Saving the kingdom
Well, it was a small kingdom. But still. Only, she’s losing all her good weapons to that pesky Archan and his servants.
Of course we didn’t leave the moment the service ended. I did remember to put stones from the temple in a bag, but before we went we had to decide exactly who went, and where we’d try to enter the palace, and what we needed to take with us. Weapons, sure, and rope, and the pot of brown skin paint from Essle and some spare pieces of linen so we’d be able to disguise the children — the caravan was full of brown kids in loincloths. All the girls (even Samada) showed up in black robes with black veils, only their eyes visible, Maha looking as if she had a huge head because she hadn’t been able to squeeze her hair down. “I suppose you have a knife, Maha?” I asked. “Do you all have knives?” They did, even Samada, and Maha and Zahmati had short swords as well.
Cheliân came to ask whether we wanted him to come. “What do you want?” Thulo asked, but that wasn’t the right question, he was convinced that his wishes were irrelevant. I looked hard at him: he wasn’t unfit but still weak from his ordeal, and I didn’t think he could fight and he’d be a liability if we had to run. “Please stay here and take care of the temple things,” I said. The only things to take care of were the fire-pot and the incense box, really, but I couldn’t very well ask him to oversee all our packing on his own. Thulo’s camel-driver friends would probably do that, or neighbours or worshippers, when they thought we were busy elsewhere. (And they’d actually be right about that!) “Oh, and if we’re not back when the end of the caravan has passed the house, please take this message to Lord Pesar’s first wife for me.” I wrote one hurriedly, explaining what we were going to try and asking for assistance if we stayed away long enough to worry her; she probably had more experience in knowing when to get worried than I had.
We went to the edge of the caravan in small groups and met in the forest. Before long we came to one of the stone pillars that the aquaduct rested on, about three or four people-heights above the ground here. On the near side it was too smooth to climb, but on the far side iron rungs had been hammered into it. I climbed up easily, but the lock on the hatch was so large and heavy that my lockpick broke in it. Khali came up and managed to open it with what looked like a pair of pliers.
The aquaduct had a lot of rats and bats living in it, and the bottom was slippery –according to Samada, “if people went in here to clean it I don’t know what they did!” — but we could all wade through the ankle-deep water without much difficulty. After a while, though, we bumped into an iron fence. Locked, with a seal of the Nameless on the lock. I could perhaps have removed it but that might have alerted someone, so Bhalik tried to knock the pins out of the hinges. Sloppy work, only sealing the lock and not the whole thing! The hinges were so rusty that they came off altogether, not just the pins, and the fence swung on the lock without breaking it or the seal, far enough that even Bhalik could squeeze through.
Then whoever was in front at the time –I think it was Thulo– stepped right through a rusty iron grating. The water was falling through it into something that sounded underground, but we weren’t low enough for that by far.
“Samada,” I asked, “where does the water get into your house?”
“Well, in fountains and basins and wall faucets,” she said.
“That’s where it gets out,” I said. “But where does it get in? Is it clean water when it comes out of the fountains and things?”
“Yes.” She was beginning to get it. “It’s not clean now. I don’t know where it gets clean.” This must be the basin where at least all the dirt in the water could sink to the bottom. And it sounded large. “Who can swim?” I asked. Thulo and Samada couldn’t, all the rest could, and Maha and I could swim and drag someone else, so if it was absolutely necessary we could get out this way.
The aquaduct went on beyond the grating, and it didn’t really feel like the house yet –when I cast out with my mind I could see lots of people but none nearby except ourselves– so we went further. It was dry here, though it had once been wet, and a bit narrower than the earlier part. I made a small light (I should really practice that, it was harder than I remembered) that allowed us to see spider-webs, crumbling masonry, and at the end a large square hole in the floor that someone would surely have fallen into without the light.
There had been a door here, but it was lying on the floor, fallen off its rusty hinges. We tied a rope to the hinges to let Maha and Zahmati down — Maha with the candle from my tinderbox between her teeth, I tried to give her my light but she couldn’t keep it lit– into what turned out to be a large rectangular room full of rubble. It was deserted, and we could see a small bit of corridor leading to a door on the side facing us.
The door was barred on the other side, of course. We didn’t have any tools to break doors. A bit further on there was another door just like it, also barred.
