98: AN UNEXPECTED MEETING

When Maia woke the following morning—not quite so badly bitten as she had expected—it was to the certainty that the rains were imminent. Since "The White Roses" lay halfway down the western slope of Nybril, there was no view to the east even from its roof, but nevertheless she could sense the oppression, the piling-up of the clouds far away beyond Tonilda, beyond Yelda and Chalcon. Soon the wind would begin and the white mist would come rolling. Everyone would be glad of the rains, glad of the reliefs the release; everyone but themselves, stranded on this rock in the Zhairgen. What if they were forced to spend Me-lekrilhere?

She said nothing of her apprehensions, however, either to Anda-Nokomis or to Zenka. It was plain that they had not seen the place and its limitations so clearly as she. They thought they were going to go out, much as they might go to a market, buy a boat and go down the river. Well, possibly they would: she wasn't going to start discouraging them or letting them think she was trying to show how clever she was.

She'd come along and see what happened.

After breakfast they set out together, down the steep lane winding between hovels, stone walls and hedges of gray-leaved keffa-kolma—the only thing that'll grow here, I suppose, thought Maia: back home we used to pull it up and burn it.

At length they emerged on to the quay-side. A few boats were out fishing. As she had expected, they were all anchored—or perhaps foul-anchored—well within the area of calmer water above the meeting-point of the two streams. One or two had masts, but not a sail was hoisted in the still air. None had either deck or cabin or was what you'd call, she thought, a traveling craft.

Anda-Nokomis, seeing a little group of men busy with tackle a short distance away, went up to them and, having greeted them politely, said he wanted to buy a boat stout enough to travel down the river.

This, as Maia could have told him, was a mistake. She herself, if she'd been a man, would have passed the time of day, talked about the com-ing of the rains, asked a few questions about the fishing, repeated a rumor or two of the fighting in Lapan and said nothing at all about boats until someone—either that time or next time—got as far as asking what might have brought her to Nybril.

Oh, ah, they said. A boat? Well. One asked another to chuck him that length of line over there. Did he reckon it could do with a bit more grease rubbed in? Anda-Nokomis, interrupting, asked them whether they knew of anyone who would sell a boat. A boat? Well, now, they couldn't say. There wasn't all that many boats sold, really, not without a man was to die, and not always then. Boats— well, they nearly always got passed on, didn't they?

But might not someone sell one exceptionally, Anda-No-komis persisted. Well, they hadn't just exactly heard of anything like that; not just lately they hadn't. Every man had his own, you see. Needed it for his living, didn't he?

What was the river like further down, inquired Zen-Kurel. They shook their heads. They didn't really know. None of them had ever been all that far down. It was the getting back, you see, wasn't it? Strong current—well, yes, everyone knew that. Very dangerous for a lot of the year, specially in the rains. Oh, yes, desperate in the rains. Well, and after all, what would anyone be wanting to go down there for?

Quickest way to get yourself drowned. Someone else sucked on a hollow tooth, spat in the water and nodded in corroboration.

With them and with others Anda-Nokomis spent nearly a couple of hours pursuing inquiries. No one was uncivil, though one or two seemed sullen; but always he found himself helpless in the face of that reticent, noncommittal eva-siveness which is the reaction of most remote-dwelling peo-ple the world over to a brisk, direct approach from a stranger. Maia, who had grown up among such people, understood their feelings very well, though she could not have explained them in words. These people depended for a sense of security on doing what they and their fathers had always done in the only place they had ever known. That much they could feel sure of. Anything new or unusual probably had a catch . in it. They were prone to a kind of cryptic envy, too. This stranger, this gentleman was eager for a boat; they had only to do nothing in order to frustrate him. (And indeed after a time, although he retained his courtesy and self-possession, Anda-Nokomis's frustration began to show fairly clearly.) Towards the end of the morning and at about the tenth inquiry, Maia was left in little doubt that their fame was traveling before them.

Once Zen-Kurel, falling into conversation with a couple of youths who were playing wari with colored pebbles in the shade of a tavern wall, and finding them comparatively forthcoming in response to a few jokes and a little banter, asked whether it might not be possible to obtain a passage on one of the rafts coming down the Here from Yelda. Why, yes, they answered. People often travelled down on the rafts, though usually from higher upstream. There wasn't all that many started from Nybril, though. Yes, it was the Here pretty well all the rafts came down: very few down the upper Zhairgen. Lapan and Tonilda didn't go for the same markets downstream—or so they'd always understood. But very likely the gentleman would know more about that than what they did.

