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<h2 id="c26">25 INTERVIEW AT THE NATION’S GUEST-HOUSE</h2> Lalette lay curled on the bed, half propped by pillows under her armpit. Demadé Slair had unbelted his sword to sit down; it leaned against his chair. Mathurin sat in the one by the table, the candle throwing his sharp profile into strong silhouette. Rodvard shifted in the damaged chair, whose lost stuffing made his seat uneasy. <div class="pagenum" id="Page_400">400</div> “And that was all?” said the writer to the assembly, pinching his lower lip. “Nothing more from Palm, nothing more from the other Episcopals? Pest, Bergelin, you are less useful than I had expected.” “There was the legist who spoke,” said Rodvard. “I think he is a man to beware of. His thought was so ruthless and desirous of power that he would ride down anything.” “You mean the kronzlar Escholl? That is of some use at all events,” said Mathurin. “We need more like that, whether as allies or enemies. Things must be stirred; too many people are careless of who wins.” He stood up and began to pace the floor slowly, head thrust forward a little, hands behind him. “Listen, Bergelin, I will be wholly frank with you. We held a meeting of the High Center this afternoon, following the session.” Rodvard said; “Are the names of its members still a secret, except for yourself?” Mathurin gave a snort. “They will not be long, for things have so fallen out that the High Center and the Council of Regency will be one. You will have guessed that Brosen Zelitza of Arjen is one, there’s the best speaker in Dossola. General Stegaller; he’s in charge of the recruit bureau technically, but is really organizing what will be a people’s army. It may surprise you to know that your old friend Mme. Kaja is a member; a wonderful woman for handling matters of detail, and we have to have one of her sex because of our position about the Art, but I could wish it were someone beside her, she’s so religious.” Lalette made a little sound; Rodvard caught sight of her face (and knew she was about to burst into one of her angers). “Will no one tell me what has become of Doctor Remigorius?” he asked (hoping to forestall the outburst). Mathurin’s pacing stopped. “I forgive you and will tell you, but if you wish health, you will not mention him again. Rat, spy, tool; he has fled to his employer, Prince Pavinius—but he will not live long, so no more of him.” (Lalette thought: these are the creatures round my husband, my man—if he is my man, and not merely using me and my Blue Star.) “It was decided—” Mathurin began, but before he had finished, a mouse slipped from under the edge of the bed, and ran rapidly across the floor as though on tiny wheels. Slair’s arm flashed up and out with the scabbarded sword like a striking bird; blade and beast together arrived at the center of the carpet and the mouse twitched once and died. Demadé Slair picked up the small corpse and stood looking at it. <div class="pagenum" id="Page_401">401</div> “Poor creature,” he said, “I ask your pardon. Now your children in the hole will starve for lack of the food you went in search of.” Rodvard was astounded to see a tear glitter at the edge of the swordsman’s eye. “Ah, bah!” said Mathurin. “Will you defend vermin, Slair? You’ll have use enough for your steel when the new decrees are passed.” Rodvard stirred. “What decrees?” Mathurin turned (with his back carefully to the candles, Rodvard noted, so that his face was dark). “There’s to be a new court, to try special cases; it was what I was about to mention when interrupted. Treason against the people and nation. You will be writer to it; more important than the sessions of the assembly.” He turned to Lalette. “There is also a part for you; you are one of the keys now.” Lalette said unhappily; “In what way?” “As versus these Episcopals. They spread venom; represent the greatest danger we now have to face. Pavinius? I give him a snap of the fingers; he is too nice, with his Mayern foreigners and western herdsmen. The Tritulaccans? Nothing by themselves, they had never beaten Dossola in the former war but for the revolt of Mancherei, Mayern help and the treason of the Kjermanash chieftains. The court? Now sold to Tritulacca, and destitute by its own action. But the Episcopals are still not out of credit with the people, who have been lulled by their solemn mummery. We drove them from the assembly of the nation this morning, good. But now they may join Tritulacca in