When Llian arrived at the chamber where the election was to be held, at half-past one, a third of the masters were already there. The door attendant, a small man greatly scarred about the face, checked his credentials, took his bag and put it in one of the storage compartments, and let him in.

Wistan was in his wheeled chair at the rear of the dais, enveloped in his charcoal-coloured blankets. Llian went across but he was sound asleep. Hardly surprising; he too had had a sleepless night. There was no sign of Thandiwe, Basible Norp or Candela Twism. Presumably they were doing last-minute campaigning.

He looked around, feeling more than a little uncomfortable, for most of the masters were watching him. Perhaps they were wondering how he dared show his face after the scene at Thandiwe’s house last night. Llian knew many of them, including Master Laarni, a small dark fellow, rather loud and self-important though decent enough, and Master Cherith, plump and saggy but with an enchanting smile. They would probably support him.

“Changed your mind, have you?” said Limmy Tuul, a hard-faced master with a black wen on his right eyelid. He was one of Thandiwe’s strongest supporters.

“We’ll see,” said Llian.

Candela Twism entered, walking ahead of a small coterie of masters. A solid woman, square in the body and short in the leg, with a broad face inclining to jowls and a mass of loose grey ringlets that quivered with every movement. If the effect was meant to be girlish, it was a failure. Llian thought she looked like an overweight merino.

She headed his way. “Heard about Thandiwe’s party,” she said without any acknowledgement that they had not seen each other in seven years. “Are you going to vote for me?”

“I don’t know,” Llian lied. As a candidate he would not have a vote, though no one would know he was standing until Wistan made the announcement, presumably after all the masters were here and the room was locked. “Tell me why I should.”

“Stability, that’s my platform. The college is running nicely and I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Because she was too damned lazy. Far easier to keep the systems Wistan had spent so long developing, whether they were suited to the college of today and the challenges of tomorrow or not. But she was reputed to be honest.

“In these troubled times we need all the stability we can get,” he said obsequiously.

She moved on. Someone touched Llian on the shoulder. He looked around, then up, to a very tall master with sun-bleached hair and weathered skin covered in dark sun spots.

“You must be Llian,” he said. “I know you by reputation – a truly magnificent Great Tale. Basible Norp, at your service.”

“Thank you,” said Llian. “I’ve heard you’re a master chronicler of rare talent.”

“I’ve had a few moments. Nowhere near your league, though. Can we have a chat?”

“It’s nearly two. The election —”

“It’ll be ages yet. These things always take a long time to get going.”

“Tell me why I should vote for you.”

“To be honest,” said Norp, “I’m not sure you should.”

“Pardon?” It was the oddest election pitch Llian had ever heard.

“Candela stands for business as usual, and that’s no bad thing. The college has a few problems, but the students are good and its finances are in order. She wouldn’t change anything.”

“The college also has to be adaptable, especially in times like ours.”

“True, true.” His eyes widened; he was looking over Llian’s shoulder.

Thandiwe had made her entrance, wearing a spectacular peach-coloured gown she must have been sewn into, for it revealed every luxuriant contour. When she saw Llian, her glare could have burned the heart out of an obsidian sphinx.

“Thandiwe’s brilliant,” said Norp. “Strong and a creative thinker. She would adapt the college to new challenges.”

“There are one or two question marks over the direction she might take,” said Llian.

“As you so sagely put it last night. I heard you created a sensation.”

“All I want is what’s best for the college.”

“As do we all. Good talking to you.”

Norp wrung Llian’s hand and turned away without saying what he stood for or asking for his vote. Thandiwe stalked across. Llian braced himself, suddenly exhausted. He wasn’t sure he was in a fit state to deal with her – or her fury when his own candidature was announced.

“How dare you come here, you bastard, after what you did to me last night.”

“Maybe I’ve had a change of heart and want to vote for you after all.”

She gave a small involuntary jerk, as if she was desperately hoping he would. “You haven’t changed your mind. You’re up to something. Who are you conspiring with? Certainly not Candela. So it’s Norp. Well, don’t be fooled by his Who, me? manner. He’s as cunning as they come and he can’t be trusted any more than you can!”

