Contrarywise

most savage emotions piled to the fore: rage, resentment, self-pity, and soul-wrecking despair. The emotions were so violent that—like the evils flooding out of Pandora's Box—they obscured the quiet, radiant voice of hope that now quickened in her heart. She railed in silence against Doogat's thaw. Doogat reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded yellow piece of paper. It was one of Janusin's invitations to the Kaleidicopia's annual Trickster's Hallows. Doogat opened it slowly, saying: «Well, if you're through mourning—perhaps you'd consider coming to this. It'll be held at that house,» he continued, pointing to the fuschia door of the Kaleidicopia with his right hand. «Invitation only, you see. It's a masquerade. You won't get in without a costume—the more outrageous, the better,» he added with a small smile. Kelandris grabbed the invitation out of his hand, reading it swiftly. She stiffened as soon as she realized it was a Rimble's Revel. She threw the paper on the ground and replied haughtily, «I'm akindo. I don't get invited to parties. I'm alone in the world.» Doogat picked up the paper, watching that Kelandris didn't try to kick him as he leaned over. When he had straightened, he said matter-of-factly, «Then, you are a wasteland.» Kel's eyes blazed. She saw that this man—whoever he was—had cornered her expertly. If she agreed that she was a wasteland, she felt as though she would be giving in to the horror of the Ritual of Akindo all over again. Suxonli Village had tried to kill her and failed. Their failure had been a source of compensation to her over the years—and a source of perverse, stubborn pride in her ability to survive no matter what the conditions. On the other hand, if Kel agreed to the possibility of a real Spring, she agreed to the possibility of change. And two-legged contact again. The Mythrrim in Kel balked at this. «I have no need of kin.» «All beings have need of kin, Kelandris,» replied Doogat evenly. «Murderers and prophets alike. Why, even Mythrrim Beasts have need of kin. We are the creaturely source of kinhearth for the world. We are the ones who light the sacred fires. We tell the stories of Remembrance, hmm? Like the one about Trickster's Daughter?» Kelandris stiffened. Although she had spoken the Mythrrim of The Turn of Trickster's Daughter, she had done so in a trance state and now recalled precious little of it in her conscious mind. Kelandris eyed the man in blue warily. «What is this we crap?» «Oh—did I say we? How silly of me. Everyone knows Mythrrim don't exist.» There was a short silence. Kelandris narrowed her eyes under her veil, watching the play of shadows on Doogat's face. The veil made it difficult to see him clearly, so she raised it. Doogat gave her a startled look but said nothing. Kelandris stared at Doogat, unable to figure out how it was that this short, round- bellied man could possibly remind her of raven-haired, six-feet-six Zendrak. Perplexed, she again sniffed the air. The scent of her lover filled her senses. Without warning, the Mythrrim in Kel took over. The woman in black snapped at Doogat playfully. It was a lover's nip—invitational and rowdy. Doogat took a step backward. He longed to respond in kind, but he wanted Kelandris to realize who he was from the perspective of her conscious mind as well as from the purely instinctual. Otherwise, the power Kelandris commanded as a Greatkin might remain out of her control. She had already killed eight people during her last «turn» in Suxonli. Doogat did not wish the same to happen at the Kaleidicopia three days from now. «See you at the party?» he said amiably. «What?» asked Kelandris, bewildered by the sudden change of subject. «Remember—wear a costume,» he continued. «Makes it so much more fun for everyone, I think. Oh, and by the way—Zendrak will be there.» Before Kelandris could respond, Doogat whirled away from her. He walked swiftly to the Kaleidicopia. The door slammed shut behind him. Kelandris stared at the startling color of the door. Feeling disoriented and in some mild state of psychic shock, Kelandris pulled her veil down over her face again. Then, swearing softly, she slipped into the shadows. She would watch this house, she decided. She would watch it closely. Chapter Thirty-Eight By the time Doogat returned to the house, dinner was almost over. A few of the denizens of the Kaleidicopia sat sprawled in the commons room, their stomachs warm and full. Conversation was minimal as Janusin stoked the fire in the hearth, his handsome profile silhouetted against the dancing flames. To his right, Timmer strummed her lotari softly humming a lilting melody to herself and scribbling the notes down on paper as soon as she had them figured out. Feeling contrary tonight, Po decided to do the opposite of what people expected of him; he decided to be magnanimous. In truth, this was less Po's decision and more the growing influence of Greatkin Phebene upon Rimble's Nine. Still, it was a pleasant change and all welcomed it. Po walked into the room carrying a tea service for the entire dinner party. He set it on the round, low table in the commons room just as Doogat closed the front door to the house. Catching Doogat's strained expression out of the corner of his eye, the little thief turned to his Mayanabi Master and said, «You look lousy. Are you feeling all right, Doogs?» Doogat nodded and ducked into the first floor bathroom. He shut the door swiftly. Po's eyes narrowed. He poured tea for everyone, and, when he was satisfied that all had been served, he crossed the room to the bathroom. He