The afternoon that Wythe endured that day seemed longer than any she could remember. She wrote in the journal dutifully of what had passed since her meeting with Pieter Sevren that spring – only the simplest facts, and none of her reflections and emotions. They were far too disturbing. Still, it took several hours, and when a servant came with her dinner she was glad to put the journal aside and eat. After that there were still many hours of daylight to put behind her until she would be able to sleep, and she took up the book of verse that Rava had brought her. She only thumbed through it at first, until one of its pages caught her eye for a moment, and the verses struck her as interesting enough to take note of the name of the author, printed at the poem’s conclusion. After that she began to look for the names before looking at the poems till her eye caught Lord Maarinen – and she closed the book abruptly.
Then she had to open it, and search again for the page. She couldn’t find it. Maybe she had imagined it – an unconscious wish had brought Timu’s name into her mind, and she had seen it on the page. She looked at the front of the book, but there was no table of contents. It was really a very cheap edition. But she had to find it, somehow, or make sure she had imagined it.
Wythe didn’t think why this search was so important, she only felt the compulsion, and she slowly and carefully turned the pages in the last red light of the sunset, with her heart beating wildly until – there – it was – Maarinen – and the verses, as she read them, seemed to sound in her mind in Timu’s voice.
When I turn to the cries of geese in the autumn,
Their flight bears away seasons, and hurries the years.
Summer loses its joy and spring is forgotten,
And the white gales of winter howl in my ears.
There they stream, in their order, against the sky’s crimson,
A moving black scar on the flesh of the clouds.
And my soul feels the shadow and cowering, cringes:
The beating of wings is the flutter of shrouds.
“I am young, I am strong!” What are mere fleshly protests
When death shares with life the rule of all men?
Geese return in the spring, but my youth only passes,
There is death in each pleasure I will ne’er see again.
She was not surprised at its darkness. There was no way of knowing when it was written, but Timu had always had a very somber cast to his mind, though he tried to conceal it. Wythe suspected this work came from a time before she knew him, however, though she could not think of any specific reason for this judgment. She read it again and again while the light faded, and it ran on in her mind when the light utterly failed, and she gave no thought to asking the guard to light her lamp. She only realized that night had completely fallen when his firm knock sounded on the door, and he announced “Maga Katya is here to see Maga Wythe.”
Wythe knew her voice wavered as she called out that the maga could enter, but she stood and tried to compose herself before the door opened, putting the book aside but not closing it.
“What, sitting in the dark again, Wythe?” Katya came in briskly and kissed her cheek, then stepped back and gave her a hard look. “You seem feverish – are you unwell? Guard – light, please.”
“I dozed off – it’s so stuffy in here – I’m not used to being within walls all day long,” Wythe tried to excuse herself.
The lamp was lighted, and Katya gently moved Wythe to the sofa, and made her sit and sat beside her. “Well, you will not be pining for fresh air much longer. I have just had word from the Spring Islands – you are to sail tomorrow to attend the tribunal.”
Wythe sighed in relief. The voyage would be better than sitting any longer in this little room, and when she reached the Islands she would be able to speak to Mathis and Faj, and things would begin to happen. Of course there would be no way of knowing what things they might be, but it was better than this waiting. And she would be too occupied to be tempted to dwell on the impossible.
“It is good news, Maga,” she said.
“I am glad that you think so. Rava said Mathis was of the same opinion. So I suppose I shall take heart too.” Katya smoothed her skirt with a slightly agitated gesture. “And did Renhold come to see you?”
“Yes – I am sorry to say that we didn’t improve our understanding. I think I may have made matters worse.”
“He is in a very difficult position.”
“That’s another reason I’ll be glad to be in the Islands – I may be able to spur Alliance intervention, and relieve some of the pressure he’s feeling.” Wythe felt her mind clearing, and her thoughts brightening, and she thought it might be her turn to reassure Katya. “Here in Vaaseli you forget about the true nature of the Alliance, and the way the mages who serve it think.”
“So, even though they are charging you –”
“I think I will find some allies.”
Katya gave her another long look, and finally smiled. “You do seem happier now – I believe I will trust your judgment, and put my faith in the Alliance.”
“And – don’t forget – Mathis.”
