"Anything but that. I'm glad that you've told me these things, answering questions that I wouldn't have presumed to ask. Now I begin to know you a little."

"We began to know one another long before tonight, and not through words," he said deliberately.

"You feel that?" Her breath caught.

"Yes. Am I mistaken?"

"No," she whispered. He was standing very near her. Their eyes met and merged, her pulses throbbed, and she wondered confusedly whether he would try to kiss her, and even more confusedly whether she would let him. Of course she shouldn't, no respectable woman would allow it outside of marriage, not even with her own betrothed, much less a near stranger, a rival, a Grewzian. But the magnetism was powerful, the starlight compelling, and her own impulses chaotic. If he took her in his arms and kissed her now, she would not resist him, she would not even try.

His hands closed on her shoulders, and her blood sang. Letting her eyes close, she swayed toward him. For a moment the hands remained, then he released her and stepped back. Bewildered and suddenly chilled, Luzelle opened her eyes to stare up at him.

"Forgive me. I take advantage," Karsler told her. "This is reprehensible."

"What do you mean, take advantage?" She frowned, scenting condescension. "Take advantage of what?"

"Your warm heart and your generous nature. I realize now that I exploit them, although without design."

"You exploit nothing, Karsler. Do you think so little of me? I am neither a fool nor a child, and I am not so easily manipulated as that." She spoke a trifle tartly, as pride dictated, but inwardly she glowed. He'd said she had a warm heart and a generous nature.

"I stand corrected. You are right, you are neither gull nor victim. You may perhaps concede that you are somewhat reckless, and disinclined to consider possible complications. We both compete in the same race. Tomorrow morning I must be ready to leave you behind without hesitation and without a backward glance. You must be prepared to do the same to me, should the opportunity arise. Neither of us may pause to offer the other help in time of trouble or care in time of illness. How difficult does this become when a friendship or connection between the two of us forges invisible chains?"

"Difficult, but not impossible," Luzelle returned. "I mean to win, and friendship or no, I'll do whatever I must."

"You think so now, but somewhere along the way you may find the price higher than you expect."

"I will pay it nonetheless."

"It may be that you cannot. There are some compromises too degrading for self-respect to sustain."

"My self-respect will thrive, provided I win."

"I wonder. You cannot truly know what you will do until the moment of choice arrives, and then you may surprise yourself."

"We'll see." There would be no kissing now, the moment had definitely pa.s.sed. Relief and disappointment swirled through her.

A moment's silence followed, and Karsler observed, "It is quiet down there now. I believe it is safe to return."

He escorted her down the slope and back to Xoxo's town square, where a few lights glowing from neighboring windows illumined broken pavement, fallen lampposts, and scattered wreckage. A number of shaken citizens tarried there, conversing in hushed tones, but most had already returned to their homes or lodgings.

At the door of the inn they paused, and Luzelle remarked, "Time for another farewell. They seem so frequent."

"For now. But there is life after the Grand Ellipse, is there not?"

Yes, and by that time Vonahr and Grewzland will probably be at war, she thought.

"And even war is finite, although often it seems otherwise," he said.

"Telepathy again?" She smiled. "Well, that insight of yours saved me from a good shaking or worse tonight. Now I'll know to run for the hills if I hear those voices again before morning."

"You will not hear them. They have achieved their objective. Look there." Karsler pointed.

Her eyes followed his finger to the center of the town square, where the pillory stood empty and abandoned. The four prisoners were gone.

13.

"WHAT BECAME OF YOU LAST NIGHT?" asked Girays. "When that ground tremor shook me out of bed, I went down the hall to your room, there to confront a gaggle of hysterical Grewzian women. No sign of you among them, so I thought you must already have left the building. I went out into the square, but didn't see you."

"Oh, I was about," Luzelle replied vaguely.

"I quartered that square like a bird dog. I don't understand how I could have missed you."

"Well, it was dark, and there was a lot of confusion," she evaded, unwilling to reveal the circ.u.mstances of her encounter with Karsler Stornzof. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt."

"Judging by what I've heard, n.o.body was. It's quite remarkable."

"Almost magical."

"And providential for those poor wretches in the pillory. Somehow in the midst of the confusion they escaped, or else someone released them. In any case, the four of them are gone. Had you noticed?"

