“Porque esta olhando-nos?” asked the boy. Why are you looking at us?

Ender answered with a question. “Voce e arbitro?” You're the artiber here? The word could mean “umpire,” but it could also mean “magistrate.”

“De vez em quando.” Sometimes.

Ender switched to Stark– he wasn't sure he knew how to say anything complex in Portuguese. “Then tell me, arbiter, is it fair to leave a stranger to find his way around without help?”

“Stranger? You mean utlanning, framling, or ramen?”

“No, I think I mean infidel.”

“O Senhor e descrente?” You're an unbeliever?

“So descredo no incrivel.” I only disbelieve the unbelievable.

The boy grinned. “Where do you want to go, Speaker?”

“The house of the Ribeira family.”

The little girl edged closer to the boy with metal eyes. “Which Ribeira family?”

“The widow Ivanova.”

“I think I can find it,” said the boy.

“Everybody in town can find it,” said Ender. “The point is, will you take me there?”

“Why do you want to go there?”

“I ask people questions and try to find out true stories.”

“Nobody at the Ribeira house knows any true stories.”

“I'd settle for lies.”

“Come on then.” He started toward the low-mown grass of the main road. The little girl was whispering in his ear. He stopped and turned to Ender, who was following close behind.

“Quara wants to know. What's your name?”

“Andrew. Andrew Wiggin.”

“She's Quara.”

“And you?”

“Everybody calls me Olhado. Because of my eyes.” He picked up the little girl and put her on his shoulders. “But my real name's Lauro. Lauro Suleimdo Ribeira.” He grinned, then turned around and strode off.

Ender followed. Ribeira. Of course.

Jane had been listening, too, and spoke from the jewel in his ear. “Lauro Suleimdo Ribeira is Novinha's fourth child. He lost his eyes in a laser accident. He's twelve years old. Oh, and I found one difference between the Ribeira family and the rest of the town. The Ribeiras are willing to defy the Bishop and lead you where you want to go.”

I noticed something, too, Jane, he answered silently. This boy enjoyed deceiving me, and then enjoyed even more letting me see how I'd been fooled. I just hope you don't take lessons from him.

Miro sat on the hillside. The shade of the trees made him invisible to anyone who might be watching from Milagre, but he could see much of the town from here– certainly the cathedral and the monastery on the highest hill, and then the observatory on the next hill to the north. And under the observatory, in a depression in the hillside, the house where he lived, not very far from the fence.

“Miro,” whispered Leaf-eater. “Are you a tree?”

It was a translation from the pequeninos' idiom. Sometimes they meditated, holding themselves motionless for hours. They called this “being a tree.”

“More like a blade of grass,” Miro answered.

Leaf-eater giggled in the high, wheezy way he had. It never sounded natural– the pequeninos had learned laughter by rote, as if it were simply another word in Stark. It didn't arise out of amusement, or at least Miro didn't think it did.

“Is it going to rain?” asked Miro. To a piggy this meant: are you interrupting me for my own sake, or for yours?

“It rained fire today,” said Leaf-eater. “Out in the prairie.”

“Yes. We have a visitor from another world.”

“Is it the Speaker?”

Miro didn't answer.

“You must bring him to see us.”

Miro didn't answer.

“I root my face in the ground for you, Miro, my limbs are lumber for your house.”

Miro hated it when they begged for something. It was as if they thought of him as someone particularly wise or strong, a parent from whom favors must be wheedled. Well, if they felt that way, it was his own fault. His and Libo's. Playing God out here among the piggies.

“I promised, didn't I, Leaf-eater?”

“When when when?”

“It'll take time. I have to find out whether he can be trusted.”

Leaf-eater looked baffled. Miro had tried to explain that not all humans knew each other, and some weren't nice, but they never seemed to understand.

“As soon as I can,” Miro said.

Suddenly Leaf-eater began to rock back and forth on the ground, shifting his hips from side to side as if he were trying to relieve an itch in his anus. Libo had speculated once that this was what performed the same function that laughter did for humans. “Talk to me in piddle-geese!” wheezed Leafeater. Leaf-eater always seemed to be greatly amused that Miro and the other Zenadors spoke two languages interchangeably. This despite the fact that at least four different piggy languages had been recorded or at least hinted at over the years, all spoken by this same tribe of piggies.

But if he wanted to hear Portuguese, he'd get Portuguese. “Vai comer folhas.” Go eat leaves.

Leaf-eater looked puzzled. “Why is that clever?”

“Because that's your name. Come-folhas.”

Leaf-eater pulled a large insect out of his nostril and flipped it away, buzzing. “Don't be crude,” he said. Then he walked away.

Miro watched him go. Leaf-eater was always so difficult. Miro much preferred the company of the piggy called Human. Even though Human was smarter, and Miro had to watch himself more carefully with him, at least he didn't seem hostile the way Leaf-eater often did.

With the piggy out of sight, Miro turned back toward the city. Somebody was moving down the path along the face of the hill, toward his house. The one in front was very tall– no, it was Olhado with Quara on his shoulders. Quara was much too old for that. Miro worried about her. She seemed not to be coming out of the shock of Father's death. Miro felt a moment's bitterness. And to think he and Ela had expected Father's death would solve all their problems.

Then he stood up and tried to get a better view of the man behind Olhado and Quara. No one he'd seen before. The Speaker. Already! He couldn't have been in town for more than an hour, and he was already going to the house. That's great, all I need is for Mother to find out that I was the one who called him here. Somehow I thought that a Speaker for the Dead would be discreet about it, not just come straight home to the person who called. What a fool. Bad enough that he's coming years before I expected a Speaker to get here. Quim's bound to report this to the Bishop, even if nobody else does. Now I'm going to have to deal with Mother and, probably, the whole city.

Miro moved back into the trees and jogged along a path that led, eventually, to the gate back into the city.

Chapter 7

The Ribeira House

Miro, this time you should have been there, because even though I have a better memory for dialogue than you, I sure don't know what this means. You saw the new piggy, the one they call Human– I thought I saw you talking to him for a minute before you took off for the Questionable Activity. Mandachuva told me they named him Human because he was very smart as a child. OK, it's very flattering that “smart” and “human” are linked in their minds, or perhaps offensive that they think we'll be flattered by that, but that's not what matters.

Mandachuva then said: “He could already talk when he started walking around by himself.” And he made a gesture with his hand about ten centimeters off the ground. To me it looked like he was telling how tall Human was when he learned how to talk and walk. Ten centimeters! But I could be completely wrong. You should have been there, to see for yourself.

If I'm right, and that's what SYLVESTERMandachuva meant, then for the first time we have an idea of piggy childhood. If they actually start walking at ten centimeters in height– and talking, no less! –then they must have less development time during gestation than humans, and do a lot more developing after they're born.