It always astounds me that a woman otherwise astute should so romanticise a plodder like Gregorius. True, he bears a strong physical resemblance to their late father, and even has many of the old man's mannerisms; a circumstance which has deceived others, myself included (though never for so long as it has her). True, also, that he is some years older, and she has often told me stories of how he was her hero and her protector when she was very young, and he not yet away to school. (I sometimes think that if I hear the rescue from the millrace once more I shall not be responsible for my actions.) Yet it passes belief that she thinks him a brilliant prodigy, unfairly held back by his relationship to me; when in fact the exact opposite is the truth.

Many have been our late-night arguments, she insisting that he ought to be given a position more suited to his talents; I (having been a diplomat) forebearing to retort that I can hardly demote him, but protesting that I cannot be seen to be nepotistic. She, that surely all know his ability. I, again diplomatic, that no suitable position is available. She, to sulks; and I, alone to a cold bed.

Now, though, Bonvidaeo has fallen vacant - a sinecure, made for a plodder, a clod, a filler of forms, a seat-warmer such as Gregorius. Almost a ceremonial post, a hangover from an earlier age, a token to prop the egos of a few Calarian mercers and fullers in that now peaceful city who, since the time of my predecessor's predecessor, have not required the services of an envoy for anything more than permits and official seals.

My only concern is that he may offend the odd customs of the Bonvidaeoans, and to that end I asked Tailor, through whose ears all knowledge passes, to search for some native of that city to serve him in the capacity of guide. He is looking for a new valet (he bored me almost senseless the other night with a long tale about how the present fellow can never heat his shaving water to the right temperature), so I can foist one upon him and not seem a meddler.

Luck was mine again, for Tailor stated immediately that he knew of such a one; a youth, trained to service in one of the great houses of Bonvidaeo, who had sought adventure as a sailor, landed here for a season, and now desired to return to his native country.

(If only I could appoint Tailor to some post fitting his worth! But were he not a commoner, he could not have the wealth of contacts and the knowledge of the deep currents of the city that he does. I must be content with paying him a clear crown higher than his official post should merit.)

The sun shines upon me, though outdoors it is winter. I enjoy, again, the favour of my wife; and find myself much relaxed, and in good temper with the universe. Today, also, I have met the Bonvidaeoan youth. He is a slender fellow, quick of movement, speech, and thought, and mature for his years. He meets one's eye frankly, for all he wears the mask his countrymen affect; yet his tact would not disgrace a man of my own profession.

He strikes me as the ideal guide for Gregorius. I cannot imagine a youth more suited to keeping a fool out of trouble, while acting as his respectful gentleman's gentleman.

Corius, whom Your Lordship so thoughtfully provided as my valet - after I mentioned to you in passing that I was dissatisfied with the last man - Corius has been telling me at length of the Bonvidaeoan customs, and as it is a droll story I shall relate it to Your Lordship.

Some three hundred years gone, it seems, Emilion, first of that name, was king in Bonvidaeo. This Emilion was much addicted to the fantasies and foibles which occurred during the season of Carnival, which then was, as in all the countries around, a matter of a week. This decadent obsession, along with the bibbing of much wine, inclined the monarch - whose power at that time was absolute - to extend the period, first by another week; then, when that week was almost ended, by a month; and then, when that month was almost passed - making six weeks in all - did he declare, and have passed into the city-state's ordinances, that Carnival would run year-long.

His high ministers threw their full support behind this novel law. Corius would have it that they looked for His Majesty's distraction with the entertainments of the Carnival, not for a week, but perpetually, to allow power to descend to their own shoulders; but Corius is something of a cynic. The merchants, who made their best money during Carnival, were also disinclined to oppose its extension, though in fact their annual income rose but little - for it was the special nature of the time, and not the festivities alone, which encouraged free spending.

From the religious arm, there was at first opposition. But it happened (perhaps by coincidence, though Corius hinted not) that the then High Priest died shortly after the edict, and his successor convened a Council of theological reasoners and logic-choppers to study the religious implications. After being closeted for almost two months, they emerged with the basis of a new doctrine which has prevailed, except for certain heretics, since that day.

