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“Come along, Sira, and I will show you the garden before the evening meal. Grigr and I had Cantoris hours this morning, and for now I am free.”
    Sira, glad to escape Wil’s intense gaze, bowed goodbye to him, and went with Magret out of the Cantoris. She felt the Housekeeper’s eyes on her back as she walked away.
    Just outside the Cantoris the wrinkled little Housewoman who had been on the steps with Rhia when Sira first arrived stepped up to Magret with a sketchy bow. “Cantrix Magret, Rhia wants you to come and warm the ubanyix for her.”
    Sira drew breath to offer herself for the task, but Magret nodded to the Housewoman and turned down the hall toward the ubanyix . Sira opened her mind, but Magret sent nothing. Uncertainly, Sira followed her, expecting some instruction. The little Housewoman trotted busily in front of Magret. Sira sensed only resignation from her senior.
    Still, this wasn’t proper. Sira called, “Cantrix Magret, please. Allow me this small task. You are senior now.”
    Magret looked back in surprise. “That is very kind, Sira,” she said. “But it is better if I do it today. We will have our walk in the gardens later.” Her voice had gone rather flat, but her face gave no indication of her feelings. She hurried away, following the old Housewoman.
    There was nothing Sira could do but turn and walk on alone, wondering. Magret had accepted a peremptory, even discourteous command, and she had complied without demur. Sira did not understand why a senior Cantrix, with her heavy responsibilities, should be treated in this way. Naturally, customs would differ here, but such disrespect surely should not be tolerated.
    Sira wandered down the long, broad corridor. The intricate carvings that lined the walls reflected the yellow quiru light from curved and faceted surfaces. It was distracting. There was so much to look at, everywhere. It must have taken many summers to decorate every inch of Bariken in this way. Several people passed Sira. They bowed, but they did not speak. There were no voices in her mind. There were no friendly smiles.
    A wide staircase opened up before her, with a carved banister that rippled and flowed like a slender river of wood. It was beautiful, and extravagant. She knew very little about obis carvers, but the ones who had made this banister had invested it with real artistry. It invited her hand to caress it as she climbed.
    She wandered up the stairs, stopping to admire the wavy limeglass window above the first landing. The glassworkers also had much to be proud of.
    On the floor above, the hallway was similarly wide, with apartment doors spaced far apart. Sira thought she must have come upon the Magister’s wing, where he and his staff would have the largest rooms. She heard the murmur of conversation and ongoing family life behind the doors she passed, a homely and familiar sound. Her fur boots whispered across the stone floor as she walked.
    She was sure she must soon come to another stairwell that would return her to the first floor. As she paced the corridor, she heard a door open behind her.
    “Cantrix Sira!” The voice resonated in the hall. It sounded, in fact, like the voice of a Singer, the soft palate lifted, the vowels open. Sira turned to see a plump, middle-aged woman in the dark tunic of the upper class, standing in the doorway of one of the largest apartments. A child called something behind her.
    “Yes,” Sira said, wondering how this woman had known she was passing.
    “I believe you have lost your way,” said the woman. She closed her door and came forward, a woman as ample in her proportions as Sira was spare. She bowed rather casually. “I’m Trude. May I show you back to your room?”
    “It is not necessary. I will find it.”
    “Very well. At the end of the corridor, turn right down the stairs and then right again.” Trude smiled, her expression reminding Sira of Wil’s odd one. “I enjoyed your quirunha today. Certainly a relief after