Yesterday saw the last of the doom-guard officers purged from the army, and all those named as priests and priestesses by those arrested have now been captured, thanks to concerted help by the farming and fishing communities. It seems the priests and priestesses of the dumb-guard didn't expect our readers would notice a few strangers suddenly turning up on their doorsteps, lurking on their boats or scaring their chickens. Well done, people of Tesk, our daughters on the high council and neighbours in the nobility salute you! Do continue to keep guard, of course, because there are almost certainly plenty more who consider other's lives of no value.

  The question that we must now ask is not how long the trials will continue (the answer is clear — until every last one has been tried and if they refuse to repent, executed) but where the eyes of the guardians of Tesk will next turn their gaze. Government officials? Politicians? Lawyers? Or perhaps the Academy? Anywhere there is an elite and the possibility for corruption is high is a possible gathering place for these cold-blooded killers.

  But curious as we must assuredly be, we do not want to give any hints to the dumb-guard who are happily assuming that they are invulnerable because of their other friends. Sorry, just joking. We're pretty sure that they're not reading our little paper, and it doesn't matter. Doom-guard worshippers: don't bother running or hiding, you're going to be found. Think about your eternal future instead, repent and turn yourselves in. So, which nest of infection actually has the power to do the most damage?

  Judges and lawyers can ruin individuals' lives, but oddly enough they seem to have had an attack of scrupulous fairness recently. Politicians? With the missing arms of stable government back in place their opportunities for mischief making are severely curtailed now, as long as they don't take up making the sort of speeches that triggered the counter-revolution. With the army now cleansed we don't expect many people will be listening anyway. Newspaper editors? Well, there is a possibility, but quite a few of our competitors' senior staff have been suffering from a nasty case of terror of arrest recently, and are lying low. Your dependable news staff had a debate on it over lunch and our expectation is that it's the academy administrative staff that ought to be setting their souls on the right course most urgently. The lecturers seem to be on a war-footing and there are accusations about administrators pocketing funds and damaging scientific equipment that has taken decades to create and is needed for a new major international project which ought to have started already. If the Academy cannot be involved because of the administrative staff then that could seriously damage what is almost our last source of foreign income now that tourism has followed the fashion industry into deep decay. If the Academy is involved, then as well as a welcome boost in visitors and finance, our sources say it is likely to mean a large-scale ramping up of specialist trades such as ultra-precision metal-work, and glass blowing. Therefore our feeling is that Tesk needs the Academy cleansed almost as urgently as the Army, and that the dumb-guard politicians will just have to wait their turn to feed the crabs, or show unusual common sense and turn to their maker.

  Our sources tell us that some of the more seriously dumb doom-guard members seem to believe that if they die at the hands of soldiers then they're guaranteed a lovely afterlife, but that if they die at the hands of, say, a seventeen year old girl, they're going to be in a situation far closer to what we all know really faces the unrepentant sinner. Thus it is that certain of our brave young heroines on the high council are holding or helping to hold the noose of execution for the last few seconds. It's not a pleasant experience, but knowing that awaits them has actually helped some of the condemned murderers to realise they need to seek mercy from God before they face eternal judgement. Please pray for our guys' and girls' stamina and that God will bless them for this holy work.

  It wasn't thick enough to call it fog, and it wasn't quite a decent drizzle, but it was certainly wet and it certainly reduced visibility so that most of the island was a silhouette. The fleet was strung out in a wide V-shape, hoping not to miss the island. King Val had declared that everyone would enjoy blaming him if there was a navigation error, so he'd be in the lead ship. They were right on target. Those on the first ships could see the harbour and the cliffs beside it, with the parliament and high council chamber at the top of the granite wall that was the Caneth-side of Tesk. There was a red tinge to the water. “I hope you weren't planning on swimming,” King Val called to his son.

  “That's quite a pile of crabs and lobsters under the cliffs there,” Sal replied, “Big ones too. Really big ones.”

  “And the cliffs look a bit red,” Val added. “Below those those metal triangles set into the rocks, anyway. Eugh!” A body fell the thirty or forty metres from the cliff and hit the the horizontal knife-edges of two of the triangles. Set about a metre apart, they looked like they'd originally been some kind of scaffold support, but now they served a different purpose. The body completed its journey in pieces. “And now we know why and how.”

