A very safe cave, of course. But a cave, nonetheless.

But he had played in caves as a child, up in the Night River Country. He had memorized their most intricate twists and turnings, their tiniest holes and pass-throughs, in order to ambush his playmates, even as the children here learned to run the mazes without lights in the course of their games.

He still practiced several times a week, finding his way about the back reaches of the Keep blindfolded.

Following his example, as in many other things, Gil did this as well.

"It is not exactly what I mean," the Icefalcon said, as they turned left and descended the Royal Stair.

Many people had trouble keeping abreast of the Icefalcon's long-legged stride, but Gil was fast. "But tell me why you think this woman lies about the Ancestor who dwells within her head."

"There's too much of a difference between her uncle's class and hers."

"I thought of that. It is not inconceivable, O my sister, that the man's sister could have married beneath him."

"Maybe." She didn't sound happy about it. She understood watchfulness as few civilized people did, the awareness of patterns and when a single trace or scat or spoor looked not as it should.

"But anybody can make up gibberish and say it's an unknown language. Religious fakers in my world have been using that one for centuries. And logic would tell anybody that people had to live somewhere while the Keeps were being built. If you think about it, it would have to be in caves."

The Icefalcon nodded. It was, he reflected, part of a storyteller's art, and he'd frequently teased Gil about the fascination a civilized people had for stories that sounded true but weren't.

They passed under clotheslines draped with garments hung between the Royal Stair's spacious arches to take advantage of the updraft of warm air and on into the Aisle. Hundreds of yards long and over a hundred wide, its ceiling vanished high in darkness above them.