rix_scaedu | Entries tagged with seer

This is the second background piece for the July Prompt Call.

It began with the Deep Altar and priestesses. The Deep Altar because it sat galleries down in a cave complex, occupying a cavern that was an analogue of the Devourer of All’s own Eternal Cavern. Priestesses because men who made the journey to the Deep Altar did not return, The Silence Under The Hills being a demanding mistress who kept her lovers closer than life allowed.

After the destruction of the dwimmerweavers and their kin, including the bearers of the divine sparks, by those who thought dwimmerweavers were stealing power from the gods, the great project had to be begun all over again. This iteration the Mistress of Time chose to place her divine spark in the senior priestess serving the Deep Altar and pass it through that worthy’s female line. The wait began for the season to be ripe for the divine sparks to begin to breed and meld again.

The divine spark had the ability, when the bearer’s own higher brain functions had been suppressed by a dangerously poisonous cocktail of herbs, to allow the consciousness of the goddess to control the bearer’s body and thus to prophesise. When that became known the surrounding petty kings and great lords came offering riches in exchange for answers to their questions. Answers were given sparingly at first but the riches erected an altar on the surface and then a temple to house it. Riches and prominence brought more varied candidates for clerical service at the temple and men were permitted to join the clergy.

At first the seer was always an old woman, childbearing done for years when she received the divine spark, and used to bearing the titles of age and experience. Thus the first seers did not feel the sting of not being called by name. Then came the year when two seers died and the position fell to a young woman of child bearing age. It was expected that the Sun Emperor would come to claim his bride then but the man who would have been the Sun Emperor got himself killed in a bandit skirmish. The tincture for foreseeing was an abortifacient and it was decided that rather than give up the income from prophesy, the seer’s sister rather than the seer would bear the next generation. At the same time, the hierarchy that had developed around the temple would not bend to a young high priestess and so the seer no longer automatically became high priestess.

With the seer no longer in charge of the temple, the incumbents came under pressure to provide more foreseeings to the temple’s profit. That required ingestion of greater amounts of the tincture and that lead to the later seers experiencing a reduced lifespan.

By the time the Sun Emperor did come for his bride, he was performing a rescue.

I have written this to aldersprig's second prompt. It is set seven years after Tales Behind the Verses: Between Eighteen and Nineteen.

“Mummy.” A tug at her dress along with her daughter’s voice brought the seer awake. Now near the end of her fourth pregnancy she had enough experience to gracefully admit that advanced gravidity made her very sleepy in the afternoon just after lunch. Jonness, her son, was in class learning history through stories along with his carefully selected classmates. Carida, her youngest for another month or so, was having her own nap in her room. This child was Endory, her eldest daughter, both the apple of her father’s eye and already the subject of his political matchmaking.

“Yes, Endory?” The seer smiled at the fair haired child looking up at her.

“Mummy,” Endory was waiting as patiently as she could, hopping from one foot to another. She was always in motion. “I can make the leaves move.”

“Oh?” That didn’t seem a reason to wake her but the seer had three years’ experience in listening to Endory and waited.

“I can move them without touching them.” That was the Endory-style burst of information she had been waiting for and it was interesting...

“Then I had better come so you can show me, hadn’t I?” The seer stood up from her garden lounge and offered her hand. “Take me and show me?”

Endory grabbed the proffered hand and towed her mother across the lawn to a pile of leaves left behind by the gardeners. “I have to look at them first and think about what I want them do,”

“Go ahead then and do it”, urged the seer. “I’ll watch.”

Endory let go of her mother’s hand and crouched down beside the pile, looking at it intently. Looking at the small figure, still for the moment but still busy playing, the seer was glad she’d resisted those who’d wanted to swathe her and her children in clothing too valuable to get dirty.

Suddenly, a handful of leaves from the top of the mound of fallen leaves spiraled up into the air above the pile, soaring like birds in a thermal. Endory stood with them, “See Mummy? See what I can do?”

“Yes dear.” The seer hugged her. “You’re a clever girl,” added the divine spark within the seer, “I didn’t expect anything like this so soon.”.

I have written this to aldersprig's second prompt. It is set seven years after Tales Behind the Verses: Between Eighteen and Nineteen.

“Yes, Endory?” The seer smiled at the fair haired child looking up at her.

“Mummy,” Endory was waiting as patiently as she could, hopping from one foot to another. She was always in motion. “I can make the leaves move.”

“Oh?” That didn’t seem a reason to wake her but the seer had three years’ experience in listening to Endory and waited.

“I can move them without touching them.” That was the Endory-style burst of information she had been waiting for and it was interesting...

“Then I had better come so you can show me, hadn’t I?” The seer stood up from her garden lounge and offered her hand. “Take me and show me?”

Endory grabbed the proffered hand and towed her mother across the lawn to a pile of leaves left behind by the gardeners. “I have to look at them first and think about what I want them do,”

“Go ahead then and do it”, urged the seer. “I’ll watch.”

“Yes dear.” The seer hugged her. “You’re a clever girl,” added the divine spark within the seer, “I didn’t expect anything like this so soon.”.

The former high priest went discontentedly to bed in his tent. It was his second night of not being high priest and he felt he had a lot to be discontented about.

The temple no longer existed – it had collapsed the moment the seer bearing a divine spark of the goddess within her had left the grounds. She was now married to the Sun Emperor and her Imperial coronation was being planned. With the seer gone, the temple’s main function was gone too and it was going to be rebuilt not the way it was but to guard and mark the way to the Deep Altar. As no man had ever returned from the Deep Altar, a gathering of the goddess’ senior clergy had replaced him with the temple’s former Mistress of Works. His old ally, the Mistress of Duties and the seer’s mother, had been sidelined as well but she was going to organise her other daughter’s wedding to the heir of the Duke of Ondo so he suspected she’d find herself nicely settled somewhere. Most of the rest of the male clergy were moving to the capital to found an abbey under the Master of Studies and the Master Librarian who had both been invited to instruct at this university-thing the Sun Emperor was founding. Some of the female clergy, like the Mistress of Infants and Oblates and most of the librarians, were going too. He had been pointedly not asked. The heads of the goddess’ other major temples had suggested that he might take up a travelling auditorial role but it was all very vague...

He dreamt.

He was in a night bound garden lit by starlight and fragrant with pale blooms. Espaliered plants and staked flower spikes stood dark against the brick walls. Formal beds in sculpted, graduated heights surrounded a central circle of grass that showed a studding of flowers, even by starlight. The centre, the focal point of garden, the pride of place was occupied by a statue. The former high priest could not have said what it was made of, particularly in this light, but its subject was portrayed on a greater than human scale, a creature of grace, womanly attributes and female beauty. He was also not alone.

She moved through the garden, deliberately brushing the beds of plants to release the scents of leaf and blossom as she came. Once he became aware of her he could only watch her come towards him, unable to move or speak.

As she reached him, her face cloaked in shadow, her voice resonated through the garden, “There you are, you foolish man.” The glorious voice sounded almost fond, he thought. “I’ve never had the opportunity to tell you how much I like this place, have I?”

He gazed, awed and gobsmacked, at the weapon suspended from a belt around her waist. “No, divine mistress,” he sank to his knees and did not prostrate himself only because she had not left him room to do so without turning aside from her, “but I do not know where we are.”

“Oh, do get up,” she said with a touch of asperity, “if I wanted you to grovel, you’d know it. I suppose you don’t normally see this place this way.” She gestured grandly as he stood. “This is the portion of your mind devoted to me and my service. I must admit that I’ve always found your image of me very flattering. I do hope,” she looked at him almost coyly, “that this meeting doesn’t prove too disillusioning.”

“Uh, divine lady, there’s nothing I can say to that statement that won’t sound all wrong.” He paused and considered his conversational options. “Should I have noticed you here before now?”

“I don’t think so,” she sounded amused, “I took care to wander through while you were concentrating on something else. I think it’s good to know what those sworn to my service have running around in their heads.”

“Am I in trouble for the business with the seer?” She was already here and it was now a real fear.

“I’m not making you grovel, am I?” She still sounded amused. “I would have preferred it if you’d treated her less like an inconvenient tool, but you did what I needed you to do. She’s a dear girl who loves her family and her home. If she’d been entirely happy where she was, it’s possible that not even true love could have gotten her to move and I couldn’t guarantee true love. I will admit,” a touch of pensiveness entered her voice, “that I didn’t realise how isolated never being addressed by name can make a human feel. It didn’t matter so much when they came to the task later in life and they were being called ‘Mother’, ‘Grandmother’ or ‘High Priestess’ anyway, but it has been a real issue the last few generations. Particularly as your hierarchy was pushing physical isolation as well. I must say,” her tone shifted again, to amused and intrigued this time, “Jonan does seem to have a way with breaking down that isolation. Perhaps I should recultivate my acquaintance with Jokkiel...” She finished with a gurgle of laughter.

The former high priest thought to himself that her mouth seemed wider under the shadows than he would have expected. Then he wondered whether, in the current circumstances, he had any thoughts to himself.

“But, to business.” She was suddenly all practicality. “You, Ciri,” of course she knew the familial form of his given name, “are now a free agent and at something of a loose end. Though I must say, you do seem to like filling the rest of your mind up with worries – can’t stand the unfurnished feel perhaps?” She smiled that impossibly wide smile again. “I have a little job for you. The seer and the Chambourian Verses are important, but they’re not the only iron I have in the fire. There’s an item I have tucked away in storage that I believe is ripe to come back into play. I want you to retrieve it for me.”

