Garak's father had been named Tolan, Branadon, Estek, Tagan, or Calyx. He had been an assassin, a spy, a gardener, a counsellor, a foreman at a munitions factory, a school teacher, a senior nurse, or an ambassador with the Klingon Fleet. He had been tall or short, quite fat or stocky or tremendously tall and thin, blue-eyed, brown-eyed, grey-eyed, or green-eyed.

He had been a good man; he had been a bad one.

He had taught Garak everything; he had taught Garak to trust nobody, particularly not his own father; he had taught Garak nothing about parenthood and everything; he had taught Garak pain, and he had taught him peace and calm.

He'd taught Garak how to kill, how to ride, how to sew, how to fight, how to flirt, how to braid hair, how to hunt, how to forage, how to cook, how to dance.

He'd taught Garak how to plant Edosian orchids – Garak had told him that one twice, and Julian was fairly certain it was true.

He had just spent the first third of his day off in a gruelling meeting trying to ascertain precisely who the Bajoran couple who'd shown this new interest in Rugal were, and then spent an hour on a comm link with them.

"How were they?" asked Garak.

"Anxious," said Julian. "Hiding it well. But undeniably anxious. They obviously prepared for this, but were hoping it wouldn't happen – someone's paid them off, or put them up to it. The Bajorans wouldn't give me any information, although I inferred that a few donations have been made. How are they?"

"Good," said Garak. "The girl is very adept at Kotra."

"The girl," repeated Julian, resting his elbows on Garak's shoulders and linking his fingers over the top of Garak's head, his chin resting on top. Garak leaned back against Julian's chest.

They were in Garak's shop, where Garak had set up a table for Lora and Rugal to play at, bringing a selection of the boardgames he had in his quarters. Julian had arranged for Lora and Rugal to have a set of quarters next to Garak's – he hadn't been able to get space in the crew section of the Habitat Ring – but that hadn't mattered anyway, when Julian had slept in Garak's quarters last night anyway.

Sisko had laughed before the lecture instead of laughing afterwards, which was a good sign.

Garak was good with Lora and Rugal. They'd eaten breakfast this morning in the Replimat, the four of them, and although Rugal was a quiet and uncertain boy, a little nervous of Garak particularly, he was polite, intelligent, and driven.

He was a young historian, and when Garak questioned him, he recited a great many events in Bajoran history, pre-Occupation – and he was interested, Julian was pleased to find, in the nuances of almost every situation, and Garak, naturally adept at provoking people into forgetting who they were talking to, was good at stoking the fire of his focus.

"… the Vedek was assassinated, and people think of that as the only precursor to everything that came next, but it was just one thing. At the same time, there was a mudslide in Protal Province, one of the biggest they'd had in four centuries, which killed thirty people but more importantly, did irreparable damage to the Sacred Library; Vedek Baneil had fallen pregnant and because she wasn't married and refused to marry the father – because it turned out later that the father was Vedek Kal – she lost her position, which ceded power to the Danna Collective."

"But aren't you rather obfuscating the point, young man?" asked Garak simply. "It hardly matters what events in combination added up to the event itself: the epoch was not defined by its triggers, but by the primary event. The Reformation might have happened in a hundred different ways, with different precursors, but it would still have happened, and the same result would have come of it."

Rugal forgot that he was frightened to look at Garak's face, and he glared directly into his eyes. "What a stupid thing to say!" he said. "The Reformation—"

Garak was smiling as the boy started talking again, furiously reciting more history – but that apart, he kept stopping to disagree with, or provide different angles on, whatever it was he was reciting.

"Your parents taught you this?" Garak had asked earlier, and Rugal had gone quiet, pressed his lips together, pushed forward his shoulders, looked down at his own hands and his half-empty plate.

"They had a lot of books," said Rugal. "They didn't really read them, but they had a lot of them, and I never used to understand why they all disagreed with each other. I didn't understand which was the truth."

"And when did you understand that they were all true?"

"About the same time I understood they were all lies."

That had made Garak laugh, and he'd ordered the boy another dessert. Rugal hadn't known what to do with it – the dessert itself he'd been delighted with, the warm praise followed immediately by more interrogation of his education, not so much.

Madrel hadn't been able to do anything.

"Do you know why your parents had so many books, child, although they read none of them?" asked Garak.

Rugal looked at him suspiciously, and he glanced to Lora.

"He's doing it again," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "You know how to handle him better than I do, you don't need to look at me."

"I thought I was offering pedagogy to two young waifs out of the goodness of my heart," said Garak, reaching up and resting his fingers on Julian's forearm, stroking over the band around his sleeve. "But it seems instead I must be handled like a feral hound."

"They're doing what I do," said Julian cheerfully. "They see that it works, and it's common sense. He's an annoying old man, isn't he, Rugal?"

"Mr Garak is very kind and charitable, Doctor Bashir," said Rugal.

"Did you bribe him to say that?" asked Julian.

"The young man is exercising some of his, I believe you called it, common sense, Doctor – and showing some manners, too."

