After I called in at the office to say I'd be late, I bought some coffee (and a Danish I didn't really need) and cooled my heels in the cafeteria, looking with one eye at the data I'd be giving the qadi and with the other at people going past.

Two cups and another Danish later (I promised myself I wouldn't eat lunch), it was a quarter to eleven. I threw the parchments back into my briefcase and presented myself to Eric again.

He picked up a phone, spoke into it, then nodded to me.

"Go on in." I went.

How do I describe Judge Ruhollah? If you're Christian (which he wasn't), think of God the Father when He's had a lousy eon. I don't know how old Ruhouah is, not even to the nearest decade. Long white beard, nose like a promontory, eyes that have seen everything and disapproved of most of it If you're up before him and you're innocent, you're all right But if you're even a little bit guilty, you'd better run for cover.

He glowered at me as I approached the bench. Had this been the first time I'd come before him, I'd've been tempted to pack it in as a bad job: either fall on my knees and pray for mercy (not something Maximum Ruhollah handed out in big doses) or else turn around and run for my life (for who's not a little bit guilty of something?). But I knew he glowered most of the time anyhow, so he didn't intimidate me… much.

I began as etiquette prescribed-"May it please your honor"-though I knew it was just a polite phrase in his case.

I set forth the reasons the Environmental Perfection Agency, and I as its representative, wanted to examine the records of the Devonshire Land Management Consortium.