“Divine lady?” He was flabbergasted. Whatever he thought of himself, he had never considered himself quest material. Quests handed out by gods only happened in legends and surely not to middle-aged administrators and politicians.

“Ciri, trust me on this. You’re not just in one legend at the moment, you’re in at least two.” There seemed to be a lot of teeth in that open smile. “I’m the goddess of time, I know what I’m talking about.” Her mouth closed again. “I could tell you exactly how to get there but you wouldn’t be able to follow the directions because you can’t do the things I can do.” She took his hand, put something in it, and then wrapped his fingers around it. “So you’ll have to do it the hard way. Start by going north along the Broken Way until you find the symbol pressed into the gold disc. The next step will come to you, I’m sure.” She released his hand and stepped away. “It will do no harm if everyone from the temples or with the Sun Emperor thinks you’ve left in a snit. That would actually make it easier for certain useful things to happen. Oh, and you might want to get rid of some of that unnecessary worry-clutter, it’s not really helping you, is it?” She stepped back again and was gone.

He woke. A particularly annoying member of a particularly annoying species of migratory cuckoo was making its piercing mating call from the peak of his tent. It was light outside, but not by very much and the sounds he could hear nearest him were people threatening a certain bird.

It had been a strange dream born, he was sure, of wishful thinking. Then his right hand, the one the goddess had held in his dream, touched a metal disc in his bedroll. He pulled it out into the light. It wasn’t a coin but it was gold. On one side, pressed into the metal was a trident-like symbol with the tines and shaft touching the rim of the disc. He turned the disc over and found the symbol was on both sides.

It seemed he was going on a journey.

The former high priest went discontentedly to bed in his tent. It was his second night of not being high priest and he felt he had a lot to be discontented about.

He dreamt.

“Am I in trouble for the business with the seer?” She was already here and it was now a real fear.

It seemed he was going on a journey.

They stopped one last time before the road went down the slope to the world beyond the view from the temple complex. The seer had to look carefully over her shoulder to see who Jonan was looking at. There was the merchant from the trance ceremony she’d conducted what seemed like a life ago this morning; his wrists were shackled and he was surrounded by Master Dionis, the unhappy thin-faced man and two of Jonan’s soldiers. Around them were more of the morning’s congregation. “Merchant,” the man in shackles looked up at the sound of Jonan’s voice and his face went white, “I shall enjoy hearing your appeal.” Jonan took a draw on his cigar and blew a plume of smoke into the air. “It should be very interesting indeed.” The seer could see the man collapse inwardly. “If you’ll excuse us, there are some other people I need to speak to.” Zhaerudmeal began moving forward again to meet a disparate mounted group who’d just reached the top of the slope.

They were all women, none of them young. They were not all together but in separate clusters of three or four. Some were on horses but there were also ponies, donkeys, mules and even a hinny. All of the riders wore something very similar to the robe the seer was wearing under the vestment. She looked hard at their faces. I know you. Or rather. The goddess knows you and she has given me her recognition of you. “Good morning, leaders of the devotions to the Mistress of Time.” The seer kept her voice serene while thinking: You all want to have different titles, well this is what you get.

“Ladies,” Jonan sounded as if he would have doffed his hat if he’d been wearing one, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“It came to our attention,” the oldest looking one spoke, Querida of Thanreal supplied the seer’s mind, “I can’t quite remember how, that the Sun Emperor would be taking the seer from the temple today. It seemed an opportune time,” she gave a sweet old lady smile, “To renegotiate the relative status of senior clergy in the Mistress of Time’s service.”

“Please don’t let us keep you from your duties,” responded Jonan and Zhaerudmeal moved to one side.

“You’re late you know,” replied the old woman, “We expected you the year two seers died.”

“That would have been Joteth,” said Jonan, “He was killed in a skirmish with bandits. Unavoidably detained.”

“Death would be acceptable excuse. Please don’t let us keep Your Majesty and Your Highness.” It was another of the women, Sofia Blacktape, who replied and began to move her mount forward.

“You must have so much to do,” added a muffled voice from somewhere in the middle of the loose knit group.

“Well, there is that,” Jonan agreed and Zhaerudmeal began to amble forward again.

When they were past the newcomers the seer asked, “How did they know to come today? I thought I was the only seer; that was what the big deal about me was all about.”

“Ah, that,” Jonan sounded embarrassed, “I must admit, I wrote them some letters. They were my back up plan for getting you out of that place. Now they can help sort out the mess the temple created back there when it fell down.”

“And you?”

“As the civil authority, I’m providing shelter and physical assistance. Given my civil and religious roles it would be inappropriate for me to do more.”

“You’re running away.”

“Only a little bit. Besides, I wanted to show you this.” Zhaerudmeal was coming to the end of the curved cutting.

“What?”

The view suddenly opened out in front of them,spilling lower ridges, foothills, forests and rivers down to the grassy plains that ran to the horizon in the east. “The beginning of the rest of the world.”

Zhaerudmeal’s stately pace took them out under the gateway arch that gave access to the courtyard and onto the sloping road that led down between the terraced herb and vegetable gardens to the gate to the outside world. It seemed to take an eternity to ride down that slope but she remembered, looking back and up at the empty windows where she had once stood to watch important people leaving after the great ceremonies held under her aunt, how little time that trip really took. Then they were at the gate, the furthest extent of her personal world until now. Beyond it she could see faces she knew, apprehensive about what would happen next because no matter what happened, their world would change. The seer swallowed hard. Zhaerudmeal kept walking.

As his last hoof struck unhallowed ground the miracle high in the vault of the temple roof ceased. The last placed stone in that uncopiable vault did what gravity had always decreed it would do, but for divine intervention, and fell. Support lost, the rest of the roof followed it, then the walls.

The sound reached the gate in time for Zhaerudmeal to turn around so the Sun Emperor and the seer could see the whole complex fall like a house of cards triggering lines of dominoes.

Dust shot out above them. Through the crowd there were some who started to run back towards the temple but, if they weren’t grabbed by their friends, they were grabbed by Jonan’s soldiers. The seer saw a seven foot tall soldier with bolt cutters hanging from his belt shove a heavy bag into the arms of the Master of the Library and grab the bolting third librarian within two of his long strides. His arms wrapped her to him from chest to waist and his head bent down so he could talk into the ear beside her tear-streaked face.

When the dust settled and the coughing stopped, though most of the dust fell within the boundary wall, the high priest came storming over to where Zhaerudmeal still stood with the newly wed pair on his back. Most of the other senior members of the temple’s hierarchy began, at varying paces, to converge on them as well.

“What did you do!?” The high priest stopped to splutter and sneeze again.

“The seer left the temple grounds,” Jonan said prosaically and took a draw on his cigar, “Actually, it’s not as bad as I thought it might be.”

“Ah, yes,” rejoined the Master of Studies, who’d almost sauntered over from what was, now the seer had time to look, a prime viewing position, “The verb in the original Navreen can be translated as ‘drop’, can’t it?”

“What are you talking about?” The high priest was wiping dust off his face with a handkerchief, “The Chambourian Verses were written in Melladiki.”

“Not at all, high priest,” the Master of Studies said calmly, “The prophet wrote them in his native Navreen and they were then translated into Melladiki. Then during the Raigshik someone decided that because the Verses had been translated into Melladiki, the originals weren’t needed anymore so they went around destroying the copies in Navreen. That’s why the real original is so hard to find these days.”

“People who have them don’t like to make it known,” agreed Jonan. “Mind you, some of the Melladiki versions use ‘sofli’ which is supposed to be for ripe fruit falling from the branch. Still very – suggestive.”

“Suggestive of what?” The high priest was still sounding snappish.

“That the buildings collapsing might not be all of it,” replied Jonan.

“There are caves under there, after all,” the seer’s comment had an oddly detached tone.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” the Mistress of Duties had joined them. “This is just the sort of thing that got you pulled from ordination classes – speaking out of turn about things you know nothing about.”

“Mother,” the eyes the seer turned on her were like nothing the older woman had seen before, depthless pools of impenetrable not-colour, “Hermine, I am no longer a child and I am no longer under your control. The Sun Emperor has already pointed out your options. You have served faithfully in the task required of you, do not act against your best interests now.”

The Mistress of Duties looked taken aback. “How long have you been able to do that?”

“Which of us are you referring to?” the seer asked. “I am the divine spark of the Silence Under the Hills carried, in this generation, within your daughter. I’ve always been able to do this, I have simply chosen not to for several generations. The other ‘me’ present, your daughter, is perfectly capable of conducting normal interactions with the people and environment around us.” She looked at the faces of the people standing around them then up at Jonan, “I haven’t gone mad,” her voice began to resonate as his had earlier in the morning, “You just haven’t seen the divine spark manifest before. Partly my fault, I chose to pull back from running the temple so you wouldn’t all be directionless when the seer left you.” Those strange, light absorbing eyes turned towards the high priest, “You and your predecessor didn’t take control of the temple, I let you have it.” Her smile was not a nice smile. “You may be in for interesting times. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to help the seer find all the information our divine mistress has left sitting in her mind for her to use – ordination classes used to be so good for that and then you stopped them.”

Her eyes returned to normal then the seer added brightly, “That was interesting, wasn’t it? She’s never done that with people around before – do I look like that in trance ceremonies or are they different?”

The ragged chorus of replies was quite clear. “Different!”

“Oh.” The seer found that interesting but now was not the time to discuss how you looked in the mirror while having a conversation with yourself. “The caves, that’s what I was talking about.”

“Um, yes dear,” said her mother.