But there wouldn't be any more rafts, coming down the Here now. It was the rains, you see, as'd be starting any day. Oh, yes, both the rivers got fair desperate during Melekril. They'd break any raft to bits like you'd break an egg in a pan. 'Twas like the wrath of Cran to see the water going past the rock. You couldn't sleep in your bed at night for the roaring.

By this time Maia was beginning to feel embarrassed and ill-at-ease. She had grasped the situation clearly enough and disliked looking conspicuous and—she suspected— silly. She could imagine how she herself and Kelsi, only a year or two back, would have stood giggling to watch Anda-Nokomis striding up and down like a pair of shears. Want the truth, this just wasn't a place where boats were to be bought. Any man who made a boat made it for himself; and any family who owned a boat used it and needed it. If anyone was to buy a boat in Nybril, it would be an altogether exceptional transaction, involving probably a few days of preliminary drinking and talk to get a man out of his shell, followed by suggestion, negotiation and bargaining. Zenka, with a little coaching, might be the man for it, but Anda-Nokomis certainly wasn't.

Acting on impulse—well, what the hell, she said to herself, if she didn't need a drink who did and anyway she was past caring about convention—she unobtrusively left Zen-Kurel (Anda-Nokomis was about two hundred yards away, pursuing some line of his own) and went quickly round the corner to the door of the tavern. Now that she was able to view it up and down, it looked a good deal more inviting than one would have expected. It was called "The Butt Inn" and had a sign depicting, on one side, a goat impelling a customer through the door. On the other side, inevitably, were Shakkarn and Lespa, though por-trayed quite decently and even rather attractively, considering that this was Nybril. Both the door, which was standing open, and the shutters had plainly been repainted quite recently and there were boxes of flowers on the window-sills. One or two people were sitting outside on benches. She couldn't hear anything in the way of rowdy noise or low company from inside, and as she paused in the doorway all she could smell was clean sand and baking bread. Nice surprise, she thought: well, here goes.

Maia, of course, was more than used to being stared at. Upon her entry—oops! one step down—she could see very little, her eyes not having adapted from the sunny glare outside. She could sense, however, that a few people were looking at her. At the same time—and this, which was rather puzzling, she perceived distinctly as soon as her sight began to return—they didn't seem particularly bothered or surprised. In the Beklan Empire women seldom went into taverns alone, and if they did were usually either frowned upon or else asked if they would care to step into the back room. Maia had been expecting the latter. On the contrary, however, the atmosphere seemed positively friendly. Two rather prosperous-looking men drinking at a side table smiled and nodded to her, while a big fellow with untidy hair, a slight limp and a clean sacking apron, who was filling a jug from a barrel in the far corner of the room, put it down, came over and asked her politely what he could have the pleasure of getting for her.

Maia's opinion of Nybril began to improve. This was almost up to Beklan standards—lower city, anyway. Why couldn't they have put up here, she wondered, instead of that moldy old "White Roses?"

She ordered a bowl of serrardoes and a good, big jug of Yeldashay. She'd just have a quick cupful herself and then go out and call the others in to join her.

"A big one, säiyett?" said the potman. "Expectin' comp'ny, eh?"

"Why, yes," she smiled. "How did you guess?"

"Oh, I've got second sight," he answered, chuckling in a rather familiar way which slightly annoyed her.

"Won't keep you a moment, säiyett. Just let me know if you want any—er—help, won't you?"

The serrardoes were crisp and fresh and the Yeldashay was at any rate passable. She drank half a cupful and leaned back in her chair, feeling distinctly better. At this moment, looking up, her eye met that of another girl, perhaps two or three years older than herself, who was sitting by herself under the window on the far side of the room. She was a pretty girl, with a good complexion and fair hair, neatly if rather flashily dressed, and she was looking at Maia with a not unfriendly but rather puzzled expression.

Maia, not unnaturally, could tell a shearna when she saw one. That explained everything, of course. The Butt Inn, though obviously not a brothel, must be a place of resort for shearnas, who no doubt paid a commission to the house. Naturally, she had heard of such places, but had never actually been in one before. Plainly the first thing to do was to reassure the girl that she was not going to try to move in on her territory.

