his region. It was, said the Asilliwir, a natural high to them. Their horses, however, saw it differently and had to be specially drugged to make the journey in safety. «Well, no wonder you're so afraid of everything, Mab,» said Timmer gently. «You grew up not knowing which way was up—or down. It's a wonder you can cope at all.» Timmer shook her head. «An earthy Piedmerri in a Jinnjirri 'shift.' What a nightmare.» Mab said nothing, her expression defiant. Doogat, who was standing behind Mab, put his hands on her shoulders. «Be careful, Timmer. Mab's not nearly as weak as all that. She did survive, remember. Think of the strength that took, hmm?» «Then, why does she cry all the time, Doogat?» asked Tree, perplexed. «Same reason you look like a tree,» replied the Mayanabi Master smoothly, his dark eyes boring into the Jinnjirri's shocked ones. Janusin, who had always wondered about Tree's obsession, said, «This sounds interesting.» But neither Doogat nor Tree would continue the conversation. Janusin sighed, crossing his arms over his powerful sculptor's chest, and retorted, «Well, can we at least have this blasted house meeting?» As it was going on midnight, everyone agreed this was an excellent idea. Janusin and Doogat begged Timmer for caffeine. The blonde Dunnsung smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. Once there, she fetched tea and the personal mug belonging to each resident of the Kaleidicopia. For Doogat, she lent him one of her own. Ceramic, the mug was painted brilliant blue and decorated with gold dolphin-like creatures. When honey and milk had been passed and tea stirred, Barlimo officially opened the Kaleidicopia's emergency house meeting. The Jinnjirri architect smiled, her hair turning an even-tempered green, and asked, «Any old business?» It was clear from the expression on everyone's faces that the rent theft of two weeks ago was uppermost on their minds. People were careful not to look in Po's direction. However, the silent accusation was so palpable that the little Asilliwir started swearing under his breath. Doogat, who was sitting next to him again, tapped the contents of his Trickster pipe into the hearth, smiling at Po as he did so. «Needs a refill, don't you think?» Po grunted and fell silent. Barlimo looked relieved and asked for new business, calling on each member. She started the circle with herself. «Okay. Just the usual. A reminder to keep the front and back door locked. Tree, could you empty the basement garbage a little more regularly? With all the chemicals you use down there in the lab, I worry about fire safety. And as usual no one's been paying the papergirl. So, the Daily Writ is sending me hate mail. There are coppers on top of the icebox. Use them to pay the papergirl, please—not to tip happincabby drivers. All right?» Heads nodded dutifully. «Now for the good part,» continued Barlimo. «Rents are abysmal, and we're due for a Housing Commission inspection next week. If you can, give me the rent as soon as possible. Regarding the Housing Commission: I want this house spotless.» The architect looked pointedly at Po. «That means I want to see spoons in the silverware drawer, Po. I want them out of your room.» «Is that where they all went to?» asked Mab. Po glared at her. She shrugged and closed her mouth. «So get the house clean, folks. Otherwise, we may all find ourselves looking for new lodgings. And while I'm on it, where does the ad section of the Writ keep going? I pay for this paper, and I expect to read it when I come home from work. Clear?» Heads nodded dutifully. Professor Rowenaster was next. «Just two complaints. I'm not getting my messages. There's a box nailed to my door. If someone drops by, please let me know about it. I'm sorry I'm on the third floor, but that's how it is. Think of all the good exercise you'll get,» he added, smiling. «My other complaint goes to Tree: can you keep your makeup gear in some other storage area besides the common front hall? It looks junky.» Tree sighed. «No problem, Rowen. I got fired tonight. By Janusin's darling,» he added with no enthusiasm. The room groaned in sympathy. The hair color of the other Jinnjirri present turned a compassionate pale