“There’s about five levels of galleries before you get down to the Deep Altar. The first two go back into the mountain then the lower three come back this way again.” The seer added, “I don’t imagine though, that our divine lady would want to collapse the way down to the Deep Altar – she might want to use it again.”

“We could open the way down for her,” said the high priest thoughtfully, “Take pilgrims down-.”

“No!” None of them had ever heard the seer speak that forcefully before, and indeed she hurt her throat doing so. “It is not,” every word was clearly articulated, “That sort of altar. It is one of the secret places under the world, one of the reflections of the Eternal Cavern.”

“The old ceremonies,” said the Master of Studies thoughtfully, “Where the hero never returns from the goddess’ embrace.”

The Mistress of Works spoke up from behind the Master of Studies, “Feel like being a hero, high priest?

They may rip each other apart while they sort this out. The seer was bemused. I’m glad Dulcine will be out of this.

“My men will be bringing up tents and a field kitchen for your use,” said Jonan over the top of the developing verbal brawl below him. “Some trained librarians will remain to help your Master Librarian and his people recover their books. The kennel master, his staff and charges will be leaving with us.” He nodded affably to them. “We’ll be leaving you to your discussions. I intend that we will spend the night a good three and a half leagues from here, so we must get moving. Good bye.” He took a draw on his cigar and Zhaerudmeal moved off. Jonan waited a moment for the seer to call out her good bye to her mother then asked, offering it to her, “Do you need some of this? It keeps the spark subdued.”

“No, thank you.” She smiled up at him, “My divine spark seems happy to sit in the background, most of the time. Is yours pushier?”

“It’s not that-,” he was interrupted by a giggle. “What’s funny?”

“One of you soldiers stopped my friend Idua, the third librarian, from running back towards the temple.”

“So? They were told to do that. We didn’t want there to be bodies.”

“They’ve both just realised where one of his hands has been this whole time.”

“Oh?” He looked in the direction she was looking in. “Oh. Did he pick her up like that so she’d stop hitting him?”

“I think so. But that does put her in a better position to kick him.”

“It would help,” Jonan said severely just before the seer lost sight of her friend behind his shoulder, “If the rest of his squad weren’t laughing so hard at him. Particularly the priest-archivist.”

Zhaerudmeal made his way down the road at a stately pace. It seemed to the seer that the temple folk were in shock. Some, like the infirmarian, had tasks to perform. A few were having hysterics. They passed the kitchen staff clustered around the Head Cook and with the scratched soldier, his arms and hands bandaged, sitting beside them. On his lap was an orange pobha kitten. Every time the kitten tried to get off the lap and return to its siblings in the basket, its mother swatted it on the nose. After the third swat that the seer saw, the kitten settled down, discontentedly for a nap.

“What does that man think he’s going to do with a house cat?” Jonan had followed her gaze again.

“I don’t suppose the mother asked him before she decided he was having a kitten,” replied the seer, “Pobha can be a bit like that. Besides, did you see its feet when it was kneading before it settled? It’s decided to be much bigger than a house cat. It’s about the right age for that.”

“Are you sure, you don’t have one?” Jonan looked concerned.

“Absolutely positive.”

“Good.”

The ceremony was attended by a surprising number of people. Dame Guenna, the Mistress of Infants and Oblates, for instance, had all her charges there sitting neatly in rows so they could watch. The Master of Studies seemed to have his current students from all the Tranches present. The seer hadn’t been to that many weddings but she supposed that she looked an odd bride in her plain work robe covered by the uncomplicated vestment that had been run up by the temple seamstresses for the weekly trance ceremonies. She thought too that Jonan’s supporters were better equipped than most groom’s men to aid their principle in a fight, which was what she understood they were there for, theoretically speaking. The swords and armour didn’t look that theoretical.

After the ceremony Jonan had a few words with some of his men, while the seer accepted the congratulations of her friends and others, then he had her take him to her rooms so she could pack. He’d been uncomfortable in her rooms, finding their natural darkness oppressive and their proximity to the altar on the other side of the wall unsettling. He’d had chests brought round so she could pack her possessions and she had only needed half of them. Even with her winter coat, hat, gloves and boots the second chest was barely full.

She’d gone to strip off the vestment so it could be returned to the public chapel but he stopped her saying, “Let everyone see you in your wedding garb. You do realise that you’ve just set the standard for Imperial brides for all time to come, don’t you?”

She retorted, “I got dressed this morning thinking that I was going to spend the morning washing windows. I, for one, do not expect to be copied!”

“But think of all those daughters we’re going to have,” he drew on his cigar, “If I can get them to dress like you today for their weddings, think of the savings!” He added virtuously, “I have an empire to run after all, every penny counts.”

Then Jonan led her out into Great Courtyard fronting the temple proper and bounded by other buildings of the complex. It was a hive of activity. More soldiers in Jokkiel’s markings than the seer had thought he had with him, coming and going. One was helping an elderly priestess, almost the last of her grandmother’s contemporaries, across the courtyard, a bag of her possessions and a rolled-up mat on his back. One of his fellows followed, carrying a solid red cedar chair. “I wanted to make sure,” Jonan said casually, pausing to take a draw on his cigar, “That no-one was too tired, too weak or thought they were too busy to come out and say good bye to you. So I called up a few more men I had waiting down the valley to go through and make sure everyone was out.” He stopped and pointed the cigar at a group of the Mistress of infants and Oblates’ charges emerging from the direction of the watchdog kennels, all wearing packs on their backs and carrying a puppy each, being closely supervised by a kennel man and the puppies’ mother. “What are those?”

She looked. “Children carrying puppies. Did you really mean every living thing? What about the rats and mice?”

“The vermin can take care of themselves, or not,” he replied then clarified, “Puppy what? Those aren’t dogs.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” The seer looked at the familiar animals with interest. “When we were little, my aunt told us that when the Mistress of Time and Sluan threw down the stronghold of the rakdhan Showa-ked, Sluan took its hunting beasts while our mistress kept its guard hounds. These animals are some of their descendents.”

“Hell hounds,” he muttered, “My wife comes with hell hounds and their kennel masters, no doubt. Are there,” he asked her, “Any other unusual domestic animals I should know about?”

She looked at him blankly, “Our cats are pobhas but I understand they’re fairly wide spread.”

A squad of Jonan’s soldiers went slowly past carrying a woman in labour on a wide padded litter, being threatened by their sergeant with the five sessions of pain if they dropped her or even made her feel unsafe, while the infirmary’s mid wife walked beside her.

“Pobhas.” Jonan stopped mid gesture. “Hell hounds and demon ghost cats. Dear wife, what sort of mice and rats does this temple have?”

“Scared ones!” She smiled up at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t have any particularly attached to me.”

“That’s probably good,” he admitted as he continued to lead her through the crowd and she caught a glimpse of one of the chests with her things in it loaded on a cart that was beginning to make its way towards the gate out of the courtyard. “Now this one is for you.” He indicated the gold bodied animal with the pale tail and mane as if presenting her with a great treat.

She looked at it. “It’s a horse.”

“Yes.” He sounded encouraging.

“I can’t ride.” She looked at him. “I’ve never been further than the inside of the last gate leading out of the temple’s demesne. I’ve had no need to learn how to ride.”

“Surely, when you were a child before you became seer-”

“Before I was identified as the seer, neither Dulcine nor I were allowed to leave the temple grounds,” she told him. “My horse related skills are,” she pointed at the horse in question, “Look it’s a horse!” She bent over, mainly sideways to get a better view. “I’m fairly sure it’s a girl horse.” She straightened. “Also don’t walk too close to their back legs or you’ll be kicked and if you are going to give them an apple or a carrot, keep your hand flat.”

Jonan took a deep draw on his cigar. “Right, so you’re not riding out of here today on your own horse.” Another draw on the cigar. “And today is not the day for a riding lesson.” He tapped the ash off the cigar. “You’ll have to ride with me. Come this way.”

The crowd was thinning now. A soldier went past them, blood-dripping scratches running the length of his forearms and hands. A cluster of kitchen staff were with him, one carrying a basket of moving shapes under a cloth with a large housecat-sized pobha following her and miaowing loudly.

“This is my mount.” He was affectionately rubbing the nose of a creature as tall and muscled as a cart horse. Its tack and trappings seemed to shout, “Look at me! I’m carrying the Sun Emperor!” Everything that could be metal and, hopefully, not irritate beast or rider gleamed golden. The seer wondered who had to polish it all. The animal’s iris was a solid metallic gold colour. The dappling seemed to be moving on the portions of its hide she could see. “His name is Zhaerudmeal. Zhaerud for short.” The animal head butted him playfully.

The seer’s lips moved as she worked something out. “His name is Dapple.” She laughed. “You’re riding a whatever-he-is and you’re calling him Dapple.” She curtsied to the animal on the grounds that it was better to be safe than sorry. “It does sound better in Melladiki, I’ll give you that.”

He looked at her oddly. “What do you mean ‘whatever-he-is’? Zhaerud is a horse, aren’t you boy?” The two males nodded at each other and the mount made a whuffling-whumping exhalation sound as if in emphasis.

“Remember that “It’s a horse!” thing?” the seer asked tartly. “Well, I do know that horses don’t have three-lobed hooves. Zhaerudmeal here has three-lobed hooves, therefore he is not a horse.”

Man and beast gave each other looks of what may have been interpreted as embarrassment. “Ah,” Jonan said and took a draw on his cigar, “He is from the star-meads. From the herd sired by Jokkiel’s Sundancer.”

She looked at them both. “And you said my domestic animals were strange!”

