"I'm sure we could get that one out easily."

She took out a little leather bag, and from that a tiny knife, and some bundles of herbs. She wetted one of them and rubbed damp leaves on the place where the edge of the coin showed. "It will kill the pain," she said.

Mara watched, suffering. Leta saw this, and said, "I told you, I learned everything I could from the men who came to Mother's house. I've learned some medicine."

After about five minutes, she rubbed the little knife against another bunch of leaves, and made a tiny slit just above the scar and at once the coin was visible. Leta picked it out. Dann said, "It doesn't hurt," and she said, "Yes, but it will hurt a little soon."

"We should stay here until Dann is better," said Mara and Daulis said, "It's dangerous to stay."

Mara untied another coin, and said, "Go down and bribe them. It's not likely anyone is going to offer them more than this."

"Not in a year," said Daulis, and took the coin and went out.

When he came back he said he had booked the room for another day and he thought they would be safe.

Leta wrapped a cloth around her hair, to make herself unnoticed, and said she was going out to see the town. Mara wanted to go too but Daulis said she should stay. Dann asked Leta to buy him something to wear. He had only his soiled and torn coachman's garb.

Leta went, and then Mara asked, "Now, tell us about this Centre. Why are you taking us there?"

"All I can say is that they have plans for you both. Shabis told me, and it's not much more than he knows."

"But that 'not much more' is the point."

"Yes. But I'm not going to tell you more. Shabis said not. You'll find out. You've got some sort of choice to make." "It's because we are Mahondis?" "Yes."

"Where are all these Mahondis we were told are everywhere?" "There are very few of us left."

"Does that matter?" said Mara, for now she had seen so many different kinds of people, in different regions, it was hard to think one was better than another.

"I think there are people who dream of the time when Mahondis ruled all Ifrik." "All?" "All."

"Did we rule well?"

Daulis laughed. "We ruled well from the point of view of the Mahondis."

"So there are many people who do not remember Mahondi rule kindly?"

"You know, people forget quickly. This Mahondi empire was — let's see — at its height about three hundred years ago."

"So recent. And there are still people who think it should come back?"

"It is Leta who should come back. I'm getting worried."

And they were all three anxious, as the hours passed. Then Leta did come back. She had bought all kinds of things useful for travelling: two of the long black and white striped gowns, the Sahar robes, worn by men. Then she inspected Dann's little wound and said it was almost healed. She said she was glad she was leaving Kanaz, it was a horrible town. The praying men were everywhere, and they had sticks, and if someone was behaving improperly, in their view, they might hit buttocks, shoulders, or even heads. "Lucky I wrapped myself up well: they beat women if they don't like the look of us."

Dann wanted to know how much money they would need to bribe the frontier guards, to get into Tundra; but Daulis said, "Believe me, you don't bribe these guards."

"That's unusual."

"It is the regime that is unusual, you'll see. It's quite new, and still virtuous."

"How new?" asked Mara.

"Oh about a hundred years. So the usual rot will set in soon, I suppose. If it hasn't already."

After supper they each lay on a separate pallet, talking into the dark, until one after another they fell asleep.

Next morning they had to choose between using a coach again, or a conveyance like Dalide's, a light carriage, with mules. They could not face another day of shaking, so chose the carriage, which would take two days to the frontier. It was as uncomfortable in the carriage as in the coach. The driver kept the mules at a steady pace, but the road was rough. They were all sick, the driver having to pull his mules up so they could get out. And they were cold. A thin, chilly cloud blew past above them and, on the higher parts of the road, came down low enough to hide the country they were travelling through. Leta seemed ill. When Mara said she hated the woolly whiteness hiding everything, Leta said she liked it, and confessed that the vastness of the landscape frightened her. "Too much space," she whispered, hiding her eyes as they came out again from the obscuring mists. The other three consulted with each other, but with their eyes. It was occurring to them that this woman had been sheltered inside Mother Dal-ide's house, had scarcely ever gone out, had been fed and kept warm, in a horrible and degrading safety, but safety. And here she was out in the world, with no idea at all of what would happen to her.

Mara put her arm around her, and felt her trembling.

Leta let her head fall on Mara's shoulder and whispered, "Mara, have I made a terrible mistake?"

The jolting and rattling were such that Mara had to say to the two men, sitting opposite, "Leta is afraid she has made a mistake in coming with us," and at once Daulis leaned forward and, all concern, took Leta's hands and said, "No, Leta, no, of course you must be feeling bad. It's our fault for not thinking about it."

"When you go back, please take me, Daulis, I don't think I can keep up with you, I really feel ill when I look and see. It goes on and on and it is so cold and so ugly."

This was an interval in the mist, and Mara thought that this great, sombre landscape had a beauty, though the chilly dampness of everything was not where she felt at home. Was this really Ifrik? — she had been thinking.

Daulis still held Leta's hands, and a jolt brought her forwards, and he lifted her. He said something to Dann, who precariously slid in beside Mara as Daulis settled Leta in beside him. There she clung to him and wept. This proud, strong woman with her lean, hawk face was at this moment not unlike her pet Crethis.

It was a long day, a bad one, the worst since Bilma. The inn the driver stopped at in the evening, was large, being on this main route North, but looked poor and shabby. It stood in the main street — the sole street of a village that had clearly come into being only because of the inn. When the four got out, the driver said he would come for them in the morning, and demanded payment for that day. Mara had already paid him. There was an argument, which caused interest among groups of people going into the inn. Dann said to Mara, "Don't draw attention." She gave the driver a little more money. He grumbled, but went off. And now there was no need to discuss what they must do next. There was a shop, of the kind that supplied travellers' needs, and in it was a whole wall hung with every sort of cloak, cape and shawl. They bought capes of the kind that has a hole in, for the head, and large enough to make bed coverings, for they had been cold at night. And they chose grey, not the bright or cleverly woven patterns, because they did not want to be noticed.

At the inn across the road, they were given a room without comment, and the innkeeper did not show any particular interest in them. But they were uneasy, and Dann said that this was the most dangerous part of their journey: tonight and tomorrow night. The daytime was probably safe, because pursuers would be looking for them on the coaches, would not expect them to risk themselves fully visible on almost empty roads. Besides, unless these pursuers were officials, they would not have money for a carriage. Which brought the four, hiding in their room with the door well barred, to the question, Which pursuers? Representing what, or whom? How could they be recognised? If the Bilma Councillors still hoped to sell Dann and Mara to Charad, then they would not send officials, but hired ruffians. If it was the long arm of Charad they had to fear, then, again, it would be disguised as a beggar, or a pickpocket or a thief. Or a gang of thieves. Or a servant in this inn... "So, what's new?" said Dann. "I'm frightened," said Mara.