Along the walls, behind protective sheets of thin glass, were the famed Tapestries of the Prophet, telling the story of Larsk’s voyage upriver to see the Face of God. Around the periphery of the tapestries were horrid renditions of Quintaglios bent in aggressive postures, tails balancing heads. These were the nay-sayers, the evil ones, the aug-ta-rot beings, the demons who knew that Larsk had told the truth but lied about it in the light of day. Afsan looked at their twisted faces and outstretched arms. Each demon had his left hand held strangely, with the thumb over the palm, the claws extended on the second and third fingers, and the fourth and fifth fingers splayed.

The images were flat, with all the characters depicted in plain profile, and no perspective to the form of Larsk’s sailing ship. Many illustrations were still done this way, but Afsan had begun to see an increasing number that used the three-dimensional drawing techniques recently developed by the religious painters of Edz’toolar province. Still, despite their flatness, the tapestries were captivating. Ever since he had begun working here, Afsan had meant to arrive early one morning and spend some time examining the finely painted leather sheets with their colorful images of a time 150 kilodays past.

But today was not the day. As usual, Afsan was late. He bounded down the corridor, his tail slapping up and down. Saleed had finally given up berating Afsan for the noise he made running down the halls.

Afsan came to the great keetaja-wood door to Saleed’s office, the astrologer’s cartouche with its pattern of stars and planets and moons carved into the golden grain. Suddenly there were voices coming from within, loud and harsh, as if engaged in an argument.

Afsan paused, his hand on the fluted brass rod that worked the locking mechanism. Privacy was deeply valued. The territorial instinct could never be completely overcome, and when one was alone behind a closed door it was presumably by choice. But, Afsan decided, since Saleed obviously was not alone, no harm would be done by assessing the situation before stepping into it. He placed his other hand to his right earhole, forming a cup to funnel the sounds.