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decided to use the same instant to formulate his next words. The time was middle afternoon; light from Syrene slanted through tall windows, reflecting from high ceilings and white walls, playing across the tablecloth, glinting on the glass and silver.
    At last Garsten and Jalulia entered the room. They paused behind Glawen, and Garsten touched his shoulder. “Today: the great occasion, eh? I remember my own sixteenth; how long ago it seems now! But I still remember the tension! Even though I was born A-b-c, I was still in dread of being sent off across the Reach, into some dark cold hinterland. But the Mad Dog 9 coughed up a 19, and I was in, and lucky for you, eh? Otherwise you’d be hunkered down over a plate of beans on some cold far world while the leeches hopped around the mud and the natives howled, and gargoyle hawks ravaged your flocks.”
    Jalulia chided him: “What nonsense you talk! If you had actually failed and had been turned out, we would never have met and Glawen would not be here now.”
    “All to the same effect! Well, we can only hope that the Mad Dog plays you fair.”
    “I hope so too,” said Glawen.
    Garsten and Jalulia went to their places; Fratano stepped down to his own chair. He looked at a slip of paper beside his service plate, read, then turned to inspect the faces around the table. “Ah, Glawen, there you are. Today you come into the proud estate of provisional! The opportunities of life are now open to you! I am sure that through diligence and duty you will, at the very least, arrive at the condition of noble and self-reliant manhood, no matter whether your life is to be lived here, as an agent of the Conservancy, or elsewhere, in what might prove an equally rewarding career!”
    Glawen listened, feeling the attention of all eyes.
    Fratano proceeded. “I will today utter no lengthy peroration; should you feel the need of instruction or wise counsel, you need only apply to me, and it shall be forthcoming. Such is my obligation to every Clattuc of the House, from low to high.
    “Now, then: to definite matters. I see no reason to prolong the suspense. I have here the official statement of your SI.” Fratano tilted the paper, threw back his head and looked down his nose at the inscription. “Here, as yielded by impersonal and accurate processes of calculation, is your SI. I announce the number to be” - he raised his head and gazed around the attentive faces - “24.”
    Eyes blinked, then swung to fix upon Glawen. From Spanchetta came a startled cry, which she quickly stifled. Arles stared first at Glawen, then turned to gaze numbly at his mother, who sat hunched forward, scowling down into her wine.
    Glawen was now expected to utter a few remarks. He rose to his feet and bowed politely toward Fratano. His voice quavered so slightly that no one noticed but Scharde. “Thank you, sir, for your good wishes. I will truly do my best to become both a good agent of the Conservator and a credit to Clattuc House.”
    Fratano asked: “And where will you work, or have you chosen?”
    “I have already been accepted into Bureau B.”
    “A sound choice! We need careful and vigilant patrols if we are to keep Marmion Land 10 clear of the Yips.”
    The Yip footmen smiled somewhat self-consciously at Fratano’s remarks, but otherwise showed no reaction.
    Glawen sat down to a spatter of applause, and footmen began to serve the supper. Conversation once more became general, and all declared that never for an instant had they believed the wild rumor in regard to Glawen, which was on the face of it absurd. Furtive glances were turned toward Spanchetta, who sat like a stone, until suddenly, as if at a signal, she became animated, even ebullient, and conducted four conversations at once.
    Now that Glawen was no longer to be considered a pariah, his Great-aunt Clotilde, a tall breezy woman of middle age, condescended to speak with him. She keenly enjoyed the game of epaing, and considered herself