blue, even Janusin's. No one spoke. What was there to say? Most of the Kaleidicopions had expected Cobeth to fire Tree. Tree was Kaleidicopian and therefore a daily reminder to Cobeth of Cobeth's time spent at the house. Time Cobeth wanted to forget. Cobeth had a mean streak in his nature; he liked to get even. The residents of the K were a maverick family. When one person got hurt, all suffered. And Cobeth knew this. Tree took a deep breath. «Oh—guess it's me next. Um, I want off the pantry floor. Anybody else willing to do it? It's a bitch of a chore.» Mab raised her hand, nodding. «Idiot,» said Timmer, relieved that she didn't have to do it. «Anything else, Tree?» asked Barlimo. «Yes. The towels in the third floor bathroom—that's the one I use—are not, I repeat, not communal. I love you all within reason,» he said to the seven people sitting around him. «However, using my towel is not within reason. And finally, I've got free passes to the new Merry Prickster Play. It's called Rimble's Remedy. Stars your favorite Jinnjirri, Cobeth of Shift Shallows. Opens tomorrow night. See me if you want a pass.» «Count me out,» said Janusin, his voice tired. «What's the play about?» asked Timmer. Rowenaster answered. «Religion. You'll love it.» Timmer gave the professor a withering smile and shut up. «Jan?» said Barlimo. «Anything to say?» The master sculptor shook his head, his hair turning a darker, more despondent blue. «Only that Room Five is now available. I'm taking most of Cobeth's house chores.» «Are you also running the Revel?» asked Barlimo. Janusin nodded. «Oh, shit. That's right. The Trickster's Hallows.» He took a deep breath. «It's our annual Rimble's Revel,» he said to Mab who had never attended one. «Everyone comes as an aspect of Trickster. We try not to double up, so check around before you decide on your costume. If you need help with needle and thread, Tree is an accomplished tailor.» «Thanks for volunteering me, Janusin,» said Tree with annoyance. «You've got nothing but free time now,» replied the sculptor. «I have my classes!» Professor Rowenaster started chuckling. «Did you study at all for my exam?» Tree rolled his eyes, swore, and slumped in his chair. Barlimo turned to Mab. «You're next, child.» Mab glanced nervously at Barlimo and then at Po. The little thief crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his jaw. Mab blinked and decided to say nothing about her attempt to evict the Asilliwir. Barlimo had told her earlier that Timmer, Janusin, and Mab did not constitute a house quorum. So there was no point in taking a vote to oust Po. Cobeth's opinion—the fourth in the faction—didn't count now; he had moved out. Mab cleared her throat. «I've got just minor stuff.» The room immediately relaxed. Doogat and Barlimo in particular. Mab smiled nervously and said, «I was wondering who was in charge of getting candles and flax oil for the house? I'm running low.» «Me,» said the professor. «I can get a deal over at the University. Mab nodded. «That's all, I guess.» «Great,» said Barlimo. «Okay, Timmer. Let's have your list. And try to keep it brief, will you? I want to see my pillow tonight.» Timmer was famous for long-winded, unasked for tutorials on The Proper Care of A House This Large. The blonde musician gave Barlimo an indignant scowl, quickly scanned the list she held in her hands, and pursed her lips. «Okay, the only thing that's simply got to be said is: DISHES!» she cried, glaring at Podiddley. «And don't you try to deny it, you little bugger. There's a dirty curry dish in the sink right now, and I know who it belongs to. You!» Po yawned. «I was going to get it after the meeting, Timmer.» He looked disdainfully at her. «You're so emotional.» Timmer jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. Before she could start berating Po, Doogat intervened. «Timmertandi,» he said authoritatively. She paused in mid-sentence, turning to look at the Mayanabi. «I think I can remedy the situation,» Doogat continued, puffing on his meerschaum pipe in full view of Po. He smiled, the stem of the pipe held between his teeth firmly. «Po's going to live at my house for a little while. We'll call it Remedial Dishwashing.» Timmer's