«Good idea,» replied Janusin, getting to his feet again. «Think I'll suggest it. Might relieve the bad mood in this room,» he added, glancing at the huddled Piedmerri and the disgusted Asilliwir. The swinging door swung shut after him. Moments later, more peals of hysteria issued from the Kaleidicopia's kitchen. Doogat opened his eyes, his expression puzzled. Simultaneously, Barlimo got to her feet, instantly alert for impending Jinnjirri mischief. Doogat read the alarm in her face and said, «Perhaps you should go and see what— Too late. The swinging door opened amidst giggles, and out pranced Tree with a small orange pumpkin displayed on a tray like a kingly dessert. Surrounded by greens and gourds, everyone noticed that the top of the pumpkin had been cut like a jack o' lantern, the stem still on the lid. Doogat's dark eyes narrowed. Something was inside the pumpkin. Something decidedly Jinnjirri— Grinning like Trickster himself, Tree brought his gift straight to Mab. She looked up, her expression bewildered. Tree knelt down on one knee and motioned for the young girl to open the pumpkin. Mab did so hesitantly. She lifted the lid and froze. Her jaw dropped. Inside was an upright cucumber crowned by a dollop of yogurt. At its base sat two tomatoes. Mab took one look at this obvious invitation and yelped. She attempted to throw the pumpkin away, but Tree and his lewd cohorts weren't through with the Piedmerri virgin. Tree grabbed the pumpkin out of Mab's scandalized hands and held it aloft like a prize. Announcing to the room, he said, «Okay everyone—pretend it's a proper autumn out.» Then, winking at Janusin and Timmer, the three of them broke into song, Timmer's splendid soprano blending sweetly with Janusin's bass and Tree's tenor. Mab's face grew paler and paler with each word of the naughty ditty: When the weather's hot and sticky, That's no time to dip your dicky. Aye, but when the frost is on the pumpkin, There's a time for dicky dunkin'. Chaos erupted in the room. Po and Rowenaster joined the «Invitational Trio» with helpless giggles. Barlimo, who was alternately horrified and utterly undone, hid her smile behind her hands. Her hair, of course, told the tale; it streaked with good-humored yellow and erotic lavender. Doogat jumped out of the way in time to miss being hit by the tray on Mab's lap as she threw it off. Mab ran out of the room. They heard Mab scramble upstairs. Presumably, she was fleeing to her second floor bedroom. Doogat got to his feet hastily. Turning to Tree, he snapped, «You incomparable asshole!» Before Tree could reply, Doogat took off after Mab. He ran the flight of stairs with a nimbleness unusual in a man of sixty-two. Tree shrugged. «Well, I needed a good giggle, even if Mab didn't.» Then, catching sight of Janusin and Barlimo's brilliant yellow hair, he started laughing all over again, his own hair following the lead of the other Jinnjirri in the room. The next few minutes were spent in everyone going over the details of the previous scene. Po requested that «Dicky Dunkin'» be taught to all present. Tree gleefully complied with his request. The general mood of the group was so vastly improved by the time Doogat returned with Mab that the Mayanabi Master decided not to reprimand Tree further. Ushering the young Piedmerri into the room, he said, «Tree, Janusin, and Timmer—apologize.» «For what?» asked Timmer, wiping tears of humor off her cheek. «Mab was the best dupe I've ever seen.» Predictably, Mab began to bawl. Timmer, who was really a kind-hearted soul, ran over to Mab and threw her arms around her reassuringly. «Mab,» she protested. «Piedmerri are supposed to be merry, girl. What's become of your lovely landdraw nature?» «Mab grew up on the northwest border of Jinnjirri, that's what!» retorted Doogat with supreme annoyance. «In the borderland.» The Jinnjirri in the room gaped, their smiles instantly fading. Of all the borders surrounding the country of Jinnjirri, the northwest one was the most treacherous. Particularly to the psyche. Even the Jinnjirri born themselves had trouble with this border. They complained of spaciness and loss of ego direction when crossing from the Western Feyborne into Jinnjirri. The feelings could be pleasant, they said, as long as you didn't mind living without an internal—or external—reference point. Signs were posted along this «shift» to warn all non-Jinnjirri. As a result, only the travel-loving Asilliwir regularly crossed into this region. It was, said the Asilliwir, a natural high to them. Their horses, however, saw it differently and had to be specially drugged to make the journey in