Roween took longer to calm than Conley had foreseen. Although Maetharach's behaviour had hinted at what was to come, it didn't seem to lessen the impact to any evident extent. At first, it was like she'd been chopped with a hatchet: an instant of stunned, disbelieving confusion, followed by the enormity, the pain pouring in. Later, she'd become coherent, still broken though, shaking all the time. Conley wondered if, had someone offered Ro a sprinkle of Bliss right then, maybe she'd have taken it?
        All the while, nobody came to give help. Roween cried her little eyes empty, and yet there was no-one Conley could even call on for a glass of water, let alone for support or kindness. She was on her own here, alien in a hostile land, her best friend distraught and in some need of comfort, companionship, yet only she was willing to provide it, no-one else was interested, not even slightly. Elet was a callous place.
        After an hour or so, a thin guy with a droopy moustache introduced himself in Eletic as Lauthil, and bade them follow him down to the carriage.

        "You see how the houses are different from in Suadh Varl Na," Roween said, trying to sound informative. "They use that same greystone all over Elet, but they put it together different. Sometimes the blocks are assorted sizes, or rounded, or flat, and in the capital they have chisel marks so you can tell which district you're in." Her face was still red.
        Lauthil was doing the driving, sat outside, on top. Conley looked out of the window, her eyes following the meander of the road down through the fields to the town that ran lengthways along the valley floor. "I thought Elet was a plateau."
        "It is, yes, but it's not table-flat, it's just raised above the surrounding lands." She sighed. Chenii-Imor squirmed.
        "She's still a bit upset," Conley offered, Roween staring resolutely out across the hillside, knuckles to her mouth.
        "So I see. I'm ... sorry." The words came awkwardly to Chenii-Imor. The language?
        Conley chastised herself. Of course, she'll be real cut through inside, too, and with a pair of her father's foreign friends dumped on her it wouldn't make kicking her own grief any easier. She must think we're total stroppies. "That's nice of you, Chenii-Imor," she said. Chummy her up. "Do people call you `Chenii' for short?"
        Puzzled. "Do people call you `Con'?" A shrug.
        "Yes, Roween does. I call her `Ro'."
        "Oh," surprised. "No, people don't call me `Chenii', not for any reason."

        Lauthil had stopped their vehicle at a sign reading `Buagh Suth Na', and had attached a strange, leather contraption to the back of the horses. Conley couldn't see it fully, guessed it was to catch the dung. While they'd been waiting as he did it, she'd watched a shepherd leave the city along a muck-road parallel to the flagstoned one she expected Lauthil to take. So that's how come Eletic thoroughfares were so damn clean...
        That had been, what, five minutes ago? And no-one had spoken since. Chenii-Imor had sunk back in the seat, withdrawn in private thoughts; Roween stared vacantly out of the window, watching the people watching her. After a period of looking from one to the other, and getting no response, Conley capitulated and let her eyes drift to the townscape.
        She could read some of the signs on the shops. Bread, books, brooms, feed. She fingered the pieces of printed paper in her pocket, given her by Maetharach in payment for their horses. Whether he'd bought them for himself or for someone else, she didn't know, and neither had she any idea of the value the notes represented. Roween would tell her, when she came out of her shock. She wallows too long in her emotions sometimes, that girl...
        Oh that's what was wrong with the shopsigns! No pictures! They just had words, describing the products. Maybe what the owners are called, too. Everywhere else in the world, shops have big, swinging boards with drawings on them, depicting their wares. Must be everyone in Elet can read.
        "Chenii-Imor," it was Roween who suddenly spoke, "these people are readying themselves for war."
        "Justan, he means well." She wrapped one of her braids round a finger. "He has long understood the problems of your technology-driven society, and has taken the only path he could see that might keep it from flipping into either lawless anarchy or lawful repression."
        "But he's finally stepped too far for the Elets, I know... So what are they going to do?"
        Conley expected Chenii-Imor to avert her eyes, but she didn't, she left them trained on Roween. "Kill."
        "Even if we can put out magic forever?"
        "There was support for your argument, but insufficient. When Justan attacks the Lowlands, the Elets, they will slaughter. We expect it will start within the week."
        Roween returned to the window. "Your father lost the argument, then... How many will die as a consequence?"
        "Do the numbers matter? Anyone who opposes us; anyone who might oppose us."
        "And if we do succeed, if we do destroy magic, you'll still spare no-one?"
        "We will eliminate the threat. If there is a cheaper way to do so, we will consider it. Sane people, they do not want to die."
        There were tears in Roween's eyes. "None of this was supposed to happen..."

