the abbreviation, then puzzling out the sense of the entire paragraph. 
"Word having been brought to us of the Hegemon's wishes, the installation will 
be placed in the quarters of the queen-mother." Silence swore briefly at that -- 
the queen-mother's quarters were bound to be the rooms now occupied by the 
Princess Royal -- but there was a second sentence as well. And it was 
handwritten, Silence realized, though the magus had done his best to copy the 
neatly printed characters. She puzzled through it, and then, slowly, began to 
smile. "At his Most Serene Majesty's request," the crabbed characters read, "the 
installation has been removed to its present location in the library; 
appropriate modifications will be made to the serving homunculus."
Silence set both volumes carefully back in their places, and glanced again over 
the railing. The homunculus was still dormant, but the pilot's attention was 
focused instead on the dura-felt shrouded case that stood almost directly below 
her. It was easily big enough to hold the model described in the schemae. 
Certainly the homunculus's response to her innocent question about its contents 
would seem to indicate both the importance of whatever was in the case, and that 
the homunculus had been repatterned to protect it. The only thing is, she 
thought, how am I going to find out for certain?
She started down the ramp, trying to work out a way to get a look at the case's 
contents. Perhaps I could get the homunculus to leave the room? she thought. If 
I pretended to be ill, maybe.... But more likely it'd just send for one of the 
other women, and that wouldn't do at all. I wonder if it would bring me food or 
drink... ? Before she could think of anything better, chimes sounded loudly. 
Startled, she reached for her chronograph: Pilisi should not be arriving for 
another hour, at least. Silence tensed as the homunculus rolled toward the door.
From so high on the ramp, the pilot could not see who it was. She froze, 
listening hard, but could only distinguish that it was a woman's voice. Then the 
homunculus rolled back into the center of the room.
"Domna Jamilla," it called. "You are summoned to receive a visitor. Domna Pilisi 
will escort you."
A visitor? Silence thought blankly. Marcinik wasn't expected for another few 
days -- and in any case, if it had been him, surely the homunculus would've said 
something about her duty? She started down the ramp, and Pilisi called from 
below, "Hurry, Jamilla, her Serenity doesn't want to be kept waiting."
Silence waved in answer and did as she was told. At the bottom of the ramp, she 
said breathlessly, "I thought you said there was a visitor."
Pilisi nodded, beckoning. "There is -- and one come to see you, not her 
Highness. But it's her Serenity who has to supervise the veiling. Hurry, now."
Silence made a face behind the other woman's back, but quickened her pace until 
she was almost running. "Who is this visitor?"
Pilisi managed to turn and grin without slowing her rapid progress. "Oh, that's 
a surprise. Her Serenity made me promise. But I think you'll be pleased."
Wonderful, Silence thought, and braced herself to face almost anything.
The Princess Royal was waiting in the alcove usually used for the veiling 
ceremony. She was flanked by two more of her domnas, and several household 
homunculi hovered in the background. One held Silence's formal outer veil; 
another held the headdress and the underveil. Silence glanced around hastily, 
but there was no sign of Aili. Hiding her sudden unease, she made her best 
curtsy, saying, "Your Serenity requires?"
The Princess Royal regarded her with a distinct lack of favor. "You have a 
visitor, Jamilla. Not an ordinary occurrence, and one I doubt should be 
encouraged, but I cannot in good conscience turn him away."
Silence curtsied again, steeling herself against surprise.
"More such visits will not be tolerated," Radiah went on, "and I expect you to 
inform your brother Viljo of that fact."
"I will, your Serenity," Silence answered. Brother? she thought. Jamilla Sahen 
had a brother -- two brothers, in fact -- but Viljo, the eldest, was on duty 
with his father's fleets, commanding, by some irony, an anti-pirate patrol. 
Surely he can't be here -- surely the admiral or the satrap would stop him. He 
must know of the plan anyway if he's part of the planetary fleet.... She forced 
her face to betray an excitement, an eagerness she did not feel. "Thank you, 
your Serenity, for letting me see him this time."
The Princess Royal's eyebrows rose slightly, the only visible guide to her 
emotions. "I accept your gratitude," she said. "Let's begin."
Silence submitted to the procedures, listening to the Princess Royal's droned 
strictures -- how to behave in front of the guardsman who would escort Viljo, 
how to greet her sibling, and so on, all part of the ritual she had memorized on 
Inarime -- while she allowed the other domnas to help her arrange her headdress 
and veils. At last the Princess Royal pronounced herself satisfied. A heavily 
built homunculus bowed twice, first to Radiah and then to Silence, and slid back 
the heavy door. Silence followed it down the long corridor, bracing herself 
again to meet whatever -- whoever -- would be waiting. The door opened at last, 
and she stepped out into the courtyard.
"Domna Jamilla Sahen," the homunculus announced, "I present Captain-lieutenant 
Marcinik and Captain Lord Viljo Sahen."
Viljo Sahen indeed, Silence thought, unable to stop a smile from spreading 
across her face. I know Denis Balthasar when I see him. She controlled herself 
with an effort, and managed to walk with decorum to the edge of the Seer. 
"Captain-lieutenant," she said, and nodded. "Brother." In spite of herself, her 
voice was not quite steady on the last word, trembling between laughter and 
tears.
Balthasar's face showed the same shadowy mix of emotions as he answered, 
"Sister."
He looked rather good in the uniform of Inarime's private navy, Silence thought, 
quite irrelevantly. The sober maroon tunic, badged only lightly with golden 
decorations of rank, flattered the Delian's grey hair and nondescript coloring. 
Suddenly, she wanted nothing so much as to embrace him, to hold him tightly 
enough to be reassured of his reality and of her own ultimate escape, but knew 
that it was impossible even to touch hands across the barrier of the Seer. She 
put the longing firmly aside, and took a tighter grip on the sensor egg in her 
pocket.
"What's happened?" she said, lowering her voice. "I didn't expect you for 
another couple of days, Marcinik."
It was Balthasar who answered. "Trouble, sort of."
"Sort of trouble?" Silence repeated incredulously, then shook herself, motioning 
for him to continue.
Balthasar gave her a rather humorless grin. "All the plans are the same. The 
time table's been moved up, that's all."
All? Silence thought. She said, "How much? And why?"
"The fleet will leave Inarime in eight days," Marcinik said, with a rather 
annoyed glanced at Balthasar.
"That's not long enough," Silence said. "I've hardly gotten started, and I 
wanted to wait for the betrothal --" She controlled herself with an effort, 
calculating. "Hell, on that schedule the fleet will arrive the day after the 
ceremony. We won't have time to clear the system."
"We might make it," Balthasar said. "A fleet like that, trying to make a 
two-stage trip? You remember what it was like at Arganthonios. Multiply that by 
ten, and you'll get the idea. They'll have to dress ranks after the first 
passage, and that'll add ten hours or so to their real time."
Silence nodded, watching Marcinik. The captain-lieutenant was perfectly 
expressionless, his eyes politely turned to Balthasar, but there was a subtle 
tension in the set of his shoulders, betraying anger and, beneath that, his own 
fears. Silence sighed, wondering just what the Delian had done. Balthasar was 
not always an easy man to like, and when he deliberately made himself 
intolerable.... He had memories of his own, from that nightmare journey in the 
conscript-transport, to spur him to make trouble. And am I expected to make a 
peace for them? Silence thought. No, that'd be impossible; better just to ignore 
the whole thing, and hope they work it out themselves. Aloud, she said, "If you 
say so, Denis, I believe you. You've more time in the long ships than I do."
"Can you make your escape before this betrothal?" Marcinik asked.
"I don't see how," Silence began. She paused, and finally shook her head. "I 
just can't finish everything that has to be done. And besides, we need the 
diversion."
Marcinik nodded thoughtfully. Balthasar said, "As to why the change.... We got 
word, yesterday, that a ship had gotten off Inarime without permission. A couple 
of long ships were chasing it, but didn't think they'd catch it. The satrap 
wants to move before word can reach Asterion."
Silence said, "Have you settled on a landing spot?"
"And a rendezvous," Balthasar answered. He glanced at Marcinik. "He's brought 
your stuff. The coordinates are taped to the outside, along with your whistle. 
But I wanted to tell you myself, just in case."
"Oh, for God's sake, Denis," Silence said, "we're in this together."
The Delian had the grace to look momentarily ashamed, but said, "Let me give 
them to you anyway."
Silence hesitated an instant longer, then nodded. After all, she told herself as 
Balthasar recited the map references, she should know them, just in case the 
written numbers were lost or confiscated.
"I told him there was no need for him to come here," Marcinik grumbled. "He's 
endangered everything."
Balthasar started to say something, and Silence said, "Stop it, both of you." 
She felt perversely maternal, glaring at them. Balthasar grinned slowly, 
guessing her thought, and reluctantly, the pilot returned his smile.
"This is the last time you'll have to see me, Marcinik," Silence said, "as long 
as you brought my kit."
Marcinik held out the sealed bundle he had held tucked under his arm. "He gave 
it to me," he said, jerking his head at Balthasar, and bit back the rest of his 
retort. Silence could guess what it would have been -- blame him if something's 
missing, not me -- and ruthlessly killed her own automatic answer. "I told them 
Viljo had a stopover in the system, and that the satrap wanted to make sure Aili 
-- her Highness -- was well, " Marcinik went on, in a more normal tone.
"Good enough," the pilot said, and looked to Balthasar. "Obviously you made the 
landing all right?"
The Delian grinned. "No great problems. Having a magus on board helped."
Silence glanced involuntarily at Marcinik, and Balthasar said, "Yes, he told me 
about Isambard. But most people are too scared to question a magus."
"True enough," Silence said. Marcinik cleared his throat then, but Silence could 
already feel warmth spreading from the egg in her hand. She glanced hastily at 
her chronograph: her time was almost up.
"Julie -- ?" she said, and Balthasar answered, "Fine. We're both fine."
"Give my love --" Silence began, and heard the corridor door slide open behind 
her." -- to our father," she finished, like a dutiful daughter of the Ten 
Thousand, and wondered if Balthasar understood what she had been about to say. 
He gave no sign of it, bowing as he murmured a formal farewell.
"This is the package for her Highness, Domna Jamilla," Marcinik said, too 
loudly. He flushed, moderated his tone, and continued, "The doctors' 
instructions are inside."
"Thank you, captain-lieutenant," Silence said, stooping to retrieve the package 
Marcinik had laid carefully on the edge of the Seer. She felt something give 
under her fingers. A cylinder of paper -- no, a slip of paper wrapped around her 
pitch pipe -- was taped to one edge of the packet. She palmed the slick cylinder 
awkwardly, sliding it into her upturned cuff as she tucked the packet under her 
arm. "Until we meet again -- until later, brother."
The two men murmured their own farewells. Silence turned sharply, forestalling 
the approaching homunculus, and followed it back through the doorway. It took 
all her strength not to betray herself by looking back.
The Princess Royal was waiting in the alcove at the end of the corridor. "So, 
Jamilla," she said, with a parody-smile of polite interest. "How is your 
brother?"
"Well, thank you, your Serenity," Silence answered warily. Four domnas were 
ranged behind the Princess Royal, and Aili was still nowhere to be seen. "He had 
a stopover in the system," the pilot went on, repeating what Marcinik had told 
her, "and the authorities were generous enough to grant his petition for a few 
hours' leave."
"So that he could check up on the shazadi, no doubt," Radiah said.
Silence arranged her face in what she hoped was the proper expression of 
uncertainty. "Your Serenity? I beg your pardon, I don't understand...."
"I suppose not," the Princess Royal said, dubiously, and gestured to the 
hovering domnas. "Help Jamilla with her veil, if you please."
Silence started to protest, then realized that that would only make things 
worse. She allowed the other women to help her remove her veil, hiding her 
resentment as they prodded lightly at her gown in an unobtrusive, reasonably 
effective search. They did not touch her cuff, or the whistle inside it, held 
there by the same tape that had held it to the side of the packet. As she 
answered Radiah's formal questions, the pilot waited for someone to give an 
all-clear sign. She missed the gesture, but one of the women must have given it, 
as the Princess Royal nodded, dismissing the helping domnas. Pilisi stepped 
forward, bobbing her curtsy, and held out the packet Silence had gotten from 
Marcinik. The pilot did her best to stifle her apprehensive gasp, but Radiah 
saw, and smiled gently.
"You are concerned, Jamilla? Why, what does this contain?" She toyed with the 
wrappings, and Silence felt her heart sink. Telling herself that her best 
defense was to attack, she drew herself up to her full height.
"Of course I'm concerned," she said boldly. "This treatment is unexpected -- and 
undeserved. Does your Serenity suspect me of something? Then I pray you, accuse 
me outright, but don't treat me like a common criminal."
Radiah said nothing for a long moment, clearly assessing her position. Silence 
held her breath. As a member of the Ten Thousand, Jamilla had some rights that 
protected her against even the Princess Royal's authority. Radiah had already 
come very close to crossing the boundary between legitimate exercise of her 
authority and actionable behavior by having Jamilla searched. Aili would be 
within her rights even now to complain to her father, and through him to the 
Hegemon. With luck, the Princess Royal would not press the issue.
"You will concede it's within my power to search this package," Radiah said at 
last, her tone more conciliatory than her words.
Silence bowed her head. The ritual of return did allow the welcoming matron to 
investigate anything brought into the Palace, though most omitted that section 
of the rite. She just hoped Balthasar had had the sense to disguise the kit's 
ingredients. "Of course, your Serenity, I acknowledge that authority," she said 
aloud, imitating the Princess Royal's frosty dignity. Radiah gave her a sharp 
glance as she ripped loose the sealing tape, but said nothing.
The oiled paper folded back to reveal a dozen bottles and perhaps half as many 
squat, thick-walled jars, each labeled in magistical neo-latin and in coine 
characters. Silence winced at the latter -- the labels should probably have been 
written in the High Speech -- but the Princess Royal did not seem to notice. She 
pulled a jar from its place, seemingly at random, and sounded out the tag glued 
to the rounded crystal stopper.
"Oculi lacertarum," she read, "Essence of amarans." She looked sharply at 
Silence. "What is this used for?"
The pilot did her best to keep from smiling. The neo-latin and the coine were 
widely different; whatever amarans were -- some Inariman herb-flower, most 
likely -- they were likely to bear no resemblance to the seedlike oculi in their 
oily suspension. She improvised hastily, "It's a bath infusion, your Serenity, 
to relax and soothe the troubled spirit."
The Princess Royal nodded, and picked up another bottle. "And heartsease?"
Silence took a deep breath. "Your Serenity, I confess I do not remember all the 
details of the prescription. Does your Serenity wish me to fetch it from her 
Highness's rooms?"
For an instant, it seemed as though the Princess Royal would say yes, but then, 
slowly, she shook her head. "That will not be necessary, Jamilla. You may go."
Trying to move without undue haste, Silence collected the bottle and jar, and 
did her best to reseal the opened package. She had it at last, though she had to 
use both hands to hold the contents together, and nodded for the nearest 
homunculus to take her veils and headdress. Before she could escape, however, 
the Princess Royal said, "Jamilla."
Silence turned, face carefully blank. "Your Serenity."
"I do not approve of your -- attitude," the Princess Royal said. "I have my eye 
on you."
There was no answer to that. Silence managed a stiff curtsy and Radiah went on, 
"You may go. But remember what I said."
"I will, your Serenity," Silence answered, and knew the other woman heard the 
unspoken meaning. Battle was fairly joined.
Chapter 9
THE NEXT EIGHT DAYS WERE AMONG THE BUSIEST AND most frustrating of Silence's 
life. True to her promise, the Princess Royal did her best to keep a constant 
watch on the pilot. She revoked Silence's library privileges, saying that all 
the women of the Palace were needed to help plan Ceiki's betrothal party, and 
when Aili claimed some hours of Silence's time, conscripted the shazadi as well, 
pointing out that Aili's tristitia might be alleviated by the celebration.
Defeated, Silence and the shazadi did as they were told, running errands and 
recording notes for the older women who actually did most of the planning. In a 
few snatched planning sessions, mostly held at night after the other women were 
asleep, Silence managed to examine the coordinates Balthasar had given her and 
locate the landing site on one of her maps of the area. It was a clearing some 
six kilometers from the lake edge, well within the parkland that formed the 
Palace's official precinct. At first, Silence could not see why they had chosen 
that particular spot -- there were other, closer, open areas -- but then she 
realized that there Balthasar could mask his approach against a distant ridge. 
Silence nodded her approval at that, and turned her attention to the lakeside 
rendezvous Balthasar had selected. The lakeshore was not well endowed with 
coves, the pilot discovered at once, probably as a security measure, but at last 
they found the narrow indentation labeled "knobby cove." It was not directly 
opposite the Palace, requiring them to sail a diagonal course and spend more 
time on the water, but the most recent map showed that the fingers of woodland 
reached almost to the shoreline. It was better cover than anything else 
promised, but Silence found herself wondering just what "knobby cove" meant. 
Still, it was the best site available, and Aili signaled their acceptance of the 
coordinates during the next afternoon's chess game.
