My dearest Zann,

Instead of going straight home I went to see Ambe. I wanted some kind of protection against Trall and Carsaduam, and whoever else they had. Nobody saw me on the way there, except a couple of lauran courtiers at a distance.

“Sru and Srumarin!” she said when she saw me. “What happened to you?”

“A couple of our brother guards beat the piss out of me.”

“You look like you got dragged around the inside of a quarry. Who was it? Anybody I know?”

She helped me over the twisted roots to her parlor and pointed me at a chair. I sat, and exhaled. “Trall and Carsaduam.”

“Those two bloodfarts. Right, I’m going to call forth a spirit that’ll set fire to the lining of their lungs. They can–“

“No, don’t,” I said, and she looked back at me, surprised.

“Why not?”

“They’re Rosolla Guards.”

“Not when I’m done with them they won’t be.”

“Ambe. Do you know how old the Rosolla Guard is?”

“No. Why?”

“I looked it up. It was founded almost two hundred years ago. It means something to people. It’s not just a red cape. It has, well, honour. If we start killing each other we’ll never be able to preserve that.”

She looked at me like I had just turned into a giant anteater. “Those two beat you into a puddle just today! Wearing their capes!”

“Still.”

“Well, at least tell the captain. Those pissards shouldn’t be Rosollas.”

I sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I’ll present my report to the captain when he’s ready for it.”

She looked me up and down and picked a sore place on my arm to punch me, just hard enough for the agony to be indescribable. “It’s not my job to be stupid, you know. It’s my job to know things. To understand things.”

“Owww! What–“

“I don’t know why you think you have to pile everything on your shoulders. I don’t know why you think this all has to hurt. But I do know that’s what you’re doing. And I know it’s not going to help the Guards, not that I give a cube of frozen piss about that, and it’s not going to help the next stupid kid who gets trapped in the wrong corridor with Trall and Carsa. So, you don’t want me to do my plans? Give me a better one.”

“I’m too tired for this,” I said, because I was, and went to get up.

She snapped her fingers and ghostly arms held me back in the chair. “No again. You’re not taking this seriously. It’s not something for you to pout about. The captain has some kind of idea for you to be an officer in the Rosollas. Give me an officer’s plan. Or quit and I’ll take care of it.”

We glared at each other. Then I sighed.

“All right,” I said. “Thanks. Sorry. Yes. I should go home and heal up. Can you tell the captain what happened? And I’m not going to come in tomorrow? But I’ll give him an interim report the day after?”

“Of course. Easy.”

“And do you have anything I can use to protect myself from anyone who wants to finish what Trall and Carsaduam started?”

“Probably,” Ambe said. “What’s your preference? Enchant your sword? Strength of ten? I can conjure spirits to do anything like that.”

I laughed, and showed her my sword. It was just an empty hilt attached to the scabbard. “If I don’t have it, I’ll never be tempted to use it,” I said. “Nothing where I’d actually have to fight. You know I don’t fight.”

She snorted. “How well did that work out for you today?”

“Pretty well,” I said. “I was never tempted to use my sword on them.”

She rolled her eyes. “Something tricky then. Wait here. Here, something to read,” she said, and tossed me a broadsheet.

I heard her clanking around in her workroom. Occasionally wafts of spiced smoke drifted into the parlor. I had finished the broadsheet when she came back, holding a long grey scarf with pink patches on it. I raised my curious eyebrows.

“Best I could do,” Ambe said. “It is actually kind of blackpiss. But it has limitations. What you do is, you wear it, and you tie it with a slipknot, see? Like this?”

I saw.

“If you do that,” she continued, “Trall and Carsaduam and everyone in their faction won’t bother you. They’ll see you. They’ll know you’re there. But they’ll always have something better to do than harass you. They’ll leave you alone.”

“Really?”

“Of course really. Some problems. First, it won’t work longer than one or two swings. Second, it only works indoors. Third, you have to take it off to eat or drink. And for Sru’s sake don’t fall asleep wearing it. Happy with that?”

I wrapped it around myself the way she showed me. “Yes. Thanks, Ambe. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“I hope so. Maybe work on being less of an arsehead while you’re resting up.”