        "You know, Ro, in a way I can see why they're doing it. The Elets, I mean. The situation will only get worse, and over the years many more people could be put to death if no-one intervenes now to set everything to rights."
        "Over the centuries... If only Medreph hadn't - " She sighed, wandered to the window. "Well, perhaps things would have worked out otherwise. We'll have to make the best of it. I've said to Chenii-Imor that we'll wait here for her father until Justan attacks. If he's not arrived by then, we'll go on to Liagh Na Laerich without him."
        "When did you tell her that?"
        "While we were getting out of the carriage. She'll speak to Lauthil about it."
        "They seem sure Medreph's dead. I heard them downstairs, I couldn't make out much but they kept saying `dead' and `death' - I picked those words up from Ihann's medical writings."
        "Yes, Medreph's gone I guess, and even if he's alive he's lost the caravan." She looked outside.
        "So why do we wait for him? There's still time to get to Liagh Na Laerich and try douse magic before Justan invades Seesel."
        "It won't make any difference, he'll attack whether he has magic or not. He's even expecting to lose it on a local scale, probably would like it to pack up completely just as much as I do. It's the source of all his woes."
        "How can you be sure of that?"
        "I read yesterday's warfare:predictions summary. Take a look later, it's in my bag somewhere. Doesn't matter anyway, the Elets will attack eventually even if Justan keeps off the Lowlands, I told you. He's threatened them, and his empire can only grow stronger unless something is done about it. I just wish it wasn't going to be so bloody."
        "I still don't see why we have to stay here. So what if it won't make any difference? I'd rather get it over with as soon as possible, we've come all this way. Life, if we leave it too long I might not remember enough magic to cast that `last spell' - I had trouble recalling Chewt-Farmer this morning!"
        "We're staying because, even if it's not so likely, Medreph might yet appear. I don't want to leave him behind, I'm his friend."
        "Chenii-Imor doesn't mind, and she's his daughter!"
        Roween sat on the sill, looked back at Conley. "Medreph has eight children, but only one friend."

        `Downstairs' was a bookshop, Chenii-Imor's. She'd had to close it today, of course, but had let Roween and Conley look around while she and Lauthil went off to see some people.
        Roween became absorbed as soon as she saw the long, ceiling- high shelves, bowed under the weight of hundreds of old tomes. The smell seemed to calm her, too, like it reminded her of youthful days in the Academy library, struggling to turn enormous, dusty pages, eager to read the exotic stream of words from fabulous, faraway lands.
        Conley was less awed, but she was nonetheless impressed that there was enough interest, even in a town the apparent size of this one, to support a shop that only sold second-hand and antique books. She sauntered between the gloomy shelves, lit dimly by a small spell she'd thrown on her hair. Seeing a name she recognised, she pulled out the volume that bore it, looked to the inside cover.
        Now that was odd... "Roween?" she shouted, unsure of her whereabouts.
        "What is it, Con?"
        "There's a book here by Nuagh Casii, she's signed it."
        "Signed it? Wait a moment, let me have a look." She appeared at the end of the row of shelves.
        "She also dated it. That's something I've noticed before, none of these books ever have a publication date on them."
        "True, I don't know why it's so, just is. Let me see..." She held her candle to the side, used Conley's glow. "That's real neat, I've never seen her signature before, the Elets don't go for autographs. What's it say?" She translated, "You, Reelf, and a person, Casii, and makes first second."
        "What's that in plain Estavian?"
        "Er, Reelf makes Casii a person? What is this book, anyway?" She looked at the front cover. "`The Past of an Imaginary Land', yes, that's one of her early ones, I've read it."
        "No, look at the date, Ro." Conley re-opened it, pointed to the fading ink. "When's now in Elet?"
        "I don't know exactly, let me think, they're 340 ahead of us, and they start their year on Mid-Summer's Day, so it'll be 2136. Oh."
        Conley closed the book, held it cross-armed to her chest. "That's what I thought, there was something about dates in that guide you gave me in Bridges. So, Nuagh Casii wrote these words," she peeked again, "a hundred and seventy-six years ago?"

