t messages to the Obstinate Woman in Milwaukee trying to convince her to tell Rimble he needed to return home as soon as possible. The Obstinate Woman had finally succeeded down by the shores of Lake Michigan. Rimble made his first appearance in Mnemlith at the crossroads outside Suxonli moments after Themyth appeared there. Sleek and happy himself, Rimble stared open-mouthed at the Greatkin of Civilization. He had expected Themyth to react negatively to his disappearance, but he had never expected her to waste away. «Themyth,» he said softly, «why didn't you tell me this was so hard on you?» The Greatkin of Civilization shrugged. «You needed to leave. Why should I stop you from doing that? You're an independent sort, Rimble. Always have been. From the moment you freed us all from Great Being, that's been your nature. Your freedom is your being. I understand this and would never cage you here.» Rimble swallowed. He felt awful—for once. He put his hands out and touched Themyth gently on the cheeks. «You're so very dear to me. More than any of the others, you matter most to me,» he said with uncharacteristic affection. «I would've returned for your sake. Always.» Kelandris, who was standing nearby with Zendrak, raised an eyebrow. She leaned toward her brother and whispered, «Seems the Distant Place has softened his heart a bit.» «Yes,» agreed Zendrak. «How unexpected. Somehow I never figured Dad for a paragon of compassion. Suppose it's a trick?» Kelandris shook her head. «Feels to me like he's really upset about Themyth's health. I think he really loves her.» «Phebene is getting through to Dad, after all.» «Yeah.» Rimble put his arm around Themyth. He guided her away from their children, measuring his quick step to Themyth's labored ones. Out of hearing of Zendrak and Kelandris, Rimble said, «You want to make love?» Themyth shook her head. «You always make me pregnant.» «I don't have to make you pregnant.» «No tricks?» «No tricks.» Themyth smiled slightly. Rimble grinned. «I saw that. I saw that smile there, girlie.» Themyth started laughing. As she did so, she lost years off her apparent age. Her eyes twinkled as she thought of the happy prospect of bedding Trickster. «Remember that position where you hang from the ceiling and I—» Trickster shrieked with giggles. Kelandris looked at Zendrak. «What do you suppose they're talking about?» she asked. Zendrak kissed her playfully on the mouth. *26* While Rimble and Themyth made love, the world of Mnemlith was transformed. Civilization prospered—albeit eccentrically—and Rimble's Nine found their footing again. Rowenaster, who had always been independently wealthy (and quite tenured), bought a house in the Asilliwir section of Speakinghast and invited the rest of the Kaleidicopians to come and live there. Friends with some of the most powerful and influential merchants in the city, Rowenaster was able to buy the house for practically nothing. Located on Bazaar Street, the house was symmetrical and not quite as large as the Kaleidicopia. Made of old brownstone, it was studded with stained glass and marble archways. The house had a central courtyard and was surrounded by a walled garden that had been meticulously cared for by its previous tenants. Here was a place of great privacy. The Asilliwir merchants who prospered on this well-to-do street allowed the Guild little interference in their lives. Many of these merchants were the ones who kept the Guild solvent. Rowen knew it. And so did Gadorian. Guildmaster Gadorian stared moodily into his coddled egg which nestled inside a floral porcelain container on the kitchen table. Master Curator Sirrefene bustled about squeezing oranges on the counter and browning toast on a rack over the open fire in the kitchen hearth in their Saambolin residence. Seeing Gadorian's expression, she said, «Cheer up, love. The Asilliwir will keep the Kaleidicopians in line—more or less.» «It's the less I'm worried about.» «Well, at least the house on Bazaar Street is attractive.» «True.» Gadorian groaned. «What's wrong with Rowenaster? Why does he insist on living with those people?» «Maybe he likes them.» Gadorian rolled his eyes. Sirrefene put a glass of fresh juice on the table next to her husband's dark-skinned hand. «You know, Gad—the Kaleidicopian's got rid of that gray thing. Akindo, I think they called it. No one at the 'K' wanted it in the city any more than you did.» Gadorian pursed his lips. «There were reports of a Mythrrim in the sky, Sirrey. And these reports all originated inside that house. Those people are rumormongers. They're dissidents. They make havoc of city rules. They should be kicked out of Speakinghast altogether. And there's a new mood, Sirrey. Have you felt it? All in the last week or so. Members of the Saambolin Guild are saying we're looking at a more relaxed time now in the city. They're even considering starting a scholarship fund for artists over at the university. They're going to pay the Jinn to go to school!» Sirrefene smiled. «Maybe our time in the city is past, Gad. Maybe there's a new age acoming. If so, we'll have to make room for it, won't we, my love?» Gadorian grunted. In the north, Kelandris and Zendrak began the long process of straightening out the distortions they found in the rituals the Mayanabi had given to Suxonli Village centuries ago. It seemed that the person who had done the original telling of the Mythrrim for Greatkin Rimble had added a few things of his own to the storytelling. Since Rimble was such an eccentric Greatkin, it had been difficult to even see the distortions, much less correct them in the