"It will be a while before we get there," Alia says with a shake of the head of her own. "Plenty of time to get a grip on large scale tactics before then." Alia is saddened by Fajah putting herself down so often, but does not mention that now.

The students are all decidedly hungry by now, so the sight of the Meal Room is a welcome one.

The low tables are plain polished wood and the table settings simple. Small porcelain bowls for soup, a small wine cup, a small plate and a set of chopsticks resting near it. The kitchen slaves have already set the table with cold dishes: chicken marinated in rice wine, five-spiced carp and hundred year eggs.