I spent some time trying to work out what I would say to Ripāti, but wasn’t completely pleased with any of my ideas. After all, Ripāti knew Bekrao as a thief and as a pathetic lover overcome by song. I considered telling her that he had been drunk on these occasions, but doubted whether that would make anything better. Finally an acceptable notion came to me, and with some muttered complaints, directed at no one in particular (I was alone; there was no one to hear), I went to call on Lord Phumalluo.

To the servant who greeted me at the door, I introduced myself and said, “I have news of some ancient texts that your master may be interested in obtaining.” This was not a lie, as it happens. Back in my homeland I had knowledge of many ancient texts unknown to the people of Edazzo. Most of them have not yet been written.

“Is he expecting you?”

“Not as such, no, but I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear what I have to say.” Of course I dreaded more than anything else actually having to speak to Phumalluo, who was reputed to be rather fearsome in person. But for a chance to see Rosédan again, it was worth it.

The servant looked skeptical, which was fair. I would have been skeptical myself. He did tell me to wait a moment, and when he came back to the gate he was followed by Ripāti herself. When she saw me, she rolled her eyes in what I thought was a remarkably rude gesture. “I suppose you’re here because of Bekrao. Will that fool never leave us alone?”

“He was remarkably affected by your song the other night,” I said. “As was I.”

“That was the point of it. Not that we care about either of you, but there are others who will be drawn by it.”

“Who?”

“Not you.” A fair response, but I felt compelled to dig deeper.

“Someone else you invited to the feast, then. But what do you want with them, I wonder?”

“You can keep wondering that until the end of the world. You are a foreigner, and although your simplicity and smooth empty words may have bought you entrance into many noble circles, there are things going on in Edazzo of which you have not the slightest glimpse. My father brought me into this world so that we we might be allowed to see them more clearly.”

“I think I understand.”

“I would be very surprised if you did. Have you ever heard of the gray lords?” I hadn’t, and my hesitation betrayed me. “Then you are a bigger fool than Bekrao.” She reddened in obvious anger. “And no, I am not going to let you in to talk to my father, though I doubt you really want to. Go back to your friend and tell him that Ripāti never wants to see him again.”

That did seem to be that, so I left Ripāti with some courteous words and reported what she had said to Bekrao. He listened, but half his attention seemed to be elsewhere. Possibly he was thinking about dinner.

“Have you heard of the gray lords?” I asked him. Actually I asked Yaretzamu, who was more likely to know such things.

“It is a rumor, sir, nothing more. According to those who credit such things, the city of Edazzo is ruled in fact not by the noble families, but by a secretive group of outlaws called the gray lords for no reason that I have ever been able to discover, but which may have to do with a fanciful association between their own invisibility and omnipresence and that of the sea mists.”

“Phumalluo would seem to credit it.”

“Yes. I am surprised. I would not have described him as a fanciful man.”

“Perhaps there are more things in Edazzo than you would imagine,” said Bekrao. “Thank you for all your help and advice, Yaretzamu, but I have a plan of my own now which I believe will finally get what I want.” I wondered whether he meant the tablets or Ripāti in this remark. Perhaps he meant both, though it was beyond my imagination to come up with a way for him to do that. If I had been in his place, I thought that I would simply abandon both as lost causes, but then an image of Rosédan came into my mind and I doubted my own thoughts. Perhaps, after all, I would risk everything.

“Do you, sir?” Yaretzamu asked. “What is your plan, if I may be so bold?”

“You’ve used the right word. It is bold. I am going to go to Phumalluo’s house and ask Ripāti to marry me.”

“That strategy was something of a failure the last time you tried it.”

“I remember. But this time it’s going to be different. This time I won’t be in disguise, and I won’t be drunk.”

“You were drunk before?” I asked him.

“I may have been helping myself to the wine. It wasn’t as if I was going to be paid for my service in any other way. Never mind that. Will you come with me, my friend, to witness my triumph?”

I agreed, though I suspected it would not be his triumph I witnessed. We went back to that place from which I had so recently withdrawn in shame, where I watched with great interest as Bekrao demanded to see Ripāti. The baffled manservant who came to the gate left and returned soon afterwards with a taller and more authoritative-looking man, who upbraided Bekrao. “Get out of here, you dog!”