“Hm,” I said. “This door is made of wood. Maha, can you do anything? Make it grow, or warp or whatever wood does by itself?”
She balled her fists, and asked Zahmati and Samada to help her. “How?” Samada asked.
“Touch her and let her use your spirit,” I said, “just let her take what she needs.” Sure enough, after a while the door creaked and a number of metal pins shot out at us. “Copper nails!” Maha muttered. “And it’s really hard wood to work, excuse me.” But just as Bhalik wanted to bash through the door it fell by itself, some of the boards under the bar and others over it.
“Ir’s cedar wood!” Samada said. “That’s not to make doors of, but jewel-boxes and things!”
Cedar wood or not, we could go through now. We were in a short corridor with a door on the other side, an ordinary one with a handle. Unlocked.
It opened into a large room lit with oil lamps, a scullery or a utility room: there were two large water basins, a table in the centre laden with dishes, and two children with dishcloths in their hands. They were about ten years old, with shaven heads, one wearing a loincloth and the other only a string around his waist. “Bandits!” they cried and started to run, stumbling into the table which made several dishes clatter to the floor.Thulo grabbed one child by the arm and Khali the other by the throat. “The table, Bhalik,” he said, and Bhalik lifted the table in the air so all the dishes clattered to the floor, and most broke.
“Don’t do that,” I said to Khali, and he let go of the child, whose loincloth had come off so I could see it was a girl. When she saw me she got even more scared, “a sewer ghost!” she croaked through her bruised throat.
“No, I’m not,” I said, “we’re all ordinary people. My name is Sedi.”
“I’m Nan and he’s my brother Khubkhub.” Then they recognised Samada. “You’re the princess! Are those people kidnapping you?”
“No, they’re my friends, we’ve come to rescue Lastal and Mík,” Samada said. “Do you know where they are?”
They looked at each other a bit shiftily. The boy clamped his lips together, the girl shook her head. “No.”
“I think you do know,” I said.
“We’re not telling you. If we tell you, you will know, and if you know, the priests will know and they’ll come and get them! And then they’ll make them like the others, they can’t talk or think any more, just sit and drool.”
“Yes, they take their spirit away.” She had a point: if the children were hidden, it might be more sensible not to get them out of hiding until the priests had been dealt with. “Well, where are the priests?”
“In the temple, of course! But they’ve sent Sergeant Hame with his patrols to find them.” That made Samade blanch, “Hame! He’s a real creep.”
Then we had to retreat into the corridor behind the door because we heard a noise outside. Khali and Bhalik stayed in the room, we took the children along. We heard a voice saying “Clumsy louts! This is the last time that I’ve protected you!” and then a smack, a thud, silence. I thought it would be safe to get back to the scullery. There was a large man lying there, unconscious, also with a shaven head, wearing a leather apron.
“That’s Mush,” the boy said. “The cook. Did you kill him?”
“No, only knocked him out,” Khali said. “He’ll come round in half an hour or so. Bhalik is very tidy. Let’s put him behind that door and put a seal on it.”
Now what? We were in the house. The Velihan children were in the house too, but these scullery helpers weren’t going to tell us where. They had a very good reason of their own to stay away from the priests: they were both gifted themselves, the girl even more than the boy.
While thinking, I washed my hands and face in one of the basins. Suddenly I had a strong sense of Naigha, who clearly also had a stake here. There was longing in it — not for us, that was a blessing, but strong enough that it made me shiver. I turned to Nan. “The goddess of the dead –Naha, is it, for you?– wants us to help, too.”
“How do you know that?”
“She told me.” I took her hand and dunked it in the water, making her shriek.
“Boss?” Khali asked. “What if Bhalik and I go for the priests and you search for the children?”
I nodded. “That might be the best thing to do, yes. I’m not ordering you to kill the priests, but I’m not forbidding it either. Use your own judgement.”
“I’ll stay here with these children, if you don’t mind,” Samada said. She was still completely grey, whether from the presence of Naigha or from hearing what the priests did or the threat of Hame I didn’t know.
“All right, we’ll send anyone who needs safekeeping back here,” I said. The scullery felt somehow set apart, as if there was a kind of protection on it too subtle for me to see, but I did feel it.
