The Enemy of My Enemy
“Tonorosant glided along on his tiny, scarlet, steam float and turned into the pond-spangled grounds of the Commercial Delegation. The Delegate himself, Mothiosant, received him alone in his office. His manner was strangely simple, strangely cold with an inner rather than outer chill, utterly simple.
“There are three men coming from over the sea,” he said, “and you are to host them for the time being.”
No polite murmurings of kinship terms, no civil expressions of I-must-hope.
So, though much astonished, Tonorosant said, equally simply, “I have other things in mind, and I don’t understand if I’m being asked or commanded. And if commanded, then by whom? Surely not you?”
Mothiosant said, “You were helped. Now you must help.” He looked at him, looked through him, looked away from him.
The chill was infectious. Feeling a slight shiver, a slight shudder, sensing rather than believing the unnamed inference, Tonorosant protested, “My debts to those in Pemath have by now been fully paid.”
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