"I understand, Paulis," Mikhyel assured him.

"Sir, we were worried about you."

Mikhyel biinked twice and slowly, and finally, when no words came to him, handed Paulis a stack of papers.

"The Khendolhari project," he said, and Paulis nodded, adding the stack to one on the table behind him.

"About the Collapse?" Mikhyel prompted, guiding the clerk away from his personal well-being.

"Sometime soon after lunch, someone . . ." Paulis paused, squinting into the unfocused middle-ground, then shook his head. "I can't honestly recall who, sir, came to the door and yelled at us to come see. He said the sky was disappearing above the Tower. We went to look, and sure enough, it was glowing all purple and green with flashes of blue. Bright flashes. Like stars. We thought"

Paulis paused, removed his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes, hard.

"We thought, Darius save us from our ignorance, we thought, sir, that the lady Anheliaa, was doing some kind of fancy show for the wedding visitors. We just watched and watched, and laughed, and applauded. And then it began to turn. Faster and faster and . . ."

He shuddered, and replaced his spectacles. "And then, it just reached downthis whirling pool of purple and blue and green reached down and touched the Tower, then arced across the sky and disappeared. The people all aroundand I, sir. I'm ashamed to admit, was no excep- tioncheered and laughed and wondered what she'd do next"

"I'd have done so myself, Paulis," Mikhyel said, to dispel any time-wasting self-incriminations, and Paulis nodded.

"Thank you, sir. But then, the lights went out, and the cheering stopped. Silent as death, it was. The air had stopped circulating . . . I never realized until that moment how noisy the fans are. And then . . . then the lightning began...."

Mikhyel could only imagine how that must have felt to life-long Rhomatumin. The skies above Rhomatum had never, in living memory, contained lightning. The Towers existed to keep the lightning from the node.

"It wasit was so strange, sir. There were no clouds, just the sky pulsing deeper and deeper blue, then purple, then black, and all the while, the lightning had flared and flared, aiming at the Tower. Or" Paulis paused, folder hanging forgotten from one hand. "Or maybe, thinking on it, sir, the lightning started at the Tower and went up to the cloud. I couldn't say, sir."

Mikhyel hid a smile. At times, his staff were better at lawyerly precision than he was.

Everyone had panicked except, Paulis declared, himself and his fellow staffers. Mikhyel could be proud of all his assistants, the clerk insisted. They'd comported themselves with dignity, retreating to their offices, and locking the doors against the growing insanity of individuals torn be- tween the possible safety of the building, and a need to be with their families.

His staff, bachelors all, had simply hunkered down in the windowless room, and talked to one another in the dark- ness, discussing the projects they were involved with, the girls they were seeing . . . anything to avoid thinking about what might be happening on the far side of the door.

Eventually, the thunder had diedhow long that was, Paulis seemed completely uncertain. An hour, a day, or two days, the clerk insisted, would all be the same. It had seemed forever until the thunder stopped. Kheroli, the se- nior secretary, had used his key to Mikhyel's office, and they'd opened the door to the first light they'd seen since the storm began.

The pen Paulis was using to mark the file he'd just col- lated, clattered to the floor. Mikhyel turned from the drawer he was straightening, and found the clerk staring blankly at the tall windows.

"Paulis?" he called softly, and the clerk jerked. Biinked.

And exclaimed aloud as he began blotting at the ink-spattered desk. "Paulis," Mikhyel repeated, "What's wrong? What happened here in the office?"

"Not here, sir," the clerk said, and lifted his chin toward the window. "Out there. The citizens, from downhill to the wallthey stormed Tower Hill. They came running from all over, screaming, pounding on the doors, demanding . . .

I don't know. Answers? Reassurance?" He gave a shud- dering shrug. "They . . . people were mad, that was all, and nothing anyone said seemed to make any difference. Some of those downhill opened their doors . . . before they knew..."

