Most of the blood had been cleaned off her by now, and so far as Master
Rababull could determine, no whip had touched the girl's skin, ever.
Not so much as a single lash.
Completing his examination, he paused and stood looking scornfully and
distrustfully at Habrunt, who was still kneeling.
"A miracle--in our very midst!" admired Master Rababull mockingly. He
looked at Si'Wren as if the better to marvel, and back at Habrunt.
"Praise the gods! Six hundred and seventy-eight years have I walked
this earth, and many wonders have I seen, but never, ever, have I seen
such a thing as this!"
Master Rababull turned his head toward Si'Wren again, but she was too
afraid to meet his scornful look, and he surveyed her contemptuously
before returning slitted eyes to Habrunt's bowed figure.
"To which of the gods shall I give thanks?" Master Rababull demanded
rhetorically. "After all, seeing that my explicit orders were destined
to be put at naught, I must hasten and make obeisance, that I might not
displease the deities. What totem might I have offended, had my
punishment been carried out? What must I do to show myself blameless
before men and gods alike, in the face of this colossal supernatural
marvel?"
Master Rababull paused, walking slowly from one end of the upper
landing to the other, with a dead-silent Habrunt on the one hand on the
steps, and Si'Wren with Prut looming beside her, on the other hand at
the entrance to the House.
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