"And now, Your Reverence, I offer you my resignation from the Guard."

"Of course," the Kalif said. "If you're an only son, you'll need to manage the family enterprise."

"That's not it, Your Reverence. My brother-in-law is the man to manage it; he's been my father's administrative aide for years. But it seemed to me you might feel ill at ease, with me in command of your Guard."

"Um. You're sworn to defend my life. If that now seems unreasonable, or if you prefer not to be near me… Both are easily understood. But I'll be pleased if you stay."

The colonel nodded, a short head bow. "Then I will stay. Meanwhile I'll call my sister, telling her your reparation offer. If she wants another agent than myself, I'll let you know, and he can get in touch."

The two men parted and the Kalif went inside, his mind sorting impressions. Now, it seemed, he knew what Gromindh had meant by "did he now?", when he'd commented that Siisru had died with honor. What had it been like, married to that? Seemingly enough to drive someone to seek death.

Forty-five

The Diet took its regular eight-day break, which began on The Prophet's Day, but the College met on the third of them. The Kalif attended with his arm in a sling. The meeting was short, because there was no Diet business to prepare for and because no one wanted much to talk. But afterward, Jilsomo told him that a letter of deprecation had been circulated, a proposed collegial reprimand of the Kalif. It had come to Jilsomo last. Seven exarchs had signed it, including Alb Riisav, who'd drafted it. With less than a majority willing to sign, Riisav had then withdrawn it.

That even seven were willing jarred the Kalif. It was bad enough that it had been drafted and circulated at all. "I realized," he told Jilsomo thoughtfully, "that Riisav was no friend of mine, but I hadn't realized he was my active enemy."

"Your Reverence, he may possibly consider himself your enemy; to draft a letter of deprecation was a drastic step to take. But in fairness, your actions of the other night, which he enumerated in it and took exception to, are worth your review."

The Kalif's lips thinned. "My actions were well justified. I wish they hadn't been necessary, but… You were there. You heard."

"But they were not the only honorable actions available to you. And arguably not the wisest."

The Kalif's jaw set. Jilsomo continued.

"I took the liberty of copying his letter verbatim, adding my comments. I'll leave it with you, in case you care to look at it; it contains food for thought." He laid it on the Kalif's desk. "And now, by your leave, I'll return to my desk. It's amazing how much work there is on it, considering the Diet is on break and a third of the bureaucracy on leave."

He bowed slightly and left. The Kalif scowled, then picked up the sheets Jilsomo had left with him, his unfriendly eyes assaulting the contents. It was addressed to him, with LETTER OF DEPRECATION centered and capitalized at the head. After the stiffly formal Your Imperial Majesty, instead of simply Your Reverence, there was a list.

1. You engaged publicly in an unseemly verbal and physical brawl with a woman. [One who allows himself to become involved in excrement throwing must expect to get excrement on him.]

The bracketed comment, he decided, was Jilsomo's.

2. The woman was obviously not responsible for her actions. She was either crazy or drunk, and probably both. This was apparent to everyone who saw and heard her.

3. It was obvious that her husband was willing and eager to apologize for her as her agent. Clearly, insane as she was, she was unlikely to apologize for herself. You rejected harshly and with an abusive tone his attempt to conciliate, invited her further vituperation, and virtually forced her husband's challenge. [Here you let go your best opportunity to close the matter without killing.]

4. The law explicitly states that dueling is a felony unless the parties have met before a magistrate and possible alternatives thoroughly discussed. The magistrate must approve the duel. You totally omitted and ignored the law on this. [It has been argued repeatedly, by past Kalifs and their apologists, that a Kalif is above the law, except as stipulated by the Charter. Those who so acted, particularly those who so acted either openly or chronically, have left empire, government, and the people the worse for it.]

5. Accepting the duel without the proper legal steps was a serious transgression of law, but to then fight it on the Holy Day showed a serious disrespect for The Prophet. You should have insisted on a later date, by which time one might hope some alternative would have commended itself to you or to Lord Siisru.

The Kalif's scowl had moderated, become a frown, and he tapped the sheets on his desk. His deflating anger left him sitting heavily like a much older man. He punched a code on his commset, and after a moment spoke to it.

"Jilsomo, thank you for bringing this letter to me. I appreciate it… I have a question for you: Was Thoga one who signed it…? Ask him!" For just a moment anger flashed at Jilsomo's response; then it passed. "I will," he said thoughtfully, and disconnected.

A shame Jilsomo never married, he told himself wryly. He'd be an excellent father.

A question nudged him then: why had he asked Jilsomo about Thoga? He'd surprised himself with that. The reason struck him: Thoga's newly found courage and integrity. With Kargh's light, the little exarch had had the courage to examine and question his entire mode of life and thought, his very motives. And then had had the integrity to accept what he found. If Thoga had signed the letter, it would have been that much more damning.

Well, he would not ask Thoga. He'd ask Kargh, as Thoga had, and accept what Kargh showed him.

The Kalif left his bodyguards, forbidding them to follow, telling them he needed privacy, and walked alone across the grounds to the chapel. The Chapel of the Exarchs had a number of small private rooms, not much more than closets, each with its padded kneeling stool, and to one side, a narrow stained glass window that admitted a limited amount of colored light. He went into one of them, set the lock behind him, and knelt.

He prayed to Kargh to help him, then waited. Thoughts formed, proliferated, were banished. More came into being. After a little he itched. Despite the pads, his knees and shins began to hurt, not severely but enough to distract. Grimly he stayed, back straight, hands on thighs, in the prayer posture he'd been taught as a boy.

The light rays shifted with the wheeling of the sun, till finally, darkening, they spent themselves on the side of the stone window casing. Slowly, stiffly, the Kalif got to his feet. Kargh had not come to him, had not chosen to show him anything. Perhaps he'd been abandoned.

Unnoticed, he left the chapel. He'd have to do and see Right for himself as best he could. He remembered what SUMBAA had said about humankind having to solve its own major problems. Perhaps Kargh had placed the same responsibility on him.

At least Riisav and Jilsomo had cast light on his actions for him. Perhaps Kargh had had something to do with that. He decided, though, to give the credit to the two exarchs, whether or not they were tools of Kargh.

Forty-six

When the Diet met again, the Kalif was there, sitting among the exarchs and swept by the glances of the nobles, some of them hostile, some cold, some merely grim. Seemingly none were sympathetic toward him.