She refilled her cup, stood up and strolled across to the window. She was just about to speak when the girl spoke first.

"She didn't tell me anything about you."

"Who?" asked Maia.

"Well, Almynis, of course. Still, never mind; why don't you come and sit here, with me? Shirgo!" she called to the potman, pointing across to Maia's wine-jug and serrardoes. "Can you bring—" she turned back to Maia— "What's your name?"

"Maia."

"Oh, yes, everyone calls themselves Maia now, don't they, since the Valderra? What's your real name?"

Maia laughed. "It really is Maia."

The potman brought over her wine-jug and serrardoes and she topped up the girl's cup. She was beginning to have quite a reassuring feeling of old times. Perhaps Nennaunir and Otavis would be dropping by in a minute.

"I suppose Almynis forgot. Or did you only meet her this morning or something?"

"Look," said Maia, "I'll be straight with you. I'm not working here at all, not for Almynis or anyone else. I only got to Nybril last night and I just happened to drop in here for a drink, that's all."

"In herel By yourself?"

"Well, like I said, I'm strange to Nybril: I've had a rather trying morning and I just fancied a drink."

The girl nodded towards her jug. "What, that lot?"

"Well, you see, I'm with a couple of fellows, and they're still doing a bit of business outside. They'll be here in a minute or two. What's your name?"

"Mesca, I'm called." They both smiled. "Mesca" was not a recognized girl's name. It meant "Twilight," a typical shearna's sobriquet.

"Have you been long with this Almynis?" asked Maia.

"Well, nobody has, actually. We're still building up the business, you see—or she is, anyway. She only came here herself about eight or nine months ago; I'm not sure where from, tell you the truth. I was one of her first girls. I've been married, actually, but poor Lindulel—my husband— he was drowned a couple of years back, and by the time I met Almynis last spring I'd had enough of trying to make ends meet on half of nothings"

Maia nodded sympathetically. "Better 'n mucking out the cows, in't it?"

"Oh, you have done a bit, then?"

"Well, yes; back where I come from; only like I said, I'm not doing anything just now. Tell me how Almynis works—or how you work for her."

Mesca looked at her genially but shrewdly. "Well, great thing about Almynis is, she came here with quite a bit of money. She told me she'd heard about this house being up for sale on the edge of town—you know, usual thing, old man died and the next of kin in Ikat reckoned they'd rather have the money than the house. Anyway, Almynis bought it and I tell you, she's, really turned it into something. She must have spent a packet on it. There's about half a dozen of us working for her now. She drives a damned hard bargain, but by Cran! she doesn't half know the job. Must have had a lot of experience somewhere. She gets more out of the fellows than ever the likes of you and me could working on our own, and a fair old bit gets passed on, you see, so I reckon it's worth it. 'Sides, she's got a lot of style. Makes you feel better, working in a nice place. Oh, I do just about hate anything squalid, don't you?"

Maia agreed. "But is there really that much—you know— business in a place like Nybril?"

"More than you'd think," answered Mesca. "You see, all summer there's the rafts coming down the Flere, and Almynis's house is right on the water. Those raft fellows are all out on their own, money to spend, and Almynis makes damned sure they've nowhere better to spend it. What she offers is a good supper, a girl all night and breakfast in the morning—that's for those that can afford it. And they pay all right, believe you me. But there's quite a bit of local business too—you'd be surprised. You see, like I said, Almynis knows how to get a bit of style and glamor into it. There's a really nice garden going down to the water, and one or two smart little boats an' that—"

"Boats? Did you say boats?"

Mesca laughed. "There's some fellows like doing it out of doors, and some seem to like doing it in a boat, for some reason. Well, that old High Counselor in Bekla, he was doing it in a boat when they killed him, wasn't he? You must know about that, surely?"

Maia admitted to having heard something about it. "But then," she went on, "if you work at this place of Almynis's, what are you doing here now?"

"Ah! I'm what Almynis calls a flesh-and-blood proclamation; cheese in the mousetrap, dear. Obviously she can't make proclamations through the town crier, so she makes them through displaying us where we can be seen. Only like I was telling you, we're building up the business. It's off-season now for the rafts, you see, so we're up for a bit more local custom, if we can get it interested."

