"As you wish, mistress."

"Have you found Braydic yet?"

"She was assigned to the communications center here, as you might expect. Students are not permitted entry there. And technicians are not allowed out."

"Why not?"

"I do not know. This is a different world. We are still feeling our way. They never tell you what is permitted, only what is not."

Marika realized that Grauel was upset with her. When Grauel was distressed, she insisted on using the formal mode of speech. But Marika had given up trying to interpret the huntress's moods. She was exercised about something most of the time.

"I want to go out into the city, Grauel."

"Why?"

"To explore."

"That is not permitted."

"Why not?"

"I do not know. Rules are not explained here. They are enforced. Ignorance is no excuse."

What was the penalty for disobedience?

Marika banished the thought. It was too early to challenge constraints. Still, she felt compelled to say, "If this is life in the fabulous Maksche cloister, Grauel, I may go over the wall."

"Barlog and I have very little to do either, Marika. They think we are too backward."

IIIThe absolute, enduring stone of the cloister became a hated enemy. It crushed in upon Marika with the weight of massively accumulated time and alien tradition. Enforced inactivity made it almost intolerable. Each day she spent more time in her towertop away place. Each day meditation did less to ease her spiritual malaise.

Her place overlooked nothing but the courtyard, the city, and the works of meth. There was a constant wind, a north wind, but it did not speak to her as had the winds at Akard. It carried the wrong smells, the wrong tastes. It was heavy with the sweat of industry. It was a foreign, indifferent wind. That wind of the north had been her friend and ally.