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

I’m not really sure where I went after that. I crawled as best I could, and sometimes tried to pull myself up to walk, but one of my legs wasn’t working right, and one of my arms was useless, and my other hand was useless, and I hurt all over, and I couldn’t really see through the tears and blood. I know I went up at least one flight of stairs. Nobody was around. Why was nobody around.

And then someone was there. “Oh,” he said. “What happened–well, never mind. Here, let me help.” It was a lauran voice, and one I had heard before. He guided me to my feet, with my better arm over his shoulders, and walked me up the corridor. “You’re… Ybel, that’s right? The new guard?”

“Ay, lord,” I said. Talking wasn’t too bad. “Thank you.”

“No, no. Here, there’s a chamber here we can use.” He opened a door and in a moment I was lying on one of the day-bed kinds of divans that the laurans favour. “What do we have… oh well. Master Ybel, pray remain at your ease here while I fetch a few things. None but I will ope the door.” And he was gone.

I wiped out my eyes with my wrist and looked around. It was a small stone room, still in the Comet Halls. There was another day bed opposite me, and a little table with two wooden chairs under the open window, where a few morning glories looked in. A painting hung over the other day bed, which showed a scene from the laur: two laurans eating grapes and snuggling near a pretty river. Who was this lauran that had come to my aid? I had met dozens of them just since coming to the palace.

My breath was coming more easily now. I tried to count my injuries. But I was shattered and bleeding, and my brains were trembling in my skull, I couldn’t count. I was going to need to see a chirurgeon or a healer, no doubt of it, and I might not have the time my body needed.

The door opened, and this time I recognized the lauran. Tall, more weatherbeaten than laurans usually are, green and blue colouring. It was Ellewen. “I know you, Lord,” I said. “Ellewen. You were a clerk at the Public Bureau when I was there.”

He pulled the table and a chair next to me. “Yes. Not exactly a clerk. Still, please, while I do this.” He had a cloth and some water and cleaned blood off of my face. He had some kind of rosemary-smelling stylus in his other hand that he used to… draw symbols on my skin?

When his attentions had moved to my arm, I said, “Lord, what is that that you’re doing?”

He glanced at me in response but didn’t answer. In a minute he said, “Do you know who it was who blooded you?”

“Yes, lord. It was a pair of my comrades in the Rosolla Guard. It looks like there are factions.”

“Ah. Don’t call me ‘lord’, please, it’s not appropriate. ‘Ellewen’ is more meet. Even when more of my kind are present.”

“Ellewen. Thank you for helping me.”

He held up a leaf that had a glowing sigil on it, and touched my lips with his finger. “Chew this leaf, please. I’m happy to help, but will you be all right in the future? Will this attack be repeated?”

I accepted the leaf, and chewed. It just tasted like a leaf. “I don’t know. I have to think about it.”

Ellewen spread a poultice on a painful part of my arm. “An unusual answer.”

“It’s just that I don’t want to make any enemies.”

He stopped what he was doing and looked deep in my eyes.

“I know,” I said. “I already have enemies, is what you’re thinking. But right now they think I’m just a new guard who’s friends with the captain. I don’t want them thinking any different from that.”

“So,” he said, after a pause. “How will you bring them to think as you wish them to?” He moved my torn pajazuse to get at my other arm. His hand brushed the coin around my neck, and jerked away abruptly.

“That’s what I have to decide. The best thing might be to do nothing. But then they can just kill me.”

“It sounds like a problem.”

He continued treating my injuries. I had never touched, or been touched by, a lauran before, and it felt surprising. Soft and gentle, as anyone would expect, but also I could feel the virtue of his superior soul shining into my flesh and nourishing my wounds. To have a man’s hands on me like that… it was the greatest surprise of the day. Brought Acea to my mind, which I try to avoid, but my wits were so scrambled I couldn’t think anyway, so I just closed my eyes and let my pain ebb away.

At length he said, “So. I’ve done what I can. I’m not myself a healer, you understand, but I have had to learn some of the most quickly useful parts of the art. And I’ve stolen a couple of periapts that are doing what I could not.”

“Thank you. I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

“Silent, please, while I explain what I have done. You have many broken bones. That sphere chained at your ankle is healing them; wear it until sunset tomorrow. Your brains have been put in disorder, but that leaf you were chewing should restore them. My poultices will do for your cuts and bruises. And this ring–” he lay my left, uninjured, hand on his, and slipped an old gray ring onto my finger–“this ring will allow you to stand and walk without pain, but I charge you with taking no vigorous action until you are whole again.”

