"I did not know," Manaam said. "I am sorry." He walked over to the window, turning around to face Cahuan. "I have asked my secretary now, and he has confirmed. The county scribe has indeed been here. It seemed a small, uninteresting, bureaucratic affair to him, a routine thing. He did not tell me about it, nor did he see some big contentious political affair lurking behind this. And neither did I, I am afraid."

His fingers gripped the sill. "I could have watched out for this, if I had seen it coming. I could have alerted you."

Cahuan watched him, her eyes dark. "Would you have?" she asked softly.

Manaam blushed. "Of course I would have! I may be a cautious person, but I can do as much as that. I would have let you know the scribe is in town." Manaam walked a few steps into the room. "I would have spoken to him myself too, and told him to include all of Shebbetin's people in the folkcount."

Manaam looked into Cahuan's eyes directly now. "But I was not on the lookout for a scribe. Should I have been? Did you tell me? Did I just forget?"

Cahuan held his gaze. Then she dropped her eyes to the ground. "I am sure I mentioned it at some point. But I should have asked you much more explicitly. And been much more alert myself, in fact. I, and we, did not imagine this might happen. So we all missed it."

* * *

A bright autumn sun shone down on Old Varoonya, warming the labyrinth of terraces and rooftop gardens. Everything was lush and green after the rainy season, and the slight chill in the air dissolved swiftly in the light of noon.

Yoor had been too lazy to walk up the long ramp. So now he climbed off a swaying rope ladder and over a small ornamental wall that playfully symbolized boundaries where, really, there were none. Leaves as big as his head waved at Yoor, obscuring his vision, blinding and welcoming him in the middle of the jungle, a verdancy of herbs and vines and flowerpots. Yoor advanced along a narrow ridge lined with orange trees, then up a pirouetting staircase of this huge park, this whole landscape leading a life of its own several stories up from the tangled lanes on the ground.

Finally, in the greenery between a laundry line, a windmill and a bright red sun sail, Yoor saw where Torly and Nin had settled. And gotten at least halfway through their discussion.

Nin's eyes were blazing. She stomped her foot. "This can't be! We're not in times before the Transition, after all! Not even in Shebbetin. Or at least, we're not going to let it stay that way!"

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her chin raised up defiantly. "Even though that is precisely what this Naydeer person seems to be aiming for. To have people excluded. Making sure they are not counted and don't count. That they cannot make themselves heard, and so can be exploited as before."

Nin took Torly's hand and pulled her to her feet. "We won't let that happen! We will send new scribes there right away and have everyone take part in the Choosing! Everyone!"

*

After the sunlit roof gardens, the room seemed cool and dark. Lenoren was about to hurry out to her next speech or her next listening circle, as always during these moons of wooing. But she paused, her hand on the doorknob, glancing back at her daughter. "There is no way this is going to happen."

"But—"

"Not for this Choosing," Lenoren cut Nin short. "The lists of choosers are already being drawn up. We'd never be able to do a folkcount and have the results come back in time. I am sorry. But it is too late."

Lenoren turned to leave. "Ask me again once the new Council is in office."

Nin screamed, throwing the crumpled letter after the retreating form of her mother.

Lenoren sighed as she disappeared into the streets of Varoonya.

* * *

Cold was oozing off the rough stone walls of the baker's home. Three children were hiding underneath a thick duvet, telling each other stories in the dark.

Kaya patted the stack of papers in her bag. "This way, we will know."

She put the last sheet and a pencil down on the table, looking up at her host. "We will have the exact number and the names of people who really do live in Shebbetin. We're going through the whole settlement now, recording one house at a time. And when the scribes finally do come, we already know what their results should be. If they have missed anyone, and who. We will not be fooled a second time, not even by a notch."

The baker nodded. She wrote down the details for all people in her household, adding a few comments about neighbors who would be out for work at this time, but whose names she could just as easily provide.

Kaya sent another prayer of thanks to Enim for having had the foresight to tease every last bit of information out of the Behrlem scribe. If Kaya had just made a guess herself, she would never have hit upon the exact official format for a folkcount.

* * *

Enim nodded with satisfaction. The scroll had still been there. Squeezed in between the sample reports he had brought back from Varoonya, letters from friends and interesting notes about this and that, there were all the copies from the Artificer's Den. Including the complex layout Enim had just rolled out on the table.

His eyes roamed over the intricate design of lines and pentacles, symbolized crystals, explanatory scribblings. Some of them his own, Enim thought proudly.

A smile lingered on Enim's lips as he remembered how Kaya had squeezed and kissed him for his suggested plan. That was just Kaya, he supposed. She hardly ever touched him at all, but at moments like that she turned so fervent and fiery it practically left a burn.

Unobserved, the corner of Enim's mouth stayed curved lopsidedly while his eyes focused on the pattern. With skillful, practiced fingers, he began to unravel the glass thread and reached for his wand.