“Sounds fine,” she agreed.

I told the postern guard to tell Henden, Amber’s steward, that we were heading into town and weren’t sure when we’d be back. He said that he would as soon as he got off duty, which would be pretty soon. My experience at Bloody Bill’s had taught me the lesson of leaving such messages — not that I thought we were in any danger; or that Llewella’s knowing wouldn’t be sufficient.

Leaves crunched beneath our feet as we took one of the walks toward a side gate. With only a few strands of cirrus high overhead, the sun shone brightly. To the west, a flock of dark birds flapped its way toward the ocean, south.

“It’s already snowed back home,” she told me. “You’re lucky.”

“There’s a warm current that gives us a break,” I said, remembering something Gerard had once told me. “It moderates the climate considerably; compared to other places at equal latitude.”

“You travel a lot?” she asked me.

“I’ve been traveling more than I care to,” I said, “recently. I’d like to sit down and go to seed for about a year.”

“Business or pleasure?” she asked me, as a guard let us out the gate and I quickly surveyed the environs for lurkers.

“Not pleasure,” I answered as I took her elbow for a moment and steered her toward the way I had chosen. When we reached civilized precincts, we followed the Main Concourse for a time. I pointed out a few landmarks and notable residences, including the Begman Embassy. She showed no inclination to visit the latter, though, saying she’d have to see her countrymen officially before she left, anyway. She did stop in a shop we found later, however, to buy a couple of blouses, having the bill sent to the embassy and the garments to the palace.

“My father promised me some shopping,” she explained. “And I know he’ll forget. When he hears about this, he’ll know that I didn’t.”