'Alwir can,' Gil pointed out.

'He wouldn't!'

'He's already done it. To bring in the Penambrans without starving our own people, Alwh^ would have to institute some kind of rationing system. Govannin will never stand for that.'

'But she's the Bishop!' Minalde insisted passionately. 'She's the head of the Church!'

'Sure,' Gil agreed coldbloodedly. 'You think she's going to welcome another Bishop into her bailiwick? And a commoner at that?' Gil had learned enough of the

name structures in the Wathe to recognize what that 'of Thran' meant on the end of Maia's name: farmboy; plough-tailer; sharecropper, maybe; someone to be looked down upon by those scions of the ancient Houses who could boast that semiroyal 'ion' tacked on to their titles.

Aide sighed dispiritedly. 'I wish you wouldn't say things like that.'

'I can't help it.' Gil shrugged. 'I'm a born devil's advocate. I'm not saying it can't be done.' Something rustled among the dark trees, and Gil swung her attention to the sound. An owl flitted silently from a branch. She turned back, trying to pretend her heart wasn't doing double time. 'Alwir has a point - you have to draw lines somewhere,' she went on. 'But there's room in the Keep, if the newcomers don't mind living up in the back reaches of the fourth level or under the tiles on the fifth. And I'm not sure what the foragers Alwir's sending out will find. If there's plenty of forage stored in the valleys, it could make a lot of difference, and it's something he isn't taking into account. Okay, maybe he's thinking worstcase.' She shrugged again. 'But I know damn well all the food in the Keep hasn't been reported and isn't in the main depots. Walking patrol, I've come across dozens of deserted cells that are all locked up and barred, and I'd be willing to bet that, come spring when everybody's starving, people like Alwir's friends Bendle Stooft and Mongo Rabar are going to make a sudden bundle. But I'm not an expert.'