“Obregón? Good. He can stand to be kicked, and he can stand to wait. But you can come up with a story. I’ll send for Armand; that’s your squire, no? And Velin? Marks is in Campscapell, right? Is Velin here?”

“Armand is here, but not Velin. He’ll be in Upper Boring right about now, tracking down a red herring, I think. This has to be confidential. Things are hanging by threads. I can’t afford a panic. And Sandra would stick me in a hospital and I . . . suspect this involves things she wouldn’t believe. I wouldn’t either except I was there.”

BD frowned at her. “I need you out of that plate and into some light clothes. I’ll guess you don’t have anything like a chemise in your saddlebags.”

“You guess rightly, O mighty witch-woman. A pair of trews and a small shirt is my usual camp nightwear. Delia insists I wear a chemise at home, but it wouldn’t do on campaign.”

Gnarled old fingers pressed against her lips. “Lean back and rest, as best you can.”

After a minute a glass was pressed into her left hand. “Drink, slow sips. You’re dehydrated. You need to be flushed out.”

BD lifted off the heavy sallet. “Unconquered Sun, how does this thing around your neck come off?”

“The bevoir?” Tiphaine mumbled. “Undo . . . the chain and hooks. Buckles underneath and open hinges. Lift it out. Shit! ”

That as the older woman’s inexpert hands jerked her head back and forth. She fiddled with the vambraces, found the trick and slid them down and off her forearms.

“Most of the rest is buckled . . . tied to the point strings on the doublet . . . the leather cords. Just cut ’em, woman!”

Tiphaine sighed as BD picked up the bits and pieces of ironmongery and walked out. She sipped at the tart, cold herbal tea and slowly felt herself relax; her heart stopped beating so fast, though she hadn’t noticed it while it did. Her head throbbed and so did her arms and joints; aches she’d ignored in all the jangle of pain and strain that wearing armor every day for weeks on end caused. Even just having a helmet on every day gave you a savage headache more often than not.

It crept up on me, dammit.

A little of the office came clear. Before her was BD’s altar. The figurine of the God danced oddly before her eyes, reaching his hands out to her and beckoning. The huge round carving of a woman seemed to rock back and forth, winking at her with every swaying move. She closed her eyes and sipped again.

When she opened her eyes, the sun had wandered off to another part of the sky; the quality of the light had changed.

I’m not wearing my armor? When, how long? What?