Whatever Zhaerudmeal was, she would have sworn that he shrugged at the same time as her husband.

“We’ll need to be the last out of the temple grounds,” Jonan went on prosaically, “And I’ll have you up in front of me so I can see what you’re doing. Zhaerud,” he turned to the animal, “My wife, whose name cannot be used and which I do not even know, cannot ride. We are going to have to teach her. Today, though, you are going to carry us both. All right?”

Zhaerudmeal got to whuffle her as the conclusion to formal introductions and the seer suspected that she had been categorized somewhere under ‘rider’s mate.’ There were some more introductions, particularly to the men who were going to help her get on Zhaerudmeal in front of Jonan.

It took a mounting block and two men to get her up there – it was not like climbing a ladder. Once she was up then she and Jonan had to settle her into a position that was comfortable for all three of them. She did not feel very safe when they were done: she had nowhere to put her feet so she envied Jonan his stirrups; where she was sitting was not meant for sitting and while she had no idea how it felt to Zhaerudmeal she suspected that she would be very uncomfortable before long; and she had nothing to hang on to while Jonan had two arms with which he was holding his cigar, steering Zhaerudmeal and holding her. Precarious seemed to sum it up.

“Couldn’t I just ride on a wagon?” She looked up at Jonan. That felt better than looking at the ground, which seemed a long way down.

“Not until we get through the town,” Jonan replied, then took a draw on his cigar, “This is about the stories people are going to tell about today as much as anything else. You can lean back into my arm, you know. You’d be more comfortable.”

“I’m worried I’ll get in the way of you doing something important,” she confessed, “I just don’t know how this works.”

“For this I’m mainly holding the reins to keep them out of his way and so I can tell him to stop in a hurry, most of the steering I’ll need to do will happen with my knees.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, almost as if he wasn’t sure how it would be received. “It would actually make it easier for us if you relaxed a little more.” The seer took a deep breath and slowly breathed out, consciously relaxing her muscles as she did so. “That’s better,” he risked another kiss to her forehead, “Much better.”

A fanfare of trumpets sounded from the direction of the gate to the temple’s demesne.

“That’s our signal,” said Jonan with some satisfaction, “Everyone else is out or will be by the time we get there. Let’s go.” Zhaerudmeal started towards the courtyard exit at a stately walk.

“Wasn’t it rather elaborate for a signal?” It occurred to the seer as she asked the question that if she kept talking to Jonan then she wouldn’t have to look down. Looking down while they moving seemed like a recipe for disaster.

“As far as anyone else is concerned,” Jonan took a draw on his cigar, “The trumpets were announcing us.”

The infirmarian was unimpressed to see her again so soon. “Two days running? Aren’t our superiors thinking at all?” He checked the bucket’s contents. “No blood.” He handed her a cup of water, “Go rinse and spit.”

When she was at the basin she heard the soldier ask the infirmarian, “So, how often does she do this?”

“Throw up?” The infirmarian shot his answer back, “Every time now. Conduct the trance ceremonies? There’s the original three a year, plus the monthly ones that they added a few generations back, these blasted weekly things they added because she’s ‘just sitting around not doing anything,’ plus whenever the high priest decides that he absolutely has to ask the goddess about something.” He considered a moment then summarised, “Too often.”

“If you’ve finished with the young lady,” the soldier said, “She and I have a few more people to see.”

“Oh,” that was the infirmarian and the seer turned at the sadness in his voice, “You’re really going to take her away?”

“We have to,” the soldier shrugged, “Politics if not religion. But,” he emphasised the word with a waggle of the smoking cigar, “I can almost guarantee that she’ll never have to drink that stuff again.” He walked over to the seer as she put down her cup and took her by the upper arm once more. “We need to get moving. Infirmarian,” the older man looked back at him, “I recommend you get you patients ready to move and pack up everything you would want to take with you if you were leaving here.” Another draw on the cigar and frown lines creased the infirmarian’s forehead. “Just a word to the wise, you understand?”

The soldier and the seer left a suddenly busy infirmary behind them as he led her firmly by the arm towards the guest quarters. She could have struggled but his grip was strong enough that she had no hope of breaking free from it and she was not sure she wanted to. Hang on and enjoy the ride. Now seemed to be the time to follow that advice.

The Sun Emperor was holding court in the hostel parlour set aside for important guests who would not care to rub cheek by jowl with the hoi polloi. The private parlour was a practice, the seer had heard from those who’d filled the hospitaler’s post, that helped protect the common folk from the mad, bad, dangerous and powerful who sometimes chose to grace the temple with their presence. The Sun Emperor was playing chess against a priest of Jokkiel using a set that must have been his own because the seer did not recognise the brown and gray stone pieces. Dulcine was at his elbow, talking to him as he played, touching his arm with her hand. Nothing improper, but she obviously liked him. Dulcine was going to be so mad. The seer caught a glimpse of another small grouping off to one side: her mother, the high priest and an older priest of Jokkiel. This was going to be a very bumpy ride.

The solider spoke and his voice carried clearly across the room, “Dump the doxy, Delloran. I’ve found the girl we’re after.”

The Sun Emperor stood up, chess and Dulcine forgotten. “Yes sir!” Then a quieter, “Permission to dump the phony regalia, sir?”

“Yes,” a smile, “I’m glad I don’t have to wear that stuff.” Then to the room at large, “For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Jonan the Sun Emperor. For those who don’t know her, this young lady is the seer of the Silence Under the Hills.”

The seer’s jaw dropped as every member of the Emperor’s retinue in the room bowed in her direction and said, “My lady.”

Dulcine was on her feet now. “You,” she stabbed her finger into the chest of the golden haired young man taking off a heavily ornate golden cloak, “Told me that you are the Sun Emperor!”

“You told me,” he replied calmly, “That you are the seer. I think that sort of makes us even, don’t you, Dulcine?” She spluttered and he took the hand that was poking him in the chest. “Please stop poking me like that.” He kissed her, briefly, which made her splutter even more. “My parents are going to think that you’re just the girl I should marry: empress-to-be’s sister; intelligent; able to follow through on a plan of beneficial action; pretty; and probably willing to provide them with grandchildren. We’ve got a Duchy halfway between here and the coast. Consider it, please?”

The high priest and the mother of both the seer and Dulcine had abandoned the priest of Jokkiel and were heading straight for Jonan and the seer. Behind them the priest of Jokkiel, the blazing skull motif in the middle of his chest, was making a combination of expression and gestures that the seer interpreted as meaning either “I tried” or “You’re on your own.”

“Which duchy?” asked Dulcine.

“Your Majesty,” the seer’s mother made an unpractised dip to the Sun Emperor that wasn’t convincingly either a bow or a curtsy, “You are mistaken. This girl isn’t the seer, merely a subdeaconess of no importance. Please let her go so she can return to her duties.” Her mother looked daggers at the seer.

Delloran said, “Odon. I’m the eldest son, third child though. Both my older sisters are married.”

“If she’s not the seer,” replied Jonan pleasantly, “Then you can tell me her name, can’t you?”

“Guadalfambra valley; patrilineal inheritance; ham, goat cheese and coal?” Dulcine managed to summarise and question in the same sentence.

“That’s us,” Delloran had striped off everything on his top half down to his shirt, “Might you be interested?”

“Well?” persisted Jonan, “If she’s not the seer, what’s her name?”

“I wouldn’t want to bother Your Majesty with such a trivial piece of information,” the Mistress of Duties drew herself up and threw a look that could have killed at Dulcine.

Yes mother, that cat is well and truly out of the bag. The seer threw a glance at her sister herself. She really likes him. If I go with Jonan and do what the goddess wants, then Dulcine is free to do whatever she wants... For a moment she saw images of a blond-haired family, well most of them blond, stretching forward through time - generations of them. Is that what we all look like to the goddess, our potentials cast before us like shadows?

“I’m prepared to be bothered and I demand to be indulged.” Jonan tapped the ash off the end of his cigar. “If she’s not the seer, what’s her name?”

The Mistress of Duties and the high priest exchanged looks. The seer looked up at Jonan. He’s enjoying this.

“I have no dowry,” said Dulcine flatly.

“Empress-to-be’s only sibling,” responded Delloran, “That’s an enormous political potential right there.”

“You and both your daughters have the same eyebrows, nose and upper lip,” Jonan pointed out, punctuating his sentence by pointing the cigar at each woman in turn. “I’m not going to believe that this young lady isn’t your second daughter.”

“The seer is this temple’s major asset,” put in the high priest smoothly. “What recompense do you offer us in return for her? Of course, for a reduced recompense she could remain among us and you could return to visit on a regular basis.”

“Did you plan this?” demanded Dulcine.

Jonan stubbed out his cigar on the stonework surrounding the door.

The seer thought Delloran’s reply was heart-stoppingly simple, “Not until I met you.”

Jonan’s eyes began to glow with white-gold sunlight. The high priest and the Mistress of Duties both took a hasty step backwards. “Do you think the temple owns the seer?” Jonan’s breath fumed golden in the air. “Do you think you own the seer?”

The high priest swallowed nervously. “It is my duty to see to the temple’s interests.”

“Do you not know your own history?” Jonan’s voice had begun to reverberate, almost as if he had two voices, “The temple was founded to support and sustain the seer, the seer did not come into being to support and sustain the temple. You and she serve the divine spark, she and it do not serve you.” He looked around the room and the seer followed his gaze. Dulcine was looking at him open-mouthed while holding both Delloran’s hands. Delloran was looking at Dulcine. The other temple staff in the room looked as stunned as Dulcine, except for the high priest who looked terrified.

