Текст книги "Hastur Lord"

Автор книги: Marion Zimmer Bradley

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 31 страниц)

19

Before Regis left the Crystal Chamber, Valdir took him aside and informed him that he might choose to remain in the Castle under guard or to move to another location. Either way, he would not be permitted free movement in the city or private access with those who might plot against the new order. Regis listened politely and expressed his desire to retire to a secluded life in his own residence. He asked if he might be allowed to visit his family, but he did not mention Danilo. He was afraid that any inquiry might sound too much like begging. Valdir admitted the rationale for coordination with Javanne as Castle chatelaine but waved away the subject of Rinaldo. That meeting would not happen, Regis thought as he took his leave, until Valdir had the new Hastur Lord securely under his influence.

The next tenday went by in a blur. Regis was glad of an excuse to decline invitations to the usual summer festivities. He had no intention of sitting idly by while Valdir consolidated his position, but he must move carefully while lulling the Ridenow into thinking he had given in.

Regis formulated a plan to bring charges against Valdir in the Cortes. The matter should properly have been heard by the Comyn Council, since it involved the kidnapping of two of its members as well as extortion and possibly treason, but the Council was not yet reinstated. Valdir would most likely refuse to cooperate in a civil suit, but the hearings and resulting scandal would cripple his position as Rinaldo’s councillor. The Cortes might even order Valdir confined to his city mansion or, if he refused, which was likely, freeze his assets and threaten his guards as co-conspirators with fines or imprisonment. The first step was to find a judge with the courage and integrity to investigate a member of the Comyn.

Regis began removing his household to the townhouse. One of Gabriel’s officers, an earnest young man named Brunin Sandoval, contrived to encounter Regis during one of his many trips back and forth. Regis was able to communicate his plan and the officer agreed to make discreet contact with a judge who had a staunch reputation for upholding justice.

Meanwhile, Gabriel was quietly continuing the search for Danilo’s location. None of his attempts had been successful, nor had he been able to escape the surveillance of Valdir’s men long enough to speak with Dan Lawton.

The coridomhad kept the town house tidy and in good repair. He had tracked down those servants who had been let go or sent to the estate at Carcosa when Regis moved into the Castle. Soon the house was made comfortable, far more than the drafty, gloomy chambers in the Castle.

Set in its walled garden, now jewel– bright with summer blossoms, the townhouse exuded the aura of safety. The dangers, and there were many, would come from without. Here Regis felt no fear of betrayal. He breathed more easily and slept more deeply between his own sheets, on which lingered the faint, musky scent of love.

Once, in a spasm of masochistic longing, Regis wandered into the room Danilo had used. The air was shrouded in ghosts. A trick of light created the appearance of a fine layer of dust on fabric and wood, although the coridomwould never have sanctioned such careless housekeeping.

In the corner beyond the narrow, little-used bed, Danilo’s cadet chest huddled as if in grief. Regis smoothed his fingers over the worn lid and lifted it. He would never have dared even so slight an invasion if Danilo had been here. In that moment of half-crazed heartache, his hands moved of their own accord. If this was all he had of Danilo, it must suffice. He recognized most of the contents, threadbare handed-down clothing and mementos from Syrtis.

There, wrapped in shimmering spidersilk, was the dagger Regis had given Danilo when they first swore themselves to one another. Why had Danilo left it? It had not been so much buried as thrust into hiding. Holding the slender blade and knowing it would never fall into Valdir’s hands brought a surge of irrational joy.

“In your service alone do I bear this,”Danilo had said as he accepted the blade. Then he had pressed his lips against the naked steel. Regis echoed the gesture, tasting the imprint of that long-ago kiss. The instant of pleasure fled, leaving only cold metal and the slow, churning fear in his heart.

With the exception of the Terran Zone, from which he was strictly banned, Regis was still able to come and go. He was always escorted, not by the usual City Guardsmen, but by men assigned to him by Valdir, men whose accents and gold-tinted hair bespoke their Ridenow lineage.

The loss of contact with Dan Lawton and Dr. Jay Allison was bad enough, but it also meant Regis could not speak with Lew or send him a message. He had no way of knowing how the transfer of the Hastur Lordship had been portrayed. What possible explanation could Valdir have offered?

