"I don't think so. No."

"Well then, if you'll excuse me." Jilsomo bowed slightly and left.

The Kalif sat down at his commset and touched keys. "Neftha, is there any problem in coming to my apartment now? I need to speak with you… Good. Come by the blue corridor… Five minutes will be fine. Thank you."

He notified the door guards to let Neftha in, then sat back in thought. He'd been handling the council poorly this morning. No, not poorly; damned badly. It was lucky Jilsomo had stepped in. He'd want the support of every exarch possible in the Diet; to pass a special appropriation required approval by seventy percent of the combined two estates: the Prelacy, represented by the College, and the nobility, represented by the House of Nobles. And the College had only eighteen votes, the Nobles twenty-seven.

On the other hand, a Kalif couldn't let himself appear weak or soft. It was better to be overbearing than flabby. But it was better still to seem reasonable while strong.

Neftha arrived in less than five minutes, and was let in. "Your Reverence wanted to see me."

"Right. I need a statement from you. Given orally to Alb Jilsomo. About Tain Faronya."

"Yes, Your Reverence?"

"You will tell him you've made a physical examination of Miss Faronya. You will not tell him when. He'll assume it was later today."

"Yes, sir."

The Kalif's eyes fixed the man. "And you will tell him you found no evidence that she is not a virgin."

The physician had trouble answering. "Your Reverence… I-"

"Good friend, I do not ask you to lie. Truly, you found no evidence that she is not a virgin. You simply failed to find evidence that she is. Surely you see the distinction?"

Neftha avoided his eyes. "Yes, Your Reverence," he said unhappily.

"So then. What will you tell Jilsomo when he sees you at four o'clock?"

"I-That I have examined Miss Faronya. And found no evidence that she is not a virgin. But, Your Reverence-What do I say if he asks me further questions? He's an exarch!"

The Kalif raised an eyebrow. "Further questions are unlikely, if you speak positively enough. Practice if you need to. And seem busy, slightly impatient. Above all, speak firmly. As if you were telling him he must stop eating so much."

He grinned at Neftha, surprising the man. "Do not expect further questions and you're less likely to get any. And if he does ask, simply repeat what you'd already said; tell him that should be plain enough for anyone. Sound exasperated."

When the physician had left, the Kalif's mood slumped. He got to his feet and went into the garden feeling troubled, depressed. It seemed to him he wasn't handling things as well as he should: council, physician, even Jilsomo.

Well, to rule had never been easy, even for kalifs who'd held the throne in uneventful times. Having known Tain, it seemed to him he could never marry anyone else, and if marrying her made the next months more difficult, they at least would pass quickly.

When it came down to it, Neftha couldn't face possible questions from Jilsomo. So he lied to the exarch, telling him the alien woman was indeed a virgin.

"I've spoken with Neftha," Jilsomo said. "Ill reassure the council tomorrow. There's no need for them to wait till Fourday, and it will free their minds of the question."

Alb Jilsomo Savbatso was harder than most men for the Kalif to read; his face was mobile only in the service of his mind, and his eyes were not transparent. But it seemed to the Kalif that the fat exarch must suspect, given what he already knew.

"A question, Your Reverence, if I may."

"Ask."

"Why did you bring up the matter of marriage this morning in council? Or have you decided to wed her sooner than you'd planned?"

"We'll marry in three weeks. She'll receive tutoring from a bride's aunt next week; I wanted to bring it up to the council before that."

Jilsomo's eyebrows questioned the apparent non sequitur.

"At this time," the Kalif went on, "no one knows of my plans except the council and Neftha. Except of course for Tain and I. If there's a traitor, an untrustworthy member in the council, this may well be something he'll pass on to my opponents in the House. And if he does, it will come forcefully to my attention in the Diet."

Jilsomo nodded. In the past, almost all kalifs had named to their councils men who would not disagree chronically or sharply with them. Coso Biilathkamoro, different in so many things, had named, along with others, the conservative Alb Tariil, who opposed him more often than not and who was very influential in the College. And the irascible Alb Thoga, whose hostility could be depended on. "To keep an eye on their actions and a finger on their pulses," was how the Kalif had explained his appointments.

It seemed unlikely though, to Jilsomo, that there was a traitor in the council.

"The bride's aunt will make an examination of her own, will she not?" he asked.

"Of course. That's part of it. But anything she has to say, besides to the bride, she'll say only to the groom, and nothing to him of any substance."

Jilsomo nodded. Whatever she could say, other than to the bride, she wouldn't. A "bride's aunt" was a professional advisor and tutor to brides, and rarely their actual aunt. By tradition and professional ethics, they were utterly discreet. This was true also of the "groom's uncle."

It would probably be all right. He hoped so. Certainly he'd do everything he could to make it so. Because whatever his flaws, this Kalif was the best for a long time, Jilsomo told himself. A very long time.

Twenty

Fourday had come and gone, and Fiveday. Now it was Sixday, the day when, in its season, Kalif Coso Biilathkamoro customarily chaired a session of the Imperial Diet. He gaveled it to order, and himself gave the invocation. After the prayer, the secretary read a summary of the previous session, prepared by SUMBAA and printed out by his primary terminal in the office of the Leader of the House.

When the summary had been read, the Kalif scanned the assembly. It met in a large chamber shaped like a half bowl, with the rather small, slightly tilted bottom holding the exarchs, the noble delegates, and the twelve non-voting delegates of the Pastorate. Separated from them by a marble railing, the sides curved up with row on row of seats, empty now, empty usually. Only on special occasions were invited spectators permitted. Nor did the automatic cameras record the sights and sounds there for broadcast; they recorded for the archives: that is, for SUMBAA.

"At the close of the last session," the Kalif intoned-the sentence was traditional-"it was agreed that the subject then under discussion would be given priority this morning. That subject being the request by the senior delegate from Maolaari for the export of loohio."

Simply mentioning the subject raised hackles and color among the members. He continued:

"Does any member have another subject they would ask priority for, before we proceed?"

A hand shot up, its owner also rising, which was unusual but not out of order.

"Lord Rothka," said the Kalif, "what is your suggestion?"

The narrow mouth opened. "Your Reverence," said Rothka, and the words came sour from his mouth, "I move that we discuss-" He paused then, a pause long and deliberate to draw their attention. "I move that we first discuss Your Reverence's intended marriage."

"I second!" said another, quick beyond chance.

"Indeed?" said the Kalif dryly. "I need not entertain such a motion unless it's a matter falling within the purview of this assembly. And clearly any marriage plans I might have do not."