The audience exploded into a wild racket of applause, cries, hoots, grunts, whistles, and squawks. Jack bowed again and again, all the time keeping an eye on the two Brummgas. The daughter seemed very insistent about something...

Eventually, he stopped bowing, and the audience broke up. Sort of broke up, anyway. While most of the slaves headed back to their other activities, several of them came up to thank Jack personally for the show.

Naturally, Greb, Grib, and Noy were right there in front. The Jantri twins were in the middle of their third round of thank-yous when Fleck bulled his way through the crowd. "Come on," he said, wiggling a finger at Jack. "Crampatch wants you."

"What about?" Jack asked, squeezing Greb and Grib's shoulders one last time as he stepped to Fleck's side.

"Interesting show," the big man said as he led Jack through the milling slaves toward Crampatch and his daughter. "You're not like anyone else we've ever had here. What else can you do?"

"You'd be surprised," Jack assured him. "What does Crampatch want?"

Fleck snorted under his breath. "His daughter wants a new toy," he said sourly.

"You're it."

"I'm honored," Jack said.

"Don't be," Fleck warned. "You think they treat us badly here, just wait until they get you to the house."

Jack rubbed his face where the Brummga's slapstick had hit him. "I can hardly wait," he murmured.

"Yeah," Fleck grunted. "Just watch yourself."

CHAPTER 13

They took him through the gap in the hedge and back across the beautifully textured and cared-for Chookoock family grounds. In the daylight, Jack saw, the landscape was even more impressive than it had been at night. He also spotted several clumps of bushes that could easily be concealing guard posts.

At a small side door to the house, Crampatch turned him over to a tall, wiry Wistawk wearing a garish outfit in multiple shades of green and purple.

Across his chest he wore the same red sash as Fleck. "Get it ready," Crampatch ordered, jerking a thumb at Jack. "And don't forget to hose it down. It stinks."

"Understood, Your Chanterling," the Wistawk said, bowing low. "Your Thumbleness," he added, bowing to the daughter. The two Brummgas left. "This way, human," the Wistawk said, gesturing Jack in through the door.

A short corridor led them into the back of a large kitchen. A very large kitchen, in fact, far bigger than Jack would have expected even for a mansion this size. It was well equipped, too, with at least four cooking surfaces, six fire ovens, and four microwave ovens nestled in among the various work spaces and countertops. Off in one corner was an even bigger extravagance: a huge radiation oven nearly as big as the hotbox back in the slave colony. Probably for cooking whole animals.

In a pinch, it might also make a good emergency hiding place. Provided, of course, that he remembered to get out before they started cooking something.

Twenty or so slaves were already at work there, no doubt preparing the Chookoock family dinner. Most were hurrying around carrying pots and pans, or were at various work areas mixing or measuring or molding food into odd shapes.

Another group was off at the three huge sinks cleaning up pans from previous cooking efforts.

Standing at a small recipe-storage desk, looking rather like the eye in the middle of a hurricane, was another Wistawk wearing a red sash. He was holding up a delicate-looking pastry and speaking into a portable recorder attached to a corner of the desk. Probably preparing the daily report, Jack decided, or possibly adding a new recipe to the collection.

"I am Heetoorieef," his guide identified himself as they exited the far side of the kitchen into a well-stocked pantry. "I am in charge of the household slaves.

What are you?"

"I'm Noy," Jack told him. "It's nice to meet you."

"Yes," Heetoorieef murmured, pulling an electronic notepad from behind his sash and scribbling something on it. "Your room is with the rest of the slave quarters downstairs. I warn you it smells of paint—the Dolom who was in there last had been painted quite thoroughly by Her Thumbleness."

" 'Her Thumbleness?' "

"That is how you will address her," Heetoorieef said, a bit tartly. "You will not be here long at any rate; but addressing any of the Brummgas wrongly will make that stay extremely unpleasant."

He half turned and looked Jack up and down. "I don't believe she's ever chosen a

human before. What exactly are you good for?"

"I was doing a magic show when she spotted me," Jack told him, deciding not to take offense at the question. Heetoorieef was trying to be civil, he knew. He just didn't do it very well. Probably all that time spent with Brummgas. "I can juggle some, too."

"I see," Heetoorieef said. His tone was still polite, but Jack could tell he really didn't much care one way or the other.

Which wasn't surprising. Heetoorieef's job was to keep the household running smoothly, to make sure the slaves didn't make some mistake that would get them—and him—in trouble with the slavemasters. Having to take time out to teach Her Thumbleness's latest toy how to behave was just one more headache for him to deal with.

"You'll need to take a bath," Heetoorieef went on. "Unless you really would prefer being hosed down?" Jack grinned. "A bath will do fine," he assured the other. "Can you find me a change of clothes, too?"

"That was next on the list," Heetoorieef said stiffly, as if offended that Jack would think a proper slave overseer would need to be reminded about that. "A

magic performer and juggler. Yes, I believe I have just the outfit. I will bring it to your room while you bathe."

"Thank you," Jack said. "What do I do then?"

"When you are dressed report to me in my office," Heetoorieef said. "It is a small room beside the kitchen. You will entertain Her Thumbleness while she eats her dinner."

Jack's room was Nui Trach—Number Eight in the Brummgan numbering system—in the second basement down from the kitchen floor. It contained a wide bed, a two-drawer dresser, a wooden chair, a clock-intercom, and a single overhead light.

The bed's mattress was stiff, the chair was hard, and there was barely enough room for him to turn around without bumping into something else. But after a week and a half in the slave colony sleeping hut, the place felt like the luxury corridor on the Star of Wonder.

The slaves' bathroom was at the end of the hall. It was smaller than the wash area back in the slave colony, and not a lot fancier. But it was clean, it had a

real bathtub, and it had lots of hot water.

He soaked in the tub as long as he dared—about five minutes—then washed himself thoroughly and returned to his room. Heetoorieef had been there in his absence, and had left him the most ridiculous outfit he'd ever seen. It consisted of a loose tunic, tights, and a floppy hat with bells on it. Everything was done up in the same pattern of huge purple-and-green diamonds.

"An interesting design," Draycos commented as Jack shook out the tunic and held it up. "Is that what is called a harlequin outfit?"

"You got me," Jack said, sitting down on the bed and starting to pull on the tights. They felt prickly and itchy, he noticed. Maybe they would feel better once they were all the way on. "I've never even heard the word before."

"A harlequin was a clown or buffoon in an Old Earth French theater style,"

Draycos explained. "He typically wore a mask and diamond-patterned clothing."

"Um," Jack grunted, standing up and smoothing out the tights along his legs.

Nope; they didn't feel any better this way. He would just have to hope he would get used to the prickling. "Been reading through the Essenay's dictionary, have we?"