In the daytime they did their best to keep out of Radiah's sight, but Silence 
was only too aware, as she supervised the homunculi decorating the gardens or 
putting together elaborate new gowns and costumes for the fete, of the Princess 
Royal's hovering presence. Only when the queen-sister demanded their help 
composing the great farewell dinner were they briefly free of Radiah and her 
domnas, and then they were kept too busy making lists and consulting reference 
books to do anything else. Their work was made no easier by Ceiki's sad-eyed 
presence. The Hegemon's daughter refused to be cheered by the elaborate 
preparations and the promised parties. She submitted lifelessly to being 
measured for a new, adult wardrobe, but refused to take any part in the 
planning.
"The poor girl," Aili said quietly. She and Silence were sitting in the 
shazadi's bedroom, huddled inside a hastily drawn aphonic ring. It was well past 
midnight. Both women were tired, but still too keyed up to sleep. They had spent 
most of the afternoon and all of the evening with the rest of the Palace's 
inmates, arguing over the best fabrics for Ceiki's formal clothes.
"Poor us, too," Silence growled. She could almost feel the clock ticking, the 
hours passing, and she was no nearer to managing their escape than she had been 
a week ago. There was so much still to be done: the tools that would let her 
take over one of the little pleasure boats still had to be forged; the guard 
homunculi on the lower levels had somehow to be neutralized; and she still did 
not know for certain if the case in the library really held the model of the 
Palace. Aili was still chattering on, and Silence suppressed the sudden urge to 
shake the younger woman. How dare she be so cheerful, when things were going so 
badly?
"-- and I also swiped one of these," the shazadi was saying, seeming quite 
blithely unaware of the pilot's mood, "from the stuff for the bride-shivaree."
She held up an oval of thin black cloth, streaked and splashed with flakes of 
glitter. There were lighter stains here and there where some of the glitter had 
been removed. Silence frowned at it for a moment before she realized it was a 
mask.
"I haven't finished fixing it," Aili went on, "there's still a lot of glitter I 
have to soak off, but --" She held the mask up to her face, peering 
mischievously through the eyeholes." -- it'll be a lot easier to manage than a 
veil."
Silence felt a sudden pang of guilt, watching the shazadi's eager movements. 
Aili's counting on you, she told herself sternly. You can't let her down -- not 
that way, moping and feeling sorry for yourself. She shook herself hard, 
watching the shazadi fasten the mask into place. It covered all of Aili's face 
except for the eyes. Concealing, Silence thought critically, but maybe not good 
enough. And it looks extremely uncomfortable to hike in.
"Can you breathe all right?" she asked.
"Oh, yes." Aili loosened the web of straps again, and handed the mask to 
Silence. "Look, there's thinner cloth at the mouth and nose. Plenty of air gets 
through."
Silence rubbed the material between her thumb and forefinger, testing the 
thickness. Sure enough, there were coarser, more loosely woven patches for the 
nose and mouth pieces, and when she experimentally fitted the mask over her own 
face, she found she could breathe in comfort. The straps, five of them, fitting 
across the back of the head and from the jawline around the nape of the neck, 
seemed very secure. Not much chance, she thought, of that working loose 
accidentally. That raised a new thought. She handed the mask back to Aili, 
saying, "Will the Thousand consider wearing this to be covered enough? You can 
sort of see the outline of the face through the material. After all the trouble 
we've gone to, I don't want to see you disqualified on a technicality."
Aili shook her head, picking busily at the remaining stripes of glitter. "It'll 
do."
"How can you be so sure?" Silence demanded.
The shazadi grinned. "I asked."
"You what?"
"I asked the queen-sister this morning," Aili elaborated, still grinning. "Or 
actually Ceiki did it for me. We were picking out the homunculi's costumes for 
the bride-shivaree. They're quite something -- real springtide costumes. I 
picked up a mask and said I thought I'd wear it at the annual Presentation 
instead of a proper veil. Well, half of them screamed in horror, and the other 
half laughed, and then Ceiki asked if one of those masks would really count as a 
veil. The queen-sister thought about it for a while, I think just because that 
was the first time Ceiki'd asked a question all day, and finally said she 
thought it would."
Silence nodded, satisfied on two counts. The queen-sister, if she could do 
nothing else, could be relied on in matters of proper behavior. She could also 
be expected to forget that the question had ever been asked. And even if she 
didn't, Silence thought, it was Ceiki, not Aili, who had done the asking.
"You know, I really do feel sorry for the girl," Aili went on, brushing a pile 
of glitter from her skirts. "The marriage is bad enough -- you don't want to 
know what the satrap of Aja's like! -- but it really doesn't seem fair that she 
should have such a small send-off. What sort of bride-shivaree can there be with 
only thirty-six of us to play, even if you bring in all the homunculi you can 
find?"
Bride-shivaree. Once again, the word stirred a half-memory in Silence's brain. 
She frowned, trying to track it down, then took a deep breath and summoned up 
the mnemonic chains she had so carefully constructed back on Inarime. She sorted 
out the proper strand and followed it, remembering first the great yearly 
holidays, then the specific feasts celebrated on Inarime, then the personal 
holidays of the Kibbe family and of families in general. But where the 
triggering image for the bride-shivaree should have been, there was only a vague 
image of bright colors and a sense that something had been lost. Silence made a 
face. These things happened, when one prepared a chain under pressure and then 
had no occasion to use it for a while. At least, this time, she had someone to 
ask. "Aili, tell me about the bride-shivaree. Just what is it, exactly?"
The shazadi gave her a rather startled look. "What do you mean, what is it?"
"Exactly what I said. What is it? What do you do? All of that." Silence leaned 
against the cushion she had brought with her into the aphonic ring, wishing she 
had brought another. Outside the ring, she could see the pointer of an antique 
mechanical timepiece settle on the first hour of the new day. Tiny figures 
emerged from its base and scuttled about in preprogrammed patterns, but no sound 
penetrated the ring.
"It's --" Aili paused, seemingly still puzzled by the question. "Well, it's part 
of the traditional betrothal, especially when the bride-to-be is young. It's 
sort of a last chance for girlish tricks, a free-for-all hide-and-seek game all 
over the Women's Quarter -- or, in this case, all over the Palace. Usually, the 
women are divided up into teams on the basis of bride's-kin, groom's-kin, but 
this time I guess the Princess Royal will divide us up somehow. She's Ceiki's 
only blood-kin here."
"What do you mean by hide-and-seek?" Silence demanded, hardly daring to believe 
what she was hearing.
Aili spread her hands, wide-eyed. "Hide-and-seek. Didn't you play it when you 
were a girl? You hide, and try to catch members of the other team and spray them 
with dye. That's why we've been having the homunculi make those huge batches of 
dye-stuff, and that's why the queen-sister's been so fussy about making sure it 
will wash off."
"I haven't been working on those," Silence growled. "I've been stuck with the 
damned dinners." She looked wild-eyed at the shazadi. "That's it. That's the 
perfect way to get us out of here."
Aili looked back at her. "I know," she said in a small voice. "I thought that 
was what you meant when you said the betrothal was the perfect diversion."
Silence stared at her for a long moment, then began to laugh. After all her 
fretting and worrying, after her near panic, the answer was handed to her on a 
platter -- and what was worse, Aili assumed she'd known it all along. "No," she 
said at last, "I didn't know. I thought it was just another of these boring 
rituals her Serenity likes so much. I didn't pay much attention to marriages on 
Inarime -- I really didn't think the subject would come up."
Aili was laughing, too. "I just assumed you knew," she said again. "I guess that 
proves you're not really of the Ten Thousand."
"I'm not," Silence answered cheerfully. "My family were merchants on Cap Bel." 
She sobered quickly. "Spray people with dye, you said? What do you put the dye 
in?"
"Big squirters." Aili held up her hands to demonstrate. "Usually they're shaped 
like toy heylins, or sonic rifles, things like that. The dye reservoir holds 
about a liter of liquid."
"Good." Silence leaned back against her pillow again, thinking fiercely. There 
were any number of compounds that would put a homunculus out of action; her 
problem had been one of delivering the compound efficiently. But with 
dye-squirters available, she could use any of the liquid compounds and not have 
to worry. "How long does the game last?"
Aili shrugged. "It depends. At least an hour or two, sometimes much longer. But 
I can't imagine it would last more than a couple of hours, especially when 
Ceiki's in no mood to play."
An hour was all they could count on, then, Silence thought. That wasn't much 
time to knock out the security system, steal a boat, and cross the lake, but it 
would have to be enough.
"Anyway," Aili said, as if she read the other woman's thoughts, "it'll take at 
least half an hour before they decide there's real trouble -- that we aren't 
just hiding somewhere, or hurt, or something."
"Unless the Princess Royal calls an alert on general principles," Silence said. 
"No, an hour's really all we can count on." And if we only have an hour, she 
thought, I want some extra fire support when the alarm goes off. It's a good 
four kilometers to the clearing Denis picked to land in. "I want you to get word 
to Marcinik," she said slowly. "Have him warn Denis and Julie that time's going 
to be short and they should be ready for trouble. Bring heavy heylins."
Aili shook her head. "That would mean another meeting, and you didn't want to do 
that," she objected. "My code isn't set up to carry messages that complex."
"Damn." Silence rubbed at her chin, considering. The shazadi was right -- they 
could not afford another meeting with Marcinik. But it was important to warn the 
others. "How is your chess game set up? What kind of a link is it?"
Aili shrugged. "An ordinary ghost-line, I think. Except it had to be specially 
shielded to make sure no one would see my hands."
"Then there may be a way," Silence said. "I have lime paper in my kit, and the 
treated ink. I'll give them to you. You write the message -- keep it as short as 
you can -- and then, when next you two play, put the paper on the board and make 
sure he passes one of his pieces over it. Both the paper and the ink are 
sensitive to the energies used to set up a ghost-line, so he'll see the message 
appear on his board. Oh, and tell him to have Julie bring us proper clothes, 
boys' clothes." She gave the shazadi a challenging glance. "Any objection to 
that?"
"No, I'll tell him," Aili said, and cocked her head to one side. "Should you be 
telling me all these magus's secrets?"
Silence hesitated, momentarily nonplussed. "No," she said, after a moment, "I 
probably oughtn't to be. But I want you to understand what you're doing."
"I wasn't objecting, mind you," Aili answered, "but I thought I ought to remind 
you. And speaking of that --" Her face clouded slightly. "What are you going to 
do about this model Palace? If it's made of halcyon crystal, it's going to be 
virtually indestructible...."
Silence shook her head, allowing herself a wolfish grin. "Halcyon crystal's a 
natural harmonic receptor, and the wrong tone can shatter it." She touched her 
bodice gently, feeling for the pitch pipe that rested between her breasts. "I 
know the sequence it's tuned to, so there should be no problem." I hope, she 
added to herself. As long as I don't hit the trigger sequence and open the link 
to the guardpost.... It was too late to worry about that. She sighed and reached 
to dissolve the aphonic ring.
The next three days were even busier than the previous ones. Aili managed to 
snatch time for the necessary chess game, and Silence had the satisfaction of 
seeing the slip of lime paper vanish in a curl of smoke as Marcinik's piece 
passed over it. The letters remained, fading slowly, and the captain-lieutenant 
signaled that the message had been received and understood.
Silence was able to spend very little time with the shazadi after that. The 
Princess Royal kept up her watch, making sure the pilot was fully involved in 
the betrothal preparations. Silence did her best to present herself as entirely 
engrossed in the planning, but the surveillance did not slacken. She was forced 
to work only at night, without the helping solar harmonies, but by the day of 
the betrothal she had managed to distill three full liters of aqua intacta. 
That, she thought, with a great deal of satisfaction, would be able to take care 
of any and all guard homunculi they were unfortunate enough to meet.
The betrothal was a day-long ceremony, beginning with the addition of three 
lines to the Observances, formally accepting Ceiki as part of the Hegemon's 
family for what was probably the first and last time in her life. The morning 
hours were spent in last-minute preparations, and it was only then that Silence 
was able to seize a quick word with Aili, catching her arm as she hurried past 
on some vital errand. After her first start of surprise, the shazadi let herself 
be drawn into the nearest garden, away from at least the most obvious 
watchernodes. Still, Silence kept her voice very low as she said, "It only just 
occurred to me that her Serenity will probably put us on opposite teams."
"I've been looking for you to tell you the same thing," Aili exclaimed. "We meet 
in the Nymph-garden?"
"As soon as we can get away from the hunt," Silence agreed.
"Your Highness!" That was the queen-sister's domna, a woman neither as placid 
nor as uncaring as her mistress. She stood, hands on hips, in the entrance to 
the garden. "They are waiting for the list."
Aili flashed the pilot the ghost of a grin, and was gone.
The noon meal was light, barely more than an informal of the sort Silence had 
studied on Inarime so many weeks before. Silence ate quickly and excused herself 
early, pleading a final errand for the queen-sister. The Princess Royal looked 
as though she would have liked to refuse permission, but the errand was quite 
real, and there was no one else she could legitimately send. Grudgingly, she 
allowed Silence to leave. The pilot made her way out of the terraced dining room 
as decorously as she could, but as soon as she was out of sight, she hiked up 
her skirts and ran for her own rooms. Hastily, she recovered the liter jars of 
aqua intacta and tucked a paper packet into her pocket. The jars hampered her -- 
she did not dare move too quickly for fear of spilling their precious contents 
-- but at last she slipped through the door to the Nymph-garden.
It was a lovely pleasance, open to the true sky rather than domed, like so many 
of the gardens. Native Asterionan plants were allowed to flourish in a 
semi-wilderness, clipped back only when they grew across a path or threatened to 
damage the building. A picturesque ruin stood at the center of the garden -- 
Silence had never been able to decide precisely what it was intended to have 
been -- and a number of suitably rustic statues of women and girls dotted the 
area, the nymphs for which the garden had been named. Silence worked her way 
rapidly toward the central ruin, to the hiding place she had spotted during her 
early reconnaissance of the Palace. She found it quickly enough, a massive dorta 
bush whose drooping, feathery leaves hid a sizable depression. She tucked the 
jars into that space and drew the leaves back over it. Then she hastened off to 
finish her errand.
Silence managed not to be too late returning to the small dining room, but 
nevertheless the Princess Royal regarded her with renewed suspicion. As Silence 
had feared, she and Aili were to be assigned to different teams for the 
bride-shivaree; neither she nor the shazadi protested, but Radiah was not 
appeased. She seemed positively to relish taking Aili off with the other women 
of the Thousand to supervise Ceiki's Robing.
Left to her own devices, like the other domnas, Silence dressed as slowly as she 
could, decking herself in the most elaborate and uncomfortable of the gowns she 
had brought from Inarime. Despite her efforts, it only took her two hours. She 
spent the rest of the afternoon playing cards with two other domnas, trying to 
submerge herself in the game. She was not very successful. Had the game been 
played for real money instead of imaginary fortunes, she thought sourly, she 
would owe the proceeds of two or three successful trading ventures.
At last, Pilisi appeared in the doorway, swathed from head to foot in 
glittering, gold-shot robes, and announced, "The Presentation."
Well briefed, the domnas rose without a hint of complaint, finding their proper 
places almost automatically, giving and taking precedence with a chilly grace. 
Silence let herself be shunted into her proper place, toward the middle of the 
pack, reading from the others' body language whether she was expected to give 
way or go ahead.
Pilisi led them down a long section of corridor, then turned into a second, 
wider hall that had a newly dusted appearance about it. The air had a musty 
smell, too, and Silence guessed the place had been opened specially for this 
occasion. Halfway up the hall, the homunculi had put down a richly purple 
carpet. As Pilisi stepped onto it, there was a distinct crunching, and an almost 
overpowering scent of flowers. Silence choked as she stepped onto the carpet, 
and tried to hold her breath. There was a noisy sighing as the domnas stepped 
off the carpet to pass through a massive, arching doorway, and Silence guessed 
they had all done the same.
The room beyond the arched door was the most magnificent Silence had seen yet, a 
high-ceilinged, mirror-lined hall. It culminated in a fantastically gilded and 
jeweled object, a sculpture in high relief of clouds rolling back to reveal a 
massive sunburst. Tiny starships darted here and there among the roiling clouds. 
The object was large enough to fill the entire wall. A two-stage dais led up to 
it. Ceiki's party waited on the lower of the two, the women arranged in a sort 
of semicircle behind the Hegemon's daughter. There was a wind-silk canopy over 
Ceiki's head, and her dress was stiff with jewels. Despite the display, Silence 
could not help thinking she made a rather forlorn figure.
At the Princess Royal's gesture, the domnas filed forward one by one, to make 
their curtsies and murmur some acknowledgement of Ceiki's new, adult status. 
When Silence's turn came, she could think of nothing worthwhile, so she muttered 
some conventional, inappropriate congratulations. Ceiki's eyes, almost drowned 
by the streaks of makeup ringing them, followed her, but the girl said nothing. 
Silence retreated quickly, wishing she dared do something.
Dancing followed -- the ring-dances considered appropriate for women alone -- 
and then household homunculi brought in the tables for the evening's first meal. 