Paulis' voice trailed off again, and his face grew pained.

"What then?" Mikhyel asked, keeping his voice coldly neutral.

"We only heard what happened. People died, sir. That's all. It was ugly and barbaric, from what the reports said.

Not just the scandal sheets, legitimate news as well. It was awful, sir. Just..."

"I'll check the reports, Paulis. What about you? Is your family safe? Your parents? Your sisters?"

"Yes, sir, thank you. They were at home, and they stayed there. The streets finally quieted. For a while, it seemed like everywhere you looked there were armed guards of one kind or another. Colors I've never seen beforecame in with the guests for your brother's wedding, so they say.

But I think we were lucky they were here. When I went home the first time . . . rings, sir, there were flowers and broken glass and broken statues all over. Next day, we came back determined to have your office spif-spaf for youonly to discover 'our talents were no longer needed.' Ah, here, sir, I think this might be useful. . . ."

He handed Mikhyel a memo out of Councillor dun- Yardo's office demanding an immediate priority be given to the city hospitalswhich just happened to lie right be- yond his district, which meant his constituents would also have priority power. A second memo, from dunBarkhIi of Potter's Square detailing the loss in inventory and sales due to the power outage.

By the time the first sort was completed, they had a stack of similar memos and sealed document folders.

Mikhyel gathered the stack into a document case, and picked his boat up from the back of his chair. "That should give you enough to work on until I get back. That's pro- vided, of course, they release me before next week. In the meantime" He stretched out his hand and Paulis met it, wrist to wrist. "Thank youfor everything."

"Nothing the others wouldn't have done, sir, in my place.

May I contact them? Let them know you're back?"

He released the clerk's hand and slipped the case strap over his shoulder. "Let's wait, shall we? At least . . ." He left the rest unsaid, and Paulis nodded.

"Good luck, sir."

Mikhyel pulled the keys to the office from his belt.

"Just . . . lock up before you leave, will you?"

With something just short of reverence, Paulis received the ring Mikhyel tossed toward him. It was tacit promotion to a level of trust men ten years Paulis' senior rarely achieved, and never a second-level clerk from a minor Fam- ily of the outer ring.

And Paulis' voice, when he answered, trembled at the corners. "You can count on me, sir."

"Naturally," Mikhyel answered as he left.

8 8 ~.

"Are you quite certain, Nikaenor?" Lidye asked.

Nikki pulled the driving gloves through his hands, impa- tient at the delay Lidye's unexpected appearance was creat- ing. Beyond the beveled glass of the Rhomandi House main entrance, the family floater-coach balloon bobbed, waiting.

For him.

"The driver says that Mikhyel sent him back here for his brother's use. And Bharker saw Deymorin leave with Kiyrstin, so he won't need it. I planned to go for a drive today, if the horses were sound, but that was before the subpoena came in this morning. Well, the horses are sound, but I wanted to wish Mikhyel luck first, so I came back, but he's gone over early, and he never likes me to bother him at the office, so now, if I'm going to drive and get back before he's done, I've got to take the floater, because it takes too long to walk."

"Don't you want to be at the hearing to support Mikhyel?"

Nikki shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "The horses need to get out. They've been cooped in since we arrived."

"Will another day make that much difference?"

"It's a private meeting."

"You could wait outside the chamber for him."

"He doesn't like me there, all right?" Nerves and the necessary lie made him unreasonable. He knew that and tried to temper his voice. "He never has. He says Imake him nervous." More lies.

Of course, she didn't know about the Complication. She didn't understand that he'd been banished from proceed- ings such as this for reasons as reasonable as they were unpalatable: Nikki, it's not that we don't want you there.

Ha.

They're old men, Nikki. They didn't like having to accept Mikhyel. They'll simply make you angry. Justifiably, but now isn't the time.

So, when would it be time? When his hair was gray? Or (he shuddered) gone?

Mikhyel must have a clear head, Nikki.