More than that, Regis missed the counsel and longstanding rapport with his oldest friend. Never before had he been so painfully aware of how few friends he had; his rank and lineage had kept most of his contemporaries at arm’s length. Of those who had found their way through the convoluted politics, too many were dead, off-world . . . or beyond his reach.

Regis tried several times to speak with the Legate, only to find the Terran sector barred to him. The Ridenow guards, who had until then resembled silent shadows, closed briskly with him, leaving little doubt that any attempt would be met with instant failure.

Within the Castle, the guards would not allow Regis to enter the corridors leading to the Ridenow section or, for that matter, the environs of their mansion in the city. From this, Regis deduced that Valdir had moved his quarters to the Castle, but he could not be sure. He received no inkling of where Danilo was kept. As for Rinaldo, Regis was told repeatedly that his brother was occupied at the moment and would send word when he desired an interview.

Regis often had business in the Castle during this time of shifting residences and preparing the quarters that would now belong to Rinaldo. When at last he had removed all traces of his own occupancy, he lingered in the study. It had never felt as though it belonged to anyone except his grandfather. Danvan Hastur had served the Comyn for longer than most men now alive could recall, and his presence whispered through every scroll and ledger. Now the man who would sit at this ancient desk and handle these pens might be kin, but he had never known the person behind the legend.

The thought had come to Regis that he ought to take the more sensitive items with him for safekeeping, for instance his grandfather’s personal records.

He was Rinaldo’s grandfather, too,he reminded himself. Moreover, Rinaldo was a man of learning, a scholar. He would not damage or misplace any documents, no matter how strenuously he disagreed with their contents.

On this occasion, Haldred Ridenow had accompanied Regis, remaining at a watchful distance. Regis handed him the keys to the desk and the locked cabinets and closed the door behind him. He paused, weighing his next move.

He had seen nothing of Linnea since that awful spectacle at the Crystal Chamber. There was nothing he could do to protect her, he knew that. Although he felt sure his laranwould have alerted him if anything had happened to her, he wanted to see her with his own eyes.

“Now that I have no further reason to come to the Castle except to visit my sister,” Regis began, facing Haldred with an expression of innocence. It rankled to subordinate himself to such an arrogant bootlick. “I would take my leave of an old acquaintance. A lady of the Storns and hence a distant relation of the Altons. Is this permissible?”

Haldred shrugged, bowed, and left Regis to the care of his usual escort.

The central hall of the Alton quarters had always struck Regis as dreary and sepulchral, even when old Kennard had still been alive. The lights in this part of the Castle were very old, chunks of luminous rock hacked from deep caves; charged with daylight, they gave off a cold radiance for hours into the evening. Regis preferred the warmer light of flame or torch or even the yellow incandescence of the Terran buildings.

Linnea had avoided the main chambers for the smaller, more intimate rooms once used by Lew Alton. After the chill of the corridors, the small bright fire filled the parlor with cheer. The furniture was heavy and masculine. Linnea had added little except her own presence. Except for the herbal scent and the honey-tinge of beeswax, she might have been only a passing guest.

After exchanging awkward pleasantries with her, Regis put forth his offer. “I cannot guarantee your safety or Kierestelli’s. Here in the Castle, anything can happen. Mikhail was seized in his family’s own quarters. At least, in the townhouse, I know every face.”

Linnea set down her cup of the spiced pear cider she had served. “Regis, if I move in with you, I will destroy what is left of my reputation—and hence, my position of respect—and have it cried from every street corner that I am Regis Hastur’s barragana.”

Regis searched for a graceful way to point out that there was an alternative, as his wife di catenas.

Catching his thought, she shook her head and gestured negation. “Let us not discuss thatany further. Regardless of recent events, I believe we have each said all we care to on the subject.”

Regis looked away. The fire, so merry and comforting only a moment ago, now cast blood-lit shadows across his thoughts. He thought of the people he loved and who were now kept from him—Lew. Mikhail. Even Dan Lawton.

Danilo . . .

“I have tried to reach Danilo,” she said softly. “We will not abandon him.”

At least, Mikhail is no longer in Valdir’s clutches.

“Since you have given thought to such matters, perhaps you would advise me concerning Mikhail.” To his own ears, Regis sounded clumsy, Would he ever be able to speak with her without making a fool of himself ? “I cannot take the risk that, should I do something to displease him, Valdir will imprison Mikhail again. This time, Valdir might not be as concerned for his welfare.”

