The light came and went, the rain fell cold on his face and ceased, somebody kept trying to help him stand up. His grey cloak stank, he had been sick with pain. At the thought, he was sick again. “Take it easy, now,” a guard was whispering to him. The motionless white and yellow ranks were still crowded there, the faces set, the eyes staring . . . but not at him now.

“Heretic, do you know this man?”

“He is my Co-Master.”

“Did you speak to him of the black arts?”

“Yes.”

“Did you teach him the black arts?”

“No. I tried to.” The voice cracked a little; even in the silence of the courtyard, over only the whisper of the rain, it was hard to hear Mede speak. “He was too stupid. He dared not and could not learn. He’ll make a fine Shopmaster.” The cold blue eyes looked straight at Ganil without pity or appeal.

The golden priest turned to face the court again. “There is no evidence against the suspect Ganil. You may go, suspect Come here at noon tomorrow to witness the execution of judgment. Failure to come will be taken as proof of your guilt.” Before he understood, the guards had led Ganil out of the courtyard. They left him at a side door of the College, barring the door behind him with a clang. He stood there a while, then crouched down on the pavement, pressing his blackened, blood-caked hand against his side under his cloak. Rain whispered around him. No one passed. It was not till dusk that he pulled himself up and walked, street by street, house by house, step by step, across the city to Yin’s house.

In the shadows of the doorway a shadow moved, spoke: “Ganil!” He stopped. “Ganil, I don’t care if you’re suspect. It’s all right. Come back home with me. My father will take you back into the shop. He will if I ask him.”

Ganil was silent.

“Come with me. I waited for you, I knew you’d come here, I’ve followed you before.” Her nervous, jubilant laugh died away.

“Let me by, Lani.”

“No. Why do you come to old Yin’s house? Who lives here? Who is she? Come back with me, you have to, my father won’t take a suspect back into his shop, unless I—”

Yin’s door was never locked. Ganil brushed past her and went in, shutting it behind him. No servant came; the house was dark, silent. They had all been taken, all the Learners, they would all be questioned and tortured and killed.

“Who’s that?”

Yin stood on the stair-landing, lamplight bright on his white hair. He came to Ganil and helped him up the stairs. Ganil spoke very fast: “I was followed here, a girl from the shop, Lee’s daughter, if she tells him he’ll recognize your name, he’ll send the guards here—”