Contrarywise

happened.» Glancing at Doogat briefly, Yafatah tossed her head. «I got tangled with another Tammi. Her name was Kel, and she was fierce crazy. But really, Jammy, she didna' scare me overmuch.» «Why not?» asked Doogat, taking an interest in Yafatah's story for the first time. «Because, Master Doogat—she were a true Tammi,» replied Yafatah, her face reverent. «She be like a starry night that goes on forever. She be vast and deep. And ever so dark. But this dark do be a good kind. Like the hidden places inside the oldest mountains. That Kel, see—she touches the heavens but walks the earthy world. She stands between, knowing both.» Yafatah nodded with enthusiasm. «And I shall never be the same again.» Trickster squeezed Yafatah's shoulder. «Mystery is a power of the Fertile Dark. And you have met it well, kiddo.» Doogat said nothing, his heart made unexpectedly heavy by Yafatah's description of her contact with Kel's mind. He turned away from Old Jamilla and Yafatah, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his blue robe. Scanning the bustling street again for a tall woman in black, he sighed painfully. Somewhere out there, a mystery walked. A mystery that he longed to love with all his heart. And soul. Holding the Kindrasul tightly in her hand as she entered the Saambolin Quarter of the city, Crazy Kel muttered wildly to no one. Turning east, she headed for the park grounds of the Great Library of Speakinghast. Kel had seen the tall hedge of the library's central garden from a distance and without knowing why, she felt a need to see it up close. Avoiding several tour groups, she crept closer to the iron gate at the entrance to the twenty-five-foot hedge. A sign in six landdraw languages hung over the gate, announcing the time of the next tour. Kelandris read the Tammirring translation. Her eyes turned thoughtful under her shredded veil. She read the translation again, this time out loud: » 'Welcome to the Great Maze of Speakinghast. The only one of its kind in the world, the Great Maze is famous for the complexity of its unique spiral design and for the twenty-foot statue of a fabled Mythrrim Beast in its very center. The Library wishes to caution you against entering the Great Maze without a guide. We take no responsibility for you if you choose to disregard this warning. It is possible to get lost here—for days. Tours are conducted at one, three, and five bell-eve. An admission price of twenty-five coppers is payable to your guide. Thank you for your cooperation. Master Curator Sirrefene.' « Kelandris, in natural contrary style, ignored the warning completely and entered the spiral labyrinth of boxwood hedges. The sweet scent of the shrubbery delighted her at first, then, after an hour of walking, it became slightly sinister and oppressive. Kelandris sat down on a marble bench to rest. The bells of the city tolled twelve noon, the ones in the Great Library thundering loudly above her. Startled, Kelandris got to her feet and took the first path that opened before her. She ran blindly yelling at unseen accusers. As Rimble's Luck would have it, Kel stumbled upon one of two tracks in the whole maze that led directly to the winged statue in its middle. The Power of Coincidence, it seemed, worked for Trickster's daughter as easily as it did for Trickster's son. Or perhaps the black glass beads in Kel's hand called to the black glass statue ahead, and the statue answered in draw. Whatever the reason, Kelandris found her way to the Mythrrim Beast in impossible record time. She slowed as she caught sight of the squatting, twenty-foot, female legend. Recognition Ceremony. Voices sounded in Kel's mind. Voices that had lived a hundred thousand years, speaking still in generational memory of the Mythrrim Beasts of Soaringsea. Voices and the storyteller's gestures. Whispers and the long sigh of heaven. Such was the power of the Great Ones who spoke through Mythrrim; such was the power of the Greatkin, the beloved of the Presence. And now the Eldest came to Kelandris. The woman in black struggled to hear the murmur of Greatkin Themyth, the mother of Mythrrim. Kelandris reached for the black statue in front of her, her voice strangling in strange whimpering sounds. She was an animal calling to her kin. The statue remained silent, its glistening black eyes open and lifeless. Again, Kelandris called. The statue made no response. Weeping, Kelandris pawed at it wildly. Her fingers slid off the glass. She kicked at the statue, hurting only herself. Rocking back and forth, her fists balled into her stomach, Kel's voice assumed the cry of a hunting bird in distress. She gave a series of soft, high pitched screeches. Then, exhausted, Kel crawled under the folded wing of the obsidian Mythrrim and fell into a sorrowing sleep. Rimble-Rimble. At the east entrance, Rowenaster prepared to take his survey class on an unofficial excursion into the spiral labyrinth. A few of his Jinnjirri students tittered nervously as Rowenaster counted heads. Tree, who happened to be present for this particular field trip and was wishing he weren't, decided to have some fun with his fellow Jinn. Naturally paranoid of all things Saambolin, the Jinn were uneasy to begin with in this enclosed space. Smiling wickedly, Tree announced, «Did you know this is where the city takes its dissidents? Loses them in this place, forever and ever.» At least half the students fell silent, their eyes casting about for some discreet means of escape. The professor took stock of the situation. Watching the Jinnjirri students separate hastily from the rest of the