You must know that worship in Bonvidaeo, and indeed surrounding nations, has always involved the use of masks to depict the presence of the gods among men; and Carnival, too, involved the secular use of masks to represent famous characters, mythological and historical.

What the assembled theologians birthed, influenced (says Corius) by certain cunning factions among the King's ministers, was the doctrine of Characterism, which was always (they claimed) inherent in their belief and practice. This doctrine holds that the mask is the thing. That is to say, a priest in the mask of the god actually is the god, standing among his worshippers, a legitimate focus of awe and adoration. Likewise - and here is where the ministers benefited - a man in a mask of a mythical hero actually is, in a significant sense, that hero.

Thus the ministers, small men in truth, could glorify themselves by adopting the masks of famous wise men, statesmen and saviours of their nations; and the Bonvidaeoan religion now required the orthodox to treat these men as those men.

Is it not ridiculous? Heaven be thanked, we have no such custom or belief. But the Bonvidaeoans, who have maintained and sophisticated this doctrine over time, make it the basis of their very society, and so I must go masked to move among them or be guilty at once of a sin and a crime.

Though the other aspects of Carnival are no longer practiced in Bonvidaeo to any greater degree than in other nations, this masking continues in all places even theoretically within sight of the city. Corius, good servant that he is, has prepared for me several masks - for the making of masks is a skill taught to all Bonvidaeoans. When I am in my official capacity, I must mask as an Envoy, while at other times he thinks it safest, until I learn the customs, that I be Uncast. This means a simple black robe and domino, and so long as I do nothing to draw attention to myself nor do not seem to be in any character, I am effectively invisible, protected from harassment by any passer-by. (For some of the masks are malign, and some have complex traditions attached to them; and if I gave the wrong response to one such while in a character, I would be denounced as Unmasked and vilified at once as a criminal, a blasphemer and a transgressor of etiquette. For religion, law and social mores all agree in Bonvidaeo, at least touching the matter of masks.)

When we reach the city, Corius says, he will take me to consult an elderly and respected sage, one Felkior, who keeps the Book of Masks. This important ceremonial post is given to one wise in history, myth and the lore of the mask, and on his advice many trials, civil and ecclesiastical, are settled. For it is he who records, and recalls, the meaning, form, and legends of the various masks, and how the characters depicted by them should act; so Corius hopes that this sage (of whom he speaks fondly, for he is personally acquainted with the old man) will be able to find for me some inoffensive persona in which I can safely move about in Bonvidaeoan society.

Far from feeling threatened by the risk, my blood is thrilled. It is an adventure, My Lord, that you have given me; and I feel at once like a discoverer of strange lands, and like a maiden at - if you will excuse the humour - her first masked ball.

We are about to round the headland, and I must mask. Thank you again, My Lord, for your confidence; I will entrust this despatch to the Captain, who is returning to Calaria with the products of this city, and pray it finds you in good health.

Ever your most humble servant,

Bass.

I asked my servant as we ascended if any ever make use of the mask of the Uncast in order to commit crimes. Certainly, he said. But if they are caught, then they are charged not only with one crime - whether it be theft, murder, barratry - but with the far more serious crime of being Unmasked. You could, he said (addressing me) have sat upon any of the chairs or at any of the tables; placed a coin upon the bar, and received ale in exchange (for to exchange ale for coin is proper to a Barman, and no matter that no man is seen to give the coin or take the ale); taken a coin to the servery and received food in exchange, for the same is proper to a Cook as is proper to a Barman; warmed yourself at the fire, if you obstructed no man else; and none would have spoken to you, or of you. If the City Watch came and inquired of you when you were gone, the Lord Justice himself, if he were present, would swear there had been no man seen, and not account himself a perjurer. But if you so much as took a mouthful of another man's soup, or tripped him as he walked to the door, every man in the room would seize you, and hale you to the officers for Unmasked.

