Of course it was. Wetchik had gone into the desert weeks ago, hadn’t he? And Rashgallivak, his steward and, supposedly, the new Wetchik, had been in hiding somewhere ever since. Who would keep the place running, with both of them gone?

  Except that the machines here were running, weren’t they? Which meant somebody was still caring for the place. Unless they carelessly left them on, and the plants untended inside.

  That was quite possible, of course. The cold air would keep the specialized plants thriving for many days, and the coldhouse, drawing its power from the solar scoops on the poles rising high above the house, could run indefinitely without even drawing on the city’s power supply.

  And yet Shedemei knew that someone was still taking care of this place, though she could not have said how she knew it. And furthermore, she knew that the caretaker was inside the coldhouse right now, and knew she was there, and wanted her to go away. Whoever was in here was hiding.

  And who was it who needed to hide?

  “Rashgallivak,” called Shedemei. “I’m only Shedemei. You know me, and I’m alone, and I will tell no one you are here, but I must talk to you.” She waited, no response. “It’s nothing about the city, or the things going on in there,” she called out loudly. “I simply need to buy a couple of pieces of equipment from you.”

  She could hear the door unbolting from the inside. Then it swung open on its heavy hinges. Rashgallivak stood there, looking forlorn and wasted. He held no weapon.

  “If you’ve come to betray me, then I welcome it as a relief.”

  Shedemei declined to point out that betrayal would only be pure justice, after the way Rashgallivak had betrayed the Wetchik’s house, allying himself with Gaballufix in order to steal his master’s place. She had business to do here; she was not a justicer.

  “I care nothing for politics,” she said, “and I care nothing for you. I simply need to buy a dozen drycases. The portable ones, used for caravans.”

  He shook his head. “Wetchik had me sell them all.”

  Shedemei closed her eyes for a weary moment. He was forcing her to say things she had not wanted to throw in his face. “Oh, Rashgallivak, please don’t expect me to believe that you actually sold them, knowing that you intended to take control of the house of Wetchik and would need to continue in the business.”

  Rashgallivak flushed—in shame, Shedemei hoped. “Nevertheless, I sold them, as I was told to do.”

  “Then who bought them?” asked Shedemei. “It’s the drycases I want, not you.”

  Rashgallivak didn’t answer.

  “Ah,” said Shedemei. “You bought them.”

  After a moment’s pause, he said, “What do you need them for?”

  “You’re asking me to account for myself?” asked Shedemei.

  “I ask, because I know you have plenty of drycases at your laboratory. The only conceivable use of the portable ones is for a caravan, and that’s a business you know nothing about.”

  “Then no doubt I will be killed or robbed. But that’s no concern of yours. And perhaps I won’t be killed or robbed.”

  “In which case,” said Rashgallivak, “you would be selling your plants in far-off countries, in direct competition with me. So why should I sell my competitor the portable drycases she needs?”

  Shedemei laughed in his face. “What, do you think that there is any business as usual in this place? I’m not going on a trading journey, you poor foolish man. I’m removing my entire laboratory, and myself, to a place where I can safely pursue my research without being interrupted by armed madmen burning and looting the city.”

  Again he flushed. “When they were under my command, they never harmed anyone. I was no Gaballufix.”

  “No, Rash. You are no Gaballufix.”

  That could be taken two ways, but Rash apparently decided to take it as a confirmation of her belief in his fundamental decency. “You’re not my enemy, are you, Shedya.”

  “I just want drycases.”

  He hesitated a moment more, then stepped back and beckoned her inside.

  The entry of the coldhouse wasn’t chilled like the inner rooms, and Rash had turned it into a pathetic sort of apartment for himself. A makeshift bed, a large tub that had once held plants, but which he no doubt used now for bathing and washing his clothes. Very primitive, but resourceful, too. Shedemei had to admire that in the man—he had not despaired, even when everything worked against him.

  “I’m alone here,” he said. “The Oversoul surely knows I need money more than I need drycases. And the city council has cut me off from all my funds. You can’t even pay me, because I haven’t an account anymore to receive the money.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Shedemei. “As you might imagine, a lot of people are pulling their money out of the city accounts. I can pay you in gems—though the price of gold and precious stones has tripled since the recent disturbances.”