the name of what they call true religion.” “But what have I to do with the Episcopals?” asked the girl. “Child, fool, use your Art. Not to the death; they’d only fill the office with another man, but paralyze, cripple, drive idiot. The Arch-Episcopal Groadon, notably. His loss would hurt them most.” Lalette sat up. “Ser Mathurin, you do not by any means understand this matter of the Art. Groadon is protected by the holy oils, and nothing I can do will bite on him.” “It is you that do not understand. I do assure you that if Groadon be taken in a moment of anger, as today, or other violent passion, neither his oils nor any other thing can protect him from your ministrations. Be assured, we will provide the occasion.” Lalette’s mouth twitched. (She wanted to cry; “Not for any reward or punishment you can give!” but) it was a moment before she said; “Am I the only—witch in Dossola?” <div class="pagenum" id="Page_402">402</div> Mathurin made a grating sound. “No. I’ll be open; we are pressing the search. Have found three others—aside from those who claimed the Art, but could witch nothing more consequential than a frog or chicken. One is an old beldame who has nearly lost her wits, and can be made to understand nothing. One’s a young girl—witch enough, but never taught, did not know the patterns, and beside, she ran away. One we caught, not found—she was in Chancellor Florestan’s pay.” He drew a finger across his throat. “None of them heiress to a Blue Star.” “I am not sure I can follow all the patterns myself,” said Lalette. “I have used the Art—so little.” Mathurin looked at her sharply. “Hark!” he said. “I see your slowness, but you more than another should be on our side; as witch and woman. The Art has almost died out; driven down by priest and Episcopal. There are likely many with the right inheritance who do not know it. Never taught. Yet it’s a woman’s defence. We have the butler Tuolén’s Blue Star, for instance. But where’s the girl can bring it to life? We do not even know her name.” He whirled suddenly and flung out an arm toward Rodvard in an oratorical gesture. “Bergelin! I remember; that was the other matter. You were in the Office of Pedigree; know its secrets. Forget the great assembly for the time; that’s under control. Until the new court’s set up your task is seeking out Tuolén’s heiress. I’ll give you an authority.” “It may be somewhat harder than you think,” said Rodvard. “I did not say it would be easy; I said it would be done,” said Mathurin. “Slair, let us go.” <h3>II</h3> When they were out, he turned to look at Lalette. She had sagged down, with her face in the pillow, and now without moving, she said as before; “Rodvard.” He went across the room and put an arm around her. “What is it?” “My mother. She is with the court, and she knows the patterns. If that man takes her, he will have her throat cut.” (The fate of many thousands, and the guarantee of the future, with the Art not in the hands of ignorant peasants, but women of intelligence and good will—balanced against one lie. But how to say it?) He said; “Has she shown so much concern for you?” Lalette twisted under his arm. “If she had, would I know it? You hold me a prisoner—you and your Dr. Remigorius, who does not deliver letters, and your Mme. Kaja, who will sell me, and your Mathurin, who wants to cut my mother’s throat. I never knew what dirt was till I knew you.” <div class="pagenum" id="Page_403">403</div> (Rodvard felt the blood beat at his temples; he wanted to strike her, to make a fiery retort.) He released her, stood up, and began to walk the floor. (No: no. A quarrel so entered could never be composed. Look beyond it, Rodvard; see how the world would be without her. Somewhere perhaps there was another who would have more response for an interior fidelity deeper than any single act; would not drive him from her side with bitter words when . . . He thought of Maritzl of Stojenrosek; and by this route came again to the high purpose. No. It was mere selfishness to let his own thought, his own problem, stand first; the very thing he had wished to bring her to see. Keep the peace.) A small sound made him turn. She was just settling into place among the covers, and her face turned toward him. “Oh, Rodvard,” she said, “help me. I can’t do it. The Episcopal.” Nothing more was said on the subject, but that night they slept in each other’s arms. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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