“I will. I mean I won’t.”

He sat back. “I mislike giving orders to a soldier not under my command, but I also give you this rede, that you should rest here for some hours while these magics do their work. Do you know where you will go from here?”

“Yes. I’ll catch the longcoach for home as soon as I leave the room,” I lied.

“Well. I wish you all fortune, and if it please you, visit me at the Public Bureau when your duties permit and your inclinations agree. Perhaps we can play at border-bridge.” He paused. “And I would be neither annoyed nor offended if you came to me for help in future times of danger.”

I’m a startlingly bad border-bridge player. “I will, all of those things. Thank you again, Ellewen. I don’t like to keep thanking you–“

He stood up, and quieted me with one of those fluid hand-waves that they’re all so blackpiss-good at. “Your gratitude is a measure of the straits you were in, and your entirely sensible knowledge of your plight. It cannot be unseemly.”

“Uh–“

But he was gone.

I lay back against the day bed.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

Worst day yet as a Rosolla Guard. I was supposed to pass today’s time in one of the vaults under the Comet Halls, guarding some artifact or other, with a fellow named Bharc. When I got there, though, no Bharc. It was a pair of ex-soldier types named Trall and Carsaduam. They watched me approach. I had tasted this kind of situation before. The way they were looking at me.

Nobody else was around.

They were going to thrash me, I could tell. Maybe even kill me. I considered just turning around and fleeing; that’s what I’d normally do. But, no, this was part of what Candur wanted me to find out about the Guard; I had to see more of it.

My obvious first question for them was, “Where’s Bharc?” and I wasn’t going to ask it. I don’t believe in letting my enemy know anything about myself, but these fellows were part of my order of guards, and the sooner everyone got the idea that I knew my way around, the better.

I stopped well in front of them. They didn’t have their swords out, which was good. The truncheons in their hands were less good. “Who sent you two? Shapdar or Crell?”

They were surprised. “Neither of them,” Carsaduam said. “We just don’t like you.”

Trall stepped away from Carsaduam, trying to block me in. “‘Tsright. The Captain likes you though, doesn’t he?”

“Lots of people like me. I’m great.”

“Well, Guards don’t like you. You’re shit. Think you’re better than us. You don’t belong in that uniform.”

I angled myself so I was only facing Trall, with Carsaduam far behind him. “Not your decision.”

“Here’s my decision,” Trall said, lashing out with his truncheon. I jumped back, but he was quick and caught me a smash across the leg. It really hurt, and I fell. I didn’t expect him to attack me so soon.

The two of them darted to stand over me, but I rolled and stood.

“You’ve still got a chance,” Carsaduam said. “You can quit. Just go home. And then you’re out of it.”

“Oh,” I said. “Sure, I’ll quit. I’ll do that right now. If that’s all it is.” And I moved to go.

Carsaduam shoved me with his hands and truncheon, and I couldn’t dodge. “Not yet. Not that easy.”

“You might forget, and show up at the palace again tomorrow,” Trall said, thumping me in the stomach. I doubled over, and they kicked me to the floor, and hit me, and hit me.

It was awful. I covered up as much as I could, and tried to keep them from hurting me while making them think they were hurting me a lot. But they did hurt me a lot. It lasted minutes. At the end of it I was bloody and crying.

“Now go home,” Trall said. “And don’t come back here. If you do, we’ll find you, and then you’ll never go home again.”

I tried to get to my feet, but it hurt too much, even leaning on the wall.

“Look at him crawl,” Carsaduam said. “Didn’t even try to fight back. Who’d make him a Rosolla Guard?”

“Mousepiss weepy little shit.”

I didn’t know what to do, and I was crying tears of pain and frustration and shame, but I knew I couldn’t give up on the Guard, because there was one thing, the one thing I don’t even dare tell you about, that I felt even more strongly. If they beat me every day I would keep coming back, and I just had to hope they wouldn’t kill me.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

Wande and I did up the last two snobals last night. We didn’t get the same effect as the first time, but it was nice. The more I think about it, they don’t really taste like bananas at all. Wande browbeat Jhus into helping with the cutting, and she did it perfectly. While Jhus was cutting the fruit, I liked her better than I usually did. I even felt a little protective of her. But I don’t think it was reciprocated.