Deymorin didn't want him there because he thought too loudly, felt too passionately. In short, Deymorin didn't trust him. And maybe Deymorin was right. It was a very impor- tant hearing for Mikhyel, so even though it hurt, even though it meant he just wouldn't know what was happen- ing, he was leaving. Voluntarily. Going Outside where even Mikhyel's head couldn't follow him.

He hoped.

"I've got to go," he said, and without thinking, asked, "Would you like to come along?"

It was reflex. The sort of question he'd been taught it was polite to ask. It was, he realized too late, grossly out of place to ask her on this day and under these conditions.

"II'm sorry. No, of course you can't. The Tower . . .

Anheliaa..."

"No." Lidye interrupted him, and she had a head-tilted, considering look on her face. "No, Nikki, it's all right. In fact" Her pale blonde head gave a decided dip. "I'd love to. Let me get my hat."

She glided away, leaving Nikki more confused than ever.

Lidye hated the Outside, she'd made that abundantly clear on their last outing. He hoped she wasn't reverting to her previous manipulative techniques. He liked this new Lidye much better. But did this mean her arm-clutching fear that had ruined his last drive with her had been assumed as well?

He certainly hoped that was the case. He wanted to enjoy this afternoon. Wanted the sun and wind and smells of Outside to wash away the resentment brewing in his heart.

He stepped out onto the floater dock to wait, slapping his gloves against his thigh nervously. He'd hoped to be on his way by now, had planned to go to Armayel today, when the subpoena came in. Now, it was too late for that, not if he were to get back by the time the meeting was over.

The walk back from the stables had taken far longer than he had anticipated. It seemed as if he'd had to stop every few steps to speak with people, friends he hadn't seen for weeks, people he'd never met who just seemed to recog- nize him.

He'd never been so conscious of being a Rhomandi. In the past, most folk had seemed content to ignore that fact, if they'd noticed. Now, the anonymity was gone. Everyone wanted answers from him. Some had gotten openly hostile when he had proclaimed ignorance, and he'd been very glad to have Lidye's father's green-and-gold guards around him.

And thanks to those delays, he'd missed Mikhyel after all. So now, he was anxious to get back to the stable as fast as possible, because otherwise, Mikhyel would hear him and get confused, and they'd all be mad at him. . . .

He wished Lidye would hurry.

Deymorin was late; fortunately, so was the Committee.

Mikhyel stared out the large window draped in the elabo- rate style of the mid-second century, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Rhomandi floater-coach's black-and-silver balloon entering the port below. If the cursed link could be trusted, Deymorin had yet to leave Rhomandi House, And considering that link, he supposed it was just as well Deymorin wasn't here yet. Even before they began thinking at one another, Deymorin had had the unerring capacity to rouse the worst possible uncertainties in him.

Still, he'd feel far more confidence in the outcome of the imminent hearing were he certain what would come through the door when the Committee called on Kiyrstine romGar- etti to testify. It wasn't that he didn't retain a great personal respect for the unusual lady who, save for an awkwardly still-extant husband, would be his brother's wife. Kiyrstin was, by his own experience of her, intelligent, sensible, and extremely politically astute.

But her men's clothing, her short-cropped hair and fre- quently brusque manner would not, he feared, intrigue the conservative group assembling just beyond the towering, double doors that were of greater antiquity than the drapes.

He'd sensed, vaguely, Nikiki's coming and going, his de- spair that he'd missed Mikhyel. He'd tried to send Nikki reassurance, but Nikki had been concentrating so hard on not interfering in Mikhyel's thoughts, Mikhyel doubted he'd heard. Nikki's presence was no more than a shadow of remembered sensation, now, hinting primarily of Outside and invigorating winds.

Turning from the window, defying his nerves, Mikhyel forced himself to sit rather than pace. He crossed his legs and arranged the lace over the bandages, restraining a sec- ond inclination, this one to delve yet one more time into the contents of the document case propped against the chair leg.