The guard woke her before dawn, so that her ship could catch the morning tide, and there was an escort of two diplomats – young men, twin brothers, who had been in service for only a year – waiting for her in the entrance hall of the service building. Katya was there as well, and she told her as they embraced that a trunk had been packed for her, with more clothing, and already loaded aboard her vessel. Her own things that she had brought with her from the north would not be returned to her, but she was being permitted to bring the books and clothes Rava had given her, packed in a leather satchel by the servant who had brought her breakfast.
Their ship was The Dragon, Vaaselian, but built much to the Ravellan model, both square and lateen rigged, and of the two small, forward passenger cabins, Wythe would have one to herself, while the brothers, Rolf and Raef Harjo, would share the other. The twins were charged primarily with maintaining the barrier around Wythe’s mind, and they seemed to have a fine facility for such work – it was still obviously impenetrable, but not so overwhelming that her own conscious thoughts were in any way suppressed or disturbed, and she began to hope that she would again have access to communication with her spirits, in dreams if not in waking. The Harjo brothers were affable young fellows, and Wythe could tell they bore her no ill will, and she felt heartened when, as The Dragon found the gulf breezes and began her southward progress, and they all three stood at the bow rail gazing at the first rays of the sun glinting on the water, Rolf began to speak about her life with the Telmi.
“We both did Telmi studies in our last year in school,” he told her. “Maybe you could help us with the language – of course you are fluent?”
“The best way to learn is to use it,” Wythe replied, suiting action to intention and speaking in the tongue of her adopted people.
Raef took her up immediately. “When we speak to each other, we will always use it.”
“You should also try to think it.” Wythe saw the brothers share a glance of amusement. “If we speak of the life of the Telmi, it will be easier.”
“That is what we wish,” both said together.
As the first day at sea passed, and the days followed one another, Wythe felt more optimistic. Rolf and Raef were eager to learn, and she loaned them her books – they both said that study helped keep them awake on their mind-watches. They certainly never let the thought barrier weaken or falter. But their companionship was helpful, Wythe felt, in preparing her for the tribunal: it cheered her and gave her new confidence, and as she discussed Telmi life with the two young men she found opportunity both to give thought to her defense and to influence at least their opinions, if only a little.
“Telmi life seems simple, but hard,” Raef told her over breakfast the third morning out. Rolf was sleeping after maintaining the barrier through the night. “You must move so much in the summer, to find good pasture, and even in the winter, when you are in your settlements, you must move your animals to different places in the marsh and the forest, and keep a watch out for wolves.”
“And there is always hunting and fishing, and in the spring and summer gathering greens and berries – and nuts and rice in the fall – and harness and tools to be made and repaired, especially in winter – and of course always children to care for, and cooking and sewing –” Wythe added to the list of incessant tasks. “Each family works for itself, and all help each other.”
“And the shamans gather herbs and keep the calendar for the rituals –”
“And teach their apprentices –” Wythe fell silent and looked down at the table where the remains of their breakfast still lay, and wondered how Tuomo was managing. She could feel the place in her mind where she was still linked with him, but it was filled with a fog – he really had no way of knowing why she had ceased to communicate with him, unless Farin had found a way to get word to him – if he had thought of it. Tuomo must think she had abandoned him.
“I am sorry, Maga,” Raef said in Vaaselian, perceiving at least the general trend of her thought. “When we are in the Islands your counsel can communicate with your friends with all of your concerns.”
“It would be helpful if I could communicate now with Master Skipman, at least,” Wythe said, though it was a boon she didn’t even hope for, and Raef shook his head, just as she had expected.
“I have heard that Master Skipman is very clever, and very thorough,” he said reassuringly. “I am sure he has already anticipated much of what you would like to tell him, and is acting on it.” Raef’s own smile was hopeful, and Wythe returned it, for his sake, and because she knew it was true – Mathis was certainly quite capable, and knew her well enough to do better than guess what her needs would be, especially with Faj to coach him. She would just have to curb her impatience – it would be satisfied in three or four days when they arrived in the Spring Islands.