Linnea looked thoughtful or perhaps grateful they had abandoned a painful subject. “Have you considered sending Mikhail home to Armida?”

Regis replied that he had judged the Alton country estate too poorly defensible. “As long as he’s my Heir, he can hardly apply to the Federation for protective asylum.”

“I agree.” She picked up her cup, no longer steaming, and swirled its contents meditatively. “Mikhail remains at risk as long as Valdir believes he is important to you. What if you were to set him aside? I know the oaths you swore when you took him for your Heir cannot be lightly nullified—”

“The issue is not Mikhail’s legal inheritance but the claim he has on my heart,” Regis said. “I pledged myself to protect him as I would any child of my own flesh.”

“I know that,” Linnea made the words into a caress, “and you know that. The question is what might cause Valdir to disbelieve it? What if—what if you were to transfer Mikhail’s fealty elsewhere?”

“I’m not sure I understand you.”

“You might give him to Kennard-Dyan as paxman and then send them both back to Ardais.”

For a long moment, Regis stared at her. For a young, gently reared woman who had spent the better part of her life in a Tower, her grasp of Comyn politics was astonishing. Mikhail would object, of course. Regis might have to command him with all the force of past authority and present love. Javanne would support him, he was sure. The young Ardais lord truly cared for Mikhail, of that Regis was also certain.

The estate house at Ardais was no more defensible than Armida, but it was considerably more remote, being three days’ ride beyond Scaravel Pass in the Hellers. Not even Valdir would dare to violate its sovereignty in order to abduct the paxman of the Heir of Ardais. That was, unless he intended outright warfare between Domains, for that would surely be the result.

The air became less oppressive to Regis, his shoulders less burdened. At the same time, he felt a deepening of his sorrow at the thought that after this day, he would no longer be able to speak with Linnea in this way, to seek out her advice. One visit might be ignored, but a second would surely attract notice.

She brushed the back of his wrist with her fingertips. “I hope it will be for only a little while. Until—until Danilo is safe and no one you hold dear is under threat. In the meantime, I will use my position here to best advantage.”

Regis raised one eyebrow in inquiry.

Her laughter rippled, a sweet arpeggio. “Why, gossip, of course! I can listen to all the things women and their servants never say to men!”

At last, Regis received word from Brunin Sandoval that he had contacted a respected and fair– minded Cortes judge who had agreed to review the complaints. Regis was under too close watch by Valdir’s men to meet at the judge’s chambers or residence without arousing suspicion. He arranged for the judge to come to the townhouse, with the caution to wear casual clothing, as if the matter were no more grave than an informal opinion regarding grazing rights.

That same day, a second message arrived from Rinaldo, requesting that Regis attend him in the Hastur presence-chamber the next morning.

Regis readied himself at the appointed time. The sun had barely cleared the spires of the city, and shadows clung to all but the broadest streets. Last night’s rain gleamed on the cobblestones. The air smelled fresh, washed clean.

Walking quietly between the Ridenow guards, Regis gave up trying to make polite conversation. They looked at him as if he carried poison in his tongue. When necessary to speak at all, they answered him in monosyllables. The common people on the street moved away at their approach. Valdir might claim to speak for Darkover, but no one had informed the townfolk.

Regis tried to keep an open mind, to not anticipate what he would find or what Rinaldo might say. Had Rinaldo become Valdir’s willing pawn?

He is my brother. I must give him a fair hearing. In turn, he may listen to what I have to say, and that will strengthen him against Valdir’s influence.

The Ridenow guards conducted Regis to the apartment that had briefly been his. A man Regis recognized as one of the understewards, now wearing a tabard of Hastur blue and silver, escorted Regis inside, leaving the guards in the hallway. The understeward swung the door open and stepped back for Regis to enter. “ Vai dom,Lord Regis is here.”

Regis smiled inwardly, for the title that had been his for most of his life was now proper again. He walked into a room that was at once familiar and altered. No fire burned in the fieldstone hearth, although ample wood had been laid and the night’s chill still hung in the air. Some of the furnishings were gone, and the walls were now bare of their former tapestries. A massive wooden chair dominated the center of the room, facing two or three more modest seats, none of them softened by cushions.