  “Do you think I imagine myself to be in a position to bargain?”

  “Stack the drycases outside the door,” said Shedemei. “I’ll send men to load them and bring them to me inside the city. I’ll give you fair payment separately. Tell me where.”

  “Come alone, afterward,” said Rash. “And put them into my hand.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Shedemei. “I’ll never come here again, and we’ll never meet, either. Tell me where to leave the jewels for you.”

  “In the traveler room of Wetchik’s house.”

  “Is it easy to find?”

  “Easy enough.”

  “Then it will be there as soon as I have received the drycases.”

  “It hardly seems fair, that I must trust you completely, and you don’t have to show any trust in me at all.”

  Shedemei could think of nothing to say that would not be cruel.

  After a while he nodded. “All right,” he said. “There are two houses on Wetchik’s estate. Put the jewels in the traveler room of the smaller, older house. On top of one of the rafters. I’ll find it.”

  “As soon as the drycases are at my laboratory,” said Shedemei.

  “Do you think I have some network of loyal men who will ambush you?” asked Rashgallivak, bitterly.

  “No,” said Shedemei. “But knowing you will soon have the money, there’d be nothing to stop you from hiring them now.”

  “So you’ll decide when to pay me, and how much, and I get no voice in the matter.”

  “Rash,” said Shedemei, “I will treat you far more fairly than you treated Wetchik and his sons.”

  “I’ll have a dozen drycases outside within a half hour.”

  Shedemei got up and left. She heard him close the door behind her, and imagined him timidly drawing the bolts closed, fearful that someone might discover that the man who had, for a day, ruled the petty empires of Gaballufix and Wetchik both, now cowered inside these heavy shaded walls.

  Shedya passed through Music Gate, where the Gorayni guards checked her identity with dispatch and let her through. It still bothered her to see that uniform in the gates of Basilica, but like everyone else she was growing accustomed to the soldiers’ perfect discipline, and the new orderliness that had come to the chaotic entrances of the city. Everyone waited patiently in line now.

  And something else. There were now more people waiting to get into the city than waiting to get out. Confidence was returning. Confidence in the strength of the Gorayni. Who would have imagined how quickly people would come to trust the Wethead enemy?

  After walking the long passage along the city wall to Market Gate, Shedemei found the muleteer she had hired. “Go ahead,” Shedemei said. “There should be a dozen of them.” The muleteer bowed her head and set off at a jog. No doubt that show of speed would stop the moment Shedemei could no longer see her, but Shedemei nevertheless appreciated the attempt at pretending to be fast. It showed that the muleteer knew what speed was, and thought it worthwhile to give the illusion of it.

  Then she found a messenger boy in the queue waiting just inside the Market Gate. She scribbled a note on one of the papers that were kept there at the messenger station. On the back of the note she wrote directions to Wetchik’s house, and instructions about where to leave the note. Then she keyed in a payment on the station computer. When the boy saw the bonus she was giving him for quick delivery, he grinned, snatched the note, and took off like an arrow.

  Rashgallivak would be angry, of course, to find a draft against one of the Market Gate jewelers, instead of the jewels themselves. But Shedemei had no intention of either carrying or sending an enormous sum of completely liquid funds to some lonely abandoned place. It was Rash who needed the money—let him take the risk. At least she had drawn the draft on one of the jewelers who kept a table outside Market Gate, so he wouldn’t have to pass any guards to get his payment.

  Rasa looked at her son and daughters, and Wetchik’s two boys by other wives. Not the world’s finest group of human beings, she thought. I’d be a bit more contemptuous of Volemak’s failure with his two older boys, if I didn’t have my two prize daughters to remind me of my own lack of brilliance as a parent. And, to be fair, all these young people have their gifts and talents. But only Nafai and Issib, the two children Volya and I had together, have shown themselves to have integrity, decency, and love of goodness.

  “Why didn’t you bring Issib?”