Silence ate methodically, telling herself she would need the calories before the 
night was over, but the exotic dishes might as well have been made from sand for 
all the pleasure she took in them. She drank sparingly, doing her best not to 
seem conspicuous about it, and saw that Aili was doing the same. The rest of the 
domnas were drinking fairly deeply, enjoying their unexpected holiday. Ceiki 
sulked all through the meal, barely saying two words to anyone, and Silence was 
struck by the sudden, terrible thought that if the girl did not cheer up, Radiah 
might well cancel the bride-shivaree.
However, as concealed clocks chimed sunset, the Princess Royal gave a discreet 
signal, and the homunculi moved forward to roll the tables away again. The 
diners hauled themselves to their feet, the older women moaning and complaining 
only half in jest that they were entirely too old for such games, and came to 
stand in the center of the hall. They made an insignificant group in the middle 
of all that magnificent space, and Silence found herself sharing the shazadi's 
regret that Ceiki's betrothal could not have been more elaborate. If we're 
successful, Silence reminded herself sternly, Aili can stop this marriage. And 
that's the only way you can help the poor kid.
"My ladies," the Princess Royal called, clapping her hands loudly for their 
attention. Her voice echoed in the empty hall, mocking her false joy. "We have a 
betrothal to celebrate, as our mothers did before us. Let the game begin!"
At her final words, brightly costumed homunculi whirled into the hall, some 
bearing armloads of favors -- strips of cloth either purple or white for the two 
teams -- others carrying baskets of shiny dye-squirters. Still more carried 
nothing, their pseudo-faces hidden behind the glitter-banded masks. Half of the 
homunculi wore purple favors wound around their sexless bodies; the other half 
wore white. Counting carefully, Silence guessed that most of the household 
homunculi had been co-opted for the bride-shivaree, and felt her heart lift. The 
more that were playing, the fewer there would be to interfere with her escape. 
Across the room, Aili smiled, and Silence realized the shazadi had seen the same 
thing.
The Princess Royal had assigned teams earlier in the day; now she bustled about 
in unconvincing cheer, urging the women to hurry as they accepted the favors and 
chose weapons from the homunculi's baskets. Silence, who had been assigned to 
Ceiki's team, took her purple sash and, after a moment's thought, wound it 
around her head, military style. As she took a squirter -- a toy heylin with an 
immense dye reservoir -- she saw Ceiki, after some thought, try to wrap her own 
scarf the same way. The girl could not quite manage the knot, however, and 
Silence, motivated by guilt, said, "Highness, may I show you?"
Ceiki looked up with worshipping eyes and said, "Yes, please."
Thoughtlessly, Silence started to loop the toy heylin's lanyard over her 
nonexistent belt hook, and stopped abruptly, flushing. That was a soldier's 
habit, not a woman's, she told herself angrily. Ceiki had not missed the gesture 
either, and her eyes widened. Cursing to herself, Silence rewound the girl's 
scarf, knotting it into an almost boyish headband.
"That's much better," Ceiki said. "Thank you, Jamilla."
"Partners, now," the Princess Royal called. "Time to choose partners. " She 
fixed her cold gaze on Silence, adding, "Domna Jamilla, I trust you'll play with 
me?"
Silence had known she would be assigned a partner, and had half a dozen plans to 
get rid of an unwanted companion, but she had not expected the Princess Royal to 
choose such a drastic way of keeping track of her whereabouts. She opened her 
mouth, then closed it, unable to think of an effective protest.
At her side, Ceiki said, "Your Serenity!" There was a new note in the girl's 
voice, one that made the Princess Royal look almost humanly startled. "I want 
Jamilla for my partner," Ceiki went on. "It's my party, please, and I want her."
Radiah frowned. "I'm afraid it's not quite proper, Ceiki," she began, and the 
queen-sister interrupted her querulously.
"Oh, let the girl have what she wants, Radiah. The bride-shivaree only happens 
once. It's not that unsuitable."
The Princess Royal hesitated an instant longer, then surrendered grudgingly. 
"Oh, very well, Ceiki, if that's what you want. Now, the rest of you, choose 
partners!"
At last, the milling mass had sorted itself out into teams of two. Aili, Silence 
saw, had managed to get herself paired with a domna from Tharros, an older woman 
who complained constantly about her aching feet. The shazadi should have no 
trouble eluding her company.
A homunculus -- the only one not wearing a favor -- brought forward an immense 
silver bowl, holding it well above its own, and most of the women's, heads.
"Draw for places," the Princess Royal called, and the women pressed forward, 
laughing.
"Draw for us, please, Jamilla?" Ceiki said shyly.
Silence nodded, and elbowed her way up to the bowl, reaching overhead to 
scrabble among the five-centimeter-square tiles. She drew one out, glanced at 
the number, and barely suppressed a whoop of delight. They would be the third 
couple to leave the hall. That would give her ample time to get rid of Ceiki and 
get to the Nymph-garden to recover the jars of aqua intacta.
"Let me see," Ceiki begged, excited in spite of herself. Silence held out the 
token, and Ceiki gave a little crow of delight. The Princess Royal directed a 
single fulminating look their way, and Ceiki subsided instantly.
"Cheer up," Silence said, moved by some obscure instinct to offer what comfort 
she could. "Maybe you can catch her." She touched the butt of the toy heylin, 
and saw Ceiki's eyes brighten eagerly.
"Oh, wouldn't that be wonderful?" the girl said, too fervently.
It would at that, Silence thought, but it's not worth staying for.
The Princess Royal clapped her hands again, drawing their attention. "Ladies," 
she said again. "You'll leave the room in order, according to the lots you drew. 
You know the object of the game: to catch as many as possible of the other team 
and spray them well." She pantomimed turning her toy heylin on the nearest 
woman, and the others laughed dutifully. "In a moment, the lights will go off, 
and the doors will open. First couple, you leave then, and the lights will go on 
again. The lights will keep flashing, and each time one couple will leave. You 
can use the time to set up an ambush, or to hide, or however you choose to use 
it. Let's begin!" She clapped her hands again, the sound almost lost in the 
dutiful cheering, and the homunculi by the door began to swing back the heavy 
panels. The lights winked out before they were fully open. Silence counted 
fifteen seconds before they flashed on again, and caught a glimpse of a brightly 
colored skirt vanishing around the corner of the right-hand door. Ceiki bounced 
excitedly at her side.
"They went toward the fire-garden," she said. "Do we go after them?"
Silence shook her head. "Left, I think, for us. Be ready to run. They don't give 
us much time."
The lights flashed on and off again, and another couple vanished. Silence 
tensed, wanting to hike up her skirts and knowing she could not, and said, 
"Ready...."
The lights winked out. The pilot seized Ceiki's hand and ran for the door. The 
girl stumbled for an instant, then caught up. They were well down the corridor 
before the lights came on in the hall, spilling a wedge of light into the 
corridor. Ceiki had her skirts knotted in one hand, lifting them almost to 
mid-calf. "This way," she said, pointing with her squirter down a side hall. 
There were stairs at the end of it, and she took them two at a time.
Silence shrugged, hiking up her own skirts, and followed, the toy heylin cradled 
easily in her right hand. "Where are we going?"
"I worked it all out," Ceiki said, a little breathlessly. She darted down 
another, still narrower corridor that bore unmistakable signs of cart traffic. 
"This runs to the kitchens -- it's just a service passage. I figure, we cut 
through here, then through the little hall that backs on the storage cells, and 
up to the gallery that overlooks the royal promenade. With luck, we can catch a 
bunch of people there, and fall back on the fountain court without getting 
trapped."
"You sound like a soldier," Silence said, and meant it.
Ceiki hunched a shoulder at the other, clearly expecting a reprimand.
"What's more, I think it'll work," the pilot went on. And if the kid likes to 
think military, she added to herself, it'll make it that much easier for me to 
slip away "scouting," or something like that.
"I read a lot," Ceiki said, with a shy glance at Silence's face. "I didn't think 
you'd mind. If I'd been a boy, I'd've been a soldier -- and a good one, I 
think."
Silence nodded, trying to work out exactly where they were. Under the evening 
reception room, she thought.... "Probably," she said absently.
Ceiki gave her a delighted grin, then tugged at Silence's sleeve. "Hurry, we 
have to get there before someone else does...."
Silence submitted to the girl's urging, letting herself be drawn through the 
unfamiliar corridors at whirlwind pace. At last, as Ceiki had promised, they 
climbed a narrow stairway and emerged, panting, at the entrance to the royal 
promenade. This is where I cut out, Silence thought, glancing over her shoulder 
to make sure they were unobserved. Most of the lights had been dimmed in this 
part of the Palace; only a few paper lanterns bobbed in the faint air currents, 
casting more shadow than light across the scene.
"Why don't I scout around," Silence began, hating herself as the forlorn 
expression reappeared on Ceiki's face. "I could make sure your retreat was all 
clear --" Something moved in the shadows to her left, coming quickly. A freakish 
breath of air swung one of the lanterns sluggishly in its direction, and light 
glinted from the barrel of a heylin. Before she thought, Silence swung, bringing 
her own heylin to bear, and fired. The homunculus -- it was just a homunculus, 
Silence thought, disgusted with herself -- squeaked slightly, almost as though 
it could be surprised, and fired its own toy before darting away again. The dye 
cloud fell short, but Silence felt a few drops spatter on her face. Ceiki was 
staring at her, open-mouthed, and the pilot fumbled hastily for a story the girl 
would believe.
"That was just like a soldier," Ceiki said, forestalling her. Her eyes widened 
even further. "Are you a man in disguise?"
Silence giggled, a little hysterically. "No, I'm a woman, just like you, Ceiki."
"But different." Ceiki studied her, the bride-shivaree and its game momentarily 
forgotten. "Her Serenity kept saying there was something funny about you. You 
really know how to use that, don't you? You've come for Aili," she added 
abruptly, cutting off the pilot's stammered explanation. "Take me with you?"
"Shh," Silence said. In the distance, she could hear footsteps moving along a 
corridor, coming closer. She grabbed Ceiki's shoulder and pulled the unresisting 
girl into the nearest alcove. Ceiki reached to close the curtain, but Silence 
jerked her hand back.
"No!" she added, her voice a mere thread of sound. "Too conspicuous," and saw 
Ceiki nod. They flattened themselves against the alcove wall as the footsteps 
came nearer, hiding behind the bulk of the open curtain. Two women -- one of the 
other shazadis and a domna -- appeared, giggling, and turned down the hall that 
led to the fountain court. Silence gave a slow sigh of relief.
Ceiki said again, whispering now, "Did you come for Aili?"
Silence hesitated, but the fierce appeal in Ceiki's face was too much for her. 
Anyway, she thought, the kid's already figured out most of it. "Yes," she said. 
"Her father sent me."
"Take me with you."
"I can't." Silence shook her head helplessly. "I'm sorry, I wish I could."
"Why can't you?" Ceiki demanded.
Silence wished she had a heylin, or any other weapon that could be set to stun, 
so that she could just put the kid to sleep for a few hours and get away. The 
realization shocked her. When she answered, she knew she sounded subdued. "Two 
reasons. First, you're not ready --"
"I don't need anything," Ceiki interjected. "I can come as I am."
"In those clothes?" Silence asked. "Through wooded country?" Ceiki's eyes fell, 
and the pilot pressed on. "Second reason. Both you and Aili have positions to 
protect. I've made arrangements for her, but not for you -- and you don't want 
to throw away your position, not yet. When --" She caught herself abruptly, and 
Ceiki lifted her squirter.
"Take me with you, or I'll tell the Princess Royal."
Silence hesitated, cursing under her breath. There was no time for this.... She 
said, carefully, "Ceiki --"
The girl's face crumpled. "I can't," she whispered. "I won't, Jamilla, I 
promise. But I don't want to marry Aja."
"Ceiki," Silence said again, and tilted the tear-damp face up to look at her. 
"Listen. I believe you -- I trust you. Listen to me, now. If all goes well, if 
we get away, you won't have to marry him. I promise."
Ceiki's face seemed to crumple again, but the girl fought back her tears. "I 
believe you," she managed. "You promised." She threw her arms around the older 
woman, and Silence, helplessly, found herself hugging Ceiki back. She disengaged 
herself as gently as she could.
"I have to go now," she said.
Ceiki gulped and nodded. "Promise you'll come back?"
"I promise," Silence said, though she knew she shouldn't. There were too many 
things that could still go wrong, and she might never be able to keep that 
promise. But I will, she told herself fiercely. I will. She set the girl gently 
aside and peered out into the hallway. No one was in sight. Silence took a deep 
breath, and started at last for the Nymph-garden. She glanced back only once. 
Ceiki was still standing framed in the arch of the alcove. Seeing the pilot 
turn, she waved bravely and started off toward the gallery, determined, Silence 
guessed, to take her best shot at the Princess Royal.
To her relief, Silence reached the Nymph-garden without further incident. Aili 
was already waiting, crouched in the shadow of the ruin. Her hands and sleeves 
were speckled with dye, light splotches in the dim light that filtered in from 
the distant corridors. Her face would be, too, Silence guessed, but the shazadi 
had already donned her homunculus's mask. She had also discarded her heavy 
overdress, the pilot saw with approval. It was crumpled in a ball on the ground 
beside her.
"What kept you?" Aili hissed, as the pilot dropped to her knees beside the dorta 
bush.
"I had some trouble getting away from Ceiki," Silence answered, rummaging under 
the trailing leaves. The oldest of them had grown coarse, toothlike ridges, and 
her wrists and hands were marked with scratches before she pulled the last of 
the jars from its hiding place. She rubbed impatiently at the sore places, 
staring around for a place to empty their squirters.
"Over here," Aili said. She pointed to a corner of the ruin, where two walls 
joined at a ninety-degree angle. The resulting pocket of ground was well hidden 
from anyone standing at the edge of the garden. "I've already emptied mine."
"Take care of mine, then?" Silence asked, and tossed the toy heylin across 
without waiting for an answer. Aili caught it awkwardly and began to empty the 
dye reservoir, careful not to let too much of the liquid splatter on the stones 
of the ruin. Silence stripped off her own overdress and bundled it and Aili's 
gown back under the dorta bush. That left her in an ankle-length dress of dark 
blue velvet, wound incongruously with a sturdy leather belt. She hesitated, 
wanting to kilt up the skirts to free her legs, but decided against it for the 
moment as too conspicuous. She still had to face the librarian homunculus. 
Thinking that, she reached inside the bodice of the dress and drew out the 
user's card, letting it hang openly at her neck. She touched the pitch pipe on 
its chain, then reached into the dress's only pocket to reassure herself that 
the special packet was still there.
"I've emptied these," Aili announced softly.
Silence nodded and unstoppered the first jar. She poured the water very 
carefully into the dye reservoir; even so, a little spilled, smoking when it hit 
the grass. Aili eyed it warily, but said nothing.
The reservoirs each held a little more than a liter of the whole water. Silence 
kicked the two empty jars under the dorta bush with everything else, then 
restoppered the third jar and handed it to Aili.
"You carry this, in case we need to reload." The shazadi took it gingerly, 
clearly nervous, and Silence grinned. "Don't worry, it won't react unless it 
hits the earth-compounds they use growing homunculi. It won't hurt you."
"If you say so," Aili muttered, but jammed the jar into the purse she wore at 
her waist. It didn't fit particularly well, and she could not close the purse 
over it, but at least it left both hands free to handle the dye squirter. 
Silence nodded her approval.
"Where now?" the shazadi asked.
"First, the library," Silence answered. "If all goes well there, the boathouse."
They made their way cautiously through the darkened corridors. Once they heard 
laughing women, and ducked quickly into a side chamber, but the noises faded 
quickly. The bride-shivaree, though not officially restricted, seemed to be 
staying clear of the administration sections of the Palace.
The hallway outside the library was better lit than most of the Palace, all of 
its globes glowing at half-strength. Silence paused three meters from the door, 
then waved Aili back out of sight. "Wait here," she whispered. "And hold my 
heylin."
The shazadi nodded, apparently not put out by the peremptory order, and melted 
back against the curtains that obscured the single, distant window. Silence slid 
the folded paper from her pocket and carefully undid the taped seals, turning 
back each edge to expose the crimson powder that lay within. She was careful not 
to touch it or breathe on it as she approached the door, holding her breath as 
she passed her hand across the door signal.
It seemed to take forever for the homunculus to appear. Finally, the door slid 
back, and the librarian-homunculus rolled forward, an odd hesitation in its 
movements. "You desire, Domna Jamilla?" it asked.
"I left an earring here last time," Silence improvised, taking a quick step 
forward, "or at least I think it was here. It might have been somewhere else, of 
course, but I've looked everywhere else, and I haven't found it. Have you found 
it, or could you let me in to look?" She took another step forward, and the 
homunculus's eyes flared red.
"Stop!" it cried in a grating voice that seemed to fill the entire hallway. 
Silence took a deep breath, and blew the crimson powder into its face.
"Security --" the homunculus rasped, but the word trailed off into a sort of 
gasp. The creature froze in mid-gesture, and the red light vanished from its 
eyes.
I'll be damned, Silence thought. It worked. She folded the paper hastily around 
the remnants of the red powder and, shuddering, pushed the deactivated 
homunculus back into the library. She could feel the security fields pulsing in 
the air around her, but the modified user's card still protected her. Hastily, 
she pushed the homunculus back into its corner, then wasted a few precious 
seconds debating whether she should dust it again with the powder. No, she 
decided, the amount she had already given it would keep it from functioning for 
at least four or five hours; any more, and it might show outward signs of 
deterioration. If she could avoid that, she would. It might keep the guards from 
figuring out just what she had done to the security system.