It seems, then, that I am safe enough, and can carry on my life in peace, if I trouble no man and take pains to behave as if I am invisible. The drawback is that they will all treat me as invisible also. I will have no impact, no significance. To a nature such as mine, this is abhorrent, but it must be bourne with until we can find me a mask that will enable me to walk abroad without imperilling the grave mission which you, My Lord, have entrusted to me.

Today we went in search of a suitable house to rent during my tenure here. As Corius explained, it must appear suitable to my station; and so we searched in the great streets and the wide.

Houses here are not as houses at home. At home, any apartment which the inhabitants are wont to use must be comfortable and reflect such style and status as the owner has. Here, this is true only of the rooms seen by visitors; and these are furnished lavishly, at the expense of the rest of the house. I have strayed sometimes into servants' quarters and onto servants' stairs in the houses of the wealthy, through having missed my way, and have known it immediately by the poverty of the decoration compared with the pomp of the other rooms. Well, here the contrast is much greater, and only a couple of rooms are decorated up; the rest are bare and chill, that more may be spent on those which guests shall see.

The fronts of the houses, too, are most lavish. The streets they give upon are broad, as I have said, and used only for carriages and sedan chairs. Carts and the like use the back streets; and they are truly back streets, for they run behind the houses, and are mean and narrow in the extreme. Many of the greater thoroughfares have tunnels plunging beneath them to carry the common traffic, so that not even the exit of what is called a "street of the second city" is seen to open upon them.

You have seen the houses of the poor in our city, My Lord, how they are clustered meanly together in one quarter; in Bonvidaeo, the poor are one's neighbors, but neighbors one never sees. They live off the alleys which run behind the houses of the rich. Nobody has back windows here, or back doors either, except what let onto loading docks for supplies. A few of the greater houses relegate even these to their cellars; the palace, for example, is surrounded on all sides by broad ways, down which carts are forbidden from moving, and is provisioned from a network of tunnels below ground.

All this Corius told me; I did not see the mean streets for myself, as he thought it inadvisable. We have found one or two fine dwellings - fine in outward appearance, that is, and Corius says that this is all that matters; in Bonvidaeo, the appearance is the reality - and we will look again tomorrow. I will entrust this through Corius to a messenger, who will see it to the ship, for it does not leave yet for several days.

Tomorrow, also, or the day after, Corius hopes to take me to the sage Felkior, an introduction to which I look forward with eager anticipation.

Trusting that this finds you in good health, as it leaves me,

Ever your most humble and grateful servant,

Bass.

Yesterday we spent as the previous day, searching for a house; we settled at last on one, and will be removing there before many more days, after which I will present my credentials at Court. Corius has commissioned from a tailor here a suitable costume for an Envoy, and has himself made a mask, as I believe I may have mentioned.

This mask he showed, as if for approval, to Felkior at our interview today - for today, at last, I met that remarkable and most redoubtable old man. The sage inspected it carefully with his fingers, not once glancing at it, and for the first time - we had been there some quarter of an hour - I realised that he was blind.

"Yes, young man," his amanuensis, one Tamas, whispered to me; "had you not known?"

I am scarcely now a young man, for I am four-and-thirty; but Tamas is older by twenty years, and I forgave him it.

"Known what?" put in the sage, sharply; and I swear his eyes were focussed on me. I could tell the direction of his eyes better than with most Bonvidaeoans, for he wears a peculiar mask, granted to him... but I am not telling my story in order.

We arrived at the house - which is not ostentatious, a pleasant stone house with bright rugs, which it now occurs to me must be for Tamas's pleasure, as his master cannot perceive them - we arrived, I say, in the mid-morning, and Tamas opened to us. Corius knows the secretary well, and introduced us, and we ascended to the old man's study. This is a chaos of volumes, crammed on shelves, scattered on tables, all centering about the great Book which is Felkior's charge, the Book of Masks. Masks, too, there are in great profusion, many of them attached to the bookshelves or suspended from the ceiling, others forming place-markers in books or intermingled with them on the tables and desks, cloth masks, papier-maché masks, leather masks, feather masks, a carnival in miniature around the cluttered workroom of the scribe.

