“Power.” From Lune’s side of the post came an unexpectedly thoughtful sigh. “Ormsment’s fond of a riddle. It’s very current, widely discussed, a great many wise authors have meditated upon it. One hears it at the happening parties.”

Baru eyed the sloshing bilgewater beneath them. “Is that what this is? A happening party?”

“Of course it’s happening. I’m in attendance.”

Baru chuckled. Shao Lune snapped at her. “Shut up and let me finish. The riddle goes like this: Three ministers have gone to dinner together at a country retreat when they all taste poison in their wine. They cry out for an antidote. A lowly control secretary leaps up, showing a little nip bottle. She says, ‘I have one dose of antidote! Who should get it?’

“The minister of the Morrow Ministry says, ‘Give me the antidote, lest my spies uncover all your secrets and punish you with a lifetime of blackmail.’

“The minister of the Metademe says, ‘Give me the antidote, lest my eugenicists forbid your children from marrying and lobotomize your husband to use as a brainless stud.’

“The minister of the Faculties says, ‘Give me the antidote, or I’ll stab you with this fucking meat skewer, right up the tear duct.’

“Who gets the antidote?”

Oh. Baru knew this one. One of those profundities you’d introduce to invite clever self-flattering nonanswers from your tablemates. “I assure you,” she said, “that I don’t have the sort of power one quibbles over at country retreats.”

“Do you? You’re very sure of yourself. Who’s your handler?”

Baru thought at once of Farrier. She didn’t like that. “What do you mean?”

Shao Lune shifted. One bright eye glimmered around the post, and the edge of a sharp smile. “When Xate Yawa and Iscend come down here together,” she said, “I see that Yawa’s not in charge. She’s afraid of the Clarified woman. Who are you afraid of?”

“No one,” Baru said, staring into the dimness of the stern hold. No one but herself. “They tried to claim me with a hostage.”

“And?”

“I executed her myself.”

“Oh,” Shao said, with sudden respect.

“I loved her,” Baru said, for no useful reason. Now she was confiding in Lune. What a fool. But she couldn’t stop herself: the drink was not enough, she had to speak, she had to say how she felt.

“And I loved working for Ormsment,” Shao Lune said, “until she got in my way.”

Baru tugged listlessly on the chains. A gray shroud had settled over her.

“Tell me how to stop Ormsment,” she said, “and I’ll talk to the others about your parole. How would you like that? A chance to get out of your bilge.”

Shao’s bright glimmering eye watched her round the post. People, Baru remembered, had two eyes. She had forgotten the existence of Shao’s other eye while it was out of sight.