k at the «K's» front door—where they would no doubt run into half the house still drinking cocoa in the kitchen—Zendrak and Kel had decided to spend the night at a Saambolin inn on the outskirts of Speakinghast. At four bell-morn, the two Greatkin had finally fallen asleep in each other's arms, both too exhausted to consider the possibility of making love. At dawn, they made their way back to the city with Further's help, thus avoiding any questions by disgruntled Saambolin gate guards. Such as, «How did you leave the city without a proper pass?» Famished, the two Greatkin rummaged in Barlimo's well-stocked kitchen for lunch. Finding cheese, bread, wine, and apples, Kelandris washed the fruit while Zendrak cut the bread. As Kelandris handed Zendrak a clean plate, Mab entered the kitchen. «Give me one, too,» said the little Piedmerri, extending her hand to Kelandris. «I've got to eat and run. Classes, you know.» Mab was a straight-A student at Speakinghast University. Nineteen and plump, Mab was Piedmerri through and through. Naturally interested in children, she intended to teach elementary grades when she graduated. The billowing tunic she wore hid her ample bosom and lap. Plopping down beside Zendrak—who smiled at her—she eyed the sweet cheese under his knife. «Want some?» Mab beamed at him and held out her plate. «Bread?» asked Kelandris, handing her two slices. Mab grinned and began buttering them lavishly. «What a morning,» she said conversationally. «Everything that could've gone wrong did. And wasn't Rowen in a poor mood! He snapped at everybody in class this morning. Then I lost my term paper in the wind. Presence, it's cold! Anyway, after that all happened, the happincabby I hailed took me the long way around. Wasn't watching out the window. I've this test tomorrow so I was reading. Guess the stupid Saam driver thought I was from out of town or something. He charged me for his thievery. Couldn't talk him out of it. That was my book money, too,» she added with a woeful sigh. Zendrak grinned. Mab's fondness for penny romances was well known at the «K.» Offering Mab half an apple, he asked, «I assume you slept through all the excitement last night?» «Like a log. You know me, Zendrak. Nothing wakes me up. Well, except earthquakes and Jinnjirri arguing outside my door. That always wakes me up,» she added, rolling her eyes. «Left over from childhood, I guess. Raw nerves. Wish I weren't so weird.» «No one in this house is normal, Mab,» said Zendrak reassuringly. «The fact that you grew up in the northwest border of Jinnjirri—» «And survived it,» laughed Kelandris. «—is to your credit,» continued Zendrak, He referred to the fact that placid, stable Piedmerri liked the ground stationary under their wide feet. The northwest border of Jinnjirri was particularly earthquake-prone. After her birth in Piedmerri, Mab had spent the eighteen years of her life in this treacherous corner of the world. Both of her parents were Jinnjirri. They had been vacationing in Piedmerri when Mab's mother «caught.» Mab shrugged. «I suppose. Still, I wish I could've grown up in Piedmerri.» «What, and miss the opportunity of coming here?» said Zendrak. «What do you mean?» asked Mab, her mouth full of bread and cheese. «If you'd been raised in Piedmerri, you would've been too wholesome for the rest of us at the Kaleidicopia,» said Kelandris, pulling up a chair and sitting down in it. «I'd have thrown you out personally.» Mab scowled at the tall Greatkin. «Considering I got here before you did, Kel, I'd have had seniority over anything you wanted—» Kelandris stiffened, clearly ready to argue the point. Zendrak put up his hands in a placating gesture. «Dear ones—please. Can we eat in peace?» So they did. As each person was finishing his or her last bite, Kelandris suddenly jumped to her feet, her eyes wide with fear. Holding her hands open in front of her, she shut her green eyes and reached with her Tammirring-born senses to find what threatened her. Zendrak watched his sister with interest. «What's wrong, Kel?» he said softly. «I don't know. Something. I've felt it before. Reminds me of Suxonli.» Kelandris backed up, her hands pressing against both