this one experiences over and over in every conflict and every perplexity: that one is alone
It's some time later--after Ehlana has already deduced for herself (by dint of his well-polished letters that are nothing like the usual style that tends to suggest he does his writing with his broadsword) that Sparhawk's been spinning her fairytales (and then shouted at Martel when he couldn't look properly surprised in time), and after Oscagne ( Read more... )
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Some mild-mannered mockery of Stragen ensues, courtesy of Caalador; evidently, Thalesians are addicted to bad ghost stories. As Stragen says: "It gives the copying houses in Emsat something to do now that they've exhausted the body of real literature. We've got a whole subgenre of highly popular books spewing out of grubby garrets on back streets--lurid narratives that all take place in cemeteries or in haunted houses on dark and stormy nights. The whores of Emsat absolutely adore them. I rather expect the policemen at Interior share that taste. After all, a policeman's sort of like a whore, isn't he?"
"A whore is better at her job," Maryani says, cheerfully, "And a lot more honest."
"I didn't exactly follow that," Mirtai tells them, "and I'm not really sure I want to. There's probably something disgusting involved in your thinking. Caalador, will you stop yawning like that. Your face looks like an open barn door."
"I'm sleepy, little dorlin'," Caalador objects, "You two bin a-keepin' me up past muh bedtime."
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"Then go to bed. You make my jaws ache when you gape at me like that."
"Merciless, isn't she?" Martel contributes, glancing up from what he's working on (even aside from his apparent intellectual interests at the university, he does love his paperwork sometimes).
"You should all get some sleep," Ehlana tells them. "You're the official royal burglars now, and Sarabian and I would be absolutely mortified if you were to fall asleep mid-burglary."
"Are we ready to be practical about this?" Caalador asks, rising to his feet. "I can have two dozen professionals here by this evening, and we'll have all the secrets of the Interior Ministry in our hands by tomorrow morning."
"And Interior will know that we have them by tomorrow afternoon," Stragen adds. "Our impromptu spy network isn't really all that secure, Caalador. We haven't had enough time to weed out all the people Krager's probably subverted."
"Can I kill him yet?" Martel directs this question to Ehlana.
"You don't know where he is and I need you here," she says, in a tone ( ... )
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"Why are you so positive that Sparhawk's deceiving you, Ehlana?" Sarabian asks ( ... )
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"I'm a realist," Ehlana says, patiently. "Sparhawk does what he thinks he has to no matter what I say, and I've learned to accept that. The point I'm trying to make is that no matter what we dig out of the walls of the Interior Ministry, there's absolutely nothing we can do about it while Sparhawk and the others are out there wandering around the countryside. We're going to disband Interior and throw about a quarter of the Empire's policemen in prison. Then we're going to place all of Tamuli under martial law with the Atans enforcing our decrees. The Daresian continent's going to look like an ant-hill that's just been run over by a cavalry charger. I don't know what Sparhawk's doing, so I don't know what kind of impact that chaos is going to have on him. I am not going to let you put him in any more danger than I think he's already in ( ... )
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