“If I am a dog,” Bekrao began, then scratched his head and hesitated. He had been more quick-witted and fluent in his drunken proposal than he was now that he was sober.

“I see that you have fleas like a dog, at least.”

“That was well said! A good answer, quickly thought of. I wish I could think of things that quickly. But where was I?”

“You are drunk,” said the authoritative-looking man, lifting his nose as if he smelled something unpleasant.

“No! That I am definitely not. Not with wine, anyway. I am drunk with love. I love Ripāti with all my heart and I might as well die without her.”

“So?”

Bekrao seemed stumped by this, as was I. When it came down to first principles like this, it was hard to know what to argue. We exchanged glances. Bekrao was, I think, about to say something bold and clever when a high voice rang out behind us like a bell. “Let him speak to her.” It was Sāletinai.

I was sufficiently surprised by this turn of events that I could only stand and watch as Sāletinai and Bekrao entered. When I finally made a move to follow, the authoritative-looking man stepped in front of me, and I thought it wiser not to argue with him. I must therefore rely on Bekrao’s account to explain what happened afterwards.

He was fairly jubilant when he returned, and Sāletinai wore a smile of satisfaction, so I assumed that things had gone well. “I will have to remember to reward Yaretzamu especially well for his service today. Finding Sāletinai and sending her after me was divine inspiration.”

“But what happened?” I asked.

“Oh, Ripāti was surprised to see us both. I think she was happy to see Sāletinai but not so happy to see me. Couldn’t be helped. I had things to say to her, and I said them.” Knowing both him and Sāletinai as I did, I suspect that Sāletinai did a great deal of interpreting for him.

“And she accepted you then?”

“Yes,” Bekrao said, but not before we both saw Sāletinai shake her head. “Well, not right away. She was still fairly angry with me.”

“She admired you, you know,” said Sāletinai softly. “You weren’t part of the plan her father had made, but you put yourself into the middle of it anyway.”

“Anyway, she told me I was a fool. She then proceeded to tell me several things that I don’t think she would have if she hadn’t been angry. I’m not sure I should tell you.”

“About the gray lords?”

“Yes, and some other things. About herself. The circumstances of her birth weren’t usual ones. I must have been inspired by Lagulai to say the things I did after, that, but it must have softened her heart. She didn’t agree to marry me, not right away, but she said I could visit her.”

“And what did Phumalluo have to say about all this?”

Bekrao glanced over his shoulder nervously, then laughed and said, “I don’t know what Phumalluo has to say, and I don’t care either.”

It seemed to me that it would be prudent of Bekrao to care about Phumalluo, but now did not seem to be the time to correct him. Instead I asked Sāletinai about Adarzamu.

“He was there too,” she said, blushing. “We made arrangements of our own.”

“Good,” I said. I was happy for them all. Phumalluo would have to be dealt with, but that was not an insurmountable obstacle. All would be well, I was sure of it. There was only one thing that was missing. “Now, about Rosédan,” I added and trailed off, hoping Bekrao would catch the hint. He continued to smile at no one in particular and showed no sign of catching anything, so I explained myself. “I would like to meet Rosédan very much.” My voice may have caught in my throat as I said this, and I wonder whether the Bird imitated my emotion in its words.

“Oh, that? You’ll have to talk to Yaretzamu about that. I don’t remember where she spends her time, myself. Good luck, by the way. I’ll make a sacrifice to Lagulai for you.”

“Thank you, but you don’t have to go to the trouble. I will pray to my own god.” I went to find Yaretzamu then, and he told me where I could find Rosédan. Our ensuing conversation is not, I think, of interest to my readers, who would perhaps rather know more about Ripāti and the gray lords. So would I. That is to say, I wouldn’t rather know more about Ripāti than I would talk to Rosédan, but her mystery is still on my mind as I write this. Perhaps soon I shall convince Bekrao to confide in me. For now let my readers be content in the knowledge that Bekrao, Ripāti, Sāletinai, Adarzamu, Rosédan, and I will all be attending the festival of the dead in a few days, and that we are happy. I pray that we will remain so, and that this story will end in triumph, reconciliation, weddings, and general happiness.