Zana tried not to feel self-conscious as she entered the market. Her confrontation with Felga had been ten days ago now; in the meantime, Levar had been arrested, Felga had been buried, and an outsider had won Sapan's racing competition. Surely that sensational sports event had blotted out the earlier scandal. Nobody was watching her. They were all busy with their own shopping lists and...

... her steps slowed. The stalls were crammed into the northern end of the market, while at the southern end, guards were cordoning off almost half of the square. Zana stretched out her hand and stopped a passing Chimp. "What are they doing there?"

"Building the gallows for that poor man," the woman said. She sniffed. "They should've given him a medal instead, for getting rid of that tattler!"

Zana stared at her. "What had Felga done to you that you're so full of glee over her death?" she asked. "Don't you know how she died?"

The woman flicked her a contemptuous glance. "Hopefully with her scrolls stuffed into her blabbermouth." With that, she vanished into the crowd.

Shaken, Zana turned around, and went back to the inn. She didn't feel like going to the market anymore. What a vicious woman! Were they all like that? Were they all covertly cheering for Felga's death?

Morla looked up from her morning paper when Zana entered the guest room, surprise clearly written on her face. "Alta? Didn't you want to go to the market?"

"I did." Zana went to the tea oven and poured herself a cup of tea. She didn't like Morla's strong, bitter brew, but right now, she needed the ritual to calm her down.

She carried her cup over to Morla's table and sat down across from her. "But I ran into someone, and... and they're already starting to build the gallows, and I, I lost my appetite for browsing the stalls." She quickly recounted her encounter with the woman.

Morla sighed. "That's Finla, the way you described 'er. She's got reason t'be happy about my poor girl's death."

Zana blew on her tea to cover her sigh. "How so?"

Morla leaned conspiratorially across the table. "She's a be-au-tician." She leaned back again. "Or so she says. But everyone knows what she's got on offer in the backrooms." She nodded meaningfully. "Cutting wood is hard work, and the men are away from their wives all summer, but still - it's indecent."

"Well, maybe it is," Zana said slowly, "but if she pays her taxes for it, it's not illegal..."

Morla rubbed her nose and flapped her newspaper open. "Not when there's only simian beau-ti-ci-ans in there."

The tea was scalding hot and burning her lips; Zana hissed and hastily put down her cup. Morla's insinuation had made her take a sip without testing the temperature... This had to be nothing more than a malicious rumour! A lot of apes were unhealthily obsessed with those tales of bestiality, caught between fascination and disgust, but Zana had never come across a single case where there had been a real incident behind the stories. It was just a favorite fantasy of many apes, and what does that say about us? she wondered. And about how we view humans? There aren't too many rumours about apes being indecent with cows, except to slander Gorillas, of course...

So Finla was yet another ape with a grudge. Zana felt as if she was drowning in a sea of motives - everyone seemed to have one in this town. Maybe she should start taking notes, like Rogan had pretended to do, when he had first met her.

Still, Finla wouldn't have killed Felga; Zana was pretty sure of that. That woman spent all her hatred in words - they were still ringing in her ears... Hopefully with her scrolls stuffed into her mouth...

"Morla." Zana stared at her until the old woman peered at her over the edge of her newspaper. "Did Felga seem different on that day? Worried, or, or angry?

She probably shouldn't remind Morla of that day, she thought belatedly; the grief over her daughter's death had to be still too fresh in the old woman's mind. But she had promised to look into the matter to Halda - and to herself - and she had to start somewhere.

Morla slowly shook her head. "Felga was always angry. And sad, ever since the day 'er poor father had that accident.

"What accident? It probably had nothing to do with this case, but if she kept Morla talking, maybe the old woman would remember something useful.

"'e worked for Mister Olman, my Dugon, Morla said wistfully. "And then a tree fell on 'im, smashed both 'is legs. A terrible, terrible thing. 'e never worked another day in 'is life. Lived in constant pain, and Mister Olman refused to pay 'is retirement pension. Said it'd been Dugon's own fault - that 'e'd been negligent. She gestured at the guest room. "So I moved all our things out, and started to rent out the rooms. Felga was so mad. Was mad at Mister Olman ever since that day.