The old philosopher himself wears a singular mask which covers only half his face. It is, moreover, a mask of his face, though of his face when somewhat younger; and in the course of the conversation he indicated that this was an honour awarded him first in his youth, when he gained distinction as a living Character.

"For all our masks," he said, "are based on some Character or another, whether of myth, or legend, or common tales, or a stereotype of one's occupation such as the Secretary portrayed by my friend or the Servant portrayed by your young fellow here, or the Envoy which he has rendered with some skill. (A lighter hand with the sequins might perhaps have been in better taste, but no matter. Provided they are silver and not gold...? Even so. I should have trusted you to remember.)

"Sometimes, you see, a person becomes a legend - or a myth, or a common tale - in their own lifetime, and then they are themselves classed as a Character. See here," he rose smoothly, smoother than I would have predicted from his lined face, and striding to the table of the great book, located one bookmark of many by the feel of the ribbon, and opening the volume indicated an entry high on the right-hand folio.

"Here is the description of my first Character, which I won in my misspent youth." I bent beside him to read it, and could make little sense of the glyphs and abbreviations in a kinked and crabbed hand.

Seeing my puzzlement, the secretary stepped to my aid, and recited in an even tone something like the following:

"FELKIOR. Accepted as a character on [the date escapes me, but it was some fifty years gone]. Age 19. Of the class Lover, the subclass Philanderer, the type Successful, the subtype Unrepentant. Characteristics: athletic, daring, wild, contemptuous, amoral, flippant. Approach: dazzlement. Secondarily of the class Swordsman, the subclass Rapier, the type Excellent, the subtype Flashy. Characteristics: wounds, does not kill unless hard-pressed. Approach: out of the sight of women, strikes quickly and accurately, does not fence; in the sight of women, will fence impressively unless in danger of capture. Thirdly of the class Dandy, the subclass Fashion Leader, the type Daring, the subtype Tasteful. Characteristics: bright, but not gaudy, primary colours, subtly combined, innovatively cut. Approach: innovates at each social event. Mask: black silk half-vizard, deep red silken band with many golden broken hearts across the forehead; four crossed rapier symbols spaced evenly across the centre of the mask, made of steel, painted in red, blue, green and yellow; a fifth, steel, unpainted rapier offset out of pattern on the left; along the bottom of the mask, stitching of ribbons of the same colours, inclined to the right, not in a regular pattern of colour or any two of the same width."

I cannot say my puzzlement decreased; rather, it grew greater as I looked at the elderly, scholarly gentleman before me, whose white mask was of cloth, but not silk, and covered half his face, but not the upper half (it was the right). It was not that of a youth, but a man in middle age, and the silken band across the top might once have been pale pink but now looked almost white. The symbols he bore were six, and were tiny scrolls - actual scrolls, they were three-dimensional, not painted, but tied on with little cords - and the bottom of the mask had regular stitching of sober grey ribbon, inclined to neither left nor right. The only colour was a small feather, like a peacock feather, hanging by each ear.

"My second character," said Felkior, "was much different." Without having to be prompted, the secretary flipped to a later page in the huge volume, and read another description. This one matched the man and the mask I saw before me, and other than that I cannot recall it accurately - I was still somewhat struggling with the previous characterisation.

"You see," the scholar said when his assistant finished, "there have been two characters called Felkior."

"That's one way to put it," said the secretary.

"Well, how would you put it?" his employer demanded.

"That you, Felkior, have lived two different kinds of life in one lifetime."

"Twisting, twisting, always twisting!" cried the old man - though he did not appear angry; indeed, he was grinning even as he remonstrated with his amanuensis.

"I could say the same," retorted Tamas.

"Not so; it's a valid viewpoint. You said as much yourself."

"And you believe that because it's a valid viewpoint it's true."

"And you believe that because another viewpoint is true, this one can't be true also."

"And you..."

"Gentles, gentles!" put in my servant hastily. Both men looked a little shamefaced; their debate had rapidly grown loud.

