Through it all, the songbird had not missed a note.

Obviously, thought Patience, this scene has been rehearsed so often the songbird has lost its fear of the hawk.

Then she looked more closely and realized that, quite to the contrary, the songbird remained perfectly placid because it was blind. The eyes had been put out.

The servants stepped back toward the door as the falconer sank to his knees in front of Lyra and began to speak in Tassilik.

"Me kia psole o ekeiptu," he whispered.

"So will I protect you always from the despoiler," said Patience. Her inflection was, as far as possible, a perfect mirror of Prekeptor's.

"It was beautiful," said Lyra. "The song, and you to save the bird."

"Iptura oeenue," said Patience, mimicking Lyra's breathless delight. "Oeris, marae i kio psolekte."

"Oh, you sound just like me," whispered Lyra.

Prekeptor spoke again, and Patience translated. "I have brought a gift for the Heptarch's daughter."

He reached out his hand. A servant placed a book in it.

"A copy of the Testament of Irena, the Starship Captain's Daughter," he said.

He held the book out toward Patience. Patience was annoyed, since it was more proper for the suitor to ignore the interpreter and place the book directly in the hand of his intended. But perhaps in Tassali a servant was used to pass even intimate gifts between lovers. There were stranger customs.

Lyra pretended to be thrilled when Patience gave her the book. Quietly Patience pointed out to her that the pages of the book were unfinished paperleaf, which had grown in such perfectly uniform shape and size that no trimming was needed to make a perfect book. "It took great effort in breeding the paperleaf," said Patience.