As a child, I was good at climbing out of three-storey windows, you know.
And picking the locks on iron gates." Sirrefene blew her nose on a handkerchief she found in her bathrobe pocket. "Why? Because I spent my teen years escaping my home!"
"You were the guildmaster's daughter," repeated Gadorian softly.
"So what? Did that mean I wasn't to live, Gad?" she shouted, crying fresh tears.
"It meant you had a certain standard to uphold. A certain Saambolin dignity—"
Sirrefene spat on the rug. "I was and am a daughter of this city. This whole city. That means I care about all the draws that live here, it means I honor their gifts. And make use of them for the benefit of Speakinghast. That's why I commissioned Master Janusin to do those statues of the Greatkin.
Because Janusin is the best. Not because I love the Kaleidicopia. You're just like Mother, Gadorian. You believe in partisan politics. Those days are over, Gadorian! Over! This is the Jinnaeon! If you consorted with someone other than your own draw, you'd know the Tammirring prophesies about this time period." She glared at her husband. "You're lucky you have me, Gadorian. You're lucky you have someone to keep you informed!"
Gadorian pursed his lips. This conversation wasn't going the way he had planned. Running his fingers through his thinning hair, the guildmaster asked, "What prophesies?"
"Ask Rowen. He'll tell you."
"He's not speaking to me."
"I'm not surprised."
Professor Rowenaster stepped outside his classroom as the noon bell tolled for lunch. The hallways flooded with university students, all of them talking or laughing. As the professor made his way down the crowded stairs, he saw Guildmaster Gadorian cut through the throng. It appeared the Saambolin official wished to speak to him. Rowen sighed with displeasure.
He was supposed to meet Janusin for lunch. After Gadorian's outrageous display of landdraw bigotry in his class recently, Rowenaster had little interest in inviting Gadorian to join him and a shift for a noonday meal.
Rowenaster waited for Gadorian to catch up to him, and smiled as pleasantly as he could manage when Gadorian bid him good day. "Good day to you as well," said the professor.
"What're you doing for lunch?"
"I'm eating it with Master Janusin."
Gadorian hesitated. "Mind if I join you?"
"You want the truth?"
"I see." Gadorian stuffed his hands in the pockets of his orange velvet robe.
"Say, I'm sorry for what I said in class yesterday. I was out of line. I'm just the guildmaster. I've no say in what goes on at Speakinghast University."
He smiled weakly. "Separate but equal, you know."
Rowenaster raised an eyebrow. "What happened, Gad? Did Sirrey tell you to keep your nose out of her territory?" he asked. Master Curator Sirrefene was the official head of the University of Speakinghast as well as the Great Library grounds. Rowen paused. "I had an interesting lunch with her the other day. Did she tell you about it?"
"Yes."
"Seems I've been holding a gross misconception about your wife. And to think I took pity on you, Gadorian—letting you pass my course because I felt sorry for your poor nerves. Newly engaged and already Sirrey was unfaithful? Wasn't that what you told me?" Rowenaster studied the guildmaster's averted face. "You know, we don't have a statute of limitations at the university. I could pull your old records. Make you take that course again. It was mandatory then to graduate. It still is. Can't be guildmaster, Gadorian, without that prized Saambolin degree." There was dead silence.
"Are you threatening me?" asked Gadorian, his voice disbelieving.
"Throw me out of my house, Gad, and I'd have to go through a lot of boxes.
To decide what I'd be taking with me, you understand. I might come across some old correspondence. Seems to me I recall you swearing that Sirrefene had slept with a Jinn artist—
"At that time, I thought she had!" yelled Gadorian. Students' heads turned in their direction. Gadorian bit his lip and lowered his voice. "What I wrote you, I believed. Sirrefene's mother told me—"
"What you wanted to hear? What you wanted to believe?" Rowen shook his head. "And to think I listened to you. And gossiped about it to Barlimo last fall! Sirrey says you never asked for her version. Much less the artist's."
Gadorian rolled his eyes. "I didn't have to ask the shift. Sirrey's a beautiful woman. We all know beautiful women aren't faithful. How can they be?
They have men after them day and night—"
Rowenaster stared at Gadorian. "You don't deserve Sirrefene."
There was a long pause.
Gadorian knew he possessed more political clout in the city than Rowenaster. If Rowen chose to threaten him with regard to a twenty-year-old grade point, Gadorian would return the threat by draining certain funds out of the university financial office. Fair was fair, thought Gadorian. He suspected Rowenaster was bluffing, and indeed, Rowenaster was.
Rowenaster thumbed through the stack of papers in his arms. "What did you want to see me about, Gadorian? I'm a very busy man—"
"Nothing," snapped the guildmaster, suddenly deciding not to ask the professor to tell him about the Tammirring prophecies. He was mad now.
Mad at the world. At that moment, Rhu walked up. She handed Gadorian the note Timmer had written Cobeth last fall just before the drug raid at Rhu's house. She had written the note at Zendrak's request. If Zendrak had thought it through that fateful night, he would never have told Timmer to write it; however, he was hung over from a rich meal he had shared with the Greatkin of Love at the time, and so was thinking fuzzily. Now Rhu presented all the evidence Gadorian needed to shut down the Kaleidicopia.
It didn't matter if the evidence was shaky or not; at this point, Gadorian only needed an excuse. Gadorian took the note roughly, hating Rhu for being Jinnjirri.
"I thought you might want to see this," she said calmly.
Timmer's handwriting was distinctive. Catching sight of it out of the corner of his eye, Rowenaster felt goose bumps crawl along his spine. "What is it?" he asked Rhu, speaking as amiably as possible.
Rhu smiled coldly at the Kaleidicopian.
Gadorian turned to Rowenaster. "Cobeth was a housemate of yours?"
Rowenaster cleared his throat, but said nothing.
Outside in the city streets, Akindo crossed the university campus. He turned at the campanile. He was now heading for the Jinnjirri Quarter of the city. In half an hour, Akindo would reach the Kaleidicopia.
13
Although it was now well past noon, Zendrak and Kelandris had only just returned to the Kaleidicopia after Kel's injudicious attempt to ride to Suxonli Village late last night. The two Greatkin had been so tired that instead of asking Further to deposit them speedily back 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 s
ome?"
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."
Trickster's Touch Page 11
