Gulda’s face contorted, at first in anger, then in an almost girlish mixture of amusement and distress.
‘It’s Memsa to you, young Loman, and don’t forget it,’ she said with a peculiarly unsteady chuckle. ‘On the whole I preferred your brother’s more poetic commitment, but you’re not without some mastery in simple communication. I commend the clarity of your vision.’
She laughed softly, but it was an uncertain sound, and her hand came to her face to wipe away tears.
‘I don’t know why I should laugh,’ she said. ‘Ethriss knows, I can’t think of anything more devoid of humour than what we’re talking about.’
She sniffed noisily and, retrieving a kerchief from somewhere, finished wiping her eyes. ‘When do you intend to go then?’ she said.
Hawklan looked at her uncertainly for a moment. ‘It