For the most part, those documents were no more than he'd expected: memos similar to dunYardo's or that of dun- Barkhii. Though couched in a variety of florid terms, threats, and pathetic hardship accounts, they all boiled down to two things: fear and money.

Rhomatumin Councillors, in the names of their constit- uents, wanted their energy back. They wanted compensa- tion for the loss of production, wanted money for restoration after the riotsfor personal as well as civic buildings.

And they wanted to make certain the Rhomandi remem- bered that they, the Rhomandi, not Rhomatum, were re- sponsible for the damages to the web beyond Rhomatum herself. Anheliaa had sworn such a catastrophe was impos- sible, and backed the claim (the Councillors were one and all quick to remind him in those memos) with the Rho- mandi fortune, not Rhomatumin taxes.

And there were concerns expressed about Lidye. To have a Shatumin woman in charge, to have a notable number of Shatumin men-at-arms highly visible throughout the City, had people frightened.

He could appreciate their reservations. He'd had his own this morning. Since then, he'd discovered Lidye rom- Nikaenor (or her representatives) had tampered with his mail and his files and dismissed his staff. While he could conceive of viable reasons for her actions, he did not auto- matically accept her motivations as benign.

Under the circumstances, she'd have been foolish not to take steps to discover his personal affiliations on the Hill, also, to be cautious about leaving unsupervised individuals in close proximity to the records his office contained.

What she chose to do with the information thus gained was another question. He sincerely hoped she'd had the sense not to act on concerns expressed under duress.

And much depended upon what other documents, other than termination notices, she'd forged with his Signature.

There were many questions he wanted to ask Nikki's wifefollowing this meeting.

Of the eighteen senior Councillors preparing their inqui- sition behind those doors, two, possibly three would be most inclined to trust him. Men and women with whom he'd planned Rhomatum's future. In private. Individuals who knew and trusted him, who had feared (according to carefully phrased but anxious notes in his packet) for that future when he'd disappeared under such cataclysmic circumstances.

It was, perhaps, their dissension among those eighteen seniors that delayed the start of the inquiry, and left him sitting here.

Eighteen senior Councillors. One for each wedge-shaped section of the City, chosen to their seniority by the other representatives of the section. Men and women twice his age and more, who had listened to him and taken his advice ever since he'd come of legal age.

They'd listened not by choice, but for want of options.

He'd been the voice of the Rhomandi, their only link with the Rhomatum Tower. The majority were oblivious to how much he'd intervened, but there were those who knew the narrow ledge he'd walked for years and feared the woman in Rhomatum Tower without himself there to temper her whimsy. Some had come up directly against Anheliaa's bit- terness and manipulation, and those were his allies.

But they were not his friends.

And in that sense, he had no doubt that their trust had limits. The rumors of war out of Mauritum had them fright- ened. And fear made men both brave and stupid. He could, if he so chose, turn that fear to his advantage. Anheliaa was a master of the art of manipulation and Anheliaa had overseen his education. He could convince them their life- style and livelihoods were subject now to his whim. Could threaten them with total annihilation of the web.

But he had no desire to intimidate the Council or Syndi- cate. The facts were on his side, so was logic, and the Coun- cillors were not fools. Neither were the Syndics, those representatives of the satellite nodes who would be after him the moment they'd reorganized their scattered members.

If these leaders persisted, if they insisted on bringing House Rhomandi down . . . Mikhyel stared at his clenched hands, forced them to relax. If the Council thought they were better off without the Rhomandi, let them have it.

Let them have it allthe Tower, the Rhomandi fortune . . .

the endless headaches.

He'd come to realize these past months that the web provided luxuries, not the necessities of life. He believed in the Syndicate, but he was not about to fight bull-headed stupidity forever. He was tired. Tired of the games. Tired of the constant tightrope. Either they saw sense . . . or they did not.