She slid the crumpled packet under the nearest noteboard, and turned her 
attention to the cabinet. She could feel no special harmonies webbing it, but 
even so, she approached it cautiously, pausing often to sample the air around 
her. There was nothing, and she felt nothing extraordinary, even when she held 
her palms flat just above the surface of the case. She took a deep breath, and 
slid back the dura-felt cover.
The model Palace was breathtakingly beautiful. Silence stared at it for a long 
moment, unable to believe its delicate perfection, then shook herself and set 
the cover aside. The model seemed to float on a fox-fire sea, a sea of cold 
light, the gilt-green central island darkened by it and by the spectacular 
object that stood atop it. There had never been a single piece of halcyon 
crystal large enough to form that model, Silence thought, but she could see no 
join, no hairline imperfection where two blocks had been fitted together. It was 
perfect in every detail, down to the trees and wire-fine grass in each of the 
gardens; each tower was crowned with a tiny, carved crystal banner.
And she would have to destroy it. Silence almost spoke her denial aloud, and bit 
her lip at her own stupidity. This isn't just a pretty carving, she told herself 
sternly. It's the link, the receptor through which everything is channeled to 
the guardpost. It has to be destroyed. Still, it took every ounce of her will to 
draw the pitch pipe from her bodice. She stood for a long moment looking down on 
the model, fixing its heart-breaking loveliness in her mind, then set the pipe 
to her lips and blew a single soundless note.
For an instant, nothing happened. Then the air shivered around her, and with a 
sound like a bat's cry, just at the edge of hearing, the model shattered. The 
sea flickered and went dull. The crystal was suddenly criss-crossed with cracks, 
and the internal resonance that reflected and magnified the light so 
spectacularly fell away. A single tower crumpled and fell. With a choked curse, 
Silence reached for the dura-felt cover and dragged it back over the case, 
hiding the ruin she had created.
She stood for an instant, recovering her composure. At least she had not 
triggered the link with the guardpost. Hastily, she checked the room for any 
sign of her presence, her eyes avoiding the covered case, then let herself out 
into the hallway. She fumbled for a moment with the control panel before she 
found the code that closed the door behind her. Aili was still waiting, pressed 
up against the curtain. She beckoned urgently, and Silence joined her, toy 
heylin ready. The whole-water compound would not harm a human being, as she had 
told the shazadi, but the surprise of being hit by something other than dye 
might give them a momentary advantage.
"I heard something," Aili whispered, pointing her chin down the hall. "Down 
there."
Silence listened, but heard nothing. Still, she thought, there's no point in 
taking risks, and motioned for Aili to follow her back toward the library, away 
from the noise. The corridor would connect again with a smaller cross-corridor, 
which in turn would join up with the mirror-lined main passage. That would lead 
them back to the staircase that would take them to the lower levels.
They reached the staircase without incident, and Silence fiddled anxiously with 
the controls of the door. Despite the restricted-access symbol painted on the 
doorjamb, the door had never been locked before. It was now, and the pilot 
reached again for her pitch pipe, muttering a curse. She bent over the lock, one 
hand pressed to its warm surface, assessing its internal harmonies, the other 
feeling for the proper stops on the tiny pipe. Aili said, "Jamilla!"
The pilot looked up quickly, and Aili put a finger to her own lips. Silence 
listened, and then she heard it, too: footsteps moving lightly along the 
corridor. Silence mouthed another curse, and looked quickly for a place to hide. 
If she remembered correctly, there would be another of the ubiquitous alcoves a 
few meters farther on. When she started in that direction, Aili caught her arm. 
The shazadi shook her head rapidly, and pulled Silence in the other direction, 
back toward the distant footsteps. When the pilot hesitated for an instant, Aili 
tugged harder, mouthing, "Come on!"
Silence followed quickly as the shazadi led her diagonally across the corridor, 
counting mirrors as she went. When she reached the ninth, she stopped, and 
tugged frantically at one of the decorative cords festooning the frame. The 
mirror groaned softly -- both women winced at the sound -- and slid back, 
revealing a narrow slit in the wall, barely a meter wide and rather less than 
two meters deep. Something gleamed at the end of the enclosed space. It was a 
window, Silence realized abruptly, but an internal window, opening onto some 
other part of the Palace. The footsteps were getting closer.
"Quick," Aili whispered, "get inside."
Silence did as she was told, wedging herself into the opening until she fetched 
up hard against the glass at the far end of the space. There was barely room for 
both of them, and no room at all to turn around. Aili backed in, elbowing 
Silence painfully in the kidneys, and tugged frantically at a second cord. The 
mirror closed over them just in time.
Pressed up against the glass at the far end of the narrow space, Silence found 
herself staring down into a room she had not known existed. It seemed to be a 
bedroom, or at least there was a bed in it, but there was also an elaborate 
fountain and chairs and tables that looked more suited to a receiving room. 
Nothing had been cleaned for a very long time, however; even the single light 
burned dimly, obscured by the layers of dust.
"What the hell?" she said softly, intrigued in spite of her position.
Aili hissed for her to be quiet, adding in a barely audible voice, "It's her -- 
Radiah."
The pilot tried to turn, to see over her shoulder, but the space was too narrow. 
"What's she doing?" she demanded instead, matching Aili's tone with an effort.
"Checking the lock, I think," the shazadi answered. She shifted position to see 
better, elbowing Silence painfully again.
Silence did her best to press even closer to the glass. She did not think she 
had had time to leave any signs of tampering on the lock mechanism, but she 
found herself holding her breath until Aili shifted again.
"She's moving off."
"Good," Silence whispered, still jammed against the glass. They waited for what 
seemed like hours, until finally the shazadi said, "I think she's gone."
"Let's go, then," Silence said. They had already wasted too much time, she added 
to herself, especially if the Princess Royal had chosen to forego the 
celebration to check the security arrangements herself.
Aili tugged sharply at the lever controlling the hidden door. For a long moment, 
nothing happened, but then the mirror slid aside, groaning. Silence winced, and 
backed out into the corridor.
"She was still carrying her squirter," Aili said thoughtfully, as they hurried 
back to the stairwell door. "That should mean she's still playing. She was 
probably just passing along this corridor, and decided to check it on a whim."
"I hope so," Silence said, grimly. "What was that place, anyway?"
"One of the Hegemons kept a mad wife here, ages ago," Aili answered. "That was 
an observation point."
Silence nodded, and turned her attention to the lock, fumbling for her pitch 
pipe. This time she was able to find the proper combination almost at once. She 
set the end of the pipe against the lock and blew softly, playing an almost 
inaudible sequence of notes. The lock clicked, and the door sagged open. Tucking 
her pipe away, Silence led the way down the steep staircase.
The lower levels were brightly lit, in sharp contrast to the darkened corridors 
above. Silence blinked, rubbing her eyes, and glanced quickly around. The hall 
was quite empty as far as she could see, a spotless corridor covered with white 
floor tiles. Doors led off at intervals, but they were sealed up for the night. 
She hesitated for a moment, trying to get her bearings -- one place was very 
like another on the lower levels -- then turned to her left, where the corridor 
curved gently toward the outer edges of the Palace. As she walked, she hiked up 
her heavy skirt, using her belt to secure it just above her knees. She kept 
close count of the cross-corridors -- white-tiled tunnels as featureless as the 
one through which they walked -- and at the fifth fork took the left-hand 
passage. This was narrower, but as bright as the others. The quiet was almost 
deafening. She led the shazadi around yet another corner, and down a still 
narrower corridor. Finally, she saw a flash of color in the distance, marking 
the end of the corridor, and stopped dead, waving for Aili to stop, too.
"What is it?" the shazadi whispered.
"You see the red band ahead?" Silence asked in return. Aili nodded. "That's the 
perimeter marker, and there'll be guard-homunculi beyond it. Are you ready?"
The shazadi nodded again, lifting her toy heylin in answer. Silence forced a 
smile she did not feel, only too aware of Aili's inexperience, and started for 
the red-banded doorway. The trick, she knew, would be to deactivate any 
homunculi before they could raise a local alarm. In destroying the model Palace, 
she had shut down the system that would transmit news of the escape, but local 
alarms would bring more and more of the lower-level homunculi. She doubted she 
could hold off that kind of attack, even if she had an unlimited supply of aqua 
intacta.
Then they had reached the red band. Silence gestured for Aili to flatten herself 
against the corridor wall, then leaned forward, cautiously surveying the new 
corridor. Nothing was moving along the red-striped hallway. Beckoning for Aili 
to follow, she stepped across the red band.
Silence tensed as they moved down the corridor toward the boat-house, expecting 
any moment to feel the tingle of a breached alarm field, or to hear the 
dissonant shriek of a siren summoning the guard-homunculi. Nothing happened. The 
air remained still and soundless, and Silence relaxed a little as they turned 
into the little hall that led to the boathouse. The door was round and double 
sealed, like an airlock, and fastened with a massive, fist-sized freelock as 
well as the more usual palm lock. The pilot sighed and took out her pitch pipe 
again. She set her hand against the freelock, testing the harmonies.
"Jamilla!" The hiss of the shazadi's toy drowned the last syllable of her cry.
Silence whirled, dropping the pipe and bringing up her heylin in one smooth 
gesture. A guard-homunculus loomed in the mouth of the hall, eyes flashing 
erratically as it struggled forward. Aili's shot had been badly aimed, most of 
the aqua intacta splashing on the tiles beyond the creature. Silence fired. The 
cloud of spray struck the homunculus full in the chest, stopping it in its 
tracks. Steam rose in increasing clouds from its body, obscuring the flashing 
eyes. A moment later the eyes winked out, and it fell forward onto the tiles. A 
few pieces of pseudo-flesh, more affected than the rest by the aqua intacta, 
broke loose and skittered across the floor. Silence shuddered, kicking at the 
nearest piece, and made a noise of disgust as it crumbled into a grey powder.
"Do you think you can handle the next one?" she snapped, and knelt again beside 
the locks.
"I will," Aili answered affrontedly, then added, more calmly, "Did it send a 
warning?"
"Maybe," Silence snapped, still fiddling with the freelock. Then she found the 
harmony, and the lock fell open in her hands. More calmly, she said, "I don't 
know -- I don't think so. But keep your eyes open."
"I will," Aili said again, and this time it was a fervent promise. Nevertheless, 
Silence listened for the sound of another homunculus, even as she fumbled for 
the proper code to unlock the door itself. Then, at last, she found the six-note 
sequence and played it through. The telltale above the lock flashed green, and 
Silence pushed open the door.
"Come on," she said, suppressing her own distaste as she reached for the 
homunculus's arm. "Help me get it out of sight."
Rather than lift the creature's legs, Aili seized the other arm, and together 
they dragged the heavy mass across the high threshold and into the boathouse. 
The job was far from perfect, Silence saw. The homunculus had left a smeared, 
grey-green trail on the white tiles. There was nothing to be done about that 
now, Silence told herself sharply, and closed the boathouse door behind them. 
Aili was already running ahead along the dimly lit docks, examining shell after 
shell. The pilot paused for a moment, studying the interior lock controls. She 
could lock the door from inside, all right, but as for keeping it locked against 
a powerful override.... She hooked the freelock through the inner hasp, and 
then, almost as an afterthought, brought up the toy heylin and sprayed the lock 
thoroughly. She didn't know precisely what effect that would have on the lock 
mechanism, but if there were any earth-compounds in it, the aqua intacta would 
dissolve them completely.
"Jamilla!" Aili was waving from midway down the left-hand dock, and Silence 
hurried to join her. "What about this one?"
The shazadi was standing beside a glossy, black-painted shell that had been 
molded in the form of some long-necked water fowl. Silence studied it curiously 
-- she knew very little about such pleasure craft -- then bent to examine the 
progressor at the stern, half hidden between the stiffly backswept tail 
feathers. It at least was a familiar model, from the Egria factories on Numluli. 
She bent to unlatch its cover with renewed confidence.
"What are you doing?" Aili asked nervously. She glanced up and down the docks 
again, eyes stabbing the shadowed corners. She was holding her heylin as though 
her life depended on it -- which, Silence thought with a ghostly smile, it does.
"There's a governor and an automatic override on this," she answered. "I've got 
to get them off." She squinted into the progressor, wishing she had a better 
light. A moment later Aili was squatting beside her, a handflash taken from the 
shell's emergency kit tilted to illuminate the progressor's interior. Silence 
nodded her thanks, already busily separating wires. "We're damn lucky the 
governor's an afterthought," she said, more to calm herself than because it was 
really important, "Override, too." She braced herself against the dock, and 
yanked hard. The first set of wires popped loose, and she began reaching for the 
rest. "Or else --" She pulled again, hard, and the little box of the override 
flew free." -- we'd never get out of here," Silence finished triumphantly, and 
ground the override to powder underfoot.
"Are we ready?" Aili asked.
Silence nodded, gesturing for the other to climb into the shell. She started to 
follow, and Aili said, "Jamilla, have you ever sailed one of these before?"
Silence stared at her, momentarily taken aback. "Yeah, when I was a kid. Why?"
"Let me," Aili said firmly. "You open the lake door."
"How did you get so much experience with a shell, and you one of the Thousand?" 
Silence asked, not moving.
The shazadi gave her a rather strained smile. "I am the shazadi of Inarime, 
Jamilla -- or whatever your name is. I have a lake all my own to practice on. 
These things can be a little tricky."
That was true enough, Silence thought, as she headed reluctantly down the dock. 
The shells, with their keel-less treated hulls that rode on or just above the 
surface of the water, did require careful handling. And if she thinks she can do 
it, good enough, Silence decided. I can always take back control if she's not up 
to it. Hell, if she does know what she's doing, she'll be able to make better 
time than I could, and that's all that's really important.
The mechanism that controlled the water-gate was set in a pillar at the end of 
the dock, but Silence ignored it, looking instead for the emergency control. She 
found that after a moment's search, and stood studying it for a brief moment. It 
seemed to be a simple pulley and chain arrangement. Silence hesitated an instant 
longer, overcome by the sudden fear that this was a booby trap, then shook 
herself hard. Even the Palace had to provide this sort of elementary safety 
measure -- the inmates would have to have some chance of escape in case of fire 
or a raid on Asterion. Swearing at her own stupidity, she snapped off the brake 
and pulled hard on the chain. The pulleys shrieked in protest -- the mechanism 
couldn't have been used for years -- and Silence almost let go her hold. Cursing 
more freely, she took another grip, and pulled again. This time, she felt the 
chain give a little, and gave it another try. Slowly, protesting loudly, the 
bars of the water-gate rose dripping from their bed.
Breathing heavily, Silence secured the line, praying that the ancient brake 
would hold long enough for them to get out. Aili had already cranked the 
progressor to life. Now she brought the shell scooting up to the end of the dock 
and held it there, one hand on the progressor's stick control, the other on the 
nearest piling, while Silence pulled herself aboard. The shell was very light 
beneath her, lighter and edgier than she remembered from her girlhood. She 
crouched uneasily in the bow, trying to center her weight as she clung to the 
bird's gracefully curved neck.
"All set?" Aili asked, lifting the control stick a fraction without waiting for 
an answer.
Silence nodded as the shell slid forward across the still water of the dock. 
They were too far inside still for the shazadi to demonstrate any great skill, 
but so far Aili seemed to be handling the shell quite neatly. The progressor 
hummed very softly, hardly lifting it at all. They were coming up on the gate 
itself now. Silence found herself holding her breath as they approached the 
portcullis's massive teeth. She looked away as the shell slid under them, and 
caught a glimpse of a white shelf, almost like a massive doorsill, a few inches 
below the surface of the water.
Then they were through the gate and on the open water. Aili increased the power 
slightly, keeping the progressor's noise to a minimum, but the shell still 
lifted powerfully, skimming more lightly along the surface of the lake. The 
water glimmered, radiating a light that was literally chill, but Silence could 
hardly repress her shout of delight. She glanced back at Aili, her face set in a 
foolish, ecstatic smile, and saw the same expression on the shazadi's face. The 
Palace loomed behind them, unaware of their escape.
Chapter 10
AS THEY MOVED FARTHER INTO THE LAKE, SILENCE FOUND the triple peak that was 
their landmark, and pointed it out to Aili. The shazadi nodded, and increased 
the speed until the shell was practically flying across the smooth surface, its 
flat hull barely skimming the water. Silence, still crouching in the bow, had to 
admit that this was faster than she would have dared to push the shell, and said 
as much, raising her voice to be heard over the wind.
Aili gave a sort of embarrassed half-shrug, but she was smiling. She said 
something in answer, but her voice was whipped away. Silence nodded and returned 
to staring out ahead of the shell.
It was very cold on the water, the air chilled by the materia stellans suspended 
in the lake. Silence was shivering violently, even though she had pulled her 
thick skirts back down over her legs. She glanced back, and saw that Aili was 
hunched over against the shell's molded tail, arms drawn tight across her body.