“Or you,” said Llian softly, so she had to strain forward to hear.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’ve voted against overturning my ban every time it’s been raised.”

She paled. “That’s a damned lie. I’ve always been your biggest supporter.”

“It came from the most reliable source of all.”

“Wistan?” she said incredulously.

He smiled thinly. “All this time you’ve been pretending to be my friend, yet supporting the ban so you could manipulate me when you needed my vote. I can’t think what I ever saw in you.”

“I know exactly what I saw in you,” she hissed. “A treacherous snake. I’m going to destroy you, Llian. For the next thousand years, whenever anyone hears your name, it’ll be Llian the Liar, the Cheat, the Perverter of the Great Tales.”

He recoiled, shocked by her venom, but she was already stalking away. His heart leaped about in his chest. She would do it too.

A bell rang on the far side of the room. A uniformed aide went to the centre of the dais.

“The masters are all present and the doors have been locked. These are the candidates.” He unrolled a sheet of paper and held it up in front of him. Llian’s heart started to pound. What would Thandiwe do when Wistan nominated him? Her explosion would blow the roof off.

“Thandiwe Moorn. Basible Norp. Candela Twism.” He frowned and turned towards Wistan, who was still swathed in his blankets but now awake. Llian could see the lamplight reflecting off his bulging eyes. “Are there any additional candidates?”

Wistan said nothing.

“Are there any additional candidates?” the aide repeated.

Why didn’t Wistan speak? Had last night been a last twist of the knife by a malicious little man who never forgave or forgot? Llian struggled to believe it; he was good at reading people and everything Wistan had said rung true. Besides, Llian had the dirt book.

“Are there any additional candidates?” said the aide for the third time. “No? Then the voting will commence. Master Wistan has already indicated in writing that he does not intend to vote.”

It had to be malice. Llian could see Wistan’s eyes glittering. He was irrevocably ruined.

The three candidates took their places on the dais, Thandiwe on the left, Candela Twism in the middle and Basible Norp on the right. Now came the choice Llian had not expected to have to make. The masters were lining up before the candidates. Who to choose?

He could hardly vote for Thandiwe after the way he had denounced her last night and her years-long betrayal. He could not bring himself to vote for Candela, which only left Norp, the self-effacing but undoubtedly brilliant chronicler.

As Llian lined up in front of him, Thandiwe shook with rage.

The numbers were counted and the aide announced them. “There are fifty-seven voters. Twenty-nine votes are needed for a majority. Twism, eleven votes. Norp, twenty-two votes. Moorn, twenty-four votes. As there is no majority, Twism is eliminated.”

Candela Twism looked around, smiled vaguely and ambled away.

“Second round,” said the aide. “Vote for your candidates. There are fifty-eight voters this time, thirty votes needed for a majority.”

The lines of masters ebbed and flowed. Some remained in front of Thandiwe, and some in front of Norp, but a surprising number changed position. Again Llian was put to the choice. It occurred to him that he knew remarkably little about Norp. Still, how bad could a man be who refused to blow his own trumpet?

The lines were almost complete and about the same length. He caught a pleading look in Thandiwe’s eye. Was he wrong about her? She was one of the strongest people he knew; she might be able to resist Anjo. And since Wistan had betrayed Llian, maybe what he’d said about Thandiwe had been a lie.

Who was it to be, the known or the unknown? He had to rely on his judgement. He took a deep breath, turned away from Thandiwe and went to the back of Basible Norp’s line.

The numbers were counted. “Thandiwe Moorn, twenty-eight votes,” said the aide. “Basible Norp, thirty votes. Basible Norp will become the seventy-fifth Master of the College of the Histories on the death, retirement or incapacity of Master Wistan.”

Wistan was still staring at them. He had not moved; what was the matter with him? Had he had a stroke?

“You bastard!” Thandiwe shrieked. “You’ve utterly ruined me!”

