favorite dark tea, Doogat made introductions. Hearing the name «Yafatah of Suxonli,» Tree shrieked. His hair lost all pretense of balance, pale green shifting to stark white. Janusin stared at Tree, toothless Old Jamilla, and Doogat. «An explanation would be nice,» said the sculptor to the Mayanabi Master, his expression bewildered. «I'll say,» said Tree warmly. «A nice, cozy explana—» Old Jamilla smiled at this point. Tousling Tree's hair, she interrupted gleefully, saying, «Too many explanations make you stiff, boyo—like wood.» Tree jerked his head away from Trickster, his eyes angry. Doogat gave Trickster a look of disapproval—which Trickster ignored—and answered Janusin by saying, «Seems Tree and Rowen spent part of the day with someone else from Suxonli. Kelandris. The same woman who knifed Po.» Old Jamilla inclined her head, her expression sly. Doogat watched to see what Trickster was going to do. When the old crone continued to drink her tea complacently, Doogat wondered if maybe he had misread the look on Trickster's face. Perhaps Trickster wasn't always up to something. Janusin put his hands on his hips. «Seems everybody in this house has met up with this woman in black—except me! Even Mab's aware of her. Did I miss something?» «I haven't met her,» retorted Timmer from the floor of the commons room. The Dunnsung was busy transposing music on a sheet of brilliant white paper. Humming a few bars to herself and making inky notes with a feather pen, she yelled, «Maybe this Tammirring Terror is Po's soulmate in disguise. Knifing Po was just her way of getting close. Tammi fashion.» Yafatah, who had been listening in silence until now, left the group and walked into Timmer's view. «She do be no terror,» said the girl. «She do be a very sad lady. And I'll thank you not to slur me draw,» added Yafatah indignantly. «Excuse me,» replied Timmer in her haughtiest voice. «And just who are you, anyway?» «Me name be Yafatah. Master Doogat says I will be living here—with me ma, of course.» «Live here!» said Timmer, spoiling the notation she was making. Swearing first at her own clumsiness and then at Doogat's meddling, Timmer got to her feet. She brandished her feather pen like a sword and stormed into the kitchen. «I demand a house meeting. Everyone's here except Rowen, and Barlimo. That's a quorum. And you,» she said pointing the wet pen at Doogat, «will be first on my shit-list!» «I beg your pardon?» said Doogat cooly. Timmer advanced on the Mayanabi Master, her eyes blazing. «You don't live in this house, Doogat—we do! You're Po's teacher, and that's as far as your influence goes here at the 'K.' We accept new members by vote—our vote—and nobody's voted on this little Tammi brat! Or her mother! Do I make myself clear?» «Perfectly,» said Doogat. Trickster started laughing. His mouth was toothless, his guffaws loud, and his pied-eyes wild. Everything about Trickster was an exaggeration, even his humor. Doogat took a deep breath. «Perhaps this would be a good time to tell them, Jammy,» he said to the amused Greatkin. «Tell us what?» asked Po, entering the kitchen. He had been listening to Timmer's tirade from inside his first floor bedroom. He thought Timmer had done an admirable job of taking Doogat down. Smiling, the little Asilliwir took a seat at the kitchen table. Yafatah, who had returned to the kitchen, was standing behind Po's chair. She sniffed the air uncomfortably. «Doon't you bathe?» she asked. Po shrugged. «I'm Asilliwir. We're used to going for long periods of unwash. Caravan life,» he added grandly, expecting Yafatah to know nothing about any of it. Yafatah snorted. «I be kin to Clan Abbiri. We do be one of the oldest caravans in all Asilliwir. And we wash!» Po's face turned as scarlet as his dirty tunic. All of Po's housemates burst out laughing. Timmer regarded Yafatah with grudging interest. «Well, maybe I was too hasty,» she admitted. Then the Dunnsung added, «But can she pay her rent, Doogat?» The Mayanabi took a deep breath. «It doesn't matter if she can or not, Timmer—» «It certainly does,» retorted Janusin. Doogat regarded the sculptor kindly. «No, it doesn't.» Doogat waited to see if anyone else wished to contradict him. Everyone remained silent. Everyone except Old Jamilla. Picking up one of the invitations to the Kaleidicopia's Trickster's Hallows that lay in a neat stack in the center of the kitchen table, Trickster began humming an odd little tune. It got on the nerves of everyone present with the single exception of Yafatah. Janusin grabbed the invitation out of Trickster's gnarled hand, slapping the beautifully calligraphied paper back on top of the pile. Trickster immediately reached for it again. Janusin moved the pile. «Stop snooping,» said the sculptor with irritation. Trickster beamed at him. «It's my nature.» «Well—curb it, will you?» snapped Janusin. The invitations were his contribution to the Hallows. They had been expensive, and he didn't want unnecessary fingerprints all over them. The sculptor crossed his powerful arms over his chest, glaring at the short little crone. Doogat cleared his throat loudly. «Mind if I steal back center stage?» he