the Jinnjirri, blowing a cool breath on her teaming dinner. «So that's a fucking low trick, Barl. You know damned well if Doogat gets it into his head that I'm being disrespectful to the house—or to you in particular,» he added, nodding at the colorfully dressed Jinnjirri, «by night's end he'll have me washing his dishes, too.» Po paused. «Ever been to his tobacco shop, Barl? A good housekeeper he's not.» Barlimo smiled. Timmer sniggered. «I think I'll ask Doogat to take you with him when he leaves. We'll call it Remedial Dishwashing.» Po whirled around, his face furious. «You do that, and I'll smack your mouth!» Barlimo slammed her wooden spoon against the counter, making both Po and Timmer jump. «We'll have none of that in this house! Do you understand? No physical violence! Clear?» When neither Po nor Timmer answered her, the Jinnjirri stepped between them, slipping her powerful arms around their waists. «Act like children, and I'll treat you like children. Neither of you is too old to be sent to bed without dinner. Translated—you lose your kitchen privileges for a week. And I keep the key to the pantry.» «With the way you've stunk up the kitchen,» muttered Timmer, «who'd want to cook anything in here!» The swinging door opened, ushering in an immaculately dressed, dark-skinned, seventy-year-old man. His name was Rowenaster. He was a renowned professor of religious antiquities at the University of Speakinghast. A scholar of impeccable standards, Rowenaster's area of emphasis was Greatkin Rimble. An odd choice for a tidy-minded Saambolin professor. And everyone on campus knew it. Rowenaster sniffed the air appreciatively. «What smells so delicious?» Barlimo grinned. «Finally—someone with taste. Want some?» «I'd be delighted to share in your repast,» said the professor gallantly. «How many bowls shall I fetch?» he asked, giving Po and Timmer an inquiring glance each. Po shrugged a «yes.» He could take or leave Asilliwir curries. He grew up on them. Timmer, however, sneezed, made a disagreeable face, and fled the room. Rowenaster watched her leave, his expression amused. «For someone so concerned with what's trendy in town, you'd think she'd display better manners. This is Saambolin territory. The very bedrock of all things civilized.» «Ain't got no class,» remarked Po, taking his bowl of curry in his hands and also leaving the kitchen. Barlimo slumped against the counter. Then, without warning Rowenaster, she removed the scarf she wore on her head. A fine spray of Jinnjirri hair fell to her square shoulders. Its shade was mottled red. Rowenaster stared at Barlimo's hair color in surprise. «What in Neath has made you so angry, Barl?» he asked, watching the Jinnjirri's shifty-tempered locks darken to a burnt scarlet in perfect emotional mimicry of her frustration with the denizens of the Kaleidicopia. «Same old things, Rowen. Same old things,» she repeated, her hair now streaking with depression blue. In a state of deep meditational creativity, Jinnjirri hair shone a milky opalescent with hints of fiery color from the full light spectrum in each strand. Since the Jinnjirri born hailed from a land of shifting topographical and climatic patterns, Jinnjirri hair naturally changed color with their moods. The process was so completely involuntary and emotionally revealing that the Jinnjirri often wore hats to protect their privacy. Fortunately for the Jinnjirri, their smooth faces were devoid of facial hair of any kind—including eyebrows and eyelashes. Even so, the hatters of Speakinghast enjoyed a booming business, their fashions so imaginative that even members of other landraces were tempted to purchase or barter for them. In any event,
a Jinnjirri's removal of his or her hat indicated that the Jinnjirri was willing to risk a fairly high level of emotional vulnerability. Rowenaster inclined his gray head, clearly honored by Barlimo's unhatting gesture. He ate his stew in silence, waiting for the fifty-year-old architect to speak her mind. Barlimo took a bite of her own stew, savoring the strong taste of garlic in the meat. Finally she raised her eyes to meet Rowen's. She shrugged and said, «The Saambolin Housing Commission is sniffing around again. Got more building codes specs today in the mail. We meet none of their requirements, of course. What Jinnjirri house does?» Rowenaster nodded, his expression thoughtful behind his silver bifocals. «It's an election year, dear heart. And Gadorian's pushing for a second term in office.» «He's going to lose the Jinnjirri vote,» retorted Barlimo. «What does he care?» asked the professor mildly. «Your draw makes up a negligible portion of the city population. He's after bigger stakes: the wealthy Saambolin administrators on University Hill.» «And to think I voted for Guildmaster Gadorian,» grumbled Barlimo. «His wife's nice,» remarked the professor. «And I have some pull with her, Barlimo. Perhaps I could speak to her about the Housing Commission. Master Curator Sirrefene owes me quite a few favors,» he added, «including passing a certain struggling student some twenty years ago when I had him in my Greatkin Survey class. Made it possible for them to get married.» «Gadorian was your student?» Rowenaster nodded. «Does seem impossible that our present tyrannical Guildmaster could ever have been a struggling student, doesn't it?» «Prince of the City,» snorted the Jinnjirri derisively. «Where does he come up with these ideas?» «Academic aristocracy is making a comeback on