He studied the scene a moment. By the madness of the gods, Bryck thought, he could create a fine political farce from these characters, merely by emphasizing their petulance and making the subject of their debate something absurdly trivial. Yes, perhaps they would be wrangling over the ponderous question of the true color of the sun, since at dawn and dusk it was red, during the day yellow, and grey when the weather was inclement. Yes...

He shook this off just as a smooth-headed minister raised his face and asked, "Yes?"

This didn't slow the surrounding quarrel, as papers continued to fly and voices rose.

For the fourth time since his encounter with the city guards at Sook's limits, Bryck said, "I've come for an audience. I am from U'delph."

These words brought everything to a standstill. The seven remaining faces turned his way, expressions ranging from anticipation to something like curious pity.

Well, thought Bryck nonplussed, he had their attention at least. Making a bid for a greater impression, he added, "My name is Bryck," purposely leaving off his title. He calmly searched the attentive faces for reaction.

Oddly, the normal magic of his name's invocation didn't seem to be working. Odd, since his repute as a play-wright was widely known, far beyond the confines of U'delph. His theatricals were regularly exported and staged by traveling troupes in cities as distant as Q'ang and even Petgrad. It wasn't vanity to presume that at least one of these squabbling ministers should know who he was and be duly awed.

He waited through the lengthening silence and the strange stares. Something evidently was amiss. It might be, he realized, that they didn't believe his claim. These men and women wouldn't know his face, only his name; and here he stood in his coarse traveler's apparel, unshaven, smelling quite like the horse he'd been riding. He nearly chuckled.