Obviously she had obeyed Dinartura's instructions and washed the swordsman. He looked quite respectable. She had even combed out his long black hair.

Honakura hesitated, but if there was truly danger, as he feared, then every visit he made would increase that danger. The potential victim must be warned. "Waken him!" he ordered.

The girl cringed. Probably she had never met a Seventh before and now she was alone with two of them. "Go on," he said, more gently. "I won't let him eat you."

Gingerly she reached down and gave the sleeper's shoulder a gentle shake.

The swordsman sat up.

The movement was so sudden that the girl leaped back with a gasp, and even Honakura retreated a pace from the foot of the bed. The man glared wildly around, heavy black eyebrows lowered in a scowl. He took in Honakura and the woman and the room in one lightning scrutiny. Then he seemed to relax a fraction. He looked them all over once more, sitting upright and not saying a word. He lingered his gaze appreciatively over the girl and finally brought it back to the man facing him.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" he demanded.

Honakura recoiled another pace at this unexpected vulgarity. Then he recalled that they had not observed the proprieties of formal salutes at their earlier meeting and so, although he was the elder, he proceeded with the greeting to an equal: "I am Honakura, priest of the seventh rank, Third Deputy Chairman of the Council of Venerables, and I give thanks to the Most High for granting me this opportunity to a.s.sure your beneficence that your prosperity and happiness will always be my desire and the subject of my prayers."

The swordsman raised an eyebrow incredulously at the recital and the elaborate gestures. He glanced at the girl to see her reaction. There was a long pause.

Then he nodded solemnly to Honakura and said, "Likewise, I'm sure. My name is Wallie Smith."

*3*

Jja leaped forward and a.s.sisted the old man to a chair. His face had turned gray and he was gasping for breath. She had been surprised to hear his name, for her mistress Kikarani had returned from a summons to the temple that morning in a storm of alternating terror and fury, breathing plagues and disaster against this same holy Honakura -- Jja had envisioned an enormous, dreadful ogre, not a quiet and kindly old man. She hovered over him for a moment, worrying: should she run for a healer? But that would be for the swordsman to decide. She heard a creak from the bed and turned to see that he had pulled himself back so that he could lean against the wall. He was modestly adjusting the cloth over himself. She was going to kneel beside the priest, but the swordsman smiled at her and pointed to the chair at his side. He had a very kindly smile.

"And what is your name?" he asked, as she obediently went over.

"Jja, my lord."

"Jja?" he echoed, sounding it. "Jja! How do you..." He frowned and tried again: "How do you ... d.a.m.n!" he muttered. He tried once more: "How do you make-marks-to-see for that?"

She did not understand. He was looking puzzled himself.

The old man had recovered some of his breath. "My lord," he said faintly. "This morning you told me that your name was Shonsu."

The big man stared at him menacingly for a moment. "I don't remember that." He frowned, looking puzzled again. "In fact I don't remember anything for ... well, it feels like quite a long time."

"You said," the priest repeated, "that your name was Shonsu and you were being haunted by a demon named Walliesmith. Now you say that you are Walliesmith..."

"Demon?" The swordsman uttered a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Demon? Shonsu?" He thought for a moment and repeated, "Shonsu?" as though the name had a vague familiarity. "Well, Wallie Smith is my name, but I'm no demon." He grinned an astonishingly friendly grin at Jja and whispered: "Honest!"

"Certainly it is not the name of any of the known demons," the old man muttered. "There is a demon of the seventh circle named Shaasu, but I'm sure that wasn't what you said."

The swordsman looked questioningly at Jja, as though asking her if the old man often raved like this. Then he slapped at a mosquito on his leg.

He stared at the leg. He peered at his arm, turning it over. He raised a hand to his face. Now it was he who went pale.

Again he moved with incredible speed. He jumped off the bed, holding the cloth about himself, and took two fast strides across the room to the mirror -- and recoiled from what he saw there. _"Oh, G.o.d!"_ He stooped once more to peer at his face, stroked his chin, rubbed a finger over his facemarks, tugged a strand of his long black hair. He found the lump on the back of his head and fingered that.

Time pa.s.sed. A party of young women returning from the fields went by on the road. The hot little cottage was full of their giggling and the baiting calls of the boys following, jesting and shouting at the girls and one another. Both groups faded away down the hill toward the town, and still the swordsman stood by the mirror, looking himself over, even peering under his wrap. Finally he turned and came back, very slowly, with his face tightly closed. He sat on the edge of the bed and seemed to sag.

"Shonsu, you said?" he asked.

The old man nodded. "You got a b.u.mp on the head, my lord. Sometimes that can cause confusion ... with all respect, my lord."

"Tell me the whole thing -- from the beginning!"

Honakura looked at Jja. "Leave us," he said.

The swordsman did not appear to have moved, but his hand was on Jja's arm. "Stay," he said without looking at her.

