“What is it like there—how do you amuse yourselves? The same old murders and sudden deaths?”
“Are you ill?” asked Digrung. “Who is this woman, why are you following at her heels like a slave? She looks insane to me. What’s that corpse—why are you dragging it around the country with you?”
Tydomin smiled. “I’ve already heard it said about Matterplay, that if one sows an answer there, a rich crop of questions immediately springs up. But why do you make this unprovoked attack on me, Digrung?”
“I don’t attack you, woman, but I know you. I see into you, and I see insanity. That wouldn’t matter, but I don’t like to see a man of intelligence like Maskull caught in your filthy meshes.”
“I suppose even you clever Matterplay people sometimes misjudge character. However, I don’t mind. Your opinion’s nothing to me, Digrung. You’d better answer his questions, Maskull. Not for his own sake—but your feminine friend is sure to be curious about your having been seen carrying a dead man.”
Maskull’s underlip shot out. “Tell your sister nothing, Digrung. Don’t mention my name at all. I don’t want her to know about this meeting of ours.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t wish it—isn’t that enough?”
Digrung looked impassive.
“Thoughts and words,” he said, “which don’t correspond with the real events of the world are considered most shameful in Matterplay.”