"Yes. That empty platform was a welcome sight. But perhaps this isn't the best place to speak of it." She glanced toward the Grewzian sentry stationed a few feet away at the entrance to the city hall.

"Whom do we offend in discussing a natural phenomenon? But the timing was extraordinary, wasn't it? Seismic activity is unusual in this part of the world, yet that quake occurred at exactly the right moment to a.s.sist the escape of-"

"An extraordinary coincidence." Anxious to change the subject, Luzelle climbed the brick steps to address the sentry in Grewzian. "It is now please the time to admit us."

"City hall opens at eight o'clock." The sentry consulted his watch. "It is now seven fifty-eight."

Breathing a sigh, Luzelle returned to Girays. "His watch is slow, I just know it," she complained. "I hate this waiting, there's nothing worse."

"I can think of a few things."

"Have your map ready?"

"Yes, but we won't need it. I've got our route memorized."

"You sure? I mean, this town has streets with as many twists and turns as-as a plateful of Blue Aennorvermis."

"Don't worry."

She did worry, but there was no point in harping on it. She let her eyes wander the square, where the native workmen, directed by Grewzian overseers, were at work removing wreckage and righting fallen lampposts. Several Ygahris loitered inquisitively about the empty pillory, and an angry grey-clad soldier chased them away. In front of the countinghouse a gang of naked copper-skinned children skipped and hopped in intricate sequences over the new cracks in the pavement.

Her eyes returned to Girays. For almost the first time since she had known him, he was less than flawlessly groomed. His dark hair, in need of a trim, had grown appealingly s.h.a.ggy. His khaki garments were clean but heavily wrinkled, and a b.u.t.ton was missing from his shirt. But none of these small imperfections could truly impair his bred-in-the-bone Vonahrish elegance. Girays v'Alisante might dive headfirst into a heap of manure, and somehow he would still be M. the Marquis. The shadows under his eyes were darker than usual, the lines in his face deeper-he could not have had much sleep last night-but he was looking alert, confident, downright cheerful.

"Girays," she ventured, "you really don't mind all this, do you?"

"Mind?" He considered. "You know, these past weeks I've experienced more discomfort, annoyance, tedium, inconvenience, and frustration than I've known in all my lifetime. There's also been more novelty, diversion, and discovery than I've ever known. There's a great deal that I mind, but I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"That doesn't sound like M. the Marquis, who once wanted nothing more than to shuttle endlessly between Sherreen and Belfaireau."

"He may have changed a little, or perhaps you didn't know him quite as well as you thought."

"Well-which is it?"

"Why not both?"

"You're teasing me."

He never replied, for at that moment the sentry stood aside from the entrance and motioned them into the city hall.

Up the stairs they sped together, through the door and into the drably utilitarian vestibule, where a bored guard directed them to the underclerk of the Munic.i.p.al Authority on the second floor. Up more stairs, past smart grey-uniformed figures, past fair westerners in civilian dress who turned to stare as they hurried by, down a featureless corridor to a door with a frosted-gla.s.s pane and a neatly painted Grewzian sign: MUNIc.i.p.aL AUTHORITY. MUNIc.i.p.aL AUTHORITY.

Girays knocked, and did not wait for a response before trying the door. It was unlocked. He opened it, and they went in.

The room beyond was plain, functional, and scrupulously ordered. Tall file cabinets lined the walls. There was an old wooden desk, two chairs, a bookcase behind the desk, and no other furniture. A baby-faced bald clerk in wire-rimmed spectacles and civilian garb sat at the desk. He looked up as they entered, and his brows rose.

"You are the underclerk of the Munic.i.p.al Authority, yes?" inquired Girays.

His Grewzian, Luzelle noted, was not much better than her own.

"That is correct," the underclerk replied in precise, high-pitched tones.

"We must the pa.s.sports make to be stamped with the official seal."

"Official Xoxo city seal," Luzelle added helpfully. With a melting smile, she produced her pa.s.sport and placed it on the desk. "You make to stamp, if you please."

Girays placed his own pa.s.sport beside hers.

The underclerk of the Munic.i.p.al Authority glanced at the doc.u.ments, observing, "Vonahrish, yes?"

"That is correct, Master Underclerk," Luzelle fluttered prettily.

