Janet Morris - Silistra 1 - High Couch of Silistra

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HIGH COUCH

OF SILISTRA

(RETURNING CREATION)

Janet E. Morris

HIGH COUCH OF SILISTRA

A Bantam Book / May 1977

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by

mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

For information address: Bantam Books, Inc.

ISBN 0-553-10522-1 Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc. Its trade-mark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the

por-trayal of a bantam, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada,

Bantam Books, Inc. 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10019.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Herewith I do discharge both the chaldra of the Mother, and that of the Father.

Chaldra of the Mother

I am Estri Hadeath diet Estrazi, former Well-Keepress of Astria on the planet Silistra. I have begun three times to tell

this story, and three times I have been interrupted. This, then, the fourth at-tempt, will surely prove successful.

Perhaps you have heard of Silistra, the planet that was catalyst to the sexual revolution in the year twenty-two

thousand, seven hundred and four Bi-pedal Federate Standard Time, or of the Silistran serums that lengthen life and

restore vitality in virtual-ly any bipedal life form, or perhaps you have at some time contracted the services of a

Silistran telepath, or a precognitive, or a deep reader. It is possible that you haye in your own home the scintillating,

indestructible web-cloth woven by our domestic arachnids, or have seen holograms of our golachits, those intelligent

builder-beatles who exude from their mouths that translucent superhard substance called gol and create from this gol,

under the guid-ance of the chit-guards, the formidable and resplen-dent structures in which we live and work.

And perhaps you have seen no web-cloth, no gol, never been ill, and are not interested in sex. If so, you may never

have heard of Silistra.

I carry Silistra in my mind's eye, here under this alien sun. In my mind alone can I look out the east window of my

beloved exercise hall in Well Astria and see the sun's rising burst upon the jewellike towers

and keeps of the Inner Well and a thousand rainbows arc and dance in the greening sky.

I was Well-Keepress. Seven thousand people thrived under the aegis of my Well. I was sought and celebrated for my

beauty and lineage, for I was great-granddaughter to Astria Barina diet Hadrath, the Well-Keepress who seduced

M'Glarenn, Liaison First for the Bipedal Federation, and changed the sexual habits of bipeds on one hundred and

forty-' eight worlds. I was high-couch in the greatest house of pleasure in the civilized stars. I commanded a great

price.

Any being who was capable of desiring me, I could fulfill. I was fluent in the language and customs of fifty worlds. I

had more than a passing acquain-tance with the other ninety-eight. I was reasonably happy, happier than I knew.

I must speak briefly of chaldra and chaldric chains, for it is chaldra that brought me here, to this strange and

frightening world, so far from all that I hold dear.

It is a Silistran saying that we are all bound, the least of us no more than the greatest, and a Silistran would have it no

other way. The bonds of which the saying speaks are bonds of the spirit, of responsibility and duty and custom, and

these are called chaldra. Upon the body of each Silistran, proudly displayed in twisted belts called chalds, are the thin,

supple, many-colored chaldric chains of precious metals. A Silistran without chaldra is a person bereft of pur-pose and

self-respect, and often such unfortunate in-dividuals, when unable to acquire ennobling chaldra, choose to take on the

chaldra of the soil—by their death gaining that which was denied to them in life%

There is high-chaldra and low-chaldra. An exam-ple of high-chaldra is the chaldra of reproduction, of begetting one

child, no easy task among Silistrans, which is symbolized by the bronze chain before the chaldra is met, and the golden

chain after the child has ~been produced. Also the chaldra of the mother and father, the task set by the parent of the

same sex, symbolized by the red chain before completion

and the blue when the task is done. The chaldra to the Stand of Well is high also, and the chain is al-ways silver.

Low-chaldra are such as the chaldra of couch-bond between a man and a woman, recog-nized by the pinkish titrium

chain, or of skill, such as the black-iron Slayer's chain, or of vocation or avocation, as the Day-Keeper's slate-colored

chain or the golachit breeder's brown. There are over two hundred chaldric chains, if one counts both high and low.

I still wear my chald of eighteen intertwined chains. Once it lay snugly across my navel, but I have lost much weight in

this dreadful place, and now it slaps annoyingly about my lower abdomen as I labor at the senseless tasks set me by

my inscruta-ble masters.

I was marked from birth for this end, and all saw it, but none understood. I was born out of couch-bond to

Well-Keepress Hadrath Banin diet Inderi by an out-worlder known only as Estrazi. My mother carried me thrice the

normal term, and died birthing me on the twenty-five thousandth anniversary of Well Astria.

How much my mother knew of my fate is still open to conjecture, but until I received her legacy, and another, on my

three hundredth birthday, I thought myself little different, if more favored, than my couch-sisters. The second bequest

came in the form of a let-ter from my great-grandmother Astria, to be opened upon the three hundredth anniversary of

my birth. The letter, which I received in the office" of Rathad, my dead mother's half-brother and adviser to my Well,

had my full name upon it and the date, Macara fourth seventh, 25, 693, and was written eight hun-dred and forty years

before I was born.

The letter lay between us on the table of thala-wood that I had shipped down from the northern forests as a gift to my

mother's brother almost a full year ago. A silver cube lay beside the envelope, yel-low with age, upon the night sky of

the thala. The reflections deep within the wood seemed to go on for-ever.

Musicians tuning, laughing, limbering through their scales mixed with kitchen clank and the gol-master's hoarse calls

as he set the golachits to their building. I did not rise from my seat to watch them at work in the Inner Well amid the

bustle of the Well as it is rising, as I might have on another day. Nor did the smells of the morning meal, of baking

bread and roasting meat, entice me. My appetite had dis-appeared with Rathad's summons. My recalcitrant

precognitive gift had given me no warning, nor any information as to why, on this, the one day of the year on which I

habitually secluded myself, seeing and speaking to no one, he had sent for me. On this day had he sent a messenger to

summon me from my solitude. I had run the distance here to Rathad's keep, filled with foreboding, leaving the

messenger in the exercise hall staring, undismissed, openmouthed at my undignified haste.

When I reached the mirrored doors and burst through them, I was badly winded. Rathad did not so much as raise his

grizzled head to me in greet-ing, but waved me to the dark carven chair, silent, staring fixedly at the two objects on the

table between us.

My breathing was no longer labored when Rathad, his fingers upon the silver cube, raised his eyes to mine.

"Daughter of my sister," he said, "have you, per-haps, knowledge of these things before me, that you have arrived

here so swiftly?"

