Edhadeya refused to be misconstrued. "I meant she was never a bad influence on me! She taught me. To see beyond myself, to-I don't know all she taught me. It's too deep inside my heart."

Shedemei's expression softened, and she took Edhadeya's hand- to Edhadeya's momentary startlement, since strangers were supposed to ask permission before touching any part of a royal child's person. "I'm glad you know how to value her," said Shedemei.

"And I'm glad to see she's here," said Edhadeya. Chebeya was relieved that Edhadeya, far from protesting at Shedemei's liberty, merely clasped her own hand over the teacher's. "In a good house, at the waning of her life. I hope her duties are light, but still real. She has too much pride not to be earning her own way."

Shedemei chuckled dryly. "Her duties are light enough, I think. But as real as mine. Since they're the same as mine."

Luet gasped, then covered her mouth in astonishment. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Chebeya spoke up, to cover her daughter's embarrassment. "She's a teacher, then?"

"Among the earth people," said Shedemei, "she was always accounted wise, a keeper of the ancient tales. She was quite famous among the slaves. They would have her arbitrate their quarrels and bless their babies and pray for the sick. She had a special fondness for the One-Who-Was-Never-Buried."

Edhadeya nodded. "Yes, the one you were named after."

Shedemei seemed amused at this. "Yes, that one. I think you generally refer to her as ‘Zdorab's wife.' "

"Out of respect," said Chebeya, "we try to avoid vain repetition of the names of the Original Women."

"And is it out of respect that the men speak of them this way?" asked Shedemei.

Luet laughed. "No. The men can't even remember the women's names."

"Then it's unfortunate, isn't it," said Shedemei, "that you never mention their names to remind them."

"We were speaking of Voozhum," said Edhadeya. "If she teaches your students here half as well as she taught me, then whatever tuition they pay is well rewarded."

"And do I have your permission to quote the king's daughter when I advertise the school?" asked Shedemei.

Chebeya wouldn't stand for this. "None of us have insisted on the traditional respect for our place in society, Shedemei, but your sarcasm would have been insulting to anyone, not just the king's daughter."

"Does Edhadeya need you to protect her from a sharp-tongued schoolmaster?" asked Shedemei. "Is that why you came here, to make sure that I had good manners?"

"I'm sorry," said Edhadeya. "I must have said something that gave you offense. Please forgive me."

Shedemei looked at her and smiled. "Well, there you are. Apologizing even though you have no idea what you did that caused my temper to flare. That's what Voozhum teaches. Some say it's the slave mentality, but she says that the Keeper taught her to speak to all people as if they were her master, and to serve all people as if she were their servant. That way her master could not demand from her anything that she didn't already give freely to everyone."

"It sounds to me," said Chebeya to Edhadeya, "as if your former servant is wise indeed."

"It is often said, not just in my school but among all the earth people," said Shedemei, "that the daughter of Motiak was very lucky to have spent her childhood in the company of Voozhum. What most people don't suppose is that you were wise enough to value her. I'm glad to learn that their assumption about you is wrong."

Edhadeya smiled and bowed her head at what was obviously this harsh woman's best effort at peacemaking. "Does she remember me?" asked Edhadeya.

"I don't know," said Shedemei. "She doesn't speak much of her days in captivity, and no one here would be rude enough to ask."

So much for peacemaking. The words struck Edhadeya like a slap. Chebeya was about to suggest that they had taken enough of Shed-emei's precious time when the schoolmaster said, "Come on, then. Do you want to see the school or not?"

Curiosity won out over offended feelings, especially since Edhadeya seemed none the worse for wear. They followed Shedemei as she pointed out the different classrooms, the library-with an astonishing number of books for a new school-the kitchen, the sleeping quarters for the girls who boarded there. "Of course, all of Rasa's girl students were in residence," said Shedemei. "They were so close they were like family. They called her Aunt Rasa, and she called them her nieces. Her own daughters were treated no differently from the others.'

"Forgive my asking," said Chebeya, "but where is this sort of detail about Rasa's house written down?"

Shedemei said nothing, simply led them on to a cell-like bedroom. "Some of my teachers think this is rather an ascetic room; to others, it is the most luxurious place they've ever slept. It doesn't matter-if they work for me and board with me, this is the kind of room they sleep in."

"Which teacher sleeps in this one?" asked Luet.

"Me," said Shedemei.

"I must say," said Chebeya, "that this school could not be more perfectly modeled on my husband's teachings if he had drawn up the constitutions himself."

Shedemei smiled coldly. "But he never has drawn up constitutions for a girls' school, has he?"

"No," said Chebeya, feeling as though she were confessing some horrible crime.

By now they had wound their way through the connected houses until they were on the opposite side of the courtyard, near the place where Voozhum had gone inside. Not surprisingly, they found her teaching in a room on the ground floor.

"Would you like to go in and listen for a little while?" whispered Shedemei.

"Not if it would disturb her," said Edhadeya.

"She won't hear you, and her vision's none too good, either," said Shedemei. "I doubt she'll recognize you from the opposite end of the room."

"Then yes, please." Edhadeya turned to the others. "You don't mind, do you?"

They didn't, and so Shedemei led them in and offered them stools that were no different from the ones the students sat on. Only Voozhum herself had a chair with a back and arms, which no one could begrudge her, feeble as she was.

She was teaching a group of older girls, though they could hardly be advanced students, since the school itself was so new.

"So Emeezem asked Oykib, ‘What virtue does the Keeper of Earth value most? Is it the tallness of Ancient Ones?'-for that was what they called the middle people when they first returned to Earth-'or is it the wings of the skymeat?'-for that was the terrible name for the sky people that Emeezem had not yet learned she must not use- ‘or is it the devoted worship we give to the gods?' Well, what do you think Oykib told her?"

Chebeya listened to several of the girls reject all virtues that only one of the sentient species would possess, and thought, This is no more than mere indoctrination. But then the proposals became more universal and, occasionally, more subtle. Hopefulness. Intelligence.

Comprehension of truth. Nobility. Each proposal led to a consideration of the particular virtue, and whether it might be used against the laws of the Keeper. Much of the discussion showed that today was something of an examination; they had discussed these virtues before, had thought about them and argued about them. A criminal might hope to evade punishment. Intelligence can be used to undermine and destroy a virtuous man. Just because someone comprehends the truth doesn't mean he values it or will uphold it; liars have to comprehend the truth in order to defend their lie. A noble woman might sacrifice all she has in an unworthy cause, if nobility is not accompanied by wisdom.

"Wisdom, then," said a girl. "For isn't that the virtue of knowing what the Keeper's will would be?"

"Is it?" answered Voozhum mildly.