“My grandfather’s father had to sell the family cemetery,” Csenaia said with a grimace. “It was apparently quite the scandal.”

“I should think so,” I said, slightly shocked myself. “But why Ulmavonee? Why not Ulvanensee?”

“Ulmavonee was brand new,” said Ulzhavar. “It had plenty of room in the catacombs for the ancestors.”

“They moved the whole cemetery?”

“My great-grandfather was that sort of man. In any event, that’s where Great-Aunt Tomilo is, in the Ulzhavadeise quarter of Ulmavonee. I forget the name of the prelate out there.”

“Veltanezh,” I said. “I do not think he will hinder us.”

“No, I remember him now. There’s no harm in him.”

Which was not something you could say about all the prelates in Amalo, as I was reminded that evening when I got home and checked for my post in the concierge’s shabby office. There was a letter from the Ulistheileian, sealed with Dach’othala Vernezar’s personal signet.

It couldn’t be anything good. Vernezar and I were not enemies, precisely, but the Ulistheileian had washed its collective hands of me, and I had been glad of it.

No cats this evening. Sometimes there were and sometimes there weren’t. I went inside and put a five-zashan piece in the gas meter, then turned on the lamp, necessary now as the days got shorter. I took off my coat of office and hung it up carefully and then, reluctantly, opened the letter.

Vernezar’s secretary, who had been chosen for his connections rather than his abilities, had at best a semi-legible hand, so that it took me some work to decipher the message.

Then I sat down and read it again.

TO THARA CELEHAR, WITNESS FOR THE DEAD, GREETINGS.

WHEREAS, you are the only unbeneficed Witness vel ama for the Dead in the city of Amalo, and

WHEREAS, we have recently welcomed to the city a new prelate, Velhiro Tomasin, who claims she can hear the dead,

THEREFORE, we wish you to take Othalo Tomasin as your apprentice and train her in your calling.

WITH ALL GOOD WISHES,

Aiva Vernezar, Ulisothala of Amalo

I stared at that letter until the lamp dipped twice, reminding me that I only had five minutes left on the meter. I made my preparations for bed quickly, but still ended up groping my way through my darkened room to the dim shape of the bed against the wall.

I lay in bed wondering if this was Vernezar’s revenge for my denying his authority over me or just happenstance. Certainly, he was careful not to say he was ordering me to accept Othalo Tomasin, but we both knew all he had to do was bring the matter back to the Amal’othala, and I would be ordered to take Othalo Tomasin as my “apprentice”—which was a ridiculous word to use, since no one could be taught to hear the dead. Either one could or one couldn’t. One had the calling or one didn’t. She could learn to be a Witness, but why had she not done so in her novitiate if that was the form her calling took?