The high priest’s articulate response was, “Umm.”

“Madam,” Jonan turned to the Mistress of Duties, “I am marrying your younger daughter out of hand in front of the main altar in,” he paused to calculate, “The time it takes us to get there from here. You may wish to be in attendance.”

“I forbid it!” Her mother looked almost frantic. “Our place is here. Your wife would have to leave with you. Couldn’t she still produce your heir from here? We could go on-”

“That is what concerns me,” that reverberating double voice was almost gentle, “That you would go on as you always have, feeding her that baby-killing poison. Would you allow us only one child?”

The seer realised something and tugged at his sleeve with her free hand to get his attention. He looked down at her and she was lost for a moment in those glowing eyes, caught for the first time in her waking life in a divine regard. She shook her head to clear it. “All those alliances you talked about at dinner last night, you were serious?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed hard. “That’s a lot of children.”

“I thought we might work on it together and see how things turn out.” He smiled at her and turned back to her mother. “Consider madam, fall in with the prophecies and my plans for executing them and you will be grandmother to an Emperor and a Duke, then great-grandmother to half the world. Oppose us and the best that will happen is that neither of your daughters will ever talk to you again.”

It was a small gesture, a bob and a nod of acquiescence, grudgingly made. “Very well.” The Mistress of Duties folded her hands in front of her and stood there, resolutely erect. “What do you want of us?”

“We marry,” said Jonan, “We pack, we leave. When we leave, every living creature in this temple will be on that open ground beyond the gates to the temple grounds to farewell the seer. Every living creature. No-one has a duty or a need more important than this. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” the Mistress of Duties pursed her lips, “Is there anything else?”

“Everyone might be well advised to be packed to leave the temple,” Jonan blew on the end of the cigar and it ignited again, “And have their pack with them.” He took a draw on the cigar and the light in his eyes began to fade. “As a precautionary measure. So,” he looked around the room, “Who’s coming to our wedding?”

She slept and she dreamt.

She was walking along the edge of the dark pool and came upon the Mistress of Time, as she usually did in these encounters, from behind and one side. As always the thing that caught her attention first on that beautiful face was that the mouth opened almost all the way back to the jaw hinge; she knew from past visits that the teeth along that jaw were cutters and slashers. A tooth baring smile from her goddess could be terrifying. The pool of dark liquid was not water, it was too thick for that, and if there had been light in this eternal cavern under the mountains of reality and existence, she was sure it would not have been a clear pool... Her divine mistress was soaking in it, naked as far as the seer could tell, leaning against the side of the pool with her eyes closed, breasts barely submerged in the liquid. “You’ve come.” The divine voice resonated through the cavern and the glimmering shadows of the seer’s predecessors turned from their occupations to pay attention. “The trouble with leaving you messages in your mind is that you’re not there when I do it. I get the feeling that instead of leaving you a message tucked into the frame of your window I’ve scrawled it on the back of the mirror instead.” Distant approval resonated through that glorious sound, “You seem to have found out most of what I tried to tell you on your own but you might want to go rummaging through your mind at some stage for some of my older messages – they’re still there and may be useful.”

“Yes mistress,” the seer knelt at the pool’s edge, “But what do you want me to do?”

The goddess turned to the seer with her stunning, closed mouth smile. “Hang on and enjoy the ride, child, hang on and enjoy the ride. If the high priest concerns you, don’t worry too much – if I find him too annoying I may have to instruct that the Deep Altar be reconsecrated. If he will insert himself into my hierarchy, then he can take the lumps with the smooth.” The closed mouth smile turned into an open mouthed one. “Now run along and get some rest, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

She woke with the sound of the morning knock on the door from the night time fire watch off to their beds. It was time to get up.

First Morning Service of Hours and then breakfast taken in the lower refectory but without the visiting soldier. Normally on this day of the week she would then go to the small public chapel where the local people were encouraged to conduct their business with the goddess. Shortly after she had become seer the Mistress of Duties and the high priest had decided that she should conduct weekly trance ceremonies there for the locals. She had so little to do as seer, they declared, that an additional task per week was not going to tax her. The infirmarian had objected and been overridden. The seer, the high priest and the Mistress of Duties had declared, was an asset to be used to the temple’s best advantage and profit. This morning, because of the visitors, there was to be no trance ceremony so the seer went straight to her window polishing task. Fifteen minutes into that and Master Dionis, the priest who administered the weekly trance ceremonies, came to find her while she was halfway up a stepladder with a pail of soapy water.

“You have to come,” he panted, “For the trance ceremony.” More panting. “Right now.” He bent over, hands on his knees to catch his breath.

The seer looked around carefully then said from halfway up the ladder, “I thought we weren’t doing that today, because of – you know.”

Master Dionis straightened. “We weren’t,” he agreed, “Then this morning everyone turned up because they heard the Sun Emperor had come to take the seer away and they all want to ask questions before she leaves. We tried to get them to go away, but there’ll be a riot if we insist.” He sighed. “The Mistress of Duties said that if you get down there and do it quickly, then it could be over and done with before the Sun Emperor’s retinue found out anything about it.”

“Very well then,” she agreed, “Can you take the bucket for me please?”

“Of course.” He matched his actions to his words and she climbed back down unimpeded.

She took her apron off and folded if over a rung of the stepladder. “Let’s go then. Get it over with quickly,” she shook her head in amazement. “She really doesn’t have any idea, does she?”

“I hate to speak ill of the Mistress of Duties,” the high priest’s slightly pudgy protégé looked almost forlorn as they started back the way he’d come, “But in this case, I think you’re right, she has no idea.”

The public chapel was fuller than the seer had ever seen it before. Before he’d come dashing to find her, Master Dionis had grabbed two passing deaconesses and told them to count the petitioners and get them to draw the numbered balls that would give them their place in turn. There were far more petitioners than the seer could provide answers for in a single trance but they were organised and calmly seated by the time she arrived. As well, there were almost three times as many spectators as petitioners so the room was almost full. She arrayed herself in the simple vestment she wore for this weekly ceremony and took her place in the chair in front of the altar. Master Dionis handed her the half full ceremonial cup of tincture and she drained it. The last thing she saw as she left her mind to the goddess was the soldier from last night’s dinner standing against the back wall and taking a draw on his cigar.

When she came to herself again the entire first row of petitioners was clasping the polished copper tokens that showed that the goddess had favoured them with an answer to their question. She could see tokens part way along the second row as well; apparently today had been very productive but she had no real feel for how that worked. About a quarter of the recipients look happy, another quarter sad and the rest, thoroughly confused. Normal results then.

“Dear friends, that concludes our ceremony today.” Master Dionis was sounding his most unctuous but the seer had found that meant he was thinking about something else while he spoke. The something else was probably the Sun Emperor’s soldier, who was now leaning with one shoulder against the wall level with the front row of petitioners. He was smiling at her now and she felt like the rabbit that could see its hunter and had nowhere to run.

A merchant in his best trading garb leapt to his feet in the second row, shouting, “But we haven’t had a chance to ask our questions yet! Give the girl another dose of the stuff and let’s get on with it! We know our rights!” Two more petitioners, one a tradesman and the other a farmer, leapt shouting to their feet in support and three or four petitioners in the second and third rows grumbled loudly in agreement.

“Friends, please.” Master Dionis was now paying attention to the matter in hand and sounded a much nicer man. “She cannot.” The seer felt the retching coming on and grabbed the artfully hidden bucket from under her chair and got it into position just in time. She’d had a good breakfast this morning too because she hadn’t expected to be doing this today. The congregation stopped open mouthed. They’d normally left before this happened.

The soldier covered the distance between them very quickly indeed, reaching her before she’d ceased clinging to the bucket. As he reached her the tired-looking, middle-aged woman who must have been the first petitioner stood, saying, “You poor dear, I’ll find you some water shall I?”

The soldier picked up the ceremonial cup and sniffed it cautiously. He put it carefully down again and turned to face the angry petitioners. “If you give her another dose of that stuff now,” his voice overrode the recommencement of the merchant’s protest, “She’ll die. If I understand matters correctly,” he gave a deferential almost-bow to the seer, “This tincture works by knocking out the higher centres of the brain so the goddess can take over the seer’s mind and body.”

He looked from the seer to Master Dionis and back again. Master Dionis simply looked helpless so the seer agreed, “Essentially, yes.”

“The problem is,” the solider went on, “It’s got a few rather nasty things in it. The body habituates to some of them so you need to take more and more tincture to get the same effect. At the same time, those ingredients and some of the others are poisonous. To give you answers to your questions,” he glared at the merchant, “She has to drink half a cup of poison, an amount that would kill you or me because we’re not used to it. If she has another half cup now, it’ll kill her.”

“Then why weren’t we properly sorted in terms of importance?” demanded the merchant. “I have a vital question about my business and I don’t even get to ask it, all because of some selecting a ball nonsense. Seems to me that’s a fine set up for the temple to get more out of you to make sure you get a small numbered ball.”

“It’s set up that way so the goddess can intervene,” said a surprised Master Dionis, “If she wants to, and decide whose questions she will answer.”

The middle-aged woman who had offered to get the seer water turned around, her face illuminated by surprise and validation. “The goddess thought my question was the most important one, out of all of these people?”

“Well,” the seer replied truthfully if a little uncomfortably, “She at least thought that no-one else’s question was more important than yours.”

“Nonsense!” The merchant was spluttering, “How can the whereabouts of some young twit packed off down the river for sale in Calibyre be more important than my question?”

