'You don't need to act like that, you know.'

Massy was swigging from her jar, observing the bustle of the cenobium before a consultation, while Hebda stacked sweet, spicy treats on a bronze tray.

'Like what?'

Hebdha was no longer quite as intimidated by the eidolon; she belched and swore and laughed like a merchant, and her cheerful irreverence was new and intoxicating.

'Be all "yes ma'am no ma'am three sacks full ma'am" to everyone even a bit above you in this weird place. You have an eidolon! You have me. You grovel, and you should swagger. How old are you?'

'Fifteen, ma'am... I mean, Massy.'

Massy waved her jar at an older novice, who was trying to persuade an uninterested swamp ox that it should move back into his stables.

'Shall we play count the number of eidola that Gwitha there has? Give you a clue: it's smaller than one. And yet you helped her muck out that horrible thing's shed because she told you to! I hope you washed your hands.'

'Are you drunk?'

Massy squinted into the jar, which refilled.

'Yes, and no. This is an incredible place. I can basically control whatever I like about me. It's like you said; things only affect me if I want them to. The problem is, this isn't proper drunk. If I want to I can switch it off.'

'That might be a good idea.'

'You know, I am starting to remember a bit about me! How long does it normally take?'

Hebda moved the tray, and started on the next.

'It depends. Sometimes days, sometimes months. Sometimes, never. What can you remember?'

'I was a gambler. I died when someone threw me out of a window, because I accused them of cheating at cards. I was right, too, they were. Can't recall much else, though. Is that good?'

'It's often the moment of death that comes back first, and it sort of unwinds backwards. Like a ball of yarn.'

Massy took another swig.

'Makes sense, I suppose. So, King Fancyboots told me about this consultation. Apparently his grandson has been sent to ask questions about an invasion. Must be pretty desperate.'

Hebda shrugged.

'I think that's pretty normal.'

'You have no idea, do you? How remote this place is? You need to spend five lousy weeks of jungle to get here, up that horrible river. And then you ask, what, eight questions, and then you spend another three equally lousy weeks back down the river, getting back to civilisation. Eight weeks is the time it takes to subjugate a city. You only send someone if it's the last roll of the dice.'

'You must have come here when you were alive to know that.'

'Hmm, I suppose I must have.'

They were walking now, into the main receiving hall, Hebda carrying both of the trays. They could see the delegation on the other side of the room looking uncomfortable and out of place, while the novices and servants bustled around them arranging things, serving drinks and food.

'That one. That's the interesting one.'

Massy had completely transformed her clothing into a far more sombre outfit. Her drink disappeared, and she snapped her fingers and pointed at an old man who was talking quietly with one of the delegation's guards. He was clutching a cane of dark wood and silver, and was drinking from a silver cup.

'No, it's not,' replied Hebdha. 'The Yaj is that one, there,' and she gestured towards the young noble, who was laughing, amused rather than overawed by the gold and skulls.

'Yes, but he's not the real centre of power, is he? Look at how the guards actually listen to the other one.'

Massy thought for a moment.

'As a novice, you can talk to them, can't you?'

'Yes, but...'

'Great. Go and ask Mister Pointy Stick what his favourite part of the trip was.'

'What?'

'We don't have much time. Just do it.'

Feeling like everything was moving faster than she could understand, Hebdha walked across the hall, carrying one of the trays. She approached the old man, stopped in front of him, and bobbed while she offered him the food.

'These are very good, your Lordship.'

He broke off from his discussion, and scanned the sweets, before taking a small one.

'I hope your Lordship's journey here was acceptable. Was there anything you particularly liked?'

He noticed her novice's robes and clearly assumed that making him comfortable was part of her job. He nodded, thoughtfully.

'Thank you. We stopped at a town about half way up and had something similar to these. They are indeed very good.'

Prompted by Massy, she pressed on.

'And what do you think of our hall here?'

A ghost of a smile haunted his lips as he replied.

'Very, ah, death-themed. I don't think it would be suitable for entertaining visitors at home.'

She bobbed, thanked him, and moved on.

'What was all that about?' she hissed. 'Why did you make me ask him that?'

'Old gambling trick. Have him answer a question where he has to remember something, and another where he has to make something up. Sometimes people have a different expression for each. It means you can tell when they are lying, because they will be making the second face, the one where you invent a story.'

'Did he?'

'Not sure. He has a lot of self-control.'

A sharp laugh from the young Lord made her aware that High Priestess Theqa and her retinue had entered the room, in full vivid blue ceremonial robes. Their golden beads and bone masks gleamed in the dying sunlight, and they carried staffs bound with whispvine, which surrounded them with a gentle copper glow.

The priestesses bowed to the delegates, who – with the exception of the young Lord – bowed back.

'Time for us to go,' said Massy. 'We need to be in an alcove in the eidolon hall. Come on.'

No one was looking at her anyway, so it was easy for Hebda to slip away from the hall.

'I changed my mind, by the way. You work well as a novice. People underestimate you, and that is incredibly useful. I learned that from my husband.'

'You had a husband? Will he be missing you?'

'No, not at all. I wanted the title; he, in turn, wanted someone to turn a blind eye to his, ah, companions. We made it work, but he won't be exactly weeping right now.'

'That sounds terrible!'

'Not at all! It was great. I used to drink, party, gamble and fight as much as I wanted to. One time, I had three... Actually, you are a little young for that story. So, anyway, my husband had this really pretty face, and everyone used to assume that he was as stupid as gutter mould: but actually he was very clever, and would manipulate people. Mostly for favours. Sometimes for his job. He was lazy, though. People like that often are.'

'You sound like you two got on well.'

'As I said, we made it work. But you, with your shy little attitude, you can hide a lot there. And I think you are a lot sharper than you let on, hmm?'

And then, they were in the eidolon hall.