ears. «Something's outside the house, Zendrak. I can hear it breathing.» Before Kelandris could stop Zendrak, he was on his feet, running to the front door of the Kaleidicopia. Kelandris called after him to stop. He ignored her pleas. Stepping outside the large house, Zendrak was the first of Rimble's Nine to be stung by one of Elder Hennin's poisoned holovespa wasps. Zendrak flung the wasp away with anger in much the same way Aunt had done. Zendrak was Rimble's own child—the son of the Old Yellow Jacket himself—so he expected no ill effects from the wasp. Still, it perplexed him why he had been stung. Walking over to where he had cast the wasp, he was amazed to find it still alive. Although he hadn't meant to throw the wasp away from him with such force, the surprise of the sting had caused him to react without thinking. Kneeling by the yellow jacket, he spoke to the wasp in its own tongue, apologizing for hitting it. The wasp responded by hurling itself at Zendrak for another go at him. This time Zendrak was ready for the wasp. Using the brunt of his coat arm, he smacked the wasp against the front entrance to the Kaleidicopia. Its guts exploded on the fuchsia-colored door. The wasp died promptly. Zendrak scraped the insect off the door and crushed the remains under his green boot. «Why did you do that?» asked Kelandris, horrified to see him kill one of the symbolic representatives of Trickster. In Suxonli all wasps and hornets were revered as message bearers from Rimble and therefore from the Presence. Zendrak shook his head. «I'm not sure.» «What do you mean?» asked Mab nervously, standing on the doorsill behind Zendrak. «I'm not sure,» he repeated, touching the part of his neck where the wasp had stung him. «It was drunk,» he added. «Drunk?» said Kelandris. «Drunk. It sounded drunk. I spoke to it. Something—oh, I don't know. It probably means nothing. Why bother going on about it?» he added angrily, and started back into the house. Kelandris frowned. As she turned to follow him, the holovespa wasp meant for her flew toward her with unusual speed. Before it could reach her, however, a lone univer-'silsila wasp intercepted it. Both wasps stung each other to death. Seeing this, Kelandris pushed Mab inside the safety of the Kaleidicopia and slammed the door. «You don't have to be so rough—» began Mab plaintively. «Shut up, Mab,» snapped Kelandris. Before the little Piedmerri could retort, Kelandris left the hallway in search of Zendrak. Kelandris found him in their bedroom. He was dying. Panthe'kinarok Interlogue Greatkin Phebene took off her garland of green roses and threw it like a weapon at Greatkin Mattermat, who sat across the table from her at the Panthe'kinarok. He was munching complacently on a breadstick. The garland, briars and all, hit Mattermat square on the forehead and made him bleed. Mattermat was so surprised by this act of hostility from his sweet and gentle sister that he was speechless. So was everyone else at that table. «What was that for?» asked Jinndaven in a whisper to Phebene. Phebene answered Jinndaven shrilly, her voice audible to all. «He's killing Zendrak! The bastard is killing Zendrak! I'll have you to know, Mattie, the love interest in the story is my department! You're on shaky ground, buster! Make no mistake about it!» Mattermat chuckled, using the half-eaten breadstick in his right hand like a pointer from a classroom as he spoke to Phebene. «I can't possibly be on shaky ground, Pehbene. I am the ground, and I'm not shaking.» «Well, you will be!» countered the Greatkin of Tender Trysts and Great Loves. «You will be! You think Rimble is a handful when he's mad? You haven't seen anything until you've seen the agony of love denied. It can move mountains—without your permission!» added Phebene furiously. Mattermat yawned and continued eating his breadstick. Phebene turned to Jinndaven. «Where are Troth and Rimble?» «In the kitchen. Or in Milwaukee. Maybe both.» «See you,» she said, standing up. «Where are you going?» «To find the Greatkin of the impossible possibility: Rimble. After that, I'll visit Neath. Troth and me go back a long ways. I'll fix you, Mattermat, I will!» Before Phebene