the Hill,» said Rowenaster. «It's very trendy,» he added with a smile. «Better watch out or we'll have Timmertandi expecting us to kiss her hand when she walks in the room. Students rule, you know.» «Not in this house,» retorted Barlimo. «This is a pure dictatorship. Mine,» she added with a twinkle in her eye. Rowenaster surveyed the Jinnjirri's hair; it was turning a light shade of good-humored yellow. «That's better,» he said. The door to the kitchen swung toward them. A brown-haired, round-faced girl of nineteen walked into the room. Her movements were timid, her posture poor and lacking a spirit of self-assurance. She was the youngest and newest member of the Kaleidicopia. Her name was Mab, and she was Piedmerri born. «I'm sorry to disturb you both,» said Mab so softly that Barlimo had to strain to catch the words. The professor smiled warmly at the plump girl. Her landdraw was one of natural generosity; thus the people of this race tended to have bodies that reflected this quality. Mab started suddenly when she realized that Barlimo wasn't wearing her scarf. «Um—maybe this isn't such a good time—» she began. Barlimo chuckled. «Don't be a goose, Mab. If you're going to live in the Jinnjirri Quarter of the city, you're going to have to get used to seeing unhatted Jinnjirri.» «Yes, ma'am,» she replied dutifully, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment. Barlimo shook her head imperceptibly. She still had her doubts that Mabinhil of Matterwise would survive her stay at the Kaleidicopia. Other members of the «K'—Rowenaster included—had taken one look at the girl's innate wholesomeness and predicted she'd last no more than her trial two weeks. But Mab had surprised them all. She had not only passed the mandatory two-week «you-look-us-over-we-look-you-over» period without a snag, she was also the one person who not only paid her rent on time, but also managed to do her own chore load and often part of someone else's. As a result, Mab had endeared herself to all concerned—except Barlimo. Barlimo found Mab's goodness stifling. And manipulative. «So what can we do for you, Mab?» asked the professor kindly. «I thought—I mean, isn't there supposed to be a house meeting tonight?» «When Doogat gets here,» replied Barlimo, taking another bite of stew. Mab's smile caved in. So Doogat frightens you, thought Barlimo. So does everything else, it seems. The Jinnjirri rolled her eyes and concentrated on her dinner. Professor Rowenaster regarded Barlimo with interest. «What brings Master Doogat to one of our house meetings, Barl? They're hardly Doogat's usual fare. Besides, this one is bound to be ill-tempered.» «It is?» asked Mab nervously. «Po's the topic of discussion,» said Barlimo. «And I think you know why, Mab. That was some meeting you organized.» Rowenaster stared at the cherubic-faced Piedmerri. «Mab called the secret meeting? I don't believe it,» he said, genuinely astounded.
«People are just full of surprises in this house, Rowen,» replied the Jinnjirri, her expression unreadable. «Yes,» said the professor. «I guess so.» Then he asked, «Is it my imagination, or is everyone edgy tonight?» «Edgy?» asked Mab with increased uneasiness. She twisted a piece of her shoulder length hair around one of her fingers. «What do you mean?» The professor shrugged. «Timmer's out of sorts due to a flare up of her allergies; earlier this evening I heard Tree yelling down in the lab before he went off to do the effects for the Merry Pricksters, and Po seems more than a little unhappy that Doogat is coming for a visit.» «Tree was yelling?» asked Mab in surprise. Treesonovohn of Shroomz was a Jinnjirri. He was also the makeup and special effects artist for an all
Jinnjirri troupe of actors on the far side of the Jinnjirri Quarter of the city. Tree was usually a very even- tempered soul, his hair remaining a constant green. He also happened to be sweet on Mab, and Mab knew it. «He got a shipment of damaged furs and soggy flash powders from the north today,» said Barlimo. «They were needed for the Prickster's new play. Rimble's Remedy, I think it's called.» Mab smiled broadly. «The one that Cobeth's in?» «Yes,» replied Barlimo, not sharing the girl's enthusiasm. Rowenaster took a deep breath, turning to Barlimo. «I'll be glad when that little bastard, Cobeth, is finally out of here.» Mab stared at Rowenaster, her expression puzzled. «Did I say something wrong?» she asked. «About Cobeth, I mean?» «No, no, child,» replied the professor hastily. «I was just expressing a personal opinion. Pay it no mind. Cobeth and I go back about ten years. I had him in my Survey class.» Mab bit her lower lip. She was in the professor's celebrated class this term. Mid-term examinations had been handed in three days ago. Mab was dying to know if Rowenaster had corrected her paper yet. She suspected she had done quite well on it. As usual. Mab smiled timidly at the old man. «Urn—did you—I mean, have you—» «The exams are in the next room,» said the Professor. «I know I've done Tree's. I can't remember if I've done yours or not,» he added with an apologetic smile. Mab's face paled. «You don't remember—» «Mab, Mab—you always do this to yourself. Don't always assume the worst. Me not remembering could mean any number of things,» continued the professor. He chuckled, winking at Barlimo. «Could mean I'm senile.» «That'll be the day,» replied Barlimo. «You Saambolin are notorious for growing old brilliantly.» Rowenaster grinned. «In any event,
