The cloth came off Ilse’s grille on Autumn Quarter-day, and she was not there to see it, because she was in the Master’s office being told she had never been in any real trouble at all.
“A formality,” said the Master of the Registry, who had aged a year in a season and was very anxious that she should understand how little any of it had been his idea. “Suspension pending a hearing. You understand. The Treasurer’s office was most insistent, and Deputy Master Aske—“
“Is no longer Deputy Master,” said Yara from the doorway, “and is at present answering Justice Kellow’s questions about three years of copying Registry business to the treasury, so we can probably stop saying his name in that voice.”
The Master coughed.
“Your counter is yours,” he said to Ilse. “Naturally. If you want it.”
“Thank you, Master,” said Ilse. “I’ll want it for a…
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