"It's kind-it's very kind of you to have come," she went on. "Oh, this is so wet, I can't pull it off. D'you mind helping me?" She laughed. She couldn't help thinking it was funny that he should have supposed that she might want another girl to be present. It did not occur to her that perhaps he himself might have preferred it.

If so, he made no more of it, but helped her off with the damp, clinging dress and shift as smoothly as even Terebinthia could have done.

"You feel quite easy and natural with nothing on, do you?"

"Oh, that's what U-Lenkrit asked me on the river bank." She found herself pouring out to him the story of the Olmen crossing, for it still rankled.

"So that was all the thanks I got," she ended.

"Well," he said, "they were the ones who lost dignity there; not you."

"Lost dignity, U-Nasada? That seems a funny old way of looking at it."

"Well, maybe," he answered, smiling at her in the most relaxed way as she sat naked before him. "Anyway, I'd better have a look at the bites. How many were there, do you know?"

"Well, three for certain-the ankle here, and the back of the knee, and this thigh. But might be one or two more for all I know."

"None between your legs-I mean, in the private parts? Only that can be serious, especially if it goes unnoticed: we'd better make sure. You don't mind that, either? My hands, I mean?"

Lying down on the bed, she answered, "I shan't bite, U-Nasada."

"Bite? Like the akrebah, you mean?"

"No; like the Sacred Queen's dog." And while he examined her she told him the story of Fornis's unhesitant handling of the guard-hound which could have bitten either of her hands through.

"Well," he said at length, "I'm as good as certain you've got nothing to worry about, though it might be as well to make sure tomorrow. My eyes are every bit as old as I am, you see, and though doctors often have to work by

lamplight, it's not ideal. You're not to go putting those wet clothes back on: you're to get into bed now, Maia of Serrelind. That was my other reason for coming-to make sure you get a good night's sleep. Will you take a sleeping-draft if I make one? It's not very strong."

"Yes, I'll do whatever you say, U-Nasada." She drew up the ragged coverlet and put a cushion under her head.

"Comfortable?"

"I never noticed this morning-I was that tired-but it's a deal more comfortable than I reckoned. What's in this mattress, then?"

"Dried sedge and rushes are what they mostly use here. A few feathers, perhaps. Better than straw, I've always found."

He pulled up his sleeve, disclosing round his forearm a broad leather strap with six or seven small pockets, each of which contained a stoppered, bronze phial. Seeing Maia stare, he unbuckled it and handed it to her.

"Never seen anything like that before?"

"No, I never." Maia was fascinated by the novelty of the contrivance and the neatness of its workmanship.

"I made it myself. It comes in useful."

"You ought to make some more. You could sell them in Bekla: get rich."

He laughed. "Perhaps I will one day. Tell me about Bekla. Is that where you learned not to be ashamed of showing people that you're beautiful?"

She told him how she had been enslaved; about Occula, Lalloc, Terebinthia and the High Counselor. She found herself longing to tell him the truth about Kembri and her flight from Bekla, and with a little encouragement might even have done so. He listened silently, however, sitting hunched on the three-legged stool and scarcely moving except now and then to trim the smoking lamp.

"And are you tired of all your adventures?" he asked at length. "You're young to have had so many."

"Oh, U-Nasada, it's the danger I'm so tired of," she answered. "You can't imagine how tired! Danger-it scares you-it wears you out."

"You're not in danger now."

"No: but I wish I knew what was going to happen."

"I think I can help you there: we'll talk tomorrow evening. It's too late now-time to sleep."

Searching, he found a clay cup, into which he poured

the contents of one of the phials, mixing it with water from the covered jar by the bed.

"This is just dried okra leaves, really. There's some tessik mixed in, but only a touch." He smiled. "You'll wake up in the morning, I promise."

She drank it down. It was bitter and sabulous, leaving grains on her tongue.

"Did you like being at the High Counselor's?" he asked.

Maia realized that if Bayub-Otal or Lenkrit had asked this question, she would unthinkingly have replied "I was a slave-girl." But for some reason that was not good enough for this man. He deserved a better answer-chiefly because he had not asked the question contemptuously, as they would have done. He knew very well, she thought, that there were some things about the High Counselor's which she had enjoyed; and he wasn't blaming her for it, either.

"I didn't like being shut up indoors so much." He waited. "Oh, but the clothes, U-Nasada, and the food! A girl like me, see, couldn't ever have expected to live like that. The upper city-you've no idea-oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

He was not in the least offended. "And did you enjoy giving him pleasure?"

"Well, I did after Occula'd taught me the right way to look at it. It was work, see? I didn't get much real, bodily pleasure myself-well, you couldn't, could you?-but I did enjoy feeling he was rich and powerful and could have anything he liked, and that what he liked was me. He was. a brute, really-a filthy beast, everyone knew that. If I hadn't suited him, he'd just have got rid of me. But he didn't; that's the truth of it, U-Nasada. I mean, that was what I liked."

"Did you always live by Lake Serrelind-before Bekla, I mean?"

"Yes, all my life."

"You're quite sure?"

She frowned, puzzled. "Yes, of course. Why?" Then she laughed. "Dare say that's why I took to Bekla, d'you reckon? Country girl never been anywhere before?"

"And your father-he died when you were still quite a little girl?"

"No, I was nine when he died: I remember him well. I liked Dad: he was always good to me. It was only after he died, really, that Mother got so bad-tempered and sour."

"I suppose there's never been any doubt that he was your father? Has anyone ever told you anything else?"

If she had not taken such a liking to him-and if she hadn't been beginning to feel so drowsy-she would have resented this.

"Never." She giggled. " 'Course, I wasn't just exactly there at the time, was I?"

He laughed too; then shrugged, evidently dismissing the subject. "Feeling sleepy?"

"M'm, very. Thank you, U-Nasada. I don't feel half so bad about everything now. You'll see I don't get ill, won't you?"

"Well, that's what I promised Anda-Nokomis. If only you do what I tell you, there's no reason at all why a healthy girl like you should get ill here. Suba's not half as bad as it's painted, you know, to people who understand it. Shall I tell Luma to bring her bed in? You won't wake, but you may as well have her here. Looking after you's what she's been told to do."

"Yes, ask her." But before the Suban girl had dragged her mattress and blankets up the ladder, Maia was sleeping so soundly that she did not stir even when Luma stumbled over her sandals in the dark.