safety. «Well, no wonder you're so afraid of everything, Mab,» said Timmer gently. «You grew up not knowing which way was up—or down. It's a wonder you can cope at all.» Timmer shook her head. «An earthy Piedmerri in a Jinnjirri 'shift.' What a nightmare.» Mab said nothing, her expression defiant. Doogat, who was standing behind Mab, put his hands on her shoulders. «Be careful, Timmer. Mab's not nearly as weak as all that. She did survive, remember. Think of the strength that took, hmm?» «Then, why does she cry all the time, Doogat?» asked Tree, perplexed. «Same reason you look like a tree,» replied the Mayanabi Master smoothly, his dark eyes boring into the Jinnjirri's shocked ones. Janusin, who had always wondered about Tree's obsession, said, «This sounds interesting.» But neither Doogat nor Tree would continue the conversation. Janusin sighed, crossing his arms over his powerful sculptor's chest, and retorted, «Well, can we at least have this blasted house meeting?» As it was going on midnight, everyone agreed this was an excellent idea. Janusin and Doogat begged Timmer for caffeine. The blonde Dunnsung smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. Once there, she fetched tea and the personal mug belonging to each resident of the Kaleidicopia. For Doogat, she lent him one of her own. Ceramic, the mug was painted brilliant blue and decorated with gold dolphin-like creatures. When honey and milk had been passed and tea stirred, Barlimo officially opened the Kaleidicopia's emergency house meeting. The Jinnjirri architect smiled, her hair turning an even-tempered green, and asked, «Any old business?» It was clear from the expression on everyone's faces that the rent theft of two weeks ago was uppermost on their minds. People were careful not to look in Po's direction. However, the silent accusation was so palpable that the little Asilliwir started swearing under his breath. Doogat, who was sitting next to him again, tapped the contents of his Trickster pipe into the hearth, smiling at Po as he did so. «Needs a refill, don't you think?» Po grunted and fell silent. Barlimo looked relieved and asked for new business, calling on each member. She started the circle with herself. «Okay. Just the usual. A reminder to keep the front and back door locked. Tree, could you empty the basement garbage a little more regularly? With all the chemicals you use down there in the lab, I worry about fire safety. And as usual no one's been paying the papergirl. So, the Daily Writ is sending me hate mail. There are coppers on top of the icebox. Use them to pay the papergirl, please—not to tip happincabby drivers. All right?» Heads nodded dutifully. «Now for the good part,» continued Barlimo. «Rents are abysmal, and we're due for a Housing Commission inspection next week. If you can, give me the rent as soon as possible. Regarding the Housing Commission: I want this house spotless.» The architect looked pointedly at Po. «That means I want to see spoons in the silverware drawer, Po. I want them out of your room.» «Is that where they all went to?» asked Mab. Po glared at her. She shrugged and closed her mouth. «So get the house clean, folks. Otherwise, we may all find ourselves looking for new lodgings. And while I'm on it, where does the ad section of the Writ keep going? I pay for this paper, and I expect to read it when I come home from work. Clear?» Heads nodded dutifully. Professor Rowenaster was next. «Just two complaints. I'm not getting my messages. There's a box nailed to my door. If someone drops by, please let me know about it. I'm sorry I'm on the third floor, but that's how it is. Think of all the good exercise you'll get,» he added, smiling. «My other complaint goes to Tree: can you keep your makeup gear in some other storage area besides the common front hall? It looks junky.» Tree sighed. «No problem, Rowen. I got fired tonight. By Janusin's darling,» he added with no enthusiasm. The room groaned in sympathy. The hair color of the other Jinnjirri present turned a compassionate pale blue, even Janusin's. No one spoke. What was there to say? Most of the Kaleidicopions had expected Cobeth to fire Tree. Tree was Kaleidicopian and therefore a daily reminder to Cobeth of Cobeth's time spent a