You’ve never seen a snobal. They’re fruits, big round ones, that grow underground in the fall, and ripen over the winter and early spring. They have a thick, tough brown rind that protects them through all this time. In late spring, once the ground has thawed and the plants have shed their taproots, they can be pulled out of the mud by their stalks. The rinds are red inside, and the flesh is pale, in irregular segments. They stay fresh enough to eat for a few swings; by summer, nobody’s eating them, and you can’t preserve them in any useful way.

It’s easy to make a big mess trying to cut these things up. You learn, when you’re a girl, how to find the lines to cut a snobal properly, so it comes apart into neat segments. If you don’t do it right you end up with a platter of wet pulp that’s very unappetizing.

I talked about the ritual before. Partly it’s to get the boys and men in the right frame of mind for eating the snobals. I’ve heard that if you just try to eat it without the ritual you end up spitting it out. You need the songs and all to get ready for it. But it’s not just about the fruit. It’s about what it means to be a man or a woman in the Crideon lands: women use knives with precision while men withstand burdens with strength. And if it’s done right, well… I guess it doesn’t really matter if it’s done right. Not with the laurans here.

At least I don’t think it matters.

Love,

Ybel

Darling Zann,

After my shift today I went back to try Ambe again. I knocked at the maw of her lair under the temple. Still no answer. I peered in the slimy trunks, and there was some kind of sound from in there. “Ambe? Ybel. Are you in there?”

I waited.

“Come on back,” she said. She sounded upset.

I climbed through to her parlor. Half the lights were out, there were books and scrolls all over the place, some of the furniture was upside down, and everything was covered with one kind of magical apparatus or other. Ambe, tears of frustration running down her cheeks, was frantically paging through a book. That weird animal that Tharus had turned into was hanging by one arm from the tree beside her, reading over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Still flipping through her book, she jerked her thumb at Tharus. “What do you think?”

“You’ve been trying to turn him back into a human? And it hasn’t worked?”

“Pretty smart,” Ambe said. “Did you ever think of becoming a wizard yourself?”

“It’s been days,” I said. “Have you been working on this the whole time since then?”

“Mostly.”

“Well–here, give me that book. Give it! All right–just relax for a minute. Sit back. Do you have anything to drink around here?”

“Here,” Tharus said, passing Ambe a steaming mug from somewhere back there with his hooked claw.

“Thank you,” I said, and then, “Tharus? You–“

“One of the first things she tried. I had been trying to think using my animal mind, but Ambe here did some kind of spell that… it felt like it opened up all the doors inside. And I was me again. Not me me, but me. And I could talk! It really could be worse,” he concluded.

“That’s amazing,” I said.

“It wasn’t easy,” Ambe said.

“I believe you.”

“But look at him! And this was the first thing I’ve had to do for the Rosolla Guard! Candur’s going to send my arse back to the city.”

“I doubt it.”

“I would, if I were him. Doing magic like this is what I’m here for!”

“Is it even possible to change him back?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe not. Maybe not for human magic. There’s… how should I say this… the magic thinks this is what Tharus is supposed to be.”

“Well, Candur isn’t going to send you away for not doing the impossible.”

“Are you two giving up on me?” Tharus said. “I like being able to climb like this, but I’d really rather be a person again. The food’s much better, for one thing.”

“I’m not giving up,” she said. “You know I’ve really been trying.”

“Ay, I know.”

“But I’ve run out of things to try. We might need to think about how you’re going to live like this.”

“What sort of creature is he, anyway?” I asked.

“Oh!” Ambe said. “That I can tell you. Tharus is a giant anteater.”

“That’s a real animal?” I said.

“I’m pretty real,” Tharus said.

“Sure it’s real. They live way north of here.”

“And they eat ants?”

“Curst right I do. Not that there are enough around here. It’s scary how tasty I find them.”

Ambe said, “Giant anteaters need a lot of ants. Way too many. I had to come up with other things he could eat so he wouldn’t starve to death.”

“She’s really been taking care of me,” Tharus said. “But you can paint me with piss if I know what I’m going to do now. What’s the use of a talking anteater?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but don’t go away. If the Rosolla Guard can use me, they can probably use you.”