A wooden cristoforoaltar had been erected upon the sideboard, where decanters of firiand shallanhad once stood. Regis found the style repellent, emphasizing in sculptural detail the sufferings of the Bearer of Burdens. From the candle stubs, the layers of melted wax, the lingering smell of incense, and the indented pillow on the floor, the altar had been in recent use.

Rinaldo entered through the door that led to the library. Regis had only a moment to take in the flushed, excited look on his brother’s face and the robe very similar if not identical to the one Rinaldo had worn at the abdication ceremony. Then Rinaldo caught him up in a brother’s embrace, just a fraction of a second too brief.

“Regis! Sit down, be at your ease.” Rinaldo indicated the smaller chairs and settled into the larger. “I had not meant for so much time to pass. Valdir concocted his own schedule for me, and I myself have discovered many more things to do in each day than there are grains of sand in Shainsa. I would not for the world have you believe I had forgotten you! Have you been well? Has the move to a private residence after the comforts of the Castle been very difficult for you?”

Regis refrained from commenting that the townhouse was considerably more comfortable than these quarters. “I do not envy your burden in assuming Grandfather’s quarters or his duties. Once Hastur was the most powerful Domain among many. Now that the Comyn are so few, the Head of Hastur speaks for all Darkover. Your opinion on a matter as crucial and far-reaching as Federation membership must be given with great care. Others will try to influence you for their own gain, including Valdir Ridenow. You must not simply do what he says. As Hastur, you are beholden to no one—”

Rinaldo shrugged carelessly. “Oh, as for that, Valdir advises me when he can, and when he cannot—or when he spouts utter nonsense—then I have my own counselors. Lady Lawton’s insights have been most enlightening, even though she has a woman’s delicate sensibilities and limited understanding.”

From his limited experience with Terran women, Regis doubted that either description was applicable, but he said nothing.

“I must ask you to keep what I am about to say in strictest confidence,” Rinaldo continued. “I am thinking of bringing three or four of my Nevarsin brothers here to Thendara. This Castle is so big and empty, it will be a small matter to find them quarters and a chamber big enough to hold services. It’s only a temporary measure until I can locate the right building—or have one constructed—for a proper chapel. What a relief it will be to have their spiritual fellowship and the daily sustenance of our faith! I know you do not adhere to it yourself, but you must have seen how the influence of the holy St. Christopher transforms the lives of all who live under his rule.”

Regis listened to this remarkable speech with a mixture of reactions. While he was happy that Rinaldo did not seem to be entirely in Valdir’s power, he felt uneasy with the direction of his brother’s thoughts. His grandfather would have turned apoplectic at the notion of a cristoforochapel in Comyn Castle; nor could Regis imagine the traditionalists welcoming such an incursion. For himself, although he acknowledged the benefit of his education at Nevarsin, he harbored no illusions about the harm he had suffered there.

Trying to keep his tone neutral, he said, “You must follow your own conscience in this and all other matters, my brother. That is what it means to be Lord Hastur. It is your responsibility to safeguard the future of Darkover and all its people.”

“Yes, yes, exactly.” Rinaldo leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, face alight. “There is so much I must make right in the world, so many ways I feel myself called. You understand the need to do what is right. It would have been easy for you to ignore my existence and leave me at Nevarsin. You could have accorded me only the meager status of an unfortunate, neglected relation. But you followed a higher standard of honor, and so will I. You have inspired me!”

Regis murmured that he deserved no such praise.

Taking no notice, Rinaldo said, “I wonder . . . did it never strike you as unjust that not all men are free to worship as their hearts dictate? That you yourself were prevented from following the one true faith?”

He meant that as a Comyn and the Heir to Hastur, Regis was expected to worship Aldones and the other gods.

“When I was a humble monk,” Rinaldo said, his expression pensive, “I thought the highest calling was to bring men into the path of righteousness. As the years passed, I labored at the tasks set to me, but I never surrendered that hope. Now the blessed saints have placed the means within my power.

“I intend—” Rinaldo’s voice dropped dramatically, “—to grant full equality to every cristoforoin the Domains. I wish to see the true faith raised up in law and in respect. No longer will we gather in dark, cold, remote places but here in the cities, where our message can be heard by multitudes.”

“Your sincerity is admirable,” Regis said, since Rinaldo expected a response and there seemed no hope of a serious discussion of Federation membership at this time.