I shook my head no, and his jibe passed unan-swered, though at any other time I would have be-rated him for

disturbing me.

He sighed. "One might hope that the foreseeing abilities of your mother, and, it seems, your great-grandmother"—his

hand was on the envelope— "might someday manifest in you. You have no idea, then, why I sent for you today, or

even why you showed such uncharacteristic haste in presenting yourself to me?"

"None at all." I am a very weak foreseer. "Did you call me to discuss my psychic debilities? If so," I said, rising, "I will

return to my day's undertakings." I did not care for the amused condescension in his voice.

"Will you indeed? I doubt it. Now, sit back down. Good. It would be a sad thing, Estri, if you let our personal

differences prevent you from receiving this message from your mother, and this ... ah, shall we say, unusual

communication from the Foundress of the Well herself." He was leaning back in his chair, fondling his chald, a smile

playing around his lips.

"What mean you, Rathad? Do not toy with me."

"I mean but what I say, Well-Keepress. This," he said, picking up the silver cube, each side of which was the length of

my middle finger, "is a recording device, popular in the days of my youth. When your mother knew herself pregnant

with you, she came to me with it and asked that I deliver it to you at this time. She knew she would not survive your

birth." I heard the bitterness in his voice. It was common knowledge that Rathad considered his sister's self-sacrifice

ill-conceived, and had urged her to abort me. Because it was his chaldra to do so, he had brought me up. I am sure he

would rather have drowned me upon the day of my birth, so great was his love for my mother, Hadrath.

"And this," he continued, fingering the yellowed envelope, "this comes to us through the kindness of Day-Keeper

Ristran, who attests to its authenticity, and bids me to tell you it has lain in the Hall of Records these eight hundred

and forty years, await-ing your maturity.

"I have not opened either of them, nor do I have any information as to their contents. I have my sup--positions, of

course, the validity of which we will as-certain here together." Again that deeply seasoned face smiled at me. Rathad's

smile has always made me nervous. It is the smile of the predator upon a new kill.

His hand closed about the silver cube, and he shook

it. A dull rattle dame from it. "As is often the case with such containers, there is something within." He placed the cube

carefully beside the envelope.

"Which one, which will you explore first, Estri?"

I grabbed for the silver shape so fast I brushed his retreating hand. He had not made clear to me the significance of the

letter, except that it was old and that it had been in the possession of the Day-Keep-ers, those among us who study

the past and keep its legacy. In any case, I, who had never seen my moth-er's face or heard her voice, had in my hands

that which she had meant for her daughter to hold. Emo-tion roared through me like the Falls of Santha. My hands

shook and my tongue attached itself to the roof of my dry mouth.

I held it, turning the metal cube in my fingers. My mother's name rang in my head. I searched for my voice.

"How does it work?" I asked finally. I had seen two small circular insets, and above them a larger tri-angular one, all on

one side of the object. The other sides were, as far as I could determine, featureless. I was afraid, suddenly, that I might

somehow damage it before its long-held secrets could be revealed.

"Hold the cube with the circles uppermost." I did so.

"Farther away from you. Now, press once firmly upon the triangle." I did this also, and a rectangular section halfway

down the cube's surface slid back, and then from the opening extruded a dished bar, metal on all sides but the one

facing me, which was composed of two lenses recessed in a metal frame.

"Put the eyepiece against your eyes so that the metal bar between is in contact with the bone at the bridge of your

nose. Now, press the left-hand circle, once only."

I held the expanded cube before my eyes. It was contoured so that it rested against the bones of my face snugly,

letting in no light. I pressed the left-hand circle.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then I saw her.

She was standing before a window set into umber gol, the same shade as Rathad's keep. Her dress was the simple

wide-sleeved white and silver of the Keepress, chald-belted, and flowing translucent to the floor. Her belly seemed a

trifle rounded, but her breasts were high and firm, the nipples standing well up. I thought her much more beautiful than

I. Her skin was the rare Silistran white, transparent and delicate. Her eyes were the gray-green of the predawn sky. Her

hair was the color of the finest northern thala, black, blue, and glistening silver. She was smaller than I, wider-boned.

Otherwise we were much alike. Her nose was as mine, deliciously straight, chiseled, and haughty. I could see her

nostrils flaring as she breathed. Her mouth, also, was like mine, full, sen-suous, with a touch of cruelty at each

indented cor-ner. Her cheekbones were high and wide, her chin tiny yet firm, with the subtlest hint of a cleft in its

middle. But for the size and coloring, her stamp was heavy upon me.

She raised a fine-boned hand to her forehead, and then I heard her voice, musical and breathy.

"Little one, spark of life that kicks and twists in-side me, now that the moment is here, I do not know how to say what I

must. Since you have received this, my life has been well-bartered." My mother cleared her throat, rubbing her belly

absently with her hands.

"I have some fear that Rathad and others may press guilt upon you. Let me assure you, by my own mouth, that you

were conceived in love, with full understand-ing of the consequences, and, values weighed, that my Me for yours is

little to give.

"Oh, Estri, for that is the name you will bear, at this time in my life, when I most wish to be warm and loving, to give

you all of motherhood and sus-taining purpose in a few short moments, I find my-self cold with fear and stiff with

self-consciousness. How will you see me, daughter? I did not desert you willingly. The arrangements for your

upbringing have been well attended to, your social and economic posi-tion secured. But what is it to be without the

touch

of a mother's hand, the comforting circle of her arms, in those difficult times of youth? No recording can give you that

which has been denied by fate and need. If you can bear me no ill will for the frailty of my flesh, I will know it, for I

have demanded of my eternal spirit that it watch over you all your days. I have no doubt that this will be so." She

stopped, swallowed hard, blinking.

"That is the worst of it, I think," continued my mother.

"Now that there is understanding between us, child unborn, I would speak to you of your father, and what was

between us, your parents. Though we were couch-met, it was as if I had known him for a thou-sand forevers. Our races

are only semicompatible, hence the long term which I will carry you, and my projected death at your birth. The benefits

to the is-sue of such a union far outweigh the debits. You will live twice, perhaps three times the normal Silistran span.

Were you slow maturing, little one? You now know the reason. Within you lie dormant abilities far beyond the ken of

those around you, and in time you will come to know them.

"We are as children to your father's people, and he did me great honor in choosing me to bear his get. Which brings

me to the chaldra I would put upon you. It is my wish, and that of your sire also, that you seek him and meet with him,

be it here on Silistra or upon the planet of his birth. Little help can I give you in your task, for there is a testing in its

accomplishment, but be sure that there is reason greater than any you could dream in our request. The time is short,

and I must hurry." She looked down for a moment at something off the screen.

