Gebron cut a poor figure. He was portly and small, with dull brown eyes and a
perpetually phlegmatic expression on his face. Though he wore green and gold finery, he looked
inevitably disheveled and sweaty. That a pig like this had come to be Palatine Vicar offended
me, even as I understood that only such a creature could emerge from the North Wing
Bureaucracy, and that only such a creature could manage it. His softness served the Emperor.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
“I was commanded,” I said.
“I know.”
We locked eyes for a moment and the air grew thick with anxiety. I wanted to see
Gebron’s fear of me, but I only saw those dull brown eyes, like a beast’s eyes, staring back at
me. Pigs do not comprehend the butcher.
At last I broke the silence. “The Emperor said you had a Matter to discuss with me. What
is this Matter?”
He drew in a long breath and then said. “A traitor in the Deathguard.”
“Very well, ” I replied.
“You are not surprised?”
“Only fools could be surprised by that. What is the treason?”
“They are false.”
“Do you think to jape with me, Gebron?”
“You know me better than that, Cuthnos.”
“Men do not know each other. They only see each other. How are they false?”