face blanched. Po jumped to his feet. «I told you I'd smack your face if you said anything to him, Timmer!» «I didn't!» she cried, taking refuge behind Doogat. «Tell him I didn't say anything to you,» she begged the Mayanabi Master. Doogat, who appeared to be enjoying her discomfort, regarded her innocently. «What're you talking about, Timmer?» «For Presence-sake, Doogat!» she hissed as Po made a fist with his right hand. Before the Asilliwir could swing, however, Doogat reached out and grabbed the little thief by the shirt collar. «Didn't Barlimo tell you how she felt about this kind of thing, Po?» Doogat shook the Asilliwir roughly. «Didn't she?» Po, who had broken out in a sweat by now, muttered a meek, «Yes, Doogat. She did. She told me.» «And what did our good architect say, hmm?» Po swallowed. «No violence in the house.» Doogat let go of his grip, and Po crumpled to the floor. Doogat surveyed him with approval and turned to Barlimo. «See,» he said conversationally, «Po listens. You just have to know how to remind him.» Barlimo snorted. «I'll leave that to you, Doogat.» Folding her hands in her lap, Barlimo looked down at Po and asked, «Did you have any business?» Po shook his head, putting his face in his hands. He stared at the interlocking Asilliwir design on the rug beneath him, ignoring everybody. «All right, then,» said Barlimo happily, «I move this meeting be closed. We'll have another one just before the Trickster's Hallows. For guest lists and food particulars. Uh—let's say, in three weeks? Okay?» Heads nodded dutifully. Then people scrambled to their feet carrying mugs into the kitchen. In the street, the Great Library bells tolled one bell-morn. The entire group groaned, and everyone save Po and Doogat shuffled off to bed. Doogat waited for Po to get what he needed from his room—clothes, toilet articles, and Mayanabi texts—and ushered the little Asilliwir out of the Kaleidicopia. As they walked down the front steps, Po asked, «How long do I have to stay with you, Master Doogat?» «Until the House catches the real thief of Janusin's money.» Po stopped dead. «You knew? You knew I didn't do it?» «Of course, I knew,» muttered Doogat. «You're a Mayanabi first, Po. And a thief second.» The little Asilliwir smiled broadly. «Thanks, Doogs. Thanks for the confidence.» Doogat grunted and hailed a happincabby. As a pair of bay horses pulling a small covered carriage trotted toward them, Po asked, «So—how long do you think it'll be? Me staying at your place.» «That,» said Doogat calmly, opening the carriage door for Po, «will depend on a great many things.» Part II: Shifttime Mythmaker, Mythmaker—the Revel's begun, Come speak the spell of Once Upon! Let all things familiar be struck away. The world's invited to a Prickster Play! Chapter Twelve In Piedmerri, on the morning following the Kaleidicopia's house meeting, Fasilla and Yafatah pulled away from the Asilliwir caravan camp, heading due east toward the land of Jinnjirri. Fasilla clucked to the pair of roan mares drawing their brightly painted wagon. Seeing a signpost just ahead, she said, «Read me the miles, child. Your eyes do be better than mine in this foggy dawn.» The fifteen-year-old girl did as she was bid. «One mile to the Jinnjirri landdraw border, Ma.» Yafatah's glance fell to the wooden pointer hanging neatly below the crooked Jinnjirri one. She shook her head dazedly. Fasilla caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. «Something wrong?» «No,» said Yafatah, pulling an orange blanket over her shoulders, «The sign for Speakinghast. It do remind me of something. That be all.» «A dream from last night?» Yafatah, who was angry with her mother for taking her to Jinnjirri, refused to discuss it. Her mind, however, would not leave her alone. Finally, Yafatah looked back over her shoulder, unable to read the mileage for Speakinghast from this direction. Even so, the number remained in her memory: two hundred ninety-seven. «How long would it take to get to Speakinghast?» asked Yafatah, hoping the question sounded idle. «Depends,» replied her mother, giving her a hard look. «Would you be travelling by horse—or by foot?» Yafatah glared at her mother. «I doon't be