feeling more and more confused. She bit her lip, her eyes jumping to the dancing Rimble figure on Doogat's pipe. She recognized Trickster immediately having just had him on the mid-term exam. Although she professed no particular belief in the existence of the Greatkin, it was still queer to be standing face-to-face with a such a fine representation of the Patron of Deviance and Dirty Tricks. In an effort to relieve the tension she was feeling between herself and Doogat, Mab mumbled, «Your pipe, sir—it's very—uh—interesting.» «Isn't it?» asked Doogat smiling broadly. He pulled the pipe out of his mouth, holding it toward Mab. «Come take a closer look.» Mab hesitated. She didn't want to appear rude or—Presence forbid—give Doogat cause to be angry with her. «Come, come. It won't bite,» said Doogat jovially. «Ha,» muttered Po. Mab glanced at the disgruntled thief. Pressing her lips together, Mab inched toward Doogat, acting as if she were testing the high wire in a circus act. A high wire without a safety net. Doogat remained motionless, his dark eyes watching her with amusement. Mab took another unsteady step toward Doogat, her fingers reaching for the meerschaum pipe. Her hand was trembling. Doogat chuckled unexpectedly and moved aside—putting the pipe just out of her grasp. Mab came to an abrupt standstill, tears brimming in her eyes. «What did you go and do that for, Doogat?» asked Rowenaster indignantly. «Can't you see how frightened Mab is of you?» Doogat waved him silent with a sharp gesture of his hand. His eyes never leaving Mab's, the Mayanabi Master said, «Try again.» Tears streamed down Mab's cheeks. She wiped them away hastily. «No,» she whimpered. «I can't. You'll take it away again.» «You don't know that,» replied Doogat evenly. «It's a—it's a Trickster pipe—I know about Greatkin Rimble—» «Do you, Mab?» asked Doogat calmly. «Do you really?» Rowenaster interrupted at this point, holding up Mab's recently corrected mid-term. «She aced the exam, Doogat. You can't do better than that.» «Can't you?» asked Doogat, his black eyes boring into Mab's terror-stricken face. «What if a hundred percent won't do?» «Won't do?» asked Mab, her expression bewildered. «It has to do. It has to, Master Doogat.» Mab's crying became very agitated now, a panic growing inside her. «It—it's always been enough. A hundred percent. You can't do any more,» she wept. Doogat watched her in silence, his expression unexpectedly compassionate. Without a further word, the Mayanabi Master took Mab in his arms and held her. She struggled half-heartedly, then seemed to give up, her face pale with fear.
«It's all right, Mabinhil,» Doogat whispered softly. «Rimble isn't interested in a hundred percent of nothing.» «Wh—what?» she mumbled. «All that Trickster wants from you right now, Mab,» said Doogat brushing a strand of brown hair out of the young girl's face, «is that you try again, hmm?» Mab refused to look at Doogat, her shoulders sagging. Po interrupted at this point. «You sure treat her nice, Doogs. Me? You just punch me out whenever you fucking feel like it!» Doogat ignored Po's comment arid looked over at the professor who had been watching the entire scene with astonishment. «And that's the answer to your question, Rowen. Multiple. Trickster takes the form indicated by the circumstances presented. Thus, I treat Po one way. And Mab quite another,» he added, ushering the little Piedmerri over to an empty spot on the couch. Mab sat down numbly, her expression troubled. «You were just using me?» she asked. «You didn't mean what you said?» «On the contrary,» replied Doogat. «I meant exactly what I said.» «But what was the question?» asked Timmer. Barlimo, who'd been eating her dinner in silence throughout the whole «lesson,» now looked up. «Simple,» she said, meeting Doogat's dark eyes briefly. «Rowen must've asked, 'What is the nature of Trickster?'» Doogat smiled. «Very good.» «Yes,» said Rowenaster, nodding. «As a matter of fact, Barl, that's exactly what I asked. But what I really wanted to know was what the ethics—» «Ethics!» cried Po. «There aren't any!» «You should talk,» snapped Timmer, glaring at the little thief. Doogat turned his attention back to Mab. Touching her cheek gently, he smiled at the trembling young woman and said, «On the contrary. The ethics are there. If you know what to look for. Rimble-Rimble.» This was not exactly comforting. To anyone. Chapter Eight While the tempers of the five house members inside the Kaleidicopia flared and subsided, Master Janusin and his protege, Cobeth, regarded each other with contempt. The two Jinnjirri sculptors stood in the artist's studio behind the Kaleidicopia, their lean, muscular arms crossed over their chests, their shifting Jinnjirri hair crimson with anger. Cobeth was the first to break the lull in the argument. He turned away from the forty-year-old man who had been his friend, lover, and mentor for the past five years and continued packing his sculptor's tools. Cobeth, a person nine years Janusin's junior, was a particularly skinny fellow. Appearing perennially undernourished, Cobeth's waifish, boyish body brought out the maternal instincts in women and men alike. It helped that Cobeth had large eyes. At once innocent and seductive, such eyes masked his driving need for power. Other people's power. Such eyes spoke of a terrible soul ache; they were a sad, bottomless well that only you—and you alone—could fill. Janusin watched