“Gods, no! We just had one security breach. You want another business like Sheon?”
“-but I know it’s not feasible.”
“Duun. Duun-hatani.” Ellud reached beside him on the desk, picked up the optic sheet and waved it. “I’m getting inquiries. We’ve got a slow leak that’s going to become a panic, for the gods’ sake, Duun! We haven’t got that much maneuvering room left. I want that program to go on, I want it back on schedule. I’m telling you this. It’s not just Shbit now. It’s coming from the provinces. We’re getting inquiries. Do you understand?”
“I’ve always understood. There’s a limit, Ellud. The mind has limits. I want him tranquil. I want him whole. He’s closer now than he ever was. But give him room”
“He doesn’t know about Betan, does he?”
“How could I explain that without getting into the whole council business? That’s why I couldn’t stop her on the spot. What would I say? Some people want you killed? He already avoids mirrors. Let the scars heal over before he gets the rest.” It was the two-fingered hand that held the cup. Duun contemplated that, rolled it in his fingers and set it down. “Put Sagot on it.”
“She couldn’t.”
“Ask her. No, I’ll explain to her. She’s old, she’s canny, and she’s female, and that’s the best combination I can think of to handle this.”
The guard still stood at the door, the same as always, and Thorn turned to look at the guard who escorted him to the upper floor-not a hard look, not vengeful. (He put Duun onto it.) At first Thorn had thought of Cloen. But Thorn had not been devious, had not-truly-thought of covering his tracks, not thought he had to.
Going through that ordinary door this morning was all that he could do. (“Betan’s gone,” Duun had told him yesterday. “She’s been transferred. It was her request.”) (“Did you kill her?” Thorn had asked, cold and shivering a second time. It was not a rational question, perhaps; but the very air felt brittle, full of doubts, full of duplicities. And Duun looked him in the eyes when he answered: “No. No such thing-” as soberly as ever Duun had answered him, as ever Duun had told him half-truths, had kept the world from him until Betan let it in.)
(What year are we in?)
(I shouldn’t have laughed. Sheon’s not quite the world capital, is it?)
Thorn walked in, into the foyer with its stark white walls, its plain white sand, the severely arranged vase-and-branch on its riser. The sand showed the raking it got at night; a solitary line of footprints led around the corner into the large main room in which all the windows were white and blank.
He followed it and stopped in the archway in front of all the vacant desk-risers. That single track led to the farther desk in the stark white room, the one that had been Elanhen’s.
A stranger sat there, legs crossed, hands on thighs. The nose and mouth and eyes were rimmed in white that graduated to a dusting, except the eartips. The crest was stark white. The arms were gaunt. Thorn stared, thinking he saw disease.
“Come closer.” It was a thin voice, matching the body. He walked closer and stood staring. “You’re Haras. Thorn.”
(Gods, doesn’t he know?) Laughter welled up like blood in a wound, but he could not laugh in this great sterile quiet. (He?) Thorn suddenly suspected not, for reasons he could not quite define. “Where’s Elanhen? Where’s Sphitti and Cloen?”
“My name is Sagot. You’re staring, boy. Does something about me bother you?”
“I’m sorry. Where are the others?”
“Gone, Sit down. Sit down, Thorn.”
He did not know how to refuse a voice so gentle. Duun had not taught him how to say no to authority. He had learned it on his own; and the world was too perilous to go recklessly in it. He sought the nearest riser and sat on the edge of it, feet dangling.
“I’m Sagot. You haven’t seen anyone old before, have you?”
“No, Sagot.” Saying anything seemed difficult. (Age. Gods, she’s so brittle-it is she, it has to be. Will I get like that? And she knows me… she’s a friend of Duun’s-)