Tiamak heard only a dull roaring in his ears as he poled out of the wake。 What inn？
〃Pelippa's Bowl！〃 The name struck him like lightning out of the sky。 He did not realize he had shouted it aloud； but such was the din of the waterway that his indiscretion mattered little。
Pelippa's Bowl； an inn Dinivan had mentioned in a letter； because it was run by a woman who had once been a nun of Saint Pelippa's order… Tiamak could not summon the woman's name…and who still liked to talk theology and philosophy。 Morgenes had stayed there whenever he traveled in the Wran； because the old man liked the proprietress and her irreverent but thoughtful mind。
As these memories came back to him； Tiamak felt his weary spirits lifted。 Perhaps Dinivan would join him at the inn！ Or； even better； perhaps Morgenes himself was staying there； which would explain why Tiamak's latest messages to the old man's home at the Hayholt in Erkynland had gone unanswered。 Whatever the case； with the names of his Scrollbearer friends to offer as currency； he was certain that he would find a bed and a sympathetic ear at Pelippa's Bowl。
Still fever…addled； but with a more hopeful heart； Tiamak bent his aching back to the pole once more。 His frail boat skimmed along Kwanitupul's greasy green waterways。
The strange presence in Simon's head spoke on。 The spell of the woman's voice held him gently prisoned； enwrapped in a charm that seemed to have no seam or flaw。 He was in perfect darkness； as in the moment just before the final tumble into sleep； but his thoughts were as janglingly active as those of a man who only pretends to slumber while his enemies scheme across the room。 He did not awaken； but neither did he pass into forgetfulness。 Instead； the voice spoke on； and the words summoned images of beauty and horror。
〃。。。 And although you have gone away； Hakatri…to death or the Ultimate West； I know not which…I shall say these things to you； for in truth； no one knows the way time flows on the Road of Dreams； or where it is that thoughts may wander that have been cast out on the scales of the Greater Worm or on the other Witnesses。 It could be that somewhere or somewhen you will hear these words and know of your family and your people。
〃Also； I have need just to speak with you； my beloved son； though you have been long absent。
〃You know that your brother blamed himself for your terrible wounding。 When you went away at last into the West in search of heart's…ease； he became cold and discontented。
〃I will not tell you all the story of the maraudings of the ship…men； those fierce mortals from across the sea。 Some hint of their ing you had before you went away； and some would say that it was these Rimmersmen who struck the greatest blow against us； for they threw down Asu'a； our great house； and those of us who survived were driven into exile。 Some would say that the Rimmersmen were our greatest foes； yet others might say that our most terrible wound came when your brother Ineluki raised his hand against your father； Iyn'imigato…your father； my husband…and slew him there in the great hall of Asu'a。
〃Still others would say our shadow first grew in the deeps of time； in Venyha Do'sae； the Lost Garden； and that we brought it with us in our hearts。 They would say that even those born here in our new land…like you； my son…came into the world with that shadow already staining your innermost selves； so that there has been no innocence anywhere since the world was young。
〃And that is the problem with shadows； Hakatri。 At first consideration they seem to be quite simple…a matter only of something that stands before the light。 But that which is shadowed from one side may from another angle show as a brilliant reflection。 What is covered by shadow one day may die in harsh sunlight another day； and the world will be lessened by its passing。 Not everything that thrives in shadow is bad； my son。。。〃
Pelippa's Bowl。。。 Pelippa's Bowl。。。
Tiamak was finding it difficult to think。 He repeated the name distractedly a few more times； having momentarily forgotten what it meant； then realized he was looking at a swinging signboard that bore the painted image of a golden bowl。 He squinted at it woozily for a few moments； unable to remember exactly how he had wound up in this spot； then began looking around for a place to tie his boat。
The sign of the Bowl hung over the door of a large but rather undistinguished…looking inn in a backwater section of the warehouse dis… trict。 The rickety structure seemed to sag between two larger buildings； like a drunk with a crony at each elbow。 An armada of small and medium…sized flatboats bobbed in the waterway below； tied at the building's crude wharf or lashed directly to the pilings that held the building and its slovenly fellows above water。 The inn was surprisingly quiet； as if both the guests and ostlers were sleeping。
Tiamak's fever had returned strongly and his exertions had left him very little strength。 He balefully regarded the rope ladder that depended from the landing。 It was badly tangled： even reaching up with the steering pole he came short of the lowest rung by a good cubit。 He considered jumping to make up the last bit of distance； but even in his diminished state Tiamak realized that when one was too weak to swim； there would be few things more foolish than jumping up and down in a small boat。 At last； stymied； he called hoarsely for assistance。
If this was one of Morgenes' favorite hostelries； he thought muzzily some time later； then the doctor had a high tolerance for slackness。 He renewed his braying cry； marveling at the pained quality of his own voice as it echoed through this unfrequented area of Kwanitupul。 At last； a white…haired head appeared in the doorway above and remained there for long moments； regarding Tiamak as though he were some interesting but unsolvable puzzle。 At last the head's owner left the safety of the doorway and came forward。 It was an old Perdruinese or Nabbanai man； tall and well…built； whose handsome pink face wore the simple expression of a young child。 He stopped and squatted at the edge of the landing； looking down at Tiamak with a pleasant smile。
〃The ladder！〃 Tiamak waved his steering pole。 〃I can't reach the ladder！〃
The old man looked kindly from Tiamak to the ladder； then seemed for some time to reflect gravely on the whole question。 At last he nodded； his smile widening。 Tiamak； despite extreme weariness and the pain of his throbbing leg； found himself smiling back at this strange old bird。 After this exchange of unspoken good cheer had gone on for some little while； the man abruptly turned and disappeared back into the doorway。
Tiamak howled despairingly； but the old man reappeared a few moments later with a boat…hook clutched in his long…fingered hand which he used to jiggle the ladder free； it uncoiled the rest of the way and the bottom splashed into the green water。 Tiamak； after a moment of mud… died deliberation； took a few things from the boat and began to climb。 The Wrannaman found he had to stop twice during the short three…fathom trip to rest。 His crocodile…bitten leg was burning with a pain like fire。
By the time he reached the top his head was reeling worse than it had all day。 The old man had gone； but when Tiamak dragged the heavy door open and hobbled through he found him again； now sitting in the corner of an enclosed courtyard on a pile of blankets that looked as though they served as his bed； surrounded by skeins of rope and various other tools。 Most of the space in the damp courtyard was taken by a pair of upturned boat…hulls。 One had been badly slashed； as though by a sharp rock。 The other was half…painted。
As Tiamak made his way around the jars of white paint that cluttered the path across the courtyard； the old man smiled foolishly at him once more； then settled back into his blankets as though to fall asleep。
The door at the far side of the courtyard led into the inn itself。 This bottom floor seemed to contain only a dowdy mon room with a handful of stools and a few long tables。 A sour…faced Perdruinese woman； heavy…armed and with gray…shot hair； stood pouring