Glawen leaned back in his chair.

"As I sat here thinking dozing, as you put it I realized that Floreste must have accumulated a large sum of money. Do you know where this money is kept?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. It is on deposit at the Bank of Mircea in Soumjiana."

"I have decided to bring a civil suit against Floreste. My chances of a large settlement seem to be good especially if the case is tried in the High Court here at the Station, which would have the jurisdiction."

"Hah!" cried Bodwyn Wook.

"You have mastered that dastardly Clattuc art of attacking your enemy in his most sensitive parts! Even in the very shadow of doom, Floreste will suffer agonies if his money is threatened."

"This was my own thinking. How would I institute such a suit?"

"Wilfred Offaw will draw up the papers this very day, and Floreste's money will be impounded as if it were encased in durastrang and guarded by a hundred Gray Helmets."

"Floreste should be disconcerted, at the very least."

"Beyond a doubt. When do you wish to question him? Anytime is suitable; Floreste has no engagements elsewhere."

"This afternoon will do well enough."

"I will mention to Marcus that you are to be assisted in every way."

Immediately after lunch Glawen wrapped himself in a cloak and walked leaning against the blustering wind to the ponderous old jail across the river from the Orpheum. In the front office he was searched by Marcus Diffin, the jailer.

"I will not apologize, since I pass no one without a search, including Bodwyn Wook himself, and it was he who gave the orders. And what, may I ask, is this parcel?"

"It is what it seems to be. If I need it, I'll. give you a signal."

Glawen entered the chamber, and stood for a moment with his back to the door. Floreste sat in a wooden armchair at a rough plank table, his attention fixed upon a small white flower in a slender blue vase. The intensity of his gaze suggested mystical inversion, or perhaps he merely hoped that Glawen might notice his preoccupation and tiptoe abashed from the cell. Anything was possible, thought Glawen. After a moment he said gently: "Let me know as soon as I may conveniently break into your meditation."

Without so much as shifting his gaze, Floreste made a gesture of weary resignation.

"Speak! I have no choice but to listen. My only hope is hope itself. I look everywhere, but I find it only as a symbol expressed by this little flower, so brave and winsome!"

"It is indeed a nice flower," said Glawen. He pulled up a chair and seated himself across the table from Floreste.

"I

want to ask you a few questions, which I hope that you will answer."

"I am not in an expansive mood. I doubt if you will be gratified by my answers."

"From sheer curiosity: how long have you known Zaa? I refer, of course, to the Ordene at Pogan's Point."

"Names mean nothing to me," said Floreste.

"I have known thousands of folk, of every ilk and description. Some I might recall, for their style of being, or a certain flair which sets them apart from all other Gaeans. Others are like footprints in last year's sand: dismal creatures best forgotten."

"In which category do you place the Ordene Zaa?"

"These finicky little classifications are both pointless and tiresome."

"Perhaps you will tell me this: how and why did Zaa, a woman of intelligence, become involved in Monomantics?"

Floreste gave a cool chuckle.

"A fact is a fact, is it not?

Things are as they are, and that is enough for the man of deeds."

"As a dramatist, are you not concerned for motivations?"

"Only as a dramatist. Empathies, sympathies by such means the insecure try to rationalize their murky and frightening universes."

"That is an interesting point of view."

"So it is. I have now said all I care to say and you may leave."

Glawen pretended not to hear the suggestion.

"The day is probably not too young for a glass of wine; I suppose that you feel as I do on the subject, since we are both men of cultivated taste."

Floreste darted Glawen a haughty glance.

"Do you think to gain my favor with such footling tactics? I want none of your wine, early or late."

"I expected that you would take this position," said Glawen.

"I brought no wine."

"Bah," muttered Floreste.

"Your prattle is both inane and insipid, Did you hear me correctly? I gave you permission to leave."

"Just as you like. But I have not told you the news!"

"I am not interested in news. I only wish to live out my days in peace."

"Even when the news concerns you?"

Floreste looked down at the white flower. He shook his head and sighed.

"Grace and gentility: goodbye: no doubt forever.

I am embroiled in vulgarity against my will." He looked Glawen up and down as if seeing him for the first time.

"Well why not? The wise man, as he travels through life, enjoys the scenery to either side, since he knows he will not come this way again. The road ahead winds back and forth, over the hills and far away, and who knows where it leads?"