Outside the office, the day moved on, and the heat wave hadn’t broken. Thick as these stone walls were, the heat still got into Elcarth’s office and both of them were fanning themselves with stray papers before the interview was over. “I think I can place you, now,” Elcarth said, by late afternoon. “But I’m going to be putting you in one class you probably aren’t going to appreciate.”

“Figuring!” Skif groaned.

“Actually—no. Not immediately. I’m going to ask Gaytha to teach you how to speak properly.” Elcarth sat back and waited for Skif’s reaction.

If he’d expected Skif to show resentment, he got a surprise himself. “Huh. I s’pose I can see that—though you shoulda ’eard—heard—me afore—before—Bazie got hold of me.” Actually he wasn’t at all displeased. You didn’t get to be a good thief by being unobservant, and Skif had known very well that his speech patterns would mark him out in any crowd as coming from the “bad part of town” near Exile’s Gate. If he was going to consort with the highborn and be taken seriously, he’d better stop dropping his “h’s”.

Among other things.

And he might as well start being careful about how he spoke now. “Is that all you want with me?” he asked, watching every syllable, adding as an afterthought, “sir.”

“For now.” Elcarth studied him, and Skif forced himself not to squirm uncomfortably under that unwavering gaze. “I hope eventually you’ll feel freer to talk to me, Skif.” He looked for a moment as if he was about to say more, then changed his mind. “I believe you have another interview before you—”

“I—” Skif began, but a tap on the door interrupted him.

“Come!” called Elcarth, and the door was opened by Herald Alberich. Who was, of course, the very last person that Skif wanted to see at this moment, when Elcarth had him feeling so unbalanced and unsettled.

Alberich looked at him for a moment, but not with the gaze of a hawk with prey in sight, but with a more measuring, even stare. “Come, I have, to take our new one off, Elcarth,” he said simply. “Companion’s Field, I think. Cooler it will be there.”

“Well, I’m satisfied with him, so he’s all yours,” Elcarth replied, making Skif wince a little. But Alberich smiled, ever so slightly.

“Your Cymry is anxious to see the work of the Healer,” he said to Skif. “And it is that I have evaluation of my own to make. Please—come.”

He reached out and beckoned with one hand, and Skif got reluctantly to his feet.