Temple Avenue!’
‘N-no, sir! Her temple was destroyed, but-her worshippers endure!’
‘Do they now!’ the sergeant grunted. ‘Hmm! That sounds like something the
commander ought to know!’
‘Is that Commander Nizharu?’ Jarveena said eagerly.
‘What? How do you know his name?’
‘My mistress sent me to him! She saw him early today when he was abroad in the
city, and she was so taken with his handsome’ ness that she resolved at once to
send a message to him. But it was all to be in secret!’ Jarveena let a quaver
enter her voice. ‘Now I’ve let it out, and she’ll turn me over to the priests of
Argash, and … Oh, I’m done for! I might as well be dead right now!’ • . ‘Dying
can wait,’ the sergeant said, reaching an abrupt decision. ‘But the commander
will definitely want to know about the Dyareelans. I thought only madmen in the
desert paid attention to that old bitch nowadays … Hello, what’s this at your
side?’ He lifted it into the light. ‘A writing-case, is it?’
‘Yes, sir. That’s what I mainly do for my mistress.’
‘If you can write, why deliver messages yourself? That’s what I always say. Oh,
well, I guess you’re her confidante, are you?’ Jarveena nodded vigorously.
‘A secret shared is a secret no longer, and here’s one more proof of the
proverb. Oh, come along!’
By the light of two lamps filled, to judge by their smell, with poor-grade fish
oil, Nizharu was turning the contents of his pavilion upside-down, with not even
an orderly to help him. He had cleared out two brass-bound wooden chests and was
beginning on a third, while the bedding from his field couch of wood and canvas