Maia

Maia raised her palm to her forehead. "A little while, I'm afraid, saiyett: I'm ever s' sorry! Only I found Occula taken bad, see, and that put it out of my head. But here's the governor's lygol."

Terebinthia, taking it from her, put it into her sleeve unopened. "What's the matter with you, then, Occula?"

"Nothin', saiyett. I've just been sick, that's all. Somethin' at dinner, I s'pose. I was just goin' to bed-unless there's anythin' you want."

"No," replied Terebinthia rather absently. "Maia, have you ever mentioned Milvushina to Lord Elvair-ka-Vir-rion?"

"No, saiyett: I haven't seen Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion at all since the night Milvushina was brought here."

"Well," said Terebinthia, "you'd better understand this, Maia. The High Counselor doesn't wish anything to be said outside about how Milvushina came to be here. If I learn that you've been gossiping, I shall be extremely angry, do you see?"

"Yes, saiyett. I won't say nothing."

"I've just been telling Milvushina herself the same thing. She's to say nothing to anyone of how she came here, on pain of the most severe punishment. Now listen to me. Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion has asked for you to go to a party at the Barons' Palace tomorrow night, and he wants Milvushina to go with you. I wasn't aware that he even knew of her existence. In the normal way I certainly wouldn't permit it, but the fact is that Lord Elvair-ka-Virrion was- er-well, very generous and very pressing. So I've decided

to let you both go. No doubt there'll be generous lygols if you do well."

"Thank you, saiyett."

"Now it's time both of you were asleep. Milvushina's in bed already."

"Is Dyphna back yet, saiyett?" asked Occula innocently.

"Dyphna? Tomorrow," replied Terebinthia; and was gone.

"Cran and Airtha! She's goin' to slip up one of these days, banzi; she's bound to," whispered Occula. "Piggy'll find out she's featherin' her nest on the quiet and have her hangin' upside-down as sure as a cow can fart."

"Either that or she'll make her fortune," said Maia. "Elvair-ka-Virrion must have slipped her a hell of a lot to let Milvushina go out. Old Sencho'd never dream of allowing that if he knew."

"She must be better off than ever Domris was, right now this minute. Just think, every time one of us gets basted- oh, well. Why doan' I stop talkin' and go to sleep?"

"Think you will now?"

"Sounder than a tree in winter. Good-night, pretty banzi."

37: THE SENGUELA

The early afternoon sun, slanting through the trees, shone on the bushes, the long, wet grass and patches of red-brown soil, drawing up a fresh-smelling warmth from the floor of the Tonildan glade. Close by, in a thicket, a green-breast, with many pauses, was letting fall one slow, clear phrase after another; its song, in the silence, as joyous and untroubled as though there were no harm or danger in all the world. Winged flies, survivors of the previous summer, roused from the bark crevices or subterranean cells where they had sheltered through the rains, glittered in the soft air; many, in their first, unwary flutterings, snapped up by the pouncing sparrows. High above, in the newly-revealed, blue sky, a buzzard hovered, waiting to drop upon any small creature decrepit or injured, slow-witted, or simply deceived into momentary inattention by the benediction of returning spring.

Brown and spare, the young pedlar Zirek, stripped to the waist in the sunshine, stood leaning against a tree-

trunk, one knee bent and foot raised as he scraped with a pointed stick at the mud caked on his boot. His pack lay in the grass near-by and across it he had thrown his white-striped jacket and scarlet leather hat.

"So now you know-well, all there is to know," said he, looking smilingly down at his companion.

Meris, sprawled on his cloak, did not return the smile.

"But you did work for Sencho, all the same? As well as for Santil?"

"Well, I had to," answered the pedlar. "Else it wouldn't have been convincing. Some of the information was useful to him, too, I'm afraid-it had to be. Some of it was misleading, but some of it wasn't. It was a question of how little I could get away with. I've managed to avoid suspicion, anyway."

"And are there many, then, like you? Playing it double, I mean?"

"I don't know," said he. "I don't know anything except what I'm told. Those who don't know can't tell, can they?"

"Is that why you became a pedlar-to do this work for Erketlis?"

"No; I was a pedlar first; it was the Leopards-well, one of Sencho's agents-who first got hold of me, at Khasik, and said Sencho would pay me to work for him. A pedlar, going all over two or three provinces-I'm licensed from Kabin down to Ikat, you see-there's plenty of opportunities to pick up information. I accepted; but then I managed to let Erketlis know what had happened. He's made good use of it since." He broke off suddenly. "Listen! What's that?"