The healer had returned shortly afterwards, smiled insincerely, given Conley more medicine. When he'd left, Roween had put a finger down her friend's throat, brought it all back up. A sleeping draught to keep her harmless until the soldiers came.
        She was awake now, but still lying down, Roween shining her hair, looking bored, a dreary, uninteresting scene for the benefit of anyone observing through secret peepholes.
        "I memorised the antifever spell from your MedSpell library," whispered Roween. "You can cure yourself now, no need to rely on their herbs."
        "How long is it?"
        "Just over two thousand."
        "You memorised two K gestures? That's impressive." Her throat was still raspy, even when speaking hushed.
        "I was working on them day and night, deciphering the shorthand. They're structured, I only had to remember eight major segments and some twiddly bits gluing them together."
        "Well let's start on it, I don't want to have to depend on those infusions. I feel a little stiff, whisper the gestures slowly at first, until I get used to flicking again. We have plenty of time."

        "Con, why did you break the click-well?"
        "It was some kind of special tagged, how else could Sennary have found us?"
        "I know it was tagged. Why did you break it?"

        Roween was standing before a different moon-priest. This one seemed to have authority, was confident with his instructions to the others. It was clear that he wasn't used to interrogation, though.
        "So you're a mage," he began.
        Gentle start. "I know magic," she replied, "but I won't use it."
        He wrote something down. "That's inconvenient," didn't look up, "you're valueless to us, then."
        "That depends on whether you want to see spells cast, or cast them yourself. I'm a teacher." Well, I am now.
        He raised his eyes. "Prove it. Explain to me how magic works."
        She tried to look paternal. "It's not really that easy. Do you know anything about macro physics?"
        "Inform me."
        She gazed downwards, to one side, hard for him to tell where exactly. "As you wish. Macro physics. Well, we all know that the world is made up of matter and energy. Whenever people do things, they change the state of the world a little, alter some of its matter and energy. What exactly happens is described by various laws of physics. We've discovered rules for the effects of motion, heat, light, sound - all the major energy forms. Now these in turn are derived from more fundamental laws governing forces on and between objects, like magnetism and gravity. Study of one particular force, the matter-energy force - that's the one that holds something in its physical form - led physicists to develop the theory of macro physics. The worldly manifestation of what this theory models is what we call `magic' - that's because most of what we once explained using the term in its old, superstition-loaded way, the theory now allows us to interpret technically." She looked up.
        He was making notes, nodding. "Carry on."
        She tried to read what he was writing, couldn't, too small. "Yes, well, basically then, `magic' is just the name we ascribe to any process which changes the world by manipulating the matter-energy force in some way. If it uses some other force, we use another word, `magnetic' or `kinetic', say, or `electric' for the one you get when you rub amber. `Magic' just covers one set of related physical laws, that's all."
        She waited. He said nothing, reached the bottom of the page.
        "Is that enough for you?" she asked, nervous.
        He glanced up, pursed his lips a moment. "You've explained what magic is, in a way, but not how it works."
        "You want me to go into more detail?" She sighed. Well, if he wants technical, he'll get technical. "So, every physical presence in the world is either matter or energy. Rocks, lakes, people, light, heat - they're all physical presences. Each such presence has a force radiating from it, the matter-energy force, which, as I said, is what holds the presence in its physical form. When matter changes into energy or energy into matter, it's because of a change in the matter-energy force. So that's the force's main function, then, to stop everything from turning into light."
        "Why light?" interruption.
        "Because that's the purest form of energy. They've done experiments, you want me to give you the references?"
        He frowned.
        Roween had immediately regretted the remark, felt unsettled, tried to regain her train of thought. "Well the interesting thing about the matter-energy force, from a mage's point of view, is that it's focused, but only weakly so. Also, it doesn't diminish with distance; it extends from every physical presence to infinity in all directions, just it's stronger in one of them. Normally, its orientation is random, it could be anywhere, and it moves about arbitrarily, a bit like the stalk on a cherry spun into the air. There are, though, certain things you can do to align the force relative to some local point, as with making a nail magnetic by placing it next to a lodestone for long enough. An aligned force is what we call a `focal matrix'; creating and modifying such things is the purpose of gestures." She paused for breath.
        "And this focal matrix: how does altering it change an object in the real world?"
        Try keep it simple. "A matrix is a manifestation of an object - or, more correctly, of the physical presences that make it up. Alter an object, and its matrix changes; alter the matrix, though, and its object does. The matrix of an object is the way its physical make-up is projected, in terms of matter and energy."
        "Do you consider thoughts as matter or energy?"
        That old chestnut? Well at least it shows he's understood... "The question is unresolved. Personally, I believe that thoughts are what arise when the matter that makes up the brain has the right sort of internal energies. By altering the energies, you can change - or eliminate - thoughts." She smiled, ironically. "I can't give you anything deeper, how magic fine-tunes the required alterations. I'm not a biomancer..."
        He closed his notebook. "I have sufficient information now. You may leave."
        She was taken back to Conley.