She leaped off the dais, her peach-coloured sash trailing behind her and her white teeth bared. When she hit the floor, the high heel snapped off her left sandal. She kicked it off and launched herself at Llian, who could not get out of the way in time. A small fist caught him in the eye; he teetered and went down with her on top of him, punching and clawing and using her knees and elbows. His eye was starting to swell and he could hardly see. He tried to push her off but her satin gown tore at the left shoulder.

Thandiwe drove her forehead at his face, striking his right cheekbone so hard that it dazed him. She was lunging at him again when someone caught her from behind and dragged her off. The skin-tight gown ripped down to her waist.

Basible Norp had her by the upper arms. She lunged again but he was too big, his grip too strong. “Enough,” he said quietly. “It’s over.”

“This betrayal rivals anything in the Histories,” she said in a cracked voice.

Llian was trembling violently and unable to speak. He had only one hope left – that Norp would be grateful and lift the ban. He seemed a reasonable man.

Thandiwe shook herself free and staggered away, trying to pull her gown up onto one amber shoulder, then the other, but the satin was shredded. She slumped onto a chair and wept.

With a mighty effort, Llian pushed himself upright. Either he was swaying or the room was tilting back and forth. Blood flooded from his nose, his chin burned where she had clawed strips down it, his right cheek throbbed mercilessly and his eye was swelling. Everyone in the room was staring at him, and clearly most did see it as a betrayal.

Everyone except the aide, who was running towards Wistan. “Master?” he cried.

Wistan’s head had slid sideways; he must be badly ill. The aide whispered to him. Llian pushed through the throng and heaved himself up onto the dais. It took a mighty effort; he felt like an old man.

“Attendant!” yelled the aide. “Call for a healer.” He reached out towards Wistan but drew back as if afraid to touch the great man.

The scar-faced attendant came lurching across the room. Judging by his gait, there was something badly wrong with his legs. He stared at Wistan for a moment, then pulled the blankets away. They hit the floor with a sodden sound and a trail of red. The blankets were saturated with blood, and so were Wistan’s clothes and the seat of his chair.

His throat had been cut.

Everyone gathered around, staring at the body. Thandiwe was gaping. Basible Norp looked dazed, as if he had never seen a corpse before.

“Murdered!” said Candela. “Attendant, call for the sergeant and lock the door. Let no one out, and no one in save the sergeant and his men. Everyone else, move back. Don’t touch Wistan. And beware, the killer may still be here.” She looked across at Norp. “Master Norp?”

He staggered to the far corner and vomited noisily.

“He did it!” said Thandiwe in a carrying voice.

“I beg your pardon,” said Twism.

“I accuse Llian!” Thandiwe pointed a long bare arm at him. She was quivering violently. “He’s always hated our master. Llian cut the throat of a helpless old man. Arrest him!”

Llian looked around wildly. This could not be happening. “I haven’t been anywhere near him,” he gasped.

“Arrest the murdering swine!”

“That’s the sergeant’s job,” said Candela Twism, “after he’s weighed all the evidence. Master Moorn, you’re making an exhibition of yourself.”

Thandiwe made another vain attempt to pull up her ruined gown.

“Master Rendi,” said Candela. “Give Master Moorn your coat.”

Rendi took off his grey jacket and handed it to Thandiwe, who wrapped it around herself and fastened the wooden toggles. The door attendant came lurching back, his hands still bloody.

“Master Candela?” His voice was prim and sounded vaguely familiar, though Llian did not recognise the time-ravaged face. “I know something that may bear upon this crime.” He looked down at his bloody hands, then flinched.

She handed him a handkerchief and he wiped his hands.

“Yes?” she said.

He leaned towards her, lowering his voice. His thick lips were wet, his scarred cheeks oddly flushed.

“If you have something to say, tell everyone.”

“I saw Llian slipping out of Wistan’s rooms early this morning,” said the attendant. “Not long before that, I overheard a furious argument.”

“That’s a lie,” Llian cried.

“Do you deny you were in Wistan’s rooms?” said Candela.

“No. We had private business to discuss. But there was no argument.”

“He’s lying,” said the attendant. “Llian screamed, I’m going to kill you for this and stormed out.”

Llian gaped at him. Why was he making up such an outrageous lie? Was he part of a conspiracy with Thandiwe? Then Llian realised who the attendant was.