"You-will soon see the moment of your conception. What prompted me to record our coupling, I do not know, unless

it was the meeting that preceded this record. You will understand, when you view it, why you have not received this

until, in your own blossom-ing maturity, you have become wise in the ways of men.

"When the record is ended, put your hand be-neath the cube, and receive the ring of your father. The ring is the key.

Keep it on your person, even in sleep, until you rest within your father's house. It will identify you and keep you safe

among his people, should your search take you so far."

She smiled, a smile I will never forget.

"It is, child of my heart, a great sadness to me that our meeting and parting be so close together. Re-member, Estri, I

love you and am with you ever. Tasa, Estri Hadrath diet Estrazi."

The grayed screen flickered, became what could only have been the magnificent keep of my mother, the Keepress.

I saw her, upon the silver covers of the couch, and her skin glistened with sweat. Her breasts rose and fell with her

impassioned breathing, nipples flushed and erect. She leaned back on stiff arms, naked, her marvelous long legs

outstretched, slightly spread, her feet beneath the iridescent coverlet.

The room was candlelit, and the light flickered and glowed about her.

"Come, then, barbarian god," she taunted, teeth flashing, "come and take me, if you can. Put that deathly seed of

yours where it will do the most good." She laughed low, and tossed her head. Her hair fell curling across her left

breast.

"You must petition me more prettily than that, well woman, before I fill your belly." The second voice was deep,

undeniably commanding, full of strange sibi-lances. "Surely you cannot expect to do so little, and receive so much.

Show me the skills that have made you high-couch here. Or, perhaps, you do not truly possess them?"

With a leap from the darkness, he was on her, one knee beside each of her breasts, his hand still upon her throat. He

turned his head to her left shoulder, and his face, eyes heavy-lidded in his heat, was clearly defined.

He was indeed and truly my father. His eyes and hair were the color of molten bronze, his skin but

scant tones lighter. His body was light-boned for his mass, and the muscles rippled in long flat slabs as he crouched

above her.

I watched him use her, and I have never seen a woman so diabolically aroused, so freed from the bonds of mind, so

deliciously debased. He brought her, leaping to his hand, to the edge of climax three times before he allowed her to

attempt to please him. Finally, acquiescing to her desperate pleas, he lay back and allowed her to work her skills on

him. Their multilingual love-abuse encompassed all that I knew and went beyond.

Once he pulled her head from his lap, and holding her arched back by the hair, said in archaic Silistran, "You are truly

worthy to be high-couch," and thrust her head back down.

When he was ready, he lifted her into the air and set her down upon him as one might lift a young child of no

significant weight. If she had been be-neath him, the violence of that final coupling surely would have crushed the life

from her there and then.

The last thing I saw was my mother nestled in the crook of his arm, her tears rolling down his shoulder, to settle in the

hollow in his throat.

The screen went blank. I started to lift the cube from my face, only at the last moment remembering my mother's

instructions. My hand shot out to catch the ring as it fell from the opening bottom of the cube.

I did not look at it, but pushed the cube across the table to Rathad, this long while waiting.

He looked at me, for my permission to view it. I could not speak. The room swam before my eyes. I nodded my assent

and leaned back in the carven thala chair, the ring clutched unexamined in my fist, to let my tears flow while my

mother's brother viewed the cube.

I had not cried for some years, and as the moisture of my grief and joy poured out of me and filled my lap, my

confusion went with them. I knew what I must do. I raised my head to tell Rathad, but he was still sunk deep within

Hadrath's record.

Dispassionately I deep-read him, knowing that he could not feel the touch of my mind while so en-grossed in my

mother's story. If foreseeing is my weakest skill, deep-reading is my strongest. I can, in moments, and without trancing,

acquire from any sentient being an accurate estimate of his basic na-ture, motivation, and any deep-seated emotion he

is feeling. I did so. I was pleased with what I saw. Rathad would be less troublesome to me in the near future. He was

deeply moved and full of remorse. Whether or not he had treated me fairly, he now felt that he had not, and that was

sufficient. If he had caught me at it, however, I would have lost that which through my mother I had gained. I withdrew

al-most immediately.

My father's ring was still clenched in my right fist. So much was happening, my head was so full of plans, I had not

even looked upon it.

I brought my fist to eye level and slowly opened my stiff fingers. I had clutched it so hard that the blood had been

forced from my hand. It lay facing me, on my wet palm. The metal was a pale yellow in color, perhaps gold. It was very

large and heavy. I could have fit two fingers within its circle. I remem-bered the hand that had worn the ring, and I

shiv-ered. Within the bezel was set a glowing black stone, as large as titrium half-well coin, and in the black stone itself

were a thousand white points of light, scattered in a seemingly random pattern. As I looked closer, I determined that

these were not characteristic markings of the black stone, but tiny inset gems, some as small as a pore on the skin,

some slightly larger. One of the bigger stones was not white, but a brood-ing blood color. This was set in the

upper-right corner. If this random patterning could be said to resemble a spiral, then the red stone was far out on the

north-eastmost arm. I had never seen such a ring. The craftsmanship was exquisite. I turned it. The sides were covered

with raised script, but it was no lan-guage with which I was familiar.

I slipped my first and middle fingers within the

band and closed my hand into a fist once more. I wished there was a way to make it smaller, but I knew I would not so

deface it. I put my right hand within my left, and both in my lap. I would have to find another way to wear my father's

ring. I con-sidered the possibilities until I heard Rathad place the cube back upon the table.

His face was ashen white and his eyes bleary. He leaned his elbows upon the table and supported his chin with one

hand. In the other he held the letter. He extended it to me. I shook my head and made no move to take it.

"Not yet," I said. "That which has waited so long can wait a while longer. Summon a runner. I will leave with Santh

tomorrow morning. There is much to do before the next sun's rise. If Ristran is still here, I will meet with him in my keep,

and we will take our mid-meal there together. If not, then I will do the same with the highest-ranking Day-Keeper you

can produce by that time. I will also need the toilet wom-en to help me prepare. Send a chalder also to Jana's room, for

she will be high-couch while I am gone." Jana and I thought alike on most social and political issues; she had met her

chaldra of reproduction, and I liked and respected her. She would enjoy being high-couch, but not so much that she

would be un-willing to relinquish the position when the time came.

"Impossible," Rathad snapped. His face had re-gained its normal color.

"Which?" I asked.