Khali and Bhalik had gone, silently, while we were talking. Thulo and I and Maha and Zahmati made ourselves as invisible as we could and crept into the service corridor that ran between the kitchens. With Samada’s map we could work out which way to go, passing several sections of kitchen where people were doing different kinds of work: people chopping vegetables, two women making pastry dough and arguing over the amount of butter, a boy turning a spit with fowl on it.
Then we heard voices and slipped into a storeroom. Three men in leather cuirasses with gold braid came round the corner, arguing, “I was here half an hour ago and they weren’t there! Why do we have to search here again? Better try the other side.”
They didn’t see us, though one stuck his head inside the storeroom without much conviction.
We reached the service corridor –the one that Samada had used often enough to get to the kitchen to steal swees– without further incident. It was empty. There were doors at more or less regular intervals, with leather flaps on the inside to keep draughts out, but we didn’t hear anything behind those doors until we’d crossed the passage between the throne room and the family quarters, where the corridor dipped into a tunnel. We knew from the map that to get to the temple we’d have to turn left after the dip. Behind the first door on the left we heard voices: a man and a woman. I could see that one was gifted, but not which one it was.
They were very intriguing to listen to. The more we listened, the more it became clear that they were our allies — definitely against the priests — er, the grand masters. They were also in a position of some power in the palace, from the things they said.
I clothed myself in the presence of Anshen as well as I could. The gifted person –it turned out to be the man– sensed that and whispered something to the woman that I didn’t catch. I knocked on the door and stepped inside.
They were startled, of course, but pulled themselves together admirably. “You’re another of the northern dandar!” the man said.
“No,” I said, “I admit that I am from the north, but those priests are my enemies, and their god is my god’s enemy. We’ve come to put an end to what they’re doing.” I could say ‘we’ because Thulo and Maha and Zahmati were now coming in from the corridor too, making the two people’s eyes grow larger still.
Once everybody was in the room I sealed all the doorways. “We can talk in private now,” I said, and explained why we were here — not the whole story of Athal sending me to the south, but only Maha’s quest, Samada’s slave-children, and the priests of the Resurgence. “Lord Pesar’s first wife talked to the king’s first wife about the children,” I said, “but she said she couldn’t do anything. Perhaps that was because the children were already hiding.”
“It’s a miracle that the queen was capable of speaking at all!” the woman said, which didn’t make sense to me at the time. “Did she– no, she wouldn’t have.”
Rather than asking further, I said that two of my people were already on their way to the temple to deal with the priests. “They’re very strong,” the man said, “they’ve been making themselves stronger. First they took the slaves, then the servants, then they started raiding the women’s quarters for dandar. We managed to save a few hundred, they’re in hiding now, but many were killed before we could do that.”
“All in a few days?”
“Yes, they have guards of their own, and took in some of ours, Sergeant Hame for one. Their clerk, Najjar, that’s a nasty piece of work, I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran everything really.”
“Can you show me?” I asked. “Just see him in your mind and I’ll be able t0 get it from you.” Yes, Najjar did look like a nasty piece of work: not remarkable to look at, middle-aged, stooped and with a little wisp of beard, but in this man’s mind he was cloaked in evil the way I’d cloaked myself in Anshen. “Hmm, I’ll recognise him, I think.”
“They’re in the temple — it’s guarded by soldiers from this side, but Shekayat can take you to the back entrance through the women’s quarters.”
The woman –Shekayat, the man was Kesif Geran, the house-steward– took us into a warren of little rooms that we’d never have found our way in by ourselves, avoiding the little children who were underfoot everywhere, saying “excuse me” to several women in rooms we passed through who were busy with mending and crafts. Most of the time we were out on the other side before anyone was aware how many of us there were and what we looked like.
When we came to a wider corridor, we almost bumped into a patrol. Two soldiers and –yes, that must be Najjar. They must not have expected us: Najjar hesitated for a moment, and that was the only thing that made it possible for me to throw a knife before he stuck his sword in me. I hit him exactly in the throat. Lucky, because it would have gone wide if he hadn’t ducked to the wrong side. I dropped to the floor and rolled towards him so he’d fall over me. Which he didn’t, but one of the soldiers stumbled over him and fell right into Thulo’s arms. As I scrambled up I saw a naked black-skinned woman come out of a door on the other side and strangle the other soldier from behind with a silk scarf. Two younger girls, enough like her to be her sisters, peered through the doorway. The woman shook out her scarf and tied it around her hips like a skirt, where it had presumably been before.