t the house. Time Cobeth wanted to forget. Cobeth had a mean streak in his nature; he liked to get even. The residents of the K were a maverick family. When one person got hurt, all suffered. And Cobeth knew this. Tree took a deep breath. «Oh—guess it's me next. Um, I want off the pantry floor. Anybody else willing to do it? It's a bitch of a chore.» Mab raised her hand, nodding. «Idiot,» said Timmer, relieved that she didn't have to do it. «Anything else, Tree?» asked Barlimo. «Yes. The towels in the third floor bathroom—that's the one I use—are not, I repeat, not communal. I love you all within reason,» he said to the seven people sitting around him. «However, using my towel is not within reason. And finally, I've got free passes to the new Merry Prickster Play. It's called Rimble's Remedy. Stars your favorite Jinnjirri, Cobeth of Shift Shallows. Opens tomorrow night. See me if you want a pass.» «Count me out,» said Janusin, his voice tired. «What's the play about?» asked Timmer. Rowenaster answered. «Religion. You'll love it.» Timmer gave the professor a withering smile and shut up. «Jan?» said Barlimo. «Anything to say?» The master sculptor shook his head, his hair turning a darker, more despondent blue. «Only that Room Five is now available. I'm taking most of Cobeth's house chores.» «Are you also running the Revel?» asked Barlimo. Janusin nodded. «Oh, shit. That's right. The Trickster's Hallows.» He took a deep breath. «It's our annual Rimble's Revel,» he said to Mab who had never attended one. «Everyone comes as an aspect of Trickster. We try not to double up, so check around before you decide on your costume. If you need help with needle and thread, Tree is an accomplished tailor.» «Thanks for volunteering me, Janusin,» said Tree with annoyance. «You've got nothing but free time now,» replied the sculptor. «I have my classes!» Professor Rowenaster started chuckling. «Did you study at all for my exam?» Tree rolled his eyes, swore, and slumped in his chair. Barlimo turned to Mab. «You're next, child.» Mab glanced nervously at Barlimo and then at Po. The little thief crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his jaw. Mab blinked and decided to say nothing about her attempt to evict the Asilliwir. Barlimo had told her earlier that Timmer, Janusin, and Mab did not constitute a house quorum. So there was no point in taking a vote to oust Po. Cobeth's opinion—the fourth in the faction—didn't count now; he had moved out. Mab cleared her throat. «I've got just minor stuff.» The room immediately relaxed. Doogat and Barlimo in particular. Mab smiled nervously and said, «I was wondering who was in charge of getting candles and flax oil for the house? I'm running low.» «Me,» said the professor. «I can get a deal over at the University. Mab nodded. «That's all, I guess.» «Great,» said Barlimo. «Okay, Timmer. Let's have your list. And try to keep it brief, will you? I want to see my pillow tonight.» Timmer was famous for long-winded, unasked for tutorials on The Proper Care of A House This Large. The blonde musician gave Barlimo an indignant scowl, quickly scanned the list she held in her hands, and pursed her lips. «Okay, the only thing that's simply got to be said is: DISHES!» she cried, glaring at Podiddley. «And don't you try to deny it, you little bugger. There's a dirty curry dish in the sink right now, and I know who it belongs to. You!» Po yawned. «I was going to get it after the meeting, Timmer.» He looked disdainfully at her. «You're so emotional.» Timmer jumped to her feet, her eyes blazing. Before she could start berating Po, Doogat intervened. «Timmertandi,» he said authoritatively. She paused in mid-sentence, turning to look at the Mayanabi. «I think I can remedy the situation,» Doogat continued, puffing on his meerschaum pipe in full view of Po. He smiled, the stem of the pipe held between his teeth firmly. «Po's going to live at my house for a little while. We'll call it Remedial Dishwashing.» Timmer's face blanched. Po jumped to his feet. «I told you I'd smack your face if you said anything to him, Timmer!» «I didn't!» she cried, taking refuge behind Doogat. «Tell him I didn't say anything to you,» she begged the Mayanabi Master. Doogat, who appeared to be enjoying her discomfort, regarded her innocently. «What're you talking about, Timmer?» «For Presence-sake, Doogat!» she hissed as Po made a fist with his right hand. Before the Asilliwir could swing, however, Doogat reached out and grabbed the little thief by the shirt collar. «Didn't Barlimo tell you how she felt about this kind of thing, Po?» Doogat shook the Asilliwir roughly. «Didn't she?» Po, who had broken out in a sweat by now, muttered a meek, «Yes, Doogat. She did. She told me.» «And what did our good architect say, hmm?» Po swallowed. «No violence in the house.» Doogat let go of his grip, and Po crumpled to the floor. Doogat surveyed him with approval and turned to Barlimo. «See,» he said conversationally, «Po listens. You just have to know