“I knew you would be sympathetic! You see, I cannot do this alone. Valdir has no interest in matters of the spirit, and DomnaLawton, for all her inspired insight, is a woman and an off-worlder, not one of us. I need yourhelp and advice.”

Regis could not think of what to say. The room, once spacious and echoing, had shrunk, suddenly too narrow. He felt as if he were a wild beast being herded to the slaughtering pen. The cristoforofaith had always existed on the margins of Darkovan society, with its central establishment the remote monastery at Nevarsin. As far as Regis knew, there had never been any overt interference with its practice except that the sole heir to an estate could not be a celibate monk; but there was nothing to prevent any ordinary person from worshiping as he pleased.

“I believe that each man must answer to his own conscience,” Regis said carefully. “At the same time, change comes slowly. One cannot reverse millennia of tradition in a single year. From the dawn of history, the Comyn have worshiped the Lord of Light.”

According to legend, Aldones had fathered the first Hastur, progenitor of the Comyn. Nowadays, however, few people doubted the evidence that Darkover was a lost Terran colony.

“Pah! Aldones!” Rinaldo’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Evanda of the springtime, Avarra the Dark Lady, and Zandru of the Seven Frozen Hells! They’re all nonsense, vile superstition!”

“Sharra was not a superstition,” Regis said. “Nor was this.” He gestured to his hair, long enough to brush his shoulders. Behind his eyes rose the memory of being drenched in living light, of giving himself over to that power. Whether it had been the embodiment of Aldones or something else, he did not know. A single hour in its grip had turned his hair from red to pure, shimmering white.

Rinaldo seemed not to have heard. “This is why we need the one true faith! For too long, ignorance and degrading practices have lured our people into wickedness. Every day, precious souls are lost to sin. Thisis why I was brought from Nevarsin, why such power was given into my hands, not to use for my own pleasure or aggrandizement but for the salvation of our world!”

He paused, visibly gathering himself. “Now we come to a subject I greatly regret, but I would be failing in my duty if I avoided it. Saying this gives me no pleasure, but . . . I have heard rumors. I did not believe them at first. It was impossible that my own brother should be accused of—of—” Wringing his hands, Rinaldo catapulted from his chair and began pacing.

Regis swallowed hard. Keeping his voice calm, he asked, “Exactly what are you talking about?”

“Your . . . relationship with . . . that man. Your paxman. And he a cristoforo!”

Regis had hoped that his brother had understood their discussions on the acceptance of differences, whether of Rinaldo’s emmascacondition or the Comyn tolerance of donas amizubetween men. True, Regis and Danilo had always maintained a modicum of discretion. They did not share a bed while staying in public accommodations or at Syrtis. Was Rinaldo so oblivious he had not noticed the bond between them? Or did he, lacking laran,think it no more than the loyalty of lord and paxman?

Or did Rinaldo’s religious training render him blind to what he could not accept?

“Do you wish me to address these rumors?” Regis asked. “Think for a moment. Do you really want to hear the truth?”

Rinaldo glanced away, his jaw clenching so that the muscles leaped into stark relief. “These accusations cannot be true, or if they are . . . You must have been deceived, misled, s-sed—” His mouth worked, as if he could not bring himself to pronounce the word seduced. “You did not know what you were doing.”

“I beg to differ. I knew exactlywhat I was doing. What I wanted. WhoI wanted. In all the years since I gave my oath to Danilo and he gave his to me, I have never had a moment’s regret.”

Regis paused to let the words sink in and was met by tight– faced silence.

“I know that this is difficult for you to accept,” Regis went on, “having lived your life according to the cristoforofaith. I am not ignorant of the prohibitions against . . .” out of consideration for Rinaldo’s obvious distress, he tempered his words, “against certain relationships. We’ve talked about this a number of times. Among the Comyn, as I have told you, these feelings are not judged sinful. Such a bond between men too young to marry is considered far more suitable than frequenting women who are common to all—”

“Stop!” Rinaldo cried. “Do not speak of such things!”

Regis regrouped his thoughts. “Perhaps later, when we know one another better, I can find words to make this truth less . . . offensive to you.”

“You—you would make such a sin an acceptable topic of conversation?”