  “Not to mention why the sea's the colour it is,” Sal agreed.

  “I guess the question is who is doing the executing,” Val said. “No scream, so I guess this is body disposal.”

  “What's wrong with a normal grave?” Sal asked.

  “'No land will be given for the doom-guard' the old laws say. I guess they take it seriously.”

  “So you think they're condemned doom-guard?”

  “I suppose we need a big drum to find out for sure,” Val said. “Let's hope Eslind is no exception, and some people at least know the rhythms.”

  “Shall I do it dad?” Sal asked.

  “Believe it or not, Sal, I've been waiting to do this since before you were born.”

  “Sorry, Dad. Do we really need a drum? I thought we were supposed to use the side of the boat.”

  “Dent your own hull if you like,” Val said, giving orders to bring up an empty barrel and a couple of stout sticks.

  “I can't see how many,” the soldier who'd just sent the body to the crabs said. “but there's a line of ships approaching out of the mizzle. They're signalling to each other.”

  “I guess that's the fleets here, then. They'll be drumming their questions.”

  Ada said. “Some of us heard from Hal that the isles almost exclusively use the old strict-formal rhythms. Which of you lads wants to be drummer?”

  “Why be sexist?” the soldier asked.

  “Because this isn't going to just be 'hello how are you'” Ada replied, “and those beaters are heavy; by the time you've finished you're probably going to want to be stripped to the waist, and you might have noticed we've all put on dresses for the day.”

  “Think of it as an opportunity to show off your muscles and skill at the rhythms,” Kara said.

  “No muscles worth showing off,” one of the soldiers present said, blushing.

  “No skill at strict-formal rhythms,” another said.

  “Fine, I guess we should have had auditions. Who does know strict-formal well enough to not embarrass Tesk?”

  The young soldier who'd claimed no muscles hesitantly raised his hand. No one else did.

  “Well, consider yourself nominated for the moment, Tark,” Ada said, “and reply to that greeting.”

  “What are they saying? I don't understand strict-formal,” one of the council members asked.

  “King-captain Val greets Tesk,” Tark replied.

  “Reply,” Ada said: “'Thought-hearer-rulers greet King-captain Val and all of the fleets. Welcome! Avoid crabs, lobsters, fish.'”

  “He replies, 'Saw crab food. Danger? Trouble?'” Tark translated.

  “Send, 'Progress slow, sleep little, army made clean. Tourists of all ranks welcome!'”

  Tark was sweating by the end of that message, but his beat was steady.

  “He asks 'king-captain?'”

  “Do you just want to just send 'all' or add 'the known doom-guard attacks on Tesk constitution have all been repealed.'?” Ada asked, considerately.

  “I wish to declare the victory of truth, high councillor.” Tark replied. Blushing at the other, unspoken reason that he didn't want to pick the short version, who was named Ada, he began the message, spelling out the words that had no unique rhythm. Each stroke of the heavy hammers sending a directed pulse of sound down to the harbour, loud enough that everyone there was able to hear.

  “Come, hard-working ladies of the high council.” Kara said, “Let's show our faces.”

  “On the balcony?” one of them asked.

  “No one needs to cross into the prisoner's section.” Ada said. “But we mustn't let the balcony become just a place for bodies.”

  “Ada does it again,” Kara said, brimming approval “Well done. And well done Tark, too. You have a useful skill, and don't back away from challenges. Perhaps we should ask that you be assigned here regularly?” And then it was Ada's turn to blush, since she'd been thinking that no matter how much he thought she was attractive, she didn't know him that well, and she wasn't likely to see much of him now he'd left school and joined the army.

  Dear Count Tarok,

  Thank you so much for your generous attitude towards our mutual acquaintance, with whom I spoke yesterday.

  You obviously possess a heart capable of great kindness and gentleness, and I hope you find yourself a noble wife suited to the society in which you swim so well, and with whom you can build a lasting love. The most lasting marriage, of course, is built upon a shared love of God, a topic I know you have discussed recently.