"My apologies, Mysir Bass," said the scholar. "Tamas and I are old friends, and old debating partners with it; we hold different views on some points of philosophy which you should not be wearied with."

The secretary made his apologies also, and I accepted both, of course. Then we proceeded to the main purpose of my visit: to identify a character I could safely assume within Bonvidaeoan society.

"Tell us of yourself, then, Mysir Bass," invited Tamas.

"Tell us," said the scholar, "of who you would wish to be." I thought another debate was about to break out, but the blind man glared - precisely at his secretary, too - and the man subsided. I thought myself that Secretary Tamas took too much upon himself.

"Well," said I, "I have always been a physically strong man, though I am not quick. I am, I hope, a man of honour; I am industrious, and I think reliable. I am not cunning, and dislike cunning men. Apart from that I know of no virtues I possess, save loyalty."

"My master is too modest," said Corius; "he is also a courageous and courteous man, gentle to his friends, fierce to his foes, and generous to those less fortunate."

I stared in some surprise at my servant, for I had not expected his tribute, especially on such short acquaintance.

"And how," I asked, "did you reach these great conclusions?" I may have spoken a little sharply, for in my opinion servants should keep their place and not speak unless they are questioned; yet I was complimented.

"Mysir," he said, "tell me if it is not so."

"It is true," I said, "that I have no fear of man, beast, or natural force, beyond what is prudent and necessary; that I keep the ways of my gentle ancestors in these decayed times; that I am not a man to frustrate; and that I sometimes give trifles to those in need. But how had you concluded this on such a short acquaintance?"

"I must confess," he said, "to having spoken somewhat with Tailor, Milord Rivers' assistant, and he gave me such a word-picture of you. Also, I am an observer of mankind, and of human nature, and having watched you, I know his words are true."

"But how, when you have not seen me at any risk, nor speaking to a friend, nor confronting a foe, nor - as far as I recall - giving alms?"

"As to giving alms, there was a beggar this morning," he said; "we were talking at the time, and you did not seem to remark him, but you gave to him - a silver coin, I saw it flash - without pausing in your speech."

"You may be right," said I; "I have forgotten it, if so."

"As for the rest," said Corius, "a man is all of a piece; to see one thing in him is to see all. And many small words and actions of yours point to the truth of Tailor's saying."

Now truly, I had never thought Tailor a particular friend of mine, or an admirer; almost the opposite at times, I had reckoned; but I can admit when I am wrong, and I owe the good fellow an apology, I see now. I shall do somewhat for him when I am next at home.

We talked for some time longer, and then Corius fell to suggesting with the old man and his secretary masks that might fit me; as, "Gentle Knight", and they murmured, "No, for we want no challenges"; and "Honest Courtier", and they said, "No, too rare, too obscure; and there are risks attached to that one, which you may not be aware of"; and some more I have forgotten. Often, Felkior and his secretary fell to arguing some point of philosophy, and Corius had to return them to the topic. I had ceased to attend, and was watching the passing traffic from the window (for none of the sage's many books looked light or amusing), when one of them - Tamas, I think - cried, "Of course. The Innocent Man."

I turned around - for his voice had been loud - and surprised an odd expression on the face of Corius, which changed, however, in an instant; it had looked like amusement, but what with the mask it is always hard to tell expressions, and it may well have been rejoicing only.

"Yes," said my servant, "the Innocent Man. Ideal in every way."

"It is true," I said, "that I am guilty of no wrongdoing; but what is this 'innocent man'?"

"The Innocent Man," explained the sage, "is a mask worn rarely, for it is rare, as you know, to find a man without any guile at all. Its significance is this: that any question asked by the character is to be taken, not as a veiled insult or intended blasphemy, even if such is the plain meaning of it, but as the question of an uninformed innocent who means no harm thereby.

"The Innocent Man has no enemies, for he offends nobody. He is openhearted and generous. It is always wrong, and always an offence, to challenge him, or to attack him; he should be protected, rather. The only thing is this, that he is not known for courage (though he is not known for cowardice; the Innocent Man is simply not placed in situations which require courage), and he is not unusually courteous - not so as to be remarkable for it."