  Elemak sighed. Poor boy, thought Rasa. Is the old lady making you explain again? “We didn’t want to worry about his chair or his floats on this trip,” he said.

  “It’s just as well we don’t have him locked up in here with us,” said Nafai.

  “I don’t think the general will keep us under arrest for long,” said Rasa. “Once I’m thoroughly discredited, there’d be no reason to do something as clearly repressive as this. He’s trying to create an image of himself as a liberator and protector, and having his soldiers in the streets here isn’t helpful.”

  “And then we leave?” asked Nafai.

  “No, we put down roots here,” said Mebbekew. “Of course we leave.”

  “I want to go home,” said Kokor. “Even if Obring is a wretched miserable excuse for a husband, I miss him.”

  Sevet said nothing.

  Rasa looked at Elemak, who had a half-smile on his face. “And you, Elemak, are you also eager to leave my house?”

  “I’m grateful for your hospitality,” he said. “And we’ll always remember your home as the last civilized house we lived in for many years.”

  “Speak for yourself, Elya,” said Mebbekew.

  “What is he talking about?” said Kokor. “I have a civilized house waiting for me right now.”

  Sevet gave a strangled laugh.

  “I wouldn’t boast about how civilized my house is, if I were you,” said Rasa. “I see, too, that Elemak is the only one who understands your true situation here.”

  “I understand it,” said Nafai.

  Of course Elemak glared at Nafai under hooded eyes. Nafai, you foolish boy, thought Rasa. Must you always say the thing that will most provoke your brothers? Did you think I had forgotten that you have heard the voice of the Oversoul, that you understand far more than your brothers or sisters do? Couldn’t you trust me to remember your worthiness, and so hold silence?

  No, he couldn’t. Nafai was young, too young to see the consequences of his actions, too young to contain his feelings.

  “Nevertheless, it is Elemak who will explain it to us all.”

  “We can’t stay in the city,” said Elemak. “The moment the soldiers leave their watch, we have to escape, and quickly.”

  “Why?” asked Mebbekew. “It’s Lady Rasa who’s in trouble, not us.”

  “By the Oversoul, you’re stupid,” said Elemak.

  What a refreshingly direct way of saying it, thought Rasa. No wonder your brothers worship you, Elya.

  “As long as Lady Rasa is under arrest, Moozh has to see to it that no harm comes to anyone here. But he’s set it up so that Rasa will have plenty of enemies in the city. As soon as his soldiers step out of the way, some very bad things will start to happen.”

  “All the more reason for us to get out of Mother’s house,” said Kokor. “Mother can flee if she wants, but they’ve got nothing against me.”

  “They’ve got something against all of us,” said Elemak. “Meb and Nafai and I are fugitives, and Nafai in particular has been accused of two murders, one of which he actually committed. Kokor can be charged with assault and attempted murder against her own sister. And Sevet is a flagrant adulterer, and since it was with her own sister’s husband, the incest laws can be dredged up, too.”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” said Kokor. “Prosecute me!”

  “And why wouldn’t they dare?” asked Elemak. “Only the great respect and love people had for Lady Rasa protected you from arrest in the first place. Well, that’s gone, or at least weakened.”

  “They’d never convict me,” said Kokor.

  “And the adultery laws haven’t been enforced for centuries,” said Meb. “And people are disgusted by incest between in-laws, but as long as they’re at the age of consent . . .”

  “Is everyone here criminally dumb?” asked Elemak. “No, I forget— Nafai understands everything”

  “No,” said Nafai. “I know we need to go out to the desert because the Oversoul commanded it, but I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  Rasa couldn’t stop herself from smiling. Nafai could be foolish sometimes, but his very honesty and directness could also be disarming. Without meaning to, Nafai had pleased Elemak by humbling himself and acknowledging Elya’s greater wisdom.