knocked gently, saying, «Hey, Doogs—you want mint tea?» Doogat's answer was unintelligible. «Doogat?» asked Po, suddenly becoming concerned for the old man. In his opinion, Doogat had been acting extremely nervous all evening. Extremely tense. Perhaps Doogat was ill? Po tried the door. It opened easily. Po's eyes widened in surprise. Doogat sat hunched against the wall of the bathroom, his sixty-two-year-old face streaked with tears. Doogat raised his head sharply. «Get out of here, Po!» «Nope,» replied Po, coming into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him softly. «Something's been eating you all night. I want to know what it is.» «Not now.» Po hesitated. He knew he was treading dangerous ground. He wondered if he felt up to being punched out by Doogat tonight. Deciding that he and his ear could take it, Po pursued his line of questioning firmly. «Doogat—I'm not a total ass you know. I got eyes. Come on,» he said squatting beside the Mayanabi, «even masters need friends. Talk to me.» Doogat rested his head against the bathroom wall, his dark eyes shut. «It's a very long story, Po,» he whispered. «Your stories are always long, Master Doogat. And I got all night.» Doogat opened his eyes slowly, genuinely touched by Po's unexpected concern for him. He smiled at the little thief through his tears. «You know, Po—you might make eighth rank yet.» Po scowled at Doogat. «Don't change the subject.» Doogat chuckled. « All right,» he whispered, his voice hoarse. «The problem is very simple, Po—I'm in love with the woman who ripped up your right hand.» There was a short silence. Po cleared his throat. «Simple,» he said drily. «Interesting use of the word, Master Doogat.» Doogat smiled, wiping the tears off his face with the sleeve of his blue robe. «As I'm always telling you, Po—things are not what they seem on the surface. Someday, you may consider the scar across your knuckles an honor. Proof, as it were, of your direct contact with the divine.» Po took a deep breath. «I doubt it.» Doogat was silent. «I wonder,» he said finally, «what would you do if you came face-to- face with a Greatkin?» «Run like Neath.» Doogat smiled. «What do you think the others would do?» Po cocked his head. «This a test?» Doogat shook his head. «No. I'm just curious to hear your opinion.» «Well, that's a first,» grumbled the little thief. Then, sitting down beside Doogat, the Asilliwir contemplated each member of the household. «Okay,» he said, «I think it would go this way. I think Barlimo would take it in stride. She's a funny one, that Jinn. Nothing ever seems to unseat her. You may be the owner of the 'K,' Master Doogat—but you and I both know who really runs the place. And we're a pretty rowdy bunch of people to deal with on a daily basis. So I don't think a Greatkin would do much more than cause Barlimo to smile. She told me once that her life was touched by grace—that's why she insists on saying it at every meal.» Doogat nodded. «She told me that, too.» Po pursed his lips. «Let's see—Timmer. That's a rough one. Her music is very, very inspired—I mean, the stuff she writes and won't play for anyone. I caught her out in the studio one day, singing her heart out to the Presence. Greatkin, she was pissed. It was like I had caught her having sex or something.» Doogat raised an eyebrow. «Was she singing to a particular Face of the Presence?» Po nodded. «Yeah. Jinndaven—the Greatkin of Imagination. It wasn't a petition or anything like that. She was just singing his praises. I think she'd just written a song that had popped out right on the first try. And she was thankful for the inspiration. Anyway, I'm not sure what Timmer would do is she suddenly found herself in the company of an actual Greatkin.» Po grinned. «Course, if it was Jinndaven—she'd probably invite him to her bed. But I digress.» Doogat smiled. Podiddley scratched his dirty earlobe. «Now, Janusin—I think Janusin would go all to pieces. The way he's worked on that Trickster statue day and night—talk about pure out and out devotion to his craft. Or perhaps even to Trickster himself. I know I wouldn't have worked on that statue like that.» Doogat chuckled, agreeing. «Hard work isn't exactly your most intimate friend, Po.» Podiddley scowled at Doogat. «That's not the reason I wouldn't have worked on the statue. I wouldn't have worked on it because it wears Cobeth's face. And if I had loved Cobeth as much as Janusin did, I wouldn't have had the heart to complete the fucking piece. But Janusin did. He finished it despite his grief. And it's not even a half-assed job, you know. I mean, Jan's so good he could've done a half-assed job, and the Great Library would've bought the statue anyway. Cobeth's a jerk for ever leaving Jan.» «I don't think Cobeth wants to be a sculptor, Po.» Po shrugged. «Yeah—that's how Janusin explains it, too. But just learning the craft isn't the whole picture, see. Janusin had other things to teach besides the right placement of a chisel.» «Like what?» «Oh—devotion. Commitment.» Po averted his eyes suddenly from Doogat's intense gaze. «The kind of shit you're always trying to teach me, Master Doogat.» He coughed, adding, «Anyway, I think Janusin would start bawling like a baby in the presence of a Greatkin. He'd probably change gender a lot, frost his hair, and start sketching like mad.» «Sketching?» «Sure. The face of the Greatkin—for his next statue.» Po started to pick his nose, but Doogat interrupted him with a handful of privy paper. «Disgusting habit, Po.» The little thief glared at Doogat. «Hey—I wasn't planning to eat it. At least not with you sitting here,»