Love,

Ybel

Most dear Zann,

The dark blue clouds of sleep mist were everywhere as I walked home from Blackfloors Square tonight. I had to step carefully and hold my breath a few times. I might have seen as many as ten people asleep in alleys and corners just in that one walk. I tried to pull one fellow out, but he was just too enfogged and I could feel it starting to affect me too. One more gift of the Great Nap. Before the laurans came, the clouds were either white or gray and foggy days were rare.

Usually the people caught in a dark blue mist wake safely in the morning, unbothered. After all, who’s going to get close enough to touch them? But “usually” isn’t “always”.

I made it to the roost, and when I opened the door, Wande and Jhusdhe were already sitting at the table. Jhus, drawing a picture, kicked her legs under her stool, and Wande grinned at me with happy anticipation. I kissed her and sat down.

“Should I guess?” I said.

“Blanun’s had a crate of snobals in early! He put aside four of them for us. We can do two tonight and two tomorrow,” Wande said.

“Sounds good.”

“Do you want some time to get ready? Do you need supper first?”

“I ate at the palace,” I said. “I knew supper would be over before I got here. But I should change out of this.” Wande had one of her favourite sagars on, and she had pinned it very formally.

I had changed from my Rosolla pajazuse before I left the palace, but my everyday clothes were all kind of shabby. I hadn’t needed them to be more than that, mostly; dock work and drinking in a tavern with my friends. I had always known, though, that someday I’d need to dress for a more formal event, so I had acquired a tight-weave pajazuse and kept it clean and neat. It was black, so it was appropriate for both official and celebratory formality, and also helped me blend in with other men. I put that on, raked my hair into place, gave myself a quick rinse of cold water, and returned to the main room.

“Jhus, are you sure you don’t want to help me cut? I can show you everything you need to know,” Wande was saying.

“Mother, there is no role for me in your earthy peasant rituals. I beg you remember my dignity and not seek to include me in traditions that fit me not.” And she went back to drawing her aspen tree. Wande shook her head.

I sat down, opposite Wande, and she produced two snobals. They looked a lot like rutabagas, as always, but were dark brown all over. She had scrubbed the dirt off them with a brush. There they sat, on a wide platter, while Wande opened her knife box and set out her tools. Her breath was catching.

“You’re all right?” I said.

“Great! Are you ready?”

“I’m ready.”

“Then sing.”

I was ready. I knew I knew the song. We all know the man’s song; we’ve been singing it probably for thousands of years, and we don’t even remember when we knew what the words meant. But I had bought a little songbook just in case I needed to freshen it in my mind. I began:

“Doska lobab askol barta
Holha rolha solal thraf
Dafla barta lobab marta
Palta palta ishin scraf,”

and so on. While I sang, Wande used the blackawl to trace invisible veins within the rind of the first snobal; I knew she could feel them deep in her fingertips more than see them. She smiled at me, and I winked back, and she began cutting along the lines she had made with the waterknife. As she did, I felt, or thought I felt, potential weighing on the air.

It took a long time to disassemble the husks of the snobals, and Wande didn’t rush. Nor should she have; it takes as long as it takes. I ended up singing the song through six times before the two snobals were arranged in segments on the platter, surrounded by scraps of rind. She set her knives down, and looked questioningly at me.

I nodded, stopped singing, and used the ceremonial spork to scoop up the nearest piece of snobal flesh. As I did, she began singing the woman’s song:

“Arti sohi fala
Pila pela pula
Sohi rusi sohi
Goha epra tula
Arti balo hala,”

and the rest of it. I put the spork in my mouth. The snobal felt right; the morsel was just the right size, neither warm nor cool. It tasted of noon and mandolins, of jumping and kisses, of fear and lightning. I could hear the taste in the backs of my eyes. And something, a shape, was beginning to form in my mind. I both wanted and dreaded it. I locked eyes with Wande, and I wanted and dreaded her too.

I took another bite and the sensations increased. Wande sang. I wasn’t sure how much time was passing. Hours? Seconds? Wande’s heart was racing; I could hear it, as fast as mine. I kept eating, not too fast, and the shape in my mind resolved itself into a kind of cone. It was terrible and compelling. I reached for it, with my thoughts, but it was too far away. Wande’s eyes widened and I knew she could see it too. I reached for another segment of snobal, but all I came back with was rind.

