The Ringworld Throne

High Point People were broad through the torso, broad across the face, with wide mouths and deep-set eyes. Their hair and-on the men-beards were curly and dark. Beneath their furs was cloth enclosing their torsos to the elbows and knees, and below the cuffs, a good deal of curly hair.

Deb was a strong woman in middle age. The bird, Skreepu, belonged to Deb. So did the identical-looking young men, Harreed and Barraye: they were her sons. Jennawil was a young woman mated to Barraye.

And Saron was a woman, deep of voice, old and deeply wrinkled. Something about her jaw, her hands: Warvia asked, “Are you of High Point?”

“No, from Two Peaks. A balloon carried us to High Point, far past Short One, where we wanted to visit. The wind blows wrong here. We could not return. The rest flew on, exploring, but I found my man Makray persuasive. He cannot have more children, I have had mine, why not?”

While Deb removed her fur and hung it, Skreepu clung to the leather patch. When Saron led the rest into the main house, the great bird lifted and followed them.

The ceiling was high. Furniture was minimal. There was a high perch for the bird, two low tables, no chairs. This was half of the visitors’ house, divided from the other half by the long anteroom. Tegger wondered if he would meet whatever visitors were living on the other side.

The men propped the bronze web against the wall. Then the High Pointers settled cross-legged in a circle that left space for their visitors.

“This is your place, the visitors’ house,” Saron said. “It is warm enough for most who come, but you may want to sleep in fur.”

Jennawil waved about her. “We are High Point. Next spinward call themselves Eagle Folk. Noses like beaks. They’re smaller than we are and not as strong, but their balloons are best we have seen, and they sell balloons to other folk. We can get children with them, but so rarely that we resh with little risk.

“To antispin are Ice People. They live higher and the cold hurts them less. Mazarestch got a boy by an Ice People man. The way she tells it, their exertion moved mountain. The boy Jarth can forage higher than any of his peers.

“Visitors come from far spin and antispin. We welcome them all and resh with them, too, but we get no children together. They tell us it is the same for them. Reshtra is for different kinds, mating is between two of a kind. Folk of near mountains can mate, those from too far cannot. Teela told us that our foreparents must have traveled from mountain to mountain, changing as we went.

“And you?”

Warvia was laughing too hard to speak, less amused than embarrassed, Tegger thought. He tried to put an answer together. “On the flat land travel is easy. We have all species mixed. We see every possible way of rishathra. We Red Herders travel with the animals we tend, for all of our lives. We cannot rish. We only mate once.”

He could not tell how they were reacting to that: their faces were too unfamiliar. He said, “But some kinds rish for pleasure, some for trade contracts or to end a war or to postpone a child. We hear of Weed Gatherers, near mindless, who rish very nicely, convenient for ones who won’t take the time to-to court. Water People will rish with anyone who can hold his or her breath for long enough, but few there are—”

“Water People?”

“Live under liquid water, Barraye. I guess you don’t have many of those.”

Laughter. Jennawil asked Warvia, “You don’t rish, but only you listen?”

“What else is there for my kind when visitors come? But you’ll want to speak to the Night People when they wake.”

Tegger saw Jennawil trying to keep a straight face.

“Please understand,” Saron said, “we have only resh with species from near mountains. Spill mountain species, all of us, all very like each other even if we cannot get children. You…” She searched for words and found none.

A bit strange? Very queer? Demons from below? Before the silence could grow yet less comfortable, Warvia said, “We hear that protectors can pierce any secret. How can you hope to hide anything?”

“From flatland vishnishtee,” Deb said.

Saron explained. “Vishnishtee are a danger. Teela told us so, the Night People tell us, and the legends tell us, too. But the passage belongs to High Point. The passage is of interest to vishnishtee. The passage pierces the rim wall. They can go out of the world through the passage if they wear their balloon suits and helms with windows. The Night People don’t like to draw attention from vishnishtee.”

“You have protectors here?”

It seemed clear that Saron was speaking for the bronze web as well as Tegger and Warvia. “Three flatland vishnishtee rule the passage. More: they have taken some of us away, older ones, and some of those come back to us as vishnishtee.

“When the Death Light shone, the flatland vishnishtee showed us how to hide. Sod or rock is enough to stop the light that shines through fur and flesh, but better was to hide in the passage itself. Makray was hunting when the Death Light shone,” Saron said. “Half a day from shelter, and no vishnishtee to tell him he wanted it.”

Deb said, “Many of us went to hunt, or were caught out. One of every three died. Odd and feeble children were born after. All the mountains about tell the same tale, and only we and the mountains nearby had vishnishtee to give warning. Flatland vishnishtee are not wholly evil.”

Tegger asked, “Death Light?”

But none of the High Pointers chose to hear, and Tegger didn’t ask again. Saron said, “High Point vishnishtee serve the flatland vishnishtee to keep us safe. But they will not tell the flatland vishnishtee where we have the mirror, and those will not learn of themselves. They are good at knowing secrets, but the mountains are not theirs.”

Warvia sighed. “The Night People will be very glad of your answers. We’ve traveled vastly to find them. No doubt they’ll have better questions.”

“And Louis Wu,” Deb said. “Or is he only a tale?”

“Where did you hear it?”

“From message mirrors and from Teela.”

Tegger said, “Louis Wu boiled an ocean. The City Builder Halrloprillalar traded and rished with him. Louis Wu is real, but is he on the other side of that spinnerweb? Deb, I need sleep.”

Warvia said, “Yes!”

Jennawil expressed the others’ surprise. “It is the middle of the day.”

“We worked through the night. Breathing is labor,” Warvia said.

“Let them sleep now,” Saron ordered. “We go. Teegr, Wairbeea, will you wake when the Night People do?”

Tegger could hardly keep his thoughts together or his eyes apart. “We may hope.”

“Food behind that door. Flup, we forgot! What do you eat?”

“Freshly killed meat,” Warvia said.

“Behind those little doors-no, never mind. Skreepu will find you something. Sleep well.” The High Point People filed out.

They had to look behind the little doors, and that let half the heat out of the house. Opening the little doors revealed food-visitor food, plants and old meat, not Red Herder food-and snowscape seen through wooden slats. Bars to keep away predators, and the great outside to keep food cold.

Warvia and Tegger curled together, fur beneath them, fur above. They’d set their clothes aside to air. They were warm enough, but Tegger could feel the cold at his nose. He could hear knocking behind the wall as the High Pointers donned their furs.

He was near sleep when Warvia said, “Whisper would have better questions.”

He said, “Whisper was only my madness.”

“Mine, too. Whisper taught me things—”

“What?”

Warvia whispered in his ear. “She was with us on the air sled, beneath the cruiser. She taught me about