"We always thought," said Corius, "that three or even four masks might be needed. How is this: The Innocent Man for daily wear or when in social situations; the Envoy for official occasions and for courtesy; and perhaps the Gentle Knight for courage, if it is required?"

"You have your heart set on the Gentle Knight, do you not?" asked Tamas, smiling.

"Well, and why not?" asked the sage his master. "It is a good mask. Scriven out the descriptions, then, Tamas, in plain language so that our client can read them, and Corius will be a good fellow and prepare the masks. The Innocent Man is simple - a white sheep's wool domino with wide eyes and raised eyebrows; and the Gentle Knight - ah, I grow old, Tamas, and there has not been a Gentle Knight in some time; copy it out, man, and read it to me as you do so."

The secretary did so, but he had gone no more than four words into the description when his master's voice joined him, and completed it without his help, needing only the jog to his memory.

[Description here]

"It is a feather-mask, too, being a mask of war," said Corius; "that is good."

"What is a feather-mask?" I asked.

"You must have seen the feathers in the masks of the city watch, between the eyes?" he replied. "They were once real peacock feathers - am I not correct, Master?" (addressing Felkior, who nodded as one pleased with an apt pupil), "but an enterprising rogue held all the peacocks in the city to ransom, and it was declared that any feather dyed with the eye pattern of the peacock would suffice. They symbolise the all-seeing eye, you see, and anyone who wears one can perceive even the invisible characters, like the Uncast."

"But surely anyone can perceive them," I said.

"Now that," said Tamas when they had all finished laughing, "is a remark of the Innocent Man."

"But I am Uncast here, and you can see me," I protested; "I am not really invisible."

"No, but you are conventionally invisible, which is just as good, or better, because if you bump into a table nobody will pay any mind, unless you spill or break something. And as for being visible here - my Master is the Keeper of the Book, and all characters are an open book to him, even the Uncast, and he wears peacock feathers by his ears to symbolise this - that he can see them, as it were, with his ears. And I am his Secretary, and it is proper to a Secretary to perceive what his master knows."

I was silent at this, astounded at their convoluted logic. It is true that in this city I am an innocent, and could wish for no better mask than the Innocent Man.

The Palace, as I may have mentioned, is surrounded by wide avenues, almost like squares in their extent, and here are many heroic statues, fountains and the like, and lantern-posts which are lit at night.

We arrived in a hired carriage (for I could not afford to own one of such magnificence, and Corius advised me that magnificence was required), drawn by three matched pairs of greys; I, costumed lavishly as an Envoy, and with my Envoy's mask in place. The tailor, by the way, had taken a leaf from his neighbor the carpenter's book, and placed a fine veneer over lesser stuff, to reduce the cost; the outer garments were silk, but the inner such coarse, unbleached linen as a carter would disdain. This, I am told, is the common fashion of the place, and only Lovers, who look to have others see beneath their garments, wear silk and the like next to the skin.

Corius attended me, in the costume of a Secretary which he had borrowed of old Tamas. I had desired that he might accompany me to instruct me on points of etiquette, for truly they were too many for my poor memory.

The palace is of considerable size and great magnificence, with marble and gold leaf displayed everywhere (though Corius, always wishing, it seems, to reduce my wonder, whispered that the marble was as thin as they might make it, and covered common brick). Rich carpets are on the floors of the grand corridors, and a multitude of lamps burn in crystal shades, illuminating the way we trod to the hall of estate.

To cover my nervousness and make conversation, I asked my good attendant, "Tell me, this King Emilion; he must be the ninth or tenth of that name?"

"No," he whispered, as one shocked; "this is Emilion the First."

"But how can..." I began, for I knew that Emilion the First flourished three centuries ago.

"Shhh," he said, "you are not presently the Innocent Man. He wears the mask of Emilion; therefore, he is Emilion, and all Emilions are one Emilion, the first of that name."

I was silent, and risked no more questions, lest the guards hear and hale me to justice as Unmasked.