“Nice work, Aftabi,” Shekayat said to the woman.
Aftabi shrugged, “Good riddance”, and disappeared into the room again before we could thank her.
Perhaps I’d have liked to catch Najjar alive for questioning. Ah well. He didn’t have anything interesting on him, just things like a comb and a box of beard-grease and an inkstone. No papers; I’d have to look in the room that he kept his papers in.
Now for the priests. The back entrance to the temple –or rather, to the garden that the temple was in– was just beyond where the patrol had been. This was a very nice garden with bushes and fruit trees, perhaps a fountain or at least running water, an eight-sided temple in the centre. I’m so going to consecrate that temple back to Anshen, I thought.
Khali and Bhalik were on the other side, fighting a dozen soldiers. Several dead soldiers were already lying in the doorway.
The temple was covered in power. I thought it was an elaborate seal at first, but when we came closer I could see that it was in fact something I’d only heard stories about (and told Thulo about!): a wall of people’s spirits hammered into a solid cover. I had no time to do anything about it now, because the soldiers — now reduced to about eight — had seen us and some of them were coming in our direction. Thulo drew his knife and prepared to fight as soon as they got close enough, but now three people were coming from where I assumed the temple door was to stand in between. Two were grand masters of the Nameless, a man and a woman. Tall — I couldn’t see if that was their ordinary height or they were making themselves look taller with semsin –, wearing elaborate robes, and elaborately protected. One was holding a girl of about ten by the hair and I could see that he was taking anie from her.
They turned and saw me.
“Ah!” the priestess said. “The little servant of the weakling god. We were expecting you, in fact. You’ll make a good sacrifice.”
I threw a knife at her. It was a much more accurate throw than the one at Najjar, and it struck in the same spot because this time my target didn’t move, but it stuck in layers and layers of seal and robe. It did distract her for a bit and she let go of the girl, who fell to the ground sobbing.
“Now, brother,” she asked her companion, “shall we end it?”
They were coming at me. I didn’t know anything else to do than what I had done when the Nameless sent the fire: stick my sword in the air and call on Anshen. Slowly, deliberately, with the words of the Second Invocation. The air grew thick and strong around me and my sword got so hot that I needed the linen cloths from my pack to wrap around the hilt. I didn’t know what Thulo or anyone else was doing; there was only me and Anshen and the pressure from outside me that I was holding back with all I had. With the one bit of attention that I could free I called Naigha, “see?” It must have been a tiny cry like a kitten’s mewling.
Then the sword melted in my hand, and I fell to my knees with everything that weighed on me. I fumbled out a dagger, but the priests were lying on the ground, looking much smaller in death.
Naigha stood with her mantle spread out as if she was protecting us all. I called Thulo and the others and tried to prise one of the spirits out of the wall — it was very tightly wrapped around the temple, like a knitted sock. One, and Naigha made it disappear at once. Then another and another; each one was easier. Once we’d done twenty or so the rest of the wrapping disappeared, and I heard Maha say a word that must be a curse but I’d never heard it before. “It was all fake! Not the ones we did, but the rest! Only a picture!”
The last of the soldiers were fleeing, with Khali and Bhalik in pursuit. Naigha was gone, but both Anshen and his brother were there, looking like a pair of young men, dark like almost everybody here, with curly hair. Twins, but so different. Anshen offered his hand to his twin, and Archan took one step toward him, hesitated, scowled and turned away, disappearing through the temple door.
I tried to speak to Anshen, but he had disappeared too.
Instead, we all went into the temple. It did really still look like a temple of Anshen, with the fire, fire tools and incense burner, an almost full wood basket, a low table laden with papers. I went through the papers: letters, a large prayer book, printed pamphlets. I stuffed the letters inside my shirt, wanted to take the prayer book too, but it was too heavy. Then I scooped all of the old fire out of the fire-pot with the shovel, threw it into the garden, and laid a new fire with the pamphlets and most of the pages of the prayer book as kindling. We sang invocations, starting properly at the beginning this time, and the prayer for a new fire as we did when setting up our travel temple, and before we knew it it was an ordinary service to Anshen.
