‘There is a manner,’ the stranger continued, ‘in which the soul can free itself of the flesh, and so wing swift as thought into the reaches of space. I have been contemplating this, as I dined. As one does. And it has occurred to me that the expanding universe is nothing more and nothing less than mortal souls in eternal flight. And that, should you somehow appear at the very edge of this ever-expanding creation, you would find the very first soul, impossibly ancient, so far along on its journey from its mortal flesh that not even dust remains of that body. We must be grateful to that soul, don’t you think? For… all of this.’

A moment later, the old man tilted slightly for a brief moment of flatulence, and then settled back once more. ‘Beans, but no rice.’

Hanako and Lasa exchanged a look, and then Hanako bent down and collected up Erelan Kreed once more. They walked past the old man, leaving him to his contemplation.

Some time later, Lasa Rook hissed and shook her head. ‘Azathanai.’

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘HE HAS FRECKLES,’ KORYA SAID. ‘ON HIS ARMS.’

Arathan looked up from the vellum. ‘Do you see this? What I’m scribing on, Korya Delath? It’s vellum. I don’t know where he gets it from, but it must be rare. And expensive, and should I be startled into making an error—’

She stepped inside, letting the old goat-skin curtain fall back to fill the doorway. ‘Why aren’t you in the Tower of Hate?’

Sighing, Arathan set down the stylus. ‘I needed somewhere without interruptions. Gothos was getting too many visitors. Everyone’s complaining. Though it has nothing to do with Gothos, they all seem to think he has some influence with Hood. But he doesn’t. Who has freckles?’

She strolled closer, eyeing the decrepit furnishings, the arcane symbols scratched into the plastered walls. ‘Young, sweet Ifayle. A Dog-Runner. He wants to sleep with me.’

Arathan returned to his transcribing. ‘That’s nice. I hear they have lice and ticks and fleas. Maybe those weren’t freckles at all, just welts from all the bites and things.’

‘They were freckles. And he’s clean enough. They use oils on their bodies. Drowns everything, and highlights the red in the hairs on his arms – they glisten like gold.’

‘You really like his arms, don’t you?’

‘They’re strong, too.’

‘So go roll in the grass with him, then!’

‘Maybe I will!’

‘Better do it now, since presumably this Ifayle’s here to march with Hood.’

‘March? Where? When? There’s a reason Hood’s not packed up his tent – he can’t figure out where to go!’

Arathan scowled down at the vellum, resumed his work. ‘Don’t be absurd. He’s just waiting.’

‘For what?’

‘More people are still coming in—’

‘A mere trickle, and most of them are undecided. More curious than anything else. People like spectacle, and that’s all this is. Vapid, useless, pointless spectacle! Hood’s joke, and it’s on all of you.’ She walked over to the etched wall. ‘What’s all this about?’