The prentices were soon let go. On the third day guards came for Ganil, bringing him out into one of the enclosed courts of the College, into the soft, fine rain of early spring. Priests lived almost wholly out of doors, and the great complex of Edun College was only a series of meager barracks surrounding the roofless sleeping-courts, writing-courts, prayer-courts, eating-courts, and courts of law. Into one of these they brought Ganil, forcing him on between the ranks of men robed in white and yellow that filled it, until he stood in front of them all. He saw a clear space, an altar, a long table shining wet with rain, and behind it a priest in the golden robe of the High Mystery. At the far end of the table was another man who like Ganil was flanked by guards. This man was looking at Ganil, a straight look, cold and blank; yet they were blue eyes, the same blue as heaven above the clouds.

“Ganil Kalson of Edun, you are suspect as an acquaintance of Mede Fairman, accused of the heresies of Invention and Computation. You were this man’s friend?”

“We were Co-Masters—”

“Yes. Did he ever speak to you of measurements made without Comparing Sticks?”

“No.”

“Of black numbers?”

“No.”

“Of the black arts?”

“No.”

“Master Ganil, you’ve answered No three times. Do you know the Order of the Priest-Masters of the Mystery of the Law concerning suspects in heresy?”

“No, I don’t—”

“The Order says: ‘If the suspect shall deny the questions four times, the questions may be repeated with use of the handpress until answered.’ I shall now repeat, unless you wish to retract one of your denials.”

“No,” Ganil said, confused, looking round him at the crowded blank faces, the high walls. When they had brought out a squat wooden machine of some kind and had locked his right hand into it, he was still more confused than scared. What was all this mumbo-jumbo? It was like his initiation, when they had worked so hard to frighten him; that time they had succeeded.

“As a Mechanic,” the golden priest was saying, “you know the use of the lever, Master Ganil. Will you retract?”

“No,” Ganil said, frowning a little. He had noticed that his right arm now seemed to end at the wrist, like Yin’s.

“Very well.” One of the guards put his hands on the lever sticking out of the wooden box, and the golden priest said, “Were you a friend of Mede Fairman?”

“No,” Ganil said. He said No to each question even after he had ceased to hear the priest’s voice; he went on saying No till he heard his own voice mixed with the clapping echo from the walls above the courtyard, No, no, no, no.