        "Lauthil, he won't be coming," Chenii-Imor announced. "You only need one of us, and he doesn't speak your language."
        "He'd rather be out killing Muraks," Roween muttered. Chenii- Imor looked at her, deadpan, said nothing.
        "Roween wants to wait until Justan attacks before we leave," Conley hurried. "I'd personally rather we went as soon as possible."
        "The roads, they will be busy soon. I, too, think we should leave early."
        "Or wait even longer," Roween added, "when the whole of the country is empty."
        Conley was about to chide her, but Chenii-Imor shot her a warning glance. "Every moment's delay in destroying magic, it means more Elets will die," said slowly. "Besides, you are in danger here. There is word that Justan is sending someone to apprehend you. There is proof that Lord Porett is also organising a mercenary unit."
        "Lord Porett? Since when has he been a - "
        "Who is Justan sending?" interrupted Roween, suddenly intense.
        "The biograph:foreign:Justan net suggested perhaps an ac- quaintance of yours..." She twiddled with her ring, almost nervously.
        "Sennary." She bit her bottom lip. "He'll be stopped - " Chenii-Imor's steady gaze told her the truth of it. "Killed, then. Unless, of course, we were to do away with magic before he was captured, then he'd abort his mission. That's cute, Chenii-Imor. Nice pressure."
        "Don't let what they'll do to Sennary get to you, Ro, not on my account." Why's she glaring at me like that?
        "It wasn't meant that way, Roween, I assure you. It's just that the longer you wait here, the greater the risk that someone undesirable will find you, that is all. We weren't twisting you." She smiled, wide, encouragingly, her nose wrinkling involuntarily, freckles frolicking."
        "Oh, no, you wouldn't snick me up, would you? Where were you last night?"
        "Nnn? Last night? I told you: Lauthil and I went to hear the bulletin in Rhudhan Peltheach - Rhudhan Square, I mean."
        "Both of you? Leaving us here alone?"
        "You were safe, you knew not to go outside."
        "Safe, yes, but bored. Thoughtful of you to let us wander around your shop, where I was certain to find, eventually, a certain book by my favourite writer."
        "You did? You can have it if you like. I don't see why you're so, er..." She looked to Conley, confused; what was the word she wanted?
        "Well this book by Nuagh Casii bears a written dedication from her to some Lowlander type, and it's dated like she'd have to be two hundred years old."
        Chenii-Imor's brows lowered, disbelief. "What? Two, but, one of my books? Which one? Can I see it?" "It's a good act, Chenii-Imor; indeed, your surprise might even be genuine. It doesn't matter. Some Elet, aware of where we'd look if left unattended in your shop, decided to plant an old book faked up to hint like there's some kind of longevity out in Elet. Hot, it was a good forgery, too; I know the look of centuried texts, the way the paper goes, and that pen ink fitted the aging perfect."
        Chenii-Imor wasn't flustered exactly, but she was strugglingly baffled by something. "I'm not sure, let me see the book. Why would anyone..?"
        "There are hundreds of thousands of books and writings in the library at Liagh Na Laerich. If people in Elet can live to age two hundred, there'll be something about it there. Wanting to find that information might be a powerful incentive to visit the place. If you can't bribe someone with money, longevity is a fair alternative."
        "Sounds tenuous to me," Conley scorned. "You're young, anyway, you have plenty of time to search. Why the haste at your time of life?"
        Roween closed her eyes. "I'd want it for my Da, Con..."
        Chenii-Imor shook her head, in a sad kind of way. "You're set on this, Sage Roween. If I'd wanted to push you to Liagh Na Laerich, then I'd have told you that Maedregh was definitely dead, not merely probably so. Why the need for an elaborate plot? However, it is obvious that nothing I can say will convince you that this isn't an intrigue, so I shall go now, and find a way to satisfy myself that this dating, it has a non-conspiratorial explanation. Do as you wish while I am absent." She took a pencil from her desk, wrote a line in Estavian, left.
        Conley reached over, picked up the paper, passed it to Roween. It read: "If the spring of emotion overflows, channel it into the sea of trust." A popular quote from `The Past of an Imaginary Land'.

