“No.”
“mew?”
“No, damn it. Notable, we will not stop and get you a beer now!”
Strick’s rule was that people came to him; he went to no one. For this interview he had long wanted, however, he would have gone to the pal- ace. Prince-Governor Kadakithis would not hear of it. Instead, secretly, in disguise and terribly early on a Fourday morning as agreed for his convenience and security, he arrived in Strick’s “shop.” In this absolute privacy and confidence, the handsome young Rankan of about Hanse’s age and size astonished Strick; he admitted that he was less than he wished to be and had decided that it was because he was too indecisive; fearful of what the Ilsigi would think of him.
“The young half-brother of the emperor,” he said quietly, tapping his chest while studiously not-looking at the spellwright, “always had to be careful not to offend or even be very visible, you see. Abakithis-the emperor-was that sort of man. In time, though, he decided that I wasn’t invisible enough. He shipped me out here. The goal was not to do any- thing for Sanctuary or for me, but to get me out of Ranke!” Kadakithis sighed. “So, I felt the need to prove something, to do well. Trying too terribly hard, I was overzealous in trying to clean up this town. In taxing the Red Lantern Houses and . . . other things.”
Strick sat very still. He said absolutely nothing and more, he made no sound.
Embarrassedly looking at the wall to his right, Kadakithis went on in that sadly quiet voice: “This morning Lord Abadas, the new emperor’s cousin, visited to present himself formally. I disgusted me. I was posi- tively ingratiating.”