One mentioned only a "perturbed lady," reporting that she was restless and that she had written a missive to a Director, asking for a moment of his time in private at the feast, and asking him to keep her letter confidential. Dalton knew the woman to whom the message referred, and, because of that, he knew also it would be Director Linscott to whom she had written-the person writing the message for him knew better than to write down names.

He suspected the reason for the restless part. It was the desire for the private meeting that concerned him. The message said the woman's letter was somehow lost, and never delivered.

Dalton slipped the messages back into the compartment for later review and replaced the drawer. He was going to have to do something about the woman. What, he didn't yet know.

Overreacting could sometimes cause as much trouble as doing nothing. It might be he need only give the woman an ear, let her vent her pique, as perhaps she meant to do with Director Linscott. Dalton could just as easily hear her grievance. Someone, somewhere in his intricate cobweb of contacts, would give him the bit of information he needed to make the right decision, and if not, talking to the woman in a reassuring manner might smooth things enough to give him the direction he needed.

Dalton had only had his new post a short time, but he'd wasted none of it in establishing himself in nearly every aspect of life at the estate. He became a useful colleague to many, a confidant to others, and shield to a few. Each method, in its own way, earned him loyalty. Along with the gifted people he knew, his evergrowing cobweb of connections virtually hummed like a harp.

From the first day, though, Dalton's primary objective had been to make himself indispensable to the Minister. During his second week on the job, a «researcher» had been sent out to the estate libraries by one of the Directors from the Office of Cultural Amity. Minister Chanboor had not been pleased. The truth be known, he had flown into a resentful rage, not an uncommon response from Bertrand Chanboor when presented with worrisome, even ominous, news.

Two days after the researcher arrived, Dalton was able to inform Minister Chanboor that the man had ended up getting himself arrested, drunk and in the bed of a harlot back in Fairfield. None of that was a crime of any consequence, of course, even though it would have looked bad enough to some of the Directors, but the man was found to have had an extremely rare and valuable book in the pocket of his coat.

An extremely rare and valuable book written by none other than Joseph Ander himself. The ancient text, valuable beyond price, had been reported missing from the Minister of Culture's estate right after the researcher went off drinking.

At Dalton's instructions, the Directors' office was immediately-informed of the book's disappearance-hours before the culprit was apprehended. With the report, Dalton had sent his personal assurance to the Directors that he would not rest until the malefactor was found, and that he intended to launch an immediate public investigation to discover if such a cultural crime was the precursor to a treasonous plot. The stunned silence from the Office of the Directors had been thunderous.

The magistrate in Fairfield, the one for whom Dalton had once worked, was an admirer of the Minister of Culture, serving as he did at the Minister's pleasure, and of course did not take lightly the theft from the Anderith Library of Culture. He recognized the theft for what it was: sedition. The researcher who had been caught with the book was swiftly put to death for cultural crimes against the Anderith people.

Far from quelling the scandal, this caused the air to become rampant with ugly rumors of a confession, taken before the man was put to death-a confession, it was said, that implicated others. The Director who had sent the man to the estate to do "research," rather than be associated with a cultural crime, as a point of honor and in order to end speculation and innuendo, had resigned. Dalton, as the Minister's official representative looking into the whole affair, after reluctantly taking the Director's resignation, issued a statement discrediting the rumors of a confession, and officially closed the entire matter.

An old friend of Dalton's had been fortunate enough to earn the appointment to the suddenly vacant seat for which he had been working nearly his whole life. Dalton had been the first to shake his hand, the hand of a new Director. A more grateful and joyous man Dalton had never met. Dalton was pleased by that, by seeing deserving people, people he loved and trusted, happy.

After the incident, Bertrand Chanboor decided his responsibilities required a closer working relationship with his aide, and designated Dalton as chief of staff, as well as aide to the Minister, thus giving him authority over the entire household. Dalton now reported only to the Minister. The position had also accorded them their latest quarters-the finest on the estate other than those of the Minister himself.

Dalton thought Teresa had been even more pleased about it than he-if that was possible. She was in love with the apartment that came with the elevated authority. She was captivated by the people of noble standing among whom she now mingled. She was intoxicated with meeting important and powerful people who came to the estate.

Those guests, as well as people of the estate, treated Teresa with the deference due one of her high standing, despite the fact that most of them were nobly born and she, like Dalton, was well born but not noble. Dalton had always found matters of birth to be petty, and less consequential than some people thought, once they understood how auspicious allegiances could be considerably more significant to a providential life.

Across the room, Teresa cleared her throat. When Dalton turned from the desk, she lifted her nose and with noble grace stepped out into the sitting room to display herself in her new dress.

His eyes widened. Displaying herself was exactly what she was doing.

The fabric glimmered dreamlike in the light from lamps, candles, and the low fire. Golden patterns of leafy designs swirled across a dark background. Goldcolored piping trimmed seams and edges, drawing attention to her narrow waist and voluptuous curves. The silk fabric of the skirt, like new wheat hugging every nuance of the rolling lowland hills, betrayed the shape of her curvaceous legs beneath.

But it was the neckline that had him speechless. Sweeping down from the ends of her shoulders, it plunged to an outrageous depth. The sight of her sensuous breasts so exposed had a profound effect on him, as arousing as it was unsettling.

Teresa twirled around, showing off the dress, the deeply cut back, the way it sparkled in the light. With long strides' Dalton crossed the room to catch her in his arms as she came back around the second time. She giggled to find herself trapped in his embrace. He bent to kiss her, but she pushed his face away.

"Careful. I've spent hours painting my face. Don't muss it, Dalton."

She moaned helplessly against his mouth as he kissed her anyway. She seemed pleased with the effect she was having on him. He was pleased with the effect she was having on him.

Teresa pulled back. She reached up and tugged the sequined gold ribbons tied to her hair.

"Sweetheart, does it look any longer yet?" she asked in a pleading voice. "It's pure misery waiting for it to grow."

With his new post and attendant new apartments, he was moving up in the world, becoming a man of power. With that new authority came the privileges of rank: his wife was allowed to wear longer hair to reflect her status.

"Other wives in the household wore hair nearly to their shoulders; his wife would be no different, except perhaps that her hair would be just a little longer than all but a few other women in the house, or in the whole land of Anderith for that matter, in the whole of the Midlands. She was married to an important man.