"Put your questions to the Ordene said see how she answers you."

"That was my request in the first place."

Mutis ignored the remark.

"Stand where you are." The door closed in Glawen's face.

Glawen turned, descended the steps and went out into the road, where he paced back and forth. He stopped short. A childish act, he told himself. It was beneath his dignity to so much as notice Mutis' conduct. He returned to the porch, but stood with his back to the door, looking off across the steppe.

Behind him he heard the door open and turned. The expression of easy condescension he had prepared for Muds was wasted.

In the doorway stood a person of lesser stature, far more slender than Mutis. Man or woman? Glawen was disposed to guess woman. Her age? Judgment was difficult, by reason of the austere seminary garments. Glawen assumed early, or perhaps middle, maturity. Even swathed in the folds of her white gown she seemed thin; the cowl exposed only dark luminous eyes, a short thin nose, skin almost as white as the cowl, a mouth colorless and severe. Her racial stock was clearly different from that of the Zubenites Glawen had observed on the bus. Standing in the doorway she examined Glawen from head to foot, with rather more careful attention than he thought needful. At last she spoke, in a husky voice: "I am the Ordene Zaa. What do you want of me?"

Glawen responded with formal politeness: "I am Captain Glawen Clattuc, from Arammta Station on Cadwal. The Conservator has sent me here to make certain inquiries. That is the reason for my presence."

Zaa's face showed no change of expression, nor did she show any disposition to allow Glawen entry into the seminary.

"I

can only repeat my question."

Glawen acknowledged the remark with a punctilious nod of the head.

"I am an officer of the Station Police, and I am affiliated with the IPCC. If you wish, I will show you my credentials."

"No matter. It is all the same, one way or the other."

"I cite these facts so that you will not mistake me for a casual visitor. My inquiries concern the recent Thurben Island excursion made by six of your people." Glawen read off the names.

"I am not interested in these six men; I want only to learn the identity of the person or persons who arranged the event."

Zaa stood silently in the doorway. Glawen realized that he had asked no question. The cool stare was unnerving. He must take care, he told himself, neither to become impatient nor yet to lose his composure. He spoke as before, formally polite: "Can you provide me the name of this person?"

"Yes."

"What is this person's name?"

"This person is dead. I do not know whether dead people make use of names."

"What was the person's name while he or she was alive?"

"The Ordene Sibil."

"Do you know how the Ordene Sibil learned of the excursions?"

"Yes, and to anticipate your question, I see no reason to divulge this information."

"What are the reasons for your reluctance?"

"They are complicated and would require a certain amount of background knowledge before you could understand them."

Glawen nodded thoughtfully. In his most cordial tones he said: "If you care to step outside, we can sit on the steps, which will spare you the fatigue of standing. Then, if you choose, you might provide me a brief outline of this 'knowledge'--enough, at least, for our present purposes."

The Ordene Zaa said evenly: "I suggest that you keep a very tight check on your impertinence. I detect in you both vanity and aggressiveness; you have made a poor impression."

"I am sorry to hear that," said Glawen.

"This certainly was not my intention."

"I see no reason to sit on the steps and there repeat the remarks I have already made. Consider them carefully and well. If you wish further information, you may enter the premises, but you do so by your own volition, not by my invitation. Is this clear?"

Glawen frowned.

"Not altogether."

"The statement seems clear enough to me," said Zaa.

Glawen hesitated. Zaa's remarks, by their tone as much as by their content, hinted of inconvenience, the responsibility for which he would be taking upon himself. He opened his mouth to ask for details, but the doorway was empty; Zaa had turned away.

Glawen stood looking indecisively through the doorway. What harm could come to him? He was a police official; if he were detained or molested, Kirdy would notify the Adjudicant Plock. He took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway into a high-ceilinged vestibule with stone walls and floor, unoccupied except for himself.

Glawen waited a moment, but no one came to speak with him.

To the side a short vaulted passage led into what would seem a conference room: like the vestibule, high-ceilinged and paved with square tiles of black stone. Three high windows, tall and narrow, broke the far wall;

pallid beams of Zonklight slanted down upon a long table of wooden planks, scrubbed so diligently over so many years that the hard grain stood out in relief. Heavy wooden chairs surrounded the table;

benches skirted the walls. At the back of the room, in the shadows, stood Zaa.

Zaa pointed to a bench.

"Sit; enjoy your rest. Say quickly what you wish to say."

Glawen made a polite gesture.

"Perhaps you will join me?"

Zaa looked at him blankly.

"At what?"

"I do not like to sit while you stand."

"You are gallant, but I prefer to stand." She pointed to the bench again, in a manner Glawen found somewhat peremptory.

Glawen bowed with dignity, and settled upon the end of a bench. Hoping to bring an element of civility to the conversation, he said:

"This is a remarkable building! Is it old?"