draws, Rowenaster gave Tree a withering smile. «Thanks.» Tree grinned. «You're welcome, roomie.» Rowenaster pursed his lips. «Speaking of the 'K'—I'm thinking we ought to reshuffle the house chores soon. How'd you like to be recommended for garderobes and other stinky things?» Tree rolled his eyes. «Okay, okay. I get the message: shut up.» «Such an excellent pupil,» said Rowen, continuing to count heads. «Hey, professor,» said another student presently. She had just read the warning hanging over the iron gate, and, being a lawful Saambolin, she felt uneasy about walking out of schedule into a place where one could get lost «for days.» Rowenaster had a reputation for being a careful teacher, but, on rare occasions, Professor Rowenaster had been known to do the absolutely unexpected. Such unpredictability in one of her own draw made this first-term student very uncomfortable. «Professor,» she called again. Rowenaster broke off his count for the second time and said, «What is it, Torri?» «Are you sure you know your way through this maze?» Tree came to Rowen's rescue. «Presence alive, girl—he's only been taking field trips in here for the past twenty years.» Torri swallowed. «Oh,» she said, her face scarlet. When the professor had gone back to counting heads for the final time, one of the other equally uneasy Saambolin nudged Torri. Then he winked, pulling out a large ball of brilliant orange yarn. Tying the end to a bar of the iron gate, he said, «I'm with you, Torri. Ain't nobody getting me in there with that crazy old coot. Ever noticed how many weird things happen around Professor Rowenaster? It's almost like he's got Trickster sitting in his back pocket or something. And he's so friendly with the Jinn—kind of makes you wonder,» he added, his tone of voice implying a sexual reference. «The registrar says he lives with shifts.» Torri watched the fellow double knot the yarn to the gate, her expression relieved. «Well,» she said amiably, «Trickster is the professor's graduate area of special emphasis.» «So queer for a Saam.» «Very,» she agreed, and fell in line with the rest of the students. Admonishing the members of his class not to lag behind or go off on their own inside the spiral, the professor led ninety first-term pupils into the Great Maze of Speakjnghast. This was only a fourth of the actual class roster. Tree joined Rowenaster at the head of the group. Recalling his previous conversation with the professor, Tree said, «When is the next house meeting, anyway? I mean, we are having a Hallows, aren't we?» «Janusin's picking up the invitations for the party today. So yes, we're definitely having one. Regarding the next house meeting, I thought I saw a note in the kitchen this morning asking for people's schedules. Barlimo muttered something to me over her breakfast tea about wanting us all to convene tomorrow night.» «Tomorrow!» cried Tree. «But Mab's only just returned! She's hardly in a state to handle a fucking house meeting, Rowen! She's so depressed, I'm worried she might try something serious! You know—like killing herself.» Tree stuffed his hands in his colorful fall garb. «If Barlimo hadn't insisted that I go on this field trip with you, I'd be home right now watching over her.» «No doubt, Tree,» replied the professor drily. «And to no avail. Too much caring can be as damaging as too little.» «I'm in love with Mab,» replied Tree. «That's no excuse.» «No excuse? No excuse for what, Rowen?» «To hurt Mab.» Tree crossed his arms over his chest. «Oh, what do you know? The last person you were ever in love with is probably so old by now, they've taken up permanent residence at the Great Library Museum!» Rowenaster glanced at the Jinnjirri's streaking red hair. «Temper's showing, dear.» They walked in silence until they reached the last turn of the spiral that opened into the central courtyard. Rowenaster stopped the group and motioned for them to move closer to him. Torri and the Saambolin carrying the ball of orange thread hung back. Rowenaster gestured for them to join the rest of them. Torri did so. The Saambolin hesitated; he had just come to the end of his ball of yarn and had not had time to tie it off yet. He smiled stupidly at the professor, his hands behind his back. Rowenaster peered over his bifocals at the student. «What seems to be the problem, Widdero?» «Problem? No problem here, sir.» Rowenaster rolled his eyes and pushed through the group to reach the dissembling fellow. The professor stopped in front of Widdero and snapped his fingers impatiently. «All right—let's have it.» «Have what, sir?» «The yarn, the string, the bread crumbs—whatever it is you've brought along to help you find your way back. Like Tree said, boy, I've been doing this a long time.» Widdero showed Rowenaster the end of the ball of yarn. «I just ran out of length.» «That's not all you've done,» replied the professor cooly. Widdero swallowed hard. «Sir?» «You've also hung yourself with it, Widdero.» «Sir?» «You heard me. You get no credit for this field trip. I ought to flunk you for missing the point of the whole class. Instead, I'll send you home.» The Saambolin student stared at Rowenaster. «Now!» snapped the professor, pointing in the direction from which they had all just come. Widdero backed up, then realizing that Rowenaster had no intention of giving him an explanation, he cursed the professor loudly. Turning away, Widdero followed the orange thread in his shaking hand. He disappeared around the comer. Widdero's curses woke the woman in black who lay sleeping under the obsidian wing of the Great Mythrrim Beast of Soaring-sea. Raising her