Out of the flurry of hubbub and cries of “Shame” from a fair portion of the congregation rose the voice of thin faced, unhappy-looking man from the third row of petitioners, “How do you know what happened to her missing son?”

The merchant froze, jerked as if he meant to run, then stopped when he realised that he wouldn’t be able to get from among the chairs, let alone make it to the door.

“I think, Master Dionis,” said the soldier, his hand now firmly on the seer’s shoulder, “That I can leave this man in your capable hands while I take the seer to the infirmary.” He took a draw on his cigar and added piously, “The ways of the goddess are indeed mysterious.”

“Indeed,” Master Dionis gave the seer a worried look then turned his attention to the matter of the merchant. The man was already being physically restrained as the soldier led the seer, bucket clutched to her still, towards the door.

The last they heard from the merchant was, “I’ll appeal all the way to the Sun Emperor, then you’ll see! I’ll ruin all of you!”

She slept and she dreamt.

She was walking along the edge of the dark pool and came upon the Mistress of Time, as she usually did in these encounters, from behind and one side. As always the thing that caught her attention first on that beautiful face was that the mouth opened almost all the way back to the jaw hinge; she knew from past visits that the teeth along that jaw were cutters and slashers. A tooth baring smile from her goddess could be terrifying. The pool of dark liquid was not water, it was too thick for that, and if there had been light in this eternal cavern under the mountains of reality and existence, she was sure it would not have been a clear pool... Her divine mistress was soaking in it, naked as far as the seer could tell, leaning against the side of the pool with her eyes closed, breasts barely submerged in the liquid. “You’ve come.” The divine voice resonated through the cavern and the glimmering shadows of the seer’s predecessors turned from their occupations to pay attention. “The trouble with leaving you messages in your mind is that you’re not there when I do it. I get the feeling that instead of leaving you a message tucked into the frame of your window I’ve scrawled it on the back of the mirror instead.” Distant approval resonated through that glorious sound, “You seem to have found out most of what I tried to tell you on your own but you might want to go rummaging through your mind at some stage for some of my older messages – they’re still there and may be useful.”

“Yes mistress,” the seer knelt at the pool’s edge, “But what do you want me to do?”

The goddess turned to the seer with her stunning, closed mouth smile. “Hang on and enjoy the ride, child, hang on and enjoy the ride. If the high priest concerns you, don’t worry too much – if I find him too annoying I may have to instruct that the Deep Altar be reconsecrated. If he will insert himself into my hierarchy, then he can take the lumps with the smooth.” The closed mouth smile turned into an open mouthed one. “Now run along and get some rest, you have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

She woke with to the sound of the morning knock on the door from the night time fire watch off to their beds. It was time to get up.

First Morning Service of Hours and then breakfast taken in the lower refectory but without the visiting soldier. Normally on this day of the week she would then go to the small public chapel where the local people were encouraged to conduct their business with the goddess. Shortly after she had become seer the Mistress of Duties and the high priest had decided that she should conduct weekly trance ceremonies there for the locals. She had so little to do as seer, they declared, that an additional task per week was not going to tax her. The infirmarian had objected and been overridden. The seer, the high priest and the Mistress of Duties had declared, was an asset to be used to the temple’s best advantage and profit. This morning, because of the visitors, there was to be no trance ceremony so the seer went straight to her window polishing task. Fifteen minutes into that and Master Dionis, the priest who administered the weekly trance ceremonies, came to find her while she was halfway up a stepladder with a pail of soapy water.

“You have to come,” he panted, “For the trance ceremony.” More panting. “Right now.” He bent over, hands on his knees to catch his breath.

The seer looked around carefully then said from halfway up the ladder, “I thought we weren’t doing that today, because of – you know.”

Master Dionis straightened. “We weren’t,” he agreed, “Then this morning everyone turned up because they heard the Sun Emperor had come to take the seer away and they all want to ask questions before she leaves. We tried to get them to go away, but there’ll be a riot if we insist.” He sighed. “The Mistress of Duties said that if you get down there and do it quickly, then it could be over and done with before the Sun Emperor’s retinue found out anything about it.”

“Very well then,” she agreed, “Can you take the bucket for me please?”

“Of course.” He matched his actions to his words and she climbed back down unimpeded.

She took her apron off and folded if over a rung of the stepladder. “Let’s go then. Get it over with quickly,” she shook her head in amazement. “She really doesn’t have any idea, does she?”

“I hate to speak ill of the Mistress of Duties,” the high priest’s slightly pudgy protégé looked almost forlorn as they started back the way he’d come, “But in this case, I think you’re right, she has no idea.”

The public chapel was fuller than the seer had ever seen it before. Before he’d come dashing to find her, Master Dionis had grabbed two passing deaconesses and told them to count the petitioners and get them to draw the numbered balls that would give them their place in turn. There were far more petitioners than the seer could provide answers for in a single trance but they were organised and calmly seated by the time she arrived. As well, there were almost three times as many spectators as petitioners so the room was almost full. She arrayed herself in the simple vestment she wore for this weekly ceremony and took her place in the chair in front of the altar. Master Dionis handed her the half full ceremonial cup of tincture and she drained it. The last thing she saw as she left her mind to the goddess was the soldier from last night’s dinner standing against the back wall and taking a draw on his cigar.

When she came to herself again the entire first row of petitioners was clasping the polished copper tokens that showed that the goddess had favoured them with an answer to their question. She could see tokens part way along the second row as well; apparently today had been very productive but she had no real feel for how that worked. About a quarter of the recipients look happy, another quarter sad and the rest, thoroughly confused. Normal results then.

“Dear friends, that concludes our ceremony today.” Master Dionis was sounding his most unctuous but the seer had found that meant he was thinking about something else while he spoke. The something else was probably the Sun Emperor’s soldier, who was now leaning with one shoulder against the wall level with the front row of petitioners. He was smiling at her now and she felt like the rabbit that could see its hunter and had nowhere to run.

A merchant in his best trading garb leapt to his feet in the second row, shouting, “But we haven’t had a chance to ask our questions yet! Give the girl another dose of the stuff and let’s get on with it! We know our rights!” Two more petitioners, one a tradesman and the other a farmer, leapt shouting to their feet in support and three or four petitioners in the second and third rows grumbled loudly in agreement.

“Friends, please.” Master Dionis was now paying attention to the matter in hand and sounded a much nicer man. “She cannot.” The seer felt the retching coming on and grabbed the artfully hidden bucket from under her chair and got it into position just in time. She’d had a good breakfast this morning too because she hadn’t expected to be doing this today. The congregation stopped open mouthed. They’d normally left before this happened.

The soldier covered the distance between them very quickly indeed, reaching her before she’d ceased clinging to the bucket. As he reached her the tired-looking, middle-aged woman who must have been the first petitioner stood, saying, “You poor dear, I’ll find you some water shall I?”

The soldier picked up the ceremonial cup and sniffed it cautiously. He put it carefully down again and turned to face the angry petitioners. “If you give her another dose of that stuff now,” his voice overrode the recommencement of the merchant’s protest, “She’ll die. If I understand matters correctly,” he gave a deferential almost-bow to the seer, “This tincture works by knocking out the higher centres of the brain so the goddess can take over the seer’s mind and body.”

He looked from the seer to Master Dionis and back again. Master Dionis simply looked helpless so the seer agreed, “Essentially, yes.”

“The problem is,” the solider went on, “It’s got a few rather nasty things in it. The body habituates to some of them so you need to take more and more tincture to get the same effect. At the same time, those ingredients and some of the others are poisonous. To give you answers to your questions,” he glared at the merchant, “She has to drink half a cup of poison, an amount that would kill you or me because we’re not used to it. If she has another half cup now, it’ll kill her.”

“Then why weren’t we properly sorted in terms of importance?” demanded the merchant. “I have a vital question about my business and I don’t even get to ask it, all because of some selecting a ball nonsense. Seems to me that’s a fine set up for the temple to get more out of you to make sure you get a small numbered ball.”

“It’s set up that way so the goddess can intervene,” said a surprised Master Dionis, “If she wants to, and decide whose questions she will answer.”

The middle-aged woman who had offered to get the seer water turned around, her face illuminated by surprise and validation. “The goddess thought my question was the most important one, out of all of these people?”

“Well,” the seer replied truthfully if a little uncomfortably, “She at least thought that no-one else’s question was more important than yours.”

“Nonsense!” The merchant was spluttering, “How can the whereabouts of some young twit packed off down the river for sale in Calibyre be more important than my question?”

Out of the flurry of hubbub and cries of “Shame” from a fair portion of the congregation rose the voice of thin faced, unhappy-looking man from the third row of petitioners, “How do you know what happened to her missing son?”

The merchant froze, jerked as if he meant to run, then stopped when he realised that he wouldn’t be able to get from among the chairs, let alone make it to the door.

“I think, Master Dionis,” said the soldier, his hand now firmly on the seer’s shoulder, “That I can leave this man in your capable hands while I take the seer to the infirmary.” He took a draw on his cigar and added piously, “The ways of the goddess are indeed mysterious.”

“Indeed,” Master Dionis gave the seer a worried look then turned his attention to the matter of the merchant. The man was already being physically restrained as the soldier led the seer, bucket clutched to her still, towards the door.

The last they heard from the merchant was, “I’ll appeal all the way to the Sun Emperor, then you’ll see! I’ll ruin all of you!”