"All of it. You cannot leave the Well until the chaldric priorities have been determined, if at all. How many chains do

you wear? Are all of them meaningless when compared to this adventure? Such tasks are usually carried out before

major responsi-bilities are assumed. The Day-Keepers must decide. I have never heard of a three-hundred-year-old

wom-an, of responsibility and position, romping off to do the chaldra of the mother. Perhaps they will allow it, but not

until the papers have been filed, the purifications done, the ceremonies complete. It will

take time." His voice was very loud, his face red. "And your chald. You cannot go without another. It must be made,

wound, prayed upon. The chalder will never be able to produce one for you in a matter of hours, should he wish to,

which he will not. You can-not possibly leave before Detarsa fourth seventh. It will take the full pass to arrange things.

I do not agree with you about Jana. There are those more de-serving of such an honor." He rubbed his hand across his

face? "But if you insist upon her, she must be readied to take on your duties. AH these things take time. It is now the

last of Macara. Give me these twenty-eight days, and when the pass is done, I will not obstruct you. Truly, I do not

obstruct you now, but simply remind you of the forms to which you must attend. Perhaps the Day-Keepers will uphold

you. The circumstances here are very unusual. But what-ever comes to be, you must meet your fate with an eye to the

traditions of this Well, and with dignity and grace."

"I know you mean well, Rathad, and that you would not obstruct me. I ask you again to attend to these things for me.

Only summon for me the Day-Keeper and the chalder, and the others that I need. I feel certain that this matter can be

arranged in a way acceptable to all concerned. If I am wrong, then I have but taken mid-meal with the Day-Keeper, and

discussed certain matters with the high-chalder. I will take Santh to the Liaison First's tomorrow, whatever the

outcome, so I will need the fitter and the toilet women. I will let the subject of Jana rest for the present, but the rest

must be done." I smiled my most winning smile.

"I think I should like parr and eggs, fresh fruit, cheese, and wine. Perhaps enough for three, for the high-chalder might

also be hungry. Do hurry, for mid-day is close upon us."

Shaking his head, a smile playing across his lips, Rathad strode to the mirrored doors with a swirl of his iridescent

web-cloth robe. I heard his muffled voice giving instructions to the runner just outside. I

sighed with relief. I had been unsure I could persuade him.

When he reentered, he did not sit again behind the table, but came to lean against it by my side, so close that I could

see every white curling hair that poked its way through the straps of his thonged sandal. He handed me the old

yellowed envelope once again, and this time I took it.

I broke the seal and withdrew the sheet within. The hand was sure and strong. There was no greet-ing.

"The woman I seek, whose name the envelope bears, is all of a color, the color of the spring sun rising, with hair of

molten bronze that brushes the ground. In my vision it seemed that this woman and I were of a kind. I will never know.

To her I say: 'Guard Astria, for you may lose it, and more. Beware one who is not as he seems. Stray not into the port

city of Baniev. And lastly, look well about you, for your father's daughter's brother seeks you.'

"If you succeed, you will be lauded, even as I am lauded, for you will accomplish more than you at-tempt. Be strong,

for the father will surely help his daughter."

It was signed "Astria Barina diet Hadrath." I read it twice. It seemed that every hair on my body stood away from my

flesh. It is said that obscur-ity is the cloak of the forereader. My great-grand-mother had drawn that cloak close about

her in the writing of this message. That it was meant for me, and no other, was beyond doubt. But no one is as he

seems; I had no intention of visiting Baniev, far up the coast; and I had no brother. Her encouragement made even less

sense. My search was of personal im-port only, and my mother had said it was a testing, so no help from my father

would be forthcoming.

I had no fear for Astria. The Well was in the same hands that had guided it these three hundred years. But I would take

care.

I shook my head and handed the perplexing oracle to Rathad.

I felt most discomfited, yet I was glad my great-grandmother's message had reached me. It would be a great lever with

which to pry the Day-Keepers from their conventions.

"What sense do you make of it, Estri?" said Rathad, frowning at the letter in his hands.

"Very little," I replied, "but I will look more sharply about me, and you must see the affairs of the Well with great care."

"Doubtless there is a hidden meaning," he mused. "Doubtless," I agreed. "But perhaps it is too well-hidden."

"I would take all pains to avoid Baniev, were I you," he continued.

"I will avoid," I announced, "not only Baniev, but

Baniese also, and products bearing that city's stamp."

"Has it occurred to you," my mother's brother asked,

"that much time has passed since Hadrath's death,

and the father you seek may be no longer among the

- living?"

"It occurred to me," I admitted. "But the message of my mother said he awaits me, and it was she who chose the point

in time at which I would assume the chaldra. If he is dead, it is by accident and not by age or infirmity. I must seek him.

Who knows how long the bronze people live? Not I." Rathad grunted and sucked his teeth. "I yield." He sighed. "If it

was known that you would take this chaldra and make this journey eight hundred and forty years ago, then, by the

Day-Keep-ers' Clock, you must make it, and I must give you whatever help I can."

He reached behind him for the silver cube, and handed it and the letter, which he placed carefully within the envelope,

from his pale hands into my cop-per ones.

"Run, child," said he, bending to kiss my cheek, "or you will keep the Day-Keeper waiting."

II.

The Liaisons, First arid Second

When I could restrain Santh's need to hunt no longer, I found a resting place in the shade of two large boulders,

removed the surcingle from about his black-furred girth, and let him loose. With a great leap and a snap of his mighty

wings, he was off, bounding and gliding, silent, deadly. Four bounds took him from my view. There is nothing on

Silistra to compare with the speed of a hulion at the hunt.

While I waited for him to return, cool and com-fortable in the late-morning shadows, my back against the larger

boulder, I reviewed the events that had brought me here to the trail that would lead, by night-fall, to the house of the

Liaison First, M'lennin, my former couchmate.

My mid-meal with Ristran had produced some sur-prises, and a satisfactory outcome. The Day-Keepers are a

mysterious, solitary lot, and rarely frequent the Wells. I had supposed, somewhat naively, that his interest would be

only for the objects of antiquity I possessed. I read his desire when we touched hands in greeting, and the fantasy

deep within his mind was an easy one for me to fulfill. I pleasured him while he lay back on the amber cushions,

matching my actions to the picture I had pulled from his subconscious. Thus I delivered him his dream, and the taste

of him was thick and overly sweet, the taste of a man long denied.

It had been so quickly done that the food upon the low thala table was still warm when we seated our-selves to eat.