Cobeth put a chisel into a leather carrying bag and rubbed his neck tiredly. He felt exhausted. Drained. He cleared his throat and said, «It's not surprising that you're leaving me now, Cobeth.» «Oh? Why's that?» asked Cobeth, his movements jerky, furious. «You've run me dry.» When Cobeth refused to answer him, Janusin added, «There is one good thing about you, however.» Cobeth met Janusin's gaze cooly. «I'm surprised you can remember a good thing about me, Jan. How gracious of you.» Janusin chuckled. «You don't kill your host.» «Oh, I'm a parasite now?» «But I think I know why that is,» continued Janusin conversationally. Cobeth put his hands on his hips, waiting for Janusin to finish. The master sculptor nodded his head. «You see, you're a very smart fellow, Cobeth.» «Glad to hear it.» «You're an excellent judge of people—you know exactly what they have to give you. And exactly where their breaking point is. Sheer genius.» Cobeth's hair turned a deepening shade of rage. Janusin smiled. «You're a hustler, Cobeth. Always looking out for yourself first. So you figure—hey, I might need old Master Janusin at some later
time. After all, he's got a lot of clout in the city—especially with the rich art patrons. So, we'll cut him. Not badly. But enough to get ourselves free of his influence. Free of his opinions—» «You have a lot of opinions, Janusin,» snapped Cobeth. «Yes, and I'm paid to have them. It's my job, you know. That's why I'm called Master Janusin. Entitles me to teach. Gives you the benefit of my long years of experience. All that good stuff.» «What's your point, damn it!» Janusin shrugged. «That you've wasted my time. And my time, dear protege, was not yours to waste.» «I spent five years in this stinking—» «Our contract was for seven,» interrupted Janusin, his voice becoming more forceful. «It was a verbal contract of honor.» He paused, his hair streaking with frosted blue hurt. He kept his voice steady and added, «But why should I be surprised at this point? You made a worse abuse of the trust I gave you in bed.» Janusin laughed sardonically. «What did you call all those little affairs?» «Desserts,» replied Cobeth, his posture defiant. Janusin eyed Cobeth's scrawny body with amused disgust. «Desserts. You don't need desserts, Cobeth. You need real food. Real nourishment.» Cobeth narrowed his eyes. «Too bad you couldn't —or wouldn't provide it,» he said silkily, inclining his head toward the cot in the back corner of the studio. «But then yours is a rather bland diet.» Janusin's frosted hair streaked with dark red now. He stuffed his slender hands inside the pockets of his long dress. Covered with delicate needlework and tiny mirrors, the dress glimmered in the candlelight. Jinnjirri men wearing dresses was a common event in Mnemlith. Hair was not the only thing changeable about this people; they also shifted gender. At a moment's notice, a Jinnjirri could switch from being one sex (and preference) to another. Jinnjirri took gender shifting as a matter of course. The other landraces of Mnemlith did not. As a result, the Jinnjirri usually stayed with their own kind. It seemed remarkably easier that way. Even so, some Jinnjirri were strictly heterosexual or strictly homosexual and expected their lovers to follow their lead and change to the appropriate sex. Janusin was one of these latter; he preferred the homosexual—of either sex—to the heterosexual. Cobeth, on the other hand, preferred the free-wheeling versatility of all forms of sexual experience. During the last year, he had tried to interest Janusin in a little beating and bondage, but the master sculptor had been quietly horrified at the invitation. Cobeth laughed harshly. «And you're working on a statue of Greatkin Rimble? You're not even capable of understanding the first thing about real deviance. Real deviance,» he added smugly, «is cruel. That's what makes it so exciting, Janusin. So dangerous. But you? You like your sex safe.» Janusin's breathing became shallow. «I like my sex loving, Cobeth.» «Whatever you want to call it,» replied Cobeth, picking up a mallet and stuffing it roughly in the leather bag at his feet. «You go too slow. In bed and out of it,» he added making reference to Janusin's meticulous teaching methods. «Certain things are worth learning slowly, Cobeth. It's a shame I couldn't convince you of that. But you always did like your shortcuts.» Cobeth tied the leather bag shut and stood up. «There's a whole world out there. And I intend to have it.» «For dessert?» asked Janusin sarcastically. «Yes.»
Janusin pursed his lips. «And if I tell you that I think you'll starve yourself?» «Then I'll tell you that your head's up your ass.» He glared at his mentor. «If you're trying to undermine my confidence, Jan, you're doing a piss-poor job of it.» Janusin's shoulders sagged unexpectedly. He turned away from Cobeth, staring out of the studio window at the candlelit Kaleidicopia. There was an awkward silence, then Janusin said softly, «I'm trying to save your life, my love. Not undermine your confidence.» «Save my life!» cried Cobeth indignantly. «Who says it needs saving? And who says you're the one to do it?» Janusin whipped around. «As your teacher, it's my job to see that you learn the art of sculpting—» «Get this, Janusin! My life isn't sculpting. Yours is. Mine isn't.» Then he added with disinterest, «Never was. It was just something to try.» Janusin's hair darkened to a burnt blood-red. «Just