She expected dinner in the lower refectory to be a lonely business. She had last eaten here the day she and not Dulcine had been identified as the new seer. Dulcine had spent breakfast that day saying good bye to everyone, certain that her next meal would be taken in the upper refectory. She remembered hoping that without Dulcine bossing her around and telling her loudly how stupid she was all the time she could make more friends. At fourteen having friends had been important. Not as important as being more important than her had been to Dulcine as she recalled. It had been a very uncomfortable and unpleasant afternoon.

Dinner in the lower refectory tonight was fairly standard. A thick stew-like soup based on cured meat and dried pulses with some of last season’s root vegetables followed by a milk and grain pudding. The standard menu for this day of the week at this time of year. She collected her bowl from the servery and looked for a place to sit. Dinner was a more formal meal than lunch and everyone was supposed to be in place before it began with the Evening Grace. There were empty seats here and there but when she approached the first one the body language and expressions of the people already seated made it clear to her that the regulars of the lower refectory would rather that she didn’t sit next to them.

In the end she took a seat at the empty end of a table occupied by a group of subdeaconesses giggling, once her ears attuned to their conversation, about the deacon giving the Grace this evening. She could see their point; not only was he good looking with a fine speaking voice, he gave an excellent Grace. If he was going for ordination, he’d be a fine catch for any of them. The seer liked men in general but had never liked one in particular enough to take the risks that would involve – the tincture would kill any pregnancy she started and her mother’s wrath at any such misbehaviour on her part was a terrifying prospect. Dulcine’s probable reaction to the trespass on her territory was even worse.

The seer ate her meal quietly and slowly. According to the Verses the Sun Emperor’s heir would be born of the seer of The Silence Under the Hills. That was an old reference to their divine lady. We’ve almost forgotten that she has teeth. So what would the Sun Emperor do when he found out Dulcine was the wrong sister? Return her and demand the right one? The temple of Jokkiel had a reputation for martial prowess, which made sense if they were expecting the man to rule the world. How did the high priest think he was going to either fend them off or stop them finding out in the first place?

One of the subdeaconesses laughed loudly, “But have you seen him? He’s gorgeous! I don’t think she’ll mind too much.”

“He certainly looks the part,” an unknown male voice agreed, “But it’s all politics after all.” The seer looked up. The man standing opposite her was taller than her but well within the range of average height. He was dressed like a soldier, she saw them sometimes in attendance on great persons come to ask the goddess for advice, in his trousers, shirt and vest, strung about with leather belts and sashes designed to carry weapons not now in evidence. He was carrying a soup bowl, a burning cigar and a small dish. “It’s all right if I sit here, isn’t it?” he asked. “I started in the other refectory but someone seems to have taken Jokkiel’s patronage of spices to heart and added the entire spice rack to the stew,” he put down his soup bowl in the place opposite the seer and pulled out the chair, “That or a whole bunch of people thought they were the only ones spicing it and each did something different without tasting it. I like spicy,” he sat down and put the cigar on the dish, “And I like flavoursome but this was somewhere beyond that. Fortunately for me, I wasn’t at the high table so I could search out another option. You’d almost think,” he smiled blandly at the others sitting at the table, “That the Sun Emperor was being encouraged not to stay.” The seer pegged his age at a decade or more older than hers, his face was weather beaten enough that it was hard to tell. “Sorry about the smoke stick,” he was speaking directly to the seer now and indicating the burning cigar, “But I’m not myself without it. I’m Jonan, by the way.”

She sniffed the air, the subdeaconesses at the other end of the table looked appalled and uncertain. “That’s not tobacco, is it?” the seer asked.

“No,” he knocked the ash off, picked it up, took a draw and put it back down again, “It’s not.” As he looked at her he raised an eyebrow for a moment. “As I was saying,” he began attacking his soup, “It’s all politics. The Sun Emperor could probably roll straight over most of the petty states between here and the coast with his current strength, but a lot of people are very invested in those prophesies. That’s a lot of political capital if he plays it right and if he’s building an empire he needs an heir, so why not the seer? She’s pretty enough, seems bright enough, so why not? If it means that even one little kingdom joins us instead of us having to fight them, then I’m good.” He shrugged. “Fewer battles mean less chance of being killed.”

Jonan talked almost non-stop for the rest of the meal. He told funny stories about himself and other soldiers. He assassinated the characters of half the nearby heads of state, some of whom the seer had met. He gave pithy assessments of regional politics and worked out, perfectly logically, who the Sun Emperor’s unconceived children would be married off to. He was intelligent, articulate, informative and every so often he took a draw on his cigar. The seer thought that she would like to introduce him to the infirmarian and her other friends, if only to see if anyone else would be able to get a word in edgeways.

After the meal was over she excused herself citing unfinished personal chores.

“It was nice talking to you,” Jonan had just taken another draw on his cigar, “You smile and laugh in all the right places.” As she stood up he added, “You never did tell me you name, did you?”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” She smiled back at him. “But as you’re not staying here, surely that can’t matter?” And she left with a backwards smile over her shoulder and a wave of her fingers. He sat at the table looking after her, a half smile on his face and the smoking cigar in his hand.

You just flirted with him.

It proved impossible to get back to her room, even through the back corridors, during the study period after dinner so she joined the group in the second work room who were preparing old sheets for turning and rehemming while an elderly priestess read from Tales of the Genshenon, an apocryphal book of improving stories.

After study period was the Evening Service of Hours, attended by all the clergy. Normally the seer took her place in the centre of the front row but tonight Dulcine was there with a tall, blond man in a sun-emblazoned cloak. The subdeaconesses were right, he was gorgeous and Dulcine was enjoying playing up to him. His golden blond head smiled down at her white blonde one; the two of them together would make the most gorgeous blonde babies. Tonight the seer took a place in one of the pews cast into shadow by candle, lamp, supporting pillars and banners. She was cloaked from not only the Sun Emperor’s entourage but from her own temple hierarchy. She kept up with the service; standing, kneeling, reciting and praying at the right time. When it came to the silent prayer, the ‘drop of thought into the lady’s stream’ as the text put it, the seer prayed not for the Sun Emperor and the temple as the presiding priest instructed but for guidance.

“Gracious lady, mistress what do you want me to do? What do you need me to do? What am I supposed to do? Are the Verses right or do you have another plan? Do I make myself known to the Sun Emperor or do I hide from him till he leaves? Guide me, counsel me, please.”

Enlightenment did not dawn by the end of the service and the seer slipped out by a shadowed side door into the back corridors. She made it into her quarters behind the sanctuary without meeting anyone and locked the door behind her. She didn’t want a visit from her mother tonight. Her quarters were three small linked rooms, windowless but ventilated, lit by lamp and candle with the back of the bas relief behind the altar making up the back wall of all three of her rooms. She walked up to the back wall of the middle room and stretched her arms across the wall as if she were trying to embrace it. “I know that I can’t make everyone happy this time,” in the privacy of her own rooms she could pray out loud without censure or censorship, “But I don’t know which course of action would please you.”

She washed in her bathroom, the third of those rooms, and put herself to bed.

It was late afternoon and the seer was on her way to the eastern garden to take her recreation when she stumbled onto the conversation she needed.

“No, no, no,” it was the Mistress of Infants and Oblates, “That doesn’t mean that the temple is going to fall down. Lianne, calm down.” She was speaking soothingly to someone who, from the sobs and chest-heaving breathing the seer could hear from around the corner, was on the verge of hysterics. “The high priest isn’t going to let the Sun Emperor take the seer away. You all know what you have to do.” The chorus of youthful assent told the seer that the Mistress must have an entire class with her. “Act as if Dame Dulcine is the seer and the seer is a deaconess like Miss Meara and?”

“Don’t talk to strangers!” came the chorused reply.

“But Dame Guenna,” came one young male voice, “What do we call the real seer if we have to talk to her? She’s still the seer, it’s not like we can use her name.”

“Naal’s right,” an older girl than Lianne by the sound of it, “That would be like using the goddess’ name.” Awestruck horror painted her last words.

“In the unlikely event you talk to her,” Dame Guenna’s voice was calm, “Then call her ‘Miss’. Now back to the classroom everyone so we can tidy up before we’re finished.”

“D’you think he’s really the Sun Emperor, ma’am?” That was Naal again as they move off away from the seer.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” said Dame Guenna, “But the priests of Jokkiel certainly seem to think so. They’ve sent him up here with enough support to show they think he’s the man who’s going to rule the world.”

The seer spent her hour of recreation in the eastern garden almost alone. At this time of year it was a cool, shadowed place when the weather was not yet warm enough to make relief from the heat a need. In the other gardens spring had moved past the flowering bulbs and the fruit trees were all leaved but here in the narrow strip between the overshadowing mountainside and the wall of the temple the leaves were only just breaking forth. A gardener sweeping fallen blossom off the path was the only other person she saw.

The seer walked, sat, smelt flowers for scent and considered the information she had while unbidden the thought, “I won’t ever be here to see the shadow lilies bloom again,” drifted through her mind. Apparently the Sun Emperor had come to take the seer away from the temple. She knew why the high priest would be opposed to that; there was an old saying ‘If the seer leaves its grounds, then the temple will fall.’ When she had been Lianne’s age she too had thought it meant the temple would collapse in an instant if the seer set foot outside the temple’s consecrated grounds. Now she thought it meant that the temple would just wither away from the loss of income and prestige the seer’s departure would create. It supported the local population, of course but without the seer this dead-end mountain valley held no interest for the outside world.