He looked her up and down, taking in the Bizaqhi gauze tunic and divided skirt, the riotous red-gold curls hastily gathered at the nape of her neck and streaming down her back. His brows elevated another fraction of an inch toward his distant hairline.

Luzelle felt her color rise. Grewzian snot Grewzian snot, she thought. She met his gaze limpidly.

The underclerk's regard shifted to Girays, s.h.a.ggy and wrinkled, and he said, "You race in the Grand Ellipse, perhaps?"

"That is correct, Master Underclerk," Girays replied.

"You are the most clever to guess this, Master Underclerk," Luzelle admired.

"Our Grewzian contender, the Overcommander Stornzof, will whip your Vonahrish backsides," the underclerk opined. There was no immediate reply, and he added, "Our Stornzof has already pa.s.sed through. He is ahead, you will not catch him, you may as well give up now."

"That is as may be, Master Underclerk," Girays answered, "but we must continue. If you would please to stamp our pa.s.sports-"

"I myself have wagered on the Grand Ellipse," the underclerk confided. "Twenty silver grewzauslins I have placed upon the victory of our Overcommander Stornzof."

"This is fine sporting spirit." Luzelle nodded.

"So you see," the underclerk confessed pensively, "a Grewzian triumph is more than a matter of patriotic pride to me-it is a great personal concern as well. I am sure you understand."

Luzelle and Girays traded uneasy looks.

"Now, as to these Vonahrish pa.s.sports of yours," the underclerk continued, "they require close inspection. It is necessary to make certain that all is in order."

"I a.s.sure you-" Girays began.

"You will wait in silence now, if you please," the underclerk instructed. "You may sit if you wish. Some time may be required."

"But we do not have time!" Luzelle objected. "And-"

"Silence, now. I must verify the authenticity of the various stamps and seals that you present to me. The task demands my full attention."

"But-" Luzelle began. A warning look from Girays quelled her.

The underclerk opened one of the pa.s.sports, studied the first page at length, then rose unhurriedly from his desk, went to the bookcase, withdrew a ma.s.sive volume, and returned to his seat. Opening the book, he scanned the index and turned to a page bearing an elaborate civic stamp, which he compared painstakingly to the mark on the pa.s.sport page. Satisfied at last, he nodded, shifted his regard to the next stamp on the pa.s.sport, inspected it, then rose to fetch another volume.

Luzelle watched and fidgeted. The underclerk studied on, and the minutes ticked by. At this rate he would never be done, and she could stand it no longer. She coughed a little, but he did not raise his head.

"Master Underclerk-" she implored.

He looked up.

"Master Underclerk, we are greatly wanting to make the big speed, and our doc.u.ments official are truly in perfect order-"

"That remains to be seen," the underclerk informed her. "The verification has scarcely commenced. Perhaps you would like to go away and come back again at the end of the day. The processing may perhaps be completed by then."

"Sir, you do not understand! We cannot wait! We-" Girays caught her eye, shook his head infinitesimally, and Luzelle cut herself off.

"Master Underclerk," Girays interjected respectfully, and the Grewzian eyes behind the wire-rimmed spectacles turned to him. "Permit me if you please to offer a suggestion. You are the busy official of the Imperium, your time is too valuable to waste upon such small matters. Perhaps a gift to the office of the Munic.i.p.al Authority will serve to demonstrate our good faith, allowing you in turn to dispense with certain formalities." Drawing several notes from his wallet, he placed them on the desk.

"Ah? What is this?" The underclerk studied the offering. "Vonahrish New-rekkoes?"

"Good throughout the world," Girays declared. "The New-rekkoes I give are equal to forty grewzauslins. To prove our good faith."

"This gift speaks well for you," the underclerk decided. "You prove yourself a friend of the Imperium, and therefore I will accept your travel doc.u.mentation, which appears perfectly in order, at face value."

A small thud of inked rubber on paper signaled the official confirmation of Girays v'Alisante's presence in the town of Xoxo.

"Here." The underclerk returned the pa.s.sport to its owner. "You have prevailed upon my good nature. But you will understand, I am sure, that the gesture of confidence can hardly embrace this woman here, whose papers demand scrupulous inspection."

Expectantly Luzelle awaited M. the Marquis's offer of a bribe and guarantees on her behalf.