When we were finished the temple was full of people. Shekayat and Kesif Geran, Aftabi and her young sisters, several other women in skimpy clothes, little children, soldiers, servants, people who looked like clerks and artisans. One very young man with a worried face pushed forward through the crowd and fell at my feet. “Holiness! Can you find my father and mothers and brother?” A grey-haired woman whispered in his ear, and he said, “I’m Sharab Geimat, second son of King Kafi. My parents and my brother have been missing since yesterday, and none of them were well before that, and I’ve been so worried. They were going to travel to Ashas with the priests, but–”
“The priests will not be travelling to Ashas,” I said.
The prince nodded. “Can you? What happened– what is going to happen? What’s going to happen to my sister?”
“Your sister is here,” I said.”In the scullery, last time I saw her.”
It was all very chaotic after that, and I don’t know exactly how we got everybody to assemble in the throne room (well, except the watch actually on guard; a general came to tell me that they were still at their post), but eventually the prince and I were standing on the elevation that the throne was on, each on a side of the throne. Only the king gets to sit on the throne! Thulo was nowhere in sight — wait, there he was, coming into the throne room with a handful of soldiers, and Aftabi wearing not much more than a satisfied grin and carrying a large curved sword in each hand, and a struggling man who looked as if he’d been through a meat-grinder. Sergeant Hame. “This man knows where his majesty the king and their other majesties are,” Thulo said, “only he doesn’t want to tell us.”
It was quite hard to get Hame to talk. And talk he must, because not only did he clearly know where the king and the queens and the prince were, but he also said that we had two hours to find them, “if they don’t get their medicine they’ll die.” Then he went on to taunt me as the small weak servant of the small weak Northern god, but that doesn’t make me angry any more, not now that Anshen has made me strong several times over.
There were hundreds of people in the throne room now, and I sent all who didn’t have anything else to do to search. “All of you together know the whole palace, we can find them!”
We took Hame to the courtyard, where there were cages with wild animals– tigers, lions, eagles and a brown bear so huge and fierce that Maha was impressed. “Ours aren’t half so large!” she said. “And he’s hungry. They’re all hungry!”
“Perhaps it’s time to make a sacrifice to Mizran,” I heard Thulo growl.
“You can’t do that to me! I’ll talk– for my life, riches, and that woman there,” pointing at Aftabi.
Aftabi scoffed, and I said, “Your life and riches, all right, but Aftabi is her own woman.”
Khali came back from wherever he’d gone with a handful of severed fingers and a foot that matched Hame’s leg-stump, and threw them to the bear one by one. It growled and devoured them. “Now will you talk?” Khali asked. “Or shall I cut off a couple more pieces?”
Then he talked. “Key on the hook in the priests’ room behind the temple, under the chest with the gold tree, medicine bag next to it. Less than an hour now.”
We found the room, and the key, and the chest, and the medicine bag, but the chest didn’t budge from what looked like a hatch until Thulo opened it with the key and lifted the lid. It was full of temple robes and cloths, but there was also a deft mechanism that made the chest only movable when it was open. “Síthi work,” Thulo pronounced, and slid the chest away.
Under the hatch there were stairs to a vaulted cellar, where a middle-aged man and two women and a youth were lying on benches, all stark naked, all fast asleep, impossible to rouse. Drugged; and in the medicine bag there were two large jars of thick syrupy medicine.
A youngish man approached me, “Holiness, I am Antour, royal physician, what can I do to help?” And when he saw the medicine bag he hesitated for a long time, “they’ve both been used, now which is the antidote?”
Thulo smelt both of the jars. “This one has kalesh in it– that’s what they smell like, too. But why have they both been used?”
Suddenly something I’d heard earlier became clear to me. “I think they gave the elder queen the antidote so she could talk to Pesar’s wife,” I said.
The doctor brightened. “That’s it! Brilliant!” And he proceeded to smear some from the other jar on the sleepers’ tongues and inside their cheeks. Presently, the drugged sleep turned into a more normal sleep, and the young man even rolled on his side.
The king was the first to wake completely. He was confused, of course, waking up in a place he didn’t remember going to sleep in, among lots of people he hadn’t expected and some he didn’t even know. “Wine!” he shouted when he’d recovered a bit more. “And something to eat. For these people as well,” he added when he saw me trying to keep a straight face at those words.
“Doctor?” I asked. “Do you have any northern silverleaf?” And he did: more than enough to brew a large pot of tea for me and Thulo and Maha and Zahmati.