We struck a bargain that benefited us both. I would leave the cube and letter with the Liaison, who would deliver the

originals into Ristran's hands. I would take with me copies which I knew M'lennin's star technology could provide. In

exchange for these price-less artifacts, Ristran waived all formalities and cere-monies usually associated with the

assumption of chaldra, including the need for a new, virgin chald, and upheld me in the face of the chalder's wrath.

After a perfunctory blessing, my old chald was cut from me by the chalder's hand, the red chain woven into the already

existing belt, and certain alterations made in the chald's construction. These were the addition of a hidden lock, and a

tiny key which slipped into a com-partment in the lock itself when not in use. Thus I could remove the chald at will,

rather than wearing it soldered about my waist. Before I snapped the lock shut, I had drawn the width of the chald

through the band of my father's ring, so securing the ring to my body.

The other considerations I had from Ristran were equally valuable. He had been unable to decipher the script on the

ring, or name the race of people to which my father belonged, so he suggested that I travel to Arlet. There he would

provide me with an expert in off-world culture and language, in such a way that secrecy might be maintained. I

accepted, only afterward realizing that Arlet lies uncomfortably close to Baniev, that port city which I had intended to

avoid. But by the time I had recollected my geogra-phy, Ristran was long gone, and I was already making my way

across the plain that separated the Liaison's keep from Well Astria.

With the help of the two toilet women, I had made what I considered the supreme sacrifice. I had cut my ankle-length

bronze mane. It had been my trade-mark. I could do little about my skin tone, but it had become fashion in Well Astria,

and to a lesser extent in Port Astrin, our dependent city, for the women to spend long hours beneath the sun, gilding

themselves with oils and ointments, that their skin might glow

golden in the manner of Well-Keepress Estri. With my hair now so shorn that it barely covered my buttocks, I could be

any Astrian well woman of high position. My chald was thicker than most, but whatever de-gree of anonymity I could

foster would serve me.

I wore a soft tas-skin jerkin, cream-colored and sueded, and matching knee boots to protect my legs on the trail. Above

my chald was another belt, of thick parr-hide, from which hung a full coin pouch and double-bladed hunting knife. My

hair was con-fined in a thick braid down my back.

I felt fierce and strong, and very free. I had not realized how heavy the cares of the Well had been until I laid them

aside.

I took the surcingle I had removed from Santh and wedged it between the boulders. In its laced pockets were the cube

and letter, dried meat and fruits, and a waterskin.

The shadows were rapidly disappearing as the sun reached its zenith, and I was thirsty and anxious to be on my way. I

called Santh silently, with all the mind-force I had. The answering picture was clear and sharp, of that black

wedge-shaped head, tufted ears laid back, yellow eyes slitted from the sun, mighty fangs bared in a silent roar. He had

heard me and was on his way.

M'lennin had found Santh and his sister abandoned by the Falls of Santha. What had happened to their mother was

never determined. He had been small enough to cuddle in my arms when the Liaison gave him to me as a couch gift.

His shoulders now were the height of my own, though I stand upon two legs and he upon four. The intelligence of the

hulion has never been studied, for they are rare and seldom thrive outside their native mountainous home, but I guess

it to be as great as our own. However, they are not toolmakers. Somewhere back in time Santh's ancestors had chosen

not to compete with the hair-less bipeds of the plains and valleys. They live their own way, isolated, primal, high in the

crags of the Sabembe range.

In some ways the hulion and Silistran are much alike. M'lennin calls us of Silistra anachronistic, haughty primitives.

We, like the hulion, insist upon our freedom and individuality. Silistra once trod the path of technological culture. In

our prehistory lies a long and bloody story of wars, of great and power-ful governments, of taxation and oppression,

of mad-ness and suicide. At length the people rose up and dismantled the machines that had come to rule them, and

the parasitic bureaucracy that served those ma-chines.

It is a Silistran saying that the law lies within the man, and that no amount of coercion from without can alter that law.

The hulions, also, obey the law within. Santh is no more mine than I am his. It may be, in his mind, that I am his charge,

and in his care. We serve each other, with respect and admiration, and more than a little love.

I saw a spot in the azure sky, far to the west. I stood and shielded my eyes and watched him come. The spot became a

speck, rising high into the air, gliding, falling from sight, then rising again. Soon I could see his wings, snapping out

straight at the height of his arc, beating the air to ease his descent, then the coiled crouch and spring as his powerful

hindquarters thrust him almost instantaneously back into the air, with those mighty wings pulled close to his sleek

black back.

A bound away, I saw that he carried something in his jaws. When he furled his pinions and padded to my side, he

dropped the mangled carcass at my feet and lay proudly beside it, growling softly in his throat. I could not tell what

animal that bloodied corpse had been. Only a few tatters of red-brown fur remained, and the head had been bitten

cleanly off the shoul-der. Its hooves were cloven and black, its four legs long and spindly. I thought it some

subspecies of bondrex, the nimble plains grazers—but which, I could not tell.

I stepped over it, to scratch Santh behind his ears. He stretched his neck appreciatively and began lick-

ing the blood from his outstretched paws with his coarse tongue.

"Thank you," I said, and bent to cut a strip of the still-warm flesh from a half-gnawed haunch. It would have been an

insult not to eat of his kill, though I had neglected to bring a fire-maker, and I am not fond of raw meat.

Santh rolled onto his side and watched me eat, through slitted, yellow eyes. I cut another piece and chewed it noisily,

exclaiming my praise through a half-filled mouth. The blood ran down my arms and stained my tas-skin jerkin. I made

great show and ate little. The meat was tough, stringy, and tasteless.

I got down a third thin strip, wiped my bloodied knife on my boot, and returned it to its parr-hide sheath.

Then I got the surcingle from between the boulders and stood over Santh's drowsy head.

"Get up, lazy one," said I, prodding him with my foot and pointing to the surcingle. "We must make M'lennin's by

night."

Complaining loudly, Santh stretched and rose. I threw one end of the web-weave band over his back, between his

shoulder and forewing, and grabbing the dangling end from beneath his belly, hitched it tight. Having secured the

cube and letter from harm by this means, I relaxed again. Whatever happened on the trail, Santh would bring the cube

and letter to M'lennin. Although the danger of the open plain is slight, and with such a companion slighter still, I had

been uneasy in Santh's absence. Silistrans have only one natural enemy. Other Silistrans. I had seen no one since we

had set out before sun's rising, but one fears the enemy one doesn't see. With Santh at my side, I' feared nothing.