“Rinaldo,” Regis said as gently as he could, “St. Valentine was a holy man, but in this matter, he was either ignorant or just plain wrong. Each of us, men and women, love in the way the gods shaped our nature. The only sin, as I see it, is pretending what we do not feel.” Or hiding, even from ourselves, what we do feel.

“No, no, I will not listen to such blasphemy!” Rinaldo threw himself back into his chair and glared at Regis. Regis wondered if he would be allowed to leave without giving some sort of pledge, one he had no intention or ability to keep.

“How do you propose to save me? Will you lecture me until I say what you want? Or send me back to St. Valentine’s? Three years among the monks could not alter what I am, and I was a boy then. Now I am a man and know myself. A hundred years of sermons will make no difference.”

“No, no, you misunderstand me!” Rinaldo exclaimed, his tone shifting like quicksilver. “I spoke from brotherly love, out of my desire to free you from sin. Virtue cannot be coerced. For all my zeal, I would not see you mistreated or shamed. What would that accomplish except to harden your resistance? I do not believe you a vicious man at heart. I myself have experienced your generosity.”

And this is how you repay me?Regis clenched his fists at his sides.

“You have been led astray, polluted by the loose morals of your upbringing, the victim of a decadent society. I must—I willsave you from such evil impulses!”

Something inside Regis snapped. He launched himself to his feet. “You and your ally have extorted my cooperation only by the most cowardly and dishonorable threats against those I hold dear. You have my place—you are Lord Hastur now. Do what you like, I will not challenge you, so let this be an end to squabbling. There is no further need to hold anyone prisoner. Release the last hostage, and let us be quit of one another.”

“The last one . . . that is the problem, is it not?” Rinaldo’s voice turned silky. “How can I permit you, my dearest brother, to plunge back into a life of perversion?”

“This is ridiculous! You have no authority over my private life!”

“Please sit down. I truly do not mean you ill. In fact, I have every intention of freeing Danilo Syrtis.” At an incredulous look from Regis, he added mildly, “I assure you, I have the power to do so.”

Wrestling his temper under control, Regis lowered himself back into the chair. If what Rinaldo said was true, if he could restore Danilo’s liberty, then what would be the price?

“I am sorry for my heated words,” Regis said. “I . . . misunderstood you.”

“It is a difficult situation, and no man relishes being powerless. Listen to me, Regis. I may not know everything about the niceties of court etiquette, but I do know the nature of men and how hearts may be reformed. You are correct, we do not choose the impulses that arise within us, but we candecide whether and how to act upon them. I myself have done penance many times for my wayward thoughts. I prayed I might overcome the weakness of my flesh, but now I see that I was made as other men for a reason, that someday I might enjoy the blessed delights of marriage.”

As Regis tried to formulate an appropriate response, Rinaldo waved him to silence.

“I am willing to release your paxman, but only if I can be assured that neither of you will return to your former ways. As a sign of submission to the true moral precepts of the cristoforofaith, you must give up your abhorrent and unnatural practices. Even your own people consider them scandalous.”

Regis held his tongue. How dared Rinaldo lecture him on what his own peoplethought? It was better to say nothing. The important thing was to agree, as long as that did not require an outright lie.

“Proximity and habit create a powerful temptation,” Rinaldo continued. “Therefore, I am not willing to send him back into your service. He will join mine.”

“What does Danilo say? Does he consent?”

“He will if you command him. There will be no negotiation or compromise on this point.”

Regis forced himself to breathe. “Then I can see him? Speak with him?”

Rinaldo nodded. “You may, but only with witnesses present and in a decorous manner. Habits take time to reform, but it is not impossible.”

“If I must agree in order to see him free and unharmed, then I will give him up. That is the condition, then?”

“One of them.”

Regis felt his heart sink.

“In order to effect a true rehabilitation, you must focus your affections on a more appropriate person. I am not so naive to think a man such as yourself can be celibate. Therefore, you must marry decently. You must take a wife.”

With great effort, Regis kept himself from laughing. Did Rinaldo mean to accomplish what Danvan Hastur himself had failed to do? Yes, he did. And he wielded the only leverage that would force Regis to it. Danvan Hastur had never threatened Danilo’s freedom . . . or his life.

The pause in the conversation had drawn on overlong. Savagely, Regis said, “What does DomValdir think about this arrangement?”