So they were back to Olman again. Apparently, Levar hadn't been the only 'special darling' of Felga, although Zana doubted that there was another secret romance lurking behind that vendetta.

"Do you know if Felga was investigating something unusual? Something... bigger... than Finla's backroom business?" she wanted to know. "Did she have any appointments that day, people she meant to meet?

Morla paused for a moment, considering. "She never talked to me about these things," she said finally.

"Maybe she took notes," Zana pressed on. "Do you know something about that?"

The old woman stared at her with big eyes. "I forgot about... wait." She rose and hurried out of the guestroom. Zana traced the rim of her cup with her finger, and tried not to get her hopes up.

Morla returned with a wooden crate that was overflowing with scrolls, and scraps of scrolls. "She always brought 'er stuff 'ere," she wheezed, and put the crate on the table with a little huff. "She was worried someone might break into 'er room and steal it."

Zana rose from her seat and peeked inside. The contents looked as if they had been thrown into the crate from the other side of the room - or the desk - and then trampled down to make room for more scrolls. Most of them were crumpled, some of them torn. Everything looked old and discarded, and completely unlikely to hide any secret clues.

Still, it was all she had. "Do you mind if I take a look at this?" Then another thought struck her. "Did you show this to the police?"

Morla shook her head. "When they told me about Felga, I totally forgot... and then they arrested the murderer, and they didn't need it anymore, did they? You can 'ave it, I can't look at it." Her eyes were too bright all of a sudden, and she dropped into her seat and hid behind her newspaper.

"Thank you, Morla," Zana said, feeling guilty. She grabbed the crate and turned to leave. She wanted to sort through the contents in her own room, where she wouldn't disturb Felga's mother with painful memories... and where she could use the floor to spread out all those scrolls.

She quickly carried the crate upstairs, trying to ignore the sniffles behind the newspaper.

Alan looked up from the leather belt he was decorating. "What is that?"

So much for privacy.

Zana put the crate on the floor. "Felga's notes about her latest investigations. Since the upstanding citizens of Sapan don't want to talk to me, I thought I might find something in here they hadn't wanted to tell Felga, either." She sat down at the table and reached for the first handful of scrolls. "You can help me sorting."

"I'm afraid my reading skills have gotten worse again," Alan said hesitantly. "I didn't have much opportunity to read, since..." He dropped his gaze to the belt in his lap. "And this is scheduled work, the customer has already paid for it..."

Zana sighed. "Fine. Finish your work. Then help me. Consider it a reading exercise."

"Yes'm."

He had said it in such a low voice that Zana wasn't sure if it was meant to be sarcastic or not. She refused to think about it; she had more important things on her mind now. She rolled out the first scroll, and began to read.

When Alan came to her table some time later, she waved him away. "Felga has the worst handwriting I've ever seen - even I can hardly read it. She should've become a doctor."

Felga hadn't dated her notes, unfortunately, so there was no way to determine which ones were the most recent, and which ones were old news. Zana decided to sort them by subject instead. As it turned out, Felga had kept tabs on nearly everybody, but the highest stacks belonged, naturally, to the kennel owners.

Not a single scroll was about Levar.

So maybe Halda had been right after all, Zana mused. The absence of investigative notes about Levar was conspicuous, considering Felga had even kept notes about Finla. Zana couldn't bring herself to read them; she didn't want to know if the rumours had a factual base.

The biggest heap of scrolls was about Vilam. That in itself wasn't indicative of anything, if Felga had indeed been Levar's lover, Zana cautioned herself. It would be logical that she would focus on his biggest rival, out of loyalty, maybe. If you could find dirt on any kennel owner, why not pick the one your boyfriend hated the most? Maybe she had tried to help Levar to take out the competition.

Don't speculate, Zana scolded herself. Go by the facts. She determinedly reached for the first scroll and began to read.