The Albraharan coast was dotted with fishing villages wherever there was an appropriate beach for the boats to be drawn up, but deep harbor ports were far less common. Captain Maarinen had found one in the early days of his merchant career, a former haunt of corsairs, and its obscurity was well suited to his purposes. The Marten had taken a great deal of damage in its last crossing from Xanthia, in an encounter with a hurricane, barely making shelter here, but at least now repairs could be conducted and the captain could enjoy some peace at the same time. Fareesh respected his partner’s privacy and independence in theory, but he could still be demanding, if permitted. A communication to the clerks of their enterprise back in Marda that repairs were required would be sufficient, with the extra insurance of the secrecy of Timu’s port and private shipyard, to be reasonably certain that Fareesh would leave him alone for a few weeks at least.
Construction of the new ship was coming along well – in fact, it was nearly completed, and Timu felt he had every right to see the fruition of his innovations before returning to his responsibilities in the firm of Fareesh and Maarinen. It was not that he had ceased to enjoy the life of a mariner, but it seemed that he would also never cease developing new interests. Long ago his great passion had been following birds and beasts, observing their habits and making drawings of them and their surroundings – and now that urge to set pencil to paper had wed itself to his life-long love of sailing and his professional interest in improving sea-going transportation. For weeks he had drawn plans, and then, whenever he could make port, taught Albraharan craftsmen to follow them, and the work brought him unusual satisfaction. After his months ashore in Xanthia, five years ago, on that strange errand for the priests of the mountains, he had wanted nothing but the sea – or almost nothing – now, observing his workmen employed with the finishing touches of his new design, he was beginning to wonder if it were not time for a new phase – he had enough wealth already to last the rest of his life – maybe he should give up the business of trade, and turn to ship-building as his new vocation.
Timu knew in his heart that what he needed was something fresh, to keep old memories from haunting him. His work for Fareesh had been enough, at first, to quell the disturbance caused by Willem of the Spring Islands. But the night of the storm, when he had seriously doubted his own chances of survival, the old cliché had come true, and his whole life had seemed to pass before him, and for the first time in nearly ten years he felt more regret than joy in his memories.
While he was thus musing, and felt the first faint perception of someone attempting to communicate with his mind, he made the natural assumption that Fareesh had insisted the clerks try to reach him – he had sensed attempts before this – and he turned his thoughts away deliberately. But the intrusion continued, with the persistence of a pre-dawn mosquito, and finally Timu felt he had no choice but to heed it – though he need not respond, unless it were truly urgent. Yet though he directed his attention purposively to the communication, it remained faint and indistinct, like a voice heard through a wall – it would be an incompetent clerk, then – or could it be someone who barely knew him? – or someone – who had known him – long ago – ten years ago – “Mathis?”
“Timu Maarinen – you are the very devil to find, did you know that?” At last the once familiar mind of Mathis Skipman made full contact with Timu’s perceptions. He was the same Mathis, that was certain.
“Quite purposely, I assure you.”
“Well, you’ve given us nothing but headaches – we’ve sent messages on every ship that put in at Barran or the Islands, in case they might cross paths with you, and I’ve been trying to communicate with you for – oh, more than a week now – where the devil are you?”
“I cannot tell you – it is the only way I can have some peace – though if it were really that urgent, you could have reached me through Elian.”
“It isn’t something we want to let Elian in on at the moment.” There was an instant of hesitation in Mathis’ thoughts, and then, with almost violent clarity: “ Timu, it’s Wythe.”
Timu’s mind screamed to him yes and no simultaneously, and the sparkling sunlight on the waters of the harbor became blackness, the sound of the workmen’s tools disappeared in the howling of a gale – but the storm and the night were only his own thoughts, long submerged, but always attempting to breach his will’s surface, and now thrusting up into his still-resisting consciousness.
“Timu? – I’m sorry – are you all right?”
The sun came back, the gale wound down to the gentle sea breezes, bearing the rapping of the workmen’s hammers and the scraping of their planes.
“Timu?”
“Yes. Yes. I am here.”
“Well, I knew that – are you paying attention?”
“What is the matter with Wythe? Is she all right?” It was the first time in five years he had consciously used her name, even to himself. After leaving Willem with the priests in Xanthia he hadn’t been back to Vaaseli, for the very reason that he knew Elian would speak of her, and his sister would both discover his secrets and trouble his hard-won resolve. Now that he had done it, had formed Wythe's name in his thoughts, and re-formed everything he knew of her, there was suddenly no more suffering, and his mind turned at once from his own pain to whatever trouble had caused Mathis to contact him. “Is she ill? – Is she in trouble? – is she –” No – he would know if it were that – he would feel her absence from the world immediately, if it were that – it was some kind of trouble –
“Timu – pay attention, will you? She’s healthy enough, according to Rava. It’s trouble with Renhold, and our old friends in the Council of Lords, and a few other Essinian hotheads. And with the Alliance. You must give me your full attention, and plenty of time to explain – can you do that?”
