Dearest Zann,

Wryth led me back inside the palace. “If you would like a sword, to replace your guard sword,” she said, indicating my empty scabbard, “we have some very good ones in our suites. One does not like to boast. But Amaydyan weapons are far superior to whatever garden implements the greenkind allow you.”

“That’s very generous of you,” I told her. “But, no, thank you. I don’t use weapons.”

She thought about this. “Why is that?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Wryth paused again. Generous of her to assume that my stances were well-thought-out enough to be worth contemplation by a second person. “How can one fulfill the duties of a palace guard if one is not willing to hurt another? For that matter, how can one save the city against its many problems if one is not willing to hurt another?”

“Maybe one can’t. Maybe I can’t.”

“And so?”

“And so I’m not going to release a weary sigh and resolve to pick up the sword again. Because that isn’t in me anymore. Because if we could solve this problem that way, someone would have done it already. Because I don’t believe in it.”

“Well. One must admire your bravery.”

“Not if you don’t want to. This city is full of brave people. May I make a speech?”

She laughed. “Please do!”

“Thank you. I’ve had many adventures recently and met so many brave people. Citizens and guards, humans and greenkind, wizards and children and revolutionaries and criminals and eccentrics and fools and one giant anteater. They’re all willing to take their chances against the world and everything that the world can throw at them. The worse things get, the braver they become. But things have kept getting worse. Maybe bravery isn’t what we need.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. But if there’s a solution, I’ll find it.”

We were silent, climbing tower steps. Eventually, Wryth said, “Presumably the objection to swords would also apply to strong magic.”

“That’s embarrassing,” I said. “I had actually been hoping for some kind of magical solution. But you’re right. It’s just another kind of sword.”

“Or, that’s what it seems like to two guards, at least.” And that also was true.

“Are the Amaydyan roosts much farther? I’ve never been there before,” I said.

“No reason one should have, if one is a palace guard. The embassies bring their own guards with them. Our rooms are somewhat higher, I fear. In better days there are magical chambers to move us up and down the towers, but now that the palace is sequestered from the outside world, those conveniences are unavailable.”

“Oh well.”

“Just so.”

We were both used to exerting ourselves all day, but still, we were panting when we finally reached the Amaydyan rooms of this high tower. The four guards there waited alertly for us. Wryth indicated me and said, “This fellow is Ybel. He’s an important Rosolla Guard. One should know him, if one meets him elsewhere.” They saluted, that weird Amaydyan salute where you spin your hand around. “Anything to report?”

“No, ensign,” one said.

“Good. Continue.”

We entered a large round room in which clerks and guards were suddenly trying to look busy. Wryth surveyed them briefly and led me to a spiral staircase in the centre of the room. We descended.

Down here was a small bureau, very well appointed, where an elderly woman at a table was painting a small object. She looked up. “Ah, Wryth. And a new person.”

“Yes, Lord Ambassador,” she said. “This is Ybel of the Rosolla Guard. I’ve been conferring with him on the current conditions.”

“Good, good. Have my new figures been delivered? One observes that the last ones were very unsatisfactory.”

“No, Lord Ambassador. The artisan has fled the city. We’re trying to find a substitute.”

“Oh dear. Well, do keep me informed about that. I’m just finishing up the Parthage officers today.” She held up the thing she had been painting: a little figure of a soldier in a yellow uniform, brandishing a poleax. “The insignia isn’t molded properly at all, but I can paint it so that one cannot notice.”

“Very skillful, Lord Ambassador. Do you have more orders for me?”

“No, no. You always know what to do. Thank you, Wryth. Honoured to have met you, Ybus.” Wryth saluted and we withdrew. She took me up two staircases to her own small bureau.

“So,” I said.

“Yes.”

“What you’re telling me is that we’re working alone here.”

“One suspects that this is the case.”

“Then it’s a good thing that we’re both so wise and clever.”

Wryth nodded gravely, and got out a slate and some chalk, and we began to plot.

Love,

Ybel