  I cannot, of course, make promises without knowing times or dates.

  But, if this letter plays any part in your coming to faith and finding a believing bride, feel free to send me an invitation. I'll try to attend.

  Princess Naneela.

  “What's that letter worth to him?” Kahlel asked, seeing what Naneela had just written.

  “It's worth the most if he comes to faith, which is why I phrased it that way. Even as it stands, there aren't many personal letters commending people for their kindness. It's probably going to become a family heirloom if he ever has kids.”

  “You know that Tithia probably plans to be that believing wife if he does come to faith?”

  “Yes, well. Then she needs to learn all about that complex society, even if they don't play that at home. But at least she won't be chattering about visiting here now.”

  “No?”

  “She's learned that lesson, at least. She realises it could have been much much worse. Now, to work. We'd get better efficiency if we got the filtering better. So, how can we get the filtering better?”

  “Yet another filtering stage? The maths says ten would be best.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “Three filters is too many filters to tune already. There's got to be a better way!”

  “So make the radio fixed frequency. It's easy then.”

  “And not very useful.”

  “You can't have everything, princess.”

  “I'm a princess. I want everything.”

  “Really?” He said, looking around the bare walls of her study. “Not much artwork on the walls, just maths formulae.”

  “OK, not everything everything, just a tunable radio with ten filters that don't need tuning. That's all, well almost. Food and air and friends and family are nice too. You be the genius for once, Kahlel. I can't offer you half Dad's empire so it'll have to be Dad's daughter's hand in marriage if you give it to me.”

  “If I thought you were serious about that, highness, I would be honour bound to risk your ire by reprimanding you for making unthinking offers to low-ranking servants of low station.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “If you did that, then I would have to point out that we're not in the central zone, or indeed zone two, three or four. I'm going to walk around the garden a bit. This is all just so frustrating. And then I'm going to do your hands, so be warned.”

  “I shall attempt to arm myself. But since we're not talking about feelings, perhaps we ought not spend so much time together.”

  “We'll see how your hands are. I'm not letting you go back home just to ruin them by being helpful there.”

  “I must stay your guest-cum-prisoner then, highness. But since I can use them now, at least to turn pages and write short notes, perhaps I could have some time to revise for my promotion exam?”

  “Which promotion exam? You've been reinstated to technician, top-rank.”

  “I had hoped to become researcher, highness, before I was demoted.”

  “I've been treating you poorly, haven't I? Of course you may study to take the exams to become a researcher.”

  “You have been treating me very well, highness.”

  “No, I've been treating you as someone planning to be a life-long technician, and while I've come to know you have the brains to become a researcher. It never occurred to me that you might be aiming for that post. Your age, I guess. I assumed you preferred to not have the distractions of budgeting and having me direct your work.”

  “I can live without budgets, and if becoming a researcher means I would cease to work with you, highness, then I might regret that.”

  “No feelings, remember! But it need not be part of it. It certainly need not be. Projects and budgets can be shared, after all. Study for your exam and pass it, Kahlel. Those formulae on the wall date from when I was studying for mine, by the way. It's most of the ones you need to know.”

  “I didn't realise princesses had to pass tests.”

  “I believe it's called building credibility with colleagues.”

  “You're credible as far as I can see.”

  “As my employee, and my friend you're not qualified to comment, sorry.”

  “I guess I wasn't certain if you considered me a friend, highness. Thank you for that great honour.”

  “Oh, stop it! If you go all central-zone on me I'm going to get cross. And stop calling me 'highness'. As my employee you may publicly call me your princess, as friend you may also use that address, or in private my name. I do have one, it's Naneela, in case you need reminding.”

  “Thank you, Naneela, my princess. I didn't actually need the reminder.”

  “Naneela, what a surprise! Is everything OK?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that since you brought Kahlel here, you've rarely come to see me.”

  “Sorry, mummy.”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “Urm... probably not.”

  “Probably?”

  “I think I've been kidding myself.”

  “Oh?”

