When the procession had passed, Mathurin said; “The session for this day is closed.” He turned toward Rodvard (and the latter saw in the smiling eyes that everything had gone exactly according to plan, and Zelitza was a good man).
II
Rodvard left the Hall of Presence alone, more than a little prideful at being a partaker in great deeds at last, and wondering what the old companions at the Office of Pedigree would say, who had so looked down on and baited him, when they knew he was one of the writers before the great assembly of the nation. Silver spadas were in his pouch; the new clothes were neat; it was the finest day of winter.
He felt he must tell someone of his delight in all; lifted his head as he strode, and so striding, inadvertently trod on the heel of one before. The man turned to show a face as young as his own and a clerical badge. His hands were hunched beneath the edge of his jacket.
“I beg your grace,” said Rodvard.
“No matter,” said the other.
“I was thinking. Did you know that the great assembly is going to make itself a regency in the place of Queen Berdette?”
“No.” A pause. “Well, now the Tritulaccan Count will find him a better bedfellow. Perhaps we’ll have this Prince Pavinius.”
“The Episcopals left the assembly.”
“Oh.” Another stop to the conversation, step, step to the corner, side by side. The encounter glanced around (with discomfort in his eyes at having nothing to say). “Have you seen the new representation at Leverdaos? It is called ‘The Maid’s Problem’ and Minora is playing.”