"Do you want me to take over for a while?" the pilot called, but Aili shook her 
head violently. Silence was just as glad to stay in the meager shelter of the 
bird's-neck prow, and turned back to her vigil.
They had covered maybe two-thirds of the distance already, she estimated, and 
she thought she could just make out the shadowy indentation of the cove. It was 
much too early, and the shell was much too far away, but she found herself 
scanning the shoreline for some sign of Chase Mago or Balthasar. Nothing was 
moving, of course, so she looked away, embarrassed at her own sudden desire.
The lake water looked odd, she realized suddenly. It was moving against the wind 
-- or rather, cold blue lights were stirring in its depths. She frowned and sat 
up more fully, knowing it was likely to be only one thing. The sole of her foot 
was tingling strangely. She rubbed at it, only to feel the same tingling in her 
fingertips. It was the foot she had used to crush the override, she remembered 
abruptly. She must have gotten some of its active materials on her shoe.... And 
that means, she thought grimly, that they know we're gone, and are trying to use 
the override. She swung around again, mouth open to shout to Aili, as the entire 
Palace seemed to explode in a blaze of light. Fireworks shot from every tower, 
great spreading clouds of fixed fire that seemed to hang in the air, casting 
strange, flat shadows.
Aili jerked in her seat, nearly capsizing the fragile shell, and let their speed 
slack almost to nothing, recovering. "We're spotted," she said tragically.
"But not caught," Silence pointed out. A strange calm filled her: she had been 
expecting this for so long that its actual occurrence was something of a relief. 
She glanced toward the guardpost, and saw matching fireworks flaring from its 
location. The fireworks were followed by smaller globes of light: individual 
flyers, each one armed with a sonic rifle and a powerful searchlight. She 
glanced back at Aili, who still sat frozen. "How much faster can this thing go?"
"That was it," the shazadi answered, but made no move to bring the shell back up 
to speed.
"You better hope not," Silence said with a lopsided smile, but Aili still did 
not respond. "Damn it, Aili, either get us moving, or give me the stick!"
Aili gasped, and jerked up the control. The progressor whined but responded, 
sending the shell lurching across the water. The shazadi steadied it, 
tight-lipped, and shook away Silence's offer of help. "I'm all right," she said 
through clenched teeth. "You'd never do it."
She was right at that, Silence thought, clinging to the bird's neck as the shell 
skipped and bounced across the water. I could never control it at this speed. 
Still, she couldn't tell if it would be enough. She watched the smaller lights 
rise from the guardpost and fan out along the lake-shore, and held her breath.
Then, quite miraculously, they were sliding into the shallow cove, and Aili was 
twisting the control stick hard in reverse. The progressor shrieked again, 
trying to obey, but the shell slowed only a little before it slammed hard 
against the shore and skittered a good two meters up the rocky beach. The 
progressor cut out with a final angry buzz, and Silence sat up cautiously, 
rubbing the worst of her bruises. The shazadi did not move at once, and the 
pilot crawled hastily toward her.
"Aili? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," the shazadi answered, a little breathlessly, and sat up. "Where're 
your friends?"
Silence looked around quickly and, as if in answer to Aili's question, a 
pinpoint of blue flickered twice from the tree line. "There," she said, unable 
to keep the relief out of her voice. "Come on."
Aili pulled herself out of the wrecked shell, moaning, and Silence moved quickly 
to support her. The shazadi leaned heavily on the other woman for the first few 
steps, and Silence said again, "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I will be," Aili answered.
She was already moving more easily as they reached the edge of the trees, and 
Silence felt no qualms about releasing her hold. "Denis?" she called softly, 
moving a little into the woods. "Julie?"
"Here," Chase Mago said.
For all she had been expecting him, Silence started, then caught the big man in 
a close embrace. An instant later, Balthasar had wrapped his arms around them 
both. Silence held them tight, delighting in their warm presence, then, 
reluctantly, pushed herself away.
"Ah, I missed you both." It was not what she had intended to say. She shook 
herself, angry at such dangerous sentimentality, and said, "They know we're 
out."
"Us, too," Chase Mago said gently.
"Yeah, I know," Balthasar said. Dimly, Silence could see that he was grinning 
tightly. "But we've got local help."
"Oh?" Silence turned, to see a third figure standing in the shadows.
"That damned lieutenant," Balthasar went on, without particular malice. "Said he 
had to come with us -- I just hope you really do know all the land around here, 
or we're all in trouble."
Aili gave a soft squeak of surprise, and Silence said hastily, "Marcinik?"
"How could I stay?" the captain-lieutenant asked, in his most reasonable voice.
He had a point, Silence thought. She looked around, squinting in the wan light 
of Chase Mago's battle torch. Balthasar said, "Talk later. Like you said, 
they're looking for you." He held out a military heylin, and the pilot took it 
gratefully, thumb going automatically to the touch-plate. It was hot to the 
touch: full charge, a dozen shots. She started to ask for her clothes, but a 
light flashed in the woods to her left, and she stopped dead. The light veered 
away again an instant later, and she breathed more freely again.
"Shit," Chase Mago said, and dimmed his battle light even further. He and 
Marcinik finished dragging the remains of the shell into the woods, and the 
engineer glanced nervously at Aili. She stood uneasily a little apart from the 
others, one hand to her mask, the other lifting her full skirts. "We're six 
kilometers from the ship."
"I know," Silence said, hearing the unspoken question. She tore at the clasps of 
her underdress and stepped out of the heavy material, to stand shivering in her 
knee-length shift. Well, I won't be cold for long, she thought, and beckoned to 
Aili. "Highness," she said, in the High Speech that was becoming as familiar to 
her as the coine of the star lanes. "Highness, I present Captain Denis Balthasar 
--"
"Pith's sake, Silence," Balthasar hissed. "Save that, and come on."
"Shut up, Denis," Silence said in coine, and continued in the High Speech." -- 
and Engineer Julian Chase Mago, both of the roundship Recusante. 
Captain-Lieutenant Marcinik you already know. If you'll come with us?"
Aili relaxed a little, though it was impossible to judge her expression behind 
the concealing mask. Hiking her skirt even higher, she moved to join them.
"Come on!" Balthasar said again. He was already a few meters along a narrow, 
overgrown trail, his own battle light flickering on and off as he picked out the 
way. Silence stooped, feeling across the heap of her dress for the belt she had 
discarded with it, and tossed that to Aili. The shazadi accepted it gratefully, 
using it to fasten her skirts at about knee-length. She did it on the move, but 
could not help lagging behind a little. Silence glanced back, worried, but saw 
only the distant fireworks display still rising from the Palace. Then Aili had 
her clothes adjusted, and picked up the pace again. Chase Mago and Marcinik 
exchanged a quick, grim smile and followed. They were a more than adequate rear 
guard, Silence thought, and hurried after Balthasar.
The Delian had marked the trail military fashion, with unobtrusive smears of oil 
that flashed bright blue as the light hit them, and vanished an instant later. 
Seeing that, Silence called softly to the shazadi, "Stay close, Aili. The trail 
marks aren't lasting."
The shazadi nodded, not wasting her breath on speech. She was breathing heavily 
already, Silence saw with dismay, her mouth gaping wide beneath the mask.
"How's it look, Julie?" Balthasar called.
It was Marcinik who answered, his voice oddly formal. "No sign of pursuit." He 
hesitated, then added, "Procedure is to search the lake first, then the shore."
To Silence's surprise, Balthasar did not comment on this usurpation of 
authority, concentrating instead on seeking out the next trail marker, the dim 
blue beam of his battle light weaving back and forth across the path half a 
meter ahead of his feet. Instead he said, not looking at her, "What was all that 
about? Formal introductions required?"
"Yes," Silence answered, a little irritably. "I told you on Inarime, we have to 
follow all the traditions or she loses face, and all this is wasted. Trust me."
"I do," Balthasar muttered. Up ahead, the trail forked. He cast about quickly 
until he found the splotch of oil that indicated the right-hand branch, and held 
it in the beam until it vanished. He glanced over his shoulder and scowled. 
"Come on, Julie, pick it up."
Chase Mago waved in answer, then pointed unobtrusively at the shazadi. Aili was 
struggling, unused to the exertion. The mask and the gown would be hampering her 
badly, Silence thought, not to mention the bruises from that crash landing we 
made. Shifting her heylin to her right hand, she let herself drop back, and 
offered the shazadi her arm. Aili clutched it wordlessly and struggled on. 
Silence suppressed a yelp as the clinging fingers touched bruises she had not 
known she had. Silence could feel the younger woman limping, and uttered a 
soundless curse. That was the sort of injury that would only get worse, and they 
still had at least five kilometers to go. After a moment, she shifted her hold 
again, putting her arm around the shazadi's waist. Aili made a soft noise of 
relief, a startling admission of weakness, and let Silence support her.
Despite the pilot's efforts, Aili continued to lag, making occasional soft 
sounds of pain. Silence found herself stumbling more and more frequently as she 
tried to ease the shazadi over the rough ground. "Rest?" she called, and saw 
Balthasar shake his head.
"Three kilometers more," he answered. "You can do it."
I can do it, Silence thought angrily, but I'm not sure Aili can -- and I'm not 
sure after all that I can support her that far. The shazadi chose that moment to 
trip, falling sideways unexpectedly so that Silence was knocked off balance, 
too. Both women stumbled and fell, landing hard against a rotting log, Aili half 
across the pilot's lap. Silence swore at the damp muck coating her legs and 
arms. Grimly aware of a fresh crop of bruises, she pushed herself to a sitting 
position. The shazadi gave a choked half-sob, but did not move.
Frightened, Silence leaned forward to touch the other woman's shoulder. "Are you 
all right?"
Then Balthasar and Chase Mago had turned their lights on the scene, the Delian's 
angry expression turning slowly to one of concern. Aili sat up slowly, holding 
her ankle. Silence scrambled to her knees and knelt beside the shazadi. Aili's 
mask looked damp across the cheeks, the lower portion stretched as though the 
mouth beneath was set in a grimace of agony.
"Aili?" Silence said again.
"It's my ankle," the shazadi said through clenched teeth. "I hurt it when we 
landed, and now..."
"Can you walk?" Marcinik asked.
Aili looked away. "I'll try."
Silence pulled herself upright, then she and the captain-lieutenant bent to help 
the shazadi to her feet. Aili rose without a cry, but she could barely put her 
foot to the ground, much less put any weight on it. Even with Silence's support 
she could do little more than hobble, and each wrong move forced a soft cry of 
pain from her lips. The others exchanged glances. It was obvious she could not 
walk ten meters, much less three kilometers.
"I'll carry her," Chase Mago said abruptly.
"But --" Marcinik began, then shook himself.
"Damn it, Marcinik," Balthasar said angrily, and Silence cut in.
"She's injured, and this is an emergency. It falls within the acceptable cases."
Chase Mago had already freed himself of his battle light and backpack, handing 
both to Marcinik. Silence accepted the engineer's heavier heylin and handed him 
her own. He tucked it into his belt, and then, with surprising ease, swung Aili 
up into his arms. The shazadi made no protest as he settled her weight more 
evenly across his body.
"Let's go," Balthasar muttered.
Hurriedly, Silence adjusted the sling of Chase Mago's heylin so that it fit more 
comfortably around her forearm, then took back pack and battle light from 
Marcinik. The captain-lieutenant was burdened by an unfamiliar weapon harness 
and powerpack, the pilot noticed for the first time, but there was no time to 
ask about it. She concentrated on keeping the battle light squarely on the 
trail, and hurried after the others.
They covered another kilometer and a half before Chase Mago began to slow a 
little under his unaccustomed burden. Balthasar glanced back, uncannily aware of 
his partner's movements, and managed a smile of his own.
"Courage, Julie," he began, and then the smile faded from his lips. "Shit," he 
said, and pointed back along the trail.
Silence whirled, bringing up her heavy heylin, and saw ghostly lights bobbing in 
the distance -- three or four of the armed flyers. At her side, Marcinik 
squinted at them, lips moving as he counted, then said aloud, "They're still 
back at the cove, I think."
Chase Mago said, panting, "They can't miss the shell, once they start looking."
"Double-time," Balthasar announced, and surprisingly, grinned at Marcinik. "You 
may get some use out of that thing after all."
Even more surprisingly, Marcinik grinned back, but did not answer, saving his 
breath. Silence did her best to keep up with the pace the Delian set, but she 
found herself looking back every few minutes to check the positions of the 
lights. For what seemed a long time, they stayed more or less steady, circling 
the cove where the shell had landed. Then, as she scrambled to the top of a low 
shelf of rock and glanced quickly back, she saw the lights make a final circle, 
then peel off one by one and start down the trail.
"Denis!" Silence called, pointing.
The Delian turned, scowling, measuring the distance with a practiced eye. "Going 
to be close," he said, quietly. "Hurry."
They did their best to obey Balthasar's order, but Chase Mago, struggling now 
under Aili's weight, was unable to move any faster. Silence, looking over her 
shoulder every few steps, could see the lights drawing steadily closer. Marcinik 
was watching nervously, too. Seeing the pilot's glance, he said, "Standard 
procedure is to check ten meters on either side of a trail. But it won't slow 
them much."
Silence nodded, and opened her mouth to ask if Balthasar had heard. Before she 
could speak, however, the Delian said, "It looks like they'll overtake us just 
before we reach the ship. I don't want --"
He broke off with a curse, pointing. Silence swung, bringing up her heylin. One 
of the lights had detached itself from the others, and was coming directly down 
the trail, moving at speed. The other five flyers milled aimlessly for a moment, 
as though undecided, then followed more slowly. Muttering an oath of her own, 
Silence ran the power wheel from safety to maximum, and steadied the heylin 
against her body. The touchplate was reassuringly warm under her thumb.
"Get going, Julie," she said.
The engineer obeyed, not wasting strength on words. Aili made a sound of 
protest, but was ignored. In that instant, the flyer came blazing over the ledge 
of stone. Silence fired on instinct, half-blinded by the light. Her first shot 
went wide, then she and Balthasar fired together. The light shattered, but the 
shadowy flyer merely fell off to one side, unbalanced but unhurt. Then Marcinik 
finished adjusting his strange weapon, and fired once. A bolt of lightning 
seemed to sear the air, momentarily lighting up the forest. Silence caught a 
brief glimpse of the flyer, a crimson-coated trooper astride an object that 
seemed to be little more than a sounding keel equipped with a padded saddle and 
steering bars, and then the keel exploded, spraying chunks of keelmetal across 
the trail. Silence ducked behind the nearest tree while metal splattered around 
her, emerging only when the last rattling had died away. Balthasar rose 
cautiously from behind a fallen log, a bemused expression on his face.
"What the hell is that?" Silence asked.
Marcinik grinned at her. He was still standing in the middle of the trail, 
untouched except for a dark smear across one cheek where a flying splinter had 
caught him. "Beam rifle," he said, patting the power pack proudly. "It's 
especially effective against those things."
It would be, too, Silence thought, rather dazedly. The unstable fire compound 
mixed by the power pack would react violently with the complex tuning of the 
flyers' keels. She shook herself, annoyed that she had wasted even that much 
thought on such a trivial matter, and adjusted her heylin again, lowering the 
output fractionally to save shots. The touchplate was growing warmer again as 
the pack regenerated itself. The rest of the flyers were coming closer, so she 
glanced around for an effective ambush point.
"Silence!" Balthasar crouched behind his log, but instead of beckoning, he waved 
the pilot away. "Go with Julie, we'll take care of them. Get the ship ready for 
liftoff."
Silence hesitated an instant longer, but recognized the logic of the order. 
Chase Mago would need a pilot's help to get Recusante tuned up, and Balthasar 
had plenty of experience in ground fighting from his time with Wrath-of-God. 
Flicking the wheel back to safety, Silence turned and ran up the path after 
Chase Mago. Light flared behind her, followed by the pop of Balthasar's heylin 
and the eerie hiss of Marcinik's strange weapon. The explosion jarred the ground 
beneath her feet, but she did not turn.
She overtook Chase Mago two hundred meters farther along the trail, and slowed 
her pace to match his. The trail behind them was raucous with lights and the 
popping of heylins, but neither spared it a glance, concentrating on reaching 
the ship. Then Silence felt a peculiar tingling, like the tingling she had felt 
when the override was activated, and the scene before her seemed to swim 
drunkenly. A refraction field, she realized, and closed her eyes against the 
distortions. Then she was through the invisible barrier, and emerged into a 
clearing. Recusante sat in its center, keel shrouded in a crude baffle. The main 
hatch was open but dark, ramp extended almost to the ground.
Chase Mago set the shazadi down at the end of the ramp, saying, "Can you make it 
inside?"
Aili nodded, and the engineer gave her an encouraging smile as he turned to 
Silence. "I've got to get the baffles off. Don't start the preflight 'til I give 
you a green."
"Right," the pilot answered, and turned to help Aili up the ramp. The rest 
seemed to have helped the shazadi's injured ankle; she made her way up the ramp 
with only a little help from Silence. Chase Mago had set the ship's systems on a 
trip lock. As they passed through the hatch, lights flared on around them, and 
Silence could hear a distant hum as the harmonium woke to life in the stern 
compartment.
"Silence?" Isambard's familiar voice asked from the entrance to the common room. 
"Well done."