“Yes, of course.” Timu cast his eyes over the worksite, and picked out his foreman on the deck of the new ship, and, making eye-contact, signaled him with a raised hand, and left the spot where he had been sitting on a pile of lumber and picked his way along the rocks of the shoreline till the sounds of the laborers were muffled by the splash of the waves and the cries of the gulls riding the brisker breezes high above the harbor. “What do they say she has done?”
“Bless you for putting it that way – it’s misuse of telekinesis, if you’ll believe it – defying the articles of the Peace that we defended ten years ago. That’s the worst of the Alliance charges – and your countrymen are calling it sedition and rebellion – a declaration of war on the crown of Vaaseli.”
“Absurd!”
“You would think so. But I’m afraid she’s let herself in for it.”
“But Wythe is allowed her use of telekinesis as a shaman of the Telmi, and the Alliance never forbade her to experiment with other peaceful uses – she would never go beyond what is permitted –”
“It comes down to a question of what is permitted then – but let me start at the beginning, would you?”
“Begin, then –” Timu settled himself as comfortably as he could on a rock to hear his old friend’s story – his thoughts remained a little turbulent, but the shape of Mathis’ mind was comforting; the Ravellan’s reasonableness and skepticism had sustained them all in their previous trials together, and Timu could easily sense Mathis’ real love for both him and Wythe beneath his sometimes brusque manner.
“Well, you know that Wythe has been living among the Telmi for the last five years – summers only at first, but also the last two winters –”
“I did not know about the winters – I have not been back to Vaaseli for five years myself, because I knew that she was there, and I suspected Elian would try to arrange a reunion.” Even while Wythe was in Barran and Marda, visits home had been difficult – Elian never could get over her conviction that Wythe and Timu would be better off living together, and never tired of trying to convince them, whenever she had the opportunity. Mathis seemed to find the mention of Elian awkward, and held his thoughts silent for a minute, so that Timu finally urged him, “Go on” and Mathis went back to his narrative.
“After training with the Owl shaman – you remember Oumua? – for three summers, and serving the Raven while she was with them, she took up permanent residence – she’s become the Raven shaman – become Telmi in all things, in fact –”
“Yes, I know all this from Elian –”
“I have not communicated with Wythe myself, you understand – I know this from Farin and Rava. Anyway, this spring it was the turn of the Raven clan to go on an errand for the people to prepare for their great Midsummer ritual, when they light their sacred fire – you probably know more about its meaning than I do – it involves a journey by the shaman to the lands farthest north, near the Uttermost Sea, where some sort of fire – not marsh gas, but a strong, hot flame – burns in the ground – the shaman starts a fire from this flame, and brings coals from it to all the clans before Midsummer, when each shaman will begin a new fire-cycle for his or her clan – the fires of life for the new year.”
“Yes, I know of that ritual – it is the single most important public aspect of their religion –”
“Even the land where the fire burns is sacred, and forbidden to any but a shaman or apprentice. Well, this year, as Wythe and her Raven escort approached the sacred lands, they ran into a man from the south, a Pieter Sevren, vassal of the Paarin –”
“I know the family –”
“They found his camp first, and discovered that he had trapped and killed many animals, for their skins only, wasting much meat – very sinful, according to Telmi traditions – but the man and his companions were gone south already, so they tracked them, and overtook them. Apparently this Sevren considers himself a naturalist, and is planning to mount an exhibit of the stuffed bodies of creatures from the far north in Essin – for the education of the southern population. Wythe didn’t like it, and told him so, and insisted on a ritual of atonement for the lives he’d taken – you know what the Telmi believe about hunting and so on – but she consulted her spirit guide, and apparently got permission for Sevren to carry through with his plan – though her spirit gave her a vague warning about the fellow as well. She spent a night encamped in the same place with Sevren, and it wasn’t till the next morning that she got the rest of the story that he’d tried to conceal from her –”
“He had been in the sacred lands himself –”
“You guessed it – if Wythe’s companions – some of Irjo’s sons, you know – had known, they would have slain Sevren and his two Toler guides – but Wythe kept the information to herself, and did her best to block Sevren’s memory of what he had seen, and the other fellows’ memories too – and communicated a warning to Farin – until she had an opportunity to speak to the elders and the other shamans. Apparently the memory block lasted until after Sevren had been back in Essin for a week or two, but eventually it all came back to him, and he’s not the sort of fellow to keep such a thing to himself – of course he’d think of all kinds of practical uses for the fire and the oil that pools up in its vicinity, and you can imagine the interest this kind of thing excites among the craftsmen of Essin – and Renhold’s scientific friends.”
