“The future of Lusitania is my concern, Speaker Andrew, not yours.”

“The future of the humans on Lusitania is your concern, Bishop. I'm concerned with the piggies as well.”

“Let's not compete to see whose concern is greater.”

The secretary opened the door again, and Bosquinha, Dom Crist o, and Dona Crist came in. Bosquinha glanced back and forth between the Bishop and the Speaker.

“There's no blood on the floor, if that's what you're looking for,” said the Bishop.

“I was just estimating the temperature,” said Bosquinha.

“The warmth of mutual respect, I think,” said the Speaker. “Not the heat of anger or the ice of hate.”

“The Speaker is a Catholic by baptism, if not by belief,” said the Bishop. “I blessed him, and it seems to have made him docile.”

“I've always been respectful of authority,” said the Speaker.

“You were the one who threatened us with an Inquisitor,” the Bishop reminded him. With a smile.

The Speaker's smile was just as chilly. “And you're the one who told the people I was Satan and they shouldn't talk to me.”

While the Bishop and the Speaker grinned at each other, the others laughed nervously, sat down, waited.

“It's your meeting, Speaker,” said Bosquinha.

“Forgive me,” said the Speaker. “There's someone else invited. It'll make things much simpler if we wait a few more minutes for her to come.”

Ela found her mother outside the house, not far from the fence. A light breeze that barely rustled the capim had caught her hair and tossed it lightly. It took a moment for Ela to realize why this was so startling. Her mother had not worn her hair down in many years. It looked strangely free, all the more so because Ela could see how it curled and bent where it had been so long forced into a bun. It was then that she knew that the Speaker was right. Mother would listen to his invitation. Whatever shame or pain tonight's Speaking might have caused her, it led her now to stand out in the open, in the dusk just after sunset, looking toward the piggies' hill. Or perhaps she was looking at the fence. Perhaps remembering a man who met her here, or somewhere else in the capim, so that unobserved they could love each other. Always in hiding, always in secret. Mother is glad, thought Ela, to have it

known that Libo was her real husband, that Libo is my true father. Mother is glad, and so am I.

Mother did not turn to look at her, though she surely could hear Ela's approach through the noisy grass. Ela stopped a few steps away.

“Mother,” she said.

“Not a herd of cabra, then,” said Mother. “You're so noisy, Ela.”

“The Speaker. Wants your help.”

“Does he.”

Ela explained what the Speaker had told her. Mother did not turn around. When Ela was finished, Mother waited a moment, and then turned to walk over the shoulder of the hill. Ela ran after her, caught up with her. “Mother,” said Ela. “Mother, are you going to tell him about the Descolada?”

“Yes.”

“Why now? After all these years? Why wouldn't you tell me?”

“Because you did better work on your own, without my help.”

“You know what I was doing?”

“You're my apprentice. I have complete access to your files without leaving any footprints. What kind of master would I be if I didn't watch your work?”

“But–”

“I also read the files you hid under Quara's name. You've never been a mother, so you didn't know that all the file activities of a child under twelve are reported to the parents every week. Quara was doing some remarkable research. I'm glad you're coming with me. When I tell the Speaker, I'll be telling you, too.”

“You're going the wrong way,” said Ela.

Mother stopped. “Isn't the Speaker's house near the praca?”

“The meeting is in the Bishop's chambers.”

For the first time Mother faced Ela directly. “What are you and the Speaker trying to do to me?”

“We're trying to save Miro,” said Ela. “And Lusitania Colony, if we can.”

“Taking me to the spider's lair–”

“The Bishop has to be on our side or–”

“Our side! So when you say we, you mean you and the Speaker, is that it? Do you think I haven't noticed that? All my children, one by one, he's seduced you all–”

“He hasn't seduced anybody!”

“He seduced you with his way of knowing just what you want to hear, of–”

“He's no flatterer,” said Ela. “He doesn't tell us what we want. He tells us what we know is true. He didn't win our affection, Mother, he won our trust.”

“Whatever he gets from you, you never gave it to me.”

“We wanted to.”

Ela did not bend this time before her mother's piercing, demanding glare. It was her mother, instead, who bent, who looked away and then looked back with tears in her eyes. “I wanted to tell you.” Mother wasn't talking about her files. “When I saw how you hated him, I wanted to say, He's not your father, your father is a good, kind man–”

“Who didn't have the courage to tell us himself.”

Rage came into Mother's eyes. “He wanted to. I wouldn't let him.”

“I'll tell you something, Mother. I loved Libo, the way everybody in Milagre loved him. But he was willing to be a hypocrite, and so were you, and without anybody even guessing, the poison of your lies hurt us all. I don't blame you, Mother, or him. But I thank God for the Speaker. He was willing to tell us the truth, and it set us free.”

“It's easy to tell the truth,” said Mother softly, “when you don't love anybody.”

«Is that what you think?» said Ela. «I think I know something, Mother. I think you can't possibly know the truth about somebody unless you love them. I think the Speaker loved Father. Marc o, I mean. I think he understood him and loved him before he Spoke.»

Mother didn't answer, because she knew that it was true.

“And I know he loves Grego, and Quara, and Olhado. And Miro, and even Quim. And me. I know he loves me. And when he shows me that he loves me, I know it's true because he never lies to anybody.”

Tears came out of Mother's eyes and drifted down her cheeks.

“I have lied to you and everybody else,” Mother said. Her voice sounded weak and strained. “But you have to believe me anyway. When I tell you that I love you.”

Ela embraced her mother, and for the first time in years she felt warmth in her mother's response. Because the lies between them now were gone. The Speaker had erased the barrier, and there was no reason to be tentative and cautious anymore.

“You're thinking about that damnable Speaker even now, aren't you?” whispered her mother.

“So are you,” Ela answered.

Both their bodies shook with Mother's laugh. “Yes.” Then she stopped laughing and pulled away, looked Ela in the eyes. “Will he always come between us?”

“Yes,” said Ela. “Like a bridge he'll come between us, not a wall.”

Miro saw the piggies when they were halfway down the hillside toward the fence. They were so silent in the forest, but the piggies had no great skill in moving through the capim– it rustled loudly as they ran. Or perhaps in coming to answer Miro's call they felt no need to conceal themselves. As they came nearer, Miro recognized them. Arrow, Human, Mandachuva, Leaf-eater, Cups. He did not call out to them, nor did they speak when they arrived. Instead they stood behind the fence opposite him and regarded him silently. No Zenador had ever called the piggies to the fence before. By their stillness they showed their anxiety.

“I can't come to you anymore,” said Miro.

They waited for his explanation.

“The framlings found out about us. Breaking the law. They sealed the gate.”

Leaf-eater touched his chin. “Do you know what it was the framlings saw?”

Miro laughed bitterly. “What didn't they see? Only one framling ever came with us.”

"No," said Human. "The hive queen says it wasn't the Speaker. The hive queen says they saw it from the sky. "