Silence looked up, startled at praise from such an unexpected source, and felt 
Aili beginning to sag again. "Where did Denis decide to put her?" she demanded.
"This way," Isambard began, but Silence shook her head. She could hear Chase 
Mago's feet on the ramp, and knew the engineer had already pulled away the 
baffles.
"Aili, I present Doctor Isambard, my -- teacher -- and a magus in your 
illustrious father's employ. He will help you to your cabin."
Isambard raised an eyebrow at that, and Silence continued roughly, "I've got 
preflight to run, Isambard. We've been spotted -- Denis and the lieutenant are 
holding them off, but we're going to have to leave in a hurry."
The magus nodded gravely and held out an arm to Aili, who accepted it with as 
much grace as she could muster. "Very well. And when her Highness is settled?"
"Go to your own cabin and strap down," Silence called over her shoulder, already 
heading for the control room. "This is going to be rough."
She practically collided with Chase Mago at the entrance to the common room, and 
managed to gasp out the information that the magus and the shazadi were taken 
care of. The engineer gave her an abstracted nod and headed on toward the engine 
room.
Silence continued forward toward the ladder that led to the lower bridge. A 
familiar bag dangled from the middle rungs. She pulled it down and snapped back 
the clasp to run her eyes caressingly across the starbooks inside. Controlling 
her excitement, she slung the bag over her shoulder and scrambled up the ladder 
to the lower bridge.
The standby lights were already glowing orange, the systems triggered by the 
trip lock at the hatch. Silence swung herself into the captain's couch, pulling 
her headphones into place, and leaned forward to switch on the triple 
viewscreen. All three faded on, showing the same featureless shots of forest 
topped by a cloudless night sky. Then the portside camera caught a sudden 
movement, a flash of light at the edge of the screen. Holding her breath, 
Silence rotated the camera until she had a clear view. For a long moment nothing 
moved, and then she saw a second flash. It was unmistakably the track of 
Marcinik's beam rifle. The brighter flash of the explosion came a moment later, 
followed by a thunderous rumbling and a sound like a tree falling.
Silence grinned nervously, hoping the others would be all right, and turned her 
attention to the controls. A glance at the engineering repeater showed that 
Chase Mago had not yet adjusted the harmonium. Silence turned to other tasks. 
The rough-reckoning console was fully lit, numbers showing in all five windows. 
This was the equipment used to land and lift a starship without the aid of a 
port and the preset harmonies of the landing beam. Silence studied its readings 
carefully. Core and atmospheric readings showed stable, the lunar reading was at 
zero. The etheric reading showed a steady flux, the numbers rising and falling 
in a definite but unfamiliar pattern. Silence watched it for a few moments 
longer until she was certain it was indeed steady, then applied the conversion 
factors to obtain the median note.
At that moment, the lights on the engineering repeater flashed from red to 
orange, and the keyboard chimed, announcing itself unlocked. Silence gave a sigh 
of relief, and leaned across the second pilot's couch to punch in the proper 
notes. The coplanetary reading seemed a little odd, however. She studied it 
dubiously -- it did not seem to match precisely the numbers she remembered from 
her starbooks -- but then shrugged. It was possible that the books listed a 
composite factor. In any case, there was no time to worry about it. She keyed in 
the vectors, and waited while Chase Mago's tuners digested the numbers. A few 
moments later, the keyboard chimed again, and the green preset light went on. 
Silence allowed herself a momentary smile, and turned her attention to the other 
systems.
"All set below," Chase Mago's voice announced in her earphones. "You can start 
power-on anytime you want."
"Beginning power-on now," Silence answered, watching the last row of engineering 
indicators flick from red to orange. Lifting from an established starport was 
much easier than this, with the shielded table to dampen the core notes and the 
more sophisticated astrological equipment in the tower to choose the optimum 
lift path. Even at its best, lifting from bare ground was difficult and usually 
unpleasant. This time, with pursuit almost certain, it was going to be very hard 
indeed. In spite of herself, Silence's eyes strayed to the left-hand viewscreen, 
empty now except for the trees.
With that thought, she leaned across the second pilot's couch again, and flipped 
a set of switches on a new console. Three lights came on, first flashing red, 
then steadying to a brilliant red that brightened slowly toward orange and held 
there. Silence bent even more awkwardly to examine the numbers beneath the three 
lights. All were comfortably within the operating range: Recusante's four cannon 
were fully powered.
Not that they would do a whole lot of good against a real warship, Silence 
thought, as she turned to switch on the rest of the systems. Recusante's popguns 
might pierce an armored hull at close range, but she would be destroyed long 
before she could get that close. The guns could be more useful turned against an 
enemy keel, where an explosion could disrupt the tuning. Silence winced at the 
memory of Ostinato, keel shocked and dead, plunging into the ice on 
Arganthonios. She shut out that thought, and flipped on a final bank of 
switches.
A new light flared orange on the internal monitor board. Silence jumped, and 
reached for the heylin lying on top of the bag of starbooks. Then the hatch 
status light went from flashing red to steady green, and an instant later 
Balthasar's voice sounded in her ears.
"We're aboard. Marcinik and I will man the guns. Now get us out of here, there's 
more flyers coming."
Silence flipped on the astrogation console and the Ficinan display, saying, "Did 
you hear, Julie?" To her surprise, her voice was almost calm.
"I heard," Chase Mago answered. "Ready with the first sequence."
Silence nodded, scanning her readouts. Everything showed orange or green, ready 
to go. In the left-hand viewscreen, she could see a swarm of bobbing lights 
converging on the ship, followed by a larger, less well lit shape. The Ficinan 
model was useless this close to the planetary core, but the musonar showed a 
fuzzy image. It looked like one of the armored vehicles she had seen when she 
first arrived at the Palace. She swore softly -- the double cannons could crack 
Recusante's hull like an egg -- and opened the all-ship's channel.
"Stand by for liftoff," she said, and heard her voice echoing dully through the 
corridors. "Stand by for lift-off. Everybody, be sure you're securely strapped 
in." She touched the toggle that switched her back to the engine room, and said, 
"First sequence, Julie."
"First sequence." The harmonium roared, swallowing Chase Mago's words. Silence 
winced, feeling the biting dissonance as the lifting harmony struggled against 
the music of the planet's core. The ship trembled, shuddering through its entire 
length, then lifted about a meter from the forest floor and refused to rise any 
farther. In the viewscreen she could see the flyers coming closer; even as she 
watched, one spat a sizzling ball of energy. It struck low on the port side, and 
Silence could feel the sudden quaver as the keel adjusted to the stress.
"Guns," she called, and reached across to touch a correcting key. The harmonium 
steadied. She touched another key, feeling her way, and felt the ship shudder 
again, more violently this time. The port cannon fired, knocking the ship 
sideways. Silence swore, scrambling to correct that, and out of the corner of 
her eye saw the flyers dodge sideways, out of the way of the falling trees.
"Come on, Julie, more power," she called over the shriek of the harmonium. She 
did not hear any answer, but an instant later the music surged strongly, a wave 
of pulsing, glorious sound that lifted Recusante from her place. There was a 
moment of painful pressure, and then the harmonium's envelope was fully 
established. The ship rose faster and faster, cutting through the atmosphere as 
though it did not exist. The Ficinan model flashed to life, displaying the 
planets' positions relative to each other and the flaring rings of the musica 
mundana. Silence glanced at it, but the musonar shrilled a warning. 
Instinctively, Silence put Recusante's nose down, skimming the edge of the 
atmosphere in a blaze of interference. The lighter passed just overhead, the 
reflection from its keel momentarily filling the bridge. Silence cried out as 
the keelsong passed over and through her, the sound racking body and bone, and 
clung for a moment to her bucking controls before she could recover herself.
Then Chase Mago had stopped down the harmonium a little. Silence hauled back the 
controls and pulled Recusante around again, up out of the soup of Asterion's 
atmosphere. The controls moved more easily this time, without the interference 
of another ship's keelsong to blunt the response. The musonar clamored for her 
attention, but she ignored it long enough to find her course in the Ficinan 
display. The safest -- most harmonious -- path ran from Asterion in an almost 
straight line that just skirted the edge of the influence of the outermost 
world, Niminx. Niminx also possessed the most elaborate of the system's 
fortified moons. Silence instantly discarded that path, and chose the second -- 
a long curve that skimmed between the music of the two intermediate worlds, 
Falathar and Mim Seras. The light surrounding the pinpoint of Mim Seras pulsed 
slowly in the Ficinan display, striking sparks of interference from the musica 
mundana of Falathar. It was a risk, Silence knew, but less of one than facing 
the installations on Niminx's moon.
The musonar shrilled again, more insistently. Silence glanced up at it and 
swore. Two more ships, their keelsong marking them as light military craft, were 
coming up over the planetary horizon; a third, heavier ship was sliding down the 
harmonic line from distant Falathar. Recusante would not have to worry about the 
latter, Silence realized instantly. They would be well into the interference 
zone, where the military ship could not follow, before its captain could correct 
course. The other two ships were another matter, and Silence hoped they were 
only lightly armed.
"Guns," she called. "Two ships -- fifties or small threes -- coming eight by 
seven."
"On our scopes," Balthasar answered with reassuring promptness, and a moment 
later the ship shuddered to his first shot.
Watching the musonar with one eye, Silence saw the shot fall short, but one of 
the pursuing ships changed course anyway, falling back a little. It turned its 
keel toward Recusante's sensors as it did so, and the musonar shifted to display 
new information: a fifty, lightly armed and incapable of true interstellar 
flight. She repeated that information to the men sitting back to back in the 
gunners' pod in the center of the hold, her eyes still roving across her 
instruments. A light flashed on a sensor panel: the fifties were returning fire.
On nothing better than a hunch, she rolled the ship to her left and put the nose 
down again. The harmonium shrilled in protest, but the fixed fire of the cannon 
shot exploded far to the right. Silence brought Recusante back to her original 
course, eyes roving as she calculated distances. The harmonium roared as Chase 
Mago opened the stops, and Recusante seemed to leap forward. The fifties fired 
again, and the gunners in Recusante's hold returned the fire, but none of the 
shots seemed to have much effect. Then Recusante was in the narrow channel 
between the two spheres of planetary music, and Silence's perception narrowed to 
that tiny corridor of interference-free space.
The musonar hazed almost to uselessness, its sensors overridden by the planetary 
harmonies surrounding the ship. Silence could feel that same deep music echoing 
in her bones, could hear the keel laboring against it. In the Ficinan model, she 
could see thin wisps of interference crossing her projected course, and lifted 
one hand from her controls to trip the harmonic filter on the forward camera. 
The central viewscreen, empty of everything but starscape until now, dimmed a 
little. The stars, though paled, showed larger disks, the reflection of their 
essential music. To either side of the screen, a mist seemed to obscure them 
slightly, like ragged curtains of fog. Slowly, vast reddish prominences faded 
into sight where the two curtains met, their colors barely brighter than the 
blackness around them. Silence bit her lip, not wanting to lose the perfect 
line, but afraid to risk too close contact with those spikes of dissonance. She 
eased her helm a little, letting Recusants fall off, dropping "below" the 
flaring interference. The harmonium whined sharply, a note awry in the heart of 
its song. Silence heard, but could not spare a hand to correct it. After a 
moment, Chase Mago made some adjustment, and the whining faded.
Then Recusante was through the convergence, and the extraneous notes vanished 
from the keelsong as the harmonium fixed firmly on the proper harmony. Silence 
relaxed a little, and lifted her hands from the controls. The musonar showed 
mostly fuzz astern. She extended its range, and caught a glimpse of the fifties, 
left far behind at the edge of Asterion's influence. Below, the three had pulled 
free of Falathar's sticky harmony, but was having trouble retuning to the inner 
system's notes. Recusante would reach the twelfth of heaven long before the 
three could overtake it. Ahead and to the sides, space was startlingly empty.
Rather shocked by the ease of their escape, Silence keyed the intercom. "I show 
clear skies," she announced. "Nice shooting, Denis, captain-lieutenant."
"Thanks," Marcinik answered, his voice hoarse with fatigue.
"Yeah," Balthasar said. "This is too easy." There was a noise of muted snapping, 
and then the Delian announced, "I'm coming forward, Silence."
"Fine," the pilot answered. There was no response, and she assumed Balthasar was 
on his way. Sighing, Silence scanned her readouts, able to check the lesser 
systems for the first time. Most had survived the transition reasonably well, 
requiring little or no adjustment from their preset positions. She made the few 
minor corrections, then opened the intercom to Aili's quarters.
"Aili? Are you all right?"
There was a long pause. The intercom was not easy to reach from the bunks, 
Silence remembered. Then the shazadi answered shakily, "Fine. Let's do it 
again?"
Silence laughed and, hearing footsteps on the bridge ladder, answered, "Maybe 
later." She flipped a second switch, and said, "Isambard?"
"Well, thank you," the magus answered promptly.
"Good." Silence cut the connection and turned to face the ladder as Balthasar 
pulled himself onto the bridge. The Delian was sweating heavily, face and 
clothes still smudged from the trek through the woods.
"Spell you?" he asked, and Silence shook her head.
"Not just yet."
Balthasar nodded, and dropped heavily into the second pilot's couch. "Nothing on 
musonar?" he asked, reaching for the controls himself. Silence raised an eyebrow 
as Balthasar once again ran the sensors to full pickup range, and sat staring at 
the empty screen.
"Good enough," the Delian muttered, half to himself, but his tone was less 
pleased than his words. "I guess the diversions worked."
Silence nodded, agreeing with Balthasar's unvoiced doubts. Even if the 
close-orbit patrol was fully occupied by the satrap's planned distractions, the 
ground commander could still call on the double-strength pursuit squadrons based 
on Falathar and Mim Seras, or the threes and fours based on Niminx's moon. They 
had never expected the diversions to do more than buy them enough time to pull 
free of Asterion itself. "I suppose we should be grateful," she said aloud.
"I suppose," Balthasar said, but he didn't sound convinced. "I left Marcinik to 
mind the guns," he said, more briskly. "I gather the passengers came through all 
right?"
"They seem to have," Silence answered.
"Let me take over now," Balthasar said again, and, when Silence would have 
protested, gave her a rather taut smile. "You still have to learn the voidmarks. 
I marked the road in your Topoi."
"The Topoi?" Silence asked, as she unfastened the safety webbing. "Do you think 
that's wise?" The Topoi was the official text of the Hegemonic Navy; to use it 
seemed to invite pursuit.
"They had the best marks," Balthasar said. He had already slid out of the second 
couch, and stood ready to take over. Silence gave her controls a final glance 
and slid from the couch. Almost before she had cleared its cushions, Balthasar 
had taken her place, drawing the safety net comfortably around himself. Silence 
picked up her bag of starbooks and settled herself into the second pilot's 
place, putting aside her doubts.
As promised, Balthasar had left a marker tucked into the Topoi at the proper 
pages. Even so, Silence quickly rechecked the table at the back, making sure 
this was a proper road between Asterion and Inarime. It was, of course. She 
turned back to the illustration, hoping Balthasar had not noticed.
The image -- very crudely drawn, like all the Topoi's illustrations -- was an 
unfamiliar one. The central focus was a tree, one side of which was in full 
leaf, the other blasted and dead. A skeleton sat on a heap of gold beneath the 
dead branches, playing with a handful of gemstones. Coins and more stones 
spilled between the dry bones, but the skeleton did not seem to notice its 
losses. A figure in a magus's robes and a fool's belled cap sat beneath the 
living branches, one hand resting on an open book, the other holding an 
elaborate orrery. His eyes were fixed on the orrery, but the expression on his 
face was not the conventionally contemplative gravity of a magus, but the 
vacuous grin of a fool. He sat on the very edge of the cliff, and the ground 
seemed about to crumble away beneath him. A narrow path ran between the two 
figures, and seemed to continue up the side of the tree, to vanish in the 
leaves. The commentary was no more than usually terse: "Great knowledge may lead 
to folly, and great wealth to Death. Only by moderation is the goal achieved."
Silence made a face -- she hated the Topoi's habit of cloaking specific piloting 
instructions in general moral homilies -- but murmured the cantrip that put her 
into the learning trance. The multiple meanings of the various component images 
seemed to explode into her consciousness like fireworks. Patiently, she 
disciplined herself to exclude everything but the specific pilot's knowledge, 
and slowly the sense of the road came clear.
It was not a particularly tricky road, but it was narrow, threading its way 
between two extremes. Other systems would probably have used Scylla and 
Charybdis to mark the road, Silence thought, rather than strained for this 
moral. The wise fool would mean a sink of some kind, the skeleton a dead zone, 
where the reflection of various mundane harmonies canceled each other's 
influence in purgatory. Recusante's course lay along the narrow path, then "up" 
the trunk of the tree and out through the leaves of the living left-hand branch.
Sighing, she let herself slip from the learning trance, and glanced quickly at 
the control boards. The musonar still showed no signs of pursuit. Frowning, she 
extended the range astern, upping the power to punch through the interference of 
the congruent zone, but even the three seemed to have turned back to Asterion.
"I don't like it," she said aloud.
Balthasar glanced quickly at her, then at the musonar, and grunted agreement. 
"We shouldn't complain, I suppose," he said again, but dubiously, and Silence 
managed a wry smile.