Jokkiel was the sun god. Unlike the divine lady whose spark she carried in her, he had no qualms about the whole world using his name. The Sun Emperor apparently had the support of the priests of Jokkiel, which would make his title appropriate. The children knew about him, so why didn’t she? “Knowledge is power.” The Master of Studies said that often enough. Had she been kept deliberately ignorant? She considered the matter and decided that ‘possibly’ was not a paranoid answer. Her mother and the high priest had decided that she shouldn’t progress beyond the Second Tranche of theological studies because she was beginning to exhibit unbecoming hubris. She hadn’t thought she was being arrogant or proud, although she possibly wasn’t the best judge... What if the Third Tranche of studies would teach her things they didn’t want her to know even, and her eyes narrowed at the thought, make her want to leave the temple?

She grinned to herself. There was a place you could go to find out things you didn’t know. It was called a library.

After her hour of recreation was up she had an hour of free time before evening meal and deciding that her need for knowledge outweighed the few minor chores that waited for her in her room, assuming that she could get to her room at the back of the sanctuary, she headed straight to the library. She walked in the door and started heading for the shelves on other gods’ theology. The third librarian was at the duty station desk and leapt out of her chair to grab the seer by the arm and drag her in amongst the shelves in the opposite direction to where she wanted to go.

“You can’t be here!” Her friend was almost hyperventilating, “There’s a priest of Jokkiel over in the books on him with the Master of the Library. He says we’ve got a book they want a copy of. You have to leave before he sees you.”

”Idua, calm down,” the seer could be soothing too, “Who or what is the Sun Emperor?”

Her friend looked at her in astonishment. “You don’t know?”

“On purpose I suspect,” she replied matter-of-factly, “So I came to look him up in a book or two.”

“Jokkielan theology would be best,” Idua considered, “Or comparative theology but that’s where they’re talking. I’m not allowed to tell you what I know, we’ve been forbidden to discuss it while they’re here.” She almost clicked her fingers, “I know, prophesies and divinations! Right up on the back wall and three aisles over. You want The Chambourian Verses, the originals are all out but I know there’s a translation back there. The Sun Emperor’s in between stanzas twelve and thirty somewhere.” She looked back towards the front door. “I have to get back to the desk. Good luck!” She left her friend with a worried backward glance before she stepped back out from between the shelves with a supremely serene librarian grace.

The seer found the book where the librarian said it would be. The Sun Emperor was in stanza fourteen, then eighteen, twenty through to twenty seven and finally in stanza twenty nine. There may have been more in the rest of the one hundred and one verses but the seer felt that those were quite enough to go on with. If the leader of the temple’s important visitors was indeed the Sun Emperor, then stanza nineteen was about her. She was not sure how she felt having predictions written about her. She knew she felt uncomfortable about some of this particular information. Her reading had given her a lot to think about over dinner.

She didn’t remember anything. She normally didn’t when she came out of the trance. From the looks on their faces and their urgent, hushed conversation together her mother and the high priest obviously weren’t going to tell her anything this time either. She suddenly became aware of an urgent physical need and pulled the bucket into her lap just in time to throw up into it. She was needing more and more of the tincture to send her into the prophetic trance and the nauseous after effect had transformed into frank vomiting some time ago.

Her mother broke off her conversation with the high priest and fixed her with an icy glare. “You may leave now, and take the bucket with you.”

She scrambled to her feet, happy to comply. Her mother and the high priest had gone back to their conversation of which she only caught the high priest’s phrase “the temple can not afford-” as she left the room.

She went straight to the infirmary, following the cloister walk around the courtyard and its herb garden as walking on the grass was forbidden. The infirmarian had known her aunt, the previous seer, and he liked to cluck and tut over her, sighing as he made notes on the doses of tincture she had taken. Now she was throwing up afterwards he was keeping an even closer eye on her.

The infirmarian was the only member of the temple staff who thought she should do fewer prophetic trances, not more.

He took the bucket from her and tutted over its contents before disposing of them. “No blood,” he said, “That’s good. But it’s getting worse. You’re the seer, can’t you refuse? They can’t keep demanding more prophesies all the time. Your aunt did no more than twenty trances a year on much smaller doses of tincture and she was doing more readings than her aunt.” He sighed. “I worry that they’ll come to the end of you or of the goddess’ grace if they’re not careful and I don’t know which is more likely.” He handed her a cup of water. “Now rinse and spit over the basin.”

She took the cup with a smile. “Every time I think I can’t do it, the petitioners are people who’ve scraped their last coin together or we’ve already spent their donation.” She walked over to the basin, followed his instructions and then added, “Let’s face it; I’ve been trained to obey. Mother just has to glare at me and I fall into line.” She handed the cup back. It was time for her to go back out into the temple to all those other little tasks designed to fill her time and give her occupation between her dutiful foreseeing. She smiled at the infirmarian, he was one person she would miss when she left here. Where had that thought come from? She couldn’t leave, she was the seer. The seer never left the temple grounds, that had been drilled into her and her sister ever since she could remember, from before she and not her sister had been identified as her aunt’s replacement. “I had better go see to the robing room,” was all she said, keeping any quaver from her voice. “Will I see you at lunch?”

“Yes, but you should eat again before you go do anything else,” he said firmly. “It’s not good for you to lose a meal then go straight into a day’s work.”

“I will, I promise,” and then she went out into the day.

She did sit with the infirmarian at lunch, as well as with the third librarian, the deputy mistress of works and the sacristan’s two youngest assistants. Looking at her friends she had the same thoughts that had been floating through her head all morning, that she would miss them after she left...

At the end of lunch as she was beginning to rise and go to her afternoon’s work when she was tapped on the shoulder by a supercilious blonde a few years her elder in the daily dress of a full priestess. “Seer,” the word was as chilly as ever from her lips, “The Mistress of Duties desires you to attend on her in her office.” No-one had used her name since the day she, the younger sister, had been identified as the seer and not Dulcine. Dulcine’s non-use had always been so very much more pointed than anyone else’s.

“Of course,” she rose, “I will go and see our mother at once.”

“It is not our mother who wishes to speak to you,” Dulcine corrected, glancing with a disapproving eye at her work dress, “But the Mistress of Duties. You should not keep her waiting.”

“I will not. Thank you for the reminder, Dame Dulcine.” She tucked her hands in behind her work apron and made an appropriate half bow. “I will go now.”

In Mistress of Duties’ austere and tidy office that dame had been pacing but stopped when her younger daughter obeyed her instruction to enter the room. “Sit,” she ordered, gesturing at a chair and doing so herself behind her desk. “Important visitors will be arriving here at the temple later this afternoon.” The seer had never known her mother to waste her pleasantries on either of her daughters. “They intend to take the seer away with them,” her mother continued talking over her start of surprise, “But they will not be permitted to do so. We will give them your sister instead and she will use their leader to sire the next seer and her sister. You,” her mother instructed firmly, “Will stay out of sight until all of them leave. The infirmarian should be happy,” she said with a glimmer of humour, “Because you won’t be able to perform the trance ceremony again until after they leave. You will eat in the lower refectory, use the back corridors and take your recreation in the eastern garden for the duration of their visit. Those measures should keep you out of their way. If you should encounter a member of their group you will give them no reason to think you anymore than a deaconess or even a subdeaconess. Do you think you can do that?”

“I believe so, ma’am.” She looked at the polished board between the toes of her shoes.

“Your duty,” her mother reiterated the demarcation in an iron clad voice, “Is to serve the goddess as her seer. Your sister’s duty is to provide the next generation of our line. This plan allows for both. I do not expect,” she folded her hands on the desk in front of her, “That we will speak again until after your sister leaves. I am sure we will both miss her, but she will return here for the birth of her children and we will have the girls to care for as they grow up. I am thinking,” she shot a sharp glance at her younger daughter, “Of promoting Ofiliga to replace her.”

The seer murmured, “I’m sure Ofiliga would do very well as assistant to the Mistress of Duties.”
“You don’t want the position for yourself?” Her mother had what she thought was an inscrutable expression on her face but the seer took it as a warning to tread carefully.

“As you have said before, Mother, the requirements of being seer may mean that I would be unable to give my utmost to any other formal post within the temple hierarchy. I would however,” now for the other side of the coin to balance her position between hubris and lack of ambition, “Appreciate the opportunity to complete my studies for priestly orders.”

“To what end,” there came the beginning of that sneering, belittling tone she hated because of its sting, “If you cannot take any other position within the temple hierarchy?”

“I agree that ordination is neither here nor there for my duties,” she’d thought about this and was about to produce what she hoped was her clinching argument, “But the aim of my studies is to better understand my role in the goddess’ service. I would have thought that could only be good.”

The Mistress of Duties gave a small smile. “A cogent argument,” she conceded, “I will approach the Master of Studies after our guests depart and see if you can be slotted into the Third Tranche classes.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” She kept her face straight. If she celebrated too soon her mother could decide not to approach the Master of Studies after all and she would remain ignorant of the higher mysteries her earlier classes had rote taught her she was part of.

“I know you have duties to attend to, do not let me detain you any longer.” The Mistress of Duties uncovered her ink well and picked up her pen.

The interview was obviously over so the seer rose, gave a silent bow of filial obligation and left the room. Outside she walked quickly to the first of her afternoon of sweeping tasks, if either Dulcine or Ofiliga saw her she wanted to give no basis for negative reports to her mother.

It was obvious that something was going on that ought to involve her but she had no idea what. Thinking back, her mother had taken some care to not tell her who the important visitors were, hadn’t she? With the change in her dining arrangements she wouldn’t even be able to ask her friends, if they were allowed to tell her anything. The only thing for it was for her to listen to the conversations around her and perhaps she would pick up enough to work out what was going on.