could dematerialize, however, Greatkin Themyth interrupted, her voice commanding. «Phebene! Come to my side this instant!» Hearing this, Mattermat began to laugh. «She'll tie your hands for sure, Phebes. Civilization always does when it comes to love.» «Rimble is the Patron of Exceptions. And he's Zendrak's father. So I've nothing to worry about,» snapped Phebene, leaving her seat and going to stand beside Themyth. The Greatkin of Civilization motioned Phebene to come closer. Phebene did so. Whispering in her right ear, Themyth grinned and said, «Whatever Rimble decides—count me in. Oh, and take Jinndaven with you, hmmm? He could use the exercise.» And this was how Love and Imagination came to Milwaukee in the 1980s. *14* Trickster and the Obstinate Woman were still at the Downer Cafe when Jinndaven and Phebene arrived. At present, Rimble was doing his best to reassure the restaurant manager that he'd only been trying to illustrate a point by ordering Benedict Oscar in the middle of the afternoon. So far, the manager remained unconvinced. The fellow was just on the verge of asking Rimble to leave the cafe when Phebene sidled up to the manager and reminded the poor man that he had forgotten to buy his wife an anniversary present. In actual fact, the manager's anniversary wasn't until next week, but momentary confusion had its uses. The thin little man's face turned ashen. Without further comment to Trickster—who looked visibly relieved—the cafe manager hurried away, intending to use the office phone downstairs. Grinning at Love and Imagination, Trickster said, «Just in the nick of time, kiddos. Just in the nick of time. These third-generation types have no sense of humor. I prefer the natives.» «Now you're really in trouble, Rimble,» said the Obstinate Woman. «You think anybody's going to want to read about you when you say things like that? Milwaukee is a very fine, old city. Lots of third-generation folks settled around this lake. You better apologize.» Trickster rolled his eyes. «Okay, so like I'm sorrrry. Okay?» The Obstinate Woman took a deep breath of exasperation. Turning now to the two Greatkin standing on either side of Rimble, she asked, «Who are these people?» «Phebene and Jinndaven.» Rimble wagged a finger in the face of the Obstinate Woman. «You should know that. You wrote about them—» «Where's her garland? And where are his silver slippers?» «I threw my garland in Mattermat's face and Jinn lost his slippers in the Everywhen,» replied Phebene. «We thought we'd try for something a little more contemporary,» she added, pointing to her wide-brimmed pink hat and the Birkenstock sandals on Jinndaven's feet. «Sorry we made it hard for you to recognize us.» Rimble interrupted her. «You threw your garland in Mattie's face?» Trickster cackled with glee. «Oooh, I would've liked to see that.» «It was a good throw,» reported Jinndaven. «Hit him square in the forehead.» The Obstinate Woman groaned. «Oh, great. Can't wait 'til that translates here. I can just imagine what the New Age community will do with it. Probably package 'Third-eye Busters.'» Jinndaven considered the possibility. «She may be right.» «I wish you guys would be more careful at that dinner of yours,» the Obstinate Woman complained. «Mortals have it tough enough as it is.» Phebene winced. «We'll try, dear.» Rimble scanned the tables around the cafe. All of them were full with talkative and fashionable East Siders. «Can't sit here. This table's for two. Let's pay the bill before the manager remembers I'm still here, shall we? We can all go back to her house,» he added, nodding at the Obstinate Woman. «We can?» she asked, trying not to imagine what might happen if she took them into the boarding house where she lived. Like the Kaleidicopia, her home was a trifle on the peculiar side. Many of the members of the household belonged to the Society for Creative Anachronism. They often wore swords and capes. What would the three Greatkin think? What if the Greatkin thought the swords were real? Somebody could get seriously misunderstood, if not hurt. Reading her mind, Jinndaven nodded. «Anything's possible with Rimble here. Anything at all.» Thinking quickly, the