“But Wythe must have communicated with Renhold.”
“Of course – and she believed he saw his duty to the crown’s agreements with the Telmi – but there’s a lot of pressure coming from the guilds, and Valmur’s old supporters saw their opportunity to drive a wedge between Renhold and Wythe – they have revenge on their minds of course, but also hopes for a chance at a power grab – they’re courting the guilds now, and pressing Renhold to send ‘scientific expeditions’ north – in fact they sent one, in defiance of the crown’s authority – and that’s when Wythe’s real trouble started.”
“What did she do?”
“She put up a physical barrier around the sacred lands, using telekinesis – don’t ask me how she did it – I have all her old papers here, and I’ve been going through them, but there’s no mention of such a thing – it’s something new she’s discovered or developed.”
“And that is the misuse of telekinesis she is being charged with? But it is not destructive, is it?”
“If you rode a horse full tilt at it, you might be thrown – but that’s about the only way it could injure anyone. I think we can beat the charges – I’m her counsel, by the way – there’s going to be a tribunal here in the Islands – Faj is going to testify about how Wythe’s power developed and how she uses it – and we need your help.”
“What do you wish me to do? Shall I send written testimony?”
Now Mathis not only hesitated, but cloaked his thoughts for a little. “Let me explain something, Timu. Even if we get Wythe off as far as the telekinesis business is concerned, there is still the issue of her ‘interference’ in Vaaselian affairs. She is still a maga of the Alliance, and a diplomat of the Ravellan League, you know. They’ve been ignoring her, because they don’t like the things she’s learned among the Telmi – they’re not consistent with the teachings of Alidor – but they can’t ignore the fact that they seem to work, somehow. They pretty much cut her loose, and hoped that they wouldn’t have to deal with her. But now they have no choice. The traditionalists in Vaaseli are definitely out to get her, and the Alliance doesn’t want to get caught up in that sort of thing. They have to do something to show that they don’t approve and we’re pretty sure they want to just plain take her out of the Vaaselian picture.”
“What are they planning, then?”
“They’ll make the charges of actions inappropriate to a representative of the Alliance stick, and they’ll sentence her to some kind of imprisonment, and permanent mind-control, to prevent any future ‘interference.’ You can imagine what that would do to her –”
Timu could imagine. It would break her heart, maybe break her spirit or even break her mind. Mind-work was her life to her, and always had been. If her every thought and use of her thoughts were restricted, and her body imprisoned as well, she might eventually lose her reason. She would certainly lose all pleasure in life. It was cruel out of all proportion.
“Wythe is not going to want to abandon her people, that much is certain,” Mathis was continuing. “The Alliance is going to try to protect her by asserting its authority over her, and protect itself at the same time – in its finest tradition of ill-advised caution – and leave Renhold to sort out his own problems. The fact is, the Alliance mages are going to have to face up to their responsibility if we are to avoid a crisis in Vaaseli like the last one – this isn’t an entirely internal Vaaselian affair, by any means – the rights of the Telmi themselves should come under Alliance jurisdiction, for one thing –”
“But what about Wythe?” Timu felt Mathis was going off on a tangent. Of course the Telmi were important and so was Vaaselian stability, but all he could think of was Wythe’s own immediate fate, and he assumed that was what Mathis wanted his help with. If Mathis had a fault it was his urge to scatter his forces and attend to every possible problem simultaneously.
But again Mathis hesitated. “Timu, I want you to think about what I’m about to say very carefully. It’s mostly for Wythe’s sake, but it’s for yours too, and for the good of Vaaseli – I know you’re an exile of a kind by your own choosing, but I know you love your country, and of course you must be concerned about what becomes of Renhold and Elian and the rest of your family –”
“Mathis, get on with it –” A sense of apprehension was rapidly growing in Timu’s mind, and a strange excitement, almost an eagerness. He tried to suppress the suspicions that he was forming about what Mathis was going to ask of him, and partly succeeded.