        The crystal of Chenii-Imor's comsphere was tinted a pale, rose pink. It was a special edition, then, and therefore a Porett Technologies original rather than a black-fac copy. That meant it had been tapped against the spheres in the Cala exchange.
        Roween looked up from the desk, furtive. Life, this was taking some time! Conley was stuck in a picture-book she'd found, but she'd tire of it eventually. Why didn't he answer?
        She saw a huge hand part-enclose the com-1 she'd called, and another bringing close a second sphere. In it was imaged Sennary's face. The two glass balls touched.
        "Roween! Why in hell are you calling?"
        Gods, she got this rush when he said her name! "Lord Sennary, I don't have much time," half-whispered, "look, I have to warn you, the Elets know you're coming after us. Please, please don't do it, they'll kill you."
        "There's a risk, yes, but - "
        "No!" Too loud! Quiet, stupid woman! "Go away, a long way away, take a boat to Panavia. If they find you, the Elets, you're dead."
        "They won't find me."
        "You don't understand!" How could he be so brainless? "There are millions of them, they'll swat Justan, anyone with any authority. They'll be all over the Empire. Sennary, please! I don't want you to die! Not you too." She felt her tears beginning.
        "Are you feeling alright, Roween?" Is he concerned? "Look, no-one is going to kill me, don't worry. I'm giving up on Justan, Ansle, everybody, going back to my farm. I was supposed to leave for Elet yesterday, but this war has got too dirty for me, too ignoble. The King's loss of trust, that's hardest to stomach. So I'm heading east instead, opting civilian while my dignity is still intact. I'll probably be gaoled for it, although the anguish ought to be plenty punishment." He grimaced. "You're the first to know."
        Her eyes opened wide. "Really? Oh Sennary, that's, that's marvellous! If you came into Elet, they'd just..." She smiled, so happy, cheeks salty-wet, then remembered something. "Don't let Porett wheedle you into joining him!"
        He frowned. "Porett is in Trilith, he isn't going anywhere near you."
        "No, he is, the Elets have found out. He's set up a force of mercenaries in the Lowlands, good ones. He might try recruit you."
        "Are you sure about that? Ansle said something about a pair of transporters, but I thought he was lying; claimed he'd called a comsphere on one of them, but it would have been engaged, permanently opened to the sphere on the other one, like those hidden, low-light security globes they use to monitor places."
        She dawdled, could have spent hours listening to that voice... "I'm certain Porett will try and reach us, yes. But he'll be prevented, the Elets will - "
        "Are you in Elet now?" She nodded, looked up to the door again. "This changes things. Do they know you're talking to me?"
        "No, and I know I shouldn't, but I had to call you, I'm just so sc-scared, damn Sennary, I'm - " She glanced back to the door. "Listen, I'm going to have to tap out, I think I can hear Conley..."
        "She doesn't know either? Quick, give me something on your sphere, so I can call you back. They'll need a key to identify it at the exch- "
        She tapped out. Conley opened the door, hands in pockets, saw the comsphere. "Who've you been calling?"
        "Do you want to speak to your father?"
        "Of course not." She approached the desk, lazily. "So, who did you call?" leaned over, looming, using her height.
        Roween gulped. "Sennary."
        A moment of silence. Then, near yelled, "Sennary?! What? Did you tell him where we are?"
        "Yes, well, not in detail, I - "
        "He's coming after us!" She banged on the desk. "Hot, Ro, he's going to try kill us and you told him, you actually told him where we are!"
        "I didn't, he's not, I, stop it, you're confusing me!" She held her head. "He isn't coming, he's going back to his farm, he told me."
        "And you believed him? What happened to all that paranoia?"
        "I believed him, well, I don't know, he might have changed his mind, I said about Porett and... Oh damn no..." She covered her face with her hands.
        Conley controlled her anger, just. "You mean if you hadn't mentioned Porett, Sennary would have left us alone, but now you have done, he's coming?"
        "Gods, Con, what have I done? Why am I such an idiot?" He doesn't even like me...

        When she returned, Chenii-Imor was beaming a grin of melon- slice proportions. How old would she be, Conley mused. Early twenties? Late teens? She noted the ring on her little finger. Roween had told her the Elets wore rings to advertise for mates, whereas the eastern custom was the exact opposite - wear a ring when you're married. So Chenii-Imor was single. Early twenties...
        "Well," she announced, "I found out what happened. I have no evidence, so you wouldn't believe me were I to explain it to you, but at least my own curiosity, it is patched."
        "Let's hear anyway," Roween sighed.
        She took off her jacket, didn't sit down. "I spoke to Nuagh Casii, got a priority through to her. She's really clear, direct, a fine mind. She certainly remembers signing the book for Reelf, and would like to own it. I'll send it her."
        "And the date?" Conley's interest was sufficiently awakened.
        "It's not a date, it's a temperature. Reelf was an artist with whom Nuagh Casii had an encounter, and - "
        "An affair?"
        She hesitated, then smiled. "That's a better word, yes. 1,960 thermals is the temperature at which diamonds turn into graphite."
        "Diamonds turn into what? I don't know what you mean."
        Roween answered, wearily. "Apparently, if you heat up a diamond in an oven, it'll turn into like charcoal. Apparently, 1,960 Eletic thermals is when it happens. Apparently..."
        "1,960 thermals - what's that in degrees? I know water freezes at 0 like for us, but what's blood temperature? It's not 100."
        "Oh 1,960 will be right, near enough. They're very thorough..."
        "So why would Nuagh Casii write that to her lover?"
        Chenii-Imor tipped her head forward, still looked at Conley. "Artists use graphite as the base to mix up black oils for painting. Nuagh Casii, Black Cassie, do you follow?"
        Conley groaned. "That's so convoluted..."
        Roween sneered to herself.