Obstinate Woman suggested they visit Lake Michigan instead. «We can sit on the rocks and bake,» she added. «Bake?» asked Phebene. «Why would we want to do that?» Rimble's eyes widened. «My roast!» he yelled. Before anyone could stop him, Rimble returned to Eranossa's kitchen to salvage his forgotten entree for the Panthe'kinarok. Phebene bit her lower lip. «I didn't even have time to tell him his son was dying.» «I think he knows,» said Jinndaven. «The kitchen's full of real smoke this time,» he added, pointing to the gray clouds now billowing out of the kitchen at the Downer Cafe. Restaurant personnel hurried their customers into the street. Fire engines screamed as they approached the burning building. The Obstinate Woman regarded Phebene and Jinndaven earnestly. «Zendrak is going to live, isn't he? I mean, what about Kelandris? She'll go after Hennin if he dies. And then where will you be? A story without a love interest will get shelved, guys. Love is 'in' in New York.» Phebene nodded, watching smoke pour out of the Downer Cafe. «Time to visit Neath, Jinn. Come on.» «Good luck,» said the Obstinate Woman. «Let me know what happens, will you? Otherwise, I won't know what to put in the sequel.» Jinndaven smiled raggedly and shivered. «Won't be much, I can assure you. Neath chills me.» Turning to Phebene, Jinndaven added, «Why Themyth thought I should accompany you is beyond my understanding. That Rimble. This is all his fault. When we get back—» Jinndaven's monologue broke off as he and Phebene dematerialized in broad daylight in Milwaukee. A jogger in pink running shoes, a pair of shorts that barely covered her, and a T-shirt with the words «Udderly Cool» strategically placed over her breasts, shrieked. And fainted. People said it must've been the ninety-four-degree heat. The Obstinate Woman knew better. *15* Poisoned by Elder Hennin's holovespa, Zendrak rapidly slipped into physical and emotional shock. Of the two, the latter was the worse. Zendrak had been alive for more than five hundred years, his Soaringsea landdraw and Greatkin inheritance blessing him with an unusually long life span. It was the Mythrrim in him, however, that made him mortal enough to die. Even though he knew he was mortal, the reality of this fact had never before confronted him with such finality. Zendrak swallowed thickly, his breathing irregular. He tried to smile at Kelandris, who was seated near him, her expression one of growing horror. Zendrak shut his dark eyes. A wave of despair hit him. And again. «All for nothing,» he whispered. «What?» Zendrak tried to speak again but found the effort too taxing. He closed his lips and attempted to reach Rimble with his mind. He was met with silence. Zendrak tried again. Rimble still failed to respond. Feeling angry and abandoned, Zendrak's despair deepened. Reflecting on his life, he felt dissatisfied with it. He had worked for Trickster for five centuries, acting the role of Rimble's emissary, subordinating his personal needs so that he might better serve the world of Mnemlith. Zendrak opened his eyes with difficulty, his gaze resting on Kel's unveiled and anxious face. Seeing Zendrak looking at her, she reached over and stroked his black hair. Tears sprang to her eyes. In silence she took Zendrak's hand and clasped it to her heart. Zendrak felt a devastating pain in his own heart, her feelings reflected in his. «Elder Hennin,» he whispered. «I'll kill her.» «Get the Mayanabi to help you. Don't try it alone. Clear?» Kelandris nodded. Zendrak swallowed with difficulty. His body felt bloated and distant. «Ask Po. Contact Himayat. Depend on Po, okay?» «Okay.» Zendrak stopped speaking. His feet felt as though they were asleep. He stared at the ceiling. I'm dying, he thought. Rage at his fate burned in his throat. He grit his teeth, trying to hold on to life. The poison claimed more and more of his body with each passing moment. Turning his head so he could look at Kelandris one last time, he whispered, «You know I love you, don't you?» Kelandris nodded, tears streaming from her eyes. A sob escaped her. «How can this be? How can you be dying?» «Mattermat,» replied Zendrak. «He's winning.» Kelandris made a fi