"I suppose not," she said. "But it makes me nervous."
The musonar chimed, a rippling run of notes that drew a curse from Balthasar. 
Silence reached hastily to readjust the main horn until it pointed forward 
again. The picture swam dizzily, then cleared. Ahead, just outside the ghostly 
line that marked the orbit of Niminx, a cloud of lights swarmed and circled. The 
readout at the bottom of the screen chittered, its numbers shifting wildly: 
there were too many ships, in too close contact, for the musonar to make an 
accurate count. The satrap's fleet had reached Asterion ahead of schedule.
Chapter 11
BALTHASAR SWORE SOFTLY AND FLICKED THE INTERCOM switch. "Julie! Stop down, we're 
aborting the run-up."
Silence looked up quickly. "You can't do that," she began, and Balthasar cut in 
angrily.
"We can't reach purgatory if we have to pass through that lot. If one of them 
didn't blast us, we'd still have to fight their interference. You really want to 
try it?"
"No," Silence admitted, still staring at the cloud of lights. The Delian had 
piloted warships for Wrath-of-God, she reminded herself, and knew what 
conditions would be like. Besides, she could see the interference clouding the 
musonar, fuzzing the images and making it impossible to get an accurate count. 
"What do we do?"
Balthasar was frowning at his readouts. "I don't know," he said. "Find a dead 
spot, I guess, and wait it out."
"Could we correct to the other departure line?" Silence asked, already adjusting 
the musonar to display the space around Niminx and its fortified moon. It seemed 
empty of traffic, and Silence allowed herself a moment's hope. Then three more 
flecks of light -- threes, almost certainly, dispatched to harass the satrap's 
fleet rather than with any hope of doing serious damage -- detached themselves 
from the disk of the moon, and flashed off toward the fighting. "Damn it."
Balthasar looked up from the Ficinan display. "It wouldn't have worked anyway. 
We'd have been fighting a cross harmony the whole way, unless we went back 
practically to Asterion. That congruence is setting up a minor flux all through 
the area."
"Damn," Silence said again. "So we just wait to see what happens -- and hope 
nobody notices us first?"
"We find a dead zone, if we can," Balthasar corrected. "But, hell, even if there 
isn't one --"
"There isn't," Silence interjected. "At least not on this side of the system."
"-- they should be too busy to look," the Delian finished. Despite the cheerful 
words, his tone was grim.
"What's the decision up there?" Chase Mago asked from the engine room.
"We drift," Balthasar answered, "and hope for the best. Can you adjust the 
tuning so we look like we belong to the system?"
"I can try," the engineer said. "It'll mean cutting power, though."
Balthasar hesitated for a moment, then answered, "Go ahead." He gave Silence a 
flickering smile. "We tried this once before," he said. "It's a question of 
adjusting the keelsong so that it gives much the same resonance as a naturally 
occurring body. Of course, the power's different, so we'll look much larger on 
their screens -- about the size of a small moon."
He was talking more to distract himself than to inform her, Silence realized, 
and said, "Won't they notice a new body?"
"There's a certain amount of debris in any system," Balthasar said with new 
confidence. "They can't keep track of all of it. And Julie'll fade it in -- he's 
good at that." The confidence faded a little, and he leaned to the intercom 
again. "Make sure our drift takes us away from that mess, huh, Julie?"
"I will if I can," Chase Mago answered, rather impatiently. "Trust me, Denis."
"I do," Balthasar said, unhappily, and cut the connection. "I do."
Silence sighed, understanding both of them. She trusted the engineer implicitly 
and with good reason, but at the same time, it was very hard to leave the ship's 
fate entirely in his hands. She glanced sidelong at Balthasar, and saw the 
Delian's eyes roving from musonar to Ficinan displays to the viewscreens and 
back to the musonar. Then she remembered precisely what Balthasar had said, and 
sat up straight in her couch. "Denis? You said you tried this before?"
"Yeah." The Delian did not look at her, his attention still focused on the 
screens.
"Did it work?"
"Yeah," Balthasar said again, and managed a rather strained smile. "For long 
enough, anyway."
And what do you mean, long enough? Silence thought, but before she could say 
anything, the intercom sounded.
"Captain Balthasar," Isambard said. "I have some experience with this sort of 
thing. Perhaps I can be of assistance to your engineer?"
Balthasar grimaced, looking at Silence for guidance. The pilot shrugged -- she 
had no idea whether the magus would be of any use -- and the Delian reached for 
the private channel to the engine room. "Did you hear, Julie?"
"I heard," Chase Mago answered. "Hell, tell him to come back. He couldn't do any 
harm."
Balthasar relayed the invitation -- suitably edited -- to the magus, then began 
fiddling with the musonar, trying to get a better look at the battle. Silence 
leaned back in her couch and tried to relax, listening to the sounds of the 
ship. Chase Mago had slaved control of most of the systems through his own 
keyboards. As Silence watched, lights on her own panels faded from green to 
orange as the engineer turned nonessential systems back to standby levels. 
Column indicators fell to the minimum marks, and a bank of lights winked out 
completely as Chase Mago cut power to the loading mechanisms in the hold. At the 
same time, the keelsong changed. The bass notes seemed to swell, a new note 
sounding at the bottom of the scale, a grating growl that was felt as much as 
heard. Silence could feel its slow pulsing in every bone. At the same time, the 
higher notes faded, almost but not quite vanishing entirely. The pilot glanced 
at the astrogation readouts: the readings for the ship and for the systemic 
harmonies were uncannily close. It isn't natural, she thought, and looked away 
uneasily. The numbers should be different, the ship tuned to the celestial 
notes, or at least to purgatory, and the system matching its own peculiar 
notes....
"Got it," Balthasar exclaimed. He was pointing at the musonar, and Silence 
looked up obediently. With the keelsong muted and tuned to a less discordant 
note, it was easier to adjust the musonar. The screen now showed distinct dots, 
slowly circling each other in a predictable pattern. Half the dots now showed 
green, the others red.
"Green's for the satrap," Balthasar said, "and the red ones are the navy ships."
"How do you know?" Silence asked, scanning the screen. From here, it looked as 
though the green ships were getting the worst of it. Even as she watched, a 
green light vanished from the screen. She hoped Balthasar was wrong.
"The navy tunes to the Asteriona scale, the satrap to the Castagi," the Delian 
answered. "I set the unit to distinguish by keelsong."
"It looks bad," Silence said softly, and hoped the other would contradict her. 
After all, Balthasar knew more about warships and fleet actions than she did, 
had been through a few himself. Maybe she was misinterpreting things.
Balthasar shook his head. "Yeah."
"If the satrap loses," Silence began. She didn't have the heart to finish the 
sentence. If he lost, they were all in serious trouble. They'd have Aili to deal 
with, as well as their own problems. None of their plans had really taken that 
possibility into account.
Marcinik said, "His Highness is losing?" It was the first time he had spoken 
since they had passed the congruence, and Silence jumped.
"At the moment," Balthasar answered.
"We have to do something to help," the captain-lieutenant said.
Balthasar grimaced. "Just what do you have in mind? I don't think our cannon 
would do a whole lot of good against a couple of navy sevens."
"I'm coming up," Marcinik answered.
"No, wait," Silence said. "We need someone on the guns."
The scuffling noise stopped abruptly, and when the captain-lieutenant spoke 
again, he sounded utterly beaten. "But we have to do something."
"Committing suicide isn't it," Balthasar growled, but Silence saw he had his 
hand over his microphone. She looked back at the musonar, watching the red and 
green specks weaving in and out of the fight. It would be hellish in the sphere 
of combat, she knew from Balthasar's stories, the keels shrieking in protest as 
they were pushed to the limits of their tuning, that very protest only adding to 
the interference. At that point, it would not take much to disrupt a keel. A 
near-miss, barely enough to disturb the tuning under normal circumstance, could 
utterly blank a keel or even shatter the tinctured metal itself. Recusante's 
light cannon could be effective -- but its keel was hardly built to stand that 
kind of stress, Silence reminded herself bleakly. If only they carried sonic 
mines. Even one would make a considerable difference if it opened inside the 
battle.
But if Recusante carried no mines, she possessed something potentially as 
useful. Silence leaned across Balthasar's couch to press the intercom button. 
"Isambard. It's theoretically possible to use a sounding keel as a kind of 
projector isn't it? Could we retune to a scale that would disrupt the Hegemon's 
ships without damaging the satrap's fleet?"
"Wait a minute," Balthasar said. "It's been tried before, Silence, and it 
doesn't work. You'll tear the ship apart."
"Not by a pilot who's also a magus," Silence said grimly. "Do you have a better 
idea?"
Isambard answered slowly, "I believe you said the Hegemon's ships tune to the 
Asteriona scale, Captain Balthasar? And the Inarimans are tuned to the Castagi 
and this ship to the Numluli scale." He paused, considering. "Yes, it is 
theoretically possible."
"It'll destroy the ship," Balthasar protested again.
The magus ignored him. "Silence, I will need your assistance, please."
Silence began unfastening the safety webbing, but Balthasar put a hand on her 
arm. "If we lose this ship --" he began, and Silence shook herself free.
"Denis, we have to try. If the satrap loses, we're as good as dead anyway."
"'As good as' isn't dead yet," Balthasar said, but released his hold. "Damn it, 
be careful."
"I will," Silence promised, and fought free of the webbing at last. She dropped 
down the bridge ladder and hurried past the closed cabin doors toward the engine 
room. As she stepped through the orange safety-light that ringed the doorway, 
Isambard said irritably, "You took your time about it."
Silence lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Chase Mago, on his knees beside the 
open panel that gave onto the inner workings of the harmonium, made a choked 
noise that might have indicated either amusement or outrage. Behind him, the 
pipes and clear columns of the harmonium pulsed gently, brighter colors 
occasionally strobing from the upper end of one hexagonal column.
"To work," the magus continued briskly. "I have calculated the sequence that 
will negate the Asteriona tuning, and set it there." He gestured to the massive 
double keyboard that controlled the music of the harmonium. Several keys -- 
perhaps as many as a dozen, Silence thought -- flashed on and off, waiting for 
the command that would release their music.
"We can use the steering board for ship's power," Chase Mago interrupted from 
the deckplates. "There's no problem getting to the fight."
Isambard, standing at the intercom, cleared his throat impatiently. Chase Mago 
groaned and hauled himself off the deckplates.
"All finished, Isambard," he said, and crossed the engine room to take up his 
position by the secondary keyboard that controlled the steering harmonium. It 
was a smaller and much more limited engine than the main harmonium, generally 
used to power the ship's systems or to run in tandem with the main harmonium. 
Silence eyed it with some misgivings. Now it would have to provide enough power 
to move the ship, and she was not sure they could trust it. Chase Mago gave her 
a reassuring smile, then flipped switches on the panel above the board, watching 
the test lights race across his indicators. He nodded. "Control transferred and 
secured. Tell Denis we can move."
"Captain Balthasar," Isambard began, and the Delian cut in angrily. "I heard. 
Give me first sequence, Julie."
"First sequence," Chase Mago answered, and touched a single key. The secondary 
harmonium sounded, its note thinner, almost painfully attenuated compared to the 
sound of the main harmonium, but Silence could feel the keel respond to its 
urging.
"I have about half-response," Balthasar's voice reported, "but good enough. The 
satrap's people seem to be holding their own, so we should get there in time."
"Holding their own?" That was Marcinik again. Silence spared an instant's pity 
for him, the satrap's loyal agent, trapped on this ship so far from the battle 
that would decide his fate.
"Yeah. They've pulled into a Castagi ring," Balthasar answered. "And his Most 
Serene Majesty's failed to find the break-point."
"Good," Marcinik answered, and cut the connection.
"How close do we come, Isambard?" the captain continued.
Isambard's eyes closed, and his lips moved briefly as he calculated something. 
"Tell me when your vox indicators show strength seven," he said at last.
"Vox seven," Balthasar answered. "I'd estimate you have about fifteen minutes."
"Thank you, captain," Isambard said. He turned to face the pilot. "Now, Silence. 
It is true, as Captain Balthasar said, that no one has succeeded at this before, 
but it is theoretically quite possible. What you must do is find the music of 
the Hegemon's fleet, then find the correct antithetical sequence that will 
destroy that music utterly, and project it through your keelsong. The 
approximate sequence is already set, but you will have to control and adjust it 
according to conditions --"
"I have to?" Silence asked.
"Yes," Isambard answered impatiently. "Now --"
"Why me?" the pilot asked. Somehow, she kept her voice calm, as though she had 
all the time in the world to get the answer to a question that was merely 
academic anyway. "You're the magus, you've got a lot more experience than I do."
Isambard was shaking his head. "You have an affinity for harmonics, and more 
important, you're a pilot. You have the pilot's intimate knowledge of the 
starships as well as a magus's talent. That should be enough."
Wonderful, Silence thought. It all falls back on me again. She shivered, feeling 
the sudden chill that came with fear, and knotted her hands together to quell 
their shaking. You're no magus, a voice was screaming inside her. You can't 
possibly do it. You'll just destroy the ship and everything in it, everything 
you've worked so hard for.... She shook herself hard, and said, with only the 
slightest tremor in her voice, "What do I have to do?"
Isambard gave her an approving nod. "Come here," he said, and led her across the 
engine room to the open panel below the harmonium. Chase Mago moved to join 
them.
"What I've done," he said gently, "is put the harmonium into free drift. It's 
passive now, no power going in, but the link's still there. You'll have to work 
through it to shape the keelsong, though. There's no way I can change that."
Silence nodded, staring into the main harmonium's warm interior. The long 
columns -- some metal, some crystal, some of a substance in between the two -- 
glowed softly, the multicolored lights momentarily at rest. Those open pipes, 
the actual source of the harmonium's uncanny music, were not meant to be 
controlled directly, but through the sympathetic linkages of the keyboard. To 
bypass that linkage, and the keyboard's preset limiting harmonies, was to risk 
letting the music flare out of control, under- and overtones building until the 
keel itself shattered under the pressure. A pilot doesn't have much to do with 
those kinds of harmonic adjustments, Silence thought. That's really the 
engineer's responsibility. I don't know if I can hear that clearly.
Chase Mago touched her shoulder, and Silence jumped. "Good luck," the engineer 
said, and returned to his place by the steering board.
"Now," Isambard began, bending stiffly to peer into the open panel. His voice 
deepened, its timbre compelling both attention and instant obedience. "Put 
yourself into a listening state, as deeply aware as you can be."
"I understand," Silence whispered. Beneath the momentary calm produced by 
Isambard's voice, she was terrified. But she knew, too, that to allow herself 
time to feel that fear would be to feed it, let it grow until it overwhelmed 
her. She shook herself hard and forced herself to relax, muscle by muscle. The 
tension eased, and she felt the fear retreat.
"Vox reads seven," Balthasar reported. "Let her drift, Isambard?" The magus 
closed his eyes, testing the air. Silence could feel the distant music, too, the 
jarring dissonance of the battle. "Yes," Isambard said at last, glancing at 
Silence. "You must begin now."
Silence took a deep breath, seating herself on the deck beside the harmonium's 
open panel, and murmured the first cantrip. She slipped easily into the first 
stage of awareness, and hung there for a long moment, fighting for the deep calm 
that would let her take the next step. She pictured herself wrapping up a black 
amorphous mass that was her terror, wrapping it in layers and layers of paper, 
then shoving it into a lock-box and turning an imaginary key that would hold it 
prisoner for as long as she needed. The last sensations faded; she floated 
serenely in the center of her body, detached and comfortable.
She could hear the dissonances of the battle much more clearly now, two 
uncomplementary scales made painfully dissonant by stress and proximity. She 
filtered out the one that was familiar, that woke a soft echo in her bones. That 
was the Castagi scale, the one to which the Inariman ships were tuned, and close 
counterpart to the Numluli scale to which Recusante and Sun-Treader before her 
responded. She studied the other scale for a long time, listening until she was 
certain she knew its every variation. Then she lifted her hand and pointed to 
the main harmonium. It seemed to take forever for her hand to shape the gesture, 
and even longer for Isambard to respond. Then the magus's hand came down on a 
central key, and the harmonium spoke, a great tolling like the voice of a 
hundred bells.
Silence thought she cried out, jolted to the core by the impact of that sound, 
but her voice was swallowed up in the surging music. Then her control reasserted 
itself, and she withdrew a little, to a place where she could hear both the 
discord of the Hegemon's ships and the keelsong that was the negation of that 
sound. Already, the keelsong was having some effect, amplified and sounding 
through the entire length of Recusante's keel. She felt a ship die, its keel 
shattered, and knew it as clearly and certainly as if she had seen it happen. 
Another of the Hegemon's ships pulled abruptly out of range and out of the 
battle, stressed beyond endurance. Then the music of the Hegemon's ships began 
to shift as their engineers responded to this new threat. Silence frowned at the 
open harmonium, barely seeing the streaming flux of light that was a reflection 
of the music within it. The song changed in response to her will, assuming a new 
shape under her guidance, but too slowly. The Hegemonic ships reeled under the 
new attack, but were able to counter. This was too slow, Silence thought, too 
drawn out to be of any use. She needed direct control of the harmonium. Before 
she could think about what might happen, she thrust her hands into the open 
panel, laying them flat against the nearest column.