“I know the only reason you two separated was the power – there was the business about it being dangerous for you to go on sharing in it, and the alternative of Wythe giving it up seemed impossible to her – but the Alliance is going to forbid her to ever again make use of it anyway – if what Faj tells me is true, and your reunion will cause the power to diminish until it fades entirely, then the Alliance’s problem is solved, without the need to imprison Wythe or impose mind control on her –” Timu could sense Mathis’ growing excitement, but his own outstripped it – yet the apprehension grew along with it. “If you two were to publicly marry, and return to Vaaseli to live as Lord and Lady Maarinen you could both even continue working for the Telmi – you’ll have your seat on the Council of Lords, and you can keep on working on Renhold to make sure he does the right thing – and your parents would be glad to know that the estate would have a good manager – they’re not getting any younger, you know, and Arn doesn’t want to deal with it, even though he’d do it if he had to: all your people would do much better under your care, you know that – and as your wife, Wythe would be a Vaaselian subject, and have as much right as any other to her opinions on Vaaselian governance and relations with the Telmi.” Mathis paused, apparently satisfied that he had covered all his most important points, and waited for a response from Timu. It was a long time coming, and Mathis at last succumbed to his impatience. “I want you to come to the Islands and tell the tribunal mages that you will take responsibility for Wythe – take her as your wife, so that the power will no longer be an issue, and spare them the headache of having to control her.”
“I cannot claim to be able to control her –”
“Of course not, but it’s only the appearance here that matters, to the Alliance, at least.”
“And will Wythe agree?”
“Surely that’s up to you.” Timu could sense Mathis’ amusement, and he resented it a little. When they had been rivals for Wythe’s affections Mathis had been tenacious, even when Timu himself was entirely certain that Wythe loved him in a way that inevitably excluded all others – but Wythe herself had been hard to convince – her loyalty to Mathis and her resolve to avoid all unkindness had only been surmounted by the potency of the power that their love had engendered. Their love for each other was so much larger than just themselves, and it had affected the fate of Vaaseli and the entire Alliance – their reunion would be an equally serious matter – not just a question of Timu wooing Wythe all over again and winning her hand formally. And already Timu could imagine her objections. The Alliance would be handing her over to his custody, in effect. He would become her jailer.
But that would never be the way he saw it. And he would not try to control her. He would be her partner, and her advisor, and her helper – and her lover and her husband – all the things he had wanted to be since he had met her. Already he could imagine the arguments he would use to convince her – and not just the ones he could put into words.
“She doesn’t know anything about this, by the way,” Mathis was saying. “She isn’t allowed any communication, and I have no intention of telling her when she gets here.”
“When is she arriving in the Islands? When is the tribunal?”
“Rava tells me her ship set sail two days ago – when she arrives, in three or four days, the tribunal will begin. Can you be here that quickly? I think you should see Wythe after the initial hearing, so she’ll have an idea of the grimness of the alternatives to being your wife – but not too long after, so that we can work quickly on the mages before they get any ideas about altering their charges or their plans. The way they’ve got it figured now I know I can beat them, and get them to agree to my proposals. And of course the sooner we get Wythe squared away the better, so that we can get started on Alliance action in the Telmi matter, and you two can get down to politics in Vaaseli. If this business isn’t resolved soon there might very well be another civil war, and this time it’ll be worse – the old guard just might seduce the guilds to their purposes – and depending on who prevails in the south, there might very well be war with the Telmi – it would mean a bloodbath, and the massacre of innocent tribespeople.” Mathis paused again, but not for long. He could tell that Timu was on the point of agreeing, and didn’t want to leave room for any further objections. “Can you do it?”
“Three days?” Sailing The Marten was out of the question, but the new ship was nearly ready. One more day for a little painting and getting the rigging set, and three days sailing – she would be much faster than any ship in Fareesh’s fleet – he could do it. “Four days. That I can manage.”
“That’ll do – and you had better take the time to find some wedding clothes and a couple of rings – I know you two won’t want to wait, once you’re back together.” There was the amusement again, but this time Timu smiled.
“I will see you in four days’ time. And Mathis –”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