original. Needless to say, the old guard in Suxonli—all those who had been loyal to Hennin—complained bitterly of the changes Zendrak and Kelandris brought to their village. When they also discovered that Kelandris was indeed the same person they had judged akindo sixteen years ago, there were midnight meetings and talk of enacting the Ritual of Akindo a second time. When Zendrak found out about these meetings, he laughed. Calling the entire village together, he informed them that he was Trickster's son and emissary. Pointing to Kelandris, he told them she was Trickster's daughter. «In other words, folks, you're looking at a direct line of transmission. Greatkin to Greatkin. You want to twist my father's rituals into something unrecognizable? Fine, but you do it on your own time. And you do it far from Suxonli. Centuries ago, Suxonli was a sacred spot—so designated by the Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea. You will keep Trickster's Hallows exactly as they are handed down to you, or you will leave.» Zendrak paused while the villagers muttered among themselves. Hennin's best friend, Village Elder Rigga, spoke harshly. «Rituals change over time. Stories are embellished. Accounts are changed to suit the needs of the people. If Greatkin Rimble were here, I'm sure he wouldn't impose rules on his followers. He's the breaker of rules, not the maker of them. You've been living in Saambolin too long. We don't like your attitude. And we're not going to accept it.» Zendrak smiled. Turning to Rimble, who presently sat at his feet in the guise of a pied-eyed brindle dog named Pi, Zendrak said, «Your turn, Father. They don't think I'm representing your wishes.» Trickster grinned, pulling his lips back over his teeth. Standing up, Trickster changed form. He appeared to the villagers of Suxonli as a middle-aged skateboarding punk. Chewing a large wad of gum, Rimble blew a pink bubble. It popped. The sound of it was deafening. People put their hands to their heads. A few cried out in pain. Rimble watched their discomfort with a glacial expression. When the noise and complaining in the village council room had died down, Rimble said, «Now that I've got your attention, I have this to say: This village isn't special in the least to me. It's only a physical place, folks. If you had kept my Hallows intact and not read into them what you wanted to see, then this place would've been special. As it is, I could blow it off the face of the world and not miss it one whit.» Trickster let his words sink in. «And I may yet do that. Themyth and I are discussing your fate, you see. She's your champion. Not me. Personally, I don't think you deserve to be given a second chance with my Mythrrim. You've proved yourselves grossly incompetent as it is. I gave you my daughter, and you tried to kill her? And now you'd run my son out of town? You know what that says to me? Says you're blind, deaf, and stupid.» Rimble's eyes blazed as he warmed to the task of telling Suxonli what he thought of them. «Either you accept Zendrak and Kel's rule, or you get out. Now.» There was a short pause. During the silence, Rimble went up to several people in the front row. «You leave. And you. You, too.» «But I—» began one of them. Rimble slapped the woman on the face. «You think I can't read your mind, lady? You think I can't read your ugly thoughts? They're like a quadraphonic stereo blaring in my ears!» «A what?» asked the man next to the unfortunate woman. Of course, no one in Suxonli had ever heard of a stereo, much less a quadraphonic one. Greatkin Rimble ignored the question. Pushing through the chairs, he told several more people to leave. When they hesitated, he began to blow at them. They lifted into the air and slammed against the back of the council room. Those who shared these people's opinion of Zendrak and Kelandris got to their feet hastily and ran from the room. They didn't want to wait until Trickster read their thoughts as well. Only a handful of people were left in the room—approximately twelve, some of them teenagers over the age of seventeen. Trickster put his hands on his hips. Looking down at one young girl, he said, «You want to turn for me this autumn at the revel?» The girl blushed, and nodded vigorously. Looking at Himayat, who was still in Suxonli with Po, Trickster said, «You train her, will you?» Himayat nodded, and bowed slightly to Trickster. «Po?» said Trickster. «You've got a choice. You can either stay up here and keep this village in order, or you can come back to Speakinghast and keep order there.» Po peered at Rimble. «You sure you're talking to me?» «Yeah. Why?» «Keeping order isn't my favorite thing—» «Well, bud,» interrupted Trickster, «it's your favorite thing now.» Trickster bowed to the little thief. As the Greatkin did so, he clunked Po on the forehead with his own head. Po staggered backward, swearing. When the little thief had gotten his balance back, he said, «What the fuck did you just do, Rimble?» Trickster cackled. «Change or be changed, asshole.» Po winced. He felt like taking a bath. When he realized this, he panicked. Until now, it had been against Po's principles to bathe more than once every two weeks. «So?» asked Zendrak. «Staying. Or going home?» Po rubbed his forehead gingerly where Trickster had hit it. Po shrugged. «Yafatah needs me.» Zendrak raised an eyebrow. «Commitment? Responsibility? Consideration? All in one clunk on the head?» Zendrak turned to Trickster. «We should all be clobbered on the head by you, Dad. What a time-saver.» «Okay,» said Rimble, speaking to the few who remained in