She was about to go on when they looked up to find themselves confronted by the men who had smiled at Maia when she came in. Or to be more accurate, they were confronted by Shirgo, the potman, who asked Mesca whether he might have the pleasure of introducing her and her friend to two very pleasant gentlemen. (Maia noticed him pocketing their ten meld.)

At this moment Maia would have found an excuse to leave, if it had not been for what Mesca had said about Almynis's establishment, which had interested her considerably. She smiled at the men, poured them each a drink from her jug and settled back in her chair as they began the sort of conversation usually pursued in situations of this nature.

After the four of them had been talking and drinking together for no more than a few minutes, one of the men, obviously eager to get in ahead of his companion, asked Maia point-blank how much she wanted for her favors. It was like "The Bow and Quiver" at Khasik over again, only this time there was no Zuno—and no Occula.

There was no timid little Tonildan peasant-girl, either. The Serrelinda, of course, was fully up to handling a contingency of this sort, and was about to do so when Mesca, obviously with the kindly intention of sparing a younger girl embarrassment, weighed in on her behalf. She repeated the joke about being a flesh-and-blood proclamation, and then explained to the men that while there were no facilities on the premises, she was the living proof that if they cared to go a little way upstream to Almynis's house on the riverside they could, at a most reasonable price, have more pleasure than they had ever imagined possible. Thereupon, the first man immediately asked Maia whether she personally would be there.

Maia had no wish to upset Mesca, to whom she had taken rather a liking, or to spoil business for an honest if somewhat rustic shearna. She smiled and said well, she might, she wasn't sure. You see, there was a gentleman as had particularly asked her to visit him that afternoon— she couldn't tell quite how long she'd be. It really was very nice at Almynis's, though, she could assure them.

After a few more minutes the men, having grasped that this was a case of somewhere else and later on, took themselves off, assuring Mesca that she was a fine girl and they'd be seeing her later, and her pretty friend too. As they went out into the sun-glare, Mesca raised her head and pouted her lips at Maia in a mock kiss.

"Thanks, Maia. That was nice of you and I won't forget it. But now, do tell me why you've come here and what you're doing in Nybril. Two fellows, you said? Lucky old you!"

Maia thought quickly. "Well, yes and no. Funny thing is, neither of them's mine, believe it or not. We—well, we're survivors, really. The fighting's been bad, you know, up in Lapan. We lost everything and a lot of people got killed. I've seen that I couldn't tell you! All same, the three of us got away and managed to get down here."

Mesca gave her another shrewd glance. "Deserters?"

Maia shrugged.

"D'you need money, Maia?"

She shrugged again. "Who doesn't?"

"Have you thought of working for Almynis? You could make a nice little bit—well, just part-time if you wanted— see you through Melekril, wouldn't it? Only like I said, we're out to expand a bit if we can."

"Tell me again where it is," replied Maia. "If I can get away, I'll come out and see your Almynis. P'raps's afternoon."

"Shall I tell her to expect you, then?"

"Yes. Yes, all right, Mesca! But if it's all the same to you, I'll be slipping along now. It's just that I'd rather not let these fellows of mine know—not just for the moment, anyway." She kissed Mesca quickly on the cheek. "You c'n finish what's left in my jug, can't you? Ought I to leave something for Shirgo? Only, I mean, he doesn't know, does he, but what I—?"

"Don't worry; I'll see to that," answered Mesca.

Emerging into the sunshine, Maia almost collided with Anda-Nokomis in the doorway.

"Why, Maia, we've been looking everywhere for you! We couldn't think where you'd got to."

"I only went for a drink, Anda-Nokomis."

"By yourself? In a place like this?"

"Believe me, Anda-Nokomis, it's a lot less dangerous than the upper city. Let's go back to dinner, shall we? P'raps we'll have some better luck later on."

Pleading fatigue and the heat, she had gone to lie down until Zenka and Anda-Nokomis were safely out of the way, still pursuing their search. She was worrying about what to do with her money and valuables while she went to Almynis's house. Funny, she thought, lying on her bed in the still heat of the afternoon and looking round the bare little room; when she'd set off for the Ortelgan camp by night, she'd carried the lot and never given the matter a thought; and here she was, bothering herself about what to do with them while she paid a visit to a small-town pleasure-house. Weil, she could only suppose that that night the greater danger had driven the lesser one out of her head. That night, she'd reckoned on being killed. She wasn't supposing that she'd be killed at Almynis's, but she did think it was within the bounds of possibility that she might be robbed.

