twisted village lighter? It was a possibility that no one had ever looked at, thought Aunt. If this were true, no wonder it was taking Kelandris so long to heal. Thanks to Hennin's influence, for years now Suxonli had been a hotbed of decadence and amorality. Aunt winced. Trickster often duped those he loved best. Was it possible that Kelandris had been his dupe and Greatkin self-sacrifice? Was this why he had not told Zendrak of the trial and Ritual of Akindo until it was too late? Because Rimble had wanted Kelandris to help Suxonli? Possible, concluded Aunt. And not very nice if you view it from the two-legged perspective. Aunt stumbled in the snow. Falling to her knees, Aunt suddenly realized she was feeling very light-headed. Her pulse was also racing and her throat felt thick. Her healer's senses alert now, she dropped the logs where she sat and staggered through the drifts toward the inn. Pushing open the back door that led into the kitchen, she knocked a serving lad out of the way as she
ran into the pantry. Pulling jars of herbs off of the shelf, she ordered the head cook to make her a tea comprised of two parts stingtrap and one part five-alive. The first was an antidote to severely allergic wasp and bee reactions and the second was a heart stimulant. Water already boiled on the wood stove, so Aunt felt confident she would be able to stop the wasp poison from doing her lethal harm. She put the herb mixture to her lips and
drank it. Minutes later, she realized her body was going into shock. Opening her trained Mayanabi senses, she slumped against the wall. Then Aunt sent her closest friend a last message. Protect Kelandris. Protect the Nine. Protect Yafatah. Outside in the snow near the barn, something dressed in gray shuffled and drooled. A mouth opened on its smooth face, yellow teeth glistening. It smiled. The experiment had been successful. The victim was dead, it said telepathically to Elder Hennin. What draw? Jinnjirri. Selection was random. Fine. Go on to Speakinghast. Tell me when you have killed Rimble's Nine. As you wish, replied Akindo. *4*
Fasilla received Aunt's dying message while bartering for a bolt of blue silk at a Jinnjirri shop near the southwest corner of Jinnjirri. The shop stood less than fifty miles from where Aunt lay dead in the kitchen at the Saambolin inn. Fasilla, who was Asilliwir-born and a natural haggler, stopped bartering midsentence, her thirty-six-year-old face paling. She was not used to hearing voices inside her head; she was not a Tammirring or a Mayanabi Nomad. Licking her lips nervously, Fasilla bought the silk for its
original price and hurriedly left the Jinnjirri shop, the bolt under her arm. Fasilla was on a buying trip for several members of the Kaleidicopia Boarding House in Speakinghast. She had accompanied Aunt as far as the Saambolin border and left the Jinnjirri Mayanabi there to spend time with Aunt's other Mayanabi cronies. Fasilla, who had a healthy dislike of
religious types, had declined Aunt's invitation to stay the night at the inn. Fasilla could tolerate Aunt's involvement in the Order of the Mayanabi Nomads, but only because they went back a long way. Aunt and Fasilla had attended herbalist school in Piedmerri some twenty years ago and remained fast friends ever since. Fasilla had a daughter—her only child—whose name was Yafatah. She had left the girl in Speakinghast under the care of Barlimo, the Jinnjirri architect that ran the Kaleidicopia Boarding House. Dropping the bolt of blue material into the back of her wagon, Fasilla reached in her pocket and pulled out her daughter's last letter to her. Her hands shook as she unfolded the letter. Had she missed something? What kind of danger were Yafatah and the others in? Swallowing, Fasilla read: Dearest Ma, Tis still snowing here in the city. Has been off and on ever since you left two weeks ago, so we now have three-foot drifts outside the «K.» Being a northern Tammi myself, of course I love it. I doon't think the rest of the Kaleidicopians share me joy, though. I think I've shoveled more snow than anybody else here! Well, except maybe Mab. She always does her chores
