Alfred wanted, suddenly, to grab his brethren by the collars of their long, white robes and shake them until their teeth rattled.
Time has passed! he wanted to shout. Eons. Centuries. Worlds that were young and newly born out of fire have cooled and grown old. While you slept, generations have lived and suffered and been happy and died. But what does that mean to you? Nothing more than the thick layers of dust covering your perfect white marble. You sweep it away and prepare to go on. But you can’t. No one remembers you. No one wants you. Your children have grown and left home. They may not be doing that well on their own, but at least they’re free to try.
“Something is the matter,” said Orla solicitously. “If you’re hurt, the Council can wait …”
Alfred was startled to find himself trembling; his unspoken words churned inside him. Why not say them? Why not let them out? Because I may be wrong. Most probably I am wrong. Who am I, after all? Not very wise. Not nearly as wise as Samah and Orla.
The dog, accustomed to Alfred’s sudden and erratic tumbles, had leapt lightly out of the way when he fell. It returned to gaze up at him with a certain amount of reproach.
I have four feet to worry about and you only have two, the dog advised him. One would think you could manage better.
Alfred was reminded of Haplo, of the Patryn’s irritation whenever the Sartan stumbled over himself.
“I think,” said Orla, eyeing the dog severely, “we should have left the animal behind.”
“He wouldn’t have stayed,” said Alfred.
Samah appeared to be of the same opinion. He eyed the dog, sitting at Alfred’s feet, suspiciously.
“You say that this dog belongs to a Patryn. You have said yourself that this Patryn uses the animal to spy on others. It shouldn’t be in a Council meeting. Remove it. Ramu”—he gestured to his son, who was acting as Council Servitor —”remove the animal.”
Alfred made no protest. The dog growled at Ramu, but—at a soft word from Alfred—suffered itself to be led out of the Council Chamber. Ramu returned, shutting the door behind him and taking up his proper place before it. Samah took his place behind the long, white, marble table. The six Council members took their places, three on his left and three on his right. All sat down simultaneously.
The Sartan, in their white robes, faces alight with wisdom and intelligence, were beautiful, majestic, radiant.
Alfred, seated on the Supplicant’s Bench, saw himself by contrast—huddled, faded, and bald. The dog, tongue lolling, lay at his feet.
Samah’s eyes skipped over Alfred, fixed on the dog. The head of the Council frowned, glanced at his son.
Ramu was astonished. “I put him out, Father, and”—he glanced behind him—”I shut the door! I swear!”
Samah motioned Alfred to stand and come forward, into the Supplicant’s Circle.
Alfred did so, feet shuffling.
“I ask you to put the animal outside, Brother.”
Alfred sighed, shook his head. “He’ll just come right back in. But I don’t think you need worry about him spying on us for his master. He’s lost his master. That’s why he’s here.”
“He wants you to look for his master, for a Patryn?”
“I believe so,” said Alfred meekly.
Samah’s frown darkened. “And this doesn’t seem strange to you? A dog belonging to a Patryn, coming to you, a Sartan, for help?”
“Well, no,” said Alfred, after a moment’s reflection. “Not considering what the dog is. That is, what I think it is. Or might be.” He was somewhat flustered.
“What is this dog, then?”
“I’d rather not say, Councillor.”
“You refuse a direct request of the head of the Council?”
Alfred hunched his head into his shoulders, like a threatened turtle. “I’m probably wrong. I’ve been wrong about a great many things. I wouldn’t want to give the Council misinformation,” he concluded lamely.
“I do not like this, Brother!” Samah’s tone was a whiplash. Alfred flinched beneath it. “I have tried to make allowances for you, because you have lived so long among mensch, bereft of the companionship, counsel, and advice of your own kind. But now you have walked among us, lived among us, eaten our bread, and yet you willfully persist in refusing to answer our questions. You will not even tell us your real name. One might think you distrusted us—your own people!”