It Is Well Understood Today That Policy Is Driven By Ineluctable Socioeconomic Forces And Therefore Insensitive To The Death Of Any Particular Person

“Ah?”

“Lord Treasurer of Swadvanchdeu.”

“Ah!”

That confirmed Stansolt's innocence in the matter of Poiskops, Dirant believed. Murdering him would discourage two gentlemen he surely wished to murder much more from entering Koshat Dreivis. Unless the negotiations dealt with betrayal of some sort, they must concern a treaty between the warring countries long expected and dreaded just as long. The neighbors of Noiswawau and Swadvanchdeu, and their neighbors, everyone else in Egillen really, preferred the current mutual entanglement to any other arrangement.

Loigwin's arrival had discommoded the secret investigators by increasing the number of suspects by one; Stansolt's information added thousands more. On the other hand, probably none of those people cared about a retired ambassador, his children, or commercial rituals, and so Dirant ought to take that as good news after all, if surprising. He however no longer approved, for personal reasons, of Stadeskosken's commitment to keeping a Ritualist in Koshat Dreivis throughout the meeting. Negotiations between Dvanjchtlivs which ended in flame and slaughter may have been rare historically, but they were the ones people remembered.

Seeing Dirant's evident turmoil, Stansolt commiserated. “I felt just the same when I heard of it, and when the news enters the broadsheets, it will become a day of mourning for every patriotic Grenlofer. If only we had means to stop it. Regrettably, the peace cannot be delayed any longer, and that puts us in a traffic-and-tides situation wherein we must influence what we can while preparing for what we cannot. We want relations between the two to remain as uneasy as we can arrange. A failed assassination with an unknown perpetrator is very excellent for spreading distrust, but this idea of Mr. Onkallant's being blamed would ruin that. What are your reasons for conjecturing that Mr. Onkallant is the target of a campaign of misdirection?”

Dirant set down the box, satisfied yet still peering at it. “There is the fact of his sudden absence from Dubwasef, something easy to arrange simply by bringing a job to the branch office which requires a translator. There is the unnatural way in which the subject arose during the conversation between Mr. Helsodenk and Eizesl Nein-Cadops-Bain as if they were prompted to address it, whether because of their own inclination or as a result of external suggestion. There is one other point more ethereal than the others. I once met his father, Mr. Delaosant, and was warned by an optional class ability of a disaster which would affect him.” After that report, Dirant grimaced. He was supposed to be wary of Stansolt, not to act like a junior operative under his command. Certainly not one pleased when his superior considered his opinion seriously.

“Ritualists have such an ability? I never knew.”

“It is called Divine Guidance (Hunch), and its name well describes its reliability.”

“Even so, we may have committed an oversight in our hiring practices. Does it tell you if the danger has passed?”

“It is unfortunate, but . . .”

“I understand.” Stansolt thought for a moment. “There isn't anyone who doesn't expect you on the beach this evening, but I can tell you now there will be no use in looking for me. I'll be indoors.”

“Ah, and I am to encourage people not to retire early? I must look through my rituals suitable for entertainment then.”

“That's what I hoped to hear, Mr. Dirant.” Stansolt stood up and shook Dirant's hand before gesturing for him to leave first, asking if he saw anyone, and then slipping out himself.

In the end, Dirant had no opportunity to expend his precious Ritualist resources on class-specific party tricks such as the annoyance ritual he learned in Redrin. Keiminops Bodan-Tin asked him on behalf of his family or rather all Koshat Dreivis to restore the intricate scoring field which already had been ruined by the waves at their height and the feet of fishermen. The appreciation on the part of attendees as they ambled in for Dirant's artistry caused his enthusiasm for the project to swell so far that he designed two play fields, one for the combat classes and one for the cultivators of peace and sophistication. Honesty alone determined the participants in each, for Drastlifars shrunk from revealing their status in public with more revulsion even than Adabans, as difficult as that may be.

Whether Koshat Dreivis could be said to transport itself entirely to the beach waited upon the conclusions of political philosophers debating what truly constituted a community, but regardless, nearly the entire population showed. All ideas about invitations and competing functions were set aside for a certain category of communal celebration which included the year's last cookout. Only someone able to withstand the cruel whispers of appalled neighbors stayed away. Outsiders such as Stansolt Gaomat, for instance.

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As to the nature of the festival, its bustling magnitude distinguished it from the common beach party. More people, more fires, more balls bouncing among rings and triangles prepared by a careful architect, and more portable racks to store weapons in case the ocean's denizens decided to participate as well. Poiskops Bodan-Tin kept runners going back and forth between the beach and the gazebo laden with popcorn and the novelty it represented. Excepting the monsters who no doubt huddled on the ocean's floor waiting for the regular post dolphin to deliver their invitations, the merriment appeared general.

