Cadool turned. "Toroca!" He gave a little bow. "Hahat dan. It is good to see you again."

Toroca closed some of the distance between them, but left a large — for him — territorial buffer. "And you. Good Cadool, ah, it is said that there is nothing you will not do for Afsan."

"It is my honor to be his assistant."

"And you know that I am his son."

"One of his sons, yes."

"I, ah, I know I have no right to ask this, but I wonder if any of your sense of duty to Afsan carries over to me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are a good and loyal friend to my father, and I would like to think that perhaps I, too, can count on you."

"I don’t understand."

"Well, I mean, Afsan and I are related. Since you help Afsan, I thought perhaps you might also be willing to help me."

Cadool’s tone was pleasant, but confused. "I don’t see what being related to Afsan has to do with anything."

"I don’t really know myself," confessed Toroca. "But I need to ask a big favor of someone, and, well, I thought perhaps, because of your relationship with my father, that maybe…"

Cadool held up a hand. "Toroca, if I were to do a favor for you it would be because of who you are, on your own terms. Why would you want it to be anything but thus?"

Toroca nodded. "You’re right, of course. Forgive me." A pause. "Afsan has told you what we are doing, I presume."

"Yes," said Cadool. "I’m not enthusiastic about the idea — despite the efforts of that Mokleb person, Afsan is still blind. What you have proposed is very risky."

"That it is. But peace must be given a chance."

Cadool grunted noncommittally. "In any event," he said, "what favor would you ask of me?"

"I have in my custody a child," said Toroca. "I need someone to look after him while I am gone."

"Surely room can be found for him in the creche?" said Cadool.

"No, this child is, ah, not Quintaglio. He is an Other."

"An Other! Toroca, we are at war with the Others."

"The child is innocent. He was hatched aboard the Dasheter, just as I myself was. I need someone to care for him while I am gone."

"Surely you are not asking me to regurgitate meat," said Cadool.

"No. He’s big enough to swallow hunks whole now, although perhaps you could cut small pieces for him."

"Wait a beat — if he is an Other, won’t the sight of him drive me to dagamant?"

"I honestly don’t know if children have the same effect, but, yes. you’ll have to take precautions. See him only in the dark, perhaps."

"But Emperor Dybo has given me my own assignment to take care of. I’m going to have to leave the Capital, too, in a couple of days."

"I should be on my way back by then. Taksan — that’s the child’s name — Taksan doesn’t require constant supervision, of course. He’s already used to being left alone. If you could simply check on him a couple of times before you go. He’s in my apartment."

"Well, if that is all, I suppose I can manage it."

"Ah, no, that isn’t quite all there is to it. Good Cadool, I find myself facing a problem no other Quintaglio has ever faced. I am responsible for another’s life. I am concerned about what will happen to Taksan if I don’t return from this peace mission. Cadool, I ask you to look after Taksan if I don’t come back."

"That is a lot to ask."

"I know it. But you were the only Quintaglio I could think of to approach. You look after my father; I thought perhaps you’d understand…"

"I freely confess that I don’t understand," said Cadool. "I will do this: I will make sure this, this Taksan, is fed and kept safe until I leave the Capital. Beyond that, I make no promises."

Toroca nodded slowly. It was all he could expect. "Thank you, Cadool."

Toroca and Afsan left Capital City early the next morning aboard a small sailboat, the Stardeter. The ship was only seven paces long, barely big enough to accommodate two people. Toroca was amidships, controlling the rigging for the two sails. Afsan sat in the stern, holding the tiller steady, and occasionally moving it in response to instructions from Toroca. They had to tack into the wind, and, despite the huge amounts of time he’d spent aboard the Dasheter, Toroca was by no means an expert sailor. Still, the boat handled well, and soon the cliffs along Land’s shore were receding over the horizon.

They sailed for a full day and a night before Toroca caught sight of the first mast poking over the eastern horizon. It was difficult to make out the approaching ships against the rising sun, but Toroca had soon counted fourteen vessels spread out along the horizon, and he had every reason to think there were many more still behind them.

Would Jawn be aboard the lead ship, or another one? Was he even here at all? Jawn was the only one who spoke even some of the Quintaglio language; surely they would have brought him along.

Before departing Land, Toroca had painted Jawn’s name across the Stardeter’’s main sail; it was one of the very few words he knew how to make, having seen it over and over again on Jawn’s name-tag necklace. If the Others had far-seers, surely they’d be able to see the word "Jawn" and understand that a meeting was being requested with him. That is, if they’d even noticed the tiny sailboat yet.

As their little craft moved closer to the armada, Toroca used his own far-seer to examine the big ships. Small colored flags were running up a guy from each ship’s bow to its foremast. Toroca at first thought that these identified individual vessels, but he soon counted three that were displaying the same sequence of flags. At one point, Toroca saw the old flags brought down and new ones hoisted. Apparently this was a signaling method used to communicate between the ships.

Wingfingers occasionally swooped down from the sky to look at the Stardeter. Many others were flitting above the Other ships, perhaps feeding on garbage thrown overboard.

And then, at last, one of the big ships changed course slightly, heading directly for the Stardeter. Toroca was deliberately not wearing his sash; instead he had on the same swimmer’s belt he’d worn that day he’d first arrived in the Other city. He suspected all Quintaglios looked alike to the Others, just as all of them looked pretty much the same to him, and he wanted to do everything possible to aid identification.

The big ship was approaching quickly. Toroca described its alien shape for Afsan, who seemed amazed by the differences from standard Quintaglio design. Toroca could see several Others on its deck. They were all standing in the shade of an overhanging tarpaulin; Toroca guessed they weren’t used to equatorial sun. Even in the far-seer, the faces were indistinct, but…

There.

Waving at him.

Jawn.

Toroca tied off the sail cord and, holding the mast for support with one hand, waved wildly in reply with the other. As the ships came closer together, Toroca could tell that not everyone on deck was pleased to see him. Two individuals were pointing metal tubes at him, and a large black cylinder, one of the much bigger weapons that had earlier taken shots at the Dasheter, had been swiveled in a wooden mount to face the Stardeter. Still, Jawn’s face was one of open delight at seeing his old friend. Two Others were putting a rope ladder over the ship’s side; weights on its ends kept it taut as it descended toward the waves.

"They’re letting down a ladder," Toroca said to Afsan. "You’ll have to go up first; I’ll need to stay behind to tie off our boat." Afsan nodded. Toroca shouted up at Jawn in the Other language, while pointing at Afsan: "No eyes! No eyes!"

Jawn looked perplexed for a moment, then seemed to get Toroca’s meaning. Shouting back at his own shipmates in the Other language, he said, "The big one is lees-tash" — presumably the word for "blind."