I feel it. It will be right. You will
see."
Mearch turned for the door.
"No harm will come to her," he called over his shoulder on the way out.
Ibi studied the surface of his desk until Mearch was safely gone.
Then he glowered down at his withered old hands, and said, as if
speaking in Mearch's presence instead of Si'Wren's, "It had better not,
Mearch."
* * *
Si'Wren sat at court every day, whether her Emperor appeared or no.
When Emperor Euphrates did not show, Borla usually heard the cases. Any
problem which he did not feel himself adequately competent or suitably
authorized to deal with, he literally bound the suspect over for
Emperor Euphrates to dispose of later at his convenience.
Si'Wren learned the complex, elusive ebb and flow of court politics,
the petty social concerns, the lawsuits, the drastic and petty
religious differences, and a host of other lost causes.
For practice, she always had to record everything, even if one of Ibi's
shaven-headed underlings was present making official copies. Si'Wren
did not write it out word-for-word, which would clearly have been
impossible, but only took down names, dates, and a few crucial details
about any complaints or petitions.
Then, tiredly, she would retire to Ibi's quarter, and knock the clay
filler from the frames, kneading the used clay with a little water
until she had worked it soft and pliable again.
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