how to remind him.» Barlimo snorted. «I'll leave that to you, Doogat.» Folding her hands in her lap, Barlimo looked down at Po and asked, «Did you have any business?» Po shook his head, putting his face in his hands. He stared at the interlocking Asilliwir design on the rug beneath him, ignoring everybody. «All right, then,» said Barlimo happily, «I move this meeting be closed. We'll have another one just before the Trickster's Hallows. For guest lists and food particulars. Uh—let's say, in three weeks? Okay?» Heads nodded dutifully. Then people scrambled to their feet carrying mugs into the kitchen. In the street, the Great Library bells tolled one bell-morn. The entire group groaned, and everyone save Po and Doogat shuffled off to bed. Doogat waited for Po to get what he needed from his room—clothes, toilet articles, and Mayanabi texts—and ushered the little Asilliwir out of the Kaleidicopia. As they walked down the front steps, Po asked, «How long do I have to stay with you, Master Doogat?» «Until the House catches the real thief of Janusin's money.» Po stopped dead. «You knew? You knew I didn't do it?» «Of course, I knew,» muttered Doogat. «You're a Mayanabi first, Po. And a thief second.» The little Asilliwir smiled broadly. «Thanks, Doogs. Thanks for the confidence.» Doogat grunted and hailed a happincabby. As a pair of bay horses pulling a small covered carriage trotted toward them, Po asked, «So—how long do you think it'll be? Me staying at your place.» «That,» said Doogat calmly, opening the carriage door for Po, «will depend on a great many things.» Part II: Shifttime Mythmaker, Mythmaker—the Revel's begun, Come speak the spell of Once Upon! Let all things familiar be struck away. The world's invited to a Prickster Play! Chapter Twelve In Piedmerri, on the morning following the Kaleidicopia's house meeting, Fasilla and Yafatah pulled away from the Asilliwir caravan camp, heading due east toward the land of Jinnjirri. Fasilla clucked to the pair of roan mares drawing their brightly painted wagon. Seeing a signpost just ahead, she said, «Read me the miles, child. Your eyes do be better than mine in this foggy dawn.» The fifteen-year-old girl did as she was bid. «One mile to the Jinnjirri landdraw border, Ma.» Yafatah's glance fell to the wooden pointer hanging neatly below the crooked Jinnjirri one. She shook her head dazedly. Fasilla caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. «Something wrong?» «No,» said Yafatah, pulling an orange blanket over her shoulders, «The sign for Speakinghast. It do remind me of something. That be all.» «A dream from last night?» Yafatah, who was angry with her mother for taking her to Jinnjirri, refused to discuss it. Her mind, however, would not leave her alone. Finally, Yafatah looked back over her shoulder, unable to read the mileage for Speakinghast from this direction. Even so, the number remained in her memory: two hundred ninety-seven. «How long would it take to get to Speakinghast?» asked Yafatah, hoping the question sounded idle. «Depends,» replied her mother, giving her a hard look. «Would you be travelling by horse—or by foot?» Yafatah glared at her mother. «I doon't be planning to run away!» «Who be saying you did?» There was an awkward silence between them. Fasilla reined the pair of roans to a stop. Yafatah huddled under the blanket farther, hating the fog, hating the early hour, and hating herself for having dreams that made people think she might be crazy. «Ma,» she said more loudly than she had intended, «I doon't want to talk about it. I asked about Speakinghast because I do be curious. Because I havena' ever been there. All right?» «No,» replied her mother, trying to keep her temper. «It be not all right, Ya. You do be rude to me since breakfast, and I willna' have it. I realize, you do be
sick. But you must try to be better to me, Ya.» Fasilla's voice choked unexpectedly. «I love you, child. And—and you worry me.» Yafatah rolled her eyes under the blanket. «Then just leave me be, Ma. Doon't talk to me. Just drive.» Fasilla started to retort, then stopped herself. Her expression strained, she clucked again to the horses, heading for the worst Jinnjirri border of them all: the famous northwest shift—Mab's nightmare. Yafatah shut her eyes under the blanket, her body rocking to the slow motion of the horses' gait. The wagon creaked as it rolled across muddy ruts and small potholes. The early morning fog swirled around them, and Yafatah shivered from the dampness. Shadowy forms from last night's sleep taunted her, their images remaining just out of reach. Except one. Trickster. Yafatah swore