The Vartosu colonel grunted. "Sounds like someone's wild imagination."

The captain shrugged. "I heard it from a member of Lord Fakoda's staff. Apparently the matter came up in a session of the Diet yesterday, and the Kalif didn't deny it."

"Beautiful, you said," someone else commented. "It's a shame to let beauty go to waste."

The subject was dropped then. There was too little information. After another hour or so, and a couple more drinks, Veeri excused himself, saying he needed to be back at his desk at 9 a.m.-his first outright lie of the evening.

He didn't pay a lot of attention to the scenery on the way back down. He was thinking about the rumor-about the Kalif and Tain. Not doubting it for a moment. He knew, he told himself, what Tain Faronya could do to a man's judgment.

He also knew that the Kalif was supposed to marry only a virgin. Over the centuries, several had made mistresses of women who hadn't qualified. Which had led to abdications or impeachments.

Apparently this Kalif had decided to exercise subterfuge to have his way. And had sacrificed him as part of it, destroying his marriage, his position, his future.

He couldn't, just now, see anything to do about it, though-anything that didn't amount to suicide.

Twenty-two

The curtains of the Kalif's study were drawn back and the doors slid wide to the garden, letting in the morning sun. He entered through them, his hair still slightly damp from the needle shower that had followed his workout and brief massage, and he smelled faintly of soap. A guard stood at ease beside the garden door, and the Kalif exchanged greetings with him. As he sat down, he keyed on his commset and spoke. "Partiil, if Alb Jilsomo is there, I'll see him now."

"He just came in, Your Reverence. And Mr. Balcaava is also here."

"Good! Send them both in."

A moment later the two men entered. "Good morning, Jilsomo," the Kalif said, then gave his attention to the other, who bowed deeply. "Good morning, Balcaava. You have the plans?"

"Yes, Your Reverence." He handed a sheaf of papers to the Kalif. "I believe they are as you specified when we talked yesterday."

The Kalif looked them over quickly but thoroughly, then handed them back. "They're fine. Do them."

"Thank you, Your Reference." Balcaava bowed again, then turned and left, almost hurrying, as if anxious to get on with them.

"You're carrying through on your intention that the wedding be small," Jilsomo said.

The Kalif nodded. "We both want it that way. The traditional kalifal wedding ties up the Kalif for a week, and costs a great deal of money. And Tain is shy of crowds."

"Of course, Your Reverence." Jilsomo paused, then went on. "I wouldn't feel so concerned if you were having a royal reception afterward. People feel they should have an opportunity to see their new kalifa."

The Kalif smiled slightly. "What people?"

"Sir?"

Instead of answering, the Kalif touched his commset. "Partiil, I will see no one till further notice. It may be half an hour." He turned then to his bodyguard. "Mondar, I need to speak privately with the exarch."

He watched the guard out the garden door and saw it close before he said anything more. Then he turned to Jilsomo again. " What people feel they should have an opportunity to see the new kalifa?"

"A great number of nobles and numerous well-to-do gentry. Also any prelates that could reasonably be here, and no doubt many of the Pastorate as well. There may well be more interest in Tain Faronya than in any kalifa ever."

The Kalif grinned. "Well then, my friend, I say let anyone see her who has access to television."

Jilsomo stared. The Kalif nodded.

"That's right. I've ordered the ceremony broadcast."

The exarch stared for a moment, then looked at the idea thoughtfully. "It's unprecedented, Your Reverence. It's like inviting all of Varatos. The entire gentry will be watching. Even peasants."

The Kalif's eyebrows arched. "Surely you don't object to gentry watching. Or peasants. I know you too well. And I'm Kalif to all of them. Peasants included."

"You are indeed, Your Reverence. But there are those who will object-undoubtedly some in the College, and any number of nobles. It seems to me-impolitic. At this time. Considering the battles you expect on the invasion issue."

The Kalif's lips pursed; then he smiled. "On the contrary; it is highly politic. Consider. Those who would criticize for broadcasting the wedding will be those who would oppose my plans anyway. With perhaps scattered exceptions on both sides. On the other hand… What is the kalifa called, Jilsomo?"

"Why… The mother of the empire."

"Indeed. And are not mothers held inviolate? What is one of the worst curses?"

"Motherless scum. And mother curser. But that… Your Reverence, people do not really think of a kalifa as their mother. That's only a figure of speech."

"Because they do not know the kalifa. Kalifas have been remote from their people. This one, my friend, they will see close up, at her wedding, and they will not forget it. They will see a very beautiful kalifa, with a face like an angel." He shook his head. "Marvelous that The Prophet described angels as golden-haired.

"No, it is politic indeed to let them see her." He peered quizzically at his lieutenant. "What is her surname?"

"Um-Faronya."

"How many syllables?"

"Three, Your Reverence. But…"

"Indeed. And while no gentry who gives thought to it will say she is one of them, they will receive her as one of them anyway. Accepting the label as the item."

The Kalif had been leaning toward Jilsomo. Now he sat back, relaxing, and lowered his voice as if in confidence. "Good friend, you, and the others of the College, and the House of Nobles-all those involved in politics-overlook the gentry because they have no vote. You take them for granted; even you. But the gentry have strong potential influence, and I will tap it."

Jilsomo's fat face was sober with thought. Gentry outnumbered the nobility by more than four to one. "Your Reverence, The Prophet, although he was gentry, and the Church ever since, have stressed that the commons must obey the nobility in all matters under the law."

"And the Church has long taught that they must obey any lawful orders of the Kalif. In this case, a Kalif who has looked to their welfare more than most have."

He shook off the argument impatiently. "Look. It's likely that I can get the Diet to finance an invasion. But there will be give and take. Compromises. Deals. Realignments.

"And when the invasion fleet sets out, I'll be recognized as the most powerful Kalif ever." He thought he saw doubt on Jilsomo's face. "I will be! And that will be the time for reforms. What good is power if I don't use it? For the good of the empire.

"Maolaari will have its permission to export loohio! The Pastorate will have more than a voice in the Diet; they will have votes! And the gentry will at least be heard there."

He realized he'd been talking more loudly, and lowered his voice. "For the empire to continue as it has would be deadly to it. We can either change it, or by inaction damn it. And action is my native state."

He sat quiet then. Action indeed, Jilsomo thought. "Your Reverence, I will support you in this as strongly as I'm able. But you must not be surprised if I am troubled by it at times. I am not a-revolutionary."

The word took the Kalif by surprise. Revolutionary. He's right; that's what I am-a covert revolutionary. He sat for a long moment regarding the fact. It seemed to him important that Jilsomo had pointed it out.

The noon sun was hot, but a breeze was blowing. Tain and the Kalif ate outside, in the garden beneath an awning.