  “I thought there was no way I'd end up feeling anything for him, I was just looking after him because it was right to do so, since he's from Tunga, and had got his injuries for my honour, and so on. And I even banned all talk about feelings because I didn't want him declaring that he was in love with me when I wanted to get him better and that was all, and it would have been really awkward to go on treating him if he did that. Plus I thought he had no ambition.”

  “And you've discovered he does?”

  “He's studying for his research exam. He had been even before he got demoted. I've been finding things for him to do so he wouldn't be bored, when he could have been studying.”

  “I see.”

  “Did your friends tell you about Tithia and Tarok?”

  “His young friend was Tithia?”

  “Somehow he found out she'd visited and then that I was looking after Kahlel, and decided she was worth cultivating, and she had no idea what not reciprocating to a gift meant. So, I wrote to him, last week saying 'oops, you don't really think I'd be attending her wedding do you, he's just a low-ranking employee?' Tarok let her down very gently and this morning I wrote a letter telling him he was obviously a kind man, needed a wife, and if my letter helped him come to faith and find one then I'd try to be at the wedding.”

  “Meaning he pretty much gets the pick of any central-zone ladies. I wish you'd discussed that with me, Naneela.”

  “Salay didn't recommend you getting involved for the first one, since it'd be an official loss of face. But what do I do now mummy? Write another letter this afternoon to Tarok saying oops, it's quite possible that Kahlel will become a close colleague or more if he passes his exams?”

  “I wouldn't think so. Tithia is still too young for him.”

  “She doesn't mind. She's hoping that he comes to faith so that she can marry him in good conscience.”

  “Hopefully she'll get over that.”

  “And hopefully he will find someone more his own age too. But it's worse, mum.”

  “What's worse?”

  “What if I do end up falling for Kahlel?”

  “You get married, and have some ultra-intelligent kids of your own to drive you to despair, of course, dear. Do you think it's likely? I mean, we thought it looked likely weeks ago. But I don't think we knew about the Tungan connection.”

  “Just now, I really got frustrated with a problem and said I couldn't offer him half Dad's empire if he solved it, so I'd have to offer him Dad's daughter's hand in marriage instead. He laughed it off, but it didn't seem unreasonable at the time.”

  “Naneela, what I am beginning to think is you've been rationalising your emotions again. But what does he think?”

  “No talking about feelings. But he did say that if becoming a researcher meant we wouldn't work together he might regret taking the exam. I reassured him that projects can be shared. And they can, and I don't want to be the reason he doesn't take his exam. But do you know when projects are shared? About the only reason is two people would be doing the exact same thing anyway, or when they're married and don't have kids yet. So what have I just said?”

  “What you feel, but in very rational terms, perhaps?”

  “Like the rabbits?” Naneela asked.

  “Exactly.” Hayeela told her daughter. “How are his hands?”

  “Getting better. I'm still changing the dressings but that's more to avoid any risk of an infection than because of any broken or weeping skin.”

  “So he could leave?”

  “I'm rationalising that too. Lots of nice rational arguments why he needs to stay close. You're sure I don't need to write to Tarok?”

  “Who did you give the letter to? Maybe they've not delivered it yet.”

  “Oh, I just dropped it in the basket.”

  “Then be a dear and see if it's still there, will you? They normally take them about now. I'll think about how you can give it to him in person.”

  Naneela ran to the basket and found the letter, just before the imperial messenger arrived.

  “You've got it?” her mother asked, “Excellent! You can give it to him yourself in exchange for him watching a demonstration of your equipment and answering the following question: What would it be worth to a merchant like him to be able to have a few minutes' conversation with someone in a distant city.

  That'd help the civil service set some kind of fee. And you can also ask about what social changes it would bring. You can also tell him that you're not really sure what your heart is doing with Kahlel, since it seems he won't be a lowly technician much longer.”

  “And that we hope he does find someone more his own age. I presume the invitation shouldn't be written?”

  “Certainly not! But give me a shout on your new thing with all the wires when he arrives. We might as well demonstrate that social change too.”

  “Kahlel had an idea about that, too, mother.”

  “Go on.”

  “We have our little boards to plug into, but there are already too many wires about, really. We can't extend it to every minister. But what if there were a fifty or even a hundred wires coming to just one board, and then there was a person whose job it was to plug the wires together?”