"This Vilam is a horrible man," she murmured some time later. She absently reached for her teacup and made a face when her lips touched cold liquid. She had completely forgotten the time, engrossed in her task of deciphering Felga's big, sprawling handwriting. Sometimes it was hard to tell where one hoop ended and the next began, and she had been sloppy with the ligatures...

"How so?" Alan murmured. Zana wasn't sure if he reacted just out of politeness, but she was glad to have a pretense to talk about what she had just read.

"Felga was investigating his racing stable," she said. "I don't know how she managed to slip in undercover - she wasn't exactly inconspicuous - maybe she had informants, or people who took photos for her... anyway, she writes here that Vilam was, I quote, 'culling unsuccessful racers by putting a club to the base of their skulls'... and he started that practice with the maiden racers..." She let the scroll drop to the table and drew a trembling sigh. "That murderous bastard," she murmured. "Felga had been right to call them that."

When she looked up, Alan had stopped sewing and was staring at her. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were of that icy blue again that she remembered from the time they had been searching for Peet. "Maiden racers?" His voice was as calm as his face. Zana wasn't fooled.

"First-time racers," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "Humans usually start racing at the age of twelve."

"He's clubbing twelve year old boys to death," Alan repeated slowly.

Zana swallowed. "If they don't make at least third place... he considers them a lost investment. Why keep on feeding them?"

"Why doesn't he sell them off?" Alan bowed his head over his work again, probably so that he didn't have to look at an ape anymore.

"People here... this isn't a farming region," Zana explained, feeling dirty for having to justify Vilam's actions. "Humans serve two functions here - woodworkers, or racers. And the racers aren't really suited for work in the mountains... they are fast, not strong. They... have been bred that way. Vilam wouldn't find a buyer... well, maybe he'd find a buyer for one of his humans, but not for ten, or fifty. And the stables are producing them in great numbers - too great to be able to sell them off quickly enough when they aren't making money for their owners."

"I see," Alan said, and then he fell silent again, a heavy, brooding silence.

Zana hesitated. "There's more," she finally said. "But I'm sorry that I even told you this much. You're a human, of course it must be even more outrageous for you than it is for me..."

"No, tell me," Alan murmured without looking up from his work. "It's no use pretending that the world is different than it is. These are... facts. And we need to deal with the facts."

With a sigh, Zana took up the scroll again, but before she could find the part again, the door opened, and Galen came in. He looked worn out; Zana couldn't remember that he had sported bags under his eyes before.

He shouldn't spend his nights in the tavern, she thought ungraciously. But who am I to divest him of that pleasure?

"What is that?" Galen gestured at the table that was overflowing with scrolls.

"Felga's notes," Zana said without looking up. "Morla gave them to me."

"Are you still trying to impress that snappy constable?" Galen's tone was caustic.

Zana stared at the scroll, not reading anymore, but unwilling to give up the pretense. "It's not about impressing Rogan..."

"Oh, are we already on a first name basis? Where else are we, I wonder?"

Zana dropped the scroll on the table and stared up to him. Her indignance was lost on Galen, though, who had turned his back to her to hang up his robe. "I will not tolerate these... these insinuations, Galen!"

Galen spun around to glare at her. "I don't have to insinuate anything! Do you think I don't know that you've been dating that guard? Not just one date, but several?"

Zana clenched her fists and rose from the table. "Those were purely business meetings! Sit!" she ordered Alan, who had begun to silently pack up his materials. "There's no reason to slink out the door!"

"Business meetings," Galen scoffed. "You have no business meeting other men behind my back!"

"In case you've forgotten," Zana snapped, "we're not married! I'm a free woman, and I can meet whoever I damn well please! And I didn't date Rogan, although he was a much nicer company than you have been since we came here!"

"I'll send him over then, when you have another of your 'let's burrow into my blankets and not get out of bed for days' episodes!" Galen yelled. "Maybe he'll sit at the edge of your bed and hold your hand, and bring you tea... or maybe he's only interested as long as he thinks you're a married woman who he has no right to leer at, much less touch!"

"At least he wouldn't stink of cider and tobacco while he touches me!"