There was an instant's searing agony, and then the stern music seized her 
completely, or perhaps she took possession of it. It filled her, became an 
extension of herself, became herself though she was something more. Its sound 
faded to a faint thrumming, no louder than the sound of her blood moving in her 
veins. With almost contemptuous ease, she reached through the silence, sought 
out each of the Hegemon's ships, and overrode their keelsong with her own 
demanding music. The last faint notes of the Asteriona scale faded, then 
vanished completely.
She relaxed, letting the keelsong swell again to almost painful volume before 
she reasserted her control. Then Chase Mago was at the main keyboard, touching 
the switches that brought the harmonium back under the board's dominion. 
Instinctively, Silence took her hands from the pipes, newly aware of the pain in 
her palms and fingers. Wincing in anticipation -- she could see already that her 
hands were red and blistered -- Silence allowed herself to fall from the height 
of awareness. Her hands ached and stung, but she had expected much worse. After 
a moment she mastered the pain, and looked around. Chase Mago snapped a final 
switch on the steering board, and came to kneel beside her.
"Are you all right? My God, your hands...." Without waiting for her answer, the 
engineer crossed to a cabinet welded into the bulkhead, and brought out an aid 
kit. Silence gave Chase Mago a grateful smile as he popped open a jar and 
smeared a compound like thick jelly over her burned skin. A tingling cool seemed 
to follow his touch, killing the worst of the pain. Silence sighed, and rested 
her head against the engineer's shoulder as he wound meters of bandage around 
each hand.
"Well?" she asked, rather sleepily. The jelly was taking effect, she thought, 
then realized how much the attack had taken out of her.
"That should hold you 'til we can get you to a real doctor," Chase Mago 
muttered, half to himself. He started a little at Silence's question, then 
smiled widely. "Listen for yourself."
For the first time, Silence became aware of the voices sounding from the 
intercom. She recognized Balthasar's, raised in indignant protest, and then 
Marcinik's, seconding the complaint. Then Aili spoke, the cool authority in her 
voice enough to intimidate any mere captain. Silence grinned. If their rescue of 
the entire fleet was not sufficient proof of their good intentions, the presence 
of the satrap's own daughter certainly should be.
"Yo, Silence," Balthasar said. "Listen to this."
Static crackled momentarily, and then the intercom was adjusted to the main 
channel. "-- order all my ships to provide any assistance necessary to the ship 
that saved us, on my authority as Hegemon, won this day." The voice was 
unmistakably that of the satrap of Inarime. Silence heard Aili give a choked 
sob, and fight to recover her composure.
"I extend my gratitude to that ship, and to her crew," the satrap -- the new 
Hegemon, Silence corrected herself muzzily -- went on, "and will condemn out of 
hand anyone who offers the least insult to any of her people."
"Nice work, Silence," Balthasar said. "Damn nice work."
"Thanks," Silence whispered. She doubted that her voice could reach the intercom 
pickup, but she was too tired to care. She roused herself enough to ask, 
"Recusante?"
"We'll be all right," Chase Mago answered promptly. "The keel's dead, tuning's 
blasted, but we'll get a tow to Asterion and a d/w beam down to the sheds. Then 
we'll call in a little of that gratitude he's so free with to pay for the 
repairs."
Silence laughed softly at the thought, but could not rouse herself to make a 
more appropriate answer. As her eyes closed, she caught a glimpse of Isambard 
standing by the engine room hatch. In the glow of the safety light, Silence was 
sure she could see him smiling in satisfaction. And then she slept.
Silence was never able to remember the events of the next few weeks clearly. As 
Chase Mago had promised, ships of Inarime's fleet took turns towing Recusante 
back to Asterion. The satrap's men, Balthasar reported with malicious 
satisfaction, were practically fighting for the privilege. And then crew and 
passengers were transferred to the satrap's massive flagship while a d/w beam 
was set up to draw Recusante down into the repair cradle. At some point, Aili 
was restored to her father, but Silence had already been taken into the 
flagship's sickbay, where half a dozen doctors clucked disapprovingly over her 
burned hands and vied with each other in suggesting treatments. Silence slept a 
great deal, but insisted on joining her husbands as soon as they were 
established in quarters on Asterion. After the initial battles, Adeben met with 
surprisingly little resistance. His allies had chosen their targets well, 
knocking out the major garrisons on the crossroads worlds of Ariassus and Hal'n 
Tek, and seizing control of the Grand Arsenal on the Malath Dag after fierce 
fighting. Adeben's ally among the True Thousand had brought his supporters -- 
perhaps a third of the entire force -- over to the satrap's side as soon as the 
Inariman ships appeared off Asterion, and with the old Hegemon dead, his fellow 
officers were glad to negotiate an honorable surrender. By the time Silence was 
allowed to leave the flagship's sickbay, only Tricca, held by a distant cousin 
of the late Hegemon, still offered active resistance. A sizable minority among 
the noble Thousand had had family members imprisoned or held hostage on Asterion 
or other worlds, and gave Adeben their support immediately; the rest of the 
Thousand and Ten Thousand were shocked into acquiescence by the speed and 
thoroughness of the takeover. Within a month, the satrap had established himself 
on Asterion, and assumed the title of Hegemon pending his coronation, scheduled 
for three weeks after the approaching New Year.
The doctors told Silence to keep the bandages on for three weeks after her 
release from their care. By the time the clumsy, mitten-like wrappings came off, 
work on Recusante was well advanced. Silence insisted on being taken to the 
dock, and was startled by the reception they received. Instead of showing shock 
or leering speculation, the new Hegemon's men treated them with almost 
exaggerated deference. It was somewhat unnerving, after everything they had been 
through. Silence inspected the beautifully rejuvenated keel and the new 
harmonium and keyboards, and politely refused a dozen other modifications and 
new pieces of equipment offered by the dockyard workers. She was almost glad 
when a bowing equerry brought their visit to an end by bringing up their 
brightly painted gever.
Despite all the unofficial signs of gratitude, however, there was no message of 
any kind from the new Hegemon. Aili had rejoined her father's household, and 
Marcinik -- now promoted to full captain -- had joined the reconstituted 
Thousand as the Hegemon's special investigator, responsible for finding any 
remaining loyalists. It was a job he hated, but did well. The four members of 
Recusante's crew remained in the luxurious villa provided for them by the new 
Hegemon, and wondered. Isambard spent most of his days either in the villa's 
library or in the magi's hostel in Anshar' Asteriona; the other three lounged 
about the villa, read dockyard updates on Recusante's repairs, did their best to 
consume the exotic meals prepared by a skilled human cook, and waited. It was 
not until three days before the Hegemonic New Year that Adeben finally sent for 
them.
The vizier n'Halian himself brought the summons, and chivvied them into the 
waiting gever before anyone could think of changing into more formal clothes. He 
gave no clues to the Hegemon's wishes on the short ride from the villa to the 
Palace, and ushered them directly into a private pavilion almost before the 
gever had stopped moving. He stopped abruptly outside the audience chamber, 
frowning. A small, veiled figure was waiting by the door, a domna hovering 
unhappily at her shoulder.
"My lady," n'Halian began, and the small figure took a step forward.
"Jamilla? I mean, Silence?"
"Ceiki?" Silence took a step forward herself, then paused, uncertain of her 
reception.
With a cry of delight, Ceiki flung herself at the other woman. Silence caught 
her in a quick embrace, and set her down again.
"I'm so glad you made it," Ceiki said. "I'm to be one of Aili's domnas. She's 
taking me into her household. But what you did -- I wish I could be part of your 
household."
"You would be if I had one," Silence said, smiling. "I'm glad for you."
"And I don't have to marry Aja's satrap." Ceiki glanced at n'Halian, and pulled 
herself up short. "But I'm keeping you from his Majesty. I beg your pardon, my 
lord vizier."
"Of course, my lady," n'Halian said frostily, but his eyes were smiling. "If you 
will follow me, sieuri?" Without waiting for an answer, he swung open the door 
of the audience chamber. Silence gave Ceiki's shoulder a quick squeeze, and 
followed him.
The satrap -- the Hegemon, Silence corrected herself -- sat on a high-pillowed 
chair of state, the scarlet turban of his new rank the only note of color in his 
jet-black robes. Aili was there, too, two massive necklaces visible beneath her 
translucent outer veil. All of her face except her eyes was hidden beneath the 
inner veil; nevertheless, Silence could have sworn she winked as they entered. A 
more heavily veiled domna waited with her. Marcinik was present, too, and the 
pilot wondered with an inner smile if anyone had told the captain he was Aili's 
prospective husband.
At her shoulder, n'Halian coughed discreetly, and Silence moved forward hastily 
to make her obeisance. She felt suddenly very drab, dressed as she was in man's 
trousers and an oversized shirt borrowed from Chase Mago, and chose the most 
severe bow in her repertory in compensation. Both Balthasar and Chase Mago 
copied her, the Delian with less grace than the well-born engineer, and then 
Isambard bowed gravely, his hands folded in his sleeves.
"I submit, your Majesty," the magus said, "that we have kept our part of the 
bargain."
Someone -- the domna, Silence thought -- gasped in shock. One did not speak to 
the Hegemon until spoken to. But Adeben did not seem to be offended.
"Indeed," he said, gravely, "and more. I stand in your debt, Isambard."
The magus bowed again, but before he could answer, Adeben pointed to the 
hovering vizier.
"First, the agreed-upon payment."
N'Halian stepped forward with a short bow, and drew from beneath his coat an 
ancient book, its covers cracked and stained with age. Isambard took it 
cautiously, running a covetous hand across its battered surface. Silence could 
see a compass rose, the symbol she remembered from the magi's library on 
Solitude, etched in gold across the cover.
"The portolan?" Balthasar hissed.
Silence nodded, a lump in her throat. They had worked very hard for that 
battered text, and a part of her wanted to snatch it out of Isambard's hand, to 
claim it for herself. She controlled herself with an effort, clasping her hands 
behind her back. Chase Mago gave her a look of amused sympathy, but said 
nothing.
"I am still in your debt, Isambard," the Hegemon went on, "and I wish to make 
that payment publicly. I know you intend to find Earth. I know also that to give 
you public aid would hamper rather than help you. I pledge now to aid you 
privately, but I ask you also to name a reward that I may grant you publicly, 
for personally destroying the enemy fleet."
But I did that, Silence thought, startled. Out of the corner of her eye, she 
could see Balthasar scowling, and she heard Chase Mago's sigh of resignation. 
Well, the pilot told herself, it was only to be expected. After all, Isambard is 
the experienced magus; of course anyone would assume he did it.
Isambard grimaced as though he had bitten into something sour, but when he 
spoke, his voice was as urbane as ever. "Your Majesty is laboring under a 
misapprehension. It was not I who destroyed the fleet; Doctor Leigh did that."
Doctor? Silence thought. That was a magus's title.... She glanced sharply at 
Isambard, and the magus nodded, not without regret. It was an unexpected 
honesty, and one Silence had to respect.
The Hegemon frowned. "Perhaps in execution, Isambard, but surely the idea was 
your own."
"I regret to say it was not, your Majesty," Isambard answered firmly. "Both 
concept and execution were Doctor Leigh's work. It should be her reward."
He said it again, Silence thought. Then I am a magus, or at least he thinks I 
am.
The Hegemon was still frowning. "Isambard -- Doctor Leigh," he began. "I.... 
This places me in a most awkward situation, sieuri. I am not yet secure on the 
throne -- what new monarch is? I cannot publicly admit that I owe that throne to 
a woman, no matter how talented or exceptional, without giving my surviving 
enemies a weapon to use against me. And a very strong weapon, at that. I will, 
of course, offer help in reaching Earth, but privately, and without any mention 
of the debt. I cannot acknowledge it. I ask you, sieura -- forgive me, Doctor -- 
Leigh to accept that private help in lieu of my larger debt."
He looks genuinely unhappy, Silence thought, with some surprise. I can see that 
his political situation won't let him do that -- the Hegemony's never liked the 
idea of women with power. I don't need the public praise, as long as he keeps 
his private word. And I think he will. She opened her mouth to agree, but Aili 
said, "Father."
The domna made fluttering gestures of distress, and the Hegemon glanced 
curiously at his daughter.
"Will you go back on your word?" Aili went on. Her voice was neutral, neither 
accusing nor angry, but Silence was sure the other woman was furious behind her 
calm facade.
"Daughter, I have no choice," Adeben said. "Do you want me to lose all this, and 
my life as well, most likely?"
"No." Aili bent her head slightly. It was hardly a gesture of submission. "I 
suggest that there is another alternative."
"Name it," Adeben said instantly, with genuine relief.
Aili's head lifted slightly, and Silence thought she saw a smile behind the 
veil. "Defer this favor. Oh, it need not be recorded in the Public Archives. We 
have familial records enough, not to mention the records at the Great Seclusion 
-- that ought to be private enough for anything. But record that debt we owe 
Doctor Leigh, so that when the time comes, and you are secure enough, Father, 
you may pay her as she deserves."
"Child, I may never be that secure," Adeben murmured, a wistful smile on his 
lips. He straightened abruptly. "Do you hear me, Doctor Leigh? I may never be 
secure enough to admit I owe you, a woman, my throne. Do you still want this 
deferred favor?"
"You will be," Aili said strongly, her eyes fixed on Silence. The pilot saw the 
other woman nod slightly, urging her to accept this offer.
Silence hesitated. She had nothing to lose -- most of the repairs were complete, 
and in any case, the Hegemon had promised his help in their search for Earth as 
a separate favor. It would only help them to have the Hegemon's debt written 
down somewhere -- and besides, she thought fiercely, I did save him. I earned 
this reward. I want it -- and I'll have it, no matter how long I have to wait. 
"I understand your position," she said slowly. "I accept the shazadi's -- 
forgive me, Serenity, the Princess Royal's -- suggestion that the public favor 
be deferred." She hesitated, then could not resist adding maliciously, "Until a 
more convenient moment."
The Hegemon frowned sharply, and even n'Halian looked a little taken aback. 
Adeben said curtly, "Very well. Lord Vizier, prepare the record."
"At once, your Majesty." N'Halian bowed twice and crossed to a wall cabinet. He 
rummaged in it until he found a slab of the thick, shiny paper used for 
hegemonic grants, then searched further until he unearthed a scribe's wand. He 
seated himself at a low table, flourishing the wand, and said, "I am ready, your 
Majesty."
"Begin." The Hegemon leaned back in the chair of state. "I, Adeben Kibbe, satrap 
of Inarime, Hegemon of the worlds subject to Asterion, hereby acknowledge that I 
am truly and deeply indebted to the sieura Silence Leigh, star pilot and maga."
He would have stopped there, Silence thought, but Aili turned her veiled head 
sharply. Adeben sighed and added, "For her services both in rescuing my daughter 
and in destroying the enemy fleet at the fourth Battle of Niminx. This debt 
cannot presently be paid, and it is heavy." He waited while n'Halian finished 
inscribing that conventional phrase, and went on more normally, "Given this day 
under my hand, and so on, Halian."
"Yes, your Majesty," the vizier murmured, sketching busily. At last he was done, 
and the Hegemon rose from his chair to examine the neat characters. He nodded 
his approval at last, and n'Halian handed him the wand. The Hegemon signed his 
name, then drew a metal oval from his waist sash and passed it across the 
signature. Light flashed briefly from beneath the oval, and the Hegemon returned 
the seal to its place.
"It is done," he said formally.
N'Halian lifted the first sheet deftly away, bowed and handed it to the Hegemon, 
who folded it and put it into his waist sash. The vizier made an adjustment to 
the wand and passed it rapidly back and forth over the next sheet of paper. 
Words -- the precise copy of the Hegemon's original -- sprang into existence. 
N'Halian tore it loose and handed it to Silence. The pilot accepted it with some 
amazement, running her fingers across the still-warm characters. Balthasar and 
Chase Mago leaned close to see.
"Very nice," Balthasar whispered. "Let's just hope he remembers to file the 
original."
"He will," Silence murmured. "Aili will see to it."
"Sieura Leigh." The Hegemon had resumed his place in the chair of state, staring 
down at them all. "I -- . My gratitude is real, if deferred." He nodded stiffly 
to the vizier, and stood. "The audience is ended." He was gone before the others 
could remember to bow. Aili and Marcinik followed, leaving them alone with 
n'Halian.
"I will summon your gever," the vizier said smoothly, "to take you back to the 
villa."
"That'll be fine," Chase Mago murmured.
"God," Balthasar said abruptly, "did you hear that? We've got the run of the 
yard, and at someone else's expense."
"We still have to get to Earth," Chase Mago said. He nodded toward the magus, 
who seemed already engrossed in the portolan. "We've got a debt of our own to 
pay off."
Silence said nothing, smoothing the thick paper between her fingers. This is it, 
she thought. Everything I've done from the time we left Solitudo Hermae, all 
boiled down into a promise that could mean everything, or nothing at all. But I 
can -- I will -- make it mean something. She smiled abruptly, and tucked it 
securely into her pocket, closing the security strap across it. "You're right, 
Julie," she said aloud. "Let's keep our own bargain first."