We set out again, I at my easiest jog and Santh padding beside. He would have allowed me to ride him, but my legs

were strong under me. I had not had time for my usual exercise this day, or yesterday, and I had need to work the kinks

from my muscles.

Santh paced me patiently until I felt loose and

pleasantly tired. Then we rested and shared the waterskin. When I had replaced it in the pocket and laced the flap

securely, he nudged me toward his back with his wedge-shaped head. He could not un-derstand the slowness of our

pace. I laughed and scrambled onto him, placing my feet and hands in the surcingle loops provided for that purpose.

When I was secure, he got carefully to his feet and broke into an easy lope that ate up the distance. His approval was

a purr in his throat.

We sped across the green and yellow flatlands, to-ward the foothills where the Liaison First had built his angular, ugly

complex. The jitkaws swooped and darted in the green-blue sky. It was a clear after-noon, and the west wind carried

the smell of new awakening, for it was Detarsa first first, that is, the first day of the first seven-day set, or of the pass of

Detarsa, our fifth month from winter solstice. Yester-day had been Macara fourth seventh, that is, the last day of the

last set of the pass Macara. We have on Silistra a fourteen-month revolution, each month con-taining twenty-eight

days. Our year is eight days less than the standard B.F. year of four hundred days. Our day is forty minutes shy of the

Bipedal Federate Standard day of thirty hours, but we divide it into twenty-eight "enths," or "bells." Each enth, or bell,

contains seventy-five iths.

I had not been conscious of the problem relating times until I had spent a year as M'lennin's couch-mate. This

questionable custom is not a chaldric mat-ter, but courtesy to the outworlder Liaison, and had been originated by

Well-Keepress Astria. I had found it very difficult to live with M'lennin, in his strange home of clicking machines and

canned and frozen food, where time and date are Bipedal Federate Standard, and nothing Silistran. M'lennin prides

himself on his retention of off-world customs, and holds us, I am afraid, in sour contempt. He would have us mechanize

and modernize and become like all the other Federate worlds. Much money comes to Silistra, but little goes back to the

star-worlds. This is a great problem, in

his mind. I think matters are as they should be. If Silistra became as all the other star-worlds, if we were not unique,

what would we have to offer them?

Such were my thoughts as Santh bore me effort-lessly toward M'lennin's star-steel fortress. Within its walls was the

help I needed. It was well within the Liaison's power to analyze the data contained in my mother's tape and make me

the copies I desired. Since each major Well had its own Liaison, and these kept in constant contact with each other, I

could also benefit from his assistance in arranging my stay in Well Arlet. Doubtless, too, he could provide me speedy

and anonymous passage up the coast. Perhaps his computer complex would be able to pinpoint my father's race and

planet, and I would not need to go to Arlet at all.

There was, however, one problem in obtaining this invaluable assistance from my former couch-mate, and this problem

was more and more in my mind as the hulking geometric Keep of the Liaison First loomed larger and larger on the

horizon. I would have to ask. I, who had so many times derided M'lennin for his all-consuming technological passion,

who had declared my independence from communicators and computers, now found myself in the ignominious

posi-tion of needing those very machines which I had so loudly decried.

Dusk was fast approaching. The lights, keyed by an electronic sensor, were ablaze in M'lennin's outer court. Still I had

found no way to approach him that would allow me to retain my dignity. Perhaps I would have to admit that, indeed,

his toys were good for something after all. I stopped Santh with a touch, and dismounted, walking by his side through

the electric eyes that sentried the outer gate. Now M'lennin knew I had arrived.

I dallied in the empty court, hoping in these last few moments that some inspiration would come to me. I scratched

Santh under his massive chin, and he butted me with his head toward the door. He knew where he was. He had been

raised his first year here.

The hulion was anxious to be indoors with his sister, Sithantha. I sighed. It would be unpleasant, but the time called

the move. I must set aside my pride and principles and my personal feelings for M'lennin. I wished it were not he whom

I must petition for aid. He would take much satisfaction from my plight.

Santh growled restlessly. I ran the three broad steps to the star-steel door and put my hand to the glowing red panel.

The door slid silently aside to ad-mit us. With Santh at my heels, I stepped into the reception hall. The door slid back

into place.

We had taken but three or four steps along the hallway when I heard the clatter of running feet and M'lennin careened

down the steps directly in front of me, almost colliding with Santh.

He was gasping for breath, his black-and-gold dress tunic rumpled, his face contorted. He reached out a hand as if to

steady me, and then I understood.

"Time has improved our relationship, M'len." I grinned at him. "I had not imagined you so anxious to see me."

"The blood, I thought, that is .. ." He took his hand from my shoulder and ran it through his blond beard. His blue eyes

were keen and icy.

"I thought you were hurt," he began again, looking pointedly at my bloodstained garment. "I see I was mistaken."

"Only a fresh meal I took with Santh on the trail.” I reached out to take his fine-boned, freckled hand. "It is good to

see you, Liaison. What have the winds blown you?" I dropped his hand and stripped the surcingle from Santh,

slinging it over my left shoul-der. The hulion, sniffing loudly, his head to the ground, disappeared around the first

corner to our right. I let him go.

M'lennin had not answered, but stood, watching Santh. His back was to me.

"He is immense," the Liaison said. "Twice the size of his sister."

"Males are often bigger than females," I reminded him.

"But not always," said he, turning to face me. M'lennin and I are the same height. "Time has been easy on you," he

observed.

"And you also," I lied. I could see new lines upon his boyish face, and silver in his flaxen hair. I moved to join him

where he had seated himself on the bot-tommost of the three steps that led up into the keep proper.

"You did not answer me," I reminded him, "when I asked of your affairs. I assume you have been profitably engaged?

We have not seen you in Astria for more time than is customary." I had not seen M'lennin since the end of the

couch-bond.

He shrugged. "You seemed to wish it so," he said softly, examining his booted feet. "Should I have sought you there?

When we parted, you wanted nothing from me that I could give. Nor has there been any amendment to the trade

arrangements. They have stood unaltered since you took up control of the Well." His eyes met mine. "Did you come

here to try me again? I doubt your luck will be better now than it was then."

M'lennin had not changed. He was bitter, still, that he had not brought child upon me in the year I had spent with him,

and hurt that his feelings for me were more than I could return. He had wanted me to him-self, and had managed to

acquire me for a year. When the year was over, I left with no regret. It had not been so for M'lennin. During that year

he had tried to manipulate the trade balance in the Well through me. He had not succeeded. I had thwarted his plans in

more ways than one. M'lennin was used to getting his way. I, also, like control of my situation. There was much

discord between us.

