Now Jonas and I were settled over a smoking platter and a bottle of wine, the door was shut and bolted, and the innkeeper had been instructed to deny that I was in his establishment. I would have been completely at ease if the wine in my cup had not recalled to me so vividly the much better wine Jonas had discovered in our ewer the night before, after I had examined the Claw in secret. Jonas, observing me, I think, as I stared at the pale red fluid, poured a cup of his own and said,

"You must remember that you are not responsible for the sentences. If you had not come here, they would have been punished eventually anyway, and probably would have suffered worse in less skilled hands."

I asked him what he thought he was talking about.

"I can see it troubles you . . . what happened today."

"I thought it went well," I said.

"You know what the octopus remarked when he got out of the mermaid's kelp bed: 'I'm not impugning your skill—quite the opposite. But you look as if you could use a little cheering up.'"

"We're always a little despondent afterward. That's what Master Palaemon always said, and I've found it true in my own case. He called it a purely mechanical psychological function, and at the time that seemed to me an oxymoron, but now I'm not sure he wasn't right. Could you see what happened, or did they keep you too busy?"

"I was standing on the steps behind you most of the time."

"You had a good view then, so you must have seen how it was—everything proceeded smoothly after we decided not to wait for the chair. I exercised my skills to applause, and I was the focus of admiration. There's a feeling of lassitude afterward. Master Palaemon used to talk of crowd melancholy and court melancholy, and said that some of us have both, some have neither, and some have one but not the other. Well, I have crowd melancholy; I don't suppose I'll ever have the chance, in Thrax, of discovering whether I also have court melancholy or not."

"And what is that?" Jonas was looking down into his wine cup.

"A torturer, let's say a master at the Citadel, is occasionally brought into contact with exultants of the highest degree. Suppose there's some exceedingly sensitive prisoner who's thought to possess important information. An official of lofty standing is likely to be delegated to attend such a prisoner's examination. Very often he will have had little experience with the more delicate operations, so he will ask the master questions and perhaps confide in him certain fears he has concerning the subject's temperament or health. A torturer under those circumstances feels himself to be at the center of things—"

"Then feels let down when it's over with. Yes, I suppose I can see that."

"Have you ever seen one of these affairs when it was badly botched?"

"No. Aren't you going to eat any of this meat?"

"Neither have I, but I've heard about them, and that's why I was tense. Times when the client has broken away and fled into the crowd. Times when several strokes were needed to part the neck. Times when a torturer lost all confidence and was unable to proceed. When I vaulted onto that scaffold, I had no way of knowing that none of those things was going to happen to me. If they had, I might have been finished for life."

"'Still, it's a terrible way to earn a living.' That's what the thorn-bush said to the shrike, you know."

"I really don't—" I broke off because I had seen something move on the farther side of the room. At first I thought it was a rat, and I have a pronounced dislike of them; I have seen too many clients bitten in the oubliette under our tower.

"What is it?"

"Something white." I walked around the table to see. "A sheet of paper. Someone has slipped a note under our door."

"Another woman wanting to sleep with you," Jonas said, but by that time I had already picked it up. It was indeed a woman's delicate script, written in grayish ink upon parchment. I held it close to the candle to read.

Dearest Severian:

From one of the kind men who are assisting me, I have learned you are in the village of  Saltus, not far away. It seems too good to be true, but now I must discover whether you can  forgive me.

I swear to you that any suffering you have endured for my sake was not by my choice. From  the first, I wanted to tell you everything, but the others would not hear of it. They judged that no  one should know but those who had to know (which meant no one but themselves), and at last  told me outright that if I did not obey them in everything they would forgo the plan and leave me  to die. I knew you would die for me, and so I dared to hope that you would have chosen, if you  could choose, to suffer for me too. Forgive me.

But now I am away and almost free—my own mistress so long as I obey the simple and  humane instructions of good Father Inire. And so I will tell you everything, in the hope that when  you have heard it all you will indeed forgive me. You know of my arrest. You will remember too  how anxious your Master Gurloes was for my comfort, and how frequently he visited my cell to  talk to me, or had me brought to him so that he and the other masters might question me. That  was because my patron, the good Father Inire, had charged him to be strictly attentive to me.  At length, when it became clear that the Autarch would not free me, Father Inire arranged to  do so himself. I do not know what threats were made to Master Gurloes, or what bribes were  offered him. But they were sufficient, and a few days before my death—as you thought, dearest  Severian—he explained to me how the matter was to be arranged. It was not enough, of course,  that I be freed. I must be freed in such a way that no search should be made for me. That meant it  needs appear that I was dead; yet the instructions Master Gurloes had received had charged him  strictly not to let me die.

You will now be able to fathom for yourself how we cut through this tangle of obstructions. It  was arranged that I should be subjected to a device whose action was internal only, and Master  Gurloes first so disarmed it that I should suffer no real harm. When you thought me in agony, I  was to ask you for means of terminating my wretched life. All went as planned. You provided the  knife, and I made a shallow cut on my arm, crouched near the door so some blood would run  beneath it, then smeared my throat and fell across the bed for you to see when you looked into my  prison.

Did you look? I lay as still as death. My eyes were closed, but I seemed to feel your pain when  you saw me there. I nearly wept, and I recall how frightened I was that you might see the tears  welling up. At last I heard your footsteps, and I bandaged my arm and washed my face and neck.  After a time Master Gurloes came and took me away. Forgive me.

Now I would see you again, and if Father Inire wins a pardon for me as he has solemnly  pledged himself to do, there is no reason why we need ever part again. But come to me at once—I  am awaiting his messenger, and if he arrives I must fly to the House Absolute to cast myself at the  feet of the Autarch, whose name be thrice-blessed balm upon the scorched brows of his slaves.  Speak to no one of this, but go northeast from Saltus until you encounter a brook that winds its  way to Gyoll. Trace it against the current, and you will find it to issue from the mouth of a mine.  Here I must impart to you a grave secret, which you must by no means reveal to others. This  mine is a treasure house of the Autarch's, and in it he has stored great sums of coined money,  bullion, and gems against a day in which he may be forced from the Phoenix Throne. It is guarded  by certain servitors of Father Inire's, but you need have no fear of them. They have been  instructed to obey me, and I have told them of you, and ordered them to permit you to pass  without challenge. Entering the mine, then, follow the watercourse until you reach the end, where  it issues from a stone. Here I wait, and here I write, in the hope that you will forgive your Thecla. I cannot describe the surge of joy I felt as I read and reread this letter. Jonas, who saw my face, at first leaped from his chair—I think he supposed I was on the point of fainting—then drew away as he might have from a lunatic. When at last I folded the letter and thrust it in my sabretache, he asked no questions (for Jonas was indeed a friend) but showed by his look that he stood ready to help me.