softly under her breath. Of course, she thought bitterly. Of course, you would be clear. You, stupid Greatkin Rimble. Yafatah bit her lower lip. It scared her that she was dreaming of Trickster. He was no good. No good at all. And it angered her that Rimble had appeared as old Jamilla in her dream. She loved Jammy. She would do almost anything for Jammy. Jammy was her friend. Not like Trickster. «I would even go to Speakinghast for Jammy,» she muttered. Yafatah shrugged under her blanket. The thought of running away to a big city like Speakinghast appealed greatly to her right now. She could be anyone in such a place. No one in Speakinghast would know about her bad dreams, either. No one in Speakinghast would think she was sick. Or crazy. Yafatah sighed, her eyes downcast. Maybe if she had been born in a country like Saambolin, her mother might understand her better. Maybe. And maybe not. This last was a singularly depressing thought, and Yafatah wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. «Why doon't you ever talk to me about me Pa?» she asked suddenly. Fasilla stiffened. Without looking at her daughter, she said tersely, «Because there be nothing to talk about, Ya. You were carnival-begat. He was wearing a mask. It was dark.» «So, I was a mistake,» Yafatah grumbled. «Now, Ya—we do go over this many times. You were noo mistake. You do be an accident, but that doesna' mean I love you less. In Tammirring, they have a name for what you be: a Crossroads Child.» Yafatah raised her head. Her mother had never told her this. Genuinely curious, Yafatah asked her mother to explain further. Fasilla shrugged. «I doon't speak Tammirring so well, but near as I can translate, it means you do be a gift from the Presence. Because you be carnival-begat. Protected, too, by the Greatkin.» «They doon't exist,» scoffed Yafatah. «They do. And mind your mouth lest one of them hears you.» «Oh, Ma,» she muttered, her voice disappointed. «You do be so superstitious. Just like Cass. She thinks old Jamilla can give me the evil eye.» Yafatah sighed. «Just because she be Mayanabi. And half-blind.» As this subject was a sore point between mother and daughter, Fasilla decided not to answer Yafatah. They would be at the door of the Jinnjirri healer in less than an hour. Let her handle Yafatah's strange allegiance to that old Mayanabi woman. Fasilla was certain Jamilla was at the root of Yafatah's illness. The Mayanabi were a crazy people, and some said their craziness was catching. The horses suddenly stopped, their hindquarters quivering. They refused to walk farther. Fasilla gave the reins to her daughter and jumped off the caravan wagon. Going around to the back, the Asilliwir woman unhooked a leather feedbag. It was filled with oats and a potent mixture of wild baneberry. Baneberry was a tranquilizer; the horses would need it to get across the Jinnjirri landdraw border. She patted the roans' necks as she fed them. Fasilla, who was a skillful herbalist, watched their pupils. When she was satisfied that the drug had taken full effect, she returned the feedbag to the hook on the back of the red and blue wagon. She took her seat next to Yafatah once more and picked up the damp reins. «This fog do add to the shift, doon't you think?» asked Fasilla conversationally. «We doon't have to go to Jinnjirri, Ma,» snapped Yafatah. «We could turn 'round, you know. Head to the Asilliwir desert for winter.» Fasilla slapped the reins on the rumps of the roans and urged them forward. She refused to argue with Yafatah about this one more time. They were going to Jinnjirri. And that was final. As the horses crossed a narrow stretch of road, Yafatah's stomach lurched. She could feel the comforting draw of Piedmerri recede. Piedmerri was the home of Mnemlith's natural parents and caretakers. Famous for their skill at fostering—children, animals, or even plants—the Piedmerri were a race of ample laps and big families. The land itself was fertile and provided Mnemlith with most of its farm produce. The land of Jinnjirri was fertile, too, but in a way wholly unlike gentle Piedmerri. In Jinnjirri, the fertility was of a raw, unbounded variety; in Jinnjirri, anything went. Status in Jinnjirri was not measured by a person's ability to provide an atmosphere that granted one the right to grow in an enclosed environment of emotional safety. In Jinnjirri, people were expected to reach their psychological edge and go beyond it. In Jinnjirri, status was based on originality verging on the eccentric. The more bizarre the relationship, project, or concept was, the greater acclaim the Jinnjirri accorded it. This