I had finished both snobals. Wande stopped singing. The air settled.

“Did you see it?” she said. “The circle?”

“It was a cone for me.”

“Oh! Strange. But it worked! We… I think we could have done it, if we had really tried!”

“Maybe,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to really try. Not these days.”

“No. But… that was the most I ever felt from cutting snobals. I heard some music once.”

“When I was little, I fell asleep most years,” I said. She laughed. Our eyes were still locked.

“What did it taste like?”

“Oh… not like anything really.” I smacked my lips. “In a way it reminds me of banana.”

“I never had banana. Too expensive.”

“A cluster of them fell out of a crate at the docks once,” I said. “We all had some. It wasn’t as juicy as snobal, but the taste isn’t too far off.”

“So how do you like it?”

“I’m still a little scared. But I’m glad I went through with it. We went through with it.”

“Did I tell you I tried some once?” she said.

“What?! No!”

“Yes. I sneaked a piece when I was little. Didn’t see what all the fuss was about.”

“By the gods. Your parents should have kept you in a cage.”

Wande laughed. “My mother said the same thing.” She turned to Jhusdhe, who had been ignoring us as hard as she could. “Jhus. Time for bed.”

Love,

Ybel

My dearest Zann,

One thing about working at the palace that’s taking me a long time to get used to is the lauran-style privies. The laurans don’t pipe their piss and cack away to mosstone cauldrons; they have another thing they do.

You go into one of their privies; it’s a small room that smells like jonquils and it’s lit by high windows. (If you’re human and it’s nighttime, bring your own light.) There’s a little bridge in front of you that can turn a bit to the left or right. You walk out to the end of it, which is in the middle of the room, depending on where you swung the bridge. Below you, about two or three feet down, is a floor of moist earth covered by short wide plants with red flowers. There’s a low stool at the end of the bridge, with a hole in the middle.

So you sit on the stool, or stand at the end of the walkway if that’s your preference, and you play your tune, and then a couple of things happens. First, the flowers puff out a yellow mist that smells like jonquils. It cleans your hands and your chuff, and then you do up your clothes. Second, down on the ground, the plants grow to absorb and break down your piss and cack and in two minutes it’s like you were never there.

It’s oddly pleasant, or at least it would be if it wasn’t designed for laurans. Seems there’s something about human effluent that’s unwholesome enough to kill these flowers, and they won’t grow back to cover the dead spot until they’ve been fed with lauran plook. Makes me feel guilty every time. Oh, gods, the time I had an upset stomach after some bad river mussels… I killed a quarter of the room and another quarter with my tears.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

With Tharus not available they had to juggle the guard assignments for the rest of the swing. I ended up as third guard with Parn and Hollath, two young men who spent a lot of their spare time showing off their sword moves and wishing the border disputes with Amaydya would start up again. They seemed open to including me in their circle until it became clear that I was never going to stab anybody and I didn’t hate Amaydyans.

But I have to give it to them that they showed me a new part of the job very professionally. We had the morning shift near a bureau in the Comet Halls, where a trio of clerks, two human and one lauran, were dealing with a long queue of people and their problems. The problems included tax disputes, property disputes, inheritance disputes, contract disputes… We didn’t have to stand at guard on this post, but it was harder work anyway. We had to keep an eye on the queue at all times, just to make sure there weren’t any fist disputes or even knife disputes.

Also Parn and Hollath showed me how we could make things easier for the people in line. If an old woman had a big sack of papers to show the clerks, one of us carried it for her; one of us watched a man’s young son while he took his daughter to change her soaks. Sometimes we could advise them that they were in the wrong queue or even the wrong building. “The whole point is we’re trying to make the palace work better,” Parn told me. “If my ma has to come in here for a port clearance permit, she should be able to see the right person fast. That’s how I think about it.”

It was good. I got water for people. I learned a lot about what the different bureaux were in the palace, and what they did. I made the clerks’ acquaintance. (Ebe, Rodara, and Ellewen.) And one fellow slipped me a few pennies for getting him into the bureau, even though it was his turn anyway.