  “Then I’ll explain,” said Elemak. “Lady Rasa is a powerful woman—even now, because the wisest people in Basilica don’t believe the rumors about her, not for a moment. It won’t be enough for Moozh just to discredit her. He needs her to be either completely under his control, or dead. To accomplish the former, all he needs to do is put one or all of Rasa’s children on trial for murder—or Father’s sons, too for that matter—and she’ll be helpless. Lady Rasa is a brave woman, but I don’t think she has the heart to let her children or Father’s sons go to prison just so she can play politics. And if she did have that degree of ruthlessness, Moozh would simply up the stakes. Which of us would he kill first? Moozh is a deft man—he’d do only enough to communicate his message clearly. He’d kill you, I think, Meb, since you’re the one who is most worthless and whom Father and Lady Rasa would miss the least.”

  Meb leaped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of you, fart-for-breath!”

  “Sit down, Mebbekew,” said Lady Rasa. “Can’t you see he’s goading you for sport?”

  Elemak grinned at Mebbekew, who wasn’t mollified. Mebbekew glowered as he sat back down.

  “He’d kill somebody,” said Elemak, “just as a warning. Of course, it wouldn’t be his soldiers. But he’d know that Lady Rasa would see his hand in it. And if holding us as hostages for her good behavior didn’t work, Moozh has already laid the groundwork for murdering Lady Rasa herself. It would be easy to find some outraged citizen eager to kill her for her supposed treachery; all Moozh would have to do is set up an opportunity for such an assassin to strike. It would be simple. It’s when the soldiers leave the streets outside this house that our true danger begins. So we have to prepare to leave immediately, secretly, and permanently.”

  “Leave Basilica!” cried Kokor. Her genuine dismay meant that she had finally grasped the idea that their situation was serious.

  Sevet understood, that was certain. Her face was tilted downward, but Rasa could still see the tears on her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry that your close association with me is costing you so much,” said Rasa. “But for all these years, my dear daughters, my dear son, my beloved students, you have all benefitted from the prestige of my house, as well as the great honor of the Wetchik. Now that events have turned against us in Basilica, you must share in paying the price, as well. It is inconvenient, but it is not unfair.”

  “Forever,” murmured Kokor.

  “Forever it is,” said Elemak. “But I, for one, will not go out into the desert without my wife. I hope my brothers have made some provision for themselves. It is the reason we came here.”

  “Obring,” said Kokor. “We must bring Obring!”

  Sevet lifted her chin and looked into her mother’s face. Sevet’s eyes were swimming with tears, and there was a frightened question in her face.

  “I think that Vas will come with you, if you ask him,” said Rasa. “He’s a wise and a forgiving man, and he loves you far more than you deserve.” The words were cold, but Sevet still took them as comfort.

  “But what about Obring,” insisted Kokor.

  “He’s such a weak man,” said Rasa, “I’m sure you can persuade him to come along.”

  In the meantime, Mebbekew had turned to Elemak. “Your wife?” he asked.

  “Lady Rasa is going to perform the ceremony for Eiadh and me tonight,” said Elemak.

  Mebbekew’s face betrayed some powerful emotion— rage, jealousy? Had Mebbekew also wanted Eiadh, the way poor Nafai had?

  “You’re marrying her tonight?” demanded Mebbekew.

  “We don’t know when Moozh will lift our house arrest, and I want my marriage to be done properly. Once we’re out in the desert, I don’t want any question about who is married to whom.”

  “Not that we can’t change around as soon as our terms are up,” said Kokor.

  Everyone looked at her.

  “The desert isn’t Basilica,” said Rasa. “There’ll only be a handful of us. Marriages will be permanent. Get used to that idea right now.”

  “That’s absurd,” said Kokor. “I’m not going, and you can’t make me.”

  “No, I can’t make you,” said Rasa. “But if you stay, you’ll soon discover how different life is when you’re no longer the daughter of Lady Rasa, but merely a young singer who is notorious for having silenced her much more famous sister with a blow from her own hand.”

  “I can live with that!” said Kokor defiantly.

  “Then I’m sure I don’t want you with me,” said Rasa angrily. “What good would a girl with no conscience be on the terrible journey that lies ahead of us?” Her words were harsh, but Rasa could taste her disappointment in Kokor like a foul poison on her tongue. “I’ve said all I have to say. You all have work to do and choices to make. Make them and have done.”