asked Trickster. «I mean, I was saying something of importance here.» Trickster batted her eyes at Doogat. «Do continue.» Doogat gave Trickster a weary look and turned to Timmer. «Yafatah doesn't need to pay rent. She and her mother will be here as my guests.» Timmer wagged a finger at Doogat. «You can't have guests, Doogat. Only house members can have guests. You act like you own the 'K'!» she added with disgust. «I do.» There was a stunned silence. At that moment Barlimo walked into the kitchen, a bag of groceries in her arms. Heads turned immediately to Barlimo. Everyone present begged her to refute Doogat's statement. The Jinnjirri shrugged. «Sorry, loves. It's true. The Kaleidicopia belongs to Doogat. I'm simply the architect.» Chuckling at their disappointed faces, Barlimo added, «Oh, come on, my friends. Did you really think I ran this place out of my own pocket? The Kaleidicopia takes up half a city block—in the nicest section of the Jinnjirri Quarter. Even an architect's salary needs supplementing under conditions like these. And Doogat's been that supplement. So before any of you go pulling any more long faces, those of you behind in rent can thank him for his charity of heart.» Nobody said anything. «Such a well mannered lot,» remarked Old Jamilla drily. «Yeah,» said Doogat. «They remind me of you.» Old Jamilla made a rude sound with her lips and stared distantly out of the kitchen window. Then she said, «Rowen's on his way back.» «I don't see anything,» said Barlimo, craning her neck to put herself in Old Jamilla's line of vision. «Perhaps I was mistaken,» said Trickster, turning to look at the closed kitchen door. «Everyone here is so uncommonly contrary, it's difficult to tell you apart.» Now Mab walked slowly into the kitchen. Her slippered feet made no noise on the tile floor. She was wearing a pink bathrobe and looked sleepy. Tree regarded her worriedly. Mab smiled and patted his hand. «I'm much better than I was,» she whispered. «Started feeling more myself about two hours ago. Around noon.» Tree frowned, a strange thought popping into his mind. Noon was just about the time that Rowen's class had entered the labyrinth of the Great Maze. Well, that was ridiculous—connecting the two events. The front door of the house opened and slammed shut. As predicted, the professor had returned home. Seeing strange capes hanging on the pegs in the hallway, Rowen headed for the kitchen, his expression dour. He was more than a little relieved to see Doogat. «I have to talk to you,» said Rowen in a low voice that only Doogat could hear. «I witnessed something very strange this afternoon.» «After dinner, Rowen,» said Doogat. «I think this is a house meeting.» Rowenaster scanned all the faces. «So it is,» he said grumpily. «I should've known I'd get no peace of mind here. And all I've been thinking about for the past hour is a hot tub for these poor bones.» He sighed mournfully. Timmer rolled her eyes. «He's trying to get out of the house meeting.» «Please?» asked Rowen, pouring on his old-man waifish charm. «Take a vote,» announced Timmer. Then, turning to Doogat, she added nastily, «Or don't we get to vote anymore, Master Doogat?» Doogat shrugged. «Go ahead and vote.» So they did, and Rowenaster was given permission to bathe unanimously. As the old man stumped out of the room, Yafatah said, «What be his name?» .Barlimo clucked her tongue at herself. «Heavens, child—I forgot you hadn't been introduced. We'll do the honors at dinner. That's at eight sharp,» she added to Yafatah and Old Jamilla. «Can't stay—though thank you very much for the invitation,» said Trickster smiling at Barlimo. Then, making an unexpected departure, Trickster bowed to Doogat, and left via the back door. No one noticed that the invitations to the Hallows also left with the pied-eyed crone. She had stolen them during the testy vote over Rowen's attendance at the house meeting. Whistling between her gums, Trickster saluted a pair of particularly lovely looking autumn trees. The leaves rustled as the wind gusted suddenly. Now laughing with maniacal glee, Trickster threw Janusin's careful invitations into the air—literally scattering them to the four winds. Papers fluttered far and wide as Trickster personally selected those who'd attend the Hallows at the 'K.' Then Trickster began to turn. The clothes of Old Jamilla blurred and fell to the ground. They were empty. Down the street, a whirlwind of leaves pirouetted. Now they blew high into the air, joining the dance of black and yellow invitations as they drifted to each guest on Trickster's elite list. One invitation dropped so suddenly out of nowhere that it scared a bay gelding pulling a happincabby as he clopped rapidly through the city streets. The bay reacted by shying, nearly upsetting the happincabby. As it was, the gelding's Saambolin driver had to scramble to stay on the carriage. When the driver had recovered the reins, he noticed one of the wheels of the happincabby was loose. He pulled his horses to a stop. The Jinnjirri passenger inside the cab stuck his head out. «What's the problem?» The driver hopped to the ground, flinging Trickster's invitation