  “Who could listen to every conversation?”

  “They'd have to be trustworthy, yes, just like the imperial messenger service.”

  “Hmm. A hundred of these little bulbs and connectors?” The empress looked at the plug-board and judged the size. “It seems a waste. Surely, if it's all one person is doing they could have more than that within reach. Twenty by twenty or thirty by thirty would fit in the size of a small loom, maybe?”

  “Nine hundred wires?” Naneela asked, in shock. “I wouldn't want to connect those. But yes, it's possible.”

  “And some of those wires could go to another one of these plug-people in other towns, couldn't they? Social change.”

  “The messengers would lose trade.”

  “The messengers lose trade and you have new trades making and mending the equipment. Not to mention the plug-people. Invite the heads of the messenger guild and of the social change committee to your demonstrations, Naneela. How are the calls to Salay doing?”

  “They're still working, mother. Like Teng, we had that gap when no amount of power would get through, but it seems be working again, and his batteries are OK.”

  “So, radio for long distances and wires for shorter distances?” empress Hayeela asked.

  “And long dedicated wires for messages to army bases, perhaps?”

  “Yes, except we'd need some way for the messages to be validated; we can't just have it being trusted just because of how it arrives.”

  “And when the central zone merchants realise that the distance-speaking and the radio are not going to be available in the central zone for decades, but the outer-zones could have them in a year or two?” Naneela asked. “Will they finally begin to petition for faster social changes?”

  “The affected messengers will disagree.”

  “Maybe. They might decide that the technology will allow them to stay at home more, stay drier, not need to take such risks, and so on. But it's the central zone merchants who normally resist change isn't it?”

  “Some changes certainly.”

  My prince, I wonder where you are. Have you decided to come, or are you sensibly at home? My mind tells me the second is more likely.

  My heart wishes my mind would shut up about such things. But just in case, I leave this letter with Taheela. By my calculations, there is some chance that if you are on the Gem of Karet you will get to Caneth before I return from Tesk. But please do not chase after me there, for Hal and Esme only make a brief visit. They returned from their honeymoon full of plans, even deeper in love than before, and so very much attuned that it is sometimes hard to work out which of them originated which thought.

  One of their plans was that, there being a distinct lack of the sound of cannon-fire or smell of powder on the wind, it would be good to visit Tesk and have the discussion that they failed to have before their wedding. The plan was that king Val would stay a week to ten days to ensure that all is really going well, and then return home, with Hal's mother and sisters returning on another ship. The new plan is that we — Hal, Esme, his mother and sisters -- hope to get to Tesk before Val leaves. If it does appear that there's a battle in progress, we'll turn round and go back to the original plan.

  A part of their reasoning, I'm sure, is that Queen Thena (while she puts a brave face on it) misses her husband enormously, so I wouldn't actually be surprised if Hal tells his father to take his mother home. It's not like the sort of 'battle' that's likely — the systematic bombardment of the army HQ and other nests of dum-semb — needs king Val's tactical genius. We've all been praying that there won't be a need for that.

  Praying for you,

  Hayeela

  “Thank you for leaving the safety of the central zone, count. There are some others coming for this demonstration, which will be a bit more challenging than the one that ended with technician Kahlel's injuries, so success is not guaranteed. But as you are here first, here is a letter you may share,” Naneela handed him the sealed letter, “I trust it is acceptable. And with it, an admission: it seems I was wrong concerning Kahlel's plans for the future, and he may not remain a lowly employee for long. He is making a bid for full status as researcher, which might make him a colleague, I don't know. And perhaps our conversations will stray onto other topics too, I do not know that, either.”

  “The emotions of the young are changeable, you mean, highness?” the count asked. “I may open the letter?”

  “If you open it now and it displeases you, you keep your displeasure to yourself, or mother will call you ungrateful. On the other hand, if there is anything in it you might wish to discuss, and you wait until you have left, you miss your opportunity.”

  “Might there be matters I wish to discuss, highness?”

  “That depends upon your knowledge about matters not always considered important in the central zone, but considered important in the heart of the empire for about a century.”

