ear Malachias； you have much to learn about the world。〃 He paused for a moment as another gang of costumed folk swirled by； engaged in a loud； drunken argument about the words to some song。 〃There；〃 the monk said； gesturing after them； 〃there is an example of why that which you say will never e to pass。 Were you hearing that little debate？〃
Miriamele pulled her hood lower against the slanting rain。 〃Some of it；〃 she replied。 〃What does it matter？〃
〃It is not the subject of the argument that matters； but the method。 They were all Perdruinese； unless my ear for accents has gone wrong from all that ocean roar…yet they were arguing in the Westerling tongue。〃
〃So？〃
〃Ah；〃 Cadrach squinted his eyes as if looking for something down the crowded； lantern…lit street； but continued speaking all the while。 〃You and I are speaking Westerling； but except for your Erkynlandish fellow…countrymen…and not even all of them…no one else speaks it among their own people。 Rimmersmen in Elvritshalla use Rimmerspakk； we Hernystiri speak our own tongue when in Crannhyr or Hernysadharc。 Only the Perdruinese have adopted your grandfather King John's universal language； and to them it is now truly their first language。〃
Miriamele stopped in the middle of the slickened roadway； letting the press of celebrants eddy around her。 A thousand oil lamps raised a false dawn above the housetops。 〃I'm tired and hungry。 Brother Cadrach； and I don't understand what you are getting at。〃
〃Simply this。 The Perdruinese are what they are because they strive to please…or； put more clearly； they know which way the wind is blowing and they run that direction； so the wind is always at their backs。 If we Hernystir…folk were a conquering people； the merchants and sailors of Perdruin would be practicing their Hernystiri。 'If a king wants apples；' as the Nabbanai say； 'Perdruin plants orchards。' Any other nation would be foolish to attack such a pliant friend and helpful ally。〃
〃Then you are saying that the souls of these Perdruin…folk are for sale？〃 Miriamele demanded。 〃That they have no loyalty to any but the strong？〃
Cadrach smiled。 〃That has the ring of disdain； my lady； but it seems an accurate summing up； yes。〃
〃Then they're no better than…〃 she looked around carefully； fighting down anger； 〃…no better than whores！〃
The monk's weathered face took on a cool； distant cast； his smile was now a mere formality。 〃Not everyone can stand up and be a hero； Princess；〃 he said quietly。 〃Some prefer to surrender to the inevitable and
salve their consciences with the gift of survival。〃
Miriamele thought about the obvious truth of what Cadrach had said as they walked on； but could not understand why it made her so unutterably sad。
The cobbled paths of Ansis Pelippe not only wound tortuously； in many places they climbed in gouged stone steps up the very face of the hill； then spiraled back down； doubling and redoubling； crossing each other at odd angles like a basket of serpents。 On either side the houses stood shoulder to shoulder； most with windows shadowed like the closed eyes of sleepers； some ablaze with light and music。 The foundations of the houses tilted upward from the streets； each structure clinging precariously to the hillside so that their upper stories seemed to lean over the constricted roads。 As her hunger and fatigue began to make her giddy； Miriamele felt at times that she was back beneath the close…stooping trees of Aldheorte Forest。
Perdruin was a cluster of hills surrounding Sta Mirore； the central mountain。 Their lumpy backs rose up almost directly from the island's rocky verges； looking over the Bay of Emettin。 Perdruin's silhouette thus resembled a mother pig and her feeding young。 There was little flat land anywhere； except in the saddles where high hills shouldered together； so the villages and towns of Perdruin clung to the faces of these hills like gulls' nests。 Even Ansis Pellipe； the great seaport and the seat of Count Streawe's house； was built on the steep slopes of a promontory that the residents called Harborstone。 In many places the citizens of Ansis Pellipe could stand on one of the capital's hill…hugging streets and wave to their neighbors on the thoroughfare below。
〃1 must eat something；〃 Miriamele said at last； breathing heavily。 They stood at a turnout of one of the looping streets； a place where they could look down between two buildings to the lights of the foggy harbor below。 The dull moon hung in the clouded sky like a chip of bone。
〃I am also ready to stop； Malachias；〃 panted Cadrach。
〃How far is this abbey？〃
〃There is no abbey； or at least we are not going to such a place。〃
〃But you told the captain 。 。 … oh。〃 Miriamele shook her head； feeling the damp heaviness of her hood and cloak； 〃Of course。 So； then； where are we going？〃
Cadrach stared at the moon and laughed quietly。 〃Wherever we wish； my friend。 1 do think there is a tavern of some repute at the top of this street： I must confess I was leading us in that general direction。 Certainly not because I enjoy climbing these goirach hills。〃
〃A tavern？ Why not a hostel； so we can find a bed after we eat？〃
〃Because； begging your pardon； it is not eating that I am thinking about。 I have been aboard that abominable ship longer than I care to think。 I will take my rest after I have indulged my thirst。〃 Cadrach wiped his hand across his mouth and grinned。 Miriamele did not much like the look in his eyes。
〃But there was a tavern every cubit down below 。。。〃 she began。 〃Exactly。 Taverns full of drunken tale…passers and minders of others' business。 I cannot be taking my well…deserved rest in such a place。〃 He turned his back on the moon and began stumping away up the road。 〃e； Malachias。 It is only a little farther； I am sure。〃
It seemed that during Midsummer Festival there was no such thing as an uncrowded tavern； but at least the drinkers in The Red Dolphin were not cheek to cheeky as they were in the dockside inns； only elbow to elbow。
Miriamele gratefully slid down onto a bench set against the far wall and let the wash of conversation and song flow over her。 Cadrach； after putting down his sack and walking stick； moved off to find himself a mug of Traveler's Reward。 He returned after only a moment。
〃Good Malachias； I had forgotten how nearly beggared I am from paying our sea passage。 Do you have a cintis…piece or two I might employ in the removal of thirst？〃
Miriamele dug in her purse and produced a palm full of coppers。 〃Get me some bread and cheese；〃 she said； pouring the coins into the monk's outstretched hand。
As she sat wishing she could take off her wet cloak to celebrate being out of the rain； another group of costumed celebrants banged in through the door； shaking water from their finery and calling for beer。 One of the loudest wore a mask shaped like a red…tongued hound。 As he thumped his fist on a table； his right eye lit on Miriamele for a moment and seemed to pause。 She felt a rush of fear； suddenly remembering another hound mask； and flaming arrows slashing through the forest shadows。 But this dog quickly turned back to his fellows； making a jest and throwing his head back in laughter； his cloth ears swinging。
Miriamele pushed her hand against her chest as if to slow down her speeding heart。 I must keep this hood on； she told herself。 It's a festival night； so who will look twice？ Better that than someone recognizing my face…however unlikely that might seem。
Cadrach was gone a surprisingly long time。 Miriamele was just starting to feel restive； wondering if she should go and look for him； when he returned with a jar of ale in each hand。 A half…loaf of bread and an end of cheese were prisoned between the jars。
〃A man could die of thirst a…waiting for beer； tonight；〃 the monk said。
Miriamele ate greedily； then took a long swallow of the ale； which was bitter and dark in her mouth。 The rest of the jar she left for Cadrach； who did not protest。
When the last crumbs were licked from her fingers and she was pondering whether she was hungry enough to eat a pigeon pie； a shadow fell across the bench she and the monk shared。
The raw