again. Zendrak took the plate from her hand gingerly. He assumed that when Rimble said «we» he was referring to his Multiple Primordial Face. It never occurred to him that Greatkin Phebene might be the genuine article, or that she might be one of a conspiracy of three—herself, Jinndaven, and Themyth. Had Zendrak known, he would've refused to participate. As much as he complained about Rimble, Zendrak still honored the foppish little Greatkin— and, in fact, loved him. «Take this cake, for example,» continued Phebene. «It was just an ordinary chocolate confection until your good buddy, Rimble, spit cherries into the batter. Complete with saliva. Right in front of Jinndaven, too.» Zendrak winced. «And I thought Podiddley was disgusting.» Phebene nibbled on the piece of cake on her plate. «On the contrary. I think it was an improvement.» She sighed. «Jinndaven, poor dear, has yet to be convinced of this. You see the cake was his dessert contribution to the Panthe'kinarok feast. He's calling it 'Utter Chocolate Decadence.'» She motioned for Zendrak to try a bite himself. Thinking that Rimble was ordering him to do so, he complied. To Zendrak's surprise, the cake was delicious. Particularly the frosting. He took another bite, smiling at Phebene. Phebene nodded. «It's a certain ecstasy, you see,» she said softly. «A certain ecstasy?» Phebene reached over and touched his forehead. Zendrak yawned sleepily. Phebene blew on his face, saying, «Love always is.» Zendrak blinked. «What did you say?» Phebene cleared a place for Zendrak to lie down. Pulling a comforter out of her seemingly bottomless picnic basket, she draped it over Zendrak's broad shoulders. It was made of gossamer rainbows. As Zendrak closed his eyes, Phebene whiskered, «A friendly piece of advice. Beware the boy who expects his just desserts. He's ravenous, Zendrak.» Zendrak nodded, drifting into a sweet sleep. Meanwhile, Cobeth's play in Speakinghast ended with a triumphant curtain call. Rimble's play, however, had barely begun. And one of his leading Nine had just missed his cue… Chapter Twenty-Three The entire theater was empty now save for one seat up in the balcony. Professor Rowenaster sat in silence, his fingers steepled, his gaze distant. Only moments before, he had sent Gadorian and Sirrefne off to find a late night snack without him. Cobeth's play had so enraged both Saambolin officials that neither Sirrefene nor Gadorian had felt like attending the opening night cast party of Rimble's Remedy. Cobeth had continued to make indirect slurs against the Saambolin Guild throughout the play, and the predominantly Jinnjirri audience had cheered him on. Rowenaster grunted; he hoped Cobeth's political attacks would not jeopardize the Kaleidicopia. It would be just like the scrawny sculptor-turned-actor to try to make trouble for the Kaleidicopia by irritating Gadorian. A kind of parting shot at Janusin. Cobeth was fully cognizant of the artistic deadline Janusin faced with the Great Library Museum; Janusin had used Cobeth's face as his model for the sculpture of Greatkin Rimble. «And a very great pity that is,» remarked the professor, preparing in his mind what he intended to say to Cobeth about the play and about the tiny postscript on the playbill's last page. Rowenaster reread the words: « Rimble's Remedy is the first in a new collection of plays written by Cobeth of Shift Shallows entitled The Panthe'kinarok Series.» Rowenaster shook his head, his contempt for Cobeth bristling anew. It was hard to believe that even Cobeth could sink so low as to steal the name of Janusin's commissioned work for Master Curator Sirrefene. Rowenaster got slowly to his feet, muttering, «What are you playing at, Cobeth?» Staring at the empty stage below him, the professor decided to go find out. As Rowenaster descended the stairs to the main seating area of the playhouse, he swore at Cobeth softly for acknowledging him as the «guiding inspiration» for the play. Four of Rowenaster's academic colleagues—all of them Jinnjirri and none of them particularly prejudiced against the Saambolin—had confronted Rowen during the play's intermission, each of them complaining about the poor scholarship evident in the writing of the script and questioning his involvement in the project. At the time, Rowenaster had made excuses for Cobeth's sloppiness. But now, he thought coldly as he strode purposefully toward the backstage door of the playhouse, it's time to have a little discussion with my ex-housemate. Ducking through the door, Rowenaster removed his maroon travelling cloak. He folded it over his right arm. A small clump of mud from the hem fell to the dirty floor. Despite the Saambolin's great age, Rowenaster had ridden by horse to the theater district of Speakinghast. The professor was seventy but spry. Rowenaster knocked loudly on Cobeth's well marked dressing room door. A few Jinnjirri stagehands moved props and costumes off the stage behind him. Fearing that Cobeth might have already ieft for the opening night party, Rowenaster knocked again. The door flew open. «I said come in!» cried Cobeth with exasperation, his Trickster costume half-on and his makeup half-off. When the actor saw who it was, he added with hypocritical gallantry, «Do, do, do, come in, professor.» He bowed. «Thank you,» said Rowenaster cooly. He was used to Cobeth's fluctuations of mood and his caustic humor; he had spent the last five years living in the same house with the fellow. Cobeth returned to his makeup table and continued swabbing his neck and arms with a