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saw now—had seen last evening with sudden clarity—that his mother had never believed his assertions that he intended to make his way without recourse to the funds of the Clan. She had heard him, for she was a courteous listener, precisely as the Code instructed—heard him, but did not believe. And he had never quite seen that there would need be an after to his plan.
      "Pat Rin?" Luken murmured.
      He blinked back into now, and inclined his head.
      "You understand," he said slowly. "That I attempt to...produce a certain, and very specific, affect. Produce, and sustain it."
      Luken smiled. "I am not quite an idiot, boy-dear."
      "Of course not," he murmured, more than half caught in his calculations. "So, the question before me now is whether the affect will remain fixed, should I retire to my own establishment."
      "I should think," Luken said, "that the key would be not to retire, but to continue as you have been, only from the comfort of a bachelor's dig."
      A townhouse on Nasingtale Alley could scarcely be called a 'dig'—and Luken, as he so often was, despite one's mother's contention that the rug merchant was no more nor less than a block—Luken was right. Pat Rin had only to carry on as he was. The invitations would continue to arrive—and he might even host a small entertainment or two, himself. The gods knew, he had assisted with enough of his mother's entertainments to know how the thing was done.
      "Please consider," Luken said carefully. "You are now well known among the Houses. Your melant'i is your own, no matter that it in some measure reflects your mother's, and your Clan's, as it must. But—it would hardly do for you to regularly best your mother's houseguests while you yourself sleep under her roof. Nor would it be best for you, seen among the elders of many a House as a biddable young man always at your mother's call, to have to rigorously make a point..."
      Pat Rin grimaced at this description of himself, while allowing that, from the outside, it might appear thus.
      "...as I say, if you need to press an honest advantage across a table, it might be best if you do it first among the lesser members of the Houses until Lord Pat Rin is more fully known as himself. If being Lady Kareen's son is not your occupation, my boy, then having your own place will afford you both more flexibility in your evenings and more company in the mornings. I say this as one who was, alas, once young myself."
      Seated, Pat Rin bowed the bow of apprentice to master.
      "It might do," he said, and glanced to Luken's face. "If bin'Flora's rate is possible."
      Luken smiled. "Please, know that there are two partners in every trade. The place would have been rented anytime the last two relumma were the matter simply one of cash flow. Not all would-be renters are High House, my boy. Nor," he said with sudden emphasis—"are all High House equally acceptable. Whatever the Code may teach."
      "I will mention your interest to Sisilli," Luken concluded, and drank off the rest of his tea.
      "As much as I enjoy your company, child, I am afraid that I must leave you for an appointment."
      Pat Rin inclined his head, his gaze snagging on the manifest, lying forgotten on the table. He extended a slender hand and plucked the page up, running an eye trained by Master Merchant Luken bel'Tarda down the list of items.
      "Shall I inventory these, while you are gone?" he asked Luken. "That will have to be done, whatever else Cousin Er Thom intends."
      "So it will," Luken said, coming to his feet. "If you have the leisure, boy-dear, the work would be appreciated. You'll find the lot of them in the old private showing room. And also, since you will wish to have clear sight if not a clear head, I suggest you make use of some of the tea you will find there. It will have Terran