planning to run away!» «Who be saying you did?» There was an awkward silence between them. Fasilla reined the pair of roans to a stop. Yafatah huddled under the blanket farther, hating the fog, hating the early hour, and hating herself for having dreams that made people think she might be crazy. «Ma,» she said more loudly than she had intended, «I doon't want to talk about it. I asked about Speakinghast because I do be curious. Because I havena' ever been there. All right?» «No,» replied her mother, trying to keep her temper. «It be not all right, Ya. You do be rude to me since breakfast, and I willna' have it. I realize, you do be sick. But you must try to be better to me, Ya.» Fasilla's voice choked unexpectedly. «I love you, child. And—and you worry me.» Yafatah rolled her eyes under the blanket. «Then just leave me be, Ma. Doon't talk to me. Just drive.» Fasilla started to retort, then stopped herself. Her expression strained, she clucked again to the horses, heading for the worst Jinnjirri border of them alclass="underline" the famous northwest shift—Mab's nightmare. Yafatah shut her eyes under the blanket, her body rocking to the slow motion of the horses' gait. The wagon creaked as it rolled across muddy ruts and small potholes. The early morning fog swirled around them, and Yafatah shivered from the dampness. Shadowy forms from last night's sleep taunted her, their images remaining just out of reach. Except one. Trickster. Yafatah swore softly under her breath. Of course, she thought bitterly. Of course, you would be clear. You, stupid Greatkin Rimble. Yafatah bit her lower lip. It scared her that she was dreaming of Trickster. He was no good. No good at all. And it angered her that Rimble had appeared as old Jamilla in her dream. She loved Jammy. She would do almost anything for Jammy. Jammy was her friend. Not like Trickster. «I would even go to Speakinghast for Jammy,» she muttered. Yafatah shrugged under her blanket. The thought of running away to a big city like Speakinghast appealed greatly to her right now. She could be anyone in such a place. No one in Speakinghast would know about her bad dreams, either. No one in Speakinghast would think she was sick. Or crazy. Yafatah sighed, her eyes downcast. Maybe if she had been born in a country like Saambolin, her mother might understand her better. Maybe. And maybe not. This last was a singularly depressing thought, and Yafatah wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. «Why doon't you ever talk to me about me Pa?» she asked suddenly. Fasilla stiffened. Without looking at her daughter, she said tersely, «Because there be nothing to talk about, Ya. You were carnival-begat. He was wearing a mask. It was dark.» «So, I was a mistake,» Yafatah grumbled. «Now, Ya—we do go over this many times. You were noo mistake. You do be an accident, but that doesna' mean I love you less. In Tammirring, they have a name for what you be: a Crossroads Child.» Yafatah raised her head. Her mother had never told her this. Genuinely curious, Yafatah asked her mother to explain further. Fasilla shrugged. «I doon't speak Tammirring so well, but near as I can translate, it means you do be a gift from the Presence. Because you be carnival-begat. Protected, too, by the Greatkin.» «They doon't exist,» scoffed Yafatah. «They do. And mind your mouth lest one of them hears you.» «Oh, Ma,» she muttered, her voice disappointed. «You do be so superstitious. Just like Cass. She thinks old Jamilla can give me the evil eye.» Yafatah sighed. «Just because she be Mayanabi. And half-blind.» As this subject was a sore point between mother and daughter, Fasilla decided not to answer Yafatah. They would be at the door of the Jinnjirri healer in less than an hour. Let her handle Yafatah's strange allegiance to that old Mayanabi woman. Fasilla was certain Jamilla was at the root of Yafatah's illness. The Mayanabi were a crazy people, and some said their craziness was catching. The horses suddenly stopped, their hindquarters quivering. They refused to walk farther. Fasilla gave the reins to her daughter and jumped off the caravan wagon. Going around to the back, the Asilliwir woman unhooked a leather feedbag. It was filled