Suxonli. «Kelandris, Himayat, and Zendrak will remain here to guide you.» He waved good-bye to his children, who both bowed to him. Grabbing Po by the back of the neck, Rimble and Po disappeared into thin air. Kelandris and Zendrak burst into laughter. When Rimble had grabbed Po, the little thief's expression was one of sheer contrariness. Grinning, Kelandris said to Zendrak and Himayat, «What an evenly matched pair those two make.» *27* On the way to Speakinghast, Rimble dropped by the Feyborne Mountains—literally. The punk Greatkin and Po appeared on a snowbound, craggy mountain ridge. Blowing on the snow as he had done to the recalcitrant villagers in Suxonli, Rimble cleared away the snow in a matter of seconds. There, under the snow, were the winterbloom. They were alive and growing. Rimble slapped his thigh. «See? An idea whose time has come.» Looking heavenward, Trickster yelled, «Take that, Mattie. I won. Na-na-na-na-na,» he added, doing a little jig in the snow. Without warning an avalanche started in the peaks above them. Rimble's eyes widened. Grabbing Po's hand, he said, «He's got a bad temper, that Mattie. Come on, before he buries us in this muck!» Po and Rimble disappeared from view again. When they reappeared, they were in Speakinghast just outside the new residence of Rowenaster and the rest of Rimble's Nine. Po stared at the immaculate, pale yellow door. He peered at the sparkling clean windows and the tidy front walk. «It's even got matching drapes,» said Po, his voice incredulous. «Just your style,» Trickster said. «Remember?» «Oh, yeah. I'm supposed to like this sort of thing now.» Funny thing was, in Po's heart of hearts, he found that he did like the clean appearance of the place. Had he felt this way all along? The little thief wasn't sure. Nothing was as it seemed. «Welcome to Jinnaeon,» said Rimble gaily. «Nothing is as it was. Not even you, kiddo.» Po grumbled under his breath. Catching sight of smoke issuing from a neat, brownstone chimney on the slate-blue roof, Po said, «Does this place have a name?» «Yeah,» said Rimble. «Bazaar House. 99 Bazaar House, to be exact.» «Figures,» muttered Po, looking at the brass numbers on the front door that read 99. Po took a deep breath. «Might as well go in, I suppose.» Before Podiddley could put his hand on the shiny brass knob of the house, the door opened. It was Themyth. Gone were her rags. Instead, she wore her fantastic coat of tails, her hair neatly coiffed, her age not more than sixty now. She welcomed Rimble and Po graciously. They entered the house and were instantly met by the sound of Janusin lugging a box of sculpting tools out of the kitchen and into the hallway. The master sculptor looked up. Amazed to see Po and Rimble, Janusin yelled, «Hey, look who's here. Po and Rim—» Po cut him off. «You're going to scratch that nice hardwood floor if you drag the box that way, Jan.» Janusin stared at the frumpy little thief. «Did you say what I think you said? I mean, since when have you ever cared about any floor?» Before Po could reply, people poured out of the kitchen. Mab, Tree, Rowenaster, Barlimo, Yafatah, Timmer, and Fasilla made a ring around Po and Rimble. Questions and answers flew back and forth. Finally Barlimo announced that it was time for high tea. Po's eyes widened as he walked into the sparkling clean kitchen of Bazaar House. Counters were made of blond wood that had been covered by some kind of newfangled wood protector. The icebox was large, the goods inside neatly packaged and labeled. The pantry was well stocked, Barlimo's herbs hanging in tidy, easily identifiable bunches that hung from the rafters. Not a dish was to be found in the pink marble sink. «And we aim to keep it that way, Po,» said Timmer crisply. «Of course,» replied Po, and meant it. No one believed him at this time, of course. Yafatah sidled up to Po. «So you came back. I thought you mightna' do so. Thought you might run.» «From teaching you?» asked Po. «Nah. Never entered my mind.» Themyth interrupted here. «It's time for a little holiday. A little festival,» she said warmly. Then without further warning, Themyth shut her eyes and called the Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea out of their seclusion. No one save Trickster knew she had done this, however, for Themyth called her children in silence. When Themyth opened her eyes, she found most of the people in the room staring at her expectantly. Trickster and Themyth burst into laughter. Fasilla said, «This doon't be a holiday, you sitting with your eyes tight shut.» Themyth began to hum to herself. «What's she doing?» Timmer asked Mab. «Don't know,» replied the plump Piedmerri, offering herself and Timmer another helping of brown bread with dark honey and butter on it. «Maybe she's playing a trick. After all, Trickster and she did share sheets a week or so ago.» Timmer nodded and munched in silence on her sweet. Far to the north, on the roof of the world, said some poets of old, the Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea heard their mother's call. The gigantic creatures organized themselves briefly with a great deal of squawking and laughter. Then, one by one, they rose into the air, their wings making a thundering noise that traveled for miles. They circled slowly, effortlessly, and wheeled toward the mainland, their direction due southeast. The Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea would arrive in Speakinghast by dawn the following morning. Once there, they would confront staid Saambolin with their impossible existence until the city itself capitulated and admitted that the Mythrrim were