through the open window. «Somebody's litter scared my horse,» he muttered as he jumped off the cabby and investigated the wheel. The Jinnjirri inside read the invitation carefully. He reread the invitation twice more, feeling more and more agitated as he did so. He knew this feeling. It was an aching in the heart. It was a calling that demanded an answer sooner or later. He had felt it in Suxonli—sixteen years ago when his sister was turning for the Hive as Rimble's Revel Queen. He had been too drugged out on holovespa and too high on the adrenaline rush of rape to respond that time. But this time, he thought, a slow, smug smile spreading over his lips, this time he'd be there. Oh, yes indeed. Cobeth folded Trickster's invitation neatly and put it in his pocket. Chapter Thirty-Six Fasilla lost her temper with Aunt. If the Jinnjirri healer wasn't going to help her find Yafatah, then she had no more time to waste talking to her. Fasilla got up from her bed inside the red and blue caravan wagon and started for the door. Aunt started swearing at her, the Jinnjirri's long hair turning four shades of crimson. Fasilla turned around, her eyes furious and hurt. «Aunt—we do be friends for many years. Doon't let's spoil it. I must go and find me child. This do be a fierce large city. There do be all kinds of people here. Some of them be good. And some of them be bad.» «Yes,» agreed Aunt getting to her feet. «But why do you automatically assume your very careful, very smart daughter is going to run into the bad ones? Trust the child, Fas. You can't keep her tied to you like some kind of animal. She must be free to explore. She must be free to make mistakes—» «No!» cried Fasilla, her expression wild. «No, Aunt. She doon't have to be free to make mistakes! You do be very wrong! Very!» Aunt's eyes narrowed. «What's wrong, Fas?» she asked, her voice suddenly calm as she dropped into a healer's light trance. Her hair shifted to obvious opalescent white. «Doon't you be trying to doctor me, Aunt. I be in no mood for all your Mayanabi tricks,» Fasilla added, all her previous prejudice returning. «You doon't have a child of your own—» «I have Burni,» snapped Aunt. «And any number of other children who come to learn from me. Giving birth to a child is a wonderful thing to do, Fas—» Fasilla started laughing at Aunt, her expression bitter. «Yes, when the child is expected. Or wanted.» Fasilla's voice caught. «It took me months to want Yafatah. Months. She doesn't know this and I don't ever want her to find out. You understand?» Aunt hesitated. «Do I need to remind you how sensitive Yafatah is? She's a Tammi, Fas. You can't hide things like this from a Tammi.» Fasilla started to retort then slumped against the wall. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she cried without sound. Aunt considered holding Fasilla in her arms, but decided against it. She suspected Fasilla was very close to telling her about the night in Suxonli. Such memories had to find their own way to the surface. All Aunt could do was be there when Fasilla gasped for air. Aunt sat on the bed again, trying to give Fasilla both physical and psychic room in which to speak freely. She wished Doogat had told her sooner about Fasilla's rape. Until three weeks ago, she had not known of Fasilla's participation in the Trickster's Hallows at Suxonli. Aunt watched Fasilla cry, her expression compassionate. What a terrible night that was, she thought, remembering the condition of Kelandris when Aunt had arrived at the Springs to take care of her wounds. Aunt grimaced. Fasilla wiped the tears off her face with the sleeve of her yellow tunic. Looking at Aunt sideways, she said, «I hate the Tammi, Aunt. I hate them.» She swallowed. «I—I know that do sound fierce bad. Like you said, Yafatah be Tammirring born.» She paused, flinching from her feelings, her back flat against the wall, her eyes shut tight. «You see—something happ—happened the night I—» she broke off, unable to say the word «conceived.» She shook her head, her breathing ragged. «It be hard to love a child given in rape. And Ya was such a child.» Aunt said nothing, her expression sad. Fasilla swallowed. «I did love Ya in time, of course. After I left Suxonli.» She paused. «The villagers didna' agree that I had been raped, you see. One of the elders—her name was Hennin—told me over and over that I'd come to the Hallows of me own free will. So there be noo one to blame but meself. After all, Rimble be the Greatkin of Deviance and deviance, she said, isna tame. If Trickster saw fit to have his way with me, then it do be an honor,» added Fasilla in a dull, pained voice. «Elder Hennin said that?» asked Aunt with dismay. Fasilla shut her eyes, rocking on her knees. «Over and over, Aunt. Seemed like every day.» Fasilla clenched her fists. «I wanted to leave that cursed place—that Suxonli. But I couldna' do so.» «Why?» asked Aunt. Fasilla's shoulders sagged. «Every time I started to cross them wretched Feyborne Mountains, I began to bleed. I didna' wish to kill the child—» «You were trying to cross the border?» Fasilla opened her eyes abruptly. «Of course not, Aunt. I told you, I didna'