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troupe had broken cover. Firac with his two young sons, who worked the apparatus on the largest of the puppets, and Therasa and Doria, who played the speaking women’s parts. The travel had been difficult and their oxen weren’t in the best of shape. She shook her head. “No, we’ll stay the night.”
Chapter 2
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    Despite her assurances to Rastim that all would be well, Maskelle had sat up the rest of the night on watch. The priest of the Sare had kept his word. Nothing had disturbed the peace of the plain, or the serenity of the temple.
    From the time Maskelle had been a young initiate she had been used to sleepless nights. The Year Rites could last for days, and once the Wheel of the Infinite was constructed it had to be guarded, until it could be dispersed into wind and water to strengthen the supports of the universe.
    Now she sat on the wagon seat next to Old Mali, thinking of the upcoming Hundred Year Rite. The sky was overcast and a slight breeze stirred the thick vegetation on the edge of the jungle to either side of the wide road. The damp air clung to her skin and she felt badly in need of a bath. The universe didn’t seem in any great need of support, but perhaps she wasn’t as attuned to it as she used to be. She couldn’t tell if the uneasiness she felt was inside or outside of herself.
You are getting old. Your soul wasn’t so divided in your youth
, a nagging voice said.
Yes
, she told it ruefully,
much easier to do damage with a whole soul
.
    This stretch of the Great Road, leading deeper into the well-occupied outskirts of Duvalpore, was fairly safe from bandits and they weren’t alone on it. A large wagontrain of merchants was only a few hundred yards ahead of them, and single wagons or small groups of travellers had passed them several times throughout the morning. They were moving into the country where what had been brackish swamplands had been drained and brought back to life by freshwater canals to make the rice-growing land that supported the capital. Duvalpore was a city of water: canals, barays, moats, all necessary to support life during the dry season. It still surprised her how much she was looking forward to seeing it again.
    Old Mali elbowed her in the side, and Maskelle said, “I know, I know. I saw him an hour ago.” Of course, he was closer this time, standing next to the milestone near a stand of rain trees, looking up the road.
    The swordsman had been pacing them all morning, just in the shadow of the jungle. He had stayed near their wagons all night, a silent companion to Maskelle’s lonely vigil. He hadn’t slept either, and he hadn’t tried to approach her, though she felt reasonably certain he had been conscious of her presence. He had kept moving most of the night, perhaps to keep himself awake, making a wide circuit around their camp almost as if he was on watch too. Near dawn she had watched him strip and wash in the temple’s baray, an act of irreverence that would have shocked the priests and that Maskelle regarded with wry amusement. Or maybe her reaction to it was what she found amusing. The Court would consider her past all that, but obviously her body still thought she was twenty.
    Old Mali made a lewd noise and Maskelle became aware she was staring. She eyed the old woman sardonically. “Don’t be disgusting. I’m a priestess, remember?” This sent Old Mali into such paroxysms of laughter Maskelle had to pound the old woman on the back before she choked.

    The rain didn’t return, except for a misting drizzle in the late morning, making Maskelle wonder how this luck was to be paid for later.
    In the late afternoon the Great Road met the Great Canal, which it would parallel for the rest of the way into Duvalpore. The jungle gave way to a plantation of large-leafed breadfruit trees, papaya and banana, and a large outpost with two- and three-storied wooden buildings that went up to the bank of the canal and extended over it to the