It was a large and a strong hand, and a tremor ran through her at his touch. He felt it. She blushed as his eyes swiveled to study her. Then he smiled gently and took his hand away. "Sorry," he murmured. A Seventh apologizing to a slave? She was astounded and confused. She hardly heard the start of the priest's story.

Yet when he described the demon she was horrified -- hair on its face and its belly? It must have looked like an ape.

"I came," Honakura said, his voice still shaky, "to explain why a n.o.ble lord like yourself had been put in such obnoxious quarters with inadequate ministration..."

The swordsman glanced at Jja and winked, then said, "I have no complaint about the ministration." Her heart turned over.

"You are gracious, my lord," the priest continued, not paying much attention. "But the fact remains that your life may be in danger. Not that I doubt your prowess, my lord," he added quickly. "I am sure that in a matter of honor you will dispose of Hardduju without the least problem. He is the only Seventh in the valley. He gives you fifteen years and is seasoned in debauchery. It is the thought of treachery that haunts me."

The swordsman was shaking his head gently and frowning, as though he could not believe any of this.

"No, I do not fear swordsmen coming themselves," Honakura explained. His color was returning, his voice stronger. "Rather the brigands who depend on the corruption of the guard for their protection. But no one will look for you here, my lord."

Jja drew a breath and then fell silent, hoping that they had not noticed; but evidently little escaped the swordsman, for his fearsome deep eyes were on her again. "You were going to say?" he asked.

She gulped. "About noontime, my lord..."

"Yes?" He nodded encouragingly.

"I stepped outside, my lord ... just for a moment, my lord. But I had to relieve myself. I was only gone a moment."

"That's fine." He was terrifyingly attentive and patient. "What did you see?"

So she told how she had seen a priestess of the Fifth, a round, middle-aged woman, coming up the road and looking in all the cottages. It was a sight she had never seen before, and she had remembered how her mistress Kikarani had stressed that no one was to know that the n.o.ble lord was there.

Honakura hissed. "As I feared, the subornation has penetrated even the priesthood! You are discovered, my lord!"

"Wait a minute, though," the swordsman rumbled, still watching Jja and smiling slightly once more. "Did she get in and see me?"

Jja felt her face flame. "No, my lord."

"But the fact that she was not admitted will tell them what they want to know," the priest said angrily.

The swordsman ignored him. "What did you do, Jja?"

She bent her head and whispered how she had removed her dress and concealed him with her body, pretending that they were making joy together. The woman had not come in and could not have seen him properly.

Then there was a silence until she tremulously looked up and saw that he was smiling -- no, grinning -- at her, a cheeky, little-boy grin, very surprising on so strong a face.

"I wish I had been here!" he said. He turned to the priest. "I repeat that I have no complaint about the service."

Honakura was beaming. "It is the handiwork of the G.o.ddess! Truly I was right to believe that She guided you here! Not one slave in a million would have had the wit to protect you in such fashion, my lord, or have wanted to."

_"Slave?"_ She had thought his smiles frightening and had given no thought to what his anger might be. "Is that what that line on your face means, that you are a _slave_?" She nodded timidly and the rage was whirled round toward the priest. "And who owns this slave?"

"The temple, I suppose, or Priestess Kikarani." The priest was not cowed, merely puzzled. "Why, my lord?"

The swordsman did not answer. He scowled blankly across the room for a moment and muttered, "What cesspool did I drag that from?" Then he shrugged and spoke to the priest again.

"So I am supposed to kill this ... Hardduju ... person, am I? What about his friends?"

The old man seemed surprised. "If you mean the swordsmen, my lord, then they will respect the outcome of a formal challenge. Most of them, I am sure, are men of honor. Then, when you have been invested as reeve, you can punish the recreants, provide proper protection for the pilgrims, and hunt down the brigands."

"I see." He fell silent and sat staring at the floor. A mule train came clattering by, hooves staccato on the cobbles, the riders making relieved noises at seeing their destination so close at last. A single horse trotted up the roadway. The sun G.o.d was very low, the patch of light on the wall fading to pink. Flies buzzed. The swordsman waved them away idly, once in a while s.n.a.t.c.hing one out of the air and killing it.

Then he frowned back at the priest. "All right, where is this?"

"This is a cottage for the use of pilgrims," Honakura said.

"Where?"

"Just outside the town."

"What town?" The swordsman's voice was growing deeper and dangerous.

Patiently the priest answered. "The town by the temple, my lord. The temple of the G.o.ddess at Hann."

"Hann? Thank you," said the swordsman. "Never heard of it. What ... Which..." He growled in frustration and then said with an effort and in a sudden rush, "What large-body-of-land-surrounded-by-salt-water are we on?" He seemed as surprised as they were.

"Salt water?" Honakura blurted. He looked at Jja, as if even a slave might give him support. "We are on an island, my lord, between the River itself, and a small branch of it. But the water is not salt." Then he added hurriedly, to forestall any more questions, "The small branch has no name of its own, although it is sometimes called the River of the Judgment."