After my shift I visited Ambe to see how she was doing with Tharus. Her door was locked, though, and she wasn’t answering knocks.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

On the way to catch the longcoach this morning, I saw a black pillar of stone rising between two buildings. It hadn’t been there before. A few blocks away, I saw another one, a little taller. There were more on the way to the palace.

I wonder what that’s all about.

Love,

Ybel

Dearest Zann,

The other night I was down at Kayar’s Tavern with my friends Quoon, Ostavon, and Fafafa. We tried to meet once every swing or so, but this was the first time since I had become a Rosolla Guard. Quoon is a gardener; he used to have a roost in the same building as Wande and me. Ostavon, a merchant’s clerk, is an old friend of Quoon’s. And Fafafa had been in the Wallentorp army with me. He now does private soldier work around Crideon.

We had settled on Kayar’s almost a year ago as our favourite place to drink and sing. The beer was good and they had a spellball table, which we sometimes played. And it was about halfway between Ostavon’s roost and ours. Sometimes Wande joined us, and sometimes Ostavon’s wife Geme, and sometimes Quoon’s husband Schrall.

I had just finished telling them about Tharus and his theory of current politics, and they were laughing. “Swans,” Quoon said. “I wish the pisser was right. It might mean more business for me. At most of these lauran manors, they do most of their own gardening. Just walk through the place and the flowers sit up straight and untangle themselves.” I hadn’t told them about what happened to Tharus the next day.

“Old Candur,” Fafafa said, leaning back and sipping. “He’s doing all right?”

“He’s fine. Keeps in training with his swordsmanship. Doesn’t work us too hard. Hasn’t thrown a bucket of paint on anybody yet.”

Fafafa spluttered, and sat up. “I remember that! Gods, that was funny. Hoy, has he brought any other of us Wallentorp blades in?”

“No, just me. Why, do you want to wear the blue and red?”

“No,” he told me seriously. “No, I don’t think that would suit me.”

“Wouldn’t suit me,” Quoon said. “I feel like already spend enough time doing what laurans tell me to do. One way or the other. Nothing against them, of course.”

“Of course,” Fafafa said.

“Understood,” Ostavan said. “Well! I can’t stay too long tonight, my scholars, because Geme hunted out a couple of early snobals today.”

“Ahh, lucky man,” Quoon said. “Schrall and I have a fellow in the market we like to buy from, but he keeps saying, ‘next swing, next swing’.”

“I always wondered,” Fafafa said, “how you two made that work with the snobals.”

Quoon said, “There’s no trick to it. There’s a wife-and-wife couple in the next street that we get together with. They’re good with their knives. And also sometimes we just go to my sister’s family up north. They always have plenty.”

“That sounds nice,” I said, just to say something.

“You and Wande weren’t together last year, right?” Quoon asked. “What did–“

“No, we met right at the start of the winter. Just before you moved out.”

“That’s right, I remember that. Oh, good night, Ostavan.”

Ostavan was standing and pulling on his mantle. “Good night, all three.”

“Remember,” Fafafa said, “don’t eat the rind!” We laughed.

“Listen,” Ostavan answered, “when it comes to snobals, it’s a wonder I don’t have cuts on my tongue from Geme’s knife.”

I grinned, to fit in, and Quoon said, “You know, they’re really not bad if you swallow them whole. Just brush them with the blade…”

Ostavan waved and departed. Fafafa said, “What’s the most you ever ate? I finished four once, and I thought I could see right to the other side.”

“Three and a half, but I always had to share with a lot of other fellows. I saw my nephew eat six small ones once, though. Ybel?”

I had timed a drink of my beer for the end of this question, but they were waiting for my answer. So I swallowed and said, “Ah, I don’t know. Who counts?”

“Oh, big man, doesn’t-even-matter-to-me. Come on. We all count. What is it, three? Two? We won’t think any less of you.”

“Not at all,” Quoon agreed. “We don’t care if you’re a failure as a man. We like you.” Fafafa laughed.

“All right,” I said. “I just didn’t want to embarrass you. Twenty-one.”

Quoon hooted. “Did you store them in someone else’s stomach? You lying piss spigot.”

I drank again, and stood up. “Hoy, if you weren’t ready to believe my answer, I don’t know why you asked the question. Listen, I’m going to to up and sing.” Appropriately, the song written on the penny card I drew was, “That Was a Close One.”

Love,

Ybel