I did not answer.

"If not my glorious body," he asked again, "then what brings you here? And why alone? How will the Well fare

without its Keepress?"

"I came," said I, snatching the opening, "because I have taken up the chaldra of the mother. It must be done without

aid from the Well. I have the Day-

Keeper's leave to pursue this end. I would have your help. These things," I said as I handed him the cube and letter,

"were my lever with Ristran. He will pick them up from you. I need the copies, computer evaluation, anything that will

help me discharge this chaldra."

M'lennin turned the cube in his hands.

"How did you come by this? I thought there were no such viewers in Astria? You did not get it through me."

"It is old, before your time and mine. In my moth-er's time we had looser standards. We had surveil-lance devices in

the Well. My mother made the tape, and it was held for me. On it is the record of my conception. It shows my father.

The chaldra in-volves—" I stopped, for he had raised his hand.

"Estri, I have guests in the dining hall. This is a long and complicated story, it seems, and dinner lies cooling on the

plates. I will give you what I can in the way of aid. Perhaps you can also aid me. Will you stay the night?"

I nodded. I could see no way around it, though I knew he would exact his price.

"Have you something else I might wear? And I would wash the trail dust from me before I meet your guests." I plucked

at my bloodstained tas jerkin.

He got to his feet, lifting me from the step.

"I have kept your things. They are in the room you had. I will walk you there, and you can tell me more of this chaldra."

He smiled, guiding me down the corridor, his hand at the small of my back. "It is an interesting twist, you coming here

for such specialized assistance. I think I will much enjoy aiding you." He chuckled.

We stopped at the door to his sleeping quarters, and I waited while he locked the cube and letter in his private vault

and called the house computer to alter the dinner plan. It clicked disapprovingly. I leaned against the blue wall in that

blue room that I had thought never to see again. Caught up tight in the weave of some strong time skein, I felt very

help-

less. M'lennin made no move to leave, but lit a pipe and threw one leg over his desk and leaned there, puffing the mild

aromatic smoke.

"Who are these guests we keep waiting?" I asked, to remind him.

"The new Liaison Second, bound to Arlet, and his pilot. We Liaisons would rather fly than walk."

"What?" I clutched my chald. Still tighter wove the weave. "What happened to the old Liaison Second?"

"He died of natural causes. He was an old man," said M'lennin, eyeing me curiously. "Did you know him? You seem

upset."

"No," I whispered, "but I must go to Arlet from here." Now I knew why I had felt need to hurry here. I shook my head

and rubbed my hands across my eyes.

"To Arlet? In connection with the chaldra?" he asked.

"I must meet with a Day-Keeper there. I had thought to take residence in Well Arlet, but under another name. There is

need for secrecy. I have much to discuss with you, Mien, and little time."

He waved me out of the room, and followed, palm-ing the door shut. We hurried down the corridor, past three doors

on the left. Before the fourth he stopped.

"Perhaps we can settle this here, and you will not have to journey to Arlet. The new Liaison Second, Khaf-Re Dellin,

and his pilot must stay here a few days. He is young, and has never before been to Silistra. The old Liaison's death

was sudden, and Dellin is being shoved into this thing unprepared. He needs more than briefing and language tapes

before taking on the second-greatest Well on Silistra. I must work with him before he settles into his responsibili-ties."

He grinned. "I may ask your aid with him. Who knows Silistrans better than the Well-Keepress of Astria?" He leaned

against the wall, fingering his beard.

"Tomorrow," he continued, for I had not replied, "I will start early with you, at sun's rise, if you wish, and

we will see what can be learned from the letter and viewer. There is ample time to arrange your passage with Dellin, if

we decide it is prudent. Tonight we will eat and enjoy each other's company, and Dellin will meet the high-couch of

Silistra." He rubbed his hands together. "This is really most opportune."

"But I would start—"

"No," he interrupted me firmly. "No chaldra, no business, no predictions. Not tonight. Tonight you see to my aid and

comfort, tomorrow I to yours. It is a fair trade." He touched the red block beside the door, it glowed, and the panel slid

soundlessly aside.

"You will find it unchanged," said he, and waved me within.

It was true. The room that had been mine two years ago was exactly as I had left it. I shivered as I en-tered. M'lennin

followed, and the door closed us in. I stood in the midst of all the off-world opulence imaginable. Thrah-skins from

Torth covered the floor, multicolored and luminous, and the pile was ankle-deep. The curtains were wine plush,

heavy-napped and glowing, like tiers of strung rubies, woven on the looms of Pleiatus. The Pleiatu are the master

weavers of the known galaxy, and their magnificent dyes are their greatest secret. The table and two chairs were

carved from the white bone of the wistwa, giant sea-beast of Oguast. The windows behind the tables, framed by those

bloodred curtains, were quartz cry-stal slabs from M'lennin's home planet, M'ksakka. The only thing Silistran-made was

the couch itself. It was double to my own thala well-couch, crafted by Astria's own masters.

I was unsettled that M'lennin had done this thing. There was no dust on the wistwa table, no wrinkle hi the

resplendent silken hangings from Kost. It was as if he had made a shrine of this place. It felt wrong; I did not like it.

I liked less the look on the Liaison's face. I turned from him and knelt before the low chest beneath the windows. In it

were the clothes I had brought with

me from Astria. I stripped off the jerkin and threw it aside. The silence screamed its message. I freed my hair, and it fell

around me.

I rummaged in the chest, finding at last what I sought—a comb and two gold clips, and a length of embroidered Koster

silk.

These I laid beside me on the pile rug. I sat on my heels, naked, and with the comb I went to work on my ratted hair.

Through the curtain of its strands I saw M'lennin's booted feet appear in front of me.

"Mien—" I said, before his hand twisted in my hair and pushed my head hard to the floor between my knees. I felt with

my hands for him, but he caught them up behind my back.

"Did you think I would give you the chance?" he, growled as he used me so brutally I cried out. "Did you think I

would wait while you read my mind and manipulated me, while you witched me again? No. This time you will take what

I see fit to give you, my way."

It did not last very long. When he let me go, T rolled over and looked up at him. To use a Silistran woman so that the

precious sperm is wasted is a great insult. I would have, had he wished it, made love with him. He had not wished it. It

had been painful, the more so because I could not move to ease him.

He stood above me, already buckling his gold-studded belt. I would not give him more satisfaction. If I could have

avoided it, I would not have cried out.

