Joesai spent the rest of the morning in the city working with miniature hammer at the table of goldsmith y’Faier. At Noe’s suggestion her husband was to assume the guise of a wandering goldsmith, the kind of person who was liable to derive from mixed stock. No one would recognize him as Kaiel. He was a head taller than the ordinary member of his clan, as tall as the Ivieth who pulled the wagons, but too narrow to be of the Ivieth. His face was plain with a commonplace nose that fell straight from forehead to tip. His body decorations were of no recognizable pattern.

Teenae, it was decided, should not hide her identity. She could never pass for anything but o’Tghalie, but then, the o’Tghalie sold their women and it wouldn’t be unusual for a goldsmith to have one as a follower. Certainly no one would suspect that she was Kaiel.

The family had temporarily split into two groups. Gaet and Hoemei tended to Teenae and slept with her. Noe spent these last low days with Joesai, impishly finding this an ideal time to teach manners to her “cactus bush”. An unctuous goldsmith would know all the refinements of the coast. She taught him phrases until he rolled his eyes. She dressed him in robes, one of saffron yellow with embroidery that held metal and stones made by a tailor who was in her constituency, and she showed him how the girdle fastened and how to hold his skirts as he ascended stairs.

Laughing inside, because Noe liked nothing better than to tease an awkward man, she brought out one of her own coastal robes held together by complicated wrappings and gravely instructed him in how to undress her while at the same time praising her beauty.

“I’m a fighter,” he lamented, rebelling.

“But we are walking you to the coast to seduce a powerful woman, not to fight.” Noe nearly lost control of her face.

Later, on his knees, his mind rotted with sly flattery and his fingers sore from deft unwindings, he looked up imploringly and broke role for a moment. “Goldsmiths do this?”

“Of course. They’re very sensual. But much more gently and with far more conviction.” She slipped away from her husband. “Here. I’ll dress again and we’ll start over.”

His imagination began to work on Joesai. One-wife stood against the window while the dusk sun, like a happy farmer unwilling to leave productive mountain fields, plowed the textured furrows of her skin. Joesai saw the hontokae on her breasts sprouting profane tai berries, saw desert wheat springing from the whorls on her belly, and sacred corn from the fluted grooves along her legs. The whole image was too powerful. In one passionate motion his hands surged to grasp her wrists so that he might kiss her, but though he pulled her body close, he could not find her dodging mouth or move her toward the pillows.

“No,” she laughed, “not until you’ve learned your lesson!”

“How do they breed, those coastal barbarians, if they have to go through this to be loved!”

Passing by, Gaet heard the commotion, the outrage, the muffled kiss, the laughter, the struggle. Curiously he peered through the curtained doorway. “Who needs help?”

Noe instantly accepted the alliance. “Take this ruffian away.” But she managed her own escape. “Do you think we’ll ever make a goldsmith out of him? He never learns.”

“He learns when his life is on the line. His only skill is staying out of the stew pot.”

“I was doing some very acceptable filigree with y’Faier this morning,” grumped Joesai. Y’Faier was a goldsmith of Hoemei’s constituency, a man, Joesai claimed, who was suspiciously lacking in the legendary amorous talents, except, Noe teased, when he was alone with the ladies.

“Where is Teenae?” asked the disheveled one-wife.

“With Hoemei.”

“Then you may stay with us tonight. You can teach him manners as well as I can, and I’m exhausted and need your tenderness.” She hugged Gaet with the kiss she had refused Joesai.

“God’s Silence!” the big man roared. “This manners business is madness. I should be out with Raimin training my men to run diversionary attack right now!”

Noe turned to him slowly. “Down on your knees.”

Gaet was breaking into the great laugh. “Down on your knees, boy!” He had an arm so gently around Noe’s bare shoulders that his support felt like her own strength.

She slept between them that night, happy with her marriage, sad that Joesai would vanish for so long. She held his hand while he slept. One day he would not come back to her. He would be dead — not like Gaet who never gambled with danger even in the temple games.

At the dawn of this, the third high day of Ogre, Joesai rose with dream-created plans in which he had cleverly resolved outstanding problems. Good. He kissed the sleeping Noe with a self-conscious tenderness and then kissed his old comrade of the deadly creche, but not so tenderly. Cheating Fate the Gaet, Sanan had called him; Sanan their brother who had not been able to cheat fate and who had gone to the dinner table and tanner. Joesai broke fast on corn bread and honey, solidifying his plans in his mind, then tiptoed into Hoemei’s room where he whispered to a sleepy Teenae a list of provisions she would have to find that day while he gave his men their final briefing.

“Got that?”

“Ummm.” She rolled over and smiled, hugging the covers.

“Ho. You haven’t got that. I’ll write it down.”

“It’s all right,” said Hoemei who seemed to be asleep but was awake. “I’ll remember for her.”

THE CONSTELLATION OF THE OGRE moved across the midnight zenith and was replaced by the Winner. Joesai sneaked himself through Kaiel-hontokae on the final day before the trek to the coast was to begin and, unannounced, appeared at Kathein’s instrument shop. It was an old building of stone, converted from some purpose which had once required its own aqueduct. He had never been here before. The tedious craftsmanship of experimental fail-and-seek-again asked more patience of him than he was willing to give. The shop’s primary purpose was to supply the priests with more and more accurate biological tools.

If you needed a device to promote cross-over in chromosomes you could have it built. If you wanted an organic machine to synthesize gene chains, someone would build it for you. If you wanted an implement to record from a neuron there were craftsmen who knew the fabrication ritual.

But, if you were like Joesai, and wanted a really large sky-eye for some theological investigation, forget it. Kathein had tried to fund the construction of a plate-sized lens for him but was refused the appropriation. She had wryly told her husband-to-be that she thought there was a fear in the Race of probing too deeply into the terrors of the World Above from whence God had rescued the Race. Joesai thought only that the obsession with biology was natural in an environment whose life forms would kill you whenever you failed to understand them.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Kathein said when she found him in the arched doorway.

“The spittle of insects! You’re quick with my child. I love you. In any event, I’m here! May Aesoe give his guests diarrhea at his Feast of Ritual Suicide!”

She pulled him inside, obviously glad to see him. “Getasun’s flame will die before he finds himself at the bottom of the kalothi list!” Which was where she wanted him because only then would he be eligible for Ritual Suicide.