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Show But the more trenchant fact was that Dr'Anya in all verity had no way of knowing Dr'Igor's true inclination in her regard. Their paths had diverged when she left the Council to work on her History and then they had but grown apart, alas. Folk change o'er the TwleveMonths, and so do their affections, and Dr'Anya was something sure that she would needs go carefully with Dr'Igor. It would also have been simpler if Dr'Anya had worn the formal black cloth of her class on this quest and used her Needlesmith name. But she willed not, on the the other hand, to forewarn her old friend and give him a chance to slip away-if so inclined he felt-by way of a contrived trip to the Tartars or thereabouts. Doctors-Dr'Anya nodded sagely-they were notorious, truly, for avoidance of awkward situations. And as for absenting themselves from sessions of the Doctor's Council-of which there were to be a quantity throughout the SevenDay-marry, they were more than notorious! Who listened to their pontificiations, pardee? All that parley and argument, it just goes to swell up the Governor's memory. And, as the good Dr'Anya well perceived, things went on as always no matter what the Doctors said. A door slid open across from Dr'Anya and a female android flowed out toward her, interrupting these spiritless thoughts. "Merchant Gundarholt if it please thee?" she trilled. The machine had a marked androidal accent and used the title that went with Dr'Anya's Merchant class name. Dr'Anya pressed her hands against the wide arms of the chair she was 36 |