What would Occula do? She pondered, and suddenly it occurred to her what Occula probably would do. Having found a couple of inches of unstitched seam along the edge of the mattress, she thrust well into the flock everything except a thousand meld. Three hundred of this she put back into her tunic pocket; the rest, tied up in a towel, she carried downstairs.

The landlord was dozing on a bench. She roused him.

"I'd be very grateful for your help: two things, really."

As usual, it was an advantage to be a pretty girl. He smiled broadly.

"Of course, säiyett."

"When I was up north, I was asked to deliver a letter to a lady in Nybril called Almynis. Do you happen to know where she lives?"

He chuckled. "Oh, ah, yes, säiyett, of course. Very nice lady. Rich lady, too. It's not so far from here, her house. Shall I tell the boy to take the letter for you?"

"No, thank you. I have to talk to her myself. But I'd be grateful if the boy could come along to show me the way."

"Of course, säiyett: Fllcallhim."

"The other thing: I've—er—got rather a large sum of money here: I'd rather not go out with it on me. I was wondering if you'd very kindly look after it until I come back?"

"Certainly, säiyett: but I hope you don't want any of that there writing, saying how much an' that. Only there's no one in this house can write."

"Oh, I know I can trust you," she smiled. "It's only that it isratheralot—all I've got, actually."

"How much, säiyett?"

"Well—seven hundred meld." And she looked at him wide-eyed.

"Oh, yes: that'll be all right, säiyett. It'll be perfectly safe with me."

She counted it into his hand and two minutes later was on her way, escorted by the pot-boy. It was not very likely now, she felt, that her room would be searched.

The lad's dialect was so thick that she couldbarely understand him. He was happy enough, however, for she had given him five meld for himself—more than he saw in a week, very like. As they reached the top of the hill and came over the crest she could see, sure enough, the cloud-banks out to the east, more than a hundred miles away .To her left, below her and beyond the walls, lay the river bank along which they had come with Tolis. On the right, along the nearer bank of the Flere, extended what was evidently the wealthy neighborhood of the little town. There were several stone-built houses; not large by Beklan standards, but trim and quite well-main-tained. One, with what seemed from this distance a very pretty, neat little garden extending down to the river, reminded her poignantly of her own house in the upper city. I wonder who's living there now, she thought; and the tears pricked her eyes, for she had loved it dearly, her house.

She pointed. "Is that Almynis's?"

"Naw, säiyett. Fu'r 'long: artside o' warls."

It did not take long to reach the walls. They were obviously very old, not mortared, built of rocks and stones piled on a base of natural crags and all of five feet thick. Those who raised them, thought Maia, all those years ago, must have heaved and dragged and carried every rock for miles around. There were no steps, as there were leading up onto the Bek-lan walls. The boy, like one doing an accustomed thing and seeming to need no permission, disappeared into a near-by shed and came out with a ladder which he set up and climbed. Maia having scrambled after him, he pulled it up and then lowered it for them to descend on the other side.

A track ran parallel with the walls, towards the gates in one direction and down to the Flere in the other.

The boy left the ladder lying under the wall and they set off towards the river.

The grasshoppers zipped in the short grass. The heat was intense. There was no one else on the track, but some oxen were gathered in a shady place, watched by a little, ragged girl who begged from the lady as she passed. Maia gave her a quarter-meld: she took it and ran back to her beasts without a word.

The boy stood still, pointing. "Therr!"

About two hundred feet below them lay a square, white dwelling. It was larger than her house in Bekla, very smooth and clean-looking in the glaring sunshine. On the flat roof bay-trees and laurels were standing in big, terracotta pots. She could not see a single stain or crack in the wall facing her. The pale-gray, louvred shutters, like closed eyelids across the windows, suggested the very acme of shadowy coolness and seclusion within. On this nearer side, a lower stone wall projected at right angles from the town walls, then itself turned at a right angle and so ran down to the shore. Within this enclosure lay the garden, entirely surrounding the house. It was profuse with arbors, little groves and bright flowerbeds. A green lawn extended down to the river, where she could see a stone j etty and a small boat-house.