“You’re Turlew!” Llian turned to Candela. “He’s always hated me.”

“You seem to make an awful lot of enemies.”

“He tried to rob and murder me in the mountains twelve years ago, when I was on a mission for Wistan. Wistan sacked him, then Turlew lost his legs in the war and blamed me for it, though I hadn’t seen him in years. These were his last words to me, when I saw him in Chanthed a decade ago.” Llian quoted them from memory, in a precise imitation of Turlew’s screeching voice.

“Curse you, Llian! Curse you until the earth bleeds and the black moon rots to pieces. Soon you will not have a friend in the whole of Santhenar. Your very name will be a curse, and before the coming Hythe you will wish you were as happy as Turlew the beggar man!”

“Was Turlew sacked by Wistan?” said Candela to the aide.

“I don’t know, Master Candela. That would have been well before my time.”

“Find someone who would know. At once.”

“Captain Bufo was with Wistan and I last night,” said Llian. “Bufo will confirm everything I’ve said.”

“Find Bufo as well,” said Candela.

The aide ran out. Turlew stood there, shuddering and wiping his bloodstained hands over and over. Llian’s stomach muscles were so tight that they throbbed. What if the aide could not find Sal? What if she did not remember? What if the sergeant just wanted an easy solution to the crime? He, Llian, had to make an emergency plan but his brain seemed to have frozen.

Shortly the aide returned with Old Sal. The masters were gathered in a bunch between her and the dais, concealing Wistan’s body from view, and Candela did not explain why she had been summoned.

“You’ve kept the stipend book for fifty years,” said Candela to Old Sal. “Do you remember the circumstances under which Turlew, here, left Wistan’s employment?”

“He was dismissed without a reference,” said Old Sal.

“For what reason?”

“Master Wistan sent Llian off on a vital mission to Thurkad and gave him a heavy purse for expenses. I understand that Turlew attempted to rob Llian, and kill him, but failed. That’s all I know.”

Llian let out the breath he had been holding. Maybe it would be all right after all.

“Thank you, Sal,” said Candela.

Sal went out.

“It’s true I hate Llian,” said Turlew. “But everything I said is true.”

“It’s a lie, and Bufo will confirm everything I said,” said Llian. “Wistan and I had an amicable discussion and made up our differences.”

But the minutes passed, and Bufo did not appear. “Has anyone seen Bufo this morning?” said Candela.

“He brought Wistan here at midday,” said Master Laarni. His hair had receded rapidly since Llian had last seen him a decade ago. “They spoke for a few minutes, shook hands and Bufo left.”

“Was Wistan still alive?” Candela said sharply.

“Yes. I spoke to him half an hour later. That would have been at one o’clock. He seemed very cheerful. It was almost as if he had a joke he wasn’t sharing with anyone.”

“Wistan had a joke?”

“Yes. It was… most unusual.”

The aide reappeared. “Bufo left Chanthed an hour ago and said he wasn’t coming back.”

The hour he goes, I’ll go too, Bufo had said early this morning. Had he known Wistan was going to be murdered? No, that was absurd. Perhaps Wistan, after ensuring that Llian had secured the mastership, had planned to end his pain-racked life. But someone had murdered him first.

“Until Llian’s version of events can be corroborated, Turlew’s accusation, enemy or not, must be given due weight,” said Candela.

“I haven’t been near Wistan since I entered the room,” said Llian. “And I’m not carrying a knife. You can search me.”

The aide searched Wistan’s bloody corpse, the blankets and Llian, but no knife was found.

“He must have hidden the knife,” said Turlew.

“I haven’t left the room,” said Llian. “I’ve been talking to people the whole time I’ve been here. The only person in this room with bloody hands is you.”

“Check Llian’s bag,” said Candela. She studied Turlew, frowning. “No, stay where you are. Masters Laarni, Rendi and Tuul, bring in all the bags.”

They did so. Llian’s was opened first. Right on top was a long bloodstained knife.

“I told you he was the killer,” gloated Turlew.

Llian kicked Turlew’s wooden legs from under him, grabbed his bag and bolted.