None of the Liethe knew what she was doing; even Honor had not been able to duplicate Humility’s rayvoice experiences, and would need special training if she were to continue Honey’s escapade as Hoemei’s mistress. Humility needed to be able to give the hive a show. First she took Cocked Ear into her confidence, promising nothing, but sending her to a distant room with the voice box, while Humility retained the machine’s ear. Sarcastically, she mimicked Aesoe’s sweet talk into the ear, wondering if anything would happen.

The universe, according to Hoemei, was like a tuning fork. If you sang the right note at a tuning fork it vibrated. The whole world was many such tuning forks, conjoined, and if you calculated the linkages and built real ones to match the calculations, then you could have a musical instrument that would respond to your voice a hundred days journey away. Humility didn’t really expect her box to work even though she had been very careful with the calculations, checking them by hand as well as by o’Tghalie, but she hoped it would.

Cocked Eat burst into her cell, astonished. “What is it? I heard Aesoe speaking! Was that really him?”

“Silly. That was me! You heard me?”

“I should have known,” Cocked Ear giggled. “Aesoe is never that obscene!”

“I want to try it on the crone mother! Set her up for the game. As soon as she has the voice to her ear, wave a flag in the corridor.”

When the signal came, Humility said into her box, “Your enemy sleeps!”

The crone mother was at her door almost immediately, huffing and trembling. “What is this thing!” She held out the talking shell as one might the giant mutated head of a fei flower.

“It’s a magic ear!”

“Did you steal it from the Palace?” the old crone asked almost in panic.

“I made it! Hoemei showed me how.”

Humility was received with disbelief. The ancient woman could not imagine herself learning how to build such a device. The se-Tufi had an illustrious place in the chronicles, but they were not magicians!

Humility smiled with engaging innocence. “You never had Hoemei for a lover! He’s adept at stuffing the best of himself into my head.”

But the old mind had retreated and was already testing the possibilities. “How far can it reach?”

“Not far. This one is only a toy.”

“You’ve seen the fuller magic?”

“The magician’s workshop in the Palace, yes.”

“How far does their magic reach?”

“You’ve heard the gossip. Anywhere on Geta. Sometimes noise demons cast counter magic.” Humility’s eyes lit up proudly. “I’ve talked to our Liethe sisters in Soebo.”

The crone’s cane rose and jabbed the air. “When!”

“A mere few sunsets ago.”

“You chatted about the size of Mnankrei dongs?” the crone asked sarcastically.

Humility bowed. “No, honored one. I have brought a special message for you. I knew you wished this information so I asked if it were obtainable. It is Winterstorm Master Nie’t’Fosal who does genetic probings upon the lowly underjaw.”

“Ah, so it is true. Aesoe has made such speculations.”

“You didn’t think you’d get an answer to that one for eons, did you?”

“You are immodestly aware of your abilities.”

“I have Hoemei tied to my hairs.” The slight flick of her hip was arrogant.

“Four rounds of penance tonight before you sleep!” the crone commanded, whacking her with the cane for her pride.

Humility knelt to the floor and bowed her head, wiping the ground with it. “I shall seek true humility in my penance, wise crone.”

The hive mother dismissed Cocked Ear. She waited until they were well alone. “How went your afternoon?”

“I truly enjoyed it. I walked as far as the Bok of the Fountain of Two Women.”

“Frivolous.”

“To clean my knife.”

“Ah. The jeweler. Did he suffer pains?” Hag eyes glowed like bone heaps in the cremation fire of a poisoned man.

“I do not dally to allow my opponent the choice of a response. He never knew.”

“Yes. I suppose,” she grumbled. “Perhaps it is better that way.” The harridan did not sound convinced.

IN THE YEAR of the Moth, the week of the Horse began with a celebration dedicated to that mythical sidestepping insect, the Horse piece of chess who was commonly known as the Protector of Infants. Naked children wearing elaborate Horse heads had been prancing about the streets the moment Getasun was fully risen, begging favors and gifts from every passing adult. It was quite evident that none agreed either on the color or shape a Horse’s head should take.

“Watch out!” said Teenae, cautioning Oelita. “There are more hiding in ambush in that alley.” A purple snout with bulbous hoiela eyes sprang upon them, holding the hand of a smaller grinning beast who was hideously hairy to her shoulders. They cajoled two glass marbles from Teenae and Oelita who carried shoulder bags of goodies on this morning.

When the women reached the alley, they found more children.

One was wearing a wooden mask with vaguely maelot mandibles and improbable floppy ears. Another youngster wore a long head with stripes while her companion appeared behind a huge checkered nose. The boy wanted candy. The girls wanted trinkets but fought over a tiny bean shooter.

Teenae had attached herself to Oelita since her return. She felt a fierce loyalty to this woman who had saved her nose, perhaps her life. They were bonded by that encounter and by the code which made the lover of more than one husband her personal charge. Nor could she forget her already once-failed vow to protect Oelita from Joesai. Gaet and Hoemei she trusted to behave circumspectly; Joesai she did not.

“Do you know this Kathein pnota-Kaiel?” asked Oelita.

“Very well.” Teenae was apprehensive about the meeting she had set up.

“I’m not sure I understand why she would be interested in my crystal. Is she a mystic?”

“Your crystal is a Frozen Voice of God.”

“That’s why I thought she must be a mystic. She looks at it and hears things?”

Their chariot had arrived and they climbed in while Teenae gave instructions to the Ivieth porters. Now the two women were squeezed beside each other. “It would be hard to explain to someone who has lived her life under Stgal rule just what Kathein does. She’s a dobu. Think of how a dobu of kembri handles himself in a fight. The force in his opponent’s body does his work for him. Kathein is a dobu of matter. There are forces within all-that-is-inert around us. It resists us with its passivity. If we wish a husband to go to market with us, he comes at the merest asking. If we wish a wagon to come to market with us, we must swear and push and sweat. Kathein is a dobu. She uses the lifeless forces against themselves to work her will. When she commands a wagon, it follows her. When she holds a crystal, it remembers God.”

Oelita shook her head at such quaint hill madness.

The chariot was stopped once by a hideous-headed child with clicking mandibles and a beard who demanded his tribute to the Horse. The Ivieth neglected his charges until he found something, Oelita and Teenae contributed a candy and a marble, and they were on their way again.

The old stone building by the Moietra aqueduct was Kathein’s retreat. Oelita laughed, and lifted her skirts to avoid a patch of mud that leaked through the cobblestones. “So this is the abode of the magician to whom wagons heel and stones talk? The sight of such dark mansion so close at hand instills precaution. How will I greet her?”