Piedmerri cold cream. «What can I do for you?» «I have a request.» «Which is?» «Next time you decide to bastardize a religious rite,» said the professor calmly, «leave my name out of it.» Cobeth raised his eyes to meet Rowen's in the mirror. «Bastardize? Don't you think that's a little strong, old man?» The professor chuckled quietly. «I'm a deeply religious man. Did you know that, Cobeth? No? Well, I am. I began teaching my Greatkin survey course forty-five years ago because I loved the Presence—not because I needed to make a good living as a Saambolin academic. You see, I really believe there is a Presence, Corbeth. And, therefore, a Greatkin Rimble. Furthermore, when I was but a youngster of ten, my Saambolin parents took me to see Rimble's Remembrance in Suxonli. My parents were scholars themselves. Suxonli was a field trip, one I was privileged to join. And while there, Cobeth, I understood something.» Cobeth turned around to face the professor, his smile skeptical. «And what was that, professor? Even if I don't ask,» he added silkily, «you're bound to tell me anyway. You're so fond of lecturing.» Rowenaster pursed his lips, wishing very hard that he were Master Doogat. In Rowen's opinion, Cobeth was sorely in need of the Mayanabi's famous «Podiddley Punch.» The professor took a deep breath and decided to keep to the point. «I learned this, Cobeth: the Trickster's Hallows of Suxonli Village is not a dead religious ritual, its origins lost in antiquity. Rimble's Remedy, as you call it, is nothing less than a literal passion play—Greatkin for mortal and mortal for Greatkin. Done right, the ritual can produce a certain ecstasy of spirit. Done right,» he repeated for emphasis. Cobeth folded his hands on his knee. «Oh—I see. You're implying I didn't do the rite 'right.' « He smiled at Rowenaster icily. «And you're Speakinghast's resident expert on Rimble. So I'm told.» He leaned forward. «Do you know what an expert is, professor? An expert is someone who knows more and more about less and less. You're an academic, Rowen.
Proud of your 'field trip' to Suxonli.» Cobeth started laughing. «You can't tell me a thing about Suxonli that I don't already know. You see, Rowen—I grew up in that village.» «I don't believe you.» «Then that's your foolishness,» said Cobeth tapping the Trickster mask beside him with his fingers. «I even had another name there: Yonneth.» Rowenaster said nothing, his expression unconvinced. «All right,» said Cobeth amiably. «Let's assume you don't like me, professor. Let's assume that the entire house has taken sides with Janusin against me—often happens when a relationship breaks up. Especially a Jinnjirri one. We're such a passionate people, we tend to cause others to feel their own emotions as strongly as we feel ours—» «I don't see what this has to do with anything,» said Rowenaster, yawning impolitely. And obviously. «Well—it's like this, professor. I think you were so busy disliking me through the play that you missed the point of Rimble's Remedy.» Rowenaster said nothing, his eyes angry. «I shall now tell you the point,» continued Cobeth cooly. «I shall spell it out for you, old man. See if you can catch it.» The actor picked up the Trickster mask. «There's a time coming. A wild time, a Trickster time. No broken people will survive it. Only those who become whole through the sting of holovespa will know what to do when this time comes. Only those who can stand the sting of the 'whole wasp' will survive the chaos of Trickster's shifttime. They will be called Contrarywise, and they alone will hear the hiss-whisper of Greatkin Rimble. And do his bidding.» Rowenaster frowned. Was it his imagination, or was Cobeth lapsing into some kind of singsong trance state? He sounded almost Tammirring. Was it possible that Cobeth had been telling the truth about where he had grown up? The professor crossed his arms over his chest. Something about Cobeth's manner was definitely Tammirring. It looked very strange on a Jinnjirri born. And very wrong. Cobeth continued his monologue with increasing fervor. «The Contrarywise will gather in every city, in every town, and in every village. They will answer Rimble's call to revolution. They will be Merry Pricksters all—prancing and dancing and goosing the politicians. Beware the flashing of their smiles, the brilliance of their eyes—for they will have looked upon the Shining Face of Greatkin Rimble and found the ecstasy that has no words. They will have incorporated the Wasp's Sacrament into their very bodies—and soared!» Rowenaster cleared his throat uncomfortably. This was the kind of talk that had made Gadorian start swearing during the play. The Guildmaster had been sure that Cobeth and his merry band were plotting civil unrest and possibly political overthrow of the existing structure—namely him. Cobeth's hair turned milky white, his eyes glittering with a feverish fanaticism. «Now do you get it, professor? Now do you get the big picture? The whole vision—from the Whole Wasp?» He pointed at the bloated leather dildo sitting on the chair next to him. «Think it's empty? If you do, you're wrong. It's filled with holovespa. And you know where I'm taking it, professor? To the cast party. I'm going to initiate some people. I'm going to create me some Contrarywise.» Rowenaster smiled thinly, thankful that neither Sirrefene nor Gadorian would be attending this Jinnjirri farce. «And I suppose you'll be 'initiating' people in Rimble's name?» «But of course,» replied Cobeth. «I certainly wouldn't do it in my own. That
