«It's all right, Mabinhil,» Doogat whispered softly. «Rimble isn't interested in a hundred percent of nothing.» «Wh—what?» she mumbled. «All that Trickster wants from you right now, Mab,» said Doogat brushing a strand of brown hair out of the young girl's face, «is that you try again, hmm?» Mab refused to look at Doogat, her shoulders sagging. Po interrupted at this point. «You sure treat her nice, Doogs. Me? You just punch me out whenever you fucking feel like it!» Doogat ignored Po's comment arid looked over at the professor who had been watching the entire scene with astonishment. «And that's the answer to your question, Rowen. Multiple. Trickster takes the form indicated by the circumstances presented. Thus, I treat Po one way. And Mab quite another,» he added, ushering the little Piedmerri over to an empty spot on the couch. Mab sat down numbly, her expression troubled. «You were just using me?» she asked. «You didn't mean what you said?» «On the contrary,» replied Doogat. «I meant exactly what I said.» «But what was the question?» asked Timmer. Barlimo, who'd been eating her dinner in silence throughout the whole «lesson,» now looked up. «Simple,» she said, meeting Doogat's dark eyes briefly. «Rowen must've asked, 'What is the nature of Trickster?'» Doogat smiled. «Very good.» «Yes,» said Rowenaster, nodding. «As a matter of fact, Barl, that's exactly what I asked. But what I really wanted to know was what the ethics—» «Ethics!» cried Po. «There aren't any!» «You should talk,» snapped Timmer, glaring at the little thief. Doogat turned his attention back to Mab. Touching her cheek gently, he smiled at the trembling young woman and said, «On the contrary. The ethics are there. If you know what to look for. Rimble-Rimble.» This was not exactly comforting. To anyone. Chapter Eight While the tempers of the five house members inside the Kaleidicopia flared and subsided, Master Janusin and his protege, Cobeth, regarded each other with contempt. The two Jinnjirri sculptors stood in the artist's studio behind the Kaleidicopia, their lean, muscular arms crossed over their chests, their shifting Jinnjirri hair crimson with anger. Cobeth was the first to break the lull in the argument. He turned away from the forty-year-old man who had been his friend, lover, and mentor for the past five years and continued packing his sculptor's tools. Cobeth, a person nine years Janusin's junior, was a particularly skinny fellow. Appearing perennially undernourished, Cobeth's waifish, boyish body brought out the maternal instincts in women and men alike. It helped that Cobeth had large eyes. At once innocent and seductive, such eyes masked his driving need for power. Other people's power. Such eyes spoke of a terrible soul ache; they were a sad, bottomless well that only you—and you alone—could fill. Janusin watched Cobeth put a chisel into a leather carrying bag and rubbed his neck tiredly. He felt exhausted. Drained. He cleared his throat and said, «It's not surprising that you're leaving me now, Cobeth.» «Oh? Why's that?» asked Cobeth, his movements jerky, furious. «You've run me dry.» When Cobeth refused to answer him, Janusin added, «There is one good thing about you, however.» Cobeth met Janusin's gaze cooly. «I'm surprised you can remember a good thing about me, Jan. How gracious of you.» Janusin chuckled. «You don't kill your host.» «Oh, I'm a parasite now?» «But I think I know why that is,» continued Janusin conversationally. Cobeth put his hands on his hips, waiting for Janusin to finish. The master sculptor nodded his head. «You see, you're a very smart fellow, Cobeth.» «Glad to hear it.» «You're an excellent judge of people—you know exactly what they have to give you. And exactly where their breaking point is. Sheer genius.» Cobeth's hair turned a deepening shade of rage. Janusin smiled. «You're a hustler, Cobeth. Always looking out for yourself first. So you figure—hey, I might need old Master Janusin at some later