"And what is the big branch called?"

In a despairing voice the old man said, "Just the River. There is no other, so why should it have a name?" After a moment's silence he added, _"The River is the G.o.ddess and the G.o.ddess is the River."_ "Is she, though?" The huge young man rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking. Then he demanded, "What day is this?"

"It is Teachers' Day, my lord," the priest said. He frowned at the look he received and snapped, "The third day of the twenty-second week in the year 27,355 from the founding of the temple!"

The swordsman groaned and said nothing more for a while.

The patch of light faded out and the cottage grew dim. He rose and walked over to rest his elbows on the windowsill, staring out at the road. His bulk made the gloom deeper. Jja could see the pa.s.sersby faintly through the beads over the door -- workers heading home from the fields, a few pilgrims being led along to cottages by her fellow slaves. Then a horseman went by, and the big man jerked back with an oath.

He turned and leaned against the wall between the door and the window, so that his face was in shadow. He folded his arms -- arms thick as most men's legs -- and spoke to the priest again.

"It's an interesting tale," he said, his deep voice very quiet. "There is one small problem -- I am no swordsman. I wouldn't know which end of a sword was the handle."

"My lord," Honakura bleated, "you are still disturbed from the exorcism and the blow on the head. I will send a healer to you again ... after a few days' rest you will be restored."

"Or dead, according to you."

"It is true," the old man replied in a sad voice. "The danger is greater now, for if the reeve finds you in a vulnerable state, then he will certainly challenge. It would be his only hope."

"No, it wouldn't." The big, deep voice was still strangely soft. "Let me explain. You do not exist, Lord -- is that right? -- Lord Honakura. Nor, I regret to say, do you, beautiful Jja. You are inventions of a sick mind, both of you. Truly I am Wallie Smith. I've been ill. I had ... oh, h.e.l.l! Words again! I got an insect in the brain..."

He looked at their expressions and uttered a deep ba.s.s laugh. "That wasn't right, was it? A bug? That means small insect, too, doesn't it? I did get bitten by an insect, and it gave me a fever in the brain. It made me sleep a lot and have strange ... dreams." He rubbed his chin again, pondering. "I think that name 'Shonsu' came into them. Anyway, I was very ill. Obviously I still am. That's why you don't exist. I'm imagining all this."

He frowned at the expression on the priest's face. "I think I'm not expected to live, because my sister flew in from ... Oh, never mind that bit!"

In diplomatic tones Lord Honakura said, "You have had a bang on the head, my lord. Just like a fever, a head injury may cause strange dreams, or even allow minor demons to penetrate. We can try another exorcism in the morning."

"In the morning," the swordsman said, "I shall wake up back in the ... house of healing. Or perhaps I shall die before that. I am still very ill. But no more exorcisms. No duels. No swordsmen."

There was a long silence.

"I wonder..." The holy man wiped his lips. "When I was a boy, about two lifetimes ago ... One day a swordsman came around looking for a recruit. Of course we lads all wanted to be sworn as swordsmen." He chuckled. "So he tested us. You know the test he gave us, my lord?"

"No," the big man growled. His face was shadowed.

"He made us try to catch flies."

"Flies? With a sword?"

The old man chuckled again and glanced at Jja to see if she had noticed also. "By hand, my lord. Very few people can catch a fly. But you have been sitting there doing it, without even seeming to look at them."

Then the big man chuckled very slightly also, in the shadow. "Whereas you, I think, could talk them down out of the trees, Lord Honakura. Let us discuss it again tomorrow, then -- if you still exist."

The priest rose, looking even older and more shriveled than he had before. He bowed and muttered a formal farewell to the swordsman, then pushed out through the curtain and wandered off down the hill.

And Jja was alone with the swordsman.

*4*

"Flies!" the swordsman snorted. "Are you hungry, Jja?"

She was starving. She had not eaten all day. "I could fetch food from the kitchen, my lord. It isn't very good -- for one of your rank, my lord."

He swept up the hamper and laid it on the bed, where he still had some light. "I'm hoping this may help," he said. "Yes!" Then he started to lift out great silver dishes wrapped in linen cloths, muttering in astonishment as he laid them on the wobbly little table. "Ruddy fortune in bullion! If we do get invaded by brigands, we'll throw these at them, right? And enough forks and spoons for a whole gang of them. Can you fight off the brigands with a fork while I run for help, Jja?"

She was perplexed and uncertain. She ought to be setting out the food for him, not the other way around, but she had never seen such dishes or smelled such savory scents as those that now drifted through the cottage. And he had asked a question, obviously a joke, and jokes were difficult for a slave to handle. "I could try, my lord, if you were quick."

He grinned, white teeth flashing in his faintly visible brown face. "Here's a candle," he said. "Do you know how to light it? I don't."