“Your hard work is a genuine delight for the townspeople,” Millim Takki Atsa informed Dirant after she took her turn. “I don't think anyone's actually keeping score, though. That makes sense, since they know we won't keep it up the whole night, but I'm a little sad about it. Are two fields enough though? One's far busier than the other.” She waved with her sling toward the non-combat zone where attendees waited for their turns in a cluster. Quite aside from the disturbing lack of order and how they decided who went next, its size exceeded by several times the gathering on the combat side, which resembled in numbers a reunion of a graduating class thirty years later when a depressing proportion of the graduates could not attend or even be reached.

The inequality did not bother Dirant. “Two is the perfect number when I wish to observe who participates in either league. At the very least I would like to learn who is most capable of achieving a violent resolution to affairs.”

“You're getting scientific, Ressi. If you keep becoming more qualified, I'm not sure I'll be able to afford you as an assistant. Oh, there's Eizesl Bodan-Tin!” In public as they were, Takki refrained from announcing she hoped Keiminops would reveal himself as a secret assassin trained in an elite class formerly unknown in Egillen, but her excitement implied it.

He joined the non-combat group. So much for that. Neither was he engaging in subterfuge, to judge by his longing looks toward the other field where Ibir Doteniksta was preparing to let loose while Onerid Paspaklest warmed up behind. Nobody else let slip any shocking revelations either. Subjugator Petarun Bavan-Ston stood behind Onerid, the cadre of younger Drastlifars under Ritualist Posmeterin Igwodan-Tin's paternal frowns mostly joined the soft crowd, and Chisops Dogai-Brein split from his bodyguards for the occasion.

“You see there is no need to include class in an introduction,” Dirant concluded.

“Ressi.” Takki's tone resembled that of an investor about to explain why the proposed product or service would not be receiving the desired financial support. “You spent an hour drawing, and you did it wonderfully, and now you have to stand here watching to find out something we all could have just told you.”

“Exactly.”

“I don't understand you sometimes.”

Other differences of opinion arose around the topic, some of them requiring immediate resolution. Loigwin Nein-Cadops-Bain consulted a lawyer on an especially intricate issue. “Eizeur Nifkleskir, do you plan to toss a stone?” he asked.

“I thought I might eat it, but if what you say is the custom, I suppose I must accede.” There are attitudes a person takes when wishing for others to understand he is joking, and others appropriate for expressing contempt. Helsodenk Nifkleskir knew nothing of the first sort.

“Yes, of course. Ha. The point is that I sense a similarity in you, not of temperament or learning but of the consequence of numbers, and I am in doubt as to which field to challenge. Much to optional abilities is left by our class, and each of us is unlike the others.”

Even an Adaban in such a circumstance might simply ask where Acrobats should queue. Regardless, Helsodenk showed interest in the controversy. “Ah. Yes, in legal realms this has long been an uncertain matter. Courts of the same state have reached various determinations based on the particular question to be answered, or based on caprice if we ask the thwarted lawyers I am sure. Then there is the much-reported trial in Eubosh Ashurit which resulted in a tournament pitting classes against one another to create an authoritative categorization. I advise you to refer to those results and then argue for their universal adoption or claim we must conclude the opposite of what those barbarians did.”

“That's fascinating,” Loigwin said, and honestly no less. “Where did our class end up?”

“The fees for legal research can be steep. Watching costs nothing, however.” With that, Helsodenk Nifkleskir lined up with the hard classes.

After that, Loigwin faced still a doubly doubtful undertaking. Even if he achieved an impressive score in comparison to the others in his division, was a particular person someone to be impressed by that? Dirant wanted to ask Onerid about her stance on the subject when she came over to join Takki in watching the other tossers, but he refrained from expressing an unworthy curiosity which was contrary to his obligation to pass on only good things.

Loigwin kicked up his leg beautifully and threw. His rock twisted so that it hit a triangle pointing along the most extreme angle the creator had deemed reasonable and three more score spaces after that. “Did you remark Mr. Loigwin's throw?” Onerid said to Takki. “He used to do tricks like that all the time. Sometimes nothing else would stop the baby from having one of his fits. The baby is Onkallant of course, because Onsifenk never gave such trouble as that . . . that . . .”

“Glory of his line?” Takki suggested.

“Exactly!” Both fell to laughing for reasons far beyond the scope of Dirant's knowledge. He was surprised enough to discover Onkallant and Onerid had another brother who had not yet sought employment with Kitslof's most successful mercantile company engaged primarily in transportation. There was no reason this Onsifenk Paspaklest ought to have done so, but a pattern had been established.