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leaving Seth alone and quite startled. Should she follow them? Should she
rejoin
the other councilors in that angry din? Or should she go to the garrison and
demand to see their hard-working, heroic, desperately lonely general? How did
anyone know what to do in such a dreadful tangle of complications? The same
way
a mess of yarn is untangled, she thought. Choose a strand, and never let go
of
it.
Clement. But surely that strand led to the hopeless center of the tangleùthe
sort of place where a person inevitably felt required to reach for the
scissors.
Seth put her head in her hands. She could not help but feel driven to fix
things, for she was an earth blood. But that did not mean everything could be
fixed.
The lamp flame had dimmed, and Seth's tea had become cold before she could
convince herself to stand up. Not until she opened the door to the hall did
she
notice the silence. At the end of the hall, she discovered that lamp flames
flickered in an empty public room. The chairs were shoved back from the
tables,
ale cups rested in spilled puddles, and someone's late supper of bean stew
and
black bread had been abandoned with the spoon resting in the bowl and a
single
bite taken out of the bread. Seth's coat hung by itself on the hook.
Outside, the night air had turned bitter cold. Buildings loomed on either
side,
shop shutters were closed, and only some light leaked through the upper
windows,
where people were not yet abed. Mystified, Seth looked up at clear sky, at
brilliant stars, at the moon, slim as an apple paring. She heard a distant
laugh. She wrapped her muffler around her face and made her way towards
Travesty, forging a meandering path between patches of ice and mounds of
horse
dung. She considered how differently people lived in the city and wondered
whether she would ever get used to it. Then she became aware that a low sound
she had been hearing was a melody, and as she emerged from the street into
the
square, she realized the singing came from Travesty. That horrible building
crouched in the night like a monstrous toad with numerous glowing eyes where
a
few windows stood unshuttered. A dark, swaying chain wrapped the base of the
building, decorated here and there by lantern light and puffs of white breath
that glittered and dispersed in the patches of light. The gathered people
were
singing an old lullaby.
Blow, wind, blowùfor there is no cold when the fire on the hearth burns so
brightly. Sleep, child, sleepùfor your fears will keep when the fire on the
hearth burns so brightly.
Someone called out in an affectionate, if drunken slur, "Sleep, Karis, sleep!"
Seth stood still, amazed. She couldn't tell how many people had gathered
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there,
but those who had been in the tavern seemed to have collected a number of
others
on the way to Travesty, so now there were more than enough to entirely
encircle
the massive building. The people of Watfield were watching Karis's house
tonight.
The Paladin at the door was the same one with whom Seth had traveled from
Basdown. She had been a somber companion, but she was laughing as she let
Seth
in. "Is that lullaby working?" Seth asked her.
"Surely it must!" said the Paladin. "Anyway, I hope so. Are you hungry?
Garland
always sets food out for the night people."
"I've got a headacheùI'm going to bed."
"It'll feel better soon," said the Paladin.
Seth doubted it. But she had not even reached the staircase when she felt the
pain disperse so abruptly that she mistook the emptying sensation in her
skull
for a wave of dizziness, and grabbed a doorway to keep from falling over.
Someone spoke behind her. "Sethùwho are those people? Do you know?"
The G'deon's wife had a distinctive way of articulatingùsaying each word so
cleanly and precisely that it sounded unfriendly to a Bas-downer's ears. Seth
said, "I think they're just regular people. Should I tell them to go away?"
"Could you?" said Zanja. "Could anyone?" She was laughing.
"I may be responsibleù"
"I hope they come back tomorrow night. Karis fell asleep before they finished
the first song." Zanja stepped forward and touched her arm. "Let's get some
pie."
Another friend, Seth thought, surprised. Zanja was usually closeted with Emil
or
Karis, but when Seth did see her, usually in the massive dining room, she had
seemed distant and preoccupied. Seth walked with her through the maze of
hallways, following the route the Paladins kept lit with hanging lanterns. In
the kitchen the cookfires had been damped, but the fireplace bricks continued
to
release their warmth. Suspended over the glowing coals a couple of giant
stewpots steamed quietly, giving forth the delicious scent of chicken and
onions. Several dried-apple pies were set on a worktable along with a neat
stack
of pottery plates, and someone had already eaten a slice out of one.
Garland's
pies were unbelievably good; Seth doubted anything would be left by morning.
Zanja cut a slice for each of them, and they stood at the table, eating with
their fingers, talkingùnot about assassins, or Clement, or tomorrow's
funerals,
or the Council of Shaftal the day after. They discussed the nearness of
spring,
the way Basdowners thought about things, and Zanja's peculiar life history.
It
was an enormous relief to have such an ordinary conversation.
Seth eventually remembered the topic with which their conversation had begun
and
said, "I think the Watfielders will keep coming for a few nights, anyway.
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