When the king heard about Hame, he exploded in rage. “Is he still alive? Cut him into so many pieces that every household in the kingdom can have a piece of him to keep as an example!” But we had promised him his life in exchange for information. “Well, does he still have his balls? He won’t need those, I suppose. And you didn’t promise him freedom, did you?” No, we hadn’t; only his life and riches. “I’ll see. Keep him somewhere out of my sight for now.”
We got back to the throne room somehow, the king and his family dressed. Everybody was milling about with no regard for status, coming by to touch the king or the queens, to talk to me…
I suddenly remembered what exactly we’d come to do here. “The children!” I ran to the scullery, Maha on my heels. We found Samada there, embracing her younger brother, with Nan and Khubkhub in attendance.
“They’re safe now, right?” Nan asked.
“Yes. The priests are dead. I think their own god killed them.”
Then Nan and Khubkhub took us across the disused cistern that we’d come up from, where there was a door leading to yet another disused cistern. Two small children who looked very like Maha were sitting on the ground there, and when they saw Maha they jumped up and ran into her arms.
“Are you their mother?” Nan asked.
Maha laughed. “if I were I’d have had to have children when I was nine! No, but they belong with me, regardless.”
“Well,” the king said when we were all back in the throne room. “The emperor will have to hear of this. I’ll give you five hundred soldiers to command, and a thousand camels, and my sons Ishan and Sharab will travel with you to Ashas.” Five hundred soldiers! Not only a priestess of all the gods, but also an army commander. I hoped the five hundred soldiers had captains and sergeants of their own (and enough food for camels and people), because I didn’t see myself doing all that work as well as being caravan priestess.
Then Shekayat brought Aftabi to the king. “Here’s a woman who fought valiantly and brought Hame to his knees,” she said. “Will you grant her a boon?”
“Gladly,” the king said. “Is it perhaps your wish to become my third wife?”
“No,” Aftabi said defiantly. “My lord, my bedmate, my king, my friend, my lover, It’s something else I want.”
“What is it then? Name it and you shall have it.”
“I want to go to Ashas with the army and these people,” she said.
“Won’t you — miss me a lot?”
“Nah, I’ll find a woman of my own,” she said.
Good for her! Also, if she came along I’d be able to teach her to use a sword safely. Thulo had shown me what she’d done with the two scimitars: whirl them like a windmill so nobody could come near.
“You will stay the night, of course,” the king said. “It’s too late to travel now.”
That was a fact: it was already dark outside. Fortunately caravans travel so slowly that we’d be able to overtake it.
“Your majesty,” I said, “in that case I’d like to show you the temple.
He came along, curious, and so did his wives and sons and lots of other people. What we did was plain evening prayers, a little subdued –great Anshen, we were all exhausted!– and the king and the elder queen and the princes were pleased, but the second queen was overwhelmed. “Do you think–” she began.
I looked at her encouragingly.
“Do you think you can teach me your prayers? Tonight? So we can have a temple priestess here, of the right god?”
Well, she was gifted all right. And I’d seen her being touched: if anyone could, it was her. “You’ll have to keep me upright on the back of a camel again,” I said to Thulo. “I expect I’ll be all night.”
“Don’t you need me?”
It was tempting, but if he had a sleepless night too he wouldn’t be able to watch out for me. I hesitated,
“May I intervene?” the king asked. “Sleeping on a journey is much more comfortable on the back of an elephant.”
“All right,” I said. “Who else can learn? Your majesty, who do you trust?” And I got Kesif Geran, and Aftabi’s youngest sister, and several more men and women as apprentices. I started with the simplest prayers, the invocations, the morning and evening rites. The queen was learning and the others were observing: the only concession to the difference in estate, but I don’t think the observers learned any less. After about half the night the queen knew the forms and started to ask after meanings. After the whole night, my apprentices could celebrate the morning service.
When we were finished, I saw Anshen sitting on the edge of an ornamental pond, looking even younger than he had after the fight, and sad, immensely sad. He turned his head, lookad at us and vanished.
The second queen took my arm. “Was that…?”
“Yes,” I said. I knew that the sadness hadn’t been because of anything we had done, but I still couldn’t explain it completely to the queen.
“He looks very young,” she said.
“He can look any age he wants,” I said. “That he needs, I think.”
“Oh! Like Dayati.”
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