He was not unhappy.

But he wasn't happy, either.

5

This is a hell of a thing to spring on us, Kyaren said crossly.

If you expect either of us to take the crown, you're going to be disappointed, the Mayor said.

I wouldn't give you the crown if you wanted it, Ansset said smiling. I'm getting old, and you're even older. So to hell with you. He turned and called across the room, where Efrim was talking to two of his brothers while he held his youngest grandson in his arms. Efrim, Ansset called. Are you ready to be emperor?

Efrim laughed, but then saw that Ansset was not laughing. He came to the table where his parents and his uncle sat. You're joking? he asked.

Are you ready? I'm leaving.

Where?

Does it matter?

Don't make it such a mystery, Kyaren said, cutting in. He has some crazy idea that the Songhouse is aching to have him come home.

Ansset was still smiling, still watching Efrim's face.

You're really abdicating?

Efrim, Ansset said, letting himself sound impatient, yon knew damn well you'd be emperor someday. How many of my children do you see crowding around? Now I ask you, are you ready?

Yes, Efrim answered seriously.

When Mikal abdicated, it took him only a couple of weeks. I won't dally so long. Tomorrow.

Why so quickly? Kyaren asked.

I've made up my mind. I want to do it. I'm wasting time waiting here.

If you just want to visit, Ansset, visit, the Mayor said. Stay on Tew for a few months. Then decide.

You don't understand, Ansset said. I don't want to go there as emperor. I want to go there as Ansset. Not even Ansset the former Songbird. Just Ansset who's willing to sweep or clean stables or any damn thing they have for me to do, but don't you understand? This is home for you, and for me too, in a way--

In every way--

No. Because you belong here. But this isn't what I was born for. I'm not right here. I was raised among songs. I want to die among them,

Esste's dead, Ansset. She died years ago. Will you even know anyone there? You'll just be a stranger. Kyaren looked worried, but Ansset reached out and playfully smoothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Don't bother, she said, brushing his hand away. They've been permanently engraved.

It's not Esste I'm going back to see. It's not anyone.

And Efrim put his hand on his uncle's shoulder. It's Ansset you want to find, isn't it? Some little boy or girl with a voice that moves stones, isn't it?

Ansset clapped his hand over Efrim's and laughed. Another me? I'll never find another Ansset, Efrim! If I go there looking for that, III never find it. I may not have sung long, but no one will ever sing like that again.

And Kyaren realized that out of all the achievements of his life, out of all that he had done, Ansset was still proudest of what he had done when he was ten years old.

The legends would have been good enough just with the stories that were current before Ansset abdicated. But there was one more story to add, and for this one Ansset left Earth, left his office, left the last of his money at the station, and arrived penniless at the Songhouse door.

They let him in.

RRUK

1

Ansset had been emperor for only thirty years when Esste's work came to an end. She felt the end coming in summer; felt the ennui of doing again and again work that she had mastered long before. There were no students who interested her. There were no teachers left who were her close friends, except Onn. She was more and more distant from all the life of the Songhouse, though from the High Room she still directed that life.

In the fall, Esste began to long for things she could not have. She longed for her childhood. She longed for a lover in a crystal house. She longed for Ansset, the beautiful boy whom she had held in her arms and loved as she had loved no one else.

But the longings could not be fulfilled; the crystal house was filled with other loves by now, surely; the girl Esste had died, shedding younger skins until now the hard-faced woman in dark robes was her only relic; and Ansset was emperor of mankind, not a child anymore, and she could not embrace him now.

Oh, she toyed with the idea of journeying to Susquehanna again. But before she had gone in answer to the empire's need. She could not justify such a journey merely to satisfy her own, especially when she knew that, in the end, her real need would be unsatisfied.

All songs must end, said the maxim, before we can know them. Without borders on a thing it cannot be comprehended as a whole. And so Esste decided to put the final border on her life, so that all her works and all her days could be viewed and understood and, perhaps, sung.

It was winter, and snow fell heavily outside the windows of the High Room. Esste had not decided beforehand that this day above all others would be the day. Perhaps it was the beauty of the snow; perhaps it was the knowledge that the cold would take her quickly, in a storm like this. But she sent on errands those likely to discover her too soon. Then she opened all the shutters and let the wind pour in, took off her clothing, and lay on stone in the center of the room.

As the wind swept over her, covering her with snow-flakes that melted more and more slowly, Esste hid behind her Control and wondered. She had sung many songs in her life, but which should she sing last? What song should the High Room hear as her own funerary?

She was indecisive too long, and sang nothing as she lay on the High Room floor. In the end her Control failed her, as in extremity it must always fail; but as she crawled feebly under her robes and blankets, a part of her noticed with satisfaction that the work was already done. Blankets alone would do nothing. The snow was two inches deep in the High Room. Tomorrow a new Songmaster would come here and the Songhouse would be taught new songs.

2

Onn was busy.

There was much to be done, and several key Deafs and Blinds had been sent out on errands at once, which sometimes happened but was damned inconvenient.

Sometimes, Onn had confided to a young master, I feel like I might as well be deaf, for all the time I get to spend with music.

But he didn't mind. He was a good singer, a good teacher, worthy of respect. Yet unlike many of the high masters and Songmasters who had the responsibility of seeing that the Songhouse ran smoothly, he was also a good administrator. He got jobs done. He remembered details. So that where most masters were willing to see almost all the work and decisions taken care of by the Blinds, Onn made it a point to know as much about all the operations of the Songhouse as he could, and help Esste as much as possible.

More important, he did it without being obnoxious. And so it was only reasonable for him and everyone else to assume that he would be the next Songmaster in the High Room, when Esste decided she was finished. And he would have been, too, if he hadn't been so busy.

When the Songmaster of the High Room did not wish to be disturbed, he or she simply did not answer a knock on the door. This was accepted practice. The only ones who could defy this were Deafs and Blinds going about their business, because, according to the etiquette of the place, they were generally regarded as nonexistent. A Deaf whose routine called for him to sweep out a room would simply sweep out the room, and the person who had sought privacy there would not mind-though if a student or a teacher were to enter without permission, it would be quite rude.

All this was simply taken for granted. But Onn had to consult the computer for an answer to a question, and that meant conferring with Esste. The problem seemed urgent at the time, though a few hours later he could not even remember what it was. He went to the High Room and knocked on the door.