and a bit of everybody else's, too. But I doon't need to tell you that. You've been living here same as me these past three months. So I should give you all the most recent news. (Gossip, says Timmer, who do be reading this letter over me very shoulder. No privacy anywhere in this hooligan house.) Anyway, as I was saying, the news be this: Janusin has started a new
sculpture in the back studio and he willna' let a single soul see it 'til it do be done. Barlimo says the Jinn draw get like that about their art sometimes. Says nobody should take it personally. Janusin just wants us
to keep our criticisms and opinions to ourselves 'til he do be satisfied with it. Po says—well, who cares what Po says? You guessed it, Ma. That rotten rascal hasna' done one dish since you do be gone. Everybody keeps telling Zendrak to do something about Podiddley, but Zendrak just smiles that
mystery smile of his and lets the bum get away with it. I think Kelandris do be ready to punch Po out. I wouldna' wish such a fate. Kel be a Greatkin and powerful tall, as you know. That Po, though. Stinky. Mab do be pretty good these days. Those bad dreams about Cobeth have stopped and she doesna' cry every time somebody says something about drugs. Po though—he was baiting Mab for a while. I swear he talked about the drugs in the street just to make Mab bawl her eyes out in the downstairs bathroom. Zendrak—he says Po was helping Mab get over the thing with Cobeth. Making her less sensitive or something. I guess. Actually, Zendrak says I would like Po if I'd just give him a chance to be something other than what he looks like—which is stinky. Sometimes, I think Zendrak sees the good in people too much. I mean, Zendrak says Po do be a teacher for me. I say no, no, no. About Zendrak and Kelandris? Well, Tree says they do be starting to squabble again at night. Something about sex. Tree says he canna' imagine
the act with either of them two. Tree says the Jinn like their sheet-sharing playful, and them two Greatkin are anything but these days. Po says Zendrak told him the GK are arguing at their dinner thing at Eranossa and so naturally Kel and Zendrak are feeling the bad times, both of them being GK themselves. But who cares what Po thinks! Now that I've mentioned Tree, let me consider what to tell you about him. He do be working over at the university now. Professor Rowenaster got him the job. Pays to have friends on the Hill. Mostly, Tree says he hates it.
Says them Saambolin are so nasty to the Jinnjirri that he feels like starting a student protest. He may, too. I doon't think he's had green hair in three
days. Just a furious Jinnjirri red. As usual, Tree blames all the trouble on Guildmaster Gadorian. Says if he didna' love the theater and his pyro stuff so much, he'd quit. But Tree does love it, so he keeps bringing home the silivrain and coppers to Barl. Speaking of the rent, I paid ours to Barlimo last night. She acted fierce pleased. Said the Housing Commission do be still sniffing around—looking for a way to close the «K.» Having enough coppers and silies to keep things up to code helps, she said. Of course, Zendrak bails her out when it gets really bad. It is his place, after all, and so I suppose he wants to keep it going. He's mostly Zendrak these days, by the way. Hardly ever old Doogat. It's okay by me, Zendrak being just Zendrak. Gets confusing otherwise. And so like Trickster. Oh, yes—the brindle dog has disappeared again. Mab still willna' believe the dog was Greatkin Rimble. Everybody else do be convinced, however. Especially Timmer. Excuse the language, but Timmer says every time she muttered the word «shit» under her breath, the dog would shit. When she said «fuck,» the dog would start humping her leg. Nobody misses the dog except me. Pi kept me company in my room after you left. And he was always nice. Timmertandi has been playing music at a couple of Jinn cafes! She says they do be more lively than her native Dunnsung ones. Tree and Janusin say playing for the Jinnjirri will revolutionize her music. Barlimo says maybe—maybe not. In any event, Timmer seems quite happy playing for the Shifttime Tavern on Nerjii Street. Let's see. Who did I leave out? The professor. Well, he do be teaching as usual over at Speakinghast University, flunking half the class. That Rowenaster do be such a tough teacher. But what a nice old man, really. I