That... silenced whatever had been on Galen's tongue. Zana immediately regretted her words when she saw the stunned hurt in his eyes, but it was too late. They had said the words, and now they were a part of the world. They were... facts. And now they had to deal with them.

Galen took a step back, still staring at her. Then he yanked his robe from the hanger, and headed for the door. "Have fun, then."

He shut the door with a bang.

Zana stared at it, her heart pounding, her knees wobbling. How could he... how could he accuse her of being unfaithful, just because she had shared a meal with Rogan? She hadn't even flirted with him, she had only been focused on getting information about Felga's case!

She had to... to focus. She couldn't get distracted by Galen's antics now. Not when Levar's gallows was rapidly growing in the marketplace. Zana slowly sat down at the table again and took up the scroll with shaking hands. She stared at it, but Felga's hoops and bows blurred into a meaningless swirling chaos before her eyes.

"How dare he talk to me like that," she growled. "Treating me as if I was his property!"

Alan made a noncommittal sound from his corner, and Zana felt embarrassment bloom hot in her chest - here she was raging against being treated like property to a man who, for all intents and purposes, was her property.

The feeling rapidly turned into the heat of rage, though, when she replayed Galen's words in her mind. "He's been avoiding me ever since we came here!" She pushed away from the table and began to pace the room.

"And then he comes here and complains that I haven't been sitting at this table for the whole time, hands daintily folded in my lap, waiting for him to come home, or come to his senses! He's just the same overbearing, snide, entitled jerk as his father! I never understood how Ann could put up with him! Maybe she just fell for his charm? I know," she told a silent Alan, "it's hard to believe Yalu could have a charming side, but Mothers, right now it's hard to remember Galen's charming side, too!"

She brushed against the table, and a small mountain of scrolls began to slide, and tumbled to the floor. With a huff, she bent down to gather them and threw them back onto the table.

"You know," she spun around to Alan, who had put his leatherwork aside and was watching her with a worried expression, "maybe I just fell too fast for him. Maybe... maybe we're not right for each other. I was... nobody wanted me, ever."

It was painful to say it out loud, even more painful than all the times she had only thought it, when she had been crying into her pillow. "I was this weird Chimp girl that grew up among Orangutans. The other Chimps shunned me because I wasn't a 'real Chimp', and the Orangutans shunned be because I was a Chimp." She swallowed and wandered over to the window. Looking down into the garden was easier than looking into the face of her human.

"And then Galen came along," she continued, "and asked me out, and helped me to rescue you, and made me believe he cared for me... for me. And I wanted that so much to be true. That feeling of being special for someone... of being wanted." She felt tired all of a sudden. The rage, the pain, were gone, leaving her drained. She turned around to face Alan.

"But now I wonder if it was really me he wanted," she continued, "or if it wasn't you. He was terribly eager to meet you. You were 'so interesting', as he put it. And I was maybe just a means to get access." She hadn't expected to feel so bitter about that revelation.

"I don't know how he felt then," Alan said softly, "but I saw him when you were injured after we escaped that ruined city. He does love you, Zana, and he's jealous because he fears he could lose you to this young guard."

"We didn't really have time to get to know each other," Zana insisted. "Everything developed so quickly! I had only known him for a quartermoon when we had to flee. And... ever since that day, there was never really time to get to know each other. To..." she shrugged and laughed a small, embarrassed laugh, "to go on another date, talk about other things than escape routes, or Urko's next move, or which identities to choose..."

"Well, you have that chance now," Alan pointed out. "There's no reason why you shouldn't have dinner with Galen in that tavern, instead of that officer."

"I already said it," Zana huffed, "those were business meetings! They were about Felga's case, and this," she sat down and gestured at the scrolls on the table, "could save a man's life! And I don't know about you, but a man's life is more important now than another man's pride!"

Alan turned up his palm in a gesture of silent agreement, but Zana found she couldn't focus on Felga's notes anymore. She was too agitated to sift through the woman's scrawl. With a sigh, she rose from the table yet again and went to the humans' room.

It was Peet's free day, and she needed to relax.