"I know the way to the dining hall," I said. "I will meet you there."

He looked down at me as I lay there, on my back on the Torth pelt. For a moment I thought he would speak. Instead, he

turned on his heel and in three strides was out of the room, slapping the lock without looking back.

"Have I hurt you so deeply, M'len?" I asked softly of the empty room. It appeared that I had. I explored my-self with

my hand, and finding no blood, rolled to my feet.

As I made my way into the adjoining washroom,

I picked from the pile of silk my bone comb. In the shower I attacked my ratted hair section by section. When it was

tangle-free, I lathered my body and leaned back, letting the steaming spray run long over my aching buttocks.

I flipped the knob that controlled the shower's tem-perature, holding my breath as the icy needles struck.

The cold was invigorating, but it did not cool my inner heat. I was still much aroused. I smiled to my-self, thinking of

M'len. I hadn't thought him capable of such ferocity. That was my mistake. It lies waiting in all men. I had made the

novice's error of allowing my conception of the man to blind me to his needs.

No one is perfect, I decided as I padded on squish-ing feet back into the apartment. It had turned out the better for my

surprise. By surrendering control of the situation, by expressing my pain and humilia-tion, I had gained an edge. And

perhaps I could ex-ploit it.

I stood on the Torth pelt wringing my hair dry. The smell of the room, of star steel and damp clean body, of my own

need, excited me.

Finally I was dripped dry enough to dress. I wound the Koster silk, all embroidered in gem tones, around. my body,

and clipping two ends at the neck and the others at my hip, drew it taut over my breasts and hips. Then I regarded

myself in the mirror behind the couch. My skin gleamed from the needle spray of the shower. I tingled all over. My

image reassured me. Even with my hair still damp, and parted simply, I looked well. There were no toilet maids to dress

me here. I would have to get used to caring for my own needs. I had done it in the past. I reached back and took the

curling mass of my hair where it fell over my hips and squeezed once more. The drops ran down my legs and dripped

on the rug.

I inspected my reflection once again. Good enough, I thought, and tossed the bone comb on the couch. The rust silk

set me off to my best advantage. There was, however, something missing. Thoughtfully, I dis-engaged the clip that

held the two ends of the silk

strap together at my right hip. I lifted the ends and stuffed them through my chald, so that they were tightly belted to

my waist. Then I refastened the clip higher on my thigh. I fingered my father's ring for a moment. Better. I turned,

slowly, full around. Much better.

As I made my way to the dining hall, my anticipa-tion heightened. My hungers had sorted themselves out. I was more

than ready to eat, and the smell of roast parr and fried grintafish made my mouth water.

M'lennin's back was toward me, and he was en-gaged in animated conversation with one of his visi-tors, he whom I

took to be the pilot, for his hair was cut close to the head, and he wore a tight-fitting brown uniform, that of his

vocation. The small dark man was almost hidden behind a pile of Silistran fruit of every conceivable variety. I stood in

the door-way scanning the room, as is my wont. All the food upon the table was Silistran. M'lennin never ate local

produce. There was a whole parr, its skin shining with glaze, its square snout propped up in the air by the name fruit

between its teeth. There was a side of denter, with roast tuns, a starchy dark-skinned tuber, for garnish. The table, as

long as my body and half as wide, was overflowing with meats and vegetables and fruits. There were four large

decanters, two of an amber liquid which I took to be brin, for it bubbled and frothed, and two darker, almost certainly

kifra wines. It was an impressive spread, and would have fed forty, rather than four. M’lennin was consistent, at least,

in his excess.

M'len and the pilot had not noticed me. I stepped silently into the hall, planning to cross the marble floor

unannounced.

I had made perhaps a third of the distance when a hand came down firmly from behind me on my left shoulder.

Reflexively I dropped and kicked out. I felt my foot connect with something hard. Crouching free, I pulled my hair back

from my face.

My would-be attacker was on his knees, clutching his diaphragm.

M'lennin and the pilot were leaning on each other, laughing hysterically. I saw the overturned chairs and spilled fruit

on the floor, and the menial robot clicking irritably as it scurried to set things right.

"I would introduce you two," gasped the Liaison through tears of laughter, "but I see you have already met."

My adversary raised his head to me, steadying him-self with one hand on the floor as he rose. I, too, got to my feet.

My hands on my hips, I regarded him. I did not think the situation humorous. I have had much train-ing from the

Slayers. My teacher, Rin diet Tron, would say I have many moves. I would say I have a few, though I am no match for

a Silistran Slayer.

"My apologies, lady," said my attacker. He was a good head taller than I, dark-complexioned, with a great mass of

black hair. Under straight, pronounced brows his eyes were gray, frank, open. A smile played at the corners of his

mouth. I thought him very attrac-tive, though overly muscled. I had brought him down through luck, and he knew it.

He weighed perhaps thrice what I carried. He rubbed his middle.

"I am Estri," said I, extending my hand palm up. I would not exchange apologies with him. I smiled and nodded my

head.

"Khaf-Re Dellin," said he. His voice was pleasant, low and rich. His large hand, palm down, enveloped mine. The back

of his hand was fleeced with black silky hair. He wore a white, collared shirt, and the black shorts I knew were part of

the Liaison dress code, though M'len always wore pants and boots.

His eyes had mine, and we stood there, palms touching, longer than was appropriate. Neither of us spoke. I searched

for something to say, but I was mute. Instead I disengaged my hand and turned to M'len-nin.

"You had better teach him some manners before he goes to Arlet," I advised in a low voice.

"Perhaps you will do it for me," he said, giving me a piercing stare. He stepped between us and put his

arm around Dellin's shoulder. He had to reach up to do it. The Liaison First said something to the Liaison Second in a

voice too low for me to catch his mean-ing-

"Seat yourself, Keepress," said M'lennin. I did so, choosing a spot before the platter of parr. I winced when my bottom

settled on the padded bench.

Mien, standing over me, grinned and reached un-der the table. When his hand reappeared, it held a cushion. I took it

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HIGHCOUCHOFSILISTRA(RETURNINGCREATION)byJanetE.MorrisHIGHCOUCHOFSILISTRAABantamBook/May1977Allrightsreserved.Copyright©1977byJanetMorrisThisbookmaynotbereproducedinwholeorinpart,bymimeographoranyothermeans,withoutpermission.Forinformationaddress:BantamBooks,Inc.ISBN0-553-10522-1Publishedsimultaneous...

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Janet Morris - Silistra 1 - High Couch of Silistra

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