"Because," said Rugal slowly, "they were… foolish. They didn't see the value in the books they bought."

"Didn't they?" asked Garak.

"No, or they would have read them."

"Is the value of books and scrolls only in reading them?" asked Julian, and Rugal frowned at him, his lips twisting in confusion. He was a lot more comfortable meeting Julian's eyes than he was Garak's, but he still kept glancing away.

"They're just words," said Rugal. "The paper ones might be worth something, maybe the ones with the nice bindings."

"Your parents had a library?" asked Garak.

"Kind of," said Rugal. "My father was a councillor for the province, and his office was in the centre of the house—"

"One of the old Cardassian houses," said Garak.

"Yes," said Rugal. "Every wall had shelves of books, bound in paper, or scrolls, and also PADDs."

"He took meetings in that office?" asked Julian. When Rugal nodded, Julian asked, "And what do you think everyone thought when they came into his office, and saw all those books on the walls, all their titles, subjects, bindings?"

"What assumptions would you make of a man based on his office?" asked Garak when Rugal kept looking up at Julian with curiosity and intrigue writ on his features, his head tilted to the side "Based on the books he has? The shape and design of his desk, his chair, his computer console? The positioning of the items on his desk – whether the console is at the fore, or pieces of paper, pens, a PADD? How old or new the computer console is? How worn his chair, how old his desk?"

"Does he have pictures of his family?" asked Julian. "If so – all his family? Certain members? His parents, his children, his spouses – one children more than the others? His mother more than his father? His pets? Pictures of himself, pictures of celebrities, or signatures; sculptures, pictures, awards, art, plaques? Collectables – military insignia, toys, jewellery, historical or archaeological artefacts?"

"How is his office arranged?" Garak asked. "Is his desk in the center of the room, that he might walk and pace around it, or is it braced against a wall, or set into a corner? Close to the door, or away from it? Facing the windows or away from them? Does the desk accept natural light, or is it shadowed? Private, or open?"

"Traditional desks on Earth often have many drawers, cabinets, and covered shelves, a lot of them locked or fastened shut," said Julian. "They tend to be against a wall or facing out over a window – if a desk is in the middle of the room and facing forward, it's normally a commander or a captain's desk: it's arranged that way for meetings, so that the person sitting in the chair sees the door as it opens, and when people come in, they see that person sitting in a command position. Cardassian offices might be like that – on a ship, or in a municipal building. Domestic offices are different."

"The Cardassian office is the heart of the house – if not an office, the library, and if not the library, then the drawing room or games room. The room not for dining, but for social drinking, meetings, for games, for discussions. The core of the house ought be the room where the most decisions are made, the most meanings inferred, lessons taught."

"In a Cardassian office, the desk is in the centre of the room. If there are drawers, they're typically open – if it has anything locked or secret, it's not something you can see at first glance."

"A locked door or cabinet is an invitation," agreed Garak. "For suspicion if not a lockpick."

"The Cardassian desk is angled and cleanly furnished," said Julian. "It keeps no secrets, and hides nothing – if a woman hides her work, what about it is she trying to hide? What mistakes is she frightened her family will see?"

"If a father locks his office from his children, what does he fear his children will learn about him? Can he not do his duty as patriarch and his duty to his work at the same time? Is he scared his children will criticise him, or know better than him, or interfere with his work? If he's frightened of the latter – why hasn't he taught them better?"

"Human offices are generally different," said Julian. "Children are excluded because they're thought to be distractions, interruptions – they're clumsy, will offset or interrupt their parent's work. They'll make a mess, be too loud, too distracting. Human children can't be trusted to control themselves – and if they can, it's under the threat of strict reprisal if they do otherwise."

Lora and Rugal were staring at them both with absolute fascination, Lora with her mouth slightly open, her lips caught in a loose smile – and Julian was very pleased to see that, because she didn't smile as freely as he wished she did, for a young woman her age – and Rugal with his jaw dropped, his eyes wide, his expression utterly entranced.

"Books," said Garak, "might communicate wealth, if they have sufficiently fine bindings, particularly if they are ordered in many sets and collections. The communication of wealth is not only in the purchase of their number, but at the idea of them being purchased in multiples and collections at a time – and that one has the space not only to display them in order, but also the time or the money to pay someone to keep them clean and clear of dust. One naturally assumes that a person in possession of a library has either read everything in it, or expects to have the free time to peruse it at their leisure – or that they are sufficiently important that they must have all this information at their command, to be easily examined and referred to."

"Just having books communicates power," said Rugal. "It wasn't about whether they'd read them or not."

"Not only," said Garak. "But one can easily embarrass someone, by quoting from a book they supposedly have read, hm? One shows the ruse of their library for what it is."

"Unless they're blandly honest about the deception," said Julian. "If they're Cardassian, for example."

"You two give quite the education," said Odo, and Julian rested his hands on Garak's shoulders and pushed himself to stand, looking over to the constable as he walked into the room. "I see you've been taking my advice to heart, Garak."