was why only the dullest Jinnjirri—said the most eccentric Jinnjirri—would ever live in Speakinghast. Such persons were a disgrace to the draw, they added. Who but a bore could prosper in the confinement and structure of Saambolin? Yafatah regarded the lavender mist swirling ahead of the wagon with distaste. She forcibly relaxed her mind. The weirdness of the shift would be temporary, she told herself. Just a matter of a few disagreeable moments. Unfortunately for Yafatah, things didn't quite turn out this way. Rimble-Rimble. Chapter Thirteen An eighth of a mile from where Yafatah and Fasilla prepared to cross the northwest Jinnjirri border, Kelandris of Suxonli forded a shallow forest river. Picking up her black skirts, she stepped lightly on the surface of protruding, moss-covered rocks. Halfway across she hesitated. The billowing mist of the Jinnjirri landdraw rose like a shimmering lavender wall not twenty feet ahead of her. Kelandris shivered. She remembered crossing into Jinnjirri before, and she remembered disliking it. The shift had made her feel nauseous, and she had heard voices. She had also seen things—Tammirring fashion. The landrace of Tammirring were Mnemlith's natural mystics. It was they who nurtured the spiritual psyche of the world. Psychics, seers, and prophets of all kinds abounded in this northern land. Being a people of extreme psychological sensitivity, the Tammirring rarely left the protection of their draw. The bustle and psychic smorgasbord of cities overwhelmed their acute inner senses, leaving a Tammirring feeling nervous and internally soiled. Even in their own country, the men and women of Tammirring wore veils to shield themselves from unwanted intrusions on their inner privacy. In this way, the Tammirring were similar to the hatted Jinnjirri. However, unlike the Jinnjirri, the Tammirring rarely involved themselves in politics or social reform. The Tammirring preferred the solitude of their own thoughts and inner promptings. Many claimed direct communication with the Presence. A few claimed to have actually seen a Greatkin. Kelandris was one of these latter. She claimed to have not only seen, but also to have spoken with the King of Deviance himself, Greatkin Rimble. He appeared for the first time, she said, soon after her eighth birthday. Rimble had remained her childhood companion. Then, at age sixteen, he had inexplicably abandoned her to the «justice of Suxonli"—just after she had danced for him and just after she had made love to a dark-eyed man professing to be Trickster's emissary. Kelandris shivered again, watching the lavender landdraw mist with dislike. The bright yellow of the leaves along Jinnjirri's border hurt her eyes. She regarded the color with the same hatred she reserved for the black robes she habitually wore. Yellow and black were Trickster's colors; they were The Wasp's Own. Kelandris scowled at the trees. Autumn was Trickster's glory. And her curse. Kelandris glanced around herself furtively. Making sure she was completely alone, she raised her veil in an effort to see the mist more clearly. The late afternoon sun warmed her bronze-colored skin. The autumn wind caught several strands of her thick, black hair. The strands trailed over her broad shoulders, silky and glinting with blue highlights. Her hair was alive and full of motion. In contrast, Crazy Kel's pale, green eyes remained cool and devoid of passion. Only the acrimony of her perpetual sneer hinted at the furies this woman co
ntrolled. At thirty-three, Kelandris was a woman aged before her time. Her lips were thin, her sex frozen. Black bangs blew into her icy, green eyes. Intent on watching the sideways motion of the lavender mist in front of her, Kelandris made no move to push the bangs out of her face. She stood alone, isolated—like a cold, stone statue at the entrance to a forgotten underworld. Neither ugly nor beautiful, Crazy Kel remained unfinished, her features as uncommitted as her passion. The woman in black frowned. She was trying to remember why she had left the Yellow Springs. Her lips twisted into an approximation of a smile. The girl, she thought. The Tammirring spy from Suxonli. The child who had seen something in the woods during the attack of the wild dogs. What had the child said in the darkness? What were her exact words? He's gone. Kelandris savored the words in her mind, wondering anew at their meaning. Abruptly, Kel's mood changed to anger. The child had seen with her inner senses what Kelandris could not! This puzzled Kelandris and simultaneously outraged her. Kel had been the Revel Queen—chosen by the Coins of Coincidence (also known as the Luck of the Trickster) to dance for Greatkin Rimble on the eve of his hallows. She was the one they had been waiting for; Kel was the prophesied he. She was the woman who could turn inside inside-out for Trickster. So who was this young Tammirring kitten? This rival vixen who would take her place? Crazy Kel's expression hardened, and she felt for her knife. This was a nervous gesture. Since yesterday, it had also become automatic. The Jinnjirri mist swirled. Kelandris considered crossing the river a little farther down, but decided against it. Moving south would bring her closer to the Tammirring girl. If she got too close, Kel was sure the Suxonli spy would pick up on her psychic nearness. Kel had already been hit once with a dart; she wouldn't give the child a chance to do it again. «If it was a dart,» Crazy Kel added to herself. She scratched at the small, angry scab in the middle of her forehead. This, too, was a nervous gesture. And like reaching for her knife, Crazy Kel was completely unaware of doing it. Blood from the torn scab wet the tips of her fingers. Crazy Kel frowned, staring at the crimson color. She swallowed, feeling queer, all of her psychic senses on alert. Something was going to happen, she thought uneasily. Something strange. Kelandris flinched. The mist had left the bank and was swirling toward her legs. Jinnjirri draw was sneaky. Like the gender and hair color of its people, Jinnjirri landdraw was extremely mobile, able to change its location. Kelandris took a step backward and nearly lost her footing on the rocks. Making a hasty but ineffective gesture at the mist with her hands, she said, «Shoo. Go away.» The mist ignored her commands. Kelandris took another step backward and slipped into the cold river. The water reached to her knees. Kel ignored the shock of the cold and continued to back up. Her senses became confused, jammed up. Gasping, Kel wondered if she had inadvertently crossed from Piedmerri into the outermost border of shifting, unstable Jinnjirri. Panicking, Kel put her hands up to protect her face from the invading mist. As she did so, she caught sight of the blood on her fingertips again. Blood Day Ritual— Sound in her ears. A drone. Kelandris stumbled in the water and fled to the shore. The mist followed. Kel's robe, now soaked with river water, clung to her legs and made it difficult to move swiftly. Swearing, Crazy Kel scrambled up the bank, the sound of the drone increasing in her ears. She put her hands on her ears, biting her lower lip in a silent scream. The drone. The sting. The blood. That night. In Suxonli— The Jinnjirri mist engulfed the woman in black. Ah ya, RIMBLE! The Greatkin of Deviance. The Patron of Coincidence and the Impossible! Rescue when there's none! Disaster when the world least expects it! The Sting! The Wasp! Old Yellow Jacket—tonight he will be honored! Kelandris staggered and fell to her knees. She rocked back and forth, her eyes shut, her hands clamped across her ears. The mist caressed her bloody forehead. So sing it, ah ya, RIMBLE! Come, Trickster, come. Be yet again. But beware his back door ways, the thrall of his disrespect! Beware the color of his striped coat, the prick of his maddening sting! Change or be changed! Sing it, Yellow Jacket Yellow! The Wasp flies abroad tonight! The mist slid down Kel's left hand, mixing with the blood on her fingers. But where is Trickster's Common Ground? Where is this year's Revel Queen? Where is the she who dares to be he? Why does she not greet her village chosen consort? He searches for the Wasp Queen and finds no one. He swears. He cannot find Trickster's Wild Kelandris. In a nearby grove, the Wasp Queen smiles; she is making love with Trickster's Emissary. And her hands are bloody… Yafatah squealed with dismay as she felt blood drip down the inside of her thigh. How could her bloodcycle have come so soon? Would she never get the rhythm of it? Surely, bloodcycles weren't this unpredictable? Or their flow this heavy? Rolling her eyes under her orange blanket, Yafatah was so put out with this messy turn of events that she failed to feel the first brush of the Jinnjirri draw as its mist tickled her shoulder. Her abdomen cramped. Shivering instinctively, Yafatah mumbled, «Why does the blood have to come right now?» Crazy Kel stared at her hands, the lavender mist lacing them together with cruel stays from the past. Lavender turned to red in Kel's inner sight and dripped. Crazy Kel blinked in horror. Animal whimpers of fear rose in her throat. She rubbed her hands on her black—
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