Chapter nineThe black feathers had once beaten strongly in the wing of a rippasch. The white feathers had once beaten strongly in the wing of a perept. The feathers adorned my hat and looked brave in the light of the Suns. The feathers disgusted me — yet for the sake of Vallia they must be worn with panache.
Oh, yes, you who listen as the tape whispers through the heads, you will know just how much these black and white feathers displeased me. But when one comes to the Fluttrell’s vane, as they say in Havilfar, one must accept the needle, as they say all over Paz.
I’d had to restrain myself and keep a very straight face when the hatter, expertly fitting the feathers, said: “Yes, dom. The Racters have the right of it.” His needle and thread went in and out sewing the black and white abomi