  “You seek to intrigue me, and you have succeeded, highness.” Tarok said, carefully breaking the seal. He read and his eyes opened wide. “Highness, I do not know what I expected, but... you have exceeded my wildest dreams. I thank you.”

  “You now know the subject of possible discussion. Would you desire such a discussion?”

  “Tithia failed to persuade me, highness. I do not expect you will have more success, but if you wish to try...”

  “The question is not whether I or another wishes to 'try' or 'persuade you', as though it were an intellectual challenge, but whether you are so proud that you refuse to consider the possibility that you are wrong about eternity, and whether you prefer eternal regret or taking a humbling opportunity of becoming the adopted son of the emperor of the universe.”

  “Perhaps I need to listen more attentively then, highness, with fewer preconceptions. I will accept the opportunity you present me with.”

  “Father will be so pleased!” Naneela said, then seeing the look on his face she asked, “What? You thought it would be me?”

  “I think he did, Naneela,” the Emperor of Dahel said, taking off his gardening gloves and the grubby garment he wore for gardening over his plain white tunic.

  "Because he doesn't really understand that he's not in the central zone any more. He still expects gardeners and servants. Naneela will have some questions for you that need your central-zone thinking, count, both as count and as merchant. Then you and I will have some discussions as ageing men who no longer have half their lives before them.

  "You are still not too old to consider marriage, and perhaps with that letter from Naneela you will find that doors are open to you that were firmly barred before. But I tell you now, the most important decision you have to make today does not concern your business nor your domain, nor whether you will actually seek a wife able to give you heirs. No, the most important decision is whether you actually listen, or merely go through the motions of pretending to.”

  “I hope to listen, imperial majesty.”

  “Good. Your mother is bringing the others, Naneela, feel free to fiddle with your technology.”

  “Calling in,” Salay said, “One percent power.”

  “I hear you brother,” Naneela's voice came to him, “You've got the whole family listening in along with three official guests who'll be discussing such things as social impact and how much they want one.”

  “I'm glad it's working then.”

  “What's the weather like?”

  “The wind is very good for making progress, and the water is what the captain calls a bit choppy. We had some rough earlier, so we're a lot happier. If I disappear it might be because the radio doesn't like being turned on and shaken about.”

  “And can you tell us where you are, Salay?” his father asked.

  “Yesterday we lost sight of the inner rim mountains, but we can't see the outer rim yet. Oh, OK. I'm told that we would be able to see the outer rim if it wasn't raining. Does that help?”

  “How far are you from the coast?”

  “The captain is trying to steer so the guy on look-out is just able to keep it in sight. That's something to do with the best wind at this time of year being in a narrow band. I don't claim to understand it, though. I don't understand how we can be going towards the windward continent with the wind mostly behind us, either, but we seem to be doing so at the moment. We're concentrating on language learning, and discussing the weather patterns is a bit beyond us.”

  “Thank you, Salay.” his mother's voice said, “Stay safe, learn lots, and save your batteries.”

  “Turning off,” Salay said.

  “Greetings to all your staff, tell Bilay he has a new sis-” the radio cut out.

  “Bilay, did you hear that?” Salay called.

  “No!” came the reply.

  “You've got 'a new sis-' we don't know what. Sister? Cistern? Sister-in-law?”

  “A new system of taxes to learn?” someone suggested.

  “A new cyst?” someone else joined in.

  “I expect a new sister-in-law,” Bilay said. “But thank you for the other suggestions. Most entertaining.”

  “Our pleasure, Bilay. How is your stomach?” Salay asked.

  “My stomach is entirely well, my prince, so long as it's empty. I fear I will not be very healthy by the time we reach Caneth.”

  “You were able to eat something last night, weren't you?” Salay asked.

  “A very little, just before falling asleep, yes.”

  “I highly recommend watching the horizon.” Saval, the interpreter said.

  “I have always been short-sighted, I guess that reference never developed for me, at least it does not seem to help.”

  “Nevertheless, you can look at it and tell yourself, that isn't moving, just the ship,” Saval said.

  “It's not the food itself, is it?” Salay asked. “I know it's different. Try just fruit for a day.”

  “I'll try, my prince,” Bilay said.