        The cell door opened, framed a huge man in flowing, black, star-flecked robes. He pointed at Roween, "Come." Conley was playing sleepers, Roween tucked a blanket around her, followed the priest.
        She was led along the corridor, down some steps, out into a courtyard. There was no-one with him, but Roween knew she wouldn't get far if she bolted. He wore a sword, and the metal stars on his belt looked removable, designed to be thrown. She followed him into an older building, down again, underground, to a dimly-lit chamber. He locked the door, waved her towards a rickety chair, seated himself behind an unadorned desk.
        "Do you know what I am?" he asked.
        Roween nodded. "A star-priest, unattached to any of the twelve Holy orders."
        "Do you know what I do?"
        "You're a magisterial inquisitor. You rule on interpretations of the Message."
        "I represent the Messenger in matters which do not fall entirely within the domain of any one sect."
        "If the Messenger wishes information from me, surely the task of obtaining it should fall to a priestess of Keskh?"
        He ignored her question. "You impressed the moon-archpriest enough for him to refer your case to me. It is as well for you that he did, otherwise you would undoubtedly be dead."
        "I do doubt it, but proceed." Be enigmatic, seems to sway them.
        "Your companion is a mage. Her father is Ansle of Malith, chancellor of the Academy in Cala; he is the world's leading authority on magic."
        "If you say so."
        "This much is known to us. Why she is in the empire of the Followers is not. Tell me."
        "Ask Chewt."
        She thought he'd flinch, but he didn't. "Chewt is dead. We have other spies. Why are you on Purasan soil?"
        She thought as much: Chewt had been turned by the Message, Ansle had found out, killed her somehow, made like it was he who was dead. Fooled the Messenger into misleading the Estavians. Smart, but not so smart. Didn't he care how his daughter would feel if she heard the rumours? Thank the skies Sennary was discreet!
        "Let's make it simpler, then. Your name?"
        "I look after her."
        "I know that! I know exactly what you do -"
        "I'll wager! In an all-male monastery, you're not exactly going to be short of volunteers to spy on us, are you? Not with her looks..."
        He rapped a knuckle on the desk. "Flippancy. Well if you don't wish to answer freely, so be it. I can force you. I have drugs that will wash your mind of all resistance. I have poisons from Ca-Atl that will pain you so much, you'll plead for a fatal dose, just to be free of their agonies. Or I can give them to Conley."
        Vacuous threat; he wouldn't touch Conley, she's too valuable. No qualms about hurting a scruffy nobody, though, might even enjoy himself. How can I become significant, worth keeping alive?
        He made to stand up. "Very well, if you refuse to tell me who - "
        "Enough! I wish to see Lonalon." She tried to sound used to being obeyed.
        The star-priest narrowed his eyes. "You call him by his godly name. That he left that behind when he descended to our Earth and wore the torus. He is the Messenger now."
        "Lonalon is the name he should have kept. He brings false tidings. He is no Messenger." The one advantage of skewy eyes is that people can't tell when you're death with fear inside.
        Her questioner was scornful. "You blaspheme!" Not entirely the right tone, though. Even through his accent, there was something about him. A wisp of doubt? Macabre interest? Perhaps - but was there enough to save her?
        Time to try it. "You know who Conley is, and I know who you are, but you don't know who I am."
        Arms folded. "Tell me."
        Pitch it over his head. "Return to Lonalon; say his half-sister wishes to speak to him. Our father is angry." She turned her back on him. "I will talk with you no more. Go."

        "And he believed you?" Conley was astonished.
        "Course he didn't, but I hooked him. At least I'll be drawing breath for a while yet, until he figures what to do."
        "Someone will be coming for me anyway, he'll pass the problem upwards, perhaps to the Messenger himself. He might be intrigued enough to indulge you."
        "It's what I'm hoping, yes. I just wish I knew what I'm going to do when they push my bluff. Think I'd better have a closer read of that Lonicon..."