From the baking hillside above, where the stones, flickering in the sun, were too hot to touch, the place looked a veritable sanctuary of verdurous ease. Maia could see two men trudging back and forth from the river, each carrying two buckets on a yoke. Clearly, their j ob must be to water the garden almost continuously throughout the day. Nothing less could possibly keep it looking like that. It shone and guttered, vibrant in contrast to the still, dried-up scrubland. As she stood gazing, a faint scent of lilies came drifting up-ward.

"Anight, säiyett?" asked the boy. She nodded rather abstractedly. In the light of her twenty-four hours' experience of Nybril she had not been expecting anything quite like this. To say the least, she thought, Mesca had not been guilty of exaggeration. This Almynis obviously had money and knew how to make good use of it, too. Occula ought to come and have a look at this; it might cool her off a bit about the Lily Pool.

Dismissing the boy, she walked on down the hill. Since she could see no gate in the garden wall facing her, she rounded the right angle and followed it down its length to the shore. Still there was no gate, but the wall came to an end some yards short of the water's edge, and she walked round it onto the lawn.

Not far off was one of the water-carriers, white-bearded, stooping and gnarled, with a wide, flat straw hat on his head.

"I've come to see the säiyett Almynis. Will it be all right to go up to the house?"

He squinnied up at her, old eyes peering out of a crumbling dwelling—as it were from far away—at youth and beauty which once, perhaps, he might have hoped to attain. Not any more. Not now.

"Why not?"

She gave him five meld, at which the poor old fellow uttered an exclamation, touched it to his forehead and called down a blessing on her. She went on between the trees and shrubs with their smell of moist greenery. Glittering gnats were darting among them and butterflies fanned their wings on the stones. The double doors giving on the garden were louvred like the shutters, made of sestuaga wood, very light and delicate andfastenedwithabronzechain. Shewasabout, to knock when she saw, standing on a little, round table beside the door, a copper hand-bell. It was made in the form of four naked girls facing outwards and arching their bodies, hands raised above their heads to meet round the handle— an erect zard carved in some dark, smooth wood. Wouldn't Nennaunir just about fancy one of those? she thought; and forthwith picked it up and rang it. Like a sheep-bell it was not resonant, but gave off a hollow, cloppering sound, which somehow went with the hot afternoon. She held it up and looked inside, expecting the tongue to be another zard: however, it turned out to be a boy and girl clasped in each other's arms. She had just replaced it on the table when the chain was drawn and the doors opened by an enormous man—the biggest she had ever seen in her life, exceptfor King Karnat. The chucker-out, she thought: these places always employed a strong fellow.

He certainly was an intimidating sight, bare-armed, barefooted and muscled like an ogre. She only just restrained herself from raising her palm to her forehead.

"I've come to see the säiyett Almynis," she said.

"She's expocting you?" He spoke like Lalloc—like a Deelguy.

" Agirl called Mesca told Almynis I was coming."

"You com in." He stood aside.

She stepped into a big, cool room. There were couches covered with bright rugs and cushions, a long dining-table with benches on either side and a central pool with a fountain; but the fountain was still. All the windows were shuttered against the sun, except for one, a dazzling rectangle on the far side of a couple of steps leading up into a little colonnade at the other end of the room.

"You waitinghere. Itollher."

She began wandering about the room, admiring the fittings and furniture, most of which looked new.

One wall was decorated with a series of licentious pictures, another with a charming painting of swans alighting on a lake.

All of a sudden Maia stopped short. On a small, lacquered table against the wall stood a little cluster of ornaments and pretty artifacts—a pair of candle-snuffers made like a silver dragon, the corn-sheaves of Sarkid carved in Ortelgan ziltate, a golden filigree sweet-box and so on. Arhong these was a little carving, in greenstone, of two goats mating. One exactly like it, she remembered, had had its place on the edge of the fountain in Sencho's dining-hall. She had once asked where it came from and been told from some foreign land beyond Yelda.

She would never have imagined there could be two such. She stepped forward and was j ust going to pick it up when she realized that the huge bodyguard had returned and was standing at her elbow.

Without speaking he gestured towards the unshuttered window behind her; She looked across the room. The dark shape of a woman, looking out of the window, was outlined against the light. She must have entered without a sound from somewhere along the colonnade. Maia crossed the room, went up the steps and raised her palm to her forehead.

"Säiyett Almynis, thank you very much for letting me—"

The woman turned. "Hallo, Maia."

For a moment Maia stared; then, with a cry, she recoiled, clutching with one hand at the painted column be-hind her.

"Terebinthia!"