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lip, refusing to look down only because he knew that it was there.
    ‘We must continue to hope, my lady. We
must,’
he said.
    She looked at him. He realized that he had spoken with more emphasis even than the fate of the lost work might justify. To cover himself, he added, ‘If all else fails I could write it from memory – if I had the time.’
    ‘You may be the last man in the Kingdom who could. And yet… time is so precious, is it not? Especially for the King’s chancellor.’ She passed the book to a man who stood behind her. ‘Padry, you shall sit at my right hand at table tonight. We will talk of happy memories. And – of anything you wish.’
    Ah, Sophia! No longer the pupil! He had dangled the great work of Croscan before her eyes and she had not been fooled. Chancellors did not come long distances just to return stolen goods. Any gift they brought would just be an excuse, or more likely a bribe.
We shall talk of anything you wish
. So, Thomas Padry, you want something. It shows in your face and your voice. What is it? Why are you really here?
    He coughed. ‘There is, um …’
    She waited for him.
    ‘… a matter on which I would speak in private. And as soon as may be.’
    She raised an eyebrow. Then she looked around atthe staring scholars and at the councillors behind her.
    ‘Very well,’ she said.
    She led them all out of the library, across the stairwell and down the passage to the keep and the living quarters. The corridor was busy. People crowded out of the lady’s way and stared at Padry as he passed. Guards saluted. An elderly, round man in a rich doublet waited at the antechamber door.
    ‘My lady—’
    ‘I am occupied, Hob. Is it Gisbore?’
    ‘It is the bailiff from Gisbore.’
    She looked around at the expectant faces of the men who had followed her and gave a little exasperated sigh. ‘Beg him to wait yet a quarter-hour. The lord chancellor himself has come to see me.’
    ‘Very good. And the council?’
    ‘The council must wait also.’
    ‘Very good, my lady.’
    They withdrew. The guard opened the door to the antechamber. A maid was in there, making up the fire.
    ‘Leave us,’ said the lady.
    The maid went. At a jerk of the lady’s head the guard followed her. Padry looked around the room that had once been the centre of his world. The tapestries had changed but the new ones had the same red colours as their predecessors. There were the old silver candlesticks. The chair – not the old one, but one much like it – stood in just the right place by the window. Empty.
    The Widow’s daughter settled herself into it.
    ‘So,’ she said, fixing him with a look. ‘Shall I guess?When Orcrim returned from Velis two years ago he brought with him a story of something you had said. You had made a proposal about the King and myself. He was minded to advise me to accept. I must tell you that I was not pleased, either with him or with you.’
    Embarrassed, Padry looked at his feet.
    ‘I hope you have not come to revive the possibility, Thomas.’
    He shook his head. ‘I have not, my lady.’ And, a little insistently, he added, ‘As I said, it is a private matter.’
    ‘What is it?’
    He swallowed. His fists tightened at his sides.
    ‘Where may I find the Hidden King?’
    ‘Who is he, Uncle Thomas?’ Atti had asked him.
    They had been sitting together in the cloister of the convent in Tuscolo. It had been a warm, late summer day. A pigeon had been cooing somewhere among the orange trees.
    ‘Truly, my dove,’ he said absently, ‘I do not know. Why do you ask?’
    She sat like a little statue beside him, her back rigid. She was even paler than usual today. There were marks below her eyes. Nevertheless it was pleasing to see her: her face framed in her novice’s hood, with the fullness of her long black hair in the shadow within. He looked at the delicate curves of her cheeks and lashes and eyes and his mind played with thoughts such as:
O Powers that framed the Dome of Heaven/No