"What advice might that be?" asked Julian, and Garak delicately cleared his throat,

"Constable Odo and I have been discussing strategy, Doctor, that's all. Lora, Rugal, this is Constable Odo. He's the Chief of Security on Deep Space Nine."

"Are you going to arrest us?" asked Rugal.

"Why?" replied Odo. "Have you done something wrong?"

Rugal leaned back in his seat, frowning.

"Garak was about to take the children for lunch at the Replimat," said Julian. "Why don't you give them a security escort, Odo?"

"Security escort?" the changeling repeated, and Julian gave him a slight smile as he came to stand beside him.

"You can tease him about whatever advice he doesn't want to tell me you gave him."

Odo smirked.

"You aren't joining us, my dear?" asked Garak as he stood to his feet, setting the suit he'd started for Rugal aside.

"I'll just be a few minutes, I left the Infirmary in a hurry last night. There's a few things I forgot to put in order – I know Jabara's got to them, I just… want to check."

Garak met his gaze, and smiled at him.

Julian knew what that smile meant. He aimed it at Garak a few times a day. It meant: I know you're lying to me, and you know that I know you are. But alright, if you want to play it that way, let's go along with it.

"Very well, my dear," said Garak pleasantly. "You won't be long?"

"No," said Julian. "Cross my heart."

"Cross his heart?" Rugal repeated as Julian went out into the corridor, and walked not to the Infirmary, but back to his quarters.

He opened a confidential line after ensuring it was encrypted, although he knew that Garak would find out soon enough.

Limor Prang, when he answered the comm, seemed quietly surprised, his lips pressed loosely together.

"Doctor Bashir," he said quietly.

"Garak's warned me not to talk with you on a private comm," said Julian. "The warning was mostly about Provor, but he's said it about all the Cardassian embassy staff, he, uh, he hasn't mentioned you specifically, but I expect you're at the top of his list."

"How curious, then," said Prang, "that you're on a private comm with me."

"I'm transferring data over from the Tozhat Province's Resettlement Centre," said Julian, his fingers moving over the keys, and he saw Prang's expression change as he examined the screen in front of me. "We have a boy here. His name is Rugal, he was born in 2358, and his parents died in 2361, or thereabouts, and he was adopted by a Bajoran couple who taught him to hate Cardassians, and they died last year in a shuttle accident – another Bajoran couple are trying to adopt him. Quietly. Without my interference or anyone else's. Their names are Brigit Wenn and Foklor, and when I spoke to them this morning, they were really quite anxious about every question I asked them."

Prang was looking at him with his ridges furrowed slightly forward.

"It's not anything you're doing," said Julian. "I can tell by your face. But I might have done a bit of… a look. At the Bajorans' communication records. And they've recently had communications with someone off-planet, not with a Federation line – and they've come into a bit of money recently, too."

"Why are you telling me?" asked Prang.

"You can have the information and all the leverage it comes with," said Julian. "I don't know what the boy's being traded for, what sort of political value's coming out of it, and frankly, I don't care. But I don't want him going with that couple, Prang, and I can't stop him from going with them. You can, though."

"How can I?"

"Please," said Julian. "I've sent you the data of every orphan from every resettlement centre and orphanage on Bajor, Prang – I know the political value of that information, what you can use it for, even if you can't use it yourself. Do you want me to offer you more?"

Prang was smiling at him very faintly. It wasn't quite the same indulgent smile he'd given Julian before, but some of the familiar indulgence and warmth was in it.

"What did Garak say," he asked, "when you told him you were calling me?"

Julian didn't let himself react immediately, sitting back in his seat and looking at Prang. Prang didn't say Garak's name the way someone said the name of a friend's unfavourable nephew. Prang said Garak's name like he'd spoken it many times before, and he said it like he knew Garak, too.

"What did Elim say?" asked Julian.

Prang arched one eyebrow, his lips twitching: more of that indulgence came into his smile, even though it was a sign that Julian was anything but innocent, showing that he'd clocked Prang's familiarity for what it was, and Prang neatly inclined his head.

"I didn't tell him," said Julian. "I knew he'd tell me not to."

"Why would he tell you not to?" asked Prang softly.

"Oh, Legate Prang," said Julian affectionately, surprised by how real the affection felt, as theatrical as it was – was Garak this fond of everybody he pretended to be fond of? "You'll have to be a lot nicer to me than that if you want me to be that revealing."

"I'll be on Deep Space Nine in approximately forty hours," said Prang. "In the meantime, you will find a staying order on the adoption. Your Bajoran couple will likely flee."

Julian stared at him, and laughed. "You recognised the code links in the comm records I sent you," he said. "You already know exactly who's behind this."

Prang smiled, and all the indulgence was there. "Elim's chosen well," he said, and Julian wanted to burst with it, the idea of someone Cardassian approving, approving of Julian, approving of Julian and Garak, although he knew it wasn't good, although he knew it was dangerous, but Julian was so overwhelmed he wanted to explode.

"Thank you," said Julian. "I'll tell